[League Judgement] Yasuo, The Unforgiven

Candidate: Yasuo

Date: November 29th, 22 CLE

OBSERVATION

Instantly it is apparent that Yasuo is not a man who jests; He is completely and utterly about business and getting goals accomplished. His entire movement through the grand halls is quick and without pause. The only sound he makes is the soft "clop" of his sandals upon the floor of the Institute.

While Yasuo is currently wanted by the Ionian council, the laws of the Institute forbid interference in a potential candidate for League purposes. It is not the first time someone has come to the Institute to avoid the long arm of the law and it will hardly be the last. Still, nobody is in the grand hall to stop Yasuo. Save for one, that is.

Just outside the grand doors, Yasuo pauses. Blocking the path is another League champion: Riven. The two lock eyes. Clearly there is more to this that we currently know. Silence, two masters of the blade exchanging looks. For a moment, it looks as if combat is inevitable. Riven's grip tightens on her broken fragment of a blade. Yasuo's thumb pushes at his katana's guard, the faintest glimmer of his blade as he gives her a warning. The two stare each other down . . . but no combat sparks. Instead, Riven steps to the side, allowing Yasuo to enter.

As he passes her, Riven's eyes lock with his one last time, the grand doors leading only to darkness. Yasuo grunts, the least acknowledgement he can give while still confirming her presence, before letting the darkness envelop him.

REFLECTION

"SPOTLIGHT! ON THE STAGE!"

Yasuo's eyes squint and a hand presses to his forehead, seething. The bright light's sudden shift from the darkness made him grunt. "Alright, let's get this over with. Copy a memory and learn about me," He demands. He has heard of the Institute's methods, how they pry and learn about you. He knows they'll pick the memory of his brother's death. That much is clear.

Silence, however, as nothing changes. Yasuo's eyes adjust to where he is. The floor, a wooden stage, the light coming from someone above him. Realization strikes Yasuo as he remembers one of his brothers favorite things to do: Visit the old theater and watch performs reenact old Ionian tales. "Well how about that," he mutters, reaching for his blade. His katana is gone, replaced with a kendo stick.

The thunk of another light activating. Turning, Yasuo sees a man in all black. The narrator, as it used to be in the theater. "Ladies and gentlemen. Let me regale the fable of Yasuo to you. He was a STUPENDOUS warrior! A master of the wind! Yet he was honorable and proud, a noble man despite all his skills!" Yasuo stared at the narrator, grip tightening. This wasn't what he expected. This wasn't what it should be at all.

"BUT TRAGEDY STRIKES!" Cried the narrator in black. The light changed from the bright spotlight to a hazy red, Yasuo's eyes looking back and forth to see if anything had changed. Yet darkness all around him, save for the narrator and his own spotlight. "Yasuo committed an act of treason and was hunted for his crimes! How could the noble samurai stoop so low!? What madness! What treachery!"

The more the narrator spoke, the more Yasuo's grip tightened on the kendo stick. He turned, moving toward the narrator as his topknot swayed to and fro. As he got close, however, the light vanished around the narrator and he was gone. "Stop playing games with me, Summoner, examine me already! ASK TO SEE INTO MY MIND!"

Another light sparked. Yasuo turned, having trouble keeping himself in check despite all his training. This time it was Riven, grasping one third of a kendo stick to mirror her broken blade. She pointed it as Yasuo, a great frown on her face. "Finally, Yasuo met the woman who took his honor from him! Despite her pain and regret, would Yasuo forgive her!?" the Narrator's voice played in the darkness. The grip on Yasuo's stick tightened. Yes, it was a faux sword, but the amount of idiocy he suffered was reaching his personal limits. Yasuo, heedless of the narrator's words, rushed at Riven. His swordplay was no mere legend as, within seconds, the kendo stick struck Riven's ribs in what would be a fatal blow . . . had the sword been real.

The lights dim as Riven stumbled, Yasuo's strike moving him past her to stand behind her. "And so, Yasuo struck down the regretful exile . . . but at what cost?" The narrator asked. Yasuo turned to see Riven kneeling. Except it was no longer Riven. Yasuo's brother now took her place, kneeling with one hand grasping where Yasuo had struck. All fury left Yasuo's body, dropping the kendo stick and rushing to hold his brother. There was no wound, no blood, but it still stung to see his brother dying all over again. Acting or not.

The spotlights merged as Yasuo held his brother, looking down at Yone. "Brother, I know you are a good man. Do . . . do you truly believe vengeance will bring me back?" he questioned. All at once, the deeper feelings became clear. This was no longer about restoring honor. Bringing justice. Avenging his master. No, Yasuo wanted one thing: His brother back. Yasuo stared down at him, holding him tighter as he tried to speak. No words would come to him, however, as Yone closed his eyes once more, dead.

"And so the tale ends. Yasuo seeks to slay someone. But for what purpose? Revenge? Justice? Honor? Dear patrons I do not know! Just remember the tale of Yasuo, the unforgiven." The narrator spoke, Yasuo's head hung low. "And for you, Yasuo, the man who's tale we have told, I have but one question: How does it feel, exposing your mind?" The narrator questioned, the light upon him and his brother dimming ever-so-slightly.

Yasuo closed his eyes, holding his brother close as he spoke: "Spotlight, off the stage. Curtain, close."

With that, the spotlight was gone, leaving Yasuo in the darkness as the curtain closed on his tale. Sitting on his knees in the darkness, feeling the weight of truth and the unsureness of his actions burden his very soul, Yasuo looked upwards. A single slit of light, beckoning him. As with the theater performances Yone used to adore, the actors had to go and take their bow.

"Regardless of how it ends, it will end. At the very least, I can try to make my tale a good one," he spoke. With that, Yasuo pushed himself upward, grasping his katana. With doubt and trouble in his heart, Yasuo left one stage and moved to the next.

End scene.