In the Persona 5 system, Confidants play a critical role. Represented by the Major Arcana of the tarot, they are tightly interwoven with the protagonist's journey—some as part of the main storyline, others as optional side arcs. As the protagonist deepens these bonds, their abilities grow stronger in turn.
Karasawa had expected certain key characters might be tied to this mechanic. But triggering it this quickly and effectively? That caught him off guard—in a good way.
That said...
After toweling off his face, Karasawa tossed the cloth aside and gave Amuro Tooru a strange look.
Was it because his contract aligned with the Hierophant—the guardian—that the first step was teaching him self-defense? Still, if you thought about it, the most unforgettable skill Amuro Tooru had was… driving, right?
And not just any driving—the kind that would make Newton himself collapse in existential despair. Wall-running, roof-hopping, physics-defying driving.
Amuro chuckled as he noticed the red marks the towel had left on Karasawa's face. He nudged the plate toward him again. "Eat up. If a kid takes two bites and starts crying, people will think my cooking's inedible."
With his eyes red-rimmed and nose equally rouged, Karasawa looked even younger—despite being, objectively, eighteen. Still, it was hard not to refer to him as a "kid."
Karasawa pulled a face, clearly tempted to argue back. But one glance at the pasta, and he gave in, picking up his chopsticks again.
Never bite the hand that feeds you—at least not right away. Besides, Amuro's cooking was pretty damn good.
Seeing Karasawa slowly begin to relax, Amuro—blissfully unaware of how thoroughly he was being exploited—believed his strategy was working. He pressed on: "When the boss said I'd be taking in a juvenile offender, I thought I'd get some rough delinquent who'd be impossible to manage. But you… you don't seem the type at all. What happened? Assault with intent to injure is a serious charge—was it an accident?"
It was a loaded question, subtly guiding the listener. It framed the situation with an assumption of innocence, implying that even if there had been wrongdoing, it couldn't have been too severe. A quick way to build trust.
Karasawa mentally gave Amuro high marks for interrogation technique. With a thoughtful glance, he shifted into a reflective tone and began recounting the case.
It was absurd. Every part of it. The incident, the investigation, the outcome.
The victim had been completely wasted—so drunk it wasn't even clear if the head injury had come from a fight or from falling over on his own. And even if it had been a scuffle, being thrown into detention right after giving a statement was enough to leave Karasawa shell-shocked for a whole year.
Worse still, they'd shoved him into a shared cell with a thug, where he was beaten multiple times while in custody.
The trial had been a farce. The victim never even appeared in court. Karasawa refused to plead guilty, so he was constantly warned, subtly pressured: confess now, and we'll give you a lighter sentence—just probation and you can go back to school. Refuse, and you're going to juvenile reformatory.
After two months of relentless pressure, he cracked. Wrote the confession.
Karasawa told the whole thing with the calm detachment of a bystander, almost like he was telling someone else's story. By the time he finished, he'd polished off the pasta.
Amuro, in contrast, looked furious. Halfway through listening, his fists clenched tight. "...That's illegal. Absolutely out of line! Where were your parents? Did you report this to anyone?"
Bingo. That's the reaction Karasawa wanted. Someone else getting mad too. Satisfied, he watched Amuro's clenched fists with approval, then offered mildly: "My parents were overseas. As for telling anyone… juvenile trials are completely closed to the public."
The implication was clear. Amuro understood.
When the ruling came down, details that were supposed to be private somehow leaked. With no evidence in hand, a signed confession, and a ruined reputation, Karasawa's voice was lost in the noise. No one would listen anymore.
Having said his piece, Karasawa sipped at his hot cocoa, watching the twitch in Amuro's eye with faint amusement. That indignant, righteous fury made a perfect side dish.
Amuro was truly seething—not just over Karasawa's ordeal, but because of the disgraceful incompetence of the officers involved. Yet as much as he wanted to speak as Furuya Rei, he couldn't. He could only grit out through clenched teeth, "Scum. A bunch of tax-thieving parasites."
Nice. Louder, please. Karasawa, a connoisseur of chaos, nudged the flames: "Maybe the drunk guy was somebody important, you know? The kind cops have to obey without question… I honestly can't think of any other explanation."
And sure enough, Amuro flared even hotter.
That made it worse. If the Organization didn't even need to infiltrate the police—just buy off a few high-ranking politicians—then the entire system could be weaponized into their personal security force.
Unacceptable. He'd have to report back to Kazami. This needed a full investigation.
Far away, two silhouettes were framed through the crosshairs of a scope.
On the edge of a rooftop, a long-haired man in a knit cap moved his eye away from the sniper lens, glancing down at his vibrating phone. He tapped his earpiece.
"Shuu, what's the status?"
"So far, so good. Bourbon is making contact with the target."
"Do we approach him too?"
Shuuichi Akai aligned his eye back on the scope, watching the boy sipping cocoa and chatting with Amuro.
"Not yet. We can't risk alerting the Organization," Akai replied. "The Karasawa couple have been missing for two months. They're likely already dead. The Organization put significant resources into taking their son—there's no way they'll make a move this soon. He's safe for now."
"What about the plan to capture Gin...?"
"Delay it again. Their sudden departure might've already spooked Gin. He won't take the bait now. Our priority is protecting Karasawa Akira and the Miyano sisters."
"The facility where the Miyanos are held is locked down tight. Cameron hasn't made any headway. Shuu, we're running out of time. The Organization won't stay quiet much longer. At this rate, we'll lose both parties. Karasawa is easier to reach."
Silence.
Neither spoke. They both understood what this decision would cost.
The FBI had limited power in Japan. They could only mount one rescue. One path meant abandoning the other—no matter the outcome.
"Shuu…" the voice in his ear sighed. "There's no other way..."
She knew what both families meant to him.
The switch was in his hands. The train was barreling toward the junction. He had to choose.
"Bring Cameron back," Akai said, voice calm as ever, hands steady on the rifle. "I'll find a way to make contact with Karasawa myself. 'Rye' has a legitimate excuse—he's acting under Organization orders."
"You don't want to wait? Maybe—"
"A decision's made. Don't second-guess it. Bring him back. We need to start planning Karasawa's extraction."
"...Understood."
Click. The call ended.
Still prone, Akai took out his phone and typed a message:
"Target has made contact with Bourbon. No other suspicious individuals in sight."
A reply came seconds later.
"Remain on alert. If the target acts abnormally, permission granted to load and fire a tranquilizer round."
He cleared the message and shut his eyes briefly, then returned to the scope, watching the boy's smile bloom toward Amuro.
Faces flashed in his mind.
But the barrel didn't waver.
They'd already lost the Karasawa couple.
They couldn't afford to lose anyone else.