Tokyo's Phantom Thief

And so—let's fast-forward straight to that evening.

When they checked out of the love hotel, Asakura Rinto was practically carrying the Yoshizawa sisters out in his arms.

These were two athletic, high-energy girls with the lean, graceful builds of elite gymnasts—BMI probably under 17. They looked like they could knock out two hundred push-ups and sit-ups without breaking a sweat.

But at that moment, they were completely wrecked—barely breathing, legs like jelly.

Their backs and legs ached so badly they couldn't take another step. They begged Rinto to carry them, clinging to him as they staggered home, swaying side to side like a trio of drunks.

Along the way, pedestrians gave Rinto all sorts of complex looks—admiring, envious, a little stunned.

Especially the stylish onee-sans—when they saw two such gorgeous girls utterly wiped out like that, they looked at Rinto like they'd stumbled upon a rare beast. A few even gave him surprised, hungry stares, as if they were this close to dragging him into the love hotel themselves for a few dozen rounds of "friendly sparring."

Tokyo's fashionable older sisters were too enthusiastic. It made Rinto kind of uncomfortable.

When he finally got the soft, boneless girls to their apartment building, he even had to make them call their parents to come downstairs and get them.

Handing the sisters over to their mother—a young, elegant woman—Rinto could feel the murderous aura radiating from their father behind her. A high-ranking judge, no less.

That man's glare was scarier than any Shadow.

Thankfully, the kind-hearted mother kept smiling and thanking him, even inviting him to dinner sometime—saying she'd make him kidney soup to help him "recover his strength."

That was… not reassuring.

Rinto smiled on the outside, but inside, he was dying.

Ma'am, I think you've misunderstood everything.

Sure, he'd technically taken her daughters to a love hotel (and sure, they had paid for the room), but he hadn't so much as touched a hair on their heads!

The sisters' exhausted state had nothing to do with any kind of raunchy fun in the love hotel.

In fact, when they'd first returned from Kamoshida's Palace, the girls had tried to pounce on him—genuinely planning to pin him to the bed.

But they hadn't even made it that far before collapsing.

That was just how the Metaverse worked.

Rinto had encountered this before—regular people who accidentally got pulled into the Metaverse often suffered symptoms afterward: memory fog, zoning out, fatigue, even excessive sleepiness.

He figured it was because ordinary people couldn't easily adapt to the transition between the physical and cognitive worlds.

So when they returned, all that accumulated stress came crashing down at ten, maybe a hundred times the weight—leaving them totally wiped out.

Since awakening his Persona, Rinto had built up resistance to this kind of spiritual whiplash. He couldn't really feel it anymore.

But this was his first time bringing non-Persona users into the Metaverse multiple times.

Whether the sisters could eventually adapt... he wasn't sure yet.

As they lay there, sore and exhausted, he reminded them—yet again, with extra seriousness:

"You both know how dangerous the Metaverse is now. So never, ever use that app without me. Pinky swear. If anyone breaks the deal, the other two get one hundred wishes granted. Got it?"

He held out his pinky.

The three of them hooked fingers. It was kind of awkward, but strangely touching.

The reason he repeated this so often wasn't because he didn't trust them personally.

It was because Rinto knew how dangerously curious teenage girls could be.

Once they had access to something this unbelievable, he was genuinely afraid they'd start messing with fire.

That was why he'd chosen to teach them everything—full transparency. Even took them into a Palace himself.

It was all to reinforce their understanding of the risks. Mental preparedness mattered.

All he could do now was hope they were mature enough to take it seriously.

"I'm back."

Rinto returned to his crappy old apartment and called into the room for his roommate.

Momoka, legs crossed on the sofa, was plucking at her guitar. She strummed a harsh, aggressive chord in response.

Rinto didn't think much of it.

He washed up quickly, replaced the toilet paper (he used the cheap roll stuff himself—Momoka only liked tissues), and headed into the kitchen.

He started prepping ingredients for tomorrow's dinner.

Time was always tight when you worked part-time, so it was important to prepare in advance.

That way the food stayed fresh, and he could cook right away when he got home.

His ingredient choices were limited by budget and shelf life—he had to put a lot of thought into each meal.

Over the past three months living with Momoka, Rinto had developed serious cooking skills—he poured real heart into it.

Before that, during his wandering years, he survived mostly on instant food.

Only since living with her had he started making full meals—something to nourish both the body and the soul.

Turns out, he was actually kind of gifted at it. Like he'd done it in a past life or something.

In just a few days, he went from zero to legit home chef. Momoka was full of praise—and from then on, they always ate at home.

"Alright."

Rinto stretched after loading tomorrow's ingredients into the fridge.

Seeing that Momoka was still in the living room, he grabbed two jars of homemade yogurt and sat beside her.

"Sorry I got back late today. Let's eat some yogurt, then head to the station for the street gig."

"...We're not going."

Her voice was flat and muffled as she took the yogurt anyway and started scooping it into her mouth.

Rinto blinked.

"Need a break? Are you feeling sick?"

"Your period's not due till next week, and you've been eating on schedule lately, so it shouldn't be hormones. And your new song's coming along fine—you're not stuck or anything... Ah, I get it. You upset your stomach, right? You and Subaru ate those two tubs of ice cream with the beef bowls, didn't you? And now you've got the runs. I'll grab the hot water bottle—just sleep with it on your stomach tonight."

Momoka: "Are you my dad or my mom?! Why the hell do you know when my period is?! You pervy, data-stalking freak!!! (〃＞目＜)"

Momoka lost her cool in under a minute. So much for her cool-girl act.

She blushed furiously and hurled a cushion at his face.

Rinto didn't get it.

They'd been living together for three months—working, eating, sleeping in the same space.

Wasn't it normal to keep track of your housemate's cycle...?

Wasn't that just basic courtesy???

"That's your problem, you idiot!"

Momoka hurled the last pillow, then grabbed her guitar.

For a moment, she looked like she was going to throw that too—then clenched her teeth and held back.

Rinto smoothly caught every cushion and stacked them neatly back on the couch.

He sat back down, leaving room beside him.

Then tilted his head, expression earnest:

"What's my problem? If it's something I can fix, just tell me. I will."

"...It's that! That kind of stuff!"

She stomped her foot hard, cheeks puffed out, then turned and stormed into her room.

Bang! The door slammed shut.

Click! went the lock.

Rinto stared at the closed door.

If Momoka had a Palace, he thought, there's no way I'd be able to get in right now.

Older women were a whole different mystery.

At least his sweet Yoshizawa sisters were still cute.

No dark awakenings there... yet.