Preparations

[takutomaruki]

The christmas cheer and the overall holiday season was yet to completely distract Takuto Maruki, a disshelved cognitive presearcher residing in the depths of his own palace. He occasionally found himself at home as well, cooking different recipes or simply studying a different field for a change- Experimental Pyschology. It had become his way of coping with the overall chaos festering over the jolly tunes and the cold.
Clearly, theoretical pyschology wasn't the way to go for him and now, clinical psychology- one where he might truly begin to understand the extent to how Azathoth functions by using his innate knowledge of cognitive pscience and fill in the gaps in a more...constricted way could be beneficial. He doesn't know where he was going with this but he meant it when he said he was going to make Igor pay.

Which meant only one particular thing. He will make Rumi real. Somehow. He doesn't need a long-nosed man's help anyway.

Option A: An unsual patient.

Deep in the winding corridors of Mementos, where the usual chaos of the cognitive world is temporarily replaced by a surprisingly calm, almost surreal space. Maruki stands in a cozy little bubble of tranquility, manifested out of his own calm demeanor. The walls and the floors are still the usual dark tracks, but within this strange pocket, there are two armchairs, a small coffee table, and an odd aura of quiet. In front of him sits a Jack Frost, wearing his iconic grin and sporting his signature icy appearance, but with an air of confusion that suggests this isn’t your usual Shadow encounter.

Now dressed in a nearly all-grey suit with a white tie and a black shirt, Maruki looked different—far more relaxed than he had in his former Metaverse attire. His smile was still the same warm, reassuring one he always wore, but the sleek, pristine look from before was replaced by a more practical, yet still formal, appearance.

Beside him, the air shimmered briefly, and a pair of plush armchairs materialized, along with a small coffee table. On the table were a selection of snacks—Pocky sticks, biscuits, and a few other bite-sized treats. Maruki sat down in one of the chairs, resting his hands in his lap as he glanced across the table.

Opposite him sat Jack Frost, his small, round figure perched in the other armchair. Jack was nibbling on a Pocky stick, his wide eyes flicking up at Maruki before taking another enthusiastic bite.

“Alright, Jack,” Maruki said, his voice soft and calm, “Let’s talk a bit more. I know it can be overwhelming here in Mementos, but I want to help you work through this. Whenever you are ready.”

Jack Frost blinked, crumbs falling from his mouth as he chewed. His usual cheerful demeanor was tinged with something else today—a hint of hesitation. He set the Pocky down on the table for a moment, his tiny hands folded in his lap. “Ho-ho, yeah, I guess I’ve been stuck here for a while. Can’t find my way outta the storm. Hee-ho, it’s like... I’m just frozen in place, y’know?”

Maruki leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful as he gently picked up a biscuit. “I understand. Sometimes it feels like we’re stuck in one place for too long, doesn’t it? Everything spinning around us, but no clear way forward.”

Jack Frost nodded slowly, eyes wandering to the snacks as he fiddled with a biscuit on the table. “Hee-ho, it’s like I’m all cold inside, too, just like the world around me... can’t get warm or see the way outta here.”

Maruki smiled, his tone encouraging yet gentle. “It’s completely okay to feel that way, Jack. Sometimes the world can be overwhelming, and it’s hard to know what to do. But you don’t have to have everything figured out all at once. Sometimes, taking it step by step, even just enjoying a snack, can help clear your mind. One little thing at a time.”

Jack Frost’s eyes brightened, a little laugh escaping him. “Ho-ho, that’s... that’s a pretty good way to think about it. Hee-ho, I’ve been way too stuck on the storm instead of enjoying the little things. I guess these snacks aren’t so bad, huh?”

Maruki chuckled softly, his smile widening as he offered Jack Frost another biscuit. “Exactly. It’s all about taking a breather when you can. The storm might still be there, but we can take moments of peace, even in the chaos.”

---

Option B: Battling Trauma- one ball at a time. (Locked to BMSumi)

If he isn't giving therapy to shadows or covering the assignments from the online college course- he does other things. He knows he has ample of time to make up for it. He could easily cover the entire term in a span of a few months; depending on how long he's going to have to stay here or live with Azathoth's words still murmuring in his head when he finds his guard lowered- today is one of those days where he just wants to relax and not thing about the gruelling implications of this place and his fate if he doesn't understand himself. Fast.

THUD!

The ball hits the far wall before rolling away into the distance. "Damn it," he shakes his head as he prepares his stance again. His feet might have been too wide or his knees were bent too much. He releases another sigh, lowers the baseball bat and decides to pull out his phone again. Might as well take a look at a video or something, its not as if there's anyone here. Good for him.

---

Option C: NETWORK (locked to katsuya, toshiro, mamakechi, zenkichi, phoenix and others who want to join in and test their adult muses [check ooc])

Hello, everyone!

I hope you're all doing well amidst this whole...multiversal jargoan that seems to surround us. The new year is upon us, and I thought it might be nice to do something a little more... traditional to celebrate. After all, it's important to have some moments of peace and joy, even here, right? Outside of scrutiny.

So, I’d like to extend an open invitation for a New Year's gathering. I’m planning to book out a hotel and give the place a little makeover to fit the occasion—decorations, good food, and maybe even a few games! It’ll be a relaxed event, no pressure, just a chance for us adults (mostly) to unwind and spend some time together.

I’m still sorting out the details, but if you’re interested, feel free to reach out! I’d love to hear what kind of things you’d like to have at the party. Whether it's music, games, or something else entirely, I’m happy to accommodate as best I can.

Given everything that’s been going on, I’m thinking of keeping this event a bit more private—so I’d prefer if it’s just for the adults at the moment. I hope that’s okay, but please understand that this is more of a personal gathering than a public event.

Let me know if you’re interested, and I’ll get everything set up as soon as possible.

Looking forward to hearing from you all!



[OOC: anyone can join in though maruki will be wary if you are someone he could have a negative cr with. no below 15s tho- unless you have someone looking after you. most if not all adults are welcome! Unless you are a shido pst pst. This post is locked from Phren, pheasant, bmtaba, drake, frog, corvus and others maruki may have unfortunate run ins with. the locked portion will be edited so if you want to express interest with your muse- they can have a chat with maruki seperately here or in his inbox]

---

Option D: A meeting out of place. (locked to Pheasant)

Dr. Maruki, clad in his white hoodie complete with stitched cat ears, faded jeans, and unmistakable pink heart-shaped sunglasses, squints up at the tree where an orange tabby cat perches precariously on a branch. The cat hisses at his every attempt to coax it down, its fur puffed in full defensive mode.

Maruki sighs, resting his hands on his hips. “Now, now, let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be, okay?” He glances around, hoping for someone—anyone—to offer help, but the crowd moves past him, utterly indifferent to the scene. With a resigned groan, he rolls up his sleeves. “Fine. Guess it’s up to me.”

Moments later, he’s halfway up the tree, awkwardly maneuvering his lanky frame through the branches. His ridiculous attire catches on the bark more than once, the cat ears flopping around comically. Finally, he reaches the cat, who glares at him with eyes full of suspicion.

“There, there. See? I’m here to help.” He extends a hand toward it, voice soft and coaxing. “Just a little scratchy fluffball, aren’t you?”

The cat has other ideas. With a loud hiss, it swipes at him, claws grazing his hand. Maruki winces but doesn’t pull back, instead managing to gently scoop up the agitated feline.

“There we go. See? That wasn’t so—AHHH!”

The branch beneath him gives a disheartening crack, and before he can react, Maruki is left dangling with one hand gripping the branch for dear life. The cat, now securely in his other arm, seems entirely unimpressed with the unfolding drama.

“Great,” he mutters, wincing as the branch creaks ominously under his weight. “This is...fine. Totally fine. No big deal.”

The cat finally stops hissing, its wide-eyed gaze fixed on him as if to say, What’s the plan, genius? Below, the indifferent crowd continues to ignore the scene entirely.

Great this is just...great.

Comments

[takutomaruki]

Maruki raises a brow, the smallest flicker of amusement crossing his otherwise weary expression. His lips twitch into something that could be called a smile, if only barely, as he picks apart her words with clinical detachment.

“Goro, huh?” he muses, rolling the name on his tongue like a foreign object. He tilts his head slightly, as though considering it for the first time. “I have to admit, hearing you call him that does feel like a little victory for me. It explains quite a bit.” His tone is mild, calm, even with a faint trace of satisfaction lingering beneath the surface. “But yes, Yoshizawa-san—Sumire—your codename. Whatever you prefer. I have every right to speak about anyone here. It’s my prerogative, after all-”

He barely has time to finish before she yanks the front of his hoodie, her smaller frame bristling with rage. He blinks, startled but not alarmed, his hands instinctively going up, though he makes no move to push her away.

“I see,” he mutters under his breath, as though piecing together a puzzle. “So, that’s what this is about.”

Her anger spills forth, and Maruki listens with the patience of a man who’s been through this kind of confrontation far too many times. His brow furrows, though not in anger—more in a deep, reflective contemplation. When she finally finishes, her venomous words hanging in the air like smoke, he sighs heavily, his shoulders sinking further beneath an invisible weight.

“I just had this dance with someone else,” he begins, his voice low and measured. “But fine, let’s walk through it.” He runs a hand through his hair, as though trying to smooth away his frustration. “The only thing I regret about the version of Sumire Yoshizawa I helped is that I didn’t consider the consequences of not giving her full, informed consent. I see that mistake now. Truly, I do. But your words...they feel different.”

Maruki this time takes a few steps back slightly, forcibly attempting to disentangle himself from her grip- though he isn't sure if the other would let go. His warm eyes glint faintly as he studies her, the detached curiosity of a psychologist taking over.

“You’re talking about something else,” he states bluntly. “The Sumire I knew was trapped in despair after the loss of her sister. She was hopeless. Suffocating under the weight of grief and guilt. She didn’t have the luxury of a Persona or the chance to confront her Shadow or... whatever convoluted methods people here have used to deal with their issues.”

His voice softens, but there’s a jaded edge to it, like a professor explaining a particularly dry lecture. “She was drowning, Yoshizawa-san. And I reached out a hand to save her. I made a choice to give her an existence that wasn’t defined by that despair. Did I make the right one? Maybe not. But at the time, it was the best I could do.”

Kasumi's pursedog?

He pauses, narrowing his eyes as if trying to gauge her reaction. “And as for Midnight...” Maruki hesitates for a fraction of a second, his voice faltering. “I’m not thrilled with her situation either. But that’s not why you’re here, is it? Your situation is far different. ”

[deerinheadlights]

She can't really argue with him about him talking about anyone else. She can't really stop him.

Though he does mention that he wished he had given his own Sumire informed consent before he scrambled her brain. "She was a suicidal 15 year old who thought only her sister deserved to be given the time of day. What made you think that even telling her what would happen would make it okay to even entertain the idea that she wasn't as deserving to exist as Kasumi?"

He tells her that she's not here for Midnight, she reels a fist back without making any move to harm him yet. "Don't tell me what I'm here for asshole, tell me how to break through her delusions. I'm sick of her walking around like Kasumi, thinking she's so self righteous when in reality she needs everyone to suck up and play her game to be content." She's tired of it from any version of Kasumi and... "she deserves better than to live in Kasumi's shadow her whole life."

[takutomaruki]

Maruki tenses, every fiber of his being screaming at him to retreat, to de-escalate, to do anything but stand here in the suffocating proximity of this furious girl gripping his hoodie like it’s the only thing tethering her to sanity. His mind churns with possibilities, most of them being bad. She could hit him—probably would, judging by the way her fist is trembling in barely contained rage.

And then there’s Azathoth, clawing at the back of his consciousness, a primal, roaring urge to obliterate this nuisance before him with the flick of a thought.
That’s not helping Maruki thinks bitterly as he swallows the lump in his throat, forcing himself to focus.

He raises his hands again, a non-threatening gesture, though his voice carries a sharp edge as he begins. "You’re twisting this into something it’s not," he says, his tone tight but controlled. "This wasn’t about deserving. It was never about whether Sumire or Kasumi was more worthy of existence. It was about what she wanted. She asked for this. Do you understand that?"

His eyes flash, frustration bubbling to the surface despite his best efforts to keep it buried. "She was drowning in despair, Yoshizawa-san—lost in guilt, in grief, in self-loathing. I respected her wishes because at the time, I didn’t have the ability to do the impossible. I couldn’t bring her sister back. And even if I could, would it have truly fixed anything? Because from where I’m standing, even now, you’re telling me she wouldn’t have been enough. That you can easily justify your own methods—murder, vengeance, whatever else you tell yourselves—but can’t fathom the idea that someone might have chosen a different path."

His voice softens, but there’s a cutting precision to it now, a scalpel dissecting the layers of anger and pain laid bare before him. "And Midnight? You're telling me that’s where this is coming from? Not the Sumire I knew, or even the Sumire you are. It's Midnight?"

He exhales sharply, stepping back just enough to try and create a sliver of distance between them. His eyes narrow, his focus now laser-sharp on her form. "You’re not worried about her turmoil, are you? This isn’t about codependency or Kasumi or even Sumire. It’s about you."

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, almost clinical tone. "What is it about Midnight that unsettles you so much? Is it the way she mirrors the version of Sumire you fear the most? The one thing Kasumi might have told her to ever become?"

There’s no malice in his words, just a quiet, unrelenting curiosity, the kind that can strip away pretenses. "Or is it something deeper? Something you’ve tried to push away? Because from the way you talk... it almost sounds like you’re projecting something onto her. Something about your own relationship to your sister."

His eyes gleam, a flicker of something almost predatory in his gaze—not cruel, but deeply incisive. “Tell me, Yoshizawa-san. Was it easier when Kasumi was around? Easier to let her lead? Easier to follow, to fawn over her, to let her define your life because it spared you from having to define it yourself?”

The air between them feels charged, and Maruki straightens, his voice taking on a razor-sharp edge. “You don’t need to answer, of course. But the way you came in here, swinging that bat like a weapon—it says more than words ever could.”

His eyes soften, just a fraction, though his tone remains pointed. “I don’t say this to hurt you. But you came looking for answers, didn’t you? So let’s not pretend this is all about me. Because if it were, you wouldn’t be standing here. You’d be with Midnight, trying to help her instead of using her as an excuse to lash out at someone who is still trying to comprehend her situation like you are.”

There’s a pause, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air before he adds, almost as an afterthought, "And while you’re at it, let go of my hoodie. Please."

[deerinheadlights]

Maruki tells Fawn that his Sumire asked for it, but from what she heard from the Phantom Thief leader before..."If I'm guessing right that Sumire also walked into oncoming traffic, so maybe a better therapist wouldn't encourage her suicidal ideation. Just a thought."

He keeps going. Telling her that it was easier to fawn for Kasumi than live her life on her own terms. That if she actually cared she'd be with Midnight instead of lashing out. His voice is cold, clinical. It makes her blood boil that he thinks he can pick apart her words and tell her anything like he knows her.

Maruki tells her to let go of the hoodie but she had long since snapped at him telling her that she fawned for Kasumi because it was easy. She yanks him down to her level and before she realizes her hands are squeezing around his throat. "Don't act like you know me." Her words are cold. "You know the answers I came looking for and if I wanted the man who actualized almost every other version of me into something she isn't what my problem is I would have asked. Don't tell me who I'm afraid of or what my relationship to Kasumi was when you've known me for five minutes." Her hands squeeze tighter, not caring what the consequences are. She just wants to see him hurt.

TW: HEAVY SUICIDAL THOUGHTS PROCEED WITH CAUTION

[takutomaruki]

And what if that wasn't enough?

What if she woke up- everyday, blaming herself for her sister's death. Her other half. What if Kasumi meant everything to her? What if her dreams meant everything to her and she felt undeserving to live? Unable to live with that despair? What if going to a therapist would force her to accept that she killed her own sister and that was FINE because she didn't know better?

"You think your words mean anything to me?" he rasps, his voice cracking but still laced with sharp defiance. A bitter smile stretches across his face, and he lets out a short, ragged laugh. "They don’t. Especially if they don’t serve her wish. You don’t even know what that is, do you?"

None of you get it.

A coward. Someone who couldn't even throw a damn punch without thinking about what the other person would think. His insides felt like they would go mush at any moment and Sumire's force, unfortunately for her, just work as echoes and ghastly ripples in his psyche. He remembers her bright smile and then the wild screams as she begged for a release. That time, his only urge was to give and give until he doesn't exist. Until every inch of his story existence makes someone else's life better. It gnaws away at him. Just as his words, as he knew, gnawed away at the girl in front of him.

It isn't long until he finds Fawn's hands on his throat. As any other human, his hand lurches out- gripping it by the wrists and he's about to use his force; break her arms or something but finally he realizes it.

This isn't punishment.

This is a release.

"You all...are such hypocrites," he couldn't help but confess as he feels her fingers against his throat. He fucking hopes this Sumire never gets the reconcilement with herself like she probably deserves. He hopes the regret is there when she looks at herself in the mirror and thinks about what she couldn't be. Why? Did his words hurt her that much?

His lips stretch into an unsettling smile like he's finally lost it.

Therapy? A therapist wouldn’t have fixed her. It wouldn’t have fixed me. Therapy doesn’t erase the nightmares. It doesn’t bring back the dead. It just teaches you to live with the fact that you destroyed everything you loved... and that’s supposed to be okay?

To make things better for her, he falls to his knees.

Maruki’s lips twitch, a hollow grin spreading across his face. His laughter, faint and cracking, fills the air around them.

"Do it," he rasps, his voice barely audible. "Take it all. Take my breath. My life. My everything... because it won’t matter. I can’t fix her. I can’t fix any of you."

"Get it out of my head." His voice swells. "Please. Please- get it out. GET IT OUT-"

Within the maelstrom of his despair, Maruki hears a sound—a low, guttural roar reverberating through his mind. It swells into a deafening scream, shattering the tenuous silence in his head like glass splintering under pressure.

"GET UP."

The voice is inhuman, its tone vibrating with a raw, primal rage. Azathoth’s presence flares within him, a blazing inferno of eldritch energy that refuses to be ignored. The words slice through the haze of suffocation and grief, pulling Maruki’s thoughts into sharp focus.

"You weak, sniveling fool. Do you think this is the end? Do you think you can escape so easily?!"

The air around them grows heavier, charged with Azathoth’s fury, warping reality further. The tentacles of Maruki’s Persona manifest around him, coiling and writhing with agitation, slamming into the ground and nearby walls as if driven by its own anger. The cheerful music of the place shifts and yet, Maruki doesn't raise a finger at her. He lets his hands fall to his sides and takes it.

[deerinheadlights]

"I know enough!" She hisses at him. "I know exactly what it's like to know that she'd never feel good enough to feel as worthy as Kasumi! It had nothing to fucking do with the guilt or the grief, it was wishing that she'd be half as loved as herself as she would being Kasumi's cheap copy! You don't think I don't know exactly what that's like?"

He grins at her, telling her to take his life. She's not doing it for him and she couldn't care less what he feels. She wants to see him drop dead. "You're right you can't fix me. I'm not fucking broken, and I don't want you to. I don't want to be treated like I'm only good as my worst impulses. I don't need to be told what's best for me, I don't want anyone else to tell me who I am or should be. That's not fixing anything and you damn well know that!"

The air gets dark, eminating with something that seems like a Persona, but it seems more like it's puppeting Maruki rather than the Persona being subervient to him. He hasn't raised a hand to fight her though. She tightens her grip in the hopes that she can at least get the Persona out of the area. Even if she still wants to watch the light leave Maruki's eyes.

[takutomaruki]

I'm not fucking broken.

Yeah, Maruki finds that hard to believe. By every damn angle. Her every worst impulse, her being unable to process her own trauma and turning into something akin to a blade- does she really think she can fool him?

Well, it didn't matter in the end.

He feels himself collapse and wheezing out loud- his brain screaming as he clutches his own hoodie to prevent his hands from trying to reach for her. He desperately tries to ground himself, desperately tells himself that he doesn't want to hurt her when his brain struggles against the injustice of it all. These preachy stupid fucking teenagers...

His dark impulses want to rip everything apart. Rip himself apart till there's nothing left.

"You’ll hate yourself forever," he whispers, his voice barely audible now, his voice barely audible, yet each word cuts like glass. It’s not a plea—it’s a curse, raw and venomous. As if he were making a prayer to the cruel gods above them for trying to disembowel the love Sumire had for her sister. "And maybe then... you’ll understand."

His mind feels like it’s being split in two—one half drowning in despair, the other consumed by Azathoth’s unrelenting rage.

"You are MINE," Azathoth roars, its voice echoing like thunder in his skull. "And I will not let you waste what remains of us. Fight back. Hold on. Do whatever it takes to survive, because if you die—if you fail—then I am nothing. NOTHING!"

The tentacles lash out wildly, slamming into the ground near Fawn, not to harm but to force her back. The sheer force of Azathoth’s will creates a small shockwave, disrupting the moment of violence as if tearing through the fabric of reality itself.

"Do you hear me, Maruki?!" The voice is insistent, a relentless command that won’t allow him to surrender. "You will NOT end us like this! You will fight, because that’s all we have left!"

"Azathoth...stop-" He clutches his chest as if trying to tear out the agony festering inside him. "Get out of my-"

The tentacles lash out. Finally. As if Azathoth actually latched onto whatever sprite of living Maruki held within him.
One tentacle wraps around her waist, another binds her hands, pinning her to the wall with a force that leaves the structure groaning under the impact. It’s as if a truck had collided with her, the sheer power making her body go slack for a moment.

Maruki collapses to his knees, clutching at his throat as he gasps for air. His wheezing fills the silence, his breath ragged and desperate. And then, against all odds, he chuckles—a bitter, raw sound that echoes hollowly in the shattered space around them.

"...Well,” he croaks, his voice rasping but tinged with grim humor. “I can’t say I blame it.” He shakes his head, trembling hands pressed against his chest. “Not like I was actually going to die. That's the one wish that can't be fulfilled.”

He coughs, finally managing to straighten himself, his gaze falling on Fawn. There’s no warmth in his eyes—only cold disdain, sharp and unyielding, as if he were looking at something far beneath him.

"Do you have any damn empathy?" he hisses, his voice trembling with raw anguish. “Do you even understand what it’s like to wake up every day knowing you failed? Knowing that you couldn’t save the one person who meant everything to you? To see her face every time you close your eyes and know that it’s your fault she’s gone? That she’s dead because of you?!”

The tentacles retract slightly, their movements agitated, mirroring the storm brewing inside him. Maruki straightens further, his expression hardening into something almost cruel.

"You cling to your pain like it’s your lifeline!" he growls, his teeth bared, his eyes burning with fury. "You claim you want to heal, but you don’t. You don’t! All of you spit on the idea of change, of salvation, like it’s a joke. Because if you let go of your suffering, then what’s left of you? Without it, who the hell are you?"

“And you—you think you’re helping her?” His voice rises, sharp and scathing, cutting through the air like a blade. “Midnight doesn’t need someone who can’t even face their own pain. Someone who lashes out instead of helping. You don’t want to fix her. You just want to drag her down with you. You’re the one who’s dangerous to her, not me.”

[deerinheadlights]

He tells her that hating herself forever is the only thing that could make her understand. She had spent so much time hating herself that he couldn't fathom. And so much of it was Kasumi's damn fault.

The Persona lashes out, beating her around like a ragdoll. When she's peeling herself off the ground her nose is bleeding. Maruki asks her if she has any empathy. Telling her that she has no idea to know that the person she cares the most about is dead because of her.

It's funny almost. She can't help but laugh. "I killed her myself. I think I have some idea, asshole. And I still don't have any empathy for you for doing what you did."

He says she clings to her pain like it's a lifeline, but he's not talking about her. He's talking about some malignant salvation. "Oh and forgetting everything and putting your head in the sand is healing? You're putting a bandaid on a bullet wound and calling it all better, ignoring anything's wrong as you bleed out with a picture perfect smile. Cuz that's the point isn't it? If you look happy enough who can tell there's a world of rot beneath?" It's a farce. A projection of perfection. She understands that damn well too.

She stands up on wobbly knees, laughing like it's some kind of joke. Devoid of punchline, but it's funny anyway. "Maybe I am, but you aren't some magnanimous savior, finding the quickest shortcut to a plastic happiness and calling it salvation...you're no better than some festering infection."

Silence hangs in the air for several moments. "Are we done here? If you're not gonna help with her actualization you're no use to me, and I have no need to hear your self aggrandizing prattling."

[takutomaruki]

"I killed her myself. I think I have some idea, asshole. And I still don't have any empathy for you for doing what you did."

Maruki's pushes himself up, grasping the words his ears seemed to deduce through the haze of this madness that had only just begun to unfold before his eyes. “What the...you're," his lips quivered. "-you're serious." Despite how calmly he said those words, he might as well have spat them out, his voice raw and unsteady, every word dripping with disbelief. “You... you killed her? You killed your own sister?”

The words tasted bitter as he said them aloud, his chest heaving. He struggled to reconcile the image he had of Sumire—the gentle, kind-hearted girl he’d always known, who had already endured more than anyone her age should—with the cold-blooded murderer standing before him.

It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t.

...you're no better than some festering infection.

"She didn't understand what was happening, but the Shadow said some awful things, and she... lashed out, I suppose."

His breath hitched as the realization sank in. The codename on the board.

"Fawn, isn't it? That's you."

“You actually think that... that this is better?” he snarled, straightening up despite the throbbing pain. There was a sharpness in his voice now, one that wasn’t there before, cutting through the weight of his disbelief. “You think revenge and murder somehow make you... righteous? Like that’s some kind of better way to live? That’s rich. Really rich. I pity your lot.”

His lip curled slightly in disdain, but there was no satisfaction in it, only bitterness. “You people... you’re so blinded by your so-called justice that you can’t see how disgusting it all is. Trading one tragedy for another, thinking it’ll balance the scales." It makes him sick to the very core.

He let out a shaky breath, his glare faltering just slightly as something else pierced through his anger—concern. Genuine worry, despite everything. He hated it, but it was there, clawing at him from the edges of his thoughts.

"What do you mean help with her actualization?" he asked suddenly, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “What are you planning to do to Midnight? Hasn't she suffered enough from your judgement? At the hands of all of you?"