Chapter Twelve: A Dear Moment of Quiet II

Irony is an art of deviants. You could call it the Devil's boon, the essence of dualities that distinguishes humanity from human kind. We cannot live, we cannot engage in our existence without observing the inertia that keeps the machine from running on pure logic. Irony is knowing that ideas are less than air, yet they shape realms far beyond one's own mind. Wealth is an idea; religion, beauty, morals – all ideas. Even the measurement units we use to comprehend the physical and chemical phenomena around us – ideas too. Isn't it ironic that these ideas that define our world will evaporate on the day the last human dies, yet the world will continue to turn, regardless?

Our shining cities, our empires; these great examples of the human collective live and die by irony. We boast that our lights could make the stars blink from their shame, yet we cannot cast our eyes down without seeing the most vulnerable among us wallowing in misery and lack. And soon, the diseases our neglected foundations nurture will unmake our spires and monuments. Picture, if you would, the day when our broken temples will slouch amidst the wasteland. If there remain eyes to behold, all they will see is a pathetic memento of our arrogance – a crooked, toothless grin.

And the rest will be only dust in the wind. Nothing can care or dare to guess whether we lived to die, or died to live.

Oh, the irony…

The Phantom Thieves were on the cusp of taking the command from the powers that be, from our jailors invisible and ancient. Yet they too fell to the devil's boon. And in the end, they relinquished the treasure they stole. The tragedy to this was their reasoning. They did it out of faith on us, perhaps even love. And this is the greatest irony, or the greatest tragedy, surely both – their deed was only carried out from the best, the highest of human instincts. If the world were ever to last, or to be remade, faith and love must survive. But their faith and their love have doomed this world to remain the same size, enslaved to the same old laws.

Yet I don'tt resent the Phantom Thieves for this. How could I?

Would that I could aid them in completing their mission. But that is no longer their concern. I fear that in time the world will devour them too. I must do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. My benefactor did not whisper false hopes into my ears. Seeing those youths through to their passage is no guarantee; they may too die when we create the new foundations. But though he has given me his friendship and his trust, I am still me. I know I can use his gift for even more than this great design we have planned. I will surprise him. I will surprise all.

From the great undertow, something beautiful will arise. Do mark my words.

An interesting development on these past few hours. I no longer see my uncle's face when I look in the mirror. I do not see my father, either. For that matter, I do not see the slightest resemblance of the way I perceive my self. It is all unfolding as he said it would, and I see it all so clearly now. That was my past self, my false self – the one and the same most people are chained to their entire lives. I understand that the Phantom Thieves went through a similar process. That must be how they accomplished what they did. But an even greater wonder is what this new world could be if all of our kind knew their true selves.

What strange, imposing yet… somehow beautiful eyes stare back at me. My true self, I am still shaken to find that this is who I truly am. And my name… my true name…

No… not yet. I am getting ahead of myself.

The process will be long and painful. And it is not long that my benefactor revealed my true face to me. Hardly past a year, to tell it true. One step at a time – only the first one so far. But, the fruits are starting to bloom – I can feel it. Little by little, the template is taking flesh.

My benefactor… my friend, he told me he undertook a duty of his own. He said he would be working the field, make the soil rich and fertile, for the new, the beautiful world to eventually sprout. I believe in him. His goal and mine are one and the same. One and the same.

One and the same.

One…

There…

It is just as he said… another entrance. But… ?

Yes… It truly is as he said. It no longer flickers. I hear… I feel it beckoning me to cross over. This must mean the soil is ready.

I feel tempted to see it with my own eyes. But no, I cannot cross over, not yet. He, he was very clear on the matter. This is not my honour to take. Somebody else has to walk past the entrance first. Then, only then, may we begin to work on the foundations.

Soon. The young man who provided us with the template, soon he will too see the door. He shall cross over into that virgin realm, and he will aid us.

Yes, I know he will…

…!?

What is this…?

Pain, so much pain.

Young man, what are you doing? Don't resist it. It can only do harm.

This pain. Is this yours?

Young man, please… give in.

Give in…

I will take your pain, your sorrow away… And together, we will undo the irony that keeps us bound.

Do not fight it…

[ ]

It is 2 in the morning, and the world is dark. Akira Kurusu wakes up in a cold sweat in his bed. Next to him, his feline companion Morgana sleeps curled up and undisturbed. The young man grasps at his body to find he has his sleeping clothes on. Whatever occurred on the evening, it came to an end as any other day. He could not remember the last six hours, and he was blind to the burn on his right hand. The silence of the café's attic pressed on his chest with stifling uncertainty.

Naturally, he could not remember seeing his distorted reflection in the mirror, how the veins on his neck dyed black, how the foam seeped from his mouth, twisted into a vile grin. The voices, all familiar, and all lost to his memories. He could remember none of it, but there was no denying it anymore. He was not okay.

Akira sat on the edge of his bed, and searched for his phone. It was almost out of battery, but there was enough to see two messages sent to him earlier that day.

"Hi. Just got out of class. About to go to the library. Thought about you. How are you? Would you like to meet for dinner?"

"I love you."

Makoto…

The warm feeling that spread was short lived. There were four missed calls from his girlfriend, one every two hours since she sent those text messages. The last one came in, unanswered, twenty minutes earlier.

His first instinct was to call her back, but he relented. He could think of no reason, no explanation for this sudden distance. In this moment, he thought, she must be sleeping, perhaps angry at him… perhaps worried and sad.

A pang of guilt struck at his pulse. He tried to contain it, but he could not keep the tears at bay.

He needed Makoto. He needed his friends.

But what to tell them?

Akira Kurusu did not go back to sleep. Rather, he decided to wait out the hours until dawn. Things might make sense then, he hoped.