Chapter Eleven

Akira jerks awake. His hand is burning, his legs and arms are sore, his back seizes while his stomach contracts. The peaceful nature of the rest, and even the ominous, underwater feeling that the Velvet Room provides, are both suddenly shattered into nothing. Lying on the floor, unseen and unfamiliar. He untangles his arms from underneath the comforter and pushes them towards the ceiling; each of his joints pops noisily, gunshots within the previously silent attic that has him smelling blood instead of coffee. Staring as flesh melts off of a terror-stricken face instead of the book-cluttered desk that sits opposite of the bed.

Swallowing, he sweeps his legs over the bed and tucks his ears between his knees, suddenly nauseous.

Focusing on the sound of his own pulse rattling in his ears, Akira tries to calm himself, to escape these illusions that are suddenly coaxing him.

This is his punishment.

Fortunately, his stomach had remained empty through the night, and even as he retched silently towards the attic's floorboards, nothing seeped out except for a gleaming strand of spittle. Using the back of his hand, Akira wiped away the spit away, leaving no evidence, but the flaring pain that had deceived him into wakefulness remained. Invisible; but by no means absent. Undetectable to nobody but him, a secret for him to keep.

The bed shifted next to him, but no apparent movement could be seen from the corner of his eye.

Was LeBlanc haunted?

A gaunt, ivory snout glided over the edge, giving way to an oceanic orb to flicker silent at him.

Ominous, but not haunted. He'd nearly forgotten that Morgana had been here through the night. A cat would be much more sensitive to ghosts than him, anyway; surely Morgana would inform him if he saw anything. At least he hoped that was the case.

Then again, it wasn't like he opened up to the cat about his strange dreams that seemed to correlate, or even take place within, the Metaverse. Unless he already knew about it; unless Morgana, Sakamato, and now Takamaki all had similar dreams revolving around the Velvet Room. He'd have to ask.

"Joker?" Morgana piped up finally. Akira leaned back a little, just enough to stare at the tip of Morgana's nose without his neck cramping.

"Are you okay?" Was asked yet again.

Maybe Morgana is the nosy one. He'd owe Sakamato an apology if that was the case.

Bent over himself, his entire body feeling like it was dying, though that pain was now numbing more and more with each moment he spent awake, Akira found himself nodding in response. He was fine, or would be, which was the same thing as being okay now. He leaned further back, slowly and fluidly until he was seated on the edge of the bed, staring into the abyss of forgotten items within LeBlanc's attic instead of towards his feet.

Remaining still, he considered his dream, wondering yet again if Morgana, as well as his classmates, shared this fate, if they too had been told that Kamoshida's change of heart wasn't their only goal.

I should just ask… Yet, even when he glanced between the bed and shelving unit, where his phone was still off, but charging, he felt no motivation, no drive, to actually pick it up. It was, for now, only a glorified mirror, one with a glowing light and a cord hanging from it, but a mirror nevertheless.

A minute passed, then another, maybe even a few more. He couldn't tell, too wrapped up in his own thoughts, yet not recalling any of them except for the deepest well that seemed to threaten to spill over; a cup that was too full and only keeping together by the strongest tension. He could not, for the life of him, draw a conclusion on this feeling. Akira knew, instinctually, that it would not go away, no matter how much he distracted himself with trivial matters, like finding a job, like finding a bargain on kitty litter, or even school. Ruin was coming. He just wished he knew what ruin looked like.

With a huff of warm air, he found himself standing, prickling raveled down into his toes, and wondered when he'd gotten so dramatic, as well as paranoid. He supposed the threat of prison, in his mind or not, was starting to wear on him, as it would anyone.

Ruin isn't coming… Everything is fine! Perfect. Dandy. It all seemed like a lie, a mask to be worn even from his deepest self, his true self.

Arsene snorted from within him, accompanied by the rattling of chains, but remained ominously silent besides that. He almost misses the snide comments, but knows that the ease with which they communicate is what he truly craves; neither signing nor even lifting his hands, and his persona can understand him.

Turning, Akira bends down towards the floor, and snags his phone by its closest corner, disconnecting the charger and letting it fall into a small coil on the ground. A moment of loading and the mirror warps into a glorified wristwatch, which tells him the time, later than he would wake for school, but not late enough for the café to close. Then the device vibrates, then again, and a dozen more times, obscuring the clock into nothingness, and leaving block after block of notifications that he hadn't anticipated in the slightest.

Two people had the ability to contact him, yet his phone continued to buzz.

He considered turning it back off.

"Is that a no?"

"Dude?"

"Hello?"

"Whatever, night man"

"You make up your mind yet?"

"We're going to Big Bang Burger around 1200"

"Bring the cat, also"

He'd never heard of Big Bang Burger, nor did he know where it was. He did draw one conclusion, however, Sakamato was definitely the nosier one between him and Morgana.

Unsure what to do with this information, he exited out of Sakamato's message chain, and, with reluctance, opened Takamaki's. Unlike Sakamato's, Takamaki had sent few messages, which were concise, and to the point; a transparency he rather appreciated. No subtext, or if there was, it went completely over his head, a definite possibility.

"I want to talk about what happened yesterday."

"Please come to Big Bang Burger at 1230"

"We're going to the one on Central Street in Shibuya, by the way."

Again, he wasn't sure how, or if he should, respond. Even if he got permission to leave LeBlanc, did he really want to? Homework or sleeping would be a more beneficial use of his time, not to mention his hair was feeling quite greasy and felt much heavier than usual because of it. And, just like a newborn, he didn't think he had enough energy or muscle capability to hold it up for long, let alone however long Takamaki and Sakamato wanted to talk.

Besides, what's even the point of talking…? What happened happened, what will happen will still happen. There was no point in bothering to talk about it, or be talked at while they talked about it.

Sitting back on the edge of the makeshift bed, Akira swept his tongue over his teeth, taking the sleep-spawned film of plaque away from them. He didn't want to go, yet, there was an unshakable sensation inside of him, like a string tugging him in a single, cardinal direction.

Reaching into the box that held his belongings, he pulled out an outfit, bundled it under his arm, grabbed his hygiene items, as well as his glasses, and, with a sigh, descended into the café bathroom. Morgana called after him, his codename rattling across the floorboards of the attic.

The café, from the glimpse that he'd stolen before shutting himself within LeBlanc's bathroom, was empty, save for Sakura-san, who was, as Akira had almost seen him, lingering behind the counter. If that older man had heard him, or Morgana for that matter, he made no sign of acknowledging him before Akira entered the bathroom.

Locked away from the open design of the café's attic, he could now hear himself breathing, the slight whistling of his nose that railed off the tiled walls. He was, for all intents and purposes, alone; away from both Sakura-san and Morgana, though he knew both of them to be mere meters away. Maybe even close in Morgana's case, but he couldn't be sure.

Alone, with his thoughts, and personas, Akira felt secure enough, because safe was never the right word, to let excess fabric flow off of him. Once the thick, double-knot of his sleep pants were undone, the only thing holding the fabric against gravity was his grip on the strings. Releasing that grip, the fabric pooled, a whoosh of fabric, that bundled right at his ankles along with his underwear; there wasn't enough friction, even with the elastic band, to keep them straddled on him without help.

Bending over at the waist, the shirt all but slid towards his underarms, desperate to be off of him. Clawing at the roll that formed over his shoulder blades, Akira tugged off the last of his clothing. Leaving him exposed only for his own observation.

Very little had changed, of course. It hadn't been an extraordinary length of time since the last time he'd been naked, after all, but it was the first time, in quite a while, where he was alone, just him, and the ominous voices in his head.

LeBlanc's bathroom did have a mirror, not a full body one though, just a vanity mirror that allowed him to view from the crown of his head down to just below his nipples; leaving the rest of his observations to take place in first person. His upper half, though, he could easily see as if it were another person. The dark, shadowy lines of his collarbones jutting out almost obscenely from his chest. Ridge after ridge flowing down his chest like braces. He looked unnatural; disgusting. Visible now, just for him, just in this moment, though. He could cover himself, will cover himself.

Pulling on his fresh clothes, Akira takes another look in the mirror. The lines are gone, replaced with endless, dark fabric; it almost looks good, picturesque, except for the remaining visible part of him.

He bends over the rushing stream of water, letting it run between his fingers as the steam rises up towards his face. The heat warms the chill he didn't know he was experiencing, enhances his sense of self for brief moments as it runs between the lines of his scalp, whisking grease and residual pieces of shattered marble with it.

Unfolding his glasses, Akira pushes them up his nose, finally obscuring the patches of darkened skin around his eyes, and hiding parts of the blossoming purple and yellow that remain tender under the thick frames.

He alternates between squeezing the water from his hair and brushing his teeth, exchanging hands whenever the urge takes him until he's mouth feels clean and his hair is only mostly damp.

Tugging on underwear and pants, Akira secures both garments with a thin belt that digs into his waist, keeping him decent as he exits the café's bathroom with a different bundle of fabric under his arm.

Sakura-san's voice doesn't call out to him as he exits the enclosure, nor when he advances on the stairs. He's not sure what make of it, out of the, admittedly limited, experiences he's had so far with Sakura-san, the man seems quite keen.

Maybe he just doesn't care. That would make his next mission—of asking permission, a simple one. Hopefully, he'd get a simple yes or no, and nothing else.

Even with that in mind, Akira lingered at the top of the landing, staring down at his feet, and as a result, Morgana as the cat strode forward, questions bouncing off of his whiskers that he couldn't hear through the ringing in his ears.

He laced up his shoes, stuffed his phone into a pocket, and breathed out slowly.

He could do this.

With his feet covered in more than just skin, he found it that much harder to actually sneak down the café's stairs, each step thudded noisily and some of them squeaked just as loudly. The rundown ambience did nothing to help his confidence or his already pounding chest.

Lurking in the outskirts of the café, where there was no seating and the bathroom was just a step away, Akira took in Sakura-san, as well as the café; which was devoid of customers.

He stepped forward, finally, taking careful steps forward until he was standing at the opposite end of the counter as Sakura-san. The older man looked up when he finally arrived, an irritated, and perhaps compulsory, twitch of his eyebrows served as a greeting.

"You eat?" Sakura-san asked, flipping over a page in whatever book he was browsing.

Taking refuge on one of the stools, Akira shook his head, just a little bit; though it was more than enough to cause a rapturous sigh to spring forth from Sakura-san.

He hitched a thumb backwards, "Curry. Rice. Don't make a mess."

Akira nodded, sliding off the edge of the stool and made his way behind the counter, keeping his gaze low as he collected a plate. Inside of the kitchenette, a punch of spices and smells wafted into his senses, a spike of sensation that made his stomach tense up uncomfortably. Sure, LeBlanc always smelled of coffee and curry, but being this close to the source, made him feel nauseous all over again. He swallowed whatever emptiness that was threatening to climb up his throat, and, carefully, scooped a portion of both curry and rice.

Quickly, he backed away from the overpowering scent, bringing only a fraction of it back with him as he reclaimed his spot at the counter.

Sakura-san didn't look up as he did this, nor when he accidentally clanked his spoon against the plate, sending his heart into palpitations as the noise recoiled across the empty café.

He swallowed mindlessly, trying not to focus on the obscure weight that slid down his throat and into his stomach. He could feel his insides swelling, already at capacity before he'd finished what he had served himself.

Hopefully, Sakura-san wouldn't be offended if the last portion of his meal went down the sink. His caretaker, thankfully, decide to look up when he finally made his way over to the kitchen's sink and swiftly swept down the remainder of his breakfast into the swirling stream of water.

Taking his time, he washed the two dishes that he had used, rinsing them twice, just in case, and finally, after his hands had turned warm and slightly pruned, he washed his hands, and turned off the water.

With no more distractions, he had little choice.

He approaches the counter.

"Why don't you get rid of all that crap upstairs? That room needs a good cleaning." Sakura-san suggests, though, by now, it's more of a threat than anything.

Akira nods, again, and finds himself back upstairs before he'd even considered another possibility.

Coward. He chastises, moving his hanging uniform a little to the left.

Morgana's voice suddenly calls out, "Joker!" He jumps a little, just as Morgana himself pounces onto the table, just beside his still damp schoolbag, he moves that a little to the left as well.

He twists around, leans against the table and takes in the attic, takes in the mess. There's a lot of it, but he's not exactly sure what's crap and what's salvageable, or what Sakura-san cares about at all, if anything.

He probably should have asked.

He starts small, with the bookcase next to his bed, taking down volume after volume of water-ruined novels, all of the words within are blended into smears of black and grey. Nothing is salvageable, and he wonders if any of these pages would be worth recycling. He piles them by the stairs, careful to keep the growing, slightly damp, piles away from the attic's staircase, just in case any customers get the wrong idea.

The room feels bigger with the books removed and the bookcase empty, though it did knock up a bunch of dust into the already musty air. On the bright side, he now has this entire bookcase; he's not sure what to put on it, except maybe his phone, but only when it's charging. For now, that is the only thing placed on its large space.

"You're cleaning this place?" Morgana questions, now perched upon the precarious pile of discarded books. Akira nods, and turns around to continue just that, but just as he's about to take a step forward, a shadow streaks by, right under the path of his foot. He recoils, and manages to catch his balance before he falls over, but is more concerned with Morgana, apparently, the shadow, who was bouncing on top of yet another pile of books, this one perched on top of the desk across from his bed.

"Clean this one next!" Morgana orders, though it's more of a plea.

He shrugs, it would happen either now or later, and he had to admit, Morgana's enthusiasm was, at least, intriguing.

The books, much thicker than the tomes that had been on the book case, were also ruined with time. Those two were piled by the staircase, resulting in yet another small mountain of expired paper with no destination.

Morgana pounced back onto the desk once the last pile of books had been removed.

"Excellent!" He all but purred, "Once you finish cleaning this dump, I can teach you something invaluable for a maturing phantom thief!" The statement was punctuated with a small, fiendish chuckle; the only kind of laugh that Morgana seemed to produce.

It was odd, having Morgana just casually mention phantom thievery, like he'd knew, without the doubt or hesitation that Akira himself was experiencing, that they would be continuing with their escapades. It was unnerving, but also invigorating, in a way. Finally, something during his stay in Tokyo would remain constant; even if that thing was morally questionable and probably illegal.

He simply nodded in response to Morgana's small rant, however, not exactly bothered to question any of the information he'd just been dumped with.

They were still being phantom thieves.

That was alright.

The ease of the realization was equally disrupted with the unease of meeting with Sakamato and Takamaki. He doubted that the first would need much convincing to continue, they had both made a deal with Morgana, after all; but Takamaki? Would she be on board, fixing twisted desires and fighting shadows? In his limited experiences with the girl, one of the most poignant being her final act of mercy towards Kamoshida, had left him with a vague impression of how she would take the news.

She has a persona, though… Morgana had said that only those with strong rebellions could obtain a persona, with Kamoshida edging out of the picture, who's to say that hers, and even Sakamato's, personas even stay?

"A mighty strong one at that!" Arsene pointed out, helpful as always, as he rummaged through moldy boxes and broken miniature appliances. This task would be easier than he thought, nearly everything in the attic was worthy of being in the trash, save for a few, newer looking items that he tucked carefully in the small corner of the attic, away from the main space of the room.

Within an hour, he had managed to pile all of the garbage at the edge of the landing, right near the staircase, leaving the rest of the attic rather neat, but infinitely dustier than when he had started.

"Joker, look!" Morgana's voice comes from the edge of a flowerpot made of twigs weaved together, sprouting, rather limply, from the inside of the pot, is a dull, wrist-thin expanse of mottled bark. Where the flower pot is about as tall as Morgana is, the tree, though he used that definition rather hesitantly, stood just as tall as he did, even while devoid of life.

He forces a curious expression, though he is genuinely confused about his roommate's sudden interest. The remnants of a tree wouldn't be useful for anything aside from a scratching post.

"It's alive!" Morgana exclaims, though the tree looks dead, very much so, "Why don't you decorate with it?"

He's not an expert in trees, or nature of any sort really, and he figures if he was going to be living with Morgana as his roommate for the next year, the cat had just as much say on the interior as he did. If he wanted a dead tree in their living space, who was he to stop him, besides being the only roommate with hands.

Gently, he slid the foliage from the edge of the staircase towards the more habitable part of the room, the flowerpot eventually finding rest on the far end of the still-empty bookcase, a trail of black, chalky soil littering a path to its new resting place. The tree's branches swayed pitifully, rocking back and forth slowly until they settled for a barely noticeable vibration as it settled into its new home.

"You know," Morgana comments, striding through the trail of dilapidated soil, "Even a dreary room can be brightened up with a little bit of green foliage, so let's take care of this plant so it won't dry up and wither away."

Too late… Akira commented to nobody but himself, and Arsene as well, he supposed, as he used the edge of his shoe to sweep paw-printed soil into a small pile near the edge of broken-appliances and damaged books. Morgana seemed pleased with the addition, or lack of subtraction rather, so he'd let the tree stay, though he had no idea where he'd get new soil or nutrients for the thing; let alone where he'd get the money to buy those things.

Stepping away from the tree, Akira walks over to the corner of the room, where he'd stacked the appliances and pulls out a rather ancient feather duster, as well as a hand-sized broom and dustpan.

Quickly, he fell into the actions of cleaning the large space, watching as his arm lifted to pull down clumps of spider webs, but not feeling the stretching of his arms, nor the pressure in his knees as he sweeps up everything that had fallen from the ceiling. While his body exerted itself with dusting and sweeping, his brain seemed to slow further and further down, as if it were being soaked in an ice bath; one without escape.

The feeling didn't fade, even as he took in the now clean space.

The stairs groaned noisily, shattering the calm that his reformed living space had thrust upon him. Turning away from the scene, he watched as the top of Sakura-san's hat glided into the rest of him, until he formed a complete person standing at the edge of the attic, observing the space with a stern expression.

"So you were really cleaning up here, huh?" Sakura-san doesn't look towards him, so he doesn't bother nodding or shrugging his shoulders, "Well, it's only natural that you'd want to keep a clean room, anyway."

The older man cleared his throat, a disturbing hacking sound that echoed off of the walls, then gestured with one hand towards the large pile of books and scraps of metal, "You can take those books to the dumpster down the street. It's to the left outside of the café, just walk a little and you should see it. Understand?" His caretaker questioned, looking towards him for the first time.

Akira nodded.

"The other stuff, take it to the man up the street, the other way, he runs a repair shop. Ask if he can repair them; if not just throw it away. It's all garbage anyway." Sakura-san nodded to himself, then, as quickly as he had come up, he melted down the stairs, only to reemerge a moment later, "There's a hand-cart down here that I use for the shop that you can use, just don't get in the way of any customers, got it?"

He nodded once more, and Sakura-san sunk back down the stairs.

"Sorry I can't help you, Joker—but when I get my body back, I'll make it up to you!" Morgana promised, lingering on top of the pile of trash he'd worked up.

Akira moved towards his teammate, and gave him a soft pat on the head instead of responding; a sign of his appreciation, or he hoped it came off that way, at least.

Hoisting an armload of books into his already sore arms, he blindly carried them down the café's stairs and drops them at the bottom, hoping that his body wouldn't collapse on him just yet; he was already feeling the effects of lethargy in his muscles, and had to push himself to get the next load down the stairs before he felt close to passing out.

"H-hey, kid!" A voice barked. Seconds later, he turned around, keeping a grip on the banister as he did so. "Why don't you take a break, it's about time for lunch anyway." Sakura-san ordered from behind the counter after glancing at the watch wrapped around his wrist.

Akira shrugged, twisted himself on the stairs and descended the three steps that had almost broken him. Carefully, he took a seat at the empty counter, the same one that he'd had breakfast at that morning.

He rested his arm on the counter, and his head fell onto the curved appendage on reflex. The exhaustion that had been lingering within him spread out until it was pulling at the edge of his skin from deep inside.

A loud clatter jerked his eyes open, though he wasn't sure when they had even closed. The sound is quickly followed by the pervasive scent of fresh food.

"Lunch." A voice—Sakura-san's, explains from right above him.

Slowly, Akira sits up and sure enough, there is a plate of rice and curry under him, as well as a handled cup with steam billowing out of it. The liquid within is too dark to be tea, and too warm to be carbonated.

Coffee… He realizes, feeling stupid.

He looks up, towards Sakura-san, who is still lingering over him, and bows over the plate, just a bit. Sakura-san snorts loudly, and shuffles away, to the other side of the counter where a customer was now sitting.

A painful jerk deep inside of his stomach pulls his attention away from the meal and his gaze falls upon the still steaming coffee cup.

Liquids were easier to swallow, anyway.

Pulling it towards him, Akira sticks his nose over the rim of the mug, unable to pull any memories of actually consuming coffee beforehand. The smell is, undoubtedly, an interesting one; not fragrant like tea, but there is something in there.

He takes a sip.

It's hot, very much so, but he doesn't spit it out and lets the scalding liquid trickle down his throat. The sensation is comparable to throwing up, only in reverse; the smell, however, isn't even a fraction as bad.

He blows over the surface, watches blackened waves ripple over the surface, then takes another sip.

Again, through the heat, he is unable to identify any particular tastes or any nuance that would make him want to consume this beverage every day, yet he continues to sip it until it disappears inside of him.

His stomach continues to compress painfully inside of him, not quelled in the slightest despite the fullness pushing his stomach towards his skin. The pain of his contracting insides, however, replaces the lethargy that was weighing down each of his muscles, and he finds that standing up doesn't seem as impossible as it would have minutes ago.

Morgana is waiting for him when he climbs back up the stairs, his face contorted and at odds with the relaxed posture he has taken under a rare beam of sunlight that has imprinted itself onto the attic's floorboards.

Akira waves in greeting, a small flicking of his wrist and Morgana pushes himself to his feet.

"What took so long? Is the dumpster really that far away?" His roommate questions loudly.

His fingers fold in, "I was—" Akira stops himself, pushes his hands into his pockets and walks towards the nearly empty bookcase to retrieve his phone. On his way back to the patch of sunlight where Morgana remains, he types out his response.

"Sakura-san made me take a break." He explains, bending over to put the screen in front of Morgana's face.

"Hm." Morgana responds, "I see."

Morgana doesn't say anything else, only spills back onto the floor in a black and white puddle. The conversation appears to be over. Akira pockets his phone and pulls himself back into a standing position, and walks over to the garbage pile to rend another stack of books.

The hand cart is waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, just out of the way so he doesn't trip on it, already piled with the books that he'd brought down.

He glances around.

Sakura-san is still behind the counter, chatting with the customer that had come in when he was at the counter in quiet tones. Another couple, both with wispy, silver hair is seated near the front of the café, facing towards the back of the café, but not looking in his direction. A booth closer, someone with black hair, long for a man or short for a woman, is seated.

He returns back upstairs, bringing down another armful of books, then another; until the pile is only broken appliances and scrap metal, and the cart is almost buckling under the weight of the small fortress of pages.

Picking up the handle, he walks forward, only for his elbow to recoil in resistance. The cart doesn't budge. He sighs, then turns around, sinks his shoes into tiles of Café LeBlanc, contorts both hands to squeeze into the awkwardly sized handle and pulls. Unlike his previous attempt, the cart does move, only a few centimeters closer to the exit than it had been.

A pulls again, using everything his body and the handle's leverage has to offer him, until finally the cart is rolling towards the exit. The customers, thankfully, stay seated as he does this, and he can keep his eyes clenched closed as he tugs the gargantuan weight towards the café's only exit. His vision being blocked, however, does nothing to veil his ears from the comments of the customers to Sakura-san as he brings the cart by; banter slinging around him as his body threatens to snap. His cheeks are burning both exertion and embarrassment by the time he reaches the far end of the café, thin layers of sweat trickling down his forehead and chest, as well as building up on his neck and underarms.

Making it outside of the café is almost enough to make him feel accomplished, until he remembers that just outside of the door is not his destination, but the dumpster down the road.

The street has a much rougher texture than that of the café, but is fortunately tilted enough in his direction that the wheels almost move on their own, almost enough for the cart to knock into his heels with each step that he takes. Additionally, being outside makes the sweating situation even worse, and by the time he makes it to the fenced in dumpster that Sakura-san was walking about, his shirt, socks, and pants are sticking to his skin uncomfortably.

It would be sunny when I have to do something like this, he complains, taking his frustration out on the books as he lobs them into the large dumpster, each tome creating echoing, metallic thumps until he's on the last one; he doesn't bother throwing the last one in, instead he tilts it over the edge of the container and finally walks away from the dumpster, hand cart squeaking peacefully behind him.

More comments fire through the air as he returns to the café, soft-spoken praises and reprimands on his lack of strength that are accompanied by the ringing of the door's bell. Unsure of what to do, he ignores the comments, doing his best to look unbothered but not unhospitable.

"He's just shy." Akira hears Sakura-san explain as he escapes up the stairs.

Morgana looks up again when he returns to the attic, "You're wet!" He exclaims, stepping forward as he bends over to pick up a broken set of burners. They are, fortunately, not as heavy as their metallic outside leads him to believe, and he disappears down the stairs once more.

The second time he crosses the café with the cart, there are no comments on his presence, nor his lack of strength. The only sound accompanying his journey is that of his heaving lungs, as well as the café's door, jingly cheerfully as he takes his leave.

The street, unfortunately, isn't in his favor as he tugs the cart towards the right, the wheels threatening to slip down the subtle slope of Yongen-Jaya each time he pauses for breath. Fortunately, the repair shop that Sakura-san mentioned isn't a full block away before Akira is tugging the hand cart into the open-ended building, where there's just enough room for him under the building's lip for him to hide from the ever-rising sun.

His appearance draws the attention of the only person inside of the store, a shock of sparse, silver hair tilts backwards, looking up from a broken something to look right at him through a pair of thick spectacles.

"Yes, can I help you?" The man asks drily, albeit politely; a rare occurrence since he's come to Tokyo.

He pulls out his phone, but pauses when he hears the man scoff; glancing up, he finds that he is no longer under the man's attention.

"Could you fix any of these?" He approaches the man, who had returned to tinkering with the backside of an electronic he couldn't identify. The man jerks in his seat when Akira gets too close, and he takes a step back before lifting his arm up, dragging the message along with it until it's perched in front of the man's face, the glow of his screen reflecting off of his glasses.

"Huh? Uh—" The man mumbles quietly, leaning backwards and then forwards, and adjusting his spectacles until the lenses are brushing against his eyelashes. "Could you fix…"

The man sprouts suddenly, and shows off the spaces between his teeth where his teeth had begun to fall out. "What did you bring?" The man asks, through the folds of his wrinkled smile.

Akira turns around, gesturing to the cart of miscellaneous appliances that were weighing down the cart. The man navigates through the clutter that is blocking the store from having a concise walkway and kneels down before the cart.

"Burner… m'crowave… toaster oven… food processors." The man stands up suddenly, and turns towards him. "You didn't steal any of this stuff, did ya?"

Akira blinks, surprised, before he shakes his head.

Who would steal broken stuff and try to get it repaired? He wondered idly, looking around at the items inside of the shop without moving to actually observe them. A copious, even excessive, amount of broken appliances were scattered haphazardly around the small space, giving the impression of a painting, one of a cluttered closet that yearned for cleaning.

"Uh, none of this stuff looks fixable, but… I'll buy it off of ya for spare parts. How's that sound?" The man offers, pushing his hands behind his back.

He pauses, then nods. The old man smiles again, then turns back to the cart, humming quietly.

"How about two-thousand for all of it, quiet boy?" Again, Akira finds himself nodding, not knowing if that was a good deal or not, but not really caring; Sakura-san had called it all trash anyway.

The man digs into his pocket and pulls out a thick, folded wad of bills and begins flicking through them. Moments later, two green bills are hanging in front of him between two shaking fingers.

"Would you mind helping me unload? I'm old, you see." The man asks. He shrugs, not exactly enthusiastic about doing any more lifting, but finds himself with his arms full seconds later.

"Any spot will do." Are his only instructions before he's left alone, standing with arms full of metal and no stable place to put it on. Carefully, he drops the pile next to a crate filled with wires, as well as the next one; by the time he goes back for a third load, the cart is already empty.

"Thanks for your business." The man says casually, already navigating through the piles to get back to the project he'd been working on when Akira had arrived. He bows politely, though the man doesn't even seem to realize that he's still there, he makes towards the exit.

That was strange, he thinks, taking the handle of the hand cart.

The walk back to LeBlanc is unremarkable easy without the weight of a loaded cart behind him.

LeBlanc's bell rings softly as he walks in, and attention is instantly drawn to him, yet no words are slung his way.

Feeling warm, he ducks his head down, dragging the squealing cart back towards the stairs and dropping it off before approaching the counter, not taking a seat and, instead, leaning on the counter with his still sweating arms. He digs into his pocket, pulls out his phone again, along with the two folds of paper and presses them towards the other side of the counter.

"The repair shop gave you this for your stuff" He explains when Sakura-san finally walks over. His caretaker looks down at the screen, then back at the bills, then finally right at him.

Akira looks away, towards the other end of the counter, his gaze locking onto a magazine rack.

"Keep it." Sakura-san says, sliding the bills back towards him.

Akira gapes silently. What?

Sakura-san snorts once more, "Hard to believe someone like you…" The statement goes unfinished, and leaves him more than confused. The older man clears his throat, stepping away from him and towards the other end of the counter.

Akira picks up the two bills before he too, slides over, following his caretaker from the other end of the counter.

Now or never!

"Can I go to Shibuya to meet someone?" He asks.

Sakura-san looks down at the screen again, then down at him over the edge of his glasses. His expression is stern, then falters into uncaring.

"Whatever. Just don't cause any trouble, got it?" Akira nods dutifully, bowing politely as he leans away from the counter and heads back upstairs.

"I'll be there." He finally responds, sending the message to both Sakamato and Takamaki before he makes it to the attic.

Morgana, once again, looks up from the same place. "Joker!" He greets, mumbled by sleep; not bothering to stand this time.

He picks up his school bag, and pushes his hands inside, feeling the edges and seams with his fingers; the inside is cool to the touch but not damp, thankfully. He pulls out his notebooks, pens, and the dry-erase board and sets them on the table beside his upturned shoes.

Kneeling and turning, he pulls the bag open, offering it to his teammate. Who blinks at him, "We're going somewhere?" Morgana asks, pulling himself to his feet, looking livelier with each second.

Akira nods, gesturing to the bag once more. Morgana walks over, stumbling until he leaps into the open container. He waits to lift until Morgana's head is perched outside of the zipper, his chin spilling over slightly and his blue eyes still staring up at him. With care, he hoists the weight up, storing it under his arm and ignoring the way it further pushes his still wet shirt into his chest.

Finally, he walks back down the café's stairs and heads towards the exit without being stopped.

Taking a seat at the terminal, he pulls out his phone to check the time. At the same time, Morgana perks up, sprouting out of the bag like a haphazard plant.

"Where are we headed, Joker?" The cat wonders aloud.

"We're meeting with Sakamato and Takamaki." He offers, drawing an exclamation from his teammate, but no response, otherwise.

He checks the time again when the train arrives, and concludes, that even as fast, and nauseating, as the Tokyo system is, there was no way he was getting to Shibuya by the time the other two had given him, causing an uneasy lurch to rumble in his stomach; he should have offered that information, yet when he found himself inside of Sakamato's text chain, he couldn't find the right words, and, instead, said nothing about his imminent tardiness.

The feeling did not fade as he stepped off of the platform into Shibuya Square, where many, many people were swimming across the concrete, forming a blockade of intricate traffic that he found difficult to look at, let alone penetrate. With Morgana under his arm, unbalancing what inertia he retained, he found it difficult to keep up with the pace of the other civilians, with the addition of the bright sun reflecting off of every building, Akira found himself out of breath once more.

Big… Bang… Bright orange neon pulled his attention away from the surrounding bleak buildings that made up Shibuya's shopping district. While his English wasn't the best, he had a feeling that the last word was, of course, Burger.

Scooting further and further right, he was able to keep aligned to the flat storefronts, and when traffic finally allowed, Akira ducked into the hollowed-out opening of the restaurants entrance. Taking a moment to breath, he leaned against the outer wall, keeping out of the way as customers streamed in and out of the pair of sliding doors next to him; the smell of cooking food invading his senses with each opening. The smell was strong and artificial, enough to force uncomfortable pulses in his stomach as his body tried to repel any further contact with the establishment.

Akira checked the time and, as predicted, he was several minutes later than he'd been expected to arrive. Gnawing on his lip, he stepped into Big Bang Burger, where the smell only grew stronger and the noise grew louder, he hoped that Sakamato and Takamaki were still here.

"Welcome to Big Bang Burger!" A girl announced as soon as he stepped into the doors, bowing quickly and politely. "Would you be interested in trying our Big Bang Challenge!?" She belted out over the noise, cupping her hands over her mouth.

He shook his head, bowing just as deeply before stepping away from the girl and further into the restaurant.

"Yo!" A distinct voice called out, followed by the screeching of chair on tile. Akira looked up, then around, and spots a blond man in the back corner, staring and waving at him.

He looks different. He finally notes after taking several seconds to identify the man as Sakamato. Gone is the blazer from their school, replaced with loose, purple fabric.

Akira raises a hand, and tries his best to navigate smoothly through the cramp walkways of Big Bang Burger, made even more difficult with the wriggling bulge attached to his side.

"Took ya long enough." Sakamato reprimands as soon as he approaches the booth.

He finds himself bowing in front of his teammate, an apology for his tardiness; to which Sakamato only scoffs, sounding very much like Sakura-san.

"It's cool, bro, just sit down." The blond instructs, gesturing to the small booth, where Takamaki is sitting against the wall, quietly looking up at him. She smiles at him, a sliver of white teeth peeking through glossy lips.

Without her uniform, Takamaki is even more noticable, dressed and groomed well. More than enough to make him feel awkward and inadequate as he takes a seat next to Sakamato, who sits directly across from Takamaki. Grabbing at the straps running over his shoulder, he hoists Morgana across the small gap between the table and the wall and sets the bag next to the girl.

Morgana immediately hops out of the opening in the bag and lands on the table across from him, nearly knocking into the trio of drink cups that occupy the center of the table.

"Ryuji." Morgana greets, formal but not entirely unpleasant. Akira looks towards the boy beside him.

"Cat." Sakamato returns, smiling with only part of his mouth.

Morgana glares across the table, then turns towards the impromptu member of their team, his expression instantly softening, "Lady Ann." He greets, causing the girl to blink rapidly.

"Er, nice to see you again—both of you." She replies, offering Morgana a nod, then him.

"So whaddya wanna talk about, Taka—I mean, Ann?" Sakamato asks, breaking through the quiet that threatens to spill onto the table. The blond reaches over, and snags on of the cups on the table.

"Um," Takamaki starts, reaching for one of the two remaining cups. She plays with the straw for a moment before sticking it between her lips, but doesn't take a sip. "I want to know why Kamoshida-sensei was—why I was there. A-and what that power was, her voice is still inside my head. What did you mean when you said you could change Kamoshida-sensei's heart?" She asks slowly, though her voice grows louder as she speaks, to the point where Akira can hear her confusion, and anger, in each syllable.

"Lady Ann…" Morgana echoes, somber.

The table remains still, statuesque as Takamaki begins wiping at her eyes, "I—I want to understand, a-after the things that he did to Shiho, I- It's my fault that she did that—that she…" Takamaki's silent crying transforms into hiccupping gasps, ribbons of liquid arcing down her cheeks before she can catch them.

"Sorry, I'm just—" She trails off.

"Ann…" Sakamato speaks up, when Akira looks over, the blond's eyebrows are pressed down, all but glaring at the girl across the table. He can hear Sakamato's leg bouncing wildly under the table with intense tempo.

"That shit wasn't your fault," He barks out, closed fist coming into contact with the table, shaking it, shaking them as well, just in a different way. "There wasn't nothin' you could do." His tone is acid, even more so when he adds, "That any of us could do."

"I should have protected Shiho." She counters, watery blue turning fierce onto Sakamato, who only glares back.

"G-guys…" Morgana interjects, his ears pressed back; a visible sign of how uncomfortable the situation has gotten. Akira adjusts the ends of his sleeves, as well as his collar, feeling like a child, rather than a participant in a conversation with his peers.

"…Whatever." Sakamato shrugs his shoulders.

Takamaki sighs, still wiping at her eyes as she looks over to their side of the table.

"Go on, Mona." The boy next to him prods, picking up his cup and taking a long sip.

"W-well, when someone, like Kamoshida, has a strong desire, they can become twisted. When they become twisted, it changes that person's heart. That's when palaces begin to form in the Metaverse—that's the place where we ended up yesterday."

"Metaverse?" Takamaki interrupts.

"It's like a world inside of people's heads." Sakamato explains, crossing his arms.

"Exactly. Yesterday was the day we'd finally gotten through Kamoshida's palace to confront him, and when you face the ruler of the palace, that's how you change their heart, Lady Ann. But to do that, you need to be able to reject the ruler's influence. That rebellion comes alive inside of you, that's why you were able to summon your persona, that power inside of you."

"She came from my rebellion?" Morgana nods. Takamaki looks down at her hands, where fire had spawned less than a day ago.

"So you beat him?" She asks, looking towards Sakamato, "You changed his heart?"

The blond nods, "Beating up his shadow made him let go of that crap, right, Morgana?"

Again, Morgana nods, "How we handled it, you included, Lady Ann, he should retain all of his memories and desires, except for the distorted ones, and repent for his actions without risk of mental breakdown."

"M-mental breakdown?" Takamaki exclaims, sitting up a little. "You mean like that train accident?" The blonde looks between the three of them, shock etching into her tear-stained features.

Sakamato winces, "Kamoshida won't kill anyone, he'll just live the rest of his life knowing what a complete asshole he is… or was, I guess."

Takamaki sighs loudly, slouching back down, "A fate worse than death…" She comments darkly.

Akira shudders, uncomfortable.

"Does that answer your questions, Lady Ann?" Takamaki nods stiffly, still not looking up from the table, the curls of her bright hair casting shadows down her features.

"Good, now it's your turn to fulfill your end of our deal, all of you." Morgana lifts up, parts of his body popping softly under his dark fur.

"D-deal?" Takamaki questions.

"Of course, I helped you take care of Kamoshida, now you all need to help me with my goal; I help you, now you help me—It's the honorable thing to do as a phantom thief!"

"Phantom thief? Like on that card, the thieves of hearts?" She asks, forcing nods from both Sakamato and Morgana.

Takamaki crosses her arms across her chest, the metal across her wrists clinking noisily as she does so. "Well, what do you want?"

"I've lost most of my memories, as well as my true form, and I need help from other persona users to get them back."

"True form?" Takamaki echoes, glancing between them again.

"Morgana is a human, or claims to be, anyway." Sakamato offers, causing an uproar from the feline in question.

"How is that fair?" She whines, "Do you even know a way to do that?"

Morgana's ears wind back from their relaxed position, "Of course I do! The answers lie in the depths of Mementos… I think."

"You think." Sakamato and Takamaki say at the same time, in the same voice.

Impressive… Akira observes.

Morgana backs up a step, "I don't know! I lost my memories, remember!? Mementos is the only clue I have."

"What even is Mementos, then?" Sakamato chops out, gruff and annoyed; Akira hears the blond's leg resume bouncing steadily.

"It's the palace of everyone, the collective unconscious of this world…" He explains.

"The world…" Takamaki echoes.

"Please… I need to get my body back." Morgana pleads.

The humans around him sigh in unison, and glance at each other, for once, their emotions aren't written on their faces as Takamaki and Sakamato stare at each other.

"Fine." Sakamato spits out, as if he hadn't already agreed to Morgana's deal at the same time he had.

"I'll help too." Takamaki answer, uncrossing her arms and using one to pet over Morgana's face and neck.

Attention turns to him, three sets of eyes suddenly staring at him, making him clammy and uncomfortable in an instant.

"Joker?" Morgana prompts.

He nod as well.