"Sensei, what made you become like this? Do you even love art anymore?"
The Shadow merely stared down at him.
Then his shoulders began to shake.
"Love art?" he repeated, laughing. "What a childish question."
Yusuke's face dropped.
"When I was young, perhaps I did. I painted until my hands ached, yet no one cared. The public does not recognize beauty, Yusuke. It recognizes names."
He spread his arms, displaying the golden museum around him.
"So I gave them a name they could recognize."
Yusuke silently watched as the Shadow continued.
"Once my signature graced a canvas, the worthless thing became a masterpiece. Collectors fought over it. Critics invented meaning for it. Money poured in."
"Even if you hadn't painted it," Ann said.
Madarame's smile disappeared.
"Everything created beneath my roof was mine."
Yusuke looked back toward the hall of portraits.
"Us too?"
"My pupils were my works," Madarame declared. "I discovered them. I instructed them. I gave their hands purpose. Whatever they produced was merely the result of my guidance."
"You stole from them!" Ryuji shouted.
"Stole?" Madarame scoffed. "From whom? Nameless children whose paintings would never have left that wretched shack? I gave their creations value."
Ren regarded him quietly.
"People valued your name. They never knew the artists."
"Precisely!" Madarame gripped the railing. "That is the privilege of a master!"
Yusuke's hands curled into fists.
"And when they could no longer produce work for you?"
Madarame waved one hand dismissively.
"An exhausted brush must eventually be replaced. Some lost their inspiration. Others demanded recognition. Once they ceased to be useful, there was no reason to continue supporting them."
Shiho glared up at him.
"You destroyed their dreams and then abandoned them?!"
Madarame's eyes narrowed.
"Be silent, girl. You know nothing of the sacrifices necessary to survive in the art world."
Yusuke slowly raised his head.
"What about me, Sensei?"
The irritation vanished from Madarame's expression.
"Ah, Yusuke."
His smile returned.
"You are different. You remain useful."
Yusuke flinched.
Madarame continued as though he had offered him a compliment.
"Of all the pupils I cultivated, you possess the greatest potential. Your technique is still immature, but your imagination has yet to run dry. In time, you may produce enough material to sustain my legacy for years."
"You took him in because you wanted his paintings?" Ann asked.
"Why else would I burden myself with an orphan?"
The words struck Yusuke harder than any physical blow could have.
Madarame looked down at him without the slightest trace of affection.
"Food, shelter, education, art supplies—I provided everything. Did you believe I expected nothing in return?"
Yusuke's mouth opened, but no words escaped.
Orihime stepped closer to him.
"Saving someone's life doesn't mean you own it!"
"What nonsense," Madarame said. "The boy would have had nothing without me."
"You raised me," Yusuke whispered.
Madarame corrected him without hesitation.
"I cultivated you."
Silence filled the museum.
Ren watched something dark twist around Yusuke's heart. It looked like black paint attempting to cover the gentle blue threads surrounding him.
Yusuke stared at the floor.
"Was any of it real?"
Madarame frowned.
"When you taught me how to hold a brush... when you praised my first painting..." Yusuke's voice trembled. "When we stood together before the Sayuri... Did any of that mean something to you?"
"Does it matter?"
Yusuke looked up.
Madarame leaned over the railing.
"You were an investment, Yusuke."
Ann moved to Yusuke's side. Shiho joined her without saying anything.
"You have become confused because of these thieves," Madarame continued. "Return home and I may forgive this humiliation. Abandon them, continue your work, and your future will remain secure."
"And if I refuse?" Yusuke asked.
Madarame's smile became cold.
"Then you will never work as an artist again."
The guards beside him stepped forward.
"One word from me and no gallery will display your paintings. No critic will acknowledge you. No school will support you. Everything you create will disappear without ever being seen."
Yusuke's breathing became unsteady.
"You cannot survive without me," Madarame said. "Surely you understand that."
Ren finally spoke.
"You're afraid of him."
Madarame's head snapped toward him.
"What?"
"The other pupils are gone," Ren continued calmly. "Yusuke is the only one left. If he leaves, you'll have nothing new to steal."
"You insolent little—"
"Is that true?" Yusuke asked.
Madarame fell silent.
Yusuke stepped forward.
"Is that why you kept me?"
"I chose you!" Madarame shouted. "You should be grateful!"
"No."
The single word echoed throughout the museum.
Madarame stared at him in disbelief.
Yusuke touched his chest.
"I wanted to believe that the man who raised me still existed somewhere inside you. Even after seeing this Palace, I searched for some hidden beauty that might explain its ugliness."
His voice steadied.
"But there is nothing."
"You ungrateful whelp!"
"You may have loved art once," Yusuke continued. "Now, you merely love being called an artist."
Madarame's face twisted with rage.
But Yusuke closed his eyes.
"I saw the cracks long ago. I simply painted over them myself. I called my fear gratitude because the truth was too painful to face."
A sharp pain spread across his face.
Somewhere within him, a voice laughed.
Not cruelly.
Proudly.
'At last, you behold the fraud before you.'
Yusuke raised one hand toward the foxlike mask forming across his face.
'Will you continue bowing to the thief who stole your very gaze?'
His fingers curled around its edge.
"No."
Madarame recoiled.
"Guards! Seize him!"
The security Shadows leapt from the balcony.
Yusuke pulled against the mask as blood ran between his fingers.
"I don't know whether my art will ever be recognized. I don't know whether I can survive without your name."
The blue strands around him blazed with light.
"But whatever I create from this moment onward—beautiful or wretched—it will be mine!"
'Then let us decorate this fraud's gallery with the truth!'
Yusuke tore away the mask.
"Come, Goemon!"
---