"Man lives consciously for himself, but is an unconscious instrument in the attainment of the historic, universal, aims of humanity."
— Leo Tolstoy

October 2nd

Akira didn't quite know what he's looking at.

Beyond the warped valley of metal was an angel who had lost his wings. Pure ivory flesh glistening in the distorted light of the sky, bare as the day he was born, the figure plummeted to the depths of Purgatory like a son cast out by his father.

Akira's eyes met those of pale cobalt for a split second before the midnight blue of their hair swept them from view and the darkness of humanity's cognitive world swallowed him whole.

And suddenly his mind went blank.

A white noise had filled his head. The ground vanished beneath him. The sky, a putrid, revolting green.

He couldn't think at all, moved a single muscle at all, couldn't see anything at all but those eyes.

Those eyes had stared into his soul and it felt like their image had been seared into his very being, eternal and haunting.

Back then he didn't understand why, but he had suddenly felt like the world had shifted on its axis. Even now he doesn't, not completely at least. Even after all this time. But he is certain that this was the starting point. Where everything began.

Or perhaps not. He doesn't know and doesn't think he will ever know.

In the back of his mind, a pounding headache had formed as Arsene clawed his way through his consciousness hard enough to jolt him out of his daze.

He's still standing at the entrance of Mementos. Nothing had happened. The floor was beneath him. There's nothing in the blue sky.

He broke out of his stupor with a deep breath. Sweat forming on his skin, he turned his head quickly in an effort to recompose himself, but he's not fast enough.

His hands were shaking and-

"Akira? Is something wrong?" Makoto asked, her voice tinged with a touch of concern. He opened his mouth, but out of the corner of his eye, Akira could see Futaba glance at him from where she sat up in Prometheus and Ryuji divert his attention from a ranting Ann.

He swallowed thickly.

"No, it's nothing," he said dismissively. She gave him a look, like she's tempted to arch her eyebrow and say "is that so?" Akira in turn decided to ignore that and straightened himself up a bit. Voice shaking ever so slightly, he asked her in a deliberate change of subject, "What's the status?"

He stretched his usual cocky grin across his face, but it's a little too tight; a little too fake so it's not exactly surprising when Makoto didn't seem quite convinced and eyed him a little more. She held him under her gaze and Akira forced himself to hold still, but after a full minute under her stare, she let the subject drop.

She begins briefing him about the members and the progress they've each made, but there's a pinched look to her face, and a look in her eyes told him that this'll definitely be brought back up at a later time.

—ζ—

However he had managed to think that he'd forget the incident with ease was beyond him, as it's obvious that despite his best efforts to focus, that's not going to happen anytime soon. Likely not with any ease either. Worse, it shows. Whatever doubts his friends may have had before must be gone now.

"Gah!"

Akira's sent flying backwards as a Mind Slice strikes him head on. His back collided harshly with the wall. For all that the walls look like something straight out of Resident Evil or Silent Hill or something, to Akira it felt like concrete.

"Akira!" Ann's temporarily distracted by her worry and only barely manages to dodge their opponent's incoming attack. She means to run over to him, but great as her speed was, she's cut off by another attack.

She clicked her tongue in irritation as she stumbles back and was forced into a defensive position. On Akira's other side, however, Mona made use of the bought time to throw a Diarama at him.

As the spell's healing effects soothes the sting of his wounds, Akira shook his head in yet another attempt to just focus. He pulls himself up with a grunt and launches himself back beside his friends, switching out his persona for another in order to remedy his last persona's weakness to Slash.

The battle drew to a close quickly after that as the Rakshasa was beaten down. Akira's focus seemed to have made a comeback, but the reasons were all wrong.

He just wanted to get that goddamned image out of his mind.

It's as if with every blow he lands, he's battering away at those unwanted thoughts and memories.

Akira's breath had run out at the end of the battle but even with his heart beating hard, adrenaline keeps the exhaustion at bay.

He may have had gone harder than usual on the shadow.

He may have had.

Once again, Akira hoped he wasn't as transparent as he felt he was, but that's just his luck; his friends were sending him worried looked despite not being completely recovered themselves. If they hadn't bought his story before, they definitely didn't now, if their expressions were anything to go by.

Their eyes only add to his growing unease and he clammed up.

In an almost pretentiously graceful swoop, Akira quickly pocketed the High Counter card the shadow had dropped and fled.

Yeah okay no, he's not doing this. Nope.

Call it cowardice, but Akira's not going to talk or even think about it; the sight of somebody falling, as strange as it might be, really should not be bothering him like this. Something that unnecessary wasn't worth being brought up and hindering their progress. It's his to deal with quickly and smoothly, not another burden that he could just up and plop onto the laps of his friends, who've been stressed enough with Okumura's Palace.

But that's apparently not his choice to make, and he's caught on the shoulder before he could run down the hall. The hand turned him around and Akira's put face to face with Ryuji.

"Hey 'Kira? Are you okay man?" Ryuji asked, concern apparent in his voice. Akira gapes at him for a second like a fish out of water and barely manages to keep the stutter out of his voice.

"... Yeah," he choked out. His breath was caught in the throat suddenly, and very carefully, he let it out as he slipped out of Ryuji's grip.

"Okay."

"Okay," Akira repeated, "But I don't really want to talk right now."

Not about that, no, he added in his head.

Ryuji's face got that same pinched quality Makoto had, which was a strange look that Akira would find amusing if he was in any other situation, but nevertheless still looked a lot like he wants to just grab Akira by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.

Akira doesn't give him the chance to do so however. By the time his friend's mouth had opened, he's already turned away.

The others pretended like they haven't been watching their exchange the entire time, but if he's to be frank, all of them are quite terrible at acting, especially when in front of someone who knows them so well. They've only been together for almost a year but they knew each other's personalities like the back of their hands.

And that probably includes him too, because he could act all he wants but it doesn't change the fact that they've seen the parts of him that he's shown only to a select few before, a select few that had left him hurting.

(How easily they had turned their back on you after the Incident.)

If he's to be honest, he's scared.

Very much so.

Morgana's transformed back into the Bus, and the others appeared to have patched themselves up. It's open and almost normal, but the tension building by the second was thick enough that Akira could cut it with a knife. This stage he's walking on didn't feel any less comfortable despite his friends' attempts.

Hurriedly, Akira climbed into the driver's seat, red gloved hands grasping the steering wheel as his friends clamber into the Bus after him. That feeling of being watched intently returned, the hair on the back of his head prickling as they head down towards Adyeshach. He could practically feel their questioning looked boring into his skull as they shared glances with each other in silent conversation.

"Akira," he heard someone call.

The leather of his gloves grinded against the wheel.

There's shifting in the back as someone shuffles forward. He could feel the heat of their hand radiating through his layers of clothing, but their palm never made contact. They repeat, "Akira," but the attempted assertiveness in their voice wasn't nearly as convincing as the hovering hand.

He's somewhat intent to continue ignoring the issue at hand, but if there's anything that he was truly soft for, it would probably be this group of people. When did he pick up this ragtag group of endearingly annoying friends? Akira remembers vaguely promising himself not to get attached to anyone here, but look how that turned out. He's surprisingly happy among this bunch.

The fear in his gut coils tighter.

His black eyes flickered to the rear view mirror, focus fixated on the pale hand encroaching on his shoulder. A shining beacon amongst the harrowing fact that it's lingering even now eases this fear slightly, its presence almost assuring.

(Would you have ever done this for me, Watanabe-kun?)

A blink and that murky darkness dissipates. Futaba's the one leaning forward with her hand outstretched but the others were all tense in a way that suggests that all Futaba, in that moment, was just the first responder.

Akira took a moment to contemplate this.

"I'm not okay," he finally admitted, the words flowing out in an unexpected spur of action.

"But it's nothing serious. I'm just..." He fumbled for the word, but they seem to understand so he doesn't elaborate on it. There's an understanding of trust between them as they wait for him to continue, their worries eased if only marginally of his willingness to speak.

"Look, I-" he hesitated, "...Do you trust me?"

There's a round of nodding and words of affirmation around the passenger seats and eyes that look at him and give too much.

"It really was too soon for me to explain," he heard himself say, "But I promise that I'll tell you."

His tongue felt like sandpaper.

—ζ—

When they finally returned to reality, it came to no surprise that night had descended. Time within the Metaverse was wonky, but autumn was finally settling in and it's not like time would just stop for whenever they left for humanity's unconscious. And to his pleasure, the hours they had spent exploring the new Path paid off, as they had covered most of the Areas and all of the requests had been completed.

He hated to admit it, but confessing that he was bothered did resolve the issue to some extent, even if the fix was temporary. Or perhaps the incident had simply faded from mind as the rush of battle and adrenaline overtook it.

All in all a productive evening.

Exhausted but content, Akira dragged his feet into Café Leblanc.

"You're home late again," Sojiro said from his place behind the counter. His hands moved with a steady calmness as they poured water into the familiar nel pot: a contrast to the gruff look he secures at his ward.

"...it's only 8."

"Yes," Sojiro agreed, "But the sun goes down earlier now that it's no longer summer."

The man continued sternly, "And it doesn't change the fact that you've been spending more and more time on your work."

His guardian set the kettle down with a light tap, but somehow the usually soft sound seemed unnaturally loud and harsh.

He's angry, Akira realized.

Not irritated or annoyed, but truly angry, in a way he's never seen before.

Akira's strange feeling seemed to come back full force with awfully convenient timing, and suddenly he really does not want to be in this situation. His exhaustion suddenly weighs on him like an anchor, the satisfied hum that lingers under his skin after battle burning away much quicker than it usually would.

What was wrong with him?

Akira gave a shrug that he hoped came off as nonchalant and told him, "I'll try."

Sojiro's hands falter for a second.

"Akira-"

The sharpness of his tone was startling; he sounds so far from his usual soothingly calm self. But at the same time, logically, Akira knows that it's worry that dominates his caretaker's demeanor. Glasses or not, he could see fine, and the sight of rapidly rising liquid threatening to breach the rim of the pot told him everything.

But why doesn't it feel that way?

"Boss, the coffee," Akira said, the words heavy on his tongue. He could see the older man hurry to set down the kettle out of the corner of his eye as he heads towards the staircase.

"Don't try me."

The words were still somewhat clipped, but there's an edge of tiredness in it that halts his advance. His movements were suddenly none as he stood in the uncertain atmosphere of the room, slowly watching Sojiro finish the brew without so much as a suggestion that his grace had faltered.

The older man lets out a heavy sigh as he pours the liquid gold into Akira's ceramic cup, nudging it towards his ward. "You should take a break."

Resolutely, Akira unfroze himself from his position at the foot of the stairs and slowly settled down into a chair. He eyed the coffee for a beat, or two, just letting himself feel the wisps of heat dance around his nose, before he finally gave in and took a sip.

Blue Mountain.

"I can't," he mumbled into his drink. The bubbles tickled the tip of his nose but he pays them no mind.

Boss pursed his lips, "You can't keep this up. You'll collapse."

"I don't have a choice."

"Then find a compromise."

Akira looked up from his cup. Absentmindedly, he reached up to adjust his fogged-up glasses from where they had slid down and met Boss's eyes.

He hated fighting with Sojiro; he really did. The man was more like a father to him than his real, blood father was.

"The deadline was drawing closer. We can't afford to do so," Akira replied, but even to his ears, his words sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than Sojiro. Hollow.

Empty.

Something passed fleetingly across Sojiro's eyes, something so fast he almost missed it. The man asked him gently, "Where's the cat?"

Akira lifted up the cover of his bag. Morgana's nestled inside, the gentle rise and fall of his friend's chest indicating his peaceful sleep.

Sojiro nodded, "Look, even Morgana's asleep." The agitation that had seemed to present in his voice a moment before had faded into a gentle fondness as he carefully lifted Morgana into his arms. Or perhaps the man had never been as angry as he'd perceived him to be.

Akira didn't respond.

Boss closed his eyes, "Alright, just promise me that you won't go out tonight. Do whatever you need to here."

Akira opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat. What was there to say? There was a tightness around Sojiro's eyes that he had somehow missed on the way in. Boss had rarely shown his fatigue, always keeping a strong, vigilant presence, but in that moment he could see the toll of taking care of two kids with clarity.

"... Okay," Akira relented, "I won't."

And with that, he placed his cup gently onto the counter as he rose out of his chair. Sojiro carefully placed Morgana into his arms, and his feet took him up the wooden stairs to the attic that was his room.

The uncomfortable feeling of wading through humanity's innermost thoughts clung to his skin even now, but something else settled into his skin and soothed his worries.

Bone-deep exhaustion settling into his body and soul, Akira finally relaxed and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

—ζ—

October 5

"I saw something before. Right when we entered," Akira said, out of the blue.

It's been a couple of days after the event. The sky's a bright azure, and the sun shone brightly ahead. He thought that it would be a warm noon day, if not for the wind stealing the heat away.

His friends were a little startled at the abrupt start of conversation, but quickly realized what this was about.

"Do you remember what happened when we first entered?"

There's the sound of rustling clothes as his friends shift their postures ever so slightly, their guards rising and a seriousness overtaking the earlier carefreeness. His friends gave him nods as they collectively recalled the memory of Akira lagging behind, eyes fixed on the sky.

Somehow the notion that they hadn't forgotten made the words flow much easier.

"When it was taking me a little while to catch up," he spoke cautiously, taking his time to choose his words, "I think I saw something — someone — falling from the sky."

No, that wouldn't be accurate.

A person falling from the sky.

What a strange concept.

Looking back on it, that kind of scene seemed more and impossible. Rolling the concept over and over in his mind, the impossibility of such a thing really just led him to the conclusion that that cannot simply be described as "a person falling from the sky."

Such would be an understatement.

No, it was an angel. Wingless, falling, and lost, but still with beauty and not a single hint of disgrace.

An angel without wings.

He told them as such.

"Then… were they a shadow?" Akechi asked him, a hint of confusion showing in his creased brow.

Akira pondered that for a beat or two, considering the possibility. But the flashbulb memory of the glinting silver flashed through his mind with vivid clarity, and Akira understood that that was not the case.

"No, his eyes; they weren't gold. They were a bluish-grey," he said, addressing them all, "Not a single hint of gold."

"Not at all?"

"No," he cemented it.

"A wingless angel plummeting from the heavens; it must have been a sight to see. It was unfortunate that I did not witness such a spectacle," Yusuke muses in interest, a thoughtful look crossing his face as his curious eyes searched his friend.

"This was a point of concern, but that's not the issue, was it?" Haru spoke up, voice strong despite her previous quiet revere.

"No. It's not."

Futaba shot him a look. He returned it with just as much stubbornness as she had.

"I can't get the image of him falling out of my head," Akira finally said, "It's as if it was burned into my eyes."

No one knew how exactly to respond to that statement.

"It's strange, and I don't quite understand, but in a way it also made so much sense." He attempts to clarify, "That image stuck in my head."

He chuckled mirthlessly, "It just gave me a really strange feeling."

"A strange... feeling?" Makoto asked slowly. In the peripheral of his vision, he notices Makoto shifting in her seat, but he doesn't need to look to know he'll find her searching eyes boring into him.

Closing his eyes briefly, Akira turned to look out at the masses of people passing them by. They walk around them, absorbed in their own chatter, nameless and faceless as over.

"It's a feeling most similar to deja vu," he explained.

Akira paused, taking the time to further consider his words, "It's a little different. It's like I'm seeing myself in the mirror, but even after I've left my reflection behind, that sense of familiarity, for lack of a better word, still lingers."

Morgana furrows his brow, and murmurs "That's..."

"Concerning."

"Yes," he acknowledged simply.

"That's—yes. Why would you be able to… empathize with such an event?" Ann took an audible step forward.

Ah.

Akira understood now. Their concern was not over the well-being of the falling man, but over him.

"Empathy was a strange way to put it," he said lightly. She leaned forward, posture imposing, and he leaned back, just a little. He's saved any further discomfort when Morgana spoke up.

"But the fact remains that you were relating to a person that was falling from the sky."

Akira lifted his hands to his face and kneaded the bridge of his nose, "Look, it's nothing bad. I promise you. There wasn't a bit of maliciousness in the feeling."

"It's just," he fumbled for the correct words.

"Terribly nostalgic."

Hearing this, they all fell silent. There were no words to be said about the feeling that settles between them all. The silence that blankets them all was tense but strangely, not uncomfortable.

Akira thought that he shouldn't be feeling so at ease with this.

"What interests me, however, was the usage of a mirror as a metaphor," Yusuke said softly.

"Eh?"

"Usually a mirror implies that left and right reversed, but that wasn't the case here, if I am understanding correctly," he continued.

"It's being flipped."

Akira blinked, "...I'm not sure what you mean." He doesn't think the others were either, because they're all listening to Yusuke as intently as he was.

Yusuke leaned back in his seat, tilting his head to look up into the blue sky.

"This may be far-fetched, but a mirror doesn't just reverse does it? It flips as well."

Akira doesn't understand. Is there a difference? Saying that something was being reversed was essentially the same as saying that it was being flipped.

He asked him that.

Yusuke considered that for a bit and said slowly, "A mirror had always been a tool for reflecting reality."

"'Regarding the scenery, that might very well be the case, but not with personalities,' I believe was the direct quote," he's curled back into himself, posture giving off the impression of contemplation.

"When you saw that man, I believe that feeling was because what you saw wasn't who the man was externally, but who he was internally. And what you saw there was a reflection of yourself, at least in the most fundamental aspects," he explained.

"That's the difference."

Silence hung in the air as Yusuke's words registered in their heads. It's a strange idea, but it made sense.

"We've always been wondering about this. The possibility that there was another like Akira out there," Yusuke broke the silence lightly, "After all, we can't possibly be the only persona users in the world."

"Alright." Ryuji interjected, "Maybe that's part of it — maybe it's not — but let's think about that later. What did he look like?"

That scene flashed in his mind's eye yet again. The memory of royal blue locks fluttering in the air was still vivid. Blinking, Akira answered him, "The man had dark blue hair. A bit like Yusuke's, but several shades lighter."

"Blue?" Haru said, "That color of hair was uncommon. That'll narrow down the candidates."

Futaba hummed, "Maybe he's related to the Detective Prince? I'll have to look into it." Akira quietly sends a thankful look over her way.

"Akechi?" Ryuji had a quizzical expression on his face.

"No," Ann lightly smacked Ryuji's arm.

"Shirogane Naoto. The original Detective Prince," she laughed, "You don't check the news, do you?"

Ryuji looked affronted, "I do! I just don't care about any of that stuff."

"Oh? I can't believe it. You finally started watching TV," Ann hid a smile behind her hand at the sight of Ryuji squawking in protest.

Makoto ignored the two behind her in favor of returning to the main topic. "Shirogane... That's a name I haven't heard in a while."

"Did something happen?"

Makoto shook her head, "Not particularly. Information about her was pretty limited, actually. I do however remember hearing that she transferred to a smaller precinct some years back." She furrowed her brow, "It was a little strange though. I expected her to stay with her team given her success with the Inaba murder case."

"That's interesting," Akira remarked, "Anyhow, it's worth looking into. Futaba, do you mind?"

"Nope," she replied, popping the p, "I'm gunna get to it the moment we get back."

"I'll try to ask my sister and see if she knows anything," Makoto said.

"Would you like me to help?" Akechi spoke up, "I could ask around the precinct. Considering who I am, it wouldn't be strange if I went around asking about my predecessor.

Akira took a moment to think it over. Having someone in law enforcement would certainly be a great help, but he couldn't trust him. As much as he wants to place his faith in Akechi, logically, he knows that despite everything, they were still enemies.

"No," Akira said after a while, "We don't have any evidence that she's related. I don't think we should look that deep until we're sure."

"This applies to you too," He addressed Ann and Ryuji. They look vaguely disappointed, but don't comment on it. Akira turns to Makoto, "Are you sure you were okay with searching with how your home situation was right now?

"Yes," she said confidently, "I could handle it. I think it'll be fine if I just bring it up as idle conversation."

"Back to Blue — did he wear anything that might give away who he was? Like a suit, a school uniform, or something?" Ann's hands gestured in the air as she asked.

His cheeks turned a light red, "Yeah um, about that."

Futaba gave him a weird look, "Yeah? What about his clothes?"

"He wasn't wearing anything."

It came out a little sheepishly, but Akira was relieved to find that his embarrassment had spread and his face was not the only one coloring.

Calm as ever, Haru set them back on track, "This made things a bit harder. What would you guess his age to be?"

"I'm not sure, actually," Akira frowned, " Physically, he's shorter than me, so I would say that he's not an adult. But his aura was very mature, and it felt less like seeing an equal and more like—"

"Like?" Akechi probed.

Akira hesitated, "It was like being around a teacher. Not just an adult — someone who knows a lot more than I do." He flushed a little, "It was a little imposing, really."

"Well, he fell from the sky in the Metaverse right?" Ryuji suddenly spoke. His friend had been a bit quiet now that he thought about it.

Ryuji continued, "Then it shouldn't really be surprising if what he felt was different from what we see."

Akira nodded, "That could be true." Akira turned Ryuji's words over and over in his head. It made sense. If he'd appeared in the Metaverse, what he saw may not necessarily be the truth. It was at times like these that he truly appreciated Ryuji's silent but keen perception.

"If that's the case, then we really haven't gotten anywhere," Yusuke stated. The thought that this was possible hurts, but Akira acknowledged it as the truth.

Still, they had a possible, if tenuous lead to Blue's identity.

He told them that.

"I suppose we could only place our faith in Sakura-san then," Akechi said in response. "Shall we retire for today? It's getting late now, and I have work tomorrow. I'm sure you all have school as well."

Akira looked up at the sky and realized that he's right. They've been talking for some hours now and with the sun setting earlier as autumn set in, the sky had darkened into a warm orange.

Makoto nodded, "Then let's meet at the cafe tomorrow after school. When's the next time we'll go to Mementos?"

Akira took a second to think about it, "The day after tomorrow. Let's take a day to rest." They all seemed to agree on that.

"Man, things were getting strange, eh?" Ryuji stood up and stretched. "With Kasumi, that strange Palace and now this."

"That's to be expected, Ryuji-kun." Haru smiled, "We're bound to see strange things. After all, we're the Phantom Thieves."

"That's true."

With some laughter, the group of friends split up, each leaving for home.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Akira turned around one last time to see Akechi giving him a small wave. Almost awkwardly, he gave a wave of his own in return. "You too."

In the game of chess, prophylaxis (Greek προφυλαξις, "prophylaxis," guarding or preventing beforehand) or a prophylactic move is a move that stops the opponent from taking action in a certain area for fear of some type of reprisal. Prophylactic moves are aimed at not just improving one's position, but preventing the opponent from improving their own.

-Hooper, David; Whyld, Kenneth (1992), The Oxford Companion to Chess (2nd ed.), Oxford University Press