The moment I returned home and dove into the depths of our subconscious, someone seized me by the collar and threw a punch with everything they had.
Perhaps because I was floating in water, the blow lacked devastating force, but my opponent was still a professional boxer.
I instinctively caught the adrenaline-fueled punch with my right palm, sending a jolt of numbness shooting up my arm.
Wait—has Furuya Rei actually woken up?
It seemed my mission was finally over. Wonderful news... or so I wanted to say. Sadly, the situation allowed for no such naive celebration.
"Mr. Furuya..."
"Why did you kill him?!!"
Mr. Furuya screamed, cutting me off sharply.
The seascape, once a deep, tranquil blue, was suddenly murky, stained a crimson red that blocked all view of the outside world.
The taste of iron in my mouth was revolting; it felt as though I were drowning in a sea of blood.
He glared at me, his gaze charged with a roaring, overwhelming fury that forced me to step back in pure intimidation.
He seemed to be trapped in a massive, thorny misunderstanding. What was I supposed to do now?
"He... Hiro didn't deserve to die in a place like that! Not like that... not in such a savage way!"
"N-no! You're wrong! Morofushi Hiromitsu is still alive!"
"Don't spout such obvious lies!"
The enraged Mr. Furuya raised his fist again.
I quickly maneuvered behind him to restrain him, but he shot me a terrifying glare dripping with hatred. His eyes overflowed with such killing intent that I felt as if I were being stabbed over and over just by looking at him.
But hadn't I just spoken to Mr. Morofushi before coming here?
Hadn't Mr. Furuya seen that? ...Wait. Ever since this place turned that murky crimson, perhaps Mr. Furuya could no longer see the outside world clearly?
Did this mean he thought I was the murderer who had ended the life of his best friend, Morofushi Hiromitsu?
Impossible. This misunderstanding has gone completely off the rails.
Morofushi Hiromitsu isn't dead. For all I know, he's currently resting up at a Public Security facility, recovering from the strain of infiltration.
Or perhaps he's in a hospital right now, getting stitched up where my claws tore into him.
So, I can't exactly claim total innocence. Those wounds will undoubtedly leave scars, and I do feel bad about that.
"You... You're no undercover officer to me anymore! You're nothing but pure evil, something to be spat on! You piece of filth!"
"Please, wait. Just listen to me."
Tears welled in Furuya Rei's eyes, driven by sheer rage.
Frustration, grief, hatred, self-loathing—a spectrum of raw emotion shimmered in those tears like a rainbow.
Good God... is he crying? I couldn't believe this fierce warrior had suddenly reduced himself to a weeping wreck.
Did the shock of Scotch's "death" jolt him awake?
"Die! Die! Just die! I'll kill you with my own hands! How dare you... How dare you do that to Hiro!"
"Wait, please! It's just a misunderstanding, believe me!"
I wasn't prepared to take a beating, so I turned and fled.
Since he isn't used to navigating the subconscious yet, he struggled to cut through the mental waters despite chasing me with the face of a demon. The gap between us widened.
He screamed after me, "Don't run away, you coward!" It sounded so much like a famous anime protagonist that I nearly laughed. Please, give it a rest.
I ignored his voice as best I could and swam for the surface with everything I had.
I'll leave him be for a while until he calms down and is ready to listen.
Eventually, I'll be able to contact Morofushi-san, perhaps even meet him secretly despite the risk.
Once that happens, Furuya-san's misunderstanding will clear up on its own.
As I surged up from the depths of his heart, I let out a long, desperate sigh at the tragedy of it all.
What now? How am I supposed to deal with the Original Persona for the next month until I can meet Scotch?
My head broke the surface, and my consciousness snapped back to reality in an instant.
Then, in a split second.
My vision lurched violently.
"Ugh... Ahh... What are you doing, Original...?"
I could feel him rampaging inside me with crystal clarity.
A wave of vertigo and nausea hit me, as if I were trapped on a ship in a storm. I could barely stand.
Am I in actual trouble here?
At that exact moment.
The doorbell rang.
A visitor? Who...? Fighting back the urge to vomit, face pale as a corpse, I opened the door. There stood Vodka in his black suit and hat, looking like he was attending a funeral.
"Hey, Bourbon. You okay? You looked tired when you submitted your report, but... Good Lord, you look like death!"
"...Vodka. Sorry... to worry you. Come in."
"Hey, hey, just go to sleep! Don't worry about me. Can you walk?"
"Barely..."
"Don't push yourself! The bed... no, the futon is right here. I'll lay it out for you here. You don't mind, do you?"
"No... I'll do it..."
"Stop it, just stay put! I'm going to keep an eye on you for a bit. If this gets any worse, I'm calling an ambulance, no questions asked. You've got a fake insurance card or something, right?"
What is this? Has Vodka suddenly morphed into the "childhood friend nursing you back to health" anime trope?
I gave in and collapsed onto the futon he'd laid out. Ugh... my head is spinning.
It feels like Furuya-san is trying to surface but failing, thrashing around inside my head.
Why can't he get out? Is my presence blocking the switch?
A hoarse scream, sounding like it was tearing itself apart, pierced my ears from deep within:
You... I... killed Hiro! I killed Hiro!
I told you it's a misunderstanding! Wait, stop thrashing, please. I'm going to throw up. Please, ple— [Retching sound]
What did I do to deserve this...?
"Is there any food in the house? If not, I'll go buy something easy on the stomach."
"Thanks... There's some meal-prepped food..."
"Got it. I'll heat it up. You need to get something in your stomach. You didn't eat before the mission again, did you? If you can't keep solids down, I'll get you a sports drink."
I have to clear up this misunderstanding fast. This is getting dangerous.
While Vodka tenderly nursed me, I mulled over my next moves with Public Security.
I have to meet Scotch, regardless of the risk. If I don't, my deteriorating health is going to blow a mission. Worse, I might actually die from what looks like a "deluxe stomach flu," which would be a truly pathetic tragedy.
Ah... thank you, "Childhood Friend Vodka"... thank you so much.
As I chewed on these fragmented thoughts, the sun rose on a new day.