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There was a certain layer of irony that pervaded Yosuke’s life through and through. Most of it was of the self-disparaging variety, cultivated by his own hands as a straightforward and effective way to traverse life. To not take things seriously and not be taken seriously in turn was the method in which he had staked much of his teenage years upon, and that kind of attitude lingered even after it had been dismantled in the wake of Saki Konishi’s death. It was his shtick, his role in the group, the core of his identity when perceived by other people. Reconstructing it was a dedication that would require time.
But he was also not unfamiliar with cosmic irony. Consequently, so, too, was Hanamura intimate with the nature of mockery tyrannizing his existence on the opposite side of the mirror.
The liquor store had been a novelty at first. As one of the many outlets carved into the Twisted Shopping District, it was perpetually empty, and thus free from distraction. The peace and quiet had allowed Hanamura to put together the pieces regarding why he drew breath again, coming to the tawdry conclusion that his counterpart was subjugating a fraction of his feelings deep within once more. The denial was not strong enough to grant the Shadow full manifestation, which meant that Jiraiya was most likely still accessible, but that made things even more frustrating; it would be impossible to make the other confront the issue as the way the world intended.
As time went on, though, that tranquility had morphed into a sardonic representation of everything that Hanamura exhibited in Yosuke. The boredom. The isolation. The need to be important. None of it mattered in a place that was vacant, and so a cycle of languor was formed. He would revel in the nothingness for a time, expecting something in the real world to change and be reflected through the television glass of the Midnight Channel, only to be disappointed when it never happened. Restlessness would be born from there, encouraging him to leave – but he could never commit to such a momentous act. He was, in simple terms, weak. A feeble Shadow Self in comparison to the rest. To leave the comfort of a home that didn’t even belong to him was to invite stronger entities to prey on him.
If he died, who knew what that meant for the original? It was safer to maintain the routine. If Yosuke was idiotic enough to let things go any further, he’d eventually have to answer to the loss of his Persona. Then normalcy would return.
Sadly, the acknowledgement of the way things were failed to do much in alleviating Hanamura’s agitation. More than anything, he just wanted something to do. If there were lesser Shadows in the shop, he could terrorize or boss them around. Maybe he could teach them to do tricks or play games. Some types had to be smart enough for that. But the block remained desolate, and stagnancy clung to the foggy air.
He sighed, leaning over the counter at the front of the establishment and knocking over one of the bottles with a flick of his middle finger. No matter how many times he tried to smash them, they always came back. He wasn’t the “boss” of the strip, so to speak, which meant he had no influence on its appearance. The fun of throwing the glass container against the walls and watching the residual booze slide across the aged paper had worn itself out quickly once he realized that the effect wasn’t permanent.
Kind of reminded him of his other self, honestly. Yosuke could pretend as though he had changed, but he always found a way to revert back to the old ways. The stupid ways. The ways in which he tried to fool himself into genuinely believing that he was over the loose ends of his fake relationships.
He slid off the stool, the flat of his shoes hitting the gaudy tiles of the floor. The resounding echo that was born hurt his ears, like someone had slammed a mallet into a gong right next to his head on both sides, rattling his skull with its vibrations. Envy rooted its way into his veins as he toyed with the wires of his headphones, a mere facet of imitation that was broken in the Midnight Channel. If only they worked. If only they could provide a distraction.
As he stomped off towards the back of the store to find something else to do, though, something changed.
A shiver ran up his spine as the presence of a much stronger entity itself known in his awareness, haunting the spiraling ingress. It wasn’t a human. He could tell that much. But the specifics, the details that would be helpful in assessing the situation. Those eluded him.
It wasn’t really a matter of Shadows not being able to enter so much as it was Shadows being uninterested. Most weren’t intelligent enough to see any sort of benefit of picking on him if they were of a higher caliber, more content to languish about until humans passed through the television. Hanamura was likely not equipped to deal with one that actually had the capacity to be interested in bugging him.
Despite that, curiosity forbade him from leaving entirely. Not that he could physically leave the liquor store itself, but he wanted to watch what happened, too. So he slunk behind a stack of barrels, devoting himself to their namesake and dissolving into the silhouettes cast by the casks to avoid being seen. If nothing else, this all would be for his eventual amusement.
Peeking over one of the metal kegs, he watched as a figure passed through the divide between the inside of the shop and the rest of the district. Some kind of box was in their hands as they made a few cautious steps inside, and the LEDs above strained to illuminate their features. All that Hanamura understood in that moment was that it had to be another Shadow Self, its appearance too distinctly humanoid to be anything else. But that couldn’t be possible. If he wasn’t able to leave his domain, wouldn’t that ring true for others?
Now he was no longer so invested in the act of observation strictly out of a need for entertainment.
The diodes whined with effort, casting strange contours across the room as their light began to return to full brightness. The trespasser approached the very same work surface that Hanamura had been lounging over, setting down the case over it with sleeved hands.
Sleeved hands.
Of course it was Shirogane. If anyone was going to come back just to get in his hair, it had to be him. Her other self was the reason why Hanamura was even here. The scathing cherry on his shitty, satirical sundae.
He sunk further down, tangible form melting into mere essence as he made himself a warped little spot on the floor. It wasn’t his responsibility to confront the obtuse affair between their equivalents in the real world. He was only here to be the reflection that portrayed the issue, and to ensure that issue eventually be resolved. So maybe if he stayed out of sight long enough, Shirogane would get tired of looking and go away. He didn’t want to see him right now. Not when things were as charged as they were, star-crossed to make conversing difficult between them as well.
But then she spoke, a sing-songy voice rising into the flat air. “I know you’re in here somewhere.”
Hanamura simmered where he was, keeping his mouth shut tightly. That was surely a bluff. A means of goading him into making himself known. He was smarter than that, and he was rewarded for his self-restraint with silence. No doubt a sign that she had given up and left to find something else to study or prod with a stick. Being a glorified guinea pig was not on the personal menu today.
But a grinning face appeared over his hiding spot, one that was eclipsed by a brimmed cap and messy blue hair. Golden irises cut through the shade of the building, sparkling with mischief at the sight of the brunet’s bristling recoil. “Told you so,” Shirogane ragged, resting his chin over his folded arms. “You might have had more success if you picked a less obvious place to conceal yourself.”
“What do you want?” Hanamura grumbled, not even bothering to ask how he’d known in the first place. “Go away. I’m...I’m brooding! So leave me alone!”
“I suppose you would be inclined to do that,” mumbled the other. His nose crinkled in a rueful expression before she pulled away, exposing the negative space behind him. The tables and the lidded vessel filtered into view. “But I brought you something.”
Skepticism urged the currently smaller Shadow to edge away, retreating further into the collection of vats. As far as he was concerned, this was probably some elaborate and grandmaster trick at his expense – but a part of him felt guilty for even considering that possibility, preventing him from heeding the counsel of his instincts and compelling him to reshape himself properly. It was a sentiment no doubt carried over by his connection to Yosuke, goddamn sap that he was.
Even though his characteristics remained ill-defined and cloaked in black, his eyes remained distinct. They narrowed with doubt. “What is it?”
Shirogane said nothing, withdrawing to the front of the shop and hopping onto one of the pedestaled seats. Even from such a distance, her wolfish smile could be plainly seen, leaving her intentions poorly disguised; she wanted Hanamura to come out and see for himself.
He looked around nervously before his reservations bent against the pressure, still present but contorting in a way that let him tread carefully through his substandard refuge without conflicting too much with his sense of caution. Pretense was not an aspect of their disposition. If one of them wished for something, they would make that intention clear and upfront. Naoto’s true self might be skirting around the issue, so to speak, but there was one thing that could be determined for certain: he had to be just as bored as everyone else. Getting rid of the only person in the building with him right now seemed like a far-flung notion.
Plus, there were a lot of things that just had to be asked. He’d breached the invisible line of the Secret Laboratory’s designated territory somehow, and that posed the question of whether or not anyone else could do the same. So, ultimately, Hanamura relented to whatever was within his immediate future and occupied the armless chair next to Shirogane.
He could see the receptacle that had been brought better. It was wooden and perfectly square, lacking handles and consisting of two different compartments on opposite sides. One of the lights flickered to full luminosity, revealing the checkered pattern on the top.
His tongue slipped past his teeth as he wetted his lips. “A chess board?”
“There’s an argument to be made about chess being one of the more practical games to take part in while conversing,” Shirogane explained. “Easier to stop in between turns and whatnot. I thought you might appreciate having something to do while we spoke. Unless you have something better in mind?”
“You just came out here to talk with me? I don’t believe that for a second,” Hanamura pointed out sharply. “There’s gotta be something else you get out of this.”
The drawer farthest from him popped open, revealing the black pieces. A mysteriously generous offer in letting him go first, but it only further fanned the flames of his misgivings. “I assure you, my reasoning is hardly profound. You’re the only other Shadow Self that persists, which piqued my interest, and the simplest way to address things was to come to you directly.” The black queen was placed on the board with a thunderous clack. “So, do you want to play or not?”
The situation didn’t leave him with very much choice. Even if he rejected the proposal, there was nothing that he could do to get her to leave. The only way he could realistically turn the tables was by taking advantage of the bizarre clemency he was being presented with. “Fine. Just one round.”
“Have you played before?”
He watched as a few more pieces were set in place. “Few times.”
“Good. Then I don’t need to explain the rules.” Shirogane set the final white king where it belonged, then leaned back to fold her hands together through her coat. “Start whenever you like.” A two-toned assertion. There was an unspoken implication wrapped in that blanket of altruism, pressing Hanamura to initiate the conversation alongside of their paltry contest.
That was fine. He could do that, too. Eyes sweeping over the expanse of their playing field, he pushed a pawn forward. “How did you get here? We aren’t supposed to be able to leave our spots.” Might as well take a swing at the most pressing query.
A muted hum came from the shorter Shadow. “An edict that is self-imposed, but not genuinely enforced by anyone. Or anything.” His eyes shifted towards the open entrance within both of their peripherals. “You could leave. You just choose not to.” One of his own pawns moved across the tiles.
Hanamura watched the movement. Watched how stiff it was, strained underneath oversized clothes that should have been able to camouflage the rigidity. Watched the deliberate breaths in which Shirogane filled his lungs with. “It hurts, doesn’t it? Being here.”
“Uncomfortable,” she corrected in a flat monotone, as if to prove some sort of strength against the idea. “I took the time to develop a tolerance for it before I came to see you.”
“Don’t you think that implies something is trying to keep us in place?” A white bishop crossed the length of the board, knocking one of the black pawns off to the side. “First blood.”
“Good move,” she praised. “But I find the circumstances to be coincidental. It’s more likely an internalized issue, like a type of mental block dissuading us from mingling.” He picked up a knight, paused, then set it back down in favor of one of his rooks. “I have yet to make any progress on finding out how to get rid of said block, however.”
Even so, guilt wormed its way into Hanamura’s veins, parasitic as it fed off of his apprehensions. That pain was his fault, in a way, because he was the sole reason she was here. His re-emergence had made this outcome feasible. However, self-reproach soon warped into resentment towards his equivalent in the real world. His ignorance was the cause for such a sorry return, and so he was equally as culpable for putting the two Shadows in such a precarious state of affairs. They were reflections. They couldn’t control what the ones casting them did. If Yosuke could just learn to bite the bullet and fess up to the truth when it mattered, none of this would be happening right now.
Neither of them had made a move in a while. Shirogane’s gaze bore holes into him as he stared, perfectly still in his seat. “Do you know why you are here?”
“Because of Naoto. And you’re here because of...him.” He didn’t want to say the name, as though the acid that would have been mustered from it was capable of melting straight through his mouth. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.” Another pawn moved forward.
“Maybe not. I merely wanted to ensure that you had, in fact, figured that out.” She contemplated the rook pinched in his fingers for a moment before taking the chance to overcome the pawn in its path. “Sharing an exact purpose between two Shadows is something that has never happened before, I think.”
Beings like them would normally be too complex for that. But since this isn’t their first time up to bat, things are naturally unique. “How long have you been around?”
Shirogane hesitated. The look on his face fluctuated between wry and vexed, only to land in the middle with an eerie blankness. “I always exist on the brink.”
“What?”
He waved a dismissive sleeve, rolling his eyes. “A consequence of my other self bottling up much of his baggage. I’m never cognizant enough to remember anything that happens, so it is irrelevant. Keep playing.” There was a threat laced in the irritation of his tone, a promise of abandonment should the stalemate be prolonged any further.
Hanamura shrunk away from her, his previous strategy effortlessly sidelined by the sudden tension in the atmosphere. As much as he hated how easy it was for him to get attached to their match, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he squandered this one chance at being able to keep himself busy. But he should say something, shouldn’t he? Something comforting. Except he couldn’t find any good words to piece together as a coherent sentence, the insides of his mouth going numb and useless.
Babbling would be a waste of breath. So he said nothing.
The stillness, at least, granted him the chance to reconsider all of the moves that had been made thus far. There was an inclination towards recklessness in Shirogane’s tactics, consistently placing her pieces within range for removal as a means of tempting Hanamura into endangering his more versatile chessmen. He was already feeling the need to bring out his queen in order to make more defensive maneuvers, but he had a sneaking suspicion that an initiative like that was exactly what the other wanted. The loss of the most adaptable token this far into the game would cripple his shot at winning.
A knight reached dangerously close to his king, enough for a small “check” to come from his opponent’s small smirk before he swatted it away with a rook. “How long’ve you been playing?”
“Several years. A relative enjoyed it.” A dangerous edge was embedded in the familial term, yet it went unspecified. Without warning, Shirogane shrugged off his outermost layer and folded it over the stool behind him, turning back around to perch his face against his hand. His scrutiny was now solely pinpointed on the stage of their playoff, analyzing the placement of each remaining piece with solemn concern. She moved her queen, remaining perched forward even after the deed was done.
The whiplash in policy that Hanamura was forced to adopt made his head spin, but he had to start targeting the queen, otherwise his king was going to be on the line – as was the lifespan of their game. He pulled back one of his bishops, waffling over a good topic to change to so that the ringing in his ears wasn’t so loud. “How long do you think it’ll take for them to figure this shit out?”
A long, measured inhale. “I’m not sure. Naoto’s reputation with his guardians is at stake in his mind, and he would do anything to maintain it.” The queen moved again, going from left to right on the board.
“Sticks in the mud, huh? Sucks,” he scoffed, pursuing the relocation with one of his knights. “I think that’s why he’s so worked up over everything, too. You know how backwater towns are about this kind of stuff. He already has a vision of what might happen, and now he’s freaking out. Idiot.”
Their pawns were gone, as were most of their rooks. Only a handful of knights and bishops were left to accompany their individual queens, and the black king was looking particularly open for being advanced upon right now. The only issue was that most of Hanamura’s pieces were still closer to his side of the board, which meant having to spend several turns catching up if he wanted to avoid risking his queen.
Shirogane glanced down at his nails, feigning nonchalance before she went straight back to eyeballing the chessmen. The intervals between their actions had started to become longer, and she was taking full advantage of the infinite time they were allowed to come to decisions to plot out his next course. Even though he remained motionless, he continued to talk. “What are you going to do when this is over?”
The brunet deflated alongside the puff of air he snorted out of his nose. “Man, I dunno. Who cares? It’s not like anything I do here matters. I could wreck the place and it would still go back to the way it was before.” He crossed his arms, eyes tilting up towards the ceiling as he leaned back. “It’ll be the same old until the other me gets his head screwed back on right.”
“So you do believe that you will eventually stop existing again?”
“Well...yeah,” he insisted quietly. “Being here now means that something is wrong. When the problem is fixed, the result is me going away. You’re an exception.”
He hadn’t intended on that coming out as nasty as it sounded once it had been said, and even the recipient of the accusation recoiled a bit. Her mouth was pressed into a fine line, jaw working discreetly before she picked up her queen and twiddled it between his thumb and index. “I see your point,” he tendered before instantly preying upon the last white rook and placing it in the pile of dead chessmen. “I am an outlier. But I’ve always been.”
Offended, Hanamura sniffed loudly. It was true. They were creatures defined by impulse, and that made planning in the heat of battle difficult after they had dedicated themselves to killing their counterparts. Not so for Shirogane. “I guess...” he muttered, almost unintelligible even to himself before scooting a bishop forward.
“No need to be so insulted. It’s our job to be honest, isn’t it?” For the first time since arriving, her smile actually met his eyes, warm with fondness. He nudged a knight to the side, letting his hand linger over the icon as he thought over what to say next. “But you’re distinctive as well, you know. Not even I can transform at will without merging with other Shadows. There must be some sort of benefit to that, even if none of us have come to any conclusions about it.”
“Checkmate.”
Both of them peered at each other with wide eyes, though Shirogane broke the maintained contact first to look down at the board. The white queen was positioned diagonally from the black king, while most of the other pieces were clustered around the corner where the white king had been sitting for much of the game. Whether the vulnerability of her main piece had resulted from being distracted by the conversation or the elimination of Hanamura’s remaining cannon fodder was up for debate, but the outcome was the same. White had won.
It wasn’t really a cause for celebration. Victory and defeat were equally tantamount to the resolution of their time together, because he knew that they had to part ways. It wouldn’t weigh well on his conscience to allow any other scenario, knowing that an untold suffering had to be endured just to be present here.
Shirogane was speechless for a good while, his gaze sweeping over the untouched remnants of their battle with unadulterated intrigue. “I don’t lose very often,” he finally murmured, lips curling upwards once more. “That puts me at your mercy, then. I was going to let you off free if I had won, but I think an unforeseen turn of events is worth looking into.”
“You’re being weird again,” Hanamura said hoarsely, pulling his hands away from the tabletop as though he’d been burnt. “Can you talk normally?”
“You want me to stay, right? I’m letting you decide what we do next.”
He scowled. “Nuh-uh. I’m kicking you out. I probably only won ‘cuz you’re distracted by how bad it feels being here! So it’s not a fair win.” He swept all of the chessmen into his hand, starting to file them back where they belonged in the pull-out cabinets.
“Since when did you start getting bold enough to boss me around?” Shirogane’s face furrowed with derisive humor as he watched him put everything away, only to snatch the white king and recline backwards so as to hold it out of reach.
“Give that back.”
Ignoring him, she squashed the side of her face with her free fist. “Do you feel bad?” he curred, smirk turning wicked. “You are such a baby. Didn’t I already tell you that I put myself through endurance training just for this? I refuse to let anything prevent me from doing as I please.”
The brunet pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease away the headache he felt coming on. He clearly wasn’t getting out of this as easy as he might have hoped. But all he needed to do was sit there for a while to chew over his options before coming to a more solid scheme. “Okay,” he said, holding up his empty hands in surrender. “Fine.”
Shirogane squinted at him with disbelief. “...I know you aren’t genuinely going to take that lying down.”
“I can’t make you leave. Not strong enough to beat you in a fight,” he contended, leaving the drawer on his side open as he held out a hand to take the final piece back. “But you said you’d let me pick whatever we do next, right? So I wanna go outside.”
“So you’re using my indulgence against me?” A split-second delay in an ongoing response nearly had him regretting the decision before the king was in his grasp, pressed into his palm by the one who had been trying to claim it for herself. “Clever. Can’t argue with that.”
He blinked softly, gaze flitting between her and the chess piece before he finally put the latter away. Rising from his seat with a long stretch, he left the case sitting against the counter where it was before starting to make the short walk towards the exit. Shirogane was quick to follow him, throwing on his lab coat in a rush to catch up right before he passed through the semi-tactile barrier that separated the liquor store from the rest of the Midnight Channel.
Cold and heavy fog curled around them as they stepped into the fringes of the shopping district, the single tried and true constant of the world’s current state. A honed pressure sank against Hanamura’s rib cage like a spiked ball, distracting him from taking in a view that he had never been able to see for himself before, espied only through shared memories with his original self. Honestly, the place looked like shit. The sky was just as bloodshot and coiling as the doorway back inside, and dilapidation festered around the whole area. He was fairly sure that last part was a feature specifically exclusive to the Twisted Shopping District as well. An unpleasant spectacle.
“Well,” Shirogane said loudly into the dead air. “We’re outside. I believe that accomplishes what you wanted to take away from our deal.” He spun around on his heel, intending on returning into the haven of the store.
Hanamura grabbed his clothed wrist before he could escape, grinning as he started pulling him away. “No way! Let’s go kick over a vending machine or something while we’re out here!”
She resisted, as anticipated, shoes scraping against the concrete underfoot as he tried in vain to stay rooted in place. “I-it’s foolish to overexert yourself during your first time outside!”
“Well, I refuse to let anything prevent me from doing as I please, too,” the taller Shadow parroted. The confidence swelling in his chest was an easy combatant against the stinging ache, and he readily pushed aside the unease that came with being in unfamiliar territory to continue dragging his companion along.
If Shirogane was allowed to whirlwind his day to day cycle, then it was only fair that he got to do the same.