The scenery blurred once again, morphing the desert arena full of sand into a bar.

Present-day Aito sighed and tried to steel his resolve. For the following scenes were—to him—equivalent to a descent into Hell.

(It's just a dream. Yes, just a dream.)

The scene took place one month after his defeat. Aito had just been discharged from his hospital bed. Diagnosed with cerebral hemorrhaging, he had to stay under watchful eyes for a month.

Due to it, Aito could never again enter a fighting tournament. It was the kind of injury that ended the career and dream of many young talented professional boxers.

He could still open a martial art school but….

(Opening a school was pointless if no first prize whatsoever couldn't be shown. At best my past self could have spread it to the entire region, but not the world.)

Without the possibility of showing his martial art to the world, he was now goalless, aimless. Something he had worked his entire life on was now gone, just because of a single injury. Added to his suffering were his defeat and the guilt that stemmed from it.

He had lost his dream.

He had lost his fight.

He had lost the only chance his family had to pay back the humongous debt of 500 million dollars. Around half a billion greens was the prize given to the tournament's winner and he would never be able to get his hand on it.

That one month spent in a hospital had only added fuel to the fire. The despair and guilt had gnawed at his sanity. With all the time in the world, he had tormented himself by recalling his defeat, times and times again, trying to figure out where he had messed up.

That only led him to blame himself for it.

To blame himself for underestimating his opponent.

To hate himself.

(But that did not change the fact my past self had lost.)

Thus, after multiple weeks of tormenting himself, and despite his family's frequent visits, his mind sunk. Drowning into despair. A despair he wanted to escape from.

A despair he needed to run away from.

(Bastard…. Stop running away! Wake up!) The present-day Aito thought while he himself had been running away from his own misdeeds for over three years.

Seating alone at the bar, a half-emptied bottle of whisky in hand, and a worried barman eyeing him from time to time, the past Aito wasted himself.

Le Pendu was a bar in Montreal he had frequently visited to play pool. A bar with piano as background music, authentic wooden chairs, expensive alcohol, and the fragrant smell of satin. He had liked to call it his second home. But he had never ordered a drink until that day.

"I lost," Aito said for the umpteenth time, "I'm trash."

(Wake up!)

Because of his fear of the uncontrollable rage hiding inside him. A rage the alcohol's disinhibition could bring out.

Aito had made "no alcohol" a rule for himself. Even at that time—although immature—he had been aware of his anger issues and feared he couldn't handle his bottle.

"Damn it, Jeffrey." He said, drinking from the bottle. "I freaking lost."

Jeffrey, the blonde barman, seemed at a loss as to what to do. Normally, Aito would come around, buy a few drinks for some of his pals, play pool, throw a few jokes, and leave without causing troubles for anyone—at least when no one provoked him first.

That kind of accident happened rarely. But when it did, the young man would always take it outside as to make sure not to break anything, or at least he had tried to do so.

Jeffrey took a quick glance at the clock on top of the alcohol shelf. It was almost 1 am, and the bar usually closed around that hour.

"Mr. Walker, we'll be closing soon." The barman said, glad to find an excuse he could use to force the young man out.

Aito eyed him with an empty glare, his mind obscured from the excess of alcohol coursing through his veins, and ignored him to just utter some nonsense Jeffrey couldn't understand.

"You… know what my sister said… just before I got into all of this," he said, his words barely audible. "She said, huh… she said 'Youbro, I know you… want to protect us but… who will protect you from those you face….' PFFF!"

(Did she ever say that? I... can't seem to recall that part.)

"And I chose to ignore her! I looked like a fool…, when she visited me on… my hospital bed with her eyes full of pity and disappointment. Fuck!"

(What kind of nonsense are you spouting! They never looked at you that way!)

When they visited him, his family only had sorrow in their eyes. Seeing a broken Aito on a hospital bed, they felt saddened at the sight.

But the guilt, despair, and excess of alcohol blurred those saddened eyes into ones of disappointment.

BAM!

His fist hit the bar. The sound of flesh against wood echoed throughout the room, halting any activities currently taking place. Bouncers, standing by, eyed Aito suspiciously but stayed put when Jeffrey shook his head.

"Damn it! I promised them, Jeffrey! I promised!" Aito said, alcohol dropping from his mouth to his suit.

(Yes, and you failed! Get over it!)

"Shit… how am I supposed to… protect them now? Hun!? I've lost the right to do it! I disappointed them! Every time… I see their gazes, I feel like… those are tearing me apart! Do you understand? To see disappointment… in the eyes of those I love the most… hurts so much… and I hate myself for it. I… hate myself for disappointing them."

(You only disappointed yourself!)

The disinhibition alcohol brought was no joke to those who couldn't handle their bottle. Even if those kinds of people tried to forget about it by wasting themselves, it only worsened their issues. And sometimes, like in this particular case, they could go mad, trying to externalize their hatred towards themselves by hurting others.

Aito turned towards the bouncers, stealing glances at him. His mind, under the influence of alcohol and despair, interpreted it as a provocation.

And provocation pissed him off. He had no intention to cause trouble and only wanted to have a drink after all. So why were they looking at him like that?

(Stop! If you do this, you will regret it!)

It triggered his instinctual "dynamic diplomacy." Added to it the need to blow off some steam, he couldn't refrain from starting a brawl.

(Idiot!) Aito thought before the scene switched to another one.

Following the bar scene, the present-day Aito was forced to watch a few other memories of his past self progressively sinking into alcoholism.

In those, Aito was blacklisted from almost every bar in the city for violent behavior and destruction of property. With nowhere else to go, he bought from shops or online stores to drink at home—something he had wanted to avoid.

The disappointment he imagined in his family's eyes had been so unbearable that, unwilling to see them, he enclosed himself in his room.

But with no interactions with other human beings apart from social networks, combined with his bottle issue, guilt, despair, and self-hate, it only led to depression.

(To foolishness)

His family knew he was going through depression, that much was clear. They had tried to help him the best they could by showing signs of compassion, encouragement, and love. But they could not understand him. Who could blame them?

No one can understand someone who's depressed apart from the depressed person.

Furthermore, in that particular case, they did not know that their mere physical presence was a trigger. A trigger that would send a bullet flying into Aito's mental health. At least, that's how he perceived it.

He could have tried to leave the familial house, but with no real money to his name, he couldn't move out. The little pocket money and savings he had were invested into alcohol.

Depression didn't help either. In that state, every step, breath taken, or even the simple act of seeing felt suffocating. Finding the motivation to earn money seemed like an impossible task. Just like winning the tournament.

Unwilling to force him out of his alcohol streak for fear of aggravating his depression, his family did not dare forbid him to drink. After all, they could help him but ultimately recovery lied in the hand of the depressed person, and to do that—like many others—Aito had wrongly chosen isolation to heal himself.

(I…. He only made it worse.)

His past self's safe haven was located at his family's new home, a shabby three-room apartment in Montreal's borders.

In a six meters square poorly lighted room, a depressed Aito had remained locked up inside, using his computer to pass time with anime, movies, video games, and online novels. Of course, with a bottle of alcohol within hand's reach.

The only times he had left his comfort zone were to pick up the daily alcohol delivery he ordered every day and use the restrooms.

If one of his family members spotted him, the shame, the guilt eating at his very bones would prevent Aito from having a normal conversation and force him back into his room.

Thankfully, with Olivia staying at home to take care of housework, his family was at least certain that Aito wouldn't die from starvation.

She would drop by his room three times a day to place a plate of food at the foot of his door. It would eventually get eaten within the hour. Olivia would also try from time to time to talk to him. But silence was the only answer she ever had.

As for Tevari, after selling all his personal assets and company shares he made a deal with his debtors, buying him some time to pay back his debt.

For the moment, to put food on the table, he was hired as a convenience store manager—using his previous professional experience—near their new housing.

His daughter, Haley, had traveled abroad to take part in a surfing event located in Tahiti, with the hope of winning the first prize and lighten her father's debts ever so slightly.

***

(No…, that was never me.) The present-day Aito thought while watching a scene that dated back to three months after his defeat.

At that point in time, depression had impaired his state of mind, pushing him towards negativity. Like a plague, it had spread to his entire being. It was as if he saw the world through cloudy glasses blocking happiness and positivity.

And alcohol just happened to add a spicy fiery touch to it. A foggy mind. An unquenchable thirst.

In a dirty room, his past self rated an online novel poorly and took a sip of alcohol. The liquid traveled down his throat, providing a burning feeling he now needed every morning in order to start his day in "top shape."

He switched to a different novel, "Death before the Begging," a weirdly named one. Just when he was about to read the synopsis, a gentle knock on the door warned him that breakfast was served.

Bottle in hand, he stood up from his chair, made his way through the piles of empty glass bottles on the wooden floor, and opened the door.

(Mom....)

Olivia stood outside, a plate in hand. Her green eyes flashing with worries. A timid smile could be seen on her face as she held out his breakfast composed of two toasts and three eggs, topped by a smiling face drawn with ketchup.

Aito stared at the drawing. His hand holding the bottle trembled slightly. He took a quick sip, but when he lowered his drink, he made eye contact with Olivia's green eyes. The poorly lit environment and his foggy mind blurred his vision and turned his mother's eyes blue.

The same blue eyes he had seen before his defeat.

Aito's hand shook uncontrollably. He took a sip and rapidly closed the door.

His continual abuse of the bottle, coupled with his depression, self-hate, guilt, and a few other factors, disrupted his logical thinking. Leading him to develop…

(Alcohol-induced psychosis.) The present-day Aito thought, reciting by heart what he had learned. (A mental condition characterized by disruption to thinking and the perception of the world. A nasty little bitch that pushed him towards the unforgivable.)

Alcohol-induced psychosis could include symptoms such as poor executing functioning, memory problems, difficulty understanding what is real, inappropriate behavior, incoherent speech, hallucinations, and delusions.

Later on, Aito had studied that mental condition using whatever source he could find. Not because of curiosity, but because he needed something to blame.

Because of denial.

Death was supposed to be a one-time event, which could turn it into an eye-opener. So upon his revival, Aito had started to overcome denial due to the deep regret he felt while looking back at his previous life.

But the dreams, the nightmares, plunged him back again into it. Deeper this time. To the point, he was even progressively denying his past self. His past life.

His past memories.

______

"Past and Present intertwined. He who had lost everything remained oblivious to something that never showed in his dreams. But that he couldn't have known." 

Extract from "Yggrasil Chronicles, The Woodcutter of Iris," by Roan the Merchant.