Hold onto your horses. There's a few pit stops we have to make before raiding the palace. We're starting the day after, the 9th of June, since something happened which was semi-interesting. The time that we were at the studio was probably near 1:45.

  But we're not in the studio to talk about the studio, where the magic behind the television happened. I don't care about television. We were there on a school trip. Bright and flashy facades sat in the narrow range of the cameras that were set at different angles, plenty I'm sure never coming into use. The cast chatted at the side while the workers hurried along to make last second preparations. I wasn't sure if that was normal practice or if it was a lazy studio.

  Though I was a bit too optimistic. When I was trying to think, I was pulled to and fro. Some businessman pushed past me to yell about us being noisy. Kawakami prodded me to join another group who were yanking cables. The absentminded cameraman who was staring towards the ceiling started barking orders about how much worse I was doing it. Then lunch, then go to the bathroom, all that time while I was sinking back into the world of abstractions. My partners who were meant to learn together with me—act as my handlers—shied away whenever I became present. It was a win-win for both sides: I got to plan out my next heist while the others didn't worry about being shanked.

  School ended early. Of course it did. Otherwise we'd spend a good amount of time traveling to and back from the television studio while reigning in the excited fervor of the class. Everybody treated it like a break. Plans to get ice cream and sudden invitations for movies came from each of the eager students while I went back to Leblanc.

  From my job was a gigantic book more fit for an A student's bookshelf or for a pretentious loser's bookshelf so he could point to it and pretend to have read it, neither of which are myself. The thing was thick while the pages were kept razor thin. Each drop of ink was money and they treated it as such. I had to actually lean in to read each of the puny words. My trusty notepad was ready next to me, half the pages filled. Multiple highlighters meaning different things were rolled against my chest. My phone was lit up to the red screen with a waiting 'Okumura' laid out.

  "Noun. Noun. Ah! Apple!"

  Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

  It was the theme of my day. Each page was scoured for every noun no matter how out there. Gambo! Guimpe! Syzygy! Mind numbing work, I tell you. My legs were kicked up on bed as I read down the whole list of words. When I needed to use the bathroom, I marked down on my notepad the last word and page that I was writing on. Red, yellow, green markers denoted certain words so the next time I did this process it'd be faster.

  Mind numbing work was also necessarily not very fast. Reading through each word sometimes would have me stuck as I was incredulous that they even existed. Sometimes my mind wandered, gaze drifting towards the open world as if I actually liked being outside. It's the psychosis caused by doing a criminally boring task. No matter how much I focused, there was always some part of my brain questioning if there couldn't be a better way. Find the guy. Stalk him. Look him up. Look up 'is Okumura evil?' on Google and be done with it. No, all of that was stupid. This was his cognition and I wasn't about to learn about it from having a single conversation about the guy, or listening to an annoying person talking about 'worker's rights abuses' like that's anything special when it seemed every big business did the same.

  It was during one of my brain meltdowns that I realized having so many people's names written down was incredibly shady and would raise questions if the wrong person read it at the wrong time. 'Wrong person' being a person who I wronged. Unfortunately, those were the most dangerous people. The student council president, Sojiro, the doctor, Maruki, everybody who had an interest in keeping the dangerous convict from lashing out were among that list. Coincidentally they were also very likely to accidentally read that list. I went back to reading the nouns but made a note to fix that problem later.

  There were creaks on the staircase that I barely registered.

  "Hey, I'm closing up shop. Can you—"

  I was laying flat on my bed with the dictionary unfolded out like it was a diary I was peeking into. My feet paddled in the air as my body craved some kind of stimulation after sitting still for the entire afternoon.

  "Tea house?" Bzzt. "Darn."

  There was a very soft, "huh?" that made me look over. Sojiro was looking dumbly at me. I was looking dumbly back at him. He looked down at the dictionary that I was reading from.

  "It's a new game," I quickly said. "I thought that it'd be good to improve my vocabulary, so yeah."

  Bzzt. My phone took exception.

  Sojiro just readjusted his glasses, probably looking for the right words. He was way too smooth to let any silence go on to awkward lengths. It'd be a great thing to ask him about if he didn't hate my guts.

  "Just make sure that the garbage is thrown out." His face screwed into some crossover between stern and curious. Then he left. It was the nicest interaction that we had since the nurse's office. His head bobbed with each lengthy step that he took. Age came for everybody.

  The next day I was at the studio again. This time we were in the audience as some news show was playing. A guy my age with hair nearly draped over his eyes was talking about his work. Quickly losing interest, my mind drifted to my computer and the first things that I'd do after regaining full access to the internet instead of relying on a crappy palm-sized screen. My hands automatically clapped alongside my classmates. I did a whoop at some point. When we were let out, I went home and continued the word search.

  School took my planning to the next level. Getting into the palace was inevitable. The problem now was adapting to the problems that would come in the future. Obviously my first one was making sure that my parole officer didn't come take me into a gray undisclosed location to ask uncomfortable questions. Making a cipher was dismissed as being too involved and somehow even more conspicuous than English. So was just writing them on my phone. If anything that seemed even worse. Would a detective searching my room first look under the bed for a notepad or my phone? Which one could get hacked? Exactly. Next was the tentative idea of making lists that implied they had a different function: Valentine's chocolates, people whose names were important, various ideas which would make the notebook be a whole lot less sinister. Better, but it'd still be weird having them unified in one place.

  Leapfrogging from that, I hid the names within longer pages of notes. It'd make finding exact information more annoying, but I thought that it was a pretty ingenious way to hide sinister ideas in plain sight. Instead of just having a bold, menacing 'Niijima Makoto', suddenly it was her name alongside what class she was in and stating that she was the president. Random names became people who I was interested in meeting again after chance meetings at a coffee shop, little notes telling me to look up their socials.

  I went to therapy again and ran into a student walking out of it. She had red hair and red eyes. I didn't have a great track record of people with red eyes. She blocked my way inside.

  "Um," she started, then glancing around at the hallway. It's not like we were alone. Everyone could watch as you walked into the therapist's office. They were eating the sight with large chomps, murmuring before I'd even walked in. She ducked and moved, letting me barely hear the, "please excuse me."

  That therapy session I spent arguing about the viability of even bothering to educate a criminal like myself. That night I continued going through the dictionary. Just when I was losing hope, one of the candidates was filled based on a whim: 'Okumura Foods Corporate HQ'. Seems kind of obvious thinking back on it. Pumping my fists, I treated myself to a walk outside and bought a drink. I drank it while the sun set.

  The next day I glared at the school president as she glared at me when we passed each other on the staircase. I had work after school. I spent a little more time wandering around—not stalling—and appreciated a tech store with the newest sets of headphones—not stalling—before walking home and getting back to reading the dictionary after dusting a little. Eventually you got tired of smelling dust mites. Also I was stalling. Only an hour was dedicated towards the word search before I rolled over and fell asleep. That morning the tips of the page numbers had drool on it. Maruki lied that I was making progress. Another night of no progress. I was starting to get discouraged.

  I bumped into one of the blondes of my class when I was going to therapy. She had American features, I found out after inspecting her for a long time. Looking from behind—not like that! I sat behind her! Looking at her from behind was also a good tell since she had a very thin frame in comparison to the voluminous hair that distorted her silhouette. I'm pretty sure even if she gained weight, those tiny bones of her shoulders would collapse under the extra pounds.

  She nodded to me when we bumped into each other. With a gigantic smile, she said, "he's really great, isn't he?"

  It took me some thinking before realizing that she was referring to Maruki. With a nod, I said, "he's okay."

  "He's really easy to talk to!"

  "I just argue with him," I admitted with a shrug.

  She laughed. I think that she thought I was joking. He said that he thinks partially the reason that I was negative was because I wasn't touching people. I wanted to tell him to fuck off. I never was touchy-feely in the first place, though I recognized that wouldn't help my argument. After school I went to the plant shop for another shift.

  At this point I'd started recognizing the usual customers and I guess that this is the best time to explain exactly how I see faces: I don't. It's not like there's a blur or a gigantic censor bar like I'm watching hentai. I see like you do. When I try to recognize faces, it doesn't come together. Only by breaking it down into specific parts am I able to see who they are. Familiar people have noses, chins, and blushes that I recognize down to their components. So when a young man walks towards the shop, I already know that trying to see him is hopeless and just focus on each individual feature. His gaunt form. Curious eyes which would focus on spots for an overly long time. A sharp chin. He stood in front of our petunias, giving them scrutiny that may have surpassed the attention given by the people who actually arranged them.

  Walking around him actually made me feel like I was some stealthy presence. He didn't move when I finally interrupted him.

  "Do you want some of those?" I asked.

  He reminded me of a bird with how his head would move in twitchy movements, like both eyes had to get a good view of me before deciding that I was friendly. For the area he was tall too. I was used to being the tallest person since my hometown had an ancestry of dwarves, so I wasn't wholly comfortable with having to stare up.

  "With such sparse materials, this tiny box has become more. Those who neighbor you use irritating lights and obnoxious colors hoping to catch the eye through mere brute force, as if every mind is led along a shepherd's cane smacking their rumps. I had come in the interest of finding new pieces of—" he interrupted himself with a scoff. "Pardon. Originally capturing an image of everyday life was in my interest. My sensei had said that it's in our normal process of living in which things of greater complexity unfold. Before I hadn't a clue what he was saying. I merely came here as a token effort before retreating back."

  I looked back at Hanasaki. She just shrugged helplessly, knowing we couldn't really kick him out just for rambling.

  The little interaction flew over his head. Within a single conversation I already knew that the guy was rather absent-minded, or maybe the complete opposite.

  "Yet I can see the wisdom in his words now! Through the arrangement of everyday living we can create greater complexes which subsume the original intent! With basic pottery arrangements that can be seen throughout the city and the shell which every other shop uses, this place has managed to create its own unique existence which surpasses all the others living in dull everyday. But—oh no! I can see it now! This transcendence itself recontextualizes the original, thus creating a paradox: what was once dull, bland, and everywhere has asserted itself once again as a unique existence because of other places making its components commonplace! Yes! This is what my sensei must have meant! The everyday recreates itself through the art, which is both outside and inside everyday life! How could I have not seen it before!?"

  "I dunno," I said.

  He pointed a pen straight in the center of my eyes. "Tell me: where is the person who has created this stand? I have not thought there to be artists amongst the laymen."

  At first I thought that he was about to devolve into another weird rant. Eventually his eyebrow raised, grounding him from the religious experience that had made him so rabid. Other people in the mall were avoiding our little corner of paradise.

  I was still on the clock so I didn't have an opinion on humoring him. Technically it could be said that pushing him out was important to move onto the next customer who wouldn't scare the normal people away, but that wasn't what the company thought. Treat every person as if they had money unless proven otherwise. According to company policy, I did not have any opinions on the customer's quirks. And according to my interpretation of company policy, it was fine stringing along this type of person.

  "The two of us," I said.

  His eyes widened in surprise, awe leaking into his voice. "Truly? I had thought that you were another commoner."

  "It isn't 1355, dude," I said in irritation.

  "Indeed it is not. There are lovers of art which can now hide amongst the masses. I merely did not think that it would be at a humble corporate flower shop. Though—ah! It was because of my presumption that I had fit anything corporate into this box that it couldn't be used for greater purposes. At last I truly see!" He approached our main exhibit where our premade bouquets were. Those are the ones I'd recommend if you needed one for your estranged sister's wedding. "Tell me, what was in mind when creating this? I assume that a good deal of thought went into this side attraction."

  He was referring to a repurposed basket. The thick white plastic was a long rectangle, what probably was once meant to hold heavier things now repurposed thanks to a small trellis that was sold for dirt cheap. With it laying flat on top, the tiny bouquets that we made could have their bottoms still dipped into water while letting their flowers be on full display. Bricks were stealthily stacked on each side so it couldn't be tipped over by careless customers.

  "I provided the basket while he got the trellis!" Hanasaki provided.

  Whatever Yusuke saw in there, it actually struck him silent as he had to take it from multiple angles. I didn't think that the basket was all that impressive. It was cheaper than buying a specialty planter which would've done the same thing yet was kind of ugly. Those instincts were engraved into my soul when living with my parents, the whole ethos of waste-not want-not. I don't want these instincts. No pleasure was afforded making the thing. Hanasaki had badgered me about how cool it was that we gave the basket a new life while I was dreading every praise that came. Of course that stupid thing had to haunt me by entrancing another person.

  He meandered over to our shelf of colorful pots. We tried our best matching the primary colors together. That plan fell through when one had turned rainbow under a surprisingly deft brush. Nevertheless, it stood out from the others and was consequently shoved into the back.

  "And what are these? The brushmanship is amateur in the worst way yet I still feel the warmth of intention glowing off them."

  "Entirely Kurusu-kun," Hanasaki quickly chimed in.

  I made sure to give her a quick glare before admitting it. "It's something that a store near me did back home so I thought, 'why not?' If it's a slow day, then we give the kids a chance to paint a pot. It's good PR, the pots look cute, and it makes the place look a little more pretty."

  "To incorporate the imagination of youth so crudely! Yet I can feel the inspiration that comes from this. It's incorporated within the general atmosphere that you're attempting to cultivate and it's working! How is it working?" He walked over to one of the shelves. "And this? This specific cream-colored beige bordering on white is so perfect that it must be deliberate. Distinct from the walls behind it, acting as a frame for the diversity of colors on top of it!"

  "Company provided," I said.

  "Yet still they're allowed to perfectly become one with this unique environment. Does that show the blending of the corporate mass-produced soul into an individual? Or is this a conquest of the mass blandness through the will of imagination?"

  "I'd say it's neither?" Unfortunately for him, I was used to arguing points that I didn't really believe. When he turned to me, I was ready with an excuse. "Isn't it more repurposing? It's just that the original thing has been given a new use. It's a white shelf, man, it doesn't have anything in it that's any less creative than another white shelf, or block of wood that's shelf-like. There's nothing 'corporate' in itself or whatever. I don't know."

  "Are you saying that nothing has an essence? How postmodernist of you, Kurusu-kun!" Hanasaki teased.

  "I don't know what that means."

  "I appreciate the different perspective, though I've never followed that sort of drivel. As humans, our own perspective is important, but we must never go beyond the universal truth that unites all of our hearts together. Else what sort of injustices could form without a singular truth?" He stepped back to get a full view of our stand, nodding to himself again. "Absolutely stunning. My name is Kitagawa Yusuke. I'm an art student at Kosei High School. Tell me, what are your names?"

  "Hanasaki Eiko and Kurusu Akira. Pleasure to meet you! I can't say that I've ever met a genuine artist!" she said.

  He puffed out a slight breath, almost a scoff even if he couldn't muster up the energy to put much emotion into it. "You probably haven't. True artists are uncommon. An artist is an intersection of insight and wonder, being able to see what's inside themselves and outside. Lacking one of these makes your art unable to truly bring forth another perspective worth knowing, and thus not a real artist."

  I looked back at our little stand. I was proud of it. A lot of work was put into it. Hanasaki and I used our free time shooting ideas back and forth about how it could be properly put together. Eventually we exchanged numbers with the idea to further pretty up the shop—oops! That's later. All you need to know is that our stand was certainly a looker because of the combined effort even at that point. But one of us did more work. I was just a hanger on even if I could be described as a valuable hanger on. 'Decorator'? Sure, if you're so inclined. I'd be willing to hear it. Going further started charting strange territory like 'artist'. I could at least say that art was something about expressing yourself. All the ideas that I used in that room were stolen from somewhere else and I'm pretty sure that's called plagiarism in the art world.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  Hm. That's ironic how I just said that.

  Anyways, I couldn't find a good answer for a statement as ludicrous as that. Even toning it down to 'budding artist' or 'artist adjacent' or 'you've got some skills, champ. Continue honing them and you'll be an artist when you grow up' would've been acceptable ways to show enthusiasm. Reconciling his awkward nature didn't help much in making swallowing that statement easier.

  And yes, I was freaking out! Artists were poor, lazy, and spiteful. I was all of those but at least I didn't claim that I was doing it for the betterment of humanity. The righteous swell of anger moved my lips before I could think.

  "Now hold on a minute," I said.

  Yusuke turned around with his arm flaring out. Both of us backed up so we didn't get hit. Those eyes previously sharpened onto our work had finally turned into blades. "No! I shall not waste even a single second! I must use this as inspiration before it leaves me. Blast it! If only I had a larger pad. This one must do."

  A little notepad a tiny bit bigger than mine was pulled out of his pocket. With the same instruments that I used, a living copy of the store was sucked into the paper within minutes. Each turn of his wrist somehow created entire pieces of furniture within a single stroke. The speed was unreal, especially with how accurate the drawing managed to be. Give me a year and I could've made a stick figure stand in front of a misshapen circle with a big smile. Tiny arrows were added at the end with addendums of the colors used.

  "Woah," Hanasaki said. That was the only thing she said. For the entire speed drawing, she couldn't stop herself from repeating it as if reminding him that there was an audience. "Woah."

  The final product ended up being so marked up that the near-picture perfect original was lying underneath a field of notes. He clicked his tongue.

  "It'll have to do." He tucked the notepad back into his pocket and bowed. "I would have to thank you for correcting my faulty vision. Here's hoping we can see each other outside of this place, as I'd love to hear your opinions when you're not working. I shall be off! Thank you, once again."

  With those last words he stalked off fast enough that I didn't have the heart to stop him. The 'artist' comment was not forgiven. I just decided to give him a piece of my mind the next time that I saw him.

  Let's stop playing around. Everyone here knows that I eventually got into the palace, and those who paid attention to the news would notice there's something wrong. It took two more nights after the artist's shenanigans before I finally got the final codeword. I don't remember it because I stayed awake late at night to finish it.

  Preparation began with excitement buzzing in my chest the whole time. Naivety didn't exactly make me think this way nor overconfidence. I fully recognized that the palace was hard, that I wasn't an expert, and school didn't give me a great outlet for letting out the nervous energy other than tapping my pen on the desk, transitioning over to the notepad when people were giving me strange looks as it rapid-fired like a machine gun; it was a realization of my goals being able to be fulfilled that made this place I hadn't even laid eyes on so tantalizing that all the teacher's words shed from my ears like a new molt. There was a question I was asked at some point. I got it wrong. Apparently it was an easy one because the class started giggling.

  Because of my careless spending I didn't have too much for more materials. Buying fireworks was unfortunately off the table. Snack bars full of protein and healthy junk were stuffed into my bag. Looking up Okumura's place on Google brought up some generic skyscraper. A few more bits and bobs were bought. Three days of preparation passed with the final one consisting of me trying to psyche myself up at the arcade. Going cold turkey on video games had helped, but I still felt the allure whenever seeing a flashing screen no matter how shitty the game was. It's why I hopped onto one of the machines with a beat 'em up (known to have gone extinct like the dodo because these games were made for people lower on the evolutionary scale) and got the attention of some little kid.

  The ballcap that the little shit wore read 'GET SMOKED' and reminded me of the worst time of my life. Thirteen years old, clothes like I just raided Akihabara with the taste of a thirteen year old, a permanently stuck out lip because one of my favorite characters did the same thing. I remember being so obsessed with media that my entire outfit had gamer references, getting stuck with a detention because I tried wearing my Dragon Ball Z hat to school and refused to take it off. Nowadays I'm only moderately obsessed with media. I contain myself by buying figurines to turn my room into a shrine.

  "What a stupid mistake," he said smarmily. A frustrated twitch of my fingers made my character punch way too early. "Come on, dude. Have you ever played a game before?"

  "Way more than you have, diaper boy," I said.

  He leaned over the counter—which he could barely do, by the way!

  "What, gacha games?"

  "I play them on the side," I admitted.

  He actually laughed at that. "Guess you're never going to get better. Only cripples and dads play those, you know."

  "So what? You only play on cabinets? Probably 'cause you're broke as shit, can't afford a console." I tried not showing any frustration when I lost another life. "Much less keep up with any gacha game. It's a good thing too. You're too busy twitching around on these rather than using your brain."

  "Really? The guy who plays gacha games is telling me that? You just shell out money whenever you have a problem. Sounds like low IQ behavior to me," he said.

  I felt ready to take on the world as I was leaning on a pillar out of sight from the cameras and passerby. It took me fourteen days to tackle my first palace. That was with all the obstacles that stood in my way, including my own lack of knowledge. Without a strict curfew and more experience behind me, I was confident that I could optimize my time. Nine days. Eight days. Somewhere under ten and I promised myself that I'd get a treat. Tapping a button on my phone had the world melt into sludge before reforming into an unrecognizable place.

  Ahead was the same building as before, yet I knew there had to be a difference. The people disappeared. I walked up to the front door since there didn't seem to be any resistance waiting beyond the sliding doors.

  This was by far the most dramatic change that I've had to deal with, worse than Mementos or Kamoshida's castle. The unfamiliar air turned leaden, making me hack as the ground beneath me nipped against my heels. From the metal ledge of the platform was a whole new world, our former one hanging above us in the sky. Triangular panes of glass constructed a gigantic dome around the saucers and blocks of glowing structures. The one I was inside had a holographic circular marquis—BIG BANG BURGER. Lights formed in the shape of circuit boards reacted as I stepped over them. Pillars miraculously upheld roofs that were greater than the floors that were erected to hold them.

  To talk about all this was to also miss the sense of scale. This dome was not nearly as large as Tokyo, though I could imagine that an entire district could be held inside of here. Even that description didn't capture it however. We were at the top of a tower, a tower which raced to a bottom that I couldn't look down. Behind was a door that led onto a normal Tokyo street. Dusk's light faded underneath the oppressive boot of this place's artificial lights of the circuit boards, glowing balls, holographic displays, an overwhelming cyan that lasted even in space; I'm pretty sure that was against physics but pit me and Okumura's knowledge about physics against each other and you'd be disappointed about the state of modern education.

  Most terrifying was seeing that the megastructure extended outside the dome. Gigantic buildings were only seen when they drifted over the Earth's silhouette. I couldn't tell if we were attached to the moon or merely free floating in the vast expanse. This is exactly the type of bucket list item that I had in mind: visiting space of my own volition.

  Standing at the window made a ticklish sensation from the arches of my foot, spread to my toes, then grew to the very tip of my scalp until it felt like I'd been shoved inside a massage machine. Ringing came. I knew it wasn't real because turning my head up made it go away. Whenever my head was slightly declined, there was a horrendous sound that drilled past my eardrums. Through it came a wriggling feeling, my hairs shuddering in place, little droplets of sweat half-formed across my skin. Suddenly the place felt a lot less cool. I walked forwards, hoping that the feeling would go away.

  A pillar popped out from the center of the room when I got near. There was a lever on it that wouldn't budge. Embarrassed, I tugged on the mechanism again. But doing anything more made me hesitate like a hare beneath a hydraulic press. An immense dread was swirling in my head that made it hard to logically think. Glancing around didn't bring forth any alternative entrances other than the most obvious. I was afraid that smashing the glass would attract the notice of whatever was giving me that feeling.

  Approaching came with multiple hikes in my walk. Rearing back the weapon made it stall two times. Finally raising the butt high, I jabbed the glass with my full weight.

  Nothing. Summoning a persona barely made the glass budge. Whatever the source of that feeling didn't come to investigate the joker getting repelled by a singular window. Embarrassed, I got on my hands and knees to sleuth for an alternative entrance, something I missed. Nada.

  Don't look at me like that. I don't want to hear it.

  In an hour I left the palace. Only a single room was explored. Normally this would sound as though I were defeated. The little funk that I'd been stuck in was cleared away when I actually entered a second palace. Walking away as the Metaverse disintegrated behind me brought me to a reality that I could change. It wasn't coincidence; I could find more targets. I wasn't useless and I wasn't doing anything wrong, at least in that department.

  Confidence was the greatest drug of all. I didn't even go back to Leblanc. It was stupid, but I found a single-person public bathroom that was relatively out of the way so I wouldn't steal it from a person. It was stupid. It could've blown open my cover if the right person walked past the metal door that separated me from the world. I didn't care. I'd bought the materials. I was in the mindset. My heart thumped like I was doing something taboo. It's embarrassing to say, but I was in that kind of mood. Maybe it's because I was squatting next to a smelly toilet after feeling the greatest wave of relief, a mental block that had been stressing me out after a month of being stressed out.

  Down went the names. Everything that I'd written. I'd forgotten where I hid some names in my lists. I read a bunch of fake names that I created to hide the real ones, no longer cowed by the phone beeping negatives back at me.

  Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Blocks of time passed. My heart thumped louder when I heard footsteps outside. Short breaths kissed the phone's microphone. I don't even remember where I heard the name. I don't remember most of the names. It could've been from the news or hearing it in a passing conversation. It could've been from the fansite. It could've been from a customer complaining. Heck, it could've been from the homeless that I talk to. It could've been written in as a fake name.

  "Madarame Ichiryusai," I repeated. I forgot where I even got the name. But there he was, broken into my phone and floating somewhere out in the world.

  Running back home took a little bit of time. For some reason I had the idea that this second go would let me leap straight into the palace.

  Focusing made entire pages go past. The app doesn't punish you for guessing. I pushed with a steady voice. Using my brain a little had done most of the legwork. First was Google sleuthing, as it was most likely that a recognizable place that the person owned was the area where their distortion was placed. Guessing a few things that I saw eventually had me ping the right word: shack. Looking up Madarame's place on Google brought up some tiny shack that looked plopped straight from Africa into the center of the city—or am I being too cynical? I actually don't know anything about Africa. Either way, I doubted that it was secure and expected that sleeping there at night either had you haunted or sharing the bed with rats, and wasn't surprised that it had turned into a palace.

  From there the rest of the words came slowly. Skipping niche words brought me to the real meat easier, and the highlighter streamlined the process. Word after word, swathes of the dictionary destroyed in red, and I had all the categories filled out at 3 o' clock. I actually crossed it in the singular night and rolled over to bed satisfied, then rolling for an indeterminate time as I thought about tomorrow: I had control. With that control I stalled. There was no reason to input only one name a night other than stalling. Cowardice? Something else? The question made me lose even more sleep than I needed to.

  My tryst was still pulsing in my head. Throughout the whole day I was floating. Back home there was my Phantom Thief equipment in a bag. I bought a drink and drank it. It felt like I was being stared at. Everyone was staring at me because I was intending to do something illegal. At school I spent most of my free time staring out the window like an edgy, melancholic, normal—this trope really was used too much, this was literally the first window seat I've had in my entire life—protagonist. There was another session of therapy that day. I was planning on gliding by as I usually did.

  Walking to the room nearly had our noses bump against the other. Red eyes raised my hackles and descended them when I registered the red hair. Different person. No need to be prepared for another screaming match, and Miss Student Council President was lucky that since leaving therapy would've given me the best insults ever. As it were, I had enough process of elimination to assume this was the same girl who blocked the door a week ago. And she did it again. Freezing up like a prey animal didn't endear me. It didn't piss me off either. Mild annoyance described best that the mandatory therapy session was being extended when I had a palace to rob.

  Eventually it became too annoying for me to continue waiting.

  "Can you move?" I asked, attempting to moderate my tone.

  But people would take your tone however they wanted. The forced nicety was twisted into a stone cold wish to gut her.

  "Yes!" she squeaked out, shuffling with the same breath.

  Maruki was trying harder to get me to talk during that session. Either his masters were yanking on his leash or he felt a sudden tug on his conscience. It was annoying me more than normal. I didn't want to be pushed. I wanted to be free to raid a palace.

  "Has your mood been imbalanced recently?"

  Of course it has. Say that my injuries were entirely self-inflicted and mundane. Cuts still hurt. Burns still hurt. Fluctuating was normal. Say that I thought a little too much about how other people thought about me. I think that my situation was cyanide for a socialite.

  But I wasn't imbalanced. On the contrary, I was too restrained since the reaper incident. I'd been moderately unhappy then explosively motivated. I don't think there was a way to explain it without making me sound bipolar. I was under no obligation to actually be therapized either.

  "Not really," I said.

  He stared at me for a while. I think that there was a gamble behind his eyes, thinking of how much he should bring up. The boldness lost. Any hardness that was preparing for my reaction got smothered by his genuine nature. He slowly shuffled his butt out of the chair so that he could lean forwards.

  "Here's the thing, Kurusu-kun: I think that you have a lot to yourself. I know what you're going through. I can't say that I really understand it, but I know what's happening. It doesn't look good. Nobody seems to be in your corner. The only person who's trying to help is being paid to do it. I wouldn't want to think ill of my colleagues, but I'd assume that they're not being as supportive as they could be." He did a throaty cough into his fist. I thought that was too far also. "There seems to be nowhere that you can turn to at the moment. I'm not trying to be negative as much as trying to be fair: this is how you see the world, is it not?"

  "Somewhat," I admitted.

  "And it's a fair point. I've said that you should have friends your age who are on the right path, yet none of those people are willing to give you a chance. Since you've never talked about your situation at home, I've assumed that it isn't as ideal as you would've liked it to be. From your perspective, there's no out. I'm here to say that there is one: the end of your probation. This seems to be the end of the world, and it's not an envious position, but there's still ways for you to mitigate the effects until your life can return to normal. Everything requires extra work on your end."

  "Like what?" I asked, curious.

  "Going to inter-school social groups to have friends that wouldn't know of your reputation over here in Shujin; there's plenty that I know of and would be happy to tell if you're curious. You can take up hobbies that are a little more isolated: working out wouldn't be the worst idea now that you're growing older. Spend your money! Study a little more so you can get into a good university. Your grades were fine. There's definite room for improvement. Staying as you are now…" he stalled once again, battling inside himself. "You can't continue pushing the school's judgement. The school is rightfully vigilant because of Kamoshida. There's a close eye on you. Continue pushing and they'll push back eventually. You've taken more days off than most students do their entire school life. Something needs to change, Kurusu-kun. I'm willing to help, but you need to let me help you. We can work something out together. What do you like doing?"

  I played along without listening. Because everyone was wrong. Sojiro, Maruki, Igor, they're all wrong. I didn't need to change into this ideal Akira that they're envisioning. They want a good boy who'd greet people with blushing cheeks and an ego that couldn't be bruised. I've met that kind of person before, and they're great. They're not me. I'm the one who had two palaces lined up to have their treasure stolen. That isn't normal, and yet it's extraordinary. That's how I felt.

  Leaving school made me feel nostalgic for some reason. I turned around and stared at its front where the confrontation with Kamoshida had happened once. It was my greatest moment. I was going to recreate my greatest moment. First with Madarame. Then I'd figure out Okumura's whole deal. I'd become somebody. Not one that these people wanted to force me into.

  I left, Google Maps navigating me towards the next palace.