5/30

Ryuji stretches his arms up until they pop, and settles his hands behind his head with a satisfied yawn. "This," he states, a lazy grin on his face, his eyes shut, "is more like it."

Ann's face lacks Ryuji’s enthusiasm. "I thought you wanted to celebrate?"

He slides one eye open. "We are celebratin'."

"At Big Bang Burger? Last time we went to a fancy hotel."

"Uh, yeah, and remember how well that turned out?" His voice hitches on the last few syllables.

Two blonde heads turn nervous looks towards Akira, who keeps his face buried in the menu, pretending not to have heard. "Sure are a lot of options," he mutters.

From where he sits - curled and hidden in Akira's lap - Morgana extends a paw and pats a picture of a mass of meat. "I want that."

"You're not going to eat the whole thing."

"Yes, I will."

"I think this burger is bigger than you. It's actually impossible."

Morgana bristles. "You should have some faith. I can do it."

Ryuji, satisfied he has not offended his friend, turns back to Ann. "Besides, this place is more our style. It's filled with the people the Phantom Thieves are fighting for."

She swats his shoulder and hisses, "Keep your voice down."

Ryuji makes a show of rubbing his arm. "Ow, relax. Look around. No one's listening." His eyes roll over the clientele. "And I'm not wrong. Remember how those rich assholes treated us? But here we are. No one's giving us dirty looks. No one's questioning our right to be here."

Akira can't help himself. "It is a fast food joint, Ryuji."

Yusuke glances up from his own menu. "I've been meaning to ask, what about this food makes it 'fast?'"

Ann rests her cheek on her fist. "They make it in a hurry, so people can eat it in a hurry."

Yusuke purses his lips. "Curious they would not wish to savor it."

The waitress arrives. She carries a tray stacked with glasses filled with water. Once she's set them, everyone places their orders, and Akira acquiesces to Morgana's request for a 'Behemoth Burger.'

As the waitress heads to the kitchen, Ryuji lifts his water and holds it aloft.

"Here's to," and his voice drops to a whisper, "taking down Madarame."

Ann takes up hers'. "Here's to Kamoshida getting what he deserves."

Yusuke smiles and follows suit. "Here's to the expression of the artist, and the baring of one's soul."

Akira grins. "Here's to the weird stuff Yusuke says." They clink their glasses.

A soft vibration sounds from Yusuke's pocket. He pulls out his phone, and his eyes widen. "Excuse me for a moment, friends." He stands and scoots away.

Ryuji watches him walk away. "You don't think that's Madarame, do you?"

Ann bites her lip. "Geez, I never considered he might actually call Yusuke. You don't think he'll say anything, do you?"

Akira shakes his head. Ann might not have considered it, but Akira had warned Yusuke of the possibility. He'd been clear. Yusuke could express shock, anger, heartbreak, whatever he wanted. But he could give away nothing that linked him to the change of heart. Nothing that linked him to the Phantom Thieves.

"He's weird," Akira says. "But he's not stupid. He won't say anything."

Morgana bobs his head. "Akira's right. Besides, you know how Yusuke is. If he does get upset, he'll just paint or something."

Yusuke returns shortly, eyes glazed, phone hanging from a limp hand. "You okay, bro?" Ryuji asks, as the boy slides back into his seat.

A smile breaks his face. "That was Kosei. The Principal. My expulsion has been revoked. Madarame called him and confessed to everything." A short, choked laugh escapes his lips. "I can even keep my scholarship, and I can stay in the dorms."

"That's great," Ann says, and everyone goes about agreeing.

Yusuke dips his head forward. "I knew it would work. The change of heart, I mean. But to have this confirmation and be free of this burden?" He wipes his face on his sleeve. "Thank you, my friends, for helping me."

Ryuji reaches out and pats him on the shoulder. "Wasn't nothin' man. We'd do it again in a second."

"That's right," Morgana replies. "You're one of us, remember?"

Yusuke nods. "Thank you. A thousand times!" He lifts a hand into the air, signaling the waitress.

She arrives and asks, "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Madam," Yusuke proclaims. "My buoyancy knows no bounds today! I would like to buy everyone in this establishment a burger."

“Wait, what?" Akira asks.

Ryuji's jaw drops. "What're you doing?"

Yusuke sweeps his gaze over them. "This is cause for celebration. Further celebration. Burgers, I say." He stands and throws his arms wide. "Burgers for everyone."

Morgana mumbles to Akira, "I hope you've got enough in your wallet."

Akira sighs, but keeps his smile. "Me too."

#

Yusuke drags his feet down Central, one hand on Ryuji's shoulder. His face is pale. His moan is perpetual but barely audible above the clamor of the crowd.

Ryuji rolls his eyes. "C'mon, dude. I told you not to eat the whole thing. A Deluxe Bacon and Bleu Cheese is way too much for you to handle now."

Ann waits ahead of them, hands on her hips. "Then you shouldn't have let him order it."

Ryuji glares back. "I didn't hear you protesting. He's a big boy. He can order what he wants." He calls back to Akira, "How's Mona?"

Akira stares at the cat, who staggers his way down the sidewalk, breath coming in ragged gasps. "I think he's regretting not listening to me," he replies. He lowers the carryout bag to Morgana's eye level and shakes it. "Keep up. We've got to get this back to LeBlanc's fridge."

"So... filling," Morgana whispers.

"So... tasty," Yusuke mutters.

Akira shakes his head. "I told you it was too big."

Morgana bumps into his leg. "Just need to... center myself."

"Center yourself?" Akira asks, and Morgana nods, then groans at the movement. "Right, okay." He kneels down, scoops the cat up - who makes a pained, belching sound - and sets him on his shoulder. "We're never going to get back at this rate."

"F-fine," the cat mumbles. "Just don't move too fast."

Yesterday, we fought a giant spider and lived. Today, we've been reduced by oversized burgers.

The gang stumbles into Shibuya proper and hurl themselves into the shuffle. They're about to enter the station's entrance when Ryuji, who turns to glance back at the others, stops.

"Uh, guys," he says, and points.

They turn. Across from Shibuya Station sits a skyscraper whose facade features numerous screens typically reserved for important broadcasts and music videos.

The gray face of Madarame peers down at them.

That he is so huge is unsettling. His eyes are wide and misty, and he sits behind a table lined with microphones.

"My name is Ichiryusai Madarame." His voice booms between buildings. "I have achieved fame as an artist, not just in Japan, but worldwide. I am here today to confess that this fame is built on a lie."

Shibuya draws a collective breath, and Akira looks to find many with their eyes glued to the screens.

Morgana's claws tighten on his shoulders.

"I have lied to the public. I have cheated my students and covered up terrible deeds." His eyes fall toward the tabletop, and his mouth sputters soundless for a few moments. "None of the work for which I am known, not a single piece, is my own. I stole every painting I claim as my own from my students. My most famous piece, the Sayuri, was painted by a woman who was once very dear to me." His face scrunches up. "She died. An event I failed to stop and to which I may have contributed. I then tarnished her memory by stealing her work." He lets out a long breath and leans forward, as if the words are knives slicing his insides. When his head lifts, tears run from his eyes. "I'm sorry. To everyone I hurt. I'm sorry for every lie I ever told. I'm going to take responsibility. I will provide an accounting of all those I've stolen from, so that I might repair some of the lives I've ruined. I will confess everything to the proper authorities. Even if it takes the remainder of my miserable life, I will make things right." He opens his mouth as if to say more but only sobs. "I'm sorry," he mutters. "I'm sorry."

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The camera switches off.

Akira turns to Yusuke, who watches the black screen. His lip quivers. "Hey," Akira says, and walks up to him. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Y-yeah," Ann tells him. She rests a hand on the boy's shoulder, and gently pulls him towards the station. His eyes narrow and cloud. "It's okay," Ann says. "It's okay, Yusuke. We've got you.

#

The news tears across the city. It slithers into online forums and plasters itself across every computer, smartphone, and tablet screen.

Soon, it is not a thing people are talking about. It is the thing people are talking about. Within minutes of Madarame's confession, all of Tokyo knows. And they speak it, loud whereas before they only suggested it in whispers between confidants. They say it in many different ways, but it all means the same thing.

"The Phantom Thieves are real."

#

Madarame stares at the minor imperfections in the table's wood. He runs his fingers over them, feeling the bumps with non-calloused hands. This is nice, he thinks. To focus on something small. Unimportant. He wonders if this is how so many other people feel, frequently. It has been so long since he's really looked at anything and been taken by it.

"Madarame-san." His attorney's voice is near manic. "I have to urge you, again, to reconsider this."

Prison, Madarame thinks. I'll have plenty of time to study the walls. He smiles at the thought, though he cannot say why. This must be what it feels like, to be empty.

It is not unpleasant.

"I've made up my mind." His words are quiet but firm. He can still feel the trails the tears mapped across his face. "My funds, all of them, will be dispersed to my apprentices. My properties will be sold. My assets, liquidated. I know this is a lengthy process, so I would like you to begin at once. I want these Trusts established before the end of June."

His attorney frowns and sighs. "I will see to it, then. But-" and he gestures to the waiting police officer, who stands in the corner, patient, face blank. "There's a better way to do this. A cleaner way."

Madarame shakes his head and pushes himself away from the table. They are in a Green Room for the studio that hosted his confession. Madarame had called the police himself and requested they bring him in. Perhaps out of respect for his position, they insisted on holding off until his affairs were in order.

"Perhaps, but this is the right way. I deserve incarceration after everything I've done." He stands. "I'm ready, officer."

The policeman nods, and approaches. Madarame turns his back, and presents his hands.

The click of the steel along his wrists feels oddly satisfying. "Well then, let's be off," he says.

The officer sets a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Right this way, sir."

His attorney trails them as they exit. A number of station personnel line the hall, craning their necks to look at him.

This is for the best, he reminds himself. The students will get what they deserve.

When they step out of the studio, a crowd descends on them. Cameras from unaffiliated stations zoom into his face. Reporters shove microphones toward his mouth. Spectators and ill-wishers line the sidewalk. The latter shout curses and incriminations.

This all washes over him like so much water.

He glances up at the sky. It is a clear day—a sunny, blue-skied afternoon.

It is beautiful.

Well, Chisako, he thinks. It took a very long time, but I finally did the right thing.

Madarame remembers her smile, the eagerness with which she worked, and the love she bore for her art and her son. He remembers the long hours the two of them would spend in conversation, on the phone or at his studio, discussing art for art's sake. He'd been old even then, but those nights had returned to him a life he thought had passed him.

He knows he doesn't deserve forgiveness, but he can't help but recall the same traits in Yusuke. The same love of art. The same, oftentimes bizarre, eccentricities.

He grins at the blue above him. Who knew? Maybe one day, when all this was in the distant past, and things had been made right, he could sit with Yusuke and just talk.

That would be nice.

Someone stabs him in the stomach.

Madarame looks down at the knife in his gut, and traces his eyes back up the arm and into the red face of a young man. "Remember me?" The man screams.

The man yanks the knife out and slams it home once more. "Remember me?"

Again.

"REMEMBER ME?"

Madarame does. Even as the intense rushing sensation spreads through his body and his vision darkens, he can recall the boy's face.

Daiki Aoe.

The knife stabs him again, and again, and again, and people are screaming. He hears a shout that must be from the police officer who became obstructed due to the crowd, and Madarame can't understand why any of this is happening. Still, he sees something at the corner of Daiki Aoe's mouth, and he somehow manages to focus on it, and it has to be drool, but it can't be drool because it's black.

Then, he falls. His back hits the ground, landing on his still-cuffed arms. A part of his brain that still fires sees the officer seize the young man, and someone crouches next to him and shouts, but Madarame can't tell what's being said.

Daiki Aoe. He remembers this boy. Remembers the work he'd done for him. Remembers kicking him out, just like all the others.

Daiki Aoe.

He'd been such a good boy.

And then Madarame hears and sees nothing else.

#

Makoto sits on her couch and listens as the news anchor continues, “… quickly seized the assailant and placed him into custody. Ichiryusai Madarame, having received multiple stab wounds to his torse, was rushed to Tokyo General hospital, where he was pronounced dead upon arrival. This coming only two hours after his televised appearance, in which he admitted to multiple counts of plagiarism and potential murder. This has led some to speculate that-”

“Makoto.”

She jumps off the couch and turns to find Sae in the doorway, stern-faced.

“Oh, hi.” Makoto snatches the remote off the cushion and mutes the television. “Did you hear? That painter, Madarame, the one from the Phantom Thieves’ Calling Card? He confessed, and they just said he was stabbed to death in the street outside his studio. Isn’t that-”

“I need the name.” Sae’s voice is soft, but it smothers Makoto’s words.

“The name?”

Sae steps forward, and drops her bag onto the couch. “Yes, Makoto. The name. Of the man.”

“Oh.” Makoto looks down at her hands, swallows, and chooses her following words carefully. “I have his name, Sae. But I don’t think you need it.”

“And how’s that?”

Makoto winces at her sister’s tone. “Haru convinced him not to do anything about the incident.”

“Well, thankfully, the restraint of strangers has always been something you can rely upon. The name, Makoto.”

It tumbles out despite herself. “Rin Sugimura.”

Sae’s eyes widen a fraction. “Sugimura? As in the Sugimura’s?” Makoto doesn’t reply. “Figures. I’ll deal with this.”

Makoto steps around the couch. “Please. Please don’t. I know I messed up, but if you do anything, it’ll get Haru in trouble and-”

Sae’s scowl is something special. “I don’t care about this Haru, Makoto. Her future is not my priority.”

“But I-”

“Enough,” Sae snaps. Then, quieter. “Enough, Makoto.” She raises her hands and whispers. “I don’t want to hear about this again, understand?”

Makoto wants to say more and beg her sister for help ending Haru’s engagement. But once more, the look on Sae’s face is enough to still her tongue. Makoto only nods, and Sae nods in response, then moves out of the room and down the hall.

Makoto feels very ashamed.

#

Akechi steps off the elevator, his hand behind his back.

When he reaches his destination, he slides inside the office and walks up to the receptionist, a young woman who keeps her eyes on her computer’s screen. Her fingers dart over the keyboard, and her mouth is drawn thin in concentration.

Akechi clears his throat and reveals what’s behind his back with a flourish. He holds it out to her.

Her eyes flash to him, and widen. “Akechi-kun!” She cries. Then, she sees what he holds. “Oh, you are too much!” She laughs as she takes the bouquet into her arms.

Akechi lowers his head and says, “Mori-chan, I’m afraid I’ll never be enough for you.”

Mori sighs and rolls her eyes. “You are such a charmer. Honestly, I can’t even with you sometimes.”

He gives her his best smile. “How have you been?”

She waves the question away. “Oh, you know. Changing the country.”

“So, busy?”

“Too busy.”

“And no time for a love life? What a shame.”

Her grin morphs into a smirk. “Keep dreaming, young man. Maybe once we’ve won, I’ll have a night to myself.” She sets the flowers on her desk and plants her hands on her hips. “But, what about you? Any interesting cases?”

Akechi thinks of Madarame, bleeding out on the sidewalk.

“Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid.”

She nods. “That’s too bad.” She holds up an index finger and recites, “One derives their happiness from the full application and direction of their talents toward a just and worthwhile goal.”

Akechi’s grin twitches. He shuts his eyes. “I can’t place that one. It sounds like something he said to the NPA.” Before she can answer, he asks, “Speaking of which, is he in?”

“He is.” Mori jerks her head to indicate the double doors behind her desk. “There are a few advisors in there, but you can go in. He’s expecting you.”

“Then, I regret I must leave you, my lady,” Akechi replies, and gives an exaggerated bow.

Mori giggles. “Alright, alright. Enough of that. I’ve got to get back to work.”

Akechi smiles, moves past her, opens the doors, and steps through.

Some heads turn his way. A few men sit on the plush office couches, and a few stand behind them along the walls.

Masayoshi Shido reclines at his desk, a look of calm reflection on his face. “And I’m telling you, gentlemen, the New Dawn movement no longer poses a threat.”

A squirrely-looking man speaks up from the couch. “But sir, just because Yukio Kan is dead doesn’t mean his group is. There have been rumors that-”

Shido cuts him off. “Those rumors are being spread on my orders, Shan-san. The truth is that the remaining members of New Dawn have already aligned with us.”

Akechi watches the heads swivel around. They oink at one another like pigs. A few look like they would prefer to say something else. Akechi notes their faces.

“But now, I’ve got another appointment. If you will excuse us?” Shido remains sitting, and waits as the men file out. Akechi watches them leave. A number of them stop alongside Mori’s desk, anxious to get their requisite flirting in. Akechi shuts the door behind them.

“What’d you make of the talking heads today, Goro?” Shido asks.

Akechi sits across from him. “I was hardly here long enough to form an opinion.”

Shido smiles and peers at him through those tinted glasses. “We both know that’s not true.”

“I think they would’ve appreciated being made aware of your plans to acquire the New Dawn.”

“They’ll get over it. Besides, if any of them had brains, they would’ve realized what I was doing.”

Akechi doesn’t reply. Together, the two sit in silence.

Shido is the one who breaks it. “I heard about the Painter.”

Akechi rests a gloved hand on the desk and drums his fingers across it. “Yes… about that. I feel I must apologize.” He has to drag the words from his gut.

Shido’s brows rise. “Apologize? Why?”

“It was sloppy. By the time the Gangster’s request reached me, the Painter’s Palace had already collapsed. So I had to improvise.”

“I saw.”

“Had I been faster, I could’ve been more surgical.”

Shido nods, and a look drifts over his face that Akechi has come to associate with long, twisting thoughts. “The boy that did the deed. Where’d you find him?”

“Do you want his name?” Akechi asks.

Shido shakes his head.

“I try to plan for contingencies. We’ve kept tabs on the Painter’s former apprentice. A good number of them have a presence in the Metaverse. This one happened to be a drug addict. Unstable.”

Shido spreads his arms in an exaggerated shrug. “So, an addict takes revenge on his former, unscrupulous Sensei. The Painter’s secrets die with him, including whatever connections he may have had to various parties. I’d call that impressive improvisation.”

“Still, the former apprentice may-”

“You just said he was a drug addict. People will believe this because that is the story they’ve been told. It won’t matter what story he tells afterward. If it makes you feel better, keep an eye on him. Take measures to ensure this doesn’t go sideways. Still, you did well.”

Akechi brushes a lock of hair from his face and allows himself a smile. “Thank you.”

“Now then, what about these Phantom Thieves?” Shido asks. “Are they a threat?”

“If they can access the Metaverse in the same manner as I, then yes, they pose a threat.”

“Are you closing in on them?” Shido asks. Akechi nods. “Good. I don’t like what I don’t know, Goro.”

Akechi nods. “It’s my top priority.”

Shido lets out a small laugh. “You have a lot of those.”

Akechi shrugs. “No more than necessary.”

Shido stands and moves around the desk until he stands beside Akechi. Then, he reaches out a hand and rests it on Akechi’s shoulder. “I want you to know, I could never have gotten this far without you. All the work you’ve done, all the things you’ve endured. It means so much to me to know that it’s directed towards our shared goal.” Shido beams. “I’m proud of you, son.”

And Akechi smiles up at him and says, “Thanks, Dad.”