He reached the inner sanctum where Dimple waited, draped in the golden regalia of a god. The spirit looked more powerful than ever, radiating an aura that would have crushed a lesser esper. But Shigeo only saw his friend.

Shigeo walked over, his own shirt torn and his energy spent. He didn't offer a lecture or a finishing move. He simply reached out a hand. "The monkey shirt wasn't that bad," Shigeo lied.

The air felt heavy, saturated with the smell of ozone and sugar. As he walked toward the base of the massive vegetable, the citizens around him moved in a trance, their eyes glazed with a sickly green light. They were happy, but it was a hollow, pre-packaged joy. Shigeo felt a pang of loneliness that no psychic barrier could block.