Author's Notes: Ladies! And! GENTLEMEN! The writer of the best Persona 3 and Persona 4 fics on the internet takes to the keyboard once again! That's right, thus begins the promised and much anticipated tale that will become the best offering of any Persona 5 story out there, regardless of length, pairing or genre. Don't believe me? Well, just read on and you'll see what I mean.
For the skeptical, I encourage you to take a look at my offerings in the aforementioned fandoms, Change of Engagement and Continuance, respectively. There will be points from those stories that will add a bit of context here, and those two works are, in my entirely objective and unbiased opinion, amazing reads in their own right. With such quality right there at your fingertips, why would you not want to give them a shot? Go on and check them out. Don't worry, I'll wait right here.
Next, and certainly not least on the priority list, greetings and salutations to my returning readers and fans; it's wonderful to see you all again. I promised you a P5 tale for the record books, and not only will I deliver, but there'll be twists in here that even you guys, the many beloved who have read my stuff before, won't see coming. Thanks in advance for checking this out, and be ready to have some fun.
On that note, I could wax poetic about how great this story will be, all the depths we're going to plumb and the antics we'll be getting up to thanks to the work that Firion and I have put into it already. I could do that and not one syllable of it would be exaggeration. But instead of blowing hot air, I'd rather just use those words to prove it. Money talks, chatter is cheap, and your time is worth something. So don your tuxedos and evening gowns, dear readers. Pour yourselves a stiff drink, light up a smoke, pick a table or a wheel and let the good times roll. Because this house is open for business.
Down to the Felt
The currents of the Sea of Souls swirled and rushed, driven by the thoughts of mortals. Their desires and fears, their vices and virtues and victories, and their abject moral failures all coalesced and churned in this place between time and space and minds. It was here that Personas and Shadows parried and struck, fighting their eternal battle over the heart of humanity. This was the playground of the gods, where ruled sway that which crude corporeal senses could not comprehend. Were any mortal to look into this place, they would understand it and come away changed, they would refuse it and see nothing, or they would falter and be driven mad.
To Igor, this was the truest face of the world of Man. Their structures and technology were secondary at best to the wars they waged within themselves. They would deny such a thing or hide from it as was so often their wont, but then mortals were fascinating creatures. They could turn from that which was right in front of them simply because they had already decided what they would see and subconsciously filter that which did not conform to that view. Those who saw things as they were and faced the forces of this place ascended to wield Personas, and those were the most fascinating few mortals whom Igor had ever encountered.
It was those mortals who affected even this place, so fluid and inconstant, in indelible ways. Off in the distance he could feel the unshaken firmament that was the Great Seal. Even now, it was a testament to his skill and the Master's ingenuity. It showed no cracks or strain, no matter the maelstrom that raged on this side of it or the utterly furious goddess who fumed on the other. Even at this distance, Nyx's ragings could be heard, so close to the world of Man even as She was barred from it forever.
Igor permitted himself a moment to smile. Yes, the Great Seal was a remarkable achievement even for him, and accolades for what it had achieved went to Master and the Master alone. But Igor had to give credit to his subordinate for her resourcefulness regarding the Wild Card who had been chosen as its base. Such a circumvention of the rules was, he could admit, a brilliant approach. Igor had inquired and investigated, made sure that her actions wouldn't jeopardize anything, and found her work to be exemplary. Elizabeth always was crafty, probably a result of her time among the mortals and her fascination with their ways. That had granted her such a change in perspective that even Igor and the cards hadn't anticipated her actions, and she had done well.
She was, of course, still forbidden from returning to the Velvet Room – the Master's rules were sacrosanct – but Igor could certainly admire smart work.
Now, smart work and human brilliance were needed once again. Igor and the Master had listened to the currents and riptides of collective unconscious and found its recent shift in direction to be disturbing. Changes were to be expected, but this was something else. Something sinister. It didn't feel like their old enemy, not with actions and results this subtle and insidious, but it was still an enemy that had to be confronted. Battle was inevitable, and it would be the mortals who would bear the burden of waging it. A new Wild Card would have to be found. The one who fought Nyx was no longer suitable, for obvious enough reasons, and he who had quelled Izanami was unavailable. The Master's prior picks simply would not do. No, this threat was fresh and unlike any of the others that had been faced, so a similarly unlikely combatant would be needed to fight it. Igor called the arcana to the table and consulted the cards. XVI. X. XIII, VIII and XI, all inverted. What mortal would be most fitting for the task this time? What challenges would he face in the battle for the world of Man?
Footsteps approached. Igor straightened and set the Velvet Room in order with a thought. As the door opened, Igor said, "Greetings. I understand you have an offer for my consideration?"
7 7 7
"Deal!" someone said. "You won't regret this."
Akira watched as the two guys nearby – students, according to their uniforms – shook hands and chatted happily. He hadn't been listening to their conversation, but it seemed to have a positive outcome. Good on them. They shuffled past him and he shifted to get more space in the cramped train car. He'd known that Tokyo was busy, but this was something else. He'd only been to the big city a few times and was always amazed by how many people were here. One of the first lessons to learn was how little personal space people apparently needed, even as they were protective of what little they were afforded.
If that mattered so much to them, why not live somewhere else?
He would get used to it, though. He wouldn't get caught gawking like last time, either. He wasn't going to come across as some country bumpkin again. He'd been training his accent and purging the rural roughness from his speech, so he should seem like a normal everyday teenager this ti–
The train jostled and someone bumped into him. Akira steadied them without a word, and whatever they said in reply was lost in the rattling of hanging handles and the clacking of the train's wheels. For a second he was back in that courtroom. The sentence of the judge had cut through the air, the silent indictment of the attendees was deafening, but what Akira recalled the most was his cuffs, the bite of the metal as he pulled instinctively to get free. The clicks as they closed shut, the slide and clink of the chain, how they let him be mercilessly pulled and taken to pay for a crime he–
He came back to the present with another jolt. He shifted his footing for balance, then straightened his glasses. He discretely rubbed his wrists and pretended that the instant sweat on his brow was from the train being hot.
He was under an A/C vent. It was a while before the trembling subsided.
Akira was mostly back to normal when he got to his stop. He pushed through the crowds at the turnstiles and the tunnels and checked the small, detailed notes he'd made, then verified the directions to where he'd be staying for a while and double-checked the street names. He came out of the train station and into the light at a massive crosswalk. It was packed with people. It wasn't the number of them that stood out to Akira, though there were many more than there were vehicles on the road. No, what jumped out at him the most was how many seemed disconnected from each other. Everyone was watching their phones, watching the building-mounted TV screens, watching the traffic lights, watching out for themselves. They were all fixated on what was in front of them, separate and solitary even while being in the middle of the most populated city in the world, a colossal crowd of isolated specks as numerous and distant as the stars.
With everyone so stuck on their devices and themselves, Akira wondered if these people saw anything they didn't want to. Bad news, a terrible disaster, an incorrect judicial verdict that had changed someone's life, would these people notice? Would they care if they did? Would the truth even register to them if they found it unpleasant enough?
"Blind dolls. They rely on structure and settle for stagnation, not justice. Independent thought challenges them, so they dine on convenient lies. When justice fails and they still won't see the truth, then that truth must become something they cannot look away from."
Akira looked up and around. On one of the massive screens, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a top hat above a ballroom mask and tuxedo. A creature made of fire wore the attire with defiant aplomb and a Cheshire grin, and seemed to be looking right at him with a blue-burning gaze.
When Akira stopped to look back, the TV screen was showing a commercial for Risette's upcoming album. Nothing to do with clothing or fireplaces, and the voice he'd heard – had he heard it or imagined it? – was nowhere to be found. Akira looked at the other TV screens and then back, then confirmed that it must have been in his head. He shook his head, then noticed an odd app on his phone that he didn't remember downloading. He deleted it and adjusted his glasses. "Let that stuff go," he told himself. "They're not here, it's not going to be the same as back there. New place, fresh start, different people, this is a chance to start over. Okay, now, Leblanc…"
The cafe grabbed his attention right as he turned the street corner. The outside was a smooth, inviting front that stood out from the gray walls and streets all around. Market stalls and other shops were open for business, but Leblanc caught the eye as soon as Akira saw it. That was a promising start. Maybe he could get a job here to offset his expenses, or nearby if anyone was hiring. Akira relaxed, wore his first honest smile in a while, and entered.
The place was as classy as the outside suggested. Jarred coffee beans lined the back shelf, the labels in multiple languages were dusted and cleaned with care. The wood of the counter and tables looked polished, the seats seemed the comfortable sort that encouraged relaxation, and the air of the place was enveloped with the fragrance of coffee and curry, of all things. Akira had never encountered that combination before, but it coaxed him in like the lure of a kiss. Even the old TV on the wall and the hanging lights gave the retro aesthetic a sense of character. A lot of work and thought had gone into this place.
It would have stood to reason that somewhere so well tended to would have been busy, but there were just two customers at the far table, chatting with the owner in an apron as he did a crossword. They were talking about the local goings-on from the TV's news broadcast, from the sounds of it. Something about political parties and train problems. Once their conversation ended, the elderly couple rose and left. Akira stood aside to let them by. He noticed the way the woman doted on her husband who held the door open for her with a flourish, the smiles indicative of a love still going strong, and he pushed down the clenching thorns around his heart.
Too soon. Way too soon.
The owner approached. "So you're him, hm?"
Akira turned and smiled respectfully. "That's–"
"I'm Sakura Sojiro." He looked at Akira closely. "Yeah, the picture was right. Not bad for a mug shot. I didn't know anyone in your family had vision problems. You weren't wearing glasses before, were you?"
Akira stiffened, not expecting the gruff introduction. "They're a recent thing."
"Hmph. So, here you are, a country kid in the big city. What'd you do?"
"I was–"
"That wasn't a question. I heard it all from your mother. You assaulted some suit and you're here to serve out your probation on the down low so your folks don't have to be reminded of how you screwed up every time they look at you. Is that about right?"
Akira's smile melted into a scowl. "My parents wouldn't say that."
"Police investigations and criminal charges change people. They probably wanted to spare your feelings, so they didn't say it to your face."
"But they would say it to a stranger? You know my friends and family better than I do? Color me skeptical. I don't remember seeing you at any reunions or family dinners. Fact is, I don't know who you are at all."
Sakura-san smirked unpleasantly. "That was by design. The less of a connection I have to you, the more honest I can be if you step out of line. You're back in court and off to prison if that happens. The police needed a guardian who wouldn't be biased toward you, and the distance is good for everyone involved. Well, everyone other than you, that is."
"That makes you my parole officer then? A pretty judgy one from the sounds of it, or you'd know what a circus my trial was."
"Rules are rules, kid. The less you break them, the less reason people have to come down on you for it."
"And we should be all about following the rules, no matter what they are. You know, this place looks more like a cafe than a halfway house. Is this a one-off for you or do you often take in strays and rejects for the money?"
Sakura-san glared. "Watch your mouth, kid. I'm being paid, but I don't have to put up with your attitude."
"Of course, Sakura-san. Thank you for having me – I'll be in your care." Akira adjusted his glasses, pushing the anger aside and making his face bland. "Is there a place I can put my stuff?"
"Up here. Follow me. It's where you'll be living from now on."
Akira followed him around the corner and up the stairs. This first meeting was going as well as a meat tenderizer course at an open-casket funeral, but so long as he had a decent place to stay, he could manage. It wasn't that hard to get by on very lit–
The room that awaited him stopped even that thought in its tracks.
It was an attic with plenty of space, but it was also the poster shot definition of neglect. A dead plant in a pot greeted him as they reached the top, a narrow window at the far end of the attic let in grimy sunlight, and all around him was the detritus of abandoned projects and careless years of clutter. Shelves, desks, tables and a sofa, everything was covered with a layer of dust thick enough to sleep under. Full plastic bags and a ladder that would have better suited a landfill were propped up with the clear sentiment of, "I'll get to it later." Even what books were there were skewed on corners or left in forgotten piles. Akira noticed that there was a privacy screen on its side behind a shelf near the bed, but when he approached it, he saw that calling it a bed was a monumental overstatement – it was a battered mattress laid out atop empty milk crates. The faintest effort toward cleanliness had been exerted through some plastic sheets being carelessly tossed over a workstation in one corner and a few other spots, as though even concealing what lay beneath from whoever came up here was too much work.
Someone actually paid money to get Akira these accommodations. He wondered what free would have looked like and whether he still had the choice.
Sakura-san cleared his throat impatiently. "Well?"
"It's different."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning the smells are going to be amazing. Curry and coffee is a combination I haven't run into before."
Sakura-san stared suspiciously.
"That was the first thing I thought of when I came in, how great it smells," Akira insisted. "I like curry so it's going to be like heaven."
The owner grunted. "What about coffee?"
"I don't generally drink it, so I wouldn't have enough experience to pick one type from the other."
"I figured. Settle in and be ready to go early tomorrow. We'll get you signed up for school at Shujin."
"Are there cleaning supplies downstairs? Not that this place needs more than a light dusting, but…"
"Of course, but they're for the cafe only. Don't touch them or I'll know. If you want to clean, buy the stuff yourself or pony up the cash and I'll get it for you tomorrow."
Akira looked over, incredulous. "You're charging me to clean up the place you're putting me up in? You said you'd been paid for me to be here, and this is what you're offering?"
"Times are tough, kid. Take it or leave it."
"Then leave it. I'll figure it out myself. And I'm not 'kid.' My name's Kurusu Akira."
"Whatever you say, kid. Be ready in the morning. I won't wait up for you." Sakura-san left without another word.
Akira waited until he heard the door close before he muttered, "Thanks for the warm welcome, old man. You're overpaid." He stepped over to the boxes that contained his clothes and necessities. Sixteen years of his life shipped in a few cubic feet of cardboard. When he opened them, he had to dig for a change of clothes, and in doing so nudged open another, smaller box inside.
He looked away, but not fast enough. A journal was there, pictures of his past life, everything about the last five weeks that he didn't need right now. He shut both boxes and shoved them away harder than they deserved. Then he clenched his fists, counted his breaths, and set out for cleaning supplies with the money he'd brought.
A change of clothes and a quick trip around the block got him what he needed, including a bucket and rags. He was fortunate enough that the old man didn't charge him for the water, but the look he got said it was a close thing indeed. Akira threw himself into cleaning his new quarters, going after the dust like it was the reason he was here, washing the floors with a will like it could wash away Sakura-san's contempt for him. But as though the attic was as uninterested in being clean as its owner was in holding a broom, it resisted his energies at every turn and corner. Despite the sweat Akira put into it, the best he managed was making the small area around the bed livable. He sat on the thin mattress and looked at what was left. That constituted a lot. The room loomed and closed in around him to let him know that he and his efforts were unwelcome.
He'd been getting that feeling a lot lately.
At least he was too tired from the work to think about things. When he lay down, he barely had time to appreciate how bad the bed was before he was asleep.
7 7 7
Fatigue must have made the bed feel less terrible, Akira decided as he woke up. The lumps and bumps had smoothed out, the edges didn't bite as deep, and he didn't have the kink in his neck he was expect–
Only this wasn't the attic. This wasn't the ceiling he fell asleep under.
Akira jerked up, eyes snapping around. No, this wasn't the place he'd been tossed to like so much garbage. It wasn't even his room back home as though everything up to now had been a really bad dream. This was much worse.
He was in a prison cell.
He scrambled out of the narrow cot bolted to the wall and tripped on something that clinked with a loud, damning echo.
It was a chain, he realized in mounting terror. Long, thick, connected at one end to a heavy steel ball, and attached to something closer… closer… to the clasp around his ankle.
He was incarcerated, he distantly realized before his vision swam and undammed fear flooded him. The chain wavered. Not because it was going to disappear, but because the instant sweat he broke into ran down his eyes. Terror took over and he rushed to the bars of the cell door and uselessly tried to pull them open. "Help! Someone, please help! Let me out!"
His voice echoed through the chamber before him, a circle of other cells. All empty. There was nothing else before him, no one to hear him. He was alone in a prison, only having brick walls and other cells to look at. His hands slipped from the sweat, but he banged uselessly on the bars then tried to yank them open, as blind and dumb as a frantic animal.
"I didn't do it! I'm innocent, I was just trying to help… Please, someone, answer me!"
He didn't see the two figures materialize from the ether before him, looking up in amused contempt and just contempt.
"The prisoner has awakened," one noted softly.
Akira's heart was hammering so loud in his ears that he didn't hear them. He barely even registered that they were there, and he definitely couldn't process where they'd come from. He looked around desperately, uselessly, for help. "Dad! Mom! Someone, get me out of here! Let me out!"
"And you're far louder than is permitted," the soft one observed further. "Excuse me, lower your voice please. The rules are clear: you're to keep noise to a minimum."
The words didn't get through the terror that ran through his veins thicker and faster than blood. "I didn't do it! I'm innocent, I swear!"
The other one snapped "Oi! Pipe down!"
The pain of a baton cracking against his fingers made Akira recoil. It was enough to pull him out of his panic. He looked down and saw two girls in prison guard uniforms, one holding a clipboard and the other handling the baton he'd been hit with. Neither looked particularly pleased with him. Before he could question why they were dressed like that and where their parents were, his tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Instinct, some primordial nudge that had saved so many of his ancient ancestors from predators, told him these weren't normal girls. He was in the presence of something very different and very dangerous that happened to look human, and that was enough to cut through the terror.
"That was a bit rough, Caroline," the soft one noted.
Caroline chuffed. "He wasn't listening. Sometimes you need the stick to make them appreciate the carrot, Justine."
"Perhaps. Are you listening now, convict?"
Akira trembled, still adrenalized and looking around for any possible way out. But he could process properly, at least. He formed his words through rattling vocal cords, "Who are you? Where am I?"
"You're a prisoner," Caroline stated flatly, "so you're in prison. And what do we look like? Janitors?"
Those instincts whispered louder, preventing a smart reply.
"You must forgive them," a deep, dry voice stated. "They take their duties quite seriously."
A chair, a desk, and a hunchbacked old man in a foxtail suit materialized in the middle of the room from thin air. He hadn't been there before – not that Akira's panicked perceptions had picked up, anyway – and he wore a wide grin behind his long, vulture-like nose. "Greetings, young man."
Akira shivered. It might have been the residual fear in his bloodstream, but the old man gave the same sense of power as the girls. No, he was worse, and that hadn't seemed possible a moment ago. It was insane, but Akira was momentarily glad for the bars that separated them from him. "Who are you?"
"You may call me Igor. I am the warden of this establishment."
"It's a prison, right? How did I get here? Did you kidnap me from Leblanc?"
Caroline chuffed again. "You really don't know anything, do you, prisoner?"
"His ignorance is to be expected," Justine demurred. "He obviously isn't smart enough to understand these things right away."
"Your body still sleeps in the real world," Igor explained. "This is a place of dreams and the unconscious."
"It's pretty realistic for a dream," Akira commented.
"This is different from the random images and emotions that humans experience after their eyes close. It is quite a bit more than that. Welcome to the Velvet Room."
Akira tempered his breathing, processing what looked and sounded insane. If the stone floor and walls didn't feel so real, if that chain weren't there, he'd truly wonder if he'd lost his mind. "If this is the world of dreams, then why is this place a prison? I wouldn't dream of being in one; that sounds like my worst nightmare. And if it's more than a dream, then why am I here at all? Why have I never come here before, or is this only a thing in Tokyo?"
"We already answered that, convict," Caroline growled.
"Prisons are for the guilty. I'm innocent. I helped someone and I got arrested for it, and that whole trial was a joke. If you'd read my case file you'd know that."
Igor's deep chuckles rolled and echoed through the empty cells around them. "Every villain believes themselves to be the hero. Every criminal professes innocence. You are no different."
"Except I am innocent. I know what I saw and what I did. I didn't break any laws."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps those who make the laws decided otherwise. If they do, who can say that they are wrong? Laws are enforced by society, society must be just, and justice is right, is it not? Therefore the laws and their execution can only be correct, regardless of your feelings."
That was the very spiral Akira had been stuck in since his arrest. He said nothing.
"This world is driven by perception," Igor continued, "not hardened reality. It is not so different from your world of Man, and many of the same rules apply. You are perceived to be guilty, and so you are serving your sentence as the guilty must. This location and your place in it are therefore quite appropriate."
"You mean I'm stuck here?"
"No. There is a greater use you may serve for us."
Bile and Akira's hackles rose. "You're the turnkey, so apparently you'll enforce the punishment whether or not I did anything wrong. Why should I help you? Are you going to let me out or appeal my case or something if I do?"
"No. The verdict has been reached and your sentence has been decided."
"Sounds like a good reason to stay right here and catch up on my sleep, then."
Caroline slammed the bars with her baton. "You do as we say, convict! Remember who you are!"
Akira jumped back and shook, but he grinned through the fear. "I don't work well when people push me. You saw me before, right? I panic and cry and hide in the corner until the monster goes away. I wouldn't be able to help you or Igor-san if that happened, would I?"
Caroline growled but Igor chuckled again, the sound reverberating in the ribcage. "A fair point. Here are the deal's conditions. You are to do something for us because you have the potential to do so. A great evil approaches, in this world and in yours. You have the chance and ability to avert it. That is what we want."
Akira scoffed. "Are you serious? A great evil? What am I supposed to do about that?"
"You will see when the time comes. You might even say that you won't have a choice in the matter."
"I've been in Tokyo for a day and I haven't met any great evils yet. Haven't heard about one on the news, either, so this is a hard sell for me."
Igor gestured and several cards appeared from nowhere, hovering in the air. Tarot cards. "Perhaps not yet, but you will. That die has been cast already, and your fate was sealed with it."
"I'm just a guy. Hell, I just got here. What am I supposed to do in this place when I can't get anywhere without a map?"
"Your potential is far greater than you think. It is enough that you have a chance at facing the threat and averting the disaster that it promises. I would not have summoned you otherwise, that would not be an economical use of my time."
"So I can fight it, but I don't know how or with what yet? That's great." Akira leaned back. "You still haven't told me what I get if I help you. If I'm fighting this great evil, which you apparently can't or won't deal with yourself, then I want something in return."
"To think that our chosen one wants payment for helping his fellow man," Justine murmured. "Master, are we certain this is the right person?"
"Put yourself in my shoes. Would you trust the word of someone who put you in this situation?"
"Trust is irrelevant. Life's only absolute is duty."
Igor spoke up. "The purpose of this place is to rehabilitate the inmates. Fighting this evil will show your willingness to cooperate with our laws. I cannot promise you freedom, but concessions can be made for good behavior."
The way the old man said 'rehabilitate' and 'good behavior' made Akira's skin crawl.
Igor looked aside, his eyes momentarily distant, before he straightened. "But our time is up for now. We will continue this discussion another night."
The words rang through the room and grew louder and harder with every echo. The noise ramped up until it filled Akira's ears with a steady, strident ringing tone. He clenched his hands to his ears and closed his eyes, but opened them to the ceiling of the attic. The noise was his phone alarm going off for the morning. He bolted up and looked around, touching things and closing and reopening his eyes until he assured himself he wasn't in that place anymore. No walls or bars or kids in cosplay. He was back in Leblanc, and the place was still filthy. He checked his ankles twice. Both times there was no ball and chain.
He flopped back, exhaling hard. "What a night." He shut off the phone and checked the date. That odd app was back, and once he deleted it again, he assured himself that it was April 10th. "Was that a dream?" Then he noticed how clammy his skin was, how his pajamas clung to him like he'd been sweating in them. And his knuckles were sore to flex where Caroline hit them.
It hadn't been a dream. Not completely. And if that hadn't been, then maybe…
He groaned as he got up. He rubbed his face and looked at his glasses. They'd been a change he'd adopted after being sentenced, the smallest show of rebellion that he'd been permitted. His trial and the verdict had been a farce, but if he was going to suffer stigmatization and exile then he would do it on his terms. So he went and got the biggest, dorkiest, least flattering pair of glasses he could find. They were the first thing anyone saw when looking at him, they changed the profile of his face into something soft and bland, and the lenses were thick enough to detract from people looking him in the eye. Being non-prescription, they didn't impede his vision any, but they were his mask, his deception for anyone who saw him. For so long as he was subjected to this facade, he would wear them. It had been the hope that he'd meet new people that he could take them off around here in Tokyo, but so far all he'd gotten was Igor, those girls, and Sakura-san.
He grunted. Speaking of the old man, there was no sense in being late and dealing with more of his attitude. Akira dressed in his ugly uniform – a blind guy who hated kids couldn't have picked worse colors – and got ready to go to his new school. Aside from being sentenced for a crime he didn't commit, banished from his hometown and shunned by everyone he knew, and standing just a step away from being incarcerated with a criminal record, he was, after all, just a normal student attending a normal school.
7 7 7
Shujin Academy reminded Akira of a prison. Gray walls, heavy front gates and uniformity to the windows, the square corners and blocky architectural style, it all had the sense of being made to withstand criticism and resentment and keep people in until the powers within decided to let them out.
Even the motto on the plaque on the front gate, "True freedom exists within the constructs of society," had a heavy pall to it, not unlike the weight of a closing cell door.
Akira hoped that this impression was just a residual effect of his dream. It probably was. Most students thought that way about any school they went to – he certainly had back home. Akira had particular reason to compare his probation circumstances to enforced detainment, after all, so maybe he was just overthinking it. Schools were schools no matter where you went, they were all there to do the same thing and had the same sorts of people to facilitate that. Shujin would be just the same. The odds were as good as not that he'd meet new people and make friends and that all of this would be fine, after all.
"Are you coming?" Sakura-san groused, leading him in.
Akira followed obediently, looking around as he entered. The trophies in the cases, the academic awards of faculty and students, the shine they all reflected spoke of the attention given to accomplishment. There was even an Olympic medal for sports, calling to mind the athletics program that the school boasted on its website. The interior was polished and clean and spacious, the list of accomplished alumni was long and distinguished, and there were enough floors and classrooms that a newcomer should be able to blend in and disappear if he wanted. Another chance to do just that, a fresh start in a place where Akira could do whatever he set his mind to.
But then he caught a few students looking at him and whispering. He couldn't hear them well and they stayed back in passing. Akira turned the corner and stopped, edging back and listening for their voices.
"Yeah, that's totally him," one said. "He's got glasses on, but that's the guy. You heard the rumors, right?"
"That he was in a gang?" Asked another.
"Yeah, and he got busted with drugs and assaulted two cops when they brought him in. He looks like a dork, but don't let that fool you. I heard he's seriously bad news."
"Son of a bitch," a third muttered. "My cousin's in the police. If this guy goes after him…"
Akira kept walking and ground his teeth. So much for making a first impression, someone had done that for him. He knew how classroom gossip went. Rumors this potent would circulate like a virus, and could stick around just as long.
There wasn't any explanation needed for this. There wasn't even any other possibility. Someone who had access to his records had talked trash about him, then they'd put the slander on the widest circuit imaginable. Now the students were feeding on lies with far more gusto than they would any palatable truth, and they wouldn't hear of a correction or even care if there was one to offer – those dedicated to the gift of the gab would do anything to avoid issuing a retraction.
Akira's fresh start was going stale right before his eyes.
He went and caught up before the old man could chew him out. He was interested in knowing who was behind this.
Once they got to the main office, however, he got some answers, a brick wall, and a whole lot of attitude.
Principal Kobayakawa stared from above his many chins after the introductions had been made. "We know your type, and we have contingencies in place. The relevant teachers know your history and the terms of your attendance, for our own safety and that of the students."
"Safety?" Akira repeated. "Do I look dangerous?"
"You'd have to be to have your kind of record. I was apprised of your academic history and the conditions of your transfer from your previous principal. I've also spoken to your probation officer. I know the stakes we're facing in taking you in and the risk you offer to us. We're not taking any chances – we have a reputation to consider."
Akira bit the inside of his cheek, stopping from saying just what he thought of their reputation. "So far the only people you've mentioned who have my information are the teachers. What about the students? How many of them were told what a threat I am?"
"None. They don't know anything."
"Except they do. I heard it on the way in. Gang involvement, drug possession, and assaulting a police officer were mentioned. If you know my file then you know that none of those charges are in it. I'm pretty sure I don't know anyone here, faculty or administration, so how did your students hear about me?"
"You must be mistaken," Akira's homeroom teacher, Kawakami-sensei, answered shortly. "We value the privacy of our students, even those with sordid pasts like yours. We hold ourselves to a higher standard than that. No one on our staff leaked your information, so if people know about you, it must have come from someone else."
"No one at all? You'd have to know every one of the teachers for certain to make that claim, so do you know every person on staff?"
"I do have other things to do in my day besides look after your admission conditions, Kurusu-san," she answered peevishly.
"So it's possible that someone in administration or the faculty said something, even by accident. Doing it knowingly would be leaking the private information of a minor, which is illegal, but accidents do happen. If that's the case, fair enough, I just want to make sure that whoever did it can set the record straight."
"There isn't a record to set straight because none of us talked to anyone about you to the students," she insisted. "If you heard rumors, and they are being spread around here as you're saying, then they must have come from someone other than our staff. Students can say what they want within Shujin's guidelines, which means we don't have anything to look into or any apology to give out." She gave him a jaundiced stare. "Maybe you know someone here and you just don't know it yet. Or maybe you spread the rumors to make yourself seem like the victim."
"This is my first day here, I only got into town yesterday, and you think I'd do that? When would I've had the time?"
"People do all sorts of things if they think they'll get ahead. Some thrive on negative attention, and students have made false accusations before – that's not unique to us."
"Quite a student body you have here if that's common behavior."
Kawakami-sensei rolled her eyes. "Try to think of the people who have to go to bat for you, Kurusu-san. It's not any easier for us to cover for you and the chance you've been given. Excuse me, for the chance we've had to give you – no one else would take you. Maybe you should be a bit more grateful for being here at all."
To not just say that about a student, but to throw it in his face. Akira knew exactly where he stood here. He turned to his new guardian. "I'll fit in perfectly here, Sakura-san. It'll be just like home."
The old man gave a cold look. "Only if your mouth doesn't get you expelled first. Try shutting it for a minute."
"That's good advice," the principal stated impatiently. "Unless there are any other matters to discuss – genuine ones, not false accusations – then we can conclude this meeting."
Kawakami-sensei pushed a bag of books toward him. "Here're the texts and your curriculum. Know it for tomorrow – we're not going to slow the classes down to get you up to speed. Welcome to Shujin."
Akira took them and said nothing.
"We took you in under protest," Kobayakawa stated, threading his sausage-link fingers. "No one else wanted you either, but we were the last ones asked. By law, we didn't have a choice. We have the number of your case worker if you act up and we won't tolerate any disobedience. Is that clear?"
Akira stared back. "Clear as crystal."
"Then we are done."
Kawakami-sensei grimaced. "See you tomorrow, if you bother showing up."
"I wouldn't miss it, Sensei. Being in such a sought-after school will be the chance of a lifetime. Thank you for your consideration." The bow he gave was deeply polite, offsetting any sarcasm.
"If that's all, we'll get out of here," Sakura-san said. They left, and the old man growled, "You had to push their buttons, didn't you? You realize they're doing you a favor, right?"
Akira shot back, "Someone leaks my file to the student body at large and you're blaming me for it? Doesn't it matter if a crime is committed and what it might mean going forward? What kind of an experience am I supposed to have here when they poisoned the well like that? Or is this what you meant before, don't get the suits angry and just live with my head down and my mouth shut?"
"That's the better choice a lot of the time, kid. Big people carry big hammers and they'll put you in the ground if you give them a reason to."
"And even when you don't, it seems. Which sounds like an abuse of authority, but who's keeping track of that?"
Whatever Sakura-san was about to say was cut off by his phone going off. He glared at Akira before answering. "Yeah? Mm hm, okay, I'll be there in a minute." He hung up and looked over. "We're done here. Time to go."
"Friend of yours? Or was that my case worker, looking to add some new charges to the stack?"
"Cut the jokes, kid. You coming or not?"
"Not. I want to walk around and get a feel for this place first, maybe meet a few of my new classmates." And see if there were any who didn't already have something unpleasant to say about him.
Sakura-san asked, "How're you getting back?"
"The subway, and the bus if that's out again." Akira looked over, face intentionally bland behind his glasses. "Don't worry, I know how to read a map. I'll make it back in one piece. Worst case, I have a phone and money for a cab if I get lost."
Sakura-san grunted. "Good. Be at Leblanc before I close up."
The old man turned and was out the doors when Akira muttered, "Wouldn't want anything to happen to your investment, now would we?" He shook his head and stepped lightly through the halls, trying to shed his bad mood. Crises were the kissing cousins of opportunities, or something like that, so there had to be something positive to find here. The school layout was simple and straightforward to follow, and in short order he found himself on the third-year floor and at the library.
It was as spacious as the halls, and he smiled as the familiar smell of books reached him. He'd always liked the library of any school he'd attended, even if he'd frequently mixed his study time with the most recent manga issue. It was good to take a break and blend entertainment with his education, after all. Akira nodded to the librarian student on duty and checked out the selection of his favorite series, along with any reference material he might need. There was a lot he was already familiar with and even more that he wasn't. The whole place was easily twice the size of the library back home, and he quickly found himself on familiar ground as he read the book titles.
A shuffling behind him caught his ear. He wasn't sure why it stood out enough to hear, the sound was hardly unusual in a place where people studied, but he glanced over his shoulder.
And looked properly.
Her back was to the nearby open window, and the sun lit her profile better than any stage light. The pins on her uniform top indicated she was a third-year, her neck was arched just so, and the smoothness of her skin drew the eye up to jaw-length brown tresses. He wondered if they were as soft as they appeared, and on a closer look he noticed the headband that kept her hair in a style that was, to him, functional and fashionable at the same time. He didn't realize he liked that look until he saw it on her, and now he liked it a lot. She was reading from one of the books on the table she had to herself, a black and white pencil case nearby resembling some sort of bear figure he didn't recognize, and the way she handled the pages as she read suggested the soft touch of someone who valued and respected books. When she leaned over to take notes with long, slender fingers, Akira was sure he saw that her eyes were red. Not some mix of brown that caught the light on an angle, but definitely red. He'd never seen that color, and found that he liked it just as much as he liked the rest of her.
On that note, the rest of her was pretty easy to look at. Slender without being skinny, long legs tapering up to nice hips, and what looked like enough up top to be a good handful without so much that she looked like she'd gone to fat. Her uniform wasn't particularly flattering, but even it couldn't hide a fine, feminine figure.
What a catch. He'd found the first positive thing about this place.
Akira was bumped into just then by a third-year. "Sorry," was the apology in a tone that was clearly anything but. "Didn't see you there."
That had been more than just a bump. If Akira wasn't in the habit of checking his balance, he might have gone over. As it was, he planted himself and turned to the speaker. "You're short a few inches on me," he answered quietly, pretending to look at the books nearby. "I can see why you wouldn't see me. Keep an eye out next time – someone else might take it personally."
"Watch it, new guy," the student muttered. "You're a stranger here. You'd better get to know the rules pretty quick. And keep your eyes to yourself; she's out of your league."
"Whose league is she in?"
"Not yours. Not any one of ours. She's got the brains to go places, which is why she's been the student council president the last two years in a row, and she doesn't need to deal with someone like you. You're just trouble to us and less than nothing to her. Got it?"
"What are you, her brother, trying to scare me off like this? I'm not seeing the family resemblance, so I'm guessing you're more like a guard dog looking for a bone. Or maybe a lap; that would be more your size."
The student sneered. "Last warning, new kid. Watch it. I'm someone who knows you don't belong here, like all of us do. Pushers and abusers don't belong anywhere."
"Someone's been lying about me. Who told you that I dealt anything or hurt anyone?"
"Doesn't matter. Everyone knows about you, and that doesn't happen if it's not true. Know your place and get into it – no one wants you here."
Right then and there, Akira had it. Being chased out of his hometown and thrown to the city, getting called a criminal by complete strangers, and putting up with everyone's bullshit before he could even defend himself broke his sense of restraint as loudly as the last wooden beam supporting the orphanage roof. He was done taking this crap from Sakura-san, those girls and Igor, the principal and Kawakami-sensei, and now the other students and everyone else every time he turned around when he knew full well that he didn't deserve it. People would believe whatever they wanted, but now they were lining up shots at him purely because they knew they could get away with it.
This was his first day at his new school. If he was going to be judged more by what he didn't do than by what he did, then he wasn't going to just kneel and take it.
He smiled at the student, told him, "Duly noted," and padded over to where the brunette sat. Without an invitation, he took a seat across from her in the only chair that didn't have a person or books in it. He glanced at what was in her queue, and the titles were the sort that he only recognized because he knew the material was advanced even by third-year standards. She was a smart girl.
Angry muttering buzzed around the room like so many bees. Students of all three years hovered around shelf corners and by the door, prickling his skin with their stares. Akira ignored them and smirked as the librarian hushed everyone.
The girl looked up as he pulled his books out and started reading his class curriculum. She cleared her throat, then once more, louder. Akira met her eyes, appearing surprised that she was talking to him.
"Do you need me for something?" she asked in a soft voice that was just the right cadence of low and smooth and girly.
A more desperate guy would have handed her a phonebook and begged her to start reading.
While Akira quite liked her voice – as well as the gentle angles of her face, the cute way her nose swept down, and the soft pink bow of her lips – he just smiled blandly and shook his head.
She waited for him to answer verbally, and when he didn't she continued. "Was there a reason you picked this table?"
Another shake of the head.
"You're a second-year. Are you having trouble with the material?"
A shrug this time.
"Are you not speaking for a reason? Is this some sort of joke?"
A second shrug.
She was starting to sound irritated. "There are other tables. Ones that don't have anyone at them. Why are you sitting here?"
He pulled a pen out and tapped his books.
Those red eyes – they were indeed a deep, rich red – narrowed and her voice rose. "I understand that you are reading, but I'm asking you, why are you doing it here?"
"Shhhh." Akira held a finger to his lips for effect. "We're in a library, Senpai. Not so loud."
She closed her mouth, looking around to see if he'd just kept her from getting into trouble. The discontented buzzing got louder until the librarian shooed the guilty parties out. Those who remained glared vindictively at him, but kept it quiet. Those who found themselves out in the hallway looked around the door corners or through the windows at him with stares promising pain.
Akira let the attention slide around him. He was apparently a criminal, so he may as well live up to some part of the reputation. This wouldn't phase someone with a record for trafficking and assault. He read through the class material and took notes from his books, getting up to speed on what he needed to know, and made as little noise as possible. The girl across the table looked at him a few times, clearly wondering what had inspired a complete stranger to sit across from her, but she found him unobtrusive enough that she went on with her own studies. In short order, they were turning pages and taking notes in solitude together.
All the while, the mutterings persisted. Akira adjusted his glasses and hid his smile. Good. It was out of his control if his classmates were going to talk about him, but if people wanted to spread rumors then they owed it to him to get at least one thing right.