5/19

Akira exits Shujin and finds a familiar retro-clad woman at the base of the steps. When she spies him, Ohya lifts her hand into an exaggerated wave and cries out, "Hey, cuz!"

The eyes of the surrounding students snap to him, and, scowling, Akira descends to the street. "Was that really necessary?" He asks, and nods towards the alley.

"I wanted to make sure you saw me."

Akira rolls his eyes. "You're hard to miss."

"Awww, thanks."

Wasn't a compliment, Akira thinks, but keeps his mouth shut.

"Well, ready to hit the bricks?" Ohya asks.

"I don't know what that means."

Ohya stomps her foot on the concrete. "Hit the bricks. With your feet? As in, walking?"

"Oh, yeah." Akira sets his bag on the ground, kneels down, and zips it open. He pulls out his running shoes, and sets about putting them on. To make room for the shoes, he'd left Morgana at home, with instructions to take the day off. The cat had been disappointed to not be part of the operation, and Akira hadn't been able to come up with a postive spin on the ditching. He resolved to get the cat some tuna or sushi later.

"So, what's the plan?" He asks, as he ties his laces.

Ohya pulls her own phone from her pocket and taps it. "I took a look at the GPS data you sent me yesterday. A lot of it was places you'd figure he'd visit. Art galleries. Restaurants. A bunch of other businesses. People go to a lot more places than they realize."

"Are we going to look into them all?" Akira asks, eyes widening.

Ohya frowns. "Obviously not. We can rule all those places out as points of interest. But." She turns the phone around so he can see it. Akira sees an aerial map of Tokyo, with several red-pins marked. All of them were a good distance away from one another. "These are locations Madarame visits on a regular basis. And get this, they're all residences."

"Is that weird?" Akira asks. "I mean, he's famous, right? He's probably got a few houses."

Ohya shakes her head. "Normally, I'd agree with you, and Madarame does frequent one ritzy apartment complex on an almost weekly basis. But these are different." She points out four of the pins. "These are all in run down neighborhoods. Dirt cheap. I dug a little deeper, and found that each is owned by a different property management company. And I couldn't find anything about those. No contact number. Not even an address." She grins. "Which means?"

Akira looks up at her. "You're asking me?"

Ohya groans. "Come on Kurusu, use your head! Madarame frequents four run-down properties, and each is owned by a seperate management company that has no presence anywhere?" She spreads her hands wide, but when he doesn't answer she says, "The companies are dummies! Set up by Madarame to hide that he owns those buildings!"

"Oh," Akira says. "Are you sure?"

"No, of course I'm not sure. If I was sure of everything then I wouldn't have to investigate anything, would I?"

Akira frowns at her, and takes a minute to think. "Wait," he says. "That doesn't make sense. Why would Madarame, a world famous artist, hide the fact that he owns those? Why would a famous artist need four beat up buildings anyway?"

"Exactly!" Ohya shouts, pumping a fist into the air. "That's the exact question! Why would he need those buildings? Why would he hide them? That's what we're going to try and find out."

"Oh," Akira says.

"'Oh,' he says," Ohya replies, shaking her head. "Get in the game, kid."

Akira remembers something. "Wait a second. Madarame mentioned the other day that he has a 'shack,' and it's called an atelier, or something."

"Ah," Ohya says, nodding. She points to the map. "That's right here. And that is actually in his name. All above board. Very clean. Spotless, even. Don't worry, we'll check that out too. I've got a theory."

"What's your theory?"

Ohya shakes her head. "Sorry, but I don't like to disclose those. I'd rather not inform any budding ideas in that noggin' of yours. First, we'll make the rounds. Then, you'll tell me what you think is going on."

Akira rolls his shoulders and adjusts his bag, now holding his regular loafers. "Okay, let's get going."

Ohya stares at him. "Uh, aren't you going to change your clothes too?"

Akira looks down at his uniform. "Why?"

Ohya droops her head forward. "Kurusu, please don't tell me you plan to spy on these buildings in your school uniform."

Akira feels his cheeks redden. He hadn't even thought of that. "I can buy a shirt and some pants on the way."

"Yeah," Ohya says, and turns down the alley. "Probably a good idea. Come on."

#

They swing through Harajuku and Akira finds himself an overpriced t-shirt and pair of slacks. He changes in the cafe of a bathroom, and shoves his uniform into his bag. When he exits, he finds Ohya seated at one of the tables, a cup of coffee and small pastry set before her. "First place is around the corner," she says, as she nibbles on it. "It's gonna be a long afternoon-slash-evening. So it's better to eat up now."

"Shouldn't we get these to go?" Akira asks, taking the seat across from her. "That way we can scope out the place and eat at the same time."

Ohya rolls her eyes. "You're obviously not from Tokyo."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because if you were, you'd know how freakin' hard it is to find a public trashcan on the street. Nope. We eat here. Then, we don't have to worry about lugging our trash everywhere."

Akira shrugs and nods, and when the waitress returns, he orders the same as Ohya.

"So," she says, breaking a piece off her food, and dipping it in the coffee. "What brings a kid like you to Tokyo?"

"Nothing special."

"Uh-huh," Ohya replies, popping the soaking bit into her mouth. She makes a face. "Ugh, that wasn't a good idea."

The waitress returns a moment later with Akira's order. She sets it in front of him, thanks him and bows, before she scurries off elsewhere. Akira takes a sip of the coffee. It's his turn to make a face.

"Not a fan?" Ohya asks.

"Nope," he replies, shaking his head.

She leans back in her chair and smiles. "Okay, so 'nothing special' brought you to the city. How'd you get involved with the Phantom Thieves?"

Akira's eyes dart to the other tables, but the only other customers are two men dressed in business suits sitting by the door, talking with exaggerated hand gestures. "I'm not involved with the Phantom Thieves," Akira says. "I told you, I just know the admin of their website."

"That I believe," Ohya replies, nodding. "But I find it a little strange that this secret group of vigilantes would ask a high school student for help."

"You're asking me for help."

Ohya throws back her head and laughs. "Shit, kid. You've got me there." She takes another sip of her coffee. "Besides, the Phantom Thieves are probably your friends, or something."

"What would make you say that?"

"Because their first target was a mean gym teacher."

Akira's eyes narrow. "He was a little bit more than 'mean.' He was a rapist and he abused-"

"Alright, alright," Ohya replies, patting the air. "No need to get all touchy about it. I read the articles that covered Kamoshida. Still, don't you think that says something about the Phantom Thieves? That their super-awesome activities would kick off by getting a gym teacher to confess to his crimes? And now they're going after Madarame?" She shrugs. "It's interesting, is all."

"If you say so."

"I do," Ohya replies. "Tell me, how do you think the Phantom Thieves change hearts?"

Akira looks her in the eyes. "How would I know?"

Ohya's smirk tightens. "I didn't ask how you would know. I asked what you thought. How do you think they do it?"

Akira smiles. "Maybe they use an app? There's one for everything these days."

Ohya chuckles. "True. But that would be a little anti-climatic, don't you think? Press a button and change a heart? It's gotta be something else."

Akira bites off a piece of his pastry to buy himself a bit more time. "All I know is, a request goes up on the website, and a few days later, the person has his heart change."

Ohya's eyes glaze over, and she frowns. "Maybe it's all just folie a deux."

"Folie a what?"

"Madness shared by two. It's French, I think. Yeah, pretty sure it's French. It's a psychological thing, where delusional beliefs are passed from one person to another, like a virus. Well, maybe not like a virus, but it works as a metaphor."

"And you think that's what the Phantom Thieves are doing?"

Ohya shakes her head. "I doubt it. But I wouldn't be all that surprised if the belief that the Phantom Thieves could change hearts influences a lot of people to have a change of heart. Who knows? Maybe the stress of his actions was eating away at Kamoshida, and the calling card was the straw that broke the camel's back. Maybe all the Phantom Thieves did was make him aware that they knew about his... activities. And that was enough to trigger some kind of break in him."

Akira scoffs. "Yeah, right."

Ohya glares across the table at him. "How would you know?"

Akira sighs. "Look, aren't we supposed to be looking into Madarame? We've eaten our food and had our terrible coffee, shouldn't we get going now?"

Ohya nods. "Good point." She stands. "You'll cover the bill, right?"

"Huh?" Akira asks.

"What?" She replies, grinning. "It's polite."

#

The building has seen better days. It isn't that it is poorly designed, or collapsing on itself. It just looks tired, like an elder who has seen too much and just wants to shut their eyes and sleep forever.

Geez, Akira thinks, and shakes his head. I hang out with an artist once I start getting all allegorical. That's a word, right?

It's an old, two story domicile. But its wooden walls are patchy with white, and something like mold clings to the shutters. The windows are dusty, but not filthy, and the front door's forest green paint chips away. Sandwiched, as it is, between two larger buildings, the place seems abandoned, but a faint light from inside indicates someone is home.

"This whole area," Ohya says, "will be under redevelopment in a few years. The real estate snatch and grab has already begun. It'll be a few months before this place becomes a prime target. If Madarame does own it, he'll probably get a hefty sum if he sells it. Then again, he's freaking rich, so selling off this place might not mean much to him."

They are across the street, ducked into a smaller alley that gives them a good view of the front of the house. They've been standing there, staring at it, for twenty-five minutes. "Um," Akira finally asks, "are we going to actually do anything?"

"Patience, kid," Ohya replies. "That's the name of the game."

As she finishes her sentence, the front door opens. A middle-aged woman steps out. From this distance, Akira can't tell much about her, but she looks a bit haggard. She glances around as if afraid of being spotted, and her posture folds in on itself as she shuts the door, and locks it.

Ohya lifts her camera and takes a series of pictures. "Okay, and who might you be?" She frowns. "Too old to be a girlfriend. Maybe a relative? A nutjob niece or something?" She shakes her head. "No. In the art world, having a crazy relative is a good thing."

"Where do you think she's going?" Akira asks, as the woman skitters down the street, head twisting around as if searching for them.

"No clue," Ohya replies. Once the woman turns the corner, she lowers her camera and turns to Kurusu. "Shall we go take a look?"

"What if there's someone in the house?"

"Carpe diem, kid! Seize the day!"

"I thought you said 'Patience was the name of the game?'"

"Are we gonna stand here and bicker, or are we going to take a peek inside that house?" Ohya asks, and starts to jog across the street.

Akira smiles and follows her.

She walks up to one of the windows as if she belongs there, and puts her face up to the glass. Then recoils, coughing. "Ah! Dust! Gross." She takes the hem of her shirt, lifts it, and rubs it across the glass, then reassumes her former position. Akira comes to her side and sneaks a peek as well.

The little they can see of the inside is a small room with a torn-up couch, and broken chair in the corner. A rug is draped across the floor, but its edges are so frayed Akira can't tell if the thing was meant to be bigger. "Looks like a dump," Akira mumbles.

"Looks like my apartment," Ohya replies.

Before Akira can reply, a young boy walks into the room, a book folded under his arm. Both Ohya and Akira duck down, then slowly rise back up. The boy hasn't noticed them, and has plopped himself down on the couch, and opened the book. Akira can't tell what he's reading, but he's not so much interested in the book as he is the boy.

The kid has a mop of unkempt dark hair on his head. His light blue shirt hangs off his frame like a second skin. From what little Akira can see of his actual body, the boy is thin. Upsettingly thin. "Who is this kid?" Akira asks. "Madarame's son?"

Ohya's eyes narrow. "I don't think so." She backs away from the window and makes her way over to the door.

"What're you doing?" Akira asks, and to his horror, Ohya rings the bell. They hear an awful metallic screeching from inside, then silence. She waits a moment, then presses the doorbell again.

A moment later, from inside, comes a muffled, "Who are you?" The voice is small and shaky.

"Hey," Ohya calls.

As she's about to continue, the boy inside shouts, "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, or let them inside!"

"We're not strangers," Ohya says. "Madarame-sama sent us to check on you."

A pause. Then, "Sensei?"

"Yep," Ohya replies, putting as much warmth in her voice as she can. "So, could you let us inside?"

"Seriously?" Akira whispers, as he hears the lock disengage.

"What?" Ohya replies, frowning. "It's not like we're gonna hurt the kid or anything."

The door opens and the little boy stands there, staring up at them. "Is everything okay? Sensei isn't sick again, is he?"

"Sick?" Ohya asks.

The kid nods. "He gets sick a lot. That's why he has to go to the mountain retreat for his health stuff. He just got back the other day!"

"Uh," Akira says, looking over at Ohya. "Madarame-sama is fine. He just wanted us to come and check on you."

The kid frowns. "Why didn't he come himself?"

"Well," Ohya puts in. "You know, he's got the exhibit."

His face brightens. "Is Sensei happy with it?"

"With what?" Ohya asks.

The kid stamps his foot. "'Mucus!' The piece I helped him create. Is he happy with it?"

"You created a piece of art with Madarame-sama?" Ohya asks.

"And you named it, 'Mucus?'" Akira whispers, wearing a frown. Ohya jabs him in the shoulder with her elbow.

"Of course I did," the kid says. "That's why you're here, right? To see the other one."

Akira and Ohya look at each other. "Yes," they both say.

"Kumi-chan is out," the boy says, but beckons them inside. "She went to get tonight's dinner. She should be back soon."

Akira and Ohya follow the kid inside.

The place smells awful. It's one of those stenches that isn't immediately apparent. It somehow blends in with the background, but once you search for it, you find it, and it twists its way into Akira's nostrils.

Ohya makes a face. "How long have you been here, young man?"

"Hmm?" The kid asks, apparently unperturbed by the stench, and the general disrepair of the place. "I've only been here about six months. I was in the other place before that."

"The other place?" Ohya asks.

The boy nods. He turns into a seperate room ahead of them. "It was in Shinjuku. Down the block from the Samurai Museum! Kumi-chan used to take me sometimes."

Ohya doesn't say anything, but grabs Akira by the shoulder, then points to her phone. On Madarame's GPS is a red pin in the Shinjuku section of Tokyo. Akira nods.

They follow the boy into the room, and stop.

On a massive easle in the center of the room is an elaborate sketch of what appears to be a landscape. Only, the landscape is more of a hellscape. The trees are like matchsticks, and their tops burn, which light of the skies above a broken city in the distance. A lake of what looks like mud bubbles in the foreground.

Akira takes a step back. Relax. It's just a painting. Ohya looks just as dumbfounded. "This is... uh-"

"I call it, 'Visions of Hell,'" the boy says, as casually as if discussing the weather.

"You painted this?" Ohya asks.

The boy nods. "Of course. Sensei's helping me. Once it's finished, he'll show it to all his art friends. I bet he'll even let me come to the atelier after that!"

The word brings Akira back to the real world. "So, you painted this whole thing?"

The kid nods, then looks panicked. "Is he mad because it's not done yet? Oh, please! Tell him not to be upset. It'll be done soon, I promise."

Ohya snaps a picture of the painting with her camera. "Don't worry, he's not mad at you," she says. She looks over at Akira. "We should probably get going. Kimi-chan will be back any minute, and I'm sure she'll be annoyed with us taking up your t ime."

The boy shrugs. "Kumi-chan doesn't really get mad." Then he mumbles, "She doesn't really do anything, actually."

Ohya nods, and kneels down next to the boy. "Hey, listen, little man. Could you do us a favor? Could you keep it a secret from Madarame-sama that we were here?"

"Why?" The boy asks, brows furrowing.

She grins, reaches out and ruffles his hair. "Because," she says, but she stops when she pulls her hand away. A number of loose strands stick to her skin.

What the hell? Akira thinks.

Ohya snaps her smile back into place. "If you do, we'll make sure to put in a good word with Madarame-sama for you. He may even let you go to his atelier sooner, rather than later!"

The boy's eyes brighten. "Really?"

"Really, really," Ohya replies. "So, be a good boy, and keep our little visit a secret, yeah?" He nods. "And make sure you work hard for Madarame-sama!" The boy nods again. Ohya, still grinning, turns to Akira and whispers, "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Akira doesn't disagree.

The boy locks the door behind them and they set off back across the street. "What the hell was that?" Akira asks, when they're back in the alley.

"I'm pretty sure that," Ohya replies, teeth gritted. "Was Madarame's apprentice."

Akira stares at her. "No. Yusuke Kitagawa is Madarame's apprentice."

"Uh-huh," Ohya replies. She pulls out the GPS. "Come on, we've got a few more places to check out. We'll spit theories at each other after."

#

It takes them another three hours to visit the remaining locations.

The Shinjuku residence contains a seven year old girl. At least, that's how old she looked, when Akira and Ohya peered in the window. They decided not to try and enter that one.

The next they visited was in Ueno, and it held another boy, maybe a bit older than the one they'd seen first.

Ohya knocks on the door of the fourth residence, a craggy shack in Ikebukero. A teenager answers. He is, perhaps, thirteen or fourteen, and regards the two of them with disdain when he opens the door. They try the same lie they'd given to the little boy.

The teen scowls. "If Sensei needs me, he can visit me himself. I see no reason to converse with his toadies."

"Toadies?" Akira asks.

The boy rolls his eyes. "If he must know, the work is almost complete. He'd best keep his word and promote me to the aterlier if he wants me to continue to produce for him. It's about time my talents make their official debut." He slams the door shut in their faces.

They trudge their way back to the train station. Ohya yawns and rubs the back of her neck.

"Alright," Akira says, and leans against a nearby building's wall. "Tell me what you think is going on."

Ohya smiles at him, but the usual playfullness is gone. "I recall saying that you would be the one to tell me what you thought, first." She nods back in the direction of the shack. "What's your take, after everything you've seen today?"

Akira is exhausted from schlepping his way across Tokyo, from one ramshackle house to another. He sighs, pushes up his glasses, and rubs his eyes. "Are they Madarame's kids?"

"BUZZZ!" Ohya shouts in his ear. Akira jumps and cringes. "That's your takeaway? You think all those kids, kids who don't look a thing like one another, are all that old guy's spawn?" She shakes her head. "I don't think so."

"Fine," Akira says, throwing his hands in the air. "So, what do you think? You've obviously had an opinion from the start!"

Ohya crosses her arms and nods. Then, she sticks her thumb towards a nearby bench, and says, "Let's take a seat."

They do, and Ohya stares at the concrete for a while before she says anything. Akira finds the silence a bit unnerving, coming from the usual upbeat and vocal woman. "You went to Madarame's exhibit, right?" She asks.

Akira nods. "Yeah."

"How many paintings were there?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe twenty or more? I didn't really count."

"Are you an art conossier?"

"Nope."

Ohya nods. "Well, here's the thing about Madarame. He's famous. Like, crazy famous. But he's also very aloof. It's branding, of course. He portrays himself as this wise old man, who only deigns to show himself a few times a year. But his output is insane. He's painted literally hundreds of pieces. And what's more, so many of them are different. Madarame claims that his tastes change as he ages. For five years, he was into cubism. Then, surreal work. And so on, and so on. He's considered a master of many different types of styles. If you actually look at his work with a critical eye, you'd think he was some kind of savant. One piece will have finely detailed brush strokes, and another will be raw and rough and brutal. Yet, they've both got his signature in the corner." She looks at him, expectantly.

"You know," Akira says. "When I was at the exhibit, I kept wondering how Madarame could plagarize so many works from Yusuke."

She nods. "Exactly. How many could Yusuke Kitagawa have painted himself? Five? Maybe six? Where do the others come from?"

Akira's eyes widen. "Then, those kids-"

"Bingo," Ohya says. "I first noticed it when Nakanohara brought it to my attention. He insisted that Madarame stole all his work. But at the time Nakanohara was Madarame's apprentice, the latter had one of his most productive years ever. Forty or so paintings, of which, Nakanohara claimed seven as his own. Yet, Nakanohara claimed he was Madarame's sole apprentice."

"So..." Akira trails off.

Ohya's smile droops. "Madarame doesn't have just one apprentice. He's got several, all staggered at different ages. He plagarizes from all of them, at the same time. Yusuke Kitagawa may be his public apprentice, but those four other kids? They're his back-ups. Like, reserve inventory. And none of them know about each other."

Akira nods. "So, if Yusuke ever said, 'Madarame plagarized five of my paintings,' then everyone would just say, 'well, about the other twenty?'"

"It adds a degree of doubt to the story," Ohya says. "That's why I started digging, after Nakanohara told me his story. Madarame has been doing this for years. I've compared the styles of paintings he's claimed as his own. In total, I believe Madarame has had somewhere in the ballpark of thirty apprentices, in total."

"What happened to them all?" Akira asks.

Ohya shrugs. "Believe it or not, Nakanohara, with his dead-end clerk job, is one of the lucky ones. Most of them are orphans, and Madarame kicked them to the street shortly before they became legal adults. Some became homeless. Some became drug addicts. Some became homeless drug addicts. Two..." and she pauses, takes a breath, and continues, "have killed themselves."

Akira stares at the ground for a while. "And no one knows about this?"

She reaches into her pocket. "If anyone does, they've either been paid off, or don't give a shit."

"God," Akira whispers, then straightens. "So, if this keeps up, those kids, and Yusuke-"

"They'll suffer the same fate as the ones before them. Kicked to the curb, and left to fend for themselves."

#

"Whoa," Morgana says. "Seriously?"

Akira nods. He's finished relating the story, and Ohya's theory. The more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. "We've got to do something. We need to get into his Palace and change his heart."

Morgana purrs and swishes his tail. "Did you check out the atelier?"

Akira shakes his head. Both of them had decided that stalking through Tokyo had exhausted them, and they'd gone their seperate ways. Akira had considered rushing to the flower shop, but the thought of dealing with Haru after an altogether depressing day made him call out. His boss had seemed okay with it.

"We should go there, as soon as possible. If we can verify that's the Palace," Morgana says, "it'd be a huge step!"

"I know," Akira replies. "But we still don't know the third keyword."

"Then we'll guess. We'll hit it eventually."

Akira sighs, reaches out, and strokes Morgana's fur. "I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"

"Yep," the cat replies, a grin on his face.

"Let's go see what's for dinner."

Morgana makes a face. "Wanna bet it's curry?"

Akira chuckles and heads for the stairwell. As he descends he hears a distinct sound.

Two adult voices. Laughing. One male. One female. There's a certain lilt to their voices, a tone Akira has come to recognize as 'flirty.'

Great, he thinks. Then his thoughts turn serious as he nears the corner. He recognizes that female's voice.

He descends into LeBlanc proper, and his jaw drops.

Ohya sits on one of the stools. She leans forward over the bar, elbows on the countertop, a cup of coffee alongside her. Sojiro stands before her, arms crossed, easy smile across his face.

"What," Akira says.

Ohya spins around on the stool. "Hey there!"

Sojiro's smile falters. "You two know each other?" He asks.

"He's my apprentice," Ohya replies, swinging her legs.

Is she drunk? How did she get drunk? We only split up an hour ago.

"Apprentice?" Sojiro asks.

Ohya nods. "I'm a journalist. He's helping me with a story."

"Really?" The older man asks.

Akira sighs, and nods.

His smile returns and he looks back at Ohya. "Awfully nice, taking someone like that under your wing."

"Aww," Ohya says, waving the comment away. "I could say the same about you. I take it he lives upstairs?"

"Good guess."

"What're you doing here?" Akira asks her.

"I figured I'd drop by before heading to my regular stop in Shinjuku."

"Shinjuku?" Sojiro replies, and leans a little closer. "A lovely lady like yourself shouldn't be hanging around that place at night."

"Easy Pops," Ohya replies, a smirk crossing her face. "I'm not as innocent as I look."

"Is that so?" Sojiro whispers.

THIS IS TOO WEIRD! THIS IS TOO WEIRD!

Akira crosses the floor and plops down on the stool next to her. Sojiro scowls at him. "Prince is hungry," Akira explains, and points at Morgana.

Sojiro's expression softens, and he shrugs. "Let me see what I've got." He trudges into the kitchen, shoulders drooped.

Akira turns to her. "What're you doing here?"

"I told you, I-"

"I don't mean like that. I didn't tell where I lived. I know I never mentioned that. So, how did you-" But before he can finish, Ohya pulls a small device out of her pocket and dangles it before him.

Akira recognizes the small little black box. His mouth opens and shuts several times before he can spit out, "You hacked my phone?"

Ohya shrugs, and returns the device to her pocket. "Honestly, I've no idea why you didn't see that coming."

"Wh-why? When?"

"When?" Ohya asks. "When we were sitting on that bench a little while ago. We were the only two around, so I figured I'd take a little peek. As for the why, well, why not?"

"It's an invasion of privacy!"

"Meh," Ohya replies, shrugging. "I just wanted to find out a little more about you."

"Then you could've asked."

"Right, because you've been so forthcoming. C'mon Kurusu, don't all be all upset. We're still partners in this, yeah? Now, I just know where you sleep at night." She grins. She darts her eyes in the direction of the kitchen. "So, what's the deal with him? Is he like, your uncle or something? I didn't see a ring."

"Nope," Akira says, sliding away from the bar. "Nope, nope, nope, nope."

"Don't you want dinner?" She asks.

Akira just shakes his head and plods back upstairs. Morgana stays downstairs. Ohya looks down at the cat. "He's so sensitive."

"You've got no idea," Morgana replies, with a purr.

##
A/N: Hey everyone, hope you had a great weekend!

I hate to do this, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a break from Crimson. Between school, work, and the usual life related shit, I don't have the time to give this story the attention it deserves. I love writing this story, and I love talking to all of you about it, but my other duties call.

I will return to it, in a few weeks. I'll be sure to drop a line about when, once I have a better idea about that.

Again, thank you so much for reading, commenting, reviewing, Kudo-ing, Favorite-ing, and all other associates ing's. Feel free to drop me a line in the comments or via PM, and I will do my best to get back to you. I'll keep my eyes on my inbox.

I appreciate your understanding, and I'll see you all soon!