Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Le Bateleur

Morgana would never admit it, but when he’d first met Akira Kurusu, he’d thought of him as a fairly slow human whose only redeeming quality was the ability to use a Persona. Even then, that had only caused Morgana to consider Akira useful, and nothing more.

Of course, he’d been thinking a lot worse about Ryuji at the time, but that was something Morgana would absolutely admit to.

It hadn’t helped that through their entire first interaction, Akira had mostly stared at him, only breaking his silence to occasionally interject with short comments. When they had fought the soldier Shadows together, Morgana was impressed by his strength, and immediately decided to work the situation to his own advantage, enlisting Akira (and Ryuji, who Morgana saw as more of a tag-along than anything) into helping him regain human form. There was no doubt in Morgana’s mind that Akira was nothing more than a means to an end.

When Morgana had finally managed to get out of Kamoshida’s Palace and into the real world, he’d reluctantly found himself relying more on Akira than he would’ve liked. He was especially not fond of Akira’s rather destitute living arrangements, café or no café, but it was better than living on the streets-- or worse, with Ryuji.

Morgana had spent nearly all of his time with Akira over the last year, and could confidently say he knew Akira Kurusu more than probably anyone else on the planet.

He hadn’t been particularly for or against friendship with Akira at the beginning of their alliance, but Morgana had witnessed the care and diligence with which the teenager took care of the plant in his room, his skill and determination when crafting infiltration tools, and most importantly, his devotion and loyalty to the Phantom Thieves. Akira’s constant attention to helping those around him in spite of most people’s disdain had let him steal his way into Morgana’s heart-- in the metaphorical sense, of course.

Akira had particular quirks that got on Morgana’s nerves sometimes (his obnoxious tendency to try to survive without sleeping being the most infuriating), but Morgana found he could overlook them in the face of everything they had been through together.

Morgana wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to truly show Akira how much his constant support had soothed him when he was most distressed by his own nature. Morgana’s nightmares had made him terrified that he was evil, that he was one of the things the Phantom Thieves had sworn to fight, and it was only Akira’s soft assurances that Morgana was absolutely their friend, no matter what, that had been able to calm him.

Even though Morgana hadn’t ended up being human, he felt his heart ease when Akira continued to treat him like he had been human after all.

Still, Morgana could sometimes not help but feel uncertain around Akira. Behind his glasses, Akira’s eyes would cloud over with some sort of stormy emotion Morgana could not identify. At times, his gaze would be distant, his smiles just tugging at the corners of his mouth instead of the full-blown Cheshire smirks Morgana knew Akira was capable of.

Akira was always quiet, and was always more subdued in his civilian life, but something about these moments struck Morgana as odd. Usually, they happened after Akira had had one of those nightmares. Having slept in the same bed as Akira for nearly a year, Morgana had become quite adept at telling the difference between Akira’s regular nightmares and these odd, mood-altering dreams that made Akira fidget until he began to violently thrash around in his sleep. They seemed to happen whenever Akira was most exhausted from stress, so Morgana became especially militant at monitoring Akira’s sleep schedule when things got rough.

After one of those dreams, Akira would grow distant with everyone else to the point of seeming almost cold. He seemed to do whatever was expected of him, but Morgana could see that he was just going through the motions to please those around him. When he thought he was alone, or when it was just the two of them and Morgana pretended to be enthralled by a DVD they were watching together, Akira seemed to simply sink into a state of wearied acceptance. He would stare at his hands, and Morgana would spot their trembling out of the corner of his eye. Whenever he asked Akira, he would receive a small hand-wave and a quiet “I’m fine”, which, in Morgana’s opinion, was clearly not the case.

This weird behavior from Akira had worsened as time went on. He seemed to be more and more disaffected by everything around him. Akira would even turn down visits or requests to hang out from the people he had once been eager to spend time with. Morgana had thought it might have something to do with his master, but even he had been obnoxiously cryptic about Akira’s behavior when Morgana had asked.

Morgana understood that Akira had been through quite a lot, given the house arrest, the Palace-police interrogation, the whole affair with Shido, and his entire parole situation in the first place. Morgana suspected that something truly horrible had happened during the interrogation that Akira hadn’t told the rest of the Phantom Thieves about to keep them from worrying over him-- Morgana had seen Akira’s horrifically purpling leg when he snuck over to spy on him at the Bathhouse, and Akira had walked with a limp for days afterward-- but he couldn’t prove anything without confronting Akira about it directly. Had it been anyone else, Morgana would have done just that to help them get over what had happened to them in addition to satisfying his own sense of curiosity, but he knew Akira too well to think that that sort of intervention would lead to anything but Akira dismissing him, then ignoring him until he thought Morgana had forgotten about it.

It seemed fairly clear to Morgana that Akira had been traumatized by everything that had happened to him, and it bothered Morgana that Akira didn’t seem to want his support, when Akira had been so willing to support Morgana when their situations were reversed. What perturbed Morgana more, however, was the fact that Akira didn’t seem to want or need anyone’s support, which, while making him a highly effective leader, obviously had a terrible effect on Akira’s emotional well-being.

Akira was going to be leaving the next day, and he had been in that same distant mood all day. Morgana’s concern had become drastic enough over the past year that he was tempted to steal Akira’s phone to test him for a Palace in the Meta-Nav, but now he knew that Akira having a Palace like Futaba’s was an impossibility. He knew Akira didn’t want to leave Tokyo, but the far-off gazes, the hands shaking without Akira having touched any of Sojiro’s coffee, and Akira’s entire body so tense he could’ve been preparing for a Shadow attack indicated that something beyond simple sadness at saying goodbye was eating away at their remarkable, fearless leader.

Morgana watched from his usual perch as Akira gave his plant the last bag of its super-fancy nutrients with a carefully neutral expression. He wasn’t sure how talking to Akira about his departure would go, and he definitely wanted to avoid accidentally sending Akira spiraling deeper into disassociation.

“You must really care about that plant,” Morgana joked. He half-hoped that the familiar line might make Akira crack a smile, but all he got was a tentative shrug.

Akira’s eyes seemed to glaze over everything in the room. He paused at the crane game prizes placed proudly atop his desk, and he spent a few minutes staring blankly at each of the tchotchkes on his shelf, probably reminiscing about the times he’d gotten them, and the friends he’d gotten them with. Morgana remained silent, not wanting to interrupt.

He did interrupt, however, when Akira seemed to be meandering towards the stairs down to the café. Sojiro had already closed and locked up, so there was no reason to be going downstairs unless he was planning on going out, and the almost disturbingly dark circles under Akira’s eyes made certain that Morgana was not about to let him do something as stupid as wandering around Yongen-Jaya on the verge of passing out from exhaustion.

“You look tired,” he said. “Don’t you think you should get some sleep?”

Akira froze. Morgana watched him with concern as his lips twitched into a completely humorless smile. Akira turned to Morgana, seeming to actually acknowledge his existence for the first time all night, and simply stared. Morgana stared back into the gray eyes behind the thick faux-glasses, wanting to say something, but being totally unsure of how to continue.

“Guess you’re right,” Akira said. Morgana had to contain a sigh of relief at the actual, verbal response. “Just thought I’d…”

Akira tilted his head to the side as he trailed off, sending a fleeting, almost longing gaze downstairs.

“Never mind,” Akira said. “You’re right. I should just… yeah. Sleep.”

He walked over to Morgana’s table, pulled out his journal, and began to write. Morgana tried to lean over casually to read it, but Akira was both subtly concealing it from him as well as having what was quite possibly the worst handwriting he’d ever seen.

When Akira closed it, he rested a hand on top of it, then placed it in the pocket of the jacket hanging in his closet. Morgana turned his head aside as Akira changed into his sleepwear, then resumed his staring when the rustling noises stopped.

Akira paused for a moment, his back to Morgana, then spoke so softly Morgana had to strain to hear him.

“Make sure Sojiro-san gets this, okay?”

Alarm bells seemed to go off in Morgana’s head as he processed that particular statement. Was Akira planning to run away so he wouldn’t have to go back home? That would certainly put a dent in the Phantom Thieves’ plans to surprise him with one last beach trip. Why would he ask Morgana to give Sojiro his journal? Sojiro couldn’t even understand Morgana.

“Can’t you give it to him?” Morgana tried to hide how alert he was as he studied Akira’s every movement.

Akira’s frame seemed to deflate, but it was hard for Morgana to judge too much of his body language while only seeing his back. When he turned back around, Akira seemed to have forced his face back into its normal, nondescript expression, as if he was forcing himself to play the part of Akira Kurusu.

“Yeah, just… in case I forget,” he said. “Before I go.”

As far as Morgana was aware, Akira had never forgotten anything in his entire life, but Morgana reluctantly nodded in hopes of getting him to open up further.

“Of course. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

Akira nodded at this, without his usual vigor. “Okay… thanks.”

It wasn’t like Akira to be so vague in his statements, either. His speech was usually direct to the point of bluntness, but everything he said made him seem like his mind was focused intensely on something else.

“You okay, Joker?” Morgana was blatantly fishing for any clue as to how to help at this point.

Akira’s eyes widened slightly, and a shiver seemed to run through him. He simply nodded again, then walked slowly over to the bed Morgana had become so familiar with over the year. Morgana jumped down from the table, then padded his way over to the bed, waiting for Akira to get in. He watched Akira reach down and run his hands over the blankets, as if feeling them for the first time.

“Yeah,” Akira said, with a phantom of a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just… don’t really want to go to sleep.”

There was something in his words, a weight to them that made Morgana tense. He waited for Akira to continue, but the boy simply climbed in, pulling the blankets only halfway over himself as usual. Morgana leapt up onto the bed, curling himself up on Akira’s chest.

“Well, you look exhausted,” he said sternly. “You really should get some rest. You definitely deserve it.”

Akira actually exhaled in something that might have been a laugh at that, although his breathlessness may have had something to with Morgana sitting on his lungs-- but whatever, Akira was comfy, and Morgana hoped that his presence might help remind Akira that he wasn’t alone. And besides, Morgana wasn’t giving up his sleeping place.

“Goodnight, Morgana.”

“Night, Akira.”

Morgana watched Akira’s eyes slowly close. He listened to the crickets chirping away outside, and felt himself being lulled to sleep by the rhythmic rise and fall of Akira’s chest.

***

It took Morgana several minutes to figure out that something was wrong when he awoke.

The morning seemed perfectly normal, the sun shining in through the windows just as brightly as ever. He could hear voices downstairs, and since he knew Sojiro would be closing up the café today because of Akira’s departure, he assumed that Futaba must’ve come over to be the first to wish him goodbye.

He was still lying perfectly still on Akira’s chest, and the knowledge that Akira hadn’t run away in the night filled him with a sense of relief. He looked up at Akira’s face, and was pleasantly surprised to find a small smile. He looked more peaceful and content than he had in months, and Morgana hoped that whatever sleep he’d managed to get would help him through whatever had been troubling him.

Morgana stretched and stood up on Akira’s chest, ready to wake him up and send him downstairs to begin seeing everyone off, when he was struck with a sinking feeling in his gut that something was horribly wrong.

He looked around the room, his ears twitching in search of any out-of-the-ordinary sound, halfway convinced that Yaldabaoth or Akechi or Shido or someone wasn’t as gone as they’d thought, but he couldn’t see or hear anything strange.

“Hey, Joker, wake up-- something weird is going on.”

No response. He knew Akira was a pretty heavy sleeper, but jeez.

“Joker, get up! Now!”

Still no response, just Akira sleeping with that same smile on his face. Morgana was beginning to get annoyed, so he leaned in to yell in his face. He paused when he noticed something strange:

Morgana didn’t feel any breath coming from Akira’s nose.

He had woken up on Akira’s chest, which should have been rising up and falling down in a slow, steady, constant rhythm, but was instead completely, utterly, and gut-wrenchingly still.

Morgana felt his heart stop for a beat, then speed up to an extent that he wasn’t sure cat hearts could safely handle.

“Akira?!” He called. He began kneading his paws on Akira’s chest, in an attempt to shake him out of whatever had happened to him. His claws slipped out almost subconsciously when Akira didn’t answer, and had he been less desperate and scared, Morgana would’ve felt bad about the tiny cuts he was making in Akira’s shirt and skin, which didn’t seem to be bleeding quite as much as they should. “Akira, wake up! This isn’t funny!”

Akira remained unmoving, oblivious to Morgana’s mounting panic and terror. What the hell had happened? Had someone somehow reactivated the Metaverse and caused Akira to have a mental shutdown?

Morgana had no idea what was going on. All he could focus on was that Akira wasn’t waking up, and that his skin was paler than it normally was, and that the room had begun to smell strange and awful, and that Akira wasn’t waking the hell up.

Morgana felt like everything in his body had both become frenzied and gone numb in one instant. He stared at Akira’s fluffy black bedhead and tried (and failed) to stop hyperventilating.

Laughter from downstairs pervaded the sound of blood pounding in his brain, and his mind snapped to the others.

Sojiro. Futaba.

They’d know what to do, they’d know how to help, they could call someone-- the paramedics, Akira’s doctor friend Takemi, someone who could help, someone who could make Akira wake up.

Morgana fell out of the bed in his haste to sprint down to the others, only just barely landing on unsteady feet. He took the stairs three at a time as he flew to get help, his thoughts overwhelmed by the calm, peaceful expression on Akira’s--

Morgana mentally recoiled in disgust when the first word his brain came up with was “corpse”.

Chapter Text

La Papesse

Makoto Niijima would never admit it, but when she’d first met Akira Kurusu, she’d thought of him as a strange annoyance. He’d wandered into the library on one of his first few days at Shujin, and immediately, everyone had started whispering about the delinquent transfer student, and what he could possibly be doing there, since he certainly wouldn’t be studying. Makoto had ignored their chattering, but she couldn’t ignore the figure looming over her.

She’d looked up to see said delinquent transfer student standing beside her seat. His expression seemed unreadable, but his gaze was unmistakably fixed on her. For a second, she tensed up, thinking he was going to mock her or flirt with her, but he remained completely stoic.

Their awkward silent interaction continued for a few moments, until Makoto found herself growing frustrated. Maybe that was what he was doing-- trying to distract her with his presence until she snapped. Nevertheless, Makoto was the Student Council President, so although she had the urge to tell him off, she asked him as politely as she could to leave her to her studies. To her surprise, he did so without resistance.

After their brief interaction, she paid a bit more attention to the rumors about him. She knew to take most of the things people were saying with a grain of salt, but some of their speculations about his crime verged on the disturbing. The idea that Shujin had taken in a delinquent was strange enough, but Makoto had trouble believing that Principal Kobayakawa would be so irresponsible as to have taken in a lunatic who sounded like he walked straight out of a horror movie. Honestly, Makoto found it difficult to believe that Kurusu made a habit of murdering people with writing utensils-- although she may or may not have clenched her Buchimaru-kun pencil case a bit tighter whenever he walked by, just to be safe.

Even then, it didn’t take Makoto long to forget about the odd transfer student. Her sister came home one night with dark circles a mile wide under her eyes, and she barely touched the dinner Makoto had thrown together. Apparently she was struggling with a case because of the defendant’s slimy attorney, and her boss had practically reamed her for taking so long to get a guilty verdict. Though Sae acted rather apathetic about the situation, Makoto’s heart broke when she heard small gasps and sniffles over the sound of Sae preparing her bath.

She decided to plunge herself even harder into her studies that night. She was going to get a full scholarship to a great university if it killed her-- and that meant more time studying, and less time idly collecting gossip about Akira Kurusu.

For a time, it worked. Their classes were on completely different floors, and Makoto rarely had cause to interact with the second years at all. Student Council activities when through the teachers, and although she was tempted to question his homeroom teacher about having him as a student, the poor woman looked beleaguered enough without having to deal with an interrogation.

The threat of midterms hanging over her head alone would’ve been plenty to keep her mind off of the delinquent, but the tragedy of Shiho Suzui attempting suicide violently struck all other thoughts away. The principal was deeply worried over the ramifications of the incident on the school, and Makoto was horrified that she hadn’t seen the girl’s struggles. It was even more upsetting to realize that, even after the fact, she still wasn’t sure what had driven the girl to such desperate measures. Several students claimed to one another in the halls that Kamoshida had said or done something terrible to her, but when she brought the issue up around Principal Kobayakawa, he shrugged it off as hateful gossip toward a successful teacher.

Makoto wasn’t so sure about that, but the alternative-- the idea that she had been placing her faith in such a heartless monster-- was too terrible to bear. She needed someone to mentally vent her frustration onto, though. Much to her eventual shame, a part of her began to blame Akira Kurusu for her own ignorance of the situation. If she hadn’t been so ardently avoiding him, perhaps she would have spent more time around the second years. Perhaps she would’ve noticed something off with Suzui. Perhaps she could’ve done something to save the girl from the devastating injuries she had inflicted on herself.

Her streak of indifference to him had been abruptly shattered, and even her quiet resentment of him soon experienced an upheaval when some students posted a prank “calling card” to Kamoshida in the school hallways. The note claimed that Kamoshida had forced some sort of “twisted desire” onto his students, and that a group calling themselves the “Phantom Thieves of Hearts” intended to somehow steal those desires from him, making him confess to his crimes.

Everyone at the school was in an uproar, debating wildly about the accusations made against him, and the identity behind the so-called Phantom Thieves. Makoto was certain that Kamoshida, who was obviously enraged by the note, would deny the allegations. She was therefore bewildered and a bit disheartened when he decided to take some time off of school.

The situation consumed her every waking moment. Principal Kobayakawa requested she try to run damage control on the rumor mill, and she was still trying to focus on her studies. She’d become so stressed out by the situation that she found herself mumbling to no one in the library.

Which, coincidentally, lead to her second encounter with Akira Kurusu.

It ended up being much in the same vein as their first meeting. Makoto sat in the library, talking to herself about Kamoshida and the coming semester, when she noticed Kurusu standing behind her again. She quickly asked him to leave, but there was a small glimmer in his eyes that she didn’t quite understand. Had he overheard her muttering? If he had, Makoto suspected there was a chance that the small spark in his eyes had been one of satisfaction. There was a very good chance Kurusu had been the one to plant the card. He was a delinquent, after all, and he had immediately befriended Ryuji Sakamoto, who had actually assaulted Kamoshida in the past. It stood to reason that the calling card might be some sort of attempt at psychological retribution on Kurusu’s part.

Reneging on her earlier resolutions, Makoto resolved to keep an eye on him. She kept so close of an eye on him that when Kamoshida completely stunned everyone by tearfully confessing to physically and sexually abusing his students, Makoto didn’t miss the brief flash of Akira Kurusu’s tiny, triumphant smirk. When Principal Kobayakawa more or less threatened her with withholding a recommendation letter unless she investigated the Phantom Thieves, it wasn’t hard to figure out her first suspect.

What was more difficult to figure out was how Kurusu had managed to force Kamoshida to confess. She suspected he was blackmailing the coach somehow, but he’d only been attending Shujin Academy for a few weeks. How much information could he possibly have discovered in that time? Perhaps his accomplices, Sakamoto and Takamaki-- and it hadn’t escaped Makoto’s notice that Ann Takamaki, one of Kamoshida’s supposed “favorites”, had begun hanging out with the two boys-- had helped with intelligence gathering? Or perhaps something even more sinister was at play. Kurusu was already a delinquent, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to think he could have ties to the criminal underground. Makoto had heard several complaints about students being extorted by some sort of yakuza organization. If Kurusu knew someone there, or was even a part of their ranks himself, he could have easily gotten the information out of an unwilling student.

But that also begged the question: what information had Kurusu used to blackmail Kamoshida? It would have to be a secret even more horrendous than the one he had already confessed to-- and to be frank, Makoto could hardly imagine a more unforgivable crime than Kamoshida’s. And besides, she had been stealthily trailing Kurusu for a while, and the shadiest person he had met up with had been the owner of a model gun store in Shibuya. The more she considered the evidence, the less the theory made sense.

Kamoshida’s confession itself also presented a problem for her theory. She was by no means an expert on human body language, but when he had admitted to his crimes, Kamoshida had seemed to sincerely regret what he had done. Her (admittedly fairly limited) knowledge of psychology simply didn’t line up with his actions. Someone so despicable doing such a complete one-eighty seemed completely illogical. The man had even gone so far as to offer to commit suicide!

There was a part of Makoto that had bubbled to the surface during that little statement. She tried to ignore her rage, but there was a voice in her head that wanted to shriek at Takamaki when she stopped Kamoshida from killing himself. Makoto was a rational person, and was adamant about the importance of abiding by the law, but the complete injustice of what Kamoshida had done to all those students right under her nose left her wanting to tear Kamoshida limb from limb with her own hands. Takamaki had accused her of turning a blind eye to the truth, and really, wasn’t that what she had done?

At least she had the reassurance that her sister would be prosecuting his case. Makoto knew her sister would be as ruthless as always in court. Still, her anger had left her confused for weeks-- because if the so-called “Phantom Thieves” had managed to force such a horrific man to face justice for what he’d done… delinquent leader or no delinquent leader, were they truly as evil as Principal Kobayakawa had made them seem? More pressingly, should she tell the principal about her suspicions?

When she lit incense at the family butsudan for her father, she stared at his picture and couldn’t help but wonder what he would say. Makoto wanted to believe that her father would agree that people taking the law into their own hands was dangerous, but was that really what they had done? And, to be frank, her father had been a good man, a good police officer, and a good father. He would have felt the pain of what Kamoshida had done to Shiho Suzui as keenly as he would have if it had been Makoto herself called into Kamoshida’s office that day. Makoto could not say with any certainty if her father wouldn’t have done the same thing the Phantom Thieves had, if given the chance.

The trio at school had seemingly added a new member to their ranks-- Yusuke Kitagawa, a student from Kosei High School, and now-famous former charge of the Phantom Thieves’ most recent victim, Ichiryusai Madarame.

Honestly, Makoto was stunned she was the only one to catch on to their identities, given how obvious they were. Especially when Sakamoto was so stupid as to blurt out the truth in public, where anyone could hear them. Or record them.

She debated going to Principal Kobayakawa with the proof he had wanted, but Makoto herself wanted to understand their methods-- and the heartbreaking stories she’d been hearing about students falling victim to an extortionist seemed like the perfect way to kill two birds with one stone. Makoto wanted to see the Phantom Thieves in action. She wanted to know if Kurusu and the others were actually fighting for those who couldn’t fight for themselves, or if they were just selfish criminals. She wanted to know what her father would have done.

When she confronted them and blackmailed them into helping her, however, she came away feeling like the villain, despite her willingness to hear them out, as well as her desire to protect the students of Shujin the way she hadn’t before. Sakamoto and Takamaki’s vitriol as well as Kitagawa’s coldness were enough to shake her foundations, but something about Kurusu’s stare made her feel like he could see the hesitation and uncertainty in her heart.

Makoto was loathe to admit it, but she desperately wanted someone to tell her she was right to pursue the Phantom Thieves so relentlessly. Bringing it up with her sister, however, had made her feel worse than before. Sae had called her a useless burden, and it cut her to the core. She had neglected her studies to follow Akira Kurusu around, and if she began to falter, she would never be able to stop being a burden to Sae. She knew it was unfair, but some of her resentment toward Kurusu began to resurface.

Her feelings of complete futility clung to her like a parasite, leeching away her ability to remain calm. It hadn’t helped that she could do nothing for the students coming to her more and more frequently for help with the yakuza extortion ring but wait for Kurusu and his gang. It hadn’t helped that when she pressed them, the Phantom Thieves accused her of sitting back and letting others do her work for her. And it certainly hadn’t helped that Goro Akechi of all people had implied she was just some sort of doormat. Makoto could feel a white-hot anger directed toward herself slowly building in her chest, making her hands twitch and screaming at her to get off her ass and do something.

Of course, much to her despair, getting off her ass and doing something brought nothing but trouble to Kurusu’s group. She’d wanted to cry-- in anger or in sadness, she wasn’t sure-- when Kaneshiro threatened them. Her overwhelming emotions were only lessened slightly by the odd stare Kurusu was giving her. His eyes scanned her up and down, as if analyzing her current state and mentally evaluating who she was. Makoto may have borne resentment toward him in the past, but something compelled her to be sure that he did not find her lacking. She was determined to channel everything she had into her anger toward Kaneshiro, and to assist the Phantom Thieves in taking him down.

Being brought into the Metaverse and discovering the existence of Personas was a surprise, but the explosion of fury when Makoto had finally reached her breaking point was not. Kurusu-- no, Akira-- had given her a rather knowing smile as she took down her first Shadows, and she immediately felt a sort of kinship with him.

When she had emphatically turned down Principal Kobayakawa’s pleas to continue to search for the Phantom Thieves, she found herself echoing the smirk Akira had worn at Kamoshida’s confession.

Later, once she had officially become a member of the notorious group, she felt the need to explore that connection a bit further. He was her new leader, after all. She wanted to be absolutely certain she could trust him, and the best way to do that was by building a relationship outside of the cathartic beatdowns in the cognitive world.

She knew she could handle her school obligations, now that all the emotional turmoil had passed, but understanding the world outside of academics was still a weak point of hers. Makoto had followed Akira for quite a while, and she knew that he spent most of his time outside of school, socializing with a wide array of people. She had a feeling that he could help her adjust to being around other people.

And besides, he was tall, relatively intimidating-looking, and more importantly, male. He’d be a good companion to have when she investigated the rumors of Shujin students being seen in the red-light district-- he’d at least be able to stave off some of the street harassment she would undoubtedly receive.

While she was sure he wouldn’t refuse her request outright, she was a bit surprised that Akira would go so far out of his way to help her with something that didn’t involve him at all. When she finally found out the reason for his criminal record, his willingness to assist her and his determination to fight for people in bad situations made much more sense. Her blood boiled at the injustice of Akira’s predicament, and her childhood dream of working with the police force, to help people like Akira, began to stir its way around her mind once again.

And it was nice to know that she didn’t have to keep her pencil case closely guarded around him-- not that she had believed that ridiculous rumor in the first place.

To Makoto’s surprise, her pencil case actually lead to her making her first friend outside of the Phantom Thieves. It was a bit of a relief to have Akira there throughout her first real interaction with Eiko, because, while it was slightly awkward when Eiko assumed he was Makoto’s boyfriend, his silent, encouraging presence made her feel certain that he was there to support her, even in something as trivial as fumbling her way through a conversation with a girl her own age.

He reminded her a lot of her father, in that right, to the point where she found herself telling him all sorts of things she had never shared about her father with anyone. Akira didn’t mock her or pity her, but he seemed to understand her grief. He even supported her when she talked about her uncertainty about her future-- although he seemed to be resolved in his own way, as well. It was as if Akira knew exactly what the future was going to hold for him, and he had simply accepted that fact.

Well, they were Phantom Thieves, so Makoto supposed they both knew what was in store for them for the foreseeable future.

What had not been foreseeable was her need for Akira to pretend to be her boyfriend, to help her figure out whether or not Eiko’s boyfriend was really as suspicious as he seemed. It seemed ridiculous to Makoto that she would need someone to pretend to be her boyfriend in the first place, but if it was going to be anyone, she was glad it was Akira. He was reliable, he kept a level head in high-adrenaline situations, and she would never admit it to anyone with the possible exception of Ann, but Akira was actually quite… debonair. He had nice features, and even though he was quiet, he carried himself with a fluidity and grace that revealed the more confident side he presented as Joker.

Eiko seemed to sort of agree, at least.

Makoto would be eternally grateful that Akira had helped her with Eiko’s situation. She wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have rushed into things with confronting Tsukasa like she had with Kaneshiro if he hadn’t been there helping her. She was glad Akira had been there to teach her the value of patience and subtlety. And even though she didn’t really need him to, she was quietly pleased that he had immediately stepped in to defend her from Tsukasa. Akira was one of the noblest people she knew.

Their fake double dates felt a bit like an undercover mission, and the unfairness of the scheme Tsukasa was trying with her friend reminded her even more of why she had wanted to be a police officer. Akira had become her closest confidant, and she told him about her decision to become a police commissioner before anyone else. He seemed happy for her, and Makoto was glad to know he would be there in the future to support her and her dreams.

When she offered to support his dreams by helping him study, however, Akira seemed to go completely blank.

“What’s wrong?” She couldn’t help but ask from across the Leblanc table. “Just because I’m not going to go easy on you doesn’t mean you have to look like you’re heading to your own funeral.”

The table between them jolted suddenly. Makoto reached out to steady her drink, before returning to gaze at him, curious about his peculiar reaction. He must have hit the table with his leg, but his expression was carefully guarded.

“Um… Akira?”

He began twirling a pencil between his fingers. He continued to stare at his homework, as if idly concentrating. “Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

Akira looked up at her with a smile that hid his teeth. “Yeah, sorry. Just nervous about exams.”

Makoto had a hard time believing that, but she didn’t want to push him if he didn’t want to talk. “Well, you shouldn’t worry,” she said. “You’re one of the smartest kids in your year-- and besides, you’ve got me helping you now. You may be going back home in a few days, but trust me, whatever college you want to get into, I’ll make it happen.”

For the first time Makoto could remember, Akira looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“I don’t think I’ll be going to college, Makoto.”

She blinked at him in shock for a moment, unable to process what he meant. Then she realized that her slightly openmouthed gaping might be a bit offensive.

“What do you mean?” Yikes, she thought. Rephrase that one, Niijima. “I mean, why? Are you planning on getting a job license?”

“Not really,” Akira said, rubbing the back of his head.

“First I’ve heard of this, too. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

It was Makoto’s turn to jump as Boss chimed in on their conversation. It had gotten so late that Futaba had gone home, taking Morgana with her with bribes of leftover sushi. Makoto had almost forgotten that Boss was still there working on inventory, much to her embarrassment. Neither he nor Akira seemed to notice, though. Akira was still off in his own world, and Boss was staring hard at Akira from between half-refilled jars of coffee beans.

Akira shrugged, twirling his pencil with lean, nimble fingers. “A lot’s happened this last year.”

Makoto was a bit frustrated with his non-answer. Akira had never been a man of many words, but she felt that a bombshell like that deserved a few more than six in response.

“Your record was expunged, right?” She asked. “Your grades are spectacular, and you’re kind of famous now. Any college would be glad to have you.”

“Probably,” Akira said.

His lack of energy and one-word answers were beginning to seriously worry her. “Then what’s the problem?”

Akira shrugged once again. “Me.”

Well, that was certainly alarming. Boss seemed to think the same, because he seemed as though he was one weird remark away from coming out from behind the counter and confronting his charge.

Makoto felt herself panic. While in her attempts to broaden her horizons Akira had comforted her several times, she had never quite learned how to do the same. She tried to think of what her father did when she was upset, but she didn’t think Akira would appreciate her pulling him onto her lap and calling him her “brave little princess” the way her father had done for her.

More memories of her father suddenly flooded her mind. She had been so young she could barely understand what was going on, but she knew her father was upset about something. Makoto remembered her mother-- and it hurt that she could barely remember her own mother’s face-- had been able to comfort him with the lightest touch. She would place a hand between his shoulder blades, or run her hand down his arm, or brush her hand through his silver hair, and he would be calm and laughing with them in no time.

Almost automatically, her hand reached out and stilled Akira’s. The pencil fell onto the table and rolled onto the floor, but both of them ignored it. He looked at her, one eyebrow tilting in surprise, the dim lighting of Leblanc obscuring his eyes behind his glasses. Makoto let their hands fall onto the table together, reaching out and covering his with both of hers.

“Hey,” she said. “You’ve been there for me through everything. Through Kaneshiro, through Tsukasa… through my sister.” She squeezed his hand in hers as memories of the flashing lights of the casino temporarily froze her. He squeezed her hand back in comfort, but Makoto didn’t want him turning the tables. She’d relied on him for so long, it was time she returned the favor.

“You’ve always supported me. You’ve always encouraged me. If there’s something bothering you-- and with all that’s happened, I certainly couldn’t blame you-- I want you to know that I’m here for you, too, Akira. All of us are.”

He smiled then-- not the distant smile he’d worn all evening, and not the grin she’d come to so closely associate with Joker, but a real, genuine smile, and Makoto could’ve cried with relief. He turned their hands over so his was covering both of hers.

“I know you are,” he said.

They remained silent for a moment, then Akira pulled away.

“I’m kinda tired. Would you mind if we continued our study session another time?”

Startled by the abrupt subject change, Makoto nodded without thinking. Akira quickly gathered his things from the table, then headed upstairs with a hasty “good night” thrown over his shoulder. The cafe was silent in the wake of his absence.

“You’re worried about him too, right?” Makoto asked. She needed to be sure she wasn’t imagining things.

“Oh yeah,” Boss replied. He raised his hand to his chin and stared at the stairs. He seemed to realize Makoto was still there a moment later, because he startled, then waved a hand at her.

“Why don’t you head home? The last trains’ll be leaving soon,” he said. “Don’t worry about that kid. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

Makoto was reluctant to leave, but she didn’t want to impose on his hospitality. “Thank you, sir,” she said. He nodded at her. They remained quiet as she gathered her things, and left Leblanc with a heavy heart.

***

Makoto had a massive headache, and it wasn’t even the middle of the morning yet. She pushed open the doors of Leblanc, greeted by the sight of Futaba springing out of her perch on a barstool and trying to shove her back out the door.

“What are you doing here?! You’re gonna ruin the surprise, Makoto!” Futaba insisted. She tried to shove Makoto, but the Student Council President was determined, and Futaba’s upper-body strength from her limited physical use of her Persona was still tempered by her being a shut-in for several years.

“I’ll only be here a second! I could just really use a relaxing cup of Leblanc coffee right now.” She looked hopefully over at Boss, who chuckled lightly.

“Lucky for you, I just made a fresh pot,” he said. “Let me see if we have any to-go mugs in the back.”

“Ugh, Sojiro, don’t take her side!” Futaba pouted. Boss ignored her in favor of heading back to Leblanc’s tiny kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Futaba, but I promise I’ll leave before Akira wakes up. Dealing with the rental place was just a nightmare this morning, and I needed to de-stress.”

Futaba considered this, then finally stopped trying to force Makoto out. “All right,” she said. She climbed back up onto her barstool. “I would’ve done it online, but we just had to go with a car rental place owned by dinosaurs.”

Makoto laughed. “I know, I know. It was a hassle, but they were the only place we could find who rented vans that were the same model as Morgana, remember?”

“You mean the cat?” Boss asked, stepping back up to the counter. He began pouring the coffee, and Makoto wanted to swoon at the scent.

“Yup!” Futaba said. “See, in the Metaverse, Mona had the ability to turn into a bus, because in the real world--”

“Never mind! I don’t think I want to know.” Boss shook his head in exasperation.

“HELP!”

“Mona?!”

Makoto and Futaba whirled in surprise at the sudden yelp. Sojiro struggled for a moment with the lid of the to-go cup, laughing.

“And there’s that cat-- Akira’s awake, huh? Looks like you’ll need to hurry out of here with your coffee, Niijima.”

Morgana came flying down the stairs, and Futaba and Makoto rushed over to him.

“You have to come upstairs, please, get help, Akira’s not breathing!”

“What?!” Futaba gasped.

Makoto’s mind whirled into action, and she felt her body moving without thinking. She needed to see what was going on for herself, she needed to know what the hell Morgana was talking about. She could hear Futaba and Boss thundering up the stairs behind her.

Akira was laying in bed, seemingly still asleep. Makoto raced over to kneel beside him, and sure enough, he didn’t seem to be breathing. She placed her fingers to his neck, and she couldn’t find a pulse-- but that was okay, because she’d always been bad at finding pulses, even when they had to do it for gym class, she probably just couldn’t find Akira’s now.

Makoto pulled her fingers away to reach for his chest, dimly aware of Boss kneeling beside her. She was too preoccupied with the blood on her fingers, which she quickly realized was coming from a series of small cuts all over Akira’s chest. She was thinking too many thoughts at once, and couldn’t find any cohesiveness among them.

“--before?” Someone was asking. Boss, she dimly recognized.

“What?” Makoto asked.

“Have you ever resuscitated someone before?!” He repeated firmly.

Makoto shook her head, unable to fully connect her brain to the rest of her body. “No-- no, but I know how to.”

“All right, I need you to start chest compressions-- I’ll call for help. Futaba, come with me.”

Makoto heard Futaba making indistinct noises behind her, but she couldn’t spare her any attention. She tilted Akira’s head back and placed her mouth over his, pinching his nose shut and being especially careful not to fill his stomach. She pressed down on his chest at a steady pace, making sure all of her movements were textbook-accurate, trying desperately not to let her fear and panic show. She saw a blur leap onto the bed by Akira’s feet, and heard Morgana pleading with Akira to wake up.

She couldn’t let herself listen to Morgana, because Morgana’s grief made it real. If she ignored Morgana, the problem would go away. Akira would wake up and be fine and apologize for worrying them all. He would get in the old van Makoto had rented and go on a road trip with the other Phantom Thieves and be fine!

A sharp crack froze Makoto’s thoughts and hands. She looked down at Akira in horror.

“What’s wrong?! What happened?!” Morgana demanded, as panicked as Makoto felt.

“I broke his rib,” Makoto said. Her voice was shaky. “I think-- I remember that this can happen when you do CPR, you can break someone’s rib if you press too hard, it’s normal--” It was completely normal when performing chest compressions. The books she’d read said it happened around 80% of the time. She had to remind herself it was fine, and that Akira would forgive her when he woke up.

Morgana swatted at her arm, the sharp sting of his claw drawing her out of distraction. “Makoto! You have to keep going, you have to keep--!”

He was wrong, though. And Boss had been wrong, too. Makoto had read enough about first aid to understand that chest compressions were unlikely to be able to help, now that he--

“No, no, no!” Makoto cried to herself. “No! Come on, Akira!” She forced her hands to cooperate, unwilling to give up on him.

“You can’t go-- you can’t, not like this, I still have to apologize for resenting you, I have to make it up to you…” Even as she pressed on his chest, words fell from her lips without her permission, as if her pleas would do what medical help could not. “Please, Akira! You’re supposed to be there, I don’t understand…!”

Her face was wet and her vision had grown blurry. It was like being told her father was dead all over again, but worse, because she was right there. She could’ve helped. If she’d gone upstairs sooner, maybe she could’ve started doing chest compressions in time. If she hadn’t been so goddamn useless--!

Makoto let out a sob that hurt her chest as she heard another rib crack. She felt like her head was spinning with thoughts and memories that didn’t mean anything if they couldn’t fix whatever had happened to her best friend.

“Move,” someone said behind her.

Makoto didn’t move. She kept pressing on Akira’s chest, hoping that the books she had read were wrong, and that she really was doing something to help.

“Move!” The voice repeated. Makoto was pulled away from Akira, and she kicked at the person holding onto her-- Boss, she vaguely recognized. He was holding Futaba under his other arm, although she had her face buried in her hands, sobbing hysterically. Morgana jumped onto her lap. Makoto clenched her hands into fists and tried to force herself to stop fighting.

The woman who had spoken was someone Makoto had never seen before. The chains around her neck jingled merrily as she leaned over Akira. Makoto began counting to slow both her racing mind and her rapid breathing.

1… 2… 3…

Calm down, Makoto. Be rational about this.

4… 5… 6…

He’ll be fine. Whoever this woman is, she can fix him.

7… 8…

The woman stood up. Makoto’s mental tally faltered and stuttered to a sudden halt. Her hands were clenched into fists mirroring Makoto’s own.

She shook her head at the four of them sitting on Akira’s dusty attic floor.

“He’s cold,” she said.

Chapter Text

L’Impératrice

Haru Okumura would never admit it, but when she’d first met Akira Kurusu, she hadn’t really thought much of him. She’d seen him and Ryuji on the plane to Hawaii-- but she’d mostly been looking at Ryuji, who’d been practically screaming with excitement, so she didn’t take much notice of the boy with him, except perhaps to note how fluffy his hair was.

She had thought that chaperoning a field trip in Hawaii might be more exciting than it ended up being. Haru had never gotten particularly close to anyone in her year, in fear that they might figure out who she was, and she certainly hadn’t made many friends among the second years. She supposed that going into the city might have been fun, but that was until she spotted a Big Bang Burger, and everything with her father and Sugimura came rushing back.

The beach was super relaxing, though, so she couldn’t complain. And besides, that was where she actually considered her first meeting with Akira Kurusu to be.

He had approached her with two other boys who she now knew to be Ryuji and Yusuke. He seemed quiet and calm, and Haru found it surprisingly easy to talk to him, especially since he had no idea who she was. Apparently, he and Ryuji had run into her before while she was watering her plants, but Haru herself had only vague recollections of this. She supposed she must have been too preoccupied with her vegetables-- when she was in the zone, she was in the zone. Still, they seemed like nice people, and Haru actually enjoyed chatting with them.

Their conversation had been cut short, however, when she saw Makoto and Ann coming over to them. She didn’t think Makoto Niijima was a malicious person, but of everyone Haru knew, she figured Makoto probably had the best chance of figuring out who her father was.

What Haru considered their second meeting happened in her father’s Palace, and she still couldn’t think back to all the things she’d said without blushing a little.

Morgana had insisted that “Joker”, the leader of the Phantom Thieves, was nothing to be worried about, but she couldn’t help but stumble a bit when she actually saw him and the other Phantom Thieves in person, looking like a supervillain gang straight out of a kids’ show. Actually seeing them was a bit overwhelming for her, reminding her so strongly of the image she’d had in her mind when she’d anonymously voted for her father on the Phan-Site that she almost fell off of her perch.

Their meeting was supposed to be a mysterious and cool challenge to Morgana’s corrupt former team, but Haru’s embarrassment had caused her to stutter and forget her lines, which simply fed her embarrassment more. Haru was mostly just grateful she’d stuck the landing on her backflip.

Her third meeting with Akira Kurusu took place at school, when he offered to help her move her fertilizer.

She knew who he was, of course. Morgana had already told her the identities of all the Phantom Thieves. Some of them had taken her by surprise-- she never would’ve expected the girl in the biker gang gear to be the strict Student Council President she knew from school-- but Akira Kurusu, who was apparently the delinquent everyone had been talking about at the beginning of the year, was pretty much a complete enigma to her. All she really knew about him, besides that he led the Phantom Thieves, was that he had cute hair, he was willing to help her with her garden, and that he stayed up too late at night.

Morgana had been a bit more reluctant to talk about Akira and Ann’s shortcomings than he had the rest of the team’s.

Haru was grateful for Akira’s help with lifting the heavy bags of soil off of her hand cart, but she still wasn’t really willing to trust the Phantom Thieves with changing her father’s heart, especially after everything Morgana had told her. They had succeeded with Kamoshida, Madarame, Kaneshiro, and some of her classmates had claimed the Phantom Thieves had helped them before, but even with all of that, she was still afraid to entrust her father’s heart to virtual strangers, who Morgana claimed were a completely dysfunctional group. Still, she had to admit that Akira didn’t seem so bad. She could definitely see why the Phantom Thieves had appointed him as their leader.

There was also a small part of her that was afraid that if she got close to the Phantom Thieves, they’d realize that wanting to redeem her father was only part of the reason she wanted to steal his Treasure. Sugimura was her problem alone-- she didn’t want to burden other people with her fears about her marriage to someone so awful, and though a part of her knew it was vain, she wanted people to think that her reasons were entirely noble, and she knew they would judge her when they realized the truth.

But when the Phantom Thieves actually did find out about Sugimura, Haru was so grateful that they seemed to sympathize with her plight she wanted to cry. She had wondered if her apprehension toward her fiancé was simply an overreaction, given how fiercely her father had tried to disavow her of her fears, but to have their support meant the world to her.

Though she was sad to see him go, she was thrilled when Morgana made up with the Phantom Thieves. Ever since they had met in her father’s Palace, Haru could tell that the cat had missed his old team immensely. She had encouraged him to try to talk to the others before then, but he had stubbornly refused. When he admitted to the Phantom Thieves that he wanted to stay with them forever, Haru immediately marked it among the most touching experiences of her lives. It had been adorable to watch Morgana and Akira exchange a happy nod with one another.

Seeing Morgana reunite with the others had been almost as exciting for Haru as actually becoming a member of the Phantom Thieves herself.

After that night, when she went home to her father’s speeches about the future, she found herself able to nod along with more conviction than she had ever had before. Morgana and the Phantom Thieves had given her hope for her father’s redemption, and she was eagerly awaiting the day he apologized, so that she could forgive him and things would go back to the way they were before.

Haru could remember the days when her father had been kind. Although he had worked around the clock, he could always find a spare moment to read to her or play with her, or even sometimes to cook with her, which were her favorite memories of all. She wasn’t certain when her father had become so obsessed with money and power, but he had grown into a man completely unrecognizable to her.

He felt even more like a stranger to Haru when she and the Phantom Thieves confronted his Shadow, and he informed them blithely that he would willingly give Haru up as Sugimura’s mistress if it meant securing the political alliance. That had been the absolute last straw for Haru, and the adrenaline rush that hit her when she cleaved the cognitive Sugimura in half with Milady’s assistance had been enough to almost fully convince her that she and the Phantom Thieves were doing the right thing.

The more they explored her father’s Palace, the more and more horrified she became. The exploitation of his workers was absolutely repulsive, and Haru couldn’t help but think about how disgusted her grandfather would’ve been if he could’ve seen the robot-workers dropping like flies and her father not even batting an eye. The company her grandfather had worked so hard to build, even if he hadn’t gotten very far, was now supporting itself on the strife of its innocent employees. Seeing any Okumura Foods business before had been stressful enough, but now she couldn’t even hear Morgana talking about how Akira had finished the latest Big Bang Burger Challenge without wanting to punch a hole in a wall.

Still, she found several bright spots in the time it took to find a route to her father’s Treasure. At Akira’s suggestion, she checked out The Three Musketeers from the school library, and was delighted to discover the history of Milady de Winter was one of bloody murder and manipulation. Milady hummed contentedly at the back of her mind, and though Haru knew she wasn’t supposed to be cheering for the conniving noblewoman, she did so anyway. She practically bounced with glee in Mementos while discussing Milady’s various attempts at murdering D’Artagnan with Akira, and his smile in response made her feel like she’d met a friend who could truly understand her.

Fighting alongside Akira was the same as talking to him, she discovered. Whenever she wasn’t on the front lines, she sat back and admired the way he slipped effortlessly between various Personas, weaving physical and magical attacks together like art. With his longcoat fluttering behind him, and the maniacal grin that stretched across his face, Haru could picture him as a character in the story himself, working as Milady de Winter’s partner in crime as they scandalized their way across the French countryside.

Of course, that was all an idle fantasy-- though sometimes she felt that Akira was more like her than one would initially assume from looking at him. They were both quiet in the real world, though he was reserved where she was just plain shy, and they were both capable of intense destruction when turned loose on a battlefield, almost revelling in it.

And they both had fluffy hair, too.

The hope and encouragement Akira and the others gave her was enough to fill her with hope and determination that her life would change. For the first time she could remember, she had friends who valued her presence for something other than her last name, and that made her so indescribably happy that she felt nothing would be able to snap her out of her good mood, bolstered by finally stealing her father’s Treasure.

To realize that her father’s Treasure was the plastic model he’d once told her about wanting so badly was heartbreaking. In the tiny spaceship, Haru could see the man her father had been, full of joy and a childlike spirit that had been tainted by greed. She could hardly wait to return home.

She had felt so certain that he would have his change of heart immediately, so she became concerned when he simply shut himself up in his room and hardly said a word to her. Even before they’d stolen his Treasure, he would at least take the time to greet her-- usually followed by a reminder of how important her marriage to Sugimura was, but still. His total silence was unnerving.

Yusuke reassured her that the same thing had happened with his former mentor, Madarame, so she forced herself to relax and wait for the change of heart to take root. Her patience paid off when her father finally announced the press conference she’d been waiting to hear about. She took the Phantom Thieves to Destinyland both as thanks for helping her, and as a silent apology to them for her doubts.

Haru would never forget the complete shock and horror that overcame her when she watched the news coverage of the press conference. The image of her father’s pupil-less eyes would haunt her until the day she died, she was certain, and she could barely stomach to look at images of puppies anymore.

A part of her blamed the Phantom Thieves, she was ashamed to admit. She knew it probably wasn’t their fault, and if anything, the blame lay more with her, but she recalled in painful detail every complaint Morgana had had about the Phantom Thieves’ disorganization, and couldn’t help but preoccupy her mind with “what-ifs”.

Haru was so uncertain of anything after her father’s death that she could barely bring herself to respond to the group chat. She remained as polite as possible in the face of their well-wishes, but her heart was still seized by uncertainty. It was actually not one of the Phantom Thieves at all, but a man and a woman at her father’s funeral who managed to snap her out of it.

Haru had never met them before, but she recognized the man and woman attending the service as two extremely influential CEOs in other industries her father had done business with before. They were two of the only people at the funeral who hadn’t tried to remind her of their names or their relationship with her father or given her their business cards. They had each quietly expressed their sympathies.

“The closest man I ever had to a father passed away while I was in high school,” Nanjo had told her. He seemed uncomfortable speaking with her, which was a welcome change from the people trying to get into her good graces. “He was my butler, but he was the best man I’ve ever known.”

“My father passed away whilst I was in high school as well,” Kirijo had said. Haru had admired the woman’s elegance when she’d met her years ago, but it was nowhere to be seen as she lost herself in her own memories. “It was… very sudden. At the time, I thought the world was ending. A friend of mine had to literally slap me to snap me out of my haze.” Her smile was oddly found as she recounted this.

“My friends reminded me that Yamaoka was still with me,” Nanjo had smiled wryly. “I couldn’t have gotten through that loss without them.”

“You understand what we’re saying, of course?” Kirijo had said pointedly. “We, of all people, know that this kind of loss is impossible to get over without support.”

“Or you could just buy a motorcycle,” Nanjo had added. Kirijo had smirked in agreement.

The two of them had given Haru their personal numbers before leaving, and she promptly threw them away and texted the Phantom Thieves with an apology.

She pushed aside her distrust and regrets. She refused to think that way about the people she’d grown to care for, and she would be eternally grateful for the kindness and courtesy they showed her while she mourned. As Makoto’s sister pushed her way through her father’s belongings, desperately searching for any trace of her and her friends’ presence, Haru silently swore her undying loyalty to the Phantom Thieves.

Instead, Haru directed her fury toward the Black Mask, and whoever else was behind her father’s death, vowing revenge, and toward Sugimura, who, without her father’s dissolution, was more set on going through with the marriage than ever.

Akira was a godsend in those confusing days. He came up to the roof to see her almost every day, even if just to say hello, and he helped her feel like she was making a difference for the Phantom Thieves even outside of the Metaverse in her little rooftop garden. She thought of her father nearly every day, but her fearless leader was always able to take her mind off of her troubles for a moment, and when she felt like she was caught out at sea, he was the life preserver that kept her afloat.

Instead of dwelling on the sight of her father retching all over the microphones at the conference, Haru distracted herself by planning out her café. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen to her after she finished high school, especially with the question of Sugimura still up in the air, but she was determined to open the café that her grandfather had always been so proud of. She enlisted Boss’s help with evaluating her vegetables and teaching her about coffee, and she was delighted to practice at Leblanc’s counter alongside Akira under Boss’s supervision.

Haru was relieve she had Akira to rely on when it came time to deal with the various investors in her father’s company. With people pushing their agendas on her every way she turned, it was impossible to figure out who to trust. Takakura was a constant source of confusion for her-- she wanted very much to trust him, but her worldview had been soured by her father’s killer and by her father himself. Akira’s advice was the only thing keeping her from simply selling all her shares in the company and abandoning the Okumura Foods name entirely.

The world around her simply seemed lighter when she was with Akira. His quick, snappy remarks always drew a giggle from her, and his small smiles warmed her heart. He carefully listened to her plans for her café, he willingly got his hands dirty planting vegetables with her on the roof of Shujin, and he smiled with her when she reminisced about her grandfather, telling him things she hadn’t shared with anyone before.

He was even a source of comfort when dealing with Sugimura. When they ran into him while bookshopping, Haru was almost more offended that he kept calling Akira a punk than she was about him telling her she was fat. She had to remember the cathartic feeling of hitting him with her grenade launcher in the Metaverse just to endure being in his presence. Still, Akira didn’t complain about all of the craziness in her life, even when the stress of her situation got to the point where she was literally fainting in his arms.

Her fears about what would happen if she refused the marriage offer, if she went along with Takakura’s plan about the coffee chain-- all of it seemed less daunting with Akira by her side.

When she had finally worked up the courage to tell Takakura that she had no interest in either following her father’s low-quality quick-profit model or in marrying Sugimura, she was relieved to have his support. Even just his physical presence was enough to remind her of everything she had fought for, and everything she wanted for her future.

Haru would also never admit that she had sort of begun to envision Akira as a part of that future. She knew he would always support her in her dreams, of course. Some nights, though, she would flip through the bridal catalogues her father had bought so long ago, letting her mind conjure up what her wedding might look like if a certain Phantom Thief were standing at the end of the aisle. She hadn’t realized how much her crush had developed until Akira had made it clear he wasn’t interested in a relationship. She had, to her own surprise, cried all night, which was a source of a great deal of sheepishness for her.

Despite being more or less rejected, Haru wanted to be sure that Akira knew she would always be willing to support him. She still dropped by Leblanc every once in a while, and she made sure to say hello to Akira if he was upstairs, or to at least leave him a note by the coffee beans. And he still came up to the Shujin rooftops whenever he could, even while he was technically “dead”.

She had bought so many supplies for her new café by the end of the year that she had begun to look at places for sale around Tokyo. She had asked Takakura and Boss about location-- Takakura immediately connected her with a distinguished real estate agent, and Boss just laughed and told her not to set up in Yongen-Jaya. She had found a small place near Aoyama Park that had a lot of beautiful rooftop space where Haru could already envision herself setting up a brand new garden, but she wanted Akira to see it before she signed any leases. He had been with her every step of the way, and she wanted him to celebrate with her.

“So, what do you think?” She asked. He looked around briefly, keeping his hands in his pockets as he examined the downstairs, then following her up to the roof and running his hands over the rose trellises the current owner had put up.

Akira turned to her, his expression as unreadable as usual, before giving her his firm signature nod. “It’s perfect, Haru.”

“Yay!” Haru cheered. She was surprised how much of a relief it was to hear that Akira approved. “I’m so glad you like it-- I think it’s perfect, too!”

Akira smiled at her, then walked over to the edge of the roof and sat down languidly, his feet hanging over the side. Though she was a bit nervous, Haru decided to join him. Her fears disappeared when she took in the view of Aoyama Park from their perch. She could see the trees and flowers beginning to blossom all over the park, several people getting outside and enjoying the warm air of early spring.

“It’s not really a restaurant, though, is it?” Akira asked.

Haru nodded. “That’s right. That’s part of the reason why I want to lease it. Renovating it will take quite some time, so I’ll have time to study and practice everything I’ll need before opening up officially.”

“Still thinking about that apprenticeship at Leblanc?” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, his grin making her feel like they were back in the Metaverse.

“You never know,” she giggled. “The renovations could take up to two years to get completely finished. I’ll need something to do in the meantime.”

“Two years, huh?” He said. His smile had disappeared as he stared out at the park.

She wasn’t sure what he was thinking about, but he certainly seemed more upset than before.

“Well, that’s only an estimate,” she told him. “They could be done sooner. Maybe you’ll have graduated, then you can move back to Tokyo to help me open it!” She tried to joke with him, to lighten his mood a bit, but he almost seemed to darken more at her words. When he spoke again, his voice was so quiet, Haru had to strain to hear it over the wind.

“Might be before that,” he said, seemingly to himself.

Haru had to wonder what that meant. “Maybe,” she said tentatively. Akira was clearly thinking hard about something, and if he wanted to share, she was willing to listen. He seemed almost more sad than anything, but it was always pretty hard to tell what exactly Akira was thinking behind his stoic mask. “If it does open sooner, you’ll have to come back to Tokyo to be my first customer, okay, Phantom Thief?”

She held her hand out for him to shake, trying to put all her feelings into her words so Akira would see how serious she was. He turned to her in surprise at her vehemence, then laughed softly at her expression. Haru felt her face flushing, a bit embarrassed at the thought that she had maybe overdone it a bit.

Akira didn’t seem to think so, though. He leaned backwards in his seat, reaching an arm out to the nearest trellis and plucking a rose from its vine.

He turned her palm up and placed the bloom in her outstretched hand, with Joker’s grin on his face.

“I’ll do my best, Beauty Thief.”

***

Haru stared at the text message displayed on her phone blankly, unable to comprehend what Futaba had just sent to the group chat. She’d woken up extra early that morning to try to brew some coffee everyone could bring on the road, the overwhelming swirl of bittersweet emotions at the thought of Akira’s departure flooding her veins like caffeine.

She had heard her phone chime in the next room, and quickly ran to get it, eagerly awaiting the go ahead to go downtown and wait for Akira. To her confusion, they were using the group chat that included Akira, which seemed to go against the notion of surprise.

Makoto had texted everyone first: Everyone come to Leblanc, now. It’s an emergency.

What? Ryuji had responded. dude what happened?

It’s Akira.

What do you mean? Ann had responded next.

I really think you guys need to hear this in person. Please.

Makoto, we’re all on our way, I’m sure. Yusuke next. Just tell us what’s going on now.

And then Futaba had chimed in. Her texts were almost incoherent, which was enough cause for alarm, but the gist of them was cold and clear.

akiras gnoe someoens still here yalda or somtheing its a mental shutdown get ur assses over her e NOW

The others had responded, but Haru couldn’t tear her eyes away from the words “mental shutdown”. They blared in her head in bright, bold text over and over again until they blurred and lost all semblance of meaning, superseded by the image of her father choking at the press conference, his eyes turning white and rolling back in his head and coughing and screaming as best as he could through the black bile that spurted from his mouth.

In an instant, her mind forced the two thoughts together, and suddenly it was Akira in that memory, wheezing and trying to scream for help and dying in front of her.

Her phone slipped out of her hands and clattered to the floor. Haru reached up and tugged at her hair frantically, hoping to bring herself back to reality with the pain, and hoping even more that that would be enough to wake her up from what was obviously a complete nightmare.

When no such awakening came, a voice in her head that sounded like her father at his worst snapped at her to calm down, to conceal her emotions, because getting upset wouldn’t help anyone. She needed to take care of the situation, and to do that, she needed to get a grip.

Haru reached down and picked up her phone, noting with slight dismay that the screen had been irreparably cracked. She quickly sprinted downstairs and shouted for someone, anyone, to get a car ready as soon as possible. The various other people in the building stared at her, slightly scandalized by her demeanor, but Haru didn’t care.

When she finally got outside, she was pleased to see that someone had brought her car around. Haru dashed over to it, ignoring the sharp sting of the gravel under the thin soles of the house slippers she’d forgotten to exchange for real shoes.

“Get me to Leblanc, immediately!” She demanded. Her driver seemed stunned by her franticness, but he also seemed to realize the gravity of the situation, as he sped into the street without a word, following the familiar route to the café.

Haru tapped at her phone desperately, but she couldn’t get the touch screen to respond. Her heart beat frantically in her chest as she mentally went over every recipe Boss had taught her in an effort to push all thoughts of her panic out of her mind.

They finally arrived in Yongen-Jaya after what seemed like an eternity to Haru, and she got out of the car and began running down side streets to get to Leblanc faster. Her feet hurt and she hadn’t been keeping up with her stamina training nearly as much since the Metaverse disappeared, but she forced herself to hold together.

When she pushed the door open, the familiar, jingling bell seemed to mock her desperation.

“Don’t give me that shit! Where is he, dammit?!” Ryuji was already there, seemingly out of breath but still shouting with all his might.

“What’s going on? Where’s Akira?” Haru demanded, her voice shaking despite her willing it not to. Ryuji turned to face her. Haru saw with fear that despite his fury, his eyes were gleaming with tears.

“Haru! Thank God you’re here-- they won’t tell me anything!” He jabbed an accusing finger toward Makoto, who sat at the counter, staring at the ground with her hands shaking violently, and Morgana, who paced back and forth across the countertop restlessly.

“Ryuji, I know this is hard,” she heard Makoto whisper. “It’s… we don’t know how this happened. But we told you, Akira’s--”

“Shut up!” He screamed. “He’s my best goddamn friend, and if I have to hear you tell one more fucking lie about him being dead--!”

The last bit of Haru that was holding together snapped at Ryuji’s words. Dead. Dead. Dead. It seemed to echo in her mind. Haru felt her knees fall out from under her, as they had on one afternoon when she’d met with Akira to garden, but this time, Akira didn’t catch her.

“Haru…” she heard Morgana say, though the words were distant and fuzzy, as though he were underwater. She felt sick to her stomach. The hard floor pressed painfully against her knees, and she clenched her hands into fists so hard that she felt her nails break skin.

“What… what happened…?” She choked, lifting her head to look up at Morgana, though she felt as though there were a two ton weight wrapped around her neck. He had come to stand hesitantly in front of her. She must have been out of it for longer than she realized, because Ryuji had sat down at one of the tables, his head buried in his hands which had become bloodied since she last saw them. Makoto was standing beside him, crying herself, her hands hovering over Ryuji as if trying to comfort him.

“We don’t know,” Morgana answered. He sounded angry, but at what, Haru wasn’t sure. “I woke up this morning, and he wasn’t breathing. We don’t think it was a mental shutdown, but… he’s gone, Haru.”

“Where did he go?” She asked, her voice smaller than she could ever remember it being. She knew what Morgana had meant, but she wanted him to say something else, to tell her that it was all some big game of Joker’s, that he had run away and was hiding somewhere in Tokyo so that he wouldn’t have to leave, or even that she had misinterpreted and Akira had just left early for home and everyone was just really, really sad about it.

Morgana let out a mewl that sounded almost as pathetic as Haru felt. She had never heard him make that sort of sound before.

“Boss called Takemi over here. She’s the doctor who sells things to-- whose medicines we used in the Metaverse,” he said. “She called a coroner. They came by earlier. Boss and Futaba went with them. Boss said Futaba shouldn’t go, but she started shrieking until he let her. I don’t know where they went. They wouldn’t let me go with them, because I’m stuck as a stupid cat, and Makoto said we had to stay here and tell everyone what happened, and so now you’re here and I’m telling you what happened.”

Haru didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know what to feel, except for a paradoxically painful numbness that made her wish she still had her grenade launcher so she could blow Leblanc and Morgana and Ryuji and Makoto and herself away.

She startled as she felt Morgana worm his way under her chin.

“The other’s’ll be here soon,” he said. “Yusuke and Lady Ann. And Boss said he’d bring Futaba home and come back as soon as he could. They’ve been gone a while.”

Haru felt tears begin to run down her cheeks and soak into Morgana’s fur. She’d been so excited for Akira’s farewell party,. She had wanted to make the best cup of coffee she’d ever made to send home with him. Now, surrounded by the strong scent of Leblanc coffee that used to make her feel so relaxed, she wanted to go home and smash every coffee making tool she’d ever bought and throw all of her coffee beans into the lake at Aoyama Park.

“Let’s wait for him, then,” she finally replied. They both knew she was talking about Boss, but just for a moment, they let themselves pretend someone else would be walking through the door.