It's the 25th. I know this because there's a bunch of news stuff that talks about two days later, the 27th, where the visible fruits of my labor were plucked. I remember looking down at my timer: only twenty-seven minutes had passed. School is over at 3:30 and I stood in the alleyway, syncing up my timer (saying "mark? Mark," when I clicked down on the timer) exactly on the dot at 3:40. Therefore, it was 4:07 when the heist went sideways.

  The infinite petals that were spiraling about the room came from flowers that were hanging off the mezzanine's granite railings, some sort of green plant that stuck out with red blooms into little explosions. At the epicenter of the hurricane was the king who had girls hanging off each side of him. Both were from school, though I could only recognize the girl who had leapt. It's the clothes that had finally sent me off the handle: cat ears and styled bikinis straight from a fetish shop were the only things protecting their chastity as they rubbed themselves on his muscles. The leather (or material of some make) of my glove creased as I clenched down on the knife's handle.

  Extending his hand had the crown fly from its position, shrinking down until his fingers managed to fit over it like a pokéball. It snugly perched on top of his old crown, peaking out like a church in a war torn city. My other hand needed to do something. I traced down the long edge of my blade.

  "Hmph. Trash like you is predictable—too predictable. You saw the easy way out and you took it. None of you understand the value of hard work, It's every single one of you. Every one!" He stretched his hands out from behind the girls' backs. "You're critical of me, standing there sneering like you're not looking at my girls' tits, because you don't understand the sacrifices that we all make. You know these things don't come free? If you want tits like these to yourself, you've got to put in the work."

  Keep him talking, I urged myself. This wasn't a good situation. If he had put the time to set up an ambush, then this upcoming fight wasn't going to be tilted in my favor. No matter that this man was a piece of garbage and suspected me of putting up the calling card, it'd be better for me to live than die trying.

  "Sacrifices?"

  "Sacrifices! I had to halt any career that I could've had helping this backwater school. The whole faculty bowing down kissing my ass because they need to stand out from the surrounding schools. The students sucking up whatever needs to be done so they can have a better life. The parents ignoring any harm that happens to their kids for their family's future. That's what sacrifice is about! I get my reward and everyone else gets theirs!"

  "Of course, you're the one who gets the most rewards," I said. I made sure to stretch out my pauses as long as possible, keeping an eye on the most likely spots for shadows be hiding. "Women, the leeway to break the rules, your own team to manage, a cushy job, probably great pay for the position—heck, you've got it all."

  The smirk was familiar: I'd seen it earlier today. This really was the true heart laid bare.

  "It's only natural. I'm the one who makes it all possible. I make the world move for all of us. The captain of a ship gets the greatest reward." Finally he unwrapped his arms around the girls so he could step forwards. They flitted off towards the dark parts of the room, places which I didn't even see before, giggling all the while. "Let me subvert your expectations: you think I'm some meatheaded athlete who fell into this position. How fuckin' stupid. I was laughing at how stupid all the other athletes were when I was competing. A very smart man, Plato, once lived over in Europe. He correctly said that kingdoms are the best systems. Kings are the wisest. They're the strongest. What he got wrong is simple: there's no such thing as being unjust. That's what makes him a king. Everybody else is too chicken shit to make the world move to his bidding, so the king makes the world as it should be."

  I finally got sick of him monologuing. I was still on a schedule and I got the impression that he would continue talking if there was no interruption. Gleaming light pierced a petal. My knife pointed down at him, hoping this ambush wouldn't be too extreme.

  "Look, I really can't say that I have a big enough heart for every victim you've made. What I can say is that right now, right here, I'm going to cut off your dick for beating the shit out of me, you perverted asshole! I'll steal that treasure from your stupid fucking head!"

  He laughed joyously as the light around him started distorting. It reminded me of entering the Metaverse, except there was a whole lot more bloom as the distortion around him wrapped around bigger things. Colors became harsher. Beams of gleaming light that hurt to look at and blurred the borders between objects that became larger and larger, stretching from wall to wall. Thicker they became until eventually a new event horizon was created, eating up their original's colors until they too became singularities. Swirling chasms of red sang in the void, merging together with each other, becoming larger currents around an outline made of neon red. In the center was the singularity himself, growing larger until his form became indistinct, features becoming more unrecognizable.

  It all capped off with an explosion of air that sent the petals flying across the room. The mask absorbed the air that tried blowing into my eyes, letting me clearly see the pink monstrosity that was left behind. The only remnant of the man was the hairdo that now had a pair of ram horns sticking out. Four arms held items, one a glass of wine, another a knife, another a fork, another a riding crop. Red flowed heroically behind him, a king's cape that flew from an invisible breeze. A long, purple tongue stretched out from a serrated mouth, which was the most dangerous-looking part of his entire body. Slobber ran freely down his mouth. Sips of his wine splashed droplets down. His sitting posture was made to stick out his bulge of skin where the penis knob should've been. Even the golden goblet, butts and legs hanging out from its rim, wasn't as distracting as the bulge. I believe it was meant to be a trophy, and between the disgusting imagery of a trophy of people and a drink of people, I chose to believe that it was a strangely shaped glass instead.

  Oh, and he was also tall enough that we were making eye contact despite me still being at the top of the staircase.

  The rattling of chains forced my attention downwards. Two gigantic gold balls laid behind him (was that symbolism? I chose to believe it wasn't.) with chains connecting to little caricatures of people trying to break free. Masks clasped to their heads were the same as those I'd seen down in the prison. Everything evil about this man was encapsulated by this demon that poofed into existence—and I'm not calling it a shadow. Shadows were the dark sides of humans. This was reveling in the pure evil that he represented, fully understanding that he was destroying his lives and enjoying it. He probably thought of me as one of the many chained students. My knife begged for his blood.

  Every single prisoner leapt up. A splotch of shadows popped around the ground, globs of black shooting upwards—volleyballs. Each one had their hands raised high. It was because the attack was so ridiculous that I wasn't preparing myself. I mean, come on! Most shadows had lightning, fire, ice, or were trying to gore me with some type of weapon. When the first volleyball hit my spleen, I only had time to bend over before the other three hit my head consecutively.

  I was sent back like a discus before slamming on the treasure room's door. Everything was spinning. Laughter made the nausea even worse. Through it all, I recognized the command, "again!"

  Lucidity came when there was the rapid-fire shooting of hands rebounding against rubber. Even with Metaverse magic, the roll that I hastily transitioned into was graceless. Each ball slammed against the treasure room's door until it was blasted open. My quick thinking gave me another moment to think as I leapt onto the railing, a view from my perch allowing me to quickly drink in the battlefield.

  It was getting a second look at the monster that I realized despite consciously writing out that some sort of confrontation was likely, it had never come to the point of planning past, "abandon ship". No grand plan was coming up that could solve this unstoppable object and unbreakable wall.

  The hulking mass stood up. It was such a quick transition that I just stared as one of his arms raised up. A last second jump had me over the golden knife that probably would've cleaved me in two.

  Immediately I understood the real advantage of having multiple arms in a fight. Right as the golden knife swung, the fork stabbed downwards like I was a juicy stab of meat. The thin platform supported me as I swung myself around like a dancer, hands clasped against my chest. I caught a good view of myself in the fork's reflection, along with the knife that was poised to stab into my back . A backflip had me land on the metal, another one avoiding the whip that desperately tried smacking me off.

  "You're contaminating my equipment!" he yelled.

  No amount of grace could've had me magnetize onto the knife's surface. With a flick of his wrist, I was sent flying bodily for a second time. A statue was there to make sure my landing was soft as a feather, and I learned that no matter how plush the marble looked, it still was like eating dirt. My back protested as it bent over the entire ass.

  "Aim! Fire!"

  With so little warning, I decided to get a little creative. My hand ripped off my mask, clenching into a tight fist with blue wisps flying between the cracks of my fingers.

  Arsene manifested with his claws raised. The first volleyball was sliced out of existence, though I could feel through our link that it was a bad idea. No signs of injury were present yet his claw was throbbing from that deflection. Already committing to the idea made it hard to change course though. The next volleyball was sliced, the pain stalling him from protecting against the next ones. A meteor slammed into his throat. The next pierced straight through his heart and continued on to smack me off the statue. I bounced on the wall. The back of my head absorbed the impact.

  An indescribable migraine made my skull shudder. I could tell that a neuron had been sprained. My brain throbbed. My legs refused to pick themselves up. Very real pain compounded the phantom ones as I landed at the base of a pillar (yet another statue of a lady sticking out her ass) holding up the mezzanine, leaned over like I was about to be spanked. It felt like my stomach was doing backflips. Even as Kamoshida swung his whip around like a general, I could only watch in bewilderment.

  "Jump you idiot!"

  "Dodge! Dodge!"

  Voices right next to my ear snapped me back into reality. At the very last second I dug a heel in the ground and kicked off. It was clumsy, though controlled enough that even flipping I landed on the back of the statue, feet finding a balance on its arched back. Leaning against it gave me a little relief as the volleyballs hit where I'd been. Inventory, now: knife, Arsene somewhere in the back of my head cradling his hands, the last minute supplies that I thought may have been useful, my tools that had been intended for other purposes. Would've been more useful if I had even a single moment to plan but I knew better than to complain in a battle. Before it was a test of making a long term plan; now I was in the rapid fire round, forced to come up with a solution now.

  The mask ripped off, releasing a little woman in a blue leotard. Wings fluttered about as she bobbed in the air. The contrite look that she gave me raised even more questions about Personas—questions that I would have answered later. Her hands reached up and released a green pulse of energy. Most of those mistakes I'd made dissipated. Healing magic—would've saved me the conspicuous bruise staining my reputation the first day of class, but better saving my life than scraping together the little respect I could've kept.

  For some reason I thought of the place as safe. A golden slab bisected the space between us. Turning around casually avoided the careless stab, and gave me yet another look at my haggard face. I barely had time to blink at my reflection before it tore away a large part of the statue. Chunks of the mezzanine bounced against my shoulders as the weakest parts gave way.

  "Fire!"

  I leapt off immediately, reaching for the second floor that still remained. A single arm was able to yank so hard that I leapt into the air. Doing a flip was instinctual. It was horribly impractical and I wouldn't have done it if I could fully control my movements, especially since he decided to stab towards my pelvis with the knife at that moment. With barely a second to react, I stretched my legs out into a near-perfect split. The knife stabbed just barely a centimeter past making me a cripple. My hand slammed downwards, leaving me with my best impression of a plus sign. I balanced in the awkward position for a long second, amazed that there was any world where I could pull off an acrobatic marvel.

  The moment was ruined when the whip slammed into my side, a perfect home run that made the window I got slammed into shudder. Tucking my arms in protected my head as I landed. Barrel rolling on the floor ate the rest of the momentum, though I wasn't nearly as unprepared as the first time I was sent flying. The mask ripped off as Arsene fired off the first attack that I made thus far.

  The red explosion seemed pitiful when all it did was make the king's eyelid close. It barely was bigger than his eyelid, and he seemed more annoyed than anything once the explosion dissipated. My spells had the same effect as a small, non-venomous spider biting. The sobering realization didn't distract from another raid of volleyballs flying towards me. Leaping forwards into a series of front flips gave me a front row seat of the destruction that had been knocking me around: little craters firmly implanted the bullets, scattered in a vague outline of where I had been. I skidded to a stop, wondering how much punishment a Persona user could take since multiple blows that'd normally liquidate my guts had directly hit my head.

  "Nnrgh! You're all useless if you can't even hit a shot like that! Go on! Get me my equipment. I'll deal with the pest myself."

  Four chains broke consecutively. The previously grasping prisoners scurried off back into the dark corners of the room, most likely for dramatic effect. I'm sure that Kamoshida could've manifested whatever he wanted into his hands just as easily. Or was it something related to cognition? I dunno. Don't have an answer to that even now.

  Now we were technically alone. The hulking monstrosity leisurely lumbered. He swayed from side to side as if drunk, tongue freely slapping into his engorged belly. At the foot of the staircase it stopped. I was at his eye level, warily waiting for his next move. My knife nervously tapped against my waist. Routes and attacks came and left me. It was like standing in front of a tank, and I was starting to think that running away may be inevitable.

  Then he moved. Once again the speed surprising given the size and ungainly proportions. The knife nearly impaled me, then the fork nearly shishkabob'd me, then the whip was thrown out to harass me long enough for the knife to have wound up again. It became a rhythm that quickly had me panting. Leaping around kept me whole, but I didn't have the stamina to do it infinitely. Railings were used generously until he cut them up into little slices. Gashes ruined the flat floor, making me dance towards untouched ground. Panic quickly set in. I thought about jumping off the balcony, gunning for the front door, anything except sticking around in the mousetrap. He must've read that his prey was beginning to realize it was hopeless, as his knife dug into the ceiling as if slicing up a cake for a birthday party. Long slabs started collapsing inwards. Huge parts of the mezzanine were torn inwards as gray spears stabbed into them. The chandeliers were swinging wildly, my arms flopping about like a doll's as I dodged whatever possible. It eventually led to an iceberg landing straight in the center of the walkway, knocking me to my butt on the last piece of remaining platforms.

  Mistakes happened to anybody, even shadows. Perhaps that was the human shining through when its knife got stuck in the ceiling.

  "Now is the time!"

  "Get that d-bag!"

  "Don't let this opportunity fall to the wayside!"

  With the voices urging me on once again, I leapt off the last remaining railing for a foothold. I shot straight over his shoulder. Wind rushed by me from the speed, a split second to realize that I passed his head. Stabbing behind me, I braced for the sudden yank on my shoulder. What must've been the equivalent to getting a nail stabbed was wedged into his shoulder blade, with the culprit hanging off it.

  Something slammed into my back before I could capitalize. Stunned, my hand was clenched vainly without a new input. I didn't move when another slam blacked out my vision for a moment. I was falling. A blink later and I met the staircase, with each edge making sure to give me a warm greeting. It fazed me long enough that I got up like a normal person would after getting hit like that; each movement was stiff, my knee the best cane I could manage as I slowly stood to my full height.

  Viscous liquid slid down the back of my collar. Rubbing there came away with a sticky fluid, not unlike hand sanitizer with the same little glowing flecks melded into it. A few sniffs came with an absolutely vile stench. I looked up at the tongue waving around, little beads of drool trickling from its tip. Slowly I realized what happened, disgusted horror making me bend down to wipe it off with the help of the carpet: his tongue had dislodged me. Not only was that disgusting, but my knife was now stuck in his shoulder.

  His own came free with one last violent yank that sent dust scattering alongside the petals. God rays poked through the thick, gray clouds as I hunkered low to the ground, like a defanged tiger. Whatever calculations I could've made in that panicked state were interrupted as two firm bars wrapped my arms against my torso.

  "Go get him, Kamoshida!" an obnoxiously flirtatious voice yelled next to my ear.

  Coldness pressed against my back. Rather than a cold compress or ice cube, each piece pressing against me felt like a black hole of heat, draining away little pinpricks of my temperature until the skin was left steely, then working towards my flesh, then assumedly suckling in the warmth from my bone marrow. The arms may have been thin as a high school girl's usually were, but I couldn't do much other than struggle as they tightened imperceptibly. It was enough to become uncomfortable. I had to assume that any of Kamoshida's utensils would teach me about pain.

  Though she had much more strength than me, the shadow wasn't a wrestler. I bent down as far as I could until my hands were working around the ridges of the mask. My neck did most of the work in yanking it free. I could imagine myself inside a shampoo commercial, swinging my head back and bonking against my captor's nose.

  Once again my senses were split between my body and the Persona, a sensation that became all the more intoxicating the more that I did it. Its vision was rushing by as it was summoned already running. Bicorn's head lowered. His charge smacked the back of her knees, getting a yelp as we folded onto his back. The quick retreat was merely to avoid the baton aggressively swinging inside the dust cloud, as the very second that she recovered from the surprise, her weight tilted off the Persona. We'd run in the clear opposite the room from Kamoshida, giving me time to dismiss Bicorn and rip my mask off again. Arsene's claws dug deeply into the girl's wrists, tearing a guttural cry from her. The leeway let me elbow her in the sternum. Between the pull and pain, she loosened her grip just enough that my Metaverse strength overcame whatever shadows were made of.

  "Serve it, Mishima! Your sorry ass could at least do that!"

  I didn't stay still. Ridiculous attacks were no longer going to be underestimated. Arsene gave up on restraining her and locked his hands together, fading away when I left his grip. The boost gave me time to reach the other side's mezzanine that was still mostly whole rather than the battlefield on the other side. There was a volleyball that had been passed by another student, initially an actual volleyball before ballooning into a meteroid's size. He must've expected the evasive maneuver as he aimed the volleyball right between my landing spot and the girl. With an angry thump of the spike as the last farewell to the back of the room, she watched, betrayed, before the explosion from the volleyball engulfed her whole.

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  The room rumbled. My head retreated into my shoulders as dust shuddered from the ceiling, entire pieces of the structure disappearing into cobbled dust as pebbles slapped my back. I didn't bother checking the attack that would've obliterated me, instead running ahead at full tilt. This time I had a plan: get my knife back. From there, win. Simple. My hands dug into my trench coat as I ran along, Kamoshida's lips smacking as he waited for me to walk into his arms again. Lighters were easy to get even no matter the (undue) suspicion that they were solely for smoking. A flame whipped out and lit the puny fuse of the black tube that was in my other hand.

  These were what I definitely did not want shown in the middle of school. While the other fireworks were market ones slightly modified, these were jury-rigged with the principles that my teacher had shown me. Skulls on the side drawn out in red marker on a crappy plastic cylinder flew straight into Kamoshida's face, not prepared to swat both me and it out of the air. The whip and knife soared towards our general direction, ending up not hitting either of us.

  Even I wasn't prepared for the explosion that followed. Reality constrained the explosives to a brief spray like a hose, sending out little sparks and streaks that would wow the neighborhood. What followed in the palace were gigantic flashes that could almost be compared to a flashbang, bursting miniature suns that flickered violently in and out of existence. The burn marks were black against his bruise-colored skin, doing more damage than any attack I had in my arsenal could.

  Kamoshida thrashed in pain. With purple spots that wouldn't be blinked away, I continued flying forwards. Now wiser, I barely spent a second on the crook of his arm, shoulder, before jumping off and yanking out the knife on the way down.

  I landed with a roll, running a bit ahead before turning around. Patches of ugly bruises scattered from the impact point, spread out like a shotgun with beanbags spat at him. The little amalgamation at the center spread until little planets of blue circled around the sun. Amusingly, one of his eyelids was twitching because of an ugly burn that made a streak straight through it.

  "You piece of shit brat!" he spat. "I'll hang you! Get me my trophy! Where is my trophy?"

  Whatever thrill I could get from finally damaging him slowly faded as the blonde girl came from the shadows, putting her entire back into pushing the golden cup that had been left behind in the center of the room. One of those figures was stabbed straight through by his knife. The imagery was too revolting, writhing with the spike lodged through its spine, as the body was dropped into his mouth. Each centimeter that it crawled down his throat came with squelching, as his tongue did its best to push the butt of it down.

  The effects were immediate. All those bruises that I just caused returned to their normal color. With a triumphant yell, he looked the same as when the fight started.

  This fight was completely unwinnable. No way was I somehow destroying this cup then doing enough damage to pacify him without getting my back broken, teeth knocked out, head smashed, penis mummified, and, worst of all, eyebrows seared off. My breath hadn't been caught ever since he destroyed the ceiling and soreness was slowly creeping up from my heels. Death was guaranteed if I continued smashing my head against the wall. The thing was, I didn't have a straight forward plan towards beating him. Escaping? That meant I lost my chance at revenge. Continuing to get grinded down wouldn't work. He held all the cards. I had to get the treasure away from him and he knew it. Leaving the room would just have him wait in there, or send in his legion of guards that I distracted for good reason.

  But the hint was what I was there for in the first place: the treasure. Mona's advice transitioned the plan from assassination into a grand heist. The plan had to hinge around heisting. I was never meant to get stuck in a fight for this long. Fighting around my goal, knowingly avoiding what was his weak point and pushing through my own weaknesses, was counterintuitive. Knowing didn't make you invincible, and the realization came with a grin.

  "What are you smiling about?" His whip struck the air. "Slaves! Bring another ball! Another one!"

  Not much time. I really should've had this prepared beforehand, but I never claimed to be a perfect heister. We had enough distance that I could react to any of his attacks. It gave me time to cradle my perfect tool, my proudest tool, slipping free from my jacket when I thought about it. The gear that hikers used were expensive; the various hook tools at the department store were less expensive yet still way out of my budget. So I improvised, buying the smallest pickaxe that was available with the money that I'd earned from the palace. I took it home and finangled with it until the metal head was worked free. It was small enough to be carried around in a Hello Panda cookie package, by far the heaviest thing I'd carried to school that day, and most likely only didn't make a sound when hitting the ground because of the towels that I stuffed in my bag. I had been hoping that Metaverse magic made me strong enough to jam it into the balcony so I could escape directly after stealing the treasure. I practiced tying the specific knot that I learned online all night in preparation to do the assembly.

  The rope came from another package. Now that I was getting another look at the castle, it wouldn't have been long enough. Whatever. Not perfect. Perfection needed to only be attained by finishing the knot fast enough. Slaves came from the shadows of the room, as if they'd been there all along. My hands worked with supernatural grace. One threw the ball up. Finished with a yank, and an improvised grappling hook had been made.

  Bicorn formed at a running start again, letting me leap onto his back in a crouch. Thinking of putting away the grapple hook made it disappear, freeing my hands for my suicidal plan. We were in the nanoseconds here. Whatever decision the both of us made would decide if I were vaporized. His eyes were locked with mine, decoding my movements with a lifetime of experience. He didn't need to see where the volleyball was heading when his body had done it thousands of times before. A breath. I leapt backwards, Bicorn disappearing right before he could've been engulfed in the volleyball's blast. I let out a whoop as I landed, taking a moment to relish being alive before speeding ahead without caring to wait for the ringing in my ears to go away.

  I ran directly at him with my hand already on the mask. Timing was crucial. Each tile I ran by was counted. One. Two. Three. Four. There are ten tiles ahead. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Around, pieces of statues and the other mezzanine collapsed into messy piles. Dust trailing down tickled my nose.

  Arsene once again formed with his hands interlocked. I jumped onto them, then his shoulder, flinging out something from my coat.

  This time Kamoshida perfectly swiped it out of the air. Probably expecting to be rewarded, he curiously looked down at the bisected candy bar bleeding caramel onto his feet. The surprise let me leap onto the railing, giving me the lift to jump straight onto the one place that he hadn't been expecting.

  Gripping tightly on his wine glass' rim, I let myself hang as he let out frustrated grunts. His weapons didn't want to pierce it for obvious reasons. Being too rough would spill the contents. Even his tongue, probably powerful as a kangaroo's kick, would probably crack it open. No fast method for prying me off existed. With both my hands occupied however, I didn't have many options when hanging around like a flag on a still day.

  It was criminally easy to leap onto the rim and keep myself balanced even with the shaking. Red liquid splashed on my boots. Faces were visible inside of it, pain mixed in with pure ecstasy, or maybe the exhaustion was making me see mountains out of molehills. Jerking my head formed Arsene above me. I leapt over the knife (there were game shows like this, I remember, though falling into wine was too ridiculous even for those shows) and landed perfectly. My body arched backwards to avoid the fork that nearly made my head into a pitted olive.

  The weapon slid far past me. This was the one that gave me a perfect opportunity. I grabbed tightly on the handle. Arsene stabbed forwards at the platform I'd been standing on. The delicately thin glass seemed more like a windshield, keeping form even as Arsene's lingering flames were parted by the disciplinary crop, leaving behind holes where his hands previously were. Cracks spread further and further, the valleys becoming more precarious, before the shards from the initial impact started falling. Wine flowed out unlike any real liquids. It kept its form at the bottom for a few moments before realizing that it was falling, pouring out like a spout from the glass' opening. Sparkling stars spread around from the thick, black waves. No matter how much poured, there still seemed to be more sprouting from the cup's bottom. Our entire arena quickly became reflective from the lush liquid.

  I swore there wasn't nearly enough to cover the entire floor. Magic. Can live without it, honestly.

  "No! My drink! Damn you! Do you think that this is funny?" Kamoshida yelled. He stood up, hands trying in vain to avoid getting his cape stained by holding it up in the air. Two hands were occupied holding it up, another was holding the pouring glass, and the last hadn't flicked me off yet. The knife was held at the perfect angle.

  My knees drew in and bucked, only getting two swings before leaping as if from a gymnast's horizontal bar. With no time to be fancy, I stuffed the knife into my waistband and drew out the coup de grace. Lit fireworks streamed from my hand, then tossed behind me.

  Explosives streaked for one last time. Trails of gray tears from the remnants of gunpowder drifted down like volcanic ash as my payload started erupting into his eyes. The wine hadn't let up, creating some sort of ocean with its own tides licking Kamoshida's grotesque body. He thrashed and flailed. Pain rather than instinct must've guided him to wring his body, contort his limbs, cry out with that tongue slapping everywhere. As he threw his tantrum, the ground started splashing, becoming real waves that made the shadows of the students slip behind their hiding spots.

  I landed against one of the last remaining bits of the mezzanine, barely enough for me to stand with two feet, shuddering from my extra weight. Out came my greatest tool, the grappling hook. The inspiration had hit because of my fireworks being way stronger than they were in real life, leading me to a crackpot plan. I lined myself up and spun it around like I'd seen in every show ever that had a ninja character. Throwing it made a satisfying clink on the chandelier.

  A breath, a jump upwards to hold onto the tallest window sills, a position where I had a bird's eye view of the ruined throne room. Whatever phantom breeze that kicked the petals around was making my rope shake. Kamoshida was wildly jerking his head around. I was swinging on a moving object. Everything was against this. Everything hinged on my mystical powers working with me. I could feel the sweat inside my gloves. I was shaking badly.

  At the last second his eyes must've readjusted to realize that he couldn't find me. A pool player locks one eye shut. He calls his hole—one chance. With a yell, I let go and let gravity take me. My feet coiled. My feet kicked. Both slammed into the base of the crown, sending it falling. Splashes of wine accompany each smash against the floor. It had the buoyancy of his precious sport's volleyballs, a last bit of irony to spit into his face. It bounced at the precipice of the balcony's door, bounced again, flying straight over the railing and falling out of our sight.

  "No! No! No! No! No! No! No!" He continued repeating it. "No! No! No! No!"

  His arms flailed as his instruments were thrown around, trophy knocked over with the half-formed bodies smacking against the ground like beached fish, running with wild abandon to catch up to his crown. Rose petals followed, scattering into the night. Under the harsh gaze of the Metaverse the wine became a beautiful red, slipping through the fingers of the balcony into waterfalls. The great monster leapt, limbs out like he was doing a belly flop, falling downwards while still repeating, "no, no, no!"

  I let go of the rope and lamely ran to the balcony. There he was, so far down, cradling the crown into his chest. My hands shook. I shouldn't do this, right? That's what I said to myself. I can't do this. Doing this is suicidal.

  But the Metaverse hadn't failed me yet. Arsene insisted. Bicorn roared. Pixie cheered. All their voices made a chorus in my head.

  "Do it!"

  The feeling of vertigo only hit when my foot left the balcony's railings. Without pulling my mask Arsene flickered to life behind me. From the distance we were a falling star, blue flames arcing off the tip of the knife that I had positioned downwards. Black wings flared from behind, claws reaching forwards with each tip ready to tear out something important. Those thin rivulets of wine became streaks of pink against the Metaverse's wine red sky. The world seemed to cheer me on as the castle shuddered, turning into Shujin for a split second.

  All terror left me. Kamoshida barely had time to look up before my knife pierced straight through his forehead.

  The explosion of blackness that followed a normal shadow's defeat left me standing there with my knife still positioned down. The crown turned small again. It fit in a single hand. All the romance faded. My back was sticky, legs were sore, head getting wine spilled on it, shoes getting wine stains on its bottom, adrenaline causing me to let out pained whimpers, sweat trailing down my shirt, tongue tasted like soot, hands burning, tears from the ash and dust that had gotten stuck in my eyes, mouth dry.

  I put the crown on my head.

  It came out as a whisper, escalating slowly. Left behind from the mad scattering of shadow clumps was a normal man. On his hands and knees he was screaming.

  "Damn it. Damn it. Damn it! Damn it, damnit, damnit, damnit!"

  The facade slowly unraveled. Suddenly being so light with the crown didn't seem so funny. Its power made Kamoshida obsessed enough to jump off a three story building. He was left without his cape, curling into a fetal position against the slick ground.

  "You lost," I said.

  Eyes full of frustrated tears glared at me. I couldn't bring myself to care.

  "You—" his next words got stuck, coming out as a frustrated series of grunts.

  "Me," I repeated. Stepping forwards made him shy back. He quickly picked himself up, scooting away on his butt. "How does it feel? Because, I assure you, whatever you're feeling right now does not compare to how I felt in that cell."

  "D-Don't kill me! You can have anything that you want. Anything! Anything that I can give you, I will!" Like a switch was flipped the same fury that I remembered him for came back. "What is so wrong with helping myself!? If everybody approved, then what's so wrong with me going along with it? Sure, there were a few who protested, but they're so few, so so few, while every—!" He lost himself there, descending into growls before regaining his speech. "Every single other person agreed! Why are you the one who has to break a good thing? Do you understand how many aspirations you're trampling on? Do you understand a single thing!?"

  "Not really," I said. Such a simple response made him collapse backwards. "Honestly, I'd normally agree. If so many people work together like this, then who am I to stop them? Who am I to really lecture anybody? I'm a loser. My grades are mediocre, I have no aspirations, and my biggest hobby is gaming." He shouted in fear when the knife stabbed the ground next to his head. "But you know what? There's lines that we don't cross. I don't know what you did with that girl. I don't want to know. That was a line and you crossed it."

  I exhaled through my nose, trying to regain control of myself. I internally chastised myself: what was I using my power for? Justice? If I were doing it because of justice, then where was the justice in any other part of my life? Oh, the counter is easy, as I've argued with myself since that damn night: 'you're doing justice that nobody else can.' Of course that's not true. Even if you don't believe in karma or whatever, genuinely evil men get some kind of comeuppance at some point. I don't have to go down the litany of examples where they die, or go to jail, or ruin every aspect of their personal life, or so many other things; most don't avoid consequences forever, and even if they do, it's not like I was aiming for the right guy. This was a school coach. One wrong move eventually and he'd be murdered in prison. 'You're doing the justice that you can.' No, I wasn't. The justice that I can do is never using a plastic straw again, not laughing when an old lady's seat is taken from her, being nice. I wasn't good enough to not litter, but I was good enough to beat down a clear villain.

  It was definitely self-loathing, but I believed it in that moment. Here a mild asshole does a good deed after a life of never doing them, and it's for revenge. Bringing up the girl who jumped as if that selfless goal was what motivated me felt like the sickest lie ever told.

  The question was thorny. Sticking my hand into the bush always made me come out with pain—so I ignored it. Helping the girl was just a coincidence. Helping my school was just a coincidence. Well, at least I'd take the former as a positive. Whoever leaked my record to the general student body was slinking among all the people who acted like I was an active murderer, fuck 'em.

  "But there's no real mistake there. You can't be blamed for not knowing that you shouldn't mess with me. Heck, I didn't even know what until you wronged me." I edged the knife close enough that it cut through his cheekbone. He whimpered. "Since I'm in the position, I'm going to educate you. You will confess. You will change. You will know that you're an asshole that barely deserves redemption. You know why you barely deserve redemption? It's because, at the end of the day, there's somebody worse than you. Somebody who's done worse. Somebody who'll teach us that there's still more vile things in humans that we never saw before. I'm sure that you're only scratching the surface, that if I looked hard in the castle, there once was a good person who has done a good thing. That's why. There's nothing that you deserve. You're the worst, but not the worst of the worst."

  Tears started leaking from his eyes. Remorse may have entered at some point.

  "Uh, and that's it."

  And I didn't know how to end speeches.

  My eye twinged as something flew into it. A shard, blue, transparent—a piece of Kamoshida. The king was smiling, tears falling, as he was coming apart into floating chunks.

  Each word came out behind a sob. "I understand. I'll go back and atone for my crimes. Thank you for giving me a chance to do so."

  Before long I was kneeling over the ground, alone. Without a crown. My free hand grasped my hair. Bald, free, sweaty. I looked back up to the balcony where the cat was carrying it instead, looking down with the most smug smile imaginable.

  "The palace is collapsing! I'd suggest running away!" he yelled, disappearing back inside the castle.

  Which I did. I ran out numbly. Blocks of reality were falling behind me. Shadows seemed to have stopped existing, or maybe were running themselves. I didn't really feel anything. I was too tired to feel anything. Even when I rejoined the real world, gasping for breath, I hadn't recovered, feeling as though I was going to drop dead. The entire walk home I felt like I was sleepwalking. People glared for bumping into them. I glared back. I pushed open doors by walking into them. Leblanc, my temporary home, was warm. The timer for my twenty minute warning had gone off on the street.

  Sojiro looked up, then glared.

  "Where'd you get that bruise?"

  Hands searched my body. Investigating eventually found a new pain on my other eye. There was a matching purple bruise. If the poking said anything, it was much larger than the other one. I hadn't the foggiest where it came from.

  I sighed.

  "People just can't follow the rules."