The breeze over the grassy plain swept through Tifa Lockhart's hair, reminding her of home. When she'd been living in the village, her hair had remained forever tousled by the winds howling down from Mt. Nibel.

Walking just ahead was Aerith Gainsborough, who gestured widely at the sprawling grasslands and asked, "Hey, are you used to this kind of stuff?"

Tifa had only met the other woman a few days earlier, but she found her easy to talk to. In fact, within hours of first meeting, they'd already been chatting and joking like old friends.

Another gust swept the plains, sending waves rolling through the grass. Tifa turned to face the way they'd come, catching the wind at her back as she did so. The amount of distance the party had covered surprised her.

When Tifa returned to walking, Aerith had moved close to her side.

"You mean, have I ever seen endless fields like this before?" replied Tifa.

"No, I mean the walking. Hours and hours of it. First the badlands, and now grass."

"I don't mind it, I guess. It's good cardio."

Aerith laughed. "Everything comes down to exercise for you, doesn't it?"

"If I had a choice, though," continued Tifa, "I'd take a hiking trail in the mountains over this. At least that way the scenery changes as you go along."

"Right?! Ever since we left the city, it's like we've been walking in circles. It never ends! I used to dream of having a picnic in a wide-open field, but if this is all the grasslands have to offer, I think I'll pass."

"I'd say this is closer to hiking than a picnic. Picnics are about sitting down to eat and having fun."

"Does that mean you've been on one before? A real picnic?"

"Sure I have."

Tifa thought back on the days she'd spent as a child in the village.

"I mean... sort of," she clarified. "They were like picnics. We just used a different name."

"Yeah? What did you call them?"

Tifa's cheeks flushed, and her gaze fell as she answered, "Tea parties."

There was an amused snort. Tifa looked up in time to see a ripple of laughter work its way through Red XIII's leonine pelt. The beast─for he was a beast, at least in appearance─flicked his flame-tipped tail from side to side as he walked.

Though Tifa had accepted him as their traveling companion, she had to admit she was still unnerved by the dissonance between his appearance and his humanlike speech and intelligence.

Aerith's eyes sparkled. "Tell me more! I wanna hear all about your tea parties!"

"Sure."

But even as she answered, Tifa realized she wasn't quite sure where to begin.

Nibelheim was a tiny village at the base of Mt. Nibel. It had always been a modest community, established first as an unnamed base camp for prospectors whose gil-hungry eyes fixated upon the mountain's unique flora and fauna. Even after Nibelheim had proven itself a nominally permanent fixture worthy of a name, it was still little more than a basic settlement in the wilderness, consisting of a few households offering room and board to adventurers making their way up the mountain.

It wasn't until the community attracted the attention of Shinra Manufacturing that it started to resemble a proper village. The company was in search of a site to conduct top secret, cutting-edge research far removed from the prying eyes of the Republic of Junon, and Mt. Nibel seemed the perfect choice. It was 1960, one year following the discovery of mako energy, and Shinra was anxious to investigate all potential uses of this new resource. Construction began on the facility that would come to be known as the Shinra Manor. Next came the Nibel Reactor, a massive undertaking that saw the tiny mountain village flooded with laborers from across the country.

If Nibelheim ever achieved anything resembling prosperity, those were the years. But by 1968, construction of the reactor was complete, and the itinerants had moved on. Only a tiny research crew remained, along with a small number of civilians contracted by Shinra to maintain its new facilities. Life in Nibelheim grew quiet once more.

Over the years, the facilities' remote location became more of a drawback than an asset. As the reactor aged, Shinra saw no need to update it, instead throttling operations until the reactor was all but offline─at least in a practical sense. The village, with no other industry to fall back on, saw its population dwindle. Everything depended on Shinra. The only money flowing in came from fees paid by the company for land-use rights, barely supplemented by the wages earned by the ever-shrinking contingent of maintenance workers. Nibelheim's entire existence was tied to a couple of worn-down facilities that the company seemed ready to do away with at a moment's notice.

The villagers agreed that something had to change. They debated endlessly over ways to secure their community's future but failed to find a clear path forward. Ultimately, their voices and ideas were as fleeting as any of the angry gusts sweeping down from Mt. Nibel's foreboding peak.

"There were only four other kids around my age in the village, and they were all boys," explained Tifa. "We had our own little clique, I guess you'd say. We were so inseparable, the villagers started referring to us as the Four Fiends. Those were the friends I'd eventually start having tea parties with."

"Wait... But if it was you plus four other kids, shouldn't you have been the Fabulous Five or something?"

"One of those four boys was Cloud. The rest of us used to invite him along for our adventures, but he always refused─that is, if you could get a response out of him in the first place. Most of the time he straight-up ignored us. The way he acted got him into a lot of fights, until eventually the other boys were always referring to him as ‘the weirdo' or ‘that menace to society.'"

Tifa glanced ahead at Cloud Strife, who led the way on their journey across the grasslands. Cloud would have undoubtedly overheard her story, but he gave no sign of acknowledgment.

Tifa was born in May 1987, the first and only child of Brian and Thea Lockhart. Thea succumbed to illness when Tifa was only eight, leaving the girl to be raised by her father. What things Brian couldn't manage on his own, the other women of the village were happy to assist with. They taught young Tifa to cook and to sew, and all manner of things a village mother would teach her daughter. Nibelheim's was an old way of life, passed down over generations, all the way back to the days of the republic. Men went out to work, and women stayed behind to tend the home. Thus, a woman's lot in life was thought to hinge largely upon the man she ended up with.

Emilio, Lester, Tyler, and Tifa. They'd been the Four Fiends ever since they learned to walk. Each was the eldest or only child, and their parents were all quite close too. The four spent their days running wild around the village, roughhousing and sharing adventures─in short, growing up together. But too soon their carefree days would be cut short, the dynamic among them never to fully recover.

The death of Tifa's mother sent shock waves through the community. Tifa suddenly found herself an object of pity─someone everyone else was supposed to feel bad for. Burgeoning adolescence only complicated matters. As the boys neared their teenage years, their perception of Tifa shifted yet again. She was no longer a childhood playmate. She was a girl, and one that any of the three boys would have been happy to end up with. Their afternoon adventures were soon peppered with attempts to flirt and show off.

Still, the mood when they were together remained lighthearted, and Tifa, for her part, didn't mind the silly and somewhat flattering displays. She also knew her line and was careful not to cross it: when any of the boys invited her out alone, she responded with vague silence. She didn't want to decline outright and risk hurt feelings. Instead, she pretended not to catch the subtle invitations and shrugged off the ones that were more outright.

Around that same time, the boys began to speak of leaving the village. These were the first symptoms of a plague of wanderlust that seized upon all the young men of Nibelheim. Tifa's friends talked of joining Shinra's ranks to make names for themselves, or of moving to Midgar to strike it rich. The specifics of each dream varied, but all three converged on a single point: a triumphant reappearance in the village to take Tifa's hand and whisk her away to a better life. He'd keep her safe, each boy promised. He'd give her a future. In their eyes, Tifa was a badge of honor─a trophy to be won, proof of success and escape from a life of mediocrity.

It was Tifa's twelfth birthday. She was walking about the village in the new pair of sandals she'd received from her father. They were the latest fashion in Midgar─and frankly, a poor choice of footwear for the rough, packed dirt of Nibelheim's main square. She was concentrating intently on each small, careful step when Zander, the head of the village, called out to her.

"Well, if it isn't Tifa Lockhart! Say, you remember that litter of kittens we just had over at our place? I've been thinking you might be the perfect person to take one home, and I hear that today just so happens to be your birthday."

Tifa's eyes grew wide. Zander walked back toward his home and signaled for Tifa to follow.

"Come on," he said. "I've already cleared it with Brian. You get first pick of the litter."

She'd lost count of the number of times she'd begged her father for a cat. This was a dream come true.

Inside Zander's home, Tifa peered at the kittens asleep in their little wooden box for a very long time. Finally, she lifted a small white cat from among its siblings and cradled it in her arms.

"Hmm. Good choice," said Zander. "That one's name is Fluffy. But seeing as she's your cat now, you ought to pick a name that you fancy."

He paused for a moment, then added, "'Course, if it's all the same to you, I'd recommend you stick with Fluffy."

Cat clutched to her chest, Tifa ran home as fast as her sandal-clad feet would allow. Halfway across the square, the kitten tried to leap free. Tifa twisted to maintain her grip, and the panicked motion sent her crashing to the ground. Instead of home, Tifa's next stop was Dr. Sanq's tiny village clinic. The diagnosis was a sprained right ankle.

"One of my brand-new sandals was in pieces, and I had some pretty bad scrapes too," recalled Tifa. "One even ended up getting infected. Between the resulting fever and my sprained ankle, I was in bed for a week.

"And just to top it off, Fluffy ran away all the same. She found her chance later that week, when Dad left the door open."

"Oof," replied Aerith. "The bad luck kept piling on. I take it that means you kept the name Fluffy, though?"

"Dad felt awful about letting the cat escape, so while I was stuck in bed, he roped the entire village into a coordinated search. Zander told everybody the lost cat's name was Fluffy, so that's what everyone went around calling as they looked. It just kinda stuck. I was pretty upset that I didn't get to name my own cat, but it's not like that was Fluffy's fault."

Once Tifa's fever subsided, villagers began to check in on her. The first day, she was happy for the company. By the third, her tune had changed.

"Do they have to come by the house every day?" she moaned. "If they stuff me with any more snacks, I think I'm going to burst."

"You should be grateful," chided her father.

"Can't I go outside yet? I wanna help search for Fluffy. Didn't the doctor say it's important for me to get outside and gradually work my ankle back into shape?"

"I suppose he did say that," her father replied. "Okay. You win. How about we start the day after tomorrow?"

"I have to wait a whole 'nother day?"

"They need me on the mountain tomorrow. We're behind on trail maintenance for the route up to the reactor."

"I can practice walking by myself," Tifa pleaded. "I promise not to leave the village."

Her father sat in silence for a moment. Tifa could guess what was running through his mind. To a doting father, the words I can do it myself weren't much different than exclaiming, "Go away, Dad! I don't need you anymore!" The subtle shifts in the man's expression suggested that he was mourning how quickly his daughter was growing up, and that he was a bit cranky about it too.

When he finally spoke, his tone was gruff. "All right. You're a big girl. But don't you dare step foot outside the village. And don't overdo it either. The second your ankle starts feeling sore, I want you back home and in bed.

"And while we're at it..."

Her father proceeded to list off a half dozen other stipulations. Tifa nodded dutifully. She knew better than to press her luck.

The next morning, she was giddy with anticipation as her father readied himself for work. But just as he was about to head out, there was an unexpected knock at the door. The timing seemed almost contrived. Tifa's father opened up to find Claudia Strife, their neighbor─and Cloud's mother.

"Sorry to bother you so early," she said. "I'm just here to drop this little one off."

Tifa saw that the woman was holding something in her arms. It squirmed restlessly, then poked its head up to look around.

"Fluffy!" exclaimed Tifa. "Thank you so much, ma'am. Where did you ever find her?"

"Apparently she was near the trailhead, just past the gate. Actually, it's Cloud you ought to thank. He brought the poor thing home with him yesterday. I told him to go see you right away, but you know how that boy is. So here I am, bright and early."

Tifa thanked Claudia again. She took the kitten into her arms and slowly limped her way up the staircase to her bedroom on the second floor.

"Welcome home, Fluffy," she told the cat. "So Cloud's the one who found you, huh? Imagine that. I wouldn't have thought he'd even heard about my new cat."

With Fluffy's return, walks around the village suddenly seemed more of a chore than a joy. Tifa was anxious to play outside again, but on the other hand, her ankle still throbbed with every movement. The idea of working it back to health was less appealing without a lost cat to find.

Around that time, she had a surprise visit from Emilio.

"C'mon. Gotta get that ankle back in shape," he announced, holding a basket at his chest. "I brought some fruit and a thermos of tea."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I'm taking you out for a walk. Let's head down to the pool at the base of the falls. I mean, technically speaking, that's still part of the village, right?"

"Did my dad put you up to this?"

"He asked me if I could come up with some way to get you more excited about your recovery. Said there were some rules, though. No leaving the village. That sorta stuff."

The boy seemed nervous, almost giddy, as if he'd decided there was some other, deeper reason that Tifa's father had reached out to him specifically. But in the time it took Tifa to get ready, there was another knock at the door. Lester had arrived, also holding a basket. Tifa couldn't help but notice a trace of disappointment in Emilio's eyes.

Though the waterfall in question was vital to the village's survival, it had never been named. It was simply "the falls." Geologically speaking, it wasn't anything remarkable─just one outlet of many for the natural spring water housed deep in the rock of Mt. Nibel.

With the two boys at her sides, Tifa made her way down to the plunge pool, gingerly testing her weight on the injured foot.

They'd arrived and were searching for a dry place to sit when Tyler appeared. Apparently, Tifa's father had had a word with all three of her would-be suitors.

"I brought sandwiches for lunch!" Tyler yelled as soon as he was in earshot. "Home-cured ham!"

Emilio and Lester cheered. Everyone knew that the best cured meats in the village came from Tyler's home. The family recipe had been passed down for generations. Even Tifa found herself smiling about the welcome surprise.

The old crew now assembled, conversation naturally turned to Midgar. To the boys, it was a place of hopes and dreams.

Up on the plates, Midgar had real schools for the city's children to attend, while kids in the slums learned to read and write from parents in the community who volunteered for the task. Thus, the four friends concluded, their own level of education was probably about the same as kids living in Midgar's slums.

For kids from the slums, enlistment was supposedly the quickest way to rise through Shinra's ranks. The three boys wondered aloud how risky that path might be. How dangerous would it be to serve in the military? What was the fatality rate, especially given the ongoing war?

The other option was money─if you could figure out how to get it. Topside, money talked. You could buy your way out of any trouble.

Even as children, the four suspected that their conversations were a jumble of truths, half-truths, and wild misconceptions. Still, the boys earnestly chattered on, and Tifa, for her part, found the strings of speculation relatively engaging. It was rather fun to let her imagination run wild, indulging in feelings of wonder and surprise about what might await in the unknown, far-off world of the city.

Tifa leaned back and listened to the boys carry on.

"After I move to Midgar, I wonder if I'll ever feel like coming back."

"Ha! You'll have to if you can't get used to city life."

"No way. I don't wanna be the one everyone knows came running home, tail between his legs. I'd go live in some other town."

"Well, one of us better come back. Otherwise, Tifa will be pretty lonely."

The boys laughed, and Tifa replied, "I'm sure life outside Nibelheim will be so exciting, you'll forget all about me."

She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. She knew it sounded like a plea for attention, and just as she feared, Emilio and the others immediately steered the conversation elsewhere in an obvious attempt to cheer her up.

When lunch was over and they'd left the pool, the boys talked about how nice it had been to eat outside.

"That was a fun picnic. We oughta plan another one soon."

"How does that count as a picnic? We barely stepped foot outside the village."

"No, see, a picnic is supposed to be somewhere close to home. You're thinking of a hike."

"Well, what I'd like to try," began Tifa, "is a tea party. Doesn't it just sound so elegant?"

She'd seen photos once, of wealthy families during the days of the republic. They were pictures her mother had shared when Tifa was still small enough to sit upon her knees. The people in the shots had found a nice spot on the grasslands, where they spread out their blankets and unpacked their baskets to enjoy snacks and a cup of tea in the open air. Reflecting on the photos now, Tifa realized they must have been very old─perhaps taken by her great- or even great-great-grandparents.

"Tea party? What the crap is a tea party?"

"Beats me. But if Tifa thinks it'd be fun, count me in."

"Me too!"

Thus began the Fiends' new but short-lived tradition.

Back in the present, Tifa smiled softly.

"The three of them could never stop talking about Midgar," she said. "Eventually, it started to feel like it was me versus the city. If I wanted to keep my friends' attention, I had to compete. I started saving up to buy the kinds of clothes girls in the city wear. When I couldn't get my hands on something directly, I'd go to the villagers who knew how to sew and ask them to make the pieces I needed. I was begging the village general store to track down fabrics they'd never even heard of.

"I went all out with my baking too. I was determined to make each treat I brought to a tea party the best one yet. I don't think I've ever worked so hard before or since just to grab the attention of a bunch of boys."

"Ha! Tifa versus Midgar. I like your style." Barret Wallace let out a great roar of laughter. At some point, he'd sidled up to Tifa and Aerith, eager to catch the tale of Tifa's past.

Spring was near, and the Four Fiends' next tea party would be their last. All three of the boys had declared their intent to leave the village as soon as winter passed, and the news had Tifa feeling uncharacteristically sentimental. At the last moment, late in the evening on the day before their outing, she decided to bake a homemade cake. She briefly considered cookies, but cake seemed the more appropriate treat for a special occasion. Tifa rifled through the kitchen cabinets, jotting down the ingredients she lacked, and then raced over to the village general store─Emilio's home.

Just as she placed a hand on the shop's door handle, she felt eyes at her back. Tifa turned to find Cloud Strife.

Any encounter with Cloud would have been unusual enough. But what really astonished Tifa this time was the fact that the boy was staring straight into her eyes. Typically when she ran into Cloud, he'd look away and find some excuse to dash off. There was something different about him today.

His lips parted as if to speak. She saw them move but couldn't make out the words. Tifa tilted her head in confusion, and Cloud bolted forward.

Tifa flinched, certain he was about to ram into her. But a single step shy of a collision, Cloud stopped. He leaned in, mouth inches from her ear. When he spoke, the words were so rushed, they nearly blended together.

"After dark," he whispered. "Up on the water tower."

All Tifa could think to reply was "Okay."

Cloud nodded and sprinted off into the falling dusk, as if fleeing from danger.

Tifa, flustered both by the meeting and by what seemed to be an unnecessarily hasty departure on Cloud's part, scurried back home. She'd forgotten all about the shopping excursion.

When she walked inside, her father met her with a quizzical stare. The last thing she needed was a line of questioning from her dad, so she pretended to scowl and stomped up the stairs to the safety of her room.

Fluffy was waiting on the bed. Tifa scooped the cat up in her arms and slumped to her knees on the floor. Her heart was racing, and it wasn't only from rushing home.

When was the last time she and Cloud had spoken? It felt like months.

Ah, she recalled. Fluffy's latest disappearance.

The fiasco of Tifa's twelfth birthday had only been the beginning; Fluffy had run away dozens of times since. It didn't take long for Tifa to notice that the cat was actually quite reliable about coming back on her own after she was allowed to roam free for a few days. Still, it didn't feel right to ignore the poor thing, so she always went out looking. The cat had a tendency to head to the mountain, and though monster sightings were rare, they weren't unheard of.

On that particular day, there had been no sign of Fluffy in the village. Tifa decided to widen her search, and just as she arrived at the trailhead, Cloud came running down the mountain. He had to have noticed Tifa, but he refused to look her way. Only at the precise moment they passed did he finally acknowledge her presence.

"Saw Fluffy," he said brusquely. "Right after the first bend."

"Thank you."

Cloud didn't stop or accept her thanks. He continued straight on to the village. But just before he was out of earshot, he turned and shouted, "Hey! You forgetting to feed it or something? It was munching on a dead bird!"

"Of course I'm feeding her!"

Tifa stormed up the trail.

Not a minute up the mountain, she found Fluffy, tail held triumphantly high, mouth and whiskers caked with blood.

"How old would I have been... ?" Tifa mused to herself.

She was still in her room, thinking back on an even more distant past. Fluffy was now resting on her knees, purring happily, her eyes narrow slits as Tifa stroked the soft fur along her back.

Tifa recalled that when she and Cloud were very young, they used to spend all day playing together. Cloud's front door was right next to her own, making it easy to run back and forth between the two homes. As children, they'd had little reservation about inviting themselves in whenever they pleased.

That's how Tifa's mother had once described Cloud.

They'd been sitting at the dinner table─the three members of the Lockhart family. Tifa must have been six or seven at the time. For some reason, the compliment made her very happy. Almost embarrassed, in fact. Tifa's mother seemed to pick up on that fact, and she shot her daughter a knowing glance. Brian happened to catch the subtle exchange, and as Tifa recalled, he'd spent the rest of the evening in a sour mood. It was one of the few memories she had of her family while it was still intact.

At some point, she and Cloud had grown distant. For a time, she wondered if perhaps it was due to some kind of falling-out between Cloud and the other boys of the village. The obvious suspect was the accident on Mt. Nibel, shortly after the death of Tifa's mother. But even if the events of that day really had played out as everyone claimed, Tifa still felt a nagging sense that there was more to it. Cloud had been pulling away from her long before that fateful day.

She asked herself a question she'd asked dozens of times before: When did we stop being friends?

Tifa rose, cradling Fluffy in her arms, and crossed to the window. In the center of the square, the water tower stood lonely in the day's fading light. It didn't seem like a very covert meeting spot. Every home in the village had a view of the tower from its windows. Of course, that was probably why Cloud had asked to meet at night, once the village was asleep.

What time exactly did he want her there? Midnight seemed like a safe bet, but then again, after dark covered far too many hours to be certain.

In a way, the ambiguity was flattering. Perhaps the short exchange showed that Cloud believed him and Tifa to be close enough that there was no need to elaborate. The tiniest exchange would suffice to put them on the same page.

But if that were true, why did he always act so cold and indifferent?

She felt as if she could spend all day wondering and not get any closer to solving the puzzle of Cloud Strife, so in the end, she turned to more pressing matters.

"Hey, Fluffy... What should I wear tonight?"

Unfortunately, the cat wasn't the least bit interested in the inquiry. She leapt from Tifa's arms and burrowed into the blankets on the girl's bed.

A knock came at her bedroom door.

"Hey, Tifa?"

It was her father. When she opened the door, she found him obviously exhausted from work.

"I'm gonna turn in early today," he said. "Maintenance work on the rope bridge was pretty rough."

"Okay," replied Tifa. "Sleep well, Dad."

"Thanks."

Her father paused, a hint of confusion crossing his face.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I came up here planning to ask you the same thing... I could've sworn you were in a bad mood when you got home."

"Dad! Even if I were upset, I wouldn't want you bugging me about it."

Her father chuckled back. "All right. My bad. Good night, then."

He waved and retired to his own bedroom across the landing.

Tifa turned her attention back to her closet, evaluating her choices for the midnight rendezvous. It occurred to her that technically this would be the first time she'd ever snuck out of the house while her father was asleep. Not only that, she was going out to see a boy. And Cloud Strife, to boot! Suddenly, it felt like one of the biggest moments of her young life had sprung upon her. Everything was unfolding so fast. She knew she was far too excited for any hope of sleep.

She settled on a pale green dress, the color of young leaves. It was a piece that Emilio had once said looked especially good on her.

Once Tifa had herself together, she waited, trying to calm her nerves. Near midnight, she peered out the window once more, expecting the whole village to be asleep. Instead, the windows of several homes were still lit, and worse, there was no sign of Cloud at the water tower.

Tifa reluctantly flicked off the lights to her own room and headed into the hallway, closing the door before Fluffy could follow. She placed an ear against the door to her father's room and was relieved to hear loud, carefree snores. With slow, careful steps, she descended the stairway, then tiptoed through the living room and was free.

Tifa emerged into the night with a gasp.

Stars. The sky was full with countless glittering stars, like raindrops suspended in the sky, ready to come falling down at any moment.

She wondered what Cloud would say to her up on the water tower. What special feelings might he confess? And if he did venture a step beyond friendship, how would she respond? Did she love Cloud? Did she like him as more than a friend? She pressed a hand to her chest as the thoughts swirled. Of course she liked him. But she felt it wasn't the kind of "like" that made you want to be together with a certain person forever.

That little Strife boy has a face like an angel.

Shortly afterward, Thea had added, Everyone loves to fawn over Sephiroth the hero these days, but personally, I think little Cloud is going to grow up to be much more attractive.

It was quite the compliment: Cloud, a boy from a tiny village most of the world would have trouble locating on a map, declared victor over Sephiroth, the young hero of the nation, the face of SOLDIER and Shinra's military might.

Tifa finally understood.

The reason her heart seemed to rise in her chest anytime she saw Cloud... The reason she grew nervous and fumbled for words whenever he was near... It wasn't because she had feelings for him. It was because she looked up to him. He was a beautiful, untouchable presence, like one of those countless stars glittering in the distant sky.

Tifa murmured thanks to her mother for somehow managing to guide her still, years after their parting.

The tension of the upcoming rendezvous lifted. Her steps felt light, and she dashed across the clearing to the water tower. She saw that Cloud was in fact there, and that he was sitting on the wooden platform near the top, legs dangling over the edge.

The last time she'd climbed the water tower, she'd been a small child. As she made her way up now, she prepared herself for what might come. She'd talk to Cloud normally, she told herself. The way they usually talked. Except... how did they usually talk?

"Heya."

Despite all her efforts, her greeting felt awkward and contrived.

But she wasn't alone. Cloud's announcement atop the water tower turned out to be astonishingly mundane.

When spring came, he said, he was leaving for Midgar.

She'd heard it thrice before: He wasn't going just to look for work. He wasn't like the other boys.

Little did he know how well-worn his claim truly was.

Still, the night was anything but spoiled, thanks to the magic of the star-streaked sky. Or perhaps it was because she found it rather cute how worked up Cloud was about the grand future he believed was awaiting him beyond the village.

Whatever the reason, it ignited a sudden spark. The words that next spilled from her lips came entirely on impulse.

"Just... promise me one thing," she began. "When we're older, and you're a famous SOLDIER... if I'm ever trapped or in trouble... "

She hesitated, then blurted out, "Promise you'll come and save me."

For a brief moment, time stood still on the water tower. She hadn't come intending to say something like that. It just popped into mind. But once the promise was sealed, it seemed to her a thing of singular importance. She'd discovered that Cloud─the quiet neighbor who had always seemed as unreachable as the stars─was just a normal boy like any other. She'd come to understand that she did like him. And it was that special kind of "like"─the one that ties up your heart, making you yearn to be with that person for the rest of your days.

The icy sharpness of the winds blowing down from Mt. Nibel subsided, signaling spring's arrival. Tifa's three tea party companions were soon packed and ready to head off.

The night before Emilio's departure, he showed up at her home, swearing he'd be back. "Wait for me," he pleaded. In the morning, Tifa watched as he hitched a ride out of the village on the beat-up old truck that delivered parts and materials for maintenance on Shinra's facilities.

As the truck sped off, Emilio hoisted his upper body out of the window on the passenger side, waving both arms in wide arcs until he and the truck were completely out of sight.

When Lester and Tyler's day arrived, the typical sounds of morning in Nibelheim were drowned out by the roar of a helicopter. This was a special treat provided by Shinra for new recruits: before their life of service to the company began, they were given the chance to leave their hometowns in style.

Lester offered Tifa a crisp, cheerful goodbye, along with a firm hug, before dashing off to find his seat in the chopper's rear bay. Tyler fumbled with his words and stood with eyes downcast, fidgeting uncertainly. Knowing it was almost time for the helicopter to take off, Tifa reached her own arms out, pulling him close in a friendly embrace. A few of the village's younger girls also ran up to hug him goodbye, and Tifa saw Lester watching with envy from where he sat strapped in and ready to depart.

Cloud's departure came a bit later, when the afternoons were again warm and pleasant. However, Tifa wouldn't get the chance to see him off.

A Shinra army truck rolled into the village in the dead of night, and Cloud hopped aboard with no one but his mother to wave goodbye. His processing had been delayed, Tifa later heard, on account of him not having his application papers entirely in order. As for the helicopter ride, the bulk of Shinra's forces had been dispatched to some pressing new offensive around that time. An aircraft couldn't be spared to pick up one lone straggler from a tiny mountain village.

Thus, Tifa didn't hear about Cloud's departure until the next morning. There had been no goodbye. No promise to meet again. No hug.

Her first reaction was to laugh. In a way, it wasn't surprising. That's how her relationship with Cloud had always been.

Then the laughter broke and turned to sobs.

When Tifa's thirteenth birthday rolled around, life in Nibelheim was depressingly quiet. Her father attempted to cheer her up with a great celebration, but all she could focus on was the fact that not a single card had arrived from any of the boys who had left the village.

She tried her best to bat her sadness away.

It just slipped their minds, she told herself. They're busy with their new lives, and they just happened to forget. That's all.

"Hey. Tifa."

Tifa shook the memories off, returning to the present. The voice was Barret's.

"What is it?"

"You all right? You got pretty quiet there."

"Yeah. Sorry. Just hung up on some old memories. Where was I again?"

"You versus Midgar."

Tifa laughed. "Right. I guess the next big thing was my encounter with Master."

The boys gone, Tifa's life consisted of reading books, sewing, and cooking. She went entire days without conversing with anyone other than her father─and, of course, Fluffy. But Tifa adjusted to the change with unexpected ease. In fact, she found she was even beginning to enjoy it.

A slower, more peaceful world had opened up to her, and it prompted another realization: this had to be why Cloud preferred to spend his time alone. He liked his quiet solitude.

Before, Tifa had felt bad for him. She'd assumed he was lonely─an assumption that now struck her as terribly presumptuous, and more than a little embarrassing. Now she understood that it was a choice. Cloud chose to block out the things that he found distasteful or troublesome to deal with.

It filled her with envy. It meant that, in a way, Cloud was her exact opposite. She imagined how different her life could be if only she possessed the resolve to stick to her own convictions and not worry what others thought. The possibilities seemed endless.

One day around that time, her father called to her from the other side of the house.

"Tifa! I can't find Fluffy. Would you go out and look?"

Tifa sighed. "She ran away again?"

Frankly, she felt the cat would do fine on her own. Someone in the village would most likely spot Fluffy and put out a dish of food. Or, failing that, Fluffy would scrounge up her own dinner; the cat had proven herself an adept hunter of birds and other small creatures living on the mountain.

Tifa imagined responding as such, envisioning how the conversation would play out. She'd anxiously peer at her father's face for signs of disappointment or annoyance. She'd worry about how other villagers perceived her: the lazy Lockhart girl, too uncaring to go out looking for her poor lost cat. Worst of all would be the crushing sense of guilt if anything were to happen to Fluffy.

So in the end, Tifa headed out to look.

"Fluffy!" Tifa called as she searched. "Where are you?"

Cloud wouldn't be bothered by any of that stuff, she thought. He wouldn't care what people said.

She checked the gaps between buildings and Fluffy's other favorite hiding spots, and it began to seem likely that the cat had wandered farther afield. With another great sigh, Tifa turned to head up the mountain.

As she ascended, she kept her gaze fixed upward, watching the clouds rolling high in the sky. Before she knew it, she'd reached the banks of the Gunnthra River. A cool wind rushed through her hair, and she turned to look back the way she came, realizing she'd forgotten all about the purpose of her hike. She scanned in a wide arc, searching for traces of Fluffy, then pivoted to look up and down the length of the river.

Tifa gasped. Her eyes had caught on what appeared to be a figure waist-deep in the water. She leaned forward and squinted, realizing it was a man. He stood abreast the surging current, an aberration in the familiar scenery of the mountain.

The man's appearance struck her as both boyish and elderly. His frame was stout, and his sleeveless attire exposed broad shoulders and muscled arms thicker than even the hardiest men of the village. His hair was gray yet full of vitality. He wore it long in the back, pulled into a ponytail─just like Cloud, Tifa realized, though the stranger's locks were quite a bit longer.

The man's feet were planted firmly on the riverbed, legs obviously straining as he fought from being swept away by the raging waters.

He must have got himself stuck out there, and now he can't move, thought Tifa.

The same thing had happened to Emilio once. It had taken all the boy's strength just to stay in one place as he cried for help. The adults in the village had rushed to the riverbank with every length of rope they could find, which they tied together into a throw line to pull Emilio to safety. That day, the village instituted a new rule: children under the age of eleven were forbidden from approaching the Gunnthra without an adult. During high-water periods, the current grew so strong that even grown-ups had trouble wading through it.

Memories flooded Tifa's mind─scenes of Emilio sobbing and wailing for help as he held on for dear life. The fear of that day gripped her anew.

"Are you all right?!" she called to the stranger. "Hang on! I'll call for help!"

Tifa made to dash down the mountain, but a burly voice roared at her back.

"No need for that, young lady! Observe!"

The man began to lift one leg slowly, confidently out of the water, extending it forward and up until the toes were higher than his head. Only his left leg remained submerged, braced against the current as the angry river battered and swirled more fiercely than ever. Tifa didn't need to be at his side to know how incredibly difficult such a feat would be.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the man's right leg snapped back down, and he bounded up out of the water to what seemed an impossible height. Tifa felt quite certain his eyes had momentarily been at the same level as hers from where she stared down the steeply sloping bank.

How could any human jump like that? she thought.

The stranger landed on the first of a small string of boulders whose heads poked above the swirling white current. He continued to hop from rock to rock, ending with one great leap that carried him all the way up the bank to land right before Tifa's eyes.

He thrust out one large, brawny hand.

"The name's Rashard Zangan. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Tifa, overwhelmed by the things she'd just witnessed, found herself unconsciously accepting the handshake.

"Ouch!" she yelped as the stranger's hand squeezed tight.

What a jerk! she thought. What kind of grown-up plays a prank like that?!

"Let go!" she demanded.

"Ah, apologies," replied the man named Zangan.

He hurriedly released Tifa's hand and for a moment seemed genuinely apologetic. But then he leaned in again, this time thrusting both hands out to grab Tifa's upper arms.

"Ooh! Very nice!" he exclaimed.

Tifa's feet froze in panic. She was alone with a strange man on the mountain. No one else would be near enough to hear her cries. Her mind spun as she tried to sort out what to do.

"I'd fancy a closer look at those calves of yours too. Would you mind?"

Tifa screamed internally, Of course I'd mind!

Fear had her paralyzed. She fought it back, and when she finally found her voice, she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Get away from me!"

The shrill cry stunned Zangan, buying her the moment she needed to slip away and sprint down the trail to safety.

Back at home, Tifa immediately jumped into the shower, anxious to wash away the mountain dust and disturbing memory of her close encounter.

She was drying her hair, feeling somewhat recomposed, when her father returned home. Fluffy was in his arms.

"It was Zander," Brian explained. "He set out food for her at the town hall. I really wish he'd said something before you and I started searching high and low."

"I'm just glad Fluffy's safe," said Tifa.

She had no intention of telling her father about the encounter with the man on the mountain. She knew it would only land her in trouble─eventually the conversation would loop back to why she'd been near the river in the first place.

"Good point," her father agreed. "By the way... word is there's some wandering martial arts expert coming to stay in the village for a while. He's supposed to be real famous─travels the world to learn about other communities, and in return, he teaches exercises to ensure a long, healthy life."

Tifa's father grinned. "Sounds pretty fishy, don't you think? His first class is tomorrow morning in the village square. Whaddaya say you and I go and poke a little fun at the guy?"

"I can hardly wait."

She knew with absolute certainty that the wandering master of which her father spoke was the same unscrupulous stranger she'd encountered at the river.

News of a visitor had the whole village abuzz. Visitors meant information of the outside world─a raw, unfiltered source that excited in a way that the radio broadcasts and occasional bulk deliveries of newspapers and magazines never could.

When the appointed time came, nearly all the villagers had assembled in the main square, just in front of the town hall. Zander stood and proudly introduced the unfamiliar face─unfamiliar, that is, to everyone except Tifa. It was just as she'd predicted. The wandering martial artist that had stoked the village's curiosity was none other than Rashard Zangan.

"Residents of Nibelheim!" Zangan announced. "I appreciate you taking time out of your busy morning to attend today's lesson. I'll get right into it so as not to waste any more of your day.

"We'll be performing my very own Zangan-style calisthenics. This routine forms the cornerstone of the martial arts techniques that I, Rashard Zangan, have devoted my life to perfecting. If you memorize and perform these exercises regularly, they will help you all lead long, healthy lives. It's so effective, in fact, you might think it's magic. It'll keep you going strong until the day you die!"

At which point Zander cut in, saying, "Still kicking right up until we kick the bucket, huh?"

The quip elicited good-humored chuckles from several of the villagers. Zangan simply smiled, taking it in stride.

"All right, then," the stranger said. "Let's begin. I'd like you all to extend your arms and turn in a slow circle. This is to make sure you have enough space and won't be running into anyone else during the exercises. Please spread out if you need to."

The villagers, as of yet unimpressed, slowly shuffled out across the main square as instructed. Zangan remained in front, nodding his approval when everyone seemed sufficiently spread apart.

"Very good. Now, friends of Nibelheim, the first exercise is as follows. Take both arms and lift them straight above your head. Upper arms by your ears. Palms facing forward. Fingers pointed toward the sky. Pull yourself as straight as you can. Reach! Imagine a messenger of the heavens has dangled down to grab your wrists and is now pulling you up to paradise. Visualize yourself floating in the air.

"Slowly now. No need to rush. Once you've pulled yourself as taut as you possibly can, I want you to hold that pose. Remain just as you are!"

Tifa caught Zangan staring in her direction, a smile on his face. Flustered, she raised both arms as instructed and stretched them as high as they'd go. She envisioned herself being pulled up into the sky, rising up onto tiptoes as she stretched for all she was worth.

Many of the adults around her lost their balance. They thrust a leg out to catch themselves, after which most of them repositioned to start over. All the while, Tifa managed to hold the unfamiliar pose, surprised by her own ability. As she looked out over the main square, she caught Zangan's eye again and saw him nod in apparent satisfaction.

"You're all doing very well!" he announced. "Keep holding to the count of ten!"

Zangan began an agonizingly slow count.

"... Eight... nine... ten!"

Tifa released the pose, breathing heavily. The sense of relief in the square was palpable. She overheard scattered mutterings from villagers disappointed that they hadn't fared better on the very first exercise.

"Again!" shouted Zangan. "Body does not waver unless mind does! And you, my friends, still tremble like newly hatched chocobo chicks!"

"Hey! Who are you calling a chocobo?!" quipped Zander, again eliciting chuckles from all across the square.

The stretching exercise began again, and again, and then again. Zangan walked among the villagers as he issued his instructions. He settled in at a new location near the center of the main square.

Tifa saw that he was still watching her intently. In fact, it almost seemed as if he'd chosen his new spot specifically to have a better view of her. She began to feel nervous, and her balance faltered slightly. Zangan grinned.

"Now, let's change things up slightly," he announced. "Both arms up and at the sides of your head as before. But this time, I'd also like you to lift your right knee. Bring it up so your thigh is at a ninety-degree angle to your torso. Think you can do it?"

Zangan raised his own arms and nimbly lifted a knee in demonstration. His movements were so light and fluid, they seemed almost effortless.

"Is your knee up? Good. Now hold!

"If you tell yourself not to wobble, you will wobble. Instead, you must imagine yourself as a statue. Tell yourself you are made of stone. To conquer the body, you must possess a positive imagination!"

Tifa's eyes met the wandering master's yet again. Zangan seemed as pleased as ever.

"Remember, you're being pulled from the heavens!" he called to the villagers. "Reach! Allow yourself to float into the sky and be whisked away to some far-off town. Imagine you're flying off to see an old friend, and picture the look of shock on his face as you swoop in."

The villagers who lost their balance laughed away their failure. Many gave up, squatting on the dirt of the main square as the lesson continued. A few were still standing, trying to hold the excruciating pose. And among them was Tifa, an unwavering pillar supported by left leg alone.

"Now," Zangan continued, "let's add one more twist. Stay just as you are, but slowly bring your arms down. Keep them straight, so they stick out at each side. Stop when they're level at your shoulders."

Tifa followed the instructions and felt a brief sense of relief─with her arms extended to the side, maintaining her balance was far less taxing.

"Your arms now form a milkmaid's yoke. They bring you balance. Feel how much easier it is to remain steady?"

Zangan smiled and added, "But do not grow too confident. Any moment now, you'll feel the weight of your arms. Challenge yourself. See how long you can keep them aloft."

Zangan began another slow count, this time upward.

"One... two... three..."

Just as he predicted, Tifa's arms began to feel heavy. She fought to keep them up and was filled with sudden indignation. The fact that she was exerting herself on the stranger's behalf seemed absurd. She didn't have to do this. She could stop at any time. Why was she taking Zangan's lesson so seriously?

Without warning, an answer popped into mind. She realized she possessed the same stubborn pride as all the residents of Nibelheim. She didn't care much for Zangan, but she wasn't about to let him think less of her just because she was from the sticks.

Tifa's father had given up at some point and was now squatting on the ground at her side. He looked up at his daughter, clearly impressed at how she held each pose with impeccable balance.

"I feel like I'm seeing you in a whole new light," he remarked.

Tifa remained silent. She followed Zangan with her eyes. The martial artist was again on the move, winding his way through the square, route carefully chosen to bring him by all the village's children. As he got to each child, he'd reach out a steadying hand, using it as an opportunity to casually squeeze the child's upper arms. Then he'd crouch down low and pretend to offer pointers, poking a finger at the child's calves.

Tifa recalled the events of the previous afternoon.

I'd fancy a closer look at those calves of yours, he'd said.

She gasped softly. Suddenly, it all fell into place. A single word floated into her mind.

Trafficker.

Tifa had heard the stories. There were people in the world who sought out children with strong arms and legs─children who would make hard workers.

They were scoundrels who used honeyed words and grand promises to lure youngsters away from their homes and sell them into slavery. In the city, there were even supposed to be places that gathered up all the little orphans in the slums, raising them until they were old enough to force into lives of hard labor.

Maybe Zangan ran an operation like that.

Tifa's arms grew heavier yet. She could feel her muscles shriek in agony.

"To conquer the body, you must possess a positive imagination," repeated Zangan.

Tifa felt herself wobble. She leaned to one side, trying to compensate, but her balance was too far gone.

"Shoot!" she grumbled loudly as her right foot stomped back to the ground.

"Good! That's enough!" chirped Zangan to the assembled villagers. "Now let's move on to the left leg. Same pose as before, but this time lift your left knee instead of your right."

Like I'm gonna follow the directions of some child trafficker! Tifa thought bitterly.

She squatted down like the other villagers who had given up. Zangan undoubtedly noticed, but he pretended not to mind. He carried on with his lesson, gently coaching the remaining participants. The exercises continued one after another. Most of the villagers still standing scrambled to return to the current pose whenever they lost their balance. Occasionally, someone who had quit earlier would get back up to try again. In fact, many of the villagers did. Tifa saw that even her father hadn't actually given up. Despite frequent breaks and poor form, he still returned to his feet every few minutes to rejoin the lesson.

She began to regret her decision. Zangan's directions were clear and confident. His words carried strength. He could stir people to action and inspire them to overcome difficulty.

Tifa realized she'd never heard anyone like him before. His was a presence altogether different from the adults she'd come to know in the village. When her neighbors or even her father wanted something done, they wheedled and cajoled, then quickly escalated to shouts and threats if they didn't get their way.

In contrast, Zangan guided and encouraged. How could she have let herself believe he was the type of person to deceive young children?

She'd allowed fear and prejudice to cloud her mind. And in doing so, she'd almost missed out on an opportunity to discover a brand-new world.

"Ready for the next exercise?" Zangan called. "Careful. This one's a doozy."

"More like we're ready for it to be over!" cried Zander. Laughter resounded throughout the square. Zangan smiled and again flicked his eyes in Tifa's direction. He didn't seem like a trafficker anymore.

"Cross your arms in front of your chest," directed Zangan. "Your right hand should rest on your left shoulder, and your left hand on your right. Now bend both knees and lower yourself down like you're sitting in a chair. Don't let your backside stick out! Remain focused on your thighs. That's it. Slowly. No need to rush."

Concentrate. Focus. No need to rush.

How many times had she heard those words this morning? Tifa visualized each muscle in her body as she fought to hold the latest pose. Never in her life had she focused so intently on the movements of her body.

And then it was over.

Tifa checked the display of her phone, surprised to find that Zangan's routine had lasted all of twenty minutes.

"Very good! Let's call it a day," he announced. "I'd recommend you perform this routine every other day if possible. If you find yourself able, do it every morning. Do not rush as you perform the exercises, and do not allow yourself to take shortcuts.

"If you found today's training too intense, or if you have bad knees or a bad back, or even if you simply find it hard to stick to things over time, I'd suggest─"

"You won't find any whiners like that in this village!" shouted Zander, and the rest of the village cheered in response.

"Perhaps not. But know that I offer my teachings to all types because I, too, was once weak. There is a path to strength suitable to each of us. Allow me to help you find yours. The only tools you need to start are an imagination and a willingness to learn.

"To those of you who believe you possess those qualities, let us meet again tomorrow at this place and time. Let us make the most of our days together, for the betterment of all our lives."

"But the second day of training never came," said Tifa as another gust of wind passed over the plain and through her long hair.

"What do you mean?" asked Aerith, obviously disappointed. As Tifa related the tale, the other woman had begun miming the exercises, lifting her own arms above her head and out to her sides. "Did something happen to Zangan? Aww. And here I was, ready to hear you go through it again so I could really get it down."

"The routine? If you'd like, I can teach you later."

"Yes, please!"

"So what happened?" came Barret's gruff voice. By this point, Tifa could tell he was all but hanging on her every word.

"Well, there was a little gathering that night. Only the adults could go. Master Zangan had invited them to sit down and listen to some of his personal philosophy. And from what I'm told, his views included some pretty heavy criticism of Shinra. He claimed the war had been driven by Shinra's desire to dominate the world and show that nothing compares to the might of mako energy. He said their roots as a weapons manufacturer meant they'd never really give up R&D. They'd always be cooking up conflict as an excuse to try out their latest inventions."

"Sounds like Zangan was right on the money," said Barret. "Those aren't criticisms. They're just plain observations."

"Yup. Honestly, my dad used to have plenty to say about the way Shinra went about things. Even the village head usually blamed Shinra every time something went wrong.

"Still, you can't exactly go around bobbing your head every time a stranger starts badmouthing Shinra. Doubly so when you live in a tiny mountain village that depends entirely on company money. Shinra's not above laying little traps to test the people's loyalty."

Aerith's eyes grew wide. "So Master Zangan was actually a spy?"

"No. But Zander didn't know that. He had to assume the worst. So in the end, the village provided Zangan with a nice meal and a place to spend the night so as not to cause offense, but asked him to please carry on to his next destination. At least, that's what I was able to piece together from the things I heard later on."

The night after Zangan's first and only morning exercise session, Tifa awoke in the dark to a sudden, gentle tapping sound. It was very late─or judging by the sky, very early. Dawn would soon break. The tapping noise was coming from her window, and after the fog of sleep lifted, she realized someone must be out there, beckoning her to open it.

The fact that her room was on the second story made the mystery all the more puzzling. But as she hopped out of bed and raised a hand to whisk the lace curtains aside, she had a suspicion she knew who she would find.

Sure enough, it was Zangan's face on the other side of the glass. He motioned for her to open the window, and Tifa complied, unfastening the latch and slowly pushing outward so as not to wake her father.

"Good morning," Zangan said with a grin.

"Good morning."

"I imagine you've heard the news from your father already. I'm to depart at dawn. I wish it were not so, but it is the village's desire."

Tifa nodded uncertainly.

"Before I go, there's something I'd like you to know. First of all, I'm not a trafficker."

"Huh?" Tifa felt the blood drain from her face.

"During my travels, I've noticed that youngsters tend to suspect me of being a kidnapper and older residents tend to assume I'm a spy.

"So tell me," he continued, "did I get it right? You were shooting me quite the dirty look this morning."

"I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that."

On hearing her apology, Zangan's grin grew wider.

"Tifa Lockhart," he said. "Eyes like yours don't miss much. Surely you noticed how carefully I was observing you during the training. Allow me to speak plainly. I've taken a keen interest in you from the moment we crossed paths. I'd like to someday have you as a disciple, if it's a path you're inclined to follow.

"You possess the makings of a great martial artist─both the aptitude and the quality of mind. Your arms and legs are strong and limber. That is proof of your aptitude. As to your quality, I needed only a glimpse of what is in your heart. The key to conquering the body is a positive imagination, and one can only foster a positive imagination if she first possesses a kind heart."

"You know what's in my heart?"

"Why, of course. Don't you recall our happy encounter at the river?"

Tifa grimaced and thought, Happy is the last word I'd choose to describe it.

"Before your arrival, several other villagers had already walked by that morning. They all saw me, but none of them showed any concern or made any effort to call out. None except you, Tifa."

The source of his admiration seemed rather ironic. Zangan had never been in any danger or need of assistance in the first place. Tifa had only called out to him because of her own misunderstanding. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of her poor judgment being a testament to her kindness or quality of mind or anything else.

Zangan looked to the sky and said, "Daybreak is upon us. Here. I shall leave you with this book of techniques."

He produced a thin booklet from one sleeve and handed it to Tifa.

"That book describes the basic exercises needed to begin your training in Zangan-style martial arts. I've dedicated my life to devising and honing those techniques.

"The first book is divided into twelve steps that will teach you the full range of motion your body is capable of, as well as how to improve your overall strength. It prescribes specific exercises and a training routine for you to follow.

"When you've mastered the contents of that book, I'll deliver to you the second one. And when you've mastered Book Two, I'll deliver to you the third. By the time you reach adulthood, you'll wield a formidable array of martial arts techniques."

"Martial arts?" chirped Tifa. "I'm not sure if that's something I... "

"I'm not saying you have to think of yourself as a martial artist. The important thing is that these techniques will make you strong. They'll allow you to defeat the greatest enemy─the one that is inside you. Beyond that, how you use the physical skills you gain is up to you."

Zangan smiled and added, "To put it another way, these exercises will instill you with the willpower and perseverance necessary to obtain true strength. And it is my belief that true strength is the only weapon with which we may defeat our inner foe."

"Greatest enemy? Inner foe? What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm talking about your self. The weakness inside you. Surely you're old enough to have experienced it. Haven't you ever been filled with hopeless rage? Felt that you hated your father, or all adults, or even your friends?

"Haven't you ever screamed inside your mind that nobody understands you, or lamented that nobody recognizes how special you are, even though it's plain to see?

"We all begin to have thoughts like that in our youth. And when we let them go unaddressed, we begin to look down on others."

Tifa remained silent.

"But I would suggest that we cannot rightly judge others unless we know ourselves. Martial arts training is the ultimate method to confront your inner self and to understand it. Doing so brings you a solid basis from which to evaluate the world around you.

"To not have a solid basis is to allow your perception to be swayed by fickle things. Things like mood, temperament, or even weather. And to base your understanding of the world on easily swayed perception is to fail to understand it at all.

"My discipline offers you the chance to find your solid base.

"To see who you truly are, to conquer her and in doing so come to know the world with perfect clarity─that is what it means to study Zangan-style martial arts."

Tifa mumbled in response, "... I see."

But she didn't. Not really. Zangan's words seemed to her strange, overexcited ramblings.

He peered at her and continued. "You do not yet grasp the meaning of my words. But tell me, is your failure to understand a fault of mine or yours? Again, I think you'll find this a question that cannot be answered without a thorough self-understanding."

"Um... Okay?"

"Let's put it this way. Exercise isn't only good for your body. It keeps your mind healthy too. And there is no better exercise in this world than Zangan-style martial arts. If you're looking for a simple answer, that about sums it up."

Zangan's grin vanished, and he spoke with sudden gravity.

"The choice is up to you. I won't force it. But if you decide not to walk this path, I'd ask that you please burn the book."

"I have to burn it?"

This time, he burst into a grin so wide, wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes.

"But of course. It does contain my greatest secrets, after all."

"Hey, Tifa," whispered Barret, leaning in close as they continued to walk the grassy plains. "How about lettin' me in on a thing or two written in that book?"

"Not a chance. Not even for you, Barret. Those are my master's secrets."

"Damn... Well, it was worth a shot."

Aerith turned to him, her voice teasing. "If we happen to cross paths with Master Zangan during our travels, you could always ask him to take you on as a disciple."

"Hmph. I see your game. Bet you'd have a real nice laugh over seeing him turn me down."

A low, beastlike growl came from Red XIII.

"What's the matter, Red?" asked Barret.

"I'd be obliged if Tifa could resume her story. And if you could keep your mouth shut."

Though Zander had determined Zangan's swift departure to be in the village's best interest, not everyone was in agreement. Many of the village's older─and more influential─residents grew quite vocal on the matter. They'd enjoyed their brief taste of Zangan's exercises and were upset they hadn't been given the chance to memorize the entire routine. Zangan had promised more to come, and now they felt they'd been cheated out of something special.

Their demands seemed simple enough: they wanted to keep practicing the exercises each morning, and they wanted a teacher to lead them. The only problem was that Zangan was long gone.

Desperate to appease the outspoken group, Zander paid a surprise visit to Tifa's home one evening. His expression was sour as he explained the situation.

"Tifa," he asked, "would you be willing to lead some morning exercises? It doesn't need to be anything fancy. Just show them the right way to do the poses Zangan demonstrated."

Tifa was caught entirely off guard. It was her father who managed to voice her bewilderment.

"Why her?" he asked.

"It was Zangan's idea. Not mine. When he left the village, he told me Tifa would make a fine instructor if there happened to be any talk of continuing the exercises. He said that of everyone in the village, Tifa had by far the best form."

Tifa blushed, yet she also felt a surge of pride on learning that Zangan had been quietly singing her praises.

"Zander, please," said her father. "We don't need another headache in our lives."

"Trust me, it's already a headache, and if we don't do something, the whole village is going to be feeling it. Please. I'm begging you. The old folks want their morning calisthenics, and they won't settle until they get what they want."

Brian snorted. He seemed to be enjoying watching the head of the village squirm. Tifa had never been certain whether the relationship her father shared with the man was one of friendship or rivalry. The way the two interacted was always somewhat bewildering.

"Well?" her father said, turning to her. "How do you feel about it?"

"All I have to do is lead the exercises? If that's really everything there is to it, I think I'd like to try."

"Oh, Tifa..." Her father looked as if he wanted to talk her out of it, but he held his tongue. Ever since Cloud and the other boys had left town, Brian had been voicing not-so-subtle complaints about how Tifa seemed to spend all her time lazing about the house. Perhaps the desire to see his daughter doing something constructive outweighed his distaste for this disruption in the village's routine.

He shook his head and said, "Okay, well, if you're gonna do this, do it right."

As Tifa prepared breakfast the following day, a knock came at the door. She answered it to find a villager she'd met a few times but did not know well. She was an elderly woman by the name of Monami, and as Tifa understood it, she was Zander's aunt.

The visitor's hair was pulled back into a ponytail so tight, it seemed to stretch the corners of her eyes.

"Morning," she greeted Tifa with a smile. "Goodness, I can't remember the last time the two of us talked. Zander tells me you've offered to help us out. How does two gil an hour sound?"

"Huh?"

Zander hadn't mentioned anything about being paid for this new responsibility. In fact, up to that moment, the idea hadn't even entered her mind.

"All right. I get it," Monami said. "You're thirteen years old, and we can't keep treating you like a child. Four gil an hour. That's our final offer."

"That's very kind of you, but really, the lessons aren't about making money."

"Nonsense. We want you to take this seriously, and that means you need to be getting paid. Trust me. We're gonna make you work for each and every gil."

Tifa hesitated, unsure whether she had four-gil-an-hour's worth of value to offer her fellow villagers, Zangan's endorsement notwithstanding. On the other hand, the prospect of finally having a way to earn money for herself was tempting. It would open up all sorts of new possibilities.

Monami seemed to interpret her silence another way. "Fine. Six gil."

"All right," Tifa scrambled to answer, half worried the number─and accompanying sense of guilt─might keep rising. "It's a deal. Six gil an hour."

"You know, when Brian was your age, most of his friends had left the village too."

It was morning, a few days later. Tifa and her new trainees were assembled in the village square, and Monami had begun to reminisce aloud about Tifa's parents, completely unprompted.

"But he decided to stay behind," Monami continued. "He wasn't going to risk letting his chance with Thea slip away."

"Wow. I never knew that," Tifa replied as she gently repositioned Monami's arm. Their current exercise was most effective when the chest was extended; the trainees' arms needed to be slightly back, behind the line of the shoulders.

"Y'know, back in the day, Thea was a real hot item. She could have had any guy she wanted."

It was a bit unnerving, hearing her mother described in such terms. But Tifa simply nodded, welcoming Monami to continue. She'd come to accept that listening to the elderly villagers' stories of yesteryear was just part of the job. And with lesson fees squarely in the equation, she felt responsible to make the training sessions as enjoyable and productive as possible.

"But if you want my advice," said Monami, "a fine girl like you ought to get out before it's too late.

"In fact, why not follow that Master Zangan fellow around? I bet it'd be real nice to go around seeing the world."

"I'm sure it would," Tifa replied, her tone noncommittal.

"None of that, now. I don't want to see you nodding along just to be polite. It's high time the women of Nibelheim started to make decisions for themselves."

Tifa just nodded again as she adjusted Monami's arm once more.

"The ladies of my generation didn't have that option, see? Of course, when the Strife girl came along─"

(This being how Monami referred to Cloud's mother.)

"─for a moment, it looked like things were about to change. She was always talking about heading out on her own. Hard to say if it was because she didn't like the village, or if she was just drawn to city life."

Without warning, Monami shifted to a new pose. She'd abandoned the routine and was off doing her own thing.

"Big dreams like that don't exactly fit with tradition. Folks round here have some strong opinions about how a woman's s'posed to find happiness. So when she started dreamin' of something different... Well, people got upset. Took it to mean she was looking down on our way of life.

"Pretty soon, nobody in the village had a single nice thing to say about her, present company included. But to tell the truth, inside I was cheering her on. I think a part of me was jealous. Could hardly fathom the idea of a woman carving her own way through life... It just seemed too good to be true.

"I guess that's when I first felt like things might be changing round here. Bit by bit, at any rate."

Now Tifa was helping Monami lift her knee into place.

"Keep it nice and high," she encouraged the older woman. "All the way up here."

Monami's balance began to falter. Tifa placed her hands at the woman's sides to steady her and said, "But Mrs. Strife ended up staying in Nibelheim."

"That's right. Turns out love's the one thing you can't fight. A traveler passed through town, and the Strife girl was put in charge of finding him a place to stay. Didn't take two shakes before she was head over heels. Maybe it was the air of adventure about him. Who knows?"

Monami smiled and added, "'Course, the fella did have a real handsome face. You can see it in Cloud. That boy came from two fine-lookin' parents, and he got the best of 'em both."

"He did, hm?"

"But that man of Claudia's... Hmph! He was like the wind. Never could settle down. One day─I reckon it was around the time Cloud would've been taking his first few steps─Claudia's man said he was gonna head off to the mountain, and that was that. Never saw him again. Some time later, a few of the villagers found his pack. Who knows what happened? Maybe he was gobbled up by a monster. You should count yourself lucky the same didn't happen to you."

Tifa shuddered. Monami had veered off onto another story─one Tifa would've been happy never to revisit.

"Maybe that's why Cloud talked you into climbing the mountain back then. I betcha he's got his father's wild ways in him."

The old woman began to lose her balance again, and this time, Tifa offered no support. Monami quickly dropped her leg to try to catch herself, but it was too late, and she toppled backward, rear end planting unceremoniously in the dirt.

"Let's try the other leg," Tifa said. "Come on. Back to your feet."

She held a hand out to Monami, only to have it waved away. With a determined grunt, the old woman rose to her feet unaided.

"Hmph. You're a strict teacher, ain'tcha? A lot tougher than that cute face of yours lets on."

"Just making sure you get the six-gil experience."

Tifa smiled to herself. She realized she was starting to get the hang of quick-witted banter.

Monami lifted the opposite leg. Once again her alignment was off. Tifa reached out to fix it, and the woman asked, "You really don't remember any of it? It must've been one nasty spill."

The incident in question had occurred when Tifa was eight. She and Cloud had slipped down a rocky slope while climbing Mt. Nibel, the impact knocking Tifa unconscious. The version of events that the village accepted─based on Emilio's and the other boys' accounts─was all she knew. It was as if the trauma of that day had pushed the memory from her mind, and the entire sequence of events had vanished without a trace.

"No," she replied. "As much as I wish I could, I really can't."

Tifa had come to appreciate the trouble with students this age: it was hard to tell if they were there to learn or to chat. When she complained about the endless gossip at home, her father laughed.

"I tried to warn you," he said. "Boy, you couldn't get me to spend my mornings with the old folks for a hundred gil a day."

They didn't listen. They were pushy. Even the better-behaved ones watched eagerly from the sidelines, nodding and chuckling about whatever bit of gossip was currently being passed around.

Tifa always had to remind herself that they weren't being mean. They just had a different way of communicating. She learned to follow their lines of conversation, lest they get upset and the lesson's mood sour.

The kinds of topics they'd touch upon never failed to surprise and rarely failed to distress. Above all else, they liked to giggle and tease about the fact that her body was blossoming into adulthood. If she was lucky, someone would notice her discomfort and change the subject, but the new threads of conversation were frequently just as bad. They'd start speculating about which of the village boys Tifa might end up with. Or, worse yet, they'd get on to the topic of Tifa's parents, casually recounting her father's past breakups or the men her mother had dated prior to settling down. To Tifa's students, Brian and Thea were just members of another generation of "young'uns," their youthful blunders fair game for idle chatter.

And at the end of the day, in the moments before sleep took hold, Tifa imagined that someday it might be the same for her. Perhaps she'd grow old in Nibelheim, reveling in memories of the past and juicy tales of the village's latest goings-on. She'd eagerly pass the things she heard on to the next pair of waiting ears, living out her days on repeat. She'd find herself a permanent fixture of the village and, eventually, one more piece of its history.

"For a while there, I wondered if I'd gotten myself wrapped up in something I shouldn't have. But as I got used to interacting with the older villagers, I realized I didn't mind their quirks so much. Everybody likes to talk and have someone to share with, and I'm fine being the one to lend an ear."

Barret laughed. "Imagine that. Our star bartender here got her start chattin' with a bunch of small-town retirees."

"Yeah. I guess I did. It was sort of a crash course in interacting with all sorts of different personalities. Fortunately, they seemed to like me. In fact, every day more and more of the village was showing up for class. We started calling ourselves the Calisthenics Club."

"Damn," said Barret, his voice mystified. "That's exactly how it went down at Seventh Heaven."

Aerith motioned eagerly for Barret to go on.

"Used to be a real quiet place, run by a guy as old as lumber. But when Tifa started tending the bar, it transformed overnight. So many guys were pouring in the doors, you had to bat 'em away with a stick!"

"I can totally see that," replied Aerith. "Can't you, Red?"

Red XIII grunted. "I'm more interested to know what transpired with this Zangan fellow. Did he return to teach you more? I have to imagine so, from the way you manage yourself in combat."

"He did. But the story of my training is a little more involved than you might guess."

Within a month of establishing the Calisthenics Club, Tifa's daily routine had changed completely. Morning was spent guiding her students. Afternoon was dedicated to reading books and studying arithmetic. In the early evening, she'd hike up into the mountain to train in solitude, always returning home by sundown to keep her father from worrying. At night, just before bed, she pored over Zangan's booklet, committing the forms to memory and pondering each and every line for any detail she might have overlooked.

Around that time, a letter arrived from Emilio. It told of his new life in the city. He wrote about the noise, the food, and the staggering gap between rich and poor. He lamented the differences in values─the things that he'd grown up treasuring that were dismissed as provincial by the people of Midgar. Everything was new, and everything was bewildering.

I know it sounds rough, he wrote, but whenever I'm about to lose hope, I think of you. I dream about the day I'll make it back to Nibelheim and take you away. That's why I decided to write about the parts of city life that are surprising or difficult to cope with. I want to help you be ready for when you start your new life here with me.

The contents had Tifa fuming. Who did Emilio think he was, deciding Tifa's future all by himself?

The same day the letter came, Zangan returned. He walked into the village casually, straight up to Tifa's door as if he were now part of the community. Brian was the one to answer. Puzzled yet courteous, he acquiesced when Zangan asked permission to invite Tifa out for a day of training.

The wandering master led Tifa up to the location of their first encounter. When they reached the bank of the Gunnthra and set down their bags, Tifa looked her teacher straight in the eyes.

"Master Zangan, I've been thinking about what you said. I'd like to become your disciple, if you'll still have me. I want to become stronger."

Zangan smiled. "Those were precisely the words I was hoping to hear."

Then he paused and added, "What's wrong? You seem tense today. Irritated."

"What do you mean?" protested Tifa. "I'm feeling great."

But after a moment, she recalled her reaction to Emilio's message.

"Sorry," she apologized. "You're right. I think it's because of a letter I got from a friend."

"Tell me about this letter."

"I dunno... It upset me, I guess. A few months ago, he went off to the city. All my friends did. And the things he said in his letter... It made me want to show him that I'm better than he thinks. That I can make my own way through life."

Zangan hummed in response. After a moment, he said, "My school of fighting is not a tool for belittling others."

"Yes, Master. I know."

"No. I don't think that you do. But I suspect it is a truth you cannot grasp without further study. Here is what I propose.

"I shall test you on your understanding thus far. If it is clear that you have been diligent in your training, I will allow you to move on to the next step."

"You mean here? Right now?"

"Show me all the forms in the first book. You have them memorized, I hope?"

"Yes, Master."

With a deep breath, Tifa began to work her way through the physical training exercises, one by one.

When she was finished, Zangan grunted.

"Again. From the beginning."

"Yes, Master."

The second time through, Zangan began to correct her movements.

"Palms," he announced, not a minute into the first form. "Check the description. Which way are they to face?"

Tifa stopped and crouched, quickly pulling the thin booklet from her bag─it was the first thing she'd packed on Zangan's arrival that morning. She flicked through its initial pages, scanning the text.

Her eyes widened. All this time, she'd been doing it wrong. The palms were supposed to face up, not down.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I had it wrong."

"Try it again. This time as written."

She began the form again, paying close attention to her palms. The adjustment added new, unfamiliar strain to the exercises─different muscles being stretched and pulled. Tifa found herself astonished at what a difference such a tiny change could bring.

"Follow my writings precisely. Nothing is to be left to your own interpretation or desire. The training is meant to hone not only body but also mind. You must learn to abide by rules. Discipline opens the way to strength.

"By becoming my student," Zangan continued, "you stand to grow very powerful indeed. But strength alone is a dangerous thing. The more you possess, the greater your responsibility to use it wisely. That is why it must be accompanied by fortitude─the mental wherewithal to control your strength. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

The second time through the forms, Zangan was relentless. He pointed out every tiny aberration, demanding she stop, check the text, and correct herself. She could not proceed to the next form until every detail was perfect. It took twice the usual amount of time to complete the full routine, and when Tifa was finished, every muscle in her arms and legs ached and begged for rest.

"Good," he said. "Now close your eyes and let the tension flow out of you. Focus on each part of your body in turn. How does it feel? Do you sense any pain or discomfort?"

Tifa closed her eyes and concentrated. After a moment, she responded, "My upper back. About... here."

She reached her right hand around her left side and touched the base of her shoulder blade. "It's not so much painful as... I guess I'd describe it as a twitching sensation."

The touch of her own fingers brought instant relief.

Her response seemed to please Zangan. He hummed and nodded his approval.

"The bone there is the scapula. Your fingers currently rest on the trapezius. Surrounding that muscle, you'll also find the deltoid, infraspinatus, and teres minor. Book Two focuses on strengthening those muscles, as well as all other muscles and tendons throughout your back."

As he spoke, he produced another small booklet from one pocket.

"You'll need a sharp awareness of those parts of your body if you wish to project an air of self-assurance. From now on, I want you to walk confidently. Shoulders back, chest out, head held high. Good posture will help you not only in your training; it will define your interactions with others as you go about your life."

"Yes, Master."

"Let us not waste this opportunity. Book Two, Paragraph Two, Section One, Part One. Scapular push-ups. Shall we begin?"

Zangan lowered himself to the ground, positioning for what appeared to be a standard push-up. Tifa hurried to follow his lead.

"For this exercise, the arms do not bend. They merely support your body. Focus on your shoulder blades. Pull them apart to the right and left as wide as you are able. Then bring them back together so that they touch."

Zangan began a slow cadence. "Apart... Together... Apart... Together..."

She'd never done a push-up like this before. It was hard to even imagine the motions he was describing. She struggled, experimenting with the muscles in her back, trying to figure out how to pull her shoulder blades away from each other.

She lifted her head to watch Zangan. The line of his shoulders curled and straightened, over and over in rhythmic, almost-hypnotic motion.

It reminded her of Fluffy, and hesitating, she decided to say as much to Zangan.

"My cat sometimes moves like that."

"Indeed," Zangan replied. "There are many things we can learn from our feline friends."

Tifa turned her attention back to her own shoulder blades. Her back moved slightly up and down as she attempted to copy the curious movements she'd idly observed in Fluffy, and after a few more attempts, she began to understand the sensations that Zangan spoke of.

Apart. Together.

Zangan rose to his feet and observed as Tifa continued the exercise. Several repetitions later, he announced, "Very good."

Tifa slumped to the ground, exhausted and surprised to find herself breaking out in a light sweat. How were scapular push-ups so demanding? The range of motion was tiny!

A chuckle came from Zangan.

"Don't be too surprised," he said, as if reading her mind. "The muscles in our backs are some of the body's largest. Flexing them gets your blood pumping and your temperature elevated. It's a surefire way to work up a sweat."

When they finally reached the end of the second book, Tifa was drenched in sweat and panting hard. Never in her life had her shoulders felt so sore.

"Good," Zangan said. "If you have any questions, now is the time."

"Yes, Master," she replied. She knew she should─and did─have questions, but her aching back and the drumbeat of her pulse in her ears made it hard to arrange her thoughts.

When she failed to say anything further, Zangan announced, "Very well. Then let us proceed to Book Three."

"Already?!" The word was out of Tifa's mouth before she could stop herself. Every muscle in her body seemed to scream in protest.

But Zangan simply continued.

"The third book focuses on the muscles of your chest and abdomen. You must hone your front just as you hone your back. First is the pectoralis major, which can be roughly divided into three parts: upper, middle, and lower. The ideal method of strengthening differs by part. I will proceed to demonstrate the basics of each now."

Tifa did her best to suppress a sigh as she responded, "Yes, Master."

"Your general coordination and understanding of your own body is quite impressive, particularly given your age. Am I correct in assuming you've had no past training in sports or martial arts? If not, your ability suggests a great deal of natural talent. Treasure that talent, and be sure to cultivate it."

"Yes, Master."

Strength flowed back into her limbs. Zangan's careful praise seemed to pull the tension from her body, allowing her a moment to relax and recover from her fatigue.

"For now, concentrate on building your muscles. You needn't use any equipment. No barbells or dumbbells─especially not now, while you're still young and growing. When you've reached adulthood, you may choose to use them if you wish. But one of the greatest advantages of the regimen I've developed is that it does not require anything more than an open space and your own body.

"I will guide you, as I guide all my disciples, in a manner that most suits your natural self. Thick, bulky muscles have no place on you, Tifa. Your assets are your core strength, speed, and sharp reflexes. Let us focus on techniques that make the most of those innate qualities."

Zangan looked directly into Tifa's eyes and asked, "So, have you had enough? Shall we quit for today?"

It struck her that Zangan was the first person she'd ever respected with all her heart. She knew she would bear any hardship to keep from letting him down.

"No," she replied. "I'd like to keep going."

"That's the determination I'm looking for. Good."

His expression softened, and he added, "But let us call it a day. Feel your exhaustion now, and remember it. This will be your baseline. Practice each day until you reach this point. In the future, we'll have plenty of time to discuss ways to break beyond your limits when the need arises. But there's no reason to rush into that yet. What matters now is persistence. Dedication. Building good habits."

They set out down the trail toward the village. As they walked, it dawned on Tifa that Zangan's final question had been a test. In fact, the entire time, he'd been pushing and prodding to see how she would react. The thought did not upset her, and that itself struck her as unusual. Had her father done the same, she would have been furious, refusing to speak to him for several days.

When they reached the village, she saw Zangan to his lodgings for the night.

Zangan nodded to her in parting and said, "Please pass my regards along to your father."

Tifa walked across the square to her own home. A familiar aroma of spices wafted from the open windows. She realized that her father was already in the kitchen preparing dinner, and that the menu that night was one of her mother's old signature dishes.

While a favorite of Brian's, it was a meal that Tifa didn't much care for, so it rarely graced the dinner table.

"I'm back!" she announced as she opened the door.

Her father turned to wave from the kitchen. "Welcome home, kiddo."

"Are you cooking what I think you are?"

"Sorry. Couldn't help it. Been dying to have some these past few days. Don't worry, though. I whipped up something else for you."

His voice was overly chipper, and his eyes searched her face for traces of annoyance regarding his choice of meal. A wave of remorse washed over Tifa. She hated that tone of voice. She hated that apprehensive look. And she finally understood that the dynamic between her and her father was entirely of her own making.

"I was becoming a whole new person," Tifa recalled to her friends as they traversed the grasslands. "My body was getting stronger, and I was in better control of it. I had goals and routines. I was growing up. I guess, for the first time, I felt like my life was in order, you know?"

"I hear ya," Barret responded. "You get so wrapped up in your training, everything else just fades away. Feels nice to say to hell with the world and focus inward, doesn't it?"

Tifa shook her head. "No... Sorry, but that's not how it was for me at all. It was more like... I was finally free of all my own little hang-ups and childish expectations. My eyes were open to the needs and feelings of the people around me."

Barret shrugged and offered a sheepish, "Well, different strokes for different folks..."

"From then on, Master Zangan began to visit more often. He was still wandering from place to place, so it was hard to know exactly when he'd show up, but he seemed to pass through Nibelheim to see me every two months or so.

"I continued to lead the Calisthenics Club, and whenever Master was in town, he'd sit in and offer pointers. It made me so happy when he complimented my students. It felt like he was praising me."

At some point, Tifa began keeping a daily log in a notebook. During one of Zangan's visits, she presented it for his perusal.

The log included questions that arose during her individual training. Near the back, she recorded details about each of the Calisthenics Club participants. One villager still suffered the effects of an old injury to his left leg. Another found it difficult to raise her arms above her head. Yet another had a bad back. Tifa noted the things each student excelled at as well as the areas that needed more work. There were general evaluations of stamina, memos about family history, notes on friendships and feuds with other villagers, and cautious reminders of specific topics to avoid in conversation.

Tifa wrote about anything and everything that came to mind regarding her students: work-arounds she'd tried and their degree of success; other ideas she'd thought of but had yet to implement; exercises to focus on; forms to master.

Zangan studied the log for a great deal of time. Finally, he peered back up at her and said, "Remarkable, Tifa. This is the very embodiment of Zangan style."

He snapped the notebook shut and handed it back with an approving nod.

"Tell me, is your father home?"

"I think so."

"I'd like to stop by to say hello. In fact, if it's not a bother, I'd like to sit and visit for a while."

"We'd be delighted to have you, Master."

In truth, she was speculating wildly about Zangan's motives. For the briefest moment, she was concerned. But she knew the training was to thank for her new and much more grounded relationship with her father. If anything, Zangan's visit would be a very welcome one.

Brian Lockhart received the wandering master warmly. There was no longer any trace of the mistrust he'd once harbored─the concerns that the outsider might prove to be a dubious influence on Tifa, and the revulsion he'd once struggled to conceal about the way his daughter referred to the stranger by title of "Master." He now saw Zangan as an upstanding mentor, responsible for helping Tifa to grow up healthy in both body and mind.

Once they were seated, Zangan wasted no time.

"Mr. Lockhart," he said, "I'm here to ask for your cooperation in a matter involving Tifa."

Both father and daughter stiffened slightly.

"Your daughter has incredible talent," Zangan continued. "Even more impressive is the willpower she exhibits through her dedicated training regimen. The great bulk of Tifa's accomplishments have been made in the absence of in-person instruction─that is to say, she's needed no outside influence to maintain her motivation. That's a trait I've found among only the brightest of my disciples. And that is why I would propose..."

Here he looked Tifa in the eyes, and Tifa's trepidation reached a new peak.

"... that starting tomorrow, she begin Book Five."

Tifa felt her cheeks flush hot. This was it. This was the moment of truth. The first four books covered basic movements and exercises. The fifth, as Zangan had once explained, marked the beginning of actual strikes and combat techniques.

"I'd be honored, Master!"

"But there's a catch. Mr. Lockhart, in order for your daughter to further her training effectively, she will require a sparring partner─someone to stand against her in mock combat. Would you be willing to take on that role?"

Zangan lowered his eyes and added, "I come to you personally because of a certain past failing. A promising student of mine, for whom I did not find an appropriate person to spar with, took it upon himself to practice against monsters in the badlands instead. My mistake cost that boy his life, and I swore I would never allow such a tragedy to occur again."

Brian's eyes displayed obvious concern. But when he opened his mouth, it was concern of a very different nature than what Tifa had anticipated.

"Mr. Zangan, sir... I'm happy to do anything I can to help my daughter, but I'm hardly a capable fighter. Would Tifa have anything to gain from a sparring partner lacking any experience?"

A chuckle came from Zangan. "I'm sure you'll have your share of scrapes and scuffs until you get the hang of it."

"Now I'm even less confident..."

"To be perfectly clear, both student and partner must perform each motion earnestly, as if the fight were real. Attempting to go easy on each other is a recipe for greater injury. But you should find yourself able to absorb the blows without harm by preparing some simple defensive equipment. Even makeshift gear fashioned from items around the home will suffice."

Tifa saw her father glance in her direction, eyebrows raised. She stared back at him, her own eyes pleading.

"All right," announced Brian. "I'll do it. Tell me how to proceed."

Elated, Tifa jumped from her chair and flung her arms about her father's neck─a simple display of love and delight she probably hadn't shown him in years.

"Thank you, Dad! You're the best!"

Over the next several hours, Zangan demonstrated to Tifa and her father the basic punches and kicks described in the fifth book, as well as how to defend against them, before departing the village.

Most surprising, perhaps, was how Brian took the instructions about fashioning equipment to heart. He immediately proceeded to draw up detailed plans. A skilled handyman and meticulous in his work, he'd soon readied an array of professional-looking gear above and beyond Zangan's specifications.

And thus Tifa's training continued, more intense than ever. She practiced with her father at home, and when time allowed, off the beaten paths of Mt. Nibel, where they were unlikely to be seen or interrupted by other villagers.

Zangan's next appearance in Nibelheim came three days prior to Tifa's fifteenth birthday. Excited to show off her progress, she immediately set about demonstrating the movements described in the fifth book, her father dutifully catching each strike. As with each previous book, Zangan allowed her to finish before directing her to start again from the beginning, this time with painstaking analysis and correction of unfavorable habits and deviations from the text.

"Very good," he announced when she'd completed the final section to his satisfaction. "Now, how would you feel about ending the day's training with a match against me?"

Tifa hesitated. "Against you, Master?"

"Do not worry. I'll not strike back. I'll only evade and deflect. Go ahead, now."

Brian scrambled to untie the bracers on his arms.

"Master Zangan!" he interjected. "Here. Use the equipment I've made. We'd be devastated if anything were to happen to you."

Zangan clutched his sides and roared with laughter. When he'd calmed himself, he hopped backward lightly and extended a fist in Tifa's direction. His hand uncurled, palm upward, and he flicked his fingers for her to approach.

To Tifa, he seemed to have morphed into a completely different person. Gone was the soft visage of her teacher, replaced by the steeled chin and commanding gaze of a confident fighter.

"Here's your chance, you ignorant little hick. Come at me."

She could hardly believe the words coming out of her teacher's mouth. Anger surged, and she readied herself to strike.

Her father called out to her, urging caution, telling her to breathe and calm her mind. But the first words were hardly out of his mouth when Tifa launched herself at Zangan. She threw a right punch with all the momentum of her sprint behind it. There'd been no move like this anywhere in Zangan's teachings.

Just as the blow was about to land, the master flicked one massive hand up, catching her fist in his palm.

He snorted. "Is that the best you can do? I've felt stronger breezes over the grasslands."

He clamped his fingers down over Tifa's fist and thrust his arm forward, releasing his grip at the last moment. Tifa went stumbling backward, then tripped and landed on her backside.

"Have you forgotten your footwork too? Book Five, Paragraph Three, Section Three."

Tifa scrambled back to her feet, jaw clenched, and approached again. This time, she brought both fists in front of her face, forearms ready to guard against any strike as she inched forward.

She followed the footwork ingrained in mind over hours spent sparring with her father.

"Ah. It's nice to see you finally taking this seriously. Now show me what comes next."

Zangan began to circle slowly too, keeping Tifa at his fore. He brought both arms up in a tight guard.

She wasn't seeing any opening. She decided to try her luck anyway. With a loud yell, she darted in and unleashed a flurry of blows on Zangan.

Not one of her attacks connected. Zangan weaved and deflected, not a trace of exertion on his face.

Still she persisted, darting in and out until exhaustion finally dictated that the bout was over.

She stepped back, panting heavily and barely able to stand. Zangan placed his palms together and bowed deeply. Tifa's mind was whirling with so many thoughts, she couldn't even think to return the sign of respect.

On the way back to the village, Tifa's father invited Zangan to stay for dinner─an invitation that was accepted with delight.

The wandering master possessed a voracious appetite, and he scarfed down Brian's meal, along with several of Tifa's homemade cupcakes for dessert.

But Brian had another reason for asking Zangan over. After the meal, he presented their guest with an envelope containing a small token of cash─money he'd saved up as thanks for the time and attention paid to Tifa.

Zangan regarded the envelope with surprise, only accepting after some hesitation.

"Just this once," he said. "Know that I will refuse any further offers. I don't ask for remuneration from my disciples. In fact, if you'll permit, I'd like to donate this gil to a certain organization with which I am involved."

"Please. It's yours to do with as you like. Although, I have to admit you've got me curious. What kind of organization is it?"

"A sort of... volunteer initiative, I guess you'd say. We work to ensure a future for the children of the world. Our range of activities is quite extensive, so it's rather hard for any of us to settle on a name. Usually, we simply refer to it as ‘the association' or ‘the network.'"

"Dad. Master. Please," interjected Tifa, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere. "I'm sure this network is very special and all, and I'd love to hear more about it someday. But Master Zangan is leaving the village in the morning. Before he goes, I need to know what I did wrong in our match. Why wasn't I able to hit you? It was like you knew exactly what I was going to do next. How?"

Bemused, Zangan responded, "I could tell you, but I think you'll find the answer is actually quite obvious. You might wish you'd have taken a moment to work it out yourself."

"I'll live with it. Please tell me. I have to know."

Tifa's father eagerly interrupted, "Hang on! I think I can answer why. It was because you got her all riled up, wasn't it? The name-calling was all a ploy!"

Zangan laughed. "Partly. Once Tifa's mind was clouded with anger, she forgot half the things she's learned. But there's more to it."

"Why wouldn't I be mad?" protested Tifa. "A teacher I look up to suddenly sneering at me and saying awful things... At first I was surprised, then I felt hurt and sad. It was only after that that I got angry!"

Her words seemed to hit home, as Zangan's face twisted with remorse.

"You're right. It was not an honorable way to fight. I wouldn't be pleased to hear that you'd tried the same thing on someone else."

"I most certainly wouldn't!"

"Still, I was surprised at how effective it was... I thought you'd manage to land at least one blow."

Zangan coughed and straightened in his seat.

"The tell was your line of sight. I knew precisely where you'd strike next by where your eyes were focused."

The revelation stunned Tifa into silence.

Next to her, her father groaned, "Of course. How did I miss it?"

And Zangan laughed. "There I go again, indulging a favorite disciple instead of making her find the answers for herself."

Immediately, she wished she'd made the effort to figure it out. It was just as Zangan had predicted, and that only made the sting of regret all the worse.

"But let us set that aside," her teacher said. "Tifa Lockhart, allow me to present you with a gift, in celebration of your upcoming birthday."

He turned and reached to the back of his seat, on which hung his traveling bag─his knapsack, as he called it. After rummaging around inside for a moment, he again faced Tifa, now holding a single leather cord of the same color and material as the bag.

"This cord is a surprisingly useful item for a traveler," he explained. "It comes in handy in all sorts of ways. Its only limit, really, is your imagination. Perhaps, with some thought, it might even make a formidable weapon."

Zangan held the cord out to Tifa. "Go ahead. Take it."

He smiled and added, "I recommend you accept with your left hand."

Tifa peered into her mentor's eyes with uncertainty. He nodded reassuringly, a touch of amusement showing in his rugged features.

She timidly reached over the table. Zangan's free hand snapped out like a coiled snake. She felt his burly fingers curl around her forearm, and before she could react, he'd skillfully wrapped the cord loosely around her wrist─once, twice, and then he released his grip to tie the ends into a knot.

What was once a cord was now a simple, unassuming leather bracelet.

"Consumed by emotion," said Zangan. "That was the state in which you found yourself when I goaded you on. It was what allowed me to catch your fist in my hand and proceed to easily deflect each and every one of your strikes. Your anger blotted out your hours of training and robbed you of your carefully honed techniques. It wiped my teachings from your mind─including the importance of showing your opponent respect and gratitude after a bout.

"Anger is no sin. In fact, at times it may prove an incredible source of strength. But you must always be the one in control, not it.

"Tell me, Tifa," Zangan continued, "do you recall the piece of wisdom I shared as I presented you with the first book? Who is your greatest foe?"

"... Myself."

"And do you now appreciate what a formidable enemy she is?"

"Yes, Master."

"When you find yourself on the brink of defeat, I want you to glance at your wrist. Touch the cord and remember the lesson you've learned today."

Tifa peered at the loosely-wrapped band and gave an obedient nod.

"I know it's not the most fashionable accessory. Still, I'd ask you to keep it on at all times. As you progress through your training, a day will come when you no longer need that cord. When it does, you are free to remove it, and to instead carry a memory of it in mind."

The next morning, Tifa and her father saw Zangan off at the entrance to the village.

"I trust you haven't forgotten what I said about your line of sight?" asked Zangan.

"Of course not, Master."

"Good. Your speed is unmatched. If you can learn to keep your eyes from betraying you, I suspect more than a few of your strikes may slip past me next time we spar."

"Do you really think so?!"

"It depends on you."

Zangan peered up at the sky and said, "Allow me to propose a goal. In half a year's time, I shall return to test you again. And on that day, if your fist manages to strike true, I will confer upon you the full status of initiate."

"Initiate... ?"

Tifa fumbled over the word. It definitely sounded like something important─and something to be proud of─but she had no idea what Zangan meant. She glanced at her father, who peered back, equally confused.

"It means I will share with you the full host of secrets. You will know all there is to know about Zangan-style martial arts. In addition, I will begin working with you to develop your own unique fighting style."

"Wow..."

"Indeed. But a word of caution: it will be no simple process. I shall see you in six months' time. Until then, be diligent in your training, my young student."

"I will!" Tifa replied.

And her father's words overlaid her own. "She will!"

They'd chirped their responses in unison like eager schoolchildren. Tifa's father lowered his gaze and ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed by his own overzealous reaction. Zangan and Tifa regarded him with wide eyes, then glanced at each other and smirked, finally erupting into laughter. Eventually, Brian couldn't help but laugh too.

Over the next few months, Tifa trained harder than ever, determined to excel on the test promised late that fall. But the arrival of summer marked a sharp drop in the amount of time she could spend with her father. Monster sightings were growing more frequent on the mountain, leading to the formation of regular patrols─groups of villagers scouting out the mountain to keep an eye on this troubling new development.

As one of the village's three designated representatives for communications with Shinra, Brian had a great sense of responsibility to the village and was among the first to volunteer to man the patrols. Consequently, the sparring sessions with his daughter grew few and far between.

Though the residents immediately informed Shinra of the changes on the mountain, the company's only response was an order to continue monitoring the situation and to send regular reports about any new types of monsters encountered.

Unease prevailed in Nibelheim. Still, short of abandoning their homes and livelihoods, the residents saw no other option but to obey.

With each passing day, the patrols' reports grew more terrifying. And then, the unthinkable: dragons sighted near the summit.

Throughout all Nibelheim's history, there was no record of any monsters like that. Panic gripped the residents. A sense of dread pervaded every activity.

Zander convened an emergency meeting of the Nibelheim town council─which consisted of himself along with the three representatives. In addition to the patrols, they determined, a neighborhood watch was needed to ensure the village's safety. A base camp would be established at the trailhead to deal with any monsters that wandered near. Watch members would need to keep an eye on the sky as well: Kimara Bugs were known to inhabit the mountain too. Sightings had always been rare, but it was a monster capable of flight, and given recent developments, no degree of caution was too great.

The calm, easygoing atmosphere that had long defined life in Nibelheim was gone.

The constant state of alert quickly wore on the villagers. Hardest hit by exhaustion were those on watch at the base camp. On September 18, the watch members determined more hands were needed, and participation shifted from voluntary to mandatory. Every able-bodied man and woman twenty years or older would be assigned to rotating shifts at the base camp, unless they were otherwise involved in duties crucial to the community's survival.

Mt. Nibel's next surprise came the following day. The first patrol returned from the mountain shaken and breathless. The appearance of dragons on the mountain was disturbing enough, but nobody in the community was prepared for what came next.

The patrol members described a creature that walked on two legs. It had the appearance of a man. Yet it was, without any doubt, a monster.

What in the world was happening up on the mountain?

If nothing else, the link to Shinra and its facilities was clear. The company continued to ignore Zander's many appeals for help─a reaction that seemed terribly odd, unless the proliferation of monsters was less of a surprise to Shinra than it was to the villagers. Zander concluded that Shinra must have some clue as to the reason. But whatever information the company possessed, they weren't sharing it.

If the residents of Nibelheim hadn't been busy fighting for their own survival, they might have been storming the facilities, demanding answers.

Tifa, for her part, was recruited to assist with meal prep. A makeshift kitchen area had been set up at the base of the water tower in the main square, manned by rotating shifts of the village's women. Each morning and afternoon, they prepared food for the patrols and neighborhood watch.

Given the circumstances, Tifa was happy for the assignment. It provided a chance to see and speak with many of the elderly residents she'd grown close to; Calisthenics Club practices were on indefinite hold due to the situation on the mountain.

The day of her first shift, she returned home in the afternoon to find her father away. A note rested on the kitchen table: Went to the town hall.

Brian had only just returned that morning around breakfast time, after pulling yet another midnight patrol shift. When he'd walked in, she'd noted his sagging shoulders, the heavy bags under his eyes, and the gauntness of his cheeks. Since the patrols began, he'd been losing weight at an astonishing rate.

How long is this going to go on? she wondered to herself.

She'd heard that some of the other families were even beginning to talk of packing up whatever belongings they could carry and leaving town.

After finding the note from her father, she went to her room and sat for a while, staring off into space, Fluffy cradled in her arms. Lately, she felt aimless, and her days were peppered with these idle stretches of time.

After a while, the cat began to squirm, and her mouth found the bracelet on Tifa's left wrist. Fluffy had been chewing away for several seconds before Tifa noticed.

"Fluffy! You know better than that!" Tifa chided.

She set the cat down on the floor and anxiously examined the cord. It seemed to be okay, but...

"No. I'm the one who should know better," she said.

Tifa stood and took several deep breaths.

"Book One, Paragraph One, Section One, Part One."

She began to rehearse the forms one by one, announcing the names of each section as she progressed and accompanying each movement with a short, sharp shout.

She was partway through Book Four when her father again returned home. She heard his footsteps on the stairs, followed by a knock at her door.

"Tifa? You home? Could you be a pal and help me with the door?"

She opened up to find her father holding a large cardboard box, which he immediately dumped into Tifa's arms.

"You remember old Margo, yeah?" Brian reached an arm up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Apparently these were some of her daughter Yasmin's favorite outfits when she was younger."

"They're for me?"

"Yup. Margo said she saw you across the square the other day and thought the clothes would be a perfect fit. Yasmin and I grew up together, you know. I had a peek inside the box, and man, it took me back. She was a great friend. The kind of person who always brightens your day the moment she shows up."

"Ha ha! All right. Thanks, Dad. I'll take a look."

"If you find one you like, go ahead and wear it around town. It'll make Margo's day. All this talk of monsters has been hard on her."

"Will do."

Tifa paused, then asked, "Hey, Dad... Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Just one more thing, before I forget. Then I'll go hit the sack. I swear."

"What is it?"

"The day after tomorrow─the twenty-second. Shinra says they're sending an investigation team. I think it was our latest report that finally put their butts into gear. Y'know, about the monster that looked almost human. And I'm willing to bet a whole lotta gil that this team they're sending isn't just for appearances. Mark my words. They're gonna send SOLDIERs."

SOLDIERs.

Suddenly, she was atop the water tower again, twelve years old and heart beating fast during a midnight rendezvous with Cloud Strife.

More than two years had passed, and she hadn't heard a word from him. She'd believed the memory was sealed away deep inside, where it could no longer threaten to overwhelm. Her cheeks flushed hot. She scrambled to push her father out of her room and slammed the door.

"Tifa?!" called Brian from the other side.

"Sorry, Dad! 'Night, sleep well!"

Tifa herself spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in bed as she counted off every conversation or interaction with Cloud that she could recall. There were fewer than she'd hoped. In fact, it was startling. How could she grow up next door to someone and know so little about him?

But what she lacked in quantity she made up for in clarity─nearly every memory she possessed of Cloud shone clearly, an intricate crystal figurine. Each time she viewed one, she did so carefully, examining every facet in painstaking detail with her mind's eye, before placing it back on its shelf ever so delicately, so as not to disturb it or let it be altered in any way.

Alone in her room, eyes closed, Tifa went over the memories again and again. Only one, she found, was dark and dull, its contents impossible to decipher: the incident on the mountain when she was eight years old.

Beyond Mt. Nibel rests the land of the dead.

At least, that was the tale as told in the village. So in the hours after Tifa's mother passed away, leaving her family reeling with grief, that was the legend Tifa clung to. It was her anchor of hope in an awful world.

It was that belief that led Tifa to the base of Mt. Nibel and sent her running up the trail. She was certain she'd be able to see her mother again if she could just make it to the other side of the peak.

The village boys close in age had hurried after, anxious for Tifa's safety. But when the weather began to turn, Emilio, Lester, and Tyler hesitated, and one by one, they fled back to the safety of the village.

As they ran, they called to Tifa. They begged her to turn around too. But Cloud, they said, urged Tifa to press on. Emilio and the other boys saw them disappear up the trail, and beyond that, it was anyone's guess what exactly happened. At some point, Cloud and Tifa must have slipped off the trail and gone plummeting over a ledge. Cloud got off lucky: scraped knees and a couple of bruises. But Tifa bashed her head on the way down. It would be a week before she regained consciousness.

Emilio and the other boys had already rushed down the trail yelling for help, and theirs was the story that spread around the village. The grown-ups organized a search party to locate the two stranded children, and after Tifa was carried back, Cloud didn't offer any contradiction to the tale as told.

It was strange, though. When asked why he'd encouraged Tifa to climb, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "I dunno."

Tifa had no memory of any of it, but she knew her decision to keep climbing the mountain didn't rest on anyone else. She wanted to be there. So when she woke up and learned what had happened, she apologized profusely. The villagers took pity on her, knowing she'd just lost her mother, and focused all the blame on Cloud instead.

In time, they'd forget the good fortune─the fact that Tifa suffered no lasting effects beyond the lapse in memory of an already-grief-stricken day─and retain only the bad. The unbearable week of uncertainty as Tifa lay unconscious in bed... That was an event forever etched in the village's collective memory.

They began to speak of it as a scandal rather than an accident, twisting it into a mark of shame that both Cloud and Claudia were forced to bear. Even to this day, the villagers spoke of the Strife family with a hint of coldness and reserve.

But to Tifa, the story didn't add up. For as long as she could remember, Cloud hadn't wanted anything to do with the Four Fiends as a group, almost as if out of principle. Why would he suddenly tag along with them to the mountain?

On the other hand, Tifa had never spoken to Cloud about the incident, and he'd never tried to refute the other boys' version of events.

A part of her felt that Cloud had been trying to protect her, as if he'd stepped in to take the blame so she wouldn't have to. But why would Cloud do that? Surely he had a reason. There had to be something more concrete than his indifferent claim of "I dunno."

Maybe enough time had passed that she could finally bring it up. Maybe the next time she saw him, she'd find a moment to ask. And maybe that day wasn't so far away.

As Tifa prepared breakfast the following morning, her father came downstairs and idly picked up his phone, which normally sat unloved on the table. When he looked up, he was grinning.

"They're here!"

She knew immediately what he meant. The cell signal. Anytime a convoy of Shinra personnel neared town, there was a dramatic improvement in reception. Tifa assumed they traveled with some kind of equipment to boost the signal, but at any rate, it meant that, for a brief stretch of time, the villagers could enjoy the crystal-clear phone calls and lightning-fast connection speeds that city folk took for granted.

"Do you think they skipped the village and went straight up the mountain?" she asked her father.

"I doubt it. They said the team would roll into town tomorrow and rest for a night before beginning the investigation early the next morning. Zander's been yapping nonstop about how he's gonna throw the biggest welcome party they've ever seen."

"Then why's the signal already strong?"

"Beats me. Maybe they sent in an advance party to scout things out first."

Brian ate quickly and hurried out for the morning patrol. Once Tifa cleaned up, she headed out too: she had a double shift on the meal line that day.

She found the main square buzzing with excitement. Most of the other villagers had already heard the news of Shinra's plans to send an official investigation team, which brought hope and helped to ease the tension that had been mounting over the past weeks.

Within about three hours' time, the meal line had made enough sandwiches to cover breakfast and lunch for everyone on watch or patrol. The morning shift was over, and Tifa had until three p.m. to spend as she wished, after which it would be time to prep dinner and midnight meals for the overnight crew.

She decided to relax at home, first electing to take a shower. Afterward, she headed to her room, where she picked up her cell phone for the first time in what felt like days. But she quickly set it down again, realizing the only person she actually wanted to talk to was someone whose contact information she didn't have.

Her attention turned to the box at the foot of her bed─the clothes offered by their neighbor. She slid it near and pulled open the flaps. Dozens of colorful outfits greeted her eyes. It lifted her mood, and she decided it might be fun to try one on.

"Hmm..."

She pondered over several pieces she liked before eventually choosing a tawny vest and matching miniskirt. It seemed like the type of thing an energetic young chocobo rancher might wear. Tifa turned to her own closet, grabbing a wide-brimmed hat and pair of boots to complete the ensemble before checking herself in the mirror.

Not bad, she decided.

And then aloud, "All right. It's settled."

She was grateful for the gift and the way it seemed to ease the weight of recent events.

When Tifa returned to the meal line, she found Margo also assigned to the afternoon shift.

"My, my... Would you look at that," the older woman said, face beaming. "Come here. Let me give you a hug."

"Huh?" squeaked Tifa, but Margo had already swooped in, wrapping her arms tight and pressing her cheek to Tifa's.

"If I didn't know better, I'd have thought Yasmin had walked right back into town. Oh, my stars..."

The woman trailed off, apparently unable to say anything further. Tifa wasn't sure how to respond either. She hadn't expected the outfit to make quite that much of an impression. At the same time, she was happy to have brought a smile to Margo's face.

"You'd think that girl could visit once in a while to see her dear old mother, but no, I haven't seen her in years."

When Margo finally unclasped her arms, she promised to go through Yasmin's closet once more. There were plenty more outfits, she said, and it was a shame for them to go unloved.

The women on duty gathered for a quick meeting, and the night's menu was quickly settled: meatball soup. Tifa was assigned to chopping vegetables, and as she and her groupmates got to work washing and slicing the bright orange carrots, green celery, and yellow onions, another voice piped up.

"Tifa, you look adorable!"

She looked up to find Claudia Strife at her side.

"Do you like it? I got the outfit from Margo. It belonged to Yasmin."

"I thought I recognized that skirt." Claudia smiled and added wistfully, "I wonder what Yasmin is up to these days."

"Is Cloud doing well?"

The question surprised Tifa even as it left her lips. It was the first thing to pop into her mind when she saw Claudia's face, and somehow, she couldn't help but ask. Her heart began to race in her chest as she waited to see how Cloud's mother would react.

"As far as I know."

"Do you think he's up on the mountain already?"

Claudia tilted her head. "I'm not sure I follow."

"I heard that Shinra's sending a team of SOLDIERs, and I figured maybe one of them might be Cloud, since he knows the area. The cell signal is much better today, so they must be near. I figured maybe they're already up on the mountain."

Claudia gave Tifa a puzzled look.

After a pause, she said, "Well, I can't say that I've heard anything about it. But if he were assigned to a job here, I doubt I'd ever know. It doesn't usually cross his mind to keep other people in the loop."

With a laugh, Claudia added, "In fact, I guess the only time I've actually heard from him was right after he left. Just a single postcard to say the on-site processing had gone smoothly and he'd managed to enlist as planned."

"That's all?!" exclaimed Tifa. "So you don't even know if he made it into SOLDIER?"

"Nope. But, um... What makes you think he was aiming for SOLDIER?"

Suddenly, Tifa understood why the conversation felt so disjointed.

"Oh. It was just something he said to me once," she explained. "He told me he wanted to be the best of the best... Did he change his mind?"

"Goodness. He said that to you, did he?"

Claudia returned to chopping the vegetables, mumbling "Goodness, goodness... " to herself several more times.

When the vegetables were all cut, Tifa's next job was to stir the pots as they boiled. Claudia was again at her side, and at one point, the woman seemed about to speak up, only to hesitate at the last moment.

Tifa sensed that Claudia wanted to ask about the accident on the mountain all those years ago. Tifa was relieved not to have to face the question. There was really nothing she could say.

When Marc Banner wandered into the main square and caught Tifa's eye, she was grateful for the interruption.

"Tifa!" he called.

Marc had been the youngest member of the Calisthenics Club─young being a relative term. The burly man was easily a full generation her father's senior.

"The white cat with the red bandanna round its neck. That's yours, ain't it?"

"Yes. That's Fluffy."

"I saw her just now, up by the trailhead."

Marc dabbed at his forehead, slick with sweat from his patrol's hike.

"But I wouldn't go after her," he said. "She was headed up, and the mountain's no place to be right now."

He waved and headed home. Tifa, after quickly apologizing and saying she had something to take care of, hurried to her own front door.

"Don't you dare go near that mountain!" Claudia called at her back.

Tifa, without turning, shouted, "Yes, ma'am!"

"I knew I shouldn't, but when I couldn't find Fluffy near the trailhead, I started hiking farther in," Tifa recalled. "I mean, I was concerned about monsters, but I figured I could handle them. I'd fight off any bugs that attacked and run away from anything larger. That was my plan, anyway."

Aerith's eyes sparkled. "Talk about confidence."

"More like overconfidence. I underestimated what I'd run into up there. The bugs had grown and mutated into creatures a lot different than the ones I'd seen in the past. I wasn't far up the mountain before I found myself in a real bind."

"Oh no! What happened?!"

"Some woman from Shinra showed up and saved me. She was wearing a black suit."

Aerith's eyes widened. "A suit? Was she with the Turks?"

"Most definitely. I mean, I didn't know it at the time, but looking back now, she had to be. I never got her name, though."

"You sayin' Shinra sent Turks to investigate the reactor instead of SOLDIERs?" asked Barret. "That's not what we heard back at Kalm."

"She never told me exactly what she was doing on the mountain that day. All she said was that she was looking for someone who knew Mt. Nibel and could act as a guide. I volunteered, and they must've passed word on to Zander, because when Sephiroth and his team showed up, I was the one the village sent along.

"If I hadn't gone chasing after Fluffy that day and run into the Turk," reflected Tifa, "there's no way I'd have been sent along with the investigation team."

"Typical Shinra," remarked Red XIII. "They target the youth. Take care to remember that in the future."

"What do you mean?" Tifa asked.

"When the option presents itself, Shinra prefers to work with young minds on the cusp of adulthood. Individuals who are capable yet still naive. They're easier to turn to the Shinra way of thinking."

"Well, I wish I could go back and warn myself of that. At the time, all I could think about was how proud I was to be playing such a big part."

Aerith's voice grew soft. "Do you really believe you'd have done differently if you knew?"

Tifa pondered the question and decided that, no, it probably wouldn't have changed anything. Even if she'd known the full extent of Shinra's deceit, and that the company was only using her for its own convenience, she would have still jumped at the opportunity. She'd have done almost anything for a chance to be near Cloud again.

She didn't, however, share that answer out loud. She continued walking, and after a moment of silence had passed over the group, she whirled to face Aerith with a sudden realization. Barret's and Red XIII's eyes burned holes in her back.

"Everything afterward happened exactly as Cloud described," she insisted. "Sorry, but that's all I have to say about Nibelheim."

She faced each of her companions in turn, silently demanding they accept her declaration. Barret and Red XIII nodded silently. Aerith did too, though her gaze shifted slightly to peer over Tifa's shoulder.

Tifa turned once more to find Cloud at her side.

"Whatcha talking about?" he asked.

"Oh, um... Just about Emilio and the guys," answered Tifa. "You know, the tea parties we used to have. That kind of stuff."

For a brief moment, Cloud stared off into the distance, his face betraying the faintest note of displeasure.

After the Sephiroth incident, the first thing Tifa opened her eyes to was a white-painted ceiling.

It was unfamiliar. She flicked her gaze about, trying to determine where she might be. When that failed to reveal any further clues, she attempted to swivel her neck as best she could.

On the wall to her right hung a clock. The time was quarter past three, though it was hard to say whether that meant afternoon or dead of night. On the left was a sheet of white fabric that cordoned her off from the rest of the room, blocking her view of anything beyond.

Tifa checked her right side once again. Positioned near the head of the bed was a strange piece of equipment. It was fashioned from metal and emitted a low humming noise. Several tiny lights dotted the surface, each blinking its own erratic tempo. A digital display read 72, and a thin tube of some sort rose from the machine toward the ceiling, where it looped over a hook on a tall stand and came back down to Tifa, vanishing inside the folds of the blanket pulled up to her shoulders.

She tried moving her right arm and found it difficult; summoning the necessary strength seemed a monumental effort. When she did finally manage to raise her arm, she saw the thin tube rise with it.

She brought her arm into view above her head. The tube was fastened once against her forearm with a piece of tape and then seemed to disappear into the back of her hand, covered by a thick white bandage stained with what appeared to be blood.

A dull ache reverberated through the arm, and Tifa began to suspect the tube was carrying some kind of fluid into her body. When she attempted to lift herself to a sitting position with her elbows, a lightning bolt of pain passed through her chest, leaving her gasping for air.

"Ngh..."

She'd intended to wail in agony─the pain was that intense─but the sound that left her mouth was the pitiful groan of a wounded animal. Her throat was dry and aching. For a moment, she feared she'd lost her voice altogether.

And then, as the pain lancing throughout her body came into excruciating focus, so too did the events that had preceded it, along with the truth of her current situation.

I'm alive, she thought.

It was an unexpected discovery, to say the least. By all accounts, she should have died back there at the reactor.

She recalled with perfect clarity the twisted smile of the man she'd grown up hailing a hero.

The sound of a door opening came from somewhere beyond the veil of white fabric, and then there was a voice.

"Coming in."

It was the soft, gentle voice of a woman. The curtain parted, and Tifa saw a heavyset doctor in a white coat. Her skin was a lovely warm brown.

"You're awake. Good. It's nice to finally be able to speak with you. My name is Dhamini Oranye. This is my clinic. Now, I imagine you have a lot of questions, but I'd ask you to wait just a little longer while I check your condition."

Even before she finished speaking, Dr. Oranye had situated herself at the device near Tifa's pillow and begun tapping away on its buttons.

"Can you tell me your name and age?" asked the doctor.

"Tifa..."

The word left her lips as barely more than a whisper.

"... Lockhart," she managed to add.

And then, "... Fifteen."

"Very good. Can you tell me, are you in pain? And if so, what part of you hurts?"

"Chest..." Tifa replied. "No... All over."

The doctor smiled. "Correct again. Can you sense where the pain in your chest is coming from? Is it on the inside or outside?"

"Outside..." Tifa began, then thought for a moment. "No. Not sure. Inside too..."

"I see." The doctor nodded. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid I can't offer you any more painkillers than you're already on. But if your pain keeps increasing, please let me know. We'll figure something out."

Tifa regarded the doctor carefully, deciding that she looked to be about the same age as her father.

The thought struck harder than a sword blow. She felt tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. Dr. Oranye shook her head, as if sorry she couldn't help.

No! Tifa wanted to scream. It's not about the medicine! I don't care about that!

"At any rate," said the doctor, "I'm really glad to see you awake. Your readings are looking good too. Would you like me to explain what happened to you?"

Tifa managed a slight nod.

"You've sustained a severe laceration from some manner of very sharp object. I hate to say it, but if I had to guess, it was probably a sword. The wound stretches from your left upper chest..."

Dr. Oranye reached one finger to her own chest, indicating a point just below her clavicle, then slowly drew the finger down and across, stopping just below her right breast.

"... to just about here. It was deep enough to reach bone. In fact, it managed to shatter a portion of your sternum.

"Fortunately for you, neither lung was punctured, and your other organs also appear to be safe and functioning normally. Count your blessings, hm?

"Usually, we only hear about sternal fractures when a patient's chest has been crushed by a heavy object or otherwise subjected to blunt trauma. So, in a way, you're a very unusual case. We've reinforced the damaged portion with artificial bone as well as a short piece of metal wire. You'll probably have the wire inside you for the rest of your days, barring any major breakthroughs in modern medicine. But don't worry. You'll recover just fine, and you'll go on to lead a normal, healthy life.

"While it heals, I'm going to be keeping you in a chest brace to make sure everything stays nice and stable. It'll be uncomfortable at first, but we'll loosen it bit by bit as you recover.

"Oh, and just a heads-up. Your chest is going to ache something fierce for some time yet."

Dr. Oranye bobbed her head as she spoke, her expression sympathetic.

"That about covers it. You can thank Dr. Sheiran over in Corel for the excellent surgical work. I haven't met the man, but I can see why he has the reputation he does. As for me, I'm just here to help with your overall recovery and a few skin grafts. It seemed the right thing to do─you'd have some pretty awful scars otherwise, not just from the original wound but all the surgery. Terrible for a pretty young thing like you to have to live with. I hope you'll forgive me. I had to work fast, before the incisions began to heal."

Just when Tifa thought the doctor might be done, she launched into another tangent.

"I was a little worried about infection, but luckily you seem to be doing all right on that front. Oh! And you'll be happy to know that I stuck to the best─only the latest and greatest in medical technology. Typically, these modern grafts take three or four years to fully blend in, but you're young, so it'll likely be much faster. At this point, the aching on the outside of your chest is probably mostly from the skin grafts. Feels like a bad burn, from what other patients have told me. But that'll go away soon enough. Even the color'll blend in nicely.

"Now, any questions for me?"

It was too much to take in at once─especially just moments after Tifa first opened her eyes. She was only grasping scattered pieces of the doctor's explanation.

"Right, right," said Dr. Oranye. "Take your time. I'll be keeping you here for at least another couple of weeks, so there's no need to rush. Just remember one thing. You survived. You're going to keep on living. The past is the past, and the sooner you turn your eyes to the future, the better."

"Doctor... ?" Tifa whispered. "It feels like... I've been asleep for... so long. What day is it? Where am I?"

"Midgar. Sector 8 slums. And as for the date..."

What the doctor said next didn't make any sense. Tifa's mind spiraled.

Dr. Oranye reached over to wipe the tears from Tifa's eyes with a wad of clean, damp gauze. She circled to the foot of the bed and gave Tifa's left ankle a light tap.

"Hang in there. We'll get through this together, you hear?"

The doctor left, and Tifa was alone with her thoughts of Nibelheim─visions of her home swallowed by a sea of fire; acrid black smoke filling the air to scorch eyes and lungs.

A full month had passed since the horror of that day.

"One month..." she whispered to herself.

A full month since her father grabbed her arm, dragging her from the raging flames to the safety of the waterfall. When they reached the pool, he thrust Fluffy from his arms to hers.

"Stay here," he ordered. "The flames won't make it down to the waterfall. There's nothing to burn. If the wind changes and carries the smoke here, I want you to lie low to the ground. Whatever happens, Tifa, you are not to leave this spot."

"What are you going to do, Dad?"

"Zander's dead. Murdered. I'm the only representative left alive. The village's safety is my responsibility."

"No! You can't go back there!"

"Look at me, Tifa. I'll be fine. Those are our friends and neighbors. They can't get out of the village on their own. Someone has to help them."

She begged him to stay, but he only shook his head and dashed up the path to the burning village. Several times he returned, always with a wounded villager on his back or in his arms. But as he laid each down and sprinted to the village for the next, Tifa saw the familiar faces coughing and blackened with soot, and she feared that their time was already at hand. Hair and clothing was singed or missing. Appearances were so disfigured, she found she had to turn away.

After a while, she saw someone other than her father coming down the trail to the waterfall, and as the figure drew near, she realized it was Zangan. He had one villager over each shoulder, and as he carefully set the bodies down, he nodded once at Tifa before sprinting back. When Tifa's father next returned, he knelt by the two villagers Zangan had saved. Their burnt, blackened mouths groaned in agony. A hand lifted as if to grab at some unseen object, only to fall limply back to earth, like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

"Dammit all!" shouted Brian.

It was the first and only time she'd known her father to curse. His sweat- and soot-stained face glimmered in the light off the distant flames, and his bloodshot eyes found Tifa's.

"They're saying Sephiroth headed up the mountain," he said. "I'm going to go talk to him."

And with one final, decisive nod, he set off up the path.

Tifa pictured him running through the burning village and up the trail to the reactor. What would he do once he got there? How would talking change anything that had happened? What was he thinking?!

"Dad!" she called.

And then her legs were pumping of their own accord. Fluffy in her arms, Tifa fled the safety of the waterfall, reaching the village just in time to see her father running past Shinra Manor.

"Dad! Wait!"

It was hard to keep up with Fluffy squirming and struggling to get free. By the time Tifa reached the trailhead, she'd lost sight of her dad altogether. Fluffy leapt from her arms with a reproachful mew, as if demanding Tifa not proceed any farther.

"I'm sorry, Fluffy. I have to go after him."

She left the cat behind at the boundary of mountain and village and pushed onward. But no matter how fast Tifa ran, she wasn't catching up.

Meanwhile, the trail was littered with the corpses of monsters─some small, some large, but all clearly downed with a single stroke from an impossibly long blade.

The name echoed in her mind. This was the man who had ended the lives of so many people she cared for.

"Dad!" Tifa shouted again as loud as she could, but there was no answer.

When she finally reached the top of the trail, she found the reactor's massive entrance wide open, like a terrible gaping maw.

"Dad? Can you hear me?!" she cried again.

She approached the steps leading up to the entrance. A loud whoosh passed overhead, and she glanced up to find a Kimara Bug in flight, its beady eyes trained on Tifa. It descended, hanging in the air just over the base of the staircase, blocking her only access to the reactor─and her father, who had to be inside.

Without warning, the giant insect dove. Tifa rolled to evade, then spun to counterattack without hesitation. One punch to its gut. Her fist sank deep into the monster's soft underbelly, and its wings faltered, sending it crashing to the ground. Tifa leapt into the air, twirling and tucking one knee to her chest. As she descended, she thrust the opposite leg out, landing with the heel of her boot in the giant insect's abdomen.

Everything happened fluidly, without thought. She'd chained her movements form by form, just as described in Zangan's writings. The crushed, defeated insect lay as proof of her prowess.

But there was one thing her training hadn't prepared her for. She breathed deeply, returning from the single-minded focus of combat to find herself covered from head to toe in juices from the Kimara Bug's ruptured insides. It clung to her hair and soaked into her clothing. The smell was horrendous.

"Eww!" she exclaimed.

She could feel panic setting in, but she heard a shout to one side and just managed to hold her fear at bay.

"Tifa... !"

It was a man's voice. It seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. Whomever it belonged to, it wasn't her father.

"Dad!" she cried, suddenly remembering her search.

"Dad! Are you there?!"

"Tifa?"

This time she heard a woman's voice. She felt a finger poke at her cheek, but no one else was around.

"Who's there?!" cried Tifa.

She frantically spun in a circle, and when she again faced the reactor, another monster stood before her, as if it had appeared out of thin air.

This one exhibited a disturbingly human form.

Tifa shrieked, and as she did, the earth beneath her began to quake.

"Tifa! You're having a nightmare! Wake up! Come back to me!"

The menacing maw of the reactor pulled away into the distance and was replaced by blinding light. Tifa squeezed her eyes shut, unsure if the light was real or imagined. After a moment, she squinted her eyelids open just a sliver to check.

"It's okay, honey. You're safe now. Nothing here will hurt you."

The dream was gone, replaced by Dr. Oranye's concerned face. At the doctor's back was a bright light. Daylight. Sun was pouring in from the window in the wall to the right of her hospital bed. Tifa noticed the window's lace curtains swaying gently in a slight breeze.

"It's morning?" she managed to ask.

"Seven o'clock. That's not real sun, mind. It's from the sun lamps."

"Huh?"

"That's how we get light down here in the slums. Shinra's got giant electric lamps affixed to the underside of the plate. When you're well enough to walk again, you can go out and see them for yourself."

Dr. Oranye smiled and said, "Anyway, enough of that. It's time for your checkup. Could you start by telling me your name and age? And today, how about naming your hometown too?"

"Tifa Lockhart. I'm fifteen years old. I'm from Nibelheim."

"Do you remember who I am?"

"Dr. Dhamini Oranye."

"Very good. Can you tell me if you're experiencing any pain right now?"

"Um... My chest hurts, and there's a tingling in my wrists and ankles."

"That's to be expected. I'm sorry to say, though, that you'll have to bear it for a while. We need to start weaning you off these painkillers."

Dr. Oranye leaned close, peering into Tifa's eyes.

"There's something else I'd like to ask, just out of personal curiosity. Do you remember anything about the injury that landed you here?"

"Are you asking who it was that attacked me? I'll never forget. Not for as long as I live."

"Is that so?"

"It was Sephiroth. As in Sephiroth, SOLDIER First Class. He cut me down with his sword at the mako reactor above Nibelheim."

Dr. Oranye nodded, but the gesture was hesitant and couched in doubt.

"Could I ask you a favor, then?" the doctor inquired. "Would you please promise not to talk about it, at least for as long as you're here in my clinic?"

"Why? Why can't I talk about what happened to me?"

"I'd sooner not have my practice caught up in any kind of trouble."

Dr. Oranye bowed her head apologetically. As she did, Tifa felt a surge of anger in her chest.

"What do you mean, trouble?"

"As far as I know, Shinra isn't aware you're here. I've accepted you as my patient, and I feel it's my duty to keep looking after you until you're back on your feet. But that's as far as I can go. I'm already toeing the line. I don't know anything about your background, and based on what you've said, I'd rather not learn any further details about the incident that put you here.

"I just can't afford to have Shinra thinking I'm an agitator, you see? If I want to keep providing my patients the best possible care, I need to show support for the company. Otherwise, I'll be cut off from all the latest drugs and equipment. And if that happens, the residents of the slums are the ones who really suffer."

Dr. Oranye looked Tifa in the eyes once more and implored, "Please tell me you understand."

"... Yes. I understand."

As if she'd had any choice. She still lay nearly comatose, wrapped in bandages and with tubes snaking from her body.

"Doctor," she asked. "When will I be able to leave?"

At the question, Dr. Oranye's face flushed with embarrassment. It seemed the matter was even more complicated than the doctor had let on.

"I've got three conditions before I can discharge you from my care. First, I need to see that the grafts are taking properly. They need to be at stage three or above. Second, I need you rehabilitated enough that I'm confident you can go about daily tasks by yourself. And third...

"Third... there's the question of payment. I'll need to ask you to reimburse the clinic for your treatment as well as your stay. I'd have to run the numbers to be sure, but I'm afraid you're looking at a sum of about..."

The number that next left Dr. Oranye's lips was one Tifa had never imagined in terms of gil. It sent a shiver down her spine.

"I... I don't have that kind of money. In fact, I don't have any money..."

"Yes, I figured as much."

The doctor fell silent and gazed pensively out the window. After a moment, she murmured, "I imagine you don't even have a place to stay after you check out."

A sense of doom washed over Tifa. She'd lost everything, only to wake up in an unfamiliar, far-off place. She had nothing left, and now she was being told she had less; she was stuck in a massive hole of debt.

"Well... Let's just take it one step at a time," said the doctor. "First, we'll concentrate on your skin and on getting those muscles back in shape. The grafts should work themselves out as long as you keep eating healthy, and I'll have my son, Rakesh, come by to get you started on some rehabilitation exercises."

That was how Tifa met Rakesh. Their initial encounter came three days later, and Tifa could immediately see the resemblance─the young man had inherited his mother's hair and warm brown skin. Also familiar were the contours of his well-shaped nose and the pleasant ring of his voice.

"Hey. You must be Tifa," he said with a smile. "I'm Rakesh Oranye. Mom says I'll be in charge of your rehabilitation program. Here. I got you a little gift, just to kick things off."

Rakesh gently gripped Tifa's wrist and pressed a soft rubber ball into her palm.

"Whenever you've got time on your hands─and I'm willing to bet you've got a lot these days─you can use this to flex your fingers. It'll help bring back the strength in your hands and forearms.

"Just make sure to back off and let yourself rest if your wrists ever start to hurt."

He reached over and placed a ball in her opposite hand too. "There you go. Now you've got a matching pair. Go ahead and try them out. Flex both hands."

Rakesh brought his own hands to the sides of his head and mimed a squeezing motion with a goofy smile. Tifa couldn't help but giggle.

"You've got a beautiful laugh.

"All right," he said, suddenly all business. "Let's put our minds to this and get you out of that hospital bed as soon as we can."

Tifa gave what she thought was an energetic reply, but Rakesh must have spotted the uncertainty clouding her eyes. Sharp perception seemed to be another quality he'd inherited from his mother.

"You're worried about the money, aren't you? Mom mentioned it was an issue. No promises, but I think I might have a way to help you there too.

"See, Mom used to live topside before some bad luck sent her tumbling down here. But I'm a slum kid, born and raised. I know the ropes, and I've got connections."

Rakesh smiled triumphantly, but Tifa had only understood about half of what he'd said, so the explanation did a poor job of dispelling her worry.

"Anyway, that's still a long way off. You'll just have to trust me."

And she knew it was true. What other choice did she have?

The excruciatingly tight brace she'd found clamped about her chest on first regaining consciousness had since been substituted for another, slightly-less-suffocating one. But she wasn't fully recovered. Not yet. The bone still needed much more time to heal.

Undeterred, Rakesh dove right into her new exercise routine. Tifa could tell from the movements he selected that he was doing his best to find ways to regain her strength without undue strain on her chest. They began with the grip exercises and moved on to leg movements and basic stretches.

"You've lost a lot of muscle mass lying in bed, but there's not much we can do about that now. Once you're all better, you'll be able to build it back slowly. At this point, our goal is to reclaim a level of basic functioning. Your muscles have forgotten what it's like to flex and move, so your strength is gonna be low. And after a month without use, your nerves will be a little rusty at carrying signals, so your coordination's gonna feel off too. We have to train both of them back to health─muscles and nerves."

Rakesh circled to the foot of Tifa's bed, where he lifted her ankles and calves, shaking each joint gently to ease the stiffness of time.

The rehabilitation sessions had been going on for nearly half a month when Tifa made an unexpected observation.

It was a particularly warm afternoon, and sweat was beading on Rakesh's forehead as they worked. He lifted a forearm to wipe it away, then shucked off his jacket.

"Whew. Sure is hot today, huh?"

The short-sleeved tee underneath revealed an attractive, lightly muscled physique. Tifa's eyes followed the length of one well-toned arm, stopping at the wrist. Rakesh was wearing a bracelet. More precisely, a single leather cord had been wrapped loosely around his wrist and tied together.

Tifa lifted her own wrist into view. Zangan's gift was still there. Hers had darkened a little with time, but there was no doubt: it was the same type of cord.

Tentatively, she asked Rakesh, "Are you a friend of Master Zangan's?"

Rakesh gave a puzzled stare. Eventually, he nodded his head thoughtfully.

"Right. I forgot that you missed that part." He fell silent for a moment, then continued. "I'm a disciple of Master Zangan's, just like you," he explained as he continued to raise and lower Tifa's leg, gently bending it at the knee. "But wow... You must not remember anything following your injury."

"It's mostly a blank," replied Tifa. She shook her head. "Actually, it's pretty much all a blank."

There was a vague memory of Zangan shouting, begging her to hang on, his voice faint as if coming from a place very far away. And there was a fleeting image of nurses hurrying about a room, along with a male doctor, his brow furrowed with concern. She assumed the man had to be Dr. Sheiran─that other doctor Rakesh's mother had mentioned when Tifa first woke up in the clinic.

What few traces she had were blurry and fragmented. They could have passed for dreams if the people around her now hadn't convinced her otherwise.

Rakesh cleared this throat. "The first hospital handled the reconstruction work on your sternum. The surgery went without incident, but your condition hadn't stabilized. From what I understand, the doctor in Corel recommended you be admitted to a bigger facility─somewhere in Junon or Midgar, where you'd have access to better treatment options.

"He made some calls, and the Research and Development Division at Shinra HQ offered you a bed, but Master Zangan wouldn't have it. A few heated discussions later, it was decided you'd be transported here. Master Zangan just happened to recall that one of his students─that'd be me─had a mom running a clinic in Midgar's slums. I guess you could say it was fate."

"Why the argument over where to treat me?"

"I mean, it's Shinra HQ. They've got some of the best medical professionals on the planet. The doctor in Corel couldn't believe Master Zangan would turn them down."

"But... of course he turned them down. It's Shinra."

"Oh, believe me, I get it. Aside from his own feelings, Master Zangan said he couldn't let you wake up to that. He didn't even want to think about how you might react, waking up to find yourself in Shinra's care after everything you went through. I wish I could honestly say you're in better hands with us, but we hoped at the very least you'd be happier here.

"So?" he pressed. "Are you? Come on. Don't leave me hanging."

Rakesh flashed her a cocky smile, obviously trying to convey that these last questions were meant as a joke.

Tifa nonetheless replied in earnest. "Yeah. I'm glad I'm here."

"Here's a little advice, one Midgar resident to another. Hate on the company if you have to, but do it inside your head. Nothing good comes of speaking out against Shinra. That's rule number one in the slums."

"I'll be sure to remember that," she said. "Any other rules I ought to know?"

"More than I can count. But there's no need to hear the rest from me. You can pick 'em up as you go along. Gives you another reason to get out of this bed and back into the world, am I right?"

Rakesh loved to talk. It was just one more way he took after his mother. Over time, Tifa came to know all the ins and outs of the little clinic, as well as the story of Rakesh's father. The man had been a medical researcher and practicing doctor for Shinra; he was the one who taught Rakesh the rehabilitation techniques Tifa was benefitting from now.

But Rakesh's father had an interest that extended well beyond physical therapy. He was a biologist by training, and in Shinra's employ, he'd specialized in observing and cataloging the overall musculature of the many unusual specimens kept in the company's labs. That is to say, his focus wasn't humans, but monsters.

"He used to tell me that the basics hold true for everyone─animal, human, or monster. If the thing's got bones and muscles, it always works pretty much the same way. Kinda hard to believe we've got that much in common with monsters, huh?

"Trivial as it sounds, he left his mark. He's listed as the editor in chief for one of the better-known monster encyclopedias. And then he went and got himself killed researching some new specimen."

Rakesh laughed. To Tifa, it seemed a morbid thing to laugh about, doubly so given that the unfortunate party was Rakesh's own father. Still, she wasn't unaccustomed to such comments. She recalled that the elderly villagers in her Calisthenics Club had also often joked about death.

Scattered among the frequent rehabilitation sessions were the once-weekly fluoroscopes of her chest. Each time, Tifa stood very still while the machine recorded its images, which Dhamini proceeded to pull up on a monitor alongside the results of the previous week's scan. Tifa's eyes could flick back and forth between the two images a hundred times without any certainty about what had changed, but Dhamini would only need a brief glance. As the doctor's eyes checked the screen, she would either nod in approval or shake her head with a frown. Each week, Tifa prayed for the former.

"Ah. Looking good!" Dhamini announced one particular day, peering at yet another inscrutable pair of images. "Everything's on track."

It was the last day of November, and a thumbs-up this time was particularly exciting: it meant that the chest brace could finally come off.

"Deep breath for me, would you?" the doctor said. "Keep sucking in air until it starts to hurt. Slowly now... No need to rush..."

The familiarity of the words struck Tifa. It was that same gentle caution Zangan had urged during her initial taste of training in the village square.

For the first time in weeks, she found she could breathe as deeply as she wanted without pain.

"Looking good," Dhamini said with a smile. "Okay, next I want you to hold your arms above your head. Reach like you're trying to touch the ceiling. Slowly now... No need to rush..."

Tifa cautiously raised her arms, fearing pain at any moment. But they continued upward until fully extended, and then Tifa was stretching up as high as she could reach, and no ache came.

"I can do it!" she exclaimed. "It doesn't hurt!"

"Congratulations, Tifa. You're healed."

Dhamini patted Tifa's head in the way a mother might praise a young child. Tifa instinctively ducked away.

"Ha! All right. I imagine you must be dying to wash your hair."

It was as if Dhamini had seen straight into her mind. The doctor and her son had regularly sponged Tifa down while she lay in bed. And Tifa was grateful to them for that kindness, but in a way, it only left her feeling more desperate for the chance to take an actual shower.

Right at that moment, there was a knock at the door. Tifa knew immediately that it was Rakesh. She hurried to pull her hospital robe tight.

"Come in," said Dhamini.

"Well?!" exclaimed Rakesh as he burst into the room. "What's the word?!"

"I'm all better!"

"Congratulations!" Rakesh smiled and flashed a thumbs-up.

What followed was the longest, most luxurious shower of Tifa's life. She hogged the booth until she began to feel a little guilty about how much water she was using. But it was heavenly to finally have her hair and skin feel truly clean again.

She relished in her newly recovered freedom of movement. But those sensations naturally led to thoughts of leaving the clinic, which in turn brought her mind to the third stipulation.

Suddenly, the joy of the shower was overshadowed by the specter of debt. Tifa gloomily turned the water off, dried herself with a towel, and changed into the new underwear, top, and bottom thoughtfully laid out on the bed by Dhamini.

The outfit was admittedly not to Tifa's taste─it consisted of a rather nondescript, baggy blouse and a skirt of perplexing middling length. On the floor rested the same ballet flats she'd used throughout her rehabilitation program with Rakesh. She slipped the shoes on as usual.

The simple act of changing left Tifa exhausted. Her arms and legs felt heavy. She sat on the edge of the hospital bed to catch her breath, but somehow even sitting required too much effort, so in the end, she flopped onto her side.

In the comfort of the blankets, she mumbled to herself, "It's gone... It's all gone."

The clothes she'd loved─her own outfits and the ones shared by Margo. The favorite pair of boots and the wide-brimmed hat. The photos she kept of Mom.

Her dad. And probably Fluffy too.

All her personal treasures, including Zangan's books. The staircase she vaulted up and down to get to her room. The door she'd slammed shut on her father in embarrassment. Her piano. The view from her window of the village's little square. The water tower. Even the muscles she'd built and honed over countless hours of training.

"All of it... gone."

Her voice broke, and on the hospital bed, in the loneliness of the clinic, Tifa quietly sobbed.

The next morning, Dhamini sat next to her bed and gently informed her that the clinic needed the bed available for other patients within the week.

"I really wish I could waive all the treatment fees," she told Tifa apologetically, "but it would be a hit we just can't afford to take. You don't need to pay all at once. I'm happy to work out installments with you."

"Thank you."

But Tifa had no idea what she was going to do. She didn't have the means pay one gil per month, much less proper installments.

Rakesh had entered the room with his mother, and when he saw the despair in Tifa's eyes, he tried to cheer her up. He had a sure lead on a job, he claimed. Better yet, it included cheap accommodations, which would help ease the sting of rent.

The reassurances did bolster some hope. But worry continued to win out.

"What kind of job is it?" she asked.

"Do you know how to cook?"

"A little. But I don't know if I'm ready to do it all day long. I feel like my muscles have completely wasted away."

Rakesh tossed a small booklet onto the bed. "Here. I thought you might like to borrow this."

He smiled. "Recognize it? Book One for students of Zangan-style martial arts."

Rakesh slowly and deliberately bent his knees and elbows, adopting the opening stance of the first form right there in the hospital room.

"I've never had a routine that just clicked the way this one does, y'know?" he said. "And the way it builds muscle is incredible. I mean, I'm sure you must know that already."

Dhamini watched the exchange between Tifa and Rakesh, obviously relieved to see the growing camaraderie, as well as the tiny glimmer of hope from Tifa. Dhamini stood and placed a hand on Tifa's shoulder. "You know what they say. The only things that can never be stolen from you are the things you learn."

With a smile and an encouraging pat, the doctor went to tend to her other patients.

It was December 4.

Tifa checked out of the clinic and stepped into the slum, nervously clutching the ID card that Rakesh had arranged for her.

"This is just a temporary card," he explained, following her out and onto the street. "It'll only permit residence in the Sector 8 slums, and you won't be able to commute topside for work. Eventually, you ought to look into applying for a proper card. In the meantime, I've put myself down as your guarantor. Oh, and it says you're from Corel. I figure you're better off not associating yourself with Nibelheim. It could attract attention from Shinra."

She thanked him yet again. In all the preparations to begin her new life, Rakesh had been extremely thorough.

Tifa took her first few steps along the packed dirt paths that served for streets in Midgar's slums. She realized it was the first time she'd been outside since the day she chased her father up Mt. Nibel. It was also her first taste of the chaos of the slums. There was uneven ground to navigate and a constant stream of other pedestrians to avoid. It was a far cry from the rehabilitation sessions. Exhaustion quickly mounted, and a storm of worry and excitement about what lay ahead left her mind feeling rattled.

Rakesh walked at her side, carefully observing her. Several times, he had her stop and take several deep breaths.

"This is so embarrassing. I can't even walk right," she said.

"Don't worry. Nobody's watching. Even if they are, they don't give a damn 'cause it's none of their business. That's how it is here in the slums. C'mon. One more breath."

She filled her lungs as full as she was able, glancing upward as she did so.

Tifa had known about the plate, but she was surprised to see it all the same. The city─or the slums, rather─had a ceiling. Steel girders crisscrossed its surface in a complex yet methodical design. Pillars reached up from the neighborhoods like slender fingers to hold its great weight. Here and there, like treasures nestled among the steel, were the massive lamps Dhamini had described, compensating for the sunlight blotted out by mankind's ambition.

Above that ceiling was a whole other city, along with several mammoth reactors to power it. Tifa turned to look outward, away from the city center, and found the base of the nearest reactor. It made the one on Mt. Nibel look like a miniature.

Back home, she'd seen plenty of videos and photographs of Shinra's city. But the images could have never prepared her for the magnitude of Midgar in real life.

Above all else were the people. Everywhere you looked. People, people, and more people! Somewhere among the myriad faces, she reflected, was Emilio's. Maybe Lester's and Tyler's too. And... perhaps even Cloud's.

Not that it mattered. Everywhere she looked, there were so many people that the possibility of running into anyone she knew seemed terribly remote.

"Every time Master Zangan stops by, he complains about the stench," said Rakesh. "I know I'm his disciple and all, but it kinda hurts hearing your home described as a dump. When you've got this many people living in one spot, of course it's gonna get a little musty."

She'd noted that too: the onslaught of what seemed a million different smells, some identifiable, some not. There was dust. Sweat. Iron. Spice.

Still, it didn't strike Tifa as unpleasant.

"It doesn't seem to bother me so far," she said.

Rakesh laughed. "Well, inside or not, you've been living here for close to two months. Your nose has had time to adjust."

"Does Master Zangan visit often?"

"Not really. Maybe once every three or four months. But he's got a lot of disciples spread out over the slums, so even when he's in the city, it doesn't necessarily mean I'll get a chance to see him."

Rakesh reached a hand to the cord at his wrist. It seemed to be an unconscious reaction.

Tifa nodded her head toward it. "What does it mean for you?"

"This?" Rakesh held up his wrist.

Apparently, she'd been right. He hadn't realized he'd been touching it, and he was surprised to have been caught doing so.

His answer was hesitant. "Um... How do I put it? I mean, it's a kind of amulet, same as yours. Mine's supposed to keep me on the straight and narrow. Doesn't do a very good job, though. Life in the slums comes with more than its fair share of temptations."

They'd walked for some time when Rakesh paused and motioned for Tifa to stop too. He lifted a finger, pointing out the narrow entrance of an alleyway off the main street.

"That's where you turn to get to your new place," he said. "Take a good look at the surroundings so you remember it."

Tifa spun in a slow circle. She found a small shop nearby with crates of vegetables lined out in front. The inside was stocked with trays of meat, canned goods, and bottled drinks. A general store. Just like the one run by Emilio's family.

"You got it?" asked Rakesh. "C'mon. We follow it all the way to the back."

He led her down the narrow alley. The air suddenly stunk of fetid water.

"When it comes to the alleys, even I'll admit they smell pretty bad. But every building's gotta drain its wastewater in some direction, and better here than out onto the main street. Don't worry. You'll get used to it soon enough. It's honestly pretty amazing how the human nose learns to adapt."

Rakesh pointed again. "Look. An alley cat."

He stopped walking and turned to grin at her. "You'll see a lotta strays roaming free in the slums. You like cats?"

"Yeah."

She thought of Fluffy, who had also loved to roam free. Tifa hoped that somewhere out there, her cat was still alive and well.

"By the way, you missed out on some pretty big news while you were in the clinic." Her companion's expression was now somber, and his eyes carefully searched hers. "It's about Sephiroth. There was an official report on TV about a week ago. Apparently, he was killed in action over in Wutai. I guess that must mean they found his corpse, because before that, they were saying he'd gone missing."

She was glad to hear it. After what Sephiroth had done, he deserved to die. But the news also robbed her of something. Anger still boiled deep inside, and if Sephiroth was dead, where was she supposed to direct it?

"When Master Zangan brought you to the clinic, he gave us the gist of what happened. So I get how you must feel. But maybe this is a sign. Think of it as a chance to move on."

Tifa looked away and hummed in vague agreement. It seemed to suffice for Rakesh, who resumed leading her down the alley.

About halfway to the far end, they arrived at a spot where a small stool had been set out on the bare ground. On it sat a man. He was neither young nor particularly old, and his deeply tanned, weathered features suggested many hours spent laboring outdoors. Deep wrinkles creased his forehead, and a large capelike garment obscured his body from the neck down.

"Tifa, I'd like you to meet the Watchman. Let him get a good look at you. You'll wanna be sure he recognizes you next time you pass through."

Rakesh turned to the seated man and said, "This is Tifa Lockhart. She's the new tenant."

"It's very nice to meet you," ventured Tifa. She couldn't fathom who this man was or why his approval was necessary just to go to and from her new home.

The Watchman only glared in return. Rakesh smiled at Tifa and stepped past the man, motioning for her to follow.

"Beyond this point, we're on Manson turf."

Rakesh paused and added, "Oh. I guess I should explain. You're now officially working for the Manson Crew."

"What's that?"

"Think of Manson as the guy in charge around these parts. Don't worry. You won't have to meet him yourself. I'll make all the arrangements for you."

"Is he dangerous?" she asked, recalling the seedy appearance of the Watchman.

"He can be. But that's just part of life in the slums. Every sector has a few bosses who've carved out their own little slices of the neighborhood. But generally, you're safer on a gang's turf than off it. They've got a close eye on everyone and everything 'cause they know that the more orderly they keep their turf, the less likely Shinra is to start poking around. Remember that."

Rakesh was obviously trying to paint life in this particular part of the slums as positively as he could. Still, Tifa noted how he avoided answering her question with assurances that she had nothing to be afraid of.

Another moment of walking, and they'd reached the end of the alley, which opened into a small clearing.

"Here we are," announced Rakesh.

Numerous long, large wooden boxes stood in the clearing. More precisely, they were iron skeletons─posts and beams assembled into rectangles─into which wooden panels were fitted to form the sides. The iron was obviously once painted bright red, but much of the paint had since peeled, leaving the exposed portions to rust. The lumber was old and scarred from decades of use.

In all, there were about twenty of the nigh-identical boxes, all scattered haphazardly about the clearing.

"They used to be cargo containers," explained Rakesh. "You know. For transport by truck or whatever. That's how the place came to be known as Container Row.

"In fact, these particular containers were all used to haul in materials during construction of the city. They're not much to look at now, but they represent some serious Midgar history."

Rakesh arched his eyebrows, as if indicating he'd made a joke and it was now time to respond with a laugh.

The moment passed, and he returned to a serious expression.

"Don't worry. It's not as bad as it seems. The interiors are actually pretty nice."

He led her to one of the containers. A small door was fitted into the side facing the alley. On the door was a latch, from which hung an old padlock. Rakesh produced a small key from his pocket, inserted it into the base of the lock, and turned. The shank popped open with a loud click, and he twisted the padlock free of the latch, handing it to Tifa.

"Feel free to add another lock or two if you're worried about safety. It'll make coming and going kind of a pain, though."

As he spoke, he pulled the door open and ducked inside. The door was so tiny, even Tifa had to stoop to pass through. Rakesh tugged on a cord dangling from the ceiling, and the room was flooded with harsh light. Tifa glanced up to find it came from a single naked bulb.

"The monthly rent includes electricity. Power's cheap in the city, thanks to the reactors."

Tifa was only half listening. Rakesh reached behind her to close the door and then turned her attention to the inside portion of the latch.

"You can attach the padlock on this side too. Just be careful not to lose the key. Otherwise you'll be locked in."

Inside, the place actually felt kind of like a home. The walls and floors weren't too bad, she decided, and on the far side across from the door was a small window and a vent for fresh air. On one side rested a cheap wire bed frame with a thin mattress, a simple blanket, and a cushion apparently meant to serve in place of a pillow. Farther back was a small table with a single matching chair. On the right side─looking in from the doorway─an old cupboard stood flush with the wall. In it was a small assortment of tableware.

"The furniture's all included. The trick is to not think too much about who it used to belong to. If you cook anything, keep the door and window open so you've got enough airflow. But I wouldn't recommend cooking too often. No point in risking the buildup of fumes when you can just eat at work."

Tifa looked at Rakesh questioningly.

"Don't worry. I'll get to the job. But to finish up here... uh... I put some towels and other essential stuff in a bin under the bed. And I guess that's pretty much it. Any questions?"

"What about water? How am I supposed to take a shower or go to the bathroom?"

"There's a shared area at the far end of the row. Toilets and showers are all back there. Don't worry. The water from the spigots is safe enough to drink. Filtered and everything. You can fill that guy up..."

He pointed to a large plastic water jug resting against the wall.

"... so you have water at home. Probably don't want to fill it up all the way, though. Gets real heavy."

"And what about, um... ?" Tifa trailed off, uncertain how to ask her next question.

"Lemme guess. How much is rent?"

"Yeah."

"Fifteen gil a day."

"That much?!"

"Trust me, that's crazy cheap around these parts. And pretty soon, you're gonna be rakin' in so much cash, fifteen gil's gonna sound like peanuts. 'Course, how much you actually earn ultimately depends on you."

The way Rakesh spoke reminded Tifa once more of the stories of traffickers in the city. It was a phenomenon she'd had a vague, nagging fear of ever since she heard about it as a child─something akin to monsters and ghosts, and yet at the same time so much more real. Those tales of men who tricked children into lives of hard labor had continued to make her nervous well into her teenage years.

She recalled how she'd misconstrued Zangan's actions during their first encounter. What if her intuition had been right all along? What if Zangan had been waiting for his chance to sell her into slavery? Considering the fact that he'd been the one to place her in Rakesh's care...

"Oops. Sorry," sputtered Rakesh. "This probably sounds like I'm trying to sell you on some kind of sketchy gig. I promise, the job is completely aboveboard. I'll take you by after we're done here."

Rakesh turned to open the door. He led Tifa out, patiently waiting while she familiarized herself with the latch and padlock. Next, they walked to the back of the clearing, where Rakesh pointed out to her the communal spigots, as well as the showers and toilets. One full container served as the shower area, an entire wooden wall stripped away to allow free access─and visibility─of the stalls themselves. Just outside was a folding chair, in which hunched a little woman who appeared to be on the cusp of old age. A small desk stood before her, and on it rested a tin can. As they approached, Tifa peeked over the rim of the can to find it full of coins.

"This is the Waterkeeper," explained Rakesh.

"Three gil a shower," rasped the woman. "Watch out for men tryin' to sneak a peek. Ain't no separate facilities for the ladies."

Given the design, Tifa wasn't exactly sure how one was supposed to stay on guard.

"You got four choices," continued the woman. "Shower with your clothes on. Shower in your underwear. Shower in a bathing suit─if you got one. Or get over it and stop caring who sees what."

"Are you serious... ?" asked Tifa.

Surely Rakesh and the woman were playing a prank on her. They had to be, right? But the showers themselves were hardly reassuring. There were five stalls, and while they were divided from one another by thin partitions, there were no doors or other means of privacy from anyone approaching the container. This was going to be a serious issue.

Perhaps it was as the woman said, and she'd simply have to make do. Maybe the clean, comfortable standard of living she'd known in Nibelheim was just one more thing she'd lost.

Having introduced Tifa to her accommodations, Rakesh led her back through the narrow alley and onto the main street. Tifa noted that the landmark she'd picked out earlier─the general store─was now teeming with customers. The shop was tended by a young man wearing an apron. He addressed his customers cordially, seeming to know many of them quite well.

Tifa wondered again about the new job awaiting her. What in the world could it be? If it was something unconscionable, would she know how to turn it down? And if she did refuse, would Rakesh be upset with her? Would this mysterious Manson fellow be angry?

She decided that if things looked bad, she'd better communicate her refusal delicately.

Tifa continued to follow Rakesh, completely reliant on him as they traversed the unfamiliar tangle of the slums. She imagined the sorts of awful jobs the city might have that she wouldn't want to be subjected to. She didn't yet know what was normal for people in the slums, or where their values lay. All she could do for now was stick close to Rakesh, both literally and figuratively, and hope for the best.

The thought had her feeling more helpless and alone than she ever had before.

"Gil for your thoughts?"

Their small party had arrived at its next stop on the long trek across the grasslands. Tifa sat in the shade of a tree, and beside her Red XIII lounged like a large, complacent house cat, his pale eye peering up at her with curiosity.

"Just remembering my first few days on my own in the slums."

"Ah. Now that's a tale I'd be fascinated to hear."

"You sure you don't wanna enjoy the sights with the others? They look like they're having lots of fun."

She gestured in the direction of their companions. Cloud and Aerith stood at the edge of a fenced pasture. A bright yellow chocobo had wandered near, and Aerith was chattering excitedly as she reached out to pet it.

"If you are insinuating that you'd prefer to be alone, I shall take my leave. But if you do not mind my presence, I would rather stay."

"All right. Stick around and keep me company, then."

After cutting her story off at those final days in Nibelheim, just prior to Sephiroth's arrival, she'd walked more or less in silence. The events that immediately followed were too difficult to talk about. Not to mention, there were a few things she couldn't share.

Still, it was nice to talk, and to let everything out to a patient ear.

"I felt like I'd lost everything," she admitted. "But the one thing I guess I did have was luck. I met a lot of good people. Many of them became very dear. In a way, I kinda miss that part of my life."

Evening was falling when Tifa and Rakesh arrived at an abandoned lot near the Sector 8 Undercity Station. She was learning that the lamps on the underside of the plate were programmed to mimic the cycle of the real sun. Evening in the slums was marked by fading light and lengthening shadows just like anywhere else.

Rakesh waved his arm over the rows and rows of mismatched railcars resting on the dirt lot.

"These cars have all been given a second shot at life," he said. "Every one of them belongs to the Manson Crew. And the first one you ought to know about is that blue one over there."

She found the one he was indicating. It appeared to be an old freight car. Every inch of its exterior had been repainted blue, and it was easily large enough to fit three of the wooden trucking containers she'd seen at Container Row.

Rakesh dashed ahead to the the car and slid its massive door open, climbing aboard and beckoning for Tifa to follow. She quickened her pace.

Inside the car, she was struck by a wall of heat and moisture. Sweat immediately began to form at her brow. Accompanying the muggy air was a sweet aroma that quickly had Tifa's stomach rumbling. She realized she hadn't eaten since she left the clinic.

The railcar, she found, contained a large commercial kitchen, in which three women busily worked away. One was tending a large pot on a stove burner. Another was chopping vegetables at a central counter. And the third was furiously kneading a lump of dough on another smaller counter running along one wall.

None of them paid any mind to Rakesh or Tifa.

"We call the one stirring the pot Miss Simmer. Over by the wall is Miss Roller. She's in charge of the dough. And in the center is Miss Chopper. She does the veggies."

"Are those their real names?"

"Ha ha! Definitely not. Even I don't know their real names."

In a hushed tone, Rakesh added, "And I'd recommend you not ask, unless they're the ones to bring it up. That goes for the rest of the people you meet in Container Row too. Personal details are kind of a touchy subject."

"Noted. So, um... is this where I'm going to be working?"

It didn't look so bad, she decided.

"Not quite. See, they do all the prep work. Everything they make gets carried over to a food cart, which is where you come in. You're in charge of putting on the finishing touches and, most important, selling the product. C'mon. I'll show ya."

They backed out of the railcar, and Rakesh slid the large door shut. The three women in the kitchen hadn't looked up once.

Rakesh approached the adjacent railcar. As he opened its door, he explained, "This one's the office-slash-warehouse. You'll pull the cart out of here in the morning and roll it back in at night. Today's an off day, so the cart's inside. Go ahead and take a look."

Tifa peeked inside. Sure enough, a small wheeled food cart rested at the back of the dim freight car. At its top was a sign that read Sector 8 Steamed Buns in big, festive letters.

"Steamed buns?"

"That's right. Yummy, fluffy pockets of white dough loaded up with nutritious veggies and mouthwatering, sweet 'n' spicy minced meat. They're the best in the sector. Maybe in the entire slums."

"Do you really think I'm up for this?"

"If it doesn't work out, no biggie. We'll find you something else. But why not go into it with a positive attitude?"

"Yeah. All right."

"Pops will show you the ropes tomorrow. If anyone knows how to sell steamed buns, it's Pops. He's been doing it for close to forty years."

"Wow... This cart's been around that long?"

"It's his own secret recipe." Rakesh smiled. "Oh, and Pops has me in charge of keeping the books. Want a rundown of how the compensation works?"

"Please."

"At the end of the day, we tally up the number of steamed buns sold. Twenty percent of the sales go to you, twenty to Pops, and another thirty is split among the three ladies working the back of the house. The final thirty goes to the Manson Crew. In exchange, they source all of our ingredients for us.

"One bun sells for three gil, so if you move a hundred a day, that's a cool three hundred gil. Out of that, your take home is sixty."

"Sixty gil, huh... ?"

It didn't sound too bad, but then again, she was new to the slums and to working life in general. She didn't have any basis for comparison.

"Remember, you're making twice as much as any of those ladies in the kitchen. That's 'cause you're gonna be the one pulling in the customers. How well we do is all up to you."

When they'd finished the tour, Rakesh accompanied her back as far as the alleyway to make sure she knew the way.

Alone in her new room, Tifa quickly set about making a few critical calculations.

"If rent is fifteen gil a day... and a shower costs me three... and I take all my meals at the cart so I eat for free... That leaves me with forty-two gil per day.

"And if I set most of that aside to pay the clinic, I'll be able to settle my debt in about..."

She ran the numbers inside her head. When she arrived at a result, her brow furrowed for a moment, and she started over. It was easy to make a mistake with large figures like these; she knew she might not have it right on her first try.

But the second attempt yielded the same result as the first.

"Sixty-six years?!" she blurted. "That can't be right."

Tifa proceeded to triple-check her math. The answer did not change.

How was she supposed to endure sixty-six years living out of a cramped, dingy shipping container, eating nothing but steamed buns day in and day out?

Tifa spent the night tossing and turning, plagued by worry. When the soft gray at the window signaled dawn was near, she was still wide awake. She stood decisively, grabbed two towels and a change of clothes, and headed out.

Just like the day before, the Waterkeeper was on duty, sitting quietly at her desk. Tifa dropped three gil into the tin can: Rakesh had thoughtfully provided a small advance to cover any immediate expenses.

"I'd like to use the showers, please," she said.

"You're sure you're ready?" rasped the Waterkeeper, her eyes arched to indicate she was asking after Tifa's mental preparedness.

"I'll wrap one towel around me and keep it there until I'm done."

"Ain't gonna be anyone else coming by at this hour," the woman replied. "But if your luck don't hold and someone does show up, I'll shoo 'em away. Go on. Get to it."

"Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"Gonna cost you another two gil, though. That's the lookout fee."

Tifa's jaw almost dropped. After a brief reflection, she decided it was probably worth the cost. She fished another two gil from her pocket and dropped it into the can.

The woman chuckled. "A young thing like you must have one hell of a story to wind up on the Row. But then again, I s'pose that's true for the lot of us. And if you're gonna live out your life in the dregs of Sector 8, you might as well be able to enjoy a nice, relaxing shower."

Tifa decided she was grateful the woman had offered to play lookout at all. But as she stepped into the shower─which was surprisingly hot─her thoughts weighed heavy.

With some difficulty, Tifa found her way back to the station area and located the abandoned lot, cluttered with decommissioned railcars.

Her partner-to-be stood outside, awaiting her arrival. He was a small, old, pale-looking fellow, but his most notable feature by far was his outfit: a bright red shirt and matching red trousers. Age had left his dark hair peppered with silver, and he wore it cropped close against the scalp.

He scratched at his head with one hand and stared as she approached. Tifa could almost feel his eyes as they swept up and down the length of her body.

"Congratulations. You pass. Now let's get a move on."

The man ambled toward the second railcar Rakesh had shown her: the "office-slash-warehouse."

"Call me Pops," the man said. "Your name is Tifa, right? You wanna stick with that, or should I think up a street name for ya?"

Pops abruptly turned, and she felt his eyes again, wandering their way down.

"Lessee... A good name for you would be..."

His gaze lingered at her chest. It made her want to bring her arms up, as if to cover herself.

Instead, she blurted, "Tifa's fine. Just Tifa, please."

"You sure?" The man's shoulders slumped. "Pity. I coulda come up with somethin' real catchy."

He resumed walking toward the railcar. When he arrived, he threw the sliding door open. The door rumbled noisily along its track.

"Let's get the cart out. Chop, chop."

Despite his phrasing, he remained by the door, apparently not intending to help. Tifa walked past, grabbing hold of the cart where it lay at the back of the railcar. She expected to struggle as she tried to wheel it out. However, the cart was surprisingly light, and she maneuvered it through the doorway with no trouble at all.

"Next we gotta load up the goods. Wheel 'er over to the kitchen. They'll have today's batch ready and waiting."

Apparently, all of this was going to be Tifa's responsibility and hers alone. She pulled the cart alongside the door of the all-blue railcar. Just inside the entrance, she found large containers full of finely-chopped vegetables and other garnishes, as well as rows upon rows of semicircular white hunks of dough. There was also one giant pot full of a thick, tangy ground-meat mixture─the seasoned, slow-cooked concoction that would serve as the heart of the dish. She lifted each container onto the cart, taking particular care with the pot, which was heavy and hot to the touch. Pops made no motion to help load the ingredients either.

Inside, the three kitchen ladies continued to labor away. Tifa offered a cheerful greeting, but they remained silent and kept their eyes on their work.

"Good. You'll get used to this routine real quick," said Pops. "Now, give 'er a pull."

The wooden poles at the front of the cart were fashioned in the shape of an H─two parallel bars jutting straight out from the body of the cart, connected with a crossbeam. Tifa ducked under the crossbeam and positioned herself to roll the cart along behind her, bearing the load on her hands and stomach.

It wasn't unfamiliar work. In Nibelheim, Tifa had occasionally transported items around in much the same fashion, using a small handcart. The handcart had always been around, parked in the same corner of the village for as long as she could remember. Once, when she was very small, she'd hopped into the back for a ride around the main square. Had Tyler been the one pulling her along, or was it Lester? She couldn't remember.

Loaded up with the day's offerings, the Sector 8 Steamed Buns cart had grown considerably heavier. Tifa leaned forward, feeling her abs tighten as she pushed. A dull ache began in her chest and slowly spread outward.

"You all right?" Pops said, peering at her face.

He seemed genuinely concerned. Perhaps he was friendlier than his initial impression had led her to believe.

"You're lookin' pale," he remarked. "You get any sleep last night?"

"Not really," admitted Tifa.

"Aw, c'mon, now. We're countin' on you! We're supposed to move five hundred of these things today!"

"Five?" chirped Tifa. "Um... I don't mean to be rude, but... Yesterday, I was told we were aiming for one hundred."

"If you're only selling a hundred buns a day, this ain't the line of work for you. The last girl was able to do a thousand, no sweat."

"A thousand? In one day?!"

"What else? Look. It's your first time, so we're settin' the bar low. Five hundred."

"A thousand buns in one day..." Tifa murmured to herself. It was hard to even visualize that many steamed buns.

On the other hand, if she could hit numbers like that, she'd be able to pay off her debt much faster than she'd imagined. Instead of sixty-six years, this whole ordeal could be behind her in less than seven.

Seven years still seemed like a long time, but it no longer felt impossible.

"I can do it," she said. Then, looking at Pops, "Five hundred. A thousand. I'll sell them as fast as we can make them."

Chin up and jaw set, Tifa wheeled off toward the station. Suddenly, the cart was feeling a whole lot lighter.

"Honestly, looking back, I can't believe it got me so fired up. But that tiny glimmer of hope was more than I'd had before."

Tifa glanced at Red XIII, who was still lying in the grass beside her. His face was turned away, but when she watched closely, she saw a faint, stifled trembling from his withers to the base of his tail.

"Are you laughing at me?!" she demanded.

"Not at all," replied the beast, but she could hear the quaver in his voice too. "So tell me, did you end up selling a thousand buns?"

"Wouldn't you like to know!"