The Referee

The Executioner watched it all with dispassionate eyes. He neither cheered nor jeered at the result. Whatever little reason he had for helping Johan was tossed aside when he realized that his sister had planned on having him join her side from the start. She knows how to force me to do things for her, he considered. It was a concerning thought. She loved him, he knew—but she would not hesitate to use him to further her goals either. Nevada is the only family I have, he thought. No. That’s not true. Portna is my family as well. Those thoughts felt distant to him, almost foreign. A concern for another time.

Right now, he focused only on the match before him, and what they told him of the future. I remember watching two kids in Portna compete to see who could jump the highest, he thought. One of them was shorter than the other. The smaller one ended up jumping higher than the taller kid in the end, after a few weeks of practice. Looking at both Carrs now, the same image came to mind. Lack of talent means a harsher road…but not the lack of one. I have seen it time and again. While some people aren’t blessed with talent, they are blessed with the lack of it. The knowledge that they will never be able to do things others are born able to do flawlessly fills them with different things. Some are filled with jealousy. Some with anger. But some…they are filled with an insatiable hunger.

He looked at Carr, who stood victorious, a frail, trembling figure that could fall at any moment—and yet felt like he wouldn’t. Standing there was more than triumphant, it was defiant. A declaration of war.

Duartes had fencing talent for the moment he was born, I gather, Valder thought. He worked hard, no doubt, but he found himself as the top dog in two different worlds. Even though his body was compatible with Carr’s, I believe that lack of a desire to grow stronger…it’s not just something that memories can replicate. That insatiable desire to fill in an endless void from within yourself…that drive to go beyond your own limits. I do not think that Duartes’ body could match that desire. Carr’s insatiable hunger for improvement let him push ahead in that match.

Very well. I will watch you carefully, Swordsman of Zero. Make me witness the moment you devour Johan, the Blade of God. Maybe that will appease your hunger.

Valle roared with the others when Carr won, and not even his best efforts could keep his excitement off his face. You really did it, you madman. Your own way. At first he tried to tell himself that it was mere relief that his rival hadn’t lost to someone else yet. Then, he tried to tell himself that it was for the sake of their war against Johan. Finally, he relaxed into a smile and thought, That was fantastic, Carr.

The Champion of Cresna wasn’t used to being moved by other people’s duels. Yet he found his heart racing twice in this match, when Fedal duelled Max and when Carr faced off against his mirror. Part of him didn’t welcome this change—it made him feel less in control. A large part of him, however, accepted it warmly. You have to be this impressive to be my rival, he thought. It didn’t sound like an honest thought.

Valle knew he had trouble being honest with himself. Like much of his theatrical kind, he was more honest aloud than to himself, and it was on the stage that he found his true thoughts were truly brought to life. I have to say it aloud, he thought. If I say it aloud, I can’t deny it from myself later. Often, he didn’t know what he would say until the first words had already left his mouth, and by then his improv training he received at the Cresnian theater would force his feelings to come out. “That was fantastic,” Valle shouted. “Well done!”

Standing on the piste, still standing across from his mirror, Carr looked back at him and the two held an intense gaze at each other for a moment, as if the first to look away would lose an unspoken contest. I didn’t need my Rule to know what each was thinking. I beat my stronger version, Carr’s grin seemed to say. I would have beaten him more easily, Valle’s smirk seemed to reply, then his swirling of his head seemed to add, I already beat the Executioner far better than you ever did. This continued for a second longer, until both relaxed into a smile and laughed.

“You really are the best,” Valle said plainly.

“Yeah. I know.”

“And that’s exactly why I am planning on defeating you.”

“Yeah,” Carr repeated, his smile growing wider. “I know.”

Let the stage be your truth, Valle thought. Then, without another consideration, he said, “What you did right there was amazing,” he said, frankly. After a short pause, he added, “I’m proud to call you my friend.”

Carr didn’t need a second to nod at him and say, “Likewise, Valle. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Ah, yes, it was a nice lead, wasn’t it?”

“Forget the lead. If you weren’t the first person I crossed blades with when I came here, I…I would have been a lot more bitter. Looked down on people more. It’s thanks to you that I can do things like this as well.”

A moment of hesitation nearly stopped Valle. He pushed it back down and continued, honestly, “Likewise. If I hadn’t met you, I would not have grown to the level I have right now. Thank you, my friend. Sincerely.”

“I—”

Fedal jumped at him, tackling him down and nearly injuring the already injured man in the process. “CAAAAAARR!” The Hero had been tried to contain himself, to keep the celebration until Carr was off the piste—but as the man had started a conversation, he couldn’t stop himself. Fedal was already using Restoration by the time he had landed, trying to keep his friend from bleeding too much and had tears on his face. Happy tears. “You—you did it! You fucking annihilated the Faker!”

To say that it was rude to say so when the Faker was standing only a few meters away from the two, looking down in a silent haze, would be a moderate understatement. Yet the Hero hardly cared about it. He hated Carr when they had first met, to be sure. But lately, things had changed.

It wasn’t that his impression of the man was any different. Carr was still an arrogant lunatic that wanted to do things his way or not at all. What had changed was seeing how difficult it was to live like him. His hard work, the sheer lengths he would go to try to do things his way instead of the most efficient way…he had come to respect that a little. “Carr,” Fedal said, slowly. “That—that was great. You did it! That was fucking clutch at the end my dude, that—that was so good!”

Even in his pained state, Carr held up his injured hand to stop Fedal from speaking further. “No. You want to talk about clutch, that’s not me. I just did my job. You guys gave me a lead, and I held it. You want to talk clutch? That was you.”

“Me? I—no, that—it wasn’t much,” Fedal said quickly. He had accepted some praise for it before, but he had expected that to be the end of it. The Hero hadn’t truly realized how shocking his upset had been. Years of his past life had trained him to undersell his few accomplishments and attribute them to luck.

Back then he was surrounded by people who pushed that belief on him, and he lacked friends who would tell him otherwise.

Not so anymore.

“I said it before,” Carr snarled, placing a trembling, bleeding arm on Fedal’s shoulder, “but you were the goddamn MVP. You think I did good? That’s only because of you. That bout against Max? Fucking ace, you madman.”

“I—I didn’t…I mean…it was just…I don’t know if I could do it again.”

“Who cares?” Carr shouted. “You did it! When our backs were up against the wall, you were the one who stood back and told me you wanted to fight to win. Then you fucking did it.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Fedal said, almost defensively. A part of him wanted to shield himself from compliments, almost afraid, as if he thought they were setting him up for an insult down the line. Another part of him just thought he was unworthy of them. “I—I had to do some really dumb shit to come out with that win, you know?”

“That makes it even better,” Carr told him, smiling. “The harder you have to work for a result like that just makes it all the better. Crawling on the mud, gritting your teeth and creating a miracle like that when we needed it the most…you know what that means?” Carr used the remainder of his strength to grip his friend’s shoulder tightly. “It means that fuck titles, fuck destiny, gods and devils—that bout is what made you our—that bout is what made you my hero.”

Fedal opened his mouth to frantically deny it, to assure Carr and anyone else who could hear him that he was a fraud, when he realized that he couldn’t. Not because he truly thought he had done anything impressive, but because he saw the absolute belief his friend had in him. I stopped talking shit about hard work being meaningless, Fedal thought, not because I was convinced that it actually meant anything…but because of people like Danner, the kid Carr talks about so much. Feels like when I’m making fun of it, I’m not just making excuses for myself, but that I’m making fun of people who try hard despite not having a fair chance in life. I can live with being lame, but I can’t bring other people down to my level. That’s just too much.

And now, things felt similar for him.

If I…if I keep talking shit about myself, I’m also insulting people who believe in me, aren’t I? But…shit, how the fuck do I do this? Then, looking at Carr, it occurred to him. I can just ask my friend about it, right? Talk it out? “I’m really bad at accepting compliments,” Fedal said, in a low voice, “I—I can’t even put it in words why. It’s not just modesty, I just…I really feel deep down like I don’t deserve it. But I know me acting like this is just a slap in the face. Just—I just don’t know what to do here. Like, the fuck do I do to fix this brain?”

“Your best,” Carr said firmly. “And I know it’s not an easy thing to fix. So just take your time with it. Accept your brain is gonna make things hard sometimes. And if it gets too much, just let your friends remind you when you do something amazing, alright?”

Huh. Didn’t…didn’t realize I could want to hear something so badly and not know it before. “I—yeah. Thank you.” He paused. Then, with an effort, he said, grinning, “I did pretty good, eh?”

“Goddamn MVP,” Carr replied.

“I will say,” Max said, walking onto the piste to greet them. On his way, he quickly placed a consoling hand on the False Carr’s shoulders, muttering, “Good try, captain, you almost got him,” before quickly moving past him to stop before his opponents. “

Good match,” Max said, extending a hand to both for a handshake.

It was common on Earth to shake hands with your opponents after a match, and this was a habit Max picked up. Carr was normally strongly invested in this tradition, but the intense pain caused him to say, “Mate, kind of tough to shake your hand right now you know?”

But he offered his limp hand anyway.

“You did fantastic, Fedal,” Max said. “I was surprised with how much you improved during the match. The Fedal that fenced the fake Carr earlier wouldn’t have been able to pull that off against me, but by the end of the match you were much better already.”

“I—thanks. I wasn’t ready for that either, to be honest.”

“That’s how the game be sometimes,” Max said, laughing. Lord, the man aggressively spoke like someone from Earth sometimes. “Can’t wait to see how strong you get a year from now. Not going to lose to you again, though.”

I agreed with that assessment. It was exceptionally unlikely for Fedal to repeat this feat under similar circumstances. He knew this too. Yet, he drew a deep breath and said, in a confident voice, “Well, we’ll see about that, eh?”

They laughed.

“It was a good match,” Katherine said, walking up to her friend, her sister following closely behind her. “You did really well, Carr.”

She wasn’t speaking to the real Carr.

The Fake looked up, in a bit of a daze, then lowered his eyes again before saying, “I’m not Carr. We had a bet. I can honor that much. The name doesn’t belong to me anymore. I appreciate the cheering up, Katherine, but—”

“That’s not my name anymore either,” she replied, rather cheerfully. When he looked up at her again, he found a gentle smile. “My name is Kat.” She gestured at the young girl behind her. “This is my sister. I want you to meet her.”

“Hello,” her sister said weakly. “I—I don’t have a name yet. But it’s nice to meet you.”

“Katherine doesn’t have a sister,” the Fake said in a low voice.

“No. But Kat does.” Kat knelt down beside the Fake and put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t remember my sister completely. Just…just bits and pieces. Like remnants of a dream you had, that you know was really vivid but can barely recall when you wake up. My life as ‘Katherine’ is a lot clearer to me. But that’s not me.”

“So what? Are you the person who was turned into Katherine, then?”

“No. I…I don’t think so. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I am who I am now. The person who used to be someone else…and who has the memories of someone who she was not. I’m both of them. I’m also neither, I suppose.”

“What does that mean?”

Kat laughed. “I honestly have no idea. But I have all the time to figure it out with my little sister, you know?” She lifted the Fake’s head up. At first it was gentle, holding his chin between her index and thumb, but the man provided some resistance and she let go, before using the back of her hand to slap the underside of his chin and force him to look up. “Do you want to come with us? Space for one more fucked up person to figure out who they are. And I do mean what I said before…I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if we don’t have a huge past together like our memories say. You’re still my best friend.”

The Fake looked her in the eye for a moment, hesitation stopping him from moving. “You’re still my best friend too,” he said honestly. Still, he shook his head. “But I need some alone time…you two should go have a fun time without me. I need to do some thinking.” And he stood up, walking away nearly as soon as he had done so. I need to figure things out by myself…and she knows. Katherine—Kat is not going to stop me. Because she knows me. Goddamn it…I really do have a good friend, don’t I?

The thought brought him much comfort as he walked toward the tunnel. Shit. I—I’m going to make her worry, aren’t I? And it’s not like she’s dealing with this well either. Abruptly, he stopped and turned around. “Kat!” he shouted.

It was loud enough that not only her, but everyone else standing on the piste turned around to look at him. He paid no mind, and focused his eyes only on his friend. “I will be back to see you,” he said, confidently. Then, after a moment of consideration, he said, “My name is Carter.” He looked at Carr. “Until I can take my name back from you.”

Carr said nothing, but nodded at him. Both men had an understanding of each other by now, and there has never been a bond of understanding deeper than the one between a man and his copy. You won, so you get the name—for now. I still think of myself as the real deal, you hear me? Carter thought, aggressively. You only won because of the lead, anyway. Next singles match, I’m going to annihilate you!

“Hopefully next time we fence, it will be at a tournament,” Carr said, “and not because you’re still planning on siding with Johan.”

Carter took a step back, as if Carr had just attempted lunging at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“You didn’t know most of the things I said, did you? About Johan? You…you understood the vague strokes. But I don’t think you knew about Danner. Say, do you even know who that is? Did Johan let you have those memories, or did he try to get rid of them? Was he ashamed of what he did to him?”

Here Carter hesitated. “Danner—Danner died in the hospital, right before our match at nationals. That’s why Johan cheated in that match.”

“Really?” Carr asked. At first his tone was mocking, taunting. Then, at seeing his mirror’s face, he stopped and said, in a warmer tone, “You don’t really believe that. If you pieced together what Johan has done…and remember what he did to you…then you have to know that’s not true. You just don’t want to believe that Johan would have done that to his own little brother.”

“And why do you think that?” Carter snapped back. “Why do you think you have it all figured out, about how I feel when—”

“Because,” Carr said, sharply but sadly, “I don’t want to believe it either.”

There was a silence.

“I saw it happen. I saw Danner’s head rolling downhill. I see it every night when I go to sleep. Whenever Celle isn’t around, the nightmares come back and I—” His arm started to shake again, and this time I did not think it was because of the blood loss.

Valle knelt down beside him and gripped him tightly, saying nothing and yet saying a lot when their eyes met. Carr nodded, then looked back at his mirror. “You have to know that siding with Johan is a bad idea.”

“I—I…”

Everyone was looking at Carter now. Kat, the Executioner, Max, Fedal—even I found myself curious for his reaction. Even Carter himself, I suspected, wanted to know what his next words would be. “I—I don’t know anything right now,” he said furiously, turning around and stomping out of the arena.

It seemed like the right time for me to step down, however briefly, and shake their hands as well. It was tradition for the referee to do as much before a match, after all. Using my Rule, it was easy to appear inside the tunnel Carter had taken to walk outside the arena.

The young man had a lot to process. He had lost the match, his name, his certainty of what was right—and his trust in his best friend was shaken. I needn’t read his mind to know his thoughts were on Johan. Yet, his memories still compelled him to shake my hand, as tradition on both Earth and here mandated. “Thank you,” he muttered.

And a moment later, he started to walk away. “Thank you for the match,” I said. “It was the best match I have had the pleasure of officiating in a long time.”

“You know, don’t you?” he asked softly.

“What do you mean?”

“You can read minds so—you know—you know right? My fake—Carr. He’s using one of Johan’s magical Swords, but it has no stats anymore.” Carter shook his head. “You know that curse he has?”

Ah, so this young man had figured this out too? I did not think Duartes—nor Carr—would have been this sharp. Most curious, this situation. “Impartiality keeps me from divulging such information,” I said.

“You don’t have to. I can guess from looking at it and how this world works. The punishment for entering this world without a proper sacrifice…if you think about it, if Carr was literally anyone else he’d get around not having stats by looking for a Sword with proper stats, right? I imagine the God of this world would have wanted to prevent someone sneaking into this world and playing around like that…so from his perspective, that really would be the ultimate curse.” Carter looked me in the eye. “Carr’s curse turns Swords to zero, doesn’t it?”

The Swordsman of Zero’s title meant much. “I cannot confirm it.”

“Eh, you don’t exactly have to. Your silence says it all.” Carted sighed, then suddenly enough to surprise even me screamed in frustration. “If he wanted to, he could have evened his odds by grabbing my sword and letting his curse take effect. I don’t know what the specifics of it are, since he didn’t do it to the Executioner’s blade when he grabbed it. But since Johan’s blade lost its stats I’m sure he figured it out by now.”

“If your theory is correct, then why didn’t he do that against you?”

“To prove a point,” Carter said annoyedly. There was a pause. Then—“Fucker.”

And then, he walked away, and this time no one stopped him—well, he had one more person waiting for him at the end of the tunnel, at least. He would have to return that borrowed blade, after all.

I made my way back to the arena to shake the hands of the remaining fencers, making a mental note to visit Isabella at whatever facility she was in to provide my best wishes and hope for her improvement. Even the Executioner shook my hand firmly, and it hurt me that I was not allowed to provide Carr with any healing upon clenching his injured hand. Yet, rules were rules, and I could not disregard them simply because I wished.

Yet, I considered, glancing upwards at the stands, he could make it otherwise. The One Who Should Not Have Been stood in the stands still, watching it all, his face undecipherable. It was almost as if he was still watching the match. Why did you come here?

He stood up and the sky turned green.

“W—what the hell?” Carr cried out. “What’s going on?”

It wasn’t a shade of color that seemed to belong in this or any world. A green closer to a lime than a took over the sky, and black lightning struck at the stadium—the bolt hitting just beside where the group stood.

Another flash—

Another strike, this time on the other side.

Are you making a point? I wondered. It was hard to believe my own eyes. Was He really making an appearance? What are you going to do? It was a fair match. We witnessed it! You witnessed it yourself!

Francisco the God of This World, the Father of Swordsmanship, started to make his way toward us.