— –Mitsuru Kirijo– —
If she were being honest with herself, she detested these kinds of events.
Lavish gatherings where the powerful played at civility, all while swapping secrets over champagne and making backroom deals behind manicured smiles. It was indulgent. It was corrupt. A performance of class draped over rot. And yet, whether she liked it or not, she was part of it.
Not entirely. Not in spirit. But by blood, by legacy. Yes, she belonged here. One of the elite, wrapped in velvet and glass. And if she wanted what was best for the Kirijo Group, if she wanted to shape its future with her own hands, then compromises had to be made. She'd learned that lesson young.
It would have been easier, maybe, if she were simply a businesswoman. If her only responsibility was the company. But the Kirijo Group was never just a business. It was the mask of something far more important, S.E.E.S.
And S.E.E.S was a responsibility she couldn't afford to let fall behind. Not again. Not after everything.
Sometimes, when the weight of it all threatened to crack her from the inside out, she allowed herself to drift into idle fantasy. The kind that crept in during sleepless nights or slow elevator rides. Dreams of a simpler life. A life untouched by legacy or duty.
Perhaps she would be married by now, like so many of the girls she once knew in school. Perhaps she'd be living abroad, in a quiet flat with a little balcony, sipping coffee in the mornings with no one to impress. Perhaps…
She cut the thought off with a sigh.
Fantasies are for people who have the time to entertain them. She didn't.
There were still too many years ahead. Years of holding the line until the world changed. Until someone more capable came along, someone worthy of inheriting the burden she had carried since childhood.
Naoto had been her first candidate. In truth, Mitsuru was already grooming her to take the reins of S.E.E.S. when the time came. A brilliant mind. Focused. Sharp. Too sharp, maybe. Sometimes Mitsuru wondered if she had clipped Naoto's wings just to keep her close.
The girl had once been on the cusp of true fame. A rising star. The "Detective Prince." But now she was just a shadow of her former self. Working in the dark, forgotten by the very public that once idolized her. Replaced by another.
Perhaps she would have soared higher had Mitsuru not reached out to her.
'Perhaps I stole that future from her…'
That thought festered in the quiet corners of her mind. It was why, even now, when the world had begun to tilt again, she hesitated to call the others back. They had earned their peace. Their lives. Ordinary ones.
And still, here she was, preparing to chain another to S.E.E.S. She was bringing Ren to the Masquerade. The irony was not lost on her. If anything, it only gave her more of a headache.
She hadn't thought in metaphors for a long time, but she remembered the sensation well, what it felt like to live as a prisoner dressed in silk. To dream of escape. To want nothing more than to jump on her motorcycle and vanish.
But that was another lifetime.
Bringing her lipstick to her lips, she finished her makeup. Her gaze lingered on the mirror for a beat longer than usual. Composed, polished, and controlled. A flawless mask, as always.
The black dress she wore clung to her figure in all the expected ways, elegant, tasteful, and yet undeniably alluring. She didn't care for the attention it brought, but it served its purpose. In a room full of men playing games with empires, it helped to unbalance them.
Lower their guard. Let them underestimate her. Let them whisper.
The women they brought would hate her for it. But she was used to that, too.
With a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, Mitsuru stepped into the elevator. The doors closed around her like steel shutters. Moments later, she descended to the waiting limousine below.
The night was beginning. And she had a part to play.
Entering the sleek black car, Mitsuru immediately spotted Naoto seated across from her, legs crossed neatly, posture perfect. The younger woman wore a navy blue dress, modest in cut, yet elegant enough to draw attention if one bothered to look closely. It wasn't flashy, but it suited her. A quiet kind of beauty.
"No suit?" Mitsuru asked, a hint of amusement threading through her voice as she stepped in, smoothing the hem of her dress as she settled into her seat.
She had gone through the trouble of having one tailored specifically for Naoto. She knew how uncomfortable dresses made her, how much she preferred clean formality over showy elegance. And yet here she was.
Naoto barely glanced up from the worn leather-bound notebook resting in her lap, her pen paused mid-margin.
"It would've raised too many questions." She replied, matter-of-fact. "A suit, walking in beside you? It would feed into the rumors. I figured you'd prefer to avoid that."
Her eyes narrowed again, flicking back to the page, scanning a list of names, coded notes, affiliations. She was already working, already preparing.
"How considerate of you." Mitsuru let out a quiet chuckle, low and dry. Naoto didn't respond, though the faintest twitch of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Truthfully, the girl had a point. Ever since Mitsuru had begun bringing Naoto to public functions, always by her side, always quietly efficient, people had started whispering. The combination of her own lack of a public romantic history and Naoto's androgynous presentation was enough to spark speculation in certain circles. Whispers in boardrooms. Offhand remarks at gala tables.
She didn't care. Not really. If anything, she found it easier to let them wonder than to offer explanations. After all, how did one explain that her heart simply didn't have room anymore?
The first time she'd let herself feel something real, he'd died. Sacrificed everything, absolutely everything, to save her and the world alongside it. And even now, all these years later, his absence was a quiet ache she had long since learned to live with.
The second time had been… different. A slow-burning connection forged through shared responsibility and endless late-night missions. They had tried. For a while, they both believed it might work. But they were too much alike. Too sharp, too focused, too entangled in duty. There was never room for softness between them. In the end, they let it fade, no resentment, no anger. Just simple understanding. Even now, he remained one of her most trusted agents.
But affection? Romance? That was a luxury she could no longer afford. And maybe, in her own quiet way, Naoto understood that too.
Mitsuru glanced out the tinted window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and red as the limousine pulled forward.
"Still." She said softly, more to herself than anything. "You wear it well."
Naoto didn't look up, but the corner of her mouth curled again, just enough to be seen.
"Don't get used to it." She murmured.
Within minutes, the limousine slowed to a stop in front of a modest residential building. The kind that could disappear in the sprawl of the city if you weren't paying attention. Not Leblanc, but the house of one of Ren's friends, since he wanted to avoid too many questions by his guardian.
The door was opened just as the car came to a stop, and stepping out onto the curb was Ren Amamiya, her newest recruit. Or perhaps, more accurately, her newest responsibility.
He was the key to the Collective Unconscious, the only one with the capability to enter it at the moment. So far, she hadn't given him orders. Hadn't leaned on him too heavily. He came to her willingly, shared what he learned, outlined their targets, and she, in turn, had kept her distance. Let him and his little band of thieves operate freely while she tried to piece together a bigger picture.
Or maybe that was just an excuse. Maybe she hadn't been ready to take on another weight. Another life.
As he stepped into the car, Mitsuru let her eyes run over him in quick assessment, the way she always did. Habit.
"You clean up nicely." She said, with a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
And he did. He already had the looks, and the suit only highlighted that natural charm. His posture was relaxed but poised, that easy, collected air of his making him seem older than he was. Even his hair, normally a disheveled mess that somehow worked for him, had been styled tonight. It still kept its wild edge, but it looked intentional now. Controlled.
"Thanks." Ren replied, slipping into the seat across from her. "Though most of the credit goes to Ann. She practically held me hostage for two hours making sure I looked ready." He gave a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair carefully so as not to undo her work. "And thank you for the suit."
"No trouble at all." Mitsuru replied smoothly. "You wear it better than most men twice your age."
There was an honesty to it. Not just the compliment, but the entire exchange. It was strange, refreshing even. She had grown used to dealing with people who spoke in circles, who viewed conversation as a chessboard. In a way, that had also been Ren the first time she had met him.
She could clearly see the mask he wore, the secrets he kept close to his chest as she walked him through S.E.E.S. The way he didn't tell the full truth, but he had opened up, significantly, ever since their second meeting.
The meeting in which they had discussed the Evokers, and the feeling that they brought when used.
Whatever she had said to get his trust, she couldn't say. But as she looked at him now, she didn't see that same mask he wore before.
In some quiet way, she admired that.
Even with all he carried, he somehow still managed to live. To laugh. To joke with friends. To accept help without his pride getting in the way. There was something grounding about that. Something dangerous too, something fragile. A boy trying to carry the world on his back without letting it crush who he was.
Her smile faded as she met his gaze.
"Are you certain you want to do this, Amamiya?" She asked, her voice low, more serious now. "It's not too late to walk away. Coming with me tonight will put you in the spotlight, whether you want it or not. These people are wolves dressed in silk, and they don't miss much. Once your face is on their radar, there'll be whispers. Investigations. A trail of questions that might lead places you don't want them going."
She leaned forward slightly, her tone sharper, more protective. "I can shield you to an extent. But I can't control every piece on the board. And eventually, someone might connect the dots… and uncover your after-school activities."
"No, this is for the best. I can speed up our investigation significantly just by being there. And, even if Naoto could handle it, the faster we know who we are facing, the better prepared we will be when it comes time to defend ourselves." Ren answered with a smile.
"I see…" She said softly. Then, after a beat, her tone shifted, just slightly lighter, though still poised. "In that case, do you need a refresher on how to act at an event like this?"
The question brought a chuckle from her side. She raised a brow and tilted her head toward Naoto, who finally looked up from her notebook, closing it with a faint snap.
"Smile and wave." Ren said with a chuckle. "I think I can manage."
"You'll need more than charm tonight." Mitsuru replied, though her lips curved faintly at the corners. "These people don't play fair."
"Don't worry, Mitsuru." Naoto finally spoke up beside her, tucking her notebook away into a small leather clutch. "I'll keep an eye on him."
Naoto's smile was subtle, but confident. It was a promise. And her detective always kept her promises.
Mitsuru allowed herself a small breath of relief, even if she didn't show it.
The masks would go on soon. The stage would be set.
— –Goro Akechi– —
A smile and a wave, sometimes that was all it took to send some wrinkled old bastard stumbling back into his drink, muttering something about how charming "that boy" was.
God, he hated these people.
He hadn't even wanted to attend tonight, but Fujimoto, one of the last people Shido wanted to bring under his wing, had requested him personally. Or rather, her daughter had. Apparently, the girl had seen him on TV once and decided she was in love. So, naturally, he'd been invited to entertain her like some walking publicity stunt. Smile, flirt, make her feel important.
He lasted all of ten minutes before slipping away.
Now he sat tucked into one of the more shadowed corners of the ballroom, nursing a drink he hadn't touched, offering the occasional polite nod to whoever wandered by. Most of them he recognized instantly, names and faces etched into his mind from countless briefings, countless fake smiles. Shido's allies. Shido's backers. Shido's world.
Parasites. Every single one of them.
It was almost laughable, how they tried to court him. Like he didn't know who they really were. They saw him as a useful name, a polished image. A tool. Something to wheel out for speeches and ads, to pretend their operations had legitimacy.
He'd smile, nod, say something pleasant, all while thinking of how easy it would be to ruin them. One bullet and the whole tower would come crashing down.
Tempting. Incredibly tempting. But no. Not yet.
'Let them rise.' He reminded himself, gaze drifting across the chandeliers above. 'Let Shido reach the peak. Let him stand at the summit and believe, even for a moment, that the world is his. Then…'
He was so caught in his thoughts that he almost missed it.
A flicker of motion by the entrance. A familiar silhouette. Sharp posture. Mask on. Black suit. Eyes scanning the room like he was already reading it like a map.
'Is that… Ren?'
His breath caught, just for a second.
It was him. Walking in alongside Mitsuru Kirijo, of all people. An odd pairing, on paper. But in the moment, it made perfect sense. She walked with purpose, with gravity, and Ren matched her stride effortlessly. He looked confident. Composed. His golden eyes flicked across the ballroom, catching on every key face.
Akechi followed his gaze.
'Palace.'
'Palace.'
'Palace.'
'Antisocial Force, Antisocial Force, corrupt executive, war profiteer, cognitive researcher.
Palace.'
The corners of Akechi's mouth tugged into a smile.
It was uncanny, like Ren sensed it. As if the moment he entered the room, his instincts had taken over, dissecting the rot beneath the polish.
They weren't so different, the two of them.
Then, Ren's eyes stopped. Locked onto his.
There was a pause, half a second at most. Akechi could see the recognition in Ren's eyes before a smile, too, appeared on his face. Nothing dramatic. Nothing performative. But there was warmth in it. Familiarity.
The smile on Akechi's own face grew at the nod they both gave each other from across the room.
They hadn't planned to meet here. But somehow, it felt inevitable. In this room full of wolves wearing masks, they were the only two who knew the rules of the real game.
It was almost poetic, in its own way.
And yet, as Akechi's gaze lingered on Ren, he felt the faint sting of disappointment settle beneath his smile.
Okumura, of all people.
The Thieves had turned their sights on a man who was finally proving useful. A greedy, hollow little tyrant, yes, but one who had climbed far enough up the ladder to be of value. His ties to Shido's operations, his willingness to push cognitive research forward, to fund what he couldn't even begin to understand, he could've been more than just another stepping stone.
But of course, Ren wouldn't have known that. Not yet.
In the end, Akechi supposed he should be thankful. Better to have him disposed of by their hand than his. The moment they made a big show of sending a calling card, he would strike. He would bring all of the attention and judgement onto the Thieves. It preserved the illusion. And more importantly, it meant their game could continue, unchanged. Untainted.
It would've been a shame to end it so soon.
'Hmm.' Akechi tilted his head slightly, exhaling through his nose as his expression shifted, smile fading, replaced by something more grounded in reality.
Because eventually, the game would have to end.
There was only one path forward. And Ren, with all his skill, all his intuition, all his potential, was starting to drift too close to his target. Shido. The man at the center of it all. The man who deserved his judgment, and his alone.
That wasn't something Akechi was willing to share.
His jaw tensed slightly as his eyes scanned the room again, grounding himself in the present. He'd allowed himself to forget where he was, who surrounded him. These weren't just faceless elites. They were the backbone of the machine. The smiling architects of Shido's rise. Lobbyists. Media moguls. CEOs who had entire Palaces rotting beneath their minds.
There were still a few months left until the election. Just enough time for the Phantom Thieves to become a problem. Just enough time for everything he'd built to come unraveling at the edges.
He'd gotten carried away. He hated the thought. The sheer audacity of it.
Years of careful planning, of playing the obedient pawn, at risk because he'd let himself enjoy the game.
The bitter taste in his mouth caught him off guard. A slow-burning resentment, not aimed at the Thieves… but at himself. He should've seen this coming. Should've steered them away sooner.
Across the ballroom, Ren leaned in, whispering something to Kirijo. Then to Naoto, who stood beside them. Probably pointing, one by one, each and every person who mattered to the Antisocial Force. Risking everything Akechi had worked for all this time.
Akechi's fingers curled slightly around the glass in his hand.
They were closing in.
He could feel it, like the weight in the air before a storm, electric and impossible to ignore. The noose was tightening, just enough to press against his throat. But not enough to choke.
Not yet.
Their game was drawing to an end.
But maybe, just maybe, he could allow himself a little longer. A few more weeks of pretending. A few more moves across the board. Long enough to savor this game they'd started. Long enough to forget, just for a moment, how it would end.
It was ironic, wasn't it?
His first real friend. His enemy.
Perhaps in another life. If they'd met earlier. But wishful thinking had never suited him. This was the path he chose. They were standing eye to eye now, it was only a matter of who would blink first.
— –Ren Amamiya– —
A smile and a wave, sometimes, that really was all it took.
He'd said it half-jokingly back in the car, but the moment he stepped into the room, he realized just how accurate it was. No one cared who he was. Not really. They cared who he stood beside. That was all that mattered.
It was ironic that as his Devil, Mitsuru behaved more like an Empress at times.
She had practically acted like a concerned mother during the ride over. And, even during this very event, he saw how she moved to protect him, dismissing and redirecting any real questions that the "elites" brought up about him with other ones.
In the end, they had settled for the mask that was easiest to wear for events like this. And now, to most of the people here, he was nothing more than a pretty accessory. Mitsuru's latest indulgence. Her boytoy.
And that was fine by him. If anything, it was slightly flattering.
There were others in the room, younger ones, clinging to the arms of power like they were clinging to oxygen. Living the very reality he was pretending to at the moment. None of them looked at him twice, if only because they were too focused on the people they were attached to.
Ren blended in, even if it was his first time attending something like this. Not because he was rich. Not because he belonged. But because he understood exactly what this was.
A performance.
Everyone here was acting, some more convincingly than others. The masks were metaphorical, but also literal. It was a masquerade, after all. Some of them, though, wore a third mask without even realizing it. Palaces. Desires stretched out and exposed under their own distorted cognition.
He'd nearly flinched when he'd activated his third eye for the first time that night. The sheer amount of noise was staggering. But as always, once he'd focused, it all began to make sense.
He could see it in how they moved. In how they avoided some, clung to others. Patterns, habits, tells. One by one, threads began to weave themselves together, showing who was connected to who.
He whispered to Naoto what he couldn't quite place, faces he didn't recognize, names he couldn't remember, and the detective took it from there.
Still, something itched at the back of his mind.
Okumura was missing. Not even a whisper of him yet. And Fujimoto, the host, hadn't made an appearance either. It could've been just another case of being fashionably late. Could've been nothing.
But he'd learned not to rely on could've.
"Ren?"
He heard his name like a flick of static behind his ear. Turning, he found himself face to face with Akechi. The detective prince wore a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"What a surprise." Akechi said, tone light, as if it wasn't a surprise at all. "I didn't expect you to have gotten so close to Miss Kirijo. Mind if I join you? Honestly, these events aren't exactly my scene. It'd be nice to walk around with someone familiar."
"Goro." Ren greeted him with a small, genuine smile. "Really? I thought this kind of thing would be right up your alley."
"And why is that?" Akechi asked, a quiet chuckle threading his voice.
Ren didn't answer. He simply tapped the white mask on his face.
"Ah." Akechi said, mirroring his smile. "Well… there's only so many times you can wear a mask before it starts to wear you down. Especially around people like this."
Ren glanced back at Mitsuru, who was in the middle of a conversation with an older woman, before turning back.
"I'm sorry." He said at last. "But not today. We can hang out another day."
"Are you sure?" Akechi tilted his head slightly, polite smile unmoving. "I imagine there's plenty you and I could discuss. I'm sure it could also be relevant to your… friends."
He wasn't wrong. Akechi was also investigating the Antisocial Force, had likely dug up leads that no one else could. But this wasn't the time.
"You must be Akechi, the detective prince, right?" Mitsuru interjected, finally stepping forward as the older woman beside her began to walk away. She gave Akechi a measured look. "I wasn't aware that you and Ren were familiar with each other."
"We met by chance." Akechi answered with a chuckle as he extended his hand to shake hers. "But friendships often occur by chance. Do they not, Miss Kirijo?"
"Indeed." Mitsuru answered as she shook his hand.
"Mitsuru, perhaps we can let the two of them catch up. I'm sure Ren wouldn't mind a small break while we meet with a few other people." Naoto suggested as she stepped in, glancing between the two of them. "Besides, I'm sure they are responsible enough that they can stay out of trouble for a few minutes."
Mitsuru's eyebrow raised at the suggestion, but only for a moment as her expression quickly returned to normal.
"You are right, Naoto." She finally answered, her eyes looking over Akechi one final time. "We will be back soon. It was a pleasure meeting you, Akechi."
It was slightly strange that Mitsuru relented so easily, but she must have trusted Naoto enough to simply agree with her suggestion. With that, she and Naoto moved off, only to be intercepted almost immediately by an older man in a dark suit.
"Well then." Ren said, watching them go. "Looks like you're stuck with me."
"Wouldn't dream of complaining."
As the two began to walk, Akechi's expression shifted. The mask slipped, subtly, but unmistakably. His smile vanished, and his voice lowered just above a whisper.
"Masato Namiki. Kai Koutou. Yushi Okuda." Akechi muttered under his breath, gaze moving idly from face to face across the banquet hall. "There are more, of course. But those three… they're the pillars. Remove them, and the rest starts to crumble."
Ren's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. A flicker of surprise in his eyes. He quickly glanced around, making sure that no one was close enough to overhear them, and only once he had ensured their privacy, did he turn his attention back to Akechi.
"Is this really the best place for this?" Ren asked, feeling more aware of his surroundings than before.
"Relax." Akechi dismissed the worries as he moved to grab a snack from a passing waiter. "No one here cares about us. We might as well be invisible to them. Just keep your distance, and they will ignore us. Remember, we don't matter. I have been to enough of these things to know what the limits are."
Ren didn't answer immediately, taking a few more moments to look around him and walking away from the crowds of people with Akechi before finally nodding.
"I'm entrusting them to you." Akechi said, his voice as calm and practiced as ever, though Ren caught the subtle weight behind the words. "They're filth. Rotten to the core. And I don't have the time or freedom to act on them directly. There's only so much I can do from the inside. I can't take down Palaces, not on my own."
Akechi's words were raising alarms in Ren's head, but even as he looked around, he still didn't see any eyes on them. Still, to be addressing the Metaverse so openly, even after their last conversation, it felt wrong. Akechi was being far too direct.
"Those are not decisions I make on my own." Ren finally answered. "And, this might be another decision I can't make on my own, but… if you can't take Palaces on your own, why not join a team? We could always use an extra hand."
He had considered inviting Akechi for some time. He had to admit, that part of him was suspicious of him. There was a chance he was the Black Mask, after all. But the hatred he had seen in Akechi's eyes when they had talked about the Antisocial Force was real, he knew that much.
And, if he was being honest, part of him wanted to trust in his Justice Arcana.
"A team, huh." Akechi echoed, reaching out to snag a glass from a passing tray. He gave it a cautious swirl before taking a sip. The bitter taste hit immediately, and he grimaced, setting it down without finishing. "Interesting offer." He said, almost to himself. Then, after a pause, he added, "But I'm far too busy to play the hero."
"Didn't you always say we weren't heroes to begin with?" Ren replied with a low chuckle, a trace of teasing in his voice.
"Touche." Akechi said dryly, his smile thin. He glanced out at the crowd, watching them mill about in their expensive suits and practiced laughter. "Still… I'll consider it. But let's not pretend you and I move the same way. We don't play by the same rules, and we both know it."
"Hm." Ren hummed in acknowledgement before shaking his head. "I'll look into the people you told me about. But I can't promise anything."
"Once Okumura's heart has been stolen, who comes after?" Akechi asked in a whisper, giving a couple passing people a smile and a nod.
"Okumura?" Ren asked with a raised eyebrow. Akechi shouldn't have known that he was their next target.
"Please, spare me the act." Akechi gave him a tired smile. "I know because I make it my business to know. Besides, it's not exactly hard to follow your breadcrumbs. You and your team should really be more discreet."
"Who knows?" Ren answered with a shrug. "We tend to play things by ear."
"In that case, I'll ask you one more time, as a friend. Go to the people I told you about." Then after a brief pause, he added. "As for the Spaceship… don't let your guard down. I tried to snoop around there while gathering information, and the Black Mask is guarding that place. If you aren't careful, you might lose one of your friends there."
"Are you sure?"
"No." Akechi answered. "To be honest, I have never crossed paths with the Black Mask, so the person I saw in there might just be a cognitive creation from Okumura's mind. However, that doesn't make them any less dangerous."
"I see…" Ren whispered, giving one final look to the people around them to make sure no one was listening in, and just like Akechi had told him, everyone was too focused on their own worlds to even spare a glance at them. "Thank you, Goro."
Akechi simply hummed in acknowledgment, the corner of his mouth twitching in a half-smile. His gaze shifted toward the upper floor.
"Well… speak of the devil."
Ren turned to look, following Akechi's eyes. Okumura had just stepped out of a room on the second floor. Beside him was a young woman with soft, voluminous hair and a light green dress with a flower pattern.
— –Haru Okumura– —
Closing her eyes, she let out a quiet sigh, barely audible over the murmur of voices in the room.
Her fingers drifted up to her hair, and she plucked a small flower from beneath a loose curl. She began to twirl it between her thumb and forefinger, the delicate petals brushing against her skin as she stepped off to the side. Her father had moved on to a conversation with Mrs. Fujimoto, leaving her to her own silence.
She didn't mind. In truth, she preferred it that way.
Still, even with the noise of the room buzzing faintly in the background, there was a familiar ache gnawing at her chest, a dull, constant weight that hadn't gone away in weeks.
Her heart was torn. Between loyalty and conviction. Between the father she had loved as a child and the man he had become. Between what she knew was right and what she wanted to be right.
Ever since her mother passed, things had never been the same. Her father had always been… inconsistent. Some days he would be warm, present, he'd ask about her classes, help her plant marigolds in the garden, even laugh with her over something silly she said. On those days, she could almost believe that they were a normal family.
But then something would go wrong, numbers would drop, deals would fall through, and he would retreat into himself again. Cold. Distant. As if she were another investment that had failed to yield returns.
It had always been like that. Like he only remembered she existed when everything else was going smoothly. And somehow, that pattern had repeated itself again and again. Lately, she had found herself hoping, foolishly, that maybe things would change. That maybe this time, her voice would matter.
But it hadn't. Not really.
She'd reached out to Ren. To the Phantom Thieves. She'd asked for help in a moment of desperation, clinging to the hope that someone out there would listen when her own father wouldn't.
And yet… nothing had changed.
Not yet.
A part of her, a quiet, frightened part she hated to acknowledge, was beginning to wonder if maybe this was just how things were meant to be. Maybe she should just give in. Accept that her father would never see her as anything more than a name, a marriage contract, a legacy to protect.
It would be easier, wouldn't it?
To stop resisting. To smile. To marry whoever he eventually chose. To tend to roses and orchids and stay silent about the rest. To play the part he had written for her, like a well-rehearsed script in a play she never auditioned for.
It would be easier.
But as she looked down at the flower in her hand, its petals trembling slightly with each nervous flick of her fingers, she wondered.
Would it ever feel right?
The thought lingered only for a breath before her father's voice pulled her back to reality.
He stepped out of the meeting room with a grin stretched across his face, wider than she'd seen in weeks. Which could only mean one thing.
The deal had gone through.
"Come on, Haru." He said warmly, extending an arm toward her like a gentleman in a ballroom. "Fujimoto mentioned the music should be starting soon. It's been far too long since I've seen you dance. Maybe you and I could share one? It's not quite ballet, but it's close enough, isn't it?"
His voice was light, almost playful, like a father trying to reconnect. She offered him a smile in return, small, polite, just enough to look real, and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
They descended the staircase together, the soft hum of music and conversation swelling as they entered the main hall. The chandelier above them bathed the room in warm gold, and laughter mingled with the gentle clinking of champagne glasses.
Haru's smile held, but her mind drifted.
The people. The lights. The noise.
'On nights like these… I miss my garden most.'
There, at least, things grew on their own terms.
She stayed close to her father's side as they moved through the room. Smiling. Nodding. Dipping her head in greeting. One socialite to another. It didn't matter what they said, none of it really required her input. She was a presence, not a person. A well-groomed daughter playing her part on cue.
Then, just as effortlessly as he'd offered his attention, her father slipped away.
Haru blinked as she felt his arm slide from hers. He was already halfway across the room, walking toward a tall woman with striking red hair and a knowing smile. His posture had changed. Straighter. Sharper. The kind of presence he saved for people he actually wanted to impress.
And just like that, she was alone.
She stood there for a moment, uncertain, the music and laughter ringing louder now that she had no one to tether her.
Then, a gentle touch on her shoulder.
"Excuse me." Came a familiar voice, low, playful.
She turned, startled, and saw him. Dark eyes behind a white domino mask. A smirk tugging at his lips. She almost didn't recognize him in the suit.
"I've heard it's bad manners to leave a lady behind." He said with mock elegance, bowing slightly as if he'd just stepped out of a storybook.
"Ren?" She asked, blinking in surprise, the haze she'd been drifting through suddenly evaporating.
"Who?" He said, hand on his chest, feigning offense. "Why, Milady, I assure you, I've never heard of such a name."
She couldn't help it. A soft laugh escaped her lips, light and genuine. She fought the urge to roll her eyes but smiled all the same.
"Too much?" He asked, the corners of his mouth lifting further as he extended an arm toward her.
Without hesitation, she looped her arm through his.
"Not enough." She said, warmth returning to her voice as she leaned into his side ever so slightly. "You have no idea how welcome this is." She added, putting on her fanciest voice.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a sigh as she felt her body relax. It had been some time since she had seen him. And, if she was being honest with herself, she had missed him. The last time they had met, they also hadn't had the best of times. But anything was better than what her mind was going through right now.
"How are you holding up?" He asked softly, holding her arm slightly tighter, and as she looked up, she saw him looking at her with a gentle smile.
"I'm…" She hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around his arm. "…managing."
She really could get lost in the feeling. But then, another thought snapped her out of her trance.
"Wait, no. How are you here?" She asked with genuine surprise. "You weren't invited, were you?"
"That, Milady, is a business secret." He answered with a chuckle. "But I don't mind telling you later."
Then, interrupting their conversation was the sound of instruments being tuned in the second floor, causing the people around them to look up before quickly soft music began to play.
Still, even the music was not enough to distract her from what really mattered.
"Are you here because of…" She began, looking around before whispering as low as she could. "Because of my dad?"
She had asked him for his help, and while, yeah, she didn't know how the Phantom Thieves worked, this felt a bit too public. Were they going to steal his heart right now? In front of all these people?
Sure, she had been expecting it, but it all felt so sudden… even though it wasn't.
Everything was going to change now, wasn't it?
Part of her was afraid that it would only become worse, while the other…
"Yes, and no." Ren answered quietly, snapping her out of her sudden spiral. "You could say that he is only a third of why I am here."
"A third?" Haru echoed, glancing around the room and putting the pieces together. "I'm guessing another one is the people he is working with… right?"
"Correct." Ren answered as the two of them weaved past a group of people.
"But what's the last one?" She asked, her voice quieter now.
"Well, that one." Ren said, glancing down with a small smile. "I'm holding on my arm."
At that, Haru had to look away, she could feel her cheeks warming. She hadn't realized it, but this felt too much like something out of an old storybook. Elegant music, a ballroom of strangers, and now… that. It was absurd. And yet, she didn't pull away.
"You mentioned wanting to make a difference." Ren continued. "Said that if you had the chance, you wanted to help."
She nodded, slowly. As they moved through the crowd, he offered polite waves, blending into the social rhythm without breaking stride, like it was second nature.
"To be honest, I didn't want to get you involved." Ren admitted. "If anything, I was the one stubbornly rejecting the idea every time someone else brought it up. Hell, I'm not even sure I want to ask you right now." He paused. "But that wouldn't have been fair to you. I guess I realized that at the very last moment."
She had frowned for a second when she heard him, but when she looked up, she couldn't help but avert her eyes again. There was no condescension in his tone, no dismissiveness, just sincerity. That alone made something tighten in her chest. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed being spoken to like that.
Then the music shifted, the tempo soft and steady, and the crowd began to organize itself into pairs. A gentle buzz of laughter and footsteps filled the hall.
"Since I'm already being honest…" Ren started again, eyes still ahead. "I think you should turn it down. The offer, I mean."
"Why?" She tightened her grip on his arm instinctively.
"Because it's going to get messy." He said quietly. "One of my friends went through something similar. He doesn't talk about it, but I can tell… it left a mark. I don't want that for you if it can be helped. And, it's bound to become even more dangerous. It feels a bit too late for anyone else to join."
Haru didn't answer right away. She simply leaned her head lightly against his shoulder, eyes drifting toward the ballroom floor.
"I understand." She whispered. Then, after a moment, "But no. I should be there too. I don't know what I can do, but I know I need to be part of it. I can't explain it, and well, I don't know how it works, but… I need to be there."
Ren turned to her fully this time, letting out a quiet sigh, though there was no frustration in it, only acceptance.
"Then so be it." He said, holding out his hand. "Care for a dance?"
She glanced toward the dancers, scanning the crowd until her eyes landed on her father, still deep in conversation with the red-haired woman from earlier. Her smile returned, soft and sure.
"Sure."
— –Naoto Shirogane– —
From her perch above the crowd, Naoto allowed herself the smallest of smiles.
She really did enjoy events like this, didn't she?
There was something about the convergence of power, politics, and posturing that brought everything into focus. It was like watching people play chess while believing they were at a tea party. In just a few hours of subtle listening and strategic wandering, she had learned more than the past few weeks of reading dull reports and following dead ends. Frankly, she hadn't expected Ren to be so useful, but he had delivered her suspects neatly tied with a ribbon.
Most of them had already been under her scrutiny, of course, but Ren's subtle confirmations, his careful slips, had helped her zero in on which threads to tug. And the discoveries? They were nothing short of delightful. Like a child struggling with a puzzle, only to realize she'd been missing half the pieces all along.
Still, some pieces didn't quite fit.
Goro Akechi. Her so-called successor.
Until tonight, she hadn't paid him more than a passing glance. She'd never cared much for the media's obsession with "The Second Coming of the Detective Prince" nor did she harbor any resentment. Titles were meaningless if not backed by results. And by all accounts, Akechi had produced results. Clean ones.
But tonight... he was different.
He didn't catch her attention because of what he said, no, she had heard little from him directly. Nor did he stand out because of who he spoke with. It was how he carried himself. The subtle tension in his posture. The way his eyes flicked across the room, always scanning. The way his grip tightened on the glass when he thought no one was watching.
She had been watching.
For a fleeting moment, she saw it, the mask crack. The smile slipped, the charm dissolved, and what remained was something raw. Something cold. She had seen that look before, on the faces of people cornered by the truth, people who had killed and rationalized it.
And then, just like that, it was gone.
So when he had shown up next to Ren, she had let Mitsuru's protective leash around Ren slacken, just enough to give him room, and herself a better view. All while still keeping an eye on Ren, she had a promise to keep after all.
Without directly listening in on their conversation, she couldn't learn much. But the moment he broke off from Ren, she watched the transformation happen in real time. Like a magician flipping a coin, the mask snapped back into place. That picture-perfect smile. That effortless charisma. No stumble, no hesitation.
It was... masterful.
But hardly conclusive.
She couldn't arrest a man for the way he behaved in a room full of criminals. And she wouldn't insult her own methodology by indulging gut feelings. Still, the slip had left a mark, and more importantly, it had revealed something else.
Ren Amamiya.
The dynamic between the two was worth noting.
She'd have to ask him. Eventually. When the timing was right and she could control the setting. Alone, and far away from any watching eyes. But even as she filed the thought away, her gaze found him again, dancing with Haru Okumura beneath the soft glow of the chandelier.
And what she saw there gave her pause.
He was smiling. Not the polite kind, not the tight-lipped one he gave before. It was the kind of smile people gave when they forgot to be careful. When they forgot there was something to hide. Haru's hand was wrapped around his arm, her head resting gently against it, and for a moment, Naoto let herself breathe.
It was real.
That much she could admit, even if it complicated things. He cared for the girl. Possibly too much, given his current… entanglements. But it was enough to confirm what she already suspected, Ren had a heart. And hearts, no matter how well-defended, left people vulnerable.
It was enough, to at least remember that he was their ally. That he wasn't likely to double-cross them in the future.
So whatever was going on between him and Akechi, if there was something beneath the surface, it wasn't out of malice. Not on Ren's part. If anything, he might've already been caught in something larger.
She'd seen it before. People drawn in by charm, by intellect, by the thrill of someone who understood them too well. It rarely ended well.
Her eyes drifted back to Akechi, who was now exchanging polite conversation with someone she didn't recognize. The mask was firmly back in place. But Naoto had seen the cracks.
Akechi had a target on his back now.
And she wouldn't remove it until every question had been answered.
After all, a criminal with a mask was still a criminal. And she knew better than most, masks always cracked eventually.
~Confidants~
Haru Okumura. (The Empress) Rank 5
Goro Akechi (The Justice) Rank 6
Mitsuru Kirijo (The Devil) Rank 3
Naoto Shirogane (The Star) Rank 3
~A/N~
Ooof, what a chapter. Honestly, this chapter kicked me in the ass while writing, but I am happy with how it turned out.
S.E.E.S has their targets. Akechi's mask slipped. Haru joins the thieves. So much happened! Hopefully all the POVs didn't feel excessive, but I really wanted to show it from everyone's perspectives, specially since they all have differing thoughts.
Also the parallels!
Mitsuru, and Akechi hate events like this for similar reasons. Ren and Naoto love events like this for similar reasons. And Haru, well, she is just having a hard time.
Also, another good show as to why Mitsuru is the Devil. Because one of the meanings of the Devil is to be bound, or feelings of entrapment, and oh boy if S.E.E.S isn't her jail, and has always been. Just relistening to her Social Link reminded me of how much duty has weighed on her her entire life.
Honestly, there is a lot I could talk about, but I am going to stop myself before I make this author's note as long as the chapter lol.
I hope you all enjoyed! And, yeah, slow updates, but I am trying :C.