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Bengoshi Matou woke up in a a cold sweat. The red digital timepiece read 9:23 AM. Matou slowly got up and peered into modest mirror on his dresser. The man that stared back was haggard and weary, the bags under his eyes only one of many signs of a mental burden taking it's slow toll upon his body. But he had woken up in more than just the conventional sense. As he shook off the initial grogginess, the memories of days past came flooding back.
The names, the faces, the voices of each person he had inadvertently or otherwise sent to their death in this accursed war reiterated through his mind. They mixed and melded with the ever increasing number of clientele who had received capital punishment for a crime they did not commit, simply because he had lost their cases. As a defense attorney, his life's purpose was to save lives, not condemn them. But even his greatest sacrifices in this war could not even save the life of a single person, much less himself, from a cruel turn of Fate. Then came the most recent memory, the burning reminder that the very body he was using was not his own. Bengoshi glanced down at his hands, quivering with the strength of the emotion that gripped him. Was it grief? Guilt? Anger? Perhaps a mixture of them.
“What the hell have I been doing for the past few days?”
“You don't remember?” Matou flinched at that phrase from his Servant. “We were doing marathons of that TV show, Star Trek or whatever, for hours straight. It was rather intriguing, I really wonder what my old man would say if he saw it. But you stayed home for practically the entire time aside from that one case you handled.” He noticed Matou's distant, distraught expression.
“Oi, what's the matter with you?”
Bengoshi clenched his teeth and remained silent.
“Jeez, don't tell me you're turning into one 'a those depressed emo kids. It's probably from having some nosy woman in your-”
“Shut up.”
They stood together in silence for a few seconds. The low hum of the mansion's central heating system started up.
“Whatever, I'm going downstairs to start the next season. Join in if you want, I don't care.”
The masked man closed the door and began his descent. The old winding staircase creaked with footsteps, then emitted several loud thumps. “Damn it, it keeps happening!” Matou ignored this.
“I thought I could change the world, end all the unnecessary bloodshed with purely the strength of my noble ideals and fortitude of character. But in the face of real danger I found myself ineffective. And when I was given a second chance, a second chance at life, what did I do? Screw around all day and try to hide from the truth. Despicable.”
He seethed with self-loathing for his own cowardice, as if his past self was a completely different person.
A soft voice, whispering.
Bengoshi sighed and listened. Slowly the heaving sea of turmoil in his mind subsided, and he asserted himself. I suppose you're right. I still have a mission to accomplish, a goal to fight for. Though I fear I may be made to pay dearly for what I've done later down the line, I will put aside my regrets, and follow this path through to the very end. For both your sake and mine. He opened the curtains on the window, letting in the light of the rising sun. “And hopefully, I will be able to undo this pointless slaughter, set right what once went wrong.” A single teardrop had formed under his right eye, but he firmly wiped it away and proceeded downstairs.
“Eh? What's going on now?”
“Get up, my Servant. The Grail awaits us.”
The names, the faces, the voices of each person he had inadvertently or otherwise sent to their death in this accursed war reiterated through his mind. They mixed and melded with the ever increasing number of clientele who had received capital punishment for a crime they did not commit, simply because he had lost their cases. As a defense attorney, his life's purpose was to save lives, not condemn them. But even his greatest sacrifices in this war could not even save the life of a single person, much less himself, from a cruel turn of Fate. Then came the most recent memory, the burning reminder that the very body he was using was not his own. Bengoshi glanced down at his hands, quivering with the strength of the emotion that gripped him. Was it grief? Guilt? Anger? Perhaps a mixture of them.
“What the hell have I been doing for the past few days?”
“You don't remember?” Matou flinched at that phrase from his Servant. “We were doing marathons of that TV show, Star Trek or whatever, for hours straight. It was rather intriguing, I really wonder what my old man would say if he saw it. But you stayed home for practically the entire time aside from that one case you handled.” He noticed Matou's distant, distraught expression.
“Oi, what's the matter with you?”
Bengoshi clenched his teeth and remained silent.
“Jeez, don't tell me you're turning into one 'a those depressed emo kids. It's probably from having some nosy woman in your-”
“Shut up.”
They stood together in silence for a few seconds. The low hum of the mansion's central heating system started up.
“Whatever, I'm going downstairs to start the next season. Join in if you want, I don't care.”
The masked man closed the door and began his descent. The old winding staircase creaked with footsteps, then emitted several loud thumps. “Damn it, it keeps happening!” Matou ignored this.
“I thought I could change the world, end all the unnecessary bloodshed with purely the strength of my noble ideals and fortitude of character. But in the face of real danger I found myself ineffective. And when I was given a second chance, a second chance at life, what did I do? Screw around all day and try to hide from the truth. Despicable.”
He seethed with self-loathing for his own cowardice, as if his past self was a completely different person.
A soft voice, whispering.
Bengoshi sighed and listened. Slowly the heaving sea of turmoil in his mind subsided, and he asserted himself. I suppose you're right. I still have a mission to accomplish, a goal to fight for. Though I fear I may be made to pay dearly for what I've done later down the line, I will put aside my regrets, and follow this path through to the very end. For both your sake and mine. He opened the curtains on the window, letting in the light of the rising sun. “And hopefully, I will be able to undo this pointless slaughter, set right what once went wrong.” A single teardrop had formed under his right eye, but he firmly wiped it away and proceeded downstairs.
“Eh? What's going on now?”
“Get up, my Servant. The Grail awaits us.”
