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“Majesty, your sentence?” her guards and closest ministers ask as the criminal is kneeling in front of her.
Youko stares at the man, forced to bow down, forehead touching the floor, in mock respect. Her very first law was to prohibit it, yet they still couldn’t shake off the habit. One should only bow as such if they felt in their heart to do so.
At once, she ordered them to let him raise his head, at the very least. She could afford him that dignity. The guards obliged (less out of agreement and more out of respect), still keeping their spears sharp close to the bandit’s throat.
“Entering into the palace at night during the banquet, injuring guards and attempting the murder of I province’s governor…” Youko mentally lists the crimes.
Though it was definitely a breach, the bandit clearly had skill in battling. He was only taken down by Kantai in bear form. If the intruder so wanted, he could’ve killed many. His only target had been the extremely corrupt governor (who Youko knew only recently concerning the deeds. She understood only too well how a mission could focus on punishing a single politician — as she herself had done in the past).
She stared into his eyes. Even though he was a complete stranger, she knew eyes like those very well.
For that was her own past self staring at her.
The Youko she was when she first arrived in this world: the lost, wide-eyed student, the almost prostitute, the outlaw, the pretend gypsy, she’d worn many masks. Always on the run, abandoned and discarded by not one, but both worlds. People in Japan and this world seemed to hate her endlessly, without even knowing her. Chased wherever she went.
From a spineless class president to a bandit, the truth was that Youko didn’t change much. Her environment did, becoming so much harsher. But her true self had always been the same: egotistic, ashamed, cowardly, and unable to make decisions. The sword had seen right through her. How she hated that monkey. She’d tried to cut him, choke him, crush him, but it never worked. For he was just repeating what she’d always known.
No one missed her. Not even her parents, who never truly loved her. Her disappearance wasn’t a source of concern and love, but of shame and of shattered reputations.
No one had ever truly loved her in Japan. And she’d never truly loved anyone either, always too afraid to let her mask down. To feel and to be betrayed.
She ended up betrayed anyway.
By her family, all her colleagues (not friends, as she never had any to begin with), even Keiki, who had promised so much and left her with nothing.
If the world was going to treat her this way, it was only fair that Kyouko would give back the exact same coin.
So she stole, she fought and she killed. Her now allies (and true friends) always disagreed with that: she did it to survive. She’d only killed beasts — it was okay.
But it wasn’t, not really.
For she was a beast herself. No longer human and no longer part of the natural experience of living. Unable to die by (most) normal means and unable to have children (not that she cared). She slayed beasts while being one herself. Discovering her current title as Empress didn’t change that fact.
Did she do it to survive? Yes. But also to get back at the world. There was no saving her from it.
How could she properly judge the one in front of her for committing the same crimes she did? Rather, the outlaw here had been more just than she’d ever been. He only targeted the corrupt. She’d targeted the weak.
It would be hypocritical to sentence him — or more accurately, to do so to her past self.
The Youko from back then, completely lost and paranoid from being chased, could not see past immediate survival. She would have done much more to survive. Even today, Youko still shudders at the thought of how far she would have gone (she knows there are no limits). The beast within her still needs to remain leashed. Maybe it always will.
The sins she committed would never be erased. There were many more sins she would have committed.
Betrayed by all. Except one.
“Come, there’s someone I would like you to meet.”
A certain rat with an affinity for wise words and a little too much empathy would help this man. Just as she’d helped her when she’d been teetering off the edge.
Meeting Rakushun could perhaps shake off all the doubts and self-illusions this man held. The result would depend on him.
But Youko owed it to him (and mostly, to her past self) to at least give him a chance. Few were lucky to survive as she did. In her position of power now, it was the least she could do to offer a second chance, even to her wayward children.
Just as she’d been given one by Rakushun, once upon a time.