Yusuke really had not intended to fall asleep. As a matter of fact, falling asleep was the worst possible course of action. Sleeping meant time lost, and as of this moment, time was too precious a thing for Yusuke to let escape from his grasp.
Yusuke fell asleep anyway. He blinks blearily up at his ceiling in the dim light of the dawning sun filtering into his room. Slowly, he pushes himself upright. He rubs his knuckles against his eyes childishly, banishing the last vestiges of sleep from his mind. He doesn't even remember where the utter exhaustion of the night before had originated from, whether it be from his current, younger body's fatigue or the recent, vivid memory of battling desperately within the Metaverse for the will of humanity, now serving only to act as a mental placebo that extended beyond the limits of time and space.
Because he had, in some way, managed to travel backwards in time. How he had managed to do so was still a complete mystery, yet he knows it to be the truth with absolute certainty. Yesterday, he had faced Madarame for the first time in months, and emerged from the encounter significantly worse for wear.
Sitting with crossed legs, Yusuke forcibly pulls himself back towards his previous task even as frustration at the situation bubbles within him. His body is sore from sleeping on the hard, wooden floor for the entire night rather than upon his thin futon merely a few feet away from his fallen form, but in hindsight, he was quite lucky that he had managed to fall asleep on the ground rather than on the sharpened tacks scattered around him. However, a few of his pathetic attempts at creating a workable lockpick appear to have been crushed. He shuffles the flimsy sticks of paper into his hand to examine them. They may still prove to be salvageable, but the material's original weakness already places the possible endeavor at a major disadvantage. There was a reason that lockpicks were made out of hard metal.
He lets out a shaky breath and runs one hand through his hair. His fingers catch roughly on the tangles that have formed during the night. Slowly, he begins to unwork the knots, allowing himself a few moments to deliberate. There is a fairly high chance that Madarame will simply unlock the door soon, meaning that Yusuke's attempts were ultimately futile. After all, Sensei could not keep Yusuke locked away forever without questions eventually being asked about his student's untimely disappearance. Madarame's behavior isn't even truly out of the ordinary. His sensei's humble façade easily ensnared the general public, but in his private moments, Yusuke had witnessed it crack. Madarame's students were well aware of his pin-drop temper, learning early the signs of an oncoming storm of rage. It never lasted long, flashes of cruelty among honey-sweet smiles, but it was enough to leave all of his pupils on constant edge. Punishments were not rare in the atelier, and this imitation of a prison cell was among the most common.
But those were the large, tangible moments. Madarame's anger was long-lasting, formulating into grudges that often extended for weeks. It translated into the constant scarcity of food within the atelier and the frequent power outages induced by the bills being paid intentionally late. Gaslighting that Yusuke had never recognized as being such, instead choosing to internalize the backhanded praise in the hopes of earning Madarame's genuine affection. It was all behavior utterly unbecoming of an artist of Sensei's stature - behavior utterly unbecoming of a human being, in general - but it had always presented itself in such a banal manner that Yusuke only truly acknowledged its oddity when his fellow students had dared to question the manipulative treatment aloud. And even then, he had allowed himself to be blinded. What a fool he had been until the rest of the Phantom Thieves had traipsed into his life.
Yusuke cannot rely on the inevitability of Madarame freeing him. The very thought of being in any way indebted to the man makes his blood boil. He grits his teeth and glares down at the failed lockpicks.
He removes his hand from his head to pluck one of the paper sticks out of his palm. The paper layers that formed it were thin and flimsy, and no matter his attempts to strengthen them by binding them together, they refused to have the force needed to maneuver the inside of the lock. Several of the lockpicks were mashed on their ends because of his desperate attempts to do so, with no success.
He's been going about this all wrong, hasn't he?
It's paper. He's working with paper. Paper has no inherent strength to it, and this brand in particular is incredibly cheap and prone to tears. He cannot expect the paper to change from anything but what it is simply by folding them on top of one another in neat, straight strips!
What do you do with paper? The obvious use for paper is to sketch, but in this moment, his art will prove useless. Lines of charcoal will do nothing but dirty the material that he needs.
There is another use for paper, of course. Origami.
Unwrapping the folded paper into their original forms is tedious and requires quite a lot of time spent pressing them furiously against the floor in an attempt to flatten the creases, but he eventually manages to wrestle a few of them into a somewhat satisfactory imitation of their shape before he mutilated them.
Origami isn't Yusuke's specialty. However, he is aware of the basics, the folds needed to make precise lines and shapes. His mind feels significantly clearer after a few hours of snagged sleep, but it still takes him a much longer amount of time than he would prefer to make them into a suitable form. By the end, he has a handful of makeshift lockpicks that are significantly sturdier than before. Briefly, he curls his fist around them and takes a deep breath. Then, he pushes himself to his feet. He needs to act.
A brief wave of vertigo overtakes him as he stands upright, and he stumbles slightly, unbalanced, before managing to steady himself and rush to the door. He checks the handle first to ensure that Madarame had not unlocked it during the night, but it barely moves in his grip. He lets it go to press his ear against the door and is relieved to hear nothing on the other side but silence.
He stacks two of the lockpicks on top of each other and shimmies them into the slim hole in the handle, awkwardly finessing the sticks into place. It takes quite a lot of trial and error, but his relief when the door finally gives a faint click is so great that he nearly collapses to the ground.
At a snail's pace, he inches the door open. The audible squeak of the hinges makes Yusuke wince, but the corridor is completely devoid of life. The overhead light is on, which is worrying, but Madarame himself is nowhere to be found.
As he eases out into the hallway, Yusuke comes to the realization that he does not, actually, have a plan as to how to leave. He doesn't know where exactly Madarame is located within the atelier or if he had some sort of event planned that required his presence and had therefore abandoned the shack. The only exit in the building was the front door, but was it even safe to leave through that way? What if Yusuke was spotted?
There is more inherent danger to standing frozen in indecision in the hallway than actually moving, so Yusuke automatically migrates to the room closest: the art studio. The door is still thrown open from his brief fight against Madarame the day before, and he slips into the quiet room with little effort. He's relieved to see his phone strewn haphazardly on the ground in front of his unfinished painting and swoops to pick it up. For a moment, his eye catches on his abandoned artwork. The harried slash of scarlet that he remembers creating in his panic has all but vanished. Black detail work is layered on top of it and blended into Yusuke's own lines to hide the ugly gash, as if the event that premeditated it had never even occurred. Unbidden, a rush of disappointment crashes through him. Physically hiding Yusuke away was not enough for Madarame, it seems. Even his mistakes had to be erased from existence, lest they be frowned upon by Sensei's critics.
Yusuke itches to reach for his fallen paintbrush and recreate the gruesome crimson mark. He shakes his head and turns to his phone instead. Now was not the time to try and reclaim his own work from Madarame's scheming hands.
He is greeted to dozens of notifications. None of the numbers are listed, but he is able to identify the names of his friends amongst their text messages, alongside their several worried mentions of himself. It appears that all of them are in the same bizarre time traveling situation as Yusuke, then. He doesn't know how they managed to gain each other's numbers, but the knowledge that they had all traveled together makes something in his chest unclench. At least he isn't alone this time.
He enters the groupchat, ready to assure his friends of his presence, when he hears the front door loudly unlock. He whips around in panic to the sound of it opening with an ominous creak.
Yusuke comes up with a plan.
He exits out of his messages and rapidly scrolls through his apps to locate the MetaNav. He'd never had to enter Madarame's keywords himself, but he can easily guess what they may be.
He hesitates before pressing the final navigation button. What about the rest of his friends? The last few messages had mentioned them traveling towards Shibuya. Instead of starting the navigation, he reverts back to his messaging app, fingers flying across the keyboard.
"YUSUKE!" Madarame shouts from down the hall, dangerously close to the studio's entrance. Yusuke freezes. Madarame must have seen the door to his bedroom still open wide, with his ward nowhere to be seen. He can hear Sensei marching angrily down the corridor. In mere moments, he will find Yusuke, and this entire endeavor will be for naught.
Hurriedly, Yusuke presses send on the messaging app and returns to the MetaNav. He manages to warp to Madarame's Palace barely a second before his sensei rounds the corner.
When he opens his eyes behind his familiar kitsune mask, he's immediately greeted to the sight of a shadow vaguely taking the form of a mutated security guard. For a moment, it seems to stare back at him in shock, before erupting into several different enemies with a shriek. The various shadows take no time to completely surround him.
"Damn," Fox hisses, before summoning Kamu Susano-o and getting to work.
After the initial elation of being reunited, the atmosphere between Makoto, Ann, Futaba and Haru fizzles into a silent anxiety. The only sound is the quiet volume of the news program playing from a screen attached to the car's ceiling. The anchor appears to be just as bored with the news she's currently reporting as the rest of them are, but with nothing left to focus on but nervousness about their situation, the girls find themselves riveted.
The breaking news of the underground trains barreling off of the rails is groundbreaking to none of them, but they all collectively flinch when the anchor announces it. Futaba nestles further into her seat. "Well, that answers that question, I guess," she mutters.
Makoto nods in agreement. Whether or not the train accident would actually happen was a fact that none of them had truly been positive about, and she feels horrible about the reassurance that its occurrence inspires within her. People had died, and here she was, happy that it meant that the timeline was currently intact.
Was this how Akira felt, all the time? How could he possibly stand it? Makoto had only been in this new timeline for two days, but she already felt wracked with guilt. Privately, she had always likened the Phantom Thieves to something akin to the champions of old comic books, saving lives from the shadows. How could they still claim to call themselves heroes if they let innocent civilians die when they had ample opportunities to prevent it?
Thankfully, Makoto doesn't appear to be the only one who feels the same way. Looking slightly nauseous, Ann reaches around Futaba to mute the reporter. The crawl continues reporting the known casualties, but they are all too familiar with the news to stand hearing about it for a second time. The cars around them have all ground to a halt, already feeling the effects of the sudden train cancellations.
It doesn't take long for boredom to set in. "Ugh," Ann throws her head back against the headrest in frustration, "we would get there faster if we walked!"
Haru's driver glances back at her through the rearview mirror, alarmed by her implicit threat, but Haru pats at his arm in reassurance from her place on the front seat. "Don't worry, Tatsuma-san. We can all stand to wait a bit longer, can't we?"
"Yeah, sure," Futaba grumbles, crossing her arms. Bracketed tightly between Makoto and Ann, it was impossible for her to curl up in her seat like she usually preferred. She compensates by rapidly bouncing her leg and ignoring the disapproving glances that Makoto continues to unsubtly point her way. Traffic is at a complete stand-still - how Haru still had anything close to patience was an utter mystery. Futaba exclaims, "This is taking forever! At this rate, Akira and Ryuji are gonna beat us there!"
Makoto turns away from them to gaze out the window. She can see her own reflection faintly in the glass, eyebrows pinched and lips downturned. It's a superficial thing to notice, but her hair is shorter than what she remembered it being two days ago. She had cut it before the school year began. It must have grown out over the course of the year, but with the increasingly bizarre events that had commanded her attention, she'd hardly realized. The physical reminder of their situation jars her, and she can't help but shiver.
The car hasn't moved for quite some time, and Ann and Futaba's frustration was contagious. Makoto forces herself to stop twisting her fingers aimlessly in her lap - an old nervous tic - and instead shakily smoothes out the shallow wrinkles in her skirt.
"You know, I've been thinking," Makoto starts, folding her hands together and refusing to look at her friends, "about what Akira said after we got back."
"What's that, Mako-chan?" Haru asks, turning around fully in her seat to face them. Her driver winces at the action but makes no comment.
Makoto clears her throat and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, hyper-aware of the way that her friends are now staring at her. "I mean, when we were all in the attic. We were discussing last April, and Ryuji mentioned that he-"
As one, all of the phones in the car ping. Makoto cuts herself off abruptly as she rushes to check the group chat alongside the others. Akira and Ryuji should still be in Kamoshida's Palace right now, which meant that the message could only have come from-
"Inari!" Futaba shouts. Makoto leans forward in her seat as she reads, hands shaking as she cradles her phone. She's unbuckling her seat belt before she even consciously realizes she's doing so, mind racing as she registers what Yusuke has written.
"Actually," Haru tells her driver, pleasant voice lingering just on the edge of panic as Ann unlocks her own car door and steps out onto the frozen highway, with Futaba scrambling out just behind her, "I think that we will be walking the rest of the way."
By the time Fox finally stumbles into the calming aura of a safe room, he is certifiably winded. He is certain that the life stone that he had managed to scrounge out of a stray treasure chest is the only reason that he is not walking a definite limp, but his abdomen still twinges in pain as he throws himself onto a plush chair. The room briefly shimmers around him, the walls of the museum morphing into the familiar trappings of the atelier before settling back into the distortion.
Yusuke rests his head in his hands, fighting off an oncoming headache. With his experience, the enemies themselves no longer posed a significant challenge. However, several of them are equipped with fire powers, and the sheer number of shadows lurking around the corners of the museum's mazes makes it impossible for him to avoid every fight. With no access to healing magic or items, Fox has no possible room for error. It is a task that is much easier said than done. As well, each of Kamu Susano-o's attacks seemed to sap more of his energy than he remembered it ever taking before. His mind was still readily accustomed to his prior power, but his body found itself lacking the same strength.
It does not help that Fox has no idea as to where in the Palace that he is located. The MetaNav had dropped him straight into a random gallery, and with no map to guide him, he had chosen a direction to travel merely upon a whim. He has yet to find any distinguishing features in the museum that informs him as to whether he is currently fighting his way towards the exit or simply wandering farther into the heart of Madarame's distortion.
Regardless, he cannot afford to give up now. The rest of the Phantom Thieves are scheduled to arrive soon, and being defeated before their appearance is not an option. Sitting idly in a safe room will only disguise his location from the others, and the very idea of complete inaction makes him clench his fists in anger. No, there is little pride in hiding away because of a prolonged cowardice at the prospect of battling weak enemies alone.
With the comforting presence of his persona in the forefront of his mind, Fox makes his way to the safe room door and once again sneaks out into the hallway.
Ann overestimated her own physical abilities, because the grueling trek from the highway to the atelier leaves her legs shaky and chest heaving. The others aren't much better as they finally come to a stop outside of Madarame's shack. Futaba immediately flops to the ground with a groan, exhaustion evident in every line of her body as she pants. Even Makoto and Haru seem winded from the long journey as the sun climbs steadily higher into the sky. None of their bodies are nearly as prepared for the prolonged exercise as they would have been before they were sent back in time.
Even so, Ann feels victorious as she wipes beads of sweat from her forehead. The cars had barely inched down the road as they had all marched between them with undeniable purpose, and the multiple people crowding Shibuya hardly paid attention to their group as they navigated their way through Central Street. They haven't even entered Madarame's Palace, but satisfaction runs through her veins nonetheless.
Massaging her side absentmindedly, Makoto gazes up at the shack. "So this is it?" she asks Ann.
It's the same as Ann remembers it being. It's still ever so slightly creepy in its decrepit state amongst the perfectly manicured buildings next to it, and for a moment, she's cast back to her first time visiting it. She can vividly imagine ringing the doorbell, chattering with the rest of the original Phantom Thieves as she did so and hoping to find any clues proving Madarame's rumored plagiarism. Instead, it was Yusuke who had opened the creaky door, worryingly gaunt and pale even as his tired eyes lit up at the sight of her.
Despite the horrible circumstances of the moment, the memory causes an unexpected rush of nostalgia. Things had been so much simpler, back then.
"Yeah, this is it," Ann confirms.
Futaba gives a tired thumbs up from her resting place on the pavement. "Then let's fire 'er up!"
"As soon as possible, please," Haru says with a grimace, and Ann pulls out her phone. Entering the correct keywords is much easier than it had been the first time around, and it doesn't take long for the MetaNav to announce their navigation route. Her gaze flicks up briefly to see the handle on Madarame's front door begin to turn ominously, but the four of them vanish from reality before anyone can spot them.
Panther breathes a sigh of relief as soon as she recognizes Madarame's gaudy Palace in front of her. She's wearing her rebel's outfit, but for once, the showy red design doesn't make her feel self-conscious. The exhaustion of only a few seconds ago has completely disappeared, leaving her body reinvigorated. Hecate is a welcome presence in her mind, and Ann can already sense fire at her fingertips.
The sentiment is seemingly reflected by her companions even as they take in their surroundings in a mild state of shock. None of them had been around to see the art museum like Panther had, and the sight of it causes them to briefly freeze. She remembers the emotions that it had initially evoked in her: wonder at its ugly grandeur that had quickly morphed into pure fury at what its very existence implied.
Oracle is the first to recover, retreating into Prometheus' glowing interior to properly scan the Palace. Her disembodied voice surrounds them. "Well, Fox is definitely here," she confirms. "I can sense the energy from his persona, but it's really faint. Good news, though! Most of the shadows here are the same ones we fight in Chemdah at Mementos. They shouldn't be a real challenge for you guys."
"Wonderful," Queen says. She turns to Panther. "Will you be able to lead us through the Palace?"
"Probably," Ann says, and when she's met with identical disbelieving stares, she quickly amends, "Yes."
Noir gives her a smile and gestures towards the museum with a flourish, the Palace's pompous nature only serving to emphasize her usual flare for the dramatics. "After you, then!"
Ann has never had some sort of leadership role in, well, anything, really, but especially in nothing pertaining to the Metaverse. Any responsibilities had always fallen to Joker, and if not him, Queen or the navigators. Even Akechi had stepped up during the days that they'd spent exploring Sae's casino more than Panther ever had. She doesn't consider herself in any way weak for not taking a more assertive role in the team, but Panther has to admit that there was a certain thrill to guiding the rest of the Phantom Thieves through Madarame's Palace. Hopping over the heads of the shadows in the courtyard and sneaking through the galleries is easier than she remembers, and they even stop to loot the few treasure chests that they find along the way. Between the three of them and Oracle's occasional interventions, the enemies go down in only a few hits.
However effortless that the fights may have been, when they finally reach the empty front desk lined with maps, they have no hesitation about falling onto the plush couches. They're not in a safe room, but the lobby has been completely cleared of the weak shadows and serves well enough as a place to regroup before traveling past the huge, gaudy statue that marked the entrance to the rest of the museum and its extensive, maze-like galleries.
As Oracle types away at her laptop, Noir looks back to where they'd come with a pained expression. The sordid paintings of Madarame's students are well out of their sights, but Panther can tell that they're still bothering Haru. "How could Madarame view his own students like that?" she asks. "They all put so much trust in him, and he just-" Noir trails off, staring down at her black gloves. "I can't imagine the betrayal that Yus-kun must have felt."
Panther and Queen exchange alarmed looks. Noir hadn't exactly been surprised when she'd finally witnessed the truths of what her father thought of the world. Saddened, yes, but not shocked. She already knew that the man who had raised her had seen everyone in his life as exposable. Accepting the reality of the situation wasn't difficult, because at least Okumura had always been upfront about his intentions.
Madarame hadn't been. Everything Madarame had ever said was a perfectly crafted lie designed to make people let their guards down, presenting himself as a humble old man who wasn't morally capable of doing wrong. Of course Yusuke had fallen for it. They all had.
"Yusuke knows now," Panther says haltingly, "about Madarame, and what he did to him."
(But just because he knows doesn't truly mean acceptance or healing. Ann remembers Yusuke gathering her, Ryuji, and Akira into Leblanc, desperate to break through the intense artist's block that had plagued him since Madarame's confession. Even though he had seemed fine enough, Ann hadn't failed to notice the worried glances Akira kept shooting his way, as if Yusuke was something fragile.)
(Then again, 'fragile' was not a word that would describe Yusuke in a million years.)
Queen nods in agreement. "That's right," she assures Noir. "It must have hurt him, but I know that he wouldn't want to go back to how it was before, even if it appeared to be simpler back then. Knowing about it doesn't make it okay, but it's better than ignorance. All there is left to do now is to keep fighting beyond it."
There's an intensity in Queen's tone as she says it, and Panther doesn't think that any of them are actually talking about Madarame and Yusuke anymore. From the conflicted expression on Noir's face, she thinks that Haru may agree.
Oracle shuts her laptop with a loud clatter. It shimmers out of sight as soon as her hands leave it, returning back to whatever pocket dimension that their weapons and items disappear to until the moment that they become needed again. Having an invisible, mental locker for the dozens of supplies that they regularly carry with them was the most useful feature of the Metaverse that any of them had discovered so far. "Fox is getting closer," Futaba updates them. She taps her ear. "He's not close enough to get in contact yet, but I don't think it'll be long. My guess is that we'll run into each other somewhere in the next few rooms."
Panther brightens. "Awesome! That means we can leave soon!"
Oracle snorts. "Yeah, no kidding. This Palace is crazy easy. How underleveled were you guys when you infiltrated this place?" Without waiting for an answer, she groans. "Ugh, do you think we're gonna have to walk back to Leblanc when we get outta here? I don't even remember what Noir's driver looks like!"
"Um," Panther starts, but Queen stands with determination before Ann can stammer through some semblance of a plan.
"We'll figure that out later," Queen tells them, "after we get Fox back." She looks over them all critically. "We shouldn't linger here any longer than we already have. As easy as these enemies have proven to be, the last thing we want is to be ambushed."
Panther looks at Noir, worried that their earlier conversation had been too upsetting for her to properly continue, but her face is wiped clear, eyebrows set in determination and shoulders squared as she rises to her feet. She runs one hand along the wide brim of her hat gracefully. "We need to find Fox," she declares, and disappears into the corridor leading to the circular room without looking back.
"R-right," Ann agrees, a ripple of confusion passing through her at Noir's sudden attitude change. Glancing at Queen and Oracle, the feeling is apparently shared. Panther shrugs at them before hurrying to catch up.
The three of them find her staring up at Madarame's golden statue. They have to crane their necks to see it in its entirety, the gleaming exterior extending to touch the high ceiling. Panther knows that abstract art is meant to have some sort of deeper meaning, but to her, the gaudy display is just plain ugly.
"That certainly is large," Oracle comments blandly.
Panther tears her eyes away to look around the rest of the familiar room. "This is where Yusuke awakened his persona," she says. Even though she'd been restrained by the museum guards behind him at the time, she still remembers it clearly. Panther couldn't see his face, but she could see Madarame's, the way that it went completely slack as Yusuke spoke, arrogance draining away at the sight of his pupil rising against him. Trails of blood were scratched into the floor, and the entire room had chilled with the encroaching ice radiating from Yusuke as Goemon finally burst out of him in a wave of frozen air.
It had been the first time that Ann had seen someone else awaken their persona, and it had been awe-inspiring in its terror. 'Beauty and vice,' Yusuke had described it to them later with a far-away look in his normally sharp eyes. 'Both, yet simultaneously neither.'
The way that Yusuke spoke of Goemon's awakening was nothing like how Ann had felt with Carmen. Then again, their elements weren't opposing for no reason at all.
Panther shakes her head. "We should get out of here," she tells the others. "I don't wanna run into Madarame's Shadow by accident."
"Lead the way," Queen says, voice strangely hushed. It feels appropriate.
Thankfully, Shadow Madarame does not appear as they walk up the curved ramp to reach the next gallery. It was much more difficult to ignore the enemies as they navigate the winding mazes to find the exit, but clearing them out proves more tiring than hard.
As soon as the group steps out into the hallway, a smirk curls on Oracle's mouth, and she ascends into Prometheus' waiting orb. Her disembodied voice echoes around Panther. "Fancy seeing you here, Inari," Futaba says, and Panther sags in relief.
Panther can't hear Yusuke's response, but whatever it is makes Oracle laugh. There's a tinge of genuine concern behind her teasing tone as she replies, and the conversation quickly turns into a series of instructions as Oracle guides both parties towards each other. It's disconcerting to only hear one half of their conversation, but the knowledge that they're even in contact with each other makes hope bloom in Ann's chest. Soon, they'll have found Yusuke and met up with the boys and Morgana. The only way to fight their way out of this crazy mess was to all be together, and they were finally one step closer to that becoming a reality.
When they finally meet in the middle, Panther's group and Fox all but crash into each other. There's an ugly bruise peeking out from under his mask and he has a hand pressed against the side of his puffy black tunic. He stumbles to a stop, eyes widening as he takes them in. Ann rushes forward to throw her arms around him in a hug. She doesn't miss the way that he stiffens in her tight embrace, softly hissing in pain.
Before she can step away with an apology already prepared on the tip of her tongue, a pleasant sensation trickles down her spine. Immediately, the residual soreness in her muscles fades before disappearing completely. Ann smiles. She would know the soothing aura of Queen's Mediarahan anywhere.
Injuries vanishing, Fox finally relaxes in her grip. Noir seems to take it as an open invitation to join Panther's hug and quickly latches onto the two of them. Queen and Oracle don't quite join in their impromptu cuddle pile, but they hover nearby, close enough that Panther can feel the heat of their bodies against hers.
Squashed in the middle and rendered absolutely immobile, Yusuke finally manages to get out, "Hello."
Noir giggles. "Hello, Fox! It's wonderful to see you again!"
"You as well." Yusuke has never been the most physical person, and Ann can hear the vein of uncomfort in his voice when he says, "May I, ah-"
Panther gives him one more squeeze before finally backing away. Oracle adjusts her goggles and rocks onto the balls of her feet. "Can we finish this little meet and greet later?" she asks. "We should get to a safe room pronto."
"We have quite a lot to catch up on," Queen adds.
"Yes," Fox agrees drily. "I would imagine that we do."
Soon after entering Madarame's Palace, Yusuke had used his first moment of relative safety to read through the recent messages in the Phantom Thieves' group chat. It was easy enough to assign the correct names to the unregistered numbers, but the contents of the slew of messages had felt strangely incomplete. It was obvious that the other members had somehow managed to convene momentarily after being cast backwards in time - a fact that caused an unwelcome rush of jealousy within him - but none of their messages had conveyed what they had spoken of other than their immediate future plans. It was not entirely unreasonable that they did not think to recapture their conversation over texts for Yusuke's benefit, so there was little for him to glean from the context they had provided. Some things were better explained in-person rather than over a digital medium.
However, he does think that it is fair to expect some sort of warning to preface Futaba bluntly informing him of the stark realities of their sudden romp into the past, most particularly in concern to their leader.
The chuckle that escapes his throat at the news is ever so slightly deranged. The gathered Phantom Thieves can't help but stare at him disbelievingly as his laughter fluctuates, flaring louder before dying down just as quickly.
"This isn't funny at all," Fox says into the empty air.
"Of course it isn't!" Queen snaps, and several of the room's occupants flinch back at her harsh tone. They're all sitting around a table in a safe room, exactly as they do when they hold regular meetings in routine palace runs, as if half of their members aren't missing and their strategy is still as simple as 'find an infiltration route to the treasure and then send a calling card.'
Yusuke tilts his head and muses, "However, I don't find myself entirely surprised." At their matching baffled expressions, he raises an eyebrow at the rest of the room. "Am I alone in that assessment?" Yusuke has never claimed to have an exceptionally high emotional intelligence, but life-altering revelations have become increasingly common in his life.
"Yes!" Haru says. With her French-inspired attire, Yusuke cannot help but think about how little she fits into the preferred pieces displayed in Madarame's galleries. As varying as the styles presented in the museum were, Madarame greatly favored Japanese artwork rather than the western design that Noir was clad in. It was classically elegant in comparison to most of the outfits of their teammates, but still woefully out of place against her surroundings. The aesthetics of the museum befit none of them.
He shuts his eyes, attempting to push away his instinctive artistic observations in order to focus on the serious subject matter of their present conversation. "No, Inari's right," Futaba says. She shrinks back when everyone else turns on her, but manages to continue, "'kira's always been sort of weird, hasn't he?"
"You're one to talk," Ann mutters.
Futaba ignores her and turns to face Yusuke. "You noticed it too! I'm glad it wasn't just me. I thought I might've been going crazy."
"Noticed what?" Makoto asks, exasperated and noticeably frustrated at being kept out of the loop.
Futaba shrugs. "He just always seemed to know everything. Nothing really threw him off. At first I thought it was because he's my key item and so it was all just in my head, but I'm not really sure anymore."
"Intuitive people do exist," Yusuke points out, "but I agree. While his calming nature is grounding to those of us in need of moral assistance, his lack of shock at a myriad of our most dramatic experiences proved slightly disorienting to me."
"So you both knew about this already?" Makoto asks.
"I mean, no," Futaba says. "Who thinks that? 'Oh, you're super chill all the time, you're obviously a time traveler!'"
"It is a conclusion that borders on insanity," Yusuke adds, "but of course, the Metaverse has revealed stranger truths."
"How is time travel not the strangest truth?" Ann asks. "It's like something out of a sci-fi show!"
Yusuke meets her gaze coolly. "Both the Metaverse and science fiction have a rather large emphasis on the practice of dismantling common falsehoods in order to reveal a world unknown. I find that they fit together rather well."
"What he said," Futaba chimes in. She stretches and gets to her feet. "Well, whatever. We can't really do that much about it right now. We should get out of this place soon before Madarame's Shadow figures out that we're hiding out here."
Fox grimaces. He'd rather not have to hear whatever his former sensei had to say to him within the Metaverse when Madarame had just revealed how explosive he could truly act in reality. The comparison promised to be uglier than Yusuke cared to witness. "Yes, we should escape this garish place whilst the chance still readily presents itself." He rises out of chair. "Regardless, I would like to continue this conversation at a later time. Our leader obviously chose to conceal his bizarre situation from us for a reason, and I would rather hear any justifications from his own mouth instead of continuing to blindly speculate."
Queen purses her lips in displeasure before acquiescing. Fox cannot stop the sigh of relief that escapes him when Shadow Madarame fails to appear as the five of them retreat to the Palace's entrance. Combat proves to be significantly easier with the help of his fellow Phantom Thieves, but it still proves to be exhausting. It appears that their well of stamina was not nearly as deep as it once was, even as their attacks maintained the same fortitude as they had while standing in front of Yaldabaoth.
Warping to the front door of the atelier leaves a sense of distaste in Yusuke alongside the satisfaction at his successful escape from Madarame's clutches. He nearly stumbles when Haru pushes against his back urgently, no match against her carefully hidden strength. "We should leave before Madarame sees you," she cautions.
He nods, and together, the Phantom Thieves seamlessly blend into the bustling crowd of the still-panicked residents of Shibuya.