Setsuna: The Man Who Hated Lies

Kazuo was still recovering in the infirmary, the muffled sounds of healers and soft footsteps echoing faintly through the hall. Outside, beneath the torchlit arches, someone sat alone on the stone bench — Captain Idris, a thin trail of smoke curling from the cigarette balanced in his lips. His ash-blond hair caught the dim light, his sleeve hanging loose where an arm was no longer there.

The courtyard was quiet, save for the occasional clatter of armored boots from patrolling soldiers. It was the kind of silence that pressed down heavy, broken only when Idris shifted and exhaled another lazy stream of smoke.

Setsuna appeared a moment later, steps unhurried, sword resting casually against his hip. He stopped near the bench, casting a glance toward the infirmary door before lowering himself down beside Idris. The stone creaked faintly under their weight, the torchlight drawing long shadows across the courtyard.

Idris tapped the cigarette against the edge of the bench, scattering a faint line of embers into the night. His gaze stayed forward, but his voice broke the stillness.

He sat back on the bench, smoke curling lazily around his face. "How's the boy doing?"

"He'll recover," Setsuna replied, easing down beside him. Then his gaze slid sideways, sharp under the torchlight. "But let's not pretend you came all the way here just to ask about Kazuo."

Idris smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching. He flicked ash into the dark. "Caught me. And I know you hate lies, so let me ask directly." His eyes narrowed, steady. "What's so special about this boy? I saw him in the arena — he's strong, talented, but still clumsy. And those eyes… I've never seen anything like them in Yurelda. But that alone isn't what drove you, is it?"

Setsuna leaned back, arms folding. He didn't answer immediately, so Idris filled the silence with another drag of smoke.

"Even Aoi's excited," Idris went on. "He's actually training. I've never seen him like this since he joined the special unit."

Setsuna tilted his head, deflecting. "Why is he even participating? What did the King tell you?"

Idris tapped the cigarette against the bench. "Cedric didn't tell us why he wanted Aoi in the tournament so badly. You know how he is. Aoi never cared for things like that. But when Cedric told us the boy had mismatched eyes and uses rare water magic…" Idris exhaled smoke in a slow stream. "…Aoi was intrigued. And well — you've seen the impression it made."

Setsuna didn't fully buy it, "Right."

"But stop dodging, Setsuna. Why him? Why are you so serious about this one?"

Setsuna didn't answer right away. His gaze dropped, fingers curling faintly against his knee. The weight in his silence told Idris enough — a door was opening that hadn't been touched in years.

"Back then," Setsuna began slowly, "when we still ran as a squad, the only reason I joined the Royal Guard was to fight strong enemies. I was bored, reckless, drunk on my own pride. All I cared about was the next challenge, the next opponent strong enough to keep me from rotting in routine."

Idris exhaled smoke, the ember of his cigarette glowing faintly. "Yeah. I remember. Back then… everything felt different. Almost like we were untouchable."

"But then she joined." Setsuna's voice softened, almost reverent. "Eleanor."

The name lingered in the night air.

"Hard to forget her."

"She walked in with violet eyes, skin pale as porcelain, hair black as midnight down to her waist. And that smile… gods, Idris, that smile. She said she joined not for rank, not for glory — but to change the world."

His hand tightened on the bench.

"I laughed in her face. Told her she was naïve. That the world doesn't bend for kindness."

"And she only smiled," Idris muttered, half to himself. "Said it had to, one day."

"But the more I watched her… the more I wanted her to succeed." His voice lowered, heavy with memory. "I mocked her dream once, but somewhere along the way, I started to wish it could come true. Her kindness… it even warmed up my cold heart. She made me change." He drew a slow breath, jaw tightening. "I couldn't stop looking at her smile."

Setsuna's gaze dropped, shadow cutting across his face.

"Then on that fateful night, when the riots broke out, she told me to meet her outside the barracks after patrol. I waited for her, standing there like a fool, watching every shadow, expecting her to walk through. But she never came. Later… I learned why." His hand clenched against the bench. "A slave was about to be cut down, and she threw herself in the way. The nobles branded her a traitor. They left her bleeding in the street."

His voice wavered, dropping lower. "And when I found her lying in that coffin… there wasn't a trace of sadness, regret, or anger on her face. She died smiling."

His jaw locked, fist trembling on his knee.

"She lied to me, Idris. Lied so I wouldn't follow. Her only lie." His voice thinned, raw. "I thought her dream was impossible. But when she died, I realized… it wasn't kindness that killed her. It was the system. Her kindness terrified them more than any blade."

Silence pressed between them, broken only by the faint crackle of Idris's cigarette.

At last, he lifted his gaze, the mask stripped away.

"When I followed Kazuo into the Hollow Veins, I was ready to cut him down where he stood. That was the order. That was my duty. But when I saw his eyes… it wasn't just the mismatched colors that caught me off guard. It was the look on his face. The same look she had, that night. Eleanor."

Setsuna's voice slowed, rough at the edges.

"He was terrified, cornered, desperate to survive — and yet there was something else beneath it. A resolve that refused to break. The same impossible defiance against the order of this world. For a heartbeat, it felt like her spirit was living on through him. And in that moment… I couldn't strike. I saw the dream she died for staring back at me."

He exhaled sharply, as if the confession itself weighed on his chest. "The boy isn't just a fighter, Idris. He's a bridge. A chance at change without drowning this kingdom in blood. And if I can carry her dream through him… then maybe she didn't die for nothing."

Idris drew in a long breath, the smoke curling between them. "That's why this boy is so special to you."

Silence pressed between them.

Idris flicked the cigarette aside, the ember hissing against the stone. He stood, shoulders settling under the weight of old memories. "She believed even the smallest kindness could split open the chains of this world. That's what made Eleanor different — she didn't fight to win, Setsuna. She fought so others wouldn't have to lose."

He glanced back over his shoulder, voice low. "But reality isn't so kind. Even if Kazuo manages to scrape past Rulthan, do you truly believe he can take down Aoi? You know I can't tell him to throw a match, and the king would see straight through it."

Setsuna's jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the ground. "I don't know," he admitted, each word heavy. "But I have to try. That's what I owe her… after laughing at her dream."

The silence stretched. Then Setsuna looked up. "…And you? How are you holding up? We never really talked — not after the incident." His gaze shifted, drawn to the empty sleeve where Idris's arm should have been.

Idris followed the glance and chuckled, low and dry. "Heh. Still breathing, aren't I? That's enough." He tugged his coat tighter across his shoulder, the grin that followed edged with something between defiance and weariness. "Save your pity, Setsuna. It doesn't suit you."

He turned, footsteps echoing against the stone. “Prepare your boy. We can talk after this stupid tournament is over.”

With that, he left.

Setsuna’s gaze followed him until the field emptied. Only then did he lean back against the bench, eyes lifting to the sky. A quiet question pressed at him.

Was this path truly the right one to follow?