Literally: to rip cats with someone
Meaning: to argue vehemently
Wednesday, January 4th, Daytime
The lift to Maruki's Palace once again took its sweet time to reach the top, and the gymnast found herself uncomfortable with all the silence. "Um… nice tail, Fox-san."
"Thank you," he smiled, not noticing or caring about the awkwardness of this compliment.
Finally, the door opened, and the group marched out, with Goro in the front, Yusuke right behind him and Sumire at the rear, awkwardly inspecting everything around them.
"You were in this Palace before," the artist commented. "Do we have any intelligence on this place?"
"Not much. I was here once before and was yanked around by a tentacle for most of it."
"Should we be on guard for wandering appendages then?"
"It won't hurt."
The Thieves entered what looked like a massive waiting room. There were a lot of plain looking white benches near the stairs, with a few cognitions sitting on them. Most of them were queuing towards the main entrances, above which hung something that could only be described as an art installation inspired by split flap displays, slowly changing and showing random numbers. Above all that, wood-textured ribbon cables connected to oversized CCTV cameras and a heart-shaped analog meter (or a clock, perhaps?) with its hands going to and fro. Overall, all three of them found the location sinister-looking, and the bright colours and faux-daylight coming from the ceiling just added to the creepiness of it all.
"Okay," Goro said, "I think we should go to-"
"Greetings."
The three spun towards the source of the voice, weapons drawn, and noticed a single solitary mook Shadow in a lab coat, carrying a clipboard under its arm.
"There is no need to be hostile," it said. "Ms. Yoshizawa, Mr. Sakura-"
"That's Mr. Akechi to you."
"Oh, of course." Some of the goo from the Shadow's palm ended up forming into the shape of a pen, and he wrote down something on his clipboard. "And… Mr. Kitagawa, correct? The head researcher wants to speak with you in the auditorium."
"You mean Dr. Maruki?" Yusuke asked.
"Yes." The Shadow pointed at the door on the side of the waiting room. "Go through here, and down to the very end of the corridor." He then dissolved with a splash, startling Sumire.
"If you could please walk into my obvious trap, that would be very lovely," Goro growled.
"If I'm allowed to weigh in…" After a long pause and the detective gesturing at her to continue, Sumire went on: "I don't think it's a trap and Maruki-san genuinely wants to talk. Maybe we could get him to step down."
A look of sheer incredulity was painted on the detective's face. "Green," he said, in a tone reserved for particularly slow children, "if his desires are distorted enough to manifest as a Palace, talking him down isn't an option anymore."
"To the contrary," the artist piped in. "We have managed to get through to one Palace ruler - Sae Niijima, to be specific - to a satisfactory degree."
"Okay then, who should be talking?" he countered. "An eccentric single-minded starving artist, a scared newbie that's one loud sound away from legging it, or an asocial assassin with a dormant death wish?"
Sumire mustered up just enough defiance to speak up: "I-I'm sure Maruki-san will be understanding of our… quirks, if we don't open with as much hostility as you're showing now, Crow-san."
Goro just barely stopped himself from saying she knows little about how hostile he could be, and adjusted his necktie with a grumble. "Fine then. I'm just going to say 'I told you so' now and we can go and meet him."
The trio opened the door and marched down the corridor, between the small crowds of cognitions cluttering it. "We-weren't you a celebrity?" the gymnast asked the detective. "Like, didn't that require you to be good with people?"
"You might think so, but no," he replied. "I only needed to dress sharply, appear confident but not threatening, and not go against the popular opinion because people pissed in my mailbox when I did so."
"…how literal are you now?" Yusuke asked.
"Remember that period after you got Kaneshiro to confess and I was mildly critical of the Thieves?"
"Say no more."
"I mean, I did deserve that, but the general public wasn't aware of mph!"
Yusuke put his hand on his mouth. "Say. No more."
There were two doors at the end of the corridor. One of them was labelled "Staircase; internal personnel only", the other was labelled "Auditorium". Taking note of the former, the three walked through the latter, and were met with a dark pathway.
"Fox, watch our backs, I will focus on the front," Goro whispered. He waited for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness and added "Moving out, quietly."
He took a single unsure step, trying to make it as quiet as possible. Then another, and another, his eyes darting all over the place in search of anything suspicious. He noticed the corridor widening into an empty stage surrounded by a few sectors of seat-
Cue the lights. All three Thieves covered their eyes, Sumire let out a sharp "Ah!"
"I told you it's a fucking trap!" Goro shouted, reaching for his revolver.
"It is not." The detective aimed in the direction of the voice and pulled the hammer back, but didn't fire. "I merely wanted an impressive entrance. I probably should've taken into account that it could be misinterpreted, I'm sorry." The detective's eyes refocused and he noticed Maruki standing in front of him, just a bit to the side of where he was aiming, and so he readjusted. "Please put away the firearm," the therapist said, unimpressed.
"We are here to talk, Crow-san, remember?"
After a moment, Goro decocked his gun and put it back in his inner pocket. "Fine then. Let's talk."
"Have a seat." Two mooks carried in a couch wide enough to fit all three Thieves, and a third brought in an armchair for Maruki. Everyone sat down. "Do you want anything to drink?"
"Yes, please," Sumire nodded.
"Hard pass."
"No, thank you."
Another mook handed a small carton of apple juice to the gymnast. Goro thought about protesting, but decided otherwise.
"We started off the wrong foot because of… not-unearned grievances." Maruki tented his fingers. "Let's try again: Akira has no doubt explained the situation to you, and yet you have returned here for some reason. Why?"
"Because…" the detective paused, trying to phrase his point in the least inflammatory way possible, "Because you have too much unchecked power and we're concerned about it getting misused."
A scowl appeared on Maruki's face. "Do not measure me by your own standards."
"To dismiss my current argument because of my past actions would be fallacious," Goro replied.
"Not to mention," Yusuke spoke up, "both myself and Green share his worries on the topic."
Sumire, unable to add anything smart to that, just pulled out the straw from her mouth and nodded in confirmation.
"Fine then." Maruki adjusted his glasses and collected himself. "If I might go mad with power in the future, why do you want to stop me now?"
"Because your changes won't be reversible by the end of the month," the detective said. "I assume you were aware of that."
The therapist seemed taken aback - either because he wasn't aware of it, or because he wasn't aware that the Thieves were aware. "…that's a bold hypothesis. Where did you get it from?"
Sumire opened her mouth.
"Don't tell him!" Goro hissed at her, then turned back to him. "We have our sources. You have no idea what powers you're meddling with."
"And you have no idea that they could be used for more than political assassinations," Maruki's tone turned somewhat sour for a brief moment, before he faced Yusuke. "As demonstrated by the Phantom Thieves. We are not that different-"
"Ugh," Goro rolled his eyes. When the therapist shot him a venomous glare, he caught himself and mumbled: "A-apologies. It's just that… I've heard that line used a few times to compare myself and the Thieves and I find it… slightly grating. Please, continue."
Maruki ahemed. "As I was trying to say, the Phantom Thieves have also altered cognitions of humans, like I am doing right now. What makes what I am trying to achieve so deplorable?"
"Scale, for one thing," Yusuke replied. "With one single exception, the Phantom Thieves of Hearts have targeted individuals." He adjusted himself in his seat. "But more importantly: stealing a Treasure merely forces the Palace ruler to reevaluate their actions without their distorted desires influencing them, whereas you completely overwrite everything based on your judgement."
Judging by Maruki's expression, he couldn't rationalize away that thought on the spot. "It is based on what the people want."
"If you pardon a cliche, what they want and what they need are two different things - and in the end, do you not arbitrarily filter out the unsavoury desires? And your own opinion isn't without bias - as demonstrated by your continued passive-aggressiveness towards Crow."
"Get back to me when he tries to kill you," the therapist barked back.
The artist cracked a grin. "I'm sorry to say that ship has already sailed."
Goro laughed out loud. Noticing Sumire's confused stare, he said "Inside joke. I'll explain later."
"I am glad you're amused." There was surprisingly little hostility in Maruki at that point. He seemed, above all else, disappointed. "It appears I won't be able to convince you my reality is an improvement worth the risk."
"It's unlikely," Sumire said.
Silence followed. In a different universe, Maruki would reluctantly surrender, and the next chapter would consist of wrapping up the loose ends. But we're not in that universe, so he ended up glancing elsewhere. "But I will try anyway."
"That sounds ominous," Goro said, ready to unholster his revolver at a moment's notice.
"Don't fear. I'll just remind you what you're fighting for."
The floor under the Thieves gave way.
Yusuke opened his eyes.
He was wearing his civilian clothes, lying on his back on something… familiar? He got up and scanned his surroundings.
The bed he was sitting on was a standard single, with a sheet carelessly draped on it, a small pillow, and a coverlet, tossed aside. By the exit door stood a small refrigerator, mostly unused, with assorted blank canvases piled on top of it. Next to it, a small countertop with cupboards underneath, with a barely working electric kettle and a pile of discarded empty cups of instant ramen on top. Next to that, a cluttered desk with a small easel unfolded on it and a half-finished painting on it. Art supplies were scattered everywhere, including all the amenities described before, the floor, and - after an accident involving a heavy bag and tubs of acrylic paint - the walls and the ceiling.
"Yes, my dorm quarters are disorganized," the artist said to nobody in particular, "but I assume that is not your main point."
"The point is," Maruki's voice replied, "you seem to prefer this squalor over being mentored by a professional artist that-"
"Don't even go there," the artist snarled, with unexpected viciousness. "This situation is precisely what I had in mind when talking about your arbitrary judgement. A part of me is in denial about what I went through, and you have used said part to justify your decisions."
"Madarame regrets his actions."
"And best of luck to him, but that does not mean I owe him anything." He stood up. "This conversation is over, I am leaving."
"Very well," the voice responded. "The door opens from your side. If you and the others leave this… Palace, I believe you called it, immediately, you will remain undisturbed."
Yusuke approached the exit and carefully put his hand on the doorknob, bracing himself for whatever trap or monster awaited him on the other side. He opened the door with force and hit someone or something with it.
"Ow!"
The artist recognized the voice and was taken aback. "An- Panther?"
Ann poked her head from behind the door. "Yup. Good afternoon to you too. Mona's here with me, inspecting the locks on the other two doors."
"Hey, Fox," Morgana's voice could be heard from the other side of the room. "Good to hear you."
"That's… convenient. Dare I say, implausibly convenient." The artist took a step back, so that the kettle was within an arm's reach, should he need an improvised weapon.
"I have nothing to do with this," Maruki announced, defensively.
"How did you find me then?" the artist asked.
