Chapter 27

It rains for the next two days and Akira spends both of them still unsure what to say to Kitagawa. He rolls his phone in his hands for the most part, letting the edges pinch against his fingers while he deliberates. Takamaki had offered him help, more than enough for him to get a general idea of what he should say, but each draft he managed to write felt wrong. The fear of the boy, or Madarame, contacting the police makes him erase each message he's written.

He's about to send one, though. Over lunch Takamaki had approached him again with another suggestion. She'd all but typed it out for him but didn't have the chance to send it before lunch had ended.

"Please let me model for you." Akira reads it over; there's nothing wrong with it, yet, like all the others, his hands are resisting sending it off. He's about to wipe the screen clean of his teammate's words but his arm is tugged on forcefully, making him stumble and turn around from where he's standing, leaving his back to the stairwell he'd just came from. Morgana lurches forward as he does, but with a yelp while Akira sucks down a gasp of shock.

He's about to apologize when, "Stay away from Takamaki!" A girl's voice shrieks into his face. Her shadow blurs from where his eyes are planted onto the floor, though Akira has no idea what's she's doing before his head scalp and neck tingle with a sudden sensation. It's quickly followed by the sound of splashing; a liquid, like water but green and pungent, rains down over him, slipping down his hunched shoulders and through his uniform.

Morgana makes another noise.

More of the liquid spills over his head, skimming down his face and over his closed eyes. It splashes onto the floor and pools uncomfortably in his socks and shoes.

The sound of the container hitting the ground- presumably- goes off like a bang, and makes him jump in place, nearly making him slip. The laughter that follows is a roar that makes him jump a second time, that does make him trip, stumbling backwards and landing painfully against the steps to the third floor. His back and underside flare up painfully, an uncomfortable contrast to how cold his head and toes are; yet both feel opposite to how his hands are both sticky and warm. His stomach clenches painfully and a spike of nausea shoots up his throat but doesn't fully show itself. It's a small mercy, he thinks.

"What's going on- oh goodness." Another female voice calls out; it sounds familiar, but Akira has yet to open his eyes. Another hand grabs onto his arm and Akira wonders if another punishment is about to follow.

Stay away from Takamaki. Echoes through him. Had he done something wrong? Surely he must have.

Guilt and shame wash flood through his system, leaving him too tired to pull against the hands tugging him to his feet. The person pulls him forward, making him sway and stumble in order to catch up to them. Morgana cries out as his weight swings forward, then settles under his arm, almost enough to send him tripping forward again.

Akira wipes at his face with the sleeve of his school blazer. It does little to clear the stickiness away, but he is able to flick his eyes open and catch the faces of his classmates and other students as he's lead through the hallways.

They wanted to advertise his shame. Akira drops his chin, letting it collide with his sinking chest. Liquid flicks off of his hair when he does, splashing noisily against the floor, a noise that's nearly drowned out by the static-like whispers going on around him. Shivering and weak, Akira lets himself be guided across the school, unable to resist even with Arsene crashing against the container of his mind, darting from one end to the other and crashing against them, begging him to act, to rebel; to fight. He can't manage to do any of those things, and tries to offer apologies to the other in an attempt to placate him.

This is who he was.

A force pushes him down. Akira expects to land on the floor, but is met with resistance from a cushioned chair instead. He wonders if he's about to be expelled or at least punished in some manner. Nobody speaks to yell at him and he flinches when something wet and soft wipes over his cheek.

"Sit still." The voice from earlier says from directly in front of him. His glasses are taken from him, unsticking from his ears and nose with tearing noise. The hair that usually curtains his face slaps wetly against his scalp as it's pushed back and the exposed skin is wiped across as well, removing the tacky dampness from his forehead and eyebrows. No words are offered as the woman wipes over his closed eyes and down under his chin.

"It's okay, Kurusu-kun, you can open your eyes now." Akira does and jerks back a little when he sees his English teacher leaning in front of him. Chouno-sensei frowns at him and Akira jerks his gaze towards the floor between his still-wet shoes.

"It's okay." Chouno-sensei says again. Akira's not sure if he's meant to believe it more now that she's repeated herself, but he finds himself more unsure than when she'd dragged him off. "Girls these days are so aggressive, hm? When I was your age- which wasn't that long ago, mind you- the worst that would happen is someone biting off your erasers. All of them if you really hated them. Eventually, there wasn't a single eraser in our class, can you believe that?"

Laughing, she didn't wait for a response before she threw another question. "And you know what I learned from all of that?"

Numb, Akira finds himself shaking his head.

"Well," She starts lightly, "At first, it taught me not to make any mistakes. Always double-checking myself before I wrote anything down. Then, the girl who sat next to me started crying. Everyday this happened. Hayes-sensei started class, and she started crying, just like that!" Chouno-sensei finished with a snap of her fingers. "It was a few days before I finally got an answer from her. She said, 'I can never keep up with you!' I'm not sure why this made her cry, or why she felt the need to do what I was doing, but instead, I grabbed her pencil and scratched out the mistakes on her page and told her to start again. It wasn't until I did the same thing on my own paper that she finally got the message. That was the second thing I learned, you can always start over if you don't do it right."

Her hands land on his shoulders as she moves to stand squarely in front of him, she either didn't notice how soaked he was or didn't care. "Do you get what I'm trying to say?"

Akira didn't, but he nods anyways and feels guilty for it right after, slightly less so when the foreign touch is lifted.

"Hm. I'll see about getting you a replacement uniform. I doubt that smell is going to fade anytime soon, though." Akira nods again, watches as her legs step away from him, clicking with each step as she crosses the room. He hears the sounds of cupboards swinging open, but doesn't look up, not even when Chouno-sensei starts talking again. "Normally, I'd send you home, but you have my class right after this next one, so it's probably best that you stay. Not to mention that Kobayakawa would have a cow- not a literal one, mind you- if I let you out early."

A door slams shut, followed quickly by another one creaking open. Akira toes at a patch of liquid starting to blossom under his shoe guiltily.

She starts talking again, this time with a deep, gruff voice- mostly reminiscent of Principal Kobayakowa's. "You let that delinquent onto the streets, Cho-chan? How could you do something so dastardly, so monstrous, so heinously criminal!" She cackles highly, like a screech, then continues in her normal voice. "I'm not the best person around- not that Kawa-chan could be convinced of any less, mind- but I know a good kid when I see one. You'd probably head straight home and start studying, tuck your grandmother into bed, cook dinner for your two and a half siblings, then come back the next day not covered in green tea."

What is she saying? Akira's left confused by her words. He didn't have a grandmother, as far as he knew, nor siblings of any kind. He'd never cooked a meal for anyone, either.

Another door slams shut, "At least that's the way I see it." Another one opens. Chouno-sensei makes a small, exclamatory noise.

"It's a winter uniform, so it's probably going to be a bit stuffy, but it's probably better than sticking out in your gym clothes, right?" Akira catches her walking past him and hears her set something onto the desk beside him, the clothes she'd just mentioned presumably, and stares at her feet in utter confusion. Chouno-sensei hadn't been cruel to him since he'd transferred, in fact, Akira would probably consider her the kindest of all the teachers he's interacted with since transferring. Despite that, she'd never been kind either, not enough for him- or Arsene- to find the interaction unusual and unwarranted; not cruel did not mean nice. Sure, she never yelled at him when he had to take his time responding to her questions and she never glared at him with suspicion. She hadn't treated him like a criminal when everyone around them did and Akira isn't sure how he's meant to respond to that.

Would she get in trouble for associating herself with him? The thought plagued him as soon as it had sprung up, sticking down heavy in his gut. Nothing good came from helping the criminal, after all. Takamaki seems to have gotten that as well. He wondered when Sakamoto would learn it as well.

Soon. The dark shadow looming over him promises. Akira shivers.

He doesn't get to find an answer before she's talking to him again, "You should probably hurry, I do have a class to get back to you know- not that they'd mind the free time, mind you."

Guilt stabs through him when she says this and he launches himself to his seat, nearly knocking into her as he bows deeply. Swiftly as he can, he takes the clothes she'd just put down and finds the exit, lugging Morgana, who'd remained surprisingly silent through the whole exchange, along with him. Akira takes both of them across the hall, he's still on the second floor and walking past a door he's never noticed before. The halls are devoid of the other students but he can hear their whispers seeping from the thin doorways lining the halls, but their voices are cut short when he firmly shuts the door to the restroom and, after a moment of leaning against it, flicks the heavy lock closed.

Shujin's bathroom is almost identical to his old school's, including the smell, but replaced with expensive and clean looking materials. Akira ignores a sudden swell in the constant current that tells him he doesn't belong in a place like this and locks himself in the nearest stall. Carefully, he sets Morgana on the floor, facing away from him, and immediately starts unbuttoning the school blazer. It takes almost more strength than he has at the moment to rip off the tacky material the sleeves had turned into and leaves his arms looking red when it's finally off. The shirt underneath is equally as soaked as his blazer and makes a loud, disgusting noise when he drops it onto the floor next to his blazer. Morgana makes a sharp, startled noise and pushes himself out of the half-opened zipper before Akira can cover himself.

"What was that?" Morgana questions alertly, then jerks his head in his direction. The motion allows Akira to watch as Morgana's eyes bulge even wider than they usually are, the ocean-colored irises are made into full rings before him, almost the same size as his MetaVerse counter-part's.

Akira isn't allowed to absorb the observation as much as he normally might. Instead, a bone-deep, even further down the chill from having tea dumped on him, iciness clutches at him. All the embarrassment that had soaked into his cheeks suddenly sinks down into his gut, leaving him exposed, even with his glasses. Shame so black grabs onto his wrists, making his hands unable to move, and crushes his knees. They keep him standing, frozen, when he wants to fall down. With Morgana's eyes as wide as they are, Akira is able to track his teammate's eyes as they swipe across frame; taking in his sunken stomach, the prominent claw-like shape of his ribs, and the scars that coil sharply across both of those things. Not quite reliving the moments that had lead up to this one, Akira finds himself feeling as vulnerable as if he were.

Morgana doesn't say anything at first. He finds himself grateful for that. It gives him time to recover, to finally find a grasp on the control that had slipped out of his hands. He should have been more careful! He could have left Morgana at home once again, could have left him outside the stall or outside the bathroom even. In the daze brought on by the kindness of a stranger, he'd lost hold of the things he was meant to hold close.

Morgana knows! Reels across his mind, bouncing around and smashing against the very borders of his being like Arsene had done moments ago. His persona remained silent, but cognizant, awake, in his turmoil; a solid pillar in the landscape of his mind; the others didn't even stir, nonplussed by his distress.

"Who did this to you, Joker?" His teammate finally hisses, eyes finally narrowing with realization. The cat pulls himself firmly out of the bag, flopping it over as he takes an aggressive posture just in front of the stall's door. It reminds Akira, of all things, of Morgana's desperate cries in Mementos, the first time he'd realized the great harm that the other was capable of.

Akira shakes his head. Hoping that it wouldn't be a feeble attempt, that Morgana would just let this go like how he and the others had accepted Morgana's mysterious past.

"Tell me!" Morgana shouts, growling. It vibrates off the stall's walls, off the walls beyond it and into him. It shatters the force holding him down and Akira folds his arms over his chest, concealing himself with trembling fingers. The sudden explosion leaves his teammate panting, bobbing up and down, breathless and nearly feral looking; Akira can't look away, though, stuck in the gaze of a predator.

All at once, Morgana looks away from him, but the unshakable weight of his domineering presence refuses to lift. Akira watches numbly as the cat digs into the bag he'd just turned over and pulls his head out just as quickly.

His cell phone slides against the expensive looking tiles and against his shoe. Looking down at it, Akira spots two dark holes where Morgana's teeth must have punctured through it.

"Tell me, Akira!" Morgana shouts again.

Arsene expands outwards, just enough to gather his attention and finally speaks, "Nothing trumps an protective parent, little thief, feline as he may be."

Akira could think of a few ways out of the exchange, when he was finally given a moment of reprieve. None of them ended without repercussions, his earlier fear only stacks on top of that, and Akira finds himself finally toppling over. His knees crumble, letting him fall onto them. He had done this before! Told someone his worst secret, how much of a waste he was as a person, and it had turned out badly; Takemi had resented him! He had no idea what Morgana would do given the information of his past, it wasn't like he could talk to many people about it, but Morgana could easily draw Sakura-san's attention or anybody else's. The cat could easily as expose him as any human, Akira was certain of that much.

His chest was left cold when his arms finally unclenched from his sides, but his phone felt even colder when it slipped into the palm of his hand. He wasn't sure what to say. It didn't seem like Morgana would be assuaged or placated like the other people around him. Arsene had urged him to tell the truth, but Akira felt himself resisting for some reason; could he really turn against the people that had kept him alive and clothed for all of his life, even if it was to a cat? Would Morgana understand if he said he deserved it? Takemi had seemed to think so, she'd been disgusted with him, with his condition, each time they'd met and finally snapped at him like Morgana was doing now.

Morgana looked ready to shout again by the time Akira had typed out an answer. His mouth was hanging open, panting slowly with rise and fall of his chest and his ears were folded backwards.

It was too early for this, but also too late; Akira was exhausted. It took all he had to keep himself upright, even then things seemed to sway in front of him. Morgana's laser-like focus seemed to blur, deep blue flickered like flames in front of him. He's not sure how something so blue can blaze like an inferno.

"My parents." He finally admits. The message only keeps his teammate's attention for a few moments before that soul-piercing blue was trained on him once more.

"Your parents?" Morgana hissed in a sharp whisper, like the secret it was.

Akira nods weakly. His throat, useless as it is, constricts painfully and he shivers against the bathroom's frigid air, his exposed chest shudders and scars that are almost as old as he is start to burn.

"That's torture! That's disgusting!" Morgana starts, stamping one paw on the ground with each degrading adjective. Slowly, Akira feels them starting to stack up inside of him, until-

Twisting around on his knees, Akira swipes the clean uniform off of the toilet seat and lifts it open just enough for him to stick his head inside. The lid claps against the side of his head as he starts retching into the bowl; his own anguish echoes up from the water. He's not sure where the mess comes from, can't even remember the last thing he'd ate, yet the burn of acid rocketing out of his throat distracts him from the fact that he's still very much exposed, though he can still faintly hear Morgana's voice calling out to him from just over his shoulder.

Not bothering to flush the mess, he wipes his face on his disregarded blazer- he has to wash it anyway- and, without turning around, pulls on the button-up shirt that Chouno-sensei had given him. It's crisp and starchy, like his uniform had been when he'd first gotten it, and feels very uncomfortable given how sticky his skin still is under the material, but it would do until he could get to Yongen.

Akira drops his pants as well, knowing that he didn't have much to lose at this point. It felt that his shame had been stripped from him along with his secrets; his very core had been exposed to someone he lived with but barely knew and he was still- numb- recovering. A flush of heat and color flourished upwards from his neck regardless as he avoided his teammate's gaze. He hoped it was a good sign.

Morgana continues to look up at him, ranting, despite his various stages of undress. "-Despicable! No good!-" Akira glances towards him while adjusting his belt- the pants were incredibly loose on him without it, sticky as it was- and notices, as well as remembers, that Morgana had gotten hit by the assault earlier as well. Patches of the cat's black fur had clumped together across his back and up his neck, something he hadn't noticed until Morgana's gaze no longer ensnared him.

Pulling on a new pair of socks, but stepping into his still moist shoes, Akira cringes at the noise it makes, but scoops down, ignoring the stiffness of his back and arms, and plucks his teammate into his arms. Morgana's aggressive speech cuts off with a shocked yelp and claws he can't feel sink through his borrowed clothes. He unlocks the stall and carries the other to the row of sinks lining the opposite wall.

Wetting his hands under a torrent of warm water, he runs his still dripping fingers over the backside of the cat's fur, moving with the grain of his fur and smoothing down patches that the tea had left sticking up. The other remains quiet while he does this, something Akira finds himself grateful for; his head is still filled with static, even with Arsene acting as a central force for him to wrap around and collect himself with, a part of him that's remaining solid while everything else slips through his grasp, the consistency and support only leaves him more frazzled and confused though, Arsene rarely felt so solid outside of the MetaVerse. He feels lost, empty, but so unbelievably full; he's not sure how to explain it, nor how to make it go away.

The water wicks away the sticky spots on his teammate's back quickly, leaving them with no reason to remain quiet, but also no reason to remain where they are either. Yet he can see Morgana's hesitancy to close this door behind them, to make it real. He's not sure how he can tell what the other is feeling, it had seemed like all but a foreign concept- save for the exception in Arsene, who lived inside of him- until now.

Akira runs a hand down Morgana's neck, over his damp and sleek spine with no purpose other than to touch him. He was certain that it wasn't a comforting touch, he was probably applying too much pressure- or maybe not enough- for the other to garner any affection from it. Part of him felt obligated to do so, though, to comfort him when he looked so destroyed.

I destroyed him. He thinks honestly, taking in the wide-blown look that Morgana's eyes had taken, the slack jaw that no words filtered out of; Morgana was speechless after his initial outrage, left empty like he was. He rubs the cat dry with paper towels, trying his best to be gentle but he's never had a pet before and isn't sure how much pressure is too much or not enough. The other doesn't say anything in protest, however, so Akira figures it wouldn't matter for now; he washes his hands of tea and fur, making sure to rinse Morgana's presence down the drain entirely, and offers his school bag to his teammate after a quick check of its contents. Morgana, who sat on top of his things, seemed to have taken most of the damage and left his school supplies dry but squished.

The cat doesn't accept the bag, doesn't seem to acknowledge anything other than Akira, staring at him with void-like eyes, unblinking and he has to physically maneuver the other inside of it. He does his best to ensure nothing snags on the zipper and that he's entirely concealed before taking in a huge breath. He knows he's not alone, not entirely, if he stilled his breathing, he could feel Morgana's presence expanding against him calmly and rhythmically, but without falling into the other's trap-like gaze, Akira felt himself a little less tense. Some of the sensations that made life real- though he couldn't name any of them- seemed to sink back into him, like cognizance was returning to him. Along with it came worries about everything else, some not including Morgana- and the cat's new found knowledge- in the slightest.

His thoughts drifted to Takamaki, to the stickiness on his neck and back, the way his feet squelched noisily whenever he adjusted them. She remained silent in front of him through Chouno-sensei's class, not bothering to look back at him. Did she truly despise him that much? Had the pressure of Kitagawa and Madarame have that much of an effect on her that she'd not even say anything to him about it. He really was a nuisance, something to be scourged, an omen; maybe he was the ruin that he was meant to prevent, maybe that's why Igor urged him into the dangerous unknown, to be killed.

That made the power of persona make even less sense, however.

Akira thought about Sakamoto as well. The blond had claimed they were friends, but the other boy was friends with Takamaki long before he'd even met Akira, would he take her side in this? Akira knows he would, but part of him still forces the question.

Alone... He realizes. Akira would have to face Kitagawa, and Madarame, and the Ruin alone.

Morgana would leave him as well, now that he knows- now that he's seen- that thought, in particular, sent shivers up his spine.

Arsene reaches out to him again, a massive pillar of crimson and fire and blood in his mind, grasping at him with chains in his mindscape to hold down the rampant thoughts that were making him up at the moment.

School ended and he'd retains nothing from it, his notebooks remaining entirely blank. Akira feels his mind start to mimic them as well. He wants to go home. Packing his things, he was one of the first people out of the room and off the campus. He maneuveres his aching legs and noisy, wet shoes to the station until he's standing in front of LeBlanc's closed door with Morgana hanging from his shoulder.

He wonders how much trouble he'd be in with Sakura-san with coming in with wet shoes and considers taking them off, then wonders if barefooted would be worse than not in the situation.

In a moment, Akira decides to keep his shoes on and ignores the disturbing sounds they make as he stalks past his guardian and ascends into the attic.

He's less careful than he knows he should be when he sets his school bag down, Morgana remains quiet though, and slides out of the bag, sliding open the zipper with a soft noise.

Akira takes to the couch and buries his face in his hands, wonders if he should be crying or freaking out; neither happens though, he's not angry either, as much as Arsene prods him towards that direction. There's no desire in him for revenge or justice. He knows, however, that he needs to prepare for the worst. Kitagawa needed him; the ruin needed him.

He's not even sure what type of message he types up and sends to the artist, but an affirmative is almost immediate. Arsene stirs at that as well, as if aware of the resolve that Akira's managed to craft together from the rubble. The other is pleased, but wordless, a warmth ripples out like a wave, red and blue, across his mind and it makes him shudder, the hair on his arms and neck stand on edge in response.

Akira doesn't offer an explanation for suddenly jumping to his feet and carrying himself back into LeBlanc without Morgana. He thinks the distance between them would be beneficial if nothing else, even if that cat gets mad at him later for leaving without response. He scuttles past Sakura-san, keeping his head down while he does so and offers his bathhouse card at the window across the street with his chin still tucked against his sticky chest.

It's early afternoon and the place is empty, which surprises him a bit and relieves him twice as much as he starts undressing, making a messy pile of the borrowed uniform before wrapping himself in towels, his scars showing to nobody but himself.

Under hot water, he starts scrubbing the stickiness off of his skin, leaving it red but smooth. The green tea washes down the drain, replaced by- perhaps ironically- a new coating of green tea, though much more subtle than whatever had been dumped onto his head.

He thought while he scrubbed, even when he really wanted to disconnect from everything and reside in this moment of solitude.

I made contact with Kitagawa-san... Behind his calves, slumping over on the shower stool to reach, careful of the scabbed over scratches from when he'd chased after Morgana. Next is to get the door open with Kitagawa-san not noticing but making sure Madarame does. Over his knees and thighs, then around them; he'd need to learn how to pick a lock. Then enter the MetaVerse and continue looking for the treasure. Up his stomach then curling around his ribs, following the curves of old scars.

It wasn't a very good plan. There were many, many things that could- and probably would- go wrong, things Akira probably wasn't even aware of and wouldn't be until it was too late; things he couldn't plan for, things he couldn't work around because he couldn't talk, fight, or run his way out of them, not without violating his probation anyway.

Akira wipes his face roughly with the flannel and chances a look at the door at the other end of the shower stalls. Just looking at the entrance to the baths made his heart race with bad memories; as much as he wanted to sink his problems away under hot water- a luxury he wasn't afforded at home but had since started to crave when bathing became something he could do whenever he liked- but he didn't want to risk anyone coming in and seeing him- seeing his back- and freaking out again.

Once a day was more than enough.

After drying off, barely an hour had passed when he steps back into LeBlanc, his hair was still damp, curling around the frames of his glasses and dripping, but he knew that he couldn't waste an afternoon away making sure he was completely dry, though he was tempted.

The thought of returning to Morgana made him hesitate. Akira wasn't sure if he could handle any more developments; Takamaki's rejection, Chouno-sensei's odd speech, Arsene's overwhelming presence while Morgana found out, all of that was too much for a single day or even a lifetime. Akira stands at the bottom of the steps, thinking; he doesn't know what to do.

Morgana calls out to him as soon as he steps into the attic, "Joker!" He watches the cat approach, leaping from the bed and scrambling in front of him, blocking him from advancing further.

"We should talk..." He says, blue eyes burning. Akira glances towards the bed and moves to step around the other.

This is it. Akira realizes. Morgana was planning to leave as well, though Akira wonders why he hadn't done so while he'd been away.

Morgana lets him pass and follows quickly behind him. Akira catches him leaping onto the bed while he digs through his bag, pulling out his damaged cell phone before dropping the still damp bag onto the floor. Crawling onto the bed- though he'd much rather crawl under it- Akira pulls himself against the wall with the pillow against his back and the comforter over his chest, he shrinks himself down and resists the urge to draw his knees up. Like this, Morgana is closer in eye level to him. Coincidentally, it also makes avoiding the cat's gaze easier when he stares down at his lap; it's a comfortable position.

"You can't give up." Morgana starts, his voice is calm and even; everything that Akira hadn't been expecting comes out. It feels like a wind passes through his body. "Even without Panther, you still owe me- you promised, remember?"

Morgana's stare is physical, unrelenting, and he's vulnerable under it.

Akira grasps at his still damp hair, rolling waves of the strands between his fingers. He bobs his head, his chin cutting into his chest when he does. He wants to say no, but he did promise, so he'd follow Morgana's lead; making him wonder why the other wasn't leading their group in the first place.

Takamaki wouldn't have done that to him. He realizes. Guilt seizes his heart. She might not have liked him, but if someone else had been leading them, maybe she'd stick around.

"We can replace her, find another persona user, it'll be okay." Morgana assures, Akira's not sure how he does it, keeps believing in this thing. Morgana sighs, "But I need you. I need Joker, but I need you, too. Here in the real world, until I find my memories, I need you with me. I'm... in cat's body, I can't get information or weapons, or keep our team together, while I'm like this, Joker, that's why I need your help."

Akira swallows around thick air, his neck hurts when he does, most likely from the angle, and his nose burns.

"I wish I could do it on my own, but I can't." Morgana admits firmly, the bed dips around his legs when the cat takes a step forward. "You promised me that you'd help me, Joker, so you owe me this much."

"You owe me." He repeats, then sniffs sharply. "So you're gonna get us into that shack. I can get beyond that door, but you're gonna have to be there to activate the MetaNav so we can get into the palace when Madarame shows up."

Akira nods again, submitting to his promise. Part of him, whatever is left of his rationality, recognizes that taking orders from a cat- like he was doing right at that very moment- wouldn't be received well by anyone else.

"Once we do that, we should be able to find the treasure, the palace didn't look that big so it shouldn't take much longer to find it. Then we just need to send the calling card..." Morgana swallows, he's close enough that Akira can hear it. "Do you think Ryuji is staying?"

Shaking his head, Akira feels guilty about the huff that his teammate lets out.

"We'll have to make them ourselves then." His teammate advises, finally sinking into a seated position against his leg. Akira feels himself grow a little less tense in response.

"I think Monday would be the best time to keep Madarame off guard." Morgana suggests. It was Friday today, which would mean he only had two days to prepare. "People are usually less on guard during Mondays."

Akira nods, more to himself than to Morgana. Monday it is.

Things settle down after Morgana says that. The cat turns quiet, resting his head on his paws which are resting on Akira's thigh. His eyes are closed but Akira is certain the other is still awake, planning in ways that Akira couldn't. Not to say that he doesn't try. He takes what Morgana had said into his thought process as best he can. Things the other had said weren't very logical- at least in a way that Akira could understand; it's not like the MetaVerse itself was very logical- and seemed to clash with each doubt and uncertainty he had about dealing with Kitagawa-san and Madarame, yet the cat seemed to know more about this than he did. The cat knew- seemingly- how to get through someone's guards and defenses, understood people in a way that Akira couldn't quite grasp- he enjoyed Takamaki's company and seemed off-put by Iwai while Akira was almost the opposite. Yet his teammate wasn't human and wasn't able to apply his knowledge.

Like me. He thinks, not because he's smart like Morgana, but Akira was trapped behind a useless mouth, just like Morgana was trapped behind a body that wasn't his own.

Akira is unsure how Morgana plans on getting behind the door in the shack, even his MetaVerse body seemed to have trouble with working with tools, yet he had a belief in his teammate to accomplish it and he's not sure why.

He's not sure of a lot of things.

Like Chouno-sensei had suggested earlier, Akira eventually picks his schoolbag back up and starts going through most his notes and schoolwork. He knows that translating English or finding the ratio between two shapes wouldn't help him with the upcoming issue, but it's what he knows how to do and it's what he feels comfortable doing.

Morgana doesn't say anything when he gets out of bed to get ready for sleep. Akira is certain the other doesn't even glance in his direction when he pulls off his shirt. Akira clutches at it, instincts making his body stiffen. The first time had been an accident, a lapse in his judgement, this he does intentionally. He lets the shirt drop onto the dusty floorboards beneath his feet and glances over in his teammate's direction, he's not sure what he's expecting. Judgement for sure, more cursing, a comment about how damaged he is.

None of those things are said out loud.

Tugging on a different shirt, Akira heads to the bathroom, readying himself for sleep while he ponders Morgana.

People look at him different when he walks into school the next morning. The fact that people are looking at him at all is strange in itself, he realizes, since Kamoshida, the other students didn't look at him directly and whispers about him were starting to die down, which he would prefer to what was unfolding in front of him.

A flash of heat pools out from his nose and into his cheeks. Everyone was staring at him. Ducking his head, Akira does his best to navigate towards his class without bumping into anyone and drawing even more attention.

Akira knows what they're whispering about, even if he doesn't catch any of the words whispered- and sometimes not- around him. He does his best to ignore it, like he'd been suggested when he'd first transferred, keeping his head down and focused on his studies. The constant stream seems to die down when class actually starts though, but picks up just as quickly during the pauses between them.

"I need to talk to you." Someone says, suddenly breaking through the wall of focus and monotony he'd scraped together.

Akira is standing over his desk, tucking things into his bag and around Morgana.

An arm grabs onto his.

This is not part of the plan! Is his first reaction upon being lead out of the classroom and down the hall- the opposite of what Chouno-sensei had done for him the day prior. He looks down at his bag, towards Morgana, for guidance, but finds nothing but wide blue eyes, dark as the ocean.

They were supposed to work out making contact with Kitagawa-san, making sure he'd be free on Monday afternoon for their plan. Instead, he was being pulled by his arm past the school gates and down the street. Blonde hair bounces in front of him, knocking into the pale arm that's latched onto his, and nearly distracts him from being pulled past the alleyway that he and Sakamoto had stumbled through when they'd first discovered the MetaVerse.

Takamaki. Akira recognizes, still reeling. He hadn't expected this at all. As her message had been clear, he'd expected her to just ignore him for the rest of the year, to stay away from him and he her, but...

This was not part of the plan!

Without another word, she leads him through the alley, around the corner- turning right- then down another path, one mingled with a crowd loud enough to make him want to cover his ears. Takamaki leads him forward, seemingly unbothered, and ushers him through a door.

The cafe opens up in front of him like a dark horizon, dark wood makes up most of the space- the floor, running bar, tables, and chairs are all made of the same stuff- and reminds him faintly of LeBlanc.

Takamaki pushes him into the booth in the corner, far from the entrance, the wall beside them is made entirely of glass- something LeBlanc doesn't have- and casts a bright beam of light onto the table between them, and onto Takamaki's fair hair when she slides in across from him. The booth seat is soft and worn, but not the same dark brown as almost everything else. It feels out of place, a piece for a different puzzle; it's uncomfortable to sit on the more aware he becomes of how it doesn't match.

"You were right, Akira-kun." Takamaki sniffs suddenly, drawing his spiraling attention away from the unmatching interior of a place he's never been to. "I should have listened to you, we both should have."

I was right? Mind racing, he tries to scope out everything he'd said to her that could have been either right or wrong.

Nothing comes up.

"Ryuji almost got pushed down the stairs at lunch today." She continues plainly and without explaining herself or this place, leaving him only more confused. "All because of me."

Takamaki sighs deeply and inhales sharply. Akira knows that she's close to tears, something had tipped him off, an inkling or impression. The way she breathed was not normal, too loud to be anything but and Arsene agreed with him, but nudged him to take action, sending a surge of something down into his veins, through his hands which had taken a tight grip onto his knees.

"We should have stayed away!" The girl across from him cries out, startling him despite his prescience. Akira catches through the fringe of his hair as Takamaki folds forward, curling her arms to cradle her head. Her shoulders bob between weeps, expanding widely when she breaths in.

Not part of the plan. His mind echoes over Arsene criticizing him. "Comfort her, you imbecile!"

Comfort... That would explain the trembling in his hands, Arsene had been urging him to act; to comfort. He was still clueless, and nothing sparked recognition inside of him as he released the grip he had on his pants and lifted a hand into the air, hovering over Takamaki's shaking form. His fingers trembled over her long, blonde hair and knew it would be too soft.

Carefully, Akira reaches across the abyss of the dark-wooded table and rests his hand on Takamaki's quivering shoulder. She still has her school uniform on, so the texture under his fingers is familiar enough despite the convulsing it seems to do under his already shaking hands.

Arsene sighs across the entirety of his mind, breath of his other self reaches from corner to corner. Akira feels his face grow hot, knowing he's being judged by the other, and feels- justly- upset when his other half doesn't offer any advice on what he should be doing.

Takamaki cries for several minutes. Akira feels his bearings starting to fray as it continues; he has no idea what to do! Did she bring him here just to make him more uncomfortable? Was it all part of a bigger plot to get him scolded again?

Finally, without provocation, Takamaki's form goes incredibly still. He sees it sooner than he feels it, hand and fingers numb from her trembling combined with his. With that, he retracts his arm and cradles the numb appendage with his other hand, keeping them in his lap. In the minutes, he's not sure how many Takamaki had spent crying or how long they'd been here, he'd had a hard time absorbing anything she'd said, but it all came rushing forwards once the girl across from him calmed down.

Ryuji got hurt? He questions. He was confused, another heavy block dropped into the sinking feeling his stomach had conjured up the moment Takamaki had grabbed onto him.

Arsene, nudging his consciousness against Akira's own, tried to guide him towards an answer he could understand, but was futile. His mind continues to race with unanswered questions, none of them relating to what he should be doing right this moment.

Gazing down at his bag in the seat right next to him, Akira knows that Morgana is listening- though probably isn't as confused about the situation as he is- he wonders what the other would suggest to him.

"What?" Akira ends up saying, sliding his phone across the table with one hand because his arm refuses strength.

Takamaki tucks her head downwards, reading his message over. "Today at lunch-" She shakes her head, sending waves of blonde hair spinning around her face. "Remember when I told you about Hayawaka-san?"

Hayawaka-san? He has no clue.

She continues regardless, not waiting for a response from him. "She's the girl you kicked out of the top ten during mid-terms, the one who wanted to get you expelled, remember?" Akira feels his spine jerk at that, an instinctual panic. "B-before that she used to just say stuff about me, but that was when K-Kamoshida was still... here. Hayawaka-san apologized to me after Kamoshida confessed, saying she never meant any of it. She um, wanted to be friends with me, along with another group of girls." Takamaki exhales deeply and slides her elbows back onto the table. One of her fingers runs a pattern across the dark-wooded table between them. "I really wanted them to like me. I'm not sure why. N-no, that's not entirely true either."

Her finger stops. "I guess I was lonely. I have you and Ryuji." Morgana huffs quietly from beside him, Takamaki doesn't seem to hear it. "But we just talk about er, you know what, most of the time. And before that, I only had Shiho. So I guess I just wanted some friends, to see what it was like. But I swear, I never knew they were going to do that to you and Ryuji! I never would have forgiven them if I knew this would happen!"

Akira leans back in his seat a little, surprised, both at her admission and her volume.

"Women." Arsene huffs, "Most vicious creatures you'll find."

Akira knew that wasn't true, yet at the same time, the other's words held some truth to them. Women- and people in general- weren't dangerous in the same way shadows were, at least not most of the time. People didn't attack in the way shadows did, they were confusing and left him lost; yesterday had been a prime example of that, even know a person was leaving him confused in a way a shadow couldn't, as far as he knew anyway.

"I want to say sorry, Akira-kun. You're the leader, and you told us to keep separate, but I was just... desperate, I guess. And you got hurt because of it." She sits up, quickly and sharply, "Even if you're mad at me though, I'm not giving up, not until we save Kitagawa-kun at least!"

Mad? He repeats, rolling it over. Akira hadn't been mad at all. Confused and scared, mad at himself for not being careful, but not mad at Takamaki.

She had nothing to do with it. Akira realizes and sits up in his seat as well. Beyond that, he isn't sure what to think. He feels overloaded with information, none of it relevant to his mission.

It's relieving, though, knowing that he hadn't done something wrong- aside from not being leader-like, something Morgana had already scolded him on. Akira was the one to cause everything though. If he hadn't intervened back then, if he hadn't walked with Sakamoto or continued to enter the MetaVerse, this would have been prevented in its entirety. He was to blame, yet Takamaki was the one crying over it. Ryuji had almost been injured because of him.

Akira was at fault for everything. Might he actually be the ruin that Igor had spoke of?

"I know I probably don't deserve it, but I want to keep going with you, Ryuji, and Morgana. I-if after we help Kitagawa and you're still mad, you can kick me out and never talk to me again- you don't even have to look at me while we're in the palace- but- I mean, if you can't forgive me, can you at least do it Kitagawa s-so, he doesn't end up..."

Dead. Akira finishes. No food and living in that shack, he was able to recall the smell without thinking about it and his stomach churned painfully in response. When he thought about it, it reminded him of Kamoshida's palace, in the same way that the cafe they were in reminded him of LeBlanc.

"I'm not mad and you can stay as long as you want." Akira offers eventually, once he's able to function enough to remember what a conversation was.

It wasn't the most leader-like thing he could have said, but it was something that he meant. Takamaki had helped him a lot inside of the MetaVerse and while Morgana insisted that he could find other persona users, he knew that the link between them- it stemmed from her heart to his, thin as a shoelace and bright white, the same he'd noticed with Ryuji and, just now, Morgana- would be difficult to replace, even if the right thing to do would be to send her and Sakamoto away, Akira found himself unwilling to say that to his teammates, even if he couldn't look them in the eye or share their experiences.

Regardless, they'd have to come up with a new plan. Takamaki's presence might alter the way Morgana handled his part or something; he wasn't sure what part she could do.

Suddenly he was being grappled. Arms around his neck and yellow hair splashing across his face- it was impossibly soft like he'd predicted- making him shudder. Cringing, he tried to jerk away on reflex, he was surprised to meet an unyielding force; nobody had touched him so closely before, even Takemi, who'd seen everything he had to offer- the recollection was enough to ignite a fierce heat in his cheeks- hadn't been so close!

"Thank you." Takamaki whispers directly into his ear. Akira shivers. She finally pulls away and Akira watches her warily, unsure of what had just happened, he catches her smiling before his gaze diverts itself to the tabletop in front of him. "Aw, you're blushing!" She points out inexplicably. It only adds to his embarrassment, piles onto this feeling- this knowledge- of not belonging.

Did he do something wrong? It was a given, almost, that he had. Akira just wasn't sure what.

"A-anyway." Takamaki says, standing over the table and looming over him still, finally not touching him or asking to be touched by him. "Just tell me what I need to do, I'll clear out my schedule whenever I can so I can help. We still need to get into contact with Kitagawa-kun before the exhibit ends, so we do need to hurry up and get past that door."

Akira doesn't tell her that he's already contacted Kitagawa, that he- and Morgana- already had a plan that she wasn't a part of, he doesn't get the chance before she's collected her things and headed towards the exit to the cafe.

"I'm gonna go see Shiho." She calls out from the doorway, smiling brightly. "Maybe she'll give me some good luck!"

He's not sure how to respond to that, but waves when she does, then again when she passes by the window outside of the booth he's still sitting at. He's also not sure how to respond to the man behind the counter staring at him with sharp black eyes.

Akira leaves the unfamiliar cafe, but the feelings from before come with him, strung up behind him, undetectable. He's confused and unsure, which isn't unusual, he just thought it would lessen after confronting it, however forced that confrontation had been.

Takamaki- and Sakamoto, presumably- would help him and Morgana in getting back into Madarame's shack. Which had been the plan days prior, all except yesterday.

Did problems usually solve themselves so quickly? Hours ago he had been certain that Takamaki had hated him, resented him for reasons he couldn't identify- or maybe his inability to do so was the cause of that hatred- and in less than a full day things were back to normal. He should...

Akira's not sure what he should be, what he's meant to be; a leader for sure, but beyond that he's completely lost.

Climbing into bed instead of under it, Akira pulls his knees up and under his chin and cradles himself in LeBlanc's darkness. Today had been too much; he recognizes that he's making a habit of saying that, but that logic doesn't stop him from tightening into himself further. Akira breathes in and breathes out slowly, but his body doesn't seem to catch up, pulsing to a rhythm he's unfamiliar with.

Tomorrow- or maybe today, depends on how long he's been trying to sleep- would be Sunday, the day after would be Monday. That- Monday- would be stressful in its own right, but the stress of waiting for it to arrive catches him off guard. There seemed to be so much, yet so little, that he could do to prepare; he could go to Iwai again, pursue Takemi and her medicine, or even sneak into Mementos to train himself. It seemed to far off, distant, but he knew that he'd have to do something of the sort, not to mention contacting Takamaki and Sakamoto.

He dreams about nothing in particular, yet terror slides down his face and back along with sweat. He doesn't feel rested, not enough to do any of things he knew he should. Instead, Akira rolls onto his side and grabs at his phone. The thing he wanted to save for last seems like the easiest thing for him, at least for right now, but when he pulls open the group chat he shares with his teammates, Akira finds it difficult to put into words what he means, just like what had happened with Kitagawa-san.

"Monday." Sends off simply. Akira watches; Takamaki reads it first, then Sakamoto.

"I'll be ready!" The former replies. Akira sighs out.

"What's on Monday?" Sakamoto sends back.

"Getting past that door and finding the treasure!" Takamaki explains in his place. Stickers and pictures follow.

"So soon? Why am I only just hearin about this!" More stickers, this time of angry faces.

"Just get those calling cards ready! We're gonna need them." She orders. Next to him, Morgana begins to stir, nudging against his still damp back with a loud groan.

"You're up early, Joker." Morgana observes from behind him. He shuts the screen off, casting whatever his teammates were saying in darkness.

Am I? Akira questions. A small flood of panic shoots through his veins. It wasn't that early, was it?

"'S probably a good thing, though, I was thinking about our plan on Monday. Could you take me into a store today? One where they sell locks. I know I said I could, but I've never really picked a lock in this form before and wanted to make sure I still could. I don't want to jeopardize what we've worked for until now just because I have these stupid... things."

He agrees without considering otherwise. Even if he doesn't know where he would find a place that sells locks, he knows that Morgana has to do this.

"Let me get ready first." Akira says. Leaving his phone on the bed, he grabs onto a new set of clothes from his box; which reminds him that he needs to wash his uniform yet again. It was something he could do while Morgana was practicing later.

Akira washes his face quickly and wipes off the leftover sweat from whatever he'd been dreaming about with a wet paper towel. Lists upon lists seem to circle around his awareness, things he has to do but can't manage. It's an unusual feeling; new, but real.

Tokyo is still sprawling, still huge and sprawling since the last time he had seen it. His phone, however, makes knowing where he needs to go a simple task- there were more than ten stores that would sell locks or similar materials around Shibuya alone, not counting the ones that were close to either Madarame's shack- but getting there was still as daunting as it always was, even with a instructions. People knocked into him, sending shivers and shocks where they contacted with him. Morgana was bumped a number of times as well, making sharp sounds that made him jump. There was also the matter of the umbrella keeping them dry to worry about; the frame swayed against the heavy winds, knocking into the canopy of other umbrellas around them. Despite the breeze blowing right into his face, Akira was certain that he was being suffocated.

He walks Morgana down the aisles of home security, holding his arm carefully to block the feline from view while he peruses. The cat hadn't seen the lock from himself, but wanted to find a difficult enough one to practice on. Akira looks around as well, though he has no idea what he's looking for, it's his first time in a store like this one.

It smells oddly, the store, but that could be due to the rain crashing down in heavy waves outside that's causing it. It's also huge, with seemingly endless aisles and a ceiling that turns black before it ever ends; he's not sure how something so massive can exist in Tokyo, especially when there are others just like it in the immediate area.

"... Doubt it would be rotational..." Morgana murmurs softly while Akira scans upwards again, reading some of the emboldened titles as he goes.

Electric lock! Steam lock! HOME Laser set-up! Fast! Easy!- There's a lot of colors as well, splashes of red and orange behind neat, tiny rows of words that he can't read.

Morgana jerks to the left, nearly slipping out of the bag. "What about that one!" A small paw darts out and sneaks into his vision, pointing in the direction of several large locks, the biggest ones in the place, also the most expensive.

"One of these should keep me busy for a few seconds at least!" The cat exclaims.

Akira nods slowly and steps forward, grabbing onto the closest of the set. The lock sits thick and black behind clear plastic, weighing almost as much as Morgana does, the handle of the lock is thicker than his wrist and the entire mechanism gleams under the overhead lights.

"Let me read the back." Morgana instructs. Akira flips it over and reads along, the specifications aren't something he's knowledgeable about, though, but Morgana seems familiar enough. "Let's get it!"

The cashier behind the counter gives him a strange look when he slides it across the counter. Akira wonders if he might do the same, but is unable to formulate an answer before the man across from him is asking for money. The lock is quite expensive, and takes up a large portion of what they've saved up from Mementos and Madarame's palace; they'd need to acquire more money if Morgana ever wanted to practice on something else. The thought was neither good nor bad, it seemed to simply be, at least for now.

Morgana gets to work as soon as he delivers them back into LeBlanc's attic. Sharp claws create narrow paths down the lock's plastic container, shredding it open with a soft screech.

Akira starts tending to the pile of clothes that he'd left on the floor before they left. His uniform and the borrowed one go into separate machines than his other clothes at the risk of staining them. The washing powder is pre-mixed and portioned and clouds the stirring water into a milky white before he shuts the lids on the machines. It seems mundane, quiet; quiet, yet frustrating.

He should be helping as well!

Only with what, he knew not. His role in the plan that Morgana had pieced together for them was minimal. He would sit in front of Kitagawa-san, then draw Madarame's attention towards the now open door. At some point, he- and the others- would need to make an escape before the door in Madarame's palace slammed shut once again.

The proceedings were easy to imagine in pieces. However, he had no idea how they'd come together into the plan that Morgana seemed to think would work.

The washer buzzes loudly, making him jump. Akira pulls himself into standing and transfers the dripping loads into the dryers. He watches them spin, a wheel of black, sometimes the white lines on his uniform's trousers would slap against the glass, smearing it for a second; he can't recall having ever doing something like this before either, but he knew what came next: he'd gather his laundry and return to LeBlanc. It was a logical conclusion to make.

So why did he have trouble with this? There had to be a logical end to Morgana's plan.

Shack. Lock. Madarame shows up? But what next? Police would be called. Yelling would happen. Kitagawa would threaten them again.

Wrong order. Akira chastises himself, tugging the now dry laundry against his chest. The bundle was surprisingly warm, hot to the touch even and something he hadn't accounted for.

The sun had faded past the edges of the city as well, making the attic much darker than when he'd left it. Somehow, it adds intensity to the growl he hears when he steps into the attic.

Morgana's lock was still locked.

Akira is hesitant to approach, unsure of how he'd be received, and sets the laundry on the table against the railing instead of the couch like he'd been planning. He's aware of Morgana behind him as he starts folding, hearing the soft curses and mumbling. It feels like something is being poured into his stomach again.

All the while, he occupies himself with laundry. He folds soft, black- and still warm- pairs of socks into bundles that sit in one corner of his box. He folds his pants more carefully, but hangs the ones that go to his uniform, along with the blazer, shirt, and suspenders. The spare uniform remains on the table, folded into a neat pile, which leaves him with little to do.

His school shoes are still damp, the shiny leather of them muddled with what had been dumped onto his head.

Green tea. Akira recalls eventually, carrying damp paper towels back into the attic. Morgana's murmurs are slightly louder when he returns. Or that's how they appear to be, at least.

Paper towels from a cafe bathroom probably aren't the recommended Shujin method of cleaning one's shoes, but they get the job done. Dry ones get stuffed inside to soak up the rest of the moisture and, hopefully, the smell.

Suddenly, he's without something to do. Akira finds his hands shaking in response to the realization. He feels without use. There's nothing for him help with. Tomorrow, Morgana would have to handle the lock in Madarame's shack without his help. Takamaki and Sakamoto would have to perform their parts without his leadership or orders, he would be stuck with both Kitagawa-san and Madarame, but even if he weren't, he had no idea what he might say to them.

The sound of Sakura-san leaving LeBlanc draw his attention for a moment. The man's absence- as well as the customers- should have made the cafe entirely silent, like it had every night before. Yet noise filtered in from every direction.

Akira steps into the bathhouse with a tight grip on the cafe's key. He's not sure about going two days in a row, but a part of him fears it might be the last, that everything that occurs the next day will leave him in the place he fears the most. A sinking feeling accompanies the thought that Sakamoto and Takamaki- and maybe even Morgana- would join him as well, arrested and silenced.

They would hate it. He thinks, letting hot water splash down on him. Steam seems to rise off of his skin, leaving bright red trails. It's heavenly, and something he risks losing.

The hot water, as nice as it is, does little to help him escape his thoughts, another noise he can't seem to silence. By the time he realizes this, his skin feels dry, even under the onslaught of water. He dries off and pulls on something to sleep in with numb fingers. His body seems to drag behind where his mind wants to take it, reacting slowly to the directions he sends.

Locking the cafe behind him, Akira climbs back into bed. Morgana had, while he'd been gone, moved onto the desk in the corner of the room and was silently muttering with his face bent over the lock's mechanisms. A number of the tools that he'd made were snapped into pieces and piled onto the floor.

Akira lies in bed longing for something he doesn't know the name of.

Monday flashes into existence with the sound his phone ringing and sun peering over the edges of far off buildings. The attic is cast in a golden glow, illuminating his hand's path towards the shrieking alarm, then just illuminating the room as it falls into silence. Coffee wafts into the attic and makes his stomach clench painfully in on itself, the aroma awakens a panic he'd managed to ignore until this moment. The precipice slips out from under his feet and Akira feels himself falling without moving- maybe the intake of dusty air had caused it- and throws off the blanket and, accidentally, Morgana.

The cat yelps, thumping softly against the wall beside the attic's window, and Akira is apologizing before the other even recovers fully.

His teammate grumbles quietly under his breath, but doesn't acknowledge him, doesn't pin him down with ocean blue eyes that burn like fire.

Akira knows he should be panicking, knows that if his guard is dropped at any moment, his chance of saving himself- preventing the ruin that Igor had prophesied- and the others, Kitagawa-san included, would be turned into dust. None of that seemed to make it to his brain though, which seems to lag behind his body; the opposite of what had happened the night before.

More than anything, he feels tired. An exhaustion that doesn't seem to go away on his walk to school or the panic that thunders in his veins when the train jerks him forward before the doors are even closed.

Akira sits through a school day that doesn't feel like his own, takes notes with hands that feel the same way. His eyes don't shut for more than a moment, despite the burgeoning exhausting twining itself through him. Even Arsene, who has become more talkative and a much bigger presence inside of his mind, seems unusually sedate.

Takamaki texts their group on when she'll be leaving to avoid being seen with each other. Sakamoto leaves ten minutes after and Akira finally pulls himself from his desk another ten after that. He ends up in front of Madarame's shack with Morgana over his shoulder and his teammates in front of them.

Sakamoto waits across the street, leaning against a wall close to where they'd entered the palace the previous times. The blond shoots them a thumbs up, but has a scowl on his face while he does so.

Akira's not sure what to make of it.

Without him, Takmaki leads the way to the door, pushing past the rusty gate and the stone walls that would soon turn into massive structures. This time, he's more careful about the overgrown plants that adorn the yard, making sure not to get to close to anyone of them. It would be inconsequential, he knows, if his uniform got dirty once again. Today might be the final day he gets to wear it, after all.

Like last time, Takamaki rings the doorbell, but doesn't comment on the unusual sounds coming from inside just before it creaks open. The entire wall seems to shake with the force at which Kitagawa-san seems to reveal himself with.

"You came..." Kitagawa-san gasps and, now that Akira's seen what his teammates had, he can see the signs of starvation lingering in Kitagawa-san's features. For some reason, it's the other boy's hands that catch his attention, long and skeletal fingers. Shadows upon shadows blur each joint of them as he waves them around, enunciating words that Akira should be paying attention to.

"- I thought you were merely playing a joke at my expense when you contacted me, but I'm glad you chose to return!" Kitagawa's head inclines briefly. "Please come in. I'd like to get started immediately."

Takamaki steps forward first and Akira follows after her, untying his shoes and tucking them neatly beside hers, which sit against a pair of black, leather shoes that look like they might house Kitagawa-san's long, skinny feet.

"Let's head into the studio." Kitagawa instructs, outstretching an arm towards the staircase like he'd done the last time they'd been here. The odd stench- paint and rats and a starving artist- doesn't quite stun him as it had last time, but his nose still desires to hide itself from the smell, scrunching in on itself without him realizing it.

Before he enters the studio, standing at yet another precipice, Takamaki drops a hand on his shoulder, making him jump. It's the same one that his schoolbag is hanging from. Without drawing Kitagawa-san's attention away from the paintbrushes in his hands, Takamaki transfers Morgana's weight into her own hands and quickly, but quietly, sets the bag down away from the doorway.

"Good luck." She whispers quietly, to him or Morgana he isn't sure. Then more loudly, startling him again, "Actually, I need to use the restroom. Kitagawa-kun, you can go ahead and start."

Kitagawa-san looks back at them- her- with wide eyes, blue like Morgana's, but inexplicably different. "O-oh, yes, of course. It's right down-" He tries, but is cut off by Takamaki yelling back, somehow down the hallway already without him having noticed. "I know where it is!"

He was alone. With Kitagawa.

"Please, sit." He says while taking a seat. The easel serves as a half-wall between them, blocking half of the other boy's- starved- form from him. He assumed the same went for him and Akira found it easier to perch himself on the stool than it had been the last time.

"The sketch I'd composed the last time we were together will serve as a sufficient base for what I'm about to do, but it's still important to have a frame of reference when one begins to paint" Kitagawa says from behind the easel. Akira's not sure why he does. The other boy falls silent after his explanation, his eyes flicker between him and the stand between them.

Akira watches his hands again. Kitagawa's long and thin fingers look even more so when he flicks the brush across the canvas in harsh strikes. The thin wood and dripping ivory from the actual brush draw out the thinness in the other man's features.

The shack shudders suddenly with a screech. Akira flinches at the sound, but feels an ever-familiar sense of terror when a voice calls out, "I'm home!"

"Sensei's home early." Kitagawa says to the canvas, mirroring Akira's own thoughts. He thought they would have until the gallery closed before Madarame returned.

Morgana and Takamaki hadn't given him any sign that they were through the lock- he wasn't even sure if Morgana had managed to get through the practice one, he hadn't even asked- and that lack of knowledge sent an additional wave of sweat folding down his back, making his uniform too hot, even as his skin shivered in dread.

Swallowing down the throbbing pain in his throat, Akira takes to his feet just as the floorboards beneath them start creaking.

Draw Madarame into the un-locked room. His objective rang clearly in his head, even as it throbbed painfully. Akira launched himself across the room, away from the door and further into the studio, and latched his fingers onto the canvas with a vice grip. The canvas was wet under his fingers, with a sponge-like texture. In his shaking, uncontrollable hands, the image that Kitagawa-san was making seemed impossibly fragile.

Even still, Akira launches across the room, lugging the dripping painting with him. It doesn't fit through the doorway without him turning sideways, but doing so allows him to keep walking towards his destination without having to look at either Kitagawa or Madarame as they both call out in unison.

He rushes through the unfamiliar hallway and meets two ends, one door is shut and the other is wide open, revealing a black abyss. A massive, golden lock rests on the floor in front of it. Its handle away from its body, pointing towards the ceiling, marking it as unlocked.

Akira rushes into the darkness with the painting threatening to slip from his fingers.

"Joker!" Morgana calls out. "Was that a cat?" Madarame's voice interrupts whatever Morgana had said next.

Light suddenly explodes into the room, blinding him for a moment before Kitagawa and Madarame are visible before him. Madarame is breathing heavily, more than Akira himself is. Kitagawa looks anywhere but at him.

"Sayuri..." The boy gasps, his skeletal hand stretch forwards, grabbing onto one of the canvasses that had been propped up in the room. Giving a glance around, the entire room seemed to be filled with paintings, a lot of them held the same identical form of a woman with black hair- one he somehow recognized- but no Takamaki. Morgana was tucked away in the corner, hidden underneath an easel except for his wide blue eyes and white nose.

"But how?" Kitagawa drawls, clutching the painting to his chest. It, unlike the one in Akira's hands, is quite dry and doesn't drip or smear when he does this.

"Yusuke, explain this to me. What are you two doing in here!" Madarame shouts. His face is reddened under white facial hair, turning it pink; he looks nothing like the kind teacher that Kitagawa had introduced him to, nor what he'd seen at the exhibit. "I demand an explanation!"

"What the..." Kitagawa-san gasps, seemingly deaf to the man behind him. Akira watches the other boy grab onto yet another canvas in the stack, then another, and another, carding through them with a frown. "Counterfeits?"

Madarame sobers up instantly, his face returning to the calm from before. "There's a simple explanation for all of this, Yusuke. I wasn't keeping things from you, I assure you."

Kitagawa finally turns around, facing his mentor with one of the canvasses still tucked close to his chest and making Akira unable to see his face. "W-what is the meaning of this, sensei?"

Madarame sighs loudly, his posture slouching. The older man ducks his head to his student, but keeps an eye on him through a whitened eyebrow. "To be frank, I am in severe debt. Providing for you, bolstering your talents has taken a significant portion of my income and I didn't want to worry you with financial troubles. I didn't tell you to save you the strife of seeing your pitiful teacher this way, degrading himself to making copies..."

"But why?" Kitagawa gasps. "Why make these farces of your greatest work?" He says more firmly.

Madarame takes a moment to answer, the silent between their exchange feels like a lifetime, but was only a few heartbeats at most. "The real Sayuri was stolen from me long ago by one of my pupils. I assume he begrudged my... strictness. That moment was quite a shock for me, Yusuke, and since then I've been mired with a terrible artist's block."

"Joker." Morgana hisses, drawing his attention once more, but only for a moment before Madarame begins speaking again. "It's absence and my pupil's betrayal has left me with few options to ensure their livelihoods, yours included, Yusuke. They have, on occasion- much like you, yourself- have- gifted me their ideas over to me from time to time so that this place," Madarame's hands span outwards, gesturing to the space around them, "May continue to foster budding artists such as you."

Kitagawa glances down at the painting in his grip once again. "If we gave you our ideas, sensei, why did you feel the need to mar the Sayuri this way? I assumed you felt the same way that I did about her?"

Madarame clears his throat, then nods, "You should know, without doubt, Yusuke, of my affections for Sayuri. That's why I've attempted so many times to replicate her. It was to ensure that she was not lost forever to greed!"

"Still," The older man continues, "The beauty that you admire, as much of a cheap replica that it is, is still enough to draw buyers into purchasing one for themselves, knowing full well that they weren't the original. And, as expectations of me rose, I found myself forced to keep making them, for your sake as well as my own. I was... unable to pay the price for being famous. Please forgive me, your cowardly sensei, Yusuke."

Kitagawa stammers, taking a step forward, then another back. "Sensei, don't-"

Morgana's growl draws Akira's attention. He glances over just in time to see the coverings from the easel Morgana had been hiding under drop to the ground. The corner of the cover is clenched between Morgana's teeth, jumbling whatever his teammate says next.

"Sayuri!" Kitagawa cries out again, his gaze drawn by the noise. Akira feels himself being pushed out of the way as Kitagawa comes forward.

"Yusuke!" Madarame says loudly, but to no avail. The other boy's attention is fixed firmly on the recently-revealed painting.

"You said the original was gone, sensei." Kitagawa whispers towards the painting. The counterfeit that he'd been clutching to his chest drops to the floor, one of the wooden supports holding it together pops out, allowing the canvas to contort and fold in on itself at Kitagawa's feet.

"That is not the original!" Madarame protests, "It was stolen, like I said! That is merely another copy."

"No, sensei. This is the original Sayuri, I would know it anywhere, it has kept me going all this time! The reason I made it this far was because of her!" Kitagawa turns around and faces his teacher, "The truth, sensei." He pleads, "Tell me the truth."

"You would- After all this time, Yusuke? After all I've done?" Madarame doesn't wait for an answer before he's reaching into his yukata and pulling out a cell phone.

Akira feels his heart drop, even more so when he finally notices the furious expression that Madarame's face has warped into.

"There!" The elderly man says with a press of a button, "I've sent a report to my private security company!"

"Sensei!" Kitagawa protests, "We need to discuss this!"

Madarame smiles back sharply, "You can discuss it all you want with the police, Yusuke. I will simply claim I have no idea who either of you are or what you're doing in my home."

"Joker!" Morgana howls again, just before a shadow dances across the floor. Then the entire room becomes dark once more. "Activate the Nav!" He orders.

Akira nods into the dark and drops the painting of himself to tug at his pockets.

The MetaNav shines brightly in the dark room, and seems oddly cognizant when he activates it once more.

The ground underneath his feet disappears just as his head starts to throb. An upward wind flicks at his hair and dislodges his glasses, the painful air brushing past his face is enough to blind him.

He has no idea how long he falls for. Akira's only aware of his body tensing in reaction to colliding with the ground; he's survived being burnt and stabbed, but is certain that a drop would be enough to do him in.

Akira stops falling. His eyes refuse to open, unsure of what he might see.

"Ow!" Morgana's distinct voice calls out in front of him.

Akira peeks his eyes open and feels a familiar presence surrounding him.

Arsene. He recognizes and reaches out to place his hands- shaking and numb- onto the arms that had caught him. Without provocation, his persona tilts him upright and drops him onto his feet, which are as numb as his hands.

"Akira!" Someone else calls out. Suddenly he's standing between a grouping of his teammates with Arsene still floating just behind him, casting him in dark blue fire.

"Oh my..." Another familiar voice groans out. Akira feels his blood freeze over all at once and looks towards the source, hoping that he's just imaging it, that Madarame, like Kamoshida, had created a cognitive person.

Kitagawa takes to his feet, his frame is thin and gaunt, and flecked in paint. His fingers are skeletal and grasping at his thin face, pushing back dark hair. "W-what is this place?" He questions, staring wide-eyed at the glowing ceilings that pulse with life. They're right outside of where they'd been forced to stop, the unusual looking door is in on the floor, broke into pieces and smoldering like its been caught aflame. The lock and lasers are nowhere to be seen.

We did it. Akira acknowledges, taking in the sight.

"Kitagawa-kun?" Panther questions as if it could be anyone else.

"Is that Takamaki-san?" Kitagawa questions back, rubbing at his head. "Then you two must be..."

Kitagawa's eyes fall on him like a physical weight, icy blue pupils stare at him for a long time, studying him in the same way he'd done when they were on other ends of an easel. Only now, there was no wall between them.

Akira drops his chin, glancing towards the floor and notices that Kitagawa's feet are bare still. He's not sure why that would change, but it seems unnatural for them to be exposed.

"We should get out of here, it's not safe for non-persona users to be in a palace." Mona advises, stepping towards the array of doors that had lead up to this one.

Skull interjects before any of them start walking, "A-about that... there's kinda a lot of 'em out there... I dunno if we can bust or sneak through."

"What did you do!?" Mona accuses suddenly, eyes narrowing into a glare.

Skull swallows loudly, then bares his fist. "How'd'you figure it was somethin' I did? Maybe it was you two that rattled the guy up!"

Morgana balks, then goes quiet and calm, "That... may actually hold some truth to it."

"Yeah!" The blond shoots back, "W-wait what?"

Morgana's oddly shaped head shakes sharply, "Now's not the time for that, we need to get Kitagawa to safety."

"Mona's right." Panther concedes.

"What is this place... Where's sensei? And the Sayuri? It was in my hands just moments ago!" Kitagawa questions rapidly. His tall frame spins around in a few circles and Akira takes a step back, confused.

Skull steps forward and grabs onto the artist's arm, "We'll take you back to your sensei, but you gotta listen to us." He orders firmly.

Kitagawa seems to calm at that, his head nods in assent.

"Let's go." Mona says with finality, leading the way towards the museum's exit.

Like Skull had said, the number of shadows had increased dramatically since the last time they'd been in. Groups of them roam together under a single form, creating multi-faced beasts that group up still; groups upon groups roam the halls of the quiet museum, guarding the palace.

Confrontations aren't easily avoided with multiple sets of eyes watching and Akira feels his energy starting to dwindle, like someone had drained the life from him, a number of times, Arsene's flames seem to flicker in and out of existence as they navigate through the endless halls.

At least we don't have to worry about money. Akira tries to placate himself, keeping his mind active in anyway he can. The exhaustion makes his mask feel ten times heavier than it usual is and he's starting to sink under the weight of it.

A massive shadow blocks the next doorway they're about to step through, spiraling into being with a squelching noise. Akira leaps backwards from it, but finds another one at his backside, and a few more starting to circle in on them, coming into being from nothing, but standing tall and imposing in an instant.

A deep laugh draws his attention away from the collapsing circle.

"What the hell!" Skull calls out. Kitagawa calls out too, "Sensei!"

It was true, underneath a garb of unfamiliar cloth and makeup stood Madarame. His old yukata had been replaced with gleaming, liquid gold, nearly matching the statue at his back that spiraled towards the darkened ceiling. His face was bleached white, stark against his already white hair. His lips were bright, bright red and smiled unnaturally beneath yellow- also golden- eyes.

"Welcome!" The elderly man continues, throwing his arms out in a wide gesture like he'd done minutes before. "To the museum of the master artist: Madarame!"

"Is that truly you, sensei?" Kitagawa calls out, his voice almost too soft to hear compared to Madarame's. "That attire... How did you? W-what it this place!?"

"This is what's truly inside your sensei's heart." Skull explains. "It's how he views the world, how he views himself. Just like Kamoshida..."

"My usual ragged attire is nothing but an act for the public." Madarame answers. "The same goes for that shack! I have another home of course, under a misstress' name. The famous Madarame living in a shack? Wearing those rags? Don't be preposterous." Another laugh draws Kitagawa to his knees.

"'His heart'?" Akira watches his head shake, "No, this must all be a joke!"

"Are you truly so naive?" Madarame questions, laughing yet again.

Kitagawa continues, unaware of the shadows closing in around them. "What of Sayuri? Why was she in the storage room? Why make copies if you had the original all this time? This can't be you, sensei!"

"Stupid child, can't you see? The stolen Sayuri was just a rumor of my own making. All of it was perfectly staged!" Another laugh, Madarame's head points towards the black and gold ceiling. "How's this sound, 'I found the real painting, but it can't go public... You can have it for a special price, though!' Art snobs just eat it up, and pay up good cash at that!"

"No!" Kitagawa denies.

Madarame nods despite Kitagawa not looking in his direction. "The worth of art is purely suggestive! Thus, they're all legitimate business transactions. I doubt a lesser artist could come up with such a brilliant scheme!"

"You keep going on and on about money this and money that!" Skull spits, not letting himself be interupted by the guards herding them closer to Madarame's gilded form. "No wonder you ended up with this disgusting museum!"

"You're supposed to be an artist, right? Aren't you ashamed of stooping this low?" Panther shouts, only to be pushed onto her knees by one of the guards.

"Foolish brats! Art is nothing but a tool to gain money and fame!" Madarame answers, "And you, Yusuke, have helped me more than these urchins could ever! A fat cow of endless bounty!"

Kitagawa falls even flatter, almost bowing completely before his mentor. "B-but what about those who believe in you? That think you're a master artist?"

Madarame raises a hand in reply, "I'll advise you one last time, Yusuke, do not rise against me. Do you think that anyone could find success with my objection holding them down? Even someone of your talents would be reduced to face painting!"

"Are you truly this wretched?" Kitagawa questions bravely. Akira's not sure how the other boy continues to face forward.

Madarame laughs in his face once more, "You think I took you in out of the goodness of my heart? Artists in your situation are ripe for the plucking! You're not a cow at all, merely an apple from a tree I've so lovingly nurtured. After all, it's much easier to steal the futures of children who can't fight back."

Kitagawa gasps. "I can't believe this..."

"It's no different than rending leather from livestock!" Madarame laughs. The circle of shadows are close enough to link arms now. He and his teammates are just feet in front of Madarame with Kitagawa just in front of them.

"You are unforgivable." Kitagawa continues quietly. Somehow, he climbs to his feet, but even then his frame continues to shake and convulse. "It doesn't matter who you are or what you've done for me, I will never forgive you!"

Madarame's chin jerks upward, turning his nose up at his pupil. "This is how you repay me?" The man repeats. "You damn brat! Guards, dispose of these poisoned fruits!"

All at once, the shadows raise their arms, swords, spears and shields gleam brightly from non-existent light and make his stomach drop. They were going to die. There were too many for them to fight or outrun, especially with Kitagawa with them.

"...How amusing." Kitagawa murmurs, suddenly still. The other boy dissolves into a fit of giggles, long, skeletal fingers wrap around his sides as he bends over laughing. "It seems the truth is stranger than fiction, hm?" He says cryptically.

"Kitawaga-kun?" Panther questions, climbing to her feet to grab onto the artist's arm.

"I wanted to believe that it wasn't true." Kitagawa confesses in his last moment. "I had clouded my own vision for so long. No! My eyes were truly blind, unable to see the truth behind the man I called sensei, the one I thought of as my father."

Kitagawa drops to his knees once more, clutching at his head. Akira remembers the pain of the MetaVerse only vaguely, a painful pressure telling him that he didn't belong. It would be an awful way to die.

Kitagawa scratches at the floor, at himself; he looks rabid, twitching and convulsing unnaturally.

With a flash of fire, a bright white glow envelops Kitagawa's face.

Impossible! Akira gapes, the grip on his weapons nearly causes them to slip from his fingers.

"Come, Goemon!" Kitagawa shouts, stomping his foot onto the ground.