... In which I return to Leblanc after our plan to outmaneuver our enemies has succeeded. But, unlike my friends who are jubilant, I can't quite bring myself to stop racking my brain over whether we really did the right thing, tormented by the thought that we may have crossed a line.

******************************************

". . . It would seem as though you have been killed."

Beyond the metal bars that I'm clinging to like my life depends on it, Igor's face is expressionless; he wears his usual composed amusement. I can't pay attention to it, though . . . All I see is the barrel of a gun and a pair of eyes that stare into my soul without truly seeing it. Not hostile or brimming with hatred, just . . . dead. More dead than I thought eyes could ever be.

Case closed . . . I swallow repeatedly, but the lump in my throat doesn't go away. This is how your "justice" ends.

My justice. I try to focus on the metal bars in front of me and not the lingering images that have already burned themselves into my mind. Part of me curses Igor for showing me, but also . . . he knows it as well as I do: I'm not dead.

I'm not, because our plan worked . . . somehow. And I'm here . . . I try my hardest to fight the uncontrollable shaking of my body. I am here . . . because, for some reason, he decided that I needed to see the truth. To see what I would have seen, hadn't we been prepared for this. What I would have seen if I hadn't spent the last hours curled up in the corner of a dark, empty interrogation room, paralyzed with terror.

Case closed . . .

I breathe in and out, fighting the urge to sob. I was there, until . . . I don't remember what happened or how I was brought to the velvet room—only that when I found myself here at last, it felt like waking up from a never-ending, hellish nightmare. It probably doesn't matter how I got here. Soon, I'll be back, and then . . .

. . . This is how your "justice" ends.

"But why were you killed?" Igor speaks over the words that replay in my head like another broken record. I could start a collection at this point.

"Why did you have to die?" Igor repeats. "Do you remember?"

I don't respond. Some memories are still fuzzy . . . Clouds of mist drift through my mind, but they're not overwhelming anymore. I know the answer to that question . . . I know . . . I tighten my grip on the bars. The only thing I really know with absolute certainty is that it wasn't supposed to be like this.

"It seems you forgot an important fact while your consciousness was hazy . . . I allowed you to see through the eyes of the cognition that took your place, but what happened to her didn't happen to you. Still, your "death" was a necessity for your escape from certain doom, was it not?" His grin widens. "What a tremendous plan."

My chest tightens, and I lower my eyes to the floor. It really was not. I knew from the moment my friends proposed it that essentially everything about this plan was an utter mess. It was far too risky and convoluted—there were so many unknown and uncontrollable factors, and each could have ruined everything.

In fact . . . for a second, I allow myself to marvel at how nothing went wrong. Part of me feels like it should have, even though I would be dead then. It doesn't feel like a victory that was truly earned. The only reason I'm still alive is because luck—and Sae—decided to be on our side.

"Indeed." Igor smiles. "How might you be capable of executing such a feat?"

I tighten my jaw.

"It wasn't all that great."

"I'm not sure . . ."

> "We got really lucky . . ."

"Oh?" Igor tilts his head. "You won't take credit for it? How fascinating. While it can't be denied that luck played a considerable role in your achievement . . . you still worked hard for it, did you not?"

I don't respond. He's not wrong . . . I did work hard, and so did all my friends. I just don't feel like listening to praise right now. What I really want is to curl into a ball on the floor and forget everything that happened today . . . yesterday? Whatever day it is, I can say with certainty that it was and will always be the shittiest day of my life.

"But it seems that you do remember . . ." Igor cuts into my gloomy thoughts. "This "game" is not over yet. There are still things that must be done."

My grip on the iron bar loosens. I lean my cheek against the cold metal while my eyes almost fall shut all on their own. If I had the energy, I would scream at Igor that I don't want to do anything right now other than rest . . . and cry. But even for that, I don't seem to have the strength. My eyes stay dry, but my heart wails.

I can't bring myself to tell it to stop.

But, of course, Igor is right. The images he showed me, the voice, and the face that I still see whenever I close my eyes—that wasn't really what happened at that moment. Not to me, anyway. It happened to a puppet wearing my face.

What really happened to me was . . .

***

For a while, I can't feel anything except the pressing exhaustion. My consciousness is on the brink of slipping away when, from somewhere beyond the mist, comes a faint voice: ". . . Hey are you all right?"

I know that voice, I think. But I can't open my eyes. I can't even muster enough will to remember whose voice it is.

"Don't fall asleep until we reach our destination . . . Are you listening?"

I . . . should, I think. But I can't. Whether it's the effect of the drug wearing off or something else—something much less tangible—I don't know. All I know is that I can't keep my eyes from closing.

The next time I feel something, I'm . . . standing, somehow. Then walking. I'm leaning on someone who knows where we're going. For that, I'm beyond grateful. I regain awareness only when I take in the familiar sight . . . the door.

"We're almost there . . . just hang in a bit longer."

I'm . . . leaning on someone's shoulder. A hand supports my back, and if it didn't, I'm not sure I'd be able to walk at all. I'm ushered through the door . . . that door, that familiar door, it's—

"Rin!"

I nearly stumble and crash into the familiar counter; Sae—only then do I understand it's her—pulls me up at the last moment so that I can stare into a sea of faces. All of them pale, with messy hair and circles around their widened eyes. Only Ryuji's grin is bold. "Our fearless heroine!" He gives me a hefty pat on the shoulder so that I almost topple over before shaking me encouragingly.

"Rin! How are you?" Ann places a hand on my other shoulder, much gentler.

"Guys, give her some space . . ." Sojiro cuts in. "Can't you see she's spent?"

At that moment, he is my favorite person in the whole world.

"Of course." Despite her words, Haru takes a step closer. "We're just trying to determine whether she is alright . . ."

"It truly is a relief to see your face," says Makoto and exchanges a glance with Sae. I have a feeling she means me as much as her.

"Ha!" Ryuji slaps his free hand on the counter. "I bet that moron Akechi don't even know we tricked him yet!"

I'm not sure what exactly it is—the carefree tone, the meaning . . . or maybe the name itself. But the next thing I know is that I'm trying to free myself from Ryuji's grip. I'm not steady enough on my feet yet, so when I push against his arm and he releases me, I stumble into the counter. I can barely catch myself on one of the chairs.

"H-Hey, what—!?"

For a moment, I think I'm going to be sick.

"Be careful!" Ann supports me, and I don't push her away. "Guys, maybe we should take it a little easier," she says. "How about we sit down properly, get some coffee, and not overwhelm her all at once?"

None of my friends protest. In fact, they suddenly look apologetic. Next thing I know, I'm ushered to one of the tables, and soon, the smell of coffee fills the air. Haru takes a seat next to me, and Ryuji scoots up on my other side. Ann sits next to him, and Futaba and Yusuke across from us.

"You're . . . her sister, correct?" Haru asks when Sae pulls up a chair next to Makoto's.

"Makoto told me everything," Sae replies. There is a pause before she continues: "Futaba-chan . . . I'm sorry that I caused you so much trouble this past summer . . ."

Futaba shrugs. "Eh, it's ancient history now."

Sojiro promptly approaches our table with a huge can of coffee and as many cups as he can carry. "This'll cheer you up."

Warmth fills my heart and my body, together with the delicious, steaming drink. I'm not even finished with my first cup, and I already feel a little rejuvenated. I breathe out in relief, leaning back. Ryuji, next to me, snickers. "But man, that goddamn detective!"

I jerk up, although not as quickly as I would have if I weren't as beat as I am.

". . . Huh, you okay?" Ryuji asks, and I don't really want to answer. I sip my coffee instead, but my cup empties much faster than I would have liked it to.

"So . . ." Sojiro perches on the backrest of the neighboring table's seat. "How'd you pull this off? Isn't Rin considered dead?"

I lower my head, urgently hoping that my friends will explain for me. I don't feel like going over all of this again.

"You weren't told anything?" Makoto whips around to him, her eyes widening. "Even though my sister brought her here?"

Sojiro shakes his head, then explains that Sae brought me to Sojiro's house, right after they pronounced me dead. She stayed with me because I wasn't conscious enough to be left unsupervised . . . and Sojiro had to stay and watch the shop.

My friends quickly start bickering about how to explain to Sojiro and Sae what really happened and what we did. I don't really listen. I'm honestly more than sick of this plan and everything it entailed. I don't want to reiterate it . . . I want to forget it. Forget everything that happened since we fought Sae.

But I already know I'll never forget those eyes.

. . . This is how your "justice" ends.

I feel like laying my head on the table and crying. Instead, I force myself to listen to my friends' more or less cohesive explanations. They reveal that we knew Akechi was meant to infiltrate our group and set us up, then describe what we did to avert that.

"Akechi himself gave us the chance to strike back. He made one fatal mistake," Ann says. He made . . . a mistake, I think, staring into my empty coffee cup. He made a mistake . . . but when did he make it? When did he . . . when and how did all of this start? Surely it could've only been a mistake that led him down a path like this.

"Couldn't you have said from the beginning that Akechi was the true culprit?" Sae asks, and for the first time, I listen up properly.

"That wasn't something we could simply bring up . . ." Makoto responds and continues, explaining that neither Sae nor the public would believe Akechi to be the culprit. I can't argue with that, but . . . Suddenly, I rue the fact that I never brought up any of my thoughts about confronting him with the evidence, interrogating him ourselves—coming clean—instead of doing . . . what we did.

"In other words, you left him alone on purpose," Sae says, and even though I know she means something different, the words trigger images that I've, so far, successfully avoided thinking about. Because it feels wrong to feel for him or think about what he is doing or where he is . . .Whether he feels just as sick as I do. Whether he's even still . . . thinking about me at all.

I should hate him, I think, and nod as Haru offers to refill my coffee cup. I should condemn him just as my friends do. I stare into the coffee, trying my hardest to dig into myself and find the joyous elation that seems to infect my friends one by one as they chatter and explain to the adults what really happened.

We . . . won, I think, still unable to avert my gaze from the steaming drink. We won . . . then why is it that I do not feel like a winner at all? I cautiously take a sip and quickly put the cup down—it's much too hot. We came out victorious . . . but when I look inside myself, I feel like this victory cost a piece of my heart. A piece that I will never get back. The fresh hole is staring back at me accusingly, and I know that even if I collect every piece of my heart off the floor where I left them, that hole will stay gaping—like a warning. For . . . the rest of my days?

I don't say a single word throughout the whole explanation. Instead, I'm trying to use it to fire myself on . . . to light the anger that I feel like I should be feeling. He used us. He betrayed me. He . . . tried to kill me. He told it to my face that . . .

Why are you holding that absurdly big heart of yours out to me like we both don't know that I'm going to break it?

The familiar words that have long burned themselves into my mind sound . . . different all of a sudden. Less like a general heed to be cautious about whom I get attached to . . . and more like a direct warning.

The uncomfortable thought of whether I would feel any differently had I decided not to get attached to him or heeded his words and stopped pursuing him long ago resurfaces in my mind. But . . . if he planned to get close to me for information, as my friends concluded a while ago . . . I take a sip of coffee and force myself to swallow even though it's still scalding hot. Why would he try to warn me at all?

Something went wrong . . . I think as I look around the room, into the excited faces that are all glued on Futaba who is in the middle of explaining how she planted the listening app on Akechi's phone. This is not what I wanted to do at all. This . . . another swell of sickness overcomes me and I swallow hard.

I don't finish the thought. Instead, I force myself to listen to the entire conversation we intercepted, which has already irreversibly etched itself into my brain. Surely, that has to make me feel a little less miserable about all this! But even with the wicked words that convinced me at the time that it was too late, I just can't do it. I can't hate him. The realization is almost enough to infuriate me by itself.

"He's no ace detective," Haru says. "Akechi's the perpetrator behind the mental shutdown crimes."

"On top of that, there's someone else commanding Akechi," Makoto continues. That person . . . the mastermind, whoever they are, is our real enemy. As for Akechi . . . To my friends, he is no different from any of the corrupt adults we took down. We used him just as much as he did us, after all. We treated him as a means to an end, to escape the mastermind's grasp. We assumed that he was too far gone to be anything else. But . . . is that really true?

It hits me that this is the fault in my train of thought . . . Because I'm not actually sure if he . . . wasn't. I tried to get through to him after all. I shut my eyes and finally feel a swell of that elusive frustration I've been trying to evoke. I tried so hard, and yet . . .

. . . And yet I still can't help but feel that I didn't try hard enough.

I still picture his face vividly there with the rest of us in Sae's palace. Fighting, supporting, and smiling in a way that makes it almost impossible to believe it was all supposed to be fake. All my thoughts about how happy he seemed with us assault my mind and I shut my eyes, suddenly fighting tears.

In my head, I desperately try to align a plan that involved doing what we did to him with the heroic Phantom Thieves I founded over half a year ago. The same Phantom Thieves, whose main purpose was to give lonely kids with no place in the world somewhere to belong and feel safe. Who sought to reform society and redeem evildoers who hurt others so that no more harm could be done.

Akechi isn't like my friends, I force myself to remember. It isn't hard—all I have to do is picture the dead eyes. But a deep, foolish part of me also refuses to believe that he is like the adults we're fighting either. I've spent so much time with him—laughing and teasing and having fun—it's inconceivable that every single moment was fake.

Akechi's not innocent, of course. But he isn't the grand villain either. He's a perpetrator but likely also a victim. He's . . . neither extreme, I think. Or both . . . Somewhere in between.

The only thing I don't know is which side he was closer to. And even though I have no real proof . . . a small voice in my ear whispers that us using him the way we have did more harm than I ever meant for our group to do—to someone who might have been much more like us than we allowed ourselves to believe.

I only half-listen to my friends explaining how they decided to make Akechi kill Sae's cognitive version of me. Even hearing it now, after it all worked, it still bewilders me that we were graced with so much luck that not a single hole in this plan backfired on us.

"To be honest, I didn't quite understand it, but I went along with it," Morgana says, then suddenly goes silent. "Hey, Rin, is everything okay? You seem far away."

I look up. They're all staring at me now, and in their faces, I see concern. It seems as though I do have to say something after all. I clear my throat.

"I'm fine."

> "This plan was too reckless."

"I'm just tired . . ."

"But it worked!" Futaba calls and earns a few cheers.

"Besides, it was the best decision we could have made," Morgana adds and nudges me. "I know you had issues with it at first, but you can't seriously still think that."

But . . . I do, I think as I listen to Makoto's ensuing explanation. Not just because I am unsure about whether we should have treated Akechi as irredeemable, but also because . . . the more I consider it all, the dirtier I feel. It's all so . . . dishonest.

I never liked lying or deceiving people. What I told Akechi during our billiards game comes to mind, and I am more convinced of this than I've ever been: I don't want to play any games. I like to work with people, not against them.

I love my friends for protecting me, but . . . I can't deny that there's a part of me that would like nothing more than to stand up and give them a piece of my mind about how this isn't how heroes are supposed to act . . . even if there truly was no other way.

"Akechi disposed of the fake in the Palace and left thinking he had been victorious," Yusuke says with a smile. A shiver runs down my spine as my mind is flooded with images I'm still not sure whether I ever wanted to see. "It must have been truly hilarious for our leader, who sat idly in the real world's interrogation room."

I frown. Hilarious . . . ? If I think back to that moment, I can still feel the all-consuming fear that paralyzed me for what seemed like days . . . but must have been mere hours. Fear . . . that something would go wrong. That . . . I would die after all. The memory is enough to make my hands start trembling again. I clutch the cup as tightly as I can, doing my best to fight it.

"Surely," an oblivious Yusuke continues, "she was acting quite cocky by herself in that quiet chamber."

Everyone jumps when the cup slips out of my shaking hands. It rolls across the table and over the edge before fragile porcelain shatters on the hard floor.

". . . Rin?" Ryuji asks, but I don't look at him. Or any of them. Suddenly, all I really want to be is alone, so that I can finally feel and act as miserably as I want to without having to explain myself. I know my friends are trying to cheer me up, and I really do love them for it, but my social battery ran out hours ago.

If I were braver, I would stand and run up into my room, lock the door, and crawl into my bed, under the blanket. And then stay there . . . for as long as I can afford to. To cry, to sleep, and to . . . cave under all this strain and pressure that's been pressing down on me for so much longer than I initially thought I could bear.

Instead, I force myself to look up at Yusuke.

"This isn't 'hilarious' at all . . ."

> "If something went wrong, I would have died . . ."

"That's not what happened . . ."

"O-Oh, right . . ." Yusuke looks down, and I do the same.

From the other side, a hand touches my shoulder. "We're really sorry," Haru says quietly. "All this must be exhausting for you. Would you like to continue this another time?"

I hesitate momentarily; my gaze is drawn to Sojiro's concerned face. Sae, next to him, looks just as troubled. My friends all stare at me as well, expecting a decision.

. . . Sometimes I really hate being the leader.

I throw a longing glance in the direction of my room . . . then back at the assembly. We do owe Sae and Sojiro an explanation, and if I leave now, I have no idea when I'll have enough mental strength to continue this meeting. They might be waiting days for their answers. And . . . it's not like I'll have to do much besides sit here anyway . . . right?

I shake my head.

In both Ann's and Haru's faces, I can see that they don't think my decision is in my best interests, but they don't say anything. Haru keeps her hand on my shoulder though, and I am eternally grateful for it.

In so many ways, she resembles everything that I always wanted to be—kind-hearted and gentle, but not weak or a pushover. She carries her soft heart proudly without letting anyone judge her . . . and I find myself envious of the incredible strength and composure she displayed when dealing with her father's death and the arranged marriage disaster. That's the composure I wish I could exude right now.

Instead, I am an uncertain, foolish wreck who can't even bring herself to resent the man who led her on, broke her heart, and conspired to kill her with his own hands.

What a fine leader I am, indeed.

Yusuke continues to chat with Sae about the Metaverse and the plan, and the others soon join in. I don't really listen. All I can muster at the moment is being physically present . . . but mentally, I'm far away. In retrospect, I wouldn't even remember where.

Only when Sae addresses me directly do I listen up again. "I'm surprised you could convince me in such a short time," she says. "Were you confident you could do it?"

It takes me a moment to realize that she means convincing her to help us.

> "I had no choice . . ."

". . .Not at all."

"I don't remember . . ."

"I see . . ." She ponders. "Still, I can't believe you went for such a risky idea."

Yeah . . . I can't blame her. I give her a faint smile that I hope conveys agreement, then lean back and take in everyone who has gathered: the people I'm closest with, all here, for me. For a moment, my smile widens, then it falls. We risked it because these people all trusted me to convince Sae more than they trusted the lot of us to convince Akechi.

. . . I'm not sure how to feel about that.

"Hey, Rin, are ya' hangin' in there?" Ryuji suddenly asks, and I jerk around, rubbing my eyes.

"Are we being inconsiderate?" Ann remarks with a scowl. "Look at her—she's half passed out. We should have figured, considering what they did to her during the interrogation . . ."

"I can't believe what they did to Rin either . . ." Makoto says, looking down. "The callous use of violence and even drugs is utterly abnormal. If she had lost consciousness and hadn't been able to tell Sis about the phone, she would have died . . ."

I look down at my hands. That, or if the phone had been destroyed somehow, or if they had intercepted Sae and sent someone else altogether, or if I hadn't remembered what I was supposed to do, or . . . I've considered it all. In that interrogation room, I did little else but come up with ways for how all of this could have gone wrong.

"I'm . . . truly glad you made it back safe, Rin." Makoto smiles.

I barely muster the strength to smile back.

> "Couldn't have done it without all of you."

"Me too . . ."

"I'm so glad this is over . . ."

"You're too kind for your own good, did anyone ever tell you that?" Futaba cuts in and I think . . . yes. Akechi told me this. Although both then and now, I don't buy that there truly is something such as being "too" kind.

I somehow muster the strength to listen to my friends, one by one, proclaiming their belief and their worry about me . . . and finally acknowledge Sae's declaration to do her best to assist us going forward, as well as Sojiro's promise to help wherever he can.

After that, it seems like everything has been said for now; even Sojiro demands a break. I rejoice when he offers us Leblanc's first floor as a hangout spot . . . and I can finally retreat to my room. My friends decide to stay; someone switches on the TV, but I'm too beat to participate in the rest of this.

Ann and Haru volunteer to escort me upstairs, and the moment I see it, I fall into my bed. I can barely muster the strength to change into my pajamas.

"We will tell you if we make any progress on the rest of the plan when you wake up," Ann says with a smile. "I think Futaba mentioned that Akechi let the name of the mastermind slip after all . . ."

I nod, and they leave me to myself at last. And, despite my fears that nightmares would plague my sleep, I fall asleep the moment my head properly touches the pillow. I don't think I've ever fallen asleep this quickly in my entire life.

***

I'm not sure how much time passed when I wake up. My limbs are lead, and my entire body feels like I was run over by a freight train. Somehow, I manage to get up and throw on some clothes, noticing that my stomach is growling—I haven't eaten anything since before the fight against Sae.

As soon as I've made it down the stairs, I freeze.

"There she is!"

"Finally!"

"How are ya? Sleep well?"

My friends surround me in seconds . . . they're all still here. Before I know it, Ryuji has me by the wrist, lifting my arm in the air. "Let's hear it!"

They're . . . applauding. Even Sae, who is still at the counter, smiles and claps. I give Ryuji a confused look and he grins. "Sae told us what a great job you did, talkin' to her. She said you told her everythin'. But like . . . in a convincin' way . . ." He doesn't give me time to process. "Oh—and it turns out this scheme also got us the name of our big man mastermind. We checked the Nav while you were asleep—and bingo! The guy we're up against is—"

"Ryuji, maybe let her catch her breath first," Ann says from somewhere on our right. "We can tell her about Shido during breakfast."

"You just wanna eat somethin' yourself!" Ryuji whines, and Ann scoffs. But at least he lets go of me, and I exchange an exasperated glance with Sojiro, who can barely contain his laughter.

I sit down across from Haru and Makoto, who seem deep in conversation about something on their phones, and wonder how I could show all my friends appreciation for their work—that they apparently put in—while I was asleep.

As soon as Sojiro brings the delicious-smelling, steaming curry, my friends all start digging into it, and for a while, it is quiet. I can't help but ask for seconds . . . as do Ann, Ryuji, and Yusuke.

Eventually, Makoto starts bringing me up to speed. Apparently, Futaba overheard Akechi mention the name "Shido-san", and my friends have concluded that it has to be Masayoshi Shido, the politician running for prime minister in the upcoming election. According to Sae, he would benefit from the psychotic breakdown incidents—it is likely that he orchestrated the whole thing to aid in his ascent to power, and used his negative stance toward the Phantom Thieves to gain popularity. And . . . apparently, he was also the one who crushed Futaba's mom's research, at the time.

"We gotta expose that rotten bastard!" Ryuji exclaims, and everyone nods.

"Yes . . . we have to make him have a change of heart, no matter what . . ." Haru says determinedly. "But of course, we couldn't make the final decision without you." She turns to me, along with everyone else. "Are we unanimous?"

I nod without a second thought. If this information is correct, he is definitely a target worth pursuing. If we don't steal his heart and he wins the election . . . I suppress a shiver. I don't even want to imagine what would happen to this country.

"Hell yeah!" Ryuji grins.

"He will be a worthy opponent," says Yusuke.

"Let's win this together," Haru chimes.

"Time for revenge . . ." mumbles Futaba. She sits with her knees tucked in close to her body and I wonder if defeating Shido—the man apparently responsible for the death of her mom—will get her more closure.

"Then it's unanimous. We'll do what we always do." Morgana stands up on his chair. "According to what we discovered with the Nav, Shido's palace is the Diet building. Now we at least know where to start."

"Hell yeah!" Ryuji stands up too, pumping his fist. "Our next target's the big-shot politician Masayoshi Shido. We're gonna do this, right?" He looks down at me expectantly and I tighten my hands into fists.

"He's going down."

> "Let's put an end to this."

"What she said," Futaba says with a grin.

"Hell yeah, the Phantom Thieves are back!" Ryuji throws his hands in the air, then energetically pats my back. "We can finally take it to Akechi and Shido!"

I flinch. No matter how much I hate that this name still thrusts a thorn into my heart—it does. And apparently, I'm horrible at concealing my emotions because I draw everyone's attention in an instant.

"What's the matter?" Yusuke asks. "You look paler than a sheet."

"Are you still unwell?" Haru leans forward to see me better, and I swallow hard.

". . . What about Akechi?"

> "Shouldn't we do something for Akechi?"

"Huh, what do you mean "for" Akechi?" Ryuji sits back down with a frown.

"I don't think we have to do anything about him if we take care of Shido," Makoto adds with a shrug. "He'll confess the whole thing when he has a change of heart, and Akechi will be done for too."

I clench my jaw, fighting an unprecedented swell of frustration. Part of me finds it hard to believe that they didn't have the same thoughts as I did when we discussed Shido's palace, and yet . . .

> "I meant . . . maybe he has a palace as well?"

"Didn't you check whether he has a palace too?"

"Akechi may be evil, but he is a Persona user," Morgana cuts me off immediately. "As far as I know, he can't have a Palace and a Persona."

I cast my eyes down. This slipped my mind . . . Still, I can't say I'm not tempted to at least check. If Akechi had a Palace of his own, there would be an attainable way to help him, I think, tightening my fists. But my friends have already moved on, it seems.

"We'll have to deal with this before election day, December 18th," Makoto says eventually. "That means we need it done by the 17th."

"It's best we hurry before they discover that there is no body in the morgue," Yusuke adds.

"Should we start tomorrow then? We can meet at the Diet building after school," Ann suggests, and everyone nods.

"That reminds me . . ." Ryuji pokes my shoulder. "What're you gonna do about school? You can't show up if you're supposed to be dead."

"Ms. Kawakami said she went back home for "family reasons"," Ann responds, and Sojiro nods.

"That's what I told the school."

". . . Don't let them find out you're alive." Haru clasps her hands on the table.

"What do you mean?" Sojiro looks up from his coffee cup, and Haru exchanges a glance with Makoto who clears her throat.

"We were thinking that this operation may serve another purpose outside of escaping Akechi's clutches . . . Well, unofficially," she says.

I frown. Yet no matter how much I rack my brain, I don't remember if they ever mentioned anything about another purpose to me . . .

"Shido tried to place all the blame on the Phantom Thieves and deceive the public at the same time," Makoto continues. "He has ruined countless lives and even made Goro Akechi, a student, assist him with assassinations. A mere change of heart is too lenient a sentence for such an abominable criminal."

I can't take my eyes off Makoto and for some reason, a chill runs down my spine. She has that same air now as back when I thought of her as intimidating. And although a voice at the back of my head is questioning whether we even have the right to pass a sentence more severe than a change of heart, I don't say anything.

"Mako-chan and I thought we could make use of the police statement that the leader of the Phantom Thieves committed suicide," Haru picks up Makoto's train of thought. "If you're willing, Rin—we thought you could come out of hiding to deliver a grand statement. You could say that you escaped prison, not committed suicide, and were in fact almost killed."

Their suggestion is followed by a moment of stunned silence. Then, every one of my friends begins to cheer and clap again, louder and more enthusiastically this time.

"What a grandiose idea!" Yusuke throws his arms up.

"Oh! Oh! Everyone's gonna flip!" exclaims Futaba.

"Bro . . . that's next level!" Ryuji calls.

"It'll be a worthy comeback!" Ann cheers.

I sit still, staring at my celebrating friends, and feel . . . mostly a little overwhelmed. It . . . is a great idea, and it will get the Phantom Thieves back on track, but . . . I swallow. What exactly is a "grand statement" and how far do they expect me to take this? Everyone will be watching. It's what a great leader would do, a voice in my head whispers, and try to scrape together the courage to commit to doing something so far out of my comfort zone. I'm not even comfortable with public speaking. And this . . .

Sojiro looks around, shaking his head. "You guys thought through all this stuff too?"

"Well, Haru and I considered it earlier," Makoto says, and the two exchange a glance. "But of course, we'll need Rin's consent."

"Oh, come on!" Ryuji pokes my shoulder again. "I know you're not usually one for talkin' much, especially in public, but this could be epic! And we could definitely use somethin' like that, after our slump."

I look at their expecting faces and take a deep breath. Wasn't I wondering earlier how I could possibly repay them for the work they all put in? I owe them this. Because it's . . . what a leader deserving of a team like them would do.

"I'm in."

> "Let's do this."

"Awesome!" Ann cheers and the others join in.

"So . . . you're going to use the fact that you had to resort to getting captured and appearing to be killed to strike back at your enemy . . ." Sae shakes her head, then looks directly at Makoto with unconcealed pride. "Not bad. Although I wonder if the risk was worth the reward."

"Of course it was!" Ryuji snickers. "We're not just gonna let that bastard push us around. He'll get what's comin' to him . . ."

"He has messed with us for the last time." Makoto's face is iron. "The true battle has only just begun. We won the first round, but we must stay on our toes."

"Yeah, you're right . . ." Ryuji quiets down all of a sudden. "This ain't the time to be celebratin'."

"This guy tried to trap and kill us," Yusuke interjects. "There is no end to his inhuman, conniving nature. We will need to be prepared for whatever may come our way."

For one moment, we sit there, feeling the grim air, then it dissipates and the mood lightens. I watch as my friends, one by one, settle down, and even though we decided that it's too early for celebrations, they're clearly proud of us. And . . . for a moment, I suppress the inhibitions I still have about any unexpected consequences this plan may have and let myself be proud of us too.

Warmth fills my heart, and love for all of the people here. The kind of love that, in fairytales, can move mountains and end wars. Achieve the impossible. In one way, we have done exactly that: we pulled off a plan that saved everyone in this room, all while being almost too risky to be called good.

Luck be damned. I finally let myself smile along with my friends . . . Maybe Igor was right. Maybe it was more tremendous than I allowed myself to admit. And all of this uncertainty because of . . . I cast my eyes down at my hands. A stupid, petty heartbreak.

But as much as I tell myself that's all that it is, the pain that I still can't shake isn't that easily defeated . . . far from it.

***

Still, the day goes by faster than any has in recent times. Eventually, my friends all have to leave—except for Futaba, who follows me up to my room. "We can have a slumber party," she announces with a grin, and I grin back, thinking maybe it will be for the best if neither of us is alone tonight. Even though I've done my best to ignore all my pains for the sake of my friends and honor their achievements, I feel like it all may catch up with me when I'm alone.

Sojiro informs me about the police report on my death not showing up at school due to Sae's efforts, then tells us to go to bed early before he leaves Futaba and me in my room to fetch a blanket and toothbrush for her.

We change into our pajamas before he returns, then say good night and sit on my bed. It turns out she smuggled an entire cookie jar out of the storage closet, and we stuff one after the other into our mouths, feeling like the Phantom Thieves that we are.

Morgana gives us a side eye when he notices what we're doing, but we don't let that stop us. "Hey, I'm glad you're back safe and sound, but you shouldn't eat sweets before bedtime," he grumbles, then his ears perk up. "You . . . hey." He jumps from the windowsill where he was sitting on the bed, between Futaba and me. "Are those all bruises? You've had it rough in there, didn't you?"

I look down at my now-uncovered arms. I didn't even notice the array of yellowing bruises until he pointed them out. Honestly . . . the emotional and mental strain affected me much more than any of the physical things.

"Don't worry about it."

> "It isn't as bad as it looks."

"Hmm . . . are you sure?" Futaba eyes the bruises too now. "That does look bad."

I shrug and take a big bite from another cookie. It will all heal. Some other wounds . . . I stare at the half-eaten cookie in my hand, then up at my desk in the corner. I can still see the lot of us—all nine—assembled around the table that used to be here. Preparing for a Mementos request . . . or for the palace. Chatting idly. Comfortably?

I look back down and suppress the urge to place a hand over my heart. But, of course, that wouldn't help. Because whether that wound can heal . . . I'm not so sure.

Morgana nudges his head against my crossed leg. "Guess you won't be going to school for a while. Don't worry about it. This'll be a breeze compared to what we've had to face so far."

"Yeah, now we can not go to school together!" Futaba chimes in. "I-I'm sure the others'll bring you all the materials, though."

"Oh, I'll make sure they will," Morgana grumbles. "Hm . . . To be perfectly honest, I don't really care what happens to Shido one way or another." I throw him a bewildered glance, to which he replies with a head shake. "What? It's just that, when I consider the fact that he's your enemy, I naturally think he's my enemy as well." Morgana looks back and forth between Futaba and me, and my still-aching heart suddenly fills with warmth. "I'm going to stay with you until the very end," he confirms, and I give him the brightest smile I can muster.

"Well, of course you will!" Futaba exclaims beside me. "We'll make you stay if that's what it takes. You're our teammate, and that's final. There's no backing out of that!"

I think about how Morgana almost backed out, not even so long ago, and the ache in my heart returns. Before he or anyone can stop me, I put the cookie jar away, reach for Morgana, and pick him up under his front paws. "H-Hey!" he cries, but I don't let that stop me from lifting him to my face and placing a barely-there kiss on his forehead.

"Agh!" Morgana yells. "S-Stop that! What do you think you're—!"

"Aww! Can I have him next?" Futaba holds her arms out, but I cradle a hissing, twining Morgana to my chest protectively.

"You . . ." He mumbles, and both Futaba and I giggle. "You should be asleep instead of goofing around. It's been a long day."

I don't make any move to follow his instructions or even release Morgana, despite his adamant pawing at my shoulder, but Futaba yawns. "Ehh . . . he has a point. I'm so tired."

I cave and nod, finally releasing Morgana. However, he, in contrast to his prior protests, settles comfortably on my lap. "You know, I was thinking . . ." he suddenly says. "Akechi was after you all along. He led you on. You're not . . . you don't have to be ashamed for falling for that."

I flinch, almost crashing into Futaba, who lets out a shriek. Morgana slips off my lap and puts his front paws on my leg. "We had no choice but to depend on him, then. But thanks to your tenacity, you were able to fool him. He'll never hurt you again, I promise. It's payback time. Let's make him regret underestimating the Phantom Thieves!"

I remain frozen for a heartbeat . . . Then I leap up from my bed so quickly that Morgana almost falls off. He yelps and barely catches himself on the blanket, but I don't care. Just like that, the cozy, homey atmosphere I hoped would comfort me and maybe even ward off the night terrors is gone. I support myself on my table, barely keeping myself standing as I'm assaulted by images, memories.

Akechi was after you all along. I swallow, trying to combat the spinning of my head and steady my breath. To process that Morgana may be right . . . and that's all he ever wanted from me. My chest tightens, and no matter how much I try, I cannot swallow the lump in my throat.

What are you doing to me . . . ?

"Rin . . . what's the matter?" Morgana asks; he and Futaba are staring at me as though I've lost my mind. Well . . . I can't really blame them, as, despite my best efforts, I am still heaving, even trembling.

It's like some vile force from the darkest pit of hell sent you to be my personal undoing.

It . . . can't be. It just can't. All of a sudden, there are tears in my eyes. No matter whether I have proof or not . . . I won't believe that it was all fake. That he didn't feel any of the things I felt all this time. It's like when I refused to believe that he had an ulterior motive for teaming up with us . . . Hah, I wipe at my face angrily. I guess I just don't learn or something. Because that time, I was wrong.

But not this time.

I am the one who won't stop believing . . . My own words ring in my mind, and I'm suddenly more confident in them than I have ever been. But . . . how do I explain this to my friends?

> "I wish we didn't have to do that."

"What if things could have been different . . . ?"

"Huh?" Morgana's eyes widen. "What . . . how do you mean that?"

I cross my arms defensively. I can't be the only one who found our plan to be more than a touch morally ambiguous.

"What else were we going to do?" Futaba frowns. "It was the only chance we had to save ourselves from him and Shido."

I shake my head. Maybe I'm being an idealistic fool as always, but ever since I had the thought, I can't let go of it. It sits at the back of my mind, yelling at me that he wasn't as far gone as my friends think. They spent so much less time with him than I did . . . I can't fault them for thinking what they do. But I? I breathe out. I should have known better . . . The thought smashes into my skull like a steel ax.

> "Why do you think he is doing this . . . ?"

"I wonder if we could have done something for him . . ."

They both stare at me wide-eyed, and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

"I-I don't know . . ." Morgana finally admits. "Does it matter? He tried to kill you!"

Futaba is silent, though. She stares at something behind me, and I wonder if I'm being insensitive by defending Akechi in front of her. If he is the one behind the mental shutdowns, he is likely also the one who caused her mom's. On Shido's orders . . . but still.

"You're wondering if he isn't being coerced himself, aren't you?" she finally says, to my surprise. "I mean, you're probably right, but . . . that doesn't mean we should've just let him win. You would have died!"

I sigh, feeling my frustration mount about how they're still not comprehending that I don't mean we should have let him win. Just . . .

"Do we really know if he is irredeemable?"

> "Maybe we could have still saved him . . ."

Both of them give me a long look that, contrary to my expectations, suggests they have thought about this before too. It fills my leaking heart with fresh hope.

"I don't know . . ." Futaba hesitates. "But even if, how would we have done that?"

"Even that aside," Morgana adds. "While I don't think he's on Shido's level yet—for as long as Akechi is siding with him, he'll be our enemy. Goodness knows why he is, but . . . that's not really for us to concern ourselves with."

I let out another exasperated breath, pondering whether I should bring up that we could have confronted Akechi with the phone recording in the real world. But my anger is already fading. The fact that they agree with me is . . . honestly, more than I expected.

"Besides, didn't you already try to connect with him?" Morgana asks suddenly, and I freeze. "You spent all that time going out with him, and it didn't change his mind. If that isn't a sign that we did the right thing, I don't know what is."

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. This . . . as much as I hate it, is not something I can argue with because it's the very thing that plagues me as well—the source of my anger and my doubts.

"You got really attached to that guy, didn't you?" Futaba asks out of the blue, and—much to my boundless mortification—I almost blush. "Is that why you've been so down?" she continues, staring at me intensely. The longer she looks, the hotter my face grows. "You didn't just go out with him to keep an eye on him," she deduces. "You were trying to save him, weren't you? And it didn't work, so now . . ." She picks at the blanket, leaving the sentence unfinished.

I stare at her and Morgana for another moment, then release my desk and step closer, letting myself fall back on the bed until I'm lying down, face up. I don't even try to fight the tears this time; they blur my vision, but it's not like I have to look at anything right now.

"He betrayed us, but you're the one he betrayed the most. That's . . . what I was trying to say earlier." Morgana settles beside me. "He betrayed and tried to kill you, and yet you're still defending him. Hah." He shakes his head. "You are too kind for your own good." I swat at his face, but Morgana dodges. "Next time, think twice about who you give your heart to," he whispers close to my ear, and I let my eyes fall shut. I should . . . I should heed this warning, I think, and yet I already know that I probably won't.

Because I'm still convinced that something such as "too kind" doesn't exist. Wasn't everyone in this group saved by our friendship and acceptance? Kindness and hope are the most powerful forces in the world. I want to keep believing that, even if it breaks my heart another hundred times. It'll be worth it for the lives saved.

It is like that in fairytales . . . I curl up on my bed and finally wipe the tears out of my eyes to watch Futaba try to keep the cookie jar out of Morgana's reach. But real life isn't a fairytale. Maybe I should listen to my friends and stop blaming myself. It's not like I didn't try! I tried, I remind myself again. I tried my hardest. That has to be enough. I can't let these irrational feelings ruin this win for me any longer, I think and sigh. Although the thought still doesn't do much for my lingering regrets.

. . . Little did I know that the true regrets hadn't begun yet. Not until Shido's palace, where we would find that my intuition didn't betray me this time . . . and confront not only Shido himself but also the true and catastrophic toll of this victory.