Kids don't want the world. He thinks it, before he has a chance to think or say it, there without further prompt. Stardom and bright lights and the glory that shone Jecht's way, illuminating him, turning him larger than life; a father he could be proud of, a father to admire.

A dad never proud of him, the friction and the tears and the lording over what his son could never be. Does it help him to remember that boy now? To not be the same as Roland on that shore, waves ebbing and flowing, sending adrift letters to worlds. They'll reach them. Unquestionable. Things will go the way they want.

But they don't. Waiting on a pier for his family to come back never made them appear.

"It's- life's like that," he speaks, resigned to those facts that no one can deny. Not even an optimist as him. "But... I got to know him, a little. Anything you can say to him... it's not giving up. Not to a kid. Knowing you were thinking about him..."

What would you do on your last day?

'Maybe I'll send a bottle out to sea.'

"Tell him your story." Tidus lifts his gaze, if to a back, a shoulder; to Roland's face looking at him. "Let him know who his dad is. You want to give him the world? Give him his dad."