5/20

Light stirs him. His eyes crawl open, and the too-familiar aches skitter through his muscles. Before he can stop himself, he mutters a short, gruff growl, and the figure alongside him stirs.

She wakes, and he watches the life snap on through her body. He feels a twang of envy until she smiles and traces a hand across his chest, trailing her fingers through the gray hair. "Good morning," she whispers.

And like that, he takes up the mask. The grin he gives her is contemplative and aloof. "Good morning, my dear," he replies.

"Ready for your big day?" She asks, yanking some of the blankets further up towards her chin.

The words, as practiced as they are, come easily to him. "What happens today is insignificant compared to the creation of art itself. All I ask of this day is that the people who arrive to partake of my work enjoy it as much as possible."

Madarame long ago mastered the empty-headed colloquialisms that artists have used for generations to give themselves an 'other-ness,' or a mentality or personality perpendicular to your average individual. None of it means anything, but he's found that ornamenting his sentences as such make many nod in appreciation.

This dumb broad is no exception.

"Wow," she says, and shakes her head. "That's just a great way of looking at it."

"It is the only way I know how to look at it," he replies.

They have sex.

Once Madarame finishes, he lays spread-eagle on the sheets, panting. His girlfriend goes on and on about how good he is, and he smiles as if he is happy to hear such flattery. She's lying, of course. Tell enough lies in your life, and you know when someone's feeding you bullshit.

She continues to pontificate about his skills at lovemaking, and he uses the time to take stock. She's still young. A young art student, as a matter of fact. She's got no talent to speak of, so making her an apprentice was out of the question, but her body was divine, and she knew enough - academically, anyway - about art to hold a conversation.

Still, he'd noticed her drinking a lot recently. To preserve his image, he didn't take her to public outings, but instead, put her up in this ritzy loft in Shibuya. Such prime real estate, coupled with the gifts he lavishes, is usually enough to keep the females in his life content and reticent. But drinking can make one say anything. And as the adage goes, 'Loose lips sink ships.'

Soon - sooner than he'd like - he may have to make a phone call.

Madarame lifts himself out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom. It will be a hot day. He can feel it, even in the air-conditioned apartment. The thought of wearing those idiotic robes grates at him, but what can he do? The fans of Madarame expect things of Madarame. He's gotten this far by giving people exactly what they want.

He showers and eats a light breakfast his girlfriend has prepared for them. He notices her eyes linger on the half-empty six-pack of beers in the fridge, when she opens it to get at the juice.

She'll be hammered by noon.

One phone call. That's all it will take.

He prepares himself for the day. Kisses her goodbye. She flatters him a bit, and then he extricates himself.

Madarame's phone rings in the elevator. He answers it. "Yusuke, my boy. Good morning."

"Good morning, Sensei. How did your meditations go?"

"Very well," Madarame says. "This mountain air always manages to revitalize these old bones of mine."

"The monastery was agreeable, then?"

Madarame thinks of the young woman writhing atop him. "Very agreeable," he says, then chuckles pleasantly to cover up the lilt he'd stupidly allowed into his voice.

"Wonderful," Yusuke says. He's never been one to doubt. "I wanted to remind you that I'll leave school early to help prepare the exhibit. What time will you be arriving?"

The elevator reaches the bottom floor. "I should be arriving in Tokyo in a few hours," Madarame says, and heads for the busy streets of early-morning Shibuya. "Say, around four."

"Excellent. I shall see you there, Sensei."

"Very good, my boy. Very good."

They exchange a few more pleasantries, and Madarame hangs up. He has plenty of time. He exits the building, and his driver opens the limo door. Madarame slides in.

It is time to make his rounds. He gives the address of their first stop.

#

Madarame finishes his rounds and arrives at the exhibit site shy of four o'clock. When he enters, a brief smattering of applause breaks out at the hands of the gallery's staff. He nods, bows, and smiles cheerfully, the very picture of graceful acceptance. It is a waltz he's danced many times.

Yusuke cuts his way through the small crowd, and waves. "Good afternoon, Sensei."

Madarame glances around the gallery, and takes in the dozens of his paintings dotting the walls. On the far wall sits the exhibit's masterpiece. 'Refractions at Dusk' is a marvelous piece detailing a forest on the peak of nighttime, dotted with precise strokes of red. It evokes both the tranquility and ferocity of the wild. At least, that's what he'll tell people. "Thank you for helping me put this together, Yusuke."

Yusuke shakes his head. "I did very little. I merely suggested to the gallery workers where to place the pieces for them to complement one another to their fullest potential." Based on the dirty looks those staffers were giving Yusuke, he probably did more than 'suggest.' Madarame chuckles and claps Yusuke on the shoulder. This one was his greatest. All the others had come with their baggage, self-serving dreams, and ambitions. Yusuke was pure enough to want to do art for art's sake. He sought no reimbursement or recognition. Privately, Madarame knew those desires plagued him as much as anyone else, but Yusuke still believed in 'art in its purest form,' which was just some crap Madarame had made up to keep him on a short leash.

Yusuke pulls out his phone and frowns. "Those students I told you about should be arriving soon, Sensei. As I said, Ann was very much looking forward to meeting you."

Madarame smirks. "And I would hate to disappoint, my boy. Once they arrive, please, show them to me."

Yusuke agrees to do so, and Madarame excuses himself. He has a few more tasks to complete before he needs to greet the public. He retreats to an upstairs office where he's sure he can be alone. One of the perks of being famous is that you can include odd requests in your negotiations, and no one will bat an eyelash. He takes out his phone and proceeds to call his publicist. It's a clear and concise conversation. Madarame will give an interview with a prolific art magazine in the next few weeks. Beyond that, he's got little to do in the way of marketing.

He smiles when he hangs up the call. This is something at which he's always been excellent. Even in his youth, when he was coming up, he took care to never over-expose himself. In today's world, everyone smears themselves across every platform they can manage. Madarame limits his involvement to just a few pieces a year. Chum for the sharks. It keeps him interesting, keeps him mysterious, and aloof. It makes him seem uninterested in fame and therefore results in more fame. This, in itself, is an art form.

His phone rings. It is an unlisted number. He answers. "Hello?"

The voice on the other side is unrefined and bored. "Madarame-sama, I'm calling on behalf of your third favorite customer."

Madarame frowns. "I-I see."

"We're thinking of makin' another donation. Understand?"

He nods, though no one is around to see it. "I do. The Foundation will be most pleased."

"Glad to hear it!" The voice says. "So, we'll be in touch about the amount. But expect it to be sizeable."

"That's, uh, fantastic."

"Good. Good. And now, don't take offense, but I've been instructed to request the, uh, reiteration of your understanding."

Madarame's eyes narrow. "Our relationship has always been mutually beneficial, and there's never been a complication. So, yes, I understand."

"Cool," the voice replies. "Because, let me tell ya, if there's one thing my boss hates, it's a misunderstanding."

"And tell him I don't appreciate his grandstanding," Madarame growls.

Silence on the other end. Then, the voice asks, "Are you sure you want me to repeat that to him?"

Madarame sighs. "No. No, thank you."

"Okay, then."

The line goes dead.

Madarame lowers the phone and hisses, "Fucking-" before he stops himself. He takes a deep breath. Now wasn't the time to lose his composure. People would be arriving downstairs.

He shuts his eyes and reminds himself of how hard he has worked to get where he is. He will not throw it all away for nothing.

Then, after plastering a cheerful look onto his face, he leaves the room.

#

He decides, right away, to sleep with Ann Takamaki. The blonde hair. The curves of her body. The shape of her face. Even her voice. It all delights and inspires.

Yusuke introduces two boys who had accompanied her, but Madarame offers them only vague pleasantries before returning his attention to the girl.

A model? That's perfect.

The younger, the stupider. The stupider, the easier. Madarame can tell, by the way she talks and smiles and stares, that she's got little going on behind her eyes, but so much the better.

"Yusuke tells me that you find 'Sayuri' to be particularly enchanting," Madarame says to her.

"Totally," she replies, nodding, eyes wide. Another pretty young thing taken in by my fame. It still tickles Madarame to know his presence can provoke such a reaction. He's no fool. He knows they are attracted to his money. But the only thing wrong with a gold digger is if you don't know they're a gold digger.

"It's a shame," he says, snatching a flute of champagne off a passing server, "that you cannot see it in person."

Her face falls. "I know. I can't believe someone would be horrible enough to steal it."

An idea begins to circulate in his mind. I wonder if she wouldn't like a 'private viewing' of the recently recovered 'Sayuri.' It was certainly within his power to make it happen, but he'd have to get her to shut up about it afterward. Well, he could work out the details later.

He goes on about the awful loss of 'Sayuri' for an appropriate length, then switches the topic back to her. "Would you be interested in doing more modeling work, in an artistic sense?" He asks.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"I sure would," Ann replies, and smiles at Yusuke. "He doesn't think so, but Yusuke's painting of me was fantastic."

Madarame laughs as Yusuke's eyes fall toward the floor. From the corner of his eyes, he notices the two young boys shifting further away. Glad to know some kids can take a hint. “Forgive my apprentice. He can take his art so seriously." He casts a glance at Yusuke. "My boy, would you mind checking with the staff and seeing if they need anything more of me?" It is a weak request, but one Madarame knows Yusuke will strive his utmost to fulfill.

Yusuke nods. "Of course, Sensei."

When the boy leaves, Madarame turns back to Ann and notices the small smile on her face. Oh ho. What's this?

"I'd definitely be interested in modeling for you. Is there a place nearby where we could talk more about it?" She finishes this by flicking her fingers through her blonde hair.

Someone's certainly more forward when no one's around. Madarame smiles. "Of course." He snatches another two flutes of champagne from a nearby server. "There's an office upstairs where our privacy is assured."

"That's great," she says, and hungrily eyes the drink in his hand.

"Come," Madarame says, and nods towards the stairwell. Ann glances around, conspiratorially, then follows. He walks ahead of her but keeps his body at an angle, so he watches as she takes out her phone – a rather old-looking one – to send a quick text. "There's nothing to worry about," he says, in his calmest voice. "All we will be discussing is a business proposition."

"I know," she replies, and winks up at him. Madarame suppresses the urge to swallow.

He leads her back to the office, and gestures toward one of the chairs. She sits, and he settles himself across from her, and continues to sip at the champagne. "So, tell me, would you seriously consider modeling for me, back at my atelier? I'm sure it would do wonders for your career."

"Your atelier?" Ann asks. She starts to bring the champagne to her lips, then stops. "What's that?"

Madarame grins. "Little more than a shack, I'm afraid. A place where I partake of simple things. I find that it helps me find my muse all the more."

"Cool," Ann says, then nods. She reaches one hand down and slides it into her pocket. "I'd totally be willing to model for you."

"Wonderful."

"I just think," Ann continues. "That your art is, like, so amazing. How do you even come up with it all?"

Madarame runs his eyes up and down her body. "Inspiration can come from anywhere, and-"

Something vibrates, and Ann's eyes widen. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's my phone." She pulls it from her pocket, and her eyes widen even more. "Oh, no."

"Something wrong?" Madarame asks.

"It's... about my friend," Ann says, and puts it to her ear. "Hello?" A slight pause follows, and then she says, "Oh my god. I'm on my way." She hangs up. "I'm sorry," she says, bowing her head repeatedly as she straightens. "But I have to go." Then, she spins and marches towards the door. "I'm sorry. I'm definitely interested in modeling for you, but I've got to get going."

"It's quite alright," Madarame says, and stands. "My people will be in contact with your people." Damn.

"Great, thanks!" Ann says, opens the door, and steps out.

Madarame remains in the office for a short time after the door closes.

#

When Ann emerges at the top of the gallery's stairwell, Akira breathes a sigh of relief and hangs up the burner phone. Ann sees him and hangs hers up as well.

"You okay?" He asks her, when she walks up to him.

She grimaces. "That old perv makes my skin crawl. Did we get it?"

"Ohya confirmed it," Akira says, and pats the pocket with the burner. He smiles at her. "Good job, Ann."

Ann blushes a bit, stares at him, and says, "Thanks."

Akira turns, and together they head back into the gallery. "Sure."

They find Ryuji amid a conversation with Yusuke. It does not appear to be going well. "What, exactly, is your implication?" Yusuke asks, an edge to his voice.

"Nothin'," Ryuji says, with a shrug. "I'm just wondering if you ever help Madarame with his paintings, that's all. You're his apprentice, right?"

Yusuke glowers at him. "That..."

Akira frowns. It looks as though Ryuji is getting somewhere, but they must leave as soon as possible.

"Ryuji," Ann says, walking up to the two boys. "We need to go. It's Shiho."

Ryuji's eyes widen. "For real?" He asks, then nods. "Right. Later, Yusuke. No offense meant, dude."

"Oh my," Yusuke says, as the three turn from him. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Ann replies. "I'll text you later about it."

Yusuke nods. "Very well."

"You've got his number?" Ryuji asks, as they leave.

"Duh," Ann replies, then smirks at him. "What, are you jealous?"

Ryuji reddens. "N-no!"

They speed their way to the entrance, push outside, and head down the street toward the station.

"So, are we good?" Ryuji asks.

"Yeah," Morgana echoes, popping his head out of Akira's bag. "If Lady Ann had spent one more second in that room with that old bastard, I was gonna break the door down!"

"Seriously," Ryuji mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I still don't think that plan was a good one."

Ann shakes her head, and holds up an index finger. "All guys, especially old guys, want to believe one thing more than anything else. That younger girls want to sleep with them."

Akira nods, and keeps his mouth shut. Let her have this. As soon as Ryuji and Akira had left her with Madarame, Akira had dialed Ohya on his burner. He stayed with her, on the line, until she confirmed the GPS hack had worked.

"I've got it!" She'd said. "Not bad, kid-" But Akira had hung up the phone and dialed Ann's burner. It had been risky, no doubt. Akira would've preferred to wait until Madarame had gone to the bathroom or something, but they couldn't guarantee he would be alone.

But since Ohya had confirmed that the device wouldn't hack a phone that didn't have GPS, they could keep their burners on while hacking Madarame's phone, provided there were no other phones with GPS in the vicinity. And Ann had had the – as she'd put it – perfect way of getting Madarame alone.

"We've mirrored the GPS on Madarame's phone," Akira says. "We'll be able to see where he's been and where he's going from now on."

Ryuji and Morgana sigh. "Nice work, Ann," Ryuji says.

Morgana nods. "Agreed. Lady Ann, you're a credit to the Phantom Thieves."

Ann rolls her eyes. "Alright, alright, enough with the flattery." She looks at Ryuji. "Did you get anything out of Yusuke?"

Ryuji shrugs. "I dunno. He kept staring at this one painting, so I went up to him and asked him about it. I didn't really get it. It mostly just had some trees covered with red splotches."

"Cheery," Akira mutters.

Ryuji chuckles. "Tell me about it. Dude was staring at it like crazy. I asked him some stuff about helping out Madarame with painting, and he got all defensive."

"Do you think he painted that piece?" Ann asks.

"I don't know," Ryuji replies. "He never came out and said it, but he was sure acting weird about it. But here's something I wanted to ask you guys. You know how there were, like, twenty or thirty paintings in there?"

"Yeah," Akira and Ann say.

"Well, how long does it take to finish a painting? Because if Madarame really is plagiarizing Yusuke, did Yusuke paint all of them? Feels like that would take a long ass time."

Akira frowns. "I was wondering about that too."

"Well, maybe," Ann says, and pulls the small device from her pocket. "This will give us the answer. Plus, Madarame invited me to model at his atelier."

"His atelier?" Akira asks.

She nods. "He says it's where he 'finds his muse' or something, but apparently, it's little more than a shack."

"Hey," Ryuji says, snapping his fingers. "Yusuke said something about this ateli-thing. He says he lives there."

The Thieves regard one another in silence. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Morgana asks.

"Palace?" Ann inquires.

"Could be," Akira replies. "If we find out where it is, you could pop inside and fill us in on the details."

"Right," Morgana says, face looking a bit drawn. "Again, though. I don't think we should rely on my ability to do that."

"We can do both, can't we?" Ryuji asks, shrugging. "We've got the data from the GPS, and we've got the Morgana option. Even if this atelleyway comes-"

"Atelier," Ann mutters, rolling her eyes.

"-up a bust, we can still use the phone stuff," Ryuji finishes.

"I need to meet with Ohya," Akira says. "I'll see what I can get from her." He turns to regard Ann. "Do you think you could get your agent to at least ask where Madarame's atelier is?"

Ann nods as Ryuji says, "Couldn't we just ask Yusuke? He lives there."

"We should try to draw as little attention as possible," Morgana says. "Ann's performance just now gives us a bit of an in."

"We can ask Yusuke as a last resort," Akira says. "But hopefully, we won't have to be obvious about it." Akira pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the time. "Speaking of, I need to get going to Shinjuku. Ohya's meeting me soon. I'll let you all know how that goes."

He begins to head off, and Morgana waves goodbye to Ann, insisting he is not bidding Ryuji farewell. The two blondes raise their hands in salutes before Akira and Morgana turn the corner.

#

Akira steps into Crossroad, and the low music spreads over him in a warm wave. He begins to slide past the occupied tables towards the bar when Ohya's voice rings out, "Hey there!" She sits at the same spot as before, with a short glass in hand and a smile on her face. To Akira's shock, she appears the wear the same clothes she wore on Monday.

He makes his way over and plants himself onto the stool next to her. Ohya takes another sip of the dark brown liquid before she runs her eyes up and down the length of him. "Well, look at you. Who'd have thought you'd pull it off?"

"You're sure you got it?" Akira asks.

"Well," Ohya replies. "Last I checked, the GPS you mirrored was still in the gallery. But, I checked its history, and I'm pretty sure we've got our man."

Akira lets out a sigh of relief. "Great." Then he looks at her, looks at the bar top, looks down at her bag. "Can I, uh, see it?"

Ohya cocks a brow at him. "See it? As in the GPS?" He nods. "Why do you need to see it?"

He frowns and whispers, "The Phantom Thieves will need that information."

Ohya sets her drink down and taps the side of the glass with her finger. "The Phantom Thieves, huh?" She turns back to him and stares at him, suddenly seeming much less drunk. "You know, I checked out that PhanSite. You were right. It's all private now. No one can see the requests being made."

Akira leans forward. "Just like I said it would."

"So then, tell me. Why do the Phantom Thieves want to 'steal Madarame's heart,' or whatever it is they're supposed to be able to do?" Akira casts his gaze around the room, and Ohya laughs. "Kid, I know every face in this bar. Believe me, none of them are listening to you right now. C'mon, spill it."

"Well, you know, don't you?" Akira asks. "They got your name from Nakanohara. Plagiarism. Madarame is stealing the art from his apprentices."

"Uh-huh, and have you got any proof of that?"

"Huh?"

"Proof?" Ohya drawls. "You know, the thing you traditionally need to have before you make an accusation?"

"Nakanohara said-"

"Nakanohara is a failed artist living in an apartment that is actually shittier than mine. He's a low-level clerk and has no friends or social life. His claim that his former mentor stole all his work is just a bid for attention and a last gasp for fame."

Akira's eyes widen. "But, you-"

"That," Ohya cuts him off. "Is what Madarame will say. It's what he'll say about all his former apprentices. It's a classic, he-said, he-said, and the 'he' with the most money, fame, and goodwill will always win out."

"Then-" Akira starts, but again Ohya slices her way in.

Her words come faster. "No, no, no. What we need is an accusation and proof from a current apprentice. One that has everything to lose. 'Why,' people will ask, 'would a promising young artist hamstring his own career? Might there be some truth to this?' That's what we need."

"So, a current apprentice? You mean, Yusuke Kitagawa?"

Ohya lifts her drink and takes another sip. "He's one option."

"What'd you mean, 'one option?'"

Ohya glances down at his feet, then smiles. "You got a good pair of walking sneakers? Tokyo's streets can wreak havoc on a nice pair of loafers like those."

Akira shrugs. "I've got some running shoes," he replies. "Why?"

"Tomorrow," Ohya replies, and she reaches out with her free hand and pats him on the shoulder. "You and I are going for a walk."

#

Ohya stumbles out of the bar, citing the need for, “Good rest and all that shit,” and leaves Akira alone on his stool.

When Ohya turns the corner of the bar and vanishes from sight, Akira hears a soft clunk behind him, and turns to find Lala Escargot standing before him, hands on her hips, and a fresh ‘Jack and Coke without the Jack,’ set on the counter.

“Well?” She asks.

“Well, what?” Akira replies.

“Well, everything!” The woman retorts. “What did Ohya ask you to do this time?” Akira opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, Lala rambles on. “You know, I warned you about that girl. If she stopped dressing like it’s 1995, she would turn a lot more heads than she does. You seem like the kind of guy who can see past all that. So, if you think you’re falling for her, don’t.”

Akira blinks, and almost spits out the small sip he’s taken of his drink. “I’m not falling for her!”

Lala throws back her head and laughs. “Oh, relax sweetie. I’m only teasing.” She shakes her head. “I still got it. But seriously, watch out for her. When she works her way up to it, she finds it all too easy to jump headfirst into the deep end. I wouldn’t follow if I were you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Akira replies.

Lala doesn’t move, save to flamboyantly wave out a relatively pristine-looking rag, slam it down on the counter, and begin to wipe up spots that aren’t there. “So, young man, the last time you were here, you seemed all out of sorts in a whole manner of fields that had very little to do with Ohya. Well?”

Akira sighs. “Well, what?”

Lala scowls. “I just gave you a perfect segue, and you ‘Well, what’ me? Don’t make me come around to that side and smack you on your head, Kurusu. I told you before, Lala Escargot will listen to your problems. So, shoot.”

Akira shrugs and picks up his drink. He’s about to take a sip, but he pauses and regards the woman again. “I’m not sure what to say here.”

“Let’s see. You’re young. You’re male, or so I presume. My guess is that it’s a girl problem.”

Akira raises his glass. “There you go, then. You nailed it.”

“You fighting with the girl of your dreams?”

“Fighting with a couple of girls, actually.”

“A couple?” Lala asks, mouth wide. She brings a hand up to rest on her cheek. “Well. Kurusu, aren’t you the tomcat?”

“It’s not like that.”

“‘It’s not like that,’” Lala mouths. “Whatever you say.”

“The girl I like interrogated my friend’s best friend at the hospital, which triggered a re-traumatization.” Akira frowns. Is that even a word? He regards his drink once more. Maybe there was alcohol in it?

Lala blinks. “Oh, my. That’s… not good.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Wait, so your friend’s best friend, is currently in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“And this girl you like went that and did what, exactly?”

“That’s a little complicated,” Akira replies. And I just went through all of this with Takemi yesterday. He didn’t feel like rehashing everything all over again. “Let’s not talk about that anymore.” Akira smiles. “Oh hey, I could tell you about my…” He pauses a moment to think. “Second? Yeah, second day in the city. I was in a train crash caused by those mental shutdowns. That’s something juicy.”

“Dear Lord,” Lala mutters, this time with real shock on her face. “Are you okay? You weren’t too badly hurt, I hope?”

“Nope. I wasn’t on the train, just at the station. I got checked up afterward and everything. Still, it was pretty scary. Almost died.”

Lala nods. “Go on.”

Akira shrugs. “It’s just, it feels so anticlimactic. One minute I was standing there, the train crashed into the station, and the place became hell, but I don’t even really remember it that well. I was so shaken up that I just… well, left. At the time, I got checked by the rescue medics, but then I just went to my new home. Passed out later, but at the time, I just left.” Then there was the guy who died in front of me. Akira bites back a laugh. This isn’t funny. None of this is supposed to be funny. So why is he trying hard not to giggle?

“And you’re not afraid of the trains or anything?” Lala asks.

“Huh?”

Lala shrugs this time. “I just think it’s admirable that you’re able to go about your day, despite having witnessed something so horrific. Not everyone could do that.”

Yeah, but what choice do I have? Akira wonders.