5/10

When the knock at the door comes, Makoto takes a few moments before responding. She straightens in her chair, slides the half-completed paperwork aside, ensures not a thread of her clothing is out of place and that her hair isn't doing anything it shouldn't.

"Come in."

The door opens to reveal Daisuke Takanashi, one hand in his pocket, shoulders slumped, head down. "G-good morning, Niijima-senpai," he mutters.

Makoto folds her hands upon the table and nods. "Please, come in, Takanashi."

Takanashi steps inside and slides the door shut behind him. Then, he remains still, his posturing folding in on itself.

"How are you?" Makoto asks. "Are you prepared for your exams?"

Takanashi shrugs. "Guess so."

"That answer does not inspire confidence."

He shrugs again.

Makoto sighs. "Takanashi, are you aware of why I called you here?"

Face still angled towards the floor, Takanashi shakes his head.

Makoto allows a hint of annoyance into her voice. "I would appreciate it, Takanashi, if you would look at me while I speak with you."

The boy sucks in his lips, forming a pale, thin slash across his face, and lifts his head.

"There," Makoto says. "Isn't that-" She stops when she sees his face. Takanashi's right eye swells in a black bruise. "What happened?" She asks, standing. "Are you alright?"

"Nothing happened, Takanashi replies, and looks away. "I'm fine. It's nothing. I walked into a glass door."

Makoto sees the broken and bloody face of Akira Kurusu as his friends drag him from the building. "That's not nothing, Takanashi," Makoto says, moving around the table. "Tell me what happened."

Daisuke Takanashi shrinks back from her. "N-nothing happened! I swear! I walked into a glass door."

"That's a lie."

"It's not!" He glares at her with his one good eye. "And it's none of your business! Is this why you asked me to come here? To give me shit about this?" He jabs a thumb towards his bruise. "Because if it, I'm leaving."

"No," Makoto replies. She begins to reach a hand out towards his face, but when he steps back, she stops. "That's not what I wanted to ask you about."

"Then, what do you want?"

Who did this to him? It couldn't have been the Phantom Thieves. That doesn't make sense.

"I wanted..." Makoto starts, then trails off. She shuts her eyes. Focus. Don't get distracted. Makoto takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, and tries not to focus on the boy's face. "I wanted to ask if you were okay."

"I told you, I walked into-"

"Not about that," Makoto says.

Daisuke Takanashi's eye goes wide. "Oh," he mumbles. "Right. The PhanSite."

"I heard that Maehara posted your name."

"Yeah."

"The Phantom Thieves performed a change of heart on you."

Takanashi nods. "I guess so."

"So?"

"So... what?"

"What happened?" Makoto asks.

"I don't know what happened," Takanashi says, his voice low and dry. "I was on the train, yesterday, and the next thing I knew, I just had to call Maehara and apologize to him."

"Did anyone coerce you? Force you to call him?"

Takanashi shakes his head. "No. That's what I'm telling you. I wasn't doing anything. Just riding the train. And then I realized what a shit I'd been to Maehara, and it felt so bad, and I just... I just had to call Maehara and apologize to him."

Makoto stares at him. "No one spoke to you? No one touched you or did anything to you?"

Takanashi shrugs. "I don't know. I don't think so. I bumped into some people rushing off the train, but I don't remember anyone grabbing me. No one spoke to me."

"If no one spoke to you or did anything to you, how do you even know the Phantom Thieves changed your heart?"

"They told me they would," Takanashi says. His gaze drifts back down to the floor. "They sent me a Calling Card. Just like Kamoshida-sensei."

"They did? When?"

"I got it in the mail on Sunday. I thought it was a joke, so... No, that's not true. I treated it like a joke, but I knew it wasn't."

"Do you have it?" Makoto asks, her hands clenched.

"No. I was pretending it was a joke, remember? So I threw it out."

Makoto opens and closes her hands several times. She sucks in her lower lip and shuts her eyes once more. "Do you remember what the Card said?"

Takanashi relates the gist of it to the best of his recollection. "It was short," he says. "Only a few sentences."

As Makoto listens, she tries to fit this new information into the larger picture she's constructing in her mind.

"Thank you," she says once he finishes. "I know it's getting close to homeroom. But, please humor me for a few more questions."

"Fine."

"Have you, in the last few days, had a run-in with Akira Kurusu?"

"Akira Kurusu?" Takanashi asks. "Why would I want to mess with that guy? He's crazy."

Makoto sighs. I see the rumors are still going strong. "I can assure you, Akira Kurusu is not 'crazy.' I take your response to mean you haven't encountered him?"

"No," Takanashi says. "I haven't."

"And what about Ryuji Sakamoto or Ann Takamaki?"

Takanashi blinks. "Well, yeah. I did see them the other day."

Makoto stops herself from leaning in. "In what capacity?"

Takanashi clears his throat, looking nervous all over again. "I'd, uh, caught up with Maehara. He'd given me the wrong answers for a test, plus I was pretty pissed at him for putting my name on the PhanSite. So I was, um, pushing him around."

Makoto's eyes narrow. "I see."

"W-well, anyway, that was happening. Then, out of nowhere, Sakamoto and Takamaki showed up. They tried to stop me. Said they were on a date."

Makoto stiffens. "When was this?"

"Friday," Takanashi replies, and his brows furrow together. "Wait. Yeah, no. It was Friday. After school."

That doesn't align with what Akira said. Why would Sakamoto ask Takamaki on a date if he'd already been out with her when they encountered Takanashi?

Makoto works her jaw in a slow circle, staring ahead as her brain processes this.

"Uh, Niijima-senpai?"

Makoto blinks and looks over at Takanashi. "Yes?"

"Can I go now?"

"Of course, I apologize for keeping you."

Takanashi gets up and leaves the room, but Makoto pays him no attention.

Akira lied to me.

#

Ryuji lets out a long, angry groan and drops his head into his textbook. "I can't take it anymore!"

Ann rolls her eyes and jabs him in the shoulder with her pen. "Stop complaining. You've said that, like, eight times now."

"Seriously," Morgana mumbles. "I'm retaining this stuff better than you."

Ryuji glares across the booth at Morgana, whose head pops up over the table just enough. "Can it. It's not like you're under any pressure to do well on these exams."

"You aren't even studying," Ann whispers. "You've just been talking about Takanashi non-stop."

Ryuji straightens and shakes his head. "No," he replies, voice as low as Ann's. "I just think we should do something about that bullying ring. The one his Shadow told us about. It sounds more important than some stupid tests."

Akira drums his fingers across his textbook's page and lifts the tea to his lips with his other hand. "We need to draw attention away from Shujin." When Ryuji opens his mouth to counter, Akira shakes his head. "I get where you're coming from." He glances around the diner. It's after school on Tuesday, and most patrons are in school uniforms, though none are from Shujin. "But the Phantom Thieves can't only be known as the saviors of Shujin."

"I agree with Akira," Ann says. "The bullying ring Takanashi mentioned does sound bad, but Ryuji, it's high school. Even if we did stop it, you know there will be someone else to pick up the slack."

"Lady Ann and Akira are correct," Morgana puts in. "Besides, there's been no Request. We can't start changing hearts without Requests, even if the system is private now. It'll be too suspicious and point directly to us."

Ryuji slumps a little deeper in his seat. "Fine, fine. You guys win. It sucks, but I get it." He picks up his phone. "But can we at least take a break from studying to go over these workout plans I put together? I worked really hard on them and-"

"No," Ann and Morgana say together.

Akira laughs. "You really don't like studying, huh?"

"It's not my fort, no," Ryuji says.

Ann frowns. "Are you trying to say forte?"

"S-shut up," Ryuji snaps. "You know I-"

"Okay, okay," Akira interjects, before the two draw any more stares. "Let's get back to the books, yeah?" The three thieves return to their textbooks. "Maybe you should read some English, Ryuji."

Ann clamps a hand over her mouth to stop her from laughing, and Ryuji frowns at Akira. "Whatever."

"Look," Akira says, patting his bag. "If you want to talk about workout stuff, we can on the way to 'Untouchable.' I’m going to swing by after this. Want to come? If we get the burners tonight, we can reach out to the reporter..." Akira trails off as Ann and Ryuji stare wide-eyed at him. "What?"

"You've got that package on you, right now?" Ryuji asks.

Akira nods. "Yeah, I never took it out of my bag."

"Which is very annoying, by the way," Morgana mutters.

"Are you nuts?" Ann whispers.

"Well, what was I going to do? Leave it at home where Sojiro could find it?"

"So you took it to school?" Ann demands.

"Not a good move, dude," Ryuji scolds. "What if it was a bomb?"

"Thanks Ryuji," Akira replies.

Ann hits Ryuji's shoulder once more. "Don't be dumb. It's not a bomb. Why would the guy give Akira a bomb and then ask him to return it later?"

"What if he never planned on you bringing it back?" Ryuji asks. "What if you planned on blowing you up in your house?"

Akira's eyes drift back towards his bag. "D-don't be ridiculous. Why would an Airsoft store owner want to blow up a high school student?"

Ryuji throws his hands into the air. "I don't know, man. Crazy people don't need reasons to do things!"

"You guys are idiots," Ann says. "It's not a bomb, it's very obviously drugs, and we definitely should have nothing to do with that store owner anymore."

"Okay, SmartyPants," Ryuji says, crossing his arms. "Why would he give Akira drugs to hold? That makes less sense than the bomb!"

"No, it doesn't," Morgana points out.

"True, it doesn't," Akira says. "Just relax, alright? It's not a bomb, and it's not drugs."

"How do you know?" Ann and Ryuji ask him together.

Akira stares at them. "Okay, I guess... I mean, I guess I don't know. But it seems unlikely."

"Right," Ann says, drawing the word out. "Super unlikely that the extremely shady store owner who won't give us his name and is supposed to get us a bunch of phone burners -"

"Burner phones," Morgana says.

"-would want you to hold something illicit in exchange. How stupid of me."

"Okay, I get it," Akira say, patting the table to calm everyone down. "Not the best idea. Here's the plan. Ryuji and I will go to Untouchable and-"

"No way, dude," Ryuji interjects. "If that's a freaking bomb, I don't want to be anywhere near it."

"You're near it now," Morgana points out.

"It's not a bomb," Ann says. "It's drugs."

"Regardless," Akira snaps. "I’ll take it to Untouchable. If the guy takes it back, then we're all good. If he doesn't, I'll just get rid of it."

"How?" Ann asks.

Akira sighs. "I don't know, Ann. I'll throw it in a dumpster somewhere. Or burn it or-"

"Great," Ann replies. "Set the drugs on fire. I'm sure that will work out well."

"I don't think burning the bomb is a good idea," Ryuji says.

"It's not a bomb," Morgana, Ann, and Akira all say together.

#

Akira spends very little time getting Ryuji to change his mind. All it takes - oddly enough - is an appeal to masculine solidarity and the logical conclusion that the more time Ryuji spends with Akira doing Thievery-things, the less time he'll spend studying.

Ann concludes that this means Ryuji is more averse to studying than possibly dying in an explosion. Still, it works, and once the group disbands from the cafe, Akira and Ryuji head for Untouchable.

The flier the man told Akira to watch for is in the window.

With a sigh Akira cannot pinpoint as relief or trepidation, they step inside, where a cold burst of air greets them.

With his feet propped up on the counter, the manager regards the two and sighs. "Great. You're back."

"You told me to watch for the flier," Akira replies.

The man's brow arches. "Huh? Oh yeah." He straightens, stands, then kneels beneath the counter, returning with the detector from the other day.

"Again?" Akira asks, and glances around the store. There are no other customers.

"Again," the man says, and makes his way over to them. "So why'd you get stuck with this guy and not the pretty girl?" He asks, as he passes the paddle over their bodies.

"Dudes stick together," Ryuji replies, looking proud of the statement.

The man scoffs but seems satisfied the two aren't wired. As he returns to his usual spot behind the counter, making sure to replace the detector in whatever its hiding place is, he asks, "So, do you have it?"

Akira unzips his bag and removes the small, wrapped bundle. Then, he places it on the counter and slides it over to the manager.

The man looks down at it, then asks, "Did you open it?"

"No."

"Smart."

"Is it a bomb?" Ryuji asks, and Akira shuts his eyes and lets out a long exhale.

The man smirks, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a boxcutter. "Want to find out?"

"Not really," Akira says, but the man is already bringing the blade to bear upon the package.

Oh god, please don't be drugs. Please don't be drugs.

The man slices the tape, pulls back a flap, and turns the package over to reveal its contents to Akira and Ryuji.

"Holy shit, dude," Ryuji says. "It really was drugs!"

The man scowls. "Don't be an idiot."

"I think that's sand, Ryuji," Akira says.

"Of course, it's freaking sand."

"Why 'of course?'" Akira asks. "Why would you have me carry around a package full of sand?"

The man shrugs. "Thought it'd be funny."

Ryuji leans in and whispers to Akira, though the man can still clearly hear everything he's saying. "How do we know there's no bomb in that sand?"

"Do you really hang out with this kid?" The man asks.

Akira pats Ryuji on the shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring way. "Look, do you have the stuff I asked for?"

"Yeah," the man replies, nodding towards the model gun racks. "Go pick something out, and come back when you've finished.

Akira and Ryuji retreat into the store proper. Ryuji manages to find a more deadlier-looking shotgun than the one he already possesses, but Akira's mind is a bit scrambled.

What if it had been drugs? He wonders. Akira had always assumed the ‘ALL SACRELIGIOUS ACTS’ part of his contract with Arsene leaned towards the Metaverse aspects of being a Thief. But Ann was right. Akira had barely batted an eyelash to potentially smuggling drugs for a man he hardly knew. All to get burner phones. Why hadn't he refused? Why hadn't he asked more questions? Why hadn't he panicked about it?

Well, I'm panicking now, Akira thinks. No more drug smuggling.

It was just sand, someone in his head replies.

Still.

Akira picks out another pistol and brings it over to the counter. He idly wonders if it really matters what they select, as it isn't as if the Shadows are going to care if one gun looks more impressive than another. Then he recalls that in the Metaverse, cognition is critical, so it very well might matter how impressive the guns look.

The man takes both models, steps into the back room, and returns with them boxed and bagged. "Phones are tucked inside. Typed up some instructions for you too." He slides the boxes over to them, and Akira yanks out the bills from his wallet and hands them over.

"Nice doin' business with you, kid."

"Are you going to give me your name now?" Akira asks.

"Sure, why not?" The man grunts. "Munehisa Iwai."

"Akira Kurusu."

"Didn't ask," Iwai says. "So, we done here? Or do you have something else weird to sell me?"

#

Makoto peers around the corner at the neon sign of 'Untouchable.' Okay, so what are they doing in there?

She glances down at the open notebook in her hand, which she has cleverly hidden within the open pages of a much larger manga.

She notes down the time and location. This might warrant further investigation. When Akira and Sakamoto had stepped inside, she'd done a quick online search. Untouchable was one of the only places in central Tokyo where you could purchase airsoft weapons. She'd no idea Akira and Sakamoto were model gun enthusiasts. I wonder if they carry a model of a Ruger Redhawk? Of course, it seemed strange that two boys would spend their afternoon in such a store during exam season.

Sakamoto, maybe. But Akira?

Is it any stranger than my tracking them?

Makoto sighs and leans against the brick wall of the building she's hiding behind.

What am I even doing?

Once Takanashi had left, Makoto had called Maehara to the Student Council room. The boy was very nervous even after Makoto explained that he wasn't in trouble. Maehara had confirmed Takanashi's story. Ryuji Sakamoto and Ann Takamaki had involved themselves in the Takanashi altercation, and both had claimed to be on a date.

What's more, after Maehara had brought up his request on the PhanSite, Sakamoto had stressed that the Phantom Thieves would 'definitely' change Takanashi's heart.

There had to be something there. It couldn't all just be random miscommunications. But between the meetings with the two second-years, exam prep, and Makoto’s inability to silence her disquiet surrounding Akira's recent behavior, Makoto had hardly had a moment to think. So when she'd seen the Akira, Takamaki, and Sakamoto group leave Shujin, she'd just started following them.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

When they got off the train in Shibuya, she'd followed them.

When they'd gone into the diner, she'd run back down the block to a bookstore, purchased the manga in which to hide her notebook, and staked out a spot across the street.

What was her endgame here?

All she had was her hunch. At best, the evidence linking Akira Kurusu to the Phantom Thieves was circumstantial. She needed actual, solid proof.

But for what?

I just want to know, Makoto tells herself.

But is that really it?

The door to the shop jingles open, and Akira and Sakamoto step outside. Each has a black plastic bag in their hand, within which hangs a boxy-like shape.

Did they buy models? Makoto had assumed they'd been up to something shady inside, but maybe they were just enthusiasts.

As they head towards her hiding place, Makoto retreats further down the alley towards Central Street. Makoto has blended in with the crowds by the time they turn off towards Shibuya Station, manga held up to hide her face. As Akira and Sakamoto walk, she falls in step a reasonable distance behind them.

I have to know, she thinks. And once I do, I'll know what to do.

Makoto knows how shallow this thinking is. All her life, she has started with an end goal in mind. Exam scores, positions within the school, academies, and future universities. Her father may have told her to trust her hunches, but she's never had to actually do it.

#

The sign reads, 'Rafflesia.' A middle-aged woman stands behind the register, smiling and bowing at patrons as they pass. Dozens of bright, healthy-looking flowers ornament the storefront.

Makoto stands alongside a kiosk a short distance away, eyes flickering from its assorted wares, back to the flower shop, again and again.

Akira had split off from Sakamoto at the entrance to Shibuya's Underground. A few minutes later, Akira had entered this flower shop, opened a door near the back, and disappeared inside.

Could the flower shop be a front? Is this the secret headquarters of the Phantom Thieves?

The door opens once more. Makoto stiffens. Akira steps out, no longer in his school uniform, but in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved beige shirt, over which hangs a dark-green apron.

What.

Did Akira Kurusu work at this flower shop?

Makoto runs over her previous conversations with him. Never once did he mention something like this. He had cited a job when he'd snatched 'The Biology of Shrimp' from the library, but that had been...

Well, that had just been weird.

Akira moves up alongside the middle-aged woman and begins to mimic her movements. He bows to potential customers, a smile on his face.

He looks... nice.

Then, a girl steps out from the back room.

She is dressed in dusty overalls and a baseball cap. She walks up to Akira, smiles, and begins to chat.

Akira looks down at her, grins, and starts to speak.

Thunder rattles inside Makoto's mind.

Just who was...

Hold on.

Makoto narrows her eyes and stares.

"Haru Okumura?" She asks no one.

She focuses as hard as she can and realizes that, yes, this girl is Haru Okumura.

Why would the daughter of Okumura Foods' CEO be working at a flower shop?

She begins to cycle through several scenarios.

Was she a runaway?

Had she been disowned in some way?

Did she not want to be a part of the family business?

Was she a Phantom Thief?

Customers begin to enter the shop, and Makoto checks the time. It's getting late. She still needs to prep for tomorrow's tests. Okay, she thinks. Haru Okumura. That's another lead. The girl was in her class. Maybe Makoto could get something from her. Makoto watches the two for a few more minutes, then leaves.

#

Ohya lifts the empty glass into the smoky air. "Lala-chan! Another one, please!"

Lala Escargo looks down her nose at the ruby-cheeked reporter and says, "I would say you've had enough, but-"

Ohya cuts her off. "You know I'll just keep pestering you!"

Lala-chan nods and snatches the empty whiskey glass from Ohya's hand. "Just take it easy, yeah?"

Ohya grins. "Oh, Lala-chan, you simply are the best!" Lala grabs a bottle of whiskey off the bar's rack, and pours. When she sets the drink down in front of her, Ohya raises it with reverence, brings it to her lips, and takes a smooth sip.

Her phone vibrates. She rips it from her pocket and checks the caller ID. "Unknown number?" Ohya asks, then rolls her eyes. "Great." She brings it up to her ear. "Hello?"

"Is this Ichiko Ohya, the reporter?" The voice is low, but unfiltered. It sounds like someone trying to disguise their voice and doing a lousy job of it.

"Uh-huh. And let me guess, you've got a hot tip?"

The voice on the other end hesitates. "Um, well, actually, I'd like to speak with you about something. Or rather, someone."

"You know, you don't have to keep talking like that. I already don't know who you are."

The voice coughs and sounds more normal when it picks back up. "Right, well, could we set up a meeting?"

"About who?"

"I'd rather not discuss it over the phone."

Ohya lets out a sigh. "Fine."

5/11

"Pencils down."

Makoto complies and leans back in her chair, letting out a small but satisfied sigh. Exactly as planned. There were no topics she hadn't studied for. The questions had been familiar and easy to answer. Even with all her extracurriculars lately. Makoto allows a solitary moment of relief, then snaps her mind back to attention. There are still several more days of exams, and she has another mission for today.

She slides out of her seat as her classmates converse amongst themselves.

Nodding at each as she passes them, she approaches the back of the class and stops alongside one particular student's desk.

Haru Okumura looks up at Makoto and smiles. "Good afternoon, Niijima-chan. How do you think you did?"

Makoto returns the smile. "Well, thank you. I was wondering if you were free this afternoon."

Haru blinks. "Oh. Um, yes. I am."

"I see. Would you like to study for tomorrow's tests together?"

Haru's face brightens, and Makoto feels her stomach twist. "I would love to!" The girl declares and stands. "Should we go to the library?"

No. Not here. Not where Akira might see me. "Actually, there's a cafe in Shibuya, and-"

"Oh, that sounds lovely!" Haru spins around and snatches up her bag. When she turns back and Makoto sees the look in her eyes, Makoto feels her own smile flicker. "Shall we?"

"Yes," Makoto says. "Let's."

They leave Shibuya unimpeded, take a short ride to Shibuya, and find their way to the cafe. As they traveled, Haru chatted about the day's exam.

Where she thinks she did well.

Where she thinks she didn't do too well.

Where she thinks she could've improved.

They sit down, and Makoto pulls a few books from her bag and sets them on the table. Haru does the same and says, "So, I thought we could start with calculus. I'm afraid it's my weakest subject and..."

Makoto hardly hears her. I got her here. Now what? How to broach this topic?

"Are you alright?" Haru asks, staring at her. The question brings Makoto back to reality.

"I'm sorry?"

Haru frowns, a not-quite suspicious look on her face. "It's just, you haven't said anything for a while. Not since we left school. Are you okay?" Her expression changes to surprised sympathy and she leans forward, whispering, "You're not worried about the exams, are you?"

"No," Makoto replies, shaking her head. "I'm not."

"Then what's wrong, Mako-chan?" Haru asks.

Mako-chan? Thirty minutes ago, I was Niijima-chan.

Screw it. What else can Makoto do? When it comes down to it, she's not good at this kind of thing. "Okumura-chan, I-"

"Please, call me Haru," Haru insists.

Makoto trips over that, but complies. "Well, um, Haru, the truth is, I was at Shibuya Underground last night."

Haru looks at her, and Makoto watches as the girl's eyes widen. "Oh. I see." She glances down at the tabletop. "Is that why you asked me here?" She asks, in a low voice. "Because you saw me working at Rafflesia?"

"I guess," Makoto stammers, fumbling over the words. "I guess I was just wondering why the daughter of a CEO is working at a flower shop in the mall."

Haru doesn't say anything for a long time.

"Forgive me," Haru replies. "But I fail to see how that is any of your business." Haru does not meet Makoto's eyes, but there is an undercurrent of defiance in her voice, something Makoto is shocked to hear from the typically quiet and reserved girl.

"I'm sorry," Makoto says. "I didn't mean to pry."

"Perhaps," Haru says and begins to slide her books off the table. "It would be best if we studied separately. Good luck on your exams, Niijima-chan."

"Wait," Makoto says, reaching out and grabbing Haru's forearm. The girl halts. She doesn't move. She doesn't breathe. Haru simply sits and looks at Makoto's hand on her arm. There is a dignity in that stare, and Makoto snatches her hand away and stutters, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that." How to salvage this? What would be a believable excuse for Makoto Niijima to be at the Rafflesia shop but not approach? Makoto hardly ever went to Shibuya Underground anyway. What would bring her there?

"I was following someone." Crap! That makes me sound like a serial killer!

"Following someone?" Haru asks. Her voice still holds that edge, but she relaxes a bit in her chair.

Makoto nods. "I saw him go down into Shibuya Underground, and I thought I might see what he was doing, and then-"

Haru gasps. Makoto jumps a bit at the noise. The former's eyes are wider, and her hands are clasped together beneath her chin. "Are you talking about Akira?"

Makoto stares at her. I suppose I was leading to that question, but she was quick on the uptake. "Yes, actually."

Haru's mouth splits into a huge smile. "I see. You were following him, is that right?"

What's with that tone? "W-well, I noticed him and-"

"You noticed him, huh?"

"That's... what are you doing?"

"You know, I never did ask. Did you enjoy your gift?"

Makoto feels as if she has lost complete control of everything. "I... what gift?"

"The one Akira put in your desk."

Makoto's jaw has never dropped before. It does now. "Wha-? How do you know about that?"

Haru giggles. "Who do you think told him which one was yours?"

"Y-you?"

"Me!" Haru declares proudly. "Obviously, me! It was so cute. He came in, all nervous, and didn't notice me until I spoke up. Then he asked me to help him find your desk."

Makoto tries to place all this information into the narrative she's constructed and realizes she may have gotten a few things wrong. "But, hold on. What about the flower shop?"

Haru frowns. "Ah. I'm afraid I must ask that you promise not to tell anyone I work there. I wouldn't want people to start spreading rumors about my family."

Makoto is a bit taken aback by the sudden change. "Yes, of course. I would never do something like that."

Haru stares at her, and after a few moments, nods. "Very well, I choose to trust you. Truth be told, the situation - as it is now - at Rafflesia was a complete coincidence. I had only started to work there about a week before Akira began. It was after I saw him put the gift in your desk. What was it, if you don't mind my asking?"

"A pencil case," Makoto says, gesturing to the Buchimaru case that's been present throughout the conversation. "This one, actually."

"Oh, it's so cute!"

"Th-thank you. So, you just happen to work with him?"

Haru nods. "That's right. We've worked together for a few weeks now. We're friends."

"Oh."

Haru gasps again, and Makoto startles at the noise once more. "You must think-" Haru starts. "But, no, it's not like that. We're just friends, as I said."

Haru gasps a third time, and at the looks of the other patrons, Makoto leans in and whispers, "Please, stop doing that."

"I'm sorry," Haru whispers back. "But I've just realized what you must think, and why you've asked me here." She shakes her head. "But you don't need to worry. I will help in any way I can. I can even do reconnaissance for you!"

Makoto blinks. "Are... are you sure? It could be dangerous."

Haru giggles. "Dangerous? Don't tell me you believe those silly rumors about Akira. He gets uncomfortable whenever he gets dirt under his fingernails. I doubt he's leading any secret assassin guild."

"Secret assassin guild?" Makoto asks. She pats the air. "Let's back up a moment. Just what, exactly, do you think I'm asking you to help with?"

Haru shrugs. "Well, it's a bit obvious, no? You want to know what I know about Akira."

"Yes," Makoto says, not sure she can believe Haru could deduce all this so quickly.

"And since we're friends now, and I work with Akira, you'll probably want me to spy on him for you and collect little nuggets of information you can use."

"Y-yes, I suppose."

"Right, and that's because you suspect Akira has a secret. Not a well-kept secret, if you ask me, but a secret, and you want to expose that secret and do something else."

"I, Haru, how do you know Akira-"

"Has a crush on you?" Haru asks. Makoto feels her heart stop. "I'd say it's a bit obvious. You don't sneak into a girl's classroom to leave little gifts because you feel platonic towards them. And it's clear you feel the same way, so I'm to acquire all this information on Akira, so you know the best way of getting him to ask you out."

Makoto's jaw drops for the second time in her life and the past two minutes. "I... what?"

Haru holds up her hands defensively. "Or so you can ask him out. Whichever you prefer. It makes no difference to me."

#

Akira brings the vial to his nose and sniffs. An aroma not unlike overripe fruit shoves its way up his sinuses. "This isn't going to make me pass out, is it?"

Takemi sits in her swivel chair, staring at him. "It shouldn't. I've switched up the formula since last time. No promises, though."

Akira frowns. The doctor's gaze feels heavy, like there's a weight pushing deep into his chest. Akira isn't sure, but he can't recall seeing Takemi blink since he entered the clinic. He opens his mouth and tosses back the medicine. It doesn't burn but tickles his throat as it goes down. Akira runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth, which now feels slick. "Not bad, I guess."

"This isn't a taste test," Takemi replies. "How do you feel?"

Akira sits still for a moment, gauging his many extremities and insides. "Fine, I think."

Takemi nods, finally removing her gaze from Akira and returning it to her clipboard, jotting something down as she does so. "You're not lying, are you?"

The words are cold, minus the doctor's typical sardonic lilt. They stake Akira to his seat on the examination table, and he feels a flush spread through his palms, neck, and cheeks. "What?"

"The question was clear."

"Am I lying? About what? How I feel? Why would I do that?"

Takemi's sigh is weary, and she sets her pen down with a slight slam that manages to echo through the suddenly claustrophobic room. "You're not one for subtext, are you? Suits me." Almost cruelly does Takemi toss the clipboard onto the desk, and she leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, unafraid. "You're a Phantom Thief."

Akira is silent. The bees in his head swarm and a half dozen voices shout over one another.

Deny!

Stall!

Admit!

Deflect!

Leave now!

For all this, Akira manages to keep his face remarkably smooth. He will congratulate himself on this later. "What makes you say that?"

"Suguru Kamoshida," Takemi replies, matter-of-fact. "He attacks you, and you tell me you're going to take care of him. I tell you to go to the police, to tell someone, but you assure me things will work out. And lo and behold."

Akira shrugs. "Lots of people hated Kamoshida. Half the students at Shujin were his victims at one point or another."

"Yes, but they're not here helping me conduct illegal experiments in exchange for medicine. They're not constantly crossing my doorstep with bruises, possible concussions, or having just witnessed a death." She raises a hand when Akira opens his mouth. "And, as far as I can tell, none of them are new to Shujin Academy. But you transfer in, out of the blue, and one month later, Kamoshida confesses his crimes and goes to jail. Quite the coincidence."

"Sounds pretty circumstantial to me," Akira replies.

"This isn't a court, and you're not on trial."

"Sure feels like it."

"Dammit, Akira," Takemi snaps, her facade cracking into an almost-snarl. "I'm not attacking you. I'm worried about you. You were nearly involved in a train crash. You told me you were experiencing hallucinations. A man died in front of you, and you were involved in everything that happened at Shujin. And now you've got a website and are taking Requests." She throws her hands in the air. "And I'm willing to bet you still haven't 'had the time' to find a therapist so-"

"Actually," Akira interrupts, grateful that here's at least something he can use, some life preserver onto which he can latch. "I did find a therapist. You can even check with Sojiro. He came to the office with me."

Takemi's tirade falters, the wind suddenly stolen from her sails. "Oh. I see. I'm, uh, sorry, Kurusu. Sorry. I just assumed-"

"Lots of people just assume things," Akira replies, doing nothing to keep the bitterness from his voice. When Takemi winces, he sighs and shakes his head. "But the truth is, we weren't a good fit. Sojiro's going to try and find someone else. Someone I'm comfortable with."

Takemi is quiet for a minute. "Well, that's important."

"Yeah," Akira says, suddenly very weary and fed up with all of this. "Look, I don't want to lie to you. Can I just say nothing?"

"No," Takemi replies, sternly. "No, you can't. Maybe, maybe if there were just one thing, that would fly. But there are too many unknowns circling you, Kurusu. I've got a lot of questions, and even though I don't know the specifics, I have something you need."

Akira smiles. "So, you're gonna withhold the medicine if I don't come clean?"

"This isn't extortion, you... you jackass," Takemi grumbles. "It's trust. Trust is a two-way street. I want to trust you, and I hope you want to trust me. But we're well past 'need to know' and 'deniability.' I need to know what you're doing if you want to keep using my services."

"What if I just say I won't help you with your illegal research?" Akira asks. "I thought that was the deal."

"I'm updating the terms. And if you back out of testing the medicine, I'll live. So the question is, can you afford to back out?"

The voices in Akira's head quiet down, collapsing into one clear way forward. It is all Akira can think to do. "I suppose not," he answers.

#

Ohya sits at the bar of Crossroads, far soberer than she would prefer. Where the hell is this guy?

Sure, more times than not, these shady folk with 'insider information' never showed, but that didn't mean she appreciated being stood up.

"You look more concerned than usual," Lala says, sliding up alongside her.

Ohya nods, frowning. "I've got a hunch, Lala-chan."

Lala rolls her eyes. "You always say that."

"Yeah," Ohya replies. "But I've only had one drink tonight. The less I've had to drink, the more accurate the hunch."

"Is that the science of journalism?"

Ohya grins. "Nope. Just my personal formula."

"Well, be careful," Lala tells her, and slips her a glass of water. "Just in case."

"Always am," Ohya says, as Lala begins to walk away.

"No, you're not," Lala shouts back.

The door to the outside opens, and a young, slim figure slides his way inside. Ohya runs her eyes over him. Sweatshirt in May. Baseball cap on under a hood. This is my guy. She stares at him until he notices her doing so, and she nods towards the empty barstool next to her.

With his hands deep in his pockets, he starts to move through the gloomy bar towards her.

Ohya's eyes widen as he gets closer. He's young. Very young. Wait, is he a teenager?

"Ichiko Ohya?" He asks. His voice is deep, but not that of an adult. She doesn't reply, and he seems to take that as acknowledgment. "Sorry I'm late. I was held up having a... long conversation."

"How old are you?" Ohya asks, ignoring whatever it was he said. This is not her typical first question, but it's the only one she can think of.

"Does that-" He starts, but then she reaches out, and shoves back his hood. He jumps back in surprise, but she's too fast, and swats the hat off his head.

"Oh, goddammit," Ohya groans, rolling her eyes. "You are just a kid." The boy pales by such a degree that Ohya can even see it in the dim light of Crossroads. He bends over and snatches up his hat. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"N-no," he says, and sits down on the stool she'd offered initially. "It's not."

Ohya sighs and spins back to the bar. "Hey, Lala-chan! I'll take another drink after all."

"What about your hunch?" Lala calls from the other side.

Ohya sticks out her thumb towards the kid. "Looks like I need a new formula."

Lala nods and ducks down below the bar.

"Um," the kid says, but Ohya glares at him and cuts him off.

"So, what's your hot tip? Is there a cheating problem at your school? Are the teachers super mean?"

"Actually," the young man says. "I was asked to contact you."

"By whom?" Ohya asks. Lala returns and sets her drink down.

The boy stares at Lala as she heads back to tend to a few other patrons.

"You got a problem?" Ohya asks, putting an edge in her voice.

"No," he replies, quickly.

"Then don't stare. It's rude. Now hurry up and tell me who told you to call me."

"Nakanohara Natsuhiko."

Ohya spins through her mental Rolodex. Nakanohara. Sounds familiar. Wasn't he some creepy clerk I talked to a few months ago? Why was that again? Oh, yeah! Madarame! She looks over at the kid, reappraising him. "He told you to talk to me? Why?"

"He said you might have some information on a person I'm looking into."

"And that would be?" Ohya asks.

"Ichiryusai Madarame."

Ohya stalls to think by slowly picking up her drink and bringing it to her lips. As the alcohol pours down her throat, she recalls everything she had learned about that man. So, who is this kid? Another apprentice? "What's your relation with Madarame?"

The kid wets his lips with his tongue before answering. "I'm concerned about him."

"Concerned?"

"Concerned."

"About what?"

"Well... I don't think he's such a great guy."

Ohya sets her drink on the bar. "Do you have anything to tell me or not?" When the kid stares at her, she shakes her head. "Wow. You didn't think any of this through, did you? What'd you expect? You could just sit down here, and I would spill whatever I know? Look kid, if you don't have any information on Madarame, you can beat it. I'm not in the habit of giving something for nothing."

"Nakanohara Natushiko said you were the person to talk to if I wanted to learn more about Madarame," he protests.

Ohya takes another sip. "Yeah? Well, I'll be sure to thank him for giving out my number to a know-nothing juvenile. If you can't give me any information and can't help, then I've got nothing to say."

The kid looks away from her, staring at the bar's rack. "Trust is a two-way street, huh?"

"Trust?" Ohya asks. "Who the hell said anything about trust? I don't know you, and I sure as shit don't trust you, no offense. Tit for tat, kid."

The boy seems to sink a little deeper into the stool. "I can help, actually," he says, so low she can barely hear him over the smooth music drifting from the jukebox in the corner.

"Oh yeah? How so?" She peers into the kid's face. His eyes are flickering back and forth rapidly.

"What if I gave you something else? Something you can use for another story? Would you give me information on Madarame then?"

Ohya shrugs. "Depends on what you know. I try not to cross the streams, so to speak."

"Suguru Kamoshida," the kid says.

Ohya blinks, and thinks. Former Olympian. Rapist. Gym Teacher. What was the school? Shujin Academy. "What about him?"

"I can give you information about him. What he was like. Maybe," and he pauses, and a pained look crosses his face, "maybe I can even get you interviews with his victims."

Ohya mulls this over. "Kamoshida's victims, being minors, were kept out of the papers, but that didn't mean other journalists hadn't tried to pry their names and faces out of the dirt and into the limelight.

She shakes her head. "Pass."

The kid's eyes widen. "Pass?"

"Kamoshida is old news. He confessed, what? Two weeks ago, or something? This is 2016, kid. The world spins on. They should teach you that at Shujin."

His eyes manage to widen further. "How'd you know-" He cuts himself off, but it's too late.

Ohya groans and rubs her temples. "Kid, come on. Who else would have dirt on Kamoshida? And don't ever just confirm something someone says about you, by asking how they know about it!"

It's hard to tell in the light, but Ohya thinks his face reddens. "I need to work on my tells."

"No shit," Ohya replies, and takes another sip.

"Okay, then. What if I give you information on something else? Something new? Something that hasn't been reported on yet, by anyone?"

Ohya cracks a grin and slaps his arm. "Ooooh, look at you. You've managed to pique my interest. That's more like it. Don't disappoint me now. Go on."

"The Phantom Thieves."

Ohya's smile drops. "The Phantom Thieves," she repeats. The boy nods. "You're joking."

"No. I'm not."

"Kid, the Phantom Thieves are nothing but an urban legend. They're a freaking meme. They don't exist. Maybe there was a group at your school that blackmailed or forced Kamoshida to confess, and they tried to be all picaresque about it with that Calling Card, but even if that were all true, they were nothing but a couple of teenagers with a grudge. A justified grudge, but that's about it."

"Haven't you seen the site?"

"You mean the 'PhanSite?'" Ohya asks. "No, I haven't. Because I have a job, and my job doesn't let me waste time on the Internet."

Lala walks by. "No. You just waste time here, instead."

Ohya sticks out a tongue. "Is this how you talk to your best customer?"

"You're not my best customer," Lala replies, beaming. "You're just the loudest."

"You're so mean, Lala-chan!"

"The Phantom Thieves are real."

Ohya turns back to the boy. "Is that so?"

"Nakanohara was stalking his ex-girlfriend. She requested that the Phantom Thieves change his heart to make him stop. They did, and he did.”

Ohya looks at the kid one more time. He seems different than just a few moments ago. She can't put her finger on it, but he no longer appears to be the bumbling neophyte. When did we stumble into his territory? "And? That's hardly conclusive evidence of their existence."

"You're a journalist, yeah?"

Ohya nods. Now I'm answering his questions?

"And you protect your sources?"

"Of course," she barks. "That's journalism one-oh-one, along with 'tell the truth.'"

"Then you won't repeat what I'm about to tell you, to anyone?"

"So long as you're not pulling my leg."

"After the Phantom Thieves changed Nakanohara's heart, he put in a Request against Madarame. Nakanohara wants the Phantom Thieves to change his heart."

"And how do you know? Is that on the site?"

"No," the boy replies. "I know because he told me."

"Why would he tell you that?"

"Because he thought I was one of them."

Ohya stares. "Are you?"

The kid smiles. "I know the admin of the website. But even he doesn't know the identities of every member. Nakanohara wanted to put it on the website, but because Madarame is such a huge name, the admin thought it best to keep it off the site. The Phantom Thieves were intrigued, so, the admin asked me to meet with Nakanohara, pretend I was a Phantom Thief, and get information on Madarame. Nakanohara gave me your name."

"That sounds suspiciously complicated."

The kid's mask falters a bit, but he shakes his head. "It's the truth. So, there's your information. The Phantom Thieves are real. They're going to go after Madarame. Want to help?"

"Why not put Madarame's name on the website? It's not like he'd believe it."

The boy smiles. "The rules for posting were updated recently—a precaution to protect identities. But, as I said, I know the admin. So if you want, I can have him post a small message to the site tomorrow to prove it."

Ohya is stuck. Something tells her that while the kid isn't telling the whole truth, he's not exactly lying either. "What's your name?" She asks.

The boy scoffs. "Right. Like I'm about to give you that now."

Ohya's phone buzzes. She takes it from her pocket and reads the text. "Sssshhiiiittttt," she moans.

"Something wrong?" The boy asks.

"I've got to go. The boss needs me." She glares over at him. "So, let's say, hypothetically, I believe you. How would I contact you?"

"Tell me a good time, and I'll call you."

Ohya feels her eyes narrow. "You're not as inept as you look. This weekend. Anytime is fine."

Ohya stands, but the boy turns towards her. "Hey, I gave you some information. How about you give me something?"

She turns back to look at him, frowning. "Hey, Lala-chan," she calls. Lala turns and stares. Ohya points to her drink. "Put that on my tab." Lala rolls her eyes but nods. Then, Ohya leans in towards the boy. "I'll give you a name. You connect the dots." He stares up at her, expectantly. "Yusuke Kitagawa." Then, she turns and jogs out of the bar. Don't think I'm going to sit on this, kid. Next time we meet, I'll know exactly who you are.

#

Ohya runs out the door, and Akira lets his posture slip. Damn. That was nuts. The woman had been indefatigable. Battering him and hitting him from all sides, Akira had almost given up and split. He'd been forced to wing the whole 'I know the admin' thing. God help him if Ohya wanted to meet Mishima.

Akira was already exhausted after his conversation with Takemi. It took some time to bring Takemi up to speed, and she voiced all the usual objections to his explanation:

* This is all bullshit.

* There's no way that's real.

* What are you talking about,'

* Etc.

Akira could only tell her what he knew. Akira admitted he was a Phantom Thief, and they used the Metaverse to change the hearts of corrupted individuals. The medicine Takemi sold him could be imbibed in the Metaverse to heal their wounds since cognition was everything there.

After a while, Takemi had looked as exhausted as Akira felt, and then they'd started talking about Yukio Kan.

Faint music drifts through his ears, and a few hushed conversations catch his notice. Akira lets himself sit back and look around the interior of Crossroads bar. Velvet. Red. Very odd decor. Where the hell am I?

A glass is set before him. Akira looks up into the face of the bartender. She smiles.

"What's this?" Akira asks, looking down at the brown liquid.

"A drink. You look like you need one," she replies.

"Um," Akira says. "Sorry, but I'm seventeen."

"Yes, darling, I figured you were. That's why this is a special drink."

Akira lifts it and looks closer. "What is it?"

"A Jack and Coke, minus the Jack," she says. Akira remembers that Ohya had called her Lala-chan.

"Wouldn't that just make it a Coke?"

"Oh, you're so smart!" Lala chuckles and leans her elbows on the counter. "Word to the wise, young man. Whatever scheme you're cooking up with that young lady, keep your head. She's a good girl, a great girl, but she skews towards drama and trouble."

"Great," Akira replies, and takes a sip of the soda. "I could always use more."

"More?" Lala asks.

Akira shakes his head and waves his hand. "Oh, sorry. You wouldn't want to hear it."

"Sweetie, I stand behind a bar all day and serve drinks. I hear everyone's problems." Lala glances down the length of the bar. "And it's rather slow right now, sad to say. So, come on, tell Lala Escargot your troubles."

Akira inclines his head. "I've got plenty."

"That's the perfect amount," Lala replies.

#

Tae Takemi stares at her bedroom ceiling.

It was all so unbelievable. Everything Akira Kurusu had said. There was no way it could be real.

Metaverse.

She'd heard the word before. When she was younger, she'd read a few Western science fiction writers, and one had used the term regularly. She doubted it was the same application, though.

Akira had shown her the 'Navigation app' on his phone. However, Akira refused when Takemi asked him to show her this cognitive world. He'd already accidentally sucked one friend in and gotten them involved. He wasn't about to do it again.

Takemi had pointed out that excuse was awfully convenient.

But as Akira had gone on and on about the nonsensical rules and his pursuit of Kamoshida's 'Treasure,' Takemi couldn't help but find something familiar about it.

During her years in medical school, she'd come across a lot of research. Most of it either reinforced or refuted existing medical practices or understandings. Rarely did she come across something that promised to revolutionize how medicine worked. Even when something did, it often was just some crackpot theory dreamed up by some disgraced practitioner.

Hey, kind of like me, Takemi thinks, wearily.

Still, she'd once read something that came across as more science fiction than actual science. No, not even science fiction. It was more like science fantasy. A "developing" (read, "nonexistent save for a few lunatics") field in neuroscience (or was it an offshoot of neuroscience claiming to be its own thing? Takemi couldn't remember) that cited the possibility of altering human consciousness through an interaction with a mental plane or underlying reality. It was all nonsense, but Takemi had dived into it.

Not because she found it engaging, but because the idea was so silly.

The idea that you could physically go somewhere that might correspond to someone's unconsciousness and alter something that would impact their psyche.

Cognitive Science.

That was its name.

A bunch of bullshit.

But here was a boy claiming the ability to do just that, and it certainly hadn't seemed like he'd come across the idea in any medical journal.

Takemi knew that cognitive scientists were laughed out of universities and research labs. All talk of the study had vanished.

But then there was Yukio Kan. Akira had said he'd died with black fluid pouring from his eyes and mouth. But the media reported his death as a heart attack. And if what Akira's friend had said was true, then the man's death was tied to the mental shutdown cases.

...alter something that would impact their psyche. Such as shut it down completely?

Takemi did not like this. She did not like any of this.

And the worst part was, she knew she wouldn't be able to let it go.