.
Kami (noun): phenomena of spirits or "psience" forces that are acknowledged in Shinto. They can be elements of the landscape, forces of nature, as well as deities and the qualities these beings embody. Some of them are considered to take inanimate objects, places and even people as their home.
The moments which define the turning points in our lives aren't always obvious. There is no red 'STOP' sign. No narrator to whisper in our ears, heeding caution of shifting fates. Nine times out of ten, there is no bell ringing when you duck under the unseen ropes. No fancy contracts scrawling cursive signatures. No blood oath with the Devil.
The soundtrack does not change - contrary to roaming corridors in a horror video game where the music starts for the monster's shadowed arrival. In reality, 'monsters' may tend to be unseen, taking abstract forms and lurking where no five-year-old boy could possibly comprehend.
So when Mina Akechi asked her son if he wanted his favourite yakisoba cup noodles, Goro could not have known. Between one anxious glance at the clock (shy of 9 PM) and the hungry rumble in his tummy, the little boy made the most bitter mistake of his life. It was nothing more than two words. Merely a small whisper into the telephone receiver.
"Yes please."
At the other end of the line, Mina's smile was filtered through the characteristic tiredness from working the afternoon shift in an Osaka brothel. Cup noodles were a rare luxury for Goro.
"OK sweetie. I might be home a little later than usual, so I can buy that from the mart. Did you remember to wash up?"
"I did. . ."
The thunderstorm outside almost drowned out Mina's goodbye and promise to be home within the hour. Goro scrunched his forehead at the thunder's clap. The dial tone hummed disconnect into his ear.
Goro went over to the window, drawing open the curtain. Rain fell on the derelict yard outside, pelting on waxy sheens of tall grass and the rusted shell of a Datsun pickup. A bed of wildflowers grew on the ute's carry-tray, fighting for territory against the unkempt weeds. These days, the landlord did not care about maintenance at this apartment block.
That melancholic summer of 2003 was warm and dark, full of lightning, wind flowers and unkept promises.
Goro slid the curtains shut and looked around the dark apartment. It was a small space of two rooms (if you agreed the narrow kitchen aisle was separate) and a bath. The 'living room' was where Mina and Goro slept - on futons bought from a garage sale.
Wanting to keep himself preoccupied from his loneliness and hunger, Goro switched on a lamplight and reached for a black box, which was essentially the entirety of all his material possessions (sans the odd-fitting clothes packed away in the trunk).
The box was not big or impressionable. Copper-alloy hinges and a broken lock clasp lined the brim. For Goro, each time he opened the box - it always felt like a new experience with his imagination or thoughts.
At the top of the contents is a shiny black rock he found outside. Mina told him it was a type of onyx. That morning his mother winked and confided conspiratorially that some people believed the crystal had protective properties for its owner. Maybe Mina did not really believe that herself but for Goro, the revelation lifted his spirits. Goro bundled the rock with religious care into his box that day.
Goro turned the crystal in his small hands, thinking about his mother and friends from preschool. He did this a lot, believing it was fair to share some of the protection magic and not keep it all to himself.
"Mum works hard every day as a detective, so you better keep her safe from the baddies, OK?" Goro said to the rock.
Mute as always, the black onyx did not correct Goro on that lie.
Other contents were; a blue feather he found at the park. A 500 yen coin his teacher allowed him to keep when no one came forward about lost money. A red collar for the cat they used to have. Crumpet died from poisoning when an herbicide crew sprayed on the yard outside. The weeds came back one month later.
Beneath the collar were two books, probably the most expensive things in the box. The thinner one was a storybook relating to fables and fairy tales. Goro had fully memorised the stories word-to-word by now. From Robin Hood to white knight rescues. While Goro liked the latter, he sometimes wondered why it was always the girls who were the ones taken along an adventure, rescued from their boring lives in rice farms by some cavalier samurai. Or when a ninja would save them from oni and corrupt dragons.
Kind of unfair, thought Goro.
Goro wanted to read a story where the boy would be rescued for once. Maybe by a cool princess who used smarts instead of katanas to fight her battles. Did such girls exist in real life? He wondered.
His tummy rumbled again, reminding Goro that he had eaten once today.
Goro lifted the thicker book from the bottom. His expression changed from contemplative to one of uncertainty. Perhaps a touch of gloom. On the title cover, it read:
NORSE MYTHS and ETHOS
Goro had difficulty understanding this one. The language was more dense, small letters in long words which went on and on for pages before an illustration came to, unlike his fairy tale book. Most of the time Goro would ask his mother or teacher to read it for him in a way he could understand.
So why did he keep this book?
Mina told him it belonged to his father. Goro sometimes wondered how it was this book of all things, his father left behind when he abandoned his mother. Was it something forgotten?
Mina admitted very little that time Goro went through his mother's things and asked what the Sharpie written name 'Shido M.' meant. The most he got out of Mina was that his parents knew each other in a school for grown-ups. Mina always got sad whenever Goro tried to ask her something about the father he never knew. Goro did not like seeing his mother sad so he did his best to contain the bursting questions in his heart. To Goro, Norse Myths and Ethos complicated meanings were as enigmatic as his dad's reasons for abandoning mum when she was pregnant.
Goro turned the pages, their flips breezing the vague smell of libraries. He stopped at a picture of Yggdrasil (trying to pronounce the strange name made Goro's naïf tongue feel like a circus contortionist), the cosmic tree which connected nine worlds. Goro turned the pages again. A picture of the World Serpent fighting Thor. Turn. More words. Words and words. So many words.
The world outside rumbled outside, vibrating the pots and pans in the kitchen. Lightning flashed. The window square illuminated through the curtains. The dark silhouette of the boy sitting on the floor was momentarily stark against the light show.
Goro stopped at a new page. He was familiar with this illustration but did not like to spend too much time looking at it.
Loki
– Völuspá hin skamma –
Goro did not like this picture. The Aesir god scared him in this drawing. Streamlets of blood trickled from Loki's cruel leer. In the trickster's snatch-like hand was a human heart being devoured.
Why would you do such a horrible thing? thought Goro.
Maybe when he was a grown-up, he'll be able to better understand the things in this book, Goro decided. Hopefully, he will be able to better understand his father too. Maybe find dad and ask him to come back to mum.
A thunderous boom issued from the storm. Goro gasped, dropping the book. A sizzling noise emitted from the electric socket; the lamplight went out.
Goro looked around in the darkness. What was going on?
A touch of fear made him swallow.
"Mum. . ." said Goro, despite knowing she was still on her way home. Goro could not help it.
"Your mother isssn't coming, boy."
Goro turned and jumped in fright, screaming. Phantasm black swirled inchoate inks of nightmare and dread. The drawing of Loki was climbing – no, clawing, his way out of the book page, that malicious grin promising chaos and pain.
Goro whimpered, scrambling back up against the wall. The back of his head thudded in a painful knock.
"You already know how thisss sstory endss, boy. You waited and waited. Until you went to your neighboursss for help. They all ssslammed their doorsss. The police only found youu because the landlord came to collect rent, but only found a ssstaaarving boy. That wasss when they told you the truth about your mother."
Goro wailed as Loki grasped at his face. All the little punches and kicks did nothing.
"Do you know what they told youu?"
Goro was crying. Those claws digging in – it hurt.
"Ansswer me, boy!"
"No. . ."
More crying. The pain increased. Loki's acrid breath was almost choking to breathe on.
"Saay it!"
"All right! They told me she committed suicide. An overdose. She was addicted to heroin. They arrested the dealer who was peddling near the mart. . ." Goro sobbed, ". . .please let me go."
Loki shook Goro's head, like he was a raggedy doll.
"They told you moorre than that. Don't try to hide who she was, Goro Akechi. Sssay it."
"They also told me. . .mum was a-a. . .a prostitute. She was never a detective. She sold herself every day, wanting to give me a normal life."
The tears were falling in full stream now. Loki released Goro.
"Yesss. Shhe gave up everything for you. Her body. Dreamss. Life. Even-" Goro shrieked when Loki held out a weak beating heart, slicked in blood and heroine's black tar, "-her heart. Now eat it."
Loki did not allow Goro a moment for denials. Loki grasped the little boy's jaw and shoved his mother's heart into screams of terror.
X
The bed-side clock smashed into springs and gears on the floor. Goro froze, catching his outstretched arm. The rolling gears blurred until all he could see was his trembling hand. Sweat sheened his bare back, rolling a cold drop down Goro's spine.
Something moved in front of the bed. Pupils shifted animalistic; bright bloodshot looking for the danger.
It was just the TV. Mute. The screen's cold light flickered the bedroom's dim hues and broken shadows – fractured echoes of Tom and Jerry.
Rationality took over.
A nightmare. How strange. I stopped having normal dreams the day the Demiurge gifted me, thought Goro.
Goro closed his eyes, allowing his panicked breathing to ease down. The detached part of him was fascinated, if not amused by the passing fear. Goro had not felt it in such a long time, the emotion was almost alien-like to him. Even when Endo fired the gun on him at the warehouse, Goro was not afraid.
Perhaps the nightmare was a way of reminding him not to get too cocky? Goro conceded. He was fine with that. Meticulous planning was his way of doing things anyway. Especially since Goro did it so many times to corrupt innocent people into clever criminals, who eluded conviction by the police until some 'ace detective' busted them.
Just like mum was. A detective by deception, Goro thought indifferently.
Goro made a face at the broken clock. He really liked that one. It was a faux-antique replicating the mechanisms of single-foliot clocks made during the Edo period.
Goro looked to the end table and saw the top drawer was partially drawn open (Was I trying to open it in my thrashing? he thought). Through the ajar gap, the alloy gleam of his S&W Model 642 revolver peaked out. Small enough to conceal carry, although Goro never saw the necessity for handguns in his daily life. After the Endo assassination, a replacement package arrived by a courier who said to Goro, "Happy Birthday from Ellison," (it wasn't his birthday). Inside the package was lipstick kissed note from Ellison saying she hoped he liked his new 3-speed butt plug. What an absurd woman.
Goro slid the drawer shut, wondering where he would have fired the revolver had he not woken up from the nightmare. The TV? Ceiling? His temple?
Goro snorted.
The time on his phone said it was a little past 9 PM. Goro checked notifications for social trivialities. Snapchats and text invitations. His schoolmates at Taikō Polytechnic had not given up on inviting Goro to extracurriculars.
It was easy for someone with Goro's background to dislike all these adolescents who lived their lives with mommy's black card for a custodian instead of a cynical social worker. Buying away all their flaws, insecurities, insufficiencies and mistakes through plastic enhancements, Lexus wheels and flown-in escorts who made more than half the salarymen in the country. Some Yamada Tarō would be stumbling to the train station from his 80-hour work week, balls busted by the corporate sledgehammer. Meanwhile, Natasha earned her 80-hours' worth pay from lying on her back and letting some belly-flopping Japanese boy plough her for 2.3 seconds so that he could brag to the school's prince detective, how some Russian dominatrix went wild the entire night to take his virginity. Pretty cool, ay Goro-kun? You should hang with us sometime. Tell us some of your detective stories, gushed some surgically enhanced pretty face, full of admiration and cosmetic designed lust.
Occasionally, it was a conscientious effort for Goro to hide his repulsion. And people wondered why Goro would not date any of the girls from his own school. Those chics were nothing compared to Hifumi.
Goro did not explicitly hate them. Truly. Between his busywork of sleuthing, studying, dating, solving crossword puzzles and murdering bitches cuz daddy hurt him, the effort needed to despise made Goro feel lazy. This led to eutrapely being the common vibe with his 'friends'. Goro decided it was beneficial his scholarship at Taikō was applied to networking as an up and coming rookie detective. Some of the students were children of parents in Shido's cabal. These were reaches where not even spiders like Ellison could retrieve intel from. Goro preferred having this wild card in his sleeve.
TNT blew up in the cartoon. The room flash strobed like the nightmare's storm. Murmurs at the edges of imaginary echoes. Loki.
Among other wild cards.
Goro found the dustpan and began collecting broken pieces of the clock. A nagging insecurity tugged at the back of his mind. The superstition that everything Goro found fondness for. . .was destined to break. Goro frowned.
You're being irrational. Things are different from before, he told himself.
As Goro swept up the last of the clockworks, a loose spring ricocheted off the broom's bristles. It bounced away, slinking between the open closet gap.
"Tch."
Goro opened the closet, picking up the spring. From the corner of the storage space, a black box caught his eye. Goro stilled. It was the same box from his nightmare, his childhood. With all the items still in it.
When social services took Goro away from that dingy apartment, that was the only thing they allowed him to keep. Goro was expelled from his first foster family when one of the guardians tried to throw away, "All this useless junk." That triggered a tantrum of tears and refusal to let go of the box, no matter the threats and slaps which came Goro's way. When they reported Goro to his custodian social worker, new phrases were added to his bio-data profile. 'Psychotic episodes'. 'Disturbed child'. Goro's favourite was how they covered their butts for the bruises. 'Prone to self-inflicting injuries during episodes'.
The new rap sheet discouraged sensible families from adopting Goro. Those that did were somewhat rough around the edges. The sort that were disturbing beneath the surface, all smiles and handshakes at the orphanage, only to have a disturbing environment waiting back at home. 'Surely this troubled boy won't care if he sees anything off with their kind?' was their rationalisation as they signed the adoption papers and more fervently, the application for government welfare cheques in compensation for looking after an orphan.
The homes and the faces changed. Goro changed too. But the box stayed with him all the time. All his mother's possessions were confiscated by the police investigation since she was a druggie and the narcotics department wanted to look busy. Later, the 2003 Hokkaidō earthquake wrecked evidence lockers, burying unspecified amounts of confiscated articles beneath rubble and ruin. Everything of sentimental value, like photo albums, were forever gone. Goro had little reprieve from this revelation as those were the years when he was struggling to survive within the foster system's hellholes.
The box and everything in it were all Goro had for the times when mum was alive. It also served as a reminder. Each time Goro looked into the box, wrath's heartbeat pulsed within him. Renewals for vengeance's ambitions. After all, who was he without the constant burn within? This hatred ingrained deep in Goro's soul. . .born out of his love and grief for his mother. If that was gone, if this fire flickered and died, it would make Mina's death feel more. . .final. And then, he would truly be alone.
But that finale was inevitable. Goro knew it deep down.
Sometimes it's so unreal to believe how quickly things went bad. For all the power I have, mum. . .I can't bring you back. After all these years, I'm still that same helpless little boy, aren't I? Thought Goro.
How will this story end? he sometimes contemplated. Will the curtains close on his father's downfall? Or Goro's corpse? Or something more sinister?
Goro gave the box a hard look, just to make sure it would remain inanimate with no jack-in-the-box monster springing out, "Haha, sike bitch!". The box remained inanimate, as usual.
Satisfied, Goro closed his closet.
X
The homicide detective's phone call came after Goro began to dig in on the chocolate decked cheesecake Hifumi bought for him ("Your fridge looks as if only boring people live here," she chided). Not feeling the hurry to go back to bed after a dream of unpleasant reminders, Goro decided to fix himself a slice. In-between bites and analytic curiosity, Goro wondered again why he had this nightmare tonight.
His mobile phone rang.
"He-llo?" Goro answered through a mouthful of the melting Neufchâtel cheese and cream.
"Akechi-san. You answered quick at this hour. I'm guessing you've heard the news already? Those gaw-damn reporters have already flooded the lobby," said Oshikawa.
"News. . .?"
Goro swiped at the tablet on the coffee table, switching the TV channel.
". . .onto our recap. Tonight, a high-profile businessman was found murdered in a gruesome scene at his office. . ." said the newscaster.
The video feed showed shaky footage pointing at police yellow tapes. A raucous crowd of news reporters hawked questions at the uniformed policemen standing sentinel in a lobby area.
Goro shrugged. 'Wasn't me,' Goro felt like telling Oshikawa. There were no kill-assignments this week from Ellison.
"Someone's been murdered," Oshikawa said gruffly.
"Not that I mind helping Oshikawa-san, but it seems this homicide only happened tonight. Have the police been confronted with a roadblock already?" asked Goro.
". . .not yet, Akechi-san but - ! Excuse me. . .Fer' Christssakes! I don't give a rat's arse if some news chopper gets a snapshot of that decapitated head! We can't disturb the crime scene yet!" Oshikawa shouted to someone in the background.
Goro raised an eyebrow. He took another bite of the cheesecake. Yum.
". . .No! I don't care if his sister is the feckin' empress of Nippon or my grandma! - ah shite! Sorry Akechi-san, it's a bloody crisis here – NO! The girl doesn't leave yet! We need her testimony!"
"Was the gentleman's girl Friday there to see her boss die?" Goro asked in a bored tone.
"Heh. I feckin' wished Akechi-san. At least that way, we wouldn't have a tickin' P.R bomb in our hands. Thank Christ her mother's not alive to rip me a new arsehole, but I gotta do this fer' the investigation," said Oshikawa.
Goro frowned.
"Who are you talking about?"
"It's not his secretary. Hideo's five-year-old lassie was present when her father was killed," said Oshikawa.
The spoon stilled in Goro's hand.
"I beg your pardon?" said Goro, his voice turned emotionless.
"Hideo Serizawa. Yeah. Him. Someone painted the biggest feckin' number on United Future Party's golden goose accountant – Oi! You there! Stop holdin' ya dick and get me an update from forensic! . ."
The tablet's screen lit up. Email notification. Message from Ellison with the subject header:
Re: We have a problem
Goro stared blankly at those words. Goro knew who Hideo Serizawa was, but that was not why he was unnerved by what Oshikawa said earlier. Twiforked thoughts considered the implications for the death of a man who architected secret cash veins into Shido's party. This made things complicated with underlings like Kaneshiro and Madarame. The other fork in his mind was mulling on this faceless, nameless daughter that struck a discomforting chord within Goro. Coincidences were rarely innocent to him.
". . .Akechi-san? Hello?"
Goro scanned Ellison's email. It stated pretty much everything Goro expected. Everyone was just receiving word of Hideo's death, this could impact election funding, Kaneshiro's men were already combing the underworld to see if this was a professional hit, etcetera. In bold letterings she highlighted: Orders from the top - Find and terminate the perpetrator(s).
As far as Goro was concerned, only two kinds of people knowingly intended to fuck with Masayoshi Shido's ambitions; A dangerous seventeen-year-old who was unparalleled in the metaverse. And idiots with a death wish.
"Is the witness still there?" Goro asked softly.
"The daughter? She is."
". . ."
Oshikawa cleared his throat – impatient.
"I'm on my way."
_YUSUKE KITAGAWA added to the group chat_
_Shiori: There we go _
_Ryuji: All right! _
_Yusuke: Oh hello _
_Shiori: Welcome to the squad chat _
_Shiori: Puns not allowed 😊🔪 _
_Yusuke: …understood O.O _
_Ryuji: Yeah, you'll get used to Comedienne's antics :L _
_Yusuke: Comedienne? _
_Shiori: 👋 _
_Ren: We assign ourselves codenames _
_Shiori: I'm 'Comedienne' _
_Ryuji: 'Skull' is mine. Morgana is 'Mona'. _
_Ryuji: Ren and Ann are 'Joker' & 'Panther' _
_Yusuke: Rather fitting for the flairs, I must say _
_Yusuke: This means I must choose one for myself ( ुᴗ_ᴗ).｡oO( ? ) _
_Ryuji: You should man _
_Ann: How are you holding up, Yusuke? _
_Ryuji: Oh yeah! _
_Ryuji: I was thinkin' we could go to the Palace today but your… _
_Yusuke: Indeed _
_Yusuke: The drugs aren't completely out of my system just yet _
_Yusuke: There are chills and hazes which come and go _
_Ann: That's ok! _
_Shiori: ^ _
_Shiori: No rushing _
_Yusuke: Thank you. _
_Yusuke: It is my strong desire to assist in the heist for sensei's heart _
_Ryuji: No sweat dude _
_Ryuji: Always good to have more help _
_Ann: There are six Phantom Thieves now. Yay! ヽ(･ω･ゞ) _
_Ryuji: Right? _
"That will be 1050 yen. Paying cash or card?" asked the supermarket clerk.
Ren looked up from his phone.
"Card."
Beep.
The staff packaged all four 2-litre bottles.
"Thank you for shopping! You seem to really like pineapple juice. . .?" said the clerk.
Ren gave a secret smile.
"Sort of. It's more for the convenience of someone else rather than me," said Ren.
The clerk's eyes widened at Ren, mystified. She wanted to ask Ren what he meant, but he waved her goodnight, taking his purchases with him.
Leblanc's interior was darkling in its tranquillity and coffee scents on Ren's return. He locked the door with the 'CLOSED' sign turned to the outside. After storing the pineapple juice, Ren sat at one of the booths, feeling the inclination to have a moment to himself before he headed back out again. The past two days have been kinda hectic.
Understatement of the week. Now. . .should I brew a cup before leaving? Thought Ren.
Ren did not feel sleepy. Nah, no coffee. It was probably going to be a good idea to cut back on his caffeine intake, now that he was official (Ren himself was still wrapping his head around this recent development) with Ann. At least, make sure he was drinking more pineapple juice than coffee. It struck Ren with amusement that most people would not understand this line of rationality he was having.
There was also that thing Ellison mentioned, about Ren's phone being impossible to breach because of some firewalls he installed? Ren fiddled with his phone, scrolling through apps, checking the settings. Ren was not sure what he was supposed to find which would imply his phone had been tinkered with. The meta-nav app aside of course. Everything seemed normal on his phone. No files were moved, no unknown background apps (as far as it was displayed anyway) were running.
Whoever implanted this firewall in my BlackBerry, seems to be interested in protecting the Phantom Thieves' secret, Ren thought.
The phone screen flashed – a phone call was ringing. Caller ID: Mum.
". . ."
This will be the first time I've spoken to her. . .since I left Kyoto? Thought Ren.
Caution and trepidation filled him.
Ren answered.
"Hey mum," said Ren.
"Ren. Is now a good time? It's been long hasn't it," said Rie Amamiya.
". . .Y-yeah. It's been ages. I wanted to call but you and dad were out of the country so. . .oh. Now's a good time! I mean, it's fine," Ren added hastily.
"Yes. The tour was longer than we anticipated but we're back home at last. Paradoxically, it seems overseas has followed us home. Kyoto's noisy with tourists right now. I fear the old capital is losing its quiet charms in exchange for being a boisterous exhibition. Your father was grouching about being halted by an illegal pedestrian stream the other day. I don't think he likes stalling in that fast car of his. Speaking of, do you like the Jaguar?"
". . ."
"What's wrong?"
"C'mon mum. Don't say it like the car really was a gift," sighed Ren.
Ren could hear the smile in her voice.
"I don't know what you mean," said Rie.
Ren rolled his eyes. Of course, his shrewd mother was not going to explicitly talk about tax avoidance on the phone. Rie's reputation for being 'bulletproof' in her line of work was not for superficial show.
"The Jaguar's fine. Kind of came out of the blue, to be honest. Your guy. . .err. . .Tashiro, was it? He insisted I owned up to it saying I was lucky, blah blah," said Ren.
"You were born lucky, Ren. This supercar is your birthright. Although I feel that you got bored with that good luck. Trying foolish hero antics despite being fed the silver spoon your entire life," said Rie.
"You know it wasn't like that, mum."
"Was it? Hmm. Well, you are a fool, but still my fool. . .my son. Mummy still loves you, okay? I suppose it's hardly fair for me to point fingers at you about the silver spoon. Pot calls the kettle black. Your father is the only one of us that came from bourgeois money. Don't tell Keinosuke I said this, but I can understand why you acted impulsively that night, Ren. It wasn't wise, but I know that frustration from being stuck in easy and mundane. . ."
No matter how much Ren tried, he was unable to get his parents on the same page as him for how he remembered his stint against Shido. They still thought of him as some cocky kid who overstepped boundaries in an adult affair he had no understanding of. Especially Ren's father, who had always been wary of his only child growing up indecently spoilt, into a weak-spine character. Which was ironic, the truth considered.
". . .just don't do anything like that again, okay? There are some things, not even money can protect you from," said Rie.
"I know."
"You are keeping out of trouble, yes?"
"Ohhh yeah. It's plenty boring here. Even P.E classes," lied Ren.
"Made some friends?"
"I have. They're nice people."
"Ha – That's good. Perhaps you can invite them over here to our estate, during the term break. I'm sure they'd love the hot springs and scenery in Kyoto. I'd like to meet them too," said Rie.
"Dad will be fine with that?" Ren asked sceptical.
"Of course. Besides he's always busy with work outside the house. You know how it is. You weren't planning on avoiding me during the break, were you?"
"I mean. . .there is that whole deal with my probation," Ren reminded her.
"Yes, yes. Our solicitor had another look at the probation clauses last week. You're not geo-regulated. The main condition of your probation is not committing any more infractions. That's all," said Rie.
". . .All right, mum. We'll see. School holidays still feel kinda far off."
Ren's phone vibrated. Text from Ann. Rie's intuition nailed the timing.
"How about a girlfriend? Found a special lady in Tokyo?"
Ren made a noise, somewhere in-between clearing his throat and a non-committal grunt.
"Umm. . ." Ren began, not sure if he wanted to spill the deets on Ann this early.
"Yes?"
"So err. . .you've been cutting back on the drinking, yeah? You sound sober," said Ren.
"Changing the subject?" Rie laughed, "-has some cheeky minx made my sonny boy secretive to his mother? Are you dating a yakuza's daughter? . . .No? To answer your question, I've had one glass of wine today. Nothing more, Ren," said Rie.
"That's. . .good."
". . .you know, 'she' stopped by here. While we were out of the country. Did Yuki tell you?" asked Rie.
Ren knew which 'she' his mother spoke about. Kyoko Iwakura.
"No. Yuki mentioned nothing about that," Ren said quietly.
Rie was silent for a moment. Ren knew she was analysing his tones. Trying to gauge how much her son was over Kyoko. Rie Amamiya never disliked Kyoko per se, but rather. . .she never really saw her son's relationship with Kyoko as something meaningful and romantic as the two teenagers felt it was. To Rie, her handsome boy could be with almost any girl he wanted with no compromise, no strings until he was well advanced into his twenties. Teenage love was never final to Rie. It was fictional. Idealised trivialities that belonged to escapism JRPGs and manga.
Ann's likely going to receive similar regards. Not taken seriously, Ren figured with an inward sigh.
Not like Ren managed to prove his mother wrong with Kyoko or anything. Rather, Ren showed it too easily that Kyoko choked his heart after the shit hit the fan.
"Why was she there?" asked Ren.
"She came to pick up a curio – no. A. . .sketchbook that belonged to her? That's what Yuki told me. Kyoko was one of those artistic types, wasn't she? Always showing up with that cute camera of hers. They let her in your bedroom since. . ." Ren heard Rie sigh on the line, ". . .since – to put it delicately – you still held Kyoko in high regard when you left. Was that OK?" asked Rie.
The sketchbook. A finger tapped at his brow. Of course. Ren almost forgot about that.
"But wait. If she came back for it. . ." Ren muttered to himself.
That was weird. Kyoko made it clear that she wanted Ren to exit her life - "Quietly." Why would she care about those illustrations of-
"Hello? Ren? You still there?"
". . .ah! Yeah. Sorry. Errr. . .that was fine, mum. There was a sketchbook on my study which belonged to her. Probably needed it back for a school project, so!-" Ren cleared his throat, "-how's dad? Is he around?" asked Ren.
"He's sleeping. It's been an exhausting week for him at the firm-" Ren heard a stifled yawn, "-I thought I'd call you anyway," said Rie.
"You sound tired yourself. Am I keeping you up?"
"Not that tired. We can keep talking," said Rie.
". . .well, thank you. For calling me. It means a lot to hear your voice again, mum. Especially after everything that happened," said Ren.
"I can imagine. It might take a while for your dad to completely forgive you for what you did. . .but don't beat yourself up for it. I'm sorry I was harsh before you left. That wasn't right. Children make mistakes in their natural course and I could have been wiser to the fact. Once your probation is up, you'll be able to return home once and for all. I believe the principal might be willing to let you back in next year," said Rie.
". . ."
Rie misunderstood his silence.
"Everything will be fine in the end, Ren. You'll make it out of this alive," she teased.
Ren rubbed the back of his neck. If only his mother knew the truth of the insanity going on out here.
"Yeah. You're right. I'm gonna let you go. Get some sleep, mum."
"Tch. Fine, fine. You promise to visit during the holidays? Bring whoever you want," said Rie.
"Since you brought it up twice. . .all right. I promise."
"Good! Look after yourself, okay? Don't skip any meals and always be a gentleman to the poor girl, even if you're lying about marrying her-"
"Seriously mum."
"-Hehe. Goodnight. Mwah."
"Night'."
Ren fixed himself a glass of pineapple juice, pondering the phone call. Perhaps getting his parents to concede and believe his side of the story was a futility. But at the very least, Ren could slowly earn back their goodwill. Ann also gave him something to think about when she got dropped the hint that she was eventually going to introduce Ren to her folks. Family mattered to someone like her.
What would she think of the complicated tangle back in Kyoto, thought Ren, sipping the juice.
Ren had some unusual memories of his childhood home. Not in a tragic or deprived-of-love kind of way. Hardly. He was (thankfully) a happy child.
No, the unusual memories were days like sitting in an open tea hut with his grandmother. Ren vividly remembered the carpet white sand tracing circles and clouds in the zen garden surrounding the hut. Other nine-year-olds would be out at Disneyland or something during the holidays. In that tea hut, Ren held an injured falcon in stillness. She was a tamed peregrine, shivering with tiny bells tied to her talons. Ren's grandmother sat opposite him, wounding twine and quills to repair broken feathers on the peregrine's mending wing. Each time the tiny bells jingled, Ren would ease the fear out of her with that genteel touch of a child's compassion.
Later the healing peregrine would take sanctuary at the tea hut, preening under Kyoto's bluebonnet evening sky. It was things like that Ren missed about home. Looking up at glittering details of gloam as the first stars winked down at the antediluvian city. Or stumbling upon pockets of stillness in-between the alleyways of temples, as if the resident kami was holding its breath before exhaling incense and autumn leaves.
Looking back, Ren understood the impact his grandmother played in his upbringing. She taught Ren how to be nurturing, to develop a sensitive side so that his heart would not turn to stone under his practical father. The broody part of Ren was glad his grandmother did not live long enough to see him screw up with Shido. Or see what kind of person Ren was now; harbouring secrets, obsessions for revenge, estrangement from his father. His grandmother would emphasise to Ren how important Keinosuke was in his life.
"No matter what happens, your father will always be there for you like he was for Rie," one of the few unfortunate mantras she told a little Ren.
Despite everything, Ren did not resent his father. Ren recognised some of the wise choices Keinosuke made for him, like making sure he attended a public school instead of one of those prestigious establishments like Nishikyō-ku Gakuen or Taikō Polytechnic. Keinosuke said it was to ensure Ren's horizons did not become "narrow".
Rie told her son that decision was the only thing his grandfather ever argued with Keinosuke on, out of vanity. The anecdote was bemusing to learn since Keinosuke was the doted son-in-law who helped Rie revive the Amamiya family fortunes and portfolios from bankruptcy, during the early years of their marriage.
All things considered, the phone call was a milestone in repairing the damage with his parents.
Ren's phone buzzed again. More texts.
_Ann: |_・) _
_Ann: I'm still waiting |_・)◞ _
Oops. That's right. Ren was supposed to be on his way back to Ann. Ten minutes ago.
_Ren: Coming _
_Ann: I'm hungry too _
_Ann: Feed me and love me! Nao! . _
_Ren: (。ヘ°) _
The Jaguar exited the car park of the pizza joint.
Ren turned off the A/C and patted the very warm pizza box sitting on the passenger seat. In it was a family-size Chicken Peri-Peri Pizza. The restaurant Ren ordered from was known for cooking their pizza in a risky way. Throwing cedar wood chips on an open fire to slightly glaze the dough, adding a very light tinge of wood bitterness. This amplified the flavours of all the toppings, making the pizza a piquant lover to the tongue. Or so the poetic reviews said.
From the car radio, the station host was talking about a murder which happened tonight. Ren's eyebrows raised. The area of the crime was not too far from this business district Ren was driving in.
That's unsettling, thought Ren.
The growl of the silver sports car passing by drowned out Ellison's voice on the phone.
"Sorry, could you repeat that, please?" said Goro.
Goro was walking, on his way to the building of the crime scene. Oshikawa called earlier and said one of his junior officers were waiting at the back entrance to let the Goro in without causing a stir with the scoop-hungry media flashing cameras by the front. The publicity of this homicide was going to be messy.
"Shido's absolutely furious. Kaneshiro's network is ascertaining that none of the yakuza families did this. People here are getting paranoid that this attack may have come from within," said Ellison.
"Did it?"
Goro heard her scowl.
"That's a daring joke for someone like you to make, Goro," said Ellison.
Goro laughed. He stopped at the pedestrian red light.
"You know it wasn't me. My apologies, I don't mean to test your patience, Ellison. I know you've done a lot by having the records overwritten on who my mother was; so that he wouldn't know-"
"That you're his son, yes. I still think it would have been safer if you dropped her surname – but that was too late by the time you got. . .'involved' with us. Not that I expect the boss would remember your mother that well. From the sounds of things, she was one of many during his younger, careless years," said Ellison.
The light changed to green. Goro was a little slow to react, distracted by himself.
". . .he wouldn't remember her. Don't worry. Mina Akechi is forgotten even by public records."
". . .are you there yet?" asked Ellison.
Goro turned down the street.
"Two minutes away."
"This whole situation stinks. I wasn't pleased when you told me which homicide detective called you. You know who Oshikawa is, right? What he's capable of," asked Ellison.
"Yes. I'd wager Kaneshiro would sell his mother, just to get his hands on Oshikawa's voodoo doll. Shot one of Kaneshiro's best informants dead around. . .four years ago? The best kept secret in the police force's stained history. How the legendary Koji Niijima was a crooked cop, reaping off the mob's bribe money. It's always a pleasure to see Oshikawa in the same courtroom with a certain prosecutor from the SIU. You'd think nothing would get under Sae Niijima's nerves," said Goro.
"Niijima and Oshikawa were partners too. Be prudent. If this shark was able to sniff bad blood from even his best friend, he can easily catch on if there's something off with you, Goro. We both know you've got plenty going on for that."
"You're overestimating him. Half these adults in the police force are disgruntled by some kid playing Sherlock Holmes. Oshikawa's merely using me. Once the media knows a celebrity detective like me is involved, the pressure to find the culprit will be removed from him and his team. If the killer isn't found. . .the public will lash at me only," Goro remarked, flaring a lack of concern.
"Will you fail?" asked Ellison.
". . ."
"Find the killer, Goro. You're gonna be on your own with this one, so don't get careless."
This was curious. Normally Ellison had little regard for the dangers whenever she gave Goro an assignment.
Does she know something about this mess, she's not telling me? Wondered Goro.
"You really think I could get hurt? Haha. Your concern is touching, Ellison."
"Hurt? You?" An edge of taunt crept into her words, "-no. . .I don't think anything can hurt you, Goro. Now if you excuse me, I need to inspect the new security arrangements for Shido's family. The man really dotes on his little girls. . .be sure to give me an update if you learn something, OK?" said Ellison, her voice like cyanide-sodden honey.
Bitch.
"I will," said Goro, pleasant as always.
His mood befouled, Goro arrived at the destination. The cop nodded.
"Goro Akechi? Right this way please. . ."
X
Cool egg-shell walls surrounded Goro as he was led in by the officer. Their footsteps padded quietly on the thick carpet. Goro surmised that if the killer escaped running past all these offices, nobody would have heard the muffled stomps.
There was the softest of sobbing when Goro was let into Hideo Serizawa's office. At first, it was difficult to pinpoint the source, due to the water feature by the corner; a stone carving cascading water into a pool full of koi fish. Goro's gaze started from the fish' scales, splashing glows of silver and orange stark in the dark water. Towards the granite stone edges at the water feature, striped by flecks of blood.
Goro's eyes followed the blood trail on the carpet. It grew thicker, streaks into glop splashes until arriving at a headless body in a grey business suit - flopped like a starfish.
"Lovely evening we're having, aye? I suppose you're wondering where's the head," said Oshikawa.
There were other people in the room. CSI technicians and the odd cop, labelling evidence while casting surreptitious glances at Goro's way.
"I heard someone crying on my way in," said Goro.
Oshikawa pointed to Goro's left, to a second door adjoining the office. It was half-opened. Through the gap, Goro saw a little girl in a shōgakkō school uniform, sobbing at the conference room table. She was being consoled by a female cop.
"That's the daughter, Hana. She was in the washroom when the killer got to work. By the time she returned, she found her father. . ." Oshikawa airily gestured to Hideo's headless body, ". . .like this," said Oshikawa.
". . ."
"I'd say Hideo chose the wrong night to bring his kid to work, but from what we learned tonight; this was a normal routine for father and daughter since there was no mother waiting at home. Political activist, accountant and. . .single-dad. That's all of what Hideo was - You all right? Ya're lookin' off-balance there, Akechi-san," said Oshikawa.
"I'm. . .fine."
Goro did not like the way Oshikawa studying him. The inspector detective stood much taller than Goro, even in his hunched posture, giving him the impression of an overgrown sparrow in that dark trench coat.
Despite himself, Goro could not help but spare one last glance at Hana. Sensing someone watching, Hana looked up. Her terrified tear-glassed eyes made eye-contact with Goro.
Goro's Personas stirred inside of him, elicited by strong memories of the past. Goro broke eye-contact with Hana, fearing that if he continued, he might do something very out-of-character in front of Oshikawa.
"Shall we get on with the investigation then?" suggested Oshikawa.
You're going to have to go through some painful years, Hana, thought Goro.
"Yes. Let's," said Goro.
Oshikawa had one of his subordinates walk Goro through the crime chronology they reconstructed from the forensic clues. First, the killer entered the office without forced entry-
"Much to our inconvenience, surveillance system went down during this hour," explained the forensic technician.
The office floor was almost empty at the time, save for the janitor who was at the far end, away from Hideo's office-
"The janitor had his earphones on, listening to some podcast about the death metal scene in Scandinavia. All while someone's bucket was getting kicked here. Can you believe that?!" exclaimed the technician.
Hideo was sitting at his desk when he was attacked. The assailant threw Hideo over his desk with incredible strength, crashing the scrawny accountant onto the glass coffee table. After crawling towards the artificial koi pond-
"I dunno. . .maybe he thought the fish would save him?" said the technician, shrugging.
-the assailant grabbed Hideo again, grazing his brows against the stonework-
"It's why there isn't too much blood here," said the officer.
-Hideo was dragged back to the middle of the room. Which was where the deed was done. The killer used a sharp long weapon. Clean cut.
"Sooo much blood here," said the officer – sighing.
Oshikawa nudged Goro by the shoulder.
"Here comes my favourite part," said Oshikawa.
After removing Hideo's head, the killer strategically placed it on the desk, mostly hidden by the PC monitor and facing the back wall. The office chair was moved out of the way. On the back wall, there used to be a painting. That was taken down where-
"What the fuck," said Goro, staring up at the wall.
Oshikawa grunted.
"Yeah. . .that was my first reaction too," said Oshikawa.
-where the killer wrote a message in blood on the wall. A rather dramatic touch.
The message read:
I'M ALIVE
"Ain't that some big dick thing to boast about, after violently murdering the only other person in the room," Oshikawa remarked.
Goro frowned. He leaned on Hideo's desk, those black leather gloves tightly gripping the edges. Goro ignored Hideo's horror-contorted head in front of him.
'I'm alive,' mouthed Goro.
"What do you think?" asked Oshikawa.
Goro circled around the desk to get a closer look at the blood.
"This can't be Hideo's blood? Can it? The fresher shade of red makes it suspicious," said Goro.
"It's not. The genetic sequence we found from the white blood cells matches with the killer's DNA traces littered around the room," affirmed the technician.
"What?! Why didn't you tell me this before?!" demanded Oshikawa.
"My apologies, boss. I was about to just now. The call from the labs came only two minutes ago," said the technician.
"Feckin' Christ. This guy's a real maniac, cutting himself up like this. . ."
"That's not all, boss. You see the blood type - it's. . ." began the technician.
"What of it?!" barked Oshikawa.
"Boss, it's. . .Bombay blood," said the technician.
Goro's gloved hand paused beneath the bloody 'V'. Bombay? Goro turned his head back at the technician.
"You sure about that?" asked Goro.
"Very. The lab results are not mistaken," replied the technician.
"What the bloody hell is this Bombay schmuck?" demanded Oshikawa.
"It's one of the world's rarest documented blood types," Goro monotoned.
Oshikawa frowned at him. Was he pretending to be dense? Goro wondered. The technician nodded.
"That's correct, Akechi-san. This is the first time our CSI team has come across the Hh blood group in Japan," said the technician.
"That rare?" asked Oshikawa.
Goro leaned closer to the bloody words. He could smell the faint whiff of blood's copper-metallic scent brimming from each garish slashed letter. There was a kind of madness to the energy in which each stroke of the characters was applied, like someone in a possessed frenzy.
"Only 0.0004% of the human population possess this phenotype," answered Goro.
"Christ. So the bastard's got some precious Scottish whiskey pumping through his heart. That's gotta mean that if ya're losing blood, it's gonna be feckin' difficult to get a transfusion from just any hospital in Japan, amirite?" said Oshikawa.
When Goro remained quiet, the other policemen in the room murmured their assents.
"Then why would he be effin' stupid enough to bleed himself like some common pig for some faggot poetry on the wall? We already know he was able to snuff Hideo cleanly," said Oshikawa.
"Not stupidity," muttered Goro.
"Huh?" said Oshikawa.
Goro folded his arms, considering the message. There was no doubt this person was mad. But more than that. . .
You're desperate, aren't you? Thought Goro.
The obvious course of action confounded Goro's mystery-fiction instincts. Typically, the culprit would always try to make things difficult like burning the evidence or hiding the most glaring clues which would easily identify the needle in the haystack. Writers of mystery novels often went for this trope so that life would not be too easy for their puzzled detective. Yet this killer left their own very unique blood type behind. The message, the phenotype. . .Goro knew how he was going to learn the killer's name before the night was over.
So why? What was the catch? Who did the killer intend to be the recipient of this message? It felt as if there was an undertone of a dire warning in it. For what was coming next.
Goro turned back to Hideo's headless corpse.
Our executioner is sending a message to someone in Shido's organisation, thought Goro.
He needed to act fast.
Goro sighed theatrically.
"I'm sorry, Oshikawa-san. I'm afraid I'm out of ideas for what you're dealing with here," lied Goro.
One of the officers watching Goro snorted. Of course the boy had no idea of how to do a professional's job, figured that officer.
Oshikawa himself seemed a little hesitant to take Goro's word.
"You. . .sure? Nothin' at all?" Oshikawa asked slowly.
"I wouldn't worry about it. Bombay blood? Think about it, Oshikawa-san. How many people walking around in the country possess that blood type? Remember, the number is 0.0004%. Your job will be pretty easy in locating the killer," said Goro, smiling.
Oshikawa was unreadable. Goro resisted the urge to tap his foot impatiently. Was the veteran cop going to bite the misdirection bait?
"But – before I leave, I would like to interview Hana-"
"No. . . I don't think you need to talk to her, Akechi," Oshikawa paused, allowing the absence of the -san prefix to hang between them, "-don't ya agree? You did say ya're out of ideas," said Oshikawa.
Goro's jaw clenched – briefly. In his pocket, Goro felt at the Swiss chocolate bar he purchased along the way. Goro never understood children, how to deal or comfort them, but he had been hoping. . .
"You're not talking to, Hana," Oshikawa said firmly.
Goro bowed his head. Angling shadows blotted across his eyes, making them unfathomable to everyone watching.
"I understand. I'll be leaving now."
"One of my men will escort you. Wouldn't want you to accidentally get lost around here now, would we? I trust you will be leaving from the front?" Oshikawa asked.
Oshikawa switching over to a formal way of speaking did not go unnoticed by Goro.
He doesn't trust me, thought Goro.
"I will. Hopefully, the reporters will have thinned out by now," said Goro.
They both knew this was not true.
X
On his way out the office, Goro texted his contact at the pathology records, specifying for a file on any recently deceased who was registered with the Hh blood-type in the database.
The contact replied quick via email – as the elevator was approaching the end of its descent. Goro scanned the bio-data details. A young male. Former occupation was a bartender? Cause of death: Narcotics which led to critical blood poisoning.
Goro scrolled down. There was a comment left by the pathologist. It was the critical clue Goro was looking for:
". . .Procedure was followed to a bare minimum with the deceased, Kishimoto Hayate. His person was identified by next of kin (his brother), public database photos and fingerprints. DNA verification test was not carried out. The body was cremated one week ago."
Goro considered the evidence before him. If the killer was Hayate, the police would never think to suspect him because ashes in an urn don't go around beheading people. No. Oshikawa and the others would instead harangue some innocent person just because they had the same blood type, only to find that the suspect's DNA does not match up with the samples found at the crime scene. The police would be cursed to run forever in circles, chasing a ghost.
No DNA test, but fingerprints and kin corroborated the corpse. What could have fooled those two?
Plastic surgery? Wondered Goro.
It seemed like a far-fetched theory but Goro could not think of anything else.
"Why did someone else die in your place, Hayate?" whispered Goro.
When the elevator doors opened, the crowd of reporters erupted into boisterous energy at the sight of the celebrity detective. Cameras shuttered by the dozen. Mics and recorders were held out; journos shouting their questions with unabashed snoopiness.
"Akechi-san, do you know who killed Serizawa?!"
"Were you asked to step in because the police are already stuped?!"
"Did yakuza kill Serizawa?!"
"How does it feel to shoulder the responsibility of this high profile case?!"
And on and on they went. Goro only smiled and excused himself through the throng, assisted by the sentinel officers who were making sure the boy was not getting harassed too badly. Goro intended to ignore all inquiries and be on his way, until one reporter; a woman with a helmet-bob cut - voiced a trite question that rung above all others to Goro's ears.
"Akechi-san! Why would this person commit the depraved act of murder?!"
Goro halted in his tracks. He was almost out of the lobby now. Goro could leave now. He did not.
Goro turned around, making eye-contact with the reporter. The others fell silent, realising one of their peers had piqued the ace detective's attention.
"Murder?" repeated Goro, as if somebody asked him directions to a peculiar place.
The reporter nodded, holding out her digital recorder closer to Goro.
"Yes. How could this killer do something that is evil?" she asked him.
A couple of cameras flashed again. People were expecting him to answer this one, otherwise things were going to be awkward at the next talk show.
Goro faked a thoughtful facade, pretending to deeply mull the reporter's sincere question (They actually hired a dullard like you? He thought). When Goro spoke, he started with a tone of tact:
"Messages and stylised killings. Let's consider this from the murderer's shoes. To someone like him-" Goro paused, tracing his thumb along his jawline, "-or her, 'murder' is a word used by the domesticated. It's a superficial term meant to stigmatise an act this individual believes is righteous, beyond what an ordinary person would dare. He believes what he did cannot be reduced to a semantic which conveniently holds one accountable to society's primitive conventions of control and naïveté. 'Murder is wrong.' I imagine. . .the killer must think of us as children reciting nursery rhymes of rights and wrongs."
Goro laughed, his perfect white teeth flashing.
"Of course, we're not like him, are we? We know better than that. . .I bid you all a pleasant night," said Goro.
No shouted questions could further stop Goro from leaving.
The price of Ren's groceries was a guesstimate from converting local prices here in Australia $ to the Japanese ¥. Apologies for any dissimilarities to the real thing in a Japanese supermarket.
Update on story graphics:
Please revisit chapter 1 of this story on ao3 :-) I think you will find a component that was perhaps necessary for this 'OC in AU' story right from the start, for the readers' visual library. The artist is Ozkh.
After describing to him Shiori's physical and personality descriptives, I was impressed by how well he nailed the feel of her aesthetic in the vignettes and the final turn-out. It's one route to have an OC drawn early then write them out after. It's another to get this upheaval of emotion after writing so much about a girl who exceeded my expectations, then finally seeing the illustration in stark fidelity.
Update on the Royal embedment:
Kasumi Yoshizawa is not going to be a Phantom Thief in this story.
Having watched clips & streams, reading translations and wikia summaries of Persona 5: Royal's plot-line…this """refreshed""" game ended up being something I hardly expected. I don't want to say anything that will spoil those who are waiting on playing the English version (and I won't), but umm…my wallet would like to issue a formal 'No thank you' to Atlus, lol. As if there wasn't enough mediocrity in the existing source material that needs amelioration in this AU, I'm dealing with extra baggage manifested from apathetic initiative considering the potency for everything Royal could have been (that's a wordy way of me ranting about half-ass work). There should have at least been an expansion-only option for owners of the vanilla game.
I gave Kasumi's role a great deal of thought, wrestling with the new dilemma for how I could synthesise her optimally into this story without fucking up like Atlus did. After contemplating and simulating different storyline branches in my head, I believe this is the best route for CVV.
Kasumi will still be a major character. I'd mention a further detail for how that compares to Royal, but that would be a sliver of spoiler. Her addition to CVV will be beneficial from the standpoints of grounding the P.T crew in the slice-of-life elements, Haru and Ryuji's "screen time" and (this is the catalyst) the P.T's after-school hours activity.
The writing ambition I'm toying with Kasumi is – does a new character like her need to be a Phantom Thief in order to be important to the story as much as the other Persona users? Does Kasumi need to be a Phantom Thief to demonstrate similar levels of appeal, Atlus?
In this story, Kasumi is going to earn her storyline merits of her own 'identity'. Happy to say that I do like her personality a lot. Despite being the bastard child of franchise milking and askew storytelling, I find that Kasumi is a lovely and interesting person by her own right.
What I like the most about the new Royal content for Cyber-Violet Volition, is this Takuto character. While there was one odd thing he did in Royal (Atlus's typical awkward band-aiding for explaining plot causality – not going to repeat that here), he's an excellent fit for the ongoing Live Mannequin sub-plot I've got going in the story, among other things.
If I end up posting a chapter that will have Royal spoilers, I will note a warning at the top Author Note section. This caution will be practised until we're two months clear of the international release of Persona 5: Royal. I guess "spoiler" would be a more apt way of coining it, since so much of this story is going to be different from that game.
Final note: I've started a little small-time Discord server in dedication for being a little digital hangout for readers of Cyber-Violet Volition. If you're keen, you can find the Discord invite link on CH32's Author Note on ao3. Ideally, I'd link it here but _ ffNET is pretty gung ho on its anti spam measures.