Chapter 8

"…What?"

Ren asks as soon as the student – Mishima is the name – walks over to him, fidgeting nervously on the balls of his feet. Ren decides to stow Morgana away, hushing the not-cat into silence with a finger before looking up as the boy looks anywhere but at him. But when faced with unbreathable silence, the boy yields, sighing and looking away. "So um… I want to apologize."

"What for?" Ren asks, eyes darting around the room. Most of the students have long since left the place by now, and if Ren has to guess, Mishima might have an idea of what he is – what they are.

"…I didn't only just leak your records," He says, and Ren recalls what Kamoshida said back during their confrontations, that Mishima is the one who set this hell in motion. "I also worked to find details of them and leak them on the school's social network, so…"

It takes Ren unusually long for the words to sink in (for the fact that the rumors fly so fast and with such effect when he knows his father has kept some of Ren's records hidden), but when they do, two conflicting thoughts happen within him like a storm; Arsene, the manifestation of his rebellious spirit and his pure, unadulterated anger, roars and shakes his very being to the core. And his heart, one that has always been so meek and weak of will, understands why Mishima would do such a thing immediately – he must've been forced, his hands tied by the authority above his own.

His reasoning calms Arsene down enough for Ren to breathe normally again, and he bites his lip a little before forcing himself to nod. "…Alright. Thanks for telling me."

"Wha – you're not angry?" Mishima asks, blinking rapidly, incredulous. "I made your life a living hell here!"

"You had a choice not to do it, true," Ren murmurs, looking away from those eyes that shine with the light of awe Ren doesn't know what to do with. "But I know what it's like. Refusing ones who hold power over your future is not easy."

I would know, because I have never been able to, and in this world, I probably never will.

Mishima exhales at this, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Then, he whispers. "Anyways… you are one of them, aren't you? The Phantom Thieves, I mean."

It isn't surprising, when Ren takes the few seconds that he has to think about it; Mishima was there when they confronted Kamoshida together, cowering in fear of the power that could rip his future asunder and scatter it into the violent wind. And the school isn't all that big – if anyone tries hard enough to talk to him at all, or even get to know him or Ryuji better, they might've been able to come to the same conclusions as well.

He doesn't see the point in denying the fact, but sees no real benefit in outright admitting it, either. So he settles for a compromise that would satisfy them both, one that allows him to keep his peace and quiet and walls around his heart, and one that allows Mishima some small satisfaction. "…That's an interesting theory. But if I really am one of them, I wouldn't tell a soul, would I?"

Mishima snorts at this, then nods to himself. "…That's true. And hey, I'm just here to say that the Phantom Aficionado Website is my doing. I think… if I think I know the Phantom Thieves even the tiniest bits, then they would probably not stop after just a single evil, right? They'd probably change more hearts of the rotten adults, wouldn't they?"

"Don't get your hopes up," Ren shrugs, putting Morgana inside his bag – and just shakes his head at the not-cat's wide-eye look – before slinging it on his shoulder. "You don't know them very well."

"I don't," Mishima parrots. "But if you – if they need anything, and if you happen to find them, just let me know. I'll help out however I can."

Ren only narrows his eyes, skepticism creeping up his spines against Arsene's protest. But aside from the three, he still won't allow anyone else to see him as he is, ugly and broken and unrepairable. And he thinks Mishima still is a part of them, of those willing to let Ren suffer and die to sooth their own souls, ones that would let anything happen to anyone as long as it benefits them.

But the website might eventually come in handy to them, so Ren decides not to shun the boy away. He might want to talk to Ren in order to gain something out of him, and if such is the case, it would only be fair if he could use the boy in return, too. So he stifles Arsene back down into the pit of his soul and nods, humming quietly the tune of his own heartbeat as he lets his heart carry his mind to where the other two (his friends, Ren corrects himself. They are his friends) are. "Sure."

(The voice and the fluttering of iridescent wings call for the name of The Moon, another Confidant, one that would allow him to manifest stronger powers through bonds he still isn't too willing to make. He might turn out just like any other he's met before, but right now, there are no ways for Ren to be certain anymore.

Somewhere in the world, a butterfly flaps its wings.)

He returns to Leblanc to find a key thrusted in his direction.

When Ren just blinks stupidly at it, Sakura sighs, putting the key down on the counter and motioning for the chair. Ren nods, taking the seat as he's told, the scent of curry already informing him that Sakura will be feeding him dinner today, too (even though he has no way of paying for every meal, not yet), as the man turns to the microwave.

After a moment, when the low hum of the microwave has settled into the background, the man turns to him, pointing at the key. "That's the key to the place. In case you need to do part time jobs out there, so I won't have to wait for you to return."

Ren isn't sure what he should do or say in such a situation; he might've been imagining it, but so far, the older man has been… less hostile and cold towards him, as of late, and Ren doesn't have a clue as to why he would do that. And he could find no reason to refuse such an offer either, knowing full well that if he does get a part time job (or jobs) he has been submitting his requests in, it would be inevitable for him to return later than the shop's close time.

In the end, Ren decides to bow, putting the key away in the safest corner of his bag that he knows of. "I… Thank you, sir. This is a generous gift."

"Think nothing of it, kid," The man shrugs, turning back to the microwave and pulling out the newly-heated curry, placing the plate in front of him and putting utensils in his hands. "Your exams are coming soon, right? You don't have to help if—"

"I'm alright, sir," Ren quickly cuts the older man off, with Sakura's offer feeling misplaced, like a trap ready to be sprung when he would take the bait. He bites his lip when he realizes that he's clenching his hands hard enough that the knuckles have already turned white, and forces himself to relax before making his lips into the best smile that he could muster. "I'm doing alright academically. I owe you my work, after all."

If Sakura notices anything – the way he tenses and turns, the way the words sound bland and forced – he doesn't show it, not outwardly. But his eyes seem to glint with the kind of light that makes Ren feels like his gut has been laid bare, and he gulps down the wad of air to force the unease back down. Sakura then nods slowly, brows furrowing. "…If you're sure. But I'll hire you only until eight, so you'd have some extra time to review your materials and rest."

"But—"

"—Not buts! That's an order."

"…Yes, sir."

"One more thing, kid," Sakura adds, and when Ren looks up, the man just put the job hunt posters Ren has snatched for himself not too long ago on the table. When panic starts to come back to him, the man's next few words ease it off. "Which job did you apply for?"

Ren doesn't know the man's angle, doesn't know what he wants that information for. But what could he do? If he doesn't tell the man the truth, chances are he would know them later, and he'd be punished for his conducts. But if he does, Ren just has no idea what Sakura wants to do – does he want to shut down his job hunts altogether? Or something else?

"…The Triple Seven store, the flower shop in the underground mall and the beef bowl shop at central street, sir," Ren replies, even against his own pounding heart, because he doesn't want to defy authority who has control over his life (just like his father and everyone else that has come before), because he doesn't want to be sent back only a month after coming to this place.

"Alright," The man hums, pleased, before folding the pamphlets back and shoving it into his apron. "Now eat up. Some of my regulars will come here in fifteen, so you had better finished by then."

"Sir, yes sir."

Ren decides not to make anything out of the look of small displeasure on the man's face as he quickly shoves the meal down his throat to prepare himself for another night's worth of work to come.

May 7th, 2016 [Sat]

Ren doesn't like Niijima Makoto.

She is the prim and proper student, true, and while Ren holds no grudge against the sort of goodie-two-shoes that usually define the members of the student councils, something that Niijima gives off rubs him the wrong way; how she speaks, so disregarding of the facts and the truth of the world, or the way she dances to the tunes of those in power, no matter how many people she has to hurt to please them.

And when she calls Ann the center of gossip and Ryuji the delinquent student with such a condescending look and the clear apathy for their situations (he really doesn't care about himself being called a half-baked psychopath, not in the least), Ren just feels anger boiling underneath the soles of his feet, Arsene's growls of contempt ringing loudly like the tolls of midnight's bell. But he doesn't act out, only watching with his arms crossed, as Ann clicks her tongue, voice dripping with venom that Ren has heard once before. "What a great way to start a conversation, President."

"By the way," She continues, as if Ann's tone is not harsh or a bother to her, which irks Ren even more. And when she looks his way, contemplative, calculating, Ren just feels like walking away before he does something he will regret. "You seem to have gotten to know Kamoshida-sensei pretty well."

"Know?" Ren snorts, the thrums of his heart like a war drum, spurring on his anger he never shows to those that are above him. But here, they are equals – they are both subservient to the people in power, so that makes them both slaves to their own inability to rebel. "For a supposedly smart person, you seem pretty stupid to me."

"Wha—" Niijima begins, half startled and half offended, only for her words to be cut off by Ann and Ryuji's combined crows of laughter.

"Man, I've always known you're sharp, but not this sharp," Ryuji says, wiping away the tears of laughter at the edge of his eyes before his smile melts away as he leans forward. "He just had so little interaction with the guy is what he means, Niijima."

"I—" She breathes, as if trying to regain her composure, before clearing her throat. "I've heard that he used a member of the volleyball team to spread rumors about you. Don't you hate him, Amamiya-kun? Kamoshida-sensei, I mean."

"What of it?" Ren decides to shoot back. It's clear that she, like everyone else and everything else, wants something from him. "Don't force those words into my mouth, Senpai. What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," She says quickly, not genuinely, but with practice, as if she has been expecting this kind of outburst from him, as if she's dealt with the same situations before. "I'm sorry if it came out that way. Many students have been shaken up by what happened with Kamoshida-sensei after all, not to mention that the rumors about those calling card-esque thing aren't going away either."

Ren ignores the hisses between the two blondes as he straightens up slightly, Arsene's wingbeats soft but filled with the heat of adrenaline, one that allows him to prepare for whatever else she might do. He breathes, the air around them unusually stale, saturated with hostility, before he speaks up. "I doubt you're doing all of this on your own whim, since you've had months, years to deal with it. So who forces your hands? The teachers? The principal?"

At this, her face sours, red eyes glimmering with boredom that doesn't suit the weight of the situations many have been forced through, the Thieves included. "That's none of your concern. But at least try to understand my position, being forced to deal with this horseplay—"

Snap.

Ren sees Ann looking at him with surprise from the corner of his eyes, and Niijima backs away, hands curled defensively before her. He blinks, and when Arsene's voice reaches him, he realizes that in the middle of her tirade, of her calling all of their sufferings a simple horseplay, his hand – one that he had unknowingly grab onto the edge of the chair – has snapped off a part of the woods and impaled some of them deep into his palm, again.

(A part of him dreads having to see Takemi for this, but in his haze, in his fury, he doesn't feel anything, not even pain or fear. Just an unadulterated anger pointing at the one who holds some form of power to fight back – someone who should've been helping them, someone who choose her own convenience to forget it all and see all of these atrocities committed under the pretence of teachings a mere inconvenience to her future.)

Ren simply shakes his hand, spraying blood on the floor, making the other two winces while Niijima just purses her lips, as if unsure of what to make of him (now that he has someone who willingly call him friends and come to his defence at even the slightest of things, he's less bothered being seen as a monster now). So he bares his teeth. "Horseplay? Quite a mouth you've got there, Niijima-senpai."

"Why are you angry? Is it because it's the truth—"

"Hah!" Ren barks out a laugh that sounds more like a growl, her words bringing out the ugly sides of him he's kept hidden under his skin all these time, Arsene's stronger wings now beating in time with the war drums that is his own heart. "People like you are what made our lives miserable. I think there's no more to be gained talking with the likes of you, Senpai. If you'll excuse us."

He quickly makes his way out of the door, ignoring the others, the sound of his own anger blocking and searing everything else white like snow.

(He has to leave, before he does something he'll regret. With Arsene like this, and against someone who is in the same standing as he is, anger takes reigns over his fear, Joker more prominent than Ren. So he leaves because he knows that, if he stays for much longer, he might do something that will endanger them all later.

Arsene only laughs, his voice echoing through the chambers of his heart like a maniacal croon of a blood-starved beast.)

After a trek down the so-called Mementos (with his hand still bleeding, no less), Ren decides to visit the clinic for today.

(Why the hell can Morgana turn into a fucking bus? What is Mementos? And what or who's this Madarame they've been hearing about? These are questions Ren knows not where to get the answers, but the dull ache in his palm reminds him that such grandeur inquiries will get him nowhere. So he only sighs, shaking his head and deciding to pull his thoughts together. He needs to get the wounds look at first and foremost, then work with Sakura – anything else can wait.)

Of course, as he's suspected, Takemi really hates him – or at least, seeing his hand in that state – but doesn't say anything much about it except gesturing towards the bed.

Ren does as she's instructed, sitting down and unwrapping the crudely-made stopgap that is his handkerchief and revealing hand riddled with pieces of broken woods that have impaled into it, turning his flesh into a pincushion. He thinks he sees his bag (Morgana) shifts uneasily, but doesn't say anything as the doctor looks down at it with a small frown. "…What happened this time, kid? Did someone beat you or—"

"No, ma'am," Ren quickly corrects her, not wanting to risk the story getting out of control or far stranger than it already is. He doesn't want to risk bringing the ire of his father down upon him, and while she is his so-called Confidants, he still has no way to be certain that she won't do what he's feared, reporting him to the authorities or selling him out— "I… got a bit angry this afternoon, and I grabbed a chair a little too hard—"

"And it shattered," She sighs, pushing away her stray hair and dragging a chair to sit down across from him, his eyes sharp but not resentful. "Kid, seriously, you have to learn to control yourself more. I won't be able to help you every single time, you know."

"…Yes, ma'am," Ren replies quietly, opening his hand, fingers twitching. Once the woman gets to injecting the local anaesthesia into his hand, he mumbles. "…I'm sorry for the trouble, and I'll pay you back—"

"I told you, right?" She interrupts him, eyes not looking up, but her face doesn't sport any emotions that would make him cower, either. Ren finds it strange – much like Sakura is, to him – but decides not to voice his thoughts as she continues. "You just have to help with my experiments. Nothing dangerous, of course – are you still up for it, though? You don't have to if—"

"It's fine, Takemi-san," Ren says, watching flatly as she sutures the flesh of his hands back together with such care that suits her profession very well (better than what he could ever do, better than what he had done himself before). "I promised you, after all. And I don't have any other way to repay this."

"If you say so," She shrugs, pausing for a moment before jerking her head towards a small bottle labelled simply as #1 on the side. "That's the drug I mentioned. Just drink it after we finished here."

"Yes, ma'am," He mumbles. "I'll do just that."

(Ren also doesn't miss the way her surprise seems heavier than it should, when he gulps the entire thing down without so much as a pause. The smell is not rancid, and the test is bitter but not so much as to make his gut squirms in protest. She doesn't say anything, however, and when he says exactly what it tastes like – bitter with the smell of a back alley, but not of rotten fishes – her face sours even more.

She apologizes when she doesn't have to, and tells him she'll call when the next batch is ready, her face clear with some kind of discomfort Ren couldn't rightfully place.

Somewhere in the world, a butterfly flaps its wings.)

("Thanks for dropping by, doc."

Sojirou says as he waves for the seat at the counter, and Takemi nods, seating herself across from him. They remain silent for a moment, the afternoon sun burning all too brightly just beyond the glasses.

The kid, Amamiya, is studying right now, and Sojirou counts his blessings that the boy actually takes his study seriously, and doesn't let even the so-called part-time jobs he's been using the kid for as an excuse to pay him something to slack off. Better yet, he seems to work even more zealously every time he gets paid with barely the minimum wages that Sojirou could provide.

After a brief talk with Takemi (where he apparently hurt his hand again, and did not tell him about it on his own), they both agree that there must've been a problem between now and the long past. Sojirou thinks it might've been his childhood that makes him what he is today; a scaredy cat, one that is frightful of authorities, one that would do anything and everything just to not upset an adult.

And it pains him to see the kid this way. When he takes the boy in, he talks without so much as a thought, already pinning the boy as some kind of trouble maker that he clearly is not, snarking at him as if he is the wet garbage that is tossed out into his doorsteps because he's a bad child.

(The bad one here is him, Sojirou muses, as he continues to busy his hands with making coffee and curry for the doctor. He judged the boy even before knowing him, and after a month of having Amamiya under his roof, he could just say that the boy deserves none of his bull-shittery.)

"Have you found anything?" Takemi asks, taking the cup away from his hand and taking a sip of it, a small, satisfied hum escaping her lips.

"My friend is still looking, but he said that on the outside, his school records and his family look pretty normal," He says, recalling the conversation from but a few nights ago. "He did say that he'll have to go into the field to get more information, though. Said something along the lines of; abuses aren't something that usually show up in official records anyway."

"It's true, though," She replies, setting the cup down and frowning just minutely at her hands. "And his reactions worry me. He's more afraid of not being able to repay me than anything else, even though the deal I made with him is weighted heavily in my favor. No normal child should be like that."

"Like how he still flinches every single time he thinks I'm angry," Sojirou frowns, briefly reminded of another child in his care, one that's withering away within the walls of his home. "It's as if he is expecting me to hit him for, what, cleaning a mountain of dishes slower than usual? Or when I was just annoyed, at best, he would always cower and apologize for something he didn't even do."

It irks him – them, Sojirou corrects himself – so much so that he has to re-evaluate the boy again after seeing those kinds of reaction.

He's just a kid, for fuck's sake, and Sojirou just plays the part in cementing the boy's already high distrust and fear of adults and authorities. "It's been weeks since I'm aware of this, and he still fears me."

"I'll try to ease him up the best I could," Takemi says quietly. "Don't rush him. If my guess is right, it took him years to develop these fears and reactions. If you rush it, it's just end in disaster."

Sojirou sighs. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks, doc."

He then shoves his worry away and, just for this moment, focuses himself on the present.)

May 8th, 2016 [Sun]

"Aren't you going to meet Mishima?"

Morgana inquires, poking his head out of the bag as Ren makes his way through the crowded street and towards the crossing, into the different direction than where Mishima's requested restaurant is located. Ren takes a moment to slot himself into the line at the crossing, his hand cradling Iwai's package close to his frame. "Not yet. It'd take an hour or so until the appointment time, so I want to get this out of the way first."

The not-cat pokes his head over Ren's shoulders, tiny paws kneading into his shoulder blade in ways Ren has never allowed anyone else to do before (at least, not voluntarily), and he suppresses the urge to ask Morgana to do it a little firmer, instead craning his head back to listen as the not-cat mewls. "I see. Are you sure, though? What if you meet with one of the polices again?"

"Then all I have to do is walk out," Ren says, even if the prospect of being confronted like last time again scares him. Arsene then hums, his voice soft and low, sweeping through his heart and calming down his pulses as he crosses the street and towards Untouchable Airsoft. "Besides, I want to use this to get into his special menu faster."

"Special Menu? What's that?"

Ren's breath hitches when he remembers himself, that he hasn't told and showed Morgana everything. But when Ren turns to look at those blue eyes, there are no judgement, no disgust, only genuine curiosity that makes his lips quirk a little.

So, he decides to reply, half burying his secrets into the floor beneath him. "In places like that, they uh… usually don't sell everything out front. This, here—" He puts the bag up to Morgana's eye level to get his point across "—might be contraband goods or whatnot. Something you don't want people to catch wind of. If he shoved that into my hand, then I guess he has something he doesn't sell to your everyday folks walking in."

"Huh. That's very devilish of him," Morgana muses, kneading his paws into his back again as he rounds the corner and towards Untouchable. Ren thinks he might've breathed a sigh of relief when he sees no one (not even the suits) around. "I'm surprised. You actually know a lot of stuffs, Ren."

He only hums before walking in.

"Hel—oh," Iwai says, only to stop short, eyes slightly widen with surprise. Ren takes a look around to make sure there would be no prying eyes here before walking over to the counter. "It's you. I thought you wouldn't show up, after…"

"I did promise to share this with you, remember, sir?" Ren states simply, not allowing his emotions (his fear, for the most part) to show through the gaps of his defense. Without any more words, he puts the bag down on the counter, the seals on it still intact. "Here, sir. As I've promised."

"…Thanks, kid," The man hums, part curious and part satisfied. Arsene purrs within him, but Ren decides to ignore it in favor of listening to Iwai as he continues the conversation, eyebrows shooting up. "You didn't even open it out of curiosity?"

He shakes his head. "That's not how you do things, is it? But I want you to let me in on your special menu."

At this, Iwai suddenly frowns, lines on his shoulders tensing up. Ren's breath hitches a little – maybe he might've said something he shouldn't have, or done something wrong – but he decides to bite his tongue instead in order to calm himself down. Iwai is an adult, after all – someone who holds certain kind of power over him – but Ren wants to be able to get to the best weapons that he could, for the sake of people who call him their own.

(How strange it is, that one good day, a few good words, a few people, would be able to make him take this kind of leap he would never in a million years thought of doing? Confidants and friends are such a curious thing that it makes his stomach drops and his heart dances. Arsene seems to mind a bit of his fear still, but he laughs in the end, the melody of freedom singing inside his veins like a symphony.)

The pause seems to stretch, and when the man looks at him with scrutinizing eyes, he just shrinks away, unsure of what to say or do next. Arsene hums again, encouraging him, so he decides to bite the bullet and mumbles out. "I mean… I'd get it if you don't want to, sir, but—"

"—How did you know that I have a special menu?" Iwai suddenly says, pulling out something from the bag Ren has returned to him, and he blinks at the gun sitting in his palm. But when he takes a longer, closer look at it, he sees that this, too, is a model. One that seems like the real ones. "And you didn't even open the bag I gave you, something I thought you might do. Teenagers and all that."

"You did tell me not to open it, sir," Ren says, gesturing his hands awkwardly to somewhere else that lies beyond the scope of his vision. "I… respect your privacy."

"…You are awfully acquainted to my sort of thing, kid," The man says, and when Ren flinches, laughs. He looks up to see the man shaking his head. "Hell, I don't know what you wanna do with them special dishes I have. But you've helped me, so how about we cut a deal?"

"A… deal?" Ren asks, surprised that the man would seriously consider it after the air of distrust he has been expelling out through his teeth, minute as it may. "What do you want me to do?"

"Say, you seem to know what you're walking into already, yeah?" The man says, more a statement than a question, as he waves for Ren to follow him.

He glances down to see Morgana's eyes peering from the crack between the zippers, worry clinging onto his whiskers like raindrops. Ren only steels himself before he walks forward, tracing the path Iwai takes into the back of his shop – nothing out of ordinary. But it soon turns into something right out of a novel when the man pulls something out from inside the wall, showing Ren a few hidden lockers with some rather highly-secured cases and bags in them.

The man then turns, leaning against one of the counters, gesturing towards the goods on the wall – one Ren immediately recognizes to be his so-called special menus. And he's proven correct when Iwai states, arms crossed but with laxity that makes Ren thinks he's not as guarded as he's appeared. "This here is where that model gun I've asked you to get outta the shop came from. Ain't easy to craft, ain't easy to come by."

"…Do you want me to be your pigeon?" Ren tilts his head.

"Nah. I'm just showing you the stuffs first," The man shrugs. "Thing is, I have a few jobs lined up. Might need help from an outsider. Someone inconspicuous."

"Information war," Ren concludes.

Iwai grins, but there are strands of reservation in the way his eyes shine, dark and with some form of disgust that isn't directed at him. "That's right, kid. You really know a lot, so… It might be a bit hazardous, but it ain't in my book to put children in the frontline—"

Children, adults, what you are doesn't matter to me, brat. You will do as I say, or I will beat it into your skin that my words are absolute.

"—So the job should be relatively safe," The man finishes, and Ren blinks, ridding himself of the voice that seems to keep haunting him no matter what he does. He clenches his fist on the strap of his bag, and feels something nudging him through the fabric – Morgana, he tells himself – so he forces the air out of his lung as Iwai uncrosses his arms. "If you do, I'll give you a discount on the specials."

What if I don't, rests at the back of his throat, but he forces it down as fear claws and beats at his skin in time with his heartbeat. If he says that, who knows what Iwai will do? But then something strikes him odd – give him a discount, and not the products. He frowns and looks up. "…Discounts, sir?"

"You already know about it, and you don't look like the type to rat me out," Iwai says, eyeing him curiously, the toothpick in his mouth moving up and down as he chews at the tip. "Don't see the harm. But shit's expensive, and I like your guts, kid, so – if you do it for me, I'll give you the discounts. If not, well, the price is gonna sting."

Ren presses his lips together – the man is giving him a choice, something very new but also very out-of-character for a Yakuza. He's seen his father's associates, ones that work in the shadows, and he has never seen ones with anything resembling what Iwai is showing; not exactly a kindness, but… morals. Standards. Something like the code of war, where no matter how many terrible things a party do, they will never lay a single finger on hospitals.

This feels just like this. Not kindness nor compassion, but standards.

But… well, he'll get what he could, for the sake of arming his friends (the word is so gentle and so warm on his tongue), for the sake of keeping them safe. So Ren nods, shifting slightly and patting Morgana through his bag, feeling the paws through the material as he mewls, just soft enough for only him to hear, before he replies. "Sounds good to me, sir."

"First, drop the sirs, I ain't your superior or nothin'," Iwai says with a note of irritability that makes him want to curl into himself. But then the air shifts, slightly more breathable, as the man continues. "And second, I'll tell you when I want your help and how. No front-lines, don't worry 'bout it. Just helping me doing things like giving me an excuse to leave a meeting or something."

"Got it," Ren says, bowing his head once, eyes lingering on the rows of boxes for a second before looking back at Iwai – or rather, Iwai's feet. "Then, I'll be back when I want to buy something… s—" he coughs, cutting himself off "—Iwai-san."

"Good," The man says. "Feel free to just browse or drop the kind of goods like that gold medal anytime."

"…Thank you."

"Then," The man starts, standing straight and offering Ren a hand. "I look forward to doing business with you, kid. I'm sure you've already heard, but I'm Iwai. Iwai Munehisa."

Ren blinks for a moment, the courtesy out of place and strange, but decides not to question it, instead taking the hand (and just like always, it burns like hellfire) and shaking it once. "Amamiya Ren."

(The name of the Hanged Man comes forth, the Confidant of someone who's just simply making a deal with him – a job for a favor. Ren questions why such a relationship based on what he's seen many a times before, of exchanging a deal for a deal, would be considered someone so important as to be named a Confidant.

In the end, he lets the question goes back into the abyss from wench it came, letting the voice of the world – of a nameless girl whose body remains unseen – roll over him, like he always does.

Somewhere in the world, a butterfly flaps its wings.)

May 13th, 2017 [Fri]

Ren really doesn't have trouble doing exams.

(Why would he, when he has to remember more under harsher circumstances before? But then again, that's just him – someone who's been beaten for things he has no control over and trained until he can't breathe just to make sure he would come out at the top of his class, that everything will be remembered carefully and thoroughly like his life depended on it—

—And in a way, Ren thinks it did. His life did depend on his performance.)

But he couldn't help himself but allow a small smile to form every lunchtime, when Ryuji and Ann would bemoan their existences and questions why exams are necessary for their school life. Ren thinks he could understand them, to a degree. Studying and school are not something fun when your teachers aren't good at conveying the information in an easy-to-understand manner. That is, unless you have hands on your neck and a stick of iron within view.

What Ren is curious about, however, is the assembly – it starts out normal enough, with Principal Kobayakawa talking about things no one wants to listen to. Ren spies Niijima looking at him with searching eyes, one that he promptly ignores, before he returns his attention to the stage as Kobayakawa steps away, allowing another man to walk to the microphone.

(The name Niijima rings a distant bell in his head, but he still couldn't figure out why.)

White coat, messy hair, absent of guarded nature, kindness and inquisitive air mixing together into a blend – Ren recognizes the man to be a psychiatrist instantly. Ren never cares much for psychiatrist, maybe even hates one, since the one and only shrink he's ever had the displeasure of knowing just… sent him to the wolves and let him rot where he stood—

"Hello," The doctor's voice is kind, impossibly so, and Ren has to look up from his feet again. He watches the man hopelessly trying to fix the microphone before introducing himself. "My name is Maruki Takuto, thank you for welcoming me to your school."

"Does he look a little airheaded to you?" Ann asks, and snickers when the man in question bows and hits his head on the mic, just enough for the voice to resound through the auditorium. "I think he is."

"A little, yes," Ren says, half paying attention to the man as he makes his statement, something along the line of being a counsel, before looking back down at her. Then, he asks a question his heart already knows the answer to; "Do you think the school really care? About our mental health?"

"Nah," She says easily with a small shrug, her eyes scornful as they look towards Niijima then at the principal. "They never do."

Indeed, they never do.

"Hey there."

The doctor says lightly, as if he's not heard Ryuji badmouthing him just seconds prior. Ren feels his arms and legs immediately stiffening up, pulled taut and cocked back, ready to snap and run at the faintest sign of hostility. But the longer they stay there, staring at each other in some kind of unreasonable contest, the more he realizes that the doctor's smile is not at all fake, unlike his first impression.

After horrible minutes (he thinks?) of heavy silence, Ren forces himself to relax, unclenching his hands from the fist they've been curled into and nods curtly. "…Doctor."

"You don't have to be so formal," The man laughs lightly, his head hanging backward as a gesture that he's not guarding or being an enemy, something Ren has learned a long time ago not to trust at first glance. "Anyways… you must be, hm… Sakamoto-kun, Takamaki-san and… Amamiya-kun, correct?"

"How'd you know our name?" Ryuji asks – and it's a question he thinks is pointless. Maruki is a psychiatrist, and while the school doesn't care diddly squat about them, it's still normal procedure at the very least to inform the shrink you're hiring about who they want to look into the most. "That doesn't seem suspicious at all."

The man only laughs nervously before hunching his back, hand finding the mushed-up hair and combing through them, his eyes darting between the three of them with some form of curiosity and nervousness before he mumbles out. "Well, I was… informed of certain students before beginning my tenure here. Those students being you three… and a few more who's directly involved with Kamoshida-sensei's—"

"He's not a fucking teacher," Ryuji spits, cackles of lightning dancing in the world beyond. Ren could feel his anger synching along with Ryuji's own, Arsene's laugher of madness rocking his every inch like a wildfire that it is. "If you say that one more time, I swear to god—"

"I'm sorry," The man quickly apologizes. "I'm… I've heard, of course, but some might still call him that out of habit. Then, I'll call him Kamoshida-san as a formality from now on, and—"

"It's fine, sir," Ren says, his fury finally turning into cinders within his chest. Maruki's apology might be something he's not willing to trust still, but he couldn't deny the fact that he looks genuine enough. He shakes his head when Ryuji looks his way, a frown as deep as that of Ann's, before he turns back to the doctor. "What do you want with us, doctor?"

"I just want to see if you guys are alright or not," The man says, his smile cordial. "Are you interested in counseling?"

"Not really," Ryuji says immediately, making Ren snickers out against his own will.

"Sorry, we don't really want to, sir," Ren adds, pulling at the hem of Ann's shirt and nodding his head for the other two to leave. He then bows slightly at Maruki. "Then, we'll—"

"Hey, wait a moment!" He says, stopping them dead in their tracks. He then sighs, long and exasperate, before mumbling quietly. "To be frank, I've been explicitly ordered to provide counseling to the students directly involved with Kamoshida-san… so it's in the school's interest, for the students."

"…So, we're being volunteered," Ren deadpans.

"…Yes?"

He only sighs – the choice, yet again, is not his to make.

"I know mandatory counseling is counterproductive, but you don't have to say anything to me, if you don't want, and I'll also give you some mental training!" The man quickly adds upon the crushing silence that has settled in, and Ren hears Arsene's hum of surprise rumbling deep between his ribs. Then, a little lighter and a bit more out of place, Maruki adds with a singing tone, "There's also snacks!"

"Quit it with the snacks, man," Ryuji sighs, ruffling his hair out of its shape. "Ugh, fine. Which way you leaning, Ren?"

"…No harm in a little chat, I suppose," He shrugs. While the idea of having to attend counseling (which is something he has the worst experience with, by far) makes him sick, Arsene is calm, his voice low and rumbling, urging him on. The aspect of mental training also helps accentuating the good points of this deal, so he thinks he'll take it. "It'll be more trouble if we don't go anyway."

"True," Ryuji and Ann groan simultaneously before the latter says. "Let's go, then. I'm starving!"

They start to walk away, and Ren turns to follow, only for Maruki to stop him with a well-timed cough. Ren turns, arching his eyebrow, head slightly bowed down in submission he still couldn't shake off (and it's also something that makes Arsene's voice too loud to ignore), before asking. "Yes?"

"Thanks for accepting the deal," He smiles. "I promise I'll do my best to help you."

Ren only hums. We'll see about that, he does not say.

(The voice of the world calls to him. the Councillor Arcana, one that does not belong to any of the Major Arcana, comes forward into his mind. Another Confidant, one who would help him, one who would allow him to manifest greater power, is here in the form that he despises (scared of) the most.

He will not trust someone who has the power over his heart, someone who could break his trust into a thousand pieces and scatter them onto the ground with a simple word from his mouth. He's been there once before, and if he can help it… then never again will he let someone like this take a glance into his deepest, darkest fears.

He'll bring those fears to his grave if he has to.

Somewhere in the world, a butterfly flaps its wings.)