Looking outside the window, Akira watched as the streamline view of Tokyo's train system began to fill with water. Thick sheets of moisture cascaded down over the city's streets, the train car was not excluded in this, and produced an endless metallic thumping as thin rivers of water carved down the transparent walls of the subway. Leaning his head upwards, he was able to make out the grey sky rippling past as he was propelled towards Yongen station.
It was not celebratory weather, yet he could feel a strange sort of calm wash over him as if the train weren't forming a protective layer from the atmosphere outside. It was, unfortunately, not something he could say that he experience often; this serenity. He knew, however, that his issues were not complete, he was still on probation—still a criminal, after all. There would always be opposition for him for those who knew about his record, there would always be enemies before him. Yet today, he had managed to take down a formidable wall that seemed unclimbable.
Kamoshida was not a good person, he knew that. Someone who abuses their power did not deserve to have said power, he knew that.
Then why? Why did he feel such guilt over what had transpired today? Why was he worried Kamoshida, and not just having caused his death?
Morgana had all but assured them that the chances of Kamoshida actually dying were quite low, yet he continued to relive that same moment over and over again. Kamoshida's eyeless sockets staring blindly towards him, the smell of burnt flesh still sharp and pungent, even in his memory, his apology.
Today did not feel like a victory.
Then again… The other time that he had tried to save someone, a single person, had not felt this way either, though he knew it was right, that he was right. Why did being right, being just, not fill him jubilation. Why couldn't he feel the joy he thought was appropriate for the moment?
On the bright side, he wouldn't be arrested for doing the right thing, not unless Kamoshida somehow retained any knowledge of the events that had taken place in his heart. An impossible task if Morgana's information held true.
The train stopped and he stepped onto the platform, a stone stage covered by an identical stone roof barely taller than the train. Water continued to splash down noisily outside of the platform's cover, small rivers flowed down the sharp edges of the concrete colored roof, creating a curtain between the two realms.
Real life seemed so far away.
Without an umbrella, he didn't particularly feel like taking the scenic route, and with Morgana silently dozing within his only protection from the spring storm, it looked like he'd have to run for it. He tried to shake off the weariness from spending a morning of panicking and an afternoon of fighting; both equally tiring tribulations that he'd somehow managed to see through, but left him with barely enough energy to drag his feet towards LeBlanc, let alone dash through the rising sea level of the alleyways.
He stepped forward, into the static of the rain, into the sensation of being alive, and so, so wet. Just under his arm, Morgana yelped, startling into consciousness. Akira kicked himself a little. He should have made sure the cat was more covered before deciding to waltz into the rain; the cat was sitting on his notes, after all.
He tried his best to march forward at a reasonable pace, but with the water soaking into the already dense material of his uniform, as well as his shoes, he barely managed to dredge along the uncovered streets of Yongen-Jaya.
The heaviness in his feet, from both water and exhaustion, took its toll on his timing, but he, eventually, made it under LeBlanc's verdant awning, a slight, though ultimately useless, protection against the downfall that had overtaken the city.
Even the bell that rang out whenever the café's door opened sounded dull to his ears.
Sakura-san, as if learning from the last awkward experience they'd shared, looked up as he took a step into the café, his feet squeaking noisily in the hushed atmosphere of Café LeBlanc.
"You're wet." Sakura-san's gruff voice announced, as if Akira, himself hadn't realized the fact, even as small droplets slivered down his glasses and nose and plopped noisily on the tile beneath his feet. They, too, looked more dull than usual, as if mimicking the sky and turning a boring shade of grey.
"Head upstairs, the café is still open." Was the next thing out of Sakura-san's mouth, more than enough instruction for him to excuse himself from the awkward silence that was starting to ring in his ears.
Each step was harder than the last, knowing that he was that much closer to the salvation of sleep. The dropping of his feet was accompanied by the annoying squelching of wet leather; he couldn't wait to take these shoes off.
The stairs proved to be an unnecessary challenge in his path, and he almost decided to crawl up them but figured it would just make the café needlessly wet, and it most likely be him that had to dry up said moisture when the café finally closed.
The scent of brewing coffee did nothing for his fatigue when he finally made it to the attic's landing.
"Finally!" Morgana wept, leaping out of his school bag before Akira had the chance to put it down, the shifting weight almost knocked him over. He stared dully down at his teammate, wondering the best way to go about warning him about the nudity that was about to occur without digging his phone out of the pants currently glued to his legs.
Whirling his finger in a circle, he pointed towards the bed, and unceremoniously shed off the blazer of his school uniform. The black, heavy material plopped onto the floorboards with a loud squelch. He didn't attempt to undress any further until Morgana, who seemed to sense what was about to occur, strode over to the couch, not the bed, and settled into the worn cushions like a stain. His face, thankfully, pointed away from him.
He wondered, briefly, if other people had the same anxieties about their pet watching them change, or if that was exclusively to those who could speak, though, aside from parrots, he couldn't think of many pieces of evidence that would prove or disprove either theory. Maybe it was just him that was the strange one.
His dress shirt, though considerably less heavy, made an equally disturbing sound as it joined his blazer on the ground. His glasses followed, bouncing a little on the wet mass of his uniform.
Carefully, or as carefully as he could, he untied his shoes and flipped them upside down, the feetholes pointed towards the darkening floorboards; it wouldn't do to have his shoes moist for longer than necessary.
His socks and trousers joined the pile unceremoniously and a chill whisked over his exposed skin despite the considerably warmer atmosphere LeBlanc provided compared to the outdoors.
In his underwear, a temporary fixture as well, he kneeled before his box of belongings and wriggled his hands through it, seeking but not finding.
His parents had neglected to send a towel along with his clothes.
Somehow, he doubted that they knew about the bathhouse right across the alleyway, yet found himself unable to comprehend the pang of sadness that reeled his stomach towards his throat.
Improvising, he grabbed onto a t-shirt and began wiping down his arms and shoulders, wicking the dust and moisture away from his skin and pretending that he didn't recognize the specks of marble flooring and gilded statues as they were wiped onto his impromptu towel.
There's no point in worrying about it now… He attempted to convince himself. Somehow, Kamoshida's downfall only felt like the first patch of snow in the avalanche of his life, though, even that wasn't true. Kamoshida wasn't his first difficulty, wouldn't be his last, yet as he wiped his face clean, all he could imagine were singed, empty eye sockets, piercing into him as Kamoshida's very human, very real hand reeled back again and again. His face rang out above the dull aches that were storming across his body, uncomfortable in the exhaustion that was coiling around each nerve ending, begging for him to finally succumb.
He didn't bother attempting to wipe down his hair, it was too damp for the shirt he was currently using and wasting another one would be wasting a valuable resource—he wasn't sure how much doing laundry would be, but considering it was the city, he wasn't inclined to find out soon.
Carefully, he slipped on the next shirt in the small pile, making sure to avoid over soaking the back as his head slipped through the bottom; he doubted even moist shirt would keep him from falling asleep though.
Next came underwear and sweatpants, then he was finally ready to fall into the coma his body had been craving.
The sound of the blanket seemed to have been signal enough for Morgana that he had finished changing, and the cat pounced into the bed with little fanfare before they both were wrapped in the still cold comforter.
The rain fizzled into white noise, and finally into nothing.
"Hey!" Something—someone thundered, shattering the darkness that had held him stable. His body jerked forward, toppling a weight that had been on his chest and sending it into his lap with a yelp that was muted by the thundering of his heart.
"Jeez—" The thunder sighed, infinitely softer now. Turning his head, Akira spotted Sakura-san across the space of the attic, his form mostly in shadow due to the dim lighting from the ceiling and looking, almost entirely, like something from a nightmare.
His heart continued to pound, thumping painfully in his chest and sending flares of pain up into his throat.
"Anyways," Sakura-san began, advancing until he was now nothing but a shadowy tower, a position that sent tremors spiraling from his spine into his hands. "One of my customers saw you come in earlier—the doctor from yesterday." His shoulders tensed, and he attempted to gauge the darkened lines of Sakura-san's face to no avail.
"She said you were looking like crap, and told me—well, ordered me to give you this. She's kind of a bossy one; weird though." Sakura-san extended his hand, and, shaking, Akira received it into his palm. A cylindrical bottle. He had the same one under his bed. "It's supposed to help with whatever happened to your face." Sakura-san's voice shifted into something darker, angrier at the mention of his face and Akira felt the urge to cover it up instantly, shame starting to well up within him like cement. His caretaker extended his other hand, it was cold to the touch and the plastic crinkled noisily as it was exchanged.
"I.. don't want to know, it's none of my business, but if you're getting in fights at school and kicked out, no other school is going to take you, that is if you don't end up in prison first. Didn't I tell you to keep your head down?" The words were quiet, but filled him shame.
And anger.
He had kept his head down, tried his best to maintain a low profile.
Kamoshida still came after him, still slammed into his face as if he had started a revolt against the man as opposed to just went to class and went home. He was still hated, still ostracized. Still talked about, even as he kept his gaze down to the floor.
Akira had kept his head down, and it hadn't worked.
Not that he expected Sakura-san to understand or to listen.
Instead of looking for something to write with, he simply nodding, doing his best to look abashed, though that was exactly how he felt.
Sighing, Sakura-san continued to speak, "She also said you were looking a little thin, not sure how she could tell that when she only saw you for a minute…" Sakura-san shrugged, obscuring more light for a moment, "Well, whatever, she's the doctor, not me—I left some of my curry in the microwave, make sure you eat all of it. But don't get any ideas, from now on you're making your own meals down there, got it?"
Confused, and still tired, Akira found himself nodding without realizing it.
"If you can't find anything that you like, then you better get a job."
More nodding. In his lap, the lump of weight twisting into a small pillar with piercing blue eyes, "Hey! What about me, huh? What am I supposed to eat?" Morgana shouted, frustration causing his ears to flick back and forth.
Sakura-san's attentions shifted instantly, "Did I wake you, kitty?" The older man asked softly, teasing.
"I'm not a cat!" Morgana whined indignantly, yet made no move to escape as Sakura-san's hands found their way into his very cat-like fur.
"Just… don't burn down the kitchen, I'll kick you out if I even smell a fire, got it?" Sakura-san warned, his tone and face hard while his fingers continue to roam behind Morgana's ears and under his chin.
Warning received, Akira nodded.
He didn't know much about cooking and wasn't really sure if taking unnessessary risk was something he'd do in pursuit of culinary knowledge. It was better not to risk it.
"And make sure you clean up after yourself, and that includes up here, I don't want any of the smell to get to my customers."
Again, he nodded, despite Sakura-san's eyes not even being trained on him any longer.
With nothing left to say, Sakura-san's presence made the room quiet, save for the endearing purring that Morgana was producing under his caretaker's attentions, that, and the still hammering rain from just beyond the attic's window.
Eventually though, Morgana's purrs drifted into nothing as Sakura-san took his leave.
"Joker?" Morgana asked moments after the café's door slammed shut.
Akira shifted his stare from the floor and towards his teammate.
"Are you feeling alright?" He wasn't sure how he was feeling, actually, the terror of the abrupt awakening had faded into nothing and the anger and shame he felt had been filtered out.
He felt tired, but also felt nothing at all.
Akira nodded, unsure what else to convey.
He wanted to sleep, to continue where he had left off, but instead found himself settling his feet into the cold floorboards of the café; slowly, he pushed the medicine that Sakura-san had left with him under the bed, with the rest of the stuff and returned to a standing position. Slightly addled, he wobbled as he took to his feet, but it faltered before he crossed the attic.
Lowering down to the floor, he picked his uniform up, making sure his phone and glasses were removed, and slung the still dripping fabric over the edge of the stairwell. They'd still be wrinkled when they dried, but at least they'd be presentable enough for him to wear. Fortunately, tomorrow was Sunday and he'd have enough time between now and Monday to figure out what to do with his uniform.
Taking his phone, and his glasses, he drifted back towards the bed in the attic's corner and slid back under the still warm fabric. Pressing the pack of ice that his caretaker had given him to his face, he could almost say that he felt relaxed.
There were several notifications, and not all of them were from Sakamoto, which he supposed should worry him, but only served to lit him aflame in anticipation.
That flame, however, dissolved into nothing when he didn't recognize the number that had caused them.
"Hey, I just wanted to thank you for today." Did they have the wrong number?
"It's Ann by the way" Sakamoto had called Takamaki that. He doubted the name was common, even in Tokyo, given the fact that he had never heard of it before.
"Ryuji gave me your number, I hope you don't mind haha" He sort of minded, it was mostly the disappointment of it all though.
He'd been in Tokyo for almost an entire week, and his parents hadn't bothered to text or call him once.
Should I respond? Given, there wasn't much to respond to. It would be quite strange to mention that he'd been hoping that she was one or both of his parents, even weirder to say that he did, in fact, mind the small breech in privacy. What did one say to a stranger who didn't know his name but knew about his criminal record, as well as the Metaverse?
He supposed he could ask why she and Sakamoto were using each other's given names. Then again, that seemed more like a Sakamoto based question.
Speaking of…
Ignoring Takamaki's texts, he opened the chat application that he and Sakamoto shared.
"We did it!"
"You feeling better, dude?"
"Make sure you wrap your hand, broken nails get infected easily"
"Heads up, Takamaki asked for your number and I went ahead and gave it to her, is that cool?"
"When is the change of heart going to happen? Does Morgana know?"
Thankfully, there were more options for him to engage in conversation with Sakamoto than there were with Takamaki.
"Thank you for carrying me to the station." He sent instead of replying to any of the questions the blond had posed. It was, after all, the polite thing to do.
Scrolling up a bit, he extended the screen in front of Morgana's face. After a moment, the cat strolled around his extended arm and sat down next to him, his body's excess heat pouring into the side of his stomach, heating him unevenly, but quite pleasantly.
"The effects should be quite immediate. You should definitely see effects by the next time you see Kamoshida." Using one hand, he relayed the information, a rather slow affair considering he was using his non-dominant hand.
The reply was, once again, near immediate.
"Cool"
"It's gonna be weird having him be like, normal"
"You know?"
Akira did, in fact, not know. Teachers had always treated him differently, whether it was kinder or stricter, how a teacher acted around another, less disabled, student, was not a gauge for how they would treat him.
It was odd to consider though, how Kamoshida, after a single weekend, would go from an abusive teacher to a relatively average individual; no longer the king, but just another employee of Shujin Academy.
Would Kamoshida apologize to him in person?
He had a rough outline of what the born again teacher would be like, not perverted, but that was almost it. What was Kamoshida like behind the mask, or crown, of a king?
Akira didn't know the answer.
"I think so." He responded.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" Sakamoto asked next.
He is nosy! It was all but confirmed now.
What was he doing tomorrow, besides waiting for his uniform to dry? His first day off since moving. Would Sakura-san even allow him to leave the café? It wasn't like he was contractually obligated to remain under house arrest, but that didn't mean Sakura-san didn't have the final say on if he was allowed to continue living here.
"If you're free, want to hang out?" Akira stared at the message, unblinking, trying to decipher the symbols before him.
Hang out? He pondered the possibility.
"Ryuji wants to hang out?" Morgana queried, his neck extended enough to read the glowing letters that displayed exactly that information. "Will Lady Ann be there?" He asked next.
He was confused by the message still. Someone wanting to hang out with him was an interesting development. Nobody at his old school had offered before, and the awkwardness that went along with him asking someone was unbearable to consider, let alone perform. Simply put, Akira could say that he has never hanged out with someone.
"Why?" He questioned, rather to the point. Sakamoto didn't know JSL, and that would mean a lot of time just sitting there, waiting, while he typed a response to any non-yes-or-no question. What if Sakamoto just got tired of reading what he typed and left? Would that put an end to their rather tentative partnership? Besides, Kamoshida was dealt with, it's not like they needed to maintain contact, not unless any of the other teachers suddenly developed palaces, something he doubted.
"Ann asked me to ask you." That answered that question.
"Not that I don't want to hang with you, you seem like a cool dude."
"Come on!"
Hesitant to issue a response without knowing what Sakura-san would say about his disappearance, Akira simply turned his phone off and plugged it in.
For the second time that evening, he got out of bed, deserting the heat of the past few hours as well as the icepack, and walked down the stairs. The urge to use the bathroom became an undeniable urge by the time he reached the bottom. Quickly, he turned into the bathroom, shutting the door on Morgana's confused callings from the attic's landing.
After taking care of that urge, and washing his hands, Akira exited the bathroom feeling less tense, and, for some reason, more at ease.
Morgana was parked right outside of the door as soon as he opened it.
"Joker!" Akira, stepping around his teammate, continued on his path into the kitchen. Just as Sakura-san had said, there was a rather massive, almost unsightly, plate, though he could argue it was more of a platter, of curry behind the microwave's door, along with some rice. The smell was pungent, having stewed in the microwave for who knows how long.
The plate was surprisingly heavy, though he should have expected it, given the size of the portion, and, admittedly, his hands were straining a bit by the time he managed to bring it over to the café's counter.
Morgana skirted away, gasping, "Boss expects you to eat a-all of this?" The cat questioned skeptically, his small paw batting at the edge of the overflowing plate, coating the pads of his feet in thick curry, aromatic curry.
Instead of wiping or flicking it off, the cat began to lick at his appendage, his curled, pink tongue wrapping around his foot eagerly. An appreciate moan filled the café.
"Delicious!" He purred.
While he was happy enough that Morgana enjoyed his meal, he still wasn't sure if curry or rice was safe for feline consumption.
It's not like there's anything else for him though… He didn't have a job, and doubted that he'd be able to find one before his probation ended.
Sighing, Akira grabbed a spoon from dishrack next to the sink, which was clear of dishes, and carefully portioned off a segment of the feast for Morgana to consume, careful not to let any of the meal slide off of the edge of the plate. He didn't want to have to do any unneeded cleaning; probably the reason he wouldn't get hired to any job, aside from his record.
The curry, same as the previous times that he had had it, was delicious. A mixture of savory and sweet. The taste was too much for his tongue, though, and his stomach signaled that he was already quite full before he managed to make a dent in either the curry or the rice accompanying it. He just hoped Morgana fared better than he did, lest Sakura-san feel the need to lecture him again, or speak to that doctor about his health. She already knew too much.
Unfortunately, between the two of them, and after several silent minutes, they weren't able to complete the dish, nor did they manage to clear enough space in it to see the bottom of it. Did Sakura-san really expect them, or just him, rather, to actually finish any of it?
Bloated, he stared down at the still massive serving, unsure of what he should do with the leftovers.
Peeking into the refrigerator proved that the dish wouldn't fit between any of the already cramped shelves. Putting it back in the microwave would all but tell the next person to open it that he had just ignored the order to eat.
His deliberating was cut short by a painful lurch in his stomach, making him hyperaware of the rapid, damp chill that was creeping up his arms and chest.
The rapidly accelerating sense of vertigo disintegrated his equilibrium as he stumbled towards the café's bathroom.
Within the small, tiled restroom of Café LeBlanc, he learned that the walls were quite acoustic as the sound of his own retching fumbled into his already pulsing ears.
Thick streams of acidic mashed up food discharged from his mouth, splashing into the toilet noisily and turning the water below into a rusty brown hue. Sweat dribbled down his forehead, over his nose, and into the putrid water as well. Torrent after torrent of his stomach contents kept his body constricted over the bowl, the aromatic essence of LeBlanc's curry scorched his esophagus on the way back up, leaving him docile, even as a sudden voice called out to him from behind.
Wiping streaks and lumps away from his lips, he flicked them into the toilet bowl, and flushed the repulsive scent away in a refreshing gurgle of water. Finally, Akira turned towards Morgana, who had, obviously, followed him into the bathroom.
The cat's blue eyes were sculpted downwards, forming slants out of the usually bright irises. He hadn't seen that particular expression on Morgana before, even in his Metaverse form.
He jumped up onto the counter when Akira began to wash his hands, a softer lilt filtered through his teammate's voice.
"Are you okay, Joker?" Morgana had asked that same questions several times since they'd met, not that he could put a particular number on said instances. Somehow, though, it came off more endearing than when Sakamoto had asked him the same question. It was less confusing, though, Morgana needed him to get fed when Sakura-san wasn't around, so it was natural that the cat would be keeping an eye on him. Sakamoto, now that Kamoshida was officially dealt with, had no such excuse.
Akira nodded towards his teammate, not really paying the cat much attention as he dried his hands off with paper towels.
Morgana followed him into the café, and he was too tired to bother worrying about having the cat leave evidence that he'd been in a place where Sakura-san had strictly told the cat to go.
With his newfound exhaustion, he found that he didn't particularly care where he put the leftovers, and into the microwave they went.
Locking the café's door, but not turning off the lights, Akira advanced up the stairs, gathering his small bag of hygiene products and returning to the restroom. The smell of his own vomit was still quite strong, and he flushed the toilet again before he started to brush his teeth.
The smell and effect of the acid lingering in his mouth was only amplified by the minty freshness of the toothpaste, leaving a numbing, nearly painful burn that started in his mouth and settled into his nose by the time he finished.
Bending over the sink, Akira scooped his hands under the steaming current and splashed piping hot water in between the curls on his scalp. Using only the water and the pads of his fingers, he attempted to cleanse his hair of both debris and the sweat that had built up during the day. By the time the water underneath his dipping hair had begun to run clean, his scalp was burning and sensitive to the touch.
Drying off with even more paper towels, he gathered the supplies that he had brought down and turned off the café's lights before returning to the attic.
He found that he didn't mind the dampness his hair added to the pillow when his head finally collided with it. It was refreshing, in a way, and cooling to his warm scalp.
In the dark, Morgana's form was unnoticeable, but Akira felt the mattress dip as the cat finally joined him on the bed, as well as the subsequent, albeit smaller, depressions as the cat strode further up the bed, right next to his chest before finally wilting into a small puddle of shadow.
Akira placed a hand on top of his teammate, only this time, it was for his own benefit.
Comfortable, he lost consciousness before he could consider it further.
A sound, loud like thunder, startled him into wakefulness; the second interrupted slumber in a single night.
Flicking his eyes open and meeting the near endless expanse of solid, grey concrete sent a spine-chilling shiver up his spine, making him all the more aware of not only the lack of blanket, but the absence of Morgana as well. Sitting up, he couldn't find a trace of the cat, only empty space between his stripe-clad legs.
Mindful of the heavy, clumsy weight around his ankle, Akira swept his legs across the side of the bed, and strode towards the foreboding caged door of the Velvet Room. The room had remained exactly the same as the last time he had been here; his two wardens were still in the same place at either side of his prison door, Igor, behind his massive desk, remained seated, with the same sinister grin that framed his exposed teeth.
"First off, I'd like to begin by congratulating you, trickster." Came Igor's voice, perfectly clear even from across the expanse of the prison.
One of the wardens turned from their post to look up at him through the bars, "To think our master would give words of praise." Justice commented, her single, golden eye opened widely. She observed him, and Akira felt it almost like a physical sensation, a phantom touch that roamed over him, considering; Igor's words must truly meant something to these two.
The other warden swiveled on her heel, breaking the uncomfortable tension of Justine's gaze with a glare from her own, singular eye; the same color as Justine's, "You better treasure this moment, inmate!"
"You have encountered a new ally, one who shares your aesthetics, and has, no doubt, helped you accomplish your goal." Igor continued, adjusting the tuft of fabric in the pocket of his suit. "Now, your rehabilitation may truly begin."
Rehabilitation… Igor had mentioned that before.
"It seems now would be an appropriate time for me to explain," The man leaned back in his chair, but the same, steady gaze continued to pin him down, "You have a special potential. However, that must be refined into a useful power. It is weak now, but refining it shall grant you strength to stand against the coming ruin."
Ruin. Igor had mentioned that as well. He supposed he should feel encouraged, knowing that he had the power to prevent ruin, whatever that entailed, but Akira only felt more confused; more in the dark than he had before. Igor's explanation, a term he would use loosely, told him next to nothing about the ruin that was to come. Only that he had the power to prevent it.
Isn't it over? They had beaten Kamoshida. Sent him away to repent. Wasn't the ruin stood against already? Surely Igor didn't mean something else? Another castle; another distorted soul?
"The power within you had grown," Igor mentions, cryptic as ever, "It would seem that yet another contract has been formed, and your heart is steadily gaining the power of opposition. It would seem the progress of your rehabilitation is going well; you continue to impress me, trickster."
Akira wonders if he should feel humbled by the man's words, instead of further confused; his two wardens certainly seemed to think so, judging by their reactions.
"For your progress, I will now present you with a reward: a strengthening of our contract. I'm sure you will find it most useful." A sudden burst of euphoria washed over him, clouding the pounding ache within his head, airing a fog of calm within him; the same sensation he'd had at the station, only magnified, infinitely more intense.
"This may be presumptuous of us," Justine chimes in, shattering the sensation, "but we have words of wisdom to share as well."
Caroline takes over the tangent without signal, and Akira turns to her when she begins speaking instead of her partner, "When you're out in reality, you better hone your relationships with those you have contracts with!"
"Spending time with those people… will lead to the cultivation of your relationships with them." Justine continues, "That is a source of power to evade the ruin that our master has mentioned."
Akira stills, attempting to absorb the cryptic information.
"The time has come. Return to your brief moments of rest." Justine offers, before the velvet room crashes into a swirl of muted colors that fades to black; his time in the Velvet Room was over.
