A man who won't change, indeed. Even Kamui can't tell whether the differences are time or the harsh arcade lights or the cast of his memories being wrong, but-- yeah. This is, without a doubt, the real Travis Touchdown.

"Here," Kamui replies simply, now at Travis' side. "For a few months, now. After you got the last Death Ball, I was supposed to jump to my next point. But something cut me off, and I wound up here instead."

He does look a bit better-- some altruistic soul's talked him into trimming his bangs, for one-- but there's also something different in the sheepish smile he gives Travis now. The edge of formality to him is gone. There's no kill or be killed hanging just around the bend anymore: all they are now is friends, meeting up once more after a little while away. And it feels... pretty all right.

Cut first, though, and catch-up later. It's probably a bad idea to get curse blood in a normal wound. "There's a first aid kit in the staff room of this arcade." He takes the bloody towel in one hand, fishing the keys out of his pocket with the other. "C'mon. I'll take you."