The Masquerade Commences
"Are you ready?" The words come out of Sojiro Sakura were ones Sae Niijima was very familiar with. She heard them from her own sister, from her kickboxing instructor, her peers, and even the speaker at the batting cages. Situations and context varied, but it all came down to tone; it could either mean nothing, or everything. In the right place and time, those very words could invoke the highest, most relentless of spirits from within her
Boss' tone hit the precise, exact note. After all, he was one of the same mind. Since the moment a little, blue messenger came out of the bathroom door in LeBlanc, he also began to wonder if he was prepared. Lavenza informed them that the Phantom Thieves were ready to take the fight to Nyarlathotep, once and for all. Though she neglected to speak about Akira and Makoto's perilous chapter, her message left him feeling a little cold.
And just like Sae Niijima, he found that he could come up with only one answer. They were more than ready to join the Masquerade at Shibuya, and see this through to the end. Both got in Sojiro's car, and fastened their seatbelts, literal and figuratively.
The afternoon sky burned bright red outside. Such a sight was not exactly uncommon; the bustling life of the cityscape was often adorned with the strongest of spring hues. But from Sojiro's place at the wheel, the larger scene had an uncanny, foreboding touch to it. Quiet but powerful, like the Sayuri that graced his café, and the many diverse compositions the young Yusuke Kitagawa produced. Visually, the red sky was almost hypnotic. That aside, Boss thought it somewhat fitting for the occasion.
"Boss?" Sae spoke, pulling him out of the daze.
"Yeah. On it." He started the engine, concealing his anxious prayers under the rumble.
Along the way, neither said more than a few words. None much cared for small talk, even if it would serve as lifeline for their increasingly restless nerves. It was almost as if all distractions were unwelcome, from the gravity of the situation, and from the personal stakes at hand.
She had a sister hanging in the balance.
He had two youths that were like his own children.
Their lives, and those of their dearest friends, all were on the line. Once again.
Sojiro Sakura did not even think of what could happen to anyone else, not even himself. As an outsider, he was able to grasp the situation without fully understanding the true extent of its ramifications. He could not begin to imagine or contemplate the process of Nyarlathotep's 'migration' of all conscious souls into his world. The terrible future that lay in wait eluded his comprehension. But he understood enough. Something dark and ugly loomed over their heads. And yet his mind lay elsewhere.
Sae Niijima, right foot bouncing incessantly, knew what her sister and her comrades were fighting. The end of the world, in rough terms. During her formative years, she entertained a brief fascination with horror and science-fiction. The elder Niijima was well acquainted with the horrendous details come out of the depths of human imagination. Like Jules Verne once said, what one shall dream, another will realise. The memories of those pages burned away in face of impending doom. And all she could think of was Makoto.
Both knew how far the Phantom Thieves had come. How strong and capable since outgrowing their past selves. In preparation and sheer competence, they stood not in disadvantage. But faith, however fathomless, may not always stave off fear completely.
But Lavenza, coming along in the backseat, had a tighter rein on her unease. She focused on only one thing, distant from the welfare of the former inmate and his comrades. The girl in blue wished to see the momentous occasion unfold, to feel the Masquerade manifest on the other side. She wished to see a collective show of love and faith turn into hope; the magic within the human soul. That was what Master Igor always felt the most passionate about.
That was her birthright, as attendant of the Velvet Room.
[ ]
Yuuki Mishima always felt a persisting desire to express himself, and to be heard. However, deep within the connection between thought and reality, he felt burdened with a nag of anxiety. His stage fright and fear of public speaking were rough manifestations of the oxymoron. During high school, he coped by wanting to be seen in relation to another – be it a friend or a significant other. Eventually, he learned to shine through his own light, and shoulder the pressure on his own.
And now, having outgrown the anxious boy, Mishima found himself revisiting the past, under a strange, surreal filter. As he walked into the Masquerade, accompanied by the shogi idol Hifumi Togo, all eyes were on him, by proxy of his companion. The two recently found friendship in the unexpected duty of helping the Phantom Thieves, but an outsider's perspective could easily imply something else. Yuuki smiled at the thought of a gleeful, past self in a situation like this. Back then, he would have chalked it up to a once-in-a-lifetime lucky turn.
But today, he saw it as purposeful consequence. Yuuki and Hifumi meeting was just an isolated, visible instance of something far greater. By fighting injustice, the Phantom Thieves gave the people a fertile ground to discover new bonds, to connect with one another under a fundamental principle: everybody mattered, even if the world turned away. Therein lay the essence of the Masquerade. Now that their heroes were off fighting a secret battle, the spirit of rebellion was for all to harness; and the craft of the mask no longer belonged only to the devious eight.
Yuuki might have conceived the initial idea as a means to help the Phantom Thieves, but the gambit would be meaningless if it were not essentially true. And now that the festivities were well underway, he found his expectations brutally overwhelmed. All around the square at Shibuya, he saw countless masks dyed bright red, like dragonflies frolicking under the encroaching dusk.
"Mishima-kun." Hifumi pulled him out of his stupor. The young woman handed him a red mask, bearing the details and imperfections of something handmade.
"Wha…?" He uttered clumsily. As he turned, Yuuki realised she already wore her mask. And for a moment, the very image of her made him toy with the idea that she could have been a Phantom Thief herself.
And when he put the mask on, he dared a playful, dangerous thought.
What if I too had been a real, full-fledged Phantom Thief?
Hifumi was slightly taken aback by the way he smiled beneath the mask. It was a sight she recognised in younger years, when looking in the mirror, at the start of her career as a shogi player. It was a very distinctive expression that resembled childlike-awe and mischief, yet somehow escaped those confines.
And so, like the rest of the many attendees that afternoon, they became something other than themselves.
Therein lay the magic of a spell that was only starting to take effect.
[ ]
With but a few exceptions since he took over the airsoft store, Iwai Munehisa was always unwilling to close shop early. Among those rare occasions, two were especially close to his heart. The first and most recent was his son's debut in a breakdancing contest. Iwai took special consideration to stay out of Kaoru's sight, so the boy would not suffer from the anxiety he often felt whenever his dad saw him performing. They seldom spoke of the matter, and the former Yakuza could never let go of his old inclination to restraint. For months since, Kaoru thought his father disapproved, when in truth, he was truly proud of him. Come hail or high water, Iwai Munehisa would be there for his son, even if the latter never knew it.
The second time was an oddity borne out of desperation. When he caught wind of Akira Kurusu's arrest years ago, the Gecko flipped the sign on the door and poured himself into a dire task. He reached out to old associates - something he hoped he would never resort to, after leaving his old life behind. But he knew even this would be a small price if he could ensure Akira's safety for as long as he was behind bars. It had barely been a year, yet the boy had shown greater loyalty and integrity than even the more honourable among Iwai's brothers. In many ways, the young man kept Iwai's past from reaching him and Kaoru.
A long time has passed since, and now Iwai was locking his door to see those two reasons merge in a bizarre turn of events.
Somehow, Akira and his friends were at it again. By the sound of the previous briefings, it was a terrible situation that demanded the Phantom Thieves' distinctive touch. Whichever role Iwai himself was to play, he would do it without question. However, beyond the help the Phantom Thieves needed, one thing concerned him personally. The unseen foe appeared somehow anchored to Akira, and the latter had suffered for it. Had he the means, the former Yakuza would exact vengeance upon his friend's tormentor himself. But his hands, like everyone else's, were tied.
A direct hit on the Lord of Chaos was out of the question. But the enemy was not untouchable. So, even if their actual efficient means were unusual, Iwai made sure it would go on without a hitch – not least because his son chose to partake of the plan. Kaoru was oblivious on how important this event was, but that mattered little. It was not in the boy's nature to perform half-heartedly. Even if he never knew it, his effort would be valuable and important.
For those two core reasons, Iwai joined the Masquerade as spectator. To ensure the event went on disturbed, and to see his son perform. But if only for the latter reason, he would allow himself to join the mirth as he rarely ever did. This definitely warranted closing early for once.
[ ]
"You nervous?" Shinya Oda adjusted his red cap so it would stay tilted in just the right way above his mask.
"You're not?" Kaoru Munehisa fidgeted with his own mask. Their turn to perform was coming soon. In the privacy of the curtain behind the stage, he made sure everything would sit right where he wanted while he could. But the mask he chose still felt somewhat ill-fitting.
"No. Why would I? I'm Warrior. Warrior doesn't get nervous or scared."
"Warrior probably has a mask that fits." Kaoru replied, a little annoyed.
"Can barely see, to be honest." Shinya admitted.
"I knew it! Can we really do our thing with these on? Or… uh, should we?"
"I bet we can. But I guess we don't really need to wear them, even if it's kinda the thing for the day. Then again, didn't your homeroom teacher make them?"
"Don't remind me."
"I mean, everyone has one. It's a lot of masks, and handmade. She must have lost a lot of sleep."
"I can see what you're doing, scumbag." Kaoru shot his friend a look he learned from his father. The young man tried to make it look menacing, but Shinya found it overly entertaining.
"Just thinking out loud. I mean, it'd be kind of trash if we went out and she was out there watching us perform. Watching you, her own student, and seeing you're not wearing the mask she made for you."
"Don't!"
"Don't what?" Shinya grinned. "I'm not criticising or anything. Sometimes, you know… it be like that."
"Okay, I'm wearing it. Jeez! We only have a couple of minutes anyway."
"Here, let me help you."
Inexplicably, Shinya managed to adjust the mask over his friend's face in the exact way he needed. As he did so, he wondered if this was yet another one of those small talents he was on his way to mastering. They have been piling on for the last year, but he wanted even more, no matter how big or small. Shinya hoped, that someday he would see in himself what he saw in Akira.
Years ago, Shinya had mentored him in a skill that many would deem useless. But even if his senior did not frequent the arcade that much, mock-marksmanship seemed important to him, more so than a simple hobby. On hindsight, this made sense as Akira turned out to be one of the infamous Phantom Thieves of Hearts. Once that dawned on Shinya, it seemed as if Akira could do practically anything. He was now better at Gun About, and he did well on exams. Judging by the girl who started accompanying him at the arcade, he was apparently also good at talking to girls.
Shinya was more than impressed. He was inspired, for he himself saw Akira improve, from clumsy beginnings to proficiency. And through it all, his drive remained undaunted and free. It was a feeling Shinya wished for, to completely let go of the anger that led his ascent as top gunman in the arcade. The quickest way, he found out, was to become a beginner himself at something else, to grow on his own terms. To truly become master of himself.
He also wanted to start working up a sweat for once. Shinya was not too swayed by traditional sports, but he found his new craft on a makeshift mat outside in the street. He found himself instantly mesmerised by the art of breakdancing; the rest came as simple logic to him. By mere chance, another equally as driven soon joined in the road. Having a partner to this journey proved to be just the thing he needed. After countless hours of practice, and scrapes on knees and elbows, Warrior and Gangster were ready to put on their first shows in the streets of Tokyo.
That eventually led to this moment. A particularly festive step on the road. Shinya Oda was not yet where he aimed to be, but he was pleased to be here. He could not speak for his best friend. But his dance today would be a personal thank you to Akira, for showing him a new way.
And to the Phantom Thieves, for making it possible.
[ ]
Sadayo Kawakami and Chihaya Mifune were making their way about the labyrinth of the Masquerade to see the fruit of the labour. It had been one thing to make each mask by hand, and another entirely to see them fulfil their purpose. From a logical point of view, this was what they expected. And all the same, it was such a powerful image. A speechless Chihaya could hardly believe it. Sadayo would likely also be in awe, if only she had been able to sleep the night before.
Strangely, the real thing was even more surreal than the professor's painfully mundane dreaming after the first hundred masks. Past Sadayo's heavy eyelids, a parade in red haunted the streets of Tokyo with merry defiance to old, unfeeling ways. The music and the sounds of city life at their fullest were falling in Kawakami's ears like a lullaby. But even the fortune teller could not fully invest herself in the cheer, as she knew her friend was missing the spectacle through sheer exhaustion.
Every now and then, Chihaya tried shaking her awake, as gently and subtly as possible, though her kind of subtlety was far from being so. Even then, Chihaya's violent efforts felt flat. The fortune teller began to panic. An important part of this event was their literal handiwork, and it would be most inauspicious for either of them to sleep right through the whole thing. But if neither movement nor sound did the trick, there surely would be a handy alternative in the carnival of rogues.
Chihaya then remembered how her grandmother used to wake her up back in the country. She herself had always been prone to sleep in, perhaps for longer than she should, even into her adulthood. But whenever louds words and barking dogs failed, two things always guaranteed an immediate response. The crashing force of a bucket of ice-cold water, or the gently wafting smell of hot food. Either of those two would surely do the trick. The fortune teller began her search immediately while dragging her friend around.
Fortunately, she did not have to search long. The seer's eyes lit up instantly upon the bright metallic, sheen of a silver bucket near a tiny beverage stand. It was nearly empty of soda bottles by now, but it was still generously filled with water and plenty of ice cubes. There was no better, more perfect solution, Chihaya thought. She went and borrowed the bucket with the enthusiasm of a child with a sweet tooth. And with a bright smile on her face, she thanked the gods for such timely, fortuitous finding.
"Come any closer, and I'll…" Sadayo talked with her mouth still full. "Hell with it, I have no brains for clever threats right now. Ow, hot."
"Kawakami-san! You're awake!" Chihaya returned the bucket to its place, barely noting the paper tray with strips of beef and chicken seared red in spices. "But how?"
"You're serious."
"Eh?"
"You managed to find a single bucket to wake me up, but you didn't notice the smell of food cooking back there. Two solutions at hand, and you managed to almost pick the bad one." The teacher pointed towards Mogami's stand, with its neurotic owner and his wild-eyed daughter at work.
"Oh! Well, goodie! May I have some?"
Sadayo extended the tray to her friend with unamused eyes.
"How did you know I was considering those two ways to wake you up? Are you moonlighting as a mind reader now?"
"Kinda hard not to know. You weren't just thinking out loud, you were having a nice, loopy monologue." Kawakami grabbed a tender strip from the tray.
"Was I?" Chihaya was surprised. "I didn't notice at all!"
"Heh, maybe you're not that fresh yourself after all that work. I literally stopped when we walked by that stand back there, and you had no clue."
"I guess I am pretty tired, turns out. Maybe we all process that kind of thing differently. Some get weird, others get Pucci bags under the eyes." Chihaya ate some more. "I was right, though. Wasn't I? The smell of food did wake you up."
"Don't get big-headed now."
Suddenly, the crackling of the speaker near the stage drew their attention. The MC announced the next act to follow, colourfully named Warrior and Gangster. The epithet rang in Sadayo's ears with a feeling of vague familiarity, but the sight when the curtains were drawn was unmistakeable. Even with the masks on, she could easily recognise her students. The teacher was aware that Shinya and Kaoru practiced breakdancing, but she had never seen them actually perform before. She expected them to be good, given the hours spent after school.
But this was something else.
They jumped, spun, and landed in ways that looked impossible for boys their age. At times, it was downright scary, as they were not yet experts, and injuries were always just waiting to happen. But despite the worry, no incident cut their performance short, and through it all, nobody looked away. Not their teacher, or the fortune teller, or even Kaoru's father. The pair had stolen the show.
Just like Phantom Thieves.
The following act was a fire-blowing artist. His performance ironically helped cool everyone's spirits after Warrior and Gangster took the stage.
[ ]
Toranosuke Yoshida put a lot of capital into the organisation of this event. A man of his status and career choice would ordinarily see this as an investment, but he never made his name known. The Masquerade's 'unknown sponsor' did not seek to make a single yen out of this. His raw intent was to help a young man and his comrades. Through Akira's friendship and the Phantom Thieves' deeds, the thrice-disgraced politician rediscovered the drive that initially made him want to become a statesman. Like many of the attendees, he rediscovered the notion of justice through unlikely means. However, now that the event was well underway, Yoshida did not think his role was over quite yet.
Beneath the mask, he stayed in the outer reaches of the Masquerade, where a particular kind of magic happens – that which keeps the show going. Far away from the spectacle and the crowd, he lent a hand wherever help was needed. Whether it was fetching supplies or carrying boxes, he did it all with no one to encumber his efforts by treating him as a politician. In the eyes of all backstage, he was simply an intensely earnest man – though that was simply and essentially Toranosuke Yoshida at his very core.
A few hours into the Masquerade, he noticed a heavy truck backing into the entrance of the square and parking in the only available spot. Two women climbed off as soon as the vehicle stopped, and went on to open the doors on the box. The contents were revealed to be a formidable amount of musical equipment; instruments, amplifiers, microphone stands, and rolled banners with a strange logo printed on them. Yoshida could see that much, but surely there was even more behind. He approached, a little daunted, but willing to help unload the equipment.
One of the two women who climbed off wore an attire that was half leather and half spikes. Her face was heavily made up, in a way that made her look more dead than alive, though it failed to conceal her fine features. She was Tae Takemi, a well-known doctor in circles both small and large, though nobody but her bandmates could really tell.
"Well, this is fucking great." Tae sighed loudly at the woman next to her, who sported a similar look. "How much time do we have to set this up?"
"Hmm, possibly an hour, if we're being generous. Could have been two if someone had remembered to do her damned makeup!" She shouted.
"I said I was sorry!" A third woman climbed off the truck. Unlike her friends, she had no makeup on, and her attire was practically what any average citizen would wear any day of the week. Next to the other two, the mundane style of her clothes looked almost upsetting. "It's fine! We'll just carry all this to the stage, and we'll have time to spare. I can just play like this."
"Like hell you are." Tae sneered. "Peko, you'll have to help her do her makeup. We can't have a glaring contrast like this."
"Yeah, yeah. You're carrying all that on your own, though?" Peko asked with an irritated tone.
"Excuse me, Miss?" Toranosuke approached, more timidly that he would have wanted. "I couldn't help but overhear your predicament. If you need to carry your equipment to the stage over there, I'd be glad to lend a hand."
"Would you? That would be much appreciated, Mister. Here, I'll tell you what needs to go first." Tae's voice changed instantly, showing a hint of the more professional tone of her daily habit.
The sudden change took him aback. In truth, he partially expected her to address him with the same aggravation she had a moment ago. It was a burst of something he was very well acquainted with – the mood one gets when nothing goes right in the most crucial moment. So he shook off the shyness and began working immediately. During his youth, Toranosuke was surprisingly active and spry for his ever-burly build. He had done little in the way of maintaining that strength since, but he hoped at least a shadow of that old vitality remained.
"Careful, Mister." He heard Tae's voice behind him as he carried the first set of amplifiers away. She would join him shortly after with a load of her own. Meanwhile, the two other bandmates continued to argue.
Because of the heavily crowded path leading directly to the stage, Yoshida and Takemi both had no choice but take a longer, more circuitous path around the outskirts of the Masquerade until they finally made it to the back of the stage. But despite the initial spirits, one trip alone proved an arduous task. And they were still far from finished. Panting loudly, the two saw the benefit to an extra pair of arms. However, either for good or ill, Toranosuke was not about to give up.
The second trip was carrying the instruments and mic stands, a more manageable task. A third and possibly fourth would be required to transport the full drum kit, by which time they would already be quite spent. And neither even wanted to think about the inevitable final trip to carry the band's speakers – sonic behemoths in their own right. At this point, it was likely that the older man would sustain a back injury if he dared lift his end of one speaker. Fortunately, his labour was not quite as unseen as he had hoped. By the time they returned to the truck for the drum kit, several other attendees picked up their duty.
Likely inspired by the masked statesman's diligence throughout the day, many others heard the call to stand at the ready. The Masquerade was scheduled to last long into the night, and this was certainly not the last act to arrive. Toranosuke felt relief over his back, but even more so, he felt moved by their good instincts.
"Not gonna lie. That was rather surprising." Tae wiped the sweat off her forehead, leaving a white and black smudge over her makeup.
"What do you mean, Miss?" Toranosuke asked.
"People tend to turn away at certain… undesirable duties. Effort is not to everyone's liking."
"That may be true. However, I've come to believe that people are just as likely to follow an example, if they deem it a good one." Yoshida spoke from the heart. Unlike other more jaded peers, he had a great deal of faith on the masses' better nature.
"Tabula rasa." Tae reflected. "If man is neither essentially good or bad, it falls to outer influence to decide their nature."
"All the more reason to act as justly and compassionately as possible, don't you think?"
"Set a good example, huh? It sounds like a pain, but I believe it'd be worth it, Mister." Despite the macabre tone of her ruined makeup, Tae's smile looked so genuinely kind.
They were soon joined by Tae's bandmates, who also happened to be her oldest friends from med school. This time, all three shared similar appearance. And Peko's work on her oblivious bandmate's looked exceedingly elaborate. However, although Peko had finished styling their drummer, she now had to mend Tae's makeup as well. Fortunately, they now had some time to spare before it was their turn to perform.
Once again, Toranosuke gazed at the banners the band had brought. The words SAINT DOOM were ominously printed against a black backdrop, alongside a devious grim reaper-like design. This did not look like something Yoshida was used to at all. Nonetheless, he planned to see their performance, and enjoy it, even if his eardrums were to fall off.
[ ]
Ichiko Ohya had built a reputation, not only as meticulous journalist, but also as an extraordinarily reliable freelancer. Now unburdened by her drinking problem, her prospects looked shinier than ever, but her methods remained as unorthodox as ever. Alongside Yuuki Mishima, she was responsible for diffusion of the event. Whereas he chose a more overt, direct approach through social media, Ohya chose a more subtle way. Rather than advertise the Masquerade itself, she chose to weave a cloud of mystique around it, by releasing 'lost stories' of the Phantom Thieves.
Each one was an unsung case in their career, but they all were true, including the little Iliad occurred behind bars when the leader of the Phantom Thieves was arrested. Without ever unveiling names, she gave a degree of exposure to both their heroes' work, and the problems themselves. This indirect approach turned out more successful than she thought. Those 'lost stories' moved the public into reflection.
The Phantom Thieves were no longer around, but there would always be abuse and impunity. For things could no longer be allowed to be this way, it fell to themselves to stand up and claim the spirit of rebellion. Thus many gravitated naturally to the Masquerade as a rite of passage of sorts. Now all Ichiko Ohya had left to do was sit back and watch.
Still, she felt compelled to do a little more work on the day of the event. With her trusty camera, she snapped pictures of every moment she could. She captured performances, wide shots, more focused pictures of simple, unassuming instances. Her logic did not really follow her craft as a journalist; it was more of an instinctive drive. Perhaps she would send several pictures to her editor for the next day's papers. She might keep and frame some for herself. At the time, she did not know, nor she cared.
Then, for a moment, she hesitated. Something rose up on the scope of her lens: a couple, like the many that attended the Masquerade. But briefly, Ichiko thought it might have been Akira and that strange girlfriend of his, who also turned out to be a Phantom Thief herself. This moment gave her pause. It was easy to lose sight of the core reason this event was put up in the first place. Her intention and approach may have varied from her partners, but one thing remained constant. The Phantom Thieves had one more big number to pull off, and everything depended on their success – their lives and those of everyone within and without the Masquerade.
They will make it, Ichiko thought.
But what if…
She did not even want to mentally vocalise the thought. Ichiko Ohya just kept on taking pictures, if only to distract herself from the glaring menace unseen. A few minutes later, her camera caught sight of Sojiro Sakura and Sae Niijima arriving at the event. They were accompanied by a strange, pale girl dressed in blue from head to toe.
Suddenly, the owner of Mogami felt a chill in his spine.
