4/12

Makoto's eyelids are heavy. Kawakami-sensei is speaking to her, but nothing sticks. Her duties as Student Council President are ramping up. Several club budgets need balancing. There's still undone prep for tomorrow's volleyball rally. Exam proctoring.

It is not something she can't handle. But, yes, it is a lot when combined with her usual studies and college groundwork. Plus, her sister has exhibited a rather sour attitude as of late.

However, none of this is why she barely slept last night. She spent too much time thinking about Akira Kurusu. She knows someone leaked his information online. Everyone was talking about it yesterday, but she resisted the temptation to look. Kawakami’s assurances had set her at ease, but then she’d heard he'd arrived five hours late in the company of Ryuji Sakamoto.

And that they had scaled a wall in the courtyard.

Doubt infects her. What if the rumors are true? Is Kurusu dangerous? Violent? Unhinged? Homicidal? She imagines him, all buff and jagged lines, covered in tattoos, a murderous glint in his eyes. His voice is loud and obscene. His curses spit like saliva. Perhaps he is a former member of the yakuza. They've accepted adolescents before. How did he get out? Had he gotten out? Was he a drug user? A drug pusher? An enforcer? She imagined, and imagines still, a stooped young man, stalking his way down the halls of Shujin, the students scattering at the sound of his approach. His eyes, dark and maniacal, are enough to scare away even the most formidable of potential challengers. And she imagined, and imagines still, herself, standing defiant in the face of impending conflict and-

"Makoto, are you listening to me?"

Makoto blinks, blushes, and says, "I'm sorry, Kawakami-sensei. I know it's no excuse, but I didn't get much sleep last night."

Kawakami snorts. "Oh, it's an excuse, believe me." Then her lips become a tight line, and she quickly says, "Anyway, I'm glad you decided to do this. He should be here any minute, hopefully."

Makoto nods and clears her mind of the delusions and fantasies. "I look forward to meeting him." That's right. Keep it together. All I have to do is show him around the school. That'll be easy. Then I can get back to what's important.

She doesn't have time for idle speculation. Even if it is kind of fun, it's ridiculous that she allowed herself to indulge like that until the early morning. That isn't who she is. Still exhausted, she steels herself and continues to wait.

The door to the faculty office slides open, and both women turn toward the noise. A tall, lean, dark-haired student steps inside.

Kawakami rises from her chair. "Kurusu. It's nice to see you fit us into your busy schedule."

The boy frowns and approaches. "Yes, Kawakami-sensei," he replies.

Makoto's brain is firing. Wait, this is Akira Kurusu? But he's just-

Kawakami's voice from yesterday fills in the blank.

Cute.

Her throat goes dry. She becomes uncomfortably aware of her pulse. Her brain begins to reason with itself. Sleep deprivation. Dehydration. She did not get the opportunity to eat a balanced meal this morning. She is, simply put, off her game. She orders her mind to cut it out, but it is too busy assessing the young man in front of her and comparing it to the version she'd concocted last night—calm, collected, handsome, quiet, a little confident, handsome. Wait, on what am I basing these observations? He's only said two words! He stepped into the office all of five seconds ago.

"No more train delays?" Kawakami-sensei asks, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Kurusu reaches towards his face with his hands. His fingers collide with the lenses of his glasses, and he frowns. He removes them and rubs his eyes. "No. I left earlier."

"How considerate of you," his homeroom teacher replies.

Akira Kurusu regards both of them without his glasses.

Oh. Makoto thinks when he fixes her with his dark eyes. He looks better with them off.

"This," Kawakami-sensei says and gestures to Makoto. "Is Makoto Niijima, Shujin Academy's Student Council President."

Makoto regains enough of herself to say, "It's very nice to meet you, Kurusu." She does not stutter, and her voice does not squeak.

Akira Kurusu replaces the glasses and inclines his head. "It’s nice to meet you too, Niijima-senpai."

"Now then," Kawakami says, bringing her hands together in a single, loud clap. "I've asked Makoto here to tutor you, as-"

Makoto's heart lurches up to her throat. "Wait, what?"

Kawakami glances over at her, brows furrowed. Makoto gulps. She actually gulps.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Kawakami asks. "I told you I wanted someone to help him adjust to life here, and a strong academic performance would go a long way towards that. As you've taken his courses already, I thought you would be the best person for this job."

Makoto keeps the scowl from her face. Like I don't have enough to do? She pushes her emotions down, captures her composure. Kurusu, for his part, looks indifferent. Relax. Relax. Another responsibility won't kill me. Kawakami-sensei is right. I am the best person for this job. I'm just tired and flustered. She turns to Kurusu and tries not to let her eyes linger on his face. It is a lovely face. "I am truly sorry for my outburst just now. Please accept my apology." She bows her head, just a bit. "I'd be happy to tutor you."

His smile is polite but lacks warmth. "Thank you."

She needs to take back control. She will not allow any compromise. "We'll meet in the library after school today. Please bring your notes and textbooks."

Kurusu hesitates for only a moment before he nods and says, "Alright. I'll see you there."

Kawakami, evidently pleased with herself, wears a wide and proud grin. "There we go! See? Look at me, facilitating healthy relationships between my students." Makoto cringes at the word 'relationship,' but Kurusu doesn't seem bothered, so she doesn't let it show. "Alright, it's almost time for class. Kurusu, you'll be coming with me. Makoto, thank you for your assistance in this." She stands and heads for the door, and Akira Kurusu gives Makoto a single, solid nod before he follows her.

Makoto watches the two of them and mumbles an "Of course," before she starts to leave.

#

Akira stares out the window as the morning's lecture drones on. Makoto Niijima, huh? Perhaps he misjudged Kawakami. Maybe she did want to see him do well.

Plus, having the Student Council President around couldn't possibly hurt his standing any. He hadn’t checked RINE yet, but from what he’s overheard in the halls, he is now either a former yakuza enforcer or an undercover yakuza enforcer.

Don’t hold your breath, the voice in his head sings.

When Kawakami had asked Niijima to tutor him, she had seemed upset by the prospect. Moreover, she had appeared flustered throughout the whole meeting.

She probably heard the rumors. She at least must've looked me up online.

Fine.

If that's how it is, that's how it is.

Just another pretty face. Akira thinks this but admits to himself that Makoto's is a very pretty face.

Something else nags at him. He doesn't know why, but he can't help thinking that he's seen Makoto somewhere before.

#

Lunchtime arrives, and Ryuji struts into the classroom. The students turn their attention to him, and a fresh batch of whispers begins to bounce around the class. Ryuji ignores all this and plops down in the empty seat alongside Akira. "Yo," he says.

"Hey," Akira replies. "So..."

"Yeah." Ryuji leans in, and his voice drops to a whisper. "That thing yesterday? Wasn't a dream, right?" Akira shakes his head. “Check this.” Ryuji reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and shows it to Akira.

Akira’s eyes widen when he sees a familiar red-and-black app on his friend’s phone. “You’ve got the app on your phone too?”

“Uh-huh,” Ryuji replies, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “I found it last night, but I’ve been too scared to touch it. I’ve got no idea when it showed up on my phone.” He sighs, meets Akira’s eyes for a moment, then says, "Look, I know I said I didn’t want to have anything to do with that crazy place, but I need to know what's going on. Kamoshida, all the volleyball players we saw over there? None of them remember anything. Have you talked with Ann?"

"Not yet," Akira says. "But she hasn't said anything to me either." He glances at the other students. "And there's something else."

"Yeah? Not more weird-ass visions, I hope.” Ryuji says this, but he sounds expectant.

"Well, sort of. On top of those hallucinations, I've had these dreams ever since I arrived. At first, I thought they were nightmares. Now, I don't know." He takes a few moments to describe to Ryuji the contents of those strange visions.

"Whoa," Ryuji says. "That is creepy. But, do you, like, think it has something to do with all this? I mean, I'm not a dream-analyzing guy myself, but you do have a record. So, couldn't it just have to do with all of that?"

"That’s what I thought too. But last night, I had another dream. I was in the Velvet Room, and Igor congratulated me on awakening my Persona."

"But didn't that cat thing call it a Persona? Couldn’t you have known to call it a Persona from Morgana saying it?"

"Yeah, but come on. We’ve got apps on our phones that can send us to a pocket dimension, but my dreams are too crazy to be real?"

Ryuji shrugs in surrender. "Alright, I guess that’s a good point."

The door slides open, and Ann Takamaki walks in. Her eyes are downcast, but a fire returns to them when she sees Ryuji seated next to Akira. She marches up to the two boys and asks, "What're you doing here, Ryuji? This isn't your class."

Ryuji rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know that." He inclines his head towards Akira. "I was just chattin’ with this guy."

She crosses her arms and frowns. "Don't you think it's time you got lost already?"

"Real nice, Takamaki," Ryuji says, standing. "By the way, have any plans on going back to the Castle today?"

Akira's mouth is suddenly dry. He had wanted to ask Takamaki about her presence in Kamoshida's warped Castle but hadn't had the opportunity. He would have been a bit more subtle than outright asking her, though.

Ann's brows furrow. "Huh? What the heck are you talking about?"

"Sure was considerate of you just to sit there while we were about to be executed."

She sighs. "Are you high? I have no idea what kind of game you two idiots are playing, but keep me out of it."

Ryuji and Akira glance at each other. She doesn't remember either.

"Fine, eff this. I'm going." Ryuji shoves his hands in his pockets and begins to walk off. Then he stops and turns back to Akira. "Meet me at the front gate after school, dude. We'll get to the bottom of this." He cracks a grin, and Akira can't help but return it.

"Sure," he says. Then Ryuji ambles out of the room and shuts the classroom door.

#

Akira meets Ryuji at Shujin’s front gate. Students in the area scatter when they see the two together. Ryuji doesn't notice this either. Akira wonders if it's because of poor observational skills or because he can't be bothered to care.

"I was thinking," Ryuji says as Akira walks up to him. "You know how Kamoshida and Takamaki don't remember us at all from the Castle?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what if that weirdo wearing the speedo wasn't the real Kamoshida?"

"I don't follow."

"What if it was, like, a doppler, or something?"

"A doppler?"

Ryuji rolls his eyes. "Yeah. You know. Like something that looks like someone else, but isn't?"

"Oh," Akira says and snaps his fingers a few times before he remembers the term. "You mean a doppelganger?"

"Yeah, that's it!"

Akira considers this for a few moments, then nods. "Makes sense."

"Wait, for real?"

"Sure. You said it yourself. You’ve seen Kamoshida since our time in the Castle, and he didn’t say anything. Takamaki didn’t know what we were talking about, either."

Ryuji leans back against the school's gate. "But what's it all mean? Like, what was that Castle?"

"Well, if it's not the real Kamoshida, and those people he had in there weren't real students, does it matter?"

Ryuji fixes him with a glare, and Akira blinks in surprise. "Hell yeah, it does!" The blonde boy shouts. "Think about it. He was torturing all those guys and doing, uh, all that stuff with those girls. What if what he does over there is just a bigger version of what he does over here?"

Akira mulls this over. "You think he is hurting people, here? In the real world?"

Ryuji glances around, and in a lower voice, whispers, "I know he hurts people. I see a lot of guys on the volleyball team with bruises and slings. And sometimes I see the girls looking like that too."

Something goes cold inside Akira. Someone has flipped a switch, and the whirling fragments that compose his mind shut themselves up, and all he has left is a single, all-encompassing, solidified thought. If that’s true, we have to do something. It is not a question for him. He remembers Arsene's challenge, and he remembers his response.

"You okay, dude?" Ryuji asks. "You went still all of a sudden."

Akira looks Ryuji in the eye and says, "You want to go back there, don't you?"

His friend's frown turns into a grin, and his eyes light up. "Shit yeah, man! You in?"

"I'm in."

#

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Makoto's pencil is sharpened to a fine point, and the lead tip collides with the paper in a rhythmic, slow, and consistent beat. She sits in the library. Second-year textbooks, which she borrowed from teachers, lay open before her in a neat little row.

She sits in the library, alone at a round table.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

There are other students in the library. Some sit by themselves, and some in small groups of two to three, hunched over their desks and tables. All of them cast worried glances in Makoto's direction.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Makoto prides herself on her stoicism. Even in distasteful situations, she can maintain a look of collected dignity on her face and in her posture. As she is a regular at the library, it is familiar to the students that frequent it.

But today, Makoto's brows are just a bit furrowed.

Today, her lips are squeezed together in a tight, white line.

Today, her pencil is tapping out a slow, angry code onto a blank piece of paper.

Today, Akira Kurusu is late.

Today, Akira Kurusu has stood her up.

One of the students at another table, a second-year, leans over to his friend and whispers in the lowest voice he can muster, "Man, the Prez is pissed!"

Tap. Tap. Tap.