...04/10/2009 Sunday; Night...
...FULL MOON OPERATION...
The dorm was silent.
Outside, the sky was overcast, and the full moon was beginning to emerge through the heavy clouds.
Downstairs, the other members of S.E.E.S were waiting for the arrival of the Dark Hour, checking their equipment and exchanging tense looks.
But in one of the rooms, the sound was different — the dry, steady scrape of metal being sharpened.
Shinjiro's room was drowned in silence.
Only the metallic rasp of the whetstone sliding along the axe's edge broke through the heavy air hanging in the room.
Shinjiro sat at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the blade that caught the faint light of the lamp.
Without his coat, he wore only a brown turtleneck and black pants. His feet, covered in worn socks, touched the cold floor.
The motion of sharpening was automatic, almost mechanical.
With every pass of the stone, the sound cut deep — as if it were scraping at something inside him.
Today was October 4th.
That day...
That damn day.
The memory came without warning.
Kastor's furious roar.
The sound of something breaking.
And then... the blood.
Her blood.
Shinjiro's hand trembled. The axe slipped and hit the floor with a dull thud.
His chest tightened.
A sharp, familiar pain tore through him.
He coughed, his body curling forward, trying to breathe.
But the air felt too heavy.
Dark veins began to form beneath his skin, spreading like poisonous roots.
The taste of iron filled his mouth.
"Damn it…" he muttered between his teeth, gasping. "I left almost all the inhibitors with Chidori at the hospital… the rest ran out three days ago…"
His head throbbed, as if something inside was trying to break free.
He clenched his teeth and pressed a hand to his temple, sweat running down his face.
Then he heard it.
A horse's whinny.
A deep, wild sound that echoed in his mind like thunder.
The air in the room seemed to twist.
And before him, between shadows and blue sparks, Kastor's figure took shape.
The Persona stared back at him with burning eyes, flames reflecting off every inch of Shinjiro's body.
Its gaze overflowed with rage — ancient, wild — demanding that he face the weight of everything he had tried to bury.
Shinjiro clenched his fists, his face tightening.
"Leave me alone…" he muttered, voice breaking.
But Kastor's roar only grew louder, drowning out every other sound.
"I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE!!"
He struck himself in the face — once, twice, three times — the dull impacts echoing through the room.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he didn't stop. He kept hitting his head, desperate to silence the voice.
"I'm not dying because of you!" he shouted through clenched teeth.
His voice mixed with Kastor's whinny, and for a moment the entire room seemed to shake.
The Persona roared back — a living shadow thrashing against the walls of Shinjiro's mind — until finally, the sound faded, leaving only silence.
Shinjiro panted, shoulders rising and falling, trying to steady himself.
Sweat dripped down his forehead, mixing with the bitter taste of blood still in his mouth.
He looked at his hands.
The dark veins pulsed beneath his skin, spreading in a black-blue web crawling up his arms like a living sickness.
Even if he took more inhibitors… it wouldn't matter.
There was no turning back now.
He was already a dead man.
"Fucking hell…" he rasped, wiping the blood from his mouth with his arm. "I'm not gonna last much longer like this."
He clenched his fists.
The dry grind of his teeth filled the room.
And then… came the flashes.
The memory of Hiro surfaced vividly, as if he were standing right there.
That steady look, that determined voice, the weight behind every word.
"I don't care if you complain — you're not alone in this. I've got your back, Shinjiro."
Shinjiro lowered his head, chest tightening.
He remembered other moments too — with Akihiko and Mitsuru, back when S.E.E.S. was first formed.
For a moment, the warmth of those memories seemed to ease something inside him.
The veins began to retreat, fading beneath his skin.
But Shinjiro's gaze stayed hollow.
Something had been decided — something heavier than pain.
"Sorry, Hiro…" he said quietly, closing his eyes. "But I've gotta handle this on my own."
Silence filled the room.
Until he heard it.
Two soft knocks echoed from the door.
Shinjiro flinched slightly.
He wiped the remaining blood from his mouth with his forearm and tried to hide the rasp in his voice.
"Come in."
Nothing.
No sound from the other side.
No footsteps, no breathing.
Shinjiro frowned. The silence was too thick — as if the air in the dorm itself had stopped.
Instinctively, he grabbed the battle axe that had fallen to the floor and stood up. The metal caught the weak glow of the lamp.
"Who's there?" he asked — irritation masking the edge in his tone.
Again, nothing.
Seconds dragged on, each one longer than the last.
Tension crawled up his spine, making his skin prickle.
Every instinct screamed that something was wrong.
With a sudden motion, Shinjiro lunged for the door and swung it open hard, the slam echoing down the hallway.
The axe was raised, ready for anything.
But there was no one there.
Only the empty corridor, lit by the dorm's pale lamps.
Shinjiro looked around, breathing hard, confusion flickering across his face.
"What the hell…?"
Shinjiro scratched his head, his brow furrowed in confusion.
It didn't make sense. He was sure he'd heard someone knock on the door — the sound still echoed in his mind, too clear to be his imagination.
But the hallway was empty.
Except for something small, right at his feet.
A white envelope.
"A letter?" he muttered, still puzzled.
He rested the battle axe against the wardrobe, the metal glinting under the yellowish light, and crouched to pick up the envelope.
The paper was thick, carefully sealed — like something left there on purpose.
Shinjiro turned it over in his hands, looking for a name, but there was nothing. No sender, no seal.
As he tore open the edge and pulled out the letter, footsteps echoed from downstairs.
Fuuka was climbing the stairs, her gentle voice carrying down the corridor, while Hiro followed behind her, balancing a box with the S.E.E.S. emblem under his arm.
"Huh? Aragaki-senpai?" Fuuka tilted her head, surprised. "What's he doing up here?"
Hiro looked the same way. Shinjiro stood in the middle of the hallway, motionless, his eyes locked on the paper between his fingers.
His expression shifted — first shock, then anger. A dark shadow crossed his face.
Hiro felt his stomach tighten.
"Did something happen?" he muttered, tense.
Shinjiro kept staring at the letter, as if the paper weighed a ton.
A chill ran down his spine, and cold sweat began to form on his forehead. His hands trembled.
He reread each line, his breathing growing heavier.
"I know this day means something to all of us.
But especially to you and me.
I know you killed her. I know you brag about taking her from me.
I want to settle the score.
To take back what was stolen from me.
Meet me where the pain began... and let's finish this once and for all."
The paper crumpled between his fingers.
"So... he remembers today," he growled, voice low, his teeth clenched.
"Shinjiro."
The sound of Hiro's voice snapped him out of it.
He blinked, as if waking from a trance, and turned sharply.
Fuuka and Hiro stood there, watching with worried faces.
The soft glow from the hallway lights glinted off the sweat dripping down Shinjiro's chin — his eyes hollow, like someone who'd just stared into a nightmare.
Hiro took a step forward, his gaze narrowing.
"You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
The sound of paper crushing filled the room. Shinjiro's fist trembled. Without a word, he stepped through the doorway and into the room, his expression dark.
Fuuka frowned, fingers nervously intertwining in front of her.
"Aragaki-senpai... what happened to make you like this?"
Shinjiro didn't answer. He grabbed his shoes and began putting them on slowly, each movement tense.
The letter still burned in his mind like a brand. The words wouldn't leave him.
He knows? He still remembers?
Those questions spun endlessly through his head.
Hiro, who had been watching silently, clenched his jaw. He dropped the box he was holding and stepped forward, gripping Shinjiro's shoulder and turning him forcefully.
"What the hell's wrong with you? You're not saying a damn thing!"
Shinjiro met his gaze, eyes hard. "I've got something I need to take care of. It's urgent."
Fuuka stepped closer, startled. "Now? But... in two hours it'll be midnight. And today is—"
"I know." Shinjiro's voice cut through the air. He looked at her and nodded firmly. "I know another Shadow Arcana's gonna show up tonight. But I have to do this."
Hiro narrowed his eyes, his voice low and heavy. "And what exactly is it?"
For a moment, Shinjiro stared back.
There was something broken, heavy, buried behind that look. His chest felt tight.
He wanted to tell them. To ask for help.
But he couldn't.
Not tonight.
This was something only he could face.
His punishment.
He grabbed his long coat from the bed and said in a low, gravelly voice, "It's nothing you two need to worry about."
Hiro crossed his arms, suspicious. "You're not hiding something from us... are you?"
Shinjiro shook his head sharply. "No."
The silence that followed was thick. The clock ticked slowly, each beat almost mocking them.
Hiro lowered his gaze, the weight of doubt gnawing at his chest.
Part of him screamed to stop Shinjiro, to go to Mitsuru or Akihiko and tell them.
But another part... just trusted that Shinjiro knew what he was doing.
He took a deep breath and made his choice.
"Alright. If you say so... But you'll be back in time for the operation, right?"
Shinjiro pulled something from his coat's inner pocket — his S.E.E.S. armband — and showed it with a small, tired smile.
"Yeah. I'll be back to grab my gear."
Fuuka still looked uneasy, her fingers clutching the fabric of her skirt.
"Aragaki-senpai... are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine." He adjusted the coat over his shoulders and turned to the door. "Oh, and if Kirijo asks where I am, tell her I'm busy — but I'll join up as soon as I can."
Without another word, he left. His footsteps echoed down the hall until they faded away.
The room fell into an uneasy silence.
Fuuka stood staring at the door, her chest tight.
Something inside her whispered that letting him go had been a mistake.
She turned to Hiro, hesitant.
"Hiro... are you sure letting him go was the right thing to do?"
Hiro didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the floor, distant.
Finally, he lifted his head and shrugged, his voice rough and heavy:
"I... I don't know."
TO BE CONTINUED...