Persona 5: Daywatch
Sunday, 6 June 2016
Early Afternoon
Shibuya Station
The sound of fifty or sixty conversations spilled over each other and echoed off the tiled walls. Walking with the churning mass of humanity disgorging from Yongen's line, the jostling of elbows and knees wore away at his mood from a good night's sleep and invigorating match against Hifumi. Once he made it to the Underground, he diverted to an open space by a tile-covered pillar to catch a breath.
The roiling tides of humanity seethed around him until a tall, dark-haired boy slipped out and leaned against the pillar next to him. Slashes of gray and black across the bottom of his jacket added an asymmetrical sense of fashion to the stranger's otherwise unexceptional ensemble.
Akira gave an acknowledging nod, though the lanky boy took several long moments to recognize the transfer student and give a half-hearted nod. He looked out into the crowd, though the way his dark grey eyes didn't linger on any one else's gave the impression of a man looking for something and expecting not to find it. After a few beats, the dark-haired boy settled back against the wall a meter away and pulled out his phone to focus on it.
Akira wondered what Father Sugiyama would have said. The thought brought to mind his recent entreaty to be a support for his friends so they could step out into their lives. He fished his phone out of his pants pocket and dialed Mishima.
It rang twice before the class representative picked it up. "Oh. Good day, Akira-san. I'm sorry, but I haven't found you any new names. There's a stalker in Shibuya who's stepping up into assault. Three elderly people have been hospitalized, all of them with the same story, but none of them have a name."
Akira pursed his lips and pondered. Mishima had been shouldering the burden of investigation for the Phantom Thieves. If Akira could find this bastard, it might lighten the load for him and make him feel ready to patch things up with Shiho.
Mishima was the one who was with her for a year. Mishima was the one who sacrificed for her day after day. It's not like Shiho was his.
Why didn't that make it easier to think of the sweetest girl in Shujin being with someone else? He wouldn't have been a good match for a good girl anyway.
Akira cleared his throat. "Well, don't wear yourself out trying to do everything yourself. I'll be starting a job at the convenience store next to the arcade, so I can keep an ear out. Just send me a text with what you've got." He glanced at the young man in a tricolor jacket dominated by purple, but decided not to interrupt the stranger's texting.
Shibuya, 777 Convenience
With little else to do in the street-level shop, Akira kept a close eye on the two college-age-ish young men in the magazine aisle. Like most stores in Japan it was policy to let people browse to get out of the weather in the hopes of making a good impression and sales, and Akira retreated indoors on frequent occasion to escape the chaotic crowds so he didn't want to confront them. However, something about them reminded him of thieves scoping out a mark after classes at Inuri.
Bowl Cut snickered at one of the lifestyle of the rich magazines. "My luck may finally be turning. The ADP finally sent me an invitation to a Gold Members Seminar. That's the quick path to their VIP crowd." When his friend stood silent for a second, Bowl Cut added, "Those guys are all rolling in dough."
Akira straightened the coin change tray and muttered, "Surely the greatest reason to join a group. Other people being rich."
Bowl Cut's curly-haired friend looked up from his porn mag. "You really think people like us can ever hit it big? Fortune doesn't change for peeps like us. I couldn't even afford to sue when Aizawa stole my motorized skateboard design. Same logo an' everythin'." He put that magazine back and thumbed through others before stopping on a trashy tabloid with something about Venus in the corner of the cover.
Bowl Cut grabbed a pair of paper-wrapped onigiri and headed to the front. With his fellow cashier buried in receipts, Akira waved to the pair of idiots dreaming of get rich quick schemes. "Interested in any mint gum or hot pastries?"
Curly Hair waved him away. "Nah."
Bowl Cut shrugged and set down a crisp ten-thousand yen note, though the design was years old. It looked like one of Kaneshiro's counterfeits. Akira decided to shrug and let the store handle it. Short of explaining walking through Kaneshiro's memories, he had no way to explain a high school student knowing about the fat mafia bastard's counterfeiting operation.
As Akira handed back change, he looked at the sweet flavors of the onigiri and mused, "You know, I've never made those before. I wonder how the others would like them."
Ignoring the transfer student, Bowl Cut unwrapped the first and took a big bite before he even got outside. The fan blew a tepid zephyr behind the counter.
Akira took a rag from the sanitizing solution bucket and wiped the counter down for the fifth time this shift.
His co-worker paced closer and opened her mouth, though her jaws widened into a yawn and she covered her mouth until finished. "Looks like it's going to be a dead day, kid. You might as well go home and hit those school books."
Sunday, 5 June 2016
Early Evening
Central Street
Stepping out of the book store, street lamps flooded the lanes with light even before the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Akira adjusted his glasses and drew in a deep breath. Despite the good day so far, the chaotic crowds churned back and forth, making him feel dizzy. Dozens of conversations, with fellow pedestrians and over cell phones blanketed the street, leaving Akira feel choked of oxygen.
He pulled in another breath, the air coming in thin wisps, and stepped through the crowd. The morning seemed so easy, but the evening crowd pushed back from all angles. Elbows, knees, and shoulders slammed into him. Akira tried to follow Ryuji's crowd-running example, but a knee hit his leg and sent him stumbling.
Acting on instinct, he spun around, shoving at the jerk who tripped him.
His hand connected with the twenty-something guy, his bright baseball cap and thin goatee clashing with a crisp button-down business shirt. The guy stumbled into a couple other people, the disturbance drawing a wider circle of attention. A handful of those who stopped to stare pulled out their phones to record the incipient fight. The guy lowered into a crouch, fists balled.
Akira's heart rate jumped and his lips curled up. He raised his own guard, keeping his hands loose.
"Enough!" a scratchy man's voice bellowed over the rumble of the crowd. The pudgy, balding politician broke through the circle, his green sash catching the evening wind. He turned his dark eyes on the first one to meet his, Goatee. "Gentlemen, we're all adults here. Hundreds of people have to get where they are going tonight. Let's be mature and share this crowded thoroughfare."
The bend to Goatee's legs straightened and his fists lowered a little, but he remained ready to throw a punch.
Seeing the other man's readiness left Akira's own muscles taught.
The politician spun on him. Stern-faced and standing at his full height, something about him sent a flicker of fear through the transfer student at his resemblance to his domineering father. "It doesn't take courage to draw a sword. It takes courage to sheathe it. No bullets or arrows are flying, so do you have the strength to stop here?"
Akira shifted his weight from his left to his right and back again.
"What's your name, Son?"
Akira's eyes flicked to the crowd around him. "Yamada."
The pudgy man gave a nod and the intimidating sternness faded. He pointed a hand at himself. "Toranosuke." He took a step back to allow the two younger men to look at each other directly, his own gaze falling on Goatee.
The young man stood up and opened his fists, the muscles tensed for a fight relaxing. "Iori. Sorry about bumpin' into you. I kinda got jostled by the crowd, but I should'a been more careful."
Akira could feel the energy in the crowd change before Iori even finished, all the pressure turning to him. He slipped his hands into his pockets and wished they'd all just go away and do something else. Why were their stares always so damn heavy? "I should've stayed cool. No harm, no foul." He stuck out a hand, more to get the crowd to look away from him than because he was naive enough to think the goateed guy would—
Iori took it and gave one firm shake.
At this point, Akira couldn't ignore the rising muttering from the crowd. "Did you see that? Old man Tora just talked two guys from brawl to friends in less than sixty seconds."
Iori took the handle of a small, wheeled travel case. "'scuse me, I gotta catch my train." When he passed the circle of people, the crowd largely returned to its chaotic shuffle, though they left room for Akira and the pudgy politician.
Morgana poked his head out of the satchel. "That conviction and command of the public space reminded me of yours truly. You could learn a thing or two from him, Joker."
His face burned when he wondered what the other parish members would've said if they saw him. Would Father Sugiyama scold him for tarnishing the Day of the Lord with a street brawl? Would Hifumi shun him for being so obstinate somebody else needed to step in and stop his fight? Akira let out a long breath. "You know what? You're right." But with cameras and gawkers still about, he couldn't just walk up and admit he did something wrong. People put him away for not having done anything wrong before, how much more would they screw him for fessing up for a mistake?
Akira turned for the trains to Yongen, but made a mental note to stop and talk to the old politician the next time he had an opportunity.
Monday, 6 June 2016
Early Morning
Shibuya Station
Something about the cadence of conversation in the subway brought to mind the piano music in Hifumi's ringtone yesterday. Humming the tune to himself, Akira strode through the Shibuya underground to the line to Aoyama. Fewer people crowded the station platform than he was used to, allowing him a sensation of plenty of air.
Blonde pigtails resolved out of the crowd and came to a stop next to him. Ann crossed her arms and looked ready to rip someone's limbs off. "What an unbearable weekend. My shoot on Saturday went horribly. The photographer kept saying my smile was as fake as the snow, so I spent hours in heavy winter coats under the hottest studio lights in Japan."
Akira gave a sympathetic nod. "Sounds rough, but at least it's over and you're here now." He found himself drifting back into humming.
Morgana popped out of the school satchel. "Are you okay, Lady Ann? You didn't get sick over the weekend, did you?"
She shook her head, sending her voluminous pigtails spilling off her shoulders. Too tired to yell, she bit out, "No." She straightened her skirt. "Sorry. I'm just nervous about Kaneshiro's heart. Ryuji's a good guy, even came over on Sunday to help carry that gold briefcase to a guy he knows to sell it. And I just got to know Makoto. I don't want anything to happen to them."
The team leader stretched a paw at her, then steadied himself on Akira's shoulder, a sparkle in his eyes. "You're so kind, Lady Ann."
Akira leaned to nudge her. "Have faith, Ann-san. We stole the Treasure and convinced the Shadow. He'll change, just like Coach Asshole." He glanced to the team leader perched on his shoulder. "Just needs time to recover from the palace collapse, right?"
At the leader's nod, Ann's crossed arms loosened. "I guess you're right." She scanned him. "You're in an awfully good mood today. Are you that certain? I just don't remember you looking this cheerful when we beat him."
Akira shrugged, jostling the leader. "Maybe it just took this long to sink in? Maybe it was a really good weekend."
Monday, 6 June 2016
Lunchtime
Shujin, Student Store
Akira shuffled up to the student store window. "Cheese bread." He set down yen coins in payment. A buzz emanated from his phone, then buzzed again. A moment later it buzzed again. He took it out to see what the conversation was about.
Makoto sent, [It worked!]
Ryuji followed up with, [Woot!]
[What worked?] Ann sent.
Three dots danced next to Makoto's ID. [The change of heart.]
Akira tapped open the virtual keyboard. [Awesome! You sure?]
Makoto's reply came fast. [Definitely. He sent me a text this morning informing me the debt was canceled and all footage had been deleted. I was suspicious, but Big Sis just called me. Said they were having a strategy meeting. That's when she hands off cases, but she said she wouldn't be home today. That can only mean a sudden increase in case load. It's as close as she's allowed to say Kaneshiro turned himself in.]
The student worker handed over a paper-wrapped bun and Akira paced to the corner of the disused vending machine nook in the courtyard. Reading over Akira's shoulder, Morgana purred. "That is good news."
Mishima's ID pulsed, and three dots danced for a few seconds. [I haven't seen anything about it in the news. Between me and the other Newspaper Club members, we're watching about 30 news outlets.]
The transfer student tapped reply, but Makoto's ID blinked before he could think of what to say. [Regular procedure in a case like this would be for the Special Investigative Unit to put a gag order on the press until he's been processed into protective custody. I'd expect the story to start breaking late this evening, tomorrow morning at the latest. Especially if we can hit more of his lieutenants in Mementos today.]
Ryuji shot out, [She's as crazy as you, bro.]
Typing fast, Akira sent, [Motivated. We are MOTIVATED. And that's because we're awesome and can't be stopped!]
Ryuji replied to him with a quick, [You're peppy today.]
Akira paused to tear his scant bread's packaging open with his teeth, then added, [Anyway, if we're going to be hitting Mementos, do you have any new names for us, Mishima?]
Several seconds passed without sign of response. After downing a mouthful of cheese bread, the transfer student saw dots pulse next to Mishima's ID. [Strangely, no. There's been a lot of petty complaints against strict parents or annoying boyfriends, but the Phansite isn't Revenge Quest. All I've been hearing about in the Newspaper Club is about betting rings, but as long as nobody's fixing games I don't think that's enough to be worth digging into.] A couple seconds passed before he added, [Although I did see an anonymous request to change a stalker's heart at Shujin, so I'll investigate that one myself.]
Makoto's ID blinked. [Thank you for all your hard work, Mishima-kun.]
Morgana's ear flicked as he read the conversation. "That class representative sure is working hard. The Phantom Thieves could certainly use the help, but now that Kaneshiro's behind bars, shouldn't we all be relaxing?"
A buzz alerted him to a private text message. He shuffled out of the Phantom Thief chat to see a message from Ann. [Papa's going to be in Tokyo today, but I'm worried about Yuuki. I don't want him to burn out. He never really knew when to stop, but Shiho was always the smart one among us who knew when to go out on a de-stress date. Could you talk to him?]
[Will do.] Akira closed that thread and opened a private text line to Makoto. [Could we put off Mementos until tomorrow?]
[Very well. I have student council work to keep up on, anyway.]
Working until problems went away sounded like a good plan to Akira, but it was easier to see burnout in others than yourself. "I'll have a talk with him." He typed in a casual invitation, then paused. If he understood the class representative's mentality, he'd have to tell him to show up rather than ask. [We need to talk, Mishima. Meet me at Ore no Beko after school. Send me a text as soon as you can get there.]
Monday, 6 June 2016
After School
Shibuya, Ore no Beko
Akira lifted the sheet of homework up and scanned his geography book for a mention for when China changed its capital from Nanjing to Beijing. "Why can't China just make up its goddamn mind? I thought it was supposed to be a three thousand-year kingdom."
Staring up from the satchel against the transfer student's stool, Morgana called through the racoucious din, "Incoming."
Mishima approached, then took the just vacated seat next to him. The presence of a dust mask stood out, compounding with the class representative's already tired appearance. He more dropped himself onto the stool than sat down. "Hey, Akira-kun."
Akira set down his mechanical pencil. "Holy crap, Mishima. When's the last time you got some sleep?"
"I said Hou Guo Rou!" one of the patrons shouted at the hapless college student scrambling on the other side of the counter.
Mishima coughed, holding the counter to steady himself until his coughing fit passed. "I…haven't even come close to making things right. There's so much sickness in the world."
Akira looked at the class representative's hunch, his pale skin, the dark circles around his eyes. "Yeah. Maybe some closer to home than others."
Mishima's gaze drifted away to the counter. "I sacrificed Shiho to protect myself out of a moment of weakness. I have to make that right, and at least with the Phansite…" he gestured to Akira, "with all this, I'm starting to. But there's always an obstacle. Like when you guys were trying to learn the yakuza boss's name. I just don't know how to fix it all."
The server, a college boy who looked like he'd sampled one too many bowls, slid to a stop in front of them. Akira held up his hand to give a visual cue since that helped him while he was working here. "Two medium beef bowls."
The server scrambled off.
Morgana's ears curled back against his head. "It might be unrealistic to try to fix the world. Even one heart is a challenge."
Akira nodded. "You can't heap all the blame on yourself, Mishima. If you hadn't gone, Kamoshida would've beaten you into a coma and had somebody else do it." Akira shrugged, looking down to the team leader. "And you may have a point, but this is good work and there's got to be some way to keep doing it, just better."
Morgana licked his paw and brushed at his ear. "Even you used help. Didn't that reporter get you Kaneshiro's full name?"
Akira leaned back with a smile. "Hey, that's right." He looked the class representative in the eye. "Maybe you just need a mentor, somebody who's already learned the ropes of investigating people. We got the rest of that boss's name from a reporter."
Morgana smiled and puffed out his chest like it had all been his set-up. "All we have to do is bring him to Shinjuku to meet her."
A droplet of sweat drops down Akira's neck. "Uh…maybe she could meet us somewhere else?"
Morgana's ears fell slack. "Just set up a meet and let them handle it."
Monday, 6 June 2016
Evening
Yongen, Leblanc
Head pulsing with numbers and figures from a long study session at the diner, Akira shoved open the door. The bell gave a merry jingle, the simple clarity of the sound a contrast to the bustling jumble in Shibuya. The TV showed a sequence of shots of police officers and patrol cars, a scrolling headline mentioning a large operation sweeping Shibuya. The restaurateur himself brushed rice from the table onto a battered dust pan. Splotches of curry dotted by rice blotted both sides of a set of booth seats, as well as the tables on each side. Akira paused stepped inside. "What happened here?"
Sojiro jerked, rising only a centimeter before his torso spasmed. His face contorted and he dropped the metal dust pan, catching the table. His eyes squeezed shut and he let out a groan, reaching his other hand to press his fingers against his side.
Akira set his school satchel on the counter and ran to help the old man up. "You okay?"
Scowling, Sojiro dug his fingers against his back. "Leave old backs to old men and go take care of yourself."
Akira stepped back. A part of him wanted to kick the old man for giving him a metaphorical slap at the offer of help, but he found himself at the end of his breath and took a deep lungful in. The time let him think back to his conversation with Father Sugiyama and the old man's reminder that Akira needed to work on his own problems before he had the footing to take issue with others. Hifumi's words echoed in his mind, It's important to give back to something you take from. What's good for the whole is good for the one.
The transfer student retrieved the cold compress from the fridge, then returned to his school satchel for the medical supplies hidden in it for Mementos visits. "I need the brown bandages, your highness." When Morgana hopped out and slunk away without a word, Akira decided to leave his focus on the shop owner. "Here. Cold helps muscle tension and stiffness."
Sojiro's mouth quirked, but turned to help the transfer student wrap the compress in place. "So what about heat?"
"That's used for muscle soreness," Akira said, winding the brown strap around the middle-aged man's torso.
The restaurateur couldn't hide a satisfied smile. "I remember you heading over to the doc's with that nice girl. That visit make a big impression?"
Akira chuffed and pressed the last of the length down to help the bandage cling. "I was always going into medicine. You can't escape the family trade when you're the son of a neuropsychologist who's the son of a pharmacist." He stood up and looked the man over, noting less pinching of the shoulders. "I'm kind of surprised you didn't assume she was my girlfriend. It seems like I can't spend time around a chick without everyone assuming I'm trying to get into her pants. Even people who never knew Mother."
Sojiro rocked from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again, his eyes distant. "Just imagine having a sister to tease you about it."
Akira plopped back on a seat by the bar, just out of the mess of spilled rice. "I have to assume that would just make things easier." When the adult arched an eyebrow, Akira straightened. "Well, all the top scorers at Inuri had siblings, and there's a concrete social stabilization factor with more in-generational cohorts."
Sojiro stared at the student for long seconds before a brief laugh bubbled out. "I don't think I've heard such a cold, clinical summary of family benefits. And that's saying something from a guy who retired from a career in the Ministry of Finance."
Akira picked a piece of fuzz off his sleeve. "My only observations are from the outside." He stood and straightened his shirt. "It's not like getting a little brother or sister was ever my decision."
"That's more neutral than I expected of you," Sojiro said, hand drifting to the bandage. "Just out of curiosity, would you say you'd dread having a sibling to look out for, or missed not having one to play with?"
Taking out a microfiber cloth, Akira cleaned his glasses. "If it wasn't for the parents, I think I'd have liked a little brother." He picked up the brush the restaurateur dropped earlier. "Why don't you settle back and I'll get this?"
"Won't argue with that," Sojiro said, striding behind the counter to the register. "What about a little sister?"
Akira paused at the edge of the spilled rice all over the floor, broom in hand. "Just as good. Family's family."
The register clacked open. "That's surprising. I took you for an 'I don't rely on anyone' sort." He leaned to write something into his smart phone. "And you looked like your skin was crawling when Emi was last in. I'd have bet money you're one of those 'keep girls away' guys."
"I tend not to want to rely on others. You knew my old bastard, you should know why." He paused to adjust his grip on the broom. "But I still want people to know they can rely on me." Akira swept loose, dried rice on the floor into the dust pan, then knelt to get the broom underneath the booth seats. "You knew anyone besides Isshiki at the institute?"
"Not well."
Satisfied the floor was clean, Akira set the broom against another booth table and swept a napkin over one of the tables. "Mother acted like men were just for entertainment. It sounds a lot like how people keep expecting me… or most guys to treat girls. About the only examples my parents gave me was what not to do." He folded his napkin over and brushed the other half of loose crud from the table. "Men aren't playthings, and neither are women. You keep at arm's reach and everything goes okay." He brushed his hands clean, then took a wet rag to scrub the tables.
Sojiro stood up from the cash register. "Whoo, boy. You're right about not being playthings, kid, but I think you're carrying some wrong assumptions. There's nothing wrong with having a little fun with the fairer sex. It's when you disrespect 'em that problems crop up." He looked back down to the yen notes in his hand and finished counting, typed something into his phone, then stuffed most into a small, lined envelope. "And it's not like you treat 'em all the same. You've gotta handle a grown lady like a dance, with a lot of give and take. They like spontaneity. Young girls, on the other hand, aren't as big on changes."
"Where'd you hear something like that?" Akira sopped up some more water and started on the next table. "The only thing I hear girls talk about at school is how bored they are." He finished the second table and headed to the sink to rinse the rag.
The restaurateur wrote something into his smart phone, then closed the register. "Well, much as I'd like to keep chatting about family mores, now my feet are killing me. It's just time to go home and put these old bones up." He took a step past the counter, then paused. "Oh, and leave your journal here underneath the register. Social services said they needed an evaluation when they come interview me about your behavior, so I'll take care of it after the morning rush."
Akira nodded, glad he sanitized the daily events he wrote down there. The journal seemed to help, but no way would he let Sojiro know about the one he wrote his dreams and Metaverse exploits in.