5/27

Yusuke pushes open the door to ‘Untouchable’ and steps inside. He has adorned himself in one of Akira’s hoodies that conceals his face. Yusuke had thought it best to hide his identity as much as possible, though given that it was late May, the heat had become a bit uncomfortable. Fortunately, it was still early, and the day’s promised humidity hadn’t descended upon the city yet.

“Great,” Iwai groans, when Yusuke approaches the counter. “Akira sent you.”

“I have come,” Yusuke says, spreading his arms in anticipation of the metal detector, “for the device.”

Morgana sighs from the backpack Yusuke carries, slung over one shoulder. Akira needed to attend school, and it had been vital to get the card skimmer in place as early as possible, but that meant Yusuke was the only one available to pick up the device and help Morgana cart it to Natsuki Storage.

“Uh huh,” Iwai replies. “Put your arms down.”

Yusuke does so. “Do you not wish to ensure my-”

“It’s fine,” Iwai says, raising a hand to stop Yusuke from continuing. He frowns. “Yeah. It’s fine.” Iwai reaches a hand behind the counter and procures a package much more petite than Yusuke anticipated. “The directions are inside. It’s fairly simple. You gonna be able to handle it?”

Yusuke chuckles. “Never fear. We will be successful.” Little does this man know that I only need to escort Morgana. It is he who will be doing the hard work.

“Alright then,” Iwai replies. “Then take it and get moving.” The older man sits back in his chair, a faint scowl on his face, though Yusuke is sure he has done nothing to warrant such cold disapproval.

Perhaps I should say something to alleviate his ill will towards me.

Yusuke studies Iwai the same way he examines models for his craft. After taking in the man’s face, an idea springs to Yusuke’s mind. “You know,” he says. “My new friend Sakamoto has been teaching me all about the wonders of various nutritional foods.”

Iwai stares back at him. “I’m going to hate wherever this is going.”

“For instance,” Yusuke continues, undeterred. “He explained that vegetables are excellent for the complexion. Perhaps you should-”

“Get the hell out,” Iwai snaps.

“Right away,” Yusuke replies, turns on his heel, and exits ‘Untouchable’ with the package under one arm and Morgana scaling the other.

“You probably shouldn’t antagonize that guy,” Morgana says, once he’s settled on Yusuke’s shoulder.

“That was not my intention,” Yusuke counters. “I merely noticed the horrid condition of his skin and-”

“Look,” Morgana says. “Let’s focus, okay? We got the card skimmer. We’ve got Ohya’s camera. Let’s get to Natsuki Storage. It’s going to be a long day.”

Yusuke mentally runs through his outlined activities for the day. “You are quite right,” he admits, increasing his pace towards the Shibuya train station.

#

Makoto sits and stares at the pages before her.

From what feels very far away, a voice says, "...should handle the permissions required for the newspaper club."

Another voice. "Doesn't the newspaper club have, like, one member?"

"Club's a club. We need to honor their requests as best we can, and..."

Makoto lifts her phone off the table and peeks at the time. "Alright," she says, putting as much benevolent authority into her voice as she can. "I think we've covered enough ground for today. Let's wrap it up."

The rest of her administration falls silent and steals glances at one another. Her Treasurer is brave enough to speak first. "Um, Niijima-san, are you sure? It's kind of early."

Makoto smiles at him. "True, but we've all been working hard. It won't hurt to postpone these discussions until our next meeting."

Her Secretary, his pencil tapping away against the desk, asks, "This isn't a trick, is it?"

Makoto blinks. "A trick?"

"Yeah, you're not going to have us leave and then chew us out for leaving early, are you?"

Makoto's smile suddenly feels very grating. "Would I do a thing like that?"

Silence.

She lays her hands atop one another and pretends she's smothering each of them with a pillow. "This is not a trick. We've all been working very hard. Let's take a break. You're all excused for the day."

There is a single beat of nothing, where even the air seems to hang still, and then they begin to pack. They shove their books into their bags with abandon. A few continue to glance Makoto’s way, anticipating danger.

Is this really the impression I give off? She wonders, and cannot decide if this makes her sad. Then, they stand and file out of the room as fast as decorum allows, one by one.

And then Makoto is alone.

And then there is a knock on the door.

And a pause.

And then another knock.

Makoto stands, makes her way to the door, and knocks on it twice.

Another pause.

Then, from outside, knock.

She opens the door and finds Haru beaming at her. "All set?" The girl asks.

"Of course," Makoto replies.

She steps aside, and Haru shuffles in and drops her book bag on the table. "Shall we begin?"

Makoto grins, and opens her own bag.

In a short time, the two transform the student council room into the headquarters for 'Operation Destroy Akira Kurusu or Something Less Drastic.'

They ornament the marker board with surveillance photos, taken with Makoto’s smartphone and printed at home, detailing the suspected Phantom Thieves engaged in various activities, such as standing in the school, standing outside the school, and sitting in a diner. Over the top of the board, Makoto has written, 'The Cat is the Key.'

A map of Tokyo, dotted with notations, covers the table. Locations like LeBlanc, Shujin, Untouchable, and Shibuya Underground are marked in red.

A large file labeled 'Supplementary Material' is sprawled open and contains two piles, one consisting of notes and turns of phrases Makoto remembers Akira using in the past. The other is composed of doodles Haru put together of Makoto and Akira holding hands.

"Where did we leave off last time?" Makoto asks.

"We were discussing Mona-chan's possible role in... I think you called it, 'information conveyance,'" Haru replies, sitting at the table as though she were in class.

"Right," Makoto says, and turns back to the board. "I think there must be some small camera attached to his collar. Maybe it's linked to Akira's phone?"

Haru frowns. "I guess that's an option. But it doesn't explain how he can get Mona-chan to do things, like pull fire alarms. I still say it's because he's-"

"Please don't say it," Makoto begs.

Haru ignores her. "Magic."

Makoto sighs. "Haru, we've been over this. There's no way the cat is magic."

Haru rolls her eyes. "How do the Phantom Thieves change hearts, then? You spoke to Daisuke. All he got was the Calling Card. What if the Phantom Thieves are magic? Then their cat could be magic too."

"Akira isn't magic. And I'm still not entirely convinced they can 'steal hearts.'"

"He-" Haru starts.

"Don't say it!" Makoto blurts.

"-stole yours, didn't he?" Haru's smile is enormous, and she throws her head back, giggling.

Makoto feels her cheeks redden. "You know, that gets less funny every time you say it."

Haru shakes her head. "No, it doesn't. It really doesn't."

Her jocularity is infectious, and Makoto can't help but smile and fantasize about certain things for a moment before she returns to business. "Well, anyway, it was good thinking. Getting Akira to agree to give you Morgana for a day. That'll give us time to examine him."

Haru frowns at that. "You're not going to run tests on him, are you? I love Mona-chan. I don't want to see him hurt."

Makoto shakes her head. "Of course not. I just want to check his collar. His fur. There's got to be some evidence, some explanation for how that cat does the things it does."

"Magic," Haru whispers, and when Makoto glares at her, she says, "Have you thought about what you're going to say to Akira?"

Makoto drops into a chair with a heavy sigh. "Honestly? I keep running through these scenarios, but I know it won't go how I want it to." She smiles at her friend. "I'm terrified it's going to blow up in my face. Like it already did."

Haru nods. "I'll ask Akira for Mona-chan the next time I see him at work. Then, we'll get to the bottom of all this."

"You're right. I guess I'm-"

Makoto is interrupted by a muffled buzz from Haru’s bag. Haru smiles and pulls out her phone. When she looks at it, her eyes go wide.

"Oh," Haru says. "Oh."

"Something wrong?" Makoto asks.

"I need to, um, go. I'd forgotten I had a previous appointment."

"I see. Something for your father's company?"

Haru's nod is quick and sharp. "Something like that." She stands, lifts her bag, and brushes a few stray hairs from her face. "I'm sorry, Mako-chan. Could we talk about this later? I have to get going."

"Of course," Makoto tells her. "We can't take another step forward until we've got Morgana, after all."

"R-right. You're absolutely right," Haru says as she speeds towards the door. She opens it, smiles at Makoto again, and quickly blurts out, "Thanks! Bye!" Then, she shuts it.

Makoto stares up at the board. She can't shake a bad feeling in her gut. Her eyes drift down to the desk and spy Haru's notebook on the table. Oh, she forgot that.

She snatches it up and stands. Haru had only left a few seconds ago. Makoto should still be able to catch her. Besides, Makoto barely has enough room in her bag for all her schoolwork and her share of the investigation material.

Makoto exits their headquarters into the hall, locking the door after her. It wouldn't do for another student to walk in and discover all the evidence. Not seeing Haru, Makoto quickly makes her way to the stairwell and descends to the first floor. It's getting late, and students are either involved in club activities or gone for the day, so Makoto passes few in the halls.

She doesn't find Haru until she steps out of Shujin's front entrance and looks down the steps leading to the school.

Haru is in the street just outside the gates. She stands next to a limousine. An older man, perhaps in his twenties, has his hand wrapped around one of her wrists. He wears an expensive white suit and a sneer.

Makoto does not think. She barrels down the steps, a snarl of her own sketching itself across her face, and a strange feeling in her chest, like an engine revving. She utters something close to, "Get off her," but isn't quite, and then, her hand wraps around the man's arm, and shoves.

The man yells, "Ah! What the-" at the same time Haru gasps, "Mako-chan?"

Then, there is a great flurry of limbs, and the man ends up with his back against the limousine, groaning and rubbing his arm through his suit. Makoto's hands are up, and Haru's are on her arm. The girl is begging her, "Makoto, stop!"

The man straightens and glares at them both. "Who is this, Haru?"

The venom in his voice takes Makoto aback, but she holds her ground. "I don't know who you are, but you'd better get out of here before I call the police."

Then, he tilts back his head and laughs. "The police? Go ahead! I'll have you arrested for assault."

"Assault?" Makoto asks, and puts as much swagger into her voice as she can. "I don't think so. I saw you hurting my friend, and I-"

"I don't remember hurting her. We were having a nice chat, weren't we, Haru?" There is silence after that. "Weren't we, Haru?" He repeats.

"Y-yes," Haru replies. For the first time, Makoto becomes aware of the pleading tone in her friend's voice. "Please, Mako-chan. Please, stop."

Makoto doesn't want to take her eyes off him, but she can't help but turn to meet Haru’s gaze. "What is going on? Who is this?"

The man makes a show of dusting off his suit. "She's never mentioned me, huh? Some friend."

Haru can only look at Makoto's eyes for a few moments, and then she averts them. "Please, Mako-chan. I'm fine, alright? Please, stop."

"No," Makoto says. "What's going on?"

"I'm bored," the man says. "Haru, get in the car. I'm not asking again. And you," he says, and points at Makoto. "I'd better not see you again. Challenge me like that, and I'll have the police on your ass so quick, you'll be behind bars before you can even blink."

"Haru," Makoto says, ignoring him. "Who is this?"

"He's-" Haru begins. "He's... I'll call you later!" And then Haru steps away from her and into the limousine. The man gives Makoto one last, disgusting smile before following her inside. The door shuts.

The car drives away.

Makoto stands there, watching it go.

#

The court smells like sweat and wood. It's stuffy. Too many bodies packed too tightly.

Sae can feel a flush throughout her body. Relax, she thinks. Just do your job. There's nothing about this case that makes it different from any other.

But, of course, that isn't true.

She tries to keep her eyes on the paperwork laid out before her. Tries to keep her back rigid, her posture pristine, seated as she is, at the Prosecutor's table. She fails.

Her eyes inch up, bit by bit until she spies the defendant slumped in the too-small chair she's convinced is designed to make the accused as uncomfortable as possible.

As if he can sense her gaze, Suguru Kamoshida lifts his eyes, dull and exhausted, and looks at her.

For a short time, they stare at each other.

Then, Sae begins to think about this thing touching her sister. Then, she thinks about herself, standing, picking up a pen, and stalking across the courtroom floor and over to him, where she jabs it into his neck again and again.

Sae thinks about herself, strangling him with the dumb fucking tie he wore to make himself look something close to presentable.

She thinks about herself, sneaking into his cell, tying him down, dousing him in lighter fluid, and striking a match.

She thinks about herself, breaking every bone in his perverted body.

She thinks about herself.

Kamoshida looks away.

Three judges enter. Sae stands. Kamoshida stands. Everyone stands.

The motions begin, but before they can proceed for long, Kamoshida's defense attorney spits out, "Your Honors, we move to have this entire case dismissed."

The judges, all older men with graying hair, all wearing serious and thin glasses, make muffled, hmmph noises and glance at one another.

Sae keeps a smile off her face.

The judge on the left clears his throat. "We are under the impression that your client has confessed to his crimes. On what grounds would you propose we dismiss these charges?"

The attorney, skin slick with sweat, smiles in a way that almost looks genuine. "Because said confession was coerced and must therefore be considered inadmissible."

Sae stands. "The defendant confessed to the sexual and physical assault of minors. Moreover, he did so in front of the entire student body and faculty at Shujin Academy. You consider that inadmissible?" She knows where this is going, but she wants him to say it.

"Before his confession, Kamoshida-sensei received a specific threat in the form of-"

"Your Honors," Sae cuts in. "May we approach?"

The three judges look at one another, and then the center one raises his hands and beckons them forward. The defense attorney shuffles his way over. Sae strides. "The defense," she begins, before anyone can talk, "in no doubt about to cite the well-known 'Calling Card' from the group known as the 'Phantom Thieves.' I'm sure the defense will claim that this group somehow managed to force Suguru Kamoshida into a confession, and while that's a fascinating theory, I would like to point out that no one has figured out how. And, of course, ample testimony is collected from the students at Shujin Academy themselves."

The defense attorney shakes his head. "The testimonies of those students have yet to be corroborated. Suguru Kamoshida is a celebrated Olympian, a representative of our very country. If this trial proceeds, I intend to show…"

Sae tunes out. Is he serious? Would this little weasel go through all this trouble to take a stand for, of all people, Suguru Kamoshida? Think. She has too many important things going on to waste any more of her time on this bastard. I need to convince these judges to go ahead and convict already. How?

The defense attorney is still prattling on when she figures it out. She interrupts the man. "There is something else to consider, Your Honors."

The rightmost judge cocks a brow at her. "Oh?"

"You're aware, I'm sure, that this is a high-profile case. One that many people are following very closely." She locks eyes with the centermost judge. She knows him. Knows he's as ambitious as everyone else in this profession. "This is the kind of case that can draw national attention to all parties involved. The defendant. The prosecution. The judges." She allows a small smile to tug at the corner of her lips.

"What?" The defense attorney asks.

Sae ignores him. "I would also like to point out that, at this moment, the public's perception of Suguru Kamoshida is negative. In the eyes of the people of Japan, he's a rapist. A monster."

The attorney shakes his head. "Just a moment, you-"

"To dismiss this case on the grounds of an 'ill-gotten confession' would likely cause mass discontent throughout the country. If a monster like Kamoshida can walk under our justice system, how capable is our justice system? Do you want to be the judges that put this notion in their minds, Your Honors?"

"Wh-what?" The attorney's mouth hangs agape. "Sirs! Your Honors, this is-"

"Well put, Niijima-san," the center judge replies. He glances over at the attorney. "We will proceed with the trial. I hope, for your sake, you have something else up your sleeve." The other two judges nod. The defense attorney pales.

As she returns to her respective position, Sae knows she's wearing a shark's grin, but she can't help it.

I win.

The remainder of the trial is quick. Kamoshida himself readmits to his guilt, as Sae figured he would, despite his attorney's insistence that he remain silent. The judges nod as if this were all rote and declare their sentence. Life.

When Sae leaves the courthouse, she finds Akechi standing at the base of the building's steps. "Well?" He asks, beaming. "How did it go?"

"Acceptably," Sae replies, but she knows she dresses the word up in an amused tone.

"Niijima-san!" Comes a voice from behind. She turns and finds the defense attorney, red-faced, glaring daggers at her. He charges down the steps and gets halfway to her when he begins to say, "What was that, Niijima-san? You and I both know that-"

"That," Sae spits, cutting him off. "Was how you win. You should try it sometime."

She turns and walks away.

“Bravo,” Akechi tells her as they head down the street. “I believe that is what the people of my generation call a burn.”

“Are you done?” Sae asks, but there’s no bite behind it. That rush is back. The pounding in her chest. Sae knows she should be elated because that sick bastard got what he deserved, but she knows she’d feel no different if someone else had been on trial.

She’d won.

It might’ve seemed brutal, unethical even, playing the judges like that, but it was elegant in its way.

The feeling sparkles within her. It lights up her brain so that everything and anything seems possible.

It dances behind Sae’s eyes, and briefly, she can live with it all. Live with the dead parents. With the dependent sister. With the male-dominated arena she enters day in and day out. Because today, she won. And she’ll win again, and again, and again because winning is what she does.

The feeling races through her like lightning.

And then it starts to fade.

Sae walks down the street, towards her office, with the same stoic demeanor she forces all day. But she feels it leaving, leaking out of her somehow and leaving her.

And then it is gone. And Sae feels like she always feels.

Just have to win again.

“Akechi,” Sae barks.

The boy blinks at the sudden harshness of her tone. “Yes?”

“Did you look into that thing I mentioned before?”

Akechi nods. “I did.”

“And?”

“Well, Yukio Kan had many political opponents. It’ll take some time to sift through them and find who might’ve posed a real, physical threat to him.” He clears his throat. “And forgive me, but I also followed up with the corpse. The coroner stressed that the man died of a heart attack, just as reported. So I see no reason to suspect a…,” and here Akechi pauses and glances behind them, “mental shutdown.”

“Keep looking,” Sae says. “There’s something there. I’m sure of it.”

“Very well,” Akechi replies. “By the way, I ran into that boy from the other day.”

Sae stops in her tracks. “What ‘boy?’”

“The one you yelled at while at Sakura-san’s place. You know. Akira Kurusu.”

Sae’s eyes narrow. “And just what were you doing with him?”

“Nothing,” Akechi insists. “I happened to be in the area of the LeBlanc café, so I stopped by. Kurusu was there. We spoke. We played Go. I won. That’s all.”

Sae whirls around on Akechi. “What random circumstance brought you to the vicinity of LeBlanc?”

“I was following up on a case,” Akechi replies, raising his hands. “And I recalled I enjoyed the coffee there. So I dropped by. There was nothing sinister about it, Sae-san.”

“Did he happen to mention Makoto?” Sae asks.

“A few times,” Akechi admits. “But only in the past tense. I got the impression that he was not seeing her. If I may say so, there was a bit of a melancholic vibe to his entire persona.”

“I see,” Sae whispers. “Well, good then.”

“You really are adamant about him not seeing your sister?” Akechi asks.

Sae glares at him, but the boy merely meets her gaze. “He’s a criminal, Akechi. He has no business being with Makoto.”

“Even if Makoto were to wish to be with him?”

Sae scoffs. “Makoto’s a child. She doesn’t know what she wants. The whole idea is absurd. It was a short flight of fancy if she intended to go out with him. A fantasy, nothing more.”

“Some fantasy,” Akechi says.

Sae steels her gaze, and this time, Akechi does flinch. “That’s enough. I will not tolerate any more discussion of Akira Kurusu. Clear?”

“Certainly,” Akechi replies. “Though I hope you understand that as I am not a blood relation, you don’t have much say over who I do and do not spend time with?”

Sae shrugs. “Do what you will, Akechi. I don’t care, so long as Kurusu stays away from my sister.”

The two continue down the street.

#

Madarame gestures to the piece. "And with this, you see the juxtaposition of nature and mankind's encroachment upon it."

The people nod and make hushed noises of appreciation.

Madarame smiles, basking in their acceptance. The piece is nothing but a bunch of swirls, but in his experience, the more vague something is, the more specific a 'meaning' you can attach to it.

He turns and moves along the wall towards the next painting in his exhibit, and this day's gaggle of sycophants follow, squawking and gesturing and letting him know through all their many ways how much they love and appreciate him.

This continues for a time. It is much the same as the time before it. And the time before that. And the time before that.

When Madarame is alone at night, away from his girlfriends and students and dealings, when he sits in his hotel rooms or First Class airline seats, a faint little thought tends to wiggle its way into his brain.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

This is all so boring.

There's no challenge to it. And Madarame is so famous no one dares critique his 'work.'

He spends the remainder of the day walking these people around his exhibit, spouting all the nonsense they love to lap up.

Then, he leaves via the back exit. It is a hot day, and the air hangs heavy in the small alleyway. He steps through it towards the spot where his limo awaits.

"Sensei?" Comes a soft voice.

His adrenaline spikes. He feels his blood race through his veins.

Very slowly, Madarame turns around and comes face to face with Yusuke Kitagawa.

The boy stares at him, a strange mix of longing, fear, and anger in his eyes. He wears the same clothes he'd worn the last time Madarame had seen him, on Sunday. It occurs to Madarame that he has no idea where Yusuke has been. He's been so busy.

"Y-Yusuke," Madarame starts, but the boy cuts him off.

"Sensei, please!" Yusuke stammers and closes the distance between the two of them. "I have no place to stay. I have nothing to do. I can't take this anymore."

"Yusuke," Madarame says, taking a step back. "That's close enough." This isn't the first time a disgruntled former apprentice has tried to accost him. He knows what to say, what to do. Feign the surprise. Feign ignorance.

"Please, please tell them it was all a lie. Please, let me come home."

"You know I can't do that," Madarame says, picking up his pace.

"But why?" He demands. "I don't understand. Why did you do this to me? Why did you throw me out? Why did you lie?"

Madarame shakes his head. "I've no idea what you're talking about, my boy. But I think it would be best if you kept your distance."

"Answer me!" Yusuke pleads, his voice high and pathetic. "Please, answer me. Why did you do all this? Why do you do all this?" And then, he asks, "Why do you have a storage unit in my mother's name?"

Madarame stops. "What did you just say?" He asks. His mind spins. How does he know that? Does he know what's inside? HOW DOES HE KNOW THAT?

"Sensei, please," Yusuke says, and lunges. He grabs Madarame's robes by the collar and moans, "Why do you have a unit in her name, Sensei?"

“Get off of me," Madarame shouts and shoves the frail boy away. He spins and sprints down the alley's length toward the limo. I need to get there. I need to check. If they know what's inside. If anyone knows what's inside, it's all over!

He does not spare another glance for Yusuke. If he had, he might've seen the boy take his cell phone from his pocket and start to type.

#

Akira waits outside Shibuya station, staring at his phone.

It vibrates.

It's a text from Yusuke.

YUSUKE: I find myself quite hungry. Might I trouble you for some LeBlanc curry?

Akira smiles as he reads the message.

He puts his phone away, pulls out his burner, and dials a number.

"Go," he says, when it's answered.

#

Madarame taps his foot against the limo's floor as it crawls through Tokyo.

"Hurry up," he shouts at the driver, more than once.

The skyscrapers slowly recede as they enter Tokyo Bay, with its warehouses and the faint aroma of the ocean.

"Come on, come on," he whispers as they turn towards Natsuki Storage.

He's racked his brain the entire trip. How could Yusuke have learned about the unit in his mother's name? And what did it mean that he had? Upon reflection, Yusuke hadn't made any mention of what was actually inside the unit. Did that mean he hadn't seen inside? Would he have even had the opportunity to see inside? Security at Natsuki Storage was supposed to be tight, given the clientele.

Evidently, it's not that tight.

When they pull up outside, Madarame leaps from the car and narrowly avoids stepping on a black cat that hisses up at him. He considers kicking it for the briefest moment but realizes he doesn't have the time and continues on and into the building.

"I need entrance to my unit," he says, to the shady-looking young man who sits at the desk. "Now."

"Easy there," the kid replies. "Let's keep things civil."

"Enough of this," Madarame blurts. "Buzz me in."

The kid, nonchalantly and without taking his eyes from Madarame, takes a deep breath and sighs. "Let's see some ID."

"I came through here a few weeks ago!" Madarame shouts.

The kid shrugs. "Lots of people come through here. I'm not so great with faces. My mother says it was because my dad dropped me on my head too many times. Course, she blames him for everything, and-"

"Fuck!" Madarame shouts, fumbling around in his robes before he pulls out his ID card and hands it over. "Here!"

The kid picks it up, looks at it, and then slowly draws a binder from beneath the desk. He flips through it, painstaking page by painstaking page. "Ah. Here we go. For the Chisako Kitagawa unit, yeah?"

"Yes, yes, that's mine," Madarame growls. "Now please, buzz me in!"

The kid sets his ID on the counter and slowly slides it over to him. Then, he reaches beneath the desk, and Madarame hears a faint and familiar BUZZ ring through the room.

Madarame flies past the desk and shoves open the door, before barreling his way down the hall to his unit. He blunders through his robes once more and pulls out his card. He comes to a halt before his unit and slides the card through the reader. It feels sticky, but he doesn't have time to think about it before he punches in his numerical code.

He hears the door unlock with a vibrant click, and it swings open. He switches on the light, and takes it all in.

He inhales.

He exhales.

He inhales.

He exhales.

"Oh, thank god," he whispers.

It's all still there. Madarame knows the count like the back of his hand.

But he still doesn't know how Yusuke knew about the unit.

He slams the door shut and heads back towards the entrance.

"I need to see my file," he demands, once he's back.

"Huh?" The kid asks.

"My file. The one your lot had me sign when I first took out this unit. I need to see it."

"Why?" The kid asks. "You're all paid up."

"I need to make sure it's safe."

The kid rolls his eyes and says, "Fine." When he stands, Madarame is convinced it is the slowest anyone has ever stood in the history of standing.

Madarame follows him, hands shaking, into the room marked 'Records' and waits while the kid slides open one of the filing cabinets.

"Let's see... Chisako Kitagawa, Chisako Kitagawa," the kid replies.

Then, silence save for the shifting of paper.

And more silence.

And more silence.

"Well?" Madarame demands.

The kid frowns. "Where the hell is... oh." He straightens, a folder in hand. "Here it is."

Madarame snatches and opens it. All the paperwork is there, and nothing's missing.

He lets out a sigh of relief. Everything is where it's supposed to be.

So how did Yusuke find out?

"Someone knows about my unit here," Madarame says.

The kid shrugs. "Wasn't from us. We've got a strict, 'No Talking' policy."

"Well, someone told my former apprentice about it."

The kid blinks. "Well, why don't you ask him where he found out about it?"

Madarame's eyes narrow. "I may do just that."

He shoves the folder back into the hands of the kid and takes his leave of Natsuki Storage, his head lost in his thoughts.

If he'd been paying more attention, he might've noticed the black cat from earlier, poised and ready to climb the facility's fence.

#

Makoto stares at her phone.

MAKOTO: Haru, please! Call me!

Makoto has sent a variation of this message several times in the last few hours. Haru has yet to reply. Makoto’s heart hammers in her chest. Was Haru okay? Who was that man? Was he a relative? Someone else?

Makoto doesn’t know, and it is killing her.

She stands up, leaves her phone on the kitchen island, and begins to pace. Her eyes never leave her phone. “Come on, come on,” she whispers.

When the door opens, and Sae walks in, Makoto rushes to her side and begins babbling before she can think better. “Sis! I’m so glad you’re home. I need your help! My friend is in trouble, and I don’t know what to do.”

Sae regards Makoto with tired eyes, the eyes Makoto has seen her carry many times before, and she knows better than to push during these times, but she can’t help it. Sae grumbles out a small, “Can I put my bag down, at least?” She slides past Makoto and deeper into the apartment. She sets her purse on the couch and slides down next to it with a heavy sigh.

Makoto walks up to her, hands clasped in front of her, regarding her sister. “Um, Sis?”

“Kamoshida’s trial was today,” Sae says. “He’ll be going away for a long time.”

“Oh,” Makoto says, blinking. It wasn’t as if she had forgotten, but Akira and Haru had preoccupied Makoto. “That’s good. That’s great.”

Sae nods, opens her eyes, and stares at the ceiling. “Makoto,” she mutters, and Makoto has to step back. Because when her sister speaks, it isn’t the abrasive Sae, or the unstoppable Sae, or the rarest of all Sae’s, the one that listens to her. “I’m drained. Can we talk about whatever you need to discuss, tomorrow?”

Makoto wants to nod. She wants to say, “Sure,” and pretend it’s not a big deal. But then she remembers the man in the white suit, with his hand around her friend’s waist, and she just can’t. “I’m sorry, but I really need your help.”

Sae sighs again, but his one is long and frustrated. “What, then? Is that idiot Principal giving you a hard time again? I told him to back off.”

“N-no,” Makoto says. “I haven’t heard from Principal Kobayakowa for a while now. I’m talking about my friend, remember? She needs help, and I don’t know what to do.”

“What friend?” Sae asks, the words harsh and sharp.

“Haru Okumura,” Makoto says, meekly.

Sae finally turns her gaze to Makoto. “I don’t remember you ever mentioning a Haru Okumura.”

“We…we’ve been hanging out lately.” She can’t bring up Akira Kurusu now. “She’s my friend, and this afternoon I saw her with some man, and-”

“Her boyfriend?”

“No! It couldn’t be. He had his hand on her waist and was yelling, and I went up to them and shoved him and-”

“You what?” Sae demands, and shoots up, until she towers over Makoto as she used to when they were little kids. Only, when they were young Makoto had always felt safe in her sister’s shadow. Now she feels the unmistakable tang in the air of threat. “You attacked someone?”

“He was assaulting-”

“Makoto,” Sae spits. “How could you be so stupid?”

Makoto feels a sharp sting pierce her. She feels the sinking feeling of dread when Akira shouted at her that day. She feels the inky wrongness she’d felt when she had lied to Haru. She feels all these things and so much more, so much worse, because Sae glares at her, and in that terrible moment, Makoto is entirely sure that her sister hates her.

Makoto cannot reply, and just makes little choking sounds instead.

“Do you think I have time for this?” Sae demands. “Do you think I have the time to clean up another of your messes?”

“He… he was-”

“How old was he?”

“I don’t know,” Makoto blurts. “In his twenties, maybe?”

“An adult. Perfect. What was his name?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out.”

“I’m trying. I keep texting and calling Haru and-”

“Well, keep texting and calling. I need to know his name.”

“Sis, please, calm down.”

“Calm down,” Sae says, and shakes her head. “Calm down. That’s so easy for you, isn’t it, Makoto?” She bites off a small chuckle. “Must be so great, to hang out with your friends. Haru Okumura. Akira Kurusu. Oh yes,” Sae says, when Makoto’s eyes widen. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about him.”

“Sis, I-”

Sae lifts her fingers until they’re in front of Makoto’s face, and she makes a space between her thumb and index finger. “You’re this close to getting into a good school. I got you that letter of recommendation back. Your grades are acceptable-”

“Acceptable?” Makoto asks. “I’m at the top of my class.”

“Like I said,” Sae snaps. “Acceptable. And yet you still can’t wrap your head around this, can you? I got your moronic Principal to back off and get you that letter of recommendation. I put that sick bastard Kamoshida behind bars for the rest of his life. I let you stay with me in this apartment that I pay for. I put you through school. I do all this for you, and to thank me, you assault some random man on the street?”

Makoto wants to explain. She wants to scream right back at Sae. She wants to grab her sister by the shoulders and shake her until she shuts the fuck up and listens to her. But she doesn’t. She can’t.

Because Makoto is afraid. There’s malice in her sister’s eyes. An intensity she’s never seen before. It burns into her own gaze, smothers her, drowns her.

Sae snatches her purse off the couch and marches toward her room. “Find the name, and get it to me as soon as possible. I’ll fix this for you too.”

Her bedroom door slams shut, and Makoto is left staring at the space Sae had just occupied.

Sae had always been the person Makoto could rely upon, a solid presence in her otherwise lonely life. But now? Something has shifted between the Niijima sisters. Makoto can feel it, and in the sudden quiet of the apartment, she feels very alone.

I need help.

And then, Makoto hears the vibration on the kitchen island. It’s her phone. Makoto drags herself over to it and checks the message.

HARU: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

#

Ohya scrolls through each picture slowly.

She sits in her apartment, hot and silent, the only illumination the scalding blue light from her desktop.

When Ohya reaches the end, she returns to the beginning and goes through them again.

She lets out a long whistle and whispers into the darkness, “Not sure how you did it, Akira. But you did it.”

#

The door built into the Palace’s façade slides open, and the Phantom Thieves suppress a cheer, then brace themselves for assault. None comes.

Mona dashes inside and pokes his head out a moment later. “Looks clear. There’s a big conveyor belt that leads higher into the building. It looks like we can ride that to the main part of the Palace.”

“Way to go,” Panther shouts, and steps forward to lift Mona into a tight hug. The cat makes the face of one whose dream has just come true.

“You too, bro,” Skull says and slaps Fox on the back. “You killed it today.”

Fox smiles, but it’s small.

Joker slides the skimmer out from the card reader. “You okay, Fox?” He asks.

“I am,” Fox replies. “It’s just…”

“You’re wondering about what we saw inside Madarame’s unit.”

Fox nods. “Indeed. I know we’ve more important things to focus on right now, but I must admit, I’m fairly disturbed by what it contained.”

Skull throws an arm over Fox’s shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, dude. Once we get Madarame’s Treasure, we’ll make him confess everything.”

Joker nods. “Skull’s right. We’ll get Madarame to tell us the truth. I promise.”

Fox’s smile grows more genuine. “I’ve no doubt. Thank you, my friends.”

“Alright,” Panther shouts, tossing Mona into the air. “Let’s get moving, Phantom Thieves! We’ve got a Treasure to steal!”

“R-right,” Mona states, righting himself. “Let’s secure our infiltration route!”

The Thieves run through the open doors.

The walls belch body parts. A crisscross of a half dozen conveyor belts jumbles itself within the center of the room. Each is punctuated at the concrete wall by a hole beyond which lies blackness. Joker knows the walls are too thin for these to lead anywhere but outside, but no glimpse of distorted Tokyo presents itself within the darkness. Out of the holes, pump the pieces of a body. From one, a head of a young man Akira recognizes as one of Madarame’s apprentices. From another, the young man’s torso appears. From others, legs, and from even more, those distorted art supplies – pencils, paintbrushes, ballpoints – that represent the arms. Each piece almost imperceptibly bounces its way down its conveyor belt until they enter the mass of tangles within the center. There, mechanical arms that begin nowhere grab each piece and snap them together. A whiiiirrr noise and the ‘boy’ is complete.

The finalized product is shunted onto a massive conveyor towards where the ceiling should be. Instead, it vanishes into a new kind of darkness Joker knows leads it toward the main Factory. Somehow, despite being all one large contraption, the belt’s speed increases the closer it gets to the darkness, and the constructed child vanishes in the blink of an eye.

“Okay, I know we were expecting something like this,” Panther says. “But yikes.”

“Dude,” Skull says, turning to Fox. “Your Sensei is one effed-up guy in the head, man.”

Fox’s mask conceals most of his expression from the rest of the team, but Joker spots his mouth curled into a thin, white line. “Yes, well,” he starts, pauses, then begins again, “shall we go?”

Mona stares at the conveyor belt that extends into the darkness. “We’ve got to ride that, right? Into the main Factory? Sure there’s no… I don’t know, fire pit or something at the end?”

“Fire pit?” Joker asks, staring at Mona.

Mona shrugs. “I said I don’t know!”

“There’s no fire pit.”

“How do you know?”

“Why would there be a fire pit?”

“Why-”

“Dudes, let’s just go,” Skull complains. “If there’s a fire pit, we’ll jump off or something. C’mon.”

There is no fire pit.

The floor dwindles as the Thieves ascend amid the new constructions of Madarame’s apprentice. The speed increases, and Joker shuts his eyes against the sudden gale, crouching down to brace himself. Someone pats him on his leg, and he looks to find Skull yelling something, but whatever his words are, they get sucked away by the wind the moment they leave his mouth. Darkness soon settles around them, and the floor disappears entirely, yet the Phantom Thieves rumble along this rollercoaster ride with no seats, bracers, and safety harnesses.

Joker squeezes his eyes shut once more, more comfortable with that familiar darkness than the one that now envelopes him. The only hint he receives of the ride’s ending is an almost imperceptible change. Against his eyelids, a small fraction of light makes its way, and Joker opens his eyes to see a small light getting closer and more considerable.

He turns to his team and nudges those closest to him with his feet. Then, one by one, the group notices the light and brace themselves to enter the main Factory area. The light grows until it appears about to explode, and as the conveyor belt ends, the Phantom Thieves leap.

Joker descends from a dizzying height and spreads his arms out. Beneath him, the constructed apprentice drops like a comet to smack into the Factory’s floor, where it rises and shambles away. Joker directs himself towards the nearest conveyor belt and slams into it, rolling among the half-completed artwork. He hears a series of thunk-thunk-thunks as the rest of his team entangle themselves on other belts, with Skull ending his with a “Son of a-” groan.

Joker hauls himself to his feet, noticing Fox and Mona in his immediate vicinity. Panther has landed a short distance away and spins around before she notices them above her. Skull has managed to land the highest and gives a small smile and waves from above.

Shadows pack the floor below, but if any have heard their infiltration, they give no sign.

The Thieves run along the conveyor belts for a few moments, trying to locate the quickest route to rendezvous. When they do, they all take a moment to congratulate themselves on a successful – if not graceful – entry.

“Alright, Mona,” Joker says, turning to the cat. “Point the way to the Treasure.”

Mona lifts a paw and points towards the ceiling, where several catwalks extend towards several doors. “Let’s start climbing.”

“This shit is making me dizzy,” Skull mutters, but falls in as they begin to climb.

The route to Madarame’s Treasure Room is surprisingly straightforward, in stark contrast to the actual infiltration of the Palace and the labyrinthian layout of Kamoshida’s Castle. Once the Phantom Thieves have accessed the catwalk, it is a short trek through a handful of underpowered Shadows until they reach what appears to be an open-sky lounge area.

“Corporate Headquarters?” Fox reads on the otherwise unadorned door. “Fitting.”

“I was expecting more,” Panther says, steering clear of the tacky furniture to approach the glowing orb of the unmanifested Treasure.

“I don’t think we can count on the exfiltration being as easy,” Mona points out. “Remember last time? Once we send the Calling Card, they’ll beef up security. Plus, we didn’t find any Safe Rooms below. So we’ve got to straight-shoot our way back in here.”

Joker shrugs. “If we take the same route as before, we should be fine.” He looks over at Fox, who has left the door behind, and is glancing at all the accouterments in Madarame’s office. “Are you alright, Fox?”

“Yes,” Fox replies. “Just a bit disgusted.”

Joker smiles. “I may have an idea that might cheer you up.” He spreads his arms wide. “This didn’t take too long. What say we make a detour before we head back to the real world?”

#

Mona rumbles along the boulevard, away from Madarame’s Factory. The Phantom Thieves are shoved up against one another inside, with Joker behind the wheel.

Their exit from the Palace had been a bit more complicated, as they’d needed to fight their way out the front door, as exiting via the other location’s conveyor belts hadn’t been available. The fights had been more strenuous, but given they were trying to leave, not fighting to get further within, and the Shadows had been defending the interior, it had been a simple matter to pretend to retreat and move out the door.

Once outside, Mona had transformed into his bus form, and the Thieves had piled in.

Panther crosses her arms and huffs. "Mona," she snaps at the bus that surrounds them. "Do you know anything about where we’re going?"

"Hehehe," the bus replies. "Maybe."

Fox leans over and whispers to Panther. "Do you suppose he intends to kill us and leave our bodies in the Metaverse? It would be the perfect crime."

"What?" Panther blurts. "No!"

Joker chuckles. "I can hear you, you know. You're sitting right behind me. And no, I'm not going to kill anyone. We're just about there."

They pull up alongside a building, and Skull says, "Hey, we've been here before, right?"

Joker parks Mona, and the Thieves slide out. "This," Fox says, staring at the two-story structure. "This is the art gallery. The one where Madarame's exhibit is taking place."

Mona bursts into a puff of smoke and resumes his regular form, a giant smile on his face. "That's right!"

"What're we doing here?" Fox asks, turning to Joker.

Joker strides forward and pats Fox on the shoulder as he passes him. "Follow me." He leads them to the front door, unlocked but heavy, and when he shoves it open, the resulting clang echoes out into the street.

They enter the main room and look around. It is absent of people but full of art.

"This is kind of creepy," Panther whispers.

Joker watches as Fox makes his way to a single piece hanging on one of the walls. It is a painting of a forest dotted with red paint. Fox stops before it and stares.

Joker steps up alongside him. "I got the idea when you took off the first time we brought you here." He spreads his hands wide. "This whole version of Tokyo is Madarame's cognition. The Palace is distorted, but the rest of it seemed pretty normal. It got me thinking."

Fox says nothing.

"I figured if everything outside the Palace was more or less the same, then maybe the art gallery would be the same as in the real world. And maybe it would still have all the artwork inside it."

Beneath his mask, Fox's lip quivers.

"Soon, Madarame's going to confess to his crimes," Joker continues. "He’ll tell everyone how he's been plagiarizing his apprentices for years, how all of this art is stolen. After that, who knows what will happen to it in the real world? The police may take it as evidence and lock it away somewhere. Or maybe the gallery owner will toss them out. I've got no idea.

"But, if you want, we can take your painting out of here. It's not the piece you painted, but it still is, right?" Joker gestures towards the work. "This is your painting, Fox. You did this. It doesn't deserve to sit in some evidence locker or a dumpster. Look around. No one's here. We could take it, walk right out of here, and exit to the real world with it intact. No one would stop us. No one would know. You'd get to keep it."

Fox nods. "And when the Palace collapses-"

"When the Palace collapses, all of this goes away. Everything we just drove past. This building. Every building. All the work." He smiles at his friend. "So, let's take back your work, Fox!"

Skull laughs. "Hell yeah! That'll stick it to that Madarame bastard!"

Fox dips his head, reaches out a hand, and rests it on Joker's shoulder. "Thank you, my friend. Words cannot express what this means to me."

And then Fox draws his sword, steps up to the piece, and in one smooth cut, slashes the canvas in half.

No one moves for some seconds.

Then, Fox releases a heavy sigh and sheathes his blade.

Joker blinks. "Okay, so I kind of thought you were going to react differently."

Fox looks at the ruins of his piece. "It is as you said, Joker. This is not the piece I painted. It is merely Madarame's cognitive representation of my work. And even if it were the true piece, I do not want it, however much it means to me. I created it under false pretenses. Its purity is lost." He shakes his head. "No. From now on, the work I create will spring from my mind, uncorrupted, my fingers, my soul, to serve no ends but the expression of the artistic, be that ugly or beautiful."

Skull frowns. "Wait, so you're still planning on being a painter?"

Fox whirls on him, aghast. "But, of course! Did I ever give you the impression otherwise?"

Skull shrugs. "I dunno. I guess I just figured the whole 'Madarame turned out to be a dick' thing would've turned you off to it."

"Never," Fox replies, his head snapping from side to side. "Art is in my blood. My bones." He lifts his hands skyward. "The muse rides within me, and I am but an instrument to its will. To shake off the mantle of artist would be to sever my very limbs from my form!"

Skull frowns. "Alright dude, my bad."

Fox turns back to Joker. "Thank you very much for bringing me here, Joker. As thanks, I will paint you something."

"Oh, no," Joker replies. "That's really not necessary."

"I insist! It will be a piece of such magnitude as to stagger your very mind."

Joker sighs. "Okay, cool. Thanks, Fox."

Fox smiles, satisfied, and turns to regard the rest of the gallery's art. "Now then, we must see to the rest."

"Eh?" Joker asks.

"See to the rest?" Mona asks. "What'd you mean?"

“While I am prepared to move on from the work I created under Sensei, I would not presume to speak for his other apprentices. We should abscond with the rest of these paintings to the real world, so that we might return them to their rightful creators.” Fox looks down at the cat. “Mona, I believe there is ample room in your trunk for the lot.”

Mona’s eyes bulge.

Joker clears his throat. “The thing is, I thought we were only going to take the one painting. If we take the other twenty, I don’t know what we will do with them. It’s going to look pretty weird if we walk down the street with that many paintings between the four of us.”

Skull shrugs. “Can’t we hide them in our uniforms?”

Panther’s jaw drops. “Hide them in our uniforms? Are you serious? They’re paintings.”

“Moving one wouldn’t be a big deal,” Joker says. “But this many. It’s a lot, Fox.”

Fox flings his arms wide, as if to protect the gallery. “But we must find a way! The other apprentices deserve the same choice you gave me!”

This is what I get, Joker thinks. This is what I get for doing something thoughtful. Joker pushes his mask up and rubs his eyes with his fingers. “Okay. Without raising suspicion, we need to figure out a way to transport twenty stolen paintings from the middle of Tokyo to LeBlanc’s attic. Any ideas?”

Skull coughs and raises his hand. “I’ve got an idea.”

“We’re not hiding them in our uniforms, Skull,” Panther snaps.

“It’s not that,” Skull replies. He runs his eyes over the paintings. “Yeah, they look small enough. I think they’ll fit.” He glances at Mona. “If they fit inside you, they’ll fit inside hers’.”

The other Thieves share a look. “Hers’?” Joker asks.

#

“It is so nice to finally meet all of you,” Ryuji’s mom says, behind the wheel. “Ryu-kun talks about you all so much. He absolutely gushes.”

Ryuji groans from the passenger seat. “C’mon Mom, you’re embarrassing me.”

The thin, bespectacled woman, dark hair cropped short, snorts and waves her hands at him. “Oh, huh. You know you do.”

Ann’s grin is wide and sinister. “What exactly does Ryu-kun say about us, Miss Sakamoto?”

Ryuji spins around and glares at the blonde girl. “Don’t answer her, Mom.”

“Oh, he talks about how you’re all the best and so interesting. Especially you, Akira-kun.”

Akira smiles from where he sits in the middle row of the van. “Me? Interesting?”

Ryuji turns around and faces the front, but Akira can see the red in his cheeks under the streetlights as they drive.

“Mmmhmmm,” his mother says. “He told me you motivated him to start running around. I swear, that was something I never thought I’d see Ryu-kun do again. It was a delight when he asked me for money for new running shoes.”

“Shouldn’t you be focused on driving or something?” Ryuji grumbles.

His mother chuckles, and is silent for a few moments. “So, if I may ask, what exactly are all these paintings for?”

From where he sits, scrunched up next to Akira, Yusuke stiffens. “Ah, they are for an art project. Your son and our other friends were assisting me in their creation.”

“We, um, helped carry all the painting supplies and stuff,” Ann says. “Yusuke needed a lot of paint.”

“I can see that,” Ryuji’s mother replies. “It looks like quite an assignment. How many paintings are there in total?”

“Eighteen,” Akira says. “He’s been working on this for a while.”

“Yes,” Yusuke says. “We were lugging them from the pick-up sit back to my Sensei’s atelier when our previous ride fell through. Your availability was most fortuitous.”

“Anything for Ryu-kun and his friends,” she says, and pats the van's wheel. “It’s a good thing I had this baby. It’s been with me for a good five years, and would you believe it, aside from the regular maintenance costs, has never let me down.”

She begins to go into a detailed history of the van’s life story, and Akira settles back in his chair. Morgana rolls over in his lap and stares up at him. “This is lame,” the cat whispers.

Akira holds a finger up to his lips.

“Seriously,” Morgana continues. “We’re supposed to be notorious thieves, and our getaway car is Ryuji’s Mom’s van?”

“At this point,” Akira whispers back. “I’m not going to complain.” He glances at the collection of paintings stacked neatly into the van’s ample trunk space. “I’m just happy they all fit.”

Akira feels an elbow bump into him. Ann, sitting alongside him, whispers, “Hey?”

Akira frowns. “Yeah?”

Ann doesn’t meet his eyes. “That was a nice thing you did. For Yusuke, I mean.”

Akira nods, and steals a glance over at the boy. For whatever reason, Yusuke appears enraptured with Ryuji’s mom’s story about the van. “Thanks,” he replies to Ann.

Akira turns to her then and looks at her for what feels like the first time in a while. There are circles under her eyes, deep, even covered with liner or whatever she uses. “Do you think,” Ann begins, “that we could, like, talk when this whole thing with Madarame is over?”

Before Akira can stop, he says, “What do you want to talk about?”

She winces a bit. “You know what.”

Akira keeps his words behind his teeth for some time, and when he feels ready, he replies, “Yeah.”

Most of the ride passes in silence until Akira’s phone vibrates. He removes it from his pocket and stares at the message, carefully hiding the screen from everyone.

MAKOTO: I need your help!

#

Akira and Yusuke exit the train station and turn towards Shujin. “Stick to the alley across the street,” Akira tells him. “No one should see you there. Keep an eye on things and text me if there’s anything weird going on.”

Yusuke yawns. “I understand. Though, I hope this will not take long. I am eager to work on the Calling Cards, and it is already late.”

“I know,” Akira says. “I appreciate you coming with me.”

“Not at all,” Yusuke insists and falls silent.

Akira had elected not to tell Ann and Ryuji about Makoto’s text. Firstly, he did not want to hear Ann’s response, and secondly, everyone needed to get plenty of rest before the Palace’s final infiltration.

If that’s what you need to tell yourself, his father whispers.

Akira hadn’t asked for more elaboration, fearing what Makoto might commit to text, and had instead sent instructions to meet him outside Shujin Academy later that night.

Once Ryuji’s mother had dropped them off at LeBlanc, Yusuke and Akira had unloaded all the paintings, taken Morgana, and set out for the Yongen-jaya’s train station.

“I still don’t see why we’re risking this,” Morgana mutters from Akira’s backpack.

“She wouldn’t text me if it wasn’t important,” Akira replies. “I need to know what this is about.”

It wasn’t as if he could keep it hidden from Yusuke or Morgana. He couldn’t leave LeBlanc this close to the infiltration without them asking about what he was doing. If Akira was honest with himself, he couldn’t imagine what Makoto would want at this point.

One of the dozen scenarios that had rapidly fired through his imagination had been a love confession, but Akira was not about to let himself get his hopes up.

Maybe she’s going to bust me.

With what evidence? Joker wonders.

The group nears Shujin, and Akira motions for Yusuke to slink into the alley. Within a few moments, Yusuke is hidden. Only then does Akira turn towards Shujin’s front gates and finds Makoto sitting on the steps, looking very lonely.

Something inside him hitches at that image. “Makoto?” He asks.

Her head darts up. “Akira!” She shoots to her feet, takes a few steps toward him, and then stops. “I, um, thank you.” She clears her throat and straightens. “Thank you for coming.”

“Yeah,” Akira replies, and glances around. He doesn’t see anyone lurking, and he can’t make out any faces hiding within the darkened windows of the school. “Did you come alone?”

“Yes.”

Akira starts to clear his throat, realizes Makoto just did, and tries to stop the aborted little sound that escapes his lips. “Right, well, you should be careful. It can be dangerous out here at night.”

“I can handle myself,” Makoto says.

“I know,” Akira says, thinking of the punch she’d delivered to his face. He walks over to the railing and climbs a few steps until he’s on even footing with Makoto. “What did you need help with?”

“I think something is happening with Haru,” Makoto says.

Something freezes within Akira. “What’re you talking about?”

Makoto begins to describe her experience with the man in the white suit. Akira listens and goes someplace else in his mind as his blood begins to boil.

Haru is my friend.

Haru is Makoto’s friend, a voice corrects.

Haru is my friend.

“I don’t know who to go to,” Makoto continues. “I tried to talk to Sae, but she just got mad that I shoved the guy. I don’t know who he is. I don’t even know where Haru is. You’re the only one I can ask for something like this.” At this, Makoto’s voice hitches. “I… that is, I think I need your help. All your help. Of the Phantom Thieves.”

Akira feels his hackles rise.

This could all be a ploy to get you to admit to being with the Phantom Thieves.

Don’t say anything. You should leave. Right now.

You can’t say something here and play dumb later. Morgana’s in your bag and Yusuke is across the street.

“This again?” Akira asks. “Makoto, I’ve told you before, I have no idea what you’re-”

“Okay, fine!” Makoto shouts, throwing her hands into the air. “You don’t know what I’m talking about. You have no idea. You’re definitely not a Phantom Thief! Well, you know what, Akira? I think you’re full of shit! I think you are a Phantom Thief, all your friends are Phantom Thieves, and I don’t think you’re all that good at being secretive.” Akira opens his mouth, but Makoto shouts, “Shut up! And I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry about all this stupid stuff! I’m sorry about the Principal even though I tried to talk to you right afterward, and I’m sorry about my sister being such an obnoxious jerk, and I’m sorry for all of it, okay Akira?” Makoto does not look like she’s about to cry, but her face contorts to look as if she’s about to look like she’s about to cry. “And I promise I’ll leave you alone and stop talking to you, looking at you, or doing anything regarding you, okay? You never have to see me again after this or talk to me, but just please help!”

Under the sound of Makoto’s heavy breathing, Akira can make out the soft noise of Morgana whispering, “Sounds like she’s almost making a Request.”

Akira is silent for several long moments.

“Okay,” Akira says.

“Huh?” Makoto asks.

“I’ll help you. Haru’s my friend too.”

Makoto’s exhalation is the longest one Akira’s ever seen. “Thank you.”

“I’m not admitting to anything about these Phantom Thieves,” Akira says carefully. “So I can’t promise anything about their help. But you and I can do something about this.” He takes a few steps closer to Haru. “First, are you sure she’s gone missing? Like, really missing, and she just hasn’t had time to get back to you?”

Makoto swallows. “Well, no. She did send me a text earlier.” She takes out her phone and shows Akira the message. “But she hasn’t responded since.”

“Before we make any moves or conclude anything, I think we should try contacting Haru directly. Face to face. She must have a side of the story.” Akira works his jaw, mulling this over. “You keep trying to get her via the phone. I can try and get in touch with her through Rafflesia. If I get Hanasaki-san to reach out to her, maybe she’ll answer.”

Makoto nods. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Who knows?” Akira asks. “She might be in school tomorrow. Maybe she’ll clear things up then.”

“Right,” Makoto says, and chuckles. “I almost forgot tomorrow’s a school day.”

“You? Forget about school?” Akira asks. “That’s not very Student Council President-y of you.”

Makoto sighs. “Oh, shut up, Akira. I’m worried about my friend.”

“Hey,” he says, and almost reaches out for her hand, but settles on gently brushing her shoulder with his fingertips. She doesn’t flinch but glances up into his eyes. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

“I know. You’re right.” She glances at the stairs. “I guess we should start heading home.”

I’ve still got more work to do tonight, Akira thinks. “Yeah. Let’s.”

They descend the stairs and turn toward the train station—Akira’s mind whirls.

Haru’s my friend. We’ll help find her, and if anyone’s hurt her, they will pay.

Weren’t we just lecturing Ryuji about the whole ‘no more connections to Shujin’ thing? Haru is a direct connection to Shujin Academy. How many fucking neon arrows are you going to set up and point at the school?

Just because we’ve done things one way so far doesn’t mean we don’t have to do things a different way. There’s no reason we have to send the Calling Card the same way.

The Calling Card is the Calling Card. If we do send one, it has to be-

But what if we didn’t? What if we did it differently?

Akira thinks, and Makoto halts. “Akira,” she whispers.

Akira stops and turns to face her. “What’s wrong?”

Makoto puts her finger to her lips and makes a shushing sound. She takes a step back, then another, toward the alley.

“Oh crap,” Akira says. “Hold on, Makoto, it’s not-”

Too late, as Makoto darts around the corner and shouts, “Hi-ya!” to which the reply is a distinct yelp. Makoto then drags Yusuke out of the alley and into the faint light of the street lamps.

Makoto grips Yusuke by the shirt collar and shakes him. “Who are you?” She demands.

Akira, remembering what happened the last time someone shook Yusuke, darts forward. “Be gentle with him!”

“Spare me!” Yusuke cries. “I’ve too much inspiration to die!”

“Why were you spying on us?” Makoto demands.

“Makoto,” Akira calls. “Stop!”

Makoto stares at him. “Do you know this boy?”

“Yes,” Akira says, placing his hands gently on Makoto’s and softly prying them off Yusuke’s shirt. “This is my friend. We were together when you texted. He tagged along.”

Makoto takes her hands from Akira and stares at Yusuke. “A ‘friend,’ huh? The same kind of friend as Takamaki and Sakamoto?”

“I am acquainted with them, yes,” Yusuke replies, straightening his shirt and dusting himself off. “But beyond that, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What am I talking about?” Makoto asks. “I haven’t said anything.”

“Ah, well,” Yusuke says, then falls silent.

“Look,” Akira says, into the sudden quiet. “He was with me, and I didn’t want to freak you out, so I asked him to hang back until we finished our meeting. So that’s it, okay?”

“Sure,” Makoto says. “Right.” She takes a few steps away from Yusuke. “What’s your name?”

“Yusuke Kitagawa,” Yusuke replies before Akira can intervene.

“Makoto Niijima,” Makoto says and offers a light bow. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you.”

“We should get going,” Akira says, and turns toward the train station. “I’ll message you about Haru tomorrow, okay?”

Makoto nods, and the three teenagers renew their march for the last train out of Aoyoma-Itchome.