Chapter 27: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Osamu Maeda looked over his printout of Shido's speech. Shido had sent it to him so he could pass it on to the film crew to load into a teleprompter for him. Ever the politician, he wanted it to look slick and professional. It was how he and Maeda always ran things, ever since Shido first came to Tokyo as a freshman Representative. The extra production effort gave Shido's TV appearances a touch more glamor than other politicians had. Subtle, but effective. Since Shido was arranging this press conference with his longtime associate Maeda, it never occurred to him to just stick to notecards.

With an early copy of the speech, Maeda and Wada had crafted a series of Myojo "Starbursts," the unofficial name for Myojo's internet missives. Not wanting to tip their hand too early, they'd started with only very cryptic messages to generate interest:

"Shido SHOCKER coming. Can't say more yet, but you won't believe your eyes."

"Everyone, get ready for the showdown of a lifetime. I mean good versus evil, APOCALYPTIC stuff. You won't want to miss this."

"A TRAITOR will be unveiled this weekend. If everyone reading this comes — and brings a friend — Myojo's light will prevail over the enemies of Japan!"

At the press conference, Wada would be visible in the audience; Maeda would make sure to get at least one solid closeup showing him not holding a phone. Maeda would also send out the Starbursts on the phone they shared for the purpose. That way, Wada would have an alibi to prove he wasn't Myojo.

But that was just to soothe Wada's nerves. The pressure was already getting to him; one good whack from Shido or the cops and Wada would crack like an egg. Better to keep him out of that position altogether.

A production assistant was sitting in the director's chair, running checks on the cameras and microphones. Maeda looked over the PA's shoulder and saw Wada on one of the monitors — perfect, alibi established. He'd already instructed one of the camera crew where to look for Wada. All he needed was a few minutes of tape to establish that Wada couldn't possibly be Myojo. After that, the director could do anything he wanted.

The director's copy of the production script lay waiting on the sound board. It was marked all over with notes — where to add on-screen graphics, where to cut away for a crowd reaction shot — though the director could also make decisions on the fly, according to what was happening. He'd better be on his toes for this one, Maeda thought.

Maeda unfolded a chair and put it behind the director's chair, so he could watch the monitors and follow along with his own script. He'd made his own marks — where he and Wada had decided to drop their Starbursts for maximum impact. He checked his watch. Just a few minutes left until the cameras started rolling. If all went well, he'd be free and clear.

Makoto, Ryuji, Yusuke, Futaba, and Haru made their way grimly to the park where Masayoshi Shido was giving his press conference. They had already spent a lot of the trip grumbling about why he should be allowed out of prison to talk to the public. Sure, sometimes journalists visited prisons and conducted interviews there, but this? Even after confessing to a wide array of terrible crimes, Shido still wasn't treated like the dangerous criminal he was. It was almost as if Japan was apologizing for treating such an elite personage like an ordinary dirtbag.

Although they were more or less retired — as well as currently missing their leader — the former Phantom Thieves all felt strongly enough about this circus to want to see it for themselves. Maybe if Shido started lying again, they could heckle him? That was a suggestion from Ryuji, which none of the others took very seriously. Except Yusuke, who explained that he considered bringing along some eggs to throw, but ended up eating them instead.

They found a spot on the periphery of the crowd. There were already a surprising number of people there — several hundred at least.

Makoto sent another text to Sae, then also tried Ren, Akechi, and Ann just for good measure.

"Any word from our fearless leader?" asked Futaba, trying to peer at the phone screen.

Makoto shook her head as one after another, each of her text messages returned as undeliverable. She sighed. I hope you're safe, Sis, she thought.

"Shoot. I even tried hacking into that Mishima kid's phone to see if Ren contacted him, but no dice!" Futaba complained.

"You what? Why didn't you just ask Mishima if he'd heard anything?" said Makoto.

Futaba shrugged. "Easier."

Makoto was about to scold her, but Yusuke spoke first.

"That bodes ill," said Yusuke. "Could they be in trouble?"

"No way!" Ryuji said. "They've got Ren, Ann, probably Morgana…those guys can handle anything, and then some!"

"Not IRL!" Futaba objected. "They don't have any powers in meatspace!"

Makoto raised her hands to quiet them and head off a squabble. "I think they're probably in the Metaverse. That's my best guess, anyway. It would explain why I lost contact with all of them at the same time."

"There ya go. They'll be fine," said Ryuji confidently.

"We can discuss it again after the press conference," said Makoto, just as the lights around the stage flashed three times. The show was about to begin.

Shido walked out onto the stage, stepping up to the podium. With a keen eye for drama, Maeda's handpicked director switched the live feed over to the camera that was holding close on his face, so the viewers at home could see Shido's expression. He looked uncharacteristically nervous as he looked out over the crowd. He quickly recovered, though, and launched into his prepared remarks.

"Everyone gathered here today, and everyone watching at home, I'm once again humbled by the love you show for your homeland. I'm sure that most of you already know that some online persona known only as "Myojo" has been claiming to speak for me, saying all manner of things, and — more troublingly — directing angry mobs towards my supposed enemies."

Shido paused there to take in the crowd's reaction. That was when Maeda dropped the first Starburst. It sent out a push notification to everyone with the Myojo app that read: This man on the stage is a fraud. An actor.

Maeda watched over his director's shoulder at the cameras that were scanning the crowd, looking for interesting reactions. He was gratified to see that a huge number of people were checking their phones. The close-up on Shido, meanwhile, revealed that he had noticed the crowd getting away from him.

Raising his voice a little to be heard over the crowd, Shido continued, "If you're watching today, you must be wondering what the truth of the matter is. So here it is: Myojo is a fraud. I am not, and never have been, connected with this online miscreant."

Some in the crowd openly booed at this. Others seemed disappointed, some were shocked, others skeptical.

Maeda sent out the next Starburst: Ask yourself — did the real Masayoshi Shido look like this pathetic old man? Of course not! The glasses are all wrong. He's too skinny. And too short!

All of that was easily explainable, of course. Shido looked thinner and older because he had just gone from being elected Prime Minister to arrested and jailed. Likewise, he didn't have his well-tailored clothes or designer glasses anymore.

The height discrepancy was actually a neat little trick of Maeda's. Whenever Shido appeared on "home turf," as they considered Maeda's network, they gave him a little apple box. Not a tall one; that would make it obvious. Just a half inch or so. Then, the camera would shoot him from slightly lower than his opponents, so he'd appear slightly taller because the camera was tilted up. The combined effect made him look taller than his opponents even when they were exactly the same height.

Today Maeda had instructed the crew to reverse the effect, making sure the podium was slightly taller than usual and the cameras all shooting Shido from slightly higher than usual. That made Shido look shorter.

Anyone with a trained eye could spot such simple tricks, of course, but they worked very well on true believers — people who already saw Shido as a paragon of manliness and were looking for any details to support that belief. Before he'd started running this scam, Maeda never would have believed so many people could be fooled by such nonsense. But now, he half-believed it himself.

"Those of you who are my true followers, my real fans, those of you who can see my sincerity, I ask you, don't believe these lies! And if you know somebody who does believe them, tell them just as I'm telling you today: they aren't true. I may have done wrong in the past, and I may have put myself above my country, but that ended on election night. From then on, I committed myself to doing what was right and honest. All I ask is that anyone who still wants to listen to this utter disgrace do the same."

Maeda sent another Starburst:

SAVE JAPAN

DESTROY THE IMPOSTOR

His fingers tingled. Now he would find out exactly how strong his narrative really was. Would the crowd believe their own eyes, or some words on the internet?

Somebody in the crowd cheered. More cheers followed, and some clapping. Some were uplifted by Shido's words. But there was also a rumble of discontent. Some were surprised, disillusioned. This wasn't the speech they'd come here to see, and they were angry about it. The director even found a schoolgirl sobbing, her mascara running down her face.

Maeda had to bite his fist to keep from laughing.

He sent his final Starburst — FIND THESE TRAITORS AND BRING THEM TO JUSTICE — with photos of Takuto Maruki, Makoto Niijima…and Kaede Wada.

Maeda looked out the door of the tent and saw the crowd checking their phones. All except Wada, who was focused on standing around looking innocent, as planned. Maeda allowed himself a chuckle. It was all too easy! The targets were painted, and all he had to do was sit back and watch them get taken down.

Somebody threw a bottle at the stage. It went wide, didn't even come near Shido, but it was like a spark to a gas can. Maeda had never seen reality warp before, but even he could sense that something had changed. It was like somebody had maxed out the color saturation on the whole world.

At the same time, all the monitors lost signal. The director was momentarily stunned, murmured a curse, then barked at his camera crew: "Can you all still hear me? Are you getting any of this? I can't see a thing!"

Maeda checked his phone and was surprised to see that it wouldn't turn on. It was totally dead, even though he was sure it had plenty of battery just moments ago. Huh. Well, he'd done what he came here to do. In fact, it might not be a bad idea to get out before things got too out of hand.

Kaede Wada had planned to watch the whole speech from the crowd, to establish his alibi, so he was right in the middle of things when the crowd's mood went sour. True, that was what he'd been hoping for, planning on — but seeing a riot on TV and being in the middle of one were two very different things.

Feeling a spike of anxiety, he started pushing his way through the crowd early, setting his sights on the tent where he knew Maeda was tucked away. He'd be safe there, surely. So many people were packed together in this little park situated between three buildings — which they'd chosen intending to limit the crowd size somewhat — that it was impossible to move quickly. He just had to keep pushing, shoving people aside, trying to hold down his own panic.

I'm so out after this. Out, out, out, he thought to himself. It was all getting too crazy. What he wanted, right about now, was a flight to somewhere else. The Philippines, maybe, he'd heard the locals were cool there. Or Korea, they had some bangin' babes. Hawaii? Whatever. As long as he could stay there until this whole scheme blew over and everybody forgot who Masayoshi Shido even was.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Wada elbowed aside a salaryman and kept moving. He knew when the Starbursts were supposed to drop, and he knew they were supposed to whip the crowd up into a frenzy. The final one would show the faces of Takuto Maruki and Makoto Niijima, and the crowd would take care of them, or so he hoped.

But then they started looking up from their phones and pointing at him. Suddenly, the thick crowd wasn't just in his way — they were reaching for him, pulling at his clothes, shouting and jeering at him.

"H-hey! What are you — ?" Wada swatted at their hands, but there were more and more. "Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am?!"

He pushed as hard as he could, clearing a tiny space. Hands clawed at him from every direction, but he put his head down and shoved. When he looked up again, the tent was almost within reach. He was home free!

"Maeda! Help! They're gonna tear me apart!" he yelled at the tent. Someone had yanked his tie off, almost choking him.

The flap opened and Maeda's face appeared. He was expressionless, like a statue. He said nothing.

And then he stepped back and vanished back into the tent.

Even though the Phantom Thieves had seen the transition from the real world to the Metaverse many times, they were still caught unawares. As far as they knew, the only way to enter the Metaverse was with the MetaNav app, and none of them had it.

"Are we…?" Ryuji began, but the others were already nodding.

Unfortunately, noticing wasn't the same as being able to do anything about it. As they watched in horror, the crowd all around them started taking on new forms. Many of them looked like medieval knights, carrying banners. But there was another group too, that fashioned themselves after samurai. Yet a third group became Imperial-era soldiers.

In the confusion, the Phantom Thieves found their outfits changing too, but then something even stranger happened: they realized they were just a handful of many people dressed as the Phantom Thieves.

"What the heck? How are these people dressed like us?" yelped Ryuji.

"They must be fans!" Futaba exclaimed.

"That's insane," said Haru, wide-eyed under her mask.

"Indeed, but at least we know who our allies are," said Yusuke.

"Assuming they're fans of us and not some freaky internet impostors," said Futaba.

"Look! The knights are going after Shido, and the samurai are defending him," Makoto pointed out.

"What a quandary," said Haru. "Should we intervene?"

"You serious? This isn't our problem. Shido can take care of himself," said Ryuji.

"Whatever our feelings are, we can't let him get murdered. That's not justice," said Makoto.

"You're not in charge," Futaba countered.

"Well, our leader isn't here, so what do you propose?" Makoto had to raise her voice to be heard over the crowd.

"Democracy. Let's vote," suggested Futaba.

"Fine. All in favor of helping Shido?" Makoto raised her hand and Yusuke followed suit.

"It's the right thing to do," said Yusuke. "The Phantom Thieves aren't murderers, even by omission."

"All in favor of letting a man die at the hands of an angry mob?" Makoto asked sharply, dismayed that the vote was so close.

"That's not fair. We're just…declining to risk our lives for him," said Futaba.

"It's his own stupid fault he's in this situation," said Ryuji, raising his hand.

Makoto's heart sank. Even if the team didn't agree with her, she didn't think she could stand by and watch what was about to happen.

The vote was tied. They all looked at Haru.

"If Ren were here…we all know what he would do," she said, though she didn't sound happy about it.

Futaba sighed. "Fine, fine. It's not for Shido. We'll do it for Ren. All in favor?"

This time, they all agreed.

That was when the tank arrived.

Maeda ducked back into the control tent. His expression hadn't changed. The director and production assistant were staring at him.

"Well? What's going on?" demanded the director.

"It seems the crowd has turned on Shido-san," said Maeda. It also seemed that some of them were dressed as samurai, some as knights, and others as Phantom Thieves…but he couldn't make sense of that, so he didn't mention it.

"What's wrong with the cameras?" the director pressed.

Maeda shrugged. "That's unclear. They should be rolling, but…."

"Who cares about the cameras?" the production assistant said. "What happens to us if those maniacs get in here? How are we gonna get out?"

The three were uncomfortably silent for a moment.

Then a hand burst through the tent flap and grabbed onto Maeda. Horrified, he reeled away, pulling the person into the tent. It was Wada.

"You —!" said both Wada and Maeda at the same time.

"— bastard!" Wada finished. His clothes were torn to shreds and he was bleeding from several wounds. "What the hell is that thing out there?"

"What thing?" said Maeda cautiously.

"Don't play stupid! The Shido on the tank! How the hell did you pull that one off?"

Maeda went back over to the tent flap and peered out again. Like Wada said, there was a tank pushing its way toward what was left of the stage. The crowd parted to make way for it. Then people started to notice that Masayoshi Shido — dressed in some kind of paramilitary outfit — was standing on top of the tank.

There were two Shidos. One was tall, proud, gleaming with dozens of medals covering his chest, in command and loving every minute of it. The other was cringing, small, frightened and trying to hide it.

Wada shouted, "That tank's gonna kill us all. You went way too far, old man. Call it off! Game over!"

"Game over…?" Maeda tried to process the words. "I didn't call a tank. Did you?"

"Dammit," said Wada, mopping sweat and blood off his brow with a handkerchief offered by the production assistant. "What is that thing? Did we bring it here? Could we stop it, even if we tried?" he asked quietly, more to himself than Maeda.

Maeda looked back at the Shido on the tank. That was the Masayoshi he'd known for so long. The other one…he shook his head. Shido betrayed him. Betrayed all of them, his loyal associates.

"Don't be stupid," said Maeda. "If we were doing anything wrong, someone would have stopped us long ago."

Suddenly the director piped up. "Then this is your fault! This whole thing was your baby, Maeda. You can take it back. Get out there and get rid of that tank!"

The director hopped up and moved toward Maeda, arms outstretched. Maeda backed away and looked to the others for help, but Wada was nodding as if this all made sense. The production assistant just looked away.

Wada and the director were closing in, ready to throw him to the wolves to save themselves. His back was to the wall, but — no, that can't be. My story can't end here, of all places, betrayed by that little brat! Everything in Maeda resisted. It just couldn't be…it couldn't! Then he felt a tug around his belly button, as if a thread was tied around his waist and something was pulling.

The words, "I am thou. Thou art I," boomed in his head like thunder. A vision appeared in front of him: a tall, thin man in old-fashioned Spanish-style armor riding an equally thin horse.

"The ingenious man of La Mancha," murmured Maeda.

"Come, Sancho! Let us ride for chivalry and glory! We'll give these villains what-for!" the man cried, raising his spear toward the sky.

At the same time, an incredible thing happened. Everything fell into place. Everything that had confused him since this bizarre debacle started. The samurai, the Phantom Thieves, and Wada were his enemies. The knights were his allies. The Shido on the tank was the real one. The other one was a fake. Just like they said on TV.

It was so clear. With the help of Don Quixote, the greatest knight ever to grace the fields of Spain, he could help defeat the villains and save Japan!

The first one to go…would be that traitor, Wada.

"Only one thing stands between us and the greatest glory of the Japanese empire. Only one thing could stop us: the enemies within. Traitors and scum like this impostor! He has been spreading filthy lies about me," Tank Shido bellowed into his megaphone. "I ask of you, my loyal followers, help me destroy him! For the glory of the empire!"

The knights started moving toward the stage. The Phantom Thieves, who had chosen to slip around behind the stage, climbed up and stood between the crowd and Shido.

"Not so fast!" yelled Makoto, holding up a hand. "No one wants to see Shido face justice more than us, the Phantom Thieves! But this is not justice!" She was terrified and filled with adrenaline. Her voice was shaking, but she still made herself heard.

"Anyone who attacks Shido now is no better than he is!" added Haru, stepping up next to Makoto. Makoto gave her a quick nod, grateful that Haru had her back.

Tank Shido paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Ha ha ha! If it isn't my old enemies, the Phantom Thieves! Guess what, kids. You may not have seen me on TV, but I haven't been idle."

The tank cannon began to shift, with a metallic scraping sound.

"He's aiming the gun! Everybody scatter!" Makoto ordered.

Futaba's Persona, Necronomicon, flew over and drew her inside. The other Phantom Thieves melted into the shadows. After making sure they had all followed her order, Makoto looked back to see where the real Shido was. He had disappeared somewhere. Makoto turned around and jumped off the back of the stage, hitting the ground at a roll.

"We need to get all these people out of here," came Futaba's voice over their earpieces. "Who knows what will happen if that tank blows them up."

"I think — I think they'd be mental shutdown cases," said Makoto, her mouth dry as ashes.

"Yeah, let's not let that happen," said Ryuji, trying to sound lighthearted but ending up grim and determined.

"The crowd is fighting among themselves," Yusuke reported, looking down from the branches of a tree. "We may not be able to stop them."

"We can distract the tank and give them a fighting chance," said Makoto. "Let's start there."

"Then do the honors, senpai," said Futaba.

Makoto nodded and took a steadying breath. "It's showtime!"