He Was Just My Best Friend Until He Took A Hit For Me In The Dark

The new Palace was blinding. Everything was gold, from the floor polished to a mirror shine to the impossibly tall bars that formed the walls of the vast, circular room. It was a gilded cage on a monstrous scale. Intricate, golden perches and walkways crisscrossed the open space above them, and everywhere they looked, there were figures. Tall, slender cognitive beings with blank, beautiful faces and shimmering, feathered gowns stood frozen in place like statues, trapped within smaller, ornate cages.

“So this is how the great Jin Moriyama sees the fashion world,” Makoto said, her voice tight with disapproval. “An aviary for his prized birds.”

Ann, in her slick red Panther suit, felt a cold dread settle in her stomach that had nothing to do with the looming Shadows. She knew this world. She lived a version of it every day. As they moved cautiously past the first set of cages, the cognitive models turned their heads in perfect, unnerving unison. Their lips, painted a perfect crimson, began to move.

“Her measurements are off by a centimeter. Unacceptable.”

“Look at the way she walks. So clumsy.”

“Her face is pretty, for now. Give it five years. She’ll be forgotten.”

The whispers were sibilant and sharp, echoing in the cavernous space. They weren’t directed at anyone in particular, yet Ann felt each one like a physical strike. They were the same cruel critiques she’d heard in hushed tones at auditions, the same fears that haunted her in front of her own mirror. Her hands, covered by her pink gloves, clenched into fists. She tried to keep her expression neutral, to maintain the confident facade of Panther, but a tremor ran through her.

Ryuji, walking beside her as Skull, noticed it instantly. He saw the slight falter in her step, the way her jaw tightened. His own face, usually open and expressive, hardened into a scowl behind his metal mask. He’d seen her deal with this kind of pressure before, but here, in the distorted heart of a predator, the words felt like poison.

Another voice, colder than the rest, cut through the air. “She has no real talent. She just trades on her looks. How long until she has nothing left?”

That was the one. The one that hit too close to her deepest insecurity. Ann stopped, her breath catching in her throat. The world seemed to narrow to that single, cutting phrase.

Before anyone else could react, Ryuji moved. He stepped directly in front of her, blocking her view of the caged figures. His back was a solid, broad wall in his black leather outfit, his spiked bat held tight in his hand.

“Shut your damn mouths!” he yelled, his voice bouncing off the golden walls. The cognitive models fell silent, their heads snapping back to their original, vacant stares.

Ryuji didn’t turn around, but he spoke again, his voice lower now, rough with anger and meant only for her. “Don’t listen to that crap, Ann. It’s bullshit.”

She stared at his back, at the familiar skull-and-crossbones design. His raw, unfiltered defense of her was so sudden, so fierce, it momentarily silenced the vicious voices in her own head. He hadn't hesitated. He just acted, a human shield against the ugliness of it all. A strange warmth spread through her chest, pushing back against the cold.

“Skull, calm down,” Joker advised, his voice even but alert. “Don’t draw unwanted attention.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ryuji muttered, finally glancing over his shoulder. His blue eyes, visible through the sockets of his mask, were blazing. He didn’t move away from his spot in front of her. “Let’s just keep moving.”

As they moved deeper into the aviary, a grating sound of metal on stone echoed from the shadows ahead. A new figure emerged, far larger and more menacing than the caged models. It was a hulking brute of tarnished brass and iron, its body shaped like a birdcage, its head a singular, massive, old-fashioned lock. A ring of rusted keys, each the size of a human hand, dangled from its hip, clanging with every heavy step. The Cage Warden.

“Intruders defiling the sanctuary!” its voice boomed, a metallic resonance that vibrated through the floor. “You are flawed! You will be discarded!”

“Shadow ahead! All-out attack!” Joker commanded.

The fight was a blur of motion. Joker and Morgana moved with fluid grace, while Makoto’s fists landed with brutal precision. Ann summoned Carmen, a torrent of fire engulfing the warden, but the flames seemed to do little more than make its brass hide glow red-hot. Ryuji charged in, his pipe connecting with the Shadow’s leg with a deafening clang that sent a shock up his arms. The warden barely flinched. It swung a massive arm, a bar of twisted iron, and Ryuji had to dive to avoid being flattened.

He scrambled back to his feet, positioning himself near Ann again. “This thing’s a tank!” he yelled over the din.

The warden’s gaze, emanating from the dark keyhole of its face, fixed on Ann. It raised its arm again, not for a swing, but pointing a single iron finger toward one of the massive, decorative perches suspended high above them. A low, grinding sound began, and Ryuji’s eyes shot upward. The golden perch, easily the size of a bus, was detaching from the wall.

“Look out!” he screamed, his voice raw.

There was no time to think, no time for a plan. He shoved Ann hard, pushing her clear of the direct line of impact. The world erupted in a deafening crash of metal and stone. The perch slammed into the floor where they had been standing, its weight shattering the polished golden tiles. But the impact didn't stop there. The floor beneath Ryuji’s feet spiderwebbed with cracks and then gave way completely.

He felt a moment of weightlessness, a sickening lurch in his stomach as the ground disappeared. He saw Ann’s wide, terrified eyes as she stumbled at the edge of the new chasm, her hand outstretched for him before she too lost her footing on the crumbling floor and tumbled into the darkness with him.

The fall was a chaotic whirl of blackness and glittering debris. Instinct took over and he reached for her, his gloved hand catching her arm. He pulled her against his chest, twisting his body to take the brunt of whatever was coming. They hit with a jarring impact that knocked the wind out of him, landing in something that was thankfully not solid stone, but a massive pile of discarded fabrics and splintered wood.

Dust filled the air, thick and choking. For a long moment, there was only a ringing in Ryuji’s ears and the feeling of Ann’s body pressed against his. He pushed himself up, his muscles screaming in protest.

“Ann? You okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

“I think so,” she coughed, pushing herself away from him. They were in a dark, cavernous space beneath the main hall. A single, faint beam of light shone down from the jagged hole they’d fallen through. It illuminated a grim scene: piles of broken mannequins, some missing heads, others with limbs snapped off. Racks of torn, out-of-style clothes lay toppled over. It was a graveyard of discarded things.

“Where are the others?” Ann asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Ryuji tapped the comm device in his ear. Nothing but static. “Joker? Queen? Can anyone hear me?”

He was met with more crackling silence. Ann tried hers, her expression growing more worried with each passing second. The silence of this lower level was heavy, absolute. They were alone.

“For real?” Ryuji kicked at a pile of dusty fabric, sending a puff of grime into the weak light. “Of all the rotten luck.” He turned, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess that big metal bastard didn’t like my face.”

Ann offered a small, tired smile in return. “It’s not a very subtle face.”

“Hey! My face is plenty subtle!” he shot back, the familiar rhythm of their banter a small comfort in the oppressive quiet. He gestured with his pipe into the gloom ahead. “Well, no use sittin’ around. Let’s find a way outta this junk heap.”

He took the lead, navigating through the narrow pathways between towering piles of forgotten things. It was a labyrinth of failure. Broken high heels lay like dead insects, and headless mannequins stood in silent judgment. The air was stale, thick with the smell of decay and cheap perfume. Ann followed close behind, the sound of Ryuji’s heavy boots on the concrete floor a reassuring presence in the dark. The tension from the fall still lingered between them, a low hum beneath their forced casualness. He was walking with a slight stiffness she hadn't noticed before, a subtle favorability toward his right side.

“Watch your step,” she murmured, her voice softer than she intended.

“I got it, I got it,” he said, waving a hand dismissively over his shoulder. “Ain’t nothin’ here I can’t handle.”

His bravado was his shield, and she knew it well. But as he turned a corner into a particularly dark section of the corridor, his foot caught on a tangled roll of discarded velvet. He pitched forward with a loud curse, his arms pinwheeling for balance that wasn't there. He landed hard on his hands and knees with a grunt of pain that was sharp and utterly genuine.

“Ryuji!” Ann was at his side in an instant, dropping to her knees on the filthy floor. The playful teasing was gone from her voice, replaced by pure, uncut alarm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he grumbled, trying to push himself up. He winced, his face contorting in the dim light as he put weight on his left leg. “Just tripped like an idiot.”

But Ann saw the way his muscles were knotted in his thigh, the tension in his jaw. It wasn't just the fall. “Your leg,” she said, her voice dropping. It wasn’t a question.

His attempt at a casual shrug failed. The old injury, the one that had stolen his future and filled him with a rage he was still learning to manage, was a source of deep shame for him. He hated anyone seeing that weakness. He opened his mouth to make another joke, to tell her to back off, but the words wouldn’t come. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw the raw, undisguised concern in her eyes. There was no pity there, only a deep, aching worry that was entirely for him.

It silenced him completely. His usual defenses crumbled. The tough-guy mask of Skull evaporated, leaving only Ryuji, kneeling in the dark with a pain that was more than just physical.

Ann’s hand moved before she could think, her gloved fingers gently touching the worn leather over his shin. “Does it hurt bad?”

He flinched, a sharp intake of breath that had nothing to do with the pain in his leg and everything to do with her touch. It was a simple, caring gesture, but in the charged silence of the Palace’s underbelly, it felt incredibly intimate. His gaze locked with hers, and the space between them suddenly felt small, electric. The dusty air grew heavy, thick with the things they never said, and for a long moment, they just stayed there, trapped in a fragile, unguarded connection that felt more dangerous than any Shadow they had ever faced.