Chapter 45: Departure (Part 1)

A few days later, Popuri tossed and turned beneath her blankets, trapped in another restless night. Sleep no longer offered her comfort; it only delivered visions that clung to her long after she woke. The dreams of the other Popuri—and of Pete from Flowerbud Village—had grown sharper with each passing night, their details pressing into her mind with an unsettling insistence. What once felt like fragments now lingered with a clarity that frightened her.

That night, the dream shifted into something entirely new. She found herself standing inside a church, its walls built of cool cobblestone and pale concrete, worn smooth by time and devotion. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, bathing the space in a warm glow and illuminating rows of familiar faces. Her family and friends filled the pews, smiling, cheering, waiting as though this moment had always been inevitable.

At the altar stood Pete. He faced her with a calm certainty, his hands warm and steady as they held hers, grounding her in the moment. She wore a white wedding dress that felt impossibly real—the weight of the fabric, the soft whisper of it as she moved. Before them stood a strange, middle-aged man in black clerical robes, reading the vows in a resonant voice that echoed through the church and settled deep in her chest.

When the time came, Popuri answered without hesitation. She heard herself say the words clearly, firmly, as though they had always belonged to her. Pete said them too, and then he kissed her. The church erupted into applause and laughter as they turned and walked down the aisle together, hands intertwined, the sound following them out into the open air.

Outside, more people waited, showering them with cheers and joy. Popuri waved, her heart light and unburdened, before Pete drew her close once more. Their second kiss felt different—final, certain, like a promise sealed beyond doubt or distance. It carried a weight that lingered even as the dream began to dissolve.

Popuri jolted awake, her breath coming fast and uneven as she stared at the ceiling. Her head throbbed, pain blooming behind her eyes as memories that did not belong to her flooded in all at once. The images refused to fade—the church, the vows, the warmth of Pete's hands lingering like a phantom touch. She pressed her palms to her temples, fighting the urge to cry as the weight of it all settled over her.

She couldn't stand it anymore. The longer she stayed away from Pete's farm, the louder the dreams became—clearer, more insistent, as though someone, somewhere, was trying to reach her. Fragments of a life that wasn't hers kept surfacing, urging her to understand, to remember something just out of reach. But the pieces didn't fit together, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make sense of them.

Morning came without rest. Popuri dressed quickly and made her way downstairs, her movements quiet and deliberate as she passed through the stillness of the house. Her mother was still asleep, and the early light wrapped the rooms in a pale hush. In the kitchen, Rick stood at the stove, working on breakfast as though it were any other morning.

"Morning, sis," he said casually.

Popuri didn't answer. She slipped past him without a word, her thoughts already pulling her elsewhere—toward the pond near the hot springs, the one place where she could think without interruption. Without questions. Without voices.

Rick frowned, scratching his head as the door closed behind her. After a moment, he shrugged and returned to what he was doing. Popuri being gone for the day suited him just fine. He had plans of his own, and now, nothing stood in the way.

Pete was startled from his thoughts by a firm knock at the door. When he opened it, he found Mayor Thomas standing on the porch, his familiar presence filling the doorway. The mayor's expression carried its usual blend of warmth and authority, the kind that made it difficult to refuse him outright.

"Good morning, Pete," Mayor Thomas said with an easy smile. "I just wanted to remind you about the Goddess Festival tomorrow."

Pete blinked, momentarily thrown off. "The what festival?"

The mayor let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused. "The Goddess Festival. It's a long-standing tradition here in Mineral Town. On that day, young men invite a young lady to escort them to Rose Square. The women dress as goddesses and perform a ceremonial dance for their chosen partners. Afterward, the couples usually spend some time together—getting to know one another a little better."

Pete nodded slowly as he absorbed the explanation. The festival sounded uncomfortably familiar, reminding him of the Flower Festival back in Flowerbud Village, though the details were clearly different. It seemed that in this world, traditions had branched off in subtle but meaningful ways. Each resemblance only deepened the uneasy feeling that he was standing in a life that almost fit—but not quite.

"Well, I hope you'll consider taking part," Mayor Thomas continued, his smile softening. "It's a cherished event for the town."

"I'll think about it," Pete replied, his answer polite but distant.

Apparently satisfied, the mayor tipped his hat and continued down the path. Pete closed the door and leaned back against it, letting out a slow breath as the quiet returned. The Goddess Festival, he thought. He wasn't sure he had the heart—or the place—to attend something like that anymore.

Later that afternoon, Pete was scattering grass seed across the pasture when he heard his name carried on the breeze. He straightened and turned to see Rick approaching, his stride steady and his expression as serious as ever. There was no anger in his face—only purpose—which came as a quiet relief after the cold reception Pete had received from the town in recent days.

"Hey, Pete," Rick called out as he drew closer.

Pete brushed the dirt from his hands and nodded. "Hey. What's up?"

Rick stopped a few feet away, hands resting at his sides. "Can you come by the house for a bit?" he asked. "I need to ask you for a favor—an important one."

Pete searched his face, then gave a small nod. He dusted off his clothes and followed Rick back toward the chicken ranch, the path familiar yet oddly distant, as if it belonged to someone else's memories. Inside the house, Pete paused to take in his surroundings. Though he knew he must have been here before—given the chickens, the proximity, the shared routines—the space felt strangely foreign.

The air was warm and inviting, filled with the scent of fried eggs and freshly ground corn. As Rick headed into the kitchen, Pete glanced around and asked, "Is Popuri home?"

Rick shook his head without slowing. "No, she went to the hot springs," he said. After a brief pause, he added, "Probably with Ann. Though… she was acting a little strange this morning."

Pete let out a slow breath, a faint sense of relief settling in his chest. He wasn't sure he was ready to face Popuri again—not after the way they had parted last time, with words that still echoed uncomfortably in his mind.

Rick opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of beer, popping the caps off with practiced ease. He handed one to Pete and gestured toward the wooden table. Pete accepted the bottle and took a seat, eyeing Rick with quiet curiosity.

"So," Pete said, breaking the silence, "what's this about?"

Rick sat across from him, fingers wrapped tightly around his own bottle. He hesitated, brows drawn together as if weighing his words carefully. After a long breath, he finally spoke. "I need you to escort Popuri to the Goddess Festival tomorrow."

Pete nearly choked on his drink. He set the bottle down hard and stared at Rick in disbelief. "You want me to date your sister?"

Rick shook his head quickly. "No. That's not what I'm saying." He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as his voice dropped. "I'm planning to ask Karen to marry me. I've been working on this for a while—a whole grand gesture, something she'll never forget. But for it to work, everything has to go smoothly."

He glanced toward the window, lowering his voice further. "Popuri can't know. If she shows up without a date, she'll get suspicious and hover around me all night. And you know how she is—if she figures it out, she'll blab before I even get the chance to ask. We already have Manna's mouth to worry about. I don't need any more chaos."

Pete frowned, unease tightening his shoulders. "Rick… I don't think that's a good idea," he said carefully. "What if Elli is there? Things could get ugly again."

"You don't have to worry about that," Rick replied without hesitation. "Doctor Trent is escorting Elli. They both know about the plan and agreed to keep things civil for the day." He leaned back in his chair, studying Pete with a measured look. "Besides… if this goes well, it might actually help smooth things over with the town after what happened."

Pete exhaled slowly and dragged a hand through his hair. He wasn't convinced. Escorting Popuri after the way they had parted felt reckless, and the thought of standing in Rose Square beneath the weight of the town's stares made his stomach churn. He had already made up his mind—he would listen politely, find the right moment to refuse, and return to the quiet safety of his farm.

Rick, mistaking his silence for consideration, smiled with renewed hope. "Come on, man. Trust me. You'll love this plan." He launched into the details again, explaining timings and signals and how everything would fall into place if Pete just cooperated.

Pete nodded absently, barely hearing him. His gaze drifted around the room, tracing familiar but distant shapes, until it caught on a framed photograph resting on a shelf near the window. He stiffened. The image pulled at him with a force he couldn't explain.

He stood and moved closer, lifting the frame with both hands. It was a family portrait—Rick, no older than eight, standing stiffly beside a smiling Lillia who looked decades younger. In front of them, clutching a three-year-old Popuri with one arm, stood a man Pete knew all too well.

His breath caught. The rugged features. The confident posture. And perched atop his head, unmistakable even in a faded photograph, was a familiar pair of goggles.

"No," Pete whispered, his pulse hammering in his ears. "It couldn't be."

Rick noticed Pete's sudden stillness and stepped closer, his confusion evident. "Something wrong?" he asked, following Pete's gaze to the photograph.

Pete turned the frame toward him, his finger hovering just above the image. "Who is this?" His voice sounded distant, as though it had traveled a long way to reach the room.

Rick squinted at the picture, then shrugged lightly. "That's my dad. Rod," he said. "You never met him—he left Mineral Town before you came to live here."

Something inside Pete lurched. His grip tightened around the frame, his pulse roaring in his ears. He swallowed hard and set the photograph back on the shelf with deliberate care, stepping away as if the glass might burn him if he lingered too long. The goggles. The stance. The face. His thoughts scattered, racing down paths he hadn't known existed until that moment.

"Pete?" Rick asked, his tone sharpening with concern. "What's going on?"

Pete turned toward the door, his movements stiff and controlled. "I have to go."

Rick frowned, following him a step closer. "Wait—go where? What's wrong?"

Pete paused only briefly, then shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't help with your proposal. I really hope it goes well—but I have to leave. Right now."

Before Rick could say another word, Pete stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him, the sound echoing through the quiet house. Rick stared at the closed door for a long moment, bewilderment settling in where excitement had been only moments before.

"…Was it something I said?" he muttered to the empty room.

Pete barely remembered the path back to his farm. His boots struck the dirt in uneven rhythm as his thoughts collided, one after another, faster than he could untangle them. His pulse thundered in his ears, frustration and disbelief tightening his chest until it felt hard to breathe. How had he missed it? The clues had been there all along—scattered, subtle, waiting for someone willing to see them.

He had been too focused on surviving this timeline. Too consumed with trying to fit into a life that resisted him at every turn. In doing so, he had overlooked the one detail that mattered most.

"That man in the photograph, Rod." Pete clenched his fists as he pushed through the farm gate, his pace quickening as his thoughts sharpened into something terrifyingly clear. The goggles. The stance. The familiarity that had struck him like a blow to the chest.

"No," he muttered, shaking his head as if denial might rewrite what he knew. "That's not Rod. It couldn't be. The man in that picture wasn't just similar—it was unmistakable. Those sharp features, that confident posture, the way he held himself." Pete felt as if the world were something to be challenged rather than endured. Pete knew that man.

"He's Rick," he whispered aloud.

Not the Rick of Mineral Town. Not Popuri's brother, not Lillia's son. But Rick. His Rick. The only friend he had ever had back in Flowerbud Village—the one who had stood by him when everyone else turned away, the one who had understood him when no one else tried.

The realization struck him with sudden urgency, sending a jolt through his entire body. If Rick was here—alive, existing in this timeline under a different name—then that meant something far bigger than coincidence was at play. It meant the boundaries between worlds were thinner than he had ever imagined. And maybe it meant there was a way home.

Pete stopped in the middle of the yard, breath coming hard as the thought settled in. If Rick was the key, then somewhere in this world was the answer he'd been searching for since the moment he woke up in Mineral Town. Now he just had to figure out where to find him.