I could feel his gaze long before I saw his face, an intense heat scorching the air between us. My alternate self stood at the center of the ruined space, his chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths, yet the fury beneath his calm was palpable, an inferno barely held back by thin walls of restraint. Every muscle in his body was tense, coiled, like he was ready to strike at any moment.
This Takeru didn't look at me with contempt or disgust. No, this one glared at me with pure, seething rage—a resentment that had festered long past its breaking point. His eyes blazed with a hatred so fierce it sent a chill down my spine, even as the room itself radiated an unbearable heat.
"So, you're the version of me that gets off on holding everything in, huh?" His voice was low, a sinister edge lacing each word. He took a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as if daring me to react. "Keeping quiet, letting things slide, never showing what you really feel. How does it feel to finally come face-to-face with someone who doesn't hide?"
I swallowed, feeling the weight of his anger pressing down on me. "I… I'm not hiding. Not anymore."
A bitter smile twisted his lips. "Is that what you tell yourself?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "You're just another coward, too afraid to embrace what's been eating you alive. Do you know what that makes you?"
I didn't respond, but he didn't need me to.
"A weakling," he spat. "A coward who's let people like Piku walk all over him, who's allowed jealousy and resentment to turn into self-pity." His fists clenched, and the air around him seemed to crackle with barely contained fury. "I'm the part of you that's tired of being stepped on. I'm the part that's done with being overlooked."
His words hit me harder than I wanted to admit. I knew he was right, at least partially. There was a part of me that had been content to stew in envy and bitterness, too afraid to confront the darkness festering inside. But that wasn't the whole truth, was it? I wasn't here to become like him. I was here to understand him—understand myself.
He took another step forward, close enough now that I could see the anger burning in his eyes, raw and untamed. "Do you know what it's like to have everything taken from you? To be pushed aside, to watch someone else take everything you ever wanted?" His voice trembled, not with fear, but with a fury so deep it shook him. "I won't stand for it. Not anymore."
The room seemed to darken as his anger intensified, shadows crawling up the walls, contorting into strange shapes. The oppressive heat grew stronger, suffocating, as if his wrath was burning through the very air itself.
"And you're not just angry at Piku," I said, finding my voice. "You're angry at yourself, aren't you? Angry for letting things get to this point. For letting the resentment grow until it consumed you."
He flinched, his eyes narrowing as he glared at me. "You think you can psychoanalyze me? That's rich coming from you." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "But you're right. I'm angry at you, too. You're everything I hate about myself—the part that keeps holding back, pretending it's better to be quiet and small, to let everyone else step on you so you can pretend you're noble."
His words stung, cutting into a place I had tried to keep hidden. He was more right than I cared to admit. I'd spent so much time hating others, but maybe that hate had been a shield, something I used to protect myself from the truth: that I had let myself become weak, letting fear and resentment dictate my actions instead of facing them.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to hold his gaze. "Maybe you're right," I said, my voice steady. "I am afraid. I've been afraid for a long time. But I'm not here to be controlled by that fear—or by you."
He scoffed, crossing his arms as he looked me over with a sneer. "Bold words, but that's all they are—words. You want to prove you're different? Fine. Let's see what you're really made of."
In an instant, he lunged at me, faster than I could react. His fist connected with my jaw, sending me staggering back, pain exploding through my face. Before I could recover, he was on me again, his hands closing around my throat, his grip tightening with relentless strength.
My vision blurred, the edges darkening as I struggled against his hold, my hands clawing at his fingers. But he was relentless, his face twisted in a mask of fury and contempt.
"This is what you get for being weak," he snarled, his grip tightening with every word. "This is what you deserve."
Desperation surged through me, a primal urge to survive pushing past the pain and fear. I swung my fist, catching him in the side, and his grip loosened just enough for me to break free, gasping for air as I stumbled back.
He laughed, a hollow, mocking sound. "That all you got? Pathetic."
But as he moved to strike again, something shifted inside me—a clarity, a purpose. I wasn't here to fight him, to prove I was stronger or better. I was here to understand, to face the parts of myself I had been too afraid to acknowledge.
I held up a hand, stepping back. "I'm done fighting you," I said, my voice calm despite the chaos raging around us. "You're angry, and I understand that. I understand why you hate me. But this… this cycle of rage and resentment? It's only hurting us. It's only keeping us trapped."
He stopped, his eyes narrowing as he regarded me with a mixture of confusion and anger. "What are you talking about?"
"I know you feel like I abandoned you," I continued, my voice steady. "Like I ignored you, like I didn't care. But I'm here now. I'm here to listen."
He looked at me, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, I thought he might attack again. But instead, he just stood there, fists clenched, his body tense, as if waiting for me to say something else.
"I'm not perfect," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I've made mistakes, and I've hurt people. But running from that hurt, letting it fester… it's only made things worse. I don't want to be controlled by anger anymore. I don't want to be trapped in this endless loop of hatred."
A silence settled between us, heavy and tense. He looked away, his fists unclenching, his posture slumping as the rage seemed to drain from him, leaving behind a hollow, empty look.
"So… what now?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
I took a step forward, reaching out a hand. "We move forward," I said, offering him a tentative smile. "We let go of the anger, the resentment. We forgive ourselves, and each other."
He looked at my hand, hesitation flickering in his eyes, before he slowly reached out, his fingers brushing against mine. And in that moment, I felt a strange sensation—a warmth, a light, breaking through the darkness that had bound us for so long.
The room around us began to dissolve, the shadows lifting, replaced by a soft, gentle light. And as the last remnants of the wrath reality faded, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders, a sense of peace settling over me that I hadn't felt in what felt like a lifetime.
---
When I opened my eyes, I was standing somewhere new, a place that felt both familiar and foreign. The air was thick, the sky a strange, ominous gray, and the ground beneath me was barren, cracked, as if it hadn't seen life in years.
But before I could take in my surroundings, a faint sound reached my ears—a whisper, soft and insistent, calling my name.
I turned, and there, standing in the distance, was another version of myself. His eyes were empty, hollow, and he looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite place—something that felt eerily like despair.
This was the next reality.
The reality of sloth.