2025-09-01: Release
- Log: Release
- Cast: Shinjiro Aragaki, Mitsuru Kirijo
- Where: Hirasaka Safehouse, Sumaru
- OOC Date: September 01, 2025
- IC Date: July 04, 2012
- Summary: Mitsuru bails Shinjiro out of jail before being taken to his safehouse, where she questions him on his recent actions. As they talk, it grows more tense, with Mitsuru worried about his connection with Strega and Shinjiro giving into his depressed thoughts. In the end, she learns that he's been punishing himself with suppressants and asks him to come back. He promises to give her an answer within the week.
<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.
It is after school hours when Mitsuru finally gets to the Hirasaka Police Department. Having learned within the morning about Shinjiro's arrest due to walls having ears and stations having rats, she'll know for certain he's not getting out for free... if at all.
The receptionist would lead her to one of the sergeants, who'd explain that as Shinjiro not only assaulted an officer but had unmarked drugs in his possession, that there were to be no visitors and that it was very likely he'd be prosecuted. Of course, he hinted at several points that 'it could all go away', and the motive was clearly financial to Mitsuru's keen senses. He also suggested that he had no idea why someone in her position would care about 'gutter trash' like Shinjiro.
Once the deal is actually struck, Shinjiro is led out of his cell, given his coat and phone, and offered to go out the back door to 'save your lucky rescuer from more hardship'.
When Mitsuru first lays her eyes on him, the first sight, one the officers neglected to share, is that he's injured. He has a bloody gash across his shoulder, clearly partially a bullet wound that has no obvious remnants, though it's nothing life-threatening and he refuses to go to the hospital for it. He quickly puts on his coat, also torn at the shoulder, shivering in his gray t-shirt until it's on, buttoning it up tight and readjusting his new and barely-worn beanie.
Shinjiro tells her that he's currently staying at a safe place nearby for them to talk and for him to get patched up, and then silently leads her to a 70s-era apartment building, old and creaky but well-maintained. He keeps his head down, unlocking the door with a key hidden in the soil of a flower pot.
The apartment he's been living in is also well-cared for, if small. There's a little dining table and a kitchenette, clearly well-loved by Shinjiro.
A box of medical supplies sits in the corner. Shinjiro winces as he bends over and stretches his arm to grab some bandaging and cleaner, putting it on the table. He moves to remove his coat again reluctantly and grab some disinfectant, shivering once more as he does so... is he really that cold?
Mitsuru doesn't get so much as a thank you, but that was probably expected. ...he doesn't have a way to start this discussion. His head's racing too much on possibilities.
He never expected her to bail him out, after all. He doesn't think he deserves it.
<Pose Tracker> Mitsuru Kirijo has posed.
Mitsuru Kirijo is only eighteen years old and should not be negotiating the terms of a bribery to release someone detained by a laughably corrupt police force, rightfully or wrongfully.
Mitsuru Kirijo is only eighteen years old and has already done and seen so many things that an eighteen year old should never have to do or see, at ages much younger than eighteen, that navigating circumstances like this is essentially like an after-class trip to Big Bang Burger for her.
She is not generous with the sergeant. She is polite. Courteous. But she is also ruthlessly efficient. She coolly points out every complication that could come about from holding an asset of the Kirijo Group - a student of Gekkoukan High - on shaky cause. How easy it would be for Kirijo lawyers to compromise that guaranteed prosecution that the legal system yearns for.
She pays, ultimately. But she does it without giving him a single benefit of anger, relief, or happiness. Just that polite, distant professionalism that endures even throughout her simple answer to the sergeant's suggestion: why would anyone in her position care about 'gutter trash' like Shinjiro?
"Fortunately, someone in your position doesn't need to worry about such things, sergeant."
Said with the most polite, most removed, of smiles.
She is waiting for Shinjiro outside the station, a chaffeured Toyota Century waiting with the engine on just behind her. She's still in her school clothes; it's clear just by looking at her that she came straight here as soon as classes were over and she was able. Given how fastidiously Mitsuru schedules out her day-to-day, who knows what appointments and plans she put aside, or the domino effect it will have on the painstaking order of her life.
And yet here she is, hands clasped behind her back, the deep dark red of her suspiciously calm stare on Shinjiro Aragaki as he emerges out the back.
That stare dips to the gash staining his gray shirt browning red with old, drying blood. And that carefully cultivated expression experiences the most minute of fractures in the way her brows knit briefly inward at the sight.
Shinjiro offers directions; however, outside of giving her directions to her driver - a purple-haired woman around their age, dressed in a stylishly sleek butler's vest and slacks - Mitsuru is oddly quiet the whole way through. She simply sits in the back of the car beside Shinjiro, her stare fixed forward, hands in her lap, the uncompromising portrait of proper posture. She doesn't get gratitude; unsurprisingly, she doesn't expect it, nor ask for it.
But she also doesn't ask for permission before he accompanies him to his would-be safehouse entire cities removed from his home before he offers so, perhaps that's simply the way the two of them have learned to show their gratitude to each other.
She's currently inside the apartment, hands once more clasped at her back, that dark gaze of hers clearly digesting every nook and cranny, every detail of its aging but cared for confines like someone putting together a jigsaw puzzle of Shinjiro Aragaki's life who has found a critical, missing piece. Scarlet lips press into a thin line.
"... I am going to contact one of our in-house physicians," she says to start the conversation. Her voice is even. Clipped. "If you are so insistent on not going to a hospital. You can't self-treat for a wound like that. You were shivering, yes?"
Red eyes glide to him, pointedly.
"You might already have an infection."
Even wrestling with a host of complicated thoughts, Mitsuru still knows her priorities for the people she considers friends.
<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.
The car ride is equally silent for Shinjiro, looking away towards the window, but perhaps the fact he's allowing her to even see this, not turning her away once he's free, is his own show of gratitude. He intimately understands the precarious position he's in, and indeed, the thing he wanted to happen least has happened. He has to face his dues.
Inside the apartment, Shinjiro is about to self-treat when Mitsuru suggests, no, declares that she's going to call the in-house Kirijo physicians. She might expect a certain reaction, but after a long sigh, she gets a different one.
"...fine. I don't think it's infected, though. ...I've been shivering for a long time now."
He could have insisted to do it himself. But what would that do? In a way, in a fragment of the psyche of Shinjiro Aragaki, he knows that's what keeps getting him into this mess. He can't rely on anyone but himself, can't ask for help, can't tell others what he needs.
He won't learn that right now... but at the least, it broaches a discussion. An explanation is owed... at the least, a partial one. He can at least give that, even if it'll be skewed.
"...a group of us went on a Mementos run. Went bad, one of the strongest Shadows I've ever seen appeared and nearly wiped us."
A pause, as he takes a breath, offering a seat at the table. He doesn't yet take one himself, but only will if she takes one.
"...we got out alive enough. But this drunk piece of shit who calls himself an officer... he attacked my friend because he's a goddamn bigot. Bashed them across the head and sent them to the ground, would have shot everyone if he had a chance."
Another shakier breath. There's anger and guilt and grief all in Shinjiro's voice.
"I couldn't let them get hurt. A civilian was there, tried to protect my friend too. I couldn't let them get killed because we all escaped in the Dark Hour and left them behind with a cop with a loaded gun. So I stayed behind."
There's a long moment of silence. Shinjiro closes his eyes for a moment, covering himelf as he shivers again.
"...sorry you got wrapped up in this."
<Pose Tracker> Mitsuru Kirijo has posed.
...I've been shivering for a long time now.
Once more, dark red brows furrow as Mitsuru fixes a searching look on Shinjiro. She doesn't say anything, yet. But Shinjiro knows her well enough to know even the smallest of comments can be so easily snatched up and rapidly dissected by her without so much as a single word.
And the wheels are clearly turning.
"..."
For now? For now, she gets her phone from her purse. A quick series of texts to Kikuno outside is all she really needs to ensure that Shinjiro's medical needs will be cared for.
KIKUNO: understood. if you would like, i can also abduct aragaki-san and relocate him to a place you will feel more comfortable interrogating him. perhaps there is a nearby dungeon.
... though not without having to navigate Kikuno's spirited teasing (???).
It leaves her more than free to listen to Shinjiro as he finally opens up; phone tucked away, she glances towards the table as he offers a seat. That piercing stare lifts to him for a moment, still standing.
A second passes, before she shuts her eyes and exhales a small sigh, moving to take a seat like she was yielding ground. If it's what it'll take to get him to sit down and not continue to strain himself, than she can swallow her pride and her natural urge to pace!
Still. Her brows furrow faintly as he talks. An unbelievably strong Shadow that almost wiped them all out...?
"... We've experienced similar in Tartarus," she says after a moment. "With an entity called the Reaper. Its... chains serve as a warning of its approach."
Poor Yukari. Menaced twice over by the optional boss.
She continues to listen, however. The encounter with the officer, the way Shinjiro explains it -- it fills in a lot of the deliberate blanks the police left in their explanation. Her jaw sets, arms folding over her chest as she falls into thought.
"... Then you should tell their friend they must leave this city," she says slowly. "Sumaru's police are notoriously corrupt. That they keep it all under wraps save for a few well-placed scandals here and there tells you how efficient their operation really is. If one has targeted this person -- your friend is not safe here. Nor are you, Aragaki. They know your face and your name, now."
It's logical advice. But perhaps not practical, for people who can't so easily uproot their lives.
...sorry you got wrapped up in this.
Her gaze hoods. Her teeth clench behind the pristine picture of calm she presents. A finger taps against her bicep.
"... En avoir marre... You are always like this," she utters, a frustrated frown threatening the pristine corners of her lips. "This is not a matter for which you should be apologizing, Aragaki. This is a matter for which you should be reaching out to me, so I can help you."
Silence passes as she watches Shinjiro shiver with that sharp stare. And then, she broaches the first subject, voice level:
"The police at the station informed me that you had drugs in your possession that they confiscated. Pills."
<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.
Shinjiro knows he gave her ammunition. But he's been in a depressive state for half a day, and he's honestly not in a place to keep his walls up. It's clear he's fatigued, though how much of that is his health and how much is the police isn't clear.
"That's it," Shinjiro responds when he hears about chains. "Reaper... it was my second time facing it."
But Mitsuru suggests Shinjiro's friend should get out of Sumaru, as he takes his seat. He grits his teeth, frustrated by that suggestion enough to drum his fingers briefly against the table. Even though he knows it's well-intended... "That's not trivial. They've got a life here. They can't just throw it away. I know they'd hate that if I even so much as suggested it."
Shinjiro has no idea what 'en avoir marre' means *precisely*, but knowing Mitsuru for years gives up the phrase easily enough. Even so, he turns his look away briefly, guilt washing over him, before...
"I can't burden you like that. I've done enough of it already. You..." It's clear he doesn't think she should have come, but for once, he can't muster the words, even as he opens his mouth to do so.
Mitsuru, though, broaches the first subject. Pills. There's a long sigh, yet another shaky breath, and a worried look and tone. "...it's medicine." A pause. "It's not over the counter, so I have to get it through... other methods."
He can't tell her what it is. That's too much to put on her right now.
At the least, he's very much telling the truth, as he sees it. Shinjiro Aragaki has been many things, but an outright liar is not one of them.
<Pose Tracker> Mitsuru Kirijo has posed.
The Reaper is in Mementos, too? It's a thought that is, briefly, baffling to Mitsuru -- one that opens up too many troubling questiosn about Mementos, and Tartarus, and what connections they could possibly have.
... But it's not important. Not right now. She can think on it later. After all, right now...
That's not trivial, Shinjiro says, and the threat of Mitsuru's frown is made real. She knows -- she knows he's right. But--
"You said yourself -- he shot at you!" she retorts, a tremor of frustration in her voice -- but not towards him. "Do you think there will be consequences for this man? No! They will circle the wagons and find anything they need to bury your friend with. They will not -have- a life, here or anywhere. If they stay here, they have two options: keep their head down, and pray they do not pass his gaze again -- or deal with the problem directly. Do you believe they can?"
Deal with the problem. A problem rooted more deeply than one drunk police officer.
Eventually, however, her frustrations fade. She heaves a sigh past scarlet lips, her right hand rising to briefly pinch her brow.
"... I apologize," she says eventually. "It's not my place to question someone I do not even know."
And yet, here she is all the same. Trying to shoulder burdens not hers to shoulder.
Frustration. It's still there, subtly lining her body language in ways perhaps only someone who knows her long enough to piece together her French exasperations can notice. The -look- she gives Shinjiro when he says he can't burden her is cutting. When he can't find it in him to finish his thought, those red eyes narrow, lips pressing into a thin line.
Something is irritating her. Something beyond simply all of this. No -- this all worried her. She's just relieved Shinjiro was not in a position she -couldn't- help him out of. Something else.
Something that comes to the fore with that simple question, and its truthful enough answer.
It's medicine, Shinjiro says around an uncertain breath.
Medicine he can't get over the counter. Or prescribed. Medicine he has to get in ways he can't seem to bring himself to tell her.
She's silent for several long seconds after that, just watching him.
Scarlet lips part.
"Other methods," she repeats, slowly.
And she offers a simple supposition around a too-even tone:
"Other methods, such as Strega?"
<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.
"...I don't know," is all Shinjiro says in response to 'do you believe they can deal with the problem directly'. Even the fact he doesn't say no is testamount to his belief in this friend.
But Mitsuru catches herself, allowing him to exhale. He doesn't reply, just drumming against the table again, a light shiver.
The cutting look about burdens causes Shinjiro to wince very subtly, trying to stay strong but clearly broken down in his emotional walls.
There's long silence, irritated looks, and a watchful gaze. Shinjiro sighs, but when Mitsuru repeats him, he stops still.
And then she asks that damning question.
His gaze gives him away before his words do. He diverts, eyes breaking contact, as he feels he's been made, even if he's always had a tendency of giving away the evidence on accident. The guilt is palpable, his expression frozen in a grimace, as the side of his hand comes up to his mouth.
Finally, it breaks, hand going back down, as he tries to remake eye contact. He can't quite do it.
"...yeah."
<Pose Tracker> Mitsuru Kirijo has posed.
Yeah.
A hiss of air escapes from between Mitsuru Kirijo's teeth. She utters something in French under her breath. It's indistinct.
It doesn't take a close friend this time to be able to piece together that it is -not- pleasant.
She doesn't say anything after that answer is given. Instead, she shifts, standing up and out of her seat. Bending at the waist, her movements are precise and ineffably graceful thanks to the good graces of the etiquette of it all being hammered relentlessly into her muscle memory. It gives her a feeling of control she certainly does -not- feel as lifts that long black school skirt just high enough to procure something hidden beneath.
With a metal -=THUNK=- she flattens it on the table. The gunmetal silver barrel of an Evoker. Not Shinjiro's, of course. It's hers.
"... Who also supplied you with your new Evoker," she says. -Says-. It is not a question. Not at this point. After all...
The strange woman's Evoker had its own design. Its own mechanics. The revolver, the cartridges. It was something developed by a third party. But the Evoker Shinjiro uses looks so much like SEES'.
Just like Strega's.
Like something developed in-house and resupplied and she doesn't know by who--
"How long," she says. Her voice is quiet, but wound terribly taut. Like someone trying very hard to retain control of emotions they are so used to keeping tamped down.
"How long have you been in contact with them?"
<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.
Shinjiro's guilt builds with every angry expression from Mitsuru. As she stands, removing her evoker, he remains seated.
When it's placed on the table, he does look at it, but only momentarily. It's her response that gets him to breathe in, and hold it for a long moment.
Exhale.
"...yeah," he repeats. "They're not good people, but..." He can't bring himself to say whatever he was thinking.
He can feel her energy, her command, her gaze. He can feel how frustrated she is. In many ways, he feels he deserves it. He's hurt her again. He's *burdened them again*. His selfishness is out of control. He just hurts, and hurts, and hurts, and-
But then, the next question comes and interrupts his train of thought. The most devastating one, the one that tears at his heart. The one that reveals all his long-held secrets. But he's at this point. If he lies, Mitsuru will know. If he tells the truth...
Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.
"...it'll be two years this fall."
<Pose Tracker> Mitsuru Kirijo has posed.
There are so many things Mitsuru wants to ask Shinjiro. She had hastily put together a quick but serviceable plan, a list of things to press him on about Strega and their dealings.
She needs to know where they are getting their Evokers. That technology should be proprietary to the Kirijo Group. And yet now there's entire other organizations that seem to be iterating on it.
Is there a sprung leak inside their company, or is this part of her family's legacy, too? She needs to know.
And yet, she finds herself veering from that path before she can ever truly spring it into action. First, that question -- a question part of her does not actually want to know the answer to, even though she thinks she may know already. It should just be a way to pressure Shinjiro; leverage to get other answers from him.
But with six simple words:
...it'll be two years this fall.
All her plans are dashed against the rocks.
"You..."
Dark red eyes widen. Mitsuru looks at him as if uncomprehending for several long moments before she finally tears her gaze away. One hand settles on the tabletop, clenching there like a brace as her lips twist.
She sees the connections. It's painfully obvious to see how one event necessarily leads to the other, given the time frame. But as smart as she is, her mind goes to something simple: injuries Shinjiro sustained after he lost control over his Persona, perhaps. Or some illness he contracted, or, or...
She can't bring herself to come to the logical conclusion. Not yet. She doesn't know enough. And...
"... Why?"
... it's too terrible for her to contemplate. So instead, for now:
"Why did you go to them?"
She vents her frustration. Her worry. Her fears.
"They are not just 'not good people' -- they are abusing their gifts to hurt people who have no way to defend against it! They are dangerous!" But that's not the issue. Not really.
"You didn't have to go to them, why -- why didn't you come to me?!"
Her arm sweeps out to her side in a sharp, wide gesture, slicing the air with her frustration. Her worry. Her fears.
"Do you trust me and my family so little--?"
Her guilt.
<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.
Shinjiro waits a long moment for a response. Instead, he does it again. Harm. Pain. Inflicted on another.
But there is only one possible option, isn't there? It couldn't simply be an injury or an illness, could it?
No, what happened two years ago is the answer to it all.
'Why?' cuts to him, but he can't answer, swallowing once.
Mitsuru asks why did he go to them, why didn't he go to her. If he doesn't trust her and her family...
"That's not it," he presses immediately. It's not trust. He trusts them so much. He trusts them so much that he can't hurt them. He can't just rely on them. He can't break their hearts.
Yet that's all he's ever been doing.
As Mitsuru's worries and fears and guilt all come into play, as she says how dangerous Strega was...
"...I killed someone. Fifteen years old and a mother is dead, her child an orphan. I saw myself in the pictures of that boy, in the face of Amada. But I wasn't him, I was the death dealer."
A long, long pause, but he still has words, they're just formulating. He settles eventually.
"Strega had what I needed. If I went to you... what was I supposed to say? I wanted to be punished, Kirijo. But it was wiped away, the slate cleared, a claim that it was a goddamn drunk driver!"
The thing he's never admitted to anyone. This wasn't just about control, it...
"So I punished myself."
<Pose Tracker> Mitsuru Kirijo has posed.
Sometimes a question forms in Mitsuru Kirijo's thoughts. It happens in moments like these, and no matter how she tries to ignore it, it rises to the surface anyway, like an itch that can't be scratched:
'What would this person's life be like, if it weren't for me?'
What would Shinjiro's life be like, if it wasn't for Mitsuru -- if it wasn't for her family? If her grandfather had never gone through with his mad scheme. If the Dark Hour had never existed. If she had never awakened to a Persona. If she had never taken it upon herself to drag Akihiko and Shinjiro into her family's problem.
So I punished myself.
How much happier would they be?
"Aragaki... I..."
How much better a life would they have lived, without paying the price for her pride?
"..."
She stands there for the longest time, frozen with uncertainty on what to say and hating herself for it. Pieces lock into place; she starts seeing the shape of things in a way she had tried -not- to see. The blood, when they fought the Emperor and Empress. The shivering. The timing.
She wishes, in these moments, she was better at this. That she could just ignore the question and reach out and -help- in the way that people - that Shinjiro - actually needs. She sees a problem she cannot solve and it vexes her and terrifies her and--
"... You can't... you can't do this. This has to stop."
The words tumble out. She isn't even certain what she's saying as her palms slap the table with a stinging -=WHACK=- of impact, as she leans in. It's hard to see. But she doesn't cry, so it must be something else that is making her vision so blurry; she's sure of it.
"... You... will stop this now. You will come back to us. We will graduate together. Kirijo Group has the means. We will fix this."
It just has to be.
"Come back. This is... this is not the way to punish yourself for what happened. This is running away. So... so help me. Help me make it right.
"... Come back."
<Pose Tracker> Shinjiro Aragaki has posed.
As Mitsuru starts, Shinjiro shifts, slightly, uncomfortable with how he can't understanding what she's thinking. If he could read her thoughts, he'd probably be trying to assuage her, but...
He cannot.
As she's frozen for so long, he's left with his thoughts. Why is his life just misery that spikes out to everyone he loves? Why was he ever allowed in it?
Shinjiro Aragaki sometimes wonders if he should have been the one to die in that fire.
Mitsuru pleads for him to stop. To come back. They can graduate. They can fix this. This is running away. He needs to *come back*.
...if only he could, he thinks. But he can't. He can't he can't he can't he can't he can't he-
"...gh," is the sound that leaves Shinjiro's mouth. Shouldn't he just die? Die alone? Not hurt them anymore?
But he's starting to learn hope again, the hope to fight with his friends, to live, to graduate, no matter how weak it currently is. But even so, he can't come back. How does he square this? How does he answer the question?
He doesn't know.
"...give me one week. One week to check on my friend, one week to deal with a prior arrangement. By the end of the week, I'll give you an answer."
Shinjiro exhales like it might be his last. He looks up, finally trying to make eye contact. It's not perfect, but it does accentuate the meaning behind his next words.
"I promise, Kirijo."
<Pose Tracker> Mitsuru Kirijo has posed.
In the end, perhaps no one can ever truly know another's thoughts. There are no mind readers in this world.
Even if there were... how could you ever truly know another person's heart when they are so often self-contradicting?
Some moments, though, show that one doesn't need to be a mind reader to understand another person. To connect to them.
Some moments, like the brief moment of naked relief that filters through Mitsuru's eye-glistening features as Shinjiro gives his compromise,
...give me one week.
his resolve,
I'll give you an answer.
his word,
I promise, Kirijo.
... some moments like those are simply self-evident in their meaning, for people who matter to each other.
It's a candle's flicker of a thing, that expression. With the gust of stale wind in that old apartment, it's blown out, leaving Mitsuru Kirijo to draw back and settle into that chair once again. To sit with that prim, perfect posture.
To discreetly look away as she wipes errant moisture from her eyes with her palm, disguised in the way she pushes her hair back and over one shoulder.
When she looks back, her expression is resolute once again. A proper inheritor of the Kirijo legacy once more.
"... Very well, Aragaki. I will give you one week, exactly. And I will... keep this conversation between us, until such a time that you have made up your own mind."
If not for the smile that lingers on her lips.
"You have my word."
Uncertain, but wanting to hope.