Chapter Thirty Seven: The Turn of the Screw - Part Two

Akira Kurusu made a phone call after class to excuse himself from the appointment he had with the psychiatrist that day. Early afternoon still; he was out of class earlier than usual. It was a warm day, but not too sunny – the kind of day he was very fond of.

The Phantom Thieves all had adhered to the agreed narrative about their 'reappearance' days ago. College and workplaces agreed to give them some leniency to properly reintegrate into everyday life. There hardly was a protocol for cases like this, after all. Their legal advisor, defence attorney Sae Niijima proposed weeks of therapy under the eye of a qualified specialist to aid their recovery. It was a sensible and credible measure in itself. That aside, nobody wished to argue with the former prosecutor.

This afforded them flexibility of time to plan for their coup de grace against Nyarlathotep. Yet it still carried the uncomfortable fact of a harsh catching up afterwards, as well as some highly unwanted attention. The latter seemed the most aggravating as of late, with surprise attempts for interviews, and accosting from interested, unsavoury parties. When Akira and his friends could not elude them, they were forced to put up their best act as victims, shell-shocked, and vulnerable. Exaggerate if necessary, even.

But in Akira's case, he needed to act the least. Sessions with the specialist were open for all seven. But for him, they were mandatory.

Everyone around him was highly insistent, but it was Ichiko Ohya who truly underlined it, being the one to obtain the specialist willing to keep the act. Akira was surprised, but not unpleased when he attended the first session. He did not bother to remember the name on the numerous certificates and diplomas inside of the psychiatrist's apartment-office. That name belonged nowhere; it was a testament to the foul prejudices and toxic politics that plagued the medical institution in the country.

To Akira, she would forever be Lala-chan.

Calling to tell her that he would not make the session that day felt like severing off a piece of his heart. His only comfort was knowing he was not actually lying to her. He was indeed 'not feeling it today'. In fact, he barely could concentrate in class at all. That morning, he woke up with the vague feeling of having had an unpleasant dream, but all images and words were lost to him.

However, he still considered that it may be more than a bad dream. His connection to Nyarlathotep was a burden on his mental and physical fortitude. Being able to see his reach in the world, wherever Akira turned, already made waking hours a nightmare. But whether his current state was because of Nyarlathotep or the heaping stress, the young man was nonetheless fatigued. He felt listless, and had no desire to be home at the moment. In fact, he could not think of being anywhere at all.

The closest thing to normal right now was browsing through his text messages under the shade of a tree in campus. He avoided the mission's group chat, even though the thread was basically engraved in his mind. Yet the messages from his friends slowly but surely put a smile on his face. There were plans for outings, memes, aimless banter – it was no different from how things were before. And it was something he so desperately yearned for. It was concrete and real, and today it was what kept him anchored to reality.

He browsed through the latest messages from his girlfriend. Makoto unfailingly messaged him every morning to wish him a good day, and every night to send him off to healthy, restful sleep. They both knew it was a poor substitute for the times they did it face to face, under the same roof; but still it was a sliver of routine he never got tired of. Her latest message came at noon. She apologised for missing lunch that day, and maybe tomorrow too. There was a plentiful lot of catching up for her, which Akira understood. She promised to make up for it on the weekend.

And Makoto Niijima always keeps her promises.

But in between now and then, Akira could only see a chasm of nothing. The thought depressed him. This was not like him. But his state of being throughout this month was something entirely new to him. Despite its causes and uncertainty, even his forced transfer to the city did not compare.

Sighing, the young man stood up from the bench, ready to head to LeBlanc. Perhaps a little work may help him feel some ground beneath his soles, even he did not have a shift today.

"Akira!" A voice jolted him out of his stupor. The familiar sight of brightly dyed hair almost made him shield his eyes. But seeing his best friend may well save him today.

"Hello, Ryuji. Good seeing you here."

"Yeah. Thought I would drop by and catch you for a bit before you head over by the shrink's. Is that okay with you?"

"Always." Akira smiled. "But to be honest, I'm not exactly feeling up to it today."

"Why? Something wrong?" Ryuji's tone instantly showed concern.

"I don't think so. Didn't sleep so well last night."

"Oh… Well, you do look like shit right now."

Akira laughed for a moment.

"Wait… I do?"

"It's not that bad. But you've looked way less shit before. Did you eat breakfast even?"

"Probably?" Akira meant it as a joke, but he was not entirely sure he had. "I'm not really hungry, so there's that."

"That doesn't tell me jack."

Despite Akira's smile, he looked uncomfortable, and somewhat ashamed. Ryuji was quick to notice this, and immediately tried to lift his spirits. The solution presented itself in a flash of inspiration, borne out of fond memories.

"Hey, tell you what. I got today off, and seems like you do too. What say you we just hang out, you and I?"

"Alright, why not." It was a habit of Akira to deliberately try to play it cool whenever he was flustered. This was never as effective as he wished, though it was a very fond sight for the two people who knew this side of him. The young man simply did not expect that his best friend would come and save him today.

The afternoon they spent together was nothing overly elaborate or different from the things they used to do. It was precisely what Akira needed. A meal in good company, and a workout.

[ ]

It was almost five in the afternoon, and Haru Okumura once again was made to neglect her garden. There was no comfort in knowing her vegetables and flowers were looked after during her absence. She needed the contact of the soil against her hands, and she instinctively knew that her plants needed her touch alone. By the time the meetings were over for the day, she was too exhausted to do anything but lie on her bed.

With eyes on the unblemished white ceiling, she tried to vacate her head from all thoughts surrounding business management. Alas, her mind was caught between her career and the consequences of her disappearance on her company. There was no peril on either side, but the upcoming times spelled a lot of work to be done. She could and would not slack, even when the passing mention of Susumu Kamiyama shook her spirit for business.

But truth be told, she needed to get away, for just one moment even.

Sleep slowly crept up on Haru. The prospect of a long nap, and again waking up at 4 AM did not entice her, but she knew it would be this way. She resigned herself to it, and so did her eyelids.

Suddenly, a buzz jolted her eyes open, followed by the sound of a distinctive ringtone. It was a bit too loud for her liking at the moment, but she could not ignore this. Her eyes lit up at seeing the sender's name.

Yusuke Kitagawa.

Good afternoon. I visited a Korean BBQ restaurant today, since I had some money left from a commission. I was wondering if you would like supper.

As usual, he had a way of saying so much and so somehow so little at the same time. Haru wondered if he was even aware of it. She also knew that beneath the weight of drowse and stress, she was in fact quite hungry. Skipping meals was something she did occasionally – and she could not allow this to become a habit.

I would like that very much, Yusuke. Where would you like to meet?

If you please, we can eat it in your home. I am outside.

Haru opened her eyes wide in between his messages.

Or we can eat somewhere in the vicinity if you would prefer.

I'll come right out.

Haru was initially surprised at the fact that Yusuke had come all the way here, with no apparent anticipation. His tendency to act spontaneously could sometimes be inconvenient, even somewhat frustrating, though he never meant ill. Preparation was something he kept for his craft as an artist and a Phantom Thief. However, the Okumura scion thought, perhaps it was this spontaneity what she needed during days like these. Her strongest desire before she began to fall asleep was to somehow get away from it all.

Something she may not be able to do at this stage. But perhaps she could learn something from Yusuke, to be unbound at her own design, to choose her own restrictions. Despite awakening to her Persona, and undergoing catharsis on her path, there was always something new to learn.

After they successfully vanquish Nyarlathotep, she will need a strong, but flexible hand to command her path. To be mighty and firm – warm like oak, never cold like steel. It was something her father used to say. Yusuke would probably call it tasteful and true, regardless of how things turned out in the end.

But that shade of grief soon invited a darker memory, too recent and too cruel. Of Nyarlathotep taking on her father's appearance to stir chaos in her heart. And yet, there was no fooling Haru Okumura. The deed was as malicious as it was fraudulent. Though she acknowledged it for what it was, she could not easily dismiss the thought. Then, to fight it off, she clung to the prospect of dinner with a dear friend, and the countless wondrous things and ideas he may share with her.

However, things were not as she expected upon meeting Yusuke at the entrance of her home. Nothing about his complexion hinted a lack of nourishment or sleep. In fact, there seemed to be slightly more colour to his skin, and more meat around his bones than a week ago. By all accounts, he would be expected to look a healthier version of his usual eccentric self. But something was missing about him; any of his close friends could tell, but few could truly pinpoint what it was.

Haru instantly thought to ask him whether he had painted anything recently, but chose not to bring that up so soon.

"Hello, Haru." He sounded cordial as ever.

"Yusuke. It's good to see you." Haru smiled. "How are you?"

"Frankly, I have been feeling somewhat lonesome. But I am well. And you?"

"Also to be frank, I've been pretty tired."

"I do not imagine your responsibilities as a student and heir to a company are a light task."

"Very true, Yusuke. C'est la vie, I suppose." The young woman let out a giggle for the sake of a lighter mood. "Please, come in. Make yourself at home."

Those words were no mere formality in Haru's lips, and Yusuke knew it. But though the artist always indulged moderately, his reluctance to make himself comfortable had a different reason. Haru did not pressure him to speak his mind. She occupied herself in the meantime by putting some plates and cutlery at the dining table; the food was cooling down, so she heated the food as well. Yusuke did not look any different when Haru returned to the table. From then until they were almost done eating, everything was silence.

The young woman weighed Yusuke's words earlier. He claimed he had bought this food with money from a commission. But Haru knew the restaurant, and how it priced its delicacies. They were not something one could casually afford. Furthermore, the young artist had a tendency to carry himself distinctively after finishing a painting. Simply put, he usually glowed with quiet joy. But not today.

Haru decided to bring up the matter of her suspicion.

"Have you painted anything recently?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

"No." Yusuke was unusually curt.

"Something is wrong, isn't it, Yusuke?"

"I think so. I am not sure where to put myself lately. Nowhere feels particularly… welcoming. An art is honestly the last thing on my mind lately."

"Yusuke…"

"All I could think of was being with a friend."

"This delicious food, you bought it with the money from the commission you made for me, yes?"

"Indeed." Yusuke hesitated to admit, though a timid smile showed on his lips. "I did not want to spend any of it, to be honest. But if I was to, this was the best use I could think for it."

"Well, I'm happy that you came to see me today. I too needed this."

Moments later, they both received a text message on their phones. It was Yuuki Mishima, asking if there could be a meeting soon to discuss 'an intriguing idea' that might be of help for the Phantom Thieves. Ann was the first to respond in the thread, saying Futaba, Morgana and she would be in LeBlanc that night. Sae Niijima was the next to reply. After that, Haru and Yusuke confirmed their attendance for this impromptu meeting. Ryuji often delayed to read his messages, but he would likely join them later as well.

Akira and Makoto, however, stood out through their absence in the conversation. Nobody thought much of this. It was perhaps a moment of privacy stolen away. They would surely reply to Mishima's message soon enough.

[ ]

Makoto Niijima scolded herself with silent fury upon waking up. A neat, but plentiful pile of books lay on her desk, hardly touched. Her plan for the day was catching up on her studies, despite the leniency afforded to her. But there was bit of a drowse lagging behind her from the moment she woke up that morning. She thought there was little harm in taking a brief nap to better focus on the materials. Otherwise, she probably would not be able to focus entirely. The young woman had set up an alarm for fifteen minutes after she closed her eyes, and then a series of five minute intervals between alarms, just in case.

Despite her precautions, she slept right through six renditions of "Speed of Flow" by The Rodeo Carburettor. When she finally woke up, she did so with a sense of shame and regret. This is why she hated naps; most of the time, she felt like she had let the whole day pass her by, with nothing to show for it. The one time she did not regret it was last winter, when she fell asleep while studying at LeBlanc, only to end up spending the night with her boyfriend.

Makoto missed out on her catching up, and put off lunch with Akira because of this. At this point, she thought of coming clean and letting him know. Before that, she looked at her messages, and found that Yuuki Mishima called for a meeting at LeBlanc that night. Several people had already replied, including her sister. Immediately after confirming her attendance, she noticed that neither Akira nor Ryuji had even read the message. That was somewhat expected from Ryuji, but not from Akira.

This was strange, she thought.

She decided to call Akira. Perhaps they may at least have a quick dinner after the meeting. She pressed call, and waited for him to answer. Except he did not. After one minute, she got the answering recording.

She tried again. No use.

Third time was the charm, she said to herself. But Akira still was not answering. She started to feel anxious with the fourth attempt. Suddenly, the day became a reprisal of the days before the event at Arancia. Akira seemed to have gotten better since then, but she could not honestly say he was entirely well.

"Damn it… Akira, pick up the phone, please." Makoto felt her own pulse rising.

She stopped herself before a fifth attempt, and set her feet on the ground. Perhaps there was a harmless reason he was not picking up – neither he nor his best friend had answered to the message thread. Maybe they were together. So she called Ryuji instead.

And to her relief, he confirmed that she guessed correctly. Akira and he were at the gym, having a workout. Ryuji said he was coaching him on a new routine he has been trying - that was the reason neither of them had checked their phones. Makoto tried to disguise the tremendous relief that ran her body through by claiming she was still rather tired. She did not think that ominous displays of concern would be good for morale. While on the call, she informed Ryuji of the meeting at LeBlanc. Ryuji still had to inform Akira, but he already confirmed their attendance.

Makoto allowed herself a long, deep breath after the call ended. Her boyfriend was simply occupied. He was not withdrawn within himself, under the merciless yoke of a vile puppet master. She was convinced that he would greet her with the same smile she adored tonight, and with that, all of her dread would vanish like it had never been.

But somehow, a strange sensation lingered within. It started vaguely, but she felt that somehow things were not alright; that despite the moment of reassurance, there was still cause for concern. As minutes passed, the sensation grew to the point of Makoto feeling something was severely wrong.

There was no shaking off this feeling. It was the unpleasant side to a Niijima trait, inherited from her father: her gut was telling her something terrible had happened. And it stuck with her throughout the rest of the afternoon. From the moment she stepped into the shower, to the uneasy ride to Yongen-jaya, all she wanted was to cross the door of LeBlanc and see Akira.

Finally, she was outside of the café. It was dark outside, and through the glass on the door she could see that there already were several people inside. She could not tell if her boyfriend was among them. She could not read the mood on the silhouettes within. Makoto did not feel ready, but she turned the door knob anyway, and stepped inside.

[ ]

It was a slow day at the gym today. At this time of the day, there usually were around six or seven people. But on this occasion, it was only two friends seizing the most they could before the patrons poured in after work.

"Hey, your girlfriend called. Says there's a meeting at LeBlanc today." Ryuji said to Akira, who was almost done with the demanding cardio routine his friend showed him.

"Okay, good." Akira said in between breaths. "I'll better look extra nice at the end of this, then."

"Yeah, you better. She sounded a bit weird."

"Huh?" Akira stood up from the plank position. He passed a hand through the mat of his hair, made even thicker by the sweat. He went wide-eyed when it finally dawned on him that she might have been calling him. At once, he checked his phone to see the text message in question, and four missed calls – all from Makoto. "Oh no."

"Something wrong?" Ryuji asked.

"She'd been calling. And I didn't pick up."

"That doesn't sound like a big deal, though."

"The last time this happened was when I blacked out before the whole thing at Arancia…"

"Oh, shit."

"Yeah." Akira faked a chuckle. "I'm an idiot."

"Eh, sometimes, I guess." Ryuji joked. "But not this time, dude. You were busy sweating, is all. I'm sure Makoto is cool now."

"I hope so."

"She totally is. Or what, are you doubting Queen?"

"Not in a million years." Akira smiled. His eyes wandered off to a familiar corner in the gym.

"I think we got a pretty good session today. And you're looking way better than earlier. Wanna wrap this up?"

"Just a bit longer." The young man walked towards a spot that was somewhat underutilised by the rest of the gym-goers. It seemed to him that he was the only one who constantly practiced with the punching dummy during his first year in Tokyo, and the notion remained now. There were some marks left on the cylinder's surface. Akira wondered if some of them are remainders from those days. He searched his memory further to see if he still remembered the full kata. But his limbs were acting far ahead of his brain.

It took a few testing strikes, but before he knew it, his hands and feet were performing the full form, flawlessly.

"Shit… Wing Chun? Seriously?" Ryuji voiced his amazement at Akira's kata.

"Took me a while to get my head around it." Akira spoke in between strikes. "Thought I might have forgotten it, but it came back easily."

"I guess that's another thing Queen and you got in common. Does she know?"

"Not really. I think I may make a fool of myself if I told her."

"Yeah, she'd totally wipe the floor with you."

"So true." Akira grinned as he repeated the form. "Also, it was Morgana who taught me."

"No fucking way…" Ryuji sat back and watched his friend go over the kata once more. By now, he was perfectly content with cooling down and let his best friend unwind a little more; they still had time before the meeting, after all.

A few minutes passed, and Akira decided to experiment a little. Sneak a couple of quick punches to the chest area, kick a little higher or a little lower. This led to imagining how an opponent would react in hand-to-hand combat. Adhering to the traditional style in an actual fight would likely result in a losing effort, but there were principles and techniques he could apply nonetheless, especially in close range, when defence is breached and a duel is decided on who lands the finishing barrage first.

Akira pictured this opponent as himself. The same height and frame; the same competence and skillset. He imagined the dummy as his own shadow moving in front of him, throwing strikes for him to dodge and counterattack. But there was only so much he could do with that. The imaginary adversary started to get a little more aggressive, quicker and more willing to play dirty. Akira moved accordingly.

Then he imagined eyes on the shadow, fixing him fiercely, just like a real opponent would. Akira involved himself more and more on the sparring session, blocking out everything around him. There was no gym, no Ryuji – nothing but an adversary who did not exist, who taunted him with wild, hateful, yellow eyes.

The shadow fighter attacked more ferociously. Less and less like a person. Akira's instincts did not imbue his enemy with a voice, but he nonetheless heard him snarl with each movement. Its fists immaterial turned to claws, and the shadow grew strange appendages. Its frame thickened somehow, and the range of the transformation was seamless until Akira could fully see its new shape.

It was the Joker, slashing to kill.

Something vague and hidden followed the sound of every attack and counterattack. A hiss, a low growling. A word repeated over and over, pried messy and bloody from the soil of Akira's thoughts.

"Present… present… present… present…"

For you.

The monstrosity in his likeness grinned with murderous glee. It glared at Akira, like it were standing true in front of him, invading his world with a clear purpose. To deliver cruel knowledge, and to gloat on a deed fulfilled.

Akira screamed furiously, breaking free from the trance of the false duel. He fell to the floor, as did the dummy, brought down by Akira's stray fist. Though he was back in the present, he was in a daze of horror.

"Akira!" Ryuji was at his side, alarmed out of his wits.

But his words were not reaching Akira.

He had no recollection of what was said or done, but he knew in his heart that the dream was reality conveyed in sleep. And it pointed to a terrible deed performed by Nyarlathotep's Joker as he ethereally influenced the world, little by little. And it was done to punish Akira.

What could have Nyarlathotep done through the hands of his knight?

The only answer Akira could come up with was harming the people he cared for.

Frantically, the young man looked through the messages on his phone, searching every bit of interaction he has had with friends, both in and outside of the Phantom Thieves. The grim prospect of harm, or death on any of them had panic and anger rise up his throat in bile and foam. But it was only after looking at the final name in his contacts that it dawned on him.

His parents.

Perhaps he could find a way to protect the people he loved in Tokyo, by presence alone. But his parents were far away, in Kawasaki, stranded away from any chance of protection.

It took Akira all of his fortitude to dial the number of his parents' landline phone. And further even to stomach the wait. Every second, every tone of the ringback was a stake to his heart. There was no answer.

"Man…" Ryuji mouthed, suspecting with heartrending accuracy what was going on in Akira's head. He partook then of the same fear. His face mimicked Akira and his expression turned from alarm to despair.

Mum… dad….

I'm sorry. It's all my fault. It's all…

A brief crackling sound. A sudden break in the wait.

"Hello?" It was his mother's voice. "Hello?"

Akira felt completely staggered, pulled out from the dark by his mother's nonchalant tone.

"M-mum?"

"Akira? Akira, is that you?" The subtle change in volume told him she was smiling. Picturing it brought out tears in his eyes.

"Y-yeah. Yeah!"

"Akira! How are you?"

"Uh… I'm, I'm okay! Everything is okay! I just called to know if you're okay."

"We are. Things are okay on our end, Akira. Well, not entirely. You could call more often, you know!"

"Yeah, you're right about that. I'm sorry. Things have been… busy."

"Busy busy busy. The Kurusu way, no?" Masako laughed. "Don't push yourself too hard, you hear me?"

"Yes, mum. Hey, is dad okay?"

"Yeah! You want to talk to him?"

"Yes." Akira replied without a delay.

Never before had the deep, cavernous voice of Takahisa Kurusu inspired such relief and mirth in his son. It melted the sorrow away. The man was still not used to talking on the phone, but he at least tried to make conversation. That alone said much to Akira.

"I'm glad things are okay, Akira. Are your friends taking good care of you?"

"Yes they are." Akira looked at Ryuji. "They're the best."

"I'm happy to hear that. I'm happy too, that you called. I've missed you son."

"I've missed you too, dad."

"I love you. Give us a call more often, yeah?"

I love you too, dad.

[ ]

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Masako exclaimed, scared and angry in equal measure.

Her husband said nothing for a moment. He barely seemed aware at all. From the very moment she set foot on the port, with dinner for two, she saw the hulking figure of her husband walking to the edge of the pier, arms hanging at his side like he was asleep. And yet, the scene was very clear for her.

"I… needed to fart." He said, vaguely aware of what he was doing. His thoughts leading to that moment remained in memory - his sorrow and his shame. He improvised an answer that he knew Masako would not believe. But that was better than acknowledging what he was about to do. He no longer felt any drive to let the sea take him, but the torment that led him would not go away.

"Don't give me that! Just… why?" The woman's voice echoed loudly, with only one other person to hear it.

"I was feeling melancholic. The sight of the sea helps."

"'The sight of the sea helps' my ass!" Angry tears pended on the corners of her eyes. "What the hell were you thinking!?"

"Akira." He said. "I failed him, didn't I? I failed our son…"

Masako knew exactly what he was talking about, because it was something she held against herself as well.

"If you did, then so did I." The woman stayed silent after that, looking out to sea next to Takahisa.

"You don't usually get off work this early."

"Nothing's happening at the hospital. Thought I'd surprise you for once. Bought dinner and all…"

Masako unpacked the food she bought for the occasion. She was not particularly hungry, but she did not think she would be feeling hungrier later, either. Together, Akira's parents ate while looking out to sea, thinking both of their son.

"We will not fail Akira again. We're not that old yet, meaning we can still be better. So get rid of that shame, and stand tall. He'd want you to." Masako said. She noticed a grain of rice trapped in the man's thick moustache. "Don't leave me, you big stupid, dumb… man."

Behind them, a dark ethereal figure vanished into thin air, compromising from this one defeat.

[ ]

Makoto turned the doorknob to the café's front door. A restless heart loudly sent the drumming of her pulse to her ears. She guessed she must have opened the door a little too forcefully, because everyone was looking at her as she appeared, including Akira. Though he looked about as tired as she felt, she wanted to throw herself at his arms, to extinguish the feeling of dread in his embrace. She walked towards him, knowing she would hold back – not out of a sense of decorum. But because they could not yet indulge like they wanted.

There was a matter to be discussed this night.

Makoto greeted everyone present. Her sister, Akira, their friends, Boss, Kawakami-sensei, and Munehisa-san. As far as she could tell, this was a respectable number of people for the meeting, but there was a notable absence: Yuuki Mishima, the very reason they were gathered here. By the way he phrased the request for a meeting, he had an important breakthrough that would help the Phantom Thieves vanquish Nyarlathotep.

She learned from Sojiro Sakura that Mishima had called a few minutes earlier to apologise for his delay. There had been a slight incident at his parents' home. Though it was nothing serious, it would take a little time to mend. He should arrive in roughly ten minutes. This left some time for the people present to mingle for a moment, and take their minds off of things.

With a few dishes and cups of coffee out in the counter, the lively conversation, and the television on, this seemed a more leisurely activity than it was. Everyone anticipated a change in the mood with Mishima's arrival, and then perhaps a return to a more festive mood if his idea turned out a promising one. Expectations were high.

"Makoto." Akira spoke discreetly to his girlfriend.

"Hi." She smiled. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, quite so. Looking forward to tonight."

"Me too."

"Called my parents earlier, by the way. They're asking about you."

"Are they?" Makoto blushed. "That's lovely. Um, how are they…"

"Hey. Hey! Everyone! Quiet!" Sojiro interrupted, loudly calling for everyone to hear. After a few seconds of confusion, everybody present turned to the source of Boss' attention, a piece of breaking news on the television regarding an event occurred no less than one hour before.

Former candidate for Prime Minister in Japan, Masayoshi Shido, has committed suicide in prison. Apparent cause of death: head trauma from impact against the wall of his cell. No foul play suspected as he was alone. The man, in his fathomless pride, almost succeeded in steering the nation to ruin. His schemes would have yielded fruit if not for the Phantom Thieves. In a curious turn of events, he turned out the architect of his own downfall when he had Akira Kurusu arrested and shunned.

He was, by all means, an enemy. The sum of his deeds deserved lawful punishment – from the manipulation committed upon the masses, to the death of his son, Goro Akechi. There were no tears to be shed over Masayoshi Shido. But there was no mirth to be had, for this was not the right end to justice.

The public would surely metabolise the news with varying perspectives. That was the way of the world. But at least inside of LeBlanc, the air was heavy with shared unease.

Especially Akira Kurusu. He had no concrete evidence, no clues or clear connections; only a pervading conviction in his heart that Nyarlathotep was involved in this.

"Present… present…present…" The silence begat a low hiss, fashioned into a word. And only he could hear it.

Quick heads up! Gonna fly out to Canada for a week during September, so there's gonna be a bit of silence for a bit. Nonetheless, feel free to follow me on Twitter dot come for updates and ShuMako /dextersdemondad