PERSONA 3 DEVIL'S HERALD

...30/07/2009 Thursday; Morning...

At the dormitory, Hiro hurried upstairs to his room, his mind still occupied with Shinjiro's sudden request.

He stepped into his room, grabbed his wallet and phone from the desk, and headed toward the door.

As he opened it, he was startled to find Akihiko standing right in front of him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Since when do you know Shinjiro?" Akihiko asked, his voice firm but tinged with tension.

Unbothered, Hiro shrugged. "Since yesterday. I saw you two talking near the movie theater. I overheard your conversation."

Akihiko's face twisted in disbelief, a mix of surprise and irritation bubbling within him. "What did you hear?"

"That an innocent person died," Hiro replied bluntly, locking eyes with Akihiko. "I also heard that Shinjiro was part of SEES."

Hearing those words, Akihiko felt a familiar heat surge through his arm, the impulse to punch Hiro almost overwhelming.

He clenched his fist, struggling to suppress the urge.

"Listen," Akihiko began, his voice tight as he wrestled with his emotions. "What happened was... an accident."

Hiro, however, remained calm. "I'm not asking about that. I just want to understand one thing, Akihiko. If Shinjiro was part of SEES, then why did he leave? He's one of the few people with a Persona."

He gestured broadly, indicating the dorm around them. "Look at us. Even with eight members—nine if you count Koromaru—it's clear the Shadows are wearing us down."

Akihiko averted his gaze, his expression softening as he realized Hiro's point. The Shadows were growing stronger, and the increasing number of injuries among their group was undeniable proof.

"You're right," Akihiko admitted, his voice quieter now. "Just yesterday, Minato and Junpei got badly hurt. And what we fought wasn't even a Shadow Arcana. In seven days, it'll be the full moon again."

Hiro lowered his arms, his tone gentler now that his message had landed. "Do you get it now? I don't know who this person is that you mentioned, but one thing is obvious: with Shinjiro, things could get easier for all of us."

At that moment, Akihiko's mind was pulled into the past, dredging up painful memories he had tried to bury.

A flashback of the orphanage engulfed in flames surfaced in his thoughts.

He saw his younger self being held back by men who prevented him from running into the burning building.

"MIKIII!" his younger voice screamed in agony, the cry echoing in his mind.

The scene shifted to another memory: Akihiko, older now, pressing Shinjiro against the wall of a building while Mitsuru knelt beside a fallen woman, desperately attempting to revive her.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?! SHINJIRO!" Akihiko's voice broke with despair in the memory.

Snapping back to the present, Akihiko stared at the floor, struggling to process Hiro's words.

When he finally raised his eyes, he saw Hiro watching him, waiting for a response.

"Sorry, Hiro," Akihiko murmured, the weight of his memories evident in his voice. "You're right."

Akihiko fell silent for a moment before speaking again, his tone resolute. "When you get back, I want to talk. We should get to know each other better. It's about time we stop feeling like we're one step away from throwing punches all the time."

Hiro raised an eyebrow, surprised by the suggestion.

He realized that Akihiko was beginning to understand it was time to set aside their rivalry.

A rare, soft smile crossed Hiro's face. "Sure, that's probably a good idea. No use fighting while we're in the middle of Tartarus."

Akihiko chuckled quietly, finally relaxing a little. "Obviously. But if you piss me off, I'll still punch you."

Hiro playfully nudged Akihiko's shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie. "Right back at you. Anyway, I'd better get going."

As Hiro walked away, Akihiko pulled out his phone and opened an old photo.

On the screen, he saw an image of himself, younger and smiling, standing beside Shinjiro and a cheerful girl.

Akihiko smiled softly at the picture, murmuring to himself, "Guess you're right, sis. Time to stop acting like such a hard-ass."

...30/07/2009 Thursday; Midday...

The streets buzzed with the youthful energy of students, scattering into small groups outside of class time, enjoying their free hours.

Hiro and Shinjiro walked amidst the commotion, the sound of conversations and laughter providing a lively backdrop.

"This school sure likes giving out holidays," Hiro remarked, breaking the silence. "Not to mention the film festival coming up next month."

"Yeah," Shinjiro replied tersely. He nodded toward a small ramen shop and came to a stop. "Let's go in here."

Without another word, Shinjiro pushed the door open and stepped inside, with Hiro following behind.

They took seats at the counter, where the enticing aroma of ramen broth filled the air.

"Two specials, please," Shinjiro ordered, his voice firm and direct.

Hiro settled into the stool next to him, but the restlessness on his face was unmistakable. "So, you wanted to talk to me. About what?"

Shinjiro sighed deeply, pulling a syringe from the pocket of his coat.

He spun the object between his fingers before locking eyes with Hiro. "When I talked to you yesterday, I thought about it a bit. And I got curious about something." He paused, his gaze heavy. "What's your story, Hiro Mikoshi?"

Hiro was caught off guard by the question. He'd never spoken about his past to anyone.

But something about Shinjiro—perhaps his seriousness or the weight in his eyes—compelled Hiro to respond.

His expression darkened as he looked down at his hands. "I... damn..."

He struggled to find the words, his voice thick with suppressed pain. "Sorry, I don't talk about that much."

Shinjiro noticed the change in Hiro's expression, his eyes distant, as if reliving painful memories.

He saw a deep pain in the young man, something that seemed to be tearing him apart from within.

"My bad," Shinjiro said, his voice now filled with understanding. "If you don't want to talk about it, I get it. We're in the same boat."

Hiro lifted his eyes, meeting Shinjiro's gaze.

There was a tacit connection between the two, a mutual acknowledgment that they both carried internal scars.

"No, it's fine. I've realized that both you and I are messed up in the head."

At that moment, the restaurant owner brought over two glasses of water and placed them on the counter.

Hiro picked up one and drank it all at once, trying to compose himself.

"My mom died during childbirth," Hiro began, the words leaving his mouth with difficulty. "I never knew her, but I've come to terms with it. I don't care, even though I think about her sometimes. But…"

He gripped the glass in his hands, his knuckles turning white as he tried to contain the wave of emotions threatening to break free.

"But my dad… he abandoned me when I was about ten, maybe nine—I don't remember exactly. But he… he called me a monster." Hiro's voice faltered, his pain and bitterness becoming evident. "My… my own father called me a monster."

Shinjiro was stunned by what he heard. The weight of those words hit him like a punch.

Hiro's own father had abandoned him, leaving a cruel and indelible mark on him.

"Shit…" Shinjiro muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to process what he had just heard.

Hiro kept his hand over his face, struggling not to give in to the darkness he felt.

A tear rolled down his cheek, but he quickly wiped it away, forcing himself to regain his composure.

"After that, I had to figure out how to survive," Hiro continued, his voice firmer now, though still heavy with sadness. "I stayed with a friend of my dad's until I moved into the dorms. I transferred to Gekkoukan High because I got a scholarship. The rest… you already know."

Hiro's words brought back memories for Shinjiro, dragging him into the past.

He recalled an orphanage engulfed in flames, the image of a younger Akihiko desperately trying to run back into the burning building.

"Akihiko!" Shinjiro had said back then, his voice laden with sadness and resignation. "Your sister's not coming back."

He sighed, shaking off the memories, and placed a firm hand on Hiro's shoulder. "I know," he said, his voice filled with empathy. "You blame yourself, don't you?"

Hiro looked at him, confused and surprised. "Huh?"

"You blame yourself for what happened," Shinjiro continued, his gaze unwavering. "But did you really do anything wrong? You said it yourself—you don't have a reason to fight."

Shinjiro picked up his glass of water and took a sip, letting his words linger. "You're in SEES because the chairman called you. But haven't you realized you have a role now? They need you, Hiro."

Hiro wiped away the remaining tear, and for a brief moment, flashes of Mitsuru and the rest of the group crossed his mind. "You're right. I have to keep going. But carrying the weight of the world… I don't know, it feels like too much."

At that moment, the restaurant owner arrived with two steaming bowls of ramen, placing them gently on the counter.

"Two specials," he said with a friendly smile. "Let me know if you need anything else."

Shinjiro picked up one of the bowls and, using his chopsticks, took a bite of the noodles, savoring the rich, salty broth.

"I know how it feels," Shinjiro said as he chewed, his voice low and filled with melancholy. "After what I did, I don't want to go back to SEES. Carrying that same weight… I just can't anymore."

Hiro picked up his bowl, but the question he'd been avoiding since the beginning slipped out before he could stop himself. "Yeah. About what you did… what exactly happen—"

He froze mid-sentence, his eyes locking onto Shinjiro's neck.

The veins on Shinjiro's neck were turning black, pulsing aggressively.

"Shinjiro… your neck," Hiro pointed out, concerned.

Shinjiro looked startled and touched his own neck, feeling a sharp pain shoot through his chest.

His vision began to blur, a dark figure appearing in his mind.

"Dammit! Not now… Kastor!" Shinjiro muttered, his voice laced with agony.

Blood began to trickle from his nose, and he quickly grabbed the syringe he had pulled out earlier.

Rolling up his sleeve, he revealed an arm marked by numerous injection scars.

As he injected the contents of the syringe into his arm, Shinjiro felt a cold calm spread through his body.