Chapter Text
You wake up slowly. Some distant spices and years-old dust dance their way past as you roll over, pointedly ignoring the light streaming from the grimy window.
A window that you swear wasn’t there when you went to sleep.
Come to think of it, the bed is different too. It’s a bit squishier, but it’s thin, and you can faintly feel a tight, hard grid pattern underneath. And, now that you’ve opened your eyes, that’s not your pillowcase. You don’t remember your room being nearly this cluttered. And that plant does not look healthy.
“Leblanc,” your brain supplies, trying to be helpful. “Presumably named after Maurice Leblanc, author and creator of the fictional Arsѐne Lupin. Serves coffee and curry.” That would explain the smell, although you’re still not sure why you’re in an attic above a cafe. “Probation. Falsely convicted of assault.” Well, that solves that.
With a single fluid motion, you roll out from under the covers, immediately to flop face-down on a pile of moldering books with a groan. Mornings never agreed with you.
You don’t remember any mornings before this one.
Immediately, you shove that thought and its implications back into a dark corner of your brain and slowly drag yourself towards the stairs. You’ll deal with it once you’re more awake. Luckily, the slight sting of tumbling head-first down the steps wakes you up enough to realize, “Damn. Glasses.” Back up the stairs it is.
A man with heavy frown lines and an odd chinstrap-goatee - “Sojiro Sakura” - appears once you’ve washed up and changed into your uniform. “Looks like you’re up.”
You blink blearily at his hat, then at the man himself, making no move to stand while he continues offering you a ride to school. As he slouches down the stairs, you follow, thinking that there’s something else you should be remembering.
“Sakura-san- actually, never mind.”
“What was that? You had something to say?” Sojiro’s hat pokes up from past the stairs.
“No, it’s just that… Keep an eye out for traffic, I guess. What with all the accidents happening. Also, I forgot to eat breakfast.”
“Sheesh, kid. Run down to the 777 and grab something, then. No time to waste, especially if there’s traffic.” He tosses you some coins, muttering about “country folk who can’t take a traffic jam.”
One egg onigiri and an awkward car ride later, you’re at Shujin Academy, and Principal Humpty-Dumpty - Kobayakawa - gives you a spiel that feels oddly familiar. Something about responsibility for your actions, and a whole lot of unnecessary fluff that feels designed to discourage you. Sojiro stiffens ever so slightly as the principal's nattering and Ms. Kawakami's complaints chip away at your shield of politeness. It makes sense now, why you got dad vibes from him. As Kawakami offers you your student ID, a garish flyer follows it, which you only notice when she halfway suppresses a squeak as you automatically slip both flyer and ID into your pocket.
"Eh- um, sorry, could you-" She turns a rather alarming shade of red, and you get the sudden, inexplicable feeling that you should probably get on her good side.
“Oh, is there a problem with my student ID?” You try to give her a meaningful look, something approximating a kind, understanding smile. “I can grab it first thing tomorrow then.”
“Oh! Sure, yeah, of course!” As you hand your ID and the flyer back, doing your best to hide it from the principal, Kawakami recovers slightly, still flustered and somewhat shaken. You decide that you don’t like seeing her like that. After a suspicious look and a few more words between Kobayakawa and Sojiro, you dutifully follow him back to the car, and immediately into the worst traffic jam you’ve ever seen.
“You’re taking the train starting tomorrow,” Sojiro grunts mulishly. “You really weren’t kidding about the traffic, huh.”
You feel his eyes boring into you as you speak. “Just a gut feeling I had.” You hope he doesn’t notice the bob of your Adam's apple as you gulp. Though, come to think of it, you’re not sure why exactly you don’t want Sojiro to know.
“Whatever you say, kid. So how was the school? You think you can manage?”
“I was actually a pretty decent student before all this. I think I’ll scrape by.” It feels right to say, even if you don't remember anything that makes you think that.
“Tch. Just don’t get too cocky. Still, you were expelled once already. To think you’d re-enroll. It’s not like anyone will be sympathetic with you. If that’s what it’s like at school, people might say stuff about me in the future, too.” He huffs. “What a troublesome kid I’ve taken in.” (Have you heard him say that before? Was it yesterday?)
“Sorry, Sakura-san. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”
“Well, I’ve already been paid for it. Try to make it worth my while, at least."
The radio squawks, and you catch the news announcer's words. Something you swear you remember. You know about the accident, and it'll affect your route to school tomorrow. It's one of those "psychotic breakdowns." Really, they should stop using the term, psychosis is a clinically-defined condition. (What?) Akechi probably disagreed with the terminology, too, but too bad, he's gotta go along with the status quo. (Akechi?) The Minister of Transport will step down because of the accident. It's all part of his plan. (Whose?) The accident is at Shibuya Station, and you'll spend all of your carefully budgeted time there looking for the damn Ginza line. It’s in the Teikyu building, by the way. Exit the station out into the station square and you can’t miss it. (Ginza line? Wha-) You'll bump into some people who will be your best friends and partners in crime, and you'll be late on your first day because you'll spend four periods unconscious in a dungeon in the gym teacher's brain, before ripping half your face off to summon a demonic thief which will eventually turn into Satan, which you will use to shoot God, who is an asshole sippy cup, in the face on Christmas Eve. (Wha- God? Wait. Mementos- that goddamn cup- and it’s Satanael, actually- )
On second thought, maybe it's for the best that the memories didn't come flooding back immediately this morning. Oh, and you still don’t remember your name. Shame about the student ID.
It’s late when you get back to Leblanc. Sojiro hands over your probation diary, and takes a call. From Futaba, you figure. “Was that family?” you hazard a guess.
“It’s none of your business. I’ll lock up now, so do what you want. Oh, but don’t mess up my store. If something goes missing, I’ll hand you-”
“Right over to the cops. Yeah." You smirk as he briefly loses his composure. "Don’t forget to flip the sign on your way out, Sakura-san. And, uh…” You pause. “Thanks. For giving me a chance.”
“Don’t go thanking me yet. Just keep your head down for the rest of the year, and you’ll finally be out of my hair.”
“What little you have left, you mean?”
You narrowly dodge a swipe from Sojiro, albeit one without much intent behind it. “Tch. Brat. And I thought you had manners, too.”
As he leaves, the amount of clutter in the room suddenly becomes more apparent to you. The workbench in the corner needs to be cleaned off before Morgana gets here, as does the bookshelf. You’ll have to deal with the cobwebs, too. All the garbage in the corner is less of an issue, but it’s still probably a good idea to clear it soon.
Speaking of: Morgana. Sojiro was fine with him appearing suddenly, and nobody noticed him in class, but it’s still probably a good idea to clear it with him. You can use the excuse that he’s your therapy cat, and it makes extra sense because-
Your train of thought crashes headlong into a wall of “you don’t remember anything before today, or anything about yourself, but you still know how the next year will go.” You resolve to break down that wall with a sledgehammer of “I have prior knowledge of the events of this year, so I am therefore obligated to fix as much as possible, my amnesia about myself be damned,” which, as the head of the hammer flies off the handle into the distance, immediately leads into the realization that “Oh, fuck, Shiho.”
You have less than four days.
Running your fingers through your hair, you sweep the books off the workbench and into a pile on the couch, and sit down with a pen and paper. Time to get to work.