June 5. Saturday night. The Masquerade.

The word spread like wildfire. First, it began as a spark, as the joint effort of Futaba Sakura and Yuuki Mishima to send the first mutterings through the internet. Soon enough, the public took the reins. Whispers and hearsay. Posts on social media and lonely red flyers travelling across the cityscape. Cryptic messages and relentless theorising. No matter the medium, the collective eyes of Tokyo were fixed on the date.

Some saw this as a frivolous marketing ploy; others saw immanence – a nigh-hallowed manifestation of words and sounds. But no matter where each citizen stood, nobody was indifferent towards the coming event. It was a fitting reaction. After all, for good or ill, the work of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts brooked no indifference either.

Deep inside, everyone wondered if the mysterious fold that saved the country would make an appearance. Was the Masquerade merely a tribute, or were they in for something else? The latter summoned the wildest imaginings, but none came close to grazing the truth. The Masquerade was a design crafted by many – by the Phantom Thieves of Hearts, and those closest to them - purposed to save the world from a capricious and dark vendetta.

Even in its preliminary stages, the sole aftershock of the idea had an effect in Nyarlathotep's domains. Day by day, the embryonic world of the Crawling Chaos yearned for their presence, for all uncanny eight, and no longer just the wild card that led them. The formless nature of the world's make recognised their aim for dominance. This went against Nyarlathotep's plan, but the Dark Lord was hardly worried. For even as the Phantom Thieves' power in his world grew, so did his Joker's.

The chaos and unpredictability they added into the mix with their unexpected incursion was still an asset to his favour.

No matter what happened, what gambit Akira Kurusu and his friends concocted, his knight of chaos was crafted after human nature unveiled. It was in their design to shape their existence around confusion, suffering, and fear. If his Joker was cradled from a moment of fathomless despair, even the things that may challenge that outlook will only make it stronger.

Whether it was the construct of entropy, or the hope bearers who proved stronger, one thing was a guarantee: they would inevitably come to face each other. The success of Nyarlathotep's plan for the world, and human kind's existence in a world of their own pended from that moment.

From the Masquerade.

Weeks passed, one by one…

[ ]

Sadayo Kawakami's true calling was teaching. She would do nothing but, if she had the choice. But through a rough, and strange period of her life, her duties as a professor were temporarily sidelined by a job as a maid in a somewhat unsavoury line of work. Free to devote herself to her profession, however, she found herself straying an hour or two a week, in search of a new hobby.

And she found it in a most fortuitous way, in the crux of desperate need and inspiration. Truly, it was her friend, and local fortune teller, Chihaya Mifune who inspired this new undertaking. A crude clay statue resembling a bear with vulgar thoughts eventually led to more refined attempts at shaping a better souvenir. Chihaya, also wishing to help realise the Masquerade, joined her thus. And together, they set out to craft a very special artefact in large numbers.

Something hand-made.

Something that inspired a sense of belonging; something anyone could have.

An invitation of sorts.

Soon enough, the idea clicked. And they set out to work right away. On hindsight, it made perfect sense. After all, the Masquerade was for everybody to partake.

No matter who you are, you're welcome to join. Just put this on, and come dance.

Chihaya Mifune certainly had a way of making the simplest of things sound momentous, Sadayo thought. The fortune teller seemed to have undergone a burst of holy inspiration when looking at their first piece. The educator felt like she was soon to follow on the experience.

On the table before them lay a ballroom mask with a simple, but catching design. Painted red.

The first of many.

[ ]

Izumi Sasahara was living the dream. In high school, she threw herself fully into her vocation by being the school's newspaper greatest asset. Now, in her first year in college as a journalism student, she came upon a gold mine. But she was not quite going after a scoop when looking into the coming Masquerade. Her pursuit was a more personal matter. She wanted to see what the Masquerade was, in a way only she could – with the eye of a truth-seeker.

She followed her nose to what became her first lead: two boys. They looked to be sophomores with a busy schedule after school. But rather than gaming the afternoon away at the arcade nearby, they spent that time in the centre of Shibuya, drawing eyes to themselves with their breakdancing act. Even though their moves were still fairly basic, they were nimble and bold enough to earn attention, and even a few tips. Izumi caught the act in the middle, and stayed until they took a break.

Their eyes lit up when she told them she was journalist, although their enthusiasm had them miss the 'student' part. Regardless, they introduced themselves, as the Champions of the Street Performance Club. The one in the red hoodie and cap was Shinya "Warrior" Oda; the one wearing black was Kaoru "Gangster" Munehisa. Both were very forthcoming in the style and purpose of their act, to Izumi's joyous surprise. They had come to one of the most public places in the city to be seen and heard, to make their message clear: the Masquerade was coming.

Warrior and Gangster, Izumi found out, were only one of the many acts to take place that day. Through the boys she discovered that many amateur artists and musicians were gathering for the event. Some did for the free exposure, and some did as a gesture of gratitude and appreciation. Shinya and Kaoru admitted doing it for both reasons, but something about the latter struck her oddly. She probed the line of question a little, and got no open answer from either of them. But there was a peculiar, underlying hint that neither Warrior nor Gangster could completely hide from her.

Izumi suspected. No, she knew that they were acquainted with the Phantom Thieves of Hearts. There was no proof, not even a halfway reliable semblance of a lead. But she knew.

And she pressed no further.

She may have gotten either to stumble with a carefully laid trap. But this was not something she wished to take advantage of. Though seeking truth, unveiling and showing it was her duty, she still had something of a Hippocratic Oath. Trying to expose the full picture here might only dampen the boys' spirits.

As the sun set on the cityscape, Izumi said goodbye to Warrior and Gangster, promising to come and see their act in its full red and black glory. But even if she decided to leave this stone unturned, there was still a raging curiosity within. There was yet more to find, more to understand…

[ ]

The scenario, in its location and company was awfully familiar to Iwai Munehisa. But tonight, there was no dread in his heart, only conviction. The Gecko was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but his oath-brother Tsuda could easily see the fire in his eyes. Despite the steep business they were to discuss in their restaurant-of-choice, the two men knew already Iwai would get the assets he requested. In fact, Tsuda knew he would get away with it, even without needing to explain what he needed them for.

It could not be anything truly questionable, Tsuda thought. That was not the kind of man his oath-brother was, despite his bloodied past. But the sudden need for manpower was no small favour to ask.

There was one more peculiarity to the occasion. Daigo Igarashi had joined them for the evening. He was quite the unique fellow in the clan. Despite his young age, he had earned himself a reputation as loyal and frighteningly competent. As it happened, he had been tasked with ensuring the safety of a person of interest in Juvie Hall nearly two years ago, also at Iwai's request. The task ended in success, despite whispers of a situation that escalated quickly. The young man was not known to be a social individual, but here he was, vouching for Iwai Munehisa.

Much like back then, this too pointed to being a favour for a friend. Tsuda conceded in his heart already. But at the very least, he would pose a degree of resistance, if only for potential listeners to know that he tried. After that, they would be free to indulge in their sake of choice, all the while poking some fun at Daigo, who was old enough to drink, but never indulged.

Hours later, when all was decided, Tsuda still dwelled on what Iwai needed the men for. Even as the world in his eyes became a foggy mess, the sake could not soften the gravity of his friend's words. Tsuda laughed when Iwai told him he needed men to make sure nothing bad happened during the Masquerade event to come in a few weeks' time. Even for a reason such as this, the evening felt like an ill-fitting formality. Nonetheless, Iwai Munehisa was as serious as a grave. Daigo also was not amused in the slightest.

Tsuda questioned why the Gecko would care so much about an event like that, which he himself doubted would gain much traction with the masses. There was no direct answer. But Tsuda garnered enough on his own from the shared attitude between Iwai and Daigo. There was nothing more to discuss. It was idle work for an evening, for which they would still be paid. Tsuda could well make it happen out of his own pocket.

Whatever happened, no matter how big or little, the attendees would have some unlikely guardian angels. He would have liked for his boys to dress in the Yakuza way, if only to amuse himself, but one could not have everything in life.

[ ]

Depending on the specific time in his life, Toranosuke Yoshida considered himself either blessed or cursed. He had a calling since he was a boy, and he exercised the skills needed since then. But even though he succeeded in becoming a politician, his career was fraught with scandal – little of which was of his own true making. Years later, coming out on the other side of a tarnished reputation, he thought himself the luckiest man in the world. From misfortune, he obtained experience. From isolation, he made the dearest, most loyal of friends.

And the Dietman knew one of such friends was in trouble on the day he called.

Akira Kurusu and he stayed in touch since the young man returned to his hometown. Strangely, his return to Tokyo brought forth a brief gulf of silence between them. Yoshida initially chalked it up to the demands in the life of a first year college student. But strange tidings reached his attention, and his fears soon proved true. His young friend and former apprentice would not go into details. And what little he could convey sounded strained by shame and reluctance. That was very much unlike the Akira Kurusu he knew.

In Yoshida's line of work, there were few ways to interpret 'any way you could help'. But this was not the world of politics and money. Far from it. This request pertained to something more complex, and at the same time purer. That is how Toranosuke Yoshida added his efforts to the Masquerade, and his young friend needed not insist.

In the following days, he learned from Akira how the event was being funded. Toranosuke was surprised to find how humble the event truly was, in terms of logistics. The aim was clearly different from that of many public events, so no sponsors or mass-appeal marketing factored in the equation. Even so, it took joint savings from he and his close circle to fund it. Little did Toranosuke know, most of it came through uncanny forays into a world of Shadows and Personas. A considerable, hidden slice also came from Okumura Foods. Regardless, Toranosuke thought he may well add some of his own savings to the pile, and state it a 'passion project'.

Because it was.

The beat of his own heart led him to interpret Akira's request in ways beyond the conventional world of politics. Too many politicians fell for the same trap, one that led them astray. They lost touch with the submission to duty and the commitment to the people. Sometimes, to remain a proper politician, one had to work the soil, and to walk with the masses. This is how Toranosuke Yoshida returned to being a public speaker.

In the streets and in the airwaves, he talked of the coming Masquerade, and invited others to do the same.

He knew this would bring out the true colours of his peers. Some would support it, and its significance; others would condemn it. Most, he guessed, would seek to gain favour with one demographics or another. But no matter the inclination, everybody in every strata would talk about the Masquerade.

And when the day of the event came, the formerly known "No Good Tora" would be there. Not as a politician, or a public figure. But as friend, and a believer.

[ ]

Dr. Tae Takemi was well known, both in the medical community and in the urban underworld of Tokyo. But the nickname of "The Plague" conjured vastly different views and emotions in both worlds. Even after her ruined reputation was redeemed, many of her peers looked on with mistrust. But in the whimsical, black underbelly of music and light, Tae Takemi was the one of its most precious members. The good doctor did not think her credentials as physician could much help Akira and friends for the Masquerade. But maybe the Plague could bring something else to the table.

For starters, she could bring people to the event. The Phantom Thieves were well respected, and even beloved, in the underworld, after all. But she felt there was more she could do. More than that, she could not tolerate the notion of being a mere on-looker, of helping only in a logistic manner. Every time she contemplated the coming event, she thought of Akira and the evolution of his ordeal. She had seen its beginnings, and stayed quiet. And even if there was nothing she could have done, she was angry at herself.

And anger was just the thing needed, as events unfolded.

First, she went through the entirety of her little black book, and carefully decided where and how to send the word. It was not stated outright, but for all intents and purposes, the Masquerade was a family event. Some flavours of the underworld would likely touch some sensibilities afoul.

Nothing too extreme or wild, she thought.

After careful consideration, she decided to approach her oldest friends below. A Punk Rock act that started as a Gas Chamber cover band, and eventually developed a style and identity of their own. Saint Doom – An all-girls band. Tae was there when the band came together, and saw them grow every step of the way. They were the perfect choice to take a share of the stage in the Masquerade, and bring the cloak of night from beneath the city with them. No sooner she approached the band that she was faced stark with a significant roadblock.

The lead singer was abroad, and the band was currently on a break. It has been a month since the girls last picked up their instruments. They were keen on the idea, however. Getting back into the flow of things was possible, as long as they found a replacement for their frontwoman. Dr. Takemi needed to think no more than a second before stepping up to the call.

She knew all the songs, originals and covers. She possessed the look and the spirit to represent Saint Doom. And she even secretly entertained the idea of performing, sometimes even indulging in the mimicry when nobody was looking, in the privacy of her little clinic. Her voice was not as practiced as the lead singer's, but she had the other key ingredient in spades.

She had the anger.

At her peers, who made hell out of her professional life.

At the system, which begets the masses' pain and lackings.

At the hidden Gods, who kept making humans their playthings.

At herself, from letting things get so bad for Akira.

The first burst of this pent-up wrath was a fine new beginning for Saint Doom. Rehearsals began the next day. Their resurfacing would be out in the open air, in the Masquerade - with The Plague at the helm.

[ ]

Two months from this day would make a year of sobriety for Ichiko Ohya. Spending most of her time in the company of her best friend in Crossroads never truly tempted her to drink again. However, the stress and exhaustion built over the past few months were making a perilous incentive. It was especially on the hours after sundown when she gently drowned her melancholy until the past became a lighter burden on her thoughts. The present moment felt eerily similar. Her prominent role in the early stages of the Masquerade and overseeing its growth in the media alongside Futaba Sakura and Yuuki Mishima made her so very tired, and susceptible.

However, the fact that she could barely keep herself awake was an unlikely advantage over her old vice. So was having one more interview to handle before mercifully calling it a night. She only hoped he would not take long to arrive after the end of his shift. Through this agonisingly slow passage of the minutes, Ohya could at least rely on Lala-chan to keep the coffee running, and the bottles far away.

Thankfully, the next person to come through the door was just who the journalist was waiting for. Yasunori Kujo, once a Yakuza courier, now reformed into a law-abiding citizen. Though appealing a story in broad terms, the devil was in the details. It was his friendship to two of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts what changed his path, without the need for a change of heart.

It went without saying, but the young waiter agreed to the interview as long as all names were blotted out. At first, Ichiko thought it was merely to protect his friends' identities in relation to their alter-egos. But she then realised there was much more to his story as he went in a different, unexpected direction. His story began in Juvie hall, with the coming of a lean, harmless-looking boy named Akira Kurusu. Their friendship started off on the right foot from the first day, but Yasunori only truly knew Akira on the day two letters arrived for him. One was from his friends outside; the other was from his significant other, whom Yasunori eventually befriended too after reforming.

There was another young man called Shogo who bullied Akira on a daily basis. He never gave in, despite Shogo's constant provocations, not even when he intercepted the letters meant for Akira. Alas, one straw finally broke the camel's back. It sent Akira charging right into the fray breaking out, and revealed the character he had concealed from the beginning. And all for Yasunori's sake. Alongside one Daigo Igarashi (whose name would also be kept anonymous), Akira Kurusu saved him, and even the bodily injuries he sustained delayed him not.

Yasunori only found out the truth about Akira Kurusu and Makoto Niijima's other selves recently, only days after the mysterious incident at Arancia. But that violent day in Juvie Hall spoke volumes about the kind of person Akira Kurusu was, and the loyalty his friends inspired in him. Finding out they were the Phantom Thieves of Hearts was a simple exercise of logic after that.

Both Ichiko and Yasunori concluded this was something important – something that the public should hear about, without actually removing the veil. Even without the masks and the uncanny abilities, they were still people, driven by principles and the core understanding of right and wrong. Deep inside, no different than anyone else, as long as they brought themselves to care.

The story would be transmitted the day after through one of the channels available to the Phantom Thieves' hacker extraordinaire. Subtly, but surely, the story would be read.

Ichiko, Lala-chan, and Yasunori toasted with orange juice. And the journalist was free to fall asleep in her best friend's workplace like she used to. There was comfort in knowing she would not wake up the next day feeling like death warmed over, resenting herself.

No, Ichiko would be proud of herself, as Lala-chan certainly was.

[ ]

The owner of Mogami's was too accustomed to deviate from the norm by now, and it was not by choice. The events transpired since his family moved location to Yongen-jaya have made his hair a little greyer, and his funds considerably more abundant. Still, he pined for that peculiar national sense of normalcy. Still, he could not think of closing store yet, not while his daughter Yumeko was still so enraptured by the impromptu shogi lessons, courtesy of Hifumi Togo. He simply had not the heart to cut the moment short.

If there was one thing he wish he could change, however, it was the awkward silence between he and the young man. Yuuki Mishima felt the same way. He could do nothing but pet the family's white cat on the counter. This was disallowed for sanitary reasons, but nobody really cared while they were the only customers remaining.

From where Mishima stood, the days grew shorter as the date approached. Even when he tried to block the stakes from his mind, he found himself more nervous than ever in his life. His moments of greatest inadequacy could not match his current unease. Curiously, in times like these, a nice cup of coffee set his nerves at peace. LeBlanc had not been open for some days now, however.

The owner, Sojiro Sakura had become more involved with helping the Masquerade take form, just like Hifumi and he. If all went as intended, LeBlanc would open again, and life would go on.

If not…

No, Mishima did not even want to consider the possibility. Every time, it was harder to push the fear below. Going off the principle he came up with, now proved true, fear and negative emotions could have an effect as well, perhaps diametrically opposite and just as significant. His plate was empty, and the aftertaste of the dish was not enough to occupy his mind now.

All he had was the contact of Snow's feline tongue against his hand. It was not a pleasant sensation, but it was somewhat comforting that the cat wanted to clean him. Yuuki clung to every inkling of a positive thought. And like trail of crumbs, each led somewhere, eventually ending in a spontaneous idea.

He took his phone and typed a message for Akira and his friends.

"Hi. I was thinking, we've all been hard at work for the past few weeks, and things are looking pretty great. Would it be okay if we all met tomorrow, just to unwind a little? I think we've all earned it."

His phone buzzed a few minutes later with a reply.

"Sure. You're right. Everyone's been so hard at work. We need this. LeBlanc will be open tomorrow."