.
Syuuri's kanji – 秋璃. 秋 means "autumn". 璃 means "crystal".
Torii – A traditional Japanese gate that symbolically marks the transition from the mundane to the sacred.
Yakitori - a Japanese type of skewered chicken.
Fox took a step back. His back bumped against a coromandel screen, tipping over the folding artwork of animated black flora on gold.
"J-Joker?"
The dirk twirled by Joker's forefinger. Revolutions of glints winked at Fox from the silvery blade. Its spin slowed. The red glove deftly slipped the handle into a grip.
Joker pointed his weapon at Fox.
"Now that we are alone, I think there's a problem that needs to be buried, once and for all. Panther has told me an awful lot about you, you know? Like about that day when she came to your atelier for the nude painting session."
Implicit understanding settled in. Fox straightened up, his eyes narrowing.
"Panther confided to you about the hour we shared that day," Fox said slowly.
The corner of Joker's mouth curled in distaste. And something more.
"What a fruitful hour that must have been. I take it that no actual painting was done?"
"Yes."
"How unfortunate. . .for you."
"So that's how it is," said Fox.
Joker nodded, quirking his lips in an upwards pout. Behind Joker, Arsène rubbed his hands together in the lampoon of villainy.
"Yeah. That's how it is. The others will never know the truth of what happens in this room."
"We're not going to talk this over? No – never mind. It doesn't matter now."
"Talk? Oh. There will be no talking from me, Fox. . ."
Earlier. Heist start.
Security control room.
Pin-dot lights from the servers pulsed behind Fox, as if there was a cyberpunk city behind him. All the thieves were in the security control room, with Joker typing away on the PC. Mona hung over his shoulder, pointing out something on the screen. Mutters exchanged between the two. On a swivel chair, Panther sat cross-legged, watching Mona and Joker at the computer. Skull was standing by the door, his arms folded. Comedienne was sitting at the corner of the room, hugging her knees. She had been the quietest out of everyone, in the five-minute traversal from the entrance to the start point of their infiltration route.
The tension was mild in the air. Not suffocating but enough to wash over some sobriety before the helter-skelter started.
The computer beeped. Mona swiped the keycard they nabbed from a Shadow that caught a mouthful of Captain Kidd's cannonball.
"Lockdown sequence initiated," said the PC.
Everyone raised their heads to Joker.
"It's ready. The route to the Treasure Room is open, everywhere else is shut off. That ought to slow them down," said Joker.
"We can now take him down, yes?" asked Fox.
"Madarame's going to be a changed man. Once that Treasure is taken, there won't be any way to revert who he becomes. Are you sure you're going to be OK with that, Fox?" said Mona.
"I have thought it over carefully and I cannot fathom bearing a future in which he does not pay his dues. He has not only slashed at the art world's canvass but has stepped over precious talents; many of which will never reclaim their genius. . .so, I humbly request your help," said Fox, bowing to them all.
Skull bumped a fist into his other palm.
"No problem, dude!"
"You have my blade, Fox," said Comedienne.
"All right. Guess that finalises it, then," said Joker.
"I apologise for putting you all through these dangers," said Fox.
"Not at all, Fox. We just didn't want to impose on you in case you weren't feeling up to. . ." Panther trailed off.
"Taking down a man who raised me as a father," Fox finished for her.
"Yeah. But if you're already determined to see this through, then there's nothing more for us to say for assurances," said Panther.
"Actually, may I ask a basic question? This is my third time going into sensei's Palace and while all of you may take in these Fortean manifestations with the ease of a stride, there is something which still bothers me," said Fox.
"What is it?" asked Mona.
Fox airily gestured.
"I've accepted how sensei's distortions came to be. What nags at me is the why?"
Skull scratched his head.
"The why?" said Skull.
"Yes. Why does this world, seeded from materialised cognitions even exist in the first place? Yesterday when I was doing people watching in Shibuya's Underground Mall, I was struck by the gravity of it all. Has this 'metaverse' always existed, while we go throughout our daily lives, completely oblivious? Has it been there for months? Years? Centuries?"
Everyone looked at Mona. His ear flickered – annoyed.
"Honestly? I don't know. At the very least, I'm sure it existed before the Kamoshida incident. Beyond that, I'm in the dark too."
"I see," said Fox.
"Crap. Dude caught me off-guard with that existentialism. It's kinda weird thinking there might be whole worlds we don't know a damn thing about. Did this thing ever cross your mind, Joker?" asked Skull.
"I'll even add to Fox's query; why do we have powers in the first place? Among the thousands of miserable souls sludging through the tyranny of their lives, how did we win the 'lottery' of becoming Randian conquerors of bottlenecks and plights? In becoming Phantom Thieves, what was the difference between the others and us?" asked Comedienne.
The difference is me. I'm the catalyst. All those thousands never met me, so they're stuck with their own Kamoshidas and Madarames, thought Joker.
It was a close thing. In the final week before Ren came to Tokyo, his parents were deliberating on cancelling his Shujin enrolment for a school in Mihate – a small coastal town of nine thousand. They never went through with it.
How many nameless Anns, Ryujis, Shioris and Yusukes did he unconsciously leave for ruin, just by being at Shujin? Joker wondered. Was this why Igor was always grinning at him in his dreams? Because of some sick omniscient sense of irony that humoured the demi-god?
"Well Joker?" asked Comedienne.
?
"Why do you think I have the answer? I'm just as clueless as you are," lied Joker.
"You sure? I figured you would have an inkling at least, seeing as you were the first one to awaken a Persona," said Comedienne.
I haven't forgotten what Yoshitsune said to me in Kamoshida's coliseum. 'By condition of thy bond with Trickster'. Practically right after Arsène showed up with your mask, thought Comedienne, folding her arms.
Joker's grey eyes narrowed inside the bird mask's eye slits.
She's been thinking critically about this. More than the others, thought Joker.
The others caught onto the undertone standoff static generating between Comedienne and Joker.
"I was first, so what? Perhaps some instruction manual dropped from the sky when Arsène showed up but we were all a tad bit distracted down there, fighting for our lives," said Joker.
"If Joker says he doesn't know, he doesn't know," Panther chimed in, her tone taking a defensive tone out of loyalty to her boyfriend.
Joker wagged an eyebrow, 'You ought to listen to her'.
The corner of Comedienne's lips lifted in a suppressed snarl. She turned her back on them, her shoulders perked up in the arms fold. Joker had no way of knowing what her expression was when she said:
"Fine. I'll take your word for it."
x
Panther stuck her head out the door. Her twin tails bobbity-bopped when she checked the coast left to right.
"Clear," she said.
The picaresque entourage slinked out the glass-panelled security room. Out before them stretched an exhibition hall crisscrossing pale red lines. Laser security detection grids. Just before the grids, a scaffolding was set in place, conveniently scaling up to a ventilation duct the thieves marked for their infiltration route. Upon scaling the scaffolding, the heist's first complication presented itself.
"Aww shit," said Skull.
Skull crouched, rapping the thick metal panel that was wielded (it looked like a recent job) over the vent's entrance, completely blocking access for any enterprises of duct-wiggling like Pac-Man in this Palace.
"Perhaps we could try breaking it?" suggested Panther.
Joker shook his head.
"Too risky. The noise attraction aside, the vector forces from trying to smash this blockade might collapse the scaffold, sending a stray pipe or two towards the lasers," said Joker.
"Then what?" asked Comedienne.
"Hey, Joker. Do you think you could use your Third Eye on these paintings?" prompted Mona.
?
At the end of the platform, Mona bounced on his heels and leaned tippy-toe – pointing to a large-framed painting of camels walking in a desert. There were six paintings like it, lining up towards the other end of the room, which was where the gang needed to get to.
"Sure."
Joker closed his eyes. A buzzing feel of pressure built up in the middle of his forehead until it was a steady throb of energy. He opened his eyes; the world rippled a wash into darker colours. Joker tore his gaze from the incandescent flame aurae of his friends and peered into the painting. What happened next was odd. From the cool interior of the exhibition hall, Joker felt a sudden thrust in a change of atmosphere; the sun burning from above, dry air that stung at his cheeks and. . .sand.
"That's weird. It's like – there's an entire world in there," said Joker.
Fox's eyes widened.
"A world within a world? Now we have inceptions of realities that scale across different dimensions in the metaverse," said Fox.
Mona dipped his paw into the painting. The artwork's surface shimmered like a disturbed pond.
"Hmm," said Mona.
Skull's shoe tapped to a nervous tempo on the platform.
"Gotta make a decision fast and we gotta make it now. The Shadows are on their way to the security room," said Skull.
"Okay, listen up everyone. There's a change of plans. We're going to reach the Treasure Room by running through these paintings," said Mona.
The shoe tapping stopped.
"Errr. . .did I hear that right? Like – you want us to go inside that?" said Panther.
"Exactly," said Mona.
The rest of the crew hesitated. Then-
"Fuck it."
Comedienne pushed past Skull.
"Let's get this over with," said Comedienne.
"Whoa whoa. You're gonna jump in just like that?" said Skull.
"What? Do you prefer wrestling with a giant buckaroo penis for the final excursion? It's only six paintings. How hard can the trek be?"
Jinx.
Painting one.
'Desolation in Sand'
The Third Eye vision was not shitting about the sand. This was a desert.
Dr Skull with his PhD from YOLO University, stuck his tongue out in the heat. It went dryer than the Clinton's bedroom in 1998.
"Thand," said Skull with his tongue still out.
So much sand. Swirling horizons of that earthy fine-talc powder, doing its best to cram itself into everything, even chafing into the collar at Joker's neck, much to his bother. The heat was a harsh revelation to the Japan natives, miraging hazy waves of the twisting acreages of geography divided by shadows and light. Shadows that broke into an arcane mystery greater than the dark side of the moon.
A caravan of camels passed by the Phantom Thieves. One of the camels made a face at Panther, baring yellow teeth and spat a gob of jelly-like saliva. Panther shrieked, jumping back. The saliva bobbled on the ground in its thick viscosity before vaporising in a sizzle.
"This was a mistake," said Mona.
"No shit," muttered Comedienne.
Comedienne hooded her eyes, peering into the distance. Ahoy there. Exit sighted at a five-minute walk. It was a cracked stone archway that half-ringed on the crust-drifting landscape. Comedienne pointed.
"Over there."
"Guess we just gotta make it over there to transition into the next painting," said Mona.
The others began to trudge, save for Fox who stood back, helplessly looking at everything. Sweat slicked down the bend of his jaw as he surveyed the inner illustrations of this painting. He recognised the unique style of the mysterious shadows. Yusuke shared his atelier with her last year – Junko Yamaoka. The last Yusuke heard of Junko were anecdotes of a dull-eyed waitress in Omotesando, who worked overtime and refused to listen to the pleas of her friends and family that she was wasting her talents away. But Junko did not care. Her passion for life was burned out from being used.
Seeing this desert, I better understand why this was your final painting, Fox thought, miserable.
"It was all a waste. Our precious hopes and dreams, ground to dust," Fox said to himself.
"Fox?"
Fox tore his eyes from the dusty distances. Joker had hung back while the others were ahead.
"On my- my way," mumbled Fox.
I must bring him down. Once Madarame is arrested, I'll be free from this world. Relieved of this guilt in death, thought Fox.
Joker took off his tail-coat jacket, allowing for Fox to pass ahead. If any depressional vibes sine-waved from Fox, Joker did not give any outward reaction. Joker took the cue to walk at the group's tail, his expressionless face regarding the back of the Phantom Thieves newest member.
About a minute away from the portal gate, the Phantom Thieves came across two Bedouin riders on blindfolded black horses. The riders' faces were completely obscured by scarves. Strapped over the Bedouins' eyes were tiny goggles of bituminous lens which emptily stared at the wary group on foot.
Comedienne's hand fell loosely to her tachi in its sheath when one of the riders cantered forward, each hoof padding a dull impact on the sand. Although the Bedouin rider showed no sign of aggression, the gang were on the edge. To everyone's surprise, the rider spoke:
"Are you people with the black mask?"
"Huh?" said Panther.
"Never heard of that name, fella," said Skull.
The riders said nothing more, letting them pass by. When they arrived at the gate, Joker looked back. The strangers were still watching them, still as statues in the curlicues of dust swirls, in this weird painting.
The archway's rippling glamour revealed two flaming ships struggling against a rough storm. It was mute but the frenetic energy of the crashing waves alluded to a rough time. Lightning crackled over the ships' sails. Before the gang stepped in, a sonorous voice amplified across the desert, ghosting echoes in his scorn.
"Alas. This world is a desert filled with savages who cannot conceptualise true beauty. It's a small wonder there was a slow drain to my immense skill given that I was always surrounded by small minds," boomed Shadow Madarame.
"Gah! Does he know where we are?" asked Skull.
"I don't see anyone attacking us," said Panther.
"It could be that these voices are subconscious emanations of Shadow Madarame's psyche," said Mona.
"You know, this only occurred to me now but. . .what would happen to us if some Shadow from the 'outside' were to destroy the painting while we're inside?" asked Panther.
Everyone looked at each other, perplexed.
"Definitely wouldn't be a good thing," said Comedienne.
"Yeesh. Let's hurry to the Treasure Room. I'm not interested in finding out," said Mona.
Joker was the last one to step into the portal. Before him went Fox and he saw that the artist was trembling from Shadow Madarame's scorn.
Painting two.
'The Storm'
Joker ducked. A smoking cannonball bolt shot over his head and caved in the skull of some skinny pirate whose corpse triple somersaulted backwards from the force of the impact – only to get tangled onto the rope lines of the sails.
Privateers from the enemy ship hollered some sea shanty maniacal cry, draping onto ropes and swinging over to the ship the Phantom Thieves had teleported onto. Dozens of scimitars turned up in defence, clashing blades in lightning's flash. Rain splattered all over the deck, the floorboards slippery with saltwater and blood. A lantern rolled out from the cabin, spilling flames.
In the middle of it all, the Phantom Thieves scrambled through the chaos of the two ship crews trying to kill each other with both sides mistaking the gang for an enemy. Joker twirled his dirk at one pirate trying to lunge at him. A disc swipe flashed between them. The pirate fell forward, unmoving. Joker straightened up, raising his face up against the storm pelting sky.
It was a uniquely perturbing thing to be at sea in a howling storm. It had a way of quickly evoking the sense of perspective for how tiny a ship was compared to the rest of the raging ocean.
One of the main masts splintered and groaned. Joker's eyes widened, seeing that it was about to fall on Skull.
"Arsène!"
An ocean wave washed from starboard and slammed into Joker who barely had the window to see Arsène throw out the signature chains, winding a wrap onto the heavy falling mast. Floorboards splintered at Arsène's heels digging in, his long arms straining. The mast's fall was successfully redirected from falling onto Skull.
Joker gasped and coughed, his eyes burning from the saltwater. A pink glove dipped its hand, offering help. Joker looked up. It was Panther.
He took her hand.
On the gangplanks betwixt the ships, the two captain privateers duelled with pistols and sabres. Both the bearded men roared with laughter, even as the stray flotsams of ember set alight to their beards, crawling up a glowing singe. A nearby cannon imploded from bad gunpowder, ballooning a grey cloud of smoke around the captains' thrashing. Like from an old cartoon's fight, a head or a fist would occasionally stick out of the cloud before darting back in.
Three more pirates washed overboard from the storm waves. A stray bullet ricocheted off Skull's new Ume knot shield, burying bum-wise into a quartermaster – much to his proctological misfortune.
Skull had enough.
"Fuck – fuck – fuck – and FUCK THIS! Captain Kidd! Rise with your ship!" screamed Skull.
The silhouette glow of a ship outlined beneath, eclipsing both the watercrafts. The 'NPCs' of the painting startled and stumbled at seeing the preternatural glow diffuse from the ocean depths. Both the vessels began to vibrate with Captain Kidd's ascension.
X
Twenty-two minutes later.
"Glad that's over."
Comedienne collapsed onto her back, panting. A beam of sunshine broke out of the dissipating clouds, spotlighting over where she was lying. Her forearm covered over her eyes. Salt-washed hair stuck sticky onto her forehead.
At the ship's wheel, Captain Kidd was steering, directing his ship to the next portal which had been sighted North-north-east of their position. Thankfully the erstwhile storm was fast dialling down.
Skull munched onto an apple, manifested out of a barrel on his Persona's watercraft. Whether it was like a real apple did not matter much to Skull; he was simply trying to distract himself from the gunky taste of soot he accidentally swallowed from the earlier helter-skelter when the other two pirate ships got blown to Davy Jones' Locker (if this painting even accommodated such a thing in its constricted plane of existence).
Fox sneezed his mask off. Next to him, Mona was looking green from sea-sickness. Towards the railings, Panther wrung her tail like a sponge, trying to get the water out.
"Which clown painted this one?" Comedienne asked Fox, her voice rising in a whine of irritation.
Mona leapt up, tottering over to the rails to puke.
"Nakanohara," replied Fox.
"Ain't that the guy from the mementos who directed us to Madarame?" said Skull.
"That's him," said a miserable looking Panther. She sat down next to Joker.
Skull spat out half-chewed apple overboard.
"Typical," he grumbled.
Everyone was unhappy with this detour to the Treasure Room. Everyone except Joker who was humming the tune he heard from the pirate captains; both whom upon realising it was all over for them, found a life-changing epiphany about the cycles of hate, grog and booty yadi yada and joined as new brothers, arms over shoulders – chorusing to their watery grave.
Painting three.
'Fuji's Dragon'
Fox stepped beneath the myōjin torii, joining the others. Immediately, Shadow Madarame's taunts were silenced.
"Good riddance. This Palace Ruler sure is annoying," said Panther.
"Why did he go mute though?" asked Skull.
"It's the torii. It seems there are some symbols that even a Palace Ruler cannot fully conquer, in the domain of their distortion. If Shadow Madarame's reach is limited in the artworks of his pupils, it shows the limits of his own cognition," said Mona.
"In other words, his lack of understanding of fine arts," said Fox.
"A complete imbecile, all right. At least this painting seems calmer than the last one," said Comedienne, looking up at the mountain path.
The others followed her gaze. A rocky pathway trailed along the clifftop, following the vista view of Mt. Fuji. This painting had a heavenly feel to it; cumulus clouds were plenty and puffy around them, diffusing an almost pearlescent glow by an unseen sun. Wind chimes hanging from the torii pealed gently, their tinkling accented by the high-altitude wind's susurrations.
Halfway up the pathway, everyone exclaimed when a serpentine body broke out of the clouds in a rumble. Cyan scales glimmered like a tropical island's blue lagoon, diving in and out the whiteness in slow graceful motions. It was an eastern dragon.
"It's beautiful," said Panther.
That's the tragedy of it, Ann. All this beauty was made to serve Madarame, thought Fox.
If the dragon noticed them, it showed no interest in approaching. The serpent lazily coiled at Mt. Fuji's ascension, snorting a plume of smoke.
Painting four.
'Winter's Hunting Lodge'
The next painting was gloomy compared to the prequel. Although, smaller. It was a cabin.
The entry portal directed the thieves through the cabin's front door entrance which meant they could not exit the house's confines through ordinary means. The others filed into the lounge; firearms drawn just in case. Joker was last, closing the door.
Above the burning fire hearth, a pair of mounted antlers distorted jagged shadows that shimmied across the ceiling, giving a dark Scandinavian fairy-tale vibe. From outside, everyone heard the diesel engine growl of some four-wheeled drive swoosh by. The unseen vehicle's headlights swung its spotlights through the windows, briefly illuming the room – Panther blowing dust off a ram's skull, Mona pawing at the rifle rack, Comedienne and Skull peering down the hallway. It was Fox in the middle who was most striking to Joker. The slender artist was turned sideways to Joker, one hand clutching his upper arm – completely motionless. Fox was so pale in the headlight's swirl; Joker could have taken this cabin for a ghost's haunt.
It went dark, back to the shadow antlers.
"Guys, you might want to check this," said Mona.
Everyone followed the source of Mona's voice.
"Carmen," whispered Panther. Carmen's silhouette flickered at the room's corners. A ball of flame conjured in Panther's hand, serving as the group's torch.
Panther raised her hand higher, casting a glow on what Mona had found.
"The heck. . ." muttered Skull.
"Is this where I say, 'Jinkies'?" asked Comedienne.
"Somehow, Scooby-Doo jokes aren't offsetting how creepy this is," said Joker.
A dead Jack Frost laid at Mona's feet. The Shadow was curled into itself as if it died from starvation.
"How did it get in here?" whispered Panther.
"Same way we did?" suggested Mona.
"That better not be implying we're sharing its fate," said Skull.
Mona nudged the Jack Frost with the tip of his scimitar. Nothing happened.
"What a lonely death it must have been. Separated from the Palace, forever forgotten by the rest of its comrades," murmured Fox.
The dreamy-like tone in Fox's statement went unnoticed by everyone (too weirded out by what was in front of them) save for Joker, who tilted his head in consideration.
The gang split up into two groups to explore the cabin. A minute into the search, Joker's group found another highlight. Everyone was called into a room full of taxidermy mounts. With a twist.
"People instead of animals. How sickened and pained the artist of this illustration must have been," said Panther.
Shadow Madarame's echo speaks came again.
"In the end, all subjects of art must make the sacrifice. For creatures of love, dreams, lust and misery, it must die for its image to be properly captured," said Shadow Madarame.
Each taxidermy of Madarame's pupil was posed in mid-animation with a paintbrush or pencil. Mouths shut, unable to scream. Glassy eyes stared out at the specks of dust falling in the blue fluorescent tubelight. An unspoken dread hung in the air; would they find Yusuke's taxidermy imitation in the lifeless group? All wide eyes and liquorice stitches by the jawline. Sensing his friends' unease, Joker ordered that it was pointless to linger if the exit portal wasn't here.
The portal was eventually found in the cabin's basement. Surprisingly, it took no jump scares or lurking monsters. Just an antique wardrobe blocking the way which took three people to push it away. The odd lack of violence made the Jack Frost's corpse even more unnerving in the minds of the Phantom Thieves but no one was inclined to say that aloud.
Painting six.
'Little Ember Riding Hood'
The Phantom Thieves pushed through the high-fidelity illustrations; creations borne from the minds of Madarame's ruined pupils. The paintbrush strokes of the grief these students felt against their sensei, sometimes lacquered violent adversaries which the gang battled against. Other times, it would be melancholic backdrops with their contagious moods. The latter still had a way of assaulting everyone's emotions, especially Fox's.
By attrition, they made it to the last painting in the series. Comedienne told them she knew this painting from their visit to the art exhibit. It was called Little Ember Riding Hood.
Twilight blue filtered between the dark trees in the forest.
Skull knelt, picking at the spilt picnic basket. Instead of sandwiches and thermos, the straw basket contained a revolver and a small clockwork bomb.
"Anyone know this version of Little Red? Me mum told me she was going to visit her grandma for niceties. At least, that's what's supposed to happen," said Skull.
A wolf howled faraway. Skull stood up, packing the bomb for himself.
There was a fizzling flash of violet magic in the shadowy distance, followed by a man shouting. Goosebumps raised on everyone's forearms.
Following the old hunter's path, the Phantom Thieves were led to a clearing with a stone cottage. They arrived just in time to see a skinny girl in a red hood plunge a knife into the staggered lumberjack's neck. Behind red hood was an injured wolf, whimpering in pain. An elderly lady (Joker supposed it was the grandmother) tended to the animal's wounds.
Red hood threw aside the lumberjack's bloody axe and carved out a cavity from the dead woodsman's chest. She pulled out the bloody heart, proffering it to her grandmother who leered a witchy grin.
"Some demented childhood your artist friends must have had, Fox," Joker commented.
Museum of Vanity.
Joker was glad to be out of the paintings. Each time they progressed into a new artwork in the sequence, the themes would get more twisted as if reflecting the mental state of deterioration the pupils suffered under Madarame's patronage.
The others took turns taking out the solo patrol guards along the corridor until they came to a T-bend. Right turn went to the Treasure Room. Left wended for the west wing where the sabotage group would stage a diversion. Joker decided to change the earlier agreed squadrons.
"New line-up. Fox and I are going to be the ones nabbing the Treasure. The rest of you will make a lot of noise to buy us cover," said Joker.
"Eh? But Mona is the tiniest so no one would see a cat wire-dangling above that thing. Comedienne is the ideal support too, in case the bulk of the Shadows didn't take the bait," said Skull.
"It seems kind of risky, Joker. Why does everyone have to split in the first place?" said Panther.
"We did do this last time at Kamoshida's Palace. Paid off there," Comedienne pointed out.
"Yeah but. . .it's not like we'll keep getting away with this tactic. Sooner or later a new Palace's final heist will be too complicated for these hits and runs," said Panther.
"Which we'll adapt to when it happens. Fox, you up for this?" said Joker.
"I have no objections. Mona's reconnaissance during our last trip here verified all the calculated risks about splitting up and enervating the Palace ruler before there is a confrontation. This plan of his is a good one," said Fox.
"Muehehehe. Finally, my genius is recognised."
Skull made a face.
"Whatever dude. We still don't know if your new theory will work and if it doesn't, we're screeeewed. Anyhoo-" Skull casually flipped the clockwork bomb he took with him out of the painting. Evil shark grin, "-I've got a nasty idea about this little bad boy."
?
One of the two Shadow security guards turned around, just in time to see the door to the restroom swing shut.
"Hey," said the Shadow.
"What?"
"Why does this museum have restrooms?"
"Why does any public building have them?" the other Shadow pointed out.
"We're Shadows though."
". . .you got me."
"Hey."
"Nani?"
"I think someone just went into the restroom."
"One of the other guards wanted to take a leak, so what?"
"We're Shadows though."
". . .you got me. Go check it out."
The guard Shadow slowly swung open the lavatory door, baton held ready. Although the place was empty, there was a tick-tick-tick clockwork noise echoing against the washroom tiles. It was coming from one of the toilet stalls.
The Shadow kicked open the stall. There, duct-taped onto the pan was a fucking bomb. The Shadow looked in a stupor at the seconds counting down – 3, 2, 1-
BOOM!
Alarms went off. Hordes of Jack Frost shadows mobilised.
From the smoking plumes and flames at the blown-up toilets, Skull stepped out.
"Whew. Mum's spicy yakitori sure comes out hard."
The other Phantom Thieves slinked out of the shadows; Personae summoned at ready. The jeers and shouts of dozens of Frosts stampeding into the west wing intensified.
"Here they come," said Mona.
Joker heard the bomb go off just as Fox was poised over the cloth-covered Treasure, the wire cable secured to his sash. Most of the Shadows in the vault hurried out, leaving only a few which they could both deal with easily if discovered. Joker handed Fox the decoy painting.
The swap was easy. In and out, the lanky dexterous fingers of Fox switched the Treasure with a bogus under the cloth. Joker wound the pulley lever, levelling Fox back up to the catwalk.
It was little surprise to them both when they saw that the Treasure's form was the 'Sayuri'. Few words were exchanged in acknowledgement and the duo hurried out the vault until they were ways away in an adjacent room.
This was when Joker revealed his ulterior agenda.
"This is as far as we'll go, Fox."
"What are you saying? We're not yet out-" Fox broke off, noticing that Joker had his weapon slipped out of his sleeves. There were no Shadows in sight and the only other person around was Fox himself.
"Joker?"
"Put the Treasure down – there."
It's like he's a different person now, thought Fox.
Fox did comply, carefully placing the 'Sayuri' between them.
"Arsène," whispered the command.
The Persona flourished behind Joker, its arms V-crossed at ready.
Fox took a step back. His back bumped against a coromandel screen, tipping over the folding artwork of animated black flora on gold.
"J-Joker?"
The dirk twirled by Joker's forefinger. Revolutions of glints winked at Fox from the silvery blade. The spin slowed. Those red gloves deftly slipped the handle into a grip.
Joker pointed his weapon at Fox.
"Now that we are alone, I think there's a problem that needs to be buried, once and for all. Panther has told me an awful lot about you, you know? Like about that day when she came to your atelier for the nude painting session."
Implicit understanding settled in. Fox straightened up, his eyes narrowing.
"Panther confided to you about the hour we shared that day," Fox said slowly.
The corner of Joker's mouth curled in distaste. And something more.
"What a fruitful hour that must have been. I take it that no actual painting was done?"
"Yes."
"How unfortunate. . .for you."
"So that's how it is," said Fox.
Joker nodded, quirking his lips in an upwards pout. Behind Joker, Arsène rubbed his hands together in the lampoon of villainy.
"Yeah. That's how it is. The others will never know the truth of what happens in this room."
"We're not going to talk this over? No – never mind. It doesn't matter now."
"Talk? Oh. There will be no talking from me, Fox. What exactly are your plans, after Madarame confesses? You're up to something bad, aren't you?" asked Joker.
". . ."
"She's right. You are contemplating suicide."
"It's no longer a contemplation. It's a natural course of action, one that I don't imagine you can understand. How did Panther figure it out?" asked Fox.
"Panther's more perceptive than most people give her credit for. Especially when it comes to picking up on vibes. You reminded her of someone she once knew."
"Someone now departed?"
"Yes. She asked me to talk some sense into you before you did something we could have stopped."
"You. . ."
Fox clenched his fists. The magnitude of this entitled audacity. . .
Unintentionally in anger, Goemon was summoned in a petal flourish of flames, white-blue fire twisting around Fox like a multifoliolate flower. Alarmed at this sabre-rattling, Arsène stepped forward, his claws flexing. Joker held his hand out, stopping his Persona.
Joker had always thought of Fox as languid and calm. A bit passive perhaps. Now Joker saw hints of something else. Control. Control that was for the first time since Fox's awakening, cracking like a brittle mask. The slick front slipped off, revealing in fury's place; a young man in a lot of pain.
"Is that right? Is this the part where you give me some fantastic hero's speech that miraculously changes my mind?! Even though we've only known each other for less than two weeks?! You must truly take me for a fool, Joker. To see my personal hell as something so trivial that will bend around to your ego, fulfilled at saving me from an end of my volition!"
". . ."
"I have thought this through hard! I'm done! I have nothing left! There will be no one left to look after me, once Madarame is in prison. I've tried not to show it all this time, after sensei's illusions shattered. After. . ." Fox choked, his throat catching heavy. Tears threatened to rip but he managed to contain them with much effort.
Not in front of him, thought Fox.
". . .after Madarame boasted about what he did to my mother – finding out what Sayuri stands for. How she suffered in the end, dying for art! It fills my soul with pain and guilt. To know that the thing I can't stop loving is what killed my mother. Yet it's true. Art killed my mother. I'm part of the corruption that's ruined so many lives! So you can go to hell-" That came out in a whispered hiss, "-for coming in high and mighty at me, trying to stampede on my choice to end things on my terms. You know nothing. Not you, not Takamaki-san. I've long thrown in the towel and the only reason I've held on for this long is to ensure Madarame's downfall."
Joker looked up at Arsène who nodded back. The Persona strode across the room, the Twilight Thief's arm hanging lanky by his sides. Fox saw Arsène stop at the corridor opening (now shuttered). A corona of gold briefly glowed around Joker's eyes.
"The coast is still clear. But I don't think we have long," muttered Joker, without turning back to Arsène.
Around them, the walls vibrated. A few panels fell off from the ceiling; epiphenomena of a Palace destabilising as Shadow Madarame's desires weakened from an extricated Treasure.
"Matador!"
The Matador Persona flourished in an exhaust blast of fire at its heels. It went to join Arsène, unsheathing its sabre. Both Personae poised combat ready. Fox frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Preparing to hold down this room in defence. Arsène is sensing a powerful Shadow incoming and once it arrives, I can buy you only a minute," said Joker.
"A minute? For what?"
Joker exhaled.
"You're right about plenty, Fox. We haven't known each other for that long. I know, I'm not the most empathetic person to understanding your grief. Unlike you, I grew up with both my parents in a well-off household, almost always surrounded by those who care for me. The others, they like to tell me how I'm such a great guy – but even I know I can be arrogant, deceitful and sometimes. . .hurtful. I've never walked the worst days in your shoes. Your tragedy isn't a villain's redemption arc and I'm no conceited hero that's gonna pull Talk ex Machina out of my ass.
None of that works outside of children's stories. For guys like us? With the lives we lead? Sometimes the line gets blurred. Sometimes we don't get to save one expressional sentimental portrait of fine arts in a museum; all while the world outside burns down with real people dying. That's why I said earlier I'm not doing the talking. I know I can't change your mind," Joker nodded to the Treasure between them, "-but maybe, she can."
Fox looked in-between the Treasure and Joker. What was this ruse?
"That's sensei's Treasure. . ." Fox said slowly.
"Which happens to be the Sayuri. Before we started today's heist, I had a feeling Madarame's Treasure would turn out to be that painting. With everything he told us, the singularity point of his corruption can be traced back to this masterpiece that pushed a chain reaction in building up the madman he is today. All those paintings we went through earlier, the fidelity we got to witness in them, in the worlds and its peoples. Think about it, Fox – Who is the woman in Sayuri?" asked Joker.
The penny dropped. Fox's knees went weak at the realisation, his head spinning dizzy for a couple of seconds.
"My mother. . ." Fox whispered.
"Is dead. Make no mistake, that is the reality. I don't know what you will find in that painting when you step into it. Maybe it will be a facsimile stranger pretending to be your mother. Maybe it will be something worse, we don't know how Madarame's cognizance plays into it or how deep a Palace ruler can change the raw nature of their Treasure. It could be a twisted creation. What is incontrovertible is that once we're out of here, this Palace will be forever gone and you'll never have the chance to face her, as you do now. With all the risks weighed, I still think you should go inside Sayuri. You deserve that much."
The final painting.
'Sayuri'
As a little boy, Yusuke's hands would unconsciously reach out to the empty spaces around him. When he would be half-asleep. In the shower. It was like a child reaching up for its mother. Even as he got older, when the idle pleasures turned from paper cranes and lollies, to puberty's curiosities and MDMA; in his drug-addled highs, Yusuke would find his arms reaching to the ceiling, soaked in his sweat while listening to the grunts of the orgy happening across the living room.
That was how Yusuke missed his mother. It was through the qualities of absence and never the imagination of her presence. The void of an empty breeze in the park. Unoccupied seats in Jinbōchō cafés – maybe Syuuri Kitagawa once sat in those chairs. Seeing off a taxi driving to the airport. Finding a random pink notepad with empty lines. Absence.
Then there were the fantasies. Little hopes peeked like a rose growing out of the cracks in a concrete pavement. Childish theories that his mother was still alive, having taken off to some distant country in Europe to recover lost paintings that were erased by World War II. Madarame was simply looking after the boy until Christmas when she would return.
Year after year, Christmas was spent alone while Madarame would be away on 'business' (only now, Yusuke had the clarity to understand that sensei spent those holidays with his mistress). A skinny boy would be watching the carols on the TV, the cold glow of the CRT screen highlighting the malnourishment bags beneath his eyes.
For all the imaginative powerhouse faculties a talented artist like Yusuke possessed, he could never envision what his mum's face must have looked like. Sayuri did end up serving as some unconscious template yet an innate part of Yusuke knew that there was an 'original woman' in raw memories.
In this precious moment, before the Phantom Thieves made out of Shadow Madarame's collapsing Palace, before the Shadow boss overwhelmed Joker's vanguard outside, Fox stepped inside the Sayuri. Whiteness diffused into reality.
The first thing Yusuke was aware of was a woman's humming. A sweet little melodic hymn, punctuated by a baby's throaty noises. Goosebumps ran up Yusuke's arms. Slowly, he turned around.
There was an island of grass and a swinging bench in the middle of the white plane. The hanging chains clicked from the small rocking by the woman sitting on the bench, her orientation turned away from where Yusuke was standing. She was clearly cuddling a bundled toddler.
For a moment, his feet were locked. Courage was failing him. Then the baby made a small cry. A sharp, innocent exclamation in this psychic reality, full of depth.
"Hai hai. Yusuke-chan. . .Yusuke-chan. . ." Syuuri cooed.
To think I was once that tiny, yet tenfold with bravery, thought Yusuke.
Yusuke swallowed. He stepped once forward. Reality moved reactionary to his intention. The bench slowly rotated to the front view, the whiteness blending in around the changing relativity until Yusuke was standing in front of his mother. Syuuri's head was bowed down, piano tapping at the spongey cheek of the baby breastfeeding. The baby (That's. . .me, Yusuke thought) watched his mother – eyes dark and shining, full of so much intuitive intelligence and love. Tiny toes peeked from beneath the pink blanket. One tiny hand grasped at Syuuri's pinkie, tightly holding onto it in a clinch.
It was incredible to Yusuke, to see first-hand how small his anatomy once was as a new human. To be so vulnerable as a babe, yet awe-inspiring with a heart compass that spun for love without compromise, finding it in a mother's embrace.
Syuuri spoke, as if she knew Yusuke was always there:
"I remember the day you kicked in my tummy for the first time. We were travelling through the countryside in those months. It started at a bus stop. I accidentally dropped my thermos and it went rolling down a small hillside, to the river. There was a red fox drinking there, which got startled by me. Just as it kicked off into a run, I felt you move. Three kicks for the fox."
Their eyes met. Yusuke had her eyes, even with the same dark rings around the irises. Pale grey eyes, full of bright inquisitiveness and fondness. Yusuke trembled. Sobs escaped from him in intermittent cracks.
The moment was a powerful charging undercurrent of motion and stillness, with all the magic of a masterpiece. In this pocket stillness, Yusuke felt it from the woman who loved him unconditionally, provided with him the sanctuary of safety from the outside world, when he was at his most vulnerable. His mother – that would breathe for him even when he did not want to continue on.
"Yusuke," Syuuri gently prompted.
The waterworks were gushing unrestrained now. Yet Yusuke could not bring himself to turn away from her.
"Y-yes?"
". . .That was one of the happiest days of my life."
Yusuke nodded. It was all in that instant that he grasped a world of understanding from her. An eternity was found in a minute.
The pushback from Ippon-Datura's wind repel efficacy threw Joker back.
"Gehr!"
One minute. I promise one minute, this guy takes up two. And he still ain't back. Typical, thought Joker.
The gusts' blurs cleared up in front of Joker. Ippon-Datura jerked in histrionic movements. The cursed yokai blacksmith hopped at a frightening speed towards Matador. It raised its hammer in a jerky unpredictable motion and swung, meeting Matador's sabre. The blade wrenched out of Matador's arm.
Joker was already dashing forward.
Ippon-Datura's arm snapped again, whacking Matador in the face. The torero's skull cracked tiny lightning by the jawline, going down. Through the exposed eye-hole of the metal apocalypse-esque helmet, the yokai's eyes glowed in a brighter green. The Shadow raised its hammer for the death blow.
From behind Arsène charged in, spear tackling Ippon-Datura through spinal contact. From above, Joker arced upside-down like an acrobat going into torpedo, his fingers grasping at the jaw indents of Ippon-Datura. The torque of being twisted from two opposing directions dislocated the Shadow in several places, flipping the boss enemy off its feet.
"Eigaon."
Red threaded darkness exploded like a squid ink bottle at Ippon-Datura's flailing, the curse magic exacerbating the physical damage inflicted, preventing recovery on its wounds.
Unexpectedly, a molten splash of flames dropped over Ippon-Datura's flayed body on the ground. The intense scorching ended all chances of the Shadow from getting back up. The smoke cleared. At the entrance was Panther, her chest heaving from running to get here as soon as she could. In one hand, she held up a fiery ball of flames.
"Like my mixtape?" said Panther.
Joker whistled, dismissing Arsène and Matador.
"Give me your Soundcloud, gurl."
Fox stepped in from behind, holding the Treasure securely. In his semi-trance state, Fox barely registered the others catching up to Panther. His ambient vision inside the Sayuri was still washing quietly about him. Almost like a psychedelic dream.
"Not fair! You left early while there were still two Frosts to take care of!" complained Skull.
Panther stuck out her tongue.
"Nothing yous can't deal with."
Joker made eye contact with Fox, trying to find an understanding of what happened inside Sayuri. Fox got his meaning. The last will-o-wisps of dream bioluminescence popped like bubbles. Clarity settled in on these faces. For the first time, Fox understood something elementary.
These people, they're my friends, thought Fox.
"Joker. . .I'm. . .I. . .it's going to be OK. I'm sorry. For the way I've acted. For what I said. From here on, I am greatly indebted to you for saving me from myself," said Fox.
"We know it wasn't me who did the saving," said Joker.
"What's going on?" asked Comedienne.
"Is everything OK?" asked Mona.
Fox looked to each and every one of them. He owed them all.
"All is good. Come now, we must leave before. . !" Fox broke off, his attention wending past their silhouettes.
The others turned around. It was Shadow Madarame.
"No way. But Mona, you said. . ." Comedienne trailed off, looking at the cat.
"Wait," said Mona.
Shadow Madarame was alone. He stopped before them all silent. The Palace continued to tremble and quake. Shadow Madarame's knees trembled and he slumped forward as if lacking vitality.
"Yes! See? I knew my plan would work. If we could remove the Treasure's proprietorship, the ritualistic rules of the Palace would indefinitely weaken its ruler and we could avoid one big messy difficult fight," said Mona, doing little happy jumps.
Fox handed the Treasure to Joker. Shadow Madarame looked up; his eyes wide in a shellshock of disbelief. Fox grabbed his sensei, shaking him by the bony shoulders.
"Look at you now. After all that's happened, your corrupt empire is falling before you," said Fox.
". . .One day you will learn the bitter truth, Yusuke. No one cares about true art. All they want are easily recognisable brands. I-I, I was a victim in all this too!" spluttered Madarame, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Excuses now?" scoffed Skull.
"So was your mother! Syuuri was a victim even before she met me! The art world revolves around money. She couldn't rise up without money, for all the talents she had! You had to be there, Yusuke - to see what the art world did to all of us," implored Shadow Madarame.
Fox's grip tightened. Shadow Madarame whimpered.
"Vermin. How dare you use my mother's memory for emotional blackmail," seethed Fox.
"Nooo. . .please, Yusuke! Please! I beg you! You truly are like a son to me. It did take me years but some part of me felt-"
"Enough!" roared Fox.
He threw Madarame to the ground. The old man cried out.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I just didn't want to continue on in that life of poverty," Shadow Madarame grovelled.
From back behind, Comedienne folded her arms satisfied.
I doubt he'll off himself like Kamoshida did but I can't imagine Japan's prison systems being kind to an elderly who's used to luxuries, thought Comedienne.
"I've been inside the Sayuri, sensei. Yes-" Shadow Madarame gaped at Fox, "-I saw who was in there. You said it was money that mattered the most in art. Yet in all irony, it was the innocent cherish of my mother that was the manifestation of your Treasure. The antithesis of a cynical art world which you romanticised. It was a mother's love," said Fox.
Shadow Madarame sobbed.
"You're done for. Along with this wretched Palace," said Fox.
"Wait Yusuke-
"No! I am done with your lies. Too many I've listened to in all these years," said Fox, turning away.
Shadow Madarame scrabbled a grasp at Fox's ankle. Fox looked down at him in disgust.
"I know I'm finished s-so please let me give you a parting gift like Syuuri did. You must protect yourself! It's the black mask, Yusuke! Beware of him! Beware his power – argh!" Shadow Madarame yelped, when Fox forcefully jerked his foot out of his sensei's grasp, dislocating a couple of fingers. Shadow Madarame clenched his teeth and kept speaking, even as Fox and all the Phantom Thieves turned their backs on him, walking away:
"He commands the Hercules, Yusuke! Hercules! Only an attack on its mind will save you from that thing's juggernaut power. Heed my words, Yusuke! Yusuke!"
Falling rubble buried around Shadow Madarame, who shouted himself hoarse to the end.
Evening time. The normal world.
Outside Madarame's atelier.
Shiori held out her phone screen to the others.
"The destination has been deleted," said the Metaverse Navigator.
"Ahhh – music to my ears," said Ryuji.
From inside the rickety atelier, a man's cry rang out. Although his volume was subdued by the walls between, the Phantom Thieves recognised Madarame's voice. The tremor of his anguished remorse.
"It would not do good if this place draws attention while we're here. We ought to leave at once," said Morgana.
Yusuke lagged back, tucking the Treasure by his side. He stared at the atelier shack. This place was full of so many memories and now Yusuke's days here were numbered.
"Yusuke c'mon!" urged Ryuji.
"Right," Yusuke exhaled, "-Goodbye sensei."
Accessway. Shibuya.
Ryuji swirled his Cheerio Godzilla energy can, noticing how the light reflected off the aluminium design.
"I guess the mission was a success. All that's left is to see if he had a change of heart for real or not," said Ryuji.
Yusuke was only half-listening. In his arms was the original rendition of the 'Sayuri' painting; the woman in the red dress holding a baby. The colours thrummed with a life of its own in Yusuke's eyes, each brushstroke threaded with emotional context.
"The Sayuri. . ." murmured Yusuke.
"Psh. You're not going to get all teary-eyed and say stuff like, 'Mum!' are you?" said Ryuji.
I bet we're past that, thought Ren.
"I mean, Madarame did ruin the original. This is Yusuke's first time seeing the real deal in the normal world," said Shiori.
"One of the few saving graces is knowing that mother did not see the perversion of her masterpiece," said Yusuke.
"Ironic as it may be, this Treasure is the original," said Morgana.
"It's a wonderful painting. And. . .although it took a heap of effort, it's in your hands now, Yusuke. I'm glad you're getting this closure," said Ann.
"I'm thankful for it. However, it will be impossible to get this original acknowledged by society. Too many probing questions will be asked," said Yusuke.
Ren turned to the view of Shibuya, leaning on the rails.
"That's a shame," remarked Ren.
"Indeed. In any instance, I must inherit my mother's wishes for myself and improve. All the impediments have been removed now. I feel lighter at the chest and hopefully, sensei will confess to his crimes."
Ryuji chugged the last of his drink and burped into the girls' space. Shiori gagged. Ann crinkled her nose, waving at the smelly air, annoyed.
"Stop that!" protested Ann.
"You're so vulgar," said Morgana, his ears drooped.
"So what are ya' gonna do now? I mean, with us – we're gonna keep targetin' the big shots from here on out," said Ryuji.
"What drives you to do such things?" asked Yusuke.
"It's to get back at scumbags and like. . .society in general. We also wanna give courage to the people that are sufferin' 'cause of awful adults," said Ryuji.
"Which we nicely achieved with Shujin and Kamoshida," said Shiori.
"Courage hm. A novel concept. Will that truly allow people to become happy?" asked Yusuke.
I doubt it's that simple, thought Ren but he kept it to himself.
"There's no knowing until we give it a try," said Ann.
"It feels like we're also talking about myself too. What meaning will I find, now that I'm free of Madarame's oppression. Moreover, if I investigate these Palaces with you all, my artistic horizons would expand in its repertoire."
"Art is always in your peripheral thoughts, isn't it?" asked Shiori.
"Yes. It is."
Ryuji laughed.
"That's impressive, dude. Like for real," said Ryuji.
"I won't take part in any inelegant plans, all right? It's not justice if it doesn't have that aesthetic."
"No worries! I've got our brand image covered with my aesthetic!" Ann said cheeky, winking.
"-Plus, we have a rule that says we always have to decide on a target unanimously," added Ann.
"How about it, Joker? We can always give our calling cards a lot more 'oomph!' if we have Yusuke onboard," said Morgana.
Ren did a mock sigh. He covered his eyes in Shakespearean tragedy.
"Why couldn't the new member be a pretty girl – Ack!" Ann pulled Ren into a headlock, poking at his ribs, "-uncle! Uncle!"
"Feeling slutty, aren't we?" Ann said, her voice as sweet as poison-laced honey.
"I could dress up as a woman for you," said Yusuke.
Ann half-lidded her eyes at Yusuke. So this was the shape of the jealousy Ren felt at Yusuke in those times. Now she knows.
"Please don't," said Ann.
Yongen-Jaya.
Ren switched off the lights and climbed onto the bed. He rubbed at his eyes, itching with tiredness. On the cat bed, Morgana was curled like a crescent moon, fast asleep. Turning over, Ren unplugged his phone from the wall socket and checked his email messages.
There were all the usual ones from the Phantom Thieves. Celebratory boastings, Yusuke promising to report on any development with Madarame, Ann hinting about him coming over just to 'hang out'. Then there was the last unread message.
Ren's thumb stilled. He must have missed this one when it came into his inbox last night. At the message sender box, the I.D read:
Togo Hifumi
Oshiro Silver Screens Discord server: a336erJ