Into the Metaverse

Saturday 30th April

Madarame's Palace was as grandiose and disgusting as the man himself, with gold plated walls and bright neon blues leaking out from every room. Not for the first time, Haruto found himself feeling thankful his mask had the effect of naturally dimming the intense colours of the Metaverse.

Be on your guard, warned Arsène. He might not be onto us yet, but he still appears paranoid.

Likely because of the bad media beginning to pop up around him, Haruto thought back. Seems old sins cast long shadows.

True, but we both know nothing will happen until he dies. 

I'm not sure death is necessary in this case.

I hope you're right.

Deaths were difficult to cause from inside the Metaverse, in any case. Comas? Easy. Brainwashing? Harder, but certainly not impossible. Death was a constant unknown. Sometimes it happened by accident. It was true Madarame was more likely to die from a mental shutdown—he was old enough that the shock might kill him outright—but otherwise it was hard to predict. It largely depended on where they were when they finally collapsed—if it happened in traffic then there really wasn't much anyone could do. Not that anyone ever recovered from a mental shutdown anyway. Being normally comatose was one thing, being an empty shell without a soul was quite another. Honestly, it would be kinder to kill them.

But he wasn't here to linger on the merits of keeping Madarame alive or dead—he was here to more thoroughly interrogate the corruption that had made him this way.

Fortunately, while the structure was imposing, the Shadows inhabiting it were of the somewhat pathetic variety.

And the Metaverse was working as normal, which was always a plus.

Don't get cocky, warned Arsène, I don't care how puny they are, I refuse to deal with another dismemberment. 

I hardly ever get dismembered! 

That's what you say every time.

Well, that was hardly his problem. And like everything else in the Metaverse, it wasn't like getting dismembered in there actually meant anything. Especially not with the healing skills at his disposal.

As such, it was an easy enough matter to sneak past the guards and into the main gallery without attracting much attention. His outfit, as ever, was very useful in helping him blend in.

These portraits seem very distinct, muttered Arsène, as Haruto peered around at the blue-toned pictures.

"I agree," he murmured back. "And all of them in school uniform too…"

Hmm. That led to a rather nasty line of thought…

I think if that were happening, Yusuke would be somewhat more worse off than he appears.

"You're right. But something's up with these."

They certainly all seem to represent real people.

"Well, we won't learn anything by sticking around here," said Haruto, taking one last look around. "Let's go on to the next room."

The next room proved a little more constructive.

"Hirano Asura," he muttered, looking at one of the portraits. "I remember that name."

She committed suicide not long ago. And she used to be a pupil of Madarame's. 

"Huh," muttered Haruto, narrowing his eyes. "Students, paintings, and Madarame…"

The picture forming in his head wasn't a pleasant one. If these were all former students of Madarame's, the fact they'd manifested as paintings was more troubling than anything he'd seen so far.

Objectification.

"Got to love those traditional abuser red flags, huh?" said Haruto, unable to prevent his lip curling in disgust. "Of course he doesn't see them as people."

It might be instructive to see if we can find Yusuke.

It sure as hell wouldn't be pleasant, but it would be useful. "Alright," he sighed. "Let's go."

***

As it turned out, finding Yusuke didn't take long at all.

"There he is," said Haruto, staring up at the large, shifting painting.

It was Yusuke, no doubt about it, his bright blue hair and bemused, slightly distant smile accurate to a T.

You seem unhappy.

"Of course I'm unhappy, that's my friend," said Haruto, frowning.

But this is far from shocking, Arsène pointed out. We already knew he was hurting him.

Haruto let out a deep sigh. "I know. It's just… the way Yusuke talks about him, you'd think…"

It appears the intensity of Yusuke's feelings is not reciprocated in his mentor. 

"No…"

He didn't know why the thought had entered his head. Maybe it was because of his relationship with his own parents, but… even though he'd known Madarame was just using Yusuke, he'd somehow thought it was more personal than that.

Certainly, Yusuke is very attached to him.

More attached than Haruto had ever been to his own absentee guardians. But of course, Yusuke didn't even realise yet…

In a sense you're lucky.

"In a sense."

Not that that could ever curb the fact that even the insane ups and downs Yusuke seemed to experience with Madarame was more than Haruto had ever experienced with his own parents. But hatred like that wasn't love, nor was it deserved. He just… had to remind himself of that, every now and again.

Come on, said Arsène. There's more we need to see.

"Right," muttered Haruto, shaking himself. "Let's go."

He had a friend to save, after all.

***

It didn't take too long to find it—the final confirmation he needed.

"The Infinite Spring," he murmured, reading off the plaque of the grotesque looking statue.

Seems that confirms the plagiarism rumours.

"No kidding."

A whirling mass of gold-faces leaping out of wide sheets of metal-contorted-drowning in agony. Madarame's students. His spring of inspiration, huh? And Yusuke was there, though his face was unseen, trapped in the depths of Madarame's psychological whirlpool…

Plagiarism might be the least he's dealing with.

From Yusuke's accounts of where he lived—the heating always on and off, Madarame leaving for days at a time, not enough food, constant pressure to produce more art… yeah. Plagiarism was just the tip of the horrible, abusive iceberg.

"We can't leave this be," he murmured, forcing himself to look away from the statue.

I agree, said Arsène. But first, we must talk to Yusuke. 

"Yeah." Haruto just hoped he would listen.