Spring, 2016

Rhythm awoke Makoto and sent her right into her usual routine. She reached across the gap between bed and nightstand to slap her unnecessary alarm back to inactivity, but her palm found nothing.

Confused, she opened her eyes wider.

Her trip to Leblanc, and her overnight stay, was no dream. More importantly, it was not a thick blanket that wrapped around Makoto from behind. Ren breathed against her neck, his body warm and still asleep.

She didn't want to wake him up and she had nowhere to be, leaving her with one option: enjoy the moment. Makoto graciously accepted the opportunity to enjoy Ren's warmth however long she could—such an embrace was appropriate after the day that preceded it.

But things could not be enjoyed in Leblanc's attic for long. Makoto could only relish in her sense of touch until her eyes got curious about her surroundings. She scanned Leblanc from her new angle: the edge of Ren's comfy-after-use futon.

Aged, decaying brown persisted, yet Makoto's eyes narrowed on something that stared back at her. Directly across the room on the other side of the plant, black spots stained the wood. They were minor imperfections, but their presence as the only imperfections agitated Makoto.

That, and the texture she could identify from a mile away: blood blackened from age.

"Sleep well?"

She flinched against his warmth, a feeling that closed her eyes and erased the image of blood.

"Like a cop on a couch."

"I promise my real bed is better than this."

"That's a low bar," Makoto said, laughing.

"Or you could learn to love this futon as I did. Embrace the stiffness."

"Ugh, no." When she felt no more words teasing the back of her neck, Makoto popped the question. "You know you have blood on your wall, right?"

"Hm?" She felt him strain against her, pushing his head up and resting it on her shoulder to follow her gaze. "Eh… Probably stuck myself with a nail one time."

"That's something you would remember."

"I have a high tolerance for that kind of thing. I could fry my hand in a pot and not notice until it's fully breaded."

"Sounds delicious. That's your excuse for blood on your wall?" Makoto turned her head, pushing it into the pillow, so she could see him with the corner of her eye. It was a hopeless attempt to analyze her companion, but it did allow her the best possible angle for a joke. "Maybe I'll take a sample to the precinct and see how much truth you're telling."

"Good luck with that. I hadn't noticed it. Sorry."

"Don't apologize—just be cleaner."

"Fine then, No-Spots-Niijima. Leblanc will uphold the utmost standard of cleanliness from this point forward."

"Exciting."

With the promise of change, Makoto knew the conversation drew to a close. She pushed herself upright and set her feet on the ground. There was nowhere to be but, as Ren said, there were standards to be upheld. If Makoto was not going to work, she could still be an early riser.

"What are you doing today?" she asked, reaching down to grab her shirt from the floor.

"Undecided. You? There are a lot of ways to celebrate your first day off."

"I think I might appreciate Spring while it's still here. Care to join?"

(INSERT LINE)

Ren's plate was a little too full for a spur-of-the-moment picnic, but happiness had its costs. Happiness meant not worrying about the thinly veiled threats Kamoshida delivered to the Aka Ikka's front door; it meant ignoring that voice that chimed in with twisted reason; it meant forgetting about the bōryokudan spectator outside Leblanc's window the night before that scurried away as soon as Ren noticed.

Inokashira Park tried to shade him and Makoto from the blinding sun and they did their best to pick a spot away from the other park-goers. Those that sat along the river and fed the ducks were a rowdy bunch.

Ren's favorite part was the stillness. Duck feeders stayed in their places, walkers stuck to designated paths, and animals went wherever the food was. It was a predictable ecosystem that Ren could understand without effort—perfect for easing the stress that life brought.

In return for easing that stress, he had to give himself up. Inokashira had no walls nor armed guards to keep him still. His mind was the most active thing at the park, constantly latching onto whatever the newest sensation was to see if it was a threat.

He knew that normal people, ones that enjoyed picnics with their monogamous partners, did not do that. Maybe he played the part well, but enough hours in character brought him to the edge of a meltdown, and it was so, so worth it.

Makoto Niijima was worth the lies and the sacrifices because she provided what nobody else could: hope. Ren looked forward to the next day when he fell asleep next to her.

Shame he didn't pay more attention to her picnic small-talk.

"...Sorry for rambling. It is strange to bring a limo to a park, right?"

Limo?

Ren looked around, making every effort to not spin in circles until he saw the limo. He slowly scanned the area, finding nothing but trees and sedans parked on the distant street.

"Where do—"

"I have to use the bathroom real quick. Don't start eating without me, okay?"

Makoto let Ren's question drop into the unanswered abyss and left him just as swiftly. He didn't mind—a few minutes to enter panic mode and cleanse his anxious thoughts would do him good. The first step to that was pulling out his phone (he only brought one) and dialing the favorited number.

"It's me."

"I can't make it today. You're in charge."

"Yeah, okay… Why?"

"What?"

"Why aren't you coming in after making such a big deal out of, you know, coming in?"

"I don't have to explain a thing."

"Yeah. You're right." The line clicked and Ren was left with a useless piece of metal and glass against his ear. He pocketed it and scanned the park once again.

God, how useful Yusuke would be right now. Bet he'd make you feel safe. All this open space, all these angles to reach you, all the strain on that truce… Coming here was not the right choice.

Ren glared off a dog-walker who got too close to his set-up of a blanket and an assortment of quick meals. Anyone close enough to speak to him was a threat, anybody arriving at the park who he couldn't categorize was a security risk.

It'll be like this forever. The world's always behind you, you'll never escape this feeling. Eyes don't close for long, especially when Ren Amamiya is in view.

Minutes of twitchy eyes and torn-up grass later, nothing had changed. Ren's surroundings were peaceful, yet his heart beat as if the trees burned and the dog-walkers set their hounds on him.

He needed Makoto to hurry up.

Hurry up and learn the truth? Being an anxious fuck and a liar aren't the same—you can't lie forever.

Ren looked left. In the distance, Makoto took her sweet time returning from the bathroom, taking the path that had so many meandering turns that any dew soaked up from cutting across the grass would be worth the time saved.

Unluckily for Ren, Makoto had nothing but time.

When do ya think Hifumi will serve you the divorce papers? I've got money on you dying before she gets the chance.

She drew nearer, close enough that they shared a look. Her step quickened and she was less than a minute from Ren. He could calm down and enjoy his morning, his food, and whatever future he had with Makoto without worry.

Exhaling all the stress, Ren closed his eyes. He cherished the park's ambiance. Running water, the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves. Those sounds escaped him for such a long time, so long that it was a first-time experience. The air wasn't stale—it breathed life into his Metaverse-rotted body. Nature purged that perpetual subway blood from the walls of his head and quieted his never-ending headache.

Not a bad feeling to die with.

Die? You don't wanna die now. Makoto's twenty feet away. She's a threat, but she's something to live for, ain't she? Eh, what the fuck do I care for? That limo will—

Ren opened his eyes. Kaneshiro hadn't lied—Makoto was close. It was odd to stare at her during the final stretch of her walk, so Ren looked in the other direction, seeing another person on a path across the grass toward him.

Dark blue hair, thin, and dressed in all-black. It could've been Yusuke if he wasn't so short and wasn't so sloppy when he walked. Each step nearly toppled his unsteady legs. Ren's gaze didn't deter the man—he persisted, staring back at Ren and walking faster and faster.

You've seen him at the Nine, right?

Ren's hand burrowed in his pocket and gripped his phone. He had the muscle memory to do what he wanted: open the Meta-Nav. Makoto neared and he had to be quick.

"Mementos."

"Candidate Found."

The man was close. They continued their stare down, Ren ready to leave as soon as the man dared to draw his weapon. He could go into the Metaverse and hide for however many hours he needed. It would require feeding more lies to Makoto, but if his life was on the line it was a worthwhile endeavor.

Oddly, Ren felt calmer watching the threat stroll up to him than when his eyes danced around the park to assess everything in sight.

"Sorry for keeping you," Makoto said. Ren felt the blanket shift under the new weight as she sat down next to him. He looked to his side. Makoto scooted close to him and began unpacking the food they got.

You'd go to Mementos and leave her behind?

Ren looked to his right. The man was not far, maybe in range. His body language agreed. His right hand shifted beneath his jacket—an unnecessary provision for such perfect weather—but the added layer wasn't for warmth.

The gun flashed out a moment later and Ren's thumb twitched. He felt his phone growing hot in his pocket, tempting him to press the button and whisk himself away from danger.

What about Makoto?

Ren didn't stare down the barrel of the gun—he stared at its side. It didn't point at him—it pointed at his side.

At Makoto.

He let go of his phone, got to his knees, and dug his hands into Makoto's shoulder and side. "H-hey! What ar—" He pushed the air out of her, rolling her off the blanket and onto wet grass as he took her spot just in time.

The birds reacted to the gunshot first. They chirped in their loud rhythm of alarm, letting the other birds of the park know that they needed to leave. People screamed, dogs barked, and the silence of Ren's pain was the loudest he'd ever known. No horrors of the Metaverse inflicted more suffering than the bullet in his back.

A second later, it happened again. The back of his bicep exploded and crippled his support, dropping him face-first into the grass. He heard a voice, a scream, from in front of him. He hoped his blood didn't worry Makoto too much. As long as he had his phone, he'd be safe.

A third bullet doubled the weight on his back and warmed the grass beneath his stomach.

Not looking so good. Your mistress is watching you get shot to death and what are you doing about it? Can't be that hard to tap a phone one fucking time.

Ren's fingers died in the grass on the way to his pocket. When the wet blades stabbed his fingers with warmth, he knew it was a lost cause. The bangs of the gun continued, but he no longer felt the impact. Shock took over and all he could do was stare at the grass that shielded his eyes and the blurry form of a person that lingered next to him, hands moving in every possible direction. He could not truly see Makoto, but the fact that she was moving was enough.

She accompanied him to the park, she wanted to be with him, she wanted him. They weren't in a transactional relationship, they didn't conduct business by conversation each time they met, and they were each other's solace from their jobs. If Ren wasn't worth life, Makoto wouldn't have embraced him.

Not a bad thought to die with.

(INSERT LINE)

2007

"Mutatsu, that lazy geriatric fuck. I'll kill him for this."

"It's one day off."

"Shut up. You ain't old enough to talk back." Ren obeyed, standing next to Kaneshiro in the descending elevator. He'd gotten tall enough to look down on his adopted father, but it was never something he emphasized. "When'd the world get like this? I got employees and kids trying to bite back. People don't believe me like they used to."

Ren knew what was referred to. Since Yasuhiro's last visit to the apartment, Kamoshida never stopped by to talk business. The death drove a stake in Kamoshida and Kaneshiro's already honor-strained relationship.

"You killed Suguru's best friend. Of course he wants to bite back."

"His best friend went missing," Kaneshiro growled, telling Ren that anything other than the accepted story would take a finger or two off his hand. "I had nothing to do with it."

Ren saw the blistering, burned face of Yasuhiro emptily staring into his eyes. His skin swelled to the point of redness that he was more blood blister than human—all the life trapped beneath the burns and bruises.

"Right."

"I mean, what do I gotta do to earn a little fear of God?" Questions like that could only be answered by Kaneshiro. On the occasion that Ren answered one, he was told to shut up and sit tight while the adult so maturely thought out loud. "I steal food off tables and knock down doors. That ain't enough for respect?"

The elevator stopped and its bell dinged. They left and crossed the small room to Tokyo's bright sidewalk, so bright that Ren could nearly feel the scorching cement on his skin. Sunlight blinded them, but the usual limo's dark shadow kept their vision focused on their goal.

"Got a job for you, kid," Kaneshiro grumbled. They stopped next to the limo and faced each other. "Vet the new driver, see how serious he is. And make sure he's against taking days off."

Ren nodded and turned away, letting Kaneshiro get the door for himself. Their new driver could not be bothered to do his easy job of opening their doors, but it was disregarded. With his mood that morning, Kaneshiro would've given him an earful for not snapping the door off its hinges.

The passenger door of the limo revealed a clean black seat that Ren had never seen before, given that all his time with the vehicle was in the back. Getting in revealed more of the same. Black leather and polished wood were nice, if not boring, and the driver looked the part.

Full suit, a tie loose around his untidy collar, and a few days since the last shave. "Uh… Good mor—" A lollipop twisted between his lips as he chewed on his confusion.

Ren's open hand cut the driver off. "Ren Amamiya."

"Yeah, I figured, but what're you doing up here?"

"Performance evaluation." The driver rolled his eyes but returned the handshake. "Name, please?"

"Munehisa Iwai."

"Perfect. How long you been with the family?"

"Two years."

"Start driving. You know where." Kaneshiro's wakagashira were good enough at their jobs to give Mutatsu's replacement everything he needed before the job even started. What they didn't prepare him for was Ren. "Excited to drive?"

"Cool it with the questions, kid."

"Whether you keep driving for the boss is up to me, you know."

"Think I care? Boss has been throwing fits lately, like driving around a fat toddler. It's all any of us ever talk about. Tell 'em I'm terrible for the job."

"Start driving."

The limo pulled off the sidewalk and joined traffic. Ren thought of all the opinions Kaneshiro cultivated and how they deteriorated after the last year. The financial growth that the family saw was so rapid that it had to slow eventually, and their power would be checked no matter what, either by the TMPD or another family taking notice.

As their power grew, The Kaneshiro grew indifferent to the citizens. Its charity events and natural disaster outreach of days past were nowhere to be found, forgotten beneath all the cash that came in. All those vanished acts of kindness did something to the soldiers' mentalities—if they weren't doing anything good, what were they doing it for?

To be evil, cold-hearted bastards that took what they wanted without caring about those who worked for it?

In pursuit of their goals, had they become just as bad as the politicians?

Safe to say that Ren was not excited to inherit the job unless Kaneshiro had major reforms up his sleeve to stop the deterioration of the family.

"Who gave you this assignment?" Ren blurted as the limo meandered through an intersection.

"Kamoshida-sama."

"Still grumpy?"

"Understatement. He hates everything and everyone. Spends all day at the bar giving out orders."

"Glad to hear he's doing well."

"Hah, you little shit…" Iwai chuckled. "Shouldn't talk bad about family like that."

"Yeah? What's he say about the boss and I?"

"Calls the boss fat, calls you a baby sheep."

"Fair."

"I mean, it doesn't even make sense. Why would a sheep let a wolf mentor them?"

"Well, it's a sheep. It doesn't have much room to make its own choices inside that fence."

"Hm…" Iwai's hands tapped against the steering wheel, rolling his fingers in rhythm from pinkie to pointer. "I got a son. Turns one in a week."

"Congrats."

"I love 'em, he's a great kid. But he scares me shitless. You scare me shitless." Ren turned off Kaneshiro-serving mode. Nothing said would be relayed to Kaneshiro, nor would it be included in his opinion of Iwai. For some reason, the driver decided to be more than a driver, and Ren wouldn't waste the opportunity. "You just finished school and you're made. Started as barely a teenager and now you're taking orders from the boss… You ever want to be something else? That ever cross your mind?"

"No. Never."

"You're a fucking kid, still. And my son… If he grows up while I'm involved in all this, he'll be like you… Like me. The thought makes me sick, yet here I am, driving that fat fuck around and letting the sheep beyond the fence."

"I think—"

"Nobody gives a shit what you think. You're a kid, plain and simple. No experience you have or word you could say is useful to me—you're no real person. You're a shell that the boss is using."

"Oh, fuck y—"

The car screeched to a halt and not because of traffic. An open street that had few cars and few people was on the other side of the windshield. The sidewalk lost its heated shine, dimming into corroded gray. "Kid, you're gonna value what I'm telling you because today's the first day of your life. Forget everything that fucker ever said to you, and get out of this car."

"W-what?"

"This is a hit. I'm rolling down the windows and Kaneshiro's guts will spill any second. If you stay in this car, the same end is coming for you."

Ren breathed faster, mustering the energy to get out of the car. He looked through the window into the backseat. Kaneshiro sat, legs spread wide, as he used his phone and thumbed his chin. Soon enough, light shined on Kaneshiro's face and a long shadow covered his eyes—the silencer peered through the open window.

Leave.

Looking at Iwai, he got the go-ahead through a nod. Ren kept his head down as he pushed the door open, slowly nudging it to not alert the gunman. He stayed hunched as he got onto the sidewalk.

He looked up. There was the gun's owner, arm thrust through the window of the limo. If Ren hadn't known what the man held, he wouldn't have any idea. It looked like a stop for a friendly chit-chat, nothing more. Ren heard nothing, too, so the whole world was oblivious to the murder happening in the backseat of the limo. The only clue was the tension rippling up the man's arm each time he pulled the trigger.

Ren dusted off his pants and stood up straight. There were enough pedestrians to not worry about the gunman turning on him, but he had no intention of staying. He turned his back on Kaneshiro—the family, its power-hungry lieutenants, its ideals, its leader—and walked away.

"Amamiya!" He spun. There was the gunman, weapon sheathed in his jacket, acting as if nothing happened. The limo's window was halfway up when the gunman advanced on Ren. "Here." His left hand, the one that stayed free when he handled the gun, extended to Ren with a wad of yen. "Moving expenses."

"Who's it from?"

"Kamoshida. He thanks you for your compliance during the change in leadership." Kaneshiro's death meant he was out of a home and a protector—not many in the family respected a teenager enough to keep him around. "But you know what'll happen if you talk. Keep that mouth shut, stay out of the game, and, I dunno, maybe go to university. This isn't for you."

"What's your name?"

"Nori Obi."

"Thank you, Obi-san. Tell Kamoshida there's no objection from me."

"Perfect." Obi turned tail faster than Ren had and submerged himself in a passing crowd, never to be seen again. Ren, alone outside the limo, wanted to do the same.

See for yourself.

Why Iwai hadn't left Ren did not know but he did not care. He yanked the door to the backseat open and bowed to get inside the dim place. When he slid into the chair, he saw the fallen king.

Phone on the floor, blue light shining on his greasy hair, and blood soaking through his suit—Kaneshiro wasn't coming back from that. No bullets to the face, though, so an open-casket funeral wasn't out of the picture assuming he didn't end up in the pavement or the bay.

A gurgled breath of blood coughed forth from the near-carcass. Ren saw movement—the eyes—and wanted it to stop. The panicked movement ruined the perfect picture, the graceful death that freed Ren from his youth.

The pillow.

Ren grabbed the small velvet pillow at his side and crept across the limo. Kaneshiro's eyes stopped on Ren, his final victim, and watered. Ren hoped it was from the pain because he didn't want any empathy, any emotional connection from the man.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the blood that he choked on spilled out, staining his suit even more.

"Don't even try," Ren said. He took the pillow with both hands and raised it to Kaneshiro's head.

"Makoto—" The pillow's descent to Kaneshiro's face halted. "Makoto will crucify you for what you've done. You've ruined her." Ren pulled the pillow back, revealing the smile Kaneshiro had when he took Ren's name from him. Blood split Kaneshiro's teeth and continued to pour down his throat, yet it inhibited his speaking no longer. "She's nothing because of you. Career is in the can, no friends, no family—just you. And what do you do?"

Ren's fingers dug into the pillow.

"You take advantage of her."

Ren freed a hand from the pillow. He grabbed Kaneshiro's arm, pressing his fingers into one of the spots where blood seeped from. The pain it should've inflicted didn't get through to Kaneshiro, his body sick with shock and his words corrupted by satisfaction.

"Because you're like me and it's only getting worse."

Ren knew it, but he knew he made no effort to counter it. That had to count for something, right?

"You'll die soon enough, but I want you to know that I did my job when it came to raising you. You die as the man I wanted you to be."

The more Kaneshiro deviated from the memory, the more Ren remembered the immediate moment. He could taste the blood in his mouth, hear the screams around him, and feel the rumbling of the ambulance that carried him. All of it was wrong when he envisioned himself in the back of that limo with Kaneshiro, ready to suffocate him, yet he felt it nonetheless.

"And if you don't die… You're in for quite the time. How much longer can you put up with me? How much longer can you put up with losing yourself?"

Ren wanted no more pain for the man—he wanted silence. He took his hand from the bullet hole and leaned forward with the pillow, pressing it into Kaneshiro's face. Muffled laughs, the kind that filled the gut and were heard by everyone, escaped the act so Ren pressed harder. The more weight he put on Kaneshiro's face, the quieter those laughs grew until there was no sound—just the choked flinches of a man without the oxygen to find humor.

"Trickster."

It signaled the final movement from Kaneshiro, and it quelled Ren's rage. So long it had been since he last heard the voice, but the reminder it existed at all was calming. He let go of the pillow and pulled back from Kaneshiro, retreating to the open door of the limo.

"Get out."

He pushed the door open, surprising himself when let didn't blind his exit from the limo. More dim blue lights welcomed him to a place of years past.

"Trickster, welcome to the Velvet Room."

The limo left Ren at one end of a tremendous dining table, the kind used at the reunions of the wealthiest families. At the other end stood Ren's host. "Lavenza," he said, prompting no reaction from the supernatural being.

Ren knew the Metaverse held many secrets. Lavenza kept some, others hid from Ren in palaces or the depths of Mementos. Investigating these secrets meant undermining his power and unleashing something worse than him. Lavenza had the look of a child, one that didn't wear an outfit beneficial to combat and that carried around a thick book, but her strength was palpable. Her sheer knowledge of things Ren couldn't comprehend scared him beyond belief.

Thankfully, Lavenza rarely felt the need to summon him.

"Your situation is dire. Death is not far."

However, this occasion warranted her presence—that piqued Ren's curiosity.

"Your hand has been poisoned to lose. Your chances of winning have vanished—your chances of survival lie with me."

Perhaps he shouldn't have asked, but Lavenza was not a physical being that existed in the real world. Only in dreams or the Metaverse did she appear, so what death could she prevent?

"I've been shot multiple times, and you'll save me how?"

"It's not a question of how, but of if." Ren stayed silent, expecting an explanation. "You will die without my intervention, Trickster, therefore I must evaluate your worth as the one in possession of the wild card."

A test of worth was not a good sign. For fuck's sake, he ran a criminal organization. No trial of goodness of the heart could be passed no matter how much, (or how little) human remained.

"A man looms over Tokyo, threatening to destroy your world. With no other Persona-users under my tutelage, the responsibility to stop this man lies with you." Lavenza flicked her hand, blue fire erupted in a line across the table, and a neatly written paper materialized in front of Ren. At the bottom was a blank line. "Your signature is a promise to maintain yourself and, when the time comes, stop this man."

"If I don't sign?"

"Then we proceed as your body has planned," Lavenza said. "With death."

"How is this a test of my worth if I have no choice?"

"It is the choice of your life, Trickster. You've endured hardships no child should face and your upbringing was wrought with pain you were too numb to understand. Giving up— dying —is not looked down upon. Most would consider it the right choice."

Death meant no more. The end of the soul-crushing trips to Mementos, the regret of sending soldiers to extort stores, the pain of seeing Hifumi every single morning. No more dreams of Shibuya crossing, no more memories of Kaneshiro, no more of the voice…

It was a tempting offer.

It also meant giving up on Makoto. Proceeding with her would be difficult, if not impossible, due to having to explain why a gunman targeted him in a public setting. Still, giving up on Makoto left enough of a bad taste in Ren's mouth that he forgot about the blood.

"She is as important as you are, Trickster," Lavenza said, reading his thoughts and pulling him from his consideration. "If you choose to continue, you must do so with The Priestess at your side."

Convincing Makoto to stick around after he almost got her shot was much more difficult than crumpling the contract and throwing in the towel.

"Your endurance will only become more important as your struggles grow. The toughest times are ahead of us, even before the threat arrives. Understand that signing the contract guarantees suffering not just for you, but for everyone you touch."

"What if I die…?" If his death meant the betterment of the people he knew, maybe it was the right choice.

"It is not for you to worry about."

Maybe not. Ren refused to consider his own life in his choice. There would be no selfishness that affected his decision, even if signing guaranteed him a second wind and more time with Makoto. Perhaps giving up was what most people would do, but those people didn't have unfinished business. There was so, so much to make up for before Ren could consider giving up.

And if Lavenza recognized him as good enough to choose for himself, he had the support of powers larger than him.

"I've decided."

Lavenza nodded and a pen materialized next to the paper. "Beware, Trickster. You will not be yourself by the time we conclude our deal." That didn't stop Ren from slashing his name across the bottom of the paper.