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Ten years before the events ofFinal Fantasy X, Jecht, the king of Blitzball, found himself among the company of Summoner Braska and his guardian, Auron. Together, they traveled to rid the world, Spira, of Sin. Their pilgrimage was never recorded it its entirety... until now.
"Did you hear? Jecht showed up at practice drunk again!"
"Who hasn't heard? I guess 'The Great Jecht' isn't the role model we thought he was. He should just quit now while he's still got some dignity left."
Jecht sighed, overhearing these words as he walked down the streets of Zanarkand. Those clowns can't even be bothered to whisper anymore, huh? He thought. My fans are slowly losing faith in me, and I need to do something about that quick! Today marks the day that I begin my comeback! It’s a good thing I was going to be practicing today anyways.
He took a few turns before Zanarkand's beach came into view. His spirits instantly lifted at the prospect of playing Blitzball, a ball game played underwater. There were only two things in this world that Jecht really loved: his family, which consisted of his son Tidus and his wife, and Blitzball. Blitzball, though, was at the very forefront of his life, seeing as he made a living off of it and was a star Blitzball player to boot.
As he drew closer to the beach, his feet seemed to pick up speed without his noticing. By the time his feet hit the warm sand, he was lightly jogging. He stopped a few inches short of the water, set down the Blitzball that he had been carrying, and began to stretch. He made sure to loosen his shoulders by holding his right shoulder with his left hand and simply rotating his right arm from the shoulder, andhe did vice versa with his left shoulder. A small crowd began to form a few yards from Jecht. He took notice and gave the crowd a smug wave. A few people walked off with scowls on their faces at this point. Jecht watched the scorners awkwardly for a second before turning to enter the water, Blitzball back in hand.
He took to the water like a crocodile. With strong strokes, he swam out until he felt the water was deep enough but not too far from the crowd. He mentally went through his list of Blitzball moves, trying to think of which one start with. Winning back his fans would start with impressing that crowd watching from the shore, but he still had to actually benefit from this practice session. He soon decided to do a few warm-ups underwater before doing some spectacular moves near and on the surface. Thus, he dove underwater. His eyes at once found a dark, bizarre silhouette of some unknown beast about ten feet away from him. He squinted at the silhouette, scratching his head. He had been to this beach more times than he could count, but he had never seen such a creature. The beast didn’t move, nor did it seem to see Jecht. Despite the risk that this huge beast was dangerous, the wheels in his head began to turn. What if he killed this large brute, which could very well be threat to everyone in Zanarkand? He’d be everyone’s hero again! Maybe even his son’s, as well. Protecting everyone would undeniably be the right thing to do.
He threw his Blitzball at it as hard as he could, which was exceptionally hard, and watched as the monster began to stir. It lunged towards him faster than expected from something its size. He tried to thrash out of the way, but he wasn’t nearly fast enough fast enough to dodge the creature’s tackle. The blow hit him hard and fast, causing him to spin heel over head. He felt himself being flung around as if he was caught in a whirlpool. Dizzy, all he could think of was how much his back hurt. Seconds later, all consciousness was stolen from him.
The sound of water was the first sound that reached him in the darkness. Then, Jecht remembered that the crowd was watching him. He sat up with a start only to get dizzy and lie back down again. He gazed up at the clear, blue sky wondering why there were no worried faces blocking his view of it. He managed to turn his head, despite his aching neck, to look for the crowd. No one was there.
"Figures," He muttered hoarsely. He licked his chapped lips and tried to hydrate his throat by swallowing his own spit. He must have swallowed a lot of salt water at some point while he was unconscious. Eight minutes later, he found the strength to stand up. He felt thoroughly soaked and like there was sand in every nook and cranny of his body. He patted as much of the sand off of his clothes, which consisted of a pair of over-alls (a Blitzball player staple) with the shoulder straps hanging wildly around his waist and an orange cloth fastened at his waistline and partially covering his right leg, as he could; then, he shook the water out of his ears. He turned to walk home only to receive a colossal shock – Zanarkand was gone. Instead, he found a wall that towered above him, seeming to touch the sky. Water was pouring out of round holes in walls like a waterfall. The Blitz king stood there, appalled.
"What the…?" He said out loud, his voice still more gruff than normal. "Is this some kind of joke?"
It was then that he also noticed that he was stranding in grass, mud, and water – not sand. As he approached the wall, he could hear voices coming from the top of the wall. Were there people up there? Instinctively, he veered to his left and trudged stiffly, achingly along the golden wall. Jecht eventually stumbled across a gate in the wall. After passing through it and walking up a flight of stairs, he found himself in a massive city, going on for as far as the eye could see. An array of beige and salmon pink stone covered the streets.
He wandered blindly through the city before arriving at what looked like a marketplace. Resisting the urge to drink out of the fountain that was at the center of the circle of vendors and shops, He searched for a place to get some water. He didn’t have look very far. Ignoring the stares he received, he sat down at the counter of a diner called "Stella’s".
"What can I get you, Hun?" A curvy, dark woman behind the counter asked.
"Water would be nice." Jecht croaked in reply.
"Oh dear, what happened to you? You look like you nearly drowned!"
Jecht touched his hair, which was a complete rat’s nest at that moment due to being flung aroung by the waves, self-consciously. "You could say that. Now, about that water…"
"Oh, sure!" The waitress spun around, poured water from a pitcher into a glass, and set the glass in front of Jecht. Jecht chugged down about half of the water before he set it down to catch his breath. "…Anything else?" The waitress asked worriedly.
Realizing that he was actually famished, Jecht picked up and glanced at a menu. "The minute steak sounds good." She nodded and stepped into the kitchen. In the meantime, Jecht listened to the conversations around him. One person mentioned a place called "Bevelle", causing him to speculate whether Bevelle was the name of the city he was in.
Minutes later, the steak he ordered was brought out by the same woman. "Here ya go, Handsome. Is that all I get you?"
"Uh… Well, do you happen to know how to get to Zanarkand from here?" He chanced.
Jecht could that she was trying not to laugh when she said, "Now, why would you want to go there? It’s nothing but ruins."
"No, it’s not!" Jecht insisted. "I was just there a couple of minutes ago, and-"
"If you were there just a minute ago, shouldn’t you know how to get back?" She humored him, failing in her attempt to not stifle her laughter. She continued her giggling as she moved on to a different customer, leaving his anger to fester.
Jecht huffily shoveled his steak into his mouth. He couldn’t believe that he had been laughed at in such a humiliating way. What did she mean? Zanarkand isn’t ‘nothing but ruins’! He grumbled in his head. Upon finishing his steak, he pulled some Gil out of his water-proof wallet ("No self-respecting Blitzer would be caught dead without one," Jecht would sometimes say on the subject of his wallet.) and slammed it on the counter next to his plate. After being laughed at, he didn’t feel like paying for the meal personally.
After leaving the diner, Jecht looked around the circle of shops for someone who could help get him home. He spotted a young, brunette man, who didn’t look like the sort who would laugh in your face, behind a stand. The vendor goggled at Jecht as he approached.
"U-um, hello, sir, is there s-something I could interest you in?" The vendor stammered.
"Maybe. Do you get around much?" Jecht inquired, rubbing the back of his neck and ignoring the young man’s strange behavior.
The merchant was caught off guard. "I-I’ve been travelling for about a year now, selling my goods where I can." "Did you ever get as far as Zanarkand?"
"No, I haven’t, actually – only summoners go there." He saw the disappointed look in Jecht’s eyes and hastily added, "I-I mean, it has been in ruin for a hundred years, hasn’t it? There’s not much profit in going there."
Jecht then turned rudely on the spot and walked away, muttering, "I can’t believe this."
Jecht went around the city for the next hour, asking people about his home. To his frustration, most people laughed at him and asked something along the lines of: "Are you drunk, brudda?" He even found a group of teenagers tossing around a Blitzball, but they were just like everybody else. He had opened up with asking whether they had heard of his Blitzball team, the Zanarkand Abes. They looked at him strangely, and one of them said, "Yeah, in that book Blitzball through the Ages." Jecht soon reached his limit and made his way into a semi-outdoor, door-less bar.
"Bad day, Mon?" The bartender asked, noticing Jecht’s battered appearance as he sat down at the bar.
"The worst. Can I get some rum?"
"Sure t’ing."
Two bottles of rum later, Jecht heard a woman behind him cry, "There he is!" Out of curiosity, He looked over his shoulder to find that woman pointing at him from outside the bar. She had brought a small mob, which was comprised of women and two men in uniform, with her. Those two men, whom Jecht presumed to be part of the security of this city, stepped forward and demanded that he step outside the bar.
"Yeah!" another woman yelled above the noise of the crowd. "Didn’t you already have enough alcohol for one day?!"
Jecht hazily remembered asking most of those women about Zanarkand earlier. Most of those same women had acted like he was a raving lunatic and scurried past him before he could get another word in. The others were like the rest in that they suspected he was drunk. He stiffly (due to his back, which was still aching) approached the mob with his hands up innocently. "What seems to be the problem?"
The two men grabbed his arms and began to lead him away. "You are under arrest," the one on the left said, "for public drunkenness!"
"What?!" Jecht ripped himself out of the guards’ grip and staggered a few steps back. "I did no such thing!"
"You did, too!" another woman from the mob retorted. "We all saw you running about Bevelle like a raving drunkard!"
Stupefied, Jecht looked on mutely as all the mob back her up with agreeing murmurs and shouts. The guards once again got a hold of him and dragged him away, with the mob close behind. "Look, I know that this looks bad, but you gotta believe me!" Jecht cried sharply.
"Have you or have you not been going around claiming to be from Zanarkand?" The guard on Jecht’s right asked.
"I have, but what does that have to do with anything?"
The guard on his left replied, "If you go around claiming you’re from the scrap pile that Zanarkand is, you must be either drunk or insane. And if I were you, I’d claim to be drunk – That is, if you don’t want to end up in an asylum for the rest of your life."
Jecht was brought before some kind of judge to be tried. This trial turned out to be nothing but a joke. Being at a bar at the time of the arrest, admitting to being a heavy drinker, and insisting to be from Zanarkand were the proofs given to the judge from the mob. One of the guards even mentioned the strange, stiff way Jecht had been walking.
"You’d walk this way too, if you’d been attacked by a sea monster! My back is killing me!" Jecht bellowed in his defense. He instantly regretted mentioning the sea monster when the judge exchanged a dubious look with the guards. The judge thought he was as crazy as the mob claimed he was. The brunette could do nothing but ready himself for the sentence he knew was coming.
"I find our subject to be guilty of all accusations." The judge pronounced. "And, I sentence him to one month in the dungeons." He paused a second and gave Jecht a pointed look. "Keep in mind that no one has escaped our dungeon."
Jecht rolled eyes – He wasn’t going to run away from anything. Fortunately for him, He was allowed to take a shower before being shoved into his dungeon cell. Jecht was quite relieved to be able to wash off that grimy feeling he left after washing up on the shore, but that happy feeling was very short-lived. He found himself in a dark, dingy cell with nothing to do but think. Recalling the events of that day, he wondered whether what everyone was saying about Zanarkand was true. If so, that could only mean he had been transported to the future. Friends, family, and places he loved flashed before his eyes. If he was thousands of years in the future, those things would be long gone by then. Jecht shook his furiously, as if doing so would rid himself of the thought.
"No!" He muttered to himself. "There must be another explanation! I just need to find someone somewhere who believes me and knows the way back home."
So that was his plan. Planning his next move was quickly done, leaving him and his mind with plenty of free time. His mind drifted back to Zanarkand, to the happy days that seemed to end only a few hours before. One of the best days of his life was the day he met his wife.
He was standing amongst his fans, signing autographs beneath the entrance to Zanarkand’s Blitzball stadium just before a game. He was much younger and just beginning to make a name for himself, having only played for the Zanarkand Abes for three official games. Right away, people were impressed with his abilities, and he soon gained popularity. That day, people crowded ‘round him, shoving blitzballs and pink, sparkly notebooks – among other things – at him to sign. It was then that three girls approached with autograph books in their hands. Jecht’s eyes zoned in on the girl to the far right. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He loved how her auburn hair gleamed in the moonlight.
"Can we please have your autograph?" The one in the center had asked.
"Huh? Oh, sure...sure." Jecht replied, ripping his eyes away from hers and bringing his head down from the clouds.
His new crush giggled at him. To his delight, they didn’t walk off as soon as he finished signing their books; but instead, stuck around to ask him a few questions.
"I heard you’ve come up with your own move– Is that true?" His future wife asked.
"Yep, a friend of mine suggested I come up with one. I’ll be unveiling it during the game tonight. I call it the ‘Sublimely Magnificent Jecht Shot Mark III’!"
"Sounds cool," she gushed. "But is there a Mark I or Mark II?"
Jecht grinned with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Perhaps. If you really want to find out, I could tell you over dinner after the game."
She blushed and agreed to go out with him. They fell in love that night and never looked back. Jecht had many fond memories that were made in that stadium, and he chose for an extra special one to be made there as well – their wedding day. His wife wasn’t very happy to be getting married at the stadium, but she agreed to go along with it if she could choose what Jecht wore to the wedding. Jecht regretted making that deal as soon he looked at himself in a mirror in one of the stadium’s locker rooms.
"I can’t believe she said I’d look handsome in this." Jecht had grumbled, pulling uncomfortably at the collar of his ceremonial robe.
His red-headed childhood friend, fellow Zanarkand Abes teammate, and best man, Toni, was sitting on a bench behind Jecht, waiting for him to get ready. Toni looked up from the long string he been attempting to intertwine with his fingers in the right in pattern to make the shape of a boat between his hands. "I know, right?" he agreed jocularly. "I mean, who’d think you look handsome at all?"
"Oh, you –" Jecht turned around and lightly punched Toni. Then, he started towards the door. "Well, I look as good as I can in this get-up. Let’s go, huh?"
"Wait a second, Jet. You sure you didn’t forget something?" Toni interrogated, calling Jecht by his personal nickname for Jecht.
With a wince, Jecht glanced over his shoulder to see Toni holding up the matching headdress to the robe, the very thing that he been avoiding wearing. He darted for the door, but Toni tackled him before could take two more steps. Though Jecht was the strongest player for the Abes, Toni was the fastest and lightest on his feet. Toni managed to drag Jecht up by the collar to his feet. Toni then ripped the headband off of Jecht’s forehead and plopped the headdress on his friend’s head.
"There. I’m doin’ you a favor, buddy. You don’t want to die an old maid, do ya?" Toni took a step back and looked at Jecht as if he was a piece of art to be appreciated. "Ah, there’s nothing more handsome than a blushing bridegroom." Toni commented jokingly.
Jecht grimaced and made a noise that sound like "tch". "All right, that’s enough comments from the peanut gallery!"
"All right, all right…" Toni’s playful smile turned into a nostalgic one. "Look, before you go off and get married, I want to talk, married mano e soon-to-be-married mano."
The two friends sat down on the bench Toni had been sitting on before, and they found themselves looking into that same mirror Jecht had been looking into.
"Look at us." Toni began. "It seems like it was just yesterday we were being carted off to the principal’s office for skipping class to play Blitzball. Now, we’re men, who are being paid to play Blitzball. How the tides turn, huh? Change, good or bad, happens over time, and we can only control that change up to a certain point. On the eve of this good change, I want you to remember this about bad changes, which are sure to come: not all the changes you hate are necessarily bad. Sometimes, hindsight is what will truly determine what changes are good or bad. Remember that, okay?"
Jecht did remember Toni’s words. He mulled over them over and over again as he sat in his dungeon cell, day after day, in a sort of comatose state. Many things had changed Toni gave that short speech. Obviously, the first change was that he got married. He would never forget how beautiful his wife looked in her white dress and with her hair pulled up in a wispy bun. Hundreds of fans, friends, and family all managed to make it to the wedding, making his wedding the most attended event in recent Zanarkand history. The second biggest change was when they had their son, Tidus. Toni pointed that Jecht’s chest seemed to permanently puff up after Jecht first laid his eyes on Tidus. Jecht didn’t know if that was true, but he did know that life seemed have a new meaning with Tidus around. He had had it all figured out – He would teach Tidus Blitzball, and Tidus would carry on Jecht’s legacy. And that’s exactly what Jecht tried to do, but the two of them had had a falling out. Jecht thought to himself, Perhaps I was a bit too hard on the kid, but how else is he going to man up?
Not only did these thoughts and memories fill his mind during the day, but they haunted him at night. The dream he had on his fifth day of confinement was the worst one of all. He dreamt he was back in Zanarkand, swimming through its beach's water.
A strange man's voice echoed through the water ominously. "Help me! You're my only hope to escape this nightmare!"
Jecht peered through the water, trying find the source of the voice. He swam on, still being barraged by the pleading voice, until a shape of a man came into view. Speeding up, Jecht approached the shape, which got bigger with every swipe of his arms. He jerked to a halt when the shape was no longer like a human's; instead, it looked like that of the sea monster he had met five days before. Spinning around, He attempted to swim away only to come face-to-face with the immense beast.
He suddenly woke up, pulling himself out of the dream. He looked up to see the source of the voice that woke him up. A cranky-looking guard was standing over Jecht with a bowl in his hand. After setting the bowl on the ground beside Jecht, the guard left the cell. Glancing at the same breakfast he had had for four (on the first day, if you’ll remember, he wasn’t in jail at breakfast time) days strait – oatmeal, Jecht heaved a heavy sigh. He hated oatmeal.
Five hours later, Jecht heard footsteps on the stairs that led to his cell. He thought this odd since there usually wasn’t anyone coming or going at that time of the day, but he didn’t think much of it until a stranger stopped in front of the cell. The man was wearing a, to Jecht, bizarre, floor-length robe that had brown and maroon layers to it reminiscent of a bird’s feathers. Blue-grey hair flowed from underneath the stranger’s odd headdress and stopped at the abdominal area.
"Who are you?" Jecht asked from his place on the floor. Facing the door of the cell, He was lying on his side, resting his head on right arm, and laying his left arm on his bent left knee.
"You are the one they call Jecht, the man from Zanarkand, are you not?" The visitor replied gently, seemingly ignoring Jecht’s question.
"What of it?" Jecht answered sharply.
Another visitor appeared over the first man’s shoulder. "Watch your tongue, knave!"
This man was wearing a simple, crimson robe with the left sleeve tucked under his left arm and allowed to hang freely, exposing part of a black under shirt. His raven black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. Jecht instantaneously decided he hated that man’s voice – and perhaps even the man – for the lecturing teacher quality it had.
The first stranger peeked over at the other and gave him a nod, as if indicating that he could fend for himself, before turning back to Jecht. "Ah, my apologies." He said with another nod; this time, to Jecht. "I am Braska, a summoner. I’ve come to take you from this place."
Jecht jumped to his feet, and his heart quickly swelled with happiness. But, he was vigilant – he knew offers like these came with a price. He prepared himself for the punch-line. "Hmm, sounds sweet. What’s the catch?"
Braska chuckled. "That easy to see, was it? I soon leave on a pilgrimage…to Zanarkand."
Jecht couldn’t believe his ears. He took a step forward. "Seriously?"
With a nod and an affirming grunt, Braska replied, "I would like you to join us. It will be a dangerous trip." He paused for a second looked down at the ground almost shyly. "Yet, if we do reach Zanarkand…" He then looked back up at Jecht. "My prayers will be answered, and you will be able to go home, we think. What say you?"
Though Jecht wasn’t so sure whether he liked the uncertain way Braska had said "we think", almost instantly said, "Great, let’s go!", and held up his fist almost victoriously while doing so.
"Hmm, so quick?"
Jecht began to rub the back of his neck. "Anything to get outta here!"
"Then it’s settled."
"But I must protest…" The man in the red robe butted in, trying to have his say in the matter. "This drunkard a guardian?"
"Hey! You want to step in here and say that?" Jecht challenged, leaning forward threateningly for a second. He was weary and fed-up with being considered a drunkard.
Braska turned around to face the man in red and asked, "What does it matter?"
Jecht noticed movement just over the man in red's shoulder. It was a guard, who looked like he pointing an oversized marble that had been cut in half and mounted on a plague at Braska and his companion. Huh? How long has he been there? He wondered.
"No one," Braska continued, "Truly believes that I, a fallen summoner wed to an Al bhed...could possibly defeat Sin. This is what they say. No one expects us succeed."
"Braska, sir..." Braska's companion started, trying to think of something to comfort Braska.
Braska gave a light chuckle, showing he didn’t need comfort. "Let's show them they're wrong." He turned to Jecht. "A fallen summoner, a man from Zanarkand..." He spun back around to his companion. "And a warrior monk, doomed to obscurity for refusing the hand of the priest's daughter. What delightful irony it would be if we defeated Sin!"
By this point, Jecht's attention had begun to wane, and he was tired of being in his cell when freedom was so close. "Stop gabbin' and get me outta here!" He demanded grumpily.
Braska twisted back round to Jecht and gave a small laugh. "Oh, sorry, Jecht, I let my passion get the best of me." He looked over at a guard, who was out of Jecht's line of sight. "Would you please...?" He asked the guard, gesturing towards the cell's door.
After Jecht was let out, he walked to the other side of the room. He rubbed his neck, sighing, "Ahh... Free at last!"
He could hear Braska and the other man approach him. "Now, Jecht..." Braska started. "I am in your hands until we reach Zanarkand."
Jecht faced Braska and said in a laid-back, half-hearted tone, "Right, right. So, what's a 'summer-ner', anyway?" Braska cast an blank look over at the man in red. "I think that's a story too long for this place. Shall we go home?"
"Home?" Jecht inquired.
"Yes, my house. The pilgrimage is in five days, and you'll be staying there with us until then."
"'Us'?"
"Auron and I." Braska extended his arm towards his companion. "He is also my guardian."
Auron and Jecht made eye contact. Jecht could tell that Auron still didn't approve of the whole situation. His temper flared up, but he didn't allow it to come to the surface, for Braska's sake. The three men made their way out of the dungeon and out into the fresh air. Soon, Auron was the last thing on Jecht's mind. They walked through the town, which Jecht was seeing in new light. No longer did Bevelle seem like an alien planet but it was simply a stop along the way home. Before Jecht knew it, he was crossing Braska's threshold. The house was laid out so you would immediately enter the living room upon entering the house.
"Go ahead and make yourself at home." Braska told him. "I'll show you to your room after we make a few things clear."
The Blitz king plopped himself on the couch and spread his arms across the head of the couch. As Auron sat down on an arm chair beside the couch, he gave Jecht a glare that irritated Jecht to no end. "What? He told to make myself at home!" Jecht snapped.
"Yes, but don't they teach manners in your Zanarkand?" Auron shot back.
"My Zanarkand, huh? My Zanarkand it the very same one we're going to! But you don't believe that, do ya?" Auron looked away and said nothing.
Braska sat down beside Jecht and pleaded gently, "You'll have to allow Auron a few doubts, Jecht. All we know of you is mostly word-of-mouth – we don't know the whole story, but I'd love to hear it. How did you end up in imprisoned?"
Jecht told them all about the events leading up to his trial. "...And then – well, you can guess the rest."
"A giant sea monster, you say?" Braska asked, bringing his hand up to his chin in a pensive pose. "Could that have been…Sin?"
"Of course, that would explain everything." Auron reasoned. "I have heard that Sin’s toxin can confuse people. Jecht’s head has just been mixed up this whole time."
Jecht sent the monk a fierce look. "No way! I’ve got a wife and kid back in Zanarkand – You think they’re just figments of my imagination?!"
Auron shook his head. "Just the Zanarkand part is where you’re confused."
"That’s enough, Auron." Braska said shortly and turned to Jecht. "I believe you, Jecht. When you have a place you call home, you just don’t forget about it that easily."
"Thanks, but what is this Sin, anyways? And what about the ‘summer-ners’?" Jecht questioned.
"Sin is a horrible beast that attacks Spira, threatening our very existence. They say that he came into being because our ancestors were depending too much on machina and were becoming self-centered. Sin is the punishment for the sins of our fathers. The only hope Spira has is summoning the Final Aeon, and only a summoner can do that." He noticed that Jecht still didn’t look like he completely understood and went on to explain, "Aeons are creatures that a summoner call upon to keep Spira safe, which is a summoner’s first duty. On this pilgrimage, I must pray at the temples along the way and master these Aeons. Only then will I be strong enough to summon the Final Aeon and defeat Sin."
Jecht nodded. "Okay, I think I get it now. Summoners are like heroes, huh? Then I made the right choice in going with you guys." He cracked his knuckles. "I’d love to get my hands on Sin now that I know that’s what sent me here. I’ll show that ba–"
Suddenly, the front door opened, and Jecht looked over the top of the couch to see who came in. A small, brunette girl of about ten years walked in with a polite smile directed at Jecht. "Father, is this the man you spoke of?"
"Yes." Braska answered. "Jecht, this is my daughter, Yuna."
Yuna proceeded to do a bow that Jecht recognized as a Blitzball sign for victory, which he found peculiar. It consisted of placing the right leg slightly behind the other bring the hands to the chest in way that looks like your holding an invisible Blitzball. "Nice to meet you, Sir Jecht." She greeted him.
Jecht cast a blank look over at Braska. "Why’d she call me ‘Sir Jecht’?"
"Oh, I forgot to mention that your official title as my guardian is Sir Jecht." Braska explained apologized. "The same can be said for Auron. As for me, my title is Lord Braska."
"’Sir Jecht’… I like it!" Jecht said.
"Don’t let it go to your head!" Auron lectured. "The title can be taken away as quickly as it was given."
"Yeah, yeah…"
At dinner that night, Braska informed his guardians and daughter that the next day would be a supply run. Though the main goal was to find Jecht a weapon, they still needed to stock up on some food, drink, and etcetera. After that, the next two days would be free days before they set off on the fourth day. Before Jecht went to bed that night, he took a shower. After the shower, he walked back down the hall, heading for his room. That is, until Auron blocked his path.
"What, now?" Jecht asked sharply.
Auron fussed, "I want you to show Lord Braska more respect – that’s what."
Jecht crossed his arms across his chest and let head hang back slightly. "What more do you want from me, Mom? I’m helping him, ain’t I?"
Auron scowled. "Your attitude has me worried that you’ll be the death of Lord Braska. This is a very dangerous mission, and there’s no way I could possibly exaggerate the importance of keeping him safe. If you screw this up, I promise you right now that I will strike you down."
Jecht merely snickered at the thought.
"Would you –" Auron gritted through his teeth. "Did you ever stop being bigheaded for even a second to consider how Lord Braska freed you?! He bailed you out by paying a good chunk of his own money! Think about that, won’t you?" He then pushed past Jecht and went on down hallway toward the living room.
Jecht stared blankly at the spot where Auron had been standing. Did Braska really go through all that trouble for me? He questioned. He hardly even knew me – why would he do that? He felt the need to make it up to Braska. But, how? Deciding to wait until the next day to think of something, Jecht continued on his way to his room. He shortly slipped under the cover of his bed and lay down. Looking up at the ceiling, he imagined what all his haters, including his own son, in Zanarkand would say after he defeated Sin. Those words, echoing in his mind, sent him to sleep with a grin on his face.
"Did you hear?" He imagined they would say. "The Great Jecht is a hero."
