#P3 Kotone Shiomi Cosplay | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starlit-dreaming · 2 months

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[prologue] re: All in the Past

Fandom: Persona (3 & 4) Rating: M Major/Eventual Ships: Akihamu Minor Ships: Jundori, Minayuka AU: Twin Protags + Somebody Lives/Not Everybody Dies + Post-Canon AU Note: Cross-posted on AO3 under the same title.

Summary:

Kotone Shiomi might be an idiot. No, actually, she is undoubtedly an idiot, because no one in the right mind would choose to stick around in the same city that took her loved ones away, a place that had nothing for her. She knew that her parents loved this wretched place, that they often swung by to play concerts when they were alive. Her brother had loved this terrible place, enough to want to finish his schooling, enough to actually consider opening up that bakery she always joked about. Her brother made friends here, he even had a girlfriend (which, gross, someone actually thought her gloomy brother was attractive), and he was finally opening up his heart to people. On their phone calls, he had even asked Kotone questions of her life! Questions that he’s never bothered to ask before! And then he died. He died, leaving everything behind — money, his cosplay crap, the letters she sent him over the years, and… He left her a goodbye letter. //In which the aftermath of Minato's death affected those outside of SEES.

A/N:

I wrote a fanfic around 2014 on FFN under my first fanfic writing account (and I want no reminders of its existence, but if it gets found, just know I will scream and cry if you do find it). It was intended to be a one-shot, although it was very open-ended and I didn’t really want to think too deeply on it. Originally, this was meant to hype me up for P3: Reload, but I haven’t touched it yet because I’m still mourning over the fact that there’s no Female Protag. Hamuko is a nickname; Kotone Shiomi will be used as her full name! Also, I’ll be including Japanese suffixes to better portray relationships. Fun fact: The University is named “Hankyō” (反響) which means “echo” and “reverberation”, which I found to be poetic, because Hamuko’s following after the traces of her brother’s memory in order to solve the mystery of his death. @hwang-lucas because I'm posting this fic for you instead of letting it collect dust in my google docs LMAO

Chapters: [prologue] 1 | 2 | 3

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0. prologue

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Beginning of March, 2011

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This will be the third time in her life that she visits the Iwatodai Graveyard, and she wishes that it never went beyond the first visit.

But that’s the thing about life.

Like it or not, you don’t always get what you want.

“Thank you for showing me the way,” she politely bowed at the handsome silver-haired young man.

“No problem, Shiomi-san,” Akihiko Sanada gave her a sympathetic smile as he hands over the bucket of water — for cleaning the graves, she idly reminds herself as her eyes linger on his muscles for just a second too long. “Will you be okay from here?”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Yeah, no worries,” she replied, smiling at the stranger despite the clenching of her fists. It was very hard not to grab his shoulders and shake him for answers about her brother, but she knew better than to do that.

Easy. Just take it easy. They don’t know you, and he might not be one of them.

It was, predictably, harder to watch him walk away without any answers to any question of hers.

When she first arrived in the area, she got lost — plain and simple, and flat out embarrassing. Her phone was dead, and she couldn’t contact anyone who might know something — not that she knew anyone in Iwatodai, much less Tatsumi Port Island, to begin with. Maybe Mitsuru Kirijo, the person who helped fund her brother’s funeral and arranged everything, but she’s not sure if that’s how she wants to get back into contact with her brother’s friend…

Anyway, that was how she became acquainted with Akihiko Sanada — she wound up finding the police station and asked for directions to the graveyard. The officer at the desk was a rather intimidating fellow, and maybe it was obvious that she was gradually getting more and more confused at the older man’s instructions as he mentioned the names of streets and buildings, that Akihiko Sanada, a handsome young man who had been in the room, had politely offered to show her the way.

Which, she supposes, has been the only good thing about the day for her.

Talking to Akihiko was easy, and maybe that was because he was easy on the eyes. As she glanced at their surroundings throughout the journey to the graveyard, he made it easy to feel as if she hadn’t been an outsider looking in. He made recommendations to some of the food places, she asked about things like the bookstores and cafés. Eventually, they touched on the topic of why she was visiting the graveyard, and he sympathized with her by mentioning his younger sister after she spoke of her brother.

His name sounded familiar enough, so chances are, Akihiko had been one of her brother’s friends. There was a brief mention of an Akihiko-senpai, and she had suspicions that they were one in the same. She would need to revisit the letters her brother sent her as well as the emails to be sure. Detective Shirogane was arriving next week, so the sooner she figures it all out, the better.

Still, it was clear that Akihiko managed to walk forward with his grief, even if it still hurts.

She wondered, then, that if it was her who left this world, would her brother mourn for her in the same way as Akihiko had done for his sister? Would he miss her, often, but still find the strength within him to still push forward?

Or would he be standing here, alone in a world that feels strange? Alone, and unwilling to let sleeping demons be, to touch upon matters that were best left behind as everyone had advised? The past is in the past, but would he let himself feel angry at the world? Would he get frustrated when things feel hopeless, despair when it starts to feel pointless? Would he deal with detective after detective, the constant confirmations that he’s in over his head, and that the only logical explanation ought to be drugs and a friend wanting to protect their reputation?

Oh, but she knows. She knows her brother better than anyone else in the world prior to his death. And, maybe, the only thing she never knew was the him before he died. He would wear his apathy to mask the painful aches, if he ever allowed himself to feel in those fleeting moments.

But, unlike her, Minato had friends that he could trust. Friends he could count on.

Her brother was strong, both physically and mentally.

And, more importantly, he isn’t her.

He’s not Kotone.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She won’t break down like this. She hasn’t cried in years, and she’s not gonna start now, when she knows absolutely nothing about the man her brother became. Oh, she certainly raged at his death, cursing the world for all that it’s taken from her, but she had yet to shed honest tears over his death.

And instead, she smiles. Smiles were a good thing. Smiles made people feel safe and reassured. Smiles made her likeable. Smiles hadn’t failed her, even when she’s alone and tired and sick of it all—

Eventually, she manages to find her brother’s grave, settled beside her parent’s gravestone. Her parents eloped and ran away from their respective families after marrying, but only her father was disowned by his family. The Shiomi Family was matriarchal, and because Kotone was the only girl born in her generation and was therefore the heiress — at least, until one of her cousins were born and Kotone was more than happy to pass on the hat, so to speak — she was accepted into the family with open arms after her parents died, even if they criticized her mother often.

So, it was a bit surprising to know that her parents didn’t have their gravestone in the Shiomi Family Graveyard. For Minato, it was probably thanks to his friend who likely argued in his favor. Did he ever talk to her about their maternal family? Or did he just leave the thought alone?

Vaguely, she recalls a blurry memory of her crouched down in front of their parent’s grave. She was just a little kid sobbing, her brother hugging her, traumatized and different because the adults said so, saying that he had been awake when the accident occurred.

(She woke up in the remnants of the accident, after their parents had passed, with her brother shaking her and trembling all the while, with an expressionless look on his face and tears falling down. In the midst of burning flames and blooming pain that looked almost like an ominous green, she was traumatized in a different way.

But that is neither here nor there.)

Kotone shakes her head, settling down and opening her yellow backpack for the cleaning rags and got to work cleaning her parent’s grave. Her brother’s grave was much cleaner and well-cared for, likely visited by his friends more than her parent’s have ever been. But, his stone sits beside them, like his cremated ashes placed beside their parents in her room.

Seeing his name engraved in the stone was a very jarring thing. It’s a strange sight, one that she never expected to see before she’s even considered a young adult. Like her brother, her name will also be carved in this place when she passes, and she hopes her family honors that request.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Kotone rinses out the cleaning rag and places the flowers for her parents.

Seventeen.

Minato died when they were both only seventeen.

And now here she was, eighteen and in a world without him.

Living in the same city where their parents died, the same city that traumatized him and left them both orphans. The same city that she recently moved to, just to cling onto the could-haves and should’ve-beens.

Eighteen and alone, when they promised to move in together so she can finally escape the Shiomi Family and he can finally live without them threatening to hold their parent’s inheritance against him.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

When she attended his funeral, her family — her mother’s side of the family, because father was disowned after he eloped with mother and adopted his own mother’s maiden name — was solemn and quiet, but all of them only showed up for appearances. Most inquired about possessions, and only some of them realized that she was still there. Everything went to her, except for certain boxes that he himself had set aside and noted for who it would go to. He drafted his own will, apparently, and left it with the same lawyer their parents used who looked at her with sympathy and pity.

All of his belongings had been neatly tucked and packaged away, as if to make it all easier.

Her brother had told her that his time was coming to a close, that he was tired. She thought he was joking when she first read that email, with him talking about graduation for his senpais. She thought that with how animated his letters and emails became after befriending his friends, that he was finally coming out of his shell. Maybe he had a flair for dramatics, something she never knew, and wouldn’t that have been nice to have in common with her brother?

She thought wrong, when she received that dreadful phone call from a stranger whose name she’s only known through her brother’s letters and emails.

It sickened her, really. She had months worth of letters and emails from him, and as his letters stopped, descending into short phone calls and even shorter emails, she thought nothing of it. He sounded tired, and she could only assume that he hadn’t been sleeping well again.

Final exams often did that to people. So what? He missed a few phone calls, and he sent her apology texts whenever he missed five. Whatever. He’s a busy guy.

How naïve of her. Did she really think it was normal?

She thought it was strange, maybe even suspicious at times. His first week there was odd when he emailed her about it, no matter how much the detectives justified it as delusions or just pure exhaustion. He even claimed it, but it still stood out to her.

Because apparently he was so exhausted and thought the city turned into some sort of deranged graveyard in greens, with blood oozing in places and the moon yellow. She even thought it was a dream of his, since he mentioned dozing off on the train at some point, and that maybe it’d be a great premise for a suspenseful horror story he wanted to write. At some point he mentioned his dorm mate-turned-friend-turned-girlfriend, Yukari Takeba, had pointed a gun at him. Granted, she supposes that having a gun was probably for the best safety-wise since only two girls and a guy lived at the dorms until her brother came along, as well as the others.

She wonders if this Yukari girl had known about her brother’s condition. Apparently, from what was told, the doctors claimed that her brother passed away in his sleep. How that was possible at such a young age, she hadn’t the slightest idea.

It was like one day, he was spirited away.

At one point in all their correspondence, he mentioned that his friend asked him to kill him, and that he felt horrified at the idea of it. She doesn’t blame him, but since she couldn’t even find a Facebook profile of this Ryoji guy, she wonders if her brother was… if he was talking about himself, rather than an actual friend. She hopes not — God, she really hopes not. How much was her brother struggling? Did he actually rely on his friends, or did he only tell her that so she’d feel at ease?

She… was too distraught at the funeral to take notice of them. His friends did show up, at least, she thinks they did, but they mostly didn’t approach her, and she kept to herself. A young woman, Mitsuru, had expressed her condolences to her directly, saying that she was her brother’s friend, and offered her phone number if she ever needed it.

But Kotone never called her. The number was saved on her phone, but… she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Her nails were digging into her skin painfully, and the pain quickly washes away when she immediately releases her clenched fists upon realizing this fact. She’s been staring at the bouquet of flowers resting before her brother’s gravestone — pinks and blues, seeming almost symbolic of something.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Vision is shaking, but that’s normal.

Right. She can think this over and over again a million times, and she will, but now she’s here visiting her brother’s… grave. What should she even say to him? Should she apologize for being unable to visit his grave because she hadn’t fully moved to Iwatodai yet, even though she prayed to him and their parents often? Should she tell him how exhausting it was to unpack everything by herself? That her university admissions made a mistake with her transfer paperwork, so she ended up wasting maybe an hour having to wait on getting that crap sorted out? Does she talk about the journey to the graveyard because she got hopelessly lost?

Does she talk about the detectives, all of the ones that rejected her case? Or what about the ones who threw insulting remarks about him or his friends, or the few believing that the Kirijo Group had some involvement? Not all of them were bad, she supposes.

But what does it say about all those full grown men, when it was a kid barely into his first year of high school who reached out to her first?

The same kid who asked her if she was still looking for someone to look into her case?

What the hell do normal people really talk about, anyway? What should someone say, despite the distant relationship they shared prior to them passing on?

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Hey,” she settles on a smile. “Sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

Before he decided to attend Gekkoukan High School, they were only able to meet up a few times in a year if they were lucky. All of them had been for family gatherings, and Minato had been shoved into house to house among their relatives because none of them wanted to deal with the more traumatized twin.

They only stayed in contact through her sheer stubborn will, and she doubts her brother would agree to it if she hadn’t been intentionally annoying and nosy about his life. The letters were meant to be his reprieve from her constantly trying to contact him by phone.

(Maybe she should’ve tried harder.)

It was a good thing that she didn’t give up on staying in contact. She doubts that she would be excluded from it as his twin sister, but if she wasn’t one of his contacts, maybe she wouldn’t have even known about the funeral. Some of their relatives still didn’t find out until recently.

(And they were all disgustingly the same, murmuring feigned sorrow with greedy eyes as they reluctantly ask about whatever was left of their inheritance from their parents.

She knows they wish she were out of the picture, too.)

“I know you didn’t want to talk to me about a bunch of stuff, but what the hell, big bro?” she dryly laughed. “What’s up with all the money and cosplay crap?”

Part of her thinks that maybe he really did do some shady jobs — the money he left behind to her was enough to buy her several houses and live comfortably unemployed for years, and that didn’t include the inheritance from their parents and the royalties they still received from their music. If she was smart with her money and didn’t waste it, if she made a few investments, then she’d be set for life.

(One detective thought that maybe he sold raunchy cosplay pictures, a mental image that was, and still is, very much unwanted and unneeded and made zero sense with what she knew of her brother. It helps that the detective seemed just as uncomfortable with the thought as she was.

Another suggested it was from video game competitions, which sounded much more likely and vastly more doable and preferable.)

Similar to their parents, there were royalties coming in under his name. Maybe she ought to revisit those papers and figure out why that is. The past few months, she’s been more focused on graduating and planning what to do next, so she tried to avoid thinking about most of the unpleasant aspects that come after someone’s passing, which included those royalties.

Still, he really did leave behind a lot of stuff. Weapons, clothes, accessories, books, and a bunch of miscellaneous stuff. The few detectives willing to entertain her case before declining after hearing that the Kirijo Group was involved considered that maybe his school club was one of those Dungeons and Dragons thing, but was much more serious to the point that they’d embody their character. His phone’s background was also proof that he was really into gaming. It explained half the problems and nothing more.

So this whole green world thing from the first letter was maybe a mistake, which was possible. He might’ve been tired and started writing a scene and forgot that it was a letter to her. Debatable, questionable, but not impossible. The weapons thing felt odd, but her brother had never been very forthcoming about his interests other than music, so that left room for possibilities. Books were normal, but the random outfits and accessories made sense when lumped together as part of the cosplay stuff. He had an armband with “SEES” on it, which was apparently one of his after school clubs.

What concerned her was the random health stuff.

He had a notebook. It mentioned the names of the items, the effects of it, the HP and SP — that was one of the tip offs that it must’ve just been a group game thing. Some were items were relatively harmless, but the more concerning items were what he noted to be “Rancid Gravy” and “Odd Morsel”.

She supposes that it was fortunate that Mitsuru Kirijo had offered to buy most of her brother’s things for her, even if she sent an assistant to handle the deal. Even if she was sure that the Kirijo Group covered up her brother’s cause of death, she did seem guilty about it. And ashamed, if the avoidance of a second in-person meeting was any indication.

One of the suggestions for her brother’s cause of death was overwork, despite being at the pinnacle of health. That was the official story, anyway.

(How the hell does the rising star of the track team die in his sleep, without an ounce of drugs in his blood?)

It was painful going through his belongings, and the whole thing felt rather ironic. She would want for nothing thanks to her brother’s passing, and yet him being alive was the only thing she wished for.

She crouches down, feeling so incredibly small and sad and angry at the world. It looked like the grave was well-maintained. His friends, she thinks, because their family hadn’t thought kindly of her and her brother, except for a few who were never able to care for them.

A passing thought flickers in her mind, wondering if her brother ever visited their parents while he was here.

Probably not.

He didn’t like reminiscing any more than she did.

She places an incense, a habit that’s become second nature since the death of their parents. Even if she doesn’t believe in an afterlife, she finds comfort in the gesture. It helps, knowing that if it really did exist despite her disbelief, then she could make her loved ones happy even if just for a short while.

“I don’t even know if melon bread is still your favourite,” she admits softly, placing the plastic wrapped bread on the grave as an offering. “I’d like to think it still is.”

It’d be devastating if she were ever told otherwise, but she likes to pretend that she still knows her brother well. Her brother would eat anything placed in front of him, but he had minor dislikes that popped up from time to time. When she first started learning how to cook back when they were younger and still lived together, she was absolutely terrible, but her brother never complained and simply made suggestions little by little. He sent her compliments when she sent him cookies every once in a while, and she promised to cook for him whenever she had the chance to see him.

Her brother was always the better chef, though. He was always sending her recipes, mentioning alterations he’s done. She didn’t really have the chance to show off when they reached high school, but she promised she would. Hell, he entertained the idea of a restaurant, purely because he had a senpai who was good at cooking.

And now, she’ll never have that chance to cook for her brother.

“You promised,” she muttered, feeling so horribly hurt and broken as she smiled with gritted teeth. “Did you remember? We were going to be grown-ups and open up our own bakery or restaurant. I’d deal with the customers, and you could stay in the kitchen cooking and baking all day, rocking out to music as much as you want, and then when we close up shop, we can just go upstairs and be at home relaxing in minutes.”

It was a what-if, a possible future plan, but she wanted to be with her brother because he was the only person left who understood. She wanted them to live an easy and simple life, because it was hard to move from place to place with no one to return home to.

And that’s what will happen now. Moving to a new place with no one to come home to.

Again.

“You liar,” she muttered, bitter and hateful, burying her face into the palm of her hands. Part of her wants to cry, but she won’t, and she hasn’t. This dreadful place doesn’t deserve her tears. She could smell the sandalwood incense, and yet again, she’s reminded of that time during their parent’s funeral.

How could he leave like this? Did she even cross his mind?

Ah, but she knows. She knows that whatever happened to him, he didn’t want to leave her.

It wasn’t said outright, but there was a chance that he’d be fine. That he was going to hang in there.

Something happened to him, but what ?

She clenched her fists, her nails once again digging into her skin.

It’s very easy for her, she thinks, to feel resentful about everything. Resentful of her brother, of his death, of herself — everything.

Between the two of them, she was always selfish, something that she didn’t mind until now, always wanting things to go her way. She was always more resentful, she knew hatred so intimately well that it made her feel bitter to her bones. Maybe that was why she knew that he’d tell her to leave it be, let bygones be bygones, and to not even try to look into his death.

But her brother was gone, so he can’t really tell her what to do. And she won’t take the imagined advice — not even if he were to rise from the dead to tell her himself.

She’ll damn well figure out why he died.

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[Unsent Letter]

From: Minato Arisato

To: Kotone Shiomi

January – 2010

Dear Hamuko,

For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

I’m not sure if this letter will ever reach you, but if it has, then. Well, I’m gone, and the world hasn’t ended like we thought it would. This day came sooner than I thought, and it’s hard sometimes, but I think I get what you mean now. About rising above challenges as long as you’re with some friends, even if you were only talking about manga. I have a promise to keep to my friends, and I’ll die trying to achieve it.

Maybe in another life, or another world, you could understand what I’m going through. Or maybe we would live normal lives and build up that bakery you keep yapping on about.

I’m sorry for never really being present in your life. You always reach out to me, even when you get upset at me for something I’ve done. I do feel guilty about that, and I can’t make anyone happy here no matter what I choose to do. I know you’ll be okay, you always manage to bounce back up no matter what, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.

I’d like to tell you I’m sorry in person, but if you received this letter, then I can’t do that.

My choices have brought me to this point, and I can’t say I regret anything about my life now that I understand what true relationships are like.

I do regret one thing, and that’s leaving you behind. I’m sorry, Hamuko, for breaking our promises. I won’t ask you to forgive me.

This is just another consequence of my actions, and I will bear it as my responsibility.

You will always be my little sister.

Goodbye,

Minato

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‘Now what?’ She thinks, staring blankly at the gravestone. ‘I bought an old dormitory to renovate so I can feel less guilty for using brother's money one I start getting tenants — I need to do some tidying up, but it’ll be a good place to rent out, so I can have a little extra money just to be safe. I don’t have a meeting with the detective until next weekend, and I need to wait to hear about my enrollment to University.’

She looks up into the sky, watching the clouds floating by amidst the sunset skies.

How long has she been standing here?

“Shiomi-san? You’re still here?” comes the familiar voice, surprise and a hint of concern in his voice. Looking up, she finds herself staring at the man she’s seen only several hours ago.

“Oh, Sanada-san,” she politely greeted after a moment of silence.

She knew that seeing him again was inevitable, considering that he was a student at the university she’s enrolling into, but it’s only been a few hours. And, unlike before, he wasn’t alone. Standing a little away was a group of young adults, with a teen, a dog, and a foreigner girl.

“I was actually just about done,” she smiled at him. “There’s been a lot on my mind, so it’s rather refreshing to get it off my chest.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie — she really did feel better, even if she had a minor headache from all the things that she needed to deal with. Renovations. Paperwork. Meeting the detective. University.

Paperwork was no joke, but solving a mystery with almost no clues was the absolute worst.

Ah… so much to do.

“I see,” he looked at her, understanding in his eyes as he simply nodded.

“Well, I ought to get going before it starts getting dark out, Sanada-san,” she bowed to him, smiling politely. “Have a good evening.”

She walks past him, getting a better look at the group. What a colorful group, she thinks. Blue baseball cap guy, a lady in a pink sweater, a petite lady in green, a blonde foreigner, a teen in an orange sweater, and…

Kotone instinctively smiled, bowing politely at the group and glancing up at Mitsuru Kirijo, the most famous among the group. The heiress, or rather, the leader of the group. Wasn’t she her brother’s friend? If that’s the case, then everyone here must’ve been the group who showed up at her brother’s funeral.

So she was right. Akihiko Sanada was the same Akihiko-senpai her brother mentioned in passing.

“I take it that you and your friends have been taking care of my brother’s grave,” she bowed again. “Thank you for looking out for him even now.”

She bites her tongue, her mind cursing at them. How much did they contribute to her brother’s death? There’s been shady rumours of the Kirijo Group, they were wealthy and had more than enough influence to keep things hidden.

Kotone will never know.

Before they could say anything — surprise, shock, or just downright confusion written all across their faces — she takes her leave. Fists clenching, she bites her lip and wonders how she ought to go about this.

She can’t take any risks right now.

It was safe to assume that they were all dorm mates or or they were all part of the same club, otherwise they wouldn’t plan on visiting together with an almost carefree air to them. It was also possible that they all happened to know her brother from separate instances and came together to grieve after his funeral. He’s mentioned quite a lot of names, so that’s her first step: rereading everything and writing down names and his relation to them. That’s already her plan for before the detective arrives.

She wasn’t going to demand answers from them. Not right now.

For starters, a cover-up was still in the realm of possibility with the Kirijo Group involved. And it was very obvious now that they might know something from how they acted at the funeral back then. They grieved for her brother, but it was different from all the other funerals that she’s been to. Back then, she thought nothing of it because her mind had blanked and she couldn’t focus.

But Kirijo recognized her after she thanked her, with a flash of guilt and understanding. Maybe she’s grasping at straws for something, but it doesn’t matter.

She will find out the truth.

#ilyusha tag #wynter writes #p3 fic #re: all in the past #fic: all in the past (rewrite)#akihamu

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