— –Morgana– —
"As above, so below."
Ren had said that to him once, long ago. No, Ren had just been speaking to himself as he studied, but Morgana had happened to overhear him. And for some reason, Morgana had never forgotten it.
Earth reflects heaven. The outer world mirrors what lies within. Maybe it was obvious, or maybe it just sounded cool. Either way, it stuck. More than it should have.
He hadn't really understood it then. He still wasn't sure he understood it now.
Snow drifted gently through the air, a pale dusting settling on the pavement. The world around them was silent in a way Tokyo rarely was—emptier streets, slower traffic, and towering screens blinking with soft crimson light. It was like the city itself was holding its breath.
Ren walked beside the snowfall, hands in his coat pockets, breath misting faintly with each exhale. His pace was unhurried, almost too calm. Morgana, nestled inside his bag, felt the chill of the wind and instinctively ducked deeper.
Another gust swept through. Mona shivered.
"Mona," Ren said quietly, his voice drawing him out of thought. "Can I ask you something?"
Morgana poked his ears up above the edge of the bag, but hesitated to fully emerge. The cold nipped at his whiskers almost immediately, so he stayed half-hidden, just enough to see a glimpse of the city outside. Ren's tone was off—subtle, but unmistakable.
"What is it?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light, casual. But something about the silence around them made it harder to pretend.
"I don't know what the future looks like." Ren's eyes didn't leave the ground. "And I know that's not fair."
His voice was steady, but there was something brittle underneath it. Something unfamiliar.
He continued walking, but slower now. As if each step was a struggle.
"But if it comes to it," Ren murmured, "when it comes to it…"
Morgana's ears twitched. The snow had stopped falling. The red lights had faded. Silence closed in around them.
And then—
—
When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the street.
Darkness.
The warm, familiar scent of roasted coffee beans. The soft hum of an old refrigerator. And the faint creak of the wooden ceiling above.
He was in Leblanc.
Crimson petals swayed in the still air, a quiet bloom of color in the shadows. The flowers Ren had planted all over his attic bedroom—carefully tended, all of them grown from nothing more than a handful of seeds he had bought with Haru.
The window was cracked open, letting in the soft chill of early morning. It ruffled the curtains just slightly, making them stir like they were dreaming too.
Morgana lay curled on one of the pillows near the foot of Ren's bed. For a long moment, he didn't move. Just listened to the quiet rhythm of Ren's breathing.
His expression was calm—but even in sleep, his fingers twitched every now and then. A furrow ghosted across his brow before smoothing again.
"…Tch." Morgana sighed, his ears flicking.
Another dream.
He sat up slowly, tail curling around his paws. Snow in the middle of summer should've been the first clue. But it had felt real. The kind of real that settled in your fur and didn't leave, even when you woke up.
And those words…
"When it comes to it…" he repeated aloud, more to himself than anyone else. "…I need to stop being so pessimistic."
He stretched, claws flexing briefly against the fabric beneath him, then padded over to the windowsill. With a practiced hop, he perched on the edge, his silhouette blending into the faint blue wash of pre-dawn light.
In the distance, the city never really slept. The neon signs still buzzed. Headlights passed like lazy fireflies. Even now, people moved—some stumbling out of bars, others in uniforms heading to the earliest of shifts.
Morgana watched for a moment, tail flicking thoughtfully.
"Ren really needs to stop leaving the window open," he muttered. "He's gonna catch a cold at this rate…"
Glancing back, he saw two small butterflies lazily resting on some of the flowers as if they belonged here. Their wings glinted faintly in the moonlight.
"Boss won't be happy if all the bugs get into his food." Mona whispered to himself, shaking his head.
He turned back to glance at Ren once more, still dozing under the blankets. Whatever dream he was having now, it didn't seem to be the same as before. His breathing had steadied.
"Get some rest, partner," Morgana murmured.
And with that, he leapt from the window.
The rooftops of Yongen gave way to the city proper, and soon, he was darting through the streets—his paws quiet against the pavement, his shadow barely a whisper.
He weaved between late-night commuters and food delivery bikes, past salarymen mumbling into phones and the clamor of a politician ranting by the station.
Tokyo was still alive even in the dead of night. And as long as it was, so was he. A glance around, a twitch of the ear, and he was off again.
He was Ren's eyes and ears out here. The ghost of the Phantom Thieves.
If he could offer even the smallest sliver of peace of mind to his leader, he'd take it. And truthfully? He loved it. Hiding in plain sight. Slipping between cracks no human could. Stalking their targets like a phantom right under their noses.
It was exhilarating. And it was a role only he could play.
Slipping into the train station was easy. A low hop onto the turnstile rail, a quick dash behind a maintenance cart, and he was on the next train like a stray no one noticed. The city blurred by in streaks of cold light and dark windows, each station melting into the next until, finally, he reached his destination. Okumura Foods Headquarters.
It loomed over the skyline like a monolith—cold steel and polished glass rising endlessly into the night. It was immaculate. Impersonal. A corporate fortress built to crush individuality beneath its weight.
Morgana crouched near a planter outside the entrance, ears flicking as he scanned the building. The guards had changed shift. Cameras swept predictably. The vending machine beside the front doors buzzed faintly.
He watched. Waited.
Lately, Ren had been stressing himself out with Kunikazu Okumura. He played it cool with the others. But Morgana could tell the difference. He could hear it in the way he breathed at night. Could see it in the way he got lost in thought with a frown.
Sometimes, Morgana wondered if Ren even realized how often he let his guard down around him.
That was the upside to looking like a cat. No one ever questioned the cat.
But still he could see the source of Ren's worry.
The sword of Damocles hung over Okumura. And, in a way, it hung over every one of the Phantom Thieves' targets from now on. The moment the Thieves stole their heart, the sword would fall.
To steal their hearts was to force them to confess, and judging by the escalating ranks of their targets in the Antisocial Force, their lives were worth less than their silence. Kamoshida had demonstrated that very fact.
At first, they had thought that the Black Mask had simply gone to Mementos after Kamoshida's Palace was destroyed. But that seemed impossible. The Thieves had gone to Mementos after stealing Madarame's and Kaneshiro's heart, but there was no sign of their Shadows, at least not anywhere close to the floors the Thieves could explore.
That left only two possibilities.
One: the Shadows didn't manifest immediately. They needed time to reform and Kamoshida just happened to reappear in Mementos faster than the other two.
Or two… and this was the part Morgana didn't want to say aloud—
They were deeper. Far deeper than any of the Thieves had ventured. Even deeper than Jose was able to sense. Deeper than the young boy was willing to venture.
It was a terrifying thought. Because if someone—if anyone—was able to dive that deep and come back, it meant they were dealing with something far worse than just a rogue Persona-user.
It meant the Black Mask knew Mementos better than they did. It meant that they were still extremely unprepared to face him.
Morgana narrowed his eyes, watching a suited executive step out of the building and disappear into a waiting car.
His claws flexed slightly against the concrete.
He didn't like any of this. But if Ren was going to keep moving forward, then so would he. And what better way to start than by spying on the middle man of the Black Mask. He might not get much, but Morgana would wait in silence, watching him for hours if it meant he could learn anything new.
Any new information they could gather before the sword of Damocles fell on Okumura.
Deep down, Morgana was hoping he could find a way to stop Okumura's death. A way to finally bring some peace of mind to his leader. But he wasn't optimistic about his chances.
Then letting out one final breath, Morgana made his way into the building.
— –Kunikazu Okumura– —
He remembered when Haru was just a girl, trailing behind him in the garden, clutching a tiny sketchbook, always asking questions that had nothing to do with business—questions about stars, about whether roses had feelings, about why people cried when they were happy. At formal functions, when the weight of other men's eyes bored into him like knives, she would slip her hand into his, wrapping her pinky around his own like it was an anchor.
Those were simpler times.
He missed those times.
Haru had always been the only light left to him after his wife passed. That woman—his wife—had been gentle where he was proud, generous where he was efficient. She'd believed in building something meaningful. A company not just for profit, but for people. Her death had taken more than just warmth from his life. It had taken the last voice that ever urged him to slow down, to think about what he was building and who he was becoming.
Back then, he had still believed there was a place in the world for ideals.
But life had taught him otherwise.
When the hospitals failed his wife, when the doctors spoke in hollow, rehearsed apologies—it had all become painfully clear. Had he been powerful enough then… had he possessed the influence he now wielded… he could have saved her.
Transferred her to a top-floor private suite. Hired specialists from abroad. Paid off the boards to make her case a priority. That was what power bought in this world: not justice, not peace—results.
But regrets were a fool's luxury. The dead didn't return. He had to look forward. Focus on what remained.
On Haru.
And on the empire she would inherit.
He wanted to give her the world—but it had to be his world. A controlled, calculated world where danger could be neutralized, and success was not a matter of chance, but of ownership.
Love, to him, had never meant freedom. It meant security. It meant fencing off the wilderness before it swallowed the people you cared about. Haru… she was too gentle. Too honest. She still thought kindness could win. Still carried her mother's values like a fragile glass ornament. But the real world—his world—was no place for ornaments.
If she would only stop resisting, she might finally see the truth. That his way was the only way to survive.
Her resentment after the engagement to Sugimura—he saw it, of course. Even if she wore a mask of civility, it was there in the way she stopped calling him Father, in the way her eyes glazed over when he spoke of quarterly profits and strategic alliances. Resentment simmered beneath her quiet obedience. But that match had been necessary. Sugimura was political royalty. The union would have shielded her—and the company—from any number of threats.
Yes, she would suffer. But only for a time. She would be his pawn for some time. He would force her into a difficult position. But in time, just like in a game of chess, he would turn her into a queen.
He had no intention of letting it go on forever. The plan had always been to endure the alliance just long enough. Long enough to learn the family's inner workings. Long enough to secure the Black Mask's cooperation.
Once that was in place, Sugimura's use would end, and Haru would be freed once more. But Okumura hoped that she would learn to open her eyes after her marriage. That the experience would make her leave her kindness, her weakness, behind.
It had surprised him when the son—young Sugimura—succumbed so quickly to another woman's temptation. He had thought the boy too weak to matter, too cowardly to act. But perhaps that very weakness was what made him vulnerable. Naïve hearts always folded under pressure.
Still, the change had created an opening. With the Sugimura family destabilized, and his rival scrambling to hide his past, Okumura had acted. Quietly. Decisively. One well-placed whisper to the Black Mask, and the old man was no longer a problem.
A shame. But business demanded sacrifices.
Now, the role of intermediary was his. The clients came to him. Quiet envelopes and urgent favors passed through his hands. And each deal he brokered, each name that vanished from a rival's boardroom, brought him one step closer to securing his future. Their future.
A future free from risk. Free from the chaos of unpredictable markets and backroom betrayals.
Still… it would all be easier if Haru played along.
He could see it in her eyes—resentment was blooming there, delicate and poisonous. Like a rose wilting beneath frost. She no longer looked him in the eye. She moved around him like a stranger, civil but distant, like someone performing politeness out of obligation.
And the smile—her smile—once so bright, once so freely given… now guarded. Hollow.
"What the hell did I do now?" He muttered under his breath.
For a time, after Sugimura's death, things had begun to mend. No, not just mend—they had begun to heal.
She had started spending time with him again. Asking about company operations. Sitting in on board meetings. Asking questions he didn't expect her to ask. At first, he'd thought it was just grief, or guilt. But part of him believed—hoped—that she was finally beginning to understand. Though another part of him knew that she merely did so to try to get closer to him.
They had even spoken, briefly, about taking a vacation. A quiet promise made between coffee cups and paperwork. A dream shared across the chasm that had long separated them. He had started looking into quiet resorts in northern Europe. Nothing extravagant, but private, peaceful.
And now? That dream felt impossibly far again.
Shaking his head, he reached for the sealed envelope on his desk. Thick, expensive cardstock. An invitation—gold-trimmed, hand-addressed. A masquerade ball hosted by none other than Asa Fujimoto.
Eccentric to a fault. Half the political elite didn't know what to make of her, and the other half owed her favors they could never speak of. But no one questioned her reach. Her gatherings were where power changed hands, disguised as champagne toasts and idle conversation.
At first he had believed he had finally caught her with the temptation that was the Black Mask. But it had been nothing but a fish nibbling on his hook. She had yet to take a proper bite into his trap. Still, that interest brought with it this opportunity.
Attending would mean rubbing shoulders with some of the last remaining names on his list—executives, ministers, media moguls too cautious to associate with him openly. Yet.
If he could sway them—if he could pull them into the fold—it would tip the balance. The last dominoes would fall.
Japan itself would be within reach. And beyond that...
Perhaps, in time, if he could learn every inner working of their hidden organization—its infrastructure, its funding, its hierarchy—he could do more than serve it. He could replace it.
The Black Mask was formidable, yes. But even blades dulled with time without proper care. And every dagger had a hilt.
Turn him against his master. Take his place. Become the leader of their so-called Antisocial Force.
Now, wouldn't that be something?
A thin smile tugged at his lips, but he shook his head sharply. No. Not yet. Fantasies would get him killed. He had to stay grounded. Focus on the immediate targets. One move at a time.
Still… if he wanted to succeed at the masquerade, he would need his queen.
Haru.
She could play the part so well—charming, refined, disarming. Her presence would lull the others into comfort. Into underestimating him. And once the wine flowed and the masks slipped, that was when he would strike. An offer made in velvet tones and careful phrasing. Something they couldn't walk away from.
She didn't know it yet, but she was essential.
His lovely pawn.
His brilliant daughter.
Standing, Okumura adjusted the cuffs of his shirt with precise, practiced movements. He took a final glance at the documents on his desk, then locked the door behind him.. One could never be too careful.
Stopping just outside of Haru's room, he hesitated for a moment before knocking twice. He didn't wait for a reply before turning the handle and stepping inside.
The room smelled faintly of lavender and old paper. Books were stacked high on the desk and window ledge, some open, others bookmarked with carefully folded notes. Among them sat Haru, slumped over resting her head on a book.
She didn't stir. Not at first. Only after a long moment did she lift her head, slow and wordless, to meet his
He noted the bags under her eyes. The dulled sheen of her hair. The weariness. It irritated him more than he wanted to admit.
Her last exam scores had been disappointing—inexcusable, really. So he had ordered her to remain indoors until she could meet the standards their name demanded. At the very least, he'd shown some degree of mercy: staff had been dispatched to maintain her garden in her absence, preventing her crops from withering from neglect.
But Haru didn't flinch when he entered. Didn't speak. Didn't plead.
"Haru," he began. "We'll be attending an event in a few days. A masquerade ball. Very high profile. I've already RSVP'd on our behalf. I'll have one of the drivers take you to the boutique tomorrow. You'll need a new dress."
She sat up straighter, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Okay." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
That was it. No protest, no curiosity. No smile. She didn't even meet his eyes.
Okumura cleared his throat, uncomfortable in the silence.
"Make sure it's something elegant. Something that makes a statement. You represent the company as much as I do."
Another nod. Still no smile. He looked at her a moment longer than necessary, then turned toward the door.
This wouldn't do. She was supposed to be radiant. Charming. Disarming. That smile of hers had once softened even the most iron-clad businessmen. If she went to the event like this, their targets would only raise their defenses.
"Haru," he said, pausing at the threshold. "I'm sorry."
She looked up again with some surprise. The first genuine emotion she had shown in the past few days.
"Forget about studying. You can leave your room now." He spoke, glancing at her expression. It still wasn't enough. "How about we visit your garden? You mentioned wanting me to try out some of the food you had grown? We can ask the chefs to prepare something with what you've grown."
Then she smiled. It was faint, but it was there.
"Go clean up. We will head out in an hour." He finished, leaving her room and closing the door behind him.
It wasn't what he wanted to do. Far from it. He knew it was a distraction, a waste of precious time he could ill afford. But if it meant securing Haru's smile for the masquerade—that he would endure.
Entering his office one more time he made his way to his desk. Sitting down, he shuffled through his documents one final time. Yet, beneath his calm exterior, a nagging feeling tugged at the back of his mind—something was off.
His eyes flicked to the edge of the desk. He reached out, running a fingertip across the surface, feeling a texture that wasn't quite right.
"Dust?" he muttered to himself, voice low and tinged with confusion.
He was meticulous when it came to cleaning his office. He could navigate the room blindfolded. He was certain he had cleaned this very desk just this morning.
A spike of panic pricked at his mind for a heartbeat, worry that someone had entered his office. But he quickly dismissed the idea.
The only way for someone to enter was through the door, which he held the only key to. And even if they could lockpick, they would have to break into his house, his building, without being detected by his security guards, some of which were posted right outside of his front door.
Shaking his head, he sat down and let out a sigh.
He was overworking himself.
Perhaps his small trip with his daughter would do him so good after all.
~A/N~
Hey there! A bit of a different chapter, I have written Okumura's pov a couple of times before but never really did a full dive, and what better character than Haru's dad for a deep dive? What did you think? It was hard to strike the balance between someone who used to be a loving father and the man he is now.
Also, for anyone curious, cats fit inside heating and cooling vents. And, yeah, surprisingly, they can also open the vents themselves(the floor vents that sit on top of the opening). I got cats, and man, was it not a happy day when I found out lol. You would not believe the pain in the ass that was getting my cats out of our ventilation system. We had to buy the ones with screws after that whole ordeal.