█████
Afternoon
Shibuya Police Department, Underground Interrogation Room

The Trickster was numb, and alone in this empty room. Surrounded by dried blood and discarded needles.

It didn't hurt anymore, not like it should. The metal chair was frigid, and he could feel the air around him nipping at his fingers, but his chest was a melody of buzzing warmth. The Trickster pressed a hand against the bruise on his stomach, and winced impulsively, but it did not pain him. Good. Everything as intended then.

But he could not numb the fear. No matter how he tried, his heart would not calm, his breath would not steady. He was afraid, and that made the invisible agony sharper.

The lights in the room dimmed. Like a lamp in a storm, they flickered for a moment. Darkened, then brightened. And a woman in that ragged grey cloak sat across from the Trickster.

It wasn't the first time they'd met, of course. He'd seen her before, once or twice. But he hadn't expected to see her here.

"Hello, Ren," Oxymoron said. "I'm sorry."

He didn't know what to say. His head felt light.

"Watching you suffer never gets any easier," she continued, quietly. "I thought it might, I thought time might dull that experience, but it never does. I hope you know it will fade. All this agony will end, in time."

"Nice sentiment," he muttered, trying as hard as he could to stay articulate. "Doesn't make it better now."

She was quiet, for a moment. "Well," Oxymoron said, "in lieu of intervention, perhaps I can offer relief?" And he could see her smile beneath the hood – she was so much closer than he had seen her before, barely a foot away, only a table between Trickster and Witch. "What might it comfort you to know?"

He blinked at her, struggling to anchor himself inside his own chest. "What?"

"I'm a time traveler who has watched you and your friends through dozens of iterations," she said, simply. "I have seen you grow and I have seen you fight and I have seen all manner of likely and unlikely outcomes in your struggles." Oxymoron wove her fingers together, elbows on the table. "Would you like to know anything about those iterations?"

It wasn't a question he could have possibly prepared himself for. "Tell me about █████," he blurted out. "I've...I saw him die, in my dreams. Can we stop that?"

"Yes," Oxymoron said. "You have done so many times. And when you have not been able to, it is neither through lack of trying nor any fault of your own." She tilted her head a little, a sympathetic smile on her lips. "He's a stubborn young man, you know this. Sometimes he will choose to bury himself, and that is a choice you can neither prevent nor stop."

The Trickster was quiet, for a moment. He knew that, probably; something about it seemed so very obvious, hearing it from her. But he wouldn't have been able to articulate it himself. "You've said there's something we need to do, when it comes time. Have we ever succeeded?"

Her smile faded. "Not once." Oxymoron sighed, and leaned back a little. "The Thieves have successfully taken the heart of Japan many times before, more than I can count. But you are never able to hold onto that heart. You have fought and won, but it has never been enough."

He'd hoped otherwise, but it wouldn't make much sense if that was the case. "Then, would you tell me what exactly it is you wish for us to do?"

Oxymoron nodded, and opened her mouth. Then she closed it again. Tilted her head, stared into the Trickster's eyes with her own pale yellow ones. "One moment," she said, and she leaned over the table towards him.

The Trickster started, making to pull away. "What are–"

Oxymoron reached out, balancing herself with her other hand, and pressed her finger against the bridge of the Trickster's nose. He stopped moving. Stopped breathing, probably. "This is not for your eyes," the Witch said. It was an odd tone to her voice, almost like she wasn't speaking to the Trickster, more like she was speaking through him. To something within or beyond. "Not yet, little Fool. Focus more on your own tasks. You'll return here in your own pace. It's unwise to linger in your own grave plot." Before the Trickster could say a word, she flicked him between the eyes. "Wake up."

And Ren woke up.


6/16 –Thursday
After School
Shibuya, Teikyu Accessway

Ren yawned.

"Didn't sleep very well?" Yusuke asked, a little concerned. "Were you up late chasing leads, perhaps?"

Ren shook his head. "Just had a weird dream last night, woke me up real early. Can't even really remember it that well."

Makoto glanced at him, a little oddly, then cleared her throat. "If we're all here, should we begin...I suppose we could call it a debriefing?"

"Oh," Ren said with a start, realizing that the others were probably waiting on him. "Right, yeah, sorry. Let's do that." Lacking any other ideas, he gestured vaguely to Makoto. "Did you get anything else from that student you mentioned?"

She took a deep breath, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Only somewhat. No new information, but I did run across what I feel might be a bit of a pattern. So far, all the meetings they've mentioned – whenever a representative of Zebul talked to them in person – took place around Shibuya's Central Street or the underground walkway beneath it. It's quite possible this gang has some sort of strict territory."

Ann, who had been typing on her phone up until that point, started. "Wait, holy shit."

"What's up?" Ryuji asked, tilting his head at her. Ren tried his hardest to neither comment on nor react to that frankly adorable gesture.

"So like," she gestured with her free hand as she talked, "I went to one of the other models I work with, her name is Mika and I know she's a sucker for gossip. So I asked her about the rumors I'd heard, and she spouted off a whole bunch. I'm honestly pretty sure most of it was bull, so I wasn't gonna bring any of it up, but she said that all the models who got caught used the subway to get to their shoots."

Ren mulled that over, spinning a lock of hair between his fingers. "Maybe Zebul has recruiters in or near the subway."

"That would certainly fit with what I've heard," Yusuke added. "No one at Kosei had heard anything about a criminal gang, and the newspaper club was clueless on any sort of Zebul. I did get quite a few people warning me about staying clear of Shibuya station if at all possible. I also thought that might have just been idle gossip, but it is seeming like there is some truth to it."

It wasn't much, but that was definitely a start. "Good work everyone," Ren said. "I...wasn't really able to get even that much. Kawakami wasn't–"

Ryuji spluttered on thin air. "You asked Kawakami?!"

Ren sent half a glare his way, then continued. "All I could gather is that this has been going on for a while now. She's told Kobayakawa, but he hasn't done anything. He's probably just waiting on the police to catch the criminals."

"And we all know how well they are at doing their job," Ryuji said, letting out a long and frustrated sigh.

That sent a silence into the conversation. Not tense, thankfully, but just...quiet. Hurt, perhaps. The five of them, nursing their own wounds.

"Sorry," Ryuji mumbled. "Uh, I think I might be getting some info out of Mister Iwai soon, but..." He trailed off as the entire present group stared at him. "What?"

"Who the hell is Mister Iwai?" Morgana asked, squinting at the jock. "You were supposed to talk to Mishima."

Ryuji's brow furrowed. He looked absolutely perplexed for about half a second before smacking himself in the face. "Right! Yeah oh my god I totally was, what the fuck. I just...Mister Iwai called me in for a shift right after we split on Tuesday, and I guess I got so caught up that I just totally forgot." Maybe sensing further confusion, he quickly added. "He's the guy who owns the airsoft shop downtown."

"Oh yeah," Ren said. "You said you'd been investigating there; before Makoto told us about Zebul."

"Yep." Ryuji rolled his arm, stretching out a little. "I actually ended up kinda asking Mister Iwai about Zebul too. Just that there was this gang fucking over students. He didn't say anything super certain, but he did tell me that Untouchable was...uh, named that for a reason? Apparently gang peeps know to steer clear, or at least not to fuck with him."

"Is he some sort of Yakuza?" Makoto mused, one hand on her chin. "Why in the world would someone like that open an airsoft shop of all things?"

Ryuji shrugged. "Dude, I don't even know. But I'm gonna keep pressing him, s'much as I can at least." He shuddered. "That guy honestly still creeps me out a little."

"I could join you for a shift maybe?" Ren offered. "I said I'd stop by anyway, and we might be able to convince him to open up more with the both of us, or something."

"Uh," Ryuji said, looking at once nervous and relieved. "Yeah, I mean, that'd be awesome, but you've probably got better things to do?"

Ren shook his head. "If it's a lead, it's worth pursuing. And..." He averted his gaze, he really couldn't look the jock in the eye for this. "I'm the leader, right? It's my job to help support you guys. So, if the going gets tough, I'm here to help hold the burden. Okay?"

Ryuji was quiet for another moment. "Yeah man," he said, a smile in his voice. "More than okay by me."

Yusuke cleared his throat. "I apologize," he began, "but beyond further information from a business owner, we seem to be at an impasse. We've located the potential territory of Zebul's gang, but we have yet to grasp even a basic scope of their operations or intentions." He glanced towards Ren. "What then is our next step?"

Ren wasn't sure how to answer, so he didn't. Just wracked his idling brain.

"Oh!" Morgana exclaimed, a little too close to Ren's ear. "In the parcel, remember that printed article about the maids?"

Yet another enigma he'd filed away for later. "Yeah," he said.

"If the person who wrote that article was a journalist," he said, excitedly digging his paws into Ren's shoulder, "then maybe they have information on Zebul too!"

"Ohhhh," Ann said, nodding slowly. "I mean, if you got something like that from Oxymoron, it's at least worth looking into – right?"

Makoto stared at Morgana, then at Ann, then looked directly at Ren. "Am I missing something here," she began, a little exasperated, "or are you all talking to a cat? And who is Oxymoron, exactly?"

"I'm not a cat," Morgana grumbled.

Ren reached a hand up to scritch under the feline's chin. "It's a long story," he said, "but it's sort of..." He tried to figure out the best way to articulate it all. "Phantom Thief inside stuff. We've got people on our side, and people we're working against, I think that's all that's important to say at this point."

A chorus of nods from the other three.

"And...?" Makoto gestured towards Morgana.

"He's a friend," Ryuji said. Ren felt the not-a-cat turn towards the jock, an odd tense sound welling up inside him. Like a strained purr. "It'd be real hard to explain, but he can talk to us. He's a helpful little dude."

"I see," she said. Makoto didn't sound satisfied, but she didn't press the issue.

"Makoto," Ren said, eager to change the subject. "Does the name 'Ichiko Ohya' mean anything to you?"

She shook her head. "No. I could ask around about them, I suppose."

"Hm." Ann scrunched up her nose. "I feel like I've heard that name somewhere before. I don't know where though."

"It says here," Yusuke said, nodding towards his phone – he'd somehow pulled it out while they were all talking, "that Miss Ichiko Ohya is a reporter for 'Temptation.' Some sort of–" He stopped talking as Ann let out a very loud exclamation of disgust.

"Holy shit," Ryuji said, his eyes wide. "That's a fuckin gossip rag."

"A what?" Ren asked.

"Paparazzi shit," Ann said, indescribably irritated. "Like, absolute low brow reporting, barely journalism. Just spinning whatever they can get their hands on, even making shit up just to sell magazines." She let out a long sigh. "Well, so much for that lead."

"Apparently," Yusuke continued, "her newest article is..." He trailed off, his face falling. "Oh. I would rather not read this aloud. It's a rather upsetting representation of the Madarame case, particularly...uh, myself."

"So, what, we need to go change this reporter's heart or something?" Ryuji asked.

Makoto seemed to tense at that, and Ren cut in before she could react. "No, I don't think so. Paparazzi or not, it's worth pursuing. I'll send her an email, maybe she'd be willing to trade information. I am a Shujin student after all."

"You're going to tell her about the Phantom Thieves?" Makoto asked, quietly.

Ren shook his head. "Only the stuff that's already been reported. Probably a few red herrings in there too, I'll try to make it convincing. I'm not gonna tell her anything incriminating, I promise."

A moment of silence. "Be careful," Ann warned. "From everything I've heart about those sorts of reporters, they tend to be spiteful little egofreaks. Just, keep that in mind."

"I'll be careful," he affirmed. "I promised I wouldn't put you – any of you – in any danger." His hand tightened around his phone in his pocket. "I intend to keep that promise."


6/16 – Thursday
Late Afternoon
Shibuya, Untouchable

Ren
I forgot to ask earlier, sorry
But when is your next shift?

Ryuji
oh yea yea man its uh its like
today? im literally working there rn
ill ask him and let u know when my next next shift is tho

Ren
Gotcha, on my way now

Ryuji
dude wtf

Ryuji, sitting behind the counter where that gruff-looking owner had sat before, gave Ren sort of a glare as he entered – but he still smiled to see him. "Sup bro."

"Sup," Ren replied, grinning.

"You didn't have to come right now," Ryuji added, leaning back slightly in the chair, like he was trying to play cool. "I'm gonna be here like a bunch next week too, there's no rush."

Ren shrugged. "I was in the neighborhood. Thought I might stop by." Sort of a lie, he had lingered to do a bit of half-shopping half-investigating in the underground mall with Ann after their earlier meeting. But he'd already been on the train back to Yongen-Jaya when he got Ryuji's text, so it took him a solid few minutes to reverse course back to Shibuya. "Ann says hi by the way. We got you a crepe." He held up a brown paper bag. It was technically his crepe, but he felt more like giving it to Ryuji than keeping it for himself.

Ryuji's eyes lit up, but then his joy faded a second later. "Sorry man," he mumbled, "no eating on the job. Mister Iwai says he doesn't want me to get crumbs in the merchandise."

"Gotcha," Ren said. He placed the bag on the counter, and slid it across. "Well, you can eat it later."

The jock smiled again. "Alright, alright." He slipped the bag underneath the counter. Then, his face ignited in a devilish grin. He cupped his hands around his mouth and pivoted in his chair to yell towards the back of the store. "Yo Mister Iwai! What's the policy on trading product for food?"

A moment of silence, then an odd rummaging sound from farther into the store's depths. "What sort of food?" came a gruff, somewhat muffled voice.

"My best friend brought me a crepe!" Ryuji replied. "From that one place near here, the good one!"

Another pause. Ren swore he could hear a sigh through both shelves and the door in the far wall. "Fine," the unseen man replied. "That place usually charges way too much anyway. Give 'em something nice, but not too expensive. Anything more than that is coming out of your paycheck."

"What about one of the ones I made!?" Ryuji asked. Ren raised an eyebrow at that.

And this time, Ren could definitely hear the sigh. The door in the back of the shop opened, and the man with his grey buzzcut and bright yellow ear protectors leaned part of the way out of it, glaring at Ryuji. "Kid," he said, "whatever you do with trash parts? Ain't my product anymore."

Ryuji lowered his hands from his mouth, a confused expression on his face. "You said I shouldn't hand them out though."

Mister Iwai pinched the bridge of his nose. "'preciate the attempt to follow rules kiddo," he grumbled, "but that wasn't one of them. I was giving you business advice."

Ryuji blinked, then nodded furiously. "Ohhhh. Got it sir! Thank you!"

Iwai waved a hand dismissively, about to duck back behind the door, but then he paused as his eyes fell on Ren. "Oh. Well how about that." He stepped out all the way into the store, rolling his neck with an odd grin. "If it isn't the gecko-pin kid who was all buddies with a confidential model." Oh. Right. That lie from two months ago. "You never did end up stopping by, I'm really curious how that shoot ended up turning out."

"We didn't get to use it," Ren said hurriedly, forcing down the urge to bolt from the vicinity. "There was a magazine who bought some of her photos, but didn't like the ones using the guns. And she's got a noncompete deal with them now, so she can't sell them anywhere else."

"Is that so?" Iwai said, almost laughing. "Well, if she does end up making use of them again, I'd be interested to hear. Though, I'd rather you not publish any sort of reference to Untouchable, if it's all the same."

That caused Ren pause. Thankfully, it was Ryuji who asked the question on Ren's mind. "Uh, wouldn't free advertising be like...good?"

Iwai seemed almost at a loss. Rather than answer directly, he just tipped the brim of hat down a half-inch. "Regardless, I'll trust your discretion."

"Granted," Ren replied. "My lips are sealed. And I'll pass the message on to her, too."

Iwai smirked. "I appreciate that, kid." He extended a hand to Ren. "Bet you heard already, considering my employee here just shouted it across the store, but the name's Iwai. I don't believe you told me yours."

"Ren Amamiya," Ren replied, shaking Iwai's hand. The man's skin was like leather, just sort of...tough. "Pleasure to meet you."

Iwai just nodded, then turned towards Ryuji. "Still got some more work to do in the back, probably...five, ten minutes tops. After that, you're free to head out for the day."

Ryuji grinned. "Aye-aye sir, I'll watch the place till then."

Iwai waved a hand, then walked back through the far door and closed it behind him.

"So, uh," Ryuji said, glancing towards Ren, "the fuck was that about a model? Have you been helping out Ann or something behind my back?"

Ren shook his head. "It was an excuse, honestly," he admitted, "something I came up with in April when I was getting guns for us. I didn't say it was Ann, don't worry." Rather than linger in embarrassment, Ren quickly continued. "Did I hear you wrong or did you say you made something here?"

Ryuji's face lit up. Without a word, he dug beneath the counter and pulled out a tan cardboard box, dropping it on the countertop with an excited thud. "Dude, check it out!"

"Checking it," Ren quipped, popping the box's lid and then opening it. And all breath left his throat.

The first word that came to mind was "vulnerable." And the second was "beautiful." It was a pistol, similar in structure to the one he'd bought from Untouchable before, but far less professional. In a way, that made it infinitely more wondrous. Much of its casing was cobbled together from disparate parts, and beyond the obvious screws holding it together, a nonzero amount of its mechanical inner-workings were exposed.

"Okay so like," Ryuji said, "full disclosure: this is my first time actually making one of these things, but Mister Iwai has this huge box of discarded parts and he told me I could do whatever I wanted with them, so..." He gestured towards the pistol. "I'm working on a machine gun for Ann right now and I think it looks a lot better. So, uh, no worries if this one doesn't work great for you, I'll get a new one for ya by the end of the month I think."

"Ryuji," Ren said, cutting off any further justification, "it's amazing and I love it and I love you." He picked up the pistol gently, weighing it in his hand. Tested its weight, pulled back the magazine, let it slide back into place. "Have you tried firing it already?"

"Uh," Ryuji said, for whatever reason at some loss for words. Then he nodded. "S'far as I can tell, it should work fine. Just looks fuckin ugly. Plus, no telling if it'll be different in Mementos or the Palaces."

"Well, we can see how it works next time we're there." He gingerly placed the gun back into its case, and closed the box. "Thank you. This is...this is amazing, wow."

Ryuji beamed at him. "And hey, if it fucks up, feel free to let me know and I'll repair it. Free of charge." He stuck out his tongue. "I am gonna need another crepe when I'm done with the next pistol though."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ren laughed.


6/16 – Thursday
Midnight
Between Dream and Reality, Mind and Matter

Ren was sitting on someone else's bed, surrounded by stuffed animals. Something fell onto his hand and he looked down to see a stuffed snowman with a wide and empty grin.

"Oh," someone said, her voice echoing, a murmur like through water. Ren glanced towards the sound and saw the outline of someone, a girl, sitting in a chair in front of some sort of blinding green light. "You're not supposed to be here yet."

"I'm sorry," Ren said. "I don't know why I'm here."

The girl laughed. "██," she said, and it was his name that left her lips, but it reached his ears like a sharp static pop, "you don't need to say sorry for wanting to hang out. Buuut I think we've both too busy to talk right now."

She spun back around in her chair, and the world spun with her, churning into a furious oblivion. Ren thrust a hand into the void for balance, and steadied himself against a wall. Not quite a wall, but a door, maybe? A sheet of thick metal. It was enormous, and mortifying, and so very, very cold.

There was someone on the other side of that door. Ren opened his mouth to cry out his name, but he couldn't find it. "Please," he said, finally. "Don't leave. Not like this."

A voice from beyond the door that would not open. "If you see this as an abandonment, Joker," the voice said, "then you've far more issues than I do." A dry laugh, devoid of humor. "But, of course, that wouldn't be the case. You've always been better than me."

"That's not true," Ren protested. "You know it's not true. We're friends, we're..." He was lost. Who was this, again? Why in the world did this strange voice mean so much to him?

"Rivals?" the voice on the other side asked. Another laugh. "Oh, but we aren't, are we? Not quite yet."

Ren stumbled as the door vanished. His gaze shot up, looking for the voice, for whoever it had belonged to. But there was no boy. Just a young woman, slowly dancing across a dusty attic.

"Oh," she said, pausing mid-twist to beam at him. "Hello. I didn't expect to see you so soon." Then, she went right back to letting the music move her. He couldn't hear the notes, just the vaguest hint of a melody. In echoes, in wind, in the dusty air.

"Wouldn't it be nice to meet sooner?" Ren asked. "Assuming that wouldn't fuck up how you see me."

"Well," she said, "I always did see you as a very handsome young man." And she giggled. "But then again, I didn't love you at first. Not for a little while."

"I'm patient," he promised.

"I know you are," she said. And she bowed, offering her hand, her voice quiet. "And I know you can't dance with me. Not yet. But I'll be here waiting, when you are."

"I love you," he said, but she was already gone. Nothing but the dust, and the empty attic. And Ren, of course.

He turned towards the staircase, towards his way back down and out, and found himself at the bottom of the stairs. The cafe was empty, devoid of life and light and joy, and he found that sight far more awful than any before. There was, however, something on one of the tables. A clear jar filled with shards of blue glass.

"You surrendered it," a young man in the black cloak with the white mask said, sitting at the booth at the table with the jar, staring at Ren with his tired grey eyes. "Do you remember why?"

Ren sat down across from him. "What was it?"

"Your name," the young man replied. He looked down at the jar with no lack of melancholy in his expression. "All the trouble, all that pain and woe, and you surrendered the very name you chose to cover up your agony. Why?"

Ren didn't have an answer, and that frustrated him more than he could articulate or explain. "You should know better than me," he snapped. "You were there."

The young man didn't say anything for a little while. Then he slipped his coat off his left shoulder, motioning towards the red stain in the black cloth of his undershirt. The wound, deep as the sea, beneath that stain. "Forgive me for not recalling," he said, bitterly. "I seem to be missing quite a lot. And of the two of us, only one is still breathing."

"I'm sorry," Ren said, "but I don't know what you want from me. It was your choice, you made it, I'm the one dealing with the consequences."

The young man's grey eyes were orange fire, for a moment, and then that flame faded. "I can't blame you for my decisions. You're right." He looked down at his own hands, at those crimson gloves. "I don't know where my heart is. I don't know what she did with it, what sort of purpose she used it for. But it's gone, and now all I am is anger. Just pain, and anger, and regret."

Ren wasn't sure what to say. Something was itching in the back of his head. "Was it you who told me that a scar was a death avoided?" Ren asked. "Or was that someone else?"

The young man smiled, some mischief leaking through the fatigue. "I wonder..." he said, a lilt to his voice. Then, the young man snapped his fingers, and sunlight crashed into Ren's face.

It was morning. Morgana was asleep on his chest. And he was yet again aching from dreams he could not bear to articulate.

He had surrendered. Why had he surrendered? Ren closed his eyes again, breathing in the cold morning air. What had he surrendered, exactly?


6/17 – Friday
Morning

Ren
Sorry if this is too early for you Yusuke
Just got an email from Fuuka
She's the hacker I mentioned last time we talked

Yusuke
Not too early at all. I've been painting for a few hours now.
You have my undivided attention.

Ren
Unfortunately, it doesn't look like she's got any good news
She couldn't find a single person named Sayuri who had any apparent contact with your mom
And no published mention of any of her associates beyond
uh
Madarame

Yusuke
Ah.
I can't help but be rather disappointed by that haha.
I didn't have the highest expectations but that is still a bitter pill to swallow.

Ren
I'm sorry
Well there is one nice thing, I think
Fuuka couldn't find any sort of slander towards your mom
Every article she could find was singing her praises, saying how wonderful her art was
There's even a few here that talked about her art before Sayuri
I'd be happy to send you a few of them
Yusuke?

Yusuke
Apologies for the late reply. Simply thinking.
That would be wonderful Ren.
I am
Apologies again my finger slipped.
Out of curiosity would you be available at all later today?
I have been in need of an outlet and Mementos seems like as good of one as any.
I'd just rather not go alone.

Ren
Funny you say that cause 100% me too
Let's go kill some Shadows