Hello!

In this fanfiction, all texts in italic are those in a different language. (Japanese and French mostly)

In dialogues, normal text are considered pronounced in japanese by the characters.

Persona is owned by Atlus and P-team.

Chapter 1

4/9 - Saturday

Gaijin (外人)

Word composed of the kanji "Outside" and "Person" to designate citizens of non-Japanese origin and foreigners. Used in particular to refer to non-asian people, it can be neutral or negative depending of the intention.

Darkness was a friend. A total and unconditional friend. Its soothing arms stood in the way of the rest of the universe. Not seeing the world dampened the din to the point of nonexistence. Enveloped by its presence, it was easier to imagine oneself fighting dragons, helping princesses, and besieging demonic strongholds with them and unlikely companions. veneering the darkness with these worlds, like colored sheets of paper on a blackboard, repelled the anguish for a while. No mockery or disdain. No fears or conflicts. At least between these four walls of cozy darkness, the young man could dream, but why was he dreaming of a butterfly?

"... You are held captive."

A little girl's voice was whispering. Why was he imagining this?

"A prisoner of a life that is imposed to you."

Was it the butterfly who was talking? The voice sounded so distant, like an echo from a deep abyss, the icy blue butterfly flapping its wings in front of him, wherever his eyes rested.

"This is truly an unjust game…

Your chances of enjoying it are almost none."

He didn't understand a thing, but his thoughts slowed down. Apathy weighed down his being in comfortable darkness.

"But if my voice is reaching you, there may yet be a possibility open to you."

The little girl's words sounded with the accuracy of a perfectly mastered flute.

"I beg you.

Please break this game…

And save the world…"

The plea was as sincere as it was powerful. Even if it had been possible for him not to listen, the young man could not have turned away from it.

"The key to victory lies within your clear-sightedness.

Seeing the truth and understanding it with your bonds."

Hope radiated in these words springing from the abyss.

"If only you could overcome your fears…

No matter how sane they seem…"

The doubt that followed was terrible. A glimpse of uncertainty that made his heart tremble.

"For the sake of your world's future…

As well as your own…"

Confidence remained and mingled with this important prayer.

"You must open your eyes…"

A slight jump. An inhalation as discreet as it was vital. The young man fluttered his heavy eyelids to protect his assaulted eyes. The light was burning. Beyond the surrounding blur, he remembered the almost imperceptible jolts and shocks of the train. Despite the weight on his eyes, he recognized the gray sticks parading past the thick window. The buildings became clearer, and the traveler understood that it was time to raise his head.

Taking such a deep nap, given the strangeness of his dream, was not a good idea at this moment. He couldn't tell if it was more because of the sweatshirt's hood that wrapped his head or the book he had hoped to finish before arriving. Only the final battle remained, but it was clearly not now that he would see the legendary heroes defeat the armies of darkness. He should have known that after twelve hours of flying, reading Fantasy would make him sleepy.

At least he should have read something in Japanese. However, buying his grape juice in this shop called Triple Seven had been more distressing than expected. Disembarking with his hands in the pockets of his gray sweatshirt, he immediately found himself plunged into the loud crowd. The chaos of this tide of unfamiliar faces had made him hungry. Eating still relaxed him, but the tsunami of kanji that hit him as he entered the store submerged his mind in a sea of doubts. Did he understand correctly what was written on the packages? Did he have to say a special form of courtesy to the seller? Had he thought about changing his euros into yen?

As soon as he bought his bottle, his eyes on the ground, Felix had hurriedly said a thank you in English. He was no longer sure which words to use in a store. His hands back in the pockets of his sweatshirt, he walked towards the train without raising his head more than necessary. Once seated, he hurried to fill his mouth with sugar and grapes before throwing himself into his book. Walking through the dragon cemeteries through his native language allowed him to forget where he was: too far from home. When Tokyo's buildings hid the horizon, his heart leapt in his chest. The electronic Japanese voice that echoed in the wagon made an announcement that he concentrated on as best as he could.

"Shibuya station. Arrival in five minutes."

The young man sighed in relief. He understood the announcement well. He shouldn't have doubted, but he knew there was a difference between a language spoken with a teacher and the same language in everyday life. He put in his bag his grape juice immediately, after a last sip, followed by his novel and the remains of his snack. He saw his camera inside. A large, almost professional model. He grabbed it without hesitation and put its strap around his neck. The weight of the object, so precious to him, gave the young man a bit of courage.

Once the train stopped, he hurried to retrieve his heavy suitcase and rolled it to the platform, fixing his hood at the same time. A sign indicated the subway and he hastened to follow it before finding himself in the passage of someone. There was still a crowd, but he suspected he hadn't seen anything yet. His fears were confirmed in an explosion of anonymous voices and faces. At the foot of the station, rivers of people flowed, and an infernal cacophony was invading the city. Frozen in place, the traveler was overwhelmed by all the novelty. He had seen what Tokyo looked like many times and had been warned about its high population density, but seeing this perfectly channeled chaos in real life was a breathtaking experience.

"Hurry up! The arcade will be full if we hang around too much!" a young, excited girl told to her friend.

The traveler felt in a few seconds a dozen people brushing against him. He escaped this encirclement with a hasty step. Protected by his hood, he managed to avoid meeting intrigued glances until he reached a corner of the square away from human currents. A little apart, and less pushed by time, the young man, bent as much by the effort as the habit, finally felt able to breathe. Bit by bit, his worry eased. All these different people seemed to ignore him. He was no more than a ghost. A bit like home. It was a good thing, because it was what he wanted. Nevertheless, a familiar feeling rose in him.

"No need to get upset, honey. The movie is in like twenty minutes," explained a man with an upright posture to the woman whose hand he was holding.

All these people wore different clothes, different hairstyles, different cellphones… Yet, once apart, they all looked like ants following the same paths. All these terrifying giants were following well-marked roads in one direction or another, plunged into their own world. In the distance, the young traveler could guess the roads and the traffic of passers-by. Seen from the sky, all these people must have looked like nothing but swarming little insects. It probably was quite funny to see. Before, he would probably have kept this amused remark in reserve to share it with someone. Now he would just say nothing.

"I hope the boss noticed my efforts today," sighed an angry passer-by with the tie partially untied.

The young man took his cell phone out of his pocket with the speed of a survival gesture. He had to be sure of what was the right subway and get off at the right station, otherwise the labyrinth that was Tokyo might devour. However, it was not his emails or his GPS that caught his eye, but an icon he did not remember. He could not have missed it despite his astronomical amount of application, as this new image literally took up the entire screen, as if to make sure not to be ignored. The icon displayed a dark star and bright red lines which, on closer inspection, resembled an eye. He had never uploaded anything like it. No doubt it was a bug or a virus. So he deleted it.

The station he was looking for was Yongen-Jaya and the metro he had to take was right below. He could resume his journey, but nevertheless he did not want to leave right away. This moment of false disorder intrigued him enough to make him want to add it to his collection. The traveler took his camera with religious delicacy and raised it to his face. Dozens of Tokyoites were in the frame. Some in jeans, others with a newspaper in their hand, a few with glasses on their anonymous faces. All on the same track. The young man pressed the shutter button. The device obscured the world for the blinking of an eye, and it ended up frozen.

The disturbed traveler lowered his device and found that it was not a mechanical problem. The deafening chaos of Shibuya had turned into a gallery of silent statues. The steps remained halfway up. The arms were dead branches. Even the fabrics remained frozen like modeling clay. The young man blinked and didn't have time to say anything, especially since he wasn't sure how to react himself. At the far end of the main street, a blue glow revealed itself the instant a distant noise was heard.

The traveler followed the light with wide eyes as it rose and fell. As it approached, its outlines became clearer to present a flame the color of the sky. The noise echoed throughout the square with an overwhelming reverberation. It was a laugh. a joyful and mocking laugh like a cartoon broadcast in a cathedral. That gleam and its voice kept the traveler mesmerized, unable to look away or blink. The flame leapt from one head to another. With playful leaps, the flame lit each one of them like candles, while this playful, excited, uninhibited laugh grew.

The field of flame expanded as the flame approached. The young man could see its pirouettes propelled by arms and legs on which the flame stood in perfect balance. During its facetious acrobatic feats, glowing features emerged. Was it eyes? Not only. The acrobat pyromaniac turned again and again until it planted itself on the passer-by facing the traveler. An incredible contortion made the fire giant's face end up close to the young man and his field of vision was invaded only by two burning embers and a huge scarlet smile like a crescent moon. This face exploded to reveal the young man's one, troubled by the impossible familiarity of the expression of insanity and the acid yellow eyes of this reflection. The young man's eyelids blinked.

"Don't tell me you forgot money for the Big Bang Burger?" a teenager declared to a friend.

Everything had returned to its original disorder. Passers-by disappeared into their own crowd like waves in the ocean. The traveler quickly rubbed his eyes but discovered nothing except the cohorts of office workers and the Tokyoite groups with faces quickly forgotten. The flight had clearly been much more exhausting than he had expected. He hurried to turn off his camera and move out, his suitcase in hand, to the subway.

The rest of the journey went smoothly. Paradoxically, this nightmarish vision had occupied his mind too much to worry about details. As soon as he found the right subway, he embarked. The young man remained standing to be sure he would not fall asleep. He thought he heard two young girls his age having a strange discussion about violent struggles all over the capital. It was about sudden and incomprehensible fits of rage leading to fight in the street. He thought that the Japanese were not the kind to show conflict openly. He blamed his surprise on an arguably idyllic vision of this country. He kept listening at the subway sounds rather than the tales of curses and possessions told by the two girls.

"Yongen-jaya!" announced a mechanical voice.

The traveler with the camera was careful not to hit anyone with his suitcase when getting out. He did the same as he climbed the escalator and walked down the street. He passed under a huge lane perched on thick concrete pillars and found himself in a maze of streets very different from the big screen of Shibuya. Here reigned rather the old signs of small shops under a sky of electric cables. The houses, humble cubes of concrete or wood, were not so tall, but their gray color enclosed the traveler. He just followed the route indicated by the cell phone. He was almost there.

If all went well, the traveler was supposed to be expected at a nearby house. He followed the road, his gaze lowered, and his thoughts caught between fatigue and incomprehension. His hood shielded him from the inquisitive gaze of the policeman stationed here. A little further, he turned right, entering a dark alley. He perceived a discussion between a mother and her daughter. The latter asked if the policeman was there to make sure she doesn't do anything wrong. Her mother reassured her, explaining that he was just there to prevent people from arguing unnecessarily.

At the end of the street, the young man discovered his objective. A narrow two-storey house protected by a gray brick wall. Behind the gate was a Japanese sliding door and near it, a doorbell. A plaque was indicating the name "Sakura". The traveler was finally at his destination. He rang the doorbell without hesitation. After such a long trip, he wasn't unhappy about stopping somewhere calm. A chair or a cushion would be more than enough. Maybe he would have time to eat something. At least if someone opened the door to him.

The young man rang again. The door remained motionless. There wasn't even a light on. A deep sigh escaped him. He had been warned that Mr. Sakura might not be at home when he arrived. He had just hoped he was. All he could do was turn away. The traveler froze when, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he spotted a movement. There was a small window with a Venetian blind near the door. One of its slats seemed to have moved, but it was probably his imagination. After seeing Shibuya on fire, anything that wasn't certain was potentially delusional.

On the way to the secondary destination, the traveler spotted a manhole cover at his feet. Lost in thought, he jumped over it and landed on tiptoe, one arm outstretched like a tightrope walker. His perfectly aligned shoes amused him. He placed one foot in front of the other as if a tightrope was showing his way. Another cautious step followed, then another, his back perfectly straight. If he lost his balance, he would fall into an ocean of black lava that was difficult to wash. Before a smile finished forming on his face, he heard a bark.

Hidden by the edge of his hood, he had not spotted the mother and the little girl from earlier, accompanied by a Chiba dog. Their eyes were on the traveler, an astonished expression frozen on their faces, as if their thoughts had been short-circuited by some anomaly. The source of their amazement dropped his arm in one go, bowed his spine, and fled with a step as stiff as it was quick, his camera tossing like a pendulum. The girl let out a small laugh as she followed him with her eyes until the young man and his suitcase disappeared around the corner.

"The said bus driver attacked his employer without warning. Three other persons were hurt in this altercation while the aggressor was screaming at everyone nonsensical accusations of tyrannical behavior from his boss. The citizens can't live in peace if this keeps up!"

Of the three people seated at Cafe Leblanc, two of them, bent over by a long exhausting life, listened to the presenter with concern from their tables. The old man took offense at the horror of what he heard.

"What could be going on?" asked the elder woman in front of him. "Since when has such behavior been common in Tokyo?"

A slender man in a khaki apron was standing aside from the conversation. Bent over at the counter, his eyes stared through half-moon glasses at a newspaper with a clear disinterest in the rest of the world. Only his crosswords were of interest.

"Horizontal is…" he was mumbling. "A medical place to heal the mind."

A cheerful bell rang as the door opened, reflexively attracting the gaze of the slumped woman and the reader. Out of the corner of their eye, they discovered a slim figure encased in a gray sweatshirt, his face obscured by a narrow hood. The newcomer, with a big camera hanging from his neck, gently closed the door behind him after bringing in a large container-like rolling suitcase. This baggage eventually attracted the attention of the man with glasses who turned his weathered face with a pointy goatee away from his hobby for good.

The stranger's posture relaxed as he stopped in front of the entrance, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The latter took an outstretched hand out of the belly pocket of his sweatshirt and lowered his hood with it. The innocently puzzled look of the old woman intrigued her husband. Turning to the newcomer, he discovered with surprise a young Western man. The teenager couldn't have been over sixteen years old. His heart-shaped face had large eyes shining like melted chocolate framed by heavy lids.

The foreigner, his face as if frozen with fatigue, slid his hand over his smooth brown hair to make sure that no lock had been given too much freedom. He was reassured to see the effectiveness of the elastic which held against his neck a small bun looking like a bunny tail. He avoided staring at the elderly customers who were watching him curiously. The occidental boy suspected that it was not common to meet someone like him in such a small alley, far away from touristic places.

"Oh! You must be Zephyr's son. Right?" reacted the man with glasses with a half-surprised look.

"Ai…" (Yes) confirmed the foreigner before asking with embarrassment. "Sakura no Sojiro desu ka?" (Are you Sojiro Sakura?)

The man in the apron confirmed while dropping his newspaper on the counter before jumping to his feet. Without waiting, the young man tensed and bowed, speaking in a quick voice.

"Hajimemashite, Sakura-sama..." (Nice to meet you)

A slight laugh escaped the old lady, attracting the embarrassed eyes of the young Westerner and the expressionless ones of the two older men. She looked away with an amused shame as the stranger looked down, aware, but too late, that he had used a suffix too strong to adress the restaurateur.

"Sojiro-san is sufficient," the concerned one explained with a half-smile, "but since you'll work for me, Saint-Clair-san, it wasn't inappropriate I suppose."

The young man did not care about the flawed pronunciation of the restaurateur. He was happy to hear his name pronounced one last time in French, knowing that for the others, it would be pronounced more like Sankureru instead.

"Sou desu ka…" (I see…) reacted the young man, a little more at ease but unable to look up.

"We'll be going now," informed the old man with a tired voice, rising from his chair with his wife. "The payment's on the table."

"Thanks for coming," Sojiro responded.

"This place isn't too frequented," added the old man, "there's no worries of any fight, here."

Not very sure it was a compliment, Sojiro simply gave a merchant's response.

"Certainly not. I can assure you this is a respectable place."

"There has been a lot of violence recently, you know," added the elderly customer. "I just hope there'll be no trouble around here."

"Do not worry," reassured the restaurateur. "These streets are perfectly safe."

After a small laugh tinged with hope, the couple greeted Sojiro before leaving calmly. The traveler was careful not to be in the way and did not have the impression, to his own relief, that they were paying him attention. Saint-Clair was nonetheless surprised at the Sojiro's scolding remark.

"Four hours for a single cup of joe ..."

The old man seemed to forget this quickly when his eyes met the young foreigner's one over his glasses.

"So, you're Félix?" he asked with his approximative French accent.

"Indeed," confirmed the young man, staying silent after his short answer.

"Well, your father wasn't lying," declared Sojiro with a smile. "You look a lot like him. I couldn't miss you."

Sojiro perceived a slight tension in Felix's gaze, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

"Maybe," said the traveler. "I think I took more from my mother."

"Is it? I'll have to take your word for it. Zéphyr never had the opportunity to present her to me."

"It's not surprising," Felix added, looking down.

Sojiro felt a slight acidic intonation in the westerner's voice that made him understand that it was better to change the subject.

"Anyway, I'll show you where you will stay."

The restaurateur walked towards the back of the shop. Felix followed him, not without giving the cafe a tender glance. The establishment was small and its organization a little strange. The kitchen was clearly visible, as if you had just placed the counter in front of it without trying to show any professional zeal. The TV itself was on a fridge near the sink. Despite everything, there emanated from this environment of dark wood and subdued light a certain charm, a sincerity peculiar to those who take their work to heart.

The contrast was then strong when he passed the toilet. He followed Sojiro up small, cracking wooden stairs until dust filled his lungs. Aside from the decent light distributed by a dirty window and two timid bulbs, the room where Sojiro guided him looked like an old forgotten attic. Full plastic bags, empty jerrycans and other kind of junks were lying around on a plastic tarp. Furniture covered with old books and newspapers were dominating the dusty floor while cobwebs filled the ceiling.

"This is your room," announced Sojiro. "This is not much, but I can at least give you sheets for your bed."

Felix realized the existence of the said piece of furniture and that of a sofa, an old ladder and even a small green plant whose survival was undoubtedly a miracle. The foreigner's stunned gaze stopped roaming the room when he realized Sojiro was staring at him with curiosity bordering on annoyance.

"You look like you wanna say something?"

"It's… cluttered?" hesitated Felix.

"You are free to move anything you want. I don't have the use for most of this."

Saint-Clair walked into the room to better appreciate the space. He had expected something less spacious. It was more or less like his living room in Paris. As he moved his suitcase near the bed, Sojiro continued his explanations.

"I warned your father that's all I can offer you. He said it wasn't a problem and that you would help me in the restaurant. He told you that, right?"

"Yes, he did."

The restaurateur observed the young man, without him seeming to pay attention to him. Despite his rigid demeanor, now that the embarrassment had subsided, he thought he detected a sparkle of melancholy in his gaze. A glow like that of a prisoner entering his cell for the first time.

"Not that I'm trying to push you out", explained Sojiro with carefulness, "but he also told me that if you change your mind, your room at his apartment is ready."

This sentence drew the French teenager out from his contemplation. Shocked by this sentence, his response was as direct as it was incisive.

"No, here is fine."

The lack of hesitation made Sojiro understand that there was no point in insisting. He might as well go to the most important details. So important that the restaurateur did not beat around the bush.

"Listen: I leave in the evening after closing, so you will be alone here without being able to go out. Your father promised me that you were trustworthy. I trust him, but I don't know you. I agreed to accommodate you because I have a debt to your father. However, being the son of an old friend won't stop me from throwing you out at the first problem. Understood?

Felix was as confused as he was worried with those two revolver-barreled eyes fixed on him. His warning was not a joke or an empty threat. Still, the traveler relaxed as he saw the lack of anger on his face. He remembered of course where he was. It was not a hotel, but the workplace of the man who accommodated him. Sakura-san was just making sure his shop was safe.

"Understood," Felix replied with a nod. "I promise to not cause trouble."

Despite his frozen look, Sojiro perceived the sincerity of the stranger's intention.

"Very well," he agreed, still on the defensive, before a memory made him sigh. "Oh! Your father asked me to take you to Shujin Academy tomorrow. He wanted to do it, but he has an impediment."

"Bien sûr qu'il en a un..." (Of course he does) grumbled Felix.

When he saw Sojiro's arched eyebrow that betrayed his incomprehension, Felix added.

"This is not a problem."

Sojiro knew that wasn't really what he had said, but he instinctively understood that it wasn't worth pointing out that detail.

"Yeah, well… Don't get used to it," he warned. "I have too much work to help you like this on a regular basis. Oh! And avoid speaking in French. You might make one or two people uncomfortable."

"Of course," understood Félix. "Gomen nasai." (I am sorry)

"Don't be," explained Sojiro with a crooked smile. "I don't really mind, personally. The opposite would be a bit hypocritical given the name of my restaurant."

Felix grasped the hypothetical irony of such a situation in Café Leblanc but showed no reaction. Sojiro lost his smile and, not appreciating the silence, just added.

"Are you sure you wouldn't be better at the International French High School?"

"It's too far from here," explained the French teenager. "Do not worry. I speak Japanese fluently. My mother made sure of that."

Despite the approximate suffix used earlier, Sojiro believed it. He hadn't detected an accent too perceivable in his sentences.

"I hope so for you," Sojiro said soberly. "At least there you would go a bit unnoticed. As a foreigner, you will stand out a lot in Shujin."

"That's not my intention," reassured Felix.

"In this case I advise you to be discreet. I know boys are pretty hot-blooded at your age, but trust me, it'll be better if you mind your own business and study in silence."

For Felix, this did not change anything. Despite the anguish he felt about being plunged into such a crowded environment as a foreign high school, he nodded like a good soldier.

"I have to go back downstairs," the restaurateur informed. "I'm sure you can pack your things on your own."

Felix confirmed with the same nod.

"I left you some sheets and things to clean over there," added the owner before disappearing downstairs.

At these words, the newcomer noticed the cleaning equipment at the foot of a dusty old table. The furniture seemed to be praying for the teenager to use the rags in front of him. He let out a deep sigh and relievedly took off his gray sweatshirt. He thus revealed a white T-shirt which sported a quartet of colored diamonds on the heart. He threw the sweatshirt onto his suitcase and took a closer look at the broom. Looking at the room's state, the sole idea of so much cleaning exhausted him even more.

The young man's distracted finger collected a little dust on the table. The little point of cleanliness thus formed made him want, with a distracted gesture, to make a second point next to it, then to draw an arc of a circle below. Although deeply amused by the smiley, his hand casually brushed away this face. Felix realized that even after such a long trip, he wouldn't be able to sleep with all this dirt. His lungs and nose would oppose it.

His mechanical arms grabbed a few brushes and quickly dealt with the cobwebs. He took the time to change the sheets on the bed before observing the result of this small efforts. The room was a bit more livable. At least, he told himself, he wouldn't have to dread an invasion of spiders in his sleep. After a short break, Felix put his suitcase away near a desk hidden under a plastic curtain. As for his backpack, he put it at the foot of the bed. He took out some necessities: his book, which he would definitely not finish today, his half-emptied grape juice and an already opened bag of mini sausages brought from Charles de Gaulle airport. Felix collapsed on the bed but, before he could start what would be enough for him as dinner, he heard the wailing of the old staircase.

"That's a good start I guess," admitted Sojiro.

"I'll finish tomorrow," the French boy anticipated. "I promise."

"I hope so. Don't you have a proverb in France about work that is not finished?"

"Travail à moitié fait, travail pas fait ? I mean, work half-done, work not done? I've heard of it."

Although a little disappointed by the young man's nonchalance, Sojiro remained unmoved, aware of his fatigue.

"I need to go," he announced. "I'll lock the door behind me."

Felix simply looked at Sojiro, revealing by his passivity that this new information did not change anything for him. Before turning around, the old man felt the need to express his thoughts.

"Can I give you any other advice?" he asked.

"I guess," Felix listened.

"I know this is a delicate period for you, but since you will be staying in Japan for a while, you should smile a bit. We Japanese appreciate a smile as much as anyone in the world."

As Sojiro returned to the stairs, Felix realized that he hadn't talked much since his arrival. And the little he had said was maybe not very friendly. Conversation was not his forte, and those for a long time, but he also didn't want to hurt the one who allowed him to avoid sharing the same home as his father.

"Sojiro-san!" he called out.

The old man stopped to turn his heavy and a little surprised gaze to the one who had been so silent until now.

"I really meant it earlier," the foreigner said in a strained voice, as if pushed by force beyond a barrier. "I appreciate you accomodating me. Domo arigato gozaimasu." (Thank you very much)

The teenager a smile a bit forced, awkward, but shining with an innocent glow. Sojiro answered more naturally with a wave of his hand indicating, with an amusing, somewhat hypocritical politeness, the pointlessness of his words.

"Dou itashimashite," (You're welcome) he said.

When he disappeared into the restaurant, Felix released his face and stopped smiling. It was always an effort for him. When he heard the bell at the entrance, in the distance, he felt himself locked in again. The crowded airplanes, airport and subway had taken care of maintaining this feeling which seemed familiar now. He had traveled more than twelve hours and found himself in the middle of a sprawling capital with a culture completely different from his own. The boy felt the need to clear his mind as quickly as possible, otherwise he felt that frustration would make him do something stupid. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and opened the last message his mother had sent him before boarding.

"Fais un bon voyage !

Reste calme et je te promets que tout ira bien.

Ce sera une expérience formidable.

Ganbatte ne!"

(Have a nice journey!

Stay calm and I promise you that everything will be fine.

It will be an amazing experience.

Do your best!)

Felix wanted to send a message to his mother, but she was probably busy at this time looking for a new job. Exhausted, the young stranger lay down and remembered, as he looked out the window, of the sadness he had left his mother in when he left home, despite her best efforts to hide it from him. She had not recovered from the unjustified loss of her job. And now his father separated him from her. Sojiro had spoken of "Delicate period". His mother spoke of "Great Experience". He didn't know that one's parents' divorce was called that today. It was a bit ridiculous. He almost wanted to laugh about it if he wasn't the subject of the joke.

It almost made him loose his appetite. Felix finished his snack and his juice casually and lay down, unable to sleep. His mind swirled between the essential kanji he should not forget, the despair of his lonely mother, the face of the man who had destroyed her life and the fury of all the hypocrisy that caused this situation. Félix Saint-Clair was way too far from home. Finally, a few good memories at the manga store on Boulevard Voltaire, his mother at the cash register and himself holding a precariously balanced stack of books, were enough to relax him and fall into a deep sleep.

Felix's sleep was not as abysmal as his fatigue made him anticipate. His back hurts a bit. The surface it was in contact with was not as comfortable as it used to be. Felix suspected he had fall from the bed and reopened his eyes. The sleep fog quickly dispersed, but the blanket that enveloped him refused to come off. Felix pulled harder but his arms were locked in a stifling embrace. The astonishment finished making him jump and the shock was too strong. Why were the walls padded? Why was everything blue? Why was his body wrapped in white cloth? His breath went off as he stood up, almost falling into the void. His arms remained glued to his body and denied him proper balance. Just like the soft ground that made his uncertain feet tremble.

The young Frenchman focused when footsteps echoed. His body was wrapped in a straitjacket with shiny curls. The sound was coming from outside, beyond an iron barred door. Behind the metal sticks was a white tiled floor on which appeared with terrible clicks white leather shoes under cream-colored dresses. Felix's eyes followed the fabric to realize that he was now being observed by two young girls. He might have found them adorable if their petite stature and platinum blonde hair weren't accompanied by oversized eye patches and icy smiles. Each had her eye patch on a different eye and while one had a short, braided ponytail, the other had two buns. More importantly, one had a stick in her hand and the other, a clipboard with the word Grimoire printed on it. Without these details, Felix might have thought he was seeing double, because even their old-fashioned nurse outfit, from the long dress to the little hat, was similar. The icy looks the twins were casting on Felix almost took his breath away. They barely fit his chest, but there was an aura in their presence devoid of the slightest hint of innocence.

When he found the courage to open his mouth, the girls stepped aside to reveal, in the middle of a long, white, sterile and over illuminated corridor, a carved wooden desk. Behind the papers, the pens and the stethoscope placed on it, an impossible being sat on its throne. He was a man with arms too thin and too long, putting on his hands his head with a nose as large as a stork's beak. His bald head was surrounded by long locks of hair that were white and flowing like a molten crown. Felix found it difficult to hold his gaze. This man's eyes were wide, as if blocked after being forcibly held open. His huge smile with immaculate teeth gave the feeling that he could eat the young man if he wanted to.

"Welcome to my Velvet room, Trickster." declared the strange man with a high-pitched voice. Are you ready for your therapy?"

This spectacle paralyzed the young man with terror. He wondered if he had lost his mind or if he was being played a terrible joke. Felix observed the surroundings with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Everything in this setting seemed impossible and towered over him like a giant. His eyes fixed only when they spotted a double door far away, at the other end of the hall, almost hidden by the long-nosed man's huge desk chair.

"Answer the question, Kanja!" One of the girls yelled, hitting the bars with an electrified stick.

"The first step towards recovery is to listen to the doctor," added her twin with a calm but cold voice.

Felix began to tremble with fear. It took a moment for him to understand the Japanese word used by the brutal girl. What did it mean? The answer surprised him despite a certain logic. Kanja meant patient, in the medical sense of the word. These two nurses, associated with this padded room, made Felix understand where he was: An asylum. As if to anticipate the flood of questions jostling in his head, the man in the blouse began to declare solemnly.

"This world is between dream and reality, spirit and matter. Only those bound by a contract may enter. I am Igor, the master of this place. I advise you to remember it well if you want the therapy to be successful."

These words had a warning tone that chilled down the foreigner's spine. Despite this, they relaxed Felix. Was it a dream then? He wasn't sure he had understood correctly, but the possibility was reassuring enough.

"However, I'm surprisingly hopeful looking at this room," continued Igor while looking around him. His fixed eyes looked at the white empty walls like they were a strange yet original work of art. "It's state reflects the one of your own heart. For seeing oneself as a maniac, one needs an uncommon habit of introspection and reassessment."

The master of this asylum ended up looking at Félix.

"This is all good. It means there is hope for your rehabilitation."

The young man, who was getting strangely used to this new setting, thought for a moment before asking one of his numerous questions.

"Am I a prisoner?"

Igor had a light laugh that hissed between his clenched teeth.

"I guess a patient is a prisoner of its disease in a way," he answered." However, only you can choose to escape from it, and it won't be an easy task."

The twin with the braid said with eerie benevolence.

"Do not worry, kanja. We are here to help you."

"You better be grateful for the chance the master gives you," added with energy the twin with buns.

Felix almost felt like laughing in his turn. His quick response to the last of the girls showed he had more annoyance than gratitude right now.

"De ce que je vois, la seule chance que j'ai c'est de ne pas avoir un boulet enchaîné au pied. "

(From what I see, the only chance I have is to not have a ball chained to my feet.)

The twin with a staff frowned, but Igor reacted before she could speak with his high-pitched voice in a fluent Japanese.

"This rebellious energy is an excellent sign. Your rehabilitation to freedom has already begun. Don't be so surprised. This place is set out of the material world. Languages are nothing but details here." the master in white coat added then like he had an unforgivable memory lapse. "But pardon me for not making the presentations. To your right, with the staff, is Caroline, to your left, with the clipboard, Justine. They serve as nurses here."

Adding a name didn't change the discomfort Felix felt at seeing them. And even less that of his arms twisted by the straitjacket he was wearing. With a little hope fueling anger, the young Frenchman tried to pull on the fabric to free himself, without obtaining any result.

"Hmph! You can struggle as hard as you like," mocked Caroline. "You'll not be put off this straightjacket until you are rehabilitated."

"The duty of a nurse is to take care of the patient until they are cured," explained Justine. "You can see us as your collaborator… as long as you undergo your therapy."

"I shall explain the roles of these two in another time," announced Igor bluntly. "For now, the night is waning. Take your time thinking about this place."

When he finished his sentence, a terrible high-pitched sound echoed in the hallway. A piercing and continual alarm which made Felix's ears ring.

"The time for visits is up!" announced Caroline. "Now go back to sleep, patient!"

Felix's conscience obeyed immediately. Darkness invades like a curtain that has fallen on a stage. There was no dream after that.

Thank you for reading my fiction

Don't hesitate to share and review

I see you next time

Random anecdote:

The protagonist was supposed to be named Félix Mandrin, in reference to a famous french criminal: Louis Mandrin, known as a smuggler who led hundreds of men. In the end, I chose Saint-Clair in reference to Léo Saint-Clair, a kind-of superhero from popular french novels who can see in the dark and act as a french secret agent and explorer.