Persona 5: Daywatch

Saturday, 18 June 2016
After School
Madarame Art Exhibit

Ann stepped through the doorway as the transfer student held the heavy glass door open. Makoto and Yuuki followed close behind before Akira followed them all in. Air conditioning roared over them, tugging at their street clothes and casting away the lingering feeling of the muggy air outside, replaced with a faint tinny scent. A rentacop checked their tickets, then stepped back to the front desk and let them inside. Throngs of people packed the exhibit, everybody chatting in hushed but animated tones as they marveled paintings hung on the building wall or stand-up movable walls.

She noticed the transfer student's shoulders pinch up and eyes narrow at the guard, but he didn't relax as they entered the main foyer. Morgana poked his head out of the transfer student's leather street satchel and hopped up, paws on Akira's shoulder to scan the room. "Ugh. It's so crowded."

Makoto rubbed her arms and stepped closer to Akira. "You think you're going to be okay, Akira-kun?"

Akira's lip tugged in a frown. "Don't matronize me. This is as limited a crowd as I'll probably ever see in this city." He rubbed one arm and looked over the dark-haired people. "I'd guess there are staff-only sections of the exhibit. Do you think Kitagawa-san is there?"

Ann popped onto her tip-toes for a moment to scan the crowd and spotted a familiar dark blue head meandering on a circuit through the P-shaped exhibit hall. Being the tallest girl in her year had its perks. "Right there, guys." She led them through the maze of people and freestanding walls bearing impressionistic and abstract paintings.

Kitagawa-san stepped out of a gap in the crowd, his eyes snapping onto her hair and doing a more obvious look-over of her than most boys dared. At least his dark gaze came to rest at her eyes after drinking in her entire height. His lips curled up and his entire expression brightened. "You came!"

Akira and Makoto stepped up to her left side, Yuuki to her right. The artist's gaze narrowed on them, slowing over Akira and Makoto before glancing across them again. His face slid into a stony mask. "I see the blond ruffian found other places to be."

Morgana popped his head out of the satchel and growled. "Better to be rough around the edges but noble at heart than a scheming serpent!"

Ann nodded at the small team leader. "Right. My friend having better things to do doesn't make him any less a good person."

Akira gave an affirming nod, coming shoulder-to-shoulder with her. "Exactly. But why would you be surprised that we came when you gave us those tickets? Isn't this exactly what you were hoping for?"

Pausing a moment, Kitagawa gave a shallow bow of his head. "True." He turned to the transfer student standing next to Ann. "Well, if you three don't interrupt the other patrons you are free to browse." He reached a slender hand to the model. "May we? I'd like to show you around while we discuss the painting I mentioned earlier."

Akira crossed his arms and clenched his jaw, but stopped when Ann shot him a brief 'I'll be fine' look. She paused to glance at Yuuki, seeing worry knit the brows on his face, but he didn't settle back when she tried to reassure him non-verbally. The concern from the sweetest boy in Shujin touched her, but she couldn't stop for him now. It's not like things could be any more awkward with Kitagawa-kun than that accidental kiss with Yuuki that intruded on her mind every day since. "It'll be fine, guys. It's basically a public event." She slipped out to the artist's side and they left the four other Phantom Thieves to browse.

Kitagawa walked beside her, but passed a painting of a young woman.

Ann stopped. The woman in the painting faced the background, the top of her kimono down and tied at her waist, everything above bare. The short brown ponytail couldn't conceal the hunch of her shoulders making Ann think the woman didn't want to be there. Hazy buildings she could swear belonged in Tokyo's skyline studded the background, an impressionistic distortion to them. She read the plaque, "Beyond the Rice Field. Huh. The buildings in the background are kind of weird, but really make the woman stand out. She seems sad, though."

Kitagawa came to a stop next to her, his eyes tracing the woman's ears and tied hair. He let out a quiet breath. "Madarame-sensei painted that a year ago. It was an experiment in a traditional subject with modern paints." He paused, a tension passing into his deep, grey eyes before a mask of calm settled back over him. "Saki-senpai was still in the atelier then." He stepped out and Ann followed to a gloomy painting dominated by a forest of blues, greens, and browns, most almost black. The sharpness of it seemed almost photo-realistic in certain spots. Kitagawa glanced over it, his brows furrowed. "Ah, yes. 'Wood of Sleep'. That's been an audience favorite since it was painted four years ago." His hooded gaze held on it for a moment, and she thought he muttered something about cutters.

Kitagawa's impassive expression strained for a moment before he held out a hand to direct her away. "Come, these are more like the style that informs my own." He led her quite a ways down the exhibition hall to an abstract piece with bold, bright colors dominated by gold. Its tag read 'Star Surface'.

Ann clasped her hands behind her back and leaned one way, then another to change her perspective. Some strokes were fine and others glops of paint large enough to cast shadows, all weaving together into something like an explosion. Each of the paintings looked like a totally different artist made them. "I had no idea there were so many kinds of Japanese paintings, much less that one man could make them all."

Kitagawa's eyes slid away from hers, his chin pressing up just a little. "Most artists do concentrate on a single style. However, my sensei is unique."

A scratchy, nasal man's voice came from behind them. "What do you think, young lady?"

Ann jumped, then pressed a hand against her heart when she spun around to see the old guy from the car Kitagawa retreated into that Monday. He wore a traditional-style kimono, the green outermost layer looking a little threadbare at the cuffs and neck. The kind smile he gave made her blush at being so surprised by an old man. She turned part-way back to the bright burst painting. "It's all amazing. Somehow, even though I can't really find a single shape in it, I feel a smile from this painting."

Madarame's face wrinkled with his own wide grin. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled, with just a little spark in those irises, sent a wave of nostalgia through her. "Being able to stir emotions from our pieces is as high as any artist can hope for." He bowed. "If you'll excuse me, Yusuke-kun, I think it's about time for the press conference." He barked a laugh and slipped into the crowd.

Ann blinked, leaning against the apprentice for a heartbeat before she remembered where she was. Not up in the snowy streets of Rauma. No father in a thousand kilometers to burst through the door, to sweep her up in thin but strong arms with a bark of a laugh.

She rubbed her arms and looked elsewhere. "I figured that big-time artists would be distant and so esoteric it's hard to understand them, but he reminded me so much of papa. Oh!" Orange against blue caught her eye and she wove through the crowd to another painting. "I wanted to see this one in person." Less abstract than some, dark trees almost faded into the background. Dominated by reds and oranges, a single autumn tree in the foreground popped out.

For some reason, Kitagawa hesitated to follow her to this painting. His eyes stayed down like this one was painful to look at, his right arm holding his left. "What about this one?"

From up close, Ann could see hard strokes filled the painting even in the dark background. It reminded her of Akira. "This painting makes me feel… a lot of anger, with no where to go." She crossed her arms. "It's strange to think such a cheerful old man could paint something like this." Several seconds passed with no sound but the murmuring in the crowd out there. The apprentice just stood there, holding his arm and looking away. "Everything okay?"

Kitagawa shook his head, straightening behind a mask of calm that failed to hide a seeping melancholy. Something about it reminded her of Akira when he thought nobody was looking, forlorn but too stubborn to bend his spine. "There are many better pieces."

Department store: Madarame Art Exhibit

Akira straightened his glasses on his nose. The bustle and sound of excited chatter jumped in the corner of the room. Suits and women in fancy dresses rushed for the bend in the hall. Camera flashes blazed. The transfer student looked at the others and shrugged before the trio slipped through the scattered people to the source of the excitement. The transfer student hopped up to get a glimpse over the crowd, spotting a white-haired man in faded green traditional-style clothes. "I think that's our mark himself."

Mishima and the student council president exchanged a glance, then both turned and pushed with as much gentleness as they could. At least a dozen people ringed the old artist, smart phones held up to record the interview led by a proper journalist with cameraman in the center. "Art amateurs and critics both praise the way you keep a fresh, ever-changing style. What advice do you have to inspire such creativity?"

Madarame adjusted the clasp of his hands several times, something just a tad too wide about his smile. It reminded the transfer student of Akechi. "Well, creation is something innate… it flows up from within my soul like bubbles in a spring. The most important thing is to be attentive to yourself and let what is beautiful come out."

Akira crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing through the shuffling gap of people recording the old man. "What a bunch of double-talk. Nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent."

Makoto nudged him with her elbow. "Shh. He might give us a clue about his keyword."

One of the other well-dressed people recording the interview with a smart phone asked, "How do you balance the pursuit of art with money?"

Madarame clasped his hands tight, his head tilting back and nose crinkling as if he smelled a bad odor but did not wish to say it. After a brief breath in, his face settled back into the calm old man facade. "True art can not afford to be distracted by such fleeting, fickle things as material success or fame."

The interviewer with a microphone smiled as if such a platitude graced them with an answer to a mystery of the universe. "You've been living at the same address since moving to Shibuya thirty years ago. Have you ever considered moving to accommodations more befitting an artist of your contributions to the art world?"

A wide, close-lipped smile creased the old man's face, though with his eyes closed Akira couldn't be sure if it was genuine. "Oh, where one is makes less difference than what you make there. Any environment can be fertile ground for an artist who is open. The trick is to be unattached so you are not constrained by the everyday things around you. The atelier may be a modest shack, but provides me enough to pursue true beauty."

Mishima scratched his hair. "Shack? That seems a strange way to talk about the home where he produces the vast majority of his masterpieces."

"I see," the interviewer said. "How enlightened to find inner beauty by emptying one's self of ego."

Makoto took Akira's arm and tugged him away from the thickening crowd. "Here, let's go check out the rest of the exhibit. Your eyelid's starting to twitch. If you're not okay with the crowd, we don't have to push into it."

He quashed his reflexive instinct to protest. He did want to go, and she just offered an out. If he was going to change, he had to accept more opportunities handed to him. They departed, browsing the various paintings and arguing about their intended meaning or whether the painter was right or left-handed with Morgana. Five or ten minutes passed before Mishima rejoined them, then another few before Ann and Kitagawa crossed their paths.

Ann grabbed the class representative's arm. "Oh, Yuu-kun, there's one you've gotta see! It's got this ethereal crowd inside a big foreign building I know I've seen before but can't remember the name of. Maybe you'd know, prez."

Makoto gave a soft smile. "I don't know how much I'd know about foreign-inspired art, but let's see."

Akira stepped away from the class president and closer to the apprentice. "Hey, I wanted to ask you about Madarame. Is he a rightie or leftie?"

The apprentice's eyebrow arched. "Sensei is right-handed, as are all of his apprentices. He finds it easier to teach them when he can critique the technique without having to mirror before evaluating them."

Akira crossed his arms, squaring his body posture back. "That's convenient."

Kitagawa straightened, his arms crossing and his calm mask inscrutable. "What exactly are you looking for?"

Morgana's ear twitched from his perch poking out of Akira's satchel. "It's strange how much variance there is in the products of one guy."

"I don't buy the man of a thousand styles story," Akira said, slipping his hands in his pockets to try to reduce the tension he felt building in his frame. "Signature forgers wouldn't have their work cut out for them if it was that easy."

Nonplussed, Kitagawa stood tall, but his crossed arms betrayed defensiveness. "How is it that you believe your expertise in a few minutes of examining paintings allows you to say that Sensei has not created all of his paintings?"

Akira settled back. "I don't have to be a master of art to know people. People pick and stick with familiar things because that's how our neurons fire. Neural patterns that aren't used are pruned and lost." He pointed at a gaggle of reporters hounding the elderly artist. "Like them. Even people without thirty years to practice living in a rut."

Kitagawa's gaze flicked to his, down, back up, then slid over the transfer student's shoulder. "You are close to Takamaki-san?"

Akira turned to follow his gaze to see Ann chuckle, shoulder-bump Mishima, then turn away to say something to Makoto. "Close enough to say she's definitely a mold-breaker. A terror to behold when she gets going, too."

Kitagawa's muscles tensed, lines at his neck tensing despite the aloof mask over his visage. "Are you courting Takamaki-san?"

Morgana stood up out of the satchel, head rising up in front of Akira's shoulder and tail twitching out behind it. "That is none of your business, you serpent!"

Akira shook his shoulders to drive the team leader back into the satchel. "Hey, settle down." He looked the artist in the eye, his crossed arms tightening. "No, why?"

Kitagawa glanced down at Akira, his composure cracking as his confusion blurted, "Why on Earth not? She is bright, beautiful, and has a bold passion rarely seen in this dreary city. How could every man not want her?"

Morgana growled.

Akira thumped him on the head before refocusing on the artist. "She's nice enough, sure, but part of what makes a person exceptional is being able to challenge your friends to go farther. The… I guess ability to hold things steady even when you don't know how, like a boat's keel. Ann-san's nice, and she's not a doormat, but…" He rubbed his neck. "I can't think of her and not also think of Shiho."

"Shiho?"

Scratching the back of his head, Akira broke eye contact as the ponytailed girl's warm smile on one of the lowest days of his life jostled in his mind with the angry, wounded girl on the hospital bed. "Ann's best friend. Now she was one in a million."

Kitagawa held his knuckle to his lips in thought for a few moments. "I see. So there are seven thousand like her out there."

Saturday, 18 June 2016
Early Evening
Shibuya, Teikyuu Building Walkway

Akira slipped his phone out and plugged in the wired earbuds. The other Phantom Thieves arranged themselves on either side as they waited for Ryuji to return from Gold Gym. The light outside drooped through the shades of gold to amber as the minutes passed, streams of commuters going by without so much as a single glance of acknowledgment. After a few tracks from David Bergeaud, the dyed blond jogged through the crowd. Akira took out one earbud and stopped the music.

He wore a black, threadbare, sleeveless t-shirt and a sparkling grin. "Yo, dudes. So what's the big decision? We got a target?"

"Yes," Akira and Makoto said at the same time Ann and Mishima said, "No."

Morgana gave a, "Maybe." All five of them sighed at the lack of cohesion. Morgana straightened in the transfer student's travel satchel. "It's not a clear-cut case. Madarame might be running an extremely convincing front."

"He's ripping off his students," Akira said, slipping his phone in his black jacket pocket. "I can't explain exactly how an art master's doing it, but one man can't have so many developed styles. Neural pruning simply wouldn't allow him to get so good at so many different ways."

Mishima clasped his hands. "We appreciate the possibility, but none of us are expert artists. We can't make a call on such a narrow issue. Remember the browsing we did after Kitagawa approached Ann-san on Monday? The only articles speaking ill of Madarame were trash-talking in bad tabloids. That convinces me more that they're not true than that they could be."

"It just doesn't make sense for him to have a Palace," Ann said. "He looks like any kindly old man."

Akira pulled his phone out and opened the Metaverse Navigator. "He's got a Palace. It's not like this is something we have yet to determine."

Ryuji pursed his lips in thought for a moment. "That 'nuff to show up Hashimoto an' Akechi?"

Mishima tugged at his untucked shirt. "That's just the thing, we're not sure. The past two palace people were undoubtedly evil, but according to Morgana, it only takes strong, distorted desire to have a Palace. In order to prove that the Phantom Thieves are truly just, we need to find a hidden evil. Someone hurting a lot of people."

Ryuji blinked, then looked at the others. "Wait, he can understand Mona now?"

"It's Morgana," Ann said, pressing a hand to her face. She brushed a few strands out of her eyes. "And no, we talked about it on the way here."

Akira stopped chewing his lip. "And even if this wasn't some big-time dude, wouldn't it still be the right thing to change his heart?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Morgana said. "We were in the right place at the right time to know about Kamoshida before we even got into his Palace. But Kaneshiro took a lot of research before we found him, his location, or his distortion. Right now, this is the only target in our reach, but we need to investigate to be sure changing his heart is the right thing to do. Stealing Treasure is a difficult, dangerous thing and shouldn't be made lightly."

Ryuji nodded. "Fair 'nuff. So we just gotta look him up."

Mishima pulled his phone out and began rapid typing. "I'll ask a couple others at the Newspaper Club if they've heard of anything shady related to Madarame. I've got a collection of requests for you guys anyway, so even if I can't get you proof of plagiarism, at the very least I can get you a few more small-time hearts to change in Mementos."

Saturday, 18 June 2016
Evening
Shibuya, Untouchable

A grizzled man in a scuffed leather jacket took long some long object shrouded in brown paper wrapping from the window at the counter. Akira stepped aside to let him out. The door swung closed with a whoosh of air conditioning. Taking a glance at the jackets, surgical masks, and other common items out at the front, Akira came to a stop at the counter fenced off from the customer area with welded wire grating. With nobody else around, he figured he might as well get right to business. Akira knelt down to let Morgana out and pull out a box filled with money clips, shiny pens, and other junk from the bank. "These are new, and a couple interesting styles."

Iwai let out a "Tch," but looked through the box of miscellaneous things they either found or gained from Shadows desperate to placate them in the halls of the bank. His fingers stopped on a fountain pen with a polished wood exterior. His eyes only opened a fraction more, but his back straightened and he scooted up the padded stool he sat on. Iwai pulled it out and pushed the box aside. He uncapped the pen and shook it. "Empty, but should be easy enough to fill." He sent out a quick email, set the pen in the box with the rest, and without even waiting for a response looked the transfer student in the eye. "Nine thousand."

Morgana's eyes widened from his spot below the customer side of the counter. "That's a lot for some pen."

Smirking, Akira leaned against the wielded wire grating. "I was born at night, not last night. I know a collectible when you see one. Masa may be a moron, but I'm not."

Iwai chuckled. "When you see one." He shook his head, then straightened the ball cap, his expression going serious. "Don't mistake being stupid in one area with being stupid in all'a them. You seen Masa lately?"

Akira shook his head. "I assume he got picked up in the police sweep of Kaneshiro's clan."

The shop owner's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes unfocusing for a moment. "Don't count him out. Bastard's like a roach." His eyes focused on the transfer student, one pair of steely grey eyes boring into another. "You know he didn't used to be one'a Kaneshiro's flunkies?" Iwai's fingers drummed against the countertop. "He used to be a wide-eyed kid under Tsuda. Back when Tsuda an' me were sworn brothers."

Akira shifted his weight to his other foot, feeling that prickly sensation in his gut. Sworn brothers. Even when hat snatching at Inuri, he never had anyone like that. "Back when you two were in the Hashiba clan?"

Iwai peered at him for a few moments. "Most people act like they're at least creeped out by the yakuza. You got your own history, but one thing I'm sure of is you're no Yakuza brat. You got some kinda fixation?"

Shrugging, Akira stood up from the grate. "I'm not invested in the status quo. I'm also not invested in the yakuza." His eyes flicked up in remembrance. "Well, provided it's not the Kirijo Group. Those bastards can go fuck themselves. I don't care what they say about their new head." He shrugged. "I guess that gives me space to deal with either without getting tangled up."

Iwai gave a dark chuckle, a crinkling around his eyes betraying a smile he wouldn't allow his mouth. "Bein' unattached has definite advantages." He pat his chest with one hand. "When people know you, you gotta rely on the bridges others leave for ya. Tsuda an' I, we were sworn brothers, so everyone who knew us has their own take. Anything I do has to take into account whatever ideas they got. If you stick around, you could get involved in some real… gray zones. Movin' product, sussin' out old info, destroyin' evidence. You sure you wanna get in with that?"

Akira leaned against the grating and gave an easy cross to his arms. "We have a deal, don't we? I thought you figured out by now I don't scare easy."

Iwai let out a chuckle. "I've heard it ain't smart to go chasin' shadows, but sometimes you gotta be willin' to go there if you lost something in the dark." The corners of his lips pulled up. "And you sure as hell don't shrink from the dark. Even a churlish old-timer like me's gotta give that respect." His smile dimmed as his eyes unfocused, seeing far back into his past. "Pity some folks lose their way in the dark." He straightened on his stool, his gaze falling from the transfer student. "That's kinda what happened with me an' Tsuda. We got into…legally questionable things, but somethin' happened and I realized I'd be livin' one way if I stayed with 'im." He spread his hands. "So I left."

Akira uncrossed his arms to shrug the shoulder not pressed against the welded grate. "So you pick the way you wanna live and go. What's that to Tsuda?"

Iwai chuckled, but all trace of humor left his eyes. He switched the popsicle stick to the other side of his mouth. "You really are a kid. Peeps like knowin' where you're gonna be, that you're gonna have your back. When anythin' changes, that makes 'em question how safe their back is." He straightened and rolled his shoulder. "Tsuda stayed in the clan and kept risin' through the ranks. I came out here, problem is there's threads left danglin'."

Akira stood up. "Well, Big K always told me it takes a man with hands as steady as his heart to sew on a patch." He pointed at the box. "By the way. Twenty-five thousand."

His phone buzzed and Iwai read in contemplative silence for a moment before he typed out a text. He glanced down at the box of pens and a silver stylus. "Twelve thousand."

Akira leaned an arm up against the wielded grating. He weighed getting a little more money he didn't have pressing, immediate need for against whether the business owner would believe him helping out. "Done."

Sunday, 19 June 2016
Morning
Kanda Catholic Church

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows in the falling morning. Father Sugiyama made the sign of the cross to finish the Mass' benediction. "Go in faith and share the love of Jesus."

Noticing Hifumi get up to leave with the first wave of parishioners, Akira hopped to his feet. He caught up to her just before the doors to the narthex. "No shogi today?"

Hifumi bit her lip and fidgeted with her loose-sleeved black dress. Her pretty green eyes fixed on the tiled floor. "Sorry, Akira-kun. Mother has me scheduled for a photoshoot and I need to be there before twelve."

Akira glanced over the hunch to her shoulders, the squint of her eyes, and the taught muscles in her neck. "You'd rather not."

She deflated, her eyes drifting even further away. "I don't know how people can do it voluntarily. All that fuss turning you from a person to a thing that can be sold. So much effort into finding an image that's already culturally manufactured."

Akira's mouth ran ahead of his mind, "They wouldn't need to change anything to make you beautiful." All they'd need for her to nail the classical Japanese beauty would be the garb. Just the thought of her in a kimono made his face warm. The intruding thought that traditionally, women wore nothing underneath didn't help the feeling of heat.

Hifumi's face reddened and she stepped out. "Please don't tease me."

"S-so why do it?" Rushing to keep at her side, Akira swallowed against the sensation of tightness in his throat.

She steadied her pace to let him keep up. "Anything I can do to bring wider attention to shogi should help the sport." Her footsteps slowed and her eyes tensed, falling to the sidewalk. "At least, that's how I try to justify it to myself. It's… Mother's been so happy since I won the female shogi league, I don't want to disappoint her. Things have been so hard since father became bedridden, I have to ease her burdens. It's more attention than I'd like, but when mother is celebrating my wins as if they were her victories I just can't say no."

They came to a stop at a crosswalk. The slump of her shoulders and furrowing of her brow spoke of a different story than celebrating victories with her mother. "Listen, Hifumi-san. I don't know much about families that are happy all the time. But I know that people don't have an unlimited number of relationships to rely on. I know your mother is important to you." He paused for a breath. "You should know you can go to your mother about things that are important to you."

The street light changed and Hifumi glanced at him with a smile that only made her eyes look more sad. "Isn't it also natural to want to live up to your parents' expectations?" She stepped out.

Akira hurried to keep up with her on this last stretch to the subway station. "I just don't want someone like you to have the same problems I have. You deserve to have people who will help you everywhere."

Hifumi's trot slowed when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Her deep green orbs searched his for a long moment before she let out a short breath. Her smile waned a bit, but so did the tension around her eyes. "Mother wasn't always as overzealous. The beginning of the year can be really stressful for some people."

Akira paced with her. "I tried calling at least three times during the week and you were too busy because of photoshoots each time. Isn't she acting a bit like an idol manager?"

Hifumi's pace slowed, her shoulders drawing in and red tinging her face. "I appreciate you listening, but I don't want to burden you." She changed her grip on her purse and drew a transit ticket, but paused before the turnstyle. "Do you read weekly magazines?"

Akira straightened his button-down dress coat. It was warm but not hot enough to explain why his underarms felt so sweaty. After a moment he gathered the courage to return her eye contact. "Uh… not usually. I tend to read stuff I can really sink my teeth into, so to speak."

She swallowed and her gaze flitted away as an adorable dusting of pink grew on her cheeks. She let out a heavy breath. "I feel like I know the meaning of 'dug my own grave' now." She shook her head. "Well, it's not like you aren't aware of what most of my errands are. I just… I wanted to warn you about the article in CM Now." Her eyes shot wide. "Oh!" She dug into her purse and pulled out The Screwtape Letters. "I intended to give this to you at the end of our little excursion in Jinbocho. Sorry about the delay."

Taking the book, he stared at it for a few moments before he took it and gave a brief bow of thanks. Unsure quite which way he should be supportive, once he came back up he said, "Hey… If you're ever having a hard time…" He brought the book to his brow in a facetious salute. "Anywhere, any time."

She let out a breath, but the tension lines in her neck and the small muscles in her face faded. She forced a smile, but the corners of her eyes remained tense. "Thank you, Akira-kun."

He bowed, but before he could say anything she joined the stream of people rushing into the station.

AN: One of the interesting parts of the Madarame arc were the hints that not all Palace rulers were evil, which I hope was setup for Futaba. Sadly that's the only one we get for non-evil Palace rulers, which is one of the reasons I found the Persona 4 palaces more compelling. All of them held some deeply disturbing issues, but none sprang from what you could call "evil" people. Then again, as the saying goes, "which wolf rules within you? The one you feed." Different philosophers hold different stances on how human nature starts, but few would argue that people can cultivate evil inside themselves.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!