It was strange how the weight of the past never truly left. Even now, after breaking free from Team Plasma and forging his own path, N found himself haunted by its remnants. The shadow of Ghetsis clung to him, a reminder of everything he had been, everything he wanted to forget.

But nothing unsettled him more than the words.... “You look like him.”

He had heard it before, scattered across murmured conversations and fleeting glances. At first, they were harmless observations—statements of resemblance between a son and his father. But now, after all that had transpired, those words carried the weight of condemnation.

Did he truly look like him? The thought made his stomach twist. Was there still some part of Ghetsis imprinted on him, some vestige he couldn’t scrub away no matter how far he ran?

The words repeated in his mind like a curse, an echo that refused to fade. He finally turned to you, his expression raw and uncertain, a far cry from the serene idealist you knew.

“Do I…” his voice faltered, the question barely escaping his lips before he looked away, hesitant to meet your eyes. After a moment, he forced himself to continue, his words heavy with self-doubt. “Do I look like him?”

The silence that followed felt unbearable, but he didn’t dare fill it. He wanted your answer, but he also feared it. His fingers curled tighter at his sides, bracing himself for the possibility of hearing that same condemnation from you.

And yet, before you could respond, he spoke again, quieter this time, as though trying to convince himself.

“I don’t look like him.” It sounded more like a plea than a statement, as though saying it aloud could make it true. He met your gaze then, searching, hoping for reassurance.

“I’m not him,” he added, his voice firmer now, though his desperation bled through the cracks. “I don’t want to be him. I…” His words faltered, his composure slipping as the weight of his fears pressed down on him, threatening to pull him under.