5/28

A thump, and Akira’s eyes shoot open. He sits up, and Morgana, draped across his chest, topples to the floor and wakes with a yowl.

Akira turns and finds Yusuke at his desk, standing, gloved hands raised in the air, fingers splayed. “They are complete,” he states.

Akira shakes the fog from his mind. “Oh man, I’m sorry. I must’ve fallen asleep.”

“Yes, I noted your snoring some time ago,” Yusuke says, folding his arms across his chest.

“I don’t snore,” Akira protests, then looks at Morgana. “Do I?”

“Oh yeah,” the cat replies, licking his paw and wiping it over his face. “Big time. I usually just hit you a few times until you stop. Seriously though, you might want to get that checked out. Sleep apnea is no joke, from what I’ve heard.”

Akira feels his eyes narrow. “You’ve heard of sleep apnea?”

“Hey, I hear things. I keep my ears peeled.”

“It’s eyes, and-”

“Pardon me,” Yusuke interrupts. “But as I stated earlier, I have finished my assigned task.”

Akira pushes himself off the couch and rubs his shoulder. He’d meant to stay awake and supervise Yusuke, but watching the boy work had been exhausting. Combined with everything the Phantom Thieves had done the day before, plus Makoto’s late-night request, it was no wonder Akira had passed out.

“Whoa,” Akira says, when he finally makes his way over to the desk.

Dozens of Calling Cards litter his desk. Stylized in red and black, each Card holds a single image of a crimson top hat, beneath which fire burns. In blocky English letters, he reads, “‘Take Your Heart.’” Akira smiles at Yusuke and pats him on the back. “They’re perfect.”

Yusuke nods. “Excellent.” He stands and raises his hands over his head in a long stretch. “Are we to deliver them today?”

Akira frowns. “I know that was the original plan,” he replies. “But-”

“You are concerned about your friend.”

Akira nods.

“It’s not smart to leave these here,” Morgana points out. “If we’re not going to send them today, we need to keep them hidden. Somewhere Boss won’t just happen across them.”

“He doesn’t make a habit of going through my things,” Akira replies, nodding toward the desk. “Once they dry, put them in one of those drawers. It’ll be fine.” Morgana looks ready to say something else, but Akira cuts him off. “I take your point, though. The sooner these are out here, the better.”

“Ryuji and Ann still don’t know about the Haru situation,” Morgana says. “They’re going to want an explanation if we don’t deliver the Calling Card today.”

“And I’ll give them one,” Akira replies, frowning at Morgana. “But if Haru shows up at school and everything is fine, then there’s no reason to get everyone riled up.” Akira takes his phone from his pocket and checks the time. “We still have a few hours before I need to get to school. Let’s all get some sleep. Morgana, you’ll stay here with Yusuke today. If I contact him, it’ll be time to deliver the Calling Card.”

“Very good,” Yusuke says, with a nod. “Then, if you will excuse me, I will descend into the void.” He walks past Akira and plops down on the couch. In a moment, his eyes are shut, and his breathing becomes slow and regular.

“Whoa,” Morgana says, staring at him. “Is he asleep already?”

“No wonder,” Akira says. “He was up most of the night making these and running around like crazy yesterday. Hopefully, we didn’t beat him up too much.” Carefully, Akira reaches into his desk and pulls out another pair of gloves. After pulling them onto his hands, he begins to collect each Calling Card, stacking them atop one another and keeping his hair away from them. “Will you be able to handle it, if we send them today?”

Morgana beams. “Compared to the storage facility, this’ll be easy.”

Akira chuckles. “I thought the storage unit was easy for you?”

“It was,” Morgana replies, calmly. “That’s why this will be extra easy.”

Akira grows serious. “Just be careful. That whole thing with the card skimmer? That was risky. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Morgana rolls his eyes. “You know, for a daring Gentleman Thief, you worry way too much.”

“Right,” Akira grumbles, and slides the Calling Cards into one of his desk drawers. “Because we’ve never had anything we’ve needed to worry about.”

#

Some hours later, once Akira has refreshed himself, eaten, and whispered positive affirmations to himself several times, he steps off the train at Aoyoma-Itchome station and finds Makoto waiting for him. The circles beneath her eyes are wider than last night, and the first thing Akira asks is, “Did you get any sleep?”

“Some,” Makoto answers. “I tried texting Haru a few more times. I did get a one-word response when I asked if she’d be in school today.”

“What was the response?” Akira asks, bracing himself.

“Yes.”

Akira blinks. “Oh.”

Makoto’s eyes leave his and glimpse absently at the churning pedestrians entering and exiting the station. “Thanks for meeting me, Akira. I, uh, feel better doing this with you.”

Akira masks his embarrassment by turning down the street. “Sure thing. Let’s go.”

Their walk to Shujin is short, but they remain silent. Initially, Akira figured Makoto would pepper him with questions regarding the Phantom Thieves, then chastised himself for thinking such things. Until Haru was found safe and sound, Makoto’s priority would be just that. Akira knew better than most how single-minded and focused, how tenacious and obstinate Makoto could be when it came to what she wanted. And to think her sister doesn’t believe she can make her own decisions. Akira glances at Makoto and smiles. Sae Niijima must be some idiot.

Makoto suddenly meets his gaze, holds it, and gives him a small smile of her own. Akira feels his grow.

As their journey brings them closer to the school, they enter throngs of converging Shujin students. More than one notices the two walking together.

“Is that the Prez with… Kurusu?”

“What are they doing together?”

“Didn’t they used to study at the library together?”

“Hey, didn’t Kurusu get a good score on his exams? Do you think that was the reason?”

Yes, Akira wants to shout even as he tries to ignore the simpering crowd. Yes, that was the damn reason.

“Nah, couldn’t be. I heard he broke in and stole the test scores from the teacher’s desks.”

“Wow. Wish he’d shared them with me then.”

Makoto clears her throat. “It has always disturbed me,” she says, just loud enough that her voice won’t carry beyond their immediate range.

“What?” Akira asks.

“That a school as prestigious as Shujin could be host to so many idiots.”

Akira shoves the smile off his face. “Careful, Miss President. I don’t think the Student Body would care much if they heard you talking about them like that.”

“What are they going to do?” Makoto asks. “Im-”

“Impeach you?” Akira finishes for her. She glances at him. “You already made that joke.”

Makoto’s face reddens. “Must you always make fun of me?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you updated your material.”

Makoto’s blushing fades into a glare. “That’s the last time I stand up for you.”

They climb the steps of Shujin together, ignoring the looks from the other students, and enter the school.

Once inside, Makoto picks up her pace, and Akira follows in her wake. It is still early, so while students line the halls, most have yet to enter their respective classrooms. Makoto nearly shoves a couple aside as she approaches the door to her homeroom, then hesitates with her hand on the handle as Akira catches up. Without a word or glance at Akira, Makoto slides the door open.

Haru sits at her desk, her head laid upon her folded arms, and turned toward the window.

“Haru,” Makoto and Akira both exclaim and step inside, shoulders brushing against one another.

Haru straightens in her chair and turns to face them. “Mako-chan! Akira? What are…? Wait, together?”

“Haru,” Makoto repeats and slides into the desk next to her, reaching out across the gap and grabbing one of the girl’s hands. “Are you alright?”

Akira satisfies himself by standing near the two, unsure if he should even sit anywhere. “Makoto told me what happened,” he explains, when Haru glances up at him.

“You did?” Haru asks, turning to Makoto. “I see. Yes. I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?” Akira asks, as Makoto asks, “But who was that man?”

Haru sighs, an uncomfortable furrow of brows and silent movement of her lips accompanying it. “I don’t know that this is the time to go into everything. Or if I even should.”

“Haru-” Makoto starts, but Haru fixes her with a gaze, and Makoto stops speaking.

“I realize,” Haru continues. “That you two were worried about me. And I appreciate that. But I’m fine. Nothing has happened to me. And as we’re here, at school, I don’t want to discuss it any further.”

Makoto holds Haru’s gaze for a moment longer, then nods and looks up at Akira. “Thank you, Akira. I think I can handle things from here.”

Akira is unsure what he senses, but there’s something silently communicated between the two girls. “Right,” he replies, taking the hint. “Glad you’re okay, Haru.”

Haru smiles at him. “Thank you, Akira.”

Akira nods at the two girls, turns, and leaves the room.

#

Makoto waits for Akira to exit before she says to Haru, “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

“Yes,” Haru says. “I promise. But not here. After school, maybe. If I’m feeling up to it.” Haru places her free hand on top of Makoto’s. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Forget about that,” Makoto replies. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Y-yeah,” Haru says, and looks away. “I’m okay.”

Makoto feels something sink in her gut.

#

She’s okay, Akira thinks, as he heads down the hall towards the bathroom. She’s okay. He repeats this within his mind, circling it around in his head, blocking out all other thoughts as much as possible.

Haru is okay, he thinks.

For now, someone whispers.

His thoughts scatter like bees from a broken hive, and Akira pauses to lean against the wall for a moment. A few students regard him strangely, but Akira ignores them, rights himself, and continues his march to the bathroom.

Once inside, Akira finds an empty stall, takes his burner from his backpack, and calls Yusuke.

“We’re clear,” he says, when Yusuke answers. “Tell Morgana to go.”

#

Madarame paces the office. “No, no. You’re not listening to me. Put your boss on!”

“I told you,” comes the voice on the other end. “He’s not here. I will relay your message if-”

“Do you understand what this all means? Do you? Someone knows about the storage unit. Someone is talking to someone, and that someone needs to be held accountable.”

“Would that be the first someone? Or the second someone?” There’s an amused lilt to the voice on the phone.

“Is this funny?” Madarame shouts. “This concerns your business as well as mine. Don’t you care? Don’t you care that someone in your organization shares information about the storage units?”

“Listen, man. You need to calm down. When my boss returns, he will talk to you, and you’ll have to be a lot calmer than you are right now. Hysterics aren’t going to get us anywhere.”

“This isn’t hysteria,” Madarame squeals. “This is figuring out where your leak is.”

There’s a knock on the office door.

“Not now,” Madarame shouts at it. He turns his attention back to the phone. “I need to speak with him. I need to make him understand. If I have to move things out of-”

“Whoa, whoa,” the voice says. “Move things?” That’s a big no-go there, buddy. You move things when we tell you it’s okay to move things, not before. Never before.”

“But if its location has been leaked and-” He’s cut off by another knock at the door. “Goddammit! I said, ‘Not now!’”

“M-Madarame-sama?” Comes a voice on the other side of the door. “It’s urgent, I’m afraid.”

Madarame growls and shouts into the phone. “Hold on.” Then, he marches to the door, yanks it open, and glares at the young gallery attendant on the other side. “What?”

The young man pales, and with trembling hands, holds out a small, red and black Card towards him. “Th-this was found outside. There are more of them. A lot more.”

“The hell?” Madarame asks, and snatches it out of his hands.

Madarame reads it, and his eyes widen. He shuts the door on the young attendant without saying a word and lifts the phone back up to his ear. “I need to talk to him. Please. There’s been a… um, complication.”

#

“His name,” Haru says. “Is Sugimura. Rin Sugimura. And, well, he’s my fiancé.”

Makoto isn’t sure what keeps her eyes locked in her head. “Fiancé?” She spits. “That… that asshole?”

Haru winces a bit, but nods. The two are seated in an out-of-the-way booth at a café in Shibuya. They’d both met up after school and come here in relative silence, Makoto allowing Haru the time to mentally prepare herself for whatever she was to divulge. “Yes,” Haru says. “It’s all been arranged by our respective families. It makes sense, in a way. My family has pull in the business world. The Sugimura’s are influential in the political world. So…” instead of continuing, Haru slowly brings her hands together until they clasp one another.

Makoto has heard of this kind of thing before. It isn’t uncommon. Sae had tossed around the idea of finding a match for Makoto a year or so back, but nothing had ever come of it. Of course, she’s heard the wealthy and influential play these kinds of games with one another, but to see it in reality, writ across her friend's face?

Makoto shakes her head. “I… Haru, I’m sorry. I’m at a loss.”

Haru smiles. “I know. It’s not ideal. But it’s the hand I’ve been dealt.” And she shrugs her shoulders, and Makoto’s heart breaks a bit more.

So, Makoto shakes her head again. With more force this time. “No. We’ve got to do something. You can’t marry that jerk. We’re getting you out of it.”

Haru’s eyes widen in surprise. “I can’t, Mako-chan. It’s pretty much official at this point. It won’t be finalized for another few months, but this is how it’s going to be.”

“Unacceptable,” Makoto says, frowning. She thinks. “My sister knows people in the law. Maybe we can-”

“Makoto,” Haru says, cutting through her train of thought. “Please. Enough.” Makoto watches her friend as her eyes get all misty. “I appreciate this. I do. But can we drop it? Can we just pretend that it didn’t happen? I don’t want to think about this any more than I have to, and I don’t want the last few months I’ve got left before I have to marry him spent trying to get out of the whole thing!” Haru’s voice rises as she speaks, and she nearly reaches a shout at the last word. She looks nervously at the other patrons and whispers, “I’m sorry, but can we please go back to how things were? I convinced him to let that thing that happened between you two go. I don’t want to think about this. Please?”

And Makoto almost caves. Almost relents. She almost lies and tells Haru that she’ll drop it. That things can return to the way they were. She opens her mouth to do so, and then Makoto shuts it again.

When Makoto opens it next, she says, “No.” Haru blinks. “No, I’m not going to lie. I’m not okay with this. I’m not going to accept this. I’m not going to let you marry that jerk. You’re my best friend, and I will not watch this happen to you.” It doesn’t take long for Makoto to realize what she’s said. When she tries to find her way out of the hole, all she manages is, “Um… you see, I, uh-”

And then Haru, eyes wide, a big smile on her face, asks, “I’m your best friend?” Her voice is small but delighted.

Makoto’s mind works overtime. She had not intended to admit that. She tries to figure out a way of rephrasing but eventually stops, blushes, and says, “Well, of course. Who else am I going to investigate magical Thieves with?”

Haru beams. “So you admit they must be magic!”

Makoto rolls her eyes. “I will admit to the remote possibility. Nothing more.”

The two girls look at each other, and both start to laugh. It grows and grows; before long, the two can’t stop.

“Thank you, Mako-chan,” Haru replies, once she can.

Makoto nods. “I’m serious, you know. We’ll find a way to get you out of this.” When Haru opens her mouth to protest, Makoto states, “We will.”

Haru doesn’t say anything for a time, then she whispers, “Alright. But what about-”

“The Phantom Thieves?” Comes a voice.

Both girls blink and look over at the table next to them. Two older girls sit there, staring at their phones. One looks up at the other and says, “Is this for real? This is like, really close by!”

The other girl shakes her head. “It’s gotta be, right? They’ve struck again!”

Around the café, the people, whether they are older or younger, take their phones out and begin whispered conversations. Makoto hears the words, “Phantom Thieves,” and “Calling Card,” repeatedly. Then, people start to leave.

“What’s going on?” Haru asks.

“I don’t know,” Makoto replies. She looks out the diner’s window. The typically crowded Tokyo streets are just that, crowded. But there’s an energy to their movement, a singlemindedness that heads in one direction, looks of wonder and excitement mixed across their faces.

“Come on,” Makoto says, and stands. Haru follows suit, and the two girls dash out of the café to join the horde of people as they slide forward down the road.

They wind their way through the street and find themselves in a massive crowd outside an art exhibit. Makoto and Haru try to peek over people's heads but to no avail. “Excuse me,” Makoto says, tapping the man in front of her on the shoulder. “What’s going on?”

He flashes her a smile. “It’s those Phantom Thieves. They just left a Calling Card for Madarame!”

Makoto blinks and searches her memory. “The painter?” The man nods.

Haru straightens. “My father has a piece by Madarame in our study. He’s famous worldwide!”

The man turns his attention away, and Makoto frowns. “Come on,” she says, and grabs Haru’s hand. Together, they start to cut their way through the crowd.

It takes a few minutes before they can reach the front, and they spy an extensive line of police tape. Many black and red Cards lay scattered across the front of the exhibit. Makoto squints, trying to read them from a distance.

“Look, Mako-chan,” Haru says, and points at a second-story window. It’s a small ledge, and another batch of the Cards sits on it. The window next to it contains a bunch as well. Makoto lets her eyes travel across the entire building’s façade. Every ledge and sill contains a small pile of the Calling Cards. With every breeze, more scatter into the air and the crowd. People laugh and reach and jump for them when they get close.

Makoto’s eyes narrow. “You know, that’s a pretty narrow ledge. I don’t think a person could get up there.”

Haru nods. “But a cat?”

The two girls look at each other. “That’s a different story,” Makoto says.

#

Junichiro Maki runs his eyes over the woman sitting next to him one more time, sighs, and takes another sip of his drink.

She turns to him, finally, and says, “Is there a reason you keep doing that?”

Juni fixes a partially confused look on his face and replies, “Sorry. Don’t what?”

“That sighing,” she replies. She doesn’t sound upset by it.

“Oh,” Juni says, and shakes his head. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was being so obnoxious about it.” He offers a weak smile, shrugs, and says, “But hey, if you can’t sigh in a bar, where can you?”

She frowns and averts her gaze, so he can tell she’s not apologetic but regrets snapping at him. “Well, I suppose you’re right.”

He looks past her, and feigns surprise at the lack of someone next to her. “You’re alone?”

Her turn to shrug. “I just came for a drink.”

Juni smiles. “I’ll drink to that.” He lifts his glass and angles the lip towards her. She smiles a bit, takes up her own, and they clink. He nods at her business attire. “Did you just get off work?”

“I did. And in,” she checks her watch, “twelve hours, I’ve got to get right back there.” She’s young, then. Not used to the daily slog. He can work with that.

He brushes some of his hair out of his eyes. “What’d you do?”

“Oh, I work for Okumura Foods.”

He smiles. “Last time I checked, Big Bang Burger waitresses don’t wear clothes like that.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, smart guy. I work in the corporate office. In accounting.”

“Really?” He asks, turning to her.

She blinks. “I have to say, telling a guy that I’m in accounting rarely gets that kind of response.”

He allows a faint bit of color into his cheeks. “Oh, well, you see, I just love numbers.” He chuckles and pats the air with his hands. “I know that sounds weird, but I do.”

She cocks an eyebrow at him. “What do you do, exactly?”

“Actually,” he says, and pretends to be embarrassed. “I do consulting work. Primarily with numbers. Mostly for tech companies. Biopharma guys, and whatnot. I come in, talk about algorithms for an hour, and a bunch of guys who have no idea what I’m saying kind of nod and act like they do.”

“And people pay you for that?” She asks, grinning.

He lets out a nervous laugh. “That they do. But, then again, that’s why I’m here. I’m tired of doing it. Tired of people who don’t get it. My buddy and I, we went to college together, we’re talking about setting up our own company.”

She blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, getting into it. “See, what we’re looking to do is-” A hand clamps down on his shoulder. Juni twists without thinking about it and lifts the hand away without leaving his chair. He turns to face his attacker with something approaching a snarl, then sees who it is.

A slight, middle-aged man with chestnut hair, a face of all angles, and a crew cut. “Juni,” he says. “We need to talk.”

Juni turns back to the woman. “Speak of the devil; here he is! I’m sorry, but would you excuse me for a moment?”

She nods, and he stands, patting his friend on the back. “Buddy,” he says, friendly. “Good to see you.”

“We need to talk,” Akio reiterates. They walk towards a booth near the edge of the bar.

When they’re both seated across from one another, Junichiro folds his hands atop one another, leans forward, and asks, “What are you doing here, Aki? You know how we do this.”

“Something’s happened.”

Juni sighs, drops the act's last vestiges and sprawls himself across his seat. A strand of hair falls across his face. It’s jet black and touched up with some dye, but he’d never admit that. “Fine. What’s so dire?”

Aki leans forward. “I’m passing you something under the table.”

Juni steals a peek. In his left hand, Aki holds a small card towards him. Juni snatches it and brings it to his lap. “What’s this?” He asks.

“Just read it.”

Juni rolls his eyes. “Take your heart? Aki, you know I’m strictly a ladies’ man.”

“Turn it over, genius,” Aki growls.

Juni does, sees the words, and begins to read.

Sir Ichiryusai Madarame, the talentless, greedy exploiter: You’re finished. We know about the droves of students you’ve turned to the streets, the hordes of children who adored you that you betrayed. We know you’ve done nothing but pilfer and plagiarize. No longer will the innocents feed the machine of your greed. Soon, you will confess your sins to the world because we will have stolen your twisted desires straight from your heart. See you soon. Yours, The Phantom Thieves of Hearts.

Juni reads it, then rereads it.

He looks up at Aki and asks, “What the fuck am I reading?”

“What it looks like,” Aki replies. “A Calling Card.”

Juni groans and leans back in his chair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Then, he stiffens. “I’ve heard that name before. The Phantom Thieves of Hearts.”

Aki nods. “They were on the news recently. There was some asshole gym teacher or something over at Shujin Academy, in Aoyome-Itchoma. These Calling Cards showed up one day, and the next thing you know, the guy’s on stage at a school assembly, blubbering about how he raped some poor kid and beat up a bunch of his students.”

Juni darts his eyes towards the tabletop, indicating the Card below it. “And this? Are these the same guys? They go from gym teacher to world-famous artist?”

Aki shrugs. “Don’t know. At first, I figured it was some student revenge thing, but now? Who can say? I’ve got Dunk scouring all the usual online places, looking for anything relevant. They’ve got a website.”

Juni taps the Card in his hand. “Okay, let’s have him keep digging. Where was this Card exactly?”

“Outside Madarame’s exhibit. There were a bunch of them. Some have already gotten out and circulated online.”

Juni’s eyes narrow. “It said he was a plagiarist.”

“I caught that.”

“You think they’re talking about the Sayuri’s?”

“Again, I don’t know. But maybe. Dunk’s also looking at the footage from Natsuki Storage to see if we missed anything.” Aki frowns. “This could just be a coincidence.”

Juni chuckles. “A coincidence? Seriously? Aki, how long have we been doing this?”

Aki sighs. “Long enough to know coincidences never work in our favor.”

Juni spreads his hands. “Precisely.” He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. Breathe it in, he thinks, and drifts off into his own little world. Breathe it in.

Juni sits there for a few moments, thinking. Then he shrugs, opens his eyes, and says, “Call everyone and let them know it’s off.”

Aki’s mouth drops open. “Off? As in off?”

“Yes, the opposite of on.”

“We’re close, Juni. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Regardless, we’d be laughingstocks.” Juni taps the Card one more time. “How would it look if one day after the Phantom Thieves send Madarame their little Calling Card, we send him ours as well?” He shakes his head. “Nope. It’s off. They struck first, called dibs. Let’s let them run it. See how they do.” He smirks. “I’m interested to see if these Phantom Thieves can pull this off. Getting someone to confess their sins? Quite the heist.”

Aki sighs and stands. “I’ll let the others know. They won’t be happy.”

Juni smiles and lifts his drink. “They know where to find me.”

Aki nods and walks out of the bar.

Junichiro Maki, the leader of Tatterdemalion, takes another sip of his drink. “Alright, Phantom Thieves. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

5/29

Madarame wakes with a jolt to the sound of his phone vibrating. He blinks at the faint rays of morning peeking through the shades of the office. Did I fall asleep?

He checks the time on his phone. The last he can remember, it had been sometime after two in the morning. He’d spent the entire day trying to mitigate the Calling Card disaster, figuring out what to tell the multitudes of reporters and people calling him, begging him to explain the context of the Card’s message.

Exhaustion still sits heavy in him, and when he answers the phone, he doesn’t bother to check the number. “Hello?”

“Hold,” the voice on the other end says.

Madarame is about to voice a protest, but then another man picks up the phone, and speaks in a voice that Madarame remembers quite well.

“What have you done, Madarame?” The smooth-sounding man asks.

Madarame tries to shake the tiredness from his skull and focus. “Wh-what do you mean? I spoke to you about the Calling Card yesterday, and I-”

“I’m not talking about the Calling Card, old man.” There’s a pause. “Do you not know?” There’s surprise there.

“Know what?”

“Are you by a computer?”

Madarame turns to the office computer, black-screened and silent. “Yes.”

“Turn it on. Get online. Now.”

Madarame hastens to do so but keeps the phone to his ear. He can hear the man’s low breathing through the receiver, and it spurs him on, even as his hands shake as he turns the system on, takes the mouse, moves the cursor to the right icon, and double clicks. “What am I looking for?”

“Yourself.”

“What?”

“Search for yourself, Madarame. The thing I want you to see is at the top of any search page.”

Madarame types his name into a search engine, and the first result makes his eyes wide. “Wh-what is this?”

“You tell me.”

It’s a link to a blog article. The site’s name is ‘Devil’s Dispatch,’ which is something Madarame has never heard of before. Rather, the title of the article is what incenses him.

‘The Great Sayuri Scam.’

Madarame clicks through. “No,” he says, as he begins to read. “No, this isn’t possible.”

The article is short, it asks more questions than answers them, but its implications are substantial.

And then there are the photos.

A series of photographs appear to have been taken in quick succession. One of the shut door of Madarame’s unit at Natsuki Storage. One of Madarame appearing in the frame, keycard in hand. One of Madarame swiping it, and another of Madarame punching in his code. Then, the door is open, its contents splayed for the lens to see.

The Sayuri’s.

You can’t see them all from the camera’s angle. There are many more. But the camera has enough resolution to spy the ones aligned across the back of the storage unit. There’re ten in complete focus, with the edges of others alongside them.

The blog post asks a few simple questions. Why does Madarame have a whole storage unit filled with reproductions if the Sayuri was stolen? Is he selling them under false pretenses? Is he scamming art collectors around the world? Was the original even stolen in the first place, or was it ‘lost’ to cook up this scam? The article is accusatory, but it doesn’t outright make any claims. It simply states facts and proposes what those facts imply.

Of course, the answer to all the article’s questions is ‘Yes.’

“This can’t be,” Madarame says. “How… how did they get this?” Who even was ‘they?’

“Did you bring a camera into my storage facility, Madarame?” The voice asks. Madarame shifts at the sudden voice. He had almost forgotten he was on the phone with someone.

“N-no! They must’ve hacked your security,” Madarame says. “Gotten into your cameras and-”

“We don’t have cameras, Madarame.”

Madarame shakes his head, even though there’s no one to see it. “I-I don’t… who’s seen this?”

“It went viral about two hours ago. Along with the timing of the Calling Card, it would seem like you’re the man of the hour.”

“We have to figure a way out of this,” Madarame says. “We have to meet and think and-”

There’s silence on the line. Then, “Yeah. You’re right. We’re in this together, after all.”

“That’s right,” Madarame says, a grin splayed across his face. “That’s right, we are. We can figure this out. We can fix it. We can. I know we can.”

There’s a deep sigh from the other end. “Sit tight. We’ll be in contact.”

The line goes dead.

Madarame sets the phone down and stares at the photo of himself, his back to the camera, staring at the Sayuri’s.

“I can fix this,” he says, as a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. “I can fix this.”

The gallery’s office feels very small.

#

Joker studies Madarame’s Treasure Room. The open sky room is an ornate cross between a CEO’s office and a corporate lounge. He hadn’t given much thought to its opulence when here last. Near the entrance sits several easels with paint cans strewn about beneath them. Along the far wall are enormous windows looking out onto the distorted Tokyo skyline. Kinda odd since there’s no ceiling, Joker thinks. A few couches lay scattered around atop an expensive-looking rug with an elaborate weave. At the far end of the room is a vast wooden desk, the kind one would expect an executive to have. Behind this desk, as they had discovered the other day, hung the Treasure, then a kaleidoscopic blob.

It does not hang there any longer.

A portrait sits on the wall, drawing everyone’s eyes to it. Its gravity pulls them in and presses them. Akira recognizes it as the Sayuri.

“It’s different though,” Panther whispers. “Different from all the others in the storage facility.”

No one says anything when the door opens behind them, and Madarame’s Shadow enters the room. He moves with deliberate purpose past the group of Thieves and toward the painting, sparing them not a single glance. In an almost childlike way, he snatches the painting off the wall and hops up onto his desk, feet dangling just off the floor. His Shadow is attired in the same suit, his hair is slicked back, and his eyes are golden. Madarame’s Shadow holds the portrait in his hands and stares at it, a sad look on his face.

No one says anything, lost in some strange trance until Madarame breaks the silence. “This is all your fault, Yusuke.”

The others draw their weapons, but Fox steps forward. “Sensei,” he says, his voice low. “This end is inevitable. Please, give us the Treasure, and it will all be over.”

Madarame shakes his head and keeps his eyes on the painting. “This is all your fault. But I can fix it. I know I can fix it. If they just give me time.”

“‘They?’” Joker asks, glancing at Skull, who shrugs.

“Sensei,” Fox says again, and steps forward. “Please. Enough.” He extends a hand, palm out. “Give it to us.”

Madarame turns the portrait around so it faces Fox. “This is how it looked originally.” He chuckles. “It’s true form, so to speak.”

Fox lowers his hand, and his eyes narrow. “Tell me, Sensei. Why is there a baby in the corner?”

Joker hadn’t noticed at first, as he’d been focused on the subject, the woman. But Fox is right. There’s a bundled-up baby in the corner, held by the woman’s arms. Where, in the real world, the woman stares only at some tree branch, here she stares directly into the child’s eyes, a small smile on her face.

Madarame’s voice, when he answers, is small. “It’s you.”

Silence.

Madarame draws one finger down the length of the painting and taps the baby. “It’s you,” he repeats, as if they hadn’t heard him.

“I see,” Fox replies. “The baby is supposed to represent the whole of humanity. The entirety of our nascent time on this planet, and the woman represents the whole of the universe, swaddling us in-”

“Yusuke,” Madarame cuts in. “Yusuke, it’s you. And this,” Madarame moves his hand up to the woman. “Is her.”

Joker takes a step toward his friend. “Fox?”

The boy’s hands tremble. “Elaborate,” Fox demands, an edge to his voice. “Explain what you mean.”

Madarame sighs. Then, he shrugs. “I didn’t paint the Sayuri. Chisako did.”

Fox blinks. “My mother?”

Madarame nods. He wears a small smile. “Chisako painted the Sayuri. And then she died.”

Fox dashed forward, the blade leaving his scabbard.

“Dude, wait!” Skull screams, but it is too late. Fox brings his blade down toward Madarame’s head, but with a flick of his former Sensei’s wrist, Fox is thrown back across the length of the room and crashes into the back wall. The easels splinter, and the paint cans go flying.

“Fox!” Panther calls.

“Shit,” Joker says, and turns to Fox. He runs toward his fallen friend, even as he hears Madarame behind him.

“Why don’t you get it? This is how the world works. No one cares about art, not really. They care about the prestige it endows and the money it brings in. Expression, self-fulfillment, these things don’t mean anything.”

Joker slides up to where Fox lays and grabs his arm. “Are you okay?”

Fox opens his eyes, and Jokers sees a fire there only rarely glimpsed. With a growl, Fox pushes himself to his feet. “You’re wrong. Perhaps every piece of art cannot change the world, cannot make it a better place. But art has that capacity. It has that potential. It always has.”

Madarame spreads his hands. “Maybe once upon a time, Yusuke. But the world has gotten too saturated. Too big. Too full. Too loud. Nothing worth anything can cut through the noise. You can paint shit, and if the right blog or influencer highlights it, people will pay millions for it. It’s ludicrous. It’s nonsense. It’s madness.” His smile grows wide. “It’s business.”

Madarame begins to convulse. “Yes, business. And I can fix it. I can make it right. All I have to do, is kill you kids.” His voice rises as he speaks until it becomes a blabbering squeal. Madarame collapses onto the floor and bursts, and the vile black that spills from him expands into the space where the ceiling should be.

Joker turns to Fox. “You ready for this?”

“Fear not,” Fox replies, straightening. “For this morning, I took vitamins!”

An awful groan rises from the black, and it coalesces into eight paintings, separated but connected to a series of spiked, whirling gears. Four paintings depict Madarame’s arms and legs, while the remaining depict swiveling wide eyes, a shriveled yellowed nose, and a stretched smiling mouth with jagged, bleached white teeth. The room drowns in the smell of rotten paper and metal splinters. The whirr of the gears rises in pitch, and the paintings dart about, supplanting one another, forming something. A caricature of a human, but then it isn’t. The gears stretch until they become spindly and multi-jointed, and the eight paintings have arranged themselves and their arms into a giant, mechanical spider.

The spider hovers into the air, then leaps off nothing and lands on the far wall, climbing in a way that makes Joker’s skin crawl.

A voice crackles like an intercom. “I WILL NOT LET YOU TAKE WHAT I HAVE EARNED!”

Skull scowls. “You ain’t earned shit, asshole.” His mask vanishes in a puff of blue. “Take em’ down, Captain!”

The skeleton materializes and sails towards the spider, a bolt of electricity charging within its cannon. It aims down at the leftmost eye, which rises on the leg to peer at it, and as it does so, the nose reverts its position, and a stream of steam hisses out. Captain Kidd fires, and the electric bolt strikes the smoke-like substance. The explosion’s shockwave hits the Captain and sends him backward, Skull cringing. “The hell?”

The spider leaps away, covered by the strange mist.

Panther and Fox rush forward, weapons at the ready. They crouch, side by side, and fire into the smoke, their weapons’ recoil echoing off the walls and into the open air above. One of the paintings darts out, the mouth, sneering, and the bullets clatter into the teeth, and fall, harmless, to the floor.

“Let’s go Zorro,” Mona calls, and his Persona rises above him. A massive gust of wind sweeps the mist away, revealing the spider. The right eye suddenly swings above the mouth, and a bolt of electricity is discharged directly into the cat. Mona groans in pain and drops to his knees.

Skull runs up alongside Joker. “Dude, what the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Joker says, staring. “It’s like the different legs and paintings are blocking us whenever we attack one of them.”

“How the hell can they tell? Only two of the damn things are eyes!”

“Does any of this shit make any sense?” Joker spits back.

A screech escapes the spider, and it leaps into the Phantom Thieves' midst.

“Shit,” Panther cries. “Everyone scatter!”

The spider sweeps out a leg that catches the weakened Mona, sending him flying through the air. Joker jumps, grabs Mona, and rolls to the floor, holding his friend. Panther darts to the edge of the room, then circles around as Skull and Fox launch attacks against Madarame.

“Is he okay?” Panther asks.

“He needs some healing,” Joker says, and lays Mona down, allowing Panther to work with Carmen. Then, he turns his attention back to the spider, trying to figure out how best to attack.

#

The fight drags on. Mona and Panther fire off Dia after Dia as the group takes more hits. No matter how they angle their attacks or how strong each assault is, the paintings seem to cover for one another. The gears spin and the paintings shift as the spider skitters around the lounge.

Joker yanks another of Takemi’s medicines from his jacket and downs it. He feels the pain in his arm lessen. One of the legs – the one with the left arm – had come down on it earlier.

He thinks he has this figured out.

The appendages cover another based on the elemental composition of the attacks. This disadvantaged Panther, Skull, Fox, and Mona as their Personae could only deal certain types of damage. The few attacks that had worked and halted the leaping of Madarame’s Shadow had been due to Joker’s various Personae changes. Trying out the different elements had been exhausting. Still, Joker now knew which of the spider’s legs would cover due to an attack by a specific element and then could counter.

Joker turns to Panther, who lies next to him behind the lounge’s couch. “Wait for Fox’s ice, then use Carmen against the leg that protects.”

“Got it,” she gasps, then peers over the edge.

Joker doesn’t need to look. He feels the change in atmosphere as Goemon attacks, and then Panther is maskless and charging. Carmen appears above her, and a great bout of flame covers the geared leg that holds the right eye.

Madarame’s Shadow screams in pain. Joker leaps up, and Arsene’s tendrils extend out. The mouth counters, and Arsene’s attacks bounce harmlessly off the painting, but not before Joker cries, “Mitra,” and a new Persona appears, and a Makouga attack slams into the mouth, which opens in a howl.

“Everyone, go,” Joker calls. And the others emerge from their hiding places, assaulting Madarame in an all-out attack. The elements crash into the spider, which rotates and spins its portraited legs to protect itself, but the blitz comes from all sides, and as busy with defense as it is, it cannot escape.

In the end, defeating Madarame is exhausting but straightforward. A battle of attrition between the stamina of the Phantom Thieves and however much the spider can take. Mona attacks the leg, and the arm counters, but Captain Kidd’s electricity blasts it. Conversely, Panther’s attack on the nose is repelled by the right leg, which Goemon freezes.

The gears begin to whine, and between the flashes and the spots of blue dotting his vision, Joker believes he can see bits of rust forming. Whatever Madarame’s cognition, it knows it is losing.

In one last wave of attacks, the gears fall away in a hiss of black, and all eight paintings linger in the air for a moment before they too drop. When they hit the ground, they do not vanish as the gears and legs did but begin to twitch.

Joker draws his knife and stabs it into the back of the mouth’s piece. The others pull their weapons and begin to swing, bludgeon, stab and slice at the things on the floor.

It is messy work.

But then it ends. The paintings burst into ash, and the Thieves dart away as the cloud settles.

The five, breath coming in gasps, stare at one another. “That’s it, right?” Panther asks. “We got him?”

A whimper escapes the pile.

Madarame’s Shadow crawls from the ashes. His hair hangs down in his face. His suit sits upon him in tatters. Ash sticks and stains his skin as he rises.

Before Joker can collect himself, Fox rushes past him, sword drawn.

Fox brings the blade down to Madarame’s neck, and his mask vanishes as Goemon rises behind him, the Persona’s glare leveled at his former Sensei. The air shivers with a chill, and Joker watches as frost coats the room’s smashed furniture.

“Speak,” Fox growls. “I want to know the truth. If my mother truly painted the Sayuri, why do you claim it as your own?”

Madarame holds up a hand. “P-please, I-”

“Speak!”

“I just wanted to show it to the world. I just wanted to-”

“You’re a liar,” Fox cries. “All you’ve ever done is lie. Tell me the truth, why did you steal it? Why?”

“Because I knew!” Madarame screams.

Fox blinks. “Knew what?”

Madarame’s mouth works in a few silent circuits before he can speak again. “She called me over that day. She said she wanted me to see something special. I’d never heard her like that.”

“I entered her apartment, and she showed it to me. And I just knew.” Madarame’s face falls. His eyes dim. “I knew that nothing I would create would ever compare. Do you have any idea what that’s like? To work, sweat, bleed and endeavor for something your whole life? And then, a single glimpse, one look, and it’s enough to know you’ll never amount to your own dreams?” Tears well and river their way down his face. “It shattered me, Yusuke. I couldn’t believe it. The Sayuri was everything I had ever wanted to paint. For years, I’d tried to create it. And that afternoon, I knew I never would. Never could.”

Madarame shuts his eyes, but Fox presses the blade harder against his throat. “What happened?”

“Your mother, Chisako, kept talking about it. She did it all in one night. Can you believe that? She did that,” and he nods to where the Sayuri lays flat on the ground, “in one night. She was so excited and just kept going and going, and then she wasn’t talking anymore. She collapsed and started shaking.”

“No,” Fox says, and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Even you… even after everything…”

“I wanted to help her,” Madarame blurts. “I wanted to, but I just froze. I don’t know why. But, she was shaking and shuddering and… I just, I couldn’t move, Yusuke! But then she was gone, and I didn’t know what to do. I just took the painting, and I was going to leave, or I was going to call an ambulance. I don’t know!”

Fox’s hands curl tighter around the blade. “You killed my mother for a painting?”

Madarame breaks down into sobs. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I swear. God Above, I hope not. I don’t remember! And then…”

“And then, what?” Fox asks.

“I’m sorry.”

“And then, what?” Fox demands.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Madarame moans. “It just became easier, you see? It just became easier after a while. To distance myself. To take the work. To take the money. I felt sick about it at first. I really did. I really did. But then, it just got easier. And it kept getting easier.”

There is a storm on Fox’s face. Joker walks up behind him. “If you kill him, we don’t know what will happen to the real Madarame.”

“I think,” Mona puts in. “That if you kill him here, he’ll die in real life too.”

Fox’s words are stones. “Are you saying I shouldn’t?”

“I’m not saying anything, Fox,” Joker replies. “It’s your decision. But I think the world deserves to hear the truth from his mouth.”

Fox nods. “I don’t disagree. But I shall not lie to you. I want to watch his head roll.”

Madarame shakes his head. “Forgive me, Yusuke. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

With one smooth motion, Fox sheathes his blade. “I am not the only one Madarame has wronged. There are many he has tossed aside over the years. They all deserve the truth. We all deserve recompense.” Fox steps away from them and walks to the Sayuri. He lifts it, and turns it around until he’s staring at the woman. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry I let him get away with it for so long.”

Panther wipes her eyes. “Yusuke, it’s not your fault.”

Fox ignores her. “I’m sorry I let him hurt more people.” His hands tighten on the painting’s frame. “But he’s not going to hurt anyone else.” Fox turns and stares at Madarame. “Where is the real Sayuri?”

Madarame drops his gaze to the floor. “It’s gone. I… I burned it. When I started making the copies. That way, it couldn’t be traced.”

A cruel smile works itself across Fox’s face. “You burned it. Of course you did.” He nods. “Of course you did. And that’s why you kept the storage unit in my mother’s name.”

Madarame’s nod is frantic. “I’ve always wanted to apologize to her, but I couldn’t.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Skull spits and points at Fox. “You wanted to apologize to her, so you got her son expelled and threw him into the street? You’ve had his whole damn life to apologize!”

Madarame doesn’t reply.

Fox turns his whole body to face him. “You’re going to go back now, Sensei. You’re going to go back to the real world, and you’re going to confess all your crimes. You’re going to give the names of all your apprentices, and you’re going to do right by them. You’ll contact the Principal at my school and tell him you lied. You’ll tell everyone the truth about the Sayuri and your scam. You’re going to come clean about everything.”

There’s a hitch of fear in Madarame’s voice when he says, “Everything?”

Fox nods. “Everything.”

The anguish leaves Madarame’s face, and he begins to glow. “V-very well. You’re right. I will confess my sins. I will make things right.” As he fades, Madarame looks at Fox one last time. “I’m sorry, my boy. Thank you.”

And then he is gone.

The Thieves stand and stare at the spot he occupied. “I-” Fox starts.

The building begins to shake. “Crap,” Mona shouts. “The Palace! We gotta go!”

Fox clutches the Sayuri to his chest. “Very well, let us be off!”

#

There’s no other choice.

Madarame sits in the gallery’s office. Sweat drenches his robes, but he doesn’t feel it. His mind has been racing, but it’s calm now. Quiet. Still. Resolute.

There’s no other choice.

It’s a relief, in a way. To have all your options shrink bit by bit until there’s only one clear path forward.

I’ve got to give them Yusuke.

That’s the only thing he can do. Hand Yusuke Kitagawa over to those soft-spoken, deadly men. They can make him talk. And then everything can go back. He can weather this storm.

His phone rings again, but he ignores it. Everyone’s been calling him. All day.

He doesn’t know what it’s about anymore. The Calling Card. The Sayuri. He just doesn’t know. People were skewering him online. Screeching at him. Raging at him.

It was all so ridiculous. What proof did they have? A few photos from some anonymous blog? The assurance of the ‘Phantom Thieves?’ None of it meant anything.

So why are they all losing their minds at me?

Madarame shakes his head.

No. Focus. He knows what he must do. Hand Yusuke over to his ‘third favorite customer.’ He can issue a statement. He can clear the air. Some lawyers specialize in this very thing! People will believe him

People will believe him.

They’ll believe him.

And Yusuke Kitagawa?

Well, he’d…

He’d…

Madarame remembers.

It was just like you said,” Chisako says. “Just like you said. The Muse got into me somehow, and I just kept going and going and going. All night.”

“You did this?” Madarame asks, and points to the piece. “In one night?”

“Uh-huh, can you believe it? It’s incredible, right? It’s incredible. Incredible. And it’s all because of you. All… Madarame-sensei? Why are you crying?”

Madarame reaches up and wipes his eyes. “It’s nothing, my dear. Nothing at all. This is marvelous. Otherworldly.” He beams. “You, Chisako, are brilliant.”

And her smile is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And then her eyes glaze over, and she is falling. Her head hits the side of the table. And then she’s on the ground and convulsing.

Madarame remembers.

He remembers his limbs were like ice—the breath held in his lungs like poison.

He remembers her wide, empty eyes. Remembers the spittle, still wet on her lips. He remembers staring at her and then falling to his knees. He remembers begging her to wake up. To get up. To blink.

To do something.

He remembers the shame as it clawed at his insides.

Leave, his mind had screamed. Leave. Get out of here. Get out now. If someone finds you here, it’ll all be over!

And still another part of his mind had raged, Why didn’t I call? Why didn’t I call someone? An ambulance, anyone?

And over all this madness in his mind, a voice had said, Take the painting.

Take the painting.

It had been small, barely a whisper. It didn’t stop. Take the painting. Take the painting. It spread, and grew like an infection. TakethepaintingTakethepaintingTakethepainting.

He’d looked at the Sayuri. Even as the tears stained his eyes, he could see its beauty. She’s dead, his mind had argued. She’s dead, and it’ll do her no good. He’d shaken his head against the horrid thought, against the very notion of it, but it made sense, didn’t it?

He’d stood. And hating himself, Madarame had taken up the painting.

And then he’d heard the crying.

He should’ve left. He should’ve run as far and as fast as possible.

But he didn’t.

Madarame had found little Yusuke in his room, tucked into his threadbare bed, freshly awake from his nap, his face scrunched up in a pout, his cries echoing through the small, empty apartment.

And Little Yusuke had looked up at him and sobbed, “Madaramama?” He could never get his name right. “Where’s Mom?”

Madarame had helped him out of bed. Taken his hand. Told him to shut his eyes tight, and not to open them for any reason.

Then, Madarame had led Yusuke out of the apartment, the Sayuri tucked under his free arm. “It’s alright, Yusuke,” he had cooed as they’d made their exit. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.

Madarame’s knees hit the floorboards. “What…?” He starts, but can’t finish.

Oh God. Oh God.

The sobs erupt from him. The faces of his apprentices flash through his mind.

Sensei, look at this!

Sensei, how do I make something like that?

Is this good, Sensei?

Can you look at it, Sensei?

You’re the best, Sensei!

He sees Yusuke, smiling up at him from behind an easel.

He sees Yusuke, hunched over sketchbooks, eyes filled with wonder.

He sees Yusuke, so like his mother.

“Chisako,” Madarame whispers. “Chisako, I’m sorry.”

Madarame leans forward until his head is against the hardwood. “I’m sorry, Chisako. I’m sorry, Yusuke.”

His phone vibrates once more. He pays attention this time. He drags himself to it. He has so many calls to make. So many amends. So many mistakes to fix. A thin sliver of his mind screams at him to think about what he’s doing and what’ll happen to him if he confesses.

But Madarame sees Chisako on that floor. Sees Yusuke and the fear in his eyes.

And he doesn’t care.

#

The Phantom Thieves sit in one of LeBlanc’s small booths. They are the only ones in the café, aside from Sojiro, who stands behind the bar, measuring beans with the look of a man lost in his little world.

No one talks. Akira cannot speak for the others, but his muscles feel as if they’re tied down with weights. The others wear expressions that match his.

Morgana lies in his lap, eyes shut, breathing steadily.

The Sayuri is upstairs, tucked away with the remaining artwork they’d taken from Madarame’s cognitive gallery.

“What a week, huh?” Akira asks.

Ryuji is the first to grin, from where he sits alongside Ann. “Totally.”

Yusuke fidgets beside Akira. “When will we know?” He asks, casting a glance at Sojiro. “If it worked?”

Ann leans in. “Kamoshida confessed, like a day or two after. Just hang tight. I’m sure it’s coming. We definitely did it.”

Morgana twitches in Akira’s lap and utters, “Fatty tuna,” in his sleep. Everyone smiles.

“We should celebrate,” Ryuji says. “This is like, a huge win for us.”

Ann nods. “But we should probably wait for the confession first. We shouldn’t jump the gun.”

Ryuji shuts his eyes and leans back in his chair. “Aw, c’mon. Why wait? It’s not like we can go back into the Palace anyway. We should do something fun.”

The TV, up to this point a faint white noise in the distance, belts out a word that catches Akira’s ear. “… Kamoshida.”

The others notice it too and twist their necks to stare at the screen. A newscaster sits behind a desk, papers in hand, and says, “Following the successful prosecution of Suguru Kamoshida the other day, he has been mandated to serve his sentence at…”

“Prosecution?” Ryuji asks, eyes wide. “Holy crap.”

“Kamoshida?” Yusuke whispers. “Isn’t that your former adversary?”

Akira nods. “Yeah, it is.”

“Wow,” Ann says. The screen cuts to a scene outside what looks to be a courthouse. Kamoshida, dressed in a poorly-tailored suit and tie, exits, flanked by police officers and a thin man who must be his attorney. “I didn’t even know that was going on.”

“Same,” Ryuji replies. “I totally forgot that asshat was going on trial.” He turns to Ann. “Hey, you should tell Shiho!”

Ann’s face stiffens a bit. “Um, yeah. Definitely.”

Akira watches Ann for a moment, until something else the newscaster says catches his attention. “Wow. He got life in prison?”

Ann’s eyes narrow. “Good.”

Akira turns from the television and regards his friends. “Feels weird, doesn’t it? That all that happened while we were focused on Madarame?”

Ryuji beams. “But this means we have to celebrate, right? I mean, Kamoshida’s going away for life. That’s it. Game over, man!”

A small smile works across Ann’s face. “I mean, it is pretty great. We should do something to celebrate it.”

“But Yusuke-” Akira starts, but their friend holds up his hand.

“Please,” he says. “Do not postpone your festivities on my account. You’ve told me that our mission was successful. I believe you. And with this other foe fallen, we should celebrate our victories.”

“That’s the spirit, bro,” Ryuji says. “Come on. Who’s in?”

Ann raises her hand. Yusuke raises his. Akira smiles and lifts his own. Then, he reaches down, takes one of Morgana’s paws in his free hand, and lifts it as well. “Unanimous.”

“Hell yeah,” Ryuji cheers.

Ryuji, Ann, and Yusuke continue talking while Akira reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

He sends a quick message.

AKIRA: I saw the news. Kamoshida got life.

A few moments pass before a response comes.

MAKOTO: Good.

AKIRA: Ann said the same thing. How’s Haru?

MAKOTO: She seems okay. Thank you for asking. How was your day?

AKIRA: Busy.

MAKOTO: No doubt. ;)

Akira stares at the message, then puts his phone back in his pocket.

“Gotta say,” Ryuji says, reaching his hands into the air, then folding them back behind his head. “Feels like things are finally starting to look up for us.”

#

“Yusuke Kitagawa,” Haru says, and slides the printed paper toward Makoto.

Makoto picks it up and looks at the photo. “That’s definitely him.” The image was attached to a news article from several months ago, detailing a small gallery showing Madarame had put on in Ikebukuro. In the photo, standing beside the main piece, a monumental landscape showcasing Mount Fuji, is Ichiryusai Madarame, with his hand on the shoulder of the young man Makoto had seen Akira with the other night.

“It says he’s his apprentice.”

“Then there’s the connection,” Makoto replies.

Haru leans back in her chair. “So, Yusuke Kitagawa realizes he’s getting his art stolen by his master, and he goes to the Phantom Thieves? Wouldn’t it be risky for them to contact him directly?”

Makoto shrugs. “The Calling Card said Madarame had done it to others. So maybe one of them reached out to the Thieves.” She grins. “It’s smart. There’s no immediate connection to Shujin.”

“Unless you know that a certain apprentice has suddenly become good friends with a bunch of students from Shujin,” Haru points out.

“Exactly.”

“Do you think Kitagawa is a Phantom Thief too?”

Makoto frowns. “I don’t know. Maybe? I don’t think he was involved with Kamoshida. In terms of making a splash, you’d think they’d start with the world-famous artist first.”

Haru nods. “Maybe Kitagawa figured out how they change hearts? Or maybe it’s something else.”

Makoto leans back in her chair. The two girls have relocated the headquarters of ‘Operation Destroy Akira Kurusu or Something Less Drastic’ to her bedroom. Sae’s schedule was temperamental, but Makoto’s sister stayed in her office more often than not. Even if she were to come home, Makoto wasn’t too concerned about her coming in here. One thing that could be said for Sae was that she respected the privacy of her younger sister when it came to their home. Makoto doesn’t even need a finger to count the number of times Sae’s barged into her room unannounced.

Plus, Makoto wanted to keep an eye on Haru. Perhaps she couldn’t force the girl to lam it at her place, but she could watch out for her when they weren’t in school. The ‘Operation’ gave her an excellent excuse to do that, and Haru didn’t seem perturbed about staying away from home so long over the weekend.

“Whatever the situation,” Makoto says. “We’ve got another connection between Akira Kurusu and the Phantom Thieves.” There’d been a faint hint of doubt when Makoto had read Madarame’s Calling Card. How could Akira be connected to this guy? She’d thought.

Yusuke Kitagawa had been the only actual new lead. After that, Makoto and Haru started to dig.

“It’s coming together,” Makoto says. “We know who the Phantom Thieves are. Akira Kurusu, Ryuji Sakamoto, Ann Takamaki, and possibly Yusuke Kitagawa.”

“Don’t forget Mona-chan,” Haru points out.

Makoto sighs. “Yes, I suppose him too.”

“When I see Akira next, I’ll ask him to let me borrow Mona-chan. I doubt he’s forgotten his promise.”

“And then,” Makoto says, and her concentration wavers a bit. And then, what? Makoto had told Akira she’d drop all of this if he helped her with Haru. So was the current point of her figuring out his secret identity to leverage him into helping her with Haru? Leverage? Makoto wonders. More like blackmail.

Would she really do it?

Makoto looks over at Haru. Thinks of the only true friend she’s ever had married to that piece of shit Sugimura. Something revs inside her chest.

I’ll do what I have to do.

“I think,” Makoto says to Haru. “That it’s time to settle things.”