Count it. We're actually continuing on the 29th. You know why? Because I'm awesome and managed to drag myself to catch the doctor right when she was leaving her clinic.

  Is anyone lost? Feeling that we're doing too fast? Forgetting where things are, why I initially panicked and threw my bike up there? Imagine how I was. Nobody was there to give me reminders. You know the saying when it rains, it pours? I'm just warning you now. This isn't exactly public knowledge because—duh! I'm sure that even the most ignorant of you guys here have an idea of the general timeline though. If you've been paying attention, you would notice that there's a few discrepancies with how stuff has happened. That's why I'm warning you. Things are going to start getting hectic to the point where you're going to wonder if I'm making this up.

  But all of this, no matter what you want me to swear on, is the full truth. I promised to tell the full truth and I can say for certain that the next series of events genuinely took place over about the span of two weeks. Okay? Okay. You're all saying okay but you're going to be changing your tune when we're through.

  The doctor treated me like I was made of porcelain, porcelain that was wrapped in paper at least considering that she continuously had me twisting to and fro to figure out how I got these indents into my skin. I was shirtless and got to admire how much leaner I've looked since coming to Tokyo. It made me convinced to continue doing the low level exercises in my room. I'd be like those images of muscular guys on their itty bitty laptops.

  She poked an indent in a certain way that made me wince.

  "How are these shaped like this?" she muttered to herself.

  I already had her pegged as a pretty alright person. She figured out that I was a bit wild and wouldn't leave me hanging when I looked like I was spat out by a garbage compactor. Going incognito made it so I had to pay for my own treatment, but I'm pretty sure that she lowballed those numbers. Spend money to make money. I didn't get a full treatment because "I heal fast". Even with installments to pay her, I was broke again.

  Let's go over the bill of health: a ring of holes punched into my shoulder, a ring of holes punched into one of my arms, my spine twisted in a way that it wasn't supposed to be, an inflamed back, burns on all my extremities, one of my eyebrows being partially sliced through, gunk poured into my wounds, and a dizzying amount of scratches and bruises. I was initially going to sleep all of this off until my lower back felt like it had exploded in three different pieces. Trying to walk without holding the wall became impossible and I'm not exaggerating there. I had a real worry that I was genuinely paralyzed when I sat down on the patient's chair. The drugs helped with that. Just a few pulls and an extreme amount of swelling that made it hard twisting around.

  Picking myself up felt impossible. The same hands that had been wrapping everything got me standing.

  "Don't have a cane to give you, so you'll have to make do with me," she said.

  "Ehe, a woman hanging off my arms. Hehe, my favorite," I said. It was meant to be a joke. But the delivery sucked. So it wasn't funny. My mouth puckered in a way I hoped was apologetic. "Sorry."

  "I can call Sakura-san and have him cart you back home instead."

  "Sorry, ma'am."

  She stuck around to see me getting chewed out by Sojiro. I'm pretty sure the only reason that I was let off easy is because I promised to go to school the next day. Checking back with doc got a nod. I was in the clear.

  The next morning I was looking at myself through my phone's camera. I was intending to check myself over for any injuries that could be hidden. There were way more injuries everywhere than normal. Putting bandaids over them looked worse so I ripped them all off. Only one over the bridge of my nose was kept because of one that nearly looked like a pimple. My bike was longingly glanced at as I went down the stairs. I bought a drink on the way over and chugged it.

  Suddenly there was more space between me and the normal populace. Even the teachers were giving me strange looks, with the principal catching sight of me and making a sudden turn. I'm pretty sure the only reason that I was still in school was because of the Kamoshida deal ruffling their feathers so badly. I've literally missed multiple days and then came in looking like rebar had been introduced to my face, come on. In their eyes I probably had a single bad day before every parked car's tires were slashed, windows smashed, penises chopped.

  School was a good thing because it gave me an environment to really focus on the broader picture, like how you put on a video in the background when you were doing something else. Things had gotten complicated, to say the least. There was a person in Mementos with an incriminating piece of evidence. There was yet another piece of incriminating evidence in my room. None of the culprits I could think of made sense. Neither the weird little cat guy, Jose, or the twins seemed like they had a reason to take the painting, and I wasn't even sure if the cat guy could even enter Mementos. I was under no illusion that I had a full view of the supernatural situation either. More monsters, people, and whatever could be lurking around the dark corners of our reality. It annoyed me thinking about it. If a single human had supernatural powers, then it followed that there were more. If there was a single dimension that humans couldn't access normally, then it followed that there could be more. If any single part of the supernatural was real, then it followed that there was more out there, and it was proven by the fortune teller too. Actual Youkai? Gods? God? What if Dragon Ball Budokai (specifically Budokai) is actually nonfiction!?

  Thinking about that ate away the day. We escalated way too much. We started with letters in my locker and then evolved into bowing in the hallway.

  "Thank you very much for saving me from the man that was attempting to assault me. Everyone else was trying to ignore it whereas you stepped up and stopped him. I know that it had taken a long time but I was gathering the courage to say thank you—so thank you! Thank you very much."

  People were staring because of course they were because the school darling was doing a pretty deep bow to me. Let me also make this clear: I'm not socially adept. I'm the plague on the school. And because of that, I'm just guessing that she's a school darling. She has the make of one. Skinny near the point that it looks unhealthy. Healthy hair and the like. And as I was learning, the idiot didn't have enough pride to keep herself from disgracing herself like she was.

  I didn't want to know what people were talking about so I closed my ears to it. This whole situation was morbidly embarrassing enough without knowing what people were saying.

  Did I make it better or worse by grabbing her wrist and dragging her away? The inner awkward guy within me says that it was fine so we could have a conversation without the same prying ears. The bigger awkward guy within me was saying that's literally the worst thing that I could've done but my hand was already on her skin which means that the damage had already been done. We went to the rooftop. Horrible idea.

  Standing across from her gave me the feeling that I wasn't sure how to handle this girl who was smiling in a self-satisfied way. That satisfaction nearly had me wish that it hadn't gone along with her plan. Maybe someone should've dragged her away or maybe I should've ignored her. It doesn't matter that it was mainly herself who had something to lose. Another person getting a leg over me kind of pissed me off on principle. But I wasn't that much of an asshole. Rubbing my forehead alleviated some of the tension building up there from my sheer obstinance. I didn't remember being this stubborn before Tokyo.

  "What's wrong with you?" I asked, trying and failing not to sound as though I were accusing her.

  She took it in stride though. There was a difference within a single day and I had no idea where it came from. That kind of annoyed me.

  "You were worried about me being authentic." She did a curtsy. "Are you still worried?"

  "I'm worried about other things now. Just, ugh." I rubbed my forehead fiercely. "Fuck, fine! I accept your thank you! I was an ass yesterday but I was an ass that had places—no, I'm in the wrong. I should've accepted your apology instead of whatever the fuck I did. You didn't do all this as a complicated way to get back at me, did you?"

  The slight head tilt that she did was at that angle where I was reminded of a dog. "I was prepared for you to gloat, actually. Why didn't you? I thought that you were worried about your own standing and that's why you wanted a public apology."

  "I'm not 'worried' about my own standing."

  It was the most emotion that she showed with the confusion that played across her eyebrows. There was a bit of a glassy-eyed fog to her that made it hard to discern what she was exactly thinking. I'm not going to imply that she's emotionless because remembering that look she'd given me the day before kind of broke my heart with a bit more context. Just that there were clearly nuances that were lost on me.

  "Then what was the problem?" she asked.

  Some of Maruki's words came to mind. Didn't think that the therapist would do anything except be a drag to my life: something about not assuming that your mindset is immediately known to anyone unless you're straightforward about it. Immediately assuming the worst of people would be the longest-term harm that my shitty school year could give me. Deep breath, don't snap, bring a little of that confidence from the Metaverse.

  "Urgh. Look, I don't really think the best of people right now. I'm half-expecting some kind of prank crew coming out about and saying that you pranked me super hard. S'why I like things outside of school because I don't have to think about that bullshit. Or that I helped enough that you felt forced to apologize. Or—look, it's stupid," I said.

  She looked incredulous, like I was the weird one for feeling that way. I could be saying that because of the aforementioned trust issues.

  "So you don't trust anyone?"

  "Didn't say that. Here at school though? Those times that we saw each other in front of the therapist's office, you looked like I was about to shank you."

  She genuinely had a drag to her words like it pained her to admit it. "No, you're right. It was only because I asked Dr. Maruki that I gained the courage to talk to you. I was too afraid to actually approach you because…do I have to say it? It's embarrassing thinking that I actually believed in that. Apologizing to you in front of a crowd came from a friend though; well, she didn't say to do exactly that, but she gave me the idea. Hehe! I actually met her yesterday because I was up here!"

  That doesn't sound like a friend to me, but what do I know? I'm the asshole who probably made a nice girl cry. Then I got my comeuppance by my shoulder being eaten.

  "I think I should curse these people for giving you the idea," I grumbled.

  The giggle that came out was good-natured enough that I stopped feeling so angry. Whatever. She's the one who embarrassed herself. Wouldn't stop me from continuously feeling second-hand embarrassment months later, but it was enough for me to bounce back on my previous high.

  "Please don't! They're very kind people!"

  "Uh huh." Slightly pivoting so that I was starting to face away from her, I said, "so we good?"

  "Please tell me your full name. I'm Yoshizawa Kasumi."

  "Kurusu Akira. Though it should be you doing me the favor—ah, whatever."

  Freed from that obligation, I could get along with my day. First things first, I bought a roll of tape and a thin string. It was weak enough that just pushing past an unrolled part of it would cut through without any give. The twins were waiting in front of the door, curiously watching as I set up my trap at the foot of every escalator. The tape was specifically not too reflective so it blended into the railing. The strings were so thin that they were really only visible if you were looking for them.

  Killing two birds with one stone, I walked up to the door and opened it without talking to the twins. Why would I? They're annoying.

  The Velvet Room hadn't changed since last time. I wasn't sure if it could. Once again there was some kind of metaphysical juju going on in the background that I couldn't understand. I pressed against the bars, relieved as the pain washed away into numbness. Not sure exactly what that meant. I was saying that a lot. It's not the confident kind of thing that you got Zhang Qian saying, who I'd imagine was standing at the ridge of his wagon above the endless desert with his head held high, men rallied behind him as he said something wise, so wise that it's a 'saying'. Unfortunately I was a weak and squishy modern kid whose greatest adversity before this was my no death Dark Souls run (or running from the Reaper, or beating Kamoshida, but those really weren't nearly as hard). All the wise aphorisms I have are stolen. "If a ruler sets himself right, then he will be followed." I like this one because it explains why I don't follow anybody.

  It actually took me a bit to speak. I had to think about the question that I wanted to ask. The man was a bit like a genie, who'd give me a straight answer to a question that had no loopholes in it and otherwise would watch me burn in hell while laughing. It was hard exactly putting a pin in the question that I felt may have been right but had no real way to verify. Only a hint after defeating Madarame had given me the idea that wouldn't settle.

  Eventually I decided to put it as I did with all the rest of my stupid questions: stupidly.

  "Do my Personas level up?"

  He tilted his head slightly. The deep voice that rumbled out was creepy as ever. It leaked between his teeth that barely parted, around his lips that had the wrinkles folded over in immutable ways.

  "While the process is more intricate than the 'leveling up' that happens in your games, it would be apt to say that your Persona grow the more that they experience. Whether that be trials in your everyday life or within the Metaverse, they will experience it alongside you."

  "Cool. Okay. See you, I guess."

  The grin didn't fade when I was leaving. Nothing about him moved. The strangeness of everything there aside, it was just hard to trust a guy who didn't react. It was like his emotions were heaped onto the twins to handle.

  I thought about the implications of what he said while stepping over my trap and walking back home. I felt that there was a surge of something that only became evident when pain and panic weren't the first things that I had on the mind. Personas get stronger like I was playing a video game. They got XP. Bicorn got stronger because I just beat a boss. Does anyone not understand what situation that I was in!? Life could be reduced to grinding! See, I just came out of a museum-themed palace, so I was more informed with the whole way that art was made, and I could say that art reflected reality; in this way, RPGs were made off the real world with their leveling bars and increased stats. I got better at making custom bouquets at my flower job the more time that I put into it. I got smarter when doing more homework.

  Except these aren't real examples, not really things that happen because it simplifies it down so that it's no longer accurate. Defeating shadows and becoming stronger is exactly video game speak. Something being reduced down like this wasn't common. When it does happen it's wonderfully refreshing.

  I had experience with this! Kill the same type of shadow a thousand times, make my Personas stronger, and next time I wouldn't be ripped into like a prime rib! Since my life wasn't a video game, it was just extremely lucky that I tripped into an easier palace rather than falling into Madarame's. Without the cat's help I wouldn't have even found out what cognition meant either. C'est la vie, y'know? Point is that my actual job description could be flower picking with a side of grinding. Find a point when the shadows were becoming hard for me to fight. Find a shadow that my Personas wouldn't have an issue with. Rinse and repeat until I was ready to go pick flowers on the next floor. Stronger shadows so far seemed to drop more money on death. Perfect! So perfect that I was nearly tempted to do that instead of tackling the next palace. Irresponsible. Until I was standing inside it again, with my level boost, I wouldn't know if the shadows were too strong for me.

  I stopped by the palace with that in mind. Still had the scary presence that felt a little less scary. Didn't have inspiration for how to break the locked room puzzle. I poured a bunch of healing into myself. I left. I walked around. I shared a drink with one of my homeless friends. Excited, I shared that I heard a famous art guy had actually plagiarized all his work and got him to laugh. I bought my next decoration and then went home. Freshly brewed coffee was served to a new customer I didn't recognize. Sojiro gave me another stink eye and made some snippy comment about getting myself brutally injured again which, fair.

  On my windowsill joined a sword fern next to my cactus. This guy is awesome. He's obviously not nearly as low-maintenance as the cactus, but has enough requirements that it's fun rather than exhausting. Its planty bits stick out from the soil in fun arcs that'll eventually turn bushesque with enough care. Each of the individual ferns have a bit of space between the leaves which gives the whole plant a much more dynamic feeling than a simple cactus. On days when I crack open my window, it ruffles about with enough movement to supplant a whole forest that could be outside. With enough weight it droops down like dreads. At those times I'll cut it so that the plant continues flaring upwards like the tip of a tree. I love you, sword fern.

  With the rest of the day to myself, I counted the money that I made during the heist. Final number: indeterminate. Bunch of stuff that I'd scrounged up that looked valuable but I wasn't sure if I wanted to try selling them. The portrait, ex-treasure, couldn't be sold. It didn't match the actual Sayuri—the woman's soft expression focused on a baby cradled in her arms, a little bundle of softness emitting a gentle light into her bosom—which meant that it was useless. I leaned it against the wall and sat on my couch. I looked at it for a really long time. I still didn't really like art but it was nice, I guess. But I wasn't sure what to do with it. Way too similar to the actual painting for people to make connections. As much as I wanted to pretend that my room was private, it really wasn't. Having a probation officer and being connected to a business necessarily meant that it wasn't private at all. I left it leaning. I watched it as I fell asleep.

  Waking up in the morning usually didn't have me look into a mirror. My day started off shit by opening the camera function on my phone to see how far the healing had gone. I was mostly okay except for a blemish. A new scar. It was tiny but ugly. A little thunderbolt scratched across my cheek. It didn't add character like it was supposed to. Instead I saw myself in the mirror and had a little fleshy mass growing out. It could've been from anywhere. The explosion, the fall, wherever. Visible blue veins surrounded it. It wasn't cool. It looked like a centipede poking out. Thinking about it made me sad. My 'gentle beauty' was gone.

  School didn't give me the same boost of inspiration that I'd gotten for the previous infiltrations. The frustration was making me start to wallow again. I came out of the palace with a medical bill and questions and an assassination attempt and I hadn't looked at a single news article to see if people were talking about the injured cops. Days later, people were still talking about the vandalism and break in. I doubted that I would come out of the reputation hit intact. People liked bad people to suffer—that's why we have prisons—but they didn't want to see the bad person suffering. They'd be okay with me killing myself as long as I did it in a place where nobody found me. Once Madarame revealed himself, there'd be a renewed argument about whether or not the Phantom Thief's actions were justified, and I knew what side would be the stronger one.

  Again, I wasn't really doing it because it was just or whatever. Since I wasn't doing it because it was the right thing to do, from my angle it made the whole business look worse than usual. Before I could continue down that rabbit hole however, I was dragged out thinking over my successes. I now knew that grinding was a real thing. I had another palace lined up. I won. Whoever had made the whole thing uncertain with the assassination attempt failed because they sucked. Go me! Forget about the scar! Then I was sad again. But I had escaped from cops like a real thief! Back and forth I went until I was too confused over my own feelings to care anymore. I watched a movie as a celebration because I deserve a celebration.

  I went home afterwards. Being called 'healed' didn't mean that I felt good. I still felt like garbage and the video game withdrawal didn't help. I drank milk alone on the curb before entering Leblanc.

  There was another customer that I didn't recognize. His brown hair was tousled in that way where it looks like he'd just gotten out of bed looking perfect, which I could only recognize because one of my friends back home had shown me the process to make yourself look like that. Her dad was a makeup artist or something. She immediately blocked me on sites that I'd forgotten existed when the news came out.

  Anyways! He was wearing a suit and pants combo that definitely wasn't any school's uniform with how luxurious that it looked. I'm saying that they were legit pieces of clothing that you'd wear while going to an important interview, or picking up a hot date for a real date rather than some school organized thing. Sojiro kept the exact same expression when he was talking with me.

  When spotting me, the guy pushed off his seat with his hand already extended. It was a bit too eager to be genuine. "Ah, hello! Pardon for intruding."

  I didn't take his hand because it was so sudden. How many kids our age do you know who greet you by shaking your hand? Instead I took in the empty coffeehouse, Sojiro's raised eyebrow, and the briefcase that was by the kid's feet. "Isn't it open?"

  He blinked. Each finger curled into his palm. A polite laugh came out. "Ah! You're referring to Leblanc being open. Yes, I suppose that it wouldn't be intruding in that case, especially since I'm now a paying customer. Your brew is delicious, Sakura-san, in case I hadn't mentioned it before."

  "It's a coffee, kid. Just call it a coffee," Sojiro said.

  We were around the same height. It felt like he was smaller for some reason. "My name is Akechi Goro. And you are Kurusu Akira, yes?"

  Never liked that name. 'Goro'. Sounds weak. And I was never familiar enough (never wanted to be familiar enough) to be on first name basis with the guy.

  "Yeah, I guess."

  "You guess? I've never met somebody who's unsure of their own name. Kurusu-san, then." It was hard to take him seriously with how stilted he was talking and how friendly he was trying to be. "I know that you're probably tired from your studies, so I'd like to cut the fat and let you go on with your day."

  Once again I looked back at Sojiro. He stopped paying attention, watching the television. Something shocking must've been playing because he was making little grunts as it progressed.

  "Sure?"

  I didn't mean to make that sound like a question. It's a weakness of mine being unsure of anything outside my comfort zone. I think that we've spent enough time to exhibit that.

  We sat far away from the counter at the corner of the room. Akechi spent an uncomfortable amount of time making sure that his new cup was perfect. If this didn't clue you in that the guy was a psychopath already then I think that you don't have any appreciation for a narrative. Like I said earlier, art reflects reality. Those people who made sure that their milk was perfectly balanced on the spoon's ridges before using it are insane. So was this guy who wore form-fitting black gloves to the point where I could see his individual bones sticking out. The sugar was measured to the grain before dipping into his drink. Everything added until it was the perfect color, or near-perfect since his lips pursed before steadily pushing the additions to the side.

  Being closer also let me see more details. Not a single hair out of place. No creases were on his uniform that made it look frumpy or too tight, which meant that it was specifically tailored for him. I was talking to wealth. Wealth had somehow noticed me. Or self-conscious poverty. My fingers played on my kneecap underneath the table.

  "If you'd let me, I'd like to make an assumption that we're both going to be forthright with each other, yes? In the interest of making sure that we both understand what we're doing here, I believe that it's prudent that you know what being the 'Detective Prince' actually does."

  "Detective Prince?"

  He was staring at me. No matter how closely I looked, there wasn't any change in his demeanor. Maybe that's what's wrong? His lips froze in a genial smile. Eyes bore into my own.

  Eventually he politely laughed.

  "You don't recognize me?"

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Many things were recognizable. The suit that he wore, hair said that he spent around the same time as a girl did on his daily appearance, and lack of a uniform meant that either he had a special exemption from school or the school bent over for him, as there was no way he changed before coming to Leblanc—or I was talking out of my ass.

  "Am I supposed to?"

  His cheek twitched. It was miniscule. I still caught it. Another polite laugh slipped from his mouth.

  "Apologies, but you have to understand that even if I never wanted the attention from the media, it still affects my daily life. I've become used to people recognizing me on the street." He tilted his head. The smile felt like it remained in the same place. "That must sound incredibly vain of me."

  I'm pretty sure that was fishing for a compliment so I didn't respond. He eventually got the hint and continued.

  "This is a rather peculiar situation that you've gotten yourself into. I'm sure that Sakura-san and you have noticed how the parole officer hasn't been checking in as of late. At the moment the police department has been stretched rather thin because of various incidents that I'm sure you've heard of, so a sudden injury on the force has led to you being left alone for quite some time. I'm sure that was a relief when it lasted." Since I didn't even notice that the parole officer hadn't been visiting, I just stayed silent. Better for people to assume that you're an idiot rather than have them know you're an idiot. "Because of that, there's no paperwork that would allow for the department to quickly check what they need to know. At the moment we're investigating the various incidents that have happened around here. Since there's hardly enough manpower to fulfill our daily functions at the moment, I volunteered to pick up with this particular investigation. Does that make sense?"

  I'm not sure how the police force worked, so it sounded reasonable enough to me. Stuff happens, parole officer gets himself injured, now I was being questioned for some reason. I said as such and he nodded.

  "Great. As you can see, you're absolutely at the bottom of the list of suspects and are merely being questioned as a formality since we don't have documentation to refer to. Otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation here. If you want to blame someone, blame your parole officer for drinking a little too much and wanting to impress his wife."

  He laughed. I didn't think that it was very funny.

  A notepad came out of his vest. "Let's see. Ah! There it is. What were you doing on June 26th?"

  For those who have good memories, that is when I broke into Madarame's place. I did not have a good memory.

  "What day was June 26th?"

  "Sunday."

  It wasn't hard calming myself down because the reasoning behind the questions was simple enough that I could figure it out. The criminals had to be questioned just in case just because they were, y'know, this specific criminal. I was one of those. Him being there didn't necessarily mean that the police were on to me. That ultimately meant that leaving any breadcrumb would be horrendously bad though. Suspicion meant scrutiny. While they'd never figure out that there was voodoo going on behind the crime, I didn't want them figuring out that I was getting severely injured coincidentally around the same time that their hearts were stolen, or any other coincidences that I didn't think about.

  So I tried remembering everything that I did on Sunday.

  "Uh, the entire day, or…"

  "You can tell me the entire day if you remember it."

  "Okay. Uh, I woke up really tired, so I just stayed in bed for most of the day. I wanted to do something though so I got up and ran. I think that was, hm, around noon, probably. I came back around twenty minutes later and slept. I mostly spent the rest of the day resting."

  Besides the robbery, that was actually how I spent that day, kind of. No need to mention that I'd been laying face-down with my eyes wide open as stress was gnawing away at my nerves.

  He just hummed as he jotted down on the notepad. "So you slept for most of the day. Was there anything else that you did outside Leblanc besides running?"

  Have you ever seen any detective show? I've watched Detective Conan but I've also watched Furuhato and even Columbo when I ran out of good detective shows to watch! It was a simple trick that everybody had done: question the suspect after questioning other people. There was only a single other person who could know where I've been and he was talking with the detective before I came in.

  So I leaned over my chair and yelled, "hey, Sojiro-san! Did I go out on Sunday? Uh, the Sunday a few days ago? The 26th?"

  It took him a while to tear his attention away from the news. His eyes were blinking rapidly which was only fixed when he took off his glasses and rubbed them clean.

  "Sorry, the Sunday on the 26th? You went out for a run."

  "Yeah, but after that."

  Sojiro scratched his chin. He kept peeking at the television. "I don't remember you going out. You spent most of the day up in your room. You studied down here in the evening but didn't talk."

  I turned back to the detective and shrugged. "There you go. I was a little out of it for some reason. I probably got sick. Uh, I don't remember what I studied either. I think that it was for math?"

  "What were you wearing?"

  "What I always wear. I just go running in my uniform." To emphasize that, I patted down my blazer. I finally got a reaction as he slightly grimaced! "I just wash it since I need to do it often. It's really not that bad. I just switch out the shoes."

  "Right." He wrote down a little more on his notepad before raising the pencil. "I don't mean to put you on the spot, but your neighbor said that you came out wearing a black hooded sweater and rode your bike. I thought it strange since you said that you came out running."

  I tried having absolutely no reaction even if I wanted to slap myself. "Oh, that's right. I biked instead. I don't remember wearing the sweater but that makes sense. It was cold outside."

  His smile stretched to what I assume was supposed to be friendly but just seemed to be predatory. Rule number one for those of you thinking of investigating in the future: if your suspect is already suspicious of you (and even if I were innocent, I'd have a good reason to be suspicious of a cop), don't try and be too buddy buddy with them. No matter how gleaming white his teeth were, they'll seem like shark's teeth.

  "I don't do it often but I consider biking to be an admirable hobby. I'd even say that I have some familiarity with the brands. What do you have?"

  "A Galant."

  The grin slightly faded, genuine confusion quaking his smile. I'm sure that nobody in the biking scene has ever heard of them. I definitely didn't. The price tag just spoke to me in the way that a soulmate does.

  "I see. May I see your bike as we finish up the questioning?"

  "It's gone."

  "Gone?"

  "It's gone."

  "Gone?" He looked around as if it was going to walk inside. "Where'd it go?"

  I leaned in a little. "This is going to sound crazy. Please don't tell Sojiro. I stopped for a little bit to get juice at a vending machine back on, uh, Monday, I think. You know, because I like juice and I wanted the boost since I was still feeling sleepy. So I stopped at a vending machine that I knew about and talked with a friend while drinking it. I just left a little bit out of sight and I came back to nothing."

  "Nothing? Are you certain? It's hard to believe that somebody Yongen-Jaya had the supplies to break through a bike lock to steal it on hand, nevermind to do it quickly enough and in broad daylight. This happened around here, no?"

  This one didn't have to be acted either. My mouth puckered, thinking about how that was yet another thing that I had to buy. "I don't own one."

  Akechi was stunned into silence. He must've been thinking what I meant by that. But he's a smart cookie. It clicked.

  He pressed forwards, leaning over the table. "You don't own a bike lock?"

  "No. No! This wasn't a problem back home!"

  "I don't mean to imply anything, but you moved into a big city trusting that nobody would steal your bike? Have you rode it anywhere else?"

  "Yeah, to school," I said.

  "You've left your bike unlocked while you're going to school?" he questioned, sounding as if he was increasingly forcing out each word. "You're joking!"

  Fed up (I was getting into my performance), I frustratedly patted my hands on the table. "What's the problem with it!?"

  "There's an obvious problem if your bike has been stolen because of this!"

  "Well don't you think it's weird how it wasn't stolen when it was sitting outside or at school yet somebody thought it was a good idea when my back was turned to it just a few meters away?" I felt smug satisfaction that Mr. Know-It-All didn't have an immediate retort, looking into his cooling cup of coffee in astonishment. "Exactly. That's what I thought too. Besides, I thought that there weren't bicycle thieves around here because of that whole gang thing. Stepping onto their turf, you know?"

  "The gang thing?" His smile twisted, becoming slightly mocking. "The bicycle gang that's introducing younger people into motorcycle gangs? Is that what you're referring to? I know that it's gotten a disproportionate amount of media attention, but there's no such thing. We have found no evidence of there being anybody in the schools inducting students into gangs."

  I scoffed. "What do you mean 'no evidence'? That's how I lost my first bike!"

  His expression fell. He looked like he was watching talking garbage. Exactly the kind of reaction that I was looking for. It was better that he thought I was an idiot rather than a suspicious idiot. So I continued on, bolstering my story.

  "It was horrible. Some kids that I played ball with came out of nowhere and started beating the shit out of—"

  "Excuse me," he said, raising his hand. "I understand the point that you're making so there's no reason to swear."

  It was really tempting to tell him to 'fuck off' so I continued. "—out of me. They beat me up and then broke my bike. I had to go to the doctor because of that."

  "And you didn't call the cops on them? Pardon, but that doesn't seem very smart."

  "Because I didn't know what they looked like. I remember their voices, but I'm really bad with faces. They could be standing in front of me and I wouldn't recognize them." I made doubly sure that Sojiro was distracted before leaning in again. "Also I'm not exactly in a position where the cops would listen. Come on. If somebody who did a violent crime came in and said that he was getting attacked for no reason, would you really respond fast enough to catch them? Would that be at the top of your priorities?"

  I could at least appreciate that he was more honest. I bet that most cops, most people, would say that they would help. Akechi just swallowed the information, writing it down on his notepad before continuing on as if nothing happened.

  From there on I had the impression that I was out of the woods. Who was the doctor, when did this happen, do I still own the sweater, and so many questions that I forgot most of them. His coffee got cold. The shock that had been numbing me slowly wore away. By the end I was feeling confident, walking alongside him as he was heading to the front door. Nothing was too incriminating. Even if he continued investigating me, the only thing that was extremely suspicious were my injuries at the doctor and the statues that I pawned off. It sounded as if the pawn shop guy knew how to be discreet and the doctor—eh. Yeah, that'd be bad. Not sure how I could explain away bite marks on my shoulder.

  It was when we were passing my staircase when Akechi stopped, looking up there.

  "I've been wondering what your room looks like. May I take a look around? It won't be long."

  That made my brain grind to a halt. What was I supposed to say to that? He was a kid first, but he was also part of the law. I could refuse him, but I could also say that he didn't have a warrant. But did that make me look more suspicious? I stared at him as the mental calculations smashed into each other to create a beautiful car crash. I had absolutely no idea which one was better so my mouth moved ahead of my brain.

  "Sure..."

  Crap.

  "...just let me clean up."

  I didn't wait around to hear his response. Boy's rooms weren't meant to be voyaged into anyways. They were the realm of porn, dirty clothes, and some types of bodily fluids stained everywhere. Don't compare me to Akechi. His room is probably immaculate which furthers my theory that he's a psychopath.

  Everything needed a last second adjustment. What made me seem like a normal kid who didn't partake in extracurricular crime? I swung in and out of Mementos. The first thing to go was the painting, chucked straight through the window. Then the bike. Bye! The box underneath my bed had a bunch of stuff that I found in the Metaverse yet never knew what to do with: beads, paper tags, and drinks that didn't have brands that existed. I'd one day drink those. At that moment, I threw it out. The little money I had left was stuffed into my pocket. The leftover gunpowder was sifted inside a discarded Calpis bottle that I didn't throw out yet. Finally, I threw the blanket over my bed. Good students and bad students alike make their beds.

  Akechi came up and looked at the pile of tools that I hadn't moved yet, still rested on a gigantic tarp that kept too much dust from accumulating; he looked over my bare shelves and empty desk that would normally have my things on them if my parents didn't sell them; the dust that had made its home everywhere else since I hadn't cleaned again since that time a while back; and he was way too interested in the crappy workbench I had.

  "This is very nice!" he exclaimed.

  "Sure. Can you stop poking around? It's making me uncomfortable," I said.

  Akechi cleared his throat. "Of course. Thank you for indulging in my curiosity."

  We walked back downstairs. A little more relaxed, I sidled up to the counter while Akechi was going through his phone. The news had moved on from whatever news had Sojiro so shaken. It started playing a feel-good story about a local student beating a Chinese one in a math competition. Go Japan! The only time that I feel patriotic is when we beat Chinese and American students in anything. Korea? Pfft.

  Sojiro had transitioned to rubbing another glass down. I'd learned a little bit about the process. He kept rubbing the same spot, clearly thinking about something else.

  "What was on the news?"

  He put down the glass. The towel fell onto the counter. With crossed arms, he regarded me much less gravely than I would've expected from his earlier reactions.

  "It's those Phantom Thieves! They're the ones that did something to that coach at your school if I remember right, and that recent thing with Madarame, and they just got some mobster to turn himself in."

  My jaw dropped. Akechi's head snapped up from his phone. I can't even describe the sound that I made.

  Even though I really wanted to verify that was true, I couldn't just leave all the stuff outside when Akechi was leaving. It felt icky leaving anything important out of my sight when I had a Metaverse robber. Would the stuff really be seen from real life or stolen within that five minute period? Probably not. Paranoia. This same paranoia kept me alive so make sure to thank it. It's not like that was hard anyways. One of the tools that was left in my room was a short ladder. All I had to do was lower it outside and climb down. The stuff was quickly thrown inside without any care.

  Detective thwarted. Time to celebrate.

  I bought a drink and sat on the curb. Flicking through my phone made it feel like my heart was sinking through my stomach. Madarame had suffered what was originally thought to be a stroke, falling down the stairs in his new home after passing out. When he woke up, he was begging for the police that had come to question him about the incident to take him in. They didn't because they weren't sure what to do. So he pulled the nuclear option and started walking around the streets begging people for forgiveness. The full details were withheld at the request of his estate and spread organically from the people who witnessed Madarame crawling around kissing toes.

  Minutes after the news officially reported that, the police had a press conference where they confirmed that an infamous part-time club owner part-time mafia boss, Junya Kaneshiro, had turned himself in. Quick checks online revealed that he had dirt on everybody in the city and ingratiated himself with every prominent whose-who that had any possibility of catching him. Probably the biggest black mark on Tokyo gone in a single night. The whole process was the same: a calling card rained down in the sky before he suddenly decided that getting rich and having women in each arm was actually dumb. The same exact process that I did just happened without me knowing about it.

  From what I've seen, reactions online were mixed too. Predictably the Madarame thing ended up spilling over public opinion. It was the sudden arrest of a man who specifically targeted the youth that made the reactions towards this downright schizophrenic. People were trying to conspiracy theory away the person who harassed Madarame in favor of the true Phantom Thieves who did the Kaneshiro one. The Thieves' website had exploded. I've already said that I was in the camp against the whole nastiness that was the previous palace. So don't exactly take it as a black mark that I was sort of feeling a little bit jealous over these other guys. Hey! You heard my part of the story! That heist was work and even if it's bad credit, I want the credit!

  Work was that day. Working was a little infuriating. Call me a hypocrite but the bitterness over everything started overflowing as I was reorganizing the plants once again. Let me preface this by saying that it's not like I stopped regretting everything that happened over the palace. But shit man! Being positive sucked! Another person who needed to face justice was taken care of and here I was being investigated, nearly as broke, hurt horribly, stuck on the next palace, and hated by the public so badly that I was quickly gaining the moniker 'the fake Phantom Thief'. Whoever was doing it didn't even cross my mind. I just was pissed. More red was in my arrangements as I fumed.

  Hanasaki barely gave me time between pointing her out before shoving me to the front. It was really a good thing that she gave me a heads up for any customers that liked me, otherwise I'd have to go through the embarrassing song and dance where I didn't recognize them. Well, it helped, but didn't entirely mitigate it. The girl was standing in front of me splaying her hands against each other. Sheep hair. Baah.

  "Sorry that I haven't been here recently!"

  "It's not like you're obligated to," I grumbled. The girl who likes questions had come. It wasn't like I hated her or anything. Not a great thing being a tour guide when you were pissed. "Are you here to buy something this time?"

  "Oh!" She looked around as if she forgot where she was. "Yes! I am! I'd like flowers for a celebration."

  Normally the customers just watched as the magic happened. It sounds dumb until you actually see it. There was a procession where the flowers were picked, one that you had to be there and witness and understand. Most customers would pause when confronted with the contemplation and confidence that came with each adjustment. "Flowers don't have to be that serious," one curmudgeon who came in specifically for a date bouquet had told me. Fool!

  Either she didn't have taste or just was used to being confronted with the beauty of an expert at their craft—even if I was more of an amateur under the training of a master—because she was willing to talk.

  "Where did you get that?"

  I didn't need her to specify. I touched the new feature. Most people were polite, or too scared, to not ask about it. I tried ignoring it.

  "Where did you get that scar?"

  "It's none of your business," I shot back.

  Just because she was making me annoyed didn't mean that she still wasn't qualified to have quality flowers. I worked on through the silence.

  "Did somebody give it to you?"

  I looked back at her. Unlike the previous two times that she'd visited, she seemed much more confident. She had no problem holding my gaze. Already that was better than my home room teacher.

  It wasn't appreciated. "What's it to you?"

  The bouquet was slightly drooping in my hands. I could feel moisture running down my fingers as I clenched it tighter.

  She was looking directly at it. I wanted it to go away. A red blemish that painted straight over my skin. It was a blight. In class I had idly scratched at it like it'd be rubbed off. Eventually I'd be normal again. Even the beating from Kamoshida hadn't given me a permanent scar. Long pale red lines were dragged across my skin as my nails found a permanent place to rest.

  It felt like she was invading my personal space without even getting near. My hand worked over the scar, blocking it from her. It was there that I resolved to permanently hide it. Apparently people staring normally was tolerable. People looking at my disfigurement made me want to crawl under a rock and die.

  Only when she moved back did I realize that she had leaned forwards. It wasn't my imagination. She'd been way closer; well, not way closer, just like a little bit closer and I was exaggerating it. Because I was freaked out. It felt like there was a fight about to happen yet I didn't feel like throwing a hand. I felt like I was about to be attacked and there wasn't anything I could do about it. The flowers felt like a poor weapon.

  "...well if you're not willing to talk about it, I can't help you."

  "And what would you do to 'help'?"

  When she didn't respond, I scoffed. My work wasn't lower quality even if I really wanted it to be. Brushing off Hanasaki's concerned glances made me feel like there was a second predator flanking me.

  She picked up my finished work with a slight smile.

  I tried not to say it curtly. "Is there anything else?"

  "Are you willing to say what gave you that scar?"

  She got the hint quickly, leaving after paying. Hanasaki is great. She doesn't ask. She doesn't do anything except give me a place where I can feel like I really was just visiting Tokyo. Everyday except that day.

  The rest of the day was spent in a blue haze. I didn't speak anymore because I didn't want to snap at Hanasaki. I didn't really think that Sojiro deserved it either. So I wandered around. My hands were shoved inside of my pockets like a depressed teen. Oh! I was one! Horrendous idea, by the way. Wandering around only made old memories start resurfacing. My own parents made me leave home and started all this bullshit. More news outlets were talking now that more details were coming out about Madarame. I opened up the site and saw a renewed flood of people begging for their requests to be fulfilled.

  On a random bench somewhere, I was letting the adults pass by doing whatever they did while reading through the Phantom Thief's site. People were coming back claiming that their requests were being completed. Women being abused and the like. I'd assume that the abusers were one day waking up saying, "actually abusing my girlfriend is bad." I kept rereading the most incredible passages of people's deadbeat kids suddenly jumping off their coaches.

  I sat on that bench for a very long time. I didn't have a drink. I got thirsty very fast. I was in some kind of fugue state. This was the kind of focus that I only got playing a video game. It was focused towards being unfocused. Whenever my mind tried dragging itself down into the present, I just pushed it straight back up into the clouds because lala land made me feel a heck of a lot better than being on a random crappy bench with a dry mouth. Somebody stepped on my foot without apologizing at some point. There was a lady who sat next to me looking at her phone before leaving. It started to get cold.

  There was a person sitting nearby for quite some time. He'd been there long before I was. I looked directly at him once I started to get bored. Blue shirt, blue jeans, and some other clothes weren't exactly standout when you were in a big city. His hair was blue and combed over. His face was long and skinny. His eyes were at the exact distance where the guy seemed to be weird.

  Everything about him was familiar. Too familiar. Repeating those features in my head brought up the list of people that I met frequently. When that didn't come back with anything, I went down the list of significant moments.

  Eventually a memory that I'd been trying to bury came back. He held his stomach like he was in pain. I blinked, coming back down to reality.

  Limply hanging from his fingers was a sketchpad that was wide enough to take in the entirety of the street in front of him with its bazaar wannabe setup of little booths inside of the building, sticking slightly outside to vie for each passerby's attention. Tiny tricks were used in each one. Bright lights worked on the moths fluttering around who ate up the Gyeon Garden magnets while a ringing bell caught those who loved annoying sounds to try out shoes. I'm not sure what could've possibly caught his attention so I tried seeing it like an artist. Low-hanging power lines drooped down beneath higher story apartments, lights flicking on as time passed by. I could see a woman talking on the phone through one of them. A lady with her umbrella preemptively brought out stood in front of a television playing some drama show while the person manning the store was smoking out of the window. Puddles reflected the lights from each car that sputtered by. Did it rain? No, something happened in the alleyway that recessed into divided puddles all along where the river once flowed.

  He held his head in his hands. I got up and made an offer.

  We were eating at a random restaurant that I picked out. I don't remember the place's name, but I could remember that it was warm and crowded. It was crowded because it was small. It was really small. The colors were warm too. The plush seats were all orangey red where you'd have an argument over which side of the spectrum they fall closer towards. The lights were really happy-colored. Rain or something else splattered against the sidewalk. I could feel the overlapping waves of heat and cold fighting on opposite sides of my body. They cooked the food in front of you. I could see the wok that the second chef was using deeper inside of the kitchen. It had a similar setup to Leblanc. I guess it's why Sojiro set up his place like that. Cozy, and all that.

  It kind of made the whole thing more awkward though. I brought the guy out to eat because I pitied him. If I turned his direction then I'd be face to face with a person that I robbed. So I just watched as the fried rice was folded like a blanket. I had just gotten paid and was keenly feeling the absence in my pocket. Think of things without thinking of their consequences. That's how you got through life without stress. It's why I was having such a bad time, and honestly was regretting helping the guy, especially when he started eating like he was possessed. I was starting to get self-conscious with the mess that he was making. I held up my hand right above his back before withdrawing.

  "Hey," I swallowed so I didn't talk with my mouth full, "slow down. It's not going to evaporate. You know?"

  His head was stuck inside of the bowl so he could shovel the food in as efficiently as possible. Surprisingly, there wasn't any liquid dribbling down his chin. Much better than me!

  "I've found many so-called evident things evaporate before me in a short time. I cannot say that many things feel immutable at the moment."

  I morosely looked back into my broth before starting to shovel in my meal too. I was also hungry. I forgot to eat lunch. The food was good. I added a little extra soy sauce though.

  He finished within five minutes. During the whole time that I was finishing my dish, he was completely still. Men came and left. Only six coveted seats were available at the bar. It was a place that served other workers. What I mean was that we were the youngest in the place. Every word that we'd say would be heard. I paid and left. Our seats were taken before we were out the door.

  The heat from the restaurant beckoned me back. We stood on the sidewalk. Very few cars passed by. One guy left the restaurant and started walking down the lonely street. I could remember that. Very few people were walking down the specific street we were at. The city wasn't dead or anything as I could hear the cars over on streets that I couldn't see. My blue-haired guy was still holding the partially done sketch.

  "What were you drawing?"

  Another reason that I couldn't appreciate art was that I couldn't understand how their visions translated into the art pieces. The smears of black and gray that created structures looked to be vaguely in the shape of the places that I described before, but there was a certain gloom that even my moody ass hadn't seen. Shades perused over products that were twisted into agonizing shapes. Those reflections which seemed as afterthoughts became their own imaginations, snaking below the gutters into faucets that spat out violent thoughts and dark mirages. What I saw was a typical day in Tokyo. He saw all of this. All that I could think about was how much of a cynical bastard you had to be to see the world like this.

  I didn't want to say that, of course. I gave some half-hearted compliment that I don't even remember.

  He looked at it for a long time. Then the whole sketch pad fell into the gutter. The ark splashed, rocking to and fro. It sank under its own weight. He didn't think that was enough and started ripping the page off. Below was another attempt. Below that was another attempt. The water started seeping into the pages and making them curl inwards. Eventually the pages became portraits of a man whose face only was half-done each attempt. I hooked my arms underneath his. The weight difference wasn't just because I'd been more active. Each curve of his rib protruded through his thin skin. They were knurls that I used to yank him off.

  "That's enough!" I yelled.

  He was almost posing like that Titanic scene with the French lady. Remove the arm propping up the head and replace it with him almost kissing the concrete. It felt uncomfortable having my shoe next to his head but I didn't want to crouch down like talking with a child either. Salvaging whatever dignity he had left, I pulled him up to his feet. Bizarrely easy.

  Men were looking from inside the restaurant. I threw my arm back.

  "The fuck you looking at!?"

  Everybody pretended that we had privacy. I think that one of them had pulled out their phone. Sighing, I brushed off his shirt of any dirt that stuck to it. He barely reacted to anything, still looking at the debris of his sketchpad.

  "Look, do you have some place to go? For the night? That's gonna, I don't know. Do you got some place?"

  It took him a long time to answer. "I'm not sure."

  I figured that the adage about it being better to ask for forgiveness than permission was fit for this kind of situation. Generally it was kind of dumb, but this time it was correct. He just kind of let me guide him. The entire time he kept wincing like he was under some kind of physical pain. After asking a few times without getting an answer, I let it go. Either that phrase about love being a stake in the heart was true or he was getting horrible indigestion after not eating for a few days.

  We came at the tail end of Leblanc's life span. Sojiro would be dealing with the last of the closing process during that time. Nobody wanted coffee after dark, and so it was pretty easy to guess who was coming through the front door. What he probably wasn't expecting was for me to have a blue-haired riot shield. Leaving him by the door had him just kind of blankly glance around.

  Sojiro was looking at me like I was insane. But I had a plan.

  "Kurusu-kun." He didn't even have the words. A jittering of his head and throwing his hands up were the only context clues. Heh. That's the second time I got the exact same reaction and the exact same words. "What the hell."

  See, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I had gotten Sojiro mad at me that one time and was taking his brusque nature as him despising me to his soul. Thinking back, maybe those glares were his typical face. Maybe I had been projecting the whole time, thinking that I deserved punishment and interpreting Sojiro that way. There were only two ways to check and I wasn't about to ask him upfront.

  I sidled close to the counter, clicking and hissing in a way that was meant to be casual.

  "Yeah. Found him on the curb. Think he's the, uh, Madarame's," I sucked in my breath, "yeah."

  Sojiro did a double take, probably connecting the pieces of why the guy was so scrawny.

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah." I threw my head back. "Needs a place to stay. Guy's eccentric, not dangerous or anything. Won't be touching your bean machines or whatever."

  He looked at me for a long time.

  "Hm. Wondered if they made a mistake." Without explaining, he turned around and waved. "Sure."

  "Sure?" I fixed it before he had a chance to give me a glare. "Oh, sure."

  We were supposed to go to sleep. He was sleeping on the couch. I had the bed. The glow from my screen lit up my face. I kept my face underneath the covers. My mind was whirling, not helped by the boy who was sharing my room. I was browsing the internet to try and calm down, messaging my friends, catching up on my dailies, anything which bit down on the trembling anticipation that was building up in my chest. Anticipation or stress, I couldn't tell the difference. A lot happened.

  The news article that pops up beneath the search bar loaded slowly. I was thinking about a good video that would lull me to sleep when one of the front page thumbnails caught my eye.

  "The heck is a Medjed?"