Chapter 43 - My Reputation
April, 1991
"I can't even make you into a subpar SOLDIER if I can't train you," Dinand yells as the simulation door slides closed behind him.
Sephiroth winces. He presses his head further towards his legs as he stretches on the floor. He leans into it, feeling the burn in his thighs.
He hopes that it is a one time outburst. He knew that Dinand was going to be mad in their first session. How stupid was he to hope otherwise? It seems so foolish. He focuses on the fabric of his pants as Dinand's shoes snip across the steel plates.
"A month. They think that they can just take you away from your SOLDIER training for a month. I bet you are as soft as a kitten now. Forgotten everything."
"I've been practicing. I haven't misse-" He looks up. His gut clenches. There is fire in Dinand's eyes.
"You will fail at this rate. You'll be a fucking failure without me." The conviction in his voice is so sure of itself that it hits Sephiroth like a blow. He swallows.
"Sir-"
"What do you know?" Dinand's voice is low and dangerous as he stops next to him. Sephiroth fights to not scoot on the floor. Dinand crouches down to his level. "War will change that baby face. You need every weapon I can give you to survive. Everything is on the line because of you and your lazy ass. Shinra's reputation. SOLDIER's reputation. My reputation."
"But I made First," Sephiroth says and regrets it. He shouldn't bring up the thing that he is proud of. That's stupid.
The laugh is short and sharp. "First Class? Listen closely. Rank means nothing. Absolutely nothing on the battlefield and shit to your skill. You made First Class because they needed a pretty face on the front cover of Midgar Daily and you happened to be the nearest lab rat available. That's the shit. That is the truth."
Dinand doesn't have to hit him to make him hurt. Sephiroth withers. He breaks eye contact and studies his hands. The calluses are all still there. He's been practicing. He's been trying.
"I…" Sephiroth starts slowly, trying to find a way through the anger that sits in front of him. It is a wave and he's drowning in it. He thought that he was ready for Dinand. A quiver shakes him. He forgot what he is like.
"I watched one of your shows on video."
Sephiroth glances up. Oh no.
"Pathetic."
"It's a show," Sephiroth manages to say. It's a concession.
"You are a waste of my time if that is how you use the last six years of my hard work."
"It's not-"
"That must be how you see my training. A waste of your precious First Class time. You didn't even raise a finger when they cut our sessions."
Sephiroth opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He had been so overwhelmed the first couple weeks that he hadn't even noticed. He didn't know what day it was. It had taken him two days to realize that he had missed training. He had almost thrown up and sent a frantic text to Mariella who told him that all sessions had been canceled.
"That's what I thought." Dinand spits.
Sephiroth has to say something to stop this anger from growing. "It's not been a waste of time. I am stronger. Shinra controlled my schedule. I didn-"
"You are stronger?"
"I hope so." Sephiroth tries to ignore how he stutters over his words.
"Then prove it to me. Get in the sim. Show me."
Sephiroth studies him. Coldness washes over him. He didn't expect actual training.
Dinand was either going to take things calmly or explode. Teeth start to show between Dinand's lips as he gets up. Something is wrong. Sephiroth is sure of it. Sephiroth makes it to his feet and takes the practice sword handed to him. He shivers but the metal grip is good in his hands.
He'll do this, the press dinner, Orlin tomorrow morning and then he's free to disappear from Shinra to Rafi's for a few hours. Maybe he'll be able to escape all of this there.
They are going to watch a movie.
He tries to focus on that.
Something normal.
Already he can hear the computers warming up as Dinand thumbs the remote and then hands over the headset.
It lands heavy in his hands.
"Don't get out until it is done and you'll prove me wrong." The smile cuts across his face like a bloody slash. "Or get out early and prove me right."
Sephiroth doesn't have another option.
The simulation loads up the Shinra hallway. Sephiroth fights back the worry in his throat. He can't let his heart rate get too high. Whatever it is, he will defeat it. It can't kill him. Damage has to be turned off. He has the press tonight. He can't be limping through that with a black eye. Dinand knows the new rules.
The quiet lays into him. He can't hear the computers. He can't even hear Dinand. Shifting his feet, the soles click against the marble. He takes another breath and looks around.
All the conference doors are closed.
He glances behind him. The hallway is endless. It always has been. It curves to the right. The lights dot the space in between the doors until they become an indistinguishable line. A door opens in front of him and he shifts his weight to his toes.
A Wutai soldier comes out and something relaxes in him. It's not a monster. It's the typical simulation. Sephiroth doesn't give it a chance to charge. He summons on the strength of the materia in his sword. The soldier withers under the lightning before falling over.
Another door opens.
Another Wutai soldier steps out.
And Sephiroth is ready.
He can do this.
He doesn't know how long it takes for him to make his first mistake.
His clothes stick to his body by this point. The enemy bodies have stacked up and are now despawning. He went through a dizzy spell at one point. He's dying for water. He thinks for a moment that Dinand may have left the room but Sephiroth is sure he hasn't. This is a fight until he drops he has slowly come to realize. He wants Sephiroth to taste the ground.
It's been hours.
He's sure of that.
If he can hold off long enough for Dinand to get bored of this punishment, Sephiroth wins, no matter if he falls or not.
The sword carves through another Wutai's throat and he barely makes the turn in time to kick the one coming up behind him. The soldiers themselves mean nothing. There are only ten models. It is an endless cycle of the same gruesome faces. One looks like Orlin. He tries not to think too much. The polygons don't have the same spark.
That thought of Orlin dulls his senses. One sword makes it through his defenses. It connects downwards with his calf. With the damage off, Sephiroth expects the usual funny buzz against his skin and then nothing.
The sword hits hard enough to stagger him. He screams. The pain ripples up and breaks apart the numbness that has set in. He half falls to his right. Sephiroth sends fire to clear out the hallway in a desperate attempt to give him time to gasp for air. He quit using magic because his endurance can't handle it any longer.
The fire works. The soldiers evaporate. He's left alone with his panting.
He pays for the spell immediately. Another round of dizziness rolls over his mind. A wall hits his back. His knees lock. Putting a hand back against the solidity, he looks down. The sim illustrates a bloody spot soaking down his leg. In real life, he can feel the wetness. It isn't broken but the program cut through his skin.
He realizes the truth. It is dangerous. Sephiroth's heart ticks in his ears. This is it. This is what Dinand wants. He wants to prove that at the end of the day Sephiroth can't do it. He looks up and stares at the Wutai soldiers already stepping over their dead copies.
Where did the air in the room go?
He leans back and closes his eyes, trying to calm himself.
If he tries to take off the headset, he loses. There is no guarantee that Dinand will stop the simulation. Dinand might even fight him to pushing the emergency stop. He would be pummeled by invisible enemies and real ones.
He cannot fight his superior no matter what.
Cold blood oozes down to the lip of his sock.
If he asks to leave, he will admit that he is weak.
He's not supposed to be that anymore.
He's a First.
The pride of the SOLDIER program.
He can't win this.
He's scared but he reorients himself. Three soldiers are coming on the left. Two more walk through the ash on the right. The world totters into unreality as he stands. His leg shakes but holds. The sword still feels good in his grip.
He won't fall on this man's terms.
He'll do it on his own terms.
His own pants sound weak. The bottom half of his lungs are frozen.
Sephiroth will fight as long as he can.
His throat is tied.
He knows the ending of this now.
The pain will wait for him. It will sit there and wait until he cannot deny it any longer. Then it will wrap around him like a blanket.
And Dinand will be right.
Mariella is knocking on his bedroom door. He's not sure how long it's taken for her to decide to come here. Sephiroth imagines that it must be close to the five. He is always early for press events. Guests start arriving at five-thirty. They would probably just give him the benefit of the doubt. He is on time. He is prompt. Not today. No. That choice has been taken away.
Part of his mind has separated from the rest of him. It thinks clearly and logically, floating miles above everything else.
It's a pity about the sheets, he thinks as her knocking continues. She faintly accuses him of sleeping in. Would the cleaners be able to get them clean? Would he be requesting a new set from inventory soon? It would be a bother to do that. They always take a few days to process requests. He wouldn't have sheets for a couple days.
Maybe he can borrow a set from Orlin.
But then he has to explain why.
His phone rings next to his bed.
It's Mariella.
Again.
It's the third time she has called him.
His phone buzzes against the bedside table. It moves with the vibrations. This time, he can barely watch as it scoots itself to the edge. One moment it hangs half in the air. Then it clatters to the floor. He winces. The sound is too loud for him.
The knocking quiets on the other side of the door. She hears it too. The line cuts dead, two rings before voicemail.
He tries to move but only his eyes roll towards the door. Keycards click together. He's so exhausted. Pressure sits against his head. He needs to sleep. He can't. He's too tired to sleep. He hurts too much. No. Sephiroth shifts slightly. There is no pain. He's blocked it all out. Everything is fuzzy and indistinct.
How did he get back here? He can't remember. All he can remember is the healing materia slipping between his wet fingers when he sat down at the desk. It had been so hard for him to grip it enough to be used.
The worst damage is gone. The bloody tissues on his desk are the only evidence of that. The mako in his blood fought him the whole way, corrupting and misdirecting everything he tried to heal. It had taken so much effort. Everything he had done ate into him. It sucked into his bones and his mind and places that he can't get back.
It was healing the cracked rib that made him nauseous enough to either lay down or throw up. Accidentally, he did both. After he fell onto the sheets, he didn't get back up. He couldn't. It is not a function that he possesses. His body refused.
He didn't get all of the wounds. Now parts of the fabric are stuck to him.
It really is a pity on the sheets.
The clear thinking part of him says that he is going to make it.
It also thinks that it was a dumb decision to lock his door.
The rest of him agrees.
The keycard beeps. The mechanism hisses. The lock retracts.
The lights are on in the room but he winces at the added light from the hallway. He can't turn away though.
"No…" Mariella says, "He said-He knew-He promised."
Sephiroth tries a smile but the stinging hurts too much. "Just give me a moment. I'll get up. I'll go to the dinner. I'm okay."
He doesn't know why he promises this. Maybe he wants life to just march on normally and pretend that none of this really happened. It's embarrassing. He should be better than this. Already he's done his best to minimize how weak Dinand proved he is. He should have tried to heal more but he can't even move his arm.
"Did he do this?" She's next to him. He flinches as her cold hand touches his face and then digs into his neck to count his pulse. The blood on his face crackles.
He closes his eyes. He remembers when the hell had finally ended. Sephiroth simply couldn't get up again. The sim had whined and finally, blessedly, shut down. Dinand had crouched down next to him and whispered in his ear that he should have been able to beat this simulation. He was weak and that his training was the only way he was going to survive this war. If Sephiroth tells the truth of what happens here, Dinand will abandon him entirely and Sephiroth will humiliate everyone as he fails.
Sephiroth's throat closes up on itself.
He can't breathe. Mariella's hand presses against the side of his face, forcing his eyes open. Mariella is full of worry, more than he's ever seen her.
"Did Dinand do this, Sephiroth?"
The way he hurts, he can't say no but he can't say yes so he says nothing and feels the horror dig in deeper.
It doesn't take long after that for the medical team to arrive.
Sephiroth doesn't remember too much. Everything seems to stop. Life has been driving him forward at such a pace that he isn't sure how to stop. They heal what they can but his body still has to recover from the shock. Everything is so heavy. He can barely function. Thoughts take hours to form. He wakes up slowly in R&D itself, covered in the smell of alcohol wipes and cleaning solutions.
His body is so stiff he can barely move.
Time rolls on that way until Mariella is sitting on the edge of his bed, asking him something over and over.
When he focuses, she looks gray in the light like she hasn't slept.
"You," Sephiroth's voice is gravely in his throat, "you should go to bed."
He reaches out a hand to push her away. It barely makes it an inch before it drops back to the covers on its own.
She shakes her head. "Sephiroth, answer my question and we both can."
"What's…"
The sigh tells him that the question has been asked too many times. He swallows.
"Dinand claims that he took you out of the simulation when he realized that the damage was on. He says you didn't tell him that it was on and that's how you got hurt. Just tell me that it isn't true so we can move forward."
There are so many words that he has to stitch together the meaning.
And realize the lie.
Sephiroth's tongue is dry. "I wasn't strong enough."
Those words hurt more than anything that was done to him in the simulation room.
Mariella takes his hand, careful not to pull the IV line. "Sephiroth, you were in that simulation for five hours and forty-five minutes without a break. Initial data says that the simulation was hacked. The soldiers were set at twice the maximum level and damage impacts were high above the safe threshold."
He blinks.
It's impossible. It didn't feel like that.
His eyes dip closed on their own.
Mariella squeezes his hand. "Sephiroth. What you did should have been impossible."
"You're…lying…you're trying to make me feel better." He shakes his head, trying to wake up.
"I couldn't make this up if I tried. Tell me the truth. You'll never see Dinand again. This is the final straw. I've been trying to get rid of him for years and now all I need you to do is say yes."
Sephiroth swallows. He tries to work this out.
He needs Dinand.
If that is what real war is like, he needs everything that his trainer can give him. He looks away and studies the lines on the screen that dictate everything about him. He's on fluids but he doesn't think they found anything broken. It means that he found everything first and got it healed enough. That sends a spark of pride through him. They'll never know how bad it really was.
He fills his lungs. "I need…"
The phrase peters out as Mariella cuts him off.
"No, Sephiroth. You don't need him. He needs you. He's just another SOLDIER without you."
He closes his eyes and tries to believe her.
"Almost six hours in the sim. I don't know a single SOLDIER who can survive that and I study them for a living."
Sephiroth's fear clutches against his voice. If he says yes, everything changes. He's not even sure what Dinand would do. Would he try to kill him in his bed? Would he force him into the simulation room again and make him fight until he died? But, if Dinand isn't his trainer anymore, he wouldn't have to do that. He could say no. He could walk away. He could fight back. He couldn't imagine doing it but Dinand would no longer be his commanding officer. Logic dictates something that tastes close to freedom.
If he says yes, Dinand's voice says in his head, he will be a sissy and a failure. He'll be crying to mom. He'll be weak. He won't be a true SOLDIER. He'll fail everyone.
He's supposed to be First Class.
He is tearing up, he realizes. The game is over. Mariella already knows. They both know. Everyone knows. The resolve crumples into dust.
"Yes."
"'Yes' what, Sephiroth?"
"You are right. He knew. He forced me to keep going."
He can't retract those words. His chin hits his collarbone. He stares at his hands. Dinand will find out. Any chance of Dinand training him is gone. He won't be proud of him. He'll be a failure. Sephiroth winces and shoves the tears down.
He doesn't fight when Mariella gently gathers him in her arms for a hug.
She presses him into her and he barely has the strength to wrap his arms around her.
"Thank you."
It's done. Dinand is done.
He's been fighting so long that when it happens, everything breaks inside of him.
He's not sure why but he clutches to the connection. It feels so good. He knows how selfish it is to bury his head in her shoulder, but Mariella holds him closer. Her heartbeat is right there. It slows cautiously as the minutes pass. He feels so weak.
He doesn't cry. He refuses but he can't help the way that his fingers start to dig into her back and his body tightens as the anxiety rises.
She says things he doesn't believe. She says that it wasn't his fault. That it is over. That it will somehow be okay.
He doesn't look at her. He just collapses into her more.
Eventually the words fade. She sits with him, her face pressed into his hair. And they wait it out together.
He stays there so long that it takes Mariella moving to realize that he's fallen asleep against her. The anxiety has dissipated. He doesn't have the energy to sustain it. He apologizes and tries to move. Everything is too clumsy for that. She settles him back under the sheets. Somehow she's practiced at this. How many times has she tucked him in bed?
It must be hundreds but he can't remember a single one.
Mariella assures him that guards are outside his door and that she is going to go deliver Dinand his letter.
Then she's gone.
The door closes softly and slowly.
She didn't say she is going to write the letter, he realizes later.
A few days afterward he finds out that the simulation data was backed up to a personal data folder that Dinand couldn't delete. Mariella had all the proof she needed.
She was waiting on him.