Chapter 31

The blackened sky of the MetaVerse fades into plain blue skies as the remnants of Madarame's palace crumbles back into the distorted shack before them. The still winds pick up in soft breezes, spraying fallen leaves and dirty cherry blossoms into the air.

Akira tumbles to the ground, his knees and wrists colliding painfully against rough concrete as they exhaustion hits immediately. It feels like all of his energy is drained at once and he can barely keep his eyes open to watch as his phone clatters, sliding away from him, the MetaNav app open and confirming what they've just done. The words die in the spring breeze and all Akira can hear, all he can feel, is the warped sensation of undead fire clinging onto his skin as his melted clothes reform over his chest. The blazer and turtleneck squeeze onto his skin like a hellish prison and it takes several deep gasps for air before Akira is ready to release the desperate grip he has on the sidewalk and tug at his collar to peer inside.

Through the stretched-out pores of Shujin's uniform Akira makes out blistering, red-hot skin through the speckled sunlight piercing the turtleneck. He can feel it stretching in the bend where his chest meets arm and he's never been in so much pain all at once. Each beat of his hammering heart sends a violent pulse across his entire chest and he's scared he might pass out from how much it hurts.

"Joker!" Morgana shouts, sweeping under his gaze until all Akira can see is black and blue. "We need to get him to Mementos and heal him!"

His teammates are silent, or perhaps Akira doesn't hear their voices before he's being lifted onto his feet, a teammate curls under each of his arms and pulls him straight up. The stretch of his arms being spread wide makes him want to scream but only a faint huff manages to escape as the long stretch of residential roads blink into reality.

Being carried to the station takes hours, Akira's not sure how to get his feet to move in sync with Kitagawa's shiny black boots or with Ryuji's brightly colored pacing and when he blinks, they seem closer than he remembers them being in the last instance. Eventually, Akira loses track of the distance they're covering until he feels the shift of his clothes changing once again as they're pulled into the MetaVerse.

The station howls in Akira's ears as both Mona and Panther summon their personas onto the platform they're all standing on, casting the darkened world in orange and blue. A wash chilly green smoke brushes over him, sliding down his clothes and sinking into his skin leaving behind a soothing feeling that shatters as soon as the spell fades away.

"Did it work?" Skull asks suddenly and it's only then that he notices the shining mask looming over him.

Akira pulls the tricky collar away from his skin, exposing the same fire-hot skin and waves of blossoming blisters; nothing had changed except for a small moment of salvation.

Letting the fabric drop back, Akira shakes his head, grinding a sensitive nerve in the back of his head against the concrete underneath him as he does so.

"It's not working?" Mona echoes, then stammers out, "I-It must be because we had to leave and come back…"

"So, what? He's just stuck like this?" Skull growls out. "Try it again, Ann."

Another chill spreads over him, slipping between his toes and fingers and along his aching chest, but that feeling, just like the last time, fades almost instantly.

"This is a bittersweet victory…" Fox offers quietly, "After many years, sensei is returning to a right state of mind, but my new friend has payed the price instead of me."

Friend? Akira ponders quietly, his thoughts far away.

"There is no price!" Panther shouts so loudly that the shadows beneath their feet quiet down for an instance. The sound makes Akira jump and his head bumps against the subway's dark floor as he recoils.

"I-I-I messed up! I couldn't control Carmen or the fire. And I am so-so-so sorry, Akira!" She continues, choking over herself multiple times but continuing on until she has nothing left to say.

Akira finds another mask looming over him, glowing fiery and bright with Takamaki's hair spilling out over the edges of her frame as she bows over him. She sniffles, splashing tears and dripping fire onto his chest from the same source.

Crying fire… He takes notice. Watching it crash down onto the dark material of his jacket only to fade into faint tendrils of smoke.

"This is my fault." Panther sobs quietly.

The display leaves him confused and unsure.

"Lady Ann…" Morgana says with nothing else. The cat, in his MetaVerse form, slides near their teammate, but Takamaki doesn't react in any way.

"Ann, it's okay." Skull offers, pushing his mask back into his hairline, leaving Akira able make out his teammate's face in the grim light of Mementos.

"It's not okay." She denies, holding up two fingers. "Twice! I hurt you guys twice! I really am pathetic."

There's a long pause before anyone works up the courage to speak again.

"I haven't been a phantom thief for very long." Fox admits, voice quiet but filling up the small platform they're standing on anyways. "But, even still, I know that if something is worth fighting for, there are necessary risks—things that require you to risk it all. I believe that my mother knew that as well, when she decided to pursue a career in art."

The artist lowers down the painting from his grasp, revealing the genuine Sayuri to them.

"Art requires a dedication, as does motherhood, and so does being part of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts. I'm sure our leader knew that when he decided to target Madarame even when threatened and even when I was too weak to accept his salvation." Fox continues, his icy blue gloves and stare fixed on the painting instead of them.

"So, Takamaki-san, I suggest that you cast aside these doubts so that we can continue helping those in need." The artist advises, still staring at the Sayuri.

"Was uh." Skull coughs, "Sayuri your ma's name?"

"No, not at all." Fox replies cryptically.

"I- You're right, Yusuke-kun." Panther concedes quietly, her dripping tears ceasing. "I awakened my persona because I was in danger… Because I thought of Shiho still having it worse than me, even when I was going to die. I wasn't even thinking when I saw the conditions you were living in; I just knew I had to help you because that's what Shiho would have done."

"What about you, though?" Fox presses on, icy fingers ghosting over a small baby in the picture—a feature Akira had never noticed before. "What does Takamaki-san want to do about all the suffering caused by the cruel and wicked?"

"I… Do you really think we can help them?" Panther asks, turning towards the artist.

"You helped me." Fox nods, "And I believe you helped my mother. I think she'll rest easily now that the true form of her painting has been revealed to the world."

The girl beside him turns around fully and stares at the painting cradled in Fox's hands.

"That baby wasn't there before." She points out. "Was it?"

"No." The artist confirms.

"It seems Sayuri is a self-portrait." Morgana points out.

"Yes, it does." Kitagawa confirms, still staring at the canvas in his hands.

"What about that medicine!" Skull shouts suddenly, causing The Sayuri to jump in Kitagawa's hands.

"I'm not sure that'll work…" Morgana admits.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure Joker will be pretty mad if we didn't try everything, ain't that right, leader?" Skull questions, mouth forming into a smile as he leans further over him.

Akira shakes his head against the floor again. He wouldn't be mad at all; it'd been his fault that he got caught in Madarame's trap. If anything, he should be thanking her…

"Thank you." Akira offers, pulling his hand away from his chin quickly.

"That's 'thank you'…" Takamaki translates. "Why are you thanking me? I nearly killed you back there."

"When did you learn that?" Skull pouts, digging through his pockets and pulling out a small assortment of items.

"He taught it to me after— Well, I forced him to teach it to me after I had him escort me away from Kamoshida one day." Takamaki explains, laughing quietly as items from her own pockets start piling on the floor. Akira takes notice of her whip, which is burnt at the handle, then some cosmetic items, which roll away from the small piling forming on one side of him.

"Got it!" Skull exclaims, drawing Akira's attention to his other side, where yellow fingers rapidly twisting open the jar that Akira had only given him the day before. That speed dies down when he's perched over him with Takemi's medicine dripping off of his fingers.

"Uh, nurse." The blond says, his face torn between a smile and a frown. "Mind uh, pulling up his shirt?"

"If I found out you were my doctor, I think I'd just leave." Takamaki's sniggers as she tugs on Akira's collar and comments, quietly, "My entire outfit is zippers and you guys have none…"

Akira watches as his teammate's brightly colored hand starts worming under his clothes, but still jumps with surprise when it collides with his still burning skin.

The medicine is so cold it starts burning all over again, but Skull's hands continue to sweep flatly over his chest and sides.

"You're so bony... Feels like my persona." The blond comments idly.

"You've… felt your persona?" Morgana questions with a snicker.

"No!" Skull denies quickly, "But—It's a metaphor, or something…"

"Or something." Panther echoes skeptically.

"Shaddup."

"Of course, Dr. Sakamoto." She quips with a laugh.

"Girls." Ryuji sighs quietly, finally extracting himself from Akira's clothing after offering his chest two small pats. "How's it lookin', dude?"

Akira stares down into the still retracted collar of his clothing and finds the same enflamed skin underneath, though he can hardly feel that past the burn of the medicine.

He shakes his head and moves to sit up.

"Well, we tried everything." Sakamoto sighs, wiping his hand on the concrete near Akira's head with a look of disgust; Akira would probably do the same if he had to touch someone like him, so he doesn't do anything but stare at the ground near his head.

"I really am sorry, Akira." Takamaki says again.

"We should cease operations until Joker is recovered, then." Morgana suggests firmly.

"Yeah…" Ryuji sighs, "Gonna suck just sitting around, though."

"Maybe." Takamaki says, "But we need time to find our next target anyways, plus if we lay low right now, maybe Niijima-senpai off my tail…"

"Is someone stalking you, Lady Ann?" Morgana growls.

Takamaki frowns, "Not… really? She just follows me to work and I caught her like, right behind me when I was in the mall a few days ago."

"Sounds pretty stalker-ish to me." Ryuji huffs, then snickers, "Maybe you should call the cops on her the next time she's at it."

"I'm pretty sure the cops would just accuse me of being too stalk-able or something." She sighs.

Morgana shrugs placidly, "We'll wait until Joker is fully recovered and until this Niijima person isn't following Lady Ann around anymore. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Both Ryuji and Takamaki say at once; Akira nods his consent and looks towards Kitagawa-san, who's still staring at Madarame's treasure.

"This guy, I swear." Ryuji huffs once more, approaching the crouching artist and tapping him on the shoulder.

"Oh, are we leaving?" Kitagawa-san asks, pulling himself to the feet along with The Sayuri.

"You really like that painting, huh?" Sakamoto asks, stepping away and turning back towards Akira, offering him a hand then helping him to his feet once he takes it. Smiling down at him while he does so.

"I think that's underselling it, Ryuji." Takamaki counters, also smiling, Akira notices.

"We'll stop acting as phantom thieves until Joker is recovered." Morgana repeats, walking towards the edge of Mementos. "Make sure you're keeping a low profile as well, Fox."

"There's nobody I could speak to about these things, even if I wanted to." The artist counters calmly, tucking the painting under his arm.

"You've got us." Takamaki offers brightly as she fades out of Mementos along with Ryuji in the same step.

Kitagawa-san smiles back at her fading form, "Yes… I suppose I do."

"Let's head home, Joker." Morgana suggests before stepping out of Mementos, fading into its blackness.

Akira follows after him but is stopped by a sudden grip on his arm that has him fearing a shadow has somehow breached the emptying platform, but when he looks back, all he sees is Kitagawa-san holding onto him, his icy grip erupts under his skin like an earthquake.

"I should have mentioned this earlier, but I was experiencing a difficult time working past the shame of having been blind for so long." The artist releases his arm only to step back and bow deeply in front of him. "I am truly in your debt, to you and the others. You've risked everything to redeem not only Madarame, but to aid me as well. If I could take your injury onto myself, know that I would. I am extremely grateful for what you've done for me."

Akira tugs his phone out from the deep pockets of his coat, "You risked just as much as we did."

"I believe that to be only partially true." Kitagawa counters, "Risk implies a reward, your only reward was helping Madarame and myself. On the other hand, I was able to recover my mother's truth as well as her painting. I feel as if I've truly been born again."

He's kind of like an adult… Akira realizes suddenly. Kitagawa wasn't really like Ryuji or Takamaki, or anyone else he'd ever met, really. The artist seemed oddly mature or at least seemed that way.

It's odd. He thinks, but doesn't really mind it, and neither does Arsene, who's presence inside of him swirls with an unnamable emotion.

"Thank you. You did well." Akira feels awkward saying this, but having Kitagawa say these things without offering the same leaves a strange feeling under his skin, something that sinks under his burning numb chest and burns in a completely different way.

"One more thing, if I may." Kitagawa continues, pulling himself up and once again looms over Akira with their difference in height. Akira stares at the painting under his arm instead of directly at him, unsure what the artist has to say. "It's not really my place to be asking this, but, after facing Madarame, I'd like to continue my service as one your phantom thieves. That is, of course, you'd continue to have me."

Akira isn't sure how to react, not for a long time, but eventually finds the nod he's looking for once everything turns back on. "You should stay if you want to stay, Kitagawa-san." He suggests instead; it wouldn't be fair to keep the artist around if he was only feeling obligated to do so.

"I think you've misunderstood me." Kitagawa says quietly, "I wish nothing more than to continue working along side the Phantom Thieves."

Akira bobs his head forward again, feeling out of his depth.

"One last thing, since we'll be working together for the foreseeable future, I don't think it'd be out of place for us to use our given names, no?" Kitagawa continues.

Akira hesitates again but finds himself nodding along with Kitagawa's suggestion.

"Then I shall keep you updated on Madarame's condition, Akira-san. And I hope you'll do the same regarding your health as we take our hiatus from thievery." Kitagawa entreats as he makes his way towards the fraying darkness of Mementos' exit.

Akira nods to nobody but himself and takes in a deep breath once he's left alone on the platform. His heart was pounding quickly, so hard against his chest that it made his legs shake under him.

A sudden want rolled over him, the want to be wanted. It sank into his chest with a painful sensation as if his body were sinking into itself. He wasn't quite sure what that meant or how to quell it, and that only seemed to make the pain more intense.

What was wrong with him? Was he growing delirious from the pain?

There's a word for this. Akira thinks quietly. He couldn't quite draw up that word at the moment, so he remains stagnant, thinking for a long moment on shaking legs.

It takes him a long moment to garner the strength to push his thoughts away and regain a stable footing, the shaking worms into his fingers instead, allowing him to stagger towards the edge of the platform and follow his teammates into the brightly lit station.

"There you are." Morgana points out at once, approaching him from where he'd been lingering around Takamaki's feet.

Sakamoto hands over his bag and Akira nearly tumbles forward at the unexpected weight that falls upon him. There shouldn't have been anything inside of it aside from his schoolwork and weapons—Morgana was still waiting near his feet, the cat's dark tail sweeping over his shoes, staring up at him with a strange look, adding even more a shock to him as he almost takes a fall.

Akira equips his bag on the opposite side he usually does, avoiding a long band of blistering skin where it'd normally hang, it hangs awkwardly under his opposite arm and he has to twist to reach the sealed zipper, enflaming the wound he'd been trying to avoid while he wrenches his schoolbag open. Morgana hops up, towards the open hole and Akira blinks tiredly as the cat is deflected from it and lands, staggered, on his shoe.

"Oh!" Takamaki says suddenly, "Now that I think about it, there was a, um, like, a pile of money when Madarame's shadow disappeared and we didn't really have time to grab it—I guess it ended up in your bag, somehow…" She trails off quietly, rubbing at her chin.

"That's weird." Ryuji comments in a similar tone before smiling, "I mean, at least we didn't miss out, right?"

"But how am I going to get home?" Morgana whines up at the blond. "I can't exactly walk through LeBlanc in this form."

"LeBlanc?" Kitagawa questions quietly, sliding into view.

"Yeah, it's where this guy lives." Morgana informs.

"I think he was asking what LeBlanc is." Ryuji snorts.

"Wait, I know this—I know this!" Takamaki says before covering a sudden yawn. "It's a café right?"

"Yep!" Morgana chirps back, sounding nowhere near as tired as Akira—and apparently Takamaki— felt.

"You live in a café, Akira-san?" Kitagawa questions.

Akira nods minutely, covering a yawn as Morgana continues chattering with his two teammates, who yawn between the pauses of their replies and questions.

"We should really get going, Morgana." Takamaki says eventually. "Isn't it kinda counter-productive for us to be in public right after we uh, y'know?"

"She's right, plus I'm dead on my feet." Ryuji adds, yawning once again. "You two gonna be fine on the trains?" He asks, looking at Kitagawa then at him.

"I often fall asleep while working on a particularly intense painting, I doubt anyone in the dorms would notice." Kitagawa admits.

"Well, just message us when you get back there, and make sure to eat something or you'll just be more tired." Sakamoto continues.

"I don't have any money." The artist responds gloomily.

"Er, yeah, forgot that fancy school of yours won't feed you." Ryuji responds awkwardly.

"If I don't get called to another shoot tomorrow, I'll take you out to lunch or something." Takamaki offers before finally walking off.

"Yeah." Ryuji confirms, starting to walk away as well, "I'll make sure you get some extra, Ann's terrible at picking places to eat."

"If you insist…" Kitagawa murmurs at the same time Morgana calls out to their retreating teammate, "You shouldn't insult a lady's taste!"

The artist turns to him, then, "I suppose this is goodbye for now, Akira-san." He says, taking a step in the other direction.

Aresene's presence flares under his skin, a static-like sensation flashing in his gut, and when Akira opens his eyes, his vision swims, readjusting, until he's able to make out his hand clenched firmly in the loose material of Kitagawa's uniform.

"Yes?" The artist addresses, staring down at him blankly.

Akira reaches into his bag, ignoring the searing burn across his chest. The stack of bills flaps noisily against his zipper before he's extending it towards his teammate.

"For me?" Kitagawa questions earnestly. "Are you sure? Ann-san gave me the impression that the money collected in that place was used for funding our endeavors."

"Keeping everyone healthy is falls under those endeavors, Yusuke." Morgana informs firmly.

"I really must refuse. My mother's painting is more than enough payment." Kitagawa denies resolutely.

"Please take it." Akira pleads. His persona's presence feels even warmer as the words glide from his tired hands.

Kitagawa frowns down at his screen, then over it at him. "I… Suppose I am in no position to refuse." The artist reaches over, finally, and Akira lets the stack of bills to fall into his hands. After the artist says this Akira drops another one on top of it. "Thank you, Akira-san, but… I feel, once again, indebted to you. I must admit I'm unsure what else I can offer you beyond what I already have."

Akira shakes head and tries his best to affirm Kitagawa by shaking his free hand just as vehemently.

The artist stares at him for another moment, intense and unreadable, then his gaze flitters down to the stack of money in his hands, which glows orange in afternoon sun and flutters noisily in the soft winds filtering through the streets. Finally, Kitagawa drops the money into his own school bag and throws it back over his shoulder.

"I'm not sure what to say, Akira-san." Kitagawa says. "I will keep you updated on sensei's condition via text message. Do you have any idea how long the change of heart might take, Morgana?"

Morgana slinks away from Akira's side, stepping closer to Kitagawa and sits in front of the other boy with a quick swish of his black tail. "Well… From what I remember, it happened just a few days after we stole his treasure."

"And you think Madarame will recover just as quickly?" Kitagawa continues.

"I'm… Well- There's not—We won't know for sure until it happens. Kamoshida was the first successful example I've seen." Morgana stumbles over his words, his dark ears folding forward as if the words were weighing them down.

"I see." The artist says simply.

"I think it'll be fine." Morgana nods, "We did everything the same as Kamoshida, so it should work out."

"Yes, Ann-san explained the situation to me while I was in her care." Kitagawa replies quietly.

"We weren't allowed to observe Kamoshida while he was having his change of heart, so it's impossible to tell what he might do or what he'll say." Morgana expands carefully, turning away from the artist and climbing into the nook the lost money managed to make inside of Akira's bag. "You should keep your distance from him, just in case."

"I shall keep your warning in mind, Morgana. Thank you." The artist bows, turning away from them. "I'll keep you informed of any updates." He repeats, sinking down the steps of the station.

Akira follows after him, not because Arsene tells him to or because of strange feelings that explode inside of him like a combusting star, but because his way back to LeBlanc is in the same direction. He loses site of the artist quickly though, his tall frame drowned out in a sea of strangers. Akira finds himself just as lost as he worms his way into the back compartment of the next train to Yongen-Jaya.

The walk to LeBlanc seems longer than usual and Akira stands outside of the café for an extra moment, lingering in broken sunlight while he prepares himself to withstand Sakura-san's intense gaze. Akira tries to think of answers to questions his guardian might ask, but finds himself unable to come up with anything.

Finally, he steps inside and Sakura-san's stare catches him from across the counter, pinning him for a moment as the door shuts behind him with a noisy clatter.

"You look like crap." The man states dryly, his tone stern.

Akira isn't sure what to say to that. Out of the possible—and some impossible—lines of questioning that he'd imagined his guardian might bring up, he hadn't imagined this at all.

"You're not getting into any trouble, are you?" Sakura-san asks, his words hardening further along with the lines in his face.

Akira shakes his head quickly, but part of his denial feels like he's reminding himself instead of answering Sakura-san's question.

"No fights?" Another shake. The strict tone Sakura-san grows less severe then, "Then head upstairs, I'll leave some curry in the microwave when I lock up."

Sakura-san nods at him and Akira nods back before sliding away from his guardian and up the stairs. He didn't bother doing any of the things he normally did before he found himself sliding under the covers, he barely had time to plug his phone in before he found his eyelids refusing to reopen. The descent into the unconscious came swiftly, taking the pain of being awake with it. Occasionally, Akira finds himself startling awake as he, at some point, had rolled onto his stomach and the unfiltered pain finally registers, but his mind fades back into the recesses of sleep once he throws himself back onto his side.

Akira wakes up when his phone tells him to but is only truly awake when he reaches his arm over to shut it off and the skin between his chest and arm stings sharply at being stretched. He represses a sound, or he makes an attempt at doing so, and finds Morgana sweeping into his field of view like a dark cloud.

"Are you okay, Joker?"

Akira rolls off the bed instead of answering, ignoring the way it wobbles and threatens to collapse as he slides over the edge to start grasping at one of the many boxes hidden underneath it. His cold fingers push aside empty model boxes until he finds the small armada of medical items Takemi had thrust upon him. He's certain that he'd been mortified at the sheer amount of stuff Takemi had given him after their unusual—and terrifying—meeting, but he finds himself more than grateful as he navigates through container after container until he finds something useful.

Burn Therapy Cream. Akira re-reads the label a few times, wondering if the doctor down the street was more than what she had revealed to him. The cream is white and creamy, not unlike the other products he's used, and smells odd in a way that he can't place. He does his best not to imagine pools of blood and dying teammates as he slides a hand up under the layers of his wrinkled uniform instead of taking it off; even though Morgana knew what was underneath, he still wasn't comfortable with the idea. Slowly, his hand starts sliding over the scaly, blistering skin and the burning from the burn fades quickly into something artic and numbing, then his chest starts to burn in a completely new way, similar to what had happened the day before. He does his best to ignore this pain as he climbs to his feet.

Confusion washes over him as he attempts to work out what's next for him. His uniform and shoes are still on from the night before, which doesn't leave him with many things to do before he's supposed to be heading towards the station.

"Joker?" Morgana calls again, drawing Akira's attention to his roommate and instantly reminding him of the stacks of money that have turned his bag into a puffed-out cube on the other side of the room.

Ignoring his teammate, he steps over and hooks the bag onto his arm and does his best to quietly shove stacks of money under the bed in the corner of the room, stacking them behind the boxes he'd just rifled through and hoping that it does appear as suspicious as he thinks it is. After a moment of hesitation, Akira slides his model knife on top of the small mountain. He's not sure where his gun is or where any of Morgana's supplies are, but there wasn't much time left before he was going to be late.

Even with his bag empty, save for his school things and a small portion of Madarame's money, Akira doesn't offer it to Morgana and instead steps around the cat to grab at the last can in what had once been a stack of cat food.

We need more. Akira lists off, ripping the tab open and setting it on the table where his bag usually went. He watches his teammate leap onto the table and starts eating with more fervor than he's ever seen Morgana do anything in this form. Guilt floods into his stomach as quickly as chopped fish slides into Morgana's. Akira's certain that he hasn't been feeding the cat nearly as often as he should've and now that they didn't even have lack of money as an excuse, he feels especially terrible about being so neglectful. He carries the guilt downstairs with him, hoping that it would help him be better in the future.

Once he finishes getting ready, Akira finally allows Morgana to slide into his open bag and he makes his way into the café with his phone feeling like a brick in his hand as he tries to think of something to say to Morgana.

"You're up." Sakura-san says suddenly, making him jump. Akira remembers the microwave in the same instant and another serving of guilt slides into his stomach, piling on top of what he already had.

"Listen, I don't know if you're a picky eater or what's going on, but—" Sakura-san cuts himself off with a quiet, sharp sigh. The older man stares at him over the edge of his glasses with an intense look that Akira finds his gaze flicking away from in favor of the steaming coffee pots between them. "If you don't like the curry, I can get you something else. I just don't want any questions from your school or parents about why you're passing out in class, got it?"

Don't… like it? Sakura-san's curry is easily the best meal he's ever had, though he finds himself faltering as he tries to recount any of the decent meals he's consumed only to come up lacking.

Akira shakes his head quickly and phone in his hands feel lighter than ever, hoping that this misunderstanding wouldn't make Sakura-san dislike him even more.

"I forgot to eat last night." Akira addresses quickly, "The curry is really good, Sakura-san. I'm sorry for being an inconvenience."

Sakura-san leans forward as he stares at the phone in Akira's hand, close enough that Akira can smell old smoke drifting off of his guardian.

"Kids these days, I swear you're worse than—Um, never mind, forget I said anything." Sakura-san sighs, turning away from the counter and into the café's small kitchen. Swiftly, his guardian plates a serving of curry and rice and is setting it down in front of him before Akira has time to react.

"Be quick, the next train will be here soon." Sakura-san orders, turning away, only to turn back around and slide in close again to whisper quietly. "And uh, I wouldn't mind a little help around the shop this afternoon, and tomorrow."

Akira nods quietly into a spoonful of rice, he also gets the impression that his guardian wants to say something else by the way the man sticks close, his mouth still partially open, but comes to the conclusion that he's wrong when the older man slides away wordlessly to attend to one of the machines behind him. Akira turns his attention to the food in front of him and feels guilty when he feels full before he's managed to eat more than half of it.

Working at LeBlanc left him conflicted. His body ached in rebellion, he was still sore and tired from dealing with Madarame; he felt as if his entire being was bruised from the inside out and he worried that what Sakura-san said earlier about passing out in class might come true.

Even still, he lurches through Shujin's halls and falls gracelessly into his seat with a sigh, ignoring the stares of his classmates as he does so.

When lunch comes, Akira still isn't hungry, but he still navigates him and Morgana into the small line in front of the school store and even though he wasn't meeting with his teammates, he still sneaks onto the school's rooftop to let Morgana out.

The cat stays mostly silent as Akira tears up pieces of seasoned noodles for him and Akira lets himself soak in the warmth from the unrelenting sun as Morgana tears into the small mountain of food. Neither Sakamoto nor Takamaki show up during the small break and, despite knowing why, Akira can't help the twist of loneliness that crept up his spine.

I'm lonely. Akira recognizes. The thought leaves an odd sensation roving over his brain, rolling thick and slow around his head like a fog.

He'd always been alone, why is he only feeling this way now?

Arsene's presence, along with some of the other personas residing inside of him, buzz under his skin but don't offer an answer that Akira can understand; Morgana, too, remains quiet once he's finished eating, leaving Akira to ponder the mystery on his own.

After lunch, as Akira is sneaking back into his seat, he realizes that he hasn't come to any conclusions and that he'd spent most of his lunch just watching Morgana eat his lunch.

When school lets out, Akira's sits there for an extra moment before letting Morgana slide out from his desk and into his bag. He waits even longer before he finally takes to his feet and navigates through the mostly empty halls of the school and past the school gate.

The empty walkways from staying behind don't last long as he makes his way towards Central Street, he walks past shop after shop until he finds something that might have what he needs.

The doors slide open, clear and automatic, and Akira is assaulted with a strange smell that he ignores as he steps into the store.

"What's that odor?" Morgana whines, wiggling against his side as he peaks out of the zipper. "Where are we, Joker?"

Akira doesn't answer his teammate and, instead, does his best to quickly navigate towards the cat food aisle, which is vaster than he anticipated; stacks of cans line both sides of the walkway, displaying a variety of color that Akira hadn't been expecting either. There were even refrigerators in the same aisle, humming lowly as he walks past.

There's so many… Akira's not sure which to pick or even where to start, he'd never had a pet before and, before Morgana, he hadn't really thought about what a pet—not that Morgana was a pet—was supposed to eat.

He needs to get to LeBlanc soon, but this was also important, as Morgana had said, keeping everyone healthy was his duty as the leader.

Akira stares at the colorful labels for a long time, but still isn't sure what he's meant to be looking for; food was food, after all. A few people slide through the aisle, reading labels and, unlike Akira, they make their decisions after reading only a few of them. Overwhelmed, he does his best to emulate them, picking up a bright pink can and twisting it around in his hands as he scans the tiny print.

After reading a few, Akira remains clueless on the subject of cat food and he feels himself starting to fidget as he paces down the same aisle, scanning the too-vast selection.

"Joker?" Morgana's voice interrupts as he's about to reach for a dark green can. "Are you going to be done soon, the smell is starting to-"

Akira comes to a sudden realization, so suddenly in fact that he doesn't hear what Morgana's voice over the sounds of his own thoughts loudly telling him that he should defer to the person eating the food to pick it out.

Even still, his phone becomes a heavy weight in his hands as he tries to convey his realization. Taking care of the team was his responsibility, even when they weren't a team until further notice. Not to mention that taking care of Morgana was part of their deal.

Akira wasn't sure what to say or if he should say anything at all.

Morgana squirms against his side once again and Akira hears the opening being spread apart before the cat's voice starts drifting through his confusion more clearly.

"Cat food, huh?"

Akira nods slowly and does his best to squash down the impression that Morgana is judging him.

"There's so many to choose from…" The cat mumbles, expressing Akira's own worry just before the bag lurches forward suddenly and nearly throws him into the countless stacks in front of him.

"One-Hundred Percent Tuna! That one!" Morgana cries out forcefully. "Get that one!"

A small paw guides Akira's attention to a column of burnt orange cans, each declaring itself as tuna in bright white font. He grabs the one at the top and skims the miniscule print along its edges, but doesn't glean anything insightful from its message.

It's more expensive than the last time he had purchased food for Morgana, but not by so much that Akira was worried about having to come back anytime soon and he feels his face heat up painfully as he remembers sliding coin after coin across the counter as he bought Morgana his essentials.

Akira stacks as many of the tiny cans as he can into his arms and heads towards the front as quickly as he can while keeping Morgana from bouncing too much.

The man behind the counter stares at him with an unfaltering gaze and Akira does his best to avoid looking directly at him and hopes he hadn't offended him somehow.

Did I run too fast? Akira questions silently, chancing a glance at the adult across the counter. The clerk says nothing as he starts scanning each of the cans and finally turns his attention away from Akira once it's all bagged.

"Your total is…" The man announces in the same way Ushimaru-sensei does, tapping at a small screen pointing towards Akira.

"Wow." Morgana whispers quietly.

Handing over most of the money he took with him that morning, Akira takes his change as well as the plastic bags filled with orange-labeled tins.

"Have a good day, valued-customer." The man drones as Akira steps away from the counter.

"That was weird." Morgana states over the sound of a thousand footfalls.

Akira nods, agreeing. That man had been strange, indeed.

"Wait, aren't you going to get something to eat too?" Morgana whispers up at him, even when nobody around them could understand him.

Akira pauses in his step, then continues walking towards the nearest station, shaking his head enough for Morgana to see.

Having Morgana know about him was enough to extinguish whatever hunger he was feeling.

The cat makes a noise that gave the impression he was going to continue speaking and Akira listens closely, but Morgana remains quiet as Akira slides through the shifting crowd blocking his path.

The train ride to Yongen Jaya was much less strange, giving him a still moment to work on his homework with the subtle roars and squeals of the moving train as the background noise of his concentration. There wasn't much to do, but he wasn't sure if there would be a free moment to had when he returns to LeBlanc.

Akira steps onto the platform with his work mostly done and the strange clerk mostly forgotten. He feels calmer as well but isn't sure at what point he'd gotten worked up enough to notice the difference.

"There you are." Sakura-san says as soon as he steps off of the sunburnt streets of the alleyway. "Go put your stuff away, another wave of regulars are about to show soon and I got somethin' I want to show you."

Doing as he's told, Akira makes towards the stairs and listens carefully as his guardian calls out to him once more. "And wash your hands when you come down here."

"I wonder what he wants." Morgana ponders, jumping free of the bag as soon as Akira sets it down.

Akira contemplates as well while tugging out a can of food for Morgana, ripping the tab open and filling the air with a strong, fishy smell.

He has no idea what Sakura-san is planning. His guardian didn't seem upset—he hadn't yelled and didn't throw anything at him. If anything, Sakura-san almost gave the impression that something good was about to happen, but good things never happen when Akira is around. Whatever his guardian had to say was neither bad nor good, which narrowed it down very little as he didn't know much about Sakura-san.

"Be careful, Joker." Morgana advises, sounding morose around a mouthful of cat food, speaking as if the cat were thinking the same things Akira is.

Leaving Morgana with his meal, Akira slips down the stairs and washes his hands, dropping soapy suds onto half-full mugs of cold coffee and making congealed curry jiggle as it slides around the silver basin. He dries his hands on a barely-white towel, which smells strongly of coffee, not unlike everything else in LeBlanc, including himself.

When he turns around, he jumps. Sakura-san is standing close-by, leaning against the corner of the café's dark counter, staring down at him, frowning. "Don't forget your apron."

Right by the sink is a pair of hooks, another apron, his apparently, hung limply, verdant and dusty; he hadn't worn it in quite some time. Sakura-san hadn't asked for his help in over a month.

It's been over a month. It was another reminder of how long he's been here. More so, it's yet another reminder of how long it's been since he's seen his parents.

He misses them.

Akira slides the apron over his head. The fabric feels weird piled on over his blazer and turtleneck and flaps noisily as he turns around, stepping closer to Sakura-san, who's moved towards the far end of the counter. His guardian is facing the shelves of labeled coffee beans, but he's not looking at any of them. The older man's eyes are plastered to a set of tubes and other small parts.

"I can't figure this thing out." Sakura-san sighs once Akira takes another step closer. "Instructions are too small; you'd think they'd make them bigger, it's not even like kids would use something like this."

Sakura-san turns to him, setting down a pair of parts, and hands him the instruction manual that he had been trying to read. "This is what I wanted to show you. I can't serve coffee and figure these out. So, that'll be what you'll be doing for me today."

Akira nods, taking another step forward to grab the proffered stack of papers.

"Aero-nater Coffee Express." Akira reads the emboldened title silently.

"Seems needlessly excessive." Arsene's comments slide against his tingling scalp. "Why stray from the classics?"

Unsure what to say, Akira flips open the first page and starts reading tiny print under tiny diagrams. As if satisfied with this, Sakura-san steps away from the counter and Akira can hear the older man tinkering with already put together coffee machines a few steps away.

Sliding into the space that his guardian had just abandoned, Akira flips through the pages of the manual with a sense of dread. He had never put anything together before, had never even held a screwdriver like the one on the counter, and now he was expected to put a complicated machine together?

An uncomfortable lump settled in his throat and swallowing it down did nothing to dislodge it.

"Beginning. Start… Beginning." A voice resonates across his skull, making him jump as a sudden chill ran up his spine.

Pheonix's voice was just as startling as it had been the first time he'd heard it in the Velvet Room. Sounding neither male nor female, it echoed across the void inside of him in choppy wording, as if struggling to communicate. That sentiment rattled inside of him and he felt sorry for his persona in a way he couldn't for himself.

Swallowing once more, Akira turns back to the first page, rereading the title and each character of too-small print twice over and it's not until the third page in that he realizes that the dread from before had dissipated into nothing but uncertainness and, even under that, he felt an odd sense of excitement at doing something foreign so intense that it made his fingers shake.

Even still, his heart races quickly and abnormally, pounding against his chest, making the skin across his chest burn as it shifted with the muscles underneath as he finally picks up the screwdriver Sakura-san had left behind. The pieces of the coffee maker slide into place, sealed together with shiny black screws until they form a single cohesive unit that looks like a large black box with two tubes sticking from the top and a small funnel at the bottom, presumably where the coffee comes out.

Akira stares at the machine he's put together, then at the picture on the final page of the manual, scrutinizing his own work. He'd followed each line of instructions with more care than he puts into his schoolwork, yet doubt continued to spill in, swallowing his previous excitement in its entirety.

I couldn't have done it right. Akira admits to himself. His hand is poised to take it back apart and his apology to Sakura-san for wasting his time starts piecing together more quickly than the machine in front of him.

But before he can do either of those things, his guardian crowds in close, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder with him until Akira takes a startled step backwards.

"Looks like it did on the box." Sakura-san says, one hand cradling his chin and the other dripping ashes onto the floor. "Let's try it out." He orders, ash dripping hand already reaching for one of the canisters of coffee beans before Akira can draft out his apology.

Akira takes another step back as Sakura-san pours water into one tube and coffee into the other. He knows that running will only make it worse, so he keeps his feet planted firmly on the LeBlanc's milky white tiles but his gaze keeps drifting to the glass-paneled door on the other side of the counter as his guardian continues to tamper with the mistake that Akira had just put together.

He jumps, again, when the machine whirrs to life, hissing painfully with Akira's failure.

Mostly resigned, Akira only takes another step away in the next two minutes that seem to tread by painfully slowly before the machine stops its pained squeals. He watches as Sakura-san perches a mug under the funnel, expecting results from his work.

The machine springs to life again, gasping and making Akira do the same before it begins percolating noisily as steaming russet liquid shoots down the slide and into Sakura-san's waiting cup.

The urge to flee only makes his feet heavy against the floor as he stares raptly as Sakura-san lifts the mug to his mouth. He hears the older man sniff loudly, pointlessly inhaling the scent that had somehow filled the air without Akira noticing.

"Hm." Sakura-san says after his first sip. "Not bad."

Akira can't help but wonder what the dismissal means for him, but Sakura-san continues to sip at steaming liquid, letting it fog up his glasses and redden his forehead until he finally tips the mug all the way back, finishing.

If he wasn't awaiting his punishment, he might have been impressed.

If he wasn't awaiting his punishment, he wouldn't have jumped out of his skin when Sakura-san's mug clicks a little too loudly when he puts it down.

"I'm surprised you were able to figure that out so quickly." Sakura-san admits with a frown. "But there's two more, so don't think you'll be able to just scurry off."

Sakura-san's foot taps at a pair of boxes under the counter that he hadn't noticed before and Akira is left dazed as questions and answers start piling up against the frozen part of his brain.

I did it right? The question bounces around the blockade of questions still racing for answers. Akira never did anything right and ever since he'd come to Tokyo, things have never been right for him; things worked out, but they were never right.

Akira was never right.

His gaze drifted away from the printed image of the coffee maker to the actual thing, something that he'd put together and Akira releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

I did something right. He thinks silently to himself.

"Of course, it'd be imprudent to thing otherwise." Arsene's voice drags across his brain like claws digging into flesh.

Akira shouldn't be surprised to hear his other half speaking to him, but the fact that someone, even his other half, had been listening to his thoughts leaves him red in the face.

Sliding the second machine out from under LeBlanc's counter, Akira feels Arsene prod against his brain as if requesting a reply.

To his own surprise, Akira finds himself trying to explain, thoughts and even memories sliding across the void that connects him with Arsene and the others. He tries his best to not say anything that might scare his persona off back into the void between them, but Arsene makes it quickly known in the form of a rather warm pulse across his skin that there wasn't anything Akira could reveal that would surprise him.

Akira is skeptical and Arsene's assurances make him worry, but only a little. Arsene had saved his life before, had seen everything Akira had seen inside of Kamoshida's and Madarame's hearts, and possibly a lot more that Akira didn't know about. On instinct rather than principle, as he didn't know much about Arsene or the MetaVerse, Akira felt that he could trust Arsene with this much at least.

Akira does his best to open up. He's never had to tell anyone about himself before, excluding his confession to Ryuji about what had happened on his probation and then with Morgana about the scars across his back.

Arsene remains with him through it all, air thick enough on Akira's soul that he knows the other is there as he pulls familiar parts out away from cardboard and styrofoam. It was unlike anything that had happened before, even in the MetaVerse, Arsene's presence was vague and his words equally as brief, as if the other part of him were disinterested in him, not that Akira could blame him. But as he screws pieces of machine together, fingers, for once, working fluently at something, he can't help but acknowledge the unfamiliar presence lingering inside of him.

Akira feels unfamiliarly warm as he shares with his silent companion while putting together Sakura-san's machine; he's never spoken—or thought at—with someone for this long before.

When he attaches the final pieces, Arsene is still lingering there, just underneath his skin, burning softly like glowing embers, listening to Akira's wordless thoughts and responding with small pulses that had Akira smiling as he slides the completed machine away from him.

Working with Arsene, putting things together while sharing his thoughts—that this was his first time working with tools without supervision, that he was scared of Sakura-san's punishments which never seem to come, that he was worried he was ruining The Phantom Thieves by merely being near them— Akira was filled with an emotion that he could not name and, as he slid the third coffee maker to join its twins, he found that he didn't quite care what it was called.

Arsene's presence doesn't fade so much as cut off suddenly, the connection dropped so suddenly that Akira is left frozen, standing in LeBlanc as a sudden chill washes over him; he hadn't been aware at how warm Arsene had been making him feel until just now.

"Hey." Came a sudden voice just as a hand slides into his field of vision, his first instinct is to jump back, but he only gets so far before his back collides painfully with the lip of the countertop.

"Were you even listening? I was giving you a compliment, you know." Sakura-san huffs, not sounding angry at all, which takes Akira a moment to notice while he readjusts to Arsene's sudden absence.

Suspicion washes over him like a waterfall as he, briefly, wonders if he's somehow fallen into a different world where his personas don't ignore him and his caretaker doesn't glare at him; one where Akira does things correctly.

"As I was saying, thanks for helping out tonight." Sakura-san says quickly. "Why don't you grab a plate and I'll sweep up before I head home."

Akira does as he's told, plating curry and rice before taking a seat at the end of bar as Sakura-san returns from the bathroom with a broom and dustpan.

Checking the time, he's surprised at how late it is. It had only felt like a few minutes ago that the machines he'd been putting together were cast in a burnt orange glow from the sun peeking in through LeBlanc's entrance. Now that entrance was painted black with nighttime and Akira worried that he'd somehow fell into the MetaVerse without noticing.

Making sure Sakura-san isn't looking towards him, he taps the MetaNav open, but finds it blank. Only then does he turn back to his meal, but since he'd already eaten that morning, he found he wasn't that hungry, but he swallows down a small portion of Sakura-san's curry before he washed the rest down the sink when his guardian's back was turned.

"We'll break down those boxes tomorrow." Sakura-san grunts, shoving one of boxes out of the way as he sweeps up a small cloud of cigarette ashes. "I'll introduce you to some of my regulars tomorrow, too."

Akira nods towards the sink, unsure if Sakura-san is looking at him. He listens, though, as Sakura-san's sweeping becomes more faint until the café's door is pushed open and the sweeping noises drift outside before he risks a glance over his shoulder.

He doesn't look upset. Akira analyzes carefully. And while he hadn't, apparently, done anything wrong while working in LeBlanc for the afternoon and most of the evening, Akira couldn't help but worry that he had.

Akira always did something wrong and his previous calm from Arsene's presence was starting to chip away as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

His guardian slips back through the door and Akira watches him head back into the bathroom, presumably to return the broom.

"Have you been taking care of Kaito?" Sakura-san asks with an echo from the bathroom walls between them. "I've been leaving food out in your room, but he never seems to take it. You haven't been giving him any bad habits, have you?" Sakura-san laughs quietly in the bathroom, echoing loud enough for Akira to hear it.

It takes Akira a moment to realize who Sakura-san is talking about, having forgotten about the name that the man had picked out for Morgana.

He has little time to think of an excuse for Morgana's lack of appetite before something else draws his attention: the sound of LeBlanc's door opening and another chilly breeze that washes over him as a man about Sakura-san's age steps in along with it.

"Sorry, we're—you?" Sakura-san questions, stepping out of the bathroom, wiping his hands over his apron, sending more ashes scattering onto his just cleaned floor.

The man smiles and Akira feels a shiver slide down his back, one that hadn't come from the nightly breeze the man had let in. He'd seen a similar expression Kamoshida's face before.

"Hey there! It's been quite a while, Sakura-san." The man greets cheerfully as he crosses his arms over his chest as if to block off the cold that had come in with him; his sleeves scrape together noisily and Akira finds himself wincing at the sound it makes.

The man scans the room and Akira drops his own gaze to the floor once the older man's finally notices him. "I heard you opened a shop, so here I am."

"It wouldn't have hurt to mention it to me though, right by the station and everything, I'm surprised I haven't noticed it sooner." The man continues, talking to Sakura-san despite the older man saying nothing after his first uttered words.

"We're closed." Sakura-san says finally.

"No small talk? That's kind of a cold way to treat a customer, don't ya think?" The other man retorts. Akira can hear the man get closer, his footsteps heavy against the café's flooring, his noisy jacket screeching through the air almost making him miss what the man says next.

"Think I'll have a drink and oh—this smell. You're still making that curry, huh?" The stranger giggles, surprisingly high-pitched and off-putting. "I guess you really haven't gotten over her, huh?"

Akira glances towards Sakura-san, unsure what to do, and catches the older man doing the same to him, but his reason for doing so eluded him.

"We're closed for the night. Why don't you come back some other time? My part-timer needs to lock up before the trains stop running." Sakura-san suggests quickly.

"So pushy." The man huffs, smile still firmly in place, pushing away from his place at the bar in a way that makes the chair grate noisily against the tiled floor. "I'll drop by again soon, then."

Akira watches the man go but turns to his guardian when he hears the other man sigh as the door to LeBlanc tinkles shut.

"Honestly…" Sakura-san sighs, rubbing at his neck. "I guess it was only a matter of time."

Matter of time? Akira had gotten the impression that the two knew each other, but found himself confused at the prospect of Sakura-san avoiding someone. Not that the man he'd just met had seen wasn't someone Akira—himself—wouldn't have avoided. After working along side him for an entire evening, though, Akira couldn't help but feel a little curious about the man that was taking care of him.

He watches Sakura-san as the man tugs off his apron and, with a sigh, hang it on the same hook Akira had taken his from.

His guardian turns to him, then, with the glare that had been absent the entire day. "Make sure that door stays locked when I'm not here and double-check it if you plan on wandering the streets, understand?"

Akira finds himself nodding along before Sakura-san even finishes speaking.

"And call me if he shows up while I'm not here, got it? You still have my number saved in your phone, right?" His caretaker continues, speaking in a quiet harsh tone as he makes his way past Akira to mess with the register.

Akira nods again, despite the fact that Sakura-san isn't look in his direction, but he remains where he is, feet cemented on LeBlanc's whitened tiles as Sakura-san pulls a stack of money out of the register and heads towards the door the man had just escaped from.

His guardian leaves without another word and Akira listens to the sound of the door being locked while he continues to stand there, pinned under the café's dim lighting with confusion etched into him.

Who was that man? He questions, finally pulling himself away from the counter and into the bathroom, where he washes his hands, hoping to wipe away the nervous, clammy feeling that's making them warm and sticky.

Unsuccessful in his attempts, Akira decides, instead, to get ready for bed. There wasn't much else for him to do, anyways. Part of him wanted to sneak across the alleyway for a shower, but didn't want to risk running into that man or, even worse, Sakura-san himself.

Akira brushes his teeth, brushing away his now mild curiosity of the stranger with the annoying jacket and high-pitched laugh that seemed to know Sakura-san well enough. He rinses off the smell of coffee from his face and behind his ears in the bathroom sink and decides that it's really none of his business and Akira has no idea when he's ever been so curious about anything.

This isn't like me. Akira thinks, climbing up the steps and into the attic. Akira didn't really build things, if anything, he tended to destroy them—his relationship with his parents, not to mention their reputation, Kamoshida's control, and now his model gun, which was nowhere to be found—and he'd managed to successfully construct three machines just this evening.

Akira didn't make conversation, either, they tended to wrap around him without swallowing. A snake that wanted to kill him, but refused to eat him. Even Sakamoto and Takamaki tended to talk around him and Akira had never been closer to anybody as he was to them. Yet Akira made conversation with Arsene, as one-sided as it was as far as actual words go.

He feels odd, about Sakura-san, and especially about himself.

Akira climbs into bed and Morgana joins him shortly after, not quite as close as he usually is, most likely in account of his injury, which was hurting less than it probably should.

The next morning, Sunday, Akira wakes up feeling apprehensive and sick to his stomach because of it. He's worried about a repeat of yesterday, about something even more unknown and unusual happening while he's serving coffee to strangers.

Heaving quietly into the café's only toilet doesn't help the uneasiness rattling around under his skin, but it does quiet his stomach down, leaving its burning, toxic entrails splattered in his throat and across his lips, not to mention part of the toilet bowl. He wipes down what he can with bathroom tissue, then, with another stretch of it, he does the same with the sweat building up in his hairline.

What's wrong with me? Echoes every few seconds, pounding against his skull as fervently as his heart jackhammers against his burnt chest.

Nothing he'd done last night was like him at all, not to mention the strange ways in which Sakura-san and Arsene acted in turn. Their unusual behavior had him shaking and his own had him dry heaving back into the toilet as he wonders what he's turning into.

Not bothering to flush until his stomach has calmed down, Akira wishes that this part of him would get whisked away in the current of vomit and bile.

He hadn't done anything wrong. Something about that particular truth was somehow more devastating than everything else. Akira had handled himself, not gracefully, but with enough civility that it went against everything that he was: someone who did things incorrectly.

Listing off his wrongdoings, Akira climbs back up the stairs and tugs his box of possessions into the open and pulls on something that isn't his school uniform to wear for the day; it needed a wash just as much as he did. Akira feels his sins shiver across his skin while he tugs on a pair of trousers that are a bit tight in the waist and a bit too long in the leg. After which, he silently lists off his punishments as he tugs on a green, wrinkled shirt with sleeves that only barely cover the bones on his wrists, uncaring, in the moment, if Morgana were to glance over and see the remnants of some of those sins and punishments.

What's wrong with me? Akira asks again, socked feet sliding into his only pair of casual shoes.

Akira doesn't have an answer as he rips open one of the burnt orange tins Morgana had picked out the day before but ponders it while he cleans the litterbox beneath the table. The strange smells and mindless actions don't yield him the answer he wants or any answer at all, really. Akira's not sure why he was acting strangely, why Arsene was letting him; the only normal one in the café seemed to be Morgana.

Glancing over at the cat, still asleep despite the fact that Akira had nearly thrown him off the bed before he'd rushed down the stairs, he hopes that it remains that way.

He stares at his roommate for a moment longer, watching his black and white body rise and fall in a way he'd never noticed before—another weird thing that he seemed to do now—before sneaking back down the stairs, burn cream in hand and sweat piling up in his brows once more. Hastily, Akira rubs Takemi's medicine into the scaly, bulbous skin across his front, ignoring the irritation that his speed brings. He's not sure how much longer before Sakura-san shows up for the day and he listens closely for the sound of door chimes or unlocking doors before shoving the cream into his back pocket, tucking it away before he dabs at his forehead a second time that morning.

Opening the bathroom door quietly, Akira sneaks a glance around the corner and stares at the café's door, looking for movement, for Sakura-san. He waits another moment, listening, and, after hearing nothing, not even the wind, Akira finally moves, sneaking up the steps to the attic. Strangely, it feels like he's navigating a palace. He's tense, sweating. It feels like he's a carrying a secret—which he is—and it's so eerily similar to the way his mask and codename hide his face away.

Downstairs, the door opens and Akira jumps from the sound of it. He stumbles, nearly losing his grip on the medicine canister with the fumble; it springs around in his fingers several times, getting harder and harder to grip onto as his clammy hands continue to come into contact with it. Akira drops to his knees and claps the little white bottle between both of his hands, ceasing its momentum before it can fall between his knees. For a moment, Akira wishes his hands were coated red, where sweat wouldn't hinder him.

It's a weird thought, wishing he was in the MetaVerse after so long of…

What was he doing there?

Carrying out justice felt like the wrong way to put it, but at the same time, the words felt like the only ones he could use.

Arsene's words, the very first ones that skittered across the void with clinking chains, beating wings, and the massive sword threating his life, came to mind. Justice, his justice; the justice that they shared despite the cost.

Justice… He rolls the word around, thinking back to when he'd been walking home all those nights ago, then to how much it hurt when Kamoshida had slapped him. Then seeing that same turmoil printed on Kitagawa's face inside of Madarame's palace.

His actions were just, he knows that they are. Morgana had believed in him, Sakamoto felt the same way, then Takamaki; now he had Kitagawa giving him that same belief that the other had. Yet, more than a part of him refused to believe it, refuted that any of this was real. Something like the MetaVerse, a world where Akira did things correctly, for the sake of justice.

It was still surreal, still utterly unbelievable. Underneath all of the mystery and doubt though—the coming ruin—Akira could feel it deeply, further on than where Arsene and the others lie, that it was just; The Phantom Thieves had failed to help Suzui-san, but they had protected Takamaki, Mishima, and the others that nobody knew about. They—He—had helped businessmen and strangers confront their own twistedness, had stolen it away from them so quickly it may as well have evaporated. And, soon, assuming everything works out the way it had before, The Phantom Thieves will have rescued Madarame and his pupils.

"Are you still sleeping? I told you I needed help today." Sakura-san's voice comes from the stairs and Akira jumps up from where he'd dropped back down to sit on the bed.

"Oh." His guardian says once he's made it onto the attic's landing. "Awake after all."

Akira nods jerkily, feeling on edge about having just been caught thinking about his potentially illegal activities—and if not illegal, definitely against Sakura-san's conditions for allowing him to stay—and hopes that the man wasn't able to read his thoughts just by looking at him.

His hands dampen all over again, but without anything to hold onto, Akira wipes them across his trousers before taking to his feet as Sakura-san calls after him, the older man already headed back down.

"Come on." Sakura-san says finally, "Curry is heating up and some of my earlies should be showing up."

Following after him, Akira ducks into the bathroom once more and washes his hands once more before he tugs on the apron from the night before and stands at the edge of the counter, waiting for Sakura-san to take notice of him.

"Oh, right." Sakura-san says suddenly, turning away from the till to stare directly at him. Akira ducks the man's gaze and picks at the café's counter for a second until Sakura-san speaks up again. "Tear down those boxes, will ya? You remember where the dumpster is?"

Akira nods once more, trying to get his brain to fall into LeBlanc instead of focusing on phantom thieves and carriages of justice.

Folding the boxes into flat pieces doesn't seem to help, nor does piling on the styrofoam that went on top of the tiny pile. None of the odd chores that Sakura-san had him do seemed to help the weight that had spread across his shoulders.

Stepping out of the café, hands wrapped awkwardly around loose pieces of cardboard and plastic only leaves him sweaty and squinting at the morning sun. The man from the shop a little ways down from LeBlanc waves at him as he steps back inside and after standing there for a long moment, Akira waves back.

The same thing happens when Sakura-san sends him back outside and has Akira chalk down tiny prices for desserts across a blackboard for the store and, though Akira had no idea that Sakura-san even had desserts, the shock only distracts him for a moment before his train of thought twists back to justice. Akira waves after an even longer pause, surprised at the reoccurrence. Once he's done, Akira is introduced to a couple of elderly couples that he thinks he might have seen before. He doesn't say anything as Sakura-san introduces him as the quiet part-timer, instead he considers the fact that while The Phantom Thieves may not be justice, they could be just.

Akira takes down their coffee orders while he thinks about that.

More customers show up and it's not until noon, when a sudden shout floods the café that Akira realizes he hadn't really been listening to anything. A small flood of guilt washes over him as he realizes that he doesn't know any of the old ladies' names that smile up at him as he carefully refills their cups with what is possibly the wrong coffee.

"Turn on the news!" Finally processes, filtering through his ears as he—and Sakura-san—turn towards a booth in the corner where a suited man was standing.

"Uh." Sakura-san replies, then turns away without saying anything else. Akira watches him dip under the café's counter and returns with a small remote.

Color washes over the blackened screen on the wall and Akira isn't quite sure what he sees as Sakura-san flips through a number of channels. He hasn't watched much television before and is genuinely surprised when he sees Madarame's face staring right at him from behind a veil of microphones.

The artist's face, in the number of times that Akira had seen it was only ever smiling or enflamed in anger, was now filled with a sullen melancholy; he looked utterly miserable as wet tears rolled over his aged cheeks, the tracks illuminated by flashes of light that went off every other moment.

Madarame's sigh filters through the television, "I… have committed crimes that are unbecoming of an artist. To speak plainly… I have plagiarized the work of my students and passed them off as my own. My artistic vision was clouded by my own vanity and… because of that, I-I have tainted this country's art world…"

The artist's words become muffled as the man in the screen bends in on himself, hiding his tears and his confession.

Akira wants to feel sorry for him, wants to feel something other the sinking feeling in his stomach as he bears witness to Madarame's speech.

"Even Sayuri is something that I have stolen!" With another heave, Madarame takes to his feet, exposing his tear-stained face, warped in guilt. "How could I possibly apologize… to everyone… for everything that I've done!?"

The guy who had ordered Sakura-san to turn on the news screams at the television screen.

Akira wonders if this man knew Madarame.

"Alright, settle down." Sakura-san entreats, muting the television as Madarame's face is replaced with a well-dressed man reading from a stack of papers.

It worked… Madarame's heart is changed without incident and Akira doesn't feel happy, nor does he feel sad. Instead the feeling from the day before radiates under his skin with a warm glow.

The feeling had passed slowly and by the time Akira noticed it was gone, the glass panels on LeBlanc's door had faded from orange to black and he still didn't have a name for it. He supposes that it doesn't really need a name, but part of him longs to give it one anyways; which was an even weirder sensation than the feeling itself.

"There they are." Sakura-san mutters quietly, pushing himself away the counter to stand up straight. "Evening, gentlemen."

Akira doesn't turn away from his station at the sink, nor does he listen to closely to Sakura-san's boisterous conversation as a group of people take seats at the counter. He does, however, catch one of them sitting in the spot that he, himself, usually takes.

Finishing what is left of the dishes, Akira finally directs his attention back to Sakura-san, slightly hoping he can be excused from the suddenly loud café.

Sakura-san glances away from the people at the bar to stare at him with a smile on his face. Akira is pretty sure this is the first time he's seen his guardian smile before. The older man turns back to the small crowd at the bar, then back at him again. Finally, Sakura-san gestures him over and Akira suppresses a frown as he moves to stand behind the counter as well.

"My new part-timer." The man introduces him the same way he has to every regular customer today. "He doesn't talk much, but he'll be taking your orders."

"I think I remember seeing him before, Sojiro." The guy in his seat says with a bright smile. "Anyways, my go-to is the house blend with a plate of Sojiro's famous curry. And I'll be paying for my juniors here, so one ticket is fine. Gotta save paper, right?" He points to the three people sitting next to him, all dressed in suit and ties.

Akira writes it down.

"Same." Says the guy next to him, making Akira pause and look up and take notice of the man across from him.

Unlike the men on either side of him, this one doesn't bother smiling and Akira feels as if he's seen this man before, though he doesn't recognize him at all past that first spark of recognition. His inky bowl-cut and deep voice don't remind him of anyone that he's met before.

Akira writes down his order as well.

"Blue mountain for me, part-timer-kun. And an extra order of rice with my curry, please. Thank you." The next one says as soon as Akira turns to face him. His face isn't familiar at all either.

Akira turns to the last man at the counter and waits, pen poised, to be noticed. "I'll have…" He says slowly, his head tilting slowly to one side as he scans the coffee canisters on the wall. Akira takes a step back, letting him glance over more of the options.

"Guatemalan Antigua? Is that any good?" The man asks, making the guy whose voice Akira recognize sigh loudly.

Sakura-san steps closer to the counter. Akira got the impression that he was expecting this somehow. "The beans are grown in volcanic soil, giving it a more mellow taste than most of the stock I have. The aftertaste is pretty fresh, too. I'd say it's a good beginner coffee, but the beans are pretty hard to come by."

"I'll give it a try!" The man says gleefully, "Oh and curry, too. Sojiro-san's curry is better than what my mom cooks. Just uh, don't tell her I said that, part-timer-kun."

"Now now." Sakura-san placates, smiling as well before turning to him. "Scoop out the curry, would'ja?"

Akira writes down the orders and Sakura-san tells him to portion out the curry while he makes the coffee. He nods and finds himself stepping into the kitchen, staring down the massive pot Sakura-san uses to cook with and realizes that he's never done this before.

Grabbing a plate from the stack of dishes that are still warm from washing, Akira stares down the rice cooker and the curry pot and tries his best to remember how much Sakura-san would pile onto the plates that he served him.

Akira grabs a scoop of rice, then another. And the same amount of curry. The serving looks too small and—inexplicably—too large. He maneuvers identical looking servings into a little line along the counter and then the extra serving that one of them had ordered.

Apprehensive, he lines them up to the regulars just as Sakura-san starts dispensing their coffee orders.

"Enjoy." Sakura-san cheers.

"Thanks for the food!" The four of them mumble back, digging in without issue.

Akira sighs to himself in relief, merely glad that he hadn't messed everything up.

Soon enough, the four men were standing and bowing. Akira bows back, unsure if he shouldn't but unwilling to risk Sakura-san yelling at him.

Three of them slide towards the front of the shop, forming a small huddle at the register, but Akira's gaze is drawn to the second man, who's standing at the counter, staring at him. Akira drops his gaze and feels a knot starting to form in his stomach, wondering if he was about to get in trouble.

"Come, Takeda." The man who was paying says, drawing the staring man's attention.

Silently, the man walks away and out of the door along with his three acquaintances and Akira finds himself sighing in relief yet again.

"Let's clean up." Sakura-san says at once, bringing his attention to the now empty café. "Sorry for keeping you so late, I didn't think they'd show up so late."

Akira nods feebly and pulls the group's dishes into the sink while Sakura-san sweeps up ashes and stray rice. Like this, LeBlanc is surprisingly peaceful, and Akira finds himself relaxing even as he scrubs congealed spices off of plates and spoons.

"Make sure you head to bed as soon as your done." Sakura-san orders from the doorway. Akira hadn't even noticed the man walk by. "Remember, I won't hesitate kicking you out if you end up getting kicked out of school, so show up on time."

Akira nods towards the sink and listens for the door to lock. He finishes the dishes in relative silence, more aware than he had before at the sounds the water and sponge make. When everything is clean, he finally heads back into the attic.

Part of him wants to heed to Sakura-san's warning and immediately fall into bed. His body ached in a way that seemed to agree, but another, more intense, part told him that he needed to bathe. He was sticky and even though his hands were pruned from dishwashing, they were the only part of him that felt clean.

Grabbing his key, along with his uniform and some loose money, and his phone from beside a slumbering Morgana, he heads back down into the café and across the street.

Stuffing coins and free soap into one of the machines, Akira sets a timer on his phone, ignoring the multiple notifications on the screen, to match the machine's and steps into the nearly empty bath house next door. He's almost grateful that Sakura-san had kept him late enough that the building was empty, but he was more than frazzled and numb after having so many people talk to and at him while his mind was on other things. They didn't treat him like a criminal, they didn't know anything other than what Sakura-san told them. Nor did they treat him like his teammates did, who knew but didn't seem to care. It was somewhere in between—or at least he thought so—and each interaction left him feeling like he didn't belong even when they were being nice to him.

Akira strips himself quickly and ducks into the closest shower, squatting down on a stool and sighs for what feels like the hundredth time that day. It's the first time he's been able to sit down all day and his knees and toes pulse hotly under the shower's steamy spray.

He takes his time washing himself, letting warm water run down his back and through his hair. The stream feels weird against the burn across his chest, hot from the outside and the inside and his skin and bones are just a numb barrier in between. He takes care not to scrub that area too hard, but scours the rest of his body with tea-scented soaps until the coffee scent that's ingrained into his skin washes away, leaving his skin more red and pink than the scar across his chest.

Water drips off of him and onto the floor as he dries himself, wiping now chilly droplets off with borrowed towels. Dressing himself in what's left of his clean clothes, Akira drops the used towels in a bin by the door and steps away from the bath house feeling clean.

Taking the corner back into the washing area, he waits by his machine for a few minutes until it goes quiet and exchanges it to the drier opposite before taking a seat next to it.

Changing the timer on his phone, Akira finally allows himself to check the notifications he received and almost all of them are from the chat he shares with his teammates. There are also a few private messages from each of the Phantom Thieves as well as a missed call from Sakamoto. The last one Akira finds the most odd.

Panther: Check the news!

Panther: He's confessing!

Skull: Forreal?

Fox: They're replaying it on each station, it seems.

Skull: I'm heading home now! Don't spoil it! I wanna see his face.

Panther: Joker, are you reading these?

Skull: Oh my god he's crying so hard.

Fox: Does this mean that it worked as intended?

Panther: He's acting the same way that Kamoshida did when he confessed, so I don't think he'll have a mental breakdown.

Fox: That's reassuring.

Skull: He was kinda a bastard though. I think whatever happened he would have deserved it!

Fox: I don't disagree.

Fox: I still owe Madarame for taking me in, even if he did not treat me or any of those under his care well.

Fox: I suppose that it is still somewhat of a weakness for me.

Skull: Nah, I think I get what you mean.

Panther: Yeah, Madarame wasn't the best, but he was all you had. So it makes sense, but he still deserves to be held accountable.

Akira isn't sure how to respond to any of that. It wasn't really his place to comment on Kitagawa's relationship with Madarame. Even still, he didn't feel good about having to put the artist in that position, even if what Madarame was doing was hurting people.

Akira closes out of their shared chat, glances up at the timer on the drier, then opens his private correspondences, starting with Takamaki.

"Are you okay? Sorry if I'm bothering if you're at work or something. Just want to make sure you're okay."

Akira wasn't sure how to respond to this either. Takamaki hadn't really reached out to him like this before and he couldn't help but wonder what had caused it.

"I'm okay. I was helping in the café all day." He finally types back.

Takamaki responds before he manages to close out of the window. "Okay! Sorry for being nosy. I just wanted to make sure you weren't in the hospital or anything. And we can't really hang out because of Niijima-senpai. Is your burn okay?"

My burn? Akira questions, glancing down the neck of his shirt to doublecheck before responding.

"It doesn't hurt that much." Which was the truth. It hadn't really hurt that much today or during his shower when he was touching it, but it was almost always noticeable.

"Awesome and um, I'm really sorry again. Once she stops following me, I'll take you to my favorite place to eat so I can pay you back." She sends back, once again typing much faster than he did.

"You don't have to do that." He reassures. Getting injured was still his fault and Akira wasn't sure what else he could say to tell her that he didn't blame her or need repayment.

"I want to. Ryuji says you're fun to hang out with and I feel like I've been a huge jerk to you even before Madarame."

Huge jerk? Akira tries to think back quickly on his interactions with Takamaki, of rooftop lunches and journeying through Mementos.

"I don't think you are a jerk." Akira decides quickly.

"That's because you're too nice to people." She counters. "I yelled at you guys when I first discovered that world, then again for being cruel. Then I end up hurting you and Ryuji and not to mention when I used you to get away from Kamoshida. I don't think I've been a very good friend or teammate, but I want to be. Can we start over?"

Akira stares at the drier beside him, very confused. Even when Takamaki was being a jerk—in her opinion—she was still kinder to him than everyone else in his life and it was odd to find out that she was thinking this way; that she thought that he was the nice one when it was really the opposite.

"Sure." Akira responds, feeling awkward and more than unsure.

"Awesome! From now on, you can count on me!" Takamaki sends back, followed by a smiling face.

Skull's messages are much shorter, though much more numerous.

"Dude."

"Check your phone"

"Are you sleepin still?"

"How're we gonna celebrate this time? Ramen? Beef?"

Akira scrolls past a number of similar messages.

"I'm awake." He offers, "You can choose."

Then, remembering Takamaki's messages, he tacks on, "We need to wait for Niijima to stop looking into Takamaki before we do anything, though."

Akira closes out of his chat with Sakamoto and opens Kitagawa's single message just as his laundry finishes.

"I want to thank you once again."

"Thank you for helping us." He responds quickly before pocketing his phone and tugging open the machine.

With a pile of warm clothes in his arms, Akira heads back to the café and into the attic, dropping his now clean uniform by his schoolbag before getting ready for bed, ignoring the vibrations in his pocket as he does so, then once more as he climbs into bed alongside Morgana.

Akira thinks he hears the cat mumble something, but he's already asleep by the time it filters through his ears.

After falling asleep, there only seems to be a single instance before he's awake again, staring up at the ceiling of the Velvet Room.