Part 4 Monetary Monster Harem (TF/TG)

— Several minutes earlier —

Makoto opened the safe room door and turned back to the others.

“Alright then. Everyone ready?”

Joker gave a nod and slipped out silently.

Ann followed close behind, cracking her knuckles.

“Let’s go before my butt accidentally opens another door with how wide it’s gotten.”

Makoto rolled her eyes. “Stay focused, Panther. Let’s move out.”

As they disappeared down the hallway, Makoto turned to Yusuke and motioned toward the exit.

“Come on. Let’s keep pace.”

But Yusuke didn’t move.

He was standing perfectly still, his arms crossed, eyes closed in deep thought.

“...One moment, Queen.”

Makoto blinked. “Fox?”

He raised a hand gently, like trying not to disturb the air around them.

“I believe... an idea has just struck me.”

Makoto folded her arms. “We don’t have time for art inspiration right now.”

Yusuke slowly looked up, thoughtful but steady.

“No, not art. Strategy.”

He stepped toward her, voice calm.

“Tell me… do you think we could get our hands on a sack of Kaneshiro’s cash? Just one. And bring it back here… to this safe room?”

Makoto stared at him like he’d grown another head.

“Are you serious? Have you not seen what happens when we interact with that stuff? We’ve lost Ryuji. Morgana’s become some kind of dragon hydra idol. Ann’s butt is... Ann’s butt.”

Yusuke tilted his head, undeterred.

“Which is precisely why I want to study the interaction in a controlled environment.”

Makoto’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not touching that money.”

“Then I shall carry it myself.”

His tone was resolute. Like he’d just volunteered to carry a cursed relic into the heart of a volcano.

Makoto sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Fine. But you better not sprout wings or start asking riddles.”

Yusuke gave a polite bow.

“Understood. I will remain beautifully grounded.”

Makoto muttered under her breath.

“This is going to go terribly.”

They stepped out of the safe room, the door hissing shut behind them.

…

— Back to right now —

Makoto sprinted through the winding corridors of Kaneshiro’s warped palace, her boots pounding against polished marble. Neon lights buzzed above her, flickering with gold-tinted energy.

She slid around a corner… and then finally saw it.

MONEY PRINTING FACILITY
Etched in gaudy, shimmering gold across an oversized vault door.

“There it is!”

She dashed forward-

CRASH!

A blur of movement. Something slammed into her from the left with brutal force.

“Ngh—!”

Makoto and her attacker tumbled through the air, smashing straight through the side doors of the facility.

Glass shattered. Paper exploded. Alarms wailed.

Makoto hit the ground hard, rolling to her feet just as Rika landed opposite her, golden tail coiling behind her like a whip.

“Didn’t think you’d get this far, Queen,” Rika said coolly. “Guess I underestimated your drive.”

Makoto adjusted her gloves, her expression unreadable.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here to break your boss’s bank.”

She scanned the room quickly.

Dozens of shadows in drab uniforms were staring in fear. The machines were still clattering in the background, pressing bills, counting notes, sorting cash with inhuman speed.

Makoto pointed toward them.

“None of you gonna help her? You call that loyal?”

Rika grinned, amused.

“Oh, am I not enough for you? Do you want me to call for backup?”

Makoto’s voice cut sharper.

“Bring them. I’ve torn through worse today.”

But none of the shadows moved.

They stood frozen… expressionless, tired, afraid. Not enemies. Just… machinery in human form. Slaves to the system.

One by one, they dropped what they were doing and bolted for the exits.

ALERT. ALERT. FACILITY STABILITY COMPROMISED.

MONEY PRESS DISABLED.

The hum of the machines died out. The clatter of coins and cash stopped. The room fell silent, except for the soft flutter of paper and the breath of the two fighting girls.

Rika’s smile didn’t waver.

“Guess they’re not worth the payroll after all.”

She launched forward. Makoto met her strike with a punch. Fists clashed. Elbows snapped. Kicks collided midair.

Until they both locked hands with one another.

“You didn’t just come here to stretch your legs. What’s the plan, Queen? Why the money printing room?”

Makoto pushed harder as a smile crept onto her face.

“Thought I’d check if your master's fortune was actually worth anything.”

She smirked. A sharp, confident thing. But Rika’s eyes flickered.

Just a flicker.

And that’s all she needed.

“Cute.”

She darted in low—spinning beneath Makoto’s guard and lashing out—

WHUMP.

Makoto flew backward, slammed into a waist-high stack of cash in the corner of the room, breath knocking from her lungs.

“Gh—!”

Before she could recover, Rika leapt, tackling her directly into the mountain of paper wealth.

Golden light surged. The money reacted… vibrating, pulsing, melting into Makoto’s skin like heated silk.

Her spine arched. Something inside her twisted… heat, pressure, like her body was being pulled apart and rebuilt at once.

THWMP. THWMP. THWMP. THWMP.

Four new arms burst from her sides, fully formed in seconds, powerful and trembling with fresh muscle.

Makoto roared, forcing herself upright with all six arms at once, hurling Rika off her with explosive force.

She panted, sweat dripping from her brow.

“W-what… what the hell?!”

Rika skidded back and caught herself, eyes wide.

“Oh, that was unfortunate.” The medusa lamia sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “I was honestly hoping this would distract you long enough for me to win.”

Makoto looked at her arms in shock. They moved in perfect sync, as natural as breathing—but they didn’t belong to her. Did they?

She clenched all six fists.

Rika cracked her neck and grinned.

“No matter. I like a challenge.”

Both women dropped back into ready stances.

The paper dust settled.
The air shimmered.

The fight was far from over, though they both knew that at this rate Makoto wasn't going to stay human for much longer.

Rika paced in a slow circle, watching Makoto like a hawk. Then she started to look around aimlessly.

“Still though, you got me wondering…?” she said with a half-smirk, returning back to Makoto. “Where’s our little painter friend? Where is Fox?”

Makoto didn’t flinch.

“Far from here,” she shot back.

Rika narrowed her eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

Makoto tightened her stance, fists clenched.

“I wouldn’t tell you…” she spoke resolutely, before whispering in a barely audible tone. “...even if I did know.”

That whisper was all Rika needed to hear.

“Ah… so in other words you have no idea,” Rika said, voice low and satisfied. “Meh, don't worry about him…”

She lunged again, this time spinning low, tail sweeping beneath Makoto’s guard.

“We will find him soon anyway!”

Makoto’s balance gave out with a grunt as the impact clipped her legs.

She hit the floor hard, and her legs slid directly into a scattered pile of gold-inked yen.

“Tch—!”

But it was too late.

The money clung to her like static—then melted into her skin with a liquid shimmer, each note vanishing into her thighs, her calves, her heels.

“Nnghh—ah…!”

She gasped as her boots tore open. Her ankles cracked, bones shifting violently. Her toes curled, quickly getting replaced by thick, feline digits, each tipped with claws, as dense black fur swept over her reshaping legs.

Her knees bent back unnaturally, snapping into a digitigrade stance. Muscles realigned, posture twisted.

Makoto gritted her teeth and shoved herself up.

Even standing felt different now. Her center of gravity had shifted. Her hips were heavier, and her clawed feet dug into the floor for balance.

She looked down, wide-eyed at what her legs had become, but then lifted her chin sharply.

“I’m still standing.”

Rika blinked, almost impressed.

Makoto dropped into her new stance. Lower, heavier, primal, but her six fists were still raised.

“And I’m not done yet.” Makoto kept her eyes locked on Rika, breath steady, fists still raised despite the beastly stance her new legs demanded.

The silence between them cracked as Rika tilted her head, curious again.

“Still haven’t answered me,” she said casually. “Where’s Joker?”

Makoto’s lip twitched. Not in pain, but smug satisfaction.

“Oh, he’s busy,” she said, voice calm and cool as steel. “Currently kicking the snot out of your beloved master.”

Rika froze.

Just for a second.

Then her eye twitched, her grin twitched, and she reached up to a shimmering gold panel embedded in her snake-like wrist. She tapped it.

“Panther. Idol. Get your tails over to the boss. Now.”

Makoto’s eyes went wide. “Damn it—!”

“Oops,” Rika said sweetly, smile returning. “Guess that catfight’s gonna be a three-on-one after all.”

Makoto launched forward without warning, throwing a blistering punch, but Rika was already in motion. The two collided in midair again, fists flying, feet scraping the marble. Rika ducked a hook, slammed a palm into Makoto’s ribs.

WHUMP.

Makoto staggered… right into a coiled trap.

The golden serpent tail snapped tight, wrapping around her waist, her shoulders, her arms—four of them pinned instantly. She struggled, gritting her teeth, but the strength difference was impossible to ignore.

Two arms still free. Enough to fight. Not enough to win.

Rika slid in close, their foreheads nearly touching, her breath hot and steady.

“You know,” she said softly, “You’re handling this better than I expected. Most people break after the second paycheck.”

Makoto snarled. “Guess I’m not most people.”

“True,” Rika purred. “You’re so much more fun.”

Her tail squeezed tighter.

Then Rika shifted. Moved behind her. Pressed close to Makoto’s back, just between her shoulder blades.

Makoto tensed. “What are you doing—?!”

Rika picked up a fat stack of yen from the floor. It shimmered with that gold-ink glow. It pulsed faintly, almost alive.

“I was curious…” she said, voice low and musing. “What happens if I focus on something? Like really target one place and one place only. Like for example… your spine.”

“Don’t you da—!”

Too late.

The bills hit her back. Cold, thin, paper-soft, but they slid between her muscles like needles, sinking into her skin with a golden shimmer and effortless ease.

Makoto arched forward, mouth open in a silent scream as the money sank deep into her vertebrae. A white-hot line of pain lanced down her back. The notes fused directly to her spine, like paper slipping between bones.

Then it began.

CLINK-CLANK-CLUNK.

Her spine snapped. Re-formed. Hardened into silver-black metal, each segment plated and locked. Razor-thin vents cracked open along the edges. Jagged, serrated spikes burst from the vertebrae, clicking into place like a twisted mechanical zipper.

Makoto howled, body trembling.

At the same time, Rika flinched, the glowing notes fusing to her own hands as well.

“Ngh—what…?”

Her palms pulsed, swelled. Flesh tore cleanly, painlessly, as two more arms slid free from her sides… sleek, strong, golden-scaled. She blinked in shock. Then smiled again.

“Oh. That works too. I guess I have to be more careful in the future about getting more unwanted promotions. "Whoops…!" Another surge. A third pair erupted just beneath the second. She flexed all six of her arms in unison.

Makoto was still screaming. Her spine wasn’t done.

It stretched.

Extended.

Then split, sending a chrome tail sprouting from her lower back. It was mechanical, sinuous, layered with gleaming segmented armor. It slammed against the marble floor, twitching and sparking.

A hum began to rise from it. Glowing blue lines lit up along the tail’s sides.

Rika’s eyes flicked back in panic. “W-wha—!”

FWOOOOOOM.

Blue-white plasma exploded from the base thrusters.

Rika shrieked, yanking her arms away just in time as the superheated blast seared the air between them. She fell backward, hissing, one sleeve smoking from the near-hit.

Makoto collapsed to one knee, gasping, paws scraping against the floor while holding herself up with five of her arms. Her new tail twitched behind her, still glowing faintly, small puffs of heat hissing from its vents.

Rika panted, arms spread out, tail lashing behind her.

Makoto rose.

Her new posture was different… animalistic. Her six arms bent at her sides, her sleek metallic tail curling and dragging behind her like a weaponized scorpion. Her spine still popped as the metal settled into place. 

But her breathing was ragged now.

Every inhale scraped like broken glass in her throat. Her arms twitched… not from effort, but from exhaustion. Her legs, once steady and battle-ready, shook beneath her. The plasma tail behind her hissed with cooling gas, as if it was already low on fuel. That break out must have really taken a lot out of her.

Her stance still looked fierce… but the fire was dimming.

Rika slithered forward, slow this time. No rush. No urgency. Just quiet, deliberate coils on polished marble.

“You’re still standing,” she said softly. “Still fighting.”

Makoto growled, dragged a breath in through clenched teeth, and swung one of her fists at Rika’s smug face.

Rika caught it.

Then the next, and the next.

One by one, Makoto’s remaining punches were intercepted, easily, effortlessly. Until all six arms were caught mid-air, trembling in Rika’s grip like a puppet trying to break free.

Makoto was panting now, eyes blazing… but she couldn’t break free. Not anymore.

“Queen,” Rika said, voice almost gentle. “Just stop.”

Makoto stared, defiant… but wavering.

Rika leaned in. “Tell me what the hell you're planning. No riddles this time.”

There was a long silence.

Then… Makoto spoke.

Not with rage. Not with confidence. But a flat, tired truth, like each word was carved from her lungs.

“We’re going to repaint the blueprint.”

Rika blinked. “…What?”

Makoto closed her eyes. “The printing system. The schematics. We… we’re going to paint over them. Corrupt the design. Change the soul of the press. The money will come out wrong. It’ll be worthless.”

Rika stared at her for a beat.

Then she laughed. Quietly. Not mockingly, just stunned.

“You’re joking.”

Makoto didn’t answer.

“The money printing machine is the heart of this palace. Pumping money, wealth and riches through the entire bank.” Rika frowned. “If that money becomes worthless, who knows what happens to this place. You’d really destroy the whole system… just to get back at Master Kaneshiro?”

Makoto’s arms trembled again. She could barely lift them now. But her voice… her voice was steady.

“I will bring that bastard down,” she said, each word heavier than the last. “Even if I have to… Rip the damn foundation out from under him.”

Rika exhaled through her nose. The amusement was gone now. Replaced by something else. Something quieter.

She turned away, tail dragging behind her in silence.

Then, without a word, she began sweeping the floor with her coils, gathering bills, stacks, and bundles into a single, rising mound of cash. The floor was mostly clean, with only a few stacks of cash around the corners of the room, but it was enough to create a glowing golden hill, built like a ritual altar in the center of the room.

Makoto watched, uncomprehending, until Rika returned.

One hand took Makoto by the throat.

The other gripped the back of her head.

“Then I’m sorry,” Rika whispered. “I have to show you how much this wealth means to us.”

With that, she slammed Makoto’s head straight down into the money pile.

Makoto screamed, but the sound was muffled, swallowed by cash. The bills pulled at her skin. Slithered between her lips. Melted into her face.

Golden light rippled.

Her head began to change.

The first shift came as a splitting pain behind her right cheek, then her left. Bones cracked, flesh bubbled… and duplicated.

Two new faces grew from either side of her skull, one over each shoulder. Slow, creeping growth like statues being sculpted from living clay. Her ears stretched and twisted, teeth reforming inside two new jaws.

Each face settled into place, yet their eyes were empty, mouth closed, expression blank.

Three faces. Spaced evenly.

One forward.

One left.

One right.

An asura’s gaze.

None of them blinked.

Rika held her steady as the process ended. As the light dimmed. As the last hiss of magic faded into the air.

Then she gently helped Makoto stand.

The weight of her own body was foreign now. The tail behind her, the metal spine, the six arms, the monstrous legs, and now—

Three faces.

Three cold, emotionless faces.

Makoto didn’t say anything.

She couldn’t.

She just stood there, blank-eyed and breathing.

Rika looked at her in silence.

For the first time… her smile was gone too.

Rika stepped closer again, slower this time, eyes scanning Makoto carefully.

“Hey,” she said gently. “Can you talk? Are you okay?”

For a moment… nothing.

The silence stretched.

Then all three of Makoto’s mouths moved at once, one voice in perfect stereo.

“I’m okay,” they said. “Just… very drained.”

Rika let out a breath. Relief, maybe.

“Good. Then we still have time. Queen… Makoto. Do you really not have any clue where Yusuke is?” Her voice sharpened, worried now. “We need to stop him before he-”

Makoto’s center face suddenly twisted into a massive grin.

It wasn’t fake.

It was pure pride.

“Oh,” she said. “I’ve got a pretty good idea of where he could be.”

WHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR—KCHUNK.

The money printer behind them roared back to life.

Rika spun around, eyes wide. The golden lights of the facility flickered. The walls shifted as smooth black velvet rippled beneath golden veins. The entire atmosphere of the palace changed in an instant. It felt… off.

Wrong.

The printer spat out fresh bills by the dozen. But each note, each crisp, freshly pressed bill now bore a different face:

Not Kaneshiro.

But Yusuke Kitagawa.

Posing, flourishing, captured mid-stroke like he was sketching the whole palace into existence.

Rika reeled back, hissing, voice rising. “What the hell—?!”

A figure stepped out from behind the printer.

Calm, clean, ink-smudged.

Yusuke.

Hair tied back, sleeves rolled, paint streaked across his gloves.

“That,” he said with a tired sigh, “Was significantly harder than I anticipated.”

He dusted off his coat, then gave the faintest bow.

“Apologies for the delay.”

Makoto, still monstrous, still cracked and twitching, smiled with all three faces.

“No worries,” she said warmly. “Anything for you, Fox.”

Rika turned to her, horrified.

“He was here… the entire time? You were really just…”

Makoto's grin widened.

“…Stalling for time?”

She tilted her head, three faces flashing with pride, as Yusuke and Makoto both took on a battle ready stance again.

“Damn right I was.”

So the clash continued, now two on one.

Rika’s claws curled tight.

Makoto stood beside Yusuke, swaying slightly, breaths shallow. Her metallic tail scraped against the floor with every movement. Her monstrous limbs twitched with overuse.

Rika wasn’t much better, her coils were slow, arms dragging at her sides. Her muscles were burning, her glamour cracked. Both of them had been fighting for too long.

But Yusuke?

Yusuke looked pristine.

Focused.

Alive.

And it showed.

The first few strikes from him were fluid, surgical, impossible to predict. One swipe of his brush-blade nearly caught Rika off guard. A second flick tagged her shoulder before she even reacted.

Knowing that she couldn't win if the fight continued, she snarled, jumping back. “When did he enter this room?”

Yusuke’s tone was polite, almost bored. “A while ago.”

Makoto’s voice joined his, low but steady. “Yeah. He was in here the entire time, waiting for us to get in.”

Rika froze. “Us? Why?! What would us being in the room change?!”

Yusuke stepped forward, calmly adjusting his gloves.

“It would get the workers out,” he said. “So that I could work on the blueprints undetected.”

Rika’s pupils shrank. “But… But… I dunked you. I dunked you into cash! You were paid by Kaneshiro! Why are you—?!”

Makoto cut her off, one of her three faced head tilting sideways.

“Didn’t you think it was strange,” she said, “That there was cash just lying around? In an otherwise perfectly clean room. In imperfect piles. Completely out in the open?”

“…” Rika just stared at her.

Makoto’s smile turned sharp. “Now… let’s say, hypothetically, someone picked it up. Painted over it in a Safe Room. And then scattered it again.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think anyone would bother checking whose face was on the bills?”

Rika’s eyes went wide.

Suddenly the machine behind them roared, louder than ever before. The stacks of currency fluttered like leaves in a storm, except these were Yusuke Bucks, all with his face, his posture, his artful, smug calm staring back.

Then it happened again. Another roar. Another howl, a screech like a war horn, and the air cracked.

Makoto turned to Yusuke, concern flickering across all three of her faces. “Fox—?”

But he spoke first, expression still serene. “Oh yes. Apologies, Queen. I thought painting my face onto the currency would render the notes inert. But apparently…” He gave her a once-over. “Not quite, judging by your appearance.”

Makoto chuckled. It was tired, rough, but real.

“Like I said, it’s fine. I knew the risk when we talked about it. I’m just happy I didn’t lose my mind, and that it didn’t have to hit you.”

She paused.

“That said… what did you do?”

Yusuke blinked, utterly sincere.

“I literally just painted over the blueprints. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Then—

BOOOOOOOM.

The machine detonated, not with fire or debris—but with a shockwave of color. A tidal wave hurricane tornado of translucent Yusuke Bucks erupted from the press, spiraling outward like divine paper spirits.

The wave hit them like a storm… but didn’t tear or crush. It passed through everything. Through walls. Through machines. Through bodies.

And in its wake—

The palace changed.

The walls turned a deep cerulean blue, threaded with veins of soft gold. Velvet replaced marble. Paper lanterns ignited mid-air, hovering like stars. The scent of fresh paint and cherry blossoms filled the halls.

Makoto’s eyes went blank.

So did Rika’s.

Both girls froze mid-step, their monstrous forms twitching slightly, as if the core of the palace no longer recognized them. Or the fundamental structure on which they were transformed was changing.

Yusuke cursed under his breath. “Too much. Too fast.”

Then he grabbed them both, one under each arm — a hard enough task as is — and ran.

He sprinted past the rapidly morphing and changing machines, down the hallway, kicking open the nearest sealed door.

Behind it:

The Safe Room.

The only room that hadn’t changed.

The only place left untouched.

He shoved the door open and dragged them inside.

The lock hissed shut behind him.

The blue light faded.

The palace… held its breath.

—

The phantom thieves have been stuck in Kaneshiro's Bank for quite a while now. So long that it seemingly started to affect them. Now even Makoto is fully fallen. Is there any hope?