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It had been fifteen years since the Phantom Thieves first set their sights on reshaping Japan, stealing the hearts of the corrupt and forcing a long-overdue reckoning. But time had a way of pulling people in different directions.
Ren had been the first to go. Once his probation ended and his innocence was finally acknowledged, he returned to his hometown, quietly slipping back into a normal life. In the end, he chose to guide others rather than rebel—becoming a teacher, someone who could influence the future in his own way.
Yusuke left Japan soon after, securing a scholarship to study art in France. True to form, he vanished without warning, leaving only a vague message behind. It wasn’t surprising—he had always been eccentric, lost in his own world. Still, his departure had left a strange silence in their group.
Ann’s modeling career took off not long after, sending her across the world, while the rest carved out their own paths. Makoto became a formidable lawyer, relentless in her pursuit of justice. Haru took on the immense responsibility of reforming her father’s business from the inside, shouldering burdens no one else could. Ryuji turned his drive into something tangible, becoming a personal trainer, helping others reclaim their strength. And Futaba, as expected, thrived in the digital realm, carving a name for herself in both programming and cybersecurity.
Despite the distance, they never truly lost touch. Futaba made sure of that—through endless messages, late-night calls, and the occasional chaotic group chat, they kept track of each other's milestones. Even so, years had passed since they’d all been in the same place at the same time.
Now, for the first time in over a decade, they would reunite in Japan. The familiar scent of coffee and curry would welcome them back to where it all began—LeBlanc, their old hideout, where the past and present would finally collide.
Futaba slid into the booth with a dramatic sigh, rubbing her temples. "God, you're still as loud as ever," she grumbled, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
She had grown up—finally filling out a little, though she was still on the slender side. Her hair, once long and unruly, was now cut just past her shoulders, but she kept her signature choppy bangs. She was dressed casually, loose and comfortable, the kind of outfit that prioritized function over fashion. If anything, the only thing that had truly changed about her was the way she carried herself—sharper, more confident, but still the same Futaba at her core.
She glanced between the two bickering people across from her, her expression deadpan.
“How did you two even end up married?"
Ann and Ryuji, who had been in the middle of a heated argument, stopped mid-sentence. They turned to Futaba, then to each other, and immediately looked away.
"Don't look at me like that," Ryuji muttered, crossing his arms. "Ann started it."
"Oh, I started it?" Ann scoffed.
Ryuji still dressed like he was in high school—T-shirts, hoodies, sneakers, the usual—but his face had matured. His old bleached hair was gone, grown out into his natural dark color, cropped short at the sides but still a little messy on top. He was in good shape, too, thanks to his career as a personal trainer. His shoulders were broader, his posture straighter, and despite still being a dumbass, he had the build of a man who spent years pushing his body to its limits.
Meanwhile, Ann looked every bit the model she had become. Her long, wavy blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that had only grown more striking with time. Her features were sharper now, her makeup polished but subtle, giving her an effortless, movie-star glow. She dressed to impress, too—her outfit was chic and well-tailored, something straight off the streets of Paris or Milan. And yet, despite all of that, she still had that fire in her eyes, that same Ann who would throw herself into an argument without hesitation.
"You’re the one who said I can’t be mad about a broken plate when you were the one who broke it!"
"It was an accident!"
Ren, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, adjusted his glasses with an easy flick of his fingers. Somehow, after all these years, they looked even more teacher-like on him—not just because of the frames themselves, but because of the way he carried them now, as though they had become an extension of who he was. Maybe it was the weight of experience, or the quiet authority that came with his profession, but there was no mistaking it—Ren had settled into the role completely.
His hair was slightly shorter than before, neater, though still slightly tousled in that effortless way. He hadn’t changed much in how he dressed—never one for flash, he still stuck to simple, well-fitted jackets and dark pants. But there was a difference in the way he wore them now. Back then, his quiet presence had masked something unpredictable beneath the surface, the air of someone who had seen too much and kept it all close to the chest. Now, that same quietness carried a different weight, like he had tucked away all the sharp edges, buried everything that had once made him an outlier, and molded himself into something steadier, something expected.
"Still don't have an answer for Futaba's question, huh?" he mused, a trace of dry amusement in his voice.
Ann huffed, arms crossed. "Love is complicated."
"That's a fancy way of saying we don’t know either ," Ryuji admitted, scratching his cheek.
Meanwhile, Futaba had curled up in her seat, phone in one hand, drink in the other. Her sharp eyes flicked between them with visible amusement.
"They bicker like that all the time," she muttered, just loud enough for Ren to hear. "If I didn’t know better, I'd say it’s foreplay. Gross."
Ann whipped a napkin in her direction. "Shut up, gremlin."
Futaba dodged effortlessly, grinning. "Make me, Mrs. Sakamoto ."
The doorbell chimed before Ann could retaliate and Haru stepped inside, glancing around the café with a soft smile. Unlike the others, she had an air of effortless elegance—her clothes refined but understated, tailored to fit her perfectly without screaming wealth. Her chestnut hair, now long and styled in loose waves, framed a face that had only grown warmer over the years. Maybe it was motherhood. Or maybe, after everything, she had finally found peace.
"Sorry I’m late," she said with an easy laugh. "My kids didn't want to let me go. I had to negotiate my way out like I was in a hostage situation."
Ann beamed. "Haru, you’re still gorgeous as ever—like, unfairly so."
"Oh, stop it. If anything, you look even more stunning," Haru countered.
Ann flipped her hair. "I know."
Ryuji groaned. "Oh my god. Stop hyping each other up, you're both married."
Makoto arrived not long after, her exhaustion evident in the way she exhaled the moment she stepped inside. She shrugged off her jacket, draping it over one arm before undoing the first button of her blouse, looking far more comfortable now that she was among friends.
She had changed, just like the rest of them. The sharp, composed air she carried in high school was still there, but now it felt heavier, weighed down by years of navigating the legal system. Her hair, once a neat bob, was now short in a sort of pixie like style. Though if anything, she looked tired . Whether it was just work or something deeper, Ren couldn’t tell.
She practically collapsed into a seat with a sigh.
"Rough day?" Ren asked.
"Don't get me started," Makoto sighed, rubbing her forehead.
Futaba smirked. "Need me to hack someone's account for some fun payback?"
Makoto shot her a look. "No."
Ren chuckled. "I was about to say, you two seem like you've been talking a lot."
"Oh, Futaba keeps tabs on everything," Makoto said. "She somehow knows about what’s going on before I even tell her."
Futaba shrugged. "I'm just very good at keeping up with things."
“Or you just hacked Makoto’s laptop?” Ryuji asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sojiro, now much older but still as sharp as ever, brewed a round of coffee for them, but as the night wore on, he gave them all a knowing glance.
"Alright, I'm heading home," he said, wiping down the counter. "Make sure you all lock up when you're done."
"We got it, old man," Ryuji said.
Sojiro smirked. "I’ll let that slide since it's been a while."
Once he was gone, the coffee cups were replaced with beer cans, and someone placed an order for sushi.
"Man, I still can't believe we used to sit here plotting literal heists," Ryuji mused, cracking open his drink.
"Yeah, and now look at us," Ann said. "One's a teacher, one's a police commissioner, one's running a corporation, and—"
"One is still late," Makoto finished, checking her phone. "Where is Yusuke?"
Futaba tapped at her screen. "He texted ages ago saying he was on his way."
Ann sighed. "Knowing him, he probably got lost staring at a puddle or something."
The night wore on, and just as they started debating whether to call him again, there was a knock on the door.
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Who could it be?"
Futaba groaned, pushing herself up to check. As soon as she reached the door, she spotted Yusuke standing there, looking mildly winded, a suitcase still in hand. She pulled the door open, and he blinked at her, dazed from travel and the abrupt shift in time zones.
No one had seen Yusuke in years—not since he left for Paris. He hadn't even made it to Ann and Ryuji’s wedding, citing an important exhibition, though he had sent an extravagant gift in his absence. Now, as all eyes turned to him, it was clear that time had changed him.
He was still striking, but where he had once been pretty, there was now an ethereal elegance to him. His jet-black hair had grown long, reaching almost past his shoulders in a sleek, effortless way, framing his sharp, lidded eyes. His features were just as delicate as before, but something about his presence had softened. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—more fluid, more assured. His clothes, tailored and impossibly chic, wouldn’t have been out of place on a Parisian runway, proving that if nothing else, he had learned how to dress.
"Apologies for my delay," Yusuke said, as he stepped inside. "I underestimated the time difference."
"You just got off the plane, didn't you?" Futaba asked flatly.
Yusuke let out a small sigh. "Indeed."
Ann crossed her arms. "Let me guess—you didn't sleep on the flight?"
"There were such fascinating cloud formations," Yusuke replied, as if that was a completely reasonable excuse.
Ren pushed his glasses up with a smile. "Same old Yusuke."
Yusuke finally stepped in, glancing around the now-closed café. "It is strange. Even after all these years, this place still feels the same…" he said, letting the words hang on his lips, lost in thought for a moment.
Haru smiled. "Some things never change."
Ryuji passed him a beer. "Took you long enough, dude. We were about to start making bets on whether you'd show up tomorrow instead."
Yusuke accepted the drink with a nod, sitting down. "Rest assured, I would not miss another opportunity to reunite with all of you. No matter how jetlagged I may be."
Ann grinned. "Well, now that we're finally all here—cheers?"
Ren raised his can, the others following suit.
"To old friends," Makoto said.
"To new successes," Haru added.
"To never being on time," Ryuji muttered, side-eyeing Yusuke.
Yusuke huffed. "It was out of my control."
Futaba snickered. "Sure, sure."
Ren smiled, looking at each of them. It had been fifteen years, but somehow, despite everything, despite life pulling them in different directions—this still felt like home.
"To us," he finally said.
And with that, they drank, laughter filling the space that had once been their second home.
The first few rounds of drinks had been lighthearted, full of nostalgia and small updates on their lives. But now, with the alcohol settling in, the conversation had turned more daring.
"Okay, okay, wait," Ryuji wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "We gotta talk about Haru’s legendary Phantom Thief name."
Haru groaned immediately. "No, we really don’t."
Ren smirked. "Beauty Thief."
Ann nearly choked on her drink. "God, I forgot about that!"
"Please," Haru pleaded, covering her face. "I was trying my best."
"Your best sucked," Futaba said bluntly, leaning back in her chair. "Like, 'Beauty Thief' was so bad it circled back into being amazing. It was art."
Yusuke nodded, a small smile on his lips. "An avant-garde title, truly ahead of its time."
Ryuji pointed a finger at him. "That ain't a compliment, dude!"
“I was making a joke,” Yusuke replied, but the slight pause in his delivery made it clear that comedic timing still wasn’t his strong suit.
Haru groaned again, but she was smiling. “I don’t know why I even tried to make an impression back then.”
“It was good you changed it in the end.” Ryuji commented, drinking half his beer in one go.
Ann laughed, taking another sip of her drink. "Speaking of impressions, we all remember how tight my Phantom Thief outfit was, right?"
"Oh, hell yeah," Ryuji said immediately. "That thing looked painted on."
"Excuse me?" She frowned, looking at her now husband.
Makoto sighed. "You did complain about it constantly, Ann."
"Because I couldn't breathe!" Ann defended herself, throwing up her hands. "And I swear—whoever designed that had something against me."
"You designed it," Futaba reminded her, adjusting her glasses. “It was our cognition that shaped our outfits. The Metaverse pulled from our self-image, our subconscious desires, how we saw ourselves in relation to our roles as Phantom Thieves.”
Ann paused. “I—listen, I was going for a look—”
"A look that required lung failure," Makoto quipped, her smile just barely hidden behind her drink.
"Exactly!" Futaba pointed at Ann. "You wanted to be bold, alluring, like a femme fatale straight out of a movie, right? So, bam! Red latex catsuit so tight it could suffocate a grown man. That was your mind's doing. You basically tailored your own suffering."
Ann groaned. "You're telling me I did that to myself?"
"Oh, one hundred percent," Futaba said smugly. "Same way Ryuji thought 'badass' meant a red scarf around the neck. Or how Makoto’s brain was like, ‘Yes, my perfect battle-ready look involves knee-high steel-toed boots.’"
Makoto raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying that it was impractical?"
"Not at all, Queen, you rocked it," Futaba said, smirking. "But I was literally there analyzing all this data. If you all had different self-perceptions, things could’ve been way different. Like, imagine if Ren saw himself as some noble warrior—he probably would've gotten an armor or something."
Ren chuckled. “At least it wasn’t a cape.”
Ann gave him a deadpan stare. "Way to go, Joker ."
Laughter filled the café again.
But then Ryuji smirked. “Aight, but we gotta talk about the real weirdo in the room.”
All eyes turned to Yusuke.
He blinked. "Oh? Have I been elected as the next subject of ridicule?"
"You volunteered when you spent months acting like a total freak around Ann," Ryuji shot back.
Ann raised an eyebrow. "I do remember a certain someone constantly asking to paint me naked."
Yusuke took a thoughtful sip of his drink. "Ah, yes. A regrettable period in my artistic evolution."
Makoto raised an eyebrow. "You actually regret that?"
"I expected you'd have matured by now," Ann added, giving him a teasing nudge.
Yusuke exhaled through his nose. "Indeed, I have reflected on my past actions and artistic choices… and I must confess, that period of my life was—" He paused, searching for the right words. "A façade."
The room was filled with confused looks.
Ann blinked. “I—sorry, what?”
Yusuke nodded, as if this was the most natural conclusion in the world. "A façade. A false embellishment. A fabricated element worn in an attempt to emulate those around me."
Futaba's mouth twitched. "Oh my god—"
Ryuji squinted. "What the hell are you talkin' about, dude?"
Yusuke placed his drink down carefully, eyes half-lidded in thought. "I was young. Impressionable. Insecure about my place in the world. I observed my peers, artists and mentors alike, all of whom spoke in grandiose terms about their muses, their passions, their ceaseless pursuit of beauty." He exhaled. "I did not question it. I simply assumed that was the correct path. That desire must accompany admiration. That an artist must seek intimacy with his subjects. I thought that was what separated the masters from the amateurs."
Ann's face shifted slightly, something unreadable behind her eyes. "So, what? You were just pretending to be obsessed with me?"
"Not pretending," Yusuke corrected. "Merely… misguided. As one might don a mustache to appear more sophisticated, I adorned myself with an imitation of passion."
Ryuji was staring, completely lost. "Okay, but what does that mean?"
"It means," Makoto interjected, rubbing her temples, "that he was acting the way he thought he was supposed to act, not how he actually felt."
"Yes," Yusuke nodded. "Exactly."
Ann leaned back in her seat, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "Huh."
Futaba, meanwhile, had her arms crossed and was grinning way too hard. "Knew it."
Ryuji gawked. "Knew what?!"
Makoto simply shrugged. "Makes sense."
Ryuji turned to Ren, looking for backup. "Dude. You hearing this?"
Ren just shrugged, completely silent.
Yusuke continued, unfazed by the reactions around him. "As I grew, as I explored my art and myself, I came to realize the truth of the matter. My interest was never with women." He lifted his drink again, taking a slow, deliberate sip before finally concluding:
"I am, quite simply, very gay."
Ryuji's brain short-circuited. "WHAT?!"
Ann let out something between a laugh and a disbelieving breath. "Wait, what?!"
Futaba cackled. "I told you all! I knew it!"
Makoto, calmly taking another sip, simply nodded. "Yep."
Ren, however, didn’t say a word. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something—but the words didn’t come.
Ann turned back to Yusuke, narrowing her eyes. "So—all that drama about me being your muse, all that talk about capturing my beauty, the whole 'desperate starving artist' thing—"
"An embarrassing misinterpretation of my own identity," Yusuke admitted. "An adolescent flailing in the dark, trying to grasp something he could not yet comprehend."
Ann scoffed, running a hand through her hair. "Wow. That’s… actually kind of insane."
Ryuji was still struggling to process. "So, hold up—you ain't ever actually been into girls? At all?"
"No," Yusuke said plainly. "I admire beauty, certainly, but in terms of romantic or physical attraction?" He shook his head. "No."
Ren finally blinked, exhaling softly. Something about this had clearly thrown him off.
Ann studied Yusuke for a moment, then let out a breath of her own. "Well, shit. Guess that makes me feel a little better about how weird you were back then."
Yusuke tilted his head. "I feel better as well."
Ryuji finally put two plus two together. "Wait—so like—if you weren’t into Ann, then who were you—?"
"Ryuji, don't start," Makoto warned.
“That is a very unkind question.” Haru agreed with Makoto. And Yusuke smiled at her.
Ren, still quiet, finally reached for his beer, lifting it slowly to his lips. Yusuke’s voice echoed in his mind.
"My interest was never with women."
Something about the way he had said it—so assured, so certain—
He took a slow sip. For the first time that night, he wasn't sure what to say.
Yusuke exhaled, setting his empty glass down. “In any case, I believe we have exhausted the topic of my past misconceptions. Shall we move on?”
Ann, still recovering from the revelation, scoffed. “Oh, no way, we’re not done yet.”
“Yeah, dude,” Ryuji leaned in. “You just dropped a damn bomb on us, and now you’re tryna change the subject?”
Futaba smirked, resting her chin on her hand. “Mmmm… sounds like someone’s hiding something~.”
Yusuke blinked, unfazed. “Hiding what, exactly?”
Ann grinned. “I dunno, maybe the fact that you’ve been living in France—where people are, like, disgustingly romantic—so obviously you’ve had some guy in your life.”
The rest of the group turned to Yusuke expectantly.
Yusuke sighed, tilting his head slightly. “I suppose… there have been men.”
Ryuji nearly choked on his drink. “What—wait—MEN?!”
Futaba cackled. “Oh my god, he said it so casually.”
Ann leaned forward eagerly. “Okay, spill. Details.”
“Ann!” Haru tried to stop her, but Yusuke didn’t seem uncomfortable with the question.
“I fear you expect something scandalous,” Yusuke mused, reaching for his glass again. “But there is little to tell. As you say, the culture in France differs from Japan in many ways. Romance and companionship take on various forms. Artists, in particular, have their own ways of bonding—intellectually, emotionally… and at times, physically.”
Makoto raised an eyebrow. “That sounds… vague.”
Yusuke hummed. “Does it?”
“Yes,” Ann said flatly. “Are you saying you’ve dated guys or just… done stuff?”
Yusuke swirled the remaining wine in his glass, contemplating his response. “Love, as Japan defines it, is often entangled with duty. With obligation. A structured path: dating, engagement, marriage, family.” He gestured vaguely. “My experiences have not followed that script. They were… collaborations, in a sense. Shared moments of artistic passion. Intimacy born from the mutual appreciation of expression, not from an inherent need to own one another.”
Silence.
Then—
“Damn,” Ryuji muttered. “That’s the artsiest way I’ve ever heard someone say, ‘I don’t do relationships.’”
Futaba bursted out laughing.
Yusuke gave him a bemused look. “That is an oversimplification.”
Ann smirked. “So, you’ve been messing around with other artists.”
Yusuke didn’t deny it. “Creative souls often seek connection beyond the confines of societal expectation.”
Makoto exhaled. “You really are a walking artist stereotype.”
“I am an artist.”
Ryuji shook his head, still processing. “Okay, but do you, like… wanna settle down eventually?”
“Guys!” Haru again tried to stop it without results.
Yusuke shrugged. “Perhaps. I have not given it much thought.”
Ann crossed her arms. “But you could, right? Like, legally?”
“Unlike here, yes.” Yusuke tilted his head. “France has allowed same-sex marriage for quite some time. Should I choose to pursue such a path, it is not beyond reach.”
A strange quiet settled over them.
Makoto glanced at her drink. “Tch. Meanwhile, we’re still struggling to get people to acknowledge same-sex partnerships here.”
Ann sighed. “Yeah. Japan’s kinda… way behind.”
Futaba patted Yusuke’s shoulder. “Well, good for you, man. You get to be a French gay artist. That’s like, peak cool.”
Yusuke smiled slightly. “I do appreciate the freedom.”
Ann stretched. “Alright, enough about Yusuke’s artsy bisexual energy—”
“I said gay,” Yusuke corrected.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she waved him off. “Let’s talk about Makoto.”
Makoto blinked. “Excuse me?”
Haru just sighed.
Ann smirked. “Still single?”
Makoto took a slow sip of her beer. “…Yes.”
“Hah! Called it,” Ryuji snorted.
Makoto set her drink down. “And what does that mean?”
Ryuji immediately leaned back. “Nothin’! Nothin’ at all.”
Futaba nudged her. “C’mon, Queen, you’re a badass lawyer, a total powerhouse—zero contenders?”
Makoto exhaled. “I’ve been… busy.”
Ann shook her head. “Girl, it’s been fifteen years.”
“Still busy.”
Ryuji whistled. “Damn. That’s tragic.”
Makoto shot him a look.
Ren chuckled but stayed quiet.
Futaba then turned her gaze on him.
“…Wait. Hold up. I just realized—” She grinned. “We never did ask Ren about his love life.”
Ren raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”
Ann’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god. That’s true. Ren, have you ever—?”
Futaba cut her off. “Wait, before we get into that—” she turned back to Ren, suddenly serious. “You knew, right?”
Ren blinked. “Knew what?”
She tilted her head. “That I had a crush on you back then.”
A pause. Ren hesitated for just a moment too long. “…Oh.”
Ann gasped. “Oh my god, you didn’t?”
Futaba smirked. “Knew it.”
Ren sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… might have been a little oblivious.”
Ryuji snorted. “A little?”
“He did live in his own world sometimes.” Haru said, chuckling a bit.
Futaba waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. I was young, dumb, and socially stunted. But y’know, with everything we went through together, it didn’t take long before I realized—” She nudged his arm. “We’re more like family, huh?”
Ren softened. “…Yeah.”
Futaba grinned. “See? No hard feelings.”
Ann tapped her fingers on the table. “Okay, so Ren never thought about Futaba that way… but what about the rest?”
Ren raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Ann smirked. “Come on—you had to have had some feelings for someone.”
A small silence.
Ren glanced at his drink, knowing that if he did look up, he would make a mistake.
“…I always thought Haru was really pretty,” he admitted.
Haru, who had been quietly enjoying her drink, suddenly looked up. “Huh?”
Ren smiled slightly. “I mean, you are beautiful, Haru. I remember thinking that a lot back then, but I guess with everything going on… it never really came to anything.”
Ryuji groaned. “Aw, come on! You got to talk to Hifumi, Takemi, and Ohya—and none of them worked out, and you’re telling me it was Haru all along?!”
Ren laughed. “What, were you jealous?”
“Yes!” Ryuji said, throwing his hands up. “You got to be all cool and mysterious, hanging out with older women, playing shogi with the most beautiful shogi player in the whole history of Japan, and meanwhile, I—” He pointed at himself. “—was getting bodied in every possible way.”
Futaba snickered. “That’s rough, buddy.”
Ann grinned. “Ren, you really had the biggest harem potential, huh?”
Ren shook his head, amused.
Haru simply sipped her drink, a soft smile on her lips.
Yusuke hummed. “Ren has always possessed an air of mystery, after all. Perhaps, in another timeline, things would have unfolded differently.” he offered.
Ren tilted his head. “…Maybe.” He said, but something in his voice was unreadable.
Ann stretched. “Alright, alright. Enough nostalgia—we need more drinks!”
As the night continued, laughter and conversation filled the small café, the years between them fading into nothing.
After a couple of hours Ryuji was completely gone.
Slumped over the table, he groaned as Ann scrolled through her phone. "God, you’re heavy," she muttered, shifting his arm off her shoulder.
"Not… heavy," Ryuji slurred, waving a limp hand in the air. "Just… dense."
Makoto, who was also visibly drunk, scoffed. "You’ve always been dense, idiot."
Futaba whistled. "Oof. Brutal."
The cab Ann called finally pulled up outside. She exhaled in relief. "Alright, lightweight, time to go." She nudged Ryuji up and supported his weight.
Ryuji groaned. "M’not a lightweight."
"You literally passed out at the table."
Makoto swayed slightly as she stood, then straightened herself with practiced discipline. "I am calling my cab. Separately."
Ann rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."
Haru, ever composed, finished her drink and stood gracefully. "I should head out as well. My driver’s almost here."
One by one, they left.
Makoto, still fuming but stable, gave a firm nod before getting into her cab. Ann helped Ryuji into theirs, shaking her head the entire time.
Haru lingered for a moment, checking her phone before turning to Ren.
"That was unexpected," she mused.
Ren raised an eyebrow. "What was?"
She smiled. "You, saying you found me cute back then."
Ren exhaled a soft chuckle. "Didn’t think it was that surprising."
Haru tilted her head playfully. "Well, back then, you were a delinquent, and my father would’ve had a heart attack if we had dated..."
Ren snorted. "Probably would’ve put a bounty on my head."
She laughed, soft and light. "I have to admit, it’s kind of a funny thought." She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "But, well… it was never really possible, was it?"
Ren’s smile was small but genuine. "No. But maybe it would’ve been fun."
Haru hummed. "Perhaps."
Her driver’s car pulled up outside. She glanced toward the door, then back at Ren with a warm smile. "It was nice hearing that, though. And it was nice seeing everyone again."
Ren nodded. "Yeah. It really was."
Haru gave a small wave before heading out, leaving Ren standing in the quiet street.
Futaba stretched. "Welp, I just have to stumble down the street, so I’m golden."
Yusuke, who had barely touched his drink in the last hour, turned to her. "Would you mind keeping the café open a little longer?"
Futaba blinked. "…Why?"
Yusuke hesitated, but only for a second. "I just… would like to stay."
Futaba studied him, then glanced at Ren, who only offered a small nod of reassurance.
She shrugged. "Fine, fine. But you close up." She tossed the keys toward Ren, who caught them with ease.
With that, Futaba waved lazily and headed home, leaving the two of them alone.
Going back inside, Yusuke didn’t even ask for permission. He simply ascended the stairs as if drawn by something beyond words.
Ren followed, but the moment they reached the top of the stairs, Yusuke came to a halt.
The attic—Ren’s old room—was unrecognizable.
Stacks of boxes, covered furniture, dust gathering in places that once held warmth. It was no longer a place someone lived.
Yusuke exhaled softly, stepping further in. "…It’s changed." He said. “I should’ve expected it.”
Ren rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Sojiro stores things up here now."
Yusuke smiled faintly, though his eyes lingered on the space as if looking for something long lost. "I suppose time spares nothing, does it?"
Ren watched as Yusuke took another step in, brushing his fingers lightly against an old shelf. The air was thick with dust, but beneath it all, traces of their past remained.
Yusuke turned, his expression unreadable. "I had hoped to spend a little more time here, but… it seems impossible now."
Ren glanced around, then started moving boxes, making space. "We can fix that."
Yusuke chuckled. "Ever the problem solver."
Ren shrugged. "We used to stay up here all the time. Might as well make room for one last night."
Yusuke watched him for a moment before sighing. "You really haven’t changed."
Ren smirked. "Can’t say the same for you."
Yusuke raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" he asked, helping Ren push a stack of boxes aside to clear some space.
Ren hesitated, trying to put it into words. “You just… seem different. Not in a bad way. Just—” He gestured vaguely before finally sitting down on the floor. "Something about you feels... softer."
Yusuke exhaled a quiet laugh, his gaze drifting around the room before settling back on Ren. His expression was unguarded, open in a way Ren couldn’t quite place.
"This room holds… a great deal for me," Yusuke admitted. "A lot of memories. A lot of feelings."
Ren stilled slightly.
Yusuke sat on a cleared spot, running his fingers over the floor as if tracing old memories. "I was always grateful to you, you know. You tolerated my eccentricity, my endless requests. You even put up with my artistic blockades." He let out a quiet laugh. "It meant more than you know."
Ren sat across from him. "I didn’t mind. You’re my friend."
Yusuke just smiled at that, nodding to himself. Then, almost absentmindedly, he leaned back slightly.
"…So, out of everyone, it was Haru?"
Ren blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?"
Yusuke’s fingers tapped idly against his knee. "You were popular back then. Not just with classmates, but even with people outside our circle. Maybe it was your nature—quiet but magnetic, someone people wanted to confide in. Even older women were drawn to you." His lips quirked upward, but his tone was unreadable. "I suppose it makes sense, nonetheless. Haru was beautiful. Kind. A warm presence, despite her circumstances."
Ren exhaled, giving a half-smile. "She still is."
Yusuke nodded. "Of course."
A pause.
Then—softly—
"I realize now I never had a chance, even if my understandment of my own feelings had been better."
Ren’s breath caught.
Yusuke wasn’t looking at him, instead studying the floor beneath his hands. There was no dramatics in his voice, no bitterness—just a statement of fact.
Ren parted his lips, but no words came out.
Yusuke smiled faintly, something distant in his expression. "No need to say anything. I already know." His voice was gentle, almost as if he were consoling himself. "I still enjoyed the time we spent together. The places we visited, the conversations we had. Those are still some of my most precious memories."
Ren swallowed. The room felt heavier, the air thick with something unspoken.
Outside, the city hummed—distant, indifferent.
Yusuke exhaled, shifting slightly in his seat. "It’s late. We should go."
Ren looked at him.
Really looked at him.
Yusuke had always been striking. Pretty boy , Ryuji used to call him, with a mix of teasing and begrudging admiration. Ren still remembered the summer festival—the yukata Yusuke wore, how it suited him too well. In a way that made him outshine even Ann in his eyes, but he never entertained those thoughts.
Until now.
Now, in the dim light of this old attic, Ren saw it even more clearly.
Yusuke had changed over the years, but in some ways, he hadn't at all. He was still impossibly beautiful, but there was something else now. Maturity. Experience. Time had traced over his features—his jaw a little sharper, the line of his nose more refined, his eyes carrying the weight of things Ren could only imagine.
While Yusuke had gone abroad, immersed himself in art and passion, Ren had stayed. He had buried everything—his past, his desires—under the structure of normalcy. A teacher’s life. A quiet life.
And yet, here Yusuke was, sitting across from him, reminding him of everything that had been left undone .
The attic felt smaller. The air between them, charged.
Ren reached out before he could stop himself. His fingers ghosted over Yusuke’s wrist, barely touching.
Yusuke blinked, glancing down at the contact, but he didn’t pull away.
Ren swallowed again, trying to pass an invisible knot down.
Yusuke looked at him then, and in that instant, something shifted. Neither of them moved at first. Neither of them spoke. Then, slowly—almost cautiously—Yusuke leaned forward.
Ren mirrored him without thinking.
A breath.
A pause.
And then, the distance closed.
Their lips met, tentative at first—like testing a boundary that had long been waiting to be crossed. Yusuke’s lips were soft but unyielding, tasting faintly of the wine he had been sipping earlier. Ren’s fingers tightened slightly around his wrist, pulling him closer.
Yusuke responded just as naturally, tilting his head, deepening the kiss. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, deliberate—years of silence melting away in a single moment.
When they finally pulled apart, Yusuke exhaled softly, his eyes half-lidded as he studied Ren’s face.
"...I see," he murmured.
Ren swallowed, his heart hammering against his ribs. "See what?"
Yusuke smiled, small but knowing.
"That I was not the only one."
Ren didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.