Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sat 4th. June 2017. Afterschool

The grand hall of the Ueno museum was a study in stifling opulence. Gilded frames held paintings that screamed of expensive technique and soulless repetition. The Phantom Thieves and the Wicked Twisters moved through the crowd like ghosts, their presence a stark contrast to the wealthy art enthusiasts sipping champagne.

It was a reluctant attendance, born of necessity rather than interest. Ren, Saki, and Ann led the way, their eyes scanning not the art, but the people, the security, the layout—anything that could be a clue to Madarame’s Palace.

“I feel like I’m gonna get a cavity just from being in here” Ryuji muttered, eyeing a particularly saccharine landscape.

“It’s so...Sterile” Kasumi whispered, her dancer’s eye detecting a lack of true passion in the brushstrokes.

The Wicked Twisters stuck close, feeling out of place. Rindo kept a wary eye on everything, his hand occasionally twitching as if feeling for the Evoker that wasn’t there. It was then that Yusuke found them, materializing as if from the shadows himself. He looked paler than usual, his grey eyes burning with a feverish intensity.

“You came. I am glad. Now, you can witness true genius” He said, his voice a low thrum of excitement. His gaze then immediately locked onto Saki and Ann.

“And have you given any further thought to my proposal? To immortalize your sublime forms upon the canvas?” Yusuke asked.

“The answer is still no, Kitagawa-kun.” Ann answered, her face instantly soured.

Saki, however, didn’t immediately retort with a sarcastic quip. She had been quiet since they arrived. A strange, low thrum had started in her veins the moment they’d entered the exhibit, a subtle vibration that was growing steadily stronger. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was...Distracting. Like a radio tuning to a frequency only she could hear.

“Saki-chan?” Ann prompted, noticing her friend’s silence.

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. What Ann said. Not happening” Saki said as she blinked, forcing a smile.

“A pity. But come! Let me show you my sensei’s masterpiece, ‘Sayuri’! It is the crown jewel of this exhibition!” Yusuke exclaimed, looking crestfallen, but he was quickly distracted by his role as a guide.

As he led them deeper into the gallery, the thrumming inside Saki intensified. It was a physical sensation now, a warmth spreading from her core. She felt hyperaware—The brushstrokes on the paintings seemed to shift and writhe if she stared too long, the whispered conversations of the crowd resolving into startling clarity for a split second before fading back into noise. It was as if a filter had been lifted from her senses, and everything was too bright, too loud, too real.

She discreetly rubbed her temple, trying to focus. Something wasn't right at all.

TakeABreak

Meanwhile, across Tokyo, a flight from São Paulo touched down at Narita Airport. Among the disembarking passengers was a man who moved with the easy, confident grace of a predator. He was tall and lean, with sun-tanned skin and dark hair tied back in a short ponytail. He wore a simple, well-worn leather jacket and carried a single, heavy duffel bag. He bypassed the main crowds with an air of someone who knew exactly where he was going.

Sam had arrived.

He exhaled as he took his first breath of Japanese air in years.

"...So this is the soil of home again" His Japanese still had that distinctive Brazilian Portuguese rhythm.

He slid into the back of a taxi, giving the driver an address in Kichijoji. He then reached into his coat, pulled out a flip phone—yes, a flip phone—and sent out a pre-arranged text.

Sam: Landed. Setting up shop. The dance begins soon.

Back at the museum, Yusuke stopped before a large painting shrouded by a velvet curtain. A crowd had gathered, buzzing with anticipation.

TakeABreak

“Behold! The ‘Sayuri’!” Yusuke announced, his voice trembling with reverence.

With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the cord. The curtain swept aside. The painting was of a beautiful, melancholic woman in a kimono. It was technically flawless. But to the Phantom Thieves, something felt...Off. Hollow.

But for Saki in particular, the effect was explosive.

The moment her eyes landed on the painting, the thrumming in her veins erupted into a deafening roar. Her Star Eye, the power Igor had granted her, activated without her command, blazing with azure light. But it showed her more than just emotional resonance this time.

It was as if she was seeing double. The beautiful painting was overlaid with a ghastly, flickering image—the same woman, but her face was a mask of torment, and the painting itself was cracked and damaged, crudely repaired. A name whispered in her mind, a name that wasn’t ‘Sayuri’.

...Mother...

The word was a ghost on the wind, filled with a love and a loss so profound it stole Saki’s breath. The vision was gone as quickly as it came, but the certainty remained. This painting was a lie. A stolen, broken thing.

She stumbled back a step, her face pale. Ren was at her side in an instant, his hand on her arm.

“Saki? What’s wrong?” He asked.

She looked from the fraudulent masterpiece to Yusuke’s proud, deluded face, and then to her friends’ concerned expressions. The warmth in her veins was no longer just a sensation; it was a weapon, a key. Whatever was inside of her, and her own Persona abilities were synergizing, unlocking a deeper level of perception.

“Ren...That painting...It’s a fake. And I think...I think I know how to prove it” Saki whispered, her voice shaky but clear with newfound conviction.

The investigation was no longer just about a corrupt artist. For Saki, it had just become deeply, terrifyingly personal. The game had changed, and she was now holding several new, unknown cards.

The tension in the museum was a live wire, crackling around Saki. The phantom image of the tormented woman superimposed over the "Sayuri" had seared itself into her mind. The strange warmth from Takemi's injection was no longer a subtle hum; it was a rising tide, making her skin feel too tight, her senses screaming with overloaded input.

Next, she stood beside Ren now, staring at another piece: "Web of Rebirth". An impossibly intricate painting—A silhouette of a girl suspended in a sea of translucent threads. Her heart was pierced by countless white lines, yet her eyes were open, glowing faintly with some unknown emotion.

Saki’s breathing grew unsteady. Her fingertips tingled. Her bones ached, not in pain, but as though her body were expanding inwards and outwards at the same time. Her senses were sharpening. She could hear every heartbeat in her vicinity. Every blink. Every shallow breath of the crowd around her.

She swallowed. Sweat beaded at her neck.

"I...I need some air" Saki managed to gasp, pulling away from Ren's supportive grip. The crowd, the whispers, the oppressive weight of the fraudulent art—It was all too much. She stumbled towards a side exit that led to a quieter, roped-off section of the gallery, a hallway leading to the restoration rooms.

"Saki, wait!" Ann called after her, but Saki was already pushing through the door.

Alone in the dimmer hallway, she leaned against a cool wall, pressing her forehead to the plaster. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out, but it was useless. Her Star Eye was operating on its own, showing her the psychic residue of the place—frustration, greed, and a deep, profound sadness emanating from behind a door marked 'PRIVATE - CONSERVATION'.

The warmth in her veins surged again, hotter this time. A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through her abdomen, so sudden and intense it made her cry out. She doubled over, clutching her stomach. It felt like...Like something was moving inside her. Twisting.

"What on Earth is happening to me?!" She thought, a spike of fear cutting through the pain.

TakeABreak

Takemi's Clinic

Across Tokyo, in the quiet back room of the Takemi Clinic, the air shifted.

Tae Takemi was labelling a new batch of medicines when the little bell above the clinic's front door chimed. It was after hours; she wasn't expecting anyone. A flicker of caution went through her until a familiar, accented voice called out, soft but clear.

"Tae? It's me"

Her heart skipped a beat. She walked out to the main clinic area, and there he was. Samuel Rodrigues leaned against the doorframe, his duffel bag at his feet. He looked exactly the same—the confident smirk, the eyes that missed nothing. The years had barely touched him.

"Sam" She said, her voice surprisingly steady despite the sudden rush of emotions.

He pushed off the doorframe and in two strides, he was in front of her. He didn't hug her. Instead, he reached out and gently tilted her chin up with a single finger, his gaze searching her face.

"Still the most beautiful doctor in Japan, I see" He said with a grin.

"And you're still a hopeless flirt. Did you just get here?" Takemi asked as she swatted his hand away, a faint blush on her cheeks, but a smile tugged at her lips.

"Just now. The dojo in Kichijoji is...Functional. Now, about those beans you promised to spill. What's this plan of yours? And who is this 'kindred spirit' you're so fired up to protect?" His smile faded, becoming more serious.

"Let's just say that...She's someone precious to me. You'll get to see her soon. Anyways, it won't be that long before the changes start to occur" Takemi said.

"A 'She', huh? Well, I figured that would happen with the changes. The serum that you tweaked...That was a cocktail of cognition-fusion, neuro-expansion, and self-repairing nanospiders. If she’s stable, that’s a miracle" Sam said.

"She’s stable as of yesterday evening when I injected her, but only just. The liquid was alive, Sam. I had to slow its metabolic rate to keep it from eating her consciousness alive. It wants to evolve" Takemi replied.

"And yet you still used it on her" Sam noted.

"She...Reminds me too much of Wakaba" Takemi muttered, looking away.

"That's dangerous thinking. You really believe she can handle it?" Sam asked.

But before Takemi could reply to his phrase, her phone buzzed violently on the counter. It was Ren's caller ID. A cold dread washed over her. She snatched it up.

"Amamiya-kun? What's wrong?" She asked.

"It's Saki! Something's happening to her! At the museum. She's...She's convulsing. We're in a back hallway. She won't respond!" On the other end, Ren's voice was tight with panic.

Takemi's blood ran cold. Her eyes met Sam's. The timing couldn't be a coincidence.

"I'm on my way" She said, her voice clipped and professional, but Sam could see the raw terror in her eyes. She hung up and grabbed her keys and medical bag.

"It's Saki. The injection...It's reacting. Now" She said.

"Where?" Sam's playful demeanour vanished, replaced by the focus of a soldier.

"Ueno Museum. Let's go" Takemi answered

They moved as one, a doctor and a swordsman, rushing out into the Yongen-Jaya night. The macabre dance had begun, and its first steps were a desperate race against a clock they didn't understand.

TakeABreak

Ueno Museum. Hallway

Back in the museum hallway, Saki was on her knees. Violent, uncontrollable tremors wracked her body. It wasn't a seizure in any medical sense she knew. It was a...Transformation. Azure light, the same color as her Persona's power, flickered under her skin like trapped lightning. Her friends formed a protective circle around her, their faces masks of horror.

"Get back! Give her space!" Ren ordered, his voice cracking.

Saki threw her head back, a silent scream on her lips. For a split second, her eyes glowed not with the soft light of her Star Eye, but with a fierce, predatory crimson. The image was fleeting, but everyone saw it.

Then, as suddenly as it started, the convulsions stopped. Saki collapsed forward, panting heavily, sweat soaking her clothes. The strange warmth was gone, replaced by a cool, humming stillness. She felt... different. Sharper. Stronger. As she pushed herself up onto her elbows, she looked at her hands. For a fraction of a second, she thought she saw the faintest, almost imperceptible shimmer of something metallic under her skin, like a network of microscopic circuits. It was gone before she could be sure.

She looked up at her terrified friends, her new senses taking in every detail—the panic in their heartbeats, the scent of their fear.

"What...What was that?" Kasumi whispered, her voice trembling.

Saki took a deep, shuddering breath, the ghost of the tormented woman from the painting still haunting her vision. She didn't have an answer. But one thing was terrifyingly clear.

Whatever was unleashed within, it was now a part of her.

The squeal of tires and the slam of car doors cut through the tense silence of the museum's back hallway. Security, alerted by the commotion, was starting to approach, but they were waved off by a figure moving with undeniable authority.

Tae Takemi burst into the hallway, medical bag in hand, her face a mask of professional calm that did little to hide the storm of fear in her eyes. Right behind her, moving with a predator's silent grace, was Sam. His presence was an immediate shock to the system; he didn't look like a doctor or a concerned relative. He looked like a soldier who had just walked out of a warzone and into an art gallery.

Takemi's gaze instantly locked onto Saki, who was being helped to her feet by Ren and Kasumi. She knelt beside her, her hands immediately going to Saki's wrist to check her pulse, then to her forehead.

"Saki? Can you hear me? What happened?" Takemi's voice was low and urgent.

Before Saki could answer, Sam's sharp eyes scanned the scene. He took in the pale, shocked faces of the Phantom Thieves and the Wicked Twisters, the way they instinctively positioned themselves protectively around Saki. His gaze lingered on Ren for a half-second, assessing the leadership in his posture, then flicked to the door marked 'PRIVATE - CONSERVATION', as if sensing it was the epicentre of the disturbance.

He didn't ask questions. He positioned himself slightly between the group and the approaching museum security, his stance relaxed but unmistakably blocking. A single look from him made the guards hesitate, deciding this was a medical emergency best left to the intense woman with the bag and her... very intimidating associate.

"I'm...I'm okay, Auntie. It was...The painting. The 'Sayuri'. I saw something. And then...My body just...Reacted" Saki whispered, her voice hoarse. She clutched Takemi's arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

Takemi's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. The injection of the Cognitive Nanomachines. It was interacting with Saki's Metaverse abilities, just as she'd theorized, but the reaction was far more violent than she'd anticipated. She looked from Saki's feverish face to Sam, a silent communication passing between them.

"This is it. This is what we made"

Sam gave a barely perceptible nod. His job was perimeter control. Hers was the patient.

"We need to get her out of here. Now" Takemi said, her tone brooking no argument. She helped Saki stand, supporting most of her weight. Saki felt different—lighter, yet more solid, as if her density had changed.

Ren and the others moved to help, a united front. As they began to half-carry, half-walk Saki towards the exit, Sam fell into step beside Takemi.

"The painting did this? The one the kid was yapping about?" He leaned in close, his voice a whisper only she could hear, his Brazilian accent thick.

"It triggered it. Her abilities...The medicine...They resonated with something in that painting. Something wrong" Takemi murmured back, her focus on Saki.

Sam's lips curved into a sharp, dangerous smile. He then glanced back at the now-distant 'Sayuri'.

"So the art critic has a Palace after all. And your little guinea pig just became a canary in the coal mine. This just got a lot more interesting, meu remédio"

The two groups—Phantom Thieves, Wicked Twisters, a doctor, and a swordsman—exited the museum into the cool night air. The heist to change Madarame's heart was no longer just about justice. It had become a rescue mission, and a desperate race to understand the terrifying change unfolding within Saki Takemi. The first shot in their war had been fired not in a cognitive world, but in a quiet museum hallway.

TakeABreak

Takemi's Clinic

The familiar, antiseptic scent of the Takemi Clinic did little to calm the frantic energy filling the room. The Phantom Thieves and Wicked Twisters were packed inside, a sea of worried faces surrounding the patient's bed where Saki now sat, looking pale but insistently waving them off.

"Really, guys, I'm fine. It was just...A weird dizzy spell. The museum was stuffy" Saki said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

A dead silence fell. Every single person in the room stared at her, their expressions ranging from disbelief to outright alarm.

From across the room, where she was preparing a sedative, Takemi didn't even look up. Her voice, however, cut through the quiet like a scalpel, flat and utterly devoid of emotion.

"'A weird dizzy spell'....Let's review. In the car on the way here, your core body temperature fluctuated between 33 and 40 degrees Celsius within a ninety-second span. Your resting heart rate was recorded at 240 beats per minute for approximately ten seconds—a rate that would cause cardiac arrest in any normal human—Before dropping to a steady 30. You also, and I quote the eyewitness account from Amamiya-kun, 'briefly glowed red and your eyes looked like a shark's'. Standard symptoms of a stuffy room. I must update my medical textbooks" She repeated, her tone dripping with skepticism. She then finally looked up, meeting Saki's wide-eyed gaze.

The clinic was so quiet you could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights. Saki's mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. She had no memory of any of that.

Ren was the first to break the stunned silence. He stepped forward, his usual calm replaced by a hard, protective intensity. His gaze wasn't on Saki, but on Takemi and the man leaning silently against the wall—Sam.

"Doctor Takemi. What's going on? What happened to her?" Ren asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"You know something! You both do! That wasn't normal!" Ann joined him, her hands clenched into fists.

"And who the hell are you, anyway? You show up out of nowhere and—" Ryuji pointed a finger at Sam and spoke, but Sam cut him off, holding up a placating hand, though his eyes were sharp, assessing the group.

"Easy, kid. We're on the same side" He said.

"Are we? Saki-senpai is our friend. If something is wrong with her, we have a right to know" Kasumi's voice was quiet but firm.

The pressure in the room mounted. The two groups, united by their concern for Saki, were now directing all their fear and confusion at the two adults who clearly held the answers. Takemi sighed, setting down the syringe. She looked from Ren's determined face to Saki's terrified one. The secret was out. The genie couldn't be put back in the bottle.

She walked over to the bed and placed a hand on Saki's shoulder. It was a gesture of comfort, but also of possession.

"Everyone, calm down. You're right. We do know something. And it's time you heard it" Takemi said, her voice regaining its usual authority. She glanced at Sam, who gave a single, grim nod of confirmation.

"But it's not a simple story, and it doesn't just involve Saki. It involves all of you. It involves a conspiracy that goes far deeper than any corrupt teacher or politician you've faced" Takemi continued, her gaze sweeping over the entire group.

She took a deep breath, the weight of the truth settling on her shoulders.

"The change in Saki...It was intentional. It was a calculated risk to protect her—and all of you—from what's coming"

The air in the clinic was thick enough to choke on. All eyes were fixed on Takemi, the weight of her declaration hanging in the silence. Saki stared at her aunt, a cold dread seeping into her veins that had nothing to do with the injection.

Takemi leaned against her desk, crossing her arms. The professional doctor was gone, replaced by a weary soldier briefing her troops.

"It starts with a woman named Wakaba Isshiki. A brilliant cognitive scientist. She was working on revolutionary research into the human mind, a field that blurred the lines between science and the supernatural. Her work attracted the wrong kind of attention" she began, her voice low and steady.

Sam shifted his weight against the wall, his presence a silent confirmation of the danger. Takemi took a deep breath.

"An international PMC—Private Military Company—called World Marshal learned of her research. They saw its potential not for healing, but for control. For creating soldiers whose minds and bodies could be enhanced through cognitive manipulation. They tried to recruit her. When she refused...They had her killed. Made it look like a suicide" Takemi continued.

A collective gasp rippled through the room. The name 'Wakaba Isshiki' meant nothing to them, but the cold-blooded murder of a scientist for her work was a chilling reality check.

"Her research partner, Takuto Maruki, was broken by it. He disappeared. But Sam and I...We couldn't let it go. We've been investigating World Marshal for two years. We learned they didn't just want Wakaba's research; they were already working on their own project. A fusion of cutting-edge cybernetics and stolen cognitive science. They're creating something...Monstrous. And they have a powerful benefactor here in Japan. Someone high up in the government" Takemi said.

She finally looked at Saki, her expression a mixture of guilt and fierce determination.

"Which brings us to you, Saki. Your unique connection to the Metaverse, your Persona...It makes you a potential key to their project. Or a primary target. We don't know which. But we couldn't risk leaving you defenseless" Takemi said, before she gestured to the now-empty syringe on her desk.

"What I gave you was born from Wakaba's original notes, combined with my own research. It's a...Catalyst. It's designed to force a symbiotic evolution between your biological body and your cognitive abilities. What you experienced at the museum was the initial integration. Your body was rewriting its own rules to accommodate the power of your soul"

The explanation was insane. It sounded like science fiction. But after everything they'd seen—Palaces, Personas, cognitive worlds—It was terrifyingly plausible.

"The fever, the heart rate, the... glowing; Those were side effects. Your system stabilizing. It's why I had to administer it. Waiting could have been far more dangerous if World Marshal found you first" Takemi listed off.

"So the Metaverse...Cognitive Psience...This...Company, is weaponizing it?" Ren asked, his mind was racing, connecting the dots.

"Precisely. They are not changing hearts. They are building an army. And your friend here just got a serious upgrade to her firmware to fight back" Sam spoke for the first time, his accented voice a low rumble. he nodded at Saki.

"An upgrade..." She whispered, the word feeling alien on her tongue. She looked down at her hands, the memory of the metallic shimmer returning. It hadn't been her imagination.

"The 'Sayuri' painting triggered it because it's a focal point of powerful, distorted cognition. It acted like a key, turning the lock I'd placed inside you" Takemi added.

The full picture was coming into horrifying focus. Their fight was no longer confined to the hearts of corrupt individuals. They were now pawns—Or perhaps the only knights—on a global board, facing an enemy with resources and technology they could barely comprehend.

Takemi's gaze swept over the entire group, young faces now hardened by a terrible truth.

"This is the reality. The game has changed. The Phantom Thieves and Wicked Twisters aren't just stealing hearts anymore. You're now the first line of defense in a war you never knew existed. And Saki...You're our secret weapon" She said, her voice final.

The clinic was steeped in a heavy, suffocating silence. The sheer scale of the conspiracy Takemi had just revealed—the international PMC, the government collusion, the murder, the terrifying science—was almost too much to process. The Phantom Thieves and Wicked Twisters stood shell-shocked, the weight of a global war settling on their young shoulders.

But Saki’s eyes weren't on the looming threat. They were fixed on her aunt.

She saw the subtle tremor in Takemi’s hands as she clutched the edge of her desk. She saw the way the doctor’s shoulders were hunched, not in weariness, but under the crushing burden of a terrible choice. She saw the guilt blazing behind the stoic, professional mask—the guilt of a mother who had, without consent, turned her child into a soldier, a test subject, a "Secret weapon".

While the others were reeling from the external danger, Saki saw the internal devastation in the woman who had saved her life.

Without a word, Saki slid off the examination table. Her legs felt steady, the strange power now a quiet hum instead of a raging storm. She crossed the short distance and, before Takemi could react, wrapped her arms around her in a tight, fierce hug. It wasn't a dramatic, tearful embrace. It was simple. Solid. Unwavering.

Takemi stiffened in surprise, her arms pinned to her sides. The clinical facade shattered.

"I'm not a weapon, Auntie. I'm your niece. And you didn't thrust me into a war. You gave me the strength to survive the one that was already coming for me" Saki whispered, her voice muffled against Takemi's lab coat. She then pulled back just enough to look Takemi in the eyes, her own gaze filled not with fear or anger, but with profound understanding.

"You've always protected me. From Kamoshida, from my past, from everything. This is just...A new way to do that. A scary way, yeah. But I'm not afraid. Because you're with me" Saki said.

The dam broke. Takemi’s composure, held together by sheer willpower, crumbled. A single, traitorous tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. She brought a hand up, not to wipe it away, but to clutch Saki’s arm, her grip desperate. In that moment, she wasn't Dr. Tae Takemi, the unflappable genius. She was just Tae, the woman who had lost a friend to a shadow war and had been forced to make an impossible choice to protect the new family she’d found.

The others in the room watched, the tension draining from the air, replaced by a somber respect. They saw the truth Saki had voiced. This wasn't a cold calculation. It was an act of love, born from desperation and a fierce, protective fury. Sam watched from his spot against the wall, a rare, soft expression on his face. He saw the bond he’d only heard about in stories, now forged in the fires of a shared, terrifying secret.

Saki’s hug didn’t change the facts. The war was still real. The danger was immense. But it reforged their reason for fighting. It wasn't just about stopping a faceless corporation anymore. It was about protecting this. This clinic. This family. This love.

Takemi took a shaky breath, finally returning the hug properly, holding Saki close. When she spoke, her voice was raw but steady once more.

"Okay. Okay. Then we fight. Together" She said, the word a promise and a vow.

The raw, emotional moment between Saki and Takemi held the room in a silent, respectful thrall. The hug was a quiet earthquake, reshaping the foundation of their impending conflict from one of fear to one of fierce, familial resolve.

It was Beat, ever the blunt instrument, who finally broke the spell. He scratched the back of his neck, his skateboard tucked under his arm and gestured with his chin towards the man still leaning casually against the wall.

"Uh...Hate t' be the insensible one in the room, but...Who's the new guy, yo?" He asked, his voice cutting through the quiet intensity.

All eyes, including Takemi's and Saki's, swivelled to Sam. In the whirlwind of Saki's transformation and Takemi's shocking revelation, his presence had been a looming, unexplained constant.

Sam pushed off the wall with a fluid, effortless motion. He didn't seem offended by the question; if anything, a faint, amused smirk played on his lips. He looked like a wolf who'd accidentally wandered into a meeting of concerned puppies. Takemi, having regained her composure, wiped the lone tear from her cheek with a brusque swipe.

"Right. This is Sam. An...Old friend. He's been helping me investigate World Marshal from abroad. He's just arrived in Japan" She answered while glancing at Sam, a silent communication passing between them. Sam gave a short, sharp nod, his eyes scanning the roomful of teenagers. His gaze was assessing, but not unkind.

"Samuel Rodriguez, or Jetstream Sam, or Sam for short. You can think of me as...External support" His accented Japanese was smooth, but the power behind it was unmistakable.

"External support for what? Fightin' this World Marshal thing?" Ryuji asked, still wary.

"Among other things. Mostly, I'm here to make sure the doctor's new prototype doesn't get scrapped before her field test" Sam said cryptically, his smirk widening slightly. He looked at Saki. The comment was deliberately provocative, reframing Saki's condition in cold, tactical terms. It was a test.

Saki, however, didn't flinch. She met his gaze squarely, a spark of defiance in her eyes that hadn't been there before the injection.

"This prototype has a name, and she's ready for her field test" She said, her voice steady. This caused a slow grin to spread across Sam's face. It was a genuine expression of approval.

"Good answer" He said before he then looked at Ren, the unspoken leader.

"You kids have been playing in the minor leagues. World Marshal is the major leagues. You're going to need all the help you can get" Sam followed up.

The introduction was far from warm and friendly, but it was honest. Samuel "Sam" Rodrigues was now a part of their tangled web. A wild card with a sword and a mysterious past, thrown into a conflict involving cognitive worlds, cyborgs, and the fate of their friend. The team had just gotten a lot more complicated.

Seeing how tense the atmosphere just returned as if nothing had changed from a few hours earlier, Saki decided to blurt out, her voice deliberately light:

"So, Auntie, Do you...Like Uncle Sam?"

The heavy, serious atmosphere shattered into a million pieces.

Saki’s question hung in the air, simple, innocent, and utterly devastating. She looked from Takemi’s carefully composed face to Sam’s amused smirk, and a mischievous, knowing glint sparked in her eyes—A glimpse of the old, playful Saki breaking through the trauma and the terrifying new power.

SPLUTTER

Ryuji, who had been taking a sip of water from a paper cup, choked, spraying it everywhere in a fine mist. Ann let out a squeak so high-pitched only dogs could hear the end of it, her hands flying to her cheeks. Morgana, perched on a shelf, stiffened and fell over with a soft thump, for the second time that week.

Ren’s eyebrows shot so high they nearly vanished into his hairline. Kasumi’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. The Wicked Twisters—Rindo, Fret, Shoka, Nagi, Rhyme and Beat—just stared, their brains struggling to process the shift from global conspiracy to...This.

But the epicentre of the blast was Tae Takemi herself.

All colour drained from her face for a split second, before a violent, brilliant crimson blush exploded across her cheeks and raced down her neck. It was a sight none of them had ever seen—the unflappable, sharp-tongued, terrifyingly competent Dr. Takemi, reduced to a flustered, blushing mess.

“S-Saki! Th-That is a completely inappropriate— We are in the middle of a— I— He’s just—!” She stammered, her voice losing all its medical authority and jumping an entire octave.

She was flailing, utterly and completely.

Sam, on the other hand, looked like he’d just won the lottery. His amused smirk widened into a full-blown, ear-to-ear grin. He threw his head back and let out a loud, booming laugh that filled the entire clinic.

“HA! ‘Uncle Sam’! I like it!” He roared, clearly delighting in Takemi’s predicament. He then leaned against the wall again, crossing his arms, his eyes twinkling with pure, unadulterated glee as he watched the doctor try to regain her footing.

“See? This is what I have to deal with. She’s always been like this. Can’t take a little teasing” He said to the stunned audience, gesturing to the mortified Takemi.

“I AM NOT BEING TEASED! This is a professional medical environment! We were discussing a matter of global security!” Takemi shrieked, finding her voice, though it was now several notes higher than normal.

“Sure, sure. Global security AND the doctor’s crush. Both very important topics” Sam said, waving a dismissive hand. The word ‘Crush’ was the final nail in the coffin. Takemi looked like she was considering using one of her very sharp, very real scalpels on him. The blush on her face was so intense it was practically glowing.

The rest of the group could only watch the spectacle in stunned, bewildered silence. The fear of World Marshal, the mystery of Saki’s transformation, the weight of their new mission—it all momentarily vanished, replaced by the universe-shattering revelation that Dr. Tae Takemi was, apparently, capable of having a schoolgirl-level blush over a man.

And that man was a grinning, sword-wielding Brazilian who seemed to enjoy her suffering a little too much.

Their world had just gotten infinitely stranger, and infinitely more human.

TakeABreak

A few hours later. Madarame's atelier

The investigation into Madarame felt hollow without Saki. Her absence was a constant, worrying reminder of the new, terrifying dimension their lives had taken. But her clue about the "Sayuri" was their only solid lead. Following Yusuke home felt like a violation, but a necessary one.

The "atelier" was a shock—A dilapidated shack that stood in stark, pathetic contrast to Madarame's public opulence. When Yusuke answered the door, his eyes immediately scanned the group.

"Takemi-san is not with you?" he asked, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face.

Ren smoothly stepped in. "She's... not feeling well. Sudden fever." It was a weak excuse, but the best they had.

Yusuke's shoulders slumped slightly, but then he looked at Ann. He swallowed, his artistic fervour warring with what little social grace he possessed.

"A pity. The composition was meant for two...But...The divine beauty of one muse is still a worthy subject" He said.

"Right. Just...Me. More than enough, but I told you. No nudity" Ann said while forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. The words tasted like ash.

"Perfection demands sacrifice!" Yusuke insisted.

"Perfection can go shove it" Ann growled from behind her teeth, her eye twitching.

Yusuke, delighted and dismissive of Ann's disapproval of nudity, ushered them inside the cramped, cluttered space. The air smelled of turpentine and damp wood. As he began fussing with his canvases and brushes, Ren caught Kasumi's eye and gave a slight nod. They had to move.

"We'll, uh, just look around. Big fans of the...Artistic process" Ren said, already edging away from the main area.

"Of course. Absorb the atmosphere of struggle! It is the birthplace of genius!" Yusuke, too absorbed in his preparations, exclaimed and merely waved a dismissive hand.

Leaving Ryuji and a very grumpy Morgana to keep a watchful, protective eye on Ann, Ren and Kasumi slipped deeper into the shack. They moved quickly, their eyes scanning for anything—notes, hidden sketches, anything that could hint at Madarame's distortion.

"The Sayuri...It made Saki-senpai react so violently. It has to be the key. But what's wrong with it?" Kasumi whispered as they searched a pile of dusty art books.

"Whatever it is, Nakanohara said Madarame plagiarizes his students' work. Maybe the Sayuri wasn't even his" Ren murmured, running a hand along a warped wall.

Their search led them to a narrow hallway at the back of the shack in the second floor. At the end was a single door, heavier than the others, sealed with a massive, new-looking padlock. It was blatantly out of place.

"This is it" Ren breathed. He immediately dropped to a knee, pulling out his trusty lockpicks. The mechanism was complex, but he'd faced worse in Palaces. His hands worked with practiced precision.

He was halfway through, the final tumbler almost in place, when Ann's voice ripped through the tense silence from the front room.

"I CAN'T DO THIS! IT'S IMPOSSIBLE!"

There was a scuffle, the sound of an easel tipping over, and then rapid footsteps. Ann's, first, running towards them in a panic. Then Yusuke's, heavier, fuelled by confusion and a wounded artist's pride.

"Takamaki-san! Wait! Please! You don’t understand the artistic importance of this!"

Panic flared in Ren's chest. They were seconds from being discovered, caught red-handed breaking into a locked room. The lock wasn't open yet.

Ann skidded around the corner, her face pale with distress. She saw Ren at the door, her eyes wide with a silent plea. Right behind her, Yusuke turned the corner, his expression a mixture of hurt and anger.

"What is the meaning of this—?!"

He began speaking but never got to finish.

Kasumi, standing guard next to Ren, didn't hesitate. It was pure, adrenaline-fueled instinct. As Yusuke's focus shifted from Ann to the scene before him, Kasumi pivoted on her heel. Her ballet training took over. She delivered a perfect, devastating relevé kick, her foot arcing upwards with shocking speed and force.

The hard toe of her school shoe connected with Yusuke's chin with a sickening, bone-on-bone CRACK that echoed in the narrow hallway.

Yusuke's eyes shot wide open, the irises shrinking to pinpricks. A strangled gurgle escaped his lips. His body went rigid for a split second before his knees buckled, and he crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

Ren froze, his lockpick still in the keyhole. Ann and Rhyme stood frozen, their hands over their respective mouths. Ryuji and Morgana, who had come running at the commotion, skidded to a halt at the end of the hall. Their jaws were hanging open. Rindo blinked at this. Fret, Nagi and Beat just took out small placards that had "10" in it, with Nagi holding 10s of that "10" placard.

All of them, Phantom Thieves and Wicked Twisters alike, stared at Kasumi. Their eyes were wide as dinner plates, comical circles of pure, unadulterated shock. Kasumi slowly lowered her foot, her own face a mask of dawning horror. She looked from her foot to the motionless form of Yusuke Kitagawa, then back to the stunned faces of her friends.

"D-Did she just—?!" Ryuji couldn't continue his words from the disbelief.

"Oh my god..." Morgana muttered in shock, his pupils were pinpricks.

"I...I...I think I knocked him out. Did I...Did I kill him?" She stammered, her voice a tiny whisper. Ren walked over, knelt beside Yusuke’s body, and checked his pulse.

"No, he’s alive. But, uh...Very unconscious" He said blankly.

"Holy crap, Kasumi! You decked him! Like, bam!—His soul left his body for a sec!" Fret exclaimed with a grin.

"Honestly? I don’t feel bad" Ann exhaled with a huff, brushing her hair out of her face.

"I’m not even sure if I should be impressed or terrified" Rindo muttered.

"Ya can say that again, yo" Beat muttered back.

"I-I panicked! I didn’t mean to! I just saw him chasing after Ann and my body moved on its own—!" Kasumi panicked, but Ren stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder, calming her.

"You did what you thought was right" He simply said.

"The triumph of girl power. Mad respect to Lady Kasumi. Makes me wonder what could have happened if Lady Saki was with us" Nagi said while adjusting her glasses.

"If it's Beauty Cheeks right now, she would have ripped off his jaw instead of knocking him out, Pinny" Beat answered.

"Jeez...What a weird dude" Ryuji muttered, giving Yusuke unconscious form a little nudge with his foot.

Moments later, the lock finally clicked open under Ren’s skilled hands. He pushed the heavy door, and it swung inward with a groan, revealing a sight that stole the breath from all of them.

The room was a gallery of ghosts. Stacked against the walls, leaning in dusty corners, were dozens—no, hundreds—of paintings. And they were all the same. The beautiful, melancholic face of the woman from the Sayuri stared back at them from every angle, each version slightly different in tone, in brushstroke, but unmistakably the same subject.

"Why...Why are there so many?" Ann whispered, her voice trembling.

"It's like a factory" Rindo muttered, his new Persona-user senses feeling the wrongness of the place.

Their investigation was cut short by a groan from the hallway. Yusuke stirred, clutching his jaw where Kasumi’s kick had landed. His eyes fluttered open, blurry with pain and confusion. When he saw the open door, a frantic energy seized him. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling into the room.

"Stop! You must not be in here! This room is—"

His words died in his throat. His gaze swept over the sea of identical paintings, his own master’s work, The 'Sayuri', replicated like cheap prints. His face, already pale, went ashen.

"What...What is this?" He muttered in disbelief, stupefied at the scene that he had witnessed.

Before anyone could answer, a new voice, cold and sharp with fury, cut through the air.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?!"

Madarame stood in the doorway, his face a mask of theatrical outrage that couldn't quite hide the panic in his eyes.

Yusuke looked from the paintings to his sensei, his world crumbling.

"Sensei! Please! Explain this! What is the meaning of all these replicas?!" Yusuke asked, his voice becoming desperate. Madarame swallowed visibly, his eyes darting around like a cornered rat. He put on a pained expression.

"Yusuke...My boy...I tried to hide this failure from you. I have been suffering from a terrible artist's block because the original Sayuri was stolen, long ago by one of my former students. I have been...Replicating it. Selling the copies to pay off a severe debt through a special connection of mine. It is a shameful secret. And due to my artist's block...Several students of mine had offered their ideas to me, but...I knew that this cannot go on forever, so I tried to reproduce the Sayuri, but all that came out were these replicas. Yet, in a stroke of luck, a patron came to me and said they didn't mind it being a copy and offered to buy them from me" Madarame said.

"I... I see, Sensei. A debt...I understand" Yusuke’s shoulders slumped in relief. He wanted so desperately to believe.

"All of this is my fault. Please forgive me for being such a foolish and incompetent master to you, Yusuke..." Madarame said, bowing to Yusuke.

"N-No! Please stop. You don't need to apologize, Sensei!" Yusuke exclaimed, slightly happy that it was all wrong.

But the others weren't buying it. Ann and Kasumi exchanged a skeptical glance. Nagi’s grip on her plushie tightened. Ren and Rindo felt a cold certainty—This was a lie.

"Uh...Hold on. Something doesn't add up here" Ann said.

"Huh?" Madarame blinked, cold sweat running down his forehead.

"Yeah. To begin with, how could you even replicate this much of the Sayuri painting if it was stolen?" Nagi asked with narrowed eyes.

"More importantly, you said that it was stolen. So how it was present in the museum?" Kasumi added her two cents.

"And assuming that the other one was a fake as well, won't people with a keen eye for art know right away that the Sayuri in the museum is a fake?" Fret inquired as well.

"W-Well, I happen to have a high-res image of it, and that's why I was able to copy it..." Madarame said, but his voice was shaking.

"Yeah, no. Even someone who don't give a dung about art knows it. Ya can't compete with the original, yo. If someone loves something, then they will know that somethin's iffy about it" Beat said.

"On that note, you said that a 'Patron' came and said they don't mind them being copies. But just as everyone else said, people with genuine appreciation for art would know right away that something is wrong. The people buying it are supposedly art lovers who understand art stuff. They won't just 'buy' a copy of a photo" Rindo added.

"W-What?! You know nothing about it!" Madarame's tone became sharp.

"Something's real fishy about this..." Ryuji muttered.

It was Rhyme, quiet and observant, who noticed it. In the furthest, darkest corner of the room was a single easel, covered by a pristine black drape. Ignoring Madarame’s sudden, panicked yell—"Don't touch that!"—she walked over and pulled the cloth away.

Beneath it was another "Sayuri" But this one was different. It was older, the colours slightly faded. And in the corner, almost hidden, was a small, delicate signature that wasn't Madarame’s.

Yusuke’s eyes widened. He stumbled forward, his voice a broken whisper.

"The Sayuri...?" Yusuke muttered in shock and disbelief the moment his eyes laid upon the aged painting.

"T-That's also a replica!" Madarame desperately retaliated.

"No! This...This is the real Sayuri! The brushstrokes...The feeling...This is the painting that inspired me to become an artist! The one you told me was your greatest masterpiece! I would never, ever mistake a mere replica for the original!" Yusuke retorted.

"It's a forgery! Yes! An extremely well-done forgery! I got word there was one floating around, so I bought it to take it off the market and reduce confusion!" Madarame exclaimed.

"The original artist buying a forgery of their own creation? Oh, come on. No one would believe this" Ren said.

"Sensei...Please...Would you consider trusting me with the truth?" Yusuke, who was devastated with this, pleaded with Madarame, the man who raised him and took care of him when he was nothing but an orphan. He wanted to find a glimpse of hope that the kindred soul that took him under his wing would be redeemable.

But everything was futile at that moment.

Madarame’s mask of the grieving artist shattered, replaced by naked fury.

"You foolish boy! You understand nothing!" Madarame exclaimed angrily.

Cornered, he yanked out his phone, his fingers shaking with rage. He dialled a number and hissed into the receiver.

"Mistral! They're here! The targets are here! Come now and—!"

He paused, his eyes calculating the risk.

"...No. Stand by. Do not move until the Ueno exhibit is over. We cannot have attention drawn to us now. But be ready. Their time is almost up" He hung up and glared at them. "It's too late for you to run"

The name 'Mistral' meant nothing to them, but the threat was crystal clear. They didn't wait. As one, the two teams grabbed the stunned, heartbroken Yusuke and bolted from the shack into the cool night air.

"He said it's too late to run. So we won't run. We'll go straight to the source" Ren said, pulling out his phone, his mind racing. He looked at the dilapidated shack and blurted out.

"Ichiryusai Madarame. Shack. Museum" He input the keywords. The Nav chimed.

Destination Found. Beginning Navigation.

The world twisted around them, depositing them into the garish, gold-plated nightmare of Madarame’s Palace. Yusuke stared, bewildered, at the floating platforms and golden corridors.

Metaverse. Museum of Vanity

"What is this place?! What sorcery is this?!"

"This is inside Madarame's heart" Joker said.

"Inside Sensei's heart? This utterly repulsive scenery?" Yusuke asked in confusion. He then looked at the people addressing him, only to be shocked of that the fact that, aside of the members of the Wicked Twisters, there were several masked people.

"And who are you?!" He asked in shock.

"Calm down, Kitagawa-kun! It's me!" Panther exclaimed.

"That voice...Takamaki-san?! And your other friends...But I don't remember seeing a stuffed cat before" Yusuke called out as he looked at everyone, then settling on Morgana.

"I'm NOT a cat!" Mona yelled out.

"And you say...That this is the inside of Sensei's heart?" Yusuke asked, ignoring Mona's outburst.

"Yeah. This is that old bastard's heart, and it's full of sleazy ambition and money-grubbing greed" Skull said.

"Lies! My sensei is a great man! This...This is a trick!" Yusuke recoiled in denial.

"Yusuke, please. Have you ever thought about it? You saw what just happened back there in the shack. You know there has to be something wrong with him" Fret said.

"That's..." Yusuke faltered, looking at the ground.

"Listen, we know that it's hard to believe, especially for you, but this world around you is another reality that reflects how Madarame views the world around him" Solo said.

"This garish, eyesore of a place is his?" Yusuke asked.

"Yes. It's revolting, like someone smearing meat with fruit in an absurd conglomerate" Nagi noted.

"Ugh!" Yusuke gasped before falling to one knee, clutching his head.

"Dude, are you okay?" Beat asked, worried about their non-combatant.

"Sorry. It seems that my heart can't keep up with my mind" Yusuke muttered.

"Guys! It's time we make ourselves scarce! There are guards around!" Mona exclaimed.

"Here. Lend me your arm" Joker said to Yusuke.

"No. I'm fine. I can stand on my own" Yusuke said, before standing up. The gang wasted no more time before they ran from their spot.

Real World. Takemi Clinic

The sterile quiet of the clinic was broken only by the soft hum of medical equipment. Saki’s eyes opened, not with a groggy blur, but with a crystalline, hyper-aware clarity. The world snapped into a focus so sharp it was almost overwhelming. Colors were more vibrant, sounds were distinct layers, and the very air seemed to hum with data.

While Takemi, her face etched with worry, began a routine check-up—listening to her heart, checking her pupils—Saki’s mind was operating on a different plane entirely. It was like a supercomputer had booted up inside her skull.

"Analysis Initiated: Subject: Self. Alteration: Cognitive-Nanomachine Symbiosis"

Her thoughts organized themselves with cool, logical precision. She assessed the new parameters of her existence. It wasn't just enhanced strength or speed. It was something far more fundamental.

"Primary Ability Designation: Catharsis. Function: Conceptual Transmutation"

She ran simulations in her mind's eye. Transmuting the concept of her physical strength, allowing her muscles to access 100% of their potential, bypassing the brain's natural limiters. Transmuting the concept of her sight, slowing time to a crawl as her kinetic vision perceived the world in frozen frames. She could do the same for any sense, any attribute.

The offensive applications were staggering. She could transmute the concept of an enemy's power, severing their connection to it and claiming it for herself. Defensively, she could transmute the very concept of herself taking damage, triggering a conceptual-level regeneration that bordered on true immortality. She could even transmute the concept of her lifespan, rendering it unlimited.

"Conclusion: Application potential is theoretically limitless. Bound only by user's cognitive comprehension and willpower"

She had become a being of scientific magic. A living paradox.

Takemi finished her examination, her hands trembling slightly. She exchanged a hesitant look with Sam, who stood by, a steady, reassuring presence. He gave a gentle nod.

Taking a deep breath, Takemi began to speak, her voice thick with guilt. She explained everything again—The serum, the fusion of Wakaba’s cognitive psience and cutting-edge nanotechnology, the fear and pain inhibitors, the intent to create a "Scientific Magic" to protect her from World Marshal. She ended with a heartfelt apology for acting without her consent.

Sam watched Saki closely, ready to intervene if the news sparked the anger they both expected.

Instead, Saki simply listened, her new intelligence processing the information, cross-referencing it with the sensory data she was now receiving from her own body. When Takemi finished, Saki didn't yell. She didn't slap her. She simply leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her aunt in a deep, comforting hug.

"Thank you, Auntie" Saki whispered.

"Saki...You're...You're not angry?" Takemi stiffened in shock. Saki broke the hug, a bright, genuine smile—a smile that seemed to literally send sparkles into the air—illuminating her face.

"Why would I be angry at you when you were trying to protect me? I already told you. You've done something my biological parents didn't even think about doing. Seriously, I always think about how extremely lucky I am to have you as my family" She said.

"I'm the lucky one, Saki. I'm the lucky one" Takemi said, tears welling in her eyes before she pulled Saki back into a crushing embrace. Sam’s heart swelled watching them.

"Now I see. Now I know why you chose this little beauty to carry this responsibility" He murmured, a grin spreading across his face.

"Say, Uncle Sam, what's your relationship with Auntie, anyway?" Saki asked Sam as she looked up, her head tilted curiously. And before a flustered Takemi could answer, Sam interrupted with a sly, charming grin.

"I'm her...Futuro marido~"

The effect was instantaneous. Takemi’s face turned a shade of red that defied nature, steam practically whistling from her ears. Saki, her nanomachines providing instant translation, burst into a fit of giggles.

Sam, utterly disarmed by Saki’s radiant smile, felt a comical glitter in his own eyes. A sudden, dramatic nosebleed erupted, which he punctuated with a thumbs-up.

"Tão precioso. Definitivamente proteja" He declared.

"Why does everyone keep nose bleeding in front of me?!" Saki panicked, waving her hands. This sent both Takemi and Sam into a fit of laughter, the tension of the moment completely dissolving. Once the laughter died down and Sam had cleaned up, Saki stood, a new determination in her posture. She walked toward the door.

"Saki, are you sure you'll be alright?" Takemi asked, worry creeping back into her voice.

"I have friends to save. They're as precious to me as you are. And one of them is my boyfriend, and the other is my bestie and co-girlfriend" Saki said, her voice firm, and a mischievous glint entering her eyes. Sam just whistled, impressed at the gall. Takemi chuckled, shaking her head.

"How did my 'little guinea pig' manage to land two girls?" She mused.

"Ah, so that's the little guinea pig you mentioned? Now I really have to sit even more with these Phantom Thieves" Sam said, his eyes lighting up.

"I can't wait for you to meet everyone, Uncle Sam" Saki smiled.

The term "Uncle Sam" repeated again hit him like a physical blow. He clutched his chest, feigning a heart attack and dropping to one knee, causing Saki to panic all over again while Takemi just laughed.

"Stop teasing her, you idiot" Takemi said, still grinning.

Sam then stood up, his expression turning serious for a moment. He unclipped the futuristic katana from his hip—the Murasama—and tossed it to Saki. She caught it effortlessly, her mind instantly analysing it.

"VT7 High-Frequency Blade. Properties enhanced by high-frequency conversion. Sheath contains integrated rifle mechanism for Iaido-assisted draw"

"You're giving her the Murasama? Your family's heirloom?" Takemi asked, stunned.

"I've fought for 20 years without any cybernetics. A sword doesn't make the man. Besides, she'll put it to better use" Sam shrugged before grinning at Saki. He then tossed her a small vial containing the same shimmering blue liquid.

"The last of the perfected batch. Use it on someone you trust absolutely. I can't make more without Wakaba's research" Takemi explained.

"I've lasted this long as a mere mortal. I'll be fine" Sam said.

"When I get that research, you're getting injected first. No arguments" Takemi said with a sigh, but a smile touched her lips.

"Eu também te amo, meu médico gostoso" Sam whispered, leaning in while lifting her chin with two fingers.

Takemi blushed furiously for the third time that day.

"I ship it!" Saki exclaimed with a giggle. And with a final, grateful look at both of them, Saki turned to leave. Takemi rushed forward for one last, tight hug.

"Be careful. Come back to me safe" She muttered into her hair.

"I will. I promise. And when we get back, we're throwing a huge party. I'll introduce Uncle Sam to everyone, including Boss" Saki said as she hugged her back just as tightly.

Breaking the hug, Saki gave them one last, brilliant smile and stepped out into the Yongen-Jaya evening. Once she was sure she was alone, she pulled out her phone. Her new mind worked flawlessly with the Meta-Nav.

**Name: Ichiryusai Madarame**
**Place: Artist Shack**
**Distortion: Museum**

The world twisted around her. The quiet street melted away, replaced by the gilded, oppressive halls of Madarame's Palace. Saki Takemi, armed with a legendary sword, a vial of reality-altering nanomachines, and a power that defied physics, was back in the game.

The Star of Catharsis had returned. And she was ready to rewrite fate itself.

Madarame's Palace

The air in Madarame's Palace was thick with the cloying scent of cheap perfume and greed. The Phantom Thieves and Wicked Twisters, with a bewildered and resistant Yusuke in tow, navigated the gilded, labyrinthine corridors. The opulence was oppressive, a stark contrast to the squalor of the real shack.

"We have to find the Treasure. It's the only way to make him confess" Joker stated, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

"But where do we even start?" Panther asked, her whip coiled tightly in her hand.

"This whole place is a monument to his ego. It's gotta be in the fanciest spot, right?" Skull grumbled, kicking at a gaudy golden vase.

Their debate was interrupted by a sound that didn't belong. It was a low, resonant hum, like a power line coming to life, followed by the crisp click of heels on the polished marble floor. The sound came from a side corridor they had yet to explore.

Everyone tensed, weapons and Evokers at the ready. A Shadow? A new security system?

What emerged from the shadows was neither: It was Nocturne. But she was... different.

She walked with an unnerving, fluid grace, each step perfectly measured. The usual determined set of her shoulders was replaced by an aura of absolute, unshakable calm. In her right hand, she held a sleek, futuristic katana that glowed with a vibrant crimson light—The Murasama. Her eyes, visible behind her mask, weren't just focused; they were analyzing, calculating, seeing the world in layers of data they couldn't perceive.

"Nocturne! You're...You're okay!" Violet gasped, the first to break the stunned silence. Nocturne's lips curved into a small, serene smile.

"More than okay" Her voice was the same, but it carried a new weight, a subtle resonance that vibrated in the air.

Joker lowered his knife, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. The sword, the new confidence, the way she seemed to be looking through the Palace itself. "Saki... what happened? What is that?"

Yusuke, who had been regarding the entire Metaverse with horrified denial, stared at the new arrival. "Takemi-san? What is the meaning of this? Another illusion?"

Nocturne ignored Yusuke for a moment, her gaze sweeping over her friends. "Auntie Tae gave me an...Upgrade. Let's just say I'm ready to take this museum apart, piece by piece." Her eyes then landed on Yusuke, and her expression softened slightly. "Kitagawa-kun. What you see here is the truth. This gilded cage is your sensei's heart. And we're here to set it free."

Before Yusuke could protest further, a troop of Shadows—garish, paint-splattered guardians wielding pallet knives like swords—rounded the corner, drawn by the commotion.

"Shadows!" Mona yelled. The Thieves braced for a fight. But Nocturne simply took a step forward.

"Allow me" She said, her voice quiet.

She didn't summon Jeanne d'Arc. She didn't even raise the Murasama. She simply looked at the charging Shadows. Her eyes glowed with a faint crimson light for a split second.

"Catharsis: Conceptual Transmutation - Target: Momentum"

The lead Shadow, mid-swing, suddenly froze. Not like it was encased in ice, but as if the very concept of its forward movement had been erased. It hung in the air, utterly inert, a baffled expression on its featureless face. The Shadows behind it crashed into their frozen companion in a comical heap.

The Phantom Thieves and Wicked Twisters could only stare, their jaws slack.

Nocturne turned back to them, her smile still in place. "See? Easy." She then looked deeper into the Palace, her new senses pinpointing the source of the greatest distortion. "The Treasure is that way. And I can hear its lies from here."

She began to walk, not with caution, but with the unwavering stride of someone who knew she could not be stopped. Joker, after a moment of stunned hesitation, gestured for the others to follow.

The Museum Arc had begun. But the rules had changed. With Nocturne now armed with the power to alter reality itself, Madarame's Palace wasn't just a heist target. It was a proving ground for a new kind of Phantom Thief.

TakeABreak

The gilded halls of Madarame's Palace seemed to stretch on forever, a monotonous landscape of vanity and stolen glory. The group moved with a practiced caution, but the usual banter was subdued. The shock of Nocturne's new abilities and the oppressive atmosphere weighed on them all.

Solo, his senses heightened since awakening to Chronos, noticed the shift in his friend immediately. Fret, usually a fountain of nervous energy and bad jokes, was quiet. His shoulders were slumped, and he stared at the gilded floor as if it held some terrible secret.

Hanging back from the main group, Solo nudged Fret with his elbow.

"Hey. You've been quiet since we got in here. What's up?" He asked.

Fret flinched slightly, as if pulled from a deep thought. He forced a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Ah, it's nothin', Rindude. Just...This place gives me the creeps, ya know?" He said, chuckling nervously.

"Try again. I know that look. This is about more than the decor" Solo said, his voice low but firm.

Fret's smile vanished. He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was silent for a long moment, the only sound the distant, eerie echoes of the Palace.

"...You remember I told you? About my friend? The one who...Who jumped?" He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Yeah. I remember" Solo said with a nod, his stomach tightening.

Fret swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"His name...Was Sato. Sato Madarame"

The name hung in the air between them, toxic and heavy. Solo's eyes widened.

Madarame.

"I...I never made the connection before. It's a common enough name, right? But being here...Seeing all this...What if he was related? What if that bastard in there...What if the reason Sato—"

He couldn't finish the sentence. The implication was clear and horrifying. Had their target, this revered artist, driven his own relative to suicide? The personal connection transformed the Palace from a mission into a potential crime scene, the gilded walls feeling less like a distortion and more like a tomb.

At this, Solo placed a hand on Fret's shoulder, grounding him.

"Hey. We don't know that. But we're gonna find out. That's why we're here. To expose the truth. All of it. If Madarame had anything to do with what happened to your friend, we'll make him confess it" Solo said, his voice steady, the leader's resolve he'd found with Chronos surfacing.

Fret looked up, his eyes glistening. The pain of his loss, which he usually buried under layers of cheerfulness, was raw on his face.

"You really think so?" He asked.

"I know so.We've got me, a guy who can stop time, a girl who can break the rules of reality, and a talking cat. Finding the truth about one guy's past? That's nothing" Solo said, his gaze hardening as he looked down the corridor towards where the others had gone.

"Yeah...Yeah, when you put it like that..."

A wet, shaky laugh escaped Fret. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. The weight wasn't gone, but it was shared. The mission was no longer just about saving Yusuke or stopping a plagiarist. For Fret and Rindo, it had become about justice for a friend who never got any. They quickened their pace, rejoining the group with a new, grim determination fueling their steps.

TakeABreak

The gilded corridors of the Palace seemed to twist in on themselves, leading the group deeper into the heart of Madarame's vanity. The air grew colder, the opulent decorations taking on a more sinister, museum-like quality, as if they were displays of trophies.

They rounded a corner into a wider hall, and froze.

Floating in the center of the hallway was a faint, shimmering apparition. It was the translucent figure of a young man, no older than they were. He looked gaunt and sad, his form flickering like a dying candle flame. He wasn't a Shadow; he lacked their monstrous aggression. This was something else—a cognitive echo, a memory given form by the Palace's distortion.

But to Fret, it was unmistakable.

His breath hitched in his throat. All the color drained from his face, leaving him as pale as the marble floor. His knees buckled slightly, and he would have stumbled if Rindo hadn't been right beside him, grabbing his arm to steady him.

"S...Sato...?" Fret whispered, the name a choked, disbelieving gasp.

The ghostly figure turned its head slowly, its hollow eyes seeming to look right through them. It didn't speak, but a wave of profound despair and betrayal washed over the group, a psychic residue so strong it was almost a physical force.

The apparition raised a translucent hand, pointing a trembling finger down a side passage—a darker, less ornate hallway that seemed to lead away from the main gallery. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it dissolved into motes of faint light and vanished.

The hallway was silent once more, but the air was now heavy with the ghost's sorrow. Fret was trembling, his eyes wide with a mixture of horror and heartbreaking hope.

"That was him...That was Sato...He's...He's here" He whispered.

Solo's grip on his friend's arm tightened. The connection was real. Sato Madarame's suffering was etched into the very fabric of this distorted world. The ghost wasn't an enemy. It was a clue. A plea.

"He was pointing. He wants us to go that way" Rindo said, his voice low and urgent.

The path ahead was clear. The heist to change Madarame's heart had just become a pilgrimage into the darkest corners of his sins. And for Fret, it was a chance to finally confront the ghost of his best friend.

Driven by a newfound, grim urgency, the group didn't hesitate. They abandoned all caution and sprinted down the dark, narrow passage Sato's ghost had indicated. The gilded opulence of the main halls gave way to cold, stone walls that felt more like a dungeon than a museum.

The passage opened into a small, circular chamber. But it wasn't empty. The air itself was a projector, and swirling within it were vivid, full-sensory memories, playing out like scenes from a tragic film.

They saw a younger, brighter-eyed Sato Madarame, clutching a sketchbook to his chest, looking up at the figure of Ichiryusai Madarame with pure, unadulterated admiration.

"Your work shows promise, boy, but promise does not pay the bills. Your style is too derivative. Too...Emotional"

A cognitive echo of Madarame's voice sneered, the words dripping with condescension.

The scene shifted. They saw Sato toiling late into the night in the dusty shack, creating beautiful, original artworks. But then they saw Madarame enter, surveying the finished pieces with a cold, calculating eye.

"This one...Yes. The use of color is acceptable. I will put my name to it. It will fund my next exhibition. You should be grateful I am giving your work a platform"

"But Sensei...It's mine..."

Sato's cognitive form would protest, his voice a desperate whisper.

"NOTHING IS YOURS! You live under my roof! You eat my food! Your talent is MINE to cultivate and MINE to use! You are nothing without me!"

The Madarame echo would roar, his face twisting into a mask of greed.

The scenes accelerated, a relentless parade of theft and psychological abuse. They saw Sato's spirit breaking, piece by piece. The light in his eyes dimming. The sketches in his book becoming darker, more frantic, filled with images of chains and gilded cages.

Then came the final scene. It was Sato, looking hollow and broken, holding a small, delicate painting—a beautiful, original piece he had hidden away. It was a self-portrait, filled with a pain and honesty that was utterly captivating. Madarame's cognitive self saw it.

"What is this? Hiding your best work from me? After all I've done for you?"

Madarame's shadow advanced, his hand outstretched not in praise, but in seizure.

"No...This one is mine. It's all I have left"

Sato hugged the painting to his chest, his final act of defiance.

The cognitive Madarame's face contorted in utter contempt. "You have nothing. You are nothing. A worthless, talentless leech. Your very existence is a drain on my genius."

The scene froze on Sato's face—a look of absolute, soul-crushing devastation. Then, the memory dissolved into black mist.

The chamber fell silent. The phantom scenes were gone, but the emotional devastation they left behind was palpable.

"No...Sato...He...He never told me it was that bad...He just said his uncle was tough on him..." Fret muttered, falling to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

"Lies...These are lies! My sensei...He would never...!" Yusuke exclaimed as he stood rigid, his face a mask of horror and denial.

But the evidence was irrefutable, burned into the air they breathed. They had just witnessed a murder—not of a body, but of a soul. And the killer was the man Yusuke called master.

The path to Madarame's Treasure was no longer just a path through a Palace. It was a walk through a gallery of his greatest crimes. And Sato Madarame's tragedy was the centerpiece.

The air in the memory-chamber grew thick and cold as Shadows began to ooze from the walls and floor, their forms twisting into grotesque, paint-smeared guardians. They were drawn by the raw emotion, the pain of Sato’s story still hanging heavy in the air.

“Everyone, get ready!” Solo commanded, his voice tight.

“Shadows incoming!” Nocturne confirmed, her hand resting on the hilt of the Murasama, her new senses calculating their numbers and weaknesses.

But before anyone could move into a fighting stance, Fret stepped forward. He walked slowly, deliberately, past the front line of his friends. His head was bowed, his usual vibrant energy replaced by a dark, trembling stillness.

“This is so pathetic...” He muttered, his voice a low, venomous growl that was utterly unlike him. He gritted his teeth so hard the sound was audible.

“He lost his life...His dreams...Because of this...This monster. I’ll never...I’ll NEVER forgive him!”

He lifted his head, his eyes shadowed by his fringe, but the fury in them was a palpable heat.

 Persona 5 OST - Will Power

"You kept me waiting for so long...”

As his yell echoed through the chamber, Fret gasped, stumbling back a step. His hands flew to his temples.

A voice, deep and resonant, echoed not in the room, but in the confines of his own skull. Fret’s eyes shot wide open, the irises shifting from their normal color to a blazing, sickly gold. A migraine, ten times worse than any he’d ever felt, lanced through his brain. He cried out, collapsing to his knees.

“The roots of your past haunt you, yet you refuse to let go”

“GAAAAAH!” Fret screamed, clawing at his head. His fingernails dug into his scalp, drawing thin lines of blood that trickled down his forehead. The pain was excruciating, a violent rebirth of the soul.

“But that ends now. Seal the contract...For the other you that desires the gleaming of the stars”

Fret gritted his teeth, a strangled sound of defiance escaping his lips. He would not be broken. Not by this. Not for Sato.

“I am Thou, Thou Art I...No longer shall you be shackled by empty pain from the past”

The pain vanished. In its place was a cool, certain clarity. Floating in the air before him was a silver gun—an Evoker, just like Rindo’s. Without a second thought, Fret let go of his bleeding head, snatched the Evoker, pressed the muzzle to his right temple, and pulled the trigger.

CRACK

The sound of shattering chains. A burst of ethereal, azure energy erupted from the opposite side of his head. Then, a pillar of blue fire engulfed him.

Persona 5 OST - Awakening

When the flames subsided, Fret was standing tall. Behind him, floating serenely amidst billowing clouds, was a magnificent figure. It was a radiant, godlike figure draped in a flowing white toga, its body glowing with inner streaks of fiery orange and yellow light, like the dawn sun breaking through the clouds. It exuded an aura of divine judgment and celestial power.

Fret lifted his head, a wide, manic grin splitting his face—a grin of pure, unadulterated catharsis. He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers as power coursed through him.

“Woah! Right-o! Wassup, Persona! This freaking rocks! Now that I can fight, it's time for payback! Now then, bring it!” he exclaimed, his voice booming with a newfound confidence.

The approaching Shadows, sensing the immense new power, hesitated for a moment, their forms flickering with agitation. Then, with a collective snarl, they charged.

Fret didn’t flinch. He simply pointed a commanding finger at the horde, his grin never wavering.

“Smite ‘em, Hachiman!”

The celestial Persona, Hachiman, raised a hand. The air crackled with holy energy. A beam of pure, concentrated sunlight lanced forth from its palm, striking the lead Shadow. The creature didn’t just dissolve; it vaporized in a burst of golden light. The beam continued, carving a path of divine obliteration through the ranks of Madarame’s corrupted guardians.

The Phantom Thieves and the other Wicked Twisters could only watch in stunned awe. The class clown, the nervous joker, had just awakened to a Persona of immense, purifying power. The battle for Madarame’s heart had gained a new, devastatingly bright star.

The last Shadow dissolved into black mist under Hachiman’s purifying light, leaving the chamber in a stunned silence. The air still hummed with the residual energy of Fret’s awakening.

“Whoa...Dude! That was...That was totally wicked!” Skull was the first to break the silence, his mouth agape.

“Incredible, Fret!” Panther cheered, her eyes shining.

“A most divine and powerful manifestation!”Nagi declared, her plushie raised in salute.

“You okay, man?” Solo asked, his voice laced with concern and pride as he clapped a hand on Fret’s shoulder.

Fret was still breathing heavily, the adrenaline and the afterglow of the awakening making him vibrate. Hachiman had faded away, but the feeling of immense power remained. The grin on his face was a mile wide.

“Okay? I’ve never been better! That was totally crash!” He exclaimed

It was then that Skull, ever the pragmatist, chimed in again.

“Hey, since you’re one of us now in the Metaverse, you gotta have a codename! Can’t just call ya Fret in here” He suggested.

This immediately sparked a chaotic brainstorming session.

“Ooh! How about ‘Sunshine’?” Panther suggested, pointing at the radiant theme of his Persona.

“Too cute” Shoka deadpanned.

“’Cloud-Rider’!” Skull yelled, puffing out his chest.

“That sounds like a bad brand of sneakers” Mona retorted.

“The Shining Samurai!” Nagi proclaimed dramatically.

“Nah, that’s too long, yo. How ’bout…‘Glowstick’?” Beat suggested.

“’Mr. Brightside’!” Rhyme suggested.

“Too bright. ’Dawnbreaker’!” Violet pitched in.

“Too dark! ’Captain Cool’!” Skull gave in his two cents.

Joker and Nocturne, who had been watching the spectacle, finally lost it. They leaned against each other, bursting into helpless laughter. The sheer ridiculousness of the names, combined with the residual tension from the battle and Fret’s dramatic awakening, was too much.

“’Glowstick’?” Joker wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye.

“I think I like ‘Captain Cool’. It’s so...Not him” Nocturne giggled.

Fret watched his friends, the silly suggestions and their laughter washing over him. He felt a warmth that had nothing to do with Hachiman’s power. This was his family. And he knew exactly what his name should be.

“Nah, guys. I got it” Fret said, his voice cutting through the chatter. He struck a pose, one hand on his hip, the other pointing confidently towards the ceiling.

“From now on, call me...Ace!”

He looked around at their faces.

“Y’know? ‘Cause I feel like I just drew the winning hand! And ‘cause it sounds cool! Right-o!” He explained.

The name was simple, confident, and perfectly fit Fret’s newfound, vibrant energy. It wasn’t bestowed by others; he claimed it for himself.

A wide smile spread across Joker’s face. He gave a firm nod of approval.

“Ace it is” Joker said.

“Suits you” Nocturne said while grinning.

With their ranks strengthened by the newly-christened Ace, the group turned their backs on the chamber of sorrowful memories. The path to Madarame’s Treasure lay ahead, but now they marched with a new light to guide them—a light that burned with the fury of a wronged friend and the brilliance of a celestial dawn. The Ace was in the hole, and the game was far from over.

TakeABreak

The grandeur of Madarame's Palace now felt like a grotesque mockery. Every gilded frame, every ostentatious statue seemed to whisper the name Sato. The group moved forward, but a storm raged in their midst.

Yusuke Kitagawa walked like a man in a trance. His usual elegant posture was gone, replaced by a slumped, shuffling gait. His eyes, once burning with artistic fervor, were wide and unfocused, staring at the opulent horrors around them without truly seeing them.

"It cannot be..." he muttered, his voice a ragged whisper that was barely audible over the echo of their footsteps. "It is a fabrication... a cognitive trick..."

He flinched as they passed a massive painting that was clearly a crude, early copy of the "Sayuri," the brushstrokes clumsy compared to the masterpiece.

"Sensei...He would never...He spoke of integrity! Of the artist's soul!"

"He spoke of what was convenient" Nocturne said, her voice gentle but firm. She didn't use her new powers to show him; the memories they had witnessed were proof enough.

"But Sato...His own son...He told me he had no family. That his art was his only child. He took me in...He said he saw a spark in me..." Yusuke's voice broke. The word 'son' seemed to physically pain him.

"Maybe he saw the same spark he snuffed out in Sato" Ace said as he glanced back, his usual boisterous energy tempered by a somber understanding.

The words hit Yusuke like a physical blow. He stopped walking, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The turmoil on his face was agonizing to watch—a war between the deep, ingrained loyalty he felt for the man who had been his entire world, and the horrifying, undeniable truth laid bare before him.

"He fed me...He gave me a roof...He taught me..." Yusuke protested, though it sounded weak, even to him.

"He taught you to be a perfect copyist. He didn't want an artist. He wanted a tool. Just like he wanted Sato to be a tool" Joker stated, not unkindly, but with finality.

Yusuke looked down at his own hands—the hands that had painted so many "Madarame originals." Were they the hands of an artist, or the hands of a forger? The foundation of his identity, carefully constructed over years, was crumbling into dust.

A fresh wave of Shadows emerged from the walls, their forms twisting into cruel parodies of art critics and wealthy patrons. They were a manifestation of the very hypocrisy and pressure that had destroyed Sato.

"Shadows!" Violet called out, readying her rapier.

But Yusuke didn't move. He just stared at the approaching monsters, his face a mask of despair.

It was Ace who stepped forward, Hachiman shimmering into existence behind him.

"Don't worry, Inari! We got this! Just watch! This one's for Sato!" He exclaimed, using a nickname for Yusuke teasingly and without malice.

As Ace unleashed a blast of celestial light, Yusuke watched. He saw the power born from righteous anger, from the desire to protect a friend's memory. It was a purity of purpose he had never known in this gilded cage.

TakeABreak

The two teams stepped into the central chamber of the floor, a vast, domed hall that should have housed Madarame’s greatest treasure. Instead, they found an ambush. Shadows materialized from the gilded walls, sealing every exit. And standing before them, flanked by his grotesque guardians, was Madarame’s Shadow.

But this was not the frail, publicly humble artist. This Madarame stood tall and imperious, draped in lavish, opulent robes that shimmered with stolen gold leaf. His face was a mask of arrogant contempt, a far cry from the kindly facade he showed the world.

“That boring old man act?” Shadow Madarame sneered, his voice dripping with venomous pride. “A necessary performance for the gullible public. Even that pathetic shack was a set piece. My true residence is a mansion, registered under a mistress’s name, of course.”

Yusuke, his heart clinging to the last shred of hope, stumbled forward. “Sensei! The copies… the Sayuri… you said it was stolen! Why are there so many?!”

Shadow Madarame let out a cruel, mocking laugh. “You ignorant child! The ‘Sayuri’ was never stolen! It was a lie, a convenient story to explain the ‘replicas’ I sell to line my pockets! The original has always been right here, my greatest prize!”

The admission was a physical blow. Yusuke’s legs gave way, and he crumpled to his knees, the world swimming around him. The final pillar of his belief shattered into dust.

Ace stepped forward, his body trembling with rage. “You shitty ass-licker!” he roared, his voice cracking. “You did the same thing to Sato! You crushed him! You killed him!”

Shadow Madarame’s sneer didn’t falter. He looked genuinely puzzled. “Sato? Who is that? Another forgettable face among the dozens I’ve bled dry?”

The callous dismissal, the utter erasure of his own nephew, ignited a fury so pure it burned away the last vestiges of restraint in the group. Every single one of them saw red.

Then, a sound cut through the rage. It was Yusuke. A low, broken laugh that escalated into a hollow, despairing chuckle.

“Inari?” Ace asked, his anger momentarily replaced by concern.

Yusuke’s laughter died. He slowly lifted his head, a hand covering his eyes.

“How amusing...That truth can be stranger than fiction” he muttered, his voice eerily calm.

“For the longest time, I buried my head in the sand. I called myself an artist, yet I was blind...Blind to the rot festering in this horrible man!”

Persona 5 OST - Awakening

“Have you finally come to your senses?”

A voice, sharp and clear as ice, echoed in his mind.

A heartbeat thundered in Yusuke’s ears, followed by a searing migraine that dropped him back to the ground. He gripped his head, his eyes flashing a sickly, brilliant gold.

“How foolishly you averted your eyes from the truth...A deplorable imitation indeed…Best you part from that aspect of yourself!”

Yusuke swayed, his body convulsing as his right hand clawed at the marble floor, fingernails scraping and bleeding, etching thin, bloody lines.

“Let us now forge a contract”

He screamed, the sound a mixture of agony and liberation.

“I am Thou, Thou art I...The world is filled with both beauty and vice...It is time you teach people which is which!”

The pain vanished. In its place, a cool, white kitsune mask materialized on his face. He stood, his movements now fluid and deliberate. He reached a bloodied hand towards the mask.

“...Very well”

His fingers closed around the edges.

“Come, Goemon!”

With a swift, powerful motion, he ripped the mask from his face. A pillar of azure fire erupted around him, taller and more brilliant than any before. When it faded, the figure of the legendary rebel thief, Goemon, floated behind him, a majestic specter of icy justice.

Yusuke’s outfit had transformed into that of a sleek, modern kabuki rebel. He stomped a foot, the sound echoing in the chamber, and extended a gloved, open palm towards the stunned Shadows, a calm, confident grin on his face.

Persona 5 Royal OST - Will Power

“A breathtaking sight...Imitations they may be, but together, they make a fine spectacle...Though the flowers of evil blossom, be it known...Abominations are fated to perish!” he mused, his voice now carrying the weight of an artist and a warrior.

On his command, Goemon took a deep breath and exhaled. A wave of absolute zero frost blasted forth, instantly freezing the entire contingent of Shadow guards solid, leaving them as glittering, horrified statues.

“Whoa! So cool!” Mona exclaimed.

“RIGHT-O!” Ace roared with laughter, his spirits soaring.

“Now we’re talking!” Nocturne’s grin was feral.

Yusuke turned his piercing gaze to Shadow Madarame, his expression hardening into one of righteous fury.

“The children who adored you as a father...The prospects of your own pupils...How many did you mercilessly crush under your heels?! How many dreams did you exchange for riches?! No matter what it takes, I will bring you to justice!”

“Let’s see what you’re made of!” Nocturne called out, encouragement in her voice.

Yusuke gave a sharp, determined nod. “Right! I won’t let you down!” He drew a long, gleaming odachi from his back, the blade pointing directly at the heart of his former master.

“Paint all white, Goemon!”

Name: Saki Takemi

Age: 16

Codename: Nocturne

Persona: Jeanne d'Arc, Manananggal, Jack-O-Lantern, Anahita, Wildcard

Arcana: Moon

Cognitive Nano Ability: Catharsis

Hope Spells: Wrath Influx

Name: Ren Amamiya

Age: 16

Codename: Joker

Persona: Arsène, Orpheus, Jack Frost, Tsukuyomi, Wildcard

Arcana: Fool

Will Seed Spells: Champion's Cup

Name: Rindo Kanade

Age: 16

Codename: Solo

Persona: Chronos, Wildcard

Arcana: Hanged Man

Remix Spells: N/A