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Chapter Text

She named the child Akira.

The kanji she used meant, 'brilliant valor of the sun'. A very fitting name for a wonderful boy after thinking long and hard on it when she was first pregnant.

Akira was a well-behaved baby, eating when fed, quiet when he wept, and obedient when she shushed him.

He grew into a remarkable young boy, intelligent and cunning with a knack for sports, fast on his feet and thoughts. He had a taste for theater and it's stage, easily rousing the crowd to a cheer with whatever character he breathed life into. He exuded charm and lure, people following his footsteps like disciples in search of guidance and answers.

It was never uncommon for him to bring home a paper with at least a 90% mark, or an award in his small hands for his outstanding work.

Akira was such a marvelous deal, he even came with a free copy!

But, ah . . . it was a disappointing thing.

It always sobbed till its chubby cheeks were bright red and throat hoarse, it always coughed and wheezed, it always reached for her with those small, innocent hands.

It was quiet, yes, but, god, was it annoying regardless. It always mumbled, it barely spoke to her, it always shuffled behind Akira like some leeching shadow, just like how it was bleeding her wallet dry with those mountains of papers and dizzying numbers and statistics when she stared at them every night, at the dinner table, her child and it asleep in that small bed together. She drummed her nails against the wood, a chewed pen between her teeth, itching to grab that cigarette she bought on a whim once some time back.

It was the biggest mistake she ever made.

She was promised one child, and she was ready for that one child, the one she named Akira.

But fate decided to play a joke and made it too, and forced it upon her womb, destroying her and what she had that should've been for Akira.

Every time she made a paycheck, it would greedily snatch the damn thing away to devour it, leaving her only papercuts where it was once held.

The constant tests and medications and treatments . . .

She didn't need to do them, she didn't want to do them, because it was all for it. But it would make her look bad if she didn't, so she sucked it up, and went with it.

She couldn't remember the last time she had a decent sleep without Akira shaking her awake in a panic because it couldn't breathe again, and she had to get up in the cold night, grabbing that damned inhaler from the shelf in the bathroom, and shoving it into it's weakly grasping hand, just for Akira to take the equipment and do it himself. She couldn't remember the last time she had enough money leftover to give herself or Akira some kind of treat, the only things in her hands and littering the house being bottles upon bottles of drugs for it. She couldn't remember the last time she had any time for herself at all, always preoccupied by it and it's needs and problems whilst she watched her social life pass by her.

"You ruined your brother's future." she said, rotting on the couch, spent and exhausted from the day of working two jobs, one full-time, the other part-time. "You ruined my future."

". . . I-I know . . ." it fidgeted with it's hands.

"I only kept you around because you have your brother's face."

"I know . . . I'm sorry . . ." it sniffled before muttering another apology, then throwing a thick blanket over her when she finally passed out like some drunkard on the streets, before shuffling away like the pitiful thing it was.

Akira was at the sink, standing on a old plastic stool, washing the dishes. He looked over to see his twin brother Ren. He flashed a smile, trying not to let it falter upon seeing the tears that never seem to disappear from Ren's eternally puffy, red eyes. "Renren, come here, I need some help."

He wordlessly nodded, and grabbed a plate from the rack, along with a rag, wiping it dry, standing beside Akira, who did the same task with him.

"After this, do you want to go to the pond?" Akira asked, a comforting bump of their arms. "I found some minnows, and I want to show them to you."

"B-but what if she wakes up? She'll g-get mad again . . ." Ren softly whimpered, sniffling, still feeling the woman's words searing deeply into his heart.

"It's okay, I'll protect you." the older twin used a dry corner of the damp rag to wipe Ren's tears. "I promise, okay? I'm your big brother, and big brothers always protect the little one! Besides, Mom is a heavy sleeper, you know that." he added on with a soothing tone. "I'll make sure we come back before she wakes up."

Ren looked hesitant as they finished up the dishes, and put them away. "Don't you still have homework?" he said, hands fidgeting with the hems of his shirt, which was actually Akira's, as he had yet to do his laundry. "I . . . I-I also need to clean up my stuff--"

"I already did my stuff, and you can do yours later tonight." Akira said, waving off Ren's words, grabbing his hand as they went to their room, a small space, but for two little boys, it was big enough. He went to their closet, and grabbed a jacket from the hanger, throwing it over his brother's shoulders, zipping it up. "It rained earlier, so it might be cold."

He only nodded, picking at the wrist cuffs whilst Akira suited himself up for the outside.

"Where's my jacket?" the older twin wondered out loud, climbing onto the built-in shelves of the closet.

"K-Kira!" Ren whined. "Stop doing that, you'll get hurt!"

"I do this every day, I'm fine." he playfully laughed off, placing his small feet precariously on spots that definitely should not support the weight of a growing child. "I think Mom threw my jacket on the top shelf again." he commented, climbing higher, forcing his short legs to hoist him higher, his tiny hand blindly feeling the shelf just above his eyes, till it found the sleeve. "Ah--!"

"Kira!" Despite the frail appearance, Ren was much swifter and quieter, a single pivot from the heel, and a stumble back, and he grabbed the other boy, the two crashing onto the nearby bed to lessen the damage and noise. "O-ow . . ."

"Renren!" Akira scrambled to his feet and looked over him, brushing back the hair to look at his face. "Are you okay? I'm sorry, I should've been more careful . . ."

"I'm okay." he replied, rubbing his nose. "Are you okay?"

He looked down at himself, and nodded. "How about your heart?"

Ren placed a hand over a spot on his neck, counting the beats. "I'm fine." he said. "That could've been bad. You almost got hurt."

"You got hurt." he brushed his stubby fingers through Ren's messy hair, then helped him stand up. "Think you can keep going?"

He nodded.

"Good." Akira grinned, relieved. "Come on, before she wakes up." he grabbed his hand, and out the backdoor they went.

It was just them in the world. Them, the tall, damp grass, the fresh scent of petrichor heavy yet fleeting in the deep sunset air as they headed into the horizon of creeping stars and blackish skies.

"Kira, s-slow down!" Ren said, his feet struggling to keep up, along with his overworked heart.

The other boy obeyed, going from a jog to a quick but easy walk. "Are you okay?"

Ren nodded, breathing a little heavily. "The grounds wet, it's a bit hard for me to keep up." he let go of Akira's hand. "You can go ahead."

I'm always holding you back.

"Just not too far. I don't like being out here in the dark." he added on.

Akira was rather reluctant, worried if something might happen and he won't be there in time to stop it, but he took up the offer. "I'll get some minnows ready for you when you catch up." he said, jogging out, but making sure to look back so Ren was still within view for him as well.

The dirt was soft and thick under Ren's shoes, clumping to the outsoles, the buzzing and singing of crickets and insects made him jump, especially if it jumped at him. The trees towered over the little boy, thick and oppressive, as if leering down at him. The wind was light yet chilly, the thin jacket Akira thrown over him providing what warmth it could.

Regardless, the experience was a welcomed one.

Due to his medical condition of a weak heart, Ren rarely got chances to be physically active, and hikes and exploration were something he deeply savored and relished, especially when it was with Akira, whose back was still visible even when the forest began to dim.

A soft, distant cry of a bird resonated around the child whom the world called 'unwanted'. A chorus of rustling leaves when the breeze picked up, making him instinctively hug the jacket closer to his form. He could hear Akira ahead, his quick yet heavy footsteps soft against the mud and often trampled grass, his voice occasionally calling back to check is Ren was still okay, and a peek over the shoulder.

"Ah--!"

Ren yelped when the ground under one of his feet gave way, the damp dirt crumbling, opening up to engulf his limb.

A small hand grabbed his, the two falling into wet grass and plants from the brute force, as if Ren was about to plunge himself into a den of vipers.

"Ren! Ren, are you okay? Did you fall? Are you hurt?" Akira grabbed Ren's ankle, only finding a flat cake of mud under his shoe.

"Kira, I'm fine." he said, patting Akira's face to comfort him. "Oh, sorry, there's mud." he wiped it off with his sleeve. "It was a small hole."

"We're next to a ditch!" a small arm wildly flailed to the other side of the path they were traversing on. "You could've fell because I wasn't there! If something happened to you . . . !"

Ren wiped off his damp hands of grass and dirt, and grabbed Akira by the shoulders. ". . . I'll be okay." he said with a reassuring smile and comforting voice. "Even if you're not with me, I'll be okay." he stood up, helping Akira to his feet. "I'm just worried how to clean the mud from the shoes now."

"Ren!" he loudly whined, brows furrowed. "Shoes can be replaced!"

"Not for Mom."

"Forget about her! I don't care if those shoes are a gazillion yen or 10, you're more to me." Akira tightly clasped himself to Ren's hand, as if he'll vanish.

The younger twin blinked, looking at his brother, then their interlocked hands as they continued their way to a pond of minnows, the body of water greeting the pair once their trek was over. The moon was starting to rise, the night air chilly but bearable. The pond was motionless, a mirror of the sky above, the myriad of stars making the grandeur known to the audience of two.

Akira broke off a sick, and whacked away mosquitos and mosquito eaters from them. "I think that wall I made yesterday should still be there." he said, going over to the edge of the water, and crouching down, squinting to see that the muddy dirt was still standing. He handed off the tree limb to Ren and grabbed a flat rock, pushing the wall open, allowing water to flow in.

Ren used the stick to nudge the half-eaten carcass of another minnow into the miniature pond to attract the others over for a meal, before taking his place by Akira. "We'll be here for a while." he said.

"Yeah, but it's cold today, so all the mosquitos will go away. Besides, you saw a minnow just now!"

"It was dead."

"Still a fish."

"I don't like it."

Chapter Text

Early Saturday morning, the air a bit warm from the peeking sun, the sky pale as it slowly awoken.

Distant trills of birds, the buzzing of insects never ceased though, persisting upon a quieter note.

Their early-bird neighbor was working in her vegetable garden, the faint sound of her trowel scraping against stone and bricks, the shuffling of shoes on pavement.

"Renren!" Akira was on the bed, a textbook used for it's flat surface, a sheet of paper lying on top, a pencil in his tiny hand. His call was ignored in the small bedroom, Ren's back to him as the child hunched over his homework, having claim on the desk for the day after they didn't see any minnows the previous day. "Renren, be nice to me and help with my homework!" he begged, sliding off the bed to grab Ren from behind, swinging his weight around.

The brother continued to ignore him.

"Renren!"

"Ah--!" Ren gasped when the older twin dragged him to the wooden floor, his back pressed against Akira's abdomen, towards his stomach. "Kira, you can do it yourself!" he said, annoyed by the pestering, but Akira latched on as if he'd disappear. "And you'll make me do your homework again!" he squirmed to escape, but they both knew Akira had the advantage.

"I won't, I promise!" Akira said, rolling around to keep Ren close. "Please! I don't know history!"

"Kira, I'll have a heart attack again!"

"Liar, you don't get stressed from this." when Ren didn't reply back, he added on smugly, "Yeah, that's what I thought. You can't use your condition on me. Tell me the answer for question 5, or I won't let you go." he demanded, managing to use one of his legs to wrap it over Ren's stomach, keeping him still. "Stop fighting me!"

Ren stilled, and craned his neck back, staring up at Akira. At least, his chin. ". . . Seriously? We're in the Heisei era." he groaned. "Let go of me.” he squirmed, only prompting the older brother to wrap his other leg over the torso.

"I know that already, I just need the year when it started." he kept an arm on Ren, gripping his shirt for extra measure, while he used his free hand to tug and flap the bedsheet to pull his homework over, making the paper flutter down on his face, and his pencil clattering somewhere too far. "Give me your pencil."

Ren looked down at the restraints around him. "Kira . . . I can't move."

"You got legs."

"We're small, I can't reach it!" he stretched his short leg as much as he could, his small foot futilely kicking the air, just an inch from the pencil. "Just let me go and I'll grab it."

"How do I know you're not lying and won't run away to hide in the attic so I can't extort you?"

"What does extort mean?"

"I don't know, I heard it on TV."

Ren groaned, wiggling like a fish caught in a net. "Kira, please." he begged, reminiscent of a bunny stuck in a play pen. "If we don't finish our homework before Mom comes home, I'll be in trouble."

"Mom will be out with her friends tonight." he airily said. "She won't come back till tomorrow, I checked her messages." his words only got another groan, feeling Ren go limp on top of him. “Hey.” he rolled around, watching Ren jostle with him. “Hey!” he repeated himself, squirming about like a worm in the rain. “Come on! Seriously?” When Ren refused to speak to him, he huffed and sat up, legs unwrapped but his arms remained interlocked over Ren’s chest. “Are you mad at me?”

“What? No!” Ren quickly answered with wide, worried eyes, turning his head fast, their temples knocking.

“Ah!” they yelped, pulling away, sprawling back on the ground.

“Ow . . .” the younger twin muttered, rubbing at the ache. “Your head is hard.”

Akira was lying on his back, the corner of his eye peering at the brother, who was kneeling. “I was worried about you, but not anymore. You’re mean to me.”

Ren pulled himself up, and fled the bedroom, Akira’s shout following after him.

The house was usually quiet when their mother was home, always still and tense. The occasional noise was an agitated yell of an overworked single mother, a bitter curse from the lips to the one who never meant to be ill, who’s existence itself was his greatest crime.

On the periodic days she was out, the hollow halls echoed with children laughter, the scream of fright and joy, their small footsteps drumming against the wood as they gave chase.

It’d be quite easy to overtake Ren, but it was more fun to chase him around the empty house. Though, that wasn’t to say Ren didn’t have his own merits.

Akira sprinted into a spare room of the house, full of boxes and dust. He swore he saw Ren’s back ducking inside. He quieted his heaving breathing, and carefully crept inside, his footsteps light on the old floorboards.

Forgotten furniture left to decay surrounded the child, large boxes towering over him like ominous figures seeking to devour him.

Quiet, quiet, quiet.

He jumped with a struggled yelp when he heard something heavy dropping behind him. He stumbled, turning, just in time to catch Ren’s meek yet playful grin rushing out the doorway. He pushed off from the ball of his foot, his voice still reaching for the brother.

"Gotcha!" Akira tackled Ren onto the tatami mats of one of the older rooms in the house.

Ren yelped, struggling under him.

"I win, I win!" the older twin laughed, hugging Ren by the neck.

"No fair, you're faster than me!" he pouted but still returned the embrace.

"Its fair!" Akira playfully pinched Ren's face. "I'm stronger and faster because I play sports and have a healthy heart, but you're quiet and can hide anywhere. You're like a ghost."

"Don't call me a ghost, it makes me sound scary."

They rolled around on the smooth, fitted woven floor, struggling against each other.

"Let go of me!" Ren managed to throw his weight over Akira, falling on his chest, but still restrained regardless.

"Never! Never, never, never!" Akira quickly turned the tides back to his favor, flipping Ren back to the ground.

Ding-dong!

They froze and, in sync, got back to their feet, shaking off the wrinkles on their clothes, and smoothed off their messy hair.

Akira kept Ren close behind him as they went to the front door, a hand grasping to the older twin's sleeve tightly.

"Mom shouldn't be back yet . . ." Akira muttered under his breath, swallowing thickly, the gray house sinking back to reality.

The little boys peered out from behind the corner of a wall, spying the shambling, nondescript shape behind the door, only visible with the small frosted windows.

Ding-dong!

Akira patted Ren's hand, prompting it to let go so he could approach the door, and open it.

"Oh! Good morning."

A sigh of relief escaped.

"Morning, Mister." Akira said with a bright smile.

"Some of your mail was left at my place. Here ya go, kid." the man handed off the envelopes then took his leave.

Ren shuffled over, peeking over Akira's shoulder to find hospital bills. "Oh . . ."

Akira turned the bills to the back, hiding away the information, and put up a reassuring smile. "Come on, we have homework to do." he said, grabbing his hand whilst tossing the mail on the dining table when they passed.

The room was still the same before the chase, the bed a mess, Akira's homework flat on the ground, their pencils in some hidden corner of the space.

They grabbed their things, tidied up the bed, and resumed their position from earlier in the morning, the morning now close to noon.

". . . What year did the Heisei era start?"

"1989."

Chapter Text

It was a good day.

She was in an amicable mood, rather rare, but it must be because, despite the news of coming rain, the festival to send off the year was in full swing, and Akira had just recently won against another school in soccer, leaving the team of small boys jovial and proud. She also got a raise, and a generous offer, enough to let her quit her part-time and finally have some breathing room for herself.

She tossed the hospital bills into the trash with a wide smile, giggling like a child at a candy store, borderline prancing as she moved into the hall, then the bedroom of her child.

“Get up.” she shook Akira up from his nap in a delightful tone, the boy on the floor, having fallen asleep whilst reading his textbook. “You too, I guess . . .” she stretched her foot out, nudging it awake as well.

Akira yawned, sitting up to stretch. “Yeah?” he groggily mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Did something happened?”

“Go wear your yukata, Mommy finally has time this year to go to the send-off festival.” she said, standing up from her crouch.

“Renren’s coming too, right?” Akira immediately asked as he got to his feet with his twin - it .

"Yeah, whatever, it can come too." she airily said, leaving the small room, not hearing a lick of what the boy just said. "Be at the door when you're ready."

The twins cleaned up the textbooks and pillows they were lying on, Ren making the bed tidy as Akira put the books on the shelves.

"Mom's in a good mood." Ren noted, a hint of unease in his voice whilst watching Akira dig into the back of their closet to pull out the forgotten yukatas.

"Yeah, it's . . . weird." he laid the out the clothes on the neat bed. "Do you think something happened?"

Ren shrugged, tentatively raking a nail against the fabric of the yukatas. "Which one do you want?"

Akira immediately grabbed the one with images of the sun in dark yellow, mimicking the look of dull gold. He held it up for Ren, as if letting him bask in it's glory. "This one! My name means, 'brilliant valor of the sun', and it has pictures of the sun on it!" he excitedly said, tracing his finger along the pattern of the thin rays, repeated and speckled all over the black cloth, pitched like the night.

His brother nodded with an agreeing smile. "I remember that one, you got it with Auntie last month." he rummaged through the crinkly bags holding the various patterns, before lightly tugging on the sleeve of a light blue yukata that had white overlapping lines, reminiscent of the squama on fish. However, Akira gently batted his hand away from it, as if it was an infectious carcass.

"You wear that one a lot." Akira said, shoving the robe away.

"It's the only one that still fits me. The others are too small, and Mom doesn't buy me new ones." he then noticed the giddy grin on the twin's face. He cocked his head like a rabbit faced by a large dandelion stem. "Did you do something?"

"Ehe~!"

"That's not really an answer."

Akira ignored him and carefully laid his chosen garment down on the bed like some hallow artifact, before rushing back to the closet. "Auntie made me hide it so that Mom wouldn't get mad if she saw it."

Curious and a bit nervous, Ren shuffled to his back. He craned his neck, trying to see.

"Don't look yet!"

He pulled back, averting his gaze.

"Cover your eyes too! I don't trust you!"

"Really?"

"Duh!"

With a sigh, he did as told, listening to the rustling of fabric, the small scrape of metal hangers sliding against the metal bar, Akira's quiet muttering of the repeated line, "Here? No, here. No, here."

Ren shifted weight from foot to foot, the floor warm under him, the sliver of remaining sunlight gently slashing across his tiny knuckles. He could hear, further down the hall, his mom humming. happily. Such nose made his stomach churn uncomfortably and him squirm in place.

"Kira, did you find it yet--?"

"No peeking!"

"Ah--!" he shut his fingers.

"It's here somewhere . . ."

Crinkle crinkle.

Akira giggled with triumph, as if he had won some game. "Just a bit longer--" he opened the bag, and unfolded the robe, flicking it to straighten it out,"--okay, here! Renren, look! Ta-dah!"

A small whine was the reply, before he hesitantly pulled his hands away. He could barely gasp, breath caught in his throat, eyes so wide it could rival entire dessert platters. The shock was so immense, he was sure it'd actually make his heart give out on the spot.

A new yukata with a soft white cloth, decorated with the pattern of lotus flowers to reflect the kanji for his name, and towards the hems was a delicate blue hue to sell the imagery of a tranquil pond.

The older brother giggled again, giddy, throwing the robe over Ren's shoulders. "How is it? Auntie wanted to buy a new yukata, and I told her to get this one because your name mean, 'lotus', and--!" he paused, his wide grin falling when he finally noticed, through the thick clouds of excitement, Ren sniffling, his fat tears slowly trailing down his cheeks. "Renren?" he spoke, his voice low and cautious. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, wiping his eyes. "I . . . I-I'm not sad . . ." he bordered on a hiccup, frantically trying to dry his tears. "I-I'm n-not sad . . ." he let Akira hold him in his arms, cradling the brother close, Ren's overwhelming emotions making him choke, tucking his damp face into Akira's neck, wetting it. "I l-like it a-a lot." he managed to put out, not wanting to cry too loudly, lest he wanted to soil their mother's good mood, and bring them trouble instead. "Th-thank you . . . Thank you . . ."

Akira comforted him, wiping his tears a little clumsily, muttering soft, soothing words as Ren slowly calmed down.

.

.

.

In an hour or two, the pair were dressed and ready, hands clasped as they climbed into their mother's car, which took them to the festival grounds.

She felt rejuvenated and young again, a hand over Akira's, pulling the boy along behind her to explore what awaited them.

If anyone who knew her passed a glance, she'd be unrecognizable, with that dreamy, almost content expression on her typically worn and tired face, her footsteps dragging her through the festive air of friends playing games, couples forming memories, families milling about.

The night air was cool, a gentle breeze through the cramped alley of stalls, a flock of birds flying above to the distance. The scent of freshly cooked food drifted about, enticing the visitors to stop by and have a taste or two.

She dropped some funds into Akira's hand, the small child barely able to grab hold of it all before the woman waltzed away to lose herself in indulgence.

With Ren's help, he and Akira held the money out to each other, counting how much they were given.

"That's a lot." Akira quietly gasped, the number rounding up to 7000 yen. "Wh-where did Mom get this money?!"

"Maybe . . . maybe she got it from her savings?" Ren theorized, scratching his head. "We should be careful though."

With that decided, they continued to enjoy their time at the festival, with their first stop being a stand selling some mochi grilling on a charcoal fire, the surrounding air smoky and heavily seasoned with something salty.

The bite into the hot, sticky rice cake burned their tongues, the sauce it was drenched and cooked in slightly sweet but salty, the light bitterness of the charred corners, the subtle crunch of the powdered seasoning sprinkled on top that gave a kick of spice in the back of their throats.

"Is it too spicy for you, Kira?" Ren asked, easily finishing off his treat, throwing the stick into the nearby bin.

Akira coughed. "N-no." he lied, already feeling the heat make his nose run and his face burn. "Ugh, I didn't think it'd be spicy . . ." he took another bite into the grilled dango. "Tastes really good though." the boy stuffed the rest of the snack into his cheek, already moving on to the ice cream right across from them.

Ren handed the vendor some money. "One large kinako ice cream, please." he politely ordered for Akira, who was frantically chewing and swallowing away at the dango trying to glue his teeth together, making the spicy powder linger.

The vendor opened a container behind the stand, filling the paper cup with the golden brown mixture, sprinkling it with more kinako powder, and a light drizzle of black honey, topped with two wooden spoons. The aroma was nutty and sweet, especially with the floral scent of the honey wafting off from it.

"Kira, here." Ren fed him a spoonful of ice cream, the milky dessert extinguishing the burning on his tongue.

"Thanks, Renren." he sighed in relief, getting another large bite of ice cream. "Oh! I think there's peanuts in here!" he gasped at the small crunch.

"Walnuts too."

They played games and won prizes, mostly keychains of sorts, they didn't want to spend too much the money, or haul a lot of souvenirs back into the car.

At some point, they made a pause by a shrine maiden visiting from the nearby temple, who was telling a story of an ancient deity who bore many names, but her most common being of Kitsu, the herald of guidance and fortune, and in some legends, the mother or variant of Amaterasu, the sun goddess.

There was this one stall they played at, four large troughs forming a square, filled with water and pieces of smooth and leveled wood carved as fish floating on top, their painted white eyes staring up at the players and two tending vendors.

Ren quietly whined when the small, flat net dropped the fish back into the cold water. "Kira." he said, handing it off to him.

"I'll get the big one." Akira confidently stated, carefully setting the net into the water on the edge, and working it's way to the largest wood carving.

Bloop.

He tried again.

Bloop.

"Kira, it's okay."

"No, no, I got it. Big Brother can do everything." They both knew it was because the little game was bruising the boy's ego.

Akira took a deep breath and used his other hand to steady the one holding the net, cutting through the water via the edge of the equipment to reduce as much disturbance as possible. Though, not like it helped, as other people were playing too.

"No scooping at the edges." the vendor reminded, watching everyone carefully.

"I wasn't doing that. The water's just moving a lot." he lied, frantically revising the plan. Or at least try to fake his way through it.

The net was right at the front of the carving's stomach, and slowly pushed it deeper into the water till his knuckles touched the surface, and Ren had to pull his sleeves up. Akira leaned a little, his arms shaking a little, gently making a small current with a waving motion to bring the wooden thing just a tad closer. It was cheating, but the vendor wasn't looking, from what Ren could see. He tucked it right on the center. With held breath, he slowly lifted--

Bloop.

. . .

. . .

. . .

"He's not looking." Ren whispered.

Akira grabbed it with his hand in retaliation.

The vendor saw the quick movement and glanced over.

Ren immediately bumped his shoulder against the basket with the nets, as if someone had nudged him over, dumping the equipment into the water.

"Ah--! Damn it . . ." the man sighed, rolling up his sleeves to fish them out whilst a colleague came over to the other side, taking the wood from Akira.

"Oh! Congrats!" the other man said with an amused laugh. "A big catch for a big prize. Your choice, which one?"

They looked at the hanging toys, all too big for their liking.

"Oh, Renren, how about some masks?" Akira gestured to some heavy bits of plastic. "Mister, one cat mask and one bunny mask, please."

With their cheated prizes in hand, they giggled and ran away before the vendors suspected what they've done.

"Renren, be the bunny." he strapped it to the brother's head, off to the side, before getting a response, with the cat mask his for the claiming.

The boy didn't mind the arrangement, more content with having an eventful night.

Time breezed by easily, the grounds becoming more and more crowded and lively. Every once in a while they'd spot their mother having a blast, lumbering about without a care in the world, as if all of her problems were resolved in a single night.

It wasn't long till fireworks were said to be in the works.

"Hurry, hurry!" Akira said, hands clasped to Ren's as they rushed onto the bridge, pushing to the front.

"Slower! I'll have a heart attack!"

Thankfully, that didn't happen, the pair able to get front row seats, the lights from the stalls extinguishing the festival ground into darkness, tall bodies surrounding them, an air of eagerness and apprehension, all eyes up at the sky.

A loud, distant hiss, a streak of light flying high above then exploding into an array of colors.

At once, a roaring chorus of voices screamed, "Ne, ne, Kitsu, ne," upon sight of the first burst of kaleidoscopic shatter in the night.

Some mumbled the chant, some spoke it, some screamed till they were hoarse.

In the end, it didn't matter, their cries simply echoed throughout the dim grounds to the lit skies.

When dark clouds drew in, a signal of the coming rain, people were ushered home, and vendors were packing their inventory.

Those two boys fell into a deep sleep regardless of the bumpy roads, the excitement rendering them exhausted till the next sunrise.

She drove with a simple smile, taking another route, a detour from the house, out somewhere towards the outskirts of the small town, where another car stood silent in the night, nondescript in presence, yet noticeably more luxurious compared to hers. She parked the vehicle, and pried it from Akira's arms, carrying it to the woman who awaited her.

"He's smaller than I thought."

"But as I promised."

The innocent child was handed off to the claws of the woman, who grinned down at his slumbering face, clueless.

"It won't live for long, you know."

"Of course, of course." the woman simply nodded, an obedient maid presenting the check to the other in the yukata, a tremor in her hands. "Whatever it may be, nothing a bit of money can't fix."

She took the second-half of the payment, the rendezvous ending on the spot, quick and simple. She returned to her car, driving home with her sleeping child in the back.

It was a good day.

Chapter Text

Akira never realized how much someone could hate a person.

He hated his gymnastic instructor for the blatant favoritism for her daughter, who also took the class.

He hated the college-age neighbor across the street for always blasting music at 2 in the morning till 6.

He hated that man who pointed and screamed assault when he saved that woman on that unfortunate night.

But out of every one and thing he had ever encountered in his life, there was no one he hated more than the person that should always be someone's first to trust and find refuge in.

His mother.

Akira remembered that day very vividly, the despair festering deep in his chest when he recalled, upon the then-child him waking up in the car, finding his side cold and hand empty. He asked his mom where Ren was, and that woman had the nerve to lie through her teeth that the boy ran away when she stopped for gas.

Even as a naïve child, he knew it was a lie, and that she was guilty.

And she didn't care.

It was supposed to be good day.

It was supposed to be a good day.

He knew she was always irritated by the hospital bills, he knew she always felt cheated by the world because she was given twins when she only wanted one, he knew that she always despised Ren, as if that child was sin incarnate, the devil itself, the worst thing to ever possibly exist.

It was as if Ren himself would rip the paychecks out of her hand and spend it for his own interests. As if the child regularly defiled the nearby sacred shrine, stealing the offerings and disgracing the tending staff with sacrilege. As if he kicked people down to wipe his shoe on them, scraping mud and whatever else he stepped in against their teeth.

What a bewildering thought to have.

Ren wept when a pigeon didn't get any birdseeds before the food was pecked away from the other flock-mates, so he tentatively handfed the bird. He trudged through the shallows of a frigid river to reclaim a classmate's bracelet when it flew off her wrist, despite knowing the extreme temperature and stress to not fall off into the deeper currents strained his heart. He nursed their mother when she fell ill with a hangover after a night of heavy drinks at the bar, after Akira refused to so much as even move the trash bin for her when she asked.

Akira remembered everyone saying the same thing when news spread within one night--it was a small town, everyone knew everyone:

"We're so sorry for your loss."

"We'll look for him, he can't be too far."

"He was such a sweet boy . . ."

The adults and older kids never let Akira go out with them to search, saying he was too young, too small, and will get lost as well. He was forced to sit there on the porch of the house, nails dug into the skin of his knees as he tried not to tear into the tender flesh, needing to stay calm, because if he broke, it'll only anger his mother.

The police said they'd help, waving the printed papers with Ren's information as if it would bring that child back.

Nothing was found.

Naturally, his mom was questioned and pressured, but she plead innocence, feigning enough suppressed grief to let her go.

His mother, she was careful with that money, but people definitely noticed. She bought a bigger house, she bought nicer stuff for herself and Akira, she threw away Ren's stuff. The only thing Akira had to remember his brother by was his DNA and face, and the plastic mask from that send-off festival all those years ago, the feline thing kept close like some lifeline. She always teased and ridiculed him over it, but at least she knew better than to try and pry it out of his hands.

He didn't question it at first, where the money came from. He assumed it was because that, with Ren gone, it was no longer invested for the bills.

The flash of memories rapidly neared to the present when it summarized through the events of just a couple hours ago, when Akira was returning home late from gymnastic practice, and heard that woman calling for help.

Just one tap on the shoulder, and he got himself slammed into the back of a cop car, and proceeded to get his throat chewed out by his mom, the memory lane ending to when she screamed at him, "If I knew you were going to be like this, I would've dumped your ass with Ren!"

Akira blinked, eyes widening as his breath stopped almost completely, just a thin, struggled stream through his closed up throat, but his heart hammered away into his ribcage, nails digging into his palms, trying to process what she had just said, and debating if she was pulling a cruel joke at the last second.

He couldn't remember the last time either of them brought up Ren, he was a forbidden topic.

". . . What?" he croaked, his voice low, struggling to stay calm, to not grab her and scream. "What did you do to Ren?" it came out in a tumbling mumble. He shifted his feet, forcing his throat open for some air. "What did you do to Ren?" he repeated himself, his teeth gritting to the point his gums hurt, his crumbling composure rapidly falling away between his clenched fingers. "What did you do to Ren?!"

She stumbled back at the teetering outburst, but the momentary shock quickly wore off. "It was going to die anyways, so I tossed it away. It was a leech." she spat, honestly ridiculous with how much vitriol she bore for a child. "All those medical bills . . . all that debt . . . it was the reason why I struggled, Akira. I had to do what was best for us, for you." she stabbed an accusatory finger at the young teenager. "Besides, it's not like it would've lived long anyways, not with that heart condition."

Chapter Text

A small, warm hand was in his, a nondescript view laid out before him, the colors muddy but pale and vaguely familiar.

"Kira?"

He haven't heard that voice in a while.

"Hm?"

It was his voice, small and young, but somehow grown and deep as it was now, overlapping, shifting.

"You'll protect me from monsters right?"

"Of course! I'm your big brother, and big brothers always protect the little one, and can do anything!"

Everyone grows up and knows that's not true. Some find out sooner than others.

"But . . . what if you're not there to protect me?"

"Don't say that." he answered too quickly, a little defensive, desperate. "Don't say that. I'll always be with you no matter what."

"I like that."

Was that a smile?

He couldn't tell, it was hard to know what he was looking anyways, everything just one mass of nebulous shapes and melding colors, but somehow he knew it was the forest behind the house, near the pond of minnows, but they weren't there, just somewhere else, just them two in the odd world of nothing and everything.

A soft touch on his cheek, comforting and bittersweet.

"When we grow big, I'll protect you, like you always did with me."

.

.

.

With a soft, tired sigh, Akira's eyes slowly opened to find a sparsely filled train car, sitting in one of the seats.

It was Sunday. He was relocated to Tokyo to be under the watchful eye of someone named Sojiro Sakura.

He yawned and straightened his back, stretching.

Was that a memory? I don't remember.

"Holy shit, my shoulder feels so light!" someone quietly exclaimed beside him.

He jumped, blushing bright red. "Ah--! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you!"

The embarrassment was met with an easy-going laugh, and the wave of a hand. "It's fine, man! You looked tired, so, ya know, cram in that shut-eye while you can."

Sitting next to Akira was a guy around his age, with botched blond hair and bright amber eyes, like fireworks in motion. He was dressed in a red tank and some dark green cargo shorts, showing off his relatively toned build and sun-kissed complexion. He flashed a friendly, toothy grin. "Name's Ryuji Sakamoto." he introduced himself, holding out a hand to him.

He glanced at the offered hand, and took it. "Akira Kurusu." he said, a reserved hesitancy and surprise flickering through his face. He couldn't remember the last time someone treated him as, well, a person. He suspected as much, that so long as no one knew, he'd be anybody else, but it didn't make it any less foreign.

"Why you wearing Shujin's uniform?" Ryuji asked, his gaze scanning over Akira's form. "School's tomorrow, man."

"I just transferred recently, and I'm about to go meet my guardian, then we'll be at the school to have a talk with the principal." he explained, leaning back in the plastic train seat, his school bag held against his lap.

"Sweet! I'm a Shujin kid too. Maybe I can show you around campus later than. You from around here?"

"A rural town called Inaba. Pretty far, close to the countryside."

"Bumpkin, huh? You got a bit of an accent on ya."

Akira blinked. "I do?"

Ryuji laughed and playfully hit his shoulder. "I'm fucking with you, Aki." he paused for a moment. "Bit early for a nickname. Sorry, it's a habit," he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, but Akira could tell it was an attempt to hide the light embarrassment on his face, "along with cursing a lot. Tryna work on that."

He lightly chuckled at the backtrack. "It's fine, I don't mind. I'm not all that formal." he took in the dyed hair, quirking a brow at it. "I thought Shujin was a prestigious college prep school."

"It is, but so long as it's a natural hair color, they'll let it slide." Ryuji then grabbed the tuff of hair at the front of his hairline, looking up at it. "Shit work but they haven't cornered me yet, so it's whatever." he added on with a shrug. "I dyed it last year, and Jesus Christ, Aki, I got yellow dye everywhere. The bathroom, the towels, my favorite pillowcase--the whole thing, ya know?"

Akira nodded along, listening to Ryuji ramble, with some occasional comments on the side.

It was . . . nice.

Yeah, it was nice, to just listen to a stranger on the train talk about some tidbit of his past, with sprinkles of his habits, like how Ryuji always had his attention on him, the tapping of his foot on the metal floor, and the certain inflections in his voice as he shared his struggle about bleaching his hair for the first time, recollecting how badly it went, then him trying to salvage what he could before unceremoniously dousing his head into the yellow dye god-knows how many times to get that solid color.

Though Akira only spent a year in jail, having a light and friendly yet meaningless and dumb conversation was a fresh air from the topics at the prison. Then again, he never listened in on anyone, staying to himself to avoid as much trouble as he could.

"--and I legit looked like I pissed myself when I didn't let the hair dye set long enough while it was raining! I'm still avoiding my neighbor. Oh!" Ryuji suddenly paused, and coughed awkwardly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep talking. We just met, and that was, like, a shit-load of information to dump on a stranger."

Akira lightly waved off the embarrassment. "I don't mind. I'm not much of a talker."

"You got that shy, bookish look and a pretty low voice, so it checks out."

"It's the glasses, I'm pretty sure." he fidgeted with the cosmetic thing. "A lot of people told me my eyes are pretty intense, even as a kid. But when it came to my brother, he had this soft innocence in them, so we never bothered trying to switch places, people would just know."

Ryuji rested his elbows on his knees, eyes still on Akira, curiosity prevalent on his face. "You got a brother? You gave off only-child vibes. No offense."

"A twin brother." he specified. "He was the younger one, really gentle and kind, even to the people who hurt him. He had a defective heart. Extra tissues in the valve or something, I don't remember. Surgery and the recovery period were too expensive, so we substituted it with meds and regular treatments, and an inhaler to help him breathe on bad days." he paused, remembering that god-awful night after the festival, and the screaming-match he had with his mom before being taken away the year prior. He momentarily closed his eyes, turning away from the other young man, a hand rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, I . . ." he mumbled in a low voice.

A rather uncomfortable silence befell on them.

The low rumbling of the train, soft conversations from nearby passengers.

Streaks of early sunlight flickering across their feet.

Ryuji reached over and patted Akira's shoulder. "You don't have to tell me." he muttered, and though they've only known each other less than 20 minutes, a soft and reassuring tone was odd to hear from someone who looked like a delinquent, and a rather boisterous, boyish voice. "I really don't know what to say other than that just really sucks."

Akira sighed inwardly. "It's fine . . . To be honest . . . I don't actually know what happened to him. My mom sold him."

A harsh coughing, sputtering fit overtook Ryuji at the abrupt and casual drop of the information, making him choke on his breath. "What?!"

"Quiet!" a nearby passenger hissed.

"Sorry, sorry!" Ryuji lowered his voice, "Dude, for real? Fuck's wrong with your mom?"

"Hospital bills, debt, all that jazz." he mumbled, airily waving his hand at the words. "I don't know who bought him, but it was a shit-load of money, enough to pay off everything and get new, better stuff, you know?" he sighed again, heavier this time, leaning back in his seat, gaze drifting up to the swaying train handles, his hands fidgeting with the straps on the schoolbag, empty of everything but his school ID, phone, and charger. "Sorry, I didn't mean to just dump that kind of thing on you."

"Nah, Aki, it's fine. One of my old friends said that talking to a stranger about this kind of shit feels pretty easy and it just comes out, something about never meeting that person again but still having that knowledge that you told someone. Or something. I don't know," a careless shrugged accompanied the words, "I wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying."

He nodded along, partially deep in thought, another air of stillness floating down on them.

"I used to get my ass beat by my dad."

Akira blinked his eyes wide, staring at the other boy from the corner of his vision without moving from his current position. "What?"

"Well, I mean, if we're trauma dumping, it's only fair, ya know?" he simply laughed, as if he just said a joke, and Akira couldn't help but give a jayus chuckle, a rather awkward one, not really sure how to feel or process the odd encounter. "Nothing really too bad though, just a punch or two. When he wasn't hitting me or my mom, he hit the beer cans."

"That still sucks though."

"Didn't say it didn't." Ryuji let out a heavy sigh, pulling back his hair. "Man, thinking about that bastard makes me so pissed." he grumbled, brows furrowed to no one in particular. "Fucking hate that guy."

Akira could understand the sentiment. His hatred for his mother still burned fiercely and violently in his chest, and he doubted it will ever dull out.

He took out his phone, and opened the screen to his contacts, holding it out to Ryuji. "Here."

Ryuji glanced at the gesture curiously. "What's it for?"

"Taking up your offer from earlier to show me around the school. How about you show me Tokyo too?" Akira added on that million dollar charming smile.

"Sure, man."  he flashed a friendly grin, sharing their number as the train slowed to a stop. "Aight, see ya."

"Yeah, later."

The passengers stood up from their seats, ensuring all belongings were safe and secure, then poured out once the doors slid open.

There was a brief pause of intense awkwardness when the two walked in the same direction.

Ryuji glanced at Akira, who shared the quick look, neither looking at the other.

Okay, maybe we'll split at the main exit, Akira figured as they went up the stairs, and took a turn together to a crosswalk.

Ryuji coughed, his foot raking against the concrete.

Akira turned his entire body away.

The blond shuffled back, hoping that another person would step in between them.

". . . You want the tour today or . . . ?"

"Um, yeah, sure." Akira mumbled, tugging on his hair to alleviate the air. "Firstly, though, you know this address?" he held up his phone screen. If they're gonna stick together a bit longer, it'd be convenient to have the guy help this lost country boy.

Ryuji analyzed it, rubbing his chin. "Oh, yeah, I kinda do. Just the area though, it's by this thrift store I go to a lot. Follow me."

Once more, they set off through the streets of the bustling city.

Noise, lights, colors, it all flashed and whirled around Akira relentlessly. There was so much to look at, too much to look at.

Fleeting conversations nipping by, along with distant music, and some sort of announcement nearby from a building.

The sky was built with glass towers playing various adverts in brilliant colors and images. Products, games, foods, it all blurred in the rush of the day. The stores with wide open doors beckoned for the people to come and stay for a bit, to browse their offers.

The boys stopped at a cross walk, allowing Akira to take in the environment a bit more carefully as they waited for the lights to change.

Movie posters hung from lampposts, plastered with colorful characters in eye-catching poses. A sweet and spicy smell wafted from somewhere nearby, almost lost to the breeze, but it managed to reach Akira, intriguing him. A group of teenagers talked amongst themselves, crowding around their phones. A foreign vlogger spoke to her camera, describing something about her plans for the day.

The cross light changed and the crowd dispersed.

So many stores and other establishments, so many sights and sounds, so many things to see and do.

"You look like a deer in headlights." Ryuji laughed, lightly nudging his arm.

"Well, I never left Inaba before, so everything is pretty overwhelming." Akira looked up so much his neck was starting to ache.

Time passed rather swiftly as they filled the active air with personal conversations, like the best places for cheap but filling meals, a bathhouse that wasn't too populated during the weekends, a bar down the street known for their dart and billiard games, and some experiences at Shujin, from what drama was currently brewing in its halls, the ever turning wheel of rumors, and some . . . unsavory people that frequented the grounds.

"Pervy teacher?" Akira repeated Ryuji's description with furrowed brows. "He's really that bad?"

"Don't know who the Hell put him on the planet, but, yeah. Kamoshida's a whole pile of shit, acting like he's some king of that school. If you ain't a chick for him to creep on, you're just a punching bag or mat to wipe off his feet." Ryuji scoffed, clenching his teeth. "Fuck that guy, if it weren't for him breaking my--"

"Excuse me?" a woman spoke up, going over to them with a plastic grocery bag in one hand, and her purse in the other. Her eyes stared right at Akira, as if studying him, going over every aspect of him, akin to a wary bank teller deducing if a check was forged or a counterfeit of sorts.

Akira couldn't help but feel awkward, his eyes flickering everywhere but her. "Is something the matter, Ma'am?" he slowly asked.

Another moment of inspection passed before she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else. Goodness, that was such a fright." she sighed in relief, a hand over her chest. "You look identical to a young man I know."

Instantly, his first thoughts flashed to that old thimble of hope in the back of his heart, buried under a thicket of dust and near obscurity. "I . . . I do?" he didn't mean for his words to come out breathless and strained, but his chest tightened at the woman's words.

Don't be dumb, Akira. It's almost been a decade.

He turned his attention to the phone in his hand, it's small screen lit with Sojiro's address.

Ren . . . Ren can't be here. Alive.

The woman gave a brief, apologetic bow as she rushed away with her bag of groceries without another word.

"Kay . . . That was weird." Ryuji commented as they continued their walk to the address.

Akira simply nodded, not really sure what to say, now preoccupied by these thoughts and questions spiraling in his head, the remnants of his denial and vain desperation that Ren was still around retaking it's roots on him.

But he doubted that's what was happening. He looked like any other Japanese guy.

Yes, I could've been anyone but Ren to her. She doesn't even know Ren.

Ryuji soon parted ways from Akira, leaving him to find the house alone, which thankfully didn't take too long, as it was right around a rather cozy cafe, tucked between some alleyways. He knew that his custodian owned the store, and when he entered, there stood an older man, mopping the floor.

Receding hairline, the frame of his glasses peeking into view, with the light pink shirt and khakis. Across his lower back were thin strings from the apron stilled tied around him.

"Can't ya read? Shop's closed." the man said, not bothering to turn.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Sojiro Sakura. He's my custodian for probation."

"Ya looking at him." he dumped the mop head into the bucket of water, wrung it, then back to the floor it went. "I'll keep it simple: cause trouble for me, or ram your head into more people's problems, and you're out."

Rude, Akira sighed inwardly, can't really blame him though . . .

Sojiro finished cleaning a spot on the wooden floor, and dunked the mop back into the bucket, finally looking over at Akira. He looked annoyed by the young man's presence alone.

Jesus Christ, is this what Ren felt whenever Mom looked at him so . . . coldly?

"You're lucky I'm a generous man. I originally planned to shove you in the cafe's attic, but I'm not too comfortable with the idea of leaving some delinquent alone in my business over night."

"I'm not a delinquent."

The older man didn't bother to listen, carrying the dirty water into the back of the cafe, the sound of it's dark contents being dumped into the drain, which gurgled and bubbled. A minute or two later, the establishment was swiftly closed up for the night, and after a quick trip over at Shujin to meet the principal and his homeroom teacher, Akira silently followed the man to a small house at the outer corner of the neighborhood. "I don't have a spare room, but I do have a basement." he said, entering into the narrow space.

Akira couldn't help but look at what he could: a doorway to a living room to his right, then a closet a little further ahead. A set of stairs going up also on the right, and the left seemed to be the kitchen, based on the brief image he could spy through the ajar door. Towards the back of the house was a door, no doubt the basement.

"Door doesn't have a lock, but I'm decent enough to knock first." Sojiro said, opening it to reveal some stairs going into the dimness. It smelled musty and old, thick with dust, making Akira cough slightly. "There's a window, but it doesn't open too well. Good luck on that, boy."

"At least there's a window." Akira replied, turning on the light switch, the bulbs still bright and functioning, though he wondered for how much longer.

The basement itself was small, though, that could be because half of the space was taken up by Sojiro's old stuff just shoved to one side, leaving the other end some room for a simple cot, a desk, and an a floor lamp with a dented lampshade. Above the bed was the aforementioned window, bigger than Akira expected, but certainly still small.

Akira looked down at his body, then the window.

I think I'm slim enough to climb through it.

"Bathroom's on second floor to the right, you're supplying your own amenities--I don't care how you get the money, so long as it's not illegal, otherwise you're getting sent back to jail--no guests, and you're only allowed in the house when I close my cafe. I get up at around 5-to-6 in the morning to get the place ready, so I expect you to be up and ready to be out of the house till 8 PM. Got that?"

Akira nodded. "Loud and clear, Boss."

"Hmph, at least you're cooperative." Sojiro remarked, "go clean up."

Chapter Text

Here? No, here. No, here.

A small screech was emitted as Akira pushed the desk to another spot in the basement, and stepped back, thinking.

I think I preferred it in the original spot.

He glanced over where it was before, which was at the foot of the cot, then shook his head.

No, it looks a bit weird now that I think about it. I'm also too lazy to keep moving this damn thing.

"Achoo!" he sneezed, groaning in slight pain from the lurch in his throat.

God, it's so dusty in here, he sniffled in annoyance, grabbing a tissue to wipe his nose, at least it's not stuffy.

Akira had already moved the thin mattress away from the window--now pushed to another wall--making it relatively easy to unlatch the window, and throw his entire weight to make it open, rewarded by the cold frame straining as he tried to force it. With a loud crack, and a heavy fall, the glass pane finally moved after being motionless for years, a rush of fresh, cool air pouring into the basement.

"Ah, fuck!" he hissed through gritted teeth, tentatively touching his lower back to rub out the ache, his eyes drifting up to the new opening, fluttering back to that thought he had earlier when Sojiro showed him the place.

Not like he was planning to use that for anything, not nefariously at least, but who knows, what if he forgot something in the basement and needed to get it?

He slowly got back to his feet and pulled himself through the window, giving silent praise for his slender build to pull it off.

"Jesus Christ, I'm so unfit now . . ." he wheezed, taking a moment to rest, his upper-half in the tall grass, facing the side of the stone fence, as his lower-half dangled in the basement. "Be a bad time if Mr Sakura sees me like this." he gave another huff and hauled himself out of the basement, his back against the smooth, cold wall as he recollected his breath. He then nodded to himself. "Yeah, that can work: an alternate route in case something happens. Good habit to get back into working out"

Akira simply dropped himself back into the basement and continued cleaning, along with unpacking what stuff he had left, a good majority of his things confiscated, lost, or destroyed by his mom.

He didn't care too much as it was mostly his clothes, and those could always be washed, repaired, and replaced, but the plastic mask from the festival was still whole and safe, just some dirt scuffs, but nothing a little wiping couldn't do. He knew it was a bit dumb to latch onto the old thing, and though it was a crippling reminder of who he lost, it held the warmest memory, the only thing that kept Akira from forgetting who Ren was.

There was a knock before the basement door opened.

"What you doing down there? Tearing down the house?" Sojiro said, appearing on the stairs. He looked around, giving a rather impressed hum. "You don't look the neat type. And you got the window to open too. Better not be broken, or I'm making you pay for repairs."

"The window's fine, Boss." Akira reassured, only sparing a glance over his shoulder as the black cat mask was tended to, shiny from the lingering cleaner on the smooth surface. He could hear Sojiro coming up behind him.

"You treat that thing like it's gold." he observed the careful, almost protective movements of Akira's hands, from finishing up the cleaning, then dried with a cloth before it was set in a drawer of the desk, towards the back, as if, if the thing was spotted, it'd be stolen.

"It's important to me."

Sojiro simply shrugged. "Not my business." he lightly responded, going back up the stairs. "Sending dinner down. Leave the dishes at the door, I'll take care of it."

"Thank you." Akira said, though he wasn't sure if the older man caught it before the door closed.

The night went on rather uneventfully: he had dinner--and got mocked by Sojiro for not handling the spice of two chili peppers--swept and mopped the wooden floor, then the finishing touches of putting out his things. Though the shelves were bare and the drawers sparse, the thin cot cold and uncomfortable, the blanket thin and a bit itchy, it was leagues better than the jail.

.

.

.

The sharp, resonating pierce of metal being struck shocked Akira awake with a gasp.

"Wh-what?" he blinked in bewilderment, frantically looking around to find himself in a very small, almost claustrophobic cell, his clothes replaced by a set of classic black and white stripped shirt and pants, and his ankle chained to a ball of weight. "What?! What the fuck?!"

I'm dreaming, right? I'm totally dreaming.

He staggered to his feet, cold from the thin clothes, his back aching from the thick slab of metal he was laying on, the heavy weight around his ankle, the shackle rough against the soft skin. He dragged the ball of metal behind him as he limped to the bars, and peered out.

That is an ungodly amount of navy blue.

Everywhere he looked was blue: blue curtains, blue floors, blue walls, blue blue blue.

The place was large and circular, the walls lined with cells, all empty and the doors open. High above, Akira wasn't sure what he was looking at, either a flat ceiling decked out in intricate, small carvings of whatever they were, or some sort of glass that had these hazy, melding colors and vague shapes slowly drifting and morphing, reminiscent of cathedrals having their ceilings painted to resemble heaven. At the center of the room was a lavish-looking desk with a cushioned armchair.

"I'm sorry for the rude awakening, but you're quite a heavy sleeper." A young girl with long platinum blonde hair and yellow eyes stepped into view, wearing a blue dress, giving her a maid-like appearance. In her arms was a large book, the title unviewable for Akira. "My name is Lavenza, an attendant of this place." she then gave a light bow. "Welcome to the Velvet Room."

Akira blinked. ". . . What?" he mumbled, trying to comprehend what was happening.

"You must have quite a bit of questions, but rest assure, I'll explain what I can. Master Igor is currently preoccupied with a guest."

". . . Right, um okay . . ." he rubbed the back of his neck, scrambling to sort his thoughts into place. "Where am I?"

"As I said before, the Velvet Room, a realm between the consciousness and subconsciousness." Lavenza said, a bit of annoyance in her voice.

Geez, okay.

"Why am I here?"

"The Velvet Room is inaccessible to many, aside of those with great potential and abilities. In certain cases, visitors are chosen to enter the space. You are a wildcard, someone who can freely change and recruit Personas, manifestations of ideals and aspects of the self. Master Igor is aware that you are destined to rally the hopes and dreams of the people."

Akira stared at her.

"Hey!" Lavenza snapped when he plopped back down onto the hard slab of metal hanging off the wall. "Get back up!"

"You're not real. This isn't real. I'm asleep. This is a really weird dream with some anime bullshit." he curled on the cold, uncomfortable thing, ignoring her, trying to force himself to wake up.

"I, very much, am real, and so is all of this. Now, I demand you to be back on your feet, Trickster!"

He didn't reply.

"The audacity!" she scoffed, offended. "I have never been disrespected in such fashion, and I'm the youngest of my siblings!"

Oh, shit, there's more of you?

"Trickster, if you don't take this seriously, there will be dire consequences, and it won't be my wrath! Civilians will be hurt, the people closest to you as well, and you will drown into yourself!"

"Miss Lavenza, it seems you still need some practice with your patience as a Velvet Room attendant." a new voice spoke, a man's with an air of wisdom.

Lavenza jumped with a surprised gasp. "Master Igor! Oh, I'm terribly sorry, but this man is convinced this is a dream." she sighed, rubbing her head.

Akira turned over and looked to see a tall yet hunched man, wearing a black suit. There was a Cheshire-Cat style grin seemingly carved into his face permanently, with wide, almost blood-shot eyes, making him feel rather uncanny.

That is some Tokyo Tower of a nose.

Akira made no comment on that, he rather not mess with this man standing before him. Though his appearance itself wasn't too imposing, the same couldn't be said about his aura, noticeable and strong, akin to standing by a dart frog: small and delicate, but it's poison potent when provoked.

"If he believes this is a dream, let him treat it as such. A lazing cat won't play if you wave the feather insistently, but hold it before it's eyes in a leisure manner, then it'll be willing to swipe at the toy." Igor said, going to the cell's bars. "Please excuse this less than ideal encounter, Kurusu."

He furrowed his brows, blinking in confusion as he slowly sat up. "You know my name?"

"I know every wildcard who had passed these changing halls. You are not the first I had greeted, nor will you be the last, a revolving deck shuffled and played again and again when time deems it's turn. Though the room changes, and so does it's occupants, it's purpose will remain, no matter how worn the card becomes."

". . . Okay, um . . ."

What the fuck are you talking about?

Akira lightly coughed. "That girl said that I'm here because of, um, yeah." he airily waved his hand, not really sure what to say.

Igor nodded. "Indeed." he said, as if he already knew the context. "Though your destiny is less ambitious than the ones who treaded this path before you, you are not lesser in grandeur and endurance. Fate spares none of those with fire in their souls and iron of their hearts." He eyed the boy carefully. "Are you haunted by memories?"

". . . What?"

"The cat is always chasing for the rabbit." Igor spoke, seemingly to himself as he turned his back on Akira, walking over to the desk, and taking a seat at it, his legs folded, and hands under his chin, his eyes never blinking. "When the cat faces the snake that holds the rabbit, what shall be done to avoid it's fatal bite?"

"Sir, I have no clue what's happening."

Why do magical things always talk so cryptically? Is it, like, a rule or something?

When Igor didn't respond to the confusion, Akira spoke once more, this time an attempt of an answer, "Um, well, I once read in an animal facts book that cats are faster than snakes, so all the cat has to do is make sure to move in time to avoid being bitten."

"But the snake will not bite the cat, it wouldn't dare to do so." Igor clarified, hanging on to each word Akira spoke. "It's fangs are teetering, hungry and eager, to pierce the rabbit's flesh."

Akira wasn't the smartest for whatever the Hell was going on, but he could definitely tell this was a metaphor for something. He scratched his head, thinking. "The rabbit is in the snake's mouth, and the cat was chasing the rabbit earlier." he muttered to himself, thinking. "There's no solution." he replied. "The rabbit's already been caught, and any move will just set the snake off to eat it. The cat, assumingly not there to eat the rabbit too, can't do anything to stop what's already happening."

The odd man studied Akira and his words closely, carefully, like a scientist using a microscope to analyze a sample. "Is that your answer?"

A simple question, yet it made Akira pause.

Was there another option?

He rubbed his chin. He wasn't sure what was real anymore, but since nothing made sense here, perhaps the answer was beyond the expected? Yet, when he pondered on what to say, there was nothing in his thoughts and emptiness on his tongue. "I don't know." he finally replied after a moment of silence.

"There's no rush to reply, the answer isn't concrete, it shifts and moves as do your knowledge and view." Igor reassured. "I merely asked to understand you more. You seem to be driven more by logic and the obvious, though such skepticism and realism is valued, so is creativity and fantasy. This journey of yours is still budding, and it will soon bloom. We'll have a more proper meeting, when the fires of rebellion ignite from the fluttering embers."

.

.

.

Soft sunlight slowly crawled into the dim room, a gentle breeze from the window left open by just a crack.

The thin cot was flatter under his weight, he blanket kicked off to the ground. His eyes struggled to open as he yawned heavily.

"What a weird dream." he mumbled, reaching down to rub his ankle, where the harsh shackle to the ball of weight was, finding soft skin instead of sensitive scratches. He laid there for a moment, almost basking in the fact that there were no loud alarms, no overlapping voices and shoving outside of the cell, the banging of batons against the walls and bars to wake up the inmates.

It was just him, in the basement of Sojiro's house, staring at the dark ceiling, the pale blue light from the sunrise out of view.

Just him.

Knock knock.

"You ready yet?" Sojiro called from the door. "I'm about to leave."

"Oh, shit!"

Chapter Text

It was a traditional Japanese mansion, a sore thumb of Tokyo to some, nestled amongst glass and metal skyscrapers and dazzling lights in wood and papers, yet the crowned jewel to others, it's influence incomprehensible and beauty timeless. It was an ancient thing kept in perfect condition through arduous and tedious efforts, having tourists and locals flocking to it's guarded gates, phones and cameras in hand for a picture or video. If they were lucky, the front gates and peeks of the yard.

The interior retained it's history, the painted screens repaired or replicated perfectly, down to the littlest, inconsequential detail, the shrines of ancestors and previous Amamiya Clan leaders kept spotless of even a fleck of dust, the gardens thriving with greenery and flowers with clear ponds, generations upon generations of koi fish freely swimming in the river-like dugouts. But there was no doubt modernization wove itself into the archaic site, with it's highspeed internet service, the security cameras around the main entrances and gates, and the head office of the mansion's master with it's sleek monitor screens.

In one of the rooms, there was a tri-fold full-length mirror, the place a mess with fabric scraps, pictures of kimonos, inspiration notes and ideas, and a few mock-ups scattered somewhere on the tables and dress form mannequins.

A woman with brown hair neatly tied into a tight bun stood before the mirror, pleased by the outer robe she held up to herself. "Mm, yes, maybe brown and purple. Reminds me of the old days." her voice was sickeningly sweet, enough to give people cavities, and her inflections melodic. She then carelessly tossed the painstakingly tailored thing onto a nearby chair, revealing a pristine white suit with a cloak-sleeved blazer and accents of black and gold. Adorning her hands were rings, along with lavish earrings and a necklace that always seemed to catch the light, demanding people's attention to be on her. She adjusted her chained glasses, before her hazel-eyed gaze shifted to the young man standing behind her, through the reflection.

The young man had dark hair, fluffy with a charming mess to it no matter how it was brushed or styled, and grey eyes that bore a certain innocence in them. His clothes were much more simplistic and even unremarkable compared to the woman, with a high-neck white top, a black wrap coat, and a pair of dress pants and shoes. He shuffled his feet, apprehension on his face, surrounded by untouched kimonos.

"Why are you in such a bad mood, Ren? Did I do something wrong?" The woman said, her tone still light and friendly.

"No, Master Amamiya. I'm just not interested in going to the art show." he replied. "Ah--!" he stepped back, almost stumbled, when she turned and reached over, grabbing his face, her long nails razors against his skin.

"I know you don't like parties, but it'll make me and the clan look bad if you don't go."

Ren tried not to fidget, struggling for his breathing and heart rate to remain steady.

"You don't want that, do you? Making me and my dead clan be disgraced from the city they worked so hard to build since the Tokugawa period?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. I would never disappoint the clan."

"You're lucky I love you so much." Amamiya said, still holding the young man's face, speaking like he was a bratty toddler or exhaustive puppy. "But you made such a mess last night, and made so many of the servants upset. That poor maid, you were so horrible to her."

"I'm sorry." he forced his voice to be clear and audible, despite wanting it to drop into a mumble. "I was being spoiled."

"I know you were." she let go of him, but didn't step back. In fact, she leaned towards him slightly, just enough to watch his face twitch. "Remember, as an heir to the sole child of the Amamiya Clan, we pride ourselves in being generous and courageous. Being selfish and cruel even to a shinuhi is very bad, and goes against the clan."

"Yes, Master."

Hypocrite.

"But you ruined that maid last night. She can't walk anymore. How will she feed her children? Did you know that, Ren?" Amamiya's grin persisted, that sickeningly sweet and mockingly polite tone clawing into his skin like her nails. "Did you know she had kids?"

Ren didn't reply, his gaze dropping to his feet.

If he wasn't being stubborn last night, had he just let Amamiya discipline the maid for nearly missing her entire shift instead of standing in the way to take the brunt of her heel, the maid would still be working for the next paycheck.

He swallowed thickly, his breath wavering as he fidgeted in place, his bubbling distress making Amamiya's grin widen.

I hope her ankle is okay . . .

"She'll be compensated for my mistakes." he said, not wanting to look at the woman. "I'll make sure her family has enough money till she can work again."

"Good, good!" Amamiya cooed at him, akin to a preschool teacher teaching her student how to count. "You're getting there! One day, you might even be able to take on title as master of the clan."

Stop talking to me like that . . .

Ren let Amamiya take his coat, and threw a kimono robe over him sloppily.

I'm . . . I'm not a child.

"Smile, Ren." She poked his cheek, her tone made it sound like an encouragement, but he knew it was a demand. "People love when you smile."

Ren strung up the grin, flinching at the jab against his face.

"Smile."

He relaxed his facial muscles, the grin more natural and satisfactory for her.

"Perfect!" she beamed, ripping the kimono robe away from him, already going off to try something else on.

Ren was quick to grab the expensive garment before it touched the floor, carefully putting it aside with it's set. "Master, please don't throw the clothes, the designers worked very hard on them, and if they get dirty or ruined--"

"Quiet, Ren, I'm thinking. You know better than to interrupt me when I think." she grabbed an obi, glanced at it's fine silk and embroidery, then tossed it aside like it was nothing.

The young man threw himself to the ground and caught the smooth thing, then used his foot to push himself forward, saving a fragile hairpin from shattering when Amamiya carelessly let it fall from the display stand she didn't bother to properly use. "Please be considerate. These are people's pride and time--"

"Why are you on the floor holding those things like a vagrant? Get up, that's not how an heir acts."

He rushed to his feet, his cheeks growing bright red. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

Amamiya took the items away from Ren's arms, and heavily dumped them on a table, making Ren whimper with a flinch as he watched the luxurious items unceremoniously crumple and clatter.

Stop interrupting me . . . Stop it.

"You're being so dramatic, Ren. It won't break so easily." She said, taking a robe from a dress form mannequin, looked at it, and simply dropped it to her feet.

Ren sighed and picked it up, smoothing out the fabric as much as he could, then carefully fitted it back on the mannequin.

"You're an heir, Ren, not some shinuhi." She lightly chastised with that fake voice. "Have some pride and self-respect, people will take you more seriously." she paused in her aimless tracks. "Oh! People are patterning the mae-migoro like this again? I'm starting to feel nostalgic." She traced her nail tips along the woodblock print, a free hand opening the length of the kimono.  "Back in my day, these would be straight-cut, very restrictive, especially around the knees. Nowadays, the modern style is more open and dress-like." She pulled on the robe, peeling it back as if it was a book, looking at each cloth underneath. "Fabrics still thick but its lighter, abundant of layers but feels easier to move in, cut isn't too immodest yet it still flatters the modern audience . . . Mm, yes, still the same as I remembered. Ren!"

He flinched back from a collection of fans, as if he was caught doing something offensive. "Yes?"

"What's his face again? Something-something-Old-Man. The one hosting the party in a month or two? The one who always has that blue mutt at his feet? Do you remember his name?"

"Mr Madarame." Ren replied, shuffling his feet. "And please be respectful of Kitagawa. One of the kimonos are based on his paintings."

"No wonder it's an eyesore."

"Master--"

In typical fashion, she talked over him, as if he wasn't speaking. "I know I made an agreement to try it out, but it's too tacky to put on something as exquisite and artful as a kimono."

I dislike abstract art as much as you, but you never give them a chance.

"It's lovely--"

"We'll throw it away." Amamiya pushed aside the dress form mannequin bearing the dark, spiraling colors, which curved and guided the eyes to the head, bearing a hairpiece shaped to resemble a light or star in motion, as if being born into existence and fighting to persist.

The suggestion made his heart ache. "Please, just donate--"

"Ren, get me my tea." Amamiya went to the clothing rack, sorting through the options with an uninterested expression, muttering to herself.

He went to the tea cart, getting the pot, dark liquid filling the cup instead of the yellow-brown tinted water he was accustomed to. He paused and sniffed it, the aroma being very herbal, a strong bitterness wafting with the steam, almost pungent with how intense it was, kicking him in the back of his throat. There was also a subtle note of grass if he focused enough.

This is different from her usual tea, it's so concentrated. This looks and smells almost like traditional medicine, but better.

"Master, did you change your tea?" He asked, looking over at her, watching Amamiya be dissatisfied by everything in the room.

"Hm? Oh, yes, I did. It's a specific blend I used to drink a lot as a child. Seeing all these kimonos made me crave for it." She let the headpiece in her hands clumsily fall back onto the table with a thud, going to Ren and grabbing the cup. "Most of the ingredients can't be obtained anymore." She took a sip, letting it sit on her tongue, swallowing slowly, comparing the new taste to the one she grew up with. "It has that herbal flavor and grass aftertaste, but the hard punch of bitterness isn't the same." She sighed, almost nostalgic. "My mother often made my family this tea during warm weather, saying it kept the body cool. She once used it to wash and scent our hands when people started getting sick. It scolded our skin and made our fingers sensitive." She finished the cup quickly, and held it out to Ren.

He refilled it. "We have a few more months before Madarame's party. I'm sure we'll find something you'll like." He said, adding on a small, reassuring smile, knowing that Amamiya hated not having perfect outfits for special public occasions.

"I'm more worried that you'll have nothing good to wear. Being in high society means always looking your best, lest you want to humiliate yourself for being so plain. You should know that by now." She drank the tea, partially in thought. "How do you feel about marriage?"

The abrupt question made Ren nearly drop the teapot when he set it on the cart. ". . . Wh-what?!" He gasped, his cheeks burning bright red.

"Just a suggestion. Let's be realistic, Ren, no one loves you enough for that, let alone that woman who sold you. She utterly despised you, as deserved. If you get married that means children, which means repopulating the clan." Another sip. "You know I'm infertile, Ren. Find yourself a little wife to play with."

Ren looked utterly horrified and disgusted by her words, still confused by how drastically the topic changed to something entirely unrelated. "No--!"

"Concubines? Oh, Ren, since when did you become such a vulgar boy?" Amamiya set the half-drunk tea down, shoving nonexistent words down his throat, choking him. "Using women like they're toys for your pleasure? Picking common whores? I thought the kenins and I taught you better."

"What? But I--"

"All I asked is that you get yourself a pretty fiancee, but you want to sleep around? You'll bring shame to the clan for being so promiscuous in the modern age."

"Master, I never--" he paused and looked into her cold, dead, mocking eyes.

She's messing with me again . . .

He sighed, fidgeting with his hands, his feet shifting weight. ". . . I'm sorry for being indecent, Master."

It was easier to just nod along. It was safer, too, sometimes.

"You need to stop being so shy and submissive, no one wants anyone like that, especially in high society. This is why the kenins, civilians, and other high-ranks don't take you seriously, but I do. You know that. I can't be there to protect you, Ren. You're so useless sometimes." She grabbed his face, nails digging into him. "What would you do without me?"

They both knew the answer.

Ren would've been dead before he was 10.

Chapter Text

Ren had overslept, and the only reason he was even awake was because he knew he overslept while still asleep.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no--!" he muttered, forcing the brush through his hair and hopping on one foot to pull his pants up. "Ahh! How did this happen?!" he whispered to himself, struggling with his button-up.

He had slept late before, but he's always woke up at 5:40 AM consistently, but it was halfway 7, and though the school officially started at 8:30, there was usually traffic at the intersection that took at least 20 or so minutes to get a move on.

Maybe it was because he was busy with Amamiya the other night, helping her pick out specific pieces from different kimono sets to make her own complete look. But he knew that she and Madarame had an agreement regarding on the idea of the painting-based kimonos, and that they'll be meeting up later in the day, a conversation he knew won't go down too well.

I'll have to discuss it with Kitagawa if I can, he mentally noted, throwing on his blazer sloppily. He then grabbed his school bag and undone necktie, shoving his socks on, falling into the sliding door to his room in his haste.

He's never been more glad that the doors were replaced with sturdier replicas, but it definitely hurt, especially so early in the day. He whimpered in pain, rubbing the back of his head. "O-ow . . . !" But he couldn't spare another second. He forced himself back up, stuffing the necktie into his school bag for the time being and nearly slammed the sliding door opened. "E-excuse me!" he warned, twisting his body and stumbling on his feet to get by the servants in the hallways, their loose and simple kimono uniforms swaying as they leapt out of the way, with a few of them opening doors for him.

"S-sorry, sorry!" he stammered when he occasionally bumped or stepped on servants who didn't avoid him in time. He almost slipped when he got to the stairwell, but a servant grabbed his left arm in time, allowing the young man to steady his feet and almost throw himself down the stairs regardless. "Pardon m-me!" he just narrowly avoided collided into a maid, who was carrying a basket of folded laundry.

He then reached the main entryway and forced the shoes on, gritting his teeth when he bent his fingernail a little, then out the door he went, a blow of cool, damp air and sirimiri greeting him.

"My lord! My lord, wait! It's raining!" a maid called out, chasing after him with an umbrella.

Ren managed to slip out a, "Thank you," nearly striking himself in the face when he popped it open, trying not to splash up the puddles in the front garden while trying to get into the car. If Amamiya found out he got his school uniform wet, she'll punish him for being careless and indecent.

The chauffeur adjusted the rearview mirror as he pulled out of the driveway, and onto the main street. "Where's your necktie, boy?"

"H-here, here." Ren mumbled, trying to catch his breath, his hands fumbling as he took out the long strip of fabric from his school bag, putting it on. "Sorry for keeping you waiting."

The older man waved him off. "You're fine. You always end up waiting for me anyways. First day of school and you slept in." he playfully laughed, making Ren sink into the car seat and cover his face with the small schoolbag. "You apologize too much also."

Ren bit back his tongue, and instead preoccupied himself by fidgeting with his sleeve.

"Ah--!" he clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle the gasp.

"Something wrong?"

"N-no, no, it's fine. I should have some spare rolls with me." he replied, going through the school bag. He was in such a rush, he forgot to wrap.

Soon, Ren was dropped off at Kosei's front gates, brimming with students and teachers.

He sighed, and kept his head down as usual, keeping his right arm close and away from the general crowd. Usually, he'd arrive to the school earlier to avoid people, but he blamed the traffic for making him show up a little later.

Whisper whisper whisper.

"Think he slithered his way into the Amamiya Clan for the money?"

"Shame he's so quiet and shy, he'd be hotter if he had more moxie."

"I heard that he's actually a cruel person who abuses his servants."

It wasn't anything new. Ren could sooner divert a river from it's course than try to contain or stop the murmurs. He was used to it though: being the heir of a dead, ancient clan, one that was formally the backbone of Tokyo years of yore, it was the ripe ground to fester, especially since Amamiya never bothered to give an explanation for his sudden appearance nearly a decade ago, just shoving the then-young child into the spotlight of the public, proclaiming him as the clan's heir.

For a woman whose lifeline was public opinion, she had little care about rousing rumors and theories to keep her name and face in circulation amongst the people.

At least people left Ren alone in fear of facing the wrath from someone with incomprehensible power and wealth. Without something like that under his belt, he knew he'd be a prime target within the school walls to the other peers.

There were a few more minutes before the first bell rings for class, prompting him to try his luck around the art wing of the building to look for Kitagawa; he didn't know the pupil's homeroom, but he did know he often frequented one of the art rooms.

He peeked into the first class, which was empty with blank canvases lined up in a circle, facing the center of nothing on a small pedestal.

A few students were loitering in the halls, standing around on their phones or finishing up some assignments they slacked off from. There was a teacher here and there, getting their classes ready and sparing a glance as Ren peek in and pass by swiftly.

It's raining harder, he noted, pausing by a window, looking out to the dark grey clouds, the glass pane riddled with water, thank goodness that maid got me an umbrella in time.

"Did you hear? That other school? Shujin? They got a criminal as their student."

Ren quickly looked over to see two Kosei students quietly speaking to each other.

A mocking giggle escaped from her friend, who covered her mouth to quiet down. "That school doesn't have any self-respect. They let anyone go in there. They got whores, delinquents, and creepy adults."

"That's all they have anyways. Everyone there deserves whatever happens for going to a ghetto school."

The corners of Ren's lips tugged downwards, his brows furrowed as he dropped his attention to the window sill to hide his eavesdropping.

There's innocent people in Shujin too, and they can't do anything about it. As if Kosei is any better. All of their conflicts stay behind doors.

"I swear, that school is always on the news for something: embezzlement, abuse of students, sexual assault."

"The day Shujin gets something good for them is the day Kosei closes down."

Ren shuffled his feet, hands fidgeting with the strap of his school bag, eyes flickering from the dreary scene outside the window and to the sill.

I should leave. Being irritated won't make anything better, he sighed inwardly to himself, taking out his phone. Only a couple minutes left, and with that, he put the search on hold, going to his homeroom class to avoid being late.

T his won't do. I don't even know what Kitagawa looks like, aside from having dark blue hair. Hmm, colored hair like that is quite a rare genetic mutation, isn't it? Master mentioned that back in the Heian era, it was considered as an indicator of yokai or holy relations, along with specially colored eyes.

Amamiya often spoke of history, especially of the Edo period.

Ren recalled her telling him, one night, some time ago, "In some countries, having uncommon hair and eyes was the sign of evil, and in others, it was a sacred trait to revere and worship. When Tokyo was still called Edo, I remembered when white became the symbol of divineness. They would've loved your silver eyes, Ren, and your pitch black hair, how the light never seems to catch any undertones, pure darkness like the abyss."

The day at Kosei was rather unremarkable, everything went on routinely, with the occasional smug pride and mocking of students and teachers when they heard about Shujin's new criminal student.

It was downpouring by the time school let out.

Ren sung another silent praise to the maid and opened his umbrella.

"Oh, what a bother . . ." a deep voice sighed.

Ren glanced up to see a tall, lanky young man, with a pale complexion similar to his but with a peachy hue, paired with sleek dark blue hair and grey eyes that always seemed to be eternally searching for something that didn't exist, or yet known, a curiosity in a way. He didn't wear Kosei's blazer nor tie, left only in the white button-up and black pants, something quite odd to Ren.

Maybe he's in honors? Those students have more freedom with the uniform.

The schoolmate sighed once more, pulling back his hair, almost in an overly dramatic way, akin to what a shoujo anime would do to highlight the attractiveness of a love interest.

Ren stifled a short laugh at the thought.

"Everywhere I go, the skies are always so bleak and dreary, the world bathed in grey, tenebrous on the people. Perhaps because the rain washes away the glamor of this city, dare to unveil the monody and grief of what it could've been." the boy muttered to himself, as if he was on a stage, unaware of the people passing by him.

Ren slowly blinked.

. . . Interesting.

"Here, we can share my umbrella." Ren offered, going up to him, holding it over them. "You're getting damp standing so close to the rain like that."

"Hm? Oh, why thank you. May I know the name of such a tender soul?" he asked, a hand on his chest, as if to further convey his sincerity.

. . . Very interesting.

He put on a friendly smile, feeling a bit shy with how closely the other student was looking at him, making him shuffle in place. "Ren Amamiya, heir of Ume Amamiya, Master of the clan." he introduced himself.

"Yes, yes, I've heard of you. Your name is often on hushed lips and curious tongues. My teacher had mentioned you and your custodian as well, though not much. I am Yusuke Kitagawa, the star pupil of the magnificent artist Ichiryusai Madarame." he said with pride and a wide beam.

"Oh! I've been looking for you!" Ren said, then summarized about the kimono situation. "I was hoping that we could talk about this before they do. Knowing my master, she'll try to stir conflict with your teacher."

Yusuke nodded along, humming as he listened. "I see. Mr Madarame confided with me regarding that arrangement. I'm greatly honored that one of my personal paintings was woven onto the fine artistry of kimonos. Which painting was it?" he mumbled the last part to himself, thinking as he tapped his chin.

"Something Unto Death." Ren named. "That was the painting."

"Yes!" he exclaimed with wide eyes. "How did you know? Are you an admirer of my work?" he grabbed Ren's hands in excitement, making him nearly drop the umbrella.

"Oh, um, I remember seeing a photo of it when Master and I received the kimono," Ren quietly coughed, "why don't we talk in the car? My chauffeur is waiting, and I don't want to get us stuck in traffic. I'll drop you off at your residence." he said with a simple grin.

Yusuke took up the offer graciously, expressing his gratitude in rather imaginative and colorful words.

You're like a living historical shoujo character, Ren silently said as they went into the car.

The tall young man looked marveled by the luxuriousness of the vehicle. "Is this leather?" he asked with a strained tone, as if breathing would ruin the seat he was in.

"Leatherette. It's an imitations made with vinyl."

Yusuke carefully traced his fingertips along the trimming on the door, and the cushioned seat. "It's smooth to touch, yet I can feel every wrinkle that imitates the texture of tanned hide. The air lacks the pungent scent of plastic, factory chemicals, and gasoline. It's quite perfumed with a crisp freshness of subdued cleanliness. This polished wood is cool and slippery like river fish." he gave the address of his residence, setting the car into motion, then turned his attention to Ren. "For someone who hails from an ancient clan, the former backbone of Tokyo, if you will, I am a bit perplexed by the lack of overindulgence. I had always assumed it was common with the overly wealthy."

"Oh, no, Master and I find it unnecessary. Besides, this car is used for short travels, there's no point in going overboard like that. Um, do you often monologue?"

"Yes. I find that it helps organize my thoughts and articulate my feelings. Having a soliloquy from time to time additionally fills the silence when I'm painting or cooking."

Ren spied Yusuke's wrist cuffs, lightly stained with paint, and mentioned it.

"Aw, this?" He held up his sleeve to Ren's eyes with a grin, as if displaying his greatest pride. "Many would say to put emotions into your work, but what they don't realize is that the artist imbuing the canvas and paints is ingrained with the piece's process as well. Every mistake, every blot, every stain and tear and break done on the canvas carves itself into the artist and their capabilities to understand and use. No matter the obstacle in the way, it will be repurposed for something greater!"

"In short, you like to show off the work that was put into it, and feel quite passionate about what you create. Thats quite admirable."

The topic then turned to about Amamiya not liking the kimono based on Yusuke's painting, a sentiment that made the artist rather curt and defensive--fortunately, Ren explained it as the colors not being her favorite rather than using her actual words--though he did calm down after a bit, bringing up other works that could be used instead, most of which being Madarame's paintings.

"Surely Mr Madarame would like you to have people see your work as well." Ren spoke. "Though I haven't personally met him myself, people say that he's a very humble and friendly person."

"Ah, that he is." Yusuke said with a nod. "You see, Mr Madarame took me in after the passing of my mother. He raised me for the past years, and I owe everything to him. Without him, I would surely be dead."

It's similar to me and Master . . . But Mr Madarame sounds to be a very kind person.

Such thought was then almost immediately flipped on it's head and shoved into a ditch when the chauffeur parked in front of a rather dilapidated looking shack, dirty and visibly not fit for a person to live in, let alone multiple pupils, from what Yusuke mentioned.

. . . Huh. Um . . .

"Many of the paintings are kept in there. Please don't let the outwardly appearance deter you, its much more clean and hospitable on the inside." Yusuke reassured, taking the umbrella offered by Ren, braving out through the rain and into the shack.

"My lord, I don't think you should go." the chauffeur bluntly stated, turning over to look at Ren, who was staring at the towering building, like it was some hungry beast waiting to be fed. "That guy is weird."

"Kitagawa is unconventional, but he's not dangerous."

"You're too nice for your own good. No normal person acts or talks like him, and sees that place full of mold and mildew as a home."

Ren took out the spare umbrella from under the seat, and exited the car, going over to the now open window on the driver's side. "Perhaps, but I'll be fine." he reassured with that soft smile that always won people over. "Go back to the mansion, and I'll call you when I'm done."

The older man furrowed his brows, fingers nervously working into the steering wheel. "Kid, I know you're fast on your feet, but . . ."

"I promise to be okay." he reiterated. "I know people I can trust." he then left the car's side, not waiting for the man to reply to him. He swallowed nervously as he walked into the cold shadow of the looming thing.

Something's not right . . .

He tentatively entered the place, his heart in his throat, thumping hard, his footsteps silent yet somehow echoed in the empty hall. A chill crawled down his spin like spiders, knowing it wasn't from the weather. He shook the umbrella dry before setting it away.

Yusuke emerged from an adjacent room, looking for a painting to show off, monologuing to himself about frustration and the inability to find what he sought.

Ren looked around: it definitely was cleaner and more inviting, the smell of paint heavy in the air, along with some sort of dampness and pencil shavings. "Kitagawa, you live here?" he said, recalling that Yusuke mentioned it before in the car.

"Yes. In fact, I was raised in here." he confirmed, and his lack of reaction or care was rather telling of his accustomed time in the place.

Mr Madarame kept his students in here? This is hardly livable!

"Ah, are you cold?" Yusuke asked, noticing the shiver. "The door doesn't quite close properly at the bottom, a hairline crack, but don't worry, you get used to it."

". . . Oh, that's not, um . . ."

The other young man didn't seem to hear, going into another room to continue his search.

Ren found it rather bewildering that Madarame owned the shack, and had a child living in it, let alone multiple people at once. He's been to Madarame's estate with Amamiya, and it was a spacious building that could accommodate for an entire party of at least 10 people.

Maybe . . . maybe this is just . . . a warehouse? That Kitagawa chooses to live in?

Though, he doubted that.

Ren carefully stepped about, every other floorboard seeming to creak and strain under his weight, there was a permanently dripping faucet in the kitchen, and when he took a peek in the fridge, there was hardly anything but some ready-made meals, a few of which required an oven, which the kitchen lacked, only having a microwave that had an exposed wire.

He followed Yusuke around, listening to his prose and stream of thoughts, with the occasional comment and hum.

Even Master treats me better than this. And that's saying a lot.

"Amamiya, can you check in that room for me?" Yusuke asked, going through some covered up canvases in a closet, examining each work carefully before moving on to the next one. "There may be a painting that'll be suitable for our guardians."

"Of course." Ren went to where he gestured.

The room had a bed, the first one he seen since coming over, the mattress just a pile of old blankets stacked on top of each other on the frame, and the pillow was basically nonexistent.

At first, when Yusuke mentioned that all of Madarame's disciples but him left, Ren assumed it was because the old man was a strict teacher despite his outwardly humble and kind deposition, but it was glaringly obvious that wasn't the case.

Ren knelt down to find some old boxes shoved under the bed, then checked the closet, which bore seven pairs of clothes for the week, plus another set of Kosei's uniform, and a set of very nice clothing, wrapped up in a bag, covered in dust, as if it was never opened before.

He counted the clothes again, then looked around the rather upsetting room with it's sheer bleakness and encroaching loneliness, with the recall of the lack of food and proper safety or comfort. "Is Something Unto Death a reflection of this?" he quietly muttered, a question that didn't feel right if kept in his thoughts. "Kitagawa . . ."

"Did you say something?" Yusuke asked from down the hall.

"Ah--! N-no." he stammered, turning his back to the doorway to hide his embarrassed blush, but not like it'd be seen anyways. "There's nothing in here. I'll try the next room."

"Please do."

The door Ren went to was towards the back of the narrow hall, everything about it screamed, 'this is something you shouldn't touch! Leave it alone! It's in the back for a reason! Also ignore how this is the only door that looks different!'

Regardless, the heavy foreboding resting in his heart was compelling him to move closer, seeing that it had some sort of peacock pattern engraved in the dark wood.

He paused, swallowing thickly.

. . . Something's not right.

He tried to steady his breathing, shuffling back.

Why do I feel like this?

He looked down at his trembling hands, clammy and cold.

He quickly retreated from that place, stepping back into the lighter atmosphere, trying not to pant or gasp for breath, his head throbbing, a hand on his chest, as if to physically make his heart slow into a calmer pace. ". . . That intense dread . . . I haven't felt that since I first arrived to the mansion . . ." he whispered to himself, a knuckle to his mouth, fighting back to urge to gnaw on it. "Ugh . . ."

"Amamiya, there you are. I had found a-- Oh, are you alright?" Yusuke asked, tucking the painting under his arm, noticing how pale and dizzy Ren looked. "Is it the cold? Or are you hungry? I do believe I have some rations leftover from yesterday."

"Oh, no, no, I just . . ." Ren let out a wavering breath, rubbing his head. "I just . . . need to lay down for a moment. I'm a little sick right now."

"Yes, of course. The smell of paint can be a bit overwhelming to others. I, personally, am accustomed to it. Come, follow me." Yusuke led Ren into a room, which seemed to be used for models, based on the flat cushions of the lounge chair, in which the ill boy lied on. "Do you need some water?"

"Thank you, but that's not necessary." Ren rubbed his head.

There's no mistaking it, it's just like when Master took me to the mansion all those years ago. I don't understand . . .

He turned his head to see Yusuke set up the painting on an easel to display it.

"This one was painted by me." he said, showcasing a splatter of colors across the bright white canvas, with streaks of gold cutting through the mess to converge at the upper right corner. If Ren squinted, there was a silhouette of a hand reaching for that corner.

"It's signed in Mr Madarame's name."

"Oh, yes, but I let him." Yusuke simply spoke, clearly the norm for him. "Mr Madarame said that since he was the inspiration for my work, supplying me the necessary supplies and space to get it done, and taught me the techniques used, this is, by technicality, his."

Ren blinked. ". . . Kitagawa, that's not . . ." his soft voice dropped to an unsure silence. What was he supposed to say to that? This type of conversation was out of his field, and he and Yusuke had only known each other for an hour or two, he didn't know how to approach this rather delicate topic, so he put a tab on it, and set it aside for now. "What's the piece called?"

"Paramnesia. It's a word that means, 'the distortion of reality and fantasy'. I saw this remarkable sight in my dream, a hand reaching from an unseen abyss, grappling for the light. It was tenebrific in my dream, there was no gold to be seen nor grasped, an endless stream of colors waltzing around me."

"You have a very specific way of speaking."

Like a switch, the prideful grin instantly dropped from Yusuke's face, his body becoming more  rigid, closer to himself and the small spot he stood on. "Is there a problem with that?" He stiffly spoke.

"No, of course not." he gave a genial smile, a small but reassuring one. "The way you act and perceive the world is quite unique, much like your creative process when you paint and describe them. It's like you dedicate your entire being to art, making your life itself a masterpiece in motion, changing and shifting as you develop. I'll be honest, I'm not fond of abstract art, but they're intriguing to me if the artists behind them is willing to tell a story of how they were made and brought into the world. Though I don't really understand what you say half the time, nor what I'm looking at, I'd like to understand you."

Yusuke blinked slowly, akin to a cat deducing if a hand offering it food was trustworthy. He then coughed quietly, turning his back on Ren to face the painting. "A-as I was saying . . ."

Chapter Text

It was a rainy morning, the breeze cool, Akira's vision slightly blurred by the water sprinkling on his cosmetic glasses.

He shielded his eyes, keeping his head low, following the flow of the foot traffic to the subway as he hurried along.

God damn it. I still don't know these streets.

He fumbled out his phone when he reached a crosswalk, fidgeting bodies around him, cold rain on the top of his head, sinking into his hair and clothes.

Should've gotten an umbrella too.

He unlocked his phone, scrolling through the home screen for his GPS, then paused, moving back to the previous screen. A bright red icon stared up at him, an eye outlined thickly in black. He furrowed his brows, trying to recall if he downloaded it the previous night, but that couldn't be, he was busy cleaning and reorganizing the basement. Without a thought, he deleted it.

I probably tapped on an ad that does those automatic downloads.

The crosswalk light flickered, and Akira was back on the move, opening up his GPS, doing his best to follow the route whilst shoulders bumped against his, feet stepped on his, bodies pushed against his. While the utter murder of his personal bubble was irritating, he knew he had to suck it up and get over it.

He stepped into the subway, and was almost immediately grabbed by a man in a loose and simple kimono, something a servant from the olden days would wear, but somehow still retaining a modern feel.

"My lord?!" the man gasped in shock, eyes so wide it could roll right out of their sockets.

Lord? Jesus?? What???

Akira blinked, not sure if he felt confusion or shock.

The man seemed to snap out of his flash daze, and quickly recollected himself, letting go of Akira's arm. "I-I'm very sorry, I thought, uh, you were someone else." he stammered, bowing briefly before he hurried away, as if crunched for time. That wouldn't be the first encounter either. Two more people in the same uniform--one was a woman--did double, triple takes when Akira stood beside them on the stuffed train, the young man preoccupied with his phone, making sure he was on the right route.

"Is that the lord?!" the woman whispered to her companion with wide eyes, trying and failing to not gawk at Akira.

"No, no, that can't be him, why would he be here? He was dropped off at Kosei this morning."

"Yes, you're right, but he has the same face though, even down to the hair, just much messier."

This is, like, the third time someone mistook me for someone else, Akira silently spoke to himself, keeping note of the odd events, do I really look that similar to this 'lord' guy?

Like before, when that woman stopped him yesterday while he was out with Ryuji to look for Sojiro's neighborhood, the aimless thought he tabbed for the time being reintroduced itself to him, muttering slim chances that, perhaps, Ren made it past 8-years-old despite of his heart condition, living in Tokyo.

Akira wanted to ask the pair, but the train made a stop, and they swiftly left in the stream of people, leaving him behind with his questions. He sighed, slightly disappointed that he didn't reach out fast enough, but he was sure another opportunity would come for him in due time, if the trend continued. He followed the flow of bodies, from the platform and up the stairs, a cool breeze gracing him from the stuffy space. It was still sprinkling out, but based on the heavy clouds above, it'll only get worse throughout the day.

After a bit of somewhat aimless wandering, getting damp, his hair lightly rat-tailed and clothes bearing dark patches, he ducked under an awning of a store's side, rubbing his face dry as he looked over the damp environment.

Shit, I think I took a wrong turn. I probably forgot to recalibrate my phone . . .

He pocketed the device, and glanced over to see a girl hiding from the rain as well, dressed in Shujin's uniform. At least, something resembling it, as it was modified with red tights and a white jersey under the black blazer, a hood pulled over her head, bearing a little clover, which was a bit cute.

Students can alter the uniform? Why wasn't I informed of this? Well, not like it really matters to me.

"Excuse me, do you know these streets?"

"Hm?" she pulled down her hood, two thick and fluffy platinum blonde twin tails unfurling like bulks of silk. She had a soft and cute face, with large eyes and a light complexion, though a shade or two darker than Akira's. She was like a picture-perfect example of modern beauty standards.

How did you stuff your hair in there? How did it fall out so perfectly like that? You have so much hair, how did you do that?!

Akira cleared his throat, keeping those confused thoughts silent, hidden under his usual reserved and aloof air. "I'm a bit lost. I'm trying to get to Shujin."

"Oh! It's further down this street." she said with a friendly smile, gesturing the direction. "You can take a turn on the left through a small alley and--" She paused, her light expression instantly soured with disgust when a car stopped beside them, the window rolling down to show an older man with messy dark hair and a rather shameless leer at her. She tucked herself behind the small school bag slung over her shoulder, as if it was a shield. "Oh . . . it's you." she grumbled, not bothering to look at the man, staring to the side.

Didn't take much for Akira to sense the now very uncomfortable air, and stepped in front of the young woman, hiding her. Though a simple gesture, it broke open a vault of memories of all the times he did something similar for Ren, hiding him from their mom or bullies at school when possible. A faint flicker of Ren's soft voice muttering apologies behind him for being a bother, a ghostly tug on his sleeve. He slowly exhaled through his nose, a hand clutching the strap of his bag, waving the distant past away. Now wasn't the time to feel sentimental.

The older man's face faltered at Akira, but put on a grin. "It's raining out, Takamaki, it's better to hop in."

"No." she immediately declined, the soaked concrete the most intriguing thing in the world now. "I'm helping this guy get to school right now. Maybe another time."

"You say that every time I offer you a ride."

"If there's too much foot traffic, or my usual routes are closed off, sure. Leave me alone, creep . . ." she curtly mumbled the last line through tightly pursed lips, the words nearly evading Akira with the rain and the low tone.

Wait, is this guy that pervy teacher Ryuji told me about yesterday?

His question was immediately confirmed by Ryuji himself running into the scene. "Fuck off, Kamoshida!" he snapped, trying not to sound too breathless from his sprint over.

The teacher groaned when he saw the delinquent. "I'm surprised you're still around."

"A 'C' is a passing grade. That's enough for me to get by." Ryuji stuffed his clenched fists into his pockets, teeth grinding. "Ain't you got shit to do?"

"You watch your mouth, Sakamoto. I'm a teacher, and I can write you up for detention, or even expulsion."

"Smack talk isn't a valid reason for expulsion."

Under the escalating tension, Akira grabbed Ryuji and the girl's arms. "Come on." he said, dragging the pair away, further down the street, then into an alley on the left, hidden from Kamoshida. He tucked themselves under another awning, a smaller one, but it kept off most of the rain. "Hey, you okay?" he asked the girl.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." she sighed, rubbing her head. "Thanks." she then glared at Ryuji, crossing her arms. "And what were you doing, Sakamoto? Trying to pick a fight on the side of the road?"

Ryuji looked incredulous. "Oh, I'm sorry, was I supposed to let him keep perving on ya?"

Akira blinked, watching the two bicker. "You guys know each other?"

The girl blushed in embarrassment. "Oh! I'm sorry, I completely forgot about you there . . . I'm Ann Takamaki."

"Akira Kurusu. Ryuji and I met yesterday."

"About your question, yeah, Sakamoto and I went to the same middle school."

"We never really talked though." Ryuji added on, leaning against the damp wall. "She was pretty popular, so everyone kind of knew her."

"We never talked?" Ann repeated his words, incredulous. "I always lent you money!"

"Huh? Ryuji, you're a financial leech?" Akira feigned a gasp.

"Wh-what?! Oh, come on, no I'm not!" he denied, his face bright red. "And for the record, Takamaki, it was one time for 3800 yen!"

"I could've bought an entire house with that!"

Akira intervened before either of them could bicker again. "Let's get going, we'll be late."

"Follow me, I know a shortcut." Ann said, going further into the damp alleyway.

The sounds of the city surrounded them, yet it felt so distant within the confines of the narrow place, only damp, dark walls all around, wet trash and growing puddles by their feet, with the occasional stray rushing between their legs.

Akira wanted to ask if Ann actually knew where she was going, considering they had to backtrack a few times, and Ryuji ended up taking over the lead, with Ann providing some comments and pointers on where they should be, but he kept his mouth shut, still largely preoccupied by Igor's words and just the odd dream overall. He hoped that he'll understand it in due time.

Right now, however, they got fish to fry.

Akira never seen Shujin High School before, but he knew for a fact that it shouldn't look like a towering fortified palace, with thick walls and sitting neatly under a swirling mass of dark pink clouds.

". . . Huh." Akira blinked, his simple expression parroted by the other two.

"Huh." Ann squinted, as if trying to see if somehow, by some logic, she was looking at something that wasn't actually there.

"Huh . . ." Ryuji scratched the back of his head, tilting it.

"Okay, so, this is obviously something else." she looked around to find only sheer drops surrounding them, the three and the building on top of a large platform of smooth stone, and a sign out in the front that said, 'Shujin High School- College Preparation and Sport Courses'. "How did we end up here?" she muttered, a tremor in her voice. "One blink and we just . . . how?! We didn't take any turns!"

"I'm dumb as shit, but that ain't fucking Shujin." Ryuji dug his foot into the ground, brows tightly knitted as he tried to make sense of what was happening. "Unless Principal Kobayakawa pulled some crazy overnight reconstruction and landscaping." he then scoffed at himself and shook his head. "Fuck am I saying? Are our asses even still in Japan?!" he flailed his arm wildly at everything. "What the fuck is this JRPG bullshit?!"

Akira rubbed his head, his temples aching slightly--partially from Ryuji's yelling--his heart rattling against his ribcage almost painfully, coldness pooling in his stomach and creeping down the back of his neck, clutching closely to him. "Do you guys feel this, like, really intense dread?"

"Yeah. Ugh, it reminds me of when I'm next to Kamoshida . . ." she grimaced, hugging her stomach. "I feel really sick . . ."

"It's cold here too." he then sighed, trying to stay calm amongst the confusion and chaos. "Well, obviously, we should stay away from that place."

But they had no choice in the matter; with nowhere to hide, two hulking figures in thick, large armor spotted the trio, and lunged for them, their heavy claymore loudly crashing into the stone, making their ears ring painfully.

"Trespassers!" one of the guards declared them.

"Hey, that girl, she looks like the king's favorite concubine."

"She kind of does. Should we take her back to him?"

"He'll like that. A copy of his favorite."

Ann wasted no time running like a bat out of Hell, along with Ryuji and Akira, swiftly breezing past her.

They dashed through the front garden, full of bright red roses and orchids, scenting the air intensely with decay and rot instead of the subtle sweetness they were known for. The place was spotted with statues of obviously teenage girls in scandalous clothes--if any at all--positioned in provocative poses, slightly blurry at the corners of their eyes. The scenes were so over-the-top sometimes it made hentai look realistic.

"What the Hell is this place?!" Akira spat in disgust, keeping his focus ahead of him, trying not to trip on the cobblestone ground or let his morbid curiosity linger on the statues.

Ryuji's momentum buckled slightly, but he was able to maintain himself. "Shit . . . !" he cursed under his breath. "Not now!" he gave a hard hit into his leg, as if to keep himself motivated.

Ann was desperately trying to catch her breath, quite a bit behind Akira and Ryuji, the distance only seeming to grow as her spent stamina struggled to keep up the demand. She pushed as much as she could, forcing her heavy, burning legs to escape whatever fate awaited if she was caught.

"Takamaki!" Ryuji pivoted on his left heel, turning to roughly throw her over his shoulder, an arm over her knees and the other on her lower back to keep her situated, before sharply spinning again to retake his place beside Akira, the added weight slowing him down, a hard pressure on his leg, but he could deal with it. Now wasn't the time to be picky or complain.

She yelped at the abrupt move, feeling even more queasy, her nails digging into the fabric on Ryuji's back to hold on. "Thanks . . . !" she wheezed out, gasping for breath, her legs going limp, the overworked muscles burning and clawing.

The ominous guards reappeared in the distance, barreling right for them, heavy claymores easily held high above their small heads like they were toys, their armor loudly scrapping and clashing against the stone, rapidly close the distance whilst demanding them to surrender.

Akira had never ran so fast in his life. The last time he did was when he took soccer as a kid, and living off from the treadmill back in jail. His feet and legs burned, feeling the adrenaline wracking his body, the bile bubbling to his tongue, bitter and disgusting. He tried to keep his breath steady, to just focus on running and not the pain in his body, but everything was too much--the sights, the sounds, the sheer fact he was being chased by something that definitely wants to kill him--making him gasp and thickly swallow for air, drying his throat and making him cough and hack.

When Ann spotted more of those dark-armored guards flying out from a side-door of the palace, Akira frantically looked around for a place to hide, then grabbed Ryuji's arm, shoving all of them into a thick bush around the border of the courtyard. He smacked his palms over the two blonds' mouths to muffle their breathing, as they did the same for him, clamped against his nose he could barely breathe, but not like he dared to anyways, sweat crawling down his neck with that deadweight dread that wouldn't leave him, his body burning, struggling and forcing to not gasp or even pant for air, just tissue-paper-thin sheets of oxygen to slip between Ann and Ryuji's fingers.

Breathe breathe breathe.

A crowd of guards congregated in front of the bush, none of the students dared to blink, hearts thumping in their ears, nails unconsciously digging into faces.

It was too stuffy in the bush, Ryuji on his left with his shoulder tucked against the delinquent's chest, Ann on his right with her thick hair wrapped around his neck uncomfortably. Akira's arms felt stiff from being wrapped around the other two bodies to muffle their heaving breaths, his legs cramping from the kneel that forced one of his legs to stick out that pushed pressure against his hip and knee.

"Where did those trespassers go?"

"I don't know, I had my eyes on them!"

"That doesn't even make sense. If you did, you wouldn't have lost them at all."

"Shut up, both of you! What will His Highness say when he finds out?"

"Find out what?" Ann's voice came from somewhere amongst the guards, who moved aside to show, well, Ann. Obviously, that wasn't actually her. This other Ann had on a bikini in an obnoxious shade of fuchsia and patterned with black animal print, her hourglass-figure looking a bit exaggerated somehow. She also sported a cat ear headband and tail, along with ridiculous stilettoes and a tacky tiara with chunky gems. Everything about her was like a living antithesis of Ann as a person, but the most striking thing about this look-alike were her bright yellow eyes, bordering on an eerie glow. She pouted and crossed her arms, bringing them up in an odd way to make herself look more attractive--though it only put-off Ryuji and Akira so far back it would make celibacy look promiscuous.

Akira could feel Ann's face twisting under his hand into disgust and incredulity at the image of herself.

"When my king finds out you idiots couldn't even do your jobs, he'll have you all executed!" the other Ann said.

"No, Princess, have mercy!" one of the guards begged, falling to his knees, metal scrapping against stone, but none of them seemed to notice or even acknowledge it in any way. "We'll find those trespassers, just don't tell His Highness!"

The princess only laughed mockingly at the despair. "Do your job done! Hmph, I'm taking time out of my day to make you idiots do what you're supposed to when I could've been with my king. Why are you even wearing that badge anyways? You don't deserve it if you let some low-lives in here!" she grabbed some small metal thing from the chest-plate of a guard and threw it into the bush, which smacked right into Ann's forehead.

Ann bit down on Akira's hand to not yelp, which, obviously, nearly made him yell, but he clenched his teeth, held his breath, and waited in agony until the odd group trudged away.

They waited.

And waited.

Before finally letting go of each other, daring to take trembling breaths.

". . . What the fuck?" Ryuji muttered, pulling back his hair. "Takamaki, you okay? That looked like it hurt."

"Because it did." she groaned in pain, touching the aching spot on her forehead, wincing, "the corner got me. Does it look bad?" she asked, letting the two boys see.

"Well, you're not bleeding." Akira said with relief. "Looks like some irritation and redness. There might be swelling later, but you'll be fine. Also, ow, my hand."

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, but it kind of just happened!"

"Are we just gonna ignore there was another Takamaki looking like some hentai addict's wet dream?" Ryuji cut-in. "I like ecchi and lewd shit as much as the next guy but whatever a reverse boner is, I'm the fucking founder of it."

"Ugh, stop, I'm already trying to get rid of that image . . ." Ann spoke, trying not to touch her head. "Biggest question now is, how do we get out of here?"

"Looks like they shut the gates." Ryuji noticed, looking back at where they ran through earlier. "They know we're in the garden. We can't stay out here."

"But if we go into the palace, which is swarming with even more guards, we'll be caught." Ann pointed out. "So, uh, a lose-lose . . ."

"We'll figure something out, but right now, we need a better place to hide." Akira said, carefully searching for more guards or that weird caricature of Ann, before stepping out from the safety of the bush. He brushed off the leaves and grass from his clothes, noticing Ryuji struggling to stand up on his right leg. "Ryuji?"

"I'm fine, just gotta . . ." with a huff, he forced himself onto his feet. "Sh-shit . . . !"

"What's wrong?" Ann asked, her brows knitted with worry. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"Something like that. Don't worry, though, I got it."

Ann and Akira exchanged glances, obviously not convinced, but they didn't have the time to object him. They had to escape.

.

.

.

"What's the point of being so indirect and cryptic? It's infuriating and nerve-racking . Just tell that boy what will come and get it over with."

"You have your sister's impatience. The role of the guide is to direct and encourage the students to draw from their own thoughts and opinions. When one encounters a wild flower, you wouldn't attempt to force the plant to grow in a specific way, it may damage it, or even bring upon unforeseen consequences. While innocuous at first glance, keeping their hands close in mine will only hinder and harm them."

"Nearly 4 centuries since we've met, and you're still the same. I don't know how you can keep that consistency. I've changed so much, if I met who I was, she'd be another girl."

"Time means nothing to those like us. Though, we're aware of the passing and changes. But you still feel the claws and crawls, don't you?"

"Well, at least I don't reek of rot like her." A sigh. "Maybe this time, I can end the cycle."

"You say that every time."

". . . I do, don't I?" Another sigh, a tired one. "The streams are red with rabbits because of that snake, no traces of water left . . . This one . . . It'll be this one to mark her finality."

Chapter Text

It was honestly a miracle they lasted as long as they did. 45 minutes exactly.

They stuck close to the bushes, the outer most border of the garden as it didn't gain much attention from the guards. They were crouching low into the neatly clipped grass, almost to a crawl, dragging themselves through the shadows of the bushes and behind branches of shaped topiaries, their faces and hands scratched and nipped, but that was something they could get over easily.

If a guard stood too close for caution, or perhaps noticed their movements, they would throw themselves into the nearest pile of thick plants and lay there with bated breath, hands clasped over their mouths and nose to suffocate themselves amongst the leaves, watching heavy footsteps pause before their wide eyes, before walking away, grumbling to themselves.

With Ryuji behind them to watch their backs, and Ann situated right between the boys--no way she was taking chances with getting caught--Akira slowly but surely made way to the locked garden gate, which was, conveniently enough, not guarded, something Ann commented on.

"Yeah, you'd think someone would be here to watch it." Akira quietly muttered, his eyes flickering from the lock to the tall stone fence, a good six or seven feet from the ground. "Shit . . ." by habit, he gnawed on his knuckle, the slight flicker of pain making his brows furrow. He stuck his foot between the bars of the wrought iron thing, but the space was too wide, not able to get a hold, yet they won't be able to push their bodies through the gaps as well.

"Here, I'll boost you up." Ryuji said, setting his school bag down and kneeling down, his hands interlocked.

"Takamaki, it's best if you go first." Akira spoke, keeping close to the dark side of the wall, watching for the guards.

Ann was quick, letting Ryuji lift her up and onto the stone fence. She pushed herself off, a subdued thud behind the wall, followed by a pained whimper.

"Aight, Aki, quick!"

Akira put a hand on the wall for support, his foot in the hold, but kept his weight down for a moment. "How are you going to get out? Takamaki won't be able to support either of our weight."

"Um . . . I'll just climb one of the statues. Can't be too bad, ya know?" Ryuji flashed a nervous grin, which was only met with a strained frown. "Get your femboy ass up."

"Be serious with me-- Ryuji!" Akira bit his tongue to muffle the yell when he was forcibly pushed up the wall, skinning his hand a little from the smooth yet still textured rock. He instinctively latched onto the lip of the fence to not fall too quickly, struggling to find his balance, then somewhat painfully tumbled to the other side. Thankfully, Ann managed to cushion his fall a little by catching--and falling down with--him.

"Ow!" she hissed through her teeth, rubbing her side.

"Ugh . . . sorry." he carefully stood up, his shoulder aching.

"You guys good?" Ryuji asked from behind the gate, handing over their school bags between the bars.

"Yeah." he slung his and the other young man's bags over his shoulder, with Ann having hers. "Doesn't look like there's any guards out here yet." he noted, observing the deserted space, then glancing back at Ryuji. "I'll watch your back, and Takamaki got mine."

The delinquent thickly swallowed with a low, heavy breath escaping his lips, his hands growing warm and damp, the unshakable cold dread sitting firmly in his core. He nodded, partially to himself. "Don't worry, I got this." He stepped back and looked around, finding a whole bunch of nothing to help him, with the patrolling guards in the near distance.

Being alone on the other side of the gate definitely made the sickening dread even worse, compelling him to stay cemented on the spot, but that wasn't an option. He shifted weight from foot to foot, looking around till he spotted one of the lewd statues posed towards the corner of the garden. It was tall due to the pedestal is sat on, but a bit on the smaller side, but it was the only one close enough to the wall.

"Okay . . ." Ryuji muttered to himself, rubbing his chin. "Okay, okay, okay . . . Maybe I can try to jump off it." he went to the white stone thing, put-off by the idea of grabbing and climbing on the nude subject. With a grunt, and an awkward grab, he hauled himself up the cold body, his shoes struggling to find grip against the smooth surface, an arm wrapped around the shoulder, and the other holding onto the neck. Another pull and he managed to plant his foot onto the small shoulder, a hand to steady himself with the statue's, and one foot on the head with sleek hair. "Okay, okay, I'm fine. Yeah, this is fine." he let out a wavering breath, his stomach churning, already feeling the strain in his leg. "Now, um . . . if I swing my weight, and jump off, maybe I can grab onto the wall . . . ?" But he could feel the statue's base swaying slightly when he move, which told him loud and clear he had one chance to pull the stunt off.

1 . . .

2 . . .

3 . . . !

With a stifled breath, he leapt, his lips pressed into a tight line, teeth clenched onto his tongue as he dug his nails into the fence's edge, trying to force his shoes to find a hold on something. He could hear the statue behind him being displaced, pushed backwards when he leapt, the carved stone now precariously balancing on it's cracked base, slowly crumbling. "Come on, come on!" he hissed under his breath, struggling to pull himself up. "Fuck! There's not enough grip!" his shoes were slipping, dragging him down. "Get up!" he tried to use what momentum he had to try and force himself further up. His hands were too clammy, forced to let go, dropping him heavily back into the grass, just narrowly missed by the statue tumbling and loudly shattering right beside him.

"Who goes there?!"

"Shit!" he scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain and throbbing in his body, and sprinted to hide in a bush, but the entire garden knew where he was now.

"Ryuji!" Akira tightly gripped the gate's bars.

"Just get out of here! I'll catch up!"

"Sakamoto--!"

"Trespassers! Trespassers! They're escaping!"

"Damn it!" Akira grunted, his breath hitching in his throat almost painfully. He grabbed Ann's hand and ran off with her.

"Oh my god!" she looked back, seeing the guards pouring out from the gate, tailing after the pair. "Kurusu . . . !"

"Stay close, okay?" he pulled her to his side, literally dragging her, not caring how she tripped and stumbled. "I'll keep you safe!"

The hand felt small in his, thin and frail almost, trembling, the body behind it barely able to keep up, deadweight holding him back.

He tightened his grip. "I'm not letting you go." he said, strained for breath.

The outer borders of the place was quickly being swarmed by black-armored guards, forcing the two to head into the palace in hopes of finding a place to hide.

Dark, patterned walls surrounded them, the vaulted ceilings high above them, melding into an abyss. The floor sounded like marble, echoing their frantic footsteps, black and white checkered, making them feel like small game pieces on a board, desperately trying to escape whatever challenge tile they just landed on.

There was the occasional statue of a lewd girl, or even a painting--first time they saw it, they nearly crashed to the ground and almost got caught--though, fortunately, nothing overly explicit or a face attached to the body, as if the subject was simply that. A subject. As if the person only loved the idea and concept of women, but not the actual person she was.

Akira took a sharp turn, then another, doing what he could to shake off the guards, which helped a little, but their loud footsteps and heaving breaths made it rather easy to pin down where they were. "Here!" he jerked the arm closer when he felt it lagging behind, trying not to slip as they scrambled up some stairs and into the nearest hall.

Armor lined the walls, breezing by as they sprinted, motionless and human-sized, but neither dared to drop their guard, eyes always flickering everywhere, even the ceiling, in case something decided to drop down and grab them like a spider, nonexistent eyes following them.

Akira could hear the frantic, heavy gasps and coughing behind him. "How's your heart? Is it okay?" he asked, not wasting a second to turn around, his focus needed to stay ahead.

I know I shouldn't be pushing you so hard, but--!

"M-my heart?" Ann panted, her voice making him trip on his feet. "Oh--!" she crashed into his back, tumbling to the cold ground. She groaned, pushing herself up, rubbing her head, where that look-alike of her threw that metal badge into the bush earlier, the area sensitive and red, definitely a bit swollen. "Kurusu, are you okay? What happened?" she stood up and grabbed his hand to pull him to his feet.

". . . Yeah." he struggled to catch his breath, partially from the running. "Yeah, sorry, I . . ."

Loud clanking of metal was slowly creeping up behind, further down the hall.

Once more, they were on the move.

.

.

.

"Shit!" Ryuji hissed through his teeth, nervously eyeing the dark armored guards surrounding him in another corner of the garden, a hand tightly clutching his right leg, feeling the old fraction site throbbing and straining from his vain attempts to run away. But he knew he didn't have a chance. At least the others managed to get out.

"Halt, trespasser!"

"Where else am I gonna go? I'm literally cornered!"

"Any further resistance and your executions will be drawn out!"

"Listen, man, it's just a misunderstanding. My friends and I don't even want to be here!" he tried to reason, a bead of cold sweat darting down the back of his neck. "Well, more like we didn't mean to just walk in."

"Silence!" the guards demanded in unison, stomping their feet against the ground, the resonating crash making the student wince and cover his ears.

A large, cold hand grabbed the back of his shirt, ripping him from the ground, the neckline choking him from the abrupt lift.

"Lucky for you, the king is preoccupied with the other trespassers. You'll have some time to fret over your execution in the dungeons."

Ryuji could only manage a cough, his hands trying to claw the neckline pushing against his throat.

Shit! Takamaki and Akira are still being chased, aren't they?

His hanging legs futilely kicked the air, his body instinctively trying to find something to stand on, to have more than a sliver of breath. The boy was carried around like a limp doll, brought into the dimly lit palace and down a set of steep stairs, spiraling into the damp darkness, the distant echo of dripping water. He glanced over to see a sign above a pair of doors that said, 'Training Hall', but he could definitely hear screams and cries of pain and pleas for mercy.

What the fuck?! Oh my god, are they torturing people?!

He forced down a nervous swallow when they lumbered deeper into the dungeons.

The group then emerged to a place that had a web of walkways going to and from various doorways, and oddly enough, something about the place reminded him of Shujin's old gym/theater hybrid building before it was remodeled to separate them. From what he remembered from the old pictures, often hung up around the counselors office, it had a bunch of those walkways over the stage, and one across the main room, which would be above the gym floors.

Ryuji could see multiple guards patrolling the walkways, and the walls were lined with cells, a good majority of them being empty, but not like it did anything to ease his sickeningly thumping heart.

Crash!

It resonated in the narrow, sprawling place, a floor or two above.

"Shit!"

"Akira?!" he recognized the voice.

"Ryuji?!"

"Let go of me!" Ann snapped, followed by sounds of struggling. "I will not be some creep's toy!"

"Further resistance and you will have a drawn out execution!"

Despite their best efforts, in the end, they lasted 45 minutes.

The three were unceremoniously thrown into some room. It didn't look like a cell, and was likely an interrogation room of sorts, if the bolted down table with cuffs on it wasn't indicative what it could be.

"Ugh . . ." Akira groaned in pain, rubbing his lower back. "Any more hits there, and I might end up paralyzed."

"I landed on my chest." Ann wheezed, catching her breath, a hand on the torso to ease off the ache.

Ryuji sighed heavily sitting up, elbows on his knees. "Shit . . ." he muttered, massaging his leg.

"Get over it." one of the guards who stayed behind stood tall by the door bashed the bottom of his weapon against the floor, silencing them with hurting ears.

"Okay, we get it, Jesus Christ! Tryna make us deaf?"

"Why are we here?" Akira spoke up, he and Ann helping Ryuji to his feet. "I thought we'd be in a cell."

"The king is gracing your presence with his audience. He demands an explanation for causing such disruption in his palace."

Ryuji scowled. "I already fucking told you--!"

The door to the room swung open, all eyes looking over.

"Make way! Make way, the king has arrived!" a scrawny-looking guy with dark hair announced, wearing a tacky costume of the western medieval period, with the large, stiff tunic and frumpy pants that awkwardly bunched up around his hips and calves, his thin ankles left naked, making him appear disproportionate under the outfit, and some fabric shoes that looked itchy.

"What the--? Mishima?!" Ryuji recognized, gawking. "No, your eyes, it's just like that other Takamaki. You're not actually him, you're . . . whatever the fuck you are." he vaguely gestured to the familiar guy.

"Some copy." Ann said. "That's the best I can put it."

"P-Princess?! Why are you dressed in rags?!" the Mishima look-alike gasped at her, utterly distraught. "Do you have no shame? You will surely be punished by the king!" the way he spoke, it was over the top and exaggerated, like something for a kid's stage play.

"Don't mistake me for that tasteless caricature!" she snapped, her hands tightly balled into shaking fists, the very thought of either of them being similar at all enraging the girl. "I'm nothing like her!"

"Indeed, the princess is much more beautiful and alluring." one of the guards spoke up. "And watch your mouth, wench, no one insults the princess."

"Silence!" a vaguely but not really familiar male voice boomed across the small room.

Immediately, the two guards stepped aside and bowed lowly on one knee, carving out a path for the king.

"Kamoshida?!" Ryuji and Ann both jumped back, as if his very presence repelled them, and perhaps it did, considering his outfit. Or, well, lack thereof: the man was almost entirely nude, save for a pair of garish boxers with red hearts, a red cape lined in white fur training behind him, some pink slippers, and a large, heavy crown sitting on his head, it's existence definitely not obeying the laws of logic, as something of that shape and size would slip right off his head from the sheer weight of the gold and gems, or at least strain his neck, as it was opulent, with arches over a dome of dark red velvet, the headpiece stamped with hearts and rather chunky gems that looked like they were about to pop right off the frame.

"This place just gets worse and worse . . ." Akira muttered to himself, not believing his eyes.

Honestly, at least he got boxers. I was expecting so much worse when he opened that cape.

"Oh my god, is the other me going to show up and do something gross?"

In fact, she did, the look-alike prancing into the room from behind, then latched herself to Kamoshida's arm like he was the sun, planting a loud, wet kiss on his cheek.

"That wasn't a request." Ann hugged her stomach again, trying not to double over.

"You peasants have a lot of nerve to break into my palace." Kamoshida said with a snarl, a hand wrapped around the other Ann's torso, pulling her close like she was some security blanket for a toddler. "Because of you fools, I had to take time out of pleasing my princess for this!"

The implication made Ann even more queasy, her face pale and sickly. "I think I might actually vomit . . ." she muttered, a hand over her mouth, as if it would stop her stomach from dumping its contents out. "Actually, if I act gross, maybe you'll leave me alone."

"I won't waste anymore of my time." Kamoshida pointed at the boys. "Guards, execute them. As for you," he grinned lecherously at Ann, making her hide behind her small school bag, fidgeting, "I'll make good use of you."

"Hell no!" Ryuji snapped, shoving Akira and Ann behind him a little aggressively, making the two bump into each other. "Making sick comments about the girls at school, saying my mom is a bad person because she has me as her kid, turning the track team into your personal punching bags, that's all bad enough already, but knowing what you're going to do to us makes me so pissed it makes my old man look like a monk!" he stabbed a finger at Kamoshida, eyes ablaze with so much vitriol it reminded Akira of his mom whenever she looked at Ren. His chest was heaving, face burning red from rage and disgust. "I don't give shit if you break my leg again, or any part of my body, I'll snap out the bone and scar your fucking face so the devil knows who to drag down, and take you to Hell!"

The teacher growled, pulling away from his imitation of Ann, hands curling and uncurling, like he itched to hit someone, and he most definitely was. "You want another broken leg? Fine!" he snapped his fingers, making one of the guards grab the young man, and slammed him against the wall.

"Ryuji!"

"Sakamoto! Let go of him!"

"What makes you think you have power here?" Kamoshida backhanded her, the abrupt force literally knocking her off her feet. "You're nothing!"

Akira was quick and grabbed her before she could hit the table's edge.

The man looked back at Ryuji with a smoldering hatred, as if trying to kill him with a stare. "All you ever do is run. That's all you're good for, damn coward. What will you be when you can't do the only thing you know? I'll make sure you feel every drop of dread before you even feel your leg shatter."

Another guard came up and grabbed the delinquent's right leg, closing in on the limb at an agonizing snail's pace, making Ryuji struggle and try to escape the seemingly inevitable.

Akira frantically tried to scrounge up his thoughts, forcing his breath to be steady, his reserved demeanor cracking bit by bit, rapidly, asking himself, what do I do what do I do what do I do?

His heart was burning, hammering, clammy hands tightly gripped Ann's clothes, holding her back as she try to rip herself from the hold and assumingly try to take Kamoshida on.

Breathe breathe breathe breathebreathebreathebreathe--

"Is this where you will lay down?"

He struggled for air, the noises of chaos muffled, barely audible, the world blurring to a mass of colors and  shapes, his heart throbbing and pulsing like some open wound.

A woman's voice?

"Tell me, boy, is this where you will lay down?"

He tried to speak, but only a choked noise escaped him.

Who are you?

"Of all regrets and pains and vain hopes, one still remains in spite the despair. Feeble and weak, a flickering ember in your heart, clutched tightly within those hands that was once used to protect and comfort the one you loved."

He could hear his own breath, overlapping with the counts of his heartbeat. He tightened his grip around cloth, barely registering who it belonged to. "Takamaki and Ryuji . . . they have others who care about them. I couldn't protect Ren, and now . . . now I can't protect these people either . . ." he managed to struggle out the words, each letter a hard lump in his throat, falling heavily to his feet.

"All a human needs is one reason to seize what they desire. Speak it, boy. Let the embers you believed for so long to be futile ignite. This world doesn't obey logic yet you're willing it would. When the snake has the rabbit in it's jaws, what should the cat do? Will you stand there and let common sense take it's course, or will you shatter it with fantasy? It's in your hands, that prayer you made!"

Akira could feel the burning spreading from his chest and up to his throat, as if he swallowed a fire and letting it grow and devour him. It didn't hurt, but there was definitely some flickers of pain. "That prayer I made . . . at the shrine for Kitsu . . ." He remembered it very well, visiting the local shrine almost every day as a child, and less frequently yet still regularly as he grew up, setting aside his agnosticism to make his wishes for his twin to come back, one way or another. He remembered praying to change a piece of reality for reverie, to let him command what could not be understood or changed. Even though he was ridiculed and teased, and though he felt himself letting those dreams slip away, he held on so tightly bits of it remained under his nails. He forced his lead-weighed foot to step forward. "Even though I couldn't protect Ren, I can protect myself and others like me, people who get stomped and spat on because we're weak and easy." Another step, his fingers stiffly letting go of the cloth. "I'm standing here, in this world of fantasy, letting realism take hold of this damn place, letting Ryuji and Takamaki die because it's logical, instead of taking advantage of this bullshit, making this reverie bend to what I want." He gritted his teeth, swallowing a choking gasp of air, making the fire in his heart burn brighter than the flames around him. "I still hold on to that dream of Ren's hand in mine!" he didn't realized his eyes were closed--or were they already opened? It didn't matter, his vision was becoming confused and muddled, a hazed mess of nondescript colors and nebulous shapes and figures--a hand cladded in white and gold fabric reached for him. He tightly grasped it.

A deep, resonating voice surged around him, an echo in his head, a black feather in his clasped hand, where the woman should've been, blazing blues and smoldering whites engulfing the young man as though he was fresh tinder, hands not his own clasped to his eyes. "What's the matter . . . ? Are you simply going to watch? Are you forsaking him and her to save yourself? Death awaits them if you do nothing. Was your previous decision a mistake then? To harbor your twin's kindness and justice, and save that woman?"

"No." he stated, his tone harsher than intended. "If Ren's no longer kind and just, I'll continue to protect who I can, and carve out spots for all the people who were lonely like us, just like we said we would."

His head was tipped back, the leathery, slender fingers parting, letting him gaze up at a demonic-like mask, a wide grin twisted across the dark surface. "I am thou, thou art I . . ."

Chapter Text

"--ira!"

"Can --- h--- us?"

Huh? Who's talking?

The voices were muffled, going in and out, hands touching his face, chest, and shoulders.

Akira flinched at the throbbing in his head, and the ache in his chest, as if he was feeling the aftershock of a heart attack that never came. A slightly cold hand pressed against his neck, a thick material brushing against his skin, as if pushed aside.

"--- pulse is ----dy. That's g---."

Shit . . . Why does my head hurt so much? 

He struggled to open his eyes, and winced with a small groan when light blinded him momentarily. Instinctively, he covered his face.

"H-holy shit, you're alive!" Ryuji gasped in relief.

"Of course he's alive, you just said his pulse was steady!" Ann snapped--though, she didn't mean to--and lightly hit his shoulder, then looked back at Akira. "You okay? What happened?"

Akira blinked, trying to remember.

The woman, that masked face, fire.

All consuming fire.

He looked down at his body. "What the fuck?" he muttered, brows furrowed, as if he was piecing together a puzzle with only two incompatible parts. He touched the tail of the black leather coat. His eyes immediately darted to the bright red gloves on his hands, trailing lower to see the waistcoat with gold accents, then the cinched black pants, and black winklepickers boots. He turned his ankle to see a bit of a raised heel.

Bits of memory trickled in, flecks of cinders from a tamed blaze.

That demon-like entity, his suit red, the lanky frame bearing large, arching wings, densely packed with black feathers, and the towering top-hat sitting neatly over the log-horn mask with that twisted, wide grin. "Detest the enemies before you! Change that animosity into power . . . and unleash it!" black wings gently ruffled and flapped, the black feathers a thick curtain. "This power of mine is yours! Kill them however you want. Run wild to your heart's content! Force open the cage you call composure!"

Akira remembered holding Ann behind him with one hand, the other pointing squarely at the guards who held Ryuji against the wall, and with a swift strike, the humanoid reduced them to a plume of gray smoke, leaving behind a distinct scent of heavy incense and smoldering ash. He remembered Kamoshida, that other Ann, and that boy Ryuji named Mishima stumbling back, fleeing, but not without sending more guards to restrain him.

There was a dagger sheathed at his side with Ryuji, one that he never saw nor even owned before, yet he recalled how perfectly it fit in his palm, as if it was carved specifically just for him to wield, warm against his gloved touch.

"Swing your blade!" the winged being ordered, his voice firm and almost eager, as if he's been waiting to act for years. "No point in hesitancy."

He recalled lunging forward onto one of the armored bodies, stabbing that dagger into the gaps of the face plate, thick falls of smoke spilling out, pushing the blade deeper and deeper, a hand gripping onto the armor to stay close, the sharp screech of metal against metal until the body dropped below him, burning away to nothing. He felt that sharp snarl across his lips, the rage and hatred and bitterness blood in his veins.

That guy who cried assault. That sick bastard teacher. That monster of a mother.

Now, in a much more calm state, he rubbed his head again, blinking, processing. "That woman . . . did she do something to me?" he muttered to himself, his hand finding a white domino mask on the ground next to him, the eyes outlined in black, reminiscent of thick lashes.

"What woman?" Ann asked, a hand against his back to help him sit up, Ryuji kneeling on the other side to do the same, but a hold on the shoulder instead. "There was no one else here!"

"There was this woman talking to me. I kind of have no clue what she was saying, but I got the gist of it. Then I saw her hand, and I grabbed it, then the next thing I know . . . well," he gestured to the empty interrogation room, "yeah."

"Oh my god! Aki, dude, how many fingers am I holding up?!"

"Wh-wha--? Three?"

"Oh, good, you haven't flown off the rails yet. Though, you got a hella scary face when you were going at those guards!" Ryuji shuddered. "For such a nice guy, I didn't think you could be so fucking terrifying! It was like you wanted to kill someone."

There are a few people in mind . . .

"Sakamoto, that's not used for anything but eye sight." Ann said with a flat expression.

Ryuji ignored her, nails digging into Akira's shoulder, his eyes large. "Dude, it was fucking crazy! This huge ball of fire came out of nowhere and, like, ate you, then you popped out like a magical girl with a whole-ass Jojo stand! You look so fucking cool too! Real stylish and sexy, in a fancy way. Then you knocked out for a bit there."

Akira blinked again, then coughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up. "Um, thanks?"

Didn't think I'd get called sexy during a time like this. Then again, not like I expected any of . . . this to happen either.

"What the--? Sakamoto, aren't you straight?"

"I can appreciate what I see."

"Guys, we got bigger fish to fry." Akira stumbled to his feet, trying to find his balance. That sinking dread that latched onto him the second he arrived to the place, trying to drag him down, it was gone, he felt light and fast, like he could do anything he wanted. He also noticed that he no longer felt cold, as though wrapped in a thick blanket.

"You're like a walking heat lamp." Ann noticed, touching his arm. "You're so warm!"

"Stay close then." Akira slipped the mask over his eyes, melding into his face, as if it was skin. He could barely feel the weight. He unsheathed the dagger, casting a brief glance at the black blade, glinting in the harsh lights above them. "I'll try to get us out." He took the lead, carefully stepping out into the network of walkways, the place oddly empty, prompting Ryuji to comment how he thought the place would be on high alert, a sentiment shared amongst them.

"Maybe they're trying to . . . Never mind, I got nothing." Ann shook her head. "Not like an explanation even matters right now. We gotta go!"

Logically, they searched for the nearest set of stairs going up, running around almost blindly in the dungeons. With the occasional guard who stood in their way, Akira did what he could to subdue them. It came to him naturally, to lash out and drive that dagger into any open spot not covered by armor, the plumes of smoke wrapping between his fingers and up his arms, before falling down along the collapsing body as it decayed to nothing.

Of course, though, needlessly taking out every thing in sight whittled away at his strength and stamina, so the best way to move was staying low and hidden.

"Jesus, man, you coat keeps flying around every time you walk." Ryuji said, smacking it away from his face when the three of them crouched behind a wall, stuffing themselves into the narrow space. "I bet the second we walk through a door, it'll get caught." he quietly chuckled at the imagery.

"This place is so weird. It follows logic, but it's own version of it." Ann spoke up, brushing back the hair from her neck. "Kurusu, are you a gymnast?"

"Yeah. But gymnastics doesn't make you jump twenty feet in the air without equipment." Akira touched the damp floor beneath him, the nearby shadows dancing across it from the patrolling guards. "This place feels like a lucid nightmare made real." he glanced over at Ryuji, who was kneeling behind him and Ann, a hand massaging his right leg, specifically around his thigh, as if he was trying to ease out some discomfort. " . . . Ryuji, back in that room, you said that Kamoshida broke your leg."

Ann's eyes widened, snapping her head at the delinquent. "You did!" she gasped. "With all the stuff happening, I totally forgot about that."

Ryuji quietly coughed, keeping his eyes down at his leg, tightly clutching it. ". . . Yeah. Last year, bastard gave the team and I a beating for not getting a better time. I was pissed, but I sucked it up, like everyone else, ya know? But then . . ." he gritted his teeth, feeling the shame and anger burning into his throat from the pit of his stomach. "Fuck that guy. He started bashing my mom, saying she was a bad parent because I was her kid, someone she didn't want. Maybe he was right, but she loves me just as much I love her, and I know that for a fact. I don't care who beats my ass up, but the second anyone brings my mom into the problem, I fucking lose it! And I did. I punched him right in the jaw, and he nearly clocked his head against the weightlifting gear." he fell to a pause, trying to recollect his breath, slow and steady, silently counting the seconds, before speaking once more. "He grabbed one of the dumbbells and--"

"No." Akira's voice was firm and low, his focus entirely zeroed in on the staircase at the other side of the room, knowing if he turned now, his composure would break. "Don't say anymore."

Ann wasn't sure what to do, but put a comforting hand on Ryuji's arm. "Sakamoto . . ."

Ryuji could feel their stares and tucked his head lower, his free hand touching his face, as if he was trying to hide himself from them. ". . . I lost my scholarship." he mumbled, barely audible. "I worked so damn hard to get it, then I go and fuck it up because of my damn temper. My mom almost went into debt because of the hospital bills, and the physical therapy . . ." A wavering, struggling breath, a hand massaging his temples as he tried to stay calm. "I should've just kept my damn head down like always."

For a moment, it was just silence, latching onto them.

The distant dripping of water, the crackling of lit torches, the heavy footsteps of the guards wandering through the grounds.

The shuffling of shoes against stone, the ruffles of clothes shifting and moving as they fidgeted, searching for what to say to diffuse the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"Do you think you did the right thing?" Akira spoke, his voice still low.

There wasn't a reply, not an immediate one, at least.

". . . That's fine. You don't have to answer." he got up from his kneel, but remained in a crouch. "Come on, before the guards find us. Can you still walk? I've noticed you started limping more."

"Of course I can still fucking walk--!" Ryuji's body immediately proved him wrong by buckling. "Th-that was . . . just a fluke!" he gritted his teeth, trying to stand, but his right leg was shaking, the constant running, climbing, and not to mention the attack in the interrogation room, were definitely catching up to him. "Hold on, I just gotta . . ."

"Here, lean on me." Ann offered, putting his arm around her shoulders. "I owe you one for earlier."

"Nah, don't worry about it, Takamaki, I wasn't gonna leave you behind for those guys." He tried to pull away, but she kept a firm grip on him.

"Now isn't the time for that. Just until we get out of here."

None of them really know how much time passed, but it was definitely enough to miss school. Maybe not entirely, but enough of the classes get some repercussions from the district and their guardians, which made Akira gnaw on his knuckle as he surveyed for nearby guards.

How the Hell am I going to bullshit my way through Mr Sakura?

He obviously couldn't say, "Hey, a few other students and I dropped into this weird place that had an ungodly amount of red, and this pedophilic gym teacher in his underwear was nearly killed us and tried assaulting this girl. Oh, and I also became a magical girl in the process and may or may not have seen God."

Yeah, there's no fucking way I can make any of that sound logical.

Doesn't matter how many times he twisted and cut out parts of the story, there wouldn't be much of an excuse adequate enough to pull the absence off.

"Any ideas on a cover-up story?" Ryuji spoke up after an hour or two of silence, which was only punctuated by low, heaving breaths and quick, shuffling footsteps.

Ann tugged on her hair, fidgeting with one of the twin tails. "Um . . . the roads closed due to rain?"

"We've been in here for hours though, there's no way that's gonna fly!"

"Kurusu?"

Akira sunk his teeth deeper into the thick glove. "We almost got caught in a crossfire of a gang war?"

"This ain't Yakuza or Durarara." Ryuji deadpanned.

"Hell you want me to say then?"

"We'll figure that out later!" Ann urged them to keep moving, barely able to stop herself from fidgeting in place. "Feels like it got colder."

The former athlete nodded along. "Definitely. Getting some ominous vibes too." a hand rubbed his chest, as if it ached. "Shit . . . the fucking dread ain't helping either."

It'd be great if we had a guide, Akira thought to himself as they went down a set of stairs, which opened up to some sort of indoor courtyard. It was an expansive place, and if it weren't for the walls surrounding them in the distance, it would've looked like they were outside of the palace. The location was by no means empty though: multiple boys were locked in cages, and some had no flooring, suspended over dugouts filled with burning coal, forcing the captives to hang onto the bars. Some stuck running on treadmills with spikes pointed directly at the back of their necks, others balancing on one foot with bricks hanging off their hands, their arms trembling but didn't dare to let drop under the watchful eyes of nearby guards. There were more cruel but unusual forms of torture scattered about, though none of them wanted to keep looking.

"Holy shit, it's the old track team!" Ryuji gasped. "There's Satoshi, Tanaka, Kirishima . . . Why are they here?!"

"No, their eyes! It's that weird glowing yellow." Ann pointed out. "Oh my god . . . Just what is this place?"

"It's like we stepped into Kamoshida's mind. Ew. I wanna get out right now before I see any girls, if those damn lewd statues weren't gross enough."

"They're definitely going to be like that other Takamaki." Akira said, staying hidden and low as always. "I wanna help those guys, but they have yellow eyes . . . If Takamaki's guess is right, that everyone here is like some imitation, is it worth the trouble of getting caught?" upon seeing Ryuji's reluctant expression he added on, "oh, no, I didn't mean we shouldn't help them at all--"

"No, no, like, I get it." he said, waving off the words, letting his gaze fall to the side. "One of those guys--Kirishima, I think--dude transferred out to Kosei last year, before summer break, so he shouldn't even be here at all. As if any of them should be. I know it ain't them, but seeing their faces here is . . . weird. Makes me feel like I'm ditching them to die."

"Doesn't look like we can sneak our way around." Ann cut in, noticing just how open the entire floorplan was. "Too many guards, and the guys are definitely going to alert them."

With nowhere else to go, they backtracked, continuing to aimlessly wander and get lost, and occasionally collecting what may be useful items for Akira: ammo, spare blades, some sort of glass bottle with bright magenta liquid simply labeled SP--none of them dared try to open it, but they brought it along in case it was worth while--and some med-kits.

"Jesus Christ, this really is a JRPG." Ryuji sighed, pulling away from Ann to alleviate his weight from her shoulders, leaning against a nearby wall. "I don't even know why I'm still questioning this place, but I can't help it."

"That gun Kurusu has isn't even real either." Ann said, taking it from the young man's hand, examining it. "It's not shiny and heavy like an actual gun, but it still shoots bullets!"

"Its fake?!" Ryuji grabbed it, careful to not accidentally pull the trigger. It was light and warm in his hand, the smooth plastic carved to imitate the texture of metal, which easily gave away that it was just a model of a firearm. But from a distance, and with how much Akira swung it around, the guards wouldn't pause to notice it wasn't real, all they cared about was not getting shot or stabbed by the boy. "Holy shit." he looked over at Akira. "I thought you, like, go to shooting ranges as a hobby, firing bullets like it was nothing."

"Does playing first-person shooter games count?"

"Then that makes me a certified surgeon." Ann sarcastically piped in. She then sighed and rubbed her head. "Even if we escape this building, how do we leave this place?"

"It has to be the same way as we came in." Akira said, rubbing his chin, the knuckle of his index finger shifting to his teeth to be gnawed on. Though, none of them even knew how they got into the place at all. They quite literally walked through an alleyway and ended up there at the front gates, surrounded by sheer drops all around. A fleeting thought of trying to jump into the void came up, but he immediately flicked it away, as it was obviously dumb.

Then again, this world they were in didn't follow logic: a piece of reverie shaped as reality.

Ryuji definitely explained this whole thing pretty well, everything being like a JRPG . . . Wait . . . Wait!

His eyes widened.

The way the guards patrol so predictably, and how they fight me in a straightforward way, it's almost like NPCs, and their background conversations are always short and simple, nothing interesting. The med-kit are all labeled with HP, we can fit an absurd amount of shit in our pockets and school bags, and half of the shit I can pull off in this place . . .

He grabbed one of the school bags from Ann and rummaged through it, pulling out that weird bottle with SP written across the label. Though he didn't play that genre of games, he was definitely familiar with their terms and acronyms, and SP typically meant skill points, or at least something that let the characters do special moves, like summoning certain supports.

"Kurusu, what are you--? Kurusu!"

The two blonds yelped in horror when Akira popped off the lid and downed the contents, not a drop of hesitancy in his action.

It was thick and chalky, like he was forcing a glass full of edible mica powder into his system. It coated his tongue and mouth in medicinal, pungent bitterness, glugging against his throat, making him cough and choke. "Holy shit, that's awful!" he gagged, a hand around his neck, as if trying to squeeze the taste out of his mouth, the strong flavor oddly making him salivate a lot, similar to eating really spicy food. "I thought it'd be sweet or taste like cheap cherry flavoring! Feels like I got cat-fished by how bright the color was."

"Ew, your spit's all pink . . ." Ryuji noticed when it dripped from the corner of Akira's lips.

"Looks like you ate an entire tube of food coloring." Ann commented, taking out a napkin for him to use.

"More like Barbie. Tastes as old as her." the young man wiped his mouth clean, then cleared his throat of the thick substance. "I didn't die instantly, but I feel pretty good." a hand rested on his chest. "My heart feels . . . fiery?" it was difficult to describe, certainly something that had to be experienced to be understood: there was a burning in his chest, similar to the one he felt when he went through that transformation, but it was a lot more bearable, with a warm, kindling feel.

Ah, took you long enough.

Akira blinked. "You guys said something?"

"Huh? No?" Ryuji replied. "You tripping again and seeing that lady?"

A shame you have no guide to explain all this to you.

"Wait, that voice . . ." the young masked man looked around the relatively empty hall, searching for the source. "Arsène?" he never heard of the name before, let alone know anyone called by it, yet it was already on his tongue, as if it was always with him.

I am your Persona, the embodiment of your rebellion, the Pillager of Twilight.

"My rebellion? Persona?"

"Oh my god, Sakamoto, I think he's losing it."

"I mean, I would too in this Hellscape."

They can't hear you?

Why would they? Unless you rather we were more acquainted.

Assuming that you know how all this works, yeah, that'd be great.

Very well then, my user, your word is my will. Follow my instructions carefully . . .

The Persona guided the group through the winding halls and evade nearby guards--with Arsène occasionally answering some of Akira's questions--then to a rather unassuming door tucked behind the corner of the right wall.

The three stepped in, finding themselves in what may be some sort of spare room, rather sparse of anything but some wooden crates, a table, and a couple of chairs that looked too rickety or unstable. Almost instantly, Akira noticed that Ryuji and Ann seemed to be doing better in the new location, their body language less stiff and guarded, a bit more lax, but still vigilant of coming danger as Ann helped eased Ryuji into a chair.

"Takamaki, I appreciate it, but don't treat me like a kid. My leg just hurts, not broken."

"Sorry, sorry! I just wanted to make sure you're okay." she then pulled back her hair. "This place . . . the dread doesn't feel as intense." the young woman noticed, setting the school bags on the table. "How did you find this room? I didn't even see the door."

"This is a saferoom." a new voice replied to her.

"What the fuck?!" Ryuji screamed, launching his back into Akira's chest whilst Ann's legs gave out, knocking her into the boys' legs, all three looking up at the winged being who appeared before them. "Oh, wait! You're that thing that saved me from Kamoshida! Uh . . . who are you?"

"Guys, this is Arsène," Akira introduced, gesturing to the tall entity, "he's my Persona, and can appear in here because Kamoshida's oppression isn't as strong." with Arsène, they explained what could be answered, such as their location in the place called the Metaverse, a physical embodiment and creation of minds and consciousness--all three just about combusted trying to understand how that worked--the people with yellow eyes called shadows, and so forth. It was quite a bit of information, of course, rather unceremoniously dumped on them, piling more and more questions that may or may not have answers.

"Wait, so all of this is, like, real?"

"Yes."

"But it's also not?"

"Somewhat."

"So, wait, hold on, the literal power of imagination works here?"

"Depending."

That sort of back-and-forth was often. While Arsène was cooperative and patient enough to answer their questions, he did grow a bit frustrated by what he couldn't answer, or more obvious questions.

"How does any of this work?"

"I don't know. I'm just a Persona."

"Is there a limit to what can be a Persona? Like, can Hatsune Miku or Joan of Arc be one?"

"If she's in the collective conscious, yes. There's no limit what can be a Persona, even mere concepts."

"You saying someone's Persona can be fucking Jesus Christ or God?!"

"No, no, hold on, the more pressing matter is how we can fit so much stuff in our pockets and bags."

"I don't know. I'm just a Persona." Arsène repeated with a sigh, rubbing the face of his mask. "I didn't think my existence as a Persona would entail becoming a babysitter . . ." he muttered, his wings twitching slightly.

"Oh my god!" Ryuji gasped, covering his mouth and wide eyes. "I was right! We are in that pervy teacher's mind!" he then grimaced. "Oh, ew, fuck that!"

Ann rubbed her head. "Oh, god . . . That other me is how Kamoshida sees me?!" an arm tightly wrapped around her stomach as she doubled over, swaying a little, her face pale and sickly. "Ugh . . . hurk . . . !"

"Oh, shit!" Akira grabbed the nearest bucket and let Ann wretch into it, holding back her hair.

Ryuji looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Damn . . . Um, I think I got water in my bag, hold on." he muttered, not really sure what to do, so he dug into the school bag, pulling out and opening the container.

Akira took the bottle and handed it off to Ann, who rinsed out the leftover bile, spitting it into the bucket.

"Ugh . . ."

"You look like shit."

"Ryuji!" Akira firmly hissed, a jerk of he head to tell him to keep his mouth shut.

"Huh? Oh! I-I didn't mean it like that, Takamaki! I, uh, I meant that you look sick right now." the former athlete stumbled through his words.

Ann wearily waved her hand. "It's . . . it's fine . . . For now." she groaned, rubbing her cold sweat riddled head. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it." Akira reassured, helping the woman to her feet, and into a chair.

"Use the ailment vial." Arsène suggested, sitting on the tabletop near her. "It's the one in a teal-like hue, a long and thin glass with a twisted cap. It should be labeled with 'cleanse'."

Ann grabbed the nearest school bag with her head on the table, hand blindly rummaging through in contents till it closed in on the glass thing. She pull it out, uncapped it, then tentatively sniffed it, getting a waft of soap. "It smells like shampoo. Is this even safe?"

"If Aki can down that weird pink stuff earlier to talk to this big guy over here, I think you'll live." Ryuji then glanced at the Persona. "Holy shit, you are big." he muttered under his breath, staring up at the grinning mask. "I bet you can pick my ass up like I'm a toy."

"I certainly can."

With a simple huff, she sipped it. Then gagged the second it touched her tongue, the pungent bitterness with the strong chemical flavor taking over her taste buds, with an artificially sweet scent flooding her nose. "It tastes like shampoo too!"

"Just plug your nose." Ryuji said.

"Fine, fine." she did as told, drinking the rest of the watery solution, forcing herself to swallow even though her body tried to reject it, and definitely felt suds forming as it went down. "Just one thing after another here . . ." she coughed, wiping her mouth. "But I do feel better. A lot better, actually." she leaned back in the chair, fidgeting with the empty vial. "So, what now?"

"If you want to escape a palace, follow where the air grows warmer." the Persona spoke, tucking a leg over the other. "The colder and heavier the air, the deeper you tread into his distortions."

"Shit." Akira cursed under his breath. "We've just been wandering around aimless for ages."

"Ah, don't fret, my user. Time between the Metaverse and real world are different. An hour here is one a couple minutes out there."

"Sounds like harsh jetlag." he sighed, dropping himself into a chair, rubbing his head. "Any advice on how to escape?"

"The same way you got in."

"But there's literally nothing around us!" Ryuji spoke up, jumping up from the chair. "Just a bunch of cliffs! Less you mean we gotta make a leap of faith."

"You do." Arsène simply confirmed. With all attention snapped to him, he continued, "The edge of reality is the Metaverse, and vice versa. Though, you may be wondering how you ever stumbled upon this world of distorted desires. Not many are given the chance to encounter this realm, unless you became a guest of the Velvet Room."

Akira blinked, stiffening slightly. ". . . The Velvet Room?" he repeated. "I've been there. I thought it was a weird dream. Wait, how do you know any of this?"

"Regard it as an innate knowledge all Personas possess, like how a human knows to crawl, breath, or swallow. As I was saying, after your first visit to that place, you'll immediately encounter the Metaverse. As for these two," he passed an eyeless glance over Ann and Ryuji, "they were unfortunately caught in the transfer. Luckily for you, my user, you awakened me by rebelling the oppression casted upon by that man. Shadow Kamoshida."

"What? I just wanted to save Ryuji and Takamaki. And . . ." his gaze dropped to the tabletop, his thoughts fluttering back to that entire encounter in the interrogation room, ". . . try my luck to find Ren."

"Huh? Who's Ren?" Ann spoke up.

"Long story-short, his bro."

"I see, I see." Arsène nodded along. "But it's still the will to fight. You could've let logic and common sense take route, let the oppression and malicious power keep you passive on your knees, but you resisted, and attacked. Tell me, my user, though your reason was to save these two and find your brother, is fighting back still not a rebel? Refusal to obey the order of nature of even dying, the laws set by someone higher than you?"

Well, when you put it like that . . .

Exactly.

"Huh?! You can read my thoughts?!"

"I am thou, thou art I."

So, in a literal sense then. Huh . . . I thought you were saying that to sound cool or whatever.

"Okay, yeah, everything's making a little bit more sense now." Akira muttered, rubbing his chin, thinking on what to do next. After a moment of pondering, he nodded to himself. "Okay, I got it. Follow the warmer air back to the front gates of this place. But I can't feel the cold if having a Persona keeps me warm."

Arsène sighed, rubbing the brows of his mask. "Is intuition and instinct not a thing anymore?"

"Rude." Though, in hindsight, maybe Akira should've followed his gut feelings a bit more while wandering around like a headless chicken.

"Additionally," Arsène spoke up once more, "it's ill-advised to use your real name after awakening."

"Oh, thanks for telling us that after Takamaki and I been calling him by his name the whole time!"

"Well, to be fair, not like he could talk to us." Ann cut Arsène some slack, then glanced at the Persona. "But why? Is bad luck going to follow him?"

"More so it'll make it more difficult for the Metaverse to let him go. Though this realm of red and distortions is not sentient nor alive of any sorts, it bears some semblance of awareness. The more you utter his name, the tighter it'll hold him. But you, girl, and that delinquent boy are safe. Neither of you are awakened. The Metaverse don't know your presences here."

The three stared at him blankly.

". . . Okay, that's not horrifying." Akira mumbled largely to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, what I'm hearing is I need a codename."

Ryuji was the first to eagerly propose a name, "Oh, oh! How about Rebel?"

Ann scoffed. "That's boring." she waved off. "Look at him and Arsène! It has to be a classy codename. Something like . . . um . . . Don't stare at me, I'm trying to think!" she turned away from the three men's faces, tapping her foot. "Never mind, I give up. Ugh . . . What about you?" she asked Akira, who pondered on it.

"I like the names Jun or Tatsuya."

"Lame." Ann commented, a sentiment shared with Ryuji and Arsène, which rather offended Akira.

"Arsène!"

"You may be my user, but even I am disappointed." the Persona sighed, shaking his head. "Why not Joker? You are the wildcard, someone capable of changing their Personas freely."

"Oh, Hell yeah!" Ryuji agreed with a grin. "Short and snappy, and goes great with his vibe."

"Are we done talking yet? I wanna leave." Ann interjected. "Can't stand being here any longer . . ."

With nothing else to discuss, they picked themselves up and pressed on, following Arsène's advice and tips to navigate through the palace. It took a bit of time and work to avoid the shadows, and on occasions even Shadow Kamoshida or his versions of someone from the school, often times girls Ann recognized being from the volleyball team, dressed in fetishized copies of the school and sports uniforms, costumes, and the like.

Soon, Akira and Ann recognized where they were: the main hall they ran through hours ago when they were being chased by the guards.

Though, it was a bit strange that the front doors were wide open--

Ann shrieked as if she was being murdered, forcibly pulled back by Shadow Kamoshida, the black-armored guards emerging from behind the pillars like roaches coming out for a feast.

"Takamaki!" The two boys exclaimed.

"Let her go, jackass!" Ryuji snapped, stepping forward, his hands tightly curled into a fist, his knuckles blurring to white. "Should've known it was getting too easy to escape!"

Akira reached for his mask. "Ar--! Fuck!"  he flinched when his arm was forced behind his back, the guard that swiftly apprehended him throwing the boy onto the ornate runner rug. He tried to at least lift his head, but the cold metal of the gauntlet kept him down, just out giving him carpet burn on his cheek.

"Let go of me!' Ann demanded, struggling against the gym teacher, but being much bigger and stronger than her, he simply laughed mockingly at her attempts. "I'll claw your eyes out!"

The only person left standing was the former athlete, yet he couldn't take a step, let alone do anything. He could see that eager, triumphant light in Shadow Kamoshida's eyes as he kept a firm hold on Ann's arms, pinning it behind her back, her shoulders twisted in a way to make her squirm and struggle even more to at least alleviate the pressure, and the heavy hand of the guard could easily crack Akira's skull open with a squeeze.

Ryuji swallowed thickly, cold sweat beading down the back of his neck, nails imprinting half-moons into his palms.

Shit . . .

Amber eyes darted between Akira and Ann, as if making sure not a single muscle--not a single attempt on Shadow Kamoshida's end--was even twitched. He didn't dare to even blink, his wide eyes starting to burn.

Shit . . . shit . . .

He thought for a moment, if he pivots now, and dives to grab Akira's gun, he could fire a shot, but he never held a firearm in his entire life, and one wrong angle, and someone's going to get hurt regardless if his shot hit the right target. He wouldn't be fast enough to pull the trigger a second time.

This sick bastard is fucking with me, isn't he?

Ryuji's hand found his leg. The old fraction site. He wanted nothing more to curse at his past self. If he didn't lash out, he'd be fast enough to do something. Something. Anything. But a part of him knew it wouldn't had worked out; it was simply wishful thinking at that very moment.

Shitshitshitshit!

"You son of a bitch!" the words came out harsher than he anticipated, rough against his throat, bitter sandpaper on his tongue. "I'll fucking break your jaw!"

"You sound like your dad."

Shut up, shut up, shut up! He's wrong, you're better than him! You're better!

"You're just like him, punk." Shadow Kamoshida pushed further. "You yell as much as him, and hit whatever's near you. You hurt people because you let your anger decide everything for you, just like him. How long will it be till you strike at your mom? Till you're just like him and I and prey some bitch with no self-respect to use and toss out?"

"You're sick getting off to this . . . !" the words came out heavy and clumsy, an obvious attempt to not let that man overpower him like last time. The second he slips again, and it'll be all over. "I . . . I'll never be like you, or him!"

"Of course not!" the man's twisted grin widened, the corners of his lips stretched thin across his stubbled cheeks inhumanly. "You were always your dad."

Ryuji's breath stopped completely. For a moment. Just a moment. But long enough to suffocate him, his throat closing up as he choked to steady himself, but he could feel the floor under him sway slightly. His stomach lurched and churned harshly, the cold of the Metaverse leeching off him.

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm calmcalmcalmcalm!

He forced his head into his hands, his breath heavy and strained, counting to himself each inhale and exhale as though it was his last.

Calmcalmcalmcalmcalmcalmcalmcalm!

His hair tangled into his knuckles, the roots spiking pain into the scalp as he kept up the vain mantra.

"Shut up!" Akira snapped, even though he was in no position to make such demands.

"You think you have the right to speak? You're just some criminal shoved off to the city!"

". . . What?" Ryuji blinked, staring at the masked man from the corner of his eyes, between his fingers.

"What?" Ann gasped, eyes wide, the sudden information making her stop struggling. "Joker, you . . . you . . . ?" she wasn't even sure what to say, too much happening at once to process.

Akira felt the cold dread striking him into the core. ". . . H . . . How did you . . . ?"

He's a teacher . . . Of course he'd know . . . ! The Principal said that all of the staff knows for their safety . . .

He gritted his teeth. "It was fraud!"

"Lie all you want! We all know you're guilty!"

"The only guilt I have was breaking my promises to Ren!" he struggled to free up his hand from under the guard's grip, and shoved back that pained whimper when the shadow added more pressure to stop him.

"Don't kill those trespassers yet." Shadow Kamoshida poked a finger into Ann's face. "I want them to watch when I ruin this girl-- Ah!" he pulled his hand back, teeth marks starting to prickle blood. "You bitch!"

Ann yelped from the hard smack across her cheek.

Ryuji flinched, as if it was him who was struck instead. That noise alone brought back too many memories of those days.

Move. Move. Move.

His feet remained cemented into the rug.

Move move move.

He couldn't feel his body. His chest, it burned and clawed from the inside out, trying to escape his skin, fighting to erupt and devour everything in sight, to engulf and destroy that figment of the man who ruined everything.

Damn him to Hell if he died in that place.

What would his mom do if he disappeared without a trace?

No body for her to bury and grieve?

No closure as to what happened her only family left?

No reason to keep living anymore after losing everything?

Movemovemovemovemovemove--

Razor sharp nails--yet didn't nip a hair or skin--latched over his eyes, cold yet not callously so.

"You made me wait quite a while, lad." a gruff voice spoke. "You seek power, yes?"

Wh-what the fuck?! What?!

It didn't matter, this opportunity was offering itself to him, and by god he will hold it closer and tighter than he did with the lost scholarship. He will swallow it whole and bury it deep into his blood so it would never escape him. He gritted his teeth, brows furrowing. "If using your power means we can escape this place, and beat Kamoshida's ass for everything he did to us, give it to me! All of it!" his hand held like weights, but he pushed through, fighting against the other man's hand to part the claw-like fingers. He seared the vitriolic glare into Shadow Kamoshida's hazed grin. "If I'm my dad, then I'll fucking prove him wrong that people like us can change!"

He remembered vividly of ever incident with that man; the bruises on a child's skin, the tears and blood on the mother's face, the alcohol and shame embedded into the floors he scrubbed to escape that nightly tragedy.

"Ay, lad! That's it!" he let out a hardy laugh. "Your name's already been disgraced. You have nothing to lose. Hoist the flag and wreak havoc! There is no turning back. From this day forward, the skull of rebellion is your flag henceforth! A broken candle still has wick that burns!" his hold over Ryuji's eyes tightened, but the boy forced that claw to stay parted, the fireworks in motion smoldering and burning. "I am thou, thou art I!"

Embers plumed from Ryuji's heaving mouth, spreading and cleansing, consuming him whole, a torch of blazing blue and blinding white, striking forward in a blur of rapidly extinguishing flames.

A plate of cold metal cracked right into Shadow Kamoshida's jaw, the sudden force sending him back and crashing painfully onto the stairs behind him, the direct hit of his spin making him scream and writhe, whilst Ann was ripped out of his grasps and into warmth, the borderline paralyzing cold and dread vanishing almost instantly the second the shadow lost his grip.

Ann coughed to catch her breath, her legs giving out, back hitting against a hard kneepad. She looked up to find Ryuji, who flashed a reassuring grin at her under the gunmetal skull mask. "W . . . whoa . . ." was all she could manage, blinking, her eyes dropping from his obscured face to the bright red ascot, then the black leather jacket matching his pants and elbow pads, the small triangular rivets directing her attention to the yellow gloves with knuckle protectors. She moved her head to avoid hitting the double-sided holster belt lined in ammo, and caught a glimpse of metal replica of his spine down his back. ". . . Th . . . thanks."

"No prob." he pivoted on his heel, taking advantage of stunned shock, a sawed-off shotgun already in his hand, blasting a shot right into the temples of the shadow that held Akira down. The body staggered back before instantly disintegrating. "Get up, Joker, we got people waiting for us!"

"Stamp them down, lad!" an eager skeleton pirate made his entrance, breaking free from the cocoon of fire and smoke, a cannon for a hand and a ship with a toothy grin carved across the sea-soaked wooden stern under his leather boots. "If all you are is anger, give it a reason to exist! If the people hate you, give them a reason why! I am Captain Kidd, Pirate Legend. Your word is my bounty."

"Bust the damn door down, we ain't spending another second in here!"

Like a bunch of grapes, the pirate easily nabbed up the three with one arm, and took aim with the other. With a lurch back--followed by some yelps--the cast iron ball ripping through the bodies and splintered wood and shattered marble. Small hands frantically gripped onto the Persona's thick sleeve, and ground the ship touched dissolving into the ocean, the salt spraying onto their faces as it steam lined right out of the fray, aggravated screams and yells tailing them.

The three jostled and tossed around like flailing fish in a net, desperately trying not to slip out from the Persona's hold.

"Aye, lads and lass! Brace yerselves!"

"Wait, what--?!"

A chorus of screams sliced through the air when Kidd threw them, the adrenaline of his awakening sputtering out into embers. The students tumbled and rolled against the cold, flat stone of the platform, and right through a door that was certainly not there before

Akira sharply panted, gasping for breath, his legs nearly giving out. He stumbled, pushing his back against the damp alleyway wall, eyes darting from Ann and Ryuji trying to recollect themselves, disorientated as well. ". . . Oh . . . oh my god . . ." he wheezed.

"Oh, fuck, I feel like jelly . . ." Ryuji tried to stand up straight, but he kept slipping into a shaky crouch. He dug his fingertips into the all for support.

"I-is everyone . . . ugh . . ." Ann covered her mouth for a moment, sitting on the driest patch of concrete in the alley, then continued, "is everyone okay?"

Akira replied back with a wavering voice, and Ryuji just flashed a thumb's-up.

"Okay, that's good. Ugh . . . I don't have motion sickness, but that definitely did something . . ."

"You gonna vomit again, Ann? I ain't got anymore water for ya."

"Since when we're on first name basis?"

"We literally almost died together like a million times, we're on first name basis now. Come here." Ryuji pulled her back to her feet, the their bodies rebalancing themselves out. He took out his phone. "What the--? That whole shit was 6 minutes?! Felt like 6 hours!"

"Arsène said that time between here and the Metaverse is different." Akira reminded, letting out a heavy breath, rubbing his head. "I thought I'd be jetlagged to Hell and back, but I feel pretty okay. Surprisingly enough."

Though, for how long?

"We gotta go! We're late for school!" Ann urged.

"Can't we catch our damn breath first?!"

"Do it later, we're not in the clear yet!"

.

.

.

A small body of black, bristled fur smacked against the jail bars of the Velvet Room.

How unfortunate that the time he gets locked in there was when Igor, the attendants, and other familiars are away, busy with other matters.

"Dang it, dang it, dang it!" He hissed, his tail and ears twitching, using the frame of his slingshot to hit the bars, a sharp pierce ringing through the empty room. "Help! Help!" He yelled. "Ugh . . . At a time like this too!" The cat groaned. "I'm supposed to be with the trickster by now!" He stuffed his slingshot back into his scarf.

He paced in the small cell, debating if he should summon that woman, the thought making his fur bristle even more till he looked like a ball of spikes. "Ugh . . . I don't want to . . . Ahh! But if the trickster gets hurt, I won't hear the end of it from her, Master Igor, or the attendants!" He then huffed, grabbed the thick bars with small paws, and shouted, "Ne, ne, Kitsu, ne!"

The words echoed back to him. Not a single person to hear his call.

He tried again, louder this time, growing more impatient as he yelled again and again, stomping his little paw into the cold concrete. "Come on, I know you hear me! Don't make keep using that dumb chant! Kitsu! Kitsu! Kitsu!"

The soft, subtle clicks of of wooden getas echoed through the empty space of the expansive, circular room

"Why are you in there, Morgana?" The woman of ancient beauty sighed, finally making her appearance. "And don't scream like that, it's improper to be so loud in a prestigious place." She tossed back the long sheet of white hair, the sleeve of the white and gold kimono with red accents striking with its ancient, once traditional patterns. The white-eyed gaze under the white kabuki half-mask--accented and detailed with green and black, with a red dot between the brows--narrowed at the cat as she crossed her arms. "Did you upset Margaret-jū san-i again?"

"No!"

"Then why are you in the cell?"

"Just let me out!" he huffed, banging on the bars. "I need to find the trickster! I'm already late to meet him because you took your sweet time like the fossil you are!"

"Hmph. Uncouth." Kitsu scoffed, turning her back on the feline. "Velvet Room familiars of this day have no respect nor manners, carrying themselves lofty as though they are a daimyō. I have no reason to help if all you do is yowl and insult. Now then, I have a meeting with Igor-shō ichi-i, and I rather not keep him waiting before the trickster comes tonight."

"Wait! No, no, no, please don't go!" Morgana begged, putting up his best kitten eyes. "I didn't mean to disrespect you. Honest! Please open the door, Kitsu." his ears drooped, flat against his head as hs tail tucked between his stubby legs. "I can do some favors for you!"

Kitsu huffed again, but she relented and unlatched the cell door with a lockpick, swinging the grate open. "The trickster already left the Metaverse with his Persona yesterday, I saw him. There's no point in finding him over there. He should be in the real world now."

Morgana blinked. Then again, more slowly. ". . . What?! I already missed him?! B-b-but I thought I still had time! A whole day?!"

"Time flows differently between the Velvet Room and Metaverse, and the real world." she reminded, crossing her arms. "You are a familiar, this is something you should already know. Perhaps you should take Lavenza-jū san-i's advice keep a, what did she call it? A schedule? Time table?"

He ignored her, running past the woman and launching right out the door of the realm, the dark fog thickly veiling his body before he broke through as a tuxedo cat on the smaller side, the yellow scarf shrinking into a collar with his nametag. The lightly perfumed, almost smoky scent of the Velvet Room was replaced by the acrid and pungent hit of gas, exhaust fumes, and wet trash. He pawed his nose with a grimace. "Ugh, why this place?" he groaned. "If I'm here, that means the trickster is nearby."

The slender body slinked between the alleyway and legs, bright blue eyes darting from person to person, his short neck straining from how often he looked up to examine their passing faces.

Lady Lavenza said that the trickster goes by Akira Kurusu, and she also showed me that picture of him.

He stepped out to the main street, watching the wave of people rushing by himself without a spare glance nor thought.

But there's too many people here! And the rain definitely doesn't help too . . .

His tail flicked in thought, paws digging at the wet concrete, then rubbed his eyes to clear off the cold sprays on his face.

Kitsu said that he already awakened his Persona, so maybe . . . I guess I could just go screaming his name and hope he looks over. Whatever first face looks surprised by a talking cat should be telling enough.

And so he went off, yelling as loud as he could, hoping that his frantic meows doesn't prompt someone to try to grab him before he finds his companion.

People pushed and stumbled as he wove between their wet shoes, puddles splashing and soaking cold water into his numbing paws. Voices overlapped and overpowered each other, making him give up on trying to catch his companion's attention, any attempts he made quickly drowned out and swept away into the ever flowing currents.

Morgana hated the city if it wasn't early morning or late night: too much people to move or see, and too much noises to hear or think.

It wasn't long till he was blocked by a wall of legs, and swiped at the nearest pair to make an opening. The unfortunate target was a girl with long orange hair, nearly stepping on Morgana's paws when she jumped, "Ow! What the fuck?"

A woman with short brown hair looked over, the umbrella in her hand shifting. "What's wrong?"

"I think that cat just scratched me." she replied, spotting Morgana dashing out from beneath them.

"You better get it checked out. I know a small clinic nearby."

Ugh, that fossil of a woman, Morgana's thoughts drifted over the Velvet Room incident, and shook his head with an irritated expression, how dare she make me scream like a horse in that cell!

There were too many people, and it must be because it was the end of the day, and crowds of students were coming out of school, rushing to go home or catch up with their friends, umbrellas and damp figures constantly bumping.

He couldn't see like this; with no other choice, he went towards the edge of the main flow, closer to the buildings, rubbing his face dry. "Dang it, dang it, dang it!" he hissed, craning his neck, trying to look under some of the umbrella for the face. "If it was sunny out, this wouldn't be as bad-- hey! Put me down!" he demanded, squirming and writhing in the arm of a young woman with a pink, turtleneck cardigan, who suddenly scooped him up. "You're pretty, but I don't have time to stall right now! I got work to do!"

"You poor thing." she softly said, tucking the pole of the umbrella into the crook of her neck to pet his head to calm his yowling and thrashing. "Why are you so upset? Did someone hurt you? I'm sure Father will let me take care of you after a quick visit to the groomers and vet. He won't know you were a stray once all tidy!"

"Don't--! Oh! That feels nice." Morgana's ears twitched when it was gently scratched, making him pause for a moment. "Wait, no, no, no, gotta go do my job first!"

A tall young man exclaimed when the cat flung himself out of her arms, his paws caught on the man's shirt, making him instinctively grab the feline. "Ah--! Tch, my chest!" he flinched at the claws digging through the fabric.

"Oh! I'm sorry!"

"What an utterly rambunctious cat!" the man huffed, prying Morgana off him. "I advise you should purchase a carrier backpack if you wish to have it out and about with you."

Morgana took advantage of the loose hold and distraction, wriggling himself out of the hands and sprinting away the second his feet found the ground, his escape making the young woman drop her umbrella during the fray.

"Oh, no! I'm terribly sorry!"

"No, no, it's okay! It's actually a stray . . ."

"I'm not a stray, I'm a familiar of the Velvet Room!" the cat huffed under his breath, keeping low against the ground to avoid being grabbed again. He threaded through the alleyways, hopping here and there to avoid the wet trash and puddles, though, his fur was already dripping from the rain once it started to pick up. He groaned and hid under some boxes, sighing. "Where am I supposed to go? I need to make contact with him first before I can start popping up to wherever he is." he sighed again, plopping himself into a black loaf, tail flicking in annoyance. "I had one job and I couldn't even get it right."

.

.

.

Ren peered into the narrow alleyway when he heard a large splash, then a yelp, along with a cat's yowl.

"Ew! I'm all wet!" a student whined, lifting a leg, the water streaming off the soaked uniform pants

"And who's fault was it? No one told you to do it." someone else said, laughing. "Mom's totally gonna beat your ass when she sees your clothes."

The pair continued on, their conversation washed away and faded amongst the damp streets.

He furrowed his brows and checked his phone.

I have some time to spare.

He crept into the alleyway, the edges of the umbrella barely brushing against the walls of the buildings, then crouched near a pile of wet cardboard upon hearing a sneeze. He jumped when the black cat hissed at him. But it's mood abruptly changed to a more passive approach, eyes wide and shocked, yet confused. A series of meows came to him, and he only managed a friendly smile. He carefully and slowly reached out at a distance, and let it sniff his hand. "Hello." he softly said, not a coo but certainly a tone used when speaking to small animals or children to not frighten them. "Are you lost? Please, hold still." he hesitantly grabbed the nametag. "Morgana? What an interesting name for a cat." he turned the tag to the back. "No information. Shame." a soft pet of the index finger against the chin. "You got caught in the splash, didn't you? You'll get sick like this." he paused for a moment, his hand withdrawing, almost like in horror. "Oh, no, I definitely shouldn't bring you with me!" he exclaimed in horror at the passing thought. "Master will use you against me . . . !"

Morgana shivered, partially from the cold, and the implications, a wary mew replying to him.

Ren nodded along. "Yes, yes, I know you don't want to be here. I know a shelter nearby. Come here, please." he didn't make a move yet, watching Morgana's reaction closely, and when he nudged his hand slightly, the hiss made him pull back calmly. "I'm sorry. You must be hungry right now." he tucked the umbrella against his neck, struggling a little as he went through his school bag. ". . . Mm . . . I have some apple slices from lunch."

The white flesh was still lightly aromatic and sweet, just barely beginning to brown.

He laid the plastic lid down as a plate, snapping the slices into smaller, manageable pieces. "It's still fresh." he reassured, and as if to prove it, he took one of the apple pieces and bit into it with a soft crunch.

Morgana could barely hold back a glare, but he was hungry. Eyes darted between Ren and the offering, debating if it was worth destroying his pride and ego even for a moment. Then snatched it with the mannerisms of a saint caught in a bar, gnawing away at the sweet fruit.

Ren let out a low, soft breath of relief. "Good, you can still eat. You don't look sickly, but too much stress can starve you." he went back to his bento box and took out a small silicone cup, the faint smell of meat barely reaching Morgana. "A bit of grease might be okay . . ." he muttered, though unsure, reluctantly pouring some clean water from his bottle, offering it as well, watching the black cat lap it up. 

"Meow, mao, meoww."

"Sorry, that's all I have." Ren sighed at the somewhat begging response, giving away the last bits of apple and water. "Eat what you can, then I'll take you to the shelter. If you let me. I can't afford to make a mess of my school uniform, or else Master would punish me . . ." he shook his head, a hand rubbing his temples. "When I was younger, my brother and I used to watch this old show about a cat teaching morals and life lessons." A small, nostalgic chuckle. "I remember how much we wanted to get a cat, and one of our neighbors had lots of them. Whenever I was too sick to leave bed, Akira would bring one of them in, and we'd all sleep together. There was this black cat he really liked. It was a lazy thing, always wanting to sleep. But, looking back . . ." he tilted his head up, moving the umbrella away just enough to look up at the dark, cloudy skies, "I think it was old and sick. One night, our neighbor said that cat was given away to a family member, but I think she lied to spare us the grief . . . I miss those days, laying in bed with Akira and the cat, just sleeping together. Ah-- Sorry, you're trying to eat and I'm just talking." he awkwardly laughed at himself. When he was sure Morgana was done eating, he packed up the mess, withdrew what seemed to be a spare jacket. "Hold still, please."

Morgana hissed and swiped at the attempt of a grab.

Ren simply sighed, and put the jacket back. "Okay. I'm sorry. You probably have something to do still. I don't want to force you, or we'll both be in trouble." he stood up. "Wherever you're going, I hope to see you again soon. So, please come back tomorrow, and I'll get you some food. Maybe salmon?" at the sight of a wagging tail, he chuckled. "You have expensive preference. Maybe you belonged to someone with a high status." he gave a small pet under the chin before taking his leave.

Just down the street, a couple a steps away, their backs turned, neither had a clue how close the other was.

Chapter Text

It was stuffy in the basement, but to open the window would make everything damp from the sparse sprinkle of rain still pattering here and there, and Akira would rather not sleep in that kind of environment.

The young man sighed, sitting at the rickety desk on an old chair, the silence only broken by scribbling as he wrote in that dumb daily report journal for Sojiro as per regulation of his probation period.

'Day 4- April 8th, Friday, 11:20 p.m.

Went to school. Did some work. Went to the cafe. Did some homework. Went to the basement. Doing nothing.'

He sighed again at the empty entry, then the other similar notes above it.

'Day 1- April 5th, Tuesday, 10:11 p.m.

Met Tokyo local on train, Ryuji Sakamoto. Friendly, talks a lot. Showed me around. Weird lady stopped us and stared at me, then left. Met Sojiro Sakura. Strict, curt. Dumped in Boss's basement. Window works.'

'Day 2- April 6th, Wednesday, 7:55 p.m.

Met Ann Takamaki, a classmate. Pretty, feisty. Encounter with gross gym teacher Kamoshida. Went to school. Did some work. Went to the cafe. Did some homework. Went to the basement. Doing nothing. Really tired. Fell asleep in class a few times.'

There was no way he was going to write down that entire Metaverse stuff, especially since he knew that Sojiro would be reading it regularly to make sure he was behaving. Though, it'd be pretty easy to just lie about what he did even if that whole thing didn't happen.

'Day 3- April 7th, Thursday, 8:30 p.m.

Went to school. Did some work. Went to the cafe. Did some homework. Went to the basement. Doing nothing.

NOTE- Call Takamaki and Sakamoto about the teacher stuff. '

Forgot about that . . . , Akira rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing the words then his phone with the displayed time. They're definitely asleep right now though.

He remembered how they met up after school when that whole Metaverse incident went down: Ryuji was waiting for them by the gates, getting told off by Kamoshida before that man left. They exchanged numbers, telling each other and themselves to discuss about what happened when they had time, but that must've somehow slipped their minds. He leaned back in the chair, staring at the bleak wall ahead of him, wondering how Ren was doing, wherever he was.

Ren was probably living a pretty good life if those uniform-wearing people calling him, 'Lord,' left and right indicated anything. Sold to a rich lady, treated like her underling, a superior to the others. He was probably pampered and going out and out lavishly doing whatever the rich did.

Was he still kind? Was he still meek? Was he still just?

His eyes drifted over to that window, partially tempted to open it for fresh air. "Ren . . . Do you miss me too?" the words came out as a soft mutter.

Do you hate Mom?

He wouldn’t hold it against him

. . . Do you hate me?

He wouldn’t hold it against him

Akira’s attention then dropped at the drawer holding that cheap cat mask made of plastic, tucked away into the far back. He pulled it out, holding it to the dim light of the old lamp beside him. The accent colors were a bit faded, but the black base was still full and smooth. He remembered it being so big it nearly engulfed his entire head, tying off the rest of the strap to keep it in place, and laughing whenever Ren's white mask slipped over his eyes.

But now, when held to his face, it melded along the curve of his features.

He closed his eyes.

The humid breeze. The cicadas buzzing. The overlapping voices of people.

The warmth of Ren's hand in his. The ache in his cheeks from his wide grin. The stubbornness to win that trough game.

The eager impatience in the air. The whistles and blooms of fireworks. The chorus of voices chanting for luck of the new year.

. . .

The cat mask resumed it's place in the desk. He couldn't afford losing or damaging it.

"I should get some sleep." Akira mumbled to himself, shutting off the lights, and throwing himself into the bed for another restless night.

.

.

.

Blue floors. Blue walls. Blue ceilings.

Blue, blue, blue.

Back here again, he yawned, stretching his back with a groan, forcing himself off from the sheet of metal. This time, however, he was wearing that costume from that Metaverse place, and the cell was wide open, beckoning him. Naturally, he was a bit on guard, and cautiously stepped out, examining the area.

The Velvet Room seemed to be empty, not even that Lavenza girl was around, but he could hear some singing nearby in an unfamiliar language, the voice thinly blanketing the entire area, like some sort of background music. Maybe a record player somewhere. Though, he couldn’t pinpoint where it was at all, or any visible speakers.

. . . Maybe I should come back later?

He rubbed the back of his neck, pondering, eyes drifting to a cell door that was closed, oddly enough.

But I didn't get to look around much last time I was here. Also, I don't even know how to go back.

Seizing the opportunity--cause who knows when he'll be allowed to just wander about again--Akira's first stop was to check out the locked cell; it didn't look too different from his own confinement, except the ball of deadweight was tucked into a dusty corner instead of the chain around the body's ankle.

"Takamaki?!" he gasped, recognizing her sleeping face, curled up on the hanging metal thing, dressed like a prisoner as well. He grabbed the bars. "Hey, get up!" He shook the stiff, unrelenting bars. "Wake up!" he tried again, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space.

Her face didn't twitch, nor did she move. The only indicator she was alive was the slow movement of her chest and the soft breathing. It was like he wasn't even there.

Is this not actually the Velvet Room, but some other version of that Metaverse place?

Ann snorted softly, and turned to her side.

At least she's moving. But why is she here?

He leaned back on his heel, trying to recall that conversation he had with Lavenza during his first visit.

Blah blah blah only some can get in blah blah blah something about Personas blah blah blah the cat, rabbit, snake stuff-- wait, that was with Igor.

"She's not ready to awaken yet, Trickster."

Akira jumped at the sudden voice intruding on his thoughts, and turned to see Lavenza walking up beside him. "That other boy," she continued, "the holder of the Chariot, he's still asleep too."

"The Chariot?" he echoed, looking over the other cells, eventually finding Ryuji, wearing that gangster attire, and like Ann, he was fast asleep. Akira went over to the former athlete. "Ryuji? Hey." he gently shook his shoulder.

Like Ann, he didn't react or even acknowledge the presence or interference. He did snorted though.

"Usually, after an awakening, your consciousness and body needs time to rest and recuperate. Quit that." Lavenza swatted Akira's hand away from the sleeping young man. "That was why you didn't appear here yesterday, Trickster. Maybe tomorrow the Chariot will be conscious here, and when the holder of the Lovers awakens her Persona, she'll be another regular guest."

"Is this, like, tarot stuff?"

"Yes. Every person has a link to the arcana to represent the core of their meaning or troubles." the young girl looked over at Ann, eyeing her, as if expectant of her soon awakening. "The Lovers arcana does not limit itself to romance as modern depictions have it, but choice and commitment." she then passed glances to Ryuji. "The Chariot arcana focuses on the will to move forward beyond conflict." Akira's eyes followed along Lavenza's, taking in and digesting her words as she continued whilst they migrated to the center of the room, "Wildcards thrive on bonds and social links, and understanding what arcana they're associated with can help you during your journey both as a Persona-user and person."

Looks like I'm gonna have to do some research on tarot now, he sighed, then looked over at Igor's empty desk. "Where's he? He said we'd have a proper meeting."

"Master Igor is currently preoccupied with a guest."

"Again? The same person as last time?"

"Yes. The holder of the Aeon." Lavenza paused, trying to recall who as her eyes flickered, then opened the book in her arms, flipping through the pages, yet it didn't change shape, each leaf of paper falling flat against the other like it was whole. "Only two others ever had the arcana, but I can't remember who." As the pages flew by, Akira's eyes picked up what he could, which were large, bolded letters across the tops, accompanied by an image of the corresponding arcana with some listed names.

'World - D-agon

• Ko--ne Shi---
• --nato S--omi
• Souji ----
• Isn't it Yu Naru-ami? -T
• Other verse. -M
• ----to Asakawa? -E
• --her verse. -M
• Akira Kurusu'

He spotted his name--the only one still intact, and the ink seemed to be quite fresh, a nice solid black--and hummed in intrigue with a grin. "World, huh? Feeding this one into my ego. Though," he tilted his head, "why are those names crossed out?"

Lavenza didn't seem to hear him, leafing through the book.

'De--h - Reaper

• Eikichi M--hina
• Ryoji ---hizuki
• Pha---
• Theodore, -on't confuse him with Mochi-uki, that's the o---- verse. -M
• T-eo, she's not pranking you th-- time. -L
• Don't listen to Lave-za, she's lying. -E
• Stop wr--ing in the book, we --ly have one -opy. -M
• His--- --roda
• Reiji Kid-'

"Ugh, Elizabeth said she fixed the pages and writings! I need to repair this later . . ."

'Ju--ice - -argod

• T Ka----- Suo-
• Not T-tsuya Suou, --'- the wildcard brother --der Sun - Avi--. -T
• Wasn't -here someone el-e? -T
• Yeah, but she h--bored such divine evil disguised as - small g-rl, Nyarla---tep and Phil-mon momentarily joined forces to eradicate her! That'-  -hy her name isn't in the book. -E
• Theo, --u're confusing the other verses with ours again. N-nako Dojima and Goro Ake--- are not over here. As for K-n Amanda, he's ---er another Arcana. -L
• As your reliable older sister, Eli-abe-- is correct. I was a w--ness of such feat. -M

"This is utterly embarrassing . . ." Lavenza muttered under her breath, flipping the loose pages more hastily, now more aware of Akira standing behind her, reading everything. "I need to erase these notes."

A few papers fell to her feet.

More names and titles passed by, including some sections that looked more like academic entries of certain Personas, mechanics, and alternative forms and names of the Metaverse. Eventually, the attendant found the spot she was looking for.

'Ae--

• -igis
• Miss you. -L
• Ki--u -----ya
• Ma-i- '

"Here it is. Kitsu." she then touched the now gone ink. "So much repairs." she sighed. "Ugh, I knew we should've kept closer watch on those imps and let Margaret in charge of fixing this!”

"Kitsu?" Akira quirked a brow at the incomplete name on the paper. "Like, the herald of fortune and guidance? From Japanese mythology?" he tilted his head towards her. " That Kitsu? Also, how could you tell with the faded writing?”

"As an attendant, I’ve read through this often enough to have the names memorized when viewed.” she then furrowed her brows. “And is that what people think of her?" the attendant said, looking a little incredulous. "I thought she was a regular Persona-user. Unless this is another Marie situation . . ."

"Who?"

"Don't mind that, just a passing thought."

He wanted to pry a little more, but it was likely not involved with him anyways. "Well, in our legends she brings us luck every year, and is the mom or variant of Amaterasu. There's a popular story about her," he tried to recall how it went, mostly using the vague memories of some old religious cartoon, "Kitsu performed on the celestial theater for her parents because her farmland was fertile. Susanoo was jealous and destroyed the fields, along with the stage, then rampaged through the human world with floods, making Kitsu transform into the sun goddess for a confrontation. They fought and Susanoo was sent to the netherworld. She then helped the mortals rebuild by using the soil from her farmland. It's a lot more complicated, but that’s the jist."

Lavenza listened closely, humming along while in thought. "What a severely embellished view of her." she said, shaking her head. "Firstly, she's not a god. Secondly, Amaterasu is her Persona. As for the other details, I'm sure it's nothing more but dramatization." she waved off the last sentence. “When remarkable people exist, it’s inevitable that certain changes will appear.”

Akira rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess so. I mean, I'm not gonna try to understand how any of this works, I still get headaches trying to make sense of everything Arsène explained to me back in Kamoshida's palace." More than anything, he could barely remember what he did outside of being scolded by Sojiro for being late for school. He eyed the listed names once more. "These people, who were they?"

"Those like you and your friends. Time in the Velvet Room isn't exactly the same as reality’s." she spoke. “While they are blips in history, to us, it’s only been a few years since we’ve last met.”

“So, all these people are dead?” his face softened, going over the names once more, as if trying to commit them to memory. “The only thing left of them are just . . . names in a book.”

We’re in that book too, aren’t we? And when we pass, others will come . . . They’ll see our names too. But, by then, would the other people’s names be gone?

He lingered on those people once more, and recalled the other lists that Lavenza breezed by earlier. Each and every one of them existed. Each and every one of them was like Akira, Ryuji, and Ann. They were all guests of the Velvet Room, and took on grandiose fates and duties.

Were they teenagers too? Were they considered outcasts too? Were they lonely too?

What troubles did they had to face down? What circumstances led to these people meeting? Were they friends?

Only the Velvet Room remembers them . . . I’ll remember them too. I don’t want to forget anyone. Souji, Reiji, Eikichi . . . We never met, and you don’t know me, but I know you.

A small snap shuddered through the air between them, and a sizeable stack of pages tumbled out, fluttering around their legs, spilling all across the deep blue marble floor. Like the last restraints on her composure.

Lavenza’s face twisted. "At this point, I'll just glue them into the spine! Rebinding is too much work!" she huffed, suppressing the urge to throw the hefty thing. "Once I get my hands on those imps, I’ll hack them in half!" she grumbled, putting the book on the desk and grabbed the pages, trying not to crumple them in her irritation. "Oh, and that Elizabeth! I'll wallop her too! It's what she gets for leaving the Velvet Room's door open and letting those damn things in, and not even fixing the book properly--!"

The young man knelt down and gathered up the mess as well, sneaking some peeks. They were mostly academic entries of things he couldn't understand. He knew the words yet there was so much to read none of it actually registered, but two of the pages were more of that arcana listing.

'T-wer - Vi-e

• Ume A-am---
• --u Nak-ji-a
• Shinya Oda'

'Uni-erse

• Koton- Shio--
• I ---- the days we shared. -T
• M-nato ----mi
• --rgive me . . . -E
• Ren 'Kurusu' Amamiya'

That last page, it was more informal, the writing different, not stamped or noted but more so scrawled, as if the person holding the pen was making a draft with the intent of it being the submitted form. Additionally, it lacked the accompanying image for the title.

Ren?

His eyes widened.

Why does he have that other name?

He held the paper closer to his eyes, as if checking if the list was hiding more.

I never heard of a Universe arcana. Wait . . . Does this mean that Mom sold Ren to someone called Amamiya?

Chapter Text

The late sunlight in the bedroom felt colder than it should be, and joined with the AC circulating the space, it made her stomach churn uncomfortably, as if anticipating the already spoken news to be told once more as confirmation.

She blinked.

For a moment, a very desperate moment before that panic and dread bubbled up from the deepest pit of her stomach and into bile against her tongue, she though she misheard him, or if he was playing a joke on her. A very, very cruel one.

". . . What?"

"You're getting a husband." Her father repeated, adjusting his glasses. "Not now, of course, just an arranged marriage." he added on, as if that made anything better.

The young woman stood up from her bed, the phone falling out of her open palm, jaw moving frantically for words as she tried not to buckle her legs. "What? Why?" Was all she could managed in that tone she forced to be steady.

"Don't be dense." He said, arms crossed over his chest. "You think I'm satisfied with staying as some CEO of a burger joint? You need to dream bigger , Haru! Bigger !"

"But, this is enough!" She gestured to the large bedroom. While not lavish, the fact it was part of a mansion was more than either of them would've needed. "Father, this is enough from where we began! We don't need any more!"

The older man scoffed at her, waving off the words dismissively. "Think of all the things I can do if I had more! Okumura Foods can expand to other territories, like high-end restaurants instead of shacks that only sell greasy slop." he then gestured to some of the old merchandise in her room, sitting quietly in the corner, a bit of a sore sight compare to her furniture and trinkets. Most of the merch were promotional material. "Look at this junk! Do you think this commands respect from others? We're only known for cheap food! With a proper chain, I can get more connections and associations with others. They'll finally respect me, Haru. They'll respect us because we're more than just some company that makes burgers."

Haru wanted to argue against him, to tell him that to aim so high was reckless and expensive, and even though drastic decisions like that can be worth the trouble, the losses will be as equally devastating. But he was a stubborn man, going out of his way to shave off more and more health violations and work laws just to save a bit more money and boost production, and whatever he wanted, he'll get. He was head-deep in wealth, but she knew he aspired to reach the drowning depths of Shido and Amamiya, two of the most powerful and richest people of Tokyo, if not Japan entirely.

The thought of those numbers made her dizzy as a child, and still so now.

Regardless, she tried to drop a few words in to get some answers at least, "But how is me getting married achieve that?" she asked, attempting to make sense of it herself.

"Marrying into a more powerful family will strengthen the influence, and I can use what resources they have through you to expand. Preferably, I want you to get married into a political family." he then grinned at the already creeping fantasy. "With a foot in that field, I can climb higher and higher, which means more money to will be flowing right into our pockets. And the influence we'll have?"

"We don't need political influence!"

Really, they didn’t. Her father was in no shape or form to hold a candle at that sort of field in life. Let alone run anything more dire than a fast food chain, the stress of that was vastly different, something her father didn’t seem to care at all. As usual.

"Yes we do! You don't understand anything! All you do is sit there and go to school and whatever else you do in the day." her father said, growing impatient and frustrated. "The entire point of this marriage is to always have money to burn and people to actually respect us!” he put his hands against his chest to emphasize the words. “I don't want those low-lives, I want to be on equal standing with people at our level." he then scoffed, pulling back his hair. "But that won't happen unless I do something about it."

"But I don't want to get married!" she objected, shaking her head, her heart racing against her ribs at his insistence. "What if my husband is cruel?"

"So? All you'll have to do is just sit there and look pretty for him."

A hard lump dropped from the back of her mouth and lodged into her throat, her fingers curling and fidgeting for something in the air, the palms growing clammy.

It was times like this was when she really missed her dad, the one who poured his heart and soul into that once humble building to provide for her, when he was an honest man who was once content with what he received.

When he still cared .

"But what if he doesn't love me?" Haru spoke, hoping that some part of him still remained from the years of letting the wealth taint him, and the greed to keep growing and consuming. "What if he hurts me?” her voice then dropped to a more horrified tone, “What if he forces me to do what I don't want?"

"Be reasonable and stop making excuses. You're 18 now, a grown woman, quit acting like a child!" he dismissively brushed her off. "I sacrificed everything for you!" though his heels dug into the carpet, he didn’t move. “Night after night, sleeplessly working away at Big Bang Burgers to make sure you had food and clothes and education. The least you can do for me is get yourself a husband from a powerful family. It's nothing compared to what I gave up for you."

Haru tried to swallow back the lump, but it choked out her words, leaving only silence.

"You're getting a fiancé, whether you like it or not. Either you find him yourself, or I'll do it for you. If he doesn’t fit the bill, I’ll grab the nearest guy from a powerful family." With those parting words, he left her to ponder and fear what will come next.

Her feet paced around the room on their own, from the door to the window, trying to keep her breath steady. Okay, okay, okay . . . Just . . . Just stay calm , her eyes darted around her room, as his the space held the answer for you, he doesn't mean it. Father . . . Father doesn't mean it. He's just saying that, right?

By habit, she clenched down her teeth tightly, grinding and gnashing.

No, no, he means it! He really does!

Her feet dragged against the plush carpet, and at this rate, her soles will get burns.

What do I do? What do I do?!

A deep breath, then a long, heavy exhale.

Father doesn't have anyone in mind, does he? He said to go look myself, a sigh of semi-relief slipped through her, okay, that's good at least! That means I can try to look for a nice man to marry.

Though, that would be difficult to do, as she was certain a fair bit of them would only be interested because of her social status, and if not, they'll have no interest because she would be considered too 'lowly' to be given a chance, given the crowd her father associated himself with.

Her gums were starting to hurt the more she chewed and gnawed on the white enamels.

She grabbed her phone from the bed, turning to the internet for help, but she remained on the home screen.

Dating apps?

No, too many ill-intentioned people and cat-fishing.

Announce it to the public?

No, it'll attract way too much attention, and even might rouse up opportunities for media outlets to spread rumors and scandals.

Start off easy and date who she fancied?

No, it won't be different from when she was a child; people only feigning their sincerity to her simply for personal favors.

Haru shook her head, shutting off her phone when and grabbed a rubber chew fidget she got a while ago, her teeth sinking into the soft, squishy thing. That'll at least give her teeth relief.

Oh no, oh no, oh no . . .

And so she spent weeks looking for a future husband, dipping her inexperienced-self into the dating scene. She felt too open, too lost, dropped into the open ocean with miles of blue above and below, nothing more but another prey in the sea.

She tried speed-dating at first, using a company that had many reviews. Sample size was important beyond the number of stars given.

'Changed my life! Introduced me to my wife. - 5/5'

'The company is alright, but they certainly give you options. - 3.5/5'

'Good. - 2/5'

The company was named Vice Mix, and the reviews were certainly sizeable, but the ratings were lackluster, only a short sentence or two, and the occasional note that was likely from insincere people making jokes to flood up the tab for whatever reason.

Haru didn't mind that though, it seemed to be the best one around for her to take a shot, ignoring the more annoying comments.

First try was a foreigner named Michael. Average build and height, easy to get along. Although, he was more focused on having dinner than actually speaking and connecting with her. Likely applied for free food and nothing else, a common problem based on the older reviews she came across soon after the encounter.

Second attempt was with a man called Shuichi. Just a year or two older than her, but spent a good majority of the lunch period moping about his ex who was getting married soon to, "Some bozo who already has kids," followed by personal questions regarding her wealth.

The third one was actually with a woman known as Momo. Haru dropped her instantly the second she saw the ensuing confrontation with Momo's fiancée, fiancé, and boyfriend in the cheesecake parlor, all using different names Momo used for them.

Fourth round, well, they never showed up. She didn't know if they got lost, bailed, or forgot. Either way, she sulked in her room after waiting a couple more hours in the park.

It wasn't anything too unexpected - save for Momo. Not only that, but none of them came from a political family, something her father really drilled into her head.

So, Haru tried again and attempted to make small-talk with the people who visited Okumura's formal parties. But they were all at least 5 years older than her, and not too interested in being involved with a fast food company heiress.

"It'd be embarrassing to see it on the news: 'Powerful political man engaged with burger joint girl!' " the older man with hints of a wrinkled face laughed.

"Oh, honey, you're . . . too young and immature for me. You wouldn't understand the work and troubles we go through." the finely dressed woman eyed Haru a little judgmentally.

"Scram, girl, the adults are talking." Another older man but younger than the first dismissively shoo her away without a glance.

Additionally, some of their comments had her shudder and grimace, their remarks too familiar with a certain gym teacher.

By the time the first day of school rolled around, she was pulling out her hair and eating up the rubber fidget, making her jaws ache.

She didn't want to get married.

No, the thought of marriage itself made her feel sick, it was far too soon for her to even spare it a word or two. Heck, would she even want it in the first place, if her father didn't force it on her?

Maybe? Probably? Perhaps?

She shook her head, deep in the nagging, troubled thoughts whilst milling through the school hall, the wave of students blurs of color.

This is bad. I need to find a husband soon, or Father will send me off to someone--

"Oh--!"

"Ah--!"

Haru stumbled on her feet when her shoulder was bumped with significant force. A shiny glint tumbled between their feet.

A young man with black hair and glasses stepped back. "Oh, I'm sorry."

She barely registered the words, her focus still preoccupied with the oncoming arranged marriage. Her eyes darted to the fallen metal and picked it up. "You dropped this--"

Huh? Where’d he go?

She scanned through the moving current of students of the break period, but he was already gone. Worse yet, she didn't even see which hall he turned to, let alone even noticed he left right after the initial collision. Logically, the thing would be handed off to the lost and found, but everyone knew that it would likely get even more lost via more stuff piled on top or thrown out, or be taken by someone else who wanted to nab a new trinket. No, that wouldn’t do, and given by how worn it looked, it was definitely well-loved. It was warm in her palm, small and fitting snugly.

It's so cute too.

She fidgeted with it. It looked like some old keychain of a white rabbit, curled up into a little ball with the year, '2007,' stamped onto it's forehead, curved to fit the shape and almost meld into it, and on the back was the kanji for luck. A fingertip traced along the engraved year, debating on it's fate.

Some luck would be nice right now . . .

She looked around the hall, only getting disinterested glances from passing or lingering students, before slipping the little keychain into her school bag, and hurrying away to the restroom.

I'll keep you around a bit longer.

It would later be hooked to the inside of her cardigan via a loop of loose fabric. While she had a pass to cover up her uniform with it--surely the principal's attempt to get into her good graces--clip-ons and metal ornaments were still against dress-code, and she rather not be told off by staff right now, the throes of cold dread and crippling stress to find herself a fiancé was too much to take already.

The day rolled on uneventfully.

Classes. Lectures. Teachers.

Lunch period soon reared around, a sign of temporary reprieve to some. The students hurried out of the suffocating classroom and for the courtyard to find their friends, out into the sun after nearly a week of clouds and rain. Haru lingered behind to finish the notes, cursing herself for being more busied by her own personal troubles instead of focusing on anything else. It surely won’t be long till her father was going to toss her off to someone without a care.

Why did this happen?

She tightened her grip on the pen, tucking the plastic firmly against her knuckles.

Why do you always want more?

The pen’s tip pushed deeper into the paper, a dull scratch-like noise emitting.

Why did you change?

The words became more clumsily scrawled, the letters connected via a faint line.

What an encroaching thing greed was, watching her father be eaten away by work day in and day out, and as that shack she spent her childhood in expand to house more customers and employees and menu items, the more the paper and metal yens rustled and clinked into his hands. Hands that were tired and calloused, but warm when it brushed her hair and tied her shoes, and painless when it petted her face and held her hand.

Sometimes the more childish side of her inside wondered what would've happened if she convinced her father to not make that investment, which skyrocketed production and their popularity.

But the logical aspect of her knew it was for the best. While They had enough to get by, it would come at the cost of her father's time and health.

Maybe that kind of course was meant to happen.

She never really gave that kind of deep thought regarding the passage of life, or a concept of fate. It was silly thing, believing your life was pre-destined by something, somehow. Maybe it was even more silly to believe that good luck charms were real; her drawer full of trinkets was quite evident of that.

"All alone here, Okumura?"

Cold dread shot right through the girl, and she immediately stuffed her notes into her school bag, not caring how the papers crumpled in the haste.

No, don't panic. He likes that.

Her eyes kept Kamoshida in sight, but just his foot and legs. She can't stand the way he looked at her.

Steady yourself. Get up, and walk to the door. Don't panic. He won't do anything. There's people in the halls.

She kept her head down, her attention never leaving the gym teacher.

"What's the rush? Lunch period barely started." Kamoshida said, side-stepping her for the door, making her heart rate spike even more and palms growing clammy.

"I . . . I need to find my homeroom teacher about the lecture." Haru said, not wanting to get any closer to him. "Please move." her feet shifted in place, hands fidgeting with the cardigan, as if it'd hide her more. Her fingers found that 

Leave me alone, I don't have the energy for this right now . . .

Feet shuffled back as heavier steps moved towards her, the self-restraint reverbing through the polished wood.

"You won't . . ." she swallowed thickly, then a choked breath the second her back found the wall. "You wouldn't." It was more of a plea than anything else.

"You sound sure about that."

Help . . . Help . . .

Her eyes darted to the classroom window, seeing the students and staff passing by, that calloused hand reaching for her hair.

Someone . . . please . . . !

The door just about nearly slammed open.

Immediately, all attention turned to a girl with platinum blonde hair in twin tails, who stood a bit awkwardly, as if unaware she was the one who threw the door wide. "Uh-- There you are!" she suddenly said with a forced smile to hide her fried nerves. The girl sped inside and grabbed Haru's hand, who could feel the hold trembling as well. "I was looking everywhere for you!" she spoke as though they were friends.

Haru could barely breathe, and only nodded. The sheer luck and timing was divine intervention if it wasn't. "Ah . . . Uh-huh . . ." she mumbled, keeping the corner of Kamoshida's shoes within view.

The girl pulled her along, the pairs of feet stumbling amongst themselves in a hurry as they rounded the lecherous presence. "Come on, the others are waiting." she said, her voice shaking as her brave front started to crumble away almost instantly when their backs were turned.

"Hey--!"

The two picked up their pace and escaped out into the bustling hall, bordering on a speed-walk and run.

Haru tried not to gasp like she was suffocating. The air felt so warm and fresh against her paled complexion, the sweaty palms tightly clasped together, bodies bumping and nudging them all around, the noises muddling into a singular mass of droning. They didn't stop moving until they were at the courtyard full of students eating lunch.

The girl's hand almost felt sticky when she stiffly let go. She swallowed back a lump of breath, suddenly panting, as if she had ran a marathon. "Oh my god . . ." she muttered, arms crossed over her stomach, her legs shaking.

"Are you okay?" Haru asked, touching her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What about you? Did he managed to touch you?"

She shook her head. "No, no. Thank you, I . . . I thought . . ." she touched her pale face, still trembling from the encounter. Though she knew he wouldn't be so bold, the fact he was still going to try something was enough to make her want to curl up into a hole. "Thank you so much. I didn't know what to do."

"No worries. Girl code, ya know?" the girl flashed a weary smile. "We gotta watch each other's backs from the creeps."

". . . Yes, yes." was all Haru could reply with before the student departed her side.

Chapter Text

The blue skies tinted by hues of orange and pink peeked through the clouds, woven in between the dark masses, overcasting Tokyo of the oncoming night. Only a few staff members lingered on the campus of Kosei, along with some students, especially those returning to their dorms for the day. The rain had lighten up, but it'll continue the next day.

In an empty art room, the easels holding up various covered up paintings--as Yusuke changed his mind last minute twice--Ren blinked, having heard it perfectly the first time, but still unsure if he actually did. ". . . Y-you want to . . . what?" he lightly stammered.

"Paint you nude." Yusuke repeated in that same casual tone as he made sure a canvas was set properly on the stand, positioned in a very specific way to catch the light. "You have a certain pleasing femininity amongst the beauty of your masculinity. The innocence in your silver gaze, the abyssal darkness of your hair striking against your milky complexion, your lithe form--"

Ren interrupted with a cough and waving hands, blushing pink. "I-I understand, thank you . . . B-but, I'm not exactly comfortable with that. We've only known each other for a couple hours." He fidgeted with his sleeve. There was no way he could let the manor catch wind of that proposal, they would filet Yusuke like a trout without hesitation, even if Ren himself was to intervene.

"I assure you I have no nefarious goals." the artist spoke with a reassuring grin and a hand on his chest, as if it to further the sincerity of his intentions. "I simply wish to capture your aesthetic and beauty on a canvas. Your gentle and comforting air is something I had never experienced before! I must immortalize it." he then paused and rubbed his chin. "Alas, sketching portraits is not exactly an ability I pride myself in, I'm far too inexperienced, especially in comparison to my teacher."

He frowned at the statement, but kept up a more reassuring expression. "It's still something you can improve on." he then walked over to a painting and pulled off the sheet carefully. "Let's get the room ready." he added on, switching topic. "With your particular taste and preference, it may take a while to rearrange the place. I also promised Principal Shirogane we won't linger past 10 because we're not dorm students."

"Principal Shirogane?" Yusuke repeated with wide eyes. "She's quite a stringent woman. To think she would agree upon any kind of leniency or compromise is quite a revelation. How did you possibly sway her?" he asked, the tone teetering on eagerness, almost.

Ren lightly coughed whilst setting aside the extra easels to the side, keeping his face hidden by looking more downwards. "She only allowed it because of my connection to Master Amamiya."

Yusuke stumbled, even though he was standing in place, but the words themselves seemed to have pushed him, his movements stiffening slightly as he pushed the seats aside to make the center more spacious for roaming. "Ah, yes, that aspect eluded me . . ." he muttered, then cleared his throat. "Being an heir to a highly ancient and influential clan is something that would stand out and be memorable. However, I suppose I was a bit too jubilant to share my artistic views and habits to recall your prestigious kinship."

Shoes quietly shuffled in the empty space, along with soft thuds and clicks of wooden easels tapping against the tiles while being relocated.

"Is that . . . a problem?" the other teen quietly asked, looking over his shoulder just a tad, as though a full look would reward him with reprimand.

"No, no, of course not." the question was airily waved off without much thought, most of the attention focused on getting the private showcase ready. "It's somewhat humiliating to forget something so integral to your being."

I appreciate what I have, and Master as well, despite everything she's done, Ren stepped back to let Yusuke take over the rearrangements, but . . . the constant reminder of who I'm under . . . It makes me feel so cold and ill . . . He continued to watch the blue-haired man scurry around, muttering his monologue about making the classroom match the aesthetics and composition of his paintings on their easels, likening the two as a cell frame of animation. It was a strange comparison, yet it felt fitting with how Yusuke voiced it.

The young heir let out a slow, shaky breath, a hand tentatively tracing along of that reminder under the layers of cloth.

Living with this constant dread, always pushing everyone behind me to bleed instead . . . I wonder how much would've changed if Mom haven't sold me.

His thoughts drifted off with the meandering but looping topic, one he rarely ever pondered on, but in the quiet, late evening classroom with just the mumbling drone of an artist to fill the background space, Ren simply couldn't help himself.

He remembered that night quite vividly, even in his exhausted state in the late night on the countryside road of darkness: the smell of cleanliness and polished metal was almost acrid for the then-child, the cushy seats slathered in mimicked leather, his little yukata and plastic mask the only remnants of where he belonged.

Of course, fear shot right through his chest. He was in a stranger's car in the middle of the night, miles away from Inaba, why wouldn't he be afraid, and fret about the well-being of his brother and mother?

He recalled who was in the car with him aside from Amamiya, who sat across from him, watching him as though he was a one-of-a-kind specimen for her ordeals. Even as an isolated child, he could see the dead stare in the brown eyes piercing through the darkness. She was so still and barely swayed with the car he thought she was a very realistic doll, up until she spoke to him.

There were a few maid with them, sitting opposite from Amamiya, on the same side as Ren, who could clearly see their hands fidgeting with their yukata-like uniforms. Just slightly, subtly, their faces twitching to remain calm and nonchalant of the thick tension and questions in the air accompanied surrounding the child.

"What's your name?"

What a sweet and melodic voice, like an angel. But, ah, she didn't care to even guise up her tone to match the façade. It was an odd experience, to hear a lovely voice be so cold. It reminded Ren of his mother with how she spoke to him.

"Ren Kurusu."

A small, cautious voice barely poked through the dark air, wavering as it reached the woman across the abyss between them.

"No, no." He recalled Amamiya laughing at him, as if the child told her a jayus joke, "the Kurusu family doesn't want you. They never did."

He was no stranger to cruel words, but sweet and friendly tone was so jarring it only carved deeper into the scars his mother left behind for her to fester in. "But, my brother wants me--"

"Did he? Oh, how sweet. She went back with her child. I'm sure they'll now live comfortably without you ruining their futures." Amamiya smiled at the boy, who shrunk back a little, almost trying to tuck himself between the maids beside him. "You love your brother, right? Your big brother? You know how much he works for you, how much he takes care of you, how much you always hold him back." she leaned over him, and being so young at the time, she was like a tower, staring down as if he was some sinner before a heavenly court, the unblinking husk of eyes searing right into him. "You love him, don't you? Do you love him? Be a good brother for him for once and stay out of his life so he can finally be happy, okay?"

Tiny hands fumbled with the yukata and plastic rabbit mask, eyes prickling and throat closing up as the words danced around his head, whispering themselves over and over, burrowing deep into the small, ill heart. ". . . O-ok-kay . . ." the word was barely mumbled through pursed lips.

The rest of the night was rather a blur, the only prominent thing going through his head were simply the blunt words, and he could barely recall the plane trip to Tokyo, the memory melding off into obscurity, but he did remember the car ride to the manor, and stepping in front of it for the first time, its dark shadow casting over him, that sickening, suffocating dread seizing the child and dragging him down below the lavishness of it's opulence and history.

"You're an Amamiya." she stated, her grin relaxing, as if his presence eased her rather than repulsed like his mother. "And always will be. Welcome home, Ren Amamiya."

"--The silence of this place, always full of voices and shuffling shoes, but now all that stirs here is the dust and shambling shadows. It's quite unique, isn't it?" Yusuke commented, throwing open the curtains more for the fleeting light.

Ren blinked, slightly startled from the recess of his thoughts, remembering where he was and what he was doing. He nodded, watching Yusuke go to and from. "I rarely stay after hours, but it certainly has a quaintness to it." he replied, shaking his head from the daze.

"Each room bear a cacophony of the day, an antithesis yet twin of a symphony that endlessly drone and muse--"

He simply went along with the rambles as they continued to set the room to Yusuke's fitting, having no clue what the blue-haired boy was saying with his verbose prose and vivid verbal imagery, but he got the general gist of it being casual recounts of daily routine.

The artist looked out the window, then huffed, shaking his head. "The sun is fading. My works cannot be basked in the harsh florescence and glaring white of the classroom!" he ruffled his hair in agitation. "No, my paintings will not be their optimal beauty in such state!"

Ren anxiously looked out the classroom window, searching. "I'm sure Master is on her way, she's probably coming back from a meeting with Mr Madarame, or even bringing him along for his approval as well." He invited the woman to Kosei to preview the paintings, and he didn’t trust the works to be kept in the manor, she’d be too comfortable to damage the canvases directly in front of Yusuke. Nor could he have her be in that shack; that itself was a whole can of snakes that shouldn't even be touched at all. Kosei was the safest bet, a proper yet public place for Amamiya to pass her judgement without having her cause too much trouble. She may not care about controversy, but she still valued her public image. Still, though, it didn’t increase the chances of her behaving. Honestly, he wanted this issue with the painting-kimonos over with, his master throwing too much of a fit over clothes for a party that wouldn’t be rounding near for a while. The sooner it was done, the sooner he could speak with Yusuke more, and maybe even help him escape the mistreatment.

"Mr Madarame messaged me that the paintings are exquisite choices, but if your master isn't satisfied, he'll have to make-do with his personal works."

Ren held back the twitch in his face. "Personal . . ." he mumbled, unsure if he should even ask whether it was Madarame's own work or the ones of his pupils. But he rather avoid upsetting Yusuke after seeing his somewhat curt defense of the teacher after an off-handed remark made by Ren regarding giving credit earlier that day, back in the shack.

I'll discuss this with him another time. If he continues on like this, he'll get hurt.

Ren retrieved his phone to contact Amamiya.

As if I'm any better.

(Ren): 'Master, are you on the way? Kitagawa and I are not permitted on the campus past 10. Did you have the meeting with Mr Madarame yet? I requested you to hold it till then. You can do as you wish, of course, but please give Kitagawa's work another chance before going to Mr Madarame for his collection instead.'

(Amamiya): 'Master Amamiya is currently on route for Kosei High School, please be patient, my lord.'

(Ren): 'Yes, of course, I understand. Is Mr Madarame with her?'

(Amamiya): 'No, nor did she have her meeting him, canceling at last second to tend to your request instead. Additionally, the date for the party has been moved to a later date due to Mr Madarame accepting another art show recently, and the events were too close for optimal time management.'

He sighed inwardly, a trickle of guilt encircling his chest. He only asked to hold the meeting, not cancel it. But he knew her well enough that she loved to twist whatever was given to her, especially if it was from him.

(Ren): 'Please send Master my apology for interrupting her schedule.'

(Amamiya): 'Of course, my lord.'

In a few minutes, Amamiya finally arrived.

"You're so demanding, Ren." Was the first thing out of her mouth when she entered the classroom, ignoring everything else but him and Yusuke, whom she glanced over, retaining that sickeningly sweet voice. "Such a beautiful face, sharp and angled like a fox, with hair of a stormy sea. But his eyes are not as silvery as yours, but pieces of cheap tin. What a waste on someone like him, he doesnt utilize those traits well."

Yusuke was nor sure if he should be flattered by the initial compliments, or offended by the later half. But he set aside the personal thoughts for now.

Amamiya cruised about the classroom as Yusuke rambled about the meaning and process that transpired whilst creating the work, his hands gesturing and re-living the moments he brushed the colors upon the canvas, and even adding a bit of flair via recounting what inspired him, his eagerness to show off undeniable. "Paramnesia is a personal favorite of mine, with it's striking use of the myriad of colors, and the curves for a more organic flow of attention--"

Amamiya already moved on to another painting.

Yusuke blinked

Ren cleared his throat quietly. "Master, this painting has brighter colors than the last one we were sent by Mr Madarame."

"It's still all muddy and unclear. I don't even know what I'm looking at. Next."

Yusuke blinked again, his fingers twitching slightly. "Ahem. very well then." he stiffly spoke. "This painting is called--"

Amamiya nearly stabbed a stiletto nail against the delicately thin layers of paint that imitated something akin to butterfly wings. Not enough for any damage, but it definitely made Yusuke choke on his words. "Eyesore." she simply stated. "Too much black and green. Did you throw your bile on this? Certainly a method. That old man did said you were unconventional, and I'm not an artist myself, but the thought of wearing a kimono in such style is disgusting and humiliating."

Ren's heart spiked, and he stepped forward. "Master, that was not necessary." He kept his voice steady and professional, just how she liked it to be. "You can disagree with the style and colors, but please don't use demeaning words."

"Are you telling me what to do, Ren?" her back was to the teens, but the directed boy could still feel the eyes on him. "Are you telling me what to do?" she repeated, the voice dipping. Slightly. Just slightly.

He swallowed thickly, but kept his head up, speaking slowly yet clearly, forcing his breath and words to not waver. "No, of course not."

There's another person here. You wouldn't try to discipline me right now.

"It's called a critique, and if an artist doesn't want it, he's not meant to be one." Amamiya grinned with that sickening sweetness. "All of this," she waved a careless hand at the other three paintings, "I've seen enough. It's ugly. None of them should even be regarded as options for a kimono, let alone one for a special occasion."

Yusuke took a breath to control his temper, especially to someone who could destroy him and Madarame completely if she wanted to. The thought of being his teacher's downfall made him feel sick. "Master Amamiya, allow me to--"

“Quiet, dog.” she didn’t bother to glance at the artist, not even with the corner of her eye, preoccupied by her dissatisfaction.

Ren stiffened. “M-Master . . . !”

Yusuke faltered, not even sure how he should react to such insult. “. . . Excuse me?”

In typical fashion, she ignored him, and grabbed a canvas, the dark greens at the lower half melded into streaks of vibrancy, as if the different colors were competing on which would be more visible. The upper half was a deep orange, and the dark shades that surrounded it suggested some sort of movement across the canvas, like a burning thing.

“If you really thought this type of work should be done on the delicate elegance of a kimono, quit art.”

He looked like he was gutted by a dull knife, which twisted deep into his stomach. His expression darkened to irritation, brows tightly knitted in an attempt to keep his composure in check.

Keep face, Yusuke, he told himself, taking deep, slow breaths, don't make a fool of yourself.

“How uncouth of you to utterly disregard--!”

“You’re that old man’s pupil, and yet you never picked up on any of his habits. It’s embarrassing. How can that old man teach you everything he knows, but you churn out this muddy mess of nothing?” She carelessly dropped the canvas, letting it tumble out of the easel, with the wooden frame itself knocked off it's support by her under the facade of an accidental bump.

Ren was used to such treatment, and already caught the artwork before it fell to the paint-stained floor.

“Do not throw my works!” the artist finally snapped. “They are delicate and are my pride!”

Amamiya laughed, curtly but sweetly,  as though he was a silly toy. “Your pride! This is how you see it? Masses of nothing and vague ideas? Fitting for a child who thinks he's talented.”

“Master, abstract art is meant to represent a form of reality through means of colors and shapes.” Ren spoke, setting the canvas back on the now upright easel.

“I want a beautiful color. I want purple and white. I want red and squama patterns. Not this junk.” like a spoiled child, she snatched up the painting once more, waving it around with little care of preserving it. “Everything here is all the same, just a bunch of dark colors without reason or meaning.”

“They absolutely do bear meaning!” Yusuke said, trying to not to snap, but the anger was definitely prevalent in his couce, teetering to let loose. “They are manifestations of my dreams, emotions, and thoughts. While some depict landscapes--”

“Landscape?” Amamiya interrupted. “Landscape?” she repeated with the attitude a person would use when speaking with an amusing child telling an outlandish story. “Yes. Landscape. Wow, what a landscape.”

“Master, even you can tell that it’s a grassy field with flowers.” Ren spoke, anxiously shifting his attention between Yusuke’s agitation and Amamiya’s smugness.

“Oh, Ren, don’t act like you’re a connoisseur now.”

“I’m not. I don’t like abstract art, but please give these a chance to be seen.” he knew he was asking for far too much.

She tossed it aside, the corner of the wood frame knocking close to his eye.

“Ah--!” he flinched from the sharp hit, but didn’t dare to let the artwork drop. It was worth more than personal comfort.

“Amamiya!” Yusuke gasped, then scowled at the woman. “You nearly blinded him!”

“Just a small bop on the face. Oh, Kitagawa, you make me sound like I’m some evil person.”

“Disregard of my works is inexcusable," his hands twitched, balling it into a fist, stabbing the nails into his palm as if it would make anything better, "But the blatant harm you inflicted on him is vile!”

Ren grabbed Yusuke by the sleeve. “Kitagawa, it’s alright.” he reassured with a soft voice, a hand ruffling his hair slightly to hide the reddening spot by his eye.

An incredulous scoff escaped his throat. “No, it’s certainly not--!”

He pulled the taller teen close, and whispered frantically through his teeth, “Stop talking!”

Yusuke blinked, taken aback by the heavy and sudden air of fear and urgency surrounding Ren.

“Take a moment outside. I'll speak with her.”

As much as the artist would rather smack Amamiya for her shameless behavior, she was a rich and influential individual, and Yusuke was but dirt under her shoes. He had no power here. Neither did Ren. He slowly sighed heavily, trusting the other boy's judgement. “Very well then.” the words could barely slip through the clenched jaw. "Excuse me, Master Amamiya, I need a moment of fresh air." he was already leaving before the words fully hung themselves in the air.

Amamiya absentmindedly adjusted her rings, the opulent stones glinting in the remaining daylight.

.

.

.

Yusuke paced along the long, empty hallway, the residential students in the dorm wing and the remaining staff likely home. "The audacity!" He sharply muttered, the outsole of his shoes clacking a little loudly in the quietness. "Her shamelessness to spoute such insults and doubts of my abilities! My skills taught by Mr Madarame himself!" He turned on his heel when he reached the end of the hallway. "She didn't give either of us a chance! Quick to dismiss us at whatever second she deemed fit. Tch! How can Amamiya stand to be near her?"

The woman didn't keep it exactly a secret that she wasn't an easy person to get along, but, by God, she was so much more aggravating than he would ever anticipate at all.

"A child of an ancient clan is not a free card to absolve oneself of manners." He huffed, the shoes digging into the cold tiles, the rubbers squeaking just slightly to irritate him a little more, but he was steadfast and kept himself in check.

A few minutes lapsed by.

Amamiya left the classroom, readjusting her rings, wiping them clean, barely acknowledging Yusuke's presence.

It didn't matter to him--mostly--as he was more concerned over packing up his paintings and avoid getting scolded by the principal.

"Kitagawa, I'm so sorry!" Ren abruptly apologized, looking rather frazzled: hair slightly jostled, a hand over his cheek with the peeking surrounding skin tinted red, and the rather obviously embarrassed mumble.

Yusuke quirked a brow, and hastily went over to a painting. His eyes widened.

A thin but vibrant streak of red and slashed across the canvas, glistening slightly, still fresh.

Ren bowed lowly. "I'm sincerely sorry! I didn't mean to ruin your painting!" He tried not to stumble through the words.

Of course, the first reaction was further irritation that his hard work had to be splattered, but the faint scent of iron made the artist pause. He leaned closer to the canvas.

Wait a moment . . . Is this . . . ?

"Amamiya? Why are you hiding your cheek?"

"I was being clumsy, tripping on my feet and getting blood on the work." Ren lightly laughed, as if it would quell the tension at all. "It looks worse than it actually is." He added on, removing his hand to reveal a thin, precise cut against his upper cheek. "I know a painting restorer, I'll speak with her to clean up my mess for you without any charges."

Chapter Text

Pale early morning light slowly crept and filled the bedroom, illuminating the scene one by one: a plush futon was left laid out on the ground, surrounded by soft pillows and blankets in a neat array, still tidy and kept, only the blanket moved to suggest anyone having slept in it. By the sidelines were plates of freshly peeled fruits waiting to be indulged in, platters of decadent snacks and small delicacies barely even nibbled, and a cup neglected with a dark maroon, full-bodied wine, the bottle and it's popped cork lying nearby, the aromatic fragrance waning slowly from the air.

The light continued its lazy crawl, and eventually found the pooled edge of a white silk robe, decorated with hemp leaf patterns in black, but it couldn't trail over Amamiya and her long, thin sheet of hair, the woman walking through a windowless room that was but a glorified closet.

Amamiya pushed aside the rows of clothes hanging before her rather absentmindedly. She blinked dully, eyes remaining in place, not even a fleeting flicker to follow the movement of luxurious outfits waiting to be worn. In the vast collection, near hundreds of attires, all of them were worn at least twice. Some of them were old. Too old. Not enough to donate though.

She turned for the shelves, shuffling through neatly folded pants, though, there was nothing she wanted in particular.

It was more akin to a program executing its routine, regardless of how meaningless or repetitive it was. It was done for a long, long time, and would be done once more.

A pile of smooth dress pants tumbled to a crumpled pile onto her feet.

She stared at it. A tuft of hair fell over her shoulder, brushing against the cheek.

Though the paper-screen-like walls were padded for privacy, Amamiya could still hear the people outside. Working. Talking. Walking.

Living.

She stepped out from the dim room and pulled on the shutters, locking away the sunlight and damp breeze, then aimed for the vanity, taking a seat in the carved chair.

Her chained glasses was neatly set aside on top a jewelry box, which was full of rings with precise stones, freshly cleaned and polished for the day. She adjusted the small round mirror as the other hand flicked through the array of lipsticks, the tips of acrylic nails tapping the lids lightly as she brushed by, before settling on a brand new tube a shinuhi ordered for her. It was a light color made to highlight the natural hue of the lips with an almost powdery-like effect when applied. She applied it. The corners of her lips twitched for a smile in the mirror, turning her eternal face side-to-side, fiddling with the hair and lamp, nostalgia bubbling low in her throat and chest.

Her mother would use a hemp palm brush to smooth out Amamiya's hair to make it match with the original, then dipped a brush of fine horse hairs into a pan of beni for the lips and cheeks, the mixture smooth and warm against the skin.

Her mother made beni in the summer to make sure the mixture dried up nicely. It was too expensive for them to have the professionally compounded cosmetic.

It would taste faintly of flowers and herbs, slightly lumpy but wholly smooth with a touch of water.

"Just a small amount."

The words appeared in Amamiya's mind's eye, barely recalling the long gone voice.

"Look at you. Pull back your hair. Yes. Now you look more like—"

A sharp thud echoed in the bedroom, the discarded tube of lipstick clattering around before loudly rolling to a stop along the walls of the trash bin.

. . .

. . . More . . .

. . . Like . . .

She grabbed the bag of makeup wipes, almost ripping the lid off.

More . . . Like . ..

. . .

A

 n

  e

   u

    e

She scrubbed away the color, but it only grew more red. She dug into the lips with the wipe, pulling the skin to get even the creases till it grew irritated and fragile, and a thin white film crackled across the lips.

The slightly tinted cloth dropped onto the vanity carelessly. She poked and pinched at the film, till her nail tips found grip and peeled, tugging away whatever piece stuck on, exposibg the raw and damp warmth, a deep shade of pink that verged red.

Pick.

 Pick.

Pick.

"I know this color."

 Pick.

  Pick.

Pick.

"Yes."

 Pick.

 Pick.

  Pick.

"I know this color."

The mutilated site dyed the teeth, tainted the tongue, stained the white robe, as if she had eaten a chunk of raw meat, bits of the protective layer left discarded on the vanity, falling heavily like shredded paper.

Her brows twitched at the image in the small mirror, a tinted finger pulling away to tug on the bottom lid of her eye, the achromatic husk staring back.

. . . Ane  ue . . .

The acrylic nail inched closer, tweaking at the lashes, almost clawing.

Aneue , stop looking a t me.

She kept staring back at it.

Amamiya grabbed her face,

"Aneue," pointed fingertips pulled and scratched at the thin, delicate lids, digging and digging, peeling back the flimsy skin, "stop looking at me!"

Knock knock knock!

The door was slid open just enough for a conversation. "Master, the lord is waiting for you at breakfast."

She blinked slowly.

"Master?"

"I'm busy." Amamiya replied, the sickeningly sweet tone she always wore tucked away with her clothes and jewelries, leaving behind an unremarkable voice.

"Understood, Master. Do you need any assistance?"

She let her hands drop. "Make a nail appointment for me, the new set should match my kimono for that old man's party. No red or white. I hate red. I hate white."

The servant on the other side of the sliding door was silent for a moment. "Do you also want to replace your clothes? Most of them are white—"

"No."

"Yes, Master." They replied hastily, and though a door separated the two, Amamiya assumed they also bowed their head. It was proper etiquette. Because she was the master of the mansion. She was the master of the clan. She was the master of the people.

Yes.

Her.

Yes.

Her.

Yes.

Her.

"When is my meeting with that junk man?"

"Mr Okumura? At 12 PM today, in the VIP privacy room of the LaPlace restaurant. I don't know for what though. Lord Ren may know."

She blinked. Then looked down at the mess of the vanity and herself. A stained finger grabbed a tuft of hair, the once richly dark brown starting to fade for the original achromasia. "Make a brown hair dye appointment as soon as possible."

"Understood."

Amamiya plucked another makeup wipe, cleaning up. "Dismissed."

"Yes, Master."

She listened to the door close, and the muffled steps shuffling away.

The hands scrubbed away the stains on her skin and vanity, then a wipe for the lips and eyes, a clean canvas for the makeup, before slipping on the contacts.

Dark yet subtle.

A striking sweep of dull burgundy lipstick, a brush of dark brown and black eyeshadow, a pat of light blush.

Dark yet subtle.

The only look that fit with pale skin like hers and Ren's.

It was one of the defining traits of the Amamiya Clan. It was a symbol of beauty and wealth.

She didn't know if it still was.

In a moment, she joined up with Ren for breakfast, the boy staring at the table, quietly eating the meal.

Clink clink clink.

Servants stood at attention, waiting to be called and ordered.

Clink clink clink.

Amamiya ate the battered and fried chicken hearts, chewy but masterfully seasoned.

Clink clink clink.

"Master . . ." Ren spoke up, poking at the slab of wagyu steak sitting on top of the fresh rice. "Mr Madarame moved the date for the party at a later date due to some overlapping schedule with an art show."

Amamiya paused, hazel eyes staring him down across the table. "Did he now?" she crooned, as though amused, but everyone knew she wasn't. "He's an old man, going senile. I thought that blue lapdog would keep him in order."

"Kitagawa is just a student, not an assistant--"

"Really? He sure acts like one, letting that old man snatch up all his paintings." she carelessly tossed out, going back to her breakfast, now at some stewed duck tongues with mixed intestines, the soft crunch making it easier to drown him out. "Lacks the self-respect, boundaries, self-awareness--"

"Kitagawa was groomed to follow him," Ren winced like he was struck, even though Amamiya didn't even move a muscle, but interrupting her was no different to being in a serpent den, "he doesn't know any better."

"He's 17 and doesn't know any better? Goodness, I'd hate what his parents thinks of him. Aw, wait," Amamiya recalled what Madarame told her some time ago when she first spotted Yusuke, "he's an orphan, isn't he? Father didn't want him, nor his mother."

"It wasn't her choice to leave." Ren immediately stated, tightly gripping the chopsticks with one hand, the other on the edge of the table. "I don't know Kitagawa or his family well, but his mom didn't leave because she wanted to."

"Oh, Ren," she hummed with a pleasant note, her cold eyes pinning the boy down to the spot, "you don't really have the right to say that when your own mother didn't want you. You're lucky enough she didn't let you die sooner."

He flinched. Then swallowed thickly.

Amamiya ate another heart. "Eat your breakfast and trouble the shinuhis. I'm busy today."

". . . Yes, Master."

The rest of the day carried on as routine: do work, bother Ren, get bothered by people, do work again, bother Ren again, get bothered by people again.

Again and again and again.

The meeting with that junk man was starting soon, one of the few breaks in the monotony.

She exited the car and entered the restaurant, adjusting her rings and glasses absentmindedly.

Too many vermins, scurrying about with plates in their hands, rummaging for filth among filth.

These bodies are dying all around me.

A small burn bubbled to her throat, but she schooled her expression and forced it back down to the stomach.

Not mine.

The elevator ride was short yet it dragged, stretching between the floors from the ground level, following at the heels as she made way to the VIP room, which didn't look all that different from the other spots of the restaurant, save for it being private and away, and already served piles of food.

A man of average height and neatly gelled hair looked up from a call he promptly immediately hung up. He was dressed like a nobleman.

It made her want to make face at such tasteless mimicry.

He stepped forward, a hand reached out. "Kunikazu Okumura, CEO of Okumura Foods. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms Amamiya—"

"Ms?" She spoke, the iconic sickeningly sweet tone laying heavy on her tongue with the collar and cuffs of gems and gold. "Ms?" She repeated, the taste of such lowly title burned her tongue. "Oh. Oh, no, no, no, Okumura." She chuckled, shaking her head slowly, like a teacher correcting a child. "If you can't even address my proper title, this meeting is over."

"Ah—!" Okumura looked like he was gutted on the spot, growing pale. He cleared his throat and tried again with a slight bow. "I'm sorry, Master Amamiya, I didn't mean any offense, truly!" He forced out in a single breath, a strained voice. "Come, let's have a seat and continue the arrangement." He gestured to the ready table, his fingers twitching.

Amamiya tapped her chained glasses. "The Amamiya Clan listens and offer their chances. I'm a good person, so I'll stay for now." She said, taking a seat across from Okumura. "Now, what deal did you wanted?"

Okumura cleared his throat, a hand nervously pulling and fixing his ascot. "I've heard that a certain famous artist will be hosting a party some time—"

"You want an invite or be a plus-one."

"Ah— Um, y-yes, yes!" He nodded with a nervous but eager grin. "I'm so glad you understood so quickly."

Amamiya's brow twitched. "I'm so sorry, Okumura," she drawled, shaking her head without a care, "but the event is only for people who are respected and idolized by their underlings and the public. I don't think a simple man can get in, even with my help. But people certainly love an underdog story, just not these people. You can try your luck of networking with more local businesses before making your way up."

Okumura's brows furrowed slightly, his desperate grin twitching to a more strained array. "Master Amamiya, please, I assure you that having me along will benefit you."

Amamiya tuned him out, his voice a blur into the silence of the room. She stared at him with an obviously fake smile and seemingly unblinking gaze, her hands neatly folded on the table.

The smooth polished wood was slightly smeared by the oils of Okumura's fingertips as he gestured.

Vile.

Okumura's eyes flickered from his hands then to the woman across from him, trying not to stumble or come off eager to be in her graces.

Incompetent.

It reminded her of when she first took title as master of the clan, and she had to prove her place for it, bumbling and stammering as the hundreds of eyes all latched on.

"—and I need my daughter to get engaged soon—"

"Daughter?" She blinked slowly.

Okumura choked on his saliva, somewhat surprised she spoke after nearly an hour of his vain rambles. "Yes, my daughter, Haru. She's 18 and I want her engaged. She's a good girl, does what she's told for the most part, and doesn't talk back."

"My ward is a little younger. 16, but he'll be 17 soon. He's as unlovable as one could be, but it's just me and him in this dead clan. A girl for him to play with would be perfect to repopulate it." Just as Okumura's face lit up, she sweetly added, "I'll contact you when there's no other girls."

The older man gritted his teeth, but he held himself. "Ah, yes, of course, Lord Amamiya is no doubt popular with women! Haru would have to fight for a ring from him."

"No."

I'm not settling on her yet.

"With your current position, it'd be disgraceful on my clan. Ren needs to marry someone who actually has a standing." She gestured an open hand to Okumura, his face seemingly perched on the nails from the perspective. "Being a CEO is definitely worth commenting, but your brand is only local, confined to the main island of Japan, barely even recognizable in other prefectures, let alone internationally." The hand dropped back to the table. "I don't have a problem with you being the founder of a fast food chain, just that you're insignificant."

Okumura forced on a strained grin, his hands nervously raking at the table. "Well, uh . . . I-I see. But!" He quickly picked himself up, both literally and figuratively, his legs bumping against the table in his haste. "But, if you give me some support in my company, help me expand my influence from Tokyo to mainland Japan, than the prefectures, then overseas, my daughter will be the perfect wife for him!"

Amamiya tapped the side of her glasses, feigning thought. "That'll take years, even with my help, if your product is not worth promoting." She countered with a bored yawn. "Okumura Foods is labeled as a black company by locals. The Amamiya Clan has values in helping the people. Our practices clash, and it'll be a lot of resources to invest."

"But surely even you know that taking risks are necessary to stay ahead from the rest!" Okumura said a little too quickly after she spoke, his clammy palms finding a napkin to dry off . "I assure you, Master Amamiya, Haru is the ideal wife for your ward!"

I still have time, Amamiya spoke to herself, head rocking subtly side-to-side, I'm not in a rush for any descendants, she leaned back in the chair slightly, eyes remaining focused on her folded hands against the table, Ren isn't picky, and hes still young. I can pluck a girl for him anytime, she paused for a moment, pondering a bit more inwardly, but I could just have that girl to get it over with. Mm, yes, maybe. Ren will need time to warm up to her.

"—I assure you that with proper backing and even funding from an outside source—!"

"I'll tab it."

"—I'll even improve my chains enough to expand— Ah— Huh?"

"I'll tab it." Amamiya repeated. "If I can't find another girl, I'll settle for your daughter." she stood up, adjusting her rings with a bored air. "But don't get your hopes up. Have a backup suitor for your girl if Ren isn't interested in her."

Okumura looked like he wanted to speak, his mouth rapidly moving up and down like a puppet, his thoughts racing for words, but he slipped on a bewildered smile and nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, of course! Thank you, Master Amamiya, thank you! You have no idea how much I appreciate this chance!" He managed to sputter out, his heart racing with almost akin to elation, to have the somewhat approval of someone like her. "Now, uh, about that party invite—"

Amamiya airily waved him off, already leaving the VIP room. "Yes, yes, whatever, I'll extend it to you and her for networking."

The door shut behind her.

Okumura blinked, unable to believe she handed it over after, well, everything she said to him earlier. But the disbelief was quickly replaced with elation. He punched the air like he had just won a long, long, arduous game, muttering, "Yes," over and over under his breath. Maybe even spared a small hop in his old age. "Okay, okay! Yes!" He laughed breathlessly, taking out a handkerchief to wipe off the cold sweat. "Alright! I got Amamiya under my belt somehow!" He rubbed his clammy palms into the handkerchief. "Now all I need to do is convince her boy to marry Haru. But ill worry about that later. Right now, I still need someone to get with her if it doesn't work out." He took out his phone, tapping on Haru's number after hanging up on the girl so abruptly earlier. "I also need to get her a dress, and get appointments for her hair and makeup, make her presentable . . . Wait, is it themed?"

.

.

.

"Welcome home, Master Amamiya." the row of awaiting servants bowed down low to her the moment she stepped through the doors, uniform and synchronized, not one out of place, nor did any straighten up, as she didn't pass permission yet.

She ignored them, tossing aside the shoes. "You," she poked the top of a shinuhi's head, making him stiffen, as though guilty, "extend the plus-one invite for Madarame's party to Kunikazu Okumura."

"Yes, Master." he replied, hurrying away.

"Where's Ren?"

"Lord Amamiya is with a schoolmate, Yusuke Kitagawa, the student und—"

"That blue lapdog, yes, I remember him, unfortunately enough. My kimono, is it ready? Was is delivered yet? Does it have the patterns I want? The colors I want? I want it with squama and it needs to be purple, white, and red." before anyone could reply, she added on, "I just decided I want plum flowers also to match my name. Are they still being printed? I want plum flowers."

"Master, aren't you worried it'll clash—?"

"Only if you're too incompetent." Amamiya interrupted. "The size and frequency of the patterns, the distribution of the elements, the exact shade of color, and the layering all dictates how it looks. The kimono is supposed to have a more modern take to fit the times. If the designer can't do that, they should quit and never sew again." she stated, leaving the foyer to retreat into her office, knowing she'll keep being bothered. "Once Ren gets home, send him to my office or room."

The lavish office collided yet blurred into the traditional setting of the estate, the large paintings on the off-white walls and decorative folding screens helped to almost blunt out the sharp edges and angles of the modern technology that had infiltrated the ancient site, yet, perhaps, their integration aided in making it appear less abrupt.

It was close to noon, the windows at the side of the room wide open for Amamiya, who was sitting at her desk, typing away at the quiet keyboard, an email on the center monitor, the left screen bearing the weather and time, and the right had a collage of various tabs, some being of social media, a web version of her texting app, and the marked up calender.

Tap tap tap.

A cool, damp breeze swept through the windows, taking the sunlight with it. The world smelled of rain, and more to come. There was a faint noise of the shinuhis scurrying around in the courtyard, tending to the garden and pond, their pattering rodent footsteps felt nostalgic of when she was younger, writing her entrance exam in that day of yore.

She never got in when the school board changed its terms to deny women.

Times changed since then, though.

Tap tap tap.

She adjusted her chained glasses, a sharp stone caught on the golden thread-like thing, tugging her hand back, nipping the cheek in a clean, smooth swipe. The woman didn't even seemed to notice it, simply untucking the ring and returning to her email.

Tap tap tap.

'Shido, it doesn't matter what you offer. The Amamiya Clan is the sole back bone of the city, the very heart of Japan. I've been here for a long time. I know how this goes. Cut the losses and quietly sit in your corner.'

On the other side of the screen, Shido was impatiently kicking his foot into the tightly trimmed carpet of his office, the back wall a giant glass pane, the cloudy skies making him even more irritated than usual. "This whore!" He grunted. "Who does she think she is?!" He stood up, fingers raking against the desk, fighting back the need to throw the monitor off the furniture. "Cut the losses and sit quietly?! This bitch has the fucking balls to send this to me through email—!" He slammed his hands on the keyboard.

'You misunderstood, Amamiya, which is quite a shock for someone as perspective as you. My offers will fall through if you continue to refuse any support for me and my campaign. Between politicians, especially when one is from a highly prestigious and respected family of history, it's simply logical to have each other's backs shall hard times come. Though any actual support I can offer you is scant, given that we're of the same caliber in connections, assets, and wealth, it wouldn't hurt to be within arm's reach, would it? I admire Tokyo and simply wish to rise it above into a golden era. This city is no better than the backwaters of its former state. A shadow of itself. The economy is failing, people are lazy, and soon, our influence will fall. Well perish and be forgotten. All I need is your word for backing.'

Amamiya scoffed, almost like a dry cough of disbelief, her brows knitting and twisting as fingers typed and backspaced again and again. "Lily-livered goat bastard—!" she hissed with clenched teeth. "Who does he think he is?!" Loud, hard taps of acrylic nails and heavy rings stabbing into the keyboard punctuated her words. "How dare this crude wash-rag have the nerve to say this shit to me! Me! As if he has any idea what he's going on about!"

'Misinterpreting my intentions and meaning is a very dangerous flaw, it's telling that you're too incompetent to admit you have no skill or experience to know about this. You're not a respectable politician like that. Tokyo is basking in the glow of the former eras that made it. You have no frame of reference or clue how any of it works besides people rambling about what they believe was the golden era, back when money was leaves, nor do you actually know what to do or how its done to even begin the motion of it, let alone the patience. But since you're so stubborn, it's best you leave it to someone who does actually know what they want and how to get it.'

Shido felt a vein rupturing in his head.

The things he would say if it wasn't his professional email . . .

Amamiya sent a follow-up email just before he could respond:

'And regarding your offer about my ward: he's not a part of this. If you break him, I'll personally bury you with the others who called themselves untouchable.'

Chapter Text

The rain seemed to stay, permanently etched into the skies with dark grey clouds, not a hint of wispy white or the boundless blue. While it hasn't storm, and should be clearing soon, it certainly didn't feel like it'll let up.

Within the dry safety of Kosei's spare classroom, the school hours just about wrapped up moments ago, the halls still bustling with students and staff going back to their places, by a window speckled by mist, Ren sighed to himself, the umbrella closed up by his feet. "Feels like Tokyo will be flooded at this rate."

"Certainly." Yusuke ruffled his hair, wicking off the water from being outside earlier before it suddenly down-poured. He then groaned in annoyance, "Ugh, such trouble! The power went out in my abode last night as well. I will be unable to properly dry my clothes." An irritated huff. "Oh, and my spare uniform still smells of mildew because of this weather! Though there is a laundromat near my residence, I need the money for another pack of rations. But I'm running out of yellow paint as well. I won't be able to complete a painting for Mr Madarame." He sighed heavily, pulling back the damp hair once more. "This conundrum . . ." He turned away, wistfully looking out the window, as if the rain's pattering could provide some answers. "If I split my current rations, and gather the free lunch bonuses, there should be enough to satisfy both troubles." A hand absentmindedly procured his phone for the calculations. "But that also depends if sale days will be applied, along with potential price changes. Tch, how irritating."

Ren cleared his throat, "Kitagawa, I can spare—"

"No, no, unnecessary!" He immediately shot down, waving his hand frantically to fan off the offer, as though it was some bothering fly. "I'm well aware that your clan hold value and emphasis in being charitable and guardians of the common-folk, but please don't take pity on me. I've endured more dire situations just fine."

Ren had to hold back making a face, or even a vague comment, biting on his bottom lip slightly. He tried again with a different route, tapping his chin, recalling some pamphlets that students were granted special privilege of having a dorm for free if they were enrolled in a high honor's course and/or a notable figure's pupil.

It was a strange requirement, but Kosei prided itself on donations from people like Amamiya –unlike their rival school, Shujin, which received funds from the government–and occasional guest stars of famed alumni, so it wasn't too entirely impossible to find a student or two who was under the wing of a public face.

He brought it up.

"Oh, yes, of course." Yusuke airily said, looking rather disgruntled by the fact. "But it's filthy!" He proclaimed with the same vigor as a Shakespearean announcer. "There's always grim somewhere in the corners, the counters are stained with god-knows-what, it's claustrophobic to be within those walls, and the noise— Doors swinging day in and day out, footsteps all over, the walls mere sheets of tissue, I can hear the drops of a faucet five rooms down!" The artist scoffed with disbelief, shaking his head. "I'm better off where I currently live, as unpleasant it may possibly seem to you."

"I . . . I see."

Can't argue with that. I've never seen the dorms, or even visited the wing at all. Kitagawa might get complaints too for his monologues, he tuned in somewhat to the droning muses about Madarame's party once more, then about Amamiya's decision to use one of the paintings from that teacher, finding Yusuke's personal works too degrading to even consider, which he took a very deep offense of, making the artist go into a dive of how some people clearly have no sense of aesthetics beyond materialistic or surface-level views. If Master wasn't so volatile, I'd offer him a room as a servant. But would he accept that? Kitagawa is . . . Not prideful, but certainly the kind to not take help easily, Ren shook his head from the thoughts. No, I don't think that'll work out either. Even if Master was easier to handle, he wouldn't have time for his paintings, and if I try to wedge some for him, it'd be blatant favoritism. It'll upset the other servants, and he'll be an easy target for Master–

"Amamiya, are you alright? Are you feeling unwell again?" Yusuke furrowed his brows to the strange quieter-than-usual behavior in the middle of his soliloquies, which were missing the small notes and comments from Ren. "You've grown so silent that for a moment I thought you left."

He coughed slightly, clearing his throat, a little startled from being pulled away by his thoughts. "I'm fine. Just thinking." He offhandedly replied.

Yusuke watched him carefully, points of his face twitching, quirking, furrowing as he focused on Ren's rather stuck expression of haplessness: the large eyes, the pinched brows, and the tight line of pursed lips.

He wanted to voice the observations, but kept them confined for the time being.

Something is bothering him deeply, but do I have the privilege to offer anything? We've known each other for merely a few days, it may be too sudden, he brushed back a piece of hair, then traced the knuckle along the jaw to rest under his chin. Is Amamiya still pondering on how to offer his aid? I should put a stop to that, it'd do no good for him to fret over my trivial troubles.

"Have I told you about my master's plan for me? She wants me to get married soon after graduation, and have kids." he seemed to realize how abrupt the information was based on Yusuke's blink, and blushed a light pink, feet shuffling in place, hands fidgeting with the curved umbrella handle. "S-sorry, that was sudden." he backtracked, a cough choking in the base of his throat. "It's just . . . I don't have anyone to talk to about, and it's been bothering me for days . . ."

"I don't necessarily mind. But a light conversation leading to it would've been much appreciated."

Ren awkwardly and weakly laughed to himself, muttering another apology.

Yusuke leaned against the wall, rubbing his chin. "She wants you to have children so soon?" he pondered on it. "If I recall correctly, the Amamiya Clan abruptly perished over a century ago in mere hours. A mass hysteria of sorts?" He vaguely remembered reading up on it for a history assignment. "Media called the tragedy The Silent Night."

Ren nodded, absentmindedly fidgeting with the umbrella again. "The clan went insane, drinking poison and stabbing their hearts because they thought they were infected with parasites. A few of them managed to survive. Master told me it happened in a back building of the main estate."

It was visible from Amamiya's office: lean out the back window, and there will be a peek of the roof for a building in disrepair among the trees. Many of the servants often warned him to never follow the path through the back garden, and must stay in the main yard.

In hindsight, they likely didn't want a sickly child running around too much, but Ren always steered clear of the back garden. So did the servants.

Amamiya didn't seem to mind they abandoned that part of the large property.

He remembered how he used to get nightmares of wheezy wails, gnarled hands, and blurred faces because of that place. Those people always felt so very distant even though they surrounded him, their hands always reaching for him, clawing for clothes they couldn't quite grab, their voices melding to incoherence. He recalled their kimonos being stained around the chest, each one bearing the same wound.

Those nightmares have since stopped as he grew older, but the suffocating dread and foreboding of seeing those roof tiles never did.

Ren rubbed his head, going back on topic. "Not like I don't want to be married, I do. I'd like to be a husband and raise a family. More so, I can't imagine having my spouse and children be near Master." Fingertips brushed over his sleeve.

"She's relatively young, isn't she?" the other replied, recalling the lack of lines around her face, figure still limber, skin glowing with no blemishes. "Then again, I've heard it's not uncommon for well-off women to maintain the illusion of youth using drastic procedures."

"I know she dyes her hair regularly, but nothing else. She's more traditional and avoids permanent cosmetics." Ren pondered on it for a moment. "Now that I think about it . . . We never celebrate her birthday." Let alone have the knowledge of the date. "Actually, I don't know how old Master is."

"Well, it's quite rude to ask a woman her age like one would a man's salary." Yusuke said with a knowing tone, as though common sense.

"Is it? Maybe I'm a bit sheltered from that." He paused, finding it ironic to say it to Yusuke of all people. "Regardless, she'll be around for a while, and I don't want any more people be hurt by her."

"I understand your concerns. But, I presume she could care less of what you want? I don't mean any offense to your master, but she's a very unpleasant and demanding woman."

"Of course." Ren sighed in resignation. "At the manor, she has a meeting waiting for me. Apparently, she's gathered up some women to be my fiancee." He'd rather not be alone, being the only guy in a room of women felt awkward, but it was even more awkward to have a new friend accompany him to look for a fiancee. He told himself to suck it up. "How's your art block?"

A switch seemed to flick, as Yusuke immediately started delving into his troubles, particularly of recent when Madarame requested—Ren was more certain it was a demand, but he kept quiet—him to have a new painting or two ready so he could display them soon for the party, or his art show. Whichever he felt more fitting.

"The standards I hold myself against are nothing in comparison to what I've been grieving over for my teacher!"

"Did he at least give you an idea?"

That has to be a bare minimum, right?

"Mr Madarame wants it based on memories." he replied, knuckles rubbing into his temples in frustration, brows tightly knitted. "Or was it history? Maybe the subject was about women? The conversation is evading me . . ." He huffed in irritation and continued, "If I don't have a painting done by the deadline, Mr Madarame will be disappointed in me!" His eyes widened in worry, and maybe a mix of horror as well just by the possibility. "No, that can't happen. I only need a new source of inspiration to make the paints slash across the canvas without thought, only vigor and drive to create. A muse!"

Ren jumped from the sudden declare. "A m—?"

"Yes, that's certainly what I need." Yusuke interrupted him, though not purposely, now having one of his usual monologues based on the tone. "I've been mulling over the same well again and again, the familiar path carved to my soles, and now the water is dried from my frequent visits. What I need to do is search for new a new well to draw from!" He clenched a fistful against his chest, his other hand extending outwards, as though presenting the idea itself to the singular audience. "I must find a woman to be my muse for Mr Madarame's sake! I cannot rely on only my emotions, dreams, and personal experiences."

Ren offered an encouraging grin. "A new angle is definitely the best way to approach an art block! Kitagawa, I'll do what I can to help you."

Yusuke grabbed his hands, getting a surprised squeak. The umbrella tumbled between their feet. "Amamiya! Allow me to accompany you on your search for a fiancee!" He requested.

Well, with that determined glint in his eyes and strong conviction in his voice, his cold and lightly rough hands tightly holding softer ones like they'll try to escape, it was more of a demand a farm boy would make to have the Adventurers' Guild let him join.

Ren blinked. "I . . . Huh?"

Wait, like . . . I know I just said I'd help . . . But Master shouldn't be home during this time, he glanced to the side to think, it won't be an issue if she doesn't know, but going behind her back like that would make her upset. But I don't want him to cause trouble because of his eagerness. The women there might have a problem as well.

"How about I give them your contacts?"

"Yes, yes, perhaps," Yusuke considered with a slight nod, then shook his head, swatting the suggestion away. "No, it won't do. As an artist, I have a sharp eye for aesthetics. What use will it be for my time to meet a woman just to be hindered that she is not the muse I'm searching for?"

This back-and-forth went on for a bit, and after growing annoyance on both ends, Ren gave in and called Amamiya about the arrangement.

Much to his surprise, she didn't care, so long as 'that Old Man's blue dog' behaved himself and not make a mess for her to clean. He figured she was likely in a good mood, and could only hope that it last for the day.

Ren relayed the news to Yusuke, who was ecstatic that he was given the chance to climb out of 'the redundant pit of inactivity', with the promise to keep himself in check to avoid troubling Ren in his lavish home.

"Please refrain from asking to paint them nude. I understand it's purely artistic, but the women will get upset and not want to talk to me."

"Your worries are well-meaning but I am still disheartened." Yusuke said with a frown. "Nonetheless, I will oblige."

"Oh, also, once we get to the estate, call me 'Lord Amamiya'. The servants care about etiquette."

.

.

.

To say that Yusuke was excited was a slight understatement: he was completely swallowed up by the estate, eyes whipping from the worndown stone path, the preserved and mimicked screen doors, the scattered original lanterns, and even just the passing servants, who glanced over and politely bowed at Ren's way. But, he did keep his word and remained close to the young heir, even though it took every fiber of his being to not scurry off into the expansive history.

The air around Yusuke was filled with quiet scratching, pencil lead scribbling furiously into the sketchbook, muttering, "marvelous," "brilliant," and, "magnificent," over and over under his breath. Even a millipede by the flowerbed made him lose his mind, firing him off into a brief speech of the beauty of the insect with it's sleek body and delicate legs.

Ren internally sighed by the excitement, but was wholly pleased that Yusuke was at least getting something out of the visit.

"I've always spied your estate from afar when possible." Yusuke retrieved his phone to snap some pictures, likely as reference for later. "Never would I dare to believe I'd have the privilege to one day step foot here! I must thank you once more, Lord Amamiya! It's an honor! My euphoria is indescribable!" He exclaimed, eyes so wide the grey irises akin to specks of an island among the white sclera. "It sits heavy in my chest, dragging into my stomach, my heart is racing with the beat of an amateur drummer, my head is dizzied and even throbbing with anticipation!"

"Um . . . That sounds more like dread. Mm . . . I guess extreme excitment has similar symptoms." Ren waved away the words. "Its alright, Kitagawa. So long as you get what you need for your paintings. Oh, um, try not to take any pictures inside the manor." His words were met with a dissatisfied frown.

"What?!" he gasped sharply, as if he was told his loved ones were killed, eyes large with hurt. "Lord Amamiya, how could you be so cruel to me? To put forth a divine dish before a starved man, saying he may lick the plate but not the dressing?" he bemoaned, a hand cluching the chest of his uniform. "Why would you betray me in this way after promising to aid my pursuit of a muse?"

Ren furrowed his brows slightly, the corners of his lips twitching to a curious but confused grin. "Ah— Kitagawa, it's not like that. Master is just private. There's a lot of artifacts inside, and she doesn't want any chances of the photos being leaked, it might bring people to try and break in."

Though still upset, the artist gave a disgruntled but obeying huff.

"Very well then." he fiddled with the phone. "But may I take a few pictures of the koi fish?"

"Try not to get too close to the water, they'll think you have food and start splashing."

After getting his fill, they were greeted by a maid by the main doors bowing low while two other maids came to supply slippers when they removed their shoes.

"Welcome back, Lord Amamiya." one of the maids spoke with a warm smile. She looked over at Yusuke, her expression pulling back to a more neutral state. "And this gentleman is . . . ?"

"Yusuke Kitagawa, a schoolmate from Kosei."

"And the disciple of the esteemed artist Ichiryusai Madarame." he proudly added on.

The maid pulled a slight face, and simply nodded along. "Really? It's an honor to have a student of his in the estate." A freshly scarred hand smoothed out her uniform.

Ren tilted his head. "Ms Yamada, your injury is still new. You shouldn't be working right now."

"Oh, please don't mind me, my lord. Master will be upset if I call for unpaid time off." She laughed off like it was minor.

He frowned at her dismiss and spoke to the other amid she came with. ". . . Mrs Hirabayashi, please get the gauze roll from my room and wrap her hand."

All three servants gasped, making Yusuke confused by why they acted like Ren had ordered them to execute him on the spot.

"They're prescribed to— Agh—!"

"Yamada, shut up!" Hirabayashi hissed, elbowing the woman. "I'm so sorry, Mr Kitagawa. Please ignore what she said, it's nothing for you to worry about. Master mentioned that the young lord will be bringing along a guest for the meeting. Please follow me, and refrain from taking any pictures while the Master is out. Lord Amamiya will join you shortly after discussion."

Once she led the artist away, Yamaha sighed and rubbed her side. "She's too rough with me."

"Ren, you can't just use your gauze for us all the time, Master will find out you have a stockpile." The maid who greeted by the door said.

"They're seamless, flat, and smooth. Ms Yamada will just need to wear a glove to hide her hand." Ren replied with a firm tone. "If they're not in the drawer, I have some spares in the closet. So long as Master doesn't know, it'll be alright." With that, he hurried to reach Hirabayashi and Yusuke before they entered the branching halls.

Yusuke's fingers twitched for his phone, but he held back and shoved the device deeper into his pocket, huffing inwardly with irritation.

What a tease it all was.

The few shoji doors with their painted screens of bygone ages or their embellishments of thin carved pieces of wood, the woodblock paintings hanging within certain rooms when the doors were left open, the variety of vases with their fragile bodies and delicate brush works, everything!

They were begging for him to capture their ancient beauty on a canvas, presented to Madarame in all their glory for his eye of value.

Unfortunately, the forlorn artist must content himself to commit the details into his sketchbook instead. It'd reflect Madarame badly if he was caught sneaking a picture.

They were soon let into a room with a painted screen depicting a cherry blossoms tree.

It wasn't much of note inside, a simple place to hold guests. The tatami mats were neatly kept in shape, and the table that was typically at the center was loaded with refreshments and snacks. The door to the inner courtyard was wide open to air out the room, which smelled of various perfumes and the mild hint of makeup powder and hairspray. A few servants stood by outside, waiting to be called over.

There were quite a few girls, much more than Ren had initially expected of Amamiya; everywhere they turned, there was at least one woman being idle.

Perhaps Amamiya was feeling generous with her marriage offers, which was a little concerning to him. He couldn't tell if she had such low hopes of him finding a woman, or it was her way of belittling him from a distance.

The one by the tall vase with sticks was a pretty lady, but was visibly older than him.

"A bit young, aren't you? You look a little older for your age." She commented, looking him up and down, appraising as though in a Sotheby's auction house. "Don't worry, kid, I can wait whenever you're ready."

Ren swallowed thickly and shuffled back, a nervous and embarrassed glow crawling across his face. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I think I'll only go for girl close to my age. But, thank you for coming."

"An 8-year gap scaring you off? Shame. If you change your mind, I'll be available."

The one looking over the hung decorative fans and scrolls was sweet, but she was a bit too easily distracted. More bluntly put by Yusuke, air-headed. Ren could hardly hold a conversation with her before she noticed a bird in the courtyard, or how her voice was so floaty and pitched, like she was in constant daydream.

The one standing at the opened wall was too overwhelming for Ren, too eager to be close. "Come on, I got experience." She easily said with a snake grin. "I'm just a year older, but I'm graduating this year from Samsara High School."

Ren lightly coughed. "N-no thank you."

"Shy type, huh? Boring . . . Maybe you're secretly a freak in the sheets—?"

He hurried away.

Most of them were more inclined for his influence,others were adamant they could, 'melt the unlovable heart,' whatever that meant.

Ren had no clue what Amamiya told them, but it wholly kept him away whenever they smothered or dismissed him.

There were one or two simply there because of parents or guardians pressuring them, a sentiment that made him keep his distance. Even though he needed just one girl to pretend to be his fiancee, he wasn't that desperate enough to make them to agree.

Such thought never passed him, even fleetingly, but the plan would work ideally if they were both in on it.

On Yusuke's end, he was drawn by some of the guests, framing them with his hands and catching the best angles of them. But, to his disappointment, they weren't enough to spark any inspiration in him, drifting about a lone leaf would.

He then noticed one of the girls tucked into the corner of the room, looking around like a lost bird. He eyed her up and down, which made her fidget with her cardigan when she caught him, especially when he went over to her. "Have we met before? You look vaguely familiar."

"Mm?" She hummed, staring at him for a few more moments.

"Yes!" Yusuke suddenly exclaimed. "You're that woman with the stray cat."

"Huh? Oh! Yes, yes, I remember now. Oh, I'm so sorry!" She apologized again, even though it was ancient news by that point. But, the fact it happened at all was utterly embarrassing. It sometimes kept her up at night.

"I didn't think our paths would cross once more." He traced over her figure again, thumb and pointer rubbing his chin in thought. "Mm . . ."

Bit on the pneumatic side, hard to tell with those clothes. Good hair color, he made a frame with his hands, like a ripening peach.

She blinked and looked around again.

Hair shape throws off her silhouette, cardigan is drowning everything out, but the white leggings do pair nicely with her skin and undertones. Maybe a more blue-white or tinted-warm-white than true-white to bring out the—

"Kitagawa, did you find what you needed?" Ren asked, walking over. "Mm?" He glanced at the awkward girl. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't notice you there. You must be the last one to talk to. Who are you?"

"Haru Okumura." She tapped her toes against tatami mats. "Um, who's he?"

"A schoolmate, Yusuke Kitagawa. He's here to look for inspiration on his next painting. Kitagawa?"

Yusuke sighed, a hand dropping to his side, the other brushing back the dark hair. "Unfortunately, no. But not all was in vain. The architecture of your estate has provided me suggestions and possible influences for what I can draw from." He shook his head. "But I still need a muse."

Haru tucked back a tuft of hair, putting on a smile. "Lord Amamiya, correct? Well, uh, I'm 18, and a senior at Shujin High School."

"Shujin?" The two boys echoed.

"I've heard they accepted a felon into their crowd." Yusuke recalled with a matter-of-fact tone.

Haru nodded. "I've yet to meet him, I think, but I hope I don't." A complicated expression settled on her face, eyes dropping to their feet. "There's enough going on there already . . ."

Ren blinked slowly, his focus darting and examining her face, body language, and even just the way her fingers fidgeted and tugged at the hems of the light-colored cardigan. Something about it made him recall what some students said a while ago, when he first searched for Yusuke:

"That school doesn't have any self-respect. They let anyone go in there. They got whores, delinquents, and creepy adults."

His face twitched, brows briefly tugged, the corners of the lips nudged back.

So, it's not entirely rumors . . .

A quiet sigh slipped by, his expression softening. He wanted to ask, to offer some semblance of grounding or comfort, but such question was invasive. It wasn't his place to know.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Okumura. I hope you stay safe. Kitagawa, there's a few ladies—"

"Lord Amamiya, I . . . I can be the perfect wife!" She declared with her chest, louder than she meant to be, grabbing the eyes of the other guests.

He jumped slightly. "Oh—! I—"

"I, uh, don't really know how to cook or clean, but I know data analysis, current public opinion, a-and—" she stumbled for what else to throw at him, realizing on the spot that cooking and cleaning was definitely not a needed skill for someone of his status, "and I know ballet, gardening, and I can carry 40 pound bags of fertilizer!"

"40 what?" Yusuke paused. "I don't think Lord Amamiya needs a wife with that attribute."

"Well, not carry-carry, but I can haul it after a warm-up!"

"W-wait, Okumura—" Ren squeaked when she grabbed his hand, her palms warm and slightly rough.

"I won't talk back, I'll leave you alone whenever you want, I can do data analysis!"

"You already listed that."

Haru gritted her teeth, brows furrowed. It looked like determination with that resolve in her voice and the downward tilt of her chin, but the clamminess of her palms against Ren's, and the tremor of her breath . . .

He glanced over at the other girls in the room watching, then to Haru, a little overwhelmed by her wide-eyed stare.

Yusuke lightly coughed. "Lord, Amamiya, shall I request one of your servants for assistance?"

Haru's hand involuntarily tightened.

"Wait, Kitagawa," Ren tugged Yusuke'ssleeve to stop him, before returning his attention to her. "Ms Okumura, is . . . Something wrong?" He asked in a soft tone.

She didn't reply. Not immediately. "Lord Amamiya, I . . . I really . . ." Her voice grew smaller with each uttered word.

". . . Ms Okumura? Do you feel tired? You can lay down in a spare room alone."

She shook her head. "Please . . ." She strained through clenched teeth.

I don't trust any man Father will toss me to. But when I look at you, I know I'll be safe.

She wanted to say those words, to beg him to take her, to spare her of what Sugimura will have planned if he shoved that shackle onto her finger.

But she couldn't.

It was desperate.

It was sudden.

It was pathetic.

". . . Please."

Ren blinked. Their hands felt sticky, like it won't come undone, her neatly trimmed nails imprinting crescent moons into the back of his hand.

A butler came and forcibly split them. "Ms Okumura, please don't touch Lord Amamiya."

She didn't reply.

The butler brought Ren to the inner courtyard, sending off the other servants to entertain the guests and one to escort Yusuke back to the main entrance of the manor when the skies began to darken and the already hidden sun dips away in the horizon.

"My lord, are you alright?" He asked, touching Ren's hand, as if it was injured. "Does it still hurt from a few days?"

He shook his head. "Mr Tanaka, I'm alright. And it wasn't my hands Master harmed, it was my arm." He corrected, fingertips tracing along the sleeve. "I didn't like most of the girls."

"Its hard to find honest people to marry, especially if you're from an influential background."

"Excuse me ladies, please follow me to leave the manor. Thank you for coming by for the meeting."

The crowd moves out, following after the butler.

Tanaka sighed with exhaustion and loosened up his uniform a little. "These damn uniforms are too stuffy sometimes. A yukata is more breathable than this."

"Hopefully Master isn't too upset I didn't pick anyone today."

"Knowing her, she'll probably laugh and say that you were being a brat." He patted the teen's back carefully, making sure to avoid the central part. "Don't worry, Ren, if push comes to shoved, we'll just buy you a bride."

"Mr Tanaka!"

"I'm just joking, kid! Lighten up! The Master isn't here for another couple hours."

Chapter Text

Ren thought the cat would still be around. Strays tend to linger in the general area, especially if there's shelter and food. But he hadn't seen the black feline since that day.

Well, there were tuxedo cats that trotted over to take the offers of food and water, but none of them had the collar engraved with, 'Morgana'.

At first, he assumed that one of the other mewling strays was him, simply losing the collar at some point in between the days, but none of them looked at him with that odd intelligence in the strikingly blue eyes, or that slightly bratty hiss with the twitch of the whiskers and adamant refusal to be pet, slender tail flicking with annoyance.

Then again, cats had their own preferences, and Morgana was a very strange one, regardless of how brief their encounter was.

Maybe Morgana left because it was too crowded and annoying, or maybe he found a better spot with more food and shelter. But the city streets don't care for the struggling, and much more likely, the poor thing was hiding away somewhere cold and damp from the recent rainy weather.

He could only hope that it was taken home to be warm and fed somewhere, and not aimlessly wandering or hiding. The mental image alone of the black cat being passed and kicked around was making him feel ill.

"I knew I should've sucked it up and take him to the shelter." He sighed with discontent, hand-feeding some leftover food from his lunch. "But it would've made my uniform dirty, and if Master knew, she would've made it everyone's problem."

"Mrr." An older cat voiced for more grilled chicken, nipping his fingertips with its rough tongue.

Ren eyed the stray with a soft expression. "I'm sorry, I don't have anymore." He petted it's matted head, the patxhes of fur making him frown. "The shelter can't take anymore strays now right now. Mm . . . Maybe I'll have some of the servants take you home? A lot of them like cats."

"Mao!" A skinny one yowled, pawing his knees insistently.

"Do you want to play? Sorry, I don't have time." He muttered, offering a soft pet as consolidation, but only receiving a swat instead. "Maybe tomorrow. It'll be Saturday, so even if you dirty my clothes, I can cover it with my coat." He stood up and headed out the alleyway, only to be yowled after by dissatisfied cats. "I'm sorry, but I have to go." The teen gently yet firmly nudged them aside with his foot, only making them hound him more and more.

"Mrrw!"

"Please don't claw my uniform, Master will beat me again." He sighed with growing annoyance. "I'll come back, I promise. I always come back." He pushed the cats away, speed walking his way out of the stuffy alleyway for the equally as crowded streets of Tokyo and suffocating towers of glass and rebar.

A soft sigh flitted from him as he easily stepped into the rapids of foot traffic, brushing off the slightly frayed edges of his composure.

Mr Amakura was right, I really should stop feeding the strays.

But the thought of leaving the poor animals to fend for themselves and drinking dirty water contaminated with cigarettes and trash, it made his heart ache.

He quickly shook his head from the image, already feeling the weight forming in his chest. Sometimes he wished he was still scared of strays and wild animals like when he was a child, but his frequent visits dulled back that uncertainty to simple familiarity.

Now wasn't the time for that, he needed to speak with Amamiya about the outcome of the glorified speed-dating, but the woman failed to return home for the past few days.

It wasn't anything new or strange, that woman sometimes disappeared from the face of the Earth, then return like nothing happened. The most she's ever been gone for was three weeks.

It was the most peaceful the manor had ever been.

No mood swings, no violent bouts, no unpredictable demands and hypocrisy.

Servants didn't have to hold their breaths if they did the chores too slowly, or didn't have their immediate attention. The only person they served was Ren, the boy who apologized to a wooden beam when he bumped into it.

"I'm decompressing." Amamiya said when questioned. She would then tap her temples, digging the acrylic nail just enough to make a person's face twitch of discomfort. "If I don't regularly vent, I'd be the bad guy. No one wants a bad guy, Ren."

Even after all these years, he still somewhat doubted the authenticity of her words, or even the logic of it, as she would sometimes come back in an even worse mood, snapping and yelling at any poor servant who breathed wrong.

That pinned thought trudged open many, many notes of examples, particularly of the time when she kicked a personal chef down the stairs and nearly had a miscarriage on the spot. All because the chef didn't have enough chicken hearts and cow intestine to make a cold meat salad.

Though she was cruel to Ren, she never did anything too drastic to actually impede him in any way.

Well . . . Though . . .

There was that one morning . . .

Stop.

Ren didn't like being alone, his head becoming full of thoughts of the past, especially when it starts to dig deeper and retrieve the early days of Amamiya, or his time with Akira and their mother.

She was a strange woman: he didn't know her, just that she made him and lived in the same house. Always angry at him about something if it wasn't about the hospital bills that made the foundation of the house.

There was a time he doubted he was her son, that, maybe, he was actually a very life-like doll who became sentient, that the unbridled hatred she threw on him made him aware, made to hold all of the frustrations of whenever Akira did something wrong, and she didn't have the heart to scold him, so she got a doll that looked him to throw around.

It made sense to him back then.

He heard of certain yokais that are objects that become alive through intense emotions given to it.

He didn't remember those periods well.

Sometimes he'd 'come back' whenever his heart stuttered, shocking him back into the body to cough and gasp for breath, reaching for the inhaler with the gas muscle relaxants to tame back the struggling thing.

On brutal days, his body would be too weak to even wheeze, limp in the bed, buried flat under the heavy, crushing blanket, the blurred haze of sunlight and shadows beckoning him against the ceiling, so hot it was cold, just melting down into the mattress.

Sometimes he heard someone talking to him.

Sometimes he came back with a warm, small hand holding his, a soft sniffling by his side.

Stop that.

Ren paused at a red crosswalk, eyes dropping to the shuffling shoes and swishing bits of cloth.

Stop thinking so much. God, it's so annoying to always remember those days.

He blamed it on being shy and quiet, too much time with silence and thoughts, all his friends being servants old enough to be his parents.

It didn't matter, these burdens were his to carry, a role more taxing than when he had to play the lead of a naive twin, oblivious to the weight his brother was bound to as 'responsibility' when they were mere children.

. . .

. . . I was . . . Always holding him back . . .

Beep beep beep!

Ren softly hummed, retrieving his phone to find a text from Yusuke. Likely him to bemoan of his lack of a muse still.

The red light flickered green, the waves of people pushing him along hurriedly.

It was a sunny day, sunnier than it had been for the past week, but the streets were still marginally damp.

(Yusuke): Amamiya

(Yusuke): With much regrets, I have yet to be bestowed of a vision for my teacher!

(Ren): Kitagawa, you still have some time.

(Yusuke): I'm a failure of a pupil!

(Ren): Surely even you know that art can't be rushed. It degrades the quality.

(Yusuke): Mr Madarame slaved his years to teach me his craft, and I cannot even do his requests!

(Yusuke): Wait, you are absolutely correct, Amamiya.

(Yusuke): If I attempt to force myself, the canvas will be defiled, and only bring indescribable shame on my teacher and his legacy.

(Yusuke): Yes!

(Yusuke): You are a genius, Amamiya!

(Ren): ???

(Ren): What?

(Yusuke): I'll let time bring the muse to me instead of actively searching for her.

Ren sent a thumbs-up and clover emoji, not really sure how else to reply. He wasn't even sure what just happened at all. But so long as Yusuke got something, he supposed it was fine.

He sure is interesting, he mused to himself, but . . . I wonder if that bravado is how he is, or some sort of wall to hide from loneliness.

Prior to their indirectly meeting via Madarame's mentions, Ren had heard of Yusuke, but more so as, "that art guy".

Ren didn't give it much thought before, at the time, he just kept his head down as often as he could. But whenever people mentioned Yusuke, it was always very . . . Dismissive. Most called him weird, some a perve because of his attraction of human beauty.

His hand opened the chat history with Yusuke, absentmindedly scrolling through them, with some pictures the artist took because he found them 'aesthtic'—a good amount of them were crustaceans and fish—or work-in-progresses or sketches. A good majority of the messages were simply meandering musings.

Maybe I should take him out for dinner tonight. He looked hungry this morning. Does he like sushi—?

"What the fuck?!" A shocked voice rung out, piercing the air. A few pedestrians paused, looking for the source.

"Ryuji, shut up!" A girl's voice hissed from behind a building, next to a bookstore.

Chapter Text

Despite the disruption of routine, the flow of shoes and bustling lives continued, the ebbs giving no care of the strange incident, already forgetting what just happened.

But Ren stood in pause—like a stone in a river, the currents wrapping around him—as he stared where the shout came from, pondering what could've caused a reaction.

Was someone being jumped? Wouldn't be too out of place in a large city.

Or maybe it was a quarrel on personal matters that got out of hand?

He knew it really had nothing to do with him. Really.

In all honesty, a person of his status on the streets of a city, it's plain logic to move on to avoid a mugging or shank. It could very likely be bait to lure someone in.

His thoughts backtracked again, stumbling, worried if someone was hurt and needed help.

Then again, it really could just be nothing. Worse case scenario, it's a trap for some poor fool allergic to minding his own business.

Lavish dress shoes shuffled back and forth in place, scuffing the black soles.

A step forward, a drag back.

A step forward, a drag back.

A step forward, a drag back.

There really wasn't a need for him to be so indecisive, no use shuffling and stumbling in this weird botched solo-waltz in the middle of the streets, the fleeting audience stepping and pushing him in their hurry, making him turn and spin, his coat swaying after him.

It's nothing. It's totally nothing, he repeated, straining to pick out the voices from earlier through the cacophony of the day, I'm being an easy target to nail. I need to find Master, first.

Yes, yes, Amamiya was always top priority, especially if it has to deal with Ren and whatever headache she was throwing at his way.

She's probably at the local shrine again.

He shook his head frantically from the thoughts, not meaning to do it so openly.

No, no, she hates the shrine. And the staff definitely hates her!

Ren felt a shiver down his spine, remembering when he first retrieved her from there. The grounds were utterly desecrated: trash strewn the grounds with scattered wood plaques from the racks, and shreds of fortunes fluttering with the leaves. The cleansing water was splattered across the paths, with the basin so full of dirt it wasn't even mud but a soil pot. And—he prayed for mercy on the manor staff and himself—the broken statues of the divine idol Kitsu, and even an injured miko, the poor girl putting pressure on her bleeding head, the collar of the once pristinely white hakui stained dark red.

The media coverage on that was brutal, but he was too young at the time to fully grasp the weight, just that it wasn't her usual outbursts.

No one still knows why Amamiya even snapped. It was like a switch was flicked the second she saw Kitsu's image.

Yeah, no, she's definitely not there . . . But I wouldn't be surprised if she broke in again.

There weren't many places for Amamiya to run off to.

Amamiya was a surprisingly very private person. Not even Ren knew her well, so he couldn't think of any possible places that could serve as any sort of respite. That woman was always running away to somewhere, in her head, looking off to the horizon, but never the skyline nor the sun, but more like she was trying to force something that didn't exist into view.

She was never really entirely there.

She periodically muttered so many strange things to herself, or to Ren.

"These kins of decay." to crowds of people.

"It's so noisy." to nothing but a silent air.

"I can't live without you." to him when she petted his face.

. . . Master wouldn't notice if I don't come straight away. It'll take a while to even find her, anyways.

He turned back.

The voices were starting to muddle, blurring into the world to be forgotten and ignored, but Ren continued to follow where they last were.

I have time to spare.

Ren mumbled apologies as he nudged his way through the crowd, being jostled and tossed like a toy boat in the tub of a toddler.

Even if it's a trap, I'm fast. I just need one small opening. But . . . My stamina isn't that good . . . He shook his head, frustrated at himself, ugh, I need to do my cardiac rehabilitation routine again . . . I don't even remember the last time I did it.

"Its a fucking talking cat, Ann!" The voice from earlier hissed harshly from an alleyway, "What? I wasn't supposed to freak out?!"

Ren hid behind a nearby wall, hands against the textured, slightly warm material, listening to the confused whispering.

I'll just stay a little to make sure everything's okay.

"No, but, like, don't scream it for the streets!" The girl now named Ann snapped, followed by an annoyed groan.

"Mao." A cat replied, as if agreeing with the statement.

"Hey, watch it." Ann retorted sharply. "You're cute and all, but my first impression of you is less than stellar right now."

A . . . Talking cat?

Ren tried not to make a face, even though he was very much alone and no one was around to see him, tucked away in the corner between buildings.

Maybe they're one of those people who talk to animals like they're actually responding.

"No, no, no, nah, hold up, let me get this straight: we drop in that Metaverse place, was supposed to meet you there when we awaken our Personas, didn't, and now we're meeting a week later to exposition dump us a second time?" Ryuji said to someone, sounding more incredulous rather than offended. "And I thought I got bad time management."

The cat hissed with indignation, then really irritated yowling.

Ren didn't understand what they were talking about. But judging by how fantastical and complicated it sounded, he figured it was some sort of game, or maybe they were just a group of very passionate DND players.

There was no trouble, just him overthinking it again. How ridiculous and silly of him, making up all these fictitious problems to lose hair over. Typical.

If Amamiya knew of these, she would mock him with that toothy grin and sickeningly sweet voice.

He sighed in relief, pulling away from the wall.

"Mm?" A familiar voice hummed. "I look . . . familiar?"

. . .

. . . ???

. . . ?!???!

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All warmth instantly sapped from his body, pooling to the concrete under his feet and soaked into the ground, frozen instantly on the spot. He didn't feel shocked, and yet the physical symptoms were there: his pale skin growing a sickly white it merged into the the building's wall, the soft escape of the lingering breath squeezed dry from his lungs, his hearing flooded into silence with just the stalled stutter of his heartbeat. Not even a gasp dared to escape his throat, shoving itself so far back down it churned in his stomach with a sickening chill.

Was it cold? It suddenly felt very, very cold in the sunlight.

It couldn't be.

Surely.

Possibly.

No.

It wasn't.

It couldn't.

It shouldn't.

It must be a joke.

A cruel joke.

A joke.

He tried to move, but the teen was nothing more than an extension of the hiding spot, standing there and listening to the three voices talking among themselves to the cat. But he didn't listen to any of the words nor their meaning.

Only

To

That

Voice.

It's been so long. It's so different, more deep and firm, completely unlike Ren's softer voice. But the inflections of how he said certain words, the way he snorted a bit first before the reserved laugh, the way his shadow on the wall ruffled the hair from his eyes . . .

The gasp for breath refused to obey, his heart pounding hard in the struggling, heaving chest, fingertips pushing hard against the textured wall of the bookstore, going numb and white from pressure, the skin underneath bearing the imprints.

People, buildings, the streets, they felt too bright and big, swaying all around, his stomach churning so painfully he doubled over slightly, a shaky arm wrapping over it, as if it would calm his body to not dump all of its contents out to feel something other than this spinning making everything dance and mock the boy.

Despite his better judgment, he shuffled silently, closer to the edge, pulling himself along the wall with careful movements and great strength like a rock climber. He felt like he was moving too fast, too recklessly, his vision going blurry from the intense headache bashing him as his sense of balance spun around under his feet.

No matter what he told himself, what he felt, what he thought, it was really him again.

After all these years.

"Akira . . . ?"

The name slipped out from the slacked jaw, tumbling and dropping heavy between his feet with a nonexistent crack, resonating so loudly in his ears it made the migraine even harsher.

The older twin was standing around a pile of boxes with another boy and girl, along with the familiar black cat.

He looked . . . Good.

He looked fed and clean, and was wearing a school uniform, recognizing it as Shujin's. He was getting some college-prep level education. The blond boy said something in a low voice, making Akira and the girl laugh. He seemed close with them based on the open and casual movements and stance, and how casually he said their names, and they with him.

That's good. Yeah. It was good.

He looks happy, Ren softly whimpered, trying not to gasp when his lungs finally opened and drew in the air, lodging in his swelling throat.

The last time Akira was ever this relaxed was during that festival, so many years ago.

The warmth of a small hand weighed in Ren's palm. His fingers twitched.

He rested his temple against the wall, breathing long and slow, afraid to make too much noise.

Akira . . . I'm glad I was finally useful to you.

He forced his body to respond, to not make a noise, stumbling back, shoes softly crunching the debris beneath.

I'll be a good brother . . . and stay out of your life.

Akira shouldn't see his face.

He shouldn't see him.

Alas,

He saw him.

Just a brief glance of the back, the tuft of black hair and the lingering pale hand against the corner before it pulled away, but in his chest, the desires and dreams and hopes that grew a garden deep within the cracks of his heart, he knew who that was.

Yes, he was certain. It couldn't have been anyone else.

". . . Ren?"

Akira stepped forward, slowly, dragging and stumbling over himself, staring at the spot he saw the ghost, his eyes so wide the world was blinding.

"Hey, Aki, where you going?" Ryuji asked, a little offended that Akira pushed him aside.

"I . . . I think I saw him . . ." It came out as a breathless pant, his legs shaking with each step. His body felt like it was restraining itself to stop, but his heart pushed back, reaching out with battered, trembling hands. "Ren!"

"Whoa!" Ann gasped, jumping back to avoid getting shoved out of the way by the teen, who sprinted after whoever he just spotted "Wait, Akira!"

"What's with him?" Morgan's tail flicked curiously. He then yowled when Ryuji grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. "Put me down, you brute! Hey!" He continued to hiss and yell even whilst shoved unceremoniously into Ann's school bag, the two teens giving chase for their run away friend.

"Ryuji, Akira just said Ren's name . . ." She looked at him with an unreadable expression. "Do you really think he's here?"

"I mean, fuck, Ann, what are the chances of that?" Ryuji pulled back his bleached hair, brows furrowed. "Akira’s probation sending his ass to where his bro is?"

"What—" Morgana tried to peek his head out, but the running jostled and flipped him, his tail whacking back into his face and a pencil bag punching his stomach right after. "Ahh! Let me out! I'm dying!" his little black paw reached out to the blue sky, his vision upside-down and flooded with the interior of the bag. "Master Igor! Lady Lavenzaaahhhh!"

Over the sounds humming engines and blaring music and adverts and people, Akira dashed through anything in his way, yelling, "Ren!" Through the daily discordant symphony, hoping that somehow, it'd find him once more.

Don't stop don't stop don't stop, was the mantra for that twin, his steps faltering with each desperate call.

"Ren!"

Don't react.

"Ren!"

Walk calmly.

"Ren!"

Forget me. Please.

"Akira!" Ryuji and Ann's voices periodically punctuated the air, but quickly lost to the uncaring wind.

Ren took random sharp turns, backtrack, shortcuts, just any way to avoid Akira.

If he caught him now, it'd only hurt the older twin so, so bad.

But that boy knew this game well. He was always chasing Ren. And every time, he'd catch him, sooner or later.

Ren shoved his way into the nearest building that looked luxurious and uptight, swift to retrieve his wallet and flashing the heavy metal card bearing the Amamiya Clan crest to the receptionist without a single pause, burying himself deeply into the crowd.

Out on the streets, he was gone.

Left alone, turning and turning, frantically searching the indifferent current of lives, Akira tightly clenched his fists, nails daring to break the skin. This shot of adrenaline, pumpied into his blood, the pounding within his ribcage, clawing to escape for a chance to search more, he remained alone, like a stone in a river, the currents wrapping around him

He saw him. He saw him. He saw him.

He did. He did. He really did.

Why . . . why are you running from me?

Akira's face faltered.

. . . Did you forget me?

. . . Do you . . . hate me?

Chapter Text

He saw him.

He did. He really did.

So why . . . did he run away?

Maybe he didn't hear him.

It was what Akira kept telling himself: Ren didn't hear him. He couldn't hear the frantic calling, the desperate pleas, his name being a vain prayer thrown for another chance to fix what he couldn't do.

But, for some reason, he didn't believe it himself.

Ryuji and Ann were further back, but he heard them loud as day when they tried to find him in the moving crowd.

He did considered that, maybe, he was seeing Ren in someone else. That it wasn't actually him, just some poor kid being chased down by a desperate guy who was still grieving.

That answer didn't seem right either, though. He saw his face, it was the same one he had. He had the same hair, albeit a little neater, but it still had tufts that stuck out like his did. And the smallest peek of his grey eyes, that certain innocence as soft as the ones he remembered always being filled with tears.

The soft thud of a heavy coffee mug jolted Akira back.

He was in the cafe, sitting in the back corner, quietly doing homework per routine. Morgana was lazing next to him, gnawing on some food Sojiro gave earlier.

"Drink up." The words were short and gruff, but they lacked the curt from before. This was the first time Sojiro spoke to him since the day he moved into the basement. Their only interactions the whole time had been Sojiro throwing food and water at the basement door for Akira, then taking the dirty dishes. Occasionally, they'd meet in the hall whenever Akira went to the restroom, but it was often just acknowledged nods or glances, with a, "Hmph," if Sojiro was feeling sociable.

Akira looked at the white cup, full of dark coffee, a rich and slightly roasted scent wafting towards him, melding with the heavy spice that perfumed the air from the curry always cooking in the back kitchen. "Boss?"

"Not a black type?" The older man leaned back on his heels, arms crossed, as if basing his judgment on Akira's words rather than preference.

He paused for a moment, still trying to make sense of what's happening. "No— I mean, yes— No, no, I'm not picky." He took the warm handle. ". . . Thanks."

". . . Someone gave you the shakedown? Is that still a thing?" Sojiro mumbled the last part to himself.

Akira looked up at him, brows furrowed slightly.

Why do you care?

A confused question rather than a defensive accusation.

"You look like you saw a ghost." Sojiro explained. "You lumbered in here, all dazed, holding that cat. Morse, or whatever."

"Morgana."

"Still a dumb name."

Morgana hissed in irritation.

Sojiro looked offended but continued, "You usually give at least a nod when you see me after coming back from school. Downright rude to ignore your custodian. I thought we had an unanimous agreement." There was no bite, but Akira could hear the weight in the words, pushing him to speak.

He leaned back, a hand still holding the mug handle as the other absentmindedly tapped the pen against his notes. "I just . . ." The words wavered, his breath pausing to the closing throat. He swallowed it back, feeling its sharp corners and weight slowly slicing his chest open before dropping hard in his stomach, "I thought I saw someone I knew. That's all."

A beat of silence passed briefly.

The lively street was slightly muffled by the walls of the surrounding buildings that shielded the alleyway cafe. The low hum of the AC unit tanking away somewhere deep in the building. A soft hiss of steam from the coffee machine with the subdued bubbling of freshly boiled water. The plastic leather of the booth seat felt stiff under Akira, but it also molded his weight, with Morgana's small warmth lazing against his thigh, the tail flapping on his lap. His hand had basically melded into one with the coffee mug's handle, unable to discern which warmth was his and the coffee's. Sojiro remained beside the table, his body relax but closed off, his side facing Akira, arms still crossed. His stained black apron sported a few more splotches from the day's work.

Sojiro rubbed the back of his neck.

He really didn't know why he would bother with this guy who will disappear after a year. Wasn't his business.

But . . .

He's still a kid, Sojiro, that voice reminded from the back of his mind.

Still went to jail and all that, another side countered, kid or not, doesn't mean instant innocence, life's real complicated. Shouldn't have stuck his head into someone else's business.

But the victim was Shido . . . And we all know that guy, the corner of his lips twitched at just the mention of the name, bastard tried to throw you under the bus for what he did back in the day. Wouldn't be surprising if the kid here was just unlucky.

A soft huff escaped him.

Be right up that guy's alley. Nothing is ever the limit to him.

"Someone you knew, huh?" The man cryptically spoke up after a while of idle standing and Akira staring a hole into the still untouched coffee. "From prison?"

"It'd be easier." A slightly bitter laugh. "I thought I saw my brother."

"Ren?"

He stiffened, turning his body fully to look at Sojiro, as if he had just muttered the true name of a god. "How did you—?"

"I overhear ya talking about him to those two blondies outside of the cafe, and in your calls when I feed ya."

Morgana quirked a brow—or whatever cat equivalent of it—at the words. "He makes it sound like you're a pet." He said to Akira, who silently retaliated by roughly petting his head, leaving a rat's nest of black fur and a wave of protesting meows.

Paying no attention to that, Sojiro thought over his words. "Who is he anyways? A pain in the ass?"

"Sometimes." Akira continued on, describing Ren and his condition, how Akira was forced into the role of a caretaker, how he often woke up in unease and fear whenever he couldn't hear Ren's breathing, how sometimes he still had dreams of that small boy who was so innocent and gentle but the world callously devoured.

He did, almost, let slip of how sometimes, just once or twice, or maybe more, did he wished Ren died sooner.

But it was a truth he wasn't willing to face with himself. Not now, not yet.

Perhaps never.

It made Akira feel like a monster every time he thought back on it: he knew Ren didn't want to be sick, he didn't beg to be born with the heart condition, but, god, it was so tiring having to hold his breath for Ren, to constantly comfort him whenever their mother yelled and cursed at him, to always push Ren behind him from her. He barely had time for himself back then, especially on hard days when Ren couldn't move from their bed.

. . .

But I still love him.

"Keep sighing and you'll make the coffee cold."

Akira shut his parted lips quickly, a hand tugging on a tuft of hair to try and hide his eyes a little, searching for something to say.

"You sure you saw him?" Sojiro reached down to Morgana, musing back the fur to make it neat again. However, Morgana swatted the hand away, fixing it himself with a huff. "Central valve tension . . . Not an easy thing to survive, even with surgery."

Akira gently tapped his nail against the base of the mug.

Central valve tension, it was similar to mitral valve prolapse, but it was more rare and overshadowed by other research, like its asthma-like symptoms with shortness of breath, which required gas muscle relaxants to alleviate. From what Akira recalled, central valve tension was much more fatal, most passing before they reach 8, and the surgery just as dangerous, unless enough money was tossed out for the right medication and cardiovascular therapy.

God, the face on their mother's face when the doctor told her after she asked for a 'cure'.

He was convinced she would've actually murdered Ren that night. Or any night.

He leaned back against the booth seat, grounding himself back into the present with the warm, spiced air and the old cushions, and the mug in his hands with Morgana's weight against his thigh and Sojiro watching him closely. "I'm sure it was him." His words left no cracks for a wedge of doubt. Regardless of what his mind believed, his heart knew what was true.

It was Ren.

"My mom . . . Gave him away to a rich lady. I don't know for why, but if he's alive, she need him for something."

Sojiro sighed. "Ah, rich people buying and exploiting the poor. A tale as old as time." He commented to himself, nodding along, a mocking nostalgic note in his voice, as though it brought back pleasant childhood memories.

"I didn't say she sold him."

"Don't have to. I know how those people work."

The teen cocked his head slightly. "Word of mouth from patrons?" He presumed.

"Yeah, something like that. Just take a two second read of the news: it's always the stupidly rich." The words were weighed heavy with the small huff from the older man. A box of cigarettes came into his rough hands, popping out the tray and taking one of the sticks between his teeth as he went for the door. "Don't cause trouble, I got cameras."

Akira doubted the claim; he already looked around the cafe and there weren't any.

Morgana scratched his ear. "Must be fun being stuffed into a basement." He hopped onto the table now that Sojiro was out, pawing at Akira's notes.

"Better than being crammed into a schoolbag. And do you have to be with me all the time?" Akira was missing his solitude if it meant being stuck with him.

"Duh!" Morgana's fur bristled slightly with annoyance. "I am your familiar, personally chosen by Master Igor!"

"Oh, great, a cosmic-mandated headache . . ." He then yelped, his back hitting the backrest of the booth seat, a knee bumping the table, when Morgana jumped for his face.

"Do you know who I am?!" Morgana demanded, hissing, tiny paws swinging, "You should be honored that you were chosen to have a familiar at all! Tch! Once I get enough money, I'm paying Teddie to do my job instead! I've never questioned Master Igor choices before, but he's definitely too old to keep doing his job if you're the one I'm tasked with!"

"Who's Teddie—? Ow, ow! Hey, quit it! You'll make me spill coffee!"

"And this is for ruining my fur!"

The ruckus did not go unnoticed by Sojiro, who reclined against the cold bricks of the cafe, a lit cigarette between the calloused fingertips. He took a breath, letting the warm, pungent smoke fill his tongue and throat, then spill out to a fine stream.

The sun was setting over the dim alleyway that lined the solitary cafe. He could hear nearby establishments bustling with their patrons, the ever present hums of car engines, and, of course, that kid fighting the stray he found.

Sojiro's thoughts started to meander, wondering if he was getting too old. He had enough money to go into retirement right now at the ripe age of 56. Or was he 48? He didn't remember, he stopped keeping track years ago.

There were a lot of things he left unchecked over his life, but most of it no longer pertained to him. That's what he liked to think, at least. The campaigns, his stance as a former politician, those were tiring to push through, especially when he had Shido rearing up on everyone he called competition, even the small fries like Sojiro himself.

The uncertain nights with Wakaba and her research, making curry for that kid of hers, a quiet moment to balm the relentless conspiracies and whispers of the people on the streets and media.

Speaking of Wakaba, what was she up to these days?

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.

.

The evening melded into an early night, but with how lively Tokyo was, it may as well still be day. The lights were clicked on the second the sky was tinted orange, the adverts on the towers of glass shone brighter, and the streets busy as ever, forever meandering and mlling, the eyes above casting to the horizon, never below.

However, in spite of the bustling city, within the walls of the preserved artifact of history, the dinning room was silent, save for chopsticks gently tapping against porcelain bowls and plates, poking and picking at the meal. The sliding doors to the courtyard were open for fresh air, but the AC system was running, the hum quiet and suffocating. With the occasional breeze, thick tapestries along the walls would subtly sway, wooden frames barely brushing against the imitated paper walls for a knock.

Ren kept his head down, his shoulders aching from the tension of earlier that day. His palms remained balled into tight fists, pressed against his lap.

It's been hours, and he was still wound up by that near encounter. Akira had gotten so close to reaching him, grabbing him back into his life, and ruin everything again.

Akira was always a moth like that, hurdling himself straight to the sun unabashedly and recklessly it would make Icarus pause. He never knew when to let go.

A crisp snap shattered his thoughts, sucking the boy back into the warm room, the neatly and tightly woven tatami mats under his legs, the people nearby in yukatas quietly kneeling nearby for orders. He blinked again, focusing in on the untouched food waiting for him, the braised cuts of fatty pork coming undone from his gaze, and the gentle wisp of steam wafting from the neglected bowl of miso soup.

"Why are you ignoring me, Ren?"

"Ah—!" he sharply gasped, unclenching the fists, the fingers sore from the long-held position. "Master—" he began, but Amamiya only smiled at him. He schooled his expression, pushing out a more calm mask.

The woman traced her chopstick along the shape of the thinly sliced grilled cow hearts, the piercing brown gaze never leaving him. "Is that blue dog more important than me? Those dirty strays in the alleies deserve your audience more than me?"

"No, never, Master. I'm sorry, I was still worried about not having a fiancee yet. I know how much you want heirs—"

Amamiya picked up a slice of her dinner, dipping it into a thick, rich duck blood sauce. "I'm not surprised."

Here we go . . .

"You were always hard to love. But don't worry, Ren, I'm sure some girl out there is desperate enough to settle for you."

Ren's thoughts passed over the girls he met. Out of all of them, there were probably maybe two he was willing to try engage and plan. But he was more focused on that girl, Haru. He couldn't forget how desperate she looked, the fear deeply carved into her face, her grip unrelenting from his hands, as though he was a raft, then the the utter loss of words and fleeting hope when the butler took him from her.

Maybe I should pick her? Maybe she'll agree to play along with the engagement.

Amamiya kept dipping the heart into the sauce, over and over, like an artist staring at a painting, absentmindedly mixing the colors on her palette.

Ren thickly swallowed. "Is something the matter, Master? You've been quieter than usual ever since I picked you up from the historical museum."

She suddenly stood up.

The air instantly stiffened.

The servants don't dare to move nor even glance, forcing themselves into the familiar passivity.

"Master?" Ren spoke, a slightly apprehensive tremor in his voice. "It's late. You shouldn't go out right now. You haven't finished your dinner as well." he glanced over at the untouched food. Not even the slice Amamiya picked up was bitten, left neglected on her plate.

Amamiya walked over to the sliding door, adjusting the chains on her glasses, her hair freshly dyed brown once more. "Did my kimono come in?"

"Your—? I don't know—"

"Then don't talk to me till it's here."

Ren crawled off from his kneeling position, a hand hesitant to reach for the woman. He tried to call out once more, his voice low, as if not even trying to get her attention. "But where are you going at this time?" came out, though there wasn't really a point, as by then, she already left.

A brief moment of uncertainty encroached the dining room.

A servant slowly slid the door closed, to keep busy, as if it'll help dispel the air a little. The wooden frames gently and smoothly glided shut with a soft knock.

A few others lingered with stiff awkwardness, the lingering presence from Amamiya continuing to poison the space. Feet shuffled, hands twitched, eyes flickered.

Ren stood up. "Thank you for the meal." everyone stared at the clearly barely eaten dinner. "One of you, please call a few of the girls from when Master arranged that, uh . . . meeting; Marin Amajiki, Yuno Misato, and Haru Okumura. I'd like to try again with them."

"Okumura? Wouldn't Master object?" one of them questioned. "I mean, Master wasn't that subtle about how she felt about Okumura Foods."

Another replied, "She invited that girl herself, maybe she wouldn't oppose that much."

"I think it's because that Haru girl has a weak personality like Lord Ren, makes it easier for Master to swoop in, especially with how that CEO kisses up to her ass—"

"Hey hey hey! Shut up! Don't you kniow? Master has ears fucking everywhere!"

A butler leaned towards Ren whilst the others were preoccupied, "Ren, I think that Okumura girl is already engaged. My sister told me she saw her with that guy, Shimura."

"The Shimura family?" Ren realized. "I see . . . Mr Okumura is after political power . . . I thought he was trying to score more money and connections to expand his brand. It'll be best if I don't involve them, Mr Okumura will be devoured by this world."

In regards of Amamiya, the strange woman stepped out of the elevator of a brightly lit office building, one of the taller glass towers in the city, plastered with filthy pride and wealth of Tokyo's greatest conman.

A pair of secuirty guards stood by the double doors of that man's main office. They opened it for Amamiya without a word.

She paused, the clicking heels echoing after her now still feet. "Not even a greeting." the unwavering artificial smile did little to dampen her displeasure. "Not a bow, not a word, not even a tip of the head in reverance. Etiquette has fallen quite far these days. Honestly, Shido, how am I supposed to take you seriously if you can't control your these shinuhis? Even my ward got our's wrapped around his little fingers."

Shido remained seated at the lavish, polished desk, the dark wood reflecting harsh white lights from the ceiling, silhouette of his figure illuminated by the ever awake city behind him. He forced upon an amicable grin, running a hand against his temples to hide the impatience. "I'm terribly sorry, Master Amamiya. They didn't expect your visit tonight. In all honesty, we assumed you refused to come by once more." It took him years to have that woman be on his property, let alone right at the doors of his office. He couldn't risk losing her now, even if it meant biting his ego for hers.

The man stood up and approached the open doors. He placed a hand over his heart. "I do hope you can forgive this oversight."

"I doubt I can." Amamiya stepped into the room, kicking the doors shut with the sharp ends of her heels. "But I am a very noble woman, I'm willing to stay and listen to your usual proposal, as vain it it is."

It was the same words, the same prose, the same passive agression between the political giants of Tokyo, seated opposite of the other, just a mere coffee table to keep them at bay if not their professionalism.

Shido gritted his teeth, letting the more friendly facade drop. "You just don't want me to take power from you." He accused, impatient and aggravated from the useless charades.

The woman laughed, curtly and harsh. "I can influence Japan, but I certainly don't have control of it." She said, waving off his words without a care, more intrigued by the chains attached to her glasses. "You're such a pest. I tell you to leave me alone and you keep bothering me, getting into my day, festering."

As much as she aggravated him, he needed her. People listened to Shido, but they listened to Amamiya. Ancient history that outlived eras was not something to fumble with. To loop her into his circle was all he needed to set a clear way into the cabinet seat.

"But don't you worry that in time, your influence will be gone?" A common tactic; propose a problem no matter how unlikely, and prey on it, feed it into the mind till it roots in the unconscious. "You need to use what you have now to stay in power! Like the Antisocial Force."

Amamiya blinked.

". . . What?" She spoke, her voice barely a whisper, eyes widening slowly, the skin was recoiling. ". . . What did you say?" words were uttered with a daze, as if she was finally waking up from a long, long sleep.

"The Antisocial Force." Shido repeated, pleased that he had her attention for once. He leaned forward slightly from his seat. "I did a little research, trying to find the best approach to rally the public into my cause for the new golden era. I stumbled on the name in the process. A shame, really, there's hardly any information about this infamous group. Conspiracy or not, forming this group is critical for Tokyo—"

Sharp, cold stones slashed across Shido's face, knocking the man out of the chair, tumbling backwards painfully with the furniture. It happened so suddenly, he momentarily lied there, sprawled, blinking at the ceiling. The pain the set in, dark red splattered across his face, her rings, and his suit.

"You psycho!" Amamiya lunged over the coffee table, pouncing on him with her whole weight, holding him down with a hand clutching for his throat. Her free hand clawed the acrylic nails into his face—tearing for the soft flesh—roughly pulling it to look at her. Her eyes were wider than humanly possible, the pupils constricted so severely they were basically dots. The chained glasses fell off her face from the abrupt move, cold lens and metal hitting against Shido's sternum. Even her colored contacts have shifted, slightly. "You fucking fool!" she screamed into his ear, her grip tightening more and more with each word, "You don't have a single idea what they're about! Don't you ever try to revive that association! It's better dead and left to rot in the Taisho era!"

Shido gagged, his body instinctively gasping for breath. He attempted to force her off, but she was unrelenting. Her skin was cold and stiff, as if stretched taught over a frame. His large hand grabbed her beatless wrist. "You crazy bitch!" he struggled out, the words thick and heavy, straining to sift through the closing throat. "Secuirty . . . !"

"You're a fucking child! Doing whatever you want without even knowing the consequences or what you're actually doing and what it means! Don't you ever, ever, ever bring that Hell back!"

He shot a hand out, catching her slender, pale neck, and used whatever leftover strength he had to squeeze it. The flesh became pinched, but her voice remained strong and unwavering.

She didn't even seem to notice.

"I spent so many fucking years making that thing extinct, and you want to bring it back?! It won't be the golden era for anyone! Anyone!"

Tghter. Tighter. Tighter.

"Vile thing of decay! You dare to desecrate the foundation of blood and bodies of my kin?!"

Squeeze. Squeeze. Squeeze.

"I won't let some megalomaniac undo everything my family and I fought for!"

Twist. Twist. Twist.

"I'll fucking kill you." Amamiya snarled in a low voice, never leaving Shido's face once, watching him turn bright red then slowly shift and fizzle to the familiar icy blue, his writhing and struggles slowing down, the weak gagging and gasping trying to escape.

Disgusting.

"You're not different. You're not special. You're not an exception. The world doesn't need you. Don't want you. You're not necessary. If even your shadow remains in death, I'll kill him too."

Chapter Text

The shot echoed, loud and unabashed, shattering what was once a thick tension of oncoming death and hatred, scattered with the pieces of her skull and out the other end. Her fingers clenched tighter, before they, too, went limp like the rest of the body, the white suite rapidly stained with dark red as the ringing continued to strike the air.

It was night as well, so not many people were present. At least, enough to cause a panic from the sound of a gunshot. The few tens of people working away under the roof glanced where the origin may've come from. Some worried, some ran, others dismissed it. It wasn't a common thing, but once or twice, sometimes Shido preferred a more drastic conclusion to certain meetings the second they didn't turn his way.

Ignorance was guaranteed safety in those cases.

With some effort, Shido shoved the heavy body off, choking and gasping once he took the first batch of breath, violently coughing, the air burning his bruised throat as it rushed in at once, branded by her hand prints and the dents of those cold rings with sharp stones. He touched the tender skin, only making his body wretch harsher, twisting to flee from itself.

That shameless woman, to insult him, to attack him, to strangle him; never in his 53 years of ivory-spoon-fed life would anyone dare to be so brazen and openly against him.

Him!

Masayoshi Shido himself, Tokyo's only salvation to bring back it's bygone golden years, turning back the clock to when money was leaves and every night was a party with ice cold alcohol and beautiful women at each street corner, when the economy was so high it split the sunlight.

But Amamiya was never one to back down from anything that challenged her, no matter the prize or threat. Between her and him in a weight of ego and audacity, the scale would be stagnant, never swaying for one or the either.

Though, Shido finally had the upper hand now, after all these years, the constant push and resistance for the past decade that forced him in place, idle and passive, twiddling his thumbs in the little corner.

Bitch is finally out of my way.

A strained, pained chuckled wheezed out of him as he gazed at Amamiya's form on the stained carpet. While these turn of events wasn't something he anticipated, how favorable it became, having her gone just made everything so much easier.

Shido's fingers twitched eagerly against the rough rug.

That boy of hers. What was his name again? Ren or whatever. She always got him hiding away in her shadow from anyone who made his heart palpitate. He had a weak constitution, it won't take much to break him, maybe a fistful of his hair and a threat or two, like stealing the maids of his manor, or having some of his men drop by and shatter the priceless history preserved within their walls.

But Shido doubted he'd even need to go that far to make Ren agree to support his campaign for the cabinet seat. The most he'll likely even have to do was look his way at all.

Obedient rabbit.

Who knows, maybe if he got a bored or needed some spice to change up the habit, he can whip that kid out like a little trick. Having an Amamiya on hand was a free card to everything.

Unnoticed by Shido, by the door, the security guard who shot Amamiya dropped his gun in a shock, the heavy metal loudly rattling. ". . . Oh . . . Oh my god . . . I killed her . . ." he whimpered, barely audible. His body staggered back from the crime, heels dragging and tripping. "Holy shit, I killed Ume Amamiya!"

"Hey—" the secondary guard grabbed his shoulder, ignoring his own trembling shock. "Hey, Kazuki, let's— Let's stay calm—"

"How the fuck am I supposed to be calm, Toshi?!" he screamed with horror, hitting the hand off from him. "The Amamiya Clan is the backbone of Tokyo! And I just shot her! I shot her!" he pushed Toshi away, his knees weak and bumbling, throwing him to the ground. His clammy hands crawled onto his face. "My wife works for her, Toshi! I have kids to feed and dress and house! Oh, God, I didn't mean to— God, I didn't mean to, I panicked—"

"Shut— up—" Shido forced out heavily, now on his feet, leaning against the armrest of a chair. "Get her phone for that brat, then get rid of her . . ." he spat whilst stumbling out of his office, and slamming the door shut with a few muttered curses on the woman.

Toshi could only watch Kazuki be in utter distraught, helplessly rolling around like a stranded beetle in the rain, babbling incoherent noises from fumbling lips, hands tightly pressed to his face. His gaze then snapped onto Amamiya. He couldn't stop himself in time, and no matter how much to pried himself back, like a murder of crows, by its namesake, was drawn.

Jesus Christ . . .

It felt too strange to see the once untouchable woman lying there, motionless, the bullet lodged somewhere in the lavish space. She was on her stomach, an arm folded under the body, the other somewhat twisted outward by her side, fingers still flexed in that gripping position.

Toshi shook his head, managing to break away from the trance. With a huffed breath, he knelt down beside her, careful to avoid getting the soaked carpet on his pants. His nose scrunched up, grimacing from the thick scent of iron and decay surrounding her. But it didn't really matter to him, he just needed her phone and a fingerprint to unlock it.

.

.

.

A lone maid in the dark skeleton of an ancient manor from the Edo period shuffled through the cold halls, thick socks quietly thumping against polished wood. She rather not be up right now, it was nearly 11, but Amamiya haven't come back yet, and one of the many rules everyone must follow was that, "One person must stay awake if not all members of the Amamiya Clan have returned to the manor, to ensure they return into the home, regardless of their untimely manner."

She yawned, her jaw popping, spiking an unpleasant sensation through her. "Ugh . . . What a time to be struck with insomnia." she muttered to no one, armed with only an electric lamp shaped like a lantern to guide her through. "And does that lady always need to keep up this old aesthetic? It's ridiculous." she slid one of the doors aside to reach another hall, just as ominous as everywhere else on the property. The maid and her light brown yukata was easily swallowed up by the thick shadows all around her, from the corners and floorboards and ceiling and doorframes.

Even when Amamiya wasn't home, the place never felt different. Though it would be much quieter, and have some semblance of feigned peace, the heavy thickness remained, sapped onto their backs and shoulders, pushing them down as whatever below reached up and grasped their legs. It wasn't the architecture either; even the garden and front courtyard were weighed with the piercing gaze of Amamiya on the backs of their necks, the ears in the walls to their private conversations, the ever looming halo of dread to keep the people sick in their stomachs and the cold sweat against their brows, their palms clammy and slick with nerves.

It's no wonder Ren always stayed out of the manor as much as he could.

She hated it. She hated it a lot.

She could take Amamiya's outbursts and the archaic rules for the paycheck, but constantly having to fear her very life from when that woman could not be quelled by Ren, forced to endure her punishments over the most pettiest of reasons, to never show signs of fear or hatred or anything remotely negative—even if it's not towards her—to avoid being beaten with a cane, and the damn house crawling with who-knows-what, was too much even for the current economy.

A sigh left her lips when the tight walls opened up and she finally reached the foyer, and sat down on the low bench by the doors. She rubbed her ankles, still sore from the raw ropes Amamiya used to flick the skin off thin layer by thin layer over something the maid couldn't remember. The bench was for luggage and purses, but Amamiya wasn't there yet to scold her. She rolled down the socks a little, exposing pristinely white gauze expertly dressed over the shallow wounds.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

"Shit—!" the maid gasped under her breath, just about nearly tumbling to the floor. Her hand knocked back the lantern, rolling away with an echoing crash from the initial fall, disappearing to somewhere in the expansive foyer, literally leaving her in the dark, lead only by hesitantly outstretched hands and squinted eyes to adjust the blurred vision.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG

Some hours later, before the crack of dawn made its debut, Ren lied flat on his back, partially hidden under the thick blankets of the futon, the hems of the sheets pulled to just under his nose. His dreamless slumber was abruptly struck by the bullet of screams ricocheting off the screen walls.

His mind was moving quicker than his body, stumbling to get to his feet from the initial jolt, but only succeeded in tangling himself with the bedding and pillow, hitting his elbows and knees painfully against the ground as his eyes blinked rapidly to clear up from the lingering sleep.

What was happening? Was someone attacking the servants? Was Amamiya having another episode?

No, that couldn't be. Screaming only made Amamiya even more angry. Everyone knew to stay as silent as possible whenever it happened. Amamiya hated loud noises, especially screaming.

The body and mind seemed to finally meet and connect. He struggled off the futon, kicking away the heavy fabrics, till his bare feet shocked from the cold tatami mats. He shoved the sliding door open and made a straight beeline to the loud cries towards the front of the manor.

Of course, Ren was not the only one confused by the sudden commotion, swerving around half-asleep and alarmed servants, some dressed in their uniforms, others still in their pajamas or partially garbed for the day, as though their routines were interrupted.

"What happened?!" he called out once he reached to front of the manor, then stumbled upon the heavy smell lingering in the air.

Iron. Rot.

He instinctively gagged, a hand pressed against his nose to lessen the strength. "Who's hurt?" eyes instantly searched for Amamiya, but only found anxious staff members.

"Lord Ren! It's Mrs Gima!" a butler—barely even dressed, his sweatpants haphazardly pulled over some shorts—spoke, kneeling by the passed out maid, who was sprawled out on her stomach, arms over her head. She lied near the narrow bench in the genkan, her hands close to a pair of dirtied white heels. The left door was slightly ajar and the panel, by the handle, was broken, bits of wood and splinters scattered out with such force, it reached the edge of the elevated flooring. The door handle itself was thickly slathered in a putrid, almost black sludge.

"A break-in?!" he heavily muttered under bated breath, then went to the unconscious woman, who was ghostly white and breathing shallowly. He gently touched her clammy face and neck, brushing back the sweat-slicked hair.

She's not hurt, he sighed with relief, his heart fluttering back to an easier pace. "But . . . what even happened?" he muttered, fingers resting against her pulse point.

Even if it was a break-in, the manor had tight security, even without active patrols on the property. The stone fences were smooth and tall, and topped with jagged iron needles thickly coated in numbing poison to cause mild paralysis, the gate itself was heavy, wired up with a facial recognition camera, and even a scanner for the Amamiya Clan crest. Any attempted forceful entry would've set off the system and automatically contact the authorities as well.

But as far as Ren, and everyone else, knew, the manor was asleep, and Mrs Gima was the only one awake to ensure Amamiya was welcomed back into the manor.

"Mr Tenma, call the paramedics, I think she's gone into shock. Everyone, check the manor thoroughly for any intruders, get into pairs and prioritize your safety first if it gets dangerous." he tried to keep his voice steady and firm, but it only came out anxious and soft as always. "Where's Master? Did she come back last night?"

In another place, further along the day, somewhere strange and liminal, a space of shadows and flexible laws, Akira, Ryuji, and Morgana were holed up inside a safe room. They were running through Kamoshida's palace once more, and so far, they've yet to secure a route to the treasure's room in spite of their efforts.

"Fucking Christ, how much longer?" Ryuji loudly bemoaned, slinking onto the floor like a melted rubber tube. "I'm so tired of this shit! I wanna go to sleep and watch anime and eat food! I'm so hungry!"

"Hey! Get yourself together!" Morgana said, his fur bristling. "A thief is supposed to be sleek and stylish, and you are definitely not being that right now!"

"We've been here for hours!"

"It's been five minutes." Akira pipped up, only met by more groaning. He simply sighed and leaned against the wall, looking around the room they were hiding in. It wasn't too bad compared to the rest of the palace, it looked more like a storage room for sport equipment. Though, Akira did golfed a box of suspicious underwear behind a rack of weights, using one of the metal bars.

"Joker, control your cat! He's bullying me again!"

"Joker, control this brute! He's being annoying!"

Akira let out a slow, heavy sigh again, then another when he heard Arsène chuckling over his shoulder.

"A rather . . . Unique cast thus far." The towering entity knelt down to Akira's ear. "Though—do forgive me—very little progress has been made, even with Mona's assistance."

"Stay in your lane!" Morgana snapped. "I know what I'm doing!" His tiny paw patted against his chest, as if it would make him look more official in some way to the others. "I am—"

"The familiar handpicked by the Velvet Room master, Igor." The two boys recited with varying degrees of annoyance: Ryuji’s was rough, almost forceful, throwing the words out from his throat as though sharp. Akira's was more resigned and quiet, bordering on a mumble. He had long grew accustomed to the phrase. Morgana loved to throw it around whenever he got the vaguest sense of doubt towards his way.

Being so predictable, Morgana turned away to save his face. He cleared his throat. "Well, yes, obviously. Though I'm not really a veteran, I am much more experienced in all things pertaining to the Metaverse."

Akira sat down on the lower end of a benching seat, elbows on his knees. "Yeah, we know. Mona, we appreciate your help, really. Without you, we wouldn't have made it this far, or know so much, even with Arsène's help. But sometimes it feels like you're not too sure what to do either."

The air itself went still

Morgana blinked slowly, as though he was personally stomped on on a spiritual level, his body catching up to what happened. His ears went flat against his head, and tail fell limp between his stubby legs.

"Joker!" Ryuji gasped with large eyes. "You made him sad!"

Akira cursed under his breath, feeling like he got hit himself. "Oh— Shit, Mona, I'm sorry— I didn't mean it like that—"

"Oh, friends, come on, come on!" Zorro appeared with the sharp whip of the winds, his broad chest shaking with a light laugh to ease the atmosphere. He patted Morgana's head whilst sweeping his gaze over the others. "No need to be so rough on my partner now, hm? I thought men of the newer age were more, mm, I'd say, open-minded."

"Oh goodness . . ." Arsène's face couldn't physically move, as it wasn't an actual face to begin with, but he very much made a side-eyeing pass. "Monsieur, it's a minor misunderstanding of what my master meant to say."

Ryuji gasped then hunched over against Akira's shoulder, pulling him close, their masks clicking. "Oh shit! Arsène pulled out the fancy word!"

Whilst the Personas spoke, Akira rubbed his chin.

It's been a while, but he never really got the time to think back on that day, when he awakened Arsène, and heard that woman speaking to him. Ideally, he'd ask Igor, but that fossil would spout out something cryptic and strange to get him running. As for Lavenza, well, he kept forgetting in between fusing Personas, learning about the previous Persona-users in passing comments, and getting his, Ryuji's, and Morgana's asses handed over to them during spar practices under Lavenza's brother's insistence.

"He got his hands on some movies about a panda who does kung-fu," Lavenza once sighed from the sidelines, using her hair to hide her view from Theodore doing poses on one foot and spouting faux-philosophy about the mind and body, before trying his luck against Ryuji, which ended with both boys somehow tangled on the ground, trying to fight over which foot was whose. "Honestly, I blame Elizabeth for developing a hoarding habit"

Akira looked up when Ryuji suddenly pulled away, the teen now pestering Captain Kidd for history questions, once the pirate got around to showing himself after Zorro made a slight backhanded remark about him and his physique being the model of a dumbbell.

"Hey, Mona?" Akira turned towards Morgana, who seemed to have settled down a bit, though his tail was still low and flicking left to right. He rubbed the back of his neck.

I'll get him the sushi-grade fatty tuna once we get home.

"Is it normal to hear a woman's voice when you awaken a Persona?"

The cat made a strange expression, the 'brows' furrowing and paws on his low waist. "A woman's voice? That's definitely not something normal. Typically, it should just be your Persona's voice. Well, back then, from what Master Igor told me, Master Philemon would've made some comments to the Persona-users, but he's drawn in these days. No one really knows what he's up to now."

"Again, this Philemon guy—"

The cat's right ear twitched as he shook his head. "Did you ever happen to see her?"

The teen remembered that moment very vividly, it was simply too strange to forget, even in a life-or-death situation in an already quite bizarre adventure. "She had pale skin like mine, and her sleeve was white with a gold trim. It reminds me of a kimono. It also had these patterns, but I didn't get a good look at them, just that they were pretty fancy and old-looking."

"That hag?!" Morgana gasped so loudly the overlapping conversations nearby ceased.

"What's going on? Oo, we gossiping?!" Ryuji eagerly hurried over, leaning over Akira's shoulder, a hand crossing over his back to clasp on the opposite shoulder. "Who did what?"

Morgana's fur bristled up even more as he turned away, muttering in disbelief to himself, speaking so fast Akira couldn't make out aside from the word, "hag" over and over.

"Yeesh. He looks like a ball." Ryuji remarked to no one in particular.

"I haven't seen him puff like that since that Theodore guy asked us to spar with him."

"Oh, Mona, you should have some respect on Lady Ouroboros's name." Zorro booted in. The Persona roughly palmed Akira's head to get his attention whilst continuing, "that woman, you truly saw her? You heard her?" he asked in a low, almost revered voice, a tone rather unlike the sleek but theatrical entity.

A small pit of apprehension rooted into the bottom of Akira's stomach. The safe room no longer felt quite safe anymore, all of the attention were now latched to him, and it was, quite frankly, unnerving. Especially with Morgana in the corner whispering to himself, trying to find answers with a scrambled alphabet, and Zorro literally towering over him. With Ryuji latched to his side, he felt a little suffocated.

"Yeah, I saw her." he slowly said, trying to gauge the reactions. ". . . Am I . . . not supposed to?"

"Yes!" Morgana struck down the question fast. "Kitsu was cursed to never exist to anyone. The only people who knows her are from the Velvet Room." he rubbed his face, then ditched it to paw at the front of his yellow scarf. "If you can see her, then . . . what does that mean?! This is way out of my field!"

"Kitsu?" Ryuji and Akira shared the word, glancing at each other as if one of them had the answer.

"Wait, like, that Amaterasu-whatever lady from Japanese mythology?" the delinquent connected. "That Kitsu?"

"You know, I said the exact same thing to Lavenza a while back."

"Best you lot hop back to the real world." Captain Kidd budged in. "Safer out there than here to stand around and chat. Get that pretty lassie in too. A parrot's a friend till they start echoing each other!"

"Ann," Akira named, more of an audible thought than anything.

Due to having no Persona, and being often told she couldn't join, Ann had to stand around and wait for them to come back for news, and in turn, she had to toe her way around Kamoshida to get his guard down to help them explore the palace efficiently. It was a task uniquely hers, but it didn't make it easier to bite down, and even worser when rumors started to crop up once Shujin's mill caught wind of her hanging around that gym teacher more than usual.

"It's fine." Ann once stated to them one late night during a phone call, the rustling of blankets on her end as she tossed and turned in her room. "I'm already doing it to keep him off Shiho. I don't mind doing it for you guys too. Especially if it means getting rid of him." At the end of the day, though, everyone knew what she never needed to say, "I want to be there too."

The three boys crept out of the safe room and headed for the nearest exit, which was a nearby vent. Once safely away from the palace, they went to the edge of the large platform, steep drops waiting at their feet.

Let's go home, was something Akira and Ryuji figured out was essentially a way to leave, before they met Morgana.

It was pretty dumb at first, when they consulted Arsène and Captain Kidd.

"You gotta think real hard on going home." Captain Kidd told them back in those aimless days, gently tapping his sharp nail against Akira's temples, barely grazing the soft skin. "It's how you lads got out the first time!"

"A more refined method is taking the leap of faith into the red abyss." Arsène proposed, his large black wings gently flexing , stretching out for a more large and defined silhouette.

"Aye, you plan to murk them boys?" Captain Kidd elbowed the Persona. "To pull that off, they can't be the slightest bit scared or doubtful!"

As embarrassing it was at the time—not helping with Ryuji making a, "There's no place like home," joke that made Akira snort and lose focus—it was much easier and safer to conjure a direct door.

Though, Akira was a bit tempted to try the cooler method.

Like expected, a dot of black metal manifested in the air before the trio, growing extended rods and locking together at the bottom, forming a frame. The space in the center rippled, then opened inwards like a door, revealing a spiraling tunnel of muddied colors and a low blowing of wind.

Ryuji grimaced. "Ugh . . . Back in the blender . . ." he sighed, jumping in with a yell, his voice quickly faded and devoured by the tunnel, vanishing into the colors.

Akira scooped Morgana into his arms and followed suite, shutting his eyes. Unlike Ryuji and Morgana, he couldn't stand seeing the flashing colors and lights. Just experiencing the horizontal fall was disorientating enough, and the wind whipping against his face and hair and clothes, feeling the kindling of his rebellion flecking from his form, exposing him to the cold that stalked the Metaverse and it's border. He adjusted his arms to hold Morgana accordingly as the not-cat cat shrunk and elongated.

R̴͇̯͕̥̚e̵͊́́͜c̷͇̜̠̓̄̆͌̇͌l̷͇̯̖̄͐͐̑̆͝a̸̛͇̬̠̦̅̈́͌͆ì̸͉̼̈́̓̆͒m̵̹̞̙̈̾̀͠͝ ̵̦̜̹̹̾̃͑̑͘y̸̧̙̳̞̽ò̶̢̼̪̮͌́̊̿͒̇u̶̲̼̹̍̇̕ͅr̶̼̼̲͔̋̑̑̒̍ ̷̨͚̖̰̱̔̀̾͑b̵͎͖̠̫̻͉͕̈̔į̴̙̣̖̩͗͊͌r̴͖̱̆̋̒͐͘͝t̶̪͍̖͔̖̼̺͌̎ḩ̵̏̈́̿r̴̟͓͓̿̕͝i̷̼̦̲̳̋̿͒͜g̶̭̲̖͈̱̝͙͐̓̇̄h̸͎̳̮͍̫̅́̈́̃̂t̷͉̪͙̗́̽.̸̪̌̆̽

His eyes snapped open.

What—?

But before he knew it, he was back in the real world, the bottoms of his feet firm against the concrete, the air warm and fumed by nearby restaurants, body swaying slightly to recalibrate itself, his back finding the wall of the alleyway by Shujin. The landing was getting a little easier, but the catch-up was still a bit harsh. He crouched down to literally ground himself, feeling Ryuji patting his back and Morgana jumping out of his arms.

Was it actually a voice?

No, it must've been the whistling in his ear, trying to pick out words from nothing. It was barely coherent anyways.

"I got you." Ryuji pulled him up, letting the teen lean against him a bit.

"Thanks." he muttered out, slowing his breath, holding it slightly before letting it out with a heavy sigh.

Morgana stretched his back, letting out a strained groan. "Everyone here? Everyone sound? We good to go?"

"Of course, the only time you're eager to be on the move is for Ann." Akira rubbed his head, a free hand reaching for his phone, rustling the contents in the school bag.

"I already texted her, she's on the way." Ryuji said as they left the cramped space to loiter by the corner of the school gates. They sheltered under an awning to hide from the sun. He leaned back against the thick wall of Shujin, arms crossed, with Morgana perched on a broken stone bench under a small tree. "Hey, Morgana, I've been meaning to ask, what even are you if you're not a cat?" he sized up the Velvet Room familiar, narrowing his eyes slightly, as though it would do anything to help him understand the creature. "Are you, like . . . kind of like the shadows from the Metaverse?"

A small scoff was tossed at the teen. "No, of course not. I was personally handcrafted by Master Igor himself! I'm nothing like that Teddie guy!" then a low grunt, "Shadow with a conscious— first and only case ever. I call ridiculous." he puffed his chest proudly with a grin, his tail angled up with a slight curve, waving leisurely. "On all levels except physical, I'm not a cat. It's just how my body is made to look."

Ryuji blinked slowly, eyes still narrow and carefully analyzing Morgana. A knuckle brushed under his chin. ". . . Would that make you a Velvet Room attendant like Lavenza?"

"No, that's not how it works!" he quickly replied, as though trying to deflect any misdirected disrespect being his doing.

"Wait, but, like, that Lizzie girl mentioned that the attendants were made by Long-Nose Guy—"

"Master Igor!" Morgana corrected with a firm and rather annoyed tone, the fur along his back bristling slightly.

"Yeah, yeah, him." he airily nodded along, not really listening, "doesn't that count by technicality?"

"I was made to be a familiar for Akira, Lady Lavenza and her siblings were made to be attendants. It's not that hard!" the feline shook his head with a gruff sigh. "Ugh, as if someone like you would understand. It's a very in-depth and intricate understanding that most people wouldn't get, especially brainless idiots like you!"

"You lucky as fuck you look like a cat! I can't shake the shit out of you without getting stares—!"

"No, no, nononono—!" Akira's frantic whisper intervened the isolated conversation. He was kneeling off to the side under the shade of the tree, both hands rummaging through the small schoolbag as though he was panning for gold in the rapids. "Shit!" he bit the curse tightly between his teeth. "i . . . I lost it?!"

Ryuji quirked a brow and stepped closer. "Aki? You good, man?"

Akira grabbed the bottom of his bag, and tipped everything out; a pencil bag limply and heavily thumped onto its side, loose folded paper fluttered out, a stray pen rolled to Ryuji's shoe, a notebook slapped open to a random math equation page. He literally turned the bag inside-out, analyzing every small stitch, as if it would unlock a secret compartment if he stared and picked at it hard enough.

But there was nothing.

He lost it.

Lost.

Gone.

Like Ren.

Akira shook his head back from that, nearly ripping his pencil bag wide open, the pencils and pens and clips and everything unceremoniously rained onto his knees.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Morgana pawed at the rolling pencils, stopping them from disappearing.

"It's gone!" Akira struggled to say it, unable to stop his hands from shaking, the warmth of his body draining fast under the spots of sunlight.

Ryuji grabbed the discarded contents. "What is? You're kinda freaking me out right now . . ." he muttered the later part, still trying to process that Akira was utterly . . . distraught. Sure, he's seen Akira be overwhelmed, frustrated, upset, and angry in their usual life and in the Metaverse, but it was always on the more reserved side, more restrained and subdued for a quiet guy like him.

But right now, Akira was on his knees, scratching at nothing to get whatever he lost back, his typically sharp eyes wide and wild, more of a doe caught in headlights than the sly narrow gaze of a calculative young man.

Akira gritted his teeth tighter and tighter, the gums straining against the pressure, bordering on grinding each other to dust.

Gone gone gone.

That's all that echoed in his ears and resonate louder in his head.

Gone gone gone.

Oh god.

Oh god, why?

The thoughts were scrambling fast, flowing away with the rapids of panic. He tried to grab them and hold them in place to think, trying to recall the previous days.

Why didn't he notice sooner?

I was busy. Too fucking busy to notice.

He should've known.

"Akira?"

The boy glanced up, seeing the world for the first time, the colors and light hitting his eyes hard, stinging the muscles in the sockets.

Morgana was sitting in front of him, Ryuji had just finished refilling the pencil bag, and Ann neatly reorganized his schoolbag.

"Akira, are you okay?" Ann spoke up once more, her lips a thin, nervous line, brows creased but strained to hold itself back. "I just got here and you looked so . . ." she didn't know what to say without looking pitiful, but there was no better word than, 'desperate'.

He rubbed his face, trying to hide any possible evidence that may've escaped his eyes. "Sorry, guys, sorry . . ." he sighed, heavy and low. "It's dumb, but . . . I lost a key chain. I don't know when or where, but I lost it and . . ."

Calm down.

It was irrational, he knew it was, to be so upset over a key chain.

Piece of enamel-coated metal from a festival.

But it was everything to him. One of the few things that let him remembered Ren, how small they were back then, how Ren smiled so brightly that night for the first time since ever. He remembered how the rabbit key chain was a little big in their hands, and as the years marched on relentlessly, he kept it close to his palms, grabbing it, holding it, squeezing it. It would grow warm from his contact, and after some time, it would feign softness.

His palms, now, were empty and cold, flat against the concrete under him with only grit.

The teen slowed himself, taking a breath, then continuing, "It means a lot to me," in a steadier voice. "Ren and I got it together. I was going to give it to him after carrying it around at the festival." his throat clogged up, thick and heavy, dragging down to the center of his chest. "But our mom . . ."

Ann intervened, giving him a friendly smile and a hand on his shoulder. "We'll look for it. It might be on the school campus."

"I'm not sure about the chances of that—"

"Quiet, Ryuji." Ann quickly hit his foot before turning back to Akira. "What does it look like?"

"A white rabbit, curled up like it's sleeping. It has '2007' on it's forehead. The back of the key chain has the kanji for 'luck'." Akira rubbed his face again, harder, using the stiffer part of his sleeve, scrambling to get his composure back. Ann handed him back the bag as he got onto his feet. "I always keep it close on me."

"it's pretty old, maybe it rusted at some point." Morgana figured.

"No." Akira held back the hard tone. "No. I always made sure it was clean and never got too worn down. The only situation where I could've lost it was when . . ." a hand crawled against his temple, firmly tapping the tip of his middle finger against the skin, the nail a sharp pinch with every drum. His eyes widened. "That girl. With the pink cardigan. I bumped into her pretty hard, and she almost lost balance." the fingers raked through the messy black hair. "Fuck . . . !" he gasped under a heavy breath. "Damn it, I knew I heard something fall!"

Ryuji didn't look all that convinced, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to connect it as well. "That's . . . one Hell of an assumption. Bro, I don't even remember what we did two minutes ago in the Metaverse other than talking. How you remember something from, like, weeks ago?"

"Shut up, Ryuji." Morgana swatted the air towards the delinquent before looking back at Akira. "Maybe someone put it in the lost and found."

He hoped so. Between the cat mask and his own DNA, he couldn't afford to lose any more pieces of Ren.

That rabbit charm, once safely tucked on the inside of a pink cardigan to a certain corporate heiress, was now being fondled between her fingers as she sat in the back of the car, her head hung down.

Sugimura.

That name made her head hurt from how much it kept bouncing around in her skull, fast and hard, trying to crack out and escape.

Her free hand shoved into the pocket of the cardigan, retrieving the rubber chew fidget, and gnawed at it like a starved dog upon a used bone.

This was bad. So bad.

She's been ignoring that man's calls and messages ever since Okumura told her the news, like it was the second coming of Jesus Christ in their living room and not a strained meeting between him and Sugimura's parents.

He told her it was the Shimura family, at first. The guy was around Haru's age, not too bad, on the quiet side but he was quite nice to her, even if it was just some basic small talk to get the ball rolling. But when one of the assistants to the Sugimura family made that passing comment about the son needing a wife soon, Okumura was quick, dropping the prior agreement for the bigger fish on his makeshift rod.

Worse yet, she's heard quite a bit of the son, his habits of bringing various women every other night. Sometimes one, sometimes two. Most she heard from the street and gossip sites was five.

Haru was less disgusted and more confused by how he could possibly have the stamina or time for that sort of life, let alone not be so cautious of his and his family's image. She slowly sunk down, shrimping up.

"Lady Okumura, that's very unladylike of you." the chauffer said, glancing back at her briefly.

"I feel sick. Can we reschedule?" she asked, her voice small.

"No."

"Oh." the collar of her cardigan was tugged over her nose, a fist pressing the key chain against her chest, hoping that by some miracle, the 'luck' it promised would drop from the sky and kill her. Or Sugimura.

Preferably Sugimura so she could go back to Shimura.

"I . . ." she swallowed thickly, trying to raise her voice a little more from under the cloth, her stomach tightening up painfully into a cold cramp. "I really do feel sick . . . Can you stop for a moment by the curb?"

"No."

"Oh."

A pause.

"Can I meet him from the car?"

"No."

"Oh."

Haru let out a strained breath, holding the key chain up, catching the sunlight a little, it's sleeping face glinting down at her.

She was being dumb, believing some cheap merch could possibly turn her life around whilst trapped in a box of metal, a beeline right to the clutches of another man who'll just see her like Kamoshida.

The familiar burning bitterness rose to the back of her tongue, acrid and vile.

Maybe if I jump out the car right now—

She lurched forward a little, squeaking by the sudden stop. "We're here? Already?" the words fell out fast as she scrambled to sit properly once more in the seat.

"No." the chauffer sighed, shaking his head. "Just waiting for parking to open up. Just had to be a restaurant . . . At least we're a bit early."

Down back she went, the edge of the car seat moving from her lower back, up along her spin, then notched into the crook of her neck, pressing right under the bottom of her head, her hair pushed out a bit, folding over itself a little to tickle her face as she sat there on the ground, knees to chest, chin between them, shins to the backrest of the seat before her.

Maybe if she wedged herself even more, Sugimura would have to come out, see how pathetic she was, lose interest, and leave.

But, alas, unfortunately, for that girl, the car kept moving and moving till it gently slowed to a park in it's little box, and the door by her side swung open.

"Lady Okumura, get up, you're being childish." the chauffer rubbed his eyes.

Haru didn't want to, but her body obeyed, wiggling out from the spot, stepped out, smoothed her skirt—she should've brought a change of clothes, the school uniform made her look too strange and juvenile—then dragged her feet into the restaurant.

It was a place she's been to before. Okumura brought her there once, a long time ago. She couldn't remember for what, only bits and pieces of the bright lights, the fragrant aroma of food she's never seen nor tried before, the slightly itchy dress on her legs, her father's calloused hand holding her close, and her small legs swinging as she sat in the tall chair, toes brushing the floor with each move.

She didn't recall entering the restaurant by herself, nor how tightly he clutched to the rabbit key chain it imprinted it's edges into the soft skin.

Too many thoughts were racing at once, and yet, oddly enough, she didn't quite hear them, everything replaced by that heavy and familiar weight called dread sitting nice and snug in her core.

"You're very beautiful."

With that grin? That surveying flick of the gaze?

You got a nice rack, was what he really meant.

Haru tugged on her cardigan to hide her chest, then a tug of the skirt.

"You should wear some nicer clothes. More flattering for your figure."

"I . . . I prefer this style . . ."

"Come on, let's go to the private room so we can talk some more."

Her head snapped up from the floor, frantically surveying the venue for a more open seat. "Out here is fine. It's not too busy."

A disgusting warm hand took her wrist, and, instinctively, she pulled back.

"Oo, feisty, huh?" he grinned, a little too wide, a little too much teeth. "i thought you were on the more shy side."

The key chain tug deeper into her palm, the kanji now etching itself shallowly into flesh.

That hand reached for her once more.

But it didn't meet her.

"Ms Okumura, I've been looking for you."

Haru's grip on the key chain slacked a little, the loss of pressure rushing the sharp pain through. "Ah—" her breath lodged tightly in her dry throat. "L-Lord— Lord Amamiya?" she blinked, trying to fully process the situation now that it wasn't just Sugimura.

Ren paid no glance towards her yet, his silver eyes focused on the other man, who stepped back quickly.

"Lord Amamiya!" he gasped, the color briefly draining from his face, as though caught being a sinner in church. "Oh, I— I'm deeply sor— I apologize! I didn't realize that this lovely lady was already taken by you!" he nervously laughed, followed by a clumsy wipe of the cold beads of sweat from his brows, his once lecherous grin tight and strained to be friendly.

Something on Ren's face twitched.

Ah—

He didn't plan this through.

No, I can't back out or stumble now. I gotta commit!

"She is now." he stated, hammering his voice to be steady, just as Amamiya taught him.

"Huh?" Haru and Sugimura blinked at such a response.

"I was notified that you wouldn't—" Haru's confusion was interrupted by the clan heir.

"I changed my mind." Ren simply put, hoping the tremor in his voice wasn't noticeable, nor the ones on his hands. "Master likes people who are easy to get along with. Besides, your father is Master's plus-one for Mr Madarame's party soon; naturally, we'll be there together. If you're engaged to someone else by that time, the media will make up a bunch of rumors and scandals."

Haru quickly jumped on. "Oh! Yes, yes!" she quickly commented, the eagerness of escape mistaken for glee. "Of course!" she slapped on a smile. "It's simply logical."

Sugimura looked between the now couple, trying to make sense of what was happening. But enough have clicked to make him bow with another string of stammered apologies. "Again, I'm really sorry for trying to make a move on your girl. Of course you'd want her, she's quite a looker with that—"

"Sugimura, report this to your parents. My master values time and efficiency."

The other man coughed slightly, trying to clear away the weight in his throat. "Yeah, yeah, of course." he made to turn, but paused. "Uh, you'll . . . you'll dismiss this, right? Won't bring it up later with Master Amamiya?"

"Everything you have will be spared."

Sugimura only took a step away before Ren added on, "But, I cannot overlook how you acted towards her." all color was now gone, left as white as the clothes he wore.

". . . O-oh, really . . . ?" he muttered out. He looked at the restaurant patrons minding their own business, hoping that one of them do something foolish to pull the attention off of him. "Lord Amamiya, please— I was just appreciating her—!"

"Ms Okumura—"

Ah— No, she's my fiancée now.

Ren quickly corrected himself, "Okumura, it's your word on what to do with him."

Haru blinked, her mind instantly going empty. ". . . Uh . . ." she rolled the key chain in her palm again, though it'd help decide for her. "He can leave me alone." That was the best she got in that moment.

"Alright, if that's what you want. Sugimura, do remember to report this to your family."

But that guy already sped off.

Ren brought Haru to his reserved room—finding it a bit rude and awkward if he were to suddenly leave her solitary in the restaurant's front lobby—the table already plated with various dishes. Stationed around the central feast were a few servants, dressed in plain but pristinely-kept brown yukatas, standing at attention.

Ren let out a heavy gasp, almost a wheeze, as though all of the air he tried to keep him burst out at once from his chest, a hand flying to his chest, muscle memory to regulate his heart rate.

"Lord Amamiya!" swept over the staff, who quickly crowded around him, accidentally pushing Haru aside.

"Sit, sit!"

"I'll get you some water!"

"You're so pale! You need food!"

"You idiot, he's always pale, that's his skin!"

Ren waved them off. "I'm fine. My nerves finally caught up." he struggled out before turning to Haru. Only partially, though. The realization of what he's done made him revert to his more natural coy state "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to barge in like that." he couldn't even muster up an awkward laugh to ease the air. "I panicked a little when I saw that look on your face."

"Oh— Oh, no, no, it's alright!" Haru was the one to give that much needed strained laugh, her hands frantically swatting back uncertainty of in the room. "You don't understand how relieved I am you stepped in!"

"I was so concerned what Sugimura would've done— Ahh!" he suddenly yelped, borderline screamed, making the adults swarm him again.

"Is the room too cold?"

"Are you dizzy? Lay down, lay down!"

"Has your condition come back?!"

"You idiot, central valve tension doesn't just come back after surgery, that's literally impossible!"

Ren hid behind his hands. "Ahh!" he screamed again. "What am I going to tell Master?!" he wailed, pulling away from the crowd, shrinking into a corner, like a too highly aware and cautious child. "I also forced Okumura's hand too—! Oh nooo— Ahh! What am I doing?!" he shook his head, still hiding. He's only been impulsive enough times to count on one hand, largely because his health condition never allowed him, so he often contented himself to watch Akira pull those little stunts instead, observing from the background or the window, longing to run away from the petty troubles with him and friends.

Back in the lobby, earlier, when Ren saw that struggle, he felt his heart stuttering, trying to pull him over to help. But being an Amamiya—and an heir at that—his title held a lot of crushing weight. Just his mere presence would be enough to flick off small fries like the Sugimura family. But doing so made him hesitant. Waving his title like those haughty folks to get their way around life. But being passive was more damning, it'll eat him forever for continuing that observant nature like when as a child, so, without thought, his body moved and took the scene.

Now, fully processing the sudden engagement . . .

I endangered the Okumuras.

No, this was fine.

No, this is very much not fine.

He shut his eyes tightly, acutely aware of the servants hassling him.

I can't back out now.

He looked over his shoulder, between the trembling fingers.

Haru lingered by the door, fidgeting with a small rabbit key chain. While she remained stiff and apprehensive, she appeared to be a little bit more at ease. Or, at least, as much as one could be to be under the volatile graces of Amamiya herself.

Ren straightened his posture, smoothed out his coat and approached her in a calmer state. "I'm sorry for that, I, uh . . . panicked a little. Ms Okumura, while I really want to give you the choice to call off the engagement, there's really no option. My master will be . . ." No, don't say 'violent',". . . Upset."

The girl standing before him had an unreadable expression. But she nodded. "I understand. I'm in a similar predicament. My father wants me to marry a political family, and if I don't, well . . ."

"Yeah . . ."

A beat of silence.

"Then, this is mutually beneficial." Ren continued. "But I have a very big favor to ask of you. This won't work without you."