Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ren blinks awake on the train on April 9th, body aching, head pounding and mouth tasting of copper.

Another bad run. 

They were all bad runs these days.

He winces as the train jostles, the intercom announcing his stop. With a sigh he reaches for his bag and gets to his feet as he metally tallies what changes this timeline already has to offer him. Yaldabaoth has twisted things more and more over the many runs of their game, tweaking not just the year ahead of him but the years behind him as well.

In the last run his probation took place back in his hometown and he was homeschooled rather than sent to Tokyo to attend Shujin. He ended up stealing enough cash from his parents to get a ticket to the city and spent the following months as the weird homeless kid his friends didn’t quite trust but let lead them around the Metaverse anyway. That iteration of the game was cut short by Ren being beaten to death in a back alley by some of Kaneshiro’s goons. At least their attention being turned on him meant that the Makoto of that timeline was able to escape.

He just should have bailed from that run early when he realized he was stuck back in his hometown. It would have saved him the pain and aggravation.

Stepping off the train he shuffles over to a nearby bench and ignores the side eye the old woman sitting at the other end gives him. He slumps down in a heap, falling back against the wall behind him with a long sigh. Injuries from past runs don’t carry over completely, but he’s found that dying in particularly violent ways causes some of the pain to carry over for a while into the next run. He’s going to be feeling bruised ribs and a shattered jaw he doesn’t have for a week or two at least if he had to guess. Nothing to do about it now except try and block it out and focus on more important things.

It’s never fun, but he knows he needs to figure out what differences there are between what he’s experienced before and what’s happened this time. Taking a steadying breath he focuses, mind diving inward, gliding over too many memories to count as he digs around for those built in to the body he’s stuck with for this run. He finds them after a moment, cold knowledge and colder memories that he didn't live but still has the experience of settling to the forefront of his mind.

His parents disowned him this time. Nothing new, really, odds of that were a little better than 50/50 he’s found over past runs. The lawyer that got him probation set him up to be emancipated rather than him being shuffled into the system and that at least is something refreshing, something new to experience. And potentially a problem too, he supposes. 

Sojiro’s not going to be his guardian this run, Ren’s going to have to figure out his living and financial arrangements on his own. He has some time at least. His parents provided him with a hotel for a month as a parting gift before editing him from their lives for good. And at least he’d be attending Shujin this time. It’s always a pain when he’s meant to be schooled somewhere else.

His mind skims the rest to find it largely the same as every other time he’s relived this year. Same run in with Shido. Same biased trial. Same expectation that he’d be back in jail before the year was out. 

There’s something though. Splinters, jagged and strange. He settles onto them, diving in deeper, examining the oddity. They align roughly with when he met Shido that night. He’s walking down the street, and there - sharp and strange, something slices through. Shido has blood on his face and again, the jagged splinter in the memory. Something slicing through. Ren follows it, digs in and follows the breaks to the source and -

Oh.

Well that’s certainly different.

The old bastard of a god has certainly bungled it this time.

This run is going to be short, he decides then and there. The track he’s on doomed from the outset with no real hope of course correcting. The best he can hope for here is a quick breather before diving into a more familiar timeline next round.

Ren opens his eyes and stands abruptly enough that the old woman seated next to him jumps, hands clutching her purse as if expecting him to lunge for it and run for the hills. Her face pulls into a deep, distrustful scowl as he turns to look at her. The expression of someone looking at a roach or a rat. 

Normally he’d let it go. Let her scowl and sneer. It’s not worth rocking the boat with random passersby. But he’s sore and tired and not entirely looking forward to what lays before him. So instead of shuffling away and leaving her be Ren slips his glasses down his nose and meets her gaze straight on, not grey but bright red and burning . 

The woman lurches back, eyes wide and mouth stretched into a scream that doesn’t quite leave her. He lets his bangs fall back over his face, ignoring her faint short gasps as he heads towards the stairs leading to Shibuya proper.

He has a scheduled meeting with his probation officer to get to. 

And if Ren has learned nothing else about himself after so long of this tired game with Yaldabaoth, it’s this: he’s a sucker for a pretty face that wants to kill him.

Akechi Goro is irritated.

He’s usually irritated, admittedly. Irritated over the constant scrutiny of his peers, over the gaggle of squealing fangirls that follow him around, over the vapid self interested adults he has to deal with day in and day out. Mostly over Shido and his shouted demands and constant implied threats. Like Goro isn’t the reason he got to where he is. Shido and his bullshit is, almost constantly, the reason for Goro’s sour mood.

For example, Shido is the reason Goro’s superior at the police came to him with a file and a new “mission” to work on. A special request. Worded in such a way as to suggest it would be a great act of kindness for Goro to partake in, good for publicity and not a thinly veiled insult thrown at him by his bastard of a father that he has no choice but to obey. A way to punish not just Goro - for the unforgivable slight of not bending over backwards to kiss the man’s ass during every second of their every interaction - but as punishment for another errant teenager who’d pissed the would be dictator off.

Amamiya Ren. 

Seventeen years old. Recently cut loose from his parents. On probation after assaulting a man in the street on his way home from cram school one night.

The files didn’t name a victim, but Goro is familiar enough with Shido’s habits and many failings to read between the lines. What exactly Shido had been doing before Amamiya had interrupted Goro didn’t want to guess at, but clearly the boy had stepped in on one of Shido’s many misdoings and tried to play the hero. Earning himself the fine reward of first hand experience with police brutality, an assault charge to forever stain his record and an all express pass to being disowned and shipped off to Tokyo where he had no help or support.

And now, because Shido was never happy with just one person miserable, Amamiya is Goro’s problem. 

Assigned as the other teen’s Probation Officer for the following year. To be a ‘ good influence on the other boy’, his superior at the station had said. A real chance for Goro to reach out and make a positive change. Nevermind the fact that Goro wasn’t trained for such a thing and has no business being Parole Officer to anyone. He was a detective - and a damn good one - not a babysitter.

Just an excuse to give him even more work and chip away at what little free time he has left between school, detective work and running around being Shido’s lackey. Damn that man.

At least Goro is going to get some decent sushi out of it. Meals with Amamiya during probation work are covered by the precinct and Goro will be damned if he isn’t going to squeeze whatever he can out of that silver lining. Which is what has him seated in a booth at the best sushi restaurant in Shibuya waiting for his errant parolee to appear and lay out the rules for the upcoming year.

He isn’t waiting for long.

A tall, lean boy with a wild mess of black hair and a pair of oversized glasses obscuring his dark eyes walks into the restaurant. A bag slung over his shoulder bulging and overstuffed. Too small for a year’s worth of clothes and supplies, really, but its owner has made up for it by packing it to the point of bursting. Even from across the room Goro can see the bag’s zipper on the verge of popping from the effort of keeping it all contained.

The boy is perfectly average looking, really. Perhaps without the glasses and a bit of attention to his appearance he would be lovely - Goro can see the hints of sharp cheekbones hidden beneath bulky frames, the faintest curl of a charming smile in the boy’s lips. But as he is, slouched and scruffy with hands shoved in his pockets and eyes hidden beneath dirty glasses and wild bangs, he seems unremarkable. Forgettable even. There’s no reason that Goro should think this is Amamiya Ren.

It doesn’t stop the fact that the moment Goro lays eyes on him he knows.  

The air is violently pulled from his lungs, leaving him breathless and dizzy. He feels like he’s been suckerpunched or perhaps slammed into by a derailed train. Body buzzing with a strange sense of shock and pain and familiarity he can’t even begin to untangle. He feels his heart squeezing so tightly in his chest that he thinks he might be having a heart attack. It’s overwhelming, terrifying . There’s nothing he can do though, rooted to the spot by the glimpse of tarnished silver behind the boy’s glasses. He looks at that face and meets those eyes and is struck by a wave of I know you so powerful that he’s left shaking where he sits.

Amamiya - because Goro knows down to the marrow of his bones this is who the boy is - doesn’t hesitate. Making a beeline for the table Goro is seated at and sliding into the booth across from him as if they have done this thousands of times before. They have never met, never even spoken past a quick email Goro sent him earlier in the week. It doesn’t change the fact that Goro knows the boy seated across him, and understands - with dawning clarity - that the boy knows him as well.

“Akechi-san?” Amamiya asks, a polite - nearly bashful - smile pulling at his lips. It looks wrong on him, Goro thinks. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and even if it did bashful does not suit the features Goro can see more clearly now that the other boy is closer. Amamiya has the face for sly smirks, an air of a devil-may-care charm that makes the hair on the back of Goro’s neck prickle and his nerves zing with electricity.

Goro thinks he might be in love with him.

That he has always loved him.

The thought is so sharp and startling that it knocks him out of the strange stupor he’d slipped into and back to his senses. What the hell is the matter with him?

He orders his face into a familiar benign smile, effortlessly pleasant and approachable. The charming Detective Prince. “You must be Amamiya-kun. Apologies, you caught me lost in thought.” It’s a flimsy excuse, but the best his still scrambled mind can come up with. “I hope you didn’t have too much trouble finding this place?”

Pleasantries. Easy and practiced. He could run circles around someone with banal small talk for hours at a time without absorbing a single word the other person said. A finely honed skill from years of having the same mind numbing conversations with the same sorts of vacant, vapid people every day for the past three years. He could slide through his introduction with Amamiya and get through at least ten or twenty minutes of nothingness conversation while ordering his thoughts and making sense of his own bizarre reaction to seeing the dark haired delinquent for the first time.

The waiter arrives and takes their drink orders. Goro folds his hands before him on the table, worrying at what just happened like a loose tooth. He gets as far as inquiring on Amamiya’s trip on the train when the dark haired boy across from him derails everything with a gusty sigh.

The change comes over the quiet, recalcitrant boy like a wave. Amamiya’s body language shifts, the shy country bumpkin out of his depths in the city cast away and replaced by languid motions and a more confident air. Amamiya reclines in the booth, pulling off his glasses and tossing them on the table between them, and that seems - bizarrely - like a declaration of some kind. His eyes, now that Goro can see them unobstructed, are striking in a way Goro feels the color grey shouldn’t be.

“I can’t do this,” Amamiya announces, rolling his shoulders as he casts a look over Goro. The expression is fond and familiar, the look one friend gives another. There’s something else too. Something warm and deep that makes Goro’s pulse quicken. He hates it. Desperately wants to cling to the sensation with everything he has.

After a beat Amamiya slips into apologetic at Goro’s tilted head and narrowed eyes. “Sorry. I just.” Amamiya sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I thought I could do this and get it out of the way. Like, yeah I knew it was going to hurt, but I guess I forgot what it was like to see you. I didn’t last time and I really underestimated how hard it would be.”

The hair at the back of Goro’s neck prickles. This is...concerning. Shoving the bizarre whatever it was that had overcome him before, he’s never met this boy before. He’d forgiven Amamiya knowing Goro on sight on the grounds that Goro is a household name. His face plastered everywhere, name on everyone’s lips. What Amamiya is saying though is far too familiar for Goro’s liking.

Amamiya seems to see the apprehension growing in him because he droops down in his seat further, waving his hand as if he could dissipate the oh god my parolee is a crazy stalker fan energy that had steadily been building up around Goro over the past few seconds. “Sorry, that probably makes me sound like I’m planning to tie you up in a basement and wear your face like a mask.” Imagery Goro did not need thank you very much. “I’m not dangerous,” Amamiya says, then pauses as if to consider something, “Well, not to you or anything like that.”

Goro’s gaze shifts subtly to the front door, then to the even closer hall that leads towards the bathrooms. There are windows high above the sinks. He can probably climb out and make it to the train station before Amamiya realizes what is happening.

“Fuck it, I’m just making you freak out by talking around it and this run’s going to be short anyway. No harm in telling you.” Amamiya reaches for his coffee and chugs half of it - still scalding - in one go. Leaning forward, he folds his arms on the table, meets Goro’s gaze steadily with his own and offers a wry smile. “I’m in an ongoing and potentially never ending war with a false god who’s looking to enslave humanity. Every time I die I end back on April 9th of this year, to try again.”

Oh.

He’s absolutely fucking crazy.

Goro nods politely, his smile so brittle it’s already threatening to crack, and wonders if he can get his phone out and dial Sae’s number without alerting the lunatic seated across from him to what’s going on. She’d have a few cruisers over there in minutes if he could only just let her know that he’s trapped in a conversation with his delusional parolee. 

Fucking Shido. This was all his fault.

“You don’t believe me,” Amamiya says, sounding more amused than anything, though Goro doesn’t miss the sadness that seems to cloud the other boy’s dark gaze. Great. He’s made the god-fighting-lunatic sad. “Here,” Amamiya says, “I can prove it.”

Goro doesn’t want to know how exactly the delusional boy across the table from him intends to prove his crazed ramblings. It probably involves knives and face carving. He really wishes Amamiya hadn’t put that image in his head.

“Your name is Akechi Goro. You’re the boy wonder Ace Detective of Tokyo police. The charming Detective Prince.” Amamiya starts, easy and light before promptly dropping a bomb down at Goro’s feet with the casualness of flipping a coin. “You also run around the Metaverse shooting people’s cognitions to cause mental shutdowns or using one of your two Personas - Loki - to cause psychotic breaks. You’re doing that because you have a long standing and honestly terribly thought out plan of ingratiating yourself to your piece of shit father Shido Masayoshi so you can ultimately destroy him as revenge for what he did to you and your mother.”

Goro sits.

He sits, and stares at Amamiya, for a long, long time. 

The noise and hum of the restaurant around them rolls over him, a river over a rock, grinding him down to dust and particles. The waiter comes back and Amamiya, seeming content to let Goro just tumble his way through his rushing thoughts, orders for the both of them. By the time their sushi arrives, Goro is still no closer to parsing out everything Amamiya has laid out before him.

“Fatty tuna is still your favorite right?” Amamiya asks - so fucking casually - after the massive spread of sushi is laid out before them and the waiter leaves them to their meal. 

It’s an obscene amount of food, even for Goro and his earlier schemes of getting the precinct to pay for everything. Amamiya reorganizes the platters on the table until the selection of fine fatty tuna is settled before Goro, gently nudging a pair of chopsticks into the detective’s hand. Goro contemplates stabbing them into Amamiya’s jugular, imagining how bright the red of his blood would be against the clean white plates between them.

It’s the sushi that finally snaps him into speaking. The fucking fatty tuna that is - in fact - his favorite.

“Who are you working for.” His voice is low and cold, any pretense at his princely facade shredded to bits somewhere around the time Amamiya mentioned Loki. “Is it Shido?”

Amamiya’s face sours so spectacularly Goro almost wishes he’d taken a photo. The dark haired boy looks absolutely repulsed by even the idea as he spits out a “God no. ” In Amamiya’s hand his chopsticks creak, threatening to break under the pressure of his hold. “I’m not working for anyone, especially not him . I told you. I’ve just done this before. A lot. ”

It could be a lie. But to what end Goro can’t even begin to fathom. If Shido knows about his plans, then Goro would be dead already, an unrecognizable corpse in a ditch somewhere. And for all Goro doesn’t trust the stranger across from him - despite the distant voice at the back of his mind that wants desperately, bizarrely to do so - he knows he can at least trust the vitriol Amamiya has for Shido. In that, at the very least, they have common ground.

So, Amamiya isn't working for Shido. But what does that leave? False gods and time travel? 

The Metaverse Goro can understand. He’s seen it, been in it, interacted with it and changed it. There is research supporting its existence even if he didn’t have an impossible app on his phone and a Persona or two lurking behind his eyes. Gods though. Goro doesn’t believe in those. Time travel he puts even less stock into.

“You said you can prove it,” Goro says, forcing his body to respond, to settle into a pretense of having control of a situation that has no hope of being controlled. “I’ve yet to hear anything that does so.” 

It’s a challenge. A demand. Everything Amamiya said before, though true, is not proof of impossible concepts. He could simply just have access to the Metaverse like Goro does, could have been using that access as a means of stalking Goro - possibly for years. It doesn’t seem likely, but it is one possibility in a slew of many others. Either he is lying to Goro for reasons unknown, or he is telling the truth. And if it’s the truth...

Amamiya smiles at him, different from the small, half-hidden thing from before. This look is sharp and sly. The smirk Goro imagined earlier real and right on the dark haired boy’s face as tarnished silver eyes meet Goro’s own steady gaze.

“Alright,” Amamiya says, teeth flashing as his smile widens. “Tomorrow there’s going to be an accident. A conductor is going to have a psychotic break and the train he’s running is going to derail. This is going to happen because Shido has ordered you to hunt down that man’s shadow and trigger a mental shutdown. When the accident happens tomorrow, fourteen people will die, and forty-six will be badly injured, some permanently.”

Goro narrows his eyes at the boy across from him. He’s not, in fact, received any such orders from Shido. He’s suspected that he’ll be sent out after some target or other involving the trains, if only because Shido has been pushing the failings of his opponents to see that everything is kept up to date and safe on the rail lines recently. But he hasn’t received those orders yet.

He’s ready to shoot Amamiya down and disregard his impossible claims with all the fury and vitriol he feels when his phone begins to buzz.

Goro knows who it is before even looking at the screen.

Across from him Amamiya meets his eye.

Challenge accepted then.

Goro doesn’t excuse himself, only grabs his phone and hustles himself into the bathrooms, locking himself in once he’s certain no one else is there. Shido is snappish and snarling as he gives his orders, already half drunk, and Goro wants nothing more than to curl his hands around the man’s neck and squeeze. On the other end of the line Shido belches through a target’s name and Goro imagines waltzing into Shido’s excessive office, activating the MetaNav and dragging the man into Mementos and letting Loki tear him apart piece by piece.

His reflection in the mirror shows his face, twisted into a feral, monstrous visage. All the viciousness and fury he does so well to hide from the wider world. His voice, when he speaks, is polite and professional.

The call ends with Shido hanging up and Goro is left to stare at his expression in the mirror. 

He contemplates the windows again - he could boost himself up on a sink, it’d be a bit awkward but he has the muscles for it from bouldering - and then imagines Loki savaging Amamiya along with Shido. It's a pleasant thought, though one to save for after he gets more information.

He returns to their table to find Amamiya with a fresh cup of coffee - his third - asking the waiter about what brewing techniques they use. The potential time traveler apparently has notes for them on how to make better coffee. Goro’s not sure he’s ever seen a waiter look so relieved to get away from a peaceful customer - he’s worked in the service industry himself, he knows what he’s about.

Amamiya offers Goro another sly smile.

It takes a great deal of effort not to just stab him.

“Alright.” Goro says, at length, “I’m listening. Talk.”

Amamiya does.

It takes hours and enough sushi that Goro is actually getting sick of the stuff, but by the end of it Goro finds himself bewildered by the fact that he believes Amamiya. Mostly. At least a little. He’s still up in the air about gods, but time travel - or timeline jumping as it seems to be the case - seems more and more plausible with each new bit of information Amamiya gives him. 

That, or Amamiya Ren is an actual psychic trying to make Goro think he’s a time traveler. Goro’s not willing to dismiss the idea just yet.

The personal details he knows about Goro are... unsettling. Things he hasn’t told anyone. Small slices of happiness in the miserable years of his childhood. How his dream of being a detective came long before his plot to destroy Shido. His favorite song, his favorite food, how he likes his coffee, his routine before bed after a long day. Little details that paint a picture, one Goro isn’t certain he likes the look of. 

Ren knows him. Knows him in the subtle intimate ways that only two people who share a great deal of time together - who share a great deal of trust in each other - can.

Ren speaks fondly of times he says they have spent at the little jazz club that Goro loves - the one he always goes to alone and has never even mentioned to anyone else. He speaks of fights in Mementos, cases in the real world. He speaks of Loki, but he speaks of Robin Hood too. He speaks, sometimes, of other Personas. Personas Goro doesn’t have. 

And these are the details that seal it for him. Make Goro believe. Ren doesn’t just tell him of things Goro knows and has experienced, but of things he hasn’t.

He’s never known the power of Hereward, or the temperance of Perseus, or the strength of Galahad. But Ren speaks of them with absent ease and mild curiosity. Talks of how the subtle differences in a timeline could sometimes yield in unexpected results. There are things Ren tells him that Goro can’t even imagine, terrible, beautiful, usually sad.

The hours while away. The world outside the restaurant grows dark and the tables around them start thinning out. They’ve demolished the sushi between the two of them and Goro can only sit back and study the stranger across from him. A stranger that he’s beginning to suspect knows him better in some regards than he knows himself. He still isn’t certain about the concept of a god controlling it all. But he’s settled his belief in the fact that Ren - through some strange tangle of Fate and the Metaverse - has known him in other worlds.

There’s only really one question to be asked now.

“Why did you tell me all of this?” Goro watches Ren carefully, taking in every flutter of long lashes, every twitch of a muscle. Ren knows his every tell, has had years of tries to figure it all out. Goro is meeting the other for the first time, though he’s starting to let himself admit that it doesn’t quite feel that way. He has a lot of making up to do to get them on even ground. “It sounds like you haven’t done this before.”

Ren shakes his head. “No. Never saw the point.” He says, tugging at the wild fringe of his bangs, “Always seemed like it would make things too complicated. But I figured, hey this run isn’t going to last long. Fuck it, you know?”

Goro’s brows furrow, apprehension creeping up his spine. There’s something in the way Ren says that. Casual and absent. Like discussing a bad storm, here but destined to dissipate sooner than later. 

“What do you mean? It won't last long?” he asks.

“This run is one of those doomed from the outset,” Ren says with a shrug. “I figured I might as well enjoy it for a bit then move on to the next one where there might be a chance. When I saw you sitting there looking so, so you, I just thought ‘ I want to talk to Goro.’ Really talk to you, you know? Worst case scenario you think I’m crazy and send me packing or think I’m a threat and put a bullet in my brain.” 

He says it so completely blandly. Like the idea of Goro murdering him barely registers as anything more than a friend’s odd quirk. No different then chewing the ends of pens or constantly humming. “Either way I get to talk to you, and a bullet’s quicker than drowning myself.”

There’s...a lot to unpack in that. 

The way Ren says that this run - this timeline is doomed when he’s been here for less than a day. The uncaring way he talks about Goro killing him. The casual mention of drowning himself -

“Excuse me.” It takes more effort than it should to keep his voice down, anger and disbelief making the words come out in a shrill hiss all the same. He leans forward and fights the urge to grab Ren by the collar and shake him. “Are you telling me that after all this you plan on killing yourself? ”

Ren shrugs again. 

It’s already becoming a familiar motion from him and Goro hates it. Hates the way it’s utilized to brush off the big and heavy questions he’s launched at the other boy throughout the night. Hates the way Ren downplays every insane thing he says with that simple movement. Hates the way that it was familiar from the first moment he did it, as if Goro has always known that this is what he’s like.

“Not tonight,” Ren assures as if that’s the issue Goro has with everything just said. The dark haired delinquent reaches for his glasses and cleans them off with an easy, practiced motion. He’s left them on the table since taking them off hours ago, and Goro has long since noticed that they aren’t real glasses at all but cosmetic. “Going to take the chance to get a few days of something like a vacation first. There’s a few places I’d like to see again that I missed last few runs and I’m not going to pass up the chance to sleep in for a bit. Next Sunday maybe, if I’m feeling up to it by then.”

Goro has swung back around to his second impression on the boy in front of him. Ren is, in fact, absolutely out of his damn mind.

“No,” he says.

Ren blinks, pausing in inspecting his glasses to look up at Goro. “No?” he asks, sounding confused.

Goro shakes his head, teeth clenched so hard there’s a real danger he might crack a molar. “No,” he repeats. His hands hurt. He’s not sure when they curled into fists or when he started clenching them so hard. He’s fairly certain his nails have bitten into the flesh of his palm and broken skin. “You don’t just get to come in here, drop this on my lap and then just fuck off and kill yourself so you don’t have to face the consequences. That’s not how this is going to work.”

Honestly, Goro doesn’t know how this is going to work. But he knows he’ll be damned if some half crazed time traveler with pretty eyes gets to just write off Goro’s entire existence as doomed because traffic lights are the wrong shade of red or whatever bullshit it is Ren has decided makes this version of the world unworthy. He’s let himself be controlled by Shido and countless other shitty adults for years now, putting up with it for the promise of one day getting his revenge. It’s part of the game, the role he plays, a calculated risk he’s accounted for.

This, though? Goro draws the line at this. Not even a god - false or otherwise - will get him to budge.

Ren looks startled for half a second. He hasn’t said just how many times he’s done this, but Goro has gotten the impression that he’s largely lived the same year - with some variations - for a while now. Long enough that he’s not used to surprises anymore. Goro has always prided himself on shaking up expectations.

“Um…” Ren starts. Stops. Stares at Goro for a long moment before seeming to come to a decision and shaking his head. “Look. I know you don’t like it. But I already know enough to see how this is going to shake out. Yaldabaoth is going to reset this timeline anyway, sooner than later. I might as well make it on my terms. Gives him less time to prepare that way.”

He stands then, grabbing his overstuffed bag and settling a long, quiet look on Goro. That sadness is back again along with that complicated something that Goro can’t name.

The urge to grab the dark haired delinquent by the collar of his shirt and slam his head against the table is strong, but Goro resists. Ren knows Goro’s a bastard in more ways than one, but the rest of the world is still infatuated by the facade of mild mannered boy detective he’s charmed them with. The last thing he needs is a tabloid plastering pictures of him in his favorite sweater vest bashing his sad eyed parolee’s head in with a sushi tray all over the news. 

Goro stands, ready to chase the other boy down if it comes to it.

The waiter has other ideas in mind though, appearing at Goro’s elbow and presenting a tired smile and a hefty looking bill for their dinner. Goro scrambles through paying as quickly as he can, trying to hold Ren in place with a piercing stare. He’s rewarded with a sharp smile that sets his teeth on edge. 

Ren is there one moment gone the next, off to an undeserved “vacation” then to tear the world as Goro knows it apart at the seams.

He gets as far as the train station before admitting that he’s lost the other boy. The bastard didn’t even have the courtesy to say goodbye . Just a short wave, a sad look, and then disappearing into the crowds of Tokyo while Goro was forced to wait for a copy of the receipt to bring back with him to the precinct for reimbursement. 

Ren made a mistake though, Goro thinks as he digs the timeline hopping fiend’s folder out of his briefcase. Seemingly lost in the delight of getting everything off his chest, the delinquent seems to have forgotten that Goro is his parole officer. And as a result has Amamiya Ren’s file in his briefcase, complete with all of his parolee's personal details and contact information. He may not know where to find Ren in the massive city, but he does know someone who will.

Plan in place and the information he needs in hand, he drops the file back in his briefcase and pulls his burner phone from its hidden compartment. He stares at it for a moment, hesitating, unsure if he really wants to make the call. He’s going to have a lot of explaining to do, a lot of decisions to defend.

He thinks of the strange sense of deja vu that overwhelmed him when he first saw Ren. The way he met Ren’s grey eyes and for a moment - just a moment - thought he was in love with him. Thinks about how fondly Ren looked at him as he shared stories of lives Goro has never lived. The way those eyes went flat and hollow as Ren admitted to his plans to simply start the run over.

Thinks of the way Ren spoke of drowning and all the places a boy looking to die could slip into the water and not come back out in a city like Tokyo.

He punches in the number, and waits for the line to pick up.

He’s not left waiting long.

Chapter Text

The Velvet Room is as cold and empty as he remembers.

Blue drapes tattered and torn, the ornate desk Igor once sat in shattered pieces, a piano that once remained hidden in the folds of reality rots in a cell, half phased into a wall. There’s no singing, no signs of life. Just a book in a language Ren can’t read molding on the floor and the shambled remains of execution stations he’s only just managed to keep running over the many years.

He hasn’t meant to come here. He almost never does unless he really needs to swap out his Personas and even that is a tricky, badly done impression of the process he remembers from his early years.

There’s no Compendium for him to reference or call them forward. No easy way to summon them from the depths of the Metaverse. To take on a new Persona means catching them or creating them all over again. Trading out Personas, as a result, is a task he does very, very carefully and only when he absolutely has to. The beings of the Metaverse respect him well enough, but they are still wild untamed things. With no soft music to soothe them and make them biddable, Ren has to bleed to see them satisfied, has to fight and sometimes even die to rein them in once more.

He must have slipped over in his sleep. There certainly isn’t anyone left to call him here.

Might as well see what needed tending to while he’s here. He can’t afford to let the gallows or guillotines fall to pieces. He has no way of replacing them if they break completely, not with the strange way things made of metaphor work.

His body aches as he slowly raises himself to a seated position, prison clothes threadbare rags, shackles heavy on his wrists. It takes him time to slowly drag himself to his feet and to the broken portion of wall by the rusted door. No amount of lock picking or force would see it opened, and he’d been eventually forced to tunnel slowly over the course of many timelines into the open cell beside his own. His hands still ached at the memory of having to slowly claw the mortar and stone free, he had had no tools to help him.

There’s a layer of dust an inch thick on everything when he finally crawls his way out. Another change, another sign of Yaldabaoth’s ever more insidious effects on the former safe haven. He does his best to ignore it and slowly makes his way over to the gallows first. The trapdoors tend to stick, he’s noticed, and he can’t afford a fusion to fail because the equipment didn’t work.

It’s a slow, boring process of checking and rechecking all the moving parts. Dull enough to allow his mind to wander, which is always a dangerous thing.

He wonders what happened to them. Igor and Lavenza. Wonders if Yaldabaoth killed them or if he just locked them away somewhere Ren hasn’t found yet, like in the first run - or maybe that was the second, they all blur together. The Velvet Room's occupants been trying to tell him something, the last time he’d seen them. Ren had brushed it off, a conversation for later, something not about the god Ren was fighting so something that could wait.

The next time he arrived he found the room still and empty. No piano, no operatic singing, no shuffle of Lavenza as she walked over to speak to him or the tap of Igor’s pen at the desk. Just the rattle of his chains as he got to his feet and realized that he was alone. The room had been rough even then, too many timelines, too much use, not enough time or energy to keep it in good standing. With them gone the place fell apart even faster. The cell doors rusted, the floors rotted, the velvet the room was named for grew worn and faded.

He should look for them again the next run, Ren considers as he forces the trapdoor he’s working on to slowly open and close through the rust on the hinges. It’s been awhile since he last tried, and if Yaldabaoth is hiding them the old god might have grown lax over the years and let some sign or hint slip through somewhere in Mementos. Maybe he could try questioning some Shadows, sometimes they -

A footstep.

Ren goes still where he stands at the gallows, body tense as his eyes dart towards the open doorway at the back of the room. A doorway he’s tried hard to block off with debris over the years, but hasn’t quite managed to seal off completely. Some of the wood he stacked has been moved since the last time he was there, a narrow gap between debris and doorway that would allow something through.

He holds his breath and waits, palms sweating as he stares unblinkingly at the black maw that rests beyond that cursed doorway.

There’s another footstep. Slow and dragging followed by the scrap of metal on stone.

It was back.

Ren’s hands shake as he listens, trying to gauge if it knew he's there. Once, he’d been stuck half way through the hole between his cell and the neighboring one, back when he’d still been carving it open and it wasn’t quite large enough for him to slip through easily with his chains. He’d managed to stay quiet enough that it shifted back into the depths of the labyrinth that lay beyond the open door and he’d been able to slip back into his cell and to the real world without being noticed. Other times he had not been so lucky.

The problem with waiting it out was if the Thing decided to pear into the room. He could hide in one of the cells, but standing in the middle of the room on the platform of the Gallows is an open vulnerable position. He needs to make it back to his cell, if he can, and creep back to the waking world without being spotted.

Igor had told him before he and Lavenza disappeared that dying in either the Metaverse or the real world would reset the year. Dying in the Velvet Room though - a place nestled between the worlds - held no such reassurance. If Ren dies in this place, it would not be a simple thing for Yaldabaoth to reset the world. The god would have to dig into the fabric of the fragile reality that the room is born of and tear it apart, something that could lead to the destruction of not just the Velvet Room, but the very veil between the worlds.

And Ren knows better than to think that the potential implosion of existence itself would keep Yaldabaoth from his goals.

Another dragging step echoes down the endless hall into the large panopticon. Any hope Ren has that it would simply slip back into the nightmare halls it resides in vanish with the sliding rasp of rusted metal dragging along a stone floor.

It's coming.

He needs to move, now.

As carefully as he can he starts gathering up the loose slack of his chains. He’s seen how fast the Thing can run and if it knows he’s in here it’ll be on him before he could even think of making it back to the exit. The key here is to move fast, but not alert it. A tricky balance to maintain when hauling around a hundred pounds of rattling metal.

He forces his breathing to remain quiet and even. Counts each step the Thing down the hall makes like he used to count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder as a child. His arms grow heavier and heavier with the weight of his chains, an iron will the only thing that keeps his hands from shaking and altering the creature of his presence with the soft sound of jangling metal.

He’s nearly to the open cell and the narrow hole in the wall to his own when he hears the sounds of wood being shoved out of the way and a sharp inhale of breath behind him.

It’s seen him.

Ren doesn’t turn to look at it. He doesn’t have the time.

He sprints for the cell, and yanks the door closed behind him, the shriek of the rusted metal not able to drown out the scream of the creature. The sound rattles the bars and echoes through Ren’s body, making him feel sick.

He can’t afford to stop now though. He can’t.

The rough stone of the cell floor is cold enough to burn as he throws himself down, scrabbling as quickly as he can through the hole. Behind him the Thing crashes against the cell door, shaking the very room with the force of its rage. Ren can hear the bars buckling, the squeal of something sharp scrapping hard against rusted metal.

The exit is right there. He can feel the odd energy of it, the spiderweb silk feeling of the veil between worlds as it brushes against him. He lunges for it as the door of the cell he just escaped buckles in completely in a shriek of metal and fury. One of his chains snag on a section of the wall he never bothered clearing out behind him and he’s sent sprawling painfully to the floor.

He can hear it. The Thing. The Creature. The Minotaur of the demented labyrinth in the world beyond the familiar of the Velvet Room. It screams again, bodily slamming itself against the wall between it and Ren. He has seconds before it goes for the hole and tears its way to him or grabs the chains binding him in this place and yanks him through.

Seconds is all a thief needs.

Ren grabs the chain that caught him and rips it loose from where it was caught, filing himself forward into the intangible barrier that separated the real world from the Between.

Ren wakes by bitter, painful degrees.

First are the physical sensations. A pounding head. A dry mouth. A rolling stomach. All hallmarks of his making good use of the fake id he got so many runs ago. Or terrible use, as the case was turning out to be.

He escaped the Velvet Room alive, at least, though the hangover certainly made him wish he hadn’t.

He’d been at a loss after his conversation with Goro. In all the many, many runs of this game with Yaldabaoth, he’s never sat down and shared the details of what was going on. There have been a handful of times where he’s thought about it - once while hanging out with Futaba, a couple times while helping Makoto, one time he very nearly spelled it out to all the Phantom Thieves. 

He’s thought about telling Goro so many times. And only once before nearly did. It had been during a particularly ugly run early on when Ren still thought he had a handle on things. Goro in that timeline had been at his absolute worst, raised by Shido since childhood and so twisted and warped by the man’s influence as to be unrecognizable. The decision to tell him in that run had been a last ditch attempt. A desperate try at showing the broken boy there was more than his life as his father’s lackey that he didn’t survive long enough to attempt.

Ren remembers the wild, broken look in Goro’s eye that run. How gaunt and ghostlike, a boy so thoroughly destroyed by his father’s ambitions as to have lost sight of himself. His death, that run, was an ugly, painful affair that Ren has tried very hard not to remember.

Telling Goro this run hadn’t been something he planned. A careless decision made on a whim with the reassurance that there would be no harm in getting everything off his chest. If Goro killed him, then his vacation was just going to be a little shorter than initially planned was all.

He was just so glad to see that Goro was Goro this run. All sharp edges and burning glares and feral ambition and gut reactions towards violence at any sign of threat. Ren doesn’t doubt that Goro will likely hunt him down and attempt to enact some kind of plan on the information gained over their sushi dinner. But he also knows that this time of the year is a busy one for Goro - Between Okumura and Shido the detective must have barely had time to eat for all the shut downs he was causing - and that his new Parole Officer likely won’t have time to corner him before Ren’s little vacation is up.

Which is a shame, really. He’s missed Goro. Missed drinks at the jazz club and back and forths over chess, missed Goro trying to play coy about using his non-dominant hand to handicap himself in games of billiards and darts. Next run Ren will do better. Find Goro sooner and carve out a place for himself in the detective’s busy schedule.

For this run, Ren only has to let himself be careless and stupid. A week to wallow in all the way he’s messed up with some time slotted in where he could to get some well deserved sleep. Maybe sneak into Destinyland one day and lose himself to the cheerfulness of monopolistic capitalism.

Maybe after he deals with his hangover.

Hitting up the shadiest liquor store he could remember to buy a bottle of booze so cheap it might as well be rubbing alcohol and then drinking the whole thing was not his best idea. But seeing Goro had put him in a mood and the sterile emptiness of his hotel room held none of the charm or comfort his dusty attic room above LeBlanc did. He wanted to lose himself and so lose himself he did.

Inokashira was beautiful at night. All long shadows and moonlit paths with the city a mosaic of shimmering lights in the distance. A few couples wandered the paths, giving him a wide berth as they passed. He eventually found himself on a bench overlooking the lake with no intention of going anywhere until he was too drunk to think about Goro or timelines or his many, many deaths.

It wasn’t such a difficult task. His body this run had never had alcohol before and had no tolerance to speak of. His memories of the night before get blurred beyond his ability to piece things together at about the halfway mark on the oversized bottle of hard liquor. He vaguely remembers the chill of something wet on his cheeks and a hand on his shoulder.

Ren would suspect that one of the couples finally called the police and an officer had hauled him off to the drunk tank if it wasn’t for an important detail he was slowly coming to understand through the haze of his hangover.

He’s tied to a chair.

Or.

Perhaps tied is the wrong word, he considers through his pounding headache. He’s not tied to a chair, he’s taped to one. He can feel the stickiness of the duct tape against his skin as is holds his wrists in place against the wooden arms of the chair. His body has been forced into a mostly upright position against the back of the uncomfortable wooden chair with yet more layers of tape circling his chest and shoulders. His legs have similarly been taped to the chair legs though - interestingly - there is no tape covering his mouth. He can feel that there’s something resting on his lap.

It takes him a while to bring himself to open his eyes. 

Not for any fear of the situation he’s found himself in - it’s not the first time he’s woken up bound to a chair, odds are it won’t be the last either - but rather the idea of contending with the bright sunlight he’s already far too aware of from behind closed lids. He does, eventually, take on the herculean task of prying his eyes open. He’s rewarded by a pounding head, a rolling stomach, and the sight of a plastic bucket placed on his lap.

That would explain why his mouth wasn’t taped shut then. Whoever had him had foresight enough to expect him to throw up and didn’t want him suffocating on his own sick. How nice of them.

Beyond the narrow scope of his immediate world of tape, chair and bucket is a dusty room with a low ceiling and a wooden floor. There are windows - small and dirty - letting in painfully bright morning light and allowing him to see the smattering of dust motes that fill the air. Stacks of old boxes intermingle with the indistinct shapes of covered furniture, most of which in the area immediately surrounding him having been shoved unceremoniously against the walls. The boxes are labeled in a familiar handwriting that Ren can’t quite place in his hungover haze naming them things such as Ayako’s Things and Old Lab Equipment.

On the floor in front of him is Goro.

The detective looks lovely, even through the haze of pain and nausea rolling over Ren. His chestnut hair up in a messy ponytail, his pressed detective outfit swapped for comfortable looking sleep clothes consisting of featherman pajama pants and a tshirt so worn the Jack Frost printed on it is more an impression than anything else. The morning light halos him, turning his hair golden and making his red eyes seem to burn.

He’s swearing like a sailor as he pulls out yet another dagger from Ren’s bag and sets it down in an ever growing pile beside him. He’s discovering the hard way that the only laws Ren’s bag obeys are the laws of hammer space. One of the very few perks Ren can enjoy in his endless war against Yaldabaoth.

“Thought you’d be busy with the train conductor.” Ren says. 

Well, rasps. His voice is completely shot, coming out more like a gravelly whisper. Speaking makes him cough which makes his head spin which makes him very nearly throw up in the provided bucket. So much for his vacation being restful.

Goro barely looks at him as he reaches into his bag once more - arm going all the way to the elbow in a bag that was not deep enough to do so from the outside - and pulls out the Crystal of Pride Ren hadn’t remembered to give Jose in whatever timeline he’d originally picked it up in. The twisted three faced skull is summarily added to the pile without so much as a second glance. Goro reaches into the bag once more.

“Wouldn’t you know, he just didn’t have a Shadow.” Goro says lightly, brow furrowing as he pulls out a handful of liquid mercury vials and very carefully sets them down a little away from the rest of the pile. “It happens you know. About a fifty-fifty chance of going in there and just not finding who you’re looking for.” Bright red eyes finally, finally flick up to Ren. “Aim for the bucket if you throw up, I’m not interested in cleaning up your mess anymore than I already have to.”

Ren blinks at him.

Goro...didn’t go after the conductor. Huh. That was...that was new. And what he said, a fifty-fifty chance that he’d find who he was looking for. Was this timeline so badly off that half of all people didn’t have shadows this time around? He hadn’t noticed anything off in the people he’d seen in the city so far. Or did Goro mean that he’s been lying to Shido? 

Now, there was an interesting idea.

An interesting idea that didn’t matter , he reminds himself. Sharply enough to make his headache pound with the force of his own self repremand. The changes of this timeline don’t matter. Yaldabaoth is going to shred this timeline sooner than later. It didn’t matter if the Goro of this run isn’t doing what he normally does. A few weeks, a few months, it would all be gone. Goro, the city, the world. All wiped away to start over in a timeline Yaldabaoth actually has a chance of winning in, one Ren actually has a chance of winning in.

“How the fuck does this bag even work?!” Goro asks, distracting Ren from his thoughts as the detective struggles to pull out the massive battle axe that was Haru’s Yagurushi in runs previous. The weapon is nearly as long as Goro is tall and heavy enough to make him stumble as he finally hauls it out.

Ren shrugs as best he can while taped to a chair. 

“You get yeeted through the timespace continuum enough times and there are side effects.” He nods at the bag as gently as he can so as not to make his head pound any harder than it already does. “Bottomless bag is one of the nicer ones. Way better than tasting the color purple. Purple tastes nasty.”

Goro turns a weary gaze from Ren to the battle axe and back to Ren again. “The fact that I can’t immediately brush that off as a joke is so upsetting that I’m not even going to think about it.” 

Ren watches him drag the battle axe over to rest it gently against a stack of boxes that have the words baby clothes and computer parts written on them. The handwriting is so familiar that it’s starting to get annoying. If he could just get through the hangover haze and think he knows he’d be able to tell. As it is his head is swimming and concentrating so hard on the words is starting to make him nauseous again.

He must look even more a mess than he already did as Goro gives a sigh. “Here.” Ren watches as he grabs something off the floor and walks over to him. It’s a bottle of water, opened with a straw in it to make it easier for someone tied to a chair to drink. “I have a protein shake as well and some aspirin.”

Ren doesn't even think about the absurdity of his kidnapper trying to help him through his hangover, just greedily sips down the water and lets himself feel a tiny bit more human. “Thanks.”

Goro shrugs, “You’re no good to me hungover.” He pops a couple aspirin into Ren’s mouth only a little awkwardly and Ren manages to swallow the pills with the last of the water. “I took the liberty of shredding your fake ID while you were out as well.” Goro tacks on, and Ren can only sigh.

“You know what I had to go through to get that?” He asks, voice a little better now that he’s gotten some water in him. He can whine now. “I had to forge a new birth certificate. It took weeks. ”

Goro rolls his eyes, “You do realize you're telling this to a detective, your Parole Officer, even, right?”

It feels like old times. Even with the hangover Ren can’t help how easy it is to fall into a back and forth with Goro. “Which should I be more worried that I’m telling this to?” Ren asks, smile pulling at his lips. “The detective that moonlights as an assassin? Or my Parole Officer who kidnapped me and tied me to a chair in an undisclosed location?” 

He wiggles in the chair a little for emphasis and Goro rolls his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t have to resort to this if you weren’t such a flight risk.” He says as he wanders over to a small pile of food stuff he dug out of Ren’s bag earlier. 

As well as holding more than a bag that size ever possibly should be able to, Ren’s found it also does wonders at keeping food as fresh as it was the moment Ren put it in. Sometimes he’ll find a thermos from more than ten timelines ago of Sojiro’s coffee still hot and perfect. He’s come to accept that the benefits of the bag far outweigh the horror of what happening to physics to let it work that way. Goro nudges a pile of bento boxes full of curry with a toe, looking at it all suspiciously. Ren doesn't blame him.

“As it is,” Goro continues, “Until I get what I want from you, you’re staying tied to that chair.” 

Ren grins.

“Kinky.”

Goro throws the empty water bottle at his head, his indignation not able to hide the flush of embarrassment that crawls up his neck and pinks his cheeks. The splitting pain laughing causes his head is worth it.

“Every time I think I can’t regret the decisions that led me to this situation more, you open your mouth.” The brunette snaps, cheeks still pink and face pulled into a sour expression as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Ren’s grin grows wider and it looks like it takes every ounce of self control Goro has to keep him from trying to strangle Ren.

“Look,” Hey says, looking Ren in the eye, “Obviously this is going to be like pulling teeth, but I need you to at least pretend to be serious for this.”

There’s a certain level of absurdity that Ren’s become accustomed to in the horror show that is his life. A constant sense of low level insanity that having to retread the same year over and over and over again leaves one with that mingles with boredom at how little surprises can be squeezed out of the narrow slice of time that his life has been boiled down to. The better part of a year twisted over on itself playing out variations of a theme that has been wearing him down for far too long. It’s why he’s taking this year as his vacation. A few weeks off for some much needed rest. A timeline he can see the ending of in the splintered beginning. He needs to rest. He’s been going for so long without stopping, trying to get it right and failing every time.

So why was it that this timeline, doomed and destined for destruction, was the one that seemed to want to fight when all the others allowed themselves to be undone.

“Probably not.” He says at length, feeling his good humor from bantering with Goro drain out of him. It leaves him feel vaguely cold. The aspirin’s helping his headache some, but his body is heavier now, the ache from past lives cut short more pronounced. “You die enough times and nothing seems worth being serious about anymore.”

“Horrifying.” Goro says, and Ren can’t tell if it’s meant to be a bland joke or the detective’s honest thoughts on Ren’s cursed existence.

In the wake of Goro’s assessment silence fills the room - attic, he’s fairly certain they’re in an attic - and Ren can only sit and watch as a series of ever more complicated expressions flit across Goro’s face. He hasn’t put on any makeup yet, and in the warm light of the sun Ren can see the other boy’s freckles across the bridge of his nose and along his fine cheekbones. They make him look softer, freer. It occurs to Ren that it’s been a long time since he’s seen Goro so relaxed in his presence. Decades he thinks, maybe longer.

Eventually Goro shifts, moving awkwardly from foot to foot as he drops his gaze from Ren and looks at the collection of items he’s dug out of Ren’s bag so far. Clothes, costumes, food, questionable medicine, jewelry, props, lockpicks and a decent cache of weapons. He estimates the other boy has only dug out a little under half of everything stashed away in there and wonders not for the first time what might happen to a person if they tried getting into it. Morgana always seemed fine, but Morgana was a being of the Metaverse, more metaphor than mortal.

Morgana.

Greif lashes through him, sharp and cold and burning. His heart squeezes in his chest so painfully that for a moment he can’t breath.

Best not think about Morgana. Not now.

Probably not ever.

“You keep talking about this timeline being doomed. ” Goro says, and Ren’s thankful the other boy hasn’t noticed the downward spiral of his thoughts. “But I need you to understand that I can’t accept that. I can’t.” Red eyes burn bright with the glow of the soft morning light, and Ren is caught again in how very lovely Goro is. “So we’re going to talk. You’re going to explain to me what I need to know about this Yaldabaoth and we’re going to figure out a way to stop him. We’re going to save this timeline if we have to drag your useless carcass along the entire time.”

We? Ren blinks at him. “Who’s we?” He asks.

Goro has always been the lone wolf type, not inclined to seek out help even when he desperately needed it. Who would he have partnered with for this of all things? The only one Ren could think of was Sae, but there’s no world he could think of where the Prosecutor would allow herself to get roped in on a kidnapping, no matter how well intentioned that kidnapping was.

The detective rolls his eyes. “What, you can’t guess? I thought you knew everything about me?” At Ren’s blank look the brunette pauses. “Wait, do you actually not know who I’m talking about?” His brow furrows as he looks Ren over carefully, his next words more to himself than to Ren it seemed, “Is this timeline that different from the other ones? Does that have something to do with it supposedly being doomed?”

Somewhere downstairs of them a door slams, loud enough to rattle some of the loose items Goro has left littering the floor. Blinking Goro turns to look towards a set of stairs Ren hadn’t noticed earlier. “Speak of the devil, as they say.” Goro mutters to himself just in time for the attic door below to fly open and someone to start pounding up the stairs.

“You were supposed to get me when he woke up!” A familiar, loud voice complained seconds before an equally familiar figure trots up the final steps and over towards Goro. “We were going to do good-cop-bad-cop!”

“Futaba?” Ren asks before he can think better of it. His mind is already sliding into a bluescreen of incomprehension as he stares at the girl that’s been his pseudo little sister and dearest friend for almost every single timeline he’s ever been in as she grabs onto Goro’s shirt and tugs in that way she so often does when she’s complaining.

And oh, oh.

That’s why the handwriting on the boxes looked so familiar. 

He’s in the attic at Sojiro’s house.

“Oh, creepy, he knows my name!” Futaba says, turning her attention towards him with wide eyes behind her glasses. Unlike Goro she isn’t dressed in pajamas. Though the combination of stains and wrinkles makes it clear that she likely got dressed in them the day before - if not from even earlier in the week. “Woah, is that a battle axe?”

“Yes. We can talk about the battle axe later.” Goro’s attention is back on Ren, eyes narrowed and expression suspicious. “I thought you didn’t know Futaba.”

“What? When did I say that? When did you even bring her up?” Ren doesn’t know if he’s ever been so lost in a conversation before in his incredibly too-long life. “Wait, how do you know Futaba?”

Goro and Futaba blink at him in unison before glancing at each other, very clearly having a conversation with their eyebrows.

It’s exceptionally unsettling.

“How do we know each other in the other timelines?” Goro asks, slowly as if testing waters he'd rather not dive into just yet. 

Ren feels his headache flare back to life at the realization that at some point between leaving him at the sushi restaurant and waking up in the Sakura’s attic tied to a chair Futaba was told about everything. Or at least most of everything. Feeling dazed he says, “Usually you two meet when you join the Phantom Thieves so you can frame us for the shutdowns and murder me. Sometimes because you just like Boss’s coffee and you run into each other at LeBlanc.”

Futaba and Goro share another eyebrow-conversation and Ren is keenly aware that they were not expecting that.

“Okay, we don’t have time to unpack all of that.” Futaba starts, “Like, the stuff about Phantom Thieves and murder. That stuff we’re going to have to rain check.” She points at Goro, “Back to this. Are you really saying that in the other timelines we just...don’t know each other at all?”

“Yes?” He feels like he’s lost the plot. “Why would you?”

Goro looks baffled by the question, sharing yet another glance with Futaba before meeting Ren’s eyes and dropping the verbal equivalent of a bomb down at Ren’s feet.

“Because she’s my sister?”

Chapter Text

If it was anyone else Futaba would have let the incoming call go to voicemail and deal with it once she was done with the boss fight she was swearing her way through.

It’s not anyone else though. 

It’s Goro .

Her friends and family know her well enough that she will get back to them... eventually … but that she doesn’t always answer if she’s plugged in on something. If it was an emergency they’d call back or send her a message letting her know. Goro calling though fell in a different category altogether.

Her brother calling could mean anything. From wanting to make sure she actually got up and moved around during her marathon gaming day so she didn’t get blood clots (overprotective paranoid nerd that he was) to needing her to hack into a secure government server for some particularly spicy top secret information he needed. More importantly it could mean something has gone wrong and that he needs her help. She’s not risking missing the call. If he needs her backup, she’s going to be there for him.

She answers before it can finish the first ring and waits, silent as she tabs away from her game. The call is coming from his burner - the one she knows he keeps concealed in a hidden compartment in his briefcase - but they have a process in place for a reason. They need to ensure that their secure line hasn’t been compromised and that means following a strict set of rules. Even as she sits, not speaking, she’s already pulling up programs on her computer to ensure that no one’s trying to listen in or trace their respective locations.

“Red Hawk is the best Featherman.”

She lets the tension in her shoulders ease some. It’s Goro. 

“Lies slander and heresy, Black Condor is the most superior Featherman.” She says with a grin. It’s not, perhaps, the coolest of covert call signs, but it’s theirs and it works and really that’s all that matters. She scans the data on her screen and adds, “We’re all clear by the way. What’s up?”

The only thing he had left that night before heading home was his meeting with the delinquent parolee he’d been saddled with. Another punishment from the Almighty Bastard for not being enough of a sycophant, though not as bad as it could be. Goro had been worried he’d pull strings to have him partnered to someone else, and while Niijima Sae was a blight to the coffee making world, she respected Goro and everything he brought to the table and treated him like an equal. The last thing Goro needs is being stuck with another rocks for brains ladder climber trying to condescend to him every hour of every day.

The meeting with the Parolee should have only taken an hour, maybe a little more if the guy was late or particularly dense about the parole requirements. The clock at the corner of her one monitor lets her know it’s almost ten o’clock, hours past what a short dinner and introduction should take. Her mouth twists into a frown, apprehension settling low in her gut.

Something was wrong.

“I need you to track someone. I have a phone number if that makes it easier.” Goro says, and she can hear the sound of a train station behind him, the faint rustling of Goro shuffling through his briefcase. “My Parolee is far more interesting than previously expected.”

“Amamiya?” She asks, Goro mentioned - grumbled about, really - the guy that morning over breakfast. Some kid who earned himself an assault charge and invitation to no longer be in his hometown - or home. Goro wasn’t particularly concerned when she’d asked if he wanted her to pull up his file. Amamiya, from her brother’s perspective, was clearly a fall guy from the looks of things. A fall guy to Shido went unsaid, but understood all the same. Neither of them were expecting for the kid to be any actual sort of danger. “Did he do something?”

On the other end of the line Goro sighs. It’s a tired, frustrated sound. Not one of his I need you to talk me down from murdering someone sighs. That’s something, at least. “It’s not what he did - other than fucking taking off -” He mutters furiously under his breath, “It’s what he said that I’m more interested in.”

“What he said?” She asks. A few keystrokes and she has the programs she needs to track Amamiya up and running. Goro rattles off the phone number and she starts the process of finding his phone and tracking it while pulling up what she can on his file. “What’d he say?”

There’s a pause. A beat of silence long enough to let her know that her brother’s thinking about his answer. Which is...not concerning exactly, but is odd enough to give her pause.

“I’ll tell you later.” Goro says eventually. His voice is distant. Not evasive but thoughtful. Futaba’s brows furrow. Her brother isn’t usually evasive. Not with her, at least. Whatever happened with Amamiya rattled him, and she doesn’t like that fact one bit.

“Goro?” She asks, tentative.

The sound of the train station behind him is all she hears for a moment before, “Sorry...I’m fine. It’s just…” He trails off, sighs again. He’s been spending too much time with Sojiro, she decides. “It’s complicated to try and explain over the phone. I can only just believe what he told me myself and I had the advantage of seeing him in person when he explained it all. I promise I’ll tell you everything later. I just need to find Ren before he does something stupid.”

Her hands still over her keyboard and she blinks. Ren? Since when did Amamiya turn into Ren? What kind of conversation did they have that Goro - who after over year of working with her, only recently has been comfortable calling Niijima Sae a friend - would jump head first into calling a complete stranger by their first name?

“Okay, I”m going to hold you to that.” She enters a few commands and Amamiya’s file is finally up before her. She skims the information - height, weight, age, notes on his parole - before glancing at his picture. Her mind goes blank for half a second as she takes the mugshot in. Wild black hair, strange grey eyes, sharp mischievous features. She knows this guy. Except, of course, she doesn’t. The hair at the back of her neck prickles as she lets out a soft, “Woah.”

On the other end of the line Goro still hears, voice pinched with concern as he says, “What is it?”

She shakes off the uneasy familiarity Amamiya’s picture gives her. “Um, nothing. Just got the weirdest sense of deja vu when I saw his picture.”

“You too?” He asks and she blinks because Goro has that tone that says he’s just found another clue in a case he’s been working on. “It feels like you know him, right? Almost like seeing an old friend? It happened to me when I first saw him at the restaurant.”

“I guess?” She hedges, there’s certainly something about Amamiya, for sure. Something that itches at the back of her mind, gnawing insistently but fruitlessly. The dark haired boy looks uncannily familiar, and she definitely has the nagging sensation that she’s seen him before, though she’s uncertain if she’d go so far as to say he looked like an old friend. Then again she’s seeing a somewhat grainy mug shot from about half a year ago on a computer screen she really should have wiped off better after that time she accidentally shook her soda and it exploded. Goro had seen this guy in person, maybe the effect was stronger seeing those dark grey eyes in person. Though - “Wait, what do you mean it happened to you?”

Her brother made a dismissive noise, “I’ll explain later. I just found it interesting that you felt the same thing. Gives me something more to ask about when I find him.”

She rolls her eyes. “At least tell me you’re bringing me sushi for all this?” 

The only thing Goro had been looking forward to involving Amamiya’s Parole introduction had been the prospect of obscene amounts of sushi that the precinct had to pay for. A fact that she had been equally excited about on the grounds that she’d been promised carry out of all her favorites.

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line.

“You forgot to get me sushi.” It’s not a question.

“I forgot to get you sushi.” Goro confirms, not sounding nearly as apologetic as she feels he should. “I promise I’ll take you out and get you all you can eat after all this.”

She grumbles. “You better. I still have that video from your birthday and I will send it to everyone you know.” 

On the other end of the line, her brother made a faint yelping noise. “You said you deleted that!”

He can’t see her grin, but she’s sure he knows it's there. “Yeah, I lied, obviously.” She laughs, “There’s enough blackmail material in those two and a half minutes of karaoke to last the rest of my life and you think I’m going to just let that be lost to the void?” 

Her tracking program finally does it’s job. She forwards the info to Goro’s phone and let’s herself enjoy his low swearing on the other end of the line before easing back towards serious. This whole thing is well outside of Goro’s normal. Whoever Amamiya is, whatever he said, he got to Goro. Got under his skin. And did so in such a way that Goro doesn’t even seem mad. Not really. Frustrated, yes, but not raging. She heard concern, earlier, in her brother’s voice. And Goro doesn’t have it in him to be concerned for strangers. He just doesn’t. He’s been too much.

“Seriously, though, just...tell me you’re okay?” Her eyes slide to a picture of them pinned up on her wall next to her desk as she speaks. Goro, six years old with cheeks round with baby fat and bandaids on his hands from where he’d gotten scratched saving a feral kitten. Little Goro grins at the camera openly, standing lopsided as he struggles to hold her bundled up three year old body up off the snowy ground. Their sweaters and smiles are matching, arms wrapped around each other in a tight hug with stubborn remnants of the mochi they ate earlier still on their faces. 

New Year's Day a long time ago, before things went bad. She still remembers him trying to help her fly their kite, the crunch of the snow under her feet, watching him make bunnies out of snow in delighted fascination.

She just needs to know he’s not going to get into something he can’t get himself out of. She can’t lose him.

Not again.

“I’m okay.” He says. His voice is softer, reassuring. She forces herself to relax, to make the tension ease out of her shoulders. He doesn’t lie to her. The rest of the world, yes - constantly - but not her. If he says he’s okay, then he is. “Amamiya isn’t dangerous. But he could be useful. The situation is just…complicated.”

She slumps back in her chair. “Alright, just let me know if you need anything else. And call me before you head home.”

The call ends and she settles in to dig up everything she can find on one Amamiya Ren while her brother tracks his errant Parolee through the city. 

It’s trickier than it should be. Not because Amamiya’s files are particularly well guarded or redacted in any kind of interesting way. Her trouble lies in the system she’s digging through itself keeps bugging out and crashing on her. One second Amamiya’s file is open for her to see, the next the page is reloading to tell her that he doesn’t have a file and that no one with that name exists. Another refresh and the file is back again. Shoddy government servers. Easy to crack, but a mess to deal with.

She eventually manages to get the info she wants only to find there’s essentially nothing interesting to look at.

Amamiya before his arrest was an upstanding student with a bright future. Top of his class academically, star member of the gymnastics club and stellar chess player. His teachers’ notes on his transcripts were glowing, and she even found a little blurb about him in his local paper when he won a prefecture-wide piano playing competition when he was in middle school. It all came together to paint a picture of a normal, if talented, kid living a normal life out in the countryside. A nerd, for sure, but not interesting. And certainly not anything that would have Goro so intrigued.

So nothing from before his arrest. The arrest itself maybe? There was pathetically little on it - Amamiya was accused, arrested and tried for assaulting a man out of the blue one night on his way home from cram school. Nothing about the man assaulted - not even a name - and she can’t help but agree with Goro’s initial assessment of Amamiya’s situation. It absolutely stinks of Shido’s involvement.

Which leaves the question of in what capacity. Was he a harmless bystander, wrong place in the wrong time? Did he know Shido beforehand, an associate or lackey in some capacity? Was that night the one his usefulness ran out? He was still alive, which implied that it wasn’t anything that serious. But there was still the question of why would Shido even be there? A small town out in the sticks, no big time businessmen to convince money out of, no politicians to weasel favor out of, nothing at all that should have interested Shido. So why was he there?

It’s a question that leads her down dead rabbit hole after dead end rabbit hole for the next few hours. By the time Goro calls again she has a tension headache and the urge to go to Amamiya’s podunk town herself and harass the locals until they give up their dark secrets to her. Maybe if Goro finally has his parolee cornered she can pass on her questions and her brother can squeeze the answers out of Amamiya himself.

Futaba answers the phone and they get through their call sign process quickly enough - too quickly, in hindsight. The first thing Goro says once she’s cleared the line of anyone trying to listen in is an exasperated, “I have a problem.”

“What happened?” She doesn’t panic - not yet - but only because Goro doesn’t sound like he’s dying or in danger. He sounds - if anything - irritated. Which, admittedly, is nothing new for her brother. “Did Amamiya get away?”

There’s a beat before he answers her - the line carrying over the sound of shuffling feet and someone snuffling - before Goro says, “ No. The idiot has a fake ID and has been using it to get wasted in Inokashira Park - Ren, if you puke on me I swear to whatever fucking god is out there I will drown you in the lake. ”

That last part is directed at - she presumes - Amamiya. She tries not to snort as her brother swears lowly on the other end of the line, obviously struggling to get the other boy to cooperate. She hears - faintly - another voice, low and slurred, mumbling wetly. Amamiya’s voice is soft enough that she can’t quite make out the words, though they sound...She frowns. Amamiya sounds like he’s been crying.

“Okay, want me to get you a taxi to take him back to his hotel?” She can give a fake name so that it’s not connected back to him.

There’s some more swearing and muttering on the other end from her brother for a moment and she can hear him grunt, “ Ren, Ren - fucking, ugh, fucking move your feet, I am not carrying you.” That name - again , that’s the third time now he’s called the other boy by his first name. Another point to ask about later. “Yes to the taxi. No to the hotel. Did Sojiro go to bed yet?”

She blinks. “Uh, yeah? Hours ago. He’s opening the cafe early tomorrow for that gi-”

He doesn’t let her finish. “Perfect. Can you clear a space in the attic? And get a chair and some duct tape ready up there?”

“ What?! Wait, you can’t bring him here!” She can’t be hearing that. She can’t. There’s absolutely no way that Goro intends to bring his drunken mysterious definitely connected to Shido parolee here. And duct tape? “Wait, are you kidnapping your parolee?!”

Goro grunts again on the other side of the line and she can hear Amamiya slur something else distantly, “No! I’m not kidnapping him. Just...making alternative sleeping arrangements for him for the night.”

“By duct taping him to a chair while he’s drunk?” This is the wildest conversation she thinks she’s ever had with her brother. Which, considering what they get up to in their free time, is saying something.

“By making sure he doesn’t slip off again and get himself killed.” Goro snaps, though his anger seems more directed to the drunk boy he’s manhandling than to her. “I know this isn’t ideal, but there’s no helping it. There’s no way I’ll be able to get him to his hotel room without anyone calling the cops or noticing and we can’t afford to let him go back to Juvie.” She hears something like a body gently hitting the ground and Goro swears under his breath, “Futaba just...call the cab. Once I explain everything all this will make sense, I promise.”

If anyone else put her through this she’d hang up. No questions asked. Risking that Sojiro might get involved is asking a lot from her. Though she supposes that if anyone understands just how much that's asking, it would be the only other person as determined to keep the soft hearted cafe owner out of their mess as she is.

So she doesn’t hang up.

She sits and listens silently as on the other end of the line her brother manhandles Amamiya back into an upright position, swearing the entire time as he tries to drag him along a path through the park. He’s only known Amamiya for a few hours, but already she knows there’s something going on. Goro said that the other boy told him something interesting but interesting is not enough to elect concern from her brother. Not much of anything is able to elect concern from her brother when it comes to a stranger.

He’s not cruel, though she knows some people might think so if they knew the real him, he just...he can’t afford caring for strangers. It takes too much from him, has burned him too badly in the past. He looks after his own and she doesn’t blame him for those he has to leave behind in the process.

Which just leaves more questions on why is he so worried about Amamiya? Not worried about what information Amamiya might have, about Amamiya.

He called him Ren.

She sighs and pulls up her tracking program and locates where they are in the sprawling park with a few keystrokes, “I’m getting the taxi now, I’ll have them pick you up at the park entrance closest to you.” Pursing her lips she huffs, “And Goro, seriously, you’re telling me everything when you get here.

Her brother gives his own sigh. “I know. I will.”

The call ends and she sits for a moment, staring at her monitors and biting the inside of her cheek as her gaze flicks over to where Amamiya’s file is. The server she’s pulled it from is still having trouble. Loading and reloading the page, creating and unmaking the life of the strange boy Goro is planning to tie up in the attic. Rubbing her face she forces herself to get up and start sneaking her way through the house in search of everything Goro asked of her. How he expects there going to get a drunk teenager that can barely walk up three stories without waking Sojiro is a problem for Goro to figure out.

Hours later as Goro is changing into clean clothes - Amamiya did, in fact, end up puking on him - her brother explains.

And well.

She gets why Goro was so insistent.

“What?” Ren says, and because the word falls flat, because it feels hollow and absent of all the sheer absurdity that is overwhelming him in that moment, he repeats with a more emphatic and a little wildly desperate, “What?”

Futaba’s hands are clasped behind her back, rocking back and forth on her heels in that way that says she’s trying to think without letting her lightning fast thoughts spill out of her all at once.

She looks...she looks okay ,is the thing. She doesn’t look or act like the skittish, broken girl that he’s found when they first meet in every other timeline. She looks like herself, bright and lively and mischievous. Not a girl crumbling beneath the weight of a corrupting Palace or haunted by the visions of her own grief being directed inward. She’s just... Futaba. Little sister, giant nerd, mastermind hacker. At least he assumes those other things are still true. He doesn’t know what to make of this Futaba.

This Futaba who shares silent conversations with Akechi Goro and hangs in the brunette’s space in the same comfortable way she’s hung in Ren’s in timelines past and doesn’t flinch at all at the prospect of a kidnapped stranger being tied up in her attic.

“Is it really that surprising? Is this the first timeline like this that you’ve seen?” She hums, head tilting at a curious angle, sending the long curtain of her bright hair sliding off her thin shoulders. “How many timelines have you actually been in? Goro-Goro made it sound like you’ve done this a lot but didn’t give me a specific number.”

Goro huffs, eyes rolling, “That’s because he didn’t give me specifics outside of what he needed to prove what he was saying is true.” 

The brunette shifts into a familiar pose, one arm crossed before him propping up the elbow of the other as his hand comes to his chin. Thoughtful and determined, the detective on the case. The pajamas in place of his normal sharp attire somehow don’t take away from the effect of being scrutinized by someone who was more than capable of seeing through Ren’s bullshit effortlessly. 

“He certainly made it sound like he’s gone through different timelines fairly often,” Goro muses, “Though the best I can narrow it down to based on what he’s told me so far, it’s at least fifteen - maybe twenty - iterations.”

Fifteen.

The number is just so entirely absurd. He can’t even remember the first fifteen runs, not really. He remembers moments, bits and pieces, but narrowing down one memory to one year was an exercise in madness. He’s only barely sure he remembers the first year, and even then sometimes he wonders if what he’s remembering is from his native timeline at all or just a mess of moments from other timelines crashing together. 

He tried keeping count of them for a while - a desperate fool’s attempt at sanity - but eventually just had to give it up. Too many years with too little variation. Too many runs cut so short he’s not even certain he should count them at all. He’s fairly certain that he counted some runs twice on accident simply because they were so blandly the same as all the others.

Maybe twenty. The words strike him as funny and before he can try to stop it a dry, painful noise rattles out of him. There’s no real mirth or joy to his laughter. Just a jagged sound that rolls in aching bursts out of him and bounces around the room. He must seem out of his mind - well, more out of his mind - if the wary, side eyed looks Goro and Futaba share are any indication.

“Yikes.” Futaba says, eyes wide as she takes a half step away. “Okay...so... not twenty.” She glances towards Goro before looking back at Ren, “Dude are you okay?”

His eyes are burning. He can’t tell if it’s tears or exhaustion or the hangover taking its toll. He has no idea how to answer that question so offers a shrug and slumps back in the chair. Across from him Goro has pressed his lips together tightly, thin and bloodless. The other boy’s expression verging on the same unsettled cornered rabbit look he had the night before when he thought that Ren was a crazed stalker fan.

Seeming to realize he had Ren’s attention, Goro clears his throat and makes an effort to look collected and in control of the situation. It seems more forced and uncomfortable than anything. The kind of rigid plastic perfect affectation of the Detective Price that clashes horribly with his bare feet and oversized pajamas. Another bubble of laughter forces its way up out of Ren’s throat and he almost starts dry heaving from the resulting nausea. Futaba has been not so subtly creeping back from him, skirting so she’s a little behind Goro, hand coming up to fist in the fabric of his shirt as she stares a little wide eyed at Ren.

He offers a smile. 

Both of them wince.

Ren lets the smile fall. 

His body aches with years it’s never lived and he feels every second of his very long life. He wonders, wildly, what they’d say if he did tell them how long it's been. If he told him at what number he stopped counting, if he gave them his best estimate on how many timelines he’s lived and died in.

Nothing he wants to hear, most likely.

“Not twenty.” He agrees for lack of any other way to break the tense silence that’s settled over the room. His voice is rasping again. The broken laughter undoing the work of the water Goro gave him earlier. He wonders if he could convince one of them to run to LeBlanc and bring him a coffee. He’d kill for a cup of Sojiro’s perfectly brewed Blue Mountain right now.

Goro swallows and shifts, edging himself even further in front of Futaba. Ren thinks of visits to crowded stores and quest lines and being a Key Item. Is Goro a Key Item? Or does Futaba not need such things this time through?

“Alright.” Goro says. He sounds unsettled, but in the way that he does when he’s trying to hide that he’s unsettled. Was Ren’s laughter that bad? Probably. He can’t remember the last time he laughed. “We can… we can discuss how long you’ve been doing this...later.” 

Goro shifts, stands a little taller, presence taking up more space, and Ren loves this. Loves seeing Goro in his element, loves seeing him come at something with all his attention and focus and tenacity. If this had been any other run, any other timeline, Ren thinks that this Goro - this one determined to focus on the bigger picture and not his own vendetta - would have been able to figure out a way to fix it all. This Goro would try and figure out a way to stop Yaldabaoth and put an end to this whole wretched mess that Ren has been trapped in for so long and then do it.

Ren tries not to think about how unfair this is all turning out to be. He can’t afford any more reasons to wallow than he already has.

“Now,” Goro says, then, “ Now we need to know about the how and the why. We can figure out everything else from there.”

Ren blinks at him, tired and weary. 

“How and why?” He repeats, mind slipping over the words sluggishly. The aspirin isn’t helping as much as it was earlier before Futaba showed up and scattered his already shaky grasp on how this timeline would shake out. That they want to ask him questions in the state he’s in is either a testament to Goro’s cleverness in exploiting weaknesses or the both of them vastly overestimating how useful he can actually be to their plans to stop the runaway train that is this timeline with their bare hands.

Futaba pokes her head out, one hand still clinging tightly to Goro’s shirt, her eyes bright with curiosity. Goro has no way of knowing, but having Futaba along to help ask questions is a smart move. Even now, with his head imploding on itself and his entire self aching from exhaustion and the weight of his very existence , he still can’t do much against her big hopeful eyes.

“Yeah,” She says - chirps because she’s Futaba and when she’s not caught in the weight of her depression she’s a bundle of uncontainable energy. “ How as in, how are you able to jump timelines? And why as in - well like, a lot of whys, but I guess the first one to start with is why is this happening?”

Goro shifts beside her, red eyes narrowed on Ren’s slumped figure, “And also why did you come to this timeline to begin with if you’re so sure it’s doomed?”

Ren stares at them, considering. 

He’s going to answer them, most likely, because Futaba has those big eyes and he can tell already that Goro’s piecing together that he’s weak to Futaba’s chaotic brand of charm. But he doesn’t in any way need to make it easy on them.

“What’s in it for me?” He asks, just to be an ass, and is rewarded with a look so scathing from Goro that he’s fairly certain the paint on the wall behind him has peeled. He offers a grin. “ I’m on vacation, Detective. I should be sleeping off hangovers in my hotel room and spending my days at tourist traps. What do I get for answering all your questions instead?”

Goro looks like he wants to strangle him. Futaba, on the other hand, has a glint to her eye that tells Ren he’s said the exact wrong thing if he wants to get his way.

“Answers.” She says with a grin. “You have questions too right? About this timeline? It’s different from the others you’ve been too. Maybe not a lot, but enough that it’s got you curious.” She has that gremlin smile of hers, all mischief beneath that brilliant intelligence. “How about this: question for question. For every answer you give us, we’ll give you one back.”

It’s...tempting. He’s talked about vacation and rest and not wanting to bother with a doomed run but he is curious. For all their bland sameness he has seen changes in the timelines before - some even quite significant -  but not quite as surprising and interesting as the ones he’s glimpsed so far in this one. Futaba and Goro being siblings alone has him curious enough to agree, let alone whatever else is lurking in this timeline.

He can see the moment she knows he’s taking the deal. Her smile tilts at the edges, expression shifting subtly and he has to blink because it’s so startlingly Akechi Goro that he feels his head spin.

“Maybe.” He says, just to be contrary, then adds a bit hopefully, “Can you at least untie me if we do?” He wiggles his fingers, trying to look helpless and unlikely to bolt at the first available moment. “This chair isn’t exactly comfortable. And it’s not like I can go anywhere…”

Goro rolls his eyes hard enough that Ren’s a little worried he’ll hurt himself. Futaba flashes a wide smile that has more teeth than mercy.

She isn’t taking the bait. 

“Maybe once we get some information.” Futaba says, voice all sunshine cheerfulness that does nothing to hide the ruthless gleam in her eye.

Ren huffs, trying his best to look sad and hungover and unlikely to cause trouble. The first two, at least, aren’t so difficult. He is sad and hungover. It’s just that being sad and hungover doesn’t do much to stop him from being, well, himself.

“Alright, since it doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere. Ask away.” He says, then, as a flash of inspiration strikes him, adds “ Can’t promise I’ll answer every question but if it means figuring out this timeline a little better, then I’ll answer the ones I do honestly as long as you do the same. We have a deal.”

The word Deal doesn’t mean what it once did, back when the Velvet Room was still occupied, but there is still power to the act of making such an agreement. Deals have meaning, deals have power. He can no longer forge bonds with them, but he can still feel the power of a deal made settling in. 

Neither Futaba nor Goro know it just yet, but he’s bound all three of them in something a little more strict than a simple verbal agreement to play nice. It’s just a bit of entertainment, a chance to stretch his muscles on some abilities he hasn’t gotten to use much over the past runs. Goro is intent on ruining his vacation, so Ren is going to make his life a little harder than he has to. He is giving them his best here by chaining himself to the rules of their agreement in such a way, after all, it’s only fair that he’s also binding them to those rules as well. So long as the deal is in place, they can’t lie in their answers. Not without it being known.

A shame, of course, that Ren has spent long enough dealing with creatures of the Metaverse that he’s learned a thing or two on how not to tell the truth without lying. Goro and Futaba don’t quite have that luxury.

Futaba is flashing a victorious smile at Goro when he opens his eyes again. The brunette tries his best to look annoyed but can’t quite hide the smile pulling at his lips. There is, at least, real affection between the two of them. Something like what he and Futaba shared in timelines when they were pseudo siblings under Sojiro’s care. Ren feels nostalgic and wistful all at once. 

It’s nice, seeing them get along so well. The last timeline he was in where he got far enough along for the two to even meet, Futaba and Goro spent every minute at each other’s throats. Goro hadn’t made it a terribly good secret that he’d killed Wakaba in that one and Futaba had been less depressed and more wrathful that run through. 

Things got ugly that timeline.

Not that things were anything but ugly in any timeline.

Futaba claps her hands together and grins her gremlin smile again. Ren regrets - for seemingly the thousandth time - that he can’t resist letting her have anything she wants. Sojiro always said she’d go rotten if he kept spoiling her, and now here he was tied to a chair coming face to face with that inevitable outcome.

“Okay!” She says brightly, “So, question one: How are you able to jump from timeline to timeline?”

He shrugs, “I’m not.” At Goro’s narrowed eyes he offers a small smile. “Really. Yaldabaoth is the one able to pull us from timeline to timeline. I don't’ exactly get a say in it.”

He doesn’t say that if it was up to him his next death would be his last - self inflicted or no. Goro was irritated when he brought up drowning himself to get to the next timeline and Futaba...well. He didn’t want to see her face go crestfallen at the news that his real and permanent death was the only thing he really looked forward to anymore. She was too kind hearted to see the pragmatism in it.

“My turn.” He says, as Futaba quickly types in his answers into her phone. His attention is on Goro. “What did you mean when you two said you were siblings?”

Goro huffs, looking entirely unimpressed.

“Really? That’s your first question?” He looks bored by the question but there is something settled just underneath the expression. “We’ve known each other for years. I started calling her my little sister when I was four and it just sort of stuck.” He motions vaguely with his hand. “Now it’s just a thing. We’re practically siblings so we just say we’re siblings.”

There’s truth to that. But there’s a lie as well, buried in between everything he’s said. Ren can feel the hum of it in the air, their deal taking effect. He can tell that Goro can feel something as a result of his lie as well from the faint furrow of the other boy’s brow and the subtle narrowing of his gaze. Ren flashes him a smile - all teeth - and is rewarded with the slightest curl of Goro’s lip. He wonders how long it will take the detective to figure out the trick of it, work out that it’s not just Ren’s bag that has been changed by the many timelines experienced.

“Second question,” Goro says, and his voice isn’t the burning hateful notes of Goros Ren has met in the past, but there is heat there. Fire and fury, better handled, but still laying beneath, lurking and dangerous. Beautiful.

Ren probably needs therapy. Then again, last time he seriously spoke to a therapist, his counsellor tried to take use the Metaverse to mind control the world into a false sense of happiness. 

So maybe not.

“Why is all of this happening?” Goro asks, headless of how Ren’s thoughts circle on bad memories. “Why is this Yaldabaoth dragging you from timeline to timeline, what does he hope to accomplish?”

“That’s three questions, I’ll answer anyway though since you asked so nicely.” Ren says with a wink just to get a snarl from the boy now looming above him. Futaba is rolling her eyes looking unimpressed. She’s definitely figured him out, at least somewhat, already. 

“Yaldabaoth wants control.” He tells them, “Of the Metaverse, of our world, of everything in between. Those three things are tied together. If you can control one, you can control them all. The easiest one to take over is our world. But it being the easiest doesn’t mean it’s easy. ” He pauses, thinks on his words. He hasn’t told them anything untrue yet, but he’s getting close to something he’d rather not think about too much if he can help it. “He’s a creature from the Metaverse, so while he can influence this world to an extent, he can only do so much. He needs something in our world in order to exert control. All this,” He motions as best he can with his arm taped to a chair. “The timelines and everything else, it’s all in an effort to get what he needs to take control.”

Goro’s brows are furrowed, a thoughtful expression on his face. He asks, “And how does that involve you?”

Ren shakes his head.

“Now that’s a few questions too many. It’s my turn.” He says. Goro looks put out but Futaba shrugs. They’re planning on just asking him next turn anyways. By then he’ll have time to figure out the best way to not lie about the situation. “How are you siblings. And the truth this time. I know you lied before.”

The two went still at his words, eyes glancing at each other. Goro kept the facade of cooly annoyed for the most part, but Futaba was already fidgeting with her glasses in that way that Ren knew meant she’d been caught and was scrambling for a backup plan.

Goro cleared his throat and Ren could feel the lie before he said it. The deal sunk in on them with a little prodding, making the brunette cough, eyes going wide surprise as he reached for his throat. He’d gotten away with it before by slipping it in between some truth, though not enough to get around the deal completely. Attempting to lie blatantly though wasn’t an option though. Not so long as Goro and Futaba insisted their Deal was in place.

Ren could see him trying to fight it - Goro’s face going red and hands curling into fists at his side - which wasn’t the best idea. Deals were things of Metaverse logic. The more you fought against one, the more you were compelled to follow it. Futaba’s looking between the two of them, aware that somethings going on but not sure just what.

Goro clenches his jaw tightly and Ren sees the moment that the compulsion overrides his own better judgement.

“ Shido’s our father.” He snaps, more hiss than words as the truth rolls out of him. The other boy is shaking some, still pushing back as much as possible against something he has no hope of fighting again. Deals are bridges built from both sides, after all. “We figured it out by accident a few years ago - what the fuck!?”

Ren whistles and does his best not to wince when it makes his headache worse.

“Huh.” He says, head tilting as he considers the information. “You know, maybe you two were siblings in the other timelines and you just never knew. How do you know each other anywa-”

He’s cut off by a pair of hands latching onto his shoulders, Goro violently shoving him back so that the rickety chair he’s on is balanced on the back legs. The only thing keeping him from slamming hard against the wood floor beneath him is Goro’s deathgrip on him, the other boy’s face a hair's breadth from his own. And oh, there’s the fury that makes Akechi Goro’s eyes burn so brightly.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” Goro snarls, headless of Futaba behind him as she yelps and dives to try and pull him off Ren’s precariously balanced form. It seems she at least draws the line at his murder even if she seemed find with his kidnapping, which is a small comfort he supposes.

Ren meets Goro’s gaze with his own, grey bleeding red as he answers truthfully. “We made a deal.” He fills the words with just enough power that Goro and Futaba can feel them humming in the air, feel that a deal is never just a deal. He gives a grin, flashing teeth and Trickster’s delight. He’s having fun. He hasn’t had fun in, honestly he doesn’t even know how long. “We’d agreed that we’d answer each other’s questions honestly. So long as our deal is in place, we must answer each other’s questions truthfully. A Deal born of the Metaverse won’t allow for anything else.” 

Goro’s hands on his shoulders tighten to the point of bruising. A warning, a threat, an attempt to rein himself in. It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, Ren delights in it all the same. 

“What are you.” 

It’s not a question, not with the snarl that Goro puts into it. More of an affirmation that Ren is something and that as soon as Goro figures out how to put an end to it, he will. Ren just shrugs - as well as he can, in his position - and allows his smile to slip towards rueful. 

“I don’t know.” he says, dipping back towards weary. 

Joys are momentarily things, fleeting, frail, and easily crushed by the heavy weight of his reality. Twice now this morning he’s brushed gently against the warmth of emotions that usually don’t have a chance in his exhausted haze of existence. Both times while getting Goro riled up. More proof to add to the pile that his sense of self preservation died with him many, many runs ago and didn’t bother coming back following timelines.

Futaba hovers nearby, watching the two of them with wide, apprehensive eyes as her hands hover. She seems unsure which of them she wants to try and protect from the other, or even if she needs to interfere at all. 

Silence chokes the room as he and Goro stare at each other, close enough that their breath mingles. He feels bad for Goro, his breath must reek from the booze and rough night he had before the other boy found him. If it bothers the detective, Goro doesn’t say, red eyes almost glowing like embers this close. Ren wishes again that this timeline got its fair shake. This Goro deserves so much more than the ruin that awaits at the end of this run.

He’s not sure how much time passes before Goro relaxes his death grip on his shoulders and eases him and the chair he’s taped to back down on to all four legs. The expression he wears is unreadable to him, but must mean something to Futaba if the apprehension she’s showing is any indication.

“New plan.” Goro says, voice low and calm and not at all what Ren expected. He watches as Goro moves across the room and retrieves his phone from near one of the various piles of Ren’s possessions, fiddling with something on it for a moment before turning his attention to Futaba. “Go grab the bag in my room for me. The one with the clothes.”

Futaba stands there for a moment staring in disbelief at her brother - and what a strange thing, that Goro and Futaba are both Shido’s children.

“You can’t be serious.” She says, sounding bewildered. Ren watches as she flails her arms in his direction as she continues, “There’s no way that’s going to work, Goro you kidnapped him last night! He’s hungover!”

Goro shrugs, “Then we’ll have to get Sojiro to make that hangover cure for him he’s always going on about. It’ll work, trust me.”

He smiles then and oh. Ren’s never seen that before, that honest warm expression that settles on Goro’s face. It’s not one of those false, plastic expressions he hides behind or that feral grin that Ren has come to love so much. The smile he gives Futaba is real and genuine. It makes him look softer, gentler and steals the breath from Ren’s lungs.

Futaba seems less enchanted. She groans and buries her face in her hands for a brief moment. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this.” She mutters before throwing her hands up dramatically. “Fine! I’ll go get the clothes and tell Sojiro to make his gross drink for your hungover Parolee, but you're explaining to him what’s going on.”

With that she storms off, grumbling all the way, leaving Ren with just Goro and his confusion at the situation for company. Goro’s soft smile is still in place, now turned on Ren and his poor heart cannot take seeing Goro looking so radiant and genuinely soft. It can’t.  

Ren watches as he reaches down and grabs one of the many daggers he’s pulled from Ren’s bag so far and holds it expertly in his hand. Ren feels a flash of hope, perhaps sending Futaba away was just a means of letting him kill Ren without having to traumatize his little sister. Ren would appreciate that, and would especially appreciate it if that warm smile is the last thing he sees before he dies this time.

Goro walks over, movements lithe and easy even with so much of Ren’s things littering the floor. The detective spins the dagger - one of Ren’s favorites, well balanced and edge finely honed - in his hand. Ren is enchanted. Goro raises his hand and Ren tilts his head back, eyes falling closed so that he can keep Goro’s lovely smile in mind in his last moments.

He feels the tape holding him in place being cut away instead.

Snapping his eyes open, he finds Goro still smiling - now a touch more maliciously - as the brunette merily takes his time ruining one of Ren’s favorite daggers with duct tape residue. He’s not looking at Ren at all as he delicately slices each and every strand of the tape away. Ren can only blink, at a loss, as Goro hums to himself and begins cutting his arm free next. Seeming to notice Ren’s confusion, red eyes turn on him.

“Now then,” Goro says, voice soft and easy going. The smile is definitely malicious as the detective flashes teeth, “It’s time we get you ready for your introduction at Shujin Academy!”

Chapter Text

Ren stares at the tacky, gluey mess Goro’s made of the dagger blade, then up at Goro standing over him and back down again. Goro watches as Ren’s eyes - their normal tarnished silver color again, rather than that eerie, glowing crimson - blink rapidly in the glow of the morning light. Goro imagines he can feel a breeze from the boy’s ridiculously long eyelashes. He has no business being so pretty.

“You didn’t kill me.” Ren says.

He sounds disappointed. 

Goro can’t say he knows what to do with that fact, so - much like when he found himself staring into an endless void in place of the inside of a normal school bag - decides to file that away to be dealt with later. Much later. Possibly never.

“No.” Goro says, trying to rein in the fury that’s been burning in him since the moment he realized that Ren did something to him and Futaba. “Like I would give you the satisfaction after everything you’ve put me through.”

Ren, now free of his bonds, slumps in the chair nearly to the point of sliding out of it. If Goro hasn’t seen what he’s capable of already, he’d write him off as a harmless drama queen.

The problem, of course, is he has seen what he’s capable of.

He can still feel the sense of his muscles moving in his throat without his control. The burn of words building up in his chest that couldn’t be contained, the sour taste of his lie slipped in with the honest truth of how he came to call Futaba his little sister. He’s still not sure how Ren did it or just what he is - the way his eyes bled red and his expression sharpened into something so, so other made him unsure what to call him . It was like looking at the bare face of a Shadow, the mask torn away, the wild, feral entity beyond shining through and seeing him in return.

More questions. 

Goro was starting to think Amamiya Ren was nothing but questions bundled together in the shape of a maddeningly pretty highschooler. Some strange intangible being made manifest to haunt him like a fiend of some folktale. A punishment for his many crimes.

He shakes the thoughts off. He needs to focus.

“Come on,” He tugs at Ren’s arm, “You need to shower and change before we introduce you to Sojiro. It’s going to be bad enough that he’ll already know you’re hung over.”

Ren stirs some at that news, looking marginally interested. “You’re taking me to LeBlanc?” He asks and Goro has to remind himself that apparently Ren has already met the cafe owner many times before - and even, supposedly, had him as a guardian. Which was its own mess of questions to add to the pile of things that Goro would really like answers to, thanks. “I would kill for his coffee right now.”

Goro suddenly feels a deep and abiding kinship for Sojiro and his near constant weary expressions at the sight of him and Futaba when they’re obsessing about something. A sigh that is all Sojiro’s influence slides out of him and he feels the threat of a headache at the back of his eyes.

 “Underage Parolees who run off and get drunk with a fake ID don’t get Boss’ coffee. You’re getting his shitty hangover cure and maybe - if you’re good - some curry before we head to Shujin for your introductions.” He says, flicking Ren’s nose like he’s a misbehaving dog for good measure. The boy - is he a boy even? Even at Goro’s smallest estimate - which Amamiya’s deranged laughter earlier proved well enough was far, far away from the correct number - Ren was at a minimum fifteen to twenty years older than Goro. Then again he certainly still had the body and impulse control of a seventeen year old.

He really needs to stop thinking about it. He’s going to end up with a migraine at this rate and they haven’t even gotten to Shujin yet.

Ren sour and put out at Goro’s words, crossing his arms and pouting in a way that somehow reminds Goro of Futaba which is possibly the single most unsettling thing about the timeline jumper. The last thing Goro needs is to look at Ren’s stupidly pretty face and feel the maddening warmth in his chest and then think of his baby sister. There’s no amount of therapy on earth that could help with his mind breaking from that thanks.

“Not happening.” Ren says, a stubborn angle to his chin, “I’m on vacation.”

Goro resists the urge to throttle him. Again. He’s starting to lose count how many times he’s had to talk himself out of murdering Ren at this point. But really. Vacation. As if the destruction of everything and everyone Goro has ever known or loved is nothing more than some tourist trap laid out for Ren’s entertainment before he fucks off to another timeline for his real work.

No. Not happening. Their timeline is not doomed and he will be damned if he lets Ren ruin everything by being a petulant child. He might not have the untold years of observation and knowledge that Ren has, but he has something, and that something is more than enough. For all that Ren is a pain in the ass and a riddle, Goro has worked out some of the strange ways he ticks. 

The thing is, he’s a little like a cat. Appearing - at first glance - harmless and even a little endearing. Longer observation though shows the tendency towards mischief. The threat of danger lying beneath the surface, sharp cat claws hidden away when not in use. Most important of all though, his curiosity. That overwhelming drive of his to stick his nose into something it doesn’t belong in simply because it’s shiny and new. 

That curiosity can be used, if Goro is careful and clever, to temper the feral danger that lurks beneath dark haired boy’s pretty facade.

“Alright.” Goro says, and is satisfied to see Ren tense at the easy agreement he offers. He can practically see the whiskers twitching in anticipation of a trap. He gives Ren a smile, easy going and relaxed. “Then, if you’re not going to adhere to your Parole and make your introductions to Shujin, I guess Futaba and I will have no more answers for you.”

Ren goes still, eyes sharp as he sweeps his gaze over Goro’s face. Seeking a sign that he’s bluffing. Goro lets him and if his smile goes a little sharp, well. Amamiya Ren is not the only dangerous one in the room. It’s a good enough time as any to remind the other boy of that fact.

“We made a deal.” Ren says. His eyes don’t burn red again, but Goro can see a ring of the scarlet from before ringing the edges of the strange, deep gray.

Goro nods agreeably. “That we did. Futaba and I would answer your questions honestly so long as you did the same for us.” He tilts his head and his cheeks actually ache a little from how wide his smile has grown. “But I believe I am correct in saying that this... deal ...only forces us honesty if we answer. And that we are in no way required to respond to your questions if we don’t want to.”

A muscle in Ren’s jaw twitches, just slightly. Small enough that anyone else would miss it. Goro is only alive now though, because of his fine honed ability to read the smallest of tells in people's faces.

Ren huffs, looking more put out than ever, and Goro knows he’s won this round.

The walk from Sojiro’s house to LeBlanc is as familiar as breathing by now. The quiet street with its same people going about their lives. The second hand shop, the bathhouse with the coin operated washing machines, the stray cats that are never far from LeBlanc’s front door as they wait for the man inside to sneak them scraps.

Ren lets it wash over him and sooth away the last of the irritation that he’d let himself fall into Goro’s trap. He should have known better than to think that he could out-wile Akechi Goro when he’s determined. It’s his own fault too, for tipping his hand and letting his fascination with this strange timeline be too obvious to the detective. Now he’s stuck playing along until he gets the information he wants from Goro and Futaba.

He tries to reassure himself that it only delays his vacation, and not ends it. A week or two and he’ll know enough to satisfy him and he can ditch this pretense at this timeline being savable. Move on to spending his days ignoring his problems and his nights getting sick in a gutter off of cheap booze and whatever else he can get his hands on. He’s fairly certain he has another fake ID rattling around somewhere in his bag.

Ahead of him Goro pushes open the door to LeBlanc and Ren is pulled back to the present with a wince as the bell above the door - usually a cheerful chime - grates against his ragged nerves. The shower helped his hangover some, but not nearly enough.

“About time.” A warm voice says, the man it belongs to glancing up from his crossword puzzle with a smile. “Futaba was convinced that trouble maker of yours escaped out a window.”

Goro huffs a gentle, honest laugh. “I would have called if he made a run for it.” He says, walking towards where the red head is perched on a barstool and immediately squishing Futaba’s face between his hands. She gives a muffled yelp in response and swats at him ineffectually. Goro just ignores her wildly flying hands, and only lets up when she tries to bite him.

“Knock it off you two.” Sojiro says, “Don’t need you scaring off customers.”

It’s in that same fatherly tone he used to gently chide in timelines past when it was Ren and Futaba teasing each other. It’s strange, seeing it directed so easily at Goro. Stranger still to see Goro smile warmly and obey at the command - though he still makes a point of snatching up Futaba’s plate and devouring the last of her curry, much to the hacker’s fury. 

Goro is relaxed here, even more than he usually is in LeBlanc, moving around the space in that second-nature was of one who’s spent years growing familiar and comfortable with a space.

Ren simply stands and watches the scene for a while. Take in the soft details, the warm atmosphere. It’s different from the LeBlanc he’s known in runs past. Not drastically, but enough to catch his eye. There are the signs of gentle wear one expects from a place frequented by guests for one. It seems the cafe is more popular in this timeline, and Ren’s glad for that. Sojiro’s poured his heart and soul into the place and he deserves to have his gourmet coffee and curry appreciated. There are also pictures - dozens of them - hung up on the walls. Ren takes in what he can in a glance and is warmed by what he sees.

Photos of Goro and Futaba as small children. Ren spots one of Sojiro with a toddler Futaba balanced on his shoulders. Another has Goro - perhaps six - dressed as a miniature Sojiro, pink shirt, apron and all, with a tiny Futaba beside him dressed like a coffee bean. Halloween costumes, Ren realizes, before his attention is caught on a larger photo hanging up where the Sayuri has held place of pride in timelines past.

Three people stand there, arms linked and smiles bright. Sojiro stands center, about twenty years younger than he is now, a business suit making him look strangely devilish in the low light of the bar he seems to be standing in. On his left is Isshiki Wakaba, hair down to her shoulders and the same bright shade that Futaba claims. She’s winking at the camera and has an unlit cigarette tucked behind her ear, glasses folded up and hanging from her blouse. It’s like looking at a Futaba grown, sharp grin and sparkling intelligence and wild joy.

He shifts his gaze to the third figure in the picture before he can think too long on the fact that, for all the years he’s lived, he’s never seen anyone he loves get the chance to grow up.

His reward for his hasty attempt to run from unpleasant thoughts is the bewildering experience of seeing Akechi Goro in the face of an unknown woman hanging off of Sojiro’s right side. Her eyes are the same deep red, hair the same warm chestnut. Her smile is different though, brighter and sweeter as she holds up a peace sign with one hand and gives Sojiro bunny ears with the other.

It takes a moment longer than it should for Ren to realize that the woman can be no one else but Goro’s mother. And then longer still to realize that it shouldn’t be so surprising to him that Sojiro knew her. He’d mentioned before, in timelines past, how he and Wakaba had worked with Shido all those years ago. It stands that he might have met Goro’s mother in passing during that time. Or more than met, really, considering how easily the three stand together in the photo.

Was that how Goro and Futaba knew each other in this timeline? Sojiro with his kind heart taking in the orphaned child of not one dear friend, but two? Ren can see it, can feel the pain of it. Sojiro having two dear friends. Loving them. Losing them. Not hesitating to step up and take their children in to keep them safe from those who’d harm them. Sojiro put on a gruff front, but he was one of the kindest people Ren had ever met. There’s no doubt in his mind that the cafe owner wouldn’t hesitate to take Goro in the same he did Futaba.

And it makes sense how this timeline could have turned out the way it has. Why Futaba and Goro are different here. Goro had Sojiro to look after him in the wake of his mother’s death rather than being lost to the foster system and the many abuses he faced in the years following. And then Futaba had Goro to share her grief with when her own mother died. 

It’s not all the pieces - Ren still has more questions - but it certainly explains a lot.

A soft ahem pulls his attention away from the photo and back towards the scene at the bar. He finds that Sojiro’s looking at him, crossword puzzle set on the counter before him while Goro and Futaba scuffle nearby. He looks more relaxed than he normally is this early in the timeline, Ren notes. 

Which makes sense, when he thinks about it. Futaba isn’t the wreck she is normally at this time. Cheerfully causing mayhem in the cafe rather than locked away in her room trapped in her grief and anxiety. So much of Sojiro’s early stern gruffness was born of the stress of wanting desperately to be able to help his daughter and simply not knowing how. Trying to keep the delinquent he’d been too soft hearted to turn away from causing trouble hadn’t helped things any, Ren suspects.

Across the bar Goro dodges Futaba’s vague attempt to whack him in the face with her spoon before leaving her behind to round the counter and start the delicate process of fixing himself a cup of coffee. It’s surreal. Akechi Goro, in his sharp detective’s clothes with his hair pulled up in a ponytail, looking at ease behind the coffee bar measuring out coffee grounds and preparing the pour over.

Sojiro doesn't even look phased, only offering an affectionate attempt at ruffling Goro’s hair as the brunette passed by as an indication that he was even aware that Goro was on the business end of the coffee bar. Goro looks sour, face twisted up in a petulant frown as he vainly tries to duck out of the way. He fails, his bangs a mess by the time Sojiro’s done, though his expression is lighter than true anger.

When Sojiro turns his attention on Ren - still standing stupidly at the entrance - he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He feels at once comforted and on edge as he meets Sakura Sojiro’s level gaze, mind briefly cast back to that wild uncertainty he felt that very first run, meeting Sojiro for the first time and not knowing what to expect from this strange, grim faced man.

“So.” Boss starts, peering over his reading glasses. “You’re the trouble maker Goro’s keeping an eye on, huh?”

Ren finds his hand creeping up, fingers finding hold of a lock of hair as he tugs and twists at his fringe. A nervous tick he thought died ages ago. He jerks his hand away when he realizes what he’s doing and clears his throat, wincing as his aching head protests. 

“Um. Yes.” He offers a polite bow - it’s only a little awkward judging by Futaba’s expression when he rises - “My name is Amamiya Ren.”

The cafe is quiet for a long moment. The only noise is Goro finishing his coffee and a faint creek of a floorboard from the attic above as Sojiro takes stock of him. He’s not sure why, exactly, Boss has this affect on him. In every timeline, without fail, the first time he meets Sojiro he feels like he needs to make a good first impression. Some fleeting, distant part of him is desperate for the man’s approval even in timelines where Ren knows that he’ll be dead and gone on to the next run inside a few weeks.

Sojiro gives one of his signature sighs. “You’re not on trial, kid.” He says, and then nods at the bar stool beside Futaba. 

Ren moves to take it without hesitation and internally groans when he sees the way Goro’s eyes narrow at his promptness. The last thing he needs is Goro realizing that he’s weak to Futaba and Sojiro both. It’s bad enough that he seems to have sussed out that Ren’s incapable of not giving Futaba whatever she wants. He doesn’t need him to have Sojiro giving him disappointed dad eyes on top of everything else.

“I can’t say I’m too keen on you spending your first night on parole getting drunk.” Sojiro continues, headless of the mental chess game being played between Ren and Goro, “But Goro’s insistent that he’s going to keep you on the straight and narrow going forward.” The steely grey eyes the cafe owner settles on him pin Ren as thoroughly as a stab to the gut, “I hope I don’t have to tell you that the only reason you’re not in jail right now is that Goro explained your situation. Make no mistake though, pull another stunt and that’s it. If Goro doesn’t turn you in, I will. He doesn’t need any more work to deal with than he already has. Got it?”

If fear hadn’t been burned out of him - for the most part - many, many timelines ago, Ren thinks Sojiro’s sharp, protective-father tone of voice might have had him quaking. As it is, too many deaths to count under his belt, Ren still nervously swallows and can only meekly nod his head.

“Yes Sir.” He says, awkward and stilted, voice a strained whisper that had nothing to do with his hangover.

He’s never gotten better at talking to adults that dislike him. Even those he knows are softies underneath it all and who eventually warm up to him. One disapproving look from someone who could have control over him and his mouth clamps shut, throat squeezing tightly on his voice box to keep him quiet. 

Selective mutism, plaguing him since his childhood in the wake of a particularly nasty reprimand from his father over a poor placing in a piano competition. His first brush with death, in hindsight, though far from his last. It’s only ever come up while speaking to adults, though he wonders at the fact that he’s still not been able to shake it after so many years and timelines. He’s certainly faced far worse things than his father in the long years since he’d been a child. 

Maruki had suggested exercises and a few techniques for anxiety when Ren finally brought it up. A few weeks later, Maruki tried to drive a tentacle into Ren’s head to fix him in an entire different way and in the end, Ren was no closer to getting over his tendency towards silence. Possibly due to the fact that the therapist had killed him that run.

“Alright then.” Sojiro’s sharp expression eases and some of that warmth Ren remembers of the man shines through again. “I’ll grab you that hangover cure. Can’t have you wincing your way through your school introduction, you’re going to have a hard enough time as it is with your record. Don’t need to invite more trouble.”

Ren watches as he bends down behind the counter and begins rummaging around in the small fridge where the milk is normally stored. At length he pulls out a mason jar with some unidentifiable greyish-green liquid inside. It clings to the glass as it sloshes thickly, leaving a filmy layer behind that has a rainbow sheen to it. It makes Ren think of snot mixed with gasoline. “Here. If you haven’t learned your lesson already, well.” Sojiro has a sparkle to his eye that speaks of mischief, “Let’s just say you will after this.”

A demitasse is procured from where the cups are stored, the minuscule cup settled before Ren pointedly by Goro as Sojiro cracks the seal on the mason jar. If the sight of the strange concoction wasn’t enough to make Ren’s hair stand on end, then the smell certainly is. He’s not even certain how to properly discern it. Something that smells vaguely of citrus in a decidedly unpleasant way, mixed with something strongly chemical and another scent that reminds him of rotten grass clippings.

Futaba gags immediately and scurries off the stool next to him. Goro’s earlier transgressions of stealing her breakfast forgotten as she huddles close to him and his freshly brewed coffee. The fumes of Sojiro’s hangover cure seem to be kept at bay there. Ren has never envied someone a cup of coffee more in his entire life. 

Sojiro tilts the jar and the... mixture... inside doesn’t so much as pour as it does slide down like warmed jelly. There are more solid chunks in with the liquid, impossible to see until it starts spluttering out into the tiny cup.

Ren wonders if he could run out of the cafe and throw himself into traffic before Goro could catch him.

“I’d recommend drinking it in one go. You don’t want to let it sit, trust me, it only tastes worse as it warms up.” Sojiro informs him as he seals the eldritch liquid back up in the chilled mason jar. Ren can only stare at the small cup set before him and tries to reassure himself that he’s lived through worse. Hell, he’s died of worse. A quick drink of... whatever this stuff is, isn’t the most awful thing he’s ever faced.

The hangover cure quivers .

He’s fairly certain it’s sentient and is trying to escape the cup.

He glances up at Sojiro, then to Goro and Futaba. Goro looks torn between pity and vindication to see what Ren’s up against. Futaba offers him a weak thumbs up. Neither of them are particularly encouraging. Sojiro’s folded arms and quirked brow don’t help any either.

Well. Bottoms up, he supposes.

How bad could it be?

Bad. Is the answer. The absolute worst.

Nearly an hour later as they arrive at Shujin Ren can still taste it on his tongue and feel a strange, film coating his mouth and throat. The fact that it cured his hangover symptoms inside a few minutes was impressive, though not nearly enough to make it worth it in Ren’s opinion. Sojiro had been right, if he didn’t learn his lesson from that, he never would.

“Stop making that face.” Goro chastises as they reach the front gate of the school. Ren tries valiantly to smooth his expression into his usual neutral mask rather than the scrunched up disgust that’s made camp there since he drank Sojiro’s strange concoction. Goro shakes his head at him, looking more weary than usual, and makes an effort to straighten his tie and make minor adjustments to his already fastidious outfit.

He’s been fidgety since they left the train station. Letting his hair down and then putting it back up again, brushing nonexistent specks of dust off his detective jacket, pulling out a compact to check that his makeup was still in order. Of the two of them Goro seems to be acting more like the delinquent presenting himself for his last chance rather than Ren.

“Are you okay?” Ren asks as they cross the barrier onto the school proper and begin heading for the front office. 

He’s not used to Goro being so on edge, and doesn’t like what it implies of the situation. Was there something he missed when he was examining this body’s memories of this run?

Goro breaths out heavily through his nose, a tense line to his shoulders. “Yes. Just.” He grits his teeth for a moment. “The secretary texted me while we were on the train and informed me on who your homeroom teacher is going to be.” Dark red eyes flick to Ren before Goro pulls open the door of the front office and ushers them inside. “Let’s just say this might be trickier than I would like.”

Ren’s not sure just what to make of that statement. Unable to ask with the various faculty and staff milling around, he trails behind the detective dutifully as Goro makes a beeline for the secretary behind the front desk.

“Ah, Akechi-kun!” The secretary is the same affable old woman it is in every timeline. Round face and deep set crows feet and a bowl of hard candy at her elbow that she gives away liberally to the students and faculty that cross her path. She’s smiling warmly at Goro, already reaching for the phone nearby as she does. “Or, I suppose Akechi- San in this case, hmm? You being on duty and all. I’ll just buzz Ushimaru-Sensei and let him know you boys are here.”

Ren blinks.

Ushimaru? The stern social studies teacher? Was he the one Ren was being set up with as a homeroom teacher this year? And why him and not the principle? And why was the secretary so strangely familiar with Goro? More questions than he has time to ask, even if Goro was feeling particularly charitable and was willing to answer. A fact that seemed unlikely considering his impulsive Deal weaving earlier that morning. 

The secretary reports that they’ve arrived to Ushimaru and then ushers them over to some nearby chairs to wait to be called in. Goro sits ramrod straight, fists clenched on his knees and stare leveled at the door to the Principal's office.

This is not how he anticipated his introduction at Shujin going this run.

In every other timeline - save those where he didn’t attend at the academy - the introduction with Kobayakawa and his homeroom teacher, usually Kawakami, went easily enough. Most of the time was spent trying not to roll his eyes as the Principle lectures him on the great opportunity afforded him and Kawakami - still bitter over her mess of a situation -  tries hard not to look like she’s swallowing lemons at having to deal with a delinquent for the year.

It’s boring and irritating but not especially nerve inducing after that very first run. The worst he can expect out of it normally is the not-so-subtle accusation that he’ll end up back in jail within the week. He suspects though, from the tense line of Goro’s body, that this isn’t the case in this particular timeline.

“So...you’re awfully familiar with this place.” He tries, voice pitched low so that he isn’t overheard. Goro’s eyes slant his way, but his head remains focused on the principal’s door.

“Let me guess,” Goro says quietly, sounding exasperated, “I don’t attend Shujin in those other timelines of yours?”

Ren leans back in his chair, and tries not to slouch too badly as he considers the information.

“No.” He says at length. Interesting. This entire timeline is just so damn interesting in its strange differences. Akechi Goro, Shujin Academy student. He can just imagine him, looking equal parts sharp and ridiculous in Shujin’s signature uniform. The dark jacket with its red buttons would compliment his complexion. The pants were a different story entirely. “Kosei, usually.”

“Kosei is a school for artists and prodigies.” Goro says, sounding bored, “Shujin’s tuition is less and their focus is more on academics. Better for getting into college.”

“Are you saying you're not a prodigy, Detective?” Ren prods, mouth set into a grin that is more teeth than smile. Goro is too tense, too wired. He always has the urge to rile him up, but especially so when it comes to seeing him so on edge. The call of the status quo is one familiar to all those lost in the strange and unusual.

Goro rolls his eyes and doesn’t take the bait.

Silence settles between them for a few moments before the Principal’s door opens and Ushimaru is standing there, signalling them to come inside.

What follows is...disconcerting.

He follows Goro inside the office to find Ushimaru taking the seat behind the grand desk and Kawakami standing nearby. It’s not entirely strange, by itself. Ushimaru is the Principal in this timeline. A relief, to be sure, considering what a mess Kobayakawa made of everything last time. He has a reputation for being a hardass, but Ren’s never had much trouble with him outside of the occasional chalk-missile. So no. Ushimaru isn’t the thing that’s giving Ren pause.

Kawakami glances up from a file folder she’s holding with an expression he can’t quite read as they enter. She looks markedly different than he’s used to seeing. Her comfortable yellow striped sweater and jean skirt are gone, replaced by an expensive looking grey suit and purple blouse. Her makeup is applied differently, making her features sharper. Her nails are long and painted, purple again, and she’s balanced on a pair of heels that a lesser person would break an ankle trying to walk in.

It’s the look in her eyes, though, more than anything that puts Ren on edge. The gaze of a bird of prey, tracking the movements of something small and vulnerable far below. It makes the hair at the back of his neck prickle in unease.

“Akechi-San, Amamiya-Kun.” Ushimaru says levelly, “Thank you both for your punctual arrival. We have a few things to cover today and I’d like if we could get through this as quickly as possible.”

Ren stands silent beside and a little behind Goro. Rules are outlined, paperwork signed, conditions of his stay at Shujin made clear. Goro does most of the talking, Ren only speaking when he’s directly spoken to. This, at least, is something vaguely familiar. The people involved have changed, slightly, but the circus act is largely the same as it’s ever been. Ren has an assault charge on his record and is given no chance to forget that fact. His future is in their hands, and their judgement has already found him lacking as a person able - or deserving - to be redeemed.

Some things never change.

It’s only as Ren is signing the last of the paperwork that’s usually handled by Sojiro - he is his own guardian in this timeline, and as such has to sign his own damn legal documents - that things veer violently back towards the unfamiliar.

“Now, if I may make a few things clear.” Kawakami says. There’s a coldness to her voice, a shard of ice that’s lodged itself in her usually softer tone that makes her words rattle in his head uncomfortably. “You are responsible for your actions here at Shujin Academy. Any violations of the school rules - and any misbehaving in my class - will result in immediate expulsion. We are not,” Her black eyes are void-like as she settles a scathing expression on him, “In the business of charity work Amamiya-Kun. Many students fight hard to be permitted the luxury of attending this school and I will have no qualms about putting a quick end to your attendance here if I for one moment think you are causing any issues.”

He can only nod, voice caught in his throat at the brutal depths of her gaze. This is not the Kawakami he’s known. Not the well intentioned, exhausted woman of timelines past who at her heart only wanted what was best for her students. This was another woman. A sharper, more dangerous one who’s dark eyes threatened far more than her harsh words ever could.

“Good.” She holds out a hand, finely manicured, and he reluctantly takes the ID she holds out to him. “This is your student ID card. I expect you in my class fifteen minutes early tomorrow morning so we can go over a few more things. And again, I must reiterate Amamiya-Kun, this is your last chance. If you fail to meet our requirements here at Shujin Academy, you will be forfeiting not only your place here at this school, but your future in its entirety. Do you understand?”

Ren nods again, and watches from behind the cover of his fringe as her mouth twists, her expression verging on cruel. 

“I need to hear you say it.” She says, with slow precision, the kind of voice you give to an especially dimwitted dog when it pees on the carpet. Beside him Goro’s body is strung so tightly it’s a wonder he hasn’t snapped yet, fists clenched at his sides. There’s a note in his file, he vaguely remembers, on his issues with speech in stressful situations. He wants to think she missed it when she was glancing over his file earlier.

The look in her eye says otherwise.

Ushimaru clears his throat pointedly. “That won’t be necessary Amamiya-Kun.” The social studies teacher - or Principal, rather - doesn’t look any less severe but there is something in his gaze that implies sympathy as he says, “I read in your file earlier that speech can be an issue for you. We are willing to accommodate you should you require anything, but be certain not to use that as an excuse not to do classwork.”

Kawakami’s eyes turn on the Principal sharply, face carefully neutral but eyes blazing. She gives a respectful nod to Ushimaru when he looks at her, but there’s no disguising the anger that’s burning at her attempt at control being undermined.

Something prickles at the back of Ren’s neck.

“I hate to be rude,” Goro says, and it's his public voice. The one he uses to beguile and charm people into doing what he wants. It grates at Ren nearly as much as Kawakami’s cold fury. “But I’m afraid I have some work at the precinct that needs my attention. Is there anything else we need to attend to before we are free to leave?”

Ushimura shakes his head, “No. That should be all. I must offer my thanks to you Akechi-kun for looking after him while he’s here. We are fortunate that his Parole has been placed under your care.”

Goro’s smile is rigid enough to shatter at the faintest brush, but it dazzles all the same as he gives a polite bow and says, “Of course. I will do my very best to see that he does Shujin proud.”

It’s as Goro is leading them out that Ren turns back to meet Kawakami’s gaze again. 

He has a suspicion - her marked change in behavior is far outside the norm, even for this strange timeline - but he needs to be certain. He pulls the sensation of Joker over him and feels - even if it can’t be seen - the mask that marks his true self settle over his face. He hides the way his eyes bleed red behind his glasses and wild hair, and looks past the veneer of reality and into the Metaverse beyond.

Humans are not meant to see past the curtain between worlds with their eyes alone, that’s the reason for the app appearing on the phone. It’s a shortcut, a means of making things easier. Over time, though, Ren’s found that he’s had less and less need for the MetaNav to be able to see and interact with the world beyond. He is as much a part of it as he is the world he was born too. Having your existence be twisted into the very fabric of reality by a God has all kinds of repercussions. This one, at least, can be considered a boon rather than a curse.

The world around him goes still, just for a moment, a heartbeat. He stares hard into Kawakami’s eyes, peeling away the layers of reality between this world and the Metaverse. It takes seconds, it takes hours. Time is meaningless in the fragile bubble between dreaming and waking. And then, finally, he finds it.

Kawakami. Not as she seems, but as she is. Golden eyed and finely adorned with a twisted, wrathful smile.

The Ruler of her own distorted Palace.

Chapter Text

Sumire runs.

Her lungs burn in her chest and the muscles in her legs scream, begging her to stop, but she ignores them both, pushing hard to keep the breakneck pace she’s been maintaining for what feels like years now. It’s been too long since she’s been allowed to exercise, to do her gymnastics, to be free. She’s lost muscle and stamina but she can’t stop . If she stops, they catch her, and if they catch her…

She won’t let them catch her. Can’t.

So she runs. 

She darts down brightly lit hallways and sprints down endless stairs, mind dizzy with how everything looks the same in this twisted place. Her heels clack against the mirror bright floors, a drumbeat in time with the pounding of her heart as her long black coat billows behind her like a cape. She tried hiding, at first. Tried being clever and quiet. The problem was the one who built this place knew how she thought, knew her mind and her habits. She’d been found almost immediately and only escaped by the skin of her teeth. The time for hiding was over, and she was left with precious few other options.

She bolts across a corridor and launches herself over the balcony railing, falling from such a great height that - if it was the real world - she would have horribly broken her leg, if not every bone in her body, rather than mildly stumbling and continuing her frantic pace. That’s not how this world works. She is not limited here as she is the real world. Here is a world of thoughts. Ideas. Twisted desires and desperate dreams. Fragile, fleeting things made solid and real.

She wonders, heart sick, if Kasumi is here too. 

If her sister, alive her memories, has a second life in these halls. The idea is there, burning at the back of her mind. If she just opens the right door or finds the right room, maybe her sister will be there. Maybe she’ll find Kasumi smiling and happy and alive. Waiting for her so they could be reunited again.

But that thought is a trap. A false hope whispered into her ear to make her doubt, to make her predictable, make her want to stay. Like a pin for a butterfly, something needle sharp to stab her through and keep her in place. A chain to weigh her down, to bind her within the endless bright hallways she runs through. It’s all another trick, another insidious method of keeping her where they can find her, close at hand and easy to catch, to cage.

Sumire won’t let them. Not again. Never again. 

She will find her way out if she has to tear one open with her bare hands. She will run and she will fight. Bare her teeth and show them how savage she can be, tear them all apart piece by terrible piece if she has to. 

The shadows are on high alert and hungry for her, but they will not find gentle prey. She is no mere frightened rabbit to be cornered and caught. Those twisted visages that hunt her down will have to kill her if they want to keep her, and she will not make her death easy. If they want her they will find hell itself to recon with.

A shout of alarm rises from her left and she flings herself bodily down a set of stairs to get away from the lunging shadow. Another waits at the bottom, long fingered and nightmarish as it settles it’s bulging, eyeless face upon her. She has no chance to dart away before it tears itself apart before her eyes, breaking itself to pieces and reforming into the shape of a Black Ooze intent on a fight. The Ooze screams. A victory cry that echoes down the halls around them. It shouts and sings that it has her, bellowing and delighted by it’s perceived prize.

Sumire screams back.

Frustration and rage and soul deep terror rips out of her, burning her alive with Cendrillon’s incandescent flames as the Persona bursts forth from the depths of her soul. Her truest self. The mirror of the rage and pain that burns inside her. The Persona answers the desperate call for help with a roar of fury. Splintered, shattered glass stands as her armor, Cendrillon tilts her soot-stained face in defiance as she throws herself at the enemy foolish enough to stand in Sumire’s way. 

The Ooze stands no chance of surviving against them. Cendrillon incinerates it in the blaze of her Kouga and Sumire’s unbridled and primal desperation to escape.

Sumire watches as the shadow burns and blisters beneath the combined weight of both, it’s victory cries dying as it’s agonized screams begin. Sumire doesn’t have time for mercy or regret, for the gentle part of her soul that withers and wilts at the sight of something living tortuously dying at her hand. 

She can’t afford to be kind. Not here. Not with so much at stake.

She won’t go back. 

She won’t. She won’t. She won’t.

The Black Ooze crumbles, ash and dust and drifting shadow once more. In the distance she can hear the pounding footsteps, the voices of so many descending upon where she stands, intent to pick up where the Black Ooze failed. Cendrillon settles back into her body, prepared to burst forth the moment Sumire called her. A protective warmth that encompasses her, buoys her against the tidal wave of exhaustion that threatens to drag her down. How long has she been running? How many fights have they endured? 

Too long, too many. She needs to find the way out, now.

Sumire takes a deep breath, allows herself a moment, just a moment to breath, to feel. Then she clenches her fists. She runs.

She won’t go back to her life in cinders. 

Not ever again. 

Ren is tense and quiet as Goro hustles them out of the office and off school grounds.

He tries to catch a glimpse of the other boy’s eyes as they duck through the front gate, but all he can see is the shine of Ren’s false glasses and the tangle of his bangs. It’s the first time he's avoided Goro’s eye since he met him and it makes Goro feel...he’s not sure how it makes him feel, exactly. Apprehensive? Angry? He thinks so, but there’s something else too. Something fierce and protective that burns in his chest and sings for violence in that high, feral call that Loki has. Something he’s not used to being directed at those outside his immediate circle.

The idea of Ren being included amongst that small number so soon is...unsettling. Strange. Really, the usual gambit of unnamable emotions that overwhelm him whenever Ren is involved. He supposes he should be used to it by now. The fact that each moment spent in Ren’s company leaves him less and less certain of his own feelings. It’s not as if one more bit of strangeness is anything new compared to the rest.

Distance, he decides. Distance will help.

They need to get away from this place.

Ren doesn’t protest as Goro tugs him along down side streets and through narrow allies. Somewhere along the line his hand had curls around Ren’s arm and he notes - distantly - that it's thinner than he expected. Less muscles than he thought a boy who spent who knew how long fighting a god should have.

He’s warm and solid though, real in a way that surprises Goro. Ren doesn’t seem real, at times. More figment or dream than boy. The idea of Ren as a spirit sent to torment him rises again from the back of his mind, quiet and pervasive. He kicks it back as best he can.It seems an unfair assessment in the wake of seeing the boy look so startlingly human in the face of Kawakami’s cruel stare.

Goro hustles them into the dessert cafe that he likes to eat at after school, content in the knowledge that it’ll be quiet and they’ll be left alone there. The staff have long accepted him as a regular and never cause fuss about the Detective Prince taking refuge in their cozy little eatery. That they know better than to offer him coffee - so he’s a coffee snob, it tends to happen when your standard is set by Sakura Sojiro of all people - and instead put in his usual order for strawberry shortcake while he leads the way to a secluded table towards the back. There seems to be mild surprise from the staff about Ren accompanying him, but they’re quick to accommodate Goro's unexpected companion easily enough.

When the waiter comes by to take Ren’s order the dark haired boy only stares blankly before seemingly pointing at something on the menu at random. Goro orders him a cup of tea before the other boy can ask for a coffee. He knows now that Ren’s probably spent as much time with Sojiro from his timeline jumping as Goro himself has and he wants to spare the waiter here the same coffee lecture Ren gave the wait staff at the restaurant last night.

The waiter smiles brightly as he shuffles off to the kitchen and the two of them are left alone to stare at each other. Ren finally looks up to meet his gaze - and there’s an odd relief that warmes Goro’s chest at that - before the dark haired boy gives Goro a long, slow blink. It reminds him - as so much of Ren does - of a cat, though no cat he’s met has ever seemed half as inscurtible as Amamiya Ren is.

He tries not to fidget beneath the odd tarnished-silver gaze but only succeeds in making himself overly conscious of every small movement he makes. He needs to get a hold of himself.

“I’m sorry.” He says, after too long a pause, wincing at how flat the words come out.

Across from him Ren’s distant gaze slides back into focus, head tilting slightly as he gives Goro a confused look. “You’re...sorry?” He sounds bemused, eyes large behind the barrier of his glasses. “Why?”

Goro can only stare at him. Did he...did he really not know? Was it just such a common occurrence for Ren with all his time jumping that he’s just...blocked the entire conversation out?

“For all of... that.” He says, motioning with his hand to try and encapsulate the entire interaction with Kawakami. “I should have warned you that Kawakami would be there when I found out. I forgot about what I read in your file and I should have...” Guilt lances him as he remembers the woman’s searing glare and the way she’d attempted to dig her claws into the other boy with her command for him to speak, like reprimanding a disobedient dog. “I should have gotten you out of there sooner. There was no reason for you to go through that.”

Ren stares at him for a beat and then finally says, “Oh.” 

His voice is quiet, nearly lost in the soft distant chatter of the other few patrons of the cafe around them. He looks...he looks lost . Brows subtly furrowing, fingers tapping absently against the tabletop. It’s not as extreme as when he found out that Futaba was Goro’s sister, but it’s the same uncertain confusion.

“Oh?” Goro repeats, not sure what to make of Ren’s subdued reaction. Since meeting him Ren has been a force of nature upending everything Goro thought he knew about... well, honestly everything. Timeloops, gods, bags with pocket dimensions and strange metaverse magic that should not be possible in the real world. He has been bewildering and unsettling and irritating in equal measures. This though, since the introduction, this is the first time Goro thinks he’s seen him reserved.

“Ren…” He says, leaning forward over the narrow table between them, brow furrowing. “Are you...alright?”

He’s not entirely certain why he asks. He shouldn’t care. Ren is a means to an end at best and a potential problem at worst - for him and Futaba. Goro does not have a kind heart, he knows this about himself all too well. He’s prickly and bitter and sometimes entirely feral. There are very few people he truly cares about and that there are any at all is more a statement on how long he’s known them or how determined they were to make themselves a home in his heart than anything else. 

And yet still Goro finds himself caught in the overwhelming need to keep Ren close. Keep him safe.

Ren’s hands are curled in fists on the table, knuckles white. Goro can just make out the fine tremble in the other boy’s frame, the subtle way his hands shake even as he tries to keep them still. Without thinking Goro reaches out, fingers just barely brushing the soft skin of the back of Ren’s hand. The other boy goes very still at the contact, head dipping again so his eyes are hidden by the slant of light on his glasses, the dark shadow of his hair.

“She’s never been like that before. In the other runs.” Ren says, at length, voice pitched low enough that Goro nearly misses his words.

Goro considers that, hand settling atop the other boy’s with more certainty. It feels natural, easy. Reaching out to him like this, touching him so casually. He’s not normally a tactile person with those outside his immediate family, and even then physical affection is usually something initiated by others. Another thing about Ren that should make Goro wary. That does make Goro wary, though not enough to pull away.

“You mean Kawakami?” He asks, trying to push the less useful thoughts aside for now. He can stew on the...the whatever it is that Ren pulls out of him later. For now he needs to try and parse out the other boy’s odd behavior.

Ren nods and settles back into quiet again, shoulders up near his ears, eyes sliding downward to the table between them. Goro thinks that it might be the end of the conversation, but then Ren slowly relaxes beneath Goro’s touch. His hand turns so that they are palm to palm, fingertips brushing, Goro can feel the faint beat of the other boy’s pulse beneath his fingers. Ren’s skin is soft and smooth, an unexpected contrast to Goro’s calloused palms.

He thinks again about how unprepared to fight a god Ren seems.

“It’s...unsettling, how different she is.” Ren says, eyes sliding across the table to settle on where their hands are pressed together. “In other timelines she’s stressed and burned out and headed down a bad path, but nothing like that . She’s never had a Palace before.”

A Kawakami that wasn’t a terrifying devil holding your academic life hostage in her iron grip? Goro can barely conceive of it. Since he’s been attending Shujin she’s been the teacher whispered about fearfully in halls, the one students pray they don’t have to answer to when the new year starts and their classes are assigned. The students above Goro had done the same, back when he’d been a gangly, determined freshman. Kawakami has been, well, Kawakami for years now.

He’s not sure what to make of that last bit though. The statement about a palace. Shujin paid their teachers well, and it was rumored that Kawakami had her own alternate revenue source to add to her base pay, but for all her fine clothes and expensive jewelry she was nowhere near palace levels. And the way Ren said it. The subtle implication that it was more than just a lavish place of living, but something heavy and worrisome. Was that something from the other timelines, some hallmark of those other years that was absent in this one?

He’s about to ask just what Ren’s talking about when his phone trills in his pocket.

The noise startles him and his small flinch makes Ren retreat, pulling his hand away and folding his arms on the table. Goro sighs, frustrated, and grabs his cell and glances to see who it is. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not to see that it’s Sae. He doesn’t have it in him to deal with Shido at the moment, but he also doesn’t really have the energy for whatever dark turn has come up with the Okumura case either.

Sighing, he casts an apologetic look at Ren. “It’s my partner at the precinct,” He explains, “I need to take this. Try not to cause trouble while I’m gone.”

The quiet, off kilter Ren of before seems to melt away - hidden away , Goro thinks - and in its place the dark haired boy pulls on a lopsided, lazy grin. He looks more like the Ren he met last night, at ease and in control, playful and devilish. Goro’s stomach twists and he frowns as he considers how much he hates how easily Ren hides away behind a mask.

“Now, detective,” Ren says - purrs - voice pitched low and teasing, “What could possibly make you think I’d be the type to get into trouble?”

Everything , Goro thinks, every last damn thing.

What he says is, “Just stay here for a bit will you? This shouldn’t take long.”

He rises from the table, casting a look at the dark haired boy as he makes his way to the small seating area outside. Ren’s attention turns to the table, face cast in shadows again as he turns away from the light filtering into the cafe from the front windows. 

He sighs as he turns away and steps out the front door. The outside patio is empty thanks to the uncomfortably muggy weather. He vaguely recalls that it’s meant to rain tomorrow and makes a note to grab his umbrella before school before hitting answer on his phone. 

“Sae,” He greets, moving to drop into one of the empty chairs, eyes drifting over the lazily moving foot traffic passing by, “Has there been any new information?”

Another coworker would have been irritated by his skipping of idle pleasantries and seen it as either rude or outright insubordinate. Sae, as overworked and underappreciated as Goro while being only marginally better respected by some of their peers, was only ever appreciative of his tendency to cut to the chase.

“Got the forensic team’s report,” She says, jumping in without preamble. Behind her Goro can hear the sound of the precinct humming busily. “There’s no sign of forced entry and the security system hasn’t been tampered with as far as the tech’s could find. Though,” She adds, “The cameras setup around the exterior of the house were shut off for about twenty minutes.”

Goro pulls out his notebook from his breast pocket. “That’s not a lot of time.” He says as he grabs his pen and flips the book open, glancing over his previous notes on the case.

Okumura Haru. Eighteen. The heiress of Okumura Industries vast food franchise and fiance to Sugimura Shion the son of a decently well liked politician. She used to attend Shujin, though had apparently not elected to finish her senior year. Goro remembers her vaguely as a quiet, distant sort of girl. All fluffy hair and skittish eyes. She’d been reported missing, by the housekeeper three days ago.

“No.” Sae agrees, and from her tone Goro knows she’s suspecting the same thing he is. Sae gives a quiet sigh. “And from what the housekeeper has said none of her things are missing from her room.”

Goro scowls at his notepad.

From the moment the case had been assigned to them, he and Sae had been suspicious. The disappearance of the child of a food franchise mogul - especially one so well known and powerful as Okumura Kunikazu - was a high profile. Incredibly high profile. Which made everything about the case - up to and including that it had been assigned to them - even more questionable than it already was.

He and Sae made a good team, the best in the precinct, in fact. Their close rate on cases were the highest in the precinct, and they’d each been written up with a great deal of praise in various papers - not including Goro’s own idol like position on TV. They were not, though, respected members of the Tokyo Police Department. 

Goro was seen as little better than a PR stunt on a good day, a cute kid pretending to play detective for the sake of good rating with the public. Sae, for her part, was burdened with both the sexism of their coworkers and the heavy weight of her father’s reputation from years previous. Their captain at the precinct had assigned them to each other over a year ago in an attempt to shove two of his problems together in an out of the way corner.

So why had the case been assigned to them? Why give them something that would normally be handed off to a specialized task force, a full team rather than two overworked, undersupported problem detectives their captain couldn’t get rid of?

There were a lot of whys to Okumura Haru’s disappearance. Why had it been the housekeeper to report her missing and not her father? Why had both her father and fiance put a stranglehold on the press, refusing to let anyone even mention her at all let alone that she’d disappeared? Why in the absolute hell had Okumura Kunikazu let a creep like Sugimura within fifty miles of his daughter, let alone arrange them to get married?

Questions upon questions.

The problem, of course, was that he and Sae were both certain they knew the answers to most of them. And those answers painted a picture neither of them liked.

“Girls that run away tend to pack a bag.” He says, feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders. “This isn’t going to end well.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. A silence Goro understands all too well.

“I’m going to canvas the area tomorrow.” Sae says at length, that steely determination he’s long admired edging her voice. “See if there are any witnesses from around the time the cameras went down. Will you be able to come in tomorrow?”

Goro thinks about the train operator that didn’t have a psychotic break when he was supposed to and the results Shido is expecting from him. Then he thinks of Ren and his war with a god planning on exiting this timeline sooner than later. The timeline Ren says won’t be around for much longer anyway. He doesn’t really have the time to go running around looking for clues to the likely grim fate of one Okumura Haru.

Then he remembers how Sae never dismissed his abilities the way everyone else at the precinct had when he’d first started. Remembers how she’d take risks because she trusted his instincts and how she never let anyone around the bullpen bully him into intern work. 

Sae is one of his very few friends in the world, and now both of them are being set up for failure. They are the ones that fingers will be pointed at when the time comes for the heiress’ disappearance to be made a cold case. The ones who will face the punishment when the public finally learns of what’s happening and are outraged by the inability of the police to do anything.

Goro does not have a kind heart, but when it comes to the right people, he does have a soft one.

“I can try.” He tells her, and honestly will do his best to make it down to the precinct to go over the case with her, “My parolee is...more difficult than anticipated.” It’s the most diplomatic way he could put it without getting into the unsightly details or ranting for the next three hours. He still has things to do today, not including trying to figure out where he’s going to stash Ren for the next who knew how long.

Sae gives a soft huffing laugh on the other line. “The country boy keeping you on your toes? I’ll have to meet him.” On the other end of the line he can hear her shuffling, likely trying to find a free space on her overcrowded desk. “How about I come to LeBlanc instead? Four o’clock?”

He flips his notebook closed after jotting a few additional notes down and smiles, “You just want free coffee.” He jokes lightly, leaning back in his seat a little, relishing the faint breeze drifting down the street.

Sae makes a hmm of unrepentant agreement. “He makes the best coffee in the city.” She says in place of any excuse.

Goro shakes his head and slips his notebook back in his pocket. “He makes the best coffee in the country.” He counters before adding, “Four should work. I’ll let Sojiro know. He’s made a new blend he wants you to try.”

Their conversation wraps up from there, leaving Goro feeling tired and worn even more than he’d been before. Cases they aren’t meant to be able to solve do that to him. Though the inevitable victory when he and Sae do solve it will make it all worth the frustration in the end he knows. If nothing else the sour look their captain will have when he - reluctantly, Goro knows - has to congratulate them on the success will give him and Sae something to cheer about over Sojiro’s delicious Sukiyaki down the line.

Taking in a fortifying breath he stands and heads back into the cafe, allowing himself to bask in the wonderful chill of the cafe’s air conditioning. His strawberry shortcake had arrived in his absence, along with his tea and the chocolate mousse Ren had selected. The only problem Goro could see with any of it was what was missing from the table.

Ren, while he’d been preoccupied, had run off.

Again.

He was absolutely going to kill him.

Shinjuku was a comforting bastion of familiarity no matter what timeline Ren ended up in. 

Brightly colored, crowded and always at least a little shady depending where in the area you were. The Red Light District showed no signs of being drastically altered by Yaldabaoth in this timeline - or any other that he’s seen. Ren suspects that Shinjuku’s tendency towards vice and control in the guise of lost inhibitions lent itself well to the god’s purposes as it was and rarely needed interference from the would-be ruler of the world. No matter what the reason, Ren always found it something of a relief to walk the neon-lit streets and find the same clubs and bars lining the streets, the same people urging passersby to stop and spend their money and time.

He meanders through the heavy crowds easily, overlooked by the police that might try to send a trouble making highschooler home or the hawkers who would definitely try to take advantage of a kid they saw as out of their depth. Sometimes in runs past he would come just to lose to lose himself to it all. Let the tourists and partygoers drag him along from place to place. A river of bodies carrying him along, washing him up in odd corners or dragging him along to star attractions. None of the passersby cared who he was here, his record, his history, his shadows. Just a face in the crowd, another stranger in a sea of strangers.

This is not one of those times though. While the comfort of obscurity is always a draw - to be no one, when being himself caused so many problems - today is not a day for idle wandering.

He is there with purpose, though a purpose he wishes very much he could just ignore.

The pattern of the streets and alleyways are a path he knows well, even after all the many years and timelines that have passed since he’s let himself walk them in the direction he takes now. There’s danger in the venture he’s set himself on, possibly even pain and suffering - perhaps even death - if he’s not very, very careful in how he makes his next moves.

He has long forgotten to fear these things in the context of himself, but when it comes to others…

Ren isn’t who he used to be. A fact that has been burned into his very soul by now - provided that he even still has one. But he clings to that scrape of humanity that still resides in him - fragile and failable - that cares for others. The need to protect those from the hardships of this world, the hardships of his own twisted existence. He thinks that is all he has left of himself, sometimes.

Being here - speaking to the person he’s planning to speak to - isn’t something he wants. He wants to uphold the careful distance he’s kept in place, wants to ensure that no harm comes to his old confidant. Ren rarely gets what he wants, though. He has something he needs to do, and no foreknowledge on how best to do it. He is effectively blind, in this timeline, and though he hates to do it, he knows of only one person who can see the winding roads that lay ahead, no matter what timeline he’s in..

He takes a side street and rounds a corner and then his body locks in place, refusing to move an inch closer. 

Across the street, far enough enough that she doesn’t notice him yet, Chihaya is sitting at her table. Ren watches as the customer she was just speaking to rises to their feet and leaves, their steps light and face serene. He doesn’t notice if they have a block of rock salt in their possession in place of a holy relic, doesn’t know if she’s caught in that scam this time or not. All he knows is that she looks light and happy as she watches her customer leave and begins gathering her cards up back into a pile.

It’s unfair to do this to her. Cruel, even. He should just turn on his heel and walk away and not look back. Leave her to her corner of Shinjuku with her cards and her mind at ease.

But then he thinks of Kawakami. Jagged edges and blistered soul, a Palace built out of her broken pieces. Despite her flaws, she’s always been kind to him. Even in runs where he doesn’t attend Shujin, just a boy she doesn’t know who hires her to wash strange clothes or work the knots in his spine. In the run before this one she took one look at him in the empty apartment Ryuji prepared for Operation Maid Watch and settled a concerned look on him, not a woman desperate for money but a teacher seeing a kid with holes in his shoes and not enough weight on him.

Chihaya doesn’t deserve what will happen if Ren walks over there, but Kawakami doesn’t deserve to be left to suffer either. Chihaya will only need to endure a few minutes of his time. Kawakami will remain caught in her own prison until the wretched end of this timeline.

Across the street Chihaya bows her head and begins shuffling her cards, eyes closed as she gently laces herself into the weave of the world around her.

Ren rolls his shoulders slowly, fingers flexing at his sides. He tries to pull in on himself, make himself - his true self - smaller, more manageable. Chihaya is strong, she’s kind. What he’s going to do will be cruel but she can endure it and will understand why he’s asked her to go through it all.

With a deep, steadying breath he begins moving again. Forcing one foot in front of the other. Slowly, easing into the space surrounding the psychic, giving her a gentle suggestion of his approach so as not to overwhelm her. A bitter part of him thinks of a horrible adage about frogs and boiling water and he adds it to the pile of things he despises about the hollow, twisted thing he has become over the long years.

He can see the moment she becomes aware of him.

Her hands go still on her cards. Brows furrowing and body strung as tight as a piano wire, ready to snap. Another step closer and her grip on the deck begins to tighten to a painful degree, knuckles white and hands trembling. He can see the cards bend in warning beneath her hands. Another step forward and her eyes snap open, her head jerking painfully to stare at him with a wide, verging on frightened gaze. Her mouth opens then closes, confusion edging in with all the other complicated emotions on her face as she takes him in.

Ren wonders what she expected to see. What her abilities, her gifts, warned her was coming when she felt his presence creeping in on her. 

He’s not brave enough to ask.

Swallowing he forces himself to take the last few steps to her makeshift booth,  trying hard to not look threatening as he approaches. He’s not sure it works, not with the way she leans away from him, back ramrod straight. The whites of her eyes are too pronounced, even in the shade of the building she is set up in front of. She looks like a cornered animal as he cautiously takes the seat across from her. A rabbit trying hard to find an escape route, wondering if perhaps they’ve already been caught in the predators sharp teeth.

“I’m sorry.” He says, wincing at the way she flinches away. He tries to keep his voice quiet, tries to curl in on himself, make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible. He doesn’t think it works. “I’m so sorry, Chihaya, but I need your help.”

Chapter Text

The house, when Goro finally drags himself back, smells of Sojiro’s prize worthy Tsukune and fresh brewed coffee.

Shrugging off his blazer and kicking his shoes off he gets as far as the couch before collapsing onto it face first, groaning into one of the pillows Futaba left there the last time they’d binged their favorite series of Star Voyage. Distantly he can hear Sojiro moving about the kitchen, letting him know that despite the introduction at Shujin taking longer than expected - and the twenty minutes of running around looking for Ren after he ran off - he’s still back well in time for the usual Sunday schedule at the Sakura household.

Futaba likes to call Sunday their Enforced Family Bonding Day . Like she doesn’t love these precious few hours as much as he and Sojiro do. 

It started back when he’d been small and life had been - if not easy - kinder. He remembers fondly Sojiro closing the cafe up early and coming back to the house just to spend time with them one day. A new game under one arm and the foundations of a pillow fort held in the other as he entered the living room and gave the two of them - Futaba only four and Goro just shy of his seventh birthday - a shy, hopeful kind of smile. Goro remembers later that day running around the kitchen excitedly with his sister as Sojiro made a small feast for dinner. They had even been allowed to help, when Sojiro decided it was safe for them to do so. 

His mother had been around still back then. Her laugh was warm and sweet as she made her way downstairs to find the three of them plus the entirety of the kitchen covered in flour. His and Futaba’s tiny handprints left behind markings everywhere they’d been in the kitchen. All four of them had eaten out in the living room that night, curled up in blankets as they watched a movie. A picture of that first Sunday night was hung up in the living room, the four of them huddled together on the couch fast asleep, with Wakaba’s face in the bottom corner where she’d tried to squeeze in while she took the photo.

It became a time honored tradition after that. A weekly joy that made up the bulk of Goro’s fondest childhood memories and helped pull him through the darkest times.

It’s not the same as it used to be. As Goro grew older, things... changed . The house hadn’t heard his mother’s laughter in years now, and he’s not sure the last time they’ve had a whole day just to play board games together. While Sojiro still closes early on Sundays to make a big dinner for them all, the day-long bonding sessions have been cut down to a few short hours - if Goro’s able to carve that time out at all that is. Between school, detective work and, of course, Shido, he doesn’t have much time just for himself, let alone his family.

God, what Sojiro would say if he knew Goro was working with him of all people. If he knew both Goro and Futaba were involved with that man’s scheming. Goro can imagine the disappointed look in his eye and it’s enough to nearly choke him with guilt.

“Oh hey, you’re back!” 

Futaba cheers from the doorway to the kitchen, oblivious to his spiraling thoughts as she wanders in. Goro groans again for effect and begrudgingly lifts his head to meet his sister’s eye. She’s taken a seat on the coffee table, bare toes wiggling over the edge where she’s perched in her usual gargoyle pose. 

She winces as she looks him over, “Oh, yikes, did it go that bad?”

Goro rolls over on the couch, grabbing the pillow and cradling it to his chest as he glares at the ceiling. “Kawakami is Ren’s homeroom teacher.” Goro says, wearily, “And after we got out of that disaster he ran off while I was on a call with Sae.”

Futaba sighs, as exasperated as Goro feels. “Dude, seriously?” She rolls her eyes and starts moving to get up again. “Why didn’t you call? I could have tracked him down before he got too far off.”

He shakes his head and digs into his pocket to snag the piece of paper he’d stowed away there earlier. He shoves it under her nose as he says, “Don’t bother. He left a note.”

His eyes slide closed and he’s tempted to curl up and give up on being awake completely. God what he wouldn’t give for a good night's sleep. His insomnia was bad enough to deal with on its own, but adding in having to crash on a futon in Futaba’s bedroom for the past week while his landlord dealt with the plumbing in his apartment hadn’t helped. His sister, despite everyone’s best efforts, inherited her mother’s god awful sleep schedule. Or rather, the lack thereof. Futaba would go days at a time on scant minutes of sleep sometimes before inevitably crashing and going near comatose. Recently she’d been going with the former, up all night typing away on her computer and blasting music, not giving a damn for school in the morning or her poor brother trying to get at least a little rest on her floor.

“He has friends?” Futaba asks, sounding dubious. Cracking his eye open he sees her staring down at the scribbled note on the napkin Ren had left for him. In the secret compartment in Goro’s briefcase where he keeps his burner phone that the other boy should not have known about. He found it when he’d gone to call Futaba for help in finding the pain in the ass timeline jumper and had only just contained the frustrated scream that clawed its way up his throat. The fact that the cafe had given him his meal for free on the grounds that they thought he’d been abandoned while on a date hadn’t helped matters.

“Apparently.” He says, reluctantly forcing himself up into a sitting position. Futaba drops the napkin on the table. Ren’s handwriting is a messy scrawl across the white material  - Went to see a friend. See you at school in the morning. - and the message only makes Goro more irritated by Ren’s running off. The cute winking, masked cat he’d left in place of a signature had nearly given Goro a migraine when he’d seen it. “Either way, I don’t see any reason for us to go running around the city looking for him.”

Futaba tilts her head, looking at him thoughtfully. She has one of those looks , eyes narrowed and squinting as she stares a hole in him. It’s the same look she used to give him after Sojiro taught them how to play poker and she was trying to suss out if he was bluffing her.

“So, wait.” She says, “You’re just going to trust him? Really? ”

She sounds suspicious. Goro doesn’t blame her.

“Really.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair absently. “Or, at least. I’m going to trust that his curiosity will outweigh his nonsense ideas about being on vacation. ” He says with an eye roll, “He’s not going to disappear on us. Not until we tell him everything he wants to know about, well.” He motions vaguely with the hand not carefully detangling his hair to indicate their timeline , “I think he just needs some time. The talk with Kawakami...it seemed to affect him.”

Futaba looks unsure, gnawing at her bottom lip as she casts a conflicted look over him. He doesn’t blame her. Trust is a commodity Goro doesn’t have in great excess and one he gives sparingly to people. Data, evidence and facts can be trusted. People decisively less so. A fact that his baby sister knows better than most about him.

The fact is that he doesn’t trust Ren. Despite that alien part of him that wants to, years of hard earned experience have taught him that there are few in the world deserving of such belief. Ren himself has shown little to indicate he’s worth the risk of offering such precious pieces to either. Too cagey, too dangerous. For all that Goro, apparently, has some strange soft spot for him, he isn’t stupid enough to let fascination get in the way of his better judgement.

His belief that Ren will be at Shujin tomorrow is born not of any trust in the boy himself, but in what he’s observed in him over the short time they’ve spent together. Curiosity is a powerful force to some people, and Ren seems particularly susceptible to its draw. Goro won’t go as far as to think the boy won’t do something entirely stupid overnight, but he’s comfortable enough in thinking that Ren will do as his note promises.

Now whether or not Goro strangles him the next day for putting him through all this bullshit is an entirely different question.

Futaba still doesn’t look convinced, brows furrowing. 

“Look,” He says, “If he doesn’t show up, we’ll deal with it. He still has his phone on him and I can call him in at the precinct. Between you and the beat cops looking for him he won’t have a chance.” He rolls his shoulders tiredly and, seeing she still looks doubtful, adds, “I’ll even buy you that stupid expensive life-sized figure you wanted as a you-told-me-so gift. You can use it to gloat the next time I don’t listen to you. Deal?”

A sharp glint came to his sister’s eye at that and he already regrets making the offer. There’s a non-zero chance that she’ll track Ren down and lock him away somewhere just so Goro would have to buy that overpriced monstrosity. He doesn’t even know why she wants the horrible oversized Jack Frost statue.

“Deal.” She says, grinning that sharp smile of hers. Goro regrets everything, just, so much.

He tosses the pillow at her and grins at her indignant squawk as he gets to his feet. “I need to talk to Sojiro about seeing when that girl is planning to move out of LeBlanc’s loft. We’re going to need somewhere to stick Ren sooner than later.” Futaba moves to whap him hard with the pillow in retaliation and he dances out of her striking range with practiced ease. “Oh, and if you have time I might need your help digging up some information for a case later.”

She adjusts her glasses from where they’d been knocked loose by his cushioned assault and grumbles. “Why don’t you ask the techs at the precinct?”

“Because you’re better than them.” He tells her honestly, unable to hide his smile as she puffs up in pride. She’s well aware of her own skills and never shies away from a chance to brag, but Futaba still loves getting praise for her abilities anyway and he’s weak to his baby sister’s happy smile.

“And,” he adds, “Because Sae and I are fairly certain that the powers that be are likely to try and impede our investigation. I’d feel better knowing that a potential lead isn’t being buried.”

She gives him a nod and tosses the pillow back on the couch. “Sure thing.” She says, “I’m guessing the one you were talking about before?”

“The Okumura case, yes.” He says, watching as she pulls out her phone. Her real deep dive will require her computer, but he doesn’t doubt that she can find a truly terrifying amount of information within a few short minutes of absently fussing with her cell. “I don’t have anything specific to point you towards, I’m afraid.”

Futaba shrugs, “That’s fine. I’ve been wanting to take a crack at Okumura Foods anyway. Some idiots are claiming their new cyber security network is completely impervious and I know that Okumura has the same security in place for his private system.” 

She already has a gremlin grin that promises suffering and hardship for many professionals in the cyber security business - and likely him and Sojiro’s peace and quiet to boot. Goro can only shake his head. He knows better than to ask how she has that information and just turns to head to the kitchen. Futaba is careful and clever and he trusts that she won’t get caught while she’s poking around.

He heads to the kitchen, leaving Futaba behind to plot her cyber assault against Okumura’s unprepared network - and likely a kidnapping attempt against Ren. He lets some of the tension in his shoulders relax as the familiar sound of Sojiro’s humming lifting over the muffled din of a master chef moving about his kitchen. He tries hard not to think about Ren’s dark eyes or the warmth of the boy’s hand. 

It’s Sunday. Goro just wants to spend some time with his family. He doesn’t want to remember how fragile Ren looked when he’d last seen him.

It doesn’t stop him from remembering anyway.

Amamiya Ren has disappeared off the face of the earth.

It’s the only explanation Futaba has for why, after almost an hour of searching, she can’t find any sign of him at all in the entire city. It started when she’d tried texting him to see if she could bribe him into not showing up on time to school the next day so she could cash in on Goro’s promise to buy her that limited edition Jack Frost. She’d gotten an automated message back that the number she was trying to reach was disconnected. Another attempt and the text went through, but the following came back with the same result. Calling somehow got her sent to the voicebox of some other dude completely - she’s not even sure how that could work with the system she has in place, but somehow it did.  

Screw it, she thinks as she pulls up her tracking software to sniff out his location herself. She’s not getting anywhere trying things the nice way.

Goro had already gone for the night, loaded up with bento boxes and a thermos of Sojiro’s best coffee to head to the hospital for a few hours. She has the time to poke around her various networks to track her brother’s pet project down and figure out just what is going on.

Which is when she makes the very interesting discovery that his phone isn’t to be found at all , no matter where she looks or how she tries to look for him. She even expanded her search out past the city limits only to face the same confounding results. Digging into records she strictly speaking shouldn’t have access to, she can see how one moment he’s loitering outside - of all places - the Diet Building , and then the next nothing. Just poof, gone, vanished into thin air .

It’s almost like Amamiya’s entered Mementos, slipping away from their world and into the Metaverse. Except, of course, that there isn’t an entrance to Mementos in front of the Diet Building. Only at train stations.

Futaba leans back in her chair, frowning as she skips from one program to another, trying to find any sign of Goro’s troublemaker. Her brother is convinced that Amamiya will do as he promised and meet them at Shujin, but well. Her brother’s been acting oddly around Amamiya. Strangely familiar and oddly gentle in a way that’s unusual for Goro when it comes to those outside the trusted few he’s gathered for himself. He says that it feels like he’s known Amamiya for a long time but Futaba can’t help but wonder if maybe it’s another trick of the dark haired boy.

She remembers the feeling of a heavy weight settling on her back in the attic. The way her words felt heavy just before Amamiya’s eyes went red and she and her brother were caught in a trap. The look in Goro’s eye as he choked his way through revealing a secret they’ve kept from everyone for nearly three years now.

It’s hard not to think that if he could do that with a few words, what else could he do? What else has he already done?

Did he do something to Goro, that first night?

She doesn’t know.

And she hates that. Hates not knowing if her brother is okay, or if something has been done to him. Hates not knowing what Amamiya’s motives are or what else he might do. Hates the idea that she could very well lose Goro to this stranger from another world, another time. 

She’s already lost her brother once, she doesn’t know how she’d cope if it happened again.

She’s been trying to keep her cool, not letting either of them know how much it's all been bothering her. Goro likes chess and though she isn’t as good as he is - only Sojiro is really ever able to defeat him with any kind of consistency - she knows enough to apply some of its principles to real life. Watch every movement your opponent makes, plan at least three moves ahead, and always, always keep the king guarded.

So that’s what she’s going to do. If Goro is right and Amamiya isn’t a threat, then she can laugh about how paranoid she’d been later. 

If Goro is wrong.

Well. 

She’ll be prepared if it turns out he’s wrong.

Preparation though requires knowledge. Forewarned is forearmed as Sojiro says, and she doesn't know enough about Amamiya Ren to plan for whatever he may throw at them. She knows what Goro has told her and what she’s dug up from Amamiya’s file, but half of that is in reference to a boy Amamiya hasn’t been for a long time - if he ever was. The fact that he’s involved in some strange capacity with Shido still puts her on edge. She doesn't like the idea that all of this could be a very elaborate plan by the corrupt man to pull something against Goro, even if she can’t figure out what Shido’s angle in that kind of situation would be. She needs more information. And has an idea of just where she can find it.

Sojiro is down stairs preparing her and Goro’s lunches for tomorrow while pretending he’s just planning LeBlanc’s menu for the upcoming week. She’s not sure why he still sometimes pretends that he’s not as nice as he is. The false pretense at gruffness melts away at the first sign that either she or Goro might be upset, replaced by fatherly concern and a protective streak a mile wide. It doesn’t take much effort to sneak up the attic with all of this in mind.

Amamiya’s impossible bag is where they left it this morning, tossed a bit haphazardly in front of a chair covered in the remains of duct tape surrounded by a sundry of ever more concerning items. It’s a good thing no one comes up to their attic outside of the few times a year Sojiro goes to grab the boxed up decorations as the change of seasons demands. She has no idea how she and Goro would explain any of this, least of all the battleaxe.

Actually, she’d wish someone would explain to her what the hell is up with the battleaxe but that’s a concern for another day.

The lights in the attic are a bit old and yellow and cast strange shadows that make her feel uneasy. Once upon a time there had been plans to turn the attic into a bedroom, which is the reason that the attic is as finished as it is. She has vague memories of her and Goro being shooed away as Sojiro and some friends of his worked for what seemed like decades up here. Installing nice wooden floors and insulating the walls and adding some windows that overlooked the street and backyard. 

She mostly remembers later, when it came time to paint and she and Goro had been allowed to help. Auntie Ayako had chosen the nice soft green color while Futaba’s mother had suggested the cheerful yellow accent wall. There’s still a pair of mismatched handprints by the door where Futaba and Goro had left their mark.

The plans for the attic had to be given up along with so much else when everything had happened with Auntie Ayako. For weeks after it all went wrong Futaba would sneak up to the unfinished bedroom and press her hand against where Goro’s handprint remained. Sojiro always was the one who would find her and wrap her up in a hug until she fell asleep. The memory of the night where she hadn’t quite drifted off and saw the grey haired man cry was a moment that still made her heart ache even years later.

She won’t let anything that terrible happen to her family again. She refuses .

Determined, she drops herself down beside the bag and glares at it for a moment. Goro had explained to her a little what he’d figured out about it - and what Amamiya had said in regards to how it worked, however little and unhelpful that was. 

As far as she understands it the bag is potentially endless on the inside, able to contain everything Amamiya has from timeline to timeline. Goro’s only been able to pull things out at random, reaching in blindly into the dark depths, feeling something at his fingertips and pulling it out. She knows that can’t be how Amamiya uses it though. It appears to look like an ordinary school bag, and presumably he uses it as one. There’s no way he could get by unnoticed if he reached into his bag to grab a pencil and ended up grabbing a replica pistol instead.

There’s a trick to it. A way of getting what he wanted from it when he wanted it. That left her with the question of did that trick only work for Amamiya. And really, there’s only one way to find out.

Tugging the bag open she drops her hand inside, surprised by how startlingly cold it is. Her whole body breaks out in goosebumps in seconds and she has the distinct feeling that her hand might just end up with frostbite if she leaves it in for too long. Swallowing, she grits her teeth and tries to think about what she might want to pull from the bag.

“Uh, er, dagger?” She says, at length, as she casts her eyes over the loosely organized piles of junk Goro pulled out earlier. There’s a brief pause and then, without moving her hand any deeper, she suddenly becomes aware of the fact that there’s something touching her. A lot of somethings. Blinking, she carefully moves her hand around and becomes aware of the grip of a dagger, then two daggers, three. She thankfully doesn’t make contact with any of the blades, but there are far more than she expected to find.

Pulling her arm out she shivers faintly, trying to rub some warmth back into her limb as she sits back and considers what she’s just learned. She can bring forth, presumably, everything the bag has of an item if she says it outloud. Can specifying the item narrow it down to just what she’s looking for? Does she even have to say it? She can’t imagine Amamiya loudly calling for a textbook in the middle of class.

She shoves her hand back in, looking at a particular brand of protein shake Goro pulled out that morning and concentrating on the image of the bottle. The moment before something happened was much shorter this time, and instead of being aware of her hand in a pile of bottles there’s a sudden weight pressing against her palm. Curling her fingers around the object she tugs it free of the chilly void of the bag’s innards to discover the exact match of the bottle she’d just been focusing on.

Okay. So. Focus on what you want, and the bag will provide it. More detailed the better. Good to know.

Now she just needs to figure out what she wants. She’s going to guess that just thinking information isn’t going to get her much in the way of results. She needs something specific, something tangible. The bag breaks so many laws of nature it’s not even funny but it still seems to have its own internal logic. So, what kind of item might be able to give her what she’s looking for?

She sits for a bit, frowning into the yawning depths of the bag while she waits for her hand and arm to warm up again. She needs insight into Amamiya, into his history, how he operates, how he thinks. 

It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

She flexes her chilled fingers and makes a note to wear a sweatshirt the next time she goes digging through this cursed thing before reaching back into the depths. Her eyes slip closed as she concentrates, mind circling the word journal and hoping for the best. There’s a pause, long enough that she thinks it’s not going to work, before she feels the spine of a thin book beneath her fingers, the sense of pages against the back of her hand, the sensation of leather brushing her skin.

Shoving her other arm into the abyss of Amamiya’s school bag she does her best to gather as many of the small journals up in her arms and pull them out, trying hard not to think of what might happen to her if she falls in. Some of them slip from the oversized pile and tumble back in, shifting out of existence before her eyes as they topple back into the bag once more.

The journals land with a series of dull thumps as she drops them on the floor beside her. Each book is functionally identical to the other, with varying degrees of wear to mark them apart. They look familiar, the same slim, leather pocket notebooks Sojiro uses. When she prods one open to the blank page just inside the cover she finds it to be the same brand even, and thinks back to Amamiya’s claim that in other timelines Sojiro was his guardian. It would make sense, she supposes, that Sojiro would give him one of his spare Moleskines if that was the case.

Grabbing a journal at random she opens it in the middle, frowning as she takes in the scribbled pen marks inside. She checks another journal, then another, each one revealing the same thing.

She was right, it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Amamiya had written his journals in some kind of shorthand. Possibly even using a cipher, depending on how paranoid he was about anyone reading them. Which, fair . She is digging through his shit with the specific intention of finding and reading for his diary. She’ll let him have that.

For now, at least.

There’s no way she’s going to just give up on this.

With a sigh she sets to work putting the journals she has into a neat pile before turning her attention back to the bag. If Amamiya turns back up, they’re eventually going to have to give him his bag back. She likely won’t have another chance to grab more of his notebooks once that happens. Determined she shakes her hands out a final time before reaching back in to grab the rest.

She’s going to figure Amamiya out no matter what. She won’t let herself or her brother be taken by surprise if he turns out to not be as harmless as Goro seems to think. She won’t let her family be hurt like that again.

Sleep has long been something he’s had a difficult relationship with. Insomnia born of his tendency to let a case keep him up and working or his more secretive work for Shido. The bad memories that he can’t quite keep at bay when his apartment is dark and he’s alone with his thoughts. 

Tonight though he’s pulled down into the depths of slumber before he even fully settles in his futon. One moment he’s telling Futaba to go to bed, the next his eyes are heavy and he’s falling back into the cushion of his pillow. Oblivious to the world around him as he finds himself falling into a strange dream.

The dream is…

Goro’s not sure what to think about the dream.

He usually has nightmares, if he remembers anything at all. Small things like his teeth falling out or arriving to class to find a test waiting for him in a language he doesn’t speak. Worse things too. Visages of moments from his life twisted into shapes he can’t bear to remember when he wakes. Being torn away from his family by wraith-like creatures with sharp teeth that howl his name. Futaba taking his place during some of the worst moments of his life, small and fragile and torn to pieces by the shadowy figures that surround her.

This isn’t a nightmare though. Strange, and surreal, certainly, but not frightening. If anything he feels oddly calm, soothed even. He thinks it might be the music, the soft piano and the operatic singing that seems to resonate through his entire body. Not just heard but felt as he comes to himself moment by moment.

His body takes shape piece by piece. Skeleton, muscles, nerves, blood. He can feel every part of himself as it becomes real. It’s a sensation that he thinks, vaguely, should be painful. Feeling as his eyes grow in his sockets, the sensation of his skin stretching over his bare insides. It makes sense that such things should hurt, but they don’t. He feels his hair grow and all he can think is that it’s nice to have such a complete picture of himself. To be able to take stock of every nerve, every cell, feel his organs working in time with each other.

He thinks it might just be what meditation is meant to do. He doesn’t know though; he’s never had the patience to try.

For what feels like lifetimes he simply lays there. It takes a moment to be aware of the wider world, even in such a limited capacity as the music high and sweet around him and the cushion of a bed beneath. He tries to think beyond that, tries to use the pieces of himself that he’s so completely aware of to take stock of what exists beyond his narrow slice.

He’s wearing clothes. They’re thin though and do little to distract from the faint chill of the air. The bed he’s laying on isn’t flat, like his futon was. He’s lifted slightly in a reclined position, arms held out away from his body. Something leather at his wrists, his ankles, tight enough that he knows he can’t slip out of them but loose enough not to chafe. When he breathes, he catches a whiff of something that smells faintly sterile.

It takes awhile for him to remember his eyelids are closed and a moment longer to consider opening them. He gets distracted by running a finger over the edge of one of the cuffs he’s wearing and has to remind himself just what he was doing. When he finally does blink his eyes open and take in the room, he takes in a startled breath.

Everything is a deep and beautiful blue.

The walls, the floor, the drapes that hang from a ceiling he cannot see. Even the bed he lays in and the smaller, boxed-in glass room that bed resides in is that rich color. It’s enough that it nearly hurts to look at, but not quite. Like the music, the sight of the room seems to resonate within him. He is not just in this room. He is a part of it.

“Can you hear me?”

There’s a voice. Not the singer, but someone else. A young girl. He blinks away from the endless expanse above him and turns his gaze forward, to the glass that portions off his small slice of space from the grander expanse of the room beyond. His head hurts as he looks beyond the glass. The blue there shimmers and twists, formless but determined to take shape. Somewhere in the midst of it all he thinks he can see a figure. Maybe two. Small and large. Slim and round. Trying to focus on them makes his head pound and he hisses in pain.

“It is not working.” The girl says, much closer now. He winces as the sound of it rattles harshly against the soft tones of the singer’s croon, the piano’s soft keys. Vaguely he’s aware of another voice - the voice of an older male though high and light in tone - but can’t make out the words. There’s a pause before the girl gives a small, “Very well.” in response to the voice Goro can’t understand.

The blue beyond his small section of the room twists again, and slowly from the swirling depths something shimmers. Silvery and bright, a butterfly drifts from the void trying to take shape. He watches, entranced, as it passes through the glass and flutters over to him. Elegant and beautiful it drifts around him, in gentle harmony with the music that has kept him calm and serene.

"...You are held captive. ” The butterfly says. It has the girl’s voice. “A prisoner of fate to a future that has been sealed in advance. This is truly an unjust game... Your chances of winning are almost none.” She sounds so young, so sad. It makes him think of Futaba, of his baby sister looking for comfort. He doesn’t know how to comfort a butterfly though, least of all with his hands bound out away from him.

The butterfly seems to understand his intentions though, settling down on his chest, just above his heart, wings opening and closing slowly, allowing him to feel the brush of air soft against his cheek.

“But if my voice is reaching you, there may yet be a possibility open to you...I beg you. Please overcome this game... and save the world... The key to victory lies within the memories of your bond.” She tells him. He feels the words flow through him, warm and heavy, a weight to them he can’t understand. “For the sake of your world's future... as well as your own... you must remember..."

The churning blue beyond the glass seeps past the barrier and he can do nothing but watch as it devours the room he was once safely tucked inside. The blue void creeps up the walls, crawling slowly up the bed Goro is bound to. He can feel the cold seep into the bones he’s far too aware of having. 

The warmth brought by the butterfly is siphoned away as the silvery creature lifts and drifts back into the void it had come from. He tries to break free from his position on the bed. Whether to follow her into the blue or try and flee from it, he’s not sure. The music begins to die, and with it the calm that had thrummed through him shatters, leaving jagged splinters of absolute terror in their wake.

The blue is consuming him, sliding ever closer to his head. His body, newly made, newly real, drifts away from him in the same, slow way it came to him to begin with. He tries to struggle, tries to scream, but the reality of the world he was in is breaking apart. He doesn’t have the lungs to breath, the voice box to cry out.

The void crashes over him and everything that was Goro ceases to exist.

He jolts awake in his futon to the persistent beeping of his phone alarm and the early morning light turning Futaba’s room a brilliant red. He pants heavily, shaking, and blindly swats at his phone until his numb fingers finally are able to put an end to the noise. Silence falls heavily around him, only broken by his own shaky breaths and the soft puffs of his sister’s breathing in the bed nearby.

A dream. A nightmare. Not real, he tells himself, nothing real. Nothing to worry about.

It doesn't stop him shivering from the cold.

Chapter Text

It’s peaceful in LeBlanc’s attic loft.

The quiet chatter of the customers and the faint clinking of porcelain drifting up with the scent of rich coffee. The serene neighborhood beyond her window with its pleasant people wandering through their day. The way the light from the windows made the space warm and inviting, sunlight dancing along the floorboards and over the sparse decorations she’d put up since moving in.

She’d spent so long in chains, she’d forgotten the simple freedom of a space to call her own. A room she could decorate and arrange to her liking, private and just for herself. Somewhere she could retreat to and be left alone, somewhere that - should someone come calling - she could turn away without fear of what might happen for her disobedience.

It’s nice today. Cool and crisp in that way early spring can be after the rain. She’s opened the windows to let the fresh air in while she tidies up, humming quietly to herself as she makes her bed and folds her laundry. Sakura-san was nice enough to bring her a carafe of coffee from downstairs along with a slice of carrot cake he’d made earlier that morning. The coffee is a new blend he’s been working on, he told her with one of those kind smiles of his, asking her to let him know what she thinks of it when she’s done. She knows by now that he’ll dutifully take her opinion on the brew to heart for his next try and she’s delighted by both the simple joy of the small treat he brought her and the knowledge that he appreciates her opinion.

He’s such a sweet person. So different in his calm nature from what she’d been forced to endure before. The strictness, the cruelty, the attempts to subjugate her to a will not her own, all of it a bitter memory in the wake of Sakura’s kindly presence.

She remembers an incident from a few days after she moved in, when she’d still been uneasy and uncertain if the cafe owner could be trusted, if she really made the right choice in taking the offer to stay there. There had been a man that day, creeping at the corners of the busy cafe. Staring too long at her where she sat at the counter and ate her curry, lingering with a cup of coffee he did not drink. He made her uneasy and, when she’d attempted to slip away upstairs, the stranger had gone to follow her, seeming content in the fact that no one noticed him with the lunch rush hiding his movements.

The stranger had only made it up the first step before a hand had snatched him up by the back of his shirt and sent him careening back into the nearby wall. She had been as surprised as the stranger to find Sakura standing there looking menacing and dangerous as he placed his usually unassuming frame between her and the other man. Before the man could try and talk his way out of trouble Sakura had already snatched him up by the arm and marched him out of the cafe, making it clear the man would not be permitted entrance to the cafe again.

She had one of her weapons on her, of course, and she was confident enough in her own abilities to know she could defend herself against the man if it came to it. But Sakura, kindly and calm and so affably un-intimidating since she met him, had acted so that she didn’t have to. He was aware, if only in the barest abstract, what her situation was and he made it clear enough that day that he would stand guard over her newly gained freedom.

It was the first time she felt safe, well and truly safe , in a long, long time. It nearly made her cry with relief to know that she had him as an ally. Later that week when he and a friend of his had a door installed to block off entrance to the steps from the rest of the cafe and gave her the only keys, she actually had cried.

Sakura had been reassuring and fatherly as he offered her tissues and a promise to help her however she needed.

As impossible as it had seemed to her when the offer had first been made for her to stay there, she feels as if she’s secure here, under Cafe LeBlanc’s slanted roof. Certain that her private space is hers alone and that anyone who would try to trespass would have to first get past the kindly cafe owner. An assurance that’s only grown over the weeks as she cautiously started her new life.

She has started making the small space above the cafe a home with second hand items and things Sakura-san found for her here and there. A TV, a couch, fairy lights wrapped around the bare beams of the roof to cast her home in a warm glow. She’s even converted the old worktable into a passable vanity where her dark wig sits, ready to hide her distinctive hair the next time she decides to venture out into the world beyond her cheerful windows.

She’s not happy. Not yet. She still has too much to do, too much to fix, before she can well and truly be happy. But it’s a start, a new beginning. A chance at the free life she’s desperately wanted for so long now.

Sipping the coffee Sakura-san made for her, she hums happily to herself and settles down at her little white desk. The new blend is a darker roast, rich and a bit nutty in a way that plays off the sweet notes of the carrot cake quite well, though she thinks something a bit sweeter would balance the bitter notes of the blend better. She makes a note to herself to let Sakura-san know of her thoughts on his latest brew before turning her eyes to the desk before her.

Grabbing a red marker from the Buchimaru-kun pencil holder, she reminds herself to put the switchblade she had left nearby away before Sakura-san comes up next. He’ll only worry if he sees it, and she doesn’t want to cause him any more concern than her presence living above his cafe already causes. 

Uncapping the marker she drags the tip slowly over another name on the page she’s pinned above her desk. She watches as the red seeps into the paper, making the black blocky letters on the page bleed. Content that the name has been thoroughly marked off to match the previous two names on the paper, she caps the red marker and replaces it to the pen holder, a small smile creeping onto her face as she sees how far she’s come.

Three down.

Only a few more to go.

There’s something wrong about the dream.

The deep, unnatural blue, the silvery butterfly, the sense of beings far older than anything he could imagine peering out at him from the void. He’s had strange dreams before, but not like that. Nothing his mind has created for him in sleep has ever felt so startlingly real as that dream.

It doesn’t help that he keeps thinking he sees something at the corner of his eye every few minutes. The impression of a small and delicate butterfly, silvery and fluttering in a nonexistent wind passing him by. Or a smudge of that endless blue, a wall, or a door cool against his skin as he passes it by. When he turns his head, of course, there’s nothing there. It’s enough to give him a headache and set his teeth on edge.

He has the distinct feeling that it’s all somehow Ren’s fault. Some effect of the other boy’s impossible existence, his otherworldly abilities taking a toll on Goro’s all too mortal mind. Maybe. Ren isn’t a haunting spirit, Goro has to remind himself. A trouble maker - yes - a pain in Goro’s ass - absolutely -  but Ren is human. Changed by events beyond his control, but still human. Seeing him so badly affected by Kawakami had proven that handily enough.

So just a dream. A strange one that won’t leave him alone. He hasn’t had much sleep recently, maybe that’s why -

“ Ow, what the hell?!”

Goro grabs at his arm and hisses, scowling at his baby sister where she stands and rolls her eyes at him. She still has her hand up, thumb and forefinger mimicking a crab’s claw still as she draws back from where she pinched him.

“You weren’t paying attention,” Futaba says, unapologetic as she rocks back on her heels. “I tried saying your name but you kept zoning out so.” She makes another crab-pincer motion and gives him a grin that’s all mischief. “You ready to pay up?”

He blinks at her, still grumpy, and makes a point of straightening his Shujin uniform as he forces himself to focus. There’s a few stray white hairs on his black turtleneck from the stray cat he makes a point of saying hi to at the station, but they’re easy enough to pick off while he gives his sister a side eye. Better to not let her know how badly his mind has been wandering this morning. It’ll only make her worry.

“There’s still time,” he says, trying hard not to show his own wavering belief that his errant parolee will in fact show up as had been promised. They’re already cutting it close, with the first wave of early-bird students already passing them by as they waited across from the school entrance. They have about ten more minutes before Ren officially hasn’t shown up on time and Goro has to go and track him down.

He tries hard not to think of Ren’s casual comments from the other night. The sense of dread that settles into his chest every time he sees any decently sized body of water.

“Are you okay?” Futaba asks, breaking him from the sliding spiral his thoughts were heading towards. He glances over at her to find her brow furrowed, mouth twisted into a frown.  “You’ve been weird all morning.”

“I’m fine,” he tells her, trying for casual and - judging by Futaba’s expression - failing miserably. He tries not to sigh as he says, “Didn’t get a good night’s sleep is all. Had a weird dream.”

Futaba bites her lip as she stares at him, and he can see her carefully debating if she wants to try and pry out of him what he dreamed about. Despite her best efforts over the years, he’s absolutely refused to share with her the details of his nightmares. Too many moments of events he’s sworn never to tell her about make their way into his dreams, too many things he doesn’t want to remind her of. It doesn’t stop her from trying now and again, nor does it stop them from getting into a fight about it, more often than not.

He shifts where he stands at the alley entrance - less chance that they’ll be bothered there by some of his more stalkerish fan girls that attend the school - and lets the weight of Ren’s bag tucked against his legs distract him. It’s faintly cool against his legs, and he knows that if he reached down and brushed any of the metal hardware it would feel as if the bag had just been pulled from inside a freezer. The cold settles him though, helps him focus on things other than his strange dreams.

“You could tell Sojiro about it.” Futaba says after a long beat. She rocks back on her heels slightly, hands on the straps of her school bag as she turns to scan the people milling about the front gate. “It doesn’t have to be me. Just…” He can see her knuckles flushing white from how tightly she’s gripping the straps, “You should talk to someone. It’s not good to keep stuff bottled up.”

He doesn't know what to say to that. Sojiro knows more than Futaba does about where he was those six years and what he went through, but Sojiro doesn’t know everything . Only what Wakaba was able to dig up from Goro’s files after she found him and the little Goro himself was willing to share in those few months leading up to him finally getting to go home again. He doesn’t doubt that if he tried talking, Sojiro would be willing to listen. More than willing, probably, if the sad, worried looks he casts at Goro sometimes are anything to go by.

The idea of trying to relay the heaviness of the past though...Digging it all up and laying it all out for Sojiro’s calm, steady eyes to view... It’s something Goro doesn’t think he’s brave enough to do. It’s too big, too painful.

He doesn’t say that though. Can’t. 

Instead he says, “I’ll think about it.” And lets silence fall between them. He will think about it - probably while he’s trying and failing to fall asleep later tonight - but he won’t lie to her and say that he’ll actually go through with talking with the older man. He knows himself better than that.

Futaba knows better too, judging by the way she nods and leans back against the brick wall opposite the one Goro is propped up against. She looks faintly sad as she slides her gaze sightlessly over the street beyond them. Sae’s sister Makoto has arrived, loud and abrasive with her hand-me-down motorbike and trademark glare. The underclassmen skitter out of her path as she finishes locking up her bike and making her way into the building proper. Her fellow seniors don’t fare any better as they determinedly avoid looking at her, trying hard not to be caught in her chilly gaze. The small crowd parts like water before the brunette as she nearly stomps her way into the building proper.

He lets his gaze turn away from Shujin’s most academically gifted delinquent and back to Futaba and her faraway expression. He bites back a tired and regretful sigh - his sister will just take it as an invitation to continue the conversation. And today has already rapidly gotten away from him with Ren’s failure to appear as promised, he doesn’t need to get into a fight with his sister on top of everything else.

Goro pulls out his phone and tries to call Ren - again - when he feels it.

The odd, heavy sensation of the veil between the real world and the Metaverse dragging against him. The faint chill mixing with the sensation of his stomach dropping makes the hair at the back of his neck prickle. Futaba feels it too, her eyes going wide as she snaps her gaze around and takes a step towards him, ready to duck behind him at the first sign of danger. Necronomicon was a powerful persona, but both it and Futaba’s abilities were supportive, not offensive, and she would best be able to help in a fight from a place out of the way.

He puts his back to his sister, ready to shield her from whatever the hell is happening - there’s no entrance to the Mementos here, this shouldn’t be happening - when he sees a form begin to take shape before his eyes deeper into the narrow alley. A Shadow breaking through to the real world? Was that even possible?

But no, not a Shadow he realizes as the figure begins the slow process of taking shape. Nearly like a ghost in the dark of the alleyway as pale skin and dark hair solidify. Ren .

Stumbling, the dark haired boy shimmers and drifts into existence in the real world. He looks pale and haggard as he nearly collapses into a nearby wall, only just managing to catch himself and stay upright with scrabbling hands. Goro watches in stunned silence as Ren slumps against the wall, head pressed to the bricks and breaths uneven. He hasn’t even noticed them at the opening of the alley, too busy - from what Goro can see - trying hard not to simply collapse on the ground altogether.

“Ren?” he asks, striding across the few feet that separates them to stand at the other boy’s side. 

The dark haired boy’s wearing his school uniform, though it seems a bit rumpled and unkept. Did he even take it off since yesterday? Ren flinches as Goro settles a hand on his arm, jerking back a bit wildly and scrabbling at his side as if searching for something - a weapon, Goro would guess if he really did just come from Mementos - before unfocused grey eyes finally settle on Goro and he finally seems to relax.

It shouldn’t settle something in Goro’s chest to know that Ren feels comforted by his presence. It shouldn’t. He’s a dangerous mystery, not a dear friend.

That fact doesn’t stop it from happening anyway.

“Oh,” Ren says, voice as rasping and gravelly as it was the day before, worse even. It doesn’t stop the dark haired boy from making his words sound so flippant though. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“ Dude.” Futaba’s voice comes out in nearly a whisper, “Did you really just come out of Mementos? In front of the school? Did you sleep there? Is that why I couldn’t find you? ”

Ren gives a slow blink at Goro before his tired gaze turns to Futaba. He looks...he looks awful. Dark grey smudges beneath his eyes, skin too pale, uniform a bit crumpled. When he shifts to look at Futaba a bit better, the black blazer shifts and Goro’s fairly certain he has bandages wrapping his ribs beneath his white school-issue turtleneck. What the hell had he been doing last night?

“No,” Ren says, then awkwardly tries to clear his throat of the rasp. “Wasn’t in Mementos. And I didn’t sleep there.”

He sways, just slightly, and Goro curls a hand around his arm to steady him. He still seems too small, too frail for the dangerous thing that Goro knows he is. 

“Did you sleep at all?” Goro asks, probably a bit too sharply, eyeing the dark circles beneath Ren’s eyes. Ren just shrugs, shaking Goro’s hand off as he does and moves to button up his blazer. He fails to hide the faint tremble of his hands. “And what do you mean you weren’t in Mementos? You clearly just exited the Metaverse.”

Ren casts a look at him from the corner of his eyes, mouth turning into a faint frown. “Do you have my bag?” he asks, in place of answering any of their questions. Futaba’s eyes narrow at the side step. Goro’s tempted to grab him again and press for answers, but Ren looks haggard and Goro isn’t a nice person, but he isn’t a monster either. The other boy clearly isn’t in any shape to do much in the state he’s in.

Goro nods, glancing at Futaba to make sure she was near enough to keep Ren from injuring himself if he ended up collapsing to the ground before walking over to snatch up the timeline jumper’s hell-bag. Still wobbly, Ren follows, taking the bag with his faintly trembling hands and digging inside for a moment. His hand comes back with a thermos, and Goro and Futaba watch with bewilderment as - despite the cold of the bag - the liquid inside steams upon Ren opening it. The narrow alley smells of coffee briefly as Ren begins all but chugging the brew down. How he doesn’t scald his tongue Goro doesn’t know, he didn’t even hesitate before knocking the clearly hot beverage back.

“Is that LeBlanc coffee?” Futaba asks, leaning forward some to sniff at the thermos as Ren finishes. The dark haired boy looks better after drinking it. Startlingly so. Goro, who’s closest thing to a real father was a gourmet coffee barista, knows better than most the power of a quality brewed cup of coffee. Even he can’t claim coffee to be that effective. Goro meets his sister’s eye as Ren caps the thermos and returns it to the bag and understands what Futaba is really asking.

It had taken some trial and error in those early weeks exploring the first level of Mementos, but eventually they discovered that certain items had surprising benefits in the Metaverse. Sojiro’s coffee and curry, in particular, they’d learned was good at restoring their reserves for their more magic based abilities. But those effects were limited to the Metaverse . Upon returning to their world, they returned to simply filling their bellies with delicious treats.

So why did it seem that Ren was benefiting from the coffee’s Metaverse uses?

“Yeah,” Ren says as he rolls his shoulders. He still looks rough, but his shaking has stopped and he now just looks more exhausted than half dead. “Bag keeps everything preserved like it was when it went in. Never have to deal with cold coffee again.”

Goro narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. Ren’s improved state makes it easier to squash that strange part of him that wanted to be concerned for the other boy. “Are you going to explain how you managed to exit Mementos outside the school now?”

Ren gives a small smirk and shrugs. Goro almost, almost decks him. The fact that it would look bad if his parolee showed up to his first day of school with a black eye was all that saved the insufferable boy. He was already at a disadvantage with Kawakami in the picture, Goro didn’t need to make trying to keep Ren out of jail harder than it was already shaping up to be. The last thing they needed was for Ren to look like a thug on top of everything else. The number of violent delinquents the school was willing to put up with was really only one, and Ren didn’t have the junior MMA championship title three-years running to keep him in the good graces of Shujin’s upper faculty that Niijima Makoto did.

“I wasn’t in Mementos,” Ren says, shuffling about his bag a little longer before pulling out a spring fruit pack, closing his bag and shrugging it on over a shoulder as he started working on opening the snack. “The school is the location of Kawakami’s Palace. I wanted to do some scouting.”

Palace. He’d said that before, that Kawakami had a palace. Said so casually as if he expected Goro to know what that was. Likely in those other timelines Goro would know what Ren was talking about. Something to do with the Metaverse, clearly, but what Goro didn’t know. An alternative to Mementos? Something linked to an individual rather than the collective unconscious? Was something like that even possible?

He’s about to ask when his phone chirps merrily in his pocket. Swearing under his breath he pulls it out, glancing down to find that it’s the alarm he set for himself the night before. 

“Shit,” He says, already moving towards the school with his hand coming up to latch on Ren’s arm once more. “We’re going to pick this conversation up later and you’re going to explain just what the hell you’re talking about. For now though we need to get you to Kawakami.” Futaba scrambles to catch up to them as Goro all but runs towards the school, an only somewhat wobbly Kurusu behind him. The fruit pack seems to have steadied him further, and Goro doesn’t doubt that the food is having the same impossible effect on the dark haired boy as the coffee did.

“You don’t think she’ll try and wreck him on his first day, do you?” Futaba asks, dodging around the track team's star idiot Sakamoto as she hurries to catch up with him and Ren. 

Sakamoto, dark hair flopping in his face, wildly flails as he attempts not to step on her and shouts something about her needing to watch where she’s going. Goro casts a warning glance over his shoulder at the loudmouth - most people at Shujin know better than to give his sister any flack, but it never hurts to remind people that he will personally make their lives hell if they mess with her - before ducking into the school proper. Futaba gives the older boy behind them one of her gremlin grins as she darts in after her brother. Ren’s attention snaps back behind them briefly at the noise, eyes wide, but Goro has neither time nor patience to indulge in the other boy’s fascination with this timeline at the moment.

“On the off chance that she won’t I’d rather not risk getting on her bad side.” Goro says, hauling Ren up the stairs, pointedly ignoring the gaggle of fan girls that have made it to school so early as they pass them by. He can get away with a certain amount of rudeness towards them with the pretense of trying to be a good student focusing on his work, but losing his temper at them completely will only end up hurting his Detective Prince persona in the long run. And while he hates his squeaky clean police-idol reputation, it is the main reason the precinct keeps him around.

As they approach the room Goro finally releases his iron grip on the other boy and stops a few feet from the door, turning to try and mitigate the rumpled quality of Ren's school uniform. Food eaten, Ren tosses the fruit pack back into his bag and Goro idly wonders if he has a mountain of trash hidden in its endless depths.

“Is she really that bad, in this one?”

The softness of Ren’s voice surprises him, making his hands falter briefly where he’d been adjusting the buttons of the other boy’s blazer. Glancing up he sees Ren’s grey eyes turned towards the door, expression pinched and sad. He looks surprisingly honest, not quite the bare, naked look of crushing grief that he’d seen when he’d found Ren at the park, but open and regretful in a way that makes Goro’s heart twist a bit painfully.

He moves to tug the blazer sleeves down into place from where Ren had shoved them up towards his elbows at some unknown time, perhaps a bit more violently than was necessary. He didn’t like it when his emotions weren’t firmly under his control.

Taking a page out of Ren’s book he doesn’t give a proper answer. “Is she really that good in the others?” He asks before finally stepping back. Ren’s uniform was as good as it was going to get without being properly pressed. Ren’s eyes are too dark when they meet Goro’s and he turns away, absently fussing with the sleeves of his own blazer. Nearby, he finds Futaba staring, her mouth pulled into a frown that Goro can’t quite read.

“Come on,” he says, “Let’s get this over with.”

Ren follows, Futaba left in the hall, as they step into the empty classroom to face Kawakami head on.

Mifune can’t run.

She wants to, needs to, desperately. Her mind screams the words over and over in her head, the frantic cry of a prey animal that has caught the attention of a hungry predator. Her heart pounds, adrenaline spiking through her body and making her hands shake.

Run. Go now, run, run, run.

She can’t run though. She’s rooted to the spot, pressed in place as surely as a butterfly pinned in a display case. She can barely move, barely breathe with the weight of the presence of the thing sitting across from her. The time to run has passed her by, gone the moment she felt the brush of something ancient and powerful at the edges of her senses. By the time she set eyes on the unassuming boy in a high schooler’s uniform it was far, far too late.

Her body trembles at the oppressive weight of the existence of the creature across from her. A fact that the thing seems to understand. It curls itself up, tucks itself as tightly as it can within the confines of the human mask it wears. Talons and wings and gleaming horns hidden away as well as it can, but not enough. She can’t even imagine how it even holds such a mundane, mortal form without tearing the boy’s body apart. She’s barely even sure she’s not being torn apart by simply being aware of it.

“I’m sorry,” the creature says, wincing at the way her body jerks and flinches beneath the weight of the sound. The world around her doesn’t seem to hear as she does, can’t feel the bone echoing crash of a voice from something so vast. Even then she can see it, feel it, the desperate attempt to curl in, be small, be gentle to her fragile self. Whatever the thing before her is, it doesn’t want to hurt her.

“I’m so sorry, Chihaya, but I need your help.”

She gasps in the way those desperate for air while drowning gasp. Her lungs ache, her head pounds. Somehow, though, the pain is a little less. The weight crushing in on all sides still threatens to destroy her, but somehow space has been granted. A sliver of room for her lungs to expand granted with the speaking of her name.

And god, it knows her name.

It knows her name.

“W-what are you?” Her voice is barely a whisper, shaky and thin. The creature winces, leans back as if that scant distance will do her any good. Some part of her not losing her absolute mind with terror at the impossibility sitting across from her appreciates that, sees the kindness in the gesture. That part of her is small though, distant and growing farther away with every second she remains in the things presence.

“Ren.” The creature says, puppeting the body it hides behind to remove the glasses from the boy’s face. It lets her see the boy’s eyes clearly, silvery grey and as deep as the expanse of space. It should make it all worse, should make her scream at seeing a naked look of the being behind the boy more completely. Somehow though it doesn’t. Seeing the eyes, hearing its name, somehow it settles her, helps her pounding heart calm if only a little. Her head still pounds, but like when the being spoke her name there's a change. Miniscule, barely noticeable at all. But enough.

She swallows painfully, mouth and throat dry. Mifune has never seen something like the being seated so politely - so apologetically - across from her. Her grandmother told her stories, when she was small. Tales of spirits, tricksters and gods, beings beyond comprehension that lived beyond the veil of her world. Some made their way through to their world for mischief or mayhem, but only as impressions of themselves. They were creatures that were not born of the human world and so could never truly be part of it, not without some way to anchor themselves.

The frantic, terrified part of her wonders if that is what this one has done. If the being before her found a boy foolish enough to give it a place in his heart and sunk its massive claws into him. Using the boy as a doorway to pull itself through to the human world.

The part of her that can breathe a little better with the creature’s name echoing in her mind thinks there might be more to it than that.

Mifune takes in a deep breath, her lungs expanding to the point of pain as she tries to get a hold of herself. It’s hard, animal instinct telling her to flee, human curiosity demanding to know more. The being across from her does not rush her, sitting quiet and patient, the expression of the boy whose face it wears sad and apologetic. She forces her shaking hands to shuffle her cards, grounding herself the only way that she can think of.

“Why are you here? How do you know my name?” She asks, her voice still wavering but not quite as thin as it had been. She takes pride in that. She’s not something to be hunted, not a plaything for this creature’s amusement. She is strong enough to weather his presence.

The creature shifts and she both sees and doesn’t see the massive wings that shift behind the boy’s back. “We’ve met before. In other times.” The being tells her enigmatically, “I need your help.” It repeats its statement from earlier. She still winces at the sound of its voice but this time she’s better able to focus on the boy’s softer tones.

She grits her teeth, hands shaking as she shuffles her cards. “And how could I possibly help something like you?” She asks, letting some of the stubbornness she lost over the years lift her chin. “I’m just a human.”

The boy flinches and she can’t tell if it’s the being that is upset by her statement or what remains of the boy the creature has taken over. She almost wants to apologize, but. Well. The creature has stolen this boy’s life from him, stolen his heart. She doesn’t see why she should be delicate about that for the sake of the being’s finer feelings.

There’s a pause, long enough that she thinks the creature might puppet its mask to rise and leave her, but at length the head of the boy shakes and the being speaks. “I’m sorry to come. I know me being here causes you pain.” It says, the third time now it has apologized to her. Was that something demons did? She doesn’t remember her grandmother ever mentioning it. “I wasn’t sure what else to do. This world… it’s so different. I don’t know how any of it works.” The being tells her, “There’s a friend of mine who’s suffering in this world. I can’t stay to fix everything, but I want to at least be able to help her before I have to go. I was… I hoped you could give me a reading. See if you could tell me anything that might help.”

For a long moment Mifune can only just sit and shuffle her cards with shaking hands. A travelling spirit hidden in the body of a boy, asking a psychic for a way to help someone. None of her grandmother’s stories had ever mentioned anything like that in them.

She should run, that shaking, terrified part of her says.

Mifune takes another shaking breath, stills her hands and holds the deck out to the boy the creature is puppeting.

“You said we met before, somehow.” In other times , the creature had said. She doesn’t know what other times are supposed to mean, but she won’t find out by cowering like a hunted rabbit. She forces her voice to be steady as she says, “Then you know how this works.”

The being does know how her readings work, as it turns out. She watches as best she can through the pain of her pounding head as the creature deftly puppets the boy’s thin hands through the process of shuffling the cards, those silvery eyes closing as the being thinks on what it wants to know. She can feel the beings intent as it focuses, rolling over her like waves on the shore, threatening to erode her away to nothing given enough time. The spirit unfolds from within itself as it focuses on the cards and its questions, unable to both put its energy into the reading and in hiding the worst of itself. The feeling of its shapeless form makes her nauseous as it bumps hard against her senses.

At length a hand reaches out, setting the deck face down before her. The being retreats back once more, the boy it wears as a mask shifting back with it on the folding seat across from her.

Mifune understands that if she waits until she’s ready to start the reading, she and the creature will be sitting across from each other until the death of reality itself. She gives herself until the count of ten instead, forcing herself to breath as evenly as she can. Then she reaches for the cards and starts the reading.

It’s a mistake, in hindsight.

Trying to read the threads of fate for someone so well and truly removed from the cycle of life and death was never going to end anyway than in disaster. She understands this the moment her hand touches her deck.

Normally she sinks into her readings, senses stretching out, mind casting both inward and outward to track the weave of reality. The cards are merely how she connects to it all, a means of putting shapes and words to what she feels. This time she does not gently slide into the reading, but is violently jerked downward into it. The moment she makes the connection with her cards and the fate the being has tied to them it is as if a force of nature has crashed over her, tossing her wildly about a lifetime that goes beyond lifetimes.

There is so much, so much.

She can see the threads of fate for the being that has come to her for help but they are tangled and knotted, ragged at the ends where it looks like the threads were ruthlessly cut away from the fabric of existence and then clumsily tied off together. A Gordian’s knot of tragedy and suffering made of a life destined to loop back around and crash into itself no matter what choices are made.

It’s not a choice to delve in deeper, merely an act of nature that has her digging into the mess of a ruined fate. A black hole dragging her in, crushing her in the weight of everything she sees. She’s lost the reason she is there, lost the questions and intentions that were meant to guide her along. All that is left is Ren and his many lives. His many deaths.

It’s too much for her to take it all in, but she sees enough.

She was wrong before.

It was not a being from beyond using a boy as a body. Ren is the being and the boy. Not a creature of Beyond from her grandmother’s stories, but something else born of their own world and the machinations of a false god. He is Prometheus, stealing for humanity not fire but hope, stealing them a chance to survive. The false god he rages against punishes him for his fight to bend with an endless year and the slow and painful consumption of the boy’s heart.

Ren is losing that fight.

He may have already lost.

A hand, warm and real and grounding, lands heavily on her hands and, just as violently as she was pulled into the tangled mess of his fate, Mifune is yanked out of it. She jerks back, nearly falling out of her chair and is only stopped by another hand settling on her shoulder.

Her face is wet. Tears are streaming down her face and blood is dripping from her nose. She sobs as she comes to herself and becomes aware of the agony in her head. She doesn’t know how long she sat there, trapped in the broken threads of Ren’s fate. Minutes, hours, days. All she knows is that her body is shaking harder than it has ever had in her life, even the one winter where she fell into a frozen lake and nearly died of hypothermia. She thinks she might be dying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Ren says, hands warm against her shoulders where he’s trying to steady her. He’s lost the ability to tuck himself away completely, frantic worry for her well being overriding everything else and for a brief moment she can almost see the golden gleam of horns atop his head.

She gasps for air, and sobs again as the weight of his presence crashes over her, worsening her pain even more. Ren seems to understand this and wheels back, silver-grey eyes horror struck as he realizes that his presence alone is killing her.

Through her tears and desperate attempts to breath she sees him take a step back, then another and then - as if he really was a spirit - he’s gone. The agony of his presence lifted as he flees, leaving her shaking and sobbing, blood dripping down onto the dark blue fabric that covers her old folding table, dotting the faces of her tarot cards. She’s vaguely aware of a few tourists casting wide eyed looks in her direction, some of the locals looking concerned but unwilling to shift closer to see what’s wrong.

It takes a long time to get herself under control again.

She feels drained, limbs heavy with exhaustion and body trembling weakly even an hour later as she sits and stares down at the cards before her. While her mind had been torn away into the depths of Ren’s fate, her body had been following the ingrained habits of a normal reading. Cards shuffled and laid out in her favorite spread for when she’s working with a difficult case. There’s a wad of cash - more than she’d make in a month - weighed down with a leftover Holy Stone from her brief time as a con artist’s unwitting assistant. She hadn’t even realized Ren left it for her. Hadn't even thought about asking for payment when he appeared and she’d been convinced he was a creature from the other world.

She scans the cards before her, taking in the story they tell her, the answers they reveal. Sitting there with Shinjuku’s nightlife humming around her and Ren and his unintentionally terrifying self long gone, she finally is able to read his fate - or at least part of it - properly. Her fingers trace the cards carefully, frowning as she looks at the blood that has dried on the cards. The splotches that dot The Fool, the dark red that has been smeared across The Tower. Her stomach twists as she takes it all in, realizes the full scope of just what she’s seeing.

Mifune frowns, closes her eyes, and then opens them. There’s much that needs to be done. Preparations to make, plans to be made. As gently as she can with her trembling fingers she gathers up The Fool card in her hand, thumb rubbing gently over the drops of red that have dried near black over the fellow on the card’s heart. 

There’s someone she needs to find.

Chapter Text

Kawakami’s gaze is cold and sharp as they enter the room.

It makes Ren think of shattered glass, of icy winds and the cruel void of space. A bitter opposite of the comforting chill he associates with Yusuke's presence. The very worst of her bad tendencies that he had seen in past runs condensed and expanded. Twisted and shaped into something solid and imposing. Dark bricks and frigid wrought iron, dark narrow hallways twisting into an unforgiving maze. What lay beyond he doesn’t know, not sure if he wants to know. He will, though, eventually. He must if he wants to be able to help her.

She sits at her desk, as imperious as a queen as she turns dark eyes in their direction and takes him in, ignoring Goro entirely. She is in purple again today, that same cool lavender color that makes her look startlingly severe. This time it’s a dress with a structured grey blazer, a set of intimidating heels to match. Ren has spent enough time shopping with Ann over the past loops  to recognize the clothes as coming from expensive designer labels. He can recognize that the outfit has been further tailored to fit Kawakami’s slim frame exactly, not an inexpensive process considering the fine silk of the dress. The clothes had been altered, likely intentionally, to make her look taller and more imposing.

It’s working. 

She hasn’t even stood yet and Ren feels himself withering beneath her glass sharp glare, voice caught in his throat, shoulders creeping up towards his ears. He’d rather face a thousand false gods than face the cruel stare of someone he once considered a friend. 

His mind turns again to what little he glimpsed of her Palace earlier that morning. Severe and cold and forbidding. Thinks about how he needs to save her before it’s too late. 

“You’ve managed to be here on time,” she says, voice cool and low. There is something almost disappointed in her tone, a bitter hope that Ren would have failed and she could have turned him out on his ear before school even started.

Goro has his hands fisted at his sides, knuckles white and nails undoubtedly digging into his skin as he takes a step forward and a little in front of Ren, forcing Kawakami’s gaze to turn to him. And the relief of no longer being beneath the blistering cold of her glare is dizzying. Beside him, Goro’s smile is pleasant and easy as he greets the teacher, idol-bright as he leads Ren in giving a polite bow.

“Of course Kawakami-sensei,” Goro says, effortlessly hiding his irritation behind a familiar, plastic facade. “We understand that your time is precious and thank you for making room in your schedule for Amamiya on his first day.”

Her lips purse for a brief moment as she stares at Goro before she eventually gets to her feet in a fluid movement. Ren watches warily as she circles her desk and leans against it, arms crossing and her lavender nails a cool contrast to the dark grey of her jacket. It’s carefully casual in the way someone precisely planning their every movement can achieve. Ren feels like he’s watching a predator size up their next meal, moments away from pouncing. The realization that he’s the prey in that situation makes his stomach twist.

What happened to her? What caused her to change so drastically from the at times troubled, but ultimately kind woman he knew?

“Amamiya is fortunate that you were kind enough to escort him here,” Kawakami says a bit clipped, “Now that he’s here though, I don’t want to pull you away from your own classes. You’re free to go, Akechi-kun.”

She isn’t smiling. It strikes Ren that, since he met this version of Kawakami at his introduction yesterday, he has not seen her smile even once. She wasn’t always the most cheerful of people, tending towards being a bit wry more than anything, but she usually made a point of offering her students a small smile as they started the day. Her smiles grew easier in the wake of Ren helping with her problems and her taking control of her life again.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Goro says, voice light and airy. His smile doesn’t slip, but Ren thinks he sees the faintest twitch of the other boy’s jaw at the dismissal. “But I am not required in my own class for a while yet and don’t mind staying for the meeting. As Amamiya’s parole officer it’s important for me to know that he’s adhering to the requirements of his parole.”

Ren has found himself at a loss more than once since his arrival in this timeline. So much about this world is different and strange, running wildly afield of what’s familiar. The Palaces that are missing, the Palaces that have changed, the new Palace born of Kawakami’s distorted heart that he has just started to explore last night. The possibility for other new Palaces he hasn’t discovered yet. 

And then there is Goro.

Goro who is, in one moment, the same slightly unhinged bastard Ren has always known and loved, and the next a stranger Ren is only just meeting. The easy teasing of Futaba, rebellious undermining of Shido, the way he easily slotted into life as Sojiro’s ward and this. Standing there, stubborn and determined not to leave him at the mercy of Kawakami’s cruel ways. At Ren’s side almost like a friend might be in such a situation.

Ren has loved Goro for longer than some civilizations have existed. But in those many years he doesn’t think Goro has ever considered them friends. Doesn’t know if Goro even does now or if he could in this world. Goro is - was - is? - too broken for that. Too feral and furious, too determined to die young. Absolutely desperate not to be bound by anything or anyone. Even something as intangible as something like friendship. 

Maybe especially by something like friendship.

That is the Goro Ren has known in the past though. The one that is already half way to his death by the time they meet. A vicious boy with nothing to look forward to save death and blood and revenge. He doesn’t know what this Goro wants. What the ultimate goal looks like for him. Revenge on Shido, certainly, but what does that revenge look like? Ren isn’t sure this time, doesn’t know what has changed, what remains. Goro isn’t content with his own demise in the process of achieving his goals this timeline, Ren thinks. He has people this run, good people in the form of Sojiro and Futaba. A family to connect with, to keep him grounded.

And yet he is still destined to die, Ren knows. 

They all are.

He doesn’t know how long he has before Yaldabaoth realizes the mistake that was made - if the false god hasn’t already. Days, weeks. He doesn’t think, based on his experience with doomed runs in the past, that this timeline has longer than two or three months before his old foe figures it out and tears this world apart. Forcibly dragging Ren along to the next April 9th, the next year, the next endless run of their game. Tearing apart this Goro in the process. The boy that stands beside him now a brilliant, unique oddity Ren will never see again. A maybe-friend he’ll never get to have again.

“While that is kind of you Akechi-kun,” Kawakami says, the chill of her voice pulling Ren out of his spiralling thoughts. “I must insist. Amamiya-kun and I have a few things to cover in regards to his grades and what he’s missed since school has begun and it would be inappropriate to discuss such things in front of another student. Regardless of your position interning with the police.”

Interning with the police. Ren tries hard not to wince and fails miserably judging from the way Kawakami’s dark eyes flash to him. Goro is very still beside him, jaw clenched tight enough that Ren worries he might just crack a molar. 

This, it seems, is a similarity between the Goro Ren has known in the past and the Goro he is learning in this timeline. Both have a deep and almost blinding hatred for being dismissed as a simple intern rather than a proper detective. A position that he worked hard for in every timeline, even this one. Perhaps especially this one, considering that he’s fairly certain Goro’s nails have punctured his palm from how tightly he’s clenching his fists, a hint of blood welling up between his clenched fingers.

Kawakami knew she would get this reaction from him. Ren can see it in the faintest twitch of her lips, the shine of victory in her eyes. She knew it was a sore spot and took complete advantage of it, undermining Goro and setting off his vicioustemper in one go. Tempting and taunting him into lashing out, giving her reason to rebuke and punish him. It’s working too. Ren can see it in the way that Goro’s jaw jumps and he shifts, sliding slowly into something more similar to a fighting stance.

Ren isn’t sure how much pull Kawakami has in this timeline, how much power she holds over the school. Enough by her own perception that her distorted world view has born a palace in the school’s place as Kamoshida did in timelines past. Enough, Ren suspects, that if she lashed out at Goro he wouldn’t make it out unscathed.

Silence is a heavy weight that settles on Ren often when it comes to speaking to authority figures. A sense of dread and anxiety so palpable that it chokes him, voiceless and vulnerable. There’s a trick to it though. A way for him to steal his voice back, to be able to speak once more: All that has to happen is for someone else to be at risk of harm. Goro once told him that he had a sickening tendency towards self sacrifice - in many runs in fact. This one is the same in that it holds true once more.

“No,” Ren says, voice thin and reedy. He’s barely able to get the word out through the sense of constriction in his throat, and nearly loses his voice once more when Kawakami turns a withering glare in his direction. He swallows, mouth sour with adrenaline as he shakily forces his voice out. “It’s fine. I can...we can talk.” He turns his gaze to Goro, tricking himself into believing that the words are for the other boy rather than the looming presence of Kawakami. 

Goro’s brows are furrowed, mouth a thin line. His dark red eyes flicker from Ren to Kawakami and back again. “Are you sure?” He asks, looking like he doesn’t believe Ren for a moment. Ren doesn’t blame him for that. All the confidence and swagger that buoys him along as Joker has been stripped away from him, the mask gone and the heavy weight of his many flaws rattling around him like chains.

He nods, tries for a small, reassuring smile, probably ends up closer to a grimace instead. Goro looks ready to argue more, but Kawakami - imperious - clears her throat, one stiletto tapping impatiently against the linoleum floor.

“You’ve heard him Akechi-kun. Amamiya doesn’t need your coddling.” She stands from her leaning against the desk, and there is an air of a dark kind of victory shrouding her. Ren can’t tell if he’s saved Goro from her mean streak or just delayed her inevitable attack. “Go on,” she says, mouth slanting in the faintest hint of a smirk. “Off to class.”

Goro rolls his shoulders, brow still furrowed and eyes dark with irritation and the tense posture of someone ready to fight. At length though he gives a short nod. “Very well,” he says, turning to Ren. “I’ll meet you at the cafeteria for lunch.”

It sounds more like a threat than anything, but Ren takes heart in the idea of a moment of time beyond the still classroom and Kawakami’s frigid, unforgiving presence.

Goro lingers for a moment longer, mouth set in a firm line and expression shuttered, before giving a small sigh and heading towards the door. Ren and Kawakami watch together as he steps out into the now busy hallway beyond - and Ren catches a glimpse of Mishima leaning against the wall across the room, looking languid and bored in a way he’s not used to seeing - before Goro slides the door closed. Then it’s just the quiet of the room, the stillness and the cold. Just him and Kawakami.

She breaks the stillness with a tired sigh, and for a moment - half a second - Ren thinks it might have all been a mistake. The bitterness, the cruelty, the Palace. A misunderstanding. He thinks she’s the Kawakami he knows after all, overworked and a bit over it all, but good hearted under her exasperated demeanor. 

But then he turns to look at her and the reality crashes down on him one more. The narrow, ugly look she gives the door Goro just left. The way her dark eyes narrow and her lip curls. There is nothing but utter contempt in her expression. Not Kawakami. Just the broken things she’s twisted into in this timeline, the woman who needs his help and will very likely make his life hell while he tries to do so.

“One of these days,” she mutters, seemingly more to herself than to Ren. “That brat is going to get what he deserves.” 

Her black eyes turn back to Ren again, hollow of any of the warmth he once knew her for. “Let’s just get this over with,” she says, pointing to the desk right in front of her own. “That is going to be your seat while you’re in my class: up front where I can see you at all times. Sit .”

Ren swallows, stomach churning at the sharp edge to her voice and warily goes to the desk she’s assigned him to. Not the one he’s sat in every other run, beside the window tucked safely behind Ann. He feels oddly exposed as he slides into his seat, small and vulnerable as she moves to stand above him. Like everything else he’s seen so far, this is a powerplay. A means of undermining him, reminding him of who holds the power between them. His academic life is hers to command, and she won’t be letting him forget that for a moment.

“Now, I want to make something very clear to you Amamiya,” Kawakami says, arms unfolding from before her, one hand moving to settle on his desk, the other to her hip. A threat display if Ren’s ever seen one. “Your placement here at Shujin Academy is conditional. You break a rule, you go to jail. You fail a class, you go to jail. You piss me off?” She leans in, close enough for him to choke on her expensive perfume, pearly white teeth bared like a snarl. “And you go to jail. ” Her nails click against the top of his desk, lavender talons ready to rend him to pieces. “No one here is going to care. The principal, the other students, that parole officer of yours? No one will care. You are a delinquent and jail is exactly where someone like you belongs.”

Ren fights not to flinch back, to show his soft underbelly. He has fought a god before, many times over. Faced monsters and miseries the likes of which no human could truly comprehend. But it doesn’t matter in the face of an old friend turning against him, a friendly face suddenly twisted and cruel, a confidant looking for nothing more than his heart on a platter.

So he stays still, heart rabbit quick and voice strangled in his throat once more as she steps back, seeming pleased by what she finds in his face. “I’m glad you understand the severity of the situation,” she says, voice almost near the sing-song sweetness of Becky the Maid, an echo of a person she’s never been in this world.

“Now,” He watches as she turns, heels clicking against the polished floor as she walks back to her desk and collects a hefty looking folder. “Class will be beginning shortly, Amamiya. We best be going over those assignments you owe me from the first weeks of class before the other students arrive.”

He nods, stoic. He feels numb as she starts flipping through the folder, listing books and essays and assignments. More than a few weeks worth of schoolwork. He understands from the way her eyes gleam that he is meant to fail at this. To fall short and be even further behind than she is likely to start him at compared to the rest of class. A cruel trick that he can’t imagine the Kawakami he’s known in the past ever capable of. For all her flaws, for all her failings, she never once wanted a student to fail. Never once wanted anything but the best for those in her care.

Homeroom, when it begins, is unsurprisingly tense. 

The other students all arrived on time, skittish and wary of Kawakami as they entered the room, ducking their heads and doing their best to avoid her eye. The girl whose desk Ren had been assigned stands frozen before him for a second as she registers he’s there. There’s clear panic in her eyes as she tries to sort out a way out of the trap she’s unknowingly walked into. Ren understands well enough what she’s contending with. Moving to another seat without permission would likely get her in trouble with Kawakami, but asking him to move when Kawakami had clearly ordered him to sit there is also a path towards earning the teacher’s terrifying ire.

Ren is ready to bite the bullet and take Kawakami’s wrath on himself by offering the girl her seat back, when salvation comes in the form of bright blue eyes and bouncing blond curls.

“Kawakami-sensei!” Ann is bright and bubbly and unflinching as she appears before them and turns her attention to their homeroom teacher. “It looks like Akiko-chan’s seat has been reassigned, is she going to be sitting behind me now?” she says, not really a question with something like a challenge in her blue eyes.

It’s a reassurance to see Ann like this. Bold and cheerful, facing down Kawakami’s bitter cold with her own comforting warmth. The rest of the class seems to breathe a little easier now that she is here. Each and every one of them seems to take comfort with her front and center, with her bright smile that belies a spine of steel. That Kawakami - face going sour and eyes narrowing - says nothing to cut Ann down gives them reason for that small comfort. Ann, for reasons Ren isn’t sure of yet, seems to have protection from Kawakami’s cruelty and has no problem using that protection to help shield her fellow students.

Kawakami is silent for a beat, mouth pressed in a line, before she gives a short nod. Her eyes flash to the girl in question who wilts beneath the teacher’s stare before hurrying off to her new assigned seat. The position directly behind Ann will give her some cover, he thinks, but Ren finds worry blooming in his chest for the mousy girl. He doesn’t think she’ll be fortunate enough to escape undue punishment completely, not with what he’s seen of Kawakami so far.

Ann gives the teacher a blinding smile - something triumphant in the curl of her lips - before she turns to look at Ren. It’s a bit dizzying to face the full force of Ann’s brilliance so early in the morning with no sleep and even less certainty of the world he’s in. It’s still nice though, soothing and steadying to see Ann is at least more familiar in this bizarre timeline. 

Freer, certainly, unburdened by the weight she carried with her in runs in the past. Kamoshida doesn’t have a Palace this time - he is still distorted, still has a shadow inside Mementos - but he is not yet the monster Ren remembers. Ann is lighter for it, and Ren is grateful for that if nothing else. Ann deserves happiness, she and Shiho both. He hopes she has it in this run.

“You must be Amamiya!” she says, tossing a blond lock of hair over a shoulder. Ren smiles back, it’s impossible not to when it’s Ann, and gives a small nod. “Awesome! Welcome to Shujin, let me know if you need help finding anything, alright?”

Ann drops a hand on his shoulder and gives him a reassuring squeeze before heading to her desk. It’s enough of a comfort to have her offering him her friendship so easily that he nearly misses the fact that she already knows who he is. The realization catches anyway though, persistent and nagging as he turns back to face the front of the classroom. He hasn’t been outed as being on probation yet, hasn’t had his record released by Kamoshida and become known by the school as the kid with the assault record. No one is skittering away from him or looking at him with fear or apprehension. He’s simply the new transfer student so far, an oddity but nothing more.

So how had she known his name?

He doesn’t have much more of a chance to think about it as the bell rings and, a beat later the door slides open and Mishima strides in, officially half a second late to class. 

Ren winces on the boy’s behalf. Any other teacher would let it slide, possibly with a warning to watch his time going forward, but otherwise with no lasting consequence. But Kawakami has already made it plenty clear that she isn’t the kind to give a student any kind of leeway. From everything Ren has seen and Goro has mentioned, she rules over her class with a brutal, iron fist. For someone like Mishima - a boy that tends towards being nervous around authority figures - Ren can only imagine the kind of fall out this Kawakami’s tendency towards cruelty could cause.

He’s ready to send his pencil case clattering to the floor to draw her attention, give Mishima a chance to skitter to his desk and potentially sidestep their teacher’s harsh reprimands, but stops when he sees Mishima calmly walk over to Kawakami’s desk and drop a manilla folder there. Unlike everyone else Ren has seen in Kawakami’s chilly presence, Mishama looks confident and at ease. His walk is something closer to a swagger as he makes his way to his own desk, mouth slanted in a cocky smirk as he glances over the class on his way. Kawakami says nothing to him, taking the folder he left on her desk and slipping it into a drawer. She otherwise doesn’t acknowledge Mishima at all, eyes sharp on the students before her.

Unease prickles at the back of Ren’s neck as he watches the exchange. Kawakami’s odd calm in the face of Mishima’s small misstep, Mishima’s own behavior around a teacher with a reputation as dire as Kawakami’s. His old friend of timelines past sometimes grew cocky, sometimes grew into himself and became more self assured. This though. This was different. Smacked of some kind of involvement. The students seem just as leery of Mishima as they are of Kawakami and that, well. That doesn’t bode well for Ren’s old friend.

The class is eerily quiet as Kawakami begins roll call. Each student giving a short and quiet affirmation - save Ann’s cheerfully defiant here! and Mishima’s own lazy response - in a bid to get by as unnoticed as possible. Ren, so familiar with the class curriculum for the upcoming year that he could possibly teach it himself, lets the world slide away from him as he thinks.

There are too many questions unanswered. Too many things he doesn’t know yet. He needs to get back to Kawakami’s Palace. Needs to get passed the outer security and start infiltration proper. Needs to figure out what’s happening here and fix it.

He has two months to fix the problems in this timeline before Yaldabaoth destroys it. Three if he’s very, very lucky.

Ren’s not lucky.

He needs to save her though. Save all of them. Find as many Palaces as he can and steal the hearts of the corrupt and save those hurting, those suffering in the name of Yaldabaoth’s twisted games.

He has to.

There’s a boy slumped at the bottom of the bar’s stairs.

One of her regulars dutifully tells her as he takes his normal seat in the corner, worried for the kid but unwilling to risk someone misunderstanding his intentions by hauling the kid up and bringing him in himself. Lala though has a reputation in the neighborhood; people know her and know how fiercely protective of the strays that cross her path she is. If a runaway has made their way to her doorstep, then she’s going to make sure she gets him inside where he’s no longer at risk of being picked off by one of Shinjuku’s vultures.

She gives the regular his first drink free for letting her know and hustles out of the bar to find the kid before anything happens to him. She’s thankful that he’s still there as reported. The boy curled up on the bottom step of the stairs leading up to the bar, messy haired and dressed in a school uniform for a local academy. She recognizes it well enough, the black and red checkered pants are hard to miss and she’s seen enough of the uniform in recent months to recognize it on sight.

Her guess is that one of the little birds that has been running around trying to clean the streets up pointed the boy her way. She only hopes he didn’t get mixed up in a scuffle before coming to her. She hasn’t had the chance to restock her first aid kit since she had to patch up Ohya after the private eye’s last job went south and she doesn’t want to have to try and convince the kid to go to the hospital if he’s a runaway. Ah well, she can always send someone to the store to get her supplies if need be. 

Lala makes a point of letting her footsteps be heard as she makes her way down to the boy. Loud enough for the kid to know to expect someone, not so loud as to spook him. It’s a fine balance and any misstep could easily send a kid in trouble running. Eaten whole by the vultures, lost to the darkest corners of Shinjuku to never be seen again. She’s lost a few that way over the years, too skittish to trust a helping hand, or burned by a kind face hiding dark motives in the past.

The boy that’s appeared on her doorstep tonight doesn’t shift as she draws near. His body is slumped against the railing, knees pulled up to his chest, head tilted so that he’s looking out at the crowd passing them by. A tourist that had stumbled upon the Crossroads told Lala once that she should put signs up to make the place more noticeable, maybe have someone out on the street with flyers directing them towards the bar. Lala nodded politely and made a point of inflating the man’s pride by commenting on what a good idea that was before dismissing his suggestions entirely. He left a hefty tip and Lala left his advice unheeded in the wake of his departure.

The Crossroads wasn’t meant to be found by tourists. Lala did just fine with her regulars and the steady influx of people that came looking for her help. The Crossroads was a bar only so far as it needed to be. Bars weren’t given much scrutiny, especially in a place like Shinjuku, which meant that Lala and those in her network could sweep up those most at risk to Shinjuku’s dark underbelly and secret them out to safer places. Safer lives.

“You okay, Honey?” she asks the boy, keeping her voice soft but friendly. The skittish ones tended to run if you were anything but middle of the road with your voice, too loud or too quiet and they’d book it. This boy, thankfully, doesn’t seem like the skittish type, only exhausted and weary. She watches as he turns his head to look up at her and she’s thankful that he doesn’t show any signs of being roughed up. The kid looks bad enough without adding bruises on top of everything else.

The boy doesn’t say anything at first, only stares at her with dark eyes. She’s struck by how out of place they look with the rest of him. He has a pretty-boy face, all fine lines and delicate features that would get him a lot of attention just about anyplace beauty was a commodity. His eyes though, those are older. The kind of world weary, exhausted eyes that a kid so young shouldn’t have. He might not have any bruises, but the kid definitely hasn’t been left without marks of what he’s lived through. Worry squirms in her chest for the kid. Just what has he been through before finally making it to her?

“I…” He starts, voice tight and a bit hoarse. He hasn’t been crying, but he's very close to it. She can see the way he clenches his fist, the way he forcibly swallows to try to choke back his tears by force of will. “I don’t know,” he finally says, sounding lost and small. Her heart aches for him and she wants nothing more than to bundle him up and usher him away from the hardships of the world. 

Ohya says she’s a soft touch. Her heart goes out to all the kids the world has chewed up and spat out and sometimes the clever ones, the ones she isn’t able to help, sometimes they take advantage of that. She’s okay with that though. A long time ago she was a kid slumped on the steps of a bar no one noticed, with bruises and blood and nowhere to go. The owner at the time had heard from one of the regulars back then. Lala remembers the soft steps, the extended hand, the kindness no one else had offered. Her life started over that night, safer and happier than it had ever been before. She didn’t care if a thousand hollow eyed kids took advantage, all that mattered was that she was able to help at least one the way that she’d been helped.

She offers her hand towards him, cautious and slow. “How about we get you off the street and you can figure it out inside, alright sweetie? No one’s going to hurt you here.”

He stares at her hand for a long moment before reaching out with his own with only a little hesitation. His hand is cold, nails - when she glimpsed them - bitten down to the quick, ragged and bleeding. He doesn’t meet her eye behind his glasses, eyes turning down to the ground as she gently guides him to his feet.

“I know,” he says, sounding weary but certain. She knows then that he was sent to her. Possibly by one of her contacts around the area, but she thinks from his uniform it’s more likely to be one of the birds that pointed him in her direction. She doesn’t ask - it doesn’t matter, really, who got him to come to her for help, so long as he reached out at all - and instead leads him up the stairs and into the bar proper.

No one looks in their direction as they enter. The bar is quiet tonight and only a few of her standard patrons are perched in their usual seats at the edges. Sipping their drinks and minding their own business just like they should. Lala leads the boy over to the bar and he slips onto a stool without a second thought. She takes the chance to look him over a bit better. Uniform a bit wrinkled but otherwise in order, no limping or signs that he has injuries hidden under his clothes, he doesn’t flinch away from anything either. He just looks tired , tired and with more shadows in his eyes than a boy so young should have.

Lala debates what distance a kid in this state needs. If he’s looking for comfort, then the barstool next to him would be best. If he’s looking to escape something though, then she’s best taking up a spot across from him behind the bar. Distance and something shielding between them. The kid before her doesn’t flinch or shy away, so slides onto the stool beside him and waits.

He sits turned towards the back of the bar, staring at the neon sign that her adoptive father - the former owner - bought her when she turned the place into a drag bar. The rainbow letters that spell out Love , the hope she has for every person in need that finds themselves in Crossroad’s protective walls, glow happily in the dim lights of the bar. The boy stares at them, unblinking, and Lala takes note of the fact that they’re not real glasses at all but cosmetic. Something to hide behind, if she had to guess.

She makes a point of looking away from him, attention turning towards the napkin dispenser at her elbow, giving him space, giving him time. When the minutes tick on and he still doesn’t speak, but doesn’t look any less close to crying either, she changes tack. Careful to keep her voice soft and gentle she says, “You look like you’ve got a lot of weight you’re carrying there kid. Do you want to talk about it?”

She tugs a napkin from the dispenser and starts folding it. She’s not particularly good at origami and the napkin isn’t a good medium to try, but some kids don’t like being watched as they stumble through explaining how they got there. This one seems to be one of them, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as she turns her attention away from him. 

Another moment passes and then, finally, he gives a small nod and, voice thin and small, he starts talking.

And, just like it does every time, Lala’s heart breaks .

She wakes like she does every morning to the stillness of her apartment and a heavy lump of dread taking up space in her chest.

Alarm off.  She washes, dresses, gets ready for the day. The only noise is her own footsteps, her small movements in an otherwise hollow place. She remembers how her mother’s laughter once danced through the halls, the noise of the radio her father used to listen to as he cooked breakfast. It’s just her now, though. Solitary and singular.

A piece of toast for breakfast, slathered in butter and cinnamon and sugar. Extra sweet, with a drizzle of honey to pretend that it’s almost healthy. Eaten mechanically, bite by bite, until it’s gone and she’s left standing in a cold kitchen feeling like there should be more than the appliances and dirty dishes to keep her company.

She stands in front of the mirror in the hall and practices how she’s going to smile today. Tilting her head this way and that to make sure it looks right at all angles. Puts time into making her eyes crinkle at the corners so it looks real. Forces a few laughs out and gauges if they sound sincere enough, if it would worry anyone who heard it.

Ten minutes later her cheeks hurt. Her head hurts. Her heart hurts.

Her smile looks real though. And her laugh sounds warm.

It’s time to go to school.

Her stomach twists as she slips on her shoes, bag over her shoulder. The front door stands, silent and dark, protective and foreboding. The metal of the locks she’s installed gleams faintly in the morning light and her hands shake as she slowly begins to unlock them. One, two, five, ten. Slid open, turned, unbolted. By the time she’s done her stomach is churning on the toast and her mouth waters in the way that threatens she’s going to throw up. She chokes the feelings down, forces on one of her well practiced smiles, turns the handle and tugs the heavy door open.

Bright red, but drying quickly to the near black color she’s learned blood does when it’s no longer fresh. There’s an envelope waiting for her on the doormat, her name in red, her heart in her throat, her stomach cramping.

She picks it up with a handkerchief and drops it on the side table just inside her door. It finds company with the twenty others from the day before and the package with the doll that looks like her that is missing it’s hair and eyes and has a nail driven through its chest. She almost heaves, almost loses her breakfast, her composure, her control. Her eyes water and she sucks in air harshly between her teeth.

She locks her front door and counts each lick of the lock falling into place as she does. One, two, five, ten. The doorman downstairs will walk with her to the door when she gets home and she will stand out in the hall as he searches each room for her to make sure no one is there. There will be more letters. Maybe another package. A hundred messages - all unknown - on her phone. Voicemails with warbled unrecognizable threats. Pictures of her from throughout the day slid under the door, her face burned out of each of them.

A quick tug at the door to ensure it’s locked in place. She shoves her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking.

Her smile looks real as Ann heads to school.

Chapter Text

“You’re an interesting case, Amamiya.”

Mishima’s smile is sharp and self satisfied as he tries to stare Ren down. His eyes don’t glow gold, but Ren can see the Shadow behind the boy all the same. He doesn’t even need to pull Joker to himself to see it, Mishima advertises his distorted heart with the gleam of his eyes, the viscous glint of his teeth and the vice like grip on Ren’s arm.

Standing in an empty bathroom with Mishima trying to tower over him despite the height advantage Ren has on him was not how he intended to start his lunch period. When the bell rang he gathered up his things quickly and skirted out of the classroom the moment Hiruta-sensei dismissed the class. His plan was to be long gone by the time Kawakami returned to her desk, hoping to use every second available to him to slip into the Metaverse and test the less guarded entrances of Kawakami’s Palace and see if he could finally get inside. He had just ducked out of his classroom, absently aware of his phone buzzing in his pocket as he started heading towards one of the lesser known corners of school, when a hand had latched onto his arm and he was yanked sideways into a nearby room.

The body he has this run is the same as it is at the beginning of every new iteration of the year. That is to say: thin, a bit gangly, with soft hands and bad posture. 

The body of a seventeen year old piano player with better than average flexibility and an abysmal level of fitness. His reflexes are honed sharp after so many years, but badly translated into action by undeveloped muscles that are unused to the movements and precision they’re being called to perform. The first few months of every new run are always the worst, trying to get his body back into the shape he’s accustomed to it being by the end of the year. It’s easier in the Metaverse where metaphor and thought hold greater weight. There he’s closer to how he remembers himself to be, rather than how he actually is in the human world. Even there, though, he’s hampered. A body has its own kind of memory, a settled expectation of itself, its abilities - and limitations. And there are always complications when the body and the mind conflict.

The lack of coordination is even less helpful than usual today. He stumbled over himself uselessly when Mishima latched onto him and hauled him away from the crowded hallway. He nearly tripped on his own two feet when he’d been shoved towards a nearby wall, only barely managing to get himself in order before Mishima was crowding into his space.

And now, apparently, his old friend is trying to give some kind of grand villainous speech. This timeline keeps getting stranger and stranger.

“I’ve seen your record,” Mishama continues. “Attacking a man for no reason out of the blue, bad enough for some pretty serious assault charges.” Mishima shakes his head, “Hard to believe anyone gave you parole after that. You’d think someone that dangerous and unpredictable would be left to rot in prison.”

Kawakami must have shown him Ren’s file, the same play Kamoshida usually used. Though Kamaohida always had to contend with a more reluctant Mishima in the runs of the past. This Mishima seems more settled into his role as co-conspirator. Confronting Ren directly instead of revealing the details of his criminal record to the student body is new too. Ren isn’t certain what the other boy’s goal is though. Is Mishima acting out instructions from Kawakami, or merely flexing his own power over the new kid?

Ren shrugs at the shorter boy’s expectant look. “You don’t seem that bothered,” He says, head tilting as he takes this new Mishima in. “Is there something you want?”

He notes the way Mishima’s eye twitches, the half a second of surprise that clouds his expression. The other boy was expecting a silent victim, Ren thinks. Or perhaps a more frightened one. The hand on his arm tightens in warning, Mishima’s slanting smirk twisting into a scowl.

Intimidation isn’t something that comes naturally or easily to Mishima. He lacks the presence for it, the ability to give the impression of a threat. He pretends at it, uses what he has at hand to try and achieve the same result, but ultimately it’s a poorly fit facade in Ren’s opinion. He’s willing to put money on it being Mishama’s place as Kawakami’s underling that causes the other students to flinch back from him, not fear of Mishima himself. Without her backing, Mishima would be bereft of any power and an easy target for the anger of the students the shorter boy had terrorized on Kawakami’s behalf.

It’s something Ren will need to keep in mind. The situation with Kawakami and her Palace is something he has to handle carefully to make sure Mishima isn’t eaten alive by the student body when his protection is gone. He’ll need to deal with Mishima’s distortion before he steals Kawakami’s heart, Ren decides. His old friend will need to start making amends with the students before he loses Kawakami’s backing. Ren doesn’t have time for another target, not really, but he’ll have to make it work somehow. He refuses to abandon one old friend in the name of saving another.

Provided Ren can steal Kawakami’s treasure and enact a change of heart in her and Mishima before Yaldabaoth puts an end to this run. A feat that would be tricky even with a team, something he’s decisively short on at the moment.

“What I want will come later,” Mishima says, “This right here? This is more about what you want.” Ren watches him force the sharp grin back in place. Mishima is all false confidence, words lulling into the cadence of a practiced speech. “This parole is all you’ve got left. One misstep, one mistake, and it’s back to jail to rot. This is your last chance.”

Last chance.

Ren almost, almost, laughs. Nearly allows that broken noise to bubble up and rattle out of him again like he did yesterday morning. He has to fight to shove that dark amusement away before he ruins the moment. Mishima is trying to be serious, and Ren has so few novel moments in his life that he doesn’t want to interrupt this one by laughing in his face during his threatening monologue.

It’s just so funny though, in the terrible, surreal way Ren’s life is. Mishima standing there and telling him that this is his last chance with the serious belief that this is Ren’s last chance. The same way that so many people have in every other run he’s been in: Sojiro telling him that he’s lucky to be given another shot and that he won’t be getting anymore for the thousandth time without knowing it. Sae in hundreds and hundreds renditions of that same interrogation room saying that she’s the only option for redemption he has left. Teachers, confidants, friends, foes. Everyone telling him so seriously that this is your last chance , only for Ren to die or Yaldabaoth to cheat, or the timeline to be doomed from the very beginning and the year to turn back once more.

Ending where it begins with Ren sitting on a train on the ninth of April, about to be told a thousand and one times over the weeks and months to follow that this is his very last chance.

“So don’t worry about what I want,” Mishima continues, entirely oblivious of Ren’s muffled amusement. Mishima’s words are emphasized and enunciated precisely, a player familiar with his part. Ren can tell he’s experimenting with his lines a little, confident that the scene will play out exactly as it has a thousand times before and that he has the room to toy with pacing and tone. “Worry about what you want, Amamiya, and how much you’re willing to pay for it.”

Mishima finally drops Ren’s arm, smile pulled wide and teeth flashing as he takes a step back. “We’ll talk later,” Mishima says, “Once you’ve had time to think about what I’ve said.”

Ren contemplates clapping. Mishima probably wouldn’t appreciate the applause, but Ren genuinely enjoyed the performance. He should suggest Mishima try and take up acting when the next run starts up.

He’s preoccupied with the idea enough that he nearly misses as the Mishima of this world struts out of the empty bathroom and into the crowded hall once more. Then Ren’s left alone with a bruise taking shape on his arm and the amused realization that the shorter boy has just made an opening move in a gambit to blackmail him.

It’s not a bad opener either. A bit dramatic, but a decent starting point. Letting Ren know what was at stake, leaving him to worry and panic over it before making any demands. Indirect enough that in the unlikely event Ren attempted to go to someone for help, he’d be brushed off as taking some light hazing from a fellow student too seriously.

It isn’t a perfect play by any means. Too many flaws, too much room for something to go wrong. But for any other student, it would work. Ren himself would have likely fallen for it in another life. It’s blurry and half forgotten after so long, but Ren almost remembers how desperate he’d been to try and do everything right. Back when it was his last chance and not just another reiteration of a year he’s lived before. He thinks that in his very first run, if this had happened, this trap would have worked easily.

It is working, he realizes, his earlier amusement draining out of him with the realization. The trap didn’t work on him, but that wasn’t the case for other students. Just in his classroom alone he’d seen so many students leery and tense in Mishima’s presence. Not just wary of a vicious teacher’s favorite student, but intensely, overwhelmingly uncomfortable in a way that spoke of something more.

He could imagine those students in empty rooms, cornered and scared as Mishima gave that sharp grin. How many victims are there? What are they being forced to give up, and what’s at risk if they don’t?

His phone buzzes in his pocket, breaking him from his spiraling thoughts. It’s a message from Futaba - or another message from Futaba, she’s sent several already - letting him know that she’s tracked him down and is waiting impatiently outside the bathroom. The other messages tell him that the two of them are to head up to the roof and meet Goro for lunch. Among the things unsaid is that she and Goro are looking to continue the interrogation they started in the attic. But Ren can read between the lines well enough.

He briefly contemplates the windows on the other end of the room. They’re old, but it wouldn’t take too much to pry one open enough, slip out and drop to the ground. He’d probably break a leg trying though. His body isn’t where he needs it to be for him to jump from a second story window and successfully stick the landing. Easier to just slide into the Metaverse. Though then he’d have to contend with Kawakami’s Palace throwing him around impossible spaces until he’s back out at an entrance. Palace’s never like it when you try to jump right in instead of taking the long way round. Goes against the metaphor of it all.

Sighing, he slides his phone into his pocket and heads for the door. He doesn’t have time for this. But he doesn’t really have time for anything anyway, and at least lunch with Goro and Futaba might give him some insight on the situation with the blackmail. If nothing else it'll be entertaining.

“Escort Mission Complete!” Futaba announces as she bounces through the doorway to the roof with Ren at her heels. 

The tension in Goro’s shoulder’s relaxes at the sight of them both. If Ren had taken off again Goro would have actually killed him the next time they met. There’s apparently a god - false or otherwise - poised to destroy reality as Goro knows it and Ren’s spent most of his time in this timeline so far getting drunk, disappearing who knew where or running him and Futaba in circles. If he had done that again Goro would not have been accountable for his actions.

Though, that being said, Goro doesn’t think he could really blame Ren for taking off when it came to facing Kawakami head on like that. He knows that his status as the Detective Prince gives him protections her other students simply don’t have and even then he’s usually left wishing the Reaper would appear and put an end to his misery whenever he has to deal with her.

Futaba drops into the seat beside him and immediately digs into the bento Goro laid out for her. The ferocity she shows as she descends upon her meal is almost comically horrifying, and Goro shifts his own bento away for fear of her ravenous appetite on his meal. Or possibly him. She’s shoveling food into her mouth so quickly she might just bite off one of Goro’s fingers without realizing.

Lingering by the rooftop access door Ren gives a fond smile at Futaba’s antics. The look is brotherly and affectionate in a way that gives Goro pause. He can’t quite parse how he feels about it, Ren caring about Futaba isn’t a bad thing but... It’s weird. So incredibly weird. But not inherently anything that Goro feels like he needs to worry about. If anything, it could be a positive - having someone else to help keep Futaba safe is always a positive in Goro’s book - but it just serves to drive home the fact that Ren has a history with them. Both of them. And that’s a difficult thing to wrap his head around.

From the moment he met Ren, Goro’s has had this feeling in his chest that he’s always known him. A bone deep familiarity - worse even, an affection - that has been haunting Goro from the moment he’d met Ren’s gaze that night. But that doesn’t change the fact that Ren has years and years of experiences with them that Goro and Futaba simply don’t know anything about. Ren knows their ticks and habits, the way they think, their strengths and weaknesses. What Goro knows about Ren past the whole timeline-jumping-crossroads-devil thing is that the other boy has a deathwish, wears more masks than a kabuki actor and is the living embodiment of the phrase curiosity killed the cat.

And there’s real danger in that imbalance of information. Even if Ren looks at Futaba with the same, brotherly affection Goro has for his sister. Even if Ren weeps like mourning has been etched into his very soul at the edge of a lake for people Goro doesn’t know. 

Even if there’s something warm and foolish in Goro’s chest that makes him want to reach out and -

“How was Kawakami?” Goro asks, refusing to allow such a dangerous thought to settle. Ren wanders about the roof, ending at the small garden organized nearby, attention caught on the young plants. “I heard she put you front and center of the room.” 

Ren looks away from the small garden, head tilting at a curious angle. “How do you know that?” Suspicious grey eyes turn to the redhead sitting next to Goro, “Did Futaba bug the classroom?”

“I have my own ways of gathering information. I’m not entirely dependent on Futaba’s excellent tech skills,” Goro says mildly. 

What he doesn’t say is that Futaba probably has the entire school bugged, not just Ren’s classroom. If Goro doesn’t ask, he doesn’t have to know how many privacy laws his sister is breaking at any given moment. Nor does he have to face the fact that she absolutely has damning video evidence of him watching trashy soap operas on his phone in the library during study hall. At least until she pulls them out as ammo to embarrass him with.

Goro nods to the seat across from him where a third, unclaimed bento rests and says, “Here, Sojiro packed lunch for you as well.”

The dark haired boy perks up at that, looking pleased as he leaves the plants behind and takes the proffered seat. “You know,” Ren says absently as he unpacks the bento, looking delighted at the spread Sojiro had packed for him. “I think this is the first time anyone’s tried to bribe information out of me.”

“I’m not bribing you. Sojiro’s just a soft touch and made you a bento,” Goro says with an eye roll. He takes a bite of one of the leftover Tsukune that had been packed for him before giving a thoughtful hum. “Though if all it takes to get you to actually behave is feed you, things certainly would be easier.” Ren gives him a grin that can only spell trouble, and Goro is already feeling a twinge of a threatening headache behind his eyes. He can only pray to whatever gods are out there - and are not currently conspiring to destroy his world - that Ren won’t cause any massive chaos for the rest of their lunch. “You were telling us about how things went with Kawakami?”

Ren gives a shrug at the prompt. Goro wonders how his shoulders remain so narrow when the other boy exercises them so often with that same, aggravatingly vague motion. “Different.” Ren says at length, as if that is in anyway at all helpful. He stares down at his lunch as he adds, “Everyone seems terrified of her.”

“Well, yeah, ” Futaba says around a mouthful of food, “That’d be because she’s got everyone’s lives in her hands. She is terrifying.” 

At Ren’s confused expression Goro decides to explain, “Kawakami has complete control over the Disciplinary Committee here.” He says, “Which means she has free reign to do whatever she wants to the students here. Black marks on transcripts, alter grades based on behavior, expel students on a whim. Not even the Principal can stop her.”

The timeline jumper looks startled by that information, Ren’s eyes going wide as he asks, “Is that legal?” 

There’s an earnest, quiet distress in his voice. If it wasn’t for the fact that Ren’s already blatantly written off the existence of his entire timeline, Goro would find his concern oddly endearing. As it is, Goro is more irritated than anything else by the display. Ren’s worried about the legality of the power one shitty teacher wields over their school but not about an entire timeline on the fast track to apparent destruction . Infuriating.

“Shujin is a private academy run by a board of directors.” Goro says with perhaps more bitterness than the statement requires. “Kawakami is a nightmare, but she’s a nightmare with a pedigree. Between her experience and her accolades, she’s one of the most highly acclaimed teacher’s in the country and a big draw for the school.” He taps his fingers against the table as he adds, “The board is willing to bend over backwards to make sure she doesn’t go somewhere else. At some point she asked for full control over the disciplinary committee, so they gave it to her.” 

Silence settles over their table after that, broken only by the soft rustle of the wind or the click of chopsticks as they eat. Across from him Ren’s gone distant and quiet, looking thoughtful and troubled. From her place sitting next to him Futaba finishes her lunch in record time, shoving the empty bento out of the way as she does. Her attention locks firmly on Ren as she digs out her phone from her pocket and Goro realizes that it wasn’t just her bottomless pit of a stomach that led to her speedrun of her meal.

“So, lunch on the roof, super nice, very chill,” she says as she pulls up her secured notes app, “But we’ve got questions.” Futaba looks serious and determined as she meets Ren’s grey eyes. “And I think it’s time you answer them.”

Goro nods, “Indeed. As pleasant as lunch on the roof is, Futaba and I brought you up here for a reason.” He props his elbows on the table before him, fingers lacing together as he leans forward to rest his chin on his interlocked hands. Across from him Ren takes another bite of his lunch, shifting with a languid and lazy ease until he’s nearly sprawled in his seat. It makes Goro think of their sushi dinner the other night, where Ren had lounged like a bored cat while tearing apart everything Goro thought he knew about the world piece by impossible piece.

“Alright,” Ren says slowly, “We can pick up our game where we left it off in the attic.”

“We’ll start,” Futaba says quickly, not giving Ren the chance to take over the conversation. Her fingers are poised over her phone, ready to jot down her notes. “This morning you exited the Metaverse outside the school where the Metaverse can’t be accessed, and then said that you weren’t in Mementos. What does all of that mean?”

Ren tilts his head at her. “The Metaverse can be accessed from anywhere, if you know how.” He says, poking at the remains of his lunch absently. “You’re right though,” He adds, “I wasn’t in Mementos.” 

Goro frowns, sharing a look with his sister. Entering the Metaverse from anywhere. Was that something that everyone with access to the Metaverse was capable of in the right circumstances? Or just Ren with his strange abilities? Goro and Futaba had done tests when they’d first started on their ventures with the Metaverse, trying to gauge the extent of what they could do, what was possible with the MetaNav. They’d only been able to access Mementos, and even then only at the train stations. Ren hadn’t been in Mementos though, this morning he’d said he was in...

“A Palace,” Goro says, thoughtfully. “ You said this morning you were in Kawakami’s Palace. And you mentioned that word before, in reference to the Metaverse.” He leans forward a little more, curious. “What does that mean? What is a Palace?”

“You’ve asked too many.” Ren says in place of answering. His words have a lilting cadence, his mouth slanting into that aggravating smile as he pops another bite of food in his mouth. “It’s a question for a question, remember? It’s my turn.” 

Goro’s jaw clenches, temper flaring.

“No.” Goro says. His voice is a low growl of warning. He’s not a patient person. He might find himself unwillingly sympathetic to Ren at times but he is in no way willing to let that strange weakness keep him from what’s important. “I’m not going to sit here and let you play some stupid game while the timer counts down on our world. We’ll answer your questions, but you have to give us information first. This one at a time back and forth bullshit is not going to work.”

There’s something silver fluttering at the corner of his eye again as his head begins to ache. The silvery thing dances at his periphery as a thin ring of red begins to seep in at the edges of Ren’s eyes. The air around the other boy’s face begins to blur slightly as the silver becomes more insistent at the corner of Goro’s eye.

Blinking through the blur, Goro focuses on the red in Ren’s gaze. He thinks for half a moment that it’s an attempt at intimidation. That Ren is taking issue with Goro disregarding the little game the timeline jumper is trying to play and advertising his power as a warning. Goro quickly brushes that idea away though. Ren doesn’t look insulted or angry, if anything he looks keenly interested in Goro’s snarling anger. Ren doesn't even seem aware of the change in his eyes or the flare of power that rolls off him.

Futaba doesn’t seem to notice anything either, thankfully. Her attention flicking between them and her phone too quickly to notice. Goro knows the incident with what Ren did to them in the attic the day before bothers her more than she lets on, and the creeping red would only be a reminder of the unfortunate Deal they’ve been caught in.

The blur around Ren worsens, the faint ache in Goro’s head threatening to bloom into something more. He rubs his eyes, banishing both the haze around the boy across from him and the irritating silver with a quick motion. The threatening headache abades slightly as well as he gets his vision in order. Ren is back to normal as well when he looks up again. The other boy must have noticed his slipup and taken the chance to get himself back under control while Goro had looked away.

“Fair enough,” Ren says, mouth twisting into an amused smile. “Next time I can ask all the questions then.”

It feels more like a promise of impending chaos than anything else, but Goro nods in agreement anyway. With any luck Ren will actually give them some useful information for once and Goro can start working on a plan with Futaba on how to keep their timeline from being destroyed. Ren can ask all the questions he likes once that happens.

“I was in Kawakami’s Palace,” Ren confirms, the smile slipping into something more subdued as he tilts his gaze upward towards the bright blue sky. “I wasn’t able to get very far though, her security is too high.”

“Okay.” Futaba says, stretching the word out, her impatience only growing as she chews over the incomplete information she has. “But what does any of that mean? A Palace is obviously a Metaverse thing separate from Mementos, but I’ve never heard of anything like that before.” She huffs, “And that still doesn’t explain what a Palace is. Or why you were at one, or what it has to do with Kawakami.”

Across from Goro, Ren turns his attention back to them, scrutinizing them for a long moment. He seems to not be sure what to make of their questions and Goro remembers how casually he mentioned Palaces before. Like he expected Goro to just know what they were, and now isn’t sure what to make of the information that he doesn’t. At length, Goro watches as the other boy takes a deep, steadying breath. Then, much to the detriment of Goro's attempt to fight off his impending headache, Ren explains.

It’s. 

A lot.

Goro’s about half a second from a full blown migraine by the time the other boy is finished. He has his head cradled in his hands as the words wash over him, mind churning too quickly over the information Ren gives them. Beside him Futaba has pulled out the laptop she’s not supposed to bring to school and is typing so quickly he’s fairly certain keys are going to start flying off it soon. 

Four years of access to Mementos. 

Four years and three Personas between the two of them as he and Futaba explored Mementos with a guide and they had no idea. There were massive constructs built from hearts so incredibly distorted they changed the very landscape of the Metaverse itself and they hadn’t even heard of them before. And there was one right here . Built in the Metaverse shadow of their school out of the corrupted heart of the shitty social studies’ teacher.

Goro thinks he might scream.

He had suspected something like what Ren has outlined to them based off of the comments the dark haired boy had made before. But nothing to the scale or scope of what Ren is describing now. When he’d been contemplating the idea of a Palace as a piece of the Metaverse focused on a single individual, he’d expected...he’s not sure what he expected, actually. A single room? An offshoot corridor of Mementos? He’s not even sure. But definitely not this.

The idea of it is staggering. That right in this moment there are places in the Metaverse as large as Mementos itself - some even larger - commanded by a single individual. The amount of power needed to be able to do that - to reshape the form of a world forged of metaphor and unconscious thought - is unimaginable. 

He’s accepted the idea with Mementos because it’s a product of the collective unconscious. The population of the largest city in the country all working in tandem to forge a single location based on a shared cultural impression of the world. That a single individual can do that. That someone can become so warped that the reality of another world twists around them, it’s entirely beyond anything Goro could have predicted.

“You really haven’t heard of Palaces before,” Ren says, quietly surprised. When Goro lifts his head from his hands to look at him Ren appears even more like a lazing feline than usual. Somewhere during his explanation the dark haired boy had moved so that he was leaning forward on the desk. His head pillowed on his folded arms, the spring sun playing across his wild locks. Goro has the urge to douse him with a bucket of cold water. “Have you never tried experimenting with the search feature on the MetaNav?”

Futaba’s frantic typing stops. She joins Goro in squinting at Ren. 

Ren only gives a slow blink back.

“ What ,” Goro says through clenched teeth, “ Search feature? ”

Futaba is already grabbing her phone, quickly pulling up the familiar app. She places the device on the desk Goro is seated at where they all can see the screen. The app looks like it always does. Black and red with an ominous stylized eye that has a star for a pupil dominating the screen. The only available interaction is in the form of a single red button that states Begin Navigation.

Nowhere to enter a destination. No options menu or settings. No search feature. Just a single button that, if selected, would guide them unerringly to the nearest subway station and then prompt them to Enter Mementos.

“Huh,” Ren says curiously, peering at the screen. “I wonder if that’s what mine looks like in this timeline.”

Futaba snatches her phone up before Ren can reach for it, holding it protectively to her chest as she gives him a suspicious look. “What do you mean you wonder? ” she asks, “Didn’t you notice that it looked different when you went into Kawakami’s Palace?”

Goro knows what’s coming and somehow that fact does not make his eye twitch any less when Ren gives a familiar, infuriatingly casual shrug. “I don’t usually use the Nav when I’m on my own.” He says, fingers creeping up to toy with one of the wild curls that falls in his face. “I just,” He waves a hand vaguely, “Walk through to the otherside.”

Goro doesn’t even know where to begin with that. 

“What does that mean?” He asks a bit wildly. Then he immediately shakes his head at the useless question. Ren can bind people in Deals like a crossroads devil and has a bag that operates on hammer space logic, they’re well beyond the point of Goro questioning the bullshit that untold years of timeline jumping allows Ren to do. “Nevermind. Ignore that. Why can’t Futaba and I access Palaces? Why isn’t that an option for us? And don’t fucking shrug.”

Ren, shoulders already in the process of rising towards his ears freezes before relaxing again. He looks faintly sheepish. Goro really doesn’t have it in him to care. 

“I don’t know,” Ren says instead, lips pulling into a faint frown. “Yaldabaoth, most likely. He can’t stop me from entering since I don’t need the MetaNav anymore, but I can see him trying to make it so no one else can enter with me.”

Futaba hmms, looking down at the open MetaNav on her phone. She’s tried a few times over the years to hack into the app with little luck. As far as her software is concerned the app just… doesn’t exist. The closest she’d gotten to learning anything was trying while they were in the Mementos. There at least her software registered that something was going on, though apparently nothing that made sense. Of course then her computer had a very literal meltdown and she and Goro had to figure out a way to explain to Sojiro how the top of the line gaming laptop he’d bought her the week before had become a pile of slag.

“Is it related to the whole,” Futaba gives a wild motion with her hand, “ Doomed thing?

“No,” Ren says definitively, shaking his head as he does so. “Most likely it’s part of Yaldabaoth’s schemes this run. Make it so I have to run the Palaces alone rather than with a team.”

Goro frowns, considering how certain Ren seems about his assessment of the situation. He’s inclined to believe the other boy’s reading of the false god’s behavior. Ren has been at this for a long time, Goro would be surprised if Ren didn’t know how his enemy thought by now. He’s still left with a question though.

“You haven’t actually said.” Goro starts, watching Ren’s face carefully, “What is it, exactly, that makes this timeline doomed?”

The world goes still and quiet as the question leaves him. Ren meets his gaze head on, unflinching, and then everything shifts.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the world goes soft and blurry again. The silver from before flares, drifting across his vision, the shape nearly looking like a butterfly to his tired eyes. Across from him Ren’s eyes have bled completely into a bright and brilliant crimson, the tarnished silver eclipsed completely. There’s something else too, in the shimmering blur that frames the other boy. It’s like trying to parse a double exposure picture, or make sense of an optical illusion from the wrong angle. His eyes strain at the attempt and for scarcely a moment he thinks he hears the voice of the girl from his dream again.

For the sake of your world’s future... 

Goro blinks.

The silver is just the glint of distant skyscrapers in the sun. Ren is just Ren. Dark grey eyes and nothing but his wild untamed curls sprouting from his head. Goro needs to get some decent sleep for once, he thinks. His dreams are seeping in at the edges of his waking hours. It’s time to see about getting new contacts as well, the intermittent blurring is a problem. It’d be annoying to miss something in class or on a case because the lenses weren’t fitted correctly.

Ren shifts in his seat, unaware of Goro’s momentary lapse. He opens his mouth and if it’s to answer or just run them in circles again, Goro will never know because it’s at that moment that the door to the roof violently flies open, rusted hinges making a horrendous squeal, metal door impacting hard against the side of the stairwell enclosure with a thunderous bang.

Futaba yelps in surprise, nearly falling off her chair as she jumps. Goro is already on his feet, heart pounding as his instincts howl of an incoming threat. Weaponless he grabs his chopsticks and prepares to use them as best he can to fend off whatever attacker comes his way. Ren moves in time with him, reaching into his hell-bag, undoubtedly to grab any of the ridiculous number of daggers he has hidden in it’s endless depths. They both drop into a fighting stance as they turn to face the oncoming enemy.

Arms laden with gardening supplies and one leg still raised in the air from where she had violently kicked the door open one Niijima Makoto stands and stares at them all.

The roof falls into an awkward silence.

Goro becomes keenly aware of the fact that Makoto is staring at him, eyes caught on the pair of metal chopsticks he’s brandishing like a weapon. He realizes now, as it settles in that there’s no actual threat, that he probably looks incredibly foolish. The fact that the utensils could, in a pinch, do a significant amount of damage to a human body means little when no one else knows he’s capable of such things.

Makoto, for her part, stands seemingly frozen in the doorway with an oversized bag of fertilizer balanced on one shoulder, and several overstuffed bags of gardening supplies awkwardly cradled in her arms. It’s a miracle she hasn’t lost her hold on it all, especially balanced on one foot after kicking a door open. Or, perhaps less miracle and more a statement of her incredible strength and balance.

The surprise doesn’t keep her still for long. The delinquent takes in a breath and he can see her settle herself to the fact that there are other people already on the roof. The half second of open bewilderment on her face upon finding them is shuttered with almost alarming efficiency and Goro can only watch as her eyes go flinty and hard. Makoto finally lowers her foot back to the ground, making the motion look fluid and precise despite the ridiculousness of her stance. Then she shifts the gardening supplies in her arms and lifts her head into a challenging angle. She doesn’t even glance their direction again as she walks past them towards the plants, making it clear she has no intention of acknowledging them anymore than she already has.

Apparently Niijima Makoto gardens in the sparse time she has between brawls.

Goro makes a note to mention that fact to Sae next time he sees her. His friend would like the idea that her baby sister has it in her for something more than just wreckless violence.

Ren follows her movements, his body relaxing from his fighting stance as he watches her with a curious glint to his eye. Another change to the timeline perhaps. Maybe Makoto doesn’t have any non-violent hobbies in the timelines Ren’s used to. Goro doesn’t really care at the moment. Whatever it is that’s caught Ren’s endless curiosity, they can’t talk about it or anything else to do with timelines - doomed or otherwise - with the younger Niijima around.

Goro knows well enough that they’re not going to be able to get Makoto to leave to let them finish their little talk, though. It’s not even worth the attempt. Even if Makoto didn’t hate him already, making demands that she leave the roof when it’s so obviously a space she’s made her own is not going to go well. Taking into account her short temper, recent increase in aggression and her general disdain for Goro’s existence, she’s more likely to just start throwing punches.

And the thing is, Goro likes getting into fights. He really does. He likes the rush of adrenaline. The way the world and its worries disappear, his focus narrowing down to just him and his opponent. Likes the way all the rage in him has a single, tangible target he can act against. 

Unfortunately he has a reputation to uphold these days. A reputation that doesn’t allow for him to get into lunchtime territory scuffles over areas that students aren’t even allowed to go. The days of sinking teeth into another boy’s arm or slamming some kid’s head against a wall in a viscous scrabble are over. Left behind in those dark days before Wakaba found him and took him home again.

And besides that, he’s seen videos of Makoto’s MMA matches. 

She’d snap him like a twig inside six seconds.

He looks at Futaba and nods to the door instead, an invitation to leave before they make Makoto lose her limited patience and a fight breaks out anyway. His sister nods and uncurls from her gargoyle perch, moving to start putting away her laptop. Ren stays where he is, now casually leaning against the desk beside him as he watches Makoto set down her supplies and start looking over the plants. Goro rolls his eyes and rounds the desks between them so he can grab the other boy by the shoulder and turn his attention to gathering his bento up.

“Come on, we’ll finish this talk later,” he says. Warns. It’s the same thing sometimes when talking with the maddening enigma that is Ren.

They gather up their belongings in silence, and Goro has to stop himself from gapping at the brown haired girl a few times at how gentle she appears as she gardens. He only really manages when Makoto looks over her shoulder and shoots him a murderous look. He has to bite back the instinct to tell her how much she looks like Sae at that moment. His partner has an arsenal of some truly terrifying glares, able to quell even the most dangerous of criminals with a single look. And while he thinks it’s impressive that such abilities are apparently a family trait he knows well enough that Makoto would not react well to such a comparison.

The Niijimas have a... rocky relationship. To say the least.

Sae, not long after getting custody of her baby sister, had chosen to join the Tokyo Police rather than pursue a career as an attorney as she’d originally planned. It wasn’t a choice many people in her position wouldn’t have made. She’d put so much time and effort into her studies. Passing the bar exam with flying colors and graduating top of her class, flushed with job offers from respected and high paying firms all over the city. Her future was wide open and her opportunities endless and she decided to leave it all behind. That wasn’t even taking into account all that had led to Sae becoming her sister’s legal guardian to begin with.

Many people as heartbroken and furious as Sae had been - as Sae is - over such a ruthless tragedy would have opted for distance from the source of all their pain. Most people, if they found themselves in Sae’s position, if they would face such injustices head on and try to make things right, still wouldn’t have made the choice Sae did.

Sae wasn’t like most people though. She was like Goro.

It was why they got along so well.

Makoto doesn’t understand her sister’s choice. Doesn’t want to understand either, from what Sae’s told him and from what he’s seen of the two for himself. The younger Niijima is angry and hurt and bitter. She refuses to see Sae’s decision as anything but a blatant and unrepentant betrayal to their late father’s memory. And as the years have worn on, as Sae has clawed her way up from rookie beat cop to accomplished detective, Makoto has only ever grown more angry and resentful.

Makoto wants to burn the people responsible for everything that happened to her family to the ground for what they’ve done. And Goro can relate to that. The fury, the frustration, the need to lash out. Goro is consumed by his own rage almost constantly, driven by it above all else. Everything he is and everything he does is determined by that searing hot coal in his chest demanding justice be done. Rights to be wronged. Perpetrators brought forth to pay for what they’ve done. In this he and Makoto are of a kind. In this, he understands.

What he can’t understand is Makoto aiming all that rage at her sister, allowing her anger at those who had brought them such pain to destroy her relationship with Sae.

When he was a child, his world shattered to pieces. His family was torn apart, he was taken from his home and put through hell for six long, awful years. The things done to him and the things he did to survive twisted him, reshaped him. When he was finally - miraculously - reunited with his family again, he was more monster than boy. He did his best to hide that fact from the adults in his life, too afraid they’d reject him if they knew just what he’d become. But he couldn't lie to Futaba. Not to his baby sister.

He was - he is - a bastard in every sense of the word. Cruel and bitter, sharp edges and manic, feral rage, consumed with a hatred that burns so brightly it threatens to swallow him whole some days. He told Futaba that when he came home. Told her of the violence that itches under his skin and the furious need to get revenge for what was done to him, to his mother, to their family. The plan he’d made in the months leading up to them finally seeing each other again, what it would cost to see it through.

Futaba had accepted it without hesitation. She’d held his hand and met his gaze without flinching and demanded he let her help.

He and Futaba are a pair, a team. No matter what happens they are a united front. Even when they’re fighting with each other they have each other’s backs when it comes to facing the rest of the shitty world. There’s nothing that can shake the bond they have. They’d been torn apart as children and separated for six years only to fall back in step with one another without hesitation.

Makoto and Sae can barely manage being in the same room most days. 

Goro had seen Sae jump out of a window once just to avoid having a conversation with Makoto. It had been a first story window, and already open so there had been no harm done outside of Sae’s pride. But, still . To someone who had once fought a literal embodiment of death with his bare hands for his little sister, the Niijimas’ hostile and splintered relationship is deeply unsettling to witness.

“They look healthy,” Ren says, jolting Goro from his thoughts on the strangeness of the Niijima sibling dynamics. 

Goro hadn’t even noticed the dark haired boy sidling up to Makoto while he and Futaba were cleaning up the remains of the bentos. His reward for not keeping an eye on the human embodiment of trouble is to watch Makoto’s muscles tense in warning while Ren leans over to peer at some seedlings she’s currently working on. Goro wonders how long Ren has before he gets punched in the face for invading Makoto’s well guarded bubble of personal space. Ten seconds? Maybe less. Probably less.

As if Goro needed any more proof that the other boy has no sense of self preservation at all Ren crouches down next to Tokyo’s most ruthless champion MMA fighter and reaches out to dig a finger into the soil of one of the nearby planters. He even gives a thoughtful hmm noise as he does, as if to put the cherry on top of Ren’s terrible decision sundae. “You have a nice drip feed system setup for them. Have you been gardening long?”

Goro is calculating how likely he is to be hit if he tries to drag Ren away bodily when Futaba speaks up. She gives an impatient huff as she calls over her shoulder at the dark haired boy. 

“Dude, come on.” She slings her school bag over her shoulder, heading for the door, “I get it, girls that can crush watermelons with their thighs are great, we’re all marked down as both scared and horny,” Futaba says, casting an appreciative look towards Makoto that Goro doesn’t have the sanity to contend with right now - or ever. “But we got biz-ness to get to and I need to write an essay on a book I didn’t read before the bell rings in...” She pauses long enough to dig her phone out, “The next twenty-one minutes.”

Goro feels the migraine that had been threatening since the start of their lunchtime conversation with Ren bursts spectacularly behind his eyes.

He’s not sure which is worse between them: Ren’s death wish or Futaba’s insatiable need to poke every bear she can find. Futaba probably. Ren’s bullshit at least isn’t likely to get Goro yeeted off a roof in the next few minutes. Probably.

Makoto - face obscured from view as she stares down at the plants - makes a noise Goro can’t quite identify but hopes in vain isn’t a sign that she’s about to start swinging. Ren gives a low amused chuckle - not helping - before he shakes his head and stands. Dusting off the dirt from his hands he glances down to Makoto, smiling warmly as if he’s not standing in the danger zone of a nuclear reactor. 

“Your garden looks great,” Ren tells her with a warm sincerity that makes something in Goro’s chest twist uncomfortably. He doesn’t appreciate it one bit. “Let me know if I can ever help out.”

Goro sighs as Ren finally wanders away, thankfully unscathed. It’s perhaps unfair to worry that Makoto would violently attack a stranger unprovoked, let alone one that had been nothing but polite to her. For all the fights she’s been in over the years she’s attended Shujin, most have been started by other people. For the longest time, Makoto’s reputation was of someone who never started a brawl, but never hesitated to put an end to one either. Notable exceptions of course being the fights she had on the behalf of others. 

Goro remembers seeing one such event himself their first year. A boy in the grade above them flinching back after a hard slap from his aggressive girlfriend and then Makoto stepping in between the two. The girlfriend had gotten in Makoto’s face at that point and then, well. The boy had spoken up in Makoto’s defense when the teachers descended and calls for punishment were being made. The girlfriend had woken up a few minutes later from where she’d been knocked out, her broken nose eventually healing crooked as a reminder of a lesson about how to treat her significant others.

Makoto had changed though, at the start of this year. Her prickly nature turning outright vitriolic, and her take-no-shit attitude morphing into furiously antagonistic, with a hair-trigger temper to boot. No one seems sure just what caused the shift in her personality, only aware that they didn’t want her attention on them in the wake of it.

Sae, weary from the ever increasing calls from Shujin about Makoto’s behavior, told Goro she thinks it’s Makoto’s latest attempt at getting back at her for joining the police. His fellow students have their own theories, with rumors ranging wildy between somewhat reasonable to outright ridiculous. Most think she’s joined a gang. A few outlandish tales have it that Makoto finally lost an MMA match over the summer and went violently insane from experiencing defeat for the first time. A week ago Goro had overheard one of his classmates talking about Makoto’s father, suggesting that she was just following in the footsteps of the violent criminal that had come before her.

Goro had viciously crushed that rumor himself, possibly scarring the students involved for life as he did.

He and Makoto don’t get on well. He’s polite to her whenever they meet - largely because it’s entertaining to see her try and not lose her temper while he lobs passive aggressive niceties at her - but their interactions are only just civil. He’s Sae’s friend first and foremost, and that fact alone is enough for Makoto to not want anything to do with him. Adding that he is also a detective for the Tokyo Police doesn’t exactly help her opinion of him. None of that means he’d allow Niijima Isamu’s death to be dragged through the school halls and leveraged against Makoto’s character.

Sae and Makoto’s father had been a good man from what Sae told him about her father. Sojiro - who somehow manages to know everyone in the massive city as best as Goro can tell - confirmed that sentiment when Goro had brought it up. The cafe owner had added that the late Niijima had been a kind father to his daughters and one of the very few cops in the city that actually worked to help the people he swore to protect. Detective Niijima’s death and the events leading up to it were a tragedy in more ways than one. Goro doesn’t particularly care about Makoto, but even he isn’t a callous enough bastard to let a wound like that be ripped open and left to bleed out for the school’s entertainment.

“It’s my friend’s.” A voice - low and a bit raspy - says, pulling Goro from his thoughts. It takes a moment for him to realize that it’s Makoto speaking. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard her sound anything but irritated or angry before. “The garden,” Makoto says softly, “It’s my friend’s. I’m just looking after it for her.”

Ren nods, and then allows Futaba to drag him away towards the rooftop door. Makoto, still turned away from them, just sits with her head bowed. Kneeling in front of the young plants, she’s still and quiet in a way Goro isn’t sure he’s ever seen the younger Niijima before. It almost looks like prayer, in a way, like she’s kneeling before the altar of a loved one.

A puzzle piece turns and settles into place in his mind.

“I’ll be right there,” he says, not turning away from where Niijima Makoto sits. From the corner of his eye he sees Futaba stop and turn to look at him in confusion. Ren is at the top of the stairs, beyond Goro’s sight, but even then he can feel dark grey eyes on him all the same. He doesn’t like how aware he is of Ren’s gaze drifting over him, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it now. There’s twenty minutes left of lunch, and he’d rather handle this before any more time is lost.

Futaba rocks back and forth on her heels, “Sure thing,” She says, head tilting curiously. “Is something up?”

He shakes his head and looks over at her finally, “No, just something I need to attend to. I’ll be down shortly.” He says as he reaches into his breast pocket for his notebook. 

She follows the motion, brows lifting in mild surprise as she realizes just what he’s up to. As a rule he doesn’t work on any police cases at school. Case files are to be left in secured locations - his desk at the precinct, his office back in his apartment or the kitchen table back home with Sojiro and Futaba - and he doesn’t even open his notebook while on school grounds. Too many nosy students or obnoxious groupies always trying to look over his shoulder or try and suss out details of crimes to slake their desire for gossip. In this case though, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

“We can talk later,” Ren says, and when he glances over at him, Ren has a smile that puts Goro’s teeth on edge curling his lips. “It’ll be my turn next time.”

And then Ren’s slipping back into the shadows of the covered stairwell, footfalls too light to be heard as he disappears down the steps. Futaba lingers a moment longer, biting her lip in indecision. Goro gives her a reassuring smile and she finally relents, nodding as she turns to chase Ren down the stairs, slamming the roof door closed behind her.

The wind rustles low and gentle over the roof, the promise of rain caught in the breeze. He stands and watches as Makoto, pointedly ignoring him, shifts over to another planter. There are stickers of the grow beds, he notices now, worn by age and bleached by the sun and weather. He can just make out the images of chibi cats and chubby bunnies, a splotch of pink that somehow escaped being worn away. They’re cute. Light and fluffy like spun sugar before time blistered their images away. Not at all Makoto’s style.

He can only watch in silence as Makoto sits with the echo of a missing girl and tends to Okumura Haru’s garden.

Chapter Text

It’s easy enough for Ren to slip away from Futaba after leaving the roof. She’s distracted by Goro staying behind and the essay she hasn’t done, making it a simple trick to duck out of her sight and slip away into a busy hallway. With his phone turned off she’ll have to rely on scanning the bugs she’s undoubtedly hidden around the school to find him rather than just pinging his phone’s GPS, and he can dodge her until the bell rings without much issue.

It’s less easy to overrule his curiosity and circle back to the roof so he can listen in on Goro and Makoto’s conversation.

He doesn’t slink back around in the end - unlike some redheads he could name, he respects his friends’ privacy. Mostly. There’s no helping the itch under his skin at all the things he doesn’t know about the situation he was forced to leave behind. Curiosity is baked into whatever remains of his soul at this point, as a part of him as breath. He desperately wants to know the story of this Makoto with her hard eyes and knuckles scraped from a fight, of why she’s tending to what’s usually Haru’s garden in other timelines. She and Goro both gave off vibes that they didn’t get along - the most normal part of the entire thing - but then Goro stayed behind to talk to her in private, which is interesting .

But no. He needs to focus. Those are questions for later, when it’s their turn to answer. He can dig in and pull out all the details on this strange new timeline from Goro and Futaba later . The need to know that’s been digging at him since he realized the full scope of how different this timeline is can wait - as much as he wishes otherwise. Now he has things he needs to do.

He’s tempted to just skip the rest of the day and start working on finding Mishima’s cognitive self in Mementos. He doesn’t know how deep into the collective unconscious the boy’s shadow will be, and Ren’s already going to be slowed by having to travel by foot. The problem with that plan of course is the fact that he’ll likely be expelled on the spot by Kawakami if he doesn’t show up to his afternoon classes.

He hasn’t been able to break past the locked gated entrance to Kawakami’s Palace yet. He doesn’t know anything about what waits for him in there outside of what he’s managed to glimpse from a distance. There’s a decent chance that there will be places in her Palace that he won’t be able to access without work being done on the human side of the veil. Several of the Palaces he normally encounters in a given run have such requirements. Without knowing what lies ahead, cutting off access to the school prematurely could cause him unnecessary trouble later on.

He slips down another hall, down a flight of stairs and through a side door to an outdoor courtyard as he plans. The air smells of threatening rain, though the sky is still clear. He lets his mind circle on the fact that it didn’t rain this morning as it usually does on his first day of school. Environmental changes like that are uncommon in a run, but not unheard of. And he supposes that if any timeline was to go off the rails with such standard things as the weather, it would be this one. 

There’s still some time before lunch ends. He could slip over to the Metaverse and do another loop around the edges of Kawakami’s Palace, test some of the weaker looking defenses. He doesn’t have time for much, but maybe -

“Hey, new dude!”

The shout is loud and jovial, coming from a table beneath a nearby tree. Ren, thoughts derailed by the familiar voice, glances over in time to see the boy sitting at the table leap to his feet and trot over in long, easy strides. Clothes only barely following the school uniform, eyes bright and smile blinding, this timeline’s Ryuji is both familiar and strange all at once.

Ren hadn’t actually seen him that morning as Goro drug him through the halls of the school. He’d heard him and tried to look for his old friend, but between being steadily pulled along into the school and the growing crowd outside he hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of bright yellow-blond hair. 

Now, he can see that he wouldn’t have been able to regardless. Ryuji doesn't bleach his hair this timeline.

Or, no that’s not quite right. Ryuji’s hair had been bleached at some point. Ren can see hints of the yellow at the very ends of Ryuji’s surprisingly long hair. So it’s not that Ryuji doesn’t bleach his hair in this timeline, it’s only that he also dyes it as well.

What yellow Ren can see is only what is shining through from where the dye has faded. Ren’s gaze follows it upward as it slides into a mottled and faded yellow-ish green color further up before blending slowly into a deep midnight blue with occasional - and muddled - patches of purple here and there. It’s grown out since it’d been dyed, and in the bright spring sun Ren can see Ryuji’s black roots dark against the other colors. His hair is longer too. Nearly the length of Goro’s and held out of Ryuji’s smiling face with a paint splattered bandana. The look is such startling departure from what Ren’s used to seeing that the fact that he missed his friend earlier isn’t a surprise.

“Man I’m glad I caught ya!” Ryuji says, as bright and friendly as Ren’s ever known him. It’s reassuring, like when Ann briefly spoke to him earlier. Even if Ryuji looks different, he is still the same friendly person Ren has always known. “You’re the guy that just transferred in right?”

“Yeah,” Ren says, mouth pulling into a faint frown. Word had gotten out fast, even for Shujin. Had Mishima revealed his record after all? “Today’s my first day.” 

Ryuji gives a grin that’s all sunshine, “Akechi’s groupies have been losing their minds over you.” He laughs, “They haven’t stopped talkin’ about ya since the pretty boy drug you in this morning. Figured I’d give you the heads up since they’re probably gonna be bothering you sooner than later.”

He jerks a finger over his shoulder towards a gaggle of students nearby. Though still following dress code the group was bedecked in Akechi Goro merch from head to toe. One girl’s blazer was so covered in pins that the black fabric beneath was barely visible. At a glance Ren sees a little chibi Goro in his detective outfit, a stylized “A” in the same style as what’s on Goro’s briefcase, and one that looks suspiciously like a familiar blue sweater vest. 

As his gaze shifts to them the group jumps back a bit, skittering away a few paces. It’s obvious that they’ve been watching him closely since he came outside. He’d been too caught in his planning to notice them. It’s something to look out for the next time he goes into the Metaverse. Getting caught on camera shifting out of reality won’t do him any good, even if Goro won’t be trying to blackmail him with the pictures this run through.

“Hey, don’t worry about them,” Ryuji says, reassuring as he drops a hand on Ren’s shoulder. “Just ignore ‘em and they’ll leave you alone eventually. And if they don’t...” He gives one of those shark-like grins that suit Ryuji so well and from the corner of his eye he sees Goro’s fans flinch back a little more. “Just let me know. Us transfers students got to stick together.”

“You’re a transfer too?” he asks, curiosity sharpening his attention.

This timeline seems to have no end in how it differs from those he’s encountered before. He wonders why Yaldabaoth brought them to this world to begin with. Was it a test to see if more drastic changes might work where small ones hadn’t in the past? Or was it part of the mistake that led to this timeline being doomed in the first place? A sign that the old god was getting sloppy?

Ryuji gives a nod, “Yeah, had to start coming here at the end of last year,” he says, turning to look over the courtyard and the students milling about. His easy smile slips for a moment, mouth twisting into a small frown for barely a moment before he turns his attention back to Ren, warm grin returning. “I know first hand how shitty being the new kid can be.”

There’s something Ryuji’s not saying in the midst of that statement. Something to do, Ren would guess, with the reason he transferred to Shujin. But if anyone can understand not wanting to share stories of the past, it’s Ren. He lets the question die, despite the itch under his skin wanting to know more, and makes himself content to just enjoy his friend’s company. He won’t have much time for hanging out with all he has to do. What was a few more minutes to enjoy himself after he spent most of the lunch break indulging Goro and Futaba in their questions?

“Thanks,” Ren says, genuinely. Then, on the off chance that perhaps Ryuji might be able to give him some information, asks, “Anything I should look out for?”

Ryuji shrugs, “Other than the pretty boy’s groupies I’d say the only thing you should really worry about is the gossip. Oh, and Kawakami and her shitty lacky Mishima. Definitely look out for them.” He scuffs his shoe in the dirt between them, an annoyed expression taking hold of his face. “They haven’t bothered with me much - outside of Kawakami being such a controlling bitch about everything - but I know other kids have had trouble with her.”

It’s reassuring to know that at least Ryuji hasn’t been dragged into Mishima’s blackmailing scheme. Ryuji never deserved the abuse he’d been given over all the other timelines, and he absolutely has earned a reprieve in this one. A chance to just be a student, bright and carefree and unchained by the heavy weight of others’ cruelty. The lack of useful information is disappointing, but nothing that Ren can’t live with if it means his friend is happy for once.

“Oh, shit - I almost forgot,” Ryuji says, perking up a little as his bright smile returns full blast. He jerks his thumb towards himself as he says, “Name’s Sakamoto Ryuji.”

“Amamiya Ren,” he answers. He tries not to sound too weary, though there are only so many times you can introduce yourself to your friends for the first time before the novelty of it all wears off. Or, really, there never was any novelty to it. In the beginning he’d been confused. By the third time he’d been tired of it. Now, he’s just resigned to effectively living in a world of amnesiacs. 

Sometimes he thinks he should just make something up. Go by another name, pretend at being someone different. Maybe in the next run that looks like it’ll be short he will. Come up with a ridiculous name or two or three and never give anyone a straight answer on who he really is. Hell, maybe he’ll dye his hair like Ryuji has this timeline, go all out on creating a new life for himself even for a short few weeks. It could be fun.

“Nice meeting ya dude,” Ryuji says, headless of Ren’s drifting thoughts. “We should hang out. You’re new to Tokyo right? Heard the groupies talkin’ about how you're from the country or something. I could show you around if you want.” The other boy tugs at the bandana around his head a little. The cloth and the movement makes him look a bit like a pirate. Charming and a bit rakish all at once. “Me and my friend usually hit up this ramen place after school, you should join us!”

Ramen with Ryuji brings to mind moments of eating until his stomach threatens to burst, laughing so hard that broth comes out his nose, talking in quiet corners of shitty dads and unfair situations. He didn’t get that in the last run. His friends didn’t trust him enough for causal hangouts in the last timeline. Too wary of the vast knowledge a homeless kid on the run had about the Metaverse and its ways. They weren’t quite friends in the last run.

That wasn’t just a factor of the last timeline though, if he’s being honest with himself. Friendship, real friendship, requires bonds. And he’s long lost the art of forging those.

Ren doesn't have time to eat ramen with Ryuji and his unknown friend after school. He has Kawakami’s Palace, Mishima’s shadow, a timeline racing towards its own end. He needs to start searching Mementos and gain entry to the Palace proper. He even needs to start on the pile of “catch up” work Kawakami gave him so she doesn’t have that as an excuse to expel him. Not even mentioning needing to carve out time to ask Goro and Futaba questions.

There’s a familiar ache though. Deep in his chest. A hollow little space left cold and drifting. It’ll stay that way, he knows. Spending hours of precious time hanging out with Ryuji won’t change anything. It might be enough though, to let him pretend otherwise.

Ryuiji’s smiling at him, phone in hand, ready to exchange numbers. Ren knows him - or at least knows the versions of him from timelines before. And that really is enough. Ren knows that if he says yes, then he’ll end up with a bowl of ramen the size of a mountain in front of him before the day is done. He knows Ryuji will talk and laugh so loud the whole restaurant will hear him, and Ren will find himself unable to do anything but laugh along. He knows he’ll end up sitting there, passing precious hours talking with them - Ryuji and the friend he mentioned before. If Ren says yes, he’ll lose time he doesn’t have to lose.

“Yeah,” Ren says, pulling out his own phone. “I’d like that.”

The cold ache in his chest doesn’t falter. The warmth he feels doesn’t touch that unmoored part of his soul. There’s no link made, no echo of a burgeoning bond between them. No Arcana whispered in his ear or even a hint that there ever will be. Just an echo of a connection that he lost long, long ago.

Ryuji’s smile is blinding and it’s nearly enough to let Ren pretend.

“If Sae sent you to talk to me, you can tell her to go to hell.”

Makoto’s even voice breaks the silence on the roof, ending the stalemate that had been quietly playing out between them. She doesn’t look at Goro, attention on tending the plants before her. Her movements are stiff, her shoulders a tense line, ready for a fight. Goro doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Makoto not ready for a fight.

Her tone has gone back to normal, all anger and annoyance and low growls. Every conversation he’s ever had with Makoto has had the underlying implication that she was only ever seconds away from punching him in the face. The return to form isn’t enough to make him forget what she sounded like when she’d spoken to Ren, though. Jarringly soft, almost a little somber as she let the dark haired boy know she wasn’t the true keeper of the little rooftop garden. 

“Sae didn’t send me,” he says, trying to keep his voice neutral. He starts walking, slanting across the roof so that he can see her face without getting into her space. If his theory is right, this is already going to be a difficult conversation and he’d rather not make her more on edge by crowding her. “There’s something important I need to speak to you about.”

It’s an odd scene that meets him as he finally curves around and comes to stand in front of her on the other side of the planters. Makoto - sleeves of her shirt rolled up past her elbows, short hair held back from her face in a small ponytail, knuckles scraped and red from some recent fight - focused on her task of delicately plucking weeds out of a planting bed. There’s a smudge of dirt on her cheek, right next to the yellowing shadow of a bruise. She looks so at odds with herself, uncomfortable even as she tensely goes through the motions. Whether that’s the gentleness required for tending to a garden or the result of Goro’s presence, he can’t say. Though he’d put money on it being him. The garden isn’t friends with her sister, after all.

“It’s about Okumura Haru,” he says slowly, watching the brawler carefully as he breaks the news.

As he suspected would happen, Makoto’s head snaps up to him instantly. Her attention is torn away from the young seedlings and focused entirely on him. He’s rarely seen her look anything but some level of angry or annoyed in all the time he’s known her. The only memories he had of her without those emotions clouding her expression came from videos of her MMA matches, where everything was locked behind a near terrifying intensity. 

And, of course, the handful of times he saw her with Okumura - nearly forgotten as they were. Even at a distance, Goro recalls her eyes bright, a smile on her face. In his memory, he sees the brawler arm and arm with the shorter girl, heads bent together, fingers plucking fallen petals from each other’s hair. None of the scowls he was familiar with, no sharp eyed glares or twisting frowns. Makoto looked happy then. Both girls had.

“Haru?” Makoto’s voice comes out high and startled. Those hard edges breaking so easily under the weight of her concern and surprise.

Goro never really knew Okumura Haru. He saw her here and there around Shujin, but they never properly met each other. He’s not even sure they’ve ever exchanged words in the two years they went to school together. They had different classes, and while in theory they would run in the same circle - Okumura a wealthy heiress and Goro a pseudo-idol attending the same high profile academy - both of them stuck to their own small social groups.

Even with all of that though, Goro is ready to kick himself for nearly letting a lead like Niijima Makoto slip by unnoticed.

He and Okumura barely crossed paths in the two years they attended Shujin together, but in those rare moments where Goro would see the heiress, Makoto was always right by the other girl’s side. Goro barely even registered their existence most of the time, going out of his way to adhere to the unspoken truce he and Makoto held at school. Avoiding each other as much as physically could be done while walking the halls of the same building, steadfastly ignoring each other in the rare times they did end up in the same place at the same time. Somewhere along the line Okumura got caught up in his and Makoto’s mutual refusal to acknowledge each other.

He vaguely recalls other students being interested in the two, a few snippets of insight from fellow students who spoke too loudly when they gossiped. The two were something that confounded most of the school, Goro thinks he remembers. Brawler Makoto, ready to throw down with anyone and everyone given the right circumstances. Sugar Puff Okumura, quiet and delicate and fluffy in almost every definition of the word. Nothing in common outside the classes they took, and yet the two girls were inseparable.

It wasn’t until the moment that Makoto had spoken to Ren that Goro remembered.

Limited evidence and no leads, and it was entirely by chance that Goro even remembered Okumura Haru’s dearest friend.

She’d been missing for four days now. Chances of finding someone that has been abducted still alive after the first two were bleak to say the least. He and Sae already lost a fight against the clock and were only losing precious ground the more time passed. And Goro almost let what could be a real lead slip by because he forgot.

“She was reported missing Thursday morning,” Goro says, trying hard not to think that he might have to break even worse news to Makoto if things turn out the way he thinks they will. “Sae and I have been assigned to her case.”

“I...didn’t know.” Makoto says, voice strained. He watches as her hands curl into fists, shoulders tense as she turns back to the plants. He can see her jaw twitch, face shifting from open to surprise to something strained. She closes her eyes and breathes slowly through her nose. “How… What happened?”

“We’re figuring that out,” he says, trying to keep his voice light and even. Trying to give the impression that they have leads and clues. It’s cruel, perhaps, to do so considering the situation, but he worries that Makoto will shut down if she thinks the worst has come to pass. “If you could answer some questions for me, it could help us find her.”

He doesn’t say the word alive .

That’s a lie too big, too blatant, especially to the missing girl’s friend. There’s a chance of course - growing smaller by the day - but… he doesn’t think they’ll find Okumura Haru alive at the end of all this. Four days missing with no leads and every impression that the missing girl’s wealthy and influential father is purposely hiding her disappearance with the aid of her equally powerful fiance. The best Goro is hoping for is the evidence to find out what happened and put the people responsible in prison for the rest of their lives.

Makoto is silent for a beat, eyes still closed. He watches as she slowly uncurls her fists and thinks he sees the faintest tremble in her hands. At length she gives a short nod, opening her eyes to look at Goro directly. She’s pulled back behind an impassive mask. Makoto isn’t the type to let her emotions get in the way of what she needs to do. Goro doesn’t blame her; he does the same.

“What do you need to know?” Makoto asks, voice carefully even. For a moment Goro thinks he’s looking at her sister instead, the resemblance between the two overwhelming. Quiet, serious determination with an unflinching fierceness beneath. They’d be unstoppable if they could ever work together.

Goro opens his notebook, ready to write. “When was the last time you saw her?”

Makoto frowns, silent for a moment before she finally says, “Not for a few weeks now.” Her eyes bright red in the afternoon sun as she meets his gaze, Goro feels pinned by her unflinching gaze. “Her father banned me from seeing her and then put Haru on lockdown at the house.”

“Could you give me an exact date when that happened?” he asks, scribbling down a note as his brows furrow, “Do you know why she wasn’t permitted to leave her home?” He pauses before adding, “And if I might ask, what was the reason you were banned from the house?”

Grounding a teenager and confining them to the home was common enough punishment, nothing entirely suspicious by itself. Combined with the strange behavior of Okumura Kunikazu he and Sae had seen so far though and the act seemed more sinister in nature. A girl trapped in her own home, cut off from a dear friend - potentially her only means of support. More puzzle pieces, the picture grimmer with each inch of clarity gained.

“I broke Sugimura’s hand,” Makoto says without hesitation. There’s a hint of pride in the explanation, blending with a slow, burning anger that he doesn’t think he’s seen in the younger Niijima before. Makoto’s fury was always loud and destructive, a massive explosion that took everything out in her radius. This kind of anger was different though. Deeper, somehow, but no less blistering in its intensity even if its unbearable heat simmered instead of exploding out.

“I think it was the weekend after White Day?” she continues. Her gaze drifts away from him to the middle distance, mouth pursing as she thinks. Her fingers twitch at the hem of her shirt, tugging at a loose thread. “I don’t remember the date, Saturday maybe?” Her brow furrows angrily as she says, “But that piece of shit Sugimura tried feeling Haru up and Okumura was more upset about the creep’s busted hand than he was for Haru. Asshole.” 

Goro watches as she abandons the thread she’d been pulling at, clenching and unclenching her fists again instead. He can see one knuckle start to bleed from where the movements opened a partially healed scrape. She thrums with energy as she speaks, fidgeting from the force of trying to keep herself in order. The memory is upsetting to her, Goro thinks. Getting cut off from a friend for trying to protect her. He can’t imagine the other girl’s disappearance afterwards is helping any.

“He said he didn’t want me to be a bad influence on Haru so she wasn’t allowed to leave the house until he could be sure she’d cut ties with me.” She snorts at that, voice bitter.

Goro pauses in his note taking as he considers her answers. He says, “You don’t think that’s the real reason.”

Makoto shakes her head sharply.

“No,” she agrees. The rasp is back, tightening her voice as she says, “He was trying to break her.”

Goro feels his stomach clench, his grip on his pen tight enough to make his fingers ache. For a moment, a single heartbeat, he sees himself as a child in his mind’s eye. Four walls, shuttered windows, a locked door, a soul-withering loneliness that made his mind tell him there were whispers in the dark, people always just out of his reach. He remembers all too well what it's like to have isolation wielded against you like a weapon.

“Haru,” Makoto says slowly, unaware of the cold seeping into his chest, the way his mouth has gone dry. Her attention isn’t on him, thankfully, eyes averted to her hands in her lap. “Haru was trying to get out of there. Trying to leave and start a new life for herself.” The rasp in her voice is painful to hear. Jagged emotions tangling in her words despite her clear best effort to keep them locked away. “It’s been… bad … for her for a long time. But it’s only gotten worse over the past year. Haru’s been trying to get in touch with a lawyer about getting emancipated for the past few months.”

He forces himself to write the information down, saliva sour in his mouth. A useless, meaningless thought catches at the back of his mind: he could have helped her if he’d known. 

After finally being returned to his family, he’d been desperate to not have anyone be able to claim ownership over him again. Not even Sojiro or Wakaba, the only people in the world who shared the title of parent in his heart outside of his mother. He’d asked to be emancipated, to be his own guardian. They had helped him, no judgement or hard feelings over his request, and the lessons he learned in the process could have helped Haru gain her own freedom. He could have prevented her from whatever fate befell her four days ago.

Swallowing past the tightness in his throat, he says, “I take it that her confinement at her home was more than simply being told she was grounded.” 

His fingers hurt, phantom pains from years ago. A memory of scratching tally-marks in a wall, tearing his nails as he tried to track the days and still unsure by the end if he had too many or too few dug into the plaster.

He yanks himself back in the present, biting the inside of his cheek hard and tasting copper for his efforts. He needs to focus. There’s a case to solve, a girl to find. His baggage won’t help him find Haru.

Makoto’s lips purse, jaw moving as she turns a glare to the skyline of the city. “I tried going over to see her a few times after I was banned from the house,” Makoto says, rage simmering beneath her words. “Okumura had the place completely locked down. Cameras, motion detectors, alarms on the doors and windows.” She snorts irritated, “Even had some lunkhead wannabe bruisers doing patrols. I got as far as the front gate before some dick in a bad suit came outside threatening to call the cops on me.”

“That's… rather excessive,” Goro says slowly, frowning at the information. 

The housekeeper said she arrived in the morning and noticed Haru hadn’t come down for breakfast before checking on her. Okumura, when asked, said that he was out on a business trip in Osaka and his daughter had the house to herself. There had been no mention of men being hired to stay on the grounds to keep Haru from leaving or sign of them in the security feed they’d been given for the night.

Either Okumura had elected to no longer keep such measures in place, or more had been done to tamper with the investigation than he and Sae had originally thought. Which left them with even more questions than answers. But, at least, they were useful questions. The sort that should lead places, rather than the sort that left them frowning over case files. He’ll need to ask Futaba to check the camera feed they’d been given, provided she hasn’t taken it upon herself already. The twenty minutes of deactivated cameras look more suspect by the second.

The brawler gives another snort at Goro’s observation. “He found out that she’d been digging into his company,” she says, bitterness in each syllable. He watches as Makoto forces herself to look at the garden bed before her again, hands moving to continue her work as she speaks. “I’d be surprised if he didn’t have her locked in the panic room so she couldn’t escape.”

In the short conversation they’ve had so far, Makoto has been an absolute wealth of information. It strikes Goro again how close he was to overlooking her place in Haru’s life. How close he was to missing the help she had to offer because of his own biases against the brawler.

“Okumura Industries?” he asks, “Why would that cause her father alarm? Wouldn’t she be expected to start taking an interest in her family’s company?”

Makoto rolls her eyes. “For any other family, sure. But Okumura doesn’t see Haru as his successor, he sees her as a pawn in his schemes.” She finishes pulling the last of the budding weeds from the grow bed before her, then looks faintly bereft for the briefest of moments to have her task completed. “The lawyer she was talking with said she’d have a difficult case trying to get emancipated, said it’d be easier if she could try and work something out with her father instead.” Goro watches as she moves onto another section of the garden, nervous energy funnelled into encouraging a vine to follow the path of a lattice upward. “Haru was looking for something as leverage to try and make that happen before she was locked up at the house.”

“Shady dealings I’m presuming?” Goro asks, jotting down another note, “How did she know there would be anything to find?”

Makoto casts a glance at him, unimpressed. Which, fair enough . Okumura Industries has a well established reputation for unethical business practices, and that’s just what is known by the public. Still, it’s a question that needs asking. To disappear an outsider sticking their nose into his business is one thing. Reprehensible, yes, but not entirely unexpected of the ultra rich CEO of a powerful company. Okumura acting against his own daughter though, that’s something else. Something that speaks of desperation.

“She’d heard things,” Makoto says, “Sometimes Okumura takes calls at home, and Haru’s caught some of his conversations.” She adds a hurried, “I don’t know what about,” as her eyes flick away to the plants before her. Her hands twitch on the vine she’s working on, nearly breaking a stem as she continues, “But whatever Haru heard, it was enough to point her in the right direction.”

Or the wrong one, Goro doesn’t say. He nods at her statement instead, peering down at his notes. Makoto’s information on Haru’s situation is illuminating; even if everything Goro’s learned turns an already dire looking case into an absolutely abysmal one.

“One more question,” he says, shifting some to let her know he’s going to leave her alone soon. Makoto looks at him again, body tense and red eyes fixed on his face as she waits. He taps lightly at his notebook with his pen as he asks, “Sugimura isn’t exactly... marriage material.” He’s aiming for neutral out of habit, though Makoto’s made it clear enough her feelings on the lech. “Do you know what led to such an engagement?”

Makoto’s jaw clenches, muscle ticking at the mention of Sugimura. If she doesn’t crack a molar it will be a miracle. Her shoulders relax though, subtly and slowly easing down from her ears. “I don’t know,” she says, words hoarse as she grits them through her teeth. Goro watches her nose flare as she breathes, “Okumura just came home one night and told Haru she was getting married. I don’t know why, or why him. ” 

There’s such a burning hatred in her voice that Goro’s a little surprised he doesn’t catch on fire just from being in her presence. Goro can’t imagine Sugimura’s stupidity as to try and do anything while Makoto was around, let alone try and grope the brawler’s dearest friend. 

“If I had to guess,” Makoto says, “It’s probably part of the shady shit Okumura’s in. I know that skeevy dick’s family is involved in politics.”

Politics . Goro represses a groan. He hates dealing with politicians, and not just because of Shido. He can only pray that the case doesn’t lead him and Sae into the heart of the minefield that is wealthy elite political families and their many, many misdoings.

He jots Makoto’s answer down anyway before flipping his notebook closed and returning it to the inner pocket of his blazer. Makoto meets his eye when he looks at her, face stoney as she stares him down. 

He remembers a moment, nearly forgotten, from the year before as he looks at her. It’d been a rainy day. He’d been sitting in the library looking out over Shujin’s campus as he waited for the latest episode of the soap opera he’d been watching to load on his phone. His eyes had caught on a bright spot below, attention turning to two girls running across the courtyard, trying not to get soaked as they sped along to wherever they were going. The one in the soft pink jacket he’d noticed first slipped on the wet grass, arms pinwheeling wildly as she crashed to the muddy ground. Goro had watched as her companion tried to help her to her feet, only for the other girl to topple into the mud as well.

He can’t remember ever seeing Makoto look so happy as she did in that moment. She and Haru, laughing even as they sat muddy and damp. Joyful as they clung to each other in the rain, foreheads pressed together as they hugged.

It’d been last summer, not quite a year ago. And now Okumura Haru was gone. Only Makoto remained of those two happy girls. It’s no wonder, he considers, that she’s been so furious when she came back from summer vacation. Her closest friend was a prisoner in her own home, and Makoto could do nothing to help her. Goro would be on edge too if it were him. And now... Something cold rests in his chest at the thought of just where Haru’s fate must have led.

“She’s not dead.”

Goro blinks, startled out of his thoughts by Makoto’s sharp tone. Her gaze is burning, red eyes pinning him in place. He forgot, sometime during their conversation, how much of a presence she has to her when she wants. Somehow, she can make herself seem like the biggest person in the room, just with the angle of her chin or the slant of her glare. Not even Goro is immune to the sudden awareness of danger that she exudes when she wants to make an impression.

He swallows past the dryness of his mouth, irritated with himself for nearly stumbling under the weight of her burning gaze. “I’m sorry?” he says, aiming the words towards professionally polite as he does. A subtle reminder that this is not their normal dynamic. They aren’t just school mates, or acquaintances united by a mutual connection to Sae. At this moment, Goro is a detective on a case, and she’s a witness he’s questioning.

Makoto’s undeterred. And really he’s not sure why he thought she might be. She hates cops, hates Sae, hates him . She isn’t going to stop now just because he’s investigating her friend’s disappearance.

He watches as she moves, getting to her feet in a quick, fluid motion. Feet shifted for optimal balance, posture precise, hands curled into fists. A fighter’s pose, a warrior preparing for melee. She stands there and glares at him, harsh and unforgiving.

“I said, she’s not dead.” Her words have a weight to them, nearly physical as she launches them at him. “I know that’s what you think. I can see it in your face. You think that she’s dead somewhere and that you’re looking for a body but that’s bullshit.”  

Makoto stalks towards him with a fighter’s deadly grace, crowding in close and somehow making him feel like he’s being looked down at despite the height he has on her. He’s forced to take a step back, then another and another as she pushes her advance. Not giving him even an inch to breathe. Eventually his back hits the railing of the rooftop and he remembers the thought he had earlier that Futaba was going to get him thrown off the roof with her antics. 

He supposes he should have guessed that it would be his own doing that led to it instead. He always was his own worst enemy.

The brawler jabs him in the chest with a finger, hard enough that he knows to expect a bruise later. His only relief is that it isn’t meant to be a real blow, just a means of punctuating her point. The videos of her matches really don’t do her justice. They show that laser focused intensity, that fierce determination, true, but there’s no technology in the world that could ever capture the feeling of it all. Of being the only thing she sees, of knowing that you are facing off against a force of nature.

“Haru is the strongest person I’ve ever met,” she says, and even with all the rage, he can hear something else weaving into her voice. Fierce and unshakable. “She’s stronger than you. She’s stronger than me. She’s stronger than her shitty father and that creep Sugimura and everyone else who thinks that just because she’s kind means that she’s weak. ”

Makoto finally takes a step back. Giving him space and air and a challenging look.

“So don’t you dare think that she’s dead. She’s out there and she’s alive ,” she declares, fiercely enough that Goro feels it in his bones.  

She steps back, one step, then two. Returning to her garden - Haru’s garden - even as she keeps her stare fixated on him. He can’t move, can’t breathe. Can only stand and meet her eyes as she lays out a final challenge for him.

“You really want to help her Akechi?” Makoto asks, chin tilted imperiously. “Figure out what her dad and Sugimura are up to and stop them.”

Hifumi’s not certain how long it’s been since Sumire escaped.

Several days she would guess. More than one, at least, but beyond that estimate she can’t be sure. Time has no meaning in the Facility. There are no clocks or calendars for her to mark the passage of days and weeks. No 9-to-5, Monday to Friday schedule for either her or the staff. The Facility - at least the parts she’s relegated to - is entirely underground, so there are no windows to track days and nights with. Not even Hifume’s meals are regular. Intermittent blood tests that require fasting beforehand disrupt meal times, and more often than not the latest medication they put her on makes her so nauseous and ill she’s forced to get her fluids and nutrients from an IV in order to survive anyway.

She knows Sumire has escaped though because of all the frantic running around in the halls outside of her room. More importantly, she knows because the experiments have stopped. 

Experiments at the Facility are continuous things. Even when catastrophe strikes, they continuously march on. Dragging everyone inch by terrible inch towards a goal only The Director knows. Not even the violent destruction of an entire testing chamber and the death of one of the Facility’s lead doctors was enough to slow the Director’s efforts.

Doctors and techs are a dime a dozen. Educated people with a drive to make breakthroughs in the scientific community are nothing rare, nothing exceptional or unique. Hifumi has seen first hand how disposable the Facility considers the vast majority of its staff. Once a tech had a breakdown while establishing Hifumi’s baselines for the day. Crying and sobbing his way through showing her images and asking her questions. Another time she’d seen a doctor crash face first into a desk after what had likely been a week straight of working without rest. She remembers with gut churning clarity how bright red the blood had been against the smooth metal of the desk from the doctor’s gushing broken nose. Remembers how that particular doctor had been hauled away by bedraggled orderlies and never returned again.

To Hifumi’s knowledge the experiments have only ever stopped once before in the Facility’s entire sordid history. 

How long ago that was is something she’s not sure she’ll ever know. What she does know is that the Experiments had been put on pause for a prolonged period of time. Long enough that something like a schedule had taken shape - nearly steady enough to tell time by. Hifumi is almost sure it had been a week. She’d not been put on any medications yet then and her food came from short meals she was given between tests. During the time the experiments stopped though, those meals began coming at regular intervals. Three meals a day, she’s pretty sure, give or take. She thinks she counted seven, maybe eight days this way.

She and Sumire had passed the time with grim uncertainty and games of Shogi with a board they made out of paper and crayons. After what Hifumi thinks may have been the fourth day, Sumire had quietly wondered out loud if someone had finally put a stop to it all. If the right people had found out about what was happening and the Facility was going to be shut down. They hadn’t been told what had happened yet - and never did have it fully explained to them - and had been left to stew in their room with their confusion and fragile hopes.

Hope can be a brutal thing though. 

In a place like the Facility, it was more often than not a vicious and cruel affliction than anything else.

No one came for them. No one put an end to what was happening. Seven or eight days passed, and then the experiments started again as if they’d never stopped. Hifumi thought the time off might have been an experiment itself, before she and Sumire finally pieced together what must have happened.

The Facility staff is entirely expendable. The doctors, the techs, the orderlies, the researchers. They can all be replaced. The Director has proven that time and time again. If a doctor dies in an explosion, the Director will replace her. If tech has a breakdown during testing, the Director has other techs to take his place. Cogs in a machine, beautifully working in harmony, but each and every one completely replaceable.

Except the test subjects.

So Hifumi knows that Sumire escaped. 

Knows that her friend managed to slip past them all and make her way to freedom. The Director can swap out any missing piece except them. If one of them disappears, then the machine comes to a screeching halt. Time is needed to try and reclaim the missing component, put it back where the Director thinks they belong.

They won’t catch her though. Hifumi knows this down to her core. If Sumire ever returns to the sterile, cold halls of their prison, it won't be as one of the test subjects. It’ll be as a raging fire, incinerating everything it touches until nothing but ash and embers remain. She’s a little surprised Sumire didn’t do so already on her way out.

Hifumi traces Sumire’s sloping handwriting on one the paper Shogi pieces they’d made as she considers her next move. With no experiments to be put through, she is left to play Shogi in her room as the Facility staff slowly comes to the realization that they won’t be getting Sumire back. 

The makeshift board and its matching pieces are soft and wrinkled badly from age and use. Only the one Uma is crisp and new. Freshly replaced with a scrap of printer paper and sharp ink lines, standing out compared to all the other pieces. She slipped the piece it replaced into Sumire’s hand before the plan was put into motion. A bit of luck to carry her friend forward to freedom.

Hifumi wonders how long it had been since they made their Shogi board. How much time has passed since they sat down and tore roughly even scraps of paper out of loose pages for the board pieces. What time passed them by since she watched Sumire sketch wobbling squares onto taped together paper. Has it been months or years? Decades? Centuries? 

She was sixteen when her mother made the deal with The Director. Sixteen when she was escorted into that elevator and dragged down into the depths of this prison. How old is she now? How many birthdays have passed her by without her even knowing? How many more will pass before she finally escapes herself?

Hifumi carefully moves the piece into place on the paper board, sits back and observes her options. Too few, and none of them promise much in the way of victory. She’s already played her gambit, and it paid off. Sumire is free. All that’s left to do is see what her opponent does.

Across from her The Director sits and watches. Light slanting across glasses, eyes thoughtful on the board, mouth pulled into a thin line. Sumire escaped with her own burning determination, Hifumi only offered what luck she had to give, only helped nudge things in place to let her friend make her move. 

The Director is good at Shogi though. Good at recognizing Hifumi’s maneuvers. Good at adapting to her plays.

Once Hifumi was called a prodigy. Once she made dramatic pronouncements and grand flourishes as she played. Once, it was just a game, a passtime. She can barely remember those days now. The simple joy of her father’s company. The exhilaration of outmaneuvering someone older and more experienced than herself. She used to like playing. Now, it’s so much less. So much more. 

The pieces are made of paper and crayon and pen. The pieces are made of orderlies and technicians and doctors. The board is lopsided, uneven. She can’t even see it all, the Facility is too big for her to even imagine what the edges might look like. She plays to keep the boredom from consuming her, a means of passing uncountable seconds. She plays to keep her friend alive, to escape herself one day.

Hifumi watches as a hand reaches out and shifts a piece into play. 

The opening moves have been made.

The game begins.

Chapter Text

Kawakami rules over the last period of the day as regal as a queen and just as likely to order a beheading.

The clock on the wall slows to a crawl, and Ren’s throat is so tight he’s nearly choking by the time the final bell rings. She’s made a point of calling on him as often as possible over the class period, demanding he answer questions he knows havn’t been taught yet this semester. Her blistering glare only grows colder with each answer - whispered, and hoarse and faint even to his own ears - that he gets correct.

He hates this. Hates the way silence overtakes him. Hates the way his old friend’s understanding has rotted and twisted into cruelty. Hates the way she paces the class, the click of her heels on the floor sounds like the irritated warning of a rattlesnake preparing to strike. Hates the way the other students flinch back whenever she turns her gaze on them.

When the final bell of the day rings and the class is dismissed for the day, he feels like he can barely breathe. The earlier warmth and joy of talking with Ryuji has frozen over and there’s just the vice on his throat and the ticking of the clock counting down seconds he doesn’t have.

And then, like a shining star in the dark, Ann appears before him.

Blonde curls bounce as she slides into view with a flourish, blocking the view of Kawakami standing at the front of class, hiding her splintering glare from Ren’s line of sight. He watches as her hands reach out towards his desk, nails painted pink with slightly smudged daisies added on top and a chunky mood ring in the shape of a heart on one finger, color shifting between red and pink. The colors flash as she gathers up his notes and books into a neat pile, helping him get his stuff together to leave.

“Here, let me help!” she says, her smile bright and warm. “How’s the day been? Not too bad I hope!”

He feels the vice unwind, just a little, in the face of that familiar cheer.

He smiles back, taking the pile of his stuff as she hands it to him and shoving it into his bag. Behind her Kawakami moves, casting one last icy glare in their direction before taking a seat and going through the paperwork on her desk. He notices the file Mishima left there earlier, carefully slid beneath what he thinks is the homework the class turned in earlier. Hidden. Important.

“No,” he says, rolling his shoulders a little. His neck aches from hunching over so badly during class. “Not too bad. Um…” He makes a show of fumbling, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck in a show of awkward uncertainty. The same old steps of a tired dance. “Sorry, you know my name already, um… somehow... but I don’t think I actually caught yours…”

Ann gives a bright laugh, tossing her blonde hair over a shoulder as she adjusts her bag. Her mood ring begins to bloom with purple as Ren sees an all too familiar look enter her eye. Trouble.

“I’m Takamaki Ann,” she says, mischief in her grin as she moves so that she’s pressed against his side linking her arm in his with one swift motion. Ren has half a moment to wonder at Ann being so familiar with a stranger before she’s off and practically running out of the classroom, dragging him along as she zips through the school. “Come on! We’re going to be late!”

“Late?” he asks in bewilderment, almost stumbling as Ann maneuvers them through the end of school traffic in the halls.

She’s got his arm locked tightly in her own, and his attempts at pulling away are met with the vice getting stronger and Ann bestowing a nearly blinding grin upon him as she careens around a corner and towards the school entrance. He’s going to need to figure out how to explain to Ryuji that he’s not going to be able to join him for food after all. As well as try to get word to Goro that his inevitable disappearance is - just this once - not his fault. He has no way of preventing the world’s bubbliest blonde from kidnapping him. He’s utterly powerless in the face of her cheerful charm.

He’s in the middle of trying to figure out when Ann got so strong when she finally comes to a stop just inside the school gate. He has to scramble to not slam into her, free arm pinwheeling as he overcorrects and nearly drags them both to the ground in an ungainly heap. She steadies him with the arm she still has linked in his, flashes another mischievous smile at him before turning her attention back to where it’d been when she stopped.

“Told you I could get him here!” Ann says, her voice high and victorious. She flashes a peace sign with her other hand and winks, tongue sticking out in a pose Ren’s only seen after she’s completely demolished an enemy in the Metaverse.

Ren blinks at her and follows her gaze to find none other than Akechi Goro standing there, leaning up against a tree, arms crossed and expression amused as he stares back. Futaba is perched nearby on the low wall that surrounds the school, legs kicking as she glances up from her phone to give Ann a gremlin grin.

“You got him out without Kawakami grabbing him, nice!” the hacker says, dropping down from the fence and skipping over to give Ann a high five.

Ren can only stare.

At Goro. Then Ann. Over at Futaba. Back to Goro.

Somewhere along the line, he’s lost the thread on just what’s going on and is left, once again, floundering in the unexpected twists this timeline throws at him. Goro’s smile turns from amused to nearly feral as he straightens up, tugging at the cuffs of his school blazer as he steps over to them. Ren knows that look. It’s the look Goro gets whenever he pulls one over on Ren. Usually it comes just before Ren gets a bullet to the head. It’s as delightful to see it in a non-lethal context for once as it is strange.

“I told you I’m not dependent on Futaba. I have my own way of gathering intel,” he says smugly. Ren is caught somewhere between wanting to roll his eyes and wanting to kiss him. The latter likely really would result in Ren’s death - later maybe, he still has things to do this timeline - so he gives a small shake of his head instead. “Ann has been kind enough to offer to help keep you out of Kawakami’s line of fire as much as she can.”

Ann finally releases Ren’s arm, skipping over towards Goro and - in a move that in any other timeline would be the precursor to the blonde’s untimely murder - throws her arms around Goro in an exuberant hug. Proving that this timeline isn’t done fucking with Ren just yet, Goro doesn’t immeditely start snarling viciously at her, and instead rolls his eyes and looks almost fond as he throws an arm around her waist in an answering half-hug.

“My parents are donors to the school so she can’t mess with me without getting in trouble with the Board,” Ann explains, letting Goro go from the hug, keeping one arm draped across his shoulders as she does. Goro leaves his arm settled around her waist, looking casually at ease and entirely unbothered by her being so completely in his personal space. “So when Goro-Goro found out you were in my class he asked me to help out!”

Ah, Ren thinks, that would explain how she’d known his name earli - wait. Did...did Ann just call him Goro-Goro?!? Goro’s okay with her calling him that?!

“Oh, um,” Ren fumbles, mind blue-screening as he returns their expectant stares with a bewildered one. Goro boredly flicks one of Ann’s curls away from where it drifts into his face from a breeze as Ann leans her weight onto him in an action Ren’s all too familiar with her doing to him and other members of Phantom Thieves in previous runs. The Ann Lean is reserved for close friends only. Futaba looks entirely nonplussed by the casual affection in a way that makes it clear that this is normal for them.

They look… close? Like friends, or close confidants? Was that a thing in this timeline? Were Goro and Ann a thing in this timeline?

“Thanks,” Ren says, only just barely managing to keep the word from sounding like a question. This latest revelation feels like learning about Goro and Futaba being siblings all over again. Except this time with a nauseating dropped-stomach feeling of uncertainty that came from not knowing the specifics of just what their relationship was. “For that. I… she’s really not that… bad.”

Ann’s eyes go a bit wide at his words, eyebrows raising. “Um. Yeah , she totally is. You looked like you were going to have a panic attack when she asked you to read aloud earlier.” She shares a glance with Goro that tells Ren that they too are able to have secret eyebrow conversations. Is that a requirement of being in Goro’s inner circle this run? Impressively skilled eyebrows? 

“Wait, I almost forgot!” she says, jumping a little as she turns her attention from whatever information Goro’s eyebrow contortions emparted and back on Ren. She drops her arm from Goro’s shoulder as she takes a half step forward. Her expression is earnest and concerned and so completely Ann as she looks at him that a bit of warm nostalgia slips past the seasick feeling overwhelming him. “I saw Mishima chasing after you at lunch. Everything okay? You guys disappeared before I could follow you out.”

At the mention of Mishima his arm aches faintly with the reminder of the bruise slowly rising to the surface of his skin. His mind conjures images of gold eyes, a cruel smile, the skittishness of their classmates. An opening move of a blackmail play. The harsh, cold architecture of Kawakami’s Palace.

There was a great deal that wasn’t okay.

He gives an easy shrug instead, swallowing as he lets some of the confusion he feels over the unexpected closeness of the blond and Goro show on his face. The best lies are the ones forged from the truth. “Yeah? I didn’t notice anyone when I left.” He tilts his head, a show of thinking carefully. “Which one is Mishima again?”

Ann looks a little relieved at that answer, shoulders relaxing a little as she gives him a smile. Goro’s face is carefully neutral, save the slight downward twitch of his lips. Red eyes turn away from Ren and from the corner of his eye he can see Futaba glance up from her phone to meet her brother’s gaze. Ren recalls too late how Futaba texted him that she knew his location just after Mishima left the bathroom, and how she was grumpily waiting for him just outside. Perhaps that was a little too blatant a lie then. The unexpected changes of this timeline have him off his game.

He’ll need to be more careful going forward. It’s likely, from what Ren’s seen so far, that Goro will step in if he finds out that Mishima is trying his hand at blackmail. And if that happens, if Mishima becomes a case of the Detective Prince, then it won’t matter if Ren can find his Shadow and change his heart. Mishima might end up facing criminal charges or he might not, but he’d definitely face the wrath of Goro’s fans at Shujin. Mishima would have no hope of making amends to the other students then.

“I’ll point him out later,” Ann says with a warm smile. “I’m glad he didn’t bother you. He’s sort of Kawakami’s lackey so he gets away with bullying other students a lot on her behalf.” Ann’s mouth twists into a scowl. “I try to stop it when I can, but…” She gives a guilty shrug, fiddling with her hair. The mood ring on her finger glints orange in the sun.

“Stop that,” Goro says, still sharp but softer than Ren’s used to hearing him sound when it comes to dealing with someone who’s upset. He gently tugs her hair away from her twisting fingers as he sighs, “We’ve been over this. You can’t be everywhere.” 

She looks unconvinced, “I know but…” she sighs, twisting the ring on her finger in place of her hair. “Just feels like I need to do something. She can’t keep getting away with treating people like that. Neither of them can.”

Goro’s gaze slides towards Ren as he says, “They won’t.” His words sound certain, expression calculating. “I’ve spoken with people who are rather determined to set things right.”

Ann nods at length, face slowly pulling back into that familiar Ann cheerfulness. “You’re right.” She says, as she turns her back to Goro. When she notices him staring at Ren, her smile tilts just so at the edges, eyes glinting that way that they do when she’s thinking of trouble to cause.

“So,” Futaba says, glancing up from her phone. Ren can’t tell just what she’s looking at, but knowing Futaba she’s likely hacking secure government servers out of boredom. “What’s the plan? Ann completed her Quest and got the rogue in the party. What are you going to do with him now? You guys coming with me back to LeBlanc?”

Ren blinks down at her, “Rogue?”

He gets a side-eye from the redhead. “Oh, yeah, totally a rogue.” She shifts into a wide stance and mimes a few quick stabs for emphasis, using her phone as a stand-in for a dagger. “Super shady and stealthy. You def put all your points into sneak.”

It’s not the first timeline where Futaba - while categorizing the members of the Thieves as RPG classes - has called him a rogue, but it’s the first one where it doesn’t quite feel like it’s meant as a compliment. He supposes the number of daggers and lockpicks Goro pulled out of his bag while he was tied up in the attic doesn’t help his case any - neither would the smoke bombs or liquid mercury come to think of it - but still . “Shady?” he asks, mockingly hurt as he makes a show of gaping at her. “You think I’m shady?”

“Yes.” Both Futaba and Goro say in unison, voices deadpan and without a shred of hesitation. 

Ren makes a show of looking hurt, hand on his chest and gasping a little just for the show of it. The siblings roll their eyes, unamused, though Ann is sweet enough to giggle at his antics. It’s almost enough to make it all seem normal and this timeline doesn’t act like it’s actively trying to fuck with him with each and every change it throws his way.

“Oh!” Ann says, perking up with excited gleam to her eye. “We should go get food! Goro promised me cake if I made sure you didn’t run off!” The blonde turns to look at Futaba, “Do you want us to get you anything? Goro can bring you some carry out when he goes to LeBlanc later.”

Goro rolls his eyes at that, snorting faintly as he says, “ No , I said I’d appreciate your help keeping an eye on him.”

“Same thing!” Ann says, undeterred as she hooks her arm with Goro’s and leaning heavily against him. “You can show your appreciation with cake! And maybe some crepes! Ooooh wait, I think the cafe is going to have tiramisu today!”

Futaba snorts, “I don’t get why you guys go to that place, it doesn’t even have curry! And the coffee isn’t any good!” She pauses, her oncoming rant on the superiority of Cafe LeBlanc’s everything derailed in a moment. “Though...I wouldn’t say no to some tiramisu later…”

“It’s a dessert cafe, it’s not supposed to have curry,” Goro says. He looks a bit defeated in the face of Futaba’s hopeful look and Ann’s blinding enthusiasm. Ren’s all too familiar with the feeling, he’s been caught in the same spot himself in runs of the past when the two combined forces against him. All that’s missing is Yusuke’s pleading eyes at the idea of free food. 

Goro settles an unimpressed look on his sister. “We’ll get you tiramisu, but I’m only getting you one, ” he says, glancing pointedly at Ann at that proclamation before turning back to the redhead. “And don’t you start on the coffee, the last thing I need is you and Ren ganging up on some poor waiter about optimal brew temperatures.”

“Says the guy who went on a three hour rant about the craft service coffee at shoots,” Ann snorts, grinning in the face of Goro’s answering scowl. There’s that glint in her eye again, the way her gaze flicks between him and Goro. Ren wonders just what mischief she’s up to. She tugs on Goro’s arm, shifting to lead them through the gate of the school. “Come on! I want to get Shiho something for when she’s done volleyball! Ooh, maybe some chocolate covered strawberries!”

Shiho. Small and fragile, strong and resilient. Ann’s best friend and victim to Kamoshida. Ren hasn’t seen the volleyball coach yet this run, and he knows the man doesn’t have a Palace this timeline, but he still has a distortion lurking somewhere in the endless tunnels of Mementos. On the verge of blooming into a full villain, given the chance. 

Something else to add to Ren’s list of things to try and fix before the timeline ends.

“How sweet,” Goro says, a slanting, devious smile creeping on his face. His words are light and sing-song as he says, “Taking advice from Sojiro then? He always insists that giving a girl chocolate and strawberries is the best way to let them know your feelings for them.”

Futaba gives two thumbs up from where she’s standing, face full of gremlin mischief. “It's true!” she says, nodding emphatically. “The Sakura Sojiro Method never fails! Chocolate covered strawberries and coffee got him two badass girlfriends!”

Ann’s cheeks burn pink at the teasing and her furrowed brow and scrunched up face is all the warning she gives before she’s punching Goro in the shoulder. Ren can just make out her mood ring - a swirl of orange and purple now - as it flashes by before her hit lands. Futaba, out of the blonde’s range, only gets a look that’s two parts embarrassed and one part furious. Goro, entirely unhurt by the soft blow, only laughs at Ann’s blushing. 

And this too is familiar to Ren, almost comforting in the well-tread steps of it all. Teasing Ann about her crush on Shiho, goading her into finally making a move and asking the girl out so they can stop pining over each other. Ren’s stomach unties from its knots as he realizes that as close as they are, Ann and Goro aren’t together.  

“Shut up!” Ann hisses, casting an embarrassed glance around them. She fumbles for her words as she says, “It’s not - Shiho doesn’t -”

Futaba snorts. “Oh she totally does,” the redhead says, “You two are just stuck in the mutual pining stage. I swear next time Shiho goes with you on one of your out-of-town modelling gigs I’m going to hack the hotel computers so there’s only one bed.”

Ann pouts, cheeks still red as Futaba moves to grab her bag where she’d abandoned it by the wall, ready to head out, Goro and Ann not far behind her. Ren finds himself torn. He wants, a bit desperately - that familiar itch beneath his skin - to join them at the cafe and try and make sense of the unexpected relationship between his two confidants in this run. Wants to try and figure them out, learn just how things worked out this way. But...

“Actually,” Ren says, shifting in place as Goro turns towards him. Red eyes are already narrowed in anticipation of his next words. It’s almost funny how easily riled up Goro gets this run. He’s freer with his emotions this timeline, not just with Ren but with others in his life. It’s good, nice. Goro deserves to have people he can be himself with. “Could I get a raincheck on the cafe? I’m supposed to be hanging out with a friend today.”

He’s fairly certain he sees Goro’s eye twitch at the news. The look he gives Ren is one of deep suspicion, complete exasperation and only barely subdued murderous intent. “You can’t be serious,” he says, voice nearly a hiss through his gritted teeth. “You’re trying to run off again? ”

“No, not running off,” Ren says even as the thought maybe a little settles in his mind. He can slip into Mementos from the train station after hanging out with Ryuji for a bit. Spend the night tracking Mishima and Kamoshida’s Shadows and try to get those two items taken off his list. It will likely cost him another night without sleep, but he can manage. It won’t be the first time he’s gone a few days without stopping, and it absolutely won’t be the last.

Ren holds his hands up, all innocent nothing to see here movements as he gives his best disarming smile. “Just made plans to grab a bite to eat with someone is all.”

Goro is unmoved by the display, arms crossed and head tilted at an unimpressed angle. It’s almost sweet in a way. No matter what timeline he gets dragged into, Goro always just seems to know him. 

“ Really , now,” Goro says, “And would that be the same friend you said you were going to meet yesterday when you ran off after your introduction or someone else? You do seem to have a lot of friends here for someone who just arrived in the city a couple days ago.” His words slant just enough into the backhanded-sweetness of his Detective Prince voice to send alarms ringing in Ren’s head.

Ren smiles blithely. He always loved the sound of a warning siren. Meant things might actually get interesting for once.

“Just lucky to meet such friendly people I guess,” he says, enjoying how Goro’s eye twitches at that assertion. Ann snorts a laugh nearby, clearly amused by his and Goro’s silent stand off. Futaba, for her part, looks just as annoyed as her brother does.

It’s at that moment that a loud, exuberant shout lifts up above the low chatter of the students milling around by the school gates, causing heads to turn in surprise to watch the colorful blur of Sakamoto Ryuji come sprinting from across the street from the school and back through the school gates to launch himself at Ren.

“ Yo! Amamiya!” The runner calls, only just slowing down enough not to slam into Ren at full speed. An arm is thrown around Ren’s shoulders, steadying him from where he ends up nearly crashing to the ground anyways. “Dude! Thought you took off without me for a sec!” he says with a bright laugh. “Come on, we’re gonna need to move if we don’t want to get caught in the rain!”

He starts moving before anyone has a chance to even register his presence, taking Ren with him as he goes. He turns to look at Goro and the girls as he starts sliding past them, Ren in tow. “Ay! Akechi, Takamaki, Sakura! Wassup gang!” he greets, flashing shark-sharp teeth and a devil-may-care grin. “Amamiya promised he’d have ramen with me so I’m gonna steal your boy for a few hours!” 

Goro blinks in surprise, startled briefly out of his frustration with Ren as he focuses on Ryuji who’s now unabashedly hustling Ren into walking with him towards the school gate. “Wait, no. He needs to come to LeBlanc-”

Ryuji nods exuberantly, cutting Goro off before the brunette could finish. “For sure! We’re just grabbing a bite, maybe show him the arcade for a bit. Coupla hours tops!” He keeps walking, half dragging, half shoving Ren along as he does. Ren realizes with a faraway sort of bewilderment that, for the second time in ten minutes, he’s being very politely kidnapped by an old friend. At least this time he won’t have to try and explain anything to Goro… probably. “You’ll have him back before you know it, Pretty Boy!”

Ren is in awe of the unshakable confidence Ryuji exudes while calling Akechi Goro of all people Pretty Boy right to the irritated detective’s face . Goro himself only stares back, seeming to be trying and failing to figure out how to respond to that. Ann beside him looks almost impressed, waving cheerfully as Ryuji bundles them away off school grounds as Futaba beside her facepalms.

“Sorry for that,” Ryuji says, looking entirely unapologetic when Ren glances over to him. “Looked like you might need the backup. Akechi ain’t so bad but he can be a real pain in the ass when he gets riled up. ‘Specially when that baby sister of his gets involved.” He gives a dramatic shiver of fear at the thought - a story Ren is going to ask him about later, while they eat.

Ryuji drops his arm away from Ren’s shoulder, shoving his hands in his pockets, slouching in that familiar Ryuji way. Relaxed and easy, unbothered by anyone or anything as he shuffles along. “We still good for ramen?”

Ren smiles, warmth settling in his chest. He really did miss hanging out with Ryuji terribly. “Thanks,” he says, letting himself sink into the familiarity of Ryuji’s company. “And yeah. Ramen sounds great.”

“Awesome!” he says, mouth stretching into that shark-like grin as a shout rises up from behind them. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder and when he turns to see what he’s pointing at Ren sees a furious Goro chasing after them. “In that case, we should probably start running now.”

Oh, Goro is absolutely going to kill him later for this.

Totally worth it , it he thinks as Ryuji runs, and he follows after, grinning the entire time.

Goro’s still furious by the time he’s forced to give up the chase. 

Ann finds him swearing up a storm at the crossroads of narrow streets he lost them at and drags him into their usual table at their second-favorite cafe as Futaba splits off to go back home for the day. He barely remembers it, too lost in his apoplectic rage to even notice Ann nodding along in exaggerated sympathy at his ranting as she prods him along down the road like a long suffering shepherd dealing with a particularly troublesome sheep.

But Ren’s run off. Again . For the third damn time now. Likely not to be seen until school tomorrow - provided he shows up at all, if what Ann said about how Kawakami treated him earlier that day. More likely the timeline jumper is going to be trying to infiltrate the teacher’s Palace, somewhere that Goro can’t access , and won’t appear again until he decides he wants Goro and Futaba to give him answers per their little Deal .

And he ran off with Sakamoto of all idiots . Goro didn’t even know that they knew each other, let alone that they were friends . Was he the one Ren said he was going to see when he took off yesterday? Were they friends prior to Ren coming to Tokyo? Were they -

A hand with pastel pink nails appears inches from his face, snapping quickly and making him jerk back in surprise. Ann retracts her hand, shifting to fold her arms on the table and lean forward a bit as she gives him a look. “You’re scarring Ito-san with all that glaring and muttering,” she says, tilting her head towards the counter and the short woman that usually manages the register. 

Ito-san offers a strained smile to Goro when he settles his eyes on her, nervous uncertainty mixing with misguided sympathy for her usually polite regular swearing darkly in the back corner of the cafe. Turning back to Ann as his friend makes a small ahem noise he finds her pointedly staring down at his hands. The cafe menu is crumpled nearly into a ball from his iron grip, some of the edges torn. He hadn’t even realized a waiter had come by to give it to him, or that their drinks had been delivered.

Had he been paying attention at all on the way over, he might have asked Ann if she minded going to a different cafe today.

The sad, empathetic looks of the staff from the day before - and the clear indication that it will continue today, given Ito-san - after Ren took off on him were hard enough to deal with the first time around. Adding in his sour mood now and the inevitable teasing Ann’s going to give him over the entire thing when she finds out that the staff think he’s been ditched by his date will hardly help. She’s already shown to be far too keen on Goro’s interest in Ren as it is, sounding far too mischievous on their call when he told her about the delinquent the night before.

All that said though...this really is one of the few safe places for them to eat and hang out without Goro’s fans or Ann’s many admirers showing up and bothering them throughout their meal.

The Sweet Treats cafe lives and dies by its regulars, and while the influx of new customers the business would gain from letting those rabid fans in while they ate there would be good for business, the owner is smart enough to realize they’d dry up as soon as Goro and Ann left to find a new sanctuary to eat at. As it stands now, the cafe’s staff is quite good at gently sending the groupies away, leaving him and Ann to sit and chat in relaxed peace.

And really, it isn’t as if they were going to go anywhere else. He and Ann - and sometimes Futaba when she didn’t immediately run off back home after school - have been coming to Sweet Treats since the beginning of last school year when they’d become friends. It was their place. Quiet, private, brimming with the most delicious desserts in Tokyo and the staff didn’t mind them taking a table for hours at a time.

Which made his worrying Ito-San even more rude. Shit.

“Oh, um.” He clears his throat, awkwardly pressing the menu as flat against the table as he can and trying to rub the creases and wrinkles out. The card stock stubbornly remains a mess under his efforts. He casts Ito-san his best, polite apologetic smile before turning back to Ann. The woman gives a painfully understanding smile and nods back. “Sorry about that. I’ve been zoning out all day. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I suppose Ren’s behavior got to me more than it usually would as a result.”

Ann shifts to rest her chin on her hand, blue eyes steady and unblinking as she raises a brow at him. “Right,” she says, “And the fact that you’ve been looking like you want to murder someone since Ren left to have a ramen date with Sakamoto has nothing to do with your bad mood.”

“You think they’re going on a date?” The question is out of his mouth before he can think to stop himself. His cheeks burn hotly and he can only pray that his foundation hides the blush. Considering he wears the same brand Ann does and it did nothing for her earlier his hope is likely horribly misplaced. He tugs at the cuff of his school blazer and aims for casually uninterested as he looks away from her, knowing before he even tries that the bluff isn’t going to work. “Ahem. What I mean is I’m just frustrated that my parolee keeps taking off during our scheduled talks.

Ann’s brows raise at him. Her expression says: Really? That’s what you’re going with? And Goro can only agree. It’s a pitiful, disgraceful attempt at backtracking, let alone with Ann who knows all his tricks and can see through them even when they’re not terrible.

He focuses back on trying to fix the menu again, avoiding her knowing gaze.

“ Goro ...” she says, gently chiding his attempt to side-step her question. She knocks her feet against his under the table, making him look up at her as she says, “You call him by his first name after knowing him for two days , you get mad when he hangs out with other guys instead of you, and…” She slides a phone across the table between them, “There’s this.”

He peers at the phone to see a slightly blurry photo of himself and Ren from this morning. The door to Ren’s classroom is just in frame, with the focus of the photo being Goro fussing with Ren’s clothes. They’re standing close in the photo, Goro’s head bent as he focuses on straightening Ren’s sleeve, Ren’s own gaze held on Goro’s face. The other boy’s expression is open and edging towards fond . Seeing the moment from an outside perspective it looks less... casual than Goro had thought it been in the moment.

“Where did you even get this?” he nearly yelps, fumbling to grab the phone off the table. It’s a cheap thing, the kind of knock-off smart phone you’d get at a corner store for emergencies or for shady business you didn’t want tracked. A far cry from the top of the line one her parents bought her for Christmas with its cracked screen and entirely impractical pink case.

“Your fans uploaded them on all the fan sites,” Ann says, “Lot of posts about the mystery boy you’ve been seen with. Some of your fan groups think you two are dating.” She’s giving him that smile, that bright and devious I-know-where-the-bodies-are grin that is the bane of his existence. “So! Tell me about your crush on your cute crime boy! You’re never this interested in people you just met! This one’s special, I can totally tell!” She leans forward, eyes practically sparkling with excitement as she speaks. “Come on! You’ve listened to all the embarrassing details about how I feel for Shiho for ages , it’s only fair!”

“I do not have a crush on Ren!” he says, more a squeak than anything. He winces at the sound of his own voice, and forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s letting himself get worked up for no reason just because he’s frustrated that Ren has managed to slip away again even with Goro’s attempts to stop that from happening. He needs to get himself back in order and set things straight with Ann before she tries to start matchmaking. “I don’t have a crush on him,” he repeats, more composed this time as he meets Ann’s gaze. “His parole is just… complicated. And he’s making it even more difficult than it needs to be.”

He doesn’t like lying to Ann, even if this isn’t technically a lie. Being Ren’s parole officer has turned out to be a far more complicated undertaking than he expected it to be - though it has less to do with his parole proper than it does the Metaverse, time travel and gods trying to destroy their world . He can’t tell her that though, anymore than he’s been able to tell her about the Metaverse or what he and Futaba do there. As much as he wants to sometimes.

They’d met a couple weeks before she’d started at Shujin for her first year of high school at a photoshoot for an ad Akechi’s agent had set up for him. Some overly expensive vitamin water that - when he was given a sample of - tasted somehow too sweet and too salty all at once. Ann had been one of a few models hired to appear with him in the ad.

The shoot had been a nightmare, and not just because of how much he hated his name and face being used to sell things - let alone shit he didn’t even like . Efforts had been made to make him seem less of the gangly sixteen year old he was by not having him pair up with older models that would only highlight the baby face he hadn't grown out of yet by then. Instead the girls chosen for the shoot had all roughly been his age, and through some failure of casting, largely inexperienced and entirely unprofessional.

Most of them kept dragging the shoot out by failing to listen to the photographer in the name of outlandish poses meant to try and show off to Goro. Their constant flirting and obvious intentions of using him as a means of gaining fame hadn’t helped his sour mood during the experience. Especially when one girl tried to steal his phone to get his number.

Ann, in contrast, had kicked him in the ankle when he nabbed the last of the cookies at the craft service and stuck her tongue out at him when he glared at her for it.

She’d also been the only one capable of acting like a professional - barring the kicking incident at least. She’d gone out of her way to help Goro throughout the day. Translating what the photographer wanted into language he could actually understand, shooing off the models that wouldn’t leave him alone during breaks, even whipping the other models into behaving for the last couple hours of the shoot with a stern - if slightly ridiculous - lecture.

In the end, Ann was the only model who made it into the final ad with Goro. She was less pleased by that than she was Goro begrudgingly buying her cupcakes at a nearby bakery at her demands he repay her for stealing the last of the sweets on set. They’d talked while she devoured all six of the cupcakes - not letting Goro have any despite the fact that he’d taken one cookie and was entitled to at least some of the frosting of the cupcakes he bought - and Goro finally let go of his apprehension that she was after the same thing as the other models and just more clever about it. Ann was just Ann, as he came to understand. Bright and bubbly, not the most academically gifted but sharp as a tack when it came to emotions and people. Most important of all she was kind, and she was loyal.

When he ran into her at Shujin on her first day at the school, he’d offered to show her around as thanks for her help on the shoot. And that had been it. Ann had decided that she liked him and that they were going to be friends. So they were. Even with Goro’s stubborn attempt at cool indifference - of which Shiho found hilarious - it was rather inevitable that Ann was going to get her way.

And then Ann, rather impossibly he sometimes thinks, became his best friend. Next to Futaba, she’s the person he’s closest to in the world.

She knows, if not all his secrets, then most of them. Knows about his and Futaba’s shared parentage. Knows about Shido being his father, about his mother, what happened to them, the separation from Futaba, Sojiro and Wakaba. Even knows some of what happened to him before he finally was brought home again.

“Okay.” Ann says, leaning back in her seat. “I don’t believe you. At all. But I won’t push… Yet ,” she says, her smile going soft at the edges. “So, tell me what’s going on. You’ve been tense even before Amamiya left with Sakamoto.” She pauses before adding, “Which, also, for your peace of mind since I know you’re going to overthink it: not a date. Sakamoto is hung up on a friend of his from Kosei.”

He blinks at that, some part of him unwinding a little at the news that Ren isn’t off on a date. Relief, probably, that the other boy - as unconcerned as he might seem with it all at times - isn’t off playing at Casanova while the world is on the fast track to ending. 

Focusing back on Ann’s question he gives a small sigh. “There’s a lot going on right now,” he says, “This new case Sae and I have been put on is shaping up to be a mess… especially after what I learned today.” He sighs, weary and grateful in equal measures for all the information Makoto gave him. “And Re - Amamiya’s mess of a parole isn’t helping anything.” He gives Ann a pointed, warning look across the table at the amusement that makes her eyes sparkle at the near slip up. Since when had he started calling him Ren? He doesn’t even recall. In his mind the devilish boy is and always was just Ren. “Just a lot of things all happening at once I guess.” 

Ann frowns, cheerful expression slipping away to be replaced by concern. “Anything I can help with?” she asks, shifting as if preparing to jump up and start on any task he might give her right then and there. Knowing Ann, she absolutely would too. No matter how ridiculous or impossible the task might be, if he asked it of her she’d be off and running, making it happen.

“I’ll be fine, just need a decent night’s sleep is all,” he says. Setting the phone she passed him down, he reaches back and tugs his hair out of the ponytail he’d pulled it up into earlier that day. “My landlord said the plumbing finally got fixed so I should be good to go back to the apartment tonight. At least I don’t have to deal with Futaba keeping me up all night anymore.” He reaches for the phone again, frowning at it as he holds it up. “What’s with this phone? Something happen to yours?”

Ann looks briefly startled by the question, blue eyes shifting quickly from him to the phone and back again. “Oh, that.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder before reaching to take the phone back. “I got it for work!” she chirps, scooping the phone out of his hands, and waving it about a bit wildly. “Helps me look more professional right? Having a special work phone? A lot of the other models have them so I thought, you know, why not?”

He blinks at her, surprised and confused at the exuberance. “So you got some burner phone at a corner store? Wait, you stalk my fan pages on your work phone?” he asks, then shakes his head at his own questions. There were more important things about what she’d just said. “Nevermind, I thought you were going to take time off from modeling for a while?” 

Had he missed something? They’d just talked a couple weeks ago about how worn out and stressed it was making her, trying to keep up with all the near-constant shoots and the competitiveness of the other models. That one in particular - Mika - he knows has been especially rough for her to deal with. It can only have been getting more demanding on her time if the constant calls and texts to her cell recently have been any indication.

She gives a tired sigh, slumping back in her seat. “Yeah, I was but…” She fiddles with her latte, turning the cup in her hands as she stares at the foam cat the barista had constructed on it for her.

“I talked with my parents,” Ann says quietly, refusing to look at him. “They called over the weekend.”

“Shit,” Goro swears, sitting up more at the news. “How’d that go?”

Ann’s situation with her parents is… complicated. Not terrible or abusive in the ways Goro’s experienced but not anything near normal either. The Takamakis are friendly and kind, but ill suited to the roles of parents. Their relationship with Ann is more similar to that of business associates than anything else in Goro’s opinion.

They adopted Ann after her birth parents - both models who’d moved to Tokyo from overseas - died in an accident when Ann had been a toddler. It had been well intentioned on the Takamaki’s part - they’d been good friends with Ann’s birth parents and with no other family Ann would have been shuffled into the system if they hadn’t - but good intentions do not make for good parents. They treat Ann kindly, and do - in their own way - love her. But they very clearly had no idea just how to go about the process of raising a child and haven’t figured much out in the years since making the decision.

Her youngest years had her being handed off between various assistants and underlings of her parents or dropped off at whatever day-care facility was closest. Eventually as she got a bit older they started setting her up for modelling jobs for children’s fashion lines. First, as Ann tells it, as an easy way to know where she was and that she was being cared for, and from there it all just sort of settled. Their relationship shifted into what it is today, with Ann as a model at her father’s agency becoming another means of brand recognition for her parents business in fashion.

These days they’re rarely home, constantly traveling from one fashion hub of the world to another. Ann’s been living alone for the past year, technically under the guardianship of her modelling agent while her parents have been out of the country. Goro knows she misses them terribly, even with their at times difficult relationship. Though missing them doesn’t make her blind to their less than stellar tendencies when it came to dealing with her.

“It… went,” Ann says at length, “They’re in Paris now, working with… I don’t remember who.” She shakes her head, “They called after they got back to their apartment and it was, like, six in the morning for me so some of it’s kind of a blur…” She sighs, “But, I talked to them about taking a break and well…”

Goro watches her shrug, looking a bit helpless as she stares sightlessly down at her latte and the melting foam cat. With her usual vibrant energy sapped he can see the exhaustion in her face, the stress weighing her down. She’s the one who taught him how to use makeup. How to cover blemishes, smooth away imperfections, subtly reshape the planes of his face. And how to cover up the dark circles and weariness of too many nights not sleeping and too many days not being able to rest. He wonders how dark the circles beneath her eyes are, under her expertly applied concealer.

“They said no,” he says, jaw clenching angrily at the thought.

“Technically they said it wasn’t a good time for the business ,” she says, head bobbing from side to side some as she mimics her mother’s abrupt style of speech. “Apparently there’s some exhibition that’s in the works and since they won’t be able to attend it’s up to me to represent them.”

“Can’t you at least take a break until then? Or just attend it, rather than work as a model?” He asks, bitter anger rising on her behalf. Ann has busted her ass to be where she is now. Becoming known as a model is near impossible for many in a city like Tokyo, let alone for someone as young as she is. Even with parents in the industry it’s difficult and Ann never once sat back and let her parents’ names open doors for her. She’s worked so hard, given up so much, and not even for her own dream.

Ann despises modeling. It’s one of the things that they bonded over, the topic of the conversation they had as Ann ate six cupcakes after that first shoot. The one that had come to Goro’s mind as he’d seen a familiar blonde walking through the gates of Shujin two years ago. Their mutual hatred for the industry of plastic smiles and constant criticisms and being objectified by strangers that they were both bound to. Goro as part of his Detective Prince persona, Ann as a means of aiding her family’s business interests.

And for all that she endured, all she’s done, they only ask more of her.

Ann shakes her head at his question, slumping further in her chair.

“I’m a model, it’s all I’m known for as far as everyone that will be there is concerned. If I’m there and I’m not modelling it’d be the same as if I didn’t show up at all.” She runs a finger over one of the wilted ears of the foam cat, a dot of white clinging to her finger. “And all the models have to be current and recognizable for the exhibition. Which in terms of agency stuff means I have to do at least three shoots a week, and probably closer to six to make the right numbers,” she says, voice thin and weary. “So, until that’s over I’m going to have to stay working at the same pace I’m at now.”

Six shoots a week until the exhibition is over. All on weekends or evening work after school. And as much as Goro hated it, as much as it made him burn with fury, there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it.

Goro tried many times over the years of their friendship. He’s offered to help Ann separate from parents, or at least get a third party involved to better oversee it all, maybe get Sojiro involved to talk some sense into them. Urged her at every turn to just draw a line in the sand and refuse to be part of their business anymore. 

She’s refused each and every offer. For all the hell they unintentionally put her through, Ann loves her parents. She loves them, and she’s determined to do everything she can to help them in their ventures. Even at her own detriment. She’s promised him time and time again that if she ever feels like she can’t do it anymore, she’ll put her foot down. And he can’t do anything but trust that if it ever comes to it, she’ll call him and ask him for his help when she needs it.

Their food arrives as they sit in quiet, troubled silence. Goro’s strawberry shortcake is nearly crowded off the table by the half menu of items Ann ordered for herself - including the tiramisu she’d been so looking forward to. He watches her dig into her treats, eyes not quite as bright as they’d been before she’d told him the news.

He knows that pushing to get her to take the break and hang the exhibition will only result in Ann shutting down on him entirely. She’s worn out and tired and he knows that at this point all he can do is try and cheer her up. He can try to convince her to push back on the number of shoots - at the very least - and from there work on changing her mind on going through with the exhibition entirely.

In the meantime, he can try and cheer her up.

“You never said,” he starts, voice light as he stabs a strawberry. Across the table Ann glances up at him, curious. “How do you know Sakamoto is interested in someone from his old school? Didn’t think you two knew each other that well.”

Ann looks at him for a moment, studying him. It’s a question with a door to a mess of a conversation he’d been rather desperate to avoid earlier. But it’d been a conversation she’d enjoyed, one that kept her mind off the things wearing on her. Goro can't do much, not when Ann’s made it so clear in the past that she doesn’t want his help, not when it came to that part of her life. But he can give her a chance to just sit and talk and forget about things for a little while.

Even if it means enduring the torture of her teasing him about a crush he doesn’t have.

“Trying to make sure Sakamoto isn’t going to steal your cute criminal boy?” she asks with a wink, smile going mischievous and bright. She looks like Ann again, the exhaustion tucked away for a little while.

Goro balls up one of the napkins on the table and throws it at her, and she laughs as she bats it away. They settle into their food as Ann teases him about Ren. Shifting into Sakamoto and the live modelling job she’d done a month or so back at an art studio - one of the few modeling experiences she’s actually enjoyed in her long career. Sakamoto’s quiet friend and the way the track star had absolutely gushed about him.

Soon Ann will need to leave soon to go to another shoot and he’ll need to return to LeBlanc to work on the Okumura case with Sae, then off tonight with Futaba to do some hunting in Mementos. Their time of quiet and peace in Sweet Treats is limited. An hour at most on the best days. An hour to pretend that they are normal teens with normal lives. To just be two friends hanging out after school and talking about interests and gossip and crushes.

Which Goro absolute does not have of course. No matter how much evidence Ann presents with that Cheshire grin of hers.

The men are there again.

Oversized and hulkling, squeezed into cheap suits and an unremarkable sedan parked across the school. Same as they had been that morning. Same as they had been every day since Thursday morning of last week. Same as they had been every night they parked that sedan outside her house before swapping out with another bland car filled with hulking brutes as night fell.

Makoto lets her eyes sweep over them sightlessly, doesn’t let them know that she’s made them, that while they’ve been watching her she’s been watching them right back. Taking stock of them even as she gives them a false impression of herself. It makes it easier to give them the slip that way if they underestimate her.

She makes her way to her bike, checking it over for any sign of tampering or damage that wasn’t there when she left it that morning. Part of her normal check even when she wasn’t being followed, safety measures ingrained in her by her father long before she was old enough to drive. There’s nothing wrong with her bike - which is good for the bruisers, she’d have beaten them half to death with her bare hands if they did anything to her beloved motorcycle - so she pulls on her helmet and gloves and gets ready to go.

The men in the sedan start moving around, preparing to start the car, getting ready to follow her again. Not today though. Today she’ll take the narrow side streets; they can’t follow her down with the car, moving too fast for either of them to tail her on foot.

She’d let them tail her this long because she thought they were cops. She was fine with letting cops waste their time going through a high schooler’s boring weekly routine. Fine with letting whatever trail they’d followed from Shinjuku to her go cold. Throw them off the scent and come back with a vengeance when they finally left her the hell alone.

They’re not cops though. 

Makoto knows that now, after her conversation with Akechi. After finding out that Haru is missing.

She got out. Haru got out.

The goons in the car aren’t cops. They might have been, at some point, but now they’re on Okumura’s payroll. Company security, most likely, so he could pay them with the company’s funds rather than his own exorbitant bank accounts. 

They’re not watching her because she left some link of herself behind in Shinjuku - she’s too smart for that, they’re all too smart for that, they’re careful - they’re watching her because they think Haru will come to her. Because they think they can use her against Haru.

Her bike roars as she speeds off the school grounds, careful to avoid her fellow students. She comes in close to the sedan as she darts down the street, takes in their faces as she passes them, commits them to memory. She can see them scramble as they realize she’s on the move - faster and more aggressively than she has since they started following her - trying to hurry to follow her. Next time she sees them, they’ll find out how badly they overestimated their control over the situation.

As she leaves Okumura’s lackeys behind she hears the car engine chug and wheeze, gas tank full of sugar and back tires slashed. As always, things are easier with the helping hand of a friend. The goons so focused on her, they hadn’t even noticed someone tampering with the vehicle they were sitting in the whole day.

Behind the visor of her helmet, she smiles wide, heart pounding with elation.

Haru got out.

Now, just to make sure no one uses Makoto to catch her again.