It happens to everyone.

You go out one night, looking to have a good time, don't really need an occasion, and you start to drink. You keep drinking, and soon you're on top of the world. The people around you are yours to command, or so you think. That's always a good time, until you wake up the next morning, hung-over, in a place you don't recognize, wondering what the hell it was you did last night.

This very thing happened to a fighter named Kane.

Just imagine what it must have been like for Mr. Kane, when he woke up on this particular morning on the cold damp pavement, with no recollection of the night before. Despite how dark the alley was, he was able to guess it was close to mid-day.

Just imagine the surge of pain that came rushing to Mr. Kane's head the instant he tried to sit up. Certainly it was the "early morning" hangover, or maybe he'd hit his head on the pavement when he passed out. It would all go away for sure.

Most of all, try to imagine how helpless he must have felt when he woke up that morning and could not remember a thing about what had happened the night before. Oh well, he'd just have to make the best of things like always.

There's always a way to make things work…

So what happened last night? Kane was just curious enough to find out. At least he could remember the name of the pub, The Prancing Chocobo. It was a slight chore to stand up, seeing as his head was still throbbing, but after a few minutes he was able to gather himself and was on his way. How on earth did he end up in a neighborhood like this?

Clearly Kane was in a bad part of West Cyril, a place for thieves and murderers; a land where judges daren't go. Because the people here don't play by the rules. Some don't have a choice.

But it wasn't a terrible place to be in the daytime. Kane had dealt with much worse. He'd had presence enough to keep his sword with him through the night, which is reason enough not to panic. Slowly the memories from last night were creeping back into his aching skull.

"You've been out on two jobs in three months," Celes had said. "You said things would pick up, and they haven't. It's a miracle your fighter's license hasn't been taken away."

"Times are slow," Kane had said. "You know that. I promise they'll pick up. Don't you think I've tried?"

"You haven't tried. You're one of the best fighters in Cyril. They used to flock straight to you with jobs. You just don't take them."

"I do enough to keep us afloat."

"No, Kane. I'm the one keeping us floating. You're dragging us down…" What point is there in arguing with a woman when you know they're right? "I think you need to go back to the clans."

Again with the clans. She always brings up the clans. The one thing that boils the blood. The thing that makes him remember what happened last time he was out with the clans. "That will never happen, Celes. Don't even try it." It's time to leave.

"Where are you going?" It's a rhetorical question. "So that solves it? You're just going to drink your problems away?" Again, rhetorical questions. Her eyes had started to water. "You don't normally drink on Wednesday. It's like you don't even care what happens."

"You're right, I don't give a shit what happens." It hurt so much to tell her that.

Kane remembered how he grabbed his coat, and went to storm out. And he remembered how Celes had grabbed his arm and how warm her touch felt. And he remembered her saying, "The pain won't go away. You can try to drown your sorrows, but it will all come back like it always does." She knew there was no use in trying to stop him.

Kane didn't remember if he told her he loved her.

The effects of the alcohol Kane had consumed last night were beginning to wear off and slowly he was able to piece together what had happened as he stumbled out of West Cyril toward the Prancing Chocobo. Certainly he had come here.

The Prancing Chocobo, the most popular pub in all Cyril, a stopping ground for clansmen and mercenaries passing through on their wars or missions, and a second home for people with the likes of Kane, jobless and hopeless.

But Kane was different from them. He'd been at the top. He'd defeated many a beast, endured the grind of the battle field. The thing that set Kane apart from the rest was talent. The great equalizer was his lack of desire. Kane's fire had been out for some time now.

Home at last… The Prancing Chocobo.

"Afternoon, Joba," Kane mumbled as he staggered his way back into the pub. It was the early-morning-nauseating-headache-mumble of a terrible hangover.

Joba was playing solitaire on the counter. Only in Cyril could you find a sober-for-life bangaa bartender in his fifties. "Figured you'd get an early start today, do ya?"

"Not today man." Kane marched his way to the nearest stool and collapsed on the counter.

"Water it is, Mr. Kane."

Only in Mr. Kane's state at that moment could the sound of a glass of water being filled sound as though he was right under a waterfall beating straight down onto his throbbing head. He was unsure of himself when he told Joba "Thank you," because he didn't feel like he had done him a favor.

"Don't mention it." He watched Kane sip his glass gingerly. There was nothing better to do in a bar in the middle of the day after all.

His head was throbbing. He rubbed it and felt a nice little knot right on the side, probably where he hit his head on the pavement. The lights reflecting off all the glasses in the bar were making his head spin. "So give me a rundown of what happened last night, Jo."

"I tell ya, buddy, you're lucky to be alive after last night."

"That bad huh? Why didn't you cut me off?"

"Oh, I cut you off pretty well last night, Mr. Kane. Well before I usually do."

Keep in mind how hard it was for Mr. Kane just to sip on his glass of water. "Sure doesn't feel like it."

"I'll tell you why you're lucky to be alive. You were messin' with the wrong crowd last night, Mr. Kane. You know, Wednesday night?" Kane stopped sipping for a moment and looked his friend square in the eyes for the first time. Imagine what it feels like to plummet from a cliff that has no bottom, just the constant sinking sensation. This feeling had nothing to do with Kane's hangover. In fact, he felt quite alert now. "That's it, is it starting to come back a bit?"

There was a reason Kane avoided drinking on Wednesday's, Hakuza Nite. The Hakuza Cult was the backbone of the Cyril Underground, with strong connections to the Jagds in West Ivalice. They were the reason West Cyril was the way it was, it was the center of their operation.

It was a ring run by the ruthless boss Hakuza Sol, a legendary morpher who'd inherited the clan when his father, Hakuza Luna, grew ill. Sol rarely ever left the Hakuza Palace under his father's strict instructions. It is debated how much control Sol really had over the entire operation while his dad was alive. But what is known is his temper.

It is said that a man once wagered with Sol that he could bend his bow and hit any mark Sol told him to hit with his eyes closed. Sol wagered a vast sum that the man was a liar, and even named the target: one golden gil coin from one-hundred yards away. The man closed his eyes, arched his bow, and, sure enough, dented the one gil from one-hundred yards on one try. When Hakuza Sol refused to pay, the man called him the liar and a disgrace to his father's name.

The next day, that same man was found squirming in the streets of Cyril with his eyes gouged out.

"…Celes…" said Kane

It was time to leave. The Prancing Chocobo wasn't a suitable home anymore, now that the Hakuza knew he had been there. Time to go to the real home. To Celes.

Just imagine how it feels to know that a mistake you made could cost the life of someone you love.

It was a clumsy sprint; it must've looked like he had a broken foot. Having a hangover plus a throbbing headache plus the sensation that someone who wants to kill you could pop out of any corner makes an equation for a very frantic cumbersome-looking march. On top of all of that, its hard to run when the palms of your sweaty hands are grasping the hilt of your trusty sword because your life once again depends on it. This could be why Kane stopped halfway to throw up.

That sword, it had helped him out so many times. Back when he needed it. Back when he was gone all the time. Would he even remember how to use it now? That sword, when he was fighting the clan wars that sword was his best friend. Out on those jobs it was his only companion. Then he met Celes.

That sword couldn't do everything. Choices needed to be made. Sacrifices. Kane had had two loves, and sometimes, he couldn't decide.

Just imagine, how Kane must have felt when he told his wife that he landed the job of a lifetime, and how they would be set for life. How this would be the last big sacrifice.

Just imagine, how Kane must have felt, when at that same time his wife told him even more exciting news. She was pregnant. It was going to be a boy. Imagine the sacrifice, Kane made, knowing his pregnant wife was home all alone while he was off making their lives a little better. Until…

It would have been a boy…

It's finally time to come home. The man named Kane transformed into the fighter named Kane. Sword in hand, a clumsy but capable stance, and a flame rekindled were all the tools needed. Or so he thought.

A thick wood door is hardly an obstacle when in the state Kane was in. He had planned, hoped to kick down the door. But the sinking feeling returned when he found the door was already kicked in. He stumbled into the living room.

"CELES!!!!" he screamed.

No response.

"CELES!!!!" he pleaded again.

Nothing.

Kane ran up the stairs and tore into her bedroom. It's been too long. It wasn't like this before. Sheets are torn up. Stuffing from the pillows everywhere. Frames that once hung on the wall are now shattered glass on the floor. Kane's eyes darted everywhere. No blood. At least there's no blood.

She wasn't there. Try to imagine that despite the circumstances, for that brief moment, Kane could breathe easy.

It was a very brief moment.

Kane was reminded of how it felt during the wars, how you could never let your guard down. Senses were keen at all times.

That's how he knew there was a very big person standing right behind him at this very instant. That's how he knew this very big person, was swinging a very big heavy object right for his head, this very instant.

He was able to just dodge out of the way, but the hammer caught his foot. An agonizing scream came from Kane as he felt the bones in his foot shatter like a broken plate. He dropped his sword. Now it was just the two of them, Kane and the enormous creature looming over him.

The man who shattered his foot ducked into the room. He was a tall thick bangaa with dark menacing eyes. How had Kane forgotten those eyes from the night before? He had looked right into those eyes when he denounced the Hakuza name.

"Remember me?" it snarled. "Now you do!" it chuckled. He stepped on Kane's foot and he shrieked again in more agony. "Then you remember how you decided to open that great big hole you call a mouth last night." He unsheathed from his belt a long sharp curved dagger.

Kane had never been forced to beg for his life. He'd never been in this position. And he certainly wasn't going to go down without a fight. He reached desperately for his sword, and the bangaa monster kicked it just out of reach, accidentally stepping on his broken foot first of course.

"Oops," it chuckled once more. He began polishing the dagger. "Boss Hakuza knows about you. He knows alllll about you, Mr. Kane. That's how I found you so easily." He snorted something disgusting and spat it all over Celes' favorite picture, from their wedding. "That's how I know about her, Mr. Kane."

"I'm sorry!!!" sobbed Mr. Kane. Now was the time to beg. "Please!! Do whatever you want with me! But please, don't hurt my wife!!! She's done nothing wrong!!!"

"Ohhhh I'm afraid it's too late for that, Mr. Kane." Mr. Kane was grabbed by the neck and thrusted against the wall, with his limp throbbing foot dangling just off the floor. "You know what the penalty is for shooting you mouth off?" It's a rhetorical question. "You're tongue!!!" it cackled.

Kane felt his mouth being forced open, by a very big, very strong person, holding a very sharp knife, with a very big grin. Try to imagine how helpless Mr. Kane must have felt, how scared he was for his wife, how sorry he was that he couldn't remember if he told her he loved her. How he wished that he could tell her one last time.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhtng

The prying stopped, the knife fell, the very big person, with the very big grin now had a very long, very sharp arrow going through the back of his head. The bangaa carcass and the man it was holding collapsed, and Kane was able to see that at the doorway was a beautiful woman.

Celes. She rushed in to hold her man once more.

"Celes, how did you know?"

"You were gone for so long, I got worried!"

Just imagine how it must have felt for Kane, to hold the love of his life, once again. It's hard to put into words.

After what felt like an eternal hug, perhaps because both were afraid to let go, the fighter named Kane tried to stand up.

"You know now that it's no longer safe here," he told her.

"I know."

They gathered their things, and Celes served as a suitable crutch for the broken fighter named Kane.

As they left their home and their memories for the final time Kane turned to his wife. "Celes," he said. "I love you."

"I know," she said. "You told me last night, right before you left."