There's this border between being brave and being stupid. No one knows where exactly it is, but he never cared anyway.
When he tries to sleep that night, he keeps thinking about those complicated things, things that make it hard to sleep, things he can't even change by just thinking about them and he feels stupid.
He never gave up and he told himself to be brave, to never be afraid of anything and it's dark outside. He gets up, takes the cards from his desk, doesn't care about which of them usually are in his deck and which are not, just grabs all of them, stuffs them into a bag, throws it over his shoulder and climbs out of the window.
Fresh and cold air greets him and he carefully breathes in and closes his eyes for a minute, opens them again, gazes towards the stars above him, wonders why he can't reach them. He wonders if it really is impossible, wonders if it's worth trying, but doesn't try it and instead steps onto the roof, and gets down just like he did that day, when he tried to run away from his responsibilities, away from his partner, telling himself it was because of his father.
Somehow, he feels like he does the same once again.
He promised his father and promised himself to never ever run away from any challenge, promised to always try his best.
But he just can't sleep tonight.
He walks through the streets he has known since what feels like forever, although he doesn't know what forever even means. Not now, after he fought in a war that kind of started thousands of years ago. Not after he met all these people who lived centuries ago and should be dead, have already died, but they still don't seem to be different than any one else.
Of cause nobody is the same, he knows that, thinks that it somehow defines the reason of living, but he also likes to think that everyone feels the same in some way. He likes to think that everybody's the same, but your decisions and your dreams make us different, that your past doesn't matter as long as you doesn't lose hope for your future.
He runs now, runs through streets he doesn't know, sees places he's never seen before, although this is his home, although he spent his whole life in this city, there's still so much to explore and it would be fascinating, if he cared right now. He doesn't look around, just keeps running and running, searching for this certain place he needs to find, the place where he finally could stop and the bag on his shoulder makes him slower and seems to get heavier with every step he takes, but he does not stop.
When he falls, he gets up. As often he falls, he always stands up, though it sometimes takes him longer than other times, he gets up, until it's easy again.
Is he stupid or brave for doing this, he wonders and realizes that it doesn't matter, because he is him, he is Yuma Tsukumo, and this is all that matters, everything that'll ever matter, because he is himself and his dreams have no limits.
He slows down when he reaches his destination, sits on the grass and pulls out the cards, thinks about his deck, looks at the river as time flies and the sun rises.
When the deck is finished, he stands up, doesn't feel tired at all. Even after all those restless days full of tears, he feels strong and zealous.
Nothing, not even defeating Astral, can be truly impossible! Isn't that what you told me, father?