5/28
Madarame wakes with a jolt to the sound of his phone vibrating. He blinks at the faint rays of morning peeking through the shades of the office. Did I fall asleep?
He checks the time on his phone. The last he can remember, it had been sometime after two in the morning. He'd spent the entire day trying to mitigate the Calling Card disaster, trying to figure out what to tell the multitudes of reporters and people calling him, begging him to explain the context of the card's message.
Exhaustion still sits heavy in him, and when he answers the phone, he doesn't bother to check the number. "Hello?"
"Hold," the voice on the other end says.
Madarame is about to voice a protest, but then another man picks up the phone, and speaks in a voice that he remembers quite well.
"What have you done, Madarame?" The smooth sounding man asks.
Madarame tries to shake the tiredness from his skull and focus. "Wh-what do you mean? I spoke to you about the Calling Card yesterday, and I-"
"I'm not talking about the Calling Card, old man." There's a pause. "Do you not know?" There's surprise there.
"Know what?"
"Are you by a computer?"
Madarame turns to the office computer, black screened and silent. "Yes."
"Turn it on. Get online. Now."
Madarame hastens to do so, but keeps the phone to his ear. He can hear the man's low breathing through the receiver, and it spurs him on, even as his hands shakes as he turns the system on, take the mouse, move the cursor to the right icon, and double click. "What am I looking for?"
"Yourself."
"What?"
"Search for yourself, Madarame. The thing I want you to see is at the top of any search page."
Madarame types his name into a search engine, and the first result makes his eyes widen. "Wh-what is this?"
"You tell me."
It's a link to blog article. The site's name is 'Devil's Dispatch,' which is something Madarame has never heard of before. Rather, the title of the article is what incenses him.
'The Great Sayuri Scam.'
Madarame clicks through. "No," he says, as he begins to read. "No, this isn't possible."
The article is short, it asks more questions than answers them, but its implications are strong.
And then there are the photos.
A series of photographs that appear to have been taken in quick succession. One of the shut door of his unit at Natsuki Storage. One of Madarame appearing in the frame, keycard in hand. One of Madarame swiping it, and another of Madarame punching in his code. Then, the door is open, its contents splayed for the lens to see.
The Sayuri's.
You can't see them from the camera's angle. There are actually many more. But the camera has enough resolution, to spy the ones aligned across the back of the storage unit. There're ten in full focus, with the edges of others alongside them.
The blog post asks a few simple questions. If the Sayuri was stolen, why does Madarame have a whole storage unit filled with reproductions? Is he selling them under false pretenses? Is he scamming art collectors around the world? Was the original even stolen in the first place, or was it 'lost' in order to cook up this scam? The article is very accusatory, but it doesn't outright make any claims. It simply states the facts.
Of course, the answer to all its questions, is 'yes.'
"This can't be," Madarame says. "How... how did they get this?"
"Did you bring a camera into my storage facility, Madarame?" The voice asks. Madarame shifts at the sudden voice. He had almost forgotten he was on the phone with someone.
"N-no! They must've hacked your security," Madarame says. "Gotten into your cameras and-"
"We don't have cameras, Madarame."
He shakes his head, even though there's no one to see it. "I-I don't... who's seen this?"
"It went viral about two hours ago. Along with the timing of the Calling Card, it would seem like you're the man of the hour."
"We have to figure a way out of this," Madarame says. "We have to meet and think and-"
There's silence on the line. Then, "Yeah. You're right. We're in this together, after all."
"That's right," Madarame says, a grin splayed across his face. "That's right, we are. We can figure this out. We can fix it. We can. I know we can."
There's a deep sigh from the other end. "Sit tight. We'll be in contact."
The line goes dead.
Madarame sets the phone down, and stares at the photo of himself, his back to the camera, staring at the Sayuri's.
"I can fix this," he says, as a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. "I can fix this."
The gallery's office suddenly feels very small.
#
Madarame's Treasure Room is an ornate cross between a CEO's office, and a corporate lounge. Near the entrance, sit a number of easels with paint cans strewn about beneath them. Along the far wall are enormous windows looking out onto the Tokyo skyline. A few couches lay scattered around, atop an expensive looking rug with an elaborate weave. At the far end of the room is a wide wooden desk, the kind one would expect an executive to have. Behind this desk, as they had discovered the other day, hung the Treasure, then a kaleidoscopic blob.
It does not hang there any longer.
When the Phantom Thieves burst into Madarame's office, they find the man seated, not in a chair, but on the desk itself, his feet dangling just off the floor. His shadow is attired in the same suit, his hair is slicked back, and his eyes are golden. He holds a portrait in his hand, and stares at it, a sad look on his face.
He spares them a glance when they enter, and says, "This is all your fault, Yusuke."
"Careful guys," Mona hisses. "Remember, he's the Palace's ruler. He's a lot more powerful than those other shadows."
The others draw their weapons, but Yusuke steps forward. "Sensei," he says, his voice low. "This end is inevitable. Please, give us the Treasure, and it will all be over."
Madarame just shakes his head, and keeps his eyes on the painting. "This is all your fault. But I can fix it. I know I can fix it. If they just give me time."
"'They?'" Joker asks, glancing at Skull, who shrugs.
"Sensei," Yusuke says again, and steps forward. "Please. Enough." He extends a hand, palm up. "Give it to us."
"Do you want to see it?" Madarame asks. Without waiting for a response, he turns the painting over in his hands.
"It's..." Yusuke whispers. "The Sayuri."
Panther frowns. "It's different though. Different than all the ones in the storage unit."
Fox nods. "That's true." His eyes narrow. "Tell me, Sensei, why is there a baby in the corner of this iteration?"
Joker stares at the painting. It's true that it strongly resembles the Sayuri, but Fox is right. There's a bundled up baby in the corner, held by the woman - the subject - in her arms. Where, in the real world, the woman stares only at some tree branch, here she stares directly into the child's eyes, a small smile on her face.
Madarame's voice, when he answers, is small. "It's you."
Silence.
Madarame draws one finger down the length of the painting, and taps the baby. "It's you," he repeats, as if they hadn't heard him.
"I see," Fox replies. "The baby is supposed to represent the whole of humanity. The entirety of our nascent time on this planet, and the woman is meant to represent the whole of the universe, swaddling us in-"
"Yusuke," Madarame cuts in. "Yusuke, it's you. And this," he moves his hand up to the woman. "Is her."
Joker takes a step towards his friend. "Fox?"
The boy's hands tremble. "Elaborate," he demands, an edge to his voice. "Explain what you mean."
Madarame sighs. Then, he shrugs. "I didn't paint the Sayuri. Chisako did."
Fox blinks. "My mother?"
Madarame nods. He wears a small smile. "Chisako painted the Sayuri. And then she died."
Fox dashes forward, the blade leaving his scabbard.
"Dude, wait!" Skull screams, but it is too late. Fox brings his blade down towards Madarame's head, but with a flick of his former Sensei's wrist, the Thief is thrown back across the length of the room, and crashes into the back wall. The easels splinter and the paint cans go flying.
"Fox!" Panther calls.
"Shit!" Joker says and turns to him. He runs towards his fallen friend, even as he hears Madarame behind him.
"Why don't you get it? This is how the world works. No one cares about art, not really. They care about the prestige it endows and the money it brings in. Expression, self-fulfillment, these things don't mean anything."
Joker slides up to where Fox lays, and grabs his arm. "Are you okay?"
Fox opens his eyes, and Jokers sees a fire there only rarely glimpsed. With a growl, Fox pushes himself to his feet. "You're wrong. Perhaps every piece of art cannot change the world, cannot make it a better. But art has that capacity. It has that potential. It always has."
Madarame spreads his hands. "Maybe once upon a time, Yusuke. But the world has gotten too saturated. Too big. Too full. Too loud. Nothing worth anything can cut through the noise. You can paint shit and if the right blog highlights it, people will pay millions for it. It's ludicrous. It's nonsense. It's madness." His smile grows wide. "It's business."
Madarame begins to convulse. "Yes, business. And I can fix it. I can make it right. All I have to do, is kill you kids." His voice rises as he speaks, until it becomes a blabbering squeal. He collapses onto the floor and bursts, and the vile black that spills from him begins to expand towards the too high ceilings.
Joker turns to Fox. "You ready for this?"
"Fear not," Fox replies, straightening. "For this morning, I took vitamins!"
An awful groan rises from the black, and it coalesces into four paintings, separated, but connected by a series of spiked, whirling gears. Two of the paintings depict swiveling, wide eyes. One details a shriveled, yellowed nose, dripping the remains of black like oiled snot. The last is a stretched, smiling mouth with jagged, bleached white teeth. The room drowns in the smell of rotten paper and metal splinters. The whirr of the gears rises in pitch, and the paintings dart about, supplanting one another. They dart about, always so close to making a whole face, but never enough to be more than caricature. The mouth rises above the eyes, the nose spins in its own place. The gears shift and eyes stack atop one another like pallets.
The gears have no purchase, no footing. They simply hang, suspended by nothing, controlling the paintings by their own, mad design.
A voice crackles like an intercom, "I WILL NOT LET YOU TAKE WHAT I HAVE EARNED!"
Skull scowls. "You ain't earned shit, asshole." His mask vanishes in a puff of blue. "Take em' down, Captain!"
The skeleton materializes and sails towards the paintings, a bolt of electricity charging in its cannon. It aims down at the leftmost eye, and as it does so, the nose reverts it position, and a thick stream of steam hisses out of it. Captain Kidd fires, and the electric bolt strikes the smoke-like substance. The explosion's shockwave hits the Captain and sends him backward, Skull cringing. "The hell?"
Panther and Fox rush forward, weapons at the ready. They crouch, side by side, and fire upon the nose with their rifles. The mouth rises, a sick smile splayed across it, and the bullets clatter into the teeth, and fall, harmless, back to the floor.
"Let's go, Zorro," Mona calls, and his Persona rises above him. A massive gust of wind slams into the mouth, and it switches to a scowl, until the right eye lowers itself to Mona's level and shoots a bolt of electricity into the cat. Mona groans in pain and drops to his knees.
Skull runs up alongside Joker. "Dude, what the hell is going on?"
"I don't know," Joker says, staring. "It's like, the different paintings are blocking us whenever we attack one of them.
"How they hell can they tell? Only two of em are eyes!"
"I don't know," Joker spits. "Does any of this shit make sense?"
#
The fight drags on. Mona and Panther fire off Dia after Dia, as the group takes more hits. No matter how they angle their attacks, no matter how strong each assault, the paintings seem to cover for one another. The gears spin and spin and the paintings shift and fire back.
Joker yanks another of Takemi's medicines from his jacket and downs it. He feels the pain in his arm lessen. One of the painting's edges had come down on it earlier.
He crouches behind one of the lounge's couches, with Panther alongside him.
"You ready?" He asks. She nods. Joker turns and shouts, "Now, Fox!"
From where he hides near the easels, Fox stands and hooks his sword into the paint cans, and charges forward. With a cry, he hurls them, as one, towards the terrible amalgamation of Madarame. They scatter and explode upon striking him, and the paintings shudder and sputter in confusion.
"Go, go," Joker shouts, and the Phantom Thieves charge. They dart towards the paintings, then duck beneath them. The gears. "Hit them with everything!"
The Phantom Thieves summon their Personas and assault the gears.
Skull's Captain calls down a lightning storm.
Mona's Zorro swings its sword, and a hale of wind buffets them.
Panther's Carmen stomps the ground, and pillars of flame rise to engulf them.
Fox's Goemon summons an ice storm that sends sharp shards piercing into the metal.
And Joker calls forth Oberon, who launches himself forth with a Heat Wave attack, which slams into the gears, which were what the paintings were truly protecting, and shatter them.
The gears falls away in a hiss of black, and the paintings linger in the air for a single moment before they too drop. They, on the other hand, do not vanish, but land on the ground, and begin to twitch.
Joker draws his knife, and stabs it into the back of the mouth's piece. The others pulls their weapons and begin to swing, to bludgeon, to stab and slice at the things on the floor.
It is messy work.
But then it ends. The paintings burst into ash, and the Thieves dart away, as the cloud settles.
The five, breath coming in gasps, stare at one another. "That's it, right?" Panther asks. "We got him?"
A whimper escapes the pile.
The shadow of Madarame crawls from the ashes. His hair hangs in his face. His suit is in tatters. His skin is stained with the ash he rises from.
Before Joker can collect himself, Fox rushes past him, sword drawn.
Fox brings the blade down to Madarame's neck, and his mask vanishes as Goemon rises up behind him, the Persona's glare leveled against Madarame. The air shivers with a chill, and Joker sees frost begin to coat the room's windows.
"Speak," Fox growls. "I want to know the truth. If my mother truly painted the Sayuri, why do you claim it as your own?"
Madarame holds up a hand. "P-please, I-"
"Speak!"
"I just wanted to show it to the world. I just wanted to-"
"You're a liar," Fox shouts. "All you've ever done is lie. Tell me the truth, why did you steal it? Why?"
"Because I knew!" Madarame screams.
Fox blinks. "Knew what?"
Madarame's mouth works in a few, silent circuits before he can speak again. "She called me over one day. Said she wanted me to see something special. She'd only been my apprentice for a short time, and I'd never heard her like that.
"I entered her apartment, and she showed it to me. And I just knew." His face falls. His eyes dim. "I knew that nothing I would create would ever compare. Do you have any idea what that's like? To work, to sweat, bleed and endeavor for something your whole life? And then, a single glimpse, one look, and it's enough to know you'll never amount to your own dreams?" Tears well and river their way down his face. "It shattered me, Yusuke. I couldn't believe it. The Sayuri was everything I had ever wanted to paint. For years, I'd tried to create it. And that afternoon, I knew I never would. Never could."
Madarame shuts his eyes, but Fox presses the blade harder against his throat. "What happened?"
"Your mother, Chisako, she kept talking about it. She did it all in one night. Can you believe that? She did that," and he nods to where the Sayuri lays flat on the ground, "in one night. She was so excited and just kept going and going, and then she wasn't talking anymore. And then, she collapsed, and started shaking."
"No," Fox says, and shakes his head.
"I'm sorry."
"No. Even you… even after everything…"
"I wanted to help her," Madarame blurts. "I wanted to, but I just froze. I don't know why. But, she was shaking and shuddering and… I just, I couldn't move, Yusuke! But then she was gone and I didn't know what to do. I just took the painting, and I was going to leave, or I was going to call an ambulance, I don't know!"
Fox's hands curl tighter around the blade. "You killed my mother, for a painting?"
Madarame breaks down into sobs. "I don't know. I don't know, I swear. God Above, I hope not. I don't remember! And then..."
"And then, what?" Fox asks.
"I'm sorry..."
"And then, what?" Fox demands.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he moans. "It just became easier, you see? It just became easier after a while. To distance myself. To take the work. To take the money. I felt sick about it at first, I really did. I really did. But then, it just got easier. And it kept getting easier."
There is a storm on Fox's face. Joker walks up behind him. "If you kill him, he'll die in real life."
His words are stones. "Are you saying I shouldn't?"
"I'm not saying anything, Fox," Joker says. "It's your decision. But I think the world deserves to hear the truth from his mouth."
Fox nods. "I don't disagree. But I shall not lie to you. I want to watch his head, roll."
Madarame shakes his head. "Forgive me, Yusuke. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
With one smooth motion, Fox draws his blade away, and sheathes it. "But he has not wronged only me. There are many he has tossed aside over the years. They all deserve the truth. We all deserve recompense." He steps away from them and walks to the Sayuri. He lifts it, turns it around until he's staring at the woman. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry I let him get away with it for so long."
Panther wipes her eyes. "Yusuke, it's not your fault."
Fox ignores her. "I'm sorry I let him hurt more people." His hands tighten on the painting's frame. "But he's not going to hurt anyone else." Fox turns and stares at Madarame. "Where is the real Sayuri?"
Madarame's gaze falls. "It's gone. I… I burned it. When I started making the copies. That way, it couldn't be traced."
A cruel smile works itself across Fox's face. "You burned it. Of course you did." He nods. "Of course you did. And that's why you kept the storage unit in my mother's name."
Madarame's nod is frantic. "I've always wanted to apologize to her, but I couldn't."
"Oh, bullshit," Skull spits, and points at Fox. "You wanted to apologize to her, so you got her son expelled and threw him into the street?"
Madarame doesn't reply.
Fox turns his whole body to face him. "You're going to go back now, Sensei. You're going to go back to the real world, and you're going to confess all your crimes. You're going to give the names of all your apprentices, and you're going to do right by them. You're going to contact the Principal at my school, and tell him you lied. You're going to tell everyone the truth about the Sayuri, and your little scam. You're going to come clean about everything."
There's a hitch of fear in his voice, when Madarame says, "Everything?"
Fox nods. "Everything."
The anguish leaves Madarame's face, and he begins to glow. "V-very well. You're right. I will confess my sins. I will make things right." As he fades, Madarame looks at Fox one last time. "I'm sorry, my boy. Thank you."
And then he is gone.
The Thieves stand and stare at the spot he occupied. "I-" Fox starts.
Then, the building begins to shake. "Crap," Mona shouts. "The Palace is collapsing. We've gotta go!"
Fox clutches the Sayuri to his chest. "Very well, let us be off!"
#
There's no other choice.
Madarame sits in the gallery's office. Sweat drenches his robes, but he doesn't feel it. His mind had been racing, but it's calm now. Quiet. Still. Resolute.
There's no other choice.
It's a relief, in a way. To have all your options shrink bit by bit until there's only one clear path forward.
I've got to give them Yusuke.
That's the only thing he can do. Hand Yusuke Kitagawa over to those soft-spoken, deadly men. They can make him talk. And then everything can go back. He can weather this storm.
His phone rings again, but he ignores it. Everyone's been calling him. All day.
He doesn't know what it's about anymore. The Calling Card. The Sayuri scam. He just doesn't know. People were skewering him, online. Screeching at him. Raging at him.
It was all so ridiculous. What proof did they have? A few photos from some anonymous blog? The assurance of the 'Phantom Thieves?' None of it meant anything.
So why are they all losing their minds at me?
He shakes his head.
No. Focus. He knows what he has to do. Hand Yusuke over to his 'third favorite customer.' He can issue a statement. He can clear the air. People will believe him.
People will believe him.
They'll believe him.
And Yusuke Kitagawa?
Well, he'd...
He'd...
He remembers.
"It was just like you said," Chisako says. "Just like you said. The Muse, it got into me somehow, and I just kept going and going and going. All night."
"You did this?" He asks, and points to the piece. "In one night?"
"Uh-huh, can you believe it? It's incredible right? It's incredible. Incredible. And it's all because of you. All... Madarame-sensei? Why are you crying?"
Madarame reaches up and wipes his eyes. "It's nothing, my dear. Nothing at all. This is marvelous. Otherworldly." He smiles. "You, Chisako, are brilliant."
And her smile is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. And then her eyes glaze over. And then she is falling. And then her head hits the side of the table. And then she's on the ground. And then she's convulsing.
He remembers.
He remembers his limbs were like ice. The breath held in his lungs like poison.
He remembers her wide, empty eyes. Remembers the spittle, still wet on her lips. He remembers staring at her, and then falling to her knees. He remembers begging her to wake up. To get up. To blink.
To do something.
He remembers the shame as it clawed at his insides.
Leave, his mind had screamed. Leave. Get out of here. Get out now. If someone finds you here, it'll all be over!
And still another part of his mind had raged, Why didn't I call? Why didn't I call someone? An ambulance, anyone?
And over all this madness in his mind, a voice had said, Take the painting.
Take the painting.
It had been small, barely a whisper. It didn't stop. Take the painting. Take the painting. It spread, grew like an infection. TakethepaintingTakethepaintingTakethepainting.
He'd looked at the Sayuri. Even as the tears stained his eyes, he could see its beauty. She's dead, his mind had argued. She's dead, and it'll do her no good. He'd shaken his head against the horrid thought, against the very notion of it, but it made sense, didn't it?
He'd stood. And hating himself, he had taken up the painting.
And then he'd heard the crying.
He should've left. He should've run as far and as fast as he could.
But he didn't.
He'd found frail little Yusuke in his room, tucked into his threadbare bed, freshly awake from a nap, his face scrunched up in a pout, his cries echoing through the small, empty apartment.
And Little Yusuke had looked up at him, and sobbed out, "Madarama?" He never could get his name right. "Where's Mom?"
Madarame had helped him out of bed. Taken his hand. Told him to shut his eyes tight, and not to open them for any reason.
Then, he'd led him out of the apartment, the Sayuri tucked under his free arm. "It's alright, Yusuke," he had cooed as they'd made their exit. "It's alright. I've got you."
I've got you.
Madarame's knees hit the floorboards. "What...?" He starts, but can't finish.
Oh God. Oh God.
The sobs erupt from him. The faces of his apprentices flash through his mind.
Sensei, look at this!
Sensei, how do I make something like that?
Is this good, Sensei?
Can you look at it, Sensei?
You're the best, Sensei!
He sees Yusuke, smiling up at him from behind an easel.
He sees Yusuke, hunched over his sketchbooks, eyes filled with wonder.
He sees Yusuke, so alike his mother.
"Chisako," he whispers. "Chisako, I'm sorry."
He leans forward until his head is against the hardwood. "I'm sorry, Chisako. I'm sorry, Yusuke."
His phone vibrates once more. He pays attention this time. He drags himself to it. He has so many calls to make. So many amends. So many mistakes to fix. A thin sliver of his mind screams at him to think about what he's doing, to think about what'll happen to him if he confesses.
But he sees Chisako on that floor. Sees Yusuke and the fear in his eyes.
And he doesn't care.
#
The Phantom Thieves sit in one of LeBlanc's small booths. They are the only ones in the cafe, aside from Sojiro, who stands behind the bar, measuring beans with the look of a man lost in his own little world.
No one talks. Akira cannot speak for the others, but his muscles feel as if they're tied down with weights. The others wear expressions that match his.
Morgana lies in his lap, eyes shut, breathing steady.
The Sayuri is upstairs, tucked away with the remaining artwork they'd taken from Madarame's cognitive gallery.
"What a week, huh?" He asks.
Ryuji is the first to grin, from where he sits alongside Ann. "Totally."
Yusuke fidgets beside Akira. "When will we know?" He asks, casting a glance at Sojiro. "If it worked?"
Ann leans in. "Kamoshida confessed, like a day or two after. Just hang tight. I'm sure it's coming. We definitely did it."
Morgana twitches in Akira's lap, and utters, "Fatty tuna," in his sleep. Everyone grins.
"We should celebrate," Ryuji says. "This is like, a huge win for us."
Ann nods. "But we should probably wait for the confession first. We shouldn't jump the gun."
Ryuji shuts his eyes and leans back in the chair. "I know, I know. But c'mon. Tomorrow's Sunday. We should do something fun."
The TV, up to this point, a faint white noise in the distance, belts out a word that catches Akira's ear. "...Kamoshida."
The others notice it too, and twist their necks to stare at the screen. A newscaster sits behind a desk, papers in hand, and says, "Following the successful prosecution of Suguru Kamoshida the other day, he has been mandated to serve his sentence at..."
"Prosecution?" Ryuji asks, eyes wide. "Holy crap."
"Kamoshida?" Yusuke whispers. "Isn't that your former adversary?"
Akira nods. "Yeah, it is."
"Wow," Ann says. The screen cuts to a scene outside what looks to be a courthouse. Kamoshida, dressed in a poorly-tailored suit and tie, exits, flanked by police officers and a thin man who must be his attorney. "I didn't even know that was going on."
"Same," Ryuji replies. "I totally forgot that asshat was going on trial."
They listen as more details follow. "Whoa," Akira says. "He got life in prison?"
Ann's eyes narrow. "Good."
Akira turns from the television and regards his friends. "Feels weird, doesn't it. That that all happened while we were focused on Madarame?"
Ryuji beams. "But this means we have to celebrate, right? I mean, Kamoshida's going away for life. That's it. Game over, man!"
A small smile works across Ann's face. "I mean, it is pretty great. We should do something to celebrate it."
"But Yusuke-" Akira starts, but their friend holds up his hand.
"Please," he says. "Do not postpone your festivities on my account. You've told me that our mission was successful. I believe you. And with this other foe fallen, we should celebrate our victories."
"That's the spirit, bro," Ryuji says. "C'mon, who's in?"
Ann raises her hand. Yusuke raises his. Akira smiles, and lifts his. Then, he reaches down, takes one of Morgana's paws in his free hand, and lifts it as well. "Looks like it's unanimous."
"Hell yeah," Ryuji cheers. He reaches his hands into the air, and folds them back behind his head. "Things are finally starting to look up for us."
#
Kobayakowa stares at the television set.
"...given the various testimonies brought forth against Suguru Kamoshida, the three judges presiding declared it to be, 'rather open and shut.'"
Kobayakowa stares at the television set. His apartment smells of mildew. This does not bother him.
"Moving on, the recent controversies surrounding the famous painter..."
Kobayakowa stops listening. He is done listening.
He stands from his armchair. He does not know why he does this.
He stumbles to his apartment's writing desk. He does not know why he does this.
He takes a single piece of stationary and sets it on the desk, and then takes up a pen. He does not know why he does this.
He writes a short, simple message. He does not know why he does this.
He makes his way to the balcony. The wind buffets him when he steps out onto it. The Tokyo skyline sparkles ahead of him. He does not know why he does this.
He grips the balcony's railing in both hands. He does not know why he does this.
He pitches himself forward, into the empty air, and begins to plunge. He does not know why he does this.
And then, before he hits the ground, the fog in his mind vanishes, and the sudden realization of why he's done all this comes to him.
And then he tries to scream but his head smashes open against the pavement.
##
A/N: Man oh man. These Thursday night classes are wrecking me, ladies and gentlemen. That commute is no joke. I overslept again this morning. Brutal. Thank God the Professor is engaging.
Anyway, as to this chapter...
... meh, not my best work. And that's disappointing because it's the big Madarame fight. That's my main issue with it, the fight. I thought that could've been a lot better. Oh well, I'll just have to endeavor to do better next time. Hope you all enjoyed the rest of the chapter, regardless.
Then, there's the answer to the question, 'What's in the box?' Lol, this was actually pretty funny.
Me, a Few Weeks ago: So, everyone, what do you think is in Madarame's storage unit?
Literally Everyone: Well, it could be the Sayuri's, but that would be way too obvious.
Me: ... Fuck.
A few of you are probably wondering about the break I'll be taking. Yes, it's true. I'll be off next week, and honestly, I may take the week after that off too. This is my final semester of grad school, and a lot is riding on it, so I need to make sure I've got a handle on everything so I don't bug out during the finals.
So, I think I'll be back the week of 2/12, and I'll be sure to be back on the 3-2-3-2 week posting schedule. I think that's working pretty well.
As always, thank you so much for reading Crimson. I really appreciate it. You people are wonderful and I'm very grateful to have gotten the chance to speak with you and bounce ideas off of you and just have a good time. Crimson will return!
After all, I'm just getting started. ;)