Yusuke seemed… happier, at school after Renko had made her discovery. His former melancholy still came back in shades, and every now and then Renko would catch him staring out the window in a sad, contemplative sort of way—but the moment he realised he was being watched he'd quickly shrug it off and become his usual, focused self again. He readily engaged Renko in conversation, no longer seeming to be shrinking and collapsing in on himself.
It was killing Renko inside.
Because this was… what she wanted, right? She wanted Yusuke to be happy—wanted him to escape Madarame's claws. And by all rights he seemed to have done that. By awakening his Persona and entering Madarame's Palace, he'd finally have the ability to take charge and change his fate all by himself. No longer was he the helpless victim—no longer did he have to fear the days to come. He was, for all intents and purposes, exactly where Renko had been trying to help get him to.
And Renko should be happy. She should.
But she wasn't.
It was probably her own unique brand of arrogance that let her think so, that let her bristle at the fact that others had discovered the Metaverse, that insisted to her that they were too stupid, too naïve to ever figure it out like she had, but… she did. She hated it. Hated how much she despised her friend's new growth, hated how it boiled and burnt her insides, but…
How could she be sure?
The creature's presence seemed to linger in the air around her, dyeing the world in unnatural shades of blue, weighing on Renko's mind until she felt she would surely collapse under the strain… But it didn't talk. Just waited. Surely they all knew of the creature by now? Surely it would have made itself known to them? But there was no sign on Yusuke's face that he lived in terror of the creature that lurked beneath Tokyo—no sign that he might be aware he was unleashing some unknowable evil on the world. No sign at all.
But one door was open already. How long until it became two, or three, or four? She couldn't let the creature out. She couldn't let it impose its vile whims on all humanity.
She wanted to curse it—to scream—to yell. How was this fair? She'd been content for so long now. Why was this happening? Why were these people here? How had they discovered the Metaverse? Why had they involved Yusuke?
Why why why why why?
Why couldn't it just leave her alone?
***
When she returned home that night, she felt it. Lurking in the air. Aching like a stab wound to her chest. Tonight it would talk.
And as usual, it made her wait up late—already winning the upper hand in the conversation by exploiting Renko's woefully fragile human biology, and making sure it only spoke to her when she was already angry and exhausted. Renko understood why it did it. Unfortunately, that did little to shield her from its manipulations.
The blue light hovered over the floor, and hundreds of snake-like voices hissed in unison.
Are you tired, Renko?
The air left her lungs in a rush as the creature said her name, like it was placing some kind of curse on her by acknowledging her personally. She sometimes wondered if it could suffocate her just by that alone.
"Exhausted," she said, narrowing her eyes. "So tired you wouldn't even comprehend it—in fact, I think I could go on an hour-long soliloquy purely on how tired I am. It would begin like this—"
There will be no need for that, said the creature, already annoyed. Good. It deserved a taste of its own medicine. You have finally discovered the others to whom we have extended our gift, correct?
The creature seemed to control initial access to the Metaverse—or at least, that's what it had told Renko when she first arrived. At first she'd felt honoured. Nowadays it just makes her feel sick.
"Finally gathered enough energy to let someone else in, huh?"
More than just one.
More than just one was right, but… "Why so many? Why not just keep it to one person, like you did with me?"
The light flickered, and Renko got the impression the creature was laughing at her.
Why keep it to so few? it replied nastily. After all, it hardly benefits us to have another shy creature like yourself using our gift. With so many people and personalities at play, their notoriety will become unavoidable.
This wasn't the first time the creature had complained about Renko's preference for keeping her talents a secret—really though, it shouldn't be that surprising—she would be mercilessly hunted as one of the most dangerous criminals on the planet if she ever revealed herself. But she had a feeling it had something to do with the doors keeping the creature trapped. It always urged her to go public, to let society fear her—as though that would somehow benefit it too. So if these interlopers were unavoidably gathering fame due to their exploits…
"But how could you possibly guarantee that people will come to know about them?" Renko asked cautiously. "There's no reason people should think these incidents are any different to the ones I've been causing, and no one's ever linked them with some special power."
The light flickered brighter for a moment. Renko sensed a supernatural grin bearing down on her.
You forget these children do not have the advantages you so arrogantly claim. They cannot be so subtle in their actions. It is impossible, if they want to achieve their goals.
What on earth did that mean? That they couldn't avoid going public if they wanted to cause a shutdown? But that didn't make sense—everything could be done within the Metaverse, even in misshapen Palaces like Shido's…
Their naïvety blinds them to the nature of that world, the creature crowed gleefully. And even if they had entered unaided, they have not half of your potential. The light dimmed slightly, and the voice took on a melancholy tone. Truly it was a mistake to allow such a creature as you into the Metaverse with no guiding influence, but we suppose it can no longer be helped. It is a truth undeniable that the world has far more to fear from idiots than experts. And now there's nothing you can do.
There was a mocking, spiteful quality to that last statement that Renko didn't like at all.
"Of course I can," said Renko, sharply. "I practically know half the people you've chosen already."
Ah, said the creature, with a bemused, mocking tone, but that is the very thing that will stop you.
And with that ominous statement it flickered and vanished into thin air.
Renko felt like someone was trying to drive rusty screws into her temples.
"I hate that thing," she spat, massaging her forehead. "Hate it."
Arsène's ghostly presence hovered not far from her—re-manifesting in the absence of the creature.
I don't like the implications either, he said pensively. It seems these amateurs's lack of experience will be their undoing.
"Our undoing, more like," grumbled Renko, sitting up straight. "It doesn't help that they seem to insist on brainwashing people. That's difficult enough as it is, without beginners messing about with it."
There is one thing we have yet to discover about them, mused Arsène. How they are getting the Rulers to manifest their Treasures. I think we can deduce from the creature's comments that they do not possess your powers of intervention.
"You're right," said Renko, quietly. "If they have to rely on interacting with the Ruler in person… that could be very serious."
We must watch and wait, said Arsène, quietly. And when we discover what it is they are doing… then we will attempt damage control.
It was easy for him to say that, but depending on what the interlopers were doing it could turn out to be quite serious… But she couldn't worry about that for now. For now, she just needed to sleep.
But as she laid down in bed that night, she found sleep didn't come easily at all.