5/21

Akira exits Shujin and finds a familiar retro-clad woman at the base of the steps. When she spies him, Ohya lifts her hand into an exaggerated wave and cries out, "Hey, cuz!"

The eyes of the surrounding students snap to him, and, scowling, Akira descends to the street. "Was that really necessary?" He asks, and nods towards the alley.

"I wanted to make sure you saw me."

Akira rolls his eyes. "You're hard to miss."

"Awww, thanks."

Wasn't a compliment, Akira thinks, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"Well, ready to hit the bricks?" Ohya asks.

"I don't know what that means."

Ohya stomps her foot on the concrete. "Hit the bricks. With your feet? As in, walking?"

"Oh, yeah." Akira sets his bag on the ground, kneels, and zips it open. He pulls out his running shoes and sets about putting them on. He'd left Morgana at home to make room for the shoes, with instructions to take the day off. The cat had been disappointed not to be part of the operation, but Akira pointed out that depending on the information gathered today, Morgana might have plenty to do later.

"So, what's the plan?" Akira asks, as he ties his laces.

Ohya pulls her phone from her pocket and taps it. "I took a look at the GPS data you captured. A lot of it was places you'd figure he'd visit. Art galleries. Restaurants. A bunch of other businesses. People go to a lot more places than they realize."

"Are we going to look into them all?" Akira asks.

Ohya frowns. "Obviously not. We can rule all those places out as points of interest. But." She turns the phone around so he can see it. Akira sees an aerial map of Tokyo with several red pins marked. All of them were a good distance away from one another. "These are locations Madarame visits regularly. And get this, they're all residences."

"Is that weird?" Akira asks. "I mean, he's famous, right? He's probably got a few houses." One of these must be the atelier.

Ohya shakes her head. "Normally, I'd agree with you, and Madarame frequents one ritzy apartment complex almost weekly. But these are different." She points out four of the pins. "These are all in run-down neighborhoods. Dirt cheap. I dug a little deeper, and found that a different property management company owns each. And I couldn't find anything on those. No contact number. Not even an address." She grins. "Which means?"

Akira looks up at her. "You're asking me?"

Ohya groans. "Come on Kurusu, use your head! Madarame frequents several run-down properties, and each is owned by a separate management company that has no presence anywhere?" She spreads her hands wide, but when he doesn't answer, she says, "The companies are dummies! Set up by Madarame to hide that he owns those buildings!"

"Oh," Akira says. "Are you sure?"

"No, of course I'm not sure. If I were sure of everything, I wouldn't have to investigate anything, would I?"

Akira frowns, and takes a minute to think. "Wait," he says. "That doesn't make sense. Why would Madarame, a world-famous artist, hide the fact that he owns those? Why would a famous artist need beat-up buildings anyway?"

"Exactly!" Ohya shouts, pumping a fist into the air. "That's the exact question! Why would he need those buildings? Why would he hide them? That's what we're going to try and find out."

"You know, he did mention something about an atelier yesterday," Akira says, in a voice mixed to sound as if he had only just remembered. "He told my friend about it. Said it was little more than a shack."

"Ah," Ohya says, nodding. She points to the map. "Wouldn’t be surprised if that’s one of these. Unless he was stringing your friend along."

Akira shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, don’t worry. We’re gonna visit all of these. Maybe not today, but soon. See, I’ve got a theory.”

"What's your theory?" Akira asks.

Ohya shakes her head. "Sorry, but I don't like to disclose those. I'd rather not inform any budding ideas in that noggin' of yours. First, we'll make the rounds. Then, you'll tell me what you think is going on."

Akira rolls his shoulders and adjusts his bag, now holding his regular loafers. "Okay, let's get going."

Ohya stares at him. "Uh, aren't you going to change your clothes too?"

Akira looks down at his uniform. "Why?"

Ohya droops her head forward. "Kurusu, please don't tell me you plan to spy on these buildings in your school uniform."

Akira feels his cheeks redden. He hadn't even thought of that. "I can buy a shirt and some pants on the way."

"Yeah," Ohya says, and turns down the alley. "Probably a good idea. Come on."

#

They swing through Harajuku, and Akira finds himself an overpriced t-shirt and a pair of slacks. He changes in a cafe's bathroom, and shoves his uniform into his bag. When he exits, he finds Ohya seated at one of the tables, a cup of coffee and a small pastry set before her. "First place is around the corner," she says, as she nibbles on it. "It's gonna be a long afternoon-slash-evening. Better to eat up now."

"Shouldn't we get these to go?" Akira asks, taking the seat across from her. "That way we can scope out the place and eat simultaneously."

Ohya rolls her eyes. "You're obviously not from Tokyo."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because if you were, you'd know how freakin' hard it is to find a public trashcan on the street. Nope. We eat here. Then, we don't have to worry about lugging our trash everywhere."

Akira shrugs and nods, and when the waitress returns, he orders the same as Ohya.

"So," she says, breaking a piece off her food, and dipping it in the coffee. "What brings a kid like you to Tokyo?"

"Nothing special."

"Uh-huh," Ohya replies, popping the soaking bit into her mouth. She makes a face. "Ugh, that wasn't a good idea."

The waitress returns a moment later with Akira's order. She sets it in front of him, thanks him, and bows before she scurries off elsewhere. Akira takes a sip of the coffee. It's his turn to make a face.

"Not a fan?" Ohya asks.

"Nope," he replies, shaking his head.

She leans back in her chair and smiles. "Okay, so 'nothing special' brought you to the city. How'd you get involved with the Phantom Thieves?"

Akira's eyes dart to the other tables, but the only other customers are two men dressed in business suits sitting by the door, talking with exaggerated hand gestures. "I'm not involved with the Phantom Thieves," Akira says. "I told you, I just know their website's admin."

"That I believe," Ohya replies, nodding. "But I find it strange that this secret group of vigilantes would ask a high school student for help."

"You're asking me for help."

Ohya throws back her head and laughs. "Shit, kid. You've got me there." She takes another sip of her coffee. "Besides, the Phantom Thieves are probably your friends or something."

"What would make you say that?"

"Because their first target was a mean gym teacher."

Akira's eyes narrow. "He was a little bit more than 'mean.' He was a rapist, and he abused-"

"Alright, alright," Ohya replies, patting the air. "No need to get all touchy about it. I read the articles that covered Kamoshida. Still, don't you think that says something about the Phantom Thieves? That their super-awesome activities would kick off by getting a gym teacher to confess to his crimes? And now they're going after Madarame?" She shrugs. "It's interesting, is all."

"If you say so."

"I do," Ohya replies. "Tell me, how do you think the Phantom Thieves change hearts?"

Akira looks her in the eyes. "How would I know?"

Ohya's smirk tightens. "I didn't ask how you would know. I asked what you thought. How do you think they do it?"

Akira smiles. "Maybe they use an app? There's one for everything these days."

Ohya chuckles. "True. But that would be a little anti-climactic, don't you think? Press a button and change a heart? It's gotta be something else."

Akira bites off a piece of his pastry to buy more time. "All I know is, a Request goes up on the website, and a few days later, the person’s heart changes."

Ohya's eyes glaze over, and she frowns. "Maybe it's all just folie a deux."

"Folie a what?"

"Madness shared by two. It's French, I think. Yeah, pretty sure it's French. It's a psychological thing, where delusional beliefs are passed from one person to another, like a virus. Well, maybe not like a virus, but it works as a metaphor."

"And you think that's what the Phantom Thieves are doing?"

Ohya shakes her head. "I doubt it. But I wouldn't be all that surprised if the belief that the Phantom Thieves could change hearts influences many people to have a change of heart. Who knows? Maybe the stress of his actions was eating away at Kamoshida, and the Calling Card was the straw that broke the camel's back. Maybe all the Phantom Thieves did was make him aware that they knew about his... activities. And that was enough to trigger some break in him."

Akira scoffs. "Yeah, right."

Ohya glares across the table at him. "How would you know?"

Akira sighs. "Look, aren't we supposed to be looking into Madarame? We ate our food and had our terrible coffee. Shouldn't we get going now?"

Ohya nods. "Good point." She stands. "You'll cover the bill, right?"

"Huh?" Akira asks.

"What?" She replies, grinning. "It's polite."

#

The building has seen better days. It isn't poorly designed or collapsing on itself. Instead, it just looks tired, like an elder who has seen too much and wants to shut their eyes and sleep forever.

Geez, Akira thinks, and shakes his head. I hang out with an artist once I start getting all allegorical. That's a word, right?

PROBABLY, Arsene thunders in his head.

It's an old, two-story domicile. But its wooden walls are patchy with white, and something like mold clings to the shutters. The windows are dusty but not filthy, and the front door's forest green paint chips away. Sandwiched, as it is, between two larger buildings, the place seems abandoned, but a faint light from inside indicates someone is home.

"This whole area," Ohya says, "will be under redevelopment in a few years. The real estate snatch and grab has already begun. It'll be a few months before this place becomes a prime target. If Madarame does own it, he'll probably get a hefty sum if he sells it. Then again, he's freaking rich, so selling off this place might not mean much to him."

They are across the street, ducked into a smaller alley that gives them a good view of the front of the house. They've been standing there, staring at it, for twenty-five minutes. "Um," Akira finally asks, "are we going to do anything?"

"Patience, kid," Ohya replies. "That's the name of the game."

As she finishes her sentence, the front door opens. A middle-aged woman steps out. Akira can't tell much about her from this distance, but she looks a bit haggard. She glances around as if afraid of being spotted, and her posture folds in on itself as she shuts the door and locks it.

Ohya lifts her camera and takes a series of photos. "Okay, and who might you be?" She frowns. "Too old to be a girlfriend. Maybe a relative? A nutjob niece or something?" She shakes her head. "No. In the art world, having a crazy relative is a good thing."

"Where do you think she's going?" Akira asks, as the woman skitters down the street, head twisting around as if searching for them.

"No clue," Ohya replies. Once the woman turns the corner, she lowers her camera and turns to Kurusu. "Shall we go take a look?"

"What if there's someone in the house?"

"Carpe diem, kid! Seize the day!"

"I thought you said, 'Patience was the name of the game?'"

"Are we gonna stand here and bicker, or are we going to take a peek inside that house?" Ohya asks, and starts to jog across the street.

Akira follows her.

Ohya approaches one of the windows as if she belongs there, and puts her face up to the glass. Then recoils, coughing. "Ah! Dust! Gross." She takes the hem of her shirt, lifts it, and rubs it across the glass, then reassumes her former position. Akira comes to her side and sneaks a peek as well.

The little they can see inside reveals a small room with a torn-up couch, and broken chair in the corner. A rug is draped across the floor, but its edges are so frayed Akira can't tell if the thing was meant to be bigger. "Looks like a dump," Akira mumbles.

"Looks like my apartment," Ohya mutters.

Before Akira can reply, a young boy walks into the room, a book under his arm. Both Ohya and Akira duck down, then slowly rise back up. The boy hasn't noticed them and has plopped himself down on the couch, and opened the book. Akira can't tell what he's reading, but he's not as interested in the book as the boy.

The kid has a mop of unkempt dark hair on his head. His light blue shirt hangs off his frame like a second skin. The boy is thin from what little Akira can see of his actual body. Upsettingly thin. "Who is this kid?" Akira asks. "Madarame's son?"

Ohya's eyes narrow. "I don't think so." She backs away from the window and walks over to the door.

"What're you doing?" Akira asks, and to his horror, Ohya rings the bell. They hear an awful metallic screeching from inside, then silence. She waits a few seconds, then presses the doorbell again.

A moment later, from inside, comes a muffled, "Who are you?" The voice is small and shaky.

"Hey," Ohya calls.

As she's about to continue, the boy inside shouts, "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, or let them inside!"

"We're not strangers," Ohya says. "Madarame-sama sent us to check on you."

A pause. Then, "Sensei?"

“Yep," Ohya replies, putting as much warmth in her voice as possible. "So, could you let us inside?"

"Seriously?" Akira whispers, as he hears the lock disengage.

"What?" Ohya replies, frowning. "It's not like we're gonna hurt the kid or anything."

The door opens and the little boy stands there, staring up at them. "Is everything okay? Sensei isn't sick again, is he?"

"Sick?" Ohya asks.

The kid nods. "He gets sick a lot. That's why he has to go to the mountain retreat for his health stuff. He just got back the other day!"

"Uh," Akira says, looking over at Ohya. "Madarame-sama is fine. He just wanted us to come and check on you."

The kid frowns. "Why didn't he come himself?"

"Well," Ohya puts in. "You know, he's got the exhibit."

His face brightens. "Is Sensei happy with it?"

"With what?" Ohya asks.

The kid stamps his foot. "'Mucus!' The piece I helped him create. Is he happy with it?"

"You created a piece of art with Madarame-sama?" Ohya asks.

"And you named it, 'Mucus?'" Akira whispers, wearing a frown. Ohya jabs him in the shoulder with her elbow.

"Of course I did," the kid says. "That's why you're here, right? To see the other one."

Akira and Ohya look at each other. "Yes," they both say.

"Kumi-chan is out," the boy says, but beckons them inside. "She went to get tonight's dinner. She should be back soon."

Akira and Ohya follow the kid inside.

The place smells awful. It's one of those stenches that isn't immediately apparent. It somehow blends in with the background, but once you search for it, you find it, and it twists its way into Akira's nostrils.

Ohya makes a face. "How long have you been here, young man?"

"Hmm?" The kid asks, apparently unperturbed by the stench and the general disrepair of the place. "I've only been here about six months. I was in the other place before that."

"The other place?" Ohya asks.

The boy nods. He turns into a separate room ahead of them. "It was in Shinjuku. Down the block from the Samurai Museum! Kumi-chan used to take me sometimes."

Ohya doesn't say anything, but grabs Akira by the shoulder, then points to her phone. On Madarame's GPS is a red pin in the Shinjuku section of Tokyo. Akira nods.

They follow the boy into the room, and stop.

On a massive easel in the center of the room is an elaborate sketch of what might be a landscape. Only the landscape is more of a hellscape. The trees are like matchsticks, their tops burn, which light the skies above a broken city in the distance. A lake of what looks like mud bubbles in the foreground.

Akira takes a step back. Relax. It's just a painting. Ohya looks just as dumbfounded. "This is... uh-"

"I call it, 'Visions of Hell,'" the boy says as if discussing the weather.

Sudden and painful, a voice erupts from behind Akira in a wave. Ohya, her attention on the boy, does not notice the jerky motion Akira exorcises from his limbs as he spins about to face – what he can only assume – is someone who has caught them. His head hurts. His ears ring.

There is no one behind them. No one physical as when Akira squints his eyes at the faint mass of shapes from the other room, his brain could almost swear it registers something, but what that thing is, is quickly snatched away and blotted into the detritus of the room. A scuffed table. A threadbare chair. Nothing else. Akira is afraid to take his eyes from the room, terrified to glance away from that spot, sure he will be attacked if he diverts his attention.

"You painted this?" Ohya asks.

The boy nods. "Of course. Sensei's helping me. Once it's finished, he'll show it to all his art friends. I bet he'll even let me come to the atelier after that!"

The word brings Akira back to the real world. Whatever sensation or encounter he has experienced recedes from him as quickly as it came upon him. "So,” Akira says, turning back to the two, and only feeling the slightest relief that he remains unmolested. “You painted this whole thing?"

The kid nods, then looks panicked. "Is he mad because it's not done yet? Oh, please! Tell him not to be upset. It'll be done soon, I promise."

Ohya snaps a picture of the painting with her camera. "Don't worry, he's not mad at you," she says. She looks over at Akira. "We should probably get going. Kumi-chan will be back any minute, and I'm sure she'll be annoyed with us taking up your time."

The boy shrugs. "Kumi-chan doesn't get mad." Then he mumbles, "She doesn't do anything."

Ohya nods, and kneels next to the boy. "Hey, listen, little man. Could you do us a favor? Could you keep it a secret from Madarame-sama that we were here?"

"Why?” The boy asks, brows furrowing.

She grins, reaches out, and ruffles his hair. "Because," she says, but she stops when she pulls her hand away. A number of loose strands stick to her skin.

What the hell? Akira thinks.

Ohya snaps her smile back into place. "If you do, we'll make sure to put in a good word with Madarame-sama for you. He may even let you go to his atelier sooner rather than later!"

The boy's eyes brighten. "Really?"

"Really, really," Ohya replies. "So, be a good boy, and keep our little visit a secret, yeah?" He nods. "And make sure you work hard for Madarame-sama!" The boy nods again. Ohya, still grinning, turns to Akira and whispers, "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Akira doesn't disagree.

The boy locks the door behind them, and they set off across the street. "What the hell was that?" Akira asks, when they're back in the alley. He is not certain to which event he refers.

"I'm pretty sure that," Ohya replies, teeth gritted. "Was Madarame's apprentice."

That jars him. "No. Yusuke Kitagawa is Madarame's apprentice."

"Uh-huh," Ohya replies. She pulls out the GPS. "Come on. We've got more places to check out. We'll spit theories at each other after."

#

It takes them another three hours to visit only a handful of the remaining locations.

The Shinjuku residence contained a seven-year-old girl. At least, that's how old she looked, when Akira and Ohya peered in the window. They decided not to try and enter that one.

The next they visited was in Ueno, and it held another boy, maybe a bit older than the one they'd seen first.

Ohya knocks on the door of the fourth residence, a craggy shack in Ikebukero. A teenager answers. He is perhaps thirteen or fourteen, and he regards the two with disdain when he opens the door. They try the same lie they'd given to the little boy.

The teen scowls. "If Sensei needs me, he can visit me himself. I see no reason to converse with his toadies."

"Toadies?" Akira asks.

The boy rolls his eyes. "If he must know, the work is almost complete. He'd best keep his word and promote me to the atelier if he wants me to continue to produce for him. It's about time my talents make their official debut." He slams the door shut in their faces.

They trudge their way back to the train station. Ohya yawns and rubs the back of her neck.

"Alright," Akira says, and leans against a nearby building's wall. He has not had another experience like the one in the first house. "Tell me what you think is going on."

Ohya smiles at him, but the usual playfulness is gone. "I recall saying that you would be the one to tell me what you thought first." She nods back in the direction of the shack. "What's your take, after everything you've seen today?"

Akira is exhausted from schlepping his way across Tokyo, from one ramshackle house to another, and dealing with whatever was in the first. He sighs, pushes up his glasses, and rubs his eyes. "Are they Madarame's kids?"

"BUZZZ!" Ohya shouts in his ear. Akira jumps and cringes. "That's your takeaway? You think all those kids who don't look like one another are all that old guy's spawn?" She shakes her head. "I don't think so."

"Fine," Akira says, throwing his hands in the air. "So, what do you think? You've had an opinion from the start!"

Ohya crosses her arms and nods. Then, she sticks her thumb toward a nearby bench, and says, "Let's take a seat."

They do, and Ohya stares at the concrete for a while before she says anything. Akira finds the silence a bit unnerving, coming from the usual upbeat and vocal woman. "You went to Madarame's exhibit, right?" She asks.

Akira nods. "Yeah."

"How many paintings were there?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe twenty or more? I didn't really count."

"Are you an art connoisseur?"

"No."

Ohya nods. "Well, here's the thing about Madarame. He's famous. Like, crazy famous. But he's also very aloof. It's branding, of course. He portrays himself as this wise old man, who only deigns to show himself a few times a year. But his output is insane. He's painted hundreds of pieces.

“And what's more, so many of them are different. Madarame claims that his tastes change as he ages. For five years, he was into cubism. Then, surreal work. And so on, and so on. As a result, he's considered a master of many different types of styles. If you look at his work critically, you'd think he was some kind of savant. One piece will have finely detailed brush strokes, and another will be raw, rough, and brutal. Yet, they've both got his signature in the corner." She looks at him, expectantly.

You know," Akira says. "When I was at the exhibit, I wondered how Madarame could plagiarize so many works from Yusuke."

She nods. "Exactly. How many could Yusuke Kitagawa have painted himself? Five? Maybe six? Where do the others come from?"

Akira's eyes widen. "Then, those kids-"

"Bingo," Ohya says. "I first noticed it when Nakanohara brought it to my attention. He insisted that Madarame stole all his work. But when Nakanohara was Madarame's apprentice, the latter had one of his most productive years. Forty or so paintings, Nakanohara claimed seven as his own. Yet, Nakanohara claimed he was Madarame's sole apprentice."

"So..." Akira trails off.

Ohya's smile droops. "Madarame doesn't have just one apprentice. He's got several. All staggered at different ages. He plagiarizes from all of them at the same time. Yusuke Kitagawa may be his public apprentice, but those other kids? They're his backups. Like, reserve inventory. And none of them know about each other."

Akira nods. "So, if Yusuke ever said, 'Madarame plagiarized five of my paintings,' then everyone would just say, 'well, about the other twenty?'"

"It adds a degree of doubt to the story," Ohya says. "That's why I started digging after Nakanohara told me his story. Madarame has been doing this for years. I've compared the styles of paintings he's claimed as his own. In total, I believe Madarame has had somewhere in the ballpark of thirty apprentices."

"What happened to them all?" Akira asks.

Ohya shrugs. "Believe it or not, Nakanohara, with his dead-end clerk job, is one of the lucky ones. Most of them are orphans, and Madarame kicked them to the street shortly before they became legal adults. Some became homeless. Some became drug addicts. Some became homeless drug addicts. Two..." She pauses, takes a breath, and continues, "have killed themselves."

Akira stares at the ground for a while. "And no one knows about this?"

She reaches into her pocket. "If anyone does, they've either been paid off or don't give a shit."

"God," Akira whispers, then straightens. "So, if this keeps up, those kids and Yusuke-"

"They'll suffer the same fate as the ones before them. Kicked to the curb and left to fend for themselves."

#

“Whoa,” Morgana says. “Seriously?”

Akira nods. He’s finished relating the story and Ohya’s theory. The more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense.

Morgana purrs and swishes his tail. “Did you check out the atelier?”

Akira shakes his head. Stalking through Tokyo had exhausted both Akira and Ohya, and after Ohya’s discussion, they’d gone their separate ways.

Upon his return to LeBlanc, Akira considered telling Morgana about his strange experience within the first house, but elected not to. Akira had a bad feeling and theory but wanted Morgana’s intelligence before he voiced any concerns.

“Well, no worries,” Morgana says. “Tomorrow, Ryuji and I will visit the houses you were at today and see if any are the Palace. Although, given how much emphasis those kids put on the atelier, I’m starting to think our initial guess was right.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Yeah,” Akira mutters. I’m not so sure anymore. He sighs, reaches out, and strokes Morgana’s fur. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

“Yep,” the cat replies, a grin on his face.

“Let’s go see what’s for dinner.”

Morgana makes a face. “Wanna bet it’s curry?”

Akira chuckles and heads for the stairwell. As he descends, he hears a distinct sound.

Two adult voices. Laughing. One male. One female. There’s a certain lilt to their voices, a tone Akira has come to recognize as ‘flirty.’

Great, he thinks. His thoughts turn serious as he nears the corner. Akira recognizes that female’s voice.

Akira leaves the stairs and enters LeBlanc proper. His jaw drops.

Ohya sits on one of the stools. She leans forward over the bar, elbows on the countertop, a cup of coffee alongside her. Sojiro stands before her, arms crossed, an easy smile on his face.

“What,” Akira says.

Ohya spins around on the stool. “Hey there!”

Sojiro’s smile falters. “You two know each other?”

“He’s my apprentice,” Ohya replies, swinging her legs.

Is she drunk? How is she drunk? We only split up an hour ago.

“Apprentice?” Sojiro asks.

Ohya nods. “I’m a journalist. He’s helping me with a story.”

“Really?” The older man asks.

Akira sighs, and nods.

Sojiro’s smile returns, and he regards Ohya once more. “Awfully nice, taking someone like that under your wing.”

“Aww,” Ohya says, waving the comment away. “I could say the same about you. I take it he lives upstairs?”

“Good guess.”

“What’re you doing here?” Akira asks.

“I figured I’d drop by before heading to my regular stop in Shinjuku.”

“Shinjuku?” Sojiro replies, and leans a little closer. “A lovely lady like yourself shouldn’t be hanging around that place at night.”

“Easy Pops,” Ohya says, a smirk crossing her face. “I’m not as innocent as I look.”

“Is that so?” Sojiro whispers.

THIS IS TOO WEIRD! THIS IS TOO WEIRD!

Akira crosses the floor and plops down on the stool next to her. Sojiro frowns at him. “Prince is hungry,” Akira explains and points at Morgana.

Sojiro’s expression softens, and he shrugs. “Let me see what I’ve got.” He shuffles into the kitchen, shoulders drooped.

Akira turns to her. “What’re you doing here?”

“I told you, I-”

“I don’t mean like that. I didn’t tell you where I live. I know I never mentioned that. So, how did you-” But before Akira can finish, Ohya pulls a small device out of her pocket and dangles it before him.

Akira recognizes the little black box. His mouth opens and shuts several times before he can spit out, “You hacked my phone?”

Ohya shrugs, and returns the device to her pocket. “Honestly, I’ve no idea why you didn’t see that coming.”

“Wh-why? When?”

“When?” Ohya asks. “When we were sitting on that bench a little while ago. We were the only two around, so I figured I’d take a little peek. As for the why, well, why not?”

“It’s an invasion of privacy!”

“Meh,” Ohya replies, shrugging. “I just wanted to find out a little more about you.”

“Then you could’ve asked.”

“Right, because you’ve been so forthcoming. C’mon, Kurusu. Don't be all upset. We’re still partners in this, yeah? Now, I just know where you sleep at night.” Ohya grins. She darts her eyes in the direction of the kitchen. “So, what’s the deal with him? Is he, like, your uncle or something? I didn’t see a ring.”

“Nope,” Akira says, sliding away from the bar. “Nope, nope, nope, nope.”

“Don’t you want dinner?” Ohya asks.

Akira shakes his head and plods back upstairs. Morgana remains at the bar. Ohya looks down at the cat. “He’s so sensitive.”

“You’ve got no idea,” Morgana replies with a purr.

5/22

“This,” Mishima says, and holds up the box for Akira to observe. “You’ve got to get this.”

“It’s a mouse,” Akira says. “And a pricey one. I don’t need something that expensive. Why not-” Akira is about to point to one of the considerably less expensive models, but Mishima shakes his head.

“No way, dude,” Mishima replies, and takes a step closer. “Look, you want to dig around online, right? Well, when it comes to specs for your computer, it’s better to pay for quality instead of getting a bunch of cheap junk that’s going to break.”

Akira frowns. He can understand Mishima’s point. I wouldn’t want the mouse to break at an inopportune time, especially if I’m on some website I shouldn’t be. Akira does some mental arithmetic to calculate the total costs. It’s adding up. Almost all the money he made from the Flower Shop and some of the yen he got from hawking random Metaverse items is being sapped by this project.

Nonetheless, this was important, and while there were many threads vying for Akira’s attention, he did want to get himself online and searching for any clues on the mental shutdowns, Velvet Room, Metaverse, and everything else.

“Alright,” Akira says. He would raise his hands in surrender, but bags of more upscale computer equipment held down his arms. Mishima had selected all of it. Akira admitted Mishima had handled himself well during their little excursion to Akihabara. The boy had been his usual goofy self, but hadn’t once blabbed about anything he wasn’t supposed to, and when they’d entered some of the stores, Akira found him more than capable of selecting a good deal and spotting rip-offs and overpriced junk.

The two boys make their way to the checkout, and Akira purchases the mouse, feeling a twang of bitterness as he hands over the yen.

“That should just about do it,” Mishima says as they step outside into the cloudy morning air.

Akira nods. “Thanks for helping me with all this,” he says, hefting the bags. “You can come by later this week and help me set up, right?”

“Sure,” Mishima replies. “But most of this stuff is pretty intuitive.”

“Uh huh,” Akira says, smiling. “All the same, I’d rather have someone who knows what they’re doing than me.”

Mishima beams at this, and Akira is surprised to realize the comment was meant genuinely instead of something to ingratiate himself with Mishima.

“So, what now?” Mishima asks.

Akira checks the time. “I’ve got a while before I have to meet up with my next contact.” There was no reason to disclose Ohya’s role or existence to Mishima.

“Want to check out some arcades?”

Akira hefts the bags. “Will these be okay? I don’t want them to get stolen or anything.”

Mishima shakes his head. “No, it’ll be fine. It’s still early, right? The arcades will be pretty dead, so we should have plenty of room and be able to keep our eye on the stuff.”

Akira shrugs. “Sure, okay. Let’s do it.”

Mishima starts to walk down the block. “Great. Follow me. I’ll take you to my favorite spot.” Akira picks up his pace to match Mishima’s, and the two head deeper into Akihabara. The place is still relatively dead, though there are plenty of people walking around, from what looks like workers and clerks to foreign tourists here before the mad rush. Akira has never been one to delve deep into the otaku or gaming culture, but he appreciates it in principle. The neighborhood's sights are fascinating, to say the least, even if some of the buildings look like firetraps.

Mishima leads him into an arcade that looks to have no discernable qualities aside from the rest of the block's arcades, but Mishima insists is the best one. “Because of the selection,” Mishima clarifies once they enter.

They walk further into the arcade, and the lack of too many people means the cacophony of sounds comes strictly from the electronic devices. The ricochet of bullets, the spinning electronic beeps of the gacha games, the kid-friendly suggestions to move towards the claw machines, it’s all a bit too much this early in the morning, but Akira doesn’t mind.

Mishima pauses for a moment and pulls out his phone. Akira only glances at the screen for a second, but when he sees the RINE app queued up, he feels his spirits dampen.

“Oh,” Mishima says, when he notices this. “Sorry. It’s not Shujin’s group. This one is for a bunch of arcade game enthusiasts. There’s a new game I wanted to try out, so I was asking about it on the group chat.” His shoulders slump. “I’m so dumb. I’m sorry, I should’ve realized-”

“It’s fine,” Akira says. “Really. Not everything on that site is about me. It’s no big deal.” Akira makes a point of taking a few steps away from Mishima and glancing around the arcade. “So, where’s this new game? What kind is it?”

“A shooter,” Mishima explains. He leads Akira deeper into the arcade until he holds up a hand. "This is it!" He explains, grinning at the contraption.

Akira reads the title aloud. "‘Gun About?’" An impressive-looking pitch-black arcade machine with neon blue lining holds center stage in this arcade section. It looks like a standard shooter, and has two ports carrying twin plastic handguns.

At present, a young boy clutched one of the guns and, having glanced back at Akira and Mishima when they entered, turned his attention back to the game and was cursing up a storm. "Shit, shit, shit!" He cried as the virtual enemies - presumably, as Akira wasn't at a good enough angle to see - attacked his character. A short ‘Game Over’ jingle plays, and the kid shoves the gun back into the holster. "Not again!"

As he turns, Akira gets a better view of him. He's young but not as young as Akira first thought. Shaggy black hair shoved under a red cap with the words "GET SMOKED" stenciled across it in English reveals a face that must've belonged to a middle schooler. The rest of his attire screamed as much. Rolled-up jeans, bright blue sneakers, and a sky-blue varsity jacket that read "NOOBS" on the chest.

“Cool hat,” Mishima says, nodding toward the kid.

The kid perks up and approaches. "Hey man, got any extra cash? I'm all out."

"Huh?" Mishima asks. "Uh, no. Sorry."

The kid spreads his arms wide. "Then what are you doing here? C'mon, spot me one game. You can even play me. One vee one, dude. I win, and you fund my gaming for the rest of the morning."

Mishima eyes the kid. "And what if I win?"

The boy shrugs. "How about my hat? It’s a collector’s edition, you know?"

Mishima glances around. "Uh, well, that hat is pretty cool."

It is? Akira thinks.

The boy frowns. "I mean, I’ve got others like it, so it’s no big loss. We good then?"

"Mishima," Akira says, in a warning tone.

Mishima smiles, still believing this to be a friendly wager. “Sure. Let’s do it."

Akira shakes his head as Mishima sets his bags down and pulls out some yen. Akira lays his bags next to Mishima's and stands back to watch.

The boy savages Mishima. It is no contest and over in moments.

"Deal's a deal," the kid says. "Better go get my money."

Mishima stares at the screen for a few seconds, mouth agape, before finally saying, "Y-yeah, be right back." Then, he leaves the room, looking for a coin machine.

"Not bad," Akira says to the boy.

"Hmmm?" The kid asks.

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don’t."

Akira walks up until he's standing alongside the boy. "Yes, you do. Sucking at the game right as we walked in? Then the, ‘oh, would you like my hat?’ bit. Not bad."

The boy makes a noncommittal sound.

“So, you’re pretty good at this game, huh?” Akira asks.

The boy smiles. “The best.”

“Care to show me how it works?”

“Pretty straightforward, man. You point and shoot.”

“There must be a reason you’re better at it than everyone else, right?”

The kid jerks his head towards the game. “Want me to show you why?”

“No bet this time?”

“Nah, man. Friendly game.”

Akira puts in enough yen for both of them, and they spend a few minutes in contest. The boy is good, but Akira has had some experience with weapons in the Metaverse, and he uses that ability now. Part of Akira wonders if his using weapons in the Metaverse is a better proxy for this game than using a real gun would. Akira has never used a real gun; thus, his cognition of a weapon in the Metaverse is akin to an arcade shooter.

Akira wins, but only by a bare amount.

“Wow, guess you’re pretty good,” the boy says.

Akira goes to put away the gun and says, “Thanks,” but the boy holds up a hand.

“Hold on,” he says. “You’ve got to enter your name on the leaderboard.”

“Oh,” Akira says and turns his attention back to the board as the boy sets his gun down and takes some steps back.

“It takes a minute,” the boy says, and Akira nods, staring at the screen.

A few cutscenes play out, and then some more gameplay examples. No leaderboard appears.

“Hey,” comes Mishima’s voice. Akira finally pulls his eyes from the screen to spy his friend returning. “Where’s that kid?”

Akira looks around. The boy is gone.

So is one of Akira’s bags. The one with the mouse.

Akira looks back at the screen. Still no leaderboard.

“Son of a bitch.”

#

Akira and Ohya’s trip to Tokyo Bay lasts that awkward time between too long and just long enough. They ride the line with the beleaguered salarymen and women, eyes glued to screens, their newspapers, or just plain shut. Ohya keeps quiet for the duration, and Akira sits beside her, uncomfortable in the strange silence between them.

He wonders, for instance, if she knows he has turned his phone off for today’s excursion. Knowing Ohya can see his GPS is troubling, and he had racked his brain all night trying to figure out a way of limiting her knowledge of his movements. Then he realized he could keep his phone off. Akira used the burner for Phantom Thief business anyway.

He’s also still a bit pissy about getting played by a little kid.

He had wanted to visit the atelier after his trip to Akihabara, but when Ohya picked him up in Yongen-jaya, she’d insisted on coming to Tokyo Bay, citing a hunch on which she refused to elaborate.

They ride, and as they go, people rise from their seats and leave, as quietly as they’d sat. When enough people are gone, Akira leans towards Ohya and asks, “Are you going to tell me what this hunch of yours is, or am I going to have to guess again?”

Ohya blinks as if coming out of a daze and smiles at him. Then, she pulls her phone out, holds it up, and points to another red pin on the GPS. “We’re going here,” she says.

“What’s that?” Akira asks. “Another house Madarame owns?”

Ohya shakes her head. “Not quite.” She says no more, until a short while later, when they’ve arrived at the bay, exited the train, and are marching away from the station.

“Ahhhh,” Ohya exclaims after taking a deep breath. “Smell that sea air!”

"Smells like fish," Akira replies. "Not so great fish."

Ohya lets out a sigh. "You must be really fun to hang out with in ordinary circumstances."

Akira ignores her and takes in his surroundings. "It's nothing but warehouses and... uh, warehouses."

She nods. "Yep. No houses here. Not in this district, anyway. We're heading to Natsuki Storage."

"What's Natsuki Storage?"

She lifts her phone back up. "This little dot on the map."

"What's it got to do with Madarame?"

"Glad you asked."

"This is like, the third time I've asked."

"Quiet. Now then, when you first hacked Madarame's phone for me-"

"You never said thanks, by the way."

"Hey! I'm paying you back by taking you along! You should be the one thanking me. Anyway, after Madarame's phone was hacked, I told you I narrowed down the suspicious locations based on places he visited frequently. But, after I got home last night, it dawned on me I had also ruled out places he'd been infrequently."

"What'd you mean?"

"I mean, that Madarame visits Natsuki Storage once every five to six weeks."

"I'm assuming Natsuki Storage is a storage facility."

Ohya claps her hands. "You're getting smarter all the time."

Akira feels his face flush, and he glances away. "Shut up."

"But you're right. It's simple. No different from an apartment or safe deposit box. You rent a room, get a key, and pay your rent once a month. No one can go in but you."

Akira mulls this over. "What does Madarame need with a storage facility?"

Ohya nods, and her smirk turns mischievous. "Annndddd?"

Akira stares at the concrete he stands on. "And why would he need a storage facility way out in Tokyo Bay? There's got to be others closer to him."

"Exactly," Ohya says. "What's he got that he has to keep in a storage facility out in Tokyo Bay? What's he hiding? I did a little digging on Natsuki Storage last night. I couldn't find much on them. Their website looks like it was built in the nineties and-"

"Kind of like your outfit," Akira mutters.

Ohya glares at him. "Are you done?" He shrugs. "And their phone number just rang and rang when I called it."

Akira thinks this over as they walk. Does he really need to do this? If the atelier or one of those other houses was Madarame's Palace, then all they needed was for Morgana to go inside and provide the keywords. Did it matter what the old man kept in this place?

"Here we are," Ohya says, stopping outside a one-story building that extends far back towards the waterline. The words 'Natsuki Storage' are scrawled on the wall in black paint. A rusty-looking chain-link fence bridges the distance between the building, and the two empty-looking warehouses it stands between. "Here's the plan," Ohya says. "We're going to go in there and pretend we want to rent a storage unit."

"I'm guessing we shouldn't say anything about Madarame?"

"Correct," Ohya says, nodding. "It's not like the bozo staffing the front desk is going to have any idea who that is. They probably keep all their records in a filing cabinet and don't take them out except to ensure a client is paid up. Just let me do the talking."

"Sure," Akira replies, and follows as she steps inside.

The first thing Akira notices is the eyes of the man at the desk. They are not the eyes of a bozo. Akira feels them clawing over his skin like a rake, sizing him up. He's young, maybe in his mid-twenties, and dressed in a comfortable short-sleeved shirt, and jeans. A cigarette trails small patterns into the air around his slicked-back hair.

The office itself is small and dark and silent. The only light sources are a muted television screen playing a baseball game and a beat-up-looking lamp behind the desk.

"Hi," Ohya says, but Akira notices an edge in her voice. She hadn't expected this either.

"Help you?" The young man asks, his voice low and husky.

"My cousin and I are looking to rent a storage unit, and-"

"Full up."

Ohya blinks. "Excuse me?"

"I said, we're full up. Booked to capacity. No new clients. Besides, we only operate by referral."

Ohya's eyebrow cocks. "A storage facility that only takes referrals?"

"Doctors do it."

There is a presence to Akira's right. A shambling mass of limbs and a mask that hides a true form. It bears down upon him. A Shadow. It's a fucking Shadow, and somehow it's here in this place, and it knows Akira is there too, and it shouldn't be possible

It's gone. Nothing is there, and nothing was. Sweat beads itself and slides down his small back. The people around him are still speaking.

"How would I get a referral?"

He smiles a bit. "You'd have to know someone who could refer you."

Akira doesn't like this. There's something off about the man. Something off about the whole place: he has to believe that Ohya can sense that too, but the woman can't let go of something once it’s in her teeth. "Do you know someone who could refer me?"

"Listen girl," the man says, and takes a drag of his cigarette. "You're thinking about this all wrong. Even if you got a referral, we're full up."

"That's hard to believe, given that there's zero information about you online."

"That's why we got the referrals, and you found us alright." He looks over at Akira. "How come that one isn't talking?"

"He's not the talkative type," Ohya replies.

"What'd you know? That's my favorite type of person."

"Well, thanks for your help," Ohya mutters. "I don't suppose you'd know of any other place to look?"

“Not here."

"Right."

She turns and motions for Akira to follow. When they're outside, he turns to her and says, "Oh man."

"That was interesting," she says, mostly to herself.

Akira tries to right himself. He can't tell Ohya about the Shadow he saw. But how could that even be possible? The last time he'd seen something like that had been at the school, back when they were fighting Kamoshida. Only, that wasn’t entirely true. There was yesterday's incident. What did all this mean?

Good thing I'm getting a check-up later, Akira thinks.

Akira takes a moment to readjust himself to the conversation with Ohya.

"What about that was interesting?" Akira asks. "We didn't learn anything."

"I'd say we learned something very significant," Ohya says, a smile creeping its way back across her face. "We learned that Madarame likely keeps a storage unit at a facility run by the Yakuza."

Akira's eyes widen. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. "Yakuza?" He asks, and turns back towards the building's door, suddenly afraid the guy would be standing right behind him.

Ohya nods. "Oh yeah. Big time. Couldn't you tell?"

"No!"

"Oh. Well, look harder next time because that guy might as well have had 'Yakuza' tattooed on his forehead. Come on." She nods her head towards the street. "We've got to come up with a strategy."

"To find out if Madarame really has a storage unit there?" He asks.

She nods. "And what's inside it. If only we had some way of getting in there. Right now, it's just speculation."

Akira thinks about this and begins to form an idea.

#

Ryuji yawns. "My feet hurt."

"Stop complaining," Morgana replies. "It's not like we're doing anything all that hard. Are we almost there?"

Ryuji glances at his phone. "Few more blocks."

"One of these places better be the Palace," Morgana mumbles.

"Tell me about it. This was much easier back when I discovered it was the school."

"Discovered? You just said a few words, and the app on Akira's phone picked it up. I don't know if I'd count that as discovering anything."

"Can it, cat," Ryuji mutters. "Let me have this."

They continue until Morgana says, "So, we need to talk."

"About what?" Ryuji asks, frowning. Akira had asked Ryuji to accompany Morgana on this scouting mission, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He checks himself. C'mon, he's not so bad. Okay, yeah, he's annoying as shit, but he's part of the team, so stop being a tool. He clears his throat and says, "What's up?"

"What'd you think?" Morgana hisses up at him, reminding Ryuji just why the cat is his least favorite friend. "The whole, 'Akira and Ann,' thing."

"Oh," Ryuji sighs. "That."

"Yes, that. We need to figure out how to fix things between them. Because it's bad."

"Wasn't so bad at the exhibit."

"Yeah, but that was during a mission. In case you haven't noticed, they're hardly talking. I don't know if they've even said anything to one another since the other day."

"They were talking the other day. After the..." He grimaces. "I think I see what you mean."

It shames Ryuji to admit it, but he'd been trying to ignore the whole thing since it had started. It hadn't felt like his business. That didn't mean he didn't have an opinion. He kicks a stray pebble on the sidewalk. "But what're we supposed to do about it? Ann's not gonna apologize anytime soon."

Morgana halts. "Wait, why would Lady Ann apologize?"

Ryuji feels his eyes widen as he turns back to the cat. "Huh? You think Akira should apologize?"

"Well," Morgana mutters. "Maybe not apologize, but I don't think Lady Ann should have to."

"Like hell, she shouldn't!" Ryuji shouts, throwing his hands in the air. "She went ballistic! That whole, 'I might leave the Phantom Thieves' thing? That was nuts! That was blackmail!"

"Wh-what'd you expect?" Morgana hisses. "Makoto totally messed with Shiho; besides, she was investigating us! Akira was getting way too chummy with her."

Ryuji raises his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "Dude, she came clean about all that. We know what she was doing." Ryuji scratched at his head. Ryuji wasn't entirely clear on what Makoto had been doing, but it didn't sound so terrible. Then again, it didn't sound harmless, either.

"That doesn't excuse her behavior!"

Ryuji shakes his head. "I never said it did. I just think we're spending too much time worrying about this whole thing when we should be getting on with things."

"We're focusing now, aren't we?" Morgana asks. "That's what we were just doing—hunting for a Palace. But look, we're getting sidetracked. What's most important is figuring out how to fix things between Akira and Lady Ann. I think Akira should make the first move."

"No way, dude. Ann may have felt bad over what happened to Shiho, but she took it too far. She should apologize first."

"Lady Ann shouldn't have to-"

"Oh my god, would you stop doing that?" Ryuji yells.

Morgana blinks. "Doing what?"

"The 'Lady Ann' thing. Dude, we all know you're crushing on her."

"I-is it that obvious?" Morgana asks, eyes wide.

"It's pretty much a running joke at this point."

The cat stutters a few times before he manages, "Irrelevant! We need to get them to stop fighting! We need a plan!"

"A plan?" Ryuji asks. He stops and thinks. "Okay, how about we lock them in a room somewhere and don't let them leave until they hash everything out?"

Morgana stares up at Ryuji. "That's the dumbest plan I've ever heard."

"Do you have a better one?"

Morgana blinks and is silent for a moment. "Where would this, uh, room be?"

Ryuji shrugs. "I dunno. Could we do it at LeBlanc?"

Morgana shakes his head. "I don't think so. Sojiro probably wouldn't appreciate it. How about at school?"

"Where at school? It's like, a school. There are people around."

Morgana sighs. "I'm not sure I like this plan."

"We don't need to overcomplicate this shit and..." He trails off as he glances at his phone. "Hold up, dude. This is it."

They raise their eyes to the dilapidated building of rotting wood and rusted shutters.

"Damn," Ryuji says. "Don't know what I expected, but this place is a dump."

"Ryuji," Morgana says, his voice suddenly very serious but with a growing hint of excitement. "There's a Palace here. I can feel it."

Ryuji rounds on the cat, beaming. “F’real?” He pumps his fists into the air. “That’s awesome! The first place we check, and it’s the Palace? Crazy, dude!” He turns back to the house, staring at it. The place is as decayed as Akira made it out to be and certainly doesn’t warrant the moniker of ‘Palace.’ “Well, it doesn’t matter what it looks like outside. Morgana, can you get in there and give us the rest of the details?”

Morgana pads, tentatively, towards the house. “Yeah,” the cat replies, but Ryuji gets the impression Morgana is not speaking to him. “I… I think I should. I think I can go inside.”

“Guess you were worried about nothing,” Ryuji says, pulling out his phone. “Okay, you go in and come back out with the keywords so I can plug them into the app.”

“Right,” Morgana says, quietly. The cat doesn’t move.

“You okay?” Ryuji asks.

“Yes. I’m fine,” Morgana says. “It’s just a little weird. I didn’t know I could do this, and now I know I can do this.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Morgana shoots him a look. “Wouldn’t you be a little freaked out if you suddenly discovered you could, I don’t know, breathe underwater?”

Ryuji shrugs. “I’d be pretty stoked about that, actually.”

Morgana yowls in frustration and turns back to the house. “Whatever. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Morgana gingerly paces himself towards the house, and in an instant between two steps – right as Morgana is about to ascend to the curb from the street proper – the cat vanishes into thin air.

Ryuji grins and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Several minutes pass.

Ryuji would like to give Morgana the benefit of the doubt, but as the seconds continue to tick by and the cat does not materialize, the boy begins to fret. This manifests first as pacing, then jumping around in place, a few punches into the air, and finally, he sits down on the curb and stares at the spot Morgana disappeared, willing him to rematerialize.

He is about to take out his phone and send an SOS to the rest of the Phantom Thieves when Morgana’s face, and then the rest of him, strides back into existence into the road. The cat glances around before crossing to Ryuji, who stands and says, “Dude, what happened?”

Morgana stares up at Ryuji, a worried look on his face. “So, uh, we may have a problem.”

#

“Well, this looks much better,” Doctor Takuto Maruki says, beaming. He holds the printed-out report in his hands and nods. “Much, much better.”

“Uh, that’s good,” Akira replies.

“Hmm?” Doctor Maruki asks, glancing at Akira. “Oh, yes! It is good. Based on the most recent scan, the overstimulation seems to have subsided.”

Akira matches the doctor’s nodding. “Great.”

“And you haven’t been experiencing anything lately? No headaches or hallucinations? Nothing of the kind?”

Akira shakes his head, even as he recalls the strange experiences within the house and the storage facility. “Nope.”

There was nothing to do about it. The doctor wasn’t going to be able to explain why Akira could see – or at least sense – Shadows in the real world. Akira couldn’t bring up the Metaverse, the Palaces, or anything. Looking into this phenomenon was just another of those ceaseless tasks piled up on Akira’s mental To-Do list.

Akira wants to leave the office. Morgana and Ryuji were to report soon. If they’d found Madarame’s Palace, they could start their infiltration. Akira didn’t want to waste any more time on medical procedures that would ultimately tell him nothing.

Doctor Maruki moves towards Akira’s exam table. “So, how are you doing? Regarding therapy?”

“Oh, um,” Akira sighs. This again. “I’ve got a lot of things on my plate, but my guardian has been looking for a therapist. I did try one out a few weeks ago, but I didn’t like them very much.”

Maruki nods. “Yes, trust is important in therapy. But Kurusu, you should take an active role in finding one. Don’t just rely on your guardian to find you one. There are a lot of factors that go into this. Being present in the selection process can go a long way and save time.”

Akira suppresses a sigh and smiles instead. “Okay. I’ll try that.”

The doctor makes pleasant enough chitchat for a few more minutes before Akira can finally dismiss himself. When he reenters the waiting area of the neurologist’s office, Sojiro stands from where he’d been sitting, flipping through a magazine.

“Well?” The older man asks as they begin to leave.

“My head’s back to normal,” Akira says.

Sojiro chuckles. “That’s good, at least. He didn’t find anything wrong?”

Akira shrugs. “My sensory inputs are back to normal. Whatever was going on with my brain seems to have stopped.”

A few days after I last visited this guy, we stopped Kamoshida. The Palace at the school collapsed, and I didn’t see another Shadow until we ventured into Mementos.

Was it possible that eliminating the Palace at the school had reversed whatever had been happening with Akira’s brain? They’d regularly gone into the Metaverse when fighting Kamoshida, but their trips to Mementos had been few and far between in recent weeks. Would the same thing happen to Akira again if they started regularly visiting Madarame’s Palace?

“We should do something to celebrate,” Sojiro mutters. “Want me to make you some curry when we get back?”

Akira eyes the older man. “You make curry every night and morning.”

Sojiro scowls. “Is that a complaint?”

Akira raises his hands in surrender. “Nope. No complaints here. Sounds good.” If his friends had arrived, they could have a quick meal and then debrief in Akira’s room.

“How’s that computer working out?” Sojiro asks. “I saw you coming back with bags filled with electronic junk.”

Akira nods. “Yeah, my friend and I went to Akihabara today. He knows a lot more about computers than I do. So he helped me get some stuff for it.” Akira leaves out the part where he got hustled out of one of his bags.

“You makin’ that much money at your flower shop job?” Sojiro asks, and shakes his head. “You kids today are spoiled.”

Akira shrugs. “He found some good deals, so it was much cheaper than I thought it would be.”

Sojiro nods and looks as if he’s considering something. “Well, if you ever need anything else, make me a list. I… uh, know someone good with computers too. They might be able to give you some tips.”

Akira smiles. “Sure. Thanks.”

Sojiro grunts in reply and the remainder of their walk is in comfortable silence, broken by the occasional question from Sojiro. “How’s school?” “How’re you getting on with the other kids?” Things like that. It’s all very expected, but Akira doesn’t mind. He answers honestly (albeit keeping his criminal activities under wraps) and tells Sojiro about Shujin. Akira neglects to mention the RINE chats as he doesn’t want to damper the conversation.

This kind of conversation all feels so normal that Akira doesn’t know how to handle it at first. He never had a conversation with his father like this. At first, Akira tries to keep cognizant of any trap questions or phrases meant to knock him off guard, but Sojiro seems genuinely honest in his curiosity about Akira’s life.

There were some things Akira considered asking. Questions about his aunt and his mother. Questions about Sojiro. But as the cool night wraps around him, Akira realizes he doesn’t want to interrupt this walk. Who knew when he’d get a break like this again? Who knew when he’d get to have a normal conversation again?

#

Akira and Sojiro approach LeBlanc and find the rest of the Phantom Thieves in attendance.

"Hey kids," Sojiro calls, raising a lazy hand. "Ain't it a school night?"

Ann, who holds Morgana in her arms, smiles and says, "We wanted to go over our homework together."

Ryuji grins and nods. "Totally."

Sojiro smiles back. "You're gonna have to do much better than that to fool me. Anyways, come in."

Akira is surprised at his lack of surprise. But, then again, perhaps Akira was getting used to this version of Sojiro Sakura. The one without a stick up his ass.

As Sojiro leads the way through the front door, Ryuji plants a hand on Akira's shoulder and asks, "How was the doctor?"

"Fine," Akira replies. "I guess I'm fine now." But I know I saw a Shadow at Natsuki Storage. So was that real, or was it a hallucination? Akira wasn't sure which would be worse.

The kids thank Sojiro for his hospitality, decline coffee and food, and then head upstairs to Akira's room.

"So," Akira asks when they've all settled. "What's wrong?"

"That house," Morgana says, hopping out of Ann's arms and onto the table. "The one with the apprentice you and Ohya visited? The first one you went to?"

"Yes," Akira says, too late to cover the impatience in his voice. "What about it?"

Morgana glances at Ryuji, then at Ann. "It's a Palace."

Akira blinks. He takes in the unsatisfied faces of his friends. "Okay. Isn't that a good thing? Now we know where Madarame's Palace is and-"

"The next house was a Palace, too," Ryuji cuts in, frowning. "And the next. And the next. Dude, all those spots you sent us to? They're all Palaces."

Morgana says something, but Akira doesn't hear him. "How?" He asks. "How is that possible?"

"Hold on," Morgana insists. "Did you hear what I said? They're all part of the same Palace."

"It's all one big Palace, Akira," Ann says. "All the houses extend and connect to some other location."

Akira raises his hands, pleading. "Let's back up. What happened when you guys got to the first house?"

Ryuji and Morgana quickly summarized the events preceding Morgana's entrance to the Metaverse. "So, silver lining," Morgana points out. "You were right that I could enter the Metaverse without issue, so long as there's a Palace at the location."

Ryuji crosses his arms. "Yeah well, it doesn't help in this situation."

Ann swats his shoulder. "Don't be a dick."

"No," Morgana says, looking crestfallen. "Ryuji's right. I could enter the Metaverse and see the Palace, but I can't get you guys in there."

"Why not?" Akira asks. "Just tell us what the Palace is and-"

"I can't tell you that."

Akira feels the threads of his patience snapping one by one. "Why not?"

"Because I have no idea what it was," Morgana blurts out. "How am I supposed to give you the keywords if I don't know what I was looking at?"

Akira stares at Morgana. Then, he looks at Ryuji and Ann. "Seriously?" He asks.

"It was like this big, concrete building that kept going up and up and up. It wasn't like the Castle at all. Just a building. No windows. No door save one. No signs or guards or anything. Its only other feature was that its top started to slant away and vanish over the tops of the surrounding buildings.

"I tried to find a way inside, but a contraption or something protected the only door. I don’t know. It looked like it might take a keycard."

"Okay, hold on," Akira interjects. "So, this is Madarame's Palace, right?"

Ryuji shakes his head. "After Morgana came out, we tried putting the location into the Navigation app. It didn't take."

"How can that be?" Akira asks.

"We checked out all the other locations. It's all the same," Morgana continues. "The same kind of building, the same lock, the same way it sweeps out over the skyline. None of them were considered the Palace, per the Nav app."

Akira sighs, pushes up his glasses and rubs his eyes. "Alright. Do we think the Palace belongs to someone else?"

Morgana shakes his head. "I don't see how. Maybe, if they were all different, they could be the Palaces of the apprentices, but they're all the same. Plus, there's the way they extend out and up. From the angles, it looked like they were all leaning towards the same place."

"Morgana thinks it's all one Palace," Ann says, finally speaking up. "And that the buildings all connect to one central spot."

"So, we need to find that spot to plug it into the Navigation app," Ryuji says. "At least, that's what we think."

"Even then," Morgana says. "I still don't know what the building is. Hopefully, the center of these Palace-parts, or whatever, is much more obvious."

"Did you try guessing?" Akira asks.

"We did," Ryuji says. "We got nothing."

Akira leans back in his seat and stares at the ceiling. “Ohya brought me to a storage facility today. It showed up in Madarame’s GPS. And…” Akira trails off, reconsiders, and says, “I think I might’ve seen a Shadow there.”

“Seriously?” Ann asks. “Like back at the school?”

Akira nods. “I don’t know what that means, but Madarame regularly visits this facility. So maybe it’s the central location we’re looking for?”

“Where was it?” Ryuji asks.

“Tokyo Bay?”

“Did it look like the stuff was stretching out that way, Morgana?” Ryuji asks.

Morgana frowns. “Hard to say. I’d need to see a map.”

“Or,” Akira points out. “We could just head over there.”

#

Akira and Morgana stand outside Natsuki Storage, the sun having just set, the city lights springing up around them. Morgana eyes the chain-link fence and runs his eyes along the side of the building.

“Well?” Akira asks.

“No doubt about it,” Morgana says. “It’s a Palace. Or part of one. It’s got the same feeling as the houses.” With no further prompting, Morgana steps forward and vanishes. He reappears only a short while later, and nods to Akira. “Just as I said. It’s the same setup. Not the central location, though. Whatever it is, it extends out into the sky over Tokyo. Some giant building façade that keeps going and going. I can’t make out where it ends.”

“Alright,” Akira says. “Then we need to find out what Madarame has in here. I don’t know if it’ll help us find the central location or identify the Palace, but hopefully, it’ll help with something.”

“Roger,” Morgana replies. “I’ll get inside, find where they keep their list of clients and confirm Madarame’s storage unit. Then, get access.”

“If you can,” Akira says. “If it gets too crazy in there, just get out.”

“Oh please,” Morgana protests. “I can handle it just fine.”

Akira nods. “Okay then.” He bends down, lifts Morgana off the ground, and hefts him toward the top of the fence. Morgana reaches out, sets his paws between the two holes, and grips. “Got it?” Akira asks.

“Got it,” Morgana says, and steadily climbs the rest of his way up. “Piece of cake.”

“Good luck, Morgana,” Akira replies. “Be careful.”

Morgana gets to the top, thankfully absent barbed wire, and hefts himself over and drops to the ground. He lands softly and runs for the shadow of the building.

Morgana was happy to do something like this to compensate for the lack of information he could provide regarding the Palace. Akira and the others had relied on Morgana’s ability to enter the Metaverse at will, but they hadn’t anticipated what they’d find. Morgana needed to do what he could to raise his stock back up in the eyes of the group.

Morgana finds what appears to be a service entrance around the back of the building. He hops up and jiggles the handle with his paw, but it’s locked. Sighing, the cat brandishes a claw and sticks it in the lock. Minutes of nothing pass, but Morgana keeps his focus. This is his time to shine, after all.

When the lock clicks, Morgana has to stop himself from letting out a whoop of excitement and drops back to the ground and into the shadows as the door creaks open. It reveals a room empty of people with some maintenance paraphernalia pushed up against the wall, a mop and water collector, a few sets of tools, and spare lightbulbs. Beyond all this is another door; when Morgana tries this one, he discovers it unlocked.

Morgana exits and finds himself at the tail end of a long, white hallway. Matching doors with numbers etched onto them line the hall, and attached to each door is a card reader. Hey, Morgana thinks. They look just like those devices protecting the doors of the Palace! But, even with that information, there was little Morgana could do with it right now. Even if he can determine which unit is Madarame’s, Morgana can’t hack a card reader with his paw. Morgana begins to trot down the hall, muttering curses, looking for the records.

A door marked ‘Records’ answers that. Simple enough, he thinks, and is ecstatic to find it unlocked and unoccupied. The room is a typical office, with a desk and chair on one end, and three sets of filing cabinets on the other. He darts over, opens the first drawer, and begins to rifle through the names. He doesn’t recognize any of them.

The soft sound of footsteps echoes from outside, and Morgana shuts the file he’s checking and sprints into the space between the desk, where he crouches in the shadows.

The door opens and a young man enters, cigarette between his lips. On his tail is another man, this one older, dressed in a business suit. The young man moves to the filing cabinet, opens one drawer, and spends a few seconds searching. He pulls out a file, and turns to the man. “Well?”

The older man reaches into his pocket and withdraws a hefty-looking envelope. He extends it to the young man, who takes it, and slides it into his pocket. He moves to the desk, and Morgana tries to make himself smaller, but the man doesn’t notice him. Morgana hears the rustling of paper from above him, and the young man says, “You’re all paid up. Feel free to go inside.”

The older man nods, and exits. The younger man returns to the cabinet, returns the file, and follows.

Morgana sneaks back over to the cabinet and slides it open. He continues to go through the names, and when he can’t find Madarame’s, he goes to the next. And the next.

He searches through each name, but Madarame’s name is nowhere. Is there nothing here? Has this just been a waste of time? But it couldn’t be. This facility was part of a Palace, which couldn’t be coincidental. Then, Morgana’s eyes fall on one name in particular. It catches his attention, but it isn’t until he’s passed it that he thinks to go back and look. What’s this?

With his jaw, he yanks the file out and opens it up. Unit 47. Paid in full. But it is the name that stands out to him. The more Morgana thinks about it, the more convinced he becomes. Madarame’s name isn’t in the filing cabinet.

With more difficulty than he will later admit, Morgana rolls the thin file up and puts it in his mouth. Then, he gingerly makes his way to the door, peers out, and ensured that the coast is clear, bolts for the back entrance. He dashes outside, around the bend, and sprints for the fence. Akira waits for him.

“What’s that?” Akira asks, from the other side.

“’ere!” Morgana hisses, and slides the file between the chain-link holes. “’eke it!”

Akira grabs the file and pulls it free, and Morgana starts to climb the fence. When he gets to the top, Akira reaches up his arms and Morgana jumps into them.

“You okay?” Akira asks.

“Just fine.”

“What is this?” Akira asks, and holds the rolled-up paper in his hand.

“Look at the name.”

Akira does. His eyes widen. “Do you think…?”

“It can’t be a coincidence, right?”

Akira nods, and stuffs the file into his bag. “We need to talk to Yusuke.”