"Does it hurt?"A cold gun muzzle pressed into his mangled wound. "I asked you—does it hurt?"
That voice—etched into his mind, impossible to erase—echoed again in the dim shack.
"You're already a cripple who can't stand... Shall I take the other leg too?"
The scent of blood choked his nostrils. Moonlight spilled across the floor, stark against the crimson.
The helpless figure gasped like a fish out of water, writhing in vain.
Everything overlapped with the scene before him now.
Karasawa clenched his jaw, pain and fury blooming from the depths of his memories. His fingers dug into the eaves, the tiles groaning under the pressure until they cracked.
The shadowy samurai below all drew their blades in perfect sync. Even Maru, who had just been enjoying the suffering of his captives, froze and turned sharply toward the source of the sound."Who's there?!"
Karasawa rose to his feet.
He'd been crouched low, back pressed to the wall, hidden from view—no longer.
But Karasawa barely registered the swords or the angry shouts.Before his eyes, pain surged.
The cramped room. The crack of gunfire. Blinding agony.The blade biting into his flesh, again, again.
Hunger. Cold. The steady drip of blood echoing louder, louder...
And the eyes. The pitying eyes at the hospital bed. Eyes that refused to meet his.Eyes that repeated one word, wordlessly.
"Cripple."
Thump.
His heart pounded like a war drum in his ears.
"Did you really forget? That pain. That future stolen. That life ended.Did you really forget?"
Children's voices. A woman's clear tone. A man's low growl.A chorus of voices rose from the depths of his heart, speaking as one.
"The fate that shackled you. The pride they broke. The life they shattered. Haven't you had enough?Do you want more shame? More silence?"
The pain, once centered in his chest, now spread like fire across his body. Karasawa stumbled, clutching his head as the agony split it open.
"Stand. Stand again. If you don't give everything—fate will devour you."
"Aaaghhhh—!"
He screamed. Not just from pain, but from something deeper—something buried and breaking loose.
His fingers found the edge of the mask on his face.
"Yes, just like that. Make the pact.I am thou, thou art I—
Dance through fate with a face they can't define—A face none dare ignore."
Karasawa gripped the mask and tore it from his face.
It was like peeling off his own skin. The pain made his arms tremble, veins popping along the backs of his hands.
A gust of invisible wind burst outward from where he stood. Maru's shadow flinched, raising an arm to shield his face from the blast.
Karasawa raised his head. Blood covered the upper half of his face.
A rivulet dripped down his nose to his lips. He licked it.The taste of iron.Blue flame erupted around him, swallowing his entire body.
When the fire died, the Teitan High uniform was gone.
In its place: black. Black from head to toe. A deep crimson scarf wound around his throat, its tails whipping in the wind behind him.
And behind Karasawa—
A Phantom Thief cloaked in black rose from the flames.A skull-faced mask under a sharp black fedora. A flowing cape that rippled like a shadow given form.
From his back, black tendrils writhed—tentacles of smoke and nightmare, curling around floating masks: fox masks, oni masks, Noh masks, masks that laughed and wept.All bone-white. All watching.
Karasawa blinked, slowly coming back to himself.
He turned, glanced at the Persona standing behind him——and his smile twitched.
What the hell was this? Why did Akira get dashing Arsène and he got some Lovecraftian horror cosplay?
Forget it. Focus. Time to strike cool poses and steal hearts.
"You really are a sick bastard, Maru," Karasawa said, stepping forward as the fat man stumbled back. "You enjoy torturing people with your money and power. If there were no laws to stop you, you'd recreate this twisted scene in the real world, wouldn't you?You're revolting."
"Who the hell are you?! How did you get into my estate?!" Maru shouted, face pale with fury.
"Me?" Karasawa smiled, spreading his arms as his scarf billowed in the wind. "I'm the one who's sending you to hell. But killing you outright would be too easy. You should live—live long enough to lose everything: your money, your reputation, your power.Rot in a prison cell.That's what you deserve."
Maru spat a curse. "Get him! Kill him! Archers! Shoot him down!"
Karasawa grinned.
And leapt backward—
Right out of sight.
———
He bailed before the fight even started, obviously.
Karasawa had quietly whipped out his phone and exited the Metaverse on the spot.
The speech had sounded great, sure—but he hadn't even sent a calling card yet. Without it, the treasure wouldn't materialize, and no change of heart would follow.
As someone who'd 100%-ed Persona 5 three times, Karasawa knew the rules.
But hey, dropping one-liners and vanishing? Stylish.
He was about to laugh at himself when he looked down—
—and froze.
Crap. He was still wearing the Phantom Thief outfit.
And he was no longer in the alley. He was right in front of Maru's estate.
Eyes darting around, Karasawa checked for witnesses. None.Whew.
He focused hard, trying to will the outfit away.
His black coat shimmered—and was gone, replaced by his Teitan High uniform.
Crisis averted. Karasawa let out a long breath.
It would've been a real pain if he had to find somewhere to change clothes every time he left the Metaverse.
The moment he relaxed, exhaustion hit him like a truck. His legs wobbled, joints aching.
That must've been the cost of awakening his Persona.
Damn, it was draining.
He opened his phone—his regular GPS app, thank you—and saved the location of Maru's house, then started trudging back to the café.
On the way, he sorted through what he now knew.
Unlike Joker's Arsène, his initial Persona wasn't French. It was a Japanese literary figure: the Fiend with Twenty Faces, from Edogawa Ranpo's novels.
Karasawa didn't know whether to laugh or not.
The Fiend with Twenty Faces was a master thief inspired by Arsène Lupin—famous for his disguises, said to possess twenty different faces. He was a gentleman criminal who stole only rare and valuable items, always leaving a calling card in advance.
Sound familiar?
That's right—he was the prototype for Kaito Kid.
His nemesis? Ranpo's great detective, Akechi Kogorou—The original inspiration for Mouri Kogorou.The direct namesake of Persona 5's Akechi Goro.
Karasawa smacked his forehead.
What kind of fourth-wall-breaking meta-joke was this?!It was like he'd been typecast into the role.
And there was no way Maru's cognition just happened to include a mutilated police officer with a missing leg. That was too specific. Too personal.
Karasawa wasn't one to break that easily—but that scene?
That had triggered something real.
There was no way that was coincidence.
"Leon," Karasawa muttered under his breath. "Get your ass out here. We need to talk."