The End Only Means New Beginning

"Time on the clock runs short, and each team is on their last leg!"

"Nimin is charging to assist his teammate! An honorable choice, but is there enough time?! Their health moves closer to zero, with no healer one wrong move will spell their end!"

"A move like this-"

A reverberating voice was cut short as a series of words flashed across the screen. Animated to convey the meaning of hard fought victory the words 'Last One Standing' appeared. Behind the words a slowing video eventually paused at a final figure, a standing man holding a longsword. A heroic pose created the final image, a stance of a finishing skill.

"Sword Saint! Sword Saint!", a cheer thundered across the stadium.

The reverberating voice continued, "With a final move Sard takes the win! The replay should be on the screen so we can see just what happened!"

A television screen flickered to a slow motion replay of actions. The sword wielding figure moved so precisely it made the audience watch in awe. Slicing through the two opponents they sword wielding figure removed their health.

"Such precise movements! What kind of mechanical control is needed for something of this level?"

"It really seems Sard continues to grow! The title of Sword Saint is well deserved!"

"Yet this isn't inhuman, surely Nimin was capable of responding to such a move?"

"It seems he lacks the youth he once had. Time is a cruel force, and it has claimed another player."

Sighing ruefully the two voices continued to discuss various highlights of the match. Meanwhile a group of people were comforting each other.

The leader of the group patted each teammate, "We got really close this time! Sure, we stumbled last moment but something like this will only help us improve!"

Nimin grit his teeth, "I couldn't move fast enough. That final move. . ."

"Nimin. . ."

Inspecting his hands Nimin shook his head, "I can't play on a level like this anymore. I just don't have that kind of energy anymore."

Alarm spread across the rest of the team. Serral, the other player who fell by the Sword Saint's hand spoke, "Nimin you're not planning on. . ."

Nodding solemnly Nimin informed, "I think this is a wakeup call. I can't move on with the rest of you guys. This is my final match. I'm retiring."

The leader quickly interjected, "You have a key position in this team! Even if you're not at your peak you're not degrading that quickly!"

"And when will I?! Do I keep bitterly fighting against the inevitable and bring down this team?? Face it, I was the reason we lost this match. At a crucial point like the finals?"

"Is this really the only option?"

"It is my choice."

". . . Alright, we'll respect your choice. As for the press-"

"I can't bear to face that. I'll be leaving."

"Nimin!", Serral extended a hand out.

Turning around Nimin left the room and eventually the building. His lips spreading to a thin line as he pressed them to contain his turbulent emotions.

This scene, this game. It meant so much to him. A professional scene was really growing quickly and he wanted to be apart of its rise. Yet this final game was enough to show him the cruel reality. This wasn't his stage.

Reaching the street he turned to face the stadium, a few people were leaving early to avoid the crowds. How many times had he visited this stadium? The grand stage of the finals, the dream of many professional players.

Not once has Nimin won the finals. A few times he had come close, only to fall short. It was infuriating, and now it finally tipped him off the edge. Maybe retiring this soon was a hasty choice. Although he hated to leave this early, he hated even more to watch himself degrade.

This game, this stage, this professional scene. It had changed his life forever. Now it was time to close this chapter. To move on and discover other aspects of life. No matter how bitter he felt, this would happen eventually. His only wish was to retire with at least one win under his belt.

Stuffing his hands into a coat pocket he moved down the silent streets. Turning into an alleyway he immersed himself into the silence and darkness. A place to process his thoughts. Or so he thought.

"I don't want to see you like this."

Frowning, Nimin turned to face a small person sitting neatly on a mat. Dressing oddly in some sort of foreign clothing the person looked up to face Nimin. Their eyes seemed empty, like a doll's. Smiling at Nimin they spoke, "If given another chance, would you grasp it?"

"What?"

"Nimin, I want to watch you play a bit more."

"Can't kid. I'm getting old."

"What if you weren't? If you had your youth?"

Nimin entertained the idea and laughed, "Then I would challenge the Sword Saint directly. Overcome those odds and claim that championship for my own."

"No matter the price?"

"No matter the price.", Nimin confirmed.

"Then I'll grant it. I'll give you your youth back, but only for two years."

"I'm not going to pay anything kid. I'm not gullible."

"You'll pay, just not in a way you think. You will have two years."

"Listen kid, it was fun chatting but I really have to go. Even if I'm not apart of Piercing Light, keep cheering for them alright?"

"You must fulfill my wish Nimin. Else the world will forget you."

"Sure sure."

"Remember these words. If you fail this mission, the world will forget you."

"I will already be forgotten."

"No. You will be truly forgotten. Your records, your legacy, your name. It will be erased thoroughly. You will die and experience a true death as no one remembers a thing about you. If you fail this will be your fate."

Nimin was wierded out and took a step back. The small person began to rise and float in front of him, making him doubt everything he knew. Their empty eyes stared into Nimin's, "Do not forget."

Then, Nimin lost consciousness.