Shoji Akiyama didn’t mind being alone.

It was easier that way—quiet, predictable. No forced conversations, no awkward silences filled with half-hearted laughs. Just the hum of his music through worn headphones and the dull rhythm of everyday life.

Transferring to Minazuki—a quiet little town tucked between mountains and fog—wasn’t his choice, but he didn’t argue. A clean slate. New school. New faces. Same Shoji.

Minazuki High was smaller than his old school. The hallways were lined with faded posters and the scent of old books. Teachers called roll halfheartedly. Students grouped off quickly, not unkind, but uninterested.

Shoji never really tried to fit in.

He sat near the back in most classes, headphones around his neck, eyes half-lidded as he stared out the window. His uniform was always neat, his attendance perfect, his answers correct. And yet, he felt invisible.

At lunch, he sat on the rooftop, chewing quietly while the wind tugged at his dark blue hair. Sometimes he’d scroll through old texts, messages long untouched, names that still hurt to see.

One name in particular.

He kept telling himself he’d moved on.

That night, the rain came in soft.

Shoji had just finished unpacking some boxes in his room when he realized he’d left his Literature notebook at school—again. He sighed and stared at the ceiling, debating if it was worth the trouble. But Ms. Kadowaki was notorious for docked points, and Shoji didn’t like attention.

So, he threw on his jacket, slipped on his shoes, and stepped into the night.

The town was quiet at this hour. Just the distant hum of vending machines and the occasional car passing by. He biked through narrow streets slick with rain, the tires splashing against puddles.

The school gates were closed, but not locked. Shoji knew the side path that led through the maintenance shed—one of the perks of arriving early every day.

Inside, the building was pitch-black except for emergency lights.

He moved fast, not wanting to waste time. His footsteps echoed in the empty halls as he reached his classroom, grabbing the notebook from his desk.

As he turned to leave, the old wall clock in the hallway struck midnight.

Shoji paused.

And then came the sound—a deep, metallic boom echoing from outside, like the tolling of a massive bell. The windows trembled. The air grew cold.

His heart skipped a beat.

He ran to the back exit, stepping out into the rain.

That’s when he saw it.

A massive concrete door stood behind the school building, where nothing had been before. It was carved into the hill itself, as if it had always been there, its surface marked with strange, shifting symbols.

Shoji approached cautiously. His fingers brushed the cold surface of the door.

It opened on its own, and without warning—he was pulled inside.

The world blurred.

Shoji hit the ground hard, coughing as sand filled his mouth and nose. He sat up, dazed.

It was a desert—vast, endless, bathed in a dusky blue light. The sky above was dark and cloudless, not a single star in sight. All around him were doors, standing alone on the sand, each one humming with a strange energy.

“What the hell is this place…?” he whispered.

Before he could get up, something moved nearby.

A voice—light, slightly amused. “You’re not supposed to be here, you know.”

Shoji turned sharply.

A strange fox-like creature stood a few feet away. Its fur shimmered faintly in the dim light, and a stylized red-and-white mask covered its face. It wore a small pouch around its side, and it moved on two legs like a person.

Shoji backed up instinctively. “What… are you?”

The fox tilted its head. “That’s what I should be asking you. How did a human like you get into the Desert of Regrets?”

Shoji blinked. “Desert of what?”

The creature sighed. “Figures. Look, kid, you shouldn’t be here. This place only appears at night to those who—” It stopped suddenly, ears perking. “Wait…”

From somewhere deeper in the desert, a voice echoed.

“Shoji…”

Shoji turned toward the sound. It wasn’t just a voice—it was familiar, painfully so.

He stepped forward, ignoring the fox.

“Wait—hey!” the creature barked. “That door isn’t like the others! It’s not stable!”

But Shoji had already reached it. The door was tall, wooden, worn by time. As he touched the handle, he felt something twist in his chest.

“You don’t want to go in there,” the fox warned.

Shoji hesitated… then turned the knob.

The air inside was colder.

He stood in a twisted version of his middle school, empty and broken. Desks floated in midair. Hallways stretched endlessly. The voice was clearer now, pulling him deeper.

“Shoji…”

He walked forward, unsure why. The fox followed behind him reluctantly, tail twitching.

And then—he saw him.

A silhouette stood ahead, hunched in the dim corridor. It turned slowly.

It was his friend. Or at least, something that looked like him—eyes hollow, skin flickering like static, mouth curled into a tired smile.

“You weren’t there,” the shadow said. “You knew. You saw. But you still did nothing.”

Shoji froze, chest tightening.

“I tried to help—” he whispered.

“You watched them tear me down. You watched me break. And you said nothing.”

Shoji fell to his knees.

“I’m sorry… I should’ve… I didn’t know it was that bad…”

The figure stepped forward.

“You let me die.”

Shoji shut his eyes tight. The words cut deeper than any blade. But somewhere in that crushing guilt… something clicked.

He remembered.

He remembered reaching out. He remembered begging teachers, talking to counselors, even staying by his friend’s side until the very end. He didn’t abandon him—he just couldn’t save him.

And this voice… wasn’t him.

Shoji’s eyes opened.

“No,” he said quietly. “You’re not real. You’re not him.”

The shadow snarled.

“You’re just… the part of me that wants me to suffer forever.”

And then, a voice echoed in his head—deep and resonant.

“Are you certain? Will you carry this regret and move forward?”

A ring appeared on Shoji’s finger—black metal, with a glowing dark blue stone.

“Then face your truth. I am thou… thou art I.”

Shoji stood.

He gripped the ring, pulled it from his finger, and threw it to the ground.

“I heard you! Come, CHARRON!!”

The ground split. From the sand and shadow rose a cloaked figure—tall, draped in flowing robes. A glowing oar was strapped across his back, and faint blue flames flickered beneath his hood.

Charon stepped forward, calm and imposing.

“I am Charon. The ferryman who guides the souls across the river of sorrow.”

He looked at Shoji, his voice echoing like water against stone.

“You have chosen to confront what lies within. You are not lost… and I am yours to command.”

Shoji clenched his fists. The weight on his chest lightened, just a bit.

Behind him, the fox stared.

“Well,” it said, tail flicking, “looks like I won’t be getting rid of you that easily.”

The shadow lunged.

It moved with unnatural speed—distorted arms flailing, eyes glowing with hate. Its voice echoed with a broken familiarity, like a memory twisted out of shape.

“You should’ve saved me!” it howled.

Shoji barely had time to react, stumbling back as the monstrous figure of his best friend’s shadow closed in. But he wasn’t alone. The fox darted ahead, agile and precise, intercepting the shadow’s strike with a burst of bluish fire conjured from his claws.

“I’ll keep it busy—use that Persona of yours!”

Shoji steadied his breath. His heart still raced from the awakening, but the ring on his finger pulsed with power. He threw out his arm.

“Charon!”

In a burst of azure flame, the cloaked ferryman emerged. Tall and skeletal beneath his tattered robes, Charon gripped a long oar-like staff crackling with spectral energy.

The battle began.

The shadow struck first, launching a barrage of jagged, black tendrils. Charon blocked them with a swirl of blue flame, countering with a powerful sweep of his staff that sent the creature sliding across the sand.

“Don’t hesitate,” the fox called out. “That thing feeds on your doubt!”

Shoji nodded, gritting his teeth. “Then I won’t give it any.”

He focused. A command rose naturally to his lips. “Charon, Agilao!”

Charon raised his oar, and from it, a surge of fire spiraled outward, striking the shadow dead-on. It screeched and staggered back, the mask-like face cracking.

But it wasn’t over.

“Why didn’t you save me, Shoji!?” the shadow bellowed, slamming its fists into the ground. Shadowy spikes erupted from beneath, narrowly missing Shoji.

The fox dashed forward, slashing at the creature with ethereal claws, drawing its attention. “It’s faltering! Hit it again!”

Shoji nodded, summoning Charon once more. “Now—Bane of Regret!”

A ghostly wave surged from Charon’s staff, engulfing the shadow in shimmering blue flame. It let out a final, mournful cry as it dissolved into smoke and silence.

Shoji stood there, chest rising and falling with exhaustion. The battlefield was quiet.

The fox trotted to his side, tail flicking. “You held your own. Not bad for a first-timer.”

Shoji gave a small laugh. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

The fox turned, ears twitching. “Come on. This place won’t stay quiet forever. Let’s get out of here.”

As the shadow dissolved into the desert wind, the swirling blackness faded, leaving behind only silence. Shoji stood still, his breathing heavy, eyes locked on the space where the figure of his friend had once stood. The desert around them seemed to shift subtly—less hostile now, more subdued.

The fox stepped forward, glancing at Shoji. “Are you alright?”

Shoji didn’t answer immediately. His gaze was distant, focused inward. Finally, he gave a slow nod. “Yeah... I think I am.”

The fox’s ears twitched. “Come on. I’ll show you the way out.”

After walking for a while, Shoji and the fox arrive at a big gate. Most likely the way out.

“This is the exit. I can only guide you until here. “ the fox said.

“Um thanks…. Uh what's your name again? “ Shoji asked the fox.

“The name is Hakuo. Now get out of here. “ Hakuo said while pushing Shoji out of the gate.

After being pushed, Shoji return to the real world. Still a bit confused about what just happened. A talking fox, the Desert of Regret, Charon. Too much to process but he decided to just go home. Once home, Shoji tossed and turned in his sleep, still haunted by the lingering images of the strange desert, the shadow that resembled his friend, and the mysterious fox that fought by his side.

And then—silence.

Suddenly, the world shifted.

He opened his eyes, but it wasn’t his room. Instead, he found himself seated on a blue velvet chair in an elegant, dimly lit room. The air felt surreal, heavy with a sense of mystery and importance. Everything around him was bathed in deep shades of blue. The room felt like it didn’t belong to any world he knew—floating in some abstract space beyond time and place.

Across from him sat a peculiar man. His long nose curved down like a beak, and his wide, unsettling grin was strangely welcoming. Beside him stood a young woman in a formal velvet uniform—her expression calm and composed, her eyes sharp but not unkind.

The man leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled.

“Ah… you’re here,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly, filled with otherworldly resonance.

“Welcome to the Velvet Room.”

Shoji blinked, still not fully grasping where he was.

“My name is Igor,” the man continued. “And the woman next to me is Kara, my assistant and also a resident of this room.”

Kara gave a polite nod. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter,” Igor went on. “It is a room that only those who are bound by a contract may enter… It may be that such a fate awaits you in the near future.”

Shoji leaned forward slightly, his brows furrowing. “A contract?”

“Indeed,” Igor replied with a chuckle. “But let us not concern ourselves with that just yet.”

He gestured with a gloved hand.

“Now then… Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

Shoji hesitated, then slowly replied, “…Shoji. Shoji Akiyama.”

Igor nodded approvingly. “A fine name. Remember it well… for your journey is only just beginning.”

“Shoji,” Kara spoke softly. “You have taken your first step into a world hidden beneath the veil of the ordinary. That power you awakened—your Persona—was born of your resolve.”

“And as such,” Igor added, reaching beneath the table and placing something on its surface, “you will need this.”

It was a key. Small and elegant, made of glimmering dark blue metal with a faint white glow along its edge.

“This is the Velvet Key,” Igor explained. “It shall serve as your guide, allowing you to return to this room… should fate demand it. You may find it in your possession when the time is right.”

The room began to tremble faintly, and Shoji felt the weight of sleep pulling at him again.

“Until we meet again,” Kara said gently.

“May your journey be one of purpose and awakening,” Igor said with a grin.

In the next moment, Shoji’s eyes fluttered open.

He was in his bed. Morning light spilled into the room from behind his curtains. He sat up slowly, heart still pounding.

“…Just a dream?” he muttered.

But when he looked to the side, there on his desk, resting as if it had always been there—was the key.

The Velvet Key.

It had been a few days since that night—since the concrete door, the desert, the shadow, and the voice that called itself Charon.

Shoji hadn’t seen the fox since. The Velvet Key hadn’t reappeared either.

Just him, school, and a hollow sense that reality wasn’t quite what it used to be.

The hum of the classroom buzzed faintly as students chatted, flipping through notebooks or dozing before class began. Shoji sat near the back, quietly staring out the window at the gray spring clouds.

Still trying to act normal.

Still pretending nothing had changed.

A loud thud suddenly echoed across the classroom.

“Yo! You the new guy?” a voice boomed, full of energy.

Shoji turned. A boy stood by his desk, half-grinning like he’d just walked into an action movie.

“Shoji, right?” the boy continued. “I’m Taiga Moriyama. Mind if I sit here?”

Shoji blinked. “Uh… sure. Go ahead.”

Taiga plopped into the seat beside him, tossing his bag down and stretching like he owned the room. “You looked like you could use someone loud and obnoxious next to you. Lucky you—I'm that guy.”

Shoji let out a breath of amusement. “Right…”

Taiga smirked. “You’re not as gloomy as you look. That’s good. We’ll get along just fine.”

Taiga leaned back in his chair, rocking it on two legs like it was a sport. “So, Shoji, what brings you to the middle of nowhere? Minazuki’s not exactly a hotspot.”

Shoji hesitated. “Just… needed a change of pace, I guess.”

“Ah, one of those ‘mysterious transfer student’ types, huh?” Taiga grinned. “Cool, cool. Bet you’ve got some secrets.”

Shoji smirked faintly. “Don’t we all?”

Taiga laughed at that, loud enough to earn a glance from the teacher prepping at the front. “Alright, alright, I like you already.”

Shoji glanced at him sideways. There was something about Taiga’s energy—it wasn’t just annoying. It was genuine. Comforting, even.

“You into anything?” Taiga asked, lowering his voice a bit. “Clubs? Games? You look like a headphone-and-books kind of guy.”

Shoji shrugged. “Music, mostly. I like quiet.”

“Man,” Taiga groaned, “they’re pairing me with a brooding main character. Next thing I know, you’ll be dragging me into some supernatural mystery or something.”

Shoji nearly froze at those words. But Taiga just grinned, clearly joking. At least… he thought he was.

“…Right,” Shoji muttered. “Nothing like that.”

For now.

After school, late afternoon — Shoji walks home alone, still processing everything.

Shoji walked along the quiet sidewalk, hands in his pockets, thoughts a thousand miles away. The events of the past few nights lingered like a fog in his mind—Charon, the shadow, that strange dream in the blue room…

Then, from the corner of his eye, movement.

A white blur dashed between the hedges.

He stopped. “No way…”

The fox—the fox—stepped out onto the path ahead of him. Its fur no longer glowing, eyes no longer lit, but unmistakably the same creature.

“H-How…?” Shoji whispered.

The fox blinked slowly, then spoke aloud, his voice still smooth, but less echoed now. “So you really can see me here too. That makes things easier.”

“You… What are you doing here?” Shoji stepped forward, unsure if anyone else could see what he was seeing.

“I’ve been watching. Making sure you didn’t break,” the fox said calmly, then tilted his head. “I go by many names, but I suppose you can just call me Hakuo.”

Shoji furrowed his brow. “You’re different. You don’t look like you did in the desert.”

Hakuo gave a soft chuckle. “This is how I appear in your world. The rules are… tighter here. I can’t walk around glowing like some mystical beast. People would ask questions.”

Shoji looked around. No one else seemed to notice Hakuo. “They can’t see you?”

“Not unless I want them to,” he said, tail flicking. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why?”

Hakuo stepped closer. “Come back to the door tonight. I want to show you something. Something important.”

Shoji hesitated. “Why me? Why are you helping me?”

Hakuo gave him a knowing look. “You opened a door few dare to. And you survived it. That means something.”

Shoji exhaled slowly. “Alright… I’ll be there.”

Hakuo nodded, eyes flashing for just a second. “Good. Don’t be late.”

And just like that, he slipped back into the alley, vanishing between the trees.

Night, near the same path behind the school — Shoji is walking back to the door.

Shoji walked slowly, the evening air cool against his skin. The sky had turned dark, the stars hidden behind thick clouds. The quiet of the town was eerie, almost as if it, too, was holding its breath. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was about to happen.

When he reached the familiar spot, he paused.

There it was again—the large, concrete door.

It was still standing out of place, half-hidden behind the overgrown trees and the dull glow of the streetlights. He could feel the pull again, just like the first time. That strange sensation that urged him forward.

He stepped closer, hand resting on the cold metal of the door. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Before he could even push the door open, a familiar voice echoed behind him.

“You made it.”

Shoji spun around to find the fox, Hakuo, standing just a few feet away. His eyes still held that sharp, mysterious glint.

“Why am I here?” Shoji asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

Hakuo gave him a long look, tail twitching slightly. “You know why. You’re still connected to the desert now. You can’t escape it—nor should you.”

Shoji frowned. “What do you want me to do?”

The fox’s gaze softened, and for a moment, he almost looked... thoughtful. “I want to show you something. It’s not just about facing your regrets. It’s about understanding them.”

Shoji raised an eyebrow. “And what happens after that?”

“After that…” Hakuo looked past him, eyes narrowing as if he saw something beyond the door. “After that, you will be ready. But you must see it for yourself.”

Without waiting for Shoji to respond, the fox stepped aside, his form rippling as if shifting between two realities. “Enter the door. It will take you somewhere you need to be.”

Shoji hesitated, but there was a certain weight in Hakuo’s words. Something that urged him to move forward, despite the unease gnawing at him. He pushed open the door, stepping into the familiar desert landscape.

As the door shut behind him, he noticed a subtle change.

The sands seemed darker than before, the horizon more distorted. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, and the once clear path was now a labyrinth of doors, all looming like giants in the distance.

“This… this is different,” Shoji muttered, eyes scanning the shifting scenery.

Hakuo appeared beside him, as though he’d never moved at all. “It is different because you’re different. Your regrets have deepened.”

Shoji swallowed hard. “What do you mean by that?”

Hakuo tilted his head, leading him toward one of the towering doors in the distance. “You’ll understand when you see what’s behind it.”

As they approached the door, Shoji felt a sudden heaviness in his chest, the familiar weight of guilt and regret settling in again. He couldn’t shake the image of his friend—the one he couldn’t save—and the shadow that had confronted him.

“This is where you need to go,” Hakuo said, voice firm yet strangely comforting. “Inside this door lies what you must face.”

Shoji’s hand hovered over the handle, his heartbeat picking up pace.

Inside the Desert of Regrets — Shoji and Hakuo stand before a wide expanse of shifting sand, strange doors scattered in every direction.

Shoji stood silently as the door behind him faded into the distance, the sand beneath his feet warm but uncomfortably soft. The silence was overwhelming, broken only by the occasional gust of wind sweeping across the barren landscape.

Hakuo stepped forward, tail swishing lazily behind him. “Welcome to the Desert of Regrets,” he said, his voice almost echoing in the emptiness. “This place exists because of your own inner conflict. Your guilt, your sorrow—it feeds into the environment. The more you carry, the more this place warps.”

Shoji’s brow furrowed. “So... this is my fault?”

“Not exactly,” Hakuo replied, glancing around at the endless maze of doors. “It’s your mind. Your regrets are tied to this desert, but that doesn’t mean you created it. It was always here in some form. It just manifests more vividly when a person like you steps into it.”

Shoji looked around, trying to take in the strange landscape. The doors seemed to beckon, but their significance eluded him.

“Why are there so many doors?” Shoji asked.

“They’re passages to different places,” Hakuo explained, his tone patient. “Different memories, different facets of your regret. Some doors are more dangerous than others. Some you shouldn’t open until you’re ready.”

Shoji nodded, trying to digest the information. “And what do I do here?”

“You learn,” Hakuo said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You must understand what brought you here. Only by doing that will you be able to move forward.”

Just then, a low growl interrupted their conversation.

Shoji tensed, turning toward the source of the sound. A few paces away, a shadowy creature emerged from the sand—its eyes glowing an unnatural red, its body a mass of darkness and sharp, jagged edges.

“Watch out!” Hakuo called, his voice sharp.

The creature lunged at them with terrifying speed, but before it could reach Shoji, Hakuo leapt forward, dodging the attack and standing between the shadow and his new companion.

“Stay back, Shoji,” Hakuo warned, his voice commanding. “You’re going to need to summon Charon if you want to survive.”

Shoji froze for a moment, the gravity of the situation hitting him hard. But Hakuo’s words pierced through the panic rising in his chest.

“You’ve done it before,” Hakuo said. “You can do it again. Focus. Feel the connection between you and Charon.”

Shoji closed his eyes for a split second, memories flooding back. The feeling of the ring on his finger, the words of the shadow echoing in his mind, the final moment of clarity when he rejected the guilt. He remembered the feeling of Charon’s power, the sense of something greater than himself awakening within him.

He thrust his hand forward, the ring on his finger gleaming in the dim light of the desert. “Charon!”

In an instant, the air around him seemed to shift, the ground vibrating with a surge of energy. A dark figure emerged from the shadows, a skeletal boatman clad in black robes—Charon—looming behind him. His eyes burned with an ethereal light as he stared down the shadowy creature.

"Step aside, Shoji," Hakuo said, standing off to the side as the shadow charged. “Let Charon handle this.”

Shoji nodded, stepping back to give his Persona space.

Charon raised his staff, and with a single motion, the air around them seemed to darken. Shoji could feel the power surging through him as Charon swung his staff, sending a wave of darkness crashing into the shadow. The creature screeched and disintegrated into mist, vanishing into the sands.

The desert was quiet again, save for the distant howling winds.

Hakuo turned to Shoji, a look of approval in his eyes. “Not bad. You’re learning quickly. Remember, your Persona is an extension of you. It’ll grow stronger the more you understand yourself.”

Shoji nodded, still processing everything that had just happened. He could feel Charon's power lingering, the connection between them clearer now.

“You’ll have more chances to practice,” Hakuo said, eyes scanning the horizon. “But for now, let’s keep moving. There are more doors ahead. Some will challenge you more than others.”

Shoji took a deep breath and followed Hakuo into the heart of the desert, the echo of his footsteps mixing with the quiet winds. Each door was a mystery, each shadow a reminder of what he had left behind.

Shoji and Hakuo continued deeper into the desert, their footsteps leaving temporary prints in the soft, shifting sands. The silence around them was only broken by the distant moaning of the wind, carrying faint whispers that seemed just beyond understanding.

"Each part of this desert is shaped by someone’s regrets,” Hakuo said as they passed a half-buried structure—an old school desk jutting out of the sand, cracked and weathered. “Some of them are yours. Others… not so much.”

Shoji glanced at it, uneasy. “You mean... other people have been here too?”

“Yeah,” Hakuo replied, voice quieter now. “This place isn’t unique to you. The Desert of Regrets has existed for a long time. It’s hidden in the spaces most people never notice. You only see it when something inside you cracks open.”

Shoji took that in quietly, eyeing the doors scattered around them. Some looked ancient and crumbling. Others seemed as new as if they'd been placed there that morning. Each one radiated a different aura—some cold and desolate, others burning with a heavy presence.

He stopped before one slightly ajar door. “What’s behind these?”

Hakuo stepped up beside him. “Memories, truths, fears. Open one carelessly and you might lose yourself in someone else's sorrow. Or worse… your own.”

Shoji swallowed hard and stepped away.

After a while, Hakuo yawned and stretched lazily. “Alright, that’s enough for today. You did good. We’ll pick this up next time.”

Shoji nodded and turned to follow Hakuo back toward the door they originally came through. As they neared the familiar stone archway back to the real world, Shoji suddenly stopped in his tracks.

A blue door stood just a few steps away from the exit—sleek, polished, and completely out of place in the vast, decaying desert. Its golden frame gleamed faintly, and an otherworldly symbol shimmered above the handle.

“Hey, this door wasn't here before. “ Shoji said.

Shoji stared at the blue door standing silently beside the dungeon exit.

It hadn't been there before.

A faint glow pulsed from his jacket pocket. He reached inside and pulled out the small, ornate key—the same one Igor had given him in that strange dreamlike encounter. Its cool surface shimmered in his hand, as if responding to the presence of the door.

“…This wasn’t here earlier,” Shoji muttered.

Hakuo tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “What door?”

Shoji glanced at him. “You don’t see it?”

“I just see a wall.”

Shoji hesitated, then stepped toward the door and inserted the key. The lock clicked with a soft chime, and the blue door slowly opened, revealing a familiar deep hue.

He looked back at Hakuo. “I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, Shoji stepped inside—and the world changed.

The Velvet Room greeted him once more, its endless blue tones washing over his senses. This time, the interior felt more grounded—less like a dream, more like a space he chose to enter.

Across from him, seated behind his elegant desk, Igor smiled with his hands folded.

“Ah… we meet again,” he said, voice deep and slow. “I see you’ve discovered how to return to us on your own. Impressive.”

Kara stood at Igor’s side, her usual calm expression softening slightly. “Welcome back, Shoji Akiyama.”

Shoji stepped forward, the Velvet Key still in his hand. “So this… door shows up when I need it?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Igor said. “The Velvet Room is not bound by normal dimensions. Its presence manifests when your heart seeks guidance—or when the contract between us demands your return.”

Shoji looked down at the key. “So this thing’s… my way back here.”

Kara nodded. “And only yours. The path to the Velvet Room is visible only to its guest. Others will see nothing but stillness.”

Shoji furrowed his brow. “That fox outside—he couldn’t see the door.”

“Correct,” Igor said. “This place is connected to your soul. You stand at a crossroads between choice and consequence. Between who you are… and who you may yet become.”

A silence passed before Igor leaned forward slightly. “Have you begun to sense it, Shoji? The weight of the Wild Card? The potential you carry is vast, but it will test your resolve. The time to waver has passed.”

Shoji nodded, slowly. “I think… I’m starting to get it.”

Igor smiled again. “Good. Then our next meeting shall come when the wheel turns once more. Until then, continue walking your path, Wild Card.”

The Velvet Room began to fade, colors softening into a misty blue haze—

Shoji blinked, and he was back.

The desert wind brushed against his face, and he was still standing at the wall beside the exit. The blue door had vanished.

Hakuo was waving a paw in front of his face. “Shoji? You good?”

Shoji exhaled slowly and tucked the Velvet Key back into his pocket. “Yeah. Just had to check something.”

The fox raised a brow, but didn’t press further.

“Let’s head back,” Shoji said.

And with that, they stepped through the exit—out of the dungeon, and into the waiting night.