"It is indeed a precious gift to understand the forces that guides oneself."

Nyx Avatar, Persona 3.

Stocke realized where he was by scent first—he'd noticed in his prior visits just how wrong the place smelled. He breathed in deeply. It… didn't have a smell, in fact. Considering he was not physically present in the chair where he was currently seated, he supposed it made sense.

He was thus not surprised when he opened his eyes to see a familiar trio in front of him.

Igor greeted him with his characteristic creepy grin. "Welcome, my boy. It is good to see that you've overcome all the hurdles that have been thrown your way."

Stocke closed his eyes with a groan. On the back of his eyelids it seemed as if he could still see Baldr fighting the terrifying figures of Rosch and Sonja's Shadows. It had already been one week since they'd defeated the two creatures, but Stocke still could not think of them without shuddering. He puffed out a slow exhalation through his nose before opening his eyes once more. "Hurdles. Yeah…"

"And in the process, you've gained two allies," Lippti said.

Stocke's fingernails sank into the velvety material of the armrests. "No. I'm not involving these two in this mess. They've already been through enough crap."

Teo lifted a brow. "You would deprive yourself of a precious aid, then. You cannot face this alone."

Stocke rolled his eyes. He could easily imagine Rosch or Sonja saying something similar.

"You know your friends would tell you the same," Lippti continued, almost as if she could hear his thoughts. "You have faced and defeated two Shadows… but your true enemy is human. They will not give up as easily."

"And humans are much more dangerous than Shadows," Teo said. "Shadows wish people no harm: they simply lash out against the outside world so they can be heard, so they can be seen. But whoever stole the Black Chronicle might have no qualm about hurting you."

Stocke crossed his arms against his chest, wondering for the umpteenth time just what he had gotten himself into. Rather than voice his thought aloud, he asked, "That time-loop thing… was it the White Chronicle acting up? It kept sending me to the recent past so I could find and destroy the two Shadows, right?"

Something indecipherable flickered in the twins' amber gazes. "You could say that, yes," Teo finally answered in an even voice.

Stocke swallowed back the first reply that came to his mind. Why are they lying to me?

"I see. I gotta watch out for more of these repetitions, then?"

"Indeed," said Teo. "Since you hold the White Chronicle, only you will be able to see the little cracks in the Shadows' make-believe worlds."

"And so it will be your task to guide your friends through these ordeals," his sister added.

Igor chuckled. "I do not doubt you will succeed, my boy. You are very perceptive. Much more than you give yourself credit for, at least."

"Heh," Stocke said, "I don't think so." His response only made Igor cackle louder. Despite his misgivings, Stocke found himself smiling and shaking his head.

"Ah, now that's better," Igor said. "I was starting to think that nothing could ever bring a smile to that face."

Stocke snorted. "You reminded me of someone I know for a moment. You two laugh the same way." Igor even looked like an older and more demented version of Uncle Heinrich, although Stocke would never admit it to the latter. The man wouldn't take the comparison well, Stocke was sure.

"I guess I'll need to gather some more info, then," said Stocke. "If that thing used to be in my father's possession, then it might have been used before. Same goes for the Black Chronicle."

A precedent string of unexplained comas was bound to not go unnoticed. Stocke sighed. Great. Investigating all that crap will just take up more time that should have been spent studying. The exams of the preceding weeks had gone terribly. Stocke knew he'd have to be more careful in the future. If his grades happened to slip up, his family would start to notice the weird (and dangerous) turn his life had just happened to take.

"The White Chronicle has been used several times before, yes," Lippti replied. "The Black Chronicle, on the other hand…"

"It's never been used, then?" Stocke asked.

"It's…" Lippti hesitated. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

"If the Black Chronicle has been used, then we would have no way of knowing it," said Teo.

Stocke's brows furrowed. "What? Why?"

"It's because of the very way the two Chronicles operate," Lippti said. "The White Chronicle shapes the future."

"But the Black Chronicle changes the past," finished Teo. "It is a more powerful tool by a large margin. She gives her bearer the ability to reach any point in time… and from there, they can create an entire new timeline, an entire new world, without anyone else knowing the better."

Stocke couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What? That's ludicrous!"

"The Black Chronicle is also notoriously difficult to awaken," Teo said, "hence why so far we believe she had rarely been used." His expression grew grim. "Hence why people might resort to dreadful means to obtain this power."

"Great. Just… great." Stocke was sure he was going to wake up with a headache. "So the chances of me finding that whacko and just convincing them to give me the book dwindled to near zero."

"I am sorry," Teo said. "I wish things were different."

Lippti bowed her head. "We will support you to the best of our abilities."

"Indeed we will," Teo added. "But for now you should just wake up, Stocke."

The non-sequitur threw off Stocke. "What? What do you mean?"

A loud thud! snatched Stocke out of his blue-tinted dreamworld. He snapped upward in his chair—his hard, cheap plastic chair—and gulped down to loosen the twist in his throat. Thankfully enough, it took him but a second to gather his thoughts and realize just where he happened to be. His classmates gaped at him—Sonja's expression in particular could have been comical in another situation. And right next to Stocke's desk, the young, wiry red-haired man looming over him could only be—

"Finally, you deign to join us, Mr. Stocke," quipped Selvan, the social studies teacher. "Surely you know the answer to my question, since you feel confident enough about the topic that you sleep through class."

Stocke stared at the teacher and sat a little straighter in his plastic chair. The class was so silent one could hear a pin drop.

"Then, again, I might be overestimating your understanding of the material," Selvan continued. "Your exam result shows as much."

Stocke's mouth went bone dry. The gazes of the other students were hot on his back. Stocke's friends, however, were instead glaring daggers at the teacher. Sonja in particular looked ready to murder the man on the spot.

"I'm sorry, sir," Stocke managed to articulate. "It won't happen again."

"Mm," Selvan said with a shrug. "Another teacher told me it's not the first time you've been inattentive during class. I guess you've earned yourself a detention. Tomorrow after school, then."

Stocke stiffened. He'd never had detention before. "Sir, I have work tomorrow evening and—"

"Not my problem," Selvan interrupted. He turned his back to Stocke and continued to stroll down the aisle, droning about the delicate power balance of the first democratic government of Granorg. Stocke could barely find in himself the will to give a crap. When the mealtime bell rung out, he all but bolted out of his seat, not even giving the teacher a backward glance as he left the classroom.

"That jerk!" Sonja cried as they reached their lockers. "You should contest this, you know. You usually only get detention after a couple of repeated offenses, I mean!"

"Yeah!" Rosch said. "And what was that bullshit about your exam result, huh? Man, that guy pisses me off!"

Stocke sighed as he grabbed his lunchbox. "It's okay, guys. Calm down." Usually, he would have indeed tried to challenge such a blatant misuse of power, but now… now, he was simply too tired to care. "Let's not make a fuss about this. We have bigger fish to fry, after all."

As his sentence came to an end, he gave a surreptitious glance to his right. Sonja and Rosch followed his gaze. They all could see the fuzzy shape of a lesser Shadow as it crept towards some poor kid trying to open his locker. The thing had been thoroughly thrashed, the work of bullies, no doubt. Sonja hid her mouth with her hands, distressed, while Rosch noticeably paled. Stocke had almost been relieved when he'd realized they could see the Shadows as well. After nearly a month of thinking he was going mad, it was a welcome reprieve.

They chose a lone, forgotten table at the edge of the cafeteria and spoke in hushed tones as they ate. Occasionally, Sonja would freeze as a student passed by; she would then goggle at them in a strange and decidedly un-Sonja manner.

"Uh, Sonja?" Stocke asked her. "Is there something wrong? You've been pretty… out there since we've left class."

His words startled her. She turned to gawk at Stocke. "Oh!" Sonja said. "Oh, I guess I'm being a little weird, yes."

Rosch and Stocke exchanged a look.

"Care to, um, explain, then?" the latter said.

Sonja flushed, her lips curling in a sheepish grin. "It's hard to understand, even for me, but… with Hlín—my Persona, I mean—I can sorta see, um, things?"

"That's," Stocke said, "well, that's not very… specific."

Sonja let out a groan. "I mean, like information and stuff. I just can't make heads or tails of it."

"What kind of information?" Rosch said as he slurped down his noodles.

Sonja hesitated for a moment, before she answered, "Well, Hlín tells me, um, what kind of Arcana people have."

"Arca-what?" Rosch asked, the same time Stocke said, "Arcana? Like in tarot?"

"Yes," Sonja clarified. "Hlín seems to associate some people with a specific tarot card. Like the social studies teacher, Selvan. She tells me he's a Hierophant. It's the fifth Arcana."

"Oh." Rosch gulped down his mouthful of noodles. "Okay."

"With some other people, I don't see anything. Like your uncle, Stocke. He doesn't seem to have an Arcana. Most people are like that, actually."

Stocke shrugged. "What it's supposed to mean?"

"I honestly don't know," Sonja answered. She looked at Rosch. "I know that you're the Emperor and that I'm the Empress. I think it's got something to do with Personas."

"What about, Stocke?" Rosch asked. "What's his Arcana?"

Once again, Sonja appeared to hesitate. "It's number 12. The, um…" She averted her eyes from Stocke. "The Hanged Man."

Stocke immediately headed to work when classes ended. His shift would not start for another hour, but staying at school to do his homework had not been an option for the better part of a month now. It was hard being productive when you knew some soul-sucking monsters were watching your every move from the shadows.

Thankfully, no shadowy abomination thought to stalk Stocke as he made his way to the bookstore. In fact, since his first monstrous encounter nearly one month ago, he never stumbled on another Shadow outside of the school grounds. The streets and alleyways were instead filled by kids playing and roughhousing. Stocke remembered that there was an elementary school nearby—across the street from the bookstore where he worked, in fact.

As he turned a corner, closing in to his destination, Stocke caught sight of a group of squabbling elementary schoolers.

"What's taking her so long?" one girl grumbled. "Why can't we just go?"

"We told her we'd be here," answered one of her friends. "Wait, isn't that her?"

Across the street, another elementary-school-aged girl was lingering on the sidewalk. She looked both sides of the road before scurrying toward her friends. Stocke noticed the horns protruding out of her head and her long, pointed ears. Her emerald hair was bunched up in thick pigtails. A Satyros, Stocke noted. That was rare. There weren't a lot of Celestian denizens living in Alistel.

"There you are!" one of the girls exclaimed as the Satyros child reached their midst. "What took you so long?"

The Satyros glanced down at her hooved feet. "I couldn't find my pencil case," she said, her little face scrunching up in a frown. "I'm sure somebody stole it."

None of her friends seemed particularly interested in her excuse. "Why would anybody steal your pencil case?" another of the girls asked. "You probably just dropped it somewhere. You've always been a bit scatterbrained, Aht."

The girl called Aht gave no reply. As he passed next to her, Stocke offered the kid a sympathetic glance. In response, she gaped at him. Stocke could still feel her gaze on him as he walked away.

"I'm starving!" he heard one of the girls say. "Let's go get something to eat!"

"Aw, but I don't have any money," another whined.

"Just ask Aht," a third girl said. "She can repay you later, right, Aht?"

There was a silence, then: "I can't!" said the Satyros. "I'm trying to save up my allowance to buy a book that came out this week!"

Her friends gave a collective groan. "Come on, Aht, don't be stingy!" the first girl said. "Your family's loaded! I'm sure your uncle would buy you the book if you just asked!"

Stocke was too far away to hear Aht's response. As he pushed the door to the bookstore, he sighed. Some things never change, huh…? At that age, kids could be such a pain. He was glad that his elementary and middle-school days were far behind him.

Mr. and Mrs. Norton, his two bosses, welcomed him with benevolent smiles. They understood right away when Stocke told them that he'd be stuck in detention after school the next day.

"It's okay, don't beat yourself up over this," Mr. Norton said. "You could always come in a little late. At least so you can grab a bite before your shift starts."

His wife gave a wobbly little nod to show her approval. "You're such a good, hardworking boy, Ernst, my dear. Don't you worry about us."

"No," Stocke said, shaking his head, "I'll try to come in at the hour you asked. I'll just get something from the convenience store next door for dinner."

Mrs. Norton gave him an affectionate pat on the back. "If you say so, sweetie. Don't push yourself too hard, now."

The rest of the night passed by at a snail's pace. Still, it was a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle that now filled Stocke's life. He never particularly liked interacting with the customers at the bookstore, but now they seemed liked the purest of pure angels compared to the things that awaited him each morning at school. Unholy abominations made of pure darkness were a bit more intimidating than the resident put-upon suburbanites and the occasional self-proclaimed intellectuals, after all.

The next day, Stocke devoted every ounce of energy left in his body to stay awake in each of his classes. When the time came for his detention, Sonja and Rosch offered fond and supportive farewells. Their concern was a bit annoying, in truth. Here Stocke was, eighteen-year-old and nearly in college, stuck in class after school re-transcribing some choice passages extolling the virtues of the Prophet (the text must have been an idea of Principal Hugo's, Stocke was sure of it). He could almost feel his brain matter oozing out of his ears with every passing minute.

Stocke shot out of the classroom the moment the supervisor allowed him to go. He grabbed his things from his locker, then ran out of the school, not slowing down until he'd reached the street where the bookstore was located. Stocke stopped in front of the convenience store he'd spotted the day before, cursing as he looked at his watch. He was already late.

After a bit of deliberation, Stocke went inside, thinking that he could at least find something that would sustain him for a couple more hours; his stomach was already making its displeasure known. He glared at the sparsely filled shelf, then finally chose the one lone sandwich that wasn't all squashed. Stocke threw the poor thing on the counter and searched for his wallet. He was about to pay when he finally caught sight of just who happened to be behind the cash register. The girl's grin spanned the entirety of her face.

"Hey!" Eruca's friend Raynie said. "Long time no see! You're Eruca's bro, right?"

"Yeah," Stocke replied as he handed the money to her.

"Talk about dumb luck!" Raynie said. "Who would have figured we'd be meeting each other out of school, huh?"

"I work at the bookstore next door," Stocke explained. He grabbed his sandwich. "I really should go. I'm already fifteen minutes late."

"Really? When does your shift end?"

Stocke met her gaze, blinking. "At… nine?"

Raynie leaned on the counter. "Wow! Me too! We could totally meet up after work, right?"

Stocke looked askance. "I'm going home directly afterwards. It's a school night."

"I know, I know!" Raynie said with a chuckle. "But we could wait for the bus together—you're taking the bus, right?" As he nodded, she added, "Cool! I could smuggle some snacks from the back store, if you want. My boss would never notice, heh!"

Now, Stocke was truly mystified. "Uh, okay, sure."

"Great!" She gave him two thumbs-up. "See you soon, then!"

Stocke left the store in a bit of a daze, not sure what to make of the entirety of that conversation. He'd managed to scarf down half his sandwich when he entered Mr. and Mrs. Norton's place. He offered a quick apology to the old couple before eating up the rest of his meagre dinner.

Like the preceding evening, it was a slow night. He chatted with the clients with little enthusiasm, directing them to the objects of their query with forced, feeble smiles. He was rearranging the books in the window display when he spied something from outside the store that made him frown. The Satyros girl from yesterday was looking back at him from behind the glass, her lower lip wobbling. Around her, strangely enough, was an assortment of brightly coloured school bags.

Stocke hesitated for a moment before finally opening the door. "Hey," he told the kid. "You okay, kid?"

In response, she froze and clutched the strap of her neon green backpack a little tighter.

"Right," Stocke said. Maybe he could have tried to come off a little less creepy. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

He was about to slip back inside the store when she spoke up.

"No!" the Satyros child said. "It's okay. You surprised me, I guess." Her lips quivered into a weak smile.

"I wasn't sure if you were a customer or not," Stocke replied. "You can come inside and browse if you want to. You don't have to buy anything."

"Oh…" She shuffled her feet. "I'd like to buy something, but I can't go inside. I promised my friends I'd look after their bags."

Stocke quirked a brow. "They can't look after their own bags? Where are they, anyway?"

"Well, we all stayed after classes to work on the school pageant and then my friends wanted to go for a milkshake." The girl gestured to a nearby dairy bar with her chin. "But I didn't feel like having a milkshake. I'm saving up to buy a book, see? So they told me I could stay here."

Stocke sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Was it really that difficult to carry their bags themselves? How long have they been gone?"

The kid's face darkened. "I don't know. Half an hour, maybe? I wish they'd come back. I'm a bit cold. And tired."

"Your friends shouldn't be treating you that way," Stocke said, blunt. "That sounds like bullying to me."

The Satyros evaded his gaze; her own eyes were starting to well up. "Really?"

"Yeah," Stocke said. "That's what it looks like, anyway." He slowly inhaled before adding, "I know a thing or two about bullying."

The girl knitted her brows together. "You don't seem like the kind of guy to be bullied at school," she said with a sniff.

Stocke's lips twitched in a fleeting smile. "Not at school, no."

Her big green eyes widened a bit. Stocke was surprised that she understood his meaning so quickly.

"You know what," Stocke said, "I have an idea. Since I work here, I can buy books at a discount. Tell me what you're looking for, and I'll get it for you. You can pay me the balance afterwards."

The Satyros girl gasped. "Really? You mean it?"

"Yeah," Stocke assured her. For a moment, he entertained the idea to tell her to just break her promise and leave her friends' bags unwatched. Still, it wasn't his call to make. "Just tell me which book you want, and I'll bring it to you."

The girl clapped her hands together, delighted. "Thanks!" She hopped a bit on her hooved feet. "What's your name?"

"Uh… you can call me Stocke," he told her, a bit bewildered by her sudden inquiry.

"I'm Aht! Nice to meetcha!" She appeared to scrutinize him for a bit. "You're really more interesting than most teenagers I've met, you know!"

Stocke was halfway through the doorway when he spoke back to her, "Just how many teenagers have you met?"

Her giggles were her only reply.

The evening air was refreshingly cool. Stocke's eyes were immediately drawn to the sky above; the moon cast a soft, silver gleam, while hundreds of tiny stars pinpricked the heavenly canopy. Stocke was so absorbed by the sight that he nearly forgot he had made plans to meet up with Eruca's friend. He leaned by the door to the convenience store and waited for her, passing the time by finding all the constellations he knew.

"Hey!" Raynie said as she finally joined him. "Nice night, huh?" She rummaged through her tote bag and grabbed a couple of chocolate bars and a bag of chips. "Sweet or salty? It's your choice."

"Salty," Stocke said.

"That's good with me! I'm more of a sweet tooth myself." Raynie gave him the bag, then took a bite out of a chocolate bar. "So, you're Ernst, right?"

Stocke shoved a few chips down his mouth before answering, "Yeah. But most people call me Stocke."

Raynie laughed. "Really? That's unfortunate. I mean, think of all the terrible puns I could come up with that name."

By now they had reached the bus stop. Stocke shot her a warning look. "Don't you dare…"

"Hey, don't worry, I'm not that cruel. Besides, I'm beat. I've wasted all my energy re-stocking the shelves these past few hours."

Stocke groaned. Raynie let out a few horsey guffaws.

"Sorry, dude," she said after she'd stopped snorting. "That'll be the first and last time I'll make fun of your name. I just had to, at least once."

"I'm used to it, now," Stocke said, not without some good humour. "I'll manage."

"I knew you would," Raynie replied. "You look like you're made of stern stuff. Like your sis, I guess. She's a real trooper, that one.

Stocke ate a few more chips. "Mhm." He was pleasantly surprised that she had such a good grasp of Eruca's character.

"So, is it fun to work at that bookstore?" Raynie asked him. "I've seen the two owners a couple of times, they seem like swell people."

"Yeah, they're nice. Place's not half bad, either."

"I guess you don't get saddled with a ton of moronic customers either, huh?" Raynie said. "My opinion on the whole of humanity's dropped dramatically since I've started working at my place."

Stocke snorted. "I don't think I'd be able to stand it, if I were in your shoes. My standards are already too low for that."

Raynie snickered again, nearly choking on her mouthful of chocolate in the process. "At least, the pay's okay," she said. "Hockey gear's really expensive, you know? And I don't want to be a bother to my foster family."

Raynie was smiling as she spoke, but now Stocke found that he could not return her expression. Her foster family, huh…? It would have been rude to pry further, however. "Yeah. I get what you mean."

From the end of the street, the headlights of a bus peered through the evening gloom.

"Well, that's my ride," Raynie said as they peeked at the number flashing above the windshield. She looked at Stocke expectantly.

"Mine'll be here in about five minutes," Stocke told her.

"I guess it's goodbye, then." She gave his shoulder a light punch. "It was great to see you, dude. Til next time."

Stocke shrugged. "See ya. And thanks for the snacks."

Raynie offered him a coy little salute before climbing up the bus. Then, she was gone.

For some reason, Stocke woke up the next day in a surprisingly good mood. His cheer seemed infectious; when he came down to help prepare breakfast, his mother started singing and sashaying to the horrifyingly catchy tune that was playing on the radio. Eruca was soon giggling and nearly snorting milk out of her nose. When Uncle Heinrich arrived, Sophia waltzed up to the doorway and attempted to drag his sorry behind back to the kitchen for a bit of impromptu dancing. The man did not give in to her demands, but his protests intersected with cackles. Stocke couldn't help but hide a secret grin at the chaotic display. Yes, his uncle really did sound like Igor when he laughed.

Rosch and Sonja were surprised, but pleased that his detention hadn't sunk his spirits so much. Rosch burst in laughter when Stocke told him just what he'd been forced to do ("I remember copying that verse too! Man, my hand hurt like hell for the rest of the week after that!") while Sonja had been touched by what he'd done for the little Satyros girl ("I hope she'll be able to confide in an adult… what a dreadful situation!").

The second period was spent in the library researching things for a class project. The English teacher, student-favourite Raul Gualtierrez, was one of the two faculty members whom everybody called by his first name, the other being the gym instructor in Eruca's year, Viola Aldebrandi. Raul was not one to breathe down his students' necks, so Stocke was mostly left alone to his devices. Despite that, he could not help but feel vaguely guilty as he looked up anything but the materials asked for class. Still, whenever he glanced back to the teacher, Raul only gave him vague smiles before going back to his grading.

So far, Stocke's investigation proved to be fruitless. At first, he sought cases that most resembled the situation at hand, but it soon became apparent that it would be as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack. Stocke then narrowed his search to the area where was located the high school that his father had attended—Granorg's Royal Academy for Gifted Youngsters, one of the most prestigious institutions in the Granorgite capital. Yet, once again, nothing came up.

After a while, Stocke opted instead to look up the mythological figures that seemed to form the basis of his friends' Personas. Tyr, of course, was an easy one to find. The old Imperial folklore had many warrior divinities, chief among them the one-armed god of heroic deeds. Sonja's Hlín was a bit more obscure. Most described her as a deity of protection and compassion, but some deemed her to be only an avatar of the Imperial pantheon's mother goddess, the wise, grief-stricken Frigg.

Stocke opened tabs on all the old Imperial deities he could find. He was so deeply engrossed in a description of a god named Heimdallr that he noticed only at the last possible second that someone was reading over his shoulder as well.

A startled Stocke spun in his chair, scowling as he realized just who was standing behind him. "Uncle Heinrich. I thought I told you to stop doing that."

"Stop doing what?" the man said, his voice barely above a whisper. Of course, he did not have the decency to get rid of that infuriatingly smug smirk of his. Did he enjoy creeping up on people? Stocke was starting to think it was the case.

Stocke drummed his fingers on the desk. It was no use to explain to the man why such behaviour might come off as annoying in typical human societies. Uncle only heard whatever he wanted to hear, anyway. "We're in class right now. I'm kind of busy."

"Oh, I was just looking for some documentation myself," Heinrich said. "Besides, the library is a public place, isn't it? Not to mention, but I'm also a teacher. I can come and go whenever I want."

Stocke fought back a groan, instead choosing to remain silent.

Uncle Heinrich's gaze went up and down the screen. "Ancient Imperial mythology, eh? I didn't know you had an interest in the subject."

"It's for an essay," Stocke lied.

"I see." Uncle Heinrich looked at the two webpages that currently showed on Stocke's computer. "Heimdallr and Hod. The all-seeing sentinel and the blind murderer. You couldn't have picked two more different gods than that, hmm?"

"Hod isn't a murderer," Stocke muttered. "He was tricked."

Heinrich gave a low chuckle. "He still threw the spear that killed Baldr." His features showed a hint of melancholy. "Poor Baldr… his only contribution to the Imperial myths is dying so the other gods can kick off the end of the world."

Stocke shivered despite the warmth of the library. "It's Loki's fault for manipulating Hod. Hod didn't want to kill his brother."

Heinrich's face was stuck in a bizarre, almost grotesque expression. "…well, you could say it's just one interpretation amongst many."

This time, Stocke could not stop a sigh from escaping his mouth. "You really should be going. We're not allowed to speak in the library, remember? I don't want to bother everyone else."

"Alright, alright, I'll go," Heinrich said; despite Stocke's rudeness, his tone was still amiable. "Good luck with your schoolwork."

"Mm." From the corner of his eyes, Stocke watched the man's retreating back. Then, recalling the roadblock his earlier investigations had encountered, he suddenly got out of his chair.

"Uncle, wait!" Stocke followed after the man. "I just remembered something I wanted to ask you. This might come a bit out of nowhere, but… my dad went to the Royal Academy when he was younger, right?"

Uncle Heinrich's remaining joviality immediately dissipated. "He did, yes."

"What about you? Do you remember anything weird about your high school years? Like, creepy, unexplained stuff?"

Heinrich tightened his jaw. "I did not go to the Royal Academy. My parents sent me to a public school. Niflheim High. A miserable, underfunded place, it was. And now I'm sorry, but I must really go."

Uncle's harsh, bitter tone left Stocke unable to reply. The other students in the library were starting to stare. From his desk, Raul stood half-risen from his seat; he frowned as Heinrich all but stormed out of the library.

Stocke scrambled back to his chair, uncomfortable with the attention now directed at him. What the hell was that all about? He hadn't known his uncle had gone to a different school than his father. His grandparents had counted among the wealthiest of Granorg's elite: why had they sent their youngest son to an apparently terrible public school while his brother had enjoyed what was touted as the best education in the whole country?

Stocke's hands hovered above the keyboard for a bit. On a lark, he typed in the name of his uncle's high school in a search engine. He was ready to write off this new attempt as another failure when several results popped at the top of his browser. The blood drained from his face as the meaning of the words that appeared on his screen sank in his mind.

Granorgite public school closed after failed investigation, one story declared. Stocke noted the date. It had been written twelve years ago. School officials caught up in a scandal after several unexplained deaths, another website claimed. Stocke's breath hitched. He scrolled down to another article.

Five high-school students died this morning at Granorg Central Hospital, one week after being found in comatose states on school grounds—physicians are left mystified as for the cause of death.

Stocke leaned back into his chair, head spinning. What is this supposed to mean? He thought about the two kids who had already fallen prey to the Shadows' sway. What's going to happen to them? In his mind's eye, he saw their family, their friends, waiting anxiously by their bedside, hoping, praying for them to open their cold and heavy settled in his stomach as he imagined instead what would happen once the jagged lines representing their heartbeats would straighten into a flat stroke, what would happen once the steady beeps of the monitors would die down to a stretching, dull note.

Teo and Lippti's warnings crept from the back of Stocke's mind. Your true enemy is human, they had told him. Was there a link between the current attacks on the students of St. Noah's and the events from twelve years ago? If so, was Stocke's unseen enemy the one who had caused those five deaths?

Stocke swore under his breath. Of course, things couldn't have been easy. Of course he had to go against a possibly homicidal maniac.

And of course I had to get involved, Stocke thought wryly, because that book had to drop into my lap somehow.

No wonder Stocke's Persona was based on the unluckiest bastard in the whole of the Imperial pantheon. It was simply a reflection of his master being the biggest sucker this side of the continent.

A/N: Why, yes, the owners of the bookstore happen to be the Alistellian equivalents of Bunkichi and Mitsuko from Persona 3. I loved these two so much, they were so adorable...