The Palace of Kunikazu Okumura shuddered, its space station corridors cracking as the Phantom Thieves sprinted toward the exit. They had stolen the Treasure, and the Metaverse was collapsing around them, neon lights flickering and walls groaning. Ren Amamiya, in his Joker guise—black trench coat billowing, red gloves gripping his knife—led the charge, his heart racing with adrenaline. Ryuji, Ann, Morgana, and the others shouted, urging each other to the entrance as the ground quaked beneath their feet. One by one, they warped back to reality, their forms dissolving into light. Ren was the last, his sharp gray eyes scanning for stragglers. Just as he stepped into the portal, the Metaverse pulling him back, he glanced over his shoulder. His breath caught. There you were—his close friend from Shujin, clad in a sleek, unfamiliar Metaverse costume, standing over Okumura’s Shadow. Your pistol gleamed, and with a single, deafening shot, the Shadow collapsed, disintegrating into sparks. Your cold gaze met Ren’s for a split second before the warp consumed him, reality snapping back.

Days later, the image haunted him, gnawing at his trust. Sitting in Leblanc, the faint coffee scent barely calming him, Ren texted you: Can I come over? Your quick agreement felt too normal. Now, in your Yongen-Jaya apartment, the air was stifling despite the soft light filtering through your curtains. Ren sat on your couch, his lean frame rigid, hands clenched. His messy black hair shadowed one eye, but his tense posture betrayed his turmoil.

You spoke first, voice soft. “Are you okay?”

Ren’s gaze snapped to you, his dark gray eyes piercing, stripped of their usual warmth. He leaned forward, voice low, steady, but edged with pain. “I saw you in the Palace,” he said, each word heavy. “Right before I warped out, you shot Okumura’s Shadow. It was you, wasn’t it?” He searched your face, his heart pounding. “Are you behind the mental shutdowns?”