The Dreams of Two Men

GOLDOH

I sat alone in the dim glow of a magic lamp, nursing a drink inside my tent.

The aptitude tests were finally over, and the sun had long since tucked itself away for the night. Outside, the sounds of a rowdy banquet for the new recruits drifted in. Poor bastards. They had no idea they were enjoying their very last supper.

"...Damn, this is the good stuff."

I let the amber liquid linger on my tongue before exhaling a satisfied breath.

I was drinking something called "Whisky." It was the latest craze on the streets—a flagship product launched by the Mitsugoshi Company, who had recently swallowed the Great Commerce Alliance whole and were now essentially running the world's economy. Rumors about this stuff had been circulating among the elite long before it hit the shelves, and as a man of refined tastes, I’d been dying to get my hands on some.

Of course, there was a minor catch: I was a slave. Buying premium booze isn't exactly an option when your life is owned by someone else.

I’d pretty much given up on the dream until my "master," Tsurupikano, decided to flex his wallet. He’d bought a bottle just to show off, took one sip, and immediately spat it out. Apparently, the high proof was too much for his delicate, pampered palate. His loss was my gain; I’d inherited the leftovers.

My opinion of Tsurupikano was somewhere south of rock bottom, but I had to give him credit for this one thing. That nouveau riche bald pig probably had no clue that this bottle was currently trading for ten times its retail price on the black market.

I took another sip and pulled a resume from the stack. It detailed the history of one particular boy.

"Cid Kagenou. Native of the Midgar Kingdom, huh...?"

When we’d crossed swords during the test earlier, I’d been hit with a strange sense of déjà vu. The "fight" itself had been over in seconds. I’d simply knocked the kid over while he stood there like a statue. He was a totally ordinary boy with absolutely nothing noteworthy about him.

And yet, something was nagging at me. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to read an opponent—to see the true depth of their power. In my entire career, there had only been one person whose strength I couldn't gauge with these eyes...

"...Wait. I remember now."

"Remember what?"

My partner, Quinton, stepped into the tent right as the realization hit me.

"Is the party outside over?" I asked.

"Nah, still going," he grunted. "I just don't have the stomach to memorize the faces of guys who are gonna be dead by tomorrow morning."

"Fair enough."

A heavy, somber silence settled between us.

"So," Quinton prompted. "What was it you remembered?"

"This kid." I tossed him Cid’s resume.

"Cid Kagenou? What about him?"

"We fought during the test today. I got a massive hit of déjà vu."

"What was he like?"

"Black hair, black eyes... the definition of average. The fight ended in an instant."

"Oh, wait. You mean the kid who ate dirt in spectacular fashion?"

"That’s the one. You recognize him?"

"Yeah, he was sucking up to me at the banquet earlier," Quinton said, scoffing. "I wasn't even trying to learn his name, but it stuck. So, what’s the deal with him?"

"The feeling. I was trying to figure out where I’d felt that before, and then it clicked. It’s the same vibe I got when I fought... Jimina Seinen."

"Jimina!?"

Quinton’s gaze turned razor-sharp.

"The only opponent whose true strength I couldn't see through. I still think about that day. The day the 'Ever-Victorious Golden Dragon' tasted defeat for the first time..." I shook my head, trying to dispel the memory. "But it’s probably just my imagination. There can't be more than one guy like Jimina out there, and the feeling only lasted a split second."

"Yeah, you're right," Quinton agreed. "There’s no way Jimina would be in a dump like this. That man was... in a league of his own. I still have nightmares about that loss."

"Our lives started spiraling the moment we lost to him."

"Dammit!" Quinton slammed a fist into his palm. "I couldn't accept it. I didn't want to accept it! I feel like I can't move forward until I take that guy down!"

"I’m with you. Though, I heard a rumor that Jimina was actually Shadow."

"So I’ve heard."

"Well, Shadow is out of the question."

"Yeah... Shadow is a hard pass."

The guy had toyed with Beatrix and Princess Iris like they were children. We didn't need to see the fight firsthand to know we were outclassed.

"Life is a bitch," I sighed.

"Tell me about it."

We both let out a long, synchronized sigh.

"Anyway, how’s the plan coming along?" I asked.

"We’ve got a hundred recruits. Maybe five of them are actually usable."

"And those five get shipped off to the slave markets once the job is done. What about the rest?"

"Trash. Just like we planned—disposable decoys."

"I see... No changes to the operation?"

"None. Tsurupikano is going through with it. The risk is suicidal, but if his intel is legit, it’s worth the gamble. If we pull this off, he might actually grant us our freedom."

"A night raid on a rebel lord’s castle, huh...?" I mused. "Count Ragitta. Word is the guy snatched a massive treasure when he betrayed the Royalist Faction. The King’s men are on their way to take it back, but they’re still a long way from the capital. It'll take them time to arrive. If we hit the Count while he’s off-guard, we can grab the loot and vanish across the border. This kind of crazy plan only works because the country’s at war."

"It’s a disgusting, low-life move—perfect for Tsurupikano. But the risk is still insane. Even if it’s a small castle, they’ve probably got five hundred regular soldiers in there. We’ve only got a hundred men."

"That’s why we’re hitting them at night and using the decoys. We just need to wait for the fodder to start a ruckus, then we slip in and grab the gold. We don't need to win a war; we just need to win the bag."

"But... the fodder. They’re all going to die."

"I know that!" Quinton snapped, slamming his hand on the table. "But we’re slaves! We don't have a choice but to obey! This is our only shot at being free men again!"

"Sorry," I said quietly. "I shouldn't have said anything. We follow orders, we finish the job, we get our freedom, and that’s the end of it."

I exhaled a sigh of resignation. A heavy silence filled the tent, made worse by the festive noise of the recruits outside.

"Nothing ever goes the way you expect. I really believed I’d be further along in life than this..."

"...Yeah."

"Hey, Quinton. What are you gonna do once you're free?"

"Who knows? I’ve got no money. I’ll probably just end up back in the arenas, trying to scrap together enough coin to survive."

"Is that so? I think I’m gonna head back to the sticks. Open up a dojo."

Quinton glanced at me sideways. "A dojo? You?"

"I’m finally seeing the reality of my limits. I spent my whole life aiming for the top, believing that if I just kept winning, I’d get there eventually. But I’m not that guy. I was never gonna make it."

"Goldoh... so that’s why you... you were so obsessed with never losing..."

I looked down, a lonely, self-deprecating smile on my face.

"But even a loser like me has one thing left. These eyes—this power to judge an opponent's potential. I’d like to think I’m actually pretty good at it. So, I figured I’d use these eyes to raise the next generation. I’ll find pupils with real talent and lead them. Not a bad way to go out, right?"

Quinton gave a soft laugh. "Yeah. Not bad at all."

"One day, I’m gonna raise a disciple who can actually surpass Shadow. I’ll entrust my dead dreams to them. And... uh... Quinton. Why don't you come with me?"

I scratched my cheek, feeling a bit embarrassed by my own sentimentality.

"Heh..." Quinton smirked. "Give me a drink."

I poured the amber whisky into the cup I’d been using and handed it to him. He drained the whole thing in one shot.

"...Cough! HACK!"

He nearly choked to death.

"D-Damn... that’s some strong shit. I’ve never had anything like it."

"It’s called whisky. Apparently, they use a new process called distillation. Tastes good, doesn't it?"

Quinton didn't answer. He just held the cup out for more.

I poured him another, and this time he drank it slowly, letting it roll over his tongue before muttering, "...Yeah. It’s great."

"Better be. It’s expensive as hell."

"In that case... I better work hard enough to pay off my share of the booze."

"Exactly."

"A dojo, huh?" Quinton mused. "Can't believe I’m actually gonna be a teacher."

"It’s a riot, isn't it?"

The light in our tent remained lit until late into the night as we toasted to a future we hadn't quite reached yet.