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Against all odds, the tides had turned in their favor.
Ryuji didn’t want to doubt those odds to begin with, of course. He didn’t even want to think about them, despite the inherent hopelessness of a man-made god being the most powerful entity in existence. To him, all gods were man-made. When authorities couldn’t maintain order, they created something greater (and conveniently unseen) that aligned with them completely.
But Yaldabaoth wasn’t man-made in the sense that he didn’t exist. He very much did. No, this god came to be because humanity wished it so.
The same humanity that repeatedly tried to break his spirits, the spirits of his friends and family, he now fought for. If he’d been told at the beginning that this was how his year would end, he’d have found the notion damn near offensive.
Ryuji stopped being that closed-off cynic months ago, and he wasn’t the only one who changed. The fearsome “God of Control” was nothing more than a can of rusty screws with a fancy voice box. He didn’t have half the omnipotence he once did.
Yusuke echoed his thoughts. “He’s losing,” they whispered. “How comical.”
“Yeah, and he’s throwin’ a massive tantrum ‘bout it, too.”
His girlfriend chuckled. The thieves could be violently thrown back to square one, and Ryuji still would’ve retained the joy of hearing their voice. They were balancing on a tightrope at the end of the world, and all he could think was, “How’d I get so lucky?”
“It won’t take much to defeat him. What do you say to one final performance, my love?”
“You sure that’d even work on this scale?”
“It couldn’t hurt to try.”
“Alright!” Ryuji shouted, altering his teammates. “Leave the rest to us!”
With Ren’s approval, the pair leapt from this plane of existence to the next.
The bar didn’t look any different from the other times they’d manifested it. Same ironic “OPEN” sign, same untouched ingredients, same intimate lighting they refused to address for several months. Ryuji should feel comforted by such familiarity, especially alongside the girl who brought him nothing but comfort. Instead, he found it… unsettling. They hadn’t outrun the storm. They’d only barely breached its eye.
“The usual, please,” Ryuji said, unconvincingly casual.
He couldn’t have taken his mind off their circumstances if he wanted to. For a moment, he thought it would be like one of those apocalyptic action flicks where, despite the death and destruction surrounding them, the two lovestruck leads only focused on each other.
In reality: yeah, no, this shit’s terrifyin’.
“Coming right up.” Yusuke’s hands shook as they poured the broth.
“Hey.” They swallowed. “It’s okay if it ain’t perfect.”
“Win or lose, we will never step foot in this bar again. As such, I cannot serve you a meal that is anything short of perfection.” Their stone-cold stare made his stomach flip. “You deserve perfection, Ryuji. We deserve it, and I intend to smite this false god with the very thing he’d never allow people like us to have.”
Yusuke was right. The Phantom Thieves advocated for free will, but beyond that, their mere existence opposed Yaldabaoth’s ideals. They went about each day in a world that told them to keep their masks on, their heads down, and their mouths shut.
Ryuji lived happily as a boy, but the same people who used down-on-their-luck teens as inspiration fodder preferred he live miserably as a girl. Yusuke lived happily as a girl, but the “protect our children” moguls preferred they live miserably as a boy.
And yet, they didn’t give in. Because above all else, this past year taught Ryuji that the world wasn’t irredeemable; that good would always triumph after tragedy.
Yeesh, I sound hokey. Yusuke’s really rubbin’ off on me, huh?
“Behold!” Yusuke applied the garnish with their usual theatrics, exaggerated movements making up for the fact that they were still shaking a little. “A saucy, zesty, masterpiece!” They pushed the bowl across the table and leaned back to frame the scene with their fingers. “Perfect.”
Despite the destruction surrounding them, the only thing they focused on was him. Woah.
Maybe he’d even get to take a bite this time.
Then the doors slammed open, and Hurricane Yaldabaoth made his grand entrance, sending the garnish to the other side of the room.
Ryuji stood with enough force to knock his stool over. “Get out, dumbass!” he snarled, gun at the ready. Yusuke followed suit.
They unloaded roughly every bullet they’d ever shot and then some, which, for the sheer scale of their opponent, didn’t equate to much damage. Ryuji didn’t expect it to. Ballistics were cool and all (and getting to shoot one-handed without any recoil made him feel like a total badass), but they’d only just begun.
Ryuji whipped out a grenade (the Metaverse really did run on cartoon logic sometimes) and pulled the pin. “Here ya go,” he threw it into Yusuke’s line of fire, “my treat!”
They narrowed their eyes, emitting a faint, concentrated huff before the shaking suddenly subsided. Channeling the physical restraint of a painter and countless visits to Penguin Sniper, they detonated the grenade in their first shot. Though Ryuji couldn’t see through the explosion, he was certain they’d left enough of an impact to prove this false god had a hollow center.
He raised his arm to bump elbows, the way they ended all their Showtimes, and was promptly yanked by the collar into a passionate kiss. As they phased out of the bar, Ryuji felt Yusuke’s grip tighten on the black leather, tail thumping against his leg. Nothing, not even the God of Control himself, could force them apart. Nope. Not yet.
Yaldabaoth stiffened, but didn’t fall. Still, he struggled, however briefly, to reorient himself. Though the Phantom Thieves hadn’t won just yet, they’d never been so close.
If Ryuji could postpone this imperfect world’s end to share one last meal with the love of his life, he could make sure it never ended.