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Ren Amamiya is a man on a mission. Well, if the mission involves raising stats of his hopelessly abysmal alcohol tolerance.
But if there’s one thing he still has in common with high school God-killer Ren with no sense of self-preservation, it’s that absolutely nothing can stand in his way when he sets his mind on something.
He trotted past the usual Friday night crowd of Shinjuku – salarymen ambling on their merry way for a night of debauchery, hosts and hostesses reeling in both tourists and locals like seasoned fishermen, university students scrambling to get to their part-time jobs before their shift begins. Some foreigners trying to find their way to the Golden Gai. A group of policemen were standing at their usual spot near the theater and he instinctively walked faster, hunching his shoulders inward and burying his hands deep into his pockets out of habit.
When he finally settled in Tokyo more than eight years ago, he thought he could visit the places he once frequented as a teenager as many times as he wanted just because he was in the area, Shinjuku being one of them…. places that served as bright spots during his time as a vigilante group’s dashing leader. But it’s actually far from the truth.
When he pointed it out to Goro one time, Goro used the phenomenon of Temporal Discounting, a behavioral tendency where people often devalue an experience or reward since the attraction for it is always accessible. Case in point, Crossroads is just two train stops away from their apartment in Suginami so he has all the time in the world to visit whenever he wants. Because he can, he unconsciously puts off the idea because it’s always going to be there.
Ren himself would rather call it simple adulting. The older you get, the more responsibilities you are saddled with just a limited supply of cash. Ever since he reached the drinking age, Ohya would always bully him into buying Lala-chan’s most expensive wine collection so walking into the Crossroads without any money to spare is like walking into a lion’s den thinking he can escape with his clothes intact.
But today, he had a bit of extra with him thanks to the many odd jobs he had from his connections in Tokyo as extrinsic as the subway rails crawling underneath it. Connections he built as a high school vigilante and now, as a humble owner of a small cafe in one of the hidden crooks of Jimbocho for a good few years now.
Never mind that he had to sacrifice a few years of university for this. He reckoned he already earned more than eight years’ worth of working experience for an entry-level position, counting the time he started working part-time in high school. He’s got more leverage than his peers, well….granted if his future employers somehow overlook the time he spent on probation and in juvie.
“Hey, hey,” Morgana’s head excitedly bobbed from his cross-body bag. “Are we going to the Crossroads?”
“Uh-huh”
“We should probably visit Chihaya’s tent too.” Chihaya had long since retired from the fortune-telling business and an apprentice has taken over. Morgana though is more interested in the new sushi place near the tent than the actual fortune-telling.
“Already did when you were sleeping. The cards didn’t mention any fatty tuna for tonight. Sorry.”
Morgana grumbled and Ren had to stifle a laugh. He really had to cut it with the tuna. Ren boulders and goes to the gym almost every week but his shoulder is already protesting from the weight of the Mona bag.
He arrived at the Crossroads without a minute to spare, breathing in the crisp autumn air. The familiar neon lights set his mind at ease and with a smile, he walked inside expecting to see Ohya perched on the barstool. She’s a bigshot journalist now with numerous awards under her belt for her investigative pieces but her greatest source of achievement is the prize she won for her thoughtful essay on Japan’s nomikai culture and of course, it involved lots of booze.
There’s this popular saying, “When drink goes down, words come up”. Ann used to tell Ren he’s that kind of drunk - the S-type with “S” standing for both Sad and Sloppy. The tiniest sip of alcohol unravels his mysterious and silent mask to reveal an extremely pathetic sap.
To his endless mortification, she’s right. God knows how many times he put his friends in an uncomfortable position when he once tearfully proclaimed how much he loves them with just barely two drinks in or how utterly hopeless he is with Pin-pon-pan just after one round of drinks or how he always loses the Yamanote Line Game to Goro and his colleagues.
But Ren’s also a fan of another proverb, “Fall down seven times, stand up eight.” With Ann back in Japan and Makoto spending her semestral break in Tokyo, the gang’s going to have their next Drink-Off in a week and he absolutely cannot be drunk, at least before Futaba and Yusuke who surprisingly can hold his liquor just fine (“Inari’s always acting drunk so what do we know?”, Futaba sagely concluded). In any case, he’s got to build his alcohol tolerance pronto and there’s only one person drunk and crazy enough who can help him.
Ohya wasn’t in her usual spot when he entered the bar, only Lala-chan with a handful of customers in the bar. A group of men sat by the counter, one of which bearing a familiar hunched figure and a solemn, long face hidden partially by the glint of his glasses. Still, Ren recognized him from anywhere, heart lurching, as the man turned to him.
“Ah Amamiya-kun,” Maruki’s doe-like eyes widened in surprise, and he flashed him a hesitant smile. “It’s been a while.”
“Maruki-sensei,” he breathed out the name and he felt a violent fumble from his bag, no doubt from Morgana recognizing the name.
“Oh hello, honey,” Lala-chan’s buttery voice broke his reverie. “Ohya got called for an emergency assignment, but she’d hurry back as soon as she could. She probably forgot to text you with all the rush, but I shall keep you company in the meantime.”
Ren returned Lala-chan’s greeting and dazedly settled on the barstool before quickly remembering that he hadn’t returned his old therapist’s greeting. “Hello, Sensei,” he managed a small smile.
“Ren?” At this point, Morgana would have usually left him alone like he always does when Ren spends time with his friends and confidants. This time, Ren’s grateful that he didn’t.
He automatically reached for his phone in his pocket but mustered enough willpower to stop himself.
This is turning out to be a long night.
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For two people who were pitted against each other for the fate of the world, he and Goro’s reunion is tragically anti-climactic.
It was five years following the collapse of the fake reality concocted by a well-meaning madman (or as Goro called him, a sickening egoistical moral zealot), five years after Ren caught a glimpse of his wayward rival as a passing phantom on a train window, as nothing more than echoes of caramel hair and eyes the color of burnt umber in his fractured dreams following that miserable winter.
After graduating high school in his backwater hometown, Ren fulfilled the role of an errant son for the last time by “forgetting” to send any university applications, bought a one-way bullet train ride to Tokyo, and soldiered on to become the best damn barista the city has ever seen.
In time, Sojiro advised him to spin off so he could gain experience managing the business if he had no plans to go to college anytime soon. “Might as well learn in the real world,” he told Ren after one particularly busy night when a rowdy group of art students flocked to Leblanc to gush at the “reimagining of the Sayuri”, unaware that the painting right in front of them the real thing.
Thanks to the capital he loaned from Haru, Ren’s project initially started as a streetside cafe near Shibuya. He served as the full-time barista to sustain himself after effectively cutting ties with his parents who, by the way, did not bat an eye when he announced he would finally stay in Tokyo for good.
Months passed and Iwai suddenly told him he had a friend who owned a place in Jimbocho, recently deserted when the owner had to close down shop following a family emergency, and he was offering the place with a great discount. Ren didn’t have to think twice and years later, he still delivered to Iwai his preferred brand of coffee for this big break.
Ren’s project, (or as Futaba initially dubbed as Leblanc-hette) eventually found its home in a basement hole in the wall, just down the block from Jimbocho station. The place saw celebrations like successful college admissions, Ann signing a contract with LEPSIM, a popular clothing brand, and Sumi scoring a gymnastics scholarship, as well as its fair share of slumps when Haru had to close one of her coffee branches in Nagasaki or when they have to comfort Futaba when her middle school friend left Japan for good or commiserate with Mishima in one of his endless string of breakups. The small café that will eventually be known as Crow’s Nest, as true to its nautical origin, serves as the lookout point when a friend needs a shoulder to cry on or a pat on the back or basically a place of refuge to hide away from the world.
Not everything is smooth sailing, though. Following the opening of the cafe, Sojiro had to sit down with Ren for a serious discussion on manpower. Ren couldn’t be the barista all the time as it would surely lead to burnout especially if taking a degree in business management is still on the horizon. At that moment, Yusuke walked into Leblanc with Futaba, eyes immediately turning glassy at the aroma of the curry.
And that’s when he had an idea. Yusuke has already graduated from Kosei, and his name beginning to generate ripples of interest in the art world, but money does not always come easy for a young artist, let alone a young artist who is also an orphan. He’s going to need a transitory job and all the help he can get, pride and dignity intact.
As they gorged on the steaming plate so hot that Futaba’s glasses had to eat with her glasses all fogged up, Ren leaned towards Yusuke, elbows resting on the table and chin on his clasped hands. “How do you like working for Leblanc-hette?”
Futaba cackled so hard she nearly choked on her mouthful of curry but when she saw how serious Ren was, she instantly calmed down. “Oh shit, you’re serious.”
Sojiro looked at Ren, eyes appraising behind his glasses.
“Me, a barista? I must admit, I haven’t thought of doing anything other than art,” Yusuke said, crossing his legs in thoughtful silence.
“Two words,” Ren held out two fingers. And he knew Sojiro was going to kill him for this. “Latte Art.”
And the rest is history. Well, it took a lot of convincing on Sojiro’s part but asking Yusuke to work for him is just a small facet of his plan, a plan that involves recruiting out-of-school youth from institutionalized homes and training them to work for the cafe. Executing this meant months and months of working with organizations and screening hundreds of applicants, regular meetings with social workers, and also dealing with the youth themselves, many of them with troubled pasts. Truth be told, he lost count of how many times he almost gave up on the vision but he had taken riskier gambles before, even at the potential cost of his life.
Thankfully, Sojiro, Haru, and other investors including his more influential confidants like Sae, Zenkichi, and Toranosuke supported his idea. The three years following that had been incredibly frustrating at times but exhilarating at parts that matter. It took another year before he got the whole thing running, registered the cafe under a different name (as charming as LeBlanc-hette is), and made sure the whole thing would not fall apart if he as much as called in sick for a day or dedicate half of the year to university should he finally decide to revive his decaying college dream.
And on one night of February 2nd, when the chilly Tokyo wind nips at his face and the snowflakes dance listlessly before falling into languid puddles, exactly five years after the delivery of the last calling card, the poorest café owner in all of Tokyo (but the best damn barista in town) and founder of the fledgling Crow’s Nest, welcomed his last customer for the day when that same person drawled out the following words:
“Crow’s Nest, huh. I see you’re disgustingly sentimental as always.”
----------------------
It had been eight years since he last saw his therapist(?), enemy(?), foil(?)….the last time being when he helped Ren escape out of Tokyo as an unassuming taxi driver, crisp white gloves gripping the steering wheel as he safely brings Ren to Tokyo station. The very same hands that held a golden staff which nearly drove reality apart.
Ren couldn’t fully grasp how big Tokyo was until he realized that he hadn’t crossed paths with Maruki through the long years he spent here, that is until now. In fact, a small part of him is surprised it hadn’t been sooner.
“Are you a regular here?” he asked as Ren gently laid the Mona bag on the barstool beside him.
“I worked as a part-timer here back in high school and I’m friends with Lala-chan.” As if on cue, Lala-chan slid a glass of Highball cocktail in front of him with a fond, “Here you go, honey. For starters, sweet and fizzy as you like it,” before tending to another customer.
Maruki stared at his drink curiously. “Wouldn’t you start with a beer first?” Upon Ren’s look of confusion, he continued. “Isn’t that what young people would say, ‘Let’s start with a beer!’”
Ren wrinkled his nose. “Sensei, this is a bar, not an Izakaya.”
“Haha, that’s right. My bad.” Maruki chuckled in that self-effacing way of his and suddenly, Ren turned back into his high school self, pockets full of snacks and eating up every single word the therapist said.
“Hey, Takuto. Who’s the kid? Your younger brother or something?” One of Maruki’s companions hollered in a way that made Ren think they’d had one shot too many early into the night.
“He’s one of my former students.” He answered them before flashing Ren a sheepish smile.
“Sorry about them. It’s not every day we drivers get to have a day off…well, sort of. Our agency is on strike, you see…”
Despite himself, Ren smiled back. “I hope you didn’t have anything to do with that.”
He only shrugged. “I may have sent a strongly-worded letter...convinced a person or two.” That’s when he noticed Morgana tensely watching their exchange from the bag. “Ah hello, Morgana-kun. I’m sorry I didn’t see you there. You both look well,” If Maruki noticed that the cat was ready to claw his face, he chose to ignore it.
Morgana only turned his head away, tail puffed and whiskers seemingly crackling like a live wire. Ren tried to kill the tension by clanking his glass against Maruki’s, lazily tipping up his glass and guzzling the high ball half-empty. He welcomed the heat searing his throat, settling into the pit of his belly like tongues of fire and temporarily extinguishing the cold seeping in.
Seemingly unaware of the tension (or rather very much aware of it and trying to diffuse the situation), Lala-chan returned to her place in front of Ren, mascara-lined eyes searching, “Oh, you hadn’t brought Goro with you? Did you guys have a fight?”
Maruki flinched, turning fully to Ren, “Akechi-kun’s alive?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Morgana muttered under his breath, voicing out Ren’s innermost thoughts like a faithful soul-pet…kind of (Wasn’t he born in the Velvet Room and wasn’t the Velvet Room a reflection of Ren’s soul or something?) Slightly buzzed, Ren took another swing of the glass and belatedly realized he hadn’t answered both Lala-chan and Maruki.
“He’s still in his office in Kabukicho meeting with a client. And no, we didn’t fight.” He shot Maruki a meaningful look. “But a fight’s about to break out when he sees you so…”
“Hm?” Lala-chan only raised an inquiring brow, clearly not liking the idea of a potential barfight.
Maruki chuckled mirthlessly. “I’m certainly glad he’s okay, but you’re right. I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“Not that you need to go,” Ren assured him quickly. “Look, your buddies are still enjoying themselves.” While Maruki glanced at his fellow drivers boisterously raising another toast, alcohol in their system now in full swing, Ren gestured at Lala-chan for another glass. A move that didn’t escape Morgana’s sharp eyes.
“Ren…I don’t like this.”
“I’m okay. You’re probably getting bored fussing over me,” He absent-mindedly scratched the cat’s ear. “Why don’t you run off somewhere and be back in thirty minutes?”
“Are you serious? I’m not leaving you with him!”
Ren gratefully accepted the glass Lala-chan placed before him, but before he could touch it, she blocked his hand and fixed him a stern look, “Tell me you will call someone, honey. You know the rules. One drink only before Ohya gets here.”
“I’ll text Goro, I promise,” Ren tried to bat his eyes at Lala-chan but before she could retort, another customer called her attention. He eagerly emptied his second glass for the day in one swing. That hit the spot and he could not help the dopey smile from breaking out his warm face.
“Is there a reason why you’re drinking so much today?” Maruki prodded. “Celebrating something, perhaps?”
“I’m broke,” Ren announced suddenly and Morgana put a paw on his small head in a somewhat feline imitation of a facepalm.
“I…see.” Maruki thought for a moment. “I can pay for your drinks tonight, at the very least.”
“No, no. I don’t mind being broke.” Oh yeah, he can feel it now. He’s always been a lightweight, as Goro would always jeer at him even when he’s no better himself. That’s why he needs Ohya now, not his stupid ex-therapist. “You know, I had this cafe in Jimbocho. Five baristas are running it around the clock. They’re nice kids and two of them are going to college soon. I don’t mind paying them more than I should if that will keep them in school.”
Ren frowned at his empty glass, suddenly aware of the cold blast of the air conditioner. His hand reached out to unbutton the top of his shirt.
“That’s good to hear-”
“I suppose I should be like them.” Ren continued, still scowling at his glass. He enviously looked at the glass that Maruki barely sipped, and the older man hesitantly handed his drink while Lala-chan was not looking. “Yeah, I should be like them. I should be preparing to take over the world or something, without the fake reality thing, no offense.” God, he cannot control his blabbering mouth now but Morgana’s snickers from the bag made him smile because at least someone is enjoying the whole car crash that is Ren Amamiya prattling drunken tirades to another unwitting victim and wanting to bury his head on the sand the morning after.
He should get his phone to text Goro. He really should. But he only tipped Maruki’s drink and grimaced at the earthy hot liquid searing his throat. “‘The hell is this cat piss?”
“Shiso Gin,” Maruki replied dryly. “And I can see that you are spending way too much time Akechi-kun with that language.”
“It’s natural,” Ren hiccupped. “We live together.”
Maruki’s eyes widened only ever so slightly. “Oh, I see.”
“Why are you surprised, Sensei? It’s just like you said, we had a strange relationship. Not that strange when I think about it. Not as strange as a talking cat-”
“I’m not a cat!” says the black cat, jumping on the counter.
“Or the fact that you resurrected my friends’ parents one day or brainwashed Sumi into thinking she’s her sister.” Ren paused, “We met, we became friends, he tried to kill me twice and he died for me twice. And we met again and somehow, everything makes sense.”
“I’m gathering that Akechi-kun is doing well for himself too.”
“He does,” A proud smile graces Ren’s lips. He really shouldn’t tell his former therapist slash nemesis what Goro is up to, it felt like information he should not tell. But the rebellious, gleeful part of him wants Maruki to know that even without him and his life-altering powers, Goro managed to survive out of sheer will, paid the price for his actions just like he always wanted, and put his shit together even with the odds stacked against him. Hell, it took time but he also reached out to Ren on his own terms.
“He’s an assistant for a private investigator in Kabukicho.” With no Lala-chan to give him drinks for now, he had no choice but to drain Maruki’s shitty Shiso, whatever the hell it is. Judging by Maruki’s choice of drinks, the fake reality he’s bound to actualize, had they let him, would eventually suck ass. “We- my friends and I….Not everything is perfect, yeah, but at least we get by. We don’t need you saving us.”
Morgana’s still a cat but he’s healthy; he and Goro managed to bond over their love for expensive sushi.
Ryuji just had secured a job as a training coach in a middle school in Rippongo, renovated his mother’s house, and has been in a serious relationship with a physical therapist for four years now.
Ann’s living the dream of a globe-trotting model and she and Shiho would often travel overseas together.
Yusuke, having retired from his barista stint, is finally getting all the sponsorships he deserves and he was even offered a position as a part-time instructor at an art university in Kyoto.
Makoto eventually let go of her desire to be a police commissioner and decided instead to honor her father in other ways by taking a post-grad degree in comparative politics in Washington, D.C. She had her eyes set on a coveted internship slot at the Kokka Kōan Iinkai National Public Safety Commission which administers the Japanese police force.
Futaba scored a full scholarship to the prestigious Massachusetts Institute of Technology but opted to go to Todai instead because she couldn’t stand the thought of not having to eat Leblanc curry for even a year, let alone four years, and not being able to go to Akihabara whenever she wants (there’s no way she’d let herself be the last person to have her hands the latest Featherman merch).
Haru, despite not holding any position in her father’s company, owned 40% of the stakes of the corporation which had become one of Asia’s largest food brands. She also owns a specialty coffee farm in Yanbaru, Okinawa, and often travels to other farms in Southeast Asia and South America for farm partnerships. Most of the beans for the Crow’s Nest are supplied from her Yanbaru Farm which also employed her father’s former employees. She even founded a scholarship program, the Kopi Foundation, for the children of families that her father had wronged and other troubled youths.
Sumi, of course, made a splash in the world of gymnastics as no one but herself, representing and winning medals for Japan at the Asian Games and World Artistic Gymnastics Championships. Her routine from last year’s competition on floor exercise cost her an ankle injury but she still managed to score a silver medal in the end, also earning her a spot in the qualification round. She’s currently training under the Japan Olympic Association, setting the stage for her Olympic journey.
“I’m glad they are all doing well together.” Maruki nodded to himself. Just as he said that, Lala-chan returned and scrutinized Ren’s face which is probably red as tomato to the tips of his ears.
“One more glass please, Lala-chan,” Ren said in a sing-song voice, waving the empty glasses at her.
She is not impressed. “Have you texted anyone yet?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll watch over him in the meantime,” Maruki assured her. “One more glass for me, please.”
“I have a feeling that the history between the two of you isn’t pretty so why should I leave him in your hands?” Lala-chan poured Maruki his drink and reluctantly placed it in front of him.
Ren tried to wave her worries away. “It’s fine. It’s fine, Lala-chan. I just need to ask him something.”
Lala-chan just sighed and only walked away with a shake of her head, knowing full well that Ren would get what he wanted in the end.
Morgana, on the other hand, is fed up and does not want to give up. “Fine, I’ll go fetch Goro if you insist on being this stupid,” Then he jumped to the floor and skittered away outside.
Maruki watched him scurry away before focusing his attention back on Ren. “What is it you want to ask me?”
Ren finished Maruki’s glass, the bitter aftertaste spurring him to finally ask, “Is this real?”
Maruki blinked at him, “I don’t understand…”
Ren slammed his palm against the table, not loud enough to catch Lala-chan’s attention but enough to make Maruki jump. “You have nothing to do with this, right? We defeated you. The Metaverse is gone. You don’t have any power anymore. We don’t have our Personas anymore”
But what if the actualization is also like that? What if Maruki led them to believe he doesn’t have powers anymore, that they don’t have powers anymore, to lull them into thinking that they won…
His lizard brain tells him, since five years ago when Goro returned to him, that what if, what if this isn’t real. They’re stuck in some kind of near-perfect reality and become puppets to an enemy who fooled them into defeating him, not knowing any better.
It is possible. Despite the heat coursing through his veins, his stomach felt cold.
“Amamiya-kun..” Maruki started to say.
Shit, Ren can’t think straight anymore. His tongue felt loose, but his chest was tightening.
There are shitty parts and bumpy headstarts, but he loves his life right now. Weekdays are usually filled with the aroma of roasted coffee beans and stewing curry and customers coming to the Crow’s Nest carry with them the smell of the city. Saturday mornings are usually spent lazily draped over Goro on their couch watching whodunnit foreign movies with Morgana loafed on the backrest as the three of them argue over the real suspect (Goro usually wins and Morgana just smugly reminds him how he got plenty of experience so he ought to know or bring up the pancake moment when the first hint of the suspect comes into play). Sunday mornings are spent in the gym or just walking outside, sometimes traveling to nearby prefectures to hunt for some good coffee in the fringes of the city and eventually retreating to the dim lights of the Crow’s Nest or Leblanc, should Sojiro ask for help manning the store.
Happiness is seeing his friends regularly in various parts of Tokyo, having a vacation at least once a year in a camper van that was upgraded to accommodate Sae and some of their older friends (if he managed Goro to come with, he would just drop by for a night or two) Their relationship with Goro is tenuous at times but at least he can stay in one room with them for one night without a fight breaking out or someone walking out. He’s even in some of their chat groups.
“Everything’s too good to be true,” Ren rasped out, unfurling the layers of dread he kept in his chest for a long time as he met Maruki’s gaze. “Not everything’s perfect. I mean, I still can’t stand the sight of needles. Morgana’s still a cat, Yusuke still gets depressed in the middle of an art block, Ryuji’s knee still hasn’t fully healed, and Goro sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night in cold sweat but…we’re all okay. I’m happy. I had him back. But I need you to look me in the eye and tell me if you had something to do with that.”
Maruki remained silent so Ren hastily continued, fearful of the implication that silence means yes. “He couldn’t exactly remember how he survived the collapse of the ship. He remembered being hit by the bullet, Sensei. He bled out. Then, nothing. Did he die? When I…I defeated you, I asked Lavenza about what happened to him and she only said everything will return as it should be.” Had Maruki even known about Lavenza? Ren isn’t so sure…
Have your regrets begun?
He didn’t regret choosing reality. Even knowing the price. He chose to hope instead, foolish as it was. The first years were spent on hoping, then mourning, and the last few years before the reunion were spent in limbo between hoping and healing. He thought he honored him well with the Crow’s Nest and reached out to others who were in the same situation, helping them to make a life for themselves without having to dance to the tune of shitty adults.
Goro returned and all those years of hoping finally paid off.
Still…
Despite being inebriated, he snatched Maruki’s glass from his hand with the practiced ease of a thief and chugged down the offensive drink.
“Sensei, if you had something to do with this,” he choked out, “It would really suck. And I’ll hate you so much. I don’t want to hate you but I’ll hate you. I’ll hate you forever.”
Ren wiped his mouth, feeling his eyes water not from the alcohol but from something else. Oh shit, here we go. “But the stupid thing is, my choice would still be the same. I’d still throw you that stupid calling card and do the right thing. Right here, right now. It would suck….” It would destroy him. “But I’ll still let everything go. If the real Goro is alive and could be happy somewhere as his real self, without me, I’d accept that.” Even if it hurts. Shit, it would hurt so much.
I’m not going to be like you. He almost said.
Ren slumped to the desk, burying his face in his arms before he could allow Maruki to see his tears fall. It’s not fair, he thought, angry with himself. Why couldn’t he just hold it all in? All that stupid bar-hopping Ryuji dragged him and Ohya’s impromptu drink-offs should’ve built his alcohol tolerance by now.
For a long moment, only the gentle retro music of the Crossroads and distant laughs of other patrons filled the charged silence between them.
“I’m so sorry for causing you this pain. Honestly, I should have expected that seeing me again would cause you pain.” Maruki quietly said, grasping Ren’s shoulder. “You have to understand, this is the reality you and your friends fought for. I have nothing to do with what came after. Your friends overcome their desires with their own strength. Frankly, if it were my reality, you wouldn’t be in juvie…and I would erase some of your memories. But you did defeat me and it’s as real as you and me conversing in this bar. In fact, if it were my own reality, I wouldn’t be in this bar at this very moment…..I’d probably be home with Rumi taking care of our kids.”
Ren can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket but he’s too drunk and too tired to even care. He reached the last stop of Amamiya’s trainwreck of drunkenness. He’s just glad that Ohya isn’t here to laugh at him, Morgana to silently judge him, and his friends to discover that when it matters the most, he’s not the unflappable leader they think he is. He’s vaguely aware of Maruki’s gentle voice, the palm circling on his back and the blast of outside air as the door opened, followed by a familiar voice tinged with venom.
“Stay the fuck away from him.”
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Ren woke up to the hideously bright stream of sunlight through the living room windows and to the hushed arguing of familiar voices, followed by the clattering of plates and the sizzling of oil hitting the surface of the pan.
“Cat, if you don’t get off the counter, I swear–”
“Use a non-stick pan for the eggs! What are you doing?”
“What the hell is the difference?”
“Gah, this is why you’re not allowed in the kitchen!”
Ren groaned out loud. As much as he loved waking up to the voices of the two people (one person and a cat) who meant the world to him, each sound seemed to drill holes into his skull. He heard quick movements and when he blearily opened his eyes, Morgana’s stretching on the table in front of him.
“Finally, you’re awake.”
Ren didn’t need to ask what happened to him, but he still croaked out the question like a moron. “What happened?”
“The same thing that happens when you become drunk,” Morgana deadpanned. “Trouble.”
“Shit, what time is it?” Ren tried to sit up but nearly gagged at the bile rising from his throat which felt like he swallowed a mouthful of cottons. Did he spend the rest of last night vomiting his guts out on the toilet bowl again?
Goro’s gonna kill him. Again. As if on cue, he heard footsteps on his right and Ren forced himself to sit to at least have a semblance of dignity as he steeled himself to endure a round of verbal lashing.
“Back from the dead, I see,” At least Goro had the sense to lower his voice but Ren could sense the underlying tension in his voice, calm like an impending storm. Ren might as well be walking on thin ice hearing it. His boyfriend placed a steaming cup of peppermint and Ukon No Chikara turmeric drink on the table beside Morgana. “I heard you had an interesting time at the Crossroads last night.”
Ren rubbed his temples and licked his chapped lips before speaking. “Can we just pretend that the interesting time was just me trying out Lala-chan’s kimono and not being shitfaced in front of my former therapist instead?”
Typical of Goro not to show any mercy, even to a guy with a hangover, “Certainly not.”
At that point, Morgana is wise enough to sense that this is a conversation he shouldn’t be in. “I’m gonna go for a walk and leave you to guys to whatever this is but I’m expecting an edible meal when I get back…and by edible, it should be something prepared by Ren and Ren alone, okay?”
Still not looking at either of them, Ren waved Morgana away at the same time Goro dismissed him with a “Don’t die out there.”
Then, Morgana is gone and Ren finally mustered enough strength to look up, words of apology falling from his mouth in a rush. “Goro, I’m sorry. I was supposed to text you, I swear but-”
He got a good look at Goro’s face and stopped.
So this was what Morgana meant as trouble.
Even with a purple bruise blooming his right cheek, and a pink Band-Aid plastered on the bridge of his nose, Goro somehow managed to look and act as though the very sight of Ren offended him.
“What happened? Did you get into a fight?” Though this is nothing new; Goro would sometimes come home sporting a broken lip or a black eye after handling uncooperative suspects or clients freaking out. Ren still worries, though. Of course, he does. This is Goro’s second shot at life and he seemed to regard his safety as brazenly as Ren handles major life decisions nowadays.
As usual, Goro brushed his worries away in that brusque manner of his, strangely similar to how his Detective Prince used to brush aside any compliment the interviewers would shower him with a saccharine laugh. “This is nothing and don’t change the subject.”
“Was it Maruki?” Ren gestured at his cheek.
Goro only sneered. “Please. You brawled with him years ago. You think he’d punch this hard?” Without waiting for Ren to answer, Goro instead placed the cup of tea in his hands which Ren gingerly took and sipped, closing his eyes at the taste of hot peppermint.
When he opened them, Goro was sitting on the table, legs crossed in front of him. Waiting.
So Ren had to start all over again. The tea helped and he is finally able to string coherent words together. “Sorry again for getting carried away and for not calling you. I just need to settle something with him last night.”
Goro nodded slowly and sighed. “A book lives as long as it is unfathomed. Once it is fathomed, it dies at once. Your feelings about what the bastard did to you and to your friends are complicated. While I may not agree with what you did, I suppose you need to do it so you can finally close that chapter in your life.”
The real Goro is a real nerd when it comes to big words and quotes from obscure writers, but unlike his 18-year-old vengeful self who was full of shit, nowadays he mostly spews out a seemingly endless stream of words to fill Ren’s contemplative silence with rationalizations. Talking out of his ass is a huge part of his thinking process. “‘Guess so.”
“What is it exactly that you two talked about that’s enough to get you wasted?” he leaned close and Ren could see the dark bags under his eyes, more bloodshot than his natural garnet ones. Probably stayed up all night so Ren wouldn’t vomit on the nice couch they just bought last week. “Or you decided to get wasted because he was prattling the night away with his megalomaniac bullshit and instead of walking away like any sane man would, you decided to just endure it.”
Ren finished the tea and placed it on the saucer. His head is still throbbing like crazy but after what Goro did to save him, fetching him last night, hauling his drunk ass back home, and trying to make breakfast for him, he at least deserved some explanation. “At first, I really did want to talk to him…catch up on things…like a nomikai with an old friend, but in the end, I wanted to confirm something,” he looked Goro in the eye. “I want to confirm if we really defeated him.”
Goro's eyes narrowed so Ren explained lamely. “....If this reality is not a form of actualization bubble of some sort, y’know.”
“We don’t have our powers anymore and neither does he.”
“I was drunk out of my mind. All sorts of thoughts cross my mind,” Ren shrugged.
“And why the hell did that particular thought cross your mind, Ren?”
He zoomed in on one particular memory, under the cold dark room deep underground, with Sae’s voice growing sharper and more impatient at how his story as the high school leader of a supernatural vigilante group kept getting more incredulous. But just like last time, he’ll stick with the truth and nothing less.
“Because I couldn’t ask for a life better than this,” he simply said. “ Yeah, not everything’s perfect, but I’m perfectly happy. There’s no place I’d rather be.”
“You–-” Goro was at a loss for a moment. Two years of living together and Ren still finds it so damn cute how he can get so flustered so easily, well, flustered easily by Ren. With a long-suffering sigh, he cradled his forehead on his left hand and raked his fingers on his thick, ruffled hair. “That’s the stupidest fucking reason I’ve ever heard…“
“Drunk out of my mind, remember?”
“When you say it like that, you also implied that I couldn’t have survived without him and it’s downright insulting.”
“For the record, I honestly believe you survived. You promised me a rematch.” Ren shyly twirled the fringes of his hair, unable to fight the dumb smile off his face. “But I wasn’t so sure we’d have a literal, physical rematch. I was half convinced that after doing what you have to do to help me get out of juvie, you’d rather have nothing to do with me anymore and forget everything that has happened. Live the life you deserve or do whatever it takes to get yourself arrested. I would hardly blame you for doing either.”
Not the life set by a God who arbitrarily pits people against each other and reshapes the world. Certainly not the reality chosen by a self-righteous madman who enabled people to reshape the world according to their own selfish desires.
Goro curiously peeked at him through the fingers cradling his hand. He looked more tired than Ren felt. Goro would always quip that every time he hears an “asinine” theory from Ren, his life gets shorter by five years and Ren couldn’t help but wonder if this is actually not far from the truth. “Indulge me, how will we exactly have a rematch if I don’t show myself to you?”
A moment of lucid reprieve from his thrumming head allowed Ren to think. “Well, we will continue to lead our own lives and maybe decades from now, probably when we both have gray hairs and I’m probably broke as I am now, you’d track me down. You’d send me a letter saying you lived and you would be boasting how you had this mansion perched on a cliff in some sunny part of the world, having a net worth of millions and a partner who makes better coffee and has better hair. It ends with a ‘PS Joker, I paid my dues and my bastard of a father is rotting in the ground. My life is infinitely better than yours. I win!’”
Ren’s heart soared a little at Goro’s barely contained-snort of laughter. “Not exactly my style, but the image is rather tempting.”
“Or maybe when I die earlier than you, you’d come to visit my grave and declare, ‘I win this rematch!’” Ren tried to sound smug saying the last part, but when he noticed a dark cloud passing over Goro’s features, Ren only managed a sheepish laugh. Nearly a decade ago, Goro merely saw his death as a stepping stone on a wall he built for himself, nothing but a Volume on an intricate wall of grooves and crimps of a doomed plan to take down his father. “Sorry, too dark. But you do get what I’m saying?”
Just like always, Goro only accepted his apology with a dismissive grunt. “It’s a good thing that I decided to meet you before you get your idiotic self killed then.”
“Yeah, a good thing,” Ren echoed with a smile. Suddenly, there’s a lump in his throat and it’s not bile. “Thank you for choosing to honor this rematch with me.” He straightened his shoulders and bowed deeply, excruciating headache be damned. For returning to me, even when you don’t have to. For staying, even if in the beginning you didn’t mean to.
He sensed Goro stand up and walk closer to him, so he expected to be smacked lightly on his forehead whenever he “spews out sentimental nonsense” but he felt a warm hand on his head instead. “Idiot, between the two of us, I should be logically the one questioning the absurd mundanity of all of this and going after Maruki to demand the truth.”
Ren tilted his head at him as he loosely held his boyfriend’s hips. “Hm?”
“How many people in the world would be crazy enough to forgive, let alone shack up with the man who not only planned their murder but executed it? If my plan pushed through, neither of us would be here.”
“Well, good thing I’m a wildcard with badass friends then,” Ren replied with a cheeky grin, “And my would-be murderer happened to be a lone teenager with a dorky attaché case who just can’t leave pancakes alone.”
Rolling his eyes, Goro lightly pushed his head back. “Better get rid of that hangover soon before I’ve half a mind to plan another murder.” He said, walking back to the kitchen. Of course, only the damn bastard can manage to sound affectionate saying it.
Just as Ren sipped the rest of the peppermint tea, he checked his phone for the notifications since last night, comprising of eight missed calls from Goro, a message from Lala-chan asking if he was still alive and one from Ohya who apparently just happened to arrive at the Crossroads probably a few minutes after he passed out and the whole place descended into chaos.
She sent him a cheeky selfie inside the Crossroads from last night - the aftermath of the skirmish with Maruki sitting beside an upturned table surrounded by his colleagues, nursing an icepack on his cheek and busted lip, his right eye sporting the purple beginnings of a black eye. Still, he managed to flash his trademark self-deprecating smile at the camera. The same smile he gave Ren when the two of them were trading blows eight years ago as the fake reality crumbled around them.
Ohya:
You guys are lucky your sensei won’t be pressing charges. But damn, your twink of a man is hella strong. You still owe Lala-chan money and clean-up duty.
Ohya:
Really got to train you to handle your liquor though so let’s meet soon. Drinks on me.
Ren typed in a quick thanks with the next date that he’s free, forwarded the picture to the private chat with Goro for shits and giggles, and despite the incessant throbbing of his head, pulled himself up from the couch to go to the kitchen before Goro sets the whole thing on fire.
In a perfect reality where he doesn’t have the Crow’s Nest, where his friends can always be in Tokyo all at once, where his parents would occasionally talk to him and he can introduce to them a Goro whose face does not harbor the shadows of his past, Ren probably wouldn’t suffer something as inane as hangovers. Choosing that fake reality would have been so easy at that time and he couldn’t deny it even until now.
That’s why he is so thankful to his high school self, the leader of the downtrodden group of teenage vigilantes that rattled Tokyo to the core, the same guy who pranced and climbed metaphysical buildings and castle walls with nothing but a grappling hook in his hand and the propensity to show off at every chance he got.
After all, that guy had a knack for making the right choice when it mattered.