Persona 5: Daywatch

Friday, 29 April 2016
Evening
Ore No Beko Beef Bowl

Akira let out a heavy breath, then hung up his hat and apron on the hook in the tiny room serving as the office and staff break room in back of the beef bowl shop. Wiping his forehead with a rough paper towel, Akira tossed it into the trash and pulled out his school satchel. "Damn, I don't remember food service being that taxing."

Morgana hopped up on the chair in front of the desk. "But you kept up until closing. Not bad for your first time at a new place."

Swinging the cubby-style locker closed, Akira took off his glasses to clean a lens flecked with sauce an hour ago. "And that paycheck in my account's gonna help a lot. I was hoping on hearing something going on in Shibuya, but no such luck."

Morgana smiled, tail swishing like an expectant predator. "You can't expect to strike pay dirt every time."

Akira set the satchel down for his currently feline companion to get in. "True. I just feel like we're on a time limit and I can't see the counter."

Friday, 29 April 2016
Late Evening
Yongen Bath House

Akira set his folded shirt on top of the stack in the battered, green-painted locker. The sound of running water in the other room competed with the sound of traffic leaking in through the front door, the air tinged with vinegar and cleaning chemicals. Undoing his belt, before he could slide his trousers off his phone buzzed. Growling, Akira pulled it out to see a group chat.

Ryuji already had a line submitted. [Phantom Thieves. Just the sound of it rocks!]

Ann's icon pulsed for a moment. [You were the one who came up with the name, Ryuji. As long as we help people, it's good.]

Pursing his lips, Akira mulled over the mysterious website they all discovered days ago. [Who set up that Phantom Aficionado Website? I know how to handle my smart phone, but I'm no tech-head.]

[Ask Mishima,] Ann texted. [I remember him talking about web design to Shiho. She was just smiling and nodding, but he seemed to know what he was talking about. That or he knew someone who did.]

Ryuji's icon blinked. [What about the poll responses? 'Do you believe in the Phantom Thieves?']

Akira sighed and sat down on a stool. [I'm not a politician. That's more… who was that guy we walked past in Station Square?]

Ann popped up next. [Either way, sixty percent seems low to me when we stole his heart.]

[Well, consider how low the site traffic is,] Akira reminded her. [Not even two thousand visitors, and I'll bet most of those are victims from Shujin and other students who heard straight from them. There's not even a link to it from the school website. I'm amazed either number is that high.]

Ryuji blinked as three dots indicated a message in composition for a moment. [Dude, when did you become an optimist?]

[I'm just trying to take an objective look at it. Maybe it's just a lot easier to do that since seeing Father Sugiyama.]

Ryuji's icon blinked again. [But for real. Imagine how cool it would be if we got lots more people coming to us.]

Snorting, Akira sent, [Popularity is for needy, washed-up idols like Kanami. I just want to find the next person living on the suffering of everyone in Shibuya.]

Ann texted next, [I get what you're saying, but I think Ryuji's got a point too. The more people who know us, the more likely somebody will point us at one of those big fish we're looking for.]

Saturday, 30 April 2016
Lunchtime
Shujin, Kobayakawa's Office

Makoto closed the door behind her, paced to the principal's desk, then drew herself into a formal, attentive posture. Her mind buzzed trying to calculate the reason for this meeting. No student-council-related matters pressed for attention. Bullying incidents plummeted, though the students involved might all still be in shock over Kamoshida's confession earlier that week. The plain-clothes detectives still interviewing staff had the gossipers buzzing, but now that the police were involved the case was in their jurisdiction. "You wished to see me, Principal Kobayakawa?"

Shifting some papers aside, the obese man in a mustard suit looked up at Makoto. "You saw the state Kamoshida-kun was in?"

Makoto only just held in a sigh. This sounded just like the rumor-mongers in the halls. "You mean in that assembly he called?"

"Exactly," Kobayakawa said, rubbing his chin with an unfocused look in his eyes. "I've known that man for years, and he's never groveled. Something shady must be going on."

Makoto clasped her hands behind her back, fidgeting with her fingers. For a moment, she considered asking about the horrible rumors about Kamoshida. That the things he confessed about Takamaki and Suzui, the rumors about more of the same went back… maybe even before Kiriko-san transferred.

Her eyes fell to the floor for a moment.

Kiriko-san. Her grades weren't as good as Makoto's, but her involvement as president of the music club and chess team, as well as treasurer in the student council, made her something of a rival. But on the eve of her expected announcement to become a starter on the volleyball team, she stopped going to all her clubs and went from one of Shujin's most popular students to a recluse, avoiding teachers and students alike. It should have been Kiriko's unstoppable step into yet another step into another sector of Shujin, and would have guaranteed her the spot of student council president this year.

Makoto shook her head. Dwelling on the past wouldn't help her. "I… I'm not sure I understand, sir."

"Well, a lot of rumors have been flying all over the school." Kobayakawa dabbed at his sweat-beaded forehead. "It's disrupting daily operations, but some of them have me very worried. Some students may have meddled with him, but who? And how?"

Opening her mouth, Makoto caught herself before she could question why they should look into it if his confession was real. Sae may not have mentioned it in a while, but 'fruit of the poisoned tree' could ruin an entire case even if the true perpetrator was caught. "You think some students threatened Kamoshida-sensei? Blackmailed him?"

Kobayakawa nodded. "Students are supposed to trust their teachers, so the teachers can guide the students. If somebody's gone so far as to attack such a respected figure as Kamoshida, any of the students or faculty could be vulnerable! And what might they be threatened into?"

Makoto nodded, unwilling to contradict the principal but unable to keep from seeing how all those hushed rumors lined up with the confession.

The principal held up his hands. "This could be very important for the safety and stability of this fine academy. I want you to look into this for me, even if it involves looking into student matters."

Makoto tightened her hands behind her back. "Are you saying there may be some truth to those Phantom Thief rumors?"

Lips pursing, Kobayakawa took his chin in hand. "Kamoshida did change somehow, but what I don't know is the cause. If I don't know that, how can I handle the media or police correctly?"

"Oh." Makoto exhaled, feeling her spirit deflate somewhat as well. She couldn't think of an angle to criticize his practical reasoning, but it didn't seem very responsible. Especially with the ongoing reports of students getting caught up in scams in Shibuya.

As if sensing her thoughts, Kobayakawa gave a reassuring smile. "Your grades and conduct are impeccable, and your teachers have nothing but praise for you. If you could solve this mystery, I have no doubt that we could have a glowing recommendation for any college you desire, Niijima Makoto."

Makoto stiffened.

"Your sister holds a lofty position at the Public Prosecutors' Office, yes?" he asked in the tone of somebody who knew the answer and wanted to take the conversation somewhere.

Makoto swallowed and nodded, unsure why the room felt hotter than before.

Still with his plastic smile, Kobayakawa finished, "If something were to happen here, we wouldn't want it to reflect poorly on her, would we?"

Feeling a drop of sweat trickle down the back of her neck, she said, "Of course not, sir."

Kobayakawa relaxed. "What a capable and intelligent student council president. I look forward to you uncovering the truth behind this as soon as possible."

Makoto fidgeted with her fingers behind her back for a moment, wondering if she should press about the fraud and scam concerns in Shibuya.

A cell phone rang. He pulled open a drawer and drew a small, black flip-phone. His eyes fell on her, something tense and bleak in them. "Thank you, Niijima." He opened the call and lifted it to his ear. "Kobayakawa." She stepped out the door. "Yes, sir, I apologize for the trouble when you are so busy. About the matter we discussed earlier…"

She closed the door and let out a tense breath.

Saturday, 30 April 2016
After School
Shujin, Class 2-D

The bell rang and Chunou-sensei paused to glare at the speaker in the corner of the room for interrupting her. Her eyes swept over the class, slowing at a few of the students, before she let out a defeated sigh. "Fine, go on home."

A cheer rose up and some of the students shot out of class. Akira set his books into a neat stack, then glanced to his left at a clatter. Ann bent down to pick up pencils and lipstick knocked off in her haste. Finishing packing his own, he paused to let Morgana slip into his school satchel and slipped through the desks to Ann. "You going somewhere?"

Her right eye squinted a little in the tense, apologetic way she did. "Yeah, I've got a shoot today. And I was going to go up to see Shiho tomorrow. Sorry."

Akira held up a hand. "No, it's okay. Message me if Suzui-san wakes up."

Ann gave a firm nod, then speed-walked out.

He managed to get up the stairs and halfway to the library when his phone went off. Akira sighed and leaned against the wall to check it.

A text message from Ryuji bounced in his inbox. [Yo, buddy. You got some time?]

[I was just going to get some studying in. You could always use a boost to your academic rank.]

Ryuji's reply came fast. [Man, I could study for days and it wouldn't help. At this point I'm happy to pass.]

Morgana sighed and slouched against Akira's shoulder. "Why am I not surprised?"

Ryuji added, [They finally fixed Gun About down at the Gigolo arcade in Shibuya. You should come. If we ever pick up a solid lead on that drug thing you warned us about, you need to know how to shoot.]

Akira ground his teeth, thumbs slamming into his smart phone. [My marksmanship was not THAT bad.]

[Dude, your first volley hit Ann, and monster-shida was a freaking barn.]

Sighing, Akira conceded defeat. [Point taken. I'll be there in fifteen.]

Putting away his phone, Akira jogged down to the train station. The usual press of people crammed against him even after disgorging from the train at Shibuya, but he managed to get to the arcade without starting a fight. Older men filled the pachinko machines at the front, and he shook his head as he proceeded to the arcade game section in the back.

Ryuji spotted him first, and waved from a tall game platform.

Akira came to a stop, noting four controllers at two pedestals in front of a projector screen, thick cables connecting them to the game station. The pedestal to the left held cradles for two pistols, the other for two rifles.

Ryuji held one of the rifles, a broad grin on his face as his friend walked up. "Check it out. One of the most realistic shooters without needing paint balls." He quivered in anticipation, his smile growing almost to a manic state. "It's awesome!"

Lifting the pistol controller in the pedestal in front of him, Akira tested the weight and balance. "So how's it any different than those home console guns?"

Ryuji presented his rifle. "See how it's got this?" He jiggled the rifle controller to shake the cable. "That ain't just for power. It's also got an air hose. Depending on the kinda gun you select, it'll run air up through here," he pointed along the gun, "so it shakes just like real recoil. Oh, and if you run out of your clip, you don't shoot off the screen like those sissy arcades."

Akira snorted. "There are games where you shoot off the screen to reload? What sense does that make?"

Ryuji's smile grew to disturbing proportions, but faded as he set into teaching the system. "For real! I'm playin' around with an assault rifle today, but I usually play close-in maps with a shotgun setup." He pointed to a square button at the bottom of the grip. "These rifles are like the pistols – or SMGs if you pick that – you just slap the magazine well here to reload. Shotguns have a couple different ways to go depending on which one you have, my favorite has a tube mag so I have to hit this little panel on the side." Ryuji flipped his controller over to point at a black, rectangular panel set in the bright blue plastic. "To move, just step on those pedals," he pointed down at bottom of terminal, "and just step off 'em to take cover."

Akira looked at the pistol controller. "Wow, that's a lot of effort for a game."

Ryuji's grin reappeared. "Ain't it? C'mon, the terminals take all kinds'a cards so you don't even need to buy tokens."

Kneeling closer to the card reader, Akira pulled out his wallet and shot a brief glare at his running compatriot. "You know I'm also paying for our medical, right?"

Ryuji tilted his head. "Didn't you say you were checkin' out a buyer?"

"Yeah," he said, authorizing a few games and standing up. "But I haven't had time to meet him yet. Sakura-san just okayed me going out at night, and I'd rather not he find out I was doing anything other than working. At least for right now."

Ryuji nodded. "I getcha. Let's go back and play the grassy knoll. It's pretty easy, but Gun About doesn't have much of a tutorial. It's more a pick-up-and-play."

Akira picked an SMG and read what little instructions the game gave about using the controller. He joined Ryuji in a level walking down an inner-city park like Inokashira, but without the lake. They ran through it again another time, then went through a steel mill with two robots fighting in the background.

"Okay," Ryuji said with a comfortable grin. "You seem to be pickin' it up. Let's step out of skirmish and see how you do against some real players. Let's take the factory warehouse. There's plenty of cover there, and it's got more ammo drops than most other maps."

Akira followed Ryuji's avatar through the crate-filled warehouse strewn with forklifts. Despite the quick pace, Ryuji's snap shots landed home every time and Akira found himself focusing on stragglers until they came to a player with a slender gas-mask over his face, its faceplate reflecting red light. No matter how many times he blasted a burst from his SMG into him, the player ducking in and out of cover kept up a quick advance. "What the hell is up with this guy?" His screen turned red and 'insert credits to continue' rose out of the dark.

Ryuji's teeth ground and his glare at the screen turned murderous. "You." He pulled the rifle controller to his shoulder and unloaded burst after burst into the gasmasked goon jumping and weaving around cover. The enemy player blasted Ryuji's with a shotgun and the screen went red.

Ryuji kicked the pedestal. "Damn! I almost had enough points to buy a ballistic vest. I hate that shit-head."

Akira's brow arched as he watched the screen. "Why is he crouching on top of your character, standing back up, and crouching again?"

Ryuji turned away from the screen. "It's tea-bagging. Dude, you really don't keep up with shooter game culture. Doin' that's like flippin' someone off an' pissin' on his corpse."

Scratching his chin, Akira set his controller back in its cradle on the pedestal. "How'd he even get to you? I'm not too proud to admit your aim is way better than mine ever will be. There is no way he could've gotten through both of us without getting hit. Especially when you gave up taking cover to unload into him."

Ryuji leaned his hip against the pedestal and breathed in deep. "He's got some kind of cheater armor or somethin'. I try different points every time I see him, but he kills an' griefs anyone he runs across. Well, almost anyone. I heard The King survived once." He turned back around and swiped his card over the reader to start playing the game again.

"You and your gun obsession need to see a therapist."

Ryuji stood straight, giving a hooded stare. "It's just appreciation, dude. I bet The King's some ex-special forces hot-shot with thirty years of experience."

Akira slipped the controller back into its cradle. "I think I'll head back to Yongen."

"What, you're done after just two games?" Ryuji flashed him a mocking smirk. "My main man, you need to up your game if you wanna impress the ladies."

Akira shot him a flat stare.

Ryuji rolled his shoulder. "Or just not embarrass yourself at the next Palace."

Akira picked the controller back up. "Let's do it. Show me these mad skills you think you have."

Smirking, Ryuji shouldered his rifle controller. "Heh. Kneel and eat my lead." His eyes popped wide open. "That sounded less dirty in my head."

Saturday, 30 April 2016
Evening
Shibuya, Central Street

Akira marched out of 777 Convenience, the unrelenting sound of the city hammered into his ears. Cars beeped and rumbled down nearby streets and a helicopter buzzed overhead. He grit his teeth and shoved his hands in his pockets, the noise alone an assault even before the crowd that never quit.

His stomach growled, a churning demand in his torso warring with his plan to flee to the relative quiet and solitude of Yongen. Big Bang Burger glowed from across the street, beckoning him through the horde.

With a concrete destination, Akira forced his way through the crowd, ignoring noises of protest until he got inside. Catching his breath in the line, he ordered a pair of burgers, looked in at the crammed seating, then decided to take his chances finding quiet on a side-street.

The instant he stepped outside, a clump of people crashed into him like a wave against a shipwreck survivor. He could've sworn the streaming crowds even pulled his air away with them. Pushed this way and that, his desperate hindbrain took over and he found himself taking the lightest streams and first side streets available. Still assailed by the sound of people so strong it wrapped around his heart and pulsed like eurobeat, he followed further down the dark side streets.

At last, he came to a place with no foot-traffic to compete with him, the sound of the city distant if still surrounding him on all sides. A utility road between a commercial property and the perimeter wall of a residential area snaked down the terrain ahead of him, and he spotted a person huddled against one of the concrete poles holding up power lines. "Hey."

The down-on-his-luck man in ratty pants and a worn, hooded parka jerked awake. He shot a momentary fearful glance up at Akira. "Huh?"

Stomach still clenching from the crowd, he looked down at his two burgers. Something prodded him from inside and snatches from Father Motoori's sermons surfaced in his mind. Akira held one of the wrapped burgers at the ragged-dressed man huddling against the wall. "Hungry?"

The homeless man's eyes lit up and he shuffled closer, but paused. Suspicious eyes locked onto Akira's. "For what?"

The transfer student shrugged. "Tell me about Shibuya. How you got here." He left the hand holding the burger steady.

A long, wary moment passed before the homeless man looked between the paper-wrapped burger and Akira before snatching and unwrapping it, lifting it to look inside as if expecting some kind of gotcha. Satisfied, he put it back together before taking a deep bite, savoring the flavor for long seconds before chewing and swallowing.

That hurdle over with, Akira opened his and bit into his burger.

The homeless man sighed and looked down at his food. "I used to be a respectable artist once."

Akira scanned the unfortunate drifter. "Sculptor?"

The homeless man raised an offended eyebrow. "No, real art. Painting. I spent years under the mentorship of…" He turned a melancholic stare to his burger and took a modest bite.

Akira chewed, waited, swallowed, then waited some more. "Well, who?"

"Madarame." The artist's gaze turned wistful. "The great neo-classical Japanese Painter. There were a couple of us at his workshop." He shuffled position to sit comfortably against the property wall, eyes in distant memory. "Oh, we'd make amazing paintings like even Heizou would've struggled to create."

Swallowing a big bite, Akira looked at a limp bit of tomato hanging out of his burger. "Sounds like a real cushy spot. How'd you end up out here?"

The artist's shoulders fell and he stared into his burger. "He… was in a bit of a slump. We'd all pitch in – after all, it was the great Madarame, and he was showing us a world of art and technique we'd never have found otherwise. But one day he had some public showing at an art collector's place in Nichino. I'd been doing a few things and wanted to keep my name on a screen painting of mine." He paused to bite, chew, and swallow, his expression hardening. "He said no. At first I thought it was okay. Kita-kun and the others thought it was okay, after all, and Madarame taught us so much."

"What happened?"

The artist let out a sigh. "He sold it. I heard one of that collector's friends talking. He sold it for five hundred thousand yen. I don't know which I was more mad at – that he never let me put my name on it, or that he put his on and didn't want to cut me in on the sale. Said I wasn't ready for the commercial world. When we got back to Tokyo, I went to some reporter."

Akira stood straighter. "Remember who?"

"Murakami something. Said she wasn't interested because she was working on some politician." The homeless guy bit into the remnants of his burger. "Madarame found out anyway, thought I was trying to sell him out and kicked me out. When I tried to sell another screen printing to an advertising company, I hoped I could finally get my feet underneath me. Then they suddenly came back and said they couldn't buy."

Akira swallowed and crumpled up the remains of his wrapper. "What the hell would advertisers care?"

"Madarame was pressuring them. Said they'd never be able to reference his works if they did business with me. Same with the next place, then the next." He looked at the one bite left, his eyes glistening. "My whole world was painting, but if I wasn't making things for him he wouldn't let me make anything." He threw the last bite in his mouth and crumpled the wrapper into a little ball.

Akira reached for his phone, then realized he shouldn't operate the Nav in front of other people. He changed his hand from his jacket to trouser pocket. "I may not know Madarame, but I do know that people who are really scumbags at heart are always the architects of their own downfall. He'll either get caught or…" He shrugged. "Have a change of heart."

The homeless man gave a bitter smirk. "Yeah, as if that could ever happen. Thanks for the grub, anyway."