Chapter 22

His alarm doesn't wake him up the next morning, startling him into consciousness. Nor does the acrid smell of brewing coffee and cooking curry make his stomach clench so suddenly, so painfully that he comes to. In fact, he doesn't feel hungry at all when a physical touch jerks his body into alertness like a bolt of lightning flowing through him; it's an odd comparison, yet fitting, now that he knows what it feels like. His stomach tenses, flinging his upper body into a sitting position on the mattress. From what he can tell, he's still in LeBlanc, still in Tokyo with the rain pelting down against the attic's single window. A shadow flashes past his field a vision, a blur of black that arcs to the other side of the room with a yelp.

Akira knows that he isn't the one to make the sound, and doubts that Sakura-san would either.

"What the-" Morgana's voice calls from where the shadow had been flung. He starts to think that the two might be the same, and is able to mostly confirm that suspicion when his teammate turned roommate jumps onto the edge of the bed with a sour expression.

"What was that for?" Morgana demands of him, so directly and with such authority that Akira finds himself at a loss for words.

His hands linger in the air between them for a tense moment, his heart hammering against his chest in a still present panic, before he realizes that Morgana doesn't know any sign; that nobody he knows does. Reaching over the edge of the bed, he pulls his phone from the charger and opens a text message.

"Why were you touching my face?" He questions in return, not bothering to apologize even though he recognizes that he probably should.

"I-I did no such thing!" Morgana splutters back at him, still yelling. The oceans that make up his eyes are narrowed, and his posture speaks of potential violence; Akira's reminded of their encounter with the strange gate within Mementos, and that Morgana, much like Ryuji, was capable of great violence. He scoots backwards, leaning against the attic's chilly wall and lets that cold seep into him. Trapping himself shouldn't feel relaxing, yet some part of him recognizes that he could probably take Morgana on in this form, even if he really didn't want to test that claim.

Morgana remains still, a statue carved in dark black fur, he barely recognizes the shape of his teammate in the attic's own darkness, with the light peering in through the cafe as the thing keep Morgana from completely blending into the otherwise shadowed attic. He's not sure what to make of any of this, or how he's supposed to react, but there's isn't much time for questions or the answers they might bring. Folding the sheet off of him, Akira heads to the other side of the LeBlanc's attic to gather his uniform and heads downstairs to change; with Morgana awake, he does't really have the luxury of changing where he can't see himself, but figures it'd be for the best since he'd be heading there anyways.

Brushing his teeth with one hand and attempting to tame his hair with the other, Akira steps into his uniform pants and secures them tightly with the black leather belt that came with it, using the furthest ring kept them mostly secure on his waist. Once his mouth feels mostly clean, no longer tasted of bitter fear or panic, he gives up on the hair, letting it remain the mess that it always seems to shape into, he tugs on the shirt and school blazer and swiftly buttons them until he's dressed; like this, he looks like any other school student, though perhaps shorter or more depressing to look at. The glasses completed that look, even if they irritated his ear sometimes.

Sakura-san, for the second day in a row, doesn't stop him on his way out, even when Akira makes a point to leave a few minutes earlier just in case his caretaker might call him back like he'd been taking a habit of doing.

Maybe he forgot I exist. Part of him thinks or maybe hopes as he steps onto the mostly empty train, making sure to keep his umbrella within his own space by mimicking the person next to him.

The school-day starts off with much less surprise than the previous one had, he wished the same could be said for how anxious he is or how sweaty his hands get when the tests are passed backwards. Takamaki doesn't look at him either, which makes him question if she was following his suggestion or if she was still, as Sakamoto had put it, upset with him regarding Nakanohara. Fortunately, that question didn't linger for long, not when he started reading the questions on the mid-term, they distracted him for a few hours, until lunch was in session, but after getting lunch for him and Morgana, he had no distractions and almost an hour to think about it.

The two of them were sitting under the lip of the roof's entrance, just outside of the cascade from above, but not completely safe as it splashed down onto the ground all around them in a roar of static as he pondered his stupid question. He knew he could just ask, text Takamaki or send her a note, but couldn't bring himself to do it, not while he was rationing out half of his meal to Morgana or in the moments after while he chewed it into mush, completely lost in thought.

The roof's door didn't creak open and slam shut that day, nor in the rainy days that carried through the week of testing. Akira knew he shouldn't be surprised, but couldn't help but feel lonely; given how long he'd been isolated from the people around him, he's really surprised to realize that he enjoyed having people to sit with, to do things with, even if he was always on the outside of that. In all likelihood, his small group was bound apart before he'd really become a part of it. Ryuji and Ann had each other, after all, and Morgana was just with him- using them- until he got his body back. Then he'd be alone again, until he went back home, where Tokyo, and the people in it, would become a strange dream.

"Don't you ever clean this thing out?" Morgana asks on Saturday. It's the last day of mid-terms and he supposes he should be cheerful, but the rain, as calming as it is, has seemed to have dragged him into a spiral.

Akira glances over at his teammate, who's causing a small commotion as he pulls himself away from the bag he's all but claimed as his own. The cat pulls himself, along with a few balled up pieces of paper, and a few of the small plastic bags that the store downstairs uses to hold the food the sell. One of them is sticking off of Morgana's back, caught up in his fur and refusing to release even as the cat shakes himself wildly. Plucking the plastic away, Akira balls it up in his hand and gathers the other things that Morgana had pulled out before they can get wet and stuffs them back into the bag.

I should do that... He concedes, pushing hard onto the wrappers to force them into a manageable nest for Morgana to sit on top of. The pile crinkles noisily when he does this, drawing Morgana's attention from whatever he'd been staring at.

"See!" The cat all but yells, making him glad, not for the first time, that only a few people could actually hear what he was saying, "A phantom thief should always keep their tools organized. Not to mention, I'm stuck in there all day!"

Through the exaggeration, Akira could see his point. LeBlanc's attic had been very much the same way before he and Morgana had sat down and cleaned it. With his school bag being a fraction of the size, it wouldn't take nearly as long. Or he hoped, at least.

After lunch, Hiruta-sensei walks down each of the aisles, handing them each of them a test personally. He finds the whole ordeal strange, but doesn't bother trying to reason out the change in routine as he jots his name down. Like the previous tests throughout the week, none of the questions are particularly difficult, but with this test in particular being over biology, it takes him longer than he'd done on the previous tests; being one of the last few people still leaning over the tests made him a little nervous, but he filtered through each question without difficulty and Hiruta-sensei dismisses all of them with an elegant wave, telling them to enjoy their youth over the weekend.

Packing up his bag, and Morgana, Akira heads towards the station and climbs into the attic without bothering Sakura-san. He sets his phone down on the table beside the railing and, once Morgana is safely deposited onto the floor, Akira dumps the contents of his bag onto the table. The balled up sheets of paper and plastic wrappers from the pile are a still damp from falling onto the damn floor and splash flecks of water onto the table as they fall onto the table. The dry-erase board clatters onto the tabletop and startles him, and he shoves it aside, half-annoyed with it just on principle. His notebooks, thankfully dry, are placed in a small pile on one end of the table and he's left with a small stack of papers, Nakanohara's wallet, as well as the silver necklace that had dropped along side it.

Plucking up the last item, Akira examines the necklace, holding it towards the attic's only light source. It gleams like any of the weapons they use in the MetaVerse, glowing brightly under the single light bulb in the shape of a silver heart. It's shiny, pretty, but useless to carry around with him. He puts it to one side of the table and under the small pile of damp papers just in case Sakura-san decided to come upstairs for something.

Akira flicks through the stack of papers, finding it easy to recall just where they'd come from just from the absurdity of the situation; a terror that was etched into his brain like a bad memory.

An Infinite Font of Ideas: Madarame! Along with a date of opening, the same one Kitagawa had told him about; he wondered if this is something that the clerk at Untouchables, Iwai-san, would be interested in, or if the tickets would be better in the trash.

Kitagawa's personal number, along with Madarame's, sit's folded up on the table, right next to the stack of tickets that he was still debating on.

Morgana jumps onto the table, pushing some of the trash pile onto the floor as he does so. Akira can't really bring himself to be annoyed with the mess for some reason, just watches as Morgana sniffs through the items until he lands on the only items not categorized.

"Madarame..." He whispers, quiet enough that, even in the dead silence of LeBlanc's attic, he strains to hear the other speaking.

Dark, oceanic eyes flit up to his gaze and Akira, on instinct rather than anything else looks away, towards the far wall, then to the pile of trash on end of the table.

"These are from those weird guys outside of Mementos, aren't they?" Morgana questions, then after a moment, "You don't think that this Madarame is the same one Nakanohara's shadow was talking about, do you?"

"It seems too coincidental." Akira replies in way of answer, plucking his phone out from under one of the balled up papers Morgana had pushed over. He had had his suspicions, especially in the way that Kitagawa had called him sensei, just like Nakanohara had. The Madarame-sensei that Akira had met at the station, when he thought about it, wasn't setting off any alarms like Kamoshida had. The old man looked exactly that, like an old man. He didn't smack Kitagawa-san, didn't insult him, in fact, the man had encouraged him in his pursuits. He seemed, if anything, the complete opposite of what he knew of Kamoshida.

They couldn't be. Akira rationalizes, even if it leaves them without leads on Nakanohara's request.

"I suppose so, but didn't those guys seem suspicious?" Morgana continues, drawing him back into the present with his inquiry.

Akira shrugs. He wasn't thinking too much about it, really. Nakanohara, at his most vulnerable, said that Madarame was a vile, awful person; the person with Kitagawa-kun didn't fit that description, even if they were both teachers in a way.

"That aside, why don't you drop by the exhibit? A real phantom thief needs to be informed about fine arts, after all." Is suggested at his lack of response. Again, he shrugs, but pulls aside a few tickets for each of their group, Morgana included, just in case.

The subject was dropped after that, still leaving him with a stack of 23 tickets that he didn't know what do with, and a wallet filled with money that didn't belong to him, even if it was, as Morgana said, a copy of a Nakanohara's wallet and not the real thing.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of standing over the table and shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously, Akira made a decision after hearing a noise from downstairs, reminding him of his caretaker's presence. He decided, all at once, that if Sakura-san wouldn't accept them, then he'd just throw them into the trash along with the remnants of the past week's lunches.

Piling the garbage into his arms and clasping the tickets, along with his phone, in his hands, Akira carefully steps into the cafe, dumping a week's worth of trash into the garbage can just outside of LeBlanc's kitchen. Sakura-san, who had been sitting behind the counter with another puzzle book in his hands looks up as soon as his garbage clatters into the bottom of the can. Instantly, a sharp gaze is pinning him down and Akira feels like he's just been caught with his pants down. Hesitantly, he approaches his temporary guardian and extends his arm out, handing over the tickets without explanation.

Sakura-san looks at him for another long moment, then down at his shaking hand. Akira tries his best to still his quaking fingers, but still spots the tremble in the dense paper where he keeps his attention focused.

"Uh," His guardian starts, his hand stretching into Akira's vision long enough to pull the stack away. "The Great Artist..."

Akira lets his hands drop by his sides, wondering if he should have just thrown the tickets away anyway.

"You steal these?" Sakura-san demands. His tone firm, yet quiet, so suddenly he might as well have been circles around him.

Swallowing around a lump in his throat, he quickly shakes his head, sending hair flopping into his eyes from around his glasses. The action manages to conceal most of Sakura-san' form from his vision and it numbs the phantom ache that had begun forming inside of his throat.

"Hm... Just checking. Don't really know what I'm gonna do with so many. Maybe some of my regulars will want one." His guardian says. Akira is pretty sure it's more to himself than to him, but doesn't let his guard drop a second time. "Uh, thanks, I guess. Sorry for barking at you, but trouble from you means trouble for me, understand?"

Akira bobs his head dutifully, and catches part of Sakura-san's facial hair doing the same.

"Maybe I'll start a raffle or something." He laughs, once, then quietly refers back to him, "Now get back upstairs or get to work, you're disturbing the customers."

Heading back upstairs, he folds the tickets into the copy of Nakanohara's wallet into his now clean bag and leaves his notebooks and dry-erase board out on the table. The silver necklace gets tucked away on the shelf by his bed, just beside the broken hearing aid from Mementos; he has no idea what else to do with it for now, he'd have to wait until he could work up the nerve to walk into Untouchables before he could try and sell it off and offering it to Sakura-san would most likely end up with him on the streets. Realizing that, he scooted both of the objects a little further back on the shelf, further out of line of sight, even for someone taller than Sakura-san.

Sighing, Akira climbs into bed and takes out his phone. Morgana is quick to join him on the mattress, folding over himself until he's all but a loaf of black fur next to him. He makes sure to keep some distance between the two of them as he pulls his phone out and opens their group chat for the first time since the incident at the station.

"There's an art exhibit tomorrow. I have extra tickets." He sends out, letting his phone fall against his stomach while he waits for a reply.

It comes with a faint buzz against his rib cage, then another.

"Didn't you say we shouldn't be hangin out with each other?" Comes from Ryuji.

"Sounds fun!"

"Oh, that's true..."

"Why don't we all go at different times then? or wear disguises!"

The last three are from Takamaki, each leaving him more confused than the last.

"Why do you even wanna go to somethin like that?"

Akira mentions Morgana's lessons in the fine arts.

"Sounds lame." Sakamoto says in kind.

"You would think that, Ryuji."

"Wait." Takamaki says when the chat has been silent for a few minutes, with Ryuji not responding and Akira unable to think of anything to say.

"It's not the Madarame exhibit, is it? The one that's opening tomorrow?"

How did she guess that... Akira questions, just as Morgana articulates it.

"It is."

"So you think that this Madarame is the one that Nakanohara was talking about?" Something about what Takamaki says brings down the wall that had been built up in the chat. Everything had turned serious once more. "I saw this show on TV about him and was starting to look him up right after. I mean, Madarame isn't thank common of a name, is it?

He had no idea, but he was still uncertain if Madarame is their target or not.

"You found the guy?" Ryuji pipes in, "That's our leader!"

Morgana scoffs down at the screen between them.

"I'm not sure if it's the same one." He admits, scooting back against the wall so he could type more easily. "It seems unlikely, he didn't seem like Kamoshida at all."

Ann's reply is near instantaneous, "You met Madarame?"

"Yes, at the train station."

She goes quiet after that, then finally replies with, "Then it must be fate, right? Like how we all met."

"Didn't you follow Akira and me into Kamoshida's palace because you were curious and then almost get yourself killed?" Ryuji points out.

"How dare he!" Morgana pipes up, slapping a paw onto the screen. "I'll teach him some respect!"

Akira peers over the cat's shoulder as he hovers over the screen, using one paw to type and the other to keep himself balanced.

"Donut taco women stupid ryuji!" Morgana's message reads out, sent before he could intervene. Auto-correct doing it's best to convey whatever Morgana's inhuman appendages could type out.

"Uh...?"

"Was that Morgana, Akira-kun?"

"How did she know it was me?" Akira hears as he's pulling the phone away and into his own hands.

"It was. Morgana says that you shouldn't talk to women like that, Ryuji."

"Whatever. So you said this place opens tomorrow?"

Akira hadn't read the tickets that closely to identify that, though, thinking about it, he probably should have asked for a time and date before he was forced into accepting over twenty tickets for a show he had no prior interest in attending.

"It opens in the morning. It's a few blocks away from the hotel that we went to, so taking Tozai line might be faster than what we did last time." Takamaki suggests to them. He thinks it might be good advice, but has no idea how to get onto that line, or where its entrance even lies. He remains silent though.

"Can't believe I'm wasting my weekend at an art exhibit... and I can't even sleep in!" Ryuji adds, just before logging off.

Takamaki is quick to follow and Akira sets his phone down, unsure of what to do or how to feel. Everything seemed to move so quickly around him. Takamaki had already began tracking Madarame down before he'd even mentioned it, had connected the dots while he fell into the puzzle by accident. Without evidence, it seemed even Ryuji was barreling ahead of him. He was lost, to say the least, and wanted to believe Madarame innocent.

"We shall see soon enough..." Arsene points out, voice so sudden that Akira jerks in place.

That truth, or what truth lie in it, was comfort enough to get him through the rest of the day, his exams mostly forgotten, but still an ever-present pressure at the back of his head, just like the persona residing with him; he hoped that he did well, or hoped that Sakura-san wouldn't be upset with him if he didn't. He knew, regardless of whatever scores he made, that his name would be running around the school, that he'd still be judged. By the students and everyone else. He was glad that he had a day to recuperate, though, even if most of it was going to spent at an exhibit he didn't really want to go to.

Tomorrow came more quickly than he'd thought it would, after cleaning out his bag and doing laundry across the street, he was completely exhausted and fell asleep almost instantly when the rain picked back up outside.

The weather cleared sometime while he was sleeping though, leaving behind a chilly air but bright skies; he left LeBlanc without an umbrella, mostly confident that he wouldn't need it and rode to the station with Morgana perched over his shoulder instead of inside of the bag. He hoped it was a good sign. His teammate seems more energetic today than he had the last; Akira attributes it to the extra sleep.

The Tozai line is labeled with a light blue sign that directs him past the one that he'd normally take to school or to Yongen-Jaya. Following the trail was simple enough, following the same brightly painted signs and keeping to himself, though the latter was much more difficult with how packed the place was today. The usual static of the place, stomping and squeaking shoes, was replaced with the unfamiliar roar of a stampede. Akira's pretty sure he's never been in the same room as this many people before; in fact he's certain that there's more people in this one station than there are in his hometown.

He hoped that none of them would be attending Madarame's exhibit. He'd easily go crazy, or deaf at the very least.

Finding a seat on the train that headed to the south part of Shibuya was impossible, he soon figured out as he was all but crammed in between a group of people he didn't know. He could smell each of them and feel them breathing against him, their chests expanding and pushing into his.

He felt disgusting.

The station on the other end of the Tozai line was equally as packed, but somehow quieter. Not wasting much time, he tries his best to find the exit without shoving anyone out of the way, but the waves of people passing in front of him are unrelenting and Akira is practically vibrating out of his skin by the time he reaches the exit. He steps to the side, unsure of which way he's supposed to be going but knowing that he needs to find a quiet place before he throws up. That quiet place is just around the corner and inside of a dirty alleyway where the sun's light somehow doesn't reach. The walls are close enough together that he has to pace in sideways, but it's well worth having his clothes scuffed up when he's finally away from all the noise.

It takes him a few minutes of deep breathing to slow his heart down to a reasonable pace, a few extra slow exhales to slow down his frazzled brain. When he's ready, he pulls out his phone.

"I'm outside of the station."

"Cool! I'm at the exhibit already." Takamaki reports, much to his surprise.

"You're really into this art shit ain't'cha, Ann?" Ryuji sends back, "I'll be like 10-15, trains are fucking packed today."

Akira draws out another sigh, wondering if it'd be better for him to head over the exhibit now or wait for Sakamoto. Quickly, he decides on the latter. He doesn't even know where this exhibit actually is, aside from the general location that Takamaki had provided; and it would be nice not to try and weave his way through any busy streets alone.

"I'm waiting for you at the station." He sends to Sakamoto directly once he's made his decision.

"OK."

Ryuji arrives, true to his word, fifteen minutes later with a message, "Where are ya?"

Akira steps outside of the small alleyway and, as much as he dreads it, steps back into the station square.

He spots Sakamoto almost immediately, now that he's seen the other boy in casual clothing. He's even wearing the same jacket from the last time they'd gone been in this area, bright purple and slouched posture. Akira walks up to him and isn't spotted until they're right next to each other, the blond having scoped in all the wrong places to spot him.

Sakamoto's head flicks around. Then he jumps.

"Fucking shit!" He screams, right into the station. The area around them goes quiet, the people slowing down.

Ryuji grabs at his chest, bunching up his bright purple jacket around his heart. "Fucking say somethin' next time, you almost gave me a heart-" His face goes blank, then his eyes widen, "Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that..."

Akira shrugs. He hadn't any intentions of scaring Sakamoto and wishes that he could have said something, but that desire was so faint, so old, he barely recognized it for what it was.

He apologizes.

Sakamoto waves him off with one hand and grabs at his wrist with the other, "Let's just get outta here before someone calls security, we're already gettin' looked at."

Ryuji leads him out of the station by his wrist. Without having to watch where he's walking- hopefully- Akira looks out around him and, true enough to Sakamoto's observation, there were people staring down at them as they head towards the exit. He catches the eye of one of them, a tall man in a police uniform, and her quickly jerks his head towards the ground, hoping that staring was all that they'd do. Once he feels the sun, or most of it at least, on his skin, his chest gives out, a huge sigh gusting out of his mouth before he can stop it. His face was warm, heated uncontrollably, and the small ordeal he'd caused had him sweating more than reasonably considering the weather.

They don't stop walking for a long time, with Sakamoto's grip on his arm working as his navigation, Akira continues to stare at the ground between his trainers and Sakamoto's sneakers as they head further into the city. The monotony is almost soothing, if it weren't for the constant hum of machinery or chattering of nearby people, he'd almost say being lead around was relaxing; the mostly warm weather was a contributing factor as well. All in all, it's easy for him to get lost in thought, to worry needlessly about his test scores or about his struggling relationships. About his parents back home, how they'd yet to contact him at all.

The hand guiding him loosens, then falls away. Akira looks up at the change and spots a massive semi-circle surrounding one of the buildings along the street.

This must be it... Part of him recognizes.

"Big crowd... Do people really like this crap?" Ryuji mumbles out from in front of him, a purple pillar between him and the massive crowd.

Akira checks the time, but isn't sure why, he had no idea when the place was supposed to open.

"Ryuji! Akira-kun!" A voice calls out.

Ann approaches from around the still forming crowd. He catches Ryuji shifting his weight from one foot to the other; he does the same, cradling his bag, and Morgana, with one arm.

"I thought you said this place opens in the morning, why the hell is there still a line?" Ryuji says as soon as Takamaki is close enough.

"It does!" The blonde insists, running a hand through one of her pigtails, then the other. "I just wanted to make sure we had enough time to check out the exhibit and check out Madarame, you know?

"W-well, what time does this place open then?" Ryuji drawls.

"Oh, in about thirty minutes or so, I think."

"You think..."

"Mhm!"

It takes an hour for them to get into the door and, during that hour, he really wanted to go back to LeBlanc and forget about this whole investigation. People were loud, people were shoving him, and he'd never been good with people or making his presence known, so he stood there while old women slapped him with their purses and kids stepped on his foot as they ran wishes that it would start raining again, hoping that it would thin out the line. It'd also help with the continual stream of sweat that running down his back.

Wiping his hands hands on his jeans for what felt like the hundredth time, Akira scoops a hand under Morgana's form and grabs onto the copy of Nakanohara's wallet to hand his teammates their tickets. He put's Morgana's pack into the fold of the wallet and advances through the gate, stepping into the exhibit. It's air conditioned, which he appreciates, but more plain that he'd been expecting, dark blue walls and a bright, shiny tiles for the floor. It was fancy, but not completely extravagant like the tickets suggested; the hotel Ann had suggested really set his expectations for these kinds of things. Using Takamaki and Ryuji as leads, Akira steps further into the building but jumps in place as a voice booms in his direction.

"You came!" A man says, stepping out of the crowd that he towers over. Akira catches the strange, dark hair before Kitagawa-san's face is smiling in his direction. He has no idea how the man spotted him through the crowd he'd been standing in as well the wall in front of him. Nevertheless, the tall man approaches them with a smile.

"You brought some people. Your handler and manager, I presume?" Kitagawa questions, eyeing up Sakamoto and Takamaki as he comes to a stop in front of the four of them. Unlike the last time they'd met, Kitagawa-san was dressed rather nicely, and, just like last time, Akira felt like he was practically a walking slob when he compared the two of them.

"Uh..." Ryuji says, "Who are you?"

Kitagawa's smile falls into a flat line, his eyes serious as he brushes a hand down the fold of his dark blazer. "My name is Kitagawa Yusuke, I'm studying at Kosei High's Fine-Arts division as a second-student, I am also Madarame-sensei's latest pupil. I'd've thought your client would have told you about my offer."

"Offer?" Ryuji continues.

"Yeah, what offer?" Ann presses.

Kitagawa looks annoyed, but speaks in the same calm, lofty tone. "I want to use him as a model for my next piece; Madarame-sensei has already given me his blessing in the matter and says that he'd be an excellent model for oil painting."

Akira feels his face heat up again, but not from the spring heat. In fact, all but his face are starting to chill over in the icy atmosphere.

"Nah, he never told us anything like that." Continues Ryuji, speaking for all of them once again.

"Well then, I'd like to reissue my invitation. Would you be interested in your client becoming my latest muse?" Kitagawa questions with a bow.

Ryuji looks over his shoulder and down at him. There's a frown marring what part of the blond's face that he can see and Akira quickly glances away, not sure if he should be mortified or embarrassed but feeling both completely.

"Listen uh... Yusuke. We ain't-" Ryuji starts, only to yelp as Takamaki's elbow comes into contact with his stomach. He winces.

"I'm sure... our client is very um, flattered by your invitation, Kitagawa-kun, but we'd really like to... discuss... the terms and conditions of your work with your sensei before any modeling occurs." Ann stutters out, bowing when she's finished.

"Conditions? Oh, yes, of course, my sincerest apologies." Kitagawa-san bows again, then stands to his full height to scan over the crowd with his strangely-colored eyes. "Madarame-sensei should be around here somewhere..." He notes, then walks off without another word.

He's strange...

"You have very little room to talk, pet." Arsene says with a laugh, and, like the last time his persona spoke up that day, Akira jumps because of it.

"We'll get an explanation later." Takamaki says, peering over at him.

He shrugs, and hopes it comes out more casually than it feels. Somehow, he doubt its, considering he's still mortified beyond belief to really formulate any other response.

His teammates step forward, dodging around the small groups that are forming around each of the exhibit's paintings. He doesn't really have time to observe any one of them before they're stopped by another group of people. Madarame is among them, in the center of it all, with a camera in his face.

"Sensei is in the middle of an interview." Kitagawa says from out of nowhere, making him jump again, this time from the proximity, or therefore lack of, than anything else. If the artist notices his reaction, as when Akira looks up, his eyes are pinned down on his teacher and not looking down at him- Akira had no idea how the man even noticed his approach- he doesn't say anything of it. He's grateful for that, at least.

"We're joined by Madarame Ichiryusai today, congratulating him on his new art exhibit right here in Shibuya." A woman, dressed as fancy, if not fancier, than Kitagawa-san says into a microphone that she's holding, "Now, Madarame-sama, you've painted hundreds upon hundreds of paintings since your emergence as an artist. All of us continued to be surprised by your imagination. You have such expansive styles, it's hard to believe that it all stems from one person! Can you tell us, and all of our viewers at home, where does all your inspiration come from?"

His phone vibrates in his pocket, but is pressed too firmly from the crowd behind him to reach his arm back and check it.

The lady extends the microphone until it's almost almost touching the collar of Madarame's yukata, which is the same color as all of the walls closing them in. He wonders if it was on purpose or not. Sakura-san's apron, or any of his clothes, matched the interior of LeBlanc.

Madarame clears his throat before speaking. His voice is soft, just like he remembers it at the train station. "Of course, my dear, but it is... rather difficult to put it all into words. But, if I had to, I'd say that they naturally well up from within my heart, like bubbles rising one after another in a spring."

"How poetic..." Ryuji murmurs at his other side. Immediately, the crowd forming around the interview are shushing him, Takamaki included.

"Naturally, you say!" The lady says into the mic before pointing back at Madarame.

"Of course, what's most important about being an artist is to distance oneself from worldly desires, such as fortune or fame. My own atelier is but a modest shack, but is more than enough to pursue true beauty."

The crowd gasps quietly, a static that makes him want to clamp his hands over his ears.

His phone vibrates again.

The lady pulls her microphone back, "I see! The act of emptying one's mind gives rise to inner beauty, wouldn't you say, Madarame-sama?"

Madarame laughs, tugging at his whitened beard with one hand. The action reminds him of Sakura-san. "Of course, a peaceful mind is a beautiful mind, after all."

The crowd cheers again; Akira still has no idea why.

"Still," The lady continues once it goes quiet again, "To think we'd all hear the word 'shack' coming from someone as pronounced as the great artist, Madarame."

Again, Madarame laughs into the microphone, sending the noise across the entire room, "You'd understand if you saw it, I'm sure."

"Of course we'd love to hear more about what inspires someone as great as Madarame, but unfortunately, that's all we have time for today! Madarame-sama is very busy maintaining his newly opened exhibit, right after this panel, he'll even be selecting people to receive his autograph! What a hard working man! If you can afford to, please come show Japan's greatest artist your support in Shibuya. " Despite the- seemingly bad- news, the lady still holds a smile as she bows in front of Madarame, then to the camera.

The crowd roars, then he's being shoved again. The chant of Madarame's name is, without a doubt, filling every inch of the place.

"You'll have to forgive me, I believe sensei will be- Watch where you're putting your hands! Very busy for the next few moments!" Kitagawa-san calls out over the rampage, standing taller than nearly everyone in the room but, like him, still being subject to the shoving of customers as they all desperately attempt to reach Madarame for an autograph.

He doesn't see any more of Kitagawa after that, the taller boy disappearing into the exhibit somewhere. Takamaki too, though it seems Ryuji was shoved in the same direction as he was and stands beside him as he tries to readjust himself to the crowd.

"God this place sucks." Ryuji says, leaning against the wall, almost too close to one of the hanging paintings. "Can't we just leave? It's too early for this shit."

Morgana pulls himself out from under him, a sliding pressure against his ribs and back before he tugs himself onto his shoulder. "Regardless of the crowd, it would be a waste of an opportunity to leave before we have a chance to appreciate this place. Besides, I don't see Lady Ann anywhere, and I don't trust any of these people. They look suspect."

Does he say that about everyone... Akira's mind wanders, taking what he can of a step back as another purse-wielding lady tries to amble past. The exhibit was starting to become the buffet all over again and, regardless of what he might miss out on, he'd rather be at LeBlanc, or anywhere less crowded, really; he feels stupid, in all honesty, for thinking that places like Shujin or Big Bang Burger were crowded in comparison to places like this, but he was past his threshold of acceptable environments and wanted out.

"Listen, if I could walk a foot- half a foot in front of me, maybe I'd say fuck it, let's look at some finger-paintings or whatever, but I've been slapped with like six different purses and it's hot in here, I'm leavin'." Ryuji grinds out, using one of his purple clothed arms to force a path between merging groups.

Akira doesn't waste any time. He follows his teammate, his very vulgar teammate, as he shoves his way through people, seeming uncaring about the verbal harassment he receives on the way towards the exit.

The outside of Madarame's exhibit is no less crowded than the inside, in Akira's opinion, but there is a nice breeze that's filtering through the rampage that's starting to cool down the sweat beading up in his hairline. He wants to go home, even though he knows he should wait on Kitagawa-san. Takamaki at the very least.

His phone buzzes again.

When he pulls it out of his pocket, he's expected messages from Ann, or Ryuji. So when he sees the startling crimson red of MetaNav opened, he swallows instinctively as it actively tries to seal itself shut. Something had set it off, just like the first time that he and Ryuji had wandered into Kamoshida's castle. Upon further inspection, he found that two criteria were already filled in.

Madarame Ichiryusai

Shack

Then a final, damning blank.

Akira glances around for his teammate, either one of them, to show them the evidence but finds himself at completely alone inside of the crowd of strangers. Panicked, he maneuvers towards the outer edge of the crowd, then finally beyond it. The streets were still busy, but least he could see more than a cyclone of limbs and neckties. Taking a look around, he doesn't spot Sakamoto's familiar purple or Takamaki's distinct hair anywhere outside. He takes the next logical step and walks away from the building and around the corner, truly alone; no crowd and no screaming.

It's merely a coincidence- or perhaps fate, like Takamaki had suggested- that he finds Ryuji standing in front of a vending machine that's tucked away in the corner. Something he'd have never noticed if he hadn't come down here.

Dashing forward, he clasps onto one of Ryuji's purple sleeves, making himself known. The blond jumps, but doesn't scream, as he does this, so Akira figures he'd done the right thing.

"Fucking shit, dude." Ryuji gasps out, then sobers up, "Sorry, didn't mean to ditch you but those old ladies are vicious, ya know?"

Akira pushes his phone forward, presenting the MetaNav, and watches as Ryuji's eye widen, his eyebrows climbing towards his messy hair.

"That prick's actually got a palace?"

Nodding, he pulls his phone away. He's disappointed. That he'd been wrong. That against all odds, someone nice was distorted enough to have their own palace. He felt sorry for Kitagawa-san, wondering if he was being treated like the Shujin student body when nobody was able to peer into doings of someone as prestigious as Madarame. Part of him didn't want to find out, but a greater part of him- the slowly burning fire that he recognized as his other half- knew that he had to. For Kitagawa's sake if nothing else.

"What happened?" Morgana questions from just below his shoulder.

Akira catches a pair of large blue eyes peering up at him, then around the alley, then, noticing that they were mostly alone, climbs out the rest of the way and leaps onto the vending machine in front of them.

"Did something happen with Madarame?" He questions from the new vantage point.

"Uh, yeah, Madarame's got a hit on the Nav is what happened." Ryuji explains. His smile is nothing short of a pearly scythe. He seemed, if nothing else, happy about Akira being wrong. That was also disappointing.

"So it was the same person..." Morgana notes.

"Seems so, on the bright side, the Phantom Thieves got their next target. And it's a celebrity, well... sort of a celebrity." Ryuji confirms, his smile still present, made more pertinent with the whoop he lets out afterwards.

"Shouldn't we tell Lady Ann that she's in the same building as someone with a palace, then?" Morgana quips, standing up tall on the machine.

"She'll be fine." Ryuji assures, pressing money into the machine as if everything were normal. "She's a big girl, besides, she'd probably be more pissed at you for makin' her leave than anything Madarame might do."

Morgana sighs, but seems to drop the subject. His body sinks against the machine's flat top, his chin peering over its lip.

"Here." Ryuji says suddenly, sticking a bottle into his face.

Akira considers declining, but can't draw up an explanation before the drink is pushed into his hands; he was starting to get hungry.

"Kinda sucks that the Phantom Thieves are waitin' around in a place like this, though." Ryuji sighs, popping open his drink, which also sighs. "Seems kinda lame, doesn't it?"

He shrugs, still rather numb at the prospect of being wrong about Madarame and Kitagawa and definitely still reeling from the aftermath of dealing with his crowd of fans. They were pretty much the opposite of everything that knew him, wanting to beg at his feet while people looked at him, and his record, with disgust. He's not sure which he'd rather prefer, in all honesty. Fame seemed more inconvenient than Akira's own infamy would let on.

"Patience is a virtue." Morgana says sagely.

Ryuji doesn't reply.

The three of them stand around in the alleyway, waiting for on Takamaki to make an appearance.

Hours pass before Takamaki messages the both of them, questioning where they went off to. Sakamoto rolls his eyes, dropping another can into the nearest dumpster as he slouches over his phone.

"It's about time she's done." The blond mutters.

"Waiting outside, around the corner from the exhibit." He fills in when Ryuji doesn't.

Takamaki steps into the alley a few minutes later, wearing a smile and a different shirt, it has the name of the exhibit on it, as does her hat, and the bag that's hanging from her arm.

"What?" She snaps, unprovoked, "It was probably my only chance to go to an art exhibit by Madarame and I'm not letting go to waste... even if it was a bit over-priced."

"That very well may be true, Lady Ann." Morgana comments. His tone is like being drenched in ice water.

Takamaki's smile falters into nothingness. "W-what do you mean by that, Morgana?"

Ryuji jumps in again, "Akira found Madarame on the Nav thing, he definitely has a palace."

"Oh..." She says quietly. "Is it really possible for someone like him to have one? He seemed so... decent."

"The name and the place of distortion fits, though, there's no mistaking it. This Madarame is the one we're after." Morgana corrects.

"I see."

Ryuji jumps in again, fiercely barking at the three of them, "What the hell? Shouldn't we be happy about this? Or not mopin' around at least, we gotta target now? We can see what that bastard is really like when he's not around all these people kissing his feet."

"That's true." Takamaki admits, her face picks back up into a smile, "Then it's a good thing Yusuke-kun is so interested in our client then, isn't it, Ryuji?"

"Our- what the hell are you talkin' about?" Ryuji splutters back.

"Well," She starts, "After you two ditched me-"

Ryuji interrupts before she can finish, "We didn't ditch shit, those old-fucking-bags practically pushed us out, ain't that right?"

Akira shrugs. Ryuji groans.

"As I was saying, when you two ditched me, Yusuke-kun started talking to me about his next art piece, and how he met Akira-kun at the station, looking like," She clears her throats, then continues dramatically, "A rose peaking at the pinnacle of dawn, covered in dew. Unabashed by human notion. Without fault. Peaceful with radiating melancholy that beseeches the stillest of hearts!"

Akira blinks, wondering if he should be offended or not; Kitagawa had never said any of those things in his needlessly long examination of his sleeping expression.

"He wants you to model for him." She points out.

His head bobs.

"Meaning?" Ryuji questions.

Takamaki's eyes roll then level on him, intensely and piercing, "Meaning that if he agrees, we'd have access to Madarame's shack and we can see what he's up to, and we still need the last keyword for it to work, don't we?"

"The form that the palace takes." Morgana explains, drawing back into a standing position atop the vending machine, "Whatever Madarame views his distortion truly as. We should definitely be able to gather some clues from looking around his home. Good thinking, Lady Ann."

"It's just Ann."

"So we just let this Yusuke guy paint him while we snoop around his house, then?" Ryuji questions.

"Unless you can think of another way to get into the palace."

"So how do we get into contact with him then?"

Takamaki turns away from Ryuji and stares at him again, "Yusuke-kun said that Akira already had his contact information. If you don't mind me asking, though, where did you even run into him, Akira-kun?"

"Yeah, I'm curious about that too!" Ryuji's attention fixes on him as well.

"I was sleeping at the station and I woke up with him standing there, asking if he could paint me." He explains, skipping over the other, mostly unimportant, details.

"Why were you sleeping at the station?" Takamaki giggles.

Akira shrugs, tugging a piece of his hair without meaning to. "I was tired."

"He seems like a weird dude, I dunno how I'd react if some dude was standin' over me while I was sleeping. Even if you were in public." Ryuji adds with a shudder.

When he put it like that, Akira could see how the picture he'd painted was fairly unusual, creepy even.

"So, when should we head over there?" Sakamoto questions, drawing Akira's attention back into the present.

"He said he'd be pretty busy over the next few weeks while he helps with the exhibit, but would work around his subject's schedule for the most part." Takamaki points out.

"After school on Monday then?" Ryuji suggests, "We figure out what his palace is, then we can beat his ass before he realizes it."

"We shouldn't be too hasty." Morgana advises from his lofty position, "If we approach him unprepared, we might find ourselves in more trouble than we realize."

Ryuji rebuttals quickly and with acid dripping from his words, "But if we don't do somethin' fast, that Yusuke guy might get it, you know?"

Ann's swallow is loud in the otherwise empty alley.

"But-" Morgana attempts, only to be interrupted by a steely voice.

"I'm with Ryuji on this one." She says, "If something were to happen to anyone else and we could have done something, shouldn't we take that risk?"

Akira had thought the same about Suzui. How if they'd just pushed themselves further, they could have prevented her from jumping. Yusuke might not be as fortunate as her if he was ever pushed into that corner. A sense of urgency washed over him like he was being pushed straight into a fire, burning up from the inside and he felt more than energized despite the exhaustion pulsing behind his eyes.

"Tomorrow then." Morgana complies.

"I hope you're ready to be a model then, Akira-kun." Ann says pleasantly, the previous tension distilling into a vague memory. "If you need any tips, you can just ask."

He nods, beginning to follow them towards the station, even when he knew it was a bad idea; Takamaki's stalker taking the backseat to their now current, more concrete, issue.

They split up before they hit central station, though, promising to alternate trains just in case the student council, like Takamaki theorized, was actually following her around. At Morgana's suggestion, they send her off first, sending her home on the next train in the direction of her parent's home. Ryuji pushes him onto the platform just before the next train arrives and waves him off, telling him to inform Yusuke of his agreement.

LeBlanc was slowly turning into a haven for him, albeit a smelly one, but definitely a quiet place for him to think. The attic, specifically, was a great place for him to think, even as dust settled on every surface before his very eyes. It took some time, for him to rationalize, to go over everything again; he knew that he had to gain access to Madarame's palace, for the Phantom Thieves' sake, as well as Kitagawa-san's. Something about the situation though, left him with doubts. A part of him wanted to believe in the greater good, that someone as genuine appearing as Madarame couldn't possibly be like Kamoshida; and somehow worse than Nakanohara, to have his own palace. At the same time, a cynical part of him perhaps, knew that the MetaVerse would reveal the truth, regardless of whatever truths Akira tried to put up in defense.

Could someone like him truly be evil? He pondered, then, Sakura-san seems so evil, but is he really the opposite? Did something about adulthood change their perceptions to become so warped that the outside didn't mirror the inside. He thought of the teachers at his old school, who ignored him, and his disability- though nowhere near to the extent that Shujin did. What of them, then, those neither good or bad; a painful neutral. Would his parents fall into that category? Painfully neutral to his circumstances. Did they resent him down to their cores, as corrupted as Kamoshida?

Were they in Mementos? Were they somehow worse than he thought they were?

He couldn't bring himself to pull up the MetaNav, but he did pull out the folded up piece of paper that Kitagawa-san had handed that day at the station and texted him.

"I agree to become your model." The words weren't ones he'd ever thought he'd type in his life; he was not model material, in any sense of the word.

Kitagawa didn't reply until morning, when he was already on the train bound for Shiuya. "Excellent. I've already left my address with your manager. I look forward to working with you. Was there a time and day that you wished to begin?"

He thought of Ryuji's warning, not even concerned with whom his manager might be. "Today."

"Of course. Once I get home from school, I'll begin setting up my equipment."

The school day that follow was a long one. Time seemed so slow in comparison to the recent days, and he's certain that he'd been called upon to answer more questions in a single school day than he had since coming to Shujin. By the time he was walking through the school gates on the way to the station, he was more than exhausted and almost considered texting Kitagawa to reschedule.

He didn't get the opportunity.

Both Ryuji and Takamaki were waiting against the station. Standing together, even when they shouldn't.

"You ready t'go?" Ryuji asks, still managing to smile despite the grim, and definitely dangerous, circumstances they were putting themselves into.

He nods more out of principle than any actual enthusiasm to continue.

"I don't really recognize the address to his place, but it's definitely in the residential district off central street, so it shouldn't be too hard to find." Takamki explains, pulling out her phone and heading towards the exit he'd just entered from.

The walk to Kitagawa's- or rather Madarame's- home is a confusing one, but Takamaki guides the four of them through many long streets and turns until they arrive in a mostly suburban area without saying a word. The area is completely different from the rest of what he's seen of Tokyo, though he can still see the skyscrapers piercing through the clouds, the area around them is mostly double story buildings. If each of the houses weren't packed together as tightly as they were, Akira could almost say it reminded him of home; differences aside, the nostalgia stuck him like flame had been lit under him. When he was living there, Akira didn't think he'd hold any nostalgia for a place that had all but cast him out. That feeling remained, despite his frustration.

"Oh, this one reads Madarame!" Ryuji points out, pulling Akira out of himself with a tug on his arm.

"T-this one is Madarame's?" Ann says, shock evident, even to him.

"It really is a shack." Morgana says with a snort.

In front of them, Madarame's shack is quite literally a shack. A foreboding two-story building that looks so different than the others around it. Its walls are made of rusted over metal that matches the roof and the small yard in front of it is growing over the stone fence that guards the front door. The nameplate on that fence, much to Ryuji's observation, reads Madarame.

"You'd think an artist like Madarame would hire a landscaper or something." Ann ponders, stepping towards the rusted gate that connects the two ends of the crumbling stone walls. "Does Kitagawa-kun really live in a place like this?"

"Only one way to find out." Sakamoto pushes the gate open, sending a plume of blood-colored dust into the air as he does so. Chips of blackened rust fall off the fence where he grabs onto it.

Gross. He sympathizes, though he's unsure if it's more for the fence or for Ryuji.

"I hope there's no snakes in here." The blond complains, wiping his hand, the one he'd used to open the gate, onto his uniform pants before stepping into the overflowing yard in front of Madarame's shack.

"No kidding." Takamaki replies with a laugh. She turns back towards him, "Cats can hunt snakes though, right, Morgana?"

Morgana's frame vibrates against his shoulder. "I'm not a cat!"

His pants are covered in dried out foliage by the time the reach the door. When he wipes at it, it jumps from the fabric, but doesn't come off. He sighs, annoyed; he'd just washed his uniform yesterday and really didn't want to have to do so again after only one day.

"Ready?" Takamaki questions. Her finger is hovering over a dust-covered plastic button. It's an object that would look more fitting inside of LeBlanc's attic than outside of someone's house. But when he nods, and her painted fingernail presses it in with an audible buzz, he supposes that this house, if any he's ever seen, was also a fitting resting place for it.

"Hello?" A robotic voice filters through. He can barely recognize it as Kitagawa-kun.

"Uh, hey, Yusuke-kun, it's Takamaki. I brought my er... client." She replies into the small speaker, just below where Kitagawa's voice is filtering through.

Akira flinches back, a loud clamber erupts noisily from somewhere in the house. Then another, just before the door in front of them slides open, Kitagawa-san is standing on the other side of it, standing as tall as Akira remembers, if not more so. He's wearing what must be the uniform to the school that he's going to, as Akira spots a badge around the man's collar that mimics his own, reflecting his status as a second-year. His shoes are off and he's not wearing socks, so Akira can see Kitagawa's toes as they wiggle up and down. It's a strange thing to watch, but Akira can't figure out where to lock his gaze and Kitagawa-san's feet are distractedly pale.

"You'll have to forgive me." Kitagawa-san says cordially, speaking in the same calm tone he'd used at the exhibit. "I couldn't arrange for sensei to be here when you arrived, but he said he's be more than willing to discuss any offers you have regarding my project."

Takamaki's back straightens, "Y-yes, of course. We'd love to discuss more about this... collaboration between you and my, um, client."

"Excellent, then please come in. I have my house to myself while sensei is attending to his exhibit, so we'll have plenty of quiet to work in." Kitagawa-san flourishes his form backwards and extends an arm to them, it's a strange gesture, but when Takamaki steps inside with Ryuji a step behind her, Akira finds himself following their lead and stepping into Madarame's shack.

The smell hits him almost immediately. Dust and decay filter into his nose and reminds him that he hadn't eaten lunch that day. His empty stomach revolts against the near putrid scent of Madarame's home.

"Please excuse the mess." Kitagawa-san says, taking another few steps back and gesturing towards the stairs behind him. "My studio is upstairs."

Akira glances around the room, trying to identify the smell first. The first floor of Madarame's shack is almost empty, save for the built in counter top and one oddly shaped table to one side of the stairs. The other side is an empty room filled with light from the windows. He can see dust falling from the ceiling in each of the beams shooting through the glass, it lands on the empty floor.

Nobody lives here. Akira determines. Nobody should live here.

The smell of the first floor fades out as he ascends the stairs, or perhaps it's that he's getting used to it, but is replaced with a sterile, nose-numbing odor instead. He still hears Ryuji gagging quietly into his sleeve as they walk up the dust covered stairs, though.

"This is it." Kitagawa informs them, sliding open another door to their left before stepping inside.

The room that Kitagawa walks them into is bare, but not empty like any of the others rooms they've seen thus far. In the center of the room is a single stool, with a few others to each side of the room. Easel stands rest in each corner of the room, except by the one by the door, which has a rolled up futon instead. The floor, and parts of the ceiling, are dotted in a rainbow of colors; which Akira thinks might explain the smell. The far wall has a long window the extends from one wall to the other with an equally long table under it, it's covered in open cans of paint, which also might explain the smell, and art supplies Akira can't really identify.

"This is uh, really somethin'" Ryuji states, crossing his arms over his chest as he steps into the room.

"Thank you." Kitagawa accepts, stepping behind the only standing easel stand in the room. "The time for pleasantries is over, though, if your client wouldn't mind sitting in that stool, I can begin working immediately; I have a feeling this piece will be my greatest one yet."

Akira settles into the single stool in the middle of the room and right across from Kitagawa's line of sight. He slides his bag off of his shoulder and sits it, and Morgana, carefully on the paint speckled floor, taking care to avoid any spots that look wet.

This is uncomfortable. He can't help but think, referring both to the wobbly stool and to the intense look that Kitagawa-san is alternating between him and the canvas. The artist's hand had already begun moving, etching lines into the blank canvas between them.

"Your handler and manager may sit down, or excuse themselves from the premises." Kitagawa-san delineates, extending his free hand to the empty stools on one side of the room. His gaze doesn't leave him, or the canvas, as he says this; an action Akira finds incredibly odd. He shrinks down onto the stool.

"Uh, if it's all the same to you, we're gonna... go to the bathroom." Ryuji says, tugging at Takamaki's arm. "Handler my ass..."

Akira frowns, turning back to the artist in front of him. Kitagawa-san doesn't respond, or look up, as his teammates abandon the room. Nor does he react from the whispering from just beyond the closed door that Akira can barely hear, or when that whispering goes downstairs with the thudding of feet. It's as if the man doesn't even recognize anything outside of the room, outside of him and the easel between them. The thought is a creepy one.

"Hmm." Kitagawa-san says eventually, holding a pencil towards him, then applying it back to the canvas.

Akira watches, uncomfortable, as this process repeats several times, noise included.

"Would you mind calling your handler in here." Kitagawa-san requests, an eternity later, taking to his feet. The bones in his legs pop noisily and Akira cringes, but nods regardless, fleeing from the room as modestly as he can, taking Morgana with him.

"That guy is a weirdo..." Morgana whispers from the bag as Akira glances down one end of the hallway, then the other, looking for any signs of yellow hair and spotting none.

His teammates are downstairs, of all places, standing in the bare kitchen. The refrigerator is open, but dark inside, as well as empty. His stomach winces at the sight more than his brain cringes at the implication. All of the cabinents are open as well, each of the shelves are as empty as the fridge. Takamaki and Sakamoto are both leaning against the counter when he steps into the room and look up when he walks down.

"Done?" Ryuji questions, his smile from before is all but a sneer. He looks dangerous.

He shakes his head.

"Well, I don't think he's stoppin' for a snack anytime soon?" The blond mutters darkly.

Akira's own stomach squeezes again, painfully empty.

"He might not be beating Yusuke-kun, but he certainly isn't taking care of his needs. This place is... it's disgusting. How can anyone live like this? How can anyone let their student live like this..." Ann criticizes. Her frown is pronounced, but her anger is evident, like a flame threatening to burn down the paper thin walls of the building around them.

He steps forward, "Kitagawa-san wants you, handler-kun."

"M-me?" Ryuji barks back, eyes wide, "What for? And that ain't funny, dude!"

Akira shrugs meekly in reply. Kitagawa hadn't said what he needed the blond for, only that he retrieve him.

Ryuji sighs, then turns to Takamaki, but Morgana speaks up before he can say anything.

"Did you guys find any clues for the last keyword?"

Takamaki frowns, looking at the empty kitchen around them. "We've only looked around the first floor, but there's nothing like that here."

"Yeah," Ryuji concedes, "An' we haven't looked upstairs 'cause we don't want to get caught snoopin' around..."

Morgana snorts, jumping onto one of the dusty counters, "I don't think that'll be a problem, that Yusuke guy barely looks up from his painting." He turns to Takamaki, "Between the two of us, we should be able to look through the rest of the house before anyone notices a thing."

Takamaki nods, "Right."

"Guess I'll go handle... something, or whatever." Ryuji slaps a hand down onto his shoulder, and guides him back towards the stairs, "Come on, model-san, can't keep the nice man waiting."

Sakamoto's grin is infectious.

Kitagawa-san is still on the far side of the room when Ryuji's hand guides him into the studio, but his back is turned to them.

"Ah, you're back. Excellent. Hold this." Kitagawa says, crossing the room until he's standing within arm's reach. He towers over Akira, and looms just over Ryuji as he hands the other boy a metal watering can.

"We gardening now?" Ryuji snorts, taking the object, but nearly dropping it back onto the floor as it exchanges into his hand. Clear water splashes out of the hole in the top, splattering onto the wood flooring.

"I've been thinking about the pose for this piece." Kitagawa-san starts without missing a beat, as if he's already blocked out their existence and is merely speaking to the canvas across the room. "I think rain would suit the composition beautifully, so if you wouldn't mind stripping yourself of your clothing, I'll guide you into the pose I've deemed most suitable."

Akira's mind goes blank for a moment, then recalibrates with something bordering on outrage.

Strip? His heart hammers at the prospect, a painful sensation, like nails being slammed into his coffin. His cheeks catch fire too, mortified by the implication. Nobody should see something like that. Whatever Kitagawa saw in him as a model would never hold up once the taller boy saw the endless slashing on his skin or anything else that was wrong with him. He tried to swallow, tried to breathe, but found both incredibly difficult without extreme effort.

"W-what the hell!" Ryuji stammers out, his voice echoes throughout the small studio.

Kitagawa remains unfazed, his face calm, and tone uncomfortably calm, "Hmm, did I say something odd?"

"Yeah you did, you pervert!" Ryuji balks, "Asking him to strip? Was that your plan from the beginnin'?"

Kitagawa-san tilts his head to the side, dark bangs fall away from his icy eyes. "It was merely for his convenience, I meant no offense. The water would dampen his clothing and would be uncomfortable for extended periods of time."

The explanation, to Akira at least, seemed reasonable enough, but still unusual, undeniably so.

"He ain't takin' his clothes off." Ryuji condemns, his cheeks are flushed, detracting from his serious tone and dark expression, "Or you're findin' another model, got it?"

Kitagawa agrees, settling back into the stool on the far end of the room without another word. Akira takes that as his queue to sit down as well, leaving his teammate to stand off to the side with a watering can and a sour expression. Akira watches, still nervous, still alert, as Kitagawa pulls his pencil back into the air, then presses it to the canvas. The process continues for a long time before he speaks again.

"If you would remove your glasses and tilt your head back." He says, blue eyes staring at him intensely.

Akira pulls his hands up slowly. He's hesitant to remove something so vital to a practical stranger. He knew, logically, that if Kitagawa were to recognize him, that he would have done so by now. He pockets his glasses and fights the urge to push them up on his nose. He feels naked all of a sudden, painfully exposed. Tilting his head back, Akira bares his neck slowly until he's told to stop. The hair that usually falls over his face flop backwards and brush against his neck. The angle is uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

"Begin gently pouring the water over him." Kitagawa instructs next, his tone altering from calm to icy as he refers to Ryuji; his first change in affect since they'd arrived, since they'd met, he's pretty sure.

"Uh... okay." Ryuji mumbles. He steps forward, closer to the stool until he's standing over him. From the angle his head is stuck in, Akira can see up the blond's nose. Brown eyes stare down at him though, so he closes his eyes, hoping to keep this is situation from getting anymore bizarre. He hopes that Takamaki and Morgana were making progress in their investigation; something to make this ordeal worth it.

He almost falls out when the first splatter of water hits him in the forehead. Recoiling from the unseen and sudden coolness. Ryuji doesn't say anything though, just keeps pouring splattering water onto his face. He keeps his eyes closed, but desperately wants to open them. The sensation is just too surreal. The droplets roll down his cheeks, through his hair and down the collar of his shirt. Soon enough, it starts cascading onto the floor, splashing loudly beneath the stool when his hair and face are completely soaked. Akira almost wishes he'd taken Kitagawa's advice, or at least stripped out of his now damp blazer before doing this.

"We're outta water." Ryuji calls out after his neck has long since cramped into a sore mass of nerves.

Akira opens his eyes.

"Hm." Kitagawa says, "I believe we'll be done for today then, please see yourselves out."

Despite wanting nothing to do with this place, or at least that's how he feels about it, neither of them move.

"We uh, actually wanted to ask about your sensei before we left." Ryuji starts, surprisingly soft. Gentle even.

Kitagawa reacts by not reacting, ceasing all movement entirely. His dirty paintbrushes are still clenched in his hands, dripping with dark blues and languid purples. "Madarame-sensei? What would you want to know about him?" He too is gentle, even if Akira can see the tension coiling in his hands and wiggling, still-naked toes.

This is it.

"Well, there's been some people talkin' about him lately, how he abuses his students-" Ryuji's mild voice is interrupted by Kitagawa's booming one.

"That's preposterous!"

"Is it really?" Ryuji shouts back, his tact forgotten. He's shouting now too.

Akira pushes his glasses back onto his face, but remains as unobtrusive as possible.

"You live here, right? With that great sensei of yours?" Ryuji taunts. His face is red again.

"Of course, I do. Sensei took me in when there was nobody else to."

Ryuji's hands fly into the air, the watering can nearly collides with his head. "Then why's there's no food here, huh? There's nothin' in here but art supplies and dead rats!"

He shudders, and not just because of the yelling. Akira watches, though, as Kitagawa's passiveness falters, his anger slips away into more anger. His toes stop moving; he doesn't think he's seen a more hateful expression anyone's face before.

"Sensei took me in and raised me as his own," Kitagawa reiterates, his icy eyes are piercing into the man behind him. "And I am proud to be his pupil! Now get out of here before I contact the police!"

Akira's heart stops. He's on his feet before he realizes what he's doing, and runs out of the room and away from the shouting match that continues.

"There you are- woah!" Takamaki says to him when he reaches the first floor, but he brushes past her and out the door of Madarame's shack.

It takes him a long moment, when his vision starts fading to black in some parts, to realize that he hasn't been breathing since he'd ran past the overgrowth of Madarame's place. His throat is constricting painfully, his lungs are on fire, and all he feels is an overwhelming urgency to run. He recognizes the sound of his head hitting the pavement.

Everything turns off.