[CITY FINAL - STRUGGLE]

The celebration prowls on into the night, and the drinks keep flowing all the while. Masaru imbibes only as much as he's served, but he watches as the superior Masaru, the one that's better than him, receives drink after drink from subordinates, each happy to offer it up to their favorite guy. He slows down several times, using polite terms to reject another refill of his pint. "This is good for me, thanks." "This one will take me a while," he'll say cyclically as more and more drinks come in.

But every time he does and begins to slow down, the true Masaru does something that he realizes his better cannot help but respond to: he puts back his entire glass. This naturally forces the better Masaru—who, of course, must be better and is not to be found wanting among his subordinates, especially not when the XO is here—to put back his own glass. The difference is that Masaru gets to pick what he drinks, and the other Masaru simply receives what the others pour for him. Masaru's beer stays dry and light, but the bubbliest, darkest, and heaviest beers continue to appear in the perfect Masaru's glass. I got you now, me, Masaru ponders smugly.

An hour passes of jovial drinking, recollections of shadowy times, deals struck, fun stories, and talks about the family. The XO, waiting at the very corner of the table, nods happily as he drinks his fill. After all, the perfect Masaru is perfect, and he wouldn't want to overfill his superior's drink. He cannot, however, deny the refills of his subordinates, and as the Chief Operations Officer, they are many. And after all, he's perfect. Masaru thinks he can hold a few extra glasses.

It becomes a dreamlike haze, and Masaru fully relaxes into the moment. It's just like being back home, except this time he gets to see himself smiling, awkwardly grinning, and always with something clever to say. Near the head of the table is the version of him that could have been, but more and more, Masaru understands that even though it's not technically him, it could be him. In fact, it's a part of him, and he's coming to a place where he accepts it. He watches the perfect Masaru, and in the slurred forms of his vision, the haze of food and beer swirls the atmosphere into a kaleidoscope of inebriated bliss.

You are me, aren't you? he scoffs. If I had a lot less fun. Yes, this man near the edge of the table that he's watching struggle now isn't the kind of person who would get stabbed in the back of an alley after brushing off visiting his comatose father. This Masaru would never have been caught alone at night. He's too busy, after all, too important. He probably wouldn't have even tried to save the cat. What's there to gain in risking your life when the entire company is relying on you?

But something happens in Masaru's heart as he watches the countenance of his better degrade more and more through the night. It's a tenderness, and he thinks, at long last, he discovers why he was in the Tourism Center to begin with.

Far from the time-bound challenge of the night and the creeping dread of The Stranger, he understands his copy has a different role, a different thing he has to understand about himself, a different thing he must accept. And he's ready now.

The shadows merge out into opaque forms as, minute by minute, they give their bows, their final kampais, and strike out into the streets of the night, some on their own two feet and others drooping over the shoulders and backs of their coworkers. Such is the life of a Japanese salaryman, of course. Though personally, Masaru wasn't the biggest fan of watching all the people keeled over on the sidewalk at 2:00 AM. Here, however, he sees that the expectations of society, as it bears down on him and as it bears down on his perfect copy, produce just the venue he needed to break through. Perhaps there is something to all this late-night drinking, after all, he ponders with a smile.

One by one and two by two, they disappear. Even the XO, tapping his knees glibly, says it's time for him to call it a night and glances over to the better Masaru. "Make sure all our fellows get back home safe, alright?"

The Chief Operating Officer, as he must do, smiles and nods. "Of course, Sir."

The blackish shadow form of the executive officer nods with an expectant smile as he gets up and gives him a hearty pat on the shoulder before passing by towards the door. "I know you will. Your dad would be proud of you, you know. It's a shame to hear about what happened," the XO says.

"He was a very busy man."

"We're all busy, Sir," the Chief Operating Officer says with a nod. "It's a shame, but I'll take on responsibility for him while he's gone."

The XO nods at that and taps the true Masaru on the shoulder. "Keep an eye on him, alright?" the XO says under his breath before stepping out and leaving just the two of them.

Once the door closes, the smile on the better Masaru vanishes as he sizes up Masaru with a slant, dull gaze. "I think it's about time we got out of here," the superior Masaru says dully.

But the true Masaru, he just leans back and stifles a belch. "Well, at least let me finish my drink first," he says. And then he gets up, steps over, and sits right next to the better Masaru, which immediately causes a look of irritation in him.

"That's not your seat," he says.

Masaru shrugs. "They're not here anymore. You wouldn't have me sit all the way over here from my senpai, would you?" he asks with a grin.

The better Masaru rolls his eyes to the other side of the quiet room, adorned with old prints of fishermen and geisha. It's true that the company policy says nothing about proper etiquette when drinking at the end of the workday, so he can simply sit and watch as Masaru pours him another beer, a tall, foaming glass of Kyoto Reserve, the most popular beer in Japan at the time.

"There you are," Masaru says, pulling back the bottle to reveal the glass, its foam fizzing away like a thousand small dreams bursting out into the air. "In fact, if you don't mind, there's something I'd like to talk about."

The other Masaru holds a cold expression as he sizes up Masaru's intent. And at long last, he shrugs and takes up the handle of his glass. "All right then, Mr. Abe. What's on your mind?" the perfect Masaru relents.

Masaru gives a deep nod before taking a sip of his beer and turning to face the wall. I'm the only person in here, Masaru thinks to himself as he prepares to speak in a way he's never done before.

Masaru produces the little napkin that he had been drawing on this entire time. "Do you recognize this?" Masaru asks as he looks over to his apparent better.

The Chief Operations Officer looks over the cool sword, the jagged edges, and the fatal gaze of what seems to be a teenage version of Masaru cutting down a dumb-looking orc. There's a silence, and Masaru leans in a little bit as he pokes the napkin. "Or are you a forgetful man?" he asks. Of course, someone better than him couldn't be forgetful, so the better Masaru must relent.

"That is Masamune," The Copy says with a mixed frown.

"A juvenile memento of my past and also the coolest thing that I ever made," Masaru adds with a smile. "We loved art. We loved drawing."

The Copy scoffs. "Nothing more than the ignorant imaginings of a child. That is not the person I am now," he says, his hand gripping his drink like a safety rail.

Nowhere to turn now, big guy, Masaru thinks as he nods. "I know you say that," Masaru says, "but deep down, you and I are really the same person."

"We are nothing alike," The Copy says. "Absolutely nothing in common."

"Really? You still like the things that I do, don't you?"

The Copy scoffs again, his sharp nose pointing up arrogantly. "Not at all."

Masaru's smile gets a little hazy. "I bet you've been wondering what Elder Band was like," he says.

The Copy's eyes alight.

"It's pretty good," Masaru adds, "but I imagine you never got to play it because you're just too departed from what you really want."

"This is what I want." He abruptly gestures to the table. "This is it."

Masaru lets the silence melt a little, sad like an overripe fruit. "This is it?" Masaru asks.

"N-nonsense! There's the team. The company. The profits. My honor," he clarifies.

"Well, you saw me take perfectly good care of them tonight, didn't you?" Masaru asks.

The Copy scowls as he thinks it over, but there's little use denying that Masaru was the guiding energy for their whole department tonight. "Yes, but you also do things like art."

"Not quite," Masaru says. "Like you, I quit art because of expectations." He stops himself, ridging his brow. He realizes that there's a difference between the lesson that The Knight wanted to teach him and the lesson that The Copy is here for. It's not simply societal expectations.

Perhaps that was the Knight: stand up straight, be honorable, do this thing quickly, do that thing correctly… And now here's The Copy, and Masaru's pretty sure that the answer is almost the exact opposite. He paid his pound of flesh. To defeat the Knight, he had to do the right things and understand how to game the system properly. And now that he's here, it wasn't so much his gaming the system as being present, caring about the people around him.

His eyebrow peeks up. He's pretty sure he understands what's going on now.

"But I'm going to start drawing now," Masaru restarts. "Because it's something I like to do. And while we can't always do the things we want every second, it's important to know who we are as people and to feed those parts of us every now and again."

The Copy rolls his eyes with a chuckle before taking a slow, irritated sip of his beer. "What you consider to be relaxation, I correctly identify as complacency. You have to root it out, but it doesn't seem like you're willing to do that to yourself. I can only assume this is because you're weak… and that's why you and I will never be alike."

"But we are alike," Masaru says. "We're exactly alike. Except you've chosen to follow in the path of these expectations, whereas I'm learning to break through them." He turns the napkin around and produces the pen. "Here, you draw one."

There's a long pause. "No, thank you," The Copy says, eyeing the pen like a brandished sword. "Anything that isn't for the company is a distraction."

Masaru's eye gains a sharp gleam. "Like going on vacation?"

The Copy flinches. "How did you... How in the world did you...?"

Masaru shakes his head. "Why else would you be in the Tourism Center? You were looking to go on vacation, weren't you?" he asks.

The Copy sits there stunned a moment as he finally releases the grip on his glass. "Well... it's natural for a person to want to get some rest and relaxation every now and again."

"But is it natural for someone like you?" Masaru asks. "For all the things you said about the life you lived and about how perfect you were... are you allowed to be weak?"

The Copy stares him down. "Well, I suppose the only answer is that it's not weak to want to take time off."

"And by that same logic," Masaru helps, "drawing or playing video games or reading books about fish can't be that bad either."

There's a long silence between the two of them, but for the first time, it's honest. It's as if a massive black storm cloud of certainty and arrogance passes from The Copy's face. His brow lifts, his posture relaxes, and he actually begins to look Masaru in the eye for more than a split second.

"You're right, young man," the better Masaru says.

"You know my name," Masaru says.

He and The Copy take a moment, and very slowly, The Copy's hand glides from the handle of his mug, and he joins his hands together on the edge of the table. "I hope you enjoy practicing art, Masaru," The Copy says, "and playing video games at the end of a long day or on a weekend. And I hope you enjoy taking good care of all the employees… because you're the real one," he says. "I understand… that I want to run. I am afraid of you. Because I was afraid of letting down our father."

Masaru nods with a smile. "But it's okay. We did our best. It only goes so far. There's a time when one has to take up the mantle of their parents and do what must be done, and that is simply the way it has to be. But if that's all you do, you forget about who you are. You lose yourself, and that is no way to live an honest life."

"…You taught me that," The Copy says. He pulls his hands in a little further and clutches them to his chest before looking up to Masaru with what seems to be the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "I've been so… scared about letting him down. I've been so scared about failing him."

Masaru nods. "And I suppose I wasn't scared enough. We have to find a balance. But how much? How little?... How great, how small? Where do we start? Where do we end? How hard do we have to strive to make him happy?"

The Copy’s eyes scan about his glass for an answer.

Masaru reaches over and takes a sip of his beer. "I think," he continues, glancing out the cracked door to the rest of the establishment where he sees a few shadows jumbling about, "that's an answer we have to come up with for ourselves. Imagine... Father was once a brave son," Masaru says and then he pauses strangely as he squints. "But if we did everything he wanted us to do, that would not be brave, would it?"

He looks over to The Copy, still pensive in thought. "I actually don't have that answer, but I do know that I have to try harder. I have to make him proud. And I have to be willing to depart my work from my identity. This isn't who I am, it is just what I do," he says with a nod, gesturing to the mostly empty table. "And I'm okay with that. I've accepted it now."

The better, but less realistic version of Masaru, gives a slow, understanding nod as a smile slowly grows on his face. "I think… you're right," the successful Masaru says. "But I don't know..." he pauses to take a breath. "I don't know how I can deny him."

"To become an adult, I think you need to accept what is important to you. You will not find that out if you just live by someone else's rules your whole life. You are not the shining example, but neither am I. We both forgot what our values are."

The other Masaru gives a slow nod as tears begin to form in his eyes. "I let go of myself, and you let go of our father's expectations," he says.

The true Masaru nods. "I think that's the case. But even in doing so, we both only went part of the way. You want to escape, and I allowed it to make me jaded… I allowed it to let me hate. And inversely, your choices allowed you to hate who you really are… What are your hobbies?" Masaru asks.

The other Masaru's gaze dulls out. "I like… drawing fish," he says. "At least, I wish I could."

Masaru takes the napkin, flips it over to its fresh side, and produces the pen. They don't say anything for a moment, and then the other Masaru smiles, takes the pen, and begins drawing a fish.

"…Thank you," The Copy says as his tears drip from his eyes onto the napkin, which in a certain way only makes the canvas more beautiful — fitting water for a fitting fish. "Maybe we're not so different after all," the other Masaru says. "You rejected father's expectations, but even so, I wanted to run from them anytime I could. I was just… too afraid to see that."

"Well, no longer," Masaru says. "It stops here."

"From now on, we'll do it together. We'll find a balance," The Copy says.

Masaru nods. "Okay."

And all of a sudden, Masaru is alone with a wonderful, small doodle of a fish on a napkin, and his half-finished beer.

The room around him begins to blur like the folding of a kaleidoscope. That’s it… one more lesson to go, he thinks as he slowly fades out, but then he hears the cry of the cicada. He swings around, but he's too inebriated. The stiletto enters his heart and withdraws just as quickly. He falls upon the floor. He doesn't see the face of his killer, but this time, he knows who it is. He saw the reflective glint of the knife.

"Did I really do all of this to myself?" Masaru asks.