Reckoning of Convictions 1/2

(A/N: I know the previous trap had its issues for some, but I hope I can nail every metaphorical bullet point here and create a compelling trap. However, before getting into the trap, I wanted to explore Stendhal a bit more here, so I opted to split the chapter in half. So, the trap will be a part of the next chapter. The good news is that I'll release the second half of the chapter TOMORROW! Anyways, sit back, relax, and enjoy the chapter!)

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[27 Days Earlier]

[Narrator's POV]

Uwabami was dead — her face engulfed forever in a tomb of molten gold that melted away at her beauty. The hero that failed to save her lay broken on the floor, blood pooling beneath him from the damage done to his engines on his arms.

It had been moments since the countdown had hit zero, as two individuals behind the one-way mirror watched silently, observing the Pro Hero silently weep in pain from his failed efforts.

Stendhal paced slowly near the edge of the room, his posture rigid as his arms were crossed over his chest. His eyes stood sharp and filled with frustration, as opposed to Kramer's calm and collected attitude as he stood in the centre of the room.

"You're wrong, Jigsaw." Stendhal's voice cut through the silence of the room like a hot knife through butter. "Ingenium escaped those chains. He showed willpower and conviction. He wanted to save her. That has to count for something!"

Kramer turned his head slowly, his gaze settling on Stendhal. There was no anger in his eyes, nor frustration — just an unnerving calm, as though he had already anticipated such a remark. "Willpower is not enough," Kramer spoke softly. "In the real world, Stendhal, trying doesn't save lives. Results do."

Stendhal's jaw clenched as his hands balled into fists. "He gave everything. He escaped. Isn't that what you preach? To fight, to prove their worth through extreme circumstances? He did that. He proved himself!"

Kramer's expression didn't change. "He escaped his chains, yes. But he still failed his task. Uwabami is dead." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. "A hero can try as hard as they want, but if they can't save the life in front of them, then what good are they? Trying isn't enough in this world. People die when heroes fail."

Stendhal's lip curled, his anger bubbling closer to the surface. "So you'd rather he died trying? Is that what you wanted?"

"No," Kramer replied coolly. "I wanted him to succeed. I wanted him to make a choice — save Uwabami, or prove himself incapable. His failure was not in the chains but in his overconfidence. He miscalculated the value of his role as a hero." His gaze hardened, and he stepped forward, closer to Stendhal. 

"That's what heroes like him do. They act with bravado, with power, but when it comes down to it — when someone's life is on the line — they're more dangerous than the villains they fight…"

Kramer's eyes narrowed slightly, his tone more dark. "Ingenium's behaviour after Manual's death has only proven that. He's been reckless. Unstable. His actions have put lives at risk." He gestured to the broken hero, his voice like a sharp blade.

"He nearly beat a man to death last week. A small-time thug. Left him in a coma. The media covered it up, of course. But tell me, Stendhal — what kind of hero acts like that? Is that the man you want to defend?"

"You think that justifies this?" Stendhal shot back, though there was a flicker of doubt in his voice now. "Ingenium's not some monster. He's just… lost. He's grieving. You can't —"

"I can," Kramer interrupted his voice firm. "Because this is who he is now. He's become a danger to those he swore to protect. He can't control himself anymore. You know this…"

Stendhal stood still as silence enveloped the space between them. The vigilante stared hard at the ground as Kramer's words sank in, weighing down on him like chains of his own. Stendhal exhaled slowly, shaking his head. 

"I'll talk to Shinohara Yuki…"

Kramer's eyebrows lifted slightly, a silent acknowledgment of Stendhal's decision. He didn't need to say more — he knew the conversation was far from over.

[Scene Change]

[4 Days Later]

It was nearing dusk outside. The wind was blowing a little colder at this time of the month as a small handful of street lamps were faintly flickering on and off, not being checked on by an electrician in ages. Perched on the edge of a rooftop, Stendhal surveyed the quiet scene below, his sharp eyes locked on the automatic glass doors of a dull, nondescript office building opposite him.

"So this is where he works… some random business…" Stendhal muttered under his breath, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. He had been tracking Yuki for some time, curious, skeptical even, of what the man had become since surviving Jigsaw's test.

The automatic doors slid open with a quiet hiss. A solitary figure stepped out, his silhouette cutting through the orange glow of the street lamps. 

Yuki looked older than the last time Stendhal had seen him — more worn, more scarred — but there was something else too, something more… subdued. Dressed in light grey pants and a matching shirt, a bag slung over his shoulder, Yuki was almost unremarkable now, blending into the background of an ordinary life.

Yuki made his way down the street, his footsteps echoing softly along the pavement as his long shadow followed behind him. A vacant bus stop was only a few metres away, with an empty bench waiting for him. Grabbing a seat, Yuki pulled out his phone, his scarred face briefly lit by its illuminating light. As he checked the time, his reflection caught something behind him — a figure.

He froze as he faintly trembled from recognizing the man's outline. Slowly, he turned his head, and his breath hitched at the sight of the man standing behind him. The mask, the attire, the sword… as a former criminal the man was nothing but distinct.

"Stendhal…"

"So this is what you do now?" His voice was laced with disdain. "A janitor. Cleaning up after others. Fitting for a former criminal, don't you think?" Stendhal took a step forward as he spoke, his boots barely making a whisper on the concrete as he rested his hands on the bench Yuki sat on.

Yuki blinked a couple of times before answering. "It was the only job I could get with a face like mine. But it pays the bills if you want to know." Yuki slipped his phone back into his pocket as he got up from the bench and turned around to face the vigilante.

Stendhal scoffed as his hands pulled away from resting on the bench. "I'd say that the criminal cronies that you bossed around should have joined you, but I got rid of them like ridding gum from under a table…"

Yuki's eyes seemed to twitch briefly, the casual cruelty of Stendhal's words opening up old wounds and memories. Stendhal anticipated something, placing a hand on the hilt of his blade. Instead, Yuki lowered his head and collected himself.

"I know…"

The vigilante raised an eyebrow, almost doubting himself at what he heard from the former criminal. "I knew it was only a matter of time. They were never going to change… getting drunk and fucking harlots… I tried to tell them, but they didn't listen. I've accepted that…"

Stendhal's skepticism deepened. He folded his arms, leaning against the bus stop pole, his eyes narrowing. "So, what? You just… move on? Pretend like none of it ever happened?" Yuki shook his head, his expression solemn. "No… I remember. Every day." He tapped his temple lightly. 

"It's not something you can forget. But that's not the point, is it?"

The frown on Stendhal's face spoke volumes if Yuki could have seen it. The vigilante wasn't buying what he was hearing. "I don't believe you, but enlighten me. What is the point?"

"The point is… I survived. Jigsaw's test didn't just save my life — it gave me back a life. One I never really appreciated before…" He gestured to the building he had just left, the plain, ordinary office that represented his new reality. 

"It may not look like much to you. But to me, it's everything. I get up every day and go to work, I mop the floors, I clean the urinals, I dust the fans, I take out the trash, I pay my bills, and I don't live in fear of what's coming next. I don't have to worry about other criminals stabbing me in the alley or getting caught robbing a store for booze by a Pro Hero… I live. That's more than I can say for the man I used to be. I live low, and I live peacefully, and I have nobody to thank for this life other than Jigsaw…"

Stendhal wanted to find any sort of excuse hiding behind the speech, but the sheer sincerity of Yuki's voice was impossible to ignore. A faint rumble in the distance signalled the approach of a bus, its headlights cutting through the dimming twilight. The wind carried a sharper bite now, swirling loose leaves across the street. Stendhal's eyes flashed toward the growing hum of the vehicle before settling back on Yuki.

"So what, you think Jigsaw's test turned you into this… reborn man? You really believe that some trap, designed to make you suffer, is the reason you're not rotting in a ditch somewhere?"

Yuki's gaze didn't falter, though he could feel the weight of Stendhal's doubt. "Yes. It was more than just a test… it was a choice. I had to confront everything about who I was. And maybe that's something you'll never understand…"

The sound of the bus grew louder, its headlights now visible as it neared the stop. "You think you're better now?" Stendhal spat, almost in defiance of Yuki's claim. "A lowly janitor with scars on your face? You think you're better off cleaning floors and toilets?"

Yuki's lips curled into a small, weary smile. "I'm not better, Stendhal. I'm just… free. Free from a life I don't ever wanna get involved with again." He gestured to his scars, the deep lines running across his face, reminders of the criminal he used to be. 

"I've earned these. They aren't marks of shame anymore, but reminders of what I survived. I live now, not for the next drink, or the next hit, or the next score… but for myself… and the cat I recently adopted from the animal shelter, haha!"

The bus came to a slow halt in front of them, its brakes hissing in the otherwise silent street. "Living low isn't the same as living free," Stendhal said, but his words lacked the venom they had earlier. "You talk like you've found peace, but do you believe Jigsaw gives a damn about that? He doesn't just go after scum, Yuki…"

Yuki took a step toward the bus as the doors opened with a mechanical whirr. He looked back at Stendhal one last time. "Maybe. But that game saved my life, and I'm grateful for it." Yuki boarded the bus, taking a seat by the window. As the bus pulled away, he glanced out at the street, his eyes meeting Stendhal's for just a second before the vigilante turned and disappeared into the fading light.

The bus rumbled off into the distance, leaving the street quiet once more. Stendhal stood still, the wind picking up around him. Yuki… Jigsaw… his vigilante code… all of it was racing through his mind and stirring in a cauldron of conflicting beliefs and values.

"One more test," he said to himself under his breath. "I'll do one more test, and I'll see it from start to finish…"

(A/N: Quick reminder, the next part will be released tomorrow! But on a side note, I will mention that the next trap's victim will be pretty worthwhile to read. Not because of who the victim is, but because of the victim's connections to other noteworthy people. I won't spoil too much, so that's all you're going to get! Anyhow, care care!)