6/14 – Tuesday
Morning
Shibuya
Accidentally sleeping through his morning alarm had its perks, but the lack of a proper breakfast was not one of them. Ren yawned partway through chomping down on an energy bar and nearly choked. "Stupid," he grumbled. "Fuck I miss coffee." There wasn't a trash can anywhere near him, and he didn't want to wander around the platform and miss the train, so Ren stuffed the bar's wrapper in his pocket.
"It's only been a day since you've had any," Morgana shot back. He sounded a little rumpled himself, possibly just responding to Ren's frustration with his own.
"I still miss it," he responded, a little whinier than he'd intended to. "I'm probably gonna end up napping through Kawakami's class."
"You could always just get a vending machine coffee," a voice offered, words in a playful tone without comfort, flowing like syrup.
Ren started, whirling to face the speaker; finding himself face to face with a softly smirking brunet with a striped tie and a metal briefcase. "Don't know what vending machines you've found," he said, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice, "but the Shujin ones are crap. And canned coffee is pretty much always awful anyway." He was exaggerating, he didn't mind the flavor that much, but the sweeteners had a tendency to leave a bad taste in his mouth for hours.
Akechi laughed. "You've a far more refined taste than I expected, Second-Year. A man after my own heart." He adjusted his tie, not quite loosening it. "I can't say I'm much a fan of canned coffee either, but necessity has a habit of breeding compromise." He had an odd, distant look for a moment, then focused back on Ren. "I assume then, that you have somewhere you normally get coffee in the morning. A cafe near your house, perhaps?"
"Something like that." Ren wasn't sure why, but he found himself relaxing just a hair. Not quite safe, not quite comfort, but an acceptance that the boy detective was far more bark than bite. "My...uh, my guardian makes a mean cup."
"Hm," Akechi replied, squinting at Ren as it trying to pick out some flaw. "Guardian, but not parent, implying–"
"Implying nothing," Ren interrupted. Lack of caffeination and plain irritation in equal parts, flooding his words with venom. "I'm staying with a family friend. Does that bother you, Mister Detective Prince?"
Akechi didn't say anything for a long few seconds, looking almost shocked into silence, blinking quick, his mouth hanging slightly open. "I apologize," he said, his tone surprisingly humble. Or, afraid? Ren didn't have a clue what he was afraid of, but the boy's posture seemed to deflate. "I did not intend to pass judgement, it wasn't my intention to put you on the defensive."
Ren faced the empty tracks, shifting weight from one foot to another, and sighed. "I'm sorry for snapping. It's early and I'm tired, it wasn't your fault."
The two stood in silence on the platform, for maybe a minute. "So," Akechi said finally, "I take it you're not a morning person either?"
Ren chuckled. "That's putting it lightly." He glanced back to see the detective wearing what might have been an honest smile, something relaxed about his shoulders. "I'm a little surprised you're not though, I wouldn't have expected that."
"I'm actually a fan of mornings," Akechi replied with a shrug, "but it's always a disappointment when I have to rush through them. I'd much rather spend my time reading, drinking some coffee, working my way through a pastry of some sort." Ren could have sworn he heard the young man's stomach grumble.
"Sounds nice," Ren replied. "Maybe I'll try that out sometime, when I don't have to worry about getting to school." As nice as the image of a quiet morning in Leblanc sounded, Ren couldn't help but fill the mental cafe with the other Thieves, with the laughter and comfort they offered. If he got to wake up to that every day? He'd probably die happy.
"Maybe we could hit up a cafe at some point," Akechi offered. "I'd be happy to treat you, I know quite a few places with lovely ambiance. There's a shop in Kichijoji that serves a devious little espresso." He sighed. "Then again, not sure when I'll have the time for that. My schedule's been rather packed recently, so many newspapers looking for anything new regarding the Phantom Thieves." Akechi let out a sharp huff of air through his nostrils. "I almost hope they get caught soon, just so I can stop having to make the same statements over and over."
Ren couldn't help but chuckle. "Poor you," he replied. "You get to keep spreading your hypothesis about them being brainwashers. What a shame."
"I'd rather not do so, believe me," Akechi shot back, a little defensive frustration leaking into his voice. "If I had anything more to go on, I'd much sooner report that than simply speculate."
Ren wasn't exactly sure how to respond. He let the silence linger for a few seconds longer while he gathered his thoughts. "Assuming," he began, choosing his words carefully, "that the Thieves plan to continue, I think it's just a matter of time before they start making statements."
Akechi raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. You think they'll start to speak to the public directly?"
Ren shrugged. "Just a guess. But going from a random volleyball coach to a famous painter is a pretty big escalation, wouldn't you say?" He reached up and twisted a lock of hair between his fingers. "They're trying to do the right thing; even if you disagree that with their view, I think you'd agree they probably feel they're in the right.
"Yes," Akechi replied, nodding slowly. "I would say that's almost certainly the case."
"So, if you're trying to do good and there's a prettyboy detective constantly highlighting that you might be awful manipulative people," Ren continued, "that'd probably drive you to reply." He shrugged. "Just a guess."
"I see," Akechi said. He rubbed his chin, brow furrowed, mulling over Ren's statement. "I hadn't really considered that."
"Careful," Morgana warned in a whisper. "You don't want to give the guy too much. Don't forget, he's trying to get us all arrested."
Ren forced himself to swallow his doubt, keep his temperament even. It wasn't an easy balance, weaving truth and lie into one believable hypothetical. But he wanted Akechi to believe him, as stupid as that might have been.
"If I'm not mistaken," Akechi continued, staring at Ren directly, his gaze as sharp as it had ever been, "you think the Phantom Thieves are going to slip up?"
Ren shrugged again. "From your perspective, it might be a slip up. I think they might start trying to make their calling cards into more public statements, or choose targets who might send a stronger message. Something like that." He had no intention of doing either, especially not the latter, but he was willing to consider the former as an option.
"I see," Akechi said. He smiled, expression sort of satisfied. "I suppose I'll keep an eye out for that." He adjusted his briefcase, glancing down the tunnel past Ren. "It looks like the train is coming."
"Oh." Ren followed his gaze, spying a little pinprick of light in the dark farther down the tracks. "Yep, looks like it."
"Before we end this conversation though," Akechi said, a little quickly, "one good hypothesis deserves another, don't you think?"
Ren turned back around to face the detective, and started at the sight of him leaning a little closer. "Uh," he replied. "Sure?"
Akechi smirked. "I feel it's entirely likely," he continued, in rather hushed tones, though trying to speaking over the approaching train, "that the Thieves will target a far more dissenting figure. Someone, perhaps, like me, who they might judge unjust." Despite addressing a threat on his own heart, Akechi didn't seem the slightest bit worried.
"Well then," Ren replied, raising his voice as to not be drowned out by the pneumatic hiss of the train's brakes, "you should probably try and stay safe, Mister Prince."
Akechi laughed, though Ren far more saw than heard it. And he said something, Ren wasn't quite sure what, he only caught the last few words. "–in mind, Amamiya."
6/14 – Tuesday
Afternoon
Shibuya, Teikyu Accessway
"How much longer did Niijima say she'd be?" Ann asked, arms crossed, some odd and thoughtful emotion on her face.
Ren fished in his pocket for his phone and confirmed the text she'd sent. "She said ten minutes, seven minutes ago."
"I can't say I'm the most comfortable with us all meeting in public like this," Yusuke admitted, leaning back against the nearby safety rail and watching the bustling flow of human traffic going in both directions across the enclosed bridge.
"I'm not either," Ren admitted, "but it makes the most sense to meet somewhere neutral like this." He was giving Makoto the benefit of the doubt, but that still didn't mean he was comfortable inviting her into Leblanc, considering the parcels that were hidden in the attic. Even though it was probably just paranoia speaking, that was even more dangerous information than them simply being Thieves.
"I'm kinda torn," Ryuji said, slightly lowering the light novel he'd been nursing all day. "On the one hand, we're waiting to meet with an informer, and that's kinda fuckin awesome. On the other hand," he scrunched up his nose, "our informer is Miss Student Council President."
Morgana poked his head out of Ren's bag. "Do you two have some history we should know about?"
Ryuji shrugged. "I mean, not really? I'm just not a fan of snooty jerks like her. Plus, she didn't do diddly shit when Kamoshida was being an abusive d-bag, so I'm still pretty pissed about that."
"We didn't really do anything either," Ann replied. "Not until April."
"That's different," Ryuji shot back. "She's a straight-A and the whole school listens to her. If she said something, everyone would have to listen."
Ren wasn't exactly sure he agreed, but he nodded silently anyway. This wasn't a simple situation, but Ryuji had every right to be pissed.
"I'm sorry," came a polite but strained voice, and the echo of hurried footsteps in the accessway. And Makoto jogged up to the group, her face flushed and breathing hard. "I'm sorry for being late, a bunch came up all at once and it took me forever to leave, and then the trains were delayed and–"
"Niijima," Ann cut in, neither particularly kind nor angry. "Chill. Deep breaths."
And Makoto paused, taking an exaggeratedly deep inhalation, and holding it.
"The trains have been wonky all day," Ren added as her breathing returned to closer-to-normal. "Not your fault."
Makoto silently nodded. Then, she straightened up, adjusting her hairband "I assume Ren has told you all what I've told him?" she asked.
A chorus of nods.
"Good," she replied. Then, she took another long, deep breath. "Before we begin, would it be alright if I made something clear?"
Ren could feel tension settle across the group. "Go for it," he replied, bracing himself for whatever she might say, whatever judgement or demand Makoto might lay against their necks.
But instead, she turned towards Ann and Ryuji, glancing between the two with an indescribable expression on her face. Maybe guilty. Maybe grieving. "I want to apologize," she said, quietly. "I recognize that nothing I say will take away what happened to you, to both of you, but I am deeply, truly sorry." She bowed her head. "I was afraid to take your side when you needed it, and you are right to treat that cowardice as betrayal. It failed in my duty..." She paused. "I did not do the right thing, then. And I while I perhaps do not deserve forgiveness, I would am going to do whatever I can to do the right thing now."
Silence. Ryuji glanced first at Ann, then at Ren, then Ann again, then just stared at his light novel once more. Ann's gaze was locked on Makoto, arms still crossed, expression still stern.
"Head up," Ann said, with such a firm and commanding tone that Ren immediately abandoned any thought he might have had to butt into the conversation.
Makoto glanced up at Ann, blinking, confused. "I'm sorry?"
"Head up," Ann repeated, "back straight. Stop fucking groveling."
Makoto, still visibly perplexed, did as she was told, hands clasped in front of her.
Ann nodded. "Now apologize."
"I'm sorry?"
"Apologize like you mean it," she said.
Makoto blinked, opened her mouth and then closed it again. "I am sorry," she said, "for the harm that my inaction caused. And I am sorry for not taking your side sooner, when you needed that."
"If I were to ask you to step down as president," Ann said, "as recompense; would you?"
"Without hesitation," Makoto replied, instantly.
Ann nodded slowly, uncrossing her arms. "Good. To be clear, I'm not going to, but it's good to know." And she smiled, a little strained, but honest. "Apology accepted." She turned to Ren, an odd glimmer in her eyes. "I'm cool with working with her."
"Ryuji?" Ren said, head still spinning, feeling as confused as Makoto looked.
The jock didn't even look up. "It's whatever," he mumbled. "Like, still sucks, but it's not like there's anything anyone can do to change what happened. And if she's willing to be better now, that's fine."
Ren took all that in. He could dissent, if he wanted to, and he was almost tempted to do so. To simply lean into his petty anger, to berate Makoto for what she did – or didn't do. But Ryuji was right. It wouldn't change anything. She was already willing to help them, to repair what harm she caused. That was good enough. "I believe I speak for the Phantom Thieves collectively," he said, "when I say that we are willing to work alongside you until such a time as we are able to change Zebul's heart."
Makoto didn't react for a long few seconds. Then, she wiped at her eyes, her breath half-catching. "Thank you," she said, quietly. "I'll do everything I can to help."
After a quick glance around to confirm none of the other Thieves had more to say, Ren continued: "In order to change his heart, we need to figure out who Zebul is. His real name, for a start, and as much insight into his motives and worldview as we can."
"I see," Makoto said, reaching up to fiddle with her hairband. "I'll assume that information isn't optional?"
"It isn't," Yusuke added. "We are working under the assumption that Zebul's heart is gripped by some manner of distortion." He began to speak a little faster, almost stumbling over his words in explanation. Like he was honestly just excited to explain this all to someone else, now that he'd grasped it himself. "From what we've heard of the man's actions, his view of the world is certainly distorted in some sense, corrupted by indulged desires. In order to change his heart, we must target that distortion and steal it. Therefore, we must not only know who he is, but also the nature of whatever desires he is ruled by."
"I'm still a little lost," Makoto admitted, "but I think I understand enough. You need his real name, and whatever his motivation is for blackmailing students?"
"Yep," Ren said. "You wouldn't happen to have either?"
Makoto shook her head. "I don't. I've tried looking around online, even on the Phantom Aficionado site's requests, but no one's disclosed anything specific. A few students have admitted in private that they're being coerced to do jobs for this gang to pay off a 'debt,' but I haven't gotten much more from them."
"They're not even saying anything anonymously?" Ren muttered. "If they were just being threatened, there should be at least a few people asking for help in anonymity."
"Yes," Makoto agreed, "that gave me pause as well. But I think it makes the most sense that Zebul is using both blackmail and guilt, or targeting people with heavy debts already. People aren't talking because they feel that they're at fault, or just need to work off a simple debt. It's more insidious than blackmail."
Something about her tone gave Ren pause; she was perhaps more assured than she should have been, considering. Makoto had seemed like a skeptic, and yet she was speculating with utter confidence here. There was definitely something she wasn't saying, but Ren had no idea what.
"Don't get me wrong," Ryuji cut in, turning a page, "cause I do believe you, and all; but how do you know this guy even exists? If no one's said anything, what if he's just a weird fake rumor or something?"
Makoto hesitated. "I don't want to reveal more sensitive information than I need to," she said, slowly, carefully, "but there's one student in particular who has admitted to far more to me than anyone else. They said they met with a few go-betweens for this gang, and each one mentioned Zebul. Beyond that, even though they would not speak to the nature of their debt nor blackmail, that they were being forced to pay off this debt under duress."
"Did they say how they were paying it off?" Ann asked. "Like, what the gang was making them do?"
"Yes," Makoto said, still very carefully. "They were given packages to deliver to certain individuals – most likely drugs or similar contraband – and made to do manual labor. Primarily, they were told if they could trick others into working for the gang, that their own debt would be lessened."
"Ah," Yusuke said, bitterly, "a pyramid strategy, then?"
"A what?" Ryuji asked, finally glancing up from his light novel.
"A scheme to make profits not by selling a product to customers," he explained, "but by getting others to join that scheme and selling those products in bulk to them."
"But in this case," Ann added, "it's debt, and not profit?"
"Okay," Ryuji said, "but, like, why? What does Zebul get out of getting more kids to do real basic shit like that?"
"High value targets," Ren said. "He's probably looking for specific people he can blackmail into doing worse things. Kids of politicians, cops, stuff like that. Instead of going after them directly, he's tricking their friends."
Makoto nodded, her posture stiff and her breath shallow. "It's also very likely," she said, her tone unnaturally empty, "that he's 'rewarding' certain debtors with drugs and alcohol. I've heard...the person who opened up to me, said one of their friends was invited to a club by the gang for some sort of success, for giving them access to someone useful. For them, addiction is no doubt another avenue of control."
"Fuck," Ryuji muttered, his fingers tightening on the novel, the small book's pages crumpling. "Those bastards. Those goddamn monsters."
None of the Thieves said anything for what felt like minutes.
"So," Morgana offered, "where do we start?"
"We need more information," Ren said, as much to Morgana as everyone else. "We should fan out, try and cover as much ground as we can." He hummed a few notes of contemplation, mentally divvying up potential avenues of searching. "Ryuji, could you check in with Mishima? See if he's heard anything, maybe if he knows anyone who's being blackmailed or bribed with drugs."
Ryuji nodded, stuffing the light novel into his pocket. "Gotcha. Nerd duty's on me."
Ren couldn't help but chuckle. "Yusuke, ask around Kosei maybe? See if anyone there knows anything."
"Naturally," Yusuke said, almost smirking, "I will do my very best."
"Oh like you've ever half-assed a thing in your life," Ann teased. Then she turned to Ren. "I don't know for sure, but I think some of the other models I work with might know something; there's been gossip about a few girls being caught with drugs on set. I'm pretty sure half of them hate my guts, but I'll see if I can weasel my way into any info."
"Good plan," Ren said. "Makoto, could you talk to that student again? See if they're willing to tell you anything else?"
She nodded slowly. "I'll ask. I'm sorry, I can't promise results."
"None of us can," Ren replied. "But we're gonna try anyway." He rubbed the back of his neck. What exactly did that leave for him? Maybe... "I've got a few ideas, but nothing concrete." And nothing he was quite comfortable admitting. "You're all welcome to try anything that comes to mind, but remember we're dealing with a criminal gang here. Don't endanger yourself unnecessarily." He pulled his planner from his bag and double checked his schedule. "Let's meet up again, say, Thursday? We can check in then, and figure out what to do next."
Neither objection nor further suggestion. Five Thieves and a Council President, in unanimous agreement.
"Oh!" Ren added, cupping his hands around his mouth to call to Ryuji and Ann, who'd already begun to make their way back towards Shibuya – probably to spend a little more time downtown. "Stay in touch in the group chat! I'll loop Makoto in too!"
Ryuji gave a thumbs up over his shoulder, and Ann mimicked the motion, and then the two turned the corner, out of sight.
"Um," Makoto said, lingering, fiddling with her phone. "Thank you, Ren. For listening to me, and...just everything. Thank you."
Ren smirked. "I haven't done much yet, you can thank me when we change Zebul's heart."
She shook her head. "I mean, I'll thank you then too, but I wanted to thank you now. I'm grateful that I don't have to fight this problem on my own." She smiled softly. "I think I see why so many people believe in the Phantom Thieves unconditionally, now."
"And you don't feel the same?" Yusuke asked.
"It's not unconditional," Makoto admitted. "But the condition isn't much. It's the fact that it's you all; that's it." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I don't claim to know you, but I can at least understand why you became Thieves, why you keep fighting. I think...if you'd only done it for other people, I wouldn't be able to trust that. But you were fighting for yourselves too, so I know it's not just empty idealisms. You know who you're saving, because you used to be them." Makoto frowned. "I hope that makes sense."
Ren took that all in, and he couldn't help the wide smile that crept onto his lips. "Yeah. It does."
She nodded, and slipped her phone back into her pocket. "I can't stay longer," she said, almost an apology. "See you Thursday."
"Ciao," Ren said. Yusuke waved, and Makoto strolled away from the pair. Then, Ren turned to Yusuke. "What's up? Something on your mind?"
Yusuke laughed. "I guess you know me well." And he nodded. "If you wouldn't mind, could we speak in Leblanc? I've been craving a good cup of coffee recently."
Ren grinned. "Yusuke," he said, "you took the words right out of my mouth."
█████
Midnight
Between Dream and Reality
That velvet blue had lasted longer than the room itself. The Trickster could take some relief in the shade's persistence, despite the place itself having fallen to ruin.
The bars had been ripped from the cells, and now rested in the splintered wooden desk in the faux prison's center, impaled into that piece of furniture from every angle. The roof had been ripped open from the inside, a jagged improvisational skylight granting a view into the Sea of Souls, that twinkling embodiment of entropy. Like a night sky caught in an eternal roil.
The yellow-eyed young girl in her azure uniform was standing beneath that skylight, staring up into chaos. Quiet.
The Trickster sat, cross-legged, on the floor next to her. "You don't have to stay here," he said, in as kind a voice as he could manage through the fatigue. "You could–"
"I know," she said. Her voice was empty, and that drove an acute agony into his chest. "But I want to be here."
"In case he comes back?" the Trickster offered.
The girl shook her head, long silver hair swinging back and forth across her back. "He's not coming back." There was no grief in her tone. "My master's master has departed this world. My master is looking for him, or he is praying for us, or he feels he is not welcome here. And so he will not come back." She looked down, at the desk impaled by prison bars, and at the cells along the walls – each eviscerated by some unnatural force. "This is my home. I was born here. I do not want to leave, until such a time as I am to die."
The Trickster tried to stay strong. It wouldn't do her any good for him to be angry, this wasn't her fault. "I'd like to find another way," he said. "Maybe we could find one. Some other way for █████'s plan to work that doesn't involve..." He couldn't even say the words.
"There is no other way," she said. Matter-of-fact. As if it were silly to even question it. "I was born to ensure that humanity would not fall, I have no life if..." For the first time, she seemed hesitant, worried. Frowning. "You are my friend," she said. "Friends help each other."
"Friends help each other," he agreed, almost pleading. The Trickster reached out and took the girl's hand. "Will you let me help you?"
She was quiet, for a little while. "My master once told me my heart was a dying star. That I was a life made of death, and that made me special." She looked back up into the swirling Sea. "I am a contradiction. An oxymoron. And I owe the universe a debt with my name."
He didn't know what to say. "Will you let me help you?" he repeated.
"You have helped me," she said. And her little fingers tightened around his. "I should not exist, but you have given me a year of peace. A year to be happy, and a promise that you will fight for my happiness. And, someday, you will save the world again." The girl smiled at him. "Even if I must die a thousand deaths for that future, I know that you will not let me die a thousand and one."
6/14 – Tuesday
Evening
Cafe Leblanc
It was quiet, just past closing time, and Ren had prepared two cups of coffee in silence. One for Yusuke, one for himself; and a little dish of milk for the bored Morgana, taking Sojiro's absence as invitation to lay on his belly on the counter and lazily lap at it.
Ren brought his cup to his lips, and just held it there, breathing in the smell. Then, he took a long sip, and felt his bones relax as the heat melted away the tension. "Good shit," he mumbled. Then, he put the cup down, addressing Yusuke. "So, what's on your mind?"
Yusuke was stirring his coffee, probably just looking for something to do with his hands. "I recognize that this is probably bad timing," he began, "and I in no way mean to bring this up as more important than our investigation into Zebul." He turned, gazing at Sayuri, at his mother's painting hanging on the wall of the cafe. "I want to know about her. I think, even beyond what I've said before, I've realized that the only things I know about my mother is what Madarame told me."
"Right," Ren said. "You want to know about her from someone who wasn't a pathologic liar."
Yusuke chuckled. "I want to know about her from someone who loved her. And if Sayuri loved her, then I want to meet her. For the sake of closure, if nothing else."
Ren nodded. "Do you want her to be a part of your life?"
He seemed to think that over, taking a long sip. "I think I do," Yusuke finally replied, "but I accept that she may not want that. In a way, that might be a closure as well."
Ren wasn't sure he liked that answer, but it was probably the right one. "So," he said, "where should we start?"
Yusuke burst out laughing. "I have no idea!" He sighed, still smiling a little, and continuing to stir his coffee. "I don't have much to go off of. My mother wasn't the most public with her personal life, nor was she ever well-known enough to be reported on in detail. I haven't been able to find anything on who Sayuri might be, or might have been."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't the painting a big deal for a while though? Why didn't anyone report on her then?"
"As much as I hate to admit it," Yusuke said, "it seems that the short-lived craze over Sayuri's portrait was due to the mystery of its nature and the quality of my mother's technique. Most of the conversation was of its value, or the brave decision to leave it unfinished."
All of which was Madarame's additions – his mutilation, his covering up of Toshiko's legacy. They cared more about the man's idle breath than the sweat of the woman's brow. "That's awful," Ren muttered.
Yusuke nodded. "It is," he agreed, "but I don't care to linger. What's important is to find Sayuri, I can deal with the art world after."
"Right there with you," Ren said. And then he started. "Oh, shit, wait, maybe..." He pulled out his phone and started typing out a message before he would forget, a text to a particular teal-haired hacker. "Remember when I showed you all the evidence of Madarame's bullshit? The lady who helped us get that info is a hacker working for the SRU, she might be able to help us out."
Yusuke raised an eyebrow. "Oh. That's promising."
"Very." Message sent, he stored the phone back in his pocket. "I'll let you know when she gets back to me, we can figure out the next step after that."
"Yusuke," Morgana said, sitting up a little on the counter and licking a bit of stray milk off his paw, "Madarame said that Sayuri was trying to bring accusations against him after your mother's death. Maybe it's just me, but that sounds like she knew more than him simply damaging her painting." Realizing how that sounded, he quickly added: "I'm not saying that him doing that to the painting wasn't a big deal, it's abominable, but I think it's possible that Madarame was guilty of even more than we found out. And it's possible, if you find Sayuri, that you'll find that out too."
The cafe was silent as Yusuke took that in, and Ren simply sat in silence, waiting for him to speak. "That would be a closure too," he said, words flowing like a stream, clear and thoughtful. "An awful one, but Madarame is behind bars. Whatever else he is guilty of, he was and is a monster. I'm not looking for further evidence of that, but if he sinned against my mother, I feel..." He looked down at his own hands. "I feel as if I cannot put her to rest, not without knowing that. My mother's ghost is scarred, and I wish to see those scars, and to know her. As ugly as that truth might be."
Ren found his right hand traveling to his left, massaging his wrist, running his thumb along that line of raised skin. "That's really brave of you," he said, quietly.
And Yusuke smiled. "Perhaps, but it doesn't feel that way to me. It's hard to be scared with someone like you in my corner, Ren. I suppose I should thank you for that?"
Ren grinned back. "It's my genuine pleasure." The thought of taking that burden from Yusuke, from Ann, from Morgana, from Ryuji...Ren couldn't find himself wanting for anything else.
█████
The Twenty-Fifth Hour
Apex of Qliphoth
The Trickster could see Oxymoron silhouetted against the falling sky, against the screaming stars and the heavens calling for salvation.
"You made me wait quite a while," she said. Her voice cold. This was a reminder to her, a sight she no doubt wanted to avoid. "I was worried you might have gone back on our deal."
The Trickster tried to wipe the blood from his face, and yet he still could not manage. "Would you blame me?" he said, even those words feeling like gravel and tasting like iron.
"For wanting to watch your friends die? Your world burn?" She paused as night snuffed out the sun. "I suppose not. The depths of human curiosity knows no bounds."
He stepped closer. It hurt, but he kept moving. "I want to live, █████. I want to live and I want my family to live, and be happy. So cut me some slack for fighting for that chance."
She was quiet, for a moment. "I know," the witch said, finally. "I'm sorry." She turned to face him, and he saw some glimmer of sadness in her yellow eyes, stark against her otherwise pitch-wrapped features. "I have fallen in love with this world, Ren. I've lived a single year in endless repeat, and each time I've found myself loving the depths of human kindness, and courage, and tenacity. And I've seen it die. Those wondrous qualities, snuffed out."
A sound like thunder, and a single eye like the sun opened behind her. Brilliant and red and staring directly at both witch and thief.
Oxymoron laughed. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes and howled with laughter. "And we are no longer willing to fuck around."
The clock struck twenty-six. The screams of a dying world stopped. Neither rain nor blood fell any longer.
He could see her clearly now, in that odd and faded outfit, neither cloak nor dress, aged and twisted and torn. And she held out her left hand to him. "███ █████," Oxymoron said. "have you prepared yourself for this moment?"
He reached out, though she seemed miles away, and took her hand. "Yes," he said.
"Then let us write divine law." And her eyes burned with golden fire. "The Final Fool offers his life. His name, his title and the calling card of his heart. Even as this iteration shall die, we shall burn his birthright from existence, it shall be the tinder that ignites an unbreakable promise." Her grip on his hand tightened, locked there, her fingers tight around his wrist. "In exchange for two oaths; we shall chain you to your forever-heart. Do you accept these terms, Anachronism?"
The name was not his. But he would wear it. For his sun, his moon, for the Phantoms and his world; he would wear it. "I accept."
Perhaps she was crying. Perhaps she was grinning. Perhaps it was blood that dripped from her eyes, from that golden flame that burned into his skull as well as hers. "Your first oath will be the perpetuation of our agreed ideal. We shall act, apart but in unison, towards ridding all years of their impending Fall. We shall kill Death, and neither rest nor surrender until such a time as that thing can be eviscerated. Do you accept this oath?"
He could see the other. That towering colossus of gold and black clockwork, of Forever echoed across a dozen divine wings. "I accept it."
With her other hand, Oxymoron drew a blade from nothing. A silver knife, with a skull guard, a curved blade that shone with the luster of a fallen angel. "Speak your second oath now, Anachronism. Ask of me to grant your heart's desire, and I will swear to you."
He wanted more than she could offer. More than the divinity flowing through her could grant. But he could ask for one thing, at least. He could help a friend. "You have taken my friend's name," he said. "And her life. And her heart. For a promise. But now, Oxymoron–" He gripped her arm as tight as he could, and reached out to grab her right hand. Pulled the blade towards him, its point against his chest. "–you swear to me. You swear, with whatever heart you still have left, that when you satisfy your oath to her? That you give her back everything. Whatever shred, or dust, or wish of hers that you've taken? You give it all back."
Oxymoron may have been surprised. She may have been happy, or mournful, or stunned, or empty; but she did not miss a beat. "With every thing I have," she replied, "and every breath I have ever breathed, and every drop of blood I have spilled, and each of these things forward and onward into forever. All that I have, every ounce of anything that could bring that girl joy, I will return to her. You have my word."
And the Trickster laughed, maybe. "Kill me once," he said, "shame on me."
That drew a chuckle from the witch. "Chronos," she said. "Please forge our bond in blood."
The colossus wrenched divinity's hand back, and the clock began to unwind.
And a silver blade pierced the Final Fool's heart.
The Trickster felt a hand in his, and he held it tight. He did not open his eyes. And there was another hand, and he held it just as tightly. It was quiet, maybe birds were singing somewhere distant, like ringing in his ears.
"I don't want to get up," he said.
"Come onnnn," his sun said. "You've gotta stop sleeping in every day, we're busy Thieves, ya know."
"I think we're spoiling him," his moon teased. And she poked the Trickster on the nose. "Well-deserved spoiling, but we should probably be a little meaner sometimes."
"I don't want to leave just yet," he said. "Stay with me, please stay."
"We're not going anywhere, dummy," his moon said. She raised his hand, and pressed her lips against it. "We're here," she said.
"Always," his sun affirmed. "We're not leaving you. If you gotta rest, then take your time. We'll be here."
"I love you," the Trickster said. And he slept.
