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As Zenkichi wonders how Mr. Sakura is coming along, Akira’s conniving sneer catches his attention. Meeting the Phantom Thieves again on this chillier autumn night, his reluctant admiration for their leader’s quiet mischief has resurfaced quickly. Worse yet, all of them seem to be in on tonight’s semi-secret mission.
And yet, even though it shines blue from the mobile screen of the scheming young man, there is hope for him yet.
As far as Zenkichi can confidently venture, Sophia is the only one here with them who’s not in on the plot.
Her plucky personality more genuine than ever before, Kuon Ichinose had transferred Sophia from her phone and back to Akira’s for tonight. She even programmed a unique costume for the small girl (who’s not just “small” for spending her time across devices nowadays) to prance about inside Akira’s mobile phone.
Provided that nothing changes (and that Sojiro will finish his own “coming along”), then Detective Zenkichi “Gramps” “Wolf” Hasegawa might still have a chance at beating these damned, goofy teenagers at their own game.
For Halloween, ghost stories were always an overrated way to scare one another off—so it’s ever a shame that zany kids and devilish elders alike manage to get away with it, heedless of their many odds. Surely, Japan’s assumed “obsession” with the occult would propel themselves past the need for a campfire, a midnight sky with thin clouds and stars (maybe the moon, if lucky), a spunky speaker ( at least one) with theatrical gusto, a collection of the same tired tales, a circle of overreactions, and someone pulling the climactic prank to throw that circle’s hearts into disarray.
And yet, the moonlight from outside the attic window takes a shine to the shoulders of Akira’s open leather jacket. He squats down and fiddles with something under the weighty, plastic bonfire.
Thankfully, the time dedicated for him, Ryuji, and Makoto to skim the instruction manual, slip in the batteries, and carry the hulking plastic upstairs was worth it. The amber-scarlet ombre of LED lights flash into life, and he sighs in relief (yet smirks with pride) as it begins its looped, unintrusive performance of wavers and flickers.
“Steel yourself, Zenkichi.” Akira’s voice—a rather deep, handsome baritone for his coming-of-age youth—drips with the gusto of a narrator warmed-up for their dramatic recording.
As Zenkichi smirks wryly in return, having been primed for a good few days up to his visit to Tokyo (or so he affirms to himself), a familiar chirp juts out from Akira’s phone screen. Propped up in the darkness near the workdesk, Sophia’s wide eyes and elaborate, purple and orange pumpkin dress (a Halloween costume inspired by Haru’s from her first year in high school) all glow as blue and alert as any other screen.
“I’m not Wolf myself,” Sophia cheerfully interjects, “but I hope it’s some extra help for you to know that I’ve primed myself, Joker!”
Before Zenkichi can gush (albeit silently, and without expression or fidget) over their code names for when the kids and he were Phantom Thieves, Akira responds with a touched chuckle (and thank the one or more entities that watch their world that it’s anything but a snarky laugh, even if only for sweet Miss Sophia). “That’s perfect—you’re just not on our hot guest-seat for tonight, Sophia. Nothing you need to worry about.”
But at least she hasn’t been made to root against him. Fidgeting with his dog-ears headband and the matching nose he slapped over his own, Zenkichi plays his starting move.
“Well, at least you know that I know who that ‘hot-seat guest’ is,” he grins back. “I mean, I wouldn’t have minded if Sophia was in the same boat as me. But no, she’s better off as the neutral one to see me keep it together until we’ve all called it a night.”
Akira fidgets with his white undershirt’s low cut, and Zenkichi doesn’t know what to make of his almost pacified smile.
“I like the confident mouthful you got there,” says Akira, but the older man can’t guess where his likely coyness would be taking this.
“But that doesn’t do too much if someone were placing a bet on you, Zenkichi.”
…Well, Zenkichi doubted anyone was doing so, with the other kids rallying behind or beside Akira's cheeky character.
“You’ll need to keep it together for, last I checked, at least five ghost stories? All of that’s before you try to throw something back at us.”
Zenkichi leans back against the railing of the shelves, his crossed legs barely holding out in the fight to not fall asleep on him. “Well yeah, no turning back when Boss closed up shop for the Halloween party.” Speaking of, though, he forces himself to brush off his wonder for Mr. Sakura’s whereabouts. “Or is the last-minute arrogance here just to get into your biker cosplay?”
Akira snorts as he plops on the futon’s edge, nudging at Ryuji’s shoulder to pull him out of sleep (which, even against the talking from the other three on their floor, backdropped by the echoing chatter from downstairs, never seemed to break until now).
“Two birds with one stone, Zenkichi.” As though it were well-scripted, “Joker” throws his quip right as Ryuji starts to confusedly hum.
For what little he can take from it, Zenkichi soaks in how the cockiness of their leader’s voice drops when said hums turn into whimpers.
“Hey, hey, easy,” Akira soothes hastily, and Zenkichi can barely see him pet the other boy’s bare collarbone. “If you’re having nightmares and sleep problems again, you’re either sleeping up here or at Sojiro’s tonight. He can take Yusuke and the girls home.”
The detective hears several unsynced, separate footsteps scurrying up the stairs as Ryuji hisses back, “The hell are you sayin’ that for? You’re staying for all of the next damn month!”
“And I’ll make sure you all get sick of me by the time Morgana and I are out again,” comes the other boy’s cheeky retort. “At least I’m not making everyone stay over for our first night back.”
“You’re weird,” Ryuji pouts, sheets tossed aside as he clumsily stretches out in his werewolf costume.
“I think you mean to call me an ‘asshole?’” Akira is still talking when Futaba is the first to step into the dark attic. “If you want ‘weird,’ just keep hanging out with Yusuke or Futaba.”
“I’m gonna tell Inari you said that,” sings Futaba, apparently reviving her prized tentacled alien costume from last year.
“No skin off my back,” Akira sings back, sharing off-key note for off-key note with Futaba.
Zenkichi scoffs. “All this screwing around with your gang here, Akira, and I’m the one everyone’s after?!”
“And God forbid any of the rest of our gang were here, too,” Akira sneers. “But I guess Akane already came and went through that carnival before you dropped her off at the family hotel, Sumire’s not back from her gymnastics trip until tomorrow night, and Go—…well, you get the idea.”
Zenkichi sure does, unable to fathom how much more crowded this upstairs could be.
Although, who was that other “Go—” friend that Zenkichi had apparently never met?
“Weeellll, let’s do this,” Ryuji suddenly growls, once more stretching out across Akira’s futon until even his voice sounds strained. “Good luck, Gramps!”
As far as Zenkichi could gather of all the “kids’” profiles, Miss Haru Okumura was the least acquainted with video games. At least Yusuke, while only recently beginning to pull himself out of a poverty that only his Kosei scholarship saved him from the entirety of, would be pulled into sessions of Punch Ouch and Carmenetta 2 with Ryuji and Futaba, and even Akira while he lived in Tokyo, and even whenever he’s visited again. Ann and Makoto were often invited to these, but even Ann had her own Bintenbro Twist to take with her to school or the town, just to dock it into her TV screen at her home.
So, it astonishes Zenkichi to see Haru dressed in the authentic jewels, crown, and ball gown of Princess Peach. The only one sitting primly in a metal school chair (insisting that Yusuke, Ann, and Makoto take the cushioned bench), she apparently got her look down to a near-T, but even her luscious light-auburn curls were streaked with several golden-blonde strands, apparently curled hair extensions that Ann eagerly sent her way.
And yet, even their friends have had her over (or she’s had any or all of them over) for video games. So Zenkichi could surmise that he still has much to learn from these kids whom he’s just a good friendly adult to.
…That doesn’t bode well for tonight, now does it?
Where the hell is Sojiro?
Haru takes some calming breaths, likely getting herself into the zone; even so, it seems that Zenkichi will have a rough start, if Haru’s driving and ax-wielding can apply to her ghost stories.
Everyone watches as slicked-hair biker Akira briefly revives the ceiling light, then saunters back to plop on the floor between Ryuji—linen “mummy” bandages wrapped around parts of his bare torso, his limbs, and the pieces of his werewolf getup, holding Akira’s phone for Sophia and him—and Futaba, making a cheeky side-eye towards the two boys while fiddling with her “gun-tentacle” arm.
Rocking on her sides until she seems comfortable enough in her seat, Ann’s long hair falls out of her pigtails, adorned at the top in the back with a jeweled red bow to complete her Sailor Venus cosplay. Apparently, she would’ve preferred Sailor Moon as her character from the manga and anime to cosplay, but several manga-exclusive accessories weren’t available for her to buy or commission in time. Venus was another favorite of hers, anyway; apparently, her civilian identity’s volleyball extracurriculars also reminded her of her best friend. And when an obscure live action show’s elaborate hair bow for Venus was somehow easier to find, as with blingy ruby earrings and a golden “love-me chain” with gold-encrusted rubies of their own, it seemed the fashion model had her eyes set on her “Sailor Senshi” cosplay (but perchance not her last, if Sailor Moon would be sought after another time).
Makoto returns to her seat on the bench next to the work desk, the only other Phantom Thief with a traditionally “spooky” costume besides Ryuji (and, maybe to someone, Futaba as well). A “Deadly Princess Of Vampiric Darkness,” according to the deceivingly cheap costume bag, the sleek and stylish black jumpsuit, velvet crimson cape, cheap but still-fancy jewelry, and venetian red lipstick suit her well.
Already taking in how bold and even glamorous everyone’s costumes are (Zenkichi makes an embarrassing impression by throwing dog ears, a dog nose, and a curvy tail-belt over his business suit), he can’t help noticing Makoto give a cursory side-eye towards Yusuke, knowingly cross-legged on Ann’s opposite side and framing the LED campfire through his lavender-gloved fingers.
But to give Makoto her due defense, since when the hell did Yusuke , the strange high-school aesthete he may be, give off the impression that he’d ever cosplay Jessica Rabbit? Sure, he’s a handsome young man who, considering how even Akira and Ryuji have been looking at him tonight, pulled off the look and then some. Even the red lipstick and gold earrings (the latter apparently a rather glamorous pair of clip-ons) fit him. His indigo-blue hair blends rather elegantly with the lavender and scarlet of his costume. And his eyes pierce sharper than ever for how faint his eye makeup is (apparently, Ann only needed to show him some tips and tricks exclusive to eyeshadow applications—not that he couldn’t make brush or palette conversions on his own).
But because Zenkichi can ask “why” for just his sheer surprise, why?
After all, that means everyone has managed to blow Zenkichi’s meek “dog man” label off his last-minute buy before flying to Tokyo with Akane. Even Morgana, sprawled along the futon behind everyone and watching sleepily, has crowned himself with a tiny wizard’s hat with a jingling bell at the top end. And for a cat of his stature, that’s good enough for Morgana to have done his part well.
“I trust that everyone is comfortable?” Haru begins, chipperly looking about the circle while the lights are all on for the time.
Though Zenkichi remains cool on his spot on the floor, Akira still takes his jab. “Yeah, all eight of us and our one poor guest, primed to start shaking where he stands by the end of the night.”
Something in the older guest’s stomach churns upon seeing a familiar hollow “smile” from Haru, her white-gloved hands held frozen together when Akira is centered in her sights.
“Akira-kun,” she speaks softly, yet sternly, “my apologies, but could you please be quiet, and turn off the lights so we may begin?”
Nothing to say.
Well finally, if Zenkichi were being frank.
Akira keeps his mouth shut, his own visage falling blank, as he stands up to turn off the ceiling light.
Everyone and everything falls silent, too. The rest of the group upstairs, and even any clattering from Sojiro downstairs (but perhaps, he’s still going along just fine, or so Zenkichi soothes himself), has gone mute.
Well, for a moment.
“Our arrogance may lead to our very defeat to Zenkichi,” Yusuke muses softly, gloved fingers skating along the glitter of his strapless red dress. “We should not lose sight of our wits and storytelling passions if we’re to send him spiraling into terror.”
“Yeeaaaaahhh,” Ryuji hesitantly obliges, “that’s gonna bite us in the ass if we ain’t watching it.”
Ann hums her shared sentiments, nodding as she glances over her shimmering orange pumps.
Akira stands near the lights, waiting without expressive body language or a face as Haru turns quietly to the other three. They look back to her.
Zenkichi (but silently, thanks to Haru’s demeanor) may take pride in being the one bonafide adult in the group, but he’ll gladly damn it all if it means he gets to watch his supposed “Halloween party captors” admonish their own.
Although Haru, first up to bat or not, could be less scary.
But here they are—
“Ann-chan. Yusuke-kun. Ryuji-kun.” Her visage reads hollow and now without a smile, and now everyone’s wholly mute.
On Akira’s phone screen, propped up against Ryuji’s most floor-level leg, Sophia looks on quizzically, yet just as silently as everyone else. Futaba and Makoto have stopped any fiddling they might’ve been doing with their monstrous getups.
Morgana’s already zonked out on the futon, perhaps a minute or two before now—he might be lucky that he sleeps so quietly, too.
When the harrowing deafness seems to have lingered throughout Leblanc for long enough, Akira gently flicks the light switch.
For how quiet the world is, Zenkichi barely hears a sharper soft breath from Makoto as the lights above are killed off…how does Makoto’s stoicism even switch off with the lights, and so drastically at that?
The LED bonfire—its ombre amber glow imitating “the real thing” rather charmingly—and the vastly-dimmed screen of Sophia are all that remain. Whether more likely the bonfire, less likely Sophia, or even both, all that flickers and shines around them are Ann’s gems, the small globs of sweat on Ryuji’s bandages and chest (of which Zenkichi wonders why indoors during October), Haru’s gleaming jewelry, the sheen of Makoto’s jumpsuit, and the glitter and sparkle of all of Yusuke.
Zenkichi prays for his nerves to simmer down, lest Akira and his friends have something to never let live down. But the silence grows eerie by the millisecond. The lack of a break in the tension causes something in his gut to swell. He already feels centimeters away from being ensnared by an unseeable, yet definite horror.
“What if I tell everyone here,” Haru gravely begins, “that our dear, handsome Yusuke-kun almost fell victim…to the monster beneath my own garden’s pond?”
…Huh.
Zenkichi could’ve finally burst aloud, but he stifles it to let through Yusuke’s choked yelp.
“I mean, Ryuji’s hot, too, and my mom calls me handsome,” Akira mumbles, still earning himself a sharp hiss from Futaba.
Even if Yusuke hadn’t narrowly escaped this fate, it would’ve been a most daunting tragedy—for even now, his memories of the incident have been washed away.
But that would happen regardless…we can only imagine the terror he could’ve felt with a less fortunate fate. Innocently, blissfully spending time in our house and garden with Mako-chan, Ann-chan, Ryuji-kun, and I—then forever taken into the arms of a beautiful nightmare he could never understand.
For that’s what nearly happened. And it’s a shame that Makoto, Ann, and Ryuji left before they, perchance, could help me rescue him; then again, even Ryuji-kun is handsome enough to have fallen victim, as well. Or, to be candid, perhaps the monster would not turn a blind eye to the beauty that always radiates from Mako-chan and Ann-chan. And may the gods help Akira-kun if he were there, too.
“Y-y-you really think that, Haru?” Ryuji squeakily swoons. Hushes shoot out towards his direction in the dark as Haru continues.
The pitter-patter of familiar cat paws skate across the attic floor, down the stairs to the cafe itself.
Yes, you all are handsome young men—but you were leaving and Akira-kun was likely attending to his homework from Shujin, or dashing about Shibuya with errands; this was around late October of last year.
But I must proceed with no other interruptions:
I had seen the three of them off, my dear confidant and driver glad to take them to a nearby ice cream shop (at Ann-chan’s request), and then to their homes. Yusuke was willing to remain a while longer, especially as, at night with dim lights showing the way, the garden provided some inspiration with which he could draw… Yusuke-kun, you and everyone must steady yourselves until I finish.
But the moon was full. And it was but a mere legend amongst the Okumura estate’s staff that there was something—or someone, perhaps—living far below the larger, elaborate pond in the back of the garden.
But how could this be? For as the staff, guests, and family have always known, and as Yusuke and any of you could easily recall, the highest-leveled fountain reached the top of the perimeter’s gates. It then formed a small waterfall into a pool only marginally larger, then a larger one below that, and yet another larger, before the fifth and final, large “fountain” at the ground level only sank so far down. That is, it isn’t until one’s feet reach two yards below the ground level, and into the pond water, that they touch the black tarp at the deepest the pond goes down.
And that’s what Yusuke did. It’s rather fun to try at first; as a child, I would do the same with my bare feet and my favorite swimsuit, disappointed when I couldn’t truly swim in there, even as I was so little.
Yet under the full moon of an otherwise pitch-black sky, barefoot and his pants only marginally rolled up, Yusuke’s sketchbook and pencil were cast aside to the nearby tea table for the moment. He gracefully settled his feet into the pond.
An aquamarine shimmer overtook the black tarp underwater…then grew brighter…brighter, brighter! AND BRIGHTER STILL!
If only I had rejoined him sooner than I had! For when I finally brought out our iced green tea with lemonade—such a comforting recipe, even in the fall season, that I had learned from our estate’s lovely co-chef and barista—the tray DROP-PED from my hands at the jarring sight of Yusuke’s kidnapping!
The monster…she was a gorgeous monstrosity! Pond water trailed her pale-blue body, and her golden eyes blinked curiously at me. She must have needed a second to realize that, however powerful she may be, a mortal girl finding her like this could be reason for a considerable nuisance.
Yusuke’s school uniform must have been pulled off, as the clothing had been thrown out into the grass, his ring of keys barely holding it down against the autumn breeze.
And Yusuke-kun himself…soaked from head to toe, yet asleep in his captor’s arms, did not seem to wake as they both sank into…the pond!
I would REFUSE to miss this chance! And so, knowing very well I could drown or be murdered—aware that failure on my end could spell the end of myself and especially Yusuke—I threw off my coat and shoes, also managing to toss my stockings aside in an inelegant heap before I dove in!
AND SO I—…I…never seemed to really swim. There was a flash of white…and then, I was in a cave. HER cave, murky and dark, yet shimmering with a teal glow at the bottom of the water…I’m not even sure where I was in relation to my garden, or the ground beneath it.
“A-a-and Yusuke couldn’t possibly recall this?!” Even with the dim, LED glow of amber within the plastic campfire, Makoto stands at the precipice of terror…it’s just the darkness doing this to her, right?
In all reality, despite the Metaverse, it couldn’t seriously be conflated with a water monster kidnapping young men from a rich estate’s pond!
There’s a young, boyish groan, pout, and hiss from the base of the stairs.
“Makoto, you gotta keep us cool!” In the darkness, Ann whispers neither quietly nor loudly, her gloved hand gripping, maybe outright squeezing, Makoto’s wrist.
As Makoto huffs and puffs, something soft, but poorly balled together, brushes against Zenkichi’s shoulder. His head keeps straight into the circle, but his eyes pan to the banister.
The downstairs lights had been turned out—save for the smallest, quickest flickering red dot against the last railing pillar.
“Makoto?!” Ryuji adds in. “Did this shit happen to her or somethin—”
“No, no,” Akira sneers. “It’s the lights, Ryuji? Makoto’s cute, but any sexy siren she’d come across would melt on the spot the second she looked into their eyes.”
“Jesus Christ, Akira!” Futaba hisses. “Just say you’re jealous of Yusuke and Ryuji, and Makoto, and go!”
Ryuji’s head tilts to Akira, and Zenkichi can barely make out his eyes growing wide and watery.
“You ain’t,” Ryuji stutters, “uhm…you’re not—”
“Nah,” Futaba sneers back, “Akira wishes he had the balls to confess he found any of us good-looking.”
“He at least called Ryuji ‘handsome’ a few minutes ago,” Ann snorts back. “Now, shoosh!”
Zenkichi surmises that Haru is taking pride in the chaos of her story and its sudden intermission. Or contemplating how she’ll scare everyone into shutting the fucking up (as this generation phrases it…probably).
“Oh yeah,” Futaba sneers again, “I nearly forgot: we should add you to that list by default, Kitty Woman!”
“Try ‘Sailor Venus?’” The vague silhouette of Ann’s arms flops up and down in defeat. “I’m not saying anything else. Haru?”
Zenkichi glances down at the crumpled, now barely balled-up, sheet of paper flopped on the wooden floor beside him. He looks back up and speaks without introduction.
“Maybe or maybe not speaking of this monster lady from Okumura-san’s garden pond, does the name ‘Silene’ ring a bell to anyone?”
Everyone goes quiet. Eyes flitting about beneath his glasses, Zenkichi finds that all eyes have fallen on him.
Except for Morgana, who must be staying asleep on the futon, somehow.
“Oh, can we cease this rubbish?!” Yusuke scoffs, his bare legs readjusting themselves between his dress and its high, clean slit (Zenkichi had to also admit, he could just simply never). “Perhaps I am neglecting my own… accidental sacrifice to this lusty demon?!” Saying it aloud must’ve triggered Yusuke’s arms to cross over his torso in defense (and with that phrasing, Zenkichi empathizes). “Might as well have Haru continue and bring us to speed, then!”
Ann and Ryuji exhale in synchronous relief.
But the storyteller herself has kept quiet up until now.
“You speak in hypotheticals, Yusuke,” Haru’s voice finally coos from the circle. “That would be fair…but could you truly accept it as true?”
Haru sits tall in her chair now, her russet-brown eyes glinting wildly against the single prominent light source in the attic. Her dressing up as a video game princess be damned, as everyone else goes silent again. Not even this monster’s “distressed dude” can respond to his heroine.
“Well you have rescued me, right?” Yusuke recalls.
Nothing again.
“Yes.” Miss Okumura sure took her time with that one.
Nothing yet again.
Has Sophia fallen asleep? Why is Akira’s phone screen turned off?
“Ze—...Zenkichi-san?” Haru’s soprano speech trembles, and the feeling of total wrongness still sinks in as she continues. “You said her name was ‘Silene?’”
…Huh.
“Correct.” He says it steadily, no emotion or life to be heard.
…Huh?
“Aaaaaaarrre you two okay?” Akira calls from his spot in the dark.
Nothing came again once before, so nothing comes for another “again.”
Then Haru’s voice whimpers. “W-w-would…well, was she out somewhere in Tokyo here?” Zenkichi gets it now. “Did anyone hear—”
“Haru-chan, Zenkichi-san!” Makoto whines heartbreakingly. “Knock it off, will you?!”
“Makoto, breathe,” Ann beggingly whispers to the girl beside her. “It came from Haru-chan’s and we’re only NOW hearing this, damnit!”
“Guys?” Futaba blankly calls out.
“Idunnowhatthefuckishappeninnow,” Ryuji spastically mewls.
“Hu…h…huh?” Yusuke finally moans.
“Guys?” Akira’s baritone voice starts to grow more desperate roots. “What’re we talking about?”
Zenkichi shudders, trying to brush off the shadows near the banister as his own delusions. If he’s to lose his wits to a lame ghost story, at least he’d be taking everyone else with him.
Then again…
“Okumura-san, what the hell did you say to that lady from your garden pond about EVERYONE HERE?!”
…Young Mister Kurusu might’ve schemed for nothing.
Haru speaks again, with nothing more than the small whine or hiccup from everyone else between sentences.
***
Actually…I hadn’t mentioned any of our friends to her. I managed to turn Silene’s spears against her— somehow —and indeed made my rescue of Yusuke.
Yet even so, perhaps my mere entering and exiting of her murky cavern was enough for her to make her curse. Not even a bluff, using some eerie incantation to frighten me…but a genuine, dark oath to, not only reclaim Yusuke-kun…but to drag Akira-kun, Ryuji-kun…Mako-chan, Ann-chan, Futaba-chan…drag them ALL down with Yusuke-kun and her. She would walk amongst the people of Shibuya here, even if only to reach all six of them, drag them one or two or ALL at the time, down through those waters, forced to hold their breath through the shimmer of aquamarine and the flash of white…into her lair.
But for my insolence in saving Yusuke, and for my family’s estate on the grounds of her only “portal” to the real world’s surface…perhaps they’d be spared the fate of a matrimonious sham still taken too far.
But that wouldn’t save them from the fate of their lives being washed away by the waters. Everything they’ve known? Everyone they’ve ever loved? Their own characters? Their individual moral rectitude?
They’d be gone—their names would have no meaning or attachment, and all they would know is to long for the “outside” they’ll never see, at most screaming and hitting against her cavern walls for someone to hear them and bring them into the “real world” that they may recall.
But like those memories, there’s no life for them to go back to.
***
Yusuke’s voice threatens to tremble with every syllable, yet barely holds together. “Haru? This is an intentionally preposterous tall tale, right?”
“She ain’t serious.” Ryuji might be the only one really keeping himself together, but even his own claim lacks true security for their reality.
From where Akira once sat, he begins to prop himself to his feet. “I’ll just go get myself and Haru glasses of water.”
In the near-pitch black, an even darker hulking shadow stands behind the leader of the Phantom Thieves.
Futaba cries out first. “AKIRA, BEHIND YO—”
A high, inhuman wail cries out from the shadow. Akira screams, then everyone else screams. Zenkichi throws his voice into the ring, motionless against the shelves behind him as Akira’s shriek is snuffed out by a blue arm muffling him.
The single inhuman cry grows victorious, never stopping to breathe as it goes on and on, ringing in Zenkichi’s ears as Akira fights to yank himself away from the figure.
“NOOOOO!” Yusuke wails, one red pump dropping to the ground as his glittery silhouette falls from the bench. “STOOOOOP!”
Futaba must’ve pulled a miracle to fling herself towards the futon, for from that corner of the attic she’s shrieking the highest pitch below the interloper. “MORGANA! MORGANA, WHERE ARE YOU?!”
Zenkichi whimpers—but Haru’s the only one amongst everyone to not scream. She’s just dead silent again, and it’s worse than before.
Ryuji and Yusuke shout against the shadowy figure, the gleam of Ryuji’s sweat and glitter of Yusuke’s dress pushing frantically against the bulky figure.
“LET HIM GO!” Ann bellows angrily, her long hair flying behind her as she clumsily lunges in. Makoto’s cape follows right behind her.
But even Ryuji struggles, and maybe the monster knows that they all are.
The fake campfire had been kicked in the futon’s direction moments ago.
And the elusive Silene, for how bulky she looks in the dark, sends all three boys and two girls tumbling to the floor, throwing herself down to barely them under her.
“FUUUUUUCK!” Futaba cries from her trapped corner. Her single curse was enough to put the casual tossings from Ryuji to shame.
Zenkichi puffs haphazardly, legs fumbling as he just utterly fails to do something. Really, ANYTHING.
Akira’s voice makes a final, bloodcurdling roar.
“ZENKICHI!” His deep voice cracks as, somehow, even the Phantom Thief Joker is ready to give in. “RRRRUUUUUUUU-AHHHH!”
That’s when the ceiling light flickers on.
“Oh no, oh no!” Haru calls out, her appalled tone quite honest for how she still laughs. “I think we might have overdone it. Oh…” She struggles to catch her breath. “I almost…eugh, fooled myself!”
…And with all the screaming he hammered out with the others, it’s no wonder Zenkichi couldn’t hear Haru from the lightswitch.
So Boss managed to get Haru’s help, too, huh?
But of course, Sophia knew, too. As soon as Haru takes a moment to catch her breath, yet as everyone else remains frozen to catch their own (the hulking figure—somehow interpreting a disguised water-monster lady as a myriad of coats with a blue one on top, a red sweater hoodie covering Sojiro’s entire head, two brooms poking out at each end of the sleeves, and Morgana’s head and upper body for her own head—had never really crushed its first five victims), Akira’s phone chirps from its fallen rest where the artificial campfire was. The screen turns on and brightens exponentially.
And there is Sophia, her glowing visage even more sheepish from in there than Haru’s own half-guilty bow and heavy, chuckling breath. “Is Mister-Boss Sojiro Sakura there? I hope you liked the inhuman horror-monster sound effects I found! Mona, you made a pretty good ‘mask,’ too!”
Well yeah, off-model body type aside, Sojiro and Morgana made a decent “Silene.” Although, between their almost-immobile getup and Haru’s story, one or the other must’ve scrambled at the last minute to vaguely match the other.
Morgana, having lost his hat a while ago, silently jumps out to make room and sight for Sojiro’s own face.
“I wish that maybe we could have spared another one for an extra hand,” he laments. “Lady Ann? Maybe Ryuji? But, that was fun as is!”
Even with the incinerating pile of coats and sweaters clothing his body, Sojiro’s laugh booms hearty and happy as the brooms drop from the sleeves, making way to free the skin of his mildly hairy arms. He slowly wobbles over towards the banister.
“Hhhhhh-huuuuh,” Ryuji exasperatedly breathes.
Futaba is already fuming, her alien hood wiped clean off her head. “So which of you dickweeds got Sojiro to—”
“H-H-ha-haaaah,” Sojiro wheezes in kind, “it saved this old man from doing too much to stage six Phantom Thieves’ kidnappings!”
Zenkichi can only smile quietly, sighing with satisfaction gripping his exhale as he listens on to everyone slowly recuperating.
He won’t be letting THIS be forgotten by Akira…even if Ryuji, Ann, Yusuke, Makoto, AND Futaba were also victims by proxy.
But at least Haru and Morgana were a lovely surprise for extra help!
Though Zenkichi could very well use the lights being turned off for a second longer. Sojiro’s jaunty waddle towards the other kids is a little hard to watch, even with the curtains pulled back and the actors breaking character in broad light.
“So-ji- RO!” Futaba seethes. “What the HELL did Gramps here do to bribe you into this?”
Haru shakily turns toward the stairs, calling back, “You’ve all been very lovely sports! Let me serve everyone’s drinks and desserts!”
She seems to have curbed her laughing as she starts her descent, leaving room for Zenkichi to burst into small, almost girlish giggles as he feels six pairs of eyes dart at him.
Akira, for one, has a burning complexion to match his darkest glare yet.
“YOUR ASS IS GONNA BE THE GRASS AT MY HOME’S FUCKING BACKYARD, ZENKICHI HASEGAWA!” Akira’s feral roar sends a sharp scold his way from Sojiro. “Noooo thanks, Sojiro, he’s getting his!”
Wheezing quietly, Zenkichi weakly throws his hands up. “Naaaahhh, Boss, I earned it. Plus, I am the Pub-Sec adult between all these kids and me!”
Zenkichi Hasegawa’s head falls to his shoulder while he chuckles quietly, and he refuses to complain as he watches the other kids take their chance to bark at him, too.
“You bastard!” Yusuke bellows, fussing with his hair while throwing his long dress skirt over his bare thighs (again, no adult like Zenkichi could ever). “I had almost truly believed I was nearly a human sacrifice to a violative aquatic succubus!”
“Graaaaaaammmps!” Ryuji moans theatrically.
Futaba’s hands turn her own head away from the officer’s direction.
Ann just glares. Looks like her fancy Sailor Venus cosplay is also intact; then again, everyone else was also merely a bit disheveled, with only Futaba’s alien hood off and Ryuji’s bandages strewn about.
Makoto also glowers quietly…but okay, that is a pretty scary look, despite her near-weeping in the dark back there.
Maybe Sojiro could turn the lights back off before Haru comes back? Their just revenge could fall upon him any second now.