Persona 5: Daywatch
Saturday, 30 July 2016
Afternoon
Kanda Catholic Church
Hifumi's phone rang with Liszt as she ascended the steps to her church—her refuge from the cold cruelty of the materialistic, superficial world outside. Yet even here, her mother reached out for her, she knew it even before she checked the caller ID. It might have been a meaningless gesture, but she felt a faint smirk of satisfaction as she hit Deny Call. With Akira's confirmation of arrival in her text history, she turned her phone off and slipped it into her purse.
Between the post-rain humidity and the expected heat of the season, she felt light-headed, so she detoured to the water fountain and bathrooms. Some cool, refreshing water soothed her parched throat, but she didn't want to insult Akira's generous patience, so she patted a little water on her neck for the heat and headed inside the sanctuary.
She almost giggled when she saw him sitting there at her usual pew when she stewed over formations she couldn't test against other human beings. While he might not have been a professional-level shogi player, he was sharp enough to challenge her and always had something witty to throw her out of a day or week's rut.
Deciding to take a page out of his book, she came up behind him and leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Hey."
Akira shot up in surprise, his skull thudding against hers and his sudden twisting jump knocking his travel Go board, sending black and white stones clattering across the pew and floor.
The instant his eyes fell on hers, his defensive and confused look morphed into horrified contrition. His steel-grey eyes continued to scan her face, his eyes and pupils widening. When his lips drifted open, no sound came out. He closed and opened his mouth another time before managing, "Hi…"
A pebble skittered from her foot, and she looked down to see a fallen Go stone. "Sorry, Aki."
"Huh?" He murmured, a long second passing before he followed her gaze down. "Oh, no, I'm sorry, T-Togo-san."
Togo-san. She pouted a bit at that. Still, there was a mess she'd caused. "Here, let me help you." She knelt down and grabbed the three stones which scattered her way under the pew seat.
"No, it's my fault," he said, kneeling to get the fallen stones closer to him.
She ignored him, dropped her three stones on the Go board, then paced around to help him get the remaining ones on the floor and pew. Alas, he was too efficient and they never brushed hands while picking up. Denied the chance to feel his calloused fingers with her own, her eyes came to that fluffy head of dark hair. Dare she reach out and run her hand through those casual locks?
Her hand twitched, but remained at her side. Damn.
Putting the last stone into a tray built into the bottom of the travel go board, Akira clicked it shut and turned to face her. The instant his steel eyes fell on her, a slight hunch entered his back and he started fidgeting with his hands.
Hifumi reached out and lay her hand on his arm, letting her thumb trail just a bit up and down over the well-worn, sky blue fabric. "I was going to say let's go relax at a park, but maybe we should get you somewhere cooler." She let her eyes drift to his long sleeves. Even if they were cotton… "Aren't you hot in all that?"
His eyes drifted away from hers, shame in the hunch of his shoulders drawing more curiosity from her than the bashful blush and visual aversion. "W-well… I, uh… don't want to burn."
She knew 'I don't want to talk about it' when she saw it, so she pushed through her disappointment. So much for being able to feel those biceps herself any time soon. She brushed her hair back, jostling the red thread dangling from the knot in her hair. "W-well, would you like to take a walk?"
An adorable touch of pink grew on Akira's cheeks in a manner which enticed her to cup his face in her hands, but that would have broken her queenly bearing. He gave a flourished bow. "For Queen Togo? Anywhere, any time."
Her heart sped up, and it took all her control not to break into a silly little dance at that. After her father, Akira had been the only one who pointed out her embarrassing habit, but returned it with light-hearted affection. If only she could be a little surer whether that was something special for her, or if he was such a joker with everyone.
Their hands brushed as they paced down the aisle to the narthex, the touch feeling like an electrical jolt. Both teens took a sudden step apart, and he rubbed the back of his neck to avoid meeting her eyes for a moment. Then he turned to her, his eyes and pupils both still just a little wide. "U-uh… Not that you don't look amazing, but do you usually wear it that heavy?"
Hifumi came to a sudden stop and reached one hand up, a feeling of fire on her face. "Oh! I-I was in such a rush to get ahead of the project manager post-shoot, I forgot." She dashed for the ladies' bathroom to wash off the makeup for heavy camera and lighting. Feeling refreshed and much less like someone else's marionette, she rejoined the dark-haired boy who gave her an emotional escape from Mother's song and dance.
He gave a bashful smile as she came out, with more of that cute blush. "I-I was just thinking about when we first met. You were playing against yourself. I've been playing strategy games against people since I was in grammar school, but it was always against adults. Having to play both sides just seems like an order of magnitude more complicated."
She smiled at the awe in his voice, then gave a thankful nod of her head when he held the front door open for her. "A good strategy player has to be aware of not only her own moves, but also her opponent's. In a way, you are already playing against yourself when you try to preempt your opponent's strategy. The only hard part is decoupling the fact that you are Player One and Player Two."
He shook his head, that cute blush still lingering. "You've got a clearer mind than I. Strategy games have always been the battlefield on which two minds clash to me. The sword between two swordmasters. Always has been since my very first game of Go against Hirota at the Institute."
"Institute?"
His stark grey eyes looked down. "Where my old bastard wor—"
She cleared her throat. When he looked back to her, his eyebrows arched, she held her ground. "You may not have gotten along with your father, Akira-kun, but that's just reason to rise above him. I know you can." Hifumi reached out and took his hand with hers, her fingers grazing over his rough knuckles. His body tensed, but she refused to let go. It had been too long since she'd felt another's hands in hers, the physical reminder of another human's warmth.
It took several seconds before he remembered to breathe. His intense eyes, lingering on hers since she took his hand, blinked, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I still have a few bad habits to shake off from my old…my…" His gaze turned and he pulled his hand from hers. "I can't call him 'father', Hifumi-san. He hasn't earned that title. 'Father' is supposed to mean something—a person who fosters industry, teaches wisdom, and guards a safe roost from which to take off."
She swallowed down the urge to frown. It wasn't using an ordinary word, but he had reasons for it. And it was gratifying to hear him using her own name instead of 'Togo-san'. The shogi maestra gave a serious nod. "I understand. It's not the same, but Papa and Mother were both performers—of a sort—but I've never liked the limelight."
He drifted a little closer, the corner of his mouth turning up. "I understand." He shrugged. "I've never minded. At least while people are looking your way, you have control. You can make 'em laugh, make 'em mad, or get 'em to toss you bread money."
She chuckled and stepped closer as they descended the stairs to the subway. The air conditioning felt weak, but better than up in the sun. A roar of wind preceded the train, and the pair got on.
They struggled to find a handhold as the train accelerated again. Then a hand crept across her butt and Hifumi leaped from it with an indignant squeak. With Akira in front of her, she knew that couldn't have come from him.
Where used to be behind her stood a thirty-something man, one hand on the overhead strap. He wore a Dragon Ball shirt, but otherwise bore no identifying features. However, once her gaze met his, the man's lips pulled into a leering smile and his eyes roved over her. "Hey, little lady."
She side-stepped closer to Akira, hoping the oaf would take the hint.
Instead, he let go of the overhead strap and advanced, 'accidentally' bumping into her. "I've got the day off, pretty thing. Why don't you ditch the kid? I'll show you a good time all day long."
Hifumi wrinkled her nose and backed into Akira, no more room left to retreat. She squared her shoulders. "Desist immediately or I will report you to the station authorities." She glanced around, but all the other passengers seemed determined in their focus elsewhere.
Cowards.
"Take the grip," Akira whispered to her, before pulling her back and interposing himself. A fire burned in those grey eyes as he bit out, "Back. Off."
"Shibuya Station," the intercom called. "Exit left."
The oaf stepped a bit away from Akira, but held up a glare. "Tch. Asshole."
The train trundled to a stop and the doors slid open.
When Akira kept trying to glare a hole into the oaf's face, Hifumi tugged at his hand. "Come on." They took to the platform, but he kept glaring after the train. She used one finger of her free hand to turn his chin back to her, keeping hold of his hand with her other, though the opportunity to feel his touch felt ruined by his anger and inattention. "Akira," she snapped. "Leave that oaf on the train. I'm here with you, now. Things like that just happen. All I can do is walk away from it."
"You shouldn't have to!" he snapped, drawing sporadic glances from around the station platform.
Hifumi squeezed his hand. "Maybe not. But I'd rather share some time with you than watch you mentally follow that pervert on the train all day."
He gritted his teeth for a moment, but sucked in a breath and blew it out through his nose. He did so again before he looked her in the eye, that fire in his a contrite smolder. "You're right. And I'm sorry. He bothered you, I should be the one consoling you after that shit."
Hifumi decided to let that language go. Baby steps. She squeezed against his hand. "We should probably go somewhere else. Mother knows too many people here, and I'd rather have a little longer before I have to report back to face the music."
Her heart fluttered when Akira squeezed back. His eyes unfocused for just a moment before they came to rest on her again. "I think I know just the place."
Saturday, 30 July 2016
Late Afternoon
Yongen, Leblanc
He held open the door for her, so Hifumi stepped into the quaint, retro-styled cafe smelling of coffee. The warm wood and mood lighting created a sedate sense too often absent from Tokyo, suffused with the mingling scents of a dozen kinds of coffee. Another more familiar scent wove through the undercurrents and set her mouth watering, but… curry? In a coffee shop? It made no sense.
The proprietor sat on a tall stool inside the counter, a book in hand until he heard the bell jingle. His eyes fell on the transfer student coming in, then her. A mischievous smirk spread over the middle-aged man's face before he set in a bookmark. "Well, now. Who's the lucky lady this week? Last was a blonde, now another brunette. All you need's a redhead."
Akira slapped a palm against his face. "Don't say things like that, Boss! It's not like I've got a train that I parade in here." Face going red, he looked to her. "H-he's just joking around! I brought a couple classmates in here before." He swallowed. "W-want anything?"
Despite wanting to believe her friend, the proprietor's words stirred twisting jealousy inside, and Hifumi looked for the most expensive thing on the menu. "A Dark Colombian and tiramisu."
"Coming up. Sit anywhere you like." Chuckling, the restaurateur put his book down and headed to the kitchen.
Hifumi slid into the first booth and opened her purse for her travel shogi board. Akira slid into the opposite side, looking out the not-quite-transparent window, and watched as she pulled out her phone to set up a special formation.
After several turns, the proprietor came to their table with a tall, steaming mug of coffee and a plate with a rough-cut, four-layer tiramisu. Not quite up to the standards at the Wilton, but worth a try at a hole-in-the-wall place. She took the dessert fork and cut a small bite. The cookie layer felt soggy, but still held some structure. Maybe bought elsewhere. A beat later, the owner returned with cream and sugar, before looking over the table. "Anything for you, kiddo?"
His eyes darted about the board. "Maybe an iced house blend, one cream."
Hifumi stirred, tested, then added some more cream and sugar. "This is excellent, Master Proprietor."
"Just 'Boss' is fine. This is supposed to be a place anyone can come to relax," he said with a satisfied smile. "A quiet refuge from the hustle and bustle out there." He gave a bow of his head, then returned to the kitchen.
Her eyes back on the board, she slipped back into the game in a heartbeat. "Dark Inferno Rock!" Her knight took his with a snap of the tile. "Check." Her rival scanned the board. She rested her chin in her hands and watched him, satisfaction swelling in her chest. The sharp, rapid movements of that steel gaze sent a thrill through her.
Akira slid his lance up to capture her knight. How like her General of the Steel Legion to keep trying even when all avenues closed around him.
She let out a satisfied breath and they settled into a few more rounds before she had him in checkmate, then another two games. After putting him in check for the second time, a thumping sound knocked low against the front door. Then once again.
The restaurateur's brows rose and he slipped out from behind the counter. "Can I help you?"
A chipper, boyish voice sang out with a cheer that couldn't be real, "Every day's your day with Junes! I have a delivery here for Kurusu."
Boss stepped out to hold the door.
A teenager somewhere around her age, but with shining blue eyes set in a very pretty face, walked in. He wore the expected dark red Junes uniform, pale blond hair peeking out from under the baseball-style cap. His hands clasped a very large cardboard box bearing the markings of a window AC unit. Despite struggling with the box, he came to a stop in front of their booth table. He flashed her a brilliant smile which brought heat to her face and a flutter to her heart. "Why, this must be the beauteous customer. O fair Kurusu, I am here for your every desire."
Hifumi struggled to remember how to breathe under the twin assault of the charismatic onslaught, and the thought of progressing to the point of sharing a home and name with her companion.
Akira gave a growl of warning. "I'm Kurusu. But you will refer to me as Akira."
The poor delivery kid quailed and stepped back. "How beary scary!"
Akira stepped out of the booth. "Upstairs," he commanded.
Hifumi watched her companion lead the way to stairs tucked in the back. While her heart settled down, she enjoyed watching the cute tush walk up.
And the delivery boy's.
Saturday, 30 July 2016
Early Evening
Yongen, Sakura Residence, Futaba's Room
The urban sounds of the Yongen-Jaya station bubbled through the bug on Hifumi's phone. Cloth rustled, and GPS put the phones on the same position. With her feet already pulled up, Futaba wrapped one arm around her legs and listened in on the tender moment between a Phantom Thief and his significant other. Talking with Akira yesterday left her in a state of puzzled disorientation where what was true or not all seemed up in the air, but her mother's whispers started intruding already.
Hifumi let out a long, contented sigh. "Thank you for being with me today."
They might not have noticed, but Futaba spotted the tremor in his voice when he replied with false bravado, "For Queen Togo? Anywhere, any time."
The train arrived and Hifumi stepped on, humming a tune, occasionally letting out a "ba da da" of rising or falling notes.
Futaba gave a small smirk. "Girl, you've got it bad."
Just to have sounds of the outside to focus on, she left the bug on in the background as she worked on back-hacking the members of Medjed. At its largest, the group included over twenty members, but membership dwindled since. She'd traced back six members so far, all of them in America, but none of those knew Japanese so they couldn't be responsible for the Medjed threat against the Phantom Thief. Too little chance they'd have read news in a language they didn't know. It was time to look closer to home.
A beep sounded, then a heavy door swung open. "M-Mother!" Hifumi gasped. "You were supposed to be managing the hostess club!"
A more nasal woman's voice snapped, full of anger and disdain, "Do you think there wouldn't be repercussions for trying to sneak away like a thief in the night?"
Futaba's fingers trembled at the voice that reminded her so much of her condemning mother.
Footsteps thudded as one yanked the other, Hifumi letting out a pained whimper. "Mother, you're hurting me!"
Futaba's breath hitched.
A heavy door slammed closed, then nasal breathing grunted. The girl's footsteps stumbled, then collided hard and fell over something upholstered, drawing another pained gasp. Mitsuyo snarled, "You ungrateful tramp! Have you never thought of the risks you're putting your father in? I have spent over a year cultivating your position!"
Futaba pushed against her chair as if she could sink into it and escape the growing phantasm of her mother.
Speaking at a mumble the bug had trouble picking up, Hifumi said, "… Papa … want me … such questionable—"
Flesh on flesh cracked through the quiet bug, and the girl let out a shocked whimper.
Futaba's Palace, Stargate Camp
General Isshiki bared a toothy, lopsided grin. "Activate SG-8, and deploy missiles to all teams. I want Isis helpless when the Daedalus arrives to bomb her from orbit."
Yongen, Sakura Residence, Futaba's Room
Futaba jumped in her seat and had to grab for her chair to steady herself.
"Now give me your phone!" Mitsuyo demanded in a tone which made the hacker think of bared teeth. It sent a shiver down her spine.
Futaba could hear the shaking in Hifumi's hands as she opened her purse. Despite similar shaking in the hacker's hands, her curiosity drove her to check the camera feed, and she caught a brief moment of tears running down the shogi idol's face.
Mitsuyo snatched the phone and stormed into the master bedroom.
Hifumi's father spoke in a wheezy voice, "L-Love?"
Mitsuyo's feet slowed to a stop. Futaba wasn't sure if she was glad or not the girl's phone was turned so the same camera gave a glimpse, if at a poor angle, of the woman taking the middle-aged man's hand, the veins standing out like dark lines on pale skin. Her thumb caressed the back of the man's hand with the first tenderness the hacker had seen from the mother. "Don't you worry, Darling. Just taking care of a little childish tantrum. Hifumi's a good girl, she'll do what needs to be done."
"She's still in high school," her father said. "Maybe asking her to take on so much of the household's financial burden…"
Mitsuyo gave a gentle squeeze of her husband's hand. "She's a Togo, she's made of strong stuff. You just rest and get better. She would be so disappointed if you couldn't come to the graduation next year." She let go and pulled out a key ring, unlocked a drawer low in a vanity of some kind, then dropped Hifumi's phone in it, closed the drawer, and locked it again.
Futaba heaved in a breath and pressed a hand against her chest as if that could slow her hammering heart.
There wouldn't be much more she could learn from that bug, so Futaba switched to Akira's.
Different urban sounds played over the speakers. On the phone's screen, he slid the home screen to the second page of apps and selected a creepy bleeding-eyeball icon. The Metaverse Navigator. It expanded, a history in the black-and-bright-red showing Sakura Futaba at the top, and Togo Mitsuyo right beneath. He hit that and a synthesized voice announced, "Beginning navigation." Then a strange whoosh of air played, as if a gust blew straight into the microphone.
No Signal replaced the bug's feed.
Futaba jerked, sitting straight to nudge her chair closer to the desk. "The hell?"
Saturday, 30 July 2016
Early Evening
Chiyoda-ku, Niijima Home
Makoto scratched her scalp with the back of her mechanical pencil and glanced from the college entrance exam Sae bought from a student enrolled last year, then looked to hers. She pondered the best wording to use until she heard the muffled sound of scratching at the window to the fourth-floor walkway.
The team leader had stayed with her a couple times before, but always traveled with her. She checked her phone as she headed to the front door, but the only activity today was Ryuji trying to convince somebody on the Phantom Thief chat to invite him over to watch anime and doing a poor job of hiding that it was likely hentai. Ann stopped responding after hand emojis which might have indicated a desire to slap Ryuji, Yusuke didn't understand the insinuations and Mishima was busy with the reporter. No word from Akira.
As soon as she opened the door, a breathless tuxedo cat—who insisted he wasn't a cat—wheezed, "Rider… get your… kit. Joker… off to… Togo's Palace."
She didn't understand what Togo's Palace meant, but she understood what he meant by 'kit'. She sprinted inside, grabbing her school satchel with her disassembled shotgun wrapped in a black hoodie in the bottom, then her keys and wallet. She slammed the front door closed and clicked Lock on the key fob, then let the team leader into her bag and dashed for the elevator.
Morgana explained as much as he could without having quite gotten his breath back. "I followed Joker… after his date with the… shogi girl." He braced as the class president slid to a stop in front of the elevator. "He grabbed his Thief bag… took the train to Shibuya… and headed east. Only thing… on that line is KFTV."
Impatient, Makoto tapped the Down button. "TV… The place you guys went for your social studies trip?" She remembered him mentioning a 'Togo Mitsuyo' when they last went after a series of targets in Mementos, but when it turned into a Palace around them, they canceled that one. "Why would he be there?"
"Because he won't give it up!"
The elevator opened with a ding and Makoto dashed off.
From within her bag, Morgana continued, "I knew he felt strongly about it to start with, but the way he talked about it last… it was like if he couldn't change this heart, he'd lose his own."
As Makoto ran out the front of her apartment complex, she remembered the fire in his breath when he argued they should go back and finish Togo's Palace. "I'd've gone after Kamoshida if it was just you," he'd said. "If someone like her can't make it, what fucking chance does someone like me have?"
She could understand why Akira still felt agitated. A fellow parishioner was suffering. Hifumi was smart, and kind on a level she had forgotten real people could be. Makoto wanted to say she'd have proposed changing the heart of a fellow student if she stood in his position, but so many of the barbs he threw out in that fight hooked into her.
"We're not becoming heroes."
He didn't know about Sae, didn't know how many years she'd pressed Makoto to succeed even if that meant crushing all before her.
Makoto descended the stairs to the subway three at a time, but luck must have been with her because a train pulled in the instant after she bought a ticket. The number of people on the train prevented her from conversing with the team leader hiding in her school satchel, but he gave her the destination station. Once she got off the exit, she took off at a sprint.
Saturday, 30 July 2016
Evening
Togo's Temple, Audience Hall
Makoto slid open the door with a darkened riddle etched in a panel. The space within resembled the police bullpen she sometimes went through to bring her father or Sae a wrapped meal or change of clothes, though filled with old wood furnishings instead of the station's metallic post-modern aesthetic. A buxom Shadow like the vested receptionists at the front of Kaneshiro's bank sat behind an imposing, dark-stained wood desk with a clunker computer on top.
Akira's stylish, longcoated form at a sliding screen door to the left was hard to miss.
Morgana called out, "Joker!"
"A mask?" Akira said to a door. "A contract?" Hearing the student president's booted feet, he turned and began to smile. "Good, reinforce—"
Morgana shot him with a Zat gun.
Makoto gaped. "Mo—Byakko! I thought we were going to talk to Joker."
Morgana flicked the serpentine Zat gun, setting it to its compact folded state and slipped it into a pocket on his bandolier. "Palace security level is higher than Joker's last visit. We can talk about it after we're in safer environs." He slid the front door back open and led them to the front as she carried Akira over her shoulder. Once at the entrance, he turned to her. "Take him to Mementos. I'll explain things there." He then side-stepped into thin air.
Makoto stared for a few moments longer. The team leader said he had his own way of getting into and out of the Metaverse, but she had never seen it before. Then a pained groan came from the unconscious boy in a stylish longcoat. She shifted Akira on her shoulder, paced to the entrance of the Palace, and used the Nav as soon as she got to a secluded alley. There, she pondered how to get him to the entrance of Mementos to work things out with Morgana. Carrying an unconscious boy would be noticed eventually, and that would lead to questions. If only she could just jump into Mementos from here…
Actually, why couldn't that work? Morgana said Mementos was everybody's Palace. That should mean it extended out this far.
Makoto hit the Nav and the world twisted around her. Tree leaves vanished, the moon swelled and turned a sickly hue, and the sounds of people were replaced with an ominous near-silence which made her feel like she was being watched. It wasn't just the sudden absence of traffic—there was a significant lack of those ever-present signs of human civilization in the summer: the thrumming of ventilation fans and air conditioning in the city all around her.
Morgana stood there on the road, arms crossed. His big, blue eyes stared out, filled with worry.
Makoto knelt to lay the unconscious longcoated boy down. Despite the literal weight off her shoulders, the absence of that human contact in this otherwordly place made her skin crawl. "So what's this all about?"
Morgana paced a bit, then hopped out to the street. "Something's here. I'd rather discuss it with him awake, but if you need to know right now, can we at least talk on the way?"
She nodded, and he transformed with a pop into what Ryuji called the 'Monamobile', a mini-bus of a foreign make. He slid open the side door for her, and she laid Akira down on the floor between the first bench and front seats, then slid that closed and took the driver's seat for herself to make sure she had a good view of where they were going. Morgana accelerated.
The silence grated on Makoto after just a few minutes. "You knew the keywords, so you had to have been there before with him."
A sigh passed through the minibus vents. "I was with him when that kid gave Joker the location of Togo's Palace, and we were already there to see what her distortion was. I was with Reaper at the time Joker tried to ditch us and go in alone."
Makoto clenched her fists. "And you didn't stop him outright? I thought you were supposed to be the leader of the Phantom Thieves!"
"I'm doing the best I can to save people, and keep the team from breaking apart," Morgana retorted as he slowed for a left turn. "You must have noticed Joker's grappling with several… problems."
No sound interrupted the thrum of a not-quite-right engine as the minibus accelerated down a straight road. She'd noticed a lot of red flags—from his lack of any mention of warm memories with his family to the constant readiness for confrontation. She could understand some of it, after he explained how he got from Shinjou to Tokyo and got stuck with criminal charges for his efforts, but there was something more personal she couldn't put her finger on. "I get the sense you're referring to something in specific before I joined the Phantom Thieves."
Morgana passed a creeping crystalline growth spreading from a window midway up a high-rise. "Joker'd been kicked out of home and looking for somewhere to belong. Shiho was the first person he started connecting with… maybe one of the first people he felt safe enough to be vulnerable to."
A pit formed in her stomach. Within days of the new semester starting, Suzui jumped off the roof. Makoto opened her mouth to point out that, at least according to group chat, Suzui and Mishima were a secret couple. But then she remembered his snap at the Thieves while they were trying to find a way into Kaneshiro's heart. "He said, 'If home is where the heart rests easy, I don't have one.'" That pit in her stomach grew. "There's no way they had enough time to form an intimate bond, but… he has a hyper-attachment disorder, doesn't he? That's why he went after Kamoshida." She chewed her lip. "That's why he was so insistent we keep going after Togo."
His voice, dripping with sarcasm, echoed in her skull, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize the Phantom Thieves only did work if it was easy. I thought we changed hearts to free the oppressed from suffering."
"She's doing everything right and isn't being given a first chance. If someone like her can't make it, what fucking chance does someone like me have?"
The worst was the look he gave her, blazing with anger but with an undertone of pain. "For a while, I was deluded enough to think Officer Ichijou was right. That some day, I could make a difference to the people I care about."
Makoto sighed. "How can he think somebody's life is worth more than his?"
"Because it is," Akira said from the space in the back. He rose, holding his head, and sat on the bench-style seat. "Oh, man. Now I know how SG-1 felt when the Jaffa took them prisoner." When she turned in the seat, he refused to quite meet her eyes. A heaviness she rarely saw about him pressed down on his shoulders. "Look, Mako—Rider. I know what my own life is. My parents and I hate each other. The chances I'll ever get to make anything of my life are slim. People like you have a family backing 'em up."
Makoto's teeth pressed down on her lip.
Not having looked up to see, he continued, "When you score well, you get commendations out the ass. When I scored well, Shujin called me in to the acting principal's office and accused me of cheating. Hifumi's not like me, she's from a good place. The only thing wrong with her is she thinks I can be like her." He tensed as the minibus rounded a turn, looking smaller than she'd ever seen him.
She scanned him, thinking back to everything her parents and psychology textbooks taught her. "Is that why this is so important to you? She's separated from the thieving and questionable things we're doing?"
Akira tensed, then forced his hands from his knees. "No." Maybe despite himself, his eyes darted to one side, thought spinning within the grey orbs. "Well, I may have been looking for some of that when things started, but…"
From all around them came Morgana's voice, "You're stuck on her."
He rubbed at his temples. "How can I be happy when she's unhappy?"
Makoto blinked at how alien that sounded. Then again at the realization she almost said something so Sae-like: so compartmentalized and transactional. It still made sense, so she said, "You have to make your own life."
"I tried," he snapped, his steely gaze fixing on hers for the first time in the ride through the unsettling not-Tokyo. His chin and lips tensed, but he swallowed down whatever he might have been about to say. His eyes darted about in thought, then looked down as he clasped his hands in his lap. "Rider, everywhere I'm trying to go, she's there. I didn't even know the redemption of sins could be a thing until less than a year ago. She's been a bona fide Catholic for her entire life. I never had exceptional grades until coming here, and she's been near the top of her class since kindergarten. But more than that… she doesn't seem lost in the world, or confused about what right and wrong are. She had no reason to be kind to me—some rando dimwit who interrupted her game with Father Sugiyama. But she isn't just kind to me, she treats me like there's some better person I can be and… then waits. Like that's who I should've been all along, and she thinks I can fill that person's shoes."
"She's like who you want to be," Makoto said as the minibus slowed down. "Just like Dad was to me. Justice was just a word to other people, but with him, I knew it was a real thing. He went out there every day to fight corruption."
Akira huffed. "A little more corruption out there than one man can take down."
Her hand clenched on the back of the chair and she forced herself to breathe. "I think he knew that. That's why he was tireless in rooting out what he could. Because it would never get better if he didn't start as one man against whatever was out there." She felt a warmth from the memory of the three of them—Dad and Sae around the antique oak table with her—as he regaled them about a bust of a company exploiting illegal migrant workers. "He knew how to play the gruff cop when it was time for that, but he was always the warm center of the family." She felt her cheeks tense from her wide smile. "I remember the day I told Dad I wanted to be a police officer like him."
Akira looked at her, his hunch lessening as he turned his analytic gaze to her. "He gave some big to-do about what a privilege it was to serve?"
Makoto noticed the undertone of challenge there, but at least he left an allowance for there to be something better. That was something. "He actually said he hoped I'd find a safer career path to follow. But he put his arm around me and said he'd be there for graduating, whatever I chose." Then her smile fell. He couldn't keep that promise.
The minibus came to a stop in Shibuya's Station Square, the crimson light of the Metaverse pouring in through the windows. Morgana said, "You risked your life to help free your fellow students from Kaneshiro's clutches. I bet your father would be proud you've found a self you can be proud of." He popped into his catboy form, that wide head and those big eyes fixed on her.
Then Akira had to ruin the serious moment. "I like me a woman in uniform."
Makoto would have chuckled if she wasn't sure he was thinking of someone else. She swallowed down the taste of envy, but when she looked to him, she still saw that well of pain in those deep grey eyes behind his avian mask. He probably meant it to be flattering, or maybe distract her from the oppressive atmosphere. She forced a smile. "I have to admit, I used to put Dad's hat on and imagine myself wearing one of those sharp uniforms when I was a little girl."
Against her expectations, his eyes flicked up and down. With Ryuji she would have expected something sexual to pop out, but contemplation whirred behind Akira's eyes. "Officer Ichijou pulled it off. I don't see why you couldn't, too."
Makoto blinked, her breath catching in her throat. As ready as he was to talk down about the state, affirmation wasn't what she expected. "Who's that?"
Akira rubbed the back of his neck. "She was a cop up in Shinjou. Some of the old-timers called her Rookie, and the gang called her Kung-Fu Cop 'cause she could run and go hand-to-hand like Jet Li." He crossed his arms, reminisce in his gaze. "She showed both of us. Took down truant kids and burglars with equal ease, filed everything where it needed to go, but never broke a bone even though we were prolly little shits who deserved it." He rubbed one arm, and she wondered if the cops who arrested him were rough with him. "'Bet it helped that her husband was a chill guy."
This time Morgana tilted his head. "How did you know her husband? He police, too?"
"No, actually," Akira said, relaxing as he settled into story mode. "He was a basketball coach. Not at Inuri, or things might not've been so bad when I tried for the basketball club. Tried for the big leagues, but when he had his first big injury, they had a talk and decided at least one of them should be in a safe job if anything happened to the other one."
Morgana's bright blue eyes widened. "He gave up a sports dream for his wife? Now that's true love."
Akira shrugged. "Maybe he was just smart about it. Average age of 'retirement' for sports pros is in the early twenties because life-altering injuries are so common. And he's still playing, so it's not like he gave up the game."
Getting the sense the conversation had spun into left field at his direction, Makoto gave a dainty cough. "All of that's very nice to know, but we're all still in the Metaverse for a reason."
Morgana crossed his little arms. "That's right! We had to come to pull your dumb head out of a Palace full of Shadows."
Huffing, Akira slumped.
Makoto let out a breath. After the stories they'd just shared, it didn't feel right not to explain. "Joker, I'm… not against changing Togo's heart, per se. I just don't want it to be a distraction from changing Sakura Futaba's heart. Medjed threatened all Japan, and none of us are up to par. If Alibaba – I mean Futaba – suffers a cognitive failure, a lot more lives will be lost."
His slump vanished, though there was a squint of disbelief marring the hope in his eyes. "Really? You mean you'd be good to change Togo's heart after we finish Futaba's?"
Morgana pointed a white finger at the longcoated boy. "No more sneaking in. The Phantom Thieves do it together, or not at all."
His shoulders slouched, but he gave a nod. "I won't infiltrate Togo's temple until after we save Futaba."
Makoto crossed her arms. "Swear it."
Now Akira straightened, his shoulders squaring and feet angling like somebody expecting to change direction at a moment's notice. "I never said I wouldn't try to save Hifumi before, but now you're asking straight-up, I said I'd stop. The Old Testament is filled with old men promising God eternal action for a quick boost, and then reneging after a few years after they got their blessing. Jesus told his followers to let your yes be yes and your no be no. Matthew 5:37. I'll joke whenever I can 'cause that's good for the mood, but if either of you paid attention, you'd know I don't often promise something. I don't want to be the Akira who'd say whatever to get what he wanted, then not follow through."
Makoto rubbed her arm, face warm at the riposte. Was it good enough? He seemed like he wanted to change. She looked to the team leader with a subtle shrug.
"Fine. Now, actually rest, so we can fight the Shadows in Futaba's Palace at full strength."
AN: When researching this chapter, I originally thought that professional athletes made it to the thirties before a medical issue forces retirement. Turns out, very few last longer than 5 years and most start before 20, so those who make it to 25 are unusual. To get further is even less likely. Professional sports all across the world are HIGHLY exploitative.