"Encounter"
Persona 5: Fanfiction
By Confused Panda Bear
Chapter Six:
"Introducing Anarchy"
It was raining, but Futaba could just about see him through the frosted windows outside of Cafe Leblanc.
He was smoking, as usual, pacing on the phone to someone who was most likely irritating him, telling from the regularity of which he brought the cigarette to his lips.
Eventually, he ended his call and walked back into the empty cafe, brushing the droplets of rain from his dark hair.
He said nothing to her, distracted by the aftermath of his conversation and reaching for his coat and scarf that were hung up by the door.
"Where are you off to so late?" Futaba asked.
"To meet the devil and the crossroads," he replied, a sentence that only made sense to her and a select few others.
He tucked his scarf underneath his chin and under the buttons of his jacket.
"Will you be ok to lock up?" he asked.
He didn't like her walking home in the dark, even though the Sakura household was only a two-minute walk away.
"Yeah, I won't be much longer," Futaba replied. "Just be careful, ok?"
Nodding, Akira put up his hood and headed back out into the rain.
There was a car waiting for him at the end of the narrow street. He climbed in and told the driver to head to Shinjuku's red-light district. Normally, he would take public transport for such a short distance, but the police were on high alert since Okumura's apparent murder and he wasn't taking any chances.
The Crossroads club and bar was an...interesting establishment.
It was owned and run by a cross-dressing drag queen who went by the name of Lala Escargot, catering to those from all walks of life.
Akira knew this because he used to work a couple of shifts a week there during his short stint at high school. Behind the bar, he spoke with several, equally as 'interesting' characters who could make even Lala-chan seem as plain as flour.
He supposed this was where he was first introduced to what was now his world.
He had the car to circle the block, telling the driver that he would not be longer than ten minutes or so.
Ducking into one of the districts shadowed side streets and up a flight of dubious-looking stairs, Akira slipped into the quiet bar that appeared to be catering only for their regulars tonight – including one such patron who was around maybe a little too regularly than he would have liked and ultimately, what was good for her.
He slapped a brown envelope down onto the counter, drawing her attention away from the cocktail she was nursing.
She regarded it as if he had just presented her with a strange animal of some sort.
"What is this?"
"A story that I want you to write," he replied.
The first time he met Ohya Ichiko, she was a young, fledgeling paparazzo and media journalist for the Maiasa newspaper.
She had only intended on staying at the questionable tabloid for a year or two before moving onto a more serious rag, but almost nine years had passed since then and Akira was turning 28 this year, whilst Ohya was getting further and further away from 30.
The woman swayed in her seat as she spread her arms out in a self-deprecating gesture.
"And what makes you think that you can waltz in here and expect me to write whatever you want, just because you asked?"
Akira dealt her a stagnant look.
"Because you're a washed-up journalist waiting for your big break, and I'm the man with deep pockets who will make it sure that you'll be able to pay your rent this month."
Ohya appeared scandalised.
"Your words, not mine," he added, and the woman hiccuped into her glass.
"You shouldn't quote me on things I say when I'm drunk," she grumbled, to which Joker replied shrewdly:
"I don't think I've ever met you sober."
Ohya snatched up the folder, glaring daggers at the man even though they both knew it was true.
"Ha-ha," she expelled a sarcastic laugh.
Emptying its contents, the older woman leafed through the pages inside the folder, her eyes scanning its contents with the focus of a narcotic detection dog and despite her obvious inebriation.
"Medical records?"
"Okumura Kunikazi's autopsy," Akira confirmed.
"It says here that he died of a heart attack," she looked confused. Then, it clicked. "Wait – so his death had nothing to do with the Phantom Thieves?"
The man next to her shook his head and Ohya's eyes widened to the size of saucers.
"Where did you get this?" she demanded, knowing that she never got a straight answer from Kusuru Akira but asking all the same.
As expected, he shrugged.
"I know a doctor who does a shift at the university hospital every now and then," he replied, obviously downplaying the real lengths that he went to retrieve the information.
He checked his watch, wanting to wrap this up before his car returned.
"So, do you think you could print it?" he pressed.
Despite its reputation and questionable use of sources, the Maiasa was still one of the most widely read newspapers in the country. And, as far as he could tell, it wasn't owned or influenced by dishonest members of the state, either.
Ohya nodded so fervently that yellow tinted sunglasses rested on the top of her head threatened to fall.
"This is big," she said, still in awe. "What do I owe you?"
"Nothing," Akira straightened up from his seat, adjusting his jacket as he did so. "Just make sure that whatever you write is ready to print for tomorrow's paper."
He inclined his head as a mark of his departure, as well as an indication of trust in her abilities.
Confounded by their hasty rendezvous, Ohya spun around on her barstool after Akira as he made towards the exit and into the night.
"Hey!" she pouted after him. "At least let me buy you a drink?!"
Ryuji was lounging in the back seat of one of Okumura's Mercedes Maybachs, watching a live stream of the press conference taking place in the venue, just outside of where he was parked.
On his phone screen, Haru was calmly and composedly answering the probing questions of the ruthless journalists clamouring over each other for her attention.
She looked pretty, as always, in a respectful black blazer and skirt, paired with a ruffled white blouse. She completed the look with black lace gloves and a headpiece with a netted veil that covered the top half of her face.
It was her mourning outfit – something she wore to keep up appearances – and so unlike the gentle pastel colours he was used to seeing her in.
The session ended not a second later than was scheduled and soon after, Haru was being escorted out of the building by an entourage of black suits, shielding her from the hoards of journalists and cameras trying to get their final questions answered.
One of the bodyguards opened the passenger seat next to him and Haru entered the vehicle with an assault of sound and flashing lights.
She looked surprised to see him.
"Wife."
"Husband," she greeted, after a moment of recovery.
She removed her gloves, discarding them on the armrests between them and releasing a technicolour of lights across the cars dark interior from the sunlight catching the diamonds of her wedding and engagement rings.
"You didn't have to come," she said, admonishingly. "What if someone had seen you?"
Ryuji grinned and took her hand in his, fingers interlaced as he brought her knuckles to his lips.
He always said she worried about him too much, but with his bleached blonde hair and certain proclivity for leaving destruction in his wake, Sakamoto Ryuji wasn't exactly the most covert member of the Phantom Thieves.
"I wanted to hear how it went from you first," he said.
Their driver pulled away from the curb, leaving the city behind like a blur.
"As well as it could have," Haru replied. She was always modest, even when she didn't need to be. "Hopefully, we can all put this all to rest soon."
That same morning, Maiasa Newspaper published a story that shook the entire nation.
For weeks on end, newscasters and the police had been reporting their efforts in arresting the members of the Phantom Thieves responsible for Okumura's death and now, there was irrefutable evidence that the group had nothing to do with the mans death.
Furthermore, testimonies from silenced whistleblowers and families of Okumura's victims were brought to light, leaving the public outraged and questioning the integrity of their city's police and the corruption of their large corporate companies.
And to add fuel to the rapidly growing flame: Okumura Haru – the only daughter of the late CEO – all but just confirmed the authenticity of the reports.
Ryuji pondered out loud.
"I wonder why Akira changed his mind about going to Ohya in the end."
"You know why."
Haru shot him a suggestive look and her husband raised his brows at her.
"Ann?" he said, and Haru nodded.
"Yes. Funny, isn't it?" she smiled. "After we all tried to convince him and how adamant he had been against stirring up more trouble in the press..."
"...And yet, after all his efforts, Futaba says that she is still terrified of him," Ryuji added with a mirthless laugh.
"As she would be," Haru said, her tone serious all of a sudden. "All she knows of us is what people say and what the news reports. I always thought it was better that she and the rest of the country knew the truth. Believe it or not, there are people out there who support what we do—"
"—Yes, but interrupting our honeymoon to fly you back home for one press conference is taking it a bit far, don't you think?"
Ryuji rolled his eyes, though she could tell that he was not too annoyed. Instead, the man was just as amused by Joker's behaviour as Haru seemed to be.
"You know how he can be, Ryuji..."
"I do, but must like this one a lot."
"I hope so," Haru laughed, cupping her hand underneath her chin wistfully. "Joker needs to act more like a guy his age, every once in a while."
Kamoshida walked into the agency's building that morning and was greeted by an uncanny silence and crowds gathered in semi-circles around the television screens displayed around the office floor.
Over their heads, he saw a woman on the screen dressed in all black, standing behind a podium on the steps of City Hall.
"...Words cannot express how deeply sorry I am for those individuals and their families that have suffered because of my father, Okumura Kunikazu—"
"—She's hot," he said, expecting to be awarded with a chorus of agreeing high-fives, but instead received the irritated spinning of heads and fingers placed on lips.
"Can you keep your mouth shut for just a second, Kamoshida?" Kobayakawa growled at him. "This interview is live."
The man bit back a mordant response, digging his hands deep into his jacket pockets and reacting like a teenager being scolded for something he didn't think was deserved.
"Who is she supposed to be, anyway?"
"Okumura Haru – heiress of Okumura foods," one of the junior detectives replied.
Another one piped up next to him:
"She's only gone and told the entire world that her father was a crooked businessman who did not, in fact, get murdered by the Phantom Thieves."
Kamoshida stiffened like a deer caught in the scope of a gun.
"You're joking, right?"
"Read it and weep," Kobayakawa slapped a tabloid newspaper against his chest. "His autopsy was released and it says that he died from a heart attack..."
The man lowered his voice to a murmur so that only he could hear the displeasure behind it.
"...I thought you said you had this under control, chief superintendent?"
"...As the new CEO and largest stockholder of Okumura Foods, my first act on duty is to ensure that those whose lives have been affected by his actions will be compensated," the woman on the screens continued. "And though I cannot erase the pain that he has already caused, I can ensure that this will never happen again. My legacy will not be that of my fathers. Thank you for your time."
Just as the interview wrapped up, Makoto walked into the office with Shirogane Naoto in tow, too caught up with being in the presence of the famous detective to register the gathered crowds.
"What's happened?" Makoto belatedly asked, sensing Kamoshida's irritation as he walked towards the exit from which she came.
Purposefully, he bumped into her shoulder and spoke down at her like a whiplash of a naked threat:
"Takamaki better get something good soon, Nijima. Or it's your head on the chopping block – got it?"
"Alright, Joker. You're up."
Even at this time of night, the baseball batting cages situated just around the corner from Le Blanc were always to the disposal of Phantom Thieves.
The owner owed them for a 'favour' – involving the 'removal' of some rowdy high school delinquents terrorising their staff and other patrons – and they were free to use the cages when closed off to the public whenever they pleased.
Taking the post Ryuji has just vacated, Akira gripped the handle of his baseball bat and held it above his right shoulder.
Not a second later, a loud buzzer sounded from the end of the court and ball came hurtling towards him, which he swung at confidently and catapulted into oblivion.
Using a hand to shield his eyes from the brightness of the floodlights illuminating the court, Akira followed the ball until he heard the distinct sound of a home-run crackle over the old announcement speakers.
"Nice!" Ryuji called and he might have heard a short applause from Yusuke as well.
Akira grinned. The batting cages were always a good way to blow off some steam, not that they had any reason to be stressed – as Ryuji and the others would often remind him these days.
Their recent campaign had been a success, in all cases.
They had done what they had set out to achieve and that was to disprove any relation between the Phantom Thieves and the death of Okumura Kunikazu, whilst outing him as the deplorable human being that he was.
If anything, their popularity amongst the people of Tokyo only grew more because of the incident, and their belief in their police force and justice system was wavering by the day.
Ryuji clapped him on the shoulder when Yusuke swapped into the starting block.
"Glad to see you got your spark back, my friend."
Akira did not comment, because he had not been aware that he had 'lost' whatever it was Ryuji was referring to.
"I'm just sayin'," Ryuji said in his dubious silence, "you seem to be in a better mood these days. It does help to get some good press about us, every once in a while."
"Yes, but being under so much scrutiny is an unfortunate byproduct..."
They paused for a moment, leaning against the metal safety railings to observe Yusuke's poor attempts in the batting cage – once, almost getting hit by one of the balls after mistiming his swing.
Akira and Ryuji shook their heads.
To his credit, the man was and never claimed to be the sporty type.
"Y'know," Ryuji teased him, after a moment of simmering silence. "You could've avoided all this if you'd've just asked her out—like a normalperson."
Again, he was returned with a look that meant something along the lines of 'I-have-no-idea-what-you're-on-about-now-drop-it-Ryuji' and laughed.
"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about!" he chided with a playful nudge. "You know you didn't have to go this far."
"She wouldn't have believed me otherwise," Akira admitted quietly and Ryuji grinned at him in a knowing way.
"Come on. I'm sure a guy like you can be a little more than persuasive?"
"After I pointed a gun at her?" his friend expelled a breathy laugh. "I think it'll take a little more than dinner and conversation to smooth that one over."
Mercifully, Ryuji raised his hands in a gesture of defeat.
He was a lot more intuitive than people gave him credit for, and though Akira continued to deny that their recent efforts were for her benefit, they both were aware that their new recruit was growing more and more relaxed around him – around all of them – as a result of the recent press.
Even so, Akira still kept his distance. He remained conscious of the fact that she was still wary in his presence and, to be honest, no one could blame her.
Her experiences with him to date were far from consistently pleasant and following their conversation during her first week working at Le Blanc, Akira did his utmost to ensure that he came across to her as everything else but the psychopath who wanted to fuck but also kill her.
And how does one eloquently convey that only half of that was true?
He sighed.
He knew his words at Marukyu Striptease would come back to bite him in the ass.
Pretending to be watching Yusuke attempt at another ball, Akira sucked on his bottom lip and released it with a smack, thinking of how it had felt to finally kiss her, and how it took every ounce of self discipline not to take her to his bed and deliver her punishment in a whole different way.
He thought she felt it too but the realisation that she had done it out of self-defence was a devastating blow to his male ego. And the fact that she had inexplicitly expressed her preference in working for Kawakami – of dating other men over working from him – was nothing short of insulting.
She was unknowingly exploiting a weakness in him that he didn't know he had, and that should have been enough reason to have gotten rid of her there and then.
But instead, he decided to hire her. Even at the expense of her finding out who he truly was, and the grief he got from Hifumi and even Ryuji (at first) about trusting what was essentially a complete stranger.
Despite what the others thought, it was not just because he liked her. Regardless of his reputation, he did not find the act of taking another life pleasurable in any way, and would only do so when necessary or when he believed the victim truly deserved it.
But was she worth the risk? they asked.
He liked to think so.
Akira had never before made this much of an effort to get a woman to like him before.
It was different and somewhat rewarding, following the recent press coverage, to visit Le Blanc these days and not have her behave like a prey animal at the local watering hole – but they still had some way to go.
"You're sighing a lot," Ryuji pointed out – not that he was overly concerned.
In fact, he seemed to be taking immense pleasure in witnessing his inner turmoil.
Akira shrugged a broad shoulder, a demonstration of his indifference.
"I'm not."
"Like a brooding teenager," his friend insisted. "Tell me, is it Yusuke's poor batting skills that are getting you riled up, or a certain blonde–?"
With a retort on the tip of his tongue, Akira dealt him an exasperated sideways glance that was only interrupted by the firing of a silenced gun coming from the entrance lobby of the batting cages.
It was a sound that could only be detected by a trained ear like theirs – a muted firing followed by a heavy body falling to the ground.
Yusuke lowered his bat and turned to the duo as if to ask whether they had heard it too when another shot was fired, followed by the breaking of glass and power cutting out of the entire establishment.
With their own weapons in hand, the trio moved in to investigate.
The darkened hallways made it difficult to navigate back to the entrance of the batting cages, but they moved with calm stealth and put up their hoods over their heads to hide their faces.
Alerted by a faint groan of pain, Ryuji stumbled across the owner of the batting cages limp against the wall clutching at his bleeding abdomen with another trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
He was alive, but from their experience, not for long.
"Oji-san," Ryuji held him up by the shoulders. "Who did this–?"
Another gunshot sounded, deafening in the tiny room.
It hit the old man square in the temple of his head and sent blood and bits of skin and bone flying into Ryuji's face.
The body of the man folded to the ground, leaving a smear of red against the wall and Ryuji stood and pointed his own gun in the direction in which the bullet had been shot.
Before he could retaliate, another bullet, clearly aimed at Akira was shot and cut through the material of his jacket, grazing his right arm, followed by a flurry of others from Yusuke and Ryuji in retaliation.
Room lit up with each controlled explosion, like a strobe lights in a nightclub where they could just about make out jolted the movements of a dark figure taking cover behind the lobby furniture from the other side of the room.
Even as Akira held the gaping wound with his other hand, blood pouring through the gaps of his fingers, he still managed to reach for his own firearm with his injured hand and point it at the shadowy figure – first at his head, then lowering it to his left thigh.
The bullet hit the intruder with a force that caused him to stagger backwards and fall to the ground.
In the deafening silence that followed, they heard the intruder cry out in pain and the sound of his heavy body shifting as he tried to crawl away to safety.
Ryuji laughed with disbelief, signalling to the others that he was unhurt.
"You missed, Joker."
Yusuke reached his mobile phone and switched on the torch function to confirm the fact.
The assailant groaned again, rolling over onto his stomach to shield his eyes.
"Yep. Still alive."
"Only for long enough for me to to find out who the fuck sent him," Akira said through gritted teeth.
Advancing on the man, Ryuji and Yusuke grabbed him by the shoulders of his dark army jacket and ripped off his black ski mask.
Turning him over to face them, they found that his eyes had rolled back into his sockets and his mouth frothing with spit and vomit.
A violent cough jolted through him as he struggled to take his last breaths.
"What the fuck?"
"He's taken poison," Yusuke confirmed, unceremoniously dumping the spasming body back onto the ground.
Ryuji regarded him, wide eyed.
"Why the fuck would he do that?"
Akira gripped at his injured arm and winced.
"He was probably told to, if he got caught."
"By who?" Ryuji demanded, and he couldn't tell him for sure but he had a good idea.
Whoever this man was, he was either instructed to take his own life than be subjected to the torture the Phantom Thieves would inflict upon him – or the consequences should he face if he betrayed whoever hired him.
And there was only one organisation that would instil a kind of fear in a man that he would rather take his own life than face them with his failure.
"Search him," Akira instructed, knowing that the limp and lifeless body was far from being saved.
From his pockets, they produced no digital devices or forms of ID but several smaller, concealed weapons and the unlabelled pill box where the poison was kept.
Just as they were about to give up, Yusuke unzipped the concealed inside pocket of his jacket and produced a Polaroid photograph of a young man, his face scratched out with a red cross.
It was Haru's ex-fiance, Sugimura, and scrawled on the back in messy black ink read the words:
"Only a handful of people are qualified to alter the world."
Ryuji recoiled; "what the hell is this supposed to be?" and Akira replied with gritted teeth:
"A deceleration of war."