Chapter Text
May 1st, 2016
The TV droned on in the background of Café Leblanc, filling the small, empty, and dimly lit coffee shop with the sounds of the nightly news playing. It was the same as ever; the stories oscillated between the topics of local school teacher Suguru Kamoshida’s criminal investigation, and the upcoming art exhibit of the world famous Ichiryusai Madarame. The owner of the quaint café, a middle-aged man known to the locals as Sojiro Sakura, paid little mind to it—barring the fact that he was a guardian to a student of that shady teacher, the news didn’t involve him. That alone made it easy enough for him to carry on ignoring the details, carefully counting out his register’s till.
“...investigation continues. Kamoshida has confessed to his crimes, though investigators are looking into the possibility that he was coerced. Prior to his confession, a series of ‘calling cards’ by a rogue group calling themselves the ‘Phantom Thieves of Hearts’ were placed within Shujin Academy. No further information is available at this time. When asked about the stripping of his gold medals, the IOC stated that they were awaiting the results of the investigation and would make their decision at a later date. After the break—”
At the other end of the counter, the faintest smirk crossed the lips of the boy that Sojiro was guardian to. Akira Kurusu, a second year student at Shujin Academy, and a boy who was far more than seemed. As far as appearances went, most wouldn’t look twice at him. Fairly tall and lanky, his fair frizzy and unkempt and with glasses that almost seemed a little too big for his face, he came off as unassuming. Even most who spoke to him would say he was fairly mild-mannered in most situations, save for the occasional smartass remark or a politeness that seemed almost mocking if he was being patronized. It was an attitude that betrayed the reputation he had, one of a criminal, on probation for assault and sent to live in Tokyo from his hometown after being expelled from his school. There was a reason there was more than met the eye, though. While it was undeniable that Akira certainly was those things, it was not all of who he was, those things were certainly part of him, and Akira himself was content to let that be what Sojiro saw for the time being.
“You really gotta wonder what made him confess,” Sojiro mused as he closed the cash drawer. He hadn’t been much for conversation with Akira over the three weeks that he’d been living there, but it was easy for him to admit that the kid was behaving, and even doing his part to help around Leblanc. Akira had taken an interest in learning how to brew the coffee and prepare the meals served, so the least he could do was make a little conversation to pass the time until he closed up shop. “But I guess a guy like that is just one less reason for you to go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
The words had a bit of bite to them; Sojiro certainly hadn’t warmed up to Akira completely by any stretch. The kid still had a criminal record, he’d still caused a little trouble since becoming his charge, and it was still a bit of a hassle to deal with, even if ultimately, he wanted to see Akira do well. Even still, those harsh words made Akira bristle slightly, smirk clearing off his face and gaze shifting back to the sink where he’d been washing dishes.
“Yeah,” was all Akira spoke in response; if he said too much, he might give something away that he shouldn’t. The topic, while something pleasing to Akira for the sake of his own involvement, was better left unspoken. Sojiro—Akira still couldn’t trust him despite being his guardian, even if he was warming up slowly. It was better if Sojiro thought his involvement was minimal…
Instead of him knowing that Akira was one of those Phantom Thieves of Hearts, instead of him knowing that he is the direct cause of Kamoshida’s confession; it was better this way. His methods were unconventional and unexplainable to most, anyway; but still, there was a satisfaction to knowing he helped, despite Sojiro’s biting way of saying that Akira’s nose didn’t belong in business like that. It was hard to stay uninvolved when he knew he could do something—especially when others were getting hurt and would have continued to be hurt if he hadn’t done what he could.
“Anyway,” Sojiro continued on with a tired sigh. He had no idea what Akira was thinking; frankly, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know. “I’m gonna run out for some smokes. Doubt anyone will come in, but don’t go making trouble if we do get any customers.”
Akira offered a sound of affirmation, gaze hardened on the dishes he was drying. As much as he was the sort to let things roll off his back—he often had to, in order to get by in his situation—to say it didn’t get under his skin sometimes when Sojiro spoke to him that way would have been a lie. But rather than let that be seen, he utilized the fact that his back was turned. He didn’t have to hide anything that way, and when he did, it wouldn’t be seen. In any case, that affirmation had been enough for Sojiro to continue on his way. With little fanfare, he walked out from behind the counter and toward the door, leaving the café to Akira for those few minutes. Much like Sojiro thought, Akira believed too, that nobody would show up. It was close to closing time, and Leblanc was hardly ever busy anyway.
A minute passed. And then another. The last of the dishes were put away, and save for that still droning TV noise, Leblanc was quiet. Quiet enough that the sound of someone pushing the door open and the bells chiming was a bit jarring, in fact. Akira stood a bit straighter, and before even casting his full attention at who had entered the café, he spoke out a greeting on automatic. “Welcome,” calm and polite, he certainly gave off the mild-mannered appearance of a part-time employee. “Sit anywhere you’d like.”
“Thanks!” Though not entirely necessary, the first voice spoke up, and that was when Akira was able to take his first opportunity to look at these late shift customers. The voice came from a girl, seemingly close to him in age, energetic in nature. Her hair was neatly styled, clothes fashionable enough to rival Ann’s sense of style—at least, Akira thought so. With the girl was a boy, who seemed to be much quieter; he only nodded his head, and at first glance, didn’t seem too remarkable otherwise. His hair covered much of his face, hands shoved in his pockets with posture that slouched in a way that make Akira almost envious; he often stood the same, but to seem as unassuming as this guy actually was.
The two took a seat, and Akira kept his distance for a moment to give them the time they needed to settle in. As they did so, their conversation from outside continued, devoid of any context, and though Akira hadn’t really intended on eavesdropping, Leblanc was quiet enough that it was hard to help.
“Yeah, Mitsuru said she was going to look into it. The readings were off the charts, but it’s not like before. She’s having a hard time pinpointing it,” Whatever it was, it seemed like it was important to the two of them.
The boy nodded his head, sitting back in his seat. “She’ll get it.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. She probably wouldn’t have said anything if she didn’t have some leads.”
“Mm,” his response was minimal, but that seemed to be enough to satisfy the girl on that line of conversation.
“Sooo… more importantly!” She began to change the subject, cheer almost forced out of her mouth. Akira’s gaze fixed on her for a moment; he couldn’t be sure when it was a stranger, but it seemed like the shift in topic wasn’t one she was terribly comfortable with, despite pressing on. “Have you seen her since you’ve been back?”
There was a silence that followed that question. Long, awkward, somewhat tense—enough so that Akira briefly considered intervening to take their orders. Before he could do so, though, the boy seemed to have a response to that question.
“No,” he spoke so simply, words coming out with a gentle shake of his head. For only a fraction of a second, an equally gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “She’s living the way she wants to now. She said she wanted to find her little sister… so I know she’s doing okay.”
The response gave Akira pause. He had no idea what or who this guy was talking about. The topic of their conversation didn’t seem to have any relevance to him or his work as a Phantom Thief, and therefore not something he really needed to involve himself in. It didn’t appear, either, that they’d have anything to offer, nothing worth pursuing a Confidant for, at least. But there was a strange tug at his subconscious, and at his heart. Something that made him want to draw closer—to both of them, but especially to this unassuming, mild-mannered young man that spoke so fondly of a girl seeking out her sister.
“Well, just don’t go pining forever, Minato,” the girl responded with a bit of a long-suffering sigh. It was easy to detect the faintest sense of jealousy—or perhaps just mild envy—from her tone, but from the looks of it, she wasn’t actually too bothered. It certainly begged the question of what their relationship was, but that wasn’t Akira’s business in the least. He wasn’t given much time to contemplate these things though, as the girl waved him over to take their order. Rather than shout from across the counter, he made his way closer, offering a pleasant enough smile.
“What can I get for the two of you?”
“Just a coffee for me, house blend is fine,” the girl offered up simply; Akira nodded as his gaze shifted over to the boy, one he now knew went by the name Minato.
“The same,” he started, but his own gaze shifted to the board over the counter. “Curry, two.”
“Okay. Two house blends and one curry.”
Minato shook his head as he held up two fingers on each hand for Akira. “Two curry. Two house blends and two curry.”
“Ah…” Akira hadn’t realized what Minato meant, presumably because most didn’t order two plates of curry for themselves. He wasn’t even sure he could imagine anyone that could eat that much in one sitting, if he was truthful with himself—though he supposed he didn’t really know very many people to begin with, and the world has all types. “Two coffees and two orders of curry, then.”
With a nod of affirmation, Akira made his way back behind the counter to prepare everything. It wasn’t a difficult task, what with the coffee already brewing and the curry still being kept over the stove. As he scooped out rice onto the plate from the rice cooker, the door opened once again—though this time, it was just Sojiro returning from his errand. A brow arched from the café’s owner in surprise as he met with Akira behind the counter, and he emitted a quiet sigh.
“I can lock up when they leave,” Akira offered quietly. He knew that Sojiro wasn’t very well likely going to trust him with that sort of task, but it couldn’t hurt to try, right? The old man might have given him an earful nearly every time they spoke, but it wasn’t like Akira was unaware, either, that he had a reason for closing up shop at the time they did. He may not have known what it was specifically, but it was prompt enough on most days that it was hard to believe he was just some bachelor with a date for every night of the week.
Sojiro, though, just waved a hand. “I’ll change the sign to closed on my way out. Keep it locked, just let them out when they’re done.”
This time, it was Akira who let a brow raise; the fact that Sojiro was going to let him do that at all was clearly a shock. It was almost as if to meet some sort of expectation set by that expression that Sojiro haphazardly added, “But if even one single yen is missing from that till, don’t think I won’t kick your ass right out.”
“I know,” Akira offered a nod before he shifted to grab a ladle and plate the rest of the curry.
“I’m off, then. See you in the morning.”
With that, Sojiro took his leave for the night, and Akira could feel a mix of both pride for the minimal amount of trust Sojiro was putting in him after only three weeks of living in Leblanc’s musty attic, and the pressure of making sure he could handle everything properly so he didn’t wind up a homeless student come morning.
“So, that your dad or something?” The sound of the girl’s voice rang out as Akira placed down the curry-filled plates, long enough so that he could bring over the now-poured cups of steaming hot coffee to the table.
“Or something,” Akira replied with a weak half-smile and no intention of further explaining the circumstances. “Take your time, though. I’m not in any rush.”
He had no reason to rush, after all. It was a Sunday night and he had no other plans but to read a book for class and then head upstairs to bed. There was nowhere else to be, nowhere else to really even go , so there was no use in fussing, as far as he was concerned.
“We won’t take long,” Minato spoke up, almost as if to interject for the girl—not that he thought she’d really take too much of this guy’s time, but simply because it was his nature to interject when the time seemed to call for it. “You probably want to get home, too.”
“It’s okay, really,” Akira insisted, and that prompted the girl to nudge Minato’s foot with her own, as if to say ‘stop worrying about everyone else so much for a change,’ even though she was well aware that it wasn’t in Minato’s nature to ignore someone who needed that kind of help. But one the cups of coffee were placed down, and he was able to follow up with the plates (both neatly placed in front of Minato, of course), he held a hand up to wave it off. “I have a room upstairs, so you aren’t holding me up from anything. Enjoy.”
It wasn’t something he wanted to discuss—or anything up for discussion, really. To Akira, it was hardly a secret at all that he was living in Leblanc’s attic; the residents of Yongen-Jaya were all familiar with that fact, as were his fellow friends in the Phantom Thieves. Likely, other students at his school were more than aware at this point too. It was what it was, as far as he was concerned. They were only customers, and even if they were close in age, they were still strangers, as well. He didn’t see any need to rush them out, but he also saw no need to further explain the situation. And that, in itself, was something Minato immediately found a bit jarring.
Minato was the sort of person who was used to others opening up to him, but Akira said something alarming so suddenly that his eyes remained just a bit widened in surprise on Akira’s form as he walked back behind the counter to continue his cleanup routine. It wasn’t unheard of for store owners to having a living space in their place of business; it saved on costs and was something that happened often traditionally. Akira’s implication, though, had been something else. He wasn’t the owner’s son, and it didn’t seem that man lived in the café, either. Strange. It was strange enough that Minato’s distraction kept him from eating right away, which only prompted the girl to point it out.
“Earth to Minato, those two plates of curry aren’t going to eat themselves, you know.”
“Right. Let’s eat,” Or, Minato supposed, he would start eating. The girl sipped at her coffee, though after a moment, he chose to speak up again, this time to Akira. “It’s good. Both of them. They go well together.”
Akira couldn’t deny that, not even if he wanted to. He wasn’t sure what it was about the combination, but they complemented one another in a way that was hard for him to put into words. It seemed to be the same with just about anyone who came into Leblanc for the first time, too, and that made Minato no exception.
“I can’t take any credit for that. All the Boss’ handiwork,” He offered with a shrug. With little else to do or say, Akira flipped the TV station from the still-airing news segments to some discussion panel show, though it seemed to be much of the same, talking about Japan’s political forecast and the current state of affairs within the Diet. Nothing particularly thrilling, though, not to Akira. It served duty as background noise while he cleans, while the two patrons spoke to one another. On the whole, it was uneventful. The bits of conversation Akira picked up on didn’t seem to be of any interest to him; discussions of school assignments and part-time jobs, unfamiliar names of friends the two share. Here and there, his ears would perk, and even once he was done with the majority of the cleanup and left with nothing but a book to page through in the meanwhile, he would keep his gaze steady but indirect.
It couldn’t have been more than a half hour before the two moved to stand, each reaching for their wallets to split the cost of the bill for what they ordered.
“I’ll be right there, Yukari,” Minato said to the girl; Akira took quiet note that her name was Yukari, after all that talking, he hadn’t picked up on that at all. Minato, for his part, motioned his head towards the door near the back of the café that read ‘Toilet,’ wordlessly expressing his intent.
“Uh, right. I’ll just meet you outside,” She replied with an awkward laugh. Even having dormed in the same building for years now, she really had no interest in bathroom talk with any of her comrades, nor did Yukari want to hang around awkwardly with the quiet, frizzy-haired kid. He didn’t have to know her to be able to feel a slight, gentle sort of judgment coming from her, one that wasn’t unfamiliar to him thanks to his reputation. That, at the very least, was much easier to let roll off of his back than some of the more disparaging comments he’d caught whispers of in the last few weeks; he supposed it wasn’t really very strange to judge someone based on appearance alone, even if it wasn’t the most ideal situation.
Once she had made her way outside, well out of earshot and not really in Akira’s line of sight, he realized Minato hadn’t made any moves at all toward the back of the café. No, it was the opposite, really—Minato was standing on the other side of the counter, money in hand to give to Akira. With a nod, Akira politely took the money and began to count it out so he could put it into the till. 2300 yen should have been more than enough to cover the costs of their order, but when he counted—and then a second time—there was 3000 there.
“Ah. I’ll get your change,” Akira offered; the easiest assumption to make was that perhaps he didn’t want to inconvenience Yukari when he didn’t have exact change, but Minato only shook his head in refusal.
“Everything was delicious. And we kept you here late.”
A tip? Was that what it was supposed to be? Akira offered Minato a bemused expression, as if to say that he couldn’t even begin to process that offer. “I couldn’t—”
Couldn’t take it, of course. Akira was vaguely aware that there were places in the world that had some sort of tipping culture, Japan certainly wasn't’ one of them. It seemed wrong to take money from people that was undeserved—and besides, he wasn’t hurting that badly for cash, anyway. He’d gotten a good haul from his escapades as a Phantom Thief… which he supposed was a bit morally gray in its own right as well. Hm.
“It’s okay,” Minato said quietly; it would have sounded like he was insisting if not for the fact that his tone was little more than gentle. He wasn’t about to reveal his reasons, but he couldn’t help himself. Quaint as Café Leblanc was, there was something about this guy that Minato felt like he needed to do a little extra helping for. Much like Akira had felt a draw, a pull—Minato could sense it, too. And though he wasn’t nearly as clueless as Akira was as to why, he knew he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint details or even confirm something as big as he was thinking without a little effort. The feeling and sense that he got, was that it would be in his best interest to not let it go. “Thank for the food.”
With that, Minato shoved his hands into his pockets as he turned a bit on his heels and headed toward the door. He gave Akira no quarter to refuse, only prompting a mildly frazzled “Come again soon,” from him. He took his leave, and after a moment, Akira followed behind to lock the front door and shut the lights that weren’t necessary for cleanup. He’d have to make change in the register first to separate the money that wouldn’t add up when Sojiro checked in the morning, and even as he moved through Leblanc to clean up the remaining mess, he found his hand slipping into his pocket more than once in order to feel the money gifted to him by such a strange (but kind) patron.
“Minato, huh…” Akira mused thoughtfully; what kind of person was he really? Why—and what was causing him to feel like he should even think twice about it?
He wasn’t sure. He was stumped, in all honesty. As he picked up the plates, he looked to the door again; he had his doubts a customer like that would even show up again. Leblanc didn’t get very many new customers, after all. Most who came in were regulars, those who lived in or near those small back alleys of Yongen-Jaya, and Akira could easily tell that they weren’t people who lived in the small neighborhood. He supposed, if nothing else, it had made the night a little less dull, though.
On the other side of the door, once Minato had exited, was Yukari, still waiting. It was with little fanfare that she motioned down the alley that would lead them directly to the subway station, though she managed another one of those sighs that seemed to drip with exasperation.
“Don’t tell me you’re picking up another one of these lost puppy charity cases to try and fix,” Her words came out with almost a bit of a whine. It was just like Minato, after all. How many times had he done this? Seen someone who looked like they needed help, or needed company, and wormed his way into their lives and hearts until they didn’t need his help anymore. And then they’d move on, and the cycle would start anew.
Minato didn’t seem to agree, though. He was aware of his own habits and tendencies—but this wasn’t that at all. “It’s not like that. He’s different.”
Yukari’s brow arched almost incredulously at that response. “Don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for the scraggly café kid.”
“No,” Minato’s response was flat, yet also sharp, giving her a dead-eyed stare that seemed to pierce through the darkness of the alley from his light eyes. “I’m not sure yet about something else. But I think he’s a little more like us than he lets on.”
It was a quiet perception, one that came from years of Persona-wielding, one that came from leading a team of them, of opposing them, of just innately being able to sense it.
“Wait, you don’t mean—”
Minato nodded his head. “It’s just a hunch. If he needs help, it might be in a way that we can help.”
...And in a way that could help them solve a few mysteries that their own group had been stumped to figure out. Yukari hummed quietly; it was just like Minato to take matters into his own hands that way, but it wasn’t as if she couldn’t sense quiet truth behind it. Maybe that kid did have something to aid their cause, but Minato was probably more interested in helping him grow as a Persona-user, because if there was one in their midst that hadn’t been made aware to the Shadow Operatives by now, he was likely inexperienced enough.
“All right then, Leader. I’ll leave that one to you, but don’t leave Mitsuru in the dark for too long. I’m not taking heat for keeping something like this from her.”
“I know, I know,” Minato said with a sigh, gesturing for Yukari to line up ahead of him as they waited for the oncoming train’s arrival. Even after all this time, he wouldn’t dare intentionally do anything to anger her, especially not about business. For now, though? He supposed the best course of action was to just get back home and sleep on it. He stifled a yawn as the train doors opened; he’d have to come back to Café Leblanc in a few days to follow up on his own time once he made a better plan.