On the deserted platform, shrouded in night, Asahi glared across the tracks.
Out of the white fog emerged another Asahi. Height, unruly hair—even the scar from a blade. All identical.
Only the eyes were different. In the double’s gaze, there wasn't a trace of hesitation.
"You’re late, 'Original.'"
The impostor smirked.
A chill ran down Koyoi’s spine. Even the voice was a perfect match.
Kuon unfurled his Ledger, tracing the figure’s silhouette with a pale blue glow.
"The external match is high, but its imprint is shallow. This is a recent fabrication."
The fake Asahi shrugged.
"Depth? I don't need that to win. One reason to kill is enough."
The real Asahi drew his sword.
"And what is that one reason?"
"To never waver."
The impostor answered instantly and closed the distance. His strikes were lightning-fast, stripped of all wasted motion.
But he was too fast—moving at a speed that ignored his opponent’s very rhythm.
Asahi parried the blow and leaped back to reset his distance.
"A blade that has cast aside all uncertainty will eventually cut down its own allies."
The fake’s smile twisted slightly.
"If that’s what it takes to protect, that’s a small price to pay."
Koyoi cried out.
"No! Protecting someone means never leaving them behind!"
The impostor shifted his gaze toward Koyoi. In that opening, Asahi didn't press the advantage. Instead, he took a half-step back.
"Why won't you strike?" the fake snarled, visibly irritated.
Asahi replied calmly.
"You are the part of myself I tried to cut away. Before I strike you down, I need to remember exactly where I abandoned you."
Kuon issued a sharp command.
"Koyoi, use the Droplets. Form a circle. We must lock his coordinates."
Koyoi opened her pouch and traced a circle upon the station's stone paving. A ring of faint, watery light rose to surround the two combatants.
The fake’s movements faltered for a heartbeat. Matching that slight delay, Asahi swung his sword in a wide arc. He didn't aim for the throat or the heart. He severed the fake’s shadow.
The moment the shadow was cut, the impostor’s silhouette began to shimmer and blur.
"...Hesitation is weakness..." the fake spat, his voice already beginning to dissolve.
Asahi kept his sword lowered.
"Doubt is necessary. It’s how we choose, every single time, who we are going to protect. A sword isn't a tool for automatic slaughter."
With a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, the impostor unraveled into the mist. All that remained was a short, lone shadow cast at Asahi’s feet.
Asahi looked down at the shadow and slowly returned his blade to its sheath.
Koyoi approached him.
"...Are you okay?"
"Even if I'm not, I'm moving forward. I just decided that."
Kuon closed his Ledger and spoke tersely.
"The replicas will come again. But from now on, we’ll be able to tell them apart."
The station lamps flickered as the rumble of an approaching train grew louder.
Asahi looked back once toward the fog. His double was gone.
And yet, as he gripped his sword—still carrying the weight of his uncertainty—his hand felt steadier than ever before.
Before boarding the train, Asahi carefully wiped his scabbard with a cloth.
Noticing Koyoi watching him, he gave a slightly sheepish look.
"It even had all my physical habits. That’s why, from now on, I have to make sure I don't just swing by reflex."
Kuon replied briefly.
"Good. Techniques can be mimicked, but the history of one's judgment cannot be replicated."
Asahi nodded and tucked the sword firmly into his belt. A blade laden with doubt is heavy. But it is that very weight that allows one to choose exactly where it falls.