May 2nd, 2012, Velvet Room, Lunch Time.
Within the ever-shifting, ethereal blue confines of the Velvet Room, a scene of unexpected domesticity unfolded. The air was now rich with the tantalizing aromas of a meticulously prepared lunch.
At the center of this lavish spread sat Koneko Toujou, who had become utterly convinced she was the luckiest devil in any known realm. With unbridled enthusiasm that bordered on reverence, she devoted herself to the feast before her.
Despite her petite, almost delicate frame, she attacked each dish Makoto had prepared with the ferocious focus of a seasoned warrior on a campaign.
Her appetite was a force of nature, a spectacle that seemed to defy all logical and physical laws as she consumed quantities that should have been impossible, each plate emptied with efficient, joyful determination.
"You possess quite the formidable appetite, Koneko," Ryoji commented, his own fork pausing mid-air as he watched, utterly fascinated.
His eyes were fixed on the seemingly bottomless pit that was Koneko's consumption, tracking every devour, gnaw, gulp, chew, bite, swallow, crunch, sip, and slurp with amused awe.
'She rivals the rusted lizard's own capacity for gluttony,' Odin observed drily within the shared consciousness.
'I priiiide myself on my consumptive prowess! No mere kitten can surpaaaass me, old man!' Fafnir screeched back, instantly taking the Norse god's comment as a personal challenge.
"Senpai, this is... incredible," Koneko murmured around a perfectly seasoned morsel, her voice hushed and brimming with genuine awe. The words seemed to flow directly from a deep, unfiltered place in her heart. "It might just be the best food I've ever tasted."
"T-thank you," Makoto stammered, uncharacteristically flustered by the sheer, unadulterated intensity of her praise.
"Well, that's one of Makoto's hidden talents," Ryoji said with a grin, recovering from his mesmerized state. "If I didn't know better, I'd bet you have a dedicated culinary Persona in there somewhere, always on standby."
'The only one who comes to mind with such legendary culinary skill would be The Dagda,' Kohryu mused, his tone thoughtful.
'Please, do not mention the "Good God,"' Apollo interjected, a clear, reflexive distaste in his psychic voice. 'He unsettles me.'
'Of course the Sun God would chafe at one known as the "Perfect Being,"' Lucifer remarked, a rare note of respect coloring his tone as he spoke the epithet.
'Should you encounter the Tuatha Dé Danann of this world, Universe, seeking his aid could prove most wise,' Izanagi advised pragmatically.
Meanwhile, Koneko had polished off the last savory bite. A deep, contented sigh escaped her, and a huge, unguarded smile blossomed on her lips, transforming her usually placid features.
"Thank you so much, Senpai," she said, the gratitude warm and solid in the quiet room.
"Next time, you don't have to follow me through half the city," Makoto said, a faint, knowing look in his eyes.
The boy had, in fact, spent his entire morning aware of a small, silent shadow trailing him with remarkable persistence.
"How did you even discover Makoto's culinary skills?" Ryoji asked, his curiosity naturally piqued.
"Akeno made some pastries for breakfast this morning," Koneko explained, licking a last bit of flavor from her thumb. "They were excellent. When I asked who taught her, she said Miss Grayfia had borrowed the recipe from you, Senpai."
"Oh, I see," Makoto said, feeling Ryoji's inquisitive gaze shift to him. He offered a simple explanation. "While they were training, I sometimes assisted Grayfia with the cooking."
The answer seemed to satisfy Ryoji's unspoken question.
A moment of comfortable silence passed before Koneko's golden eyes lifted to meet Makoto's again, a new, hopeful gleam in them. "Is there... any dessert?" she asked, the question delivered with a deceptive casualness.
"No, I didn't make any," Makoto admitted, turning fully to face her. "I don't usually cook on this scale..."
His words trailed off as he was met with the full force of Koneko's pleading expression. Her lips had settled into a dramatic, unmistakable pout, and her wide eyes were deployed like weapons, silently broadcasting a desperate, heartfelt appeal for something sweet.
The transformation from satisfied devourer to hopeful supplicant was instantaneous and complete.
'Ah! And where was this boldness merely a week ago?' Apollo quipped internally, his tone rich with amusement.
'I find it utterly charming,' Cendrillon countered, her voice warm with affection for the small devil's unabashed desire.
'It signifies growth! The Hanged is becoming more confident in her bond with the Universe, hee hoo!' Jack Frost chimed in, his delight palpable.
'Universe, I formally petition you to provide a dessert for the Hanged, hee hoo! And if my counsel is permitted, I would humbly suggest a Strawberry Frost, hee hoo!' the Demon Doll added, his tone playful yet earnest.
'Whaaat? Jackie, that's... that's practically cannibalism!' Cendrillon shrieked in mock horror.
'Hee hoo...' Jack Frost sighed with theatrical disappointment. 'Very well. I shall create the perfect Strawberry Frost Slush, hee hoo!'
"Alright," Makoto announced, surrendering to the collective will. "Jack Frost has an idea."
The statement instantly captured Koneko's undivided attention. He reached into a seemingly ordinary cabinet behind the counter and retrieved a tall, clear glass, setting it down on the wooden table with a soft, definitive clink.
Koneko's entire being seemed to focus on that glass. Her gaze locked onto Makoto with the intensity of a cat observing a fascinating bird, or a child awaiting a magician's most promised trick.
"Do it, Jack Frost," Makoto muttered, one hand rising to half-cover his face in a gesture of mild embarrassment at using his metaphysical powers for something as whimsical as dessert preparation.
With a small pop of displaced air and a puff of frost, the Demon Doll materialized atop the counter. Its presence was a funny yet elegant contradiction.
With a cheerful snap of its gloved fingers, a miniature blizzard of light-red ice crystals swirled into the waiting glass, piling and crystallizing into a vibrant, perfectly textured frosty slush that glittered under the Velvet Room's strange light.
"Here you are, Hanged, hee hoo! I do hope you enjoy strawberry, hee hoo!" Jack Frost chirped. With a flourish, the Persona itself lifted the now-full glass and presented it to Koneko.
Ryoji, thoroughly enchanted by the entire performance, broke into soft applause, a wide, genuine grin spreading across his face.
"Thank you, hee hoo! Jack Frost is ever at your service to astonish and delight, hee hoo!" the doll declared proudly.
Jack Frost offered a jaunty little bow before its form dissolved back into motes of icy light and vanished into Makoto's mind, its cheerful laughter seeming to linger like the chime of a bell.
For Koneko, time elongated. Her hands cradled the cup of Strawberry Frost Slush as if it were a sacred relic. In her mind, a celestial choir might have been singing hymns of praise.
Her enhanced nekomata senses, usually attuned to danger or prey, now tingled with pure, anticipatory delight as she leaned closer, inhaling the cool, sweet, impossibly fresh aroma of strawberries and winter.
'So... paradise exists for devils, too,' she thought, utterly lost in a blissful world envisioned entirely of frozen confections.
She took the spoon provided, plunging it into the crimson, crystalline mound. Lifting a modest portion, she brought it to her mouth, which watered in uncontrollable anticipation.
The moment the slush touched her tongue, her taste buds erupted in a symphony of ecstasy. The flavor was exquisitely balanced—sweet, but not cloying, with a bright, clean acidity from strawberries picked at the perfect moment of ripeness.
The texture was a sublime cross between a fine ice and a creamy sorbet. A soft, involuntary hum of delight escaped her as she closed her eyes. Her face lit up with an unrestrained, radiant smile that showed her small, sharp canines. Her legs swung excitedly beneath the table, tiny kicks of joy she couldn't suppress.
"Jack Frost," Ryoji began, his own curiosity thoroughly piqued by the enchanting display, "might I trouble you for one as well?"
'Hee hoo! The formidable Death, Appraiser of the Fall and herald of the Mother of All, comes to beg a simple slush from poor, humble Jack Frost! Hee hoo!' the Demon Doll's voice echoed, his jest provoking a wave of mental laughter from the other Personas.
"Yes, the very same," Ryoji replied, playing along with a half-smile.
Jack Frost, however, pointedly chose to ignore him, a cheeky act of defiance that made Ryoji's smile turn into a look of amused exasperation. With a philosophical shrug, Ryoji let it go, the minor rejection not dampening his spirits.
When Makoto glanced back at Koneko, the glass was already empty, its contents having disappeared in under a minute.
Without a trace of shame or hesitation, Koneko thrust the empty vessel back toward Makoto, her golden eyes once again deploying the full, devastating power of a pleading, hopeful stare.
In another shimmer of frost, Jack Frost reappeared. This time, it shot Ryoji a glance brimming with playful triumph before refilling Koneko's cup to the brim.
"Another delightful treat for the Hanged, hee hoo!" it trilled, its bell-like voice bubbling with glee.
After five more servings—each consumed with the same focused rapture—Koneko finally sat back, a portrait of complete and utter satiation. Her small frame relaxed into the chair, and a profound peace settled over her features.
"Thank you... for everything, Senpai," she murmured, her voice soft but layered with a sincerity that pierced her usual collected demeanor. "It was perfect. The best thing I've ever tasted." There was not a shred of doubt in her declaration.
"You're welcome anytime, Koneko," Makoto replied, his own tone softening into genuine warmth. As he spoke, a connection flickered in his mind, a memory triggered by her presence, her heritage, and the recent strange events.
'Your thoughts turn to the feline woman, do they not, Universe?' Kohryu interjected, seamlessly tuning into Makoto's train of thought. 'Yes,'Makoto confirmed internally.
"Koneko," he began aloud, his voice gentle. "Can I ask you something?"
She immediately nodded, her expression open and trusting.
"When we were at Fuji-Q Highland, and you felt unwell... there was a woman there, watching us. A woman with cat-like features. I confronted her. She called you 'Shirone,' and she said—"
The name acted like a trigger. Koneko flinched as if struck. All the soft contentment drained from her face, replaced by a mask of pure panic. Her eyes widened, the pupils contracting.
"Y-you met Kuroka?" she whispered, the name torn from her. A tremor ran through her small frame.
"She's... she's a bad person. She... she..." Koneko's voice fractured, her words dissolving into a stifled gasp. Tears, sudden and hot, welled in her golden eyes.
"Sorry, Senpai... I don't want to talk about it. Please..." The last word was a barely audible plea, laden with a pain that was suddenly, shockingly visceral in the cozy room.
'The wound is far deeper than we thought,' Izanagi observed, his stern voice grave.
'A great hurt lies between them, hee hoo,'Jack Frost added, his usual cheer absent, replaced by a somber understanding.
"It's alright," Makoto said swiftly, his own voice softening with immediate regret. "You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. I'm sorry for bringing it up." He sought to retreat, to rebuild the safe space that had just shattered.