Persona 5: Daywatch

Saturday, 6 August 2016
Morning
Yongen, Leblanc Loft

Alliance Force, Assemble! sang out of his phone and Akira reached over his copied math notes. "Furniture testing, you've reached Fits Matush."

A long pause stretched on until Yusuke said, "Fits… Ah. Like chairs."

A voice howled somewhere in the distance from his side, so off-key the transfer student couldn't even call it singing.

Yusuke continued as if no strange noise just happened. "Do you remember the difficulties I had in plumbing the depths of the heart to portray pure beauty?"

"Uh-huh," Akira said. The whole idea of pure beauty was one of their conversation topics that tended to leave them at an impasse. Besides Hifumi, nothing in the world seemed pure, so the dream the artist chased seemed impossible. "Still trying to figure out the human heart?"

"Precisely. If I can't understand it, how will I ever be able to paint it?"

Chuffing, Akira switched his phone to his other ear. "Yusuke, philosophers and psychologists have been trying to understand the human heart for millennia. If it was that simple, I think Saint Thomas Aquinas would have done it."

"Saint Aquinas left behind a foundation of collective society, but Jung wrote that the commonality of heroic archetypes is evidence of connection across human existence. After facing two corrupted hearts with you, I hoped I would come across a universal human truth. Yet I find myself at an impasse, as if adrift in the sea with no land in sight. My time under Madarame has given me a wealth of tools, but without him I find only that sea."

"Well," Akira said, thinking back through the things he'd seen with the artist. "If you're feeling like you're lost, step out of the rut your wheels run in and do something unknown. If you're lost trying to depict beauty, maybe you need to try to portray something else, something alien."

Morgana sat up from his work on the rake pick. "Oh, we should take him to Mementos!"

Yusuke gave a gasp. "The abyss of unconsciousness where we saw Togo's distortion grow into a full-fledged palace! That's brilliant! Let us make haste!"

Mementos

Morgana switched his folded crossbow to his other hand. He always felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in Mementos, but he couldn't shake off the feeling of being stalked today. The artist scratched away at his sketch pad, but another sound intruded on the team leader's ears.

Joker paced, his P90 clenched in both hands. His longcoat swished with its usual grace, but that just seemed to highlight the tension of its wearer to the team leader. His red gloves clenched, but his hyper-vigilance was betrayed by the many false moans and flutters in the darkness in his peripheral vision.

Morgana spotted the sludge-like puddle forming in the dark just before three dark shapes leaped out of it. He scrabbled for his crossbow. "Shadows, this way!"

Joker spun, already summoning one of his fighter Personas as he charged with his oversized 'survival' knife held high. "Osiris!"

His first slice batted away the nearest Shadow and Joker grinned.

That boy was way too ready for combat.

While human in shape, the three emaciated Shadows clad in tattered shorts scuttled over the floor like spiders at the longcoated boy. The lead two leaped, slashing long clawed fingers at the manifestation of the Egyptian river god wearing a golden funerary mask with copper facing making it look green-skinned.

From Joker's flinch, Morgana could tell that hurt, but his knife sliced through the closest Shadow so it couldn't have hurt that much. The Shadows' claws failed to find purchase and they tumbled back to the ground with the scuttling of a nervous spider. Osiris held up his hooked rod. Darkness roared from underneath all three Shadows.

One seemed winded, but the one that hung back waved his hands around a crackling ball of energy, finishing a chant that unleashed a lightning bolt into Osiris, knocking him and Joker down.

Joker may have been looking for a fight to burn off steam, but his fall was Morgana's cue to save the day like a true gentleman thief. "Zorro!"

The burly Spanish vigilante manifested in a swirl of motes, his eyes blazing with an aura like foxfire. One of the Shadows shimmered in the psychokinetic grip, then slammed into the one that cast a spell.

A follow-up blast of lightning struck the winded Shadow and it dissipated. From several meters away, Fox gave a nod as if to apologize for not bringing his rifle.

Joker kipped up to his feet, dismissing Osiris to send out the next. "Raksha!" The red, twin-bladed swordswoman charged at a Shadow in a flurry of curved sword slashes until it dissipated like smoke.

The humanoid Shadow crawling on all four limbs made a leaping slash at Raksha, only for the swordswoman to dance out of the way.

Instead of finishing things quick with his Persona, Joker dismissed her and charged in to hack his giant knife with blow after powerful blow until the Shadow until it dissipated.

Morgana folded his crossbow, watching for signs of residual bloodlust, but Joker put away his knife. "You feel better?"

Still breathing heavy, Akira riposted with a bit of a snap, "Yeah, I do."

The longcoated boy wasn't far enough along that Zorro could do anything to help, so Morgana dismissed his Persona and paced to the artist. "Think you've found something that will help you capture pure beauty?"

Fox clenched his pencil in his fist. "Truly, this abominable place is a fitting manifestation of ugliness, but how can I depict beauty in a world of depraved ugliness?" Fox threw his pencil and sketchpad to the ground to hold his hands like claws. "How can these hands taught by Madarame create delicacy and purity when he did nothing but destroy those very things?"

Morgana put away his folded crossbow. "Artist's block can be a terrible thing."

Fox snatched back up his things. "It is the worst sort – my paintbrush will not still, but every time I pause to look at the whole painting, I am filled with revulsion at the latest monstrosity I have created. No painting has ever come close to showing the kindness of Ann-san, or the buzz of Tokyo like the breath of a stirring giant. They are all inelegant!"

To the Phantom Thief leader's surprise, Joker came alongside and clapped a hand on the artist's shoulder. "What if… they're supposed to be? Or at least one is? Didn't you say your Persona declared the world had beauty and vice? How can you depict beauty if you have no idea how to show ugliness?"

Fox let out a long breath. "You're correct, my philosophical friend. I've let my passion and narrow-mindedness blind me to this ugly yet magnificent world. You are truly my Theo."

Morgana tilted his head to one side. "Theo?"

"Van Gogh's brother." He took his things in one hand and lifted his now-freed right to clap his hand on Joker's, still on his shoulder. "Van Gogh died in ignominy and only achieved acclaim after, but his brother was friend and patron as well." He allowed a small smile. "Not many have the fortitude to tolerate my… eccentricities."

Joker slid his hand away. "We'd be hypocrites not to. For all I know, you've got it right and the whole rest of the world are the ones who are wrong. The best we can do is march forward to the truth as best as we know it. You've helped me out a lot already. It may have seemed like a nostalgic story, but once it was over I was glad I told you about Big K. I hadn't thought about Amagi-san since I left Inaba."

"Right," Morgana said, hopping up on the longcoated boy's shoulder. "Life is confusing enough that nobody can make it through without any help. That's why we help each other when a fellow stumbles. You keep us from losing focus on what's important, and we'll help you with the same."

Fox looked back and forth between them for a moment before closing his eyes and cycling a deep breath. "I could never have deserved friends such as these." He took in a sharp breath. "But this day I re-affirm, I shall return to you all the aid you have bestowed upon me."

Joker poked the artist in the chest. "Careful, I might ask for a lot."

"Your fearlessness is like a beacon in the night," Fox said with a shallow bow. "I promise you, I shall rise to the occasion." He spun around to the tracks from which they came. "Now quickly, to the real world! My brush shall dance today!"

Saturday, 6 August 2016
Evening
Jinbocho

Akira leafed through a battered, hard-cover book. The water-damage seemed to be restricted to the one corner, but all the words in the outer lower corner were smudged. He checked the spine for the writer, Mulk Raj Anand, then set it back on the shelf to continue perusing. Hifumi hadn't even read his texts for the past couple nights, and it was getting hard not to go stir-crazy worrying about the shogi maestra. Coming here to one of her favorite haunts wasn't working out either.

His phone buzzed from what was probably more Phantom Thief chat, but he didn't trust himself not to text something he would regret. With Futaba possibly down for good and Hifumi who knows what, he found himself on edge every minute. But when Alliance Force, Assemble sang out of his phone, he answered. "Director of Strategic planning, this is Kent C Detrees."

"Uh," Yuuki drawled for a bit before clearing his throat. "I'm on the way to Kichijoji to follow up a lead that Ohya-san can't pursue herself because her boss is watching her. It sounds like there's some stuff going on in the group chat, but would you mind going to talk to her while I'm out? She kind of trusts you."

He glanced at Morgana, who shrugged from his perch in on the transfer student's shoulder. "As long as you're not going to bite anyone's head off, I don't see why not. You weren't that tired by that little walkabout in Mementos with Fox."

Maybe that was the problem. But butchering Shadows wasn't the kind of habit he wanted to build up. "You know what? Yeah. She at Crossroads?"

"She contacted me by text," Yuuki replied. "But that's a pretty safe bet. When she can't go investigating on her own, she tends to go there to drink her troubles away."

A beat passed where Akira wondered what an independent woman would have to drink about, but there were plenty of oppressive things about Japan to drive people to alcohol. In the end, it didn't matter. Her articles helped the Phantom Thieves. "Sure. I'll bring Fearless Leader."

They closed up the call and Akira headed to the train station. On the way, he opened the group chat to see if there was something he might need to update the reporter about.

His skimming ground to a halt when he saw Makoto mention meeting Hifumi at her dojo. Her mother had taken her phone away and she mentioned sadistic abuse by another Kosei student. [You saw Hifumi? How is she?]

[I mentioned that hours ago,] Makoto replied. [She showed up when I went to attend practice after school. She had an argument with her mother a couple days ago and her mother took her phone. She's physically okay.]

That would explain why she hadn't responded to any of his texts. [That makes me think something is wrong spiritually.]

A beat passed and three dots danced next to Makoto's ID. [Right, I forget you're Catholic sometimes. Does she always get… energetic while playing shogi with you? Or maybe it was agitated, people don't always show their true feelings.]

[Energetic. Only when she's enjoying it.] He smiled at the memory of their last game together. Jerks online could call it boisterous or unladylike all they wanted, it was engaging and fun. Akira trotted down the stairs and leaned against the tile wall as he waited for the subway. [She didn't have bruises on her wrists or say anything about home?]

Three dots winked in and out next to Makoto's ID for several seconds. [What are you saying?]

The image of Futaba's body, limp in his arms, flashed in mind mind. He couldn't quite imagine Hifumi flying into an appropriate rage at him for killing her mother, but just the prospect of her turning up her nose at him and abandoning him filled him with a dread that made him cold in a way that didn't counter the summer heat. There was no point in trying to press the Togo issue with the team if it wasn't safe to try. [Nothing. Just worrying. I'll be at Crossroads to babysit that reporter for Yuuki.]

Ann's ID blinked. [Thanks for taking one for the team. I'm wiped out from work. I thought it was going to be comfortable since it was indoors, but the studio had awful AC and those hot lights.]

Evening
Shinjuku, Crossroads

Akira turned to look out of the private 'box' to what might have been a dance floor before Lala turned the place into a simpler bar. It gave enough view to be forewarned of something happening downstairs without sacrificing privacy. The music pumping through the speakers felt quieter here, like a distant river, giving a sense of comfortable isolation. "So Shujin had two problems with the first calling cards. The first was that there were something like eighty of them, but the second was some of them being attached to the school bulletin boards with transparent packing tape."

Morgana chuckled. "Reaper might not always think things through, but sometimes he comes up with good ones."

Ohya tapped away at her laptop. "…to the bulletin board with packing tape?" She laughed. "Now why didn't Junior bring that up? That's the kind of thing that shows a journalist's gone all the way to the primary source." She finished typing, her gaze askance. "You got a photo?"

Akira took a sip of his canned tea to give himself a moment to think. At the time he assumed Kamoshida would be a one-off. He didn't even believe Morgana about the change of heart, though given Futaba's collapse he couldn't say he had much more faith now. Pushing himself to speak, he mumbled, "No. But Mishima might."

"That little guttersnipe," the reporter said with a smile, sitting just a little straighter. "He's been holding out on me."

Akira arched an eyebrow at her pose. "You're proud of that?"

The door opened and Lala entered with a tray of bottles, some clattering with a hollow clink.

She laughed, and he didn't like how mocking it was. "Kid, a good journalist never tips her full hand." She tapped away at her keyboard for a moment, then picked up a beer and took a gulp. "I mean, what's all the Phantom Thief hoopla about, anyway? Junior may be a wide-eyed idealist, but you're too smart to be suckered by their high and mighty shtick. That's the one thing those Medjed assholes got right. Nobody does something if there's nothing in it for them."

The team leader scuttled behind the transfer student's chair when Lala trotted over. The bartender set down two capped bottles, then set the tray down and started transferring empty bottles to her tray. "You mean jaded and cynical, like you. What happened, Ichiko-chan?"

Ohya took a deep swig from her most recent beer bottle, somehow managing to make a clear bitter frown through the process. "Company thought the incident weren't 'nough an' stuck me on Phantom Thief duty. Won' even let me go 'round on my own time!"

"Still?" Lala said, putting the last empty bottle on her tray. "It's been more than a year since Kayo-chan disappeared and that minister—"

With a suddenness that couldn't have just been brought on by alcohol, Ohya's drunken reveling evaporated into a scathing glare. "That doesn't involve my informant." She tipped her beer bottle back and drained it with several glugs.

The bar owner looked more disappointed than contrite. "Sorry, Ichiko-chan."

The reporter slammed her beer down on the private booth's tiny table bolted to the floor. A foamy droplet splattered up and hit the ceiling. "Dammit! All this shit's soberin' me up. I need s'more booze!"

The student and bartender looked to the two bottles she already set on the table. Lala rolled her eyes. "Don't mind her, she gets childish without alcohol."

Ohya pulled down at one eyelid and said, "Blah!" When the bar owner didn't respond, she turned to the student. "Whaddya here for, anyway? Ain't like you're old 'nough to drink. Ya expectin' cash from the has-been reporter?"

Tired from fretting over Hifumi and Futaba, Akira leaned against the booth wall. "Just trying to help."

The reporter popped the top off another bottle and slumped in her seat. "Geez, kid. You don't gotta look like I ran over yer mother. You look worse than when when you came 'round askin' 'bout Kaneshiro." She held out the bottle. "'ere, you look like you could use a stiff one."

Lala gave a meaningful clearing of her throat.

Ohya held her hands up – even the one clasping her beer. "I'm not actually gonna make the li'l twerp drink, Lala-chan!" A belch wrestled out, then her eyes widened and she plunked her beer down on the table. "Gotta go hit the porcelain palace."

Akira's palm smacked against his forehead as the reporter slapped her laptop closed and dashed off for the bathrooms. "That was ten minutes when I was hoping for an hour," he said at the open booth door.

Lala picked up the tray clinking with empty bottles, a couple full ones presumably for the next private booth. "You should count your blessings, kid. If you stayed 'til Ichiko-chan was finished, you'd be here 'til sun-up. Why don't you take the opportunity and go home before it gets too late? This part of Shinjuku gets a lot of shady types coming out late at night."

Akira barked a bitter laugh. "Lala-san, I am one of those unsavory people skulking in the night." He looked down and realized he was fidgeting with his grey gloves. He reached for his can of tea and tilted it for a sip, but the can was empty.

Her eyes traced over him for an uncomfortable. "We don't have enough business to need your help tonight, but you're welcome to come here on other nights if you need work. The paying kind or the keep-your-hands-busy kind." She gave a sad smile. "You remind me too much of Kayo-chan. But it's not my place to tell that story."

A beat passed with the muted beats of the music downstairs filtering up. Akira stood to set his empty can on her tray but couldn't muster any enthusiasm when he said, "Thanks."

She gave a smile with too much pity to be warm. "Poor kid. You'd be a real heartbreaker if you weren't so hard on yourself."

Sunday, 7 August 2016
Evening
Shibuya, 777 Convenience

Settling the last packaged bento into the refrigerated display, Akira flipped out his knife and sliced the cardboard box they were shipped in to let him fold it flat. He collected the packaging and headed to the front to see how Nanami-san and the artist were doing with the newest stream of customers.

Yusuke held himself with an aloof bearing, as if by doing so he could draw attention away from the fact that the pink and green uniform shirt wasn't long enough for his tall frame. He flipped over a package of dried, pressed seaweed to scan the bar code, then slid it into the customer's wicker basket with the rest. "Two thousand thirty two yen, Ma'am." As the frazzled middle-aged woman counted out yen notes, the artist met the transfer student's eyes. "Akira-san."

The door slid open and another two people came in.

Nanami looked up at the newest entrants and gave a relieved chuff. "Hirahara-san, thank god! It's been packed all day!" She looked at the boys. "You two go in the back and get changed, this is the evening shift." She gave a nod to the artist. "You held up remarkably well for your first day. Days ending in 7 are double points, so we always have heavier traffic. If you want to keep working here, we'd be glad to have your assistance!" And a weary but thankful smile to the transfer student. "Thanks for bringing in extra help."

Akira gave a shallow bow. No need to tell her Hifumi hadn't shown up to Mass and Yusuke calling to ask about work was the first lifeline to keep himself from going stir-crazy worrying about the shogi maestra. The unknowns between Hifumi who wouldn't respond to his calls and Futaba whom he couldn't call were getting to be too much for his heart. He didn't even remember the convenience store had a special running today.

Yusuke fell in step beside on the way into the Shibuya underground. "In the past, my fellow students complained about heavy work loads when they got jobs outside the atelier. Despite your aversion to crowds, you seemed more calm in the store than before."

"I had something to focus on," Akira said, seeing nothing special in it.

Yusuke hummed in thought as they navigated down the stairs to the tiled underground. "Hiroshi-san said that people needed rest and relaxation when tired."

Akira side-stepped around pedestrians coming up from the trains. "At the Institute, they used to say 'If you can not give a man hope, give him something to do'."

The artist slowed to a stop next to the employment brochures. "I believe the idiom goes 'if you can not give a man love, give him hope'."

That moment in the church when Hifumi put her hand on his sprang to mind and Akira's cheeks blazed. He wiped his hand on his dress shirt. All the evidence pointed to shutting down Futaba's mind. If he couldn't even save Hifumi from her mother, what right did he have to her affection?

None.

Pausing for a breath, Akira took off his glasses to wipe down his face from sweat still beading from their brief walk in Tokyo's summer outdoors. "No point in quibbling over poetry. Time for both of us to be getting back before curfew officers start coming out of the woodwork."

Yusuke's gaze remained rooted on the transfer student for a long moment as if he wanted to say something, but instead he shook his head with a guarded expression and checked the Phantom Thief group chat. "Rest well. It looks like Mishima-san has found another name for us to check and the others are considering acting tomorrow."

Sunday, 7 August 2016
Evening
Yongen, Leblanc

Akira retrieved his book and descended back into the quiet space of the coffee cafe. A brief check of his phone showed still no response from his texts to Hifumi. Too tired to focus enough to study, but not tired enough to nap, he took a spot next to the stacked manga at the bar, ordered a coffee, and started reading. When the proprietor handed him his cup, he lifted the ceramic, saw the steam wafting off, and set it back down to cool. He pushed it aside so he could get into The Count of Monte Cristo. "How's Futaba?"

"Sleeping, same as yesterday," he said. "Her favorite green water bottle was in the hall, so I know she's at least seeing to vital functions when I'm not there." He gave a tired sigh. "That girl is so much like her mother." He drew a cigarette, lit it, then took a brief drag. "It's been one year, six months. I wish I could find out why she died so suddenly. Her work and daughter were so fulfilling."

Akira looked up from his book. "The death that was ruled a suicide but definitely wasn't?"

The proprietor took another puff from his cigarette, though the corners of his lips turned up. "You sound different than when you first heard about it."

Nodding, the transfer student looked down to his book, then flipped it closed on his finger and looked the restaurateur in the eye. "I came to an understanding about a few things. One being that the source of that suicide story was my old ba—man. There's little more I can do to make that right than set the record straight."

"Make right…" Sojiro took another drag from his cigarette. "Wakaba-san told me something would happen to her before it happened." He tapped ashes into a tray.

Akira remembered the restaurateur letting slip he took the student in as a result of Director Isshiki's concerns, even if her death was near two years ago. "That why you took Futaba-kun in?"

A wry smile formed on Sojiro's lips, but that tired yet bitter spark remained in his eyes. "'kun' he says. Heh. Well, if none of this had happened, she'd be just one year behind you." The corners of his lips turned down. "Maybe even in your year. Girl's sharp as a tack." He took another drag. "Say, kid, how do you heal emotional scars?"

Akira turned the page. His usual answer was anger, but his time with Ann and Ryuji showed him that didn't work so well. Even when it worked, it burnt. Until Inuri, he never cared who he burnt. Since meeting Shiho and Hifumi, he realized there were people who never deserved that. "I keep myself busy so I don't have the time to dwell."

From his hiding spot under the next chair over, Morgana muttered, "See how well that's doing you."

"Shut up," Akira spat back at the team leader. He glanced at the restaurateur giving in an arched eyebrow and straightened. "I hear time heals all wounds, but in my experience some wounds need sutures."

Sojiro blew out a mouthful of smoke. "I figured. But it's hard seeing her hurting and not being able to—" The front door's bell jingled and he turned with a rote, "Welcome to—Futaba!"

Akira jerked in his seat and his jaw drifted open as the girl in a faded green trench coat slipped into the bar seat just past him as if they were all old regulars. She spied the coffee he set aside and said, "Oh, good. I needed one." She picked it up in both hands and drained a third of the cup before setting it back down. A beat passed after her swallow before she looked up at the restaurateur. "Please tell me you're not selling tepid coffee."

The cigarette slipped out of Sojiro's nerveless fingers. "How did you get here?"

Akira glanced at the girl they fought for weeks to free from her self-hatred. Conscious mind still chugging to catch up, his sarcasm took the reigns. "Looks like the pedestrian mode of conveyance."

Sojiro and Morgana both snapped at him, "Not now!"

Futaba cackled. Then she glanced from the restaurateur to transfer student, then to the coffee. "Oh. That wasn't for me."

Sojiro blinked, his eyes going back to just as wide as before. "No! I mean actually no, but… you're out of the house!"

Futaba set the cup back on the saucer and pushed it back at the transfer student. She shifted but didn't quite meet the restaurateur's eyes. "Sorry 'bout that."

Morgana hopped up onto the booth seating behind them all, chittering at the transfer student. "See? She can do things like say sorry."

"Shut it, furball."

When he failed to touch it, Futaba reached for the coffee and glugged the whole rest of the cup, then set it back on the saucer. "So hard to think. I feel like I'm forgetting something."

Akira reached a hand out, feeling like his own brain was throwing off sparks. "Uh, Medjed?"

She sucked in a sharp intake of breath. "That's it!" She shoved out from the chair and scrambled off.

Morgana leaped at the closing door. "After her, Joker! We gotta make sure she's really okay!"

Joker jumped up to race after them, shouting over his shoulder at the shocked restaurateur, "I'll walk her home!"

Yongen, Back Streets

Despite the head start she had on him, Akira was the second strongest runner in the Phantom Thieves. He caught up to the wheezing girl before she even stumbled past the grocery store. He helped her back up to her home as the frenzied burst of activity hit her.

After a few long minutes to catch her breath, and his insistence to sip some water, she led the way up to her room and took perch on the chair before her computer. "There's a dozen members of Medjed at the moment, but the only one actually posting the threats to us is a script kiddie in Kamojima. He wasn't even using a VPN." She tugged the chair closer and sat up, letting her legs dangle off. "So how we wanna do this?"

The transfer student looked to the team leader. Morgana hopped up onto the bed and stared over the screens, but after a moment gave a shrug. "Computers are your area of expertise. The Phantom Thieves just want to protect Japan."

Futaba, already keeping the transfer student in her field of vision, swiveled to look at him. "Wow, you must have a lot of levels in ventriloquism. You even sounded just like Bastet from my Palace."

Morgana let out a frustrated grunt. "I'm not Bastet, I'm Morgana!"

The hacker's eyes went wide and swiveled to the team leader. "Talking kitties? I must need more sleep." She behind her back for a cushion.

Akira snatched it from her. "We'll explain later, but you're awake as I am. Crush that computer cracker."

"R-right," she said, then turned to her computer and tapped away.

A minute passed.

After another minute, Morgana flexed his neck. "She's just tapping. Is anything happening?"

Unable to decipher the lines of what seemed gibberish text, Akira shrugged. "Hey, let the master do her work."

A minute passed. She cackled, but continued typing and gave no other sign of acknowledgment.

"How much longer?" the team leader prodded.

Keys clacked.

Getting restless, Akira looked around the room. Books and papers were strewn across the floor, either dropped or thrown. Bags of trash scattered across the corners as if she couldn't be bothered to so much as take her trash out of the room. He stood, adjusted his grey gloves, and picked up the first bag.

Yongen, Sakura House

Sakura Sojiro closed the door. After closing Leblanc in a scramble, his old bones were protesting and he still felt out of breath from jogging the short distance from the back-alley refuge. Wakaba's little girl, out of the house at last? Even if there'd been any customers, like he'd have had the time of day for them. Night. Whatever. He plonked his keys in a ceramic gecko-shaped dish by the front.

Heavier footsteps than Futaba's paced down the stairs.

Sojiro reached into the hallway cabinet and drew the heavy torch, then crept to the stairs and waited until the burglar reached the base of the stairs before turning it on… "Kid?" The transfer student lowered the bag of trash in his hands. "What are you doing?"

Akira looked down to the bag of trash in his hands. "Cleaning up? She invited me in."

"Invited…?" Sojiro balked. He wanted to get angry, to take that club of a torch and beat the convicted assaulter with a self-confessed history of fighting away from Wakaba's little girl. But his back hurt from scrambling to close up Leblanc and Futaba did sit next to the boy at the bar with a comfortable ease as if they were old friends just hanging out. She never even let him in.

"You okay?" the boy queried with a glance up and down the restaurateur. "You're wavering on your feet."

Of all the times for that boy to play the concerned card, and for all his sarcasm he couldn't even sound patronizing so Sojiro could feel justified in kicking him out. He waggled the torch at the kitchen. "Dumpster's out the kitchen back door. Then sit your ass down on the couch. We're having a talk."

Akira nodded and trotted off with a sense of purpose.

Sojiro took to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of aged whiskey from the cupboard and poured himself a shot. He didn't like to indulge, but this day was too hard on his old bones. First Wakaba's girl walking herself out of the house, then finding out she's invited a boy into her room. He supposed it could be worse, the boy had issues like nobody'd believe, but he was upstanding in a way he didn't think possible to come out of the Kurusu family. Just to be sure, Sojiro snuck upstairs and slipped Futaba's door open. It wasn't locked, so he was able to peer in on the girl tapping away at the keys as that cute little tuxedo cat sat on her bed. She looked like she was on a mission and nothing else seemed out of place, though in a room that messy it would be hard to tell if there was a fight.

Sojiro looked back at his empty shot glass and headed downstairs, intending on another dose of liquid calm, but he ran into the transfer student heading to the couch in the den. He had his phone out and thumbed away at one of those chat rooms kids were big into. The restaurateur cleared his throat and the two sat down. Might as well start with the priorities. "How is she?"

Akira shrugged. "On the computer."

The restaurateur let out a breath. "If she's not watching Stargate, that's what she's always doing." He swatted at the air as if that could do away with the boy's excuses. "Why'd she let you in? How'd you even meet? Wakaba said you never crossed paths."

Those stormy grey eyes magnified just a bit by his glasses drifted down. They stopped on his phone and he turned it to sleep mode. "We met online."

Sojiro set his glass down on a combined table-magazine rack beside the recliner. The boy was more mature than most adults he'd come across, so the restaurateur decided to go straight to his biggest worry. "You're not trying to sneak into Futaba's bed, are you?"

Akira jumped to his feet, a snarl flashing over his face. "No! What is it with you people acting like I can't have female friends without trying to fuck them?"

The restaurateur studied the boy, but the tells were all wrong for a kid his age lying to sate his libido. A bit red-faced, but understandable given what he'd just been accused of. Sojiro straightened on his recliner. "Futaba's been through enough. I put you up in the cafe loft because I wanted her to have a safe place to stay. I don't want to cast aspersions on you, but I don't want anything to happen to Wakaba's little girl. She's fragile—"

"She was hurting," the boy muttered, his tone thick with grief. "Futaba's been too betrayed and abandoned by the world as it is. I just… don't want her to suffer what I have."

Sojiro felt his mouth drifting open and closed it. He'd expected at least a bit of shame – Sojiro remembered feeling that way, dating several girls in high school. But that look of hurt… How could anybody raised by the elder Kurusu still come out sensitive? Sojiro knew ever since meeting the man at a Kirijo gala in Port Island that the senior Kurusu would do anything to get ahead. Even his marriage and fatherhood were calculated gambits to get promoted, back when Kirijo Takeharu still ran the Group. Something about only trusting fathers in upper management.

The restaurateur opened his eyes when a hand tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up to Akira standing over him. "Hey, old man. You okay?"

Sojiro's gaze flicked to his shot glass for a beat. "I'm not a night owl like you kids." The boy opened his mouth and the restaurateur cut him off. "I adopted Futaba. I'll deal with her. You go get yourself to bed so I can do the same." He wanted to trust the kid wouldn't try anything with Futaba, but he was as red-blooded as any other man. He'd seen the boy's eyes take in that pretty blonde, or that elegant girl he played shogi with.

Yongen, Back Streets

Akira paced to Leblanc, the sounds of the city winding down as much as Tokyo ever was going to. Phone in hand, he scanned over the Phantom Thief group chat.

Ann's last addition since interruption by Sojiro was, [So Futaba's awake?]

[She was last I saw,] Akira replied.

Ryuji's ID lit up next. [What's that supposed to mean?]

[She was hard at work at that keyboard when Boss got home.]

Mishima winked in next. [Does that mean Medjed has been defeated?]

Ryuji sent, [Yeah, they done?] A heartbeat later, he followed with, [I mean, how's Futaba?]

[Nice save,] Yusuke sent.

Makoto's ID popped up next. [I'm not sure if that's genuine or sarcastic.]

Akira texted, [There's nothing any of the rest of us can do. She's awake, so no mental shutdown like I was afraid of. I don't think she'll let up until she's finished Medjed off, so I think we're safe on that front, too. Morgana stayed with her, so if Makoto can't confirm things with her sister he should instruct her to contact us again.]

The upperclassman in question replied, [I wouldn't know either until it hits headlines. Big Sis isn't in a cybercrime unit so I can't ask her without raising suspicion.]

[Looks like we have no choice but to wait again,] Ann sent.

Mishima's ID winked. [So I guess everyone's on news duty until confirmation hits the airwaves?]

[Sounds logical to me,] Makoto texted.

Three dots bounced next to Yusuke's ID for a moment. [If that is the case, shall I join you at Leblanc? I can bring one of my art books. It should be far more hospitable than the dorms.]

Akira looked up from the chat long enough to unlock Leblanc and let himself in. [You guys bought me AC, as far as I'm concerned you have as much right to use it as I do.]

Monday, 8 August 2016
Noon
Yongen, Leblanc

Sun streamed in through the just-cleaned, smoky window at the front of Leblanc. A newscaster on TV droned on about another corporate information leak blamed on Medjed, and a falling stock market. Akira rinsed off a plate and handed it to the restaurateur, who wiped it dry with a brown towel and set it on the counter by the coffee siphons. "I bet the stock market wouldn't be fluctuating so much if they'd just shut up and wait for things to happen instead of speculating."

The rote pattern repeated until the front door bell rang and Doctor Takemi strode in. "Morning, Boss. House blend and a bowl of reimen?"

"Coming right up," the restaurateur said as he wiped dry his last plate. He moved over to the fridge and pulled out the packaged soba to get started.

While rinsing the last mug, Alliance Force, Assemble! sang out from his phone. Akira rushed to wipe and dry his hands enough to fish his phone out of his pocket. An unfamiliar number stared up at him. "Life insurance, Ray N. Carnation."

"H-huh?" Futaba's voice stuttered.

Morgana chirped in the background.

"Well then he should just say so!" she shouted on her side. She cleared her throat and spoke into the microphone, "So, uh, I just wanted to say I'm done! Your hacker extraordinaire has saved Japan. You may prostrate yourselves before me."

Droll, Akira riposted, "Yes, Lady Isis."

A beat passed. "Okay, now things have gotten weird." Morgana snarked something from the background and Futaba snapped, "Bad kitty!"

Morgana hissed.

"A-ki-ra! Make Bastet stop being mean to me."

Morgana protested again.

Akira pushed up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "If you two can avoid killing each other for five minutes, I'll be there to pick up Morgana." He hung up and returned to the kitchen from the back hall. "Futaba's asking me to pick up Morgana. Are you going to be okay for the rest of the lunch rush?"

Sojiro sprinkled some pre-cut onions on top of the bowl of chilled soba noodles for the doctor. "Lunch rush is over, kid. Go ahead and cut out, just don't misbehave."

Yongen, Sakura House, Futaba's Room

Having already explained most of Futaba's questions about the Metaverse when she woke up late in the morning following her hack session, then endured her wordy recounting hunting down Medjed just to find a single 'script kiddie' responsible threatening the Phantom Thieves, Morgana wanted to scratch Joker for asking about it again. He glanced at the window at the torrential rain pounding the window. Trapped in here until the transfer student deigned to take him safe and dry back to the loft.

The jerk even told Futaba the vicious lie that the brave and wily team leader only found the special door in Madarame's Palace because he got bored and wandered off! Talk about projection!

So now Morgana had to languish through the long story filled with weird technobabble while Joker—

"How long has it been since you've cleaned up in here?" Akira asked, his wide eyes on bulging garbage bags.

She waved him off and turned back to her computer. "Oh, uh… I don't think it's been a year? Anyway, then I broke into the archives of the University of Tokyo—"

Akira stood and tugged his gloves in a very Joker-like manner. "Then we'd better get started."

Afternoon
Yongen, Sakura House, Futaba's Room

Akira spritzed glass-cleaner on the window and wiped in circular motions until the pattern of rainfall against the glass looked regular. The sound of rain added to the now-clean room to bless him with a sedate sense of accomplishment. He straightened the opened blackout curtains and took in a breath. "And done."

Futaba flopped onto her bed in melodramatic fashion. "You are a demon! Why couldn't you have just done it all if it's so important to you?"

Morgana hopped up onto the storage shelves beside it. "But it feels good, doesn't it? To look around a clean room and know it's yours." His tail swished. "I guess I can understand why Joker spends so much time trying to make his room pristine."

She let out a long breath and levered herself up from the mattress. "Yeah, it does feel better. That and back-hacking Medjed made me feel like I can really do stuff!" She put her hand on her chest. "It feels like my heart – my Persona's been telling me all along since before I accepted it. It's so much more than just I am, but it's so hard to put it in more words." Futaba sat up. "I can definitely understand why you guys kept going as Phantom Thieves. Going from helpless kids at the mercy of worthless adults to taking down yakuza and international cartels!"

Akira gave a calm nod. "Don't get too excited too fast. I'm glad you're feeling better, but you just had a change of heart. Cleaning your room is one thing – I helped with that. But are you sure you want to get involved in Phantom Thieving?"

The hours of work showed in the weariness of her frame, but she still pushed herself up. "Yup. I think I already knew before I saw the inside of my own heart, but things can't go on like they used to. I can't." She reached out for that bronze-like staff and held it up as if searching for its balance point. "When I shot Youji in the Pel'tak, I think I kinda understood what my Shadow was going on about with being a goddess. Power and all that." She lowered the staff weapon and looked him in the eye. "Not that it wasn't a high note, but I don't want to just leave things there."

Even Morgana smiled, his tail swishing as if caught up in the girl's enthusiasm. "You thinking of helping the Phantom Thieves on a more permanent basis?"

She drew herself into a springy hunch on her the balls of her feet, her arms wrapped around her legs. "Mm-hm. Now that I'm out and clear-headed, I recognize the Metaverse as what Mom was researching. I wanna learn more. Find out what they did to Mom's research, everything. I can't just drop out now that I've got my feet under me."

Akira felt his hands start to shake. "You'd help us change Togo's heart?"

Futaba's eyes narrowed and a thin grin sending his hair on end spread over her face. She waggled a single finger at him. "On one condition."

"Done!" He didn't trust himself to say any more, as fast as his heart was hammering in his chest.

More to the team leader than other boy in the room, she stage whispered, "My luck stat's gotta be through the roof." Cackling, Futaba's already unsettling grin grew even wider as she focused on the transfer student. "I want three nieces and three nephews."

The process necessary to bring that about sprang to Akira's mind's eye, Hifumi naked on a futon underneath him. His hands dropped the spray-bottle and cleaning rag. His face blazed and it took him a few seconds to remember how to breathe around the sudden choking feeling in his throat. "F-Futaba!"

AN: Lala's another one of those rare adults in the game disconnected enough that we don't see any of her problems, but that allows her to be one of the more positive and reliable examples of responsible adults who offers almost unconditional support.

In the game, Sojiro sees his adopted daughter walk outside for the first time in at least a year and does absolutely nothing even as Akira, a convicted felon, trots off after her. I know that's to give resolution to Futaba after the conclusion of her Palace, but he doesn't. And from the rest of the game he wants to be a good father, so there is no way I could justify him NOT rushing out to check on his girl.