9/29 – Thursday
Evening
Cafe Leblanc, Attic

Ren didn't bother to check the caller ID before picking up his phone. "Ren here."

"Hello," came a polite, cool voice he hadn't heard in months. "It's Mitsuru. I hope you're well."

The lead lingering from adrenaline in his bones vanished in an instant. Ren had been lounging on his bed, but now straightened up immediately, nearly displacing a very vocal Morgana. "Sorry," he whispered to the cat, before turning his attention back to his cell. "Hi Mitsuru." The ire left Morgana's features, replaced with a careful curiosity. "I'm, uh, managing? Anachronism's memories are a pain right now, but I'm–"

A rustling on the other end cut him off. "His what?" She sounded genuinely confused, maybe distressed? Then a little sigh into her receiver. "My apologies, I'm not sure I heard you correctly."

"His memories," Ren repeated. "Did I...not tell you about those?"

"I don't believe you did." A pause. "Would you care to? You have no obligation, but I can't deny my curiosity is piqued."

"Yeah, of course. I mean, I sort of assumed..." He cut himself off with a shrug that was more for his benefit than hers. "One of the past Rens took the name Anachronism, he's the one from the iteration that the parcels came from, I'm pretty sure. But Oxymoron did...uh, something to him." A flash of a falling star glinting off the skull pommel of his blade in the Witch's grasp. "She managed to make his memories live on, somehow. I've started to recall stuff about that iteration; bits and pieces, and it's all vague, blurry. But it's definitely his." He reached up and twisted a strand of hair between two fingers. "Does that match up with the parcels you guys got?"

"I..." Mitsuru began, then hesitated. "It does not contradict them. Yu's parcel mentioned a 'willing collaborator,' alongside implications that someone with access to the Wild Card had aided Oxymoron."

Ren almost winced. "That's probably him, yeah."

"I see." She hummed something in the back of her throat, like a thought. "These memories, would they happen to contain any information as to Oxymoron's intentions, or the scheme she's attempting to exert?"

He shook his head, well aware the motion wouldn't travel. "Nothing concrete. Just that she wants to save the world, there's some specific thing we have to accomplish, and that she thinks she's right."

"Nothing particularly new, then," Mitsuru confirmed. "Do you..." She trailed off. "Ren, I apologize if this comes off as blunt, but do you believe these memories are causing you harm?"

"I mean," he mumbled, trying not to shy away from the cell. "They're not...fun. It sucks to see my friends fighting against something that they can't beat, knowing that they end up–" He bit back the word. "That they lose. And it hurts sometimes, seeing the good stuff I might end up losing. But I'd still rather remember them than not. It's like...it feels like Anachronism's trying to tell me something. Like he's still here, somehow, even though that world is gone now."

Mitsuru didn't say a word, not for a long while. When she spoke again, it was almost abrupt. "Understood. I won't meddle in your recollections. But, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to make a request of you."

"Sure," he said.

"Don't throw away your present life to live in dead memories." Firm, and knowing, like frostbite nipping at his fingertips. "These may be useful things to remember, but you are not an entity defined by his use. I'm sure your friends would agree: what you gain from these recollections are of secondary importance to your own well-being." There was almost a smile in Mitsuru's voice, something soft and melancholy. "You have a life worth living, Ren. Please, if you fight, fight for that, for the person you will one day become. Not for the person you once were."

He wasn't sure how to reply. Not for a little while. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll do my best." And his hand found Morgana's fluffy head, ruffling the cat's fur.

"Thank you." And Mitsuru burst out laughing, a little surprised bubble that made Ren start. "Oh! I quite apologize, I nearly forgot the purpose of my call. I was..." She trailed off into a hesitation. "We are...coming up on a date of significance to many within the SRU. Specifically, those who once belonged to S.E.E.S., myself included."

"Okay," Ren said, not quite sure where she was going.

"It's not quite a fondly-remembered time," she continued. "In fact, it's often utterly somber. Painful, if I may be candid. But, regardless, it is something we hold in utmost importance. Something I wouldn't dare let myself forget. Not that I would, of course. Perhaps Junpei would, but that's neither here nor there. Besides, we all have our own way of addressing such an event." Words drifted through the phone in quick succession, without the woman's usual habit of over-articulation. She was sort of...was Mitsuru rambling? Holy shit, she was! An awkward little chain of sentences, speaking her way around something simple.

"Why are you telling me?" Ren asked, cutting off her seemingly endless stream of information. "Like, um, sorry, I'm fine to just listen if there's something you want me to know. But I'm guessing there's something specific you're wanting from me?"

Mitsuru was silent for a time. "In a sense," she said, quiet, even more careful than usual. "It's less something I want from you as much as..." She sighed, almost frustrated. "I suppose I should stop beating around the bush. Ren, to be clear, we are quickly approaching...a particularly heavy anniversary. Seven years ago on the 4th of October, a member of S.E.E.S. lost his life."

Ren was cold. Something like frost itching on the inside of his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Arisato came to mind immediately. Was...was that who she was talking about? But, she said 'his;' could it be someone else? Fuck, would it be appropriate to ask? "Would that, uh," he began, and winced his way through every word. "Sorry. I don't wanna bring up bad memories."

"Not at all, Ren." Her voice was kind, steady. "Please, if you have a question, feel free to ask. I will let you know if I feel I cannot answer."

Deep breath in, deep breath out. "I heard a bit about...someone called Arisato." Silence on the other end. Shock? Anger? Agony?

"I see," Mitsuru said. Her voice was quiet, and there was almost a laugh in it? Something like faint amusement. Maybe pain too, but she didn't sound particularly hurt. "Arisato was indeed a former member of S.E.E.S., and they did indeed pass away. But that is not who I am referring to. We...lost two of our ranks that year." A long breath, heavy through the phone.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled. Fuck. He couldn't even imagine...he could barely handle thinking about losing a single friend, the thought filled him with a deep, abject dread he couldn't shake off. But losing two? "That's awful, I'm sorry."

"Ren," she said, soft yet firm. "Thank you for your concern, but I am alright. I can't deny I am still grieving them both, but I am not in need of any additional sympathy for that. I have those in my life to share my grief with, and friends who will continue to support me through it." And she chuckled. She laughed, just a little thing, but it felt so monumental. "That's why I called you in the first place. It's...well, it might be a bit of an odd request. But I feel as though he would have liked to meet you."

Something strained its way through Ren's chest, like a clock stuck at midnight, something awful and yet somehow wonderful. "I'm a little confused, sorry."

"Yes," Mitsuru said, with another little laugh. "I haven't explained myself quite well enough. If I might be clear: next week, myself and the other former members of S.E.E.S. will be taking a train to Tatsumi Port Island. It's a pilgrimage we've undertaken every year since that time; even though some of our ranks have gone their own separate ways, it's a ceremony not a single of us have ever missed. And, this year, I would like to extend an invitation to you. I've already gotten permission from a handful of others, I can assure you that you would be absolutely welcome there."

That was...huh. There wasn't really a way to logic that out. It spun around his head, impossible decisions that his gut had already settled on. He couldn't find a single reason to go, nor a single reason to stay, but he already knew what he wanted. "I'd like that. Uh, yes please. If that's alright."

"I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't," Mitsuru chuckled. "I'll look forward to that, Ren."

"Yeah." He found an odd little smile on his lips. "Me too, I guess."


█████
After School
Odaiba, Shadow Response Unit Headquarters

The Trickster still never got used to the interior of that building, the way it turned to hard metal walls in an unsettling monochrome gray, a sight a little too familiar for his tastes.

"Have you seen him before?" came the voice of the young woman accompanying him, so light, cracking on her last word, as if the whole of her being would shatter if she didn't distract herself with idle conversation.

"Yeah," the Trickster answered, after a moment. "He acts just as bad as he looks, so be careful of that." He laughed, forced and hollow, and the young woman did not.

"I guess I just can't believe I have to do this," she continued. "It's frustrating. I thought I knew my sister, if anyone knew her it should be me. I don't understand." And she shook her head, rejecting the hand the Trickster reached out to offer. "Was I not there for her enough, when we were younger?" she asked, almost a whisper.

"█████," the Trickster began, but words failed him. "I know it's hard, but you can't get caught up in blaming yourself."

She shook her head, visibly composing herself. "I know," she said, her voice firm once again. "This isn't about my feelings. It's a tactical measure first and foremost. I won't hold the rest of the Thieves back."

And before the Trickster could say another word, she'd thrown open the door.

The scene inside was as bleak as it always was inside a room like that. Cold metal walls with nothing but a steel-top table, a loop for the cuffs that currently held the boy's wrists, noticeably stained with deep red.

And the boy not currently in the black mask raised his head to look at them, dark circles under his ever-so-slightly-unmatching brown eyes from a lack of sleep and covered by a mess of wild hair, not so carefully styled as it was before.

"What do you want?" he spat, quick and to the point. He'd left the cynical banter that had been his trademark behind some time ago.

And the young woman by the Trickster's side, seemingly unaffected, simply stepping forward and taking a seat. "█████," she stated plainly.

"What do you want?" the boy repeated, eyes staring daggers at the young woman.

She lowered her head, as if hesitating for a moment. But whatever was making her stall, it didn't grip her for long. "As much as I resent having to ask this of you," she said. "I have no other options. We're currently infiltrating my sister's Palace, and we keep coming up against unexpected roadblocks." She ran a hand through her buzzed hair. "I believed I'd be able to anticipate everything myself, but it seems I…don't know my sister as well as I'd assumed – or maybe hoped – I did." And she sighed, making eye contact with the boy, a sharp look in her eyes that the Trickster knew all too well from being on the other side of. "I hate to admit it, but you also know my sister. Maybe better than I do, I don't know." She winced for just a second, but the Trickster kept his distance as she had asked of him, just occupying the doorway. "So I need your help to understand her current mental state."

If the boy felt any pride at that confession, he didn't show it. He didn't gloat, didn't grin, didn't mock the young woman across from him. He just let out a short laugh, cold and angry and hollow. "What's the point?" he finally said, his voice under no shortage of obvious physical strain. It almost broke the Trickster's heart, but that was the last thing the boy would want to hear, so he swallowed it instead. "█████ is using her Palace as a trap to wipe out the Thieves," the boy continued matter-of-factly. "You know that, don't you?"

"Please answer my question," the young woman repeated, her voice firm, not backing down.

"It's a stupid question," the boy dismissed. "You shouldn't even be in her palace. What the fuck is your plan?"

And his eyes fell on the Trickster, shifting just-so-anxiously in place, a single twinge of guilt, a single moment of weakness.

"Don't tell me," the boy growled, standing from his seated position until the cuffs on his wrists dragged him back down. His eyes drilled holes into the Trickster's hollow form. He looked back to the young woman, who averted eye contact. All the proof he seemed to need. "You stupid pieces of shit," the boy hissed, seemingly too exhausted to yell. "Do you have any idea how insanely, wildly irresponsible this is? What the fuck kind of plan do you have? You understand, I assume, that whatever it is, it has to account for the very high probability that █████ is just going to send another assassin in my place to put a fucking bullet between your eyes?"

"What," the Trickster said with a shrug, throwing off his own discomfort by allowing himself a moment of pettiness. "Upset it won't be you?"

He stood again, the strain on the cuffs pulling the short chain between them taut, the edges of the cuffs digging further into his wrists. The enraged expression that had been locked on the Trickster fell to the young woman sitting across from him. "You're actually okay with this plan? Knowing the likelihood it will result in his death?"

The Trickster grimaced, preparing for the worst she had to say to him, every bit of it deserved. He wouldn't argue with any of it, if she chose to be every bit as furious with him as the boy not currently in the black mask.

But to his surprise, the young woman stayed firm, sitting properly in her chair, a distinctly practiced posture. "All of us, not just myself, have put our trust in ███ on many occasions," she began. "And in many of those instances, he has betrayed that trust. I will not stop holding him accountable for that." The Trickster forced a weak smile. It hurt, but she was right, so very right. "And while I am not happy with his every action, I am also no longer the way I used to be, the sort of person who judges every mistake as a total failing. ███ and I are part of a team. And I will do everything in my power to save his life, as an ally and a friend."

The Trickster was blown away, mouth hung open with a wild cocktail of emotions, among them surprise, gratitude, pride – and perhaps more shame than anything else. It was a beautiful, remarkable sentiment, and one for which he was utterly undeserving.

"And," the young woman continued, her voice sharp. Measured, but determined. "Our saving his life starts with you telling me about my sister's fucking Palace so we don't all die on the way to the trap we're walking into." And she shifted, crossing one leg over another as if to punctuate her point. "So talk."

The irritation, the fury and the energy in the boy seemed to dwindle in an instant, and he practically collapsed back into his chair, hunched over the table, breathing heavily as he attempted to massage his wrists.

"Fine," he groaned, a concession punctuated by a cold laugh that broke on its last syllable, the same as it had back in █████'s Palace. "What do you want to know?"


9/30 – Friday
After School
Akihabara, Gigolo Arcade

Anonymous
this is the guy who threatened the admin
her heart was changed
thanks
hey guy who deleted the photo, if you're reading this
come to the arcade near the alley where we met
got some stuff to say i can't post here
i don't care if you really show up, but i'll be there

True to his word, the kid in the blue hoodie was at the arcade when Ren made it, stationed in front of one of the Gun About cabinets, firing his way through a swarm of digital foes with a plastic pistol.

"You said you had something to tell me?" Ren said. It felt sort of silly having a meeting like this with a middle schooler in a semi-crowded arcade, but he was nothing if not curious.

"My name's Shinya," the kid said, without so much as looking away from the screen, aiming and firing with practiced precision. "Hanae Oda is my mom."

Ren nodded. "Yeah, I...sort of figured that last part out. Your picture came up when I searched for her name."

Shinya was silent, maybe thinking. "Did the Thieves know, when they changed her heart?"

"I brought that up when I passed the name to them," Ren confirmed, choosing his words carefully. It was a fine line between honesty and self-incrimination.

"Okay," he said. And he kept on firing.

"Uh," Ren began, but Shinya cut him off.

"Lots of people on the site are pissed off at the King," he said. "There's people saying that breaking rules like that make them look bad." And Shinya finally glanced towards him, a little pointed look before returning to the game. "Do you think that too?"

Ren blinked. Okay. That was a hell of a question. He couldn't deny the graffiti came off as somewhat juvenile, something that invasive was easy to point to as evidence that the Thieves were in the wrong, that their supporters were petty criminals. But, would stopping that behavior stop the dissension? Would the attacks from Medjed stop if the King's graffiti ceased?

He'd said it to Mishima already; the people calling for an end to the graffiti had already set their hearts on the Thieves being guilty. They weren't likely to change if their demands were met. If he'd learned anything from facing Akechi and Hifumi on their respective battlefields, compromising against someone only who only wanted victory was a quick road to getting absolutely screwed over. This was a game to Medjed, to the dissenters. So, Ren would play it.

And he'd win.

"No," he said, as clear as he could. "No matter what, I'm gonna ask the admin to make a statement on the graffiti to get people to stop freaking out about it. I can't say that'll shut up everyone, but hopefully it'll take some pressure off the King." Ren smiled, primarily for Shinya's benefit, but it was easy, honest. "And, for what it's worth? I think it'd be kind of a shame to lose that art. The King's got some crazy talent, and I'd miss his stuff if he just stopped."

Shinya held his focus on the game, but Ren could see his brow furrowed, maybe thinking. "You're a lot cooler than I thought," he said, almost begrudging. "And, uh...if you want the King's help or something, I think he'd be...cool with that. If the Thieves needed something he could help with."

Ren nodded. "I'll make sure they know. Watch the Phan-Site, okay?"

"I will," Shinya agreed. With a resonant click, he landed a bullet in the chest of a massive robot. "Shit. Missed the weak spot."

"Who taught this kid to swear?" Morgana grumbled.

Shinya clicked his way through the resulting Game Over screen. "Still got it," he mumbled, with a little triumphant smirk. An empty spot for a name on the high score screen. Fifth place. Every single other name was the same: 'Yoshikuni Nejima.' Before Ren could even process the name, Shinya was already entering his. No, not his own. Yoshi. Kuni. Neji. Ma.

"Yoshikuni Nejima is cheating at arcade games, putting up impossible scores, and screwing over hard-working people."

Ren blinked. "You're the hacker," he said, the words leaving his mouth before he could register them.

"Ugh," the boy scoffed, scrunching up his nose. "I'm not a freaking hacker, those idiots are just poor losers." He stuffed the gun into the machine, quick and irritated, and then crossed his arms. "They just can't handle getting their asses kicked by a middle schooler."

"Right," Ren said. "Sorry. I believe you." Shinya blinked at that, like he wasn't sure how to respond. "That's some crazy talent you've got." He threw on a smile. "What's your secret? Lucky gun? Special firing stance?" He snapped his fingers. "Got it. You used to be a soldier, but now you're a grizzled veteran, chasing the thrill of combat from arcade to arcade."

Shinya snorted, an honest little chuckle escaping him. "Shut up," he grumbled, but he smiled the whole time. "Don't be a dumbass. I've just...got a lot of practice, that's all." He shrugged. "It's the one thing I'm good at. So, no one can beat me unless they suck at everything worse than me."

Uh. Okay, fuck. He'd expected the kid to drop his guard a little, but not that much. How to say this best... "Do you think the practice goes away if you get better at something else?"

Shinya blinked. "Uh," he said, tilting his head. "What?"

"Let's say you find out you're kickass at origami" Ren continued, choosing his words carefully, keeping his tone as light as he could. "Like, 'the best paper-folder in Tokyo' good. What happens to all that hard work?" He smirked at the kid. "Do you think all the stuff you've learned just vanishes if you're not a loser?"

"No," Shinya snapped, clear irritation leaking into his tone. "Don't be stupid. It's still gonna–" And then he froze. Gaze distant, like he was putting together the implication.

"Maybe you're good at something you don't know," Ren said, grinning. Fuck, he could kinda understand why Maruki liked his job so much now. "And maybe you're better than you think about all the stuff you think you suck at. Doesn't change that." He gestured towards the ten identical names on the high score screen. "Skill isn't something you spend, it's something you earn. It's not a stat to be allocated, you just...have it, if you work for it. And you've worked your butt off, right?"

The kid nodded. "I guess so," he mumbled.

One last little push. "Was it easy? Did you always get the top scores from the start?"

Shinya scoffed. "No, duh."

"So what's stopping you from working that hard for other stuff?" Boom. Ren could have dropped a microphone if he'd actually had one.

Shinya didn't say anything. Just kept his arms crossed, brow furrowed, like he was thinking that over. "Origami sucks," he concluded. "It always feels super weird, and I can't make my hands do what I tell them. It looks bad, and I don't like it." And he hesitated, pursing his lips. "But...maybe drawing is fun. I like helping my brother, sometimes, when he does art."

His brother did art. Ren blinked. Fuck. For Shinya's sake, he was really glad he was on the kid's side. Cause he was pretty sure he knew who the King was now.

"Do you think..." Morgana mumbled, trailing off in thought. Looked like the cat had caught that little slip-up as well.

"Yep," Ren confirmed, letting it linger, hoping Morgana caught the fact it was for him and not Shinya. "Sounds like a good start. Maybe ask him to teach you some of his tricks, and you can teach him some of yours."

"Fat chance," Shinya said, rolling his eyes. He took an odd breath, and pulled out his phone, quickly scrolling through it. "You'll, um, probably see this eventually anyway? But it went up today, and I guess..." He grumbled something under his breath, and then thrust the phone towards
Ren.

It was a photo of another piece of graffiti. Red and black, the Phantom Thief logo, not too unlike the other tags the King had done before. But this one was...different. The sigil of the masked gentleman was doffing his red top hat with an ethereal hand, and the text underneath...

'Thank you, Phantom Thieves.'

"Thank you," he said, immediately, quietly. "For showing me. And, tell the King..." Ren took a long breath in and out. "Tell him that he's welcome."


9/30 – Friday
Evening
Akihabara Mall

Hopping on the train back to Yongen Jaya and then nearly immediately having to head back to Akihabara was, honestly, a pretty disorienting experience. But Futaba had asked very nicely, and Ren was nothing if not very easy to convince, especially when it was his sister asking. Not to mention, hanging out in public like that was a big step for her. Futaba played it casual, like it was nothing, but she still stuck to his side like a particularly adorable nettle the entire first hour of their outing.

"See anything you like?" Ren asked, as Futaba scanned through a large shelf of games with her entire body, positioning her face in front of each title in turn, head tilted to better read them.

"Nope," she said, simply. "I've played most of these already, and there's nothing I really wanna have in person." Futaba hummed something in her throat, like a little melody. "I'll probably just pirate the new ones in a couple months."

Ren chanced a glance over both shoulders to make sure no one else had picked up on the proclamation. "Maybe don't admit to that in public," he advised, with a little teasing chuckle.

Futaba started. "Oh. Shoot, um, fuck. Sorry." She wilted, almost retreating into the fluff of her parka. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Ren assured. "No harm, no foul. Just wanna make sure you don't accidentally get in trouble." He shrugged. "Even if you did though, I'd pull you out of it. No sweat."

"I still don't wanna be trouble," she said, though the girl did relax somewhat. "You shouldn't have to save me. I should just..." She flapped a hand, like she was frustrated she couldn't find the words. "I should be better."

"It's okay if you're a little trouble," Morgana chirped before Ren could respond, putting his paws up on his shoulder. "You guys had to chase me through Okumura's Palace, but you all said I was still an important Thief." He shifted, almost nuzzling his head against Ren. "I caused a whole lot of trouble, but Ren wasn't mad at me. And he wouldn't be mad at you."

"Not in a million years," Ren agreed. "And besides, I don't really deal in 'shoulds.' You're..." An odd little tension, like a lingering sob. "You're my sister. That's something we chose, remember? Something we agreed on. And I didn't agree to that because of who you 'should' be, I agreed to it because of who you are. You're you, Taba. And I love you for that."

She shifted in place, wobbling back and forth from heel to toe. "Kinda sappy saying that in the game aisle," Futaba mumbled, and sent a little honest smile towards him.

Ren just shrugged and returned the smile in kind. "Guess so. I'd say sorry, but I'm not."

Futaba laughed, and then trailed off, an odd hesitation lingering in her. "I've been...thinking," she said, not quite looking at him. "About my mom. Cause, after we talked about Kana...I dunno." She sighed, almost deflating. "I just kinda remembered some stuff. Sorry, I didn't wanna...worry you, I guess. Sorry."

"Taba," he said, quiet and careful and as firm as he could without letting the softness leave him. "You don't need to say sorry, it's okay. You can tell me right now if you want, or later, whatever works. I won't worry, I promise."

She nodded, and scooted a little closer, reaching out blindly for a hand he gladly allowed her to take. Futaba squeezed it once, snug and careful. "I felt really guilty," she said. "Cause I sorta realized that, um, my mom might not have been...good to me, all the time." Futaba pulled him farther down the aisle, scanning through titles as she talked, idly glancing over game after game after game. "Sometimes she'd yell, even when she didn't need to. One time I spilled coffee on some notes, and she made me go to bed hungry." She said it so simply, but it ached at the inside of Ren's chest.

"That's awful," he mumbled. "I'm really sorry."

Futaba hummed softly, maybe a confirmation, maybe just a further thought. "She wasn't like my uncle, or like Kana's parents. She didn't ever do anything that bad. It feels...like I'm being dumb, a little, for getting upset about that."

"It still hurt you, didn't it?" Morgana asked, poking his head up over Ren's shoulder.

She just nodded, ever so slightly. "Yeah," she mumbled. "It did." And Futaba scrunched up her face, taking a quick, deep breath in. "But she still never would have said what they tried to make her say in that letter." All at once, the entire sentence in a single breath, as if she could say it no other way. "She wasn't...she wouldn't want me to die. Even if she wasn't the best mom, she still didn't want that."

Ren nodded, trying to take all that in. "Even if she did," he said, the words bubbling out of him, up from his chest and through his lungs and eclipsing his breath, "you still would never deserve to die."

Futaba didn't say a word, for a time. Just slowly scanning across the titles with her eyes. "Yeah," she said, finally, quietly. "Kana doesn't deserve to die, and her parents are..." She trailed off, pursing her lips. "So, I guess, it wouldn't make any sense for me to deserve that." She sniffled, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry for talking about heavy stuff when we're hanging out."

"No worries," he said, squeezing her hand tight. "I'm here for you. No matter what, I've got your back. It's okay to just let yourself be sad sometimes, I think. And I can't think of a single thing wrong with asking your super cool big brother for help."

"You dork," she mumbled, clearly trying and failing to keep herself from smiling. "What about asking your dorky, nerdy, super-dumb big brother for help?"

Ren scoffed out a laugh. "That's fine too, but good luck finding someone who fits that description."

She let go of his hand to smack him in the arm, grinning the whole time. And then Futaba started, gazing at Ren with an odd sparkle in her eye, that huge grin still on her face. "I just figured out what you are," she announced, hands triumphantly positioned on her hips.

Ren just raised an eyebrow.

"You," she said, raising a finger in the air for dramatic effect, "are my key item."

He waited for her to elaborate further, but when she didn't, he mentally stumbled his own way through the metaphor. "I help you unlock something and then you toss me away?" he asked.

Futaba rolled her eyes. "No, dummy." She turned back to the games, maybe just looking for something to do while she gathered her thoughts. "Stuff is really hard for me, you know. But having you there makes things easier. Even when you're not doing anything, even when you're just standing around nearby–"

"–sitting in your inventory," Ren concluded, finally starting to catch up with her logic.

"–then stuff just works. I can go places and do things that I couldn't on my own. Just cause...you're there." Futaba paused in front of a game, rocking back and forth as she seemed to examine it for weaknesses or flaws, like a cat preparing to pounce. "I wouldn't have been able to come here if it wasn't for you. Or go to the beach. Or talk to Sojiro again. Or be a Thief. Or change my heart." She glanced his way, throwing an honest smile at him, something wondrous and lovely. "You helped me do all of that. Cause you're my key item, one of a kind, the only one ever in the whole world."

He didn't know what to say, not for a long time. He just stood there while she examined the game, with probably the biggest, dumbest smile on his face. "I'm glad," Ren said, finally. "I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit for that stuff, but for what I did to help with it all...I'm grateful that I got to." He couldn't help himself, scooting closer and pulling his sister into a sideways embrace. "I don't know if you'll need me forever, Taba. I might not always be your key item. But I know I'm never gonna stop being your brother."

Futaba didn't say a word, but she didn't need to. She just reached out and plucked the game off the shelf with one hand, and wrapped the other arm around him. Morgana purred loudly, pressing his head against both of them in turn. And they were quiet, together. Like three peas in a pod.


Infinite love and gratitude to Jane for beta-reading this chapter AND for writing the redacted section to serve as its second scene. She did an absolutely amazing job and I'm thrilled to be able to include her phenomenal writing in Deja Vu again.

We've finally made it through the last chunk of purely confidant scenes before the long string of uninterrupted plot chapters that comprises the Okumura arc and downtime before the Niijima arc. Things aren't going to go off the rails just quite yet, we've still got some essential buildup, but we're gonna start heading that direction very quickly.

Of course, we've still got one important matter left to resolve before the rollercoaster starts its ascent. Next time: Empress at Dusk