Chapter Text
Shibusawa has done a lot of favors for Maruki. It’s not like he’s been keeping score; it’s not even like he did any of this for Maruki specifically. Still, it occurs to him that, had things been even a little bit different, Maruki would be the one hiding in a trunk.
He can’t make out full words or sentences with the trunk closed like this, but he’s pretty sure that Togo is the one barking out orders to Asahi’s men. Yamagishi had given him the heads up just minutes before Noboru Asahi’s men stormed the building - just enough time to pick a storage unit and find a hiding spot. He had considered shutting the door behind himself with the key in his pocket, but that would just make it even more obvious that he was hiding in there. It was lucky that the fake Karin had passed out, otherwise he’s pretty sure she would’ve ratted him out the second her family arrived. Now all he has to do is stay hidden until backup arrives.
Still, he hadn’t expected Togo to be the one leading the charge. Then again, it makes sense. If she can’t make money off her client’s disappearance, she may as well take the opportunity to slide back into the Asahi family’s good graces. Will she even notice that this Karin isn’t real? Will her family? Would any of them even care, if they noticed a difference? Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. This whole thing has been about Noboru Asahi’s pride from the beginning. No matter what, Shibusawa’s father can’t protect him if the Asahis think that he was involved with any of this.
And so, of course, Saboru Asahi is the one who opens the trunk.
It all seems to happen so fast, yet somehow also in slow motion. One second, the clasp on the trunk clicks; the next, Saboru is staring down at him, his face dark from the back lighting of the fluorescents. And the thing is, Maruki is smart, but he isn’t as quick on his feet when it comes to situations like this. He’s better at long-term plans, grand ideas, big pictures. If it were him in here, he probably would’ve choked out a nervous chuckle and blurted out the first thought that crossed his mind. And if it were him in here, the Asahis wouldn’t hesitate even a little to drag him out of there and shoot him in the face, no questions asked. It’s a good thing that Shibusawa is here, ultimately. It’s better this way.
Too bad he’s not that much better at improv.
“That girl isn’t Karin.” Shibusawa whispers it loud enough for Saboru to hear, but not loud enough to carry out of the unit. It’s a last-ditch effort, really; the Asahis are only vaguely familiar with how the Metaverse works. But maybe that ignorance can work for him.
At any rate, Saboru hasn’t shouted or made a scene. His face is still hard to see at this angle.
“She’s a public cognition,” Shibusawa keeps going. “A fake. The real one is, uh…we don’t know where she is, but she’s not with us. Not in this plane of reality.”
More silence. Shibusawa tries desperately to get his eyes to adjust to the lighting, but it’s useless. Fine. One last attempt.
He tells him, slowly, doing his best to find his eyes in the dark: “We didn’t kidnap anyone. I swear.”
Still nothing. He has no idea how to read this silence. It doesn’t feel like Saboru is about to screw him over, but…something is off.
“I see,” is what Saboru says eventually. Wait, what? He does? “So…my sister has been chosen.”
Chosen? Shibusawa knows better than to ask for clarification; he needs to seem like he’s in on this, whatever this is. But he can read a little bit of context from the tone. Whatever Karin got ‘chosen’ for, it isn’t anything good.
Yet Saboru doesn’t get mad or even seem surprised. He just nods with a sort of quiet, sad resignation. “Thank you for telling me,” he says.
Without another word, Saboru closes the trunk. Shibusawa holds his breath and doesn’t release it until he hears the footsteps fade out and the storage unit door shut behind him.
===
The terrible thing is, the nightmare doesn’t feel like a nightmare. It feels like a preview of the inevitable.
They start with a call to her parents, their full names and hometown blasted across the screen. Her dad has always been the silent type, and her mom flusters easily under pressure, so the interviewers are free to rake them over the coals. At first, the interviewers seem to take great pleasure in it, but the frustration gradually mounts the further they go and the less responsive her family is. After about a solid minute of them repeating variations of the question ‘It must be hard to have such a despicable daughter, right?’, her mother goes into an impromptu coughing fit and the call is brought to an unceremonious end.
A parade of others from her life soon follow. Friends who dropped her when she became ‘too callous.’ Exes she thought she was in love with. “She changed too much,” is the common phrase. “She used to be so nice.”
“But maybe she’s always been like that,” is another common thread. “She makes you think she’s this kind, supportive person with ambitions. But she doesn’t really care about anyone but herself.”
“She’s rude.”
“She’s thoughtless.”
“I don’t like to say it, but her real face is just...ugly.”
“That’s why she has to pretend.”
“That’s why she works so hard to seem perfect.”
“Because she knows no one would like the real her.”
“She would die if people knew.”
“That’s why--”
“That’s why…”
“But of course, nobody said that.”
A spotlight. The rest of the studio fades away, just a little. Just enough to let Mika Watanabe shine in her spot on the couch. Pale skin, pink lips, smooth legs. A baby blue dress accented with her iconic pearl necklace. She drags it with her index finger, twirling the string around.
“None of the friends or boys you loved growing up answered the requests for comment, right?” She smiles. “Because you threatened them. When begging didn’t work.”
Her eyes are locked on Mika’s. The real Mika. The real, ugly, tender underbelly of the Mika Watanabe she worked so hard to be. The real Mika doesn’t respond. Her jaw is locked in place. It’s hard to tell if it’s the nightmare doing that, or if she just can’t find the words.
Mika Watanabe laughs, a pleasant, tittering noise. “Pa-the-tic,” she sing-songs.
The lights fade out, then on again. Mika Watanabe has switched positions on the couch, her chin and forearms resting on the armrest.
Her eyes crinkle in that way she has practiced in the mirror so many times. “I’m so happy, Mika. We’re more alike than I thought.”
“I’m not,” is what the real Mika tries to say, but her voice comes out quiet and hoarse. She swallows, with difficulty. Her throat feels dry.
“I was the one who made those women disappear, but you…” She presses her face against her hand, just enough that it looks endearing. “You made my story believable. You gave me life. No one would’ve believed a girl like me could do such a thing without your help. But even though you silenced all your old friends, you couldn’t keep everyone quiet, could you? In the end, your terrible personality still shined through!”
Mika Watanabe’s delightful laughter fills the studio. The crew abruptly break out of their motionless state to echo her laughter, followed by applause. The real Mika flinches, bewildered. Normally, she can recognize the crew of most sets by name and face, but all their faces are obscured by shadows.
Lights out. Lights on. Mika Watanabe stands in the middle of the set, all lights on her. The real Mika continues to look on from her spot beside a cameraman, partly in shadow.
“Aren’t you happy, too? Everyone is looking at us. It’s too bad our career is over, though.” Mika Watanabe knocks herself on the head and winks, sticking her tongue out. “Tehe~☆”
More laughter. More applause. Fresh anger rips through the cold terror that had kept the real Mika paralyzed. “Like hell!” She closes the distance between her and her other, until they’re only a foot apart. “Everyone kn-knows it wasn’t me! They saw me on the livestream! I-I’m the victim, aren’t I?!”
Mika Watanabe tilts her head. “Are you sure?” She cups her mouth for the whole studio to hear. “Hey, everyone! Do you remember seeing that ugly woman with a gun on my livestream? I wonder who that was!”
“That was me !” the real Mika says, but the nameless, faceless crew are all nodding. She grits her teeth, fists curling. “What the hell do you know, anyway?! Who even are you?! I--”
Her breath hitches. Mika Watanabe’s hand on her shoulder is ice cold. So is her breath when it brushes her nape. “Nobody saw your face. Nobody knows who that was. It all happened so fast, it’s hard to say…”
A chuckle. Mika Watanabe’s powder pink nails sink into her shoulder. It’s the only warning she gets.
A flood of scenes–memories?--overwhelms her. Mika Watanabe slamming a baseball bat upside the head of a lanky man, his baseball cap fluttering to the floor. Mika Watanabe clawing at Yui Ichinose’s face in a seedy Shinjuku alley. Mika Watanabe chasing down Himari Yamamoto down the streets of Kichijoji. Mika Watanabe dumping Karin Asahi into the river.
That was me . The thought is wrong. It doesn’t belong here, in her brain. It’s not hers . But it stays there anyway, squirming, uncomfortable, like a worm. That was me. I did this.
The memories run on repeat, the images growing louder and more vivid with each new loop. It gets harder to fight against that one thought that throbs and spreads and grows. It was me. I kidnapped them. No, I killed them. I killed Karin. I killed all of them.
And maybe it isn’t true, but it may as well be. She has forgotten why it matters anymore. She’s terrible. Her fans hate her. Her friends hate her. Her mom, her dad--she has brought them so much shame. What was she working for all this time?
“That’s it…” She can feel it now: their flesh becoming one. Mika Watanabe. Her giggle echoing in her brain. “That’s who we are. Who you are, who I am. A monster.”
“That’s who I am…” The words fall out of her mouth. Because it isn’t hers, anymore. Neither are the tears dripping off her chin, or the ugly sniffle that accompanies it. “I’m a monster...I’m a monster… That’s...that’s who I...”
“That’s not true!”
The voice seemingly comes from nowhere. She almost recognizes it, but not quite.
“Who…?” Her voice sounds faint to her own ears. She feels so sleepy… It would be so easy to just slip away now, but that voice is too loud and it keeps her awake.
“Who do you think, dummy? I told you I’d come.”
A figure appears in front of her. Ann. Her eyes water. It makes it so hard to see her, but it’s her. When she focuses hard enough, she can recognize her voice. “I told you…” She hiccups. She hates crying. She hates her crying face. “I-I told you not to…”
“Mika.” She’s never heard Ann say her name like that, so calm and mature. It makes her want to stay calm, too, even when Ann takes forever to continue. “I know you. You hide yourself from the rest of the world, but you can’t hide from me. You’ve never been able to. And...even if there are parts of you that are awful or unforgivable, I still don’t hate you. I believe in you.”
Ann’s figure is still a blur in front of her, but she can sense her extending a hand.
“I know that you’re stronger than this. Now show me.”
She doesn’t cry, because Ann is right. She knows she’s right. She is all the terrible things people think about her, and she’s also that shining, beautiful thing Ann sees in her. The shining, beautiful thing Mika proved to her when they met.
“Oh, look at you, thinking you can run from me.” A pair of arms wrap around her torso. “From yourself.”
Mika takes a long, deep breath. Calm. Just like Ann.
“Who’s running?”
And so she lets it happen. She lets herself get swallowed whole.
“No! Watanabe!”
That foreign voice is the last thing her mind registers before she swoops in and consumes everything.
“Ohh, I see…” A disembodied chuckle, smooth as silk. The two of them are now surrounded by inky blackness, blue flames licking at her feet. Mika stares up at this strange, gigantic woman, utterly captivated by the otherworldliness of her beauty. “You’ve cleared the lies away from the truth, and the result…”
The pain hits. Mika doubles over, screaming. It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts .
“...is me .” Now laughter, deep and mature. Not in mockery or jest, but in genuine pleasure.
“Now, now… It’s about time we say it…” Heat travels up her body, from the tips of her toes all the way to the top of her head. “I am thou…thou art I...from the sea of thy soul, I come…”
The flames burn away every last shred of shame she had left, leaving behind a medley of velvet and lace in midnight blue. Across from her, a giant woman extends her hand. Her face is obscured by a veil and absurdly large sun hat, but her hand is delicate, pale blue, cold to the touch. A pair of bat wings the size of her entire body stretch out on either side. She wears a dark vest open over a blue lace corset, and the collar on her vest stretches tall and pointy to accommodate her slender pale blue neck. Layers of blue and black skirts billow out around her like the midnight sky, and her unruly hair spills out with it like black ink. A monster, perhaps. But a genuine lady , nonetheless.
It only takes a moment to understand. That person before, that ‘Mika Watanabe’ - that wasn’t her at all. But this… Mika finds her eyes, piercing gold, through the veil. She finds those eyes, and knows her, and is known.
Finally, she accepts her hand.
===
Shit. Shit. Shit . This is bad.
Akechi’s throat still feels raw and tight from where the cognitive Mika had strangled him earlier; the scratch marks are shallow but just bad enough to sting in the cold air of this subspace. The cognitive Mika had all but buried her talons in him and used him as an anchor to remove herself from the mirror, launching herself into this new world as a monstrous version of the real Mika. The first few rounds of combat hadn’t been so bad; this Shadow Mika had nothing but meager physical attacks to defend herself, but her fast reflexes and flight abilities made up for her poor strength. It was annoying but manageable, until she found reinforcements.
Himari’s harpy image of Mika had been just the beginning; soon enough, she was joined by Karin Asahi’s version of Mika: a devil who was much heavier on the offense. Her attacks were easier to dodge than the other’s, but even though he had only been hit by her once, he still found himself at a quarter health by the time he was able to stun her.
He could sense that the two Mikas had their eyes on the real Mika’s mirror, and so he beat them to it. He had been hoping he could yank Mika out of there and get them both the fuck out, but now Mika’s entire reflection has gone dark. The devil Mika’s nails sink deep into his shoulder as she yanks him away, allowing the harpy Mika to slide right in. Akechi elbows the devil hard, but it only encourages her to curl her nails in even more. The pain shoots all through his shoulder and down his arm. Maybe it’s an instinctive response, or maybe the memory of intense physical pain simply reminded him of his options; either way, he summons his blade and lets it rip straight through her stomach. The devil screeches right into his face, a horrible, ear-splitting sound - and then dissolves into shadow. One down. And now —
THWACK—thud . A blunt impact, followed by a body hitting the floor.
Akechi swings around, preparing to tear the harpy Mika to shreds. The blade-sharp tip of a cane stops him in his tracks.
The woman on the other end of it is clad in a mashup of various dark materials. The leather bustier top is layered on top of a sleeveless mesh shirt that extends up her neck, though it’s partially hidden by the raised collar of her bustier. A pair of velvet gloves climb high up her arms, past her elbows, not unlike the lace-up boots that stretch up to her knees. To top it off, she wears a small top hat with lace wrapped around it. At a glance, the whole ensemble appears to be black, but in the glow of her summoned Persona, there are hints of dark blue laced throughout.
Her face is partially hidden by the blue lace mask over her eyes, but there’s no denying it. That is, without a doubt, the real Mika Watanabe.
Wordlessly, Akechi raises his hands in surrender. Mika doesn’t appear to recognize him. “Start talking. Where the hell are we?” she demands.
Before Akechi can get a word in, he senses a new presence - a new threat He shoves Mika away and dodges just in time for yet another Shadow Mika to land right where they were. Where the hell did this one come from? Clad in a battered, torn blue dress, skin rotten, nails sharp like talons, oozing far more strength and power than the other two had combined. More calm and collected, too, confident in her own prowess. Is this really someone’s cognition of Mika? Or is it something else?
“No time to explain,” he decides - and no time to dwell on it, either. He draws his blade, ignoring the way Mika gapes at him like an idiot. “Either help or get out of the way.”
“Is that really you, Akechi-kun…?” Mika lets out an incredulous little laugh - tearful, even. “You came to save me…wearing such an ugly outfit…” She sniffles. “It’s trying way too hard to be edgy…”
Akechi gives the real Mika a hard side-eye. “I don’t want to hear it from the visual kei bargain bin,” he says coolly, and Mika’s sappy expression drops entirely.
The new Mika draws the attention back to herself with a single snap of her fingers. It echoes throughout the subspace, a certain weight to it that makes the whole room go silent with anticipation. Eventually, the sounds of giggling and tiny wings reach their ears, slowly getting louder and louder until they’re bombarded with the noise from all sides. Several Pixies emerge from the mirrors around them, all of them whispering and giggling in voices that mimic Mika’s. Mika’s boots scrape against the floor as she takes an instinctive step back - and the giggling and whispering intensifies at the show of fear.
“So this is my ‘true’ counterpart.” The cognitive Mika’s gaze lands, not on Mika Watanabe, but on her Persona. She hums. “We’ll see if the real thing can match up to our ambition.”
‘Our’ ambition? Akechi narrows his eyes, but the real Mika talks over his attempt to pursue that line of discussion. “Listen.” She jabs a finger at her cognitive counterpart. “I don’t know who you are, or what the hell is happening. But…”
Mika gives the fake a thumbs down. The blue flames surrounding her Persona flare up in response. “If it’s a battle of ambition, you’re shit out of luck.”
For a moment, the cognitive Mika does nothing more than blink at the true Mika slowly, eyes a dull golden glow. Then, she wordlessly raises a hand up high in the air. With the flick of her wrist, the Pixies descend on them in a flurry of wings and manic laughter.
“Carmilla.” The giantess in black and midnight blue lifts her head at the name, eyes shining gold through the shadows of her veil. “Go.”
Carmilla’s blue painted lips curve into a sharp smirk. She snaps her fingers and sends blades of ice hurtling towards the enemy; the attack knocks down several of the Pixies around her, and Akechi’s followup Riot Gun obliterates the rest.
Mika bursts out laughing, an ugly, snorting laugh. “Seriously? You’ll have to do better than that to defeat my Carmilla.”
Another snap summons a fresh round of Pixies to the stage, their numbers doubling in size.
Her face drops. “Oh.”
Akechi drags Mika out of the way of an oncoming onslaught of swipes from some Pixies. Dammit. If she’s just gotten her Persona, she probably doesn’t know any abilities that could take on groups of Shadows at a time. He has no choice but to play cleanup crew for now. “I’ll hold off the weaklings,” he tells her in between a couple more parries. “Focus on eliminating the main threat.”
Mika stares at him. “Eliminate? Eliminate how ?” She yelps and narrowly dodges a Zio.
Hereward bursts into existence behind him. “You wanted to help. I’ve given you your chance.” A stray Zio shocks through his system. He growls. “Ten minutes. Go.”
“Wait a second--!”
With that, he shoves Mika through the wall of Pixies closing in on them and snarls out an order. Hereward’s arrows pierce through several Pixies at once. One by one, they shriek and disappear, only to be immediately replaced by another batch.
Akechi rolls his eyes. A fight like this could hardly even be considered target practice. But it’s been a while since he was in the Metaverse, and the adrenaline pumping through him is a familiar comfort. He allows himself a small smirk as he slowly pulls his sword out of its sheath.
“Warmup time,” he says, and their eyes widen in horror as he rushes toward them.
For a while, Akechi rotates between slaughtering the various weaklings that the cognitive Mika sends his way, and tossing Mika the occasional health item when she starts to falter. It gets to be a pain when he runs out of skill-point restoratives, and Mika doesn’t make it any easier on him when she starts whining about the snacks he tosses her.
“Do you even know how many calories are in this?!” she somehow finds the time to yell in between shielding her eyes from the cognitive Mika’s Dazzler and dodging a stray Zio from one of the Pixies.
“Then either kill her , stop taking damage, or die !” Akechi screeches right back.
The conversation is cut short as Carmilla Cleaves through the fake Mika and Hereward blasts the Pixies with Megidolaon. Several shrieks fill the air.
Distracted by the impact of Mika’s latest attack, the fake Mika staggers back and appears to forget to summon more Pixies to replace the last wave. In the meantime, Akechi takes stock of what options he has. Unfortunately, he had sorely underestimated how long the fight would be and front-loaded the skill-points on Megidolaons. Physical skills will cut away at his health if he relies on them for too long, which means that his options are rapidly dwindling. If Joker were here, they could probably destroy them all in one blow. And if his old partner were here--or perhaps if he had collected more bonds, more Personas—
He clenches his fists. The talons dig into his palm.
No, he doesn’t need either of them. He doesn’t need friends, arcanas, none of it. He just needs to find a way to end this.
Mika’s shriek of frustration brings him back to the present. It’s immediately clear why: Somehow, even though the fake appeared to be on her last breath, a chunk of her health has been restored. Initially, he wonders if she casted some kind of Dia-related ability on herself, but then he notices the mirrors behind her glowing unnaturally. Right. He should’ve guessed.
Akechi summons Hereward to his side and has the presence of mind to calmly tell Mika, “Duck.”
She whips around just in time to see Hereward launch a Riot Gun attack at the mirrors surrounding them on all sides. For a long three seconds, the battlefield is filled with a hail of gunshots and shattered glass that drowns out Akechi’s vicious laughter and Mika’s confused screaming. The floor glitters in the aftermath, dozens upon hundreds of broken mirror shards scattered across it like islands of glass. Mika is shaken but unharmed as she slowly brings herself back up to her feet, but the fake has once again been staggered.
It only takes a second for Mika to regain herself and launch another Bufu at her enemy. The Shadow cries out and stumbles back, trying to retreat into a mirror that no longer exists. With one last desperate cry, she comes flying at Mika, but Mika dodges it easily, her focus strengthened by the Sukukaja she’d casted on herself earlier. The fake crashes into the ground and curls up there, pained. Carmilla’s imposing figure towers behind her, crowding the Shadow up against the wall. Her eyes flash yellow through the shadows of her veil, and the display of power more than makes up for the way Mika’s chest rises and falls rapidly, her face flushed with exertion.
The cane from earlier materializes in her hand, but she doesn’t raise it. She just watches as the Shadow raises its eyes to meet hers. Its face melts away slowly, until all that’s left is…
Mika nearly drops her cane. “W-what…the hell…”
Akechi joins her, sword in hand. The Shadow’s face has morphed and aged with unnatural grace, the kind that people only have on television. There’s no mistaking it.
“You’re Togo’s Shadow.” The Shadow raises its eyes to meet his own at the name, gaze full of cold resentment. The otherworldly glow of her eyes is equally unmistakable. But even as he says the words, he can’t make sense of them. “You’re a Shadow. And yet…instead of manifesting a Palace, you…what? Manifested an identity crisis?”
Togo’s Shadow doesn’t respond. Instead she looks to Mika, who tenses. “Tell me. Do you feel that it’s worth it, to win over a mother who recently lost her husband and is terrified of losing her child? Does that sacrifice feel just to you?”
The leather in Mika’s glove tightens around the cane. “You did that to yourself. I didn’t ask to be part of this.”
The Shadow simply blinks. “I know. But I chose you because you deserved it.”
Akechi has to hold her back by the shoulder. “Don’t give me that crap!” she hisses. She fights Akechi off her shoulder, but doesn’t smack the Shadow like she clearly wants to. “You can make whatever excuse you want; everything that’s coming to you is all your own fault.”
The Shadow doesn’t have a response to that, which seems to irk Mika even more. Akechi moves on before Mika can take them too far off track. “How exactly did you go from being Togo’s Shadow to becoming the public’s cognition of Mika Watanabe?”
“I didn’t become them; I controlled them.” The Shadow rolls her eyes as she says it, her expression now abruptly disinterested. “I was the one controlling the narrative. I was the author of the lie. It stands to reason that I would have the power to control what direction it went in.”
Akechi has to hold Mika back again. “So you chose to make Karin die? Just to save your own ass?” She struggles, this time with the clear, full intention of beating the crap out of the Shadow. Akechi continues to hold on, however; if Mika goes overboard here, that Shadow will disappear and they’ll never find out how the hell this ended up happening.
Nevertheless, Mika continues. “That’s bullshit! I can’t believe I ever thought we were on the same page!”
“Shadows often act independently of the original goods,” Akechi inputs calmly. “Given Togo’s behavior, it seems more likely that she genuinely didn’t know that any of this was happening because of her.”
“But…” Mika looks between him and the Shadow. “This Shadow thing is supposed to represent her innermost thoughts, right? Which means, deep down…she wanted Karin to disappear.”
Akechi observes the Shadow. “Perhaps,” he says slowly. “This Shadow seems to represent her ambition; her will to make this plan work. Everything outside of that is trivial. Am I correct?”
The Shadow sighs. Her eyes are downcast, face worn, pale, and tired. “What does it matter now? I’ve failed her. My daughter…all I ever wanted was to support her.” Her eyes glisten and crinkle with a rueful smile. “No… That’s not true. I wanted more than that. I wanted us both to be happy, truly happy. Whoever said money can’t buy that for you was full of absolute dogshit.”
Mika’s expression softens just the slightest bit, but Akechi has no patience for self-pity. “If money was what you wanted, why get rid of your cash cow?” he presses. “Your plan would’ve worked just fine without the additional missing women. Unless you put them up for ransom as well?”
Togo’s Shadow narrows her eyes at him, though they’re full of tears. “If you’re referring to the body they found in the river, I had nothing to do with it. I have no idea who it belongs to, and to be quite frank, I don’t care. The public saw what they wanted to see.”
That is absolutely bizarre, if true. Could it really have been a coincidence? Akechi exchanges a dubious look with Mika.
“As for the other missing women, I had no choice. That Ichinose bitch and that stupid Yamamoto girl… Karin thought that, with my encouragement, they would jump at the chance to speak poorly of her. Ultimately, she was right. But Ichinose was too clever. She knew that I was trying to throw suspicion off myself–and, conveniently, one of the storage keys went missing after one of our meetings. If I hadn’t intervened, she would’ve gone straight to Mika with the evidence and told her everything. And Yamamoto simply couldn’t handle her own guilty conscience; she would’ve gone to Mika as well.”
And so the Shadow disguised herself as Mika at Crossroads and seduced Yui Ichinose to her doom. As for Yamamoto, Akechi already saw firsthand what happened there…
The Shadow’s skin begins to shimmer faintly with the telltale signs of a Palace ruler defeated. They’re running out of time.
“If only Karin had survived…” she’s muttering now. “Who the hell…ruined our plan…I’ll…I’ll kill …”
“How did you cross over into our reality?” Akechi interrupts, urgent. But it’s too late; Togo’s eyes have glossed over, gaze fixed on nothing in the middle-distance. He slams his fist into the empty mirror behind her, shattering more glass and eliciting a surprised shriek from Mika. “Answer me. How did you do it?”
More silence, more blank stares. Akechi raises his blade–
“A-Akechi-kun!” Mika pulls him back, and he shoves her off. “Stop it, she’s–she’s not–”
All the blood-boiling, ruthless determination in him gets loaded into a singular glare. The pure impact of it makes Mika flinch visibly.
“Don’t. Get in my way.”
Her face goes red beneath the blue lace mask, at first flustered, then flushed with anger. She sputters for a moment, trying hard to muster up a comeback despite the sharp, violent look in his eyes–only to be saved by Togo’s voice, weak and distant, cutting straight through the tension.
“I would do it all again…” Her body has become translucent at this point. The outline of a tear shimmers as it rolls down her cheek. “For you, Hifumi…if it would preserve your smile, for you, I…”
The Shadow bursts into white and vanishes. The echo of her quiet sob lingers in the silence that follows.
That silence stretches on for a moment. He doesn’t have to turn to feel Mika staring at him, entirely lost. “Hey…Akechi-kun…” She swallows. “What happened just now…is that a good thing? Is she going to be okay?”
Mika’s stare grows increasingly worried the longer Akechi takes to respond. But even if Akechi was the type to sugarcoat the truth, the truth isn’t easy to discern. The Phantom Thieves have already defeated her Shadow once, and yet it came back stronger than before. Killing or beating or sparing Shadows; does any of it really matter, in the end? Any solution that comes of it is only temporary.
“That’s up to her, I suppose,” is the answer he ends up giving. It’s the only answer he can give. At the very least, Mika seems to accept it.
A thunderous rumble rips through the solemn silence; shards of glass rattle around at their feet. It’s the tell-tale sign of a Palace on the verge of collapse.
About a dozen questions race through Akechi’s mind at once - whose Palace is this? Was it Togo’s? And again, how the hell did she manage to enter their reality? - but the urgency of the situation forces him to shove those aside for now. He grabs Mika’s wrist. “We have to get out of here,” he tells her, and she nods.
He leads them back the way he came, the floor falling away in pieces at their heels. Mika is surprisingly fast, keeping pace with Akechi’s dead sprint down the hall lined with mirrors that are now shattered on either side of them. His cracked reflections are all static again, fractured into jagged pieces that vibrate along with the earthquake rumbling at their feet. Towards the end of the corridor, his eyes catch on the briefest glimpse of something in the glass. Not static. Not even Black Mask. A flash of color, so quick it might as well have been a spot in his vision from the blinding light of the door. Something about it unsettles him briefly, but he can feel the floor crumbling at his heels, and the unsettling feeling vanishes from his mind quickly.
“Akechi-kun!” Mika’s silhouette stands in the doorway, reaching its hand out to him. He makes one final leap--
A hot breath against his nape. A whisper curling in his ear.
“Until we meet again, Goro Akechi.”
His body slams into Mika’s, and they topple onto the cold hard floor of Kwarz Storage.
===
The coffee at the precinct isn’t terrible. It does its job, at least; he probably would’ve keeled over and passed out if he hadn’t already drained two cups. But his brain has long been wired to crave Leblanc after a long night in the Metaverse. A cruel joke, really. He had often gone there as much for the coffee as for the bittersweet company of people who should rightly hate him but didn’t (because they didn’t know that they had a right to). It was a sort of self-inflicted punishment and indulgence. A comfort, if not for the quiet atmosphere then for the familiarity of routine.
Instead, what he gets is the company of two women passive-aggressively trying to intimidate each other, and one woman yawning through a recollection of the evening. They’ve all been stuffed into an interrogation room in the corner of the Tokyo PD precinct, and Akechi never thought he’d actually prefer the drafty dungeons they call Shadow Operatives Tokyo HQ, but at least they had enough chairs back there. He’s been forced to give up the hot seat to Mika while she fights to keep her eyes open and muddle through her version of events. Her half-drained cup of green tea sits useless in her hands. He had warned her that she would need something stronger if she wanted to stay awake after summoning her Persona for the first time, but that had only invited a lecture about the benefits of tea over coffee, to which Akechi countered with his own lecture on the downsides of green tea, to which Kirijo cleared her throat pointedly, and so the debate came to a close.
According to Shibusawa, the two of them had tumbled out of the Metaverse just in time to miss Asahi’s men storming the building. It was unclear why Asahi left so abruptly after rescuing the hostages, before Kirijo’s forces had even arrived at the scene. Did someone tip them off? Maybe, or maybe the timing was a coincidence. Either way, at least they didn’t find Shibusawa; they can still use him as an inside man, if need be. They’ll need to keep an eye on that family for a while, especially with the fake Karin now in their custody.
As for Mika, her experience in the mirror sounds rather common for an Awakening. But what even were those mirrors? Were they simply a unique feature of Togo’s Palace? No, even if she was the one in charge of the cognitive Mikas, that place didn’t feel like it belonged to her… Akechi’s fist clenches against his own shoulder. All this bullshit is making his head hurt.
When Mika finally finishes her account, she sighs and scrubs her face. “Sorry... I know I’m not making any sense.”
Kirijo shakes her head. “On the contrary, everything you just said makes perfect sense,” she says. It’s the kind of reassurance that is so matter-of-fact that it almost loses its ability to comfort. Still, it’s the only kind of reassurance he’s ever seen from her. “That’s when you awoke to your Persona, correct? To Carmilla.”
Mika nods slowly. “She helped me get out and return to...wherever that place was. That mirror hell.” She looks at Akechi, tired, but seemingly more comfortable with him than with the two strangers in the room. “Anyway, he already told you the rest.”
Commissioner Kaburagi straightens from where she’d been hovering over Mika. “I see… That is quite a fantastical story, Watanabe-san.”
Mika frowns. “It’s a true story.”
“Our dealings with the Shadows tend to sound quite fantastical, yes,” Kirijo interjects. Mika’s eyes slide over to her, a little relieved but still a little unnerved. Akechi rolls his eyes. He should’ve known at least part of this obvious rivalry was a variation on the good-cop bad-cop routine. “I believe you, Watanabe. Everything you said sounds par for the course in terms of what we deal with.”
Mika visibly relaxes. “Then…that means I’m free to go, right? I’m no longer a suspect?”
“You are no longer a suspect, but we’ll still need you to sign some paperwork.” Kaburagi pins her with a hard look. “I’m sure you understand the importance of confidentiality in this situation.”
He can tell that Mika doesn’t appreciate the attitude. But, perhaps because she is too exhausted to care, or perhaps because she has no interest in picking fights with the police, Mika simply nods and says, “I understand.”
They dismiss her to another room with a small mound of paperwork, leaving Akechi alone with Kirijo and Kaburagi. He remains standing near the door, uninterested in being spoken down to or intimidated the way Kaburagi did to Mika. “So. What are your thoughts?” Kirijo says.
Akechi shakes his head. “To be frank, nearly everything about this case is uncharted territory. Nothing about this situation at all resembles the Metaverse I’ve come to know.”
Kirijo sighs, though it didn’t seem like she had high hopes in the first place. “And we still don’t know where Iori went… It would seem that the subspace you fell into is our only lead. Do you have any way of accessing it again?”
“Perhaps.” Akechi brings up the MetaNav on his phone. This time, it actually opens up, but it doesn’t go much further than that. It takes a moment, freezes, glitches with static. After a moment, the usual interface returns, but the text is all blurred out. Shit. He holds it up for the others to see. “This is bad. The last time I encountered this particular error, the interference came from someone sitting at the heart of Mementos. Which means…”
“Another Takuto Maruki. Another Yaldaboath,” Kirijo finishes for him. Even Kaburagi appears to understand the gravity of the situation.
“We need to find him,” Akechi decides. “Shibusawa claims that he’s left the city, but I have reason to believe that may not be the case. It’s possible he has something to do with this–and even if he doesn’t, he’s our best bet at understanding this new breed of Shadow.”
Of course, he’ll need to investigate this without tipping off Shibusawa. It’s likely that he has something to do with whatever nonsense Maruki has spun up now, or at the very least is covering for him. They can’t risk him warning Maruki and letting him slip away.
Kirijo nods. “Agreed. We’ll discuss the strategy tomorrow; for now, we need to make sure we wrap up the Asahi case properly. We can’t afford any loose ends.” Before Akechi can even push up off the wall, she adds: “And you need to get some rest.”
Akechi considers arguing, but in truth, he’d rather take this time to get a head start on the investigation. He can leave the paperwork to Kaburagi and Kirijo’s desk jockeys. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” Kirijo confirms. And then, before he can leave the room, she adds: “Good work out there, Akechi.”
He pauses in the doorway. If Kaburagi weren’t here, he would turn around and tell Kirijo that he wouldn’t consider them a superior and her subordinate. He works with the Shadow Operatives, not for them. But he also considers her more of an ally than Kaburagi ever could be, so instead he just accepts the acknowledgement as the token of respect that it is, and nods. No sense in undercutting her authority without cause.
The streets are well-lit but rather empty when Akechi emerges from the precinct. He is surprised to find Mika standing there in the cool spring breeze, a little too chilly for her outfit. She has her arms crossed to keep herself warm as she turns to scowl at him, as if it’s his fault for making her wait. “There you are,” she sniffles.
He stares at her blankly. “I wasn’t aware you’d be waiting for me.”
“Yeah, well, I was.” Mika sniffles again and groans, disgusted by the noise. “I couldn’t say this in front of those women after all. They’re your bosses, aren’t they? You’d get in trouble if they knew…” She looks around at the deserted street but, still self-conscious, nods him away from the door anyway. He follows her down the sidewalk, walking her down the way to the train station.
The walk seems to warm her up a little more. She sniffles again, less miserably this time. “Thanks for letting me in on your little secret. I mean, it’s not like I gave you a choice, but still.” She proudly sets her arms akimbo and turns her nose up. “Everything would’ve gone to shit if it weren’t for me, you know. Your plan was going terrible before I showed up. In fact, it’s me you should be thanking instead.”
Akechi lifts an eyebrow. “Is that really what you waited out in the cold to tell me?”
Mika pouts. “Well, no. But it wouldn’t kill you to show a little appreciation…” That last word turns into a yawn, and with it, her entire posture deflates. She sighs. “Geez, I’m tired… Whatever, thank me or don’t. We all know you would’ve been screwed without me.”
He doesn’t dignify that outrageous claim with a response, which apparently is just fine by her, because she keeps going.
“Which is why I wanted to say this…” She crosses her arms, eyes looking straight ahead. “The way I see it, the Tokyo police have no reason to recruit someone like me on their team, and I have no reason to accept. I’m a career-woman, you know? I don’t have time for a second job like that.” Her eyes turn to Akechi as she points. “But you? I’ve been carrying you for weeks! I’m the one who got you that interview with Togo. I’m the one who got you that storage key. I’m the one who saved the broadcast.”
His tolerance for Mika’s annoyingness is considerably low at this time of night. Akechi feels his eye twitching. “Is there a point to this?”
“What I’m saying is…” Mika pulls up in front of him, turning around to look him in the eye. They stop not far from the station, its bright lights haloing around her. “If you ever need me–and you probably will!” She crosses her arms, still tired, still worn, but proud and determined as ever. “Just ask.”
It takes a moment for the words to fully digest. Even then, her arrogance and blatant disrespect for his ability don’t infuriate him as much as they should. Perhaps because it’s Mika. Taking her seriously would feel akin to taking full offense to a child’s suggestion to take on the water bill.
“I won’t,” he says, bluntly. “You were useful for this particular case. I don’t foresee that that will continue to be the case moving forward.”
Mika looks skeptical. “Really? You don’t need my help at all?” When Akechi doesn’t answer with anything beyond a withering look, she takes out her phone and holds it up for him to see. The quality is a bit grainy, but the back of Noboru Asahi is clear. He is accompanied by a wall of police, who appear to be taking the back exit out of the precinct.
Akechi just stares, uncomprehending. “I caught them leaving one of the interrogation rooms. The place was so busy that no one else noticed,” Mika explains. She scrolls through a couple more photos, blurrier than the first but still undeniably Noboru Asahi. “Those cops escorting him out acted really weird. It’s like they were Asahi’s bodyguards.”
He should’ve known there would be people under Asahi’s thumb still lurking around. But what the hell was he doing there? Was he there for his daughter? No, that doesn’t make any sense. He already took custody of the fake Karin Asahi earlier. Is it possible that he had something to do with Togo’s Shadow entering reality? That might explain how they ended up teaming together in the end. Either way, he’ll need to be on his toes around the Tokyo police– and around the Shadow Operatives. There’s no telling who still has ties to the Antisocial Force…
Mika clears her throat loudly, bringing him back to the present. “So, I don’t really get it, but it looked shady. And with Karin back…kind of…there’s no telling what her family is going to do to keep me quiet about this whole fiasco.” She locks her phone and stows it away in her purse. “I just figured you’d want to know about it. You don’t seem like the kind of person who works with shady guys like him.”
All the gears in his brain come to a sudden halt. A humorless little laugh falls out of him, more like a puff of breath than anything. “You don’t say.”
She narrows her eyes. “I mean, fine. You’re pretty shady, too,” she admits. “Maybe I’m making a mistake in trusting you. But I don’t think I am.”
Such confidence. Akechi can’t help but prod, “And you’re basing this on, what? Women’s intuition?”
Mika folds her arms and replies, “Don’t get me wrong, you’re a total dick. But…something about you makes me feel like you’re the kind of guy with a strong sense of justice. Like you’re a pain to deal with, but in the end, you’re reliable.”
At first, he merely chalks it up to Mika bullshitting whatever she wants. But then he sees it. That vague look in her eyes; the faintest modicum of recognition.
“You’re the only one I can count on to help me through this, Akechi-kun.” Her eyes are firm and sincere on his face. “So I…I really hope I’m not wrong about you.”
He can tell, just from that look, that voice, that shy vulnerability. She must’ve been a fan. An instinctive smile twitches at the corners of his lips, the people-pleaser rooted deep inside of him threatening to come back out. Eventually, he shakes it off, recollects himself. He doesn’t know how to feel about Mika’s undying trust, stubborn even in the face of a cognitive wipe. Is it for the Detective Prince, or for the man standing in front of her right now? Either way, it hardly feels deserved. But if she’s giving it freely, he isn’t going to take it lightly.
“Go home,” he says eventually. Then, ignoring the look of absolute incredulity from Mika: “Go straight home and upload the photos to a flash drive and wipe them from your phone. You have Shibusawa’s address; we can regroup there in the morning to go over what we know and discuss next steps. I doubt anything urgent will come up between now and then, but if it does, call me immediately. Do not call the police.”
“Well, duh.” Mika rolls her eyes, but it’s obvious that she’s relieved. Her smile completely gives her away–so easy, so trusting. She really seems to think everything will be fine, so long as they’re working together. It’s not the kind of trust Akechi has ever had directed at himself. The newness of it itches at him uncomfortably.
“I’m busy until noon tomorrow, so I’ll stop by then. Don’t keep me waiting!” She waves, turns around, and continues on towards the station. As she begins to descend the steps into the underground, time slows to a stop.
It comes as little surprise when the voice descends upon him, ringing through his head. Whispers of vows, converging paths, power. A new tether binds itself to him, anchoring him to the world. To Mika--the crossroads--the commitment--The Lovers. A microcosm of forked roads and hard-made decisions unspools within her, a new fraction of the universe that has opened itself up to him. Deep within him, he senses, inexplicably, that a bond has been sealed. He knows, without question, that a contract has been made.
When the world finally comes back into focus, Mika is long gone, but the thread binding them together remains.
===
There’s no one in the alleyway in front of Leblanc when he arrives. The laundromat is quiet. There isn’t even the occasional sound of shifting water from the bath house. Why would there be? It’s nearly midnight. But the lights in the cafe are still on, and so were the lights at Sojiro Sakura’s household when he passed by earlier. Which can only mean one thing.
(Probably. It’s possible that Boss hired another part-timer while Ren was away. It’s entirely possible that Akechi could come out of there feeling like a sentimental fool, chasing down ghosts for no real reason. But then, Ren was the one who started it.)
He still hasn’t quite pinpointed what possessed him to come here now . Perhaps it’s the unshakable craving for Boss’s special blend that he’s been grappling with since earlier. Or perhaps it’s because of that mirror world, and the act he had to put on to talk Mika down.
“I know you. You hide yourself from the rest of the world, but you can’t hide from me. You’ve never been able to. And...even if there are parts of you that are awful or unforgivable, I still don’t hate you. I believe in you.”
Even though he was pretending to be Takamaki, in an attempt to coax Mika out of her madness, Ren had been the one on his mind as he said it. He doesn’t imagine Ren would ever say something like this to him; Ren has always been a man of few words, and he can’t pretend to understand how Ren’s mind works to begin with. But…it just sounds like something he would say. He can’t explain why.
His fists clench at his sides. He’s never been able to define what compels him, when it comes to Ren Amamiya. Jealousy. Admiration. Respect. Whatever it is, there’s no reason to put it off any longer. He’s already had enough near run-ins with him as it is. At least this way he can control the circumstances.
Even so, he still has to mull it over carefully. At this hour, there’s a low chance of Ren entertaining guests, but the probability isn’t zero, either. Not that that’s any reason for him not to go in. He just needs to be cognizant of the possibility, particularly if one of the Thieves is accompanying him. Futaba Sakura isn’t likely--he could hear her snorting laughter as he passed by her house--and Haru Okumura must be away for college at this point. The same goes for Makoto Niijima. Takamaki and Yoshizawa are out of town–a quick online search was enough to confirm that–which leaves Kitagawa, Sakamoto, and Morgana. If Kitagawa doesn’t remember him, it’s unlikely that Sakamoto would, either. But Morgana and Ren…
Has he run out of friends so quickly? Or did he simply come here to wallow in his own memories? Memories of Akechi, because he does remember him, and he came here specifically to remember him, there’s no other reason why he’d—
The bell rings. In the shadows of the alleyway, Akechi goes still.
Ren strolls on out, yawning into his hand as he flips the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED.’ His jacket is a little too light for a chilly spring evening like this, and he shivers audibly when the breeze hits. At his side, Morgana sleeps soundly, his legs hanging slightly off the edge of Ren’s duffel bag. The lights inside Leblanc have somehow gone dark in the time that Akechi’s been standing there. It looks like Ren is about to head home--to his new home, wherever that may be. Has he gotten a dorm at university, perhaps? An apartment? On his own, or with one of his fellow Thieves? The curiosity bubbles in the pit of his stomach. It annoys him. Why the hell is he just standing here?
“It’s been a while.” He says it before Ren can start walking away. It startles him, clearly. He’s finally looking at Akechi now--and he’s not nervous about it, but Muhen had been the one to notice Akechi first, so he still hasn’t gotten to see the look on someone’s face when they finally remember him. His expression is hard to read in the dark, however, so Akechi moves forward to alert the motion-sensor lamp above his head. It flickers on, painting the alleyway in a sick shade of yellow. Ren’s face is, in a word, bewildered. The light reflects off his glasses and obscures his eyes, making it impossible to read anything further.
Another cool breeze sweeps through. Another shiver runs through Ren visibly.
“You’re open quite late,” Akechi adds, when Ren doesn’t have anything else to say.
After a moment, Ren tucks his hands into his pockets; his default stance. “ Were open. It’s closed now,” he replies, casual. Akechi merely lifts an eyebrow. Is that all? “You’re the guy who tripped me, right? Did you come all the way here to finish the job?”
Panic tugs at his chest before he reels it back in. Ever so glib, even now. He should’ve expected that. “And get your filth all over my new suit?” he returns. Ren doesn’t react. He just looks at him, his expression still unreadable. He keeps shifting from foot to foot like he wants to leave.
It hits him, then. Fully, truly hits him. The panic from earlier spirals into a frantic rage.
“You don’t know who I am.” It’s a statement of fact. Ren doesn’t refute it. Instead, he shifts his weight again, and the light stops glinting off his glasses. His face becomes definable again. Uncomfortable. Confused. Cautious. All of them are just synonyms for the same thing: the blank look of someone who has never seen him in his entire life. The last living memory of him in this world, gone.
“I’m glad you’re still normal, even in this bizarre situation,” he’d said to Ren before, in a memory that he now carries alone. “If you’d lost it, too… Well, if that happened, I would have slapped you awake.”
Ren had laughed, then. “I’d be counting on it,” he replied.
Akechi punches him in the face.
Faintly, he registers the sound of Morgana yowling as he jumps out of Ren’s bag and onto the ground. There’s the clatter of Ren’s glasses, too, but Akechi at least had the presence of mind not to shatter those with his fist. It’s more than this piece of shit deserves.
Akechi hears a little more yowling from Morgana when he climbs on top of Ren and yanks him up by the shirt. Still, there’s nothing. Not a single shred of recognition. He hadn’t expected that to work, not truly. He hasn’t gone stupid with desperation. But the real kicker is the fear. As if Ren Amamiya, Wildcard and Phantom Thief, would ever fear someone like Akechi. Ren used to be able to see through him. He called all his bluffs, saw through all his lies. That’s the only reason why Akechi gave up on pretending, in the end. It was his only redeeming fucking quality.
His fist curls in Ren’s shirt. He makes sure Ren looks him in the eyes. He makes sure to memorize that swirl of confusion and terror.
“You. Disappoint . Me.”
He throws Ren right back on the ground.
There’s a static growing in him, consuming his rage, setting his nerves on fire. Rising, filling him up, until he feels so full of it that it squeezes at his lungs. He remembers the fear in Karin Asahi’s eyes as she gazed upon his half-existent form. He can feel that fear coming off Ren Amamiya in waves. He remembers the dread in Mika Watanabe’s voice as she contemplated the possibility of disappearing like the rest. He can feel that dread rising up his throat--
His legs are shaking when he pulls himself back up. He can’t quite suppress a hysterical laugh at that. Pathetic. What the hell did he even come here for? What the hell is he doing? Even though Ren Amamiya may not remember him, he still brings out the worst in him without even trying. No, that isn’t right. It wasn’t Ren. This is simply who Akechi is, was, and has always been. A pathetic monster, through and through. Here he was, about to brag to his rival about how strong he’d become. Arcanas? Bonds? What does any of it matter? He hasn’t learned a fucking thing.
He forces himself not to run. His pride won’t have it. He simply walks away at a reasonable pace, ignoring whatever Morgana keeps yowling after him. He doesn’t stop until the cars, trains, pedestrians, lights, shops, life--until all of it is gone, until the city noise has disappeared and he’s finally, finally alone. Until all that’s left is himself and the darkness of his unlit hotel room. No one left to perceive him. No one left to forget his name.
===
All in all, it’s not the worst punch to the face Ren has ever received. But it’s not exactly fun, either.
Even with Dr. Takemi’s expertise, his cheek still stings every time he pushes up his glasses. Hifumi nearly cancels on the spot when they meet up in Kichijoji, but he insists that it’s not that bad. In truth, it kind of is that bad. Getting jumped last night just made his restlessness even worse than it was before. He could barely sleep last night, partly from the pain and partly because he couldn’t get that guy out of his head. His parting words still bother him even now. You. Disappoint. Me. Who was that guy? An old Mementos mission? A forgotten friend? Even before the violence, that guy didn’t really act like a friend…
That on top of all the other unanswered questions just keep rolling around his brain. Where did Mitsuyo go after she left the hospital last night? Why hasn’t she come back? Who was that guy, and how did he know Ren? How did he know Mitsuyo? And why did Mitsuyo have Shibusawa’s card?
“Sorry for the wait.” Shibusawa hands them their coffee. He keeps staring at Ren’s face every time he passes by like he wants to ask about it, but he always changes the subject as soon as Ren catches him looking. He’s different from what Ren expected. Around Maruki, he seemed like the easygoing, optimistic type. Here, in the context of a messy detective agency-slash-apartment, he seems a little more like an actual adult. In any case, there’s no sign of Maruki so far. Maybe the two haven’t been in contact. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that Shibusawa got entangled in all this. Either way, there seems to be more to Shibusawa than meets the eye.
“I figured you’d come by with questions eventually.” Shibusawa casts a concerned look at Hifumi. “You sure you’re okay? Two hospitalizations in a row is nothing to sneeze at.”
Hifumi nods. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. I’m more worried about my mother.”
Shibusawa settles into his chair on the other side of the desk and sighs. “Right, about that. She really didn’t come home last night?”
“Or to the hospital. She hasn’t been answering her phone, either,” Hifumi adds. “That’s not all I came here to ask about, though. What happened at the storage facility…that is, the livestream…”
“Ah, you saw that, too?” Shibusawa scratches his head. “What a mess. The whole internet is eating it up, but nobody has a damn clue what really happened.”
“Is it possible that… Do you think my mother could’ve been involved with that? She was the one with the key, after all…”
Shibusawa opens and closes his mouth. He exchanges a look with Ren, but Ren is just as intent on hearing the answer as Hifumi.
Eventually, Shibusawa is saved from answering by a knock at the door. The man groans and stands, grumbling about how he literally just sat down. In the meantime, Ren checks in with Hifumi. “You okay?”
She nods. “I’m fine. I just…I want to know what happened. I’m tired of being half in the dark about everything.”
The sound of footsteps draws his attention back to the door. “I fail to see why you came straight here before filing a police…”
There, in the doorway, a brown-haired young man around Ren’s age stands with his face entirely frozen. The only indication that he’s as surprised as Ren feels is the slight tilt of his eyebrows. Everything else is completely neutral. His outfit is a lot less formal today - in fact, the sweater vest makes him look kind of dweeby - but his general look is more or less the same. Hair, gloves, dark red eyes. Even that faint glint of disappointment when his eyes meet Ren’s. It annoys him. Why should this guy be disappointed in someone he barely even knows?
When the stranger doesn’t say anything, Ren decides to fill the silence himself. He waves. “Hi there.”
That blank stare melts into a look of disgust.
Good. Asshole. is what Ren thinks, and for some reason, relief unfurls in his chest.
