Thursday, 10/27

GRAVY filed through the sliding doors into the formerly lifeless train car. A few people lingered inside, but most weren't eager to go out on a Thursday night after they'd rushed home to beat traffic. On the other hand, GRAVY was eager for the evening to relax and calm them from the hectic few days they endured.

Culture Festival was cool and all, but I feel like shit. I hurt all over and I can't shake the feeling that I just woke up from a fever dream, Ryuji thought. The day at school treated him poorly; he nodded off during an Ushimaru lecture and had a welt on the back of his hand to show for it. Tired as he may have been, Ryuji was always up for a bit of socializing with his friends—unlike another senior member of GRAVY that he knew.

"I'm disappointed that Mako-chan is staying in," Haru said as the five members of GRAVY settled down across the aisle from one another. Ryuji, Ann, and Yusuke took one side; Haru and Futaba took the other. "She needs to take her mind off school."

Ann corrected Haru's statement while showing her displeasure. "Staying in? No no no, this is their date night."

"Ugh. Gross." Futaba scrunched her face up, accidentally pushing her glasses forward to the point where she had to catch them off her face. "At least they're not here with all that P-D-A."

"For real. They're getting obsessed with each other." Ryuji stretched out across the aisle. His knees locked and his feet rested on their heels as he did his best to block the way for any stragglers getting onto the subway. "To be honest, Ren's getting soft."

Ann snorted. "Sure he is."

"What's that supposed to mean? Our glorious leader hasn't shown any backbone in the past few weeks."

"He literally just finished up a plot to give someone long-lasting brain damage.

"Well, he didn't do it personally like I did." Ryuji had relived his knockout uppercut on Teddie every time his lips went below what could be considered a smile. It kept him in a great mood since the hype around him subsided after normal classes resumed. "Plus, I don't even need a break where my girlfriend takes care of me. No, sir, not me."

Again, Ann doubted Ryuji's words. "Really? You can't think of any time in the past few days when I, your faithful girlfriend, calmed you down?"

"Nope."

"You're brainless, Ryuji."

"And you love it."

"Only when I can beat you in pool."

"That's just-"

"Oh my god, we get it—you're a happy couple!" Futaba interjected, stomping her feet against the floor. The train rattled on so that her stomps didn't bother anyone. "Weren't we just ragging on Ren and Makoto for the same thing? Hypocrites in love, I swear."

"Am I the only one who has no problem with two lovers expressing themselves?" All heads turned to Yusuke, most of them with confused side-eye glares. "I, for one, love their love."

"Creepy."

"You should be praising my open-mindedness. I see no problem with Ren and Makoto having a date night while we spend our time playing billiards." Glares softened and each member relaxed their body language as Yusuke spoke sense into them. "Having all seven members of Gardeners Raging Against Veganism Yearly at every event is unreasonable. A large friend group should be able to divide from time to time, no?"

"For real," Ryuji said after a poignant silence of reflection for some members of GRAVY. "What we should be worried about is how the eff y'all are gonna handle me when we get to the pool table. I'm a billiards demon when-"

"Ryuji, you're great, but you suck ass at pool." Ann and Ryuji continued their habit of bickering even after they'd begun dating. That aspect of their relationship persisted from the time they first met a few years prior up until that present moment in the subway.

"Hey!"

"Just being honest."

"I'm inclined to believe Ann," Haru said. "She never lies about your skills, Ryuji."

"Well…" Ryuji wanted something to counterattack with—to prove himself as a great competitor—but he got nothing. "Shit."

"It's alright," Ann said, putting her arm around him. "As long as your heart's in it, you've got a chance to win."

Man, if it was anyone else saying that, I don't think I'd get a kick out of it. 'Cause it's Ann, it feels like getting a nice, warm hug, Ryuji thought. Ann did wonders for Ryuji's day-to-day mood, even if she didn't see him on a daily basis. Just reminding himself of the fact that he had a girlfriend was enough to smile. Plus, he got another lunch buddy. That didn't mean Ren was cast off the roof—Ann just had priority for obvious reasons.

I gotta have Ann over one of these days. Her and Ma will get along great, he thought, giving Ann a hidden side-eye. Her arms and legs matched by crossing while she expected a new bit of GRAVY drama to pop up at any second. Eff, man. I'm so lucky.

"Hm… I think I'll set tonight's over-under for scratched eight-balls courtesy of Ryuji at… four." Futaba's gambling addiction took center stage when she objected to joining either of the two teams, opting to spectate instead. "How's that sound?"

"Sounds like you'll be the only one betting," Ann replied. "The rest of us are involved, so putting money on our own odds would be cheating."

Despite there being no need, Yusuke raised his hand. "I'd gladly fix the match. A meal per loss, Futaba?" Each present member, no matter where they stood around the pool table, gave Yusuke a cold-hearted side-eye. Ryuji even dropped the chalk that he ground into the tip of his pool stick.

"Hey! You're sucking the fun outta the sport!"

"'Tis not a sport because it is easy. A proper sport would be… competitive wood chopping. That I cannot do."

He's definitely dogshit at comp wood chopping. I bet I could hold my own, but Yusuke's noodle arms are taking him nowhere, Ryuji thought. He picked the cube of blue chalk up from the floor, rising to find that his teammate, Ann, already set up the triangle and cue ball to be broken. Their opponents, Haru and Yusuke, stood ready for battle.

"Ryuji," Ann whispered. He turned, leaning over so they could keep their plans secret. "Nothing risky. Just let me carry us to a win, okay?"

Help! I'm being emasculated! Ryuji found the fact that his first thought was to be offended quite funny, though he did comply with Ann by giving her a quick nod. They broke the huddle and rounded either side of the table, meeting on the side of the cue ball. As previously discussed, Ann would do the heavy lifting so she got to break.

"Why don't we break?" Haru asked.

"Because-"

"Yes, the team of superior height should break."

"You're breaking my balls, Yusuke." Ryuji expected his joke to land smoothly and generate quips, chuckles, and a chortle from Yusuke. He learned the hard way that expectations are futile, and to not make any puns about his balls.

Futaba jumped through the silence to rub the lack of impact in Ryuji's face. "Woooow, absolute whiff on that one, man." She laughed and worsened the situation by tapping his stick just for the sake of mildly annoying him. "What a miss!"

"Fine, fine. No jokes the rest of the night—only winning." Ryuji dropped his usual smile in favor of a competitive glare that everyone (except for his beloved) would receive if they dared to look him in the eye. Ann would get a firm nod of encouragement, nothing less.

If Ryuji's joke hadn't made anyone laugh, it did make the opposition give up on breaking. Ann leaned over the table and cracked the cue ball into the triangle, sending the balls every which way. A striped one even rolled into the corner. She ventured around the table to line up her next shop: an easy near-hundred-eighty-degree angle that she sank and followed with a shrug of success.

Ryuji high-fived her as she stood up straight and wandered off to find her next shot. The density of the balls on the table restricted her greatly, leaving her with no option but to go for a bank shot. Ryuji was confident in her, but missing it wouldn't have surprised him or anyone at the table.

Ann sharply breathed through gritted teeth as the object ball barely hit the felt corner, bouncing off and rolling away from the pocket. "Damn." She stepped back from the table without a smile.

"Good job. You put two in, and there's no way they catch up in one turn. Just watch. Haru's gonna—"

Yusuke stepped toward the table. "I will take the first turn to silence the naysayers."

"Uh… okay. You do you, Yusuke," Ryuji said, a little weirded out by the jab.

He'd started with some small trash talk, but Yusuke took it personally. His stiff, straight posture slackened as he leaned across the table, extending himself beyond reasonability, to lightly tap the cue ball into a solid object ball. Slowly, it rolled into the pocket.

"One's all you're gonna get, man," Ryuji teased. "No shot you're doing that again—no chance in Hell."

Yusuke spoke to Ryuji by doing the same thing across the other side of the table, sinking a much longer shot with his body even more extended. He must've gained two or three inches to his height in the process. I wonder if hanging from a pull-up bar for twenty minutes every night would make me better… maybe? I should talk to Ma about getting one of those, he thought as Yusuke's second shot tied the game.

"Maybe you should save the talking for after we win," Ann whispered to him; a preposterous suggestion for someone as confident as Ryuji. How could they win if he didn't get in Yusuke and Haru's heads with his words? With skill and class? Absolutely not.

"How about I save it for after my next masterpiece of a shot?" Ryuji suggested. "Just gotta wait for Yusuke to whiff, then it'll be game over. Just you wait."

Ryuji heard Ann's eyes roll. "Sure, buddy."

He nudged her with his elbow; not enough to hurt, but enough to annoy. "Don't 'buddy' me. We're teammates!"

"I'll stop 'buddying' you when you prove yourself to not be the Scratch Master."

"I thought we left that nickname behind."

"Gotta prove it to lose it."

"Fiiiine."

They finished their bickering just in time to see the billiards equivalent of a high-octane slam dunk: Yusuke balanced the pool stick between his toes. It slid between them suspiciously well—an implication Ryuji really, really didn't want to consider—but his eyes were transfixed on the sight. He watched as Yusuke shot the cue ball parallel to the side to sink his next object ball. Making it even worse, Yusuke managed to use his foot grip to put backspin on the cue ball, preventing it from following the object ball into the pocket.

Ryuji dropped his stick and threw his arms in the air. "No fucking way!"

"Careful with that stick, Ryuji," Yusuke said from the corner of his mouth. He still hadn't looked at Ryuji, focusing on nothing but the table at hand. "Breaking wood is unbecoming of the Scratch Master."

"Not you, too!"

"Oh yes, Ryuji. I know about the difficulty you have with not playing like an inebriated chihuahua." Yusuke turned his back to the table, flipped the stick over his shoulder, and used one hand to slide it back and forth in between his shoulder and neck. Without his eyes on the table, he had perfectly lined up the shot. "It amuses me." Just like the rest of his shots, the ball rolled exactly as he wanted it to and resulted in another solid ball dropping into a pocket.

Ryuji bit his tongue to prevent any more taunting; opening it would be detrimental to the team.

Ball by ball, Yusuke went around the table and pocketed five of the solid ones. Each shot featured a new trick—or boast—to show Ryuji up with unbelievable style, grace, and skill. One had him lay his head along the felt, using his teeth to support the stick. Another forced Ryuji to watch the horrific sight of Yusuke placing his feet on the wall and one arm on the table—a well-balanced one-arm plank—while he used his stick-holding hand to poke the cue ball into the object ball, once again sinking the shot to Ann and Ryuji's dismay.

"Straight up, if you do that again, I'm gonna effing kill myself."

This time, with enough of the table clear that Yusuke could lay on his back over half of it, he used his feet to maneuver the thick part of the stick while he balanced its midsection atop his nose. "You should renew your passport, Ryuji—it's out of date." His feet pulled the stick inward, pushing it over the tip of his nose and into the cue ball. Again, just like it had each time before, the ball being pocketed torpedoed Ryuji's heart.

I feel sick, he thought. His head was hot, his vision swam, and his legs were numb—one more ridiculous shot from Yusuke, this one on the dreaded eight-ball, and he would throw himself through Penguin Sniper's front window or puke all over the table—maybe both.

Futaba slid her protest into the stakes of Yusuke's next shot. "If you win now, my bet won't hit."

If he wins now, I'll lose without taking one damn shot. It's bullshit, man. Bullshit, he thought as Yusuke carefully strode around the table, his shoulders high and his brow raised. He was an untouchable billiards god to his friends, though nobody else in Penguin Sniper seemed to notice his feats, forcing Ryuji to confront a terrifying reality: Yusuke's a regular here, and they're all used to this shit. Man, I can't have one thing. Lame… at least I'm probably better than Ren at pool. Probably.

Ann did better than Ryuji at keeping her mouth shut the whole time, or she'd just been too amazed to speak. Whichever it was, she stood with her stick like a support staff and angled hips as she awaited the fate of the match. Haru, despite Yusuke's teammate, sat atop a stool a few feet from the table with plain dismay on her face—she was definitely troubled by Yusuke's tricks, and Ryuji didn't blame her.

And so, when Yusuke leaned over the table with correct fundamentals and a great grip on the stick, everyone gasped. They did it even more audibly when the cue ball struck the eight ball on its side and knocked it in no direction of a path to the nearest pocket. In fact, it went nowhere, staying just a foot away from the corner pocket.

Ryuji couldn't believe it. "Dude…" His long-awaited turn arrived. The teeniest of chances to win existed and that placed monumental pressure on Ryuji's shoulders. Just like when he stared down Teddie, he envisioned himself as a protagonist in an underdog's tale.

"Here he is, Straight-Shootin'-Sakamoto. Cue ball's lined up with the fifteen all he needs is a little ginger touch and the pocket is his…" The narrator in his head had the courtesy to shut up when Ryuji bent over the table with his left arm stretched forward and his right hand gripping the pool stick.

Some people didn't have the same respect. "C'mon, Ryuji… you got it," Ann muttered under her breath, barely seeping through Penguin Sniper's J-pop playlist into Ryuji's ears. It didn't distract him—it encouraged him. Ryuji kept his eyes on the object ball as he gingerly tapped the cue ball.

The white ball of fate rolled slowly, but it stayed true to its target. With the lightest and quietest tap they'd seen all night, it knocked the fifteen into the pocket. Ryuji dropped his stick so his hands could shoot up. "That's what I'm effin' talking about! You like that shit?!" He pointed at Futaba with his right and pounded his chest with his left. "You like that?! I like that!"

Futaba crossed her arms. "Pfft, okay… how 'bout you hit the next four in, then sink the eight ball, before you celebrate."

"Do not demean him, Futaba-chan. Allow him this victory," Yusuke said. It was condescending, but Ryuji didn't care. He high-fived Ann, even Haru, as he paraded around the table, his knees jumping up to his chest again and again as he skipped with joy.

But his dream ended somewhere along the way. After a loop around the table, he picked up his stick and got right back to work crafting the perfect sequence of shots that would put him and Ann back in competition with Haru and Yusuke. When ready, he leaned over the table with the same form as before.

Pool's a sport you gotta be consistent with. Same form, same breathing, same conviction behind every shot. If you ain't consistent, you lose, he thought as he eyed the cue ball and meagerly pulled the stick back and forth on his supporting hand. That's why Yusuke's gonna go home disappointed.

Ryuji tapped the ball without the gingerness of his previous shot. He thought it was the right approach up until the ball actually moved—and that happened to be in the exact wrong direction. To no one's surprise, the Scratch Master struck again when the cue ball missed the object ball of choice, rebounded off the wall, and rolled into the side pocket.

"Yes!" Futaba jumped out of her seat to celebrate as emphatically as Ryuji had a minute prior. Her arms rose in the air when his knees sank to the ground, his eyes coming to the same level as the pool table. He had a perfect view of the table lacking the cue ball because of him and his lacking skills. "That's my Scratch Master!"

He didn't have the heart to object to her making that a recurring theme of his time spent playing pool. All Ryuji could do from his praying position was watch as Yusuke and Haru, both with grins on their faces, walked around the table to pluck the cue ball from the pocket and place it in a straight line with the eight ball. Yusuke coached Haru on her form with careful words, but Ryuji couldn't hear any of them through the ringing sound of failure.

With plenty of ginger in her shot, Haru tapped the cue ball into the eight ball. It rolled slowly, stopping just for a moment so the number eight could look Ryuji in the eyes and tell him to fuck himself.

It dropped into the pocket.

"Ryuji." In no time at all, a voice spoke from over his shoulder. Ryuji checked its owner. In no time at all, Yusuke rushed to Ryuji's side to offer him a condescending hand. "Congratulations on a well-fought match. What I said about your passport… it is false. You look splendid with undyed hair."

The subway ride from Kichijoji was far less energetic than the arriving one. Not even Futaba, who'd lost on out her proven bet because no one ever put money on the line, could complain about a loss or celebrate their victory.

Ryuji pouted.

"At least you didn't scratch on the eight ball. You're getting better."

Ryuji felt like he'd seen God. His eyes didn't blink since they'd left Penguin Sniper, and he couldn't think a reasonable thought without a war flashback of Yusuke effortlessly balancing the pool stick on his teeth.

"Maybe I did. Maybe I'm pretty good at the game now. Maybe we're all little ants on a meaningless rock," he said, speaking not to Ann but to the void of space before him. GRAVY's eyes were on him, yet he couldn't meet them. "The only real thing in this life is Yusuke Kitagawa and his unbreakable billiards balls."

"Fucking phrasing, Ryuji. Phrasing!" Futaba called from across the walking lane of the train before giving her attention back to her phone game.

"Uh… okay." Ann patted his shoulder and didn't respond to his victimhood as he expected her to. "Are we still having the meeting with Ren tomorrow?"

"Huh?"

"You know… about your hallucination?"

"O-oh, yeah…" Ryuji woke up to the real world. His Post-Yusuke-Playing-Billiards-Stress vanished with his envisioning of himself as an underdog movie protagonist and reality, one where he had a chance to make a difference, knocked him over the head. "'Course. I'll text him a reminder."

"Great." They sat together with only the hum of the train on the tracks. Yusuke, Haru, and Futaba sat across the lane, chattering amongst themselves as Futaba tried to convince them to download the same game she played for the sake of cooperative play and multiplayer-exclusive loot. "You know, Ryuji, even if you can't beat Yusuke in pool, I still like you a lot."

"Really?"

A kiss on the cheek served as her answer to the question and the conclusion to Ryuji's quest for meaning in a post-defeat world.

Friday, 10/28

"No matter what, you can't diss Ann."

"What?"

"Eff you mean, 'What?' It's her house, she's my girlfriend, and you wanna disrespect her?!"

"No, I meant 'what?' to express confusion at the fact that you thought I needed to hear that." Ren slapped Ryuji on the arm. "Bit of a 'No shit' kinda thing, you know?"

The light slap did nothing to phase the stone-cold seriousness Ryuji brought with him to Ann's front door. "Nah. I don't."

I shoulda brought Makoto. Oh well, I'll just recap everything to her tonight. I'm surprised she didn't insist on coming with me when I mentioned the meeting last night. Maybe she respects me? Nah, that can't be it…

"Ryuji, I have nothing to insult Ann about or with, and I have no reason to do so when she's so graciously hosting this…" Ren froze. He looked around, scanning Ann's neighborhood for a word to pop out of a bush or a tree. Only when he turned to the muted lime green of Ann's front door did he get his perfect description of the situation. "...Inter-GRAVY peace treaty."

Surprisingly, that got Ryuji to relax more than the slap on his arm. "Oh shit. We goin' to war?"

You know what? Sure. We're going to war with doubtful friendships, and we'll come out of it with stronger bonds than- Jesus, Ren. Absolute eye-roll of a train of thought. You're better than that.

Ren tripped himself up with his thoughts, settling for a simple response. "Totally."

"Sweet."

The green door opened to the treaty conference room that was the first floor of Ann's home. Ren and Ryuji entered one by one, both nodding thanks to Ann for holding the door so politely.

Huh… it looks weirdly normal, but I think I expected too much. I figured it'd be like a UN hall where everyone wears glasses and has a packet of documents just to look smart. Instead… it's just Ann's house, same as it's ever been. Wah-wah…

Ren fought the egotistical urge to burst into tears at the lack of a proper conference table anywhere in the room, choosing to focus his energy on plopping down on the couch. A hard day at school made his moment of achieving rest that much sweeter. Ryuji followed, finding his own spot on the L-couch to splay out on.

Haru, already on the couch with a gray-covered book, set the object of attention aside. She sat upright to eye Ren and Ryuji, questioning why they'd interrupted her afternoon at Ann's invitation.

I hope Ann at least briefed her on what we're doing. I'd hate to just spend an afternoon relaxing, then get bombarded with dark omens of the future.

A few seconds later, Ann joined them on the couch. She took a seat near Haru but gave her a noticeable few feet of space.

Haru spoke first, unintentionally validating Ren's hopes. "Shall we begin?"

Ryuji jumped in head-first. "So I was tripping balls and-"

"A little context, please?" Ann said.

How much does Ann know? If Ryuji already told her everything, then I wish she'd have broken the news to Haru before today. I don't know. I'm bad at this kind of thing, and I barely have to speak today. Actually, why am I here? Just to say, "Yeah, Haru, I know we're friends and that vision doesn't mean anything to me. I'd never do anything to hurt you." That should go without saying, right?

"We figured out that it's not just Ren who can have those visions of the future, so I wanted to test it out," Ryuji said.

Haru raised an eyebrow. "Does it work the same for everyone?"

"For Ryuji and me, it seems like it. We had similarly… absurd experiences that implied what's coming our way." Haru said nothing to Ren, but she nodded. Her intent to listen was appreciated greatly by Ren, though he did expect it. Haru never was the type of person to find conversation with friends boring or to not pay attention to those she spent time with.

"I saw Teddie coming to Shujin before it happened, and I had to train to fight him. There's just another part of my vision that hasn't happened yet: you and Ren argue."

He's really understating it. Haru's too nice to do this, but in her shoes, I'd be a nightmare. "What?! An argument?! No fucking way! Friends aren't allowed to argue!" There would be enough anger to harness it and perform the world's first Amamiya backflip. Bet my ancestors would be proud.

Haru's reaction proved to be the opposite of Ren's envisioned scenario. Unconcerned by the information, she merely glanced at Ann, then at Ren, before settling her gaze on Ryuji. Clearly, she wasn't troubled or she was that confident in her friendship with Ren.

"About planning Ann-chan's birthday, I hope," she said with a pursed smile.

"Huh?" Ryuji made the fatal mistake of confusion, then followed it with the cardinal sin of ignorance. "When's her birthday?"

Ann's birthday… there will be "great suffering" if Ryuji gets her a birthday present, right? Now I can't help but wonder why. Maybe Ryuji's present is so awful that she breaks up with him and GRAVY dissolves into a three-front war of Ann Supporters, Amamiya Enjoyers, and Ryuji Radicals. That'd be the reasonable response to a bad birthday gift, right?

Ann shook her head. "Jesus, Ryuji…"

"What, I can't ask a question? I thought this was a democracy."

"Gotta love that."

"Off-topic," Ann declared with a swing of her hand. "Forget about my birthday—but only until this is over—and talk about the argument that you two are supposed to have."

"Right! So… you guys argue and argue violently. You turned into giants and threw stones everywhere like gshh. Then Ren picked up a tree and hurled it like a spear at your face, but you blocked it. I stood there like, 'Damn, go Haru,' until-"

If I ever go to court, Ryuji is not allowed within a five-kilometer radius of the building. He is trying his best to be an unavoidable detriment to my case.

"That's enough of that," Ren cut in. "Basically, we argue about whether or not I'm The Prince. After the events of Halloween, you believe me to be The Prince and I try to convince you otherwise." The room stilled. Ryuji couldn't act out his dramatized fight scene with mouth noises, Ann couldn't chastise Ryuji over opening his mouth, and Haru could no longer sit tight and wait. It was her turn to speak, as demonstrated by everyone watching her sit in silence. "That's it," Ren added as a reminder.

Haru's silence spoke for her, though it didn't respond. Instead, it showed her trust in her friends. She sorted through the immediate thoughts she had, developed new ones, and synthesized both while the group placed unreasonable expectations of a quick response upon her. Choosing to wait instead of charging into an improvised counter put Ren at ease, too.

No matter how many times he had told himself that Haru was a friend who trusted him, he couldn't shake the idea that telling her about the vision would loosen a screw in her and the foundation of GRAVY. After her, member after member would drop from the club like dominoes until only Ren and Ryuji remained. Haru's consideration—her time taken to process the information—told Ren that whatever response she gave—positive or negative—would be reasonable, therefore correct.

Haru changed nothing about her expression and eye contact. "You trust what Ryuji saw, Ren-kun?"

I have to. You, Ryuji, Makoto, and everyone else believed me. Plus, it's Ryuji—I have a hard time imagining him deliberately deceiving anyone.

"I do."

"And what about Halloween?"

"Nothing specific, except that something has to happen then." Telling her felt like doing a disservice to Haru and that alone made Ren dread the moment. Revealing to Haru that she was an unwilling participant in a greater plan without giving her a role or instructions was cruel, yet not as cruel as keeping a secret. Still, the guilt got to Ren. "Sorry."

Haru shook her head. "Don't apologize. I'm concerned about how little we know, though it's better than nothing."

"Have ya had anything weird happen lately?" Ryuji reminded the others that not just Ren and Haru were key to the conversation. "Like, uh, that wouldn't usually-"

"No, nothing comes to mind. The days go so fast because my schedule's so perfect."

Do those correlate? …I can't decide. Mondays and Wednesdays are pretty quick because of school and Leblanc. Friday's the same, except there's a wheel-spinning list of choices for what could happen after work. Makoto could come over for a movie, Ryuji could ask to play Rash Toes, or Junpei could run a martial arts workshop in the living room. If anything, those days feel faster than the more rigid ones. So, in conclusion, there is no correlation between the perception of time and-

Ryuji crossed his arms, huffing and puffing protagonistism. "Then we've gotta stay cocked and rocked."

Not as a trio of three friends but as a trio of perplexed, seemingly out-of-touch, aged, adults. "Huh?"

"Shit. Not liking the new slang?" Silence shook its head in the hope of Ryuji never descending to the depths of unexpected slang ever again. "Don't blame me—Futaba told me it'd kill."

"Kill the mood it did," Ann said.

"Nah, not like-"

"Haru or Ren? Anything else to add?"

Ren declined the invitation, looking to Haru if she wanted to take control of the awkward silence. "Everything's been said. Be ready and be attentive, please."

Great, that's a weight off my shoulders. Now that that's been settled, onto the next thing that'll bury my head in mud:

"Speaking of being attentive," Ren said. Of course, he was aware that his newest segue couldn't compare to the all-timers that Kawakami tossed out every morning, but he embraced it with tongue-in-cheek. "We should attend to the details of this week's GRAVY Saturday."

Ann shot quickly. "Wow, I hated that."

"What's there to attend to? Halloween's coming up." Like with the Slang Slip of 20XX, the trio of teenagers not in the know gave Ryuji their stumped attention. "You know—that holiday—the one with costumes!"

Ren clung to his irony. "Oh yeah. Must've slipped my mind."

"We're making costumes and that's that."

"Fine, Ryuji," Ann teased. "We can all play dress up."

Saturday, 10/29

Shujin Academy was a horrid place full of terrible people, which is why Akechi waited until after school hours to venture through its halls. He could see clubs meeting through windowed doors and stray students grabbing possessions from their lockers, but his desired solitude was quite easy to achieve. However, one misstep—one sighting from a teenage girl who watched all his interviews and followed every case—would be the end of him.

Akechi needed to find his target before his inevitable discovery. Doing so required a little investigating. See, Akechi had no clue where to find Yoshizawa the liar between Shujin's corrupted walls, or if she was even there at all. Resolving that lack of information led Akechi to a place he'd been before and one that scratched the back of his brain like few memories of his ever did.

He knocked on the door of the nurse's office. Seconds later, the barrier opened thanks to Akechi's target by proxy. "Akechi-kun? This is a surprise," said Maruki.

"A good one, I hope." The counselor allowed Akechi the space to enter the room, closing the door behind him and isolating them from Shujin's overbearing mood. Akechi stopped short of the couch and coffee table. Instead, he chose to wheel around on Maruki. "I'll not sit because I don't plan on staying. The Yoshizawa girl—where can I find her?"

"Likely at home."

"Her family refuses my inquiries, so I must approach her outside their supervision."

"Then you have my apologies. You won't find Kas-"

"Sumire."

Maruki didn't blink at Akechi's challenge. "Kasumi Yoshizawa is not at Shujin because she's no longer a Shujin student." His will surprised Akechi—he thought Maruki would shrink when confronted with the reality of the brainwashing.

"She transferred?" Maruki nodded, but it wasn't the answer Akechi demanded. "Of her own free will, or by your doing?"

"I'm just a counselor, so I'm no decision-maker. She left due to the increasing pressure from administration to perform at the standards of her scholarship and due to unhappiness with Shujin's deteriorating image in the media. "

Akechi held a laugh back with a scowl. Decisions were Maruki's specialty, including the ones that he had no right to make. In his world, happiness started and ended with his decisions.

"Then you are a liar, too, for you are nothing but a decision-maker, small as you may be."

Maruki's shoulder sagged and the moment hung by a thread. After a pause, perhaps one of surrender, Maruki spoke. "You have your answer, Akechi-kun. Why are you still in my office?"

"I merely wish to limit your… 'decision making.'" Maruki's gaze drifted, so Akechi stepped toward the counselor to regain his attention. His next words were paramount. "You meddle in designs you do not understand. If you make any more 'decisions' for your patients, there will be intervention."

"I don't know what you're saying. I-"

"You are Takuto Maruki, an accomplished graduate of the University of Tokyo. Your initial research on cognitive pscience proved valid enough to garner record-setting funding for a state-of-the-art lab dedicated to developing our understanding of cognitive pscience. The project prematurely—and quietly—went under and you were discarded, left to wander patient to patient." Maruki couldn't move if he wanted. His glasses slid down his nose, and he couldn't muster the normality to fix them. "Or should I say experiment to experiment?"

"You don't know what those people went through…"

"Does it matter? You erase their sense of self—are they even people?"

"What about whoever gave you all that information? I'd consider their work harmful, whereas-"

"They will be dealt with as you have been. Now, if there is no more whataboutism to exercise, I will be leaving. Thank you for your compliance."

Akechi settled on his victory when he walked out the door. Maruki stood up to him and rose to the confrontation, yet he didn't have the strength to rise above it. If he did, his retort wouldn't have started with, "What about."

As for the answer to Akechi's inquiry, it would have to do. Sumire Yoshizawa was so deep in Maruki's influence that he could convince—or brainwash—her that she needed to throw away her scholarship to achieve happiness.

What a waste of talent.

"A fox?! Preposterous! No bribe or incentive could compel me to demean myself with the exterior of a beast!"

Yusuke died on the hill to Futaba's endless supply of ammunition over and over again. Ren swore that he'd heard Yusuke object to being a fox fifty times since beginning to craft his own costume, but nothing could prove it. The only thing he knew for sure was that arts and crafts made him delirious.

Futaba shook her head and continued cutting navy blue fabric. Yusuke's complaints failed to phase her steady hand. "Those Kosei kids will love it. It'll be super artsy, you'll get this cool mask, and maybe even-"

"I object."

"Yeah, yeah. Object all you want, but you wouldn't have a costume without me."

"Untrue. My self-designed costume would be the coolest, most inventive outfit ever conceived for a holiday."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"I'd adorn myself in naught but gold paint and announce through an assembly that the Sun God of Kosei returns."

"You mean you'd be naked?"

"How else would I dress as a Sun God?"

"Pfft, okay… good luck getting into the courtyard without an arrest."

Yusuke versus cops would be a spectacle, maybe one worth betting on… I'd choose Yusuke. He always does the unexpected, and the unexpected for that scenario would be him beating the cops up and narrowly avoiding their reinforcements. Or is it now expected because I'm thinking about it? Shit, looks like I've come across a Kitagawa Paradox.

Ren had fabric of his own to cut, as well as a variety of other materials to craft his perfect costume, but he doubted his own skills. Looking at what he'd assembled thus far—a few crumpled and mistake-ridden pieces of cloth—it was difficult to have hope for his costume.

Around the living room of Makoto's apartment, other GRAVY members found varying degrees of success. Ryuji, just like Ren, was trapped in a sinking boat of maligned fabrics and cloth. He took the handouts of help he could get from Ann, but they were few and far between because everyone else also needed Ann's help. She'd finished her costume first, easily crafting a pink Featherman suit.

Makoto and Haru struggled together, but with Ann's help they received matching monstrosities that they referred to as "Witch costumes." Personally, Ren didn't see it, but he kept his mouth shut because they were ready for Halloween unlike him.

Futaba's costume took the least work because of her own intentions for Halloween. Staying inside and playing horror games didn't usually require a costume, but Futaba made the choice to combine cardboard boxes and make a robot. Of course, it wouldn't be worn in public—she designed the costume to take care of the simple things, such as multiple drink holders around the arms, a snack compartment, and a spare keyboard and mouse in the back like a tire.

Yusuke's costume was neither finished nor started since they'd arrived at Makoto's, and it wouldn't be until Halloween day. As stated, he would be spray-painting his nude form in the name of praising the sun. Ren admired the bravery and no-fucks-given attitude, yet he still felt sad for one reason: Yusuke would be stuck at Kosei and couldn't attend Shujin's costume competition.

The Sun God will never come to Shujin… cloudy days are ahead.

But Ren found some joy to be had during the evening. No matter how much he struggled, he was always able to look at Ryuji and see the true depths of arts and crafts cruelty. Not a member of GRAVY knew what Ryuji planned to dress as, only that it required a hideous combination of colors that gave Yusuke a headache and drew many complaints from Ann.

Ren's efforts didn't inspire as much controversy, but they did bring judgment. Every time made a mistake, Ren looked up to see Makoto admiring his failure from across the room.

Lucky her. She gets Ann's help and gets to have a matching costume with Haru, but what do I get? Sewing mistakes and the realization that I might be colorblind. Fuck this.

"Excuse me, Makoto, but I must take a break from socializing. My battery's run dry and I must take a phone call."

"Erm… what exactly are you asking for?"

"Where is your solitude room?" Yusuke often asked that question and often got the same responses. So-called "normal people" didn't understand Yusuke's question, generating the troubling implication that society didn't consider at least a little isolation "normal."

Thankfully, Makoto—GRAVY's gracious host for the evening—was not normal.

"Take the hall to the bathroom, but go right at the end."

"You have my gratitude." Yusuke handed it to her with a respectful nod, then away. GRAVY's murder scene in the kitchen spread across multiple cutting boards and pots. It wasn't that Yusuke didn't want to see the ritual sacrifice of perfectly good pieces of raw meat—he left because he had an important bit of information to review: a text from the lawyer representing Yusuke and the rest of his Madarame-trained pupils in the dragged-out hearings.

Yusuke's vision fell after pain shot up his leg. "Ow ow ow! What's the idea, Inari?!" Futaba yelled from the ground, Morgana trapped in her clutches.

"Apologies." Yusuke stepped over her and continued on his path with a renewed focus on the floor. He turned a corner before Futaba got her retorting expletives out.

I doubt I'll need to leave the solitude room until the sun rises. There is much to consider, he thought. Yusuke found the door and opened it to a lie—the Niijimas did not have a "solitude room." Makoto had pointed Yusuke to the master bedroom! Now I know why she didn't ridicule my request for a solitude room. She's cast me in a sick comedy where I am the joke! he thought. The two-timing leader of Shujin would pay dearly for the lie, but Yusuke needed time to work on himself before he could plot his revenge.

He sat down on the bed, amazing himself for a moment with just how receptive the mattress was to him. The urge to take apart the mass of pillows, blankets, and sheets was always there when Yusuke found a bed he liked, but he could resist it because he was there as a guest, not an interior decorator.

Yusuke drew his phone from his pocket and read his first notification. What he hoped for—the demise of Madarame's legal hopes for freedom—came true, but it needed a mountain of testimonies and first-hand accounts of his evils. One such evil revealed itself in that damned text message.

Madarame's housekeeper described the state in which she discovered the cadaver. Madarame himself stood by making alterations to his famed painting, Sayuri, while Mika Kitagawa lay on the floor in critical condition, described to be pale and unable to breathe. The master was infuriated by the interruption during his working hours, so he sent the housekeeper home for the day. After that, she never saw Mika for the short remainder of the time she spent working for Madarame, Yusuke read from his phone. It was just a chunk from a greater list of new misdeeds, but it was the one Yusuke cared about. His eyes skipped and scanned over starvation, beatings, and cruelties he'd experienced all so he could reread that passage again and again until his head exploded with rage.

Madarame deserved death. Yusuke could depart from Makoto's apartment without a goodbye and dole out his justice within a few hours of hard work. When Akechi freed him from his master's abuse, Yusuke didn't have the confidence or the means to challenge his master.

Now, sitting on the remarkably comfy bed of an unnamed Niijima, Yusuke had both. He had friends, he had a scholarship to Kosei in his name, he had enough money to feed himself, and he had a particular set of skills that he didn't have six months prior.

Madarame would pay as soon as Yusuke found the time to-

"Yusuke?"

As all people naturally thought to do when interrupted in a solitude room, Yusuke wanted to throw his phone against the wall, jump out the window into a freefall, and sing all his favorite songs on his way to the ground.

However, something—maybe newfound mindfulness—kept Yusuke on the bed. He turned around and identified his interrupter. "Hello, Haru. What brings you to the soli- I mean, the bedroom?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Yet she didn't, instead walking around the corner of the bed and joining Yusuke by sitting on its squishy edge. "Futaba was asking for you to paint Morgana's nails."

"How childish."

"I thought it was sweet that she thought of you." Haru let the sentiment sit and settle in, then she moved on. She understood emotions far better than Yusuke, perhaps better than Futaba's therapist Yusuke met at the festival. After all, he barely had bathroom conversations. How could one understand human emotions if they never conversed in a bathroom? Yusuke got lost in the absurdity for a moment until Haru again interrupted his wild thoughts. "All the fun's out there and you're in here sulking."

"Artists do not sulk."

"Oh, right. You're in here brooding." Yusuke nodded thanks for the correction. "You can tell me if something's wrong, you know. We're friends."

There were many things Yusuke could tell her alongside just as many things he couldn't. Friendship didn't change Yusuke's outlook on either of those.

However, the contents of the lawyer's message were fair game and Yusuke itched for something he couldn't describe. The feelings were strong, almost as strong as Yusuke's desire to share them, but the problem rested with him. I… do not know how, he thought. Yet he couldn't admit defeat, especially when the task was so simple: tell Haru what made him so upset.

"I am sad," he managed.

"That's alright. What's making you sad?"

"Sensei, er, Madarame's trial draws to a close. I made the choice not to involve myself, but I've followed every step from a distance." Any regret that surfaced had been shot down quickly by Yusuke. He knew he made the right choice to not testify or attend, but he did wonder if staying in contact with the lawyer was any better. It kept him just as updated as attending the trial would have, except he didn't have to see Madarame in person.

It was cowardice. Yusuke couldn't bear to look at his former master because he was scared that he would fall into the same old traps; forgiving the lack of food, prioritizing his sensei's art over his own, and everything else that came with living in that shack.

"Hm." Haru said nothing, but she did offer Yusuke a negotiating hand on his shoulder that begged him for more details, or maybe it was just to support him in his time of emotional vulnerability—Yusuke had no clue.

"It has been revealed that sensei allowed my mother to pass during an episode."

"Yusuke…"

Haru's hand was magical. Yusuke couldn't refuse its request no matter how hard he willed against it. A barrier in his brain collapsed and an uncontrollable flood of words began to spill.

"Sensei couldn't even react when the lawyers accused him—he simply listened to his misdeeds. There is no emotion in that man; no regret for what he's done." Yusuke was thankful he didn't attend the trial. Seeing Madarame straight-faced, dressed in expensive clothes, with no weight on his shoulders would cripple everything Yusuke thought he knew about justice.

"He will die in prison, but he will never apologize to me or the countless other prodigal students he's drained, and why should he? Me, my mother, the others…" The hand squeezed tighter. Yusuke could've cursed Haru and her magic powers of supportive listening, but he gave up. "Nothing but stepping stones."

Yusuke punctuated the moment by drooping his head and looking down at his knees. He expected silence, maybe Haru continuing to rub his shoulder, and some kind words but reality shocked him. In his fallen gaze, he felt tears fall from his eyes. They darkened little circles on his well-worn pants.

"It's alright," Haru said. "The truly sick, evil people of the world don't change. Madarame may never regret what he did, but what he thinks and what he does will never matter again. His life will be in prison."

"Is it enough? Violence feels like the only solution, yet a dozen other pupils were able to face and testify against him. Do they not wish death on him?" Each tear brought a new sentence out of him. "Am I weak?"

"No, of course not. You're strong, you're inspiring…" Haru's remarkable way of speaking didn't escape Yusuke. She never stuttered, never searched for the right thing to say because she already knew it. Correctness came naturally. "Think of Futaba and how much fun she had with you at the Festival. There are so many times when your resolve—strange as it may be—has been relied upon. You're strong and that's that."

"Then-"

"Not to mention just how cool you are. Yusuke-kun, you casually do backflips and win dance competitions without thinking about it. You lead two bands, you can paint anything you wish, and you do anything you want. Remember Ren's birthday? None of that could have happened if you didn't let us into his apartment.

If memory serves, 'twas not I who unlocked that door. There was one before me… But Yusuke would take any compliments he could get because they came from Haru.

"You flatter me."

"No, I'm telling the truth. You impress me at every step. It's been a difficult year for me, but whenever I feel down, I think of something you did that made me laugh or how unphased you are in any circumstances. There's nothing weak about you."

"Then why can I not feel better about this?" He white-knuckle-gripped his phone; a gesture that would've confused anyone, yet Haru understood. "Why can I-"

"When you feel sad, there's nothing wrong with you. It's just a feeling like any other."

That is why it feels so wonderful to cry, Yusuke thought. Because feeling is good.

"I am unable to express what I think, and words will not suffice for my gargantuan gratitude." Yusuke sat up straight. His hosed-down eyes still watered and he felt just as vulnerable as he did when crying, but that was a good thing, right? "I offer you a painting of anything you'd like."

"Oh, that's alright. No pressure."

"Then what packaging should I deliver my gratitude in?"

"Um..."

Yusuke simplified his question. "How can I show my thanks?"

"By taking however much time you need, then rejoining us when you're ready."

Sunday, 10/30

Haru wanted to replace her desk because it wasn't hers, yet she couldn't do so for the exact same reason. Her daily homework assignments were no easier with the constant reminder that she did not live in her own room in her own house. She would always be a guest—a very welcomed one—until she dared to embrace her last name and move in with her father.

The weekend's homework refused to be processed by Haru. Not out of frustration or a stray emotion blocking the way, but because she was tired. GRAVY didn't seem to know a good night's sleep, always awake late with Ryuji's nonsensical hypothetical questions and up early for Yusuke's mandatory morning yoga. The exhaustion became most obvious when Haru started her math homework.

Still, no matter how few correct problems she would end up with, Haru had to push through. She could make no excuses or leave the room for a distraction. She would stay planted in the Takamakis' bony wooden chair until-

Haru's phone rang. It was a distraction, but it also could've been an emergency. She flipped it over to see the caller ID, only to blink and triple-check when she read the 'No Caller ID' label. After sliding her finger across the screen, she held it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Haru." Immediately, she knew: Kunikazu called to check on his daughter. "Haru… I am sorry, but I needed to speak with you." For the elder Okumura, it seemed pitiful to stoop to a phone call instead of an arranged limo ride. Kunikazu could have landed a helicopter outside the Takamaki house if he wanted, yet he chose a hidden phone call to reach his daughter. That weakness, the fear of seeing his daughter in person, manifested in his shaky voice. "Please, Haru… I've caused so much pain."

"F-father?"

"Everything I've accomplished is for your future—the Okumura future—I never meant for anyone to suffer. And now, I've realized that I failed at that."

Telling her father the truth didn't scare Haru like it used to. "You worked for yourself and nobody else. Don't pin your ambitions on me."

He spoke as if a clock slowly ticked down to end his time on the phone. "N-no, it was for you. Please, Haru, I'm begging you. This campaign, the company—they mean nothing when my daughter refuses to see me."

What is he asking for? Validation? I cannot do that. No matter his intentions, his actions reflected his true character, Haru thought to herself in between her father's urgent ramblings.

"I can't help with that," she said.

"Haru… p-please?" Stutters were uncustomary for Okumuras. Haru wondered what changed for Kunikazu during her absence. Maybe the slow, excruciating death of his campaign got to him, or the years of guilt over Aika's death crushed him, or he finally grew a conscience good enough to regret selling his daughter to the wealthiest suitor.

"No, Father. Goodbye."

"Wait, I-"

Haru hung up and flipped her phone over on the desk so that further notifications wouldn't distract her. Math homework took priority, yet Haru didn't know if she'd be able to continue. I've lived with Ann for a month and a half without any attention from Father, but he calls now, right before Halloween, she thought. Even stranger, he had called with apologies and excuses; a new sight in the Okumura dynamic. Something is wrong.

Haru slid her homework off her desk, letting it accidentally float down next to her bag on the floor. She had worse things to worry about and she had to get ready for Halloween.

A/N: Been a long month with a lot of bumps in the road on the way to posting this chapter, but here we are. I spent a lot of my usual writing time editing the first few chapters of another story. This chapter was slowly pieced together over the whole month, so apologies if it feels a bit messy. Going forward, my plan is to make sure that each week's chapter of my other fic is done, then I will use the rest of my time that week on TKOSA. Hope you're all doing well, thanks for reading the new chapter!