The Phantom Thieves had barely made it out of the latest Metaverse skirmish. A strange ripple in Mementos had pulled them into a side layer of cognition—brief, surreal, and marked by a blinding golden light. When they emerged, something had changed.
Ryuji Sakamoto stood before Ren, breathing heavily, sweat slicking her collarbone. Her familiar scowl was there—but the rest of her was different. The lean muscle of a track star remained, but her body had softened in ways that were unmistakable. Feminine. Beautiful, even in her confusion.
Back in Leblanc, the others had given space. It was late. Rain whispered against the windows. Only Ryuji had stayed behind.
She was silent, arms crossed, leaning against the counter as Ren brewed two mugs of coffee.
"You gonna say anything?" she muttered, not meeting his eyes.
Ren placed a mug in front of her. Steam curled between them. He sat across from her, quiet, steady.
"It's still you, Ryuji."
"No, dude—" She stopped, then exhaled, brushing golden-blonde hair back from her face. "It doesn't feel like me. I look in the mirror, and I see someone else. My voice, my body... even the way I feel things is all weird."
She looked up, cheeks pink—not with shame, but something more uncertain. Vulnerable.
"Like... everything's buzzing under my skin. All the time."
Ren reached across the table and took her hand. Small, almost accidental. But Ryuji didn't pull away.
"You're still strong," he said softly. "Still the same person who ran beside me when I didn't know who I was. That hasn't changed."
Ryuji's lips parted slightly. Her fingers curled around his.
"...When you say stuff like that now," she murmured, "it hits different. I don't know if it's 'cause of the body or... somethin' else."
Their eyes locked. Silence stretched—tense, but not awkward. Charged.
"Ren... if I told you that I don't hate this... that part of me likes how I feel around you now..." She leaned forward slightly. "Would that freak you out?"
He shook his head.
"...I've always felt close to you, Ryuji. This doesn't change that. If anything, it makes me want to understand you even more."
A small, breathless laugh escaped her.
"You always say the right damn thing."
Her hand squeezed his.
And slowly, deliberately, she rose from her chair and stepped around the table. She straddled his lap—not with heat, but with searching intensity—and rested her forehead against his.
"This okay?" she whispered.
Ren nodded, voice low. "Yeah."
Her hands slid up to his shoulders. Their lips brushed, not quite a kiss. Not yet. But the tension bloomed between them like fire and thunder—new, electric, and impossible to ignore.