...05/10/2009 Monday; Night...
In the command room, the silence was absolute.
Not the comfortable silence of ordinary nights in the dorm, when everyone was too tired to talk and just shared the same space in peace.
It was the silence of those who hear something too heavy to be interrupted. Something that needed to be said—and that, once said, could not be unheard.
Akihiko stood before the main computer, his arms crossed, his voice steady. He had told them everything. From the beginning.
He had told them about the first days of S.E.E.S., when it was just him, Mitsuru, and Shinjiro—three teenagers armed with Personas and too much courage for their own good.
He had told them about the night Castor, Shinjiro's Persona, went into a frenzy. The loss of control. The accident. The woman who died without Shinjiro being able to do anything.
Ken's mother.
After the accident, Shinjiro left S.E.E.S and vanished into the shadows of his own guilt, taking suppressors that killed him slowly because he believed he deserved it.
Until two years later, in the present day, Hiro convinced him to come back.
And then Ken joined S.E.E.S. And he must have recognized Castor during the fight against the Hermit Arcana.
The rest... the rest was the alley. The shot. The blood. And a twelve-year-old boy who wanted revenge, but didn't have the courage to face the one he had sworn to kill.
The door opened.
Mitsuru entered first, her posture upright, her face composed. But everyone's eyes went straight to the figure behind her.
Hiro looked like a war survivor. The dark circles under his eyes were two purple bruises. His skin, pale as wax. His shoulders, slumped. But he was standing.
Koromaru let out a sharp bark the moment he saw Hiro. His paws shot across the floor of the command room, his nails scratching the surface, until he reached Hiro's leg.
He began jumping nonstop, as if he wanted to climb up his body until he reached his face. His tail wagged in the air at a speed that didn't match the heavy atmosphere of the room.
Hiro managed a smile. Small. Fragile.
He crouched down and scooped Koromaru into his arms. The dog immediately tried to lick his chin. "It's okay, boy. No need to be like that."
Yukari stepped forward. Worry was stamped across every feature of her face. "Hiro... are you okay?"
Hiro received a lick right in the middle of his face and closed his eyes for an instant, surprised. Koromaru didn't care.
"I wouldn't say okay... but I'll manage." He gently pushed the dog's snout away, scratching behind his ear. "Easy, Koromaru... I'm not that bad."
Mitsuru smiled. It was an almost imperceptible smile—a slight lift at the corners of her lips that no one noticed, except perhaps Akihiko.
Seeing Koromaru licking Hiro's face and pulling a smile out of him, however small, was a relief she hadn't known she needed.
Junpei scratched his chin, his face scrunched up in a confusion he was trying to organize. The gears in his head were still turning. "So... Amada tried to kill Aragaki-senpai over something that wasn't his fault?"
Akihiko nodded. The gesture was heavy. "Yes..." He paused. "I thought Ken didn't remember that incident because of the Dark Hour. But it seems he was already immune to its effects."
Akihiko's words hung in the air like dense smoke, and one by one, the members of S.E.E.S. exchanged glances.
Yukari brought her hand to her lips. Junpei looked away to the floor, his fists clenching at his sides. Fuuka clasped her hands over her chest, her fingers intertwining tightly.
Aigis remained motionless, but her blue eyes flickered—a silent processing that none of them could hear.
None of them had any idea.
Ken had been carrying that weight in his chest for two years. Two years waking up to the face of a mother who would never come back.
Two years recognizing Shinjiro's Persona in every battle. He was just a child. He didn't deserve that. Even if he had never joined S.E.E.S, even if he had never held an Evoker, the pain would already be there. Rooted. Silent.
Hiro sighed deeply. The sound broke the silence like a crack. He crouched down and set Koromaru on the floor.
The dog cast one last look at Hiro, before trotting over to the sofa, jumping onto Minato's lap, and curling up into a ball of fur.
"Even though Shinjiro didn't do anything wrong..." Hiro's voice was serious. Tired, but lucid. "...he blamed himself for the suffering he caused Ken. And even so, he protected him."
Aigis lowered her head. Her metallic fingers closed over her knees. "He gave his life for Amada-san..." Her voice came out lower than usual. "...he didn't care what happened to him."
Minato stroked Koromaru's head with slow, almost automatic movements. His eyes, however, were fixed on Mitsuru. "What do we do, Kirijo?"
Mitsuru took a deep breath and turned toward the computer screen. The bluish light of the monitor illuminated her face, highlighting the dark circles she disguised well during the day, but which revealed themselves at night.
Data. Reports. Shinjiro's autopsy. Graphs that showed nothing beyond what they already knew.
She thought. She thought about scouring the alley again. About interrogating Ken—no, Ken wouldn't talk.
She thought about tracking down the murderer with the Kirijo Group's resources. But the bullets were of an unknown caliber.
The security cameras in the neighborhood showed nothing—they were off during the Dark Hour, like everything else.
"I..." Mitsuru turned to the group. Her eyes, normally so certain, were indecisive. Her right hand rose to her forehead and massaged her temples. "...I don't know."
"What do you mean?" Junpei stepped forward, his face incredulous. It wasn't an accusation—it was desperation disguised as a question.
Mitsuru sighed. "My main suspect was Noir. But the caliber of the weapon was different from an ordinary pistol." She let her hand drop. "We don't have enough information. Ken doesn't want to talk. And the crime scene... was during the Dark Hour."
Akihiko, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looked up at the ceiling for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was strangely calm.
"All we can do... is wait for the next full moon. And kill the last Shadow Arcana."
Hiro looked away from Akihiko and lowered his head, his eyes roaming the floor as if searching for something that wasn't there.
"You're right... that's the best thing to do." His voice carried a restrained bitterness.
Fuuka pressed her hands against her chest. Her eyes went from Hiro to the others, uncertain. "But... isn't it a risk to have this murderer on the loose out there?"
Yukari touched Fuuka's arm lightly, drawing her attention. When Fuuka looked at her, Yukari shook her head—not with disdain, but with weary understanding.
"But he's right. We have to end the Dark Hour." She paused, her voice hardening. "And that guy isn't getting into the dorm."
Mitsuru straightened her posture. Her tone was serious. "I told my father about what happened. He said he'll post guards outside the dorm. And every Dark Hour, Giyu will be watching over us." Her eyes swept over the group. "We can't take any risks."
Hiro looked back at Akihiko. The two exchanged a quick glance—a silent understanding between veterans. "Until Ken tells us what really happened... there's nothing we can do."
The silence that followed was different from the previous ones. It wasn't the silence of shock, nor of sadness.
It was the silence of those processing. Of those storing information in mental drawers and locking them, because opening them now would be too much.
Minato gave Koromaru two pats on the head. The dog got the message: he jumped from the sofa to the floor with a small thud, his nails clicking on the surface. Minato stood up right after.
"Then it's best if we rest and wait for Amada to talk." He looked around, calm as always. But there was a weariness in his eyes that no one commented on. "Is there anything else to say?"
Mitsuru shook her head. "No. What Akihiko said was everything you needed to know."
Junpei was already turning toward the door. His hand scratched the back of his neck, his shoulders slumped. "Then I'm going to my room. My head is actually hurting from so much stuff to think about."
One by one, they left.
Yukari touched Mitsuru's shoulder lightly as she passed. Fuuka cast one last worried look at Hiro before following down the hallway.
Akihiko left in silence, his hands in his pockets. Aigis was the last, her steps sounding until they disappeared down the stairs.
And then only two remained.
The hum of the computer filled the room. The screens still displayed the autopsy data—cold, clinical, insufficient. Hiro stood still, his hands in his pockets, looking at Mitsuru. She had her back to him, her hair covering part of her face.
Something inside him wanted to speak. Wanted to thank her for coming to his room. Wanted to...
Mitsuru moved. Without looking at him, she walked around the couch and stopped in front of the computer. Her voice came out calm—too calm.
"You can go. I'm going to send a message to my father."
Hiro watched her for a long moment. He saw the line of her shoulders, rigid. He saw her fingers resting on the keyboard, motionless. He saw everything she wasn't saying.
He nodded. And left.
When the door closed, Mitsuru let out the breath she had been holding.
She braced herself on the table with both hands. Her arms trembled—lightly at first, then with more intensity, as if her muscles were finally allowing themselves to give way.
A tear fell. Lonely. Warm. It dripped onto the metallic surface of the table, right beside the keyboard.
She bit her lip. Hard. Until it hurt.
"Damn it..."
TO BE CONTINUED...