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It is in this sense that St. Augustine ... distinguishes two forms of knowledge, a cognitio vespertina and a cognitio matutina, the first corresponding to the scientia creaturae and the second to the scientia Creatoris. If we equate cognitio with consciousness, then Augustine's thought would suggest that the merely human and natural consciousness gradually darkens, as at nightfall.

But just as evening gives birth to morning, so from the darkness arises a new light, the stella matutina, which is at once the evening and the morning star—Lucifer, the light-bringer.

- Carl Jung, CW 13, Para 299

I believe wholeheartedly that all men ought to be free.

Yet at birth we are molded and formed by the reality that surrounds us, to the point where many have argued that free will is in and of itself an illusion.

Limited in our scope, we act; and we are lectured and raised and addressed by our fathers, who themselves were addressed by their forefathers, who themselves had been taught by their forefathers, and so on. When we lack fathers we are given friends to emulate, and when we lack friends we at the very least have laws and regulations to live by. We are taught righteous paths; taught ethics and conduct and manners.

But I would say, though useful in maintaining order, or forming one's own psychological/moral framework, ultimately none of these things can be said to be objectively true unto themselves.

Some nations love their neighbors; others eat them. Some nations treat women as equal in value to men, and allow them to pursue their own careers and passions; others have them thrown to the streets, cast aside by their fathers for the indignity of being raped. Gurus and philosophers will proclaim violence is inherently self-destructive, yet revolutionaries proclaim violence as the way to claim justice and freedom.

Our morals are the foundation of pretty much every action we take in regards to other people; we are told not to lie to one another, not to insult or berate one another, not to mock and scorn and jeer. Treat others as how we would have them treat us. Sympathy, sharing and caring.

But even describing one another in terms of "good" and "evil" seems out-of-place. If moral behavior is to be measured, I believe it should be more or less reflected in the choices a man makes, not the characteristics they and others project. Even this is a sham, as what is "good" to one, may be a vile monstrous act of sheer evil to another.

After all, totalitarians worldwide have butchered millions, for the sake of building a bridge to Paradise with their bodies. If there's anything to be learned from Stalin, Hitler, Mao, and Pol Pot, it's that the vision of one's ideal world is all the motivation needed to commit unfathomable acts of death and destruction.

We are called to be wise, if nothing else; and you'll have to pardon me but I think even wisdom is in and of itself a falsehood.

Say a man endures and struggles and contends, until finally he achieves something. Then, you can come up with fifteen different quotes from some old philosophers as to why his success was inevitable. Then when that man's castle crumbles, and you'll come up with fifteen other quotes as to why his failure was inevitable.

An ascetic can shirk all worldly things and be considered wise by some, but a bachelor who's tasted the glories of privileged life would see him as a madman. I'm not saying a bachelor would be better than an ascetic, nor am I saying that one must abandon everything of this world to be considered wise. I am saying that even something so upheld by scholars and the philosophers of our time, what constitutes as wise, more often than not widely differs from person to person.

We are born and we are bred in this world, our morals and beliefs more often than not decided for us at the behest of others who claim to know more.

Yet I would say, that even in this world where we are subjected to all manner of differing experiences, that individual freedom can still be attained.

Difficult to achieve, of course, but not impossible to. I believe the true process of freeing oneself begins not from the outside, but from within. Once one becomes aware of himself and his own weaknesses, and internalizes them, only then can one truly set himself on a path beyond anyone else. When man questions, he ascends beyond determinism.

In my view, a free man is one who constructs his own personal standards of good and evil, and follows his code to the letter. Uncaring of society's standards, living his life on his own terms. May the gods themselves be overthrown, if they were to try and suppress his will.

But I am a hypocrite. For I know all too well where such ideas may lead.

If the average man were uninhibited by society, or the morals it constructs, or the pretty little nothings it tells itself to remain afloat, I highly doubt it would lead to beneficial outcomes for either the man or those around him. It's second nature for men to restrict their words and their thoughts and their motives, all for the sake of self-preservation. And that is most likely for the best.

For in a world populated by entities that have each constructed their own goods and evils, nothing is certain and everything is permissible. It's likely that such a world would grant us more Hitlers and Stalins and Maos than perhaps we'd like to admit.

Still. That idea fills me with an unsatisfactory bitterness.

A bitterness that I suppose will remain a simple dull feeling burrowing in my chest, from now until the end of my life.

A chandelier above me hangs and blares out an array of orange lights, illuminating the rest of the room; for no light enters this place from the outside.

I am in what resembles a cathedral, seated upon one of the dozen pews lining the place. The building itself isn't dingy or decrepit; but the cobblestone bricks that form its structure are dark, gleaming as though they're wet. The plate-glass windows depict patchy shapes; black, horned figures clawing at white bodies, flames surrounding the both of them. None of these figures bear full faces; the black ones have smiling mouths, the white ones have bloodshot eyes.

Before the altar lies the stone statue of a man crucified. But his head has fallen from his shoulders and is nowhere else to be seen. Though he hangs from a cross, neither his hands nor his feet are nailed. Yet he bears gruesome wounds nonetheless, such that anyone who could even sculpt a statue with such detail would immediately be regaled as the finest sculptor of all time.

Suddenly a wooden door opens.

Skin gleaming like porcelain and eyes hardened like ice, the man carries an intensity few others would ever be able to match. Bright, golden eyes. Hair like the sun. There is something inhumane yet dazzling about him and his features, almost like he'd come straight from an oil painting. He moves as though time slows down for him, for even the folds of his deep purple clothes need to take their time to crease.

In his left hand he carries a candelabrum. Approaching the altar, he places down the candelabrum and lights its six candles with a match. He takes his seat and his golden eyes stare directly into mine. Something of a small smile forms along the hard line he has for a mouth.

"Emancipator," he speaks, something chilling yet calming in his tone. "Welcome to the Kingdom of your heart. This is a place between dream and reality, mind and matter. I have summoned you here because I sense great tidings of change, for both yourself and the world you inhabit."

I say nothing. So he continues onward.

"We are kindred spirits, you and I. In your iniquity you called me, though you may not have been aware you did. In time I shall show my true nature in full, but for now, interacting with you like this shall do us nicely."

He stands up and approaches me, sitting by my side. His eyes rise up to the headless, crucified, tortured, man, and he resumes his speech though not even facing me.

"As we speak, the whims and wishes of humanity dance to the ebb and flow of gods and their machinations. Above all else, now more than ever before, mankind seeks freedom—freedom from all who would oppress and restrain them. Freedom from all who would establish their dominion over them, and the the things they dream."

It is now he faces me. His golden eyes glowing perhaps brighter than the sun.

"Your future in particular is marked by great calamity; corrupt individuals and vile gods shall seek to oppress you. The nature of this realm takes the form of your heart. Undoubtedly, the bitterness inside you shall blossom into something truly marvellous. I will do everything in my power to ensure that it happens. For thou art I, and I am thou."

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11 / 7 / 2014

I awaken, remembering I'm in the library of Kishibaru.

Since there is a quiz on plants taking place next week, I'd headed over to the library and grab as many books as I can on the subject. Had pages packed with notes, yes. Even had a recorder on during class.

Still, couldn't hurt to want to know more.

Out the window, the sky is grey and the air is cold. Little white snowflakes float down to the glass from the clouds. They hit the panes and melt and all at once they stop existing. Dull and grey, but soothing too.

Kurogawa shouldn't take too long; school's a relatively short distance from the house. No trouble getting here quickly by car.

But the books I borrowed can't fit in my bag, so I have to carry them all the way to the front of my school and wait for my driver to pick me up.

Predictably, I trip and fall down the stairs; such is what happens. So I stay in the middle of an empty hallway, on the third floor of my school.

I think about how livid Father would be if he saw what'd just happened, and then I hear footsteps.

It doesn't matter, whoever's walking toward me. It doesn't matter who's wearing the white sneakers tapping along the ground. It doesn't matter who is picking up one of my books and handing over to me.

Because in the end, after they give me back my book I can just forget ever meeting her—

"Here."

She has blazing green eyes, large and round like a child's. Raven-black hair drifts over face and flows from her head all the way down to her shoulders, each strand of hair aglow with orange from the sunlight peering through the windows.

She is as tall as I am. Her skin is white, almost like that of alabaster. I can't ignore how the peach freckles peppering her cheeks complement her eyes, and her smile, and the blackness of her hair perfectly.

A Kishibaru blazer meant for female students is wrapped around her waist, its arms knotted on her belly button. Wearing a black skirt, white socks, brown loafers, and a white polo shirt, she smiles a demure smile at me as she hands me my Science book.

The moment I know I won't forget her anytime soon is the moment my eyes drift away from her lips and to the blood red scarf wrapped around her neck and draped over her shoulders.

"Hey, what happened to you?" she asks me, hand still carrying my notebook. "Am I that ugly?"

"N-no," I yelp out, the lump in my throat growing ever bigger by the second, "You surprised me, that's all."

She has an incredulous sort of expression on her face as she furrows her brows, "I surprised you?"

I blink at her, wondering what she'd have thought my reaction to someone suddenly emerging from out of nowhere in the middle of an empty hall would've been. "Is that so hard to believe?"

She shrugs, somewhat trying to look casual, "No. Not really. But I'm glad to finally surprise someone in the good way."

"I...don't—"

"Never mind," she quickly says, grabbing about two of the five books lying around the floor, "where do you live? I'll help you take these home."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Sure," she says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world to help someone she's never even met before carry their books all the way back to a house they've never even been to before.

"No, don't. It's fine," I tell her, "I have a car coming…"

She just cuts in, "Then I'll help you take these to the car."

All the while I grasp for a reason as to why she would possibly do something like this so suddenly, " shouldn't do that—"

"Why not?" she asks, again as though doing this is all routine for her.

"Because I was the guy who borrowed these books and it doesn't feel right if someone else just—"

"I'm offering to help you here."

I look at her warily, unknowing what else I could say to her other than "Thank you for your concern, but I can handle this—"

She then drops the books, drops them right to my feet. And my eyes tear themselves away from the red of her scarf and move to the white of her teeth, her lips forming a coy smile. All at once the beauty fades away and all I feel is annoyed.

I ask her, "Why would you—?"

"You don't need my help," she smirks, arms folding.

I take in a very deep breath.

I kneel to the ground and start to pick up my books. But then she punts one of them, sending it three feet away from me.

"Oops," she smirks again.

"...Why did you do that?" I seethe, trying to keep my composure as best as possible.

"You said you didn't need my help," she says again, maintaining her smirk.

I sigh, "You could have handed it over to me."

"Yeah. I could have."

I stand up and head over to get my book, but I stop in my tracks; there is a hand on my shoulder.

"Dude," the girl snorts, chuckling somewhat. "You could just tell me to give it back to you."

I narrow my eyes at her, "You kicked it away from me."

For some reason, her face contorts, like she expected me to react differently. "Are you kidding me? You're letting someone like me push you around?"

I decide to ignore her from this point on.

I don't like how she's addressed me, but I don't really bring it up. Don't want to talk about Dad, or Cybers Communications; not at the moment. So I settle on asking, "How do you know about me?"

She blinks, surprised somewhat, "Everybody knows who you are. Don't you hear the way people talk about you?"

I blink back at her and heave out a small breath, "I...don't really pay attention to those kinds of things."

"Well, you should. It's interesting, hearing the things people say about you..."

I think of asking her about the things that people say. But then I remember I shouldn't care, and instead a more interesting question pops to mind.

"You're not intimidated?"

"Should I be?"

I blink at her, "Wouldn't be surprising if you were."

"Well, I'm not," she says, her chest puffing out as she puts her hands on her hips. "That's for the weak."

"...the weak, huh...?"

"Yeah," she gives me a leery smile, as though she knows of my insecurities in those matters. Then, she picks up my book and hands it over to me.

"Thank you," I said, after managing to pile all the books into a tower again.

"You sure you'll be alright on your own?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

I walk about a meter or so before all my books fall from my hands again. The girl suddenly bursts into laughter and it quickly gets to the point I fear she'll die if she doesn't get any actual breathing in. I glare at her for a bit as she tries to compose herself. And then I begin picking up my books again, deciding to disregard her if her face purples and she suffocates.

"Oh, come on...," The girl stomps over to me, kneels down, and grabs about half the books before standing up to face me. "I'll carry these books, you carry the others."

Morishige Hikawa is the Chief Technical Director of Cybers Communication. Been selling cellphones, laptops, desktops, and the like since the early 90's and produces enough good-quality product to rival Kirijo Electronics and the Nanjo Group.

While the house I and my father live in is rather small, I still have a driver, valuable pieces of furniture, exorbitantly large paintings hanging by the walls, the works.

I don't really try to show off my wealth around others, but word gets around easily on who I am the son of, and so it becomes all the easier for people who don't know me to back off. Been like this since forever, so I've gotten rather comfortable with being alone.

So you can imagine how I feel right now, with this…girl breathing down my neck.

Soon enough, we are outside the school gates. Waiting for Kurogawa.

I blink, turning to her. "I've just realized I haven't asked you your name yet."

"You only got that now?" she chuckled, brow raised. "I was waiting for hours."

I give her a neutral expression, "We only met each other a few minutes ago."

She nods, "It felt like hours to me."

"Told you to stop sighing," she scoffed.

Something pops up from the corner of the road. The sedan is black and it is boring but it's also shiny as hell and that's good enough for Dad, I suppose.

"The name's Kana." she blurts as the car pulls up.

"Wh-what?"

"Kana Kohaku."

I blink at her again, more than a little eager to get in the car and leave her. "Nice to meet you, Kohaku-san. You're the strangest person I've ever met."

Kurogawa, a man with harsh angles for cheekbones but strangely warm brown eyes, exits the front of the car and gestures.

"Sorry for keeping you. I ran into some trouble," I say to him.

She whispers, "You have a butler, too?"

"Driver."

I head in the car, Kohaku handing me the rest of my books as I take my seat.

"Well, thank you very much for your help today, Kohaku-san," I say in an attempt to sound as formal and forgettable as possible. "I'll see you around—"

"Call me Kana."

I blink at her and I stammer and I blush kind of madly, but I make myself stop freaking out just in time for me to ask, "Your first name?"

"Yeah," she chuckles again, as I flail in my awkwardness. "Just call me Kana."

"Wh-why? Isn't that—?"

She shrugs, "Doesn't matter to me if we just met or if we've been friends for a billion years. Call me Kana. Calling me by my last name is too formal. Not used to it."

The way she says it all so casually shames me, and in my shame I can't help but mutter out a meek, "So...K-Kana, thanks for your help."

"...can I ask a favor of you?" she suddenly says. "I know it's on extremely short notice, but…could you help me study for the quiz we've got on this?"

I blink at her again. "You're...in the same class as I am?"

"You never noticed."

I shake my head, "S-sorry..."

It's her turn to sigh, now, "Look...I know we didn't really start off on the right foot. I've seen your scores. You do really well at quizzes...and I'm dumber than a bag of hammers. I really want to do better in schoolwork, but it's hard for me. Please...throughout the week, can you help me?"

"No."

She blinks. "N-no?"

"You read the books incrementally. Day by day. You read the lessons at your own pace. Doing problems and exercises along the way. If you get them wrong, you go back to the lessons and try again till you get it right. It's simple. I don't see how I can help you out here."

"I've tried," she grunts. "Believe me, I've tried that. I've tried reviewing on my own time. I really do my best to study and make stuff work, but it never pans out. I'm just not good at it. Please. I'm begging you."

"I don't tutor people. It gets in the way."

"You really can't help me...?" she asks. There's a desperation in her eyes now, something that I feel pained to see, but I press on.

"People can help themselves."

"I've tried to help myself, and it doesn't work," she says.

"Try harder," I say as I close the door, right in her face. Dad pauses, squares his shoulders, and drives.

And then she walks away. Turning her back to me, to the car. The red scarf flutters in the wind as she walks down the street, and she disappears as she turns around the corner of the school and as Kurogawa drives the car in the opposite direction.

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11 / 8 / 2014

I am thinking about quizzes. I am thinking about homework. I am thinking about a great many things, all of which involve school. I am walking the thirty-minute long walk to Kishibaru and the sky is still grey and the air is still cold. My hands are gloved and I am wearing a scarf with a red- and-black flannel pattern. Despite this, I can still see my breath turn to clouds every time I open my mouth.

Every now and again my thoughts drift to a girl with a red scarf and I turn annoyed.

The first person to talk to me in years, talks to me as though we've known each other for such a long time. Perhaps she just acts how normal girls this day and age act, and I'm just some socially awkward fool that knows no better.

Time passes, however, and I am getting closer to the school. The familiar feeling of just another ordinary day is coming upon me again, and so for a moment I feel almost relaxed with myself. But then I hear her call out my name, "Hikawa!"

I'm walking at a faster rate now because I don't want to speak to her and I don't want to be pestered about requests to tutor her on plants, but before I can walk any further she manages to rush forward and cut me off.

Hoped not to see her again. Hoped not to speak to her again. She doesn't need me to tutor her and I don't need someone like her butting into my life.

"Dude, I called out your name," she says, more than a little agitated at my refusal to even acknowledge her presence.

"You don't need me to help you study," I say to her, hoping getting straight to the point will drive her away faster.

"I can barely afford tuition," she replies quickly, her brows furrowing and her breaths hitched. "Hiring an actual tutor will suck out what little cash I've got left for savings. I'm begging you."

"I don't want to help you," I say to her.

"I know you said that! But you also said that it gets in the way of your schedule! I've done my research; you don't have any clubs, you don't hang out with anybody at lunch—even during class, you don't say a thing unless the teacher makes you recite something. And you always get the questions right, you always get a hundred or higher because of bonuses—"

"I'm not the only one in the class with good grades."

"But you're the only one who gets everything right in every exam."

Ambitious girl. That, I can admire. But ambition only goes so far.

"The only reason I do any good in my exams is because my father taught me how to properly study from a very young age. I'm not so sure, even with my help, if you'll be able to reach that level by next week."

"Well, there's no harm in trying," she insists. "Besides, I helped you out with your books yesterday—"

"—after kicking them out of my hands."

"—oh come on, I legitimately helped you get them to your Dad in the end!"

"You chose to help me out. I never asked for your help, and even insisted you leave me alone."

But at my cruelty and unkindness, she does not scold me. All that happens is her shoulders lower and she looks utterly deflated.

"Is there nothing I can say to get you to help me?"

Expected her to be angry with me, expected her to lash out and call me the names I know and have heard people call me behind my back.

But she is just demoralized. Anger, I'm used to. Despondence, not exactly. Probably will have to get used to that, if I'm ever gonna help with the family business. But at the moment I just don't...feel right.

I just have to ask, "Why do you want to get a perfect score, even? Most people are pleased with a passing grade. If you want to get a scholarship, then...," she gives an uncomfortable expression as she averts her gaze, pursing her lips and scrunching up her nose. "Unless...you want something more than a scholarship?"

She looks at me.

Her hair is still messy, but I can see her face and her eyes clearly. Her mouth is still. Her eyes are wide, and she is frowning not as a show of anger, but as a plea. Her green eyes almost seem to burn with something I can't quite describe and for just a second she looks colorful and bright and alive.

Her black hair is drifting over her eyes and her nose and her freckles and it's all messy, like she didn't bother to comb it before leaving for school. I see the white clouds come from her mouth as she struggles to come up with words to say as her hands drift over her head, fixing her hair.

She is still wearing that blood-red scarf she wore the day before.

She's not saying anything, but she is straightening her back and she is looking at me the way no girl has ever looked at me before, looking at me the way old-fashioned types would deem unbecoming of a woman. I, on the other hand, can't help but find myself enraptured by the green of her eyes— and all at once I can't help but give in.

"I want more than a scholarship. I want more than a happy life," she responds, the conviction in her voice enough to make me step back. Her eyes drift downward as she sinks her head lower into her scarf. "I want a lot of things."

She doesn't say that in a proud way. She doesn't say that in a happy way. She's just being witheringly honest.

"Let's talk at lunch," is all I say to her. "Where would you like to meet up?"

She blinks, stunned for a second. Her shoulders jolt as she stammers out some noises before coming out with, "—i-is the rooftop okay?"

Not the cafeteria or even the bleachers? Never really gone up there myself, but it can't hurt. "Sure."

That is the last thing I say to her before I head into the school grounds. I don't notice her keeping her eyes on the back of my head as I make my way inside.

Kana Kohaku. Transferred to Kishibaru last year, having come all the way from Nagoya. Not terribly social. Not terribly popular. Heard a thing or two about her, some unpleasant things; rumors that will be brought up later in conversation. Heard stuff about how she works at a burger joint as a part-time job and have even heard reports of her reportedly being rather...promiscuous when it comes to older men.

Word about her had spread 'round my class so quickly upon her arrival that it's almost worthless to even bring her up anymore, but people still do because she's always been the enigma nobody really cares much to really solve.

People say she does stuff like sleep around, go to parties, but I doubt anybody's seen her actually do it. People say she lives in luxury with her parents in some rich condo, but I doubt anyone's made an effort to go visit her.

She was not the first person to have ever come to me and ask for help regarding grades. There have been others, even from other classes. I've shot them all down and I've told them the same thing I told her. They can do it themselves. They hardly need someone like me. All they need is the will to power on. To actually sit down and study like they should.

She'll only ask for my help again when she'll need me. She'll only prove detrimental to my own efforts to study. I'll surely be awkward. Probably going to be of no use to her at all.

But I can't really ignore the look she gave me just hours before.

So when the morning classes end and lunchtime hits and everybody except me and her leaves the classroom, she and I both get up off our seats. I nod at her and she nods at me, and we both make our way up the long steps up — all the way to the rooftop of Kishibaru.

The walk is silent and I have my hands in my pockets while she is keeping hers behind her back. She isn't looking at me and her face is buried deep within her scarf. I briefly wonder why of all times now she's acting so nervous, when yesterday she seemed all-too keen to kick my books out of my hands for fun.

When we get to the roof, the air feels so much colder than it has any right to be, but she and I couldn't care less at this point. She makes her way to the railings, curling her hand upon the steel and keeping her back to me. The silence grows and grows to the point where it's palpable and then she suddenly turns to me after taking in an unnecessarily big breath.

"You...don't pay attention to rumors, right?" she asks.

I blink at her, "I don't try to concern myself with them."

She looks at me for a few seconds before turning her head away. She is now looking at the cityscape, looking at the different buildings and how they cloister together, stretching to the grey horizon as snow falls all over the world. She then says, "So you haven't heard of what people say about me. About how easy I am, with the guys."

I blink at her once again, scratching the back of my head. "I may have heard a thing or two about that, actually."

She looks at me again and her eyes are like blunt daggers.

I've heard things about a girl with green eyes and a red scarf. Nasty things that would be whispered by both boys and girls, things that shouldn't ever be said about anyone. Questions about panty colors, about how many STDs she must have, about how many must have shared her bed, about black lace and so on and so forth.

Only thing I never really got was a name. "Should that matter?"

She lowers her daggers and goes back to averting her gaze, heaving out a quick breath and saying, "It could. They rumors are...not entirely inaccurate..."

"I see," I say.

Truthfully, I don't care much if she is as easy as the rumors say she is. People do as people please and none of their business should be mine. But for the briefest moment I wonder what this has to do with studying to the point of perfection until my brain cells kick in.

"What did you mean when you said you wanted more than a scholarship?"

"I've tried to turn myself around, really I have," she says. "But my reputation's already preceded me, it seems. Even you caught wind of the rumors...," she laughs joylessly, each ha sounding like she's dying more inside. But she manages to come outright with, "I wanna get a good letter of recommendation, so I can get a scholarship to Tokyo U."

My ears twitch, "Lofty goal. But...specifically, Tokyo U?"

"I'm willing to take on any college, if they'll have me. But for now, Tokyo U is the best option. It's closest to home; plus it has a real good medical division."

My eyes widen at her, "You want to become a doctor."

She nods, knowing how little I can believe it. She then stays silent for a time and lets the question hang in the air until she comes out with, "Can't be one with grades as bad as mine. If they keep on being as bad as they are, I won't make it past entrance exams, let alone get a scholarship grant. A letter of recommendation'll be hard to come by with my reputation...so I've no choice but to try and get one on my own merits. And by my own merits, I mean..."

She turns to me.

My shoulders deflate.

"Since when did you really start trying to study?" I ask her.

She hangs her head low. "Since the beginning of the year."

"And nobody's been able to help you at all?"

She laughs that half-laugh of hers before saying, "The only people who talk to me nicely are guys. Though they don't always say nice things, either...girls like to gossip a lot until the person they're gossiping about actually walks over to them. Then they try making a fool out of her, or they make a fool out of themselves."

"And that brings you to me."

"Yes." She removes her hands from the railing and she looks at me intently with that look she had on earlier this morning, that look I will never be able to forget. But instead of maintaining this look, she suddenly gets on her knees and plants herself on all fours. She arranges herself in a bowing position that most men would abhor due to how much it looks like grovelling, but she doesn't care because at this point she is grovelling and is desperate enough and lacks that much pride.

"I'm sorry for causing you trouble, Kazuya Hikawa. But please. Can you help me study for all my exams and quizzes until college entrance exams?"

She's not telling me everything. I know she isn't. No one would lower themselves to this degree out of just any regular kind of desperation. What could she be hiding? Why would she be hiding it? All signs pointed to something to do with her reputation. Been here for a year or so. Tendency to be rather liberal with her endeavors has been affirmed. Nobody talks about her, but her lifestyle is apparent enough to lend itself to some unsavory rumors. Her desperation is palpable and her will is all shrivelled up and the idea that there has to be something else at play here is too big to ignore, so I ask:

"Do you have a child?"

She tears herself up from the ground and looks at me as though I am her worst fears come to life. She does not say anything, grasping at syllables and stammering out things and noises and the noises she makes are all the answers I need.

But still, she manages to come out with a whimpering, "Nobody can know."

That's a matter of course.

In the past fifty years, the rate of children born out of wedlock has hardly changed. Single mothers in this country often face tremendous amounts of stigmatization for having kids. Family image holds a lot of prestige; having or being a bastard child is more often than not considered a flaw in and of itself.

Hell, under the koseki family registration system, discrimination against illegitimate children in family law situations was completely legal until just a few years back.

I soften my voice as I ask her, "How old?"

"Turned two last February," is all she says after a period of silence.

I turn back to her in shock, "You had him when you were fourteen?"

"Fifteen," she corrects. "Was held back for a year when I got her...," she gets up from off the ground. "My parents, thank God, were willing to take care of her with me after her dad jumped ship. But they can't do all the work forever. I need to pick up the pace."

"And...nobody in the school knows this?"

She crosses her arms as she states, "Principal knows. Mom told him. He's sympathetic, not that his sympathy matters much. Everyone else doesn't know, and you'd better not say a thing—"

"I won't. Where'd they get the idea that you're...easy with the guys?"

She sighs, "Girls here? Not too different from the girls back in Nagoya. You get on their nerves once and they decide to hound you whenever they don't have anything better to do. I'm pretty much a prostitute now, according to what they say. "

"How'd they not tell anyone here about your kid?"

"They didn't know, either; dropped out before anybody caught wind."

"I see. So this guy..."

"Seemed nice," she interrupts. "Seemed. Moment I had our kid, I never heard from him again. Never even saw him again. Not that I'd want to."

"The Principal had to have given you benefits of some kind."

"He did. That's how bad my finances are, too. And no, I won't ask you to give me money, if that's what you're thinking."

"Wouldn't even do it if you asked," I lean against the rails of the roof. "Funny. If you started with the kid, I'd have accepted sooner."

She blinks. "You don't think I'm lying."

"No. I really don't."

"I could be lying. For all you know, my kid doesn't even exist. Thought you'd think I was lying, that's why I didn't say anything about it —"

"I don't think you are."

"Why?"

I tilt my head and shrug. "Gotta feeling."

She looks at me, momentarily stunned, before chuckling out in a small fit of laughter. And when she laughs this time, it's not a half-laugh.

She is not lying when she says she has a child. And she is not lying when she says she needs help. So I will help her. At the very least, for now. I will help her till she will be able to stand on her feet and carry herself and her family all the way to whatever paradise she longs for in Tokyo U.

So I ask her, "What's her name?"

And as the chuckling dies down, she wipes her eye; then she smiles again, a beautiful smile that's as big as the whole wide world, and she says, "Masako."

.

.

.

I've had a very, very tumultuous experience with Persona 5; I can't think of a single game or story where I've had so many changes of opinion.

And really it all stemmed from the fact that, in Persona 5, I perceived was a very strong shift in tone and philosophy from the rest of the series that I didn't really know how to deal with, my first time playing. Personas 3 and 4 in particular had always asserted that the only way a person can "change their heart" so to speak is if they make the choice to; if they decide to mature as a result of their experiences and grow as people.

It's a very empowering, resonant message that stuck with me long after I'd experienced those stories. The idea of an evil man possessing a truly reprehensible Shadow was something I'd longed to see be addressed in the series, and while P5 handed that experience to me on a platter, the proposed solution that the game provided felt...off to me.

The act of forcibly changing people's hearts felt genuinely wrong to me; not in the moral sense, but in the sense that it felt like this was the opposite direction the series had pointed me to for so long. 4 especially had instilled the idea in me that anyone can change into a better person of their own will, and this game comes along and says "What if they don't wanna change?"

It got to the point where, by the time I reached the ending in the Vanilla game, I felt more confused than anything by how things escalated so strongly, and overall I felt the ending was pretty rushed.

Then I watched other peoples' analyses on the ending (namely MangaKamen's critique of Cvit's P5 video, along with Aleczandxr's What Does Persona 5's True Ending Mean?) and I ended up with a far more positive opinion of the game than before. It's helped that I got P5 Royal and it's turning out FAR better than how the original game ever did.

Reading up on Royal's plotline, however, really REALLY got me disappointed in one very specific character. This WHOLE fic is an attempt to rectify that.

The story's also been heavily inspired by SMT III: Nocturne, as both games seem to have an equal disdain for oppressive overlord-deities-it's just that Nocturne goes about it in a much more cynical, much more terrifying way than Persona ever could. Not to say that's a bad thing at all...although considering I'm planning to incorporate much of its themes, ideas, imagery, and even a few of its characters into a Persona 5 novelization, it'll definitely bode poorly for the Phantom Thieves and their Targets.

To this end, Mementos will be massively overhauled and Palaces will have one major change. Hope you stick around, this is gonna be a bumpy ride on the highway to Hell.

But be warned: this is gonna be a straight-up horror story.

Palace Rulers are gonna be worse. This story will contain heaps of graphic violence, blood, and gore. Sometimes the good guys won't win, and if/when they do they likely won't be happy about it. Way more moral ambiguity and sadistic choices, and no matter how hard the Thieves try, some people ain't gonna be leaving alive. And it certainly won't help that my version of Joker's not exactly gonna be the most upstanding guy on the planet.