Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

December 2012

Sumire had no qualms about admitting that she was lost.

It was Kasumi who would have denied it. Kasumi would insist that she knew where she was really, or that there was a helpful landmark just around that next corner, or that if they kept going they were bound to find their way. It was infuriating, but also soothing. In this, as in so many things, Sumire knew she never really had to worry while Kasumi was around.

Which made it even more of a problem that they’d been separated.

What made it worse was that it was Kasumi’s fault, really. She had insisted that they take a look around before the meet, because “when are we going to be in Kamurocho again?” What exactly they were looking for, Sumire wasn’t clear, but she wasn’t going to break the habit of a lifetime and oppose Kasumi, so she waited until their parents’ backs were turned and Coach Hiraguchi was distracted by cheering on some of her other students, and gave her sister the all-clear signal. And if anyone had noticed two girls running furtively out of the venue, probably they’d assumed that they must be doing so with permission. It was amazing what Kasumi’s boldness would let them get away with.

Almost immediately, they’d been overwhelmed. There was that big sign overhanging the street that they’d seen on TV. And there were people everywhere. That wasn’t such a big deal – they were from Tokyo, after all – but these people were all so… bright, dressed and styled like they absolutely needed to be seen. The two sisters had exchanged a look and a giggle after a man in a purple suit and an Elvis-like quiff had rushed past, apparently in a hurry.

They’d carried on up the street in a daze, looking at all the signs and the people. Outside a place called Stardust, a large man had almost offered her a leaflet, but had hurriedly withdrawn it after giving her a second look. She’d been briefly transfixed by a sign saying “Jungle Boy,” and had spent some time trying to figure out what this could mean before Kasumi had jerked her hand to lead her away. It didn’t matter, though. Every few feet there was a new wonder to see.

Looking back, she was pretty sure it was in the big square with all of the screens and signs that they’d gotten separated. There was so much noise and colour and light, even in the middle of the day, that all she could do was gaze around in wonderment, not even really taking any of it in. Before she knew it, Kasumi’s hand wasn’t in hers anymore, and she wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Really, she should have stayed where she was. She knew that now. She was the easier one to spot from a distance, the one with the bright red hair. But her most natural instinct was always to run after Kasumi, and that was just what she’d done, even without knowing where Kasumi was. She’d just picked a direction and hoped for the best. It was stupid, of course it was, she knew that now.

Maybe she could make her way back to the venue for the meet? She might be able to find it, if she could get to that big sign. But then what if Kasumi couldn’t find it? What would she tell her parents? What if Kasumi was just lost now, and she’d never see her again? What if she was lost and she’d never see Kasumi or her parents again? What if… What if…

Her legs started to give way beneath her, and it was all she could do to guide herself onto a stone step as she started sobbing. She knew she should try to wipe the tears away before they could get onto her glasses, but all she could do was press her fingers into her eyes in a vain attempt to stem the flow. It was as if all her energy was drained by the sadness and fear. Her whole body shook with sobs as she took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to avoid wailing aloud. The last thing she wanted was to attract any attention-

“Hey. Kid. What’s wrong?”

She looked up, startled. Through her fogged-up glasses and tear-filled eyes, she could just about make out the shape of a large man in a grey suit. She couldn’t discern his expression, but there was concern in his voice, she thought. Not that it really mattered. She shouldn’t talk to strangers. Her parents had been very clear about that.

She shook her head wordlessly, as much in horror at the situation as in answer to the man. This was only getting worse. Now there was some scary man involved, pretending to be worried about her, and maybe he’d kidnapped Kasumi and now he’d come for her and…

She buried her head in her arms, partly because of a fresh wave of tears, partly to avoid looking at the man. She heard a sigh from directly in front of and above her, and a rustling sound. The man was moving. She should try to get away, she knew, but her body still didn’t seem to be obeying orders.

“Here.”

She lifted her head. The man had squatted down in front of her, and was proffering a pack of tissues. She knew full well that if there was one thing worse than talking to a strange adult, it was taking something from them.

But then again… they were only tissues.

She tentatively reached for the tissues, then snatched them away in a sudden movement, just in case the man tried something while her arm was outstretched. But he didn’t move. He just watched as she withdrew a tissue, blew her nose noisily, and then used another to wipe her eyes.

“Th…thank you,” she said. She wouldn’t forget her manners, not even with a scary stranger whose intentions were unknown.

The man nodded. “Can you tell me what’s wrong now?”

Maybe if she did, he’d go away. “I… I lost my sister. We were together, we were holding hands, but then she just…” She interrupted herself with another heaving sob, into the tissue this time.

The man made a sort of humming sound as she used a third tissue to wipe her glasses, mostly just succeeding in smudging them. “What does your sister look like?” he asked.

“L-like me, but…” Better. “With darker hair. She ties hers up in a b-b-bun.”

The man stood up decisively. “I’ll see if I can find her.” He paused, like he was thinking about something. “Maybe you should come with me. The streets aren’t safe for a little girl like you.”

Ah, there it was. There was the trap. She shook her head again, vigorously this time.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

She wanted to trust that promise, like she always wanted to trust any promise, but she couldn’t. She kept shaking her head.

The man made the humming sound again. She was surprised she could still hear it while he was standing up. “How about this, then. You don’t have to come with me, but you can follow me. As far away as you like. And if I go anywhere scary, you can run away. Just make sure to keep me in sight. And then if I see your sister, I can point her out to you.”

Sumire scanned this proposal for danger, and couldn’t see any. It was definitely better than staying here. Maybe she’d see a police officer while she was following the man, and they could help her. And she didn’t think she’d have difficulty keeping this man in view.

Finally, tentatively, she nodded.

“All right then,” said the man. “What’s your name?”

“Sumire.” Maybe she should have thought of a fake name, but she honestly couldn’t see any harm. Anyway, the only other name she could think of was Kasumi, and that would get complicated.

“Follow me then, Sumire-chan.” He turned, and started to walk away. She had to get up quickly to make sure she’d be able to follow him. She half-expected to be wobbly on her feet, but to her surprise, she was fine. Something about the idea of following the man seemed to have reassured her. Even her tears had dried up.

The man walked slowly, perhaps deliberately so, but purposefully. Even when he walked through a big group of people, they seemed to part to let him pass, without seeming to really notice him, like they were doing it by instinct. Once or twice, he changed the direction he was walking, crossing to the other side of the pedestrianised street. She wasn’t sure why, but each time seemed to correspond to there being a large group of men walking together on the other side. Perhaps he was avoiding them.

She realised quickly that he was taking a route not unlike the one she’d taken, back towards the big square. It was closer than she’d realised. Or maybe it was just that distances seemed smaller when you were with an adult. Not that she was with him, but he was giving her a kind of direction, and that sort of counted.

He seemed to be making back towards the street she and Kasumi had come along – she could make out the shape of the big sign in the distance, at the other end - but then he turned left. He glanced behind as he did so, presumably to make sure she was in view, and gave her a small smile. She felt oddly reassured, given that she’d never met this strange man before and had no idea where he might be leading her.

He seemed to be making for a paved area with some steps in front of a big skyscraper, which dwarfed the buildings around it. She hadn’t quite spotted it before, but now that she had, it was all she could look at. She almost forgot to keep an eye on the man himself, and as a result she almost lost him when he started walking faster. Fortunately, he once again looked back, and this time stopped to let her catch up a little before he resumed. And once he did so, she saw why he had sped up.

He was making for a couple of figures in front of the tower. There was a small figure sitting on a bench, and a much larger one standing next to the bench. As they drew closer, she could make out a little detail. The larger one was a broad man with a shaved head, wearing a green coat with a furry hood. And the smaller seated figure was… was…

Just like that, she was running, faster and more desperately than she had ever run before. She almost collided with a couple of passing people, but didn’t have the presence of mind to apologise. She even ran right past the grey-suited man, having entirely forgotten him for the moment. Nothing mattered except what she saw right in front of her.

As she approached the bench, the seated figure raised her head, and even as she did so, Sumire was throwing her arms around her sister.

“Sumire?”

“Kasumi! I thought I’d never see you again! I thought…”

“I thought I’d never see you again! Where were you?”

“I don’t know, I was just sitting down, and then there was this man, and…”

Even as she said it, she realised she’d entirely forgotten about the man. She released Kasumi and turned around to see the man standing a few feet away from them, his arms folded, smiling.

“Thank you so much, sir!” she said, bowing low.

“Glad this worked out,” he said. “Looks like your sister was in good company.” He nodded to the man in the furred hood, who now Sumire looked at him was even larger than her own benefactor. She bowed to him as well.

“Oh yeah,” said Kasumi excitedly. “Sumire, this is Saejima-san. He was just telling me about how I was bound to find you again. And I guess he was right!”

“Glad it all worked out for ya,” said Saejima, who was looking between the two sisters, as if not quite sure who to address.

Sumire turned back to Kasumi. “I think we need to be getting back. They’ll be worrying about us, and I think it might be nearly time for our competition.”

Kasumi nodded vigorously. “Yeah, you’re right! We’d better get going, then. Come on, Sumire!”

The grey-suited man stepped forward and put up a hand as if to stop them. “We’ll bring you back. Don’t want you getting lost again, right?”

As it turned out, the venue for the competition was only a few minutes’ walk from where they’d reunited, and the two men were able to escort them back easily. The two sisters trailed after them all the way, hand in hand again. As they went, Kasumi was still looking around, occasionally commenting on something she saw or pointing it out to her sister. Sumire, though, could only stare at the two huge backs in front of them. The two men who were taking all this time out of their day just because they’d come across a couple of crying children.

In a way, she wasn’t too surprised that they seemed to know each other. Maybe all really good people did somehow. Maybe they were like some kind of Featherman-style team. It was a silly idea, she knew, but it seemed to fit somehow.

Once they reached the venue, they hung back while Sumire and Kasumi went back in. Sumire made as if to linger, to thank them, but Kasumi dragged her inside. They tried to slip in through the inside door to the auditorium as surreptitiously as possible, hoping their absence hadn’t been noticed.

Unfortunately for them, it had. And once Kasumi had told the story of where they’d been, an only slightly mollified Shinkichi Yoshizawa had gone back to the front door of the venue to find and thank the men who had aided his daughters, the younger of whom peeking out from behind him as he did. But they had gone, and the overworked receptionist had only a vague sense that two men matching their descriptions had been there a few minutes ago.

By the evening, the two saviours were largely forgotten in the wake of Kasumi’s newest medal. Only Sumire really gave them much of a thought, realising with a pang of conscience that she’d never so much as gotten the name of the man who had rescued her.

What she couldn’t know was that, at that very moment, miles away from the Yoshizawa family home, that same man was lying bleeding in the street. That, not for the first or last time in his life, he came within inches of dying.

But that’s another story.

Chapter Text

September 2017

Shun Akiyama liked to think he knew the streets of Kamurocho better than almost anyone alive. He’d been closer to them than most, and even after making his money, he’d always made it his policy to listen out for what the streets were saying. Some of that came through his network of informants, of course, but a lot of it was personal instinct as well. He and Kamurocho had gotten to know each other very well down the years, and he now fancied himself as an expert reader of its moods and tempers.

And that was how he knew that something had gone terribly wrong with the place.

He’d picked up the first hints of it some months ago, around the time he’d first contacted Naoto Shirogane. Some time after the construction of the new police station, the cop presence around Kamurocho had gone drastically up. Not a huge surprise, and he hadn’t thought much of it at the time, though it was a little odd to see a cop on every street corner. It reminded him a little of the manhunt for Saejima after he’d first escaped from prison. But that was an exceptional circumstance, over the course of a few days. This was constant. He could almost swear it was the same cops standing and patrolling in the same places 24/7, like crime-fighting robots.

And along with more cops had come fewer yakuza on the streets. That only made sense, of course; after the first few arrests, they were inevitably a lot more careful about picking fights in public. But it wasn’t just the low-level grunts. The officers too seemed to go underground. When he’d first set up Sky Finance, it had seemed like you could hardly walk down a street in Kamurocho without bumping into some Tojo captain or lieutenant (and likely having to apologise profusely for it). But by July, Tojo pins had become a rare sight. He still saw Majima and Saejima on his occasional excursions to Purgatory, but the very fact that he could only run into the erstwhile masters of Kamurocho underground spoke volumes.

On the one hand, less casual violence on the streets was something to celebrate. He certainly wasn’t going to lament not being accosted by thugs every time he went to the Poppo on the corner for a bento. But it still felt distinctly odd. Like Kamurocho was losing some of its soul. Being scrubbed clean, and left raw from the experience.

It wasn’t just the cops either. Kamurocho had always had a high turnover of businesses, with its sky-high rents, but these days it seemed like one place after another was closing its doors all of a sudden. Various small bars and shops were shuttering only a week or so after announcing their closure. Even the Champion District, which had barely changed in decades, was losing some of its character. Earth Angel’s manager had confided in him just the other week that a prospective buyer had been sniffing around, looking to turn the place into some kind of chain family restaurant. He’d been sent packing, but there would be more.

The oddest thing, in a way, was that not one of those small business owners had come to Akiyama for a loan before closing down. Several of them certainly knew him – he’d even put up the initial capital for some of their premises. And there was no doubt that he could have saved them from financial ruin; in fact, he would have been happy to do so. But no requests had been forthcoming. It made him feel frustrated, and oddly powerless. What was the point of locking all that money away behind a bookcase if he couldn’t use it to help the city he loved?

In fact, business had been slow for Sky Finance in general in the last few months. He’d expected some teething problems getting the place up and running again after all that gang war business, but it had been months now, and he was getting perhaps a quarter of the customers they’d once had. It wasn’t a problem of survival; his cash reserves weren’t running dry any time soon. But there hardly seemed much point in keeping the door open if nobody came through it. Besides, it gave Hana more time to get on his case.

He sat up slowly from his recumbent position on the sofa. He needed to get out of the office. All of this contemplation was doing him no favours. And if he wanted to take the temperature of the streets, he needed to get out onto them as regularly as possible.

Where to go, though? Purgatory had been closed for a couple of weeks – ostensibly for refurbishment, but Akiyama doubted he’d see it open again any time soon. That was worrying too. Could somebody be pressurising the Florist? Anybody who could manage that must not only be extremely influential, but must also know Kamurocho well. It was a savvy move, if they wanted to crack down on the underworld – the Tojo Clan were the Florist’s best customers, and Purgatory itself was a magnet for the wealthier class of criminal. Even Akiyama would suffer for information without the odd tip-off from the Florist.

His old homeless network was under threat too. If there was one thing the cops liked less than yakuza, it was homeless people. They were constantly being moved on, or even threatened with jail for nebulous reasons. He’d had to put up bail money a couple of times, which had almost certainly earned him the attention of law enforcement, if he hadn’t had it already. It was a price worth paying, if it kept people who’d already had a shitty time of it from suffering even more, but it felt uncomfortably like a trap was closing around him.

That was a thought, actually. Maybe he could stroll around, up to the Hotel District or up by Kamurocho Hills, to see if there was anyone around on the streets that he recognised – or even anyone he didn’t, to whom he could introduce himself. He could get some information on comings and goings, maybe an update on Purgatory if he was lucky, and give them some money for a room for the night. A fancy one, ideally, just to annoy the other guests.

It wasn’t until he reached the door that he registered the noise outside. Noise in itself was not unusual – his office was on one of the busiest streets in Tokyo, and opposite a popular host club. If anything, he found the constant buzz of chatter and laughter comforting. What was less comforting was what sounded awfully like chanting. Especially when it was coming from the back lot behind his building.

He put an ear to the door to see if he could make anything out. As he did so, one voice, which sounded as though it was amplified by a megaphone, rang out above the others.

“They may call him the ‘lifeline of Kamurocho,’ but this leech, this parasite, this lowlife has been giving out money to all kinds of undesirables! Yakuza, prostitutes – whatever common scum walks in off the street! Funding their degenerate lifestyles and bringing filth and disorder to our streets! And what do we say to that?”

Just as Akiyama was trying to figure out how he could be a leech if he was giving away money, what sounded like a sizeable crowd had taken up a chant: “Clean up Kamurocho! Clean up Kamurocho!”

He heaved a hefty sigh. He’d better deal with this. It was bad for business, and even worse if Hana found out. She’d probably do a Kiryu and start smacking somebody about with a bicycle, which would be very entertaining, but not great for her future prospects. Or his.

He opened the office door to a chorus of boos from the lot below. Better put on a show, then. He sauntered over to the railing opposite the door and leaned over it, looking down on the small crowd gathered below with a calculatedly smarmy grin. There looked to be a few dozen of them, taking up a good portion of the lot, a few holding placards that said things like “Bleach the streets” and “Criminals out!” He lit up a cigarette as casually as he could manage and waited for the boos to die down a little before speaking.

“So what’s all this, then?” he said, in the most amused and contemptuous tone he could muster. “You guys get lost on your way to some kinda con?”

He wasn’t at all surprised that it was the man at the front, the one holding the megaphone, who replied. Even from three floors up, he recognised the steely look of the fanatic. And what was a crowd without a shit-stirrer?

“You know what this is about, Akiyama-san! The people of Kamurocho are here to demand an end to your crooked dealings!”

“The people of Kamurocho?” He shaded his eyes and cast a theatrical glance over the small crowd. “Maybe I’ve missed something, but I thought there were a lot more people than this in Kamurocho. Everyone else running late?”

“This is a small group of concerned citizens representing the silent majority! For too long, Kamurocho has been ruled over by the likes of you, but we have come to reclaim the streets!”

“Concerned citizens” and “the silent majority” in the same sentence? This guy needs to vary up his messaging. “Pretty convenient for you that the majority are silent then, huh? Means they can think whatever you want them to. Hell, maybe I’m the one representing the silent majority here. I’ve been here the best part of a decade, and nobody’s raised a fuss before now.”

The man below almost physically leapt at the opening. “That’s because you and your yakuza backers have had this entire city cowed until now! But now these proud citizens have assembled to say: no more!”

He almost laughed at the idea that he had “yakuza backers,” especially in connection with the earlier claim that it was he who was funding yakuza – which was it? But he was far from blind to the danger of all this. He’d vaguely heard about this kind of moral panic happening in other cities recently, but he’d never expected to run into it in Kamurocho of all places. It was like setting up a vegan commune in a den of lions. But this kind of thing could sway people through sheer force of argument. The megaphone wasn’t just for show.

He took a long, scornful drag on his cigarette and flicked it away, enjoying the scramble as the protestors tried to avoid being hit by it. “Seems only fair that I should know who I’m talking to. What’s your name, shouty man?”

“Mitamura.” He spat his name as if defying Akiyama to use it against him somehow.

“All right, then, Mitamura-san, let me tell you this. I’ve been in Kamurocho for well over a decade now, and I’ve been running this business most of that time. This city has been good to me, and all I’ve been doing is paying that forward. People come to me for help, and I give it to them. I can’t stop you from standing out there and shouting your nice slogans, but if you do, you’ll be stopping people from accessing help they desperately need. You’ll be making lives worse. Is that really what you want?”

An appeal to decency wasn’t the strongest weapon against a zealot, he knew, but he was really speaking to the crowd, hoping that some of them might come to their senses and see what it was they were doing. It was a long shot, but he was investing in the future.

There was certainly no hope for Mitamura, though, who looked him squarely in the eye and said:

“If they’re your kind of people? Yes.”

“It’s pretty bad out there, Akiyama-han,” said Daisaku Minami, in what Akiyama thought was a stunning display of understatement.

Minami would not exactly have been Akiyama’s first choice of informant, but the Majima Family office seemed to have been abandoned, with only him left behind – checking to see if they’d left anything significant or incriminating, he said, and Akiyama couldn’t decide if this was a genuine duty, or a way of keeping him out of the way while more sensitive business was conducted. Either way, since he couldn’t say where Majima himself was, and Saejima’s office had proven to be just as empty, he’d have to do.

“Have to say,” said Akiyama, “I didn’t think Majima-san was the type to back down in the face of a few cops. I mean, didn’t the man drive a dump truck through the gates of the National Diet building once?”

There was a flash of annoyance in Minami’s eyes at the implication of cowardice on his patriarch’s part, but to Akiyama’s surprise he didn’t take the bait. Clearly he’d matured.

“Ain’t just the cops on the street,” he said. “There’s been all sortsa other stuff. Legal challenges ta the boss’s lease on this place, old warrants for arrest on our guys suddenly resurfacin’, investigations inta our front operations. Even the construction company’s had ta halt fer the moment. I ain’t too clear on the details, but I do know that all this stuff has sprung up in the last few months.”

“Sounds like a concerted effort. Guess the governor’s not all talk with this Kamurocho Whatever Plan of his. What about the weirdos who were outside my office earlier? You seen them around?”

Minami’s many facial piercings flashed in the evening light. Akiyama had often thought that he could be very easily, if unpleasantly, defeated with the aid of a powerful magnet.

“Oh yeah. Surprised you haven’t, Akiyama-han. They’re out there in fronta the Millennium Tower all the time, goin’ on about how the symbol o’ the city is bein’ corrupted. Sometimes they follow us soldiers around when we’re goin’ about our business, all claimin’ how they’re ‘keepin’ an eye’ on us. Really takes all the fun outta blastin’ some tunes at karaoke, I can tell ya.”

Akiyama was surprised himself. Perhaps he’d been too focused on the changing legal situation in Kamurocho, or just distracted by the process of setting Sky Finance back up. Thinking back, he had seen protestors and the likes around, including in front of the Millennium Tower, but had paid them little mind. You always got all sorts of strange types around Kamurocho, and this lot hadn’t seemed like they’d be good for a laugh, so they’d hardly crossed his radar. Clearly that had been a mistake.

“What do you know about them?”

“Not a lot. They’re called Bleach Japan, and they’re all about ‘cleanin’ up the streets,’ but I guess you already got that. I hear they’re big in other partsa the country, ’specially Yokohama, but I ain’t seen them ‘round here until a coupla months ago. Seem to have a big thing about yakuza in particular. I hear that Mitamura guy got right up in Saejima-han’s face, told him he was ‘the scum o’ the earth,’ somethin’ like that.”

Akiyama tried to picture that, but his brain just couldn’t process the image. “How the hell is he still alive?”

Minami shrugged, with an audible jingle. “Saejima-han’s smart. He knows when he’s bein’ goaded. Plus I guess he’s spent enough time in the slammer not ta wanna go back there over some little weaselly shit like Mitamura.”

That was all true enough. Maybe all the shouting and accusations aren’t just about forceful rhetoric for them. Maybe they’re trying to engineer confrontations to prove their point about how dangerous yakuza are. Akiyama had to admit that there were plenty of yakuza out there who’d be only too happy to oblige them too. Maybe that was part of why the Tojo Clan seemed to be on the move as well.

“You know where you’re going?” he asked Minami.

“Boss ain’t told us. We had somethin’ goin’ on in Shinjuku, but that got shut down recently, not sure why. Prob’ly this goes all the way up to Dojima-san, so it’ll be on his say-so.” He paused, and took on a thoughtful look, which on him made it look like he was suffering some kind of abdominal pain. “What about you, Akiyama-han?”

“What about me?”

“Well, I ain’t got anythin’ like yer head fer business, but seems to me these guys are pretty set on stoppin’ you from carryin’ on yer usual shit. ’Specially with us gone, yer gonna get ’em hangin’ out on yer doorstep mornin’, noon an’ night. You got anywhere you can go?”

It was a surprisingly insightful point, especially coming from a man who was known to headbutt a microphone at karaoke in time with the beat. Every instinct Akiyama had in his body had been screaming at him for months that something was wrong with Kamurocho. That was the kind of feeling he’d come to associate with the imminent arrival of Kiryu, but even given Shirogane’s findings, he couldn’t rely on that this time.

But it wasn’t as though he was useless himself. This whole thing stank, and he needed to get to the bottom of it. Not just for his own sake, but for Kamurocho’s. Even if to do so meant going out of town for a bit.

As to where he would go, the answer was obvious. While the branch office had never quite taken off, he’d kept the lease up just in case – that was just the sort of thing you could do when you were a billionaire. And maybe being outside of Tokyo was just what he needed, especially if some of his nastier suspicions turned out to be correct.

He wasn’t much looking forward to telling Hana, though.

Chapter Text

As she idled outside the office door, waiting to be called in, Makoto reflected with some degree of annoyance that, after all she’d been through, she was right back to standing around waiting on the attention of an authority figure.

It wasn’t idling outside an office that was the problem in and of itself. She’d done that several times in the last few months alone, not only at Goro Majima’s place of business, such as it was, but also visiting various college professors to discuss readings and assignments. The latter had seemed surprised and a little alarmed to get such enthusiasm from a first year, but perhaps that was to be expected. At any rate, this was just the latest in a long line of officious doors she’d stood outside of down the years. She was becoming something of an expert on the subject.

She knew, for instance, that there was a world of difference between waiting on a meeting you’d arranged, and waiting having been summoned by the office’s occupant. Both could be nerve-racking, but the latter seemed to take on an entirely different atmosphere. The corridor leading up to the door seemed longer, and secretaries who were probably just doing their jobs when viewed objectively took on sneering and judgemental aspects as they put the call through, as if to tell her that she should be grateful to be granted a small portion of the boss’s time. Yes, of course, it was all in her head, but she was not likely to dismiss the significance, not to say the reality, of cognition after her experiences.

And all of that was magnified, as she was now discovering, when not only have you not met the person who’s summoned you, but you’ve only been dimly aware of their existence until the moment of the summons. It was the kind of thing that could really fire the imagination off in all kinds of worrying directions.

But already, sooner than she’d expected, the door was opening and a woman was emerging. She was tall and slender, and this, combined with her plain suit and steely expression, reminded Makoto of Sae, which was less encouraging than it might have been. Like Sae, she wore her hair down, though hers was a dark red, and she moved purposefully, like someone unencumbered by doubt. She extended a hand to Makoto in greeting.

“A pleasure to meet you at last, Nijima-san,” said Mitsuru Kirijo. Her tone wasn’t warm, but it was far from cold, at least. “Thank you for taking the time.”

“Not at all,” said Makoto, taking the proferred hand. She was unsurprised to find that Kirijo had an uncomfortably firm handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Kirijo-san.”

Kirijo’s office turned out to be surprisingly plain. The wall opposite the door was taken up with a window, which offered an extraordinary view of Tokyo Bay, but the office itself was low on decoration. As well as Kirijo’s desk, there was a conference table surrounded by chairs in the centre, but the walls were lined, almost cluttered, with a remarkable number of filing cabinets. Makoto would have assumed the Kirijo Group would have been rather more digital than all that, but then again, from what little she knew of them, it might make sense to keep some documents at least under lock and key.

Above these cabinets, the left-hand wall was mostly taken up with a large map of Japan, with pins at various points, mainly concentrated around major cities. The right-hand wall bore two photographs framed in mahogany. One showed a young Kirijo – the same age as Makoto, or a little younger - standing next to an eyepatched man in a suit, his hand on her shoulder. Somehow, though neither was smiling, Makoto felt she could detect a warmth to the photograph. In the photograph next to it, a slightly younger Kirijo stood with two boys of about the same age, smiling proudly. With a jolt, Makoto recognised Akihiko Sanada, who had barely changed in what must be well over a decade – he even had a plaster over the bridge of his nose, like the last time she’d seen him. The other boy in the picture, with longer, dark hair, was unfamiliar to her.

“Please, sit,” said Kirijo, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk. The desktop was also remarkably uncluttered – suggesting that Kirijo was either extremely efficient, or didn’t spend much time here -  though Makoto did notice another framed photograph, as she sat down, featuring Kirijo, Sanada and the man with the eyepatch, along with a number of other teenagers, one of whom seemed to be falling, plus a child holding a dog up. The picture seemed to have been taken at an inopportune moment, with those depicted reacting to the falling boy with expressions ranging from concern to resignation. She couldn’t see any sign of the unfamiliar boy from the other picture. She wasn’t sure why Kirijo would have such a bizarre tableau in such a prominent place. Surely there were better pictures taken of this group?

She realised belatedly that she was staring at the picture, and stammered out an apology.

Kirijo shook her head as if to dispel the apology. “Bien. In fact, that picture is somewhat appropriate to my purposes in calling you here. That was the original iteration of the Shadow Operatives, in a sense.”

“I see.” She wasn’t sure how much, if anything, Futaba was supposed to have told her, so she elected not to be drawn.

“I’d like to tell you a little more about that,” said Kirijo. “But there’s something else we must get through first. Firstly, I apologise that it’s taken so long for us to meet. I would have liked for it to happen sooner; Akihiko and Shirogane-san both speak highly of you.” Makoto hoped that sheer willpower would be enough to keep her from flushing at hearing that her teenage idol had praised her independently. “We’ve been rather busy here over the summer, plus that whole EMMA business set us back, as it did most businesses in the country. We’ve been having to rethink how we store and organise our data. The perils of relying so heavily on an AI, I suppose.” She leaned back, as if to survey Makoto from a clinical distance. “Then again, I hardly need to tell you much about that, do I? Given that you will have been heavily involved in the affair, in your capacity as a Phantom Thief.”

Ren had told her that a few of his contacts around the city – Iwai in the gun shop, the shady doctor in Yongen, the fortune teller in Shinjuku – had figured out his identity as a Phantom Thief, and casually dropped it into a conversation. She wondered if it had felt like this, like the ground had suddenly dropped out from under her and she was suspended in front of Kirijo’s gaze like an interesting insect specimen under examination.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, just about managing to moisten her suddenly parched mouth enough to respond.

Kirijo smiled mirthlessly. “I can hardly blame you for denying it. But it wasn’t difficult to put together. According to my colleague Yamagishi, your friend Sakura took a keen interest in our files on the Phantom Thieves when she first infiltrated our system. And since then, she’s asked Yamagishi a few pointed questions about said files, and the extent of our suspicions. She showed no surprise at all on being informed of the existence of Shadows, which lines up with our suppositions about the Phantom Thieves’ methods, and we have determined that she almost certainly has a Persona. And no sooner have we recruited her but she tells Shirogane and Akihiko about her close friend, with whom she was working to gather information, and who displays just the kind of keen investigative ability that would enable a surreptitious group to surveil and identify malefactors outside the reaches of the law. I suppose, while we’re at it…” She pressed a button on her desk, apparently activating some kind of intercom. “Aigis, would you come in here for a moment, s’il vous plait?”

Makoto’s mind raced to provide some kind of counter. “But… but this is all supposition and speculation.”

“True enough. But it’s not as though we need to prove anything in a court of law. And as for evidence…” The door opened, and despite herself, Makoto was a little in awe of how good Kirijo’s timing was. She turned to see a blond woman wearing some kind of oddly patterned headphones, in a suit very much like Kirijo’s own, closing the door behind her. “Aigis, could you scan Niijima-san like we discussed?”

“Of course, Mitsuru-san,” said the woman, and Makoto’s protests died on her lips as Aigis’s eyes abruptly changed colour from blue to bright green, and her head moved up and down slightly, as if trying to take everything in. This continued for a few moments, before her eyes returned to their original colour and she said, in a tone that reminded Makoto of an elevator announcing the current floor: “Scan complete.”

“And?”

“I must reiterate that outside of the Dark Hour or similar phenomena, a Persona is usually unable to manifest, and as such there is a notable margin of error to this process of 20.5%.”

“Yes, I understand.” There was just a touch of impatience in Niijima’s tone, and Makoto couldn’t blame her. “So what is the result?”

“Probability of Niijima-san possessing a Persona: 79.5%.”

Kirijo smiled slightly and nodded. “Bien. Thank you, Aigis. I apologise for disturbing you from your work.”

“No apology necessary, Mitsuru-san. Good luck with your interrogation.”

That parting comment did very little to settle Makoto’s already frayed nerves. Nor did Kirijo settling forward to survey her carefully from a slightly different angle.

“Just because I have a Persona doesn’t make me a Phantom Thief,” she said. It was ridiculous, she knew it was, but she was damned if she wouldn’t grasp at every conceivable straw when it seemed like the very scenario she’d had nightmares about for over a year was coming to pass.

“That’s true,” said Kirijo, whose unwaveringly even tone was really beginning to irritate Makoto. “As are a dozen other objections you could make at this point. Alternatively, you could stop wasting both of our time and engage with me on an honest level. As a fellow Persona user.”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, given what little she knew about the Shadow Operatives. Futaba had told them all that there were Persona users among their ranks, and it stood to reason that the head (founder?) of the organisation would be among their ranks. And after Akechi and Maruki, it was clear that both she and Kirijo having Personas did not necessarily put them on the same team, as it were. And yet, some of the tension drained away with those words. And besides, Kirijo was right. There was nothing to do but engage if she wanted to know what exactly was going on here. The consequences, whatever they were, would come either way.

She found, though, that all she had was questions, two foremost among them:

“What just happened? Who is that woman?”

“Reasonable questions, and I promise you will have answers to them soon enough. But first, I would be very grateful if you could tell me exactly what it was that happened last month with EMMA.”

It was hard to know exactly how much detail was warranted, and so Makoto poured in as much of it as she thought even vaguely relevant – the Jails, the road trip, their various destinations. Kirijo seemed like someone who appreciated detail, and like someone who would pick worryingly at notable holes in the story. What she left out – consciously and probably conspicuously – was names. Where she had to refer to any of the other Phantom Thieves, even Futaba, she used their code names, and even those sparingly. She stayed away from identifying details – so no Leblanc or Sojiro, nothing about how Haru knew Mariko Hyodo in advance. Likewise out were names of collaborators – Ichinose, Zenkichi, even Sophia. She got the impression that Kirijo was spotting the points in the story where the fog of vagueness descended, but thankfully she never seemed to want to probe in those places. Perhaps because of that, Makoto had relaxed somewhat by the time she reached the end of the story, though she still found herself chewing the inside of her cheek in a way that she knew she would pay for later.

Kirijo had watched her closely throughout the story, not taking any notes. In a sudden flash of paranoia, Makoto wondered if she had surreptitious recording devices planted around the office, Richard Nixon style. Then again, she hadn’t implicated anyone but herself, and she was clearly already in trouble. She found herself oddly exhausted after all of the mental effort it had taken to choose her words so carefully: enough detail to convince, but not enough to let anything unnecessary slip. She hadn’t imagined her respect for Ren could increase any further, but considering her story had been significantly shorter than his, and she had been telling it in a bright open office with no drugs in her system, his feat from last November seemed all the more extraordinary to her.

“Very well then,” said Kirijo, when it was clear she had concluded. “That certainly accords with some of our suspicions and theories. Though I must say, we hadn’t at all grasped how widespread the problem was. I take it these Jails are the same method you used in your previous escapades? With Shido, Okumura, Kaneshiro and so forth?”

“Not quite the same, but similar,” said Makoto. “The other cases were… well, it would take some time to explain.”

“I’m sure. But there will be time for all of that, and perhaps for you to fill in some of the gaps you left just now. Once we’ve built up a little trust, I suppose.”

Makoto felt as if she’d spent the last hour or so being continually wrongfooted, and struggling to keep her feet. But by now, she was so exhausted, all she wanted to do was fall.

“Trust?”

“Yes. If you’re amenable, I’d like very much for you to join the Shadow Operatives. Everything you’ve told me, and all that I’ve heard of you, convinces me you’d be a real asset for us, and I believe there’s a great deal we can offer you in exchange. Of course, if you don’t want to, you can walk out that door, and this conversation will be entirely forgotten, but I’m bound to say that you would be turning down a substantial opportunity.”

“That’s… a very generous offer.” Where’s the sting?

“I’d like to think so. We can offer you a salary commensurate with your involvement, which for its part can be as much or as little as you like. I understand that you will want to prioritise your college work, but we can work around that. Most of our associates have other work or studies. Shirogane-san, for instance. I would hope that you would work with us a little more closely than she does, but that’s entirely up to you.”

“Or I can just leave? Consequence free?”

“Oui. We don’t traffic with the authorities, and particularly law enforcement, any more than we have to, and this has been a private conversation. Besides which, as you have astutely pointed out, my conjecture is not legally actionable.”

“You could still make a lot of trouble by getting it to the right people, though.” She might be giving Kirijo a bit of a hard time, she knew, but turnabout was, in this instance, definitely fair play. Besides, she had to examine this development from every possible angle. She had to be sure.

“I can’t deny that, I suppose.” She seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “Very well. It’s only fair that I make some attempt to convince you that I am an ally.”

She busied herself with something behind her desk. Makoto heard the sound of a drawer opening, but restrained herself from craning her neck to see what was happening. Had she done so, she reflected later, she might have been less visibly flabbergasted to see Kirijo pull out a Phantom Thieves calling card.

“But… What?” she managed. “When…?”

Kirijo actually laughed. “Apologies. Perhaps I should have been clearer.” She turned it around to reveal that, rather than the usual pasted-in letters, the side opposite the logo was blank but for the words “Official Phansite Merchandise” in a somehow grating font. Kirijo passed the card over for her to examine. “I bought this about a year ago. I’m not normally one for such gestures, but I couldn’t resist. Your iconography and ideals appealed to me, as I imagine they did to everyone who wanted to believe that justice could be simple. I was a bit of a fan, you might say. In fact, I still am.”

Makoto looked over the card critically. It certainly looked like Mishima’s handiwork – or rather, the handiwork of wherever he got the things printed. She’d never taken much interest in that side of things, being more concerned with the requests section of the Phansite – she wasn’t even entirely sure when the site had started selling merch, though she did know that it had been very limited. So if this really was official – insofar as that word meant anything when it applied to Mishima alone in his bedroom – rather than any of the cheap knockoffs that had been everywhere after the Medjed incident, then that suggested that maybe, just maybe, Kirijo really was a fan.

Which didn’t mean much in itself, beyond perhaps a certain idealism. But that in itself was a start.

She pushed the card back across the desk. “I’ll need to know more about the Shadow Operatives.”

“I can tell you a little of our organisational structure and history,” said Kirijo. “In fact, I would be pleased to do so. But only if you join. I’m afraid a degree of opaqueness is very much part of our policy.”

“Or I could just ask Futaba.”

Kirijo laughed again, which was only slightly less unnerving this time. “Just as I thought. You must have made a fine strategic advisor. I admire your lateral thinking. Very well. Feel free to go and ask Sakura whatever you wish. Though I don’t believe she knows as much as I would be willing to tell you, were you to join up here and now.”

Makoto mused on that. She knew when she was getting the hard sell – “limited-time offer only,” like that old Amazing Commodities show – and she knew that Kirijo was playing on her curiosity, but that didn’t make it any less appealing. “So what would you be offering me as part of the Shadow Operatives? I’m not a fan of the name, by the way. It’s a bit on the nose, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m afraid we’re rather stuck with it now. At any rate, apart from the aforementioned salary, not to mention a sense of purpose and the ability to work towards a kind of justice, very much like the Phantom Thieves, we have considerable investigative resources here. That’s the capacity in which Shirogane works with us. In fact, I believe you’ve already seen something of our capabilities, from what Akihiko tells me. Given your background, I’m sure that would be of interest to you. Perhaps there’s some mystery you’ve never quite been able to unravel. If it’s relevant to Shadow activity, we would be more than happy to help out.”

A long-dormant beast stirred at the back of Makoto’s mind. There was something, all right. It had been nagging at her for the better part of a year, but she’d never quite had the time or the capacity to address it. There had always been something more urgent. She had considered looking into it during the Kiryu investigation, but it had always floated just on the edge of relevance. Perhaps now was the time.

“Oh, and one more thing,” said Kirijo. “Once we’ve built up some trust, you would be very welcome to bring the other Phantom Thieves into the fold. I daresay they could add enormously to our resources. And we could very much benefit whatever continued activities you may be engaged in as a group.”

Makoto had to suppress a grin at the image of Ryuji in a sober suit like Kirijo’s, filling out some sort of spreadsheet. “I’ll certainly consider it. But one thing at a time.” She took a deep breath, and centred herself, just as Komaki had taught her. “Where do I sign up?”

Chapter Text

October 2017

Futaba had never really been to a team meeting before, at least not in any workplace sense. There was the Phantom Thieves, of course, but she had to assume that most team meetings didn’t feature one of the team eating individual noodles as slowly as possible, to try and make them last; or another occasionally leaning too far back in his chair and collapsing to the ground with a crash at an important moment; or a third grooming themselves with their tongue. Then again, if what Makoto had said was true, and the Phantom Thieves as a whole might be joining up with the Shadow Operatives, that might change soon. At the very least, it would give her a bit more company at these meetings.

Looking around the boardroom table, there were a few unfamiliar faces, which, given that she’d spent hardly any time in this building, wasn’t unsurprising. She recognised Yamagishi, who seemed to have made a point of sitting next to her, and Aigis, who had greeted her in that strangely detached manner of hers (what was Aigis’s deal? Why did she go by only one name and never blink? These were among the mysteries Futaba had to unravel). This was only her second time meeting the much-hyped Mitsuru Kirijo, who had entered in the company of a shorter woman wearing a pink cardigan over her business attire. Sanada wasn’t present, to her dismay – apparently no-one had heard from him in a while, but this wasn’t at all unusual, which sounded to Futaba like the ideal way of interacting with a group. There were a couple of other people there, all women, by the looks of it; whether this was an all-female meeting by accident or design, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t make a great deal of difference to her either way.

She felt a little out of place in her school uniform, but there hadn’t been time to change. Fortunately, there didn’t exactly seem to be a dress code. One woman was wearing a tracksuit with a green zip-up top, which looked really comfy. She wished Sojiro had gotten permission to accompany her, rather than just waiting on some other floor after dropping her off. Not only would he have been a comforting presence, but his cool hat would surely have been the envy of the room.

Kirijo sat in front of a laptop attached to a projector, with what looked like the beginning of a slide show on a screen behind her. Futaba wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about this. It felt an awful lot like school. Then again, talking about Shadows and stuff was probably more interesting than most school subjects, and she guessed Kirijo was probably better at keeping on-topic than most of the teachers at Shujin.

All at once, everyone seemed to come to attention, and look straight at Kirijo. Futaba wasn’t sure what had prompted it – a gesture, maybe a clearing of the throat. Whatever it was, it had been subtle enough that she hadn’t noticed it, maybe just because she hadn’t been looking for it. Compared to Makoto, who had sometimes had to slam her fist (of justice) on a table to get everyone’s attention, it was pretty impressive.

“Thank you all for coming in,” said Kirijo. “I’m pleased to see so many of you here, given that we have not had a regular meeting in some time. But I thought it best that we gather before too long, due to… numerous circumstances.”

Am I one of the circumstances? I don’t think I’ve ever been a circumstance before. Sojiro will be so proud.

“Firstly, and on a relatively pleasant note, we have a new associate with us today.” Yes! I’m a pleasant note too! “Some of you may have already corresponded with Sakura-san, who has been drastically improving our technical capabilities. Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself, Sakura-san?” Kirijo had taken on what was probably meant to be a gentle tone, but which came across to Futaba as vaguely menacing. Nonetheless, she managed to get to her feet without shaking too much.

“Uh… hi,” she managed. “I’m F-Futaba Sakura. Nice to meet you all. I hope we, uh, conduct business together successfully.” It sounded like the sort of thing you said at this sort of meeting, but people looked baffled, for some reason. Nonetheless, she sat down again, feeling her work was done.

“Thank you, Sakura-san,” said Kirijo, seemingly unconcerned. “There will be time for further conversation later, but it might behoove the rest of you to introduce yourselves briefly at this stage. Yamagishi, Aigis, I know you are already acquainted with Sakura-san.” Yamagishi smiled and nodded, while Aigis fixed her with an unnerving stare, which seemed to be her equivalent. “Yukari, perhaps you’d like to start?”

The woman in the pink cardigan nodded. “Yeah, sure. Hi, I’m Yukari Takeba. I’ve been part of the Shadow Operatives since the very beginning, but I’m just a reserve member, so I’m not always heavily involved. I-”

At about this point, something clicked in Futaba’s brain, almost audibly, and she leapt to her feet, pointing, like something out of an old sci-fi movie. “OHMYGODYOU’REFEATHERPINK! You’re my favourite! Well, definitely one of my favourites. I made a tier list the other day, and put you in S-tier, and all the comments were like ‘Ugh, no way, she sucks,’ and I was like ‘Sir, I think you will find that it is you who sucks,’ and the discussion proceeded along those lines, and-”

“This is one of those conversations that there will be time for later,” said Kirijo crisply, and though her voice was even, it succeeded in breaking across Futaba’s breathless rant. “Satonaka, perhaps you’d like to go next?”

Satonaka proved to be the woman in the tracksuit, who gave a breezy and cheerful greeting, and the introductions moved on to the silver-haired woman with the Kansai accent next to her, whose name proved to be Labrys. What is it with these people and their single Greek names? Labrys started to introduce herself as an “anti-Shadow suppres-” when Kirijo cut her off, which seemed to be a habit of hers.

“That can also wait for later, I think,” she said. “Let’s not… overwhelm Sakura-san with information for the moment.”

That seemed… nice, but also a bit weird. Did she not think Futaba could cope? Or was she covering up some kind of secret? Futaba made a mental note to check with Labrys and find out what she’d been going to say at the next opportunity.

“As it happens,” Kirijo said, “we have had another new recruit very recently. I had hoped to introduce Niijima-san to those of you who haven’t yet met her, but she has had a schedule conflict. She hopes to drop by later today, so if you’re able to stay, I imagine she’d be pleased if you would. Like Sakura-san, I think she will be a great asset to us, and I hope that we will all work together productively.”

Futaba felt a bit proud hearing Makoto spoken of in glowing terms like that. It only made sense, of course, and probably she was only ever spoken of in such terms, but still. It was like when Ren used to bring home his bizarrely good school reports, and Sojiro would stick them up on the fridge at home. He and Futaba were the only ones who ever knew about that, but she could feel his pride, and she shared in it.

“Unfortunately,” Kirijo was saying, “we must turn to some less pleasant matters. An incident has occurred recently that may concern us. In fact, I would be particularly grateful for your input in this matter, Sakura-san.”

That made Futaba’s blood run cold. She knew that Kirijo had figured out she was a Phantom Thief – that had been the subject of their one conversation, a week or so previously – and Makoto was pretty sure she could be trusted with that information, but it still made her nervous to be the sole representative of the Thieves in this company. What if she got something wrong? Or gave something away that she shouldn’t? She drummed her fingers on her knee rapidly and hoped that Makoto’s schedule conflict thing, whatever it was, would disappear, and she’d burst through the door to heroically take the pressure off Futaba.

“I think it best to begin by showing you the incident in question,” said Kirijo, loading up a video on the screen. Some men were sitting around a table in some sort of meeting. It did not look to Futaba like scintillating viewing. “This was sent to us by a contact in the Tokyo Metropolitan Assembly. The man depicted here-” she pointed to the middle-aged man in the centre of the picture “-is an assembly member for Shinjuku. A well-respected man whose word holds considerable weight, and who is seen as a figurehead against the Liberal Co-Prosperity Party. I mention this as important context for determining what has happened here.”

She pressed play on the video.

Makoto arrived at a run to find a grim-faced Kirijo waiting for her.

“What happened?” she asked, too out of breath to go into detail and too concerned for pleasantries.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” said Kirijo, somehow contriving to look both concerned and irritated. “During the meeting I showed a video of an incident that occurred earlier today and she just bolted from the room midway through and locked herself in here. Well, I say ‘locked,’ but she couldn’t have a key, so I assume she’s barricaded the door.”

“What video? What incident?”

“I was hoping to share it with you soon, but essentially it depicts an assembly member undergoing some form of sudden collapse. I was hoping to get Sakura-san’s opinion on it, but, well…” She gestured towards the closed door, as though that were itself an indication of Futaba’s opinion.

A suspicion had entered Makoto’s mind, and with it, a feeling of utter dread. “I think I’d better speak to her. And it might be best if I did so alone.”

Kirijo seemed about to argue, but instead caught herself, nodded, and withdrew several paces, presumably as some sort of compromise. It wasn’t clear whether or not she was out of earshot, but it would have to do.

Makoto knocked on the door. “Futaba? It’s me, Makoto.”

She could faintly hear sobbing through the door, which made her own heart ache. Her phone buzzed, and she took it out to find a message there from Futaba:

Sorry

“Don’t be sorry. I think I understand what happened, and it must have been awful.” She had to ask, and there was no nice way to do so. “Did it remind you of your mother?”

It was just like it

And like Haru’s dad too

His eyes were rolled back

And he was sorta slobbering

And there was no life in his fsce

A fresh round of sobs sounded from the other side, which Makoto suspected also accounted for the uncharacteristic typo.

“I’m sorry.”

There was no reply, which didn’t surprise her much. Really, there wasn’t much to be said, so she decided to try a different tack.

“This is nostalgic, isn’t it?” she said gently. “Separated by a door, you communicating by text. I guess you could say that was the first step to all we did together.”

The only response this time was a muffled sniff.

“I was amazed by your resolve. I still am, but after all you’d been through, you were willing to stand up. You were willing to go through anything to find out what happened to your mother. And we did. It was gruellingly hard, I wanted to give up so many times, but we did it. We brought justice to your mother’s killers, and so many others.”

Her phone buzzed.

And so you want to do the same sorta thing now?

That what you’re getting at, right?

“More or less,” she admitted. “But I’m not trying to talk you into anything. You shouldn’t have to confront this kind of thing again.”

I kinda do, though

If there’s any chance this is happening again

I don’t want any more kids to end up like me

That was exactly the response Makoto had hoped for. And yet, in a way, she’d never expected anything less. She hadn’t just been flattering Futaba; she really was amazed by her resolve. In a way, she’d often thought of Futaba as the strongest of them, bearing the greatest burdens. Parental death was no stranger to their group, but the harassment Futaba had undergone afterwards hardly bore thinking about, and she’d gathered there’d been some kind of family difficulties before she’d come to live with Sojiro, though Makoto had never wanted to pry into that. The fact that she was able to function at all was nothing short of astonishing, to say nothing of fighting as doggedly as she had done.

“I think you’re right,” she said. “Do you want to come out of there now, or wait a little bit?”

Wait a bit

Need some time

Where were you btw?

Not an accusation, just curious

“I was meeting Sae for a late lunch. She’s so busy these days, it couldn’t be rearranged. With hindsight, though, maybe it could have waited.”

Nah, don’t do that

Family’s important

Speaking of

Did you see Sojiro on your way up?

“No? I didn’t even realise he was in the building.”

Kirijo came a few steps closer, as if to confirm Makoto’s earlier suspicions.

“Is it Sakura-san’s father you’re talking about?”

“Yes. Where is he?”

“He’s in a waiting area a few floors down.” Kirijo did have the grace to look ashamed, at least. “I wasn’t sure how much he knew, so I thought it best he stay there for the moment. I can have him sent for, if you like…?”

Sure

He’ll freak out

But that’s probably fair enough

“Yes, I think that would be a good idea,” said Makoto. Kirijo was just taking out her phone when a thought struck her. “Actually, it might be best if I fetch him. I think I’m in the best position to explain what’s happened.”

Upon arriving in the waiting room to which she’d been directed, she was unsurprised to find Sojiro pacing up and down restlessly, the comfortable chairs going as unused as the array of interesting periodicals. When he saw her, he looked torn between relief and worry.

“Niijima-san? I didn’t realise you were here. Where’s Futaba? Is she getting on all right?”

It was hard to know how to begin to answer that question. She thought of explaining what had happened, giving him some sense of what Futaba had just confronted – he was, after all, the other person who’d had to live with Wakaba Isshiki’s death for all that time. But really, there was only one thing he needed to hear.

“She needs you.”

An hour or so later, Makoto was sitting across from Kirijo in the latter’s office. Futaba had long since left the building, looking shaky but firm, accompanied by Sojiro and Yamagishi (which was a shame – Makoto had been quite looking forward to meeting Yamagishi, but there would be other opportunities). Makoto herself had been briefly introduced to several of her new colleagues, but Futaba’s incident seemed to have put something of a dampener on the meeting.

“Well,” said Kirijo. “That could certainly have been handled better.”

“You’ll learn,” said Makoto. “Although if you had any suspicions at all about that video, given what you knew about Futaba’s mother…”

“You’re right. I make no excuses. But we will get a better idea of how to handle Sakura-san as we work more closely together. Allowances we will need to make for her.”

“You don’t need to treat her with kid gloves.” Makoto could feel the annoyance rising. Few things got under her skin like Futaba being patronised. “She’s as capable as anyone in this building. Probably more so than most. She just doesn’t like to be reminded of seeing her mother die in front of her, as a rule. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Kirijo looked unruffled, as she generally seemed to, unlike her taste in blouses. “I can. Perhaps better than you might imagine.” Before Makoto could pry, she had swiftly moved on. “At any rate, the video, now that you’ve seen it for yourself. Sakura-san’s reaction suggests to me that it does, as we had suspected, closely resemble a mental shutdown. We had compared it to the video of Okumura’s press conference, but obviously that’s only one point of data. Is that your assessment as well?”

“Okumura’s was the only one that I ever witnessed, but yes.” She couldn’t suppress a wince as she said it. That party in Destinyland was not one of her more treasured memories. “It does also resemble the reported state of the bodies of some other victims, though. The SIU director, for one.”

“We thought the same, from our limited access.” Kirijo stared into the wood grain of her desk. “So. If mental shutdowns are occurring, then from what you’ve told me previously, someone must be active in this Metaverse you once operated within. Is that correct?”

Makoto nodded. “But the app we used to access it hasn’t reappeared on my phone. And I’m sure I’d have heard if it was back on any of the others’ phones.”

“Your leader was the one who first encountered this app, correct? Have you heard from him lately?”

“Well, yes. He sent a meme to the group chat this morning.”

“A meme?”

“Yes, generally an image on which the text is changed to fit the occasion, though still conforming to a basic template from which-”

“I know what a meme is.” Kirijo’s face was set in an expression of careful neutrality. “I daresay we can assume from that he has not encountered anything of significance. Though it may be best to check. In fact, I would recommend that you alert your colleagues to this matter.”

“Colleagues” seemed like a deeply odd way to refer to a group of teenagers who, at the height of their infamy, had gathered in a backstreets café, but the point was a good one, and had in fact already crossed Makoto’s mind.

“I’ll let you know if any of them have anything to share,” she said.

Kirijo nodded. “On to the other matter we were to discuss, then. Did your sister have any information to share?”

Makoto shook her head. “Nothing new. Apparently the investigation has gone over every possible yakuza link Shido had all over again. They still seem set on Daigo Dojima, but I know Shirogane-san is convinced he’s clean… or rather, that he’s not connected to Shido, so I don’t know where that leaves us.”

Even with all that had happened in the meantime – a self-proclaimed deity, a man who had placed himself in a similar position, at least one wholesale change in cognition altering the entire universe, a malevolent AI, to say nothing of finishing high school and starting college – some part of Makoto’s mind had never quite been able to shake off the “cleaner” from Shido’s Palace. Partly it was just a general dislike for untidiness and loose threads, but there was to it than that. They could be fairly certain that the cleaner had been a crucial part of Shido’s network, that he had killed on Shido’s orders. He hadn’t even seemed to be motivated by coercion, at least as far as the cognition in the Palace could be believed. And yet he seemed, to all appearances, to have gotten away scot-free. The fact that Shido had yakuza connections was, according to Sae, somewhere between a safe assumption and a certainty as far as the investigation into his network went, but all attempts at determining the nature of that connection had foundered. His associates all claimed ignorance, and even Shido himself, in all his confessional outpourings, had been strangely vague on the matter. If they’d still had access to the Metaverse, perhaps something could have been done about the matter, but it had never been a high enough priority while they did. Sometimes, Makoto actually found herself missing Mementos.

“What about a physical description? The man you encountered in Shido’s Palace was relatively young, correct? And he wanted a tattoo design, suggesting he didn’t already have a back tattoo. That would be unusual for an established yakuza.”

“I thought of that. The trouble is, we don’t know how direct the link between Shido and his cleaner was. So it’s possible that, if Shido never met him, his cognition might not actually resemble the man himself. That might even explain why Shido hasn’t revealed his name, if they only interacted through intermediaries. He may not actually know it.”

“But the cognition was fused with the man’s Shadow, correct?”

“That’s what we think, but we can’t be sure. It may have just been a normal Shadow taking on the cognition’s appearance. And there’s no guarantee that the Shadow would resemble him either, for that matter.”

Kirijo harrumphed in frustration. Makoto got the impression she was somebody who didn’t like answers being elusive. She could relate. “Well, if you have any ideas on how to proceed, I would be very open to them. Given this new development in Shinjuku, we cannot afford to overlook this dangling thread from the Shido case.”

“As it happens, I do have an idea. Apart from myself, we have other operatives with newly gained knowledge on yakuza affairs.” Saying “we” already felt oddly natural, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“I see.” Kirijo smiled. “A fine idea. Shirogane-san will be willing enough to help, I’m sure. This is very much within her wheelhouse. As for Akihiko… well, I’ll see if I can get in contact with him. No promises. He does like to disappear for weeks or months at a time.”

The casualness with which Kirijo could say this of someone who was, apparently, her oldest friend was baffling to Makoto. Then again, it wasn’t as though any of her close friendships were particularly everyday. The most “normal” friendship she had was with someone she’d rescued from a host’s extortion racket.

“At any rate,” said Kirijo, “it seems to me the person who might best fit this investigation is the one you’ve already investigated.”

“Kiryu? It couldn’t be him. He was in prison until shortly before Shido’s downfall. Besides, it wouldn’t be in his character.”

“That’s not quite what I meant. Rather, wouldn’t he be a useful source of information? As you say, he was incarcerated during the crucial time, but surely if you want to look into yakuza affairs, the Dragon of Dojima is a good port of call.”

Makoto hadn’t considered this. She had thought quite a bit about Kiryu over the last couple of months, but more about his current circumstances than anything. The defeated warrior pining away his days in a temple. There was something tragic and romantic about it that had prevented her from getting it out of her head. But at any rate…

“I don’t think he would help. He seemed… firmly retired when we met him. He wouldn’t even admit to who he was.”

Kirijo looked unconvinced, and Makoto could hardly blame her. “That seems, if you’ll forgive my saying so, a rather self-regarding stance.”

“He has his reasons, I think. I’m not wholly clear on what they are, but he has them.”

“Well, perhaps he will have to get over them, then. There is far more at stake here than the quibbles of one man.”

Chapter Text

The garden of the temple didn’t change, ever, no matter how much he stared at it.

That very changelessness was the point, of course. It was a means of contemplating eternity, among other things. And given the chaos through which the man he had once been had so often had to carve his way, this kind of settled order should, in theory, have been the perfect respite. A harmony achieved at last.

In practice, he was desperate for so much as a damn leaf to fall onto those irritating furrows of stone. Something to mar the smug perfection of it all.

Thinking that you were being mocked by an arrangement of rocks and shrubs was, he supposed, probably the kind of thing to which people would usually say that you should get out more. But since that wasn’t an option for him, he would just have to stick it out. Perhaps this was the secret. Perhaps enlightenment was really an advanced form of spite.

It helped if he thought of it as a kind of penance. Making up for the sins of a past life, in a very direct way. All the violence, yes, but also the neglect, the bringing into harm of people he loved, sometimes irreparably. He’d never been religious enough to know if that kind of absolution was, strictly speaking, a Buddhist concept, but then again, this wasn’t actually a Buddhist temple. It wasn’t as if the people who really ran it were expecting him to be observant.

Wherever they were.

The last contact he’d had with the outside world had been those three meddlers who’d come looking for Kiryu. He wasn’t sure how long ago that had been, but it must have been weeks, if not months. Once or twice, he’d almost found himself wishing for them to come back, and damn the consequences, just to relieve his isolation. That was foolish, of course, but he couldn’t help it. It was a familiar mindset from previous lives. Better that something terrible should happen than nothing at all. Better catastrophe than monotony.

Perhaps that was part of the reason he’d ended up here, all told.

The slightest creak of the floorboards told him that the monk was behind him. He pretended not to notice for the moment. After all his time here, he couldn’t be certain the monk could be trusted, any more than the Daidoji faction more generally. He hated that he fell into those patterns of thought, treating everyone around him as a potential enemy, but it was yet more residue from past lives. It was the sort of thing that happened when an entire yakuza clan turned on you twice in as many decades.

“A fine morning,” came the voice from behind him. More often than not, he and the monk passed each other silently, lost in contemplation or just giving each other space. Apparently, today was a talkative day.

“Mmm.” He wasn’t sure if he felt quite as up to conversation, but the monk took a seat next to him on the tatami mat, also gazing out at the garden.

“Do you see anything out there?” said the monk after a few moments. “After all these hours staring out at it, I mean. Forgive my inquisitiveness, but I find myself curious.”

He thought for a few moments. “Order. Serenity. Harmony.”

“A textbook answer. A learned one, one would almost suspect.”

“A true one.” This was getting more than a little annoying. “I can’t tell you anything different.”

“I suppose not. Insincerity isn’t really your way, is it? That must be why so many people have found themselves trusting you so easily.”

He glanced over to find the monk looking at him wryly. “That was a different man.”

“Perhaps so. But I can’t imagine his is a spirit that fades easily.”

“Hmm.” A few minutes ago, he would have welcomed any distraction from staring vacantly into nothingness. Now he found that was all he wanted to do. But the monk showed no sign of shifting, so he would have to make something of this. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from your superiors?”

“No more than I have in the past nine months.” The monk’s expression was difficult to read.

“Is that usual?”

“Not at all. Until last December, I got regular updates on the status of the network. They were rarely of direct relevance to me, but I got them. Perhaps they were a sign of lingering respect, I don’t know. Whatever the case, since Daidoji-sama’s death, I have heard almost nothing. Since that abortive mission of yours at the end of January, nothing at all. All of the telephone numbers and email addresses that I have saved no longer lead anywhere. It’s as if the network has vanished entirely.”

If nothing else, it was good to know that it wasn’t just that he personally had been frozen out for some unfathomable reason. “What could that mean?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Better, perhaps. You’ve had more contact with the outside world. I had thought that the election of Masayoshi Shido might put the network under pressure, but the last I heard, he’d been arrested. It may be that he was freed, but I daresay I would have been informed of that.”

“So does that leave you without a purpose?”

The monk chuckled. “I’ve been without a purpose since I stepped down as treasurer some years ago. I’m mainly allowed to stay on for appearances, I think. And perhaps some lingering air of sentimentality.” He stroked his moustache thoughtfully, as if smoothing it into place. “I suppose this is what you might call a crisis of faith. For most monks or priests, I’m given to understand that it takes more of a spiritual form, but the sense of absence is much the same.”

“I’m sorry. It must feel like a loss.” He wasn’t sure if he was sorry, in truth, but that was the right form for the way the conversation was going.

“In some ways it does. But the crisis is multifaceted.” He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “When the network was founded, it was a way of exerting influence. Smoothing out bureaucracy to allow for the efficient running of the country. An expression of Daidoji-sama’s will. But it’s long since ceased to be that. Even while Daidoji-sama was still with us, it was morphing into something quite different. The people in charge now have watched too many spy movies. All they want to do is hoard information like gold to their own benefit. They have no interest in using their resources to make any difference to Japan. All they want is power, in and of itself, and rather than work within the system, they recruit thugs – apologies, but it’s true – and outfit them with silly gadgets so that they can more efficiently punch people. In many ways, it’s become like the yakuza. It’s lost itself somewhere along the way.”

He wasn’t sure he could share in the nostalgia for what sounded like glorified corruption, but he sympathised nonetheless. He knew exactly what this kind of gradual disillusionment felt like. And at least the man he’d once been had been able to find an escape. Or what he thought was an escape, at least.

“Is there anywhere you can go? Any family?”

The monk shook his head, still staring upwards. “Not that I’m aware of. I cut all ties a long time ago. Besides, it’s far too late to start a new life. I decided a long time ago that this would be where I died, and there’s no need to reverse that decision now.” The monk lowered his head slowly to look directly at him. “But that’s not the case for you, of course.”

It was his turn to shake his head. “I made that decision too.”

“Based on an agreement with an organisation that is, to all appearances, defunct. The agreement no longer stands. You are a free man.”

Free from what? They can’t free me from myself.

“The network may be gone, but I didn’t make that decision because of them. It’s what’s best for everyone.”

“But it’s clear that you’re not happy here. And why should you be? That fellow Sanada was right. This is not the place for you. It’s a travesty that a man such as you should waste away his days in a place such as this, with no purpose remaining to him. And when have you ever been one to put up with a situation you viewed as unjust? Or even just unsatisfactory?”

“That’s another man you’re thinking of-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The monk looked genuinely furious. He couldn’t remember ever seeing such an expression on the man’s face before. “You can dispense with that nonsense. Surely that’s obvious now. You’re Kazuma Kiryu. That’s who you’ve always been, and it’s who you still are. It’s trying to deny that that’s making you unhappy. And there’s no reason to do it any more. Don’t you see? You could walk out the gates right this moment, and no-one would stop you. No-one would come after you. You could take the next plane to Okinawa, and be striding through the door of that orphanage by sunset. And you could live out your days there. Help raise your grandson. Don’t you think you’ve earned that? Don’t you think you’ve more than paid off whatever dues you’re trying to pay?”

It was hard to know what to say to that. How could he explain? The monk assumed, and it was hard to blame him, that what he wanted was to go back to the orphanage. But all he wanted was to stay as far away from that place as he possibly could. He was an evil omen. All he would bring those children was misery – just as he’d already brought to Haruka so many times over. Putting her in danger again and again, dashing her dreams of being an idol – hell, he wasn’t sure he could absolve himself of blame for her being hit by that car. Better that Haruto grow up without that stain on his life. He had a chance of escaping, and so did Haruka and Yuta for that matter. The last thing they needed was the dragon of death soaring back into their lives.

“This is the place for me,” he said finally. “This is where I belong.”

The monk smiled sadly. “No, it isn’t. And the longer you take to realise that, the worse it’ll get.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “What about Shirogane? Why not give her a call? I’m sure you could be of immense help to her. You could do it under an alias if you wanted. If you want to make up for your past, that seems like a far more useful and proactive way of doing it than pining away here.”

His mind flashed to a business card propped up against a wall in the small room in which he slept, gathering dust. He had few belongings – another aspect of the temple pretence that had a surprising degree of realism – but for some reason he’d hung onto that. Perhaps he felt he needed the temptation in order to strengthen his willpower. If so, it was doing its job.

“It wouldn’t work. Something would go wrong, it always does. Someone would recognise me, most likely. And maybe Shirogane can handle herself, but some innocent would get caught in the crossfire.” He gestured towards the wall running around the complex. “This is best for everyone.”

“I don’t believe that’s true. I think you’ve done more than enough prison time.” The monk sighed. “But clearly, I’m not the person to convince you of that.”

He felt a little bad. The monk had been more than decent to him, and far more candid than he ever would have imagined. But it was clear that he didn’t really understand what he was talking about.

“It’s… good of you to care about me. I appreciate it. But I know myself. I know the lessons of my own life. And I know the conclusions they’ve brought me to.”

“Mmm.” The monk looked unconvinced. “I may be shut away in a temple, but I know that it’s a crazy and dangerous world out there. And it may be getting worse by the minute.”

“Exactly. The last thing that world needs is the Dragon of Dojima crashing into it.”

Even as he said it, he wondered why his voice seemed to lack sincerity.

Chapter Text

It had been a quiet week for Naoto, of the kind that was becoming a rarity.

Since the Kiryu case, she had been more open about her availability within her usual channels, and cases had come in at a steady trickle. She had even had a couple of people contact her having been recommended to do so by Akiyama, which was a pleasant surprise. The cases were mostly simple fare of investigating a corrupt manager or some low-level criminal activity, but she was glad to be busy once again. And there was something about working at street level that was immensely satisfying. It brought her closer to people, somehow. And it felt like making a difference, even in the smallest possible way.

Her spare time, though, was reserved for an entirely separate investigation. Not all of her spare time – she had learned that lesson hard, and as such had an ironclad rule that she would spend at least one evening a week socialising with whichever of her friends were available. Besides, this wasn’t one that required a great deal of hard work. It was more a monitoring than an investigation, strictly speaking. Because precisely the point here was that there wasn’t anything to look into.

With all she had heard about the Daidoji network, she had spent the days after meeting Kiryu fully expecting a threatening phone call, or even a visit. She hadn’t exactly been looking forward to those eventualities, but she hadn’t been especially worried either. It was clear that their capabilities were somewhat compromised, and she had reliable connections of her own. But she had at least expected something to assert their presence, given that the monk at the temple must surely have alerted someone. The fact that nothing had been forthcoming suggested to her that really wasn’t much of a presence to assert, as things stood.

And determining whether that presence was invisible by design, or non-existent, was far from an easy task. Particularly with Daidoji himself dead the best of a year, and hence any succession likely firmly established. It was hard to know who to watch, or even what to look out for.

Shido’s network, modelled as it was on Daidoji’s, provided at least some clues. Shido seemed to have worked across different levels of society, not confining himself to the political world, but reaching out to law enforcement, the legal world, the criminal underworld, and a handful of well-placed newspaper editors and television producers, to name but a few. It was a good bet that Daidoji had done similarly. It was tempting to imagine that his network, being significantly longer established, had been less focused on new media and the digital world, but it would hardly have survived the last decade if it had been so. And, at the very least, it had certainly been in operation in December of the previous year, at the time of Kiryu’s supposed death.

But that was the last definitively traceable action they had taken. Whether or not the fact that it correlated with both Shido’s zenith and his downfall was a coincidence or not, she couldn’t say. But it was certainly striking that there was nothing she could firmly pin on them after Shido’s arrest.

Was it perhaps possible that the Phantom Thieves’ assault on Shido had had some kind of unforeseen knock-on effect on some key figure, or figures, in the Daidoji network? Or was it more that the network had decided to go silent on seeing what happened to Shido, perhaps out of fear or prudence? She would have to consult with Makoto Niijima, when an opportunity presented itself, and see what she thought. It would be remiss of her to neglect such a valuable, and unforeseen, source of information.

She tended to pride herself on being unshockable, or as close to it as humanly possible, but the revelation from Kirijo that she had played host to a Phantom Thief had come as close to shocking her as anything could. With hindsight, the signs were there - Makoto’s evident sense of justice, her keen eye for detail, her strange connections – but there was no way Naoto would ever have put them together. She had never been all that interested in the Phantom Thieves’ actual identities anyway, preferring to think of them as a sort of depersonalised force. But that didn’t make those identities unimportant, of course. If anything, their actions, or at least their motivations, now seemed to make marginally more sense in some ways.

It was odd, really. She’d spent so much of the past year or so obscurely resenting the Phantom Thieves for cutting out the legs of her Shido investigation from under her. Now it turned out one of them – two, really – had been involved in the same investigation as her again, entirely independently. She thought perhaps she ought to feel more irritation over that, but actually, it gave her a sense of kinship. Clearly she and Makoto had similar priorities, perhaps even thought similarly on some level. It was almost enough to reawaken her old admiration for the Phantom Thieves. Even if she didn’t understand their methods – and she was keen to correct that now, given the opportunity – she could no longer really have any doubt about their sincerity.

Plus they now had an unexpected connection, even aside from the Shadow Operatives. After clearing up the Kiryu case, Naoto had dug out some of her old files on Shido, thinking that they might be of some help with the official investigation. It was a good way to reacquire a sense of purpose, and putting the legal boot in to Shido could be a pleasure in itself. And so her first call had been to the first person to come to mind: Sae Niijima. The elder Niijima was not, it turned out, directly involved in the investigation, but she had been able to make introductions, and she and Naoto were now on cordial terms. As far as she was aware, neither Niijima sister knew that she was acquainted with the other, which could no doubt lead to some farcical situations in the future, like something on the stage. The idea appealed obscurely to her sense of humour – which, contrary to popular belief, was subtle rather than non-existent.

And it was through Sae-san that she’d recently learned of a peculiar new turn in the investigation. Shido’s confessions – all of the dozens of hours of them – had turned up many names, but legally speaking they were far from bulletproof. Any defence attorney could argue that Shido was not a reliable witness, that his mind had been altered, that he might even be seeking to settle political scores from behind bars. And so corroborating evidence was necessary, a lot of it, not least since most of his notable associates were the kind of people who could afford robust defence teams. Some of those people had retired, or gone into relative seclusion, perhaps as a form of penance, or perhaps simply to avoid further attention. But others, right across Shido’s spectrum of support, had continued in their roles – police commissioners, civil servants, politicians at both local and national level. And there was some evidence – tentative, but compelling – that some of those had started to work for a new master. Planning applications were mysteriously disappearing from view in various parts of Tokyo. Questionable arrests were being made, while open-and-shut cases were resulting in the accused being abruptly released without charge. The Tojo Clan, and other people on the shadier side of the law, had been driven out of Kamurocho, apparently – she had tried to get in touch with both Akiyama and Dojima in the last few weeks, but to no avail. It was all eerily familiar, even before taking into account the apparent mental shutdown case that Kirijo had uncovered in Shinjuku.

And yet the odd thing was that there was nothing at all to connect it to the Daidoji. The network had always been secretive in its actions while Daidoji himself was alive, but he had made his level of control over the country known, surreptitiously, at least. It wasn’t at all clear that anyone in particular was benefitting from what was happening here. Or, more accurately, the beneficiary wasn’t clear yet.

Naoto’s phone rang. For some reason, with the way her train of thought was going, she expected it to be someone relevant – Sae Niijima or Daigo Dojima or some shadowy figure from the Daidoji. In that, she was disappointed. But then again, with her level of influence and knowledge, Mitsuru Kirijo couldn’t be said to be irrelevant to this either.

“It’s good to speak to you, Shirogane,” she said, and for all her usual brusqueness, there was warmth in her tone.

“Likewise,” said Naoto, sincerely. She regretted that she had been unable to take part in the Shadow Operatives’ relative flurry of activity recently. “Thank you for keeping me abreast of recent developments in my absence.”

“C’est rien. I had assumed that our recent recruits would be of interest to you. I recommend you make time to hear their full story at your earliest convenience. It may even be of help in your current endeavours.”

That was a good point, actually. It was likely that the Phantom Thieves had uncovered a good deal about the workings of Shido’s network, and while it was unlikely that any of what they’d found was unknown to the official investigation, every detail counted. And she would never be satisfied until she knew the precise circumstances and methodology of Shido’s downfall.

“I think I’ll do just that. Thank you for the suggestion.”

“You may also have the opportunity very soon. I’m calling a meeting of all available associates tomorrow afternoon. I know you’re busy, but by any chance…?”

“As it happens, I’m relatively free at the moment. Is this about that Shinjuku case?”

“No, there have been no further developments on that. Which may or may not be a good thing. This is a case that Niijima-san brought to us. She won’t be there, unfortunately, but she’s given me all the relevant information to share.”

Naoto could feel herself smiling. Perhaps this was just what she needed. “All the better. If it’s coming from Makoto-kun, it must be something solid. Send me the details.”

“Tout de suite. I daresay your input will be of particular value on this, Shirogane-san.”

When the meeting invitation had come in, Futaba’s first instinct had been to turn it down. In fact, her first instinct had prevailed for quite some time. She kept replaying the scene of her previous Shadow Operatives meeting in her head – not so much the images on the screen, which she’d managed to force herself to block out, but the stony silence, the judgemental looks on everyone’s faces as she’d run from the room (had she actually seen their faces? She wasn’t sure, but how could they not react like that when this weirdo girl they didn’t know just bolted out the door?). It was all too easy to imagine Kirijo staring stonily after her, regretting her decision to allow Futaba in at all.

OK, it probably wasn’t like that. Makoto had assured her that Kirijo had seemed genuinely remorseful afterwards, Yamagishi had called a few times to check in and apologise (even though she hadn’t done anything wrong), and Futaba had spent most of that evening on the phone with Ren being assured that her reaction was perfectly natural. But even so. The downside of having a powerful imagination was that it could be pretty tricky to argue against.

It was also the combined forces of Makoto and Yamagishi who persuaded her to go along to this meeting. Makoto couldn’t make it, and was insistent that there be some representative of the Phantom Thieves present– she’d threatened to send Ryuji or Yusuke if Futaba refused, which was a terrifying thought either way. Yamagishi was full of personal assurances that Futaba wouldn’t be exposed to anything she didn’t want to be, and that she was a valued member of the team, sentiments which Futaba was more inclined to believe coming from her than from Kirijo. The greatest obstacle was Sojiro – as far as he was concerned, the Shadow Operatives didn’t deserve Futaba after what they’d done to her. But Futaba had had years to learn how to push his buttons, and it took less than an hour of wheedling and nudging before he relented, though he did insist on being in the waiting room again throughout.

But within moments of entering the meeting room, Futaba had discovered one large, fuzzy reason to be glad to have made it.

“DOG. DOGGY DOGGY DOG. DOG IN THE MEETING.”

Yamagishi was sitting a little way back from the conference table with a friendly-looking shiba inu perched on her lap, and for some reason everyone else in the room was carrying on as if this wasn’t the best thing that could possibly happen in the world.

“Oh, this is Koromaru,” said Yamagishi, scratching behind his ears and inviting Futaba to do the same with a gesture. “I couldn’t get anyone to look after him, so I’ve had to bring him along.”

“But aren’t you worried he’s going to spill all of our secrets? Does he have clearance?” Futaba briefly worried that she’d over-egged the mock air of concern, but Yamagishi smiled, so she’d probably got it about right.

“No, that’s fine. He’s actually an associate member like you. And he’s very good at keeping secrets.”

“He is? Wait, does he…” Futaba paused, and readdressed herself to Koromaru. “Can you talk?”

Koromaru yapped excitedly.

“He says, ‘Yes,’” said Aigis from just over Futaba’s left shoulder, causing her to jump.

“He has some form of communication akin to language, but only Aigis understands him,” said Yamagishi. “Even she’s not sure how she was progr- how she learned it.”

“Just to enquire,” said Aigis, “why did you think he might be able to talk, Sakura-san?”

“Oh, uh, just a guess,” said Futaba. This probably wasn’t the time to try to explain Morgana. She wasn’t sure when that time would be, just that it wasn’t now. “He just seems so smart, you know?”

“An astute guess,” said Aigis. “He does in fact possess a Persona, and hence an ego, which suggests consciousness and selfhood in a quasi-human manner. Unfortunately, the secretive nature of our work precludes us from informing the world and potentially revolutionising the worlds of psychology and biology, not to say certain branches of philosophy.”

“Oh. Right.” It was rare for Futaba to have difficulty wrapping her brain around a concept, but here was one that might require some time to sink in, she reckoned.

Koromaru yapped again.

“Koromaru would like you to know that there is a spot just behind his right flank which he enjoys having scratched, Sakura-san.”

Futaba was very happy to comply with his wishes.

“Excuse me, Sakura-san?”

Futaba turned to see a woman in a peaked cap and a blue overcoat. It was an odd look, and one that stuck out even more than Futaba’s school uniform. But even without that, Futaba would likely have recognised her. Names tended to stick in her memory.

“You’re Naoto Shirogane, right?”

Shirogane didn’t waste time with feigned surprise or humility, which Futaba approved of. “I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sakura-san. I was very much impressed by your expertise on the Kiryu investigation.”

Futaba shrugged. “It staved off boredom. No-one told me you were one of the people looking for him at the time, though.”

“I’m sure you’ve already found this, but Kirijo-san does not, shall we say, share information recklessly, and that tendency has seeped into the organisation as a whole. Mostly it’s for the best, given the secrecy with which we have to operate, but, well, it has its downsides.”

“Hey, not like I needed to know.” And now that I’m in the company servers, they can’t really hide anything big from me.

“True enough.” Shirogane nodded to both Aigis and Yamagishi. “I am pleased to see that Koromaru is doing well. His coat retains an impressive sheen, I see.” She went to scratch Koromaru under the chin, which made Futaba a bit envious. Clearly she had all the doggo-pleasing cheat codes.

“He says ‘Same to you, Shirogane-san,’” said Aigis. Koromaru hadn’t actually made any sound, which suggested that Aigis could read canine body language as well? Futaba made a note to look this up. It seemed like extremely useful knowledge.

Kirijo entered the room, a laptop under one arm. Futaba was impressed once again by the way she could command a group of people without actually doing anything. It was like the attention of the entire room refocused itself onto her. Shirogane withdrew her hand from Koromaru, nodded to the others, and went to consult with Kirijo on something. Aigis went to take a seat, next to the one that was clearly earmarked for Kirijo. Yamagishi nodded to Futaba to sit down next to her, crucially still in arm’s reach of Koromaru.

As Futaba withdrew her laptop from her bag, Yamagishi leaned over, as much as she could.

“Would you mind taking notes on my behalf as well? You can send them to me after the meeting. I would do it, but…” She gestured vaguely to the glorious burden on her lap. Koromaru was not a large dog, but Yamagishi was far from being a large woman, and it looked as if she couldn’t reach her arms around to the table. Even if she could, Futaba couldn’t imagine that she’d want to.

Futaba gave her a thumbs-up and a theatrical wink. “A-OK, Amagishi-Yay!” Yamagishi smiled politely in response, which Futaba took as a win.

It wasn’t long before Kirijo called the group to order. Takeba had drifted in shortly before, and it seemed like her arrival was the cue Kirijo was waiting for. Satonaka and Labrys were absent this time – Futaba vaguely remembered seeing on some company e-mail that Satonaka was back wherever she normally worked, but she wasn’t sure where Labrys was – so even with the addition of Shirogane, the numbers were slightly down on the last meeting. Unless you counted Koromaru, who for Futaba counted for at least three or four people.

“Firstly, I apologise once again for the short notice of this meeting,” said Kirijo. “I have no excuse in this instance, since we are not responding at short notice, as with last time. However, alacrity is in our best interests, given that we may have enemies making moves as we speak.” She paused, possibly just to let her words sink in, and Futaba was impressed by her unforeseen instinct for drama. “Second, I apologise for the… events of our last meeting. I made a foolish and potentially catastrophic oversight. You have my assurances that it will not happen again.”

Some instinct caused Futaba to look up from her notes and find that Kirijo was looking straight at her. She wasn’t sure if she was looking for some kind of response, so she settled for nodding, since that usually seemed to do the trick. Kirijo inclined her head, suggesting that she was satisfied with that, and glanced back down at her notes. As that was happening, Futaba noticed Takeba briefly place a hand on Kirijo’s forearm. She wasn’t really sure what that meant, but it probably bespoke some kind of emotion, and hence some kind of sincerity, which chimed with Makoto’s reassurances after the last meeting. That did make her feel at least a little better, though she felt she’d probably have preferred if Kirijo hadn’t brought the subject up at all. At least she hadn’t gone into detail. Probably that was because most of the people present had been there last time too, but Futaba appreciated not having her humiliation recapped.

“As for our purposes today, we’ve been asked to look into a matter of some import. One that very much falls within our purview, no less. I trust you all read the briefing materials on Masayoshi Shido?” Everyone nodded, except Futaba, who had a sudden guilty vision of an unopened attachment on a barely registered email. Well, she probably knew enough about Shido anyway. “As noted in those materials, Shido’s nationwide network is in the process of being uncovered, and hence dismantled. With one major exception. The precise nature or extent of his links to the criminal underworld has never been uncovered. We know that they went beyond Junya Kaneshiro to the yakuza, but we don’t know to which clans or families, nor do we have a firm idea of what precisely those yakuza connections did for him.” She paused, and looked directly at Futaba, who was struck with an ominous feeling. “We do, however, have one lead, albeit one that neither the police nor prosecutors are equipped to follow. Sakura-san, if you would?”

It was probably intended as an olive branch, to make her feel like part of the team, but olive branches generally weren’t meant to be an instrument of torture, as far as Futaba understood the concept. At least Makoto had told her about this, so she’d had a bit of time to think about what she might say. Admittedly, everything she’d prepared had suddenly deserted her, but maybe she should have expected that.

“Uh. Yeah.” A flying start, then. “So when we, that is the Phantom Thieves – oh right, you all know I was one of the Phantom Thieves, yeah?” Everyone nodded, which was a little disappointing. It still felt weird to say it out loud to relative strangers, but blowing someone’s mind would have been a nice consolation. “Right, so when we were in Shido’s Palace – oh yeah, that’s a whole thing, don’t worry about it – when we were in Shido’s Palace, there was this guy we kept hearing about, they called him the ‘cleaner.’ So we were like, big deal, dude’s just gonna wipe down some surfaces or whatever, but then it turned out that’s a pretty common euphemism for a killer or assassin. I’ve actually seen some foreign movies where they use that word, or like the English equivalent, in that context, so hey, chalk one up to us being underinformed. Anyway, yeah, this guy threatened us a bunch of times as we were going around, then eventually we had to fight him. Well, sort of, we tried to cajole him first, and Inari – that’s another one of the Phantom Thieves, you’ll prolly meet him at some point, he’s weird – he drew a tattoo design for the guy, but then got all uppity about it. Classic Inari. Anyway, we fought the guy and then he just sort of went away after giving us the letter we needed. Don’t know where he went, guess he just disappeared at some point. Never got his name or anything much about him. We just know he was some kind of yakuza guy who killed people on Shido’s behalf. Or at least, that’s how Shido thought of him. Gets kinda tricky, cause it doesn’t meant that’s what he was actually like. But at least we can be pretty sure someone like that exists. Or existed. Whatever.”

There was a brief silence. Futaba belatedly remembered that she’d been supposed to be taking notes for Yamagishi, who looked more than a little lost. Maybe she could type some up after the meeting.

“Thank you, Sakura-san,” said Kirijo. “To… summarise, based on the Phantom Thieves’ findings, we can be reasonably sure that this ‘cleaner’ exists, though his identity may well have been unknown even to Shido himself. Incidentally, I will send out more briefing notes at some point in collaboration with Sakura-san and Niijima-san on the Phantom Thieves and their methods, insofar as those may be relevant to our own activities. For the moment, though, it is imperative that we aid in finding this individual. We may be the only ones who can. And it seems likely that he is the crucial link between Shido and the yakuza.”

Shirogane leaned forward, as if at a prearranged signal. “I have had reason to look into the yakuza on a separate matter recently. While my knowledge of the underworld is far from comprehensive, I can tell you that it is a world that is presently in flux. The long-dominant Tojo Clan has seen its influence diminish in recent years and months. My findings suggest this to be entirely separate to Shido’s rise and fall, but we cannot discount the kind of backroom operating that would be undetectable to any save for the Phantom Thieves. With that in mind, Kirijo-san, Niijima-san, and I have identified a suspect.”

She nodded to Kirijo, who pressed a key on her laptop to bring up a slide featuring a burly-looking man with a deep scowl. Futaba was impressed by the Kirijo-Shirogane double act. It was very fluid, almost seamless. She wondered if they’d ever considered going into stand-up comedy together.

“The man on the screen is Masaru Watase, captain and acting chairman of the Omi Alliance,” said Kirijo. “A man of significant influence and power – almost unrivalled in the yakuza world, in fact. He commands what is now almost certainly the largest yakuza organisation in the country. What’s more, before assuming this role, Watase was known for his belligerence and brutality. No deaths have ever been linked to him, but plenty of assaults, some resulting in life-changing injuries. In short, were Shido looking for a contact in the yakuza world, and one unafraid to get his hands dirty, Watase would be one of the strongest possible candidates.”

“Is there anything to link him to Shido?” asked Takeba. I should have asked that. I’m the resident Shido expert. Damn you, Feather Pink.

“Nothing conclusive,” said Kirijo. “Moreover, the Omi Alliance is based largely in Kansai, where Shido’s network was concentrated in Tokyo. However, they have been known to operate in other parts of the country, and Shido would have been a poor excuse for an aspirant prime minister had he limited himself to Tokyo. So I propose we gather such evidence, or at least see what we can turn up in Osaka.”

“Osaka?” That dimly rang a bell for Futaba. Well, like, she knew where Osaka was, but wasn’t there something significant about it right now…? “So… are we going on some kind of office road trip? Because I’ve got school…”

“Nothing like that. Rather, I propose we send a fact-finding mission there, two or three operatives. As to who precisely will go, I still intend on gathering evidence here, so I would prefer if Yamagishi stayed.” Yamagishi, whom Futaba suspected wasn’t going to leap at the opportunity anyway, nodded. “And I would prefer to stay to oversee that. Unfortunately, Labrys is away gathering information on a separate matter, which is a shame, since she would fit in well. Aigis, I would prefer for you to stay as well, but I can send you if necessary.”

“Whatever you think is best, Mitsuru-san.”

“Shirogane?”

“I have heard rumours that the Omi Alliance is expanding into Tokyo. I was planning on looking into those, in case they prove germane to this case, so I think I’d be of more use here. However, I do have a suggestion as to who might serve very well in my place…”

What was it? Something that was in Osaka? Something to do with Konoe, maybe? No, that wasn’t quite right, and anyway they hadn’t come across anything suggesting he had yakuza connections. Maybe it was someone who was there? Wait… yes!

“Ooh! Ooh!” Futaba bounced up and down in her seat, her hand in the air, like she was really confident in answering one of Ushimaru’s annoying, picky questions. “I have a friend who’s in Osaka right now! She could help us out! I think she’s been there a bunch, too, so she probably knows the city.”

Kirijo frowned. “This ‘friend’… Someone you can trust? A Phantom Thief?”

“Yes and sort of, in that order! She’s a Persona-user, like us, so doesn’t that make her inherently trustworthy?”

“Not necessarily,” said Shirogane. “Having a Persona does not make one inherently virtuous. I believe we have all had experiences that suggest as much.”

“But I’m sure it’s fine if you trust her, Futaba-chan,” said Yamagishi quickly. “And if she’s… sort of a Phantom Thief.”

“Very well then,” said Kirijo. “I would like to speak with this friend of yours, but it may be best if you make the initial contact. I assume, as an associate of the Phantom Thieves, she has proven investigative abilities.”

“Uh…” Futaba was caught between the desire to big up her friend, and compulsive honesty, and settled on a compromise. “She was a big help on our case at the beginning of the year. Y’know, that one that I… sort of couldn’t explain because you weren’t really getting it?”

“That is not… precisely how I would describe the situation.” Kirijo addressed the rest of the room, with a barely noticeable grimace. “For what it’s worth, there was a Phantom Thieves case that I found next to impossible to wrap my mind around, for reasons that I suspect have to do with the nature of the case itself. Does anyone else find their memories of January and early February strangely foggy?” There was a sort of visual chorus of earnest nods and shifty glances, plus a bark from Koromaru. “Precisely. And I suppose if this friend of yours was helpful in resolving that, Sakura-san, then that speaks well of her ability. As for your suggestion, Shirogane-san, I will look into it, though as you’ve guessed, I can’t necessarily guarantee anything.”

Shirogane nodded. “So be it. I can go along if necessary. Or perhaps Makoto-kun, if she can spare the time?”

“Nah, she’s got some big assignment coming up,” said Futaba, pleased to once again be the resident expert. “She’d still probably do it if you asked, but y’know, I don’t think she needs any encouragement to put way too much stuff on her plate.”

She wasn’t sure what it was that Shirogane had suggested before – that must have been while she was trying to remember what was going on in Osaka. It was probably rude to admit that she hadn’t been listening, though, and she was trying to get better at that. She guessed she’d find out, anyway.

More importantly, she’d managed to wrangle another friend into working with her. And if that didn’t count as a win, she didn’t know what did.

Chapter Text

Sotenbori had many delights on offer. It seemed like you could hardly go a few paces without encountering a barker trying to pull you into their restaurant or bar or cabaret club. If you could manage to dodge around them, there was a glitzy if old-fashioned arcade, a large book store, and even a driving range, all on the same street, and each advertised by colourful mascot characters with googly eyes. It was like Akihabara, Shinjuku, and Shibuya all crammed together into a few square city blocks.

But Sumire only had eyes for the giant animatronic crab that adorned a building at the end of the street, waving a claw forlornly at passers-by. Was it because she was hungry, or was it looking at the crab that was making her feel hungry? It was a dilemma with no solution.

Or then again, perhaps it was easier to focus on the crab than to devote too much time to figuring out why she was spending the day before an important competition waiting for a man she’d never met so that they could investigate some kind of yakuza figure she’d never heard of on behalf of a shadowy organisation about which she knew almost nothing.

On the one hand, the answer was “because Futaba had asked her.” But really, that wasn’t much of an answer at all. She liked Futaba a lot and considered her a close friend, and she owed a great deal to the Phantom Thieves, but, on reflection, it probably would have been reasonable for her to take a little more time to think about the request, at least. It was too late now, though. She was very much committed.

“Hey. You Yoshizawa?”

Futaba’s description of Akihiko Sanada had amounted to “Muscly guy. Short silver hair. Probably got some kinda bruising or plasters and stuff on his face.” The man before her was indeed well-built (his t-shirt sleeves were rolled up to emphasise this fact, in defiance of the late October chill), had close-cropped silver hair, and was sporting a slightly faded black eye for good measure. He seemed restless, shifting from one foot to the other, though that might have been because of the cold. In normal circumstances, she would probably consider crossing the street to avoid him. Instead, she found herself bowing.

“Yes, indeed. It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Sanada-san. I hope we get along.”

“Uh, yeah. Likewise.” She straightened up to discover that he was scrutinising her closely. “Sorry, I guess I… it didn’t occur to me you’d be so young. Or, uh, small.”

It was true that she’d always looked a little young for her age – Kasumi, though barely a year older, had at times looked a good two or three years her elder, especially once puberty had hit. And both of them had always been slight, with a classic gymnast’s build. Her initial urge was to apologise, but she caught that before it could manifest, just as her new therapist had suggested. She shouldn’t apologise for who she was. Apparently.

“Don’t worry about me, Sanada-san,” she said firmly. “I can handle myself.” In truth, she had little confidence in that assertion, but it seemed to have the desired effect. Sanada’s stern expression uncreased a little, at least.

“All right, I’ll take your word for it,” he said. “Just stay close to me, yeah? We might be going into some dangerous places.”

“Does that mean you have a plan for what we’re going to do?” She had been rather hoping he would. She certainly didn’t.

To her relief, he nodded. “Can’t say I know Osaka too well. Don’t suppose you do either?” She shook her head. This was her third visit to the city, and before this she’d barely strayed outside her hotel, the venue for the meets, and the hall where she trained. “That’s fine. ’Cause I know who knows it better than either of us ever could. Probably better than a lot of residents, come to that.”

He seemed to be waiting for her to ask, so she did. “Who is that?”

He looked more than a little proud of himself as he answered: “Have you seen many homeless people in your time here?”

In fact, she hadn’t. Indeed, there seemed to be fewer homeless people around in Osaka generally than in Tokyo. She hoped that meant they were better looked after here.

But it only took a few minutes of searching before she and Sanada happened across a middle-aged man huddled under a few layers of blankets on the riverside walkway, under a bridge. She felt a rush of pity when she saw his eyes screwed up against the mid-day light and din, desperately trying to sleep. She grabbed Sanada’s arm as he moved forward.

“Maybe we should leave him alone,” she said.

Sanada shook his head. “I get it. But we won’t take up too much of his time. Besides, I think he’s more alert than he seems. Right?” That last was addressed to the homeless man, whose eyelids flickered open to fix them both with a hard stare.

“Whaddaya want?” he said.

Sanada got down on his haunches, to be on the same level as the man, and Sumire followed suit, awkwardly smoothing down her skirt as she did. At least I’m getting in some squats. Well, one very slow squat.

“Just some information,” said Sanada. “Guy like you, in a position like this, must hear and see all sorts of things. Am I right?”

The man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “An’ why should I tell you anythin’?”

“Name your price,” said Sanada. “Bottle of sake? A bed for the night? A warmed-up bento?”

The man snorted. “Ya think ya can feed me fer an hour, I’ll just tell ya whatever ya want? I ain’t that desperate.”

“That so?” Sanada sounded curious. “There someone looking after you?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“I get it. Used to be something similar in Kamurocho, over in Tokyo. I hear it’s gone downhill lately, though.”

“Oh yeah? An’ how would you know that?” Sumire had the same question, though she’d been intending to wait until later to ask.

Sanada only smiled enigmatically. “Not sure this is the time or place for a full life story. But suffice to say, I’m not your enemy. In fact, I’ve been where you are. Well, more or less.”

The man had opened his mouth to reply when a new voice sounded from behind Sanada and Sumire.

“Whadda we got here?”

They turned to see five gaudily-dressed youths, perhaps a year or two older than Sumire, at a glance. One had a baseball bat laid nonchalantly over his shoulder, while another clung tightly with both hands to a lead pipe  – Sumire wasn’t sure where it had come from, but hoped it didn’t mean that someone was missing a vital piece of plumbing. One, with bleached hair and a tracksuit jacket with a dragon motif, was standing slightly ahead of the others, cracking his knuckles. Sumire’s assumption that this was the one who had spoken initially was confirmed when he carried on.

“Looks like the leech has got himself a coupla friends. Even got a cute girl. What kinda society is that, huh? Guy sits under a bridge all day, gets a fine honey comin’ on ta him. Guys like us bust our asses all day, don’t get shit.” The youth seemed to be working himself up into a rage. Sumire wasn’t sure if he’d been drinking, or if he was just intoxicated on his own sense of grievance, but either way, her blood ran cold as he spoke.

Sanada spoke to her out of the side of his mouth as he stood up. “Stay behind me, whatever happens.” Out loud, he said: “We don’t want any trouble here. Let’s all just walk away. Everybody wins.”

The youth cocked his head. “Well, that’s too bad, grandpa. ’Cause trouble’s exactly what we want. Trouble fer parasites like him, an’ shitstains like you who feel sorry for ’em.”

Sumire got uneasily to her feet as well. Some foreboding told her to take her glasses off, and so she stowed them safely in the case she always kept in her bag. As she did so, the man with the lead pipe leered at her (or so she gathered from his slightly blurry body language, at least).

“Fuck me, she is reeeeeeal cute,” he said. “Hey, girly, ya wanna ditch this stinky piecea shit an’ come hang out with some real men? We’ll show ya a good time, promise.” He grinned widely, as if that would be the cherry on top of his unassailable invitation.

“No, thank you,” said Sumire, trying to ignore her rapidly thrumming heartbeat. “Actually, I would much rather spend time with this gentleman than with you. And if it’s drags on society you’re interested in, I suggest you take a good look at yourselves.” It wasn’t exactly an action hero line, but she was proud of herself for managing to get through it without stuttering. In the corner of her eye, she caught a small grin on Sanada’s face, and counted that as a victory too.

“Last chance.” The lead youth pulled out a small flick knife from his jacket pocket, and withdrew the blade with a click. “Get yer asses outta the way, an’ ya get ta walk away. Otherwise, I can’t be held responsible fer what my boys might do.”

“I think the concept of responsibility is entirely foreign to you,” said Sumire. She had no idea what she was going to do next – dodging out of the way would open up the homeless man to danger, but she didn’t exactly want to leap onto that knife either. She tensed herself, and tried to be ready for anything, desperately attempting to recall her kickboxing lessons from years back.

Sanada rolled his shoulders, and cracked his own knuckles. “Think we’ll be staying right where we are, thanks. And remember that it was me who offered you the chance to walk away.”

What happened next was a blur – at least, it was to Sumire, but she suspected the same would be true to someone with better vision. The youth with the knife lunged at Sanada, but Sanada was faster – much faster. He grabbed the hand that held the knife in his left hand and almost simultaneously slammed his right fist into the inside of the youth’s elbow. The youth let out a scream of agony, dropped the knife, and fell to the ground, clutching his worryingly floppy arm in the opposite hand. Even as he fell, the rest of his gang were coming at Sanada, but he was ready for them. The one with the baseball bat was grabbed by the lapel and went straight into the river with a satisfying splash. Another was left doubled up in pain after a punch to the stomach. Within seconds, it seemed Sanada had incapacitated three of the attackers.

One of the remaining two seemed to have had some martial arts training, or at least decent reflexes. He dodged Sanada’s punch, and managed to get in a jab of his own to Sanada’s jaw, though to little apparent effect. As the two stood trading blows, neither managing to land anything decisive, Sumire saw the one with the lead pipe trying to get around behind Sanada. She could have warned him, she supposed later, but instinct took over. In a single fluid movement, she closed the distance between her and pipe man, and with a second motion, she swept the legs from under him in a sort of low spin. As he went down, she caught him on the chin with her knee and sent him flailing backwards. She thought she saw a tooth flying loose, but she couldn’t be entirely sure what she was seeing.

By luck, or Sanada’s good judgement, the pipe wielder fell into the other remaining assailant, knocking him off balance and allowing Sanada to land a devastating uppercut. The two collapsed together in a heap, Sanada standing over them in a boxing stance, his fists high. Sumire stood a few paces behind, not quite sure what to do with her own hands, and settling for keeping them in fists around the level of her lower ribs.

Less than a minute had passed since the gang had set upon them, and now four of them were sprawled on the boardwalk, groaning in pain, while a fifth was being swept off downriver. Sumire hoped he could swim, even if he had brought it on himself. Perhaps he could use his baseball bat as an impromptu flotation device.

“So,” said Sanada. “We done here?”

His response was a chorus of pained noises as the youths individually dragged themselves to their feet and hobbled off. The flick knife and lead pipe were left on the ground, like sad relics. Sanada kicked them aside disdainfully and snorted.

“Not so much as a ‘you won’t be so lucky next time.’ Kids these days. No sense of etiquette.” He turned back to the homeless man. “You all right?”

The man nodded, relief evident on his face. “Hell of a display. I owe ya one. Both of ya.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Sumire. “We couldn’t allow such brutish behaviour to go unchecked.”

“She’s right,” said Sanada. “Besides, I think I got enough satisfaction out of that that I can call us even. We get guys like that in Tokyo too, but someone always puts them right sooner or later. Speaking of, whoever’s looking after you clearly isn’t doing a thorough job, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Ain’t their fault,” said the man. “Been a lotta this kinda shit lately. Young guys goin’ out, pickin’ fights. Word is someone’s rilin’ ’em up, but I ain’t too sure on the details.”

“Guess that means we need to look around some more then. Thanks for your time.” Sanada nodded to Sumire, and they both turned to go.

“Wait,” said the man, and they turned around again. Sumire wasn’t sure if they’d genuinely been about to leave, or if that had been a bluff on Sanada’s part. “I know ya said I don’t owe ya anythin’, and I appreciate that. But at the very least, I reckon I can trust ya now. No offence, we’re just a bit suspicious of outsiders here, ya know.” He took a deep breath. “Thing is, if it’s information yer after, I can’t help ya. ’Least not in any kinda detail. But I know a gal who can.”

The warehouse to which the man directed them was unprepossessing from the outside, but then Sumire supposed that was probably the point. It was in a back alley, behind a row of office blocks and coffee shops. There were no signs or plaques on the outside, just a forbidding grey double door. Sumire thought she could feel eyes on them, but it might just have been her paranoia. Or “caution,” by another name.

“You ready for this?” said Sanada.

“For what?”

“Exactly. No saying what’s behind those doors. It could be some kind of trap. Maybe the guy we spoke to was really working for the Omi Alliance. Or he just wants to rob us. Or he was on the level, but they’ll want to test us. Whatever it is, we need to be ready for a fight.”

Sanada was beginning to unnerve Sumire – not for the possibilities he was listing in and of themselves, but that he seemed to be relishing them more and more as he went on. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

Sanada grinned. “Good answer. Perfect marks. Let’s go.”

Sumire found herself oddly disappointed, once Sanada had kicked open the (unlocked) door, to find only a bland, grey corridor before them. No assembled rows of assailants, no spike traps – at least, none that were immediately visible. From the way Sanada’s posture slightly deflated, she assumed he was going through something similar.

“Keep your guard up,” he said, with the air of someone gamely maintaining a fantasy that is rapidly falling apart.

The corridor proved to lead to another, single door, which judging by its placement probably led in turn to the main part of the warehouse. Sanada nodded to it, and then to Sumire, and so she took the handle in hand, took a deep breath, counted to three, and burst through.

She’d expected rows of crates, or other storage containers, perhaps a forklift truck standing by. She hadn’t expected what seemed like a comfortable living space. There were couches and armchairs scattered around, and what appeared to be a reasonably sized kitchen in one corner. To add to the incongruity, one wall was taken up with several screens, which appeared to display CCTV footage from around Sotenbori – she recognised the crab from earlier and, with a jolt, the underside of the bridge in which they’d had their fight. A radio next to one of the couches was playing bouncy pop music, just to complete the picture.

Sitting in front of a laptop, side-on to the wall of screens, was a young woman with red hair a little darker than Sumire’s own, though hers appeared to be dyed – her roots were showing through in several places. She had her feet up on the same glass table that bore the laptop, and gazed up at the two newcomers with a relaxed, unconcerned air.

“Ah, here ya are,” she said. “Welcome ta Sotenbori, I guess.”

Sumire was too busy taking everything in to reply, but Sanada was quicker to recover, or simply less concerned.

“Who are you?”

“Akame,” she said simply. “Guess ya could say I look out fer all the homeless folks ’round here. Or I try to, at least. As ya saw earlier, ain’t always easy, ’specially lately. But that’s why I’m always grateful when Good Samaritans like you come along. An’ if it turns out yer lookin’ fer information, well, that just works out nicely.”

“How did you know that?” said Sanada.

“Guy ya helped sent word after ya left. My guys know the streets better than you, an’ no-one sees them move around. They can get around real quick when they want to.”

Sumire recovered her manners and her wits at about the same moment. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Akame-san,” she said, bowing. “I’m Sumire Yoshizawa. This is-”

“I don’t think you should be so free with your name, Yoshizawa-san,” said Sanada. “Especially with someone who won’t even give you their full name.”

“’Course, ‘Yoshizawa’ coulda been a fake name, and she coulda been playin’ an elaborate game by seemin’ to let on more than she was,” said Akame. “But you’ve just kinda removed any doubt about that, haven’t ya?”

“Uh. Yeah. Guess so.”

Akame grinned. “Ain’t like it matters. Don’t really need yer names, although I can’t deny that I’d be interested. What I do need ta know is what yer lookin’ for.”

Sanada and Sumire exchanged a look. Sumire, though she wasn’t at all sure she was the better informed of the two, broke it first. “We’re looking for whatever you can tell us about Masaru Watase.”

Akame whistled. “Whatever I can tell ya about Watase? In Osaka? How long’ve ya got?”

“His connections, then,” said Sanada. “Known connections outside of the Omi. In particular, anything in the political world.”

Akame cocked her head to one side. “Well, ain’t that a spicy request. Yer lookin’ inta somethin’ about Watase, huh? Maybe someone else too?”

“Let’s just say we’re interested in whether he fits a particular profile,” said Sanada.

“Yer not cops, are ya? Ya sure don’t look like cops.”

“Very much not cops. But we represent an interested party.”

Akame laughed. “Fine, have it your way, Mystery-san. But it sounds like ya might have some common interests with a friend o’ mine.” She turned to the kitchen section of the room. “Whaddaya think?”

A man stepped out from behind the screen that separated that part of the room from the rest. He wore a maroon pinstriped jacket over black shirt and slacks, all of which looked as though they had seen better days, but his slicked-back hair and designer stubble suggested someone who took great pride in his appearance. He walked carefully over towards the couches where Akame sat, taking them in all the time, even as he lowered himself into a seat.

“Well now,” said the newcomer, in a breezy tone, “can’t say I expected this. Lots of people have run-ins with the Omi, especially these days, but you don’t get too many coming from Tokyo to Osaka to try and do something about it.”

“What makes you think we came from Tokyo?” said Sanada. “Not everyone in Osaka speaks in dialect.”

“I know that,” said the man. “But the thing is, while I don’t know about Yoshizawa-san, I do recognise you, Akihiko Sanada. And I know Kamurocho is your usual haunt. Or, it was, I would imagine.”

Sanada’s fists went up, but he made no move, and Sumire assumed it was just a sort of instinctive reaction. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the man right back.

“Wait,” said Sanada. “I know you too. You used to be down in the Coliseum all the time. I used to see you sitting with the Florist, and Saejima.” His fists went back to his side slowly as he spoke, though Sumire noticed he didn’t unclench them.

“True enough, we have some friends in common. And with that in mind, it would be rude not to introduce myself. Shun Akiyama, at your service.” He did a little flourish with his hand, as though bowing, but remained seated. “I used to run a little business in Kamurocho.”

“Yeah, I heard about you,” said Sanada. “The money-lender, right? You were a bit of a legend in the underworld. So what are you doing here?”

“Well, by the sounds of it, much the same as you. Trying to figure out what the hell is going on, more than anything. I assume you’ve been driven out of Kamurocho as well, since Purgatory closed down? Don't suppose you know where the Florist's at these days, for that matter?”

Sanada blinked rapidly in surprise. “Wait, Purgatory did what?” His eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to peer through Akiyama. “How could that have happened? It’s only been a few months.”

“A lot can happen in a few months, it turns out,” said Akiyama. “Guessing you haven’t heard from Saejima either?” Sanada shook his head, and Akiyama nodded. “Kamurocho’s been through some changes. And it seems like the Omi are all mixed up in it.”

“I think perhaps we should exchange some information,” said Sumire, and to her surprise all heads whipped to her. She had to fight the urge to step back. Pretend you’re performing a routine. “It sounds as if Akiyama-san knows things that may be pertinent to our investigation. And it’s likely that we may be able to help him out in turn, within reason. I think it would be well within our brief.”

Sanada shrugged. “Fine. But you’re explaining it to Mitsuru.”

“So these Bleach Japan guys from Kamurocho are the same ones stirring up tensions against the homeless here?”

Sumire reflected on Sanada’s words. She’d come across the name Bleach Japan before, and dismissed them as cranks. Past experiences had taught her to be very careful indeed of anyone who claimed any kind of moral absolutism. But thinking back, she did think she’d been coming across the name more and more lately, not to mention passing some of their street demonstrations. They might not be winning over the majority of people, but they could certainly attract a vocal few, and sometimes all it took was a few driven individuals. Anyone more generally disaffected could be drawn into their orbit, like the youths they’d fought earlier, and given easy answers for everything that had gone wrong in their lives. It almost made her feel bad for beating them up – or it would, if they hadn’t been about to do something terrible to that homeless man.

“Seems that way,” said Akiyama, sitting back in his chair with one ankle on the opposite knee. “I’ve been sniffing around here trying to figure out how they’re connected to the Omi. ’Cause it can’t be a coincidence that they push the Tojo out of Kamurocho, and suddenly the Omi are all over the place.”

“So what’s the point of attacking the homeless?” asked Sumire. “They’re hardly a threat to the yakuza.”

“Ain’t about threats,” said Akame. “Just a way o’ stirrin’ up some shit. Gettin’ folks on board, same way they used resentment against yakuza in Kamurocho, by the sounda it. An’ even if the whole thing is a front or whatever, they must have some true believers mixed in. Kinda guys who genuinely think homeless folk are a stain on a city. Either way, ain’t no skin off their nose if a buncha homeless guys get whacked.”

Sumire didn’t exactly care for that sentiment, but both Akiyama and Sanada’s faces noticeably darkened at it.

“So what are they getting people on board for?” she asked.

“Very good question,” said Akiyama. “And there might be an obvious answer, if not a very satisfying one. See, Bleach Japan had two founders: Hajime Ogasawara, who’s the guy in charge still, and Ryo Aoki, who’s now the governor of Tokyo. The group’s been around quite a few years now, and there’s no doubt they must’ve played a part in Aoki’s rise to power. So the question is: is that all they’re after? Is it all about Aoki, or does Ogasawara have a move to make as well? For that matter, is Aoki satisfied with where he is, or does he have grander designs?”

“He’s quite a popular governor, as I understand it,” said Sumire. He’d appeared on her father’s TV show a few times, a rare move for such a senior politician, and while she wasn’t an ardent follower of politics, she’d often heard people speak positively of him and talk about how he’d had the common touch. His popularity hadn’t even taken much of a hit after the arrest of Shido, whom he’d publicly supported, which was impressive.

“He sure is,” said Akiyama. “And an ambitious one, full of big plans. Guy like that rarely wants to sit in the same office for too long.”

“Does he have any connection to the Omi?” said Sanada. “Or does Ogasawara, for that matter?”

Akiyama shook his head. “They’re both squeaky clean, far as I can tell. Which obviously fits with the public image, but there’s really nothing shady. Hell, they met abroad, so it’s not like they could even have had much of a yakuza connection over there. And Watase’s old-school. He’s not one to go where he’s led like that, no matter how much power is in it for him. Every yakuza contact I have agrees on that. Even the Tojo guys I’ve been able to get in touch with seem to still trust him, on some level.”

Sanada drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair for a moment, and turned to Sumire. “Don’t know about you, but this sounds to me like exactly the sort of thing Shirogane would love to get her teeth into.”

Sumire, who barely knew who Shirogane was, simply nodded in response. Akiyama, though, had perked up strangely.

“That’s not Naoto Shirogane, by any chance? The detective?” he said.

Sanada nodded. “She’s an associate of ours.”

“Is she now?” Akiyama laughed. “Well well. You two certainly are well-connected. Shirogane’s quite a resource to be able to draw on.”

“You know her?”

“A little. She helped me out on a complicated case a few months back. I thought about giving her a call to help out with this, but I thought I’d have better luck with my own contacts. But you’ve got a point, this is right up her alley, isn’t it?” He smiled to himself and looked thoughtful.

For his part, Sanada had sat forward, as if something had just occurred to him. “That’s right. She mentioned you. You’re the one who contracted her to look for Kiryu, right?”

“Now how would you know that?” Akiyama’s expression was unreadable.

“I helped her out on that case. Along with some other associates of ours.” For someone who had been unwilling to give his name at first, Sumire felt Sanada was being rather unguarded. It was as if something had been unlocked in his manner.

Akiyama looked at Sanada for a long while, as if he was piecing something together. Whatever realisation he came to arrived all of a sudden, and caused him to leap up out of his chair and clap his hands together.

“Well, I’d say that about settles it, then. You seem to be connected to almost everyone I know somehow, and clearly you’ve got vast investigative resources at your disposal. I’d be an idiot not to throw my lot in with you, if you’ll have me. I can assure you that there’s plenty I can bring to the table. Money, if nothing else.”

It was Sanada and Sumire’s turn to stare at him, and they were joined by Akame, who had previously seemed impossible to fluster. Akiyama did seem like someone with a gift for the unexpected, though.

“You want to… join us?” asked Sumire.

Akiyama nodded. “Admittedly, I don’t know exactly what I’m joining, but I’m certainly excited for you to tell me, as I assume you will at some point.”

“Why?” asked Sanada.

“I would imagine I can help more if you tell me what exactly I’m helping with, so it seems to make sense-”

“No, I meant why join us at all? You’ve clearly got something going on here.”

“Well, I’ve more or less already said, right? We clearly have aligned interests in terms of figuring out what’s going on with Bleach Japan and this Kamurocho Plan thing and whatever this thing with Shido is that you’re being so cagey about. I think I can help and, frankly, I’d like to be at the centre of things. Akame and her guys have been great, but Sotenbori is looking like a dead end as far as this whole thing goes. And the sooner we sort this out, the sooner I can get my business back up and running.”

“Yeah, speakin’ of, what about yer business?” said Akame. “Yer office, all that stuff.”

Akiyama waved a hand as if to bat the trifling matter away. “Hana can deal with all of that. She usually does anyway. It’s not like we’ve been swimming in clients in Osaka.”

“I don’t know if I can authorise this myself,” said Sanada.

“Oh, sure, make whatever calls you need to. I’m sure Shirogane will vouch for me, if she’s available. And so will plenty of folks in Kamurocho, although most of them might have moved on by now. You don’t even have to decide now, I’ll just give you my number and you can let me know when you’ve sorted everything out, and then I’ll come to Tokyo… I assume you’re based in Tokyo?”

Sanada sighed, and spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Fine, I’ll see what I can do. I do want you to know that you’re earning me an earful from our boss, though.”

Akiyama grinned. “Sorry about that. I do tend to have that effect on bosses of all kinds. I’m sure we’ll get on famously once we’ve met, though.”

“Well, I… look forward to hopefully working together, Akiyama-san,” said Sumire. As always when she wasn’t sure what to say, politeness took over. That was what it was for, really.

“Me too, Yoshizawa-san, me too.” There was a strange glint in Akiyama’s eyes. “I’ve been sitting on my ass a long time. I’m hoping all of this ends with me getting to kick some faces in. Just like the two of you earlier, in fact.”

Sumire wasn’t sure if she shared the sentiment.

Chapter Text

Makoto: Just to make sure – still no Metaverse app?

Ren: No app.

Ren: No Igor.

Ren: No Lavenza.

Ren: No spooky blue door that no-one else can see.

Ren: Can’t say I’m too devastated about any of that.

Ren: Actually, scratch that, Lavenza’s quite sweet.

Makoto: All right then.

Makoto: Sorry to be annoying.

Ren: Makoto, you’ve never been annoying in your life.

Ren: Well, no, that’s not true, but when you have been, it’s been to everyone else’s benefit.

Makoto: I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.

Makoto: Have you thought any more about when you can come up to Tokyo, by the way?

Makoto: Kirijo-san’s extremely keen to have you sit in on some meetings.

Ren: Still don’t understand this weird aversion of hers to online meetings.

Ren: Anyway, no prospect yet, unfortunately.

Ren: Entrance exams are rough.

Ren: Don’t know why you never warned me.

Makoto: I warned you constantly.

Makoto: It’s not my fault if you didn’t listen.

Makoto: Anyway, I hope you can clear some time soon.

Makoto: We could really use your input.

Makoto: And we all miss you.

Ren: Same.

Ren: Morgana does too.

Ren: Well, I think he mostly misses Sojiro’s curries.

Ren: But you take your wins where you can with Mona.

“I don’t know if no news can accurately be described as good news in this instance. Really, it’s just… well, no news.”

Makoto surveyed Yamagishi and Kirijo’s faces; the one contemplative, the other questioning. Although it had only been a matter of weeks, interrupted at frequent intervals by college work, and her first meeting with the latter had been fraught, she had found herself developing a healthy respect for both. They were determined and meticulous in their approach to problems, and surprisingly open-minded in their search for solutions. When added together with Shirogane (she’d never been able to get calling her “Naoto” to stick, even in her own head), the Shadow Operatives seemed like just the formidable investigative force she’d been promised originally.

“I still don’t feel as though I fully comprehend this Metaverse,” said Kirijo. “You say that it’s constructed out of cognition, but there’s also something of the unconscious about it, n’est-ce pas? How can it be both? Isn’t cognition more the work of the conscious mind? How one apprehends the world and so forth? And I don’t at all see how the collective unconscious factors into that.”

“Not necessarily,” said Yamagishi. “From what Niijima-san says, it seems as though this kind of cognition is primarily unconscious. Biases, desires – what Jung would have called the libido. Something like… the framework by which you approach the world. Or something like that.” She seemed to diminish in confidence as she spoke, which Makoto had noticed was a semi regular occurrence with her. It was strange, given that she spoke in such an intelligent and informed manner, but perhaps that was her own cognition at play. “And as for the collective unconscious, we’re all influenced by other people, cultural norms, that sort of thing. So that invariably factors into our cognition. And maybe vice versa. That sounds like what this Mementos place was, anyway.”

“I never really understood it,” said Makoto. “I did try, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it. The unconscious, the nature of the Shadow and so forth. I got the basics easily enough, but penetrating any deeper was difficult. It’s all very… abstract.”

“I can hardly blame you,” said Kirijo. “We have been looking into these matters for the best part of a decade, and we have only tentative conclusions and untested theories ourselves. It certainly doesn’t help that every time there is any kind of mass outbreak of Shadows, they seem to manifest differently.”

“But there are common factors, yes?” Makoto hadn’t quite been able to take the time to read the files she’d been sent on the Tatsumi Port Island and Inaba events, but she’d skimmed enough to see that they did not particularly resemble each other, and that neither resembled the Phantom Thieves’ experiences particularly. The terminology was much the same, though, so there had to be some commonality.

“Broadly speaking, yes,” said Kirijo. “According to Jungian thought, in addition to the personal unconscious of each individual, there exists a kind of collective unconscious, shared between the human race. I mentioned it a few moments ago, but I also imagine you’ve come across this concept before in your own research. Based on our respective experiences, the Dark Hour which we saw, the ‘TV world’ which the Inaba group investigated, and your ‘Metaverse’ all seem to correspond broadly to a physical manifestation of the collective unconscious, albeit with pockets drawn more from the personal – the Palaces you’ve talked about, for instance, sound rather like a combination of the two, as Yamagishi says. Similarly, not only did we all encounter Shadows, but our research suggests that there are two broad types thereof: the collective and the personal. The first are the various ‘demon’ types which we have all fought, and which you say your leader was able to make use of – I believe one among our number, Yu Narukami-san, has a similar ability. They appear to be drawn from broad, shared ideas – archetypes, in other words. I myself have less experience with the second, but they seem to have been fundamental to your activities and those of the Inaba group. These grow out of the desires or fundamental nature of a specific individual, usually that part of the individual which is repressed or otherwise denied. As such, they generally resemble that individual, albeit in some distorted form, but can take on monstrous appearances when opposed. Does all of this sound correct to you?”

“So far, yes,” said Makoto. It was a lot, but it did seem to tally with her own experiences.

“Furthermore, both we and the Inaba group separately ascertained that Personas are a sort of inverted Shadow, resulting from the facing of one’s secret self. If the Shadow is the face we hide from the world, the Persona is the face we choose to present. While all of our Personas manifested in different ways, one common factor is that one cannot have both a Persona and a Shadow. In fact, the experiences of the Inaba group, and Amamiya-san’s peculiar negotiation ability, rather suggest that a Shadow turns directly into a Persona under certain conditions.”

It was a theory that had occurred to Makoto before, based on Ren’s capabilities, though Morgana hadn’t been sure whether or not it was true – his knowledge of the Metaverse was instinctual rather than rational, and the mechanics of how Personas were constituted was apparently a secret known only to Velvet Room operators. But there was another point that had confused her a great deal, and only more so since joining the Shadow Operatives and discovering more about other Persona users.

“I’ve often wondered why all of our experiences with Personas, Shadows and so forth tally so closely with Jungian theories,” said Makoto. “From what you’re saying, it goes beyond simple nomenclature.”

“Yes, we’ve never quite been able to answer that question,” said Kirijo. “We have attempted to make contact with the Jung Institute in Zurich, but we’ve never quite been able to figure out how much they know about the reality of Shadows and so forth, so it’s hard to know how to proceed. I know Fuuka has a theory…?”

Yamagishi nodded in appreciation of the conversational baton pass. “In his writing, Jung was very meticulous about referring to himself as a ‘scientist,’ much to the derision of contemporary and later scholars. He was insistent that his observations were empirical, that his theories could be verified, even though the scale and even nature of what he proposed seems to suggest otherwise. So… I wonder if Jung himself, or maybe some of his students, were Persona-users? I don’t know if that means terms like ‘Persona’ and ‘Shadow’ pre-existed him, and he picked up on them, or they’re called that because of his work. But various of us have encountered supernatural entities that refer to them by those terms, so they definitely transcend our own categories. Or… I think so, anyway.”

“But don’t those entities arise out of human cognition?” said Makoto. “At least, the so-called ‘god’ we encountered did. So maybe they’ve just picked up on human names for these phenomena.”

Yamagishi looked unsure. “Maybe. Or perhaps it’s just that human brains translate the concepts into those terms. Anyway, it’s just a theory. I can’t exactly verify it without some undiscovered diary of Jung’s or something.”

“I can at least confirm that the Kirijo Group’s initial research on Shadows took its terminology and inspiration from Jung’s work,” said Mitsuru. “It may all be circular in the end.”

It was strange to think that the work of a Swiss psychiatrist working a century and more ago could have turned out to be so fundamental to the lives of Makoto and her friends. But then again, that was one of the lessons she had taken from her Metaverse experiences. People were connected in all kinds of strange, unknowable ways. Nobody was an island, as a British poet had written. It was a cheering thought, especially when she thought back on the loneliest times of her life, after her father’s death. On some deeper level, she’d never truly been alone. Not only did she have any number of connections to people around her, and people further afield, but she had Johanna, in some nascent state, deep within her.

“It’s strange to think that Shadows and Personas are made of the same… stuff, isn’t it?” said Yamagishi. “I remember how shocked I was when I found out. I’d always thought of them as opposites.”

“Maybe it’s precisely because they’re the same stuff, as you say, that they’re opposites,” said Kirijo. “An equal and opposite reaction, or fighting fire with fire, or whatever metaphor you prefer. And we know that Personas also correspond to mythical or fictional entities, so we can infer, I think, that they are also on some level archetypes, whatever that truly means. My understanding is that they also have some vague connection to the major arcana of the tarot, but I confess I find that impossible to follow.”

“It’s a little unnerving, though, wouldn’t you say? Back when we first found out… well, there was a lot going on, so it wasn’t the foremost thing on my mind, but afterwards I thought it was really scary. You know, that the things we fight are also our allies, or our shields, or… whatever. Even Juno – I mean, she doesn’t fight, but she has her own role in opposing Shadows. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten used to the idea that they’re really the same thing.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Makoto. “There’s something encouraging about it, don’t you think? It suggests that in our apparent weaknesses – our failings, our contradictions, our emotionally driven natures – we can find strength. We would actually be less effective against Shadows, perhaps incapable of fighting them, if we were emotionless robots.”

For some reason, Kirijo and Yamagishi exchanged a look at that, the former wearing an unusual look of guilt or regret. Something unseen seemed to pass between them, and Yamagishi turned back to Makoto with a look that suggested she had just lost the silent tug-of-war.

“That reminds me, Niijima-san. There’s something we’ve been meaning to tell you about both Aigis and Labrys…”

Chapter Text

November 2017

Something stank about the ‘Shadow Operatives,’ and Akiyama was pretty sure it wasn’t whatever polish had been used to get that conference table to an immaculate sheen.

The call had come only a few days after his meeting with Sanada and Yoshizawa – on the nearer end of his expectations, which was promising. To his surprise, it hadn’t come from either of them, but from a woman named Kirijo. It didn’t take him long to place the name – the Kirijo Group had been a major client of the bank where he’d once worked, presumably under the auspices of this Kirijo’s father or grandfather, although he’d never been entirely clear what they actually did. Some sort of technological research, he thought. At any rate, he’d never have imagined they had their own… intelligence service? Paramilitary? Between them, the Daidoji faction from Shirogane’s report – submitted despite his protestations, and read despite his stated disinterest – and whatever Bleach Japan were up to, the conspiracy board in his head was rapidly filling up. If it came down to it, though, he’d happily side with the ones who had people he liked and respected on side.

Still, though, what exactly was their deal? They had substantial investigative resources, that seemed clear, but to what end? The Kirijo Group had never made that much of a name for itself on a national level, never been linked to major politicians or anything of that nature, as far as he knew. And he didn’t at all get the vibe of them as shadowy puppetmasters either – Sanada, Yoshizawa, and even Kirijo in her own way all seemed much too earnest for that. Besides, if that had been the case, they’d have no reason to bring him on board, much less to the heart of their operation.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t hiding something, and he was more than a little excited at the prospect of finding out what.

The meeting room was busy, which was all to the good as far as finding out who these people were went. Sanada wasn’t around, but Yoshizawa was - she’d given him a polite wave when she entered in the company of an orange-haired girl with huge glasses and a calm, authoritative-looking girl, all of whom had sat together at the opposite side of the table to him. Kirijo herself had proven to be a tall, auburn-haired young woman with an air of suffering no fools – just his type, he had to admit, although making any moves on her at the moment seemed profoundly unwise.

“Very well then, Akiyama-san,” she was saying. “I trust you read the briefing pack you were sent yesterday?”

“Nope,” he replied cheerfully. “Been a busy time for me, you know, settling things up in Sotenbori and finding a place to stay in Tokyo. Must have slipped my mind.”

Kirijo gave him a hard stare, and he couldn’t decide if he was more abashed or turned on. “I can give you the basics now. But don’t make a habit of coming to meetings unprepared. If that’s the case, then you’re of little use to us, and if that’s the case, then you have no place here.”

“Understood,” he said meekly. He supposed he could skim over the odd document if necessary. He was good at getting the important details quickly.

“Bien. The most salient thing to understand is that we are searching for Masayoshi Shido’s primary yakuza contact. We have reason to believe that he had such a contact, known to him only as ‘the cleaner,’ who arranged assassinations and assaults in his favour. This figure has yet to be identified, and we believe that doing so would be in everyone’s interests.”

“And you think it could have been Watase?”

“He was an early candidate,” said a familiar voice from next to him. He had chosen to sit by Shirogane as the friendliest face in the room, just in case he needed an ally against Kirijo, which did seem increasingly likely. “We believed that he might fit the profile, but further research, including your own testimony and that of this Akame-san, suggests otherwise. Of course, that’s not to say it couldn’t be another Omi member. If anything, an ambitious lieutenant might fit the profile better than an acting chairman, who is already in a position of authority.”

“And you’re thinking that might fit in with the Omi’s recent dominance somehow?”

“An astute observation,” said Kirijo. “Their recent ingress into Tokyo post-dates Shido’s fall, of course, but we still think it possible that the two are related. Perhaps the cleaner forged some useful connections during their time with Shido. Or perhaps someone else has taken hold of their leash and is using them to similar ends.”

“It’s far from certain, of course,” said Shirogane. “If anything, it may even be that they were a member of the Tojo Clan, and losing Shido’s patronage helped precipitate the Tojo’s fall.”

“I can’t imagine it was Dojima, though,” said Akiyama. “Or really anyone placed highly in the Tojo’s ranks.” The Tojo had certainly seen its share of corruption down the years, but any slimy politician trying to make a deal with Majima or Saejima would probably end up with a knife to the gut or a broken arm for their trouble.

“We are inclined to agree,” said Shirogane. “I investigated a similar angle on Dojima and his lieutenants some months ago, and I am convinced that none of them were linked to Shido. But that hardly exonerates the entire clan. If anything, we know for a fact that there was an attempted takeover of the Tojo just last year, though again, I don’t believe that to have been related to Shido.”

“What about other yakuza groups, though?” The question came from the dark-haired girl next to Yoshizawa. “There are plenty of them around the country.”

“You’re not wrong, Niijima-san,” said Shirogane, and Akiyama silently thanked her – Kirijo hadn’t seen fit to introduce the other attendees, for some reason. “But the Omi and the Tojo are by far the largest and most influential. Most other groups have only local influence, so they would have been unable to carry out the breadth of Shido’s orders. Whereas the Tojo and the Omi have nationwide contacts, fitting Shido’s needs. For that reason, I also think we can safely assume that the cleaner is likely an individual of some influence within their group – the head of a family, at least. Someone with a number of underlings whom they can order to do unsavoury things, and enough influence to have access to those aforementioned contacts.”

“So where does that leave us?” asked Akiyama. “The Tojo are scattered to the wind, and I don’t know anyone in the Omi. Well, not on any kind of cordial basis, anyway.”

“True enough,” said Kirijo. “But from what I’ve heard of you, Akiyama-san, you’re good at reading the streets. And one set of streets in particular. Whether it’s the Tojo or the Omi at the heart of this, it’s very likely that we’ll find some answers, or the beginnings of them, in Kamurocho.”

Akiyama thought on this. The reasoning was sound – very little of note had happened in the Tojo over the last few decades without leaving a mark on Kamurocho, and likely the same was true of the Omi, or at least that faction of it that was now in Tokyo. He knew better than most that you could read the yakuza tea leaves by just watching the nightlife there. But…

“I don’t know how helpful I can be.” It was annoying, but he suspected honesty would serve him best with these people. “I used to know Kamurocho well, sure, but I’ve been away a couple of months. The city changes, and it was already changing when I was there. My influence isn’t anything like what it was. There’s a good chance I won’t really recognise it anymore. Even a bunch of my best contacts are gone. I might even be more use to you back in Sotenbori.” Please don’t send me back to Sotenbori. Hana might actually shoot me.

“I daresay you’re underselling yourself, Akiyama-san,” said Shirogane. “It’s true that you’ve had some setbacks, but you’re a resourceful man. You’ve built up trust among the people of Kamurocho in a way that none of us can match. And you know the area. You know the underworld hotspots, where Omi men might gather. That’s bound to be at least as useful as hitting up some local bartenders for information.”

“I believe in you as well, Akiyama-san,” said Yoshizawa, with such sincerity that Akiyama felt a little embarrassed – whether for himself or for her, he wasn’t sure. “You strike me as an intelligent man, and I think you want to know what’s happening here as much as we do.”

Akiyama folded his arms. “You raise an interesting point, Yoshizawa-san. Why is the Kirijo Group so interested in all of this? Why arrange this bizarre coalition of… well, no offence, but schoolkids, plus a private detective and whatever the hell Sanada is, under the auspices of a business conglomerate, and then invite some moneylender you don’t really know into the middle of it? And all to look into the yakuza and their political connections? Surely there are better ways of doing that? Whole police departments dedicated to it, for a start.”

Kirijo favoured him once again with a long, level stare. He suspected he wasn’t meant to enjoy that as much as he did. “Certainly there are things going on here that you are not aware of. I wouldn’t insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise. But at the moment, it’s not necessary that you understand. It may become necessary at some later point, at which stage I suspect you will understand my caution. But for now, suffice to say that our objectives are aligned.”

It was profoundly unsatisfying, but it would have to do for now. “All right, I appreciate your faith in me. Not sure how it’ll work out, but I appreciate it. But also, I wonder if I could make a suggestion?”

Kirijo nodded assent. Probably it wasn’t necessary to ask, but buttering her up seemed like a decent strategy, especially given what he was planning on asking.

“You’re right that I know the streets of Kamurocho well. And I’m accustomed to scouring information from them, sure. But there’s someone else who’s even more accomplished and practiced at it.” He nodded to Shirogane, whose tiny smile suggested she understood what he was getting at. “Admittedly, he’s pretty out of practice as well, not to say out of touch. But it wouldn’t be the first time he stormed into town from out of nowhere and tore down some terrible yakuza-based conspiracy. No-one gets to the heart of things like he does. And if it’s as you suspect, well, I think maybe he’d want to be involved.” He glanced around the table. Kirijo was nodding slowly, and so, oddly, was Niijima, suggesting that they too were slightly ahead of him.

“Yes, we’ve considered along those lines before,” said Kirijo. “If you think so as well, then I daresay it’s about time we made an attempt to convince him. Would you like to be involved?”

Akiyama shook his head. “Seeing me might just spook him. Can’t say I have much of a handle on how he’s thinking these days, but he’s always been a stubborn bastard. Best to convince him carefully. Coax him out of whatever hole he’s sulking in.”

“Um, excuse me?” He turned to see that Yoshizawa, incredibly, had raised her hand as if she was in school, an impression aided by the fact that she was actually wearing a school uniform. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Akiyama-san, Kirijo-san, but who exactly are you talking about?”

Kirijo had opened her mouth to reply, but Akiyama couldn’t allow that. Sorry, Kirijo-san I’ll make it up to you somehow. He had to have this.

And so he stood up, scraping his chair legs along the wooden floor, and spread his arms wide, hoping the drama of the gesture would stop Kirijo from speaking. Somehow, it worked, and the whole attention of the room was focused on him. Perfect.

“Why, Yoshizawa-san, who else but the Dragon of Dojima?”

Never had words tasted sweeter in his mouth.

Chapter Text

He knew something was up from the wide grin which the monk wasn’t even bothering to conceal.

Since their last conversation, some weeks ago, they had spoken little. It wasn’t that he was consciously avoiding the monk, and they had gone many days without talking at all prior to this, but now there was a weight between them. He had starting to experience the monk’s every look and gesture, from a sigh expelled while passing in the corridor to the angle at which he laid his chopsticks down, as laden with meaning and innuendo, as veiled suggestions to him – some kind of code, or Zen riddle. He had no idea if any of that was intentional, though he suspected probably not. Either way, though, it wasn’t doing him any favours.

He was pretty certain he wasn’t just being paranoid in this one instance at least, though. That was a grin laden with purpose if ever he’d seen one.

“What is it?” He put some effort into not sounding impatient or irritated, but wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded.

The monk said simply: “They’re back.”

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Given the sentiments he’d professed recently, the monk couldn’t be referring to anyone from the Daidoji, which left only one possibility. The only visitors the temple had seen in the time he’d been living here.

He turned away from the monk. “I won’t see them.”

“I thought you’d say that. But I don’t believe they have any intention of leaving without seeing you. And our evening meal will be extremely awkward if they’re sitting there having a silent glowering match with you.”

“They can do whatever they want. But they’re wasting their time in coming here. They’re not going to get what they’re after. Neither are you, for that matter.”

“It might interest you to know that another is accompanying them this time. A young woman.”

His mind raced – Haruka? Kaoru? Mayumi? – through a series of women associated with pain and regret. But it couldn’t be any of them, surely. For any number of reasons.

But what if it is? He wasn’t sure if the question was underscored by hope or fear.

“Who is she?” There was no casual way to ask, but he did his best.

“Nobody you’ve met before, as far as I’m aware,” said the monk, and the relief he felt was exceeded only by the disappointment he couldn’t deny. “I wouldn’t wish to deny her the opportunity to introduce herself to you, though. I gather from her demeanour that she’s rather looking forward to meeting you.”

“She’s looking forward to meeting a dead man. And she won’t be meeting me.”

The monk sighed. “Very well. I wanted you to choose this, if possible, but I will assuage my conscience with the knowledge that I informed you, at least.”

The sound of footsteps made him turn around, and his trepidation was greeted by three familiar figures. Naoto Shirogane nodded coolly to him as she entered. Akihiko Sanada folded his arms and took up a position just inside the door, as if guarding it. Makoto Niijima gave him a smile and a small bow before stepping aside for another woman, with auburn hair and a commanding presence, who cocked her head to one side and regarded him detachedly, as if attempting to analyse or classify him.

He looked over to the monk, who was standing in front of the other door from the room. “I am sorry for this. But you need to face reality.”

“Do you think I would hesitate to go through you?” That was no good. The empty threat just revealed him to be rattled.

The monk simply smiled in response. “The wise man recognises when he is in no position to act. And I would like to think that, if nothing else, you may have gained some modicum of wisdom from your time here.”

He turned away, unable to bear looking at that serene smile any more, and surveyed the four visitors. Sanada looked tense, ready for anything, but the other three were more relaxed – or rather, the tension they were carrying was different. None of them thought for a moment that he was going to spring into action. And, he had to admit, they were right. He was cornered.

He settled himself down onto the floor. Shirogane, Niijima, and the red-haired woman followed suit, but Sanada and the monk remained standing by the doors. That didn’t bode well. It suggested that he might be about to hear something he wouldn’t like. Not that that was much of a surprise.

“Speak your piece,” he said. “But I hope you’re not expecting anything.”

It was the unfamiliar woman who spoke. “Very well. My name is Mitsuru Kirijo. I believe you already know my associates. And I understand that you are going by the name ‘Joryu’ these days, n’est-ce pas?”

The phrase in an unfamiliar language caught him off guard, but he was reasonably certain he could work out its meaning from context. “If you need a name, you can use that one. Does that mean you’re the mastermind behind these three?”

Kirijo smiled thinly. “Nothing of the sort. Strange as it may sound, it was a string of coincidences that brought us together on this matter, in large part. And if you get to know Akihiko better, you’ll understand how ludicrous the idea that I could order or manipulate him into doing anything is.”

“Come on, Mitsuru,” said Sanada, taking his attention off him for the first time to grimace at Kirijo. “That makes it sound like I’m some kind of wild card.”

“Take it as a compliment.” Kirijo’s head, by contrast, didn’t turn, nor her attention waver in the slightest. “Your stubbornness is one of your finest assets. But as it happens, Joryu-san, your guess is not entirely inaccurate in certain respects. I am the head of a group known as the Shadow Operatives. Shirogane-san, Sanada-san, and Niijima-san all work with us, in various capacities. Indeed, it was investigating you that brought Niijima-san together with us, so we have you to thank for that, in a sense. And we would like to request your help with a matter of profound importance.”

He was supposed to fill the gap, obviously. He was supposed to ask what the matter was, and allow the script Kirijo had prepared to flow from there. But he didn’t have to follow her script. He may have been forced into this meeting, but he didn’t have to cooperate with it. Instead, he folded his arms and moved his gaze defiantly between the four people opposite him, as if challenging them each in turn.

It was Niijima who finally broke the silence, after perhaps a couple of minutes, with a sigh. “We did warn you that he’d be like this, Kirijo-san.”

Kirijo’s expression had not changed. “You did. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s precisely his strength of will that we need.”

“It’s perhaps worth emphasising to begin with that you would be in the company of friends on this matter,” said Shirogane, addressing him. “We recently brought Shun Akiyama-san on board, and his expertise has already proven invaluable. We’ve even been attempting to make contact with Daigo Dojima, Goro Majima, and Taiga Saejima for the sake of the investigation in question, albeit to no avail.”

“Why can’t you contact them?” The question was out before he could consider it.

“Oh, but of course. You don’t know what’s been happening to the Tojo Clan.” Shirogane took a moment to consider. “Well, we can discuss that in detail at some other point. Suffice to say they are in dire straits. But of course, that means nothing to you in here.”

He winced internally. He’d allowed them to get to his curiosity, and the affection he felt for his old associates. He couldn’t let them keep playing on those strings.

“You can save all of these attempts at coercion. I’m going nowhere. You should have known that already when you came here.”

“It’s true that you made quite the impression last time that we were here,” said Niijima. “So think about what it means that we’ve returned.”

“That you’re desperate?”

“We’re in need, certainly, but I wouldn’t characterise us as ‘desperate’ at this juncture.” Considering she looked to be the junior of the group by some years (Is she even younger than Haruka? The thought came before he could stop it), and had apparently joined recently, Niijima was remarkably assured. Despite himself, he was impressed by her composure. “Rather, I’d say that we were all unconvinced by your pretence that you were satisfied with all of this. And with living out your days in this manner.”

“I don’t think I ever said I was satisfied.” He didn’t have exact recall of all he’d said at their last meeting, but it seemed unlikely. “Satisfaction has nothing to do with it. What I feel has nothing to do with it. This is how it is. How it has to be.”

“I’m even more sceptical of that,” said Shirogane. “I would hazard a guess that you haven’t been contacted by those who put you here in months, isn’t that right? They’re gone, as far as we can tell. They have no power over you anymore.”

“We’ve suspected as much,” the monk cut in. That ‘we’ is completely inappropriate. “Does that mean that you have more information? I confess myself rather curious.”

“Nothing concrete,” said Kirijo, who still had not taken her eyes off him, even when the monk spoke. “But there’s been no trace of the Daidoji faction for months. Their known operatives have all gone to ground. We have attempted to track some, but to no avail. The upshot is that their influence, indeed their very existence, seems to have gone up in smoke in a matter of weeks around the beginning of this year. We believe that this is part of a wider puzzle into which we’re currently looking, but at the moment we can’t be sure of that.”

“And I’m guessing that’s what you want Kiryu-san for?” said the monk. He reflexively winced at the use of that name, but kept quiet. There was no point in being easily provoked.

“Something along those lines. There’s another matter with which we need help, but we believe there is a good chance it’s related to the disappearance of the Daidoji faction. And perhaps the Tojo Clan’s current travails as well. Indeed, there is a good chance that what we are investigating will turn out to be of the utmost national importance. That may or may not pique your interest, but either way, it remains true.”

It didn’t, particularly. The state of the nation had never been of great interest to him. It had always paled in comparison to the wellbeing of his loved ones. The Daidoji had tried to sell him on the bigger picture early on, but he had paid little attention. He was already on board at that point, after all. The soft sell was just a way of assuaging their own consciences.

“Would I be correct in assuming, then, that you have some kind of offer to make?” The monk seemed to have taken up the role of his spokesman, which was extremely annoying, but he couldn’t exactly object without taking part in the conversation himself, and he didn’t much want to give anyone involved the satisfaction of doing that.

Kirijo’s gaze remained level. She hardly even seemed to blink. “I don’t know the precise terms of the offer the Daidoji made you, Joryu-san. For that matter, I don’t know if it was an offer. Perhaps it was more along the lines of a veiled threat, or blackmail. But from what I know of you, from what Shirogane, Niijima, and Akihiko have all told me, you would not have accepted such a thing lightly. I can only assume that Morning Glory Orphanage, along with Sawamura-san and her child, were part of the agreement in some way, yes? That they would not be harmed so long as you agreed to work for the network and not reveal their secrets? Something along those lines? Well, as we’ve established, the Daidoji network is no more. The orphanage is safe, as are all of its residents.”

“Can you be sure of that?” Once again, he couldn’t help but be drawn. Kirijo had the kind of voice that bespoke utter certainty. He had learned to distrust that kind of confidence. “Even if you’re right that they’ve disappeared, all it takes is one person still bearing a grudge. One operative who hasn’t gone to ground. I’m not going to place those children in danger again.”

“Then perhaps we should make sure. What if I said that we can guarantee the orphanage’s safety? We have no desire to hold a knife over your head, Joryu-san. We want to protect you, and those important to you, as we would do for any of our associates. Should any rogue Daidoji elements, or indeed any other dangerous individuals, so much as set foot in Okinawa, we would know about it. And we could make arrangements to keep your former wards safe.”

“By taking them into some kind of protective custody? Messing up their lives more than they already have been?”

“On the contrary. If you wish it, we can not only protect them, but do so in a way that will be completely invisible to them.”

“How?” It was his damned curiosity again, he knew it. But if there was even the slightest chance that what Kirijo was saying was true…

“One of our best operatives is currently stationed in Okinawa. If you wish, she can take up permanent residence there, for as long as you deem necessary. She informs me that one of the houses neighbouring the orphanage is for sale. From there, she can keep watch. Believe me when I say that Labrys will be exceptionally vigilant. Nothing will escape her notice, night or day. I can have her send you reports, if you wish.”

Silence descended for a few moments. Most likely this was another trap. This operative could be a threat as well, whatever Kirijo said. If she was really so capable, then she was a danger. Perhaps not now, but eventually. She was insurance in case he ever turned against Kirijo and her group, no doubt. He knew when an offer was too good to be true.

“And perhaps,” said Niijima softly, “she could send you pictures and videos. She wouldn’t need to contact the children directly, not if you don’t want her to, but if she’s monitoring them anyway, she could gather all sorts of material. You’d be able to keep an eye on them as well. From what I know of them, I’m not sure ‘children’ is the right word anymore at any rate. They’re young adults now. Building their lives, just as you taught them.”

“I’m told they visit your grave,” said Kirijo. “Regularly. They even talk to you there. As directly as I’m talking to you now. Remarkable, really. Most of them haven’t seen you in, what, six years? More? You must have made a real impression. It scarcely bears belief. But I suppose that’s the influence that a parent can have, isn’t it?”

His hand curled into a fist even as a single tear leaked its way treacherously from his eye. It was frustrating to show such weakness in front of these people, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Clearly they had come knowing exactly which buttons to push. Their intelligence gathering was a force to be reckoned with, it seemed.

“No doubt this seems like some kind of manipulation,” said Niijima. When he met her eyes, her expression was soft, sympathetic. “I apologise for that. We really do just want you on board, and to get you out of here in a way that will guarantee your peace of mind, as far as possible. And on a personal level, while we may not know each other, from everything I know of you, I think you deserve that. Right now, I imagine you’re looking for hidden traps or stings in what we’ve been telling you. Perhaps you even think you’ve found some.” She shuffled a little closer and held his gaze. “As Kirijo-san mentioned, I’ve only joined her organisation recently. For what it’s worth, I believe in its sincerity, and in hers. But I had my own suspicions going in. I can understand where you’re coming from. So let me put it to you this way: if it does turn out that there is some terrible trap here, or some unforeseen danger, whatever side it might come from, I will not rest until I help you put it right. Whomever we might be fighting. You have my word on that, as a fellow Komaki School pupil.”

He had thought often, largely against his will, on his previous meeting with Niijima, Sanada, and Shirogane. He had thought them misguided, but sincere, though he had been suspicious of what powers had been lurking behind them. Now, it seemed, the power lurking behind them had made itself clear. He hadn’t yet gotten a good read on Kirijo – she seemed straightforward, but sometimes that could be a way of concealing deviousness in the gaps between apparently direct statements. He had seen something of himself in Sanada previously, but that was hardly reassuring – he had fought for bad causes in his time, and made too many foolish mistakes to count. Shirogane mostly seemed reserved, if not a little cold – not necessarily a bad thing, but it didn’t inspire confidence either. But Niijima radiated honesty, and passion. She, too, reminded him of himself – but perhaps the best of himself. The man who had fought for the truth behind the Empty Lot. The man who had stood up for the people of Kamurocho. Most of all, the man who had taken a scared girl by the hand and guided her through the world.

If nothing else, he thought, he could trust Niijima. And if they really did have Akiyama on board… at least he would have allies if things did go sideways.

And it would be good to see a friendly face again.

He looked Kirijo directly in the eye. “What is it that you want me for?”

Her expression remained neutral, but he thought he could detect a flicker of satisfaction. He could hardly blame her for that, he supposed. “The details can wait for another time, but suffice to say that we believe we are on the trail of a great conspiracy, one that reaches from the yakuza world to the highest echelons of national power, perhaps. And, as so often seems to be the case, it is possible, if not likely, that the key to this conspiracy lies in Kamurocho. So it seems only logical to come to you. After all, nobody specialises in rooting out vast conspiracies in Kamurocho like you. Or rather, like Kiryu.”

A sort of shudder ran through him at those words. It was almost like an all-body flex. His muscles had gone to waste somewhat in these last months, he suspected, but he knew he was still strong. What he lacked was an outlet. A direction. And that seemed to be precisely what Kirijo was offering him. As long as he went into it with his eyes open…

“I need you to understand,” he said slowly. “My loyalty would not be to you. I will work with you, if that’s what you want. I’ll help out, as long as I deem it to be the right thing to do. But if I think you’re working against the interests of the people of Kamurocho, I will oppose you. If I get the slightest whiff of betrayal, I will stop you, and it won’t be pretty. And if there is any hint at all that the orphanage is in any danger, I’ll be on the next plane to Okinawa, and nothing you can do will be enough to stop me. Those are my terms.”

Niijima nodded. “I’d be on the plane to Okinawa with you.”

Shirogane nodded too. “This is precisely what I would have expected.”

Sanada just grinned. He had the look of a man who is seeing everything he’s ever wanted blossom into being before his eyes.

Kirijo inclined her head. “These are acceptable terms. You will not be beholden to us in any way, though we appreciate whatever support you are able to offer, and we will reward your efforts on our behalf, financially and otherwise. We will not force you to do anything you do not want to. You are free to leave any time you wish – though, of course, we would hope that you will stay with us until this matter is concluded, at least.” The smallest smile imaginable crept across her lips. “Does this mean that we have a deal, then, Kiryu-san?”

Kiryu nodded. “We have a deal.”

Chapter Text

Kamurocho had, by Akiyama’s reckoning, grown stranger still in the couple of months since he’d left.

The change was not a matter of new developments in the topography of the city, which was largely unaltered. A few more bars and clubs had closed, but there were posters around for the opening nights of their replacements, and the premises themselves looked to be unchanged. The new police station was something of an assault on the eye, somehow managing to look out of place in a district that got redeveloped every couple of years, but at least he’d seen that before. Which admittedly didn’t make it look any less ominous.

There was something in the atmosphere that was odd, though. It seemed to him that nobody was making eye contact on the street anymore, just staring fixedly ahead. Like everyone was afraid of something – each other, perhaps. Or like there was something in their surroundings that nobody wanted to look directly at, maybe.

It was odd, given how many bloody gang wars had been fought in these streets, to feel such tension now. It wasn’t even five years since Akiyama himself had taken part in an enormous melee in Theatre Square. But at that point, the threat had been known and obvious, to him at least. It had been directed. This was something different. Everyone on the street seemed to know that something was fundamentally wrong, on some level, without quite knowing why. He wondered how many of them were even aware of it.

He had felt something of that before, around the time that he’d left, but now it was amplified beyond anything he could have imagined. He could almost taste the tension in the air. It felt like something out of a manga about some awful police state. Which he supposed made him the plucky protagonist, a bit like some of the more fanciful depictions of the Phantom Thieves about a year previously. Well, he could think of worse things to be.

The police presence was far less visible than it had been when the Tojo were still around, which was certainly interesting, though still more than it had been even a year ago. Far more visible though, and more worrying, were the groups of gaudily dressed men strutting about in fours and fives, shouting and laughing loudly, occasionally shoving a pedestrian out of their way. None of those pedestrians had the temerity to complain, as far as Akiyama could see, and he could hardly blame them. Nor did all those cops seem in a hurry to intervene.

He’d heard stories about what Kamurocho had been like around the time of the bubble in the late 80s. Tojo men roaming the streets in packs, throwing their weight around; sometimes on behalf of their patriarchs and families, sometimes just because they felt like it. Sera had curbed that on assuming the role of Tojo chairman - the city hadn’t exactly become safe overnight, but at least the footsoldiers had become more disciplined and less chaotic. And somehow, those stories were ringing very true at the moment. All that had changed were the lapel pins. Well, maybe the hairstyles too.

He stood on the corner of Tenkaichi Street and Tenkaichi Avenue, the collar of his overcoat turned up against the biting wind. Winter was hitting Tokyo hard this year, it seemed. It was almost enough to make him regret relocating from Osaka. It made him wonder how Kiryu had made the adjustment when coming up from Okinawa those times. Then again, it was Kiryu. The man probably regarded cold with as little concern as he apparently regarded bullets. Most likely he just stared down the wind until it went away and bothered someone else.

Akiyama had hoped to find allies in Stardust, but the host on the door had told him that Yuya and Kazuki were both away, and had seemed unwilling to be drawn further. He’d been tempted to reveal his identity, in case it helped, but decided it was too risky. Very likely the Omi had, if not influence over the place, at least eyes on it, and he didn’t want to draw their attention if he could help it. He just hoped they were all right, wherever they were, especially after working so hard to regain control of the club after the death of Joongi Han. Their employees weren’t denying all knowledge of them, so that probably suggested they were alive and still working here, at least. It wasn’t much comfort, but in the circumstances, he’d take what he could get.

Across the street, New Serena was closed – long-term, by the looks of it – and while it had crossed his mind to check out his old office, that was even riskier in terms of drawing Omi eyes. Hell, it was very possible that some family or other was renting the place now. It was in a prime location, after all. The lights were currently off, but that didn’t mean much. The business hours of yakuza patriarchs varied wildly, sometimes from day to day.

A strange movement in his peripheral vision derailed his train of thought, and he turned to look. The typical Tenkaichi Street evening crowd of revellers was parting, as naturally as a river diverting around a rock, to reveal a group of five men in a veritable rainbow of brightly-coloured, ill-fitting suits strolling along right in the centre of the street, seemingly carelessly. One was swigging openly from a bottle, while another seemed to be scanning his surroundings with narrowed eyes. Akiyama drew back, as surreptitiously as possible, and allowed them to pass. He wasn’t afraid of a fight by any means, but Kirijo and the others were relying on him to gather information, and standing out would hamper his ability to do so now and in the future. Besides, there wasn’t much to be gained from it, aside from maybe some catharsis.

Though, on reflection, a bit of catharsis would be nice.

As they passed, the man with the bottle, having apparently satisfied himself that he’d drained it to the last drop, shouted to one of his comrades, who couldn’t have been more than a couple of metres away from him.

“Oi, Natsura, where we actually goin’?”

The one who was scanning the street turned to look at him – which, as luck would have it, meant turning away from Akiyama.

“Ya got shit fer brains, Murakami? I told ya like three fuckin’ times – we’re headin’ ta that new place, Elise. Ya know, across from the tower.”

Akiyama’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t heard that Elise had reopened, much less that it was using the same name. It was like his long-lost child had turned up on the front page of a newspaper.

Actually, scratch that; it was like his long-lost child had turned up on the front page of a newspaper, only to announce that they were gifting him a massive sum of money. He couldn’t turn down this opportunity. It seemed whatever luck or god had been watching over him for the last twelve years hadn’t deserted him just yet. This didn’t quite compare to shedloads of cash literally falling out of the sky, true, but it would do for now.

The group of Omi men was travelling slowly, possibly thanks to Murakami’s inebriated wandering, so it was the easiest thing in the world to slip down Tenkaichi Avenue and get to the club ahead of them. The sight of it brough a smile to his face. Even the signage was the same – that gaudy pink that he’d insisted on over the objections of just about everyone who knew him. The bad taste was exactly the point, of course. It drew the eye, and that was all he needed.

The interior too was, it turned out, unchanged – the same arrangement of tables, the same small stage. Right down to…

Well, this is just getting ridiculous.

The floor manager bowed as he approached.

“Welcome, sir. Will you be…” He trailed off as his eyes went wide. “Akiyama-san? But… I heard you were…”

Akiyama put a finger to his lips. “I’m happy that the place is still in good hands. But I’d appreciate a little discretion. I’m sure you understand.”

The floor manager didn’t seem to share his good cheer. “I don’t mean to be rude, Akiyama-san, but is there something you need? I mean, in the circumstances…”

“Just a favour.” He paused a moment. “And maybe a decent whisky.”

As he’d suspected, the Omi men arrived in a few minutes after him, heralded by a sort of wordless cheer as the elevator doors opened. Twisting around in his seat as surreptitiously as possible, he was relieved to see that Murakami had disposed of his empty bottle somewhere – the manager was well capable of dealing with that, but he hadn’t envied him the task, and the resulting uproar could be dangerous. He shifted around slightly on the couch to have his back to the empty table where they were to be seated. Best not to look too interested.

As he heard them sitting down behind him, he pushed the plate of chicken karaage on the table over towards Kyoko, the girl with large hair and sparkling nails who’d been assigned to him. Not quite his usual preference, but perhaps that was all to the good. He couldn’t afford to get distracted.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I know this gets to be hungry work after a few hours.”

She looked at him in puzzlement for a moment, but the customer service mask slipped seamlessly back on as she thanked him for his generosity. Probably she now assumed he had some kind of feeding fetish, but so be it. No doubt she’d dealt with weirder.

It wasn’t difficult, as it turned out, to listen in on five men speaking at more or less full volume. What was difficult was resisting the urge to go over there and throttle them as they spent a solid ten minutes deliberating over what to eat, and a further five on what to drink. He tried to keep up some small talk with Kyoko in the meantime – it was unlikely any of the men would pay him any heed at all, but he needed to blend in just in case – and, when the chicken ran out, happily ordered her some more. Apart from anything else, it gave him an excuse to speak to the floor manager again.

“Another couple of plates, my good man,” he said, in his best ostentatious-asshole voice. “The lady’s got a fine appetite, and who am I to deny her?”

“Very good, sir,” said the floor manager. His eyes flickered to the neighbouring table. “Will there be anything else? Regarding your previous order?”

“Actually, yes.” He tipped the floor manager a wink of recognition. “I don’t suppose you could hold that back a bit? I want to really let the conversation flow, you know?”

“That can certainly be arranged, sir. But, uh, not for an unreasonable length of time, of course.”

“Of course.” Too much delay before their requested hostesses arrived, and the Omi men might get rowdy, or leave, and either would be a problem for both Akiyama and the floor manager. “I’ll leave it to your professional judgement.”

As the floor manager bowed, Akiyama caught Kyoko giving him a curious look. He smiled in response.

“Don’t suppose you’ve been in this business too long, have you?”

“A couple of months.” She looked unsure of how honest she should be, another giveaway that she was a newcomer. “I started up here when it reopened.”

“Thought so. Little word of advice: try not to get too interested in customers. Or at least choose your interest carefully. You can be all over the stuff they choose to tell you, that’s what it’s all about. But try not to get too curious about stuff they’re not telling you. You get me?”

With an obvious effort, she rearranged the frown that was her initial reaction back into a cutesy smile. “You seem to know a lot about this, Shun-kun. You must be really smart!”

“I know a few people who’d quibble with that. Experienced, though, I’ll take that. I’ve been in my share of clubs down the years.” He poured a generous measure of whisky, and slid it over to her. “To your very good health.”

The toast was a good opportunity to go silent for a few seconds and hear what was being said.

“Keep it to a coupla rounds now, fellas.” He’d only heard the man briefly, but that sounded like it could be Natsura. “Remember, we’re on the job after this.”

“Ah, come on, Natsura-han. Ain’t like we got anyone lookin’ over our shoulders, hah?”

“Fuck’s sake, Matsumura. You really as stupid as you look? Whole town’s watchin’ us now. We go around fuckin’ up an’ goofin’ off, word gets straight back to the boss, and then we’re in the shit.”

Akiyama must have made some sort of involuntary movement at the mention of “the boss,” because Kyoko gave him another curious look. He adopted a nonchalant grin, and had just opened his mouth for some stupid remark to deflect when his saviour arrived in the shape of two heaped plates of fried chicken. With a nod of thanks to the manager, he pushed both over in Kyoko’s direction.

“With my compliments.”

She looked vaguely suspicious, and he could hardly blame her. “Are you sure, Shun-kun? It’s really very generous of you, but…”

God damn girl, you need to be less smart. Or at least not show it so much. “Of course, of course. What’s the use of money if you can’t spread it around, I say.”

To his relief, she decided not to question his (as it happened, perfectly sincere) sentiment, and set to work on the karaage with gusto. She seemed to slurp it up like soba, barely chewing at all. It was strangely hypnotising – so much so that he almost forgot to get back to listening.

“…ain’t like we even really know the boss. Ya know?” The slight slurring suggested that this was probably Murakami.

“We don’t gotta know him, ya fuckin’ idiot. He’s the boss. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, but like, y’know. Where’sh the loyalty?”

“Hah?”

What sounded like Matsumura took over. “He’s right, ya know. Guy like Captain Watase, we all respect. Everyone knows all that he’s done. Ain’t hard to work fer a man like that. An’ guys like us, that’s what it’s all about, right? Workin’ under someone ya look up ta, trynna follow their example, make something of yerself. But then we up an’ get sent ta Tokyo all of a sudden, workin’ for a guy we ain’t never seen before. All feels a bit weird. Tha’s all we’re sayin’.”

Natsura was silent for a few moments, and Akiyama primed himself for an explosion. But when he spoke again, it was so soft that Akiyama had to strain to listen.

“I get where yer comin’ from, fellas. Ain’t like I wanted to leave Osaka neither. An’ I can’t say I fully get what’s goin’ on. But what I do know is that shit like what’s been goin’ down, it creates opportunities, ya feel me? The Tojo are gone, an’ that leaves what they call a power vacuum. Someone’s gotta fill it. And that means there’s all the more chances fer guys like us. That’s what happens when shit goes weird. Like all those stories o’ the Dragon o’ Dojima, right? Whenever there was shit goin’ down in the Tojo, he’d turn up, an’ that’s how everyone got ta know his name. Hell, Watase-san proved himself all over again when there was all that weird shit with the chairman an’ the succession a few years back.”

The offhand mention of Kiryu took Akiyama off guard, and it was all he could do to keep from bursting out laughing at the incongruity of it. It was stranger still to hear events in which he’d been personally involved described as some kind of aspirational legend. He maintained his poker face as best he could, and kept listening.

“Guess ya got a point, Natsura-han.” This was Matsumura again, he thought. “And ain’t like the boss is some complete nobody neither. He ain’t no Mad Dog, but I’d bet most guys in our position have hearda-”

“Shun-kun?”

Only a supreme act of will kept Akiyama from jumping. Kyoko had leaned over, closing the gap between them, concern in her eyes – feigned or otherwise, he was too frazzled to tell.

“Are you OK, Shun-kun? It’s like you’re miles away.”

“Of course, of course.” He tried to settle himself with a smile. “Been a long day, Kyoko-chan. But you’re right, it’s very rude of me to ignore a beautiful lady like yourself.”

She had a point, actually – going silent for a long period of time was bad news if the Omi men picked up on it. And there was a slight glint in her eyes that suggested the favour she was doing him was not accidental. Well, that was fine. He’d gotten some information to go on. Whoever the men were working for was unknown to the Omi – perhaps they’d only joined recently? – but well known in the criminal underworld more generally. That was helpful. Perhaps Akame had gotten word of some high-profile new recruit. Even if they were based in Tokyo, as seemed to be the case, word might well have gotten around in Osaka, if he was lucky. And all evidence was pointing to him being pretty damn lucky at the moment.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the better this got. A new Omi recruit, very possibly from the Tojo, might help to explain some of what had happened in the last few months. Perhaps they’d helped to engineer the Tojo’s downfall. Perhaps this guy, whoever he was, was the reason why the Omi presence in Kamurocho had exploded seemingly overnight. And even if that was too much to hope for, which it probably was, he likely had some crucial information. With any luck, Kirijo or one of her contacts would have some way to get to him.

And if Akiyama’s luck was really in, he’d get to kick the bastard in the face himself.

A collection of glittery dresses in his peripheral vision, and a chorus of hooting from behind him, suggested that the manager had elected to send the hostesses over to the table. That probably meant an end to useful conversation, unless they were stupid and arrogant enough to discuss yakuza business in company, which admittedly wasn’t out of the question. He glanced towards the whisky bottle on his table. It was still at least three quarters full. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d paid for so much, except that splashing cash around in a hostess club was often less suspicious than the alternative, not to mention being a habit that was hard to break. Besides, he could think of much worse places to spend the money than Elise. It was like paying it forward. Or backwards, maybe.

He nodded towards the bottle. “I’m gonna hit the road soon. That’s yours, if you want it.”

“Huh?” Kyoko looked genuinely confused. “We can keep it for you, Shun-kun. Break it out again next time you come.”

“Nah, no need. Not sure when I’ll be back again, and I wouldn’t want to let a bottle like that go to waste. I’ll let the manager know I’ve given it to you. Think of it as a thank-you for a lovely evening.”

“That’s… really kind of you, but…”

“Not a fan?” She nodded, a little hesitantly. “That’s fine. One of the weirder drawbacks of this job, that you end up drinking all sorts of things you’d rather not, right? Take it anyway. Someone’ll want it. Maybe your dad. Or your boyfriend.” Her eyes went slightly wide, and he chuckled. “Just a guess. Don’t worry, I don’t know if it’s against policy here or not, but your secret’s safe with me either way.”

She looked a little relieved. “Thank you. It’s… well, it’s not a secret, but I try not to shout about it, you know?”

“Makes sense. Hey now, take care of yourself, yeah?”

“You too. Good luck with…” Her eyes flashed in the direction of the next table. “… with whatever it is that you’re doing.”

He gave her one of his more genuine smiles. “I appreciate that. Really. Hope to see you again.”

It was true, too. In an ideal world, he’d be back through these doors sooner rather than later, and for pleasure rather than business. Well, maybe a little of both. He wondered who was running the place, and if they were interested in some sort of partnership. But that was a concern for later, he supposed. He was just glad the club had survived what had seemed to be a general nightlife cull.

To his surprise, as he exited the elevator back to street level, he walked straight past Natsura, who seemed to be on the phone, presumably having left while Akiyama was settling up his bill. Only sheer dumb luck kept them from literally colliding, as he emerged from the alcove just as an agitated-looking Natsura wandered back in its direction. He waved in an expansive “my bad” gesture, but Natsura hardly seemed to notice.

“Yeah, sure,” he was saying. “I’ll get the guys going… no, of course. We’re headin’ straight back to see Captain Sawashiro, and then… yeah, we’ll take care of it.”

It was just as well that Akiyama was in the process of turning away, because he couldn’t quite stifle the grin that crossed his face. Sawashiro probably wasn’t “the boss,” but he might well be a known associate, maybe even from before they’d joined the Omi. A concrete name was far more than he’d dared hope for. He said a silent prayer of thanks to Elise. Even after a period of estrangement, his baby was still looking after him.

He strolled up East Millennium Tower Street, with no clear destination in mind. Perhaps he could hit up another club – Jewel might still be open, and if not there’d be something else in its place. Or even a bar – it’d be nice to see Bantam or Earth Angel, although it might be a risk to go anywhere he was likely to be recognised. Most of the bartenders in Kamurocho probably had the sense not to go shouting his name, but regulars might be a different story, especially if they’d already been drinking. There was always Kanrai, which tended to attract all sorts. A corner table would afford him ample opportunity to eavesdrop. Besides, he was a bit peckish after watching Kyoko put away all that chicken.

The thought of some delicious barbecued meat put an extra spring in his step, and he found himself whistling the chorus to Rise Kujikawa’s latest single. What was it called again? Something about a mask. Not his usual bag, but Hana had put it on in the office a few weeks back, and he’d found himself nodding along despite himself. He’d thought about getting involved in the idol business from time to time after the whole mess with Haruka a few years back, but the opportunity had never quite arisen, and anyway he found a lot of the music annoying. Kujikawa’s latest stuff was pretty good, though. She seemed to be playing around with her musical style, drafting in a bunch of songwriters and musicians from across the country, apparently doing a bit of writing herself. It was all pretty impressive, he had to admit. He always admired anyone who was capable of reinventing themselves.

The buzzing of his phone in his pocket broke across his thoughts. He withdrew it without breaking stride, and looked at the caller ID with a frown. Well, at least it was bound to be something substantial.

“Hey, Shirogane. What’s up?”

“Akiyama-san, would you be able to come into the office?”

“What, now? It’s…” – he checked his watch – “…nearly 8. And I was just about to grab some food. Don’t suppose this could wait?”

“Perhaps, but Kirijo-san is insistent that time is of the essence. She’s calling in everyone available.”

Well, he was hardly in a position to turn Kirijo down just yet. He half-suspected he was on thin ice already. “Fine.” He turned the word into a sigh, just to make a point. “I guess it works out. I might have a lead. Was going to wait until the morning, but I guess if we’re meeting anyway…”

“I think you won’t regret it.” Shirogane sounded pleased – oddly so, actually. “We’ve… well, you’ll see when you get here.”

“Oh, come on now, you big tease.” A thought struck him. Could they have…? “Hold on, it’s not… did you do it? Already?”

He could almost hear Shirogane’s smile. “He’s on his way here.”

“Well then, so am I.”

Akiyama took a deep breath, savouring the moment. He’d known it was possible, of course, but there was a world of difference between setting the possibility in motion and hearing that it had actually come to pass. He fancied the very streets of Kamurocho were shivering in anticipation around him.

Hey, whoever you are who’s messing around with Kamurocho? Omi guys, cops, whatever?

You’re fucked now.

Chapter Text

There was nothing quite like a Phantom Thieves meeting to strike a spark of nostalgia in Makoto’s heart. It was odd, given how many of those meetings had been devoted to discussing matters of grave, even life-or-death, import, but they’d still been the best days of her life. And, despite her better instincts, she missed them immensely. The best she could hope for was to recapture that sense of purpose someday, in her work or elsewhere.

Of course, they hadn’t been able to have a full Phantom Thieves meeting since the summer, with Ren and Morgana away. The idea of online meetings had been floated, but Futaba was wary of the security standards of the software involved, and said she couldn’t guarantee anything, and it wasn’t as though anyone would contradict her on the matter. Still, between in-person meet-ups, and the group chat, Makoto made it a point of pride to keep everyone updated on matters to do with the Shadow Operatives. After all, they never knew when they might need to act on short notice.

Sojiro still allowed them to meet in the attic of Leblanc – out of, Makoto presumed, his own sense of nostalgia – on the increasingly rare evenings where everyone’s schedules lined up. It wasn’t quite the same, of course, now that the attic had returned to a state of dusty neglect, its contents piled back into nooks and corners. She’d never admit it, but one pleasure she’d found even in the darkest times was coming up here to discover some new knick-knack or souvenir that Ren had picked up. She admired many things about him, but perhaps most of all, she envied his unassailable sense of whimsy.

And as she gazed around the group – Ryuji leafing idly through a manga, Ann peering at it over his shoulder as stealthily as she could manage, Haru sipping a new blend of Sojiro’s from some dainty crockery that she’d unaccountably brought with her – it was like being sent backwards in time. Even the unanimously agreed addition of Sumire to the core group felt strangely natural.

But they had new concerns. And she never let herself lose sight of what was present and real. Not anymore.

“I believe that our investigation into the cleaner is going to take a big step forward,” she said. “Now that it appears we have Kiryu on our side, we have access to far more inside information on the yakuza than before.”

“Yeah, about that,” said Ryuji, wearing an unusually pensive look. “I know you’ve mentioned him before, but I can’t shake the feelin’ I know that name from somewhere else. Kiryu… Kiryu…” He gave a start. “Holy shit, wasn’t he a Persona that Ren had?”

“I suspect you’re thinking of Kohryu,” said Makoto, repressing a sigh.

“Oh… yeah. Big dragon thing. I remember now.”

“Yes, this would be Kazuma Kiryu.” Haru nodded solemnly. “Not a literal dragon, though he is known as the Dragon of Dojima. The fourth Tojo Clan chairman, I believe.”

Makoto looked at her in confusion. “How… do you…?”

“Oh, some years ago I became a fan of an upcoming idol named Haruka Sawamura. Then she disappeared from the public eye because of a scandal involving her adoptive father. That was Kiryu-san. And so I… well, I suppose you could say I became a fan of his instead. I think I have some fanzines at home if you’re interested?”

Makoto briefly attempted to wrap her brain around that, then gently laid it aside to be dealt with later.

“I haven’t met him myself,” said Sumire, in what seemed to Makoto a valiant attempt to get things back on track, “but everyone in the Shadow Operatives who has seems very excited. I think Sanada-san was actually trembling at the prospect just before you all set out to meet him.” Futaba chuckled, but everyone else looked blank. “Oh, I’m sorry. Sanada-san is… well, never mind. I’m sure you’ll meet him. And Akiyama-san seemed very keen to get Kiryu-san on board. He was talking as if Kiryu-san was some kind of legendary creature. Oh, but not the kind you were thinking of, Sakamoto-senpai.”

“In a way, he is a kind of legend,” said Haru. “He’s bested all sorts of influential yakuza figures down the years, sometimes indirectly, but more often in straight-up fights. No matter what happens, he always seems to come out on top somehow. For that matter, he’s been thought dead a few times, only to re-emerge. Some have said that he might be immortal.” She said it in the same tone she might use in discussing his height or eye colour.

“At any rate,” said Makoto, fearing where the conversation might go if it turned to Kiryu’s immortality, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Sumire. What do you make of Akiyama? I haven’t had much opportunity to interact with him yet.”

Sumire leaned back to stare at the ceiling and tapped her fingers on her chin, which Makoto had learned to associate with her figuring out how to phrase something potentially troublesome. “He seems very… enthusiastic. Eager to help. I mean, he more or less invited himself into the Shadow Operatives. I don’t really know what to make of that. I’m not even sure if Kirijo-san has much idea either.”

“Enthusiasm can often be a smokescreen for deception,” said Yusuke. “What better way to avoid having one’s motives questioned than telling others precisely what they want to hear?”

“He’s got a point,” said Ann. “I mean, remember what a big show Akechi made of how he was invested in justice and stuff? And… well, I guess I don’t need to remind you. Except maybe you, Sumire-chan?”

“No, I think I understand enough of what happened,” said Sumire. “And I understand your concerns, Kitagawa-senpai, Takamaki-senpai. But Akiyama-san seems to have lost a lot to all that’s been going on in Kamurocho. That doesn’t mean he couldn’t be dangerous, of course, but… I guess I’m saying I believe in his sincerity. But I understand if you don’t just want to take my word for it, of course.”

“Nah,” said Ryuji, “far as I’m concerned, your word counts for a lot, Sumire. We’ve just been burned before, y’know?”

“And we were fortunate to have picked up on Akechi’s deception before he could do us too much harm,” said Makoto. “For what it’s worth, though, I think Sumire is right. I’ve heard a little about Akiyama before, back when I was researching Kiryu, and while he’s a little unconventional, I do believe his heart is in the right place. However, we should proceed with caution. In particular, I have no intention of revealing our identities as the Phantom Thieves to him for the moment. Nor does Kirijo-san. She’s being very careful what information she gives him more generally. With any luck, he may never even need to find out about our more… esoteric activities.”

“Want me to dig up any dirt?” said Futaba. Her tone was innocuous, but Makoto could swear she was flexing her fingers, as if to prepare for a hard night’s hacking.

“I don’t believe that will be necessary. Vigilance is probably advisable, though. I’m sure Yamagishi-san or Aigis-san are already keeping an eye out, so perhaps you could liaise with them.”

Futaba shrugged. “Will do, chief. Uh, might go with Yamagishi, though. Aigis creeps me out a bit.”

Makoto opened her mouth, and shut it again. Somehow the words “that’s because she’s a robot” couldn’t quite form, as if her vocal cords were rebelling against the concept. Having physically traversed the collective unconscious, had long conversations with a cat who could turn into various vehicles, and fought a god above Shibuya, it seemed there were still some concepts she couldn’t quite get to grips with, even despite the fact that she’d also befriended a phone-based AI. Then again, maybe it was because she’d experienced so many outlandish things that she had such strict lines of belief. It was a sort of protective measure.

She had files on her laptop, sent to her by Yamagishi, that apparently explained the whole anti-Shadow weapon program, but she hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to open them. It couldn’t last, she knew that. The more informed she was about her new colleagues, the better they could work together. She was also hoping to sit down with one of the members she didn’t know so well, Takeba perhaps, for a debrief on the formation of the Shadow Operatives, a story she’d still only heard in pieces. But first she would have to get to grips with the inner workings, in quite a literal sense, of two of their key members. It was a daunting prospect, but an unavoidable one.

The rumble of her phone, on the table, broke across her thoughts. She normally hated people checking their phones in company, but this was potentially important, so she apologised quietly to the rest of the group – who, admittedly, seemed unfazed - as she picked it up.

“It’s Kirijo,” she said, after scanning the message. “She wants everyone in to help brief Kiryu. As soon as we can make it.”

Futaba nodded eagerly, looking like a bobblehead in the process. “I’m kinda excited to meet this weird yakuza superhero guy. Lemme go ask Sojiro if he’ll give us a ride.” She leapt up and tore down the stairs, almost tripping over her feet as she went.

“I don’t know if I can make it,” said Sumire apologetically. “I’ve got a lot of homework. Well, so does Futaba-chan, but she… can make her own decisions. Anyway, I think the two of you and Sanada-san know everything I do, so I wouldn’t add much.”

“I really envy you,” said Haru wistfully. “It would be quite something to meet the Dragon of Dojima.”

“You could always come along,” said Makoto. “It mightn’t be the worst time to introduce you to the Shadow Operatives. Especially since you already know Kirijo-san a little.”

Haru seemed to consider this. “That’s a good point, Mako-chan. Maybe it makes sense for us to turn up to meetings one by one, as convenience dictates. Especially if Ren and Mona-chan are going to make it up to Tokyo at some point.”

“Speaking of,” said Makoto, “would someone mind informing them of all we’ve talked about while the three of us are at this meeting?”

“I’ll do it,” said Sumire, slightly to Makoto’s relief – Sumire was precisely the person she’d been hoping would volunteer. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Ryuji or Ann or Yusuke, more that Sumire was the person she thought had the best grasp on the facts, and was the least likely to introduce anything irrelevant. The last thing Ren needed was for the discussion of Kiryu to be interspersed with a discourse on Impressionism.

Futaba’s head popped up above the half-wall separating the staircase from the rest of the room. “Sojiro’s gonna bring us, but he needs to close up first, so it’ll be a few minutes. Oh, and he wants to sit in on the meeting. Think you can swing that, Makoto?”

She shrugged. “I can try. Maybe I can push the angle of his having insider government knowledge that might relate to Shido’s network.”

Futaba nodded sagely. “And if that fails, consider this: what’s one more middle-aged dude in the room at this point?”

From the moment he had agreed to Kirijo’s proposal, Kiryu had been riven with doubts. What if he was revisiting some of the worst mistakes of his life? What if he was bringing danger down upon the heads of Haruka and the children yet again? Who were these people, really? No matter how much he tried to silence them – the Daidoji really did seem to be gone, he was pretty sure he could trust Niijima, the monk seemed somehow to have his best interests at heart – they always floated back up to the surface. Even as he stepped out of the grounds of the temple for the first time in the best part of a year, almost straight into the car Kirijo had sent, it took a supreme act of will not to turn around and flee back into its confines, where he could be certain of safety. But then again, fleeing from danger had never really been in his nature. Nor had turning from his set course.

The drive to Tokyo was on the lengthy side – come to think of it, he had never been told exactly where the temple was, and now he found it didn’t much matter to him. The driver, a blonde woman wearing headphones, had made no attempt at conversation, presumably lost in whatever music she was listening to, which suited him just fine, even if it was a little rude. It gave him the opportunity to get some rest before whatever he was about to be thrown into.

He slept in fits and starts as the identikit grey-lined roads zoomed by, jerking awake with a start every now and then only for his eyelids to flicker closed again soon after. It was like existing in some kind of in-between world, neither conscious nor unconscious. Time ceased to have any meaning. He lost all sense of who he was and where he was going. Perhaps, he thought in a rare moment of lucidity, this was what the monk had always talked about. The loss of self that came with true acceptance. He allowed himself to drift off…

A city street bathed in sickly green light…

A rural shopping street swamped in fog…

Shibuya Crossing drenched in blood, with bones emerging from the ground…

A hulking figure in a kimono and haori, their face a porcelain mask…

“I am thou…”

A breath of air awakened him. The car door was being held open by the blonde woman, who was gazing at him expressionlessly. It seemed they had arrived in some sort of underground car park, all concrete walls and fluorescent lights. He had to shield his eyes against the latter, having gotten used to almost entirely natural light over the last eleven months.

“We’re here, Kiryu-san,” said the woman, somewhat unnecessarily. “If you’d please come with me.”

“Sure.” He winced as he got out of the car, his legs having cramped up – clearly it had been a longer journey than he’d realised – blinking away the strange images from his dreams. The woman began leading him to a door in the corner, presumably leading to some sort of stairwell or elevator. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Ah, my apologies.” She turned her head slightly in his direction, without dropping her pace. “I didn’t want to disturb you on the way here. My name is Aigis. As I understand it, we will be working together closely from now on. It’s a great pleasure to meet you.”

He had no real feelings either way about meeting Aigis, but settled for a small nod in response.

“I believe Kirijo-san has called a number of our members and associates here to meet with you,” she said. “However, if you want to take some time to freshen up first, I’m certain that could be arranged.”

“It’s all right,” he said. Might as well get the meeting bit over with. Get some sense of what I’m dealing with here.

They had reached the elevator doors. Aigis swiped a keycard on a panel, causing them to open, revealing a dark wood interior. Someone hadn’t skimped on interior design, it seemed.

“We will arrange security access for you as early as possible,” she said, indicating for him to enter the elevator. “It will not be a matter of ‘access all areas,’ naturally, but your own card will allow you to enter and exit the building, and access to most floors, including this one. Should you acquire a car, we can see about a parking space.”

“Sure.” Somehow, as the elevator began its ascent, getting a car was the furthest thing from his mind. Although it did lead to something else that he’d just realised he’d forgotten about, in all the worry about what he would be doing here. “I guess I’ll have to find somewhere to live nearby?”

“No need to worry about that. I believe Kirijo-san has made arrangements, though I’m not privy to the details. No doubt she’ll tell you more.”

“Oh. Right.” He wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about living somewhere Kirijo had found for him, but at least it was one less thing to concern himself with for now. Besides, they already seemed to know everything about him. Bugging his apartment – or whatever – probably wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference in the end.

The elevator dinged, and Aigis led him out into a corridor of what looked to be office space. It reminded him a little of the upper floors of Millennium Tower – all glass walls and small groupings of desks. Maybe this was just what offices were like these days – he hadn’t spent much time in one for a very long time. He could see a few people tapping away at computers, none of whom seemed to pay him or Aigis any mind as they passed. It was hard to tell how high up they were, but from the glimpses he caught of windows as they passed, it must be more than a dozen floors. It was dark outside – clearly, the drive had taken even longer than it had seemed.

“Do the Shadow Operatives own this whole building?” he asked.

“The Kirijo Group does,” said Aigis. “Shadow Operative business covers only a few floors, including this one. Kirijo-san heads up both, but most of our operatives, myself included, have no real in wider Kirijo Group business.”

“So the Kirijo Group is like a sort of… umbrella company? Or a parent company or something?” The corporate world had always been more than a bit alien to him, but he was fairly certain those were both terms he’d heard. Whether they meant different things or not, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want to appear grossly underinformed.

“We are a branch of the Kirijo Group. That’s the name that will be appearing on your payslips. We’re a less public face, as the name might suggest. With a very particular focus. Though, I should say, I’m only authorised to tell you so much.”

“I guessed that might be the case.” He’d hardly imagined that a group called “the Shadow Operatives” would be entirely open and transparent.

“I can assure you that anything you need to know, you will discover in due course. And – ah, hello there, Sakura-san, Niijima-san.”

They had rounded a corner to see a small group of people clustered in front of a door, clearly about to go in. Kiryu recognised Niijima, who gave him a smile and a nod, the latter of which he returned. She was with a girl of about the same age with curly hair, wearing a pink fluffy cardigan, who was surveying both him and Aigis with undisguised interest. Next to her was a balding man who looked to be in his forties or so, wearing a look of deep suspicion with which Kiryu found himself sympathising. He was standing slightly in front of yet another teenage girl, with long orange hair and thick-framed glasses, in a vaguely protective manner which also felt familiar to Kiryu.

Niijima was the first to speak. “Good to see you Aigis-san. And you too, Kiryu-san. I’m very pleased to see you here.”

He nodded again. That would have to suffice as a response.

“Might I introduce some of my associates?” She indicated the girl with the glasses first. “This is Futaba Sakura. She was an enormous help in researching and ultimately locating you, as it happens, Kiryu-san.”

Futaba Sakura, who didn’t look entirely pleased about this introduction, held up a tentative hand in greeting. “Y-yo, Kiryu-san. How’s it hangin’?”

Niijima went on, perhaps assuming (correctly) that Kiryu would not respond to the question. “And this is her father, Sojiro Sakura.”

Sojiro Sakura gave him a small nod, without his expression changing. “Kiryu-san. I’ve heard a little of your… reputation. I trust you’re not going to bring my daughter into any form of trouble?”

Here at last was something Kiryu could understand. He nodded back to Sakura. “Rest assured, your daughter is safe with me, Sakura-san.”

Sakura looked only slightly mollified, but enough that Niijima seemed to feel she could continue. “And this is a good friend of mine, Haru Okumura. Haru, this is Kiryu-san, and Aigis-san.”

Okumura beamed at both of them and bowed. “It’s lovely to meet you both!” Her sweet, bouncy voice seemed to Kiryu to match her cardigan perfectly. “Especially you, Kiryu-san. I’ve followed your exploits for some years now.”

“O-oh. I see.” Suddenly her smile reminded Kiryu just a little of Majima. He had to resist the instinct to brace himself for a sudden attack.

“Might I assume that Okumura-san is one of the associates whom we’ve had occasion to discuss in the past?” asked Aigis.

Niijima nodded. “I’ve been keeping her briefed on the situation. She wanted to be more directly involved.”

“Very good,” said Aigis, apparently unconcerned that she was just now meeting a new member of her secret organisation. “Welcome aboard, Okumura-san. I look forward to working with you.”

“You too, Aigis-san,” said Okumura. “I’m very excited to be here.” That certainly appeared to be true, from her still undimmed smile, but it seemed to Kiryu that her attention remained on him. He was beginning to get the disturbing feeling that the Shadow Operatives doubled as a Kazuma Kiryu fan club.

He was saved from any further reflection by the door opening, to reveal Kirijo. “Ah, parfait,” she said. “I thought I heard your voice, Aigis.” She surveyed those assembled, with the faint air of a drill sergeant inspecting their troops. “Niijima-san, Sakura-san, glad you could make it. I have some briefing materials prepared for you, Sakura-san.” This last was directed towards Sojiro Sakura. “And also a non-disclosure agreement, if you’d be so kind. Very much the standard type. I’m sure you understand.”

“I’ll read it,” said Sakura, his face tight.

“Very well. And- oh.” She looked slightly taken aback. “Okumura-san?”

“Hello, Kirijo-san,” said Okumura. “What has it been, two years?”

“Something along those lines.” There were gears visibly turning in her head. “Yes, I see. You did well to keep this under wraps, Niijima-san, but it certainly makes sense. And Okumura-san, I understand it’s rather late, but may I express my condolences on your father’s passing?”

Okumura nodded stiffly, and her smile wavered. “Thank you, Kirijo-san. That… well, I’m sure you understand.”

“Very much so.” Kirijo took a step back into the room. “Well, I daresay we should proceed. Kiryu-san, we have materials prepared for you as well, but you may peruse them in your own time, of course.”

Kiryu followed her outstretched arm, trying to puzzle out why the name “Okumura” sounded vaguely familiar. Some sort of politician, or…? Something along those lines anyway. Something he’d read at some point, he thought.

He found himself in a large conference room, most of its space taken back by a circular table at which numerous places had been prepared, some of them piled high with documents. Two whole walls were taken up with windows, and he found himself looking out at the glittering skyline. He couldn’t quite pinpoint his location, though it seemed to be somewhere near the bay, but he had the oddest feeling he could see Millennium Tower in the distance. Probably it was just his eyes playing tricks on him - picking one skyscraper out in Tokyo was a fool’s errand - but his heart seemed to skip a beat nonetheless.

“Kiryu-san?” A woman with braided light blue hair, on the smaller side, was standing directly in front of him, her hands clasped together in front of her. “I’m Fuuka Yamagishi. I’m looking forward to working with you. Would you mind sitting here?” She directed him towards the chair that appeared to have the largest pile in front of it, to his dismay. He suppressed a smile, though, at the small, neatly written nameplate next to it reading “Kazuma Kiryu.” The last time he’d seen anything like that had been during his brief stint in real estate in the late 80s. What would Nishiki say if he could see this? Or Yumi? Or Kazama-san? Who would ever have guessed I’d end up here?

Whatever being here means.

He nodded to Yamagishi, and took the seat. Across the table from him was Sanada, already seated, who gave him a nod, which he returned. Niijima and her companions were directed to seats further along the table, though he noticed that Okumura took one which allowed her to keep him in view at all times. Aigis remained standing by the door with Kirijo, while Yamagishi took the seat next to him.

“Yukari not coming?” asked Sanada. For a moment, Kiryu thought he was addressing him, but Yamagishi shook her head in response.

“Apparently there was some kind of scheduled appearance that she couldn’t get out of. She’s hoping to come by afterwards, but the meeting will probably be finished by then.”

Sanada grinned. “Will she still be in costume?”

Yamagishi giggled. “I think that would be a problem if she’s getting the subway, don’t you?”

Kiryu had no idea what that meant, but he presumed it bespoke yet another strange co-worker. So far, the Shadow Operatives were turning out a lot quirkier than he’d expected, between the pink ball of joy who was some kind of yakuza otaku, and the geeky kid who’d brought her dad along to the secret meeting. This alongside the fact that none of them he’d seen yet, aside from the older Sakura, could possibly be older than thirty. Then again, age was no guarantee of competence, in either direction. Daigo had been barely thirty when he’d taken over the Tojo Clan, and he’d done fine, for the most part.

Daigo… where are you now? Shirogane’s hints about what was happening to the Tojo had been playing on his mind for days now, but he refused to ask. The information would come out in good time. There was no point in rushing things. And playing his cards close to his chest, as far as possible, was probably the best approach for now anyway.

Yamagishi turned to him. “Would you like something to drink, Kiryu-san? Or eat? I know you came a long way.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine.” It came across a little icier than he’d intended, so he added a “Thank you” in deference to Yamagishi’s polite smile.

She nodded. “Please let me or someone else know if you want anything. We want to make sure you feel comfortable.”

He gave a stiff nod of his own in response. Was it meant kindly, or was it supposed to butter him up? He supposed, as long as he remained vigilant, it probably didn’t make too much difference for now.

The sound of the door opening again made him turn in his chair. First through was Shirogane, who caught his eye immediately, tipped her peaked cap to him, and stepped aside, as if making way. Immediately behind her was a young woman of about the same age, with short light brown hair, dressed in a green tracksuit. She stared at him, a slowly widening grin on her face, for what seemed like several seconds, before breaking off and moving over to join Sanada on the other side of the table, where she whispered conspiratorially in his ear. As she did, a third, lean figure was revealed behind her.

Akiyama hadn’t changed a bit, it seemed – same omnipresent maroon blazer, same confident swagger, same easy smile. And why should he have, Kiryu reminded himself? It had been less than a year since they’d last met, even if it felt like more. Probably he himself hadn’t changed much either. Not externally, at least.

Akiyama’s smile widened as he met Kiryu’s eye, and he nodded to himself, like a man slotting the final numbers into a sudoku puzzle.

“Yo, Kiryu,” he said, lifting a hand in breezy greeting, like they’d seen each other the previous week. “You’re looking well. Death suits you.”

Kiryu couldn’t help but smile. “Good to see you, Akiyama-san.”

Akiyama wandered over to the chair next to Kiryu, on the other side from Yamagishi, ostentatiously not hurrying. “Glad Kirijo-san managed to persuade you into joining her… well, whatever this is. Must have made you a hell of an offer.” Behind his smile, his eyes promised all sorts of questions for later.

“You could say that.” Kiryu glanced around the table. Shirogane was taking a seat near a large screen, presumably used for some sort of projection. She wasn’t looking in their direction, but somehow he could feel her attention on him. “They told me you were on board already. Have you met everyone here?”

“Not quite. There seem to be more teenagers appearing out of the woodwork every day around here. Guessing you haven’t either?”

“Almost. I got here a bit ago. I know Shirogane, but who’s the other girl who came in with you?”

“Oh, her? Name’s Satonaka. Just met her myself, but I gather she and Shirogane go back a bit. No doubt there’s some kind of story there.” Akiyama leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “Something tells me there’s a lot of stories worth telling gathered together in this room.”

“Not like you’re short on those yourself.”

“True enough, I guess.” Akiyama glanced over his shoulder, fortuitously or otherwise, to find Kirijo there. “Hey, boss lady. This everyone?”

“I believe so,” said Kirijo, a faint edge to her voice. “It’s actually rather more people than I’d intended, but so be it.”

She made her way to a seat next to Shirogane, and sat down. There was nothing particularly attention-grabbing in her posture or her movements, but by the time she’d sat down, the faint hum of conversation in the room – Niijima and the two Sakuras conferring in low voices, Satonaka whispering something to Sanada – had ceased abruptly. Her gaze swept the room briefly before she spoke.

“Well then. You all know why we’re gathered here. We have a number of items on the agenda, especially given that we have new faces among us. But on that note, really, there is only one place we can start.” She caught Kiryu’s eye, gave him a small smile, and bowed her head. “Welcome to the Shadow Operatives, Kiryu-san.”

“Do you have any questions?” finished Kirijo, finally.

Many. So many. A lot of what he’d heard in the last half-hour or so had gone over Kiryu’s head, or at least not fully penetrated. He’d never really known much about Masayoshi Shido’s short-lived premiership, having been rather busy at the time, so the details of his conspiracy were mind-boggling. Kiryu was no stranger to elaborate plots and strange alliances, but this put everything he’d ever seen in the shade, not least the Daidoji faction. Actually, it was strangely pleasing, in a petty sort of way, to think how comprehensively they’d been outplayed. No wonder they’d been in such a scramble at the end of the last year.

But then that made the question of their disappearance all the more concerning. Surely they should have been revelling in Shido’s downfall, seizing back control over the levers of power that they’d lost or ceded? Perhaps that was even part of the reason they’d been so keen to get him on board. So where on earth had they gone?

Whether she knew it or not, though, Kirijo had done him a huge favour. He’d come into this room unsure of what exactly he was doing here, simply walking the path that had been placed in front of him. He knew he was to be asked to look into something that would require his skills and knowledge, but he had no particular feelings about it. But this… not only was the scope of it far beyond anything he’d imagined, but it seemed to touch on so many things close to his heart and his interests. The Tojo Clan, the Daidoji, Kamurocho itself, to say nothing of Akiyama’s involvement. He still wasn’t sure where exactly he could start to help. But he wanted to. He was certain of that now, at least.

“So you think this ‘cleaner’ is someone related to the Tojo or the Omi. Is that right?”

Shirogane nodded. “We believe it has to be. We’ve ruled out a few key figures – Watase, Dojima, Majima, Saejima. I’m sure you’ll agree that none of them exactly fit the profile.” You can say that again. The idea of any of those men doing the bidding of an asshole like Shido, even under coercion, was laughable. “But that leaves an awful lot of patriarchs and captains, not to mention ambitious lieutenants, across both organisations. We were hoping your knowledge, which is rather more intimate than our own intelligence, might help to narrow things down.”

“I’m pretty out of touch,” he said. “I don’t know anything about the current state of the Tojo Clan. And I never really knew that much about the inner workings of the Omi Alliance.”

“You definitely know more than we do, though,” said Shirogane. “And it’s not really up-to-date intelligence we need, at any rate. It’s more like… an instinct. You know how these men think. How they’re likely to act. We don’t need you to advise us on specific yakuza so much as yakuza more generally.”

“I’ll still need something more to go on, though. Some kind of profile.”

“Well, I’ve got some good news for you then, Kiryu-san” said Akiyama, looking very pleased with himself. “I’ve been doing some sniffing around. Kamurocho’s awash with Omi boys swaggering around looking pleased with themselves, and as luck would have it, I ran into a helpful bunch earlier this evening, talking about some new boss. Could be ex-Tojo, the way they were talking. Maybe a turncoat. Could help explain the Kamurocho takeover, especially if it’s someone with roots there.”

“Did you get a name?” asked Shirogane.

“Not for the big boss himself, but I did hear one of them talking to their captain on the phone. Man name of Sawashiro. Doesn’t mean much to me, but I thought it might ring a bell for you, Kiryu-san?”

No. It couldn’t be. His heart sank, and he could feel the bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t have… he wouldn’t…

It made sense, though. An awful lot of sense, as he followed the threads of association through in his head. Too much to discount, as much as he might want to.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think so.”

“Yes?” There was the faintest note of impatience in Kirijo’s voice. He supposed he couldn’t blame her.

“If it is who I think it is… his name is Jo Sawashiro. Captain of the Arakawa Family.”

“Arakawa… well, shit.” Akiyama’s eyes were wide. “Now there’s a name I know.”

“Does that suggest, then, that the patriarch of this Arakawa Family is the turncoat boss Akiyama-san heard about?” asked Shirogane.

“Almost definitely,” said Akiyama. “If Sawashiro himself was the traitor who delivered Kamurocho, you’d better believe he’d have been given his own family. But if it was Arakawa… fuck. That makes a whole lot of sense.” He looked to Kiryu for confirmation, and it was all Kiryu could do to nod.

“How so?” asked Niijima.

Kiryu sighed. It was his responsibility to explain, but that hardly made it any easier. “Masumi Arakawa is one of the most prominent Tojo Clan patriarchs in and around Kamurocho. Or… I guess he was. He and his family have been an institution in those parts since the early 80s or so. He was never one of the big players in the clan, but I think that was by choice. Always thought of him as someone who wanted to stay close to the streets. That was his style. But he was certainly well-connected. He would have had a direct line to Daigo- to Dojima any time he wanted.”

“Do you know him?” asked Sanada.

“We’ve… crossed paths a few times. Can’t say I know him well.”

“From what you do know, would betraying the Tojo Clan be in his character?” asked Kirijo.

No wonder they need a yakuza expert, if she can just ask something like that so casually. Then again, in the circumstances, he couldn’t exactly blame her. It was more or less the question he’d been asking himself for the last couple of minutes. He just wished he’d come up with a better answer.

“Hard to say,” he said finally. “He never struck me as the ambitious type, like I say. Maybe the Omi found the right buttons to push. Or maybe he thought Daigo had screwed him over somehow.”

“I don’t know so much about him,” said Akiyama. “But I do know a bit about his reputation. He used to be called ‘Arakawa the Assassin.’ Word was the Tojo would call on him for particularly nasty or difficult business, and he’d always get the job done. A man like that is exactly the kind you’d want to keep close.”

“But that also sounds like exactly the profile of our cleaner,” said Shirogane. She was staring at the table, as if attempting to divine something in the wood grain. “Hard-nosed, brutal… and the cleaner didn’t seem especially loyal, is that right?”

Niijima nodded, for some reason. “He seemed like someone who would be quick to desert a sinking ship. Um, so to speak. But that could just be how Shido thought of him. I haven’t come across this Arakawa before, but if he’s a trained killer… Could it be that Shido found some leverage on him? And then that leverage fell into the hands of the Omi Alliance, one way or another?”

She was looking directly at Kiryu, as if she expected him to have the answers, but all he could do was shrug. “Maybe. At the very least, if he’s out there in Kamurocho, he’ll know something about what’s going on there. In fact, there’s a good chance he’s at the heart of things.”

Akiyama laughed. “I know that look. That’s your ‘I’m-gonna-punch-some-bastard-in-the-face’ look.” He looked around the table with a vaguely conspiratorial air. “Let me tell you, you’re gonna get to see some real shit now.”

“You’re suggesting that we go and interrogate Arakawa?” said Kirijo.

The more he thought about, the more his fingers seemed to itch to close into fists. If Arakawa of all people had betrayed the Tojo, had betrayed Daigo… at the very least, he needed to know why.

He met Kirijo’s eye, and nodded. “This might be our best chance.”

Kirijo held his gaze. “You may be right. But we can decide on the details of that at another point. When you’re better rested, and when we have more actionable information. Perhaps we might even be able to ascertain Arakawa’s whereabouts. Shirogane, Aigis, I’d like the two of you to liaise with Akiyama-san on this.” Shirogane and Aigis both nodded in assent, while Akiyama looked torn between amusement and surprise. “Niijima, Sakura, Okumura, see if you or your associates can recall any information about the cleaner that may help with identification. Anything may work. Akihiko, Satonaka, reach out to your contacts, see if you can find anything out about Arakawa – known movements, that sort of thing. And Yamagishi, maybe you could escort Kiryu-san to his quarters.”

Almost like that, the meeting was at an end. Everyone went their separate ways, compelled by no more than a firm word from Kirijo. In a different frame of mind, Kiryu might have admired it.

But his head was full of Arakawa. Even as Yamagishi led him back to the parking garage and into another car, Arakawa’s face was all he could see. He’d be older now, of course, at least a decade older than the last time Kiryu had seen him, but it seemed certain that that distinctive cheek scar hadn’t faded. And surely he still had those burning eyes that seemed to cut right through you.

Arakawa… Why?

Chapter Text

Kamurocho, December 1988

Kiryu was running out of both breath and options. And with the entire Dojima Family on his tail, neither was good news.

He’d taken off running after seeing his apartment in flames, and hadn’t stopped since. From time to time, he’d had to weave his way out of sight of the small groups of soldiers roaming the streets, doubling back around corners and down alleys, and generally getting nowhere fast. But he couldn’t swear that he hadn’t been spotted in doing so, and so he couldn’t afford to slow down. He didn’t think he’d heard any sounds of pursuit, but in the general hustle and bustle of late evening Kamurocho, it was hard to be sure. Even a cursory investigation of something glimpsed out of the corner of the eye could be fatal.

But he couldn’t keep running forever. Quite apart from anything else, it wouldn’t achieve anything. He needed to clear his name, find the truth, protect Kazama-san and his legacy, and he wouldn’t achieve any of those things by racing blindly through the streets of Kamurocho. Not that he had much idea where he could start.

He dodged around a corner into the shopping area, and leaned up against a wall, breathing hard. This might not be a bad place to take a quick rest. The narrow side streets of this part of town made it easier to keep eyes out around him. The downside was that if any Dojima men did happen across him, it would be that bit harder to get away, and he’d be easily surrounded if they came in any kind of numbers. He could always punch his way out, he knew, but even so, being seen was bad news. He couldn’t fight the whole of the Dojima Family at once.

Although, if it came to it, he was willing to try.

It felt like a bad omen being this close to the Empty Lot. He wished he’d never heard of the damn place now. All it seemed to do was bring misery and death. He wondered how the current owner was doing, whoever they were, wherever they were. Better than him, probably. He had nothing at all to his name.

I can’t do it alone. He hated to admit it, but it was true. With such vast numbers arrayed against him, he was in dire need of allies. And those seemed to be in increasingly short supply. Tachibana had promised to help him, but he was in the wind. Oda might help, but Kiryu had no way of contacting him. Kashiwagi was presumably compromised – Dojima was probably watching him closely, and Kiryu wouldn’t dare contacting him, for both of their sakes. And Nishiki… Nishiki was out of the picture.

Don’t even think about it. Not now. That could come later. Once he’d caught his breath. And once-

“Hey. Kiryu. Over here.”

His fists flew up in readiness even as he scanned the area warily to see if he could tell where the voice was coming from. There was no-one immediately within sight, most of the shops in the area having long since closed up for the night. The only possible source was a particularly shadowy alleyway – and in fact, now that he focused, there did seem to be a vaguely human figure in that alley. They were wearing dark clothes – a suit? – and a wide-brimmed hat, which shadowed their face and made them blend in almost perfectly to the gloom. That might or might not have been deliberate, but it did nothing to assuage Kiryu’s already frayed nerves.

“This way.” He couldn’t see the figure’s lips moving, but the voice was definitely coming from that direction.

“Right. So I can get jumped from behind by three or four guys. Thanks, but I’ll take my chances out here.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. He told me you’d be stubborn, but still…”

“Who told you?”

“Who do you think? Kazama.”

The voice didn’t belong to Kashiwagi, or any other member of the Kazama Family that Kiryu had met. Most likely it was a trap, trying to win his confidence just to slip a knife into his back.

“You’re trying to tell me you’re working with Kazama-san?”

“In a sense. Helping him look out for his interests, at least. And trying to keep this whole thing with the Empty Lot from getting even more fucked up than it already is.”

The man had come a bit closer, into the light, and tipped back his hat just enough for Kiryu to recognise him. Unfortunately, what he saw did little to inspire confidence.

“So why exactly should I trust Arakawa the Assassin?”

He’d never met Arakawa before, but he’d seen him from a distance, overseeing some troops or wheeling his son around the streets. That long, savage-looking cheek scar was hard to mistake. And he knew him by reputation, of course. It was said that Arakawa was reserved for the nastiest, most gruelling jobs. When the Tojo Clan wanted to send a message, they sent Arakawa in, and he left the requisite pile of bodies behind – no more, no less. He was quick, clean, and quiet, but capable of astonishing brutality, or so the stories went.

And he had certainly worked with Kazama, Kiryu knew that for sure. Which wasn’t precisely a sign that he could be trusted – after all, so had Kuze and the other lieutenants – but they were, in a sense, in the same line of business within the clan at least. It was strange to be more inclined to trust a man precisely because you knew him to be a killer, but then these were strange times.

He couldn’t be sure, though. He didn’t know enough about Arakawa to have any idea of his allegiances.

“Doesn’t look to me like you have a whole lot of other options,” said Arakawa. “You’re a man short on allies, Kiryu-san. Might be best not to turn them away when they come to you.”

Kiryu shook his head. “I’ll take my chances on my own. I’ve had enough people pretend to be on my side for one night.”

“Don’t be stupid. I don’t even work for Dojima. Why would I be after you?”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not trying to curry favour with him or something.”

“We don’t have time for this. You, specifically, don’t have time for this.” Arakawa sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if struggling with some great weariness. “All right then, how about this. I swear to you, on my family’s honour… no, on the life of my son, that I don’t mean you any harm.”

Kazama had once told Kiryu that a man’s eyes could never lie. Kiryu wasn’t sure if he believed it – he’d met a lot of liars with clever eyes. But he was pretty certain, as Arakawa stared squarely back at him, that the man before him wasn’t among them. There was a fierceness and a strength there, but also a sincerity. And really, there was a kind of honesty to being an assassin. At least you knew where you stood. Even if that was at the wrong end of a gun barrel.

“All right. Let’s say I believe you, for the moment.”

“Good. We’re getting somewhere.” Arakawa took a couple of steps back, into the alleyway from which he’d emerged. “Come this way. Look, I’ll even walk ahead of you, if you’re determined to be paranoid. Not that we’ve much choice in this space anyway.”

He’s got a point. Not much choice. Kiryu followed, his fists still clenched, but by his side. Arakawa nodded in what he presumed was satisfaction – his face was now obscured again in the dim light – and turned around, beckoning him on with a wave.

“Come on. Best to be quick.”

Kiryu had never been down this alleyway. He couldn’t swear he’d ever even noticed it before. It was barely wide enough to accommodate him – at times, he had to squeeze past air conditioning units, and every time he passed a vent he had to resist gagging on whatever fumes or smell was being exhausted. Arakawa’s gait and pace were steady, though, and at times Kiryu had to hurry to keep up.

After what must have been a couple of minutes of this, Arakawa’s voice carried back to him. “Word is you and Kuze went at it again. And that you spat in Awano’s big old smug face. Only wish I could’ve been there.” Arakawa chuckled, more to himself than to Kiryu, it seemed. “Might even have given you a hand. Not that you needed it, from what I hear.”

“You’re not a fan?”

“What tipped you off? Was it the fact that I’m here trying to help the guy they’re knives out for?” Arakawa sniffed. “Not sure if they’re snakes or vultures, but either way, I find them distasteful. Shibusawa, too. Vain, short-sighted fools struggling for a place on top of the slippery pole, not giving a shit who they step on along the way. The Tojo Clan deserves better. So does the Dojima Family, for that matter.” Arakawa gave him a wistful look over his shoulder. “Yet another reason to help you out. And hope you survive.”

“So if you’re working with Kazama-san, are you with Tachibana too?”

“Not as such, but we’re not enemies either. He hasn’t moved on any properties of mine, and I’ve been turning a blind eye to his dealings in response. See, Kazama and I… well, we share a desire to set the Tojo Clan on a particular path. Kazama reckons you might be a key to making that happen, and I’ve learned to trust his judgement.”

“Me? What makes him think that? I’m not even in the Clan anymore.”

“Well, pretty sure he didn’t plan for that. Then again, who knows with Kazama-san. Man seems to plan several moves ahead at any given time. Seems like he knew he was going to be arrested a few months back, apart from anything else. And I guess he’s got a lot of faith in you. Hell, I might too, if you give Kuze another good kicking.”

It was hard to know how to respond to that. The idea that Kazama-san had faith in him… well, it certainly didn’t feel bad. Still, though, it was hard to imagine that he’d seen all of this coming. The murder in the Empty Lot, Kiryu’s leaving the family, Kuze’s humiliation… to say nothing of his parting with Nishiki.

Kazama-san… can this really be your plan?

For some time now, he’d been able to see light up ahead, and all of a sudden he found himself emerging onto Taihei Boulevard, facing down Nakamichi Street. Arakawa had taken a step to the side, and was watching him from next to the alleyway entrance.

“Good. Now, I’ve got men spreading false sightings of you on the other side of town, so that should draw off at least some heat. Keep going this way. Head for Tenkaichi Street, and with any luck, they won’t catch up. If they do… well, hang tight. Something’ll turn up.”

“Something?”

“I can’t help directly. But I might be able to get help to you, if you get my meaning. That’s the worst case scenario, though. If at all possible, get away under your own steam.”

“All right.” He hesitated for a moment, and then bowed stiffly from the waist. “Thank you, Arakawa-san. You… well, you may have just saved me.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Arakawa’s face was grim. “You’ve got a lot of surviving to do still, if I’m any judge. That’s how you can thank me. Live. Preserve that sense of justice I’ve been hearing so much about. That’s just what the Tojo Clan needs.”

“I will.” He felt confident in making that promise, even as he found it difficult to imagine how he was going to change the course of the Tojo Clan, especially from outside it. Arakawa was right, though. He had to make it through this. There were people relying on him doing so.

“Oh, Kiryu? One last thing.” Arakawa was already melting back into the shadows. “When you meet Sera, tell him he can rely on me. That’s all.”

Who the hell is Sera? The question barely had time to cross Kiryu’s mind before Arakawa was gone, to all appearances. But there was no point dwelling on it, certainly not out in the open.

He took off at a light jog, heading for Public Park 3. At least I can catch my breath there.

Chapter Text

Somewhere around the third time she had to ask someone to repeat a crucial detail, Sumire resolved never to miss a Shadow Operatives meeting again.

It seemed that in the course of one relatively brief meeting they had gone from having no idea at all who the cleaner was to, not only having a fair idea of his probable identity, but laying a plan for his capture and interrogation. What was more, this was apparently an organisation that believed itself entirely capable of kidnapping a yakuza patriarch and, presumably, weathering the obvious consequences. And no-one but her seemed particularly surprised about that.

And just to complicate matters even further, not only had Okumura-senpai somehow found herself right at home, but it turned out the Shadow Operatives’ newest… member? Associate? Employee? Whatever he was, Kiryu-san apparently knew their target personally, and was reasonably well-acquainted with his habits and personality. Consequently, Kiryu had, as far as she understood, now gone directly from some kind of monastic life to taking up an important role in a complicated and consequential quasi-military operation within about twenty-four hours. Sumire wasn’t sure what the Kirijo Group’s hiring policy was, exactly, but on the evidence, it seemed to be chaotic.

Somehow, having been told about Kiryu hadn’t prepared Sumire for the experience of actually meeting him. Partly it was the sheer bulk of the man – he seemed to fill your eyeline whenever you so much as looked in his direction. But there was something about the way he carried himself, the way he scanned a room as if sizing it up, the way he gazed out at the world through an expression of permanent suspicion, that commanded respect. It bespoke a confidence that she couldn’t help but envy.

And on top of all of that, he looked vaguely familiar. But she couldn’t place him at all. It was frustrating, and more than a bit alarming. Where on earth would she have met a yakuza legend before?

Partly it was just that she was a little sensitive around the issue of untraceable memories. Parts of the nine months or so in which she’d believed herself to be Kasumi were still a blur, despite her best efforts to recover the memories. They seemed to correspond to the times when she’d been unconsciously imitating Kasumi – or her own idea of Kasumi – most, especially around competitions, but even some of her time with her parents was lost to her. Her meetings with Amamiya-senpai shone out clearly – a slightly embarrassing detail she’d never mentioned to anyone, even her therapist – and so did some of her time in school, especially her literature and maths lessons, the subjects in which she’d always been best, and in which Kasumi had struggled. It wasn’t that she thought she’d forgotten anything especially important, but it was more than a little disconcerting when someone reminded her of a comment she’d made, or a funny incident they’d shared, and she found that she had no memory at all of the occurrence.

She didn’t think it was during one of those times that she’d met Kiryu, though. If that had been the case, she likely wouldn’t have had any sense of having met him before at all. Besides, from what she understood, he’d been in prison for much of that time, which seemed like it should be concerning in itself, but didn’t much bother anyone else. Then again, she’d technically been consorting with and abetting criminals for some of that time herself. Perhaps it wasn’t so big a deal.

She glanced over at Kiryu as surreptitiously as she could manage. In contrast to her obvious and multifaceted confusion, he seemed to take everything he was told on board with little more than a nod and the occasional furrowed brow. She wondered if it was just a natural stoicism, or a practiced façade. Either way, she envied it. She’d often thought how nice it would be to be unflappable, unbothered.

Then again, he didn’t know about the Metaverse or Shadows or any of these things yet. Perhaps that would be enough to raise one or even both of his eyebrows. She had to suppress a giggle at the thought.

A raised eyebrow of her own from Niijima-senpai next to her suggested she’d caught the muffled amusement. Sumire mouthed an apology, and tried to refocus on what Kirijo-san was saying.

“…don’t believe I can overstate the significance of this operation. We’ve never done anything like this before. We certainly haven’t tangled with the criminal underworld before, and we’ve never done anything so close to the public eye before. Additionally, this is a more… physical endeavour than our past operations, which is not an area in which many of us are practiced. I trust you all take my meaning?”

Sumire nodded along, as much out of politeness and habit as anything. She’d figure it out, probably.

Kiryu couldn’t exactly say he was surprised to hear that. With a couple of notable exceptions, this group didn’t exactly look like they were great in a fight. Then again, why should they? They’d lived very different lives to him, no doubt. And while he still wasn’t clear what the usual purpose of this organisation was, exactly, he felt pretty certain that it wasn’t the kind of protection and intimidation that had been his bread and butter when he’d been most of their ages.

“With that in mind, it may be time to consider personnel,” said Kirijo. “Given the plan we’ve concocted, a smaller team would be best. Ten or twelve people moving as a group would attract attention, even in Kamurocho, and we can’t risk tipping the target off. Kiryu-san, may I take it that you would be happy to lead this strike force?”

“Lead?” He’d been expecting to be involved, of course, but to be given a position of authority when he barely knew these people…?

“Certainement. Who else? You know the location, you know the man. And, if I’m honest, I’d rather like to see you in action.” She smiled, just about, and he couldn’t quite work out how sincere it was. “Unless you have any objections, of course?”

“Well… no.” It could be a trap, but so could everything else. That kind of thinking wasn’t really going to serve him in the long run. And he had to admit, in the circumstances it could be quite freeing. And to walk the streets of Kamurocho again, even temporarily…

“Well then, who would you like to bring? I’ll trust in your judgement.”

“Before that… I know a detective. Not like you, Shirogane. A police detective. Obviously he couldn’t come with us, but maybe he’d be worth reaching out? Surely he’d have information that might be useful.”

Niijima’s face took on a curiously pained expression. “If you mean Makoto Date, we’ve discussed him before. And… well, it’s not that we necessarily think he’s not personally trustworthy. It’s more that it’s best to stay away from the police as far as possible for now, especially within Tokyo. We have no idea how deep their involvement in all this could be. Frankly, we might already be pushing it having a detective from another precinct on our roster.”

“I told you, it’s fine,” said Satonaka, in a slightly sulky tone. “I’m part-time at the moment, and I’ve a ton of annual leave saved up. Unless Dojima-san decides to follow me up to Tokyo and haul me back to Inaba for some reason, we’re fine.”

Dojima… It was curious, really. He knew full well that this Dojima must be a separate person – it wasn’t the most common surname, but it wasn’t unheard of either – and yet he still couldn’t help but have a reaction to it. It was, after all, a name that had dominated most of his life, whether attached to a person or a group. And since leaving the latter, he’d come to associate any mention of a “Dojima” with some form of change or, more likely, trouble, to the point that he now, it seemed, half-expected some cop from somewhere he’d never heard of to drag him into some kind of clan war or something.

He had to admit, he’d gotten his hopes up that he might be able to work with Date again, but he couldn’t feel too disappointed. From all he’d heard, Niijima’s caution was probably advisable. Besides, from past experience it seemed pretty likely he and Date would cross paths again somewhere down the line.

As for who was coming with him… well, one candidate suggested himself easily. He might as well have been waving for Kiryu’s attention all this time.

“Sanada.”

“Yes?” He didn’t even bother to conceal his grin.

“How’d you like to come along?”

“I’d like nothing better, Kiryu-san.” He rolled his neck, as if getting ready for a fight already. “And also, I’d definitely like to bring Satonaka.”

Satonaka snorted. “Like you could stop me coming.”

Kiryu nodded. “If you think she’d be useful, then sure.” He got the impression he could trust Sanada’s judgement on who was good in a fight.

“I’m coming too,” said Akiyama.

Kiryu nodded. “I’d go along with that. Akiyama can handle himself.” Akiyama nodded, all business for once. “And… Niijima-san, would you join us as well?”

Everyone in the room goggled at him, not least Niijima herself. She was also the first to recover the power of speech, though. “I’ll happily come, if you’re sure?”

“Certain. I’d like to see what Komaki’s latest pupil can do.” He smiled, and after a hesitation she returned the smile.

“Excuse me?” The girl who had introduced herself to him as Yoshizawa earlier had raised her hand. “If no-one would mind, could I… come along as well?”

It was Kiryu’s turn to stare – in his case, looking at the petite, polite teenage girl in the school uniform, and wondering what exactly he was missing. “Um. Yoshizawa-san, I appreciate your eagerness, but maybe-”

“Actually, I think we should bring her.” Sanada clapped a hand on Yoshizawa’s shoulder, and Kiryu was impressed to see how little she buckled. “I’ve seen her in action. You’d be amazed what she can do.”

“I’ll second that,” said Akiyama. “You’ve got some moves, Yoshizawa-san. I was kinda hoping to get the opportunity to see them again.”

Kiryu hummed in indecision. “It’ll be dangerous. There may or may not be guns involved, but there’s a very good chance there’ll be knives or other weapons. I’m willing to believe you can fight, Yoshizawa-san, but-”

“She’s seen danger before,” said Niijima, and while her voice was quiet, there was a firmness to it. “More than you’d believe. Sanada-san and Akiyama-san are absolutely right. She’d be a great asset.”

Yoshizawa bowed. “I promise I won’t let you down, Kiryu-san.”

“All right then.” Yoshizawa’s sincerity was so overpowering that Kiryu felt he had to look away, or else shade his eyes. “Six should be plenty. Wouldn’t like to take any more than that, especially since we already make for an eye-catching group.”

“In that case, I will handle the getaway vehicle,” said Aigis. “If necessary, you can call on me, but I should probably warn you that I will likely escalate the situation significantly.”

“How…so?” Kiryu wasn’t sure how much he wanted to know the answer.

“I have a lot of heavy weaponry. If I get involved, there is a real risk of property damage. On top of the obvious maimings, of course.”

She was joking. She had to be. All right, no-one was laughing, but some people were just that deadpan. Right?

“I’ll stay with Aigis,” said Shirogane, and Kiryu felt himself oddly grateful for the hijacking of his train of thought. “If you need anything, I can be on comms. Yamagishi can arrange that, I think?” Yamagishi nodded in assent. “Good. If necessary I can fight as well, but only if it comes to a firefight.”

At some point, possibly soon, a time would come when Kiryu would have a moment to sit and consider all of the questions that had arisen since he’d joined the Shadow Operatives, which seemed to be compounded in every single conversation he had with one of his fellow members. He honestly couldn’t tell whether or not he was looking forward to that time.

“In that case, I think we can adjourn this meeting,” said Kirijo. “Now that we’ve established a strike team, the finer details, timings and so forth, can come later. Kiryu-san, as leader of the operation, I leave that up to you, but I recommend you liaise with Aigis and Yamagishi for the sake of coordination.”

“Sure.” He was grateful for the break. He needed an opportunity to clear his head and come to terms with his newfound authority. He wondered if Kirijo made a habit of deputising people she barely knew to lead up important operations.

He stood up from his chair slowly, stretching out his back. It was hard to readjust to chairs with firm backs after sitting on the floor or ground for so long. As he completed his stretch, a woman in a pink cardigan bounded up to him.

“Kiryu-san? Sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself before. I’m Yukari Takeba. Nice to meet you.”

He nodded. “You’re the one who’s an idol or something, right?”

She made a face. “Actress, not idol. Although I get why you’d make the mistake. Feels like I don’t get to spend a whole lot of time acting these days. But since you mention it… I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time, actually.”

Oh great. Another one. “You a big fan of the Tojo Clan forums as well?”

“What? No. Who’s…? Never mind.” She seemed to shake herself. “No, a few years ago, when I was first getting started, I was doing a meet-and-greet event with other people in the entertainment business. You know, shaking hands, signing autographs, that sort of thing. I was kind of nervous, because I hadn’t done much of that stuff. But there was this girl there. She was younger than me, and she hadn’t been doing it long either, but she had a real way with people. She was great at putting them at ease. So she gave me a few tips: how long to shake for, eye contact, that kind of thing. I’ve been sticking to what she told me ever since. She was an up-and-coming idol, and… well, I guess you know where this is going.”

Probably she’d seen the way his face froze on the word “idol.” Poker had never been his game.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “That was Haruka, right?” It was almost physically painful to say her name, but he forced himself to do it.

Takeba nodded. “I never saw her again after that, but I guess you could say she’s been with me in spirit since then. I thought I’d be following her career for years, but instead I’ve spent half a decade wondering about some guy called Kazuma Kiryu that she seemed to be willing to give it all up for. Her family, she said.” A half-smile hovered around her mouth, but Kiryu wasn’t sure if he was being interrogated.

“Well, here I am. Sorry if I’m disappointing.”

“I haven’t made a decision on that yet.” Now she grinned fully, and Kiryu couldn’t help but return the smile. “Guess I need to get to know you better. Come to think of it, you’ve been sitting around in some temple for the last year, right?”

“More or less.”

“Right. So now you’re back in the real world, surely there’s something you’d like to do?”

Was there? He hadn’t given much thought to entertainment since his time in Onomichi. A dead man didn’t tend to dwell on baseball games or Pocket Circuit.

But he wasn’t dead – or at least, that was what people around him seemed to insist was the case. So maybe there was something…?

Yes. Of course there was.

He must have been silent for longer than he’d realised, because Takeba had just opened her mouth to say something else when he spoke.

“Is there… anywhere that does karaoke near here?”

“Karaoke?”

“Yes. I… I’ve missed it.”

It was as if the sun rose gradually across Takeba’s face, as her expression slowly transformed from bemusement to delight. She clapped her hands together as if in prayer to complete the transformation. “OK! Perfect! In that case…” Without warning, she leapt up onto one of the chairs, and turned to address the room. “Hey! Everyone! Kiryu-san and I are going out to karaoke, and everyone’s welcome!”

This announcement didn’t get quite the rapturous response Takeba seemed to expect. Kiryu could see Kirijo staring at Takeba’s feet on the chair, her face a battleground of mixed emotions. Most of the rest of the room, though, was staring past her, at him, with expressions ranging from amusement (Akiyama) to surprise (Satonaka) to a sort of acceptance (Sakura, for some reason).

Sensing some response was called for, he nodded stiffly. “It’s true. Um. Feel free to come if you like.”

This seemed to do little to assuage the situation, as Takeba slowly, and with an apologetic look towards Kirijo, climbed down from the chair. Silence reigned. He found himself oddly aware of his heartbeat, which was faster than he would have expected. He wasn’t sure it had been this elevated in a year. Probably he’d been in fights in which it was slower than this.

All right, just going with Takeba might be all right. She seems-

“I’d love to come with you.”

It took him a moment to place the sweet, almost apologetic tone, and when he did, he found himself doing a double take. Yamagishi had taken a step forward from where she’d been consulting with Sanada, and was now looking between him and Takeba, smiling. He had to smile himself in response.

“All right, Fuuka!” said Takeba. “It’ll be just like the old Iwatodai days! Who else wants to come?”

“Sure, why not?” said Akiyama. “It’s been a while. And Kiryu-san’s got some pipes on him. Gonna be fun hearing that again.”

“I suppose this is a worthwhile opportunity,” said Niijima. “I’d like to get to know you better, Takeba-san. And it would be interesting to hear the Dragon of Dojima’s… pipes.”

Sakura shrugged. “Sounds fun. Although you’d better be ready if we go somewhere with a bunch of anime theme songs. I’m gonna be on that thing non. Stop.”

Niijima grimaced. “I assure you, that is not an idle threat.”

“I’m so sorry, everyone, but I have practice in the morning.” Yoshizawa looked genuinely stricken. “I’d love to get to know you all better, but if I stay up too late, it really messes with my performance.”

“I’m afraid I also won’t be able to make it,” said Aigis. “I want to conduct my own scouting of Kamurocho, and evening would be the ideal time.” It was extremely hard to tell if she was bullshitting or not. Kiryu wondered if anyone else had any idea.

“I won’t either,” said Kirijo, to be greeted by a loud groan from Takeba. “I’m expecting a phone call from an American associate, and I need to be available for it.”

“I also won’t be there,” said Sanada.

“Oh, come on,” said Takeba, giving him an intense stare. “And why not?”

Sanada didn’t budge. “Because I don’t want to.”

“Guess it’s down to us, Fuuka,” said Takeba. “Someone’s got to represent the old SEES squad, right?”

“I don’t think it’s a competition, Yukari-san,” said Yamagishi, smiling.

“Actually,” said Kiryu, “a lot of karaoke machines assign you a numerical score based on your performance and compare you against other users in the area, or even across Japan. So in a sense it is a competition.”

Yamagishi seemed to shrink slightly at those words, but Satonaka, as if by deliberate contrast, punched her right fist into her left palm and grinned widely.

“Perfect! In that case, we gotta go as hard as possible! Right guys?”

Takeba nodded a firm assent, but the enthusiasm seemed not to be widely shared. Akiyama was grinning, but that didn’t mean much. Niijima looked like she was regretting having agreed to this already. Sakura, though, looked oddly thoughtful.

“If there’s a numerical value, does that mean there’s a way to game the system? You know, like find out what it’s looking for and try to exploit it?”

Akiyama laughed and clapped his hands together in delight. “I think you and I are going to get on famously, Sakura-san. Here, walk with me.” He put an arm lightly around her shoulder and marched her out the door. Niijima followed warily close behind, like she was subbing in for Sakura’s father. “Tell me, Sakura-san, have you ever tried your hand at pachinko?”

As it turned out, Takeba knew a karaoke place only a few minutes’ walk from the Kirijo Group’s office building, and so the ragtag group made their way there. Kiryu tried to picture them from the point of view of a passer-by – two middle-aged men amid a gaggle of girls ranging from late teens to… mid-twenties, maybe? He tried not to think about the kind of assumptions that would be made. At least Sanada will be with us on the operation day, and Yamagishi and Sakura won’t. That’ll even things out a bit in gender terms, for what that’s worth.

He tried not to make eye contact with the clerk as Takeba paid for their session for much the same reason. It was only as they filed into the booth that it occurred to him that, in the circumstances, staring silently at his shoes while everyone around him chatted and laughed did very little to dispel the appearance of creepiness.

“All right,” said Akiyama, once they were inside, “Who’s kicking us off then? I’m up for a duet.” If anything, he seemed to be drawing energy from the situation, but then he was closer to the kids’ ages than Kiryu was. Maybe for him they were a reminder of his younger days, as opposed to a reminder of how far away those days now were. Or maybe it was all a front. Even having known him for more than half a decade, it was hard to know how much of Akyama’s general demeanour was.

Takeba held up the catalogue, which she’d apparently made a beeline for. “I’ll take you up on that. I’ve got a couple of faves I tend to go for. Let’s see…” She flipped through, her face a rictus of concentration. “God, who still uses paper catalogues anyway? Oh, hey, Akiyama-san, do you know this one?”

Akiyama leaned over her shoulder to see. His face lit up. “Ooh, good taste, Takeba-san! Haven’t heard this one for a while. Let’s crack it up.”

Kiryu settled himself down on one of the couches around the side as the opening bars rang out, in between Satonaka and Niijima. He nodded in appreciation. Haven’t heard this for a while myself. Although it’s not a duet, so why’s Akiyama standing…?

His question was answered almost immediately as Akiyama burst out with a noise that was somewhere between a slide whistle and an engine starting up: “Ooooooooooooooooooooooh ROUGE OF LOVE!”

There was a brief silence, followed by a wave of embarrassed, but genuine laughter, and just like that everyone was in.

It was a fun performance: Takeba was a good singer – Kiryu could almost have believed she was an idol after all - and Akiyama an effective hype man, encouraging everyone else to clap along and join in with the echoed backing vocals on the chorus. The latter was a little embarrassing as Kiryu realised in real time how much lower his voice was than everyone else’s, his “come take my heart” seeming to rumble the room like a low-level earthquake. But that too got a laugh, from Sakura and Satonaka, and he flashed them a sheepish grin in response.

Almost as soon as she’d finished the final note, Takeba extended the microphone in his direction. “Your turn, Kiryu-san.” She had the grin of a master shogi player revealing their carefully laid trap.

After some consideration of the catalogue, which was more extensive than he would have expected, he started out with Today is a Diamond, figuring it was a little early, in more than one way, to break out Baka Mitai. He’d never been entirely comfortable singing in front of an audience, even if this was a relatively small one, but he felt himself growing in confidence as everyone swayed in time. Takeba and Niijima even seemed to know the lyrics, and chimed in for the backing vocals, harmonising with each other remarkably well after a few awkward initial missed notes. He could feel himself flashing back to the snack bars in Onomichi, that fleeting sense of community he’d felt in-between two periods of imprisonment.

It’s too early to get comfortable here. Whatever part of his brain was always on watch made itself heard. And it was right, of course. But even so…

Satonaka went next, with a slow song called Beneath the Mask that he’d never heard of, though judging from the reaction it got he was the only one in that position. It wasn’t the kind of song he’d have associated with Satonaka, who struck him as more of a bubbly pop fan, but she clearly knew it well, and gave a good performance. Another reminder of how little I know these people. Next up was Niijima, with a bouncy number called Spring Breeze, another he hadn’t heard of. It was only to be expected that he wouldn’t know a lot of current songs, but he was starting to feel like he should brush up for the sake of his karaoke repertoire. Niijima seemed a little embarrassed, clearly not a natural performer, but the cheers and applause from the group seemed to help her relax into it, and by the chorus she’d improvised a slightly awkward dance, in which Sakura joined her with a good deal more enthusiasm.

Niijima offered the mic around once she’d finished, and while Akiyama made to stand up, to Kiryu’s surprise the hand that took it was Yamagishi’s.

“Um, so you guys might not all know this song,” she said, shuffling towards the centre of the room. “It got a lot of airplay about seven or eight years ago, at an important time in my life. It’s called Memories of You.”

Once again, he was surprised. Yamagishi’s voice was untrained and a little quiet to begin with, but she had a good sense of rhythm and melody, and she was well suited to the song, which was poppy but melancholy. It was surprisingly long for a song that had apparently charted, but had a couple of catchy hooks. As it went on, he had a distant feeling that he had heard it a few times in Okinawa, a realisation that spread the dull ache to which he’d become well accustomed through his chest.

But it looked like he wasn’t the only one. Yamagishi was facing the screen with the lyrics, and not moving much, but from where he sat he had a good view of her face, and he could swear he saw tears glittering in the disco ball lights as the song went on. “An important time in her life,” she’d said. Memory was funny like that, he guessed, in the way that it just kicked in full blast sometimes. Being transported back to a happier time without warning could be disconcerting, for sure, but it had its upsides, and tears weren’t always bad. Still, though, he didn’t feel great about watching a woman cry, especially one as delicate-looking as Yamagishi.

The song finished, and amid the general cheer that went up, either for the sake of encouragement or out of genuine surprise at Yamgishi’s unexpected skill, she made a quick bow and sat down, leaving the mic on the central table for the next performer. As she did so, finding an unoccupied space some distance from everyone else, Kiryu couldn’t help noticing that there were still silent tears running down her face. He took a quick look around, but nobody else seemed to have noticed. Damn. That meant it had to be him, the person who’d practically just met her.

It seemed everyone’s attention was on Akiyama and Sakura, who were negotiating the details of a duet, and so he used the cover to sidle over to her, and leaned in. Yamagishi was wiping her eyes as surreptitiously as she could manage, and didn’t seem to have noticed him.

“You OK?”

She jumped, and he cursed himself, hoping no-one had noticed.

“Oh, um, s-sorry.” She barely seemed able to get words out. “Yes, thank you, Kiryu-san, I’m fine.”

“Really? You didn’t look fine just now.”

“No, I…” She raised her voice slightly to be heard over the strange shrieking sound Sakura was making into the microphone as the song began, apparently on purpose. “It’s nothing, really. Just that that song… reminds me of someone I used to know.”

“Someone close to you?” It was a stupid question – nobody got teary over somebody they barely knew – but he found himself curious. And wasn’t this all supposed to be about them getting to know each other?

“Yes, very much so.” Yamagishi sniffed. She looked a little relieved, perhaps at being able to cry openly, though she was still keeping her head bowed. “It’s a long story, but he and I… yes, we were very close. Back in high school. And then he… he died. Suddenly. It hit all of us very hard – Kirijo-san, Yukari, Aigis. But we managed to move forward together. I guess… you could say we’ve been doing that ever since. It’ll be eight years in March. Most of the time, I’m fine – I can even think about him, and it doesn’t hurt much – but sometimes there’s just… something brings me back, and I remember all the times we had. They weren’t all exactly nice, but even when things were bad, he was there, and…” She dabbed at her eye with a finger. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to go on.”

“It’s fine,” said Kiryu. “I get it.” Probably more than you’d ever realise. There were more than enough ghosts in his past, and they ambushed him at the strangest times. Sometimes you just have to honour them…

A thought suddenly struck him. “Could you pass me the song catalogue, please?”

As luck would have it, Sakura had tossed it aside and it had landed near Yamagishi, who retrieved it and handed it to him. He leafed through it, trying not to hope too hard. It’s such an old song. I’ve barely even heard it since the bubble years. It’s not like it would mean anything to any of these kids…

But there it was, under a heading of “karaoke classics.” He almost gasped. Perfect. It was even set up to incorporate more than one singer.

“Yamagishi-san?” She almost jumped again, having turned away to watch Sakura, who had picked Niijima up from her seat and was doing a new sort of improvised skipping dance with her. “Would you like to do a duet together?”

“Oh. Um. Sure. That sounds really nice, Kiryu-san.” She smiled genuinely, so much so that Kiryu could almost feel himself blushing.

“Good. Oh, uh, I should say, I don’t know how well it’ll suit your voice. But I think you’ll get it quickly enough. I can do the main part and you do the backing, OK?”

Yamagishi nodded, and they got to their feet. Akiyama was the only one left standing, Sakura having apparently danced herself into a stupor, and Niijima having taken the first opportunity to sit back down, and now looking as though she was daring anyone to ever mention that again. Takeba was applauding politely – actually, now that Kiryu came to look, it seemed like there was a tear in her eye too, presumably left over from Yamagishi’s song. Whoever this boy was, he’d left a real impression.

Akiyama handed the mic over with a grin. “Knock ‘em dead, Kiryu-san.”

Kiryu couldn’t help but grin himself as the opening bars rang out. All of a sudden, he was twenty again – no cares, no regrets, no niggling aches in his muscles. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting Nishiki to be standing there, only to see instead a half-smile from Yamagishi. Oddly, he didn’t mind. Who better to celebrate old friends with than new friends?

“We’re starving dogs running the rail lines…”

The cheers and whoops that reverberated around the group were presumably for him and Yamagishi rather than for Judgment itself, but that made him appreciate them all the more. Sakura collapsed into a fit of giggles at Yamagishi’s growl of “we are bad boys,” but he was pleased to see that Yamagishi herself seemed unfazed. She seemed to have entered fully into the spirit of the song. He suspected she had entirely lost track of the fact that she had an audience at all, which was all to the good. Just for a moment, he fancied he could visualise the two of them on a stage, clad in leathers and bandanas, guitars slung around their necks, belting the song out. Maybe somebody else – Takeba? Niijima? – stoically standing at a keyboard over to the side. It was an old fantasy, and a familiar one. It felt good to experience it again.

The applause that greeted the end of the song was the most rapturous yet. Takeba leapt from her seat to throw herself at Yamagishi in a hybrid hug/tackle, while Niijima seemed to be looking at him with a new admiration in her eyes. Satonaka and Sakura, who as far as he knew had barely met before, were laughing together – at some private joke, it seemed, rather than at him and Yamagishi.

Akiyama was standing near the door, as if surveying the group at large. Kiryu caught his eye, and they exchanged a smile. In that moment, he suspected, they had the same thought:

These kids are a good bunch.

In the end, they extended the session for a second hour, and Kiryu thought a third could have been pushed for, but it had gotten late, and Niijima had said as much in a pointed tone. Despite being one of the youngest members of the group, and apparently a recent addition to their ranks, she seemed to have somehow taken on a mantle of authority, and her word was taken on board readily. Kiryu wondered if she was aware of how much power that gave her. She seemed to be someone who wore that kind of authority lightly.

Takeba had suggested going along to a bar afterwards, and so their current destination was the nearest subway station, to put Niijima and Sakura on a train (at Niijima’s insistence), before finding one. Kiryu was unsurprised that Akiyama claimed to know a good place nearby. It might or might not be true, given how new he too was to the area, but Akiyama had good instincts. He’d likely steer them right.

“Hey, we should bring Rise along next time,” said Satonaka, to no-one in particular. “She’ll be really bummed that she missed out, she loves karaoke.”

“This Rise another friend of yours?” asked Akiyama. Kiryu rolled his eyes at the  faux-casual tone. She’s probably way too young for you, Akiyama-san.

“Oh yeah, have we not mentioned her before? She works with us occasionally, but she has to travel around for work a lot. Rise Kujikawa. I hope you’ll get to meet her at some point, she’s great.”

“Hah, that’s funny. Rise Kujikawa. Like Risette.”

“Well, yeah. She is Risette.”

It took everyone a few moments to realise that Akiyama had stopped dead in the middle of the street, and that they were in danger of leaving him behind. When they stopped as one and looked back, he seemed frozen, like he had lost the ability to move.

“Are… are you all right, Akiyama-san?” Yamagishi’s tone was the kind one might use to speak to an injured puppy.

Akiyama seemed to unfreeze bit by bit, first blinking rapidly, then inhaling deeply through his nose, and finally shutting his mouth, which had been sagging open. “You mean to tell me,” he said finally, his throat sounding slightly dry, “that your friend is the Rise Kujikawa? Multi-million selling artiste? Won all kinds of awards at home and abroad? Sold out Tokyo Dome for a solid week last year?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” said Satonaka, with a grin not unlike the one Akiyama usually wore. “What, you shocked that we could be friends with a celebrity, Akiyama-san?”

Akiyama shook his head, seemingly more in disbelief than as a negative response. “Just… can’t quite believe the kind of company you keep. Don’t tell me, next meeting Goro Akechi’s going to walk in, alive and well, and it’ll turn out he’s been deep undercover for Kirijo-san since the end of last year.”

It was as if an electric current had been passed through Niijima and Sakura, who seemed to jump simultaneously, before glancing at each other, as if for reassurance.

Akiyama scoffed. “Oh, come on now…”

“It’s not like that,” said Niijima, looking oddly haggard. “It’s… extremely complicated, and certainly not a story for the middle of the street.”

Kiryu took a furtive look around. Niijima and Sakura seemed to be dealing with something here, while Akiyama and Yamagishi were a little too far away. It would have to be Takeba, then. Probably not the bonding experience she’d had in mind, but this whole thing had been her idea.

He sidled up to her as surreptitiously as possible, and leaned in. He wasn’t sure exactly why he wanted to ask this in confidence, not even being entirely sure what he was asking, but it seemed appropriate, given the reactions of the others.

“Who exactly is Goro Akechi?”

Chapter Text

Everywhere he’d ever been, in every setting and situation he’d found himself in for any substantial period of time, people had commented on Taiga Saejima’s strength.

It had been that way since he was about twelve, when he’d gone through a sudden and dramatic growth spurt. Almost overnight, he’d gone from one of the smaller kids in his class to the biggest, and even the meanest kids shut their mouths and gulped when they saw him. That suited him fine. All he wanted then was a quiet life, little knowing that his adult life would swing wildly back and forth between decades of enforced silence, and rapid spurts of activity.

And even throughout that, it had been all about his physical strength. The few guys who were fool enough to pick fights with him in prison did so precisely because he was so huge, knowing that felling someone like him would earn them maximum respect. Even when he emerged from prison, whether he was going toe-to-toe with Kiryu on an Okinawa beach, or ripping bus stops out of the ground to break some ribs with in Sapporo, his muscles had rarely been idle.

Now, though, they were being used to their fullest effect as he attempted to hold five separate paper bags of groceries without spilling anything on his way up two narrow flights of stairs. It was, he felt, the task he’d been born to.

Unfortunately, the apartment door, once he’d reached it, presented a challenge to which his muscles were not suited. Kicking it down, while always tempting and well within his ability, was out of the question, given the earful he’d get (and, if he was honest, deserve) from the door’s owner. And there was no question of getting a key in the door without disturbing the delicate equilibrium of bags balanced on his arms. He wasn’t even confident he could set any of them down safely just now.

Slowly, gingerly, he raised his right arm. It was a perilous course – the bag balanced on his bicep was, he was pretty certain, the one with the eggs in – but it had to be done. He could barely manoeuvre his left at all. As long as he moved it fractionally, carefully, he could avoid spilling anything.

Steady… Steady…

Gradually he managed to get one knuckle to the door. It would have to do. There was no question of a second. The egg bag was already threatening to teeter.

His finger muscles were among the less remarked-upon muscles he possessed, but it was time to show them at their fullest effect.

Tnk

He sighed. A dog would struggle to hear a knock like that. And if the current occupant of the apartment was in the kind of state Saejima suspected, it would take an awful lot more. He summoned up all his strength for a second attempt.

Thnk

Was that an improvement? It was almost impossible to tell. Just as it would be almost impossible for someone without their ear pressed to the door to hear that.

It would have to be a third, then. And if that failed… well, maybe the kicking option could be reexamined.

“Who iiiis iiiiit?”

The sing-song voice from the other side was barely muffled. He must be standing right there. Had he… was he actually listening at the door?

“It’s me, bro. Saejima. You know it is.”

The door opened a fraction, just wide enough to admit one suspicious, bloodshot eye in the crack.

“Ya get my booze?”

Saejima sighed. “Got a bottle o’ sake. Fer all of us. Not openin’ it ’til the others are back.”

“Well then. Guess what else ain’t openin’?”

“You think ya could hold this door closed against me?”

“You think ya could force it open without spillin’ any o’ yer veggies or whatever?”

It was a classic impasse. But fortunately, Saejima had recently acquired a weapon that would never fail.

“Right. So what do ya reckon she’ll think if she comes back an’ yer refusin’ ta let me in? Have a think about that. What kinda mood might she be in?”

There was a long silence. Then, finally, the door opened to reveal a sullen, drooping Goro Majima.

“Low blow. Didn’t think ya were the type ta fight dirty, bro.”

“I do what I haveta. Now, outta the way so I can get all this shit packed away. ’Less yer willin’ ta help?”

Majima backed away, and Saejima took the bags through the door and straight into the small kitchen area to the right, laying them down one by one, in a predetermined order, on the counter as his sworn brother, the comrade for whom he would gladly give his life, swaggered back to the couch to slump down face first.

“Don’t suppose ya’ve done any cleanin’ while I was out?”

“Nope,” said the couch cushion into which Majima’s face was currently pressed.

“Don’t suppose yer gonna help me unpack these?”

The couch cushion did not respond. Saejima had not really expected it to.

It was, he supposed, a combination of having been driven out of Kamurocho, and being cooped up with nothing to do. Majima had never dealt well with either failure or inactivity. He was relentlessly proactive, which was usually a great strength. But in a situation like this, where there was very little to be done, and nothing that suited his particular strengths, he had lapsed into a sort of sulky ennui very quickly. Saejima had never seen him quite like this.

And it couldn’t help that they’d been driven here, of all places. It had to feel like going backwards, not to mention stirring up some unpleasant memories.

A jaunty theme tune indicated that Majima had switched on the television for the beginning of one of the daytime talk shows to which he’d become addicted. This one in particular, with its bright yellow set, flashing lights, and jaunty hosts, got on Saejima’s nerves. It seemed to him that light entertainment had sped up, somehow, during his time in prison, and he’d never quite gotten back into the pace of it. Now everything seemed to be short and fast, grabbing for limited attention spans. Give him a good book any day of the week. He’d been using the enforced period of seclusion to finally work his way through Yukio Mishima’s bibliography, and was enjoying every word.

Besides, if some of their darker suspicions were correct, they might have a number of reasons to hold a grudge against this particular show.

Just as he located the eggs at the bottom of one bag – he was relieved to find all of them apparently intact – there was the sound of a key in the door. He abandoned his task temporarily in order to bow as the newcomer entered.

“Welcome back, chairman.”

“I’ve told you, Saejima-san, don’t call me that.” Daigo Dojima seemed to have aged several years in the last few months. Hints of grey were now visible at his temples, and a general weariness seemed to pervade his every move. “I’m not the chairman of anything just now.”

“That’s not true. Not much of a Tojo Clan right now, but there’s still guys out there who’d spring inta action if you gave ‘em the word.”

Dojima grimaced, but didn’t push the point. “How’s everything here?” His eyes flickered to the barely visible recumbent posture of Majima.

“Same as ever.” The unnatural laughter of the chat show’s audience rang out. Majima did not join in. He hardly seemed to react to anything much these days.

“Let me help you with those.” Dojima gestured towards the half-unpacked groceries. Saejima’s first instinct, based on a lifetime of hierarchy, was to refuse, but common sense prevailed, and he nodded.

“Did you get anywhere?” he said, in as casual a tone as he could manage.

“It’s hard to tell,” said Dojima, surveying a handful of spring onions with a melancholy air. “They’re not attacking me on sight, at least. There’s definitely more internal conflict than we’d thought, so that’s useful. I get the sense he might even be open to a meeting, but whether they’re where we need them to be… hard to know just yet.”

“I imagine it’d be useful ta have someone who knows this area pretty well with ya.” Saejima pointedly raised his voice to be sure he was audible above the TV. In response, he saw the volume bar creep up.

“I would think his knowledge is probably out of date,” said Dojima. “Besides, if we want to lie low…” He left the thought unfinished, but Saejima had to concede he had a point. Letting Majima out onto the streets, especially without a clear purpose, in the state he was in was likely a recipe for disaster. “It’s frustrating, I know, but we need to be a little more patient.”

“What about that detective gal ya mentioned before? She might have a good sense o’ what’s what.”

Dojima shook his head. “I doubt she knows more than we do. The Shirogane family never really got involved in yakuza affairs, not in any detail. And it’s not that I distrust her, but the fewer people who know where we are right now, the better.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Saejima sighed. “It just don’t feel right, ya know? Not just the sneakin’ around, I get that, but it just feels like we’re takin’ up space here.”

“I know what you mean. But she did offer the space freely, and she doesn’t seem to resent us. Well, she doesn’t seem to resent you or me, at any rate.”

It had been one of their trickiest dilemmas when leaving Tokyo. Where could they stay? By a mutual agreement negotiated in a time of relative peace, the Tojo had no holdings in Omi territory, and renting or acquiring property would be dangerous for that very reason, among others, if they were recognised. They certainly couldn’t have their names on any paperwork, and since they had had no opportunity to prepare false identities, faked names wouldn’t stand up to any scrutiny, which could be its own set of problems.

It was Majima, in his last proactive contribution that Saejima could remember, who had come up with the solution. Osaka had always been their destination, but it was he who suggested they narrow their focus to Sotenbori, the heart of Omi operations. And it was he who had contacts there – decades-old contacts, but contacts nonetheless. His first call had been to the floor manager of his old cabaret club, who turned out to have moved away. His second, though, had borne fruit with a minimum of negotiation. Something of the old charm remained, it seemed.

The groceries had been packed away, and Saejima and Dojima had reluctantly settled down to watch the talk show, when she arrived home from work.

“I’m back!” Her gaze swept the living room, her smile dimming significantly as it passed to Majima.

“Welcome home, Yuki-san.” Saejima got to his feet and bowed. “Have you had a productive day?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” She kicked off her shoes, one of them knocking over one of Saejima’s boots. “I’m just home for a couple of hours for a break. Don’t get much time off in the restaurant business this time of year.”

“Would you like something to eat?” asked Dojima. “Saejima-san has been shopping this afternoon. I could whip you up something quick if you’d like?”

Decades in customer service had given Yuki a powerful, almost impenetrable mask with which to hide her true emotions. And yet Saejima could quite clearly detect her confusion at the present state of affairs, in being offered dinner by the head of the country’s largest yakuza operation in her own apartment. It was a confusion that Saejima shared, in some ways. When exactly had Dojima, who had spent most of his life living in luxury, learned to cook?

“Um, thank you Dojima-san, but I’m all right, thank you. Thanks.” She looked as though she wanted to bow, which did nothing to make the situation more comfortable.

As soon as they had moved in, Yuki and Majima had settled straight into constant bickering, each of them pushing the other’s buttons at every available opportunity, which as far as Saejima could gather had always been the nature of their relationship. He couldn’t quite tell if either of them had ever held a torch for the other, but if that was the case, they’d somehow managed to skip over dating and several decades of marriage into a strangely companionable argumentativeness. For his part, it had taken a little while to get over his initial awkwardness – she was the first woman he’d lived with since his sister, before going to prison thirty years before – but once he had, they got along famously, sharing cooking tips and book recommendations.

But somehow, she had never quite been at ease around Dojima. It wasn’t for want of trying on both their parts, as far as Saejima could tell – Dojima did the bulk of the housework when he wasn’t out chasing leads, and Yuki frequently attempted to strike up conversations with him. But it always seemed as though she was intimidated by him, despite his being by any objective measure the least physically imposing of the three of them. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact that, from what Saejima understood, she’d only been dimly aware of Majima’s yakuza associations before. It certainly brought a new meaning to bringing your boss home for dinner.

She settled herself down on the one free chair. “So how is your, um, yakuza business going, Dojima-san?”

“It’s going well, thank you,” said Dojima, in a determinedly casual tone. “Though I’m afraid we will have to impose on you for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh, fine,” said Yuki, with only the smallest sidelong glance to the lumpen shape that was Majima. “Just glad to help.”

“Your help is appreciated. And I’m in your debt. We all are.”

It was a familiar sentiment by now, but Yuki still seemed to greet it in the same way: lapsing into silent reflection, as if trying to figure out how best to use a favour from a yakuza chairman. It was more than a bit premature, though. They were in no position to be doing anyone favours just now.

It was after Yuki excused herself to go to the bathroom that a dull moan signalled the appearance of Majima’s face, or at least half of it, as he rolled over onto his side. His eye swivelled from Saejima to Dojima rapidly.

“Ya really think alla this shit is gonna work, boss?” he said. It was a familiar refrain, but Saejima couldn’t really blame him.

“I don’t see that we have many other options,” said Dojima. “It’s clear that something out of the ordinary is going on, and there’s only two places we might find answers. And since Kamurocho is out of the question, that just leaves here.”

“Be a helluva lot easier if we could find Akiyama,” said Saejima. “Kinda hoped he mighta come here.”

“I believe he did,” said Dojima. “His office on West Sotenbori Street is open, but his secretary denied all knowledge of his whereabouts, and I wasn’t about to press the point. There was a steely look in her eye. There was also a small mountain of paperwork in front of her which suggested she’d been doing the work of two people for some time.”

“Pretty sure she does that whether or not he’s around,” said Saejima.

Dojima shrugged to concede the point. “He may well be in the city somewhere, but if he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. And by now he likely knows no more about Kamurocho than we do. With the Florist gone underground as well, that leaves us devoid of options.”

“Ya know who we could use?” said Majima, his tone oddly nostalgic. “Kiryu-chan. Just imagine if he was here, breakin’ some faces fer us. We’d know what’s goin’ on in like five minutes.”

Dojima’s face tightened. “Kiryu has made his choice. We have to respect that. From what I’ve heard, it’s hard to imagine that anything much would entice him out of that temple. Certainly nothing that we can offer.”

Majima had a point, much as Saejima hated to admit it. Kiryu had a way of attracting trouble, or finding it, which combined with his unrivalled capability to survive it, made him exceptionally useful in this kind of circumstance. But it was hard to imagine much breaking through his conviction.

He found himself wondering about Akihiko Sanada, who’d asked him about Kiryu those times. Did he know that Kiryu was alive? Where was he, with Purgatory gone? Saejima liked to believe that someone with his wits and abilities would land on his feet somewhere, but these were uncertain times. Then again, he was in no position to worry too much about anyone else, much as he might wish it otherwise.

Saejima cracked his knuckles. He had to admit, Majima wasn’t the only one feeling restless and wasted. He could only hope that soon his muscles would be called upon for purposes other than carrying groceries.

He frowned in pointed puzzlement, as much at the subordinate who’d just handed him the file as at the file itself, a chunky collection of documents going back to the late 80s. He had no intention of reading them. He knew all he needed to about their subject, and indeed he took the presence of this file as a personal affront on that level. A questioning of his preparedness.

“I’m not sure why you’ve brought this to me. Surely this is your area? Or rather, your responsibility?” He put just enough emphasis on the last word to turn it into an accusation.

“W-well, yes, sir, but I thought it best you be aware of this. I know how you like to cover detail. And this is… well, it could turn out to be a very important detail. That’s all.”

“I hardly see how. It’s just one man.” He knew precisely the answer he was going to get, but felt the point was still worth making.

“Not just any man, sir. Kiryu is a living legend. His presence, even his name, has incredible power.” Yes, that was exactly what he’d expected. It was pitiful enough the way all those ill-educated yakuza thugs revered the idea of Kiryu – who was, as far as he could tell, a middlingly charismatic man who was good at punching and not much else – without actual authority figures getting in on the act.

“Yes, thank you, I’m well aware of who he is. I’ve heard all the stories, believe me.”

“So has every yakuza in Japan. I don’t need to tell you how much store they put in those stories, sir. And besides, we don’t know where he’s gone, or with whom.”

“Hmmm.” He didn’t much like taking advice, not least from such a cretin, but he wasn’t such a fool as to look past something like this. Sometimes you had to take things – and people – you disdained seriously nonetheless. “I see your point. The last thing we need is a rallying point for the Tojo Clan. No signs of activity in Kamurocho?”

“Nothing significant. The Omi men are causing some chaos, though. Perhaps a firmer hand…?”

“That won’t be necessary. It’s time to look to the next phase.”

“Already, sir?” He had to restrain from rolling his eyes. For such a successful man in his field, his subordinate could be an utter dolt sometimes.

“We didn’t get this far by shrinking and procrastinating. And if what you suspect is true, then we need to eliminate any potential threats. Wherever they may come from.”

“But I mean… is it ready? I had thought, after the test run…”

“You let me worry about that. If I need anything more from you in the meantime, I’ll be in touch. Just let me know if there are any confirmed sightings of Kiryu, or any of the Tojo top brass. Credible rumours will do, for that matter.”

“Sir.” His subordinate bowed and withdrew. At the very least, he knew when not to press a point.

He crossed to the other side of the room, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. His head was pounding again. It always seemed to get worse at about this time of year, but lately it had been almost unbearable. Between paracetamol and alcohol, he was keeping it under control, but it was a fine balance. If he lost coherence, or even the appearance of it, he was finished. He had no illusion that it was anything other than power, or the appearance of it (if indeed there was any distinction there), that kept his various subordinates in line. Their lack of loyalty was precisely their usefulness, but it was a double-edged sword.

Just as long as he could get through the next few months. Once the next phases of the plan were complete, he would be untouchable. The researchers, both sets of them, assured him it wouldn’t take long, though he’d heard that one before. He was willing to believe that decoding someone else’s research would be a tricky business, though. After all, that was essentially what he’d been doing all along.

He took a few careful sips from his glass. Not too much, not yet. He had to make a phone call to the lab, and he’d need all his wits, not to say patience, to deal with that. And did he have…? No, the interview was still a few days away. Just as well, really. There was little that irritated him more than having to explain himself to the great unwashed. A smile and an easy laugh could cover a lot, of course, but having to make the effort was galling.

No need for that soon enough, at least.