Chapter Text
Ren
The cold, frigid air coated Oguni like an icy blanket, as Ren stepped out on one of his nightly walks. He didn’t really have any opportunities to go on strolls like these in Tokyo. When he went out, it was usually for some purpose, like meeting a comrade or something to increase his ‘social stats’ as Futaba referred to them. The air there always felt trapped. Fresh, but still stale, giving away the nature of a big city. There was such an excess of light pollution that it was nigh impossible to see a single star in the sky at night.
It wasn’t all bad, of course. He’d practically made his life there. He felt more alive in Tokyo in the brief year he spent there, than he has for the 16 years of his life in Oguni.
Then again, it didn’t hurt to say hello to his parents again. His friends back in Tokyo loved to judge them, but it wasn’t due to a lack of love that they didn’t contact him. It was just … a way of life for them. They hated to bother for any inconvenience and only contacted him when absolutely necessary. Plus, it’s not like Ren made any attempts to keep in touch either. They sort of … blamed themselves for Ren getting in trouble and felt distance from them would be good. He disagreed, of course, but at least they had reasons.
Nighttime walks used to be a thing he did with his father when he was a kid, and started doing himself once he started going to high school. They were both amateur astronomers in their spare time, even buying a really expensive telescope, noting down stars they found on a sheet of paper on the balcony. Eventually, they even had competitions on who could find more, before father’s work demanded more of him, and Ren’s studies intensified. Mother wasn’t ever interested in the first place, preferring quietly reading over “gushing about things we’ll never reach”. Father would take offence to that saying “it can’t hurt to dream”, and then they’d proceed to bicker between themselves for the next 30 minutes. It was a fun show to observe.
Still, that year of distance took a toll on their family. However, Ren didn’t pretend to express interest in spending time with them anymore. He wanted to spend his last year of high school quietly, getting the best grades he could, and then leave for Tokyo. That was the goal even before his probation, but after his time there, it only served to solidify his choice.
He missed his friends. Video calls are one thing, but they didn’t do nearly enough to replace their daily activities. Even meeting in school every day was a blessing. And they were still there, waiting for him to return. One year doesn’t seem so long if you’re having fun, but he wasn’t having any in Oguni. He couldn’t even hop in the Metaverse to make things easier since they erased it.
It was still hard to comprehend the impact he and the Phantom Thieves may have had on the world. Even if they had swayed following their popularity causing discourse between the team, he shuddered to think what would’ve happened had they failed to correct course. Kamoshida was just the beginning of a larger rot in society. It's something that Maruki also wanted to fix, but inadvertently became Yaldabaoth 2.0 with a Messiah complex. Ren was glad the team was strong enough to prevail, and give humanity another chance at life without gods of control.
That said, Ren still couldn’t get a moment of peace anymore. After being outed as the leader of the Phantom Thieves in the case against Shido, he was followed everywhere. Thankfully, his information wasn't given to the media, otherwise they would have thrown him to the dogs, but it didn't mean the authorities suddenly lost interest in the man who was able to change hearts. It felt like even teachers at his school were in on it. He couldn’t go to the toilet anymore without looking behind his shoulder. Maybe that’s what the police wanted. To make him paranoid. Make him think he’s never safe again. To finally get back at the mosquito that’s been bothering them so long. So be it. Ren was very good at being a ‘mosquito’.
Even now, at 2am, there was always a black, inconspicuous, nondescript car parked right around the corner outside his residence. They wanted to let him know they were watching. It was almost impressive how snoopy they were. He never managed to find out when they went for lunch or when they changed for a night shift.
Ren sighed. Such was the life of famous criminals. Or vigilantes. The law didn’t really discriminate on who did it out of malice and who did it out of the goodness of their heart. Nevertheless, he’d always take action against disgusting monsters like Kamoshida, rather than let it perpetuate. Even without his magic JoJo stand powers.
The stars looked as bright as ever in the unlit side streets Ren snuck through. He still preferred the hustle and bustle and the big, sprawling streets in Tokyo, but that didn’t stop him from admiring the joy of a slower life in the countryside. As Futaba put it in a face call—“a different vibe”. It gave him time to process things he was dwelling on. His own sort of therapy, since he never really learned to open up to anyone about how he was feeling.
He’d never let his faults show, of course. As the leader of the Phantom Thieves, he felt it was his duty to stay strong. He was stoic when it was necessary, funny when he needed to lighten the mood, smart when they needed a plan. Jack of all trades, master of all. He liked to pretend to be perfect. Of course, that never fooled anyone. Not even Ryuji, with his unassuming, puppy-dog personality. They wanted to help him too, they just didn’t know how. And neither did Ren. His failure to save a friend only solidified that in his head.
Akechi … It wasn’t often that his mind wandered back to the false ace detective. Every time he did, Akechi’s last “gift” across his neck bothered him in pulsating phantom pain. By all means, Akechi was their antithesis. What if they let their thirst for power and recognition consume them? What if they let their anger control them? He was a perfect case study. Yet, despite it all, even after Akechi tried to kill him, Ren never stopped doubting that there was at least an ounce of good remaining in his broken self. He hated giving up on people.
He should’ve known that he’d do something stupid. On that ship. With the emergency alarm blaring and compartment doors slamming shut. Ren should have jumped to the other side as soon as that dumbass shot the signal. But he didn’t. He let the doors close, and thereby, his final chance to save a friend. He would have resented the gesture of course, but Ren believed that deep down, he’d be glad it wasn’t all over.
Maruki let him glimpse that life. A life with no masks, where everyone let their true colors show. Even Akechi. It gave him an indicator of how life could have been, had he just taken that leap and helped a floundering soul. It was the best argument Maruki ever made. He placed his bet on a dead teen.
Ren smirked cynically. Maruki made a good move. That was the first time Ren wavered even a little in his conviction. Alas, it wasn’t enough. How could he imagine that to work when even the person he “saved”, didn’t want it. What’s done is done. One must take full responsibility for their actions. You can’t go back on your decision. And neither did Akechi. Ren hated that, but he respected it.
It taught him a good lesson. The road to Hell was indeed paved with good intentions. And sometimes a lie or two are better than the whole, bitter truth. Still, that didn’t mean it hurt him any less.
His midnight walk was coming to an end. He’d made a loop on his neighbourhood, and he didn’t want any rumours of a weirdo prowling the streets at night spreading too much (although it was a fun scenario). He noted that the undercover police car had one person missing. They had someone tail him. Well, he didn’t mind, as long as he showed the policeman a good view.
His parents knew about his nightly escapades, and stopped bothering after a while. It was simply what he got used to as a ‘city boy’, his father joked. It was a dry, and often awkward laugh behind the breakfast table.
Making his way to his room upstairs, he briefly sensed a presence behind him. He rapidly turned around, thinking the police had gotten a bit too comfy, but he saw nothing. That tingling sensation of being watched was gone. Only a small, blue speck remained floating in the air.
Oh no.
Did the Velvet Room need him again? For what? He thought his ‘rehabilitation’ was completed, his Journey over. Well, it could have just been his eyes playing tricks on him too. In any case, he suspected if they had something to say, they’d pay him a visit in his dreams, though he really didn’t like where this was going.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Welcome to the Velvet Room,” a high pitched elderly voice uttered, Ren quickly noting his sentence didn’t include the word ‘Trickster’.
Ren would describe a similar experience to be that of a nail on chalkboard. He didn’t really have anything against the long-nosed man, but he also didn’t want another ‘rehabilitation’ moment.
“Hey, long time no see,” he felt there was no better option than to just talk it out. “You haven’t visited in a while, so I assume this is a business call?”
Scanning the Velvet Room with his gaze, he noted that all the empty cells had no doors, including his. Seemed to be an indicator of little change in his psyche. Lavenza was nowhere to be seen. They weren’t particularly close in the first place, but it sucked that he didn’t get to see her again.
Good chance I might never see her until the end of my life.
A sort of slight tingling sadness overtook him. He hadn’t really thought about it properly before, but he did enjoy his conversations with the Velvet Room attendant. Plus, she helped him a great deal during his journey. Even when she was split, her halves both independently decided to help the Trickster over their fake master. That had to stand for something.
“If you are wondering where Lavenza is, she’s on vacation,” Igor said matter-of-factly, as if reading Ren’s mind.
Velvet Room attendants can have those? Since when? And what are the logistics of a vacation for a Ruler of Power exactly? Do they go to the sandy beaches of hot resorts or do they prefer skiing in the high mountains? Or do they enjoy travelling the world in a minivan with the company of other Velvet Room attendants? Do they even have a license?
Ren shook his head, throwing those thoughts out the window. That opened a whole other can of worms he didn’t really want to think about. Plus, knowing how much road rage Jose experienced while driving alone in the Metaverse, Ren didn’t want to fantasize about how bad the Rulers of Power might be on a real highway.
Igor briefly squinted in confusion, confirming Ren's prior assertion that he was indeed reading his mind. Clearly, he wanted to discuss something more important than dream dweller vacation spots, but Ren still didn’t appreciate him prying.
“Haha, I apologise, it was rude of me to read your mind without your permission,” Igor admitted. “I am indeed here on business, although it’s unlike anything I’ve really done before.”
That was slightly concerning. Even during very stressful moments, Igor was able to remain an anchor by laughing in the face of adversity. It sort of helped Ren ground himself. The evergreen Cheshire Cat grin Igor possessed turned from an offsetting horror to a comforting reassurance as time passed, though Ren still couldn’t help but wonder about his dental care routine.
“This is more of a personal request from me to you,” Igor briefly paused, as if to evaluate what he should say next. “You’re free to refuse of course.”
Knowing the proclivity of Igor to show up in events of world-ending proportions, Ren severely doubted that he could simply say no. This also felt no less serious than the first time they met.
“Essentially, I wish for you to help another Trickster, as currently they are on a path to destruction,” Igor paused yet again, pondering on whether he should say the next part out loud. “However, this is in the past. 2009, to be precise.”
Ren scoffed at the words. 2009? Ren was 9 at the time, and the world didn’t end. This didn’t make any sense. How would the world end in the past, and how would Ren be able to help from the future anyway?
“I know how this sounds, dear Guest, but I assure you, this is as serious as any other conflict you’ve faced before,” Igor elaborated. “When the man who took Yaldabaoth’s powers intervened, he created his own pocket dimension in which everyone was happy, but he inadvertently caused a huge problem.”
A huge problem beyond what Maruki already messed up? What, with the brainwashing and everything? Oh lovely.
“Imagine time as a thread. It spins on a spool alone, without converging with other threads, and goes on infinitely, without getting woven into a garment.” Igor began to explain, his guest listening intently. “Now imagine that suddenly, someone comes along and magically splits the single thread into two, thinner threads, with the past still intact as it used to be. Regardless of the past, the thread remains split whether you get rid of the new timeline or not.”
This was far more confusing to understand than any maths class that Ren ever had. Igor just introduced a good few mind-bending concepts. A multiverse for one. Ren was tired of the Marver Cinematic Universe constantly pumping out everything to do with it, but suddenly it turned out to be real? Amazing.
“And so the split thread continues to split more and more, both going farther and farther away from each other. Eventually one thread collides with another, and they get interwoven as a singular, new thread. That split thread’s past gets overwritten with the thread it merged with since its link to the original past is broken, and there can’t be such a thing as 2 pasts. Essentially, the universe cleans itself. That means if your thread was unfortunate enough to collide with a thread of a world that has already ended…”
Igor didn’t finish, sensing understanding from his listener. So his world was on a collision course with a world that had failed previously, and that would lead to another catastrophe.
“Ugh… So, what can I do, exactly?” Ren wondered, hoping the long nosed man had an answer.
Igor looked at him, a few answers spinning in his mind, none of which he was sure would suffice. And none that would be guaranteed to work.
“Well, we usually never do this, since overwriting the past is strictly forbidden by the Initio Persona, but since circumstances are dire, we are willing to transfer you to their past, back when that world still had a fighting chance.”
Initio Persona? We? Were there others aside from Igor and the attendants? Ren supposed it made sense for Igor to not be the only one, but what was the chain of command like exactly? Was Igor also just another pawn in the schemes of true gods? That was terrifying to think about.
“Unfortunately, I cannot disclose to you the true identity of my Master, and neither can I talk about my coworkers that may or may not have orchestrated this for their satire, but know this—I remain on your side. On humanity’s side,” Igor concluded. Ren had an icky feeling that he looked through his brain again. “Even if allowing you to intervene is technically against orders, this is nothing like we’ve ever seen before. My Master would understand.”
Igor calling someone else ‘Master’ definitely did not make a shiver go down Ren’s spine. Lavenza’s power was something he and his team barely matched, and she was a servant of another servant. If she was a Ruler of Power, who was Igor, and more importantly, who was his ‘Master’?
“I cannot tell you any more than this,” Igor reiterated. “All I can do is give you a choice. You can go to the past of that world, and help the previous Trickster with their unwinnable peril, or you can refuse and let the universe do its course.”
So I either go to the past I knew nothing about, help a Trickster I’ve know nothing about… or fucking die.
The illusion of choice, he doesn’t get paid enough for this shit. He doesn’t get paid at all.
“You’re not exactly giving me a moral dilemma. Faced with a choice of life or death, most would choose the former,” Ren still couldn’t forgive himself for letting those ‘some’ choose the 2nd option. “I just have one question. What happens when I leave this time? Does it go on without me? Or is there some sort of clone of me that lives in my stead?”
Ren didn’t like either option if he was honest, and he had about another million questions he wanted to ask, but he knew that to most of those, it was an answer Igor could not provide.
“Considering we are already breaking Laws of the Cosmos, what’s another transgression?” Igor jested. “With the permission and help of my Master, we will freeze your time the millisecond you’re about to be transported, preventing another thread from splitting.”
Surely, disobeying all these ‘Laws of the Cosmos’ probably implemented for very good reason wouldn’t cause another monumental Goliath of a problem later, right? Right?! Thinking through the logistics of the whole operation felt so nauseating.
“Isn’t your Master the one who forbade time travel in the first place? Why would he help you with breaking one of the Laws he established?” Ren quizzed.
“Dear Guest, even the Initio Persona, in all their glory, is not immune to one unbeatable force of … curiosity.”
Well, Ren could certainly understand that. Curiosity could drive some people to insane lengths, even in their clique. Futaba. Mainly Futaba, but that didn’t mean curiosity didn’t drive the rest of the team forward either. Ren would lie if this proposal didn’t intrigue him at all, even in the face of destruction. Although, a multiverse and split timelines was a concept so nebulous, maybe he just failed to properly comprehend the peril.
Eh. Been there, done that. How bad could it be?
Ren smirked at the jinx. He knew it would be bad if his own Journey was anything to go off of.
“If that is enough to convince you,” Igor widened his eternal grin, Ren getting another uncomfortable set of shivers. “Then, I must give you this.”
Straight after saying that, Igor clicked his fingers, a velvet book appearing just within arm’s reach of Ren. He raised an eyebrow.
“A little guide, or helper,” Igor explained. “It contains everything you want to know about your situation within their world. Once you get transported, we will need to do a bit of … editing so the Universe doesn’t smite you for our transgressions.”
Gee, wasn’t that comforting. Ren looked down at the book. Aside from the shining velvet finish on the hard cover, it had a long title handwritten in cursive English—‘The rules of the World you will be staying in for the next year or so to help their Trickster on their journey because you completed yours and this World might be doomed anyway so try your best (to be used for reference as to which rules not to break)’. Concise. This definitely wouldn’t have made a bestseller if it were to be published. The title beat even the worst “Another World” parody headings.
“I … see. This definitely gives off an important feel to it,” Ren waved the book to Igor like a little flag. “I suppose I’ll give it a read once I’m there.”
“Great. You truly are a wonderful Guest,” Igor laughed without opening his mouth. Creepy. “Then, whenever you are ready…”
As he finished the sentence, a doorway slowly rose up from the ground, white mist poring through the edges.
“Enter here,” Igor finished, tone now completely serious.
Ren sighed, contemplating what he was about to do. If this journey also took a year, and he finished it, he’d essentially come out mentally a year older, but not aging even for a second. He’d certainly have stories to tell the gang, at least.
He gripped his hand around the polished wooden doorknob, pulling it towards himself. The door followed without resistance, fully unveiling the white mist previously concealed within. If heaven existed, he imagined that this would be the entrance.
“Well, I’m off,” he said dryly, partly to Igor, but mostly to his world. “I’ll be back soon.”
Ren tilted his head to look around the door which was obscuring the master of the Velvet Room.
"Say hello to Lavenza for me,” he smiled.
“Good luck,” Igor earnestly expressed. “And thank you. We will be watching with bated breath.”
Ren closed his eyes, and took a step forward, the white mist fully consuming him. Hearing a fading voice in the back of his mind.
“Good luck, Trickster.” He smiled.
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???
“I wouldst bethink thee wouldst f'rbid such a moveth.”
“I prefer not to meddle.”
"And yet, thee holp that gent at the next stepeth.”
“I do what I believe to be right. I allowed you your ‘experiments’, so allow me to conduct mine own, without your willful insolent commentary.”
“Hm. Still. To bringeth yond doomed wench into the picture too. What jump art thee scheming, o mast'r mineth.”
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Ren
Ren awoke to the gentle tone of the local subway announcer. He didn’t know where his train was bound for, but he assumed the book that lay on his lap had some answers. He also found a butterfly knife in his pocket, for whatever reason. Were those even legal?
Whoever wrote it clearly got their priorities straight. The very first things written in the book were distinct directions to where he was supposed to arrive. Iwatodai Station. Now where has he heard that one before?"
Iwatodai, Iwatodai.”
The subway announcer wasted no time. Thankfully, it seemed that Ren only had one suitcase worth of stuff so kindly packed for him by … whoever it was. The book was the only other thing he really had with him, aside the clothes on his back, a modern wristwatch he wore before getting transported and a very conspicuous butterfly knife in his pocket.
A very suspicious looking watch that didn't enter the market until 2016 and a pocket knife that can be used for tricks. What could go wrong?
As the doors to the train opened, Ren stepped out onto the platform, dragging his admittedly heavy suitcase behind him. It was still light out and the station looked rather lively, so he assumed it was around mid-day. The single big clock within the station confirmed his suspicions. It just struck 4pm.
Ren supposed the next order of business was to sit down on a bench somewhere and fully read the eloquently titled rule book Igor handed him. Thankfully, it didn’t take him long to find one, as the majority of people present seemed to have no time for idle activities.
“Excuse me,” he sat near a peculiar red-headed girl, wearing an old school white gothic dress.
It was certainly a unique choice of fashion, judging by how everyone else seemed to dress rather formally. The girl looked straight out of the Victorian era in comparison.
The morbidly dressed girl didn’t reply to his words, solely focusing on the sketchbook positioned on her lap. So, she was an artist? Ren smirked. He knew one quite well. He was also quite a peculiar character, so the fact this girl dressed in such aged garments made sense.
“Have your parents ever taught you that staring at others is gross?”
The girl finally looked up from her sketchbook, throwing the question into the empty air, rather than directly at him. Nevertheless, it was clear who it was directed at.
“Have yours ever taught you that ignoring people is impolite?” Ren fired back.
He felt no malice towards her, and for that matter, felt none from her either. It felt like she was just trying to avoid any conversation. The girl continued to stare into empty space, as if trying to grasp at something untouchable.
Clearly, she wanted him to take the hint, but that meant conceding to her passive ignoring, and Ren hated losing.
The girl sighed, closing her eyes as if to gather her remaining patience, evidently having no desire to continue the conversation. Ren, however, wasn’t gonna give up that easily. He turned his gaze from her, down to her 'canvas', where she was diligently sketching something with an HB pencil.
As he did, he heard a light sigh once again, and the red-haired girl instead switched the pencil to a brush pen. Ren thought she would begin to do the linework based on her sketch, but instead she scratched it out, completely erasing all the work she put into it.
"Come on, that was good," Ren commented, the red-head still completely ignoring him.
Seemingly, Ren's continuous insistence on talking soured her expression.
“It wasn’t my intention to halt your artistic prowess,” Ren continued. Just outright erasing a fully finished sketch frustrated him in some way.
The girl sighed again, closing her eyes once again, as if to think what to sketch again. She then opened a new page, starting to draw boxes in perspective. She seemed to be a good artist.
“What’s the getup for anyway? Themed party later today?” Ren continued to pry.
The girl jolted as if from an unpleasant shock, and immediately stopped the hatching for her drawing, shutting her sketchbook entirely.
“I fail to see how this is any of your concern,” she responded in a quick sentence, a tinge of anger evident. “Now if you could please leave me alone."
Ren supposed annoying her to the point of her directly asking him to leave had to stand for something. He relished in the opportunity to piss people off. Plus…
Most of the time, the ones that talk least subconsciously want someone to break through their shell.
There was the rare case of people that liked being alone, but as the vast majority of humans were social animals, the ones that didn't have someone to talk to went just a little insane.
He shrugged, deeming that the 'conversation' was enough, opening his book of rules. It advised him to visit a back alley across from a film theatre in the evening. Apparently it had an underground bar with some shady activity. Why was it that he kept getting mixed up in illegal activity and why was Igor of all people pushing him to do it this time?
The other activity on the itinerary asked him to go to a dorm after 12am and ‘get answers’. Whatever that meant. He was a bit confused at what both the requests wanted exactly, but he supposed it was better to follow the list rather than ignore it.
“Only someone of your level of stupidity could have written that list,” he heard from his side, surprised at the comment.
It was the red head again. Guess she wanted revenge and wasn’t satisfied with how things ended initially.
“You got the last word and you’re still not satisfied? There’s truly no appeasing someone like you, huh,” Ren hated how that reminded him of a certain someone. His neck scar itched again.
The girl didn't respond, not even gracing him with a look, focusing on the scenery ahead of her, or rather, looking beyond it.
Ren couldn’t get a very clear read on her as pretty much everything she said was done with a tired neutral expression. There was definitely a lot more than met the eye, though. That white dress, almost as if in mourning, that chronically sad expression, her emotionless talking, her drawing he got a glance on. It painted a grim picture. Ren didn’t exactly want to leave a person like that.
“I’m miserable enough as-is, so you ignoring me is actually right up my alley. I do that every day,” Ren joked. Well, it was a truth covered in self-depreciating humor, but it served effectively the same purpose. The girl didn’t seem to mind it when he made fun of himself. “You look around my age. You go to school here?”
Ren wanted to dig around for any useful information he could find in a place like this. He had an annoying brainworm in the back of his head that kept insinuating he knew this place for some reason, but he couldn’t recollect why. The only thing he knew was that he was in 2009 and that this place really resembled Odaiba. And despite this girl being a pretty clear weirdo, he had a gut feeling she knew a lot about the circumstances here.
Why else would she dress like this while concealing a gun in her pocket.
In Tokyo, Ren really worked on his observational skills, so he was able to glean a few bits of info before even starting the conversation with her. The awkward clothing was the eye-catcher, but her attitude is what really put him off. It could be that she was just very closed off too, or that she was some kind of chuunibyou, but even a slightly suspicious lead had to be investigated. His old 'friend' taught him that.
“That’s none of your business,” it seemed that Ren still had a good bit of work to do before she started opening up. It wasn’t that hard with Ann. “Do you?”
“Oh, now that’s funny. So when I ask you, it’s none of my business, but when you ask me, I’m supposed to be an open book? Trust goes both ways, you know?”
Ren was willing to go for a fair trade, but never for a losing one, unless it led to something bigger. And there was no guarantee he’d ever see the girl after this.
“Trust? When did I say I trusted you?” The girl smirked demeaningly. “You’re a convenient tool to pass time.”
That was quite hurtful, but Ren’s heard worse. It’s not like she didn’t have a point. They barely just met and he approached her as if he knew her for a million years.
“Fair enough,” he capitulated. “Well, I have business to attend to, so I suppose I’ll be seeing you.”
It was a disappointing stopping point, but pushing his luck further might have angered his volatile conversation partner. He decided to cut his losses and spend the rest of the day exploring Iwatodai.
Ren took one final look at the red head, who stared back with a blank expression as if to say “get out of here already”. Ren let out an inaudible sigh of exasperation. She would be tough to befriend.
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???
Nothing.
She felt nothing.
Nothing surrounded her and nothing was within her, blending into a seamless soup of misery, despair, anger, depression and hopelessness. And yet, despite all this, she couldn't care less. Why did it matter anyway? Not like her life was any different. The sad excuses she had for friendships or love were all just fleeting illusions. She never deserved it, and she could almost certainly never repay it. Especially not now.
It was hard to think. Hard to do anything. she couldn't see and couldn't feel, even her psyche slowly eroding inside her body, which now only served as a prison from death. Yes. death would be so much nicer than this. A final release from this torture. A fitting end to a life which amounted to nothing.
I daresay this is a rather dreadful place.
…
It would almost look like a black hole, had you not been there.
???
I suppose it's a bit strange to talk to what is essentially an empty husk, but I still feel a slight glimmer inside you.
Wh…?
You shone so bright in life, that even in death, that light act like a beacon. That's how I found you.
Who?
Your fate was a sad one, sealed by my servant's meddling. I want to make it up to you. I'll give you one last chance.
What's … happening?
I'll have to correct some of your memories, and restore the rest of your Soul, but that's the sort of minutia you don't have to worry about. I know that if you had the chance to talk, you'd agree to help someone in need.
She gained her first sense. Vision. She saw a smiling man with a white butterfly mask covering his face.
How could you find your way without your eyes to guide you forward?
She gained her second sense. Audition. She heard the invisible wails and cries of the world around her.
How could you hear the yelps of the needy without your ears to guide you forward?
She gained her third sense. Olfaction. She smelled a rusty, metallic scent that permeated the nothingness around her.
How could you smell the food to sustain your journey without your nose to guide you forward?
Next came Gustation. She could taste the death around her.
How could you taste the sustenance without your tongue to guide you forward?
That was a weird question. Wait. That was a thought. She … thought…
Once again, one more sense hit her. Tactition. She could sense the light gust of wind on her skin like a blanket.
How could you feel the support of those close to you without your skin to guide you forward?
Seriously, man, can we stop with the repetition. That statement makes no sense anyway! I know literary techniques are supposed to add flair to speech but…
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???
"To stage such a directeth int'rvention. What cameth ov'r thee, mine own liege," Philemon heard upon re-entry to his domain.
"I do not need to explain my actions to an underling, and I don't intend to," he snapped back. "You write stories, I correct them. That world could have yet lived had you not intervened."
"In w'rlds of valorous, tragedies art the most wondrous palette cleans'r."
Philemon had to concede that The Playwright had an element of truth. Where he didn't meddle, the Trickster prevailed. Thus, most worlds ended up being quite … boring.
"I must say, I'm almost excited at how this develops," Philemon admitted. "Breaking the rules, or not, having 2 Tricksters and a time traveller in one universe… I daresay I look forward to how things play out."
"Thee has't a wond'rful eye f'r opp'rtunity sir. I has't mine own owneth spice to addeth to the card," the jester smirked, taking out his notebook, about to sketch something down, before Philemon froze him.
"Not this time. you'll get your chance to play later, Playwright," he wanted to see the organic development unfold in full.
He loosened his control to allow the jester to speak.
"Thee knoweth I pref'r a diff'rent calling, mast'r. How bo'rish of thee to deadname me."
Philemon cringed. He hated the tendencies of his willful subordinate.
"Well, I hate it. You're bastardising a human name and attaching dated prefixes to seem more important," he responded. "One must think we have more important things to be doing, rather than childish roleplay."
He let go of his control, allowing the jester to move. The latter put away his book at last.
"Und'rstood. I shalt patiently waiteth as thee adviseth. I might not but sayeth, though, yond I didn't expecteth yond advocate of humanity to forswear to The Fifth's visage," The Playwright commented.
That was curious indeed. 'Igor' was strikingly set on being the driver of humanity, but to lie to one of it's Saviors… was a first. It seemed they had two worlds to look over.
"Fifth's mysterious disappearance would certainly have an unexpected outcome for his world," Philemon theorized. "I could intervene and do as The Upholder told that boy, or…"
He couldn't help but smile. Where would be the fun of a world with no consequence. No. He won't stop time. Things were truly about to get interesting.
"What about the 2 Thirds," Playwright finally dropped the fake accent. "How would you preserve stability with 2 Wildcards for the same timeline?"
"I won't. Let the pendulum swing. Him and Her are different after all, and I wouldn't want to ruin their parade," Philemon shrugged. "All I'll do is change their Links."
He smiled again. he had just the right candidate for Her Devil.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ren
A few hours had passed, and Ren’s search didn’t amount to much. He hadn’t paid a visit to the back alleys yet, and instead decided to fully explore the station and strip mall near it. He had a feeling that whatever waited for him in the narrow alleyways could be dangerous, so he left it for ‘desserts’.
Most people seemed to avoid him or would steal concerned glances in Ren’s direction as he passed. He felt a lot of eyes on him. It wasn’t the first time that happened, but why? He didn’t really get a chance to look in the mirror but it couldn’t have been that bad, right.
Taking a full look at the instructions, the book wanted him to visit the Que Sera Sera shot bar. He wasn’t over 20, and couldn’t legally drink. Places like those usually had guards that at least checked ID or even bar membership for more sophisticated locations. So, whoever wrote the rule book either didn’t know the legal drinking age, or didn’t care.
The resident registration card provided within the book seemed to lie too, but in the opposite sense. It read that he was younger, and that served to complicate things.
16 again, huh?
It also could have been a test. It was only around 8pm, and he still had time before midnight. If he somehow managed to make a believable disguise or a fake ID, it could be enough to fool the guards… No. He had no money, and no connections. There was no way to obtain either of those things in under a day, especially with such a time crunch. Once again, he’d need to improvise.
Sighing at the difficulty of his predicament, Ren tried to think of a plan. He was a decent all-rounder, and didn’t have many pitfalls. The ones he did have, he more or less managed to iron out during his probation in Tokyo. Without being a strong all rounder, it would significantly reduce their chances of success.
At least that gave him plenty of leeway into coming up with a strategy. Making a fake ID was probably the best option, but it required immense precision and time. He didn’t have all the tools for document forgery either, so that would probably consume an innumerable amount of time.
Only then, a small idea dawned on him. Not as sophisticated as forgery, of course, but a fake ID was still on the table. If he could get a printed copy of his ID, and carefully put his photo over the original, maybe it would fly? The security almost never looked too much into it. From his experience, the majority of the time they just checked the dates. So if he could do it in a believable way, maybe it would pass a glance check.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ren has always had deft hands. Even before spending a year in Tokyo, he got his experience sneaking sweet treats out of the kitchen right in front of his parents. Half the time he got caught, but the other half … he still got caught but later. He abstained from morally questionable acts when he was in Tokyo, to not land him in more trouble, but he was never a goody-two-shoes. His mischievous smile had to have come from somewhere after all.
His teachers always told his parents that he reminded them of a fox, getting along with everyone but scheming behind their backs. His parents didn’t mind, because it didn’t really affect his grades in any way. Plus the stuff he was scheming was mostly just harmless pranks. He didn’t actually mean to hurt anyone. But after all that stuff with Shido, he changed his approach. Pranks would be fine, if the way other students perceived him wasn’t that of a washed up drug lord. It was tiresome, but he adopted a “fake it til you make it” kind of attitude. Safe to say his friends only experienced a fraction of his old character. The jokes served more as a mask, a shield, even. It was always easier to laugh at hardship than cry at it. That’s the motto his father taught him.
“Those that laugh in the face of danger, never learn it’s true sting.”
It wasn’t ideal—the approach had its obvious flaws. Namely, Ren wasn’t sure anymore of what truly scared him. Even before he was the leader of the PTs, his emotions have dulled over the years. Useful at the time when he needed to be strong and confident, but now that that duty of leadership no longer burdened him, he found himself lost.
What does one do after saving humanity anyway? In a movie, probably be cheered on as a hero and showered with love and gifts, plus infinite riches. Ren didn’t get that. He got the ‘ex-criminal-but-we-still-think-you’re-guilty’ kind of treatment. Then again, the line between love and hate was so thin most movies ended up with the hero betrayed a bit later. There were always caveats, so perhaps reality didn’t stray too far from fiction in this instance.
Alas, that internal monologue did little to rationalize a stolen ID he held in his hands. The photo was that of a man in his early 30s, and did not look like Ren at all. Wonderful. This was definitely going to work.
He was standing right around the corner leading to Que Sera Sera, thinking of his next move. In his infinite wisdom, he managed to rob someone of their wallet, but didn’t realize that things like photocopies, scissors and glue still cost money. He could use the goods of 10,000 yen within the wallet, but he drew the hard line there. He planned to submit it to the police box in the strip mall close to here later anyway, and didn’t want to get into too much legal trouble.
“Well, here goes nothing,” he breathed out, stepping out from the narrow alleyway onto the wider opening with the shot bar and a seemingly closed mahjong club next to it.
There seemed to be a crowd of people in the alley, mostly smoking and mostly far above Ren’s actual age. The guards were clear to spot, one to each side of the entrance to Que Sera Sera. You’d have to work really hard to sneak past them. His best shot was to feign confidence and hand them the ID like nothing was wrong.
“Hello, fellas,” Ren tried to sound as natural as possible, given the situation. “Busy week?”
The guards just looked at him, almost insulted by his greeting. Not a good start.
“The fuck is a shrimp like you doin’ here, in such a getup,” a blond, cocky looking, tatooed guard raised his voice first. “Scram before I call the cops!”
Ren didn’t want the police involved but there had to be some reason for Igor to assign him to go to a fucking shot bar.
“I’m not a ‘kid’. I even have an ID that clearly states I’m older than you two,” he declared feigning looking offended, both guards looking at each other in bewilderment. Their faces looked like they swallowed a lemon.
“Look, kid, I don’t know what kind of ID you givin’ me but I ain’t blind! A kid’s a kid! Scram,” the blond guard spat out, faking a punch in Ren’s direction, stopping right in front of his face.
He knows how to pull his punches… More experienced than most working as security grunts then.
Ren didn’t respond to the threat. In fact he didn’t even flinch. It was better to act like a statue against provocations such as this one. The other security guard, a bulkier guy with pure black hair, styled back like that of a typical Yakuza member, seemed to be moderately impressed by Ren’s non-reaction. Ren watched as the man lowered his companion’s fist with his hand.
“You seem used to this, kid,” the other, taller, gruffer looking guard noted, crossing his arms and analysing his clothes. “And that cocky grin tells me a story. Whaddya want?”
“What?! Toriyama, we can’t let a kid in! If the cops find out the bar’s closed and our asses are on the line!” Shrieked the blond guard as if someone stabbed him. The power dynamic between the two seemed obvious.
Was it that easy to pique Toriyama's interest? Well, Ren wasn’t about to complain about easy pickings.
“Just wanna check the bar out from the inside, never been around these parts,” he honestly answered. The less he had to lie, the cleaner his conscience felt.
Toriyama smirked, arms still crossed as if in defiance. It was clear it would take more than that to make him move from his spot. By this point, an annoyed queue was getting formed behind Ren, and he started getting slightly worried.
“You ain’t the first to try that excuse, and I don’t want Kurosawa snoopin’ around here again,” he responded, looking down on Ren like a fly.
Kurosawa? Who was that? An investigator? Someone from law enforcement? Maybe it could help him get into the bar somehow…
“Well, I’m actually here to offer my services and ‘deal’ with that dipshit once and for all,” he lied, an evil smirk forming on his face.
That one he learned from Akechi, the scar on his neck itching yet again. The guard looked surprised for a second, and then gave the longest and loudest laugh in the entire back alley. Ren was convinced he’d hear him in his time from Oguni if he was still there.
“I gotta give props kid, you’re really fuckin’ stupid! You’re such a moron even my friend here can’t rival you!” He continued his maniacal laughter for about another minute after that, only stopping after realizing no one else was laughing with him. “Man, that’s funny! You should be a comedian.”
He suddenly switched to a completely serious tone leaning in close to Ren’s face.
“You better be very careful making comments like that around these parts. We got actual killers here,” he half-whispered.
Ren was hardly surprised to be honest. Maybe it was just his bias, but half the people here looked like they at least took some sort of drugs, with various other degrees of criminality. He maintained his neutral cocky smirk through it all. And then, the black haired guard said something completely unexpected.
“You’re here for Takaya then, yeah? That fucking Jesus cosplayin’ weirdo keeps all sorts around him, so I’m not surprised,” he paused, looking at Ren to gauge any sort of reaction. Nothing came up. “Enter.”
He stepped aside, allowing Ren in. That was… unexpected but welcome. He felt like the blond guard wouldn’t even allow him to enter the alley had it been his decision. Ren stepped past the guards and was about to go down the stairs, until a big hand reached his shoulder. A chill ran down his spine.
“Don’t cause a ruckus in there,” a chilly whisper came from Toriyama. “I would hate to have to dispose of a comedian like you.”
Due to the sheer size difference, Ren feared that if it came to it, he really could. He turned around, still with a smile on his face, nodded, and proceeded to the entrance of Que Sera Sera anyway. Whoever that ‘Takaya’ guy was, he definitely had some infamy.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ren didn’t know what he was expecting. Perhaps it was all the ‘hype’ he was subjected to trying to get inside, but the place looked like a regular bar. It was big and spacious, serving a variety of customers, but it was about as average as bars get. Not that he had many metrics, but it looked standard enough to him.
So, what now? The instructions he was given told him to get inside and ‘investigate’. Investigate what? It was a bar. Was that all Igor wanted? To test Ren’s infiltration skills since his time as a Phantom Thief past? He highly doubted it. It would take a small miracle to distract the guards enough to slip by, and not get in trouble with the police later. He had a fake ID, but for any more sophisticated paperwork, he might be in deep shit. Considering how his divine supervisors only really bothered to give him an ID and a ruleset, he doubted they bothered with much more. If Law Enforcement tried to check his DNA and it matched with a 9 year old of the same name that happened to live in the exact same place … it would be a disaster.
The security did bring up a somewhat peculiar figure though. Takaya. Ren didn’t know what he looked like, but he could ask the barman. Regardless, he was described rather colorfully, so he felt like he didn’t need to dig the whole place up.
Having no more leads to follow, Ren decided to test his luck on that. Even before he came up to the counter he was getting uncomfortable gazes from the people around him. Not even the kind an adult would give a minor who was in over their head. No. They seemed scared, and it wasn’t because of Ren’s foxy smile. It had to be something else.
“Where’s Takaya?” Ren decided to play into the fear by putting on a threatening voice instead of his usual neutrality. He became a pretty good actor after his year on probation, and he was going to use that to the best of his ability.
The barman the question was addressed to did an audible gulp, opening his mouth like a fish would, struggling to utter a sound. Even the mention of Takaya seemed to drain all the blood out of his face.
“T-takaya-sama didn’t mention anything about a guest today,” he found the courage to respond.
Why the honorific? Was Takaya a bigshot? Yakuza maybe? Ren knew their sway in 2009 was significantly stronger than the washed-up losers they mostly became by 2017. Then again, the actual Yakuza-looking guard outside seemed to openly resent Takaya, so maybe he was a small-time crook? It certainly didn’t seem like he was the most ’clean’ individual.
“I decided to show up early,” he flatly lied. Maybe a show of power would convince the barman that he was someone serious.
It seemed to work to an extent, as the barman got very jittery for a few seconds, indecisive on what to do, using the cloth he wiped glasses with as a fidget toy.
“F-follow me, sir,” he finally decided.
That was surprisingly easy. Why were people so fearful of him as soon as he stepped foot into the place? Ren didn’t think he looked particularly intimidating, and his sly smile usually made him more approachable. Whatever the reason, he’d have to ask the man sitting in the last private booth the place had, away from all the loud music and prying eyes.
“P-please wait here,” the barman pointed to the chair near the door before quickly scurrying away, leaving Ren alone.
There must have been a reason why people were acting so scared. What could it have been?
Ren initially tried to listen in on what was going on inside, but the door seemed to be soundproof. Very strange, considering even karaokes didn’t have fully soundproof infrastructure.
About another 10 minutes passed, before the door squeaked open and a tall hunched man dressed in a maroon peacoat with a black beanie and brown chelsea shoes marched out. The man seemed to have the worst snarl on his face, looking almost like a mad pitbull, and sported long, brown unkempt hair. He looked like a classic textbook drug dealer.
Just what have I gotten myself into?
Closing the door behind himself, the man cursed under his breath, before turning his hazel brown eyes to Ren. For a second, the two just paused, analysing each other as if in a measuring contest, before the angry looking man spoke up.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” He accompanied the question with a death glare.
Ren was getting a serious case of deja-vu. Something about his demeanour and clothing reminded him of the red haired girl he met earlier today.
“Just in awe at the style choice for the current weather,” Ren answered honestly. “I can’t imagine how cold you must be to wear a turtleneck under all those layers. Is it enough?”
Snarkiness was just in Ren’s nature. If he didn’t have that toxic trait, he could've probably found a way to avoid his probation too.
“No. I’m freezing,” came an unexpected response. “And you ought to watch your mouth around here. I’m far more tolerant than the guy that runs this place.”
The man snuck a glance back at the door he just closed.
“You mean Takaya?”
Ren didn’t exactly know what to expect from Takaya, as one source seemed to resent him, the other fear him, and the third curse him. He wasn’t looking to be an outstanding do-gooder by any means.
“Who else? I thought you were part of their gang for a second, with the way you look,” the man stated. “Not even bothering to clear the blood stains up would definitely be a Takaya thing to do.”
Bloodstains?! Ren, without thinking, pulled off his pure white shirt with adjustable sleeves, and tore off his blue tie. He liked the simple business-casual getup a lot, especially in warmer weather, so he supposed that’s why the Velvet Room decided to spit him out on the other side in this. But whose bright idea was to ruin it by splatting blood all over his clothes???
“You didn’t notice? Man, for someone with your job you sure are clueless,” the peacoat wearing man smirked. “Pot can’t call the kettle black, though.”
Somehow, Ren managed to completely ignore that his hands were also covered in red. Did he ignore it, or did the Velvet Room make him?! This didn’t make an ounce of sense.
“Well, I’ll get going now. Good luck in there,” the brown-haired man waved as he walked off, leaving Ren alone in his plunder.
Seriously. How was this possible? How could he not have noticed something so obvious?! Of course that girl wouldn't want to talk to him! Of course everyone was staring at him! He looked like a high school hitman or a really out of season Halloween cosplayer! It was a wonder the police didn’t show up!
Did they put a fucking knife in his pocket to incriminate him more?! What exactly was the plan? Land him in jail or make him go on probation again so he couldn’t help the Trickster?! Whoever was above Igor was really starting to get on his nerves!
Then again, from the bits about Takaya that he heard, he might have liked that. Ren could pretend he is a less-than-savory character and get on the gang leader's good side and dig up some info, maybe. Ren still had a sour taste in his mouth about the whole thing though.
First thing I do after getting transported to a different universe is get involved with a criminal gang. Not beating the allegations.
Ren sighed, putting his shirt back on, and rolling up the sleeves. Maybe the bloodstains would give him some kind of … threatening vibe? He wasn’t a stranger to mentally deranged psychopath murderers. Actually he knew one pretty intimately. The scar itched again.
Well, there was hardly any reason to hesitate anymore. The task on his checklist was technically already complete, but he wanted more info, and his gut was telling him this was a good place to start. He composed himself as much as possible, and knocked on the door.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The room looked more like a prison cell, with grey walls and ceilings, one rustic filament lamp to light up the whole room. An old, woodworked, barren table with knife marks stood in the middle, a simple empty wooden chair provided in front, most likely for visitors. On the other, there was a man fitting the description Ren was given.
He had extremely long, platinum hair, with yellow eyes, completely fitting the bill for a Velvet Room attendant, if not for the rest of his fashion choices. He wore a tight headband, which reminded Ren of that crown of thorns Jesus wore on his head, torn blue jeans with a studded white belt that resembled something a pop rockstar would wear, simple brown boots and a worn down, torn, red scarf tucked into the back of his jeans. He didn’t have a shirt on, revealing a lanky and starved, but still somehow fit body. He definitely seemed like he had a high opinion of himself, given that he was toying with a large revolver, spinning it around his finger like a student would a pen. If Ren didn’t have too many close calls in life, he’d almost be spooked.
He wasn’t alone. There was another, younger looking man behind him, also dressed in a highly peculiar outfit. He had dark blue hair, slicked back to make him out like a classic high school bully, with his eyes matching his hair’s color. Ren noted he also wore orange tinted glasses, but whether they were prescription or not, he couldn’t tell. He also had a toxic-green jacket with 2 thick vertical black lines around the chest and torso areas, as well as green fingerless gloves to match the fit. Beyond that, he wore simple black cargo pants with black sneakers to match, the only standout color being the silver suitcase lying on his lap. Something about his choice of fashion reminded Ren of Futaba’s Phantom Thief attire and it was really annoying.
He was sitting on a stool in the far left corner of the room, laying his back against the cold concrete wall and analysing his fingernails like he was a fucking noble from the 1800s after a manicure. His whole demeanour was far more pronounced than Takaya’s more muted color palette, and it hurt Ren’s eyes just looking at him.
As for the third person in the room, sitting in the far left corner across green-jacket—it was the red-head from earlier. She was part of an odd bunch to be sure.
“Whom do I have the ‘honor’ of speaking with today?” Takaya spoke, without looking up from the revolver he was spinning.
Ren struggled to find the proper words. He didn’t exactly have a concrete plan on what to do once he got here.
“I’ve come to meet the infamous Takaya. Is that you?” He answered back, trying to keep uncertainty out of his tone.
Takaya suddenly stopped playing with the revolver and violently slammed it down on the desk, the barrel pointing straight to Ren.
Man it would sure suck if there was a false discharge because of that.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Takaya continued. “How do you know me? Explain.”
Takaya seemed like a classic edgelord out of 2015, that came before his time. With enough effort into his makeup, he could make a strong fashion statement.
“People talk. A surface level investigation is enough to find out about you,” Ren had to play his cards right. Giving out too much information could serve as his demise. “I got curious and decided to look into it.”
Takaya raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. His co-conspirators also had their eyes on Ren, the girl not giving away anything about knowing him.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Takaya said, composure and restraint evident in his voice. “And with you dressed like this, there’s no way I’d believe such a childish reason. What’s your real motive?”
How could Ren explain there was none? How could he explain that the whole reason he’s doing this was at the behest of the powers above? That would definitely result in several bullet holes in his body.
“Perhaps, you’d be interested in my services,” he bluffed. His trained eye could easily discern a real weapon from a fake. This one looked to be a Smith & Wesson 500 Magnum. Even Untouchable didn’t sell replicas as detailed as this. “Though my methods are a bit more close and personal.”
Ren raised both his hands, then slowly articulated his left as it reached into his trouser pocket, and fished out the comparatively small butterfly knife. Thankfully Takaya didn’t react to this by blowing his brains out, and instead lightly smiled at him like a predator would to prey.
Obviously, Ren had no intentions of actually committing a crime as serious as murder. The dubious legality of his Phantom Thieves activities never reached that far, and he never planned to go there. He didn’t want to turn out like Akechi. Regardless of this, however, there was a lot of merit to having connections to the criminal underground as a cooperator, rather than an underling, since they sported a lot of connections and had a lot of power, especially in 2009. It was a deal with the Devil, so to speak.
“A wise man never plays his cards upfront,” Takaya judged, slightly narrowing his eyes as if looking deeper into Ren’s soul. “I’m not fully convinced you’re what you say, and I don’t think you’re truly aware of what we do here. However, I must commend your stupidity. You stepped right onto my lap and talked down to me. It’s amusing.”
Takaya picked up his gun and pointed it straight at Ren’s forehead. This wasn’t the Metaverse. Ren couldn’t dodge bullets.
“Drop the knife.”
Ren did as instructed. Better not to anger a man willing to shoot him at the drop of a hat. He slowly lowered the knife down to the ground, Takaya’s revolver easily following his head, finger on the trigger.
“Empty your pockets.”
Once again, Ren obeyed. This journey could end bizarrely quickly if he decided to act brashly during such a pivotal moment.
“Jin.”
Takaya nodded his head at Ren, his eyes glancing at his green jacket-wearing companion. The latter seemed to understand the silent command, coming up to Ren, patting him down, and deeming there were no more belongings in Ren’s possession, taking what was already on the floor. It was smart of Takaya to not do this himself, since if he came up to Ren close range, it could result in possible disarmament.
Only after Ren’s belongings had all been seized, had Takaya loosened his aim.
“Now,” he pointed the S&M 500 at the seat in front of Ren. “We can talk.”
Ren obeyed that too. Let the man with the gun seize control, and fight a battle on other fronts instead. Don’t be an idiot. His brief run-ins with the criminal underworld had taught him enough about how dangerous they could be.
Ren sat down on the plain wooden chair, looking Takaya in the eye. He couldn’t show fear to the man, as that would mean a loss on all fronts. It felt like Takaya really enjoyed the feeling of domination.
“Pardon me,” Takaya started, shifting to a more amicable tone. “I’m usually a lot more courteous, but not many people come to me directly without notice. I take privacy very seriously.”
Out of the corner of Ren’s eye, he glanced that Takaya’s gun was still on him, at around the chest area, but the finger was kept off the trigger.
“I’ll have my good friend Jin here check your belongings,” Takaya continued, with a light smile on his face. “And then we’ll determine what to do with you.”
Takaya’s head didn’t move an inch, but his eyes did shift towards Jin, almost in silent question. Jin, sensing the gaze, looked at Ren, then back down at the belongings.
“Seems to be nothing strange aside from the butterfly knife and a book,” he answered. “There’s a stolen ID as well as his own, both seem to be real. The only weird thing is…”
Jin stood up, walked over to the table and put the book down in front of Takaya, opening it on the first page.
“...This directive. Someone else gave him the order,” he finished his sentence, moving his gaze onto Ren.
Well, this was a pile of shit. First day in a new world and Ren already had a gun pointed at him with lethal intent. Takaya’s finger was now back on the trigger.
“Who was it, why, and where are they?” Takaya’s face didn’t lose its smile, but the words were still cold and shallow, clearly meaning business.
“Who else but me. This is a checklist so I don’t forget about my to-do list tomorrow,” Ren had to take advantage of the goofy name the book was given to hopefully pull off the lie. “No higher up would be writing things down on paper in this day and age.”
Takaya slowly scanned Ren’s face as if to ascertain the truthfulness in his words, looking through him rather than at him.
“Then what about the second directive?” Takaya asked next. “The one where it says to stay up past midnight.”
Ren didn’t take long to formulate a response to a much simpler question.
“I always do this. Most of my work is carried out in the dark, after the sun sets, and it’s easier to take out targets as they are sleeping.”
Obviously, he had no idea what the reason for him staying up could possibly be, but considering he was functionally homeless, he’d imagine that would have to be the case regardless of the book’s instructions.
Takaya closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if to ponder if to trust the bloody-shirted Ren. Then, after what felt like a century of waiting, let out a sigh.
“Fine, I’ll accept this explanation," Takaya relented. “Having another pawn can be useful, especially now with more and more threats piling up in Iwatodai. Do my bidding, and you will be rewarded. Don't … and…”
The sentence didn't need an eloquent finish. The gun spoke more than the man ever could. Ren had a feeling that the "reward" Takaya would provide him with is simply not dying, but that was good enough for now.
"What does being your pawn entail in this case," Ren faked a Hollywood smile as best he could.
"My eyes and ears for now," Takaya elaborated. "Rumor has it there are others besides us. I want to snuff them out before we have problems."
Takaya didn't continue. Ren raised an eyebrow in confusion at what evil Jesus could mean.
"As I said, be my pawn, and you will be rewarded," Takaya sensed his uncertainty. "For now, this is all you need to know. Now, leave. We will find you once your time comes."
Ren didn't want to ask how they'd track him down, but he assumed Takaya had many other "eyes". He glanced down at the book on the table, turning his head to check his other belongings, asking a silent question.
"Take your stuff. I have no interest in your primitive belongings," Takaya waved his gun in the air like a flag.
Without turning his back, Ren stood up from the chair, grabbing his book, and walked backwards picking up the remainder of his admittedly shallow arsenal that Jin dropped for him. He did all this while always looking Takaya straight in the eye. When confronting a lion, behave like one.
He tracked down the door handle, pushing it down and pulling it towards himself, slipping back into the relatively cool corridor.
Phew.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"He's bluffing," Chidori uttered, as soon as the door shut, not looking up from her sketchbook.
Takaya rolled his eyes, without turning around to face her. It pissed him off when people told him the obvious.
"There's no need to state the obvious, Chidori," Takaya decided to grace her with his reply. "But a pawn is a pawn, and right now, resources is the very thing I need."
"What resources? That amateur wandered into our lair without a clue! He's a dimwit, and his inclusion in our ranks will do more harm than good!" Jin butted in, immediately attempting to exclude the black-haired boy.
"Who ever said I'll ever let him join Strega. Promises are made to be broken, Jin. Nothing I said to him is to be taken seriously," Takaya commanded, wordlessly conveying he wanted silence. "Plus, he's yet to prove himself. If my instincts are correct, he might yet come in useful."
That boy was no assassin, but Takaya sensed zero fear in his eyes, even as the gun's chamber was drilling a figurative hole in the brat's noggin. A true amateur that never knew death would be terrified and would try to hide it. This subject was merely … cautious. It was clear that he knew what he was getting himself into, but he did it anyway. This was a calculated attempt at scouting.
"What if he's with them," Chidori posed a question, beginning to sketch on a different page in her notebook.
Takaya noted that this was a rather sharp assertion from someone unquestionably beneath him. Perhaps Chidori was smarter than she let on.
"They haven't caused us any problems yet," Takaya preferred not to interfere with stragglers who had no idea what they were doing. "If that boy was in their ranks, that would be a lot more troublesome. On the other hand … if he joins their ranks while working with us, he could prove a valuable insider."
Takaya had an inkling this kid knew of the Dark Hour, or had at least heard of it. And if he was able to act within it, he could serve as especially useful. A grin manifested on Takaya's face as he stared at the closed insulated door.
"He'll prove his worth yet."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ren secretly thanked Takaya for pointing that gun at him, since without that memory drilled into his skull, he would be dying of exhaustion by now. It felt like a lot has happened, not much of it good, and he had yet to finish his 'itinerary'.
"So," a gruff voice interrupted his train of thought. "How was your master?"
Ren followed the voice to a smirking man in a dark red trenchcoat. The same man he met not too long ago.
"Shouldn't you know? You were there yourself not too long ago," Ren teased back, trying to keep things light.
"My relationship to them is purely transactional," the trenchcoat man answered honestly. "I don't take orders from anyone."
The man certainly looked tough. And even if he didn't dress for the weather, at least his clothes were modestly normal, unlike the gobledygooks that were beyond the door.
"So what do you buy from them? Meth," Ren smirked. The man didn't look like a drug addict, so this question further served to lighted the mood.
His conversation partner clearly sensed the tone of the statement, and forced a smile himself, however shallow it ended up being.
"Nothing that spicy, but they are drugs. Just not the illegal kind," the man clearly preferred not to elaborate, moving on to a different topic. "You don't seem like you're one of their dogs either. You part of the Yakuza or somethin'?"
"Swing and a miss! I am completely jobless," Ren joked back.
Being entirely honest, Ren wasn't sure about what his cover story was. He wasn't exactly acting on his own impulses, but he didn't know the plan going forward. Was he expected to join a school? Were there any forged documents to confirm his existence? Where was he supposed to live and with what kind of money? He didn't have a phone either.
"Huh, well it's not like it's any of my business anyway," the man finished prying.
Now that Ren got a good look at him, he seemed to be around the same age, but with all the clothes obfuscating his figure, as well as the permanent angry look he sported, it made him look older than he should.
"What's your name, anyway?" Ren figured it was his turn to pry.
It took a few seconds for the trenchcoat to consider, but he seemed to make up his mind relatively quickly.
"Aragaki for you. Difficult to dance around conversation without anything to call the other party," he pondered.
Aragaki. Noted. Names held a substancial amount of power. Maybe Aragaki mattered. Speaking of, the forementioned Aragaki was now expectedly looking at Ren as if to signal a 'trade'.
"Oh, where are my manners," Ren laughed. "You can call me Amamiya."
He strongly considered of giving a fake name, but granted even evil Jesus knew his real name, it made little sense to sow confusion. That said, he still didn't really like giving this much away.
"Hm. I'll remember that name. You certainly made an impression," Aragaki stood up. "Well, I'd recommend you run home, Amamiya. The nighttime here is quite a bit more dangerous than other places in Japan."
It felt like Aragaki already knew that Ren wasn't from around here. Goddamit, he really needed to work on his Kumamoto dialect. Wait… Dialect. He really didn't give it much thought, but everyone here had a slightly different dialect to Tokyo. To be precise, it seemed to be Kobe dialect. He was in Kobe! He finally knew where he was!
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ren
Ren checked his smartwatch. Somehow, out of everything, this was the thing Igor let him keep, though it wasn't like he could charge it anyway. It indicated it wasn't too far off midnight, and the book suggested staying out until then, so he was "early" to the deadline.
What was supposed to happen anyway? He attempted to recollect what he remembered about Iwatodai and Tatsumi Port Island. He saw it on the news more than a handful of times, and right around 2010, only a year after the events transpiring now. Then again, if it was anything related to the Metaverse, the news wouldn't be able to find much outside of tin foil hat theories off of 2chan.
Ren made his way to the main square of Iwatodai Station, which was thankfully not too far away from the underground hideout of religious figure cosplayers. He sat down on the same bench that he initially met the weird goth girl that turned out to be part of Takaya's cohort.
It rubbed him the wrong way. Takaya seemed far more outwardly evil than the red-head. She was more … antisocial than anything. Not even scared as much as averse to interaction. Takaya was anything but. That man was looking to talk with others. Others that held value to him. The girl wasn't like that, even if she was working with him. There was more to their relationship than it seemed.
He was so deep in thought, he almost didn't notice how the sky above him turned a green hue. Almost. Even more so, he could see the small crowds across the street from him transform … into coffins?
What in the Halloween?
This was an interesting development. He noted that when he first stepped into the Metaverse, the sky turned an almost crimson red, not to mention the castle that replaced the school. This didn't feel awfully dissimilar.
He finally remembered what the articles said about Iwatodai. They had a surge of incidents in people around that area that suddenly lost their will to live. Or rather, they had no will. They became functional zombies. Mental shutdowns. Unlike in the case of the PTs, according to reports, incidents at Iwatodai happened en masse, almost back to back. This many incidents couldn't have been caused by a single acting entity. This was either a group effort or…
He heard a gargling right behind him. Leaping up from the bench, he did it just time to dodge a stabbing attack from underneath. It came from … some sludge with a round blue mask. Low to the floor, not following human anatomy. Taking a proper look, it didn't even wear the mask. It held it. In one of the five arms. The other four held daggers.
It's a shadow. He hasn't seen anything like this one before, but this much was undoubtful. Not only that, but it now had other, smaller shadows, with only two hands following behind it. It was a shadow leader. He instinctively reached for his mask but it wasn't there. His powers were gone.
"Well, shit, gentlemen. Spare a dagger?" He held out his hand to the 'leader' shadow, masking his fear behind the joke, but the joke clearly did not land.
The shadow slashed at Ren's hand with 2 out of it's 4, Ren twisting it out of the way to avoid becoming an unconcentual amputee. There was only 1 option left. He stanced up, raising both his arms as a boxer would, and jumping from leg to leg like he saw other professionals on TV. And then he turned on his heels and ran.
That was ridiculously unfair. Ren couldn't fight back without his powers! The shadows clearly couldn't give less of a shit about a fair fight either, as all of them chased after him fervently, not letting up.
Ren didn't know where he was running, but it's not like he could stop with those freaky ass things hot on his heels. He ran past an empty alleyway, almost missing a flash of auburn lying still within it. Auburn? Oh shit. It was a human! He turned his head behind him, just to see the shadows chasing him turn to the alleyway for easier pray.
"Shit!"
He couldn't exactly fight back the swarm in his current state, but he couldn't just stand by and let them do with that human as they wished! He turned again, rushing head first into the dreadful alleyway, as the main shadow swung it's daggers in preparations to chop the laying woman into pieces. Ren jumped above the 4 smaller shadows, and in his only available effort, stomped right on top the dagger-wielding shadow. It screeched, as he successfully delayed it's attempt to end the girl's life, but his plight was far from over. Now, on the other side of the convoy of doom, and right in the middle of them and an unconscious innocent, he only had one option. In a brief second he scooped her up in both arms, hurling her body on his back like a soldier would a wounded, and legged it even harder, shadows of course following straight behind.
Ren was running out of stamina, and didn't have too long. He was athletic and strong from consistent practice, but running with around a 45kg load on your shoulders didn't help. It also slowed him down to the point where the shadows were beginning to outpace him. A few more seconds and…
Ren heard a slash, immediately followed by pain in his right achilles tendon. He winced and tripped over his own leg, thankfully falling on his left shoulder rather than head first, and just avoiding a serious injury to his unconscious companion. The shadows this time clearly learned their lesson, immediately surrounding the pair so that they'd have nowhere to go. Not like they could anymore.
"Can we talk about this? I just got here and I'd really like to see some local landmarks," Ren couldn't help but he cocky even in a situation like this, as the main shadow brought down it's first dagger, right above Ren's head.
All Ren could do is shield himself with his forearm, but of course, a sharp blade cut through his flesh like butter, with Ren still staring at the point of the dagger above his eye. Even with the adrenaline, it felt agonizing, but he needed to distract the rest of the nightmare rotation so that they'd keep their hands off the girl. He twisted his forearm clockwise, forcing the dagger to hit against the bone and rotate with it, just about being able to wrestle the weapon out of the shadow's hand. He quickly grabbed the knife, pulling it out of the bloody sheath with his right, the force causing more blood to spill directly on his face. This was turning into the biggest shitcake he's ever been fed.
Ren slashed at the armed shadow, severing the empty limb and making it screech and back off in pain, as yet another shadow joined to take its' place. There was no way to get out, but he had to try. He had to do something. He wouldn't let another soul be harmed in his presence…
"PERSONA!" A gruff voice shouted as a bright flash of light made Ren wince.
He heard half the shadows scream in agony, and by the time he regained his sight, only the shadow with the knives remained. Ren wasn't about to let this opportunity slip by. While it was still disoriented he leaped forward, slashing off the hand holding the mask in an attempt to immediately kill it. It seemed to work, as without a single sound the shadow in front dissolved, getting absorbed into the asphalt, the dagger in Ren's hand going with it. Yuck.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" He heard the same voice that shouted earlier right behind him, forcing him to rapidly turn around. "I fucking told you not to dawdle!"
The figure grabbed Ren by his shirt, slightly lifting him in the air. It was Aragaki. He was stronger than he let on. So he was a persona user.
"Look, I appreciate the height surgery, but could you please put me down, I've got enough injuries as is," Ren begged with a raspy voice, Aragaki relenting.
"Don't stay out here after 12am unless you want to end up lost!" He hissed, clearly still meaning business.
That must be what people referred to as mental shutdowns here. Aragaki though seemed to have absolutely no plans to hesitate as he lifted the unconscious girl (who thankfully suffered no injuries) the same way Ren did, and sprinting right back into the alleyway Ren came from.
"Follow me if you have any sense to survive," He commanded. "You lost a lot of blood, and I don't have the strength to haul two fatasses to the dorm!"
Dorm? That was also in his "rulebook", though it didn't specify which. Well, regardless, Ren didn't exactly have an abundance of choice on his hands, so he ran after Aragaki.