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"What do you mean you're not gonna join the Phantom Thieves?" Sakamoto demands.
Goro sneers at the sink where he's washing his hands for Sojiro's food safety regulations. "Do you need it said another way, Sakamoto? Did I somehow not make myself clear?"
"Don't be a smartass," says Sakamoto, which he's taken to doing ever since Takamaki told Goro that once. Goro is counting the number of times that Sakamoto says it every time Sakamoto just isn't smart enough to argue back properly. "Your Personas are crazy. You have two. We're out there fighting crime, man! We're making the world a better place and you're all about that!"
"I said this world is corrupt," says Goro tartly. He doesn't need to be having this conversation when he's trying to get ready for his work shift at Leblanc. In the back of his head, Loki, newly awakened, stirs with interest.
"Yeah, so we gotta make it better! These nasty old guys in power need to be taught a lesson! You pummeled the shit out of Madarame's shadow. Come on, Akechi, we need you on the next heist—"
"Say pretty please," says Goro. He shakes his hands free, splashing Sakamoto's shirt. Sakamoto gives him a dirty look. Inside, Robin Hood makes a moue of disapproval, which Goro steadfastly ignores. "Go on."
"...Please," says Sakamoto.
How insincere, says Loki. "How insincere," says Goro.
"Please will you join the Phantom Thieves with your very cool, super ripped Persona and also your very evil scary edgelord Persona?"
Inside Goro's head, Loki preens. Goro beams at Sakamoto. "I'm so glad you asked nicely," he says. "No."
Sakamoto nearly yells and falls off his chair. "Akechi, you absolute motherfuc—"
The doorbell rings. First Sojiro slouches in, as per usual fifteen minutes to the afternoon shift of his own cafe, and then—absolute motherfucker is probably accurate. Akira Kurusu enters like a performer stepping onto a stage, expression bright with his usual actor's enthusiasm.
"Are we interrupting something?" Kurusu asks, which is only the sort of thing that someone says when they know they're interrupting something.
"Leblanc has a zero tolerance policy on hooligans," Sojiro says, beelining it to his usual spot so he can read his old man paper and ignore Goro while Goro kept Sojiro's own old man cafe functioning in the first place.
Sakamoto looks like he's going to burst a vein or yell at the top of his lungs about his inane idea for making a secret club of Persona-users called The Phantom Thieves of all stupid names, which would be admittedly entertaining, but not exactly a crossfire that Goro wants to be caught in with the detective assigned to the Thieves case standing right in front of him. "You were interrupting Sakamoto leaving," says Goro, and whisks a cup of (very old and probably burnt) sitting coffee into a to-go cup and shoves it into Sakamoto's hands. "Your order."
"Oh, gross, dude, you know I don't drink c—"
"Goodbye!" says Goro, and finally, with at least three people staring at him, Sakamoto gets a fucking hint and skulks his way out the door. Just before he leaves, he holds up his phone and mouths: I'll text you. Goro makes a mental note to block Sakamoto's number.
"One iced coffee," says Kurusu, which he always fucking orders despite the fact that it's near freezing outside on a particularly cold autumn day. Goro often wonders if Kurusu has some sort of reptilian blood underneath his magnanimous charm. As Kurusu installs himself in his favorite spot—it really does feel like actors getting in their places, Goro behind the counter and Kurusu at the bar and Sojiro at the corner, all the pieces in place and ready to roll the scene—Kurusu checks his watch with a flick of his wrist, pulling his sleeve up neatly. He has a showman's flourish to everything he says, like he's a studio announcer even when he's holding a conversation about coffee. At any given time he seems grander and larger than he is, filling an invisible stage, ready to break out into magic tricks on the spot. It's suffocating in the tiny Leblanc counter. Goro wants to pop him like a balloon and see the tiny, fragile reptile that he is virtually certain lies at the center of Kurusu's smooth charm and grandiose performance—
—and then crush it, Loki adds, which Robin Hood interrupts: He's not worth it.
Nothing's fucking worth it to Robin Hood.
The second Goro slides the iced coffee over to Kurusu, Kurusu says, as if he'd been waiting for a timed cue: "I've always found it surprising to find that you don't support the Phantom Thieves."
He must have heard something that Sakamoto said. Either that, or he's still thinking about the last conversation he had with Goro, but Goro isn't so conceited as to think that a detective and a teen heartthrob idol actually spends time thinking about him. "Don't get me wrong," says Goro tersely. "It's not because I believe in law and order and the goodness of the police."
He just thinks that the Phantom Thieves are going for petty cash right now—the small fry, even when they look like international smugglers like Kaneshiro. Someone's always got their leash. The corruption goes higher. If the Thieves don't eventually manage to take out the center of all corruption, they'll just be doing menial janitorial work—cleaning the filth off the streets, only for it to spawn again by the careless, unrepentant masses.
Not, of course, that he isn't working menial jobs for petty cash right this second. Goro whips the towel free of crumbs and immediately gets a glare from Sojiro, to which he glares back. Sojiro looks half a mind box Goro's ears for being a smartass, the grouchy piece of shit, so Goro sneers and opens his mouth to say—It's not worth it, Robin Hood says, and Goro shuts his mouth.
"Fascinating," says Kurusu, sounding incredibly unfascinated and more like he just wanted to break Sojiro out of contemplating whether or not he wanted to fire Goro on the spot for his shit attitude. "Tell me all about it, Akechi."
Alright, this guy isn't even pretending to question Goro anymore. "Your coffee's going to get warm. Are you drinking it or not?"
Sojiro glares at him again, but says nothing. Goro's probably going to get an earful about it later, but he'll care when Sojiro pays him more.
"Am I taking up space that another customer could use?" Kurusu has a way of smiling like he's your best friend, possibly making himself the most punchable face in all of Tokyo. Goro glares at the rest of the empty cafe. "I suppose if it's a matter of policy," Kurusu says after a moment, and pulls out his wallet. Paying in cash, as always. He drinks his coffee in delicate little sips. Sometimes, Goro swears Kurusu actually hates coffee.
And then Kurusu doesn't say anything else. Which is weird, because Goro is virtually certain this guy comes here only to interrogate Goro, which—could either mean that Kurusu has the proof he needs and doesn't see any reason to keep asking questions, which would be very, very bad for Goro—or, Kurusu is just doing what most detectives do with his paid hours and is intentionally slacking off. Eventually, Kurusu turns on the TV and, for all intents and purposes, appears to actually watch the news, ignoring Goro entirely.
"No questions today?" Goro asks warily.
"Can't I just spend some quiet time with a good cup of coffee?" With the grandiose, rhetorical way Kurusu frames the question, Goro is almost certain it's a deflection—but from what, he can't tell.
Goro leans back against the far wall. "Just thought it was weird. Since you pick my brain every other time you come in."
"Do you miss being the center of my attention, Akechi?"
Goro is worried that Kurusu's attention being elsewhere means something bigger and more threatening is on the horizon. Goro is worried that Kurusu has something so far up his sleeve that nobody can even guess what it might be, and Sakamoto, Takamaki, and Kitagawa and Goro can't defend themselves against something that they can't see. What if Kurusu has some way to prove it was them? What if Kurusu is going to wake him up tomorrow morning with three police officers in his room taking him to juvie? What if Kurusu comes by one too many times and Sojiro gets nervous and fires him?
Goro crosses his arms over his chest. Uncrosses them, so it doesn't look too defensive. "Just wondering if you're slacking off during work hours."
Kurusu leans back in his chair like it's his personal throne, making a big show of it, too. Taking up too much space, as per always. Does he think he's on TV right this second? Where the hell does he get off treating everyday objects like theater props? "The Phantom Thieves case is at a stalemate," he says with such exaggerated sorrow that Goro is virtually certain he has no real feelings about it. "It's such a bizarre case. No real leads. No real clues." Kurusu glances over at him, smiling as if they're sharing a secret. "At this point, people say that the Phantom Thieves' methods are supernatural."
Oh, shit.
Do people say that, or does he say that? Robin Hood says.
Remember what Sakamoto said about the man in red, Loki whispers.
Oh, Goro remembers. He had Kitagawa draw the man for him: The Persona-user who killed Madarame, with a Persona that—from Takamaki's description—had been the literal devil on the man in red's back. Kitagawa had drawn it as a black, hulking shadow, with burning wings that drenched the Persona-user in the dark. In the same way that a spotlight from the wrong angle obliterates the actor's face, the man's own hellfire had hidden his face better than any mask could have. There had been no eyes. There had been no voice. Only the sound of chains, Kitagawa had reflected, speaking on his behalf.
If he knows something, Loki murmurs, that's as damning to him as it is to you.
Goro braces himself.
"I wouldn't know anything about the supernatural," says Goro. "There's a fortune teller in Shinjuku that you might want to talk to."
Kurusu waves it away. "Ah, I was joking. I don't really believe in the supernatural, of course."
"Of course," says Goro.
"There's much more pratical solutions right in front of us," says Kurusu. "Maybe we should put our hopes and dreams in our public servants, as we're supposed to."
As if on cue—was that what Kurusu had been checking his watch for?—the news channel switches back to a recorded broadcast from last night. "I will be the guide for the future," Masayoshi Shido tells the crowd. Even through the recorded audio, the strength of his voice is undeniable. "Our past has already proven us to be great! By your will and your strength, we can return to those days again!"
Goro freezes.
Don't, Robin Hood warns, but Goro can feel that even Robin Hood doesn't know what he's warning against.
Sakamoto was right, Loki says suddenly. You have the power. You have your Personas. Do you think a man that awful doesn't have a palace?
Don't, Robin Hood says again.
Open the Metanav, Loki says, even faster. Say his name. You'll get a hit. The man who destroyed your mother, the man who'll destroy this country—ascending to power on the broken body of your past self—
Stop it, Robin Hood warns.
"See?" says Kurusu with a large, practiced shrug. Goro blinks awake. "He'll take care of it. No need to fret or struggle on our own. I can sit back," and Kurusu really does sit back just then, like following a script cue, "and put my faith in our esteemed Masayoshi Shido."
And just give up? Loki hisses. Surrender what little power you have? Live at the whims of someone's pity? You could burn this country to the ground if you wanted—
"Oh, don't look at me like that," says Kurusu, and Goro quickly tries to get his face under control. Kurusu, for his part, seems entirely unbothered, almost serene as he watches the TV screen like it's just another entertaining show. "Someone once said that all of life's a stage. Someone's got to write the play."
Willingly putting yourself in chains and giving someone else the key. I never knew, Loki sneers, that you were so spineless, so disgusting, such a pessimistic piece of shit that you'd just let the world be as awful as it is—
"Is something the matter, Akechi?" Kurusu asks.
It's not worth it, Robin Hood hisses. On the TV screen, the crowd bursts into applause, the camera panning over beaming, hopeful faces. Remember what's important.
"No," says Goro at last. "Nothing's wrong."
"You should watch your expressions, then," says Kurusu. His smiles hasn't changed at all. "Someone might get the wrong idea."
It's not worth it, Goro repeats to himself. Eventually, Kurusu stands and leaves his cup on the counter and waves goodbye like it's a performance art. It's not worth it, Goro tells himself as he shuts the damn TV off. It's not worth it, he tells himself, as he collects his pitiful wage from Sojiro and clenches his fist around the envelope. It's not worth it.
"I'm home," Goro announces to his apartment.
For a second there's only silence. Goro wonders: Pills. Knives. Hanging. Carbon monoxide. The stove. And then: "Welcome home," his mother's voice says.
Goro's mother's voice is dull and flat, unremarkable and unbeautiful. Goro has never felt so relieved as he does when he hears it, with the exception of every other time he comes home and his mother doesn't respond. He sheds his jacket and shoes and puts a can of furikake, salt, sugar, and the new bag of rice in the cupboard—just in time to replace the old one they used up last week—and a dozen eggs in the fridge that'll probably last until Wednesday. He thinks he hears: How was work? in his mother's voice, but when he stops, there's no sound in the apartment. After a second, he hears the buzz of the overhead lights that he told her to turn off before he left.
"Mom?" he calls.
"Mm," his mother replies from the other room.
"I'm going to do homework."
"Okay."
There's no Aren't you too tired? or You're such a good student or Study hard or I'll make you some study snacks. He doesn't expect it—he's just hopeful, some days, when he probably shouldn't be. Goro filches their last protein bar from the pantry on his own.
"I'll make dinner," Goro tells her.
"Okay," his mother replies.
"Any requests?"
There's a long silence.
"Furikake," she says.
He can do that. Furikake and extra sweet eggs are an easy source of joy for her. He puts the rice on, makes the four eggs, puts the furikake on the kitchen table next to two plates, and pulls out his textbook.
By the time he's done studying, it's nearly two in the morning. At some point, she'd drifted into the kitchen to serve herself, took the entire can of furikake, and then disappeared back into the bedroom. He stretches and checks his syllabus one last time, because Niijima is almost three weeks ahead of the class schedule, which he isn't quite near yet, but he tells himself that he'll have the last laugh when he winds up doing more thorough work instead of just speeding through practice sheets. Like she's got anything to prove. Her sister's rich as shit; what the fuck does Niijima need scholarship money for? Spoiled brat.
His back is killing him at the ripe old age of eighteen, so he almost limps into the living room to find his mother still asleep on the couch, where she'd been that morning. Her phone is still in her hand, but he hadn't heard her actually listening to any videos or playing any games. Was she reading? Wasn't she bored?
For a whole second, he thinks about trying to wake her up to tell her to go to her actual bedroom, but all of a sudden he's too tired. He was up at four in the morning to make the morning shift at 777, at school all day, Leblanc in the afternoon, and now he's been up for twenty-two hours. He grabs a blanket and pulls it up over her. She doesn't even stir.
Well, the important thing is that she's alive. Maybe just barely alive, but alive. Goro sits on the floor by the couch and leans back, resting his head accidentally on his mother's ankle. She still doesn't wake up. The blanket is rough from having been in the dryer too many times, scratching at the back of his neck.
It doesn't matter how prettily Sakamoto asks. It doesn't matter how much Shido deserves to get his heart stolen and his head lobotomized by the Phantom Thieves. It doesn't matter that Goro has two Personas and a special supernatural power. If he got caught, he knows that his mother would be disappointed. She might even die without him, if he went to jail for it. So long as he can't let her down, the way forward is clear, and it will have nothing to do with the Phantom Thieves.
God, his head hurts. Too much caffeine, too little sleep. He closes his eyes. The light is still buzzing.
One day, this will all be worth it, he tells himself. He'll go to an incredible college for free, and he'll be recruited for a high-powered, high-paying career right out of undergraduate. He'll get her a real therapist and move her to a real apartment. The world will still be a piece of shit, and Shido might be in power, and Kurusu might be still annoying as ever, and the Phantom Thieves might accomplish nothing of worth and fade from obscurity without his help, and his mother might never be happy, but at the very least he'll have her and she'll have him.
Everything's worth it for her, says Robin Hood.
For now, says Loki, and before Goro can argue back, he's passed right out.