Chapter Twenty Five: Daring to Leap
In the history of Shujin High School, the department of criminal law in Tokyo University and certain academic circles, the name Sae Niijima carries considerable authority. Even if her sister looked to match such astonishingly high standards, the woman's own reputation was an indelible mark for many. Even the shallowest of acquaintances knew she excelled at every field Sae took even the most passing of interests. In the eyes of others, there was virtually nothing she could not do.
Alas, Wakaba Isshiki's research notes still left her stumped.
Sae pried her eyes off the folder she currently studied to look at the time on her phone. Within around eleven minutes, it would mark the sixth day of Makoto and her friends' disappearance. As feared, there had been no progress on the matter with the police's efforts. Any breakthrough on that side seemed unlikelier every time she thought about it. At some point, during a particularly dark moment in her solitude, she approached the possibility that their disappearance might have been orchestrated by guilty parties exposed by the Phantom Thieves. Thankfully, this too seemed hardly plausible.
But the obscure nature of the alternative was not exactly comforting either.
Feeling unpleasant dryness around her eyes, she reached out for her cup of coffee on the dining table. What little remained in there had long gone cold, which made Sae search her memory for the time when she brewed this cup. Was it she who poured it, or was it Sojiro Sakura?
Sae was uncertain also on the time when she last saw him, but the moment itself was engraved in her mind. She was consulting Isshiki-san's thesis at the time, in hopes it would somehow serve as an introductory text. As he had been doing on the past two days, he stopped by to bring food and drink. But the briefest glance at his appearance as he walked in sufficed to pull her attention in full. The man looked thinner, that was for sure. He looked incredibly tired, and wore the mask of someone who never smiled in his whole life. Sae guessed she did not look much different herself.
But beneath the bags of his eyes and the exhaustion-pale hue his skin had, there was something else about Boss – something unbelonging to a man in such state. Resilience was not the word for it, even if that kept him standing. It was something along the lines of confusion, and the curiosity it invites. When asked on whether there was anything on his mind, he waved it all off as not sleeping well. It was a credible answer, given the circumstances; but Sae Niijima knew there was more to it.
Rather than deeming Boss' answer as dishonesty, she thought he merely found no way to accurately word it. Again, Sae herself had been prey to this type of impotency before, with profoundly unpleasant results, such as making Makoto cry after a poor word choice.
Sae still remembered that night. She could not approach the memory without feeling profound shame. If she were to think of it now, she would instantly collapse into grief beyond mending.
Sojiro Sakura left an hour later after lunch, dinner, or whatever in-between.
Work continued with neither disturbance nor breakthroughs.
Time blurred along; minutes forward in unrecognisable succession, hours rendered meaningless.
The darkness of an apartment without her sister in it pressed on Sae. The light of the lamp hanging reflected on the white of the papers, but it blinded her rather than illuminating the path ahead.
"Sis…"
Nothing was certain.
"Sis…"
No question met a response she could work with.
"Sis…!"
All she had was Makoto's irrefutable absence. The apartment, the world; all was dark without her.
Nonsensical passages travelled about her brain. Assessments operating on conjectures only marginally observable, even with the means available to Isshiki-san. Interdisciplinary boundaries torn asunder, leaving only one path ahead: a maybe.
A nothing.
Sae glares at the paper in front of her, burrowing deeper to attain comprehension. The white surface glared back with the defiance of a mystery that would not be solved. The riddles started to break one who never before tasted defeat like this.
All is violent. All is bright. Sae Niijima starts to lose her mind.
The gloom that existed behind the woman changed its colour, this much she garnered from her peripheral vision. But she would not pry her eyes away from the object of scrutiny. Not even as the air begat new sounds from the quiet of the apartment. The air itself breathed and groaned like a waking predator.
The surface of its skin rippled velvet red.
"SIS!"
Sae Niijima opened her eyes and gazed frantically around her with vestiges of alarm. She had fallen asleep, for how long, nobody could say. Wakaba Isshiki's papers were still spread all over the dining table. The cup near the edge was almost full; the coffee was cold and neglected for at least half a day. Her lower back ached with a dull pain she had not experienced for at least one year.
The woman felt the tears that left warm trails across her face. She did not need to touch her own face to know, because the echo of her sister's voice remained inside of her head. Makoto was calling out to her somehow, but not in fear – not for herself, anyway.
Was it her imagination playing a cruel jest at this bleak hour? Or was her sister truly somehow reaching out to her?
It would have made sense to imagine fear in her voice, but there was none, even in the faintest reverberations fading now into silence. The distance that muffled Makoto's non-presence could never mask the young woman's strength.
Just where was she, and what was she doing?
Stubborn habit drew Sae's eyes back to the paper closest in sight. Her dark eyes fell on one single sentence near the bottom. A conclusion, so succinctly expressed.
Everything is cognition.
Sae could not take it any longer. Without a care, she grabbed her keys, her jacket, and her phone – now dead, and walked out into the street. The nightly wind greeted her with bittersweet liberation, meeting her face and hair, and squeezing some more tears still welled up.
She walked aimless for little over ten minutes. Despite her fathomless distress, she did not seem to attract particular attention from other city dwellers transiting Tokyo after dark. But though she looked like any other roaming soul from a bird's view, her walk was much different.
She could not deny it - not even convince herself through a sceptic eye. It was not her imagination taunting her. Sae wasted no time with disbelief. While this uncanny moment could have her ruminating for hours to come, only one thing truly mattered. It felt real, truer than any attempt at grounding herself in a perception of possible. Makoto was indeed calling out to her. To be strong, and constant – to not give in to the despair gripping her so tight.
Once again, her little sister was the voice of reason in a sea of non-sense. If Sae was to heed her voice, she needed to change her perspective, take on a different stance, one that would allow her to reach out and find Makoto. Not everything was at it seemed – even a conviction that has lasted for all of human history could crumble in one moment. Wakaba Isshiki understood this. Sae Niijima needed to understand this as well, at its core, despite the obstacles.
She passed several stores along the way, each one beckoning with a modest spectacle of light. But the invitations to quell the thirst and hunger built up for most of the day would not pull her. She navigated the streets with the skill of a long-time city dweller. There seemed to be no need to see where she was going. All of her attention was drawn inwards.
So many hours spent dissecting Wakaba-san's work, when in the end, she only needed one a handful of words to push her in the right direction.
Everything is cognition.
How was it that Makoto and the rest could access another world, and walk into it from thin air? Sae never once saw the Phantom Thieves in action, but she knew they must have possessed outlandish powers in that world to accomplish all those amazing feats – powers they did not possess on this side.
She thought further back, to the night she interrogated Akira Kurusu. She virtually dismantled his machinery as leader of the Phantom Thieves, examining the skills he acquired so mundanely, and how these translated into something else. When the dust of conflict settled years ago, Sae afforded some amusement at how the daring Joker learned advanced marksmanship from a child and a video game. But thinking of it now, those trivial means must have had great significance in what they called the "Metaverse."
His – no, their own mentality, their rebellious worldview made it possible.
In the Metaverse, the Phantom Thieves must have been a force to be reckoned with, while on this side, they were ordinary teenagers. But that was not entirely true either. Aside from the physical conditioning they acquired in battle, there was something else they carried back every time they left the Metaverse, something with big, blue eyes.
Sae kept her distance most of the time, out of her allergy to cats. But she always noticed how Makoto and the rest could seemingly hold full-fledged conversations with Akira's cat, Morgana. The attorney guessed the transition into the Metaverse opened this means of communication, permanently.
Selective as it was, some things prevailed in both worlds. Sae thought back on the Phantom Thieves' explanation about the Metaverse, about Shadows and Personas.
Sae began to slow down as a new perspective dawned on her.
The Metaverse was not a world apart, not in the traditional sense of the notion. The collective unconscious shaped the other world; the other world in turn distorted the behaviour of certain individuals. But deep understanding of the self, and epiphany created a Persona out of a Shadow – the means to undo the distortion. This she knew already. But what was learned in the Metaverse did not vanish upon return. Once Makoto, Akira, and the rest got to hear the cat's voice, they could never become deaf to it.
Strong deliberate will could shape reality outside of the Metaverse. If so, could the same will shape the other side?
Sae stopped dead in her tracks. She needed to talk to Boss.
[ ]
The first thing Yuuki Mishima thought upon returning to his room was how badly he needed a shower and a change of clothes. No sooner had classes ended for the day, he virtually scoured the city in what some would consider a wild goose chase. It was indeed a rather hot day, and his rides back on forth on the subway did not help things any. He basically had to peel his shirt off at the end, but it was worth it.
The day before, Hifumi and he agreed to work together, or as she unexpectedly put it, join forces in the daunting quest ahead. They each set out to find people who were helped by the Phantom Thieves, and also those who shared in friendship and knowledge of Akira's role as leader of the fold. The more the merrier.
Hifumi showed great enthusiasm as Yuuki relayed the plan, but the airy determination deflated when she brought up an important matter.
"What are we supposed to do once we find them?"
She was right. The young man knocked his head against the tiles in the bathroom out of frustration, slightly harder than he intended. The ensuing dizziness did little to wobble the relevance of the question. Just what could they do once they formed this network of Phantom Thieves' allies, cheer them on?
Lavenza seemed the only one able to actually locate them, and she had already gone to them. With all the resources the trio gathered, she would probably fine – so he thought. But he was not content with standing idly in uncertainty.
"I don't know." He admitted. "Maybe this could all be useless. But could you really just sit and wait for our friends to show up again, just like that?"
He needed not say anything further.
The lukewarm water, turning cool, felt like a balm on his back, and on his nerves. Even if he was more street-smart than ever before, visiting Shinjuku still struck a vein of unease in him. After scrolling through a backup of text messages, which he had initially preserved for his documentary, he found one possible lead through a name that conjured strange, slightly unpleasant memories.
Ichiko Ohya. The woman interviewed him back in the day, at Akira's apparent recommendation. While the experience itself was nothing to shudder over, the initial impression of a world he wanted nothing to do with soured the conversation. He vividly recalled how easily the woman picked up on that, after which she teased him with spicy glee.
But the motive of interest then was the same reason he decided to pay her a visit now. She addressed him as admin of the PhanSite, which implied Akira had told her about the Phantom Thieves to some degree. That was something worth looking into, especially after he did some quick research on the woman, finding her to be a journalist of strange, but high repute.
He knew from the beginning that he may not find her in the same place as back then, but the bartender at Crossroads seemed to be a close friend. She may know of her whereabouts, Yuuki thought. Little did he know, Ohya was the first person upon entering Crossroads. She and Lala-chan were engaged in lively conversation, cut short by what they might have thought to be a somewhat early customer.
Lala-chan still carried the air of authority and composure he remembered, but Ohya looked different somehow, aside from the updo on her hair. The devilish glee was still in her eyes, but her person looked cleaner, more measured. Yuuki learned later that day that the journalist had gone sober. Though he did not think to ask, he suspected Akira might have had something to do with that.
The woman squinted, motioning at him, as if recognising him but failing to remember his name.
"Uhhh… Mishima, eh?" She smiled like a pixie.
"Y-yeah!" The young man did not expect to find her so quick, or to be remembered.
"Lala-chan, remember him? He's that guy!"
"I see him, Ohya dear." The bartender nodded. "Young man, are you old enough to be in a place like this?"
"Technically, I think. But… that's not why I'm here today." He breathed deep. "Ohya-san, may I have a word?"
Ohya and Lala-chan exchanged a curious look.
"Sure?"
He bowed in reverence to both women before making his way with nervous steps. He sat on the stool next to Ohya.
"Ohya-san. Do you happen to remember one Akira Kurusu?"
"Boy, do I." She smiled. "I hear he's back in town. He messaged like two weeks ago, but he hasn't paid us a visit! Lala-chan, do you believe that guy!? Jeez!"
Yuuki's eyes widened. Akira was certainly friends with both Ohya and Lala-chan. He would soon wonder if they knew what Hifumi, Iwai and he did. But before that, he needed to prepare to bring the bad news.
"Actually, there's a reason for that…"
Both women turned to Yuuki. His tone gave it away. Ohya reached for her glass containing mineral water and lemon juice. She took a small sip, and her entire demeanour changed drastically.
"Go on."
The young man ended up spending a longer time than he anticipated talking with Ohya and Lala-chan. Much like during the interview back in the day, the journalist appeared to take notes on everything Yuuki said, but this time with much more evident urgency. The mood quickly turned grim and hopeless, but Yuuki knew he had to turn the tide in order to find a more active position. So he approached the subject carefully, probing how well Ohya knew Akira. Then, he decided to make a gamble.
And he came out the winner.
Ohya and Lala-chan - they also knew Akira was one of the Phantom Thieves.
The nature of the conversation took on a different turn after that was disclosed. Ohya returned to her chipper self. She went through every note, both mental and written and asked for further details. At the end of the process, she declared that she would use whatever resources she could to help. Whatever Yuuki and Hifumi failed to see, Ohya would not.
This was as great a triumph as one could get in times of trouble, but there was still a lot of work ahead. The next step was to compile the requests on the PhanSite, weed out the trifles from the substance, and approach those whose hearts were changed. This, Yuuki thought, would surely prove a challenge on its own merit, one he would tackle with no hesitation.
[ ]
"So, you were one of Akira's buddies behind bars." Sojiro's tone was more of an affirmation than a question.
"Yeah, you could say that." Yasunori Kujo took a seat next to the older man in Arancia's now infamous second floor. His shift had ended an hour ago, but he felt less and less compelled to head home as the days went by.
Despite the filed case for multiple missing persons, and the added pressure by former prosecutor Sae Niijima, there were little grounds to halt activities in the soda joint. It was not hard to see why, given the strange nature of the disappearance. The most management could do was bar public access to the second floor, which was deemed a crime scene mostly as a formality; forensic analysis unveiled nothing beyond the fact that seven people, and a cat were there.
Technically, neither Sojiro Sakura, nor Yasunori Kujo should be here. Yet nobody even approached to remind the former after whatever conversation he had with the manager in his office. The young man had treated with criminals of all standings throughout his life. He knew, by intuitive comprehension, that Boss did not belong to that kind of life. But he was also not the average law-abiding citizen. Yasunori did not imagine Sojiro's disposition could go easily contested.
Yasunori knew he did carry a certain authority, that of a parent whose children were missing. But the young man himself had a share in the pain. Akira and Makoto were both his friends – Kujo had a personal debt of gratitude to the former, Akira being the one who stood to defend him back in Juvie Hall.
"I may already know the answer, but tell me…" Sojiro slouched forward on a chair. "He stay out of trouble?"
"Well…" Yasunori did not know how to answer to that question. Every time he came by, he appeared ever less like a person, and more like an opaque shade of one. But the change was not wholly gradual; tonight, he looked as if a month passed him by. "Not really."
"Knew it." Sojiro chuckled.
"He probably did his best, ya know? There were some bad kids inside, though. They kinda wouldn't let him just mind his own business."
"Trouble just keeps finding that kid, eh?" The older man reached for the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket. It was a miracle that there were any left, but it was hardly self-restraint what limited his smoking. Mostly, he was too tired to do anything besides talking to the police for updates, checking up on Sae, and coming here at the end of each day, as if waiting for their arrival. "Like father, like son."
"You get in a lot of trouble when you were younger, Boss?"
"I'm not Akira's dad, boy."
"Really!?" Yasunori gave him light, despite the no-smoking indoors regulation.
"You see any resemblance?"
"No. I figured he got the looks from his mum, though."
Boss laughed out. He could not quite remember the last time he did, but it could not have been more than a month away. Distress has a tendency to misplace times of mirth, scatter and alienate them.
"You'd actually be right on the money there too." Sojiro let out a wistful sigh. "I know his folks. Good people, but too busy to be around… for Akira, I mean. Maybe it's no wonder he turned out a little… odd, and unlucky." He took a moment to taste the smoke.
Sojiro noticed a peculiarity. That despite not being Akira's actual father, trouble still found him. He had hoped to avoid the subject, but here it was glaring at him straight. It was a hard task to talk with Ryuji's mother and Ann's parents on the matter, far more difficult than talking with Makoto's sister. But the hardest thing was still on the horizon. He had not yet told Masako and Takahisa. He knew that they deserved to know.
But something kept him quiet. A writhing mass of shame and doubt tearing him inside out. They loved Akira, there was no debating that. But how closely did they truly know their son? Were they aware of the things he went through since the night of his arrest? Even before he was transferred to Tokyo, Takahisa's work kept him constantly at sea, and Masako's hours at the hospital left barely any time for her to see Akira grow into a man. A gap was groomed between them, and the rest was mere momentum.
In the end, it turned out just as he had feared, from the day of their wedding, when a much younger Sojiro Sakura toasted to the welfare and future of the Kurusu family. And he vowed to aid whichever the rage of the tide, which he suspected may be formidable.
The very thought that Akira may have reached out to Sojiro with the trust of a son tugged painfully at his heartstrings. For now it felt as if he failed the young man, as if he failed Takahisa and Masako when they trusted him with his well-being in the city.
And Futaba… that was another mountain altogether, to climb and to fall from.
Another vow, which Sojiro swore to the woman he loved, another vow that he was failing to uphold. But more important than that vow was the present – the love he had for Futaba, the love of a father. By itself, losing her mother was too terrible a wound for a child, but the loss was distorted into blame by despicable parties, and the result was trauma from which she might never have recovered – if not Akira and the rest. She emerged from that living death. She began to live and to experience happiness. And now…
"Boss. Akira never told me that much, where he came from and why he landed with the rest of us in Juvie. But trust me, he did right inside, and he never gave up. He kind of helped us be better than we thought we could be. He'll be alright, and so will his buddies. So will your daughter, Boss."
The man ached. His eyes, though completely dry, were filled with sorrow.
"You just gotta have faith. Isn't that why you're here, really?" Yasunori showed a broken, toothy grin – ugly in appearance, but still somehow soothing. "The cops have given up on this joiny. But you haven't. You keep coming to this place every evening, cause you know they're gonna show up."
Sojiro did not say a thing for a while. Never once during this silence did Yasunori think he said more than he should have. The young man could not begin to think of what exactly caused the disappearance, but by now he was certain it was beyond conventional laws. Even if the police doubled their efforts, they would not be able to solve this mystery. For all of Sojiro's seemingly fruitless efforts, Yasunori believed he was far closer to the truth.
"Just how much do you know about Akira and his friends?" Boss asked cautiously.
"Only the things he has told me." Yasunori did not lie, though he did grew to suspect a few things. Nothing he could put a name to, but it still held his thoughts every now and then. "That aside, I don't think he's an average guy. Makoto too."
"Right…" Sojiro sat back, contemplating the surroundings. His eyes fell on the décor's orange motif. "Red curtains, you said…"
"Yeah. Well, he did. I was just around to hear." Yasunori hesitated as he spoke. "Weird, huh?"
"I feel like I've gotten to see those lately." Boss told the young man. It was the first time he actually thought to speak of it. Every time, it was like a fleeting sight, gone away as soon as it came. He slept few hours throughout the last week, he remembered dreaming even less – but there they were.
"I… I see." Boss' words caught him off guard. He did not dare suggest it might be because he thought of it so often. It would be an idea Yasunori himself did not believe, for he too started to catch red glimpses.
Even now, the image menaced to creep into his line of sight.
"Kujo-kun." Boss rubbed heavy eyelids. "I appreciate you being there for Akira, but you really don't have to lounge around here for long. I'll see myself out in a bit. Go on, call it a day."
Yasunori said nothing. He appeared to weigh the man's words. Boss was right; there really was not much he could do to help. Sojiro Sakura knew little about the situation, but Yasunori Kujo knew even less. There was no use staying behind as the night thickened its mantle. He stood from the chair and made for the stairs.
Only to circle around and sit next to Boss again.
"Suit yourself, kid." A vibrating sound pulled his attention. A call from Sae Niijima. "Gotta take this one. Be right back."
Yasunori nodded. His expression changed, as if he managed to shake off the wear of a day's work by sheer will. He was no longer here to keep a troubled man company. Now, he wished to comprehend to the degree the older man did, to find a way to help Akira and his friends.
He stared intently in the vacant places where the eight had once been, scrutinising, wondering, seeking.
"Boss?" Yasunori called despite himself.
Did he just see a ripple in the air?
