Between Heroes and Thieves

by Spill_Gutz

Summary:

Akechi sat in a quiet cafe across from a dark haired, determined boy. The warmth of LeBlanc eased into him, trying to goad him into taking down the protective walls he'd built around himself. He won't, though.
Not while those silver eyes watch him like they want to open him up, expecting him to dump his life story onto the table between them.
In that cafe, Akechi could only know one thing for certain: There is no point letting Akira worm his way under his skin.

The path that he was walking would end up with one of them dead.

--

The story of Persona 5 Royal, but told from Akechi’s perspective.

Chapter 1: Sunday, November 20th: Prologue

This is how it was always going to end.

This story had already been written and good will always overcome evil.

The forces that operate on behalf of justice must always win, the forces that utilise secrecy and chaos must always lose. Even if that justice is a false construct; even if that chaos is doing more good than the law ever could. Everything has a part to play and a story to follow.

His stolen gun sits heavy in his hand as he stands across the table from a dark-haired boy who doesn’t deserve to be there.

The story is written in blood. From the moment Akechi had been able to push the pen in the direction he wanted it to go, he had fought to do so, leaving behind a trail of bodies and spilling so much blood that he felt, daily, as if he was wading through it.

The rest of the story, too, would be written in blood, but this was the final push. This would supply his pen with enough red ink to write out the legacy he had dedicated the last three years of his life to fulfilling.

His forefinger rests on the trigger.

This is how it was always going to end.

Chapter 2: Friday, June 10th

There were a thousand different ways that Akechi had experienced this day. He had watched it on the TV when it first aired, the evening after it had been recorded. He had watched himself, back straight and head held high, stride onto the stage with the confidence of a man who had earned his fame. He watched as the Detective Prince smiled towards the adoring crowd, unfazed by their attention-seeking cries of his name or the hideousness of their cheers. He watched as a man more patient than him and more polite than him sat down, body facing towards the audience and the centremost camera, hands folded neatly on his lap, had smiled towards the adoring students on their school trip, and turned to face the hosts that had invited him on.

He watched as rows upon rows of pearly-white teeth turned to him, both hosts wearing twin smiles, as they gave him his glowing introduction.

“It’s the high school detective, Goro Akechi!” came with its own round of applause and its own gaudy cheering, which the Akechi on TV received with a polite smile, nodding his greeting to the co-hosts.
“Hello there,” he’d said, in a calm and pleasant voice, smiling as they thanked him for his attendance, praised him for his fame and waited long enough for him to politely accept their praise, making a modest comment on how embarrassing it all was, before allowing them to direct the conversation towards where it was supposed to go.

It was that damned day that had cemented his legacy as the Detective Prince, who was morally opposed to the Phantom Thieves, who was so devout to his sense of justice that he would openly, bravely defy public opinion. He had chosen to follow that path, and had chosen to accept the attention, both good and bad, that came with it, yet had cursed himself for it thousands of times since then.

Akechi-on-TV had looked at the female host, whose name he could never recall, as she pressed him for details regarding the Madarame case. He had barely acknowledged the fraudulent artist's name when that insufferable, pompous male host had stepped in to wedge in a question about the Phantom Thieves. During their rehearsals, he’d at least had the decency to allow Akechi to express an opinion before interrupting, but despite the interruption, Akechi-on-TV remained polite, continued to smile, and showed none of the irritation he felt.

“What do you think of these justice-oriented Phantom Thieves?” came the question, more direct that it had been in rehearsal. Were it not for the rolling cameras, or the hushed audience hanging on his every word, he wouldn’t have entertained such an insufferable shift in attitude. What was the point of a rehearsal if you were going to ignore everything you’d rehearsed?

But now the cameras were rolling. Those blinding golden lights were on, beating down on him, far too warm for the many layers he wore, and the eyes of the audience were hooked on him, so he answered politely.

He said, as he was certain that the audience wanted to hear, that he “sincerely hoped” that the Phantom Thieves existed, and offered some stupid comment about Santa when that intolerable man pressed him for whether or not he doubted their existence. The crowd, with their exaggerated laughter, took the humour and good-natured joke easily, too dazzled by his supposed stardom to care about how funny it actually was. When the laughter died down, that bright-eyed man and his doe-eyed co-host were still looking at him expectantly, so he continued.

“Hypothetically speaking, if these Phantom Thieves are real,” Akechi continued, the crowd hushed once more as they listened to him. He could feel every single eye fixed on him, could feel the watchful gaze of each camera that watched him. Idly, while he lost his smile and changed to a more determined expression, he wondered if his hair was sitting right. It had been cut a couple of days prior, and he wasn’t sure that the well-meaning but awfully chatty lady who had helped get him ready for the cameras had styled it right. “I believe they should be tried in a court of law.”

The surprise was palpable. The hosts pressed him, he answered with as much information as was necessary and wouldn’t put any police work at risk, justifying first the actions of the Phantom Thieves by condemning Madarame, then his own stance by insisting on them being unethical. It was the routine drivel he’d provided to press outlets in the four days since Madarame’s apology had been televised, but it was taken just as willingly as if it were groundbreaking new information.

He could have said anything, and this crowd of like-minded fools would have taken it gratefully. He could have praised the Phantom Thieves as if they were enacting Divine Punishment and had been sent directly from the heavens. He could have condemned them as spineless criminals who operated through blackmail. He could have said they were frauds and refused to entertain the questions. No matter what was said, it would be stuck on TV, it would be printed in magazines, reviewed one hundred times over by reporters, and he would have woken up to another handful of emails or missed calls from executives desperate to get him on their show.

Each and every one of these events was the same. It was a polite host with a dazzling smile, lights catching on their teeth and the jewels around their neck, asking him about the Phantom Thieves, about how fascinating his opinion is, squished in between polite laughter and repetitive small talk.

Akechi-on-TV accepted the praise that the host offered, about his willingness to hear Akechi ‘talk for days’, and he offered his polite thanks and another easy joke about how embarrassing it would be if the Phantom Thieves didn’t exist. In doing so, he was able to assert himself as someone harmless and humble, no better than those that sat in the crowd and just as capable of making mistakes.

The first interesting thing to happen in these dull interviews, though, was when the questions were turned to the audience. He had been politely surprised when 30% of the audience had believed in the Phantom Thieves - certainly a higher amount than the general public would think, but not surprising considering that those present today were students of Shujin Academy - the only institute directly affected by the actions of the Phantom Thieves and the most likely to believe in them as a result. As he’d been directed in rehearsals, he offhandedly mentioned that he’d love to hear a more detailed opinion, and he could have guessed the moment he glanced out into the crowd where the host was going to stop.

The row that she’d reached was lined with visible outcasts, people almost designed to catch one’s eye. Among a sea of ordinary students, those three distinctly unique characters sat in a row. The first was a blonde girl with dazzling blue eyes, hair dotted with pastel hair clips. Beside her sat a slouching boy in a hideous red graphic shirt, blatantly ignorant of the uniform every other student wore and with patchy, choppy hair that had clearly been hand-bleached. He’d seen them grouped together the day before, and had a rather awkward conversation, but seeing them surrounded by their fellow students made it all the more obvious how much they stood out.

The third in the group, sitting by the aisle beside where the reporter had stopped, was interesting for a different reason. At a glance, he had seemed utterly unassuming and fit comfortably in with the sea of uniform jackets, with curly dark hair that sat over his eyes and glasses that caught the dim background lights of the studio, and was slouched like the red-shirt boy beside him, as if he wanted to seem shorter or less present, yet when the microphone was presented to him didn’t shy away.

In fact, he sat a little taller when the reporter stopped, and turned his attention to her glinting eyes and her pristine, pearly smile when she went for the questions with the same intensity as the detectives he worked with.
“Hypothetically speaking,” she said, in an exaggerated tone that suggested she wasn’t being hypothetical at all, “what are your thoughts on the Phantom Thieves, if they were real?”

The room was quiet for a moment. From across the room, Akechi couldn’t read his expressions. He couldn’t see his eyes, through the glare on the glasses and under the mop of hair, but when the words finally came together and he spoke, there was a steady, serious conviction that many people would have lacked.
“They do more than the cops.” It was met with polite surprise from the host, and hushed whispers or laughter from the audience. The bleach-blonde boy beside him gave his arm a quick, discreet elbow, but was grinning wide, while the girl had rolled her eyes despite visibly wearing a smile of her own.

From where he sat on the stage, though, Akechi had to suppress his own surprise. It wasn’t the attitude that caught him off guard, nor the intense conviction that gave the impression that it was spoken from experience, but the willingness to say something so honest and direct despite the fact that he was speaking to the Detective Prince. Few would be brave enough to express their opinion like this, much less to someone working alongside the police, and certainly not to someone who had recently been introduced to celebrity status. He’d seen many people who had disagreed with him change their opinions when he’d gained more public acclaim, making this a refreshing change of pace.

He couldn’t have helped it - he laughed, so caught off guard by how easily his opinion had been countered, but had barely managed to reply when that insufferably host had once again interrupted.
“That goes entirely against what you said about them being tried by law!” he said, as if it were a groundbreaking observation.

“Indeed,” he said, unable to tear his attention away from the figure in the crowd. “It’s rather intriguing to hear such a strong acknowledgement.”

His perfect posture cracked. He leant forwards, closer to that challenging voice, wanting to hear more of his thoughts and opinions.
“In that case, there’s a question that I’d like to ask.” He was branching off script. There was enough time allotted that he could ask an extra question or two, and the host beside him seemed more curious than he was annoyed, so he took the opportunity. “If someone close to you, for example your friend next to you,” the friend in question, the choppy-blond one, sat up a little taller, eyes wide, when he was mentioned. As if he’d forgotten he was just as visible as his friend. “If his heart suddenly changed… wouldn’t you think it was the work of the Phantom Thieves?”

It was a fruitless question. He should have asked something more direct, more accusatory. He wanted to bring out more of that argumentative instinct, to have someone speak out against him. The same drivel from fangirls and hesitant, polite pushback from TV hosts was exhausting, but this was something new. It was something exciting. Someone who didn’t hide behind anonymity on internet forums to tell him they didn’t like what he was saying.

That was why, when the face in the crowd was offered the microphone and sat a little farther forwards to say, almost smug, “What would you think?”, he smiled. It was so refreshing, so invigorating having this turned into a discussion rather than the same droning adoration he’d gotten used to hearing.

“Ah, turning the question back on me?” he asked, his curiosity piqued and his attention fully caught on this individual. Perhaps he should have been more firm the day prior, when he’d asked to tag along with them for dessert. “Well, I suppose it would be hard to say for certain, but I’d find it hard to deny the correlation.”

He didn’t get the chance to ask anything else. The lady with the microphone thanked the student for his answers and returned to the stage. While concluding the interview, she offered Akechi praise for his insights - for how new and revolutionary his ideas were - and he simply nodded, smiled, graciously accepting the compliments as they drifted into the closing questions. They asked him what he hoped to do in the future and he offered a warm, good-natured joke about “hopefully catching the Phantom Thieves,” before saying that all he hoped to do was achieve good grades in his upcoming exams. They wished him luck, said they’d love to bring him back at a later date (a sentiment loudly agreed upon by the crowd) and thanked him for his attendance. They said goodnight to the audience, Akechi did the same, and the cameras cut away for the end of the recording.

Immediately, the two hosts dropped their plastic smiles and the glint in their eyes was no longer present when they stood. They shared some brief words with one another, a few comments on how the recording had gone, before turning to, again, thank Akechi for his appearance.
“It was my pleasure,” he said, accepting the offer to first shake the female host's hand, and then the male host’s. “And I’d be delighted to return in the future, if the opportunity arises.”

“My, so formal,” said the lady, her hand falling back to her side. Even without the cameras on, she had a radiant sort of charisma, an infectious charm that must have been well-utilised to gain her this spot on TV. “I’m sure the ratings will be through the roof, Akechi-kun, and that’ll be all the reason we need to invite you back!”

He let the words sink in, reflecting their warmth in his smile, and shook her hand again to show his gratitude.
“That’s wonderful to hear,” he assured her, “Thank you.”

“Well, it’s no wonder! With the reputation you’re gathering, it spells out profit for us both to keep you on the air,” said the male host, once again showing his rows of glistening fae-teeth. His hand settled on the shoulder of his co-host, “We’ll have our agent get in touch with you after the episode airs.”

“Thank you,” Akechi said again, offering a short and polite bow of gratitude before allowing the on-site security to come and direct him to his dressing room. Only then, once he was off stage and the lights had been lifted, were the students able to get up and reconvene with their teachers.

In the quiet of the guest dressing room, Akechi took his place in front of the light-studded mirror he had been set in front of. There, with a paper cup of coffee on the vanity in front of him, Akechi took a few moments to recollect himself. The snide, uppity-tones of the male host, his assurance that their agent would be in touch, had rubbed him the wrong way. That, along with the glaring lights that beat down on him, searing his eyes and spurring on the start of a headache, was making him itch to get out of this damned building.

He wiped the professional, TV-appropriate makeup from his face, and set his briefcase on the vanity in front of him. He didn’t carry much in there that he didn’t need to; it contained a navy binder stuffed with the active cases he was looking into so that he could pore over them in his spare time, a second set of gloves, a laptop and it's charging cable, his wallet and identification, and two phones. One was a plain black, with a sleek and square design, which he picked up and placed into the inside pocket of his coat. The other was a blocky silver burner phone, which he flicked on in the privacy of his dressing room.

‘0 New Message(s)’ stared up at him from the screen, so he set it back in his suitcase and slipped out a small black pouch instead.

Opening it, Akechi pulled a small assortment of makeup from his bag. It was only the essentials to carry from day-to-day - a chapstick tube, concealer, setting powder, and a foldable metal manicure set with a round compact mirror. He picked up the concealer, placed two dots on each of the dark bags under his eyes, and blended it with his fingertip. He smeared some powder over the top, rubbed it in with his fingers, and leant up from the chair to turn his face this way and that in the mirror.

With the blemishes under his tired eyes no longer visible, he could see other flaws more prominently. Some of the foundation that had been applied to him earlier had clogged pores, and from the looks of things his poor diet recently was leading to a breakout, with many red spots across his cheeks and dotting his chin giving an ominous forewarning of bad skin.

He picked up his concealer and his powder again.

By the time he was leaving the dressing room, he’d stared at his own reflection for so long he must have felt the same thing that Narcissus did, staring into the lake, that had prompted him to drown himself. That sense of self-obsession had prompted him to spend longer in there than he’d meant to, working over how his hair sat and how his clothes sat, and he’d only spurred himself to his feet when he’d glanced at the time and realised that he had to leave in the next fifteen minutes if he meant to make the quieter bus home. The thought of accidentally ending up on another crowded rush hour bus, or following the same route as the high school students who had just been released, and ending up hounded for attention for thirty minutes, got him out of his chair.

The coffee was hastily drunk and the paper cup discarded, a mint placed between his teeth to clean the smell from his breath before he collected his bag and left.

Outside of his room, the security guard offered to show Akechi the way to the exit, but he politely declined. Alone, he walked further into the maze of grey floors and white walls that made up the television studio, back to where the talk show had been recorded in the hopes of catching that student again, the one with the curly hair.

He stepped back into the recording room with a sense of relief. Not only was that boy still in the room, but neither of his doting friends seemed to be following him around this time. Smoothing the creases of his brown jacket and fixing his gloves, Akechi approached him, carrying all of the perfect confidence that the Detective Prince usually wore.

Though he’d gotten a good look at him the day before, there was something about him now that properly caught Akechi’s attention. His shoulders were slouching forwards significantly, taking away a great deal to his height, and his black hair seemed both entirely untamed and perfectly sat so that it obscured his gaze. When he pushed his glasses up his nose, they caught the light with a foggy transparency indicative not of glass but of plastic, and the scratches on the surface suggested that they had seen better days.

Beneath that, grey eyes scanned the room, darting from the gatherings of students around the room and back at the wall behind himself, over his left shoulder. He seemed to be talking quietly to himself, his phone in one hand though its screen visibly turned off, and gave an odd jerk of his left shoulder after a moment, as if he meant to adjust how his bag sat on it. Then his eyes grew a little wider and he picked his head up, taking notice of Akechi’s arrival. He stopped still. Akechi did the same, only about a metre away from him, and smiled his warmest smile.

A student of Shujin and an avid Phantom Thief supporter would be an extremely useful contact in his pursuit of the Phantom Thieves. Akechi’s knowledge of the metaverse put him at a unique position compared to the general public -- he didn’t have to spend time in uncertainty about whether or not the Phantom Thieves existed, or how their methods worked, and could use the time that the police spent determining whether or not this threat was credible to get a headstart in figuring out their identities. Shujin Academy was a good place to start, considering that that was where their first victim had come from, so befriending this student could be useful. If this student was a reliable source of information, he could continue to use that information for weeks or months, and depending on how tight-lipped these Phantom Thieves were, perhaps he’d even come across some damning rumours in the process.

For now, though, he had to start at square one. He had to make the connection.

“I thought it was you,” he said, hands down by his sides. He had the urge to do something with them to fidget or to adjust his gloves, but that would make him seem nervous or guilty, so he kept them firmly where they were. The black-haired boy said nothing, so Akechi continued. “I rather enjoyed our discussion earlier. I’ve yet to meet anyone else as firmly on the side of the Phantom Thieves as you are, and I greatly admire your conviction.” He was laying it on too thick. Genuine as it may have been, saying it like this came across as insincere, surely.

He took his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and got directly to the point before he could start getting clumsy with his words. Small, personal conversations like this were still difficult to work around. He knew everything about the fake friendliness and corporate small talk he had to maintain in his day-t0-day life, but conversations like this worked on a different wavelength that he hadn’t yet figured out.
“I’d like to continue our discussion sometime, if you wouldn’t mind.”

The stranger’s eyes widened. For a moment, Akechi could almost see the thoughts going through his head as if they were words on a screen. The palpable disbelief that Akechi was asking him his phone number, the confusion as to why, and a degree of suspicion that, somehow, excited Akechi. To be offered something that any other person this age would jump at, the opportunity to gain Akechi’s chat ID, and to hesitate? To be suspicious? To find someone capable of analytical thought and voicing his own opinions amidst a sea of adoring, thoughtless fans was a blessing; it was an exciting new opportunity that Akechi, entirely unlike himself, found himself wanting.

“Oh.” His voice was deeper than Akechi thought it had been. Maybe, on camera, he’d been shifting it to seem more unassuming. He shook his shoulder again, his bag jostling firmly against his back, and nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“I was almost worried you’d say no,” Akechi said, still smiling, forcing his voice to stay light and fond, as if he was worried his exhaustion from the day and how long he’d spent pretending to be agreeable and social would suddenly wear off and he’d reveal how urgently he wanted to leave. “I’m not sure how I would have felt if that happened.”

With their contact information exchanged, Akechi glanced at the time before returning his phone to his pocket. His bus would be arriving soon.
“I’ll be in contact,” he assured the boy, before sticking out his hand. “Goro Akechi.” he said, despite the fact that his name was certainly already known. The student stuck out his hand in return, clasping Akechi’s in a firm handshake.
“Akira Kurusu,” he said, a slight smile appearing on his lips. “Can’t wait.”

Akechi took back his hand, smiled, and excused himself. As he was turning, the bleach-blond boy with the red shirt walked past, and he could vaguely hear him saying ‘was that that Akechi guy?’ from behind him as he left.

The way to the staff exit, where he would be safely away from any further students or prying eyes, was another maze in itself. He had to pass his dressing room again, though the security guard had since left, and walk past a hallway with the bathrooms, where he’d bumped into those three the day before, down another long corridor and down some stairs before he was able to leave. His bus stop was a short walk away, and he continued to keep his back straight and his head high in case anyone were to see him while he waited.

His bus arrived two minutes later than it was meant to. He stepped aboard, paid his fare, and took a seat near the middle of the bus, beside the window. With the attention taken away from him, even if only briefly, and the soothing rumble of the bus, the weight of his exhaustion finally sank in. It had a hideous way of holding onto him, of showing up at the worst times to remind him where his limitations lay. He’d had two cups of coffee already today - one before filming and one after - but the more days he spent using caffeine to substitute sleep, the less it worked.

With the four or five hour sleep average he’d been getting in, not considering the times he accidentally closed his eyes during quiet moments at his desk at the police station or in the back of class and opened them again thirty minutes later, interrupted by sudden phone calls from his burner phone or alarms signalling the start of a busy day, he was entering a perpetual state of exhaustion.

He hadn’t had a full nights sleep since before those damned calling cards had been plastered everywhere during the Madarame exhibit, and even then it had been a rare treat between early mornings and late nights. With the lull of the bus tempting him to ignore his impending meeting at the police station to stow away back home, to crawl into his bed and let everything else pause for a while, he had to pick his head up and convince himself that his work was important. He hadn’t missed a day of it so far, nor had he been so much as late, and that was giving him a pristine reputation that he couldn’t shake.

Being a valuable asset to the police was something that he couldn’t simply waste because he was a little tired. They relied on him for answers and insight in the mental shutdown cases, and trusted him with it, and though he wasn’t overly liked in the workplace, that was a secondary concern. He didn’t need to be liked as long as they needed him there, certainly not by old, bitter police officers who despised him out of principle.

He picked his head up, took it from his hand so that he didn’t get too comfortable, and reminded himself to keep his posture straight.

The rest of the journey was easy and quiet. The change in busses was well-timed, and Akechi was only stood uncomfortably at a bus stop while the steadily leaving stream of high school students across the road stopped and whispered, bringing out phones for photographs that were clearly meant to be more subtle than they were. With the arrival of the next bus (unfortunately already packed with students), Akechi passed up the opportunity to rest his tired legs by sitting down and instead held one of the overhead supports, trusting that that would do better at keeping him awake and prevent him from relaxing.

He made a point of keeping his attention firmly out of the window for the journey, to avoid catching the eyes of any whispering or giggling students, not wanting to accidentally glance directly into the lens of their phone camera, or to provide anyone with a potential invite to conversation.

Unfortunately, though, it seemed that the luck that allowed him to both catch his busses and to gain that boy’s - Akira’s - phone number was turning. A text prompted his phone to buzz in his pocket and when he fished it out, it was a message from Niijima.
‘Meeting pushed to 3:45.’ A glance at the time. It was 3:20. The fifteen-minute delay was in his favour. ‘I’m going to get coffee. When will you be here?’ He appreciated the way that Niijima texted him - blunt and simple and direct. His other coworkers either entirely ignored him or spoke to him too much, but Niijima was the easiest to manage and the closest thing he had to a friend at work. They both seemed to agree that any topic that wasn’t work was an unwelcome distraction during business hours, and any necessary information was passed along concisely and directly. Outside of work, she was interested in him and his personal life, but knew not to overstep bounds. He returned the favour.
Akechi tapped out his response as fast as he could with one free hand, mirroring her simplicity.
‘On the bus now. I’ll be there soon. 3:30 latest.’

He tucked his phone back into his pocket and when he picked his head up, there were three girls stood in front of him. They all seemed around his age, wearing some butchered version of their school uniform. Their eyes were outlined with black and white eyeliner to give a dollish, oversized look, with baggy non-uniform cardigans draped over their shoulders and leg warmers gathered around their ankles. The one in the middle, a brunette with long, shag-cut hair pulled into a ponytail on the side of her head, was beaming at him.
“Oh-em-gee,” she said, in this exaggerated, preppy tone. He was familiar with this sort of person, or this sort of fashion at the very least, and it took a great deal of self control for him to bring back the TV-perfect smile he’d been wearing all morning. “It is him! I didn’t know you took this line!”

A girl to the left of her, with black hair, was making this surprised face that seemed too exaggerated to be genuine.
“I literally thought that everyone was lying about seeing you on here, Akechi-san!”
“Mhm, mhm, so we wanted to see for ourselves,” said the first brunette again, a pink phone adorned with clunky plastic charms in her hand. “Do you take this route often?”

“Sometimes,” Akechi answered, already running through potential alternative routes that he could take to get to work if needed. The route from Kichijoji was entirely different, so this wasn’t usually a problem, but this was the most direct route from the TV studio to work. Perhaps he’d need to start looking into getting a driver's licence, something he’d been putting off since his eighteenth, but that would bring bigger concerns if he were to commute while tired. “I’m on my way to work, this is one of the most convenient routes. Usually I hope to be there before the school day ends, though.”

“Oh-em-gee,” said the brunette again, leaning over and whispering something to the other girl. Akechi glanced out of the window. His stop was coming up soon, but at this rate he would get off early and walk. With the other two girls occupied, the third one spoke up.
“Can I, like, get a selfie? My friends are never going to believe that we actually saw you,” she said, leaning a little closer. It took resolve not to instinctively lean back. It took more not to drop the smile and tell the three of them to leave him alone. The bus rolled to a stop and collected another handful of people, including another few students, and Akechi was bitterly aware of what it would mean if he said yes. That one photo would lead to the three of them insisting on photos, then there was the risk of the other students, whether or not they recognised him, asking.

He cleared his throat.
“I’m so sorry,” he started, letting go of the railing over his head and picking up his briefcase. “This is my stop. It was lovely to meet you all, though.”

As he was getting off of the bus, and preparing for the short walk it would now take to get to the station, he could hear the girls start up their conversation again. One of them was snapping at the other, accusing her of ‘scaring him off’, and sharing some choice words that almost made him turn his head to listen, but he stopped himself in favour of getting to the station as soon as possible. Idly, the thought crossed his mind of whether or not his rudeness could end up shared across forums online by morning, but from how they seemed to blame one another for making him get off of the bus, it wasn’t likely to be a problem.

By the time he was arriving at the station, it was 3:35. Grateful for how the meeting had been delayed, he flashed his identification and stepped into the elevator to his floor. He took a corner and found Sae sitting in one of the comfortable lounge seats far from her office, laptop in front of her. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her slender arms were crossed over her chest, silver hair tucked elegantly over one shoulder. It took her a moment longer than normal to hear his footsteps, but it was as if the distraction from her work also allowed her to relax with how suddenly her brows relaxed and how quickly the frown she’d been wearing left.

“Akechi,” she greeted, reaching beside her laptop and picking up a coffee cup, which she offered out to him. The gratitude that ran through him was almost impossible to articulate as he reached out and accepted it, giving her one of the most genuine smiles he’d worn that day.
“Thank you,” he said, taking a seat around the table to be beside her. He placed his briefcase between the two of them to ensure there was plenty of distance, and offered a rather dramatic sort of sigh as he sank into the chair. The slightest smile twitched at the corner of Niijima’s mouth as she closed her laptop, tucking it away into the bag beside her.

 

“It seems that the delayed meeting has been a blessing to us both,” she said, crossing one leg over the other. He almost envied how effortlessly professional she always looked. As much as it was aided by the handsome black suit she wore and the elegance of her hairstyle, it was something that he was never able to manage. Every time he was professional, or well-behaved in meetings, or inquisitive when it was needed and helpful when prompted, it was always a difficult balance and always felt clumsy. Not a day had been spent working in this police station where he hadn’t felt as if he were a child wearing a police costume, solving make-pretend crimes and hoping that everything he said was half-accurate.

He brought the coffee cup to his lips and took a sip. It was a little cooler than he would have liked, but it must have been bought when she messaged him, and the delay in his arrival was his own fault.
“I was late leaving the studio,” he said, offering enough truth to suggest that he was trusting her. He did trust her, to an extent - far more than he trusted anyone else in this damned building - but not enough to go into detail. Besides, it would only be embarrassing if he told her he’d been obsessing over his reflection and was only snapped out of it by the need to get a phone number. “And some students recognised me on the bus. I had to walk for the last stop.”

Despite herself, and whatever on her laptop had been worrying her, Niijima laughed. It was short enough that it could easily have been dismissed as the clearing of a throat, but it was certainly a laugh.
“Well, Detective Prince, I’m sorry if the TV appearances are causing you problems, but you’re lucky you made it on time. The Director’s been in a terrible mood since that apology came out.” She glanced to her laptop. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Akechi to sit up and take the opportunity to press her. Work discussions came easily, but they were always generic and usually in reference to other people. To discuss the cases Niijima had been assigned to was a matter of chance or seeking opportunity, and he couldn’t pass it up.

“Is that what you were looking at when I got here, Niijima-san? The news about that artist?” It had only been four days since Madarame had issued his public apology, declaring himself guilty of plagiarism and abuse, and the entire department had been sent into a frenzy to take him into custody and scrounge together the evidence to support his sudden confession. They’d barely gone an hour since then without receiving a call from someone claiming to be an ex-student, or the friend of one, or the friend of someone who may have known a student, or someone who’d heard about it on the news and, maybe, had heard something. Even now, they were receiving several calls a day. Either the old man had put his grimy hands on every drop of artistic talent in Japan, or the majority of people calling were attention-grabbing liars.

She looked at him as if she could see right through him. As if she knew exactly what he was doing by asking, and weighing out whether or not it was worth indulging him. She untucked one arm, flicking her sleeve out of the way to check her watch (somehow, it still seemed elegant) and frowned. From where he was sitting, Akechi couldn’t see what the time was, but it must have been nearing time for the meeting.

Evidently, not near enough to deter her from answering him.
“It’s such an odd phenomenon. It had been weird enough when that teacher had suddenly turned himself in, but most of us had put it up to blackmail, or guilt after that girl attempted suicide, but for it to happen twice is too specific to be coincidence.”

“It is quite odd,” Akechi said, taking another sip of his coffee. He’d never liked the taste of black coffee until he’d become almost dependent on having a couple of cups of it a day, and even then he wasn’t drinking it because he liked it. “And these so-called Phantom Thieves are causing quite a stir.” He was taking a gamble by pressing the matter, but he did so regardless. They had a matter of seconds before they needed to head to the Director's office for a meeting. “What do you make of it?”

The sigh that question earned was telling. It was a very distinct sort of huff that came whenever something wasn’t worth Sae’s time - extra assignments, reminders of deadlines, or phone calls at inopportune times. She gave Akechi a look as if she was trying to figure out whether or not he was serious and, when she assumed that he was, she shook her head.
“At the least inconvenient, it’s a group of kids playing some kind of a prank. ‘Phantom Thieves of Hearts’ sounds like the sort of thing made up on a playground. At the most inconvenient, it’s some kind of group or organisation engaging in targeted blackmail to convince someone to confess to crimes. If it’s the latter, it brings into question the sincerity of the confessions, and if it's the prior then I’ll have had many headaches for no reason.”

Before the conversation could progress, Sae picked up her bag and stood. Akechi did the same, taking his briefcase in one hand and, again, smoothing out his brown jacket before picking up his coffee again.
“We’ll be late if we wait any longer,” she said, ensuring her laptop was tucked safely away before leaving the table, picking up her empty coffee cup and dropping it in a trash can as she passed. Akechi followed close beside her.

The meeting was drab. The SIU Director was in the unpleasant mood Sae had warned him about, and the longer Akechi spent sitting in one place, the more he had to fight to keep his eyes from closing. The coffee lasted barely ten minutes, and the meeting somehow managed to stretch itself out until nearly an hour had passed. He was being assigned to a couple of new cases, one case where an employee had died mid-shift, currently being chalked up to ‘corporate oversight’ (he’d known that was going to be his case already) and one financial fraud case that he and two other detectives were supposed to solve. From the look they gave him across the table, it was safe to assume that they weren’t going to be looking for his input at all.

Sae was being given more agency for the Madarame case, and the Director rather clearly implied that if there were any further rumours of the Phantom Thieves being a serious organisation, that it would be pushed toward her to deal with. If Akechi had looked closely enough, he was certain he could have seen the stress lines appearing on her forehead.

By the time they were leaving, Akechi’s eyes were beginning to ache terribly, and every time he blinked they carried a newfound weight. The coffee wasn’t doing it's job to keep him awake, unfortunately, but was instead diverting all of it's attention to his heart, where he could feel it racing in his chest. The first few times that this had happened he’d been briefly worried about whether or not his heart would give out, prompting him to suffer an underwhelming death - and in his panic had googled whether or not coffee could kill someone. The following information about caffeine overdoses prompting heart palpitations and anxiety had been enlightening, and by about the fourth time he felt his heart beating against his ribcage, he’d learned to dismiss it.

Now, it was mostly an inconvenience. At the very least, the feeling distracted him enough to keep him awake.
“How much longer will you be in today, Niijima-san?” he asked once they’d left the studio. For the sake of appearances, he ought to stay a couple of hours at a desk and look as though he were reviewing the details of the case he’d been assigned, perhaps sigh or scratch his head, make some approximate notes, and then say goodbye to any of his seniors as he left the building. It was going to be an easy solve - they all were. He would glance at the file, recognise the name against one he’d been texted to ‘deal with’ perhaps a week prior, and then assign blame onto some circumstance or other, declare it was a mental shutdown, and the case would be solved with condolences sent to the family.

It wasn’t going to be time wasted. He’d get some schoolwork from his bag and, once enough had been noted down to suggest he was making good use of time in the office, he’d start on his recently assigned civics or foreign languages homework. He was getting more and more comfortable with English now, especially with it being mandatory, but that had meant that he’d been falling behind with practising Chinese and Korean - both of which he’d taken on as electives. He could, if pressed, carry a conversation in any of those three languages, but if he wanted to progress in the political ranks in his future, he needed to be more confident with speaking and understanding spoken Chinese and Korean.

“If I’m unlucky, all night,” Sae said, glancing at her watch again. 4:40. “I’ll be needing to pull as much information as I can about Madarame’s previous students tonight to see if there are any that I can contact for supporting evidence or testimony.” She changed the direction she was walking almost too abruptly and Akechi had to stop to avoid bumping into her, then take a few quick steps to catch back up to her side. “And I still have other cases that I was supposed to be looking into. I’ll see if I can get a scan of that calling card emailed to me, too.”

“Perhaps before I go home I’ll bring you a coffee,” he said, smiling again, earning a stern glance that was clearly meant as nothing but a warning. The taste of coffee was still on his tongue and his teeth, so he pat his pockets and placed another mint in his mouth as he followed her towards her office. He’d take one of the empty ones near her - people were less likely to stop by and question him about his work if they could ask Sae about how her Phantom Thief research was going instead, which was as useful for him as it would be aggravating for her.

“I won’t turn it down if you bring it to me,” she said, stopping in the doorway of a compact office. It was lined with perfectly organised binders and folders containing each case she was or had been working on, with piles of books on criminal justice and Japanese law. Her desk was pristine and perfectly organised, the only exception being the pile of papers on her active cases that, though currently set in a neat pile on a tray on the desk, would soon become a tablecloth of black and white paper. “And if I can get this Madarame case out of the way and all Phantom Thief news compiled by the end of the week, I’ll take you for sushi in exchange for some help on a few of my other cases.”

She was wearing a fond, tempting sort of smile. The type she always wore when she had an agenda in mind. Either one of her cases was really weighing on her, or she intended on trying to get information out of Akechi about his private life again. It was rare she had the time for small talk, but with how often Akechi heard about smaller problems with her at home -- primarily concerns for how her younger sister's education was going -- it was no surprise she was trying to turn fire. Unfortunately for her, she already knew everything that there was to know. With his life becoming more and more public as he was brought in for TV interviews, every fact he didn’t mind sharing had been shared and aired out. Sae already knew he was an orphan and that he lived alone, and there was no more to divulge.

What else was he supposed to share? He struggled with his homework on occasion? He had barely been sleeping for the last three days, and was worried one day he was going to collapse because of it? What could she want to know about him that hadn’t already been shared or wouldn’t be utterly underwhelming? He had no social life beyond work and the time that she spent with him, going for conveyor-belt sushi and discussing work, certainly no romantic life, and no time for hobbies.

In spite of this souring line of thought, though, he smiled.
“I’ll be happy to offer any support I can,” he said, before they exchanged polite goodbyes and he left to find an empty office to set up in. He wasn’t in the station often enough to be formally assigned his own office, and he figured that it was for the best in order to avoid getting routine interruptions. Finding a new quiet place to study each day gave him the chance to shake off any potential company or distractions, and today he’d chosen to sit on a bench with a short metal table tucked away in the corner of a hallway beside a vending machine. Had his heart stopped pounding from his previous coffee, he may have gotten another, but that would have pushed him to four that day and that would be a new record, so he sat down, set up his laptop, and dug out his Korean textbook. The corner of it was creased where it had been squashed into his briefcase and made to fit in with everything else, but the homework sheets tucked inside were still perfectly fine. He set them on the table and took a plain black pen from his pencil case to begin making notes with.

It was easy work. The victim in question was a twenty-something year old man, previously employed stocking the freezer for a local fast-food restaurant. He had suddenly collapsed in the freezer at one point and by the time he’d been found, when another employee clocked in, he had been frozen solid and the entire building had been shut down as a result.

The name of the victim was one Akechi knew already. In fact, he still remembered the confusion he’d felt when he’d received a text containing only that name a few days prior, and when he’d accepted the job and begun researching, the confusion had only grown that he was now no longer targeting officers or people involved in minor branches of government, but train drivers and now fast food employees.

The research he’d done before going to mementos had been demoralising. His target had been the only son in a family of five, with both parents and two younger sisters, and his face had been plastered across the news for days once the story broke, along with heavy public scrutiny about why someone had been left alone stocking a freezer at night. The original theory had been hypothermia; that the overnight shifts had exhausted him, he’d collapsed from exhaustion carrying heavy bags of fries and burger meat back and forth, and with nobody to check on him, had frozen to death. It had been passed to him as a potential case of overwork death, but with a lazy skim over the autopsy notes - details about how the body had been preserved due to freezing rather than showing active symptoms of hypothermia, he was able to scrawl out that it was a mental shutdown, connected it to three or four points about his history or autopsy, and set the case aside. The next few hours, from 5:30-8:30, were spent running through conjugations of complicated verbs and slang terms in Korean, and by the time he was done, his hand was cramping from the lines he’d written in Hangul and when he looked at the sheet, each separate word was beginning to blend together.

Having deemed it enough time to excuse leaving, Akechi packed up everything he owned and tucked his homework safely back into his textbook. For a moment after he stood, he moved a hand to his face and rubbed his aching eyes, feeling briefly unsteady on his feet, but still made the stop to get Sae a cup of coffee from the communal area before leaving.

He knocked three times on her door, entering only when she called out, and smiled his usual bright smile as he set a coffee on her desk for her. The white glow of the laptop screen had caught her pale face, the screen reflected in her brown eyes, but her stern expression softened a little when she saw that it was only him.
“As promised, your coffee,” he said, making an effort not to sound too tired or to let his words stumble over each other in his exhaustion. “Good evening, Niijima-San.”
“Will you be here tomorrow?”

Akechi shook his head. It made him dizzy.
“I’ve still got my school attendance to consider. I only hope I’ll make it there on time.”

A few expressions crossed Niijima’s face. For a moment, she looked as if she was about to berate him, or start on some kind of lecture about the importance of education, and then realised that she was at work, and that Akechi was not her little sister, so she sighed and shook her head.
“Make sure you remember to set your alarm,” she said instead, flicking one hand as if she meant to dismiss him from her office. Akechi thanked her for her concern, assured her there was ‘nothing to worry about’, and closed the door behind him as he left. He said goodnight to two of his senior coworkers on the way out, both of whom glanced at and then promptly ignored him, and stepped into the elevator to return home.

The camera in the elevator watched him. He stood straight, avoided leaning against the wall long enough to feel the weight of his exhaustion or to be tempted to relax, and waited until he was deposited safely on the ground floor, where he was able to leave.

It was late. The early summer air was humid and warm, but the sun had already disappeared and the seeping in of the night left the sky a light, greyish blue tone as the final hints of light faded. The walk to the subway station was short, but felt far longer with his growing exhaustion and how badly he wanted to slack his posture, to drag his feet, or to sit somewhere and rest his eyes a minute, but he didn’t. He clenched his fist tighter around the handle of his briefcase, took a breath to get himself together, and began the commute back home.

He had to attend classes tomorrow. His foreign languages homework wasn’t due for another three days, his civics homework Monday next week, and his burner phone hadn’t buzzed all day.

If he was lucky, he’d lie down and steal five or six hours of sleep. If he wasn’t, he’d get home and find that his tiredness had worn off and that he was going to have another sleepless night. Beyond two in the morning, he usually sent himself to lie down and stare at the ceiling so he got a few hours without staring at a screen, but his sleep was so scarce recently that Sae had nothing to worry about in regards to setting alarms.

The commute home was uneventful. That much he was grateful for - he wasn’t yet at the point of fame where he had to look into getting a taxi everywhere he went, or hiding his face when he went on public transport, but if these TV interviews kept up he’d soon reach a point where he wouldn’t be able to use public transport without bracing beforehand for conversation like those girls had given him on the bus. The very memory of it worked to put a grimace on his face, but he reminded himself again, firmly, that he was in public and that any sour expression would reflect poorly on him if spotted.

---

In the evenings, Kichijoji was at its busiest. During the day it was commonly decorated with people shopping and milling about, with the smell of food and the chatter of curious students, but now it was full of life, full of suave men with women clinging to their arms, with the thrumming music of nearby clubs. The shops tucked away in alleys were finally alive, with lights glimmering and catching the light. It was busiest trying to navigate through the streets on Fridays and Saturdays, and unfortunately for Akechi, today was a Friday.

The smell of the open-air restaurants tucked away in alleys made Akechi nauseous with hunger, and on his way through an alley he stopped off at a stall to buy some steamed curry buns. He almost had to push past a drunk couple leaving one of the outdoor bars, and when he heard a curious and too-loud “Hey, isn’t that-...” he ducked his head and moved quicker.

It took another few minutes and a shortcut down a residential alley to get to his apartment building. It was a middle-ground apartment - the payment issued to him for his services to Masayoshi Shido (and, at this point, anyone else who had been given access to his burner phone number) was enough for him to live comfortably in Kichijoji. The monthly rent was around ¥130,000, which he’d barely scraped together when he moved out, but with how frequently his services were needed, in addition to paid TV appearances and the pay his police work provided, he was affording well. Once or twice he’d been ambitious enough to consider moving, but the idea of adding moving house to the stress he was already experiencing put him off of it rather quickly.

He collected his mail and opened the door to his apartment. He had mastered the balance between his home being hideously messy and being tidy enough to live in. The floor in the connected lounge and kitchen was clean, but the coffee table by the sofa was covered in books, papers, and studying materials. A trash can had been set directly beside it and was almost overflowing with trash, and the large trash can tucked in the kitchen wasn’t much better. There wasn’t much counter space, but what there was had been covered in empty takeout boxes, and the fridge contained only leftovers, most of which were no longer edible, bottles of water, and cheap energy drinks.

Akechi entirely ignored the living room. He took a cold bottle of water from the fridge and went to the bedroom instead, where he sank into the uncomfortable plastic chair pushed against his desk.

He’d been meaning to get a replacement for years. This one creaked when he moved and had very little support, but it hadn’t started falling apart, so he was able to put it off a little longer.

His bedroom was the worst part of the apartment. Though the attached bathroom had certainly seen better days, the bedroom had clothes across the floor and the entire space under the desk was stuffed with trash that had begun overflowing from its trash can a week ago but that he hadn’t had the time or energy to stop and clean. Above the desk was a large corkboard, littered with pictures and news articles, annotated with post-it notes, leaving it looking like a mad conspiracy theory board. In the dead centre was a picture of Shido cut from an old news article, covered in pinprick holes where it had been subjected to the piercing of many thumb-tacks and pins with the many revisions and reworks the board had experienced - though some had certainly been the result of overwhelming frustration and a thumb tack in one hand.

There was a bookshelf across the room lined with textbooks of varying topics. It was as if he’d picked up two or three on every possible topic that could be studied, from sociology to finance to art history to advanced mathematics, with a shelf entirely dedicated to classical literature in both Japanese and English, some of which had been studied in class. His closet permanently had one door open, and it was where his brown jacket went between days when he wasn’t wearing it.

His snug single bed was the cleanest thing in the room. It was made, the pillow had recently been fluffed and set presentably on top of the blanket, and pressed against the corner of the room, it looked quite cosy. However, sitting at his desk with the dim light of a lamp, Akechi no longer felt as inclined to lie down and sleep as he had done all day.

The steamed buns were still hot to the touch when he took them from their plastic bag, and taking a bite from the first one, Akechi opened his briefcase and set up his laptop once more.

He’d try to get some sleep later. For now, he had work to do.

Chapter 3: Saturday, June 11th

The peppy, repetitive tones of a radio alarm clock spurred Akechi from his spotty sleep. It was 6:35am, and the half-open blinds of Akechi’s bedroom were letting in the early morning light. The sun had steadily risen, and unfortunately Akechi’s east-facing windows had allowed it to fill the room with a blinding golden glow, enough to not just pull him from his sleep, but rip him fully out of it.

He had resigned to bed at around three in the morning the night prior, when the heaviness of his eyes suggested that he may actually be able to catch some hours of sleep rather than merely lying on top of his blankets and stare at the ceiling until it made his head ache. Fortunately, whatever roulette wheel his internal clock span was kind to him tonight, and though it wasn’t easy to fall asleep, it was faster than usual with only about forty minutes of staring at the ceiling before consciousness was pulled away from him.

That, however, only made the sharp and sour resentment he felt towards the alarm clock worse than usual. Blinking the sleep out of his tired brown eyes, he flung one hand out to his bedside table and knocked the damned alarm clock to the floor, where its tune stopped suddenly and unceremoniously.

When he sat up, setting bare feet on the cold ground of his bedroom floor, the lights on the digital alarm clock that usually signalled the time were blank, and that suggested that it had been hit or knocked from the bedside table one too many times, and was in need of replacing. Sighing, but without dwelling on it, Akechi got to his feet, stepped around the broken clock, and trudged instead to his attached bathroom. The steps from there were an unconscious routine by now; he brushed his teeth while the water warmed up, showered and washed his hair as he did every morning, put his contact lenses in, and stopped in front of the mirror to apply the creams and products that had started lining his bathroom sink.

He could have sworn that he’d only had a handful of products a month or so ago. The start of his collection had come in the form of moisturiser for the dry skin he got during colder or windier months, a serum supposed to go under his eyes to reduce puffiness and bags, concealer and powder both used for blemishes or for more severe dark spots under his eyes when sleep escaped him for days upon days. Now, it was almost like he could run a cosmetics shop from his own bathroom, if needed. Anti-aging serums, a ‘glow and hydrate’ facial serum, moisturisers for different seasons and humidities, a primer with infused sunscreen to wear on the sunnier days (today was supposed to be one of them, so he moved that to the sink to use), a few half-empty foundations he had to switch between depending on how firmly he’d shut himself in his room, concealers with a similar range of tones, contours he still hadn’t gotten the hang of, and a pile of miscellaneous things that he didn’t touch as often. Somewhere in that tub was a natural, brown-toned mascara he always felt was too obvious and a hydrating lip serum that had ended up looking far too glossy for it to come across natural when he wore it. All of that in the hopes of looking less like a corpse than he usually did.

Today, he had to attend school. He’d missed too many days in a row and though it was all approved and above-board, he needed to keep his grades from slipping so he would have to keep going. Even if attending high school had become increasingly uncomfortable with the steady rise of his fame, he still needed to go; and in order to go, he needed to look presentable. Cleanser, toner, some of the hydrating serum, and the SPF moisturiser. Concealer over the bags under his eyes and the blemishes that he’d had to cover the previous day, powder, and lip balm.

He took one of the semi-stale, semi-soggy curry buns he hadn’t eaten the night before, which had been sitting out on his desk overnight, and had that as a hurried breakfast while he gathered everything into his bag again. The police work was tucked into a binder and stored away in a drawer at his desk, as was his laptop, but he kept his school work, the small pouch of makeup, the burner phone, and a textbook in his briefcase for the day.

With the weather getting warmer, Akechi’s school had switched to its summer uniform, so he only needed to wear a short-sleeved white button-up, black pants with a simple black and silver belt, and a striped black and white tie to go atop of it. Just as a precaution, however, he folded a jacket to store in his briefcase, in case he was called out somewhere or ended up studying at the library until late and the weather had gotten cooler by the time he was able to leave.

By the time he was ready to leave, and had brushed his teeth again, it was nearing 7:30, providing him with an hour to travel. Though it wouldn’t be overly convenient, knowing he’d be travelling alongside many students and would run the risk of further undesired interactions, he had little choice. Though a taxi could be more convenient, the last thing he needed was to be spotted arriving at school in a taxi and potentially being labelled as someone arrogant or who considered himself above public transport, though the latter wasn’t far from the truth.

He was lucky that the commute was dull. He was, of course, recognised in passing while he walked, and heard the occasional mutter about his appearance, but it was nowhere near as unapologetic as when those girls had stopped him on the bus. When he got onto his subway cart, packed rather heavily with early morning commuters, Akechi finally gained the time to check his phone and run through any updates that social media was providing him. He’d meant to stop and watch his own interview the night before, on that large, squarish TV in his living room that was almost ornamental at this point, but had entirely forgotten while staying late at work. Fortunately he’d set it to record so he could check it later.

Now, though, more important than his own analysis of his behaviour was what the public had to say. The intended effect was rather simple; no matter the opinion held by the public, Akechi was to walk the line between being agreeable and being controversial. If the general public adored the Phantom Thieves, he would have to condemn them, and vice versa.

However…

That also meant that when he checked his phone and checked the recent news feed, it was all rather critical of the opinions he’d had. Parasitic news websites accused him of ‘declaring war on the Phantom Thieves!’, some exaggerating to suggest that ‘Boy Detective Akechi Openly Shares Hatred of Phantom Thieves’, and others walking a cowardly line that suggested that he was both righteously and bravely standing up for the law while also, somehow, condemning him for his opinions. And social media was no kinder to him, with many people following suit. Words like coward and liar were being thrown around, along with more genuine insults and occasional threats. Some accused him of only following the trends, or of being out of touch. Many seemed to consider him arrogant.

It was typical. The damned sheep would just blindly follow what they were told to believe. Those who listened to him, who blindly followed his word, were just as fallible as those who blindly condemned him. None had the capacity to think for themselves, and that was why this whole thing was so pointless. Tomorrow he could say he loved the Phantom Thieves, that they were righteous and justified, and he’d have a thousand online followers using his face as their profile picture praising his every word. Every single topic, every issue, every public speaker, they all got the exact same treatment.

He put his phone back in his pocket. All it meant was that what he’d been hoping to achieve was working exactly as intended. No matter what public opinion was, he would contradict it, gain more traction and public attention by doing so, and use that to propel himself further and further into stardom.

If this ‘Phantom Thief’ thing didn’t burn itself out now that it was getting its own momentum, if these supposed Thieves didn’t get themselves outed or killed somehow, or disband and fizzle away, then he’d find a way to make it all work for him.

That’s what all of this was about.

His train stopped at the station by his school and he followed the crowd of students out of the subway station, where he made a brief detour to a cafe to buy a coffee, where the young man behind the counter visibly recognised him, and had been almost surprised before professional etiquette took over and he was able to take Akechi’s order. He ordered a latte with an extra shot, checked his pockets to be certain his tin of mints was still safely tucked away, and ordered a cream puff to take with him, back in public and, though he wasn’t particularly craving sweet food, it’d make him look better if he was seen.

He paid, thanked the man behind the counter, and took his coffee to resume his walk to school.

The morning he spent in class was spent fighting to keep his eyes open through his Japanese History class, where his teacher was discussing the Gojō Bridge in Kyoto, and a warrior monk from the Heian period who had defended it. He would have paid more attention if he could, but the coffee hadn’t woken him up at all, instead just making him restless and agitated. He had to keep his hands empty to avoid tapping his pen against his desk, and crossed one leg over the other to avoid mindlessly bouncing them while he waited for the seconds to tick by. By lunch, he got food from the cafeteria and sat quietly at his desk in his homeroom to work on his Korean homework again. His teacher, a tall and stoic woman with long, pin-straight black hair, sat at her desk at the front of the room and did separate work. She didn’t seem to care for Akechi much, but that was why he liked to be in her class rather than stuck with a peppier or friendlier teacher.

She was one of the few who had disagreed with the school's decision to let him attend police work and skip class for publicity stunts or interviews. Though he maintained a polite and civil appearance with her, they didn’t seem to get along well at all. And yet, rather than seeking out the student counsellors room or the library, he liked sitting in homeroom with her. She was able to dislike him, or at least to be open about how little she cared for him, and that hadn’t changed when he’d begun getting more attention; unlike his peers, who had taken a rather sharp turn in the last year as his popularity grew, and had initially been making more direct, purposeful attempts to include him in their menial conversations and their dull after-school shopping sprees. He had, of course, declined politely, saying he was too busy, or that he had homework to catch up on, only so that he wouldn’t be unwillingly roped into a two-faced social group that only brought him along because they thought they could tack onto his fame. They had eventually stopped asking.

Those same peers had sorted themselves into factions across the classroom now, sitting around desks and eating lunch together, discussing school drama and things happening on TV that Akechi didn’t have the time to see.

Just as he’d been wrapping up his Korean homework and was going to retrieve his civics work from his bag, though, he was pulled from his thoughts by clacking footsteps and the appearance of his homeroom teacher beside his desk. A few of the students sitting nearby had gone quiet, continuing their conversation in sparse whispers to avoid being overheard.
“Akechi-kun,” she eventually said, prompting him to lift his head and set his pen down, placing both arms on the desk with his hands together, as if he meant to show that he was listening. Respectful, attentive, with his back straight and a pleasant smile on his lips.

Pleasant. Likeable. It didn’t matter whether she did like him or not, all that mattered was that he had to be capable of being liked.

He didn’t say anything yet, primarily because her name had entirely slipped his mind now. It began with a K, but he also couldn’t recall whether she preferred to be referred to with honorifics, or by her first name- so it was safer to say nothing.

“Lunch will be ending in fifteen minutes. If you need extra time to finish your homework, I’ll be here until the evening. You’re welcome to return.”

Short, simple, direct. He could almost see the similarities between her and Sae-san with how they addressed him. So, pretending he was speaking to a close coworker, he smiled a little brighter and offered a polite, grateful nod.
“Thank you,” he said, again carefully avoiding using any terms to refer to her and hoping that that wouldn’t come across as disrespectful in itself. “It’s looking rather likely that I’ll be here until late today.”

She said nothing, but nodded and returned her attention to her own work. The group sitting at a clump of pushed-together desks beside him whispered among themselves, and Akechi took the last fifteen minutes of his lunch to finish his meal and, using his propped-up textbook as a cover, glanced at his phone to be sure nothing important had happened. His burner was still sitting in his briefcase, but he didn’t have an opportunity to check it until the end of the day. It’d defeat the entire point of having a second phone if it became public knowledge he kept one with him.

He hadn’t received any texts, nor missed any calls. A quick check of his emails showed that he was being asked about a further TV appearance and an interview for an upcoming magazine, but nothing that required immediate attention or an urgent response, so he tucked it away again before putting his textbook away and finishing his recently-purchased lunch.

The second half of the school day passed slowly. Though he somehow kept himself awake, it became clearer and clearer with each tick of the clock on the wall that he needed a coffee if he wanted to get any work done when the end of the day came, rather than laying all of his studying materials over his desk and using them as a headrest for an accidental nap. At the end of the day, he told his teacher - Mrs. Kimura, maybe? - that he would return shortly and that he was just going to a nearby cafe to get a drink. By the time he was returning, feeling a little more awake for having had a walk with fresh air, his homeroom had become empty where most of his classmates had gone home or were attending club meetings.

It was ideal, having the classroom for himself. It meant that he was less likely to be bothered, and with his ever-so-strict homeroom teacher to stand guard, if anyone did come by to interrupt him, they’d be swiftly kicked out. So, setting out his books and his pencil case, Akechi sat at his desk, took a sip from his coffee, and resumed the civics homework that he had due soon. It took him a dedicated hour and the rest of his coffee to complete, by which point he had started idly tapping his foot against the floor to assist in his focusing, tapping his pen lightly against the desk when his thoughts trailed off and he had to gather them again before continuing. The page and the questions blurred together if he stopped writing for too long, but he managed to complete the assignment despite his foggy head and occasionally blurring vision, with a lot of help from the textbook he’d already run through and studied when he’d had less on his plate - before his employers goals had gotten higher and higher, from entering the political world to climbing through it and, now, to being prime minister. To the point where Akechi’s services were a sign-up perk for anyone willing to patron or support him with his rising political fame, and anyone who refused to assist him would be a name added to Akechi’s list.

It’d only been a few months since the pressure drastically increased. The name every month had since escalated drastically since then, with deals and agreements being signed in the blood of some rival politician or, apparently, low-level employees. Thankfully, he had taken time over summer to study the topics that were on the curriculum for this year, but he was certain it was only a matter of time before his grades began to waver with the drastic lack in spare time that he’d previously been using to study.

As long as he remained in the top five percent in national exams - and landed high in the mock tomorrow - it was okay. It would make all of his late nights and extensive studying worth it, and it would mean that he wasn’t falling behind. A lacklustre grade would mean he’d need to retreat from the public eye, to put his plans for public acclaim and attention on hold to manage his increasing priorities between his detective work, his secondary employment, his education, and his work in trying to determine the threats that the Phantom Thieves were and to discern their identities.

It was all relevant to his overall goal. He needed the publicity as a backup plan, and it’d be useful later down the line when everything that he was planning came to fruition. It would be a necessary sacrifice in order to maintain his control and perfection over everything else in his life, but this publicity was just as important to him.

He sat up, stretched his arms over his head briefly to try and shake off his growing sleepiness, and returned his focus to his textbook. His civics homework was done, but it wouldn’t hurt to spend a while longer running over the questions he’d struggled with and revising the information so that he wasn’t likely to forget it again.

With the exam tomorrow, he’d be reminded of where he was sitting in national rankings, and when results came he would consider readjusting his schedule and reducing public appearances if needed.

The jacket he’d packed that morning was useful by the time he was leaving school. His teacher had gotten up from her desk and encouraged Akechi to go home for the evening, which he had done after offering her a polite thanks for letting him stay as late as he had. She said nothing, but watched him as he left, empty coffee cup in hand, jacket on, and saw himself out of the school grounds.

Both the journey to the subway and on it was uninterrupted. He was spotted but not approached, and thankfully though he was tired, he wasn’t quite tired enough to be dozing off with the whirring of the train carriage along the route to Kichijoji, where he left the station and disappeared into a convenience store. He didn’t buy much - a few packets of ramen to last about a week and a sugary strawberry flavoured drink. It wasn’t something he usually drank; he didn’t like sweet things, and that included drinks, but he’d had enough coffee for at least another few hours and would need something sugary to keep his energy levels from crashing too low while he finished up his studying. With the mock exam tomorrow, he’d stay up a little longer going over his general knowledge and checking on whatever it had been the longest since he’d studied. Even if it was more practical to get a full nights sleep before an exam, and that would likely help his civics knowledge set in, he wanted to cover all of his bases a little better.

The streets were packed. It was early evening on a Saturday now, steadily approaching 7pm, which meant that the restaurants lining the streets were packed with customers coming both in and out, with couples and groups of friends laughing as they bounced between different stores, and the final wave of school students making their slow way back to the station to get home before it was too dark out. With food in his bag and no need to stop at any other stores on the way home, though, Akechi kept his head up and moved quickly through the crowds to make his way back to his flat.

Once inside, he pushed the door to his flat shut, clicked the lock on the door handle and slid a bolt lock in place. He moved through the living room and kitchen, cutting directly into his bedroom and, once again, pushing the door shut behind himself.

He set his briefcase down at his desk and flicked it open to dig out his burner phone. His heart no longer sank when he saw the ‘1 Missed Call’ notification that lit up on the screen, instead having resigned itself to a tired, defeated ache of annoyance as he flicked the phone open and clicked on his most recent conversation. The number was unsaved, as it was always going to be, but at this point he knew to expect that any texts he received were coming from Shido, and knew the number Shido’s messages came from.

‘Another TV interview?’ was the subject line for the message, and Akechi had to suppress a frustrated groan. He already knew what was coming - a lecture that served doubly as a reminder to properly use his ‘opportunities’ for both his benefit and for the benefits of his employer.

And, when he clicked the message, he was proven right. As per usual.

‘A lot of interviews lately.
Remember to use your opportunities wisely.
This can benefit us both.
More jobs coming soon.
Don’t let me down.’

It was vague and unhelpful. Shido had helped him land his comfortable positions on TV, utilising connections Akechi didn’t know, but wasn’t doing anything beyond that. He wasn’t telling him how to help, or how to benefit them both, just that Akechi ‘should’ and that it was disappointing that he wasn’t. He’d need to consider what that meant before their next meeting.

It didn’t explicitly demand a response, but with a missed call already under his belt, Akechi was compelled to send some kind of a sign that he was still there, that he wasn’t neglecting his job now that he was getting minute amounts of TV attention. He only needed something short and simple and obedient, so the message he sent merely read ‘Understood. I’ll await your orders.’

Enough to show that he was still there, patiently waiting, but not desperate or grovelling. As if he were just as much Shido’s coworker as he was a contract hitman.

‘More jobs coming soon’. Of course there were. As if the influx he’d gotten over the last few months wasn’t severe enough. Each visit to the metaverse grew harder and harder, and left him feeling more and more exhausted as time went on. Each time, he had to go deeper into those twisted, confusing depths, and find more niche people, and every single time he got into fights he was strong enough to win at, but were getting increasingly difficult to manage on his own. He could only evade so many attacks - especially when his exhaustion inhibited his ability to hold his ground in fights.

Whatever. It was fine. It had to be fine, because he didn’t have the option not to listen to Shido. He needed Shido believing firmly that Akechi was his ally, so he needed to listen. To follow orders, to dote after everything Shido told him to do. There was a goal at the end of this and once he got there, no matter how long it took, then he was able to take a rest. Then he could relax, wash the blood from his hands and embrace bigger things.

It didn’t help how vague everything was, though. He was keeping track of every person he was sent after and, using the corkboard over his desk, trying to determine what the ultimate goal of each job was. He’d print off and make notes based on news articles released after the deaths, he’d print copies of the police files he got to take home and annotate them to try and determine who was most affected, how, and which people that could point to, but even after two years of working under Shido, he was strikingly low on names.

He had suspicions, of course, and he knew some of the people that Shido needed to be in contact with. He’d overheard a few sour comments about the principal of Shujin Academy, supposedly an unpleasant and self-obsessed man who thought himself more clever than he was. Akechi was also vaguely aware of affiliates within the political world, including TV station executives who had been assisting in getting Akechi some of his earliest TV promotions, and the most obvious connection was to the Director of the Special Investigations Unit that had employed Akechi. That was blatant without ever being explicitly confirmed - if it wasn’t, Akechi wouldn’t be getting assigned every mental shutdown case and expected to solve it quickly.

The Director was one of the few faces on his corkboard, which looked like it’d spilled out of the mind of a mad conspiracy theorist. In the middle was a picture of Shido, linked to the SIU director, who was connected to Niijima. There was also a sticky note with ‘Shujin Academy Principal’ printed out and connected with Shido, then connected to a cutout from a copy of a police report about that teacher, the first victim of the Phantom Thieves, which was represented through a cut out photocopy of the calling card they’d sent him, again taken from the police report.

He needed to figure out if that boy he’d met at the TV station was going to be any use to him. If not for the sake of the Phantom Thieves, then hopefully to find out more information about what that teacher had been like and some of the symptoms of a ‘change of heart’.

Not once had Akechi considered using the metaverse to make someone change their personalities. Not to become better, or to confess their crimes, or whatever it was that they’d intended to do. He wanted to know more about the process, about how it was done and what the steps that were usually taken were.

But that was something he would find out eventually, if these Phantom Thieves kept doing whatever it was they were doing. He didn’t know what they hoped to achieve, or how, but he would find out.

There was sure to be an ulterior motive. And, as he sat down at his desk, he knew it was one that he would find out eventually.

All he had to do was work a little harder.

Chapter 4: Sunday, June 12th

Akechi was considering himself rather fortunate for the lull in his workload. He’d received no texts dictating that he’d need to go to the Metaverse, nor that Shido wanted to take some of his time for a phone call or a meeting, and his next TV appearance wasn’t scheduled for another few days, which had allowed him not only enough time to study for todays national mock exam, being hosted at a rather prestigious nearby university that Akechi hoped to one day attend, but also to arrive early enough on the Sunday to spend some time beforehand rereading his notes and doing some last minute revision.

The exam itself had been manageable. Despite the weighing exhaustion of his lack of sleep - the quiet in the exam room had had him fighting to keep his eyes open - and as a result, he hadn’t left the exam with the same sense of satisfied confidence that he usually had. His grades couldn’t falter, even when put on a national scale, he needed to be striving for the highest possible grades, and any lower than the top five percent nationally would be a personal failure. His grades couldn’t slip, no matter what else he was taking on.

There had been one thing distracting him during the exam, however, and that was that out of the few people in Shujin Academy uniforms sitting nearby, one of them was familiar but hard to place. It was only when he’d gotten a glimpse of her while leaving the exam hall that he had recognised her as Niijima’s sister, who he’d only previously seen in a small photo frame that had been sitting on her desk for a couple of years now.

It wouldn’t do him any harm to speak with her. He could attempt to make small talk about the exam or about what her plans were for after high school (if his memory of what Sae had told him was holding up, she was finishing her final year now). Maybe he could provide some helpful insight on universities and academia if she needed it, and that would make his questions about Shujin, the Phantom Thieves, and that recently arrested teacher a little less forced.

So he approached and stopped beside her.
“You’re Sae-san’s younger sister, correct?” he asked when he was close enough to get her attention. It was only when she turned, though, that he was able to notice just how striking the similarities were between her and Sae. Beyond the shape of their faces, the sharp jawline and the slender bridge of the nose, she had the exact same piercing gaze her sister wore whenever she was interrupted or approached at an inconvenient time. “May I talk to you for a moment?”

She turned fully to face him. There was no warm smile of greeting, no polite acknowledgements, nor any confirmation that she was who he thought she was, though that in itself confirmed his suspicions.

And then, as if she meant to see straight through him.
“Is it about the Phantom Thieves, Akechi-kun?”

Beyond the resemblance, just by hearing her voice it was clear just how much like Sae she was. She carried herself in a similarly dignified way, spoke with the same assertive authority that Sae did, and looked at Akechi in the same way - as if she could see straight through him, and whatever she couldn’t figure out from a glance she planned on dissecting him later to discover.

Having her immediately see through what his intent had been, though, struck a nerve, and having her say it so comfortably, so confidently, as if telling him that it was better to confess than to talk with ulterior motives made it worse. She was younger than him, even if only by a few months - what position was she in to speak to him so boldly, with such an accusatory tone?

And for a first impression, it certainly didn’t sit well with him, but he had to remind himself that he had approached her with the hopes of getting information, and that having her recognise that wasn’t inherently a bad thing. Asking questions wasn’t a crime, and the Phantom Thieves were a national curiosity right now, so he swallowed whatever annoyance she’d struck in him and forced as sincere and warm of a smile he could have managed; the type usually reserved for TV hosts and nosy reporters catching him while he was walking through town.

“...You’re quite perceptive,” he said, a sickening admission of defeat just as much as it was an attempt to manipulate - to offer praise so that she would relax and lose the critical eye. Then, rather than dwell on it, he pressed ahead to see if being direct would gain him the information he needed. “I thought you’d be interesting to ask. I was wondering if there were any points in common between Kamoshida’s and Madarame’s cases, since you would have witnessed both cases.”

That seemed to catch her attention. The smile he was wearing had faded, and her piercing, narrow-eyed gaze had relaxed a little. Her stance, too, had relaxed at his immediate disarming and apparent willingness to be transparent with her. Evidently, she was used to having people run circles around her, or avoiding the truth. The surprise that he was asking her something directly had only briefly crossed her face, but it had been there all the same. Vulnerable and genuine.

“There have been victims, after all,” he pressed on, his voice getting a little more firm and resolute, using his reputation as the Detective Prince to carry the sense of justice he was supposed to be embodying. It was a tiring routine to manage, a starry-eyed and optimistic breakout detective, eager to uphold the law and do what was right, but it seemed to be working, going by how attentively Niijima was listening. “The Phantom Thieves need to be pursued.”

Evidently, though, she didn’t relax enough. Her critical eye wasn’t appeased and she, immediately, took the opportunity to press him further. Though her stance had relaxed, and her hand drifted to her head to brush some of her hair from her face, the confidence in her tone was unwavering. It was almost admirable and, again, so similar to her sister he could almost imagine her sitting behind a desk in the police station, looking over case files with a critical eye, or carefully tearing apart suspects in interrogations.
“You criticise the Phantom Thieves, yet you don’t doubt their actual existence,” she said, avoiding his question entirely in favour of an overall rebuttal. It was a skilled deflection - in any other conversation, it may not have been as noticeable. A lesser person might have taken her comments and abandoned their own sentiments.

“Oh, you saw the show on TV?” his smile came back, though the thought of her watching it (more accurately, of her and Sae seeing his little performance) had him suppressing a grimace. As calculated as his behaviour on TV was, he despised it. “Common sense can get in the way at times when pursuing the truth.”

She didn’t say anything.
He continued.

“Many details become logical if I think on the premise they exist.” It was, of course, significantly more helpful in validating their existence that he knew roughly how they operated, and the world they were using to achieve their methods.

The change in Niijima’s demeanour, however, was swift. Whatever generosity she’d been extending to him by entertaining his line of questions was swiftly gone, and the accusatory tone made an immediate return in its place.
“Is this because my sister told you to talk to me?” she asked, unearthing some degree of personal annoyance in herself and revealing, rather tellingly, something about the relationship between her and her sister. The air of distrust wasn’t something he’d expected to form around Sae-san. Even though he wasn’t necessarily showing it, he took her as someone that could be trusted once a favoured position had been earned.

He didn’t show his surprise, though. He patiently smiled, shook his head, and swiftly put her anxieties at ease.
“It was just a coincidence,” he assured her, though his curiosity had been piqued. He was planning on turning in his last case file at the station tonight, perhaps he’d try to pull some information from Sae-san about what her sister thought of the Phantom Thieves. “I wanted to satiate my curiosity.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re enjoying this?” was a remark he hadn’t been expecting, still with that same overconfident assurance, as if he were an open book through which she was comfortably flicking through and pulling out the pages. It left him feeling uncomfortable for a reason he couldn’t place, but he pushed that feeling aside to try and remain calm when he spoke.

Though it was clear she’d been referring to the overall interrogation, he smiled again and chose to misunderstand her intent.
“You may be right,” he said, and elaborated when her confusion spread across her face. “Phantom Thieves that use calling cards and succeed in their crimes? As the so-called ‘Charismatic Detective’” - an insufferable title some cheap online tabloid had branded him with a few weeks prior - “It’d be hard for me not to see them as my rivals.”

Niijima nearly scoffed.
“You have such high self-esteem,” she said, some sarcastic doting woven into her voice. “So the Phantom Thieves are evil, and you are just?”

She was giving away too much. Though it was subtle, there was clearly some admiration somewhere in her opinions about the Phantom Thieves. So, to get more, he continued and he doubled down. If she was going to see him as arrogant and confident, then he had no reason not to further that. It wasn’t as if her individual opinion of him would change overall public perception, and public perception hadn't been particularly kind to him lately either.

“Compared to people who manipulate others’ hearts as they see fit, I believe I’m on the side of justice. Besides, I’m only using my natural-born talents for the sake of serving the world.” That much wasn’t entirely untrue. “Don’t you think the same about yourself too?”

Her subsequent hesitance was a surprise. The aversion of her gaze despite previously being so confident it was almost pompous, and how suddenly she lost any trace of what made her resemble Sae-san was gone in an instant.

He shouldn’t have said anything else. He should have told her the conversation was insightful, thanked her, as he’d done with the boy at the TV station. He should have taken her contact number, to use later, but he didn’t. Maybe it was the way she’d aggravated him, slowly working at his nerves with her accusations and holier-than-thou attitude, but he saw a flash of weakness and immediately struck for it.
“Oh, that’s surprising.” He meant to stop talking. “So you’re just the good-girl type of pushover.” His phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it, and though it was only a generic email notification, used it to end the conversation. His TV-perfect smile came back, as if it would hide the nearly malicious way that he’d spoken to her only a minute ago.
“See you later. Give Sae-san my regards,” he said, and excused himself without waiting for her to share any goodbyes with him.

---

Something about Niijima had been sitting unpleasantly in his system for the last few hours.

He couldn’t place what exactly it was - he couldn’t stop thinking, as he sat quietly beside Sae Niijima in a cafe a short walk from the police station, about how strikingly similar she and her sister looked. He couldn’t stop thinking about how, placed side by side, the way that Sae tended to look at her colleagues when provoked or challenged on cases the exact same way that her sister had spoken to him when he, foolishly, had thought that he could have pulled easy information out of her.

More than anything else, though, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way that she had, without hesitation or second-guessing herself, challenged everything that he stood for. It had been exactly what that boy in the TV station had done a couple of days ago, yet he wasn’t nearly as charmed or fascinated by it. Something about her irked him. She’d gotten under his skin remarkably quickly - it was as if she’d been able to recognise him, see him, in a way that nobody else had. That was something that her sister could do, too - anyone being held under scrutiny was like a butterfly being pinned to a collectors board, ripe for studying and running one’s fingers over until it revealed everything they needed to know.

That was certainly how he’d felt against Makoto, whose name he’d dug up on the journey to the police station when looking into information about Sae. It was as if she was holding delicate pins between her fingers, and if Akechi had made a misstep or said too much, she’d have the means to begin metaphorically pinning him down, prepared to dissect him and everything he stood for.

The weight of that, the awareness that there was someone out there who could do that to him, sat heavy on his shoulders. The second realisation that had hit him when he’d gotten to the police station, that Sae would easily and mercilessly do the same if she weren’t on his side, had provided its own sort of conflict and a newfound desire to firmly remain on her side no matter what. If she were to suspect him, to take a scalpel to his stomach and cut him open to figure out what was wrong with him, she’d find everything he’d been doing for the last two years, buried somewhere between his organs and carved into his bones, some tumour-like mass growing from the crimes he’d committed and the sins he’d dipped his hands into.

So, when he’d gotten to the station and found her, sitting at her desk and pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, he’d offered to help her discuss her case at a nearby cafe once he’d turned in his report about the mental shutdown he’d been tasked with. For a moment she’d been hesitant, but had nodded and closed her laptop after a moment of silent deliberation.
“Fine,” she’d said, getting up from her desk and collecting both her laptop and briefcase before walking around the desk to lead him to the elevators. Akechi was content to trail along beside her and let her take the lead with walking. She was his superior, it was only fair that she directed them around, and she knew of all of the best cafes in the area, despite her favourite being quite far from the station.

So he sat beside her, one leg crossed over the other, and sipped at the cup of coffee that he’d ordered.
“It is rather unfair,” he was saying, once she finished laying out the frustrating details of the Madarame case, and how difficult it had been to find anything to corroborate his confession. “I don’t envy the position you’re in, Sae-san.”

It certainly wasn’t easy. Most of the students that he’d had over the years had been blacklisted and had any records of their tutelage wiped from the record. It also appeared that nobody had been willing to step forwards and honestly confess to their involvement with him, as that came with admitting that they had been taken advantage of by a major name in the art world and subsequently would lead to a torrent of media attention and potential harassment if it ever became public.

“It’s fine,” she said, despite her clear frustrations. She brushed some of her hair from her eyes and sighed, one leg crossing over the other again. Her narrowed brown eyes were focused firmly on where her laptop was, once more, open in front of her, glaring at the small photo of Madarame displayed on it. “When I figure out whatever these so-called ‘Phantom Thieves of Hearts’ are up to, it’ll give me the opportunity for that promotion I’m after.”

Akechi, despite how tired he was, smiled. He needed Sae on his side.
“I couldn’t think of anyone more deserving of the position. And if there’s any way I can assist with these cases, I’ll be happy to provide my support.”

Her shoulders relaxed a little. That was all of the signs that Akechi needed, he readied himself to ask the question he’d been meaning to ask since he’d met with Niijima’s sister that afternoon.
“Speaking about those Phantom Thieves, though,” he began, watching as a few emotions crossed Niijima’s face in the realisation that she was going to need to entertain another conversation about a group she didn’t seem to believe in the existence of. “Didn’t you mention before that your sister studies at Shujin Academy? What does she make of them?”

Whatever she’d been thinking, something akin to disinterest and annoyance were what settled on her face. Evidently, the question wasn’t one she was fond of.
“She should be focusing on her studies above all else,” she initially said, annoyed. “I hope she’s not letting herself get distracted by all of this.”

“She seems rather focused on her education,” he said, though he had no reason to be defending her or speaking positively of her after how awful their discussion that morning had been. When Sae only offered him an inquisitive look, though, he realised that he’d never actually told her that they’d met. “Oh, did I forget to say? I attended the national mock exam today, as did Niijima-san. I had a brief conversation with her before I left, and she seemed to be taking her education seriously.”

He picked up his coffee.
“She was really rather similar to you, Sae-san.”

Visibly relaxing, this seemed to be one of the rare instances where Sae genuinely smiled.
“That’s a relief.” It was clear that she was relieved to hear that her sister was taking her education seriously. “Makoto’s bright and seems to be achieving well at school. I just know that it can be competitive trying to find a good job, and I want her to have the best opportunities she can.”

There came that sting of annoyance again. The same that had struck him when Niijima’s sister - Makoto - had spoken to him as if she could see right through him.

It came so strongly, in fact, that he couldn’t find the words to pick the conversation up. He couldn’t put together a way to derail it back in the direction of the Phantom Thieves, or to try and gauge more information about how Sae felt about Makoto, so he took a sip from his coffee and, thankfully, Sae chose to divert the conversation back to work.

She took his advice on a few smaller cases that she was reviewing, ones where Akechi merely needed to provide alternative thoughts and suggestions so that she could solidify her case and work out any details needed, and when it came time to pack up for the day, she drove him home so that he wouldn’t need to worry about using public transport, and he assured her that he would be back at work soon. With a smile, she had promised him that she’d find an opportunity to take him out for sushi again sometime; before swiftly adding that it would, of course, be ‘conveyor belt only’.

Only once she’d left did he return to the quiet of his messy apartment, where he could wipe his face clean of makeup, take out his contacts lenses, get an energy drink from his fridge and settle down for a long night of finishing homework, studying, and staring warily at his burner phone once it’d been set out on his desk.

There, he could remind himself about what he was doing all of this for. No matter how well he and Sae got along, no matter how many times she’d ask for his advice on a case, or spare details about her personal life, or offer to take him out to sushi in a fond, joking tone, he had bigger things to focus on.

He was her work friend only because it was beneficial for them both.

He needed to focus on what mattered.

And it had been too long since the last one - he was certain his next job was coming soon.

Chapter 5: Tuesday, June 14th

Exactly as predicted, the job came soon enough.

He’d gotten the message the evening prior on the 13th, so an energy drink and a plastic pot of half-eaten instant ramen had kept him company while he dug out information on his new target.

It was yet another low-level employee for some food chain, whose social media had revealed him to be rather reclusive and antisocial. Akechi had printed off his photo alongside his name and tacked it up beside the others linked with different food chains, made a note of the company he worked for (Haneruya, a food processing company) and once he’d reformatted his theories as to why low-level employees working for chain corporations had been most of his targets recently, had given himself two hours to spend in bed before the droning of his newest alarm clock had spurred him from his thoughts.

His newest theories were that Shido had an affiliation somewhere in the food industry who was profiting off of this, and the list of companies that hadn’t been affected by this were rapidly shrinking, but he didn’t yet have enough evidence to make solid connections with anyone. Perhaps after he next got a few hours sleep, he’d stop and look over everything from the beginning again to see if he’d missed something.

He’d already added corrections to the board about the cases that Niijima-san had been assigned and her theories on the Phantom Thieves, where calling cards were pinned up between post-it notes suggesting who they were likely to be. One said ‘Shujin Students’, as was the biggest theory he had going now, and the pompous way that the calling cards had been written suggested that whoever was writing them was trying desperately to seem more mature than they were. Next to that, he was trying to theorise what kind of students they would be, as if it would help him to recognise them at a glance. Were they delinquents? Were they teenagers who were hooked on superhero manga, or hadn’t grown out of watching Featherman, and insisted on knowing exactly what justice meant? Were they straight-A students, simply doing something rebellious in their spare time?

Would he have a higher chance finding them if he waited outside Shujin to see students skipping class or if he paced around the after school clubs and waited to see which of them spoke in excited, indiscreet whispers about heists and stolen hearts?

Would they be his age? Older, and previously victims of Kamoshida who were only now finding their teeth, or were they younger than him and overzealous? And if they were that much younger, how would they be navigating Palaces and the metaverse without trouble? On certain days, even he found it difficult to navigate the metaverse. No matter how large a group these criminals were, they would only be able to do so much without running into trouble.

And then he had other things to consider about catching them. The public had begun viewing them with more and more favour since Madarame’s confession, and now that it had been long enough since it had occurred that the news was no longer such a novelty, opinions were settling down and finding their footing. It seemed that the general opinion was that if they did exist, they were doing something good, but that few people would be surprised if it was a hoax of some kind. Unsurprisingly, from what Akechi had seen posted online, it seemed that students of Shujin Academy were the most devoted believers in the Phantom Thieves, and even with the split opinions that they had, it was again generally agreed that it would be good if they existed.

That meant that if Akechi were to pinpoint them, he would need to find a way to encourage or even directly fuel the death of all of their fledgeling positive press in order to get rid of them without drawing negative attention to himself - which would come with its own wave of problems. This was not going to be an easy feat at all, but if they were left unchecked and continued along this path, gaining more attention, they would only become harder and harder to effectively sabotage.

As hard as it would be, Akechi needed to act, and he needed to do so soon.

That was what had been on his mind as he arrived at the train station to commute to school. He unfortunately would have an after-school detour to mementos in order to find that employee he’d been sent after, but that was something that could be focused on later. His attendance had suffered enough and without evidence that he was being called out for detective work or being dragged into another TV appearance, he couldn’t justify not showing up to school.

Besides, though he wasn’t particularly welcome in class, he appreciated the opportunity to play pretend as a regular school student.

His briefcase at his side, he arrived at the train platform on time despite how tired he’d been that morning and how much longer than usual it had taken for him to get ready, and despite a few spare whispers he hadn’t been recognised too much, or at least hadn’t had anyone willing to stop him. He was only scraping celebrity status, in all fairness, but he’d also had many days since that TV interview aired where he’d been stopped two or three times, and not to mention that incident even before the interview had aired where those girls had stopped him on the bus.

In fact, he’d just been relishing in the relief of possibly making it to school without being spoken to at all when he got to his platform and caught sight of someone familiar.

First, he had noticed a purple shirt and dark blue hair, a face he had recognised from Niijima’s police work and investigation into Madarame as Yusuke Kitagawa, and had been briefly considering the ethics of stopping him for a conversation when he’d scanned the rest of the platform and seen, in his Shujin uniform, the boy from the TV station. Akira.

As useful as it may have been for Sae if he had approached Yusuke, his priorities lay elsewhere, and he had faith in her abilities to find him for an interview when she needed to. Akira, however, was the person that he needed for his personal investigation into the Phantom Thieves, and as such this opportunity couldn’t be passed. An authentic, random meeting - if he didn’t take the opportunity, he’d have to be a fool.

So he changed course and continued ahead, to where that dark-haired boy was standing, phone in hand, and again was talking aloud to himself, as if he was having half of a conversation. It was only when Akechi was spotted approaching that he, much like in the TV studio, stopped talking and suddenly shifted his bag on his shoulder.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Akechi said, again wearing his best TV-smile.

Akira nodded. He said nothing, so Akechi was forced to continue.
“I guess Shujin is in this direction, too. Still, I wouldn’t have expected to run into you at this time.” Still, that earned nothing but a curious, grey-eyed stare from somewhere beneath that messy mop of black hair and from under those foggy glasses. “Perhaps it really is fate,” was the next thing that Akechi said, as stupid and out of place as it was. Maybe his lack of sleep was catching up to him and his tired brain was taking its revenge for overworking himself.

But Akira was slightly smiling, so he continued.
“How are you doing?” He said, simple and safe, primarily to pass the conversation over before he could embarrass himself further. He wasn’t used to being the driving force of any conversation. TV interviews or curious ‘fans’ would always be the ones asking him questions, asking him how he felt or what he planned on doing, so it was bizarre being forced to pick up the slack.

The smile Akira was wearing dropped a little. He paused, long enough that Akechi was beginning to wonder if it was abnormal to ask someone how they were, or if his appearance was entirely unwelcome, before eventually settling on his answer.
“I’m not bad,” Akira said, glancing over his shoulder and back at his bag. From what Akechi could see, it’d been left partially open, but he tried not to let his attention linger for too long. He was a detective when he was paid to be, and even then all of his cases were rigged in his favour. Put against someone else casually, he wasn’t going to be able to discreetly analyse a thing about them, especially not while he was as tired as he was.

“Relaxed as always,” he said, as if he knew anything about Akira. As if he wasn’t making blind assumptions in the hopes that it would make himself seem likeable. Then, before the conversation could lull again, “I’ve been getting interviewed a lot lately, so I’ve been wondering how to answer such questions.”

He had never so badly wished he’d known how to talk to people before. When had he ever had the chance to talk to someone like this? When had he ever gotten the chance to practice his small talk?

And still, somehow, he kept talking.
“I see now there’s no need to be roundabout with my responses. Talking with you helps me realise many things. If it isn’t too much trouble, may I speak with you again sometime?” That was all he’d needed to do. Circle the conversation around to making sure that Akira was still okay with being contacted and spoken to.

“Sure,” Akira said, nodding his head. “You have my number.”

He hadn’t had a chance to message him. What was he supposed to start a conversation with, anyway? When Sae had offered him her number, she’d texted him three days later to remind him about an upcoming meeting, then another week later to negotiate getting his help on a case. He wasn’t in class with Akira, he knew of no interests that they shared - what was he meant to message about? The Phantom Thieves? Oddly, he found himself wishing he could talk to Akira about anything else, and only partially because he was tired of being seen as the Phantom Thief expert.

“Of course,” he said, smiling again. “I’ve got to catch my train, but I’ll be in contact.”

And, with only the embarrassment of how stilted their conversation had been and no more awareness of who Akira was, Akechi thanked him for his time and excused himself. It wasn’t totally a loss - it gave Akechi the opportunity to prove that he was genuine about befriending Akira, a reassurance that he was welcome to message him, and it meant that he now knew what time to expect to find Akira when he was travelling to school.

Though it’d only provide the opportunity for a brief discussion, it was a good start, so he made a mental note of the time - 7:45 - and headed for his train.

---

School had been as it usually was. He stayed at his desk most of the day, interrupted primarily by a short walk at lunchtime to get another coffee, which had had at his desk while he ate food he’d gotten from the cafeteria. He spent his lunch period, as usual, almost entirely ignored, and used the time to catch up on homework and to ensure he was still making time for studying. Exams weren’t for another month, but letting himself skip on studying meant that he was running the risk of falling behind, and he had become both rather proud of himself (and rather disliked by some of his classmates) for consistently landing top of the class when results came out.

Again, at the end of the day he found a quiet spot on the stairwell to the roof and checked his spare phone. He did have a new message, but it was merely a reminder of the job he already had to complete, so he put the phone back in his briefcase and began the commute to central street, where he would tuck himself away somewhere hard to notice in order to gain access to Mementos.

He’d stayed behind at school while catching up on work for long enough that, having commuted to Shibuya and gotten himself something to eat and an energy drink, it was beginning to get dark. He slipped away out of sight before using the navigator app on his phone to access Mementos. Everything around him grew hazy and foggy for a moment, and he closed his eyes to let the unsteady feeling pass before blinking himself out of it.

He never quite got used to Mementos. The darkness strained his eyes, and it was bathed in a smothering red haze. The air was thick and humid and he often found it difficult to breathe, especially if he spent too long navigating and walking deeper and deeper through the depths. If he hadn’t found the details about this place somewhere in the history of the navigator app, and if he hadn’t found some vague details attached to it’s profile, he would never have found this place to begin with. In fact, he was almost certain that those Phantom Thieves, whatever they were doing with the navigator, would never find this place.

His black mask, sharp and jagged and inconvenient, made it harder to navigate this damned place, too. Chunks of his peripheral vision were hard to look around with where the slots for his eyes were cut so small, and those were covered with a thick red sort of glass, making the red haze far harder to look around in.

He had grown used to it by now. And as annoying as it was, as tired as he felt, it provided a small amount of comfort knowing that now that he’d arrived in Mementos, he had an opportunity to ease the stress of the last few weeks that he’d had. Every tiresome conversation, every polite interaction that ended in the shuttering of a phone camera to take a selfie with him, every time he received a firm reminder of ‘what his job was supposed to be’ after seeming too comfortable on TV appearances he despised, he could let out all of the frustration that they built here. The Shadows that guarded each floor were poor imitations of sentient beings, but they fought and begged and grovelled all the same as any person would.

Any guilt he’d felt when he’d first started visiting this world, confronting Shadows and listening to them plead to be spared, had eased itself out of his system before long. Then he’d realised that it was rather cathartic to strike them down with the assistance of Loki or Robin Hood. Eventually, it had gone from cathartic to pleasant, when he’d begun picturing them as the people who had pushed him into this situation - then that had become picturing anyone who had annoyed him in the slightest, and eventually it had become something rather enjoyable instead of being a cruel and exhausting part of his job.

Taking the lives of lumbering, clumsy Shadows was nothing like taking a real life. It was easy, and light, and it had no impact on the world outside of the metaverse. And with how constantly Mementos shifted, it scarcely had an effect inside of it.

He had completed all of the assignments that he had due for the next few weeks. He’d caught up on his studying for the day, and if it weren’t for the train times and wanting to make sure he got some sleep after the toll that these fights had on his body and mind, he’d have let himself stay all night, until he wasn’t upset about being stopped on the bus, wasn’t embarrassed about how clumsily he’d made small talk that morning, wasn’t annoyed by that stupid damned TV host and his endless perfect teeth.

But he had a job to do first and foremost, after which he had sleep to catch up on so that he could attend school again the following day, and then he had to make sure he had time to go back to the police station for their next meeting, and after that he ought to reply to his emails to see if he’d been invited onto any new shows to aid in publicity stunts and campaigns.

So he stepped down off of the platform, onto the endless winding subway tracks, and began the slow, laborious descent to seek out his target.

The first few floors were easy enough to navigate. He walked uninterrupted by Shadows, who would see him and recognise what he was, recognise that he was far stronger than them, and would often turn and scatter. It was only on some of the far lower floors, sixteen or seventeen escalators down, that he found the Shadows stopped cowering away from him and that he needed to stick to walls or tuck himself away in dark corners to avoid getting into unnecessary fights, easy as they may still be at these levels.

Being a recluse and a shut-in, the person he was looking for wasn’t too hard to find, and wasn’t too deep in Mementos, and despite being rather timid and clearly extremely confused as to why he was being confronted, the job itself was easily executed.

Though the ‘man’ had flinched and taken a step back when Akechi had called Loki forth, shifting entirely into a panicked position in preparation to turn and run, Akechi was not there to kill him. Shido wanted there to be an incident, and the text he’d been sent had said that clearly. This Shadow, who trembled with fear as if he were a real person, who didn’t turn into some hideous beast when confronted, was not one that Akechi had been sent to kill.

He didn’t feel relieved. He didn’t want to take any comfort or joy in knowing that he wasn’t killing someone. It wasn’t his job to feel any of the moral weight of what he did, or to comment on whether or not the idea of killing someone who trembled and feared for their life made him feel guilty. He was there to execute an order, and the Shadows that he had to use to do that were nothing but Shadows. They were small parts in a bigger plan.

And he had to keep his focus on that plan.

So he grit his teeth, thrust out a hand, and urged Loki to strike them with his Call of Chaos. It struck the terrified Shadow easily, a sweep of murky red fog swallowing him for a second before dissipating, leaving only a faint red and black glow pouring from the ground beneath his feet.

Where there had once been a timid, scared expression, there was now a look of almost feral, unpredictable anger. A clear desire to hurt and inflict pain on something, anything, but while the initial haze of the spell was wearing off, Akechi had to take the opportunity to leave. He’d done all that he needed to do and getting in a fight now risked forcing him to kill the Shadow out of self defence.

It had only happened twice before. The first time he’d cast it, he had merely wanted to see the extent of what it could do. He’d barely blinked and the dog-like Shadow he’d cast it on had slammed him against a wall and was trying urgently to maul him, and nothing that he did seemed to dissuade it from that goal until a strike left it suddenly and unceremoniously dead. The second had gone similarly, though rather than kill it, he had used some rusty, worn debris from the floor around him and pierced the Shadow’s leg with it, pinning it to the soft and fleshy ground, and had needed to leave before it, seemingly blind to it's own pain, tore through the flesh and muscles of its own leg to continue after him.

So he slipped quickly away while he still had time, ducked around a corner and kept to dark corners as he made his way back up to a different floor, where the newly berserk Shadow wouldn’t know to follow him, and wouldn’t be aimlessly roaming around for something to attack.

And once he’d made it to a higher floor, he now had a wealth of time to spend alleviating stress. There were plenty of Shadows roaming around, and he desperately wanted to fight something.

---

By the time Akechi was returning to the surface, he was out of breath, his head pounding, and was holding his ribs where one precise Shadow, with a blue body covered in hands and tortured heads, had landed a hit far more forceful than he’d expected it to be. Loki had struck it down swiftly afterwards, with Akechi slumped back on the floor, but he’d had to make his way back to the higher levels with more caution and more haste than he’d hoped for.

It was rare for these foul, stupid creatures to catch him off guard like that. Maybe the energy drink he’d had earlier was wearing off, or maybe he’d gotten distracted again thinking about that stupid small talk he’d shared with Akira that morning, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that his attention had wavered and he’d been rapidly reminded of where he was and what he was doing, with an attack that could very likely have been fatal.

So, frustrated now with himself and feeling far more tired, he trudged through those higher levels, relieved that the Shadows were too stupid to notice that he was injured and that they continued to cower away from him, and returned to the surface. The navigator app returned him back to the streets of Shibuya with a cheerful thanks for his service, and Akechi gave himself a few moments to adjust to the new swelling of pain in his chest before forcing himself to get up to travel back home.

When he stood up straight he winced. The pain was immediate and searing, blooming out from his chest, but he grit his teeth and reminded himself that he was about to be in public, which that meant that he couldn’t be grimacing or wincing when he walked or flinching in pain when strangers bumped past him on the subway. So, picking up his briefcase once more, he started down those concrete steps towards the station.

Anything he needed to do would wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he would go home, find something to eat, and hope that the exhaustion of visiting Mementos would give him a full night's sleep before school tomorrow. And, if he were extremely lucky somehow, his chest wouldn’t hurt anymore by then either.

Notes:

I know dialogue was a little stilted in this chapter - sometimes I follow the framework of in-game interactions and they are really awkward to write !! but rest assured i dont follow this for very long, and one of the next few times akechi and akira interact it should be a lot more comfortable :3

Chapter 6: Thursday, June 16th

It seemed that Akira had a talent for catching Akechi off guard.

Though it had been surprising enough when their first meeting at the recording of his interview had been a genuine debate, Akira had taken him by surprise again when Akechi, currently stood on the street in Kichijoji, lifted his head from his phone and spotted Akira, almost unrecognisable out of his Shujin uniform.

They’d have missed each other entirely if Akechi hadn’t been interrupted on his walk home by a phone call from the executive of the TV studio that had served as their meeting place. He was being offered another interview in a week's time, where he’d happily promised them priority over his schedule and in return was promised that they’d email him with a confirmation of a date and a time when it had been run through all of the necessary preparations that the schedule would need.

Undoubtedly, though, Akira was approaching him. He wasn’t merely in Kichijoji looking around, it wasn’t a random glance across the street to see him - what caught Akechi completely and truly off guard was that Akira was approaching him with intent, as if he’d spotted Akechi and made the conscious decision to speak to him.

“What a surprise,” Akechi said, quickly equipping his usual TV-ready smile. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Akira was smiling too. It looked genuine; that was a surprise to Akechi, too. To see him, to willingly approach, to seem fond - people only ever did that when vying for a photograph or to get to speak to someone more famous than them. But that wasn’t why Akira was smiling.
“I’m seeing the sights,” he said, glancing at the area around them. With the dim lighting of early dusk and the setting up of the open-air food stalls that would be truly alive and accepting customers within the hour, Harmony Alley and the main streets of Kichijoji were just starting to come to life. It was a Thursday, so it would only be moderately busy tonight, but Akechi had been hoping to get safely inside of his house before the streets became any more crowded.

His ribs still hurt from the visit to Mementos a few days prior. It was still bad but he’d become a lot more accustomed to it now, and where he’d been impacted had finally blossomed into a colourful, blue-black splotch of bruising. It was easier to ignore the pain when people pushed past him on the subway now, and easier to move, but he hadn’t allowed himself to skip school or work in the meantime. And, worst of all, he had found it harder to sleep with the fresh bruise than without, as every deep breath seemed to send a fresh jolt of pain through him. As if a regular trip to Mementos wasn’t bad enough, not being able to properly sleep it off without lying solely on his back, careful not to breathe too deep or trying desperately to stifle yawns unless they set off another flash of pain made it more impossible to manage.

Akechi usually had a plan for the evening, too. He was hungry and had planned on getting something to eat, and with the steady climbing of the temperature, had meant to shower before settling down to do some more studying, but Akira had swiped that routine out from under him with his appearance alone.

Approaching him uninvited was a good sign, surely. Maybe their accidental meeting the other morning had been good after all, and had proven to Akira that he really did want to befriend him, regardless of ulterior motives.

“Do you not come to Kichijoji often?” he asked, taking the opportunity for an authentic conversation with both hands, as if he was worried that not answering something or leaving a pause in the conversation would prompt Akira back into the quiet he usually seemed to wear. As he had done when Akechi went to ask for his phone number, and again a few days ago when Akechi had carried that awkward small talk before the train.

And, seemingly far more relaxed than he had been in both of their prior meetings, Akira shook his head. He was smiling. It was subtle, but distinctly there. Something about it was odd - the change in attitude was so distinct, and Akechi didn’t know what had prompted the change, but he didn’t have the opportunity to question it. He just needed to be grateful for it.
“Not usually.”

“That’s a surprise.” Mostly genuine. Living in Tokyo and considering Kichijoji a rare place to visit was unusual, but there was always the considerations of the train fare and how limiting it could be in the evening if you weren’t one to attend clubs. Though, with Akira directly in front of him, he had more important things to consider. “There’s more to see during the day, but if you’ve got the time, do you want to go play billiards together? I’d like to talk to you.”

He wasn’t used to inviting people to spend time with him, beyond short and direct requests exchanged between himself and Sae to meet and discuss cases. Something about it made him nervous - the idea alone that Akira could turn him down would be a harsh strike against his perfect image.

Beneath those glasses and that mop of hair, Akechi briefly saw Akira’s eyes widen. He saw a momentary consideration drift past his eyes, heard him mutter something unintelligible to himself, and then after an unusual pause, nodded.

“I’m glad I asked. I was a little worried that you’d turn me down,” Akechi said, still smiling, glancing over to the blinking neon sign of the Penguin Sniper, and nodding to it. “Follow me.”

He walked Akira up the narrow stairwell to the door to the Penguin Sniper and pulled it open, allowing Akira to head through first. At the bottom of the stairs, a little black and white cat was walking away from them. Akechi hadn’t noticed it lurking around at all, but didn’t think much of it. He followed Akira inside, dropped the door closed, and paid the entry fee for the two of them to play billiards.

He picked up his cue stick, the table having already been prepared for customer use, and set it tentatively into the palm of his right hand.
“Shall we? I’ve had some free time since I attended the national exam and was hoping I could find someone to play with.”

The gears were turning behind those grey eyes yet again. Akira picked up his own cue stick like he wasn’t certain what to do with it. It, too, sat in his right hand as he dragged his eyes over the billiards table.
“Do you have no friends?” he asked, though he immediately looked as if he wanted to take it back. Akechi wanted to be insulted, and part of him thought it had been intended that way, but for some impossible reason it didn’t strike a nerve the way it should have - and certainly not the way that Makoto’s harmless yet astute observations had left him feeling aggravated and uncomfortable.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it like that,” Akechi lied, still smiling. Of course he didn’t have any friends. Nobody in his life had been worth his time, and his classmates had only warmed up to him briefly when he’d first gotten famous before going back to ignoring him. “But my work requires me to have a very limited schedule, so it’s not often I get to spend time with people.”

He leant forwards, over the billiards table, and lined his cue stick up with the cue ball, the fingers of his right hand set sturdy on the table and left arm braced further back along the stick.
“Now, lets play. You’ve played before, correct?” He adjusted his shot, focused his attention on the table, and struck the stick forwards. He’d only been meaning to test his aim with his right hand, since it wasn’t his dominant hand, but he must have had low expectations.

It shot across the table, striking the organised gathering of pool balls, and they scattered out across the table. Several slotted into the pockets alongside the 9-ball, so the game was won before it’d even started.

“Oh,” Akechi said, standing up straight again. “My apologies. A break ace.”

Akira’s attention, which had been focused on the table too, turned to him.
“Is that your win?” he asked, tapping the cue stick in the palm of his hand again, and sending another sweeping glance over the table. He hadn’t answered Akechi’s question about whether or not he’d played before but this question alone was a sufficient answer.

“Well, the 9-ball’s already been sunk,” he said, to avoid a direct answer coming across as rude. “But that was just an accident, so we’ll start over. It won’t count.”

Akira didn’t say anything. He walked a fine line between being totally silent and being rather talkative, and it seemed to only change when the mood struck. It was as if he was constantly weighing over whether or not he wanted to talk at all, but without needing any prompting he assisted Akechi in recovering the balls from the pockets, setting them out over the table again.

Akechi spent the majority of the rest of their time together walking that line between conversation and quiet depending on how Akira was. Between rounds, Akechi would offer short comments on how Akira played (idle praise if he did well, and optimistic reassurances if he didn’t) between commentary on his own turns, telling Akira between rounds how well he was doing and weaving in subtle advice, in case Akira was as inexperienced as he seemed.

It was only after an intentional fumble on his part, and after a cautious and well-aimed shot that unfortunately lacked enough power for Akira to sink any of the cue balls, the rest of the game leaned itself further and further in Akechi’s favour. Even when trying to convince himself to play fairly and let Akira have a chance, he found himself refusing to fail significantly enough to jeopardise the win, and soon enough Akechi was striking the final coloured cue ball into the pockets, and the game was over.

“I win,” he said, feeling a rather genuine satisfaction despite how clearly the game had been in his favour, being far more experienced than Akira was. “That was a close one. Though I suppose that it would have been embarrassing to lose as your senior, huh?”

When Akechi stood tall again, setting down his cue stick and turning to Akira, who was no longer looking at the table and no longer looking at Akechi. Instead, his attention had drifted to the cue stick, then to Akechi’s hands. Those cogs were turning again, silent mechanisms whirring behind Akira’s scratched glasses.

His grey eyes, when they caught Akechi’s gaze again, were firm and piercing.
“Aren’t you left handed?”

Again, it caught Akechi off guard, but it did so in a way that made Akechi feel seem rather than interrogated. Not many people paid enough attention to notice that he was ambidextrous, and it was all the more surprising for how quickly Akira had noticed.

Again, his curiosity had latched itself to Akira as something fascinating, as something worth wanting to know more about.

“I’m honestly impressed you noticed. That’s right.” He held the cue stick solely in his right hand, and gestured with his left. “This one’s my dominant hand. I switched during the game.”

He could see more running through Akira’s mind, lips slightly parted as if he meant to say something else, to interrogate or theorise to why he had lied about something so small.
“It’s nothing against you. Going all-out against a junior just seems a bit gauche,” he said, this time mostly true. He still wanted to win, and still had confidence in his skills with his right hand. This had been a good opportunity to prove that. “I’m rather dexterous with my right hand. I can even use chopsticks with it. Frankly, I didn’t expect you to notice.”

There was something new crossing Akira’s face now. Something prideful in having his theory confirmed and his observation praised. He was smiling again, too.
“No holding back next time,” he said, for some unimaginable reason, and the implications of their being a next time was a wonderful relief. It meant that Akechi had been pleasant to be around, it meant that he had been properly social, and it meant that even when he’d gotten competitive, and when he’d refused to let Akira win, it hadn’t made him hard to like.

It meant that Akira wanted to spend more time with him, which in turn confirmed that he would be able to keep this link to Shujin Academy open, and kept the possibility for questioning open.

And, just as important, it meant that the one person he’d trusted with his personal phone number, and had met with in his personal time, wasn’t going to turn to forums online to talk about how insufferable of a person he actually was, off of TV.

“Interesting,” he found himself saying, the smile he wore suddenly more genuine than he thought it could have been. “It’s a nice idea. I’d like to try a match where I don’t have to hold anything back.”

Akira set down his own cue stick and his hands automatically drifted back into his pockets.

Then, as if to confirm that he was leaving Akira with a good impression, to assure him that the intent to continue hanging out was shared, Akechi pressed on a little further.
“In any case, I am impressed. I’d like to play against you again.” It felt like he was laying it on thick, but it was important to make sure that Akira felt like he was being valued so that he would come back and be able to offer Akechi information willingly. It had to seem like Akechi was seeking a friend first and information second, no matter what the truth actually was. “And if you win against me with my right hand, then I’ll face you with everything I have. You have my word.”

“Good,” Akira said, glancing at a clock on the wall. Akechi’s gaze followed. It was nearing half past eight now. Early enough that the Penguin Sniper and the pool table would remain open for a little while longer, but not so late that Akechi needed to leave.

“What time do you need to leave?” Akechi asked, “I’ll walk you to the station if you need me to.”

“There’s no need,” he said, though he seemed to agree that it was time for him to leave. Obviously, Akechi didn’t know where Akira lived, but he’d seen him getting the Ginza line from Shibuya, which meant that he’d be needing to get the train early, while they were still running frequently, and with enough time that he could make any final stops on the way while still getting back before curfew. “I’ll make my own way. But I’ll take the offer to play against you again sometime.”

Akechi walked with him to the door of the Penguin Sniper. That little black and white cat was there again, sitting across the road near the outdoor bars, and when he and Akira left, it stood up with it's tail flicking.

“In that case,” Akechi said, offering out his hand. “I’ll see you when we’re both available.”

Akira took his hand and offered it another firm shake. Even though his gloves, Akechi could feel the warmth of his skin. This close, he could see Akira’s eyes more clearly. He could see his thin eyebrows, each scratch on his glasses as they caught on the neon lights overhead, and could see black fur dotted over his white jacket - sparse enough to suggest that it was often cleaned, but that the flecks of black were a persistent accessory in spite of that.

“See you,” Akira nodded, reclaiming his hand and walking away. Akechi turned to leave, too, but further down the road turned and glanced back. By that point, Akira was gone, and the little black and white cat was out of sight, too.

It would be odd to assume that that was Akira’s cat, surely? Some stray wandering around Kichijoji was unusual, but it had white fur, as did Akira’s clothes, and though it would be odd if he was spotted doubling back to check on where Akira was, the cat had disappeared when they’d left.

He disregarded the thought. Though he clearly had a pet, Akechi would just find an appropriate time to ask rather than forcing correlations and making baseless assumptions. If that was his immediate thought, maybe he wasn’t sleeping enough.

---

The walk back home was short. He changed out of the clothes he’d worn all day, had a brief shower - which involved taking out his contact lenses and switching back into thin-framed, dated glasses he wore as sparsely as he could, when he picked up his phone. It was polite to make sure that Akira got home safe, right? And enough time had passed that he ought to be home, or nearing it by now, so it made sense to call him before it got too late.

He picked up his phone.

And stared, nervous for reasons he couldn’t place, at where Akira’s name and phone number stared up at him from his phone screen.

It was almost embarrassing, the few minutes that he spent sitting there, staring at the screen, wondering whether or not it would be normal to call. He and Sae never called when they broke off from a meeting, but their meetings were always work-related, and he’d never spent time with someone like that before, so he had no frame of reference.

But it would be polite, wouldn’t it? And it would tell him that Akira was home, and it would prove that Akechi had enjoyed their hangout, wouldn’t it?

So, with a sigh, he tapped the call button.

The time that it spent ringing was agonising.

The click of Akira picking up, somehow, worsened the stress.

“Hello,” came Akira’s voice, calmer and lower than it had been when they’d met up in person.
“Hey,” Akechi said, suddenly feeling as if he didn’t know how to speak at all. “Thanks for coming along today.”
“I had fun.”
That was a relief. And a good sign about things to come, hopefully.
“Me too. Our little game turned out to be more interesting than I expected.” Silence lulled for a second. He continued. “Barely anyone notices that I avoid using my dominant hand. I can only commend your powers of observation.” It was the first thing that came to mind. It had been a surprise, and it had been impressive, but he should have said something else. He didn’t want it to seem like he was dwelling on things.

So he diverted the topic. Back to them being friends, to the potential to see each other again.
“I think you’d be an interesting influence on me.” He was sitting on his desk chair, elbows resting on his knees, leant forwards, one hand holding his phone to his ear and the other curled into a fist where it was resting. “If you’re so inclined, we could go out again sometime.”

From the other side of the phone, he heard Akira let out huff of air. Something between a sigh and a laugh. Neither option was good.
“As rivals?”

The relief was almost overwhelming. Akechi couldn’t help but laugh.
“Whatever works for you,” he said, feeling himself smile - genuinely, sincerely smile. “As long as I can spend time with you, think of it however you like.” He pulled the phone away for a moment to sigh. It was like he was desperate, so clueless on how to talk to people that he was mindlessly overcompensating. ‘As long as I can spend time with you?’ Where did that come from? It felt clumsy and needy. He brought the phone back to his ear quickly, catching the end of what Akira was saying. It was something about practising playing pool.

“I’ll reach out the next time that something comes up,” he said, trying not to sound too desperate and make any more of a fool of himself, even if Akira didn’t seem to notice. “See you.”

“See you,” Akira’s voice said again, with the same sort of friendliness that it had had earlier, and Akechi clicked the button to end the call.

His room had never felt quiet before. There was never anything but the ambient hum of technology or the quiet chatter of people passing outside of his house usually, but now, with his phone sitting heavy in his palm, screen black, the quiet was so noticeable it was almost unsettling. His attention turned back to his desk. He opened his laptop, the screen spilling white light over his face. He logged in and opened a document he’d been using to make notes, which was just beginning to have a case file of information on what he was learning about Akira. He put in small details, making a conscious choice not to go digging into this students personal life, not wanting to let any information slip if he hadn’t learned it organically and risk breaking a bond before it was formed. The notes thus far were simple. His name (Kurusu Akira), his age (18), his school (Shujin Academy, obviously, but now with a note beside it saying that he could be found commuting there at 7:45), his social circle as far as Akechi knew it (Sakamoto Ryuji and Takamaki Ann, both of whom he’d found the names of from passing research about that teacher at Shujin), and details on his personality.

Those notes were the most vague. Akechi wasn’t sure what he was looking for with people he wasn’t investigating, or that Shido hadn’t sent him after.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to be recognising in strangers, good or bad, and that made it significantly harder to fill out information about him. All he’d previously written was “Quiet, opinionated, likes the Phantom Thieves. Interesting.”, but sitting at his desk again now, that final comment felt out of place. It was true that he found Akira interesting, yes, but it wasn’t his job to have opinions, it was his job to try and find information about the Phantom Thieves, and this was his only link right now. So he deleted the word ‘interesting’ and replaced it with ‘observant’. Then he took a scrap of paper with Akira’s name scribbled on it and pinned that to his cork board, too.

The cork board was spiderwebbing into being more and more useful with each new thing that Akechi discovered. He’d initially started it with intent to find out more about Shido and his connections, but now it was going to have to share its purpose with trying to determine the identity of the Phantom Thieves. The image of Shido was still in the centre. On the left there was an array of photos - a scrawled out note of ‘SIU Director’ beside two photos he’d taken from one of Niijima’s purged social media profiles. The first was of her in an old work outfit from when she’d been an upcoming name, celebrating a first day at work. The second was a photo of a thirteen-year-old Makoto Niijima taken on a blurry, low quality camera for a birthday, which Sae had posted six years prior. They were beside one another, with Makoto positioned slightly lower so that she could be easily connected to a scrap of paper saying ‘Shujin Academy Principal’, whom Akechi still knew very little about. Below that, Kamoshida and Madarame, with photocopies of their calling cards stuck beside them both. Beside them, photos of their most prominent victims, in case they would be relevant names - Takamaki Ann, Sakamoto Ryuji, and Suzui Shiho beside Kamoshida, and Kitagawa Yusuke next to Madarame.

The other side of the board, the right side, was significantly more packed with names, but lacked any definite connections. It had notes and dates to when Akechi had been sent after certain people, what the consequences had been, and where they’d worked, including the train conductor he’d killed in early April and the building repertoire of food service employees he’d been sent after in recent months. Those files often included notes on where they’d died or what they’d done depending on how Akechi had been told to deal with them, including the confirmation the news had offered that morning that the man he’d sought out in Mementos a few nights ago had committed arson on a company building and been arrested for it. Beneath that, in the lower right corner, were a few rival food company names alongside the names of people who could potentially benefit from these attacks, but nothing concrete had been formed. And, worse of all, there was no way to connect anyone directly to Shido yet.

He was getting there, though. and as he pinned Akira’s name to the board, he felt for the first time in a while that he was going to be making some progress soon.

He just needed to play nice until he got there.

Chapter 7: Friday, June 17th

7:45.

Akechi, rain-damp and holding a dripping umbrella, was yet again trying to navigate Shibuya station early enough in the morning that people were commuting both to work and to school.

Even with the amount of people commuting, though, it was busier than normal. The rain was prompting people who usually walked or caught buses to change their route. Posted around most entrances to the station or the shopping mall were police officers, as if they meant to find a shred of evidence from the students going about their day where all of the rest of their research hadn’t yielded any results yet. 

Despite the crowds and how difficult it was to navigate the change especially around Shibuya station, Akechi could be grateful that the bruising over his ribs was mostly faded by now, so he didn’t need to put as much effort into hiding how much it hurt when people bumped past him anymore.

Usually, he aimed to get an earlier train so that the extra time before school could be spent studying or so that he could avoid these crowds, but today he was being late on purpose. He was hoping to navigate Shibuya station at roughly the same time as when he’d bumped into Akira on Tuesday.

His planning paid off. As he approached the platform that separated their routes, Akechi could see him standing on the platform as usual, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone. He was flicking through something, and the smile on his lips suggested that it was some kind of a conversation keeping him entertained. Akechi approached him, as he usually did, and when Akira lifted his head to glance at the scheduled arrival time of his train, caught sight of Akechi.

He chose to believe that the smile Akira offered him when he approached, nothing more than an upturn at the corners of his mouth, was merely in acknowledgement. A polite way to greet someone, the same way employees at corner stores greeted him when he came by early in the morning, glasses on and wrapped in a hoodie to be impossible to recognise, rather than any kind of signal to how Akira felt about him specifically. 

“So,” Akechi said as he stopped in front of Akira, his hands down at his waist. His briefcase today was packed with supplies both for school and for him to visit the police station in the evening, so it was feeling rather heavy, but with the bruises over his ribs and chest mostly healed it was less of a strain and the commute was noticeably easier. “We meet again. But my, what murky weather we’re having.” It wasn’t just today that the weather was awful. It had been yesterday and the few days before. It wasn’t likely that this miserable weather would wrap up anytime soon, either.

Akira’s hair was dry and the lenses of his glasses were lacking in water droplets, but his shoes and the legs of his pants were dotted with rainwater, suggesting that he’d walked but that in his bag he had a folding umbrella of his own. Akira nodded.
“I hope it lets up soon,” was all he offered, tucking his phone away into his pocket.

“Me too.” He had timed their meeting for a reason. The weather wasn’t what was on his mind. He wanted to test the waters, to figure out how willing Akira was to speak about the Phantom Thieves in his spare time. So, smiling, and speaking just as casually as he had done when referring to the weather, Akechi wedged it into their conversation. “Speaking of murky, though, there haven’t been any new developments in the Phantom Thief incidents.”

There was a new glint in Akira’s eye now. He was easy to read if you were looking closely enough, it seemed, and Akechi must have caught his interest. So, taking this as openness to continue, he pressed on.
“If they go so far as using calling cards to get attention, I doubt Madarame’s case will be the last.” He kept his smile. He warmed his tone, made himself sound as if he were being harmlessly inquisitive. “What kind of target will they choose next? What do you think?”

There was a moment of silence. It lasted just long enough for Akechi to begin second guessing himself, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing or misread Akira’s change in expression, but he did answer.
“A criminal, I would think.”

It was distant. Evasive. Avoiding a direct and excited answer, the way most would have replied. He’d even heard some people online joking about wanting the Phantom Thieves to target them or their friends to prove that they were real. This level headedness and clarity was unusual, but it had an appeal to it - it was refreshing to talk to someone who wasn’t so blindly caught up in hype that they were throwing away all common sense to prioritise their enthusiasm.

Even with that curious, almost eager look in his grey eyes, Akira didn’t give away anything about how he felt or what he thought. He didn’t even suggest who he hoped the Phantom Thieves would go after.

“You said before that the Phantom Thieves only target criminals bs that really true?” Akechi said, applying a little more pressure in case he could pull something else from that answer. Anything, even if it was a baseless fan theory to suggest that Akira was someone he could get information out of.

No response. He continued again.

“Supposing it is, there are plenty of villains in the world. How do they choose who to go after?”

Still nothing. Akechi could have sworn he saw Akira want to say something, standing a little straighter, taking in a breath like he meant to begin speaking, but ultimately whatever it was must have fizzled out. He wanted to keep pushing it. He wanted to push Akira like he was digging his thumb into an open wound, to put more and more pressure until he got an answer out of him, but he wasn’t getting anywhere like this, not here, so he had to leave it. 

He corrected his frown back into a smile and discarded the thought.
“Sorry, I’m getting lost in my own head. I have to stay on top of any Phantom Thieves activity due to what I said on the air.” He didn’t need to say anything else about it. He could have left it at that and changed the subject, but he wanted to be able to get information from Akira, so he added one last thing. “If you hear any rumours at school, I hope you can let me know.”

Akira, finally, nodded. With the pressure of the subtle interrogation lifted, he seemed visibly more comfortable. It almost made Akechi wonder if he was able to see through what he was asking, but he was too comfortable and there wasn’t a sign of distrust in his behaviour.
“I will,” he assured Akechi, and started to say something else when the overhead announcement declared the upcoming arrival of a train and he sighed instead. “That’s mine.”

As if he was only just remembering where they were, Akechi nodded and disengaged the conversation.
“I should make sure to catch my train, too,” he said, glancing over to his platform. He still had a few minutes. “It was nice to talk.”
“Yeah,” Akira said, as his train came rattling along the tracks, stopping with a screech against the rails. He was already turning away to board it. “It was.”

<hr>

“I must say, you’re giving yourself an unfair workload,” Akechi was saying later that evening. Since he’d seen Akira on the train platform, he’d attended his school and gotten caught up with his pre-assigned homework, though his English class and his history class both gave him more assignments due the following Friday. He’d stayed in his homeroom for an hour after classes had ended before catching a quieter, later bus to the police precinct.

He’d not been told that he needed to be present for the meeting that afternoon, so he’d not left school at the same time as most of the other students to avoid the crowds, and when he arrived he found that no further cases had been assigned to him. The one he’d been assigned the previous week, the group one, he’d been correct in assuming that he’d not be included in the process of solving. That one had already been handed in by the two senior detectives that were working on it.

“It’s not about my workload,” Sae was saying, looking with narrowed eyes at her laptop screen yet again. Supposedly, she’d been reminded of her assignment to focus on the Madarame case and the Phantom Thieves incidents and had begun reaching out to one of Madarame’s students about what his mentor had been like in the weeks leading up to the change of heart. That was fine and within her role - the bit that he’d been opposed to was when she’d then asked Akechi if he’d been aware of the recent rumours about students being blackmailed over a part-time job in Shibuya, insisting that she would be the one to deal with it. “I need to plan for the future, too. Looking into Junya Kaneshiro is going to get me that promotion, I just need solid evidence that he’s connected to these incidents.”

“And if anyone could find it, it’d be you, Niijima-san, but are you sure you aren’t pushing yourself too far?” he asked, having settled into the seat directly beside her. 
“Of course I’m pushing myself, but it’s necessary. It’s not just me that I need to work for, it’s Makoto too. Until I get a better job and Makoto is out of university, we’re going to keep losing what our father helped us save over the years.” She flicked her hair from her face and sighed. “I need to get a promotion as soon as I can. I don’t want Makoto to start worrying and thinking about getting an after school job when she needs all of her focus to be on her studies.” 

Akechi nodded. He hadn’t considered her situation that much - he supposed that he’d have been struggling to scrape by working part-time with the police if it weren’t for the extra money he was receiving from Shido and his TV appearances - and it made sense for Niijima’s situation to be putting extra weight on her shoulders if she was working full time but financially supporting her sister too.

“Of course,” he said, smiling and dismissing any further arguments he may have had. “I’ll assist you in any way that I can. If I overhear anyone at my school mention something about part-time jobs, I’ll send them your way.”

Sae sighed again. One hand moved to the bridge of her nose, her eyes closing for a moment.
“As long as I’m not going to get an influx of students telling me about the grocery stores they pack bags at, I’d appreciate that.”

He didn’t have much police work to catch up on, considering that there were no shutdown cases recently to assign to him, so where he was sitting on the adjacent side of a small, square table than Niijima, he took his laptop from his briefcase and set it out, opting to use the spare time to try and compile any further information that he could find online about the Phantom Thieves.

Public consensus so far was conflicted. The people who believed in the Phantom Thieves were an extremely vocal minority, and in passing research he was able to find something branding itself as a ‘Phan-Site’, with a jarring colour display of a black background with red text and bold, capitalised text posing an immediate question to whether or not the Phantom Thieves “were just”, a reductive and impossible to answer question. So far, it was struggling to reach 20% of an agreement rate, and the cycling comments coming through live were all extremely varied in opinions. He was more fond of the comments that disagreed with the notion of the Phantom Thieves being ‘just’, but beyond that there was no information on the site towards who had made it, and beyond a few speculative forum posts about what their identities could be, it was almost entirely devoid of useful information.

The only exception was that the bottom of the page had a few details to the copyrighting and ownership of the site, where it stated that it had been founded in May. Since the calling cards hadn’t been posted to Madarame’s exhibit until the end of May, and his apology hadn’t aired until the start of June, it was likely that whoever controlled the site was a student of Shujin Academy who had witnessed the first ‘changed heart’ incident and either became an immediate fan, suggesting direct victimhood from Kamoshida, or that the websites creator may have known the Phantom Thieves personally. 

He made notes about this potential connection in a separate document, filtering through the comments theorising where the Phantom Thieves were from and who they may strike next when Sae’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“I hope you’re not becoming a phanboy yourself.” She sounded amused.
“Not at all. Just keeping tabs for my own sake. It’s all I’m going to be asked about in interviews going forward.”
“When we arrest them, I’ll let you thank them for making you famous,” she said, closing her laptop and sighing. “I’m going to get something to eat. I think I’ll be staying here until late again. Are you coming?”

Akechi glanced at the forum page open on his laptop, then to his briefcase. He wanted to stay to catch up with his notes, but he hadn’t had a coffee since that morning, and was beginning to feel the weight of his exhaustion again. He’d gotten more sleep the night before than he usually got, but it didn’t help much.
“As long as you know that I haven’t got any fun gossip to give you while we’re there,” Akechi said, already beginning to stand. “Unfortunately, there are very few developments in my life outside of work.”

“Really?” Sae said, putting her own laptop away in her bag and pulling it over her shoulder. “There’s nothing that I could get you to admit to? No new friends?” Akechi briefly wondered if she’d seen him, somehow, when he’d been talking to Akira. “No dates?” And the feeling passed. He couldn't tell her about him spending time with Akira. If he mentioned spending time with a boy from Shujin, Sae might manage to sniff out his intent, and the last thing he needed was to be berated about the ethics of befriending someone just to use them for information.

“Unfortunately not.” He would have to keep it to himself a little longer. “I’m afraid that I’ll only bore you.” He caught up to her side and followed her out of the station, briefcase in hand.

<hr>

Telling Sae that there were no fascinating new developments in Akechi’s social life didn’t prevent him from enduring a thinly veiled interrogation about anything that he could have been doing. Just as promised, though, by the time Sae’s questions were drying up, she seemed a little disappointed that there was nothing of any interest to untangle from him.

What do you do after school?
There was no excitement to Akechi’s answer. Either he would stay until late evening, go to work, go to meetings, or go home to study. On occasion, he’d stop somewhere for dinner, but usually only takeout.

And when you’re at school? Any friends there?
Usually, Akechi kept to himself. There was no particular reason to talk to anyone else in class because it would usually lead to a distraction from his work (he couldn’t exactly tell Sae that he despised most people his age and knew that they’d only be using him if they talked to him now) so he didn’t waste his time with them. 

Picked up any hobbies, at least?
There wasn’t much time for them. With a higher demand to be seen and make public statements mixed in with the pressure of school - having just attended a National mock exam and having school exams in a months time - it was better to dedicate himself fully to academia. Obviously he couldn’t tell Sae about his work under Shido, but it seemed that she believed that his work was taking up that much of his free time.

He could almost see her trying to compare his social life thus far to her only reference for what other high school students did - but it seemed that Makoto must have had just as dull of a life as he did, because she didn’t poke any further holes in his comments.

And, to avoid being picked apart further and taking the opportunity to derail, Akechi turned the questions over to her.

It was far more fleeting. He got as far as asking her what she did outside of work (go home to look after Makoto) and if she had any hobbies before she shut the line of questions down.
“It seems neither of us have much interesting to say,” he said with his TV-smile again, playing off his questions as if he were harmlessly returning Sae’s curiosity rather than as an aimed attempt to get her to back off.

From there, conversation turned briefly to work, but with no active cases needing assistance, that soon fizzled out and they ate in a comfortable silence.

After which, Sae dropped Akechi off outside of his apartment building. He thanked her, she said not to worry, and drove off once Akechi was inside. 

It was only in his room that he realised that he’d been feeling rather good, and that realisation only came when he opened his briefcase and saw the screen of his burner phone was lit up.

‘2 New Message(s) ’ stared up at him.

His smile faded nearly immediately and he picked up the phone, clicking on the notification to see what the messages were.

The first was simple - the tagline merely read ‘ New Connections.’

The body text, however, filled Akechi with a familiar dull, frustrated ache. 
‘You’re in high demand. New jobs imminent. High profile client needs looking at ’

The second, sent forty minutes later and presumably in the aftermath of not receiving a reply, was far shorter.

The tag was ‘ Call soon .’ The rest simply read ‘ Work talk. ’

Akechi sat in his desk chair and picked up his phone, pressing the button to call the unsaved number. 

Shido had the luxury of being able to answer the phone most times of the day. Anyone he was with would know his true nature, and it wasn’t suspicious if he needed to step out of a room to take a call, but Akechi wasn’t as fortunate, and many of his peers were too nosy for their own good. If he were to get a sudden call in the middle of class and stepped outside to take it, inevitably one or two of his damned classmates would eavesdrop, so he had to be more cautious.

The phone hummed patiently once. Then twice. 

Then the phone clicked.

“Akechi,” came Shido’s voice, stoic and monotonous. That wasn’t a good sign. “Finally.”
“My apologies, Shido-san,” Akechi said, ensuring there wasn’t an ounce of emotion in his voice for Shido to pick up on and tear into. Anything - anger, weakness, content - it was all undesirable. Akechi was meant to be an asset and a tool, and that was how he was going to behave to maintain his good standing with Shido. “I was at school until late today.”

This obedience was necessary. It was tiring, and frustrating, and it made him feel like he was selling himself out to a man who had already stripped him of everything, but he had a goal and he wasn’t going to let temporary annoyances interfere with that.

He’d dealt with it for three years. He could endure it until election season.

“I take it you’ve heard about this ‘mafia’ business happening in Shibuya?” Straight to the point.
“I have.”
“And I take it you’ve been doing research into who’s behind it?”

How lucky Akechi was that Sae had been investigating it. How much luckier he was that she’d mentioned it without him needing to pry.
“A little.” No reply. Akechi filled in the silence - his throat felt dry. “Junya Kaneshiro, correct? A rather notorious criminal, I’ve heard. Difficult to catch.”
“Good. I knew you’d be on top of things.” The relief was undeniable - to know he was still working diligently enough to be relied on was good. It was valuable. It meant that it was worth burning himself at both ends for. He set his laptop on the desk and while it turned on, scribbled out ‘ Junya Kaneshiro ’ on a piece of paper on the desk in order to pin it to the board above his desk. “I’ll be needing your services to investigate him.”
“Of course.” Akechi pinned the name to the board over his desk. “Nothing further?”
“Not yet. I only need information. The fear that this is generating will be good to put distrust in the current government. I’ll need it to build long enough that I can use it to further my agenda. I’ll let you know when your services will be necessary in eradicating the threat.”

“Surely you don’t plan on waiting until after the election? The majority of people targeted are high schoolers,” Akechi said, stupidly, as if he was in any position to argue or refute what Shido was saying. 
“I’m telling you to wait until I tell you what to do,” said Shido, firmer now, with a clear yet restrained level of anger beneath his voice. 
“Yes. Of course.” Obedience. Make up for it immediately with obedience.. “I’ll begin my investigation now.” He picked up his other phone and tapped on the Metaverse Navigator app to fill in Kaneshiro’s name and mentally adjusted his plan to stay at school until late tomorrow. Now he’d need to leave early enough to get an early bus to the station. If there weren’t any files on Kaneshiro to get access to, he would need to find an excuse to ask Sae for what her research had turned up. Maybe he could try to eavesdrop on his classmates during lunch tomorrow and see if anyone mentioned a part-time job, or brought up any financial stress.

“Good.” Shido cleared his throat. “And keep a closer eye on your phone.”

Before Akechi had even said ‘ Yes, sir ’, he was met with static suggesting that the other end of the line had gone dead.

He sighed, bringing the phone from his ear and setting it flat on his desk.

It seemed easy enough. Figure out information on a man that the police were failing to get enough information on to catch, find his palace (the navigator had an immediate hit), navigate it alone in order to speak to Kaneshiro directly, assess how much of a threat he is, report everything back to Shido, and start keeping his phone in his pocket rather than in his briefcase.

Akechi, white screen of his now-open laptop staring up at him, got up to get himself an energy drink from the kitchen. He was going to be up until late again tonight.

All he needed to keep in mind was that it was going to be worth it. 

He just needed to hold out until November.

Chapter 8: Saturday, June 18th

All of Shibuya?

All of it?

Akechi had bumped elbows with the most insufferable men in Japan. Akechi had undertaken murders for one of them. But to hear of a man so consumed with his greed that he saw himself as a sovereign of Shibuya was difficult to believe. Even Shido’s palace was grounded to the Diet Building, no matter what the outside world was reduced to when he visited.

And Akechi wouldn’t have considered inputting ‘all of Shibuya’ in the Navigator had he been working on it alone.

Granted, Sae didn’t know she was helping him brainstorm, but he’d set his phone face-down on the table between the two of them while they’d been speaking, just beside his cup of coffee so that it would look like he’d mindlessly put it down in order to drink.

He didn’t know exactly what she’d said to set it off. It had been something about how Kaneshiro was “making all of Shibuya dangerous for students” or how she’d “already scoured all of Shibuya searching for evidence”. Whatever it was, Akechi’s phone had beeped a warm tone at the inputting of two out of three relevant parts of information. He’d been lucky enough to already know the name, and with the location input, all he’d needed to do was go to Shibuya and attempt to determine the keyword to start the investigation.

That morning, he’d managed to pull most of the necessary information out of Sae that he could have gotten his hands on. It turned out that the police had been pursuing him for a while, and had been aware of him for longer, but that it was only now with the sudden increase in visibility relevant to the ‘mafia’ and drug trafficking scheme that they’d started a dedicated effort to find him. 

And though it had taken Akechi far too many guesses to narrow the keyword down to ‘bank’, he was content to blame it on the lack of sleep he’d been getting for the last few nights while he’d been doing this research. Even now, he was only on his feet because he’d had an energy drink moments before leaving the house, and had put investigating Kaneshiro’s palace as his only task for the day. And studying, of course, when he got back to his apartment.

He’d tucked himself away in an alley along the Shibuya high street, far less dressed than normal in order to avoid being recognised, something he almost couldn’t avoid anymore. He’d not put on his contact lenses that morning, though he had stopped to do his skincare and cover his blemishes. He’d combed his hair and put it in a low ponytail so that it could be comfortably tucked away beneath a hood, and had swept his bangs to the side. Compared to the perfectly curated, perfectly presentable boy that sat on TV sets and candidly answered any questions thrown his way, he was a stranger. A student on a day off, keeping his head low by staring at his phone.

His burner phone sat heavy in his pocket. 

He didn’t normally leave the house with it if he was visiting a Palace, but it was better to have it to see texts as soon as they came through with Shido’s dwindling patience.

With the finally correct guess of the keyword, Akechi’s head felt briefly light, the floor momentarily unsteady beneath him. He closed his eyes to fend off a short bout of fatigue-induced nausea (certainly not aided by the energy drink in his stomach), and when they opened again the entirety of Shibuya high street was bathed in green. Spilling from the sky like leaves in autumn were bank notes, though they fizzled and dissolved into nothing before hitting the ground. Where the high street was supposed to be filled with people, Akechi found only sombre ATM machines, stood on slender legs, machine backs curved like they were slouching and staring down at the ground as they navigated around each other. 

Taking his sword from his hip, just in case, Akechi slipped into the crowd to begin his investigation.

There were no Shadows here, though. It was odd - every Palace contained Shadows, and usually they were teeming with them like a hideous infestation. He’d only just begun to make the connection that the Palace must have been hidden elsewhere when a loud crash rang out and something hit the ground beside him hard.

He threw himself away from it for a moment, turning to look at what he expected to be a Shadow, or some kind of a threat, only to see an ATM lying on its side, sparking and fizzling, limbs reaching frantically out to the floor as if it meant to clamour back to its feet but lacked the strength. 

Akechi, slowly relaxing his shoulders, looked over at it with a frown. 
“I’m sorry-...!” it’s voice came out, strained and weak, and Akechi slowly knelt down beside it. He said nothing, but the ATM continued as if it didn’t see him at all. “I’m out-! I don’t have anything else to give, I’m sorry!”

His gaze swept the area. Nothing seemed to be approaching or intent on extorting the machine further. It was only after a moment that he turned his attention up to the sky, where the notes were spilling down from, that prompted the realisation of where the ATM had come from and, subsequently, where the fucking Palace was.

Great .

“Hey!” he shouted up at the floating bank in the sky, jutting his sword out towards it. “Kaneshiro!”

Nothing.

He wanted to kick the stupid damned ATM on the floor, which sputtered and writhed in pain, it's screen flickering like it was fighting not to switch off. 
“I want a loan!” he called out, desperately, wanting nothing more than to get this damned investigation over with. Each day it took him was a day he was spending disappointing Shido, and that in itself was going to be a problem. Still, though, the bank didn’t respond to his presence. Akechi groaned, drew his foot back, and kicked the ATM on the floor. His foot went through the screen and the writhing stopped. “Let me in, you bastard!”

When there was still nothing, and the next string of profanity-wrapped demands were ignored, Akechi turned and stomped back to the alleyway he’d come from, where he again slumped back against the wall to leave the Metaverse. 

He’d come across problems like this a few times. It’d taken him a long time to figure out where these barriers came from and how to avoid them, but eventually he’d dug out enough information on cognitive psience, aided primarily by that womans research, to realise that the issue was a problem that needed solving in the real world.

So, with a new agenda to meet Kaneshiro face-to-face, Akechi brought his hood back up and made his way back to Shibuya station. He’d get dressed to be presentable, find someone who was approaching students, and insist upon meeting Kaneshiro for police business. When it inevitably got him stuffed into the back of a car, and delivered to Kaneshiro, he’d do what it took to gain access to the bank.

Tonight he’d study, then he’d fine-tune his research and check his bank account to see how much money he had to barter for his safety with, provided that things didn’t go to plan.

Chapter 9: Sunday, June 19th

He’d definitely had better ideas.

And the caffeine-deprived pulsing of his head was certainly not making the situation any easier.

“The hell are we even gonna do with him?” the driver of the shabby black car was saying while they were stopped at a red light. The person in the passenger seat clicked his tongue against his teeth.
“Like I know,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder to where Akechi was sitting, wearing his most naive, teenage-detective smile, as he was driven through narrow backstreets in Shibuya. The windows in the back of the car were tinted dark enough on both sides that nobody would be able to look in and see him, but he had no idea where they were going past what he could glean from the front window.

It was no use. He was totally and utterly lost, and they’d only been driving for about ten minutes. It was his own fault - he was tired and hungry having skipped on breakfast to get this done as soon as possible, and had accidentally spaced out for the first part of the drive.

“I’d like to insist on meeting Kaneshiro,” he said in the voice he usually reserved for nosy reporters and prying teenagers. The sort of polite, ‘assuming good intentions’ voice that rolled perfectly in with what was coming across perfectly as being a gullible, stupid teenager. As soon as he’d been approached about the part time job (and almost immediately recognised when he turned around to inquire further), he’d been playing into the assumptions that most people, including his coworkers, seemed to have about him.

Being approachable and friendly in the face of rude or insufferable people was easy. What wasn’t easy was walking the line between being stupid enough to insist upon meeting Kaneshiro and being aware enough of his publicity and presence to make sure that they agreed and that they weren’t confident enough in his ability to disappear to have him killed.

The publicity was finally serving his purpose. He wasn’t untouchable, but he was certainly someone who had to be dealt with quietly and in a more subtle way. He couldn’t simply be taken aside and killed for wanting to ‘speak with Kaneshiro on behalf of the police,’ but with a reputation as big as his, he was the perfect candidate for blackmail.

“You can shut up, ace detective,” hissed the one sitting in the passenger seat, with the bleach-blonde hair. “You’ll do what we tell you to do.”

“I must insist.” He was still smiling. “My superiors have been meaning to get in contact with him for a while. I told the Director of the Special Investigations Unit that I was more likely to make contact being a student. That is the demographic you’re targeting, yes?”

The one driving swore.

“Just shut the hell up,” the passenger side said again, turning back to look at the driver. “And you can hurry up. Boss can figure out what to do with him.”

Akechi was content to spend the rest of the drive quiet. He was in some parking lot beneath a building, and was entirely unaware of where he was or how far from Shibuya he’d been taken. Were he not so tired, and so frustrated, and entirely focused on getting the connection he needed, he may have been afraid, considering that he was about to meet with one of the most powerful and hardest to find criminals in Shibuya. But he wasn’t.

He was just so tired. Even as the two thugs standing either side of him pushed him into an elevator, and as they slowly succumbed to the underground floors, and as his same patient TV smile made his cheeks ache, he felt nothing but tired.

But, god, his head hurt.

He was brought out of the elevator, and through to a room playing tacky, bass-heavy music and doused in dim yellow lights. The stench of cigarettes and weed were heavy in the air, so much so that Akechi briefly worried that the smell would stick to him and sour his reputation, but that was only something to worry about if he made it out alive, so he dismissed the thought for now to shift his priorities.

“Boss?” the blonde one, the passenger, said as they approached a man slouched in the corner of an L-shaped, plush purple couch. He was smoking something, and across the table in front of him there were drinks spread out, a weed grinder and a full bag of it, spread out between bottles and pouches of cocaine. Cosying up to one of his sides was a lady with brunette curls, wearing an outfit equal parts expensive and revealing,wrapped up in a coat so lavish it was like she’d been pulled out of a mafia-themed pin-up book.

“What now, idiots?” came a voice in the same sort of annoyed and bored tone that Shido would often use if Akechi picked up the phone after taking too long on a job. “Why have you brought a kid?”

The woman sat up and leant away as the man in the couch, with his slicked back brown hair, narrowed eyes and sharp, straight-sloped nose leant forwards like he meant to get a better look at Akechi.

Akechi, too, took this time to get a good look at who he could safely assume was Kaneshiro. He was, much like the woman sat beside him, wearing clothes that cost more money than Akechi would spend on anything but rent. The purple jacket was lavish, the belt had a clasp displaying some designer brand logo, and he was wearing a chain around his neck with something else on it that Akechi couldn’t make out in the dim light. He was pale, as if he spent a lot of time in here, and when he smiled Akechi could see the light glinting on pearly white teeth. Too perfect - expensively perfect. Like the many-teethed TV hosts when they smiled at him.

“He was asking for you,” said the driver, but from the smile and the glint in Kaneshiro’s eyes, it seemed there was no need for context anymore. Akechi could almost see his price tag being calculated - the gold mine he must have thought he’d found, having a minor celebrity dropped at his feet.

“What was it you called yourself? The Detective Prince?” Kaneshiro said, entirely dismissing his subordinate. “Is this part of an investigation, detective?”

The taunting was obvious. Akechi had to suppress a roll of his eyes, instead smiling a little more.
“Yes, actually,” he said with the same naive, peppy tone he’d been using the entire drive over. He was going to need to wash his mouth out to get the taste off of his tongue. “I’m here on behalf of the police, about the activity in Shibuya. I’ll take it that you’re Junya Kaneshiro?”

The smile briefly wavered when Akechi said his name so confidently. Then it grew into a wide, eager grin. It was like seeing a particularly lavish cat, spoiled in its diamond-spotted collar, spying a mouse on the floor and assuming it was weak and unable to fight back. Akechi felt particularly like prey here, as if he were surrounded on all sides by predator animals, and any wrong move would inspire them to pounce and tear him apart.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to be asking questions,” Kaneshiro was saying, reaching out to pluck a drink from the table. “But I’ll entertain your conversation for a moment. You say the police are looking into me?”

“It would be hard for them not to be, wouldn’t it?” he said, in the same naive, clueless tone. As if he wasn’t familiar enough with how Sae circled around her questions about his social life to get him in a trap and knew that Kaneshiro was trying to pry information from him. “You’ve been causing quite a stir. I think you’re bigger news than the Phantom Thieves.”

“And you chose to come here alone? I could make an example of you, you know. How many dead detectives would it take to put them off the scent?” He took a sip of his drink and put it down again. “I’ll start with one and see who they send next.”

Shit.

Maybe he’d misread how much he could have been worth to someone already extorting all of Shibuya.

“Surely a man like yourself can figure out something smarter to do than that,” Akechi said, having to put in a little more effort now to maintain the ditzy, sheltered teen star appearance. “I’ve got a lot of fans that wouldn’t respond particularly well to it if I disappeared.”

“Oh, you think you’re some kind of a hotshot?” Kaneshiro picked up something to smoke from the ashtray on the table. Akechi pretended not to notice what it was - he wasn’t here to investigate and considering all of his offences, smoking weed was a low priority, but he again briefly worried for how the smell would stick to him. “Maybe you’re right. See, all of this detective business has been getting on my nerves lately. Everyone working for me seems to be on the same page about keeping quiet, but you’ve come bumbling into my place of work and it almost seems like you’re trying to threaten me.”

It wasn’t time to feel relieved yet.
“I wouldn’t consider it threatening-”

“That’s exactly what it is, detective. You’re threatening me. And I think that your adoring fans would have a lot to say if they knew what you were really like.” He flicked his phone out from his pocket, raised it, and it played a clicking shutter sound effect as it took a photo of Akechi. “I mean, look at you. Pretending to uphold the law while secretly breaking it yourself.”

Akechi’s smile faltered. It had to, for the sake of appearances, but for a brief moment it had almost been genuine. How awful a truth that would be, for the Detective Prince to be faking his righteousness. If only Kaneshir knew.

“Wait,” he said, taking a step forwards, though his arm was immediately grabbed by the blonde subordinate and he was sharply pulled back. A surge of genuine anger ran through him, and his other hand idly drifted back to his side to feel for where his sword would have been resting were he in the metaverse - but it wasn’t there. And he was not being apprehended by Shadows. He swallowed his anger like it was bile and kept his facade raised. “We can figure something out. I’ll pretend I never saw you. I’ll act like I don’t even know your name!”

Desperation tasted foul on his tongue even when it was fake.

“I’m not unreasonable.” Kaneshiro said this like a purr, with all of the confidence and calm of a man who knew he was totally and utterly in control. With Akechi held back and restrained like a muzzled dog, Kaneshiro could see himself so clearly as the biggest danger in the room. A cat pretending it was a lion, circling a wolf masquerading as a dog. “We can settle this somehow. I’m sure something could sway me into losing that photo, and something extra could help me forget that you ever came here.”

“Anything,” Akechi’s voice came, unnaturally fearful and panicked for a man who’d been swallowing back those feelings for years. When he attempted to take another urgent step forward, his other arm was grabbed, and he was pushed suddenly back by both of the men who’d driven him here. He’d get their names when all of this was dealt with, and he’d find them in Mementos for making him suffer this humiliation. For thinking that they had any real power over him. “I’ll get you anything you need. I- I’ve got connections.”

The words came out clumsy. He hated how they felt on his tongue.

“Well, you are a celebrity, so I shouldn’t be too generous,” he said, taking a drag from whatever Akechi was ignoring him smoking. Another puff of smoke in the room and Akechi knew that he’d stink of it by the time he left. Maybe that body shop in the underground mall would have some perfume or other for sale that he could use to cover the smell.

Kaneshiro paused. He pretended to think. Then he leant forwards, a nasty grin spreading across his face. He looked like a man who would be extremely satisfying to punch. Akechi would need to find an opportunity to do that, whether in the Metaverse or not.
“Two million yen.”

There it was. Daunting as the number would be, and though Akechi could find a way to part with that considering the payday his investigation on Kaneshiro was sure to get him, he was sure not to let that show on his face. Instead, he considered how much money that would be to a teenager, to one working part time with only occasional features on TV, the type of thoughtless and starry-eyed character that would be throwing away the money he was earning because he thought it’d come back soon enough.

And it was safe to assume that this was exactly what Akechi needed in order to gain access to his palace.

“Two million yen?” he let devastation ebb into his voice. He let all the tension leave him in a panicked sort of defeat. He looked helplessly at Kaneshiro, and had to suppress a grimace at how clearly he was enjoying this. It was like he got off on the power he had, on crushing people smaller and weaker beneath his heel, knowing that two million yen would be pocket change compared to how much he had to his name now. “But I-”
“And since I’m feeling charitable, I’ll give you three weeks to deliver it. Two million yen handed to me in cash or I leak that photo of the charming Detective Prince and his debauchery. Then we can figure out how much more it’ll cost before I can forget you were here. I’m sure a few interviews here and there will help you get it all together.”

He did have a TV appearance scheduled for Tuesday. That was good - it would suggest to Kaneshiro that he was doing exactly as he’d been told to. Three weeks was plenty of time to figure out a backup plan - that’d take him until sometime in the middle of July. He could get the money to hand over if he didn’t find another way to deal with the situation. As long as he didn’t tell Shido this had happened, it would be fine. The last thing he needed was for Shido to start thinking he was being reckless or stupid, as stupid and as reckless as this decision absolutely was.

His head was still pounding and it was only getting worse with the growing humidity of the smoky air.

It was a matter of minutes from there before Akechi was shoved back the way he’d come. Kaneshiro had taken his phone number, assuring him it was just for the sake of being thorough (and thankfully Akechi had the sense to put his burner phone in his briefcase again, so when his pockets were pat down and his phone was produced, there wasn’t any chance of it being the wrong one) and being able to remind him about his deadline, and he was stuffed back into the car he’d been driven there in.

The air of the parking lot was stale, but a lot easier and better to breathe than the air in the apartment, and though everything had gone roughly in the direction he’d been hoping it would, Akechi made a point of sitting in the back of the car and being quiet, ignoring the jabs and taunts that the driver and the passenger were both making at his expense.

It didn’t matter. All he was thinking about was getting access to Kaneshiro’s palace, and then everything would fall into place one way or another.

---

As much of a gamble as his plan to meet Kaneshiro had been, there was nothing but relief running through him when he walked through the murky green wasteland of Kaneshiro’s palace and, without even needing to call out to it, the bank lowered itself closer to the ground as he got to the high street.

A series of clicks and whirrs radiated from it as a metal bridge reached slowly out towards him, scraping along the floor in front of his feet and allowing him and a swarm of thoughtless, despairing ATM’s to begin the steady ascent to what was supposed to be an untouchable bank.

His headache was, thankfully, gone. He hadn’t wasted time in Shibuya once he’d gotten out of the car, but he had quickly dipped into a corner store to buy an energy drink before going into the metaverse, and had gone to Kaneshiro’s palace, where he’d stopped in the alleyway long enough for the pulsing of his head to subside before he’d boarded the floating bank palace.

It was a long walk, and the land at the top of the floating sphere was a melancholy mix of concrete and grey-brown grass, the entire building shrouded in a sinister atmosphere. The bank itself, despite being suspended in the air and steadily rising back up now that Akechi was on board, a dozen blinking white and green window-eyes watching him as his shoes clicked over the wooden plank entrance leading up to the door and up those concrete steps. A handful of ATM’s trudged miserably towards the bank around him, ‘ATM’ sign heads peering at the ground, black shapeless feet scraping the floor.

It towered over him, this miserable beast of a building, with its ornate silver yen-sign fence and tall, overgrown greenery. From atop its head sat a white neon crown reading ‘Kaneshiro’s Credit Bank’ and where the swarm of ATM’s began to thin, Akechi followed along behind them all. This was going to be a man he wouldn’t be upset to see grovelling on his knees, either staring at the barrel of his gun or tormented by those Phantom Thieves, but that wasn’t his job.

He was not here to kill this man, nor was he supposed to scope out any signs of the Phantom Thieves, but he’d be keeping a careful eye out regardless. It wouldn’t be ideal for them to know there was someone else using the metaverse and he certainly didn’t want there to be an instance in which they knew it was him.

However, standing on the wooden path outside of the bank, he raised a hand and pulled his black mask from his face. In his hand, it fizzled out into the air, and instead of his encompassing, heavy metal mask, he stood before the bank instead in an entirely different outfit.

If he was entirely honest, he didn’t know why, or how, he’d gotten two different masks. The first few times he’d visited the Metaverse, his red mask and princely outfit had sat proud upon his shoulders, a beacon of the self-righteousness that he’d been used as a shield when first approaching Masayoshi Shido. It was justified then to approach him - it was the righteous thing to do as a timid, powerless fourteen year old, months away from being evicted from the legal system and left to fend for himself. He’d needed to offer the services he had, that nobody else was able to use, in order to get a leg up on everyone else. He needed a job, but more importantly he needed political connections, and for the sake of justice, he needed to be able to one day take Shido down.

Then, though he didn’t remember exactly when or exactly why, he’d gone into the Metaverse upon Shido’s request and that black mask had sat heavily upon his head. It’d taken some time to get used to the fluctuation between them, though it initially seemed to shift between the intent he had when he entered the Metaverse, but now it was as easy as taking one off to reveal another if he wanted to.

And for now, it would be better if he seemed more like himself. The Black Mask would seem too threatening, and he was trying to approach Kaneshiro as a client of his bank - nothing more.

So, with the doors to the bank already open and his red and white prince suit donned, Akechi followed the last remaining machines inside as the doors swung to a steady close behind him.

“All customers to the right!” called a loud, chittering voice through the entire entrance foyer, coming from a towering Shadow in a security guards uniform, a large helmet and a visor blocking most of its face, though through the lens and beneath where the mask stopped meeting flesh Akechi could see insect like features - narrowed eyes wrapped in a firm exoskeleton and, barely visible, jagged mandibles. They clicked both while it spoke and idly between breaths, like a fidget or an unconscious behaviour.

And then It turned those black, bug-like eyes back to Akechi as if it had noticed him lingering.
“What business do you have here?” it asked him, loud voice clicking around words.

“I’m one of Kaneshiro’s customers,” he said, too tired and too aware of the looseness of the metaverse to try and sound polite or pleasant. He stuck out hideously, a red mask surrounded on all sides by sad grey robots, but it was as if everything about how he looked, about his carried himself, was secondary to his position as a customer of Kaneshiro’s.

The Shadow, lowering the baton that it and all of the other Shadows in the area was wielding, nodded over to a door in the corner of the room.
“To the right!” it ordered again, and Akechi begrudgingly followed its command. Shadows stood at routine points around the bank, taking the liberty to remind him every few seconds of where he, a measly customer, was permitted to go, and firmly warned against trying anything else. It took him a great deal of patience to navigate into the small, boxed-off wooden room he was being directed towards without calling Loki to help scorch a more convenient path for him to follow.

His job was to get to know Kaneshiro, to assess a threat level, and to make the necessary preparations for a potential shutdown when Shido decided it was necessary.

Until then, he had to comply passively, to slink into the wooden box room that he was being directed towards and let the door swing closed behind himself. He could hear the footsteps of those insect-guard-Shadows outside of the room, pacing back and forth, chittering to one another.

The room itself was small. Warm-toned, with beige and warm brown walls, masquerading as somewhere inviting and comfortable. In the centre, directly beneath one of those yellow-tinted lights, was a square wooden table, and atop of that was a large and neatly organised mountain of yen.

There must have been at least two million yen sitting there. He was smart enough to recognise the likelihood that it was a trap, the chance that something would go wrong if he were to touch it (not that he particularly needed the money beyond his newfound debt, which he was sure he was going to settle soon enough), but the moment that his eyes had landed on it, the TV in the room buzzed and whirred as it turned on.

“Entering without a warrant, harassment, criminal intimidation,” called a familiar, all too arrogant voice, and when Akechi lifted his head, he wasn’t remotely surprised to see Kaneshiro’s face plastered on the screen, this time with side swept black hair and purple skin, his eyes that distinct and hideous yellow shade that all Shadows shared. “All totaling two million yen. You’re here to discuss that aren’t you, Detective Prince?”

His flashy, hideous white suit, complete with a purple tie done tight around his too-high collar. His gaze bore down at Akechi, the camera set up just low enough to allow Kaneshiro to look down on his customers even from the other side of a TV screen.

“Even with your celebrity status, I don’t suppose it’s easy to collect so much in such a short amount of time.” He was kicked back in a grand chair, surrounded on all sides by faceless allies, TV screens splayed over the walls behind him showing every area in the bank. “I’d be willing to provide a loan to help you afford it.”

“Oh, that’s what the trick is,” Akechi said, one hand settling on his hip, just above where his sword was. “You offer to get rid of the debt in favour of an exploitative loan. How much is the interest?”

“A measly amount. Pitiful, really,” Kaneshiro said, a leering smile on his face - evidently, he figured that they were on the same page that whether or not Akechi found it exploitative, there was no way for Kaneshiro to lose in this situation. He’d either make two million yen or make a few hundred thousand more. “Ten percent for every day that I'm not repaid.”

“Two hundred thousand yen per day is hardly generous,” Akechi said, suppressing a thought about how much money he was sure to be holding over students in Shibuya. The morals of it weren’t his to consider - he didn’t care who was exploited by this unless he was being paid to care. It was everyone else’s fault for getting themselves caught up in easy money. “But that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here on behalf of my employer.”

Kaneshiro laughed a sharp, loud whip-crack of a laugh, and leant forwards in his chair.
“Some talent manager won’t convince me to drop your debt, boy. I don’t care what you came here to do. You’re either paying your debt or I’ll crush your reputation and celebrity status beneath my heel.”

“I’m here on behalf of Masayoshi Shido,” Akechi said, letting the authority of the name coast off of his tongue, watching as Kaneshiro’s eyes first widened with surprise, then narrowed with doubt.
“Hah! You? The privilege of working with Masayoshi Shido is reserved only for the highest standing members of society - what good would he be doing working with a brat like you?”

The highest standing members of society? The way that Shido had phrased it, this man was a stranger. One that posed a threat and needed to be assessed in case further action had to be taken, but a stranger nonetheless. So why was Kaneshiro talking about Shido as if he were a man of the highest, most formidable social standing, deserving only of praise?

“You’re talking as if you know him,” Akechi said, briefly grateful for how obtuse Shadows tended to be. Pulling information was always easy - and if it wasn’t offered boldly and willingly now, it could be easily bullied out of them. “But certainly Shido would be above affiliating with criminals like yourself?”

The bait was barely even set into the trap before it was taken. Kaneshiro leant far enough forwards it was almost like he intended on throwing himself out of his chair.
“Above me? Nobody is above me! I rule Shibuya! I could control all of Japan if I set my sights on it!”
“I find that hard to believe,” still wrapped in a pleasant tone, Akechi pressed further. Kaneshiro was caged now, already pushed into talking about something he clearly intended on keeping quiet - there was nothing he could do if Akechi poked and prodded and found the right spot to get the information he needed. His arrogance would lead him into taking the bait. “You’re a greedy, power-hungry beast of a man. I have no doubts that if you were capable of controlling Japan, you’d already be doing so, meaning it must be a lack of skill or a lack of mental capability.”

“You- headstrong little brat!” Kaneshiro stood from his chair. Someone beside him stumbled to readjust and fix the camera so that it was still showing his face. “If I had my way, I would be! I’d have my hands in every pocket in this entire country!”

He was close. He almost had all of the information that he needed.
“Then why don’t you?”

“Because when Shido becomes prime minister, I’ll have all of the power and money that I need! For now, all I need to do is maintain my business and finance his campaign!” He said, stepping towards the camera and jutting a finger out at it. “You pathetic little runt, you just don’t understand the returns that this little investment will get me! I’ll be an esteemed consultant of the prime minister!”

That was where all of this money was going? It wasn’t merely to fill Kaneshiro’s pockets - it was being bartered for power? The livelihoods and futures of everyone extorted, all to fund Shido’s campaign? Wasn’t Madarame funding him enough? Weren’t the people paying to use Akechi’s services funding him enough?

It wasn’t all for Kaneshiro’s greed, it was for Shido’s. And that was being withheld from Akechi, too, which meant that Shido trusted Kaneshiro to keep quiet, but still intended on using Akechi to mop up his mess if it came to it?

What beyond now, though? Kaneshiro’s reputation, even if not his name, was spreading throughout Tokyo like an infection the more he stole from the people there, so what did Shido plan on doing? Taking fistfuls of cash from every wealthy patron without any regard for where it came from? Would he allow this to continue, tumbling and spiralling out of control until he was elected so that sudden police competency would be twisted into praise for his leadership?

Or was that exactly why Akechi was here? In preparation to clean it all up as soon as enough money had been drained from Kaneshiro’s pockets?

“Well, if you’re working with Shido-san, then we may as well be coworkers. Why not discuss this face-to-face?” Akechi said, though he was already trying to reconfigure how his pinboard was going to look when he got back to his room. Shido would need a direct connection with Kaneshiro now, and with him using Kaneshiro’s money, his name would have to be pinned to the board beside Madarame.

“Don’t expect me to believe you just because you’ve told me you’re here on his behalf, detective,” Kaneshiro hissed, drawling out Akechi’s mocking title as if to undermine it, slumping back into his chair. Whoever had been by the camera was quick to readjust it again, though now it sat at a slight angle. “How do I know you’re not just using big names to try and escape your debt?”

“Well, I’m sure that there are names I could have chosen other than the aspiring prime minister,” he said with a shake of his head, “but if you have no interest in talking with me, then that’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

He turned back towards the door to the small consultation room he’d been directed into.
“And for the sake of clarity - yes, I’m refusing the loan. I’ll pay the debt myself.” He’d just wait long enough for Kaneshiro in the real world to get complacent about Akechi actually repaying the debt, then he’d figure out how to use Kaneshiro’s connections to Masayoshi Shido to get him to drop it.

“Ha! Fine by me,” Kaneshiro said, complacently back in his chair. “I’ll have my money either way.”

Akechi was already seeing himself out.

---

He didn’t leave the bank.

A few guards directed him back towards the exit of the building, but when he was in the large entrance hall, which was lined with enough guards that none needed to watch him too closely, he stopped to check the fixtures on the walls to see where each of the cameras were.

From a glance, there were three blind spots - the corner of the room directly beside the door to the consultation rooms, directly in front of the grand double doors out of the building, to the eastmost wall at the large entryway to a separate section of the bank.

If negotiating with Kaneshiro wasn’t going to get him the results that he wanted, then he wasn’t going to negotiate.

He backed up until he was tucked against the eastmost wall, glanced up to make sure he was out of the camera’s range, and brought his hand back up to his mask, tearing it off.
“Loki!” he called, drawing in the attention from the nearby Shadows. “Strike them down!”

The attack was one of the newer ones Loki had picked up. Desperate purple hands clawed up from the grounds, striking anything within reach, and the Shadows that were caught in it were either grappled and had their movements stilted or were torn and slashed at until they dissipated into smoke. It set off a near instant alarm through the building, those conscious ATM’s panicking and shoving one another to leave while the Shadow’s turned to descend upon Akechi.

He called Loki forth again and, with an immediate sense of catharsis, struck down another two Shadows alongside a few of those ATM’s as they struggled to get out of the building in time. His black mask sat heavy on his head as he took the opportunity with the chaos and the distraction to disappear through the immediate doorway and dart up a set of stairs immediately visible on the left.

In the panic, several more Shadows came charging through to end the chaos. Akechi ducked quickly behind a wooden stand displaying a silver piggy bank as a set of wooden doors in front of him were thrown open and a trail of four or five of those hulking Shadows made their way down the stairs, allowing Akechi to slip past.

He had made enough of a scene. He wasn’t going to stick around longer than needed no matter where he went. Akechi left those wooden doors open behind him and tucked himself around the doorway to gain his bearings.

Nothing in this place indicated anything of significance. He couldn’t tell where he was supposed to go, and there were certainly no indications to where Kaneshiro was supposed to be hiding, but he needed to make contact. He’d gotten a passing knowledge of Kaneshiro’s connections, but he needed more information and more detail.

With the chaos downstairs, it seemed that this area had been left almost entirely unguarded, allowing him to navigate through the next floor mostly uninterrupted. He timed his passage well. As some Shadows were coming from a higher floor to assist in calming the remaining patrons of the bank and join the hunt for the intruder, Akechi was able to slip into the now-empty elevator without a keycard. The doors clicked shut behind him and he glanced at the buttons.

There were a great number of floors. Several were marked as vaults, with names like ‘VaultA’ and ‘VaultB’ all the way through to ‘VaultE’, but it wasn’t Akechi’s job to rob Kaneshiro. He was on the first floor, and there was a second, a third, and a fourth.

The hardest man to catch in all of Japan, so high-and-mighty his palace floated over Shibuya, it wasn’t hard to guess that he was likely to be on the top floor. He clicked the button, slumped back against the wall, and waited as the elevator steadily rose.

This would be easy enough. Kill any cognitive beings that got in his way and threaten Kaneshiro into spilling every other detail of his plan that he had. Then, if his nerves were as restless as they were now, surely he could find an ample opportunity to take some of that anger out on his newfound business associate.

No matter what he did here, it was likely he was going to get assigned a new job sometime soon on Kaneshiro’s behalf, if he hadn’t already.

Whatever. He wasn’t going to think about it. Shido had understandable reasons for lying to him - it was easy enough to figure out that he was conserving information he didn’t need to share. Never divulge all of your connections, never reveal all of your information. To trick his enemies, he must first trick his allies. It wasn’t as if it was a one-sided deceit.

Akechi wasn’t going to say he knew about Shido’s connections to Kaneshiro. He wasn’t going to share any of the fruits of his own research. They were merely collaborating and trusting each other only as much as necessary.

The difference between them both was that Akechi was hiding his claws. Shido had already shown Akechi all of the cards he was holding - and nothing else he had connection to would be as dangerous as Akechi had spent the last three years proving that he was. The deck was stacked in his favour. No matter whose life he was asked to take, Akechi held the power. He was just waiting for the right time to use it.

The elevator stopped and hummed as the doors opened. Akechi stepped outside.

There were few Shadows here. So few, in fact, that it was immediately easy to tell which room was Kaneshiro’s because there were three Shadow’s stood outside of it, one by either side of the double doors and the third stood a short distance ahead of them, each of them wielding batons and wearing thick, heavy-set armour.

“You there! Stop!” called the one in front with its chittering voice, muscles beginning to tremble and jolt, its exterior struggling to contain the persona inside. “You aren’t authorised to be here!”

It threw its body back and burst, splitting from the stomach outwards in a mist of red and black smoke, and in its place stood a beast made of gold and jade, structured like some kind of robot.

A faint thrum of excitement wound its way through Akechi’s body. The other two shadows either side of it hunched over and burst, too, revealing stubby animalistic bodies not dissimilar to that of a dog. They were weak, as much as they tried to look stronger than him, and Akechi had come across plenty of similar beasts in Mementos.

He once again called Loki forth and smiled as he called again for the use of Deathbound, which spilled hands out across the floor with their clumsy, desperate grabbing. The wails of the Shadows provided a thrill of their own, and though the immediate subsequent attack - some kind of blue fizzling light that crackled and spat - only narrowly missed him, he called for Loki to attack again, this time spilling red and black mist across the floor where it swirled to envelop and swallow the Shadows, prompting all three of them to hiss and fizzle into nothing.

He stomped forwards and kicked open the door to the office they’d been guarding, and was relieved to find that his guesses about Kaneshiro being here was utterly correct. And though his ‘bodyguards’ were still surrounding him, he took a great deal of joy in seeing how panicked each of them looked at his appearance, pulling guns from their waists to hold out at him.

Kaneshiro, sitting between his guards, was struggling to maintain his composure. He was slumped back in his chair, an awkward mix between trying to seem relaxed and visibly trying to gather as much distance between himself and the intruder. One hand was visibly clutching the armchair of his plush lounging chair.
“An intruder? Guards-?!”

Going by the screens displayed behind him, he’d seen Akechi travelling most of the way up, but all of the cameras focused on the floors where customers were likely to go, not the floor reserved for shady business deals and counting extorted money.

“What, no friendly greetings?” he said in a mockingly sympathetic tone.
“How did you get here?!” said one of the men standing beside Kaneshiro, who seemed to be the brown-haired man that had guided him into his car the day before. “The guards should have-”

Akechi raised his own gun and shot that stupid, arrogant damned man in the head. Just another cognitive being, it fizzled out into smoke the same way any other Shadow would have, though there were no words that could be used to describe how pleasant a feeling it was to expend all of that bitterness and anger that had been festering since he’d been pushed into his car that morning. He pushed the office door closed behind himself and leant back against it, gun still raised.

“Let’s have a discussion.”

---

The journey home was a nightmare.

The effect that the Metaverse had on Akechi’s body was horrible every time and the less sleep he got or the more he did, the worse it was. It had been years since he’d made it a part of his routine to go to the Metaverse and still he wasn’t used to it, still it took a hideous toll on him. Still, his body found somewhere new to ache every time that he went. As he took the subway home, late enough in the evening that he was able to get a seat, everything ached. His legs felt unsteady and spurred a new sense of pain through him when he stood or sat down, and ached with each step he took. His back and shoulders were sore and cursed him when he leant down to pick up his briefcase, the weight of which made the fresh wound in his shoulder wail in pain.

Still, though, he kept it from showing on his face. He kept his expression neutral, and when he moved past or around people on the train he kept his head up and forwards. He didn’t show any discomfort when he was bumped into (whatever had happened with his ribs had healed by now, with the exception of yellow webbed bruises spread across his torso. They were painless now and solely a visual blemish) and made his way through to the streets of Kichijoji to get back home. He had instant ramen still, so he didn’t stop off anywhere to get food, instead prioritising getting to his apartment as soon as possible.

The trip to the palace had been fruitful. He had easy access in and out of the palace and he had made contact with Kaneshiro both as a customer of the bank and as a threat to it.

As the Detective Prince and a measly customer, he’d only been able to gain so much information, but his visit directly to Kaneshiro’s office had yielded far more results.

He’d hoped that Kaneshiro would have been more cooperative than he was, unfortunately, but that was his fault for being too confident when he’d finally reached his office. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that shooting one of his employees had led to further conflict rather than immediate obedience, which had resulted in a poorly-aimed gunshot whipping past his shoulder, taking out a small chunk of skin with it but thankfully being neither deep enough nor close enough to do any damage that would need him to go to hospital. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to Kaneshiro then, however, when Akechi was able to summon Loki forth and wipe out the room in an instant, leaving him the ability to talk directly to Kaneshiro, who had whimpered and stumbled over his words with none of the bravado he’d previously worn.

The interrogation from then had been simple - Yes, he was working with Masayoshi Shido and funding his electoral campaign in exchange for future political power and current immunity from the law (which made sense, considering how little emphasis the SIU Director had actually put on investigating him). He targeted school students because they were easily approached and too young to realise how suspicious the offer was, though Kaneshiro had said that around a lot more babbling about the naivety of kids and how it was something like survival of the fittest to exploit them.

He didn’t seem to recognise Akechi in the black mask, either, and Akechi chose not to draw further attention to it by referring specifically to his own debt, figuring that that would be an issue to solve later (the last thing he needed was someone this panicked when cornered to start babbling about him, after all), and he’d threatened Kaneshiro into giving him a pass for the upper levels of the bank before leaving, saying that as long as Kaneshiro didn’t ‘step out of line,’ Akechi had no reason to kill him.

And then, as if he’d done nothing but make small talk, Akechi had excused himself. With the promise he’d return soon enough, he’d left, though he had ducked back into a corner out of sight to return to his Prince suit first, since the Shadows were hunting for a figure in a black mask and this was an easy way to leave without much conflict.

He was so tired. The Metaverse at least allowed him to be himself, in some extreme form or another, but when he was in public he had to keep a presentable face. He had to be on his best behaviour by any means necessary, and that took an entirely different strain on him.

When he got back to his apartment, locking the door behind himself, he didn’t let himself stop for even a second to rest. He was certain that if he did, if he sat down and stopped for a minute, it would be impossible to get him up again. He’d sit there, slumped back against the door of his apartment, or on the often unused couch in the middle of the room until he withered away, or until someone busted down the door to get him to go to work, or school, or because he had another job and hadn’t replied to his texts fast enough. So he kept moving.

The first thing he did was go to the bathroom so that he could shower. He took out his contact lenses, and quickly glanced over himself in the bathroom mirror. The stress was making his skin look worse than normal this week. He’d have to do something about it after his shower.

The cold water stung his fresh wound, but Akechi tried not to think about it. He tipped his head to the left to avoid as much soapy water as possible from getting into the fresh wound of his right shoulder, and when he was out of the shower he wrapped a towel around his waist and dressed his shoulder in bandages before filling the sink with warm water.

The mirror was already beginning to fog. He looked awful. Awful in a way that creams and chemicals couldn’t begin to fix. With the hollowness of his cheeks where his diet and constant Metaverse trips wore away at him more and more with each passing day, and the deep-set bags under his eyes from spotty or lacking sleep, beneath dry and pasty skin from being shut-in, he barely looked like a person. The skin on his lips were dry - he needed to carry around chapstick with him more often - and what few freckles he had were dull and difficult to see with how little exposure to the sun he’d had.

Beyond all that, though, the things that could be worked on and improved if he got the time, was the dullness of his eyes that couldn’t be fixed. The dull glaze over his brown eyes that made him look like he was already dead. He wanted to reach out to the mirror, reach through it and grab his own neck, to truly pull the life from himself or to see if being in a life-threatening situation would bring something to them, but he kept his hands braced on either side of the porcelain sink. It made him sick to see those hollow eyes staring back at him, but he didn’t break his own gaze until the steam from the sink fogged up the mirror entirely and stole his reflection from him.

He didn’t have time to do much. He needed to tell Shido his job was done and then he needed to make notes of everything he’d learned before any of it could slip his mind, so he stuck to the essentials. He washed his face, then exfoliated, cleansed, used a serum meant to reduce breakouts, a cream around his eyes to reduce bags, and finished with a brightening moisturiser designed to ‘preserve youth’. Then chapstick, ignoring the temptation to bite at the dry skin of his lips as he returned to his bedroom. He only put on something comfortable - his usual black hoodie and some sweatpants - before collecting his burner phone and returning to his dismal, cluttered kitchen to heat some water for his instant ramen.

While the water was heating, he opened his burner phone and clicked on Shido’s number.

‘To: xxx-xxxx-xxx
Subject: Intel Gathering
I’ve finished my research, as you asked.
Call me when you can.’

Short and simple. Direct enough. He hit send and tucked his phone into his pocket. When the water was boiled he poured it into the tub for his ramen and returned to his bedroom, where he set it down at his desk, in a clearing between other half-eaten or empty instant ‘meals’ he’d had, and picked up his dwindling wad of sticky notes from his desk.

He scrawled out ‘Junya Kaneshiro’ to stick to the board, then wrote on another ‘Extortion is Funding’ to put between Kansehiro’s name and Shido’s. A thumbtack wedged into the top of each of them and Akechi wound some thread between them, as he had done between most of the pictures, to connect Kaneshiro with Shido. Then, on the calendar he had propped on his desk, he counted out three weeks from that day to mark when his ‘debt’ was due to be paid.

The sixteenth of July. That was manageable.

---

His phone didn’t ring for another three hours. By the time it did, Akechi had eaten his dinner and opened an energy drink to assist him in the rest of the work he needed to do - where he was shifting his attention between further research on Kaneshiro, conspiracy-theorist level attempts to figure out who was benefitting from the recent food service shutdowns, and rough ideas on what to do if he wasn’t able to persuade Kaneshiro’s shadow to drop his debt and wasn’t permitted to “get rid of” Kaneshiro before then.

It wasn’t as if he could tell Shido he purposefully put himself in debt just to get the intel he was told to fetch. Asking to be bailed out of trouble would only set a precedent that he couldn’t be trusted with even the most basic of tasks.

The initial notes of the ringtone had made him jolt upright, where he had been so focused on the different tasks he’d been working on that he’d entirely forgotten that he’d asked Shido to call him, but by the third ringtone he was sitting upright again, one hand clenched into a fist on his lap and the other holding the phone to his ear, having answered.

“Tell me what you found,” Shido’s voice came through the phone, a low and unhappy growl. It must have been a stressful or unpleasant day - Akechi needed to comply, to provide everything he knew, and to hope that he knew enough to avoid further upsetting his employer.

“He’s a significant threat. He claims to be willing and powerful enough to extort everyone in Japan, if he tries, and means it when he says it. He believes he’s entirely out of reach from the law and this belief seems to be fueling some kind of a complex.” He paused. Shido didn’t say anything. He continued. “It’s like this is an example of survival of the fittest, and he seems to believe that this will let him gain political power somehow.” Somehow. He had to keep it vague. Shido didn’t need to know that Akechi knew about their connection. “And he believes that when he has it, he’ll have access to all of the money he wants and all of the power he needs. He seems… unstable. And egotistical. He has no intent to stop or restrict what he’s doing.”

A moment more of silence.

“You’ve made contact? In that world, you’ve managed to find him?”

“Yes, sir. If you need me to do something, I could do it tonight.”

“No. Hold off a little longer. Let him become a bigger problem while I work something out.”

In the moment of quiet, Akechi let himself feel brief relief. He couldn’t have stomached another trip to the Metaverse today. He’d have collapsed either there or on the way back.

“You’ve done well,” Shido said. Akechi felt tension ease in his shoulders. That meant he was earning more trust - that meant his plan was going well. “I’ll tell you when to act. For now, do nothing.”

And the phone clicked.

Akechi set it down on the desk and sighed, moving one hand to his head. Fine. He could hold off from doing anything. He could wait as long as he liked.

Until that changed and Shido needed him to put a bullet in someone or cause another scandal, however, he’d use his time well. Filling in gaps in the board of Shido’s co-conspirators or doing his homework.

He picked up the energy drink sitting on his desk. Though he had school tomorrow and an interview on Tuesday, he could afford to stay up tonight. Exams weren’t for another month, but he needed to keep studying whenever he had the chance, so once his notes were done, and his homework filled in, he’d refine his knowledge on politics and then go over his Korean lessons again.

Maybe before school the following day he could fill a water bottle with one of his energy drinks so that it wouldn’t be unlike him to drink it to stay awake in class.

For now, though, he was going to be stuck at his desk a while longer.

Chapter 10: Saturday, June 25th

Akechi next heard from Akira in the evening of the 25th of June. 7:15, with the sun low on the horizon as the days grew longer. He’d found himself with some spare time, and with Kaneshiro’s reputation only growing, it would also have been useful to meet with someone else within the profile of what Kaneshiro’s employees were looking for and try to pry some information out of him.

The rest of the day had been an ordeal. Usually, after a day so busy, he’d have gotten back home and taken to his bed for solace for a few hours before, inevitably, pulling himself out of it to grab an energy drink and study or do further digging into Shido, but he didn’t have time to rest today. He had just found some recently-published sources suggesting that Kunikazu Okumura, the CEO of Big Bang Burger, was expressing interest in climbing the political ladder. He was an affluent figure, and with rumoured plans to expand the business abroad, meaning he was likely able to build connections in different parts of the world if required. Though Akechi knew nothing about him beyond the occasional high-praise press release about the successful figure, he found it safe to assume that if Shido was willing to partner with a criminal for political funding, he was willing to partner with a CEO, so he printed a picture of Okumura out and pinned that to his board, too, though he pinned a sticky note up beside him with a question mark on it until he found solid evidence confirming it.

And that discovery had come while flicking through articles on the subway home, where he’d been looking for something to keep him occupied while a group of students a short distance away whispered amongst themselves about him without an ounce of discretion.

Before that subway had been a full day at school, where he’d shown up early to finish up the last elements of an assignment for first period, thereby missing out on any opportunity to bump into Akira on the subway.

It was fine. Akechi didn’t need to have any casual conversation with him. Akira was a source of information. A source that was extremely useful as a sample of regular student life, a source that may have heard about people around Shujin Academy discussing new financial burdens or part-time jobs, who may have heard something from a teacher advising people against taking up any such offers. And Akechi didn’t need information (he could always go to Kaneshiro’s palace and pry it out of him then) but Sae did, and Sae needed information that could realistically have been gathered from a student, so it would be best if Akechi got direct information from one that he could repeat back to her.

He’d been weighing out how best to ask Akira to spend time with him during his lunch break, where he’d gotten as far as opening his phone and starting to type a message, though no attempt got past a few words before it was deleted. Any attempt to start the conversation was either too formal or too informal, too clunky and unnatural coming from him or genuine enough that it felt stilted and robotic. 

Planning a single message had taken until after he’d left school, where he’d stayed until roughly five in the afternoon before going home, enduring the staring and whispering the entire journey home, pretending that he didn’t see or care about the taunting message he received from an unlisted number prompting him to hurry up and get the money if he didn’t want to be in trouble (‘ Almost two weeks left, Detective ’), and ultimately failing to be a neutral enough character at his school to successfully eavesdrop on anyone who may have been receiving similar texts.

It hadn’t been written until after he’d found that article, taken a slightly longer route from Kichijoji station to his apartment so that he could avoid as many people as possible, stopping briefly by a street food stall selling takoyaki, freshly grilled and radiating a smell so tempting that Akechi couldn’t help but stop to get some. He ordered enough to substitute a meal, with a warm smile and offering a generous tip (it always aided a celebrity to appear generous, after all) and ate it on the way home, where he went straight to his bedroom to write down his research.

Only after the article had been checked and cross-referenced with other articles being recently published, checked again across a few political forums to see what others were saying and recognising that the rumours seemed to have some credibility to them, and after the picture had been printed and pinned to the board, did he collect his phone again. 

6:56. 

It took until 7:02 for the message to be sent.

To: Akira Kurusu
Subject: I’m Alone Right Now
Text: I’m in Kichijoji tonight. It’d be nice to meet up. Let me know if you’re in the area.

Short. Simple. Polite. 

And while he waited for Akira to reply, he stood from his desk and paced around his room.

He went to the bathroom and checked over his face. He put a little more cream on the bags under his eyes, then dabbed a little concealer on them just in case Akira agreed to see him. 

Back to his room. A glance at his phone. Then he swiped the empty cans of the last few weeks of late night energy drinks from his desk, alongside empty water bottles, into a bag he’d gotten from a corner store a few days ago.

He tied off the bag and tossed it into the corner of the room, grabbing another to put the empty packets of food and the half eaten ramen cups he’d been meaning to throw out for a few days, despite how gross it was that they’d been left out, and put them into a separate bag alongside the disposable chopsticks he’d been using. That bag, too, was tied off and tossed in the corner.

7:12. Still no text.

It’d only been ten minutes. That was no reason to worry - it was just unfortunate that their last meeting had been a coincidence and Akechi hadn’t messaged Akira before, so he had no way of knowing what the silence meant. He had no point of reference for what was normal conversation, or how long was safe to wait before he could assume he wasn’t being taken up on his offer (a whole other embarrassing ordeal) but just as he’d been getting more and more nervous, glancing at the phone sitting on his desk, it buzzed. 

From: Akira Kurusu
Subject: RE: I’m Alone Right Now
Text: Sure. On my way.

On his way! The message was both a relief and extra stress. Akechi collected his briefcase again, ate a mint to cover up the takoyaki from earlier and left so that he could be in Kichijoji for when Akira would get there. He figured it was safest to meet him where they’d bumped into each other a little over a week ago, so he stopped outside of the Penguin Sniper , briefcase in hand, and waited. 

There was a cafe not too much further down the high street that he suspected would be good to go to. It was a comfortable and informal place to hangout, and it’d provide a good opportunity for low-stakes, casual conversation. Unfortunately, that may also have been a difficult place for it - it was only early in the evening, curfew wouldn’t be for another few hours, but his recent TV appearances had made going out in public more and more difficult. He was easier to recognise now, and walking the line of controversy meant that even people casually interested in the Phantom Thieves would notice him. It’d escalated further since Wednesday’s taping had aired and had since become impossible to deal with.

Even now, standing outside of the Penguin Sniper , he was aware of the stray glances and the occasional whisper, as had happened on the subway, as had been happening on the way too and from school. It reminded him of the one flaw with his request to spend time with Akira, and subsequently spurred a sense of guilt for being naive enough to invite Akira out somewhere public during a time when Kichijoji would still be busy with students.

Acknowledging the attention would only make it worse so he kept an eye on his phone, staring at his home screen as he ran through what he’d discuss later when he met with Akira. 

Casual conversation was difficult to plan. Thankfully for them both, the topic of extortion and crime rings had been discussed in passing on Wednesday, when Akira had bumped into him in the accessway in Shibuya station. It’d been a fleeting interaction, unfortunately; Akechi had only been in Shibuya station to kill time before an interview and had ended up at a rather tempting looking bakery near the accessway.

Akechi lifted his head. That black and white cat was across the road again. It had a yellow collar on, and was watching him with unnerving little blue eyes.

“Hey.”

Akira had, somehow, appeared beside him. He’d been so focused on the cat across the road he hadn’t noticed him approaching, but was quick to cover the surprise on his face with a smile.
“Hey, Kurusu-kun. Good evening.” He put his phone in his pocket. “There’s a prolific cafe just down the road. I was hoping we could have gone there for tea, but my appearances on television have earned me the attention of a rather extreme fanbase. As far as they’re concerned, anyone in my company not only needs to meet certain standards, but is automatically volunteered for public scrutiny if they’re seen with me.”

Akira seemed put together enough to pass the test of public opinion, but didn’t know what the standards would be online. He knew what the public wanted from him, he knew how to sit and smile and act, how to eat and drink and talk to appeal to them, but he didn’t know how perfect someone simply sitting beside him would need to be. It wasn’t a risk that Akira should take - certainly not without knowing that it was a risk.

“It slipped my mind when I messaged. It must seem quite rude of me to bring you here only to tell you that you might be better off going back home but I don’t want you facing harassment or being insulted because you were seen with me.” 

He lifted his head. For some reason, Akira didn’t seem fazed.
“The cafe was down the high street?” he said, glancing to his right. 

Did he really not mind? The idea of being the subject of rumour and public attention would scare anyone off, but to be told it was a very likely risk and not mind was strange.
“Are you certain?” he stepped forwards, toward where Akira was looking, as if he meant to dissuade him. When Akira didn’t say anything, though, he nodded. “Yes. This way.”

Akechi started walking, taking the lead while Akira kept pace with him.
“It’s really quite popular. I’ve been wanting a chance to visit for a while,” he said as they walked, smiling. It was a genuine relief that Akira was willing to spend time with him, but he felt like he was never allowed to stop smiling. 

Especially now that he had attracted such a ‘devoted’ fanbase that anyone at any time could take a picture with him, or a nameless account online could share a photo taken discreetly in public, or someone could stop and ask for a photo, leading to a barrage of public attention he’d need to endure with a patient smile, no matter how tiring or frustrating it was.

But until then, until he caught people’s eye, he would make the most of the time he had. 

The cafe itself was recently opened but designed to look more dated and rustic, and though Akechi had initially hoped to get a seat inside, when they’d gone inside to order, each table had been occupied, meaning that they had no choice but to sit outside. Where they were - well, where Akechi was - more likely to be spotted. 

He ordered a cappuccino and a slice of the cake that this cafe offered, something made with layers of cream and strawberries between thin slices of plain cake, and he and Akira sat in the empty seats outside.

Akira had chosen some sort of multi-layered chocolate cake and ordered a cup of coffee to go alongside it. Akechi had noticed that the smell of coffee always clung to Akira. Too strongly for it to just be that he liked drinking it; either he wore it as a perfume or bathed in it.

Maybe that affinity for coffee was why it was amusing when Akira picked up his cup to take a sip and scrunched his nose a little, suppressing some form of critique for how the coffee had been made. Akechi took a sip of his own cup. It was fine; standard cafe coffee, with the foam shaped into a heart that he’d distorted while drinking. He couldn’t pick out any of the more subtle flavours or notes of it.

“Are you particular about your coffee, Kurusu-kun?” he asked, his cup clinking against its saucer as he set it back down on the table. 

A moment of quiet. Akira nodded.
“The beans were roasted on too high of a heat,” he said, setting his own cup down to instead dig his spoon into a corner of his cake. “It’s given the coffee a bitter aftertaste.”

“Hm,” Akechi took another sip. He couldn’t taste it, unsure if his decision to order a cappuccino instead had sweetened it or if it was something requiring more refined palate than he had. “I’m afraid I’m not considerate enough about my coffee to detect such small details. It’s rather impressive of you to be able to notice something like that.”

Akira smiled. Of course he did, getting an offhand compliment like that.
“I work at a cafe,” he said, hovering the piece of the cake in front of his mouth. That explained why the smell, then. Akechi waited long enough to be sure there was no followup information, no comments about where or what they served or how often he worked there before speaking.

“Well, if you’re that considerate about the coffee you make, I’ll have to stop by sometime.” He picked up his own fork and sank it into the soft, spongy slice of cake. “Disappointed as you may be by the coffee, I’m glad I got the opportunity to come here. It's been a popular place since it opened, and I’d heard a lot about the cake. I wanted to try it for myself.”

Setting his fork down on the place, Akira returned the interrogation.
“You’ve got a sweet tooth?”
“Well, I don’t hate sweets, but I’m not exactly partial to them.” He felt the same about most foods. There were some things he firmly didn’t like and drew the line about eating (spicy foods were awful, for one thing) but beyond firm dislikes, food was just… food. He ate what he ate because it was convenient, because he could buy it on the way home or get it from a food stall, because he needed something to drink or a snack between meetings, and little consideration went to flavour over convenience. “I’m mostly curious about why it’s popular. I want to know if it’s a fad because it's good or just because a lot of people talk about it.”

He raised his spoon and the spongy, strawberry-cream cake.
“Well, why don’t we try it?” 

Akira ate his piece first. Akechi suspected it was partially to get the taste of the sightly overdone coffee out of his mouth, but he ate his piece of cake, too. It was airy and sweet, but totally standard for what a cafe cake would be. He didn’t understand how popularity worked - or maybe he was so disconnected from everyone else he couldn’t even enjoy the small things anymore. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter - he didn’t care for the cake.

“It’s good,” Akira said, though he’d set his spoon down. Akechi did the same.
“It’s delicious. I like it more than I thought that I would,” he lied, smiling. It was charming to like sweet things, apparently. One of the magazines he’d been interviewed by had called him in for a photoshoot to public the article with. They’d had him sit in a cafe nearby as part of a promotional shot, where Akechi had sat with a slice of sponge cake that he hadn’t been allowed to actually eat. “Interesting, isn’t it? I’m always rather curious about what people like and why. Once I tried a unique drink from a local cafe that I’d seen getting praise online, but it was so sweet I wasn’t even able to finish it.”

Akechi picked up his cappuccino again.
“I didn’t want to seem ungrateful by throwing it away, though. I ended up carrying the drink around with me all day until I got home and could dispose of it there.”

The drink in question, some kind of a coffee with a dozen different flavoured syrups mixed in, was still in the trash can in his kitchen at home. He’d barely had more than a few sips, and when he’d gotten home he’d rinsed his mouth out to properly eradicate the sickly sweet aftertaste.

Curious, leaning in like he meant to say something, Akira opened his mouth -- only to be caught off guard by something in the corner of his eye. He glanced over, his glasses and messy hair offering him far more discretion than Akechi got in his brief, fleeting glance. It was a young couple. Two women in modern clothes, only a few years older than Akechi, had entirely stopped walking and were looking at him directly. 

He took another sip of his cappuccino.

“Hey,” said one of the women, with shoulder-length hair. Her dress was hideous, but it was one of those things that would be trendy and worth bragging about for the next couple of weeks. She was clearly meant to be whispering to the woman she was walking arm-in-arm with, but had neither the social awareness nor the decency to be actually quiet. “Look, isn’t that him?” 

Akechi, at least, was well practised in pretending he didn’t notice it when he was recognised.

“He looks like the guy from TV,” said the other woman in an excited yet equally as loud ‘whisper’. Her outfit was just as ugly and her eyes, too, were on Akechi like he was a novelty. “Who was it again?”
“Akechi-kun, right? The Detective Prince, or something?”

Akira was giving him a look that he couldn’t read. He offered a polite, almost apologetic smile as he set his drink down again and glanced, reluctant, at his bag. They hadn’t made any progress. He’d barely warmed up the conversation enough to bring up the topic of part-time jobs, and he was already going to need to excuse himself. 

“Maybe we should ask for an autograph.” 
“It’d be worth bragging about, at least.”

He wasn’t sticking around for that. It would be embarrassing enough if they stopped for a photo but being trapped in close proximity to Akira while mindless, attention-seeking ‘fans’ crowded him demanding pictures or autographs or insider details on his life, it’d not only be utterly humiliating but sure to stop Akira from ever coming out with him again. He couldn’t afford for that to happen, this source of information was one that he didn’t want to risk losing.

It would be unfortunate, but better in the long run to end things now.

“Uh-oh.It appears I’ve been spotted,” he said, finding it suddenly embarrassing to be recognised. Normally it was annoying or infuriating, an inconvenience that couldn’t be put into words. Surely he didn’t care enough about what Akira thought of him for this ordeal to be embarrassing ?

“Mm,” Akira took his eyes from the people in the street. Was he a hobbyist people-watcher, or just taking amusement in watching this play out? “It must be hard.”

Was it supposed to be an insult? Condescending and lacking pity? It wasn’t Akira’s job to feel bad for him but evidently he didn’t understand what it was like to be the subject of attention if he didn’t think this was that serious. 

“Oh, I’m used to it.” He had to stay calm. Dismissive. It would be rude to assume that Akira meant to get on his nerves with a single comment like that. The look in his eyes seemed earnest enough and there was no trace of amusement or malice on his face, so Akechi had to let it go. “I’d just like to avoid causing trouble. It’d be inconvenient for the staff if many more people gather.”

“Is someone important here?”

So the masses began to flock. Akechi reached out and collected his bag as a man across the road stopped and followed the gaze of the two young women, looking at him. A gathering of people across the road turned their heads, too.
“What?”
“Is there a celebrity here?”

He needed to move quickly.
“It would have been nice to stay a little longer, but next time I’ll try to find somewhere quieter.” It’d be awful to leave. Not to mention rude, after only a few minutes, but it was better than the alternative. Even if Akira was looking at him like he couldn’t believe it. “I’ll go. Enjoy the rest of your drink.”

“Wait.” What ? “Why the rush? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“It’s for the best. I’ll only cause a scene and I don’t want you in any awkward situations because of me,” he insisted, though something in his chest was unsettled now. It couldn’t be that Akira wanted him to stay, could it? That despite messaging him out of the blue and fumbling his way through every casual conversation they’d had, Akira didn’t want him to leave? “My apologies.”

He had to insist. He had to stick to it and excuse himself. Akira wanting him around, or wanting to stay at the cafe, or whatever the reason was for wanting Akechi to stay wouldn’t be relevant. It just meant that he hadn’t somehow worsened Akira’s opinion of him, that there was still an opportunity to hang out again. That, in itself, would need to be solace.

But he needed to hold onto that. So, to lighten the mood, to reassure Akira that this was an undesirable outcome and that he wanted to stick around, he spoke again. His briefcase in his hand.
“If only I had glasses like yours. I might be harder to recognise. I haven’t even brought a jacket with a hood.”

Something dangerous crossed Akira’s expression.

There was a moment of surprise, of realisation, and then there was the slightest smile - and he was getting out of his chair.
“Come with me.” 
“I really ought to insist,” Akechi began to say, though Akira took his arm as if it was the easiest, most natural gesture in the world and pulled him from his chair. With Akechi following, Akira let go of his arm and guided him into the cafe, through to the toilets.

They stopped by the mirrors and the sinks. Akechi’s arm felt weird where Akira had grabbed him and, for once, he couldn’t find anything to say. What light hearted comment could alleviate the tension he was feeling, of being pulled from a cafe and into the empty toilets? What could he say that would make this less strange ?

“Put these on.” 

Akira, at least, didn’t seem fazed at all by the weirdness of the situation. He was holding out his glasses, folded up and scratched. He was holding them with his thumb just barely pressing on the left lens. Begrudgingly, Akechi took the glasses. He didn’t have a cleaning cloth with him. He never wore his glasses out of the house so he never needed to, but when he unfolded the slender arms of Akira’s trendy glasses, he slotted them on his face. They were different to the thin, wire frames that Akechi usually wore. They sat firmly on his nose, not necessarily uncomfortable but a change he was very aware of, and the fact that they weren’t disrupting his vision suggested that they were fake. Why would Akira wear fake glasses?

“I don’t think that this would be enough to stop people from noticing me,” he said, lifting his head to look at Akira. 

He looked different without his glasses. Immediately and distinctly different - his hair was swept away from his eyes and, unobstructed, they were a piercing grey. Even in the dim, yellow-tinted lights of a teal and white tiled bathroom, his eyes were intense and focused in a way that very few people tended to be. He looked at Akechi intently, like he was searching for anything else of his that was recogniseable.

They only locked eyes for a second when Akira, making a connection somewhere, reached out with both hands. There was an immediate instinct to bat them away, to duck out of the way and tell Akira not to touch him, but that wasn’t proper . It wasn’t appropriate. So he instead let his hands ball into fists at his sides and closed his eyes.

Whatever he’d been expecting - being grabbed, shaken, choked, whatever - Akira’s hands settled in his hair and began to rifle through it. He’d combed it and set it particularly into place that morning after his shower, and now Akira was messing it up ?

His fingers were combing through Akechi’s hair, tousling it around his ears, running fingers backwards through it by his neck and shoulders to give it an unruly sort of volume, bringing forward more hair around his bangs to cover his face in the same sort of way as Akira’s hair typically sat. 

By the time Akira stepped back, leaving him dumbfounded and stunned, almost afraid to look in the mirror, Akechi was nearly impossible to recognise.

Forget being recogniseable, though - he looked stupid! His hair was meant to be neatly organised, he didn’t wear his glasses out in public for a reason, and now if he was recognised, it would be even worse than before. He’d be mocked relentlessly if he was seen looking as ridiculous as this, and worse than anything else, Akira looked like he was proud of himself for it.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to find a new source of information. Maybe all of this was a waste of time and it was doing more damage to his reputation than anything else. He should have walked away. He should have scrawled out Akira’s name to research later, to dig into until he ended up in Mementos - but he glanced at the mirror and he didn’t look like himself at all. He looked in the mirror and saw a stranger looking back at him through those chunky black glasses, and when he finally returned his attention to Akira, who stood with his hands in his pockets, he couldn’t afford to be angry with him.

Worst of all, he couldn’t stop thinking about Akira’s hands in his hair.

“That’ll work,” Akira finally said, with a sense of triumph and pride in his voice that struck a nerve in Akechi and almost encouraged him to leave. “Let’s go sit back down. You haven’t finished your cake.”

Akechi couldn’t think of anything to say. Thankfully, Akira had already turned to leave, so all that he needed to do was follow along until they were back in their seats. 

---

This was a stupid idea.

He knew he was going to be recognised. Then it was going to be an entire other ordeal trying to clumsily explain to press outlets why he’d been seen at a cafe with a random man, trying and failing to hide his identity. The public mockery would be inescapable.

“He’s back!” one of those trendy women said, arms still linked. Akechi picked up his spoon and dug it into his cake again, but his appetite was suddenly missing. “I’ll get his autograph now, before he-”
“Are you sure it’s him?”

There was no way this was working.

“Hm?” A pause. He wasn’t even going to risk looking in their direction. “Wait, actually… I’m not sure.”
“Maybe you were just imagining it? Akechi-kun looked nothing like that.”

A few more whispers between them. One seemed to finally convince the other to leave. The group across the road mentioned to each other how disappointed they were that it wasn’t really Akechi, and any other faces that’d stopped to see what the fuss about quickly dissipated. 

There was no way that it had worked. Akechi refused to believe it.

He also refused to acknowledge the smug look that Akira was definitely giving him behind his coffee. A smile that Akechi could glean from the look in his eyes.

“So,” Akira said, and that amusement was seeping into his voice in such an irritating, grating way that Akechi wanted more than anything to stand up and leave. “What were you going to say before we were interrupted?”

Right. Akechi had come here for a reason. He’d had an agenda in mind when this had been planned.

“You were talking about a drink you’d ordered.”

Akechi cleared his throat.
“Right,” he said, setting his spoon down again, that portion of cake still sitting on it. “Well, if I’m entirely honest, I wanted to ask you something.”

Across the table, Akira’s eyes widened. He put his drink down, sitting straight and with his body turned to Akechi. Attentive the same way that Akechi usually was in front of those TV producers and starry-eyed interviewers.
“I know I last spoke to you about it only a few days ago, but I wanted to ask again. It’s been on my mind again since it’s become such a significant topic lately, but you haven’t had any run-ins with anyone advertising a ‘part-time job’, have you?”

Whatever Akira had been expecting, Akechi watched him frown, then lose whatever curiosity he’d had, and immediately reach for his overdone coffee again.
“I haven’t.” It was almost rehearsed. Stiff and stern and forceful, nothing like the casualness or comfortable attitude he’d had before. “Some of my classmates have mentioned it, but I’m not involved.”

The same thing he’d said on Wednesday. Akechi had offhandedly mentioned it then, just saying that he’d hoped Akira had avoided involvement and been reassured that there was nothing to worry about. He hadn’t had much time, but had assured Akira then that if he did run into any trouble, that Akechi and his ‘police connections’ would be there to offer him assistance if needed. He had then, of course, rambled for a few moments in the hopes of getting some more information out of Akira, but they’d both been in a rush so the conversation hadn’t been able to progress.

“Oh, good,” Akechi said, smiling again. “I don’t mean to sound suspicious, I’m just concerned. From what I’ve heard, they target students in Shibuya, and I’ve seen you there a couple of times. It’s an awful scheme they have, offering excessive money for easy jobs and then blackmailing anyone who falls for it.”

He sighed, shaking his head and smiling.
“It’s tragic, but I’m certain it’ll be dealt with soon. The police have been working overtime to find evidence, but nobody’s been able to come forward about it. I was hoping you might have some insight if there was anything you’d overheard at school.”

Akira stopped. He weighed it out for a moment, popping another piece of chocolate cake into his mouth and chewing. It seemed deliberate and intentional - trying to figure out what to say and what not to say.
“I don’t think I’ve heard anything useful.” He was lying. He must have been, the way he was looking anywhere but at Akechi, the way he focused on his cake as he dug the spoon in again. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

Was he disappointed? Had he expected something else?

“I just wanted to be certain that you weren’t in any trouble,” Akechi assured him, though he was sure he said it too quickly or that it seemed too desperate. “It’s been giving one of my colleagues quite a headache. I was hoping I could have eased her burden a little.”

“So it’s being investigated?”

It was a question worth asking. Insulting as it would be to the police force, they weren’t getting anywhere despite trying, and since he’d discovered Kaneshiro’s connection to Shido, it was likely that it was going to remain that way for a long while. It was unusual for Akira to be interested in that fact, though, if he was as uninvolved as he said he was. Why would he care about this ‘mafia’ if he didn’t know anyone affected and claimed to be uninvolved?
“Of course it’s being investigated.” He looked for a change in emotion on Akira’s face. Interest, but nothing else. “I can’t divulge any information though, since it’s an ongoing case.”

Suddenly seeming disappointed, Akira nodded. He kept eating.
“Besides that,” Akechi said, realising that he must have made a mistake somewhere and backtracking. What was it that Akira would have wanted from him? A confession of sincerity? For Akechi to spill that he was just hoping to spend time with a friend, to lie and say that he could tell he and Akira were one and the same and that he wanted nothing more than to get close with him? Whatever it was he was going to say, he had to say something soon. “I am glad I got the chance to see you. It would have been disappointing if I’d only been here for a minute before I’d been chased off - even if I can’t believe that you did this.”

He took the glasses off and passed them across the table, back to Akira. 

They were accepted and put back on, and when he looked back at Akechi, Akira was smiling. Good. He must have rescued it.
“It would have been unfortunate if you’d had to leave so soon,” Akira said. “Our conversation on Wednesday was already cut short because you were recognised, I wanted to make sure it didn’t happen again.”

It was almost impossible to believe. It was true he’d been chased off upon being recognised, but he hadn’t expected Akira to remember it, much less see it as a missed opportunity. 
“I’m glad you did interfere,” he said, smiling, though he was having to comb his fingers through his hair to try to rescue his parting and flatten it, short nails catching in tangles and tugging on them until they came loose. “I’d have been disappointed too.”

“And anyway, you looked great.” That damned smile was back. That quirk of his lips, the smug look on his face, it had come back too quickly. Akechi had to force himself to keep his own expression pleasant and warm.
“Is that so?” He wanted to kill him. He wanted to know what he’d been thinking when he reached out to touch his hair, whether he’d noticed Akechi wince or not. “Well, you did well making me someone unremarkable. I didn’t think it was going to work at all until it did; so thank you.”

Akira, suddenly saying nothing again, nodded. He reached for his coffee, touched the cup and pulled his hand back again. Akechi did the same. It was cold to the touch. 
“Our drinks have gone cold. Should we order another?”

Akira nodded. It was just grazing eight at night when they ordered new drinks (Akechi got another coffee, since he’d already had caffeine this late and wasn’t likely to get any sleep. Akira, however, steered clear of the coffee altogether and ordered water) and the arm of his watch was creeping steadily towards nine when they finished drinking.

Conversation had quickly become easier. They’d shared small talk about the different schools they went to. Akechi learned a fair few things about Shujin and, for a moment, had regretted that there was no discreet way to take notes while they spoke.

Akira was a second-year student, along with Takamaki and Sakamoto. He knew that much from the school trip to the TV studio, but had nodded along all the same while being told. He’d not interacted with Kamoshida much before the Calling Card because he’d only transferred to Shujin Academy in April. He knew of a few people on the volleyball team, but Akechi had no reason to pursue them for questioning about Kamoshida because that case had already been closed and Kamoshida was already in jail. He’d heard a few names spliced into a few anecdotes Akira offered up when asked about how he was settling in and how he found Tokyo. 

Akechi, in turn, offered what he could. He was a third-year student at a prestigious nearby high school. He didn’t say anything about the recommendations that had gotten him there or about how few people at his school spoke with him. When Akira seemed curious, he lied about having a small group of friends, but took the opportunity to light heartedly remind Akira of what he’d accidentally said the last time they’d met up (“ There are a few people I spend time with at school. What -- did you really expect me to have no friends? ”), which had encouraged Akira to steer the conversation sharply away from friends and confidants. He’d mentioned living in Kichijoji, and being in Tokyo his whole life, where he’d then been able to pass the conversation back to Akira by asking about what his hometown was like.

The question hadn’t been well received.

Quiet, it seemed. Quaint - the sort of town where everyone knew one another, and certainly far from the business and bustle of Tokyo. Akira spoke about it like it was a place he didn’t want to go back to, or that he didn’t want to be thinking about while he was here.

“Oh, have you got any pets?” Akechi had asked during a lull in the conversion, when the discussion about his hometown had fizzled out into a tentative awkwardness. “I’ve noticed cat hair on your jacket. I was wondering if you had a pet of your own or just a fondness for strays?”

Akira lit up. He turned a little red, too, glancing down at his jacket and trying to brush off some of the more stubborn flecks of cat hair. 
“I’ve got a cat,” he said, a little sheepish. “Morgana.”

“Oh, is that right? I’ve always had a soft spot for cats.” Not entirely true, but not untrue. He didn’t care much, but maybe if he’d had the time to spare he’d have gotten a cat to keep him company by now. His apartment wasn’t right for a pet, though. He wasn’t right for one. It’d be unfortunate if he had to keep something cooped up around him all of the time. At the very least, though, Akechi felt a thrum of pride that he’d been right in assuming it was a cat.

“He’s a bit odd,” Akira said, smiling. “He’s almost too smart to be a cat and never stops talking.”
“Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
“He just followed me home one day and never left.” Akira picked another few strands of cat hair from his jacket. “And I keep telling him to stop sleeping on my clothes.”

Another thing Akechi wouldn’t be able to deal with - the cat hair getting everywhere. He was too particular. The few clothes that he did own were purposefully picked out with certain colours and appearances in mind, he didn’t want some stupid cat getting fur all over them or scratching holes into them.

The conversation shifted. Akira asked why Akechi always wore his school uniform when they met up and Akechi, admittedly a little embarrassed, explained that it was because he usually stayed at school until late and never got the opportunity to change. Akira asked him what else he did, and he explained that he usually either stayed late to do homework, attended interviews, or worked with the police. Then, realising that that sounded rather dull, fumbled to mention that on occasion he would visit those friends he claimed to have for quiet gatherings, but insisted that it’d become more rare recently with how difficult it was to go out unnoticed.

By then, the cafe was closing. Akechi gathered his bag, thanked Akira for his time, and with another insistence that Akira didn’t need to be walked to the station, they parted ways.

This time, however, he watched as Akira returned to the high street and stopped. He glanced around until he spotted the black and white cat from earlier. He knelt down when it approached (Morgana, right?) and climbed first onto his shoulders, then into his bag. Akira seemed to be talking to it the entire time, though from this distance Akechi couldn’t pick out a word. 

Then Akira stood, glanced over his shoulder, and offered a quick, clearly embarrassed wave to Akechi before heading toward the train station. The cat was poking it's little head out of his bag, too.

No wonder it was usually a little open, then.

Trying not to think about whether or not Akira brought that thing around everywhere he went, he turned away from the high street and returned to his apartment.

Again, he took out his lenses, showered, combed extensively through his hair, and with his thin glasses sitting on his nose and dressed in comfortable clothes, Akechi sat down at his desk and flicked out his phone.

He’d called Akira last time and it had been fine, and their conversation had gone well, so he was far less hesitant today about calling him. He brought the phone to his ear and opened his laptop while it rang. He’d add the few things he remembered learning about Akira - details about his school, his friends, his cat - but first,

“Hello?”

Again, he sounded different off of the phone. Calmer and quieter, his voice was lower. Around him, faintly, the sounds of a quiet nightlife could be heard. Soft enough that Akira was likely down a quieter road or navigating past a gathering of people. If he tried, Akechi could try and determine where he was based on how long had been spent travelling and where he’d seen Akira changing trains on the way to Shujin, but had to remind himself not to. He had to find out things about Akira authentically or it’d risk damaging their growing relationship.

“Hello. I’m glad I was able to spend as much time with you today as I was.” Something about talking on the phone was harder than talking face to face. It made it more difficult to gauge when he said the right things or not since he couldn’t see how Akira was reacting. “It’s unfortunate we were interrupted, but I can’t believe that such a simple trick worked so well. It was an interesting experience, but I don’t think I’ll make a habit out of wearing disguises like that.”

He could hear a huff of barely suppressed laughter from the other side of the phone.
“Wasn’t it fun?”

“You have a twisted concept of fun,” Akechi said, without thinking or stopping himself. He barely had the time to swallow his words and apologise before he heard Akira laugh, distinctly quiet as though he’d pulled the phone away to hide it. “Though I might enjoy it more if you dressed up as me next time. I could use a stunt double and we aren’t too dissimilar.”
“You think so?”
“We aren’t terribly different in height. I’m sure some of my clothes would fit you. It’d have to be more carefully planned if we did, of course. I’d be dictating everything from hair to accessories, but I doubt many people would notice. You proved earlier that most people can’t see beyond the superficial.”

Akira didn’t say anything. Akechi, again, filled the silence.

“I ought to go. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” Half-true. He had to go to work, but he doubted he’d be getting any sleep tonight. The two coffees he’d had were doing wonders to keep him awake, and doing more to keep his heart hammering in his chest, so he’d be sitting at his desk until he couldn’t focus anymore. “Thank you for today. I’ll see you soon.”

“It was nice. See you soon.”

The phone clicked and Akira set it flat on his desk. He pat his pocket for his burner. It hadn’t gone off all day, but he checked it to be certain, and when the screen displayed that he had “ 0 New Message(s) ” he was content to set it aside and instead open the notes he was keeping on Akira.

It was starting to build into a useful profile.

‘ Kurusu Akira, 18. 
Second-Year student at Shujin Academy, transferred from [?] in April. (Can be seen at Shibuya changing trains around 7:45)
Hometown is far from Tokyo. Reason for the move is unknown. (Averse topic)
Friends: Takamaki Ann (Kamoshida connection), Sakamoto Ryuji (Kamoshida connection), Mishima [?] (Volleyball, possibly)
Quiet. Opinionated. Observant. Confident, sometimes arrogant. Impulsive. Intelligent.
Likes the Phantom Thieves.
Owns a cat. ’

He scrawled out the name “Mishima” on a scrap of paper and pinned it to the corkboard to connect to Akira’s name.

It was a mess. One branch coming from Shido was connected with a piece of paper saying “Shujin Academy Principal”, who was linked to an article about Kamoshida (who branched off to Takamaki, Suzui, and Sakamoto), connected to an article about Madarame (linked with paper saying ‘Yusuke Kitagawa’). Another connected to paper saying ‘SIU Director’, then to Sae who was beside a photo of Makoto. On the other half of the board was each name and face of each low-level employee he’d targeted recently, now attached to Kunikazu Okumura, with a scrap of paper noting down only “ daughter at Shujin? ” because finding any information on her had done nothing but move Akechi in circles and give him a headache. A few other branches had yet to find other results - one reached off into a new direction saying “ TV Executive? ”, since Akechi had used his connections through Shido to get on TV to begin with. Another string without followup connections was now the name “ Junya Kaneshiro ” since his Shadow had confirmed that they were financially involved.

Another string was attached to a news article about the suicide of a cognitive researcher, sitting unattached to anything at the top of the corkboard. 

He knew about it. He knew everything about it. He knew why, and when, and that it wasn’t a suicide at all, but it wasn’t something that needed connecting anywhere. She was dead, her research had been taken, and there was no reason for her to be relevant again.

But Akechi kept the paper there. He just didn’t look at it unless he needed to.

And right now, his focus needed to be on his work. He was trying to find old information on Kaneshiro and any affiliations he’d found his foothold in financially exploiting teenagers, so he abandoned his cork board to sit in front of his laptop, the same way he spent most nights.

Except he couldn’t focus already. He didn’t know what it was - he’d done every step the same as normal. He’d had coffee, showered, changed into clothes that didn’t feel suffocating, and was sitting at his desk the same as usual.

It wasn’t until he moved some of his hair from his face, wondering if that was what was distracting him, when he realised that that guess was both right and wrong. His hair was distracting him, but not because it was in the way. In fact, when his fingers ran through his hair, it reminded him so suddenly and so viscerally of how it had felt when Akira had messed with his hair that he’d immediately moved his hand back to his desk.

It was a fond thought and a pleasant feeling and that, somehow, had turned itself into a feeling of disgust. Akira had touched him without warning, without asking, and here he found himself missing the sensation. Here he found himself tempted to run his hands through his hair again and wondering if he could imitate the way that it felt, but he couldn’t and he wouldn’t. 

Where had this come from? Why was he dwelling on something so small? On the smell of coffee from being barred up in that bathroom with him, of how Akira’s hands had reached for him and how they’d felt in his hair, on his arm, the confidence and assurance that Akira had had when guiding Akechi indoors. This line of thinking felt unnatural, it felt perverse in a way - as if Akira had unknowingly reached into a part of him that wasn’t meant to be reached, pulling at something that had spent too long being ignored.

When was the last time that someone had touched him at all? Beyond scrappy fights with Shadows and being manhandled by Kaneshiro’s brutish assistants, when had someone looked at him like that? Or touched him without flinching or wanting to hurt him?

When had someone last touched his hair?

He shot up from his desk, turning and delivering a swift, angered kick to his chair. It skidded across the room. These thoughts, these hideous and uncomfortable feelings weren’t like him! He was tired, he was unwell, it was something like that - he wasn’t himself and it was that stupid damned Kurusu’s fault! It wasn’t his job to sit there and wail or talk about things like being held or being desired. He wasn’t built to be treated with dignity or respect, to be touched like it was a casual, neutral, affectionate gesture that he was deserving of. 

Another harsh kick to his desk chair and it toppled backwards, onto the floor. His breathing was uneven, his heart was pounding against his ribs with so much intensity he was briefly worried that it would echo. This connection was for intel gathering only. He didn’t have the time for friends. He wasn’t allowed to get distracted by the aching feeling that was permeating his chest. 

He had a job to do.

Until November, everything needed to wait. He’d put years into this - he just had to wait until November, when elections were over and Shido was declared Prime Minister. Then everything would work out and he could finally consider the possibility of seeing Akira as more than a source of information on Shujin Academy and the Phantom Thieves.

Only six more months. And everything would have been worth it. 

Breathing still a little uneven, he picked up his chair from the floor and set it back at his desk. He picked up a hairband from his desk and tugged his hair back into a ponytail so that it wouldn’t cause any more distractions while he sat down and worked.

It was all that he could do.

Notes:

Fun fact abt this chapter! The interaction mentioned that happens on Wednesday the 23rd of June is a real akechi interaction you can have if, when you're scripted to go to the hideout to investigate Kaneshiro's palace, you leave the hideout. As soon as you turn around Akechi is just like . stood there to order bread. very cool and fun :3 and it only took until my sixth playthrough of this game to find out!!

Chapter 11: Monday, June 27th

“So, you really think the Phantom Thieves are dangerous?” gasped the young woman holding a microphone in a perfectly manicured hand. This was the youngest interviewer that he’d had in the last few weeks, clearly in her early twenties and, going by the way she anxiously checked her watch when the camera turned to Akechi, she had packed her day full of tasks in the hopes of doing something that would gain her recognition and praise. She was an intern or low-level employee of some kind for a popular news website, though, and from the way she was asking questions like there wasn’t enough time in the day to get them all answered, she’d clearly spent a lot of time thinking of new and different things to ask.

That, of course, didn’t stop her from repeating a few of the talking points that other interviewers had asked him lately in TV interviews and magazine articles that had yet to be published.

“Well, I think it’s worth considering the risks,” Akechi said, with his usual smile. They were standing opposite one another in a quiet section of a public park. The dappled sunlight was spilling over him in a beautiful sort of way, showering him in shades of gold and pale green where it filtered through thinner patches of the trees. She’d suggested the location, talking about how beautiful the weather was and how nice it would be to talk outside. Akechi had agreed for the sake of agreeing and being a pleasant client (no better way to be invited for a second interview, after all) and they’d ended up here. “Regardless of their intentions, the Phantom Thieves are causing a public disturbance and it’s more disturbing because their methods can’t be traced. It’s impossible to verify the ethics and the reliability of the confessions they obtain if they’re tampering with peoples ‘hearts,’ as they would say.”

Her eyes were sparkling. She looked at him as if he was everything - a breakthrough in her career, the smartest person she’d ever spoken to, and a beacon of common sense and reliability amidst a storm of Phantom Thief appreciation.
“Such wonderful insight!” She scrawled something out on her notepad and looked over her list of questions. Her handwriting was messy and impossible for Akechi to read upside down - especially while her assistant held the camera firmly on him and it’d become painfully obvious if his curiosity got the better of him.

It didn’t matter. None of these journalists were capable of thinking for themselves and that’s exactly why interviews with them were so easy. A flash of publicity, saying the disagreeable thing in the nicest way and watching as it gained him a new wave of public attention.

“Do you have any ideas on who they could target next?” she asked, looking up from her notepad with another wave of determination in her eyes, holding her microphone out towards him again. He laughed, because it was polite and charming, and shook his head.
“I’m afraid I’m just as clueless as anyone else. I’ve heard that they only target criminals, but I don’t know what people like them would consider criminal. I’ll admit - and this isn’t entirely professional of me to say - that I’m rather curious.”

She nodded. She scribbled down something else.

“And, Akechi-san, one more question,” she said, clicking her pen a couple of times before realising the camera was still rolling and would pick up on the quiet clicks. “One more question,” she said again, clearer and a little louder into the microphone. “If you were to say anything directly to the Phantom Thieves, assuming they’re following your coverage of what they do, what would it be?”

What would it be?

He hadn’t heard this question before. Most interviewers spoke to him like the Phantom Thieves were something fictional, a trend that they weren’t following so they needed to fill it out in whatever way mattered, but this interviewer seemed to both dislike the Phantom Thieves and believe in their existence - a bizarre combination. Usually only their fans wanted them to be real enough to believe they were out there, while the people who disliked them would consider them kids playing a prank or a pretend organisation.

“If I had to speak with the Phantom Thieves,” he repeated, smiling. A perfect TV smile, tucking a lock of stray brown hair out of his face. The dappled flecks of sunlight were too warm against his skin and he was getting rather sick of being outside. “I’ll admit, you caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting to be asked that.”

She smiled a little more.
“You’re welcome to think on it.” another glance at her watch. “We’ve got plenty of time and I’ll cut out the dead air.”

“No need,” he said, pausing long enough that a cut in the footage could easily be placed there. He looked at the camera. “If I were to talk directly to the Phantom Thieves, I’d want them to know that whatever they plan on doing, they won’t be able to get away with it forever. I will catch them and I will put a stop to them. Justice must be achieved through bureaucracy and not because someone believes themselves to be above the law.”

He replaced his serious expression with a smile and turned back to his interviewer.
“I hope that was clear. I always get a little nervous when I’m being filmed without time to rehearse,” he said, offering out a hand for her to shake. She shifted her notebook into the same hand as her microphone and quickly took his hand, giving it a firm and excited shake.
“No worries at all, Akechi-san! Thank you so much for your time.” She tucked her notebook away. Her assistant, who had previously been nothing but a mop of hair behind a camera lens, lowered her camera and smiled.
“Thank you,” she said as well, and Akechi nodded.
“It was my pleasure, truly.”

The interviewer tucked her notebook away into her bag. They’d both given him their names before filming had begun but he didn’t remember either of them.
“I should have the edited video and a draft of the article ready to send to you by the end of the week. Once it has your approval I’ll post it. Thank you for your time!”
“It was no problem,” he said, thanking them both once more and excusing himself. His tolerance for being around people may have been higher if he hadn’t been at school all morning. He’d had to excuse himself early to make this meeting, not ideal considering he’d been missing school, but it was for the best to avoid getting unwanted attention again. And, of course, had promised Sae that he’d be back at work that evening to assist her with her work and wrap up a few more cases of his own.

And worst of all, for some reason, he couldn’t get Akira out of his head.

They’d bumped into one another that morning. Akechi had been behind schedule and had caught Akira entirely by coincidence, and since then he’d been on Akechi’s mind non-fucking-stop.

Their conversation hadn’t been anything remarkable. Akechi had told him about how busy he’d been lately, about how having so many interviews had begun to exhaust him, and then Akira’s train had pulled in and they’d had to go their separate ways again. Akira had barely even spoken, looking at him with those grey eyes once again covered by hair and glasses. He’d smiled when Akechi mentioned being late and asked him whether or not he was a morning person, in an easy and comfortable sort of tone. It was like he was talking to anyone else, speaking comfortably and casually. It was awful. How was he able to talk to Akechi like he was any other person? The same way that he’d touched and pet Akechi’s hair without hesitation?

He must have been stupid. He was too stupid for Akechi to continue associating with him and wasting time with him. Maybe he could visit Shujin again and try to get in contact with that boy that Akira had mentioned when they’d met up on Saturday - Nishima? Mishima? He’d have to find some kind of an alternative.

Something about Akira was pissing him off. He never wanted to see him again. He never wanted to run the risk of having those pale fingers reaching out for him without fear or hesitation. He wanted to make Akira leave him alone. He wanted to make Akira scared of him. He wanted to be left alone.

But he needed a source. He needed information. And he already had his connection to Akechi and it would be a waste of time to need to start from the beginning again with someone new, especially with someone who might not be as forward-thinking and self-assured as Akira was. And what if he got caught up with someone who ended up using their closeness for attention on social media? Or who took anything that he said and ended up putting it online, or telling their friends, or who didn’t like who he was when he wasn’t meticulously considering each and every word he said, and they started defaming him online for it?

It was unfortunate, but sticking with Akira was probably the best thing for his sake and for the sake of his career. Whatever else it would entail was irrelevant. If he’d endured everything that Shido had put him through for the last three years without any trouble, he could manage a few months of his hair being tousled and his arm being grabbed and being spoken to like he was a friend and looked at like Akira could somehow see through him. He hated it, he wanted nothing more to do with it, and surely that was why he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since they’d bumped into each other that morning.

Whatever. He had to meet with Sae soon and in order to get there before schools got out and he was bombarded by students who would recognise and overwhelm him, he needed to get the bus now. There was no time to let the stress that Akira was unknowingly putting on his shoulders distract him. He had to focus on his work. He had to focus on being as charming as possible in interviews.

He couldn’t focus on how the ghost of Akira’s hands in his hair seemed to occupy his mind when he was washing his hair in the shower and the bizarre way he’d felt at lunch when he’d had nobody to speak with (something he had never previously felt discontent about) and realised how nice it could have been to have had someone like Akira to speak with.

How foolish. He stopped walking and glanced at the timetable for the bus; the next one to take him to the police station would be arriving in ten or so minutes. How was he supposed to focus on his work and keep things distant if he’d only had a handful of conversations with Akira and it was already eating away at him?

He just had to get his head down and focus more. He had to cut off any attachments or uncomfortable feelings of longing he had before they spiralled out of control.

The bus pulled in while he was distracted looking at his phone, filtering through an online thread about his newest interview to gauge public reaction. It was exactly as he’d expected - his oppositional stance to the Phantom Thieves had a harsh divide between the people following him, some of whom were accusing him of spinelessness and not knowing what true justice was, calling him a bootlicker and saying he didn’t understand how empowering the Phantom Thieves could be while others said he was brave and reliable, thanking him for being on the right side of this dispute. It was all such a petty thing to be discussing. If the Phantom Thieves disappeared overnight, none of these people would notice, so why did it matter? Who were they to act like they really cared, rather than that they were just hopping onto the latest trend and picking whichever side suited their interests best?

All Akechi was doing was feeding the feud to keep himself in the public eye. Everyone spouting their own opinion to their handful of friends or followers was just the same.

He boarded the bus and took a seat near the middle, where he continued to filter through his phone, barely reading the words rather than skimming over them to kill time, eyes glazed and thoughts elsewhere. He wanted to get a few decent hours of sleep. His insomnia was getting the better of him lately and it had been days since he’d gotten more than a few hours of sleep, and it only felt worse knowing that he was wasting all day behind tired and hazy but that the moment he got home and was able to try and rest, all he could do was stare at his ceiling until he got up to work. All it was successfully doing was shortening his temper and giving him a near-ceaseless headache.

Perhaps he’d try to keep his schedule clear for Sunday next week to spend a day doing as little as possible other than sleeping, rather than dozing off with his head on his desk between researching Shido’s connections at home or trying not to fall asleep on his desk while sitting through dull lectures in school.

The bus began moving. He’d be at work within the next half an hour.

Until then, though, he would flick idly through forums of people critiquing and praising him, swinging unpredictably from side to side depending on what their friends thought or what he said in his last interview. For many of them, more than normal, his face looked back at him from the anonymous profiles of his admirers. One or two had pictures of him that looked ridiculous with the glittery hearts that had been stuck around the border of the round profile photo, and some had their usernames as stupid twists on his name or his public persona. They were exhausting, mindless drones, clinging onto his every move until someone else to cling to would come by and win them over with a smile and a few easy jokes.

He tucked his phone into his pocket, turned towards the window, and watched as the buildings rolled by.

His head settled on his hand. His eyes, heavy, took a moment to rest closed-

And he was jolted awake as the bus went over a bump. He opened his eyes quickly, sat up, and blinked away the bleary, fogginess of his drying contact lenses as he tried to gauge his surroundings through the haze. A large, square building rolled past and the bus followed a sharp turn, and when Akechi’s eyes came a little more into focus with a few more blinks, he was still two stops away from the police station. As good as that was, however, it meant that he had succumbed to his exhaustion and fell asleep in public for the last twenty minutes of the bus journey. Though the bus still seemed mostly empty, again thanks to the fact that most students hadn’t been let out of school yet, he couldn’t shake a visceral and distinct feeling of humiliation that was clawing through his chest with the awareness he’d dozed off. Anything could have happened, anyone could have seen him - even the laws and rules around paparazzi and public photography wouldn’t protect him if someone shared a photo of him sleeping on the bus. He could argue that it was humiliating, but once it got online and those ‘dedicated’, insane fans of his got ahold of it, it’d be all he’d see for weeks.

But that hadn’t happened yet. He couldn’t confirm that it had been seen at all, so all he could do for the moment was sit up, try not to wipe his eyes (it could result in a contact coming out or smearing his makeup), and hope that nobody had noticed or that nobody who noticed would have also recognised that it was him who had fallen asleep on the bus.

He took his phone from his pocket. Nothing had happened yet and he’d woken up before the bus got to the police station, so he swallowed the worries and tried to focus on something else.

He’d received another message from Kaneshiro in the minutes he’d spent asleep. It was short and simple - nothing but a reminder that Kaneshiro still owned incriminating photos of him and that Akechi was running out of time to send over the money that he owed. He ignored it, still having two weeks left before the deadline and plenty of time to figure out what he’d do if Shido didn’t order Kaneshiro be dealt with before then, whatever that entailed (he could scrounge up the money if he attended more interviews this week.) and considering his recent payday had earned him ¥270,000, a more than comfortable amount to live on, alongside the offers made for his appearances at interviews and the more than generous money that Shido sent his way after a job well done - not that intel jobs like his research on Kaneshiro seemed to count anymore.

His finances weren’t a concern. The money he’d been earning for years, even with the fluctuating wages from the police depending on how much time he needed to invest in newer cases, meant that even if he needed to fork out the money that Kaneshiro was demanding from him, he’d only be in overdraft until the next Phantom Thief news happened and the next influx of jobs rolled in.

As much as he despised having his work and his life suddenly intertwined with their publicity, he would make it work.

The bus rolled to a stop and Akechi got off at the stop closest to the police station, only a street away, and began to walk. It was pleasantly warm out today and early enough in the afternoon that it was almost a waste to spend inside, but he needed to dig out any new information that may have been found on Kaneshiro in the week since he’d last checked. It was important for him to be certain that everything he knew was up to date in case Shido expected new information from him.

And, beyond that, the SIU Director told him that there was something that needed discussing, so he’d been pencilled in for a meeting a little after four. It was 3:45 now, and as he crossed the road leading towards the station he felt the phone in his pocket - the burner he’d begun keeping on him - begin to ring.

It took a moment for Akechi to bite back a curse at the inconvenient timing, being out in the middle of town (on a worse day, he’d still have been in class), but he picked up the phone regardless and brought it to his ear.

“It’s me,” Akechi said, glancing around himself before approaching a cut-through alley behind the police station and slipping into it for a little more privacy. It wasn’t the most convenient, but it was certainly better than answering the call in the police station at the risk of Sae (any of his coworkers would be unfortunate, but with her interrogation skills she’d be the worst by far) seeing him.

“Minor complications with the Kaneshiro situation,” Shido said, straight to the point. Akechi felt a hideous twist of relief and annoyance - there was always a complication, and that complication always meant that Akechi had more work. At the very least this could be the end of the debt situation, and if he had to get himself into a fight then he’d take the opportunity to wring more information out of Kaneshiro about his affiliations with Shido first.
“Will I be needed?”
“Not yet.”

Not yet. He only had two more weeks before something would have to be done. Not yet wasn’t soon enough.

Shido cleared his throat and spoke again.
“It may be something that needs taking care of sooner rather than later. When your services are needed, I’ll contact you again. Be on standby.”
“Understood, sir.”

The phone clicked.

That was it?

That was what he was waiting around for, keeping his phone in his pocket and risking inconvenient calls for? So that Shido could occasionally remind him of just how wrapped around his finger Akechi was supposed to be?

He scowled as he tucked the phone back into his pocket, taking a moment of respite in the alley to calm himself down and recover his pleasant expression before turning out of the alley.

There was no way to deny it, though -- the rest of his day was soured by such a pathetic call. Even during a rather telling meeting with the Director, where he was first assigned a few smaller, ‘easier’ cases to solve alongside a request to begin poking his nose into whatever dirty laundry the Shujin Academy principal was hiding. Akechi asked, not needing to skirt around pleasantries with the Director, if there was a reason he was being directed towards Shujin and why this kind of assignment wasn’t being passed over to the ever-capable (and often scapegoated) Sae Niijima.

The Director smiled, leant back in his plush leather chair, and shook his head.
“This assignment requires a more delicate approach.” He, with his snide tone and the smug glint in his eyes, meant an untraceable approach. He was referring to the work Akechi did for Shido. It was as close to a direct confirmation of their affiliation as he could get, but it at least meant he could solidify their connection on his board when he got back home that evening. “There’s been a gag order on all public reports about Shujin Academy since that teacher was arrested, which means that no reporters can gain access to Shujin without legal trouble. This means that someone who can get close is needed for the job.”

Another thing to add to the list of topics Akechi was supposed to be keeping track of. He needed to know every movement and hint of movement from the Phantom Thieves, needed to know where Kaneshiro was and what he could be planning, was supposed to be keeping track of Sae and the work that she was doing, he was supposed to be keeping track of his connection to Shujin Academy, and now he was meant to be looking into the principal too?

“Of course.” It’d be a waste of time to complain. Word could get back to Shido - he’d learned of the consequences of that years ago. The work it’d take to regain his trust and “prove loyalty” would be weeks worth of Mementos trips and interviews ‘on behalf of the police’ spliced between sleepless nights of research. Akechi set down his briefcase on the table beside him, taking a notebook from it. It was his book on ‘police work’, and this technically counted. “What’s his name?”

“Kobayakawa.”

Akechi made a note of it.
“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m certain that any information would be useful,” The Director said, a phrase that suggested that Akechi ought to find something good. “That’ll be all.”

Akechi dipped into a short and respectful bow, packed up his briefcase again and excused himself. Sae was sure to be somewhere around here, but if his work was researching two people that she’d also be researching for the sake of Phantom Thief news, it would be best to avoid any awkward interactions explaining why he was also looking into Shujin.

So he got a vending machine coffee, found a quiet unoccupied corner to set out his laptop and his notebook and settled in for the next few hours.

Notes:

might not be a fun fact but i did try to guess akechi's monthly wage as a detective going by real police officer wages

Chapter 12: Saturday, July 2nd

Inokashira park was at its most beautiful in summer, and though Akechi’s last visit had only been a week or so prior for the sake of an interview and short, candid photoshoot to publish the article with, it was far more pleasant to visit in the company of someone who wasn’t there solely to interrogate him on his police work and on his opinions about the Phantom Thieves.

The last few hours of early-evening sunlight spilled out over the pond, making the surface glitter. The air was pleasantly cool with the chill of the evening breeze, a nice complement to how warm it had been otherwise for the entire rest of the day. It was the ideal weather for a walk, or for packing up the remainders of a picnic so that couples could go their separate ways.

Akechi, however, was walking through the trodden dirt and gravel path around the pond side-by-side with Akira, who was walking with his hands in his pockets and his eyes everywhere except Akechi. He had been like that since they’d first met up, where Akechi had once more bitten the bullet and messaged Akira to say that he would be free for an evening. This time he had no real ulterior motive, nothing worth asking that wouldn’t either come across as tedious or repetitive (like pressing the matter of Kaneshiro) or that wouldn’t solely be for the sake of fleshing out the profile he was working on, but opportunities to see Akira were rare and immensely useful. 

In fact, all he intended on doing today was spending time with Akira. It seemed like Akira already considered them somewhere between acquaintances and friends, going by how much more warmly he’d been regarding Akechi and how much more readily he’d been accepting offers to spend time together, but Akechi needed to be closer to Akira than that. He needed to be reliable and trustworthy - someone close to the law and subsequently someone who could be turned to in a moment of crisis or panic. Akechi had to be completely and utterly dependable, and every step between now and getting information from Akira about the Phantom Thieves would be done to secure that position.

Which was why he’d taken up the position of carrying their conversation once more - something which Akira, again, seemed hesitant to do without direction.
“One of my classmates recently confessed to me that she’d been watching all of my interviews,” Akechi was saying, hands clasped behind his back as he walked. Akira still wasn’t looking at him - his eyes were scouring the park. “I confess, it made me rather uncomfortable. I forget that the people who see me every day are just as susceptible to my public presence as anyone else.”
“Mhm.”
“I had to thank her, of course. I didn’t want to cause a stir and end up catching negative attention for being rude, but I almost wish I’d been able to tell her that I have to act a certain way on TV or in interviews and that she shouldn’t base an understanding of me off of that.” It was a half-true story. One of his classmates had mentioned to someone else that she’d been watching all of his interviews, but hadn’t said it to him directly. 

She also, rather clearly from her tone, hadn’t meant it to compliment him rather than to comment on how self-obsessed or self-important he must have seemed, getting all of these public appearances, but that wasn’t relevant. It wasn’t as if she’d know he was talking about it, and it wasn’t as if Akira was listening to begin with.

“It reminded me of how careful I need to be, even in my daily life,” he continued. Akira nodded, muttered some agreement, and glanced briefly towards the pond beside Akechi before looking back out at the park.

Finally, though, Akechi decided to figure out what had stolen his attention rather than trying to fight for it.

So, his voice wrapped in a pleasant tone, Akechi decided to redirect the conversation. It would mean nothing if he spent their entire time together discussing things that Akira wouldn’t even listen to.
“Is something bothering you?”

Akira, finally, brought his attention over to Akechi. He looked surprised at first that someone had noticed that he’d been distant, though it had been almost painfully obvious, and then smiled and shook his head.
“No, nothing,” he said, glancing back out towards the park and then at Akechi again. Finally, he looked at Akechi, though it’d taken almost twenty minutes since they’d met up for it to happen. “I was listening.”

Akechi didn’t believe him.

“Oh, I wasn’t saying anything important,” Akechi said with a shake of his head, ignoring a dull throb of annoyance, “just mentioning a few of the frustrations I have with my classmates at the moment, it’s nothing worth listening to.”

“Mhm,” Akira said again, his silver eyes catching the light in a unique way, making them glint like liquid mercury. They were piercing and intense and Akechi had to look away this time, though it came with an immediate wave of indignation and a complete lack of awareness as to why. He’d been annoyed enough that Akira was pointedly ignoring him their entire walk, so why was it that being looked at like that somehow made him feel worse? And in a way that was impossible to place? He kept his attention ahead, his head upright, and kept walking. 

“I only wish there was a way to get it across to people that the way I have to act and the way I am are different,” he said, though now there was this ball of frustration resting beneath his tongue, threatening to sabotage the easy way that he was speaking and encouraging him to insult or snap at Akira, or to cut their entire hangout short. But that wasn’t what he was here to do, and he couldn’t afford to have his good reputation waver, so he steeled himself and took control of his impulsive tongue. “That’s part of the reason I enjoy your company so much.” Lay it on thick. Be as nice as possible. Ignore that Akira was barely listening. “I get to be truly myself.”

There was no response. It was just enough of an insult that Akechi, nerves snapping like the crack of a whip, turned to look at Akira, to ask if it was worth them spending time together at all, wound tight and ready to break with the piles of work being put on his shoulders and the taunting, near-daily messages from Kaneshiro about a debt he was going to struggle to afford, but Akira was looking at him with those cogs turning behind his eyes again, the complex machinations of his thoughts tolling over the right words and the right phrases.

“Akechi, I think-” He stopped. It was as if he had supernatural hearing of some kind - a dog hearing a snapping to attention at a sharp whistle, and he turned away from Akechi. He readjusted his bag on his shoulder, looking into the middle of the park, to an area mostly encompassed with trees, and finally Akechi could see what had distracted him.

There, in the middle of the park, was a girl in a highschool uniform. She’d been there when Akechi had arrived to wait for Akira, surrounded by a group of other girls of a similar age while they ate food and gossiped. Only one of them was still in the park, presumably waiting for someone or enjoying the last few moments of sunlight, and was now being spoken to in a rather animated and clearly confrontational way by an older man. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, particularly not for young women on their own, but where Akechi realised what was going on and immediately began to consider where the nearest police would be patrolling, Akira had already begun walking.

Directly towards them.

Akechi swore beneath his breath as he began to follow. 

“There should be some officers stationed nearby,” he said, though his words didn’t seem to be reaching Akira again. “I should go and alert them.”
“You don’t need to,” Akira said with an uncharacteristic seriousness, and before Akechi could get a word in edgewise Akira had already been noticed by the two - Akechi, of course, in tow. “Hey!”

This was not how today was supposed to go at all.

Before the older man could even begin to ask Akira what the hell he was doing, he was already standing between the two of them - just in front of the girl enough that she had him in the way without pushing himself forwards enough to be impossible to ignore and imposing enough that he almost looked threatening. 
“What are you doing?”

“I was just asking for directions,” sneered the older gentleman, sizing Akira up and clearly not seeing him as something worth wasting time on. The girl, with choppy black hair and hastily-painted makeup, no older than fifteen now that Akechi could see her, immediately stepped behind Akira entirely.

They were already in the situation. Akechi couldn’t just be a witness. He stepped forwards, mentally cursing the stupidity of the situation and wishing they’d just been able to get someone else to deal with it, stepped forwards until he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Akira, providing a sturdier wall between this man and the girl he was speaking to.

“Well, we’re both very familiar with this area if you’re looking for anything in particular,” Akechi said, sounding just as friendly and approachable as he would do for an interviewer. If he couldn’t prevent this becoming a scene, he could at least deescalate.
“I was asking her!” he said, this lanky stranger who must have been in his late twenties at least, noticeably bristling. 
“You can get directions from anyone,” Akira said, in a tone of voice Akechi would never have guessed he was capable of. It was firm and assertive and somehow entirely threatening. Far from the boy who tousled his hair in a cafe bathroom and carefully balanced his glasses on Akechi’s nose to spend more time with him. It was interesting to see other sides drawn out of him and for a moment, that had his full attention. It was far more important to him to get to see all of the different sides Akira had, to get to know what else he was hiding beneath such a calm and unfazed exterior - It took him a moment to swallow back his curiosity and return his attention to the current situation.

Akechi glanced back to the young girl behind them both. She was almost in tears.
“Was he upsetting you?” Akechi said, an utterly stupid question given the circumstances, but her nod was enough to denounce any accusations that they were misreading the situation or making a big deal out of nothing. 

“This is unbelievable! I didn’t fucking do anything!” his eyes were darkening, a clear sense of anger broiling beneath the surface, and Akechi stepped out in front of Akira and pulled his badge from his pocket. Trusting the reputation of law enforcement over any intimidation his perfectly-curated, harmless celebrity detective appearance lacked, he thrust it out towards the stranger..

“Intimidation and harassment,” he said, summoning all of the self-righteousness and arrogance that he’d used when speaking with Niijima’s sister, that he would use like a shield when interviewers tried to catch him out on his rhetoric around the Phantom Thieves. “I strongly encourage that you find someone else to ‘ask for directions’ if you don’t want me alerting the authorities and reporting you.”

“I didn’t do anything!” he said again, taking a step forward and closer to Akechi. Akira swept an arm out in front of the girl and guided her a few paces backwards, where she gladly took shelter behind him.
“I would be more than happy to add assault to that charge if you don’t turn around and walk away,” he said, Akira a comfortable enough distance away that he was able to abandon all of the overly-friendly warmth of his voice. “You won’t get anywhere trying to intimidate me.”

It took a moment, but the stranger glared darker at Akechi and took a step back before turning and, begrudgingly, stalking off through the rest of the park. Akechi kept his feet firmly planted until he was certain the stranger was gone and only then did he turn to look at Akira, who was hurriedly assuring the girl (who was dipped low in a grateful bow and frantically thanking and apologising to him) that she had nothing to be sorry for. Akechi smiled and took a step forward.
“It would be best to get home before it gets any later,” he said, already bringing that overly friendly warmth back into his voice. The young girl picked her head up, looked back at him, and stopped.

Oh.

For the love of God.

“Akechi-kun?” she said, somewhere around a gasp. Beside her, Akira was giving him a firmly smug look and Akechi wanted nothing more than to turn and leave, but he had to smile and he had to nod.
“It’s rather fortunate that we were here,” he said, opting not to focus on the wide, adoring eyes she was looking at him with. She was exactly the age that was the most susceptible to this Phantom Thief shit, being in high school and, from the pattern of her skirt, a Shujin student.

She looked at him, then at Akira, and something seemed to click.
“And you’re the transfer student?”

Whatever smug look Akira had been giving him quickly dissipated. 
“Get home safe,” Akira said. “Do you need someone to walk you back?”

She shook her head a little too quickly, glancing between the two of them again, as if it was an odd pairing to see together. Akechi wanted to ask what had gotten her suddenly so dumbstruck, or why she knew of Akira as ‘the transfer student’, but he kept quiet. It would be impolite to turn this into an interrogation and it would be best if she left soon.. 

“Thank you!” she said, offering another quick and grateful bow. It seemed that whatever she’d wanted to say or ask Akechi had been entirely overruled by the more pressing issue of Akira’s reputation, so she collected her bags from the floor and quickly left. 

Akira, now stood in this small clearing beside Akechi, turned to him. He was smiling, prideful and content - a look reserved for people who were totally and utterly content with what they’d done, and knew that they were in the right.
“I didn’t mean to drag you into that.”

That seemed to translate roughly to a ‘thank you’.

“I wasn’t going to let you get into a fight. You’re just lucky that I have a badge to flash,” he said, smiling as if it were nothing and ignoring the frustration that was still gnawing at him for this. Was Akira brainless? Dragging Akechi into a situation like this - was he stupid? Was he ignorant to the risks? They could have gotten into an altercation and then the police would have needed to get involved, souring their relationship and putting Akira through needless legal trouble. He didn’t have the immunity that Akechi’s reputation gave him. Would he have been so proud of himself then? “You were thoughtless.”

“I wasn’t going to ignore it,” Akira said, a flash of that determination coming through again, the same he’d had when he’d told Akechi firmly not to bother finding the police.
“I wasn’t suggesting that we ignore it, I was suggesting that we contact people who can do something about it.”
“Something could have happened while we were gone or the police could have done nothing about it. We were there to help so we helped,” he said, firmly enough that Akechi figured he wasn’t going to get anywhere arguing about this and that it’d be smarter to stop talking. Continuing only lent itself to disagreements, and he couldn’t afford to disagree with Akira now. 
“Okay. Even if he direct approach worked well this time, it might not go as well next time.”

Akira didn’t say anything.

He slipped his bag from his shoulder and opened it (Akechi glanced at it. There was no cat inside, but the inside of his bag was lined with enough fur to suggest that his cat spent a lot of time in there), and picked out a small blue box. It was rectangular and wrapped with a slender black ribbon, tied into a bow. He held it out towards Akechi.

“Earlier,” he said, holding the box out a little more before Akechi finally reached out to take it. “I was trying to find the right time to give you this.”

What?

Akechi stopped. Any trace of annoyance or inconvenience from that entire ordeal was gone, replaced now with confusion as he looked down at the box in his hand. 

“You’re giving me something?”

Akira nodded. He took it.

Undoing the ribbon and slipping the box open, Akechi felt his heart in his throat when he lay his eyes on the sleek black fountain pen sitting inside. It was an expensive brand, with a contoured body suited for comfortable holding and silver accents. Embedded in the plush of the box it’d come in were a few variant tips to use to write with, alongside a small container of ink.

He wanted to keep it. He wanted to give it back. He wanted to tell Akira he didn’t deserve it just as badly as he wanted to put it in his bag before Akira could realise that and take it from him.

When was the last time someone had given him a gift?

He put the lid back on and cleared his throat.
“How unexpected. Thank you.”

“It’s getting rather late,” Akira said. He was right - the sun had sunk behind the treeline and though it hadn’t yet fully set, it wouldn’t be long before the park was too dark to safely navigate. “I’ll go with you to the station.”

Akechi, putting the pen in its box and then safely into his briefcase, nodded.
“Let’s go.”

<hr>

He was certain that they’d discussed something of importance on the journey back. Maybe Akira had just spoken more about how content he was about stepping in when they had done, or wondered aloud if that girl had gotten home. Maybe he’d talked about what it was like at Shujin, and Akechi was sure he’d reciprocated the conversation somehow - maybe by finishing that false story from earlier about his classmate. It didn’t matter, because all he could think of when he changed trains and said goodbye to Akira, or when he’d walked through Kichijoji and bought some dumplings from a street stall to take home, was about the fountain pen in his bag.

Something about it sat so strongly with him that it was impossible to put into words. Even as he got to his apartment, as he ate his dinner and collected another energy drink so that he could sit down and continue the endless research tasks he’d been assigned recently, it was weighing on him heavily.

Once he’d eaten, showered, and changed into something more comfortable, Akechi had sat down at his desk and taken the pen, in it's sleek blue box, from his briefcase.

He took it from the box with pale, almost trembling fingers - something he blamed on the caffeine and refused to think about any further - and held it tentatively in one hand.

It was far too nice of a pen for him. It was far, far too nice of a pen for him to believe that Akira had seen it in a shop somewhere and thought of purchasing it for him. He took out a scrap of paper from an old notebook, put in a fine-point nib, and submerged it in the pot of ink to fill the pen. Then, unsure why it felt like such a grand task, brought it to the piece of paper and began to write.

He only wrote short notes; he wrote his name to get a feel for the pen (it glided across the page beautifully), and though it took a moment to control the flow of ink and determining where to rest his hand to avoid smearing what he wrote, by the third repetition of his name he had a better control of how the pen worked. He slipped the cap back on and set it on his desk in its box, reminding himself to focus on his work again despite the confusing mix of feelings running through his head.

Despite how much that scrap of paper and the blue box distracted him.

Chapter 13: Wednesday, July 6th

It made sense that if Kaneshiro saw all of Shibuya as his hunting grounds, that that was where the calling card was due to be posted by the Phantom Thieves.

That being said, the cleanup initiative from the police and the subsequent stifling of foot traffic in Shibuya central street was inconvenient enough without the need to call out of school so that Akechi could spend the day in the police station, where he was now sitting beside Sae Niijima.

She’d been generous enough to invite him into her office so that they could assist one another, since Akechi needed to be on top of everything Phantom Thief related and Sae was desperate for some fresh eyes to help her look over the evidence she’d been collecting. He uploaded scans of either side of the calling card to be digitally preserved, and returned to Sae’s side.

There must have been hundreds of them printed and stuck to the walls and thrown about the floors everywhere in Shibuya, and while police were out gathering them and trying to gather witness statements in case anyone had been out overnight when they’d been put up, Sae and Akechi were trying to scrabble together a more reliable profile and checking for anything on either calling card that could indicate who had posted it. It was pretentious and written in a clunky, awkward way, just the same as all of the other calling cards had been, but they seemed aware of Kaneshiro’s methods. They specified that he targeted students, suggesting that either they’d been able to corroborate information that the police hadn’t (an impossible task, considering the Phantom Thief website forums had revealed that information) or that they themselves were students and had been targeted.

He brought this up with Sae, picking up another one of the calling cards and holding it up to her.
“Sae-San?”

She picked up her head. Silver hair fell over her shoulders despite her many attempts to brush it back. When she looked at Akechi, there was a moment where the look in her eyes betrayed exactly how exhausted and upset she was at this entire unexpected ordeal, but she pushed it aside almost as quickly as it had surfaced, and Akechi opted against mentioning it.

“I suspect that the Phantom Thieves are minors. We already suspected that they were Shujin students directly affected by Kamoshida, but I suspect that they were also directly affected by Kaneshiro.” He set the card down on the table. “Don’t you think it makes sense?”

“If they were students, they probably heard about it from their classmates,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s no reason for them to have a direct connection.”
“I disagree. They specify here that this organisation targets exclusively students. We know that it’s the main demographic being targeted, but to say with certainty that it’s exclusive is a rather bold accusation to make without evidence. And if they don’t have evidence, then that would have been omitted entirely, wouldn’t it?”

Sae drew in a heavy breath. Akechi could feel her patience waning as she, again, moved a hand to her forehead and pinched her brow.
“I suppose that I can follow your logic,” she muttered. Akechi felt a dull thrum of pride. “So you’re suggesting that if we are able to pull enough information from Kaneshiro about who he was extorting and isolate specifically the students from Shujin, we could begin to close the gap?”
“Under the assumption that Kaneshiro was keeping track of the people he was extorting, I believe so,” he said, writing out the relevant notes in a notepad beside his laptop. Looking into any recorded names naturally brought the risk of his own coming up, but he could stomach a lecture from Sae on his recklessness if it brought them closer to uncovering their identities.

Sae looked at him for a moment, then at his notebook. She raised her poised, manicured hands to the keyboard of her laptop to make her own notes, and then stopped.

“Is that new?”

Akechi’s hand stilled.

He lifted his head, forcing a bright expression.
“It is,” he said, continuing to write to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to it, but like a shark detecting blood, Sae took the opportunity to divert her focus from her work and, possibly, to pry into Akechi’s personal life.

“It looks like an expensive pen.” Starting small. Akechi knew how the process went - the questions were only going to increase until she found something to corner it on.

But he knew her methods, so they weren’t going to work.
“It writes like one.”

“You usually take your notes with ballpoint pens. Why change?” She glanced to his hands. “It hardly seems more convenient to write like that while being left-handed.”
“You’d be giving me too much credit to think that I could write with my right hand. I may be ambidextrous, but not quite to that extent.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m merely using a new pen, I don’t think it’s deserving of that much scrutiny.”

He could feel her eyes piercing him. He wasn’t writing anything anymore, the nib of the pen sitting idly against the page and forming a steady bead of black ink beneath it.

“I’m only curious, Akechi,” she said, a trick that Akechi had fallen for once before. To downplay an obvious interrogation so that she could circle back around while his guard was down. “It’s unusual of you to spend so much on something.”

He didn’t say anything. He picked up the pen and wrote down that the Phantom Thieves were likely involved with Kaneshiro. He already knew that they were, but it was something to do that didn’t involve looking at or replying to Sae.

“Oh.” His silence was too much of a giveaway. “Was it a gift?”

He had to will himself to keep writing rather than reveal how accurate of a guess it was, but without an explicit denial anything he said would be taken as truth. He couldn’t even think of a sufficient lie in time, and Sae leant forward enough that he could see her silver hair brushing the desk in his peripheral vision.

“Don’t tell me that I’ve made you shy, Akechi.”
“I’m trying to get my work done,” he said, picking his head up. He couldn’t have her misreading him and misreading the situation as a result. It was enough to get an expensive gift, enough for her to sniff it out, and if he got too shy about it then she’d end up misreading that and insinuating there was something occurring in his private life that was worth keeping secret about.

The last thing he needed was for Sae to suspect that he was in some kind of a secret relationship and without context, that’s what such an expensive gift would suggest.

“Well, I’d quite like a pen like that for myself. The next time you see her, will you ask her where she got it from.”

The relief of her backing off prompted him, without thinking, to answer.
“Yeah. I’ll ask him.”

But he must have been a fool to forget how persistent she could be. Backing down once already didn’t mean that she was done and relenting didn’t mean that she’d lost interest. She let out a curious, intrigued hum, and before he even realised what he’d given away he knew that she’d caught onto something.

“Oh, so this friend of yours is a boy?”

His blood went cold. It wasn’t with dread but with a distinct, almost full-body wave of anger at how capable she still proved to be at interrogating him- him! He knew all of her tricks, he’d managed to dodge a thousand different questions from her before, how was she still able to catch him out now?

“I don’t see why it’s a big deal,” he said, looking at Sae. It was taking a great deal of effort for him to stay friendly and civil. This was the worst of Sae’s qualities - her ability to zone in and interrogate anyone if they caught her attention. It was good for her job, of course, but it seemed that she struggled with keeping the line drawn between her work and her personal life. Akechi spoke with her about work, assisted her with work, and asked only as much as was polite if he didn’t want to risk upsetting that balance, but she clearly felt suited to some kind of a role in his personal life that she wasn’t entitled to. “It’s not like I’m unable to make friends, Sae-san. I just prefer to keep to myself.”

“That’s exactly why it took me by surprise. You’ve always told me that there was nothing going on in your personal life.” Sae glanced at her laptop, then moved one hand to close it. “I think I’ll need some time to clear my head. We’ve both been working since early this morning. You could accompany me to a cafe for lunch if you’d like.”

That was a far more obvious trap.
“No, thank you,” he said, picking up one of the many calling cards set on the table. “I’d like to get as much work done as possible now so I can catch up on my schoolwork tonight”

A few moments of silence.

Sae accepted his refusal and, thankfully, took the hint to fully back down. Tucking her laptop away in her bag, she stood. Akechi knew well enough that she wasn’t going to be putting it aside forever, but he was relieved to get a break at all.
“I’ll bring you back a coffee.”

Akechi thanked her, tapped the tip of his fountain pen against the page while she packed her things, and exchanged a polite goodbye as she excused herself. It was fair for her to take breaks when she needed them, she was going to spend her whole day in the station whether she liked it or not. Akechi, on the other hand, would wrap this up and go home as soon as he could to both complete the school work he was missing and to wait for his phone to inevitably ring to ask him for a report about the calling card.

More importantly, Akechi needed to find a way to make these damned Phantom Thieves useful before Shido ordered him to figure out who they were and kill them.

It was terrible timing for them to be targeting Kaneshiro.

Akechi had only successfully gone into his palace twice - the first time to establish himself as a customer and to make contact with Kaneshiro, the second to try and pry further information out of him. He’d gone the day before, found that the doors were entirely barricaded off and that very few people were able to get inside (something he’d assumed at the time was because of the Phantom Thieves, but hadn’t found any real evidence for) and had found a second entrance hidden beneath a statue of a golden pig. He’d made his way inside, back to the elevator from before, and returned to Kaneshiro’s office with as few fights and as little time wasted as possible.

He hadn’t had time for much to begin with. He’d attempted to squeeze more information about Shido’s plans for the election out of him, but had found it utterly useless. Masayoshi Shido kept his cards close to his chest and clearly he’d deemed Kaneshiro too much of a liability to share information with. All he’d done was insist that Shido was going to “steer the country in the right direction” and “keep Japan afloat”, to keep it prominent politically and to fix everything that was wrong with it. Baseless, groundless buzzwords that were already making up most of Shido’s planned speeches for the upcoming election.

It was a waste of his time trying to pull anything else. He’d asked Kaneshiro a few more questions over the barrel of his gun, reminded himself firmly that bringing up his own debt would only cause complications and risk affiliating his black mask with himself (an especially risky move if the Phantom Thieves were already sniffing around the place) when he’d spotted bizarre movement on one of the surveillance screens.

“They keep shutting off my cameras!” Kaneshiro had said, an indignant cry muddled between anger and despair as he looked to the cameras.

And, without a doubt, flitting in the shadows between camera screens that were quickly being replaced with static, there was movement that was undeniably not the work of clients of Kaneshiro’s bank.

Akechi approached the cameras. The quality was so fuzzy and blurry that he couldn’t make out a thing, the black-and-white video making it almost impossible to spot the intruders without them moving.

“Call them off, won’t you?! I’m already telling you everything you want to know!”

And that had been how Akechi figured out that they were the Phantom Thieves - and that Kaneshiro was completely and utterly useless at defending himself against them. He said nothing to deny that they were working together and watched as they filtered into an elevator, watching Kaneshiro bumble towards the microphone and announcing that they couldn’t be allowed to reach the lower levels - indicating that they were out of the range where Akechi would run the risk of meeting them and giving away where his treasure was hidden.

With the distraction occupying all of Kaneshiro’s attention, Akechi had taken the opportunity to return to the real world. The potential reward of seeing them and identifying them wasn’t worth the risk of them seeing him, so he’d left, gone home, and from then it had been a waiting game to see if they were able to take his treasure or not.

So the posting of the calling card had been no surprise, but that didn’t make it any less inconvenient or any less frustrating. The only benefit was that it had given Akechi a warning that they were targeting Kaneshiro, and had allowed him to begin understanding their modus operandi.

If the Phantom Thieves were truly targeting Kaneshiro for the good of the people, and they truly only targetted criminals, then it would end up being easy to utilise this sense of false justice against them. All Akechi would need to do is draw enough attention that the Phantom Thieves couldn’t ignore it.

He turned to a new page in his notebook.

It would be a convoluted plan and require a lot of preparation and forethought before he could properly execute it, but if he started planning now then when Shido called, he could lead with the idea of utilising the Phantom Thieves to buy himself time before he was inevitably positioned as their executioner. He would need to begin properly investigating them, he’d need to start asking Akira more pointed questions about what he did and didn’t know, and maybe he could use his TV appearances to contradict and condemn them more publicly. That, at least, could help him begin creating his own profile separate to the police.

By the time Sae returned, he’d come up with an extremely loose framework for a plan. He would have to find a way to create public spectacle (if he took the right steps, the internet would do most of the work for him) utilising the Phantom Thieves fame, likely by calling them out or challenging them directly.

It would need high stakes to gain public attention - he’d figure that out later.

There would have to be no way to trace it back to him, which would be easier said than done depending on the method. At the very least, if the Phantom Thieves followed through with their intent to make Kaneshiro “confess his crimes with his own mouth” within the next few days, he’d no longer need to worry about losing two million yen to a scumbag and instead could put some of that money towards buying a temporary laptop to plan and complete this project on.

Whatever his threat was, he needed it to be grand enough to put social pressure on the Phantom Thieves to prevent it, that if they didn’t it would cause people to lose faith in them whether or not the threat came to fruition. If they failed and stepped down, they’d lose all public acclaim and be denounced as cowards. If they stood up to it, then their acclaim would grow and there would be more opportunity for them to slip up.

No matter the plan, Akechi would find a way to make it work.

He turned back to the calling card he and Sae had been looking at and slipped it between the pages of his notebook in order to take it home with him. It would need to be added to the corkboard he had on his wall, marking this as an important calling card for an important event, and he’d have to note down the date with it.

“Welcome back,” he said when Sae set down a cup of coffee in front of him, setting her bag down to sit down beside him once more. He picked up the coffee and took a grateful sip of it, flicking his notebook closed to obscure the notes he was making. “Was the walk refreshing?”

Sae shrugged. She seemed better, but it was clear that returning to this work had been nothing but a source of dread for her.
“It was fine but I couldn’t stop thinking about this. I don’t know how long it will be before the Phantom Thieves make their move, and I’ve been so close to cornering Kaneshiro for days. I just needed another week and I would have had him.”

It was callous for Akechi to feel relieved at something like that, but knowing that she’d been driven firmly off of the scent of his pen and of his connection to Akira was good.

Knowing that she would have been too late to interfere with him paying his debt that the Phantom Thieves were working in his favour gave a conflicting mix of relief and annoyance, though. Grateful as he was that it was being dealt with, he did feel the same frustration that Sae must have been feeling knowing that her hard work was going nowhere while the Phantom Thieves stole her case from under her nose.

“It is unfortunate,” he said, initially trying to choose his words carefully to avoid annoying her further, but recalling how effortlessly she’d dug into his private life and disregarding that. “But at least it puts a stop to this extortion sooner.”

The following few moments of silence told him he’d said the wrong thing.

Good. He wasn’t going to get anything else done sitting beside Sae, anyway. He tucked his notebook away in his briefcase and stood.
“Thank you for the coffee. I want to make sure I have time to stop at my school and collect the work I’ve missed.”

“It’s good that you’re managing both, but don’t fall behind in your studies because of your job,” she said, evidently a little concerned despite the irritated dismissiveness of her voice. The awareness that he’d gotten on her nerves despite her attempts not to show it gave him a glowing sense of satisfaction.
“Of course.” He collected his coffee. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sae-san.”

Chapter 14: Saturday, July 9th

The confession came quicker than anticipated.

And, worse than that, it meant that Akechi was once more called out of school to assist with the processing at the police station. 

He’d been at the train station when the news had broken, unable to deny the frustration that came with knowing that the Phantom Thieves would once more be bolstered in their fame, that he would once more be getting booked for interviews and TV appearances to discuss his opinions on them while already barely sleeping, and with the immediate and noticeably influx of comments denouncing him for his previous criticism of the Phantom Thieves.

It was only natural that his decision to be a controversial figure would lead to the public's opinion of him evolving over time. As the Phantom Thieves gained more attention, he too would gain popularity and notoriety. Unfortunately that also meant that if they were viewed favourably he would be viewed unfavourably as a consequence.

At the very least, if public opinion on him turned sour he might not be stopped and spoken to as often. He could deal with glances and whispers, it was sudden and unexpected interactions with complete strangers that worked on his nerves the most - especially recently, where it was feeling more and more like he was being pulled from place to place without more than a few minutes of stolen sleep between each day. He was rarely seen without a coffee in hand in public, and rarely at home without an energy drink to keep him conscious. His grades had yet to suffer, thanks to the excessive hours he was putting into studying when he got home (exams were less than a week away, there was no time to slack off) but his wellbeing was suffering greatly. He almost always had a headache to some level, spending class or meetings either restless or barely able to keep his eyes open and trying to maintain his usual composure in spite of it, his front teeth almost carving a permanent indent into his lower lip.

This evening he had a TV appearance scheduled that he couldn’t postpone. He had work all day, taking priority over school, which meant that he would need to collect his work or prevent himself from skipping out on his studying unless he wanted his grades to drop. It just so happened that everything was piling up on him at once. The confession had happened late the previous evening and was all over the news by morning, with such short notice that it would be a brilliant story for the station interviewing him to air - and an awful, stressful situation for Akechi.

“Be honest and tell them you can’t divulge too much information,” Sae was saying, though she didn’t lift her head from the report she’d received of Kaneshiro’s confession. This hadn’t been her case until that morning, when she’d called the SIU Director the moment that Kaneshiro had been brought in, requesting to be transferred now that it was officially related to the Phantom Thief case. She had been the one to request that Akechi also help, and had called him when he’d been on his way to school to tell him that he needed to come to the police station instead. She’d caught him at a convenient time - just after he’d seen the news break and moments before he’d boarded his train to school.

“I was planning on it. My bigger concern is telling them that I still don’t approve of the Phantom Thieves despite the good that they’re doing.” He couldn’t even bring himself to smile it off. He wasn’t scheduled for the interview until 2:30pm and it was just drifting past midday now - considering time to travel and get cleaned up before the interview, maybe he had enough time to slink off to Sae’s empty office and doze off.

The idea was tempting - any chance for sleep had been tempting lately and, as expected, seemed to elude him whenever he got the chance. His new alarm clock had only been wired in and working for a few weeks, but already its early morning song seemed to infuriate him. It never served its purpose of waking him up, only ever reminding him that no matter what else he’d been doing, his day had to start.

He was, of course, still sleeping somewhat - just never when he wanted to be. He’d woken up once or twice in the last few days with his head on a textbook, and the second time had been what convinced him to start studying wearing his glasses and not his contacts to prevent them from drying out. Public transport often tried to claim him, but he’d started standing up no matter how empty the bus or the train carriage so that there was less of a risk of it working. Meetings and class were still a roulette, but as long as he had something to drink he was more or less able to keep his head up.

That being said, he hadn’t been lucky enough to get more than a few hours the night before, and hadn’t slept at all the night before that, so now he was operating on a schedule where he’d spend all day with the police, leave in about an hour to stop at school and collect his work before going to the TV studio for taping. 

“That’s your own fault,” Sae said, looking between the document and her laptop as she typed something out. Akechi barely restrained a glare in her direction. Of course she didn’t understand. It didn’t matter what the public thought or how controversial it was - Akechi needed to maintain a prominent online presence whether or not people thought positively of him. That was why he allowed the heavy rotation of stans to reply to any news article about him and fuel a smaller online culture war before fans of him and fans of the Phantom Thieves.
“I believe it’s important to remain honest. It’s not my fault that nobody wants to hear any of my other opinions or thoughts that aren’t Phantom Thief related.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She turned the page of Kaneshiro’s confession and scanned the page. “I think you should stop taking so many interviews.”
“And I’m sure I’ll bring that into consideration one day,” he said, holding out his hand and letting Sae pass the confession over when she was done reading it. “But my schedule is unfortunately full for the next few weeks.”

Arms folding over her chest, Sae shook her head. The stress was weighing visibly on her. Akechi would have commented if it wasn’t for the fact that it had taken excess time that morning to cover the bags under his own eyes. 
“I mean it. Don’t you have enough on your plate with work and school? I told you only a few days ago not to fall behind in your studies.”
“I’m not falling behind.”
The confession all seemed standard for the other confessions that the Phantom Thieves had gotten from people. A direct list of every offence, spliced in with apologies or thrown in a random order as they remembered them, with these clumsy explanations for why or how it had happened. Akechi held it back out to her. 
“It seems no different from the other changes of heart.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Sae said, setting the wad of paper back on the table. “It lines up with the evidence we’re able to gather, but it’ll be difficult to push for a conviction if the confession could be made under coercion.”

She turned to look at him.
“Are you sure-”
“Coercion would only affect the confession if the courtroom hears that it was coercion,” Akechi cut in, not wanting to undergo another interrogation about the hours of sleep he was getting or his diet or his grades. No  matter what she was trying to be, she was his coworker. Not his mother, not his sister, and not someone who knew enough about him to encourage him to make any meaningful changes. “It would be just as easy to omit this from the record if it’s framed as the Phantom Thieves simply knowing who to blame and relying on them to feel guilty enough to turn themselves in.”

“That would be classed as intimidation.”
“It could be framed as intimidation. Just as easily as it could be implicit blackmail. But what matters is what the judge hears, not what you say.”

Sae was quiet for a moment. She was considering it. Her eyes were glossed, the gears clicking in her head as she tried to figure out how everything would fit into place if she listened to him.
“You’re encouraging me to be dishonest?”

“I’m telling you how I would frame the narrative if I were the prosecution. I thought that you said you wanted to prove Kaneshiro guilty by any means necessary,” he said, shaking his head. He knew what he was telling her to do, he wasn’t foolish enough to assume that Niijima would accept the idea without hesitation, but he knew that she was already in a particularly volatile place regarding her desire to succeed, and wanted to try prodding and provoking it to see where it led. “Never mind. Forget that I said anything.” 

They lapsed into silence and, eventually, Akechi was gathering his things so that he could see himself out. He still had the detour to school before the interview, but for once he didn’t have any plans for the evening. Studying would be ideal, but he’d see how he was feeling when he got home - ideally he’d feel tired enough for once that he could crawl immediately into bed and reemerge on Monday for school, but he doubted he would be so lucky. He had to see his interview when it televised the following day, and the newfound expectation to answer calls the moment that they rolled in meant that he was less comfortable wasting time sleeping when he knew business could appear at any moment. Even if Shido hadn’t called him in the last few days, it didn’t mean that he could get complacent - just that all the time he could have spent sleeping he’d already wasted and the next call was, surely, just on the horizon.

He said goodbye to Sae, wished her luck with the Kaneshiro case (a comment that wasn’t met with any warmth) and left.

The bus to school was quiet. The hallways were mostly empty, and he timed it well to get to his classroom in the break between periods. Akechi apologised to his homeroom teacher for the interruption and for his inability to attend all day, ignored the look that she gave him for it and left so that he could take the next bus to the TV station.

He ended up there a little under an hour before the shoot, but that was plenty of time for him to be whisked away into his dressing room, prepared for the taping, and given a brief rundown of everything that he was going to be asked during the interview and reminded that it wouldn’t air until the following day. It was all simple drivel and, unsurprisingly, mostly about Kaneshiro - confirming that this change of heart was likely because of the Phantom Thieves and discussing as much of the case as he was allowed.

The producer apologised to him a few times about the script - initially, it was just meant to be another fluffy press release about the Detective Prince, but it lined up perfectly with an opportunity to get the first dash of information on the newest Phantom Thief case. 

At least it wouldn’t air until tomorrow. 

With such little evidence and with the case being far, far too fresh to publicly discuss, though, Akechi decided that this interview would need to focus more specifically on the Phantom Thieves. With their third consecutive calling card coming shortly before a confession, it meant that more of the public would be invested than ever before, especially considering how high-profile of a target Kaneshiro had become. Even he would have owed them a debt of gratitude if his situation with Kaneshiro had gotten any more dire.

The makeup team were the next to arrive. There was still around forty-five minutes before he’d be needed for filming, and as much as he despised the feeling of their brushes darting over his face, of a dozen different hands pushing his head and combing his hair this way and that, but he would bite his tongue and do what he was told until he was ready.

It had been more unpleasant of an experience when he’d been sixteen and on his first TV appearance. When he’d first been told that to sit under the harsh lights he’d need to be doused in different products. It was before he knew what anything did or how anything sat, and had no idea how long he’d been sat in that chair trying to keep his face dull and without expression to avoid causing problems while it was all applied.

He could get used to the process, but there was nothing worse than standing around being doted on by strangers.

“I swear this shade of foundation matched last time,” one of the staff was saying, peering over his clipboard at Akechi. He didn’t say anything in response, though there was a short discussion about finding a lighter shade that would suit him better, and another conversation being had between two assistants about whether or not to draw attention to his facial structure and cheekbones or not. He hoped that they wouldn’t - if any of his dedicated ‘fans’ noticed the drastic difference in his weight, he was certain that it’d prompt his name to circulate online in a wave of perverse, obsessive pity pretending to be concern. 

Thankfully, they decided against it just as one of them came back with a new shade of foundation, and they were able to get on with makeup without much more discussion. Another person was running a comb through his hair, fixing his parting and glancing into the mirror over his shoulder to make sure it sat perfectly. She sprayed his hair with some kind of a solution to reduce frizz and combed it again, and the way that the comb ran through his hair briefly, for a hideous moment, spurred forwards the memory of Akira’s hands ruffling his hair, the casual confession that Akira had wanted to spend more time with him, and it took biting his tongue for Akechi not to immediately swat her hands away from his head and tell her to leave his hair alone.

He just had to sit and endure it for a little bit. 

His coffee was delivered and, with ten minutes before his call, the staff filtered out of his dressing room to allow him to look over the interview questions again. He barely even glanced at it. It was getting difficult to keep his eyes open, so he ended up standing from his chair and pacing while he drank his coffee, putting far too much faith in it to override days of sleep deprivation and push him through his interview. 

He’d find a way to manage. He had this interview and then he’d go home and, with no plans for tomorrow, unplug his alarm clock so it wouldn’t even risk waking him up. Assuming, of course, that he managed to fall asleep in the first place.

He finished his coffee and dropped it in the bin, placing a mint in his mouth to override the smell that’d surely cling to his teeth, and carved a winding path across the floor until three knocks at the door summoned him to the set. He called his thanks through the door, smoothed out his jacket, glanced in the mirror to make sure his hair was still sitting perfectly, and followed a member of security to the recording studio.

He just had to endure it. He smiled wide as his name was called and strode out in front of the cameras to take his seat.

---

It was past six in the evening and he was finally going home.

It wasn’t that the recording session itself had taken too long,  it was that after he was done recording he was forced to make small talk with both of the hosts before he’d been excused. He’d spent time in his dressing room taking off and reapplying his makeup so that he wasn’t wearing too much to walk around in, costing him another half an hour, then he’d been delayed further on the journey home when a gaggle of high schoolers in uniforms he didn’t recognise had tried desperately to pull him in for a conversation when he’d been going to the train station. 

In fact, he’d just been stopping to entertain a few questions when he phone had gone off in his pocket, and he’d used the text as an excuse to leave, saying that it was important and that he needed to make a call. 

It wasn’t technically important and it didn’t necessarily require a call, but when he saw Akira’s name appear on his homescreen, it did take priority to reply.
‘ Did you see the news? ’ was all it said. Texting was a good sign - casual messages suggested that they truly were becoming better acquainted with one another.

So Akechi, with time on his hands he would usually have been missing, replied.
‘ I take it you mean the confession? ’
‘ So you’ve seen it? ’
‘ I’ve been dealing with the fallout all morning. ’

This was an opportunity. A breakthrough, surely. Akira was reaching out to him directly to ask if he knew about the Phantom Thieves, meaning that if they met up the conversation could come up organically. He could find out more of Akira’s opinions without having to dig around blindly for them or going off of vague clues and implications.

So, without waiting for Akira to reply, he took his chance.

‘ Would you care to meet up? I’ll be in Kichijoji shortly. ’

A few dots. Akechi had to pause outside of the train station to make sure he wouldn’t lose service before he saw the reply.

‘ Sure. See you soon .’

He still had tomorrow free of work. He could catch up on his sleep then. For now, he had an opportunity to speak with Akira about the Phantom Thieves and he was going to take it before it fizzled out and Akira was too quiet to get any information from again.

And with the newfound controversy surrounding his TV appearances - controversy that would only grow as the public grew more and more favourable of the Phantom Thieves in the days and weeks after Kaneshiro’s arrest - it would be best if he could find somewhere quiet to take Akira - somewhere that would also allow him to get plenty of information without the risk of being overheard or eavesdropped on. If there was anything exclusive that Akira knew, it would be best to put him somewhere that he’d more easily slip it into conversation, even unknowingly.

Only one place came to mind that would provide the right amount of comfort and quiet. It was a cosy place that he often kept close to himself and went when he didn’t want to be the Detective Prince for a while, so bringing someone there was a pretty significant risk - but, for some unplaceable reason, he felt like Akira could be brought there.

It wasn’t as if the Jazz Jin was somewhere exclusive. It was just quiet enough and dim enough that even if he went there straight from police work or, like today, an interview, he wouldn’t run the risk of being approached or interrupted. 

By the time he was back in Kichijoji, Akira was already waiting for him. Standing near the Penguin Sniper, exactly where Akechi would usually wait, he stood with his phone in one hand, leant back against the wall and with his ankles crossed. Akechi’s phone buzzed. He could guess that Akira was telling him that he’d arrived, so he left it in his pocket unchecked while he approached.
“Kurusu-kun, good evening,” he said, bringing Akira’s attention from his phone. Akechi could see him smiling as he tucked his phone away. “I appreciate you coming on such short notice.”
“You had good timing. I hadn’t changed trains yet.”
“I’m glad.” He was. It was good timing for them both and the opportunity to spend time with Akira wasn’t one he was going to pass up. “I’ve got a place in mind for us to go. It’s rather special to me, so I hope you’ll like it too.”

That smile grew a little. Akira pushed up from the wall and stood straight.
“Let’s go.”

“Great.” He had no reason to feel relieved. Akira had already agreed to spend time with him. Still, though, he did - relieved that Akira did want to, and relieved that he was willing to go somewhere so dear to Akechi. “It’s not too far, follow me and I’ll take you there.”

---

By the time they were seated within the Jazz Jin, Akechi was already feeling the stress of his day slowly untangle itself. The dim overhead lights spilling a golden glow across the room were a pleasant break from bright studio lights and endless neon shop signs. The rustic brick walls and the worn stone stairwell that led into the Jazz Jin were so familiar to him that it felt more comfortable than going home; this was one of the few places where he didn’t need to claw and fight his way to participate and be the centre of attention, to push for recognition until it was finally given to him - here he was an audience member the same as anyone else. 

They were directed to a set of seats close by the stage. It would have been a wonderful view of the performer if she’d been in attendance that day, but if she wasn’t it would be a good reason to invite Akira again. No - it would be a good reason for him to go again, alone, to see her performances again. It changed the entire atmosphere of the place, having someone singing live. Akechi usually tried to make room in his calendar to visit but scarcely had the time anymore.

They started with polite small talk.

“I am glad that you agreed to come,” Akechi said, sitting across from Akira, legs crossed and elbow resting on the table. His briefcase sat on a chair beside him. Akira’s bag, too, had been placed on the chair beside him and though it was mostly shut, through the slight opening Akechi could see black and white cat hair sticking to the inside of it. Alongside schoolbooks, a pencil case, and the silver glint of something he couldn’t make out. Low, ambient jazz played through speakers affixed to the ceiling. 
“The music and the quiet make such a lovely environment. It’s so relaxing.”

Akira’s eyes were drifting around the room. Wandering from the speakers to fellow customers to the posters and graffiti carved into the exposed brick walls. His expression was often hard to read, but he seemed curious more than anything else. With Akira distracted, Akechi caught the attention of the manager and ordered them both drinks.

Finally, seemingly satisfied, Akira nodded. In the reflection of his glasses, Akechi could just barely see his own reflection and beneath that, for a moment, Akechi could see those cogs turning again. He could recognise the hesitation, the way Akira tasted his words in his mouth before he said them, trying to find the best thing to say no matter how long it would take for him to figure it out. 
“It’s nice,” he finally said, quiet enough that it took a moment for Akechi to decipher his voice from the ambient noises of the jazz club, but firm enough that Akechi didn’t need to ask him to repeat himself. “I appreciate the invite.”

With the familiar ambience and the knowledge that Akechi didn’t need to be so paranoid about everyone around him knowing who he was, for the first time since they met, Akechi could finally focus his attention on Akira.

Which lent itself well to an interrogation.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Akechi said, sincere. Now that it was quiet and he was able to think, that the weariness of the day was wearing off and that the opportunity had been presented, he wanted to know everything that Akira was thinking, but patience was a virtue and he couldn’t be too forward thinking without giving himself away. Two purple drinks were placed down in front of them. Akechi picked up his smile quickly and thanked the manager in the same over-friendly tone he usually wore, before diverting his attention back to their drinks.

He could read Akira’s face, and was quick to put his anxieties to rest.
“Don’t worry, it’s not alcoholic,” he assured Akira, then took a moment to reconsider the best way to approach the topic of the Phantom Thieves again. He’d take a page from Sae’s book - he was going to start by circling the topic to lay a trap. “Neither of us are old enough to drink yet, and I like being on the side of the law that works for everyone's best interest.”

The implications of it were obvious. Akira was sharp enough to catch on, and he caught it immediately. His grey eyes studied Akechi for just long enough that he was able to verify that they were on the same page, to read something on Akechi’s face and acknowledge that he’d said that on purpose. And, tentatively, with the slightest smile on his lips again,
“The Phantom Thieves are working for everyone’s best interest.”

There was something alive in his eyes. A spark of something determined and intense, another glimpse of the personality that Akira seemed hesitant to wear. It’s here, with Akechi’s full attention on him, that Akechi is able to realise just how deep that spark and that intensity runs. This was the Akira that had spoken up and argued during a live recording of a talk show, unfazed by his reputation.

Akira had taken the bait. All Akechi had to do was reel it in and pull Akira out of his shell.

So, with the immediate interest gauged, he had to be controversial. Say something bold and clumsy and aggravating to spur that sense of fight. He trusted that Akira could remain civil, but needed him to get more personally invested, more upset.
“I don’t believe domestic terrorism is within everyone’s best interests,” he said, smiling as if he was commenting on nothing but the pleasantness of the weather. 

Something shifted. Akira sat taller, straightened his back. His smile was gone, and behind those glasses was a dangerous intensity that almost seemed out of character. He’d never seen something get so comfortably on Akira’s nerves before. It had a strange sort of appeal. 

“I wouldn’t consider the Phantom Thieves domestic terrorists,” he said, not quite as forceful as the look in his eyes suggested, but firm.
“Well, of course you wouldn’t,” Akechi said, with the same warmth and unwavering smile he wore whenever he was working his way under someone’s skin. It was the same smile he gave to Sae when he challenged or disagreed with her, and the same smile he used when asked what he ‘truly’ thought about these mental shutdown incidents. The charm that it typically had slid right off of Akira - his expression didn’t change, nor did the intensity of his dark eyes behind his thick-rimmed glasses and the wall of overgrown hair.

Good. It would have been a waste if Akechi could have smiled his way out of the argument.

“Nobody who supports them considers them terrorists,” he continued, purposefully sounding dull and lackadaisical to try and spur that righteousness and defensiveness from Akira. “That’s what makes them so dangerous. Even if they were caught, they’ve been on trial under public opinion since the first calling card that they put out.”

Rather than argue, though, Akira picked up his glass. He took a drink, saying nothing, and for a moment Akechi wondered if he had pushed too far. If it would take a great deal of one-sided, exhausting conversation before he could pull another sentence out of him. But the glass was set down a little too firm, the ice cubes inside clinking against one another, and Akira spoke again.
“I think that there are adults out there doing things that are more dangerous for society than the Phantom Thieves are,” he said, firm and serious and alive with that intense determination. Akechi had him where he wanted him. “Without the Phantom Thieves, some people will never face justices.”

The passion behind it was a curiosity in itself. He’d heard about some of Akira’s friends being mistreated by that teacher at Shujin. Takamaki Ann and Sakamoto Ryuji both had their names come up during the initial investigation into Kamoshida, as did Suzui Shiho as the girl who attempted suicide, and a list of other people affected. There wasn’t need for a trial with the open, immediate confession and declaration of guilt, so there hadn’t been an opportunity to contact them for a statement, but they were still people of interest - especially so since the calling card and Phantom Thieves had become a pattern. It made sense then that this intensity and about finding justice could be connected to concern about his friends or a desire to keep them safe, but it felt like more than that.

“You seem rather comfortable in that belief,” Akechi pressed, wanting answers. Wanting all of his intuition to build somewhere, to find connections he could note down when he got back to his apartment. He kept himself level and calm, uninterested - he had to keep them both at a certain level. Being calm would help prompt Akira to say more, to try to explain himself more as he grew upset, but it would also help keep them from getting too loud or disruptive and kicked out. Their conversation needed to stay on the Phantom Thieves for as long as possible to make it worth it that Akechi had gotten Akira’s contact to begin with, so he’d wait until Akira diverted the topic or until it grew too tense or uncomfortable to continue pressing.

“In fact, even as public opinion has evolved, you’ve always believed firmly in their righteousness. I wonder why you aren’t as easily swayed as everyone else.”

That struck something. Akira’s gaze flicked away for a second but he brought it back almost immediately, glaring at Akechi to avoid making it clear that he felt cornered. It almost seemed like an act of defiance, maintaining eye-contact and refusing to back down from the conversation, and the gesture itself sparked something not unlike hunger within Akechi. He had to bite his tongue until the urge went away, until he no longer felt so inclined to provoke Akira, to press at bruises and snap his jaws until Akira was cornered enough to confess to anything to escape the pressure. Knowing that Akira was biting his tongue and maintaining his restraint only worsened the feeling.

In that way, it was good they’d gone somewhere public and somewhere Akechi cared about. Anywhere private and Akechi would have thrown away any opportunity of seeing Akira again to corner him now. He didn’t want to just get answers, he wanted to tear apart the walls Akira had built around his opinions and leave him unable to hide them anymore. 

But instead, head resting on his hand as he looked at Akira, he bit his tongue.

“I agree with their beliefs,” Akira said, in an uncharacteristically reserved tone. No - not uncharacteristic, it was how he typically spoke when around strangers and was the way he’d spoken with Akechi when they’d first exchanged contact information. “I don’t engage with any of the forum posts or discussions about it. I know what I believe and that’s what matters.”

The suddenness with which he lost his fight was almost disappointing. How quickly it was wiped out and replaced with almost bored indifference was something that, though Akechi had done the same, felt almost cruel. So close to a breakthrough, and he’d been put back to square one. It was the exhaustion speaking - it made him more emotional and more restless. He had to take a moment to remind himself that his patience would be rewarded, difficult as it was to believe.

So, after a moment, he hummed his approval. The jazz music pouring from the speakers on stage swallowed the sound entirely so he nodded.
“I’ll admit, you’re doing better than I am in that regard,” he said, only for the sake of catering to Akira and trying to bring him back from that distant indifference he’d slipped into. “I can’t help but look through the forums whenever I get the chance. It is part of my job to look into the Phantom Thieves, but I do find all of the discussions that occur online rather fascinating.”

Akira said nothing. His eyes betrayed curiosity, patiently waiting for Akechi to elaborate, so he relented. It wasn’t entirely untrue - he did frequent the forums, both for work and out of idle curiosity - so he supposed he could offer a little more information.
“It’s like no matter which side they’re on, nobody can agree with each other. The infighting fascinates me, and the way they argue with people who disagree is even more interesting. There are few who can say as confidently as you that what the Phantom Thieves do is inarguably good and without fault.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Akira said, though he didn’t suggest otherwise. “I like what they stand for. What was their last target called?” He paused. It seemed deliberate. “Kaneshiro?”

“I’ll admit that he needed to stopped, but I can’t support the methods that the Phantom Thieves take. Until we know how they get these people to confess, there’s no verifying the ethics or safety of their methods. It brings the validity of the confession into question,” he said, picking up his drink and taking a sip. The outside of the glass was wet with condensation. The ice had melted.

Akira didn’t say anything. His eyes swept the room again, watching couples sitting at tables similar to theirs, talking over their drinks, and he picked up his own glass again.
“We should finish our drinks soon,” he said, backing down from the conversation and diverting it away from the Phantom thieves. Akechi felt that victorious rush coast through him, a delicious sort of feeling that felt truly earned when placed opposite Akira. It didn’t matter what they were competing over - pool, darts, a debate, or casual conversation - it was rare he got such a sense of satisfaction elsewhere. “The ice is melting.”

Akechi raised his own glass.
“Of course,” he said, with the same TV-perfect warmth to bring Akira down from whatever defensive position he’d moved into. “Thank you for entertaining my conversation about the Phantom Thieves. It’s rare to find anyone as open and direct as you are.”

Akira didn’t say anything, but behind the glass at his lips, Akechi could clearly see him smile.

---

The conversation progressed healthily from there. To avoid any bad taste lingering about the arguments, Akechi made polite small talk about them both. He did well to refer to the right things, to ask the right questions about who Akira was. Akechi asked about his experiences since he’d moved to Tokyo and how he’d been settling in, since he’d only been there for about four months. He didn’t press anything he was told, but left enough openness to allow Akira to divulge as much as he liked. It seemed more polite that way and, as he found, helped get more from Akira.

“I’ve been staying with a… family friend,” Akira was saying, his glass empty in front of him, “in the loft of his cafe since April.” He was wrapping up a rather interesting story about how he’d moved away from his family due to “difficult circumstances” back home that he hadn’t elaborated on. Akechi knew better than to pry, though the urge to interrogate was still strong from their previous conversation.

“Moving on your own and living in a cafe… impressive. It sounds like something out of a story,” Akechi was saying, with a mostly genuine show of surprise and interest. It was a truly interesting story, and though the blanks that Akira omitted only made him more curious, it wasn’t his place to dig into it or ask too many questions. He’d find out when he needed, if he needed to. And it was understandable for Akira to keep things private. It would be easier that way, if they both kept their lives firmly untangled from one another for when Akechi inevitably had to draw the line and stop talking to Akira entirely. 

“Though I have to say, I’m envious. You must be quite well-stocked on coffee and curry,” he said, only to alleviate the mood. Even sitting a distance away from Akira, he could catch the smell of coffee that clung to his clothes. Akira seemed more prone to relaxing and smiling now that the conversation had eased away from the topic of the Phantom Thieves. “I live alone, but I rarely have the time to cook my own meals.”

The time or the skill. Akechi was clumsy with ingredients and clumsier with a stove. All of his meals were takeout or only required either a kettle or a microwave to make, nothing else. Anything further was only a hassle, anyway - why waste time making something from scratch if it was quicker, easier, and more efficient not to bother?

He crossed one leg over the other and leant towards Akira, picking up his own drink. There wasn’t much left in it.
“That reminds me, do you cook?”

Akira nodded. Of course he did.
“Pretty frequently,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing. Something bitter spurred in Akechi, this sense of rivalry awoken by the confident statement of something that Akira was good at. Something that he was better at than Akechi. “I’ve been learning to make curry recently so I can help at the cafe, but I’m used to cooking for myself and sometimes for my friends.”

“That’s impressive,” Akechi said again, smiling. “I don’t have much experience myself. Even my efforts in cooking classes have been underwhelming. In particular, an attempt to fillet a fish went poorly.” He didn’t think about it. There had been blood on his hands and spilling across the cutting board. He’d been nauseous feeling flesh and bone against his fingertips and had asked to be excused, claiming he had an important phone call to take.

Akira was looking at him with curious eyes. He changed the conversation.
“I usually come here when I need some time to really think on my own, but talking with you here has been refreshing.” It was getting late. To get back before curfew they ought to leave soon, but Akechi still had a little of his drink left and he still wanted to savour a few more moments of relaxation. “You know, you’re the first person that I’ve ever brought here.”

He smiled the most charming, TV-ready smile he could offer.
“It’s not like I was keeping it from anyone, but… I suppose it goes to show we do have some strange connection.”

Akira was returning his smile. It was impossibly fond, and though he was looking directly as Akechi, the look in his eyes was hard to translate. That warmth was good, though. It meant that Akira was willing to see him again. Despite the clumsy aggressiveness of their initial argument.
“It’s gotten rather late. I’ll walk you back to the station.”

---

He didn’t check his phone until he was home.

It was his fault. He walked Akira to the station, they exchanged a brief goodbye and Akechi again thanked him for his time before going back to his apartment.

He got as far as the kitchen to collect a bottle of water, having picked up something to eat on the way home because of his good mood (and because he was no longer worrying about giving a criminal two million yen), prepared to sit at his desk to eat when his phone buzzed again.

He reached into his pocket and, stupidly, realised that he had put his mobile phone in the same pocket as his burner. The annoyance turned to dread when he realised that his mobile phone hadn’t gone off at all since earlier that day, and that meant that the message he’d mistaken as a checking in text from Akira had been a message sent to his burner phone.

He took it from his pocket quickly, flicked the screen on-

‘ 2 New Message(s) ’.

He took a moment to pause. To regain his composure. 

Then he clicked on the new messages. The first was short and direct.
‘ From: xxx-xxxx-xxx
Subject: -
I want those phantom thieves dead. Do whatever it takes. Figure it out. ’

Then, three hours later,
‘ From: xxx-xxxx-xxx
Subject: RE: -
Do not let me down. I want them dead. ’

Akechi glanced at his desk. At the corkboard he had. 

He wasn’t doing another sleepless fucking night. He sank into his desk chair and dug out the food he’d brought home, clicking reply on the message.
‘ To: xxx-xxxx-xxx
Subject: RE: -
I’ll get rid of them before the election. I won’t let you down. ’

He could use them before they went. If their publicity continued to grow, all Akechi needed to do was turn the public against them.

Akira had given him good insight - they were admired for their righteousness and for helping victims find power. He had to put them in a situation where righteousness wouldn’t help. He’d find someone they couldn’t target. If they were using the metaverse, they’d need a name and a location to know who to target, so something nameless would need to work. Something anonymous. An organisation of some kind.

He’d figure it out.

First, though, he was going to finish eating, shower, and go to sleep while he had the chance.

Notes:

so fun fact. ive actually got seven chapters already written for this. and im having the time of my life. but if someone could sooo nicely tell me they're reading and like this fic i think it'd genuinely make my day. i miss getting comments and none of the mutuals who ive sent my fic to have gotten more than a few chapters in yet. twould be greately appreciated. thank u guys. all the kudos and bookmarks genuinely make my day and i appreciate u all so much. also my p5 tumblr is persona-brainrot-real if yall want to reach me on there! . now brb while i complete six weeks worth of uni work in two days, next chapter is on saturday again unless i feel niceys and post sooner than then

Chapter 15: Sunday, July 10th

The boy on TV was nothing like Akechi.

Having finally had enough rest to feel like a person again, Akechi could see clearly just how much that patient, charming boy on the TV was nothing like him.

It was unfortunate that he had the day off. As much as he’d needed the sleep, and as grateful as he was that for once he’d been able to sleep when he needed it, having an entire day entirely on his own schedule wasn’t what he needed. It turned out that spending time on his own, hunched over his laptop or staring at a TV screen didn’t make him feel better.

In fact, sitting on the often unused couch in his living room, staring at a face he consciously knew was his but barely recognised, he was miserable. The boy on the TV was patient and polite. He smiled while waiting for the questions to get back to him, nodded and listened and didn’t hesitate or stutter over his words when the attention fell on him.

Akechi, on his couch in a hoodie and sweatpants, eating leftovers from his takeout the evening before, was not the charming Detective Prince on TV. Maybe once he had been and now he just wore the skin and spoke the words that were expected, or maybe he’d always been imitating the shape of justice, but it didn’t matter.

What mattered was how the boy on the TV carried himself, and if there were any noticeable slip-ups that Akechi would need to scold out of him the next time he was invited to that TV studio for an interview.

He picked up the remote and brought it back to the start of the interview.

“Now, Akechi-san,” he tuned in, sitting back on his empty couch and leaning forwards to pay close attention to each of his mannerisms. He was tired of hearing his own voice, seeing his own smile, and trying to connect the starry-eyed, charming stranger on the TV with his image of himself. “This case is said to be the result of the Phantom Thieves actions, but in actuality, is this true?”

The brown haired boy, created and manufactured to sit on TV sets, body turned towards the host, sitting proper and perfect with his knees and ankles together, feet pressed firmly against the floor, one hand on his lap and the other used to idly gesticulate. It made him seem less robotic. That was good.
“Considering how a calling card was scattered about, I believe there’s no mistaking that,” said the image of him on the TV, with an earnesty and sincerity that was grating. He was so calm and complacent, and even while speaking he moulded his words to fit around a smile so that he never seemed unappealing. “The question is what the Phantom Thieves actually did.” An adjustment of the conversation to keep him in good standing with Sae and with the others investigating the Phantom Thieves. Best not to divulge too much information - pivot the conversation, divert it down a new course, keeping the Phantom Thieves as the focal point instead of Kaneshiro.

It was seamless. The stranger on the TV was used to navigating interrogations and interviews, so to secure the topic change, he continued. The camera angle changed to a side profile, a close-up shot of him speaking intently to his interviewer. His brown hair sat well. The stage makeup looked natural under the strong lights. Nothing was out of place.
“The question is what the Phantom Thieves actually did.” He moved his head. Hair fell into his face and he fixed it with a gloved hand. It looked effortless and comfortable - a smooth and almost charming behaviour. Good. “If they tampered with a suspect's heart, it casts doubt on the authenticity of any confession.”

The camera returned to the two of them. The stranger on the TV and the many-toothed newscaster, who smiled wide and endless through patient nods of his head. It was as if all the life in his eyes transferred to the glow of his teeth whenever he smiled.
“So then, by tampering with hearts, the Phantom Thieves are fabricating crimes that may not exist?” It was a leading question and one that the stranger on TV wasn’t able to answer. He dealt with it well, with a patient smile and a steady shake of his head. Endless brown hair fell about his shoulders. Nothing out of place. Good.
“We can’t deny the possibility,” came the passive answer, confirming nothing and denying nothing, expertly smooth. “There’s no doubt that the Phantom Thieves are exposing hidden injustices in society. However, if this is done by sidestepping the law, their way of thinking is very dangerous.”

Eloquent. Direct. Articulate.

Good.

He sat perfectly, focusing on his host and not on the audience. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but that was good too. The implications of his words were too heavy - smiling would seem insincere and would be used to further demonise him. The public’s response to this interview was already turning sour, but every move that the stranger on TV did was damage control. Smiling at the right times, speaking with the right amounts of sincerity, seeming calm and rational so that there was no emotion that could be dug into, pored over, or mocked.

“So, in a way, they’re outlaws,” the reporter said, hiding his teeth and losing his smile so that he, too, could better match the serious tone the interview was taking.

On TV, the Detective Prince nodded.
“Yes. They’re no different than the criminals they target. This cannot be overlooked.” That was a mistake. He’d gone in with intent to position himself as an opponent to the Phantom Thieves, to say something inflammatory so that there was more attention drawn to him, negative or not, but it was said too firmly and with too much weight. It was a glimpse past the TV-ready persona, one that he would need to suppress for next time. Unfiltered emotion was a liberty he wasn’t allowed.

“I see.”

The interviewer continued to needle the stranger on TV with questions. He shook off the weight of his previous sentence and smiled, engaging with more passive questions about himself, said what little he could about work and the Kaneshiro case, before he was thanked for his time and said goodbye.

Akechi, in his hoodie and on his couch, his eyes heavy and head weighed down with a thick fog from how much more sleep he’d gotten the night before than usual, picked up his remote and set it back to the beginning of the interview.

He’d watch it one more time. Then he could review forums online and check the Phan-site before he went back to his desk. He’d been clumsily trying to form plans on how to deal with the Phantom Thieves for days - today, though, he finally had time to actually plan it.

---

He’d figured it out.

At least as far as he needed to figure it out to begin suggesting the idea to Masayoshi Shido, Akechi had figured out how he could begin to bait the Phantom Thieves into either spectacle or threaten them into irrelevance.

Under the assumption that they were also using the Metaverse to navigate, they’d require a name and a location in order to commit a planned attack. That meant that they’d need to be targeted by someone anonymous. A single person would be too vulnerable a target - even if the name Junya Kaneshiro hadn’t been known outside of the police station, the Phantom Thieves had still somehow found him and learned enough about him to investigate his palace - so he had to play it safe and find a target with no name behind it.

With the anonymity that the Phantom Thieves currently had, there would be no way to directly communicate with them, so a public spectacle would be necessary. To draw public attention to this threat or this organisation would make it certain that the Phantom Thieves would be pressured to respond, and depending on the organisation that Akechi chose, it could provide sturdy and reliable opposition. The public loved having teams to root for - he was an example of that. The enemy to the Phantom Thieves, standing in proud and devout opposition to their mentalities and methods. If something else came to take that attention, it would alleviate public eyes off of him for a moment but, at the same time, would allow him to swoop in once the dust settled and reaffirm his beliefs and justice.

His notes, scrawled out in a notebook on his desk, looked barely coherent. Written in black fountain pen, his notes contained each thought and each contradiction, with lines of text crossed out in place of new ideas, then also crossed out or annotated with new ideas.

Until, finally, he had his semi-coherent plan.

He’d give it another day at most before he called Shido to suggest the idea. It was likely that he was still volatile with the sabotaging of one of his patrons, so another day ought to give him enough time to have relaxed and figured out something else, to stretch his slimy hands out across Japan and reach lure in anyone wealthy who was willing to see their opposition fall in exchange for significant payment.

Akechi didn’t want to consider how much Shido was being given for each kill that Akechi undertook. Akechi’s earnings were significant and more than enough to live comfortably, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think that he was getting more than pocket change compared to Shido’s election funds.

Considering the work that Akechi did, though, and knowing that the Phantom Thieves likely used the same method for a different outcome… -- something clicked. He stopped writing. That was it!

That was what he needed!

Whether they grew bigger or fizzled away - Akechi pressed the tip of his fountain pen to the paper - they could be blamed for the mental shutdowns.

It would be easy. It could be, if he took the right steps and spoke to the right people about it. It made perfect sense - wrap up the mental shutdown cases and put them aside by using these self-righteous, arrogant strangers as a scapegoat. They’d never see it coming through the haze of doing what they thought was right and he, by “solving” that they were behind it the whole time, would gain permanent praise and acclaim.

It’d need to be something done closer to the election, though, but that was fine; Akechi would bide his time until then, spending every spare day trying to look into who the Phantom Thieves were. Once that was discovered and once the public believed that they were the perpetrators behind the shutdowns, he’d do as Shido instructed and get rid of them so that it couldn’t be proven otherwise.

That bought him roughly four months and it gave him a more coherent plan to deliver to Shido.

It was mid afternoon. Early enough that the swathes of people who wanted to experience Kichijoji night life before returning to work wouldn’t be out yet, but those who had gone to visit during the day would be beginning to thin. It was the quietest it would get and wearing nothing that would make him easily recognisable as the Detective Prince, Akechi figured now was the best time to get something to eat before settling in to study for the rest of the evening. That was, of course, when his damned burner phone woke up, screen flashing white with the arrival of a new text and buzzing against his desk.

He paused, but it wasn’t up to him when his working hours were. He had an obligation, and now he was being told to honour it. He picked up the phone. The subject of the new message was simply ‘New Job’. The rest of the text was simply a name and the word ‘Incident’.

Begrudgingly, Akechi returned to his seat. He’d research his target, find something to eat, and go straight to Mementos.

If he were lucky, the job would be small enough that he’d still have time to study that evening.

Chapter 16: Monday, July 11th

“What a refreshing morning. How are you doing?”

Akechi, once more, found himself standing across from Akira. It hadn’t been planned, for once, but instead was entirely Akechi’s fault for falling behind schedule that morning. Between oversleeping, struggling to haul himself from his bed when his alarm finally got through to him, and dropping one of his contacts in the sink, the entire day had been slightly off. Nothing would have been a major delay - he could have dressed quicker, he’d already been planning to get breakfast at the station rather than eating at home - but his body seemed to be rejecting getting up with an intensity he hadn’t experienced before. It was his fault for pushing himself with Mementos last night - the mission itself had been quick and easily done, but the initial confrontation had been quickly turned into a fight before he’d had the opportunity to turn the man psychotic, resulting in a sloppy, hasty attempt at combat that left with him mildly wounded and dizzy.

By the time he’d thrown out Call of Chaos, disorienting the Shadow enough to disengage from combat and leave, he was limping and had to stop at the platform to the next level, slumped against the grimy, breathing walls to catch his breath. He didn’t know what kind of attack he’d been hit with and the ailment it had brought on - the room was unsteady around him and the floor was barely supporting his weight. It took a minute or so longer for the dizziness and rising nausea to wear off enough before Akechi could safely leave Mementos, but his body was decorated with bruises and his head was pulsing.

It was no wonder that the thought of pulling himself out of bed was agonising, but he had no other choice. He had things to do. Work to do. So he pulled himself out of bed.

He’d showered and applied SPF moisturiser and eye cream, but the contact lens that he’d lost to the drain of his sink had been the last in the packet. Half blind, Akechi had then dug around in a bathroom cupboard to try and find another pack. Then he’d had to close the eye without the lens in to read the prescription note on the box to see if it was the right lens for his right eye, and that had cost him a significant amount of extra time.

Then his foundation hadn’t matched his skin tone (too pale - where going outside for interviews and eating seemed to have brought him back up a shade) so he’d needed to wipe off and replace his moisturiser and his primer before reapplying new makeup. Then, finally, he’d been just leaving when his briefcase had unclasped and everything he’d packed fell to the ground.

In a moment of tired, frustrated rage, Akechi kicked the stupid briefcase across the room. It skidded across the floor and bumped the far wall, granting Akechi a brief catharsis before he had to scoop up loose sheets of paper and stuff them hurriedly back inside if he wanted a chance of making the train on time for school. He could not be late.

So, all in all, it was not refreshing. But that was the first phrase that came to his mind when he stopped beside Akira, so he said it.

Akira, again tucking his phone into his pocket, turned to look at Akechi and shrugged. He wasn’t smiling. Akechi, hoping to pull conversation out of him, kept talking.

“I’ve been reading the news and looking at the forums all weekend. Taking down a man that troubled even the police has done a lot to boost the popularity of the Phantom Thieves, but the fact that they have so much online support is worrisome. I’m especially in a bind since I previously denounced them.” He picked up his head to look at Akira. His vision was still a little blurry (he had remembered his contact lens prescriptions correctly, hadn’t he?) but he could make out his face and pick out his expressions well enough. He could see the stoic disinterest that Akira wore. “All of my interviews lately have asked me about that. Still, can we say for sure that the Phantom Thieves are on the side of justice with just this example?”

That expression didn’t shift. The look in those grey eyes didn’t change. Had he seen Akechi’s interview? Was he like the rest of the fans - too preoccupied with blind praise of the Phantom Thieves to respect anyone who dissented? Or had those dimwitted friends of his poisoned him into that way of thinking?

“What do you mean?” Akira’s voice finally came, and though it was subtle, an ounce of emotion betrayed him. There was that drop of passion, the mild heat of someone who had his interest caught and wanted to discuss this but was biting his tongue. Maybe, then, it was just one of those days where Akira was harder to talk to.

So Akechi shook his head and smiled. A small, polite flash of teeth - nothing like the dazzling smile that Akechi-on-TV wore during his interview. Getting that slight spark of interest, however, enabled Akechi. He wanted to test out his new plan to suggest that the Phantom Thieves could be guilty of mental shutdowns, and since Akira was a stubborn target he would be a good gauge on those more reluctant to persuasion about the morality of the Phantom Thieves.
“I was originally investigating the mental shutdown incidents. People change suddenly and cause strange accidents or horrible crimes… don’t you think it’s similar to the changes of heart that the Phantom Thieves are doing?”

“I don’t.” Was all he got. Nothing he could use. He pressed further.

“The more that I think about it, their actions mirror the mental shutdown cases with the rate of victims. It’s impossible not to see a connection there…”

Harmless curiosity. That’s all it was. A detective making a correlation based on very lacking evidence. Behind Akira’s glasses, his eyes widened - and then narrowed, brows furrowing, with a new sort of intensity. His jaw pulsed for a moment with the tensing of his jaw and Akechi immediately disengaged from the conversation. That was all the answer that he needed - Akira was not susceptible to being pushed on his stance on the Phantom Thieves.
“My apologies.. I don’t want to make you late. I’ll see you again.”

Akechi excused himself to continue down the platform for his own train. He couldn’t imagine what had changed Akira’s attitude around him so quickly - it could well have been poor timing on his part, but had his comments in the interview struck a chord with Phantom Thief supporters so significantly that even Akira was swayed?

Whatever. He stopped further up the station, paying little mind to the mutters from a couple of girls from his school next to him, and checked his phone. He messaged Sae to ask if she wanted him to go to the police station that evening to assist with anything, and thankfully she had the time to reply near-immediately.
‘Prioritise your education. Aren’t exams this week?’.

Unfortunate as exams were, he didn’t think he could stomach going to the station and sitting through any meetings while he was as tired as he was. So he tucked his phone away in his pocket without replying and boarded the train to school.

---

His day was mostly uneventful. He stayed late after school again to catch up on some last-minute studying, having only one more day before exam season came in full. His homeroom teacher sat in silence with him while she did her own work, and he left shortly before five-thirty to get home early. He still intended on calling Shido that evening, which required another lookover of his plan as well as a review with fresh eyes, having slept on it.

As he’d been walking through Shibuya, however, he’d been rather surprised to spot not only Akira standing in the middle of the station square, but that he was talking to another familiar face.

He hadn’t seen Yoshizawa-san since before the tragedy with her sister. From what he’d heard from her father, she’d been difficult to reach by many, and it seems that that reclusive period had only recently been shattered.

“Hm? Kurusu-kun?” he said when he was close enough to interject into their conversation. It was a good opportunity on both parts - it’d be a good opportunity to talk further with Akira and determine whether or not he’d wasted months on a potential source that was now barely speaking to him, and it’d give him the opportunity to catch up with Yoshizawa.

That being said, though, as he stopped beside her…

Wasn’t it the other one that had survived the crash?

It took a moment when her attention shifted to him for it to click, to recognise the rounder features and wider, lighter eyes of Sumire Yoshizawa, where the hair pulled back into a ponytail and the pale yellow cardigan had usually been the fashion traits of her older sister.

“And you are…”

“It’s been quite a while, Akechi-san,” she said, with a warmth and tone that was… unusual. It wasn’t how Sumire usually carried herself at all. Sumire usually spoke informally, her emotions clear in every interaction she had, and now stood there so completely reserved and polite that it wasn’t like her at all.

“And the same for you-” he paused. It would be awful if he said the wrong name, wouldn’t it? If it had been Sumire that had died and he stumbled over his words and called her Kasumi? And she was his underclassman, so it would be more polite to refrain from first names, wouldn’t it? “Yoshizawa-san, right?”

That was the safest bet. And, from her reserved smile, it was the right thing to say.

“You know each other?” came Akira’s voice, bringing Akechi fully out of his thoughts and back to the moment - to the conversation that he’d interrupted.

“My father works at a TV station,” Sumire-Kasumi had said, happy to fill Akira in. It was good, too - Akechi had met so many people and so many friends of friends that he barely recalled how they’d met in the first place. They were barely more than acquaintances in his eyes, but she seemed more fond. More informal. “Have you ever seen ‘Good Morning Japan’? My father’s the director.”

Again, despite her fond way of greeting him, came that unusually objective and reserved behaviour. That wasn’t Sumire at all. Akechi glanced to Akira, but he was nodding along with polite interest, entirely unfazed -- right, Akira had only moved to the city in April. He wouldn’t have known anything about her.

“I’ve been brought onto the show as a guest a number of times,” he said, Akira giving him a curious yet still cool and reserved nod. If he wanted to know more about the two of them, he was doing well to hide it. Whatever animosity or disinterest had been present that morning was entirely gone, whether it was a situation resolved or because Kasumi-Sumire was there, Akechi didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to dwell. He had his hands full with the sudden reappearance and conflicting identity of … he’d just refer to her as Yoshizawa-san until he was able to go home and check information on the incident. “That’s how I ended up becoming acquainted with Yoshizawa-san.”

Then, to prove that he had no ill feelings towards Akira and possibly to gauge whether or not that was mutual, Akechi turned the conversation towards him.
“I didn’t know you knew her as well, Kurusu-kun.”

“She’s my friend.” Short and simple but not rude. It didn’t clear anything up.
“He helped me out of a situation before and now he’s been offering me guidance,” she said, equally as vague.
“Helped you out of a situation, hm? I see.” A moment of quiet and neither of them seemed intent on explaining, so Akechi moved on. “What were you two up to?”

Her eyes lit up and she smiled.
“Oh, right! I was just about to share some exciting news,” she said, totally and completely Sumire. There was a certain energy she brought to every conversation she was in, headstrong and direct and utterly emotionally driven, and this was the smile and glow of a very confident Sumire Yoshizawa.

Then why was she imitating Kasumi?

“It’s nothing to keep secret,” she continued, looking over at Akira. Though most of his attention was on her, every so often Akechi would end up catching his gaze, or vaguely aware that he was being looked at. It was difficult not to focus on, but he kept his eyes on Yoshizawa as best as he could. “So I may as well spill it now.”

Akira nodded. Again, though it was small, there was that fond smile, like he meant to reassure her into sharing. Akechi had to keep his focus firmly on Sumire to keep himself from being distracted. It wasn’t as if she’d notice, anyway; her attention was squarely on Akira. Her face was dusted pink. Not subtle at all.

“About that summer competition I mentioned to you before?” Her eyes were imploring, digging into Akira, trying to pull every ounce of emotion and excitement from him that she could. A smile spread across her face and she turned her full body towards him, too. “I was chosen to be our club representative!”

Akira, as if he already knew what she’d been about to say, gave her an approving nod.
“Congratulations.”

Evidently, it wasn’t just Akechi that got this kind of dull, one-sided conversation. He was like this with everyone. The realisation came first with a brief feeling of relief, then with a sense of suppressed pride at the awareness that Akechi had managed to get him so expressive and argumentative during their last meeting. Yoshizawa resumed talking before Akechi could get caught up on it.

“This feels like only the beginning to me, though,” she said, again wrapped with this fierce, all-consuming passion and pride that only Sumire possessed. Her sister had been driven and determined, but it was rare that anyone else would possess as intense a dedication about their craft as Sumire did.

The first time he’d met both Sumire and Kasumi, their father had told him with a barely restrained sort of pride that both of his daughters were brilliant gymnasts. Kasumi, sheepish, had denied any praise, and Sumire had immediately jumped at the chance to talk about her most recent practice. About how she was going to be world famous and that she’d keep practicing until she got there, with her sister at her side.

“Isn’t your clubs team considered to be quite prestigious?” he said, remembering that she’d said something along those lines when they’d met. “And you’re their representative? I must say, that’s extremely impressive.”

Her cheeks glowed pink and she beamed, all dazzling teeth and lipstick, blindingly genuine.
“Thank you! I’ll do my best to make everyone proud.”
“I’ll be cheering you on,” he assured her, then glanced between the two of them. “I have an idea. Since we’re all here, why don’t we go somewhere to celebrate Yoshizawa-san’s success?”

It was a thinly veiled excuse to try and figure out why she was acting this way. Akira’s appearance was a bonus but for a brief moment he had been entirely sidetracked by a more tempting curiosity.

“That would be wonderful!” she said, where Kasumi would have politely, sheepishly dismissed the need for a celebration, “Does that work for you, Kurusu-Senpai?”
“That sounds good.”
“Then that settles it,” Akechi said, beaming still. “Would you mind if I chose the place? There’s a wonderful little cafe I know about.”

Akira was giving him a look. He turned and offered a quick, apologetic smile.
“A different cafe, I assure you. One that’s quieter.”

Akira relented and Yoshizawa beamed.
“Lead the way!”

---

How the conversation always drifted back to the Phantom Thieves, Akechi had no idea. This time it was completely and utterly his fault despite actively attempting to talk about anything else, but it was an easy conversation prompt for when things lulled and, as much as he tried to deny it, he was curious.

In fact, it was more useful to mention it now - he’d forgotten that Kasumi had also attended Shujin Academy, and it made sense that Sumire would also be attending by now, which meant that she could have been just as useful for information on the Phantom Thieves as Akira was.

The conversation had begun easily enough. Further small talk about Yoshizawa’s future in gymnastics, where she’d proudly declared her goal to compete globally, though she omitted the part that had been mentioned when she and Akechi first met - that the goal was shared between them both, and that they’d both intended on reaching global fame together.

When their drinks were brought out, Akechi had taken the lead with small talk.
“Yoshizawa-san,” he’d said, still certain to avoid using any particular name even now that he was certain he’d figured her out. If she was imitating Kasumi on purpose, it would only cause problems if he made it clear that this performance wasn’t working, and the last thing he needed was to cause a scene. “You drink hot beverages even in the summer?”

“I have to prevent my body from getting too cold, since the meet’s coming up rather soon.” Completely sincere, as if it were a natural thing to have to consider.
“I see,” Akechi had said, smiling, “you make sure you’re covering all your bases.”

“So what do you have, Akechi?” came a voice to his right, and Akechi was so caught off guard by the assertiveness and firmness with which Akira spoke, it was almost more charming for it. Hell, glancing down at the coffee that he’d ordered, Akechi felt a surge of something in his chest recognising that Akira was making fun of him. He didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t annoyance like he would have expected or would have felt if it were anyone else.

“You have a point,” Akechi said, keeping a warm and good-natured edge to his voice. He couldn’t even argue back - of the three of them, only Akira had gotten a cold drink to suit the weather.

“I had this image that you enjoy sweet things, Akechi-san. Is that untrue?” Her head tipped to the side. Her red bangs tipped, too, almost reminiscent of the sideswept bangs she used to have. “I swear I saw you eating fried sweet bread on TV just the other day.”

“It’s all part of a marketing strategy,” he said, with more honesty than he’d expected from himself. But her father was a TV Director, so it made sense that she’d understand the pre-planning and coordination that went alongside interviews and the celebrities reputation. “That sort of stunt is an easy crowd-pleaser.”
“You seem to have your own bases covered as well.” She was still smiling, witty and charismatic. Was it not unusual? Less than a year - less than six months since her sister passed, and she’s prancing around like they’re the same person, talking like nothing happened to begin with.

“I feel lied to,” said Akira, again, with that smug and joking tone that was perfectly crafted to get on Akechi’s nerves but, somehow, didn’t.
“Presenting oneself in a favourable light is nothing surprising.” He picked up his cup. It was still too hot to drink, but he liked having something to do with his hands. “More surprising is just how innocent you seem to be.”

It earned him raised eyebrows and the start of a smile, but before he could get anything interesting from Akira, Sumire spoke again.
“I’ve been wondering,” her eyes were looking between them with an unbridled curiosity. “How do you two know each other?”
“His social studies class visited the set of a TV show I appeared on.”
“Oh, I remember hearing about the second-years getting to go to a TV station!”
“He and I exchanged our opinions during the shoot.” Akechi was making it a point not to look at Akira now. He didn’t know why. “His way of thinking intrigued me.”

Sumire nodded with a little too much enthusiasm. Again, Akechi grew curious about the nature of their friendship.
“I can definitely see that,” Sumire said, nodding. “Kurusu-senpai’s take on things often helps me as well.”

He wasn’t going to get many chances to ask, so Akechi took the opportunity where it was being presented to him. He rested his head on his hand and spoke to her with a directness he didn’t normally have.
“That reminds me, Yoshizawa-san. You had mentioned that he’s been providing you with some guidance.” It wasn’t a question, but she got the hint and filled Akechi in.
“Yes! Just like you said, his way of thinking is intriguing.” She was almost glowing. “I figured I could benefit from his input.”

And that was when Akechi had ended up directing the conversation to the Phantom Thieves.
“In that case,” he’d said, wanting to know more of what Akira was like around others but, first, wanting to gauge whether or not Sumire would be as useful of a source as Akira was. “Let’s play a little game. Would you mind if I posed you the same question that I asked him?”
“Go right ahead,” she said, polite but visibly restraining her curiosity.
“So, my question was… What do you think of the Phantom Thieves, Yoshizawa-san?”

She didn’t seem remotely surprised.
“The Phantom Thieves? You mean in the case that they do in fact exist, yes?” Already interesting. Already, she had proven herself capable of thinking in a way that most people lacked the capacity to do. To engage with the Phantom Thieves as a theoretical, though the way she said it already betrayed her cynicism. She paused for a second, glanced to her lap to mull over the question, and shifted in her chair before she answered.

“I admit that the assistance of others in need is a truly great act but I simply can’t agree with their methods.” Again, a firmness there that was unique and interesting, but it was a standpoint that Akechi was already publicly declaring that he believed.
“I see.” It wouldn’t provide room for argument or debate. There would be few ways to trick her into revealing information and to ask directly would be to prove that he was turning to informal interrogation for results, and that may damage his reputation as a genius, prodigy of a Detective Prince - but the least he could do was hear her out. “Care to explain why?”
“I suspect that the Phantom Thieves' existence isn’t going to be beneficial to society in the long run.”

Interesting. Despite what he’d expected, she’d managed to pull his attention.

“Well - if someone is faced with a problem to overcome, for example, I believe they need to do it themselves,” she said, and Akechi had to bite his tongue to mention the very contradiction that was, sitting there as her sisters ghost. It wouldn’t be right. It would cause a scene. She was making an interesting point. He flicked his attention over to Akira to distract himself from that instinctive argument and could see those cogs whirring and clicking again. “Getting help from others is totally fine, but in the end it takes a persons initiative to truly create lasting change.”

She reached a hand up to flick her bangs from her face.
“If society relied upon a safety net like the Phantom Thieves, I worry that people would stop making the conscious effort to change. Granted, this depends on how severe the problem is, and I am generalising a large population, but… I think it’s a fair concern. I believe a society where everyone simply leaves matters to the Phantom Thieves wouldn’t last for very long or do much good.”

It was rather extreme. To hear about the Phantom thieves and attribute a potential future collapse of society to them was a harsh stance to take, but a new one that Akechi hadn’t previously considered.
“I see,” he said, mulling over what she’d said. She was articulate and direct and passionate, unfiltered with her opinions - again, entirely unlike Kasumi, who was better at saying what was expected or what was more polite. “So in the sense of a person’s growth, you believe that their actions actually hinder it? Quite an interesting take on the matter.”

His gaze turned immediately to Akira. There was a resigned sort of determination in his eyes now - the type that suggested Akira knew that the question would end up turned to him and that if it wasn’t for that, he wouldn’t have answered at all.

“Let me ask you, then,” Akechi said, watching as Akira sat a little straighter, preparing his argument. “What do you think of Yoshizawa-san’s opinion?”

“It’s a unique stance,” Akira said, neither strongly agreeing nor disagreeing. “I see where she’s coming from.” It was a nothing answer. Akechi wanted more than that.
“But?”
“But… it’s not always possible for people to find the strength to change things on their own.”

The glint in his eyes was back. It took Akechi restraint not to try to push for another debate, but he forced himself to remain civil. For Yoshizawa’s sake.
“I agree that it’s a unique opinion, but I think that yours is too. You both bring up strong points.”

Sumire’s eyes, wide, were on Akira now.
“Are you actually a fan of the Phantom Thieves, Kurusu-senpai?” she asked, one hand over her mouth like she meant to take back everything that she’d just said.

“I didn’t mean to start an argument,” Akechi said quickly, “I just can’t help myself sometimes. Let’s change the subject to something a bit lighter.”

Akechi diverted the focus instead to Sumire. He asked her about her gymnastics. She talked about how her last performance had gone and how she felt like she was starting to find her footing again, splicing in the story of her last meet with anecdotes about her instructor and about her family, with a noticeable and glaring omission of any stories about her sister. Akira nodded along, entirely unaware that anything was missing from her story, occasionally reassuring her or asking her about relevant details. He had a skill of asking only enough to pull more information out of people, so comfortable and casual that it was almost friendly. He’d do well investigating people. Akechi almost envied how easily he was able to get people to keep talking - all Akechi seemed to be able to do was answer questions.

Eventually, though, Sumire stopped and glanced at her phone. Her eyes widened, then relaxed with a sort of accepted defeat.
“I’m sorry,” she said, picking up her bag and beginning to stand, “I should probably get going. If I’m away from home too late, my parents will begin to worry.” She smoothed out her skirt and tucked her phone away again.

“Then let’s call it a day,” Akechi said, glancing between the two of them. It’d be rude to simply say goodbye and continue talking to Akira, as tempted as he was, so he stood. “Good luck on your competition, Yoshizawa-san.”
“I’ll be rooting for you,” Akira offered in agreement, simple but sincere.
“Thank you.” She tucked in her chair and waved. “See you later.”

Akechi, too, picked up his briefcase and got to his feet. Sumire was already leaving, so he turned to Akira and offered him a polite smile.
“It was nice to run into you.” For some reason, the words suddenly didn’t feel like a standard, predetermined display of manners like they usually were. Seeing the same TV executives over and over again, he’d tell them it was nice to be invited on. Speaking with interviewers he’d say he was grateful for the opportunity to talk to them. This didn’t feel like a dull yet necessary clarification that Akechi was grateful to get to talk to him, but something more personal and more sincere than Akechi could usually offer.

The weight of it, the processing that he was truly and genuinely grateful to spend time with someone - someone he had only known for a month, no less! A single month! - caught in his throat. He took the opportunity to tuck in his chair while he found his words again.

“I’d like to meet up again soon. Unfortunately exams are my highest priority for the moment, but my schedule should open up more once they’re over,” he said, if only to deter the opportunity to spend more time with Akira. He had excess amounts of studying to do since last night’s trip to mementos took priority and left him too tired to open a textbook and only two more nights before the start of exams. Akira nodded and stood from his chair, too.
“I’ll message,” he said, without enough distance or disinterest to suggest to Akechi that he didn’t mean it.

So he smiled.
“Can’t wait. I’ll see you soon.”

---

Something had to be wrong with him. It had to be.

Nineteen years and not a single person had managed to crawl under his skin and begin festering some kind of interest like a parasite, spreading positive feelings that crawled from his chest to every inch of his body like an swarm of bugs.

Open on his laptop was his list of notes on Akira. They’d expanded with everything that Akechi had learned since their meeting at the Jazz Jin.

‘Kurusu Akira, 18.
Second-Year student at Shujin Academy, transferred from [?] in April. (Can be seen at Shibuya changing trains around 7:45)
Hometown is far from Tokyo. Reason for the move is relevant to family life. (Averse topic)
Both parents alive, relationship possibly strained.
Lives in a cafe. Primarily sells coffee and curry. Cooks for and works where he lives.
Friends: Takamaki Ann (Kamoshida connection), Sakamoto Ryuji (Kamoshida connection), Mishima [?] (Volleyball, possibly), Sumire Yoshizawa.
Quiet. Opinionated. Observant. Confident, sometimes arrogant. Impulsive. Intelligent. Can be argumentative if provoked.
Likes the Phantom Thieves. Believes they're righteous.
Owns a cat.’

He had no idea how Akira had done it. How engaging conversation and the smell of coffee had gotten to him so quickly. Akira was nothing more than a stranger that Akechi was using for information - that was all that he was supposed to be, so why was it that Akechi had sat down to start digging into the topic of Kasumi and Sumire Yoshizawa before opening his textbooks and had found himself utterly, completely unable to think about anything but Akira’s assertion that he’d message Akechi soon? He’d already put his personal phone across the room to charge so that he could stop thinking about it, even setting his burner out to remind himself that he had work to focus on.

This wasn’t his place. It wasn’t his position to consider personal feelings or think about what he wanted from people. His sole priority was to assist Masayoshi Shido in rising through the ranks of Japan until he was Prime Minister so that Akechi could blackmail him and wield his power from the shadows. Anything he did that distracted from his goal was a step back and worked against that goal. Akira would be a distraction and a thorn in his side if he didn’t sever this interest now.

It was just his luck that Akira was useful. Akira was capable of active, critical thought to an extent that most of the general public didn’t possess. As much as that was dedicated to upholding the beliefs and righteousness he projected onto the Phantom Thieves, he was still someone who made engaging conversation, who prompted Akechi to consider the opposite viewpoint to his, and he was still attending Shujin. As little as that had paid off so far, Shujin Academy was still what the police had decided was the most likely place that the Phantom Thieves would be operating from and he would need that knowledge some day.

Especially if he was going to goad them into acting and try to catch them out, if he knew where to start looking or where to begin directing legal pressure, it would help immensely.

He had to keep using Akira. He just wanted urgently to stop thinking about him as if he was a friend or an ally. Akechi didn’t need allies, he didn’t need friends, and if he wasted his time with someone like Akira, it was going to end up catching him out one day. That was a risk that he couldn’t afford. He had to cut this off now before these feelings spread like an infection.

He closed his laptop, putting aside those notes about Akira. Desperate for anything to take up his attention he picked up his phone to check the news. He hadn’t looked in to see if there was anything relevant to the psychotic breakdown being reported yet and with the flow of news around Kaneshiro finally beginning to dwindle, it was likely to have been reported on.

He’d initially had a mild curiosity for what happened, but when he opened the news tab on his phone it was nothing interesting. It was neither arson nor a nude photo or attacking strangers, but that the employee (who, research had revealed, was working for Goodness Foods, further evidence that these attacks were being orchestrated by the CEO of Big Bang Burger, whose business remained unaffected) had spun out in the middle of a busy road that morning, while Akechi had been getting to school. Four were reported dead so far with the driver surviving somehow, but the news said nothing about how many people total had been affected.

It didn’t matter too much. His job had been done. He put his phone aside and leant up to his corkboard where the name and picture of the person he’d targeted were pinned and added a short note that simply read ‘car accident’.

In fact, if he needed to focus on his work, nothing would be better to take his mind off of Akira and this newfound stress than to force himself to focus on work.

Now, while it was the only thing on his mind beyond exams and a good distraction from whatever Akira was doing to him, he would propose the plan.

The burner phone’s screen flicked on. He had one new message from Shido’s number, but thankfully when he opened it it was nothing but a reply to the conversation from the night before about the truck driver, telling Akechi he did a good job. He picked up his phone, skimmed over his notes on the plan to target the Phantom Thieves, and slowly brought his thumb to the button to call Shido.

He sat back in his chair while it rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then, finally, it clicked and Shido’s voice came through.

“This had better be important.”

Chapter 17: Sunday, July 17th

Notes:

hey so i know nothing about hacking or coding and any of my friends involved in computing are doing exams and too busy to entertain my fanfic speculations so if the fleeting mentions of it are extremely off-base its legally mandated to be niceys to me about it. also im persona-brainrot-real on tumblr if you want to be spammed w fanart and the occasional deranged analysis/realisation abt character motives

Everything was prepared.

Not just planned or scrawled out in a notebook, but fully prepared.

A week ago, Shido had gotten Akechi in contact with two of his business associates relating to cybersecurity and IT. Akechi scrawled out brief notes about them to add to his corkboard, hastily connecting them to Shido while his phone hummed a melodic and patient song, waiting for the person on the other end of the phone to answer.

It clicked.

“Hello?” A mans voice. Deep and curious and entirely unlike Shido’s. He sounded reserved and calm if a little uncertain.
“It’s Akechi.”
“Oh. That was today, wasn’t it? Yes, okay. Well - go ahead. Tell me what you have in mind.”

He’d shared the plan. That had been the start of things. The plan to use an organisation to target the Phantom Thieves, with emphasis on anonymity so that there was nobody for them to target. To come up with a grand threat only an organisation could achieve and serious enough that it would cause a scene across Japan. Set a firm deadline and threaten the Phantom Thieves directly into action.

It was the man on the phone, the president of an IT company that Akechi wasn’t told the name of, who suggested that they use the nearly defunct name MedJed as their organisation. They had notoriety already and would be seen as a credible threat because of that, so it would be easy to establish themselves without needing to commit unnecessary crimes and put themselves at risk or end up leaving unnecessary evidence. It was a good idea. A useful idea.

From there, it grew. The initial threat was to release private information on certain officials. Find people who Shido disagreed with and leverage their personal information in a culture war between Medjed and the Phantom Thieves, but Akechi had to point out that if they were to do that, he’d need to be targeted for being such a prominent figure within this debate, so the idea was scrapped. Best not to unnecessarily bring specific names into it and better not to make Akechi someone who would be “rescued” by the Phantom Thieves if they succeeded.

A few more ideas and they eventually settled on targeting anyone who believed in the Phantom Thieves. Choose an arbitrary, impossible-to-pinpoint collection of people as a target and claim to be willing to release information on anyone who publicly supported them. It would spur people to either become more firm in their belief, hoping for the Phantom Thieves to save them, or to denounce them out of panicked self-preservation, leading to infighting between ‘real’ Phantom Thief fans and those unwilling to risk their safety. And when it came to the deadline, whether or not any information was leaked, failure to act from the Phantom Thieves could enable ‘Medjed’ to release a declaration of victory and tell the public to treat it as an example of how little the Phantom Thieves can actually do.

So - claim the Medjed name, threaten the safety of all Phantom Thief supporters, and taunt the Phantom Thieves themselves if they fail rather than targeting anyone specifically. Create or host a website where the threat can be directly displayed. With Shido’s connections to different TV executives, the threat could be mentioned on air to manufacture a moral panic, ensuring that it catches everyone’s attention and that the Phantom Thieves wouldn’t be able to miss it.

It seemed simple enough. Akechi suggested a further threat later if nothing happened in order to increase pressure and public spectacle, but that was something to be determined at a later date.

A few remaining pleasantries and the finalisation of the launch of the threat - the eighteenth, to give a week for preparations and execution - offered alongside assurances that the help was valuable and greatly appreciated, and Akechi ended the call.

He spent the week since then working on getting a passable enough awareness of using html to format a website layout and filtering through different forums on cybersecurity (best not to ask too much of a coworker and seem dependant) to ensure that everything he was doing relevant to Medjed work was going to be untraceable.

That was where the last week had gone.

Between school, detective work (Kaneshiro’s confession was still causing waves, Phantom Thief investigations were starting to form, and amidst that there were still psychotic breakdowns to ‘investigate’) TV appearances and doting by his phone in the off chance today was the day Shido changed his mind about this entire Phantom Thief plan, Akechi had barely even found time to study. Which then meant that he couldn’t find the time or the excuse to message Akira. Any opportunity that he could have had was instead being pushed towards Sae, who he’d gone for lunch with once and beyond that had taken up a temporary position as a waiter with how many times he’d had to go back-and-forth between a local cafe, coffee in hand.

Thankfully, she appreciated it, and even more gratefully she hadn’t mentioned the minor dispute they’d had Saturday the week prior. Their conversations now were less reliable - Sae talked to him about all sorts of cases she’d been assigned, less about Kaneshiro or the Phantom Thieves and instead about more minor cases that she’d been given. Akechi offered what support he could, engaged with and debated different trains of thought and ideas of motive when he was awake enough to do so, and would bring up superficial doubts about his own cases to ease her worries that she was using him too much.

And today had been no less busy than the rest of the week.

It was evening by the time that Akechi got home. On a Sunday, through Kichijoji, he’d squeezed past crowds and down narrow cut throughs. Again, takeout for dinner and polite smiles when he heard his name from somewhere in a group of people, not lingering long enough to risk being stopped.

The moment he made it to his apartment, he slumped back against his closed door, tiredly locking it behind himself.

He was exhausted. His head was pounding and his contact lenses had been in for so long that they were causing a dull ache behind his eyes. He’d recorded an interview yesterday and it’d aired while he was busy helping Sae with a case. He’d watch it while he ate and then shower before trying to catch some last-minute studying. He was lucky that exams had gone well - comfortably top of his class and a little less comfortably top of his year. It only meant that the few days he was missing studying now that everything else had picked up was a manageable mistake - he’d pick back up on it when there was a lull in Phantom Thief news - and hopefully, that would come when there was nothing that they could do to protect against MedJed and they disbanded.

He picked up his TV remote, turned it on, and -

Akira?

Not only Akira, but Sakamoto and Kitagawa were with him - and if Akechi squinted, he could see small black ears peeking out over Akira’s shoulder. From his bag.

He sat down on the couch, set his takeout down beside himself, and turned up the volume.

A young woman with sleek brown hair in a jacket far too warm for the weather was beaming at them. From their surroundings, it was a food festival - was that today? Akechi had found the time to go last year, a quiet enough celebrity and with enough spare time that he’d been able to go just to look over some of the foods they’d offered. He’d been idly aware that it was coming up and had hoped he’d have the time to spare for it. The day had crept up on him while he’d been flooded with work. Not that it mattered - he‘d been too busy today. And he’d be too busy tomorrow, too, when the firework festival was on.

Evidently, though, Akira had found the time to attend. With an unusual choice of people.

He hadn’t known that Akira and Kitagawa were friends with one another. It was an unusual pairing - Kitagawa was the most prominent victim of Madarame and had gained significant attention both from speculative forum posts and from the investigation team looking into the Phantom Thieves. He stood to benefit the most from the fall of Madarame and had gained a rather unique, extremely prestigious position in the eyes of the public as an elusive, troubled prodigy. Opinions ranged between him being extremely suspicious in regards to Madarame’s sudden change and being ‘lucky’ for being rescued by the ever-dashing Phantom Thieves.

No matter what he was, it was suspicious to see him alongside Sakamoto; prominent in the Kamoshida case for a known and established conflict and a well-documented list of grievances from Shujin Academy suggesting that he would have greatly enjoyed Kamoshida’s downfall.

And, beside them both, Akira. Hair unruly and slightly damp with sweat, glasses catching the sun in a way that obscured his eyes and made him impossible to read, watching Sakamoto. Someone who had moved to Shujin merely a month before the calling card had been plastered everywhere and the subsequent confession.

The aching pulse of the headache grew stronger. Akechi sighed.

No. No, this wasn’t right. He was tired and he was speculating where there was no need to speculate.

“-can you imagine just how insane the weather’s gonna be in December?” came an over enthusiastic voice, and Akechi pulled himself from his thoughts. His stomach was clawing at itself with hunger pains so, begrudgingly, he took some curry bread from his bag and started to eat.

“Ah, anyway… Since you’re here for the festival, does that mean you and your friends there are meat lovers?”

The curry was well-seasoned and the bread was perfectly soft, but after a few bites a faint hum of spiciness began to dance over his tongue. Even the starting buzz of it made him grimace, but he ignored the discomfort and took another bite. Sakamoto, on the TV, kept looking between the unblinking eye of the camera and the lady interviewing him. He didn’t seem comfortable being filmed or spoken to - though when the camera shifted, Akechi could see the stupid, smug, telltale smile on Akira’s lips. He wanted to turn the TV off.

It was odd seeing him with his friends - seeing how much more relaxed he was here compared to most of their interactions. It wasn’t that Akira was unhappy around him, but he certainly wasn’t relaxed.

And suddenly it felt rather unfortunate that Akechi had been too busy to visit the food festival.

He kept watching.

“Uh…” a rather obvious glance back to his companions. Kitagawa was watching with an expression impossible to discern. Akira, still, said nothing. “I’d say that we’re really lovers of fruit. Oh, and sweets! Sweets are just to die for!”

Was he trying to be left alone? The fact that neither Akira nor Kitagawa were stepping in or trying to interfere was telling. More than anything that Sakamoto said, the frequent glances back to his friends and the anxious bounce of his leg suggested that he wanted to be away from the attention of the camera desperately.

Why? Why didn’t they want any attention on them? Akira hadn’t shied away from the questions at the TV station. Even after all this time, Akechi was certain that Sakamoto hadn’t ducked away from the gaze of the camera either.

The interviewer laughed, polite and clearly confused. Couldn’t she tell they were trying to shake her off? Even the way Sakamoto was answering the questions was riddled with a forced stupidity that couldn’t be natural. If not because it’d be impossible to be this dense, because it would make no sense for someone as sharp as Akira to endure the company of people like that.

“Well, ah…” the interviewer gave her own glance toward the camera, though she looked past it and instead at the cameraman. They must have made some kind of expression that convinced her to disengage and, finally, she did. “Thank you very much for your time!”

The video cut away to other interviews and coverage of the festival. There was some filler footage of the stalls, of crowds and groups - but in the background, Akechi caught sight of that hideous, bleach-blond hair all over again and paused the TV to catch it. He’d stopped eating his curry buns entirely now (by choice, with the buzzing of his tongue and the way the spice had made him salivate) and narrowed his eyes at the background. There, slumped over with his head down, was Sakamoto. He was standing closer to Kitagawa and Akira now, all of whom seemed to have relaxed immensely without the awareness of the camera. Akechi pressed play only long enough to watch what they did, to watch as they eased up and began pointing at the different stalls they wanted to visit.

Though they were far back in the crowd, with Akira’s back turned to the camera, Akechi was certain he could see that stupid cat in his bag. Wasn’t it too warm today to be dragging him around?

More importantly - wasn’t that entire performance suspicious?

With the TV paused and all thoughts of his own interview utterly disregarded, Akechi returned to his room and to his corkboard, takeout abandoned and getting cold on the couch.

He picked up a thread and connected Sakamoto and Akira with Kitagawa. With the added thread then also connected to Takamaki, since she’d been with them at the TV station, placed directly beside the pictures of Kamoshida, Madarame, and Kaneshiro, it almost seemed like they were the perfect suspects.

But it was too perfect. And there was zero evidence beyond baseless speculation. Akechi was just tired and making connections where they weren’t any - but this, at least, would be useful. This meant that he had confirmed two of Akira’s connections and had a point of conversation to make the next time he saw Akira.

So he opened his notes, added that Akira was friends with Yusuke Kitagawa, and then went to the bathroom to first wash his mouth out and rid himself of the lingering taste of spicy curry buns, and then to shower.

He was making things up. There was no real correlation.
He’d try to get some sleep and think about it in the morning.

Chapter 18: Monday, July 18th

Sleep didn’t come.

Akechi showered, he took textbooks from his bookshelf and forced himself through some studying until the words were a muddled mess of ink that he couldn’t untangle. He ate instant ramen to substitute for the curry buns he didn’t want anymore, and he’d even avoided having an energy drink so that once he’d brushed his teeth, again, he could crawl into bed and sleep off the stress of the last week.

Instead, he lay on his back, stared at his eyelids, and thought of that stupid fucking TV show.

No, not the show and intentionally fumbled questions - of Akira. And of Yusuke Kitagawa and Ryuji Sakamoto, wearing stupid featherman-esque outfits and bumbling their way through Kaneshiro’s palace, where Akechi had seen their silhouettes on the monitors and fled to avoid being recognised. He thought of Akira moving to Tokyo as a Phantom Thief with intent to cause a scene.

He ignored it. He got out of bed and paced through the mess of his room between the bathroom door and the nightstand beside the bed. He was reading into things - and even if he wasn’t, it was far too feeble of a connection to draw drastic conclusions from. Working backwards from an assumption to find evidence would only give him tunnel vision. Yes, Akira attended Shujin Academy with and had befriended two victims of Kamoshida’s abuse, but that meant nothing. If Akira transferred, he was likely to be ignored or isolated in his class and it was natural he could have ended up friends with a delinquent like Sakamoto. It didn’t justify how he’d befriended Takamaki, nor did it explain the sudden connection to Kitagawa, but Akechi had seen him on the same train platform as Akira before, which at least gave an opportunity for the two of them to have connected organically. 

Akechi stopped in his tracks, turned to his desk and grabbed his textbooks, throwing them to the floor in a moment of impulsive, near-blinding anger. Shoulders racked with heavy breaths, he stared at the mess until the blinking red face of his alarm clock caught his attention. The red glare reminded him how late in the evening it was. He had people living in the apartment below him. Making noise at this time could damage his reputation.

He took a step back, ironed out his breathing and willed the tremors rolling through his body to stop; his hands tucked into fists to keep himself under control.

Admitting defeat and abandoning the idea of getting any sleep, Akechi went to the kitchen to get an energy drink, pointedly not looking at the still glowing image of Akira, Sakamoto and Kitagawa amidst the crowd of the food festival attendees frozen on the TV. It’d turn itself off sometime.

As he finished getting ready to head to school exhaustion pulled at him, every action taking twice the effort it should. Another energy drink from his fridge would make his heart hammer like it wanted to break out of his chest but it was a necessary risk to keep him from falling asleep on his commute home.

The MedJed threat was due to be posted at midday. From there, thanks to some strings Akechi had gotten Shido to pull, it would be reported on TV that evening too. He had, of course, promised Shido that this would be worth the extra effort and that it would all ultimately lead to the downfall of the Phantom Thieves - something that he couldn’t promise but he had to say in order to get Shido to help him. It’d be difficult for this not to lead to their downfall, but not certain.

The route to school was devoid of any familiar faces. No sign of Akira, and Akechi couldn’t place whether he felt relieved or annoyed - but, he reminded himself, he wasn’t meant to feel strongly about Akira, no matter what. He wasn’t in a position to be annoyed about not seeing someone because he couldn’t have anyone close enough to care about. Equally, he couldn’t be relieved that he wasn’t seeing Akira because that would suggest a level of emotional investment in him and in this unsupported Phantom Thief theory. 

Until that suspicion was cleared and he could prove that Akira wasn’t a Phantom Thief, he couldn’t consider any room for connection between them. 

Whether or not he wanted to admit it, each time he ran shampoo-soapy fingers through his hair, he thought about that stupid goddamned cafe. Whenever he walked through Shibuya station to change trains, he thought about whether or not Akira would be there with a little too much hope for it to be just a business relationship. Whenever Akira texted him, it was one of his top priorities to make time to respond, and he often would before he replied to business emails or checking his burner.

Whether or not he liked to admit it, that was a higher privilege than anyone else in his life had gotten before. And whenever he considered it, the enormity of the power that Akira had, and the awareness that Akechi had been somehow tricked into liking him, was debilitating. 

So he kept his eyes ahead as he walked through a station noticeably devoid of Akira. He got on his train and travelled to school, where he spoke to nobody on the way and sat quietly at his desk, his fingers trembling idly as he tapped the half-empty can of his energy drink. 

He had fifteen minutes before class was due to start.

Sitting in the centre of his classroom, amidst the rows of desks, Akechi set out his history textbook and tapped his pen against the page.

He couldn’t think. He’d forgotten breakfast that morning and his stomach was churning. Every time he looked at his textbook the words blurred and melted together. His heart, unsurprisingly, was hammering away in his chest. And, worst of all, just as he was fighting for his ability to focus --
“Did you hear? Apparently the Phantom Thieves are students,” said a boy sitting diagonally in front of Akechi. He was leaning forwards over his desk towards a girl, who had turned almost fully around to listen to him. She was smiling, too, and her face was pink.
“It’s not like they’d go somewhere like here, though,” she said, “otherwise one of our teachers would have had their heart changed. Ugh - I wish that would happen. Maybe it’d help our grades.”
“You think they go to that other school, then? The one with that creepy teacher?”

The girl nodded. Her head tipped to the side and hair spilled out over her classmates desk. Akechi didn’t know her name. He didn’t know the name of the boy she was talking to, either. 

“Probably,” she said, beaming, rocking on her chair. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? But, ah, what I wouldn’t do to meet the Phantom Thieves myself. I’ve got a bunch of people I want to change the hearts of.”

And Akechi stopped listening. It did make sense, didn’t it? And it lined up so well for it to be Sakamoto, since he was already involved with Kamoshida, and Akira was his friend-

But Akechi had other things to look into now. He wanted to look into Sakamoto in case there was anything specifically relevant there. He wanted to look into Kitagawa and that would involve looking over police notes. Then he could see if there was anyone else of note there. That girl they’d been with at the TV station was mentioned in the Kamoshida case, wasn’t she?

And although it didn’t look good for Akira, it gave Akechi other people to look into first.

Before any of that, though, he looked back at his open textbook. Detective work could wait for when he was out of school - now he needed to do his history assignment.

---

“I don’t mean to be putting more on your plate right now, Akechi, but it’d be appreciated if you could just tie up this loose end for me,” Sae said, tapping a manicured nail against the file on her desk. Akechi had been invited to join her for some work when he’d gotten in and she’d barely waded through their small talk before revealing her ulterior motive.

It’d gone under the radar somehow while she’d been flooded with work before Kaneshiro’s arrest, but apparently an article had been published providing further details on the Kamoshida case. It was from the perspective of a Shujin student - anonymous, but referred to throughout the article as ‘ Boy M ’. It covered details about the abuse the volleyball team went through and the culture within the school, particularly around Kamoshida, that kept them from speaking out.

From what Akechi had gleaned when Sae had shown him the article on her phone, it seemed extensive and detailed in a way that only an experienced journalist could offer. Though it had come out a month ago, even then it had been doused in pro-Phantom Thief drivel, where every other question was answered in some way or another with their praise.

‘ Boy M insisted that it felt like there was no way to avoid being mistreated by Suguru Kamoshida, and that that was why nobody said anything sooner.
“It was like he was worshipped for managing the volleyball team. We were told that everyone knew that we were being abused but that nobody cared. Kamoshida would tell us that it was necessary if we wanted to improve and if we argued or complained we were threatened with being taken off of the team or told to quit volleyball entirely. If it wasn’t for the Phantom Thieves, I just know that we’d still be getting treated like that.” ’

A significant portion of the rest of the article focused on that point about the Phantom Thieves. About their reputation, about Boy M’s belief in them, about whether or not they were righteous - and that, eventually, doubled back around into talk about Kamoshida. 

“You want me to look into this article?” he said, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“I want to know if I can get ahold of him somehow - but I need to know if it’s legitimate or not first and I don’t have the time right now to look into it.”

That much seemed true. Akechi hadn’t gone a day without finding Sae in the office recently, and they’d found the time to talk to one another less and less. 
“I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but it would be a great help,” she said, sincerely enough but without taking enough notice of Akechi for her to have expected him to refuse. 

So he sighed but nodded.
“Of course, Sae-san. I’ll help any way that I can.”

At the very least, it meant that he had more things to do before he could spare the time to look into Akira and his group of misfit friends. 

Speaking of Akira, though - hadn’t he mentioned knowing someone whose name began with an M? Akechi had made a note of it on his board at home,amidst his notes on Akira, but the specific name escaped him and he had no means to access them for the moment. 

“Thank you,” she said, again distracted but with sincerity and the unsettling weight of the trust she’d had that Akechi was going to accept. He was proving himself to be dependable and that was good, but he couldn’t accept too much. He still hadn’t made time to look into Principal Kobayakawa, and it had been three weeks since the Director had asked him to.

Well, since it was on his mind…

He opened his phone and filtered through the MetaNav, opening it and typing in Kobayakawa alongside Shujin Academy. 

Unsurprisingly for being someone who had caught the Director’s attention (meaning he had most likely caught Shido’s, too) it had a hit, and it was likely that he had some kind of a palace. It’d take some dedicated time to try and figure out his keyword unfortunately, but that was, again, something to work on later.

That was another thing to prioritise over looking into Akira.

He couldn’t justify wasting excessive amounts of time on a theory he’d spontaneously come up with. He had work, he had homework, and he had more important jobs that he’d been neglecting. 

“Is that all you’d like my assistance with?” Akechi asked, tucking his phone away in his pocket again. 
“That’ll be all. I’ve been far too flooded with work for any of our usual conversations lately, Akechi, but when I get this Phantom Thief case figured out everything will work out.”

Akechi smiled. Something like pity, hideous and uncomfortable, sat in his stomach. She couldn’t figure them out - how could anyone determine their methods without knowing about the Metaverse beforehand? And if Sae was one of those people, she’d already have made some connections the same way Akechi was ignoring the few he’d made. It could be months before the Phantom Thieves made a mistake big enough to begin jeopardising their identities, and if Akechi’s plans came to fruition before then, she’d never get the chance to ensnare them.

He’d steal away this victory the same way they’d snatched Kaneshiro’s arrest out from under her.

“If anyone can do it, Sae-san,” he said again, a vouch of confidence that didn’t change her disposition at all. He assured her that he’d look into Boy M that night and excused himself from her office to let her focus.

All of the cases that he’d been assigned were miserable, easy tasks done to make his record look more impressive. He stayed at the station long enough that if he was needed for a meeting with the Director, he’d have been called for, but when he wasn’t disturbed by six, he excused himself for the day.

He took longer than usual getting home. The trains around Shibuya were busier than expected, Kichijoji was far emptier when he stopped to buy something for dinner on his way back to his apartment. 

Before he ate, he showered and changed into comfortable clothes before returning to his desk, energy drink in hand. His notes had been right - Akira had a friend with a name that started with the letter M, a Mishima that had been assigned the note “Volleyball, possibly” which then affirmed the potential connection.

So he flicked open his phone. 

‘ Boy M might be a Shujin student by the name of Mishima. Looking for more information now. ’ Sent to Sae to keep her informed and, more importantly, prove that he was honouring his promise to look into it for her. The message was delivered, then read, but no response followed. He set his phone back down and opened LINE in the hopes of finding further information. Putting in Mishima turned up too many accounts, and Sakamoto’s name didn’t yield anything helpful, only old track photographs and newer food pictures. Takamaki, however, seemed to have a semi-professional account, her homepage doused in modelling photos, through her account he was able to find one account she was following under the name Mishima. 

A little further probing revealed his full name to be Yuuki Mishima. In amidst other posts about technology and coding (he seemed to be a huge fan of different kinds of tech and posted compulsively about the specifications of new phones or laptops on the market with scathing critiques) were posts about moderating for a website or forum that he didn’t mention (utterly indiscreet, though. If that article truly was his, the Phantom Thief praise made it all but explicit that he was likely the website's moderator). And, buried somewhere from late March, was a post about being tempted to quit volleyball. The complaints turned into a thread talking vaguely about training and how exhausting it was, punctuated finally with a meek and lacklustre ‘apology’ for the spam of posts about it. 

But that was confirmation enough - ‘Boy M’ was, most likely, Yuuki Mishima. 

He picked up his phone again to send Sae another message.

‘ Mishima Yuuki, Shujin Academy. Likely a second year ’ That was speculation based on Akira, also a second year, mentioning him. ‘ Posts about volleyball from late March, less than two months before Kamoshida’s calling card. ’

He followed up with the link to Mishima’s profile (allowing him to take a photo from it to join his board with the note ‘ Potential Phan-site moderator?’ ), earning a short thanks from Sae before turning off his phone again.

Next was Kobayakawa. If it meant he didn’t need to look into the Phantom Thieves just yet, he could find something of substance to dig up on the Shujin principal.

He finished eating and washed it down with more of his bitter, foul-tasting energy drink, but before he could start on anything else, his phone screen lit up again. 

‘ You’re still working? ’

What else did she expect from him? He’d pointedly not told her about Akira and had made it clear that he didn’t necessarily have people to spend time with, but his confused annoyance was interrupted by another message coming through.

' You go home through Shibuya, don’t you? I thought you’d stop to see the fireworks show. ’

That was tonight?

It wasn’t like it mattered too much. Akechi couldn’t recall the last time he’d had time to see the fireworks show - much less the time to care about it. Last year he’d been going home late and ended up in Shibuya while it was on, but had been too annoyed by the crowds and too insistent on getting home to pay attention to it.

Come to think of it, he’d been busy in Mementos when it had started. He couldn’t remember the name or the face of the person he’d been sent after. It was somewhere in a notebook in his desk amidst all of the other names he’d been sent and the dates he’d completed each job. That had been replaced with his cork board eventually and was where the old, irrelevant cases or ones that he couldn’t find a solid connection for would go, extensively documented so that he knew exactly how much he had to use as blackmail against Shido.

He hadn’t even known it was coming up this year - much like the food festival, the fireworks had entirely slipped his mind. 

It didn’t matter. He picked up his phone.

‘ Too much work to do. Maybe next year. ’

Short and simple. Enough to get her off of his back. It was only quarter past seven - it would have only started recently. That also explained the abnormal emptiness of Kichijoji while he’d been travelling and, subsequently, why the trains through Shibuya had been packed with people dressed in traditional clothing. 

‘ Are you sure? Makoto and her friends are there tonight. ’

A grimace. Akechi turned his phone off, slid open the drawer of his desk and dropped it inside. 

Makoto and her friends are there . 

Well. Good for her. Good for Makoto and her friends for finding the time in their underwhelming, dull student schedules to go see a fireworks show. What was Akechi supposed to do - find the time out of nowhere? Find friends of his own to go with? 

Firework shows were a waste of time. Food festivals were a waste of time. He had work, he had to keep track of the MedJed threat, which ought to be on TV by now. He had to keep looking into the people Shido and Shido’s coworkers were pushing onto him. Friends were a waste of time. Friends and firework shows and food festivals were a waste of time and Akechi had too little to waste.

He had next year.

When he was controlling Japan, controlling Shido, and had all of the power that he could get his hands on, he would have the time to watch the fireworks from the window of the Cerulean Tower, in an expensive penthouse with none of the miserable parts of work on his shoulders. 

Then he’d be the one making others do his work. All of those god damn businessmen and CEO’s thinking they were above his line of work would be assigned all of the dirty, low cases that they refused to do for themselves.

Makoto Niijima and her friends would be grovelling, too. Just for the sake of proving that friends were time wasted, better spent pursuing power and influence. 

And while he was on the topic of ‘friends’, there was no point wasting his own time and avoiding it any further.

He opened his laptop and typed in ‘ Akira Kurusu ’.

Chapter 19: Friday, June 10th

“What do you think of these justice-oriented Phantom Thieves?” the host asked the Detective Prince on the TV, a smiling and starry-eyed young man that Akechi barely felt looked like him anymore.

The Akechi on TV had artfully covered the bags beneath his eyes. He had doused himself carefully in makeup, his hair was freshly washed and sat perfectly on his shoulders, catching the light with a healthy shine. Sitting with his shoulders hunched forward, staring dull-eyed at the TV screen, it was clearer to him than it had ever been that the boy on the TV was not Goro Akechi.

Even on the day he recalled feeling that same sort of disconnect, feeling like that boy was too put together, too perfectly behaved, with an unrelenting, glistening smile. How had that only been a month and a half ago? 

How had it been so recently when it felt so far away? 

He spoke with the hosts politely and patiently. He answered their questions about Madarame. The Detective Prince switching between dazzling smiles and pensive frowns always at the right moment, it seemed as if he was built for the spotlight - born within it, made to suit specifically a life of fame and glamour. 

Akechi, on his couch, didn’t feel that way. He felt like he was built to exist in a dingy living room, surrounded by his own filth. Old takeout boxes and scattered papers, overflowing bins, staring with tired eyes at an unattainable version of himself on a TV screen.

The Detective Prince looked at a panel beside him as numbers rolled in, tallying up people who believed in the Phantom Thieves. Akechi wondered, idly, what that number would be now. It seemed more popular to believe in the Phantom Thieves than not to. The Detective Prince made a polite comment about it being higher than expected and as the conversation rolled on, the host eventually turned to the crowd.

This was the important part.

She walked down the aisle and stopped beside Akira. On the TV, he looked so different. His hair was a little shorter, slouched further and shoulders drawn in to make himself smaller and easier to ignore. Akechi was so used to seeing him in casual settings or energised by competition that it was almost uncharacteristic. In hindsight, though, it was easier to tell that Akira didn’t want to be put on TV at all. He was wide eyed when thrown in front of a hungry camera, but he settled into it quickly when it was clear there was no way out

It was useful that Akechi could read Akira better now - he knew what mannerisms to look for. 

“Hypothetically speaking,” came the woman's voice, drawn out and dramatic, “what are your thoughts on the Phantom Thieves, if they were real?”

He watched as Akira, seeing no way out, sat up a little and leant over to the microphone. He looked at Akechi with what had once been seen as a challenge but he now understood was contempt.
“They do more than the cops.”

Hindsight offered context to that quip. The knowledge of Akira’s criminal record suggested distaste for the legal system after breaking the law. It was unsurprising but frustrating to see the Detective Prince laugh, charmed by what should have been so blatant. The shared amusement of Akira’s friends was further insult to injury, knowing now they were all involved in the same criminal organisation.

The host made a mediating comment to turn attention back to the Detective Prince. The curiosity and eagerness was so prominent on his face that Akechi, now, felt almost infuriated by it. How stupid was the boy on the TV - how stupid had he been only a month ago? He was exactly the starry-eyed and gullible fool all of these TV hosts and his moronic co workers took him for.

“It’s rather intriguing to hear such a strong acknowledgement,” the Detective Prince said, warm and fond and so curious that it was disgusting.

In the lull of conversation Akechi asked his sole question - “if his heart suddenly changed,” referring to Sakamoto beside him, “wouldn’t you think it was the work of the Phantom Thieves?”

He wanted to find that stupid boy on TV and strangle him. The infuriating smile, the undeniable excitement shining in his eyes hearing Akira argue with him - all of it was disgraceful.

And that quip of ‘ what would you think ?’ had gone from a refreshing change of pace to an insult so severe that Akechi’s nails sank deep into the palms of his hands, embedding crescent shapes into the skin.

Any further denial of Akira’s position as a Phantom Thief would be blind optimism.

Akechi may have fallen for his charm and assertion once, but he wouldn’t succumb to it again. His job was more important. His future was more important.

He clicked the pause button on the TV where the host was thanking Akira for his participation, and Akechi could finally catch a glimpse of Akira’s face.

He seemed to be enjoying himself.

Akechi wanted to do whatever it took to rip that expression from him.

Chapter 20: Sunday, July 24th

Notes:

2nd of june everyone say happy birthday akechi. as a treat he's miserable this chapter, just like the last and the next

His head felt like a mess. Through the pulsing spurred on by a lack of sleep and the fact he’d almost exclusively been drinking caffeinated drinks, his head was barely screwed on, the addition of Akira’s betrayal leaving him less coherent and less grounded than usual. 

The entire week had been spent in a hazy mist, torn between a sickening, almost-delirious pride that Akechi had been right not to let Akira too close, that he’d been right knowing something wasn’t quite adding up about him, against the bitter realisation that he’d been stupid enough to let someone so obviously suspicious get so close to him. There would then be this sense of pride, of relief that this life of isolation had been correctly followed - he wasn’t missing out on anything when he let people in. All he was doing was opening the door for people to mistreat and misuse him, to lie and deceive him. To pretend that they were anything more than criminal trash, than scum of the earth feigning righteousness and lying to his face every time that they saw one another. 

It went without saying that he’d finally looked into Akira.

It hadn’t been easy. While some pieces of information appeared like they were meant to be discovered, others took far more digging to find. Searching his name immediately yielded information on a report for a recent case of assault against an unknown, unnamed victim. It was a story shared in early April, less than a week before Akira had told Akechi he’d moved to Tokyo. It spoke about a violent, impulsive and unpredictable teenage boy who assaulted a man unprovoked in broad daylight in a small town Akechi hadn’t heard of before. 

Following the article brought him to a separate page with a recent update clarifying that the individual had been sentenced to a year of probation - dated in early April, the month that Akira said he’d moved to Tokyo “on his own, to live in a cafe”. 

He hadn’t been able to find any social media for Akira. Akechi even made a nameless throwaway account on a couple of different websites in case Akira’s phone number in his contacts produced an account somewhere but he found nothing. Scouring through files on his work laptop produced more specific information. The article had gotten the assault right, but the files being tracked by the police also noted where he was spending his probation - down to the address.

Which, when Akechi dug into it, was the address of a cafe on Yongen-Jaya. The cover over the door read ‘ Leblanc: Coffee & Curry ’ which, when checked against the notes of what he knew about Akira (“ Lives in a cafe. Primarily sells coffee and curry. Cooks for and works where he lives. ”) lined up perfectly.

Further digging revealed the owner to be one Sojiro Sakura, a name that rang bells not only for being previously involved with government work, but because he was certain he’d heard that name mentioned alongside talk of that Isshiki woman. It was a surprise he was still alive. Maybe because he’d quit. Maybe because he hadn’t stuck his nose into anything about her death.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter - the important bit was that he was currently registered as the legal guardian of Akira Kurusu for as long as he was on probation.

He hadn’t slept the night he’d been doing research. Not for more than a few minutes, slumped at his desk until his back hurt. Spliced between everything that he was looking into, he routinely shuffled and corrected his corkboard, which had to be almost entirely reorganised in order to be useful.

Everything regarding Shido was moved to the right side. Akira was stuck dead in the middle of the right side, a thumb tack pinned directly between the eyes of the mugshot photo Akechi had printed out.

Everything else had been spread out around those two photos. One of Shido, one of Akira. 

Every time he thought about it, a wave of nausea and misery rolled through him, swiftly crushed and flattened beneath the weight of his all-consuming anger.

How had he been so foolish as to let Akira get remotely close to him? How hadn’t it crossed his mind that the only reason someone would spend time with a man like him was because they wanted something out of it? The hidden motives were more discreet than usual and tucked between the facade of not being a Phantom Thief. Akechi could only assume that Akira had tricked him for so long to get closer to him as a detective and throw him off of the scent. Keep your enemies closer. It was smart, it was so aggravatingly smart that Akechi, the fool that he was, hadn’t seen through it. 

So used to people following him for his fame or his TV persona, of course he hadn’t expected someone to be interested in him for his police work. Of course when Akira had exchanged casual conversation and light banter over a pool table, Akechi had been blinded by how totally and utterly normal he was - because he wasn’t after Akechi’s fame. He wasn’t clinging to him like the warmth of a spotlight, crawling over his skin and suffocating him under the pressure - he had goals loftier than that. So he’d been worming his way under Akechi’s skin in a more subtle way. Playing along with Akechi’s stupid assumption that he had all of the power in the situation, that Akira was strung along for whatever Akechi wanted.

He’d been stupid. He’d been so close to Akira and those silver eyes he’d been blinded.

And worst of all, the most insulting of all, he still had to follow along with this foolish little charade. He had to smile under the spotlight, had to continue playing along with Akira’s game.

He had to keep his enemies close, too. 

That thought had been weighing on him for the last six days. Even now, walking into the police station early in the morning, his teeth were grit so firmly that he could feel a painful ache in the muscles of his jaw, and had to will himself to relax, to appear friendly once more, as he stepped into the elevator to get to work. He hadn’t seen Sae since Monday and hadn’t gotten a text from her since he’d dug into Boy M , either. It was typical - she contacted him for what she needed and left as soon as that was fulfilled. Plate too full for even a short greeting - and after about the third day of not hearing from her, he’d made it a point not to visit her office when he went back to work. 

He didn’t need any more work on his plate and she was the professional, polite type who preferred to ask things of him in person so it was best to avoid her altogether. The shift in his feelings around Akira were obtuse and invasive and took up far more of his thoughts than he could spare, so he didn’t need another task - much less one centred around the Phantom Thieves.

Unfortunately, though, as the elevator doors opened and he stepped out-

“Akechi?” Sae said, stood only a metre away. She must have been waiting for the elevator; avoiding her would’ve been impossible. “Good timing. I need to borrow you.”

Those piercing brown eyes glanced behind him to the elevator and then seemed to disregard whatever she’d been planning. If she were anything like Akechi thought (though evidently his judge of character couldn’t be that reliable) she’d only been leaving to get breakfast or another cup of coffee. It was early enough in the morning and unlikely she’d been home for long that night. Assuming, of course, that she’d been home at all.

Akechi, even without prompting, followed her back over to a communal seating area. Where they previously shared conversation over coffee. He ignored her prompt to sit down as she paced, heels clicking on the polished floor.

“You seem quite busy, Sae-san. I take it that you’re stuck in the middle of everything?” He prompted her to speak, a polite way to try and get her to hurry this up. His patience was short, his temper shorter, and his head pounding. He took a sip of the cold coffee he’d bought that morning. It was unpleasant and tasted faintly burnt - he tried not to think about Akira and his refined coffee knowledge.

“The Phantom Thieves made a mockery of us when they brought down Kaneshiro,” she said, with an intensity and frustration that Akechi hadn’t come to expect from her. He barely managed to hold his tongue and refrain from snapping back at her. When she picked up her head, Akechi could see the strain of this case clearly on her face. Late nights had resulted in bags beneath her eyes not dissimilar to his, covered poorly with concealer. At least Akechi knew how to hide his exhaustion. She flicked some of her hair over her shoulder, anger and frustration painted over her face. “And to make matters worse, MedJed, who had been dormant for some time now, just declared war on them.”

Ah, right. That’d been scheduled to go up today. He’d had this discussion with the IT Company President a few days ago, insisting on sharing the update on the Phantom Thief situation at the end of the week. Sharing it on Sunday, when everyone was out of school, made it sure that the news would spread fast across social media. 

The launch had been scheduled for midnight - the change of the text on the website to instead read “ We are disappointed in the people of Japan and their belief in the Phantom Thieves’ false justice. Hence, we shall proceed with our plan to cleanse Japan. This process will commence on August 21st. As a result, the Japanese Economy shall suffer devastating damages. However, we are magnanimous. We will give the Phantom Thieves one final opportunity to repent. As proof of this repentance, we demand that they reveal their identities to the public. We will attack if these demands remain unmet. The future of Japan rests with the Phantom Thieves. We are Medjed. We are unseen. We will eliminate evil. ”. It was pompous and arrogant and completely false, and Akechi’s growing bitterness towards Akira may have contributed to that.

Sae had already noticed the update. Had the Phantom Thieves?

Had Akira?

“How much more can they screw us over?” Sae hissed through her teeth, one hand on her forehead.

And Akechi didn’t even know what bitter, vindictive, tired part of it he came from when he replied.
“Stress is bad for the skin, you know.” 

At least his tongue had the decency to withhold from snapping at her. Immediately, though, the damage was done and Sae met him with a look of pure poison.
“Did you come all this way simply to be sarcastic?” 

If nothing else, it seemed like she was changing her mind about asking him for help. Thank God.

He’d take his chance to twist her thoughts. If he knew who the Phantom Thieves were, he could begin laying some kind of a trap for them - and he’d already gathered a few ideas. The past week hadn’t been spent moping and whining; there were more important things on his plate than whatever complicated feelings Akira was forcing out of him with this betrayal.
“How about you listen to my deductions for a change of pace?”

No response. He continued.

“You may think it absurd, but don’t you think this case you’re pursuing and the actions of the Phantom Thieves overlap somehow?” 

That caught her attention. Sae lifted her head, disarmed by the suggestion of a break in her case, expression now confused rather than annoyed.
“What are you basing this off of?”
“The one point of commonality across all cases is how those involved have an unforeseen change of heart.”
“I’ve suspected that myself,” Defensive, “but those suspicions are unfounded.” Pushing back.

She would be open to the idea with evidence. Good to know. Whatever evidence he found or created, she’d be more likely to believe it.
“I told you at the beginning that this was only a deduction.” He was feeling calmer, more reassured in himself. More certain that there was a possibility to get revenge on Akira for lying to, deceiving, and using him. “These ‘just’ Phantom Thieves are riling up the public. However, that is a disguise. Their true goal is terrorist action by the way of psychotic breakdowns.” A pause. A smile - eager, harmless, seeking out reassurance from his mentor and the only person who respected him. “Is that too much?”

She caught his gaze, held it, and relented.
“There’s nothing at the moment that falsifies that claim,” she said, opting to reassure Akechi and agree with him rather than double down on it being a reach and dismiss him entirely. Then, a new look of intensity crossed her face and she turned fully towards him. “Have you mentioned this to the police?”

His smile widened. Starry-eyed and optimistic, relieved to be validated. As much as he despised falling into the naive rookie detective role, the expectations that everyone had for him to be a stupid kid who just so happened to be a prodigy made it easier to sway them.
“I’d never tell them such things.” He had to affirm her importance to him, insist he was trusting her, and make her more open to his ideas. “The only value they have to me is in their mobility and organisational capabilities.”

The rest was implicit. ‘ But your value is elsewhere. I want your support and I want to support you. ’

“Hm. It seems having you lend me a hand has paid off.” It seemed genuine - her shoulders had relaxed, as had her expression. Good.

“I’m glad to hear that,” his smile stayed a moment longer, only to falter when he found a more pressing question to ask. She’d mentioned a few days prior that she was looking into the research of Wakaba Isshiki. That she’d followed the legal battle for custody over Futaba Isshiki, now Futaba Sakura, and had found her new guardian to ask.

Sojiro Sakura. The same one housing Akira during his probation.

“What about your case, Sae-san? Did you learn anything from the guardian of that mental shutdown victim’s daughter?” 

Sae’s expression shifted again, this time into a frown.
“Nothing at all.”

Of course, she wasn’t going to find anything. No matter how hard she looked.

“I see.”

But it wasn’t as if Akechi could tell her that she’d have no luck looking into Sakura without giving himself away. He knew that Shido had ordered her research confiscated years ago and still had it now - more than anything else, he wouldn’t be nearly as good at his job without it. 

So, again, he shifted the topic. She’d called him for help, hadn’t she? As much as he’d been opposed to the idea, he needed to be on her good side and he was worried that he was losing ground.
“Now, what should my next action be for our victory?”
“Handle the Phantom Thieves. Without remorse.” That went without being said. “Use any means necessary to win. That’s how I would deal with them.”

Any means necessary. She had no idea how far he was going.

The laugh was almost involuntary.
“Very well.”

“This seems to be fun for you.” Her eyes had narrowed again. “Are you onto something?” 

He shook his head. Quickly. And took another sip of his cold coffee. Again, that burnt taste brought forth the memory of Akira and his overly-roasted coffee, and Akechi made the decision to toss it out as soon as he got the chance.

“Not at all. To our victory.”

And he left. To figure out the best, most efficient and most ruthless way to do exactly as she asked.

---

He didn’t leave the police station until late. He’d stopped to talk to the Director about whether or not he’d found anything on Kobayakawa (“ Not much yet. There have been unexpected obstacles, but I’m still working on it ”. The ‘obstacles’ both referred to Akechi’s inability to figure out his keyword and every other damned job he was meant to be working on) and be assigned a few more cases to keep his workload high and keep his reputation as a dazzling ace detective from being questioned. He spent a few hours ignoring them in favour of making notes about how he could take down the Phantom Thieves, but every plan hinged around this MedJed ordeal going wrong and the Phantom Thieves somehow surpassing him.

Of Akira somehow surpassing him. 

When his headache grew too painful and distracting to continue working, and his stomach was churning with hunger, Akechi left the office. He offered a polite goodbye to Sae and wished her luck before taking the train to get home. 

Unfortunately, with that penchant for surprising him, of course he bumped into Akira on the way home.

He saw him from a mile away, in a cluster of people. Sakamoto and Kitagawa were there, alongside the one with the pigtails from the TV station, Takamaki, and- 

“Niijima-san?” The most surprising of the group. Everyone else lined up with what Akechi had already assumed - he’d suspected Sakamoto and Kitagawa from the very beginning, since he’d seen them on the TV with Akira a week ago. Takamaki made sense, having been with them since the TV trip, but Niijima? “What are you doing here?”

Everyone stopped dead but Niijima, eyes wide with surprise, turned to look at him first. 

From the corner of his eye, Akechi could feel Akira’s gaze on him. It made him sick. Him and that stupid black cat failing to properly hide in his bag.

“Akechi-kun?” She seemed like she didn’t know what to say. There was something more than surprise on her face. Regret, maybe, for how poor their last conversation had gone? Guilt? Or reluctance to talk to him again?

The rest of them turned, too, but Sakamoto was the next that Akechi met eyes with. He was looking at Akechi with an expression that suited his unpleasant appearance. A glare and a grimace, as if he was repulsed by how well put together Akechi was. “Akechi?”

They were truly quite the group, seeing them all in person. Kitagawa stood out like a sore thumb - the only one of them not from Shujin. Faintly, he was certain that had he not already known about their identities, this would have been suspicious enough to prompt him to look into it. Niijima, though, still didn’t suit this group. Everyone else made sense as a Phantom Thief. Sakamoto and Takamaki were directly affected by Kamoshida. Kitagawa by Madarame. Akechi had heard rumour of Akira and Kamoshida having an argument, and he could be generous and assume that Akira’s appearance at Shujin as a criminal could have pushed him toward the company of delinquents, but that was only speculation.

Niijima, however - what reason did she have? She wasn’t athletic, her skills lay in her academic proficiencies. From what he’d heard from Sae, she wasn’t overly social and spent little time with friends, instead opting to bury her nose in textbooks. 

Whatever. No use getting distracted now. He didn’t know how big their operations were - there was no reason to assume that this perfect group was everyone he was looking for. There was that Shiho girl that was also involved with Kamoshida, and Akira had already mentioned being friends with Mishima, so there had to be more of them.

So he didn’t let himself get distracted now. He smiled politely, looking between them.

Looking at everyone but Akira, his eyes landed on Takamaki.
“You’re the ones from the TV station,” he said, smiling. As if it were easy conversation. As if he didn’t feel his heart beating in his throat. “Could it be that you’re friends of Niijima-san?”

It was a surprise when Kitagawa was the one to speak. He almost stepped in front of Makoto, diverted the attention - and if it wasn’t so clumsy and so impulsively spoken, clearly louder than intended, Akechi would have assumed that the diversion of attention was intentional.
“Do you know this guy?”

It’d certainly have been difficult to believe he was a Phantom Thief. Or were all of them so careless and so dense that none of them saw him as a threat?

Regardless, he smiled and turned to Kitagawa. If they didn’t see him as a threat, he had to assert himself as someone worth considering. He had to prove that he knew them. That he wasn’t some bumbling, starstruck fool coasting on temporary fame.
“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Akechi. Glad to make your acquaintance, Yusuke Kitagawa.”

The surprise across Kitagawa’s face was palpably written out. His eyes shot wide, and Akechi could have basked in the feeling of watching someone realise that he was worth taking seriously .
“How do you know my name?”
“Because I’m psychic, of course.” He teased, to a very cold response . “I’m only joking. In truth, I’m a rookie detective.” He was walking a fine line. That was all that he ever seemed to do - walking the line between favoured and hated by the public, walking the line between not working enough and burning himself out, walking the line between wanting to kill Akira for watching him with those stupid silver eyes and wanting something he couldn’t even place. “You’re a former pupil of Madarame, right?”

Then, again, shift on the tightrope. Lean over towards being a threat.
“I’ve actually just joined the investigation team looking into the Phantom Thieves.”

All eyes were on him. The atmosphere felt suddenly more tense, like everything he said mattered more.

So he took a risk.

“Did you see that Medjed has declared war on them?”

Sakamoto was the first to speak. Barely a second of quiet passed before his voice, loud with surprise, echoed through the station.
“War?”
“Their website was updated just a moment ago.” That morning, but there was no need to be specific if they hadn’t seen it yet. 
“For real?!” Sakamoto dug his phone out from his pocket and, with all eyes suddenly on him, dug out the website. Then he groaned, making an exaggerated gesture of tipping his head back and complaining. “English again.”

Attention shifted to Takamaki. She took his phone from his hands.

“Wait- what?”

She played out her surprise better. More controlled, more intentional. She was from America, right? Somewhere overseas - Akechi had seen her plastered in magazines that had featured him before. He didn’t know anything about her beyond her looks and that she wasn’t Japanese, but her appearance with the suspected Phantom Thieves meant that he had to look into her, too. Just in case it yielded anything valuable.

Ryuji moved over towards her and tried to peer over her shoulder - as if he’d understand it any better when she had the phone in her hands. His leg was bouncing, heel tapping against the floor two or three times a second. His hands were fists at his sides. Everyone else, too, seemed fully focused on what Takamaki was reading.
“What’s it say?”

Akechi took the chance to get under their skin again.
“Hm? Why do you seem so agitated?” He already knew - but this would be confirmation. Their answer would tell him everything he needed to know.

Takamaki fumbled over her words for a moment looking for something to say and, with nobody intent on helping her out, Ryuji stepped forwards.
“She’s, uh - she’s a huge fan of the Phantom Thieves!” Clumsy. An obvious lie. “A total nut job for ‘em.” And delivered with no tact. 

Akechi smiled regardless. He pretended that he took their answer at face value, pretended it wasn’t stupid and clumsy with such lacking forethought it only pissed him off further.
“I don’t know how wise it is to be a fan of groups like them,” he said, easy and calm.

“What’s with these comments?” 
Niijima. Ugh.
He’d had enough of both Niijima’s today, but if she as similar to her sister as she’d already proven herself to be, the best thing to do was swallow his pride and disengage.
“My apologies,” he said, having to fight to keep his polite tone of voice. It was worse than being on TV, being asked the hundredth question about what he really thought of the Phantom Thieves. “I didn’t mean to butt into your conversations, but I must say-” he couldn’t stop himself in time “-this is an interesting group.”

“Prosecutor Niijima’s sister, an ex-pupil of Madarame, and a few Shujin Academy students. It seems like you’re all connected to the Phantom Thieves somehow.” Then, finally catching up with himself, he added one last thing to downplay what was obviously an accusation. “Perhaps you have better intel than I do.”

Akira was still looking at him.

He had to do this sooner rather than later so he grit his teeth, took a breath, and turned to meet those piercing silver eyes.

Akira seemed amused and unfazed. Of course he did. It made Akechi want to kill him.

Filthy liar.

“Ah, yes. I wanted to ask you something.” Akira didn’t know that Akechi had caught onto his act. He had to play nice. “Regarding this whole Medjed commotion… if you were one of the Phantom Thieves, what would you do?”

If he hadn’t figured them out already, the surprise and the baited breath everyone met his question with was basically a confession. He hated them all. Stupid, incompetent fools - and he’d somehow managed to convince himself that they were a threat ? That any of them could have outsmarted him ?

“I don’t care,” Akira said. The smile on his lips said otherwise. 

Akechi’s grip on his briefcase turned his knuckles white.
“Is that so? You’ve positioned yourself as such a firm defender of theirs, I’m surprised.”

Sakamoto stepped forwards again. He bumped shoulders with Akira.
“Sorry to disappoint,” he said, with a bluntness and barely suppressed anger that Akechi almost envied. What he wouldn’t give to return the bitterness, to snap at and insult every single one of them now. “But we’re just normal high school kids.”

Evidently, he’d caught onto Akechi’s suspicions. Which meant everyone else must have caught on, too. 

“If anything, we wanna hear what you gotta say, Mr. Detective .”

So Akechi offered him what he had to say. Like this was a press briefing and nothing more. 
“My profiling of the Phantom Thieves had led me to believe they are a group of juveniles,” the easy tone almost came by default with the rehearsed answer. How many interviewers had he said this too now? They all ate it up the same way. “They have a relative amount of free time after school and a hideout to slip away to.”

He looked at Sakamoto like he was being challenged - proving that Akechi had no intent to back down.

“Furthermore, considering Kamoshida was their first target, it seems they began activity around April.”

April. When Akira came to Tokyo.

He turned to look at Akira.

“In a way, all I’ve just said about the Phantom Thieves coincides with the group that you have here.” Bitterness seeped back into his voice. Keeping it back was proving more and more difficult the longer he spent looking at the man who was lying to him. He’d need to find a reason to excuse himself soon - he was saying too much, anyway.

“What, you gonna report us?” Sakamoto said, with that brutish anger that Akechi wanted desperately to return. He wanted to agree, to tell all of them that he was going to report them, that he already knew they were guilty of everything and more - that he would have Akira locked up for the rest of his fucking life. But he didn’t.

“I didn’t say I was being suspicious of you.” He stayed calm. Diplomatic. Because he had to.

And Akira, stupid, insufferable Akira, complacent enough to think he could get away with joking, spoke up.
“Ryuji’s a Phantom Thief.”
“What- me? You’re siding with him?!” Ryuji said, eyes shooting wide open, taking a step towards Akira this time like he meant to argue, all the while Akira smiled that same stupid, smug little smile he liked to wear. It made Akechi sick. 

And worst of all, the lightheartedness of his joke worked. It brought that warm, horrible feeling back to Akechi’s chest - the same he’d felt when he was given that fountain pen. The same from when Akira messed with his hair. He hated it.

“I wasn’t anticipating that response,” he said, open and warm and beaming again, more desperate now than ever to leave. More desperate now than ever to be proven wrong about Akira. Perhaps, if he were lucky, if he spent enough time with him he could change his mind. Akira could stop working with these bumbling idiots and see that there was more to be found without them. “You always find a way to rise above my expectations.”

His stupid tongue. Damn him and his inability to shut up.

“You really are an intriguing one.”

If ever there was a time to stop talking, it was now.

“I lack your calm mannerisms, but don’t you think my deduction is an interesting one?” His smile was repulsively genuine. Shame rolled through him as he showed his teeth to Akira, and punctuated his sickly sweet attitude with a wink. “I bet we’d make a great team if we worked together.”
“What?!” Sakamoto said, glaring at Akechi like he was a stain on the earth. “The hell are you sayin’?"
“This has been a valuable conversation for me,” Akechi said, finally getting his words under control enough to excuse himself. “I hope to see you all again sometime.”

Another glance pointedly at Akira. He wasn’t smiling anymore - neither of them were.

And as he was leaving, he overheard Takamaki asking everyone ‘ What was that about? ’ over his shoulder.

Hopefully he’d gotten into their heads just as much as they’d gotten into his.

---

There was no way to deny or work around it. Every thought in Akechi’s head since he’d gotten back home had been twisted around the shape of Akira. The silhouette of someone he had been so, so confident that he’d understood until the moment that he realised how little he actually knew.

He was a criminal even before the Phantom Thieves had been founded - and, worst of all, he’d lied about it. When he’d told Akechi that he’d moved to Tokyo, he’d made it seem totally and utterly voluntary; as if he’d wanted a change of pace or had decided to spend a year elsewhere solely because he wanted to and Akechi, stupid as he was for not wanting to do any surrounding research into Akira, had believed it. He’d latched onto the fairytale story of someone trying to find where he fit in and travelling to the big city in a journey of self-discovery. When had he ever been stupid and optimistic enough to assume he could take someone at face value? That he could trust the perfect slice of someone's life and not question what he wasn’t being told?

Of course Akira would lie. Of course he’d omit important details about who he really was beneath that layer of righteousness and self-importance. 

It was only Akechi who was stupid enough to never question or see through it.

The naive, foolish want to trust Akira had ruined his integrity. It had interfered with his ability to see through what stupid, half-true slop people usually pushed in front of him. He’d bumped elbows with models during promotional shoots, he’d spoken with executives and highly-regarded businessmen and seen through the mindless, self-important drivel they tried to feed him - so why hadn’t it worked for Akira? How had the clear omissions of reason slipped entirely past him?

There was nothing else that he could be done - he needed to prove his authority and his superiority over Akira, over all of his little friends, over the Phantom Thief name. The Ace Detective had to live on and remain stronger than them. He had to take them down and become worshipped by the mindless masses of the public for having been right about them - for knowing that they were all pompous self-gratifying fools with no reliability.

He had to crush them beneath his heel. Not only because Shido had ordered him to have them eliminated by the election, not only because Sae had told him to deal with them without remorse, but for his own sake.

Akechi paced back and forth across his living room. He’d been doing so since he’d gotten home and it felt like he was going to wear through the floor soon. His hands had stayed balled into fists at his side, gripped so tight that crescent indents were built into his palms, faintly purple with how close they got to cutting through the thick skin of the palm of his hand, his teeth grit hard enough to make his jaw pulse and ache. 

He had to kill all of them. As long as they were alive, ruining everything he planned, thinking that they were smart enough to parade around him and deceive him with lies as stupid as just being “fans” of the Phantom Thieves, they were going to be obstacles in the way of his ultimate goal. 

When he had control of Japan, it needed to be orderly and well-maintained. There was no room for rebellion under his rule. 

Trembling fingers raked through his hair, across his scalp, his breathing erratic and fast. The thought of Akira reaching out to mess up his hair flashed through his mind, bringing with it a fresh wave of anger that prompted him to turn and kick his couch. It didn’t budge, instead only sending a dull thrum of pain back through his foot, but he hardly cared. He was exhausted, he was agitated, and the ache of Akira’s betrayal sat heavy in the pit of his stomach. 

His eyes felt hot and blurred with tears, but he bit his tongue and choked them back.

He had to kill the Phantom Thieves.

He had to kill Akira.

Chapter 21: Friday, July 29th

Never before in Akechi’s life had he felt like something he was doing was as pointless and redundant as this.

Yet here he stood, in the early afternoon on a sunny Friday in July, outside of the aquarium in Shinagawa, waiting for Akira to arrive.

Everything about this meeting had been poorly planned. Only the night before had he ordered the tickets, reminding himself that the longer he took to contact Akira the harder it would be to reconnect with him and pretend that nothing had happened. He needed Akira to think that they were still on good terms, that there wasn’t an ounce of bitterness between them. That Akechi hadn’t gone to sleep the last few nights soothed by the thought of a gun to Akira’s head.

The message he’d sent inviting Akira had been equally clumsy, but harmless enough that he doubted Akira would read into it too much.

‘To: Akira Kurusu
Subject: Aquarium Tomorrow?
Apologies for the sudden message. Are you free tomorrow?

A work acquaintance gave me tickets to the aquarium. It’d be a waste to let them go unused, no?
Would you like to come along? ’

It felt desperate and awkward and totally, utterly stupid to say. The message had been so much later than he normally texted Akira, too - something he also hadn’t done in over a week.

Akira had replied, though. Within a few minutes, Akechi’s phone buzzed where it sat on his desk. 

‘From: Akira Kurusu
Subject: RE: Aquarium Tomorrow?
Sure. ’

So simple. So short. Akechi despised him for it - for not seeming to think about how he replied to Akechi or how much thought went into messaging him. Even now, staring at the conversation, at his own message where he’d told Akira where and when to meet, his hatred was so visceral and so strong throughout his body that it almost made him sick.

Their conversation that morning had been short, too. Akechi had reaffirmed that he’d be at the aquarium by midday and Akira had replied saying that he would be on time, too. 

So there Akechi stood, at 11:50 outside of the aquarium, the warmth of the sun insufferable, waiting for Akira to uphold his promise. Assuming that he wasn’t going to lie about his attendance, too.

Minutes rolled by. Akechi moved so that he stood in the shade of the overhang by the entrance, mostly to keep the sun out of his eyes, and just before 11:58, Akira came up the steps to the aquarium, a smile on his face that was entirely unfitting for Akechi’s mood and, what made it worse was that for a moment, Akechi felt his face mirroring the warmth of Akira’s smile.

It worked out for now. He let the smile take over his face and waved as Akira stopped just in front of him.

“You were almost late,” he said, surprised at how easily his voice carried warmth and casual friendliness. He had expected it to be wrapped in bitterness or annoyance - but he was smiling and he was talking to Akira as if there was nothing wrong.

He didn’t think about it.

“I’d have gone in without you if you weren’t here by twelve.”

Akira’s smile only brightened. He turned towards the entrance and gestured to the doors.
“I find it hard to imagine you alone somewhere like this.” What was that supposed to mean? “Let’s go.”

Akechi followed Akira inside. He showed the digital receipt on his phone at the desk, keeping the screen tilted away from Akira to conceal his name on them, and they were allowed inside.

“Considerate of your coworker to give you some tickets,” Akira said, his hands in his pockets as he followed Akechi into the main foyer of the building. For a moment it seemed like he could see through Akechi - a subtle nod to the idea that he knew Akechi hadn’t been given the tickets at all - but he didn’t dwell on it. It made no difference as long as Akira was here.
“It was,” he said, looking back at Akira. They moved through the foyer towards the first display room. “I hadn’t expected it from her. I don’t get along with many people at my workplace since I’m so young, but she’s been too busy with work to use the tickets so she sent them to me.”

Akira nodded. He didn’t seem to be thinking about it too hard, walking into the main display room of the aquarium.

Glass tanks lined the walls and bathed the entire room in a blue light. Akechi’s shoes clicked against the tiled floors and, thankfully, it was quiet enough that most people in attendance were older or couples on dates. Ignoring the implications of the latter, it was nice to know that the most difficult age group (students who recognised him) were absent. It meant that he wouldn’t need to worry so much about being noticed and could instead keep his attention on talking to and pulling information from Akira.

He could see through him now. All he needed to do was figure out how much of a threat he was supposed to be.

“Have you been here before?”

Before that, though - small talk.

Akira picked up his head. He looked away from where a school of fish were swimming by in a flurry, and for a moment Akechi’s chest seized. Bathed in blue light, his silver eyes seemed almost more alive. With the light reflecting off of the rippling water, it covered his skin in white patterns. For a moment, all Akechi wanted to do was close his fingers around the slender narrow of Akira’s throat, to press the back of his head against the glass tank behind him and hold him there - but he kept his hands at his side, teeth working at the inside of his lip to suppress any visible reactions from crossing his face.

Clueless, bathed in blue, Akira shook his head.
“I’d read about it in some tourist magazine but I didn’t get the opportunity to go,” he said with an effortless shrug, easy and relaxed. Too relaxed. Couldn’t he see through why Akechi had invited him out in the first place? Couldn’t he hear everything Akechi was keeping hidden under his tongue? “I’m glad you invited me.”

He had to smile. He had to direct them onwards, past this tank and to the next, solely so that he wasn’t looking at Akira for a few moments.
“I’m glad that you were able to come.” Why did being in such close proximity to him feel so suffocating?

And now that Akechi was alone with him, finally aware of the true nature of their relationship, why had Akira chosen to accept his number at all? Had it only been to take advantage of his position as a cop? Akechi’s ulterior motives, though undeniable, had been somewhere beneath genuine interest. Akira being a Shujin student was a benefit - but would he have accepted Akechi’s number at all if he’d not been a detective? 

Had every conversation they’d had and every interaction they’d shared simply been because Akira had found something useful in Akechi and chosen to endure his miserable, unlikeable company in order to take advantage of it? Had he been foolish, letting his guard down and assuming himself to have all the authority, forgetting to consider that Akira was just as capable of deception and dishonesty as he was?

Why was he glad to come? Was it to pull and untangle more information from him just as Akechi had been building up to do? How much had he gotten away with asking in casual conversation because Akechi was too preoccupied with his own goals to look into any blatant dishonesty?

Akira was looking at him with too much patience.
“Me too.” His smile seemed so genuine it must have been practised. “It’s a nice place.”

For a moment, Akechi had been so busy enjoying someone's company, he’d forgotten what he was. A blemish and a stain, kept around only out of convenience or obligation.

Again, he had to push it aside. To focus.
“This suits you, hm? I wasn’t sure if you’d be the type,” Akechi said, to pull himself from his spiralling thoughts.

Something was beginning to cross Akira’s face, the start of a question or a quip or a comment that was immediately cut off by a figure approaching in Akechi’s peripheral.
“I thought I recognised those glasses! Look who it is!”

What?

Akechi turned. Akira did, too, silver eyes widening with surprise and then rounding with recognition. The look he gave Akechi was somewhere between embarrassed and apologetic. Their unexpected guest was a young woman, mid-twenties or so, with hideous orange sunglasses on her head and ruby red lipstick. She had a bulky camera around her neck and a notepad sticking out of her pocket, with inquisitive brown eyes that darted around the aquarium, landed on Akira, flicked to Akechi, where they briefly lingered, 
“And we even got the Detective Prince here, too.”

She reached for the camera around her neck, and then Akechi’s presence truly registered and her mouth formed a surprised shape. Just as she’d been turning back to Akira again, she returned the full force of her wide-eyed attention towards him.

The lens of her camera, where her pale hands were fidgeting with it, looked at him like it was hungry for something new to report on. When she spoke again, her voice was loud enough it almost echoed. “Wait, what are the two of you-”
“Keep it quiet, please,” Akira interrupted, in a voice almost entirely different to what Akechi had gotten accustomed to. It was a little deeper, similar to how it was on the phone, but also more firm, less friendly. 

“Oh, sorry,” the stranger said, taking a step closer to the two of them. Akechi had to bite back the urge to step further away. “But more importantly -- why are you with Akechi-kun?”

“I invited him out,” Akechi said, stepping forwards to insist on his own importance. He’d invited Akira out, he’d bought their tickets, he wasn’t having someone else step in and interrupt what was meant to be intel-gathering. “We’re fairly close, after all.”

He didn’t need to glance at Akira to know the face he was making. The quirk of his lips was visible in Akechi’s peripheral vision.
“You are…?”

He recognised the way she shifted, the way she retracted her excitement and readjusted her behaviour. It was what he did during interviews to keep himself professional and presentable.
“Oh! Don’t mind me, I’m just a reporter.” A reporter? What was Akira doing associating with reporters? If anything happened to Akira, being close with a reporter could provide complications. Akechi should keep her name under his thumb in case he needed to wrap up loose ends sometime in the future. “He helps me with my articles sometimes.”

Her breath carried traces of alcohol as she showed off her teeth in an enthusiastic smile, looking over at Akira like he was something truly remarkable. As bright as the sun.

What kind of help was he offering?

“But who would have guessed you were friends with the famous teen detective?” she asked Akira now, moving on entirely from Akechi. If nothing else, it confirmed that Akira wasn’t spouting what he heard in their conversations to the nearest tabloids willing to listen. “And unlike you, he’s pretty hardline anti-Phantom Thievery, right?”

Oh, for fucks sake.

“Mind if I ask a couple questions about you two?”

What were the chances of his phone going off within the next few seconds? Of an unprompted work emergency coming up?

“If you like,” Akira said, and Akechi could almost hear the amusement in his voice. Truly, more than ever before, Akechi wanted him dead for this. Was he not already squished between plenty of interviews, promotional photoshoots, product advertisements, and TV appearances? Was he not sick to death of talking about the Phantom Thieves?

Was it not more of an insult to be asked that with what he now knew about Akira?

“Oh, you’re down? I was just kidding.” What? “I’m no model journalist, but I’m not dumb enough to pry into a high schooler’s private life.”

The relief was indescribable. 

“I’m just here for a paper on some popular places for people to hang out,” she said, tapping on the top of her camera with a bitten-down nail, looking past the two of them at the tank of fish behind them and sighing. “Some job this is. I swear, I just keep getting more and more stupid articles to write about.” 

A ringtone supplied a peppy, upbeat song and she pat her pocket, flicking it out and doing nothing to hide her disappointment at the messages she’d received. “Ugh.” She looked up at Akira. Something about her expression was painfully familiar and it took Akechi a second to realise that she was wearing the same expression Sae had when she needed something from him. “I’ll be in touch for more info soon. My deadline for this article just got moved forward by a few days.”

“Good luck,” Akira said, in that same distant-yet-polite voice, nodding at her. She exchanged a short goodbye, picked up her camera, and disappeared.

Akechi, only when the footsteps had fully faded, turned back to Akira.
“You have some friends in the media, I see.”

The apologetic look on Akira’s face seemed the same. There was a distinct sense of guilt - the awareness they’d been interrupted and the desire that they hadn’t been. It was awkward, but Akechi was just relieved that she’d left without interrogation.

“And if I’m interpreting it correctly, you two have some sort of professional agreement?”

A few different replies ran over Akira’s tongue. He paused, tasting them, deliberating, but eventually settled on
“What of it?”

Defensive or indifferent? It was clearly a means of downplaying the connection. Was there something worth hiding?

“Nothing,” Akechi said with a shake of his head. “It’s just interesting to me how your friends come from all walks of life. I don’t mean to pry, I just find you interesting.”

Akira dismissed any complaints he had. The blue tinted light made it hard to tell if Akechi’s questioning left him embarrassed enough that he was turning red. Akechi turned away and nodded towards the hallway in front of them.
“She’s likely much further ahead by now. I’d like to see the rest of their exhibits - I’m curious if there are any sharks here.”

Akira’s footsteps started to approach so Akechi began to walk. He couldn’t get that reporter out of his head - she seemed like some sort of journalist if she was writing articles, certainly working for a larger tabloid or gossip magazine if she had such fast-paced deadlines on trivial topics.

Whoever she was, he’d figure out more about her that night. He needed to know more of Akira’s connections - he’d already primed his corkboard back home to fill out any new information he got.

 

---

 

 

Her name, judging by an old, low-resolution photo used to sign off on a heavily , almost suspiciously pro-Phantom Thief article, was Ichiko Ohya.

A short scroll through her profile revealed that in the last month, she’d uploaded eighteen articles divulging information about the Phantom Thieves, ranging from their ethics to who they were likely to be and what they were hoping to achieve. All of the topics varied significantly, some purely theoretical and some analysing previous behaviours, one even containing an exclusive report on what the students of Shujin Academy thought of the Phantom Thieves since the Kamoshida incident.

And, from over a month ago - ‘ Exclusive scoop: An insight into the abuse of Suguru Kamoshida ’. One which claimed to get all of its information from a Shujin student, who’s anonymity was preserved under the name…‘ Boy M ’.

Did that mean that Akira had been the one to connect the two, or was that too much of a reach? Why else would Akira be the only commonality between the two outside of a generally pro-Phantom Thief outlook? Ohya’s true thoughts would be indiscernible - she was a journalist. Her job was to post articles that would get clicks and it would just make sense that if she gained information through Akira, her writing was inevitably going to glorify the Phantom Thieves.

What did Akira get from this, though? Was it just the generation of free press? The more reads that her articles were getting and the more she posted, the more that public opinion was bound to shift - it would be naive to say that the influx of press praising the Phantom Thieves hadn’t contributed to the glowing praise the public were currently giving them, though that had tapered recently with the rising threat of Medjed. 

Akechi had barely gotten Akira to talk about it. He’d already made small talk on a previous occasion while they were waiting for their trains, but it seemed that Akira was avoidant of the topic so Akechi had inevitably given way to their routine talk about the ethics of the Phantom Thieves, for the same dull argument to spark life into their conversation again.

As if it mattered. The thrill of being argued with was unattainable now - whenever Akira argued in favour of the justice of the Phantom Thieves, it only fuelled Akechi’s frustration. There was no tact in Akira’s defence - it was painfully obvious now, with hindsight, that he was defending them clumsily and firmly because of the justice he saw in his own actions. That wasn’t what annoyed Akechi the most, though.

What annoyed him most was that he’d fallen for it until the motivation behind Akira’s arguments had been spelled out for him.

He flicked through more of Ohya’s articles. The company that she worked for had rung a bell, but he couldn’t quite place where from. It was a journalist website; it made sense that at some point one of these employees had gotten involved in something that they weren’t meant to and had been dealt with. Akechi ended up digging out the notebook of everything he did under Shido, where he kept old names and faces that he couldn’t find anything else to associate with yet. He had notes on the train crash from April in there, since there had been too many people injured and too many casualties for him to connect it to just one person. The scrap of the article he’d stuck into it was surrounded by notes made in red ballpoint pen, noting all of the relevant consequences: the injured politician and his family, the way the incident had been weaponized to make the minister of transport retire, there were still no firm people to direct blame towards. At a certain point, Akechi was curious how many people had died for the sake of inciting fear and panic with no further motives.

He flicked back a few years. It wasn’t in perfect order - some names had been pinned to his board until he admitted defeat and couldn’t firmly connect them with anyone - but it was in a coherent enough order that Akechi could filter back to two years ago.

It was one of the first jobs after Isshiki. He had had a couple of months without being ordered to give anyone else a mental shutdown and had just been beginning to believe that Shido wasn’t lying about that being a one-off request when another had come through. 

 

---

 

Akechi, sixteen, had been standing in Shido’s office when it had been mentioned. His hands firmly at his sides, an ornate wooden clock with a golden face ticking away on the wall opposite. He’d kept his eyes firmly on it, watching as the seconds rolled steadily by.

The memory of Shido standing by the desk stuck firmly in his head. Illuminated by the city lights of a late night Nagatacho. He was tapping his nails against the desk, glowering down at his illuminated laptop.
“I don’t enjoy asking this of you, but it’s a necessary sacrifice to make.” He hadn’t sounded sober. The smell of alcohol clung to him. Akechi had been picked up from outside of his apartment and brought directly to the Diet Building without more than a few minutes of notice. “She’s some scrappy journalist who thinks she’s uncovered something big. But none of it’s true.” Whatever had set this off had happened that night.

Akechi hadn’t believed him. He’d chosen, for the moment, to believe that whatever he was told about the reporter was the truth, but deep within him he’d known it was false. He knew that Shido didn’t mind asking him to do anything.

He also knew that if he refused, there would be someone else able to take his place without question, but his untraceable methods were more desirable. And that no matter what Shido was going to say about this scrappy journalist, it wouldn’t matter whether it was true or not. What mattered was that Akechi needed to get rid of her.

At the very least, he could do it quickly. He could visit Mementos that evening if he needed to.

“She can’t be allowed to publish anything. You understand that this could ruin me if it becomes public, don’t you? The masses don’t care if something’s true or not - they’re hungry for controversy. They’d tear me apart. I have a plan to leave this incompetent party and climb the political ladder on my own and I can’t have a single blemish on my record when I do.”

Akechi’s hands had been shaking when he’d nodded. His throat had been too tight for him to attempt to speak.

“Her name is Kayo Murakami.”

Another short, unsteady nod. 

“I need this done as soon as possible. I’m glad you understand.”

He took in a short breath to bring his voice back.
“I can do it tonight.”

Akechi hadn’t seen the look on Shido’s face. He’d been watching the clock as the minute changed. 

“Good. I knew I could count on you.”

 

---

 

So that Kayo had been a journalist for the same tabloid company that Ohya was working for? A dedicated search of her name had pulled up a few articles from years ago with her name, but everything else to indicate her employment there had been scrubbed and there was nothing reporting on where she’d gone since her last post.

Even Akechi wasn’t certain of where she was - he’d been congratulated on a job well done, generously compensated, and hadn’t heard anything since.

He didn’t put her name on the board. It didn’t matter what she’d discovered or whether or not she’d worked at the same place as this journalist - whatever information she’d uncovered had been burned years ago.

He tucked the notebook away again.

The important part was knowing that Akira had media affiliations and was taking advantage of it to push Phantom Thief propaganda and knowing that when he finally, finally got Akira out of the picture, he’d need to keep an eye on this Ohya in case she started poking her nose in places it didn’t belong. 

He’d get there when he got there. For now, though, he had more important things to figure out. He took out his notes on Akira and added a new section for ‘Affiliations’. That was where Sojiro Sakura and Ichiko Ohya could go. His notes were a lot different now than when he’d started making them.

‘ Kurusu Akira, 18.
Second-Year student at Shujin Academy, transferred in April. (Can be seen at Shibuya changing trains around 7:45)
Criminally convicted of assault. Currently serving a year of probation.
Hometown is far from Tokyo. Sent away by parents.
Both parents alive, relationship strained. Averse topic.
Lives in a LeBlanc in Yongen-Jaya. Cooks for and works where he lives.
Friends (Teammates?): Takamaki Ann (Kamoshida connection), Sakamoto Ryuji (Kamoshida connection), Mishima [?] (Volleyball, possibly), Sumire Yoshizawa (unknown reason), Kitagawa Yusuke (Madarame connection), Niijima Makoto.
Quiet. Opinionated. Observant. Confident, sometimes arrogant. Impulsive. Intelligent.
Is a Phantom Thief.
Owns a cat.
Affiliations: Ichiko Ohya (journalist), Sojiro Sakura (guardian while he’s on probation).'

He lifted his gaze to the corkboard over his desk. Ohya had been added in the form of a sticky note and connected both to Akira and to Mishima. 

He looked at the piercing, annoyed silver eyes that stared at him from Akira’s mugshot.

Thoughts of Akira under the blue light of the aquarium crossed his mind. Of him in the bathroom of a busy cafe, offering Akechi his glasses with a smile that Akechi almost considered trustworthy. Standing up for a stranger in a public park, a decision that was far more stupid now that Akechi understood that if it had gone poorly, Akira could have been arrested and charged properly.

He was headstrong and stupid and brutish and thoughtless and Akechi finally, finally figured out why he couldn’t stop thinking about Akira’s nails raking through his hair.

It was hatred. 

All of those confusing, twisting feelings, the suffocating weight in his chest that made him want to slam Akira’s head into the tank at the aquarium and strangle him - all of it was visceral, bitter tasting hatred.

Akechi wanted nothing more than to press the barrel of his gun to the soft skin under Akira’s chin, look into his eyes, and pull the trigger.

All it would take is a little patience.

Chapter 22: Tuesday, August 2nd

“Factory.”

Akechi’s back was flat against the grimy stone walls that surrounded the disreputable and thoroughly locked Shujin Academy.

Scaling the walls wouldn’t be difficult if his sole intent was to get inside. Climbing the walls, hood up and head low, using a lockpick to get in through the front entrance and slipping away inside would be easy enough if his sole mission was to investigate the school.

“Competition. Stadium.”

Unfortunately, the school wasn’t his target. Principal Kobayakawa was.

And that meant that Akechi needed to figure out what the hell his keyword was.

Shujin Academy had been an obvious location - not only was it where he spent most of his time, but it was the place where he had the most power and influence. He was revered there, if only out of necessity being the principal. 

He stood, approached one of the vending machines opposite, and tapped in the numbers for a can of cold-brew coffee. It had been a long morning, longer spent standing in his cramped hideaway, head low when people passed, blurting out any guess that came to his mind. Any motivation or prepared keywords had been worn away within the first few minutes of being there - now Akechi wanted nothing more than to know the keyword so that he could go home. It was only his first dedicated attempt, but infiltations didn’t usually take him this long.

He scanned over the list of previously determined keywords - bar, school, shelter, hospital, museum, bank, ship - all of which came without any luck. He’d then moved to words he could have safely assumed were affiliated with Kobayakawa. He worked at a school, putting him in a position of privilege and power over everyone else. Castle had been a thought but hadn’t yielded any results, then empire, kingdom, parliament, then House of Representatives followed shortly by House of Chancellors, just in case Diet Building wasn’t sufficient.

That was where he was now, at least. With his hair pulled back into a ponytail beneath his hood despite the sweltering early August temperature, he was harder to recognise. Unfortunately though, it would mean nothing if he sweat off that mornings makeup before he figured out how to access Kobayakawa’s palace.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’ll all be worth it when I figure this out.” He sank to the ground, squatting in the small amount of shadow that the wall offered. The sun was nearly overhead. He’d not been out for long but every failed guess made it feel like he’d been there for another year. “Theatre.” For the spectacle, maybe? For having an audience of students? The Nav didn’t agree with him. He placed his head in his hand.

“Fine. I’ll try again tomorrow and maybe it’ll be cloudier.” Unlikely. It seemed more plausible that it’d be sunny and suffocatingly hot all week. “I’ve still got to meet Sae at the police station at twelve.”

His phone hummed.

‘Location Found ’.

What?

Akechi’s head snapped up. He looked at the screen of his phone and surely, surprising as it was, the words were right there - Kobayakawa. Shujin Academy. Police Station.

There wasn’t even time to process, to think about how infuriating of a keyword that was - Akechi stood, checked to make sure that nobody was passing the road outside of Shujin, for whatever reason, and tapped the Navigator.

A wave of dizziness washed over him and he let his back rest against the wall for a few moments for the sensation to fade.

The air changed. It was rare that a palace gave a distinct change in the atmosphere, rare that it was the first thing to notice. Mementos had a thick, muggy humidity, the feeling of a storm shelter that you never knew if you’d get to leave, each floor further down either slightly warmer or slightly cooler but never a comfortable temperature. 

Here, however, the air carried a bitter chill. It was thin and crisp on his tongue and in his lungs, initially a pleasant change compared to the August heat but swiftly becoming just too cool to manage. He sighed, pushed up from the wall, and pulled his sword from where it was stashed away at his waist. 

There was work to be done. His breaths fogged as they passed his lips and his eyes, finally, trailed over where Shujin had once stood.

It was, for the most part, exactly what it had made itself out to be. It was the same structure - tall concrete walls boasting multiple floors high, stopping at a fenced-off roof, though now the chain fence around the roof was decorated with a fresh layer of barbed wire.

With a pace backwards, Akechi could feel that the floor beneath his feet was no longer concrete but had instead been replaced by a thick glass tile, several of which spanned the surrounding area and street. The sign for Shujin was still on proud display, though now it declared itself Shujin Police Station, and perhaps the most obvious change of all was the fence.

Though usually a stairwell led up to a six foot tall concrete wall, now was a different story. Now it was six feet of concrete topped with ornate, spiked iron bars, carved to both look prestigious and excessively fancy and to warn off intruders, with a sealed and padlocked gate to ensure that only those who were desired were able to access the building. In the centre of the gate, encompassing the lock, was a black sheet of metal with the letter ‘K ’ engraved into it. The entire surrounding area seemed to be enveloped in a haze of blue, the walls and the floors bathed in it. 

He took a few further steps back and scanned the area. The streets on either side of Shujin were abandoned, tapering off into nothing past a certain point.

Was Kobayakawa so tunnel-visioned on the sanctity of Shujin Academy that nothing else mattered? Even the residential buildings opposite the school were replaced with ambiguous, uninteresting concrete blocks, resigned to landmarks and nothing more. 

In fact, it seemed like nothing was remotely as important in this cognition as Shujin Academy. The iron fence, barring intruders, sealed off a well-guarded and highly defensive station, inside which searchlights scoured the area to seek out anything that could possibly be out of place. Occasionally they would sweep past the gate barring Akechi’s access into Shujin and he’d have to move out of the way, somewhere behind cover. Whatever happened when an intruder was spotted by those searchlights, Akechi wasn’t going to find out.

His eyes followed the yellow beam. Unmanned searchlights scoured the area with wide yellow eyes, trailing slowly along the floor in repetitive back-and-forth motions, scouring endlessly. Perhaps that was why there were no Shadows out here, as far as Akechi could see? They were waiting in guard towers or standing at attention just inside the sealed building for when the lights would detect someone who didn’t belong - then they could come charging out to deal with the intruder quickly and without mercy.

Their defences, then, would be secure enough that unlike Madarame’s museum there would be no need for external protection. That meant that the iron gate would be the biggest issue and if Akechi couldn’t bypass it, he’d need to get through it head on. Whatever that entailed.

When the yellow lights swung over to the left of the building and checked the perimeter between the iron fence and Shujin’s barred double doors, Akechi slipped up to the gate and offered out a hand, which he used to tentatively take the latch of the metal lock and-

A sudden, ear-splitting alarm swept through the entire area. The moment that his fingers made contact with the gate, any discretion or stoplight evasion couldn’t have shielded him. He whipped his hand back and raised his sword as two Shadow’s burst from the ground in a splatter of black ooze. The searchlights, too, had zipped immediately over to the fence and were spreading out in opposite directions to try and determine where the intruder had come from, where the threat to Shujin’s security was, and though Akechi had barely learnt anything, he knew better than to stick around. The entire building had instantly been put on high alert and he, with no way to get inside without fighting his way through a potentially unending horde of Shadows, eased backwards until he was stood against the concrete blocks behind himself, where Kobayakawa’s disinterest in anything outside of his realm meant that the searchlights wouldn’t extend their unrelenting gaze.

He grit his teeth at the waste of a trip, pulled his phone from his pocket, and opted to return back home.

It was fine. He wouldn’t be able to get into Shujin even if he attempted to brute force it - this was likely an issue of cognition, so Akechi needed Kobayakawa to see him as someone allowed to enter Shujin Academy. He needed to establish some kind of a meeting with him, face-to-face, on Shujin grounds.

He would use his reputation as a detective and his police badge to let him get inside. The SIU Director would cover for his story if needed.

As long as the job was done, it didn’t matter what he needed to do.

His phone hummed a grateful thanks for his trip and Akechi again closed his eyes as the world grew unsteady around him, swaying for a moment before that humid warmth of summer returned, bringing with it a wave of heat that purged any remaining chill from his body immediately, and stared at his phone for a few moments longer. 

Sae had messaged him ten minutes ago - ‘Where should we meet ?’

He picked up his briefcase and started towards Aoyama-Itchome station.
‘ I’ll be in Shibuya in fifteen minutes. ’

 

---

 

Sae, tapping chopsticks on the edge of her plate, looked at Akechi as if she was trying to figure out what to say.

They weren’t supposed to be working, but work always crept its way back into their conversation. It was the only thing that they could usually bond over and discuss, Akechi lacking any other hobbies or extracurricular activities. All he did was bounce between photoshoots, filmings, work and school. 

Now, though, she was discussing work to bide her time before she mentioned what she wanted to ask him.

Akechi, making idle notes on his upcoming homework projects to keep his priorities in order while waiting for this MedJed thing to end, had no idea what she could want to discuss. He didn’t want her change in behaviour to be something weighing on him or something he was curious about, but he couldn’t help it. He usually found Sae so easy to read - moments where that changed and she was suddenly so hard to decipher were equal parts fascinating and intimidating. If he didn’t know what she wanted, he couldn’t be prepared for what she said, but it also meant there was more of her to discover and that she’d become more predictable as a result.

“I can’t imagine what they’re going to do in response to this MedJed threat,” she said, haphazard and uncharacteristically uninterested.

Whatever else she was thinking about was clearly weighing on her. Again, those conflicting opinions that Akechi held were at war with one another. How important was this that she was struggling to bring it up? How awful would it be when she finally spoke?

“Well,” Akechi said, taking up chopsticks with his right hand, so that his notes could continue uninterrupted with his left, and picking up a slice of sushi. “Whatever it is, it’s likely to cause us both a headache.” Or it’ll be the most underwhelming end to a criminal organisation ever, but he put the sushi in his mouth before he, in his exhausted frustration, could complain and slip up.

Sae stayed quiet a few moments longer before narrowing her piercing brown eyes.

Oh no. Akechi, for a moment, faltered in his chewing before promptly turning his attention to his notes and continuing to write, setting the chopsticks back down. She was gearing up to pounce and if she was about to say something truly surprising, he didn’t want her to see it on his face.

“Did your aquarium date go well?”

Turning his attention away didn’t do anything - the instinctive sharp breath of surprise was immediately cut off by sticky rice hitting the back of his throat. He dropped his pen and coughed, fumbling for one of the napkins on the table and turning away from Sae while the force of the coughs racked his body. He could faintly hear her apologise over his shoulder, but when the moment of surprise and choking was over, the napkin wiping rice from his mouth, Akechi gave her a look that was downright murderous.

Any intimidation that it could have had was overruled, however, by his face being significantly red (which he was blaming on the fact that he was almost killed by conveyor-belt sushi) and Sae merely pushed his glass of water closer towards him.

He begrudgingly picked it up and took the opportunity to compose himself as he sipped. It was lucky that Sae knew quiet places to go. If Akechi had been worrying about appearances, this would only have worsened his already sour, sleep-deprived, freshly embarrassed foul mood.

“It wasn’t a date,” he said when he set his glass down. The suggestion alone was absurd - he felt nothing towards Akira but bitter contempt. “I didn’t realise an aquarium was such a popular date spot until I noticed that everyone else attending was a couple.”

She frowned. There was still something ticking away there, something she wasn’t quite saying.
“Well, friends can go too,” she said without anything in her voice that suggested she believed him. “Did it go well?”

Akechi sighed.

---

It hadn’t gone poorly.

He and Akira had drifted through the exhibits, between blue-tinted rooms lined with glass tanks and multicoloured schools of fish. Akira had even had a few surprising pieces of information and trivia about them that Akechi wouldn’t have expected from him.

“Did you know that a shrimp's heart is stored in it's head?” he’d said, pointing at a display of tiny shrimp, no larger than the nail on Akechi’s thumb. The way the white light of the tank caught his face and lit up his black hair was so casually charming it was insufferable. Not wanting to fall for any attempts at manipulating him into liking Akira; Akechi refused to look at him. “It’s safer than keeping it in the tail.”

To keep your heart close to you, guarded by your head? Akechi muttered an acknowledgement of the fact, telling Akira it was ‘interesting’, but said nothing else before Akira had moved to another display and he’d had no choice but to follow.

Idle conversations about school and friends that Akechi now knew were teammates filled in the moments of quiet. In exhibition rooms devoid of other people, it was easy to talk to each other. 

He found out a few things. He asked his questions like he was stepping on a frozen lake, unsure how thick the ice was, reluctant to risk breaking it, to try and lure more information from Akira. To see what was drawn in by his steps and surfaced.
“I was thinking,” he’d said, ice steady beneath his feet, “and I know that I mentioned this when I saw you all together on Sunday, that group of friends you have is really rather unique.”

Akira’s shoulders drew up a little. Then, consciously, he relaxed them. He wasn’t looking at Akechi, standing by a tank of small silver fish. 

“I remember seeing you with, ah… was it Takamaki and Sakamoto at the TV station last month?”

Akira made a small noise of confirmation. Little more than a hum, barely anything over the ambient buzz of tank filters and overhead lights.

“You all seemed to get along rather well. I even remember thinking it during our short conversation the day before.” Still, nothing. If anything, Akira’s shoulders had drawn up again. He was further away.

The ice beneath Akechi’s feet was cracking. 

“I really rather admire it. You all seem so different yet you’ve drifted together. Why is that, I wonder?” he said, approaching until he was about a metre behind Akira, who continued to watch the fish swim around in the tank. 

Akira, finally, turned. Akechi felt as though the floor could give out any moment.

“I can be myself with them.” It didn’t feel like Akechi was supposed to feel excluded from that statement. But it did exclude him, didn’t it? Placing a wall between himself and Akira - these are the people I’m myself with. You, however… - he was almost grateful for the maintained distance before it.

If the deception now was mutual, knowingly mutual, it was fine.

Akechi smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“It must be nice.” I could have had that .

“It is.” But you don’t .

The conversation about friends had faltered there. Akira had turned his silver-eyed gaze back to the floor-to-ceiling tanks, raised his finger to point towards a swarm of flittering fish and, to return them to their stagnant conversation, read out the information about them on display by the tank. 

Akechi hadn’t been listening.

 

---

 

“We’re not the same type of person,” Akechi said with a shake of his head. Sae gave him a look that he couldn’t read. “It was… nice. I got to hear plenty about him, but everything I heard just reminded me of how different we are.”

Her frown deepened. There was almost pity in the way she looked at him now, a genuine sort of sorrow or guilt she had no reason to force onto him. 
“It’s always unfortunate when that happens.” She picked up another piece of sushi. “I figured, though.”

Akechi picked up his head again. 
“What?”

As if it was obvious, she pointed her chopsticks at his notebook like it was an accusation, sushi still suspended between them.
“You went back to using those cheap pens a while ago. I assumed something had changed.” She shrugged. It seemed so casual and so elegant that Akechi was almost disarmed from the growing annoyance he felt. Almost. “I was surprised when you asked me for my advice on where to take this friend. I thought if you were trying to figure something out, the aquarium would be a nice place for it.”

What was wrong with her? Analysing and reading him like that, picking him apart as if they were anything more than coworkers, having the nerve to try and sway Akechi towards kindling something with Akira all because she’d misread the situation entirely. He hated her. More than that, he hated how she acted like this was all still a topic for casual conversation.

Anger welled into nausea in his throat. He’d lost his appetite.

“Well,” he said, tapping his cheap pen against the paper. “My homework won’t complete itself. I should go.”

He put the cap back on and set the pen down to fold his notebook away. He’d barely started his to-do list. He’d barely done anything. 

And to think he’d been looking forward to spending time with Sae again, too.

“Akechi,” she said, though Akechi picked up his book and slotted it into his bag. “Akechi,” she repeated when it became clear that he was ignoring her. Only with the third and more firm “ Akechi. ” did he stop and lift his head to look at her. At those stupid brown eyes, ridden with what was undeniably pity, and anger surged again.

Who did she think she was to pretend to care about him? She was no different than anyone else. She was using him just as much as TV executives and rookie journalists, the only difference was that she felt some kind of perverse entitlement to know about him and pry him apart because her sister was his age. Because she had tricked herself into feeling some form of repulsive compassion for him.

“Stay a little longer. You haven’t finished your sushi.” That wasn’t what she wanted to say at all. Akechi closed his briefcase. 
“I have summer homework and cases to work on.” He needed to figure out how to get Kobayakawa to take him to see Shujin Academy or he’d never gain access to his palace. He needed to try and figure out if the Phantom Thieves were doing anything about Medjed. He needed to plan to meet with Akira again to make sure the groundwork for the rest of his plan could be properly laid out. He needed to figure out exactly what he was going to do with Shido now that the election was so close. Couldn’t she see that he was too fucking busy for gossip and sushi?
“We both have cases to work, Akechi, but you’re nineteen .” What difference did that make? She had no idea what he was really like. He wasn’t a child. He never got to be one. “See that friend of yours again. Stay for sushi. Do something fun.”

He picked up his briefcase and stood from the table.

“Thank you, Sae-san, but I must insist on getting home before long.”

She stopped eating, stood, and picked up her own bag.
“Then we’ll both go somewhere else,” she said. It was so clearly desperate, and Akechi couldn’t understand why . She had no reason to pretend to care about him if all she wanted from him was his assistance on cases here and there. “Let’s at least find you a nicer pen.”

He grit his teeth, but with no good reason to refuse he relented.
“Fine, but I’ve got an interview to attend in ninety minutes,” he lied.

Her hand settled on his shoulder for a moment as she walked past him to pay for their food.
“We’ll keep it short.”

 

---

 

It seemed all Sae wanted to do was to keep them from getting on bad terms. She spoke only about work or about professional, polite topics for conversation. She looked at a new pair of shoes through a window and assured herself that when she was promoted, she’d treat herself to them. Akechi didn’t say anything to argue, and only when directly asked did he point at a pair similar to the ones he was currently wearing and say that he’d buy them when his current shoes got scuffed. 

They drifted between shops and Sae took him to a well-kept stationary store, where he bought himself a new and cheaper fountain pen and a new cartridge of black ink, this one with a red sheen when it was held up to the light.

And just before Sae walked him back to the station (she offered him a lift to his interview but he politely refused, telling her he’d like the time to compose himself while travelling), they each got a coffee and said their goodbyes.

“Do something for yourself while you’re on a break from school, Akechi,” she said at the station. He smiled, relaxed and easy and ignoring how completely sick of her company he was by now. No matter how well-intentioned, he was so tired of hearing her preachy, patronising advice. “You’ve only got another month.”

“Of course, Sae-san,” he said. “Thank you. I’ll see you at work.”

First on the evening's agenda was to figure out a plan for getting Kobayakawa to show him around Shujin Academy.

Notes:

If the person who dm’d me on instagram bcs of this fic is reading, hi :3 hope u enjoy the new chapter :D and if anyone else had thoughts/opinions they wanna talk abt, im persona-brainrot-real on tumblr pls feel free to message :D !!!
A fun fact abt this chapter is that the shoe conversation near the end is a slight reference to mementos mission manga, where he and Sae go shoe shopping.

Chapter 23: Saturday, August 6th

It felt like every day Akechi would alternate between the same few steps. It was either work, calls with Shido, tired conversations with Sae, or meeting Akira, slotted in between interviews and poring over textbooks beneath the bleary yellow light of his desk lamp.

And each time he scheduled another meeting with Akira, there were two distinct feelings - the louder part being made up of frustration and bitter hatred, the quieter part relieved for a break from the same mind-numbing homework assignments, studying, and work. It was all so repetitive that as much as he hated seeing Akira and letting him think he was successfully manipulating Akechi, even playing along with it, it was still a relief to get the opportunity for a break.

That, however, didn’t make it any easier to see the flash of his glasses or the wisps of messy black hair amidst a crowd.

Akechi didn’t like the holidays. He seemed to be the only person - everyone else navigating through the busyness of Kichijoji station were arm-in-arm with friends, bundled in family groups, smiling and laughing and talking endlessly. He heard the occasional whisper about Medjed and more than enough about the Phantom Thieves, but little talk of himself and his time in public went uninterrupted. He hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with any TV station hosts recently - only spliced conversation with online publications used for clickbait, and all he ever said was the same. His fame was wavering, but it wouldn’t for long - two weeks until the cleanse and all eyes would end up on him again, somehow. He was certain.

So certain that he was already scheduling in interviews leading up to and on the day to ensure he could be the first to comment on what would hopefully be the failure the Phantom Thieves had become.

He didn’t like the heat. The SPF primer that he used for his makeup was sticky and sat heavy on his face. The humidity made his hair harder to maintain. The crowds were difficult to navigate between. And worst of all - with the lack of school his schedule opened up and he had more time to waste. He was getting more time to rest, even if he wasn’t often sleeping, and occasionally had full days to himself to work on cases at home when he wasn’t needed at the station.

He didn’t operate well with too much time to himself. 

That was what had motivated him to contact Joker and see if he was available. There was nobody else Akechi was interested in seeing (he was still feeling rather bitter about Sae attempting to pry into his personal life and had been avoiding her since Tuesday) and Akira would give him something to motivate himself with. 

Their texts that morning had been simple and short - 

‘ To: Akira Kurusu
Subject: Any interest in arcades?
Text: How do you feel about arcades?
I was strolling through one the other day and was drawn to a certain game.
Perhaps the two of us could have a little competition? ’

And, with the same infuriating bluntness of all of his messages, Akira’s reply was short and direct.
‘ From: Akira Kurusu
Subject: RE: Any interest in arcades?
Text: Sure. Meet you in 30? ’

‘To: Akira Kurusu
Subject: RE: RE: Any interest in arcades?
Text: That’s what I like to hear.
In that case, let’s go to the arcade in Kichijoji.
It’s a bit difficult to find, so let’s meet up first.’

Akechi tucked his phone into his pocket and, twenty-six minutes later, was standing just outside Kichijoji station, waiting patiently by the entrance to the station when he saw that black hair and the glint of glasses approaching him from the subway station.

How on earth was he still wearing a jacket in this heat? Akechi’s sweater vest was bad enough and he’d barely managed to fend off the desire to unbutton his shirt a little further to cool off while on the train.

Akira waved as he came up the steps from the underground station, smiling as if the insufferable heat and the last minute plans were no issue to him. Smiling as if it was worth enduring them both in order to spend time with Akechi.

“Hey,” he said as he got to the top of the stairs, his bag moving on his shoulder unnaturally. Akechi pretended that he didn’t notice. “You ready to go?”

A nod. Brown hair fell into his face and Akechi lifted a hand to brush it away again.
“As long as they have air conditioning,” he said with a smile, taking a sip of his iced coffee. It was too hot not to get something cool, but he still urgently needed caffeine.
“I’m glad you messaged.” Akechi didn’t believe him. “I wanted something to do today and I needed to take my mind off of things.”

That caught his attention, though, and brought on a wave of bitter curiosity. Akechi wanted to press. He wanted to jab and snap and ask him what, exactly, Akira needed distracting from? The Medjed threat, maybe? The imminent downfall of that pathetic little criminal organisation he was running?
“Me too,” was what came out instead. “I’m relieved that there’s someone willing to indulge me in something other than work.”

And Akira, the fool that he was, smiled. Believed it. Took the compliment and turned to guide Akechi towards central street. He must already be acquainted with the arcade here - which of his friends was to blame for that? Sakamoto, maybe? Akechi, ignoring the reflecting glint of blue eyes peering at him from the darkness of Akira’s bag, walked a little faster to catch up. When they were shoulder-to-shoulder, possibly standing closer than he needed to, Akechi took the chance to politely press a little further.
“I don’t mean to pry, but you said you’ve got something on your mind?” He was offering his most dazzling smile again, though it barely went noticed when he was around Akira. It was like a reflex to only show him the warmer, nicer sides of himself, no matter the resentment that was only growing with every well-intentioned interaction Akira shared with him. The fact that all of his hard-earned charm went unnoticed somehow only made him feel more bitter.

“Homework,” Akira said, lying with an easy smile. He mulled over the words for a moment longer but eventually chose to continue.  “And supporting the Phantom Thieves seems to be a risky choice lately. You saw how… intensely some of my friends follow them.”

Wasn’t it a good sign that Akira was offering these things willingly now? How long would it have taken to pull something like this out of him before? To walk around ifs and theoreticals until he found that there was any stress in Akira’s life at all? Yet, still, there was something so frustrating about Akira walking around the obvious, refusing to name or acknowledge it. Refusing to admit his friends were stressed because it was their name on the line. And it being so willingly offered made it harder to trust.

“I’m very aware,” Akechi said, “this Medjed situation seems to be providing us both with equal amounts of stress. I’ve been getting pulled into the police station most days a week to try and find a way to prevent this so-called ‘cleanse’ from happening, while you and your friends seem to be… insistent on sticking to your morals.” 

The high street was full of people. Nearly overflowing. He had to keep close to Akira to avoid losing him - so close that their shoulders kept bumping when either one of them had to avoid people walking in the other direction. As they approached the arcade, Akira took Akechi’s sleeve gently in his hand to pull him aside, making sure that they didn’t get separated.

Akechi wanted to slam him against the wall and tell Akira never to consider touching him again, not even the gentlest hold on his sleeve, not even for what he thought was a good reason.

He wanted to have an excuse to take Akira’s shirt next time and pull him somewhere quieter. He wanted to press his gun to the soft, pale flesh of Akira’s throat.

“Thank you,” he said instead, though the manners and the false sincerity of them tasted like bile on his tongue. “I should have chosen somewhere quieter. My schedule doesn’t usually allow me enough time for things like this, so I didn’t consider that it might be busy.”
“It’s fine,” Akira stepped inside, letting go of Akechi’s sleeve so that he could follow. He did. (Part of him was disgusted by the compliance.) “We’re here now. We might as well make the most of it.”

The arcade was, thankfully, air conditioned. It was crisp and cool inside and far quieter than he would have anticipated, with sleek blue tiled floors and grey walls lined with loud, bright machines begging to be played. 

The one that had caught his eye was a large black machine holding two heavy, plastic guns. They were fixed to the machine with a tightly wound coil, and the premise seemed to be a two-player combat game. With Akira at his side now, he nodded to the console. His hair swayed when he did and he took a moment to fix it. He was in dire need of a haircut.
“I was out here gathering intel recently when I noticed some patrons playing this,” he said. Akira had dropped his bag by the machine, half unzipped. Akechi didn’t look at it for too long - he could see the fluorescent overhead lights catching black fur and had to ignore it. It was better having the cat in here than outside, at least, with the mid-summer heat, but Akechi couldn’t wrap his head around why Akira kept bringing it around with him.

“I did some research,” he continued, ignoring the way that the light was shifting over the fur with the subtle breathing of a sleeping cat, ignoring the way they caught Akira’s glasses. He kept his focus on the machine. “Apparently it’s a pretty hardcore shooter game. Do you normally play games like these?”

Akira shrugged, but a sense of confidence radiated from him when he spoke, shoulders back and head high with pride.
“All the time.” It came out assertive and arrogant, even with the easy way Akira spoke. Insufferably so. He was eyeing the machine like he’d never seen it before, so Akechi didn’t know whether or not to believe that he was as good as he was letting on, but he was eyeing the gun with a sort of familiarity. Akechi played along, pretending to be impressed.
“Oh, maybe you’ve played this one before? I can only ask that you go easy on me.”

Akechi picked up his gun. It was clunky and plastic and far lighter than the real thing. His fingers closed around the grip, forefinger resting comfortably on the trigger, while it rested at his side. He couldn’t pick his head up yet to look at Akira, not while he was so aware of the gun in his hand. He was tempted for a moment to run through the mental scenario he’d considered earlier, to press the plastic mouth of this stupid plastic gun to Akira’s throat, to see if he thought Akechi was joking and laughed it off, or if it would uncover how seriously Akira took their rivalry underneath that cool exterior. He had to know if Akira thought of him as a threat the same way that he did. He needed to know if this barely suppressed urge to prove his dominance over Akira was mutual, or if Akira found Akechi to be so unassuming and so useless as a detective that he’d be entirely unfazed by any attempts to hurt him.

Akechi slot coins into the machine and the screen played a guitar riff, starting some heavy song and directing them into a loading screen.

He wasn’t sure what would be more interesting. The idea of playing the underdog with Akira, unassuming until he revealed his teeth, was an exciting thrill, but that same excitement came with the idea that he and Akira were both circling each other, waiting for the other to slip up first.

He had to stop thinking about it. He had a plan already in effect - he had to see how this stupid hacker Medjed bullshit blew over before he made any bigger plans.

Finally, he turned his head to look at Akira, who was picking up his own plastic gun. He looked over it as it sat comfortably in his hand. Then, barely visible behind his glasses, he glanced at his bag. Akechi, for a moment, recalled the memory of something silver glinting within Akira’s schoolbag, which he’d noticed while they’d been at the Jazz Jin; was Akira Hiding weapons in his bag?

Akechi had to disregard the thought. At least for now, while a sleeping cat currently protected Akira’s bag from any snooping.

“Are you ready to start?” he asked, taking a few paces back from the machine. It was a bizarre console - the gun served also as a controller, and the trigger as a button to select options from the menu. He and Akira filtered through the different maps, through different gun options, through different settings. They agreed on an abandoned factory, both chose similar small, handheld pistols like the controllers in their hands (Akechi because it was the closest to what he used. He wondered, idly, why Akira chose it too). He considered the options for some kind of a player-versus-player freeplay, but opted against it in favour of the campaign of the game.

It ran through exposition. Akira followed where Akechi was standing, taking some paces back to stand on the same row of tiles. Akechi adjusted his stance, shifted the gun into his left hand, and raised it as the announcer’s voice began to count down.

They didn’t share a word. The music and the echoing sounds of gunfire filled the arcade, fighting to be heard over the peppy, tempting tunes of standby rhythm games, arcade fighters and driving games.

It was familiar and easy. In fact, the game was somewhat cathartic to play. Standing here, gun raised and switching it between the poorly-rendered monsters that hobbled and lunged at him, was easy. There was none of the threat or the exhaustion brought on by trips to Mementos. He didn’t need to worry about staying hidden. Able to fix his full attention on nothing but where the barrel of his gun looked was comfortable. Familiar. 

Yet, from the corner of his eye, he could see on Akira’s screen - he was fumbling. His movements were clumsy, his stance was especially awkward, there was tension in his shoulders and he seemed almost panicked, left behind by the speed at which the game was moving. Where Akechi’s screen lit up with praise for ‘perfect’ shots and had a combo steadily climbing in the corner of his eye, he kept seeing Akira’s screen scold him for missing shots, combo climbing slowly and inevitably dropping again. 

And he’d said that he played these games all the time? A satisfaction rolled through Akechi. 

He knew that he was better than Akira. And, more importantly, he knew now that if it came to it, if they saw one another in that other world…

“Damn, that’s some accuracy,” came an unfamiliar voice to his right. Some bystander who had been moving between machines had stopped to watch. “The guy with the brown hair isn’t wasting a single shot.”

He didn’t let it distract him. Not even the relief that they didn’t seem to recognise him could distract from his flawless combo and steadily rising score.

“Glasses isn’t doing bad either, but he’s definitely losing ground,” said someone Akechi couldn’t see through his hair, as Akira lost his combo again and fumbled to recuperate. 

The timer continued to crawl. Akechi’s arm was aching by the time it was over, but when the level ended and the screen dimmed, crowning player one as the winner and giving him a name on the lower end of the leaderboard, he smiled and returned the plastic gun to its holster.

Akira had already done the same and taken a step back from the machine.

With that warm smile, flicking his hair from his face, Akechi smiled again.
“My fingers are going to be sore tomorrow. What a realistic game.”

Akira picked up his bag, gently and slowly, and held it in his arms. Not particularly subtle but Akechi, again, held his tongue.
“And you told me to go easy on you,” he said, equal parts a defence for his drastically lower score and an accusation that Akechi had lied about a lack of skill. “Are you used to gunplay?”

It was insufferable. That easy smile, the way he seemed so confident in his own abilities, how easily he spent time with Akechi - all of it was so infuriating.
“Ah, you noticed? Well I’ll need as much practice as I can get if I’m going to take you out.” He shouldn’t have said it. As Akira’s eyes widened followed immediately by furrowed brows and clear confusion, Akechi had to scramble to play it off. “... Only a joke.” The assurance was clumsy, poorly done, and didn’t ease any of Akira’s concern, but he seemed to move past it regardless.

Akechi picked up his own bag.
“I’m new to this, I’m afraid. Perhaps we’ll chalk it up to beginner’s luck.” Even if he said here and now, as simple and direct as he could, that he had spent the last three years as a contract killer, would Akira believe him? Would it be played off as some poor taste, out-of-character joke?

It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he’d even joke about it.

Instead, he had to disarm the confusion and concern he’d pushed onto Akira. A small indulgence into his childhood would be appropriate - saying only as much as was necessary, but the impression that something was being confessed or that Akira was being trusted with something personal would work.
“Still, this did feel a bit nostalgic for me. I had a toy gun like this when I was young, you know.” It was a careful performance. The glance at the machine, at the holstered plastic gun, at his hand, then back at Akira with a solemn sort of smile. “All this reminded me of running around the house with it, playing hero…”

Mostly true. He couldn’t remember much of his childhood, but there were vague memories. The TV at full volume and a young Akechi, bug-eyed and skinny, waving a plastic gun around. Sometimes, if the wind was right or the sun came through his windows a certain way, it was as if he was back in that horrible little house again, too old now to be tricked by the illusion of comfort his mother had worked to build around him. Strong enough now that he could have done something.

It seemed to be working, with the look Akira was giving him. Softer now, more relaxed. As if this was the most important thing that Akechi had ever said - the intrigue was almost nauseating. This was exactly why his life was a topic he refused to entertain in interviews. A once starry-eyed orphan, striving to make the world a better place - any information about his youth would be twisted and warped into some grotesque inspiration porn for parasocial audience members and advertisers to eat up and warp into a charming or pitiful part of him. 

Not even Akira was above that. Nobody was.

“You wanted to be a hero?”

Oh, Akechi hated him. Was that the most important part? Was that truly the most important thing to him - a deluded idea of righteousness and goodness, was it that much of a motivator?

What did it matter if Akechi spent his youth striving to be a hero? That idealism had died alongside his mother. Any idea of goodness or rightness in the world had been ripped away from him with the sight of her body on her bedroom floor.

“I’m not totally certain, but thinking back I suppose I must have,” he lied, giving Akira the most perfect, TV-standard response, false warmth he’d been trained to combat difficult or stupid questions with. “But there are different kinds of heroes, of course. Different stances they define themselves by.”

Twist it. Push it onto him. If Akira wanted distraction from the Phantom Thieves, from Medjed - Akechi had to deny him it.

“For example, one may stick to the vision of justice they believe in, even if others deny it…” the allusion was enough. Akira took the bait as he always did, greedily and eagerly, with what Akechi was now suspecting to be a desperate need to speak about and enable himself. To supply praise to the idea of who he was, who he did in anonymity, without the perceived arrogance of praising himself. “While another may simply do as others desire of them, seeking to be recognised and gratified as a hero.”

Akechi took a step closer to Akira. 
“So?” Finally, he wanted to divert the conversation back to Akira. Lift it off of his own shoulders to regain his composure. “Which of those two fits more with your conception of a hero?”

He didn’t need to ask.

“Sticking to your justice,” Akira’s voice was as firm and as devoted as Akechi had expected it to be. “No matter what.” “Well, I had a feeling you’d say that.” Because look at him. Akira had never faltered in his decision to pursue justice. Even if Akechi despised it, Akira had the secrecy and the means to do what he wanted, not what he was obligated to do. “But if nobody else wants the justice they fight for, isn’t that just blind self-righteousness?”

Hypocrite. Who wanted Shido taken down more than himself? Who else would it serve? There were plenty who had been a victim of Shido’s arrogance and greed, but Akechi wasn’t pretending to do it for them. This was his own self-righteousness, a greedy pursuit of what he wanted. For his mothers sake. For his own.

He shook his head, picking up his briefcase from the floor.
“Sorry, I suppose that was a strange tangent, but whenever I talk to you I just can’t help delving into these abstract topics. You have a way of getting things out of me.”

He was going to spend the next week regretting talking about his childhood. Every time it came up it took him weeks to shake off the bitter aftertaste of his naivety and the half-suppressed memories he never wanted to dwell on.

“Is there something else you’d like to play, or do you have somewhere to be?” Akechi asked, though Akira slowly, too-carefully putting his bag back on his shoulder was answer enough. “I ought to go back home and shower. I worked up a sweat playing that game, I must smell like the arcade now.”

“I’ll walk myself to the station,” Akira said, unusual considering that Akechi had accompanied him every other time but with nothing in his tone to betray how he felt. Akechi couldn’t determine if it was because of the conversations about righteousness and justice or if it was because Akira was that caught up in the small dose of Akechi’s life he’d been spoon-fed. “I had fun. Thank you for the invite.”

“It was a pleasant break.” Their footsteps clicked against the tiled floor of the arcade. The automatic door hummed as it opened and a wave of hot air swept inside as they left. Akechi, unsure what else to do, offered out his hand to Akira. “Best of luck with your homework.” He lingered on the word for a moment. They both knew it wasn’t homework, but Akechi was still wishing him luck. He wanted to see the outcome of this. He wanted to know how Akira planned on subverting his expectations all over again, on having that authority over him.

Akira took his hand and shook it firmly and without hesitation. His hands were warm, soft. Akechi usually wore gloves, it was too warm today and he wasn’t going to work so he hadn’t needed them. The contact. The skin against skin. It felt like too much. Too intimate.

“Thank you.” Akechi had no idea what thoughts were ticking away behind those eyes. “See you again.”

They parted ways. Akira with that sleeping cat in his bag, Akechi with his hand in his pocket to try and rid himself of the odd, unfamiliar warmth that Akira left clinging to his skin.

 

---

 

He’d been home long enough to shower away the grime of the arcade and wash away the lasting impression of Akira’s hand before his phone rang. There was an immediate, panicked surge of adrenaline as he reached for his burner - but it wasn’t work that was calling. His mobile phone, sitting neat and patiently beside it, hummed a peppy ringtone with Akira’s name popping up on the screen.

Akechi paused. 

He reached out, and he picked up.

“Hey,” Akira’s voice came through. The bell of a cafe door jingled and Akechi could faintly hear the static noise of a TV, the quiet muttering of a handful of customers, and an almost unintelligible greeting coming, presumably, from the cafe owner. 

He was on Akechi’s pinboard. Red thread wandered from the photo of Akira’s mugshot to a note detailing everything he knew about the cafe Akira was staying at. Those few notes initially made - ‘ Coffee and curry. Train changes at Shibuya. ’ - were replaced with the name of Leblanc and its address in Yongen-Jaya. Connected to that was the name ‘ Sojiro Sakura’ , a name that had been loosely relevant to Shido’s past in ways that Akechi hadn’t managed to dig up anything solid about. 

What he had found, however, were rumours about Shido’s connection to Isshiki. The article about Isshiki’s death was still pinned to that board, still connected by that same red thread to an old photo of Masayoshi Shido.

“I take it you’ve made it home safe?” Akechi said, hearing the steady footsteps that suggested Akira was going upstairs. He’d mentioned before that his room was above the cafe, right? “I’ve just showered. You have good timing.”

Akira hummed a sort of agreement. There was the thumping and quiet jingling of a collar that suggested that his cat had woken up during the commute home, followed shortly by the thumping weight of Akira, presumably, collapsing into bed. 

Akechi stayed at his desk, looking up at the corkboard. 

“Thank you again for coming out today on such short notice,” he said, “I hope that I didn’t bore you.”
“Not at all,” Akira said, bringing the phone away from his head for a moment. “Morgana, I’ve got the windows open. I can’t get it any colder in here.”

From the following rustle over the microphone, Akechi figured that the phone had been dropped onto the bed and ended up with the speaker blocked. He could faintly hear voices (Akira and Sakura, maybe?) but they were difficult to decipher while muffled. It took a few moments for the conversation to settle and for Akira to rescue his phone. Faintly, Akechi could now hear the humming of a clunky old fan in his room.

“Sorry,” Akira said, slumping back down. Akechi could hear the bed creaking under him.
“I take it that you were arguing with your very vocal cat?”
“Oh, you remember that? Yeah, he’s been complaining a lot about the temperature lately.” Again, he moved away from the speaker and his voice got a little quieter. “He’s not the only person who’s struggling with the heat.”

A little more shifting. 

“I meant to say, before I was interrupted; you don’t bore me. I enjoyed spending time with you today.”

“That’s a relief. I had quite a lot of fun. I don’t usually play those sorts of games, so I wasn’t sure how well I’d do.” He’d had a basic idea. He wasn’t going to challenge Akira to a game where he could lose. “Hopefully I didn’t come across as too much of a novice. I wish I’d played better.”

He could hear a quiet huff of air through the phone. It was hard to tell if it was a sigh or a laugh.
“You did fine.” It was clear he was only being humoured. That this faux-modesty didn’t trick Akira but that he was willing to play along rather than doting desperately to ease any wounds to Akechi’s ego.
“Really? I’m honoured that you think so,” it took Akechi a moment to swallow a comment about how Akira could have done better. “I suppose I’m quick to grasp the fundamentals of everything, but that’s also been a concern for me. There’s this… constant pressure.”

What was he saying? Why was he answering Akira’s teasing with any sincerity?

“Everyone expects me to be capable of everything, which is stressful in and of itself.” 

“Mm, I understand where you’re coming from,” Akira said, unprompted, and Akechi vaguely recognised the calmness, the tempting invitation carried on his tongue from when they’d been speaking with Yoshizawa. The same calm and inviting attitude that seemed to lure information out of people, the ease and approachability that Akechi hated to envy. “There are lots of eyes on you, Detective Prince. I’m not surprised you end up feeling pressured.”

“It’s not as if I haven’t put that spotlight on myself,” Akechi tried to rescue the conversation, to steer it back, but Akira’s silver tongue and easy demeanour were working on him somehow, too. 

“Still…” The subtle push. “The pressure is entirely different when you’re under it. It’s easier to say you can handle it when you aren’t living it.” That hint of empathy, the subtle redirecting of the conversation back to Akechi, to prompt him to either correct or confirm what Akira was saying - Akechi was speaking before he realised that he’d been pushed at all.
“I’m not certain that I knew what I was signing up for,” the words came out clumsy and stupid and so hideously vulnerable. The hideous lingering taste of them was like blood in his mouth, down his chin, and Akechi barely stopped himself from ending the call.

The silence lingered for a moment - inviting him to speak more, like Akira was eager to hear him dig himself further into a hole of self-pity. What would he do with any of this information if Akechi didn’t get himself under control? How would he use this vulnerability against him?

“...Still, our trip today was rather fun,” he pulled the conversation back, desperate to salvage his dignity. Insults and quips and jabs at anything he knew about Akira were impatient on his tongue, waiting for the opportunity to twist this new feeling of discomfort and rising anger into a way of hurting Akira. “It was quite a novel experience. Usually I just read in my leisure time. That game offered more realism than I expected, and I was impressed by how immersive it felt.”

Akira, again, hummed. The sound alone sent a new and lively thrum of anger through his body, a sharp tremor following behind it. 

He had to find a polite time to end the call. Nails digging into his leg, Akechi kept talking.
“Usually I struggle with enjoying the same pastimes as my peers, but thanks to you, I had fun today. I hope you can join me again if you get the chance.”

“I will.” He could hear the slight hesitation. Akira sounded hazy, lost in thought - was he already trying to twist and warp everything that Akechi had said to him today? Was he going to sit there and dissect every drop of information until he could fashion it all into a weapon? Until he could put Akechi under a magnifying glass tainted by an impression of the broken person Akira would suspect that he was?

He’d shared moments of his life, careful glimpses carved out of his history, sanded down until they were palatable and polite, enough to douse his public image in a sympathetic light, and even when it was shared with tens of hundreds of fans, cropped videos spreading online like a disease, it felt more manageable and less vulnerable than this.

What the hell did Akira do to him?

“That’s a relief.” He wanted to press Akira against the floor. He wanted to apply the weight of his body through his hands onto Akira’s throat. He wanted to watch the air leave him. “I’ll talk to you later. Have a good night.”

“You too,” Akira’s voice was too sincere, too sweet, like it always was. Akechi hated him. There was no other word that could be put to this feeling - he hated Akira. “Goodbye.”

Akechi clicked the button to end the call, stood from his chair, and hurled his phone at the far wall in a clumsy, blinding moment of rage. 

Restless pacing took him back and forth through his room and his phone sat, screen cracked, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He ignored it. He ignored everything, nails raking through his shower-damp hair, tousling it up and scratching white lines over his scalp, down to his neck and back up to his head. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even string together in his head the reason why he was so upset, but he was. Nausea churned in his stomach and his skin crawled.

He hoped, the thought suddenly clear amidst a thousand others twisted with blind rage, that the Medjed plan failed. He hoped the Phantom Thieves would find a way to subvert it so that Akechi had no other choice than to kill Akira himself.

Notes:

omg happy 100k words everyone . i want to take this opportunity to thank my mental health for giving me issues similar to akechi, my dark and mysterious past for matching akechis like 30% so i can project onto him, my irl who got me into persona 5 to begin with, and my proofreader without whom i .wouldnt be publishing chapters as coherent as these. and i hope yall stick around for the next 100k and the inevitable 100k after that. kisses for you all

Chapter 24: Monday, August 15th

Akechi hated summer.

Beyond the weather - the unbearable, incessant heat that wouldn’t relent even when he had his fan on at home - he hated having nothing to do.

Every day that he spent waiting for a job to come through, every day he didn’t need to go into the station, without school to fall back on, was now completely aimless and left him with more time to himself than he was accustomed to. 

Interviews had almost entirely dried up. During the semester, when the Phantom Thieves were being active, he’d had interviews every other day. If it wasn’t a recorded TV interview it was a photoshoot, holding a drink or eating a snack with the logo facing the camera. If it was neither of those it was some form of email correspondence or a meeting somewhere quiet with a reporter scrawling down his words in a notebook for a blog or a website. 

Now, though, there was nothing. Emails popped up on occasion but it was either for brand endorsements that wouldn’t adequately compliment his image or Phantom Thief specific interviews. (Akechi didn’t want his brand and public image woven that heavily into this dispute, he intended on having something to salvage when this entire ordeal was over). The only reason he’d agreed to an interview the day prior was because the TV station that asked was the same he normally went to and they were looking for someone to last-minute cover a celebrity who’d gotten sick. They’d called him and since the momentum from his usual fans had been lacking recently, he’d agreed.

It had been a good chance to leave the house. The makeup he normally wore ended up being a shade too dark now that he was keeping himself inside all of the time, only emerging in comfortable clothes, glasses on and his hood up to get food or energy drinks. He was weaning off of them now that he wasn’t doing so much all the time, at least, which meant that when school and his workload started up again the caffeine would once again have an effect on him.

On the other hand, when he had left the house he’d been far more on edge than usual. There was a gnawing unease - like everyone who saw him would know who he was but would no longer have any interest. That he’d be known as Goro Akechi, a washed-up ex-celebrity detective that nobody cared about anymore, whose previous acclaim was only relevant to a dwindling group of enthusiasts that would drop more and more with each passing day. 

It only worsened when, despite leaving the house, Akechi wasn’t stopped the entire day. Nor did he notice people whispering and attempting to take photos of him or asking friends if it was ‘ really him? ’. It was impossible to make up his mind on whether or not this was a good thing - he didn’t want to speak with people and be witnessed, nor did he want to be irrelevant enough that nobody approached him at all. 

Today, though, the interview was due to air. Akechi, with nothing else to do, had finally found the time to clean his apartment. When he’d been restless at the thought of the Phantom Thieves, with the image of Akira painted in his mind and nowhere to direct this frustration without kicking his furniture again. He’d scraped old takeout boxes into trash bags, emptied out any spoiled leftovers in his fridge that he’d told himself he was going to eat and never did. He gathered up textbooks, old reports, notebooks lined with page after page of homework, and moved them to their designated spots in his room, books organised by subject and full notebooks tucked away in a box. 

It took a few different days and bursts of irritated energy to get the apartment as clean as it was now, a state that would steadily get worse as days went by with nothing to do but eat,skim over textbooks and wait for a job to come up. Sae hadn’t asked for his help with a case recently. There were no shutdowns for him to fill out paperwork over and neatly tuck away. No easy cases to push over to him so that he could get another easy solve under his belt.

Instead, when he sat at his desk, he turned his attention to his corkboard to look over the research he needed to complete.

He’d filtered through everything available on the suspected Phantom Thieves, developing a neat but hastily thrown together compilation of notes. 

‘ Ryuji Sakamoto. 18. Second-year at Shujin Academy. Probable Phantom Thief.
Personal involvement with Kamoshida involves aggravated assault during which Sakamoto’s leg was broken. Further motivations unknown.’

‘Ann Takamaki. 17. Second-year at Shujin Academy. Probable Phantom Thief.
Personal involvement with Kamoshida involves sexual abuse and coercion. Close with Shiho Suzui, victim of Kamoshida who attempted suicide. Further motivations unknown.’

‘Yusuke Kitagawa. 18. Second-year at Kosei High. Probable Phantom Thief.
Foster father Madarame was the second victim of the Phantom Thieves. Likely a victim of plagiarism and witnessed or experienced abuse. Further motivations unknown.’

‘Makoto Niijima. 19. Third-year at Shujin Academy. Probable Phantom Thief. Sister of Sae Niijima.
Personal involvement unknown. Reason for joining unknown. Further motivations unknown. ’

His notes on Akira were a mess.

‘ Kurusu Akira, 18.
Second-Year student at Shujin Academy, transferred in April. (Can be seen at Shibuya changing trains around 7:45)
Guilty and convicted of assault. Currently serving a year of probation. (Purposefully omitted this. Capable of hiding things inconspicuously.)
Hometown is far from Tokyo. Sent away by parents.
Both parents alive, relationship strained. Averse topic.
Lives in Leblanc in Yongen-Jaya. Cooks for and works where he lives.
Teammates: Ann Takamaki, Ryuji Sakamoto, Yusuke Kitagawa, Makoto Niijima
Affiliations: Mishima (Second-year, Kamoshida victim), Sumire Yoshizawa (unknown reason), Ichiko Ohya (journalist), Sojiro Sakura (guardian)
Quiet. Opinionated. Observant. Confident, sometimes arrogant. Impulsive. Intelligent.
Is a Phantom Thief. Motivation seems to just be ‘pursuit of justice’ (Conceited and self-righteous for a criminal). Reasons for involvement unknown.
Owns a cat.’

Every time he tried to return to them, to add or alter or adjust anything, he ended up overcome with a new wave of bitterness and resentment and had to occupy his time another way. 

It was an awful cycle that he’d found himself locked into. Every moment spent in his now too-clean apartment, hours wasted either lying on the couch in his living room or in his bed, spliced between moments spent sitting and studying at his desk whenever the guilt of not doing anything outweighed the full-body lethargy that kept him stuck staring at his ceiling for hours at a time.

Yesterday's interview had broken him out of it for a sweet but short moment, and now he had something to do. The interview was due to air in a few minutes and Akechi, wearing what he’d slept in the night before, was sitting in the dim light of his apartment (the blinds had all been drawn shut for a couple of days now) staring at the TV as flashy colours and the same dull hosts talked about the Medjed case. A bitter reminder to the public that there were only three more days before the cleanse and that the Phantom Thieves had yet to do anything.

“In regards to the concern about the Phantom Thieves, though, we have Goro Akechi here as our guest on the show today,” said the host, a young woman with an unnervingly smooth face and eyes that looked all black if they caught the light the wrong way. The Detective Prince sat perfect beside her, patient and still, primed to be consumed from all angles by the many cameras on set. 

His hair was too long. Akechi moved one hand to run fingers through his brown hair where it had since started to surpass the length of his shoulders. He’d get it trimmed sometime in the next few days - no matter what happened with the Phantom Thieves, whether or not they found a way to surpass Medjed’s threat, he had TV appearances already scheduled to discuss the consequences.

Perhaps he’d start planning his answers to future interview questions now. That would be a better way to occupy his time than what he was doing.

He tipped his head tiredly to the side to catch the interview. Akechi-on-TV smiled, all teeth and dazzling eyes and the makeup team had clearly done their best to work with the hideous state of his hair. They’d even trimmed some of his bangs to be a little more manageable. There was a loose, trimmed strand of hair stuck by the inner corner of his eye.

How hideous. He should have checked in the mirror again before he went out in front of the hungry, invasive eyes of the audience. 

Applause followed alongside his warm greeting. A polite “ It’s a pleasure to be here ” short enough that the conversation could immediately be resumed. The host turned her head to Akechi with a swish of sleek black hair, stretched lips and beady eyes. 
“I’m certain that you’ve seen it too, Akechi-san, but people on the internet have high hopes in these Phantom Thieves - what are your thoughts on this?”

Akechi, pristine and perfect (with the exception of his terrible, overgrown hair), looked just past one of the cameras, out into the dark of the studio where the audience were waiting for him to speak. He paused like he was thinking, poised and curious, and then offered a shake of his head. His brown hair swished with it, swaying and falling out of place, suddenly unkempt and hideous. The need for a haircut suddenly moved to the top of his priorities. He had scissors in his bathroom, right?

“I can’t really condone it,” the voice of TV-Akechi broke him out of his thoughts, “though I may be somewhat responsible for that myself. Perhaps my remarks about the Phantom Thieves may have magnified their notoriety.”

He spoke with a calm and controlled voice but with a lilt of self-pity and constructed guilt. The camera changed to get a better shot of him. That too long strand of hair was making Akechi sick.

“Don’t you think that they would have gotten famous on their own?” the host asked, patient and sweet and doing a good job to pretend that she wasn’t wishing she was speaking to someone else, someone more exciting - whoever it was that had just called out and who he’d been used to replace. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Akechi-on-TV nodded, polite and sincere and with a thoughtfulness he was very good at wearing. “They were causing a stir to gain public attention. No matter whether or not the media had ignored it, it would have gotten out via word-of-mouth, but I must admit that I shoulder some responsibility for the speed at which they gained popularity.”

The frown and remorse that crossed his face then was perfectly timed.  The swishing of his hair over his face as he turned, almost shameful, away from the camera was designed to evoke a sense of sympathy from the audience.

Witnessing it himself, Akechi felt nothing but embarrassed by the near pornographic display of pity. 
“I can’t help but wonder if this entire ordeal with Medjed could have been avoided if I hadn’t aided in their rise to fame.”

“My!” said the hostess, her eyes widening, filled with sympathy that Akechi couldn’t determine, even here as a third-party witness at home, if it was true or not. “And do you believe this Medjed threat is credible?”

Akechi picked his head back up. One hand calmly and casually moved his hair from his face, tucking it over his shoulder again. Collected. 
“I don’t believe I know enough about cybersecurity to comment, but it’s not a threat to be taken lightly. The police are already working overtime to try and place preventative measures against this upcoming cleanse, though.”

The host nodded, deviated into a few more Medjed specific comments that Akechi had to try his hardest to answer with a vague uncertainty before the interview wrapped up. By the time the TV was progressing onto news coverage or new information, he had his phone in hand and was filtering through comments live-blogging about the interview as it was aired. The opinions on Akechi were still mixed and conflicting, some either critiquing him for backtracking and considering his guilt over the Phantom Thieves as a sign of personal failure or shaming him for using them to gain notoriety only to abandon them so quickly.

Disgraceful - he’d worked hard to get his status as a casual celebrity, to diminish that as something only achieved because of the Phantom Thieves was an insult. 

The dedicated wall of fans were still there, though. Praising him for being so honest, cheering him on, eating up the self-pitying slop he’d served them without hesitation or question. 

The majority of the comments, though, weren’t about him at all. Most of them were filled with anticipatory dread over the upcoming cleanse and thinly-veiled disgust for how little the police were doing. It should have been expected, especially considering that Akechi had willingly taken a few paces back for the last few weeks, but it still left this barely-simmering urge to do something, to find a way to reclaim his place in the spotlight. 

He’d draft up a script to revise and practise for his upcoming interview. He needed to polarise his audience. He’d challenge the Phantom Thieves and shame them somehow - if they were waiting until the last possible moment for their grand reveal and uprising over Medjed, Akechi would have to critique them the same way that he usually did - drawing question and critique to their method and morals, but if they failed he would need to critique their legacy. Drawing questions and prompting shame towards the people who had proudly been fans of the Phantom Thieves would boost his relevance significantly at the cost of receiving backlash and criticism, but it would be manageable.

It was better to be hated and relevant. His public acclaim and attention couldn’t afford to slip. He had to be popular.

It took him a moment to gather the strength to push himself upright and off of the couch. He was dizzy for a moment, prompting him to pick up a half-empty bottle of room temperature water from the table to bring with him as he dragged himself to the bathroom. It required leaving the immediate area of his fan, reintroducing him to the stuffy warmth of his apartment in mid-August. Bare feet against the mostly-clean tiles of the bathroom floor gave a pleasant coolness where Akechi stopped beside the sink to stare again at his dull reflection. 

He didn’t feel like much of a person. His reflection seemed to accurately reflect that, too. His eyes were sunken and tired with deep and dark-set bags though he’d been getting more rest than usual. He’d kept himself inside so long that he was paler with duller skin than usual and flushed red with patches of acne. He’d fallen out of his usual skincare routine with no reason to keep it up and no chance of seeing anyone, but the longer he spent looking in the mirror the worse his reflection made him feel. He reached for the pair of scissors sitting on the side of the sink and caught some of his hair between his fingers.

Just a half an inch or so and he’d be fine. He’d be presentable.

He raised the scissors, looked his tired face in the eyes and let his hair fall into the sink.

Chapter 25: Sunday, August 21st

Today was the deadline

Where were they?

Where was the declaration of victory over Medjed that Akechi had been waiting for?

This perfectly cultivated plan was supposed to spell the end of the Phantom Thieves, yes, but what was this? This underwhelming, miserable, conflicting lack of a response? Weren’t they meant to go down with more of a fight?

And his phone had been demanding his attention all morning with it's insufferable, unending ringtone. He didn’t dare answer. He knew what it was going to be - Akechi had set up this whole plan, devised perfectly with the idea of one day overcoming and being better than the Phantom Thieves, but for them to have simply faded away without saying anything ruined the fanfare and dramatics that were planned.

It meant that something had to be done to declare a victory over them and if that wasn’t a cleanse, then something petty and vindictive would go in its place. What else was he meant to do? Tell the president of a prestigious IT company that he should just reveal there was never going to be a cleanse? Have a statement put out on the official Medjed website that the entire situation existed to prove that the Phantom Thieves were never to be believed in to begin with?

“Look!” the declaration could say, bold and arrogant and dripping with victory, “See what your heroes do when you call for their help. Look what these Phantom Thieves are truly capable of when it comes down to it - nothing! They’re cowards fulfilling a self-serving, false idea of justice, and continuing to idolise them will only lead to the downfall of society.” Just as Sumire had told him: to depend on the Phantom Thieves would deny people their own autonomy and the right to save themselves from a messy situation.

He couldn’t listen to Akira’s firm, determined insistence that they (that he , as a Phantom Thief) were righteous and had the best interests of the public at heart. He must have known then, around feeble insistences of righteousness, that if they were faced with an enemy too difficult to fight, they were simply going to run away.

The disappointment was impossible to put into words. 

Part of him, a desperate, attention-starved, hungry part of him had wished for more. It had been eagerly counting the days until the deadline, not so that when today came he could declare the Phantom Thieves crushed and emphasise his victory over them, but so that he could see what they did to overcome an unprecedented threat. So he could see how they crushed their opponent and how much more excited the public got as a result.

He’d spent the entire day sitting at his desk, Phan-site open on his laptop and his burner phone stuffed beneath his pillow to dampen the sounds of its unending ringtone while he waited, wide-eyed and undeniably desperate, for something to happen.

For them to do anything.

This would be such a disappointing end to an organisation that had put him through so much.

Comments cycled in from the bottom corner - 

‘Phantom Thieves, we still believe in you! ’

‘ The cleanse is meant to be today… please do something! ’

‘ Like they r gonna rly do anything… u guys r fooling urselves ’

‘ Come on PT’s! Medjed’s nothing on you! ’

Even the dissenting thoughts were flooded and drowned out by desperate, starry-eyed praise for the Phantom Thieves. Akechi just watched them filter through, waiting impatiently for them to start pouring in with new news, asking the people waiting in chat if they’d seen the response from the Phantom Thieves. 

His foot tapped on the floor impatiently. He stared at the screen through the thick lens of his glasses.

Waiting for something to happen.

He even, for a brief and painful moment, considered messaging Akira. However long it took him to reply could determine whether or not the Phantom Thieves were secretly up to something.

But he didn’t.

Waiting for something to happen, he slumped back into his desk chair and lifted his gaze to look Akira’s mugshot in the eyes. He stared tiredly at it for a few long moments as if he was imploring it to tell him what was happening. Trying to decipher what the hell Akira was playing at by doing nothing - When his attention faltered. His eyes darted over the corkboard, following trails of red thread across the board until they locked again with a grey newspaper scrap detailing the sudden and tragic death of researcher Wakaba Isshiki. The online article had been published exactly three years prior. It discussed her death as if it was merely something that happened to her, a tragic set of circumstances involving her being struck by a vehicle and dying upon impact. It was, of course, far before the mental shutdowns had become a common enough occurrence for anyone to realise the truth of what had happened to her.

From the text, his focus drifted again and landed instead on a greyscale photo of a young woman, late-twenties at the oldest with a bright and proud smile, looking at the camera. She held up a stack of papers on her newest subject of research - which Akechi now knew to be cognitive psience but had been blurred out and made impossible to read from the image used.

Three years ago? Seriously? 

He’d been doting after Masayoshi Shido’s every word for over three years now?

He stared at the photo a few moments longer. The text declared that the loss of her life would be tragic for the world of science and devastating to all who knew her (with no mentions of her daughter).

Once, Akechi had kept the article pinned as a way of reminding himself of what he’d done, of how far his desperate plot for revenge had gotten him, but it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was seeing this through to the end. Isshiki was just one body in the bloody path Akechi had carved.

His dominance over Shido was imminent. Three more months before the election. 

Then it would all be worth it. Until then, though, he turned his tired eyes back to the Phan-site, head resting on his hand, and continued waiting for any news to roll in.

Chapter 26: Monday, August 22nd

Notes:

sorry if any of the dialogue is a little stilted im still trying to navigate the balance between in-game dialogue with its flaws and my own dialogue . but im having fun writing this and i hope yall r having fun reading it :3

They were pushing it and they knew it.

Akechi had just begun accepting that the Phantom Thieves were silently defeated, disappointing as it was going to be, when the news rolled in revealing the Phantom Thieves had gotten through the protective measures guarding the Medjed website and had retaliated. 

An undeniable thrill overtook Akechi when he checked the website for himself that morning. It, for the first time in the last few weeks, encouraged him to follow his usual morning routine and make himself presentable so that he could leave his apartment. After a shower, he followed all of the precarious steps of his morning skincare, put in his contact lenses (it felt unusual after so long not using them), put on his basic coverage of makeup and stopped at a bakery in Shibuya station to get something sweet for breakfast on his way to the police station. 

Even as he got to the station and changed trains (no sign of Akira), Akechi found himself in a better mood than he’d expected. He even felt like people were looking at him and noticing his presence yet again. Whether or not it was riddled with disdain didn’t even matter considering how long he’d spent utterly ignored by the public in favour of the Medjed spectacle that they had no idea he’d been the one to orchestrate. 

After only a few hours of sleep, scavenged together while slumped over at his desk with his back contorted into a horrid position, had Akechi picked his head up to finally permit himself to move to bed when he’d seen it. Posts had been rolling in on the Phan-site a handful at a time. They had been moving quickly enough that the scrolling banner of comments that cycled along the top of the page was struggling to load them all.

Rows of blurry black text scrolled past on the red banner and Akechi pat blindly across his desk for where he’d left his glasses, blinking away sleep as the metal frame settled on the bridge of his nose. He leant in, the racing of his heart purging any remaining sleepiness as he read through the newest updates.

‘ medjed doesnt even know what hit them lmao pt supremacy’

‘I knew they’d do it!! Go Phantom Thieves!’

‘So did we all just forget doxxing is a crime or…?’

‘lol a worse crime than leaking the private information of like everyone in japan? u have to be baiting’

‘I hope Medjed doesn’t retaliate…’

Had they done it? Had they finally done something ?

Sitting up despite the protests of his aching back, Akechi opened a new tab to find the Medjed website he’d had set up and there, where the previous declaration of war had been sitting, waiting for an update declaring victory and displaying all the private information they’d threatened to share, was the Phantom Thief logo.

That stupid little hat taunted him, beneath it the claim of victory and, as had been mentioned on TV, the address and full name of the employee forced to make the website.

Despite it being early in the morning, Akechi had stood from his desk and gone to his bathroom to shower. He’d be in the police station again today to play along with the facade that he was morally opposed to them, to fulfil the role he’d given himself, and now something was finally happening again, he needed to come up with a new counter-plan.

It was four-forty-five in the morning when Akechi stirred, bleary-eyed, to discover the Phantom Thieves' retaliation. It was steadily approaching six when he showered and dressed. He was finishing some instant ramen (he needed to stock up on food soon; this was all he had left in his apartment) when he received a text from Sae.

‘ From: Sae Niijima
Subject: Work
Come to the station today. There’s been a development with the Phantom Thieves. ’

Akechi tossed out the rest of his breakfast and returned to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Once there, he stopped for a moment to check his reflection in the mirror.

His makeup sat well. His skin was still struggling to recover from the weeks of neglect but beyond that he looked good. His hair was a little choppy where he’d done it, but the repeat touch ups over the last few days had not only filled his sink with loose hair but had left him with a far more manageable haircut than he’d had a week ago. 

Satisfied, the taste of mint lingering in his mouth, Akechi collected his briefcase and left his apartment to begin the commute. He could have asked Sae to pick him up on her way to the station, but it was likely to be quiet today and his spirits were high enough that he didn’t mind taking a while longer to get there.

It was nearing seven when he arrived. Later than planned, but he’d stopped to collect a coffee on his way in, hoping to buy himself time before his sleeplessness took over the lingering eagerness for a development in this case.

He shouldn’t be looking forward to seeing what the Phantom Thieves manage. It directly contradicted the position he’d built up for himself since late May, and he had no idea when he’d changed into this mentality of curiosity that edged on eagerness, but he was eager to see if anything else could be dug up about their methods - and, more importantly, he was eager to find more involved ways to lure and trap them.

Approaching the police station, coffee in one hand and briefcase in the other, Akechi’s steps faltered as a phone in his pocket began ringing. The vibrating was a sharp, sudden reminder of how many calls he’d ignored the day before. With a quiet curse beneath his breath, Akechi ducked into an alley beside the station, as he had done before with an unexpected call from Shido, and set his briefcase down to free a hand so that he could collect his phone.

He brought it to his ear as he answered.

“Hello?”

“What the hell have you been doing?”

That wasn’t a question - that was a complaint, nothing further. The correct reply was
“My apologies for not having the time to answer my phone yesterday.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Good. Akechi didn’t have any excuses. Sitting and staring blankly at his laptop was hardly a fair justification for neglecting his work for the first time in three years.

Three full fucking years. His teeth sank into his tongue to suppress any complaints or dissent. He was lucky that Shido took his silence for submission and used it as a chance to continue speaking.

“I thought that that little plan of yours was meant to deal with the Phantom Thieves for good,” he said, stern and sour and full of malice. Towards him or the Phantom Thieves, Akechi couldn’t be certain.

“They’re an unpredictable opponent,” he said in an attempt to defend himself, “Their rise in fame will do us both favours. It makes them easier for me to manipulate. It means that you can stand on the right side of history when you publicly align yourself against them.”

A moment of silence. Akechi didn’t dare say anything or even breathe while Shido determined whether or not this answer suited him.

Then, finally,

“Fine.” Thank god. “I have an interview this afternoon.”

“Shaming them now will make you a controversial figure, primarily with young people, but it will pay off when the public turns against them.” It was exactly what Akechi was doing. “Disagree with them and critique them until they fall and the public are forced to turn back to you.”
“And if that doesn’t happen?”
“It will.” It had to. It will happen because it must. “I’ve not let you down before. I won’t let you down now.”

Another few moments of tense, deliberating silence.

“You’d better not,” Shido’s voice finally came and the call suddenly ended.

The relief was all consuming. Akechi tucked his phone into his pocket again, picked up his briefcase, and finally entered the police station.

 

---

 

 

“Nothing on Kobayakawa? Still? I asked this of you a month ago, Akechi,” came the familiar gravelly, reprimanding voice of the SIU director, staring at Akechi from over the thin wire frame of his glasses.

He was slouched far back in his chair with his hands clasped together in front of him, looking at Akechi as if he was waiting for him to drop to the floor and grovel until his superior bestowed forgiveness onto him.

Akechi, however, stayed where he was. His hands at his sides, his stoic, dull gaze looking at the old man sitting behind his desk. How much longer would Shido entertain this contract they had? Akechi knew that they had that connection yet, for some reason, the Director would never explicitly confirm anything. Akechi’s only theory was that this was so that there would never be tangible evidence of a connection but it was sure to fail sometime before the election. The Director was only here because he was already in power when Shido had turned his greedy hands towards politics and when Shido had needed connections, this man’s Shadow had given up everything they needed to know.

When he was dealt with, however far away that would be, would he be sat in that chair the same way he was now?

“My apologies,” he said, submissive and polite though his tone was nothing but bored and stoic. “My methods have hit an unexpected wall. I might need some assistance from the police.”

An exasperated, drawn out sigh. Clear frustration. The slow, steady deliberation of a man trying to figure out how far he could drag this out, how much he could get Akechi to do in exchange for official police involvement.

“You’re putting me in quite a predicament.” The way he said it was condescending, as though Akechi could never understand the complications of his job. Akechi said nothing. “I asked specifically for your assistance so that I wouldn’t need to get the police force involved. I mean, what reason do we even have to start looking into Shujin Academy?”

“I only need to go there and meet with Kobayakawa on behalf of the police. As long as I can access Shujin Academy itself to speak with him, everything else should work itself out.”

A low, deliberating hum. It was a drawn out and intentional act of pretending to think, pretending to consider turning Akechi down. Once it would have prompted him to deflect, to dismiss his own needs or requests and negotiate but he knew better than that now. He remained silent, still, stoic. 

And eventually, the Director relented.

“We need to get that stupid, incompetent man to realise that he has nowhere to go but toward us,” he said, something sinister brewing behind his eyes. “Fine. If you can determine a good reason for it, I’ll give the word.”

Akechi, finally, smiled.
“I’ll direct Niijima-san towards Shujin as the most likely location of the Phantom Thieves. I already have enough ‘evidence’ to justify such a request. All that I require from you is to permit her to investigate. I’ll go with them when summer vacation is over so that I can speak with Kobayakawa myself.”

Slowly, as everything he did seemed to be slow and done with a certain intent, the Director nodded.
“It’ll be done.” He peered over the wire lens of his reading glasses, perched unsteadily on his nose. They were perfectly clean. Akechi could see his own unimpressed reflection in them. “Don’t let me down.”

A nod.
“I won’t.”

 

---

 

That meeting had directed him to where he was now - with his bag in his hand, drifting towards where he knew Sae would be, sitting with a coffee in her hand at the square table they normally sat at to share their work.

Akechi sat down beside her, set his own cold cup of coffee on the table, and put his briefcase down on the floor. 
“Good afternoon, Sae-san.”

She barely lifted her gaze. Unimpressed brown eyes scoured over her laptop screen where Akechi could only assume she’d been looking over the hijacked Medjed site. If she was anything like him, she’d have been imploring it to reveal more information to her all morning the same way he’d looked at the Phan-site all night, with half-open, exhausted eyes. 

Sae was no better off than Akechi, though. The makeup around her eyes was impatiently put on and slightly patchy, failing to cover up dark circles. It almost felt cruel now, sitting beside her with intent to direct her investigation and nudge her towards Shujin especially when he was so certain that he’d already pinpointed the identities of the criminal organisation that she was looking into. But it was part of the job. He had to do it to get to Kobayakawa and he had to talk to Kobayakawa to remain in a position of praise from the SIU Director, who would in turn report praise to Shido.

So he looked at the glow of the laptop screen over Sae’s skin and tapped his index finger against the cap of his coffee cup.
“I was under the impression that you messaged me because you wanted my opinion on something.”

Finally, her eyes were torn away from the alluring pull of the laptop screen. They were dull and tired and Akechi, for a moment, didn’t quite recognise her. Of all the cases she’d worked since he’d met her, never had one gotten under her skin like this.

“I wasn’t sure what I wanted when I messaged you,” Sae admitted, slender fingers closing her laptop and letting it rest, fans quietly whirring. “If you’ve got any theories, just say them.” Her hand immediately drifted back to her coffee cup. Still, when she took a sip and tucked her silver hair over her shoulder, she looked effortlessly elegant. Like it was baked into every move she made and every thought she had, how to frame herself to be perfectly poised and delicate. 

Still, though, sat those bags under her eyes and the frustrated furrow of her brow when the cup was set back down. It seemed as if it was becoming a permanent addition to her face, that little divot between her brows.
“Stress is the enemy of beauty, you know,” he said, initially meaning to recommend that she’d rest. As the words had gotten to his tongue, however, a bitter and tired part of him reminded him that she’d drawn him here for no reason and that the last time they’d spoken, she’d interrogated him endlessly about an aquarium trip she’d recommended that he go on - entirely misunderstanding the nature of his relationship with Akira.

From the immediate shift of her expression, the shocked and subsequently insulted twisting of her features, she didn’t seem to appreciate having him around anymore. It was her own fault. He’d have been in today whether or not she messaged, but he wouldn’t have sought her out otherwise. 

“How can I stay calm about this?!” The words spoken like a whip crack, narrowed eyes looking at him with festering resentment. 
“I understand how you feel,” came an immediate fawning and an attempt to get back in her favour, to remind her that they were both on the same side, merely approaching it from different perspectives. Her expression didn’t shift.
“Thanks to the incident with those hackers, people are calling us incompetent!” Her tone was no easier. It drew glances from nearby - Akechi refrained from saying anything until she was done, his mind comparing it to when Shido was in one of his moods and needed the room for his anger before rational conversation could resume. “And on top of all that, the Phantom Thieves are claiming justice is on their side. Don’t make me laugh.”

After just long enough for her words to set in, Akechi spoke instead. Easy and gentle.
“Medjed was dealt with by either the Phantom Thieves themselves, or some avid supporter.” Unless one of them was secretly a genius and doing very well to hide it, it was likely that they’d found somewhere to outsource help for this. It would make sense considering how long it had taken them to respond. “There are no traces whatsoever, so they must be quite skillful.”

That much was theory. He’d contacted the anonymous IT Company President earlier to ask if anything could be determined from the attack and had yet to hear back, even after a few hours, so it was safe to assume.

“Either way,” Akechi continued, Sae’s unwavering and irritated gaze burning a hole into him. He maintained eye contact, uncomfortable as the firmness of her gaze made it, so that looking away wouldn’t be taken as a sign of uncertainty or hesitance. “The general public recognises the Phantom Thieves as the subjugating party.”

That flash of annoyance came back, determination rising again. For a moment, it reminded Akechi of when he’d say something challenging to Akira, the rise of defiance that would surface immediately, and he forced himself to abandon the thought.
“They’re gaining support and influence much faster than we could have anticipated.”

Good. It was noticeable, then, that this had surged their prominence in the public eye. Their acclaim was growing - in the following days, it would be nearly unanimous that the Phantom Thieves were not only real but that they were just heroes. 

The higher they rose, the further they would fall. The next step of Akechi’s plan would be to find a way to push them off of the podium that the public was putting them on - the weight of the blame for the psychotic breakdowns might be enough.

“It is indeed an abnormal situation.” And he needed Sae knowing that she was right, that Akechi was firmly and staunchly on her side, and that no matter how popular the Phantom Thieves were, the two of them were righteous and level-headed for their hatred. Beyond being members of the police trying to subdue them - it had to be personal. “I’m beginning to suspect mass manipulation of some kind.”

The suggestion prompted a frown but little more. He pressed on. Sae was the best person to test the blame on - she’d critique him it was unfounded, but was more likely than anyone else to take the bait. And, more importantly, more likely than anyone else to find evidence to support it.

“It’s even possible that a powerful person is behind them, plotting the psychotic breakdowns.” The closer to the truth that the lie was, the easier it would be to believe. Even the slightest bit of a confession made his throat feel tight with dread - the awareness of her eyes digging into him bringing out the paranoia that she’d be suddenly able to see everything he’d done, all of his crimes laid bare in front of her. He had to stop talking about it, using the mask of righteous anger to cover his face, wanting to shake off the feeling and the fear that she was reading through every secret he had. “If only I had realised sooner!”

The few moments it took for her to say something again were agonising.
“... It’s rare to hear you speak in that tone,” she did eventually say, and though it was far calmer and quieter than before, it didn’t contain any noticeable suspicion. Akechi swallowed, throat dry, and reached out for his cold coffee once more. 
“For the sake of my justice, I won’t forgive them.”

“Well,” Sae opened her laptop again, seemingly with new resolve. “Use that energy to help me catch them.”
Akechi, bringing out a notebook from his bag and another of those cheap plastic pens, flicked through until he found a blank page. 
“And you should use this new surge of attention on the Phantom Thieves to get permission to investigate anywhere you’d like,” he muttered, still trying to shake off the lingering unpleasantness of his vague confession. “Now would be as good a time as any to try and narrow down our profile, wouldn’t it?”

The snappy argument must have worked to provide some kind of catharsis. Sae seemed less tense, her shoulders less square, and no longer were her eyes trying to carve a hole into the screen of her laptop.
“I suppose,” she said with a nod, relenting easily and letting Akechi step in. “You suggested after Kaneshiro’s arrest that they were high schoolers. Is this still your theory?”

Akechi nodded, though now he’d need to be careful with how much information he gave her.
“It seems the most likely to me, yes. They have a wealth of free time, the means to meet up inconspicuously, and it makes the most sense considering that their first known victim was a high school teacher.”
“This would also suggest involvement with Shujin Academy,” Sae glanced pointedly to Akechi’s notebook and he took the hint, starting to make notes for their current theories. Something that he could let her transcribe to her computer when it was complete and coherent.
“Being of high school age could also allow them an easier way to connect with other individuals affected. That pupil of Madarame’s - Kitagawa, right? - is studying at Kosei high. If they wanted information on Madarame, it’d be far easier to get it from someone like him if they were the same age.”

Sae nodded. Akechi made notes beneath the initial statement that they were students. The list so far was simple - “ Shujin teacher victim, Madarame victim (Kitagawa) in high school,  free time to meet means no occupation” - but expanded with further points. Sae prompted Akechi to repeat the point he’d made suggesting that the Phantom Thieves had had a personal involvement with Kaneshiro and, begrudgingly, he noted that down (it seemed that all record of his victims had been destroyed by the time the police had permission to seize anything, though, so there was no cross-referencing to be done. Thankfully. It cleared his name, too).

Smaller and more speculative points were added. Akechi’s notion that they were being controlled was all the more plausible with the idea that the Phantom Thieves were teenagers, making them more susceptible to external manipulation (he’d bitten his tongue firmly for that discussion) and it was added to the list. 

“It makes sense to me,” Akechi said, referring again to them being high school students. “Is it worth investigating?”

Sae, with a renewed sort of determination, nodded. She leant over the table, long hair trailing along it, as she peered at Akechi’s notebook. He tore out the page to pass to her.
“I wouldn’t know where to start without Kaneshiro’s records, though.”

Now was his chance. Akechi hummed a moment, feigning thought, and tapped on the part of his notes that mentioned that teacher that the Phantom Thieves had originally targeted.
“Why not Shujin? The first known victim of the Phantom Thieves was there, so it’d make sense to investigate. You could use an investigation into Kamoshida as cover.”

Sae deliberated for a moment. It wouldn’t be that simple to completely convince her, but as long as she eventually went there, Akechi could go with her and finally have his meeting with Kobayakawa.

He shrugged, smiling.
“It’d be where I’d start, but it's your investigation. I’ll offer my assistance no matter what you choose.”

Then, glancing at his phone for the time, Akechi offered a deliberate widening of his eyes and picked up his notebook.
“Oh, is that the time already? I should get back home before it gets much later. I still have some homework to get done before I go back to school,” he lied, standing and easing his way out of the chair. “I’ve got another week or so before next semester. I’ll keep an eye on my phone if you need any input again, Sae-san.”

“Get home safe,” Sae said, dismissing him. “I’ll let you know by midday tomorrow if I need any further assistance.”

He packed away his belongings, tossed away his empty coffee cup, and they exchanged short goodbyes before he excused himself.

The idea was in her head now. He’d let her play this out.

Chapter 27: Sunday, August 28th

Cafe Leblanc was everything Akechi assumed it would be. 

The air was thick with the smell of curry, humid and warm, especially with the summer heat filtering through the door each time it opened. It made for a pleasant break from the unrelenting heat outside, slight as the improvement was. 

Akechi's eyes scanned the main room. It was built like it was meant to be inviting, warm tones and even a pleasant olive colour used for the plush of the booth seats. On the wall smiled a painting of a mother holding her son that Akechi could have sworn he'd seen before, though he couldn’t place where from, an old clock, and behind the bar there were shelves upon shelves of coffee beans. Akechi’s gaze drifted over each detail. The TV faintly played across the room, repeating a story about the upcoming presidential candidates. 

Shido had taken his advice to stand firm against the Phantom Thieves and it seemed to be reflecting well on his reputation. Older voters seemed to appreciate the staunch opposition and the refusal to bend to the will of a mysterious operation, and the people it was isolating the most weren’t old enough to vote yet. He hadn’t thanked Akechi for the advice, of course, but not getting a followup call to berate the decision was equivalent enough. He was there on TV now, talking endlessly about his beliefs. Akechi pulled his gaze away to instead look behind the counter, where Akira was standing alongside-

Wasn’t that Isshiki’s daughter? The hair matched the photos that Sae had on file, where he’d managed to glance at them over her shoulder. He’d almost forgotten, blindsided by Sae’s recommendation of this specific cafe, that Sojiro Sakura, standing a short distance away and giving Akechi a curious look over the wire frames of his glasses, currently held both parental custody over Isshiki’s daughter and probational custody over Akira.

“Hello,” Akechi said with a smile, setting his briefcase down beside one of the seats tucked against the bar. They looked worn.

Sakura offered a slightly surprised “welcome” as Akechi sat down, still watching him as if he was trying to determine something. Akechi’s gaze shifted instead to Akira, He tried not to pay too much attention to, tucked behind him, Isshiki’s kid.
“Oh! What a surprise,” he said, a controlled performance of surprise as he sat down.
“Huh?” came Sojiro’s rumbling voice, coarse from smoking, as he flicked those tired eyes between him and Akira. “You know each other?” 

He carried none of the standard politeness that was usually found in a cafe. What a breath of fresh air, not being met with a cheerful greeting and being immediately pulled into generic small talk. Akechi barely got to answer and affirm that he and Akira knew each other when Sojiro spoke again, though the interruption was admittedly a relief over trying to put a name to what he and Akira were supposed to be. Friends, surely, by now? Though that might still be too bold, and if associates was too distant, it could be considered rude.
“Wait,” Sojiro had said, saving Akechi from his own ambiguity, “Aren’t you..?”
“I’m Akechi,” he opted to save them both the hassle of filtering through the many titles that he’d been assigned.
“Oh yeah, the one on TV.” How casual. It was as if the only appeal of his fame was the relief of remembering where Sojiro had seen Akechi’s face before. “So what brings you here, Mr. Detective?”

He, again, took a moment to absorb the ambience of the cafe. It was comfortable and rustic, and there was no doubt in Akechi’s mind that if it were on a high street or somewhere like Kichijoji, it’d be overflowing with customers. Even without the need for an overtly friendly face.
“This place is more than I imagined it to be. The atmosphere is wonderful -- no wonder Sae-san recommended it so strongly to me.”

The immediate shift in atmosphere was apparent. He’d heard about Sae’s repeat visits to Leblanc, occasionally with complaints over the fact that she’d made no progress in getting Isshiki’s research (and it wasn’t like Akechi could tell her that she’d never get her hands on it, anyway), but he must have underestimated how awful she’d been with her methods. 

“I already told her everything I know. There’s nothing more I got for you people,” Sojiro’s change in attitude was immediate and stark, disdain and anger clear in his eyes.
“Oh, no, that’s not my intention. I just came to enjoy some coffee,” he said, satisfied that Sojiro had inadvertently answered some of Akechi’s lingering curiosity. He’d piqued a lot of curiosity about what exactly she’d done, too, but that would only be satiated by pressing Sae into telling him what she’d done.

No sooner than Sojiro disengaged, acknowledging that he’d misread the situation, did Akechi push him back into annoyance and discomfort when he turned his attention to Isshiki’s daughter, allowing himself the indulgence. A lot of his questions were being answered today, and a lot more were being opened up - it had been a long time since he’d gotten a case that was interesting and, while he was so sick of the Phantom Thieves, the chance to make up something worth investigating was all too enticing.
“And she is…?” The act was deliberate. The glance at her, the slight widening of his eyes, the surprise in his voice when he pretended to realise, “Oh, you must be Wakaba Isshiki’s-”
“What’ll it be?” The interruption was immediate, like the very mention of Isshiki’s name was taboo and had to be immediately shut down. From the corner of his eye, though it was subtle, Akira’s expression shifted, brow furrowing in either confusion or annoyance. It was hard to tell without looking at him directly. Akechi played it off, feigning ignorance to the hostile edge in Sojiro’s tone, and smiled.
“I’ll have whatever you recommend.” It wasn’t as if Sae had encouraged him to try anything specific and he was rather tired of the same sugary drinks he usually had to get. A black coffee would be perfect.

Akechi sat while it was prepared and, after a matter of minutes, a steaming cup of coffee was set in front of him. No further pleasantries nor idle conversation was offered up to him but, having already ordered, Akechi decided he’d stay unless he was encouraged to leave. 

Still, though, there stood Akira. And with Isshiki’s daughter behind him like his shadow, tucked firmly away where Akechi could only see wisps of ginger hair.

The atmosphere hadn’t recovered from his initial mention of Sae’s name, worsened with the mention of Isshiki. Though he didn’t regret asking, it would be awful if he, on his first visit, left such a poor impression that he wasn’t able to comfortably return. It was a good opportunity to keep an eye on Akira but it’d all end up pointless if the owner didn’t want him sticking around.
“It seems I’m unwelcome no matter where I go,” he said, a nauseating sort of pity resting on his tongue. 

Akira looked at him for a moment. There was the slightest glimpse of a smile on his lips, either not believing that Akechi meant what he was saying or not wanting to engage with it.
“It’s not just here?” It was nothing more than a light tease, but something about it struck a nerve somewhere. He’d intended on coming by to confirm his suspicions that Akira lived here (it was good to know that his profile was accurate, at least) but he’d entirely forgotten a plan beyond that.

Part of him was still trying to force a connection between them both, not sure how far he could push it before it would have the opposite effect and damage their relationship. That must have been what overcame him when he spoke next. That same impulsive need for connection that had driven him to be more vulnerable than he meant at the arcade, that had pushed him to continue to reach out to Akira despite knowing it would have to end one day. 

Even the slight touch of sincerity in his voice was too much. It was disgusting, how quickly his emotions had overwhelmed him and taken control of his tongue. 
“...Did I bother you? My apologies.” He could feel the pitying gaze from both  Akira and Isshiki's daughter. It was repulsive, being bathed in the sludge of sympathy, but he was speaking again before he could try to rescue the situation. The TV was still going. Praise for Masayoshi Shido from some mainstream network hummed out from the speakers. It made him sick to his stomach to hear people discussing how brave and noble he was, and far more distracting than it was meant to be. “Apparently, my mother was in a relationship with some low-life of a man. She was discarded when he learned she was pregnant… that despair would lead to her death.”

He wanted to stop talking. Shido’s voice was ringing in his ears from the TV.

“Thanks to him, I was passed from foster home to foster home. But, I do quite well by myself these days.”

Isshiki’s kid moved. She took a step back, the slightest movement of her head causing near-endless red hair to shift and sway to the side. It pulled him from his thoughts for a moment - he fumbled, clumsily, for something else to speak about. The TV was moving from Shido’s condemnation of the Phantom Thieves to detailing their recent victory over Medjed. She was, what, fifteen? Sixteen? From what he’d been told, quite reclusive and rather difficult to speak to. He wondered, for a moment, if she knew anything about the Phantom Thieves.

Or if she knew she was hiding behind one.

He cleared his throat, glanced towards the TV, and used it as a way out. 

“Ah, yes, Medjed.” He still didn’t feel wholly in control of his voice. He picked up his coffee cup just to occupy his hands. “To think they’d be taken down by another hacker. I’m not sure whether it was the Phantom Thieves themselves or an avid supporter who did it, but it was rather lucky.”

He looked at Isshiki’s daughter. Sae had mentioned her name many times - what was it? Her omission in the newspaper article about renowned-researcher Wakaba Isshiki’s death was kicking him now. It always made for a better obituary to omit being a single parent and she’d been a scarcely mentioned topic as soon as Isshiki’s research had been claimed, but Sae had been obsessing over this for weeks now. 

It began with an F, right?

“Um, you’re…” He paused. Futaba Isshiki sounded accurate to the original file. It’d be Futaba Sakura now. He’d pose it like a question, then she’d correct him if he was wrong. “Futaba-chan, right?” No correction came. “Sae-san told me about you.”

Sojiro, across the room, gave a pointed look, but said nothing. Akechi took the quiet as an opportunity to continue.
“Many kids your age seem to be fans of the Phantom Thieves. Do you like them too?”

For a moment, it was hard to believe that coincidence alone was the reason that Futaba knew Akira. The way that she lit up, the determination crossing her features, the way the mere mention of the Phantom Thieves broke through her reserved demeanour, it was all reminiscent of how discussions with Akira had been when they’d first met.

Perhaps she also needed a little push to get out of her shell.

“What’s the matter?”

Immediately, she bristled. It was far easier to get her to take the bait than it had ever been with Akira - she stood a little taller, poked her head out past his arm (prompting Akira to take the slightest step to the side so that she could look past him), and finally with a glance at her face Akechi could see, strikingly well, that she was a mirror image of her mother.

Though the hair colour was completely different, the way that her long hair carved the shape of her face and the way that her bangs sat, along with the shape of her nose and the determined look in her eyes made the two of them hauntingly identical. His only recollection of Isshiki was during their fleeting interaction in Mementos, a yellow-eyed Shadow of Wakaba looking at him with complete and utter disdain, driven to obsession over her research. The piercing gaze of narrowed brown eyes was identical, the annoyed scrunch of her nose, the way that Futaba’s body bristled with annoyance like a cat standing on edge was completely and utterly identical to how Wakaba’s attitude had changed when she’d realised that a roughly fifteen-year-old Akechi was there for blood. 

It was like sitting across the counter from a ghost. 

“You’re popular too, Ace Detective Akechi.” It was spoken like an accusation. She carried her anger like Makoto did, like Sae did, with this righteousness that she felt she had the complete right to carry. 

He smiled, though he didn’t feel at all like smiling, and turned his gaze to the cup of coffee still sitting in his hands only to break his attention away from the image of Wakaba looking at him.
“Thank you. Although I’d rather not be compared to people like the Phantom Thieves, if at all possible.”

Again, she lapsed back into silence and Akechi took the opportunity to sip his coffee. It was rich and bitter and unfortunately he wasn’t well-versed enough in coffee to take notice of any of the nuances that the flavour carried.
“Mm, this is delicious.” That was true. It was well made and far better than the standard coffee that most places served him. “You get to drink this coffee every day? I’m incredibly jealous.”

Akira smiled.
“It’s good,” he nodded. Akechi vaguely recalled Akira’s sour expression when they’d gone to that cafe together and the coffee beans had been… burnt, right? They must have been thinking of the same thing, though, as his next question was answered before it had been asked.  “That’s why I’m so particular.”

“It makes sense, especially with the selection you have here,” he said and Akira nodded, a smile either embarrassed or pleased settling on his face. It was hard to tell, with the yellow-tinted overhead lights, if there was colour on his face or not. “I was surprised to see you here, though. Perhaps I should have asked Sae for cafe recommendations a few weeks ago.”

“Well,” Akira glanced over his shoulder to where Futaba was hiding, then back to Akechi. “Now you know where to find me.” He didn’t seem annoyed or unnerved by it. If anything, he seemed fond of the fact that Akechi had stumbled across him here.

If this was where he was working, though, did that mean that the stairwell on the far side of the room led to the attic he was living in? Wasn’t he put off at all by the knowledge that Akechi knew where to find him? Where he lived? Where he slept? Akira probably knew that Akechi lived in Kichijoji, nothing more, and somehow that still felt like far too much. How was he so trusting about this?

Another sip of the coffee.
“I do, and I look forward to coming here again. The coffee is just as good as I was promised and I’ll admit that the company is a benefit. We have some kind of bond that I’ve not found with anyone else.”

Akira, again, smiled a little more. There must have been colour on his cheeks now, though Akechi refused to acknowledge or think about it at all. 
“I agree,” he said, and for a moment seemed to want to say more. Perhaps the company wasn’t appropriate for it. His guardian was tucked away into the kitchen and still, Futaba Sakura was tucked away behind him. 

So, Akechi indulged on his behalf. The fondness gave Akechi a chance to engage, to feed into whatever warmth Akira regarded Akechi with.
“I believe that fate can bring people together. It’s strange to say, but talking to you is thought provoking.” He again brought his cup to his lips. “I think I’ve found my go-to cafe.”

 

---

 

Akechi got home in higher spirits than he was used to.

The last time he’d made a connection with someone that left him with a lingering sense of warmth must have been years ago, when he was a child, and something about the person who had given him that feeling again being Akira felt cruel, like he was being mocked by a higher power.

He returned to his room, to the desk chair he all but lived in now, and sank into it. 

Akechi wasn’t supposed to like Akira. He was supposed to be staying firmly at an arm's length. When had that become a difficult thing to do? When had it changed from seeing Akira and resenting him to feeling any degree of warmth or interest in the way that Akira treated him?

He had to shake off these attachments. He had to focus on his goal. Growing fond of Akira would only cause problems when it inevitably came time to deal with him. 

He had to keep that in mind. There was a goal being worked towards - Akechi needed to focus on that.

And with that being his focus, and the Medjed situation finally resolved, he needed to start thinking of how he’d turn the public against the Phantom Thieves and soon. The public would only grow more resentful of him the longer it took to open their eyes to the nature of the Phantom Thieves.

Chapter 28: Friday, September 2nd

Notes:

sorry for the delay with gettin this chapter out!! hopefully ill be back on weekly posts soon :3 i have a surplus of like nine finished chapters between this upload and what ive written but ive just moved to uni and have been v v busy the last month or so !! the akechi brainrot is still extremely intense and i intend on seeing this fic through :3c

There was never a break.

The SIU Director confirmed that Kobayakawa had run through his usefulness and was no longer needed. He had apparently also given this information to Kobayakawa himself. A foolish decision that put immense pressure on Akechi not to dig out information on him, but to kill him before he tried to do something to save his miserable life. 

Sae’s temper had gotten shorter and talking with her was harder to navigate, especially so with how Akechi’s stress was wearing on him. She’d all but moved into the police station now, too, and was almost impossible to avoid all hours of the day.

Shido was insistent on getting everything in order for the upcoming election and putting more pressure on Akechi to get rid of the Phantom Thieves by then. On top of that , Shido had a dozen other people for Akechi to clean up in the meantime, some of whom were extremely high profile and wouldn’t be as easily accessed as random retail workers.

The Phantom Thieves, having defeated Medjed, were now as revered as they were feared, and celebrities were posting unprompted to apologise for any kind of offence, no matter how small. The public had never before been so invested in what the Phantom Thieves were doing.

And, worst of all, he was still supposed to maintain a relationship with Akira. 

Who, because of his wonderful timing, Akechi had bumped into that morning while changing trains. Again. Either Akira was becoming less reliable with the times he travelled to Shujin (perhaps he was more relaxed now that he’d settled in? Or more exhausted because of how much busier the Phantom Thieves were supposedly being?) or Akechi’s half-present, stress induced haze was putting him behind schedule.

He tried to avoid as many people as possible on his way to school with how quickly public opinion of him had turned negative. His traction online and presence in person seemed to be more noticeable than ever before at the cost of being despised by Phantom Thief supporters, which was now the majority of people in Japan.

Online forums and any of his public profiles (on which he’d usually only repost the photos used for photoshoots, anyway) were inaccessible, the comment section freshly flooded with brutal and unwavering hate messages, and a thousand insufferable people trying to prompt the Phantom Thieves into action against him. He wasn’t sure if they were going to target him or not, but them trying to put his name into the Meta-Nav would lead to complications. He didn’t know if he had a palace or not (a few times, insisting curiosity, Akechi had typed his name into the navigator but never once had he searched it - afraid it would yield a result.) It would be extremely inconvenient trying to dissuade the Phantom Thieves once they were set on a goal, considering their last two targets. Kaneshiro had done everything to bury his name and MedJed was never meant to be a targetable organisation in the first place.

With proximity to their ringleader, it would make it easier for them to bypass any means of defence in a potential palace. Akechi had to try and find the perfect target for them to drift towards before they set their eyes on him.

Getting the public to turn to a tempting new target should be easy enough. As soon as he found someone deserving of scrutiny, it would all work out. 

Sae was directing her attention towards Shujin Academy now that the semester had started again and had gone to the SIU Director recently. He, true to his word, had agreed to let her direct the investigation wherever she saw fit, which meant that Akechi would be accompanying her to Shujin Academy as soon as they were allowed to start questioning the faculty - around the seventh, if his memory served. That would keep him on her good side and allow him an opportunity to meet Kobayakawa inside Shujin Academy walls. With luck, that would bypass the cognitive barrier surrounding the palace. It’d take a day or two to find out how to access Kobayakawa himself within the palace, who he would shoot on sight.

As for public opinion on the Phantom Thieves - would there be a way to pin Kobayakawa’s death on them? They were a loudmouth group, but only when they needed to be. It was likely false, but he’d seen many people popping up on the Phansite thanking the Phantom Thieves for a change of heart, declaring that they’d gotten a calling card and were treating it as some kind of precious artefact. If those cases were true (even if they weren’t and enough of the public believed it) and hadn’t gained enough attention to reach the news at all, it meant that the Phantom Thieves knew when discretion was necessary. Perhaps, then, using the calling cards that had been taken and documented by the police, Akechi could imitate them? A calling card for Principal Kobayakawa would be easy enough to forge, and it wouldn’t be undeserved knowing about his involvement in covering up what Kamoshida had done. 

Whether or not Kobayakawa deserved justice from the Phantom Thieves, hopefully a mental shutdown would be severe enough to deter anyone from their support, no matter how awful the victim.

Akechi was working his tongue between his teeth as he walked when he’d caught sight of Akira through the crowd. Everyone seemed to part perfectly to give Akechi a path toward him and, before he could discreetly tuck away among them to avoid being spotted, Akira lifted his head to check train times and their eyes locked.

The smile was immediate. It seized something in Akechi’s chest, sending a shiver of indignation and humiliation through him.

There wasn’t enough time between seeing him and smiling for it to be a coordinated reaction, not when he had no reason to know that Akechi was here at all - but it couldn’t possibly be genuine, could it? Not out of a sincere fondness for him, at least. It must have been something secretive or something sinister - the lingering knowledge that he was under Akechi’s skin was likely giving Akira some false sense of power or an unfounded confidence. There was no other reason why Akira would look at him - him , of all people - like that. He glanced at the timetable. The next train going via Shujin was a few minutes away, and Akechi had already been spotted, so he accepted that there was no polite way to avoid small talk.

He returned the warmth of Akira’s smile and approached.

It had barely been a week since they’d last seen each other, and Akechi had honestly thought the way he’d fumbled over himself last time they’d spoken, with such a grotesque spilling of his history and tragedies, Akira would want nothing more to do with him. That must have been part of why Akira looking at him like that was surprising, and why Akechi didn’t expect Akira to tuck his phone into his pocket, attentive to whatever small talk Akechi could scrounge up to throw at him.

He seemed to have changed. It was difficult to place what it was - had he tanned? Maybe Akechi hadn’t been able to see it under the warm lights of Leblanc? 
“Hm? Did you get a tan? You seem different.” It would save him the same miserable few seconds of small talk if he found something to ask Akechi about, if he could push something over to him to talk about. Thankfully for him, Akira seemed in a better mood than the last few times they’d run into one another. It seemed like the last few days of summer had helped him relax - or maybe the knowledge that he was going to get to spend time with his accomplices at school was helping keep his spirits high?

“Huh?” Akira glanced down at himself, then back up with a sheepish sort of look. “Seems like it. I didn’t notice; I spent all day at the beach on Monday.”

Monday… What had Akechi been doing? Kept up in his room, probably. If he was remembering right, that was when the SIU Director called him and gave him a handful more names to deal with. It had kept Akechi up all night doing research on his targets so that he knew who to look for in Mementos.

“Sounds fun,” Akechi hummed, only slightly tinted with jealousy. There would be plenty of time for relaxation and trips to the beach when he was the most powerful man in Japan. “Oh, and thank you for the coffee last week. It’s a lovely cafe you live in. I haven’t relaxed that much in a while.”

A gathering of three girls in Shujin uniforms walked past. They glanced at Akechi, then at Akira, then back at Akechi. He caught one of them rolling her eyes in the corner of his eye and pretended not to see it, and then pretended he didn’t hear the muttering of ‘ Ugh, was that really him? ’ or notice the hushed conversation that ensued.

“You should come again,” Akira said with a sincerity that was dizzying. The energy drink Akechi had for breakfast suddenly felt like it wasn’t sitting right in his stomach.

“That’s nice of you to say,” was all he could manage to say for a moment, clearing his throat. The stray glances of those girls and a few friends they were now pointing him out to brought him back from it. “Especially lately, since it seems like I’m hated by those who support the Phantom Thieves.”

Akira’s smile dropped a little. He tucked his hands into his pockets, and started to piece together something like a comfort or his opinion on Akechi’s reputation. Not wanting to hear it, Akechi interrupted before he could.
“Anyhow, it seems your school’s in trouble.” Maybe Akira could offer some interesting insight on the coverup. “The media is reporting that the whole school was involved in the cover-up about that gym teacher. Those unfortunate students were made victims all because adults valued their own conveniences…”

Akira only seemed to grow more uncomfortable.
“Yeah,” he said, and Akechi couldn’t tell if he didn’t feel anything much or if he was forcing his voice steady and pretending that he didn’t care. “I can’t say much. I hadn’t been attending for long when Kamoshida was arrested.”

Akechi swallowed back a grimace. 

“It’s unforgivable, no matter the reason. Let me know if you need anything, I’ll do my best so that the case is wrapped up quickly,” Akechi said, giving Akira a parting smile as the announcement overhead declared the impending arrival of the next train. He patted his hand down on Akira’s shoulder as he passed him. “See you.”

Akira, reflecting Akechi’s expression, looked over his shoulder as the train whisked in beside him, and nodded.
“If I need anything,” he confirmed, taking a step back. “See you.”

He turned and boarded the train, glancing back at Akechi as the doors closed, and Akechi turned to get to his own platform. 

At least with the wave of students gone, it would be more manageable for him to navigate the station.

 

---

 

“And did you hear?” a girl beside him cooed, talking to her friend on the cramped train cart, phones held excitedly in hand. “About everything at Shujin? That teacher that got arrested in like May for abusing his students was being supported by the faculty.”

Akechi kept his eyes on his phone, filtering through emails while he listened in on their conversation. He hadn’t been involved in the conversation about dropping the gag order on media coverage of Kamoshida. He could guess it had happened - with the promise of finding the Phantom Thieves within Shujin (or ruling out Shujin’s student base entirely as suspects) unfulfilled since May and no sign of progress being made soon, the privileges offered through proximity to Masayoshi Shido had now been revoked. Kobayakawa’s assistance was no longer needed, there were no benefits - first he would lose his reputation, and next his life.

Akechi, of course, was not involved at all with the easy part. Breaking the gag order and most likely feeding the information to reporters that the principal had been supporting Kamoshida behind the scenes (along with the rest of the staff, to worsen the scandal) was no harder than sending an email. 

Killing Kobayakawa, however, was something that would be a hell of a lot more difficult. And that was solely resting on Akechi’s shoulders.

“It makes sense. I mean, I find this sort of thing really interesting. Not the abuse bitor anything but the theory and the social side of abuse. It’s socially reinforced, I think. So maybe he got caught by the principal and they just let him get away with it.” Her phone tipped down. They were only standing about a metre away and when Akechi glanced over, he could see an old picture of Kamoshida, standing proudly beside a group of Shujin students with their faces blurred out, beneath blocky text he couldn’t read. It must have been some recently-posted article discussing the situation.
“I don’t know- it says on there he was an olympic medal winner.. And doesn’t Shujin have a really good volleyball team? Maybe he was getting away with it because he was actually a good teacher?”

One of the girls scoffed, shoving the other with her arm. It seemed good-natured. Akechi kept himself busy by flicking through his emails. He was a few days back now, with very few offers and job requests rolling in anymore. Ever since the Phantom Thieves had defeated Medjed, he’d been quickly losing interview opportunities. He was still getting the odd publication here and there, but it seemed like the more time dragged on, the less people wanted to see him anywhere. 

It wouldn’t put any strain on him financially, at least. Everything that Shido was asking of him was more than making up for that - even if the compensation he was given seemed to get smaller and smaller with each job. It wasn’t worth chasing up; Shido wouldn’t give him any more money even if he was desperate (it wasn’t as if Akechi could quit over money. Shido knew this. He could have his pay revoked entirely and still wouldn’t have the option to refuse work) but Akechi didn’t need it. He had nothing lavish to waste the money on, no fun spending to do. He only burned through it for groceries, transport, and caffeinated drinks.

He could grit his teeth and hold his complaints for now.

When Japan was in his pocket, he’d never need to worry about work or money again. 

Until then.

“You’ve got to be stupid if you think that,” said the girl Akechi had originally overheard, “You can’t excuse everything he did because he could have been a good teacher.”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe if you think he’s that bad you should vote for him on those Phan-site rankings.”

Akechi lifted his head a little. Rankings? He hadn’t checked the Phan-site in a few days while he’d been catching up on the rest of his work and doting over Shido’s every request. Had there been a change on it the second he’d taken his eyes off of it? His eyes flicked over to one of the girls, both of whom were now standing over their phones, loading up the Phan-site. The slight glimpse at them was all that was needed, though, for them to finally tune into his presence. One of them lifted her head, looked at Akechi. Her eyes widened, then rolled as she turned to say something quietly to her friend.

Akechi turned his attention back to his phone. His stop was coming up. He didn’t need to see those girls to know that they were looking at him from the corner of their eye. 

He’d look at those rankings later and see if there was a way he could make use of them.

Behind him, he could hear the hushed conversation even over the chatter of the train cart.
“I mean, why does he even come to school anymore?”

The announcer overhead hummed and the train began to slow as it pulled into the station. Akechi turned towards the door as everyone began to filter in.

“Seriously. He skips most days anyway. Just drop out and stop taking up space in our class,” muttered the other girl as he stepped onto the platform. They followed, alongside a crowd of people in his school’s uniform, and it was unavoidable to overhear their conversation the rest of the commute. None of it was any more pleasant.

And when he got to school, it seemed that the opinion was nearly unanimous in his class.

The social ostracisation was no different to how he usually managed. He sat at his desk alone, as he was used to doing, and started his morning by setting out a textbook and a notepad to catch up on more revision. 

He wanted to check the Phan-site. What he didn’t want was for people to see him on it and to start speculating or considering him spineless. Being disliked was fine, overhearing conversation about how he should stop coming to school was fine. He didn’t want anyone considering him cowardly or assuming that he was so spineless he’d change his mind on his beliefs over a little backlash.

He’d been running through his plans for the evening - once he was home, he would reaffirm his schedule to visit Shujin with Sae over text, look over what was in his curriculum for the semester so he knew what to study in his free time, and look into the Phan-Site while he ate. Then would come planning the next steps for their downfall (an end that, this time, would have to play out in full) and beyond that, a detailed plan on how to begin recovering his reputation over the next few weeks, to make himself a disliked but manageable public figure. 

If he disappeared and nobody noticed, every single insufferable moment spent under the warmth of studio lights would have been wasted. He needed that fame. So, before he became someone that nobody wanted to see, he needed to recover his reputation.

There were months before the election. Time was on his side. The Phantom Thieves would inevitably get what was coming and he would recover. Everyone would come crawling back to him when they realised that he’d been right from the beginning, the gullible fools that these Phantom Thief fans were. 

Then even the people gossiping now, tucking away from him and bundling up in bitter, spiteful groups around the classroom, where they either thought he was unaware of their eyes and their whispering or didn’t care whether or not he knew, would be grovelling and begging for his attention again.

Then it would be on him to refuse, as he always did, and to keep to himself.

But no matter how firmly Akechi told himself that he needed to focus, he couldn’t. It wasn’t the hostility and the eyes on him that was grating on his nerves - he was well accustomed to that from the police station. Where his classmates had a general disdain for how antisocial he was, they’d always despised and alienated him and working beneath Shido meant that he was used to sitting in rooms of people who wanted him gone but, begrudgingly, accepted his place among them.

What was so insufferable about it was that every single conversation happening around him seemed to be centred solely on the Phantom Thieves. Whenever he found his pen able to carve into his paper, he would be distracted by someone new coming into the classroom and asking if there had been any changes on the Phan-site, or a conversation between a group of loudmouthed classmates of his discussing where they probably were, what the police were doing - how they would die to meet the Phantom Thieves.

At one point, he’d even been directly pulled from his thoughts. Someone across the room, stood in a group of boys, looked back from his chair. 
“Hey,” he’d said, in this exaggeratedly loud whisper, “Hey, Detective. You got any insight on the Phantom Thieves for us?”

Akechi had barely lifted his head and prepared a forced smile, meaning to decline and insist that he had work to do when everyone sitting at that table had burst into laughter, turning their attention immediately away from him now that they’d been acknowledged.

Another note to his plan for the evening - get headphones to bring with him to school. He wasn’t going to listen to this for however long it took to recover his reputation.

Not letting his frustration or disdain show on his face, Akechi made a show of not looking bothered. He smiled, he shook his head a little, brushed his hair from his face and turned his attention back to the empty page in front of him. By lunch he’d have his focus back, everyone would have settled down, and it’d be more manageable.

 

---

 

It did not get more manageable.

Quite impressively, it got worse. Akechi was restless and struggled to stay in his seat an hour before lunch rolled around. When he answered or asked questions during class, where once it had been something almost expected of him it now seemed a sign of arrogance and something detestable. He was filling in notes and gaps in his notebook, making points on what he needed to study, marking what he already knew, but every move he made was now scrutinised with the intensity of those hungry TV cameras and the unspoken hostility of police meetings. 

The combination of environments wasn’t sitting well with him. Nor was the coffee from that morning and the lack of sleep or breakfast. He was restless, but firmly kept both feet planted fully on the floor, kept his eyes either on the page in front of him or on the teacher ahead. The performance of being perfect was interfering with his ability to take notes and engage as usual, and the awareness that he was falling behind was interfering with his performance.

The moment that the bell rang for lunch, Akechi gathered all of his things, took his bag with him and went downstairs to the school store. He bought some bread and some flavoured water to take with him back to his classroom.

He opened the door as he returned. Dozens of pairs of eyes flicked over, conversation stopped entirely for a second, and when they resumed it was much quieter. Akechi, suddenly losing his appetite, sat at his desk and once more set out his notebook.

His cell phones sat heavy in their respective pockets. Burner on the left, mobile on the right. For a moment, he wondered what would be worse - another few hours here, or a surprise call from Shido. 

He tapped the tip of his pen against the page, too agitated with the company of his classmates to feel his exhaustion.

The clock across the wall ticked tauntingly slow, whittling away the minutes of their lunch break before the stupid damned Phantom Thief oriented conversation surrounding him stopped and he could focus on something else for once, as dull as his classes became when he knew everything. 

Was this what every single day would be like until those damned Phantom Thieves were eradicated?

“Seriously…” a mumble from across the room, a little louder than the rest of the hushed conversation. Akechi pretended he didn’t hear it, reminding himself that he’d done nothing useful since he’d gotten here and that he didn’t have time to dwell, reminding himself again to ask his home room teacher about headphones or earplugs (perhaps his hair was long enough he wouldn’t need to ask permission?), but it wasn’t going to work. Willing himself to focus wasn’t going to help overrule the panicked anxiety that was keeping him alert.

This persistent anxiety felt reminiscent of being in Mementos, prompting him to constantly bite back the instinct to sweep his eyes around his surroundings and ensure that nobody in his company intended to attack him. It would do him no favours and would only inspire further conversation from his classmates about him if he grew visually agitated, so Akechi remained with his head tucked down and his eyes on his desk, all while conversation a short distance away cut through the otherwise hushed gossip in the rest of the room.

“What position is he on the rankings again?”

The remark was met with immediate hushing and surprise from whoever it was they were talking to. Mutters of ‘ Shut up! ’ or ‘ Keep your voice down!’ followed, but the rest of the conversation was suddenly completely irrelevant.

Blood cold in his veins, Akechi disregarded any intent to do his work or to keep off of his phone in favour of slipping it from his pocket, discreetly beneath the desk, and tapping in the address for the Phan-site.

There, with its hideous overlay. clashing black background and dark red text, it was written clear as day - ‘ Who Should The Phantom Thieves Target? ’, alongside a list of names, beside which was a percentage ratio for the volume of votes that the website had amassed. Currently it was resting on slightly over 2,000.

Fourth on the list was Shujin Principal , with around 15% of the total votes. Surprisingly low, but it made sense considering that the news of the coverup had only been announced that morning.
Above that was the name of some actor recently involved in controversy for snobbish, unpleasant behaviour onwards co hosts and colleagues. 16% of the votes. If Akechi was right about the name, he’d announced a public apology online the night before, so he was likely no longer getting votes.
Second was a recently disgraced politician from the party Shido had left the month before. She’d taken most of the criticism after his departure and though there were no large scandals attached to her name, Shido had been putting in a fair amount of work pulling strings to slander the name of the party in the eyes of the public. With 20%.

First on the list, with 49% of the votes, sat the name Goro Akechi .

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, returned his studying materials to his briefcase, and stood. He passed the group behind him, most likely the culprits of the gossip, and considered the chances of him recalling a single one of their names. Perhaps if the Detective Prince Goro Akechi could solve the mystery of why one of them was targeted for a mental shutdown, they’d be forced to respect him.

He stepped out of the classroom, drew the door closed behind him, and after a short detour to the faculty office to claim that a ‘work emergency’ required his attention, excused himself from school for the day.

Right now, more important than studying and police work and the ever-growing list of names to take to Mementos, Akechi needed to determine how to get his name off of that poll and ensure that the Phantom Thieves would have no interest in him.

At the very least, leaving this early ensured that there would be few people on the train home to gawk at and whisper about him.

Notes:

shoutout again to my proofreader for being a lifesaver with some of the embarrassing typos that this chapter had and a further shoutout to my irl buddy [who knows who they are] bcs them reading this fic and messaging me abt bits they liked has really helped me keep my passion going and reminded me that this fic is very enjoyable. i also have a few other ideas for p5 fics and most of them are stupid horny and some of them are 8k word shitposts so keep ur eyes out :3
yet again my tumblr is persona-brainrot-real if u wanna drop me a message or an anon ask or anything :D otherwise comments r so super appreciated. they rlly help keep me motivated.

Chapter 29: Saturday, September 3rd

The rankings didn’t improve much overnight.

The total votes reached over 2,500, Kobayakawa’s name had earned 300 of the new votes, pushing him up past the actor by a significant margin. He sat in second place, with 25% of the current votes. The actor had 14%, the politician 16%.

Akechi, still the highest on the rankings, had gone down to 47%.

He may, however, have found a way to manipulate the results. The appearance of insignificant names caught up in current minor scandals suggested that it would be easy, with the right target, to funnel the attention of Phantom Thief supporters to vote for someone deserving - someone more deserving than Akechi was for mildly critiquing them.

Over one thousand people had voted for him. Did they have nothing better to do? Nobody better to direct their supposed righteousness towards? He’d find a new candidate for them to target. Someone powerful would be ideal, someone with a name anyone would recognise. It’d take time to determine a person and he didn’t know if time was on his side, but the risk had to be taken.

Today, rather than attend school, Akechi was sitting at Sae’s desk in the police station. They each had a coffee, as usual, and Sae was filtering through a compilation of evidence.
“All signs point toward involvement from Kunikazu Okumura,” she said, tapping at her keyboard, “The CEO of Big Bang Burger. These mental shutdowns that have been occurring over the last few months have all had relevance to the food industry and his business is the only large corporation that has yet to be affected by it.”

Akechi nodded along. He’d had the same suspicion for months now, Okumura’s face pinned above his desk since June, and a degree of satisfaction rolled through him with Sae’s conclusion mirroring his own. If she’d made her way there naturally, as he did, then it was more likely.

“It makes sense to me,” he agreed, looking over her shoulder at the notes. He was working on his most recently assigned case - yet another fast food worker who had suffered a mental shutdown working alone. He’d been sent to the Metaverse for that one only two weeks prior. It was after she’d made note of his name and employer to add to her file and that she’d shared her suspicions with him.

“My bigger question is why. If he’s been involved with these since the beginning, a number of them don’t make any sense.” She tapped her finger against the rim of her coffee cup, frowning. It’d been more common over the last couple weeks to see her with a miserable, exhausted frown worn into her face. She covered it up for meetings and often would greet Akechi with a smile, but even that had become rarer and rarer. Most of the time, if he entered her line of sight while he was needed she’d simply call him over or stop beside him and immediately begin speaking. 

There was a determined, steely haze over her eyes when she spoke now, influenced by nothing more than her desire to see the case through, and the confirmation both of a task force and that she could expand towards Shujin Academy was prompting her to indulge further and further in her work.

Akechi set his head on his hand, looking down at the page in front of her. 
“He’s a CEO, right? Big Bang Burger is even starting to expand to America, if I’m remembering correctly.” Sae’s eyes turned to him, expecting him to produce something sharp and brilliant, slotting the perfectly-sized cog into the machinery of her thoughts. He was grateful she considered him capable of solving most of her problems but it added a great deal of pressure to him to be one of the few people capable of helping her. “He’s wealthy and has social influence, but little beyond that. If a shutdown doesn’t directly benefit him, would it be possible for him to have connections to those it does benefit?”

The cog turned. The machine whirred. Sae’s eyes widened, then narrowed as she turned her focus back to her laptop.
“You’re suggesting some kind of network?”
“Assuming that these shutdowns aren’t the work of the Phantom Thieves, of course. Or- no, that would rely too much on speculation to be worth mentioning.”
“What?”
“I can’t confirm anything, Sae-san, so I trust that you’ll take this with the necessary scepticism, but if we only have confirmed evidence of one group of people successfully pulling off ‘changes of heart’, using the same power as the mental shutdowns, and it’s possible that Okumura - or whoever our leader is - is using the same people for both?”
“That is speculation,” Sae said, picking up her coffee. She took a sip, flicked to an empty page in her notebook and slid it over to Akechi. “Run me through it.” He dug out one of his cheap pens and, without hesitation, began making notes. Visualisation of these thoughts would help them both - especially considering this was the first jump he’d made towards a coherent plan against the Phantom Thieves in a while.

He’d need to properly make his own plan later to ensure he was able to weave in all loose threads and guarantee that even the Phantom Thief name couldn’t be salvaged from this mess.

“The methods for both mental shutdowns, psychotic breakdowns, and changes of heart are all unknown, yet all affect the same part of an individual - their mind. I don’t have much evidence to go off of, but it’s likely these methods are all connected.”
“If only I’d been able to get hold of more research on cognitive psience,” Sae lamented, bitter under her breath. “It seems likely, yes, that all of these incidents are connected to cognition somehow.”
“The only organisation we know that are definitely capable of any of this is the Phantom Thieves, and though it’s unfounded to assume that they’re liable for the shutdowns, it could be posited,” Akechi’s pen drifted over the paper, “that if Okumura is orchestrating these incidents, it could be at the whim of these other connections?”

It seemed to be making sense so far. Eager enough for an answer where there were so few options, it would become a working theory. Okumura’s name coming up when so few leads had resulted in anything was a blessing to the investigation, even if Akechi not only knew it was completely wrong. It did mean that he would need to report to Shido as soon as he was home that Okumura’s name had come up and, subsequently, that continuing to cooperate with him would be a liability risk.

“Then what would the benefits be of involving the Phantom Thieves - and so publicly?”
“Well, I have a hunch that it serves a bigger purpose than just to talk to the Phantom Thieves,” Akechi noted down the names of previous known victims, with the exception of Medjed, and drew hasty lines between them and Okumura. “I don’t know what yet. They could be previous associates, they could have provided competition - it could have started to settle a petty feud and escalated to this.” He shrugged, setting his pen down and sinking back into his chair.

“If these recent cases are all corporate issues, though, there would be no reason for Medjed to have targeted the Phantom Thieves or for them to have targeted Kamoshida,” she argued, tapping her pen away on the desk.
“I am only speculating,” Akechi almost dreaded breaking the news to Shido about Okumura. Loose ends needed to be wrapped up - it was just unfortunate that that was Akechi’s job. It wasn’t like a fast-food company’s CEO had any right being in Shido’s company. “It could have all been done to rile up the community. Pick some unlikeable targets, blackmail them, and then get them off of your back. It isn’t like anyone was objecting to Kamoshida being a target once they found out what he’d done.”

Sae slowly nodded.
“And the rest of it was just… what, for attention? Choose smaller targets to establish a presence?”

“It could be that,” Akechi offered an uncertain, suddenly disinterested slump of his shoulders and shift in tone. “Ultimately, I don’t think we’ll ever know without direct questioning.  It only just occurred to me that there was a chance this could all be connected.”

Brushing her silver hair over her shoulder, Sae offered a reluctant shake of her head. “I’ll keep note of it. If any correlations become noticeable, it’ll be grounds to mention this to the Director and divert the focus of my task force. Until anything is confirmed, though, it’ll stay between us.”
“If you find any more evidence, claim it as your own theory,” Akechi said, forcing modesty. “If it leads to any narrowing down on the suspects for the Phantom Thieves, it’ll be good to have credit for.”

Quiet lingered for a moment between them.

“You don’t want the credit?” she asked, not to be certain she heard him right but to try and determine whether or not there was an underlying motive. Akechi, however, dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand.
“I’ve got enough on my plate already with my own cases and my studies. The last thing I need is to be given more work because I had a theory about the Phantom Thieves.” A warm, calculated smile. “That’s why I go to you with my ideas.” 

It was a very convenient answer. More convenient for Sae accepting it without question, either for her own benefit with a potential future promotion or not wanting to seem too suspicious and make Akechi change his mind.

“Thank you,” she said, closing her laptop. “Getting this task force and moving the investigation towards Shujin makes me feel like there might finally be some progress.”
“I meant to ask-…”
“We’ve spoken with the principal of Shujin Academy and agreed that in exchange for us waiting until the seventh, we’ll have access to anywhere we like.”
“Why until then? Isn‘t that suspicious?”

Evidently, the thought had been considered before. 
“On the seventh, the second-year students and some third-years are on a trip overseas for the week,” Sae said, a little reluctant, as if agreeing to the terms had been a compromise of its own. “With the school less populated, it’ll be easier for us to investigate without interruption.”
“So in agreeing to investigate with discretion, nowhere is off-limits?”
“That’s the understanding,” Sae said, “The principal was rather firm when insisting that he wanted to avoid as much negative press as possible.”
“I can’t blame him, considering the current reputation the school has,” a sip of his coffee. He thought, idly, back to Leblanc and the wonderful coffee they sold there. Perhaps, if he had the time, he’d make the detour after work. “Still, though…”
“It is inconvenient,” Sae agreed preemptively, “but necessary. We’re already in contact with some of the teachers and trusting that everyone agrees it's in their best interests to have the Phantom Thieves arrested. While students seem to think they’re righteous, the staff should still have their sanity.”

With a nod, Akechi glanced back at his notebook.
“So I’ll be assisting you with the investigation on the seventh?”

“If you can afford to miss school, I’d appreciate having your assistance.”

There wasn’t really a choice. He needed to speak with Kobayakawa and would likely go to his palace that same evening to make sure it was that easy to gain access. And if the other option was to sit among his peers once again and hear them talk about how little they wanted him around, he’d do the work that actually mattered to him.

He assured Sae that he’d make it (and that it wouldn’t cause any issues with his grades) and let their conversation naturally conclude. The subsequent quiet was only otherwise interrupted by short questions and discussions about their respective cases.

 

---

 

The sun was low beyond the horizon when Akechi left work, gone almost entirely when he got to Yongen-Jaya in the evening. The summer warmth had begun to ebb away and with the sun no longer in the sky, the slight breeze of the early summer sun meant there was a slight chill in the air by the time he got to cafe Leblanc. 

He opened the door and the overhead bell sing its welcome to him as he eased inside. Sae had been right about this place, and he hadn’t been exaggerating during his last visit when he said that the atmosphere was wonderful - it was nearly empty, aside from an older couple sitting in one of the booths, talking over their curry.

Sakura stood behind the counter, leaning against the shelves of coffee beans and quietly observing the TV in the otherwise pleasantly quiet cafe. It was the news - something about the Phantom Thieves, no doubt. 

With his arrival, Sakura’s attention was pulled from the screen, where he looked expectantly to the door. He did little to suppress his disappointment, and gave one final glance to the TV before standing up, away from the wall. Akira must not be back yet.
“Mr. Detective,” came his acknowledgement. Somehow, it felt so neutral, almost disinterested in him, that the title didn’t irritate him the way it usually did. Sakura clearly wasn’t referring to him as a detective to make a show of it, to inflate his ego - rather, it seemed more likely that he’d forgotten Akechi’s name.

“I couldn’t keep myself away for long,” he said, approaching the counter and the seat he’d been in last time he visited, setting his briefcase on the floor before sitting down. “Every cup of coffee I’ve had this week has been completely underwhelming.”

Sakura offered the first smile Akechi had seen from him and there was a noticeable shift in the amount of attention he’d planned on giving Akechi. He’d likely just graduated into the realm of small talk, and it hadn’t taken much praise to get there.
“What’ll it be, then?” Even the shift in Sakura’s tone was all too telling. The willingness to actually serve Akechi. He was almost certain he’d have been given the cold shoulder with how poorly first impressions had gone the week prior, but time and flattery proved him wrong. Good.

“The house blend again, please.”

Sakura nodded, turned back to his organised wall of coffee beans, and Akechi dug out his phone. He had a few new emails to filter through and messages from Sae thanking him for his help today. His burner hadn’t gone off all day but he was aware of its weight in his pocket - all Akechi was doing here was biding his time until he had to call Shido and deliver him the bad news about Okumura.

The coffee machine hummed as it worked. Sakura glanced over his shoulder at the clock while he collected a mug for the coffee, and Akechi took the chance to talk.
“I take it that Kurusu-kun isn’t here?” He asked, unable to filter out the idle curiosity that suggested he could have been in a palace by now. He could even have been in Akechi’s palace, if there was one, and Akechi would be entirely unaware of it.

Again, he forced himself not to think about it.

“Is that the real reason you’re back?” It was a tease, lighthearted, but not wanting to give off the wrong impression, Akechi shook his head, smiling and as dazzlingly polite as he could be. It may have only been a cafe visit, but not wanting to risk offending or losing his welcome here, Akechi wore all of the charm the Detective Prince usually flaunted.
“It’s certainly a bonus, but I mean it when I say the coffee here is the best I’ve had.”

Sojiro set the cup of coffee in front of Akechi. It was a dark roast, rich with nutty undertones.
“He’s usually back around this time,” he said, resuming his position leaning against the counter so that he could flick his attention between customers and the TV at his leisure. “You won’t be waiting long.”

Despite the mild annoyance that, yet again, someone was trying to assume or infer what he felt and thought about Akira, Akechi thanked Sojiro. He sipped the coffee, even though it was too hot to be pleasant yet, and once more offered his compliments to the “ wonderful coffee ,” praise which Sakura again absorbed. He said something about how pleasant it is to still find kids with manners and tipped his head towards the screen, ending the conversation there.

Akechi had been half-right in assuming the coverage would be about the Phantom Thieves. It filtered through a cycle of information - talk about the controversy of the Phantom Thieves, about how overthrowing Medjed was an objective good but the problems and concerns it had raised since. It then cut to a report about Shujin Academy, and the almost defeated confession that nobody they’d reached out to had consented to interview or given a comment. The school itself hadn’t even offered an official statement yet.

Hopefully the newfound scrutiny wouldn’t cause heightened security or further difficulties when investigating Kobayakawa’s palace. That stupid fence was problematic enough.

Akechi lost interest when the next story was mild celebrity gossip. By the time the door to Leblanc next opened, and the bell hummed again, he was almost out of coffee. 

Sakura picked up his head and looked to the door with a warm expression. “You’re back,” he said, and Akechi followed his gaze to the door where Akira stood, black ears peeking out over his shoulder from his bag, looking at him with those curious silver eyes.

Akechi offered a smile in greeting, one immediately returned by Akira. 
“Hey,” there was zero hesitation in greeting Akechi, no discomfort brought on by his appearance, nothing but content that he was there to begin with. 
“Welcome home, Kurusu-kun,” it felt uncomfortably familiar to greet him like that. Intimate, almost domestic. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m intruding again.”

“The coffee’s good,” Akira said, like he meant to justify Akechi’s appearance, leaning it into his favour.
“It is,” the fact that Akira seemed entirely comfortable with his presence was awful. An insult, somehow, and Akechi had to remind himself that he couldn’t reciprocate the ease and comfort that Akira was embodying, no matter how tempting this little cafe made it. “I needed somewhere quiet. I suspect we’ve both had a long day; I’ve just gotten off work and I think I can finally take a break.”

Akechi turned in his chair. Coffee still in one hand. When Akira didn’t say anything, he continued.
“You’re not planning on anything tonight, are you?”

The invite was subtle, but immediately acknowledged and accepted.
“Not much.” It was played casually, but there was a genuine openness and excitement to spend time with Akechi tucked away somewhere underneath Akira’s usual coolness.

“Then perhaps we can talk over some coffee.”

Akira started to slip the bag from his shoulder, settling a hand on the back of the seat beside Akechi, and was just lifting his head toward Sakura (from the cautiously hopeful look in his eyes, he was going to ask whether or not he would have to make his own coffee) when Sakura brought his eyes away from the TV again.

“Not that I’m complaining, but if you two are so tired, maybe you could use a bath more than a coffee.” He glanced at Akechi, likely gauging his unfamiliarity with the area, and added “I mean, there’s a bathhouse right there.”

Akira tucked the chair back in and glanced at Akechi. He tipped his head up and looked back at Akira.
“A bathhouse? That doesn’t sound too bad.” He wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity to spend time with Akira, not for any reason. “Want to come with me, Kurusu-kun? I’d appreciate it if you could show me the way.”

Akira glanced over his shoulder. Akechi could faintly see those ears again. 
“Let me put my bag away,” he said, “I’ll go with you.”

“Thank you,” he said, turning back to his drink. Akira disappeared up the stairwell, confirming Akechi’s suspicions that it led to his room. While finishing his coffee and paying Sakura, Akechi could hear Akira faintly talking (to himself or the cat?). Footsteps passed overhead before Akira came quickly back down.

His hand brushed Akechi’s arm as Akira stopped beside him.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” he said, warm and sincere and insufferably nice. Akechi stood from his chair, picked up his briefcase, and did his best to suppress his bitter tongue so that he could reciprocate the friendliness.
“Lead the way.”

He thanked Sakura again as they left, briefcase at his side, and Akira nodded down the alley.
“It’s usually quiet,” he said, as if he could feel that Akechi was beginning to get doubtful. “And the normal customers are old, anyway.”

That was a relief. Akechi had always enjoyed having baths, but as he grew more popular (and more paranoid) being in public at all became a stressful, constantly-maintained performance to uphold. The only thing that would make that performance more stressful would be if he were naked, so it was a significant relief when they arrived and the bathhouse was completely empty. It didn’t guarantee emptiness the entire time that they’d be there, but it was good for now.

“It’s an awfully late time to be coming back from school,” Akechi offered for small talk as they entered the bathhouse. Akira covered their fee without saying anything (likely cheap, considering the size of the bathhouse but an insult nonetheless to have it paid for with stolen money) “I hope you’re not working yourself too hard. Summer break only just ended.”

Akira led him through to the changing rooms. They each collected a towel on their way through.
“Being at school doesn’t mean that I’m studying,” Akira said, stopping beside a row of lockers. “I’ve been helping Ann and Ryuji catch up with their summer homework.”
“That’s generous of you,” Akechi hummed, opening a locker and slotting his briefcase inside. The thought of leaving it unattended, even locked somewhere, prompted a sense of unease in him. It took a moment to swallow the feeling and let go of his briefcase, another second to start removing his tie. “As long as you’re not overworking yourself.”

There was nothing unusual about going to the bathhouse. He’d been to many as a child and though he’d had the time less and less growing up, it was still a fond place for him and one of the few spots where he could genuinely relax.

Unfortunately, that relaxation was going to be impeded by Akira’s company. How could he truly enjoy himself when he was still guarding what he said, still cross-examining Akira’s conversation now against things they’d discussed months ago? It was infuriating and exhausting and worst of all, there was a rising, loud self-consciousness that wanted him to politely change his mind and decline - but Akira had already paid, they were both already here, and Akira was slipping his shirt over his head as if it was nothing. The pale, toned skin of his back was dotted with wounds both new and old, bruises anywhere from a dark blue to a faded, splotchy yellow. Red cuts and pink scars. All recent - all from the Metaverse, if Akechi had to guess.

Akechi forced his eyes ahead. If he got too caught up on Akira’s presence, he’d focus too much on this as an investigation than he would as an opportunity to relax. More than anything else, this was meant to come across like another harmless hangout between friends. 

He finally slipped his tie from around his neck and put it in the locker, unbuttoning his shirt to shrug from his shoulders and tuck away. 

It was a stroke of luck that any of the scars he’d gotten in the Metaverse were now years old and faded. Luckier that he’d not been to Mementos recently enough to have any random, mysterious injuries to need to explain away.

In the corner of his eye, as Akira stepped out of his patterned Shujin uniform pants, Akechi caught sight of a blue-black splotch on his thigh. Was he and the rest of his team so useless that they were constantly getting beaten up and bruised like this? Akechi had to bite back the contempt at the thought that such amateurs had ever beaten him, wrapping his towel around his waist.

“You’re lucky you’ve never tried to get any studying done while you’re with them,” Akira closed his locker. Akechi tucked the rest of his clothes away and did the same. “It’s more like babysitting to keep them both on task.”

There was nothing but fondness in his voice. So genuine and so sincerely grateful for his friends that it made Akechi sick.

“I prefer to study on my own. I can’t imagine the added difficulty of trying to focus around other people - much less when those people refuse to get their work done.” Akira, wearing his own towel, continued through to the baths.

The rooms were already humid with the steam rolling off of the baths. It ran over Akechi’s skin with a fond warmth and it worked wonders at immediately disarming him, undoing the stress he’d been building up. This was long overdue - he’d stuck with showers since he’d first moved in and had still been in the mixed guilt and excitement of earning his own apartment. The blood money had gotten him a modest apartment, modern enough that it had its own bath and shower. He’d not been to a public bathhouse since, but when he’d gotten busier, the time for baths at all had become more and more scarce, until eventually it was a waste of time that could be better spent studying or working.

Maybe, when the election was won and he knew he’d soon have Shido in his pocket, he would finally have time to use it.

He and Akira settled into the bath. The warmth was immediate and welcoming and all the easing of tension did was remind him how completely exhausted he actually was. Akechi’s eyes closed for a moment as he let the warmth sink through his skin, easing into his muscles, and felt the fleeting urge to keep his eyes shut and let the relaxation of the bath send him to sleep - but he forced his heavy eyelids open again, picked his head up, and turned to look at Akira. 

Flushed slightly red with the warmth, Akira looked completely relaxed here, even with his decorative bruises. He was either unaware that Akechi knew he was a Phantom Thief, going by how uninterested he was in justifying his bruises, or completely aware that they were on the same page and unwilling to play along with the charade. Not knowing was infuriating. The one thing Akechi was supposed to do was figure things out.

“This feels wonderful. It’s been a while.” Akechi broke the silence, as he was used to doing, but either he’d caught Akira on a good day or their blossoming friendship meant that they’d moved past Akira’s quietness. 
“A while, huh?” It was a clear attempt to lure more information from him. Maybe it was the easy mood that the bathhouse instilled in him or the feeling that it was only fair to open up more to Akira, Akechi answered.
“Years. I used to frequent one when I was younger.” It seemed like such an odd thing to dwell on, something as common as visiting a bathhouse being something that Akechi nearly hesitated to bring up out of fear for how vulnerable a story it would be. “Of course, these days I’m the Detective Prince, but my family situation was…” what? Awful? Terrible in ways his mind then couldn’t completely understand, but the best it would ever be? “Well, complicated.”

His words were met with the comfortable silence of the empty bathhouse, rolling off of the only person listening and dissipating with the steam. Perhaps that, the feeling that his words were being heard but nothing was being done with them, prompted him to continue. Grey eyes, somewhere beneath a mop of black hair, easing the information out of him.

“By the time I was old enough to realise it, my father was already gone. My mother was all I had.” And how hideous of a realisation that was for a child to have. “My mother worked at a nightclub. Whenever she had to bring a man home, she’d send me off to the local bathhouse.” 

Saying it felt cathartic, in one way, and in another way felt like a sin. As if he was badmouthing his mother somehow. She didn’t deserve that - not from him.

Akira, after a moment's deliberation, eased forwards slightly, as if the proximity meant to serve as its own reminder - ‘ I’m present, I’m here, tell me what weighs on you ’. Akechi wanted to be better than that.
“You’ve been through a lot.”

He certainly didn’t want to end up leaning on someone who would pity him just the same as everyone else had. 

“It’s in the past. I have no reason to blame her, either.” To prove that he was above it. To diminish the harm done, show Akira that the pity wasn’t only unwanted, but unneeded. Akechi didn’t wallow in self-pity, so why was everyone else trying to force it onto him? He admired his mother. If only she hadn’t been abandoned by someone as repulsive as his father, who sent a bitter rush of anger through Akechi’s body to think of. “The only one who deserves blame is my father. The worthless, degenerate excuse for a man who abandoned my mother.”

It bled into his words. The resentment he held for Masayoshi Shido was all-encompassing. It had been since he first learned who to direct his anger at and had only grown after the death of his mother. Each day since it had taken over him more and more, a poison that rotted his body from the inside out. It’d all be worth it soon.

Finally, it would be worth it. He could only imagine how good it would feel to finally force that man to grovel for everything his mother had gone through. For everything he’d put Akechi through.

“I wanted to force him to finally give her the apology he owes her, but… that’s no longer possible.”

But she would know it. He’d make Masayoshi Shido grovel and beg for her forgiveness so loudly that she’d hear it from the other side.

The nodding of Akira’s head brought Akechi back into the present. He smiled, apologetic, and waved his hand dismissively. Drops of water ran down his arm.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean for our conversation to get so depressing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Akira said, again so disgustingly genuine, again riddled with pity. “It’s not often we get to talk completely alone.”

Despite the reassurance, and the certainty that lay beneath those words that Akira truly wouldn’t mind if Akechi kept talking about himself, Akechi made sure to divert the topic.
“Are you alright? I know the hot water can make people dizzy. Coming by immediately after school in this weather can’t have helped.”

Akechi watched as Akira ran a hand, dripping with water, through his hair to push it from his face. There, with his glasses off and his hair half-slicked back, Akechi could get a clear look at Akira’s eyes. Piercingly silver, dark and attractive and completely, utterly unbecoming of the passive personality he tried desperately to wear. Those eyes betrayed something more focused, more intense. They were the eyes of the vigilante that Akira could never again hide that he was.

And then, 
“I’ll stay until you’re ready.” So effortless, so smooth, almost suave, and Akechi felt anger in the back of his throat. He had to deny the charm and refuse to notice it. Akechi, instead, chose to get competitive.
“I take pretty long baths, though. You sure you can handle it?”

Akira smiled, and without his hair or his glasses hiding his face, possibly with the “completely alone” conversation giving him less reason to be cool and calm, it came across insufferably charming. It was as if he knew what he was doing, and was flaunting his own perceived appeal.
“I’ve got nothing else to do,” as if it was nothing, “I’m happy to stay.”

“In that case,” Akechi had to keep himself focused. On task. “I’ve heard that the second-years at Shujin are going on a trip soon. Are you?”
Going by the shift in Akira’s red-flushed expression, he didn’t expect this to be a line of questioning. Good - Akechi needed to prove that he wasn’t someone that Akira could predict.
“Yeah. Hawaii. It’s only a short trip, though. We leave on the seventh and come back, uh… a few days later.” There was a sort of carelessness to it that Akechi wouldn’t have expected. Wasn’t it being considered in Phantom Thief planning? Were they planning anything? Surely even they weren’t stupid enough to be doing nothing now, after Medjed?

If nothing else, though, it meant if they were investigating Akechi, they weren’t likely to make any moves until after they got back.

So his deadline for figuring out this whole Phan-site ranking situation would be whenever they got back from Hawaii. And he had to deal with Kobayakawa, he most likely had to set up some way to deal with Okumura, and he had to continue quietly directing Sae’s investigation at the same time.

Whatever. There was too little time now before the election for him to start doubting himself.

“It sounds exciting,” Akechi hummed, “I’d love to go to another country sometime. I’ve never been.”
“I could bring you back a souvenir, if you’d like,” Akira said with too much eagerness - like he’d been waiting for the chance to do something nice.
“Oh, you don’t need to trouble yourself. I’m sure one day I’ll have the free time to go anywhere I like.”
“Maybe one day you’ll be invited to a photoshoot abroad.” It wasn’t meant to mock him. It felt mocking, though, when Akechi resented the fame he’d accrued. “Ann mentioned some of her coworkers being invited to photoshoots in America and somewhere in Europe. France, I think. I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked for you, too.”
“I don’t know if I’m famous enough for that,” Akechi said with a dismissive flick of his hand, though the rolling of Akira’s eyes suggested he didn’t believe him. Jobs were scarce enough in Japan right now, the thought of any overseas presence was laughable. “I’m too busy for them, anyway. Maybe when I graduate I’ll find the time.”

It wasn’t likely - not without looking over his shoulder the whole time, but he didn’t need to travel the world when Japan was in his pocket.

“I look forward to hearing about it when you’re back,” he said, leaning against the wall of the bath. Again came that urge to let the warm water lull him to sleep and, frustrated, Akechi brought himself upright again. Better not to get too relaxed or stick around too long, and he’d already said too much about himself for any quiet spots in their conversation to loosen his tongue again. “Are you ready to go?”

“I thought you said you’d be here a while.”

“I would, but I’ve still got to travel home before it gets too late. I’ve got to be up early for work again tomorrow.” Entirely untrue, but a necessary lie to justify leaving. Akira tipped his head to the side, some of his hair falling from where it had been lazily slicked back and into his face. The warmth left his whole face red now, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on his skin. It was an insult, how effortlessly he could look handsome while Akechi put so much effort into it every day. 

And- god, he still had his makeup on. It’d endured many hot days and interviews under studio lights, but the sooner he got home the better. Just in case.

“You know,” Akira moved a little closer. Akechi didn’t move back. “I’ve had Ryuji and Yusuke stay at mine overnight before.”
“That’s not surprising.” It would be presumptuous and assume Akira was offering anything. Even if he was, Akechi couldn’t accept the offer.

With them no longer covered by hair or by his glasses, the rolling of Akira’s eyes was obvious, but the smile on his lips suggested  he wasn’t annoyed.

“I’m saying that there’s a couch you can sleep on if you don’t want to travel home.”

So he was right. And Akira was that type - of course he was. It should have been obvious Akira was the type to offer anything he could; ‘ I’ll show you to the bathhouse. ’ had turned into bathing together, meeting at a cafe had turned into disguising Akechi so that they could spend longer together, and ‘ being rivals ’ had turned into whatever it meant when someone was inviting you to spend the night at theirs. Friends, probably.

“I couldn’t,” Akechi said with a polite shake of his head. “I need to be up early. I wouldn’t want to disrupt your sleep.”
“You wouldn’t.” It almost seemed desperate. Why?
“I take a while to get ready in the morning, too, and I don’t have any clean clothes. I appreciate the offer, though - perhaps another time?”

The deflection sat heavy in the air for a moment. Akechi wanted Akira to back down, Akira wanted to give Akechi time to welcome the idea and decide that he was, actually, willing to come over for the night, but Akira eventually relaxed, nodded, and brushed his hair from his face yet again.

“Another time,” he agreed, as if the promise alone was good enough - as if Akechi was planning on ever fulfilling it. “Of course.”

“Thank you, though,” Akechi said as he stood from the bath, collecting his towel and fastening it around his waist. Akira stood a moment later and did the same, and when they’d returned to the changing room, Akechi made up for Akira paying their admission fees by buying them each a drink from the vending machine. He felt a little lightheaded - the offer of staying with Akira was still lingering in his mind but he had to ignore it. It didn’t matter how curious or how genuine the offer was. He’d refused. To change his mind now would look spineless. 

Despite the offer for Akira to get anything he liked, Akechi had ended up getting them each a vitamin water. Akira accepted it as they returned to the changing rooms. 
“That’s refreshing,” he said, opening his bottle and having some, “Water tastes the best when you’re just out of the bath. But-” a pause where the recent drink eased away some dizziness, reorienting the world around him slightly, “I think I feel a little lightheaded.”

Akira, easy as ever, nodded.
“Me too.”

Akechi couldn’t help himself when he laughed.
“I thought so. Your face is bright red, you know.” It had been since they’d first gotten into the bath. “This is the first time I’ve taken a bath like this.” ‘Like this’. With someone . “I’ve never told anyone else about my family situation, either. I wonder why I told you?” The look he gave Akira, he was sure, was imploring. As if there were answers to this question that Akira could give him, could snap his fingers and conjure a perfectly crafted explanation for how he’d gotten that information out of him. A several-step plan that started when Akira had seen Akechi sitting in the cafe, leading up to now, where Akechi was suppressing his awareness for how comfortable Akira made him feel.

Was that how so many people drifted towards him? People as different as a delinquent, an artist, a model, and model-student Makoto Niijima? Did everyone else find those grey eyes just as disarming as Akechi did?

When Akira kept looking at him like there was nothing to reveal, as if all of his secrets were as bare as the pale skin of his shoulders and chest, Akechi shook his head to dismiss the line of thought.
“Curious indeed,” he said, to pivot away from the topic and show Akira that he had no guesses of his own.

With the admission of defeat, though, Akira seemed to relent and spoke like he meant to indulge Akechi in the secret of how he managed to lure information out of Akechi.
“Because we’re similar.”

It was stupid. A sentiment worth nothing, a thought worth even less, and an insult for it to be slid in front of Akechi like it was the answer to anything.

But he took what he was offered, smiled, and set his drink aside. He watched as Akira did the same, setting his drink down and letting his hands rest at his sides. Akechi’s folded across his chest.
“Now that you mention it,” he said, leaning into the thought, “maybe we are pretty similar deep-down. We’re both victims of the adults who unfairly impacted our lives.”

The expression that crossed Akira’s face suggested that he was looking for Akechi to elaborate, but Akechi felt he’d done more than enough legwork in the conversation.
“I think you’re right,” Akira said eventually, when he’d thought on it, and the genuine warmth of his voice was back at full force. 

“I’m even more sure of that after having talked with you.” Every time he tried to match the sincerity Akira put in front of him, it felt like a panicked, hasty overcompensation. He had to back out before his words got clumsy - before there was another ‘ we’d make a great team ’ incident. “Then again, this probably isn’t a conversation we should be having naked. Let’s get dressed, shall we?”

He turned back to his locker, using the discretion that it offered to flick on his burner. No missed calls. No missed messages. Holding it, however, reminded him that he still needed to call Shido, and the stress that the bath had eased away was beginning to return.
“My skin still feels like it's radiating heat,” he said, gathering his slightly creased clothes. Hopefully it’d be quiet enough on the way home that nobody would be around to notice. He glanced at Akira, still standing comfortably away from the lockers and drinking his water. He was looking at Akechi, his messy hair brushed back down over his forehead. Whatever the look in his eyes was, Akechi couldn’t read it - was it suspicion? Regret for having spent so long in the baths with him? Akechi kept his smile and his overly-practised fondness in his voice. “Next time, let’s keep the competition out of the bath. Best to save it for the baize, right?”

That stupid smile was back on Akira’s face now, too. He set his drink down.
“Sounds good,” he hummed, moving back to his own locker. His eyes stayed on Akechi a little longer, before he had to turn his focus to his clothes.

Something about it, again, compelled Akechi to say something. Anything at all.
“Though we could always see who changes faster. First to leave wins.” From under Akira’s hair it was harder to see, but the rolling of his eyes was still there. Nothing in his face suggested annoyance, though, and he nonetheless took his clothes from the locker and nodded at Akechi.

 

---

 

Akira stood by the door, tugging on his shoes, while Akechi pulled the knot of his tie up to his collar and picked up his briefcase. They ended up leaving together, the competition fizzled out, and Akira offered to walk Akechi to the train station - an offer that Akechi politely refused recalling how Akira had insisted on going to the station on his own after the arcade. 

The goodbyes were short. Though he was well-accustomed to the look on Akira’s face when he tried to figure out what to say, Akechi still felt hesitant when he gave Akira a short ‘ see you later ’ and Akira had navigated his way around the many things he seemed to want to mention.
“See you,” he ended up saying, though it seemed for a second like he was desperate to say something else. Despite his curiosity and the part of him insisting that this was going to be important, that he had to stay, Akechi turned and left. The sooner he got a train back the better - and, perhaps more significantly, he didn’t want Akira to say anything that would grant him further room in Akechi’s mind.

The train ride home was quiet and short. September and the start of the semester meant that the usual crowds were preoccupied with their studies and had gone home by now. Even the walk through Kichijoji was shorter, and Akechi bought himself curry buns on the way home ( mild this time, and from a different stall than last time he’d gotten them), blaming Leblanc itself for the sudden craving and not the fact that Akira always carried the smell of curry around with him.

No sooner than he’d gotten back to his apartment did he stop and bring out his phone. Not his burner - the call to Shido was weighing on his mind enough, and he could afford himself the time to talk with Akira. 

So he tapped on his contact and pressed the call button, walking through his living room. It was still mostly clean from his summer purge of his accumulating mess, but takeout and cup noodles from the last few days were already invading his coffee table. He sat on the couch while the phone hummed its dial tone. Akira picked up quicker than he usually did.

“Hey,” his voice was low and smooth, though he sounded slightly tired. 
“Hey.” Akechi felt it infect him. The fond tone affecting his own. “Between the delicious coffee and the bath, I finally managed to relax. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you came by.”
“It’s nice to spend the day as Goro Akechi for once, rather than the Detective Prince. You know?” The rest of the sentence went unvoiced. He hoped Akira didn’t fully understand the implications - I can be more myself around you . It was hideous the way whatever Akira was doing worked on him. “I don’t know if it’s because of the whole Prince image, but everyone seems to think I’m some brilliant prodigy…”

Akira said nothing. Still, though, that magic was working and Akechi kept talking.

“If they saw how I was acting today, perhaps they’d say I wasn’t acting like the Detective Prince.” The enormity of it was something equal parts beautiful and hideous. To be himself enough that it would repulse the people who adored him was liberating - to know that someone else could do that to him was suffocating. 

“My bad, I guess.” Akira was harder to read over the phone. He couldn’t be certain if the smugness of his voice was real or assumed. 
“I didn’t mean for it to sound negative. I’m sorry if I offended. If anything, I envy you. You fit right in with Leblanc and the retro vibe.”

Akechi opened his bag of takeout, leaning back on his couch. When had he last felt this relaxed?
“Honestly, though… I just can’t figure you out, no matter how I try. You and I have common ground in some aspects, but in others we’re total opposites. It’s intriguing.”

Nothing but a quiet hum of agreement on the other end of the phone.

“The more I get to know you, the more it makes me think. I wonder why that is. Ah - but now I’m veering into strange territory. I should let you go for now. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”

Akechi hung up. He might have been reading into things too much, but Akira seemed almost unusually quiet on the call. Akechi wanted to know why, wanted to figure out what was weighing on him, and in the absence of an answer he considered the likelihood that something he’d said had reminded Akira of his palace, if he had one. If they were investigating it. Or that it had reminded Akira that Akechi was to be looked into at all?

Whatever. It didn’t matter. Akechi dug his burner phone out of his pocket and flicked it open.

If he got this call over with soon enough, he could get some sleep tonight.

The dial tone played once. Twice. Three times. 

Then, midway through the fourth ring, a click.
“This had better be good news.”

Fuck. Of course Shido would be in a sour mood today. It only made sense, after too many good things had happened in a row.
“Unfortunately not, sir. The investigation into the Phantom Thieves has opened suspicion on Okumura.”

The cry of frustration was far from the speaker of the phone. Whatever was thrown or kicked, Akechi only heard the thunk of impact. 
“And what are you doing about it?”

A plan. He didn’t have a plan.

“That depends on whether or not Okumura’s support is worth preserving.”
“That man is desperate for praise and clawing at a position out of his reach. It would be an unfortunate blow to our finances, but I won’t share any political power with him.”
“Then… you want-”
“I’ve told you enough. Figure it out, Akechi, and don’t let me down.”

Akechi’s teeth sank into the soft skin of the inside of his lip. Figure it out . Of course.
“Yes, sir.”

Shido, through clear frustration, spoke like he wanted to get rid of Akechi as soon as possible.
“Is that all?”
“It is. I’ll figure out a way to deal with Okumura.”
“Good.”

The call ended.

Sleep, it seemed, could wait.

Chapter 30: Monday, September 5th

As time dragged on, it seemed as if the public perception of Akechi was going to get no kinder. 

The isolation at school was as bad as it had been when the semester started. If anything, it had only managed to get worse with the newfound awareness that not only were they wishing him gone, they wanted him different. Changed fundamentally; more agreeable, more open-minded to the chaotic, self-proclaimed righteousness of the Phantom Thieves. Some desperate part of him dared to wonder if that would still be the case if he’d been more likeable sooner, spoken to them and gotten to know the many names and faces of his classmates. Another was too resigned to care at all.

Yet another, stronger part of him wanted them all to know what he truly was. To spit on the image they had of him in their empty heads of some star-studded, arrogant celebrity and remind them all of what he really was - someone who had surpassed them in every way, better than they’d ever be. No amount of complaining about how much he hated the Phantom Thieves was going to make them any better than him. 

Unfortunately, as much as it helped to remind himself of how much better than them he was, the time spent in his classroom pretending that he was unfazed and that he didn’t notice their hatred (he’d started bringing headphones. Wireless and tucked away beneath his hair, supplying ambient jazz to smother out the insufferable gossip) was uniquely exhausting. He’d gotten on with his schoolwork well enough, though, and despite no longer speaking up in class or answering questions it was still an improvement from being unable to focus at all.

That exhaustion, so heavy in his whole body it was comparable to hours of time wasted in Mementos, had him pinned to his desk at home, arms folded in front of him and head resting on top of them. His phones sat, screens black, in front of him. His laptop was open but had been left on the default home screen and his work notebook sat closed on his desk. 

His list of tasks was daunting: kill Kobayakawa, kill Okumura; figure out a plan for the Phantom Thieves, convince Shido to go along with it: find a way to deal with Sae, deal with Akira somehow, whatever that would mean: determine whether or not all of the Phantom Thieves would need to be eradicated or if they’d fall apart when something (whatever that something was) happened to their leader. Endorse Shido’s campaign somehow; discreetly enough it would direct people towards voting for him without muddying his image with politics. Get Shido elected; deal with the subsequent cleanup initiative that would get rid of most of Shido’s co-conspirators, celebrate the election with him. 

Ruin Shido’s life.

Akechi had to kill Kobayakawa before he could scrounge up the courage to report Shido. He had to kill Okumura soon, before Sae’s investigation could progress far enough that the SIU Director couldn’t deny her when she put out the warrant to arrest him. He didn’t know how long he had until then - a month, maybe? 

If there was a way to deal with multiple of these at once, to save time, he had to take it. Scapegoating the Phantom Thieves would be ideal, and the truth would be hard enough to prove that he could pin any other target he needed to wipe his hands clean of on them. Kobayakawa would be good to pin on them, too. The hardest part - getting the culprit to fit the Phantom Thieves target criteria - had already been solved with the lifting of the gag order and the public reveal he had been covering up Kamoshiad’s abuse. A calling card could, in theory, easily be found among his belongings after his sudden and unfortunate mental shutdown. 

Okumura, however, was harder to figure out. He was unlikeable at the best of times, even by Shido’s standards, and an arrogant man mistaking the fast-food empire he surveyed for something significant. If he and every one of those shops were wiped out overnight, Shido’s party would be just as capable without it - infuriating as it was that the job, yet again, was Akechi’s.

The largest obstacle for Kobayakawa was getting access to his palace, something hopefully solved on Wednesday when Akechi was able to speak to him face-to- face. Beyond that, the investigation would lend itself to his plan. He was guaranteed to get a chance to plant a calling card in his desk where his death would be then blamed on the Phantom Thieves and would hopefully sour their reputation. Taking a life would be divisive for their followers; some would consider it necessary to cleanse certain types of scum from the ecosystem, others would see it as an irrefutably evil deed and would pull their support.

The loose form of a plan pulled Akechi up from his desk. His muscles protested, weary and tired, and when he stretched, his back groaned in complaint. After a brief detour from his kitchen to collect an energy drink , Akechi revisited his bathroom. The white overhead lights made his eyes ache when he turned them on.

His skin was blotchy. The bags under his eyes were permanent features of his by now and with the increased stress of school and work, alongside his poor diet, had made his skin far worse. A spread of acne left the skin over his cheek red and dotted with blemishes. His forehead, where his hair had been greasy, was looking just as rough and the consistent use of makeup over the last week had made it worse. His skin was still adjusting to the shift in humidity as they moved towards autumn and steadily away from summer.

One hand filtered fingers through his hair. He’d had an interview yesterday and while getting primed for the cameras, they’d used hair straighteners to twist and tame the ends of his hair. The staff they’d had on hand were not as experienced as his usual teams and dragged the straighteners over his hair slower than they needed, dousing him in hairspray. The ends felt duller and dehydrated and in urgent need of an intervention. He detached the shower head and used it to wet his hair. 

One death would be out of character. Two , if Okumura was to join him, would suggest that the Phantom Thieves were changing direction and that ‘Changing Hearts’ was no longer their main goal. 

He set the shower head back and patted his hair dry with a towel, leaving it loose around his neck. His faded black Featherman shirt was damp around the collar where his hair sat. He pulled out a drawer for a cabinet stuffed with different skincare and hair care products, nestled in with a dozen loose packets for painkillers and two boxes of contact lenses.

His fingers, slender and with a slight tremor, rifled about in the cupboard until he found a deep conditioning hair mask. It boasted about repairing bonds and rehydrating, prompting Akechi to pour it into the palm of his hand and run it through his hair. He first massaged it into the ends and built it up towards the roots, gathering all of his hair in a plastic cap and tucking it away. 

Of course, this plan hinged on the assumption that he’d be able to blame two separate deaths on the Phantom Thieves, but a man like Okumura was sure to be hiding something to make him a worthy target. Nobody powerful had a clean record and whatever secrets Okumura was sitting on could be weaponized against him somehow. If he, like Kobayakawa, were to have any form of media protections lifted and something came out about him, then public opinion would shift and it would be far easier to pin his death on the Phantom Thieves.

Another dip into the drawer. It was going to be a deep-cleanse day; more than anything else, dedicating time to a thorough skincare routine would settle his head and, ideally, his nerves. He dug out an assortment of products from his drawer and dotted them around his sink, reaching first for an oil-based cleanser. He turned the faucet on with warm water, and filled the basin. While it was filling, he poured some of the cleanser into his hands and began to massage it into his skin.

His main priority now was Kobayakawa. A man known to have been covering up for a predator in the school he was so insistent upon protecting the name of, and who it would make total, complete sense for the Phantom Thieves to target. Better yet, it would divert further public attention and scrutiny towards Shujin Academy, which would agitate the real Phantom Thieves hiding there and make them easier to influence and manipulate. They were naive and impulsive and, if that Medjed thread proved anything, easily swayed. All Akechi needed to do was add pressure and make them think that they either needed to get as much done as possible before capture or make Okumura a target that couldn’t be ignored.

What, he considered as he washed the cleanser from his face, peach-tinted water swirling down the drain, was the easiest way to convince the Phantom Thieves to target someone? The Phan-site polls were up and the supporters for the Phantom Thieves were raving over the possibility of setting the Phantom Thieves on anyone they disliked. To shift the votes off of him and towards anyone else would be a good place to start.

Akechi spared a glance in the steam-misted mirror while he pat his face dry. He looked awful. Without his hair in his face there was no way to mask how unwell he looked, or to hide from the hollow, dead eyes staring back at him. He forced his focus back to his routine, to the bottles sitting beneath the mirror rather than the corpse caught within it, and took a light foam cleanser from the sink, just to get rid of any remaining product, lathered it up between his fingers and massaged it into his skin, too. It was better to dehydrate his skin than risk any lingering cleanser making his oily skin worse.

Kobayakawa was already on the rankings. The number of votes had increased tenfold in the last few days - now the traffic on the website was so intense the positions would change between morning and afternoon. Akechi, of course, still reigned supreme at number one but the only other person still in the top five from the start of the month was Kobayakawa. Every other name had been filtered through and replaced a dozen times. Last time he’d checked, Akechi had moved down to 38% of the votes, Kobayakawa at 23%, and the rest of the votes were spread out across too many changing people to be worth considering. If Akechi found something on Okumura worth leaking to the press, maybe he would be trendy enough and prominent enough that they’d latch onto him as the new villain for the Phantom Thieves to target?

The release of the Calling Card would likely be something prominent, wouldn’t it? Or if not, there was a likelihood that Okumura would turn to his connections or to the police for support. As soon as word reached Akechi that Okumura had officially been targeted, all that he’d need to do would be swoop in and put a swift end to his life.

Foamy cleanser dripped into the sink beneath him. Akechi washed his face again, wiped the remaining water from his eyes to scan over everything else he had. Feeling a little hazy on his feet and likely needing something to eat, Akechi picked up a clay face mask and applied it while his skin was freshly cleaned. He applied it with a brush, heavy over his nose and along his forehead.

He’d had a minor TV interview air yesterday and still wasn’t receiving any good news from it. Every glance at his reputation online was worse than the last - it was his fault entirely. In a desperate bid for relevance, he’d been so confident in himself it had come across arrogant. He still recalled sitting there, across from a journalist with a handheld camera, clumsy and stupid when he said that ‘ Justice can’t exist as long as the Phantom Thieves do ’. It’d only been when his interviewer's eyes had widened and he’d been looked at like he was both insane and the saviour of the network that it had clicked just how stupid of a thing to say that was, whether or not he was supposed to believe it. 

All he’d been hearing online recently was that everyone hated him. He was arrogant and for dissenting against the brave and noble Phantom Thieves, he was facing his due punishment: unwavering harassment and isolation. All it meant was that he had to turn public opinion against them again by any means necessary, proving himself righteous and noble in their place.

With the mask settling on his face, Akechi finally opened his energy drink, realised that he’d have no luck drinking it without smearing clay around the opening, and returned to the kitchen. He rummaged around in his cupboards for a pack of straws, slotted one into the opening of the can, and drifted finally back to his bedroom. One of his shelves had a basic nail care kit, so Akechi closed his laptop, moved it and everything else across from his desk, and sat at his desk chair to treat his nails. His hands were still soft from the warm water.

Massaging cuticle oil into his nails, Akechi glanced up at the corkboard over his head. A document about Futaba Sakura and her life was pinned to the board now, beside Sojiro Sakura’s name, the note about the cafe Akira lived at, and directly connected to Akira himself. Was it really all coincidence that such prominent people all lived so close? Sakura, ex-government worker, Futaba as Isshiki’s daughter, and the leader of the Phantom Thieves… it was too suspicious to be coincidence, surely? Akechi had been certain that they took the only copy of Wakaba’s research, but he was only able to navigate the Metaverse as comfortably as he was because of the knowledge he’d stolen from her. How was Akira able to navigate so easily? How was he so successful? And if Kamoshida was truly his first target, how had they known how to avoid a mental shutdown?

Flakes of drying mask fell to his desk and Akechi reminded himself to relax his face, easing the furrow of his brow and dismissing the thought.

He’d get the answer directly out of Akira soon enough, no matter what it took. There was no point in worrying about it when he had no means of finding out. He picked up a cuticle pusher to fix his nails with, scanning over the corkboard still. 

On Wednesday, Akira would go to Hawaii with his school. Akechi would have the subsequent four days of the trip to plant the calling card, deal with Kobayakawa, and figure out a complete plan to ensnare the Phantom Thieves. Everything between now and December needed to be perfectly planned. By Christmas, Shido would be gifting Akechi all of Japan, his dignity, his power, and every ounce of authority he’d once held over Akechi’s head.

With his cuticles pushed back, Akechi dug out a clear nail polish coat to apply over his nails. He started by painting his right nails with his left hand, mentally cycling through the possibilities that the poll could have. 

If all went well and Shido revealed that there were many stories on Okumura currently being suppressed, Akechi could get it leaked to the public easily. The difficult part was making it bad enough that people wanted to vote for Okumura instead on the Phan-site. Switching the hand that he was painting, Akechi again sought out an answer on the corkboard. He looked at Akira’s mugshot yet again, imploring it to tell him exactly what the weaknesses of the Phantom Thieves were, when his eyes followed a red thread to what could be the answer.

It first directed towards the pinned note reading ‘ hired hacker? ’ where Akechi still had yet to determine how they’d surpassed his manufactured Medjed threat, wandering back over to that lingering connection he had to the IT company president. The public couldn’t be trusted to turn against him in time; if Akechi used TV company connections to ensure that hit pieces on Okumura ran daily, it would manufacture enough of a backlash against him that if Akechi then created some kind of bot to spam inputs voting for Okumura…

The plan was beginning to come together. Akechi returned the nail polish to a drawer in his desk, and leant down to take another sip of his energy drink while his nails dried. Rig the votes against Okumura and while the public gossiped, followed the craze, and hopefully agreed that the Phantom Thieves had to deal with Okumura, deal with Kobayakawa quickly. Manufacture uncertainty in the faith the public had in the Phantom Thieves so that when Okumura turned up dead it was difficult to see their innocence. 

After a few more moments ruminating on the plan, running through the steps and trying to preemptively plan around kinks (if Okumura had no dirt, how could Akechi manufacture some? Enough anonymous reports would eventually make each other seem credible. And if there wasn’t enough authentic outrage, how could he make it worse?), and when his nails were dry, Akechi returned to the bathroom to wash off his facemask.

Turning the public against the Phantom Thieves would be a good starting place for their downfall. If they were cornered, pressured, and scrutinised, it’d fuel agitation and make them flighty. It came with the risk of them disbanding from the pressure, of course, so Akechi would need to account for that and find a way to prevent it. 

He took a microfibre cloth and scrubbed the rest of the clay mask from the corners of his eyes and by his hairline. He rinsed out his hair and with lukewarm water, then washed it again and accepted that whatever hadn’t been saved by the mask would need to be cut off.

He massaged an oil-reducing toner into his skin. Knowing who the Phantom Thieves were meant that it would be easier now to lure them into a trap. Akechi could follow them into a palace, figure out their methodology and determine the easiest way to trap them after a calling card was sent. While the toner dried, Akechi picked up his energy drink again, deliberating over how to know who they would target. If he could get them set on Okumura that would be sort the first problem, but he couldn’t reasonably trail Akira every single day in the hopes that he’ll end up exploring a palace eventually . He’d need to set up two targets for them to pursue if he was going to have any luck.

With the toner settled and absorbed, Akechi reached for the next thing on his sink, collecting a vitamin E skin serum, and gathering some on his hands. Convince the Phantom Thieves to target Okumura and find their next target afterwards. Maybe it would be worth tailing them and until he had hard evidence that they were Phantom Thieves? It would be good evidence - more importantly, though, it would open up room to blackmail them if it came down to it. If he couldn’t guarantee they’d target someone convenient, he could tell them exactly who to target instead?

He applied eye cream and moisturiser, washed the remaining product from his hands and drifted back to his kitchen. He needed something to eat before he lost the rest of his evening to solidifying his plan, but it finally felt like it was coming together. Cup ramen and the rest of his energy drink would hopefully get him through another day of work.

Notes:

the next chapter will b hefty and hopefully ill have it up within the next couple of weeks!!! ive missed posting this fic . ive been working on it [i am ten chapters ahead of where yall r reading . i just hate proofreading but urgently need to proofread. some of the mistakes my editor is saving u guys from ........ unfathomable.] but the next chapter is like 9k words and one im super hyped to share :3 . also i heart making akechi insecure its enriching for me

Chapter 31: Wednesday, September 7th

“It won’t be long now,” Sae said, her car wedged between a hundred others in the early morning traffic. On foot, they’d be about another five minutes away from Shujin Academy but with the state of traffic and parents dropping kids off nearby, they were likely to be held up another fifteen minutes at least.

Sae had offered to collect Akechi early that morning. The text had come by at around eleven the night prior - a note that Sae was at home for an evening to gather her bearings for the evening before, the promise that she’d be leaving early in the morning the following day, the offer to collect Akechi on her way to Shujin. The thought of being spotted and whispered about while on the train on his own overruled any defensiveness at being offered Sae’s help, so he had accepted the offer and thanked her for it.

The early wakeup call wasn’t a problem. Akechi’s skin was slightly upset in spite of his thorough skincare the last few days, so he took a little longer that morning in his bathroom putting his makeup on. He set and styled his hair before getting into his uniform. He collected a vitamin water from his fridge, planning on waiting until just before he went into Kobayakawa’s palace to have an energy drink, and waited outside of his apartment complex for fifteen minutes before Sae, already seeming stressed, pulled up in front of him. He let himself into the passenger side. He’d been in many times before, usually for short lifts to the station earlier in his career, but it had been months since he’d last accepted her offer. 

She had a beige air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror, which explained the vanilla smell filling her car, a coffee in the drink holder between their seats, and quietly the radio played old, ambient rock music. It was dated enough that it wasn’t likely her taste and, much like the car itself, seemed to be a remnant of life with her father. A lot of her car carried that sort of feeling - there was a lingering smell of cigarettes that the vanilla was only barely overpowering, and the engine briefly stalled when Sae attempted to start driving again.

She muttered something bitterly under her breath about it as she turned the engine back on, keyrings on her keys clattering loudly, and finally the car sputtered to life. 

The drive had been lacking in conversation. There was talk, there always was, but Sae controlled the conversation, the flow and the pace, stopping only to ask Akechi once if he’d eaten (he lied and said yes, not wanting to delay their morning any further), to assure him they weren’t far from Shujin and, when he nodded in acknowledgement,
“Are you certain that you can afford to take the time away from your studies for this?” she asked, firm and almost hoping he’d change his mind, if he was reading the look on her face correctly. 
“I’m certain, and I’m grateful for the chance to join the investigation,” he said, patient and polite. As doting as usual. “Two heads are better than one, after all.”

That was part of it. Kobaykawa, too, was part of it, but the atmosphere that had been brewing at school was a far more significant factor. Minding his business and keeping his head down hadn’t helped - yesterday, his homeroom teacher had asked to speak with him at lunchtime and had pulled him privately aside in the faculty office. 

 

---

 

“I hope I’m not in trouble,” he’d said with as light and passive of a voice as he could have managed. He was good at seeming unassuming and harmless when he needed to, but the way that his teacher was looking at him suggested that she knew something, or that he was in trouble. She was far too serious for someone who was about to tell him he had missed the deadline to submit his homework.

“This year of teaching has been a rather difficult one so far, Akechi-kun. This entire upset with the Phantom Thieves has made it extremely difficult to teach,” his homeroom teacher started, Miss whatever-her-name-was, that Akechi had given up on trying to remember. What the hell was she doing, lips pressed into a firm line, talking to him about the Phantom Thieves?
“Yes, the craze about them has been rather problematic,” he said, and was opening his mouth to tell her that he was unfortunately not at leisure to discuss the case around them, when she cut him off.
“I’d been hoping that summer break would intervene and the trend would be over by the time everyone got back, but it seems that this madness is not going anywhere.”

Akechi was no longer smiling. He was, in fact, completely lost on what he’d been pulled aside to talk about. 
“May I ask how this involves me?” he eventually asked, though the narrowing of her eyes and the grimace on her lips only reinforced the idea that it was not going to be a pleasant discussion.

“Akechi-kun, in spite of your attendance, you maintain perfect grades.” A good start. Her tone didn’t betray anything.
“Thank you.”
“Your participation in class has always been steady.” There was a ‘but’ coming soon. 
“... Thank you.”

She lifted her tired brown eyes and looked at him, quietly, for a moment longer.

“ But ,” there it was. “This last week, that’s been missing. I would be willing to overlook this usually, but it seems that your presence in my classroom has resulted in a lack of focus from anyone.”
“I fail to see how this is my responsibility.”
“It isn’t. But it is your fault.” His blood went cold. What the hell did she mean, his fault ? It was the fault of every single mindless idiot in his class, blindly hating him, too caught up in the illusion of justice to prioritise and focus on class. “I’ve discussed with the faculty board and, considering that your grades have been steady since you changed to a part-time schedule, we’ve agreed that it might be best for you to continue your studies at home.”

His hands had been fists, nails pressing crescent indents into his palms.

“I don’t understand.”

“For the sake of your own learning,” she added, firm to emphasise that the decision had been made without him and it wasn’t something he could talk his way out of, “and for the learning of every other student, it would be for the best for you to continue your education at home.”
“For the sake of my learning? I’d thought you were opposed to me missing out on any class time and now you’re telling me not to come back?” his voice raised, he couldn’t help it, but she was unfazed as she took a folder from her desk and held it out to him.
“This has a summary of the curriculum leading up to the exams in December.”
“You must be joking.”
“Everyone here has faith that you can maintain your excellent grades. You’re welcome to go home now rather than return to class, Akechi-kun.”

The silence had been deafening. Even the idle typing across the room had stopped. 

“I’ll tell them that something work-related has come up.”

Despite what her voice said, what she was saying was that he was going home. That this wasn’t an offer.

Akechi, swallowing his anger, nodded.
“Of course.” Compliance came easily. It was a horrible feeling to submit to what someone else wanted from him, but a beaten-in skill that he took to smoothly. 

Akechi collected the file with his work in it and left with a short, polite bow.

 

---

 

Even recalling it, Akechi felt a bitter hatred festering in the pit of his stomach. As if they could tell him where he was and wasn’t allowed to be! As if anyone had any right to tell Akechi, soon to be the most powerful man in Japan, what he could and couldn’t do. It was an insult, it was like they saw all of the work that he was putting in and spat in his face - and it was more insulting to play along with it. He’d had to bite his tongue in that office, force out an apology for distracting everyone's learning, and excuse himself. There’d been no other choice than to go along with it.

It did mean, at least, that he had nothing to prevent him from helping Sae. While everyone in his class would hear that he was absent and hope he’d received a calling card or was undergoing a change of heart, he’d sit here with a fake calling card in his pocket (they were damn hard to replicate. It had taken him hours last night to settle on a script and a design that matched the scans he had of the others) and make progress towards the careful orchestration of their downfall.

His plan for the day was simple enough. Meet Kobayakawa, sneak the calling card into his desk, check that his cognition and access to the palace had changed, assist Sae in questioning teachers, and check anything that their initial investigation into Kamoshida may have missed.

Sae, as a prosecutor, had already promised Akechi that she’d be directing most of the interrogations but that his help taking notes would be valuable and if he considered anything worth asking, he was welcome to pass his questions to Sae for her to ask - but not to ask himself, to avoid undermining her. 

“Good. I’m grateful for your help, I just don’t want it to be at your expense,” Sae said, her car crawling ever closer to the faculty car park behind Shujin Academy.
“Don’t worry about me,” Akechi dismissed her with a wave of his hand, “We’ll need all of our focus on the investigation at hand, don’t you think?”

A drawn out sigh escaped her. She nodded, picking up her coffee and taking a sip.
“You’re right. We’d better find something.”

 

---

 

The traffic would not be the first delay of their day. The plan to meet Kobayakawa was interrupted by him being busy most of the morning and not allowing access to his office. They were instead directed around by another member of faculty, a stern older gentleman who, despite the inconvenience of having the police present at all, spoke to Sae and Akechi with the sort of respect that was given unwaveringly to any member of authority. It was rather clear that it was a matter of title when Akechi asked how long before Kobayakawa would be able to see them and he, peering down over his nose at Akechi, had admitted to his uncertainty with the same amount of respect and obligation as he was offering Sae when she spoke - though far more begrudgingly given to someone so young.

Akechi’s attention drifted briefly to the thought of Masayoshi Shido. One day, he would have Shido revere him, respect him and the ground he walked on, and it would be just the same as this - begrudging offered, only out of obligation, but respectful all the same. The idea of Akechi sitting at Shido’s desk in Shido’s office while Shido himself knocked on the door and requested permission to enter was going to make every miserable and inconvenient job worth it. He’d wait outside of Kobayakawa’s office all day if it meant there was the chance to see him, break the cognition barrier in his palace, and ensure that he stayed firmly on Shido’s good side until the election came along.

“If we have to wait for an audience with Kobayakawa-” Sae, arms crossed, tapped her nail on her forearm. The delay in her plan was clearly stressing her out. “-can we check Kamoshida’s belongings again and get a list of all faculty currently present at the school to speak with?”

It was clearly an inconvenience. He barely refrained a grimace at the delay it would be to his day, as though he had anything more pressing than the investigation to deal with, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose while he gathered his answer.
“Hm. I don’t see why not.” He glanced at the stairwell. “I’ll direct you.”

Unsurprisingly, everything that could have been found on Kamoshida had already been found. The only remaining belongings of his that hadn’t been thrown out or confiscated by police were old trophies or sports equipment that he’d used. The list of faculty came just as Akechi was going to suggest admitting defeat, containing the names of everyone who had been in for the current academic year, annotated with where teachers could be found and which of them were away.

Two members of staff were marked with red pen; Sadayo Kawakami was away chaperoning the Hawaii trip, so that staff member (Sae asked him when he got back - his name was Ushimaru) had marked that it wouldn’t be possible to speak to her until the eleventh, and Takuto Maruki, a temporary staff member serving as a counsellor to provide support to the students after Kamoshida had been arrested, who wouldn’t know anything personally about Kamoshida and wouldn’t be able to provide much insight.
“Is it worth speaking to him anyway?” Akechi had asked, tucked away in the empty PE office with Sae. “He might have heard something valuable from all of the students that speak to him. If the Phantom thieves are here, he might have even heard something concerning from a student that implicates them.”

“Anything that wouldn’t have already been reported? I don’t think it’s worth wasting our time,” Sae said with a firm shake of her head. “If we don’t find anything when our initial investigation is done, we can reconsider.”

Akechi, more deterred at the idea of arguing with Sae when he had his own reasons for being here than at being shot down, nodded.
“Of course. There are bigger priorities at hand.”

The ‘bigger priorities’ of interviews and questions about suspects, suspicious behaviour, any names that seemed particularly unusual, was not very successful. They interviewed three different first-year teachers before Kobayakawa had the time for them and none of them were of any use.

Any suspicious behaviour?
‘ No, not that I’ve noticed ’.

Did anyone have conflict with Kamoshida around the time of the Calling Card?
‘ Not in my class, no .’

Do you believe that there’s a chance the Phantom Thieves could be Shujin students?
‘ I hope not .’

If you overhear anything suspicious, contact us.
‘ Yes, of course .’

It was the same damned conversation every time. Akechi would sit beside Sae as she pressed, rephrased her questions, and tried to rummage around the minds of whoever sat the other side of that table. Akechi’s notes had gotten shorter and lazier; he was now simply writing the name of whoever they spoke to, the class they taught, and if nothing of use was said, wrote ‘ Knows nothing ’ and while Sae pushed and pressed, he’d taken to mapping out the details of the squashed room they’d been directed to. Grey walls and drab wooden floors matched Shujin Academy’s hallways and faculty offices - there was a chance this was one of them. It could have been a room for after school clubs, currently unoccupied? It was difficult to tell - and along the walls posters sat, overlapping one another, with events both upcoming and long past.

There was still a poster reminding students to send in their money for the Hawaii trip, though the deadline for it was months prior to the trip leaving. Beside that, a poster about the importance of ‘mental health’, advocating for students to speak to the temporary on-site counsellor. Several different flyers advertised clubs and extracurriculars. Amidst them all, one was the most important.

A brief skim mentioned that concerns from the student body were to be brought directly to the student council president, and a closer read suggested that it would make sure that the faculty at the school and the principal would be able to provide their support. The few other posters that overlapped it and cut off the corners suggested that it wasn’t overly recent, and though it didn’t mention the Phantom Thieves, it was hard to picture why the school faculty would want to get involved in the general concerns of any students when there was now a counsellor available for that purpose.

While Sae ran through the list of teachers, ready to pick the next from the list to run through, they were interrupted by the teacher from before, Ushimaru, who said that Kobayakawa could see them.

It was clearly a relief for Sae to finally get her schedule under control again and the short break from interrogations allowed them both to reformat what they’d envisioned that their day would be like. While Sae clearly adjusted her expectations for success, Akechi had to prepare himself for a miserable, drawn-out, boring day where he’d have very few opportunities to sneak away and slip into the metaverse. 

They’d break for lunch eventually. Akechi would have an opportunity to say he needed to go to the bathroom and, when alone, would test it. He was within the grounds of Shujin but if the cognition still repelled him, he’d have no access to the rest of the palace whether he arrived on the far side of those gates or dead in the middle of it.

Sae arrived at Kobayakawa’s office and rapped her knuckles three times against the door.
“Mr. Kobayakawa?” she called through the door. “It’s Sae Niijima, with the public prosecutors office.”

“Come in,” he called, and Sae entered, Akechi following closely at her heel.

He was an unpleasant little man. He sat nervously behind his desk, patting his forehead with a cloth and looking over a variety of documents scattered about the surface. Akechi didn’t manage to hide his curiosity, peering over and trying to determine if any of them were important. Nothing stood out - none of it was relevant to Masayoshi Shido or illicit deals or even Kamoshida. A lot of it seemed to be articles about his own reputation for him to look bitterly over and, going by the paleness of his face and the sweat beading his forehead despite his incessant patting, sink further into despair about.

“Morning,” Sae greeted as she entered. His office was all a hideous shade of yellow-beige and he, meek and unfortunate looking as he was, seemed to match the dreadful atmosphere rather well. He looked up at them both, between them with wide and beady eyes. One, for a moment, would have thought that Akechi and Sae were his saviours - doctors with the medication he needed or firefighters that had just burst into a flaming room, noble and dedicated and eager to pull him from the wreckage. 

That was not what they were here to do.

“Niijima-san,” he said, pulling himself from his seat. He wobbled, dabbed his head a little more, bowed quickly in greeting. Sae reciprocated and Akechi, as was polite, did the same. For once, he preferred it over shaking the clammy and sweaty hands of this trembling, agitated man, but showing respect to him at all wasn’t something he wanted to do. “A pleasure to finally have you -- both of you -- here.” It seemed like Akechi’s appearance wasn’t anticipated. Only Sae was supposed to be here, only she was supposed to be investigating. Akechi wondered whether or not his presence was throwing Kobayakawa off. Would that put him on edge and cause problems with his Palace?

Kobayakawa cleared his throat, sank back into his chair, fist clenched around his handkerchief as he glanced over the letters about his desk.
“I apologise for the delay. It’s been impossible trying to get this situation under control when so many of my own students are so invested in this Phantom Thief nonsense.” There was a jittery smile on his lips, the attempts of a thoroughly stressed and unsettled man trying to play it cool and act unfazed. “I am deeply appreciative of your dedication to figuring out the identities of these criminals. Either within my school grounds-” said with contempt “-or to rule out that possibility entirely,” said with hope.

Sae nodded.
“We will do our best. We’ve already spoken with some of your staff.”
“Good, good, yes! Well, I hope they’ve been plenty cooperative with you both. If you have any issues, be sure to let me know, won’t you?” He was a snivelling, desperate, grovelling man. It seemed as if there was nothing he knew how to do when met with authority but whine and plead. With his eyes thoroughly focused on Sae, however, it gave the same impression that Akechi had gotten from that staff member they’d met outside; that the respect they’d routinely give those in authority positions was not justified when given to someone as young as Akechi. Any respect would be given reluctantly and out of obligation, not because Akechi had earned it. It was the nature of people like this - those who worked with control over kids and saw them as aimless, disobedient pests to be lectured and abandoned. 

It would be best to let Sae keep control of the situation, but Akechi would need to get a word in at some point in case Kobayakawa willfully ignoring him would cause further problems with his cognition.

“Mhm,” she nodded, distant and with the clear indignation of someone who knew that she could manage her interrogations without crawling to a principal for his assistance. “I do have some questions to ask you.”

“Ah, yes, of course! Though, first, if I must say,” came the sputtering and indignant interruption of a man who had clearly rehearsed a few different lines to get someone like Sae to ease off. “It is very clear to see where our Student Council President gets her dedication from! Makoto Niijima is a very bright young girl, Prosecutor Niijima, and you should be very proud.”

Akechi had seen Sae tense the moment that her sister’s name was brought up. It wasn’t a threat, there were no implications about the future of Makoto’s position, but the mention alone had a clear ulterior motive - go easy on me , it said, be thankful that I ease your worries about your sister . 

“Keep things on topic,” Sae said, immediate and firm and with a forced emotional disconnect, “That’s not what I’m here to hear about.”

“But it is good news, isn’t it? I know she could be a wonderful detective someday-”

Akechi cleared his throat.
“Back on topic, if you wouldn’t mind.” Just as firm and to ease the burden from Sae’s shoulders. He didn’t glance back at her, reluctant to give off the impression of weakness, and instead kept his eyes focused on Kobayakawa as the man shrunk back.
“Yes,” he said, clearly thrown off that it had been Akechi to raise his voice and interrupt. “Of course. My apologies, officers, I didn’t mean to derail us.”
“It’s no problem,” Akechi said again, finally turning to look at Sae as she eased the tension from her jaw. “Niijima-san?”

She nodded. Akechi took his notebook from under his arm and flicked to a blank page. He clicked his pen to show Sae his readiness for note-taking.
“I will keep things quick for both of our sakes. Do you have any immediate suspicions as to any details on the Phantom Thieves? Names, classes they might be in, which year group they could be, anything like that?”

“Well, I- I’ve had some concerns and complaints from the students about some disruptive second-years, but they’ve been the same since before the Phantom Thieves targeted Mr. Kamoshida.”

“For the sake of interviews…?” Sae prompted. Kobayakawa quickly nodded, yet again patting his sweat-shiny forehead clean.

The only name that was actually relevant was Sakamoto’s. He was mentioned for an array of problems he’d given to Shujin Academy, even before he had made his disdain for Kamoshida known. The others were names Akechi knew nothing about but who had been loud and disruptive in class, a few who had been vocally pro-Phantom Thieves (this included that Mishima boy, who Akechi had yet to properly look into). When pressed, he stammered out about a couple of third years who had been caught making a mock Calling Card for one of their friends, but had followed it up saying that it was unlikely them and that he’d ‘ already looked into it ’.

“Have you been actively investigating the Phantom Thieves?”
“Yes! Yes, since they first targeted Mr. Kamoshida I’ve been trying to determine their real identities. I even put out a poster telling students to speak with-” he fumbled for a moment, stumbling his words and backtracking to avoid saying ‘ the student council ’, “with certain members of staff about concerns they had-” he insisted on hiswith the blind desperation of a man trying to win over approval, “-but at the time most of the concerns related to that group extorting people and nobody came forward with anything valuable.”
“And… since then?”
“It’s been impossible to get a word out of anyone! All I hear is that the Phantom Thieves are heroes. Nobody is willing to say any information even if they have any!”

Sae nodded. She was doing well to hide her clear frustration - this was meant to be a breakthrough for her case and her career. The man trembling opposite them was supposed to unintentionally stumble across the right sequence of words or the right clue for Sae to know where to direct her investigation next.

Worst of all, most of the people that he’d mentioned as suspicious were students currently on the trip to Hawaii, and Sae wouldn’t be overseeing the student questioning. She had begrudgingly concluded that the personal involvement of Makoto attending Shujin would risk conflict of interest, so the work would be assigned to some lower-level officers when all of the students were back in attendance - which, Kobayakawa had assured them, would be graciously supported by the school at every turn.

Now, though, was Akechi’s chance to assert himself.
“Have you been asking them yourself?”
“What?” Kobayakawa looked at him, for a moment, as if the question was an insult to his authority, and once more fumbled to try and get his words back. Sae gave Akechi a discreet glance, questioning, and by the time he attempted to meet her eyes with a reassuring look, but she was already focusing back in on Kobayakawa. Though it was unspoken, he was certain she’d be questioning his interruption the moment they were alone again.

“You mentioned that they talk to certain members of staff,” Akechi said, smiling, effortless and calm. Maintaining his control, asserting himself as someone to be respected despite his age. Despite standing in the shadow of someone as imposing as Sae Niijima. “That suggests that it wasn’t you who took the complaints of the students. If there’s a chance that a teacher has heard something from a student, it would be good to know names so that we can ask them about it directly.”

“W-well-” he paused, gathering himself, his attention diverting briefly from Akechi to Sae with the guilt of a man not wanting to admit that his own laziness was falling onto Sae’s sister's shoulders. “We had figured that it’d be for the best if they spoke to the student council before they spoke to us. It’s easier for kids to speak to other kids, right?” he spoke with a suddenly forced smile, and where the vagueness allowed Sae to fill in the blanks, he looked at her imploringly. As if he expected her to retract her investigation and refuse to help him weed out the Phantom Thieves finding out that her sister had been unnecessarily roped into the situation.

“Thank you. And would you mind giving us the name of each member of the student council for our interviews?” he asked, flicking to a blank page of his notebook and approaching Kobayakawa’s desk to hand it to him. He held the pen tightly as he wrote and Akechi took the chance to try and gauge how Sae was feeling. He glanced back at her, where her lips were pressed firmly together and her focus was suddenly, pointedly, looking past Kobayakawa’s desk and out the window behind him. Akechi’s eyes must have broken her from her thought, though, as after a moment she looked at him and met his eyes. 

He offered a hesitant smile - to say ‘ We needed to know. ’ - and, though it took a moment, Sae’s shoulders relaxed a little and she nodded. ‘ It was helpful. ’ Whatever instinctive annoyance about the involvement of her little sister - who she would clearly prefer to be studying than being forced to play detective - was promptly pushed back and ignored when Akechi got his notebook back and they were both given a new lead for their investigation.

“That’ll be it for now, then,” Sae said, the urgency in her voice easily dismissed for a need to solve the case. It seemed to Akechi more like she wanted to keep herself from getting distracted thinking about Makoto. “Contact the station if anything else comes to mind.”

“Yes, of course- I will,” he said, and as he was beginning to say something else she stepped out of his office. Akechi, notebook back in his pocket, caught the door handle as the door was about to close and excused himself, too, just as he could hear Kobayakawa imploring them to “ Do what it takes to find the Phantom Thieves ”.

 

---

 

 

Sae’s nails were tapping on the table.

They hadn’t called in the next name for their interview. She had sat down at the table, brushed her hair gracefully from her face, and worked her lip between her teeth as she ran through the conversation they’d just had.

Akechi sat opposite her.

“What an unpleasant man.” He broke the silence, setting his notebook on the table with the list of names still open. Makoto’s was at the top. “It's difficult to imagine him running anything around here.”

She scoffed, her eyes firmly off of the list of names in front of her.
“He gave us useful information.” There was a clear professional restraint to her words. Akechi smiled.
“Only when it was forced out of him,” he encouraged, putting his own bitter feelings about Kobayakawa forward so that Sae wouldn’t feel so hesitant about her own. “I’d be more lenient if he had been upfront with it.”
“I’m impressed that you caught onto something like that. I didn’t doubt that it was a faculty issue.” The distraction from her thoughts was evidently a welcome one.
“I didn’t. Not from what he said, at least.” He pointed towards the board on the wall. To where the poster was. “I noticed that before we spoke with him. ‘ Speak to the student council about your concerns’ didn’t quite line up with asking students to speak to faculty.”

Sae was quiet for a moment. 

“Why didn’t you bring that to my attention first?” The shift in tone was immediate - the annoyance at the job, at Kobayakawa, seemed forbidden for the sake of being professional. Annoyance with Akechi, however, was becoming a more and more common appearance lately. “Don’t you think that it would have been important for me to know?”

“There wasn’t an opportunity to say something before we were escorted to his office,” a half-assed defence, “I didn’t want to say something that could be overheard and risk losing the chance to put him on the spot.”

She said nothing for a moment. What he said made sense logically, she didn’t want to challenge it, but she either didn’t believe him or hadn’t cooled off enough to drop the argument yet. 

Akechi made a show of taking his phone and checking the time. It was only 11:35, but they both needed a break and doing so separately would be for the best.
“Are you hungry, Sae-san?” informal, friendly. To disarm her. “It’s nearly twelve. Perhaps some lunch would be nice? It’ll help us come back to the rest of our interviews with full energy.”

Any hesitance for the sake of the job was secondary to the need for her to clear her head.
“I’ll get something here,” he said, waving his hand to urge her to go. “I’ll go over our notes again and write them up properly.”
“You’re certain?” She didn’t argue. Instead she stood, walked past Akechi and towards the door.
“I am. I’d appreciate the chance to get my thoughts in order and form some theories.”
“I’ll be back by one.” 

The door clicked shut. Akechi stayed where he was long enough to hear her footsteps fade away. He checked quickly around the table - nothing had been left behind that’d cause her to come rushing back, and with the guarantee that there would be no interruptions until one - Akechi would give himself until half-past twelve, at the latest - he checked again over the details of the room. There were no security cameras here - good.

He stood, locked the door that Sae had just left through, and though they were on the second floor, drew the blinds across the windows. 

It would be a gamble to set up the Nav here, but he wasn’t going to be able to guarantee the privacy he’d had last time, tucked away outside the school, when he’d entered. If this was too dangerous, or it didn’t work, he would need to reconsider and come back tonight to approach from the outside.

His only goal now was to see if he had access to Kobayakawa’s palace and how it operated.

Still, with the points of visibility into the room sealed over, Akechi moved back until he was tucked beside the door and against the wall, where not even his silhouette would be visible, before he pulled up the Meta-Nav. He tapped in the Keywords - Kobayakawa, Shujin Academy, Prison - and closed his eyes as the world warped around him. The familiar feeling of the air first becoming thin, then melting into the new atmosphere (in this case, a bitter chill) and the floor easing in and out from under his feet brought him through to the Metaverse. It came, as usual, with a wave of dizziness and the slightest touch of nausea - though the latter could easily be blamed on his empty stomach. 

As before, when he arrived he was in his black mask and - to significant relief - the room that he was standing in had the swaying appearance and buzzing, unsettled walls of a safe room. It wasn’t likely he’d use it much (they were a waste of time to linger in) but it at least meant that when he needed to get back to the real world, he could do so like this.

Slowly, not sure what was waiting for him on the other side, Akechi moved his hand to the door handle and twisted, stepping out into the rest of the Palace.

One foot just outside of the threshold of the safe room, Akechi stopped. He checked either direction for Shadows, tense while he waited for an alarm to blare, or for a voice from somewhere to declare the appearance of an intruder. When enough time had passed that Akechi knew he was safe, he relaxed a little, let the door close behind him, and surveyed his surroundings.

It was, without a doubt, Shujin Academy. When Akechi left the office he was in, the hallway outside was identical not in appearance but in layout. Rather than grey walls, they were a dark navy blue. The floors were black. The windows were grey and reinforced with steel bars - Prison. Of course. - and as Akechi moved slowly closer to peer out onto the courtyard, they were thick enough to be bulletproof and too blurry to see anything but a smudge of green on the other side.

Slowly, shoes clicking on the black tiled floor beneath his feet, Akechi eased back against the wall beside the safe room. He could easily return now. Access was granted and he knew he could look around at his leisure, otherwise some kind of barrier would have been structured around the safe room to bar his presence, but it would be a waste of a trip if he did. 

He’d give himself an hour, to be safe, before Sae returned from lunch. It would be a disservice not to look around and, worse than that, if he wasn’t able to report some good news to the SIU Director about his progress soon, his favourable position would be compromised. 

So in the name of getting his job finally done, he moved his hand to rest on the hilt of his sword and walked down the hallway. It would be bold to assume that getting rid of Kobayakawa would be as easy as going to his office, finding him there, and putting a bullet in his Shadow, but it was worth testing.

The further Akechi walked, though, the worse that the air seemed to be. The chill in the air bit into him through his suit, as if he’d been thrown back into the middle of winter. His fingers were getting stiff from the cold so he flexed them at his sides. It wasn’t as if he could bring a change of clothes or a coat with him, so it’d be best to get this job done as soon as possible. The Shadow patrols through the hallway were sparse, thankfully, and though Akechi could spot the occasional security camera, they were either being manually reviewed and weren’t on, or were easily avoided.

Keeping his back flush to the wall, Akechi moved down the hallway without interruption. His palace seemed abandoned - either all of the Shadows were awaiting their orders, or Kobayakawa finding out that he was no longer going to be involved with Shido had prompted the Shadows of his palace to disappear. It could be a manifestation of the loss of allies - isolation, twisted into empty hallways in an empty palace? Or they could be waiting until it was clear that there was an intruder to start patrolling. Maybe if Akechi stepped into the watchful gaze of a security camera, they’d mobilise instantly, like they had done when he’d tried to open the gate from the outside?

It didn’t feel like it was abandoned. Despite the bitter chill, the atmosphere carried a thick tension, an alertness that ran over Akechi’s skin like shivers, reminiscent of a palace on high alert. 

What kind of a place was Kobayakawa in to both feel so abandoned and so on guard? And, more importantly, what kind of complications was that going to cause?

He navigated around the hallways, following the windows that peered over the courtyard until he came across to where the door to the Principal's Office was supposed to be - sealed over with a neat row of blue lasers. Cameras pointed eagerly in either direction from the door, looking for anyone willing to attempt entry, and to the left of the door sat a silver keycard scanner. 

Of course it wasn’t going to be this simple. It was never that simple. 

Akechi eased back. He was just around the corner, ducked low to be below the glow of the window, and it’d take only a minute to get back to the safe room and back to the real world, long before Sae’s return, but his curiosity was pulling at him. The keycard was too simple an option, but Kobakayakawa hadn’t seemed like an overly complex man, and if it was that simple, it would make his next trip to this damned palace far more convenient if he knew where to look for it. 

It’d be too convenient for someone to appear with one or to overhear a conversation about where to find it - the most time consuming but safest method would be to check every room and hope he could find it sooner rather than later, and the most direct method would be to step in range of the security camera and pull the information out of the Shadows that turned up.

He was on a short schedule. Phones struggled to keep up in the Metaverse, between cameras breaking, lacking service, and their clocks getting easily thrown out of sync, there was no way to know how much time Akechi had until he got back - so he needed to get this all over with as soon as possible. Keeping close to the wall, Akechi stood straight. He pressed his back against a pillar at the corner of the window, still trying to keep out of sight when there were no discernible threats present. 

Then, with a sigh and a preemptive acceptance of whatever happened, he stepped out into the line of sight of the security camera, and-

As expected, and much like when he’d investigated the fence lining Shujin grounds, an alarm started instantly. It was shrill and deafening, far louder than it had seemed from outside of the palace. The sound was, for a moment, so sudden it was disorienting and Akechi’s fingers clutched tighter to the hilt of his sword to keep himself grounded. The ground trembled underfoot and the speaker system lining the roof started up, just as loud and declaring, in what Akechi now knew to be Kobayakawa’s voice-
‘ An intruder! Someone’s here to take everything down! Stop them! ’

And, as the panicked cry began to repeat, several Shadows burst up from the ground, hauling their weight upwards like each of their limbs had weights and slumping forwards. They carried cartoonish proportions, shoulders and arms so large they were more akin to inflated balloons than limbs, hunched with their fingers brushing the floor, donned in police uniforms. Their sights immediately turned to him where his foot was still slightly within the camera's line of sight and, in an instant, Akechi raised his hand.

“Loki!” he called, moving back out of range of a spray of bullets, “Deathbound!”

The floor rumbled again as Loki’s attack radiated out in pulses from where Akechi stood, tearing through the floor where the Shadows stood. Hands burst up from cracks in the ground to claw and slash at them, prompting a few Shadows to drop to their knees, gripped by the hands bursting from the floor. Several of them dissipated into smoke. The other few - four of five, so tall and swaying in front of one another so unsteadily that it was hard to get a reliable headcount - were advancing. Where the top half of their bodies were so large and so heavy compared to the rest of them, it seemed like they struggled to stay upright, especially while moving.

Their knuckles dragged across the floor, and as they drew nearer their bodies jerked, shoulders getting thrown back, muscles convulsing. One threw its fist forwards, swinging down its police baton so suddenly that Akechi only narrowly dodged it, and with such intensity that the rounded end of the baton embedded itself in the tiled ground. 

That Shadow was vulnerable. It threw the weight of its full body backwards to try and pull the baton back - but there was no time to retaliate, no opportunity to take advantage of the weakness before the rest of them, stumbling and swaying, crowded around it and continued the approach. Akechi eased a few steps backwards. His shoes clicked against the floor. If he could get enough distance, he could call Loki and bring down another few of them. They were all weak - the only advantage was in their numbers, and though this was completely his fault Akechi hadn’t been prepared for the possibility that he’d be surrounded. 

The morning had exhausted him. The stress of the last few days and of this upcoming infiltration had interfered with his sleep. The ache of not eating yet was cutting into his concentration. He’d expected three shadows. Four, maybe - a fight that he could consider fair, but with the stuck Shadow easing into the back of the crowd, it became clear that there were eight, nine, hopefully no more than ten Shadows advancing on him.

Akechi reached up to take his mask and call Loki. He took a further pace backwards — and the sirens on the walls blared loud again.

That desperate cry of Kobayakawa’s voice came again, insisting on the presence of an ‘ intruder ’ that came to ‘ take everything down and ruin what we’ve built! ’ and only when Akechi turned to try and shoot down the speaker, already aware that it was too late, did he see the blinking red light on the previously unmanned security camera.

There was barely enough time for the dread to kick in before he heard the heavy footsteps thunk against the floor behind him, the appearance of any number of them bursting from the ground behind him.

Walls encased him on his left and right, Shadows blocking any other route, the windows were reinforced and barred off. In the edge of his peripheral vision, just beyond the security camera behind him, was the corner that opened up to the stairwell. Fighting his way out now wouldn’t be wise - he was surrounded, his attacks wouldn’t be as accurate and he would be vulnerable every second he was here - but getting back to that stairwell meant moving past a hoard of Shadows-

Thoughts racing, stupid damn mask blocking the edges of his vision and painting the blue walls of Kobayakawa’s palace red, Akechi began to turn, reached again for his mask, and the impact of a baton into the side of his chest came so suddenly, so forcefully, that it robbed the wind from his lungs and knocked him to the ground. 

Anger and pain flashed through him, hot and instant. His hand clutched his ribs where the hit landed and winced, hissing air through his teeth. His head swam for a moment - not from being struck, but likely the result of having not yet eaten - and as the Shadows advanced again towards him, there was no time to consider fighting. Akechi got his feet under him despite the protesting of his ribs and his still swimming vision and threw himself in the direction of the stairs. His free hand struck blindly out for the wall to catch him in case his balance wavered. The footsteps descending on him were immediate and rapid, the swarm of many different Shadows - he didn’t know how many anymore. Any estimates were abandoned; he hadn’t even seen the ones who appeared behind him and though his vision was settling, losing speed to try and count would be a death sentence. 

He followed the sharp turn down to the first floor of Shujin Academy’s palace, grateful now more than ever that Kobayakawa’s distortion only went as far as appearances, and stumbled back to turn towards the wall of Shadows coming down the stairs. He threw his hand out, a surge of panic coursing through his body.

“Loki!” he cried, the deep breath causing a spike of fresh pain to cobweb across his chest. The Shadows and their grotesque, oversized bodies swarmed to get past one another, a mess of bodies moving like globs of thick black tar, spilling past one another around the corner and down the steps. His fingers, gloved in black, trembled. “Kill them!”

Loki eased the panic in Akechi’s body with a pleased, controlled hum, taking the initiative to act on Akechi’s behalf. Red and black smoke rose from the stairwell, a wisp thin as ribbon weaving between the swarm of Shadows. The haze enveloped them all for a moment and hissed, tearing through the first row of Shadows. They dissipated into the black haze - somewhere around six of them disappeared, but the rest came flooding down the stairs faster now, unimpeded by the clumsiness of the Shadows in front. 

What the hell had Akechi done, letting his guard down like this? He was used to traversing a palace in a day, no need for discretion or subtlety when any threat could be easily and swiftly dealt with. The worst he would face would be those in Mementos, the real threats of personal distorted wills, or the few palace rulers he was tasked with killing - not measly shadows.

How stupid of him to act like it would always be that easy - entering a palace while unprepared like this was foolish. It was an amateur mistake and one that could very well cost him his life. Backing against the wall, Akechi grit his teeth and drew his sword from his waist. He’d evaded any further security cameras but carelessly trying to navigate the hallways would only bring in more Shadows and that was a risk that he couldn’t afford. 

The first row of Shadows stumbled down the stairs and he dashed forwards, slashing upwards with all the force he could manage. His sword met firm resistance as it hit reinforced armour, but slashed through the first two Shadows before it lost its momentum. He staggered back as the Shadows burst with smoke and faded, more of them filtering in before he was comfortably out of range. The next hit came suddenly. Akechi saw it coming, but not in enough time to dodge; the sudden impact of a metal baton against the side of his mask nearly knocked him completely off of his feet again. He swore, tasting blood faintly on his tongue and squeezing his eyes shut for a second to try and ease the way the world was spinning. 

The wall caught him when he stumbled. He threw his hand up again and called urgently for Loki. He heard the slashing of something and felt the shift of the wind in the air, but it wasn’t until he was able to open his eyes again and lift his head that he saw the few remaining Shadows lumbering. Their walking was more staggered now, their shoulders heaved like their breaths were slow and agonised, and Akechi dragged himself upright again. It took a great deal of his weight being propped on the wall, but he raised his sword again as he looked at the Shadows.

“Tell me where to find the keycard and I’ll make your deaths quick,” he hissed, gathering up every ounce of authority he could manage, trying to keep his vision from blurring. The Shadows were no longer approaching him; there looked to be two of them left. Akechi only needed one as long as they knew where the keycard was - it’d be something to retrieve on a later day. As long as he could tell the SIU Director now that he’d made progress and breached Kobayakawa’s palace, that all he needed to do now was wait for the confirmation on what was needed. Then, with an awareness of what his palace was actually like, he would return prepared and cautious. 

The Shadows said nothing.

“The keycard !” Akechi yelled, thrusting the sword out towards them, trusting that the hand he was still using to keep himself upright wasn’t cutting into his intimidation. “Where is it?!”

One Shadow lumbered forwards. Akechi turned the blade of his sword towards it to keep it at an arm’s length. 
“You don’t want the keycard,” it said, with a jittering and stuttered voice. “You don’t want to get it off of her.”

“I get to decide what I want! Tell me where it is!” He was dizzy. How long did he have before Sae got back?

“The brown-haired officer has it,” the other Shadow said. It sounded pained. Good. Whatever he’d commanded Loki to do, it’d saved him. “But she’s…”

“Where is she? Where can I find her?” He needed this over with quickly. They were wasting time - he needed to get out of the palace now. He needed them to stop talking. 

“She’s locked in the room near Commander Kobayakawa’s office - but she’s insane! She’s not someone you can reason with, you won’t be able to get through to her!” insisted the first Shadow. 

Akechi gripped his sword tighter. That was good; everything essential was on the second floor. His next visit would be quick and when he returned, he’d be prepared. Wordlessly, he staggered forwards and cut down the last two Shadow’s, trembling as he hauled himself up the stairs. He gripped the railing as he brought himself upright, staggering up the steps. He stuck to the walls now - careful to look for where the security cameras were and to skirt around their range of vision. 

He pressed onward towards the practice building, across the courtyard and staggered to the room he and Sae had been ushered into, somewhere near the gymnasium, and threw open the door to the safe room. He stumbled in, slammed the door shut behind himself and slumped back against it. His staggered breathing stayed shallow where and attempts to ease it out or take deeper breaths caused more spikes of pain to spread out across his ribs. He tipped his head back until it tapped against the metal door, stars pulsing in his vision with the beat of his heart. He grit his teeth, reached for his phone and returned from the Metaverse.

Ironing out an unsteady breath, throat clicking as he swallowed through a dry mouth, Akechi let his eyes closed as the world warped around him, bathed in red and black until he opened his eyes back in the spare room in Shujin Academy. 

 

---

 

By the time the room stopped spinning and Akechi could pull himself away from the door to return to his seat at the desk, swaying and sore, he’d been standing in the same spot for so long that the chill of the palace had left him and the awful warmth of early September settled back in. 

He slumped into the metal chair, every ounce of his body protesting from the fatigue of the trip and a pulsing ache of his head punishing him for letting his guard down. To be this shaken, to have slipped up over someone as trivial as that snivelling man Kobayakawa, added a layer of indignant humiliation to the frustration of having to abandon an infiltration without a clear plan. 

Kobayakawa’s palace was a simple one. He was corrupt, but not distorted enough for his palace to be drastically different from reality, only enough for his distorted feelings and conflict to change the environment. Despite the way he appeared when Akechi met him (desperate and shameless, judging by his grovelling) it seemed that he was closed off entirely from anyone irrelevant to Shujin Academy, distant and cold. The way that the Shadows had referred to him - ‘ Commander Kobayakawa’ - had proven that his position in that guarded office wasn’t because he was imprisoned but was a paranoid way of shutting himself off from everyone. 

Akechi tapped his nails on the desk. His phone buzzed, catching up with all of the messages he’d been unable to receive while he was in the Metaverse, and he sat up to try and see if he had any painkillers in his bag when his phone screen caught his eye.

‘ From: Sae Niijima
Subject: —
Have you eaten? Should I bring you this? ’

Attached was a photo of the milk bread that Akechi liked from a bakery in Shibuya station - one that, for a while, had been his default choice for a snack to bring to work with him. He picked up his phone and clicked on the message to reply - but Sae had already followed up, about five minutes later, assuring him that she’d already bought them and would bring them to him soon. It was long enough ago that she was likely already on her way back to Shujin.

It was 12:47. He’d been pushing it - it was good, then, that the infiltration had been cut short, but had he been a little more prepared, a little faster —

Akechi steadied his breathing and shook himself from his thoughts. It wasn’t important whether or not he could have done more. Progress had been made, Kobayakawa’s palace was accessible. He would update the SIU Director as soon as possible about the development. In the meantime, however, Akechi replied to Sae thanking her and saying he’d ‘ forgotten to eat ’ being so preoccupied with work, took painkillers from his bag, and set his head on the desk to get a little rest while waiting for Sae’s return.

Chapter 32: Thursday, September 8th

No matter what Akechi attempted, he couldn’t get his body to move from his bed. 

Had he been more careful or aware, this paralysis could have been avoided. After the botched infiltration into Kobayakawa’s palace, he’d assisted Sae until six in the evening. Then, when Shujin Academy was empty of everyone but Kobayakawa she had been lamenting how not a single one of the teachers they’d spoken to so far had noticed anything suspicious. Nothing Akechi said seemed to pacify her; no amount of assurances that there would be a breakthrough soon, that they just had to find the right person, that there were still a few people that they had yet to speak to, nothing eased her annoyance. In fact, his attempt at maintaining an optimistic front only frustrated her further.

The painkillers he’d taken did not ease his persistent headache and Akechi suspected that he had a mild concussion from that lucky baton strike. He’d switched from his coffee to water in case dehydration was making it worse without significant change and every time Akechi stood from his chair, his head pulsed with the momentum. To make matters worse, every time he adjusted how he sat. breathed too deep or stretched wrong, a fierce crackle of pain shot through his chest. It took him a great deal of effort not to let on enough for Sae to notice and had either succeeded or she didn’t care to comment on his occasional wince. Either was fine, as long as he didn’t have to answer any questions.

In itself, it was an exhausting day. Akechi burned through every ounce of focus that he could have managed, his body protested everything he tried to do, and subsiding off of a portion of milk bread the entire day didn’t help much. Had that been it, the ordeal would have been manageable. He’d have gotten home, eaten something that only required a kettle to make, and gone to his desk to finish up his drafts for a plan on how to deal with Okumura -- all if it wasn’t for the fact that the moment Sae dropped him at his apartment complex and he stepped into the building, Akechi felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

When he pulled it from his pocket, the text was miserably simple; a name and nothing else.

There was no suggested method, however, which was an obstacle. Depending on who he was dealing with, Akechi needed to know if a psychotic breakdown would make things worse, or if they were too valuable to shut down - so he had to reply as soon as he got it - ‘What’s needed? ’

The response took a few minutes to roll through, time that Akechi spent leaning against the wall in the foyer of his apartment building, hoping that the pulsing of his head would go away soon, hoping that this was nothing urgent and that he could tell Shido it would be dealt with tomorrow. But no - it was typical, wasn’t it, that he couldn’t wait?

It was someone involved in Okumura foods. Some employee - a middle-aged man who had worked there for a long time, who had witnessed and endured the decline of workplace safety and the increasing pressure on employees to take on dangerous amounts of overtime. Akechi was tasked with encouraging him to come out as a whistleblower against the dangerous working conditions of Big Bang Burger, as part of the first step on complete sabotage of Okumura as one of Shido’s cabinet. 

So he was being asked to find someone in the Metaverse and… talk to them ? He almost scoffed.

And as much as an extra day would have been appreciated, the sooner that Akechi turned the tides regarding Okumura’s public perception and gave the fans of the Phantom Thieves a new target to turn against, the better. He needed the turning of the voting percentages to start authentic - but he’d been starting to figure out the basics of a coding loop that would spam the Phan-site’s inputs with votes against Okumura.

If the public began voting for him and the news of his misconduct grew, Akechi’s idle tampering with the Phan-site would be harder to notice.

So he had slotted his phone back into his pockets, checked that Sae’s car was nowhere in sight, and walked to Kichijoji station to get the train to Shibuya to visit Mementos.

Now, the following afternoon, his bed held him firmly in place. His mattress cradled his aching joints and sore muscles, and his pillow helped keep the pulsing from his head. It didn’t matter how smoothly Mementos had gone. It could have been flawless and it would still have taken every ounce of energy left in Akechi, after the pathetic infiltration that morning. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he did his damn job, he trudged back home, he ate cup ramen for dinner, and he passed out the moment he’d landed in his bed - still wearing his half-unbuttoned school shirt and with his tie discarded on the floor beside the bed.

When Shido knew Akechi had the power to ruin his life and he was exploiting that power to keep Shido at his heel, Akechi was going to send him on taxing, laboring missions again and again until his body gave out or his heart stopped. He was going to exhaust that old bastard until he dropped dead for all the years this was taking off of Akechi’s life, making him do all of these stupid goddamn executions with no notice, no patience, expecting to be an immediate priority over studying and detective work.

And though he was still bitter about it, the silver lining about no longer being welcome at school had made this easier.

Whatever. When the news spread about Okumura Foods, people would latch onto Okumura thoughtlessly.

And as soon as he gathered the strength to move and Akechi could pry himself from his bed (he’d give himself another fifteen minutes, then he’d get up whether he wanted to or not) he’d be able to test out his bot on the Phan-site and inflate the votes towards Okumura to force some more momentum. Then he’d review the materials that he’d been provided for this semester at school, make a study schedule for the next few months, get something to eat, shower, and plan his next steps to take down the Phantom Thieves.

He’d blame them for Kobayakawa’s death, then blame them for Okumura’s. After that he’d trap them somehow, and imprison or kill them. Then he’d help Shido win the election, ruin his life and his reputation, and make him grovel for forgiveness for everything he put Akechi’s mother through.

With a sigh and a wince at the spark of pain it encouraged from his ribs, Akechi closed his eyes. Stars moved behind his eyelids. 

All he needed to do was keep his eyes ahead. All he needed to do was remain focused on the need to get revenge on Masayoshi Shido and everything would work out. 

In twenty minutes, he’d get up and get on with his damn job.

Until then, he could spare a little time to recover.

 

---

 

 

Akechi opened his eyes again in the early hours of the evening.

Somewhere beneath a resigned acceptance that his twenty-minute rest had eaten through the afternoon, with the sun streaming orange light directly through his bedroom window, was the bitter annoyance that he was wasting time that would be better spent working or studying. Not even the guilt was enough to wake him.

The pulsing of the headache had subsided and was replaced instead with a dull, humming ache spanning from where he’d been struck the day before. His vision was bleary with his glasses sitting on the bedside table and his mouth was dry. He pushed up onto his elbows with a groan, a painful ache hissing from his ribs again as he brought himself, slowly, upright. 

Akechi collected his glasses from the bedside and dragged himself, despite the protest of his sore body, through to the bathroom to shower. It was only five minutes; long enough to wake himself up and to purge the stickiness from his skin. Standing for too long left him feeling slightly dizzy so he collected vitamin water from his fridge before, glasses perched on his nose, slumping down at his desk.

It was far too warm in his room. The blinds had been open all day and the door to the rest of the apartment was closed, letting the heat seep in while he’d been sleeping and slowly raising the temperature and humidity of his bedroom. When even the cool vitamin water and the refreshing coolness of the shower not helping, Akechi picked up his laptop only a few minutes after logging in and moved, instead, to sit at the table in his living room, where the blinds leading out to the narrow, never-used balcony were near-permanently drawn and had barred the heat for the last few hours.

Rubbing his eyes, Akechi checked over his emails, checked again over his blog (the comments were all bitter and hateful, but their momentum had reduced significantly today) and then checked the news. Spliced between a dozen different articles blasting the Phantom Thief name to try and capitalise on their ever-growing fame, a few were spliced in on topics about politics and the economy, some detailing news on Okumura, whose company ethics had already been brought into question, but were now fuelled by an alleged employee whistleblower had gone to a news publication late last night.

What convenient timing.

He tapped his fingers against the table as he opened a new tab, opening up the Phan-site to review how the polls were doing. He wanted to say that he hadn’t checked it in a few days, that it had been a distant priority because Akira was in Hawaii, and he had more important things to keep track of than a measly, inaccurate method of tracking his popularity with naive, Phantom Thief obsessed highschoolers , but he would be lying. Every idle moment, there was that temptation to look at it. A gnawing voice in the back of his head wondering if he was still so important, so detestable that being targeted by vigilante ‘justice’ would be celebrated by these thoughtless, useless sheep. 

There the poll sat - growing in traction, growing in popularity, growing in votes , and his name was--

First . As expected. 

Surprisingly, however, Okumura’s name was already rising. It was placed fifth on the polls now, impressive for having only recently become a controversial figure and for how many votes the website already had. Comments were rolling in, some begging the Phantom Thieves to do something and others celebrating the potential downfall of any celebrity. A bloodthirsty few were awaiting a spectacle and didn’t care whose life it came at the expense of; most likely the same blind fools who were voting for him.

The polling system was extremely simple. With enough time, anyone was welcome to submit their vote, refresh the page, and fill in another vote, it was just tedious. It was likely that a number of the votes for him were duplicates (as would be true for the whole poll) but no matter what that meant for the results themselves, it meant that the poll was extremely prone to being rigged.

All that Akechi had to do was figure out how to repeatedly spam inputs that voted for Okumura. If the website was truly run by a highschooler, it wasn’t likely that there were any implemented anti-bot measures, or that suspicious activity would be flagged - and if it was , Akechi would just need to find more reasons for the public to hate Okumura and motivate them to vote for him themselves as well.

He drank some of his water, pushed his bangs back and out of his eyes, and began his research.

Notes:

so ive written like . another 15 chapters beyond this point :3 so my goal over the next couple weeks is to get faster with proofreading them so i can get them out to yall faster :D equally i do have my university deadlines impending and i got so burnt out this month i was sick for like two weeks but the grind never stops so . pls enjoy

Chapter 33: Friday, September 9th

“And the news on Kobayakawa?”

The SIU Director was peering up at Akechi over the rim of his glasses, his lips pressed into a thin line, with an expectation for disappointment. It wasn’t undeserved, considering that Akechi had failed to make a breakthrough in over a month, but the look on that old man’s face infuriated him. He mistook his position within the police’s hierarchy as his position in the world Shido was building - the one Akechi would soon influence every movement of - and thought of himself as a far more valuable asset than Akechi. So valuable, so important , that he could look at Akechi as if he was a stain on the hideous green carpet.

He didn’t intend to take pleasure in his work. What he had do to was nothing more than a necessity. To be rid of this man, something he had thought about many, many times over the last few years, would be a pleasure worth savouring. 

“All obstacles have been overcome, thanks to the help you’ve been able to provide,” Akechi said, professional and restrained. “I got the impression last week, however, that information was no longer what we were after?”

A gravelly, deliberating sigh left the Director. 

“No firm decisions have been made yet.”

So Akechi had to be ready at a moment’s notice, he supposed, for the order to kill Kobayakawa. That at some point over the next few days he’d receive a text and would need to abandon everything else for it. It had to be sometime soon - Akechi had an interview on Sunday.

“In the meantime,” the Director, hands clasped, turned his disinterested gaze back towards the open window he’d been staring at when Akechi had come in. “I’m sure that you have plenty of work to get along with.”

Akechi nodded and excused himself. It was a waste of time to play this game; everyone knew that Kobayakawa had to die, Akechi could have him dead tonight considering how urgent it had seemed. Yet instead there was going to be an imitation of order where the Director would inevitably call Shido, who would confirm that Akechi was right to get rid of Kobayakawa as soon as possible, who would then have to find the time in his schedule to do that. He’d splice it somewhere between polishing his plan to deal with Okumura and scheduling his personalised curriculum for the exams in October.

The most irritating part was that he had made the express trip to the police station solely to confirm to the SIU Director that progress had been made with the hopes that he’d be given clearance to do the job immediately - and he wasn’t. Which meant that he’d taken hours out of his day that he could have spent doing anything more productive. 

He briefly considered making the trip worth his time by stopping in to speak with Sae. They hadn’t properly spoken to one another since the morning they’d been at Shujin. After he didn’t tell her about the posters and the inference that Kobayakawa had been using Makoto for information, she’d been cagey and only discussed details of interviews with him or bitterly emphasised the lack of progress being made. The drive home had been tense and quiet, too, and though Akechi had been insistent on not letting her mood affect him, her refusal move past something so small was testing his patience.

So on his way out of the precinct he ignored her office entirely. Maybe, with the time to spare, he’d go somewhere for lunch before he got back to studying.

 

---

 

By early evening, having returned home immediately after lunch, Akechi had figured out most of the problems that the Phantom Thieves and the SIU Director were presenting to him. Everything regarding Okumura was worked out and Akechi had managed to figure out a rough plan of what his studying routine would be each day that he wasn’t needed in the precinct and wasn’t able to go to class. He had even picked out a selection of small, home-owned cafe’s whose booth seats he could occupy without attracting too much attention. Leblanc had briefly been considered , but the chances of a black-haired distraction appearing were too significant and he’d scrapped the idea. Even if Akechi found the time to go during school hours or while Akira was in Hawaii, the awareness that he’d be sitting opposite the stairwell to Akira’s room would be a distraction enough.

It was better to stick to less intimate places - where he could be a regular with a face from TV and nothing more.

On Mondays, he would spend three hours revising his Korean lessons, practising his writing and listening to Korean podcasts or news to test his listening and speaking ability and three hours studying Japanese literature in the evenings. Any extra time, without reason to go to the Metaverse, would be spent rereading the appointed texts and researching the authors.

Though the Nav had already revealed that Okumura had a palace, without any clue to what the keywords could be, it’d be extremely difficult for Akechi to make any progress without drawing unwanted attention. The solution was simple; under the assumption that the Phantom Thieves would fall for the bait and target Okumura, Akechi would follow them and trust that they’d get access to his palace, where he could follow them in and get the keyword to appear on his MetaNav search history, allowing him free access whenever he liked. 

On Tuesdays, he would maintain Japanese history lessons in the morning and revise political relationships between foreign countries. With intent to press into the political world on his own one day, long after Shido’s use had diminished and his life ended, it would be useful information. If he had time in the evening, he’d research history that wasn’t Japanese-centric.

Once the Phantom Thieves were in Okumura’s palace and had gone through with their plans for a Change of Heart, as would become obvious when Okumura called to notify the police about a Calling Card, Akechi would follow them into Okumura’s palace. He’d detail how they operate, their methods, how much of a threat they truly are, and let them go through with their Change of Heart and then do what they were too spineless to do.

On Wednesdays, he’d work on mathematics the full day or until he couldn’t pick the numbers apart anymore. 

When he had confirmation that the Phantom Thieves had taken interest in Okumura’s palace, he’d give Shido the details of the plan. It needed to be public. Judging by the previous victims of a Change of Heart, it was likely that Okumura would demand a press release to discuss everything he’d done. If it could be timed right, there was a chance that the shutdown could occur televised, drawing as much attention as possible. Those who were watching to see what the Phantom Thieves could do would be forced to confront the reality that these people were not their saviours and did not deserve idolisation.

On Thursdays, English lessons and English literature would take priority, each having a designated half of the day. A free evening could then be dedicated to philosophy or anthropology, depending on what he felt more inclined to research; it wasn’t like either topic would be significant in his exams.

The next phase of the plan would be harder to initiate. Akechi would need to find evidence proving that they were the Phantom Thieves, a task made harder with the Metaverse preventing cameras from working. Perhaps a video of them leaving the Metaverse could work instead? That alongside some kind of testimony could be enough with how desperate the police were getting to have the Phantom Thieves caught and arrested.

Fridays and Saturdays would be used for revision and catch-up, filling in the rest of his knowledge and going over anything that he knew would be on the exam. As would any free time he had, if he ever got any without Shido messaging him first.

With blackmail material, Akechi would need to direct them somewhere. This would be the most complicated part; it was so far away, and with no understanding of how they operated, it was impossible to try and determine what they could do realistically and how. The plan would need to be loose so that other ideas and suggestions could slot in around it - so far, all that he had was that he needed to have a direct influence on them and everything that they did, which also meant maintaining a form of surveillance over them.

If he had no police work to finish up or reports to write on Sundays, he’d filter through his homework until he had the time to prepare for upcoming interviews. 

The best way to enact surveillance…

Akechi was tapping his pen against the page of his notebook with his left hand. To keep an eye on them without arousing suspicion, to be able to know what they were doing in the Metaverse, to deceive them completely- the easiest way would be to work alongside them, would it not?

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a slow and frustrated sigh.

Gain blackmail material. He could find something personal to one of them and hope that they were dedicated enough to one another to all agree to help him, but that would seem like he was picking on someone and everyone else would be more hostile to him as a result. Them leaving the Metaverse could work, recording a conversation where they admit to being Phantom Thieves could work if they were careless enough to let it slip; whatever he found, it had to be enough that those fools had no choice but to accept his terms. Working with them meant a palace, however, and a palace meant finding a target whose treasure could be stolen. 

But a palace also meant that Akechi could have them caught in their Phantom Thief attire. It would entirely negate the issue of trying to explain how the Metaverse operates and would bring in many more witnesses to confirm the identities of the Phantom Thieves.

The most important part was that the Phantom Thieves weren’t just apprehended but, as Shido had ordered, were killed. He needed them dead for disrupting his plan, for affecting Shido’s trust in him, for every little inconvenience that Akechi had endured since their debut in April. And for lying to him, for fooling Akechi into believing Akira might have befriended him without ulterior motives, Akechi wanted to kill Akira himself. 

He didn’t care about any of the rest of them to ensure that they were killed. If it worked out that way then it wouldn’t make him lose any sleep, but none of them had struck such a close nerve that he wanted them dead. Makoto he still had a bitter resentment for, obviously, but not enough to force Sae to bury her last living relative. But Akira, for being so capable, so deceptively charming, for lying so effortlessly and assuming Akechi was foolish enough not to realise - Akechi needed him dead.

He’d have the means to make that happen as soon as Akira was in police custody. First, though, he needed to get him there.

 

---

 

Akechi figured that the update about Kobayakawa would come sometime today. As soon as Shido had the time to offer the SIU Director his blessing on the project it would get filtered through to him, but when night came and working hours passed, he’d given up on waiting. Wrongly, it seemed.

It was 10:45pm when the message came though. 

‘Deal with Kobayakawa. Soon. ’ was simple enough, but when Akechi’s phone lit up he had just stepped out of the shower and was massaging a deep conditioner into the ends of his hair, which was rolled into wide curls at his shoulders. Without school as a distraction, he’d been able to fill in his evenings with skincare more often, but having abandoned his hopes on Kobayakawa and assuming he’d be far too busy for it the next few days, Akechi had foolishly allowed himself the evening to himself. He’d been washing the remaining product from his hands to collect a face mask when he’d seen his phone light up, lying safely by the window. Always within reach.

And when Akechi saw that he was finally needed he rolled his eyes and set it back on the windowsill with the screen facing down.

If it was urgent, they could have told him an hour ago. They could have contacted him anytime between when he’d left the station and getting into his shower. Instead, they waited until it was fifteen minutes prior to curfew and he’d stopped work for the evening. 

Kobayakawa would wait until tomorrow. Shido would wait until tomorrow. In the early evening on Saturday, when the students had gone home, Akechi would find a way to leave the calling card somewhere that Kobayakawa would see it. With luck he’d cause panic and rumours would spread through the school, but all that mattered was that he put Kobayakawa on edge and made it plausible that the investigation would lead to the Phantom Thieves.

For now, Akechi picked up his clay mask, his hair pinned out of his face, and moved back in front of his mirror.

Chapter 34: Saturday, September 10th

At 5pm, the students were certainly going to be gone from Shujin Academy. With no club activities and a general desire to get home for the weekend, Akechi would be able to walk inside with a flash of his badge and the assurance that he needed to follow up with Kobayakawa about their investigation earlier that week.

He refused offers for company and insisted that he knew his own way around, leading himself up the stairwell to the second floor. He slowed his footsteps and stopped at the corner of the stairs to check briefly for lingering students. The hallways were empty. Most teachers seemed to be within their classes or in the faculty room, which sat opposite Kobayakawa’s office. Both of them had their doors closed.

There were few places to keep out of sight in Shujin. He could stick to corners and tuck behind lockers but there was nowhere that didn’t risk being seen and interrogated - and being a detective could only alleviate so much suspicion.

He had a few options. He could go to the faculty office, figure out something to ask, and hope that he was able to kill enough time for Kobayakawa to leave his office by the time Akechi was done. That, however, meant making it more known that he was skulking around Shujin and risked the idea that someone could mention his visit to Sae, who couldn’t know that he was here. Akechi, fists clenched at his side, forced himself to relax. Paralysing himself with indecision wouldn’t help. He needed to do something, no matter what it was, so he stepped up that final stair —

And the door to Kobayakawa’s office threw itself open. Akechi slipped immediately back into the shadows of the stairwell as Kobayakawa, unsteady on his feet and muttering frantically to himself, moved from his office across the hallway. The door to the faculty office opened, he stepped quickly inside, and it slammed behind him again.

He could be there for minutes. He could be there for less than a minute. Akechi took a breath and forced himself to make the decision and move across the empty hall. He eased Kobayakawa’s office door quietly open, and slipped inside. He left it ajar so that he would be able to hear those stumbling footsteps rush back over and hopefully award himself enough time to slip somewhere discreet, but that was going to have to be a later concern.

He was in Kobayakawa’s office. Unattended, without anyone aware he was there, with a Calling Card in his pocket. 

Kobayakawa’s desk was covered in papers. It had been the last time that Akechi had visited, but it now looked like someone had been desperately hunting for something. Three drawers in the desk were pulled completely open and stacks of paper were piled around a white envelope, which sat directly in the middle of the desk, in front of an open computer.

Akechi moved around the desk. He lifted a stack of pages at the corner and thumbed through them - articles and reports that had been printed and documented since April, alongside letters of complaint and reports from students or concerned parents after the news about Kamoshida had broken. On Kobayakawa’s open computer screen was a small pop up with a ticking green bar - ‘Printing… (6/19) ’.

Akechi nudged the chair out of the way and leant down in front of the computer screen. He should have ignored it and kept his focus on his job but something was nagging at him, a feeling in his gut that told him that this was important, far too important to ignore, and he moved the mouse off of the little white popup and used it to scroll down the webpage that Kobayakawa had left his browser on.

At a glance, it was some kind of a script. By scouring the first lines and the headers, skimming over relevant phone numbers, it became suddenly clear that it was a transcript. It detailed phone calls, the time of day, and the numbers that were calling. It detailed what Kobayakawa said in plain text and the reply of the person on the other end of the phone in italicised letters, dating as far back as early April.

The number was familiar. It took Akechi a moment, brows furrowed and filtering through the words to try and decipher the dialect and mannerisms. 

A lot of ‘ If you will ’s and a few ‘ In the meantime ’s were reminiscent of a bitter attitude that Akechi had become familiar with. He narrowed his eyes, tapped his fingers on the edge of the desk for a moment, and had been just reaching into his pocket to compare the number to any in the recent messages from his burner phone when his eyes skimmed over an ‘ I’m certain you’ll know what to do ’ with such immediate arrogance that it finally clicked. They were transcripts of Kobayakawa’s calls with the SIU Director.

Akechi reached the bottom of the page. The most recent was dated for the 2nd of September, when Akechi had been informed that all business relations with Kobayakawa were severed, implying that he’d need to be dealt with soon.

And, exactly as promised, this transcript said as much. It was a confession of Kobayakawa’s guilt and corruption as much as it was a plea for pity. Between his assurances that he could find who the Phantom Thieves were, that he was still useful and still looking, was the desperation of a man who felt like he had a purpose in the rumoured future Shido was promising him. Whatever Kobayakawa was providing in this relationship evidently wasn’t enough to have ever guaranteed his safety. His fate was sealed months ago.

This was bad, though. Him gathering these documents - Printing… (11/19) - was evidence that Kobayakawa was compiling evidence to bring to the police. The implication being that if this got submitted as evidence, Akechi would need to go on a cleanup mission and ensure that nobody unreliable heard about this. The riskiest part was the likelihood that if Kobayakawa entered the police station, Sae could be assigned to speak with him. Knowing her, she would immediately accept any and all evidence he offered her, to scrutinise and pore over and make duplicates of so that Akechi could never cover it up.

Which meant that Kobayakawa had to be killed soon. It was already late in the evening. Akechi could plausibly go to his palace today; he could slip away somewhere quiet within Shujin and open the MetaNav from there, but it wouldn’t be ideal after the failure that his last visit had been. He needed to be thoroughly prepared before he considered going back.

He grit his teeth and picked up the envelope, slipping out some of the papers just enough to see what Kobayakawa already had. All that sat inside so far was a hand-signed confession, detailing his version of events starting in April.

Shit.

Akechi returned the envelope to the desk. He took the Calling Card from his inner pocket and tucked it under a book in one of the closed drawers. It would be ideal if Kobayakawa saw it, but he didn’t need to as long as it was somewhere that the police could easily find during their investigation.

And as Akechi was moving back from the desk and glancing at the popup to see how much time he had left - Printing… (15/19) - the computer chimed and an email notification appeared in the corner.

Akechi took the mouse and hovered the cursor over it so that the notification didn’t disappear, just enough that he could read what it was like without visibly compromising the way Kobayakawa had left his computer, and leant back down over the desk.

From a glance, it was clear that the email was not about work or about his upcoming confession. It was an email from a personal address and it started with a question about whether or not Kobayakawa ‘ Would be over for dinner? ’. With a frown, Akechi skimmed over the other two lines visible in the email. It was ambiguous who it was from, but it seemed that they were surprised about why Kobayakawa chose to visit them again now, and they seemed to be expecting him later that evening.

From what Akechi could gather, Kobayakawa had plans to visit family for dinner that evening. They were likely a short journey away, and the plans came across as being thoroughly last-minute. 

Either Kobayakawa planned on making amends, or was expecting to be exiled from his family soon. This case and his involvement in such a large scandal was likely to put an extremely unfavourable light on his family name and if he wasn’t going to be arrested he was certainly going to be shunned by them. It seemed that he planned on using tonight to make the most of it before he ruined everything.

Which meant it was extremely unlikely that he’d go to the police tonight. That was good. Waiting until tomorrow would be risky, but it meant that Akechi could sleep and eat before he threw himself into a Palace, and all he had left to do was get that keycard before he shot Kobayakawa’s Shadow.

He eased back from the computer, skimmed his gaze over everything stacked in place to make sure there was nothing to indicate that someone else had rifled through Kobayakawa’s belongings, and moved back towards the door.

He pressed close to it and, holding his breath, listened out for anything. Whispers or footsteps or the sliding of doors. It was only when he was confident that there was nobody lingering nearby that he slid the door open, slipped out, and drew it firmly closed again. The Calling Card had been planted, Kobayakawa was sure to see it, and Akechi could put off going to his Palace until tomorrow, when Shujin would be empty of students and staff.

The walk back to the gates of Shujin Academy was uninterrupted and Akechi left unnoticed. He changed at Shibuya and, again, found himself looking for unkempt black hair in the crowds despite knowing better. He’d been trying firmly to ignore that nagging curiosity about Akira for the last few days. Akira hadn’t texted him once, so he’d slipped back into the pattern of assuming that every time his mobile went off, it would be Sae trying to reach him about work, but the absence was… noted. 

They didn’t talk often , unsurprising given Akira’s tendency to only respond to what interested him and only when necessary, but they talked. Their last conversation had been the evening after their visit to the aquarium; Akira had messaged Akechi to thank him again for the invite and Akechi had assured him that it was no problem at all and that he’d enjoyed the time they spent together.

It was fine. It was unfortunate that there was that undeniable curiosity, one that Akechi couldn’t entirely justify as being for work, but being completely removed from Akira and forced back into his normal routine meant that he had to be reminded of what actually mattered. No small smiles, pleasant conversations or ‘friendly’ debates would distract him from his true goals. Knowing that at the end of this Akira had to die was for the better, he considered as he filtered through onto the train to Kichijoji and tucked himself in amidst the Saturday crowds. It would make every wasted second worth it to see Akira’s always determined grey eyes wide with panic when he realised what Akechi truly was.

It would be a fitting punishment for Akira getting under Akechi’s skin the way he did. More importantly, though, it would be a useful reminder for Akechi that he didn’t have room in his life for anyone. No matter how well-intentioned or unassuming, nobody went to Akechi without ulterior motives. Nobody befriended him without intent to use him. 

Akira was no different. No amount of small talk or friendly competition would change the fact that Akira befriended him to use him. 

Akechi disregarded the thought as the train pulled into Kichijoji station. He stepped onto the platform, quietly endured the journey to Kichijoji, and by the time he was reemerging from underground it was early evening. Realistically, Akechi should have gone home. He should’ve started on that studying routine he’d established yesterday and reminded himself of the risks of entering Kobayakawa’s palace, but he didn’t.

His feet directed him instead to the doorway of the Jazz Jin . He hadn’t been in a few weeks, but he missed the environment. Any lingering frustrations he had melted away when the lights grew dim and the ambient jazz music coming through the speakers enveloped him. He approached the counter, pulling his wallet from the counter and collecting the entry fee. 

“Good to see you again,” Muhen said from behind the counter, his voice smooth and comfortable. He didn’t speak often with people who weren’t regulars, and it had taken until the fifth or sixth visit from Akechi for Muhen to greet him rather than just welcoming him in with a nod and asking for the entry fee. 
“And you,” Akechi assured him, smiling as he handed over the money. “It’s quiet today.” It was meant as a compliment. Quiet was good - quiet meant that Akechi could tuck himself away, enjoy the music, and think. The drinks and the comforting ambiance of the Jazz Jin pulled him easily from any stress spirals, and the customer base being older tended to guarantee that he’d be left alone.
“It’s a nicer feeling when it’s quiet,” Muhen agreed.

He wore authority well within the Jazz Jin , but was unimposing and welcoming and even on the days when Akechi came staggering in, needing to think about something other than work, and paid the fee without saying a word, Muhen would coax conversation out of him eventually. Harmlessly, without pushing, often with such an affirming presence that Akechi wouldn’t realise was working on him until he was talking.

“School treating you well?”
“My grades are fine,” he said, with a sentiment that would usually have been enough for Sae would have gotten her to change the subject with an approving nod. Muhen, however, frowned. The look he gave Akechi was intensely familiar; the same that Sae gave him when he didn’t do enough studying for her standards and the same any of his superiors gave him if he wasn’t working well enough or fast enough or with as much dedication as they’d expected from him. It prefaced a lecture or a disapproving sigh or something that Akechi would have to politely accept and apologise for.

But Muhen didn’t berate him, or shame him. He moved away from the counter, still looking at Akechi.
“You’re a good kid,” he said, in a tone that suggested that he wasn’t certain how much he could say. How much he should to someone he only knew in passing. Somehow, the faith in him felt worse than being told he should try harder, do better, apply himself more. “Don’t let it get to you.”

It took.a moment but Akechi nodded. 
“I won’t.”

“Good. Now, what’ll it be?”

 

---

 

 

The Jazz Jin provided him comfort and company until half an hour before it was due to close. Akechi sat on his own at a table against the far wall, drinking a purple drink that Muhen had recommended for him to try. 

He watched as people came down the stairs, watched as Muhen offered them nothing more than a passing acknowledgement and a smile when he took their entry fee, and as people settled for the evening. It got busiest a little after nine-thirty in the evening with most tables occupied and Akechi watched as couples filtered in and ordered drinks to try, talking about the mundane and filling one another in quietly on gossip. He ignored most of it, enjoying the time to people watch and think of nothing but his drink.

Occasionally, his attention would drift off to Akira. He was glad that Muhen hadn’t mentioned that he’d come by with company, unable to stomach the thought of another conversation about the mutual deception of friendship that they were both embodying. He kept flicking his gaze over to where he and Akira had been sitting when Akechi had stupidly brought him here. He still regretted doing that. It was presumptuous and indulgent and it had compromised the one place where Akechi could truly be himself with the risk of one day walking in and seeing Akira sitting there, stealing his safety.

Akechi pushed the thought from his head, instead focusing on the music to allow himself to focus on something better. Akira wasn’t here. Akira was still in Hawaii, and would be until tomorrow, which meant that Akechi wasn’t doing himself any favours by waiting for him to do the impossible and walk down that staircase to come find him.

Another hour rolled easily by before Akechi got up to leave, being one of the last few people present. He’d been there the longest and had gotten himself a few different drinks to try in the meantime to ensure that he was paying Muhen back for the space, and had briefly hoped to get to leave without a word when his name had been called.

“Akechi,” Muhen’s voice came, still smooth and completely calm, and Akechi stopped by the stairwell to turn to the counter. 
“I’ll be back soon,” he said, smiling. It didn’t feel as forced as usual. “Thank you for the drinks.”

With a nod that suggested that that was exactly what he’d been hoping to hear, Muhen nodded.
“Get home alright.”

And though when Akechi got home he still needed to run through his plans for Kobayakawa’s palace the next day, and he still had the stresses of blindly trusting one poorly-timed email for his complacent evening, he felt better when he got home than he had done in weeks.

It wasn’t saying much, considering the pressure that he was under and how awful September had been for him so far, but it was a nice change of pace. 

Hopefully, his luck was beginning to turn.

Chapter 35: Sunday, September 11th

Akechi’s good mood and his slight optimism didn’t last.

It was too warm to be navigating the train station in a hoodie, but Akechi didn’t want to be seen by anyone on his way to or loitering around Shujin Academy. Just as he had done when he first went to Kobayakawa’s palace, with Shujin locked, Akechi tucked himself away by some vending machines to pull the MetaNav up on his phone. 

The decision to wait had been a safe one after all. Not only had Akechi not heard anything from Sae about Kobayakawa turning himself in, but he hadn’t been contacted or berated by the SIU Director for it, either -- which meant that Akechi’s assumption that he’d spent the evening with his family the evening prior had been accurate, and any intent to turn himself in truly was going to wait. 

It also suggested that Akechi had the better part of a day to infiltrate Kobayakawa’s palace and considering he didn’t know exactly how long getting that keycard would take, the extra time would be valuable.

He’d stopped by a bakery when changing trains in Shujin - one that was small and that he didn’t frequent often enough to risk being recognised - while he prepared himself for what was inevitably going to be a very long and potentially a very painful day. He’d even bought a can of chilled coffee from one of the vending machines to give him the energy to get through the day, and stopped to eat while the sun watched over him, incessantly warm.

While scrunching up the packaging his bread had been in, Akechi filtered through the list of palaces sat in the app’s history, where it was spliced in between a dozen trips to Mementos. Akechi took a deep breath, tossed away his trash, and tapped the screen.

His eyes closed as the world around him shifted. The head rush came first, like standing too fast when tired. Even behind his eyelids, stars bled into his vision, and where the world swayed briefly beneath him, Akechi kept his back to the vending machine to keep himself grounded somehow, where the swaying and shifting of a palace tended to be less predictable and sometimes, if he hadn’t slept or drank enough, he’d need the support to keep himself upright. 

His skin crawled as the air shifted, thicker and suddenly ice cold, a growing anxiety settling across his skin to keep him on edge, guarded, bringing with it a familiar wariness that bordered on paranoia today. 

His hood no longer blocked the edges of his vision, replaced instead by his black mask and Metaverse clothes. Akechi’s gaze swept the surrounding area before he slipped out from behind the vending machine and towards the gate that had previously sealed off Shujin Academy. It was still closed, but as Akechi approached it, dreading the idea of needing to scale the fence in the real world before he could access it in the Metaverse again, the gate creaked open for him.

The searchlights weren’t active. Why weren’t they active? Why were there no Shadows? Was Akechi going to walk into an ambush? His skin prickled with anticipation as he approached the doors to Shujin Academy’s building.

Just as the gate had done, the doors swung open on their own to welcome him. A quick sweep of the surrounding area showed no signs of security cameras, and Akechi continued further inside. The air, though bitter and cold, had a thick and palpable edge of anxiety to it, intense enough that it was getting under Akechi’s skin. His eyes scanned the corridors either side of the entrance to Shujin Academy twice before he eased further into the hallway, scanning every inch of wall space in case there was going to be a camera he didn’t notice or a Shadow lurking just out of sight.

It took until Akechi had crossed through the first floor and was approaching the stairwell to the second floor that the reason for the sensation began to dawn on him. When he’d stepped in front of the eyes of a security camera during his last visit, there had been a thick sense of panic in the air, an unease that Akechi had assumed was his own surprise seeing more Shadows than anticipated appear. The frenzied, anxious state that followed and had inhibited him from striking down every threat instantly had not been the sole fault of sleep deprivation and growing tension with Sae. It was because of the security level and Kobayakawa’s paranoia - the same way that the atmosphere today was suffocating because the security level in Kobayakawa’s palace was abnormally high.

It was either relative to Kobayakawa’s anxiety regarding his own situation or it could have been a response to the Calling Card in his desk, had he seen it; a thought that then brought on further speculation on the necessity of the Calling Card. Akechi had always been under the impression that it was a publicity stunt and designed to divert the public’s attention to the next target ready for the Change of Heart that would follow, but it seemed to have a significant effect on cognition as well. 

Which brought on the question of whether or not it was obligatory in order to go through with the Change of Heart? If there was a need to make the intent known to the palace ruler and if that, too, was why it always specified the intent of the card. The reiteration of ‘taking a treasure’ and making one ‘confess their own crimes’ being useful to make the Shadow aware of the threat, to make them defensive… why? What did it achieve beyond paranoia?

‘At least if I receive a Calling Card, I’ll finally get the answer.’

The thought appeared from nowhere. The lingering awareness that Akechi wouldn’t know if the Phantom Thieves were targeting him or not until they received a Calling Card soothed him as much as it agitated him.

There was the benefit of knowing, even as Akira and his idiot teammates were away, that Akechi was not yet a target. It eased the prickling anxiety that when they came back, one day, he’d wake up somehow different in ways that he couldn’t describe, because he would know roughly when it would happen if he woke up one morning and a Calling Card was at his desk, or in his mailbox, or plastered everywhere in Shibuya station where he usually ran into Akira. However, the anxiety came from the same place. If the Calling Card was a crucial step and the closeness between Kaneshiro receiving a Calling Card and turning himself in was a point of reference, it meant that by the time Akechi knew that there was a problem, it would already be too late. He could pluck the Calling Card from his desk, skim over the writing and… what? Twelve hours later, become crippled with guilt and conflict? Buckle to his knees under the weight of everything he’d done, as if having every repulsive thing he’s done witnessed would suddenly make it too much to stomach?

And if the Phantom Thieves went into his Palace - provided that he had one - solely to ‘fix’ his sense of justice, they would find more than that. The way he’d found out about the SIU Director forging evidence, they would uncover years upon years of being dealt out like a business perk, of the knee-high blood that Akechi waded through as he approached his goal.

He purged the thought. He had to. There was more to focus on today than his own anxiety, and more that needed doing than worrying. He’d find out the purpose of the Calling Card not when one was sent to him, because the Phantom Thieves had no reason to target him, but when he had them in police custody and was able to interrogate them about their methods.

Until then, until a direct line of contact or supervision was somehow established, he’d need to move on. And he needed his focus completely on his surroundings to keep an eye on which security cameras were being manned and which weren’t. 

The nearer to the top of the stairs that Akechi got, the more that the palace actually seemed alive. The unease buzzed like static electricity, like the feeling in the air just after lightning strikes, and all of the security cameras had blinking lights. In the distance somewhere, Akechi could even hear footsteps. He stuck close to the wall and peered out around the corner of the stairwell, where a Shadow looped back and forth, hulking body slouched forwards so that its knuckles were grazing the floor, weaving in and out of the sight of the security cameras as it did and giving Akechi a path to follow.

Akechi’s next step was to find that Shadow, that ‘brown-haired officer’ and he needed to get that keycard. A locked room near Kobayakawa’s office was likely to be an obvious lead to follow - all that Akechi needed to do was wait for the Shadow to pass and imitate the safe path it followed around the security cameras to get there. 

He pressed his body flat against the wall, knelt low to the ground, eyes narrowed as he committed the swaying path of the Shadow’s feet to memory as they dragged against the floor. It’s breath wheezed as it was forced past the Shadow’s lips, and Akechi waited until it had just passed the opening of the stairwell to slip out from where he was hiding. He crossed the hallway, sticking to the walls, scouring the nearby rooms.

The lock was obvious. Heavy and silver, keeping one otherwise unassuming door sealed firmly shut. Again being wary of the security cameras, Akechi crossed the final stretch of corridor between him and that room, stopped with his back against it, and pressed his ear to the door.

Nothing. Just silence.

Akechi, not the type to use the brute strength he didn’t have, pulled his gun from his waist and brought it up to the door handle. He shot it once and the lock broke, prmopting the door to swing quietly open. Akechi caught the handle and held it ajar enough that he could peer inside, wanting to gauge what he was going up against before he was thrown into it. 

The room inside was dark. Even now it was silent, and the chill in the air somehow seemed worse inside of the room. The only dim lighting emanating from the gaps around blinds drawn over a window across the room, illuminating the edges of a table in the middle of the room.

Unable to see anything within the room, but with footsteps from the Shadow in the adjacent hallway getting louder, Akechi eased further inside and brought the door to a quiet close behind himself. It took another few moments for Akechi, dead still and cautiously lingering in the doorway, hand still resting on the door handle, to start hearing the breathing.

It was thin and short, each breath in and each breath out unsteady like the source was fighting through the midst of a panic attack. His eyes didn’t adjust well to the dark, especially not through the dark visor of his mask, but if he listened cautiously enough he could place the sound at the far end of the room, tucked away behind what he assumed was a table. 

Judging by the lack of blinking lights, there were no cameras in this room. Akechi took a step further into the room, moving slowly. He eased his hand from the door handle and his fingers traced along the side of the wall, searching for a lightswitch. Crossing the room towards the blinds meant getting closer to the erratic breathing and when it was impossible to discern what was making that noise, Akechi wasn’t taking risks.

Unease crawled along his skin. A warning, somewhere in the back of his mind, reminded him to take this cautiously to avoid a repeat of his last visit. Another voice, far stronger, told him that he was stronger than whatever was lurking in the dark and that caution wasn’t necessary. That mentality was what had given him a minor concussion and bruised ribs, so he forced himself to listen to that quieter voice and continued feeling for the lightswitch.

Another step forwards and something beneath his foot crunched. The breathing stopped suddenly and Akechi immediately stilled, his hand resting just over the switch. Silence dragged out, tense enough that Akechi kept his breath in his throat, before whatever-it-was across the room let out a shaky breath and promptly returned to those shuddering, short gasps.

Taking it that it was safer now, Akechi pressed the button for the lights. The switch clicked underneath his hand. Above his head red lights flickered as they were spurred to life. It felt like he’d stumbled his way into Mementos, walls bathed in red, the air sharp with chill but thick with humidity. Reminiscent of lying under a fan in the middle of summer, cool but somehow still leaving a clammy discomfort spread across the skin.

His eyes scanned the room. It was still hard to see anything beyond silhouettes, but as the last few rows of lights spurred on, Akechi could see the room itself now. For a palace without significant distortion, it was to be expected that the few sources of distortion would be so unpredictable, but this room was something unique.

The room was not only long enough that by all logical means it should have been cutting into the hallway on the far side of the floor, but the walls rattled and whistled like wind was whipping viciously at it from the outsides. Across the walls were a dozen different posters pinned up - one of which Akechi recognised as a post encouraging the students to speak to their Student Council President about any concerns, the same that had tipped him off about Kobayakawa using the Student Council for his own gain. About using specifically…

His eyes dragged to the far side of the table. There, hunched over, the source of that uneven breathing, was a small figure. No larger than he was, no larger than an average teenage girl. A police hat sat abandoned on the desk in front of her.

Brown hair, just as he’d been warned, and - why didn’t he put the fucking dots together any sooner? The office near Kobayakawa’s, beside the faculty office, he should have recognised that it was going to be the student council room. But if there was anyone that Kobayakawa would consider volatile and unpredictable, why her? Why was the ever-perfect student council president making enemies where she never would have done before?

With the shaking breaths uninterrupted by the lights turned on, and possibly-Niijima’s face buried in trembling arms against the desk, Akechi had time to think.

She had a keycard; that made sense if she was previously supposed to report everything back to Kobayakawa. She also had a room - the student council office - entirely to herself, where she was barred off and not allowed to leave. If they hadn’t gotten the keycard back from her, and if she was feared, had she refused to hand it over or had they sealed her inside without bothering to retrieve it?

Akechi’s eyes scanned the walls, imploring them to reveal secrets to him. He didn’t have the time to spare to dissect every little thing, but he was indulging himself the curiosity where finding the right piece of information could afford him power over Niijima or power over the Phantom Thieves. If Kobayakawa’s palace revealed something valuable to him that nobody else could have figured out without it, his prestigious reputation as a prodigy detective would remain unchallenged. 

He needed that. 

Only a few were relevant posters. Among posters about going to the Student Council with concerns were posters about the new counsellor at Shujin and upcoming festivals or events, and one about upcoming mock exams to attend. Some of the things plastered about the walls weren’t posters about the school, but personal details that made it clear that it was Miss Student Council President sealed away in here. Graded exams, written feedback from teachers, and the most telling of all: under Akechi’s feet were hundreds of recommendation letters for Makoto Niijima, all of which were missing any text beyond her name. Each copy had been shredded into pieces, one of which Akechi had to peel off of the underside of his shoe.

All that was written on it was ‘ On the behalf of Makoto Niijima, ’ the rest blank. Every single sheet of paper scattered across the floor was the same; the opening promise of a letter full of praise, but void of anything useful.

Was Kobayakawa holding a letter of recommendation against her? If Niijima was the only familiar face he’d seen at any of the mock exams he’d visited alongside her sister's insistence on Akechi’s grades and his school attendance was a good reference point, Makoto Niijima was likely to be angling for an extremely prestigious university. Between the good grades that she was clearly achieving, her reputation on the student council and her family legacy, she was securing herself an extremely comfortable future.

Not anywhere as comfortable as Akechi’s was going to be in a few months, he reminded himself bitterly, but comfortable enough .

Akechi stepped closer in the room. Scraps of paper crunched underfoot, curling upwards and grazing at the loose fabric of his pants. The breathing, again, stopped.

With one hand lingering by his gun, eyes fixed and firm on Niijima, there was nothing to be lost if Akechi attempted negotiation before she inevitably turned violent.

“Officer Niijima?” He called, placing emphasis on the honorific in an attempt at appeasement. Her head shot up, her eyes a startling crimson under the lights, and she seemed… crazed . She looked at him with her lips pressed into a thin line and an indistinguishable emotion clouding her gaze, but she seemed collected. In Kobayakawa’s cognition, she wouldn’t regard him with any familiarity even if he dropped his mask and told her his name. Probably for the best , he admitted to himself, considering how insufferable she is whenever we talk .

“ What ,” the word was spat, sharp and quick, like opening her mouth any longer would immediately lend itself to a lash of anger. It took another few seconds for her to dredge up the next few words, “Do you want ?”

Akechi made himself smile. She couldn’t see it beneath the mask, but it helped him put himself in the shoes of someone sitting on a talk show, or across from a journalist, or in the same class as his insufferable peers, able to stomach any backhanded compliments or thinly veiled insults that were delivered under the guise of curiosity and good press.

“My apologies, I don’t believe we’ve met before, but I’d like to ask if you have a keycard for the room across the hall? I’ve been told you do and I need to get there quite urgently,” he said, polite and sickly sweet.  Niijima, shoulders drawn up close to her ears, glowering at Akechi from her seat at the far end of the table, said nothing. Akechi took another step closer.  “Is it possible you could give it to me?”

The floor beneath his feet rumbled. He ignored it. This room seemed to exist on its own, separate to the rest of the palace, and as such it seemed that its atmosphere and structure relied solely on Niijima’s unpredictability. He wouldn’t let this faze him. 

“No.”

Niijima, very clearly herself, lifted her head. Her hair was tousled and unkempt, her eyes trying to dissect him and every ounce of intent that he brought into her office. 

“Ah, that’s unfortunate,” Akechi said, taking another step closer. His feet sank further into the paper shavings the further into the room he went. “I’m here on behalf of the higher ups-“ true enough, “-but I understand wanting to protect someone as… noble as Kobayakawa.”

Anger flared in her. Her eyes widened and the red haze of her eyes seemed to sharpen. The ground beneath Akechi’s feet rumbled and the scraps of paper seemed to grow heavier around his feet. The next step towards her was stubborn, like trying to wade through ankle-deep mud.

“Or am I misunderstood?” He took another step regardless, ignoring how the floor embraced him as he walked. Despite the impossible distance that the room had spanned when Akechi first entered, he’d somehow crossed most of it already, and Niijima was so close that he could see every detail of Kobayakawa’s cognition of her.

She wore a police uniform, the same as the Shadows did, with the visible outline of a bulletproof vest beneath her shirt. Her name was embroidered proudly over the breast of her uniform, but any further identification had been torn from her uniform and left a gaping hole in its wake - one that clawed its way past skin and revealed gaping red gaps in her flesh. 

It aligned with the understanding of Kobayakawa as someone willing to use her. Up until recently, she had been a diligent and well behaved officer, close enough to the upper ranks that she was the only other person with access to Kobayakawa’s office - until something changed and she became reclusive, unpredictable, unreachable. Resentful of Kobayakawa and wishing harm on him, as far as Kobayakawa himself saw it. Akechi didn’t trust that judgement much, but it was a valuable insight. It proved that Niijima was no longer being used by Kobayakawa, meaning she’d seen past the offer to write her a recommendation letter and realised that it was useless.

Somehow, though, this depiction of her was insulting, even to Akechi, who harboured nothing but distaste for her. Part of him felt indignant on her behalf that someone so completely put together and wholly polite had been bastardised and twisted into such a mockery of everything that they stood for. Kobayakawa had been using her, yet he saw her like this? Some senseless, vicious beast, only useful for servitude and to be discarded when that obedience was gone?

She used one hand to grip the edge of the table, her skin coated from nails to knuckles with something thick and dark and almost black in the red light of the room. She staggered to her feet, swaying as she did, and slammed both firsts firmly down against the table as she leant towards Akechi. The strands of paper from the floor, torn scraps, coiled up around his legs. It took a great deal of strength for Akechi not to pull back his feet, not to stumble and panic - instead he did as he had done while sinking lower into the paper, when the floor had rumbled: remained still and he said nothing.

“That-… that self-righteous, arrogant, self-serving bastard,” she snarled, a vicious reflection of either Kobayakawa’s self-loathing or what he feared others would be saying about him. The floor rumbled, intense and sudden as the snares of paper shot from the floor, wrapping themselves around his calves now. Her fingers, coated and dripping with that fluid, went to her hair and she clawed at it.

“Niijima,” Akechi started, though his curiosity stopped him from attempting to talk her down.

An agonised scream tore from her mouth and she staggered back, doubled over in what seemed like pain. She threw herself back a moment later, the scream guttural and wet where it tore from her throat. She split at the stomach like a Shadow did, bursting in half and in her place a monster tore free.

When it rose to full height, the ceiling warped and extended itself higher to allow her to move, and to allow Akechi - now buried in the paper scraps up to his mid-calf, with tighter coils of paper creeping just above his knees, to take in the full height of the monster in front of him.

The police uniform was now metal armour that encased everywhere on her body. At her chest it was a pristine silver, starting from where an identification badge would have been. Instead, a carved hole tore through her mechanical body. The further away from that empty spot her armour got, the blacker it was. Her fingertips remained black and dripping, and when the drops hit the ground they sizzled and burned. 

When she cried again, though now it was static and mechanical, reminiscent of old or water-damaged speakers. The sound was so intense it felt like a physical blow, spurring a sensation like the fluttering of insects wings inside of his head, and one hand shot instinctively to his head to try and give his ears further protection.

“Niijima-san!” he called out, louder now, his other hand moving back to his gun. “Give me the keycard!” His temper bit through the words. There was no longer a peaceful resolution to this, but when Akechi attempted to move away from her, his feet refused to move with him. The snare of the papers on the floor grew so tight around his ankles he could feel the edges cutting into his skin through his clothes. 

Ignoring it, Akechi kept his focus solely on what was once the cognitive Niijima. She staggered back for a moment, one arm disappearing behind her. Akechi watched as that hand swung suddenly down at him, clutching in it something black and metal. The angle his legs were being restrained at kept him from moving too much, but Akechi ducked low as best as he could and the swing of the baton grazed him as it shot by. Had he not ducked there was a chance he’d have been torn free from the paper and thrown across the room, however the tightness of the grip on his legs as the paper slowly coiled higher, however, gave the morbid idea that he’d have been severed at the knees instead. 

He raised his gun and fired three times; once at Niijima’s head - at the Shadow's Head , he corrected himself, as that thing did not deserve Sae’s sister’s name - which missed. Another at her body that whistled through the gaping hole through her left breast, and another that finally hit her shoulder with a clink and seemed to bounce off. 

He could have assumed such from the bulletproof vest she’d been wearing previously, but evidently the gun wasn’t going to achieve anything. He reached up for his mask and felt Loki’s excited shudder run through him as he tore it free from his face, throwing his hand out at her silhouette.
“Loki!” The eager thrill for a fight came suddenly, all at once, as if Loki had either hand settled on Akechi’s shoulders and was pushing him forwards, urging him to get back at this beast for all of the inconveniences of the palace. Promising him that it would make for wonderful catharsis after all that the real Niijima had put him through with her shrewd, studious gaze. If any part of him rejected that idea, it was entirely discarded by the thrusting out of his hand and the effortless call for violence. “Laevateinn!”

The red bathed room flashed briefly purple. A dark blade swung down from the ceiling and stuck the Shadow hard. The blade staggered and dissolved as it got past the Shadow’s chest and it roared in pain, the sound splitting. When she - when it , the Shadow that it was - stood upright again, it was standing at an angle bent toward where the impact had struck it.

Akechi took the sword from his belt and struck down at the ground. The jagged blade of his sword caught and dragged hideously across the scraps of paper with little effect but he swung again, then again, and the paper tendrils only grew tighter around his ankles. With a frustrated cry, Akechi swung his sword down into the mass of paper instead. It shuddered, like a living writhing beast taking in in a sudden breath, and the grip on his feet loosened just  enough that Akechi could stumble slightly backwards, losing his balance and toppling to the ground just as another brutal swing with that huge baton narrowly evaded him. 

More papers from the floor surged upwards rapidly, lunging for his arms and his stomach where he was on the ground. He scrambled quickly to his feet, certain that if he was restrained supine on the floor he’d never reemerge from the mess of paper scraps, and swept his sword up from where it was still half-embedded in the ground. While the Shadow struggled to pull back its baton from the ground and swayed with the weight of it, Akechi thrust his sword into that round crevice in her torso, to tug down and tear through her metal flesh. It caught for a moment and the Shadow abandoned her - it's - baton in order to crush the more imminent threat of whatever Akechi was doing. 

He tugged at the sword, sparks flying and a horrible wailing sound coming with it as the long blade was pulled out of it’s body, and he took a few urgent steps backwards, breathing unsteady. A large metal hand, with fingers pointed like claws, swung wildly towards him. It slammed into the ground by Akechi’s feet with enough force to make the floor tremble yet again, spilling that viscous fluid on the ground and splashing it over Akechi’s feet. The burning feeling made itself immediately noticeable, singing his skin through his shoes. 

The Shadow screamed again, pained, and the ground seemed to tense beneath him. It rumbled, tremors rippling through the paper scraps like waves at his feet. The living mass that was the floor was trying to shake him off, to send him stumbling back towards the door and get him away from that Shadow. The show of weakness and attempt to escape suggested that it was growing vulnerable or near-death. With a surge of desperate adrenaline Akechi stumbled forwards as the Shadow, muttering something incoherent and aggressive under its breath, let puddles of black spill from its metal maw. It’s gaping black eyes watched him with hatred. It staggered forwards, wading turning the pages black as it trudged. It left ash in its wake, swept up from the ground and becoming a thick fog around the Shadow’s ankles. 

Akechi raised his sword as it approached and threw himself forwards, raising his blade and thrusting it forwards towards the beast's stomach. The blade sank in up to the hilt and embedded itself within the metal flesh, bringing with it a fresh wave of that hideous black liquid from it’s body and its mouth. Drops of it were coughed forwards as that speaker-static agony started up again, spraying across Akechi’s extended arm. It burned . Instantly, like acid, his flesh was alive with pain and Akechi hissed through his teeth and yanked his arm back on instinct, dropping his sword. 

Beneath the fresh wave of pain, a new anger flared up fast and sudden inside of him. This fight was over. That thing was so close to death he could hear it's sputtered wheezing. He raised a hand to call Loki and the moment that he did, the Shadow surged, forwards with a grating, wet cough, its throat clicking like rusty pieces of metal being rubbed together. The wave of liquid came immediately after, a shower of black drops spraying from its mouth and across the room. There was no avoiding it, there was no dodging without crossing the room, and this close to victory, Akechi was not backing down.

Drops of burning black not-blood doused his skin and a fresh wave of pain crawled across his body, but he surged forwards, grabbed the sword — 

 

---

 

 

There were no further obstacles to prevent him from entering Kobayakawa’s office.

The keycard was left on the floor after the Shadow had dissipated. After retrieving it and tucking his sword safely back into place, the student council room was hollow and silent, the lights lifting to match the atmosphere of the rest of the palace and the room shrinking back to a normal size, as if the weight that Niijima’s presence carried brought its own distortion with it, revoked now that she was gone. 

It was disorienting to be so suddenly brought back into natural lighting, removed from such a hostile environment and into a room almost indistinguishable from reality. A reality where Akechi was able to cross a hallway, hold a piece of plastic to a little grey scanner, and immediately the door to Kobayakawa’s office unlocked.

For a moment, Akechi stayed outside. He closed his eyes, leant back against the wall beside the office, noting once more the lack of Shadows and the drop in security level from when he’d arrived, and he considered for a second how sorely he wished he’d packed something to eat. Whatever. He’d get something to eat when he was back in the other world.

His nails worked idly at an irritated burn spot on his forearm as he pushed up from the wall and turned to Kobayakawa’s office.

As he reached out to the door handle, his mind flashed at him a selection of all of the other hideous things he’d fought and all of the things that Kobayakawa could turn into. Some kind of vehicle of weapon, maybe? An animal? Some bug-eyed, frenzied caricature of himself?

Whatever it would be, Akechi could deal with it. He pushed open the door.

It was almost exact to his office in Shujin Academy. The layout was perfectly identical and though the colours seemed blue-tinted and desaturated, the only real difference was that the windows were completely frosted over and impossible to look through.

At the desk, with wide eyes, sat a timid looking man. Exactly as he looked when he sat behind his desk at Shujin Academy, trembling like a cornered animal and dressed, unsurprisingly, in the outfit of a police chief. 
“I’m not-” the blubbering came quicker than Akechi had expected, agitated and urgent, “I’m just doing as I’m being told! I’m- I’m a victim here!” Shadow Kobayakawa insisted, frostbitten and blue-tinted hands gripping to the edge of his desk. It was only when Akechi moved closer and Kobayakawa failed to pull them back he noticed that they were frozen in place.
“Tell me,” he said, taking the gun from his waist and raising it. “Niijima-san. What did you do?”
“Nothing-! Nothing at all!”

Akechi clicked the trigger. A bullet zipped past Kobayakawa’s head and shattered the window behind him. Cold air and the hissing of the wind cut through the following silence.

“I’m not a patient man.”

Kobayakawa gave in. He nodded urgently and muttered a quick ‘ yes, yes ,’ as he gathered his bearings. 
“It was just an investigation! She’s - she and the prisoners build rapport! She acts like one of them, I wanted her to find those terrible little rats for me!” 

Anger, defensive and sharp, again surged through Akechi. He ignored it. He had to ignore it. He didn’t care for Niijima - what did he care if she was being used?
“Rats? You mean the Phantom Thieves?”
An urgent nod. Akechi rolled his eyes.
“And?”
“And nothing! That girl went- she went crazy and suddenly refused to listen to me. She blew up, she insulted me, she refused any attempt at rationality and turned her back on me. I haven’t been able to control her since!” he cried, shaking his head fervently. Those hands twitched and tugged against the desk where they were frozen, but did not move.

Akechi took a few steps closer. The door was closed behind him.

“And did she uncover anything about the Phantom Thieves? Did you?” He could have already guessed the answer. Someone like Kobayakawa would never think to outsmart or deceive those who were above him. A presence of authority was to be bent to with the same unquestioning dedication he expected people to give to him. Still, Akechi asked.

And unsurprisingly, Kobayakawa shook his head again.
“No! Not at all, not a thing!”
“Mm. Unfortunate.” Akechi set his finger back on the trigger.
“Wait! Wait- wait-! You can’t! I’m a victim here, don’t you see it? Can’t you tell? I’ve done everything my superiors asked, but they want to get rid of me! Don’t you understand?” he pleaded, shockingly stubborn in the belief that he was a victim, so staunch it was disgusting. 

He stood from his chair and the frost around his hands crackled. For a second, Akechi expected him to get more frantic and to panic, to begin that aggravated transformation, but instead he leant over the desk with more frantic pleading.

“I did nothing wrong!” he kept insisting, and it took a moment for Akechi to realise that he wasn’t going to transform at all. “I’m just doing as I’m told!”

He either falsely believed that the notion of being a victim absolved him of every wrongdoing, or had misunderstood Akechi for someone with the power to be merciful to him.

“Yes,” Akechi muttered, pointing the gun square at Kobayakawa. “So am I.”

 

---

 

 

When Akechi got back outside of Shujin Academy, the sun sat low in the sky with a golden haze, spilling its warmth across the stretch of pavement leading back towards the high street and the station.

Akechi’s skin still itched. The entire walk back his nails grazed over the irritated and raw bumps of his skin, not hard enough to damage, only enough to keep the irritation at the forefront of his mind. His hood stayed up as he travelled back home, using the passing conversation of strangers to keep himself occupied between stops on the train. 

Very little of it was about him, which made for a nice change compared to the last few weeks. The news about Okumura was spreading fast. Students trying to figure out where to eat in the evening were saying that they ‘ really shouldn’t go there anymore… ’ when Big Bang Burger was suggested, and other restaurants on the high street were offered as a substitute. He even overheard some office workers suggesting to one another that if CEO’s were worth being targets of the Phantom Thieves for better work conditions, maybe they could get lucky too. The way they spoke of the Phantom Thieves was too admirable. The belief that the Phantom Thieves were saints and heroes, yet somehow would always bend to the will of the public was too high of a pedestal to be on. Even without Akechi’s help they would fall from grace eventually.

More takeout on his way home - a small stall in Harmony Alley selling fresh bao buns that he’d been eyeing up for a short while finally won him over. With Kobayakawa’s palace finally being dealt with and that man finally dead, Akechi could treat himself to something nicer than instant noodles for a meal.

His apartment welcomed him back with the same stale air and drawn blinds as usual, but it was comfortable and it meant that he had somewhere that he wasn’t going to be seen or spoken to. He sat at the low table in his kitchen and pulled his phone out to get the conversation over before he ate. 

The dial tone rang. Once. Twice. 

Click.

“Go on.”

No time for pleasantries, evidently. That was fine; if the Director didn’t want to uphold standard manners, then Akechi didn’t need to either. 

“It’s done,” he said, dismissive and distant. “Kobayakawa has been dealt with.”

“It took you long enough,” the Director’s tone was too disinterested. There was no relief in his voice, though there should have been, and none of the standard forced gratefulness for Akechi’s assistance. Not even a stale ‘ good job. ’ or even a ‘ this is why we go to you ’. He’d heard a lot of that during the early days of his career, an indiscreet manipulation. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. The job was completed in under twenty four hours.” Frustration bit into his tone.
“It should have been done yesterday.”
“I-“
“That useless wretch died before he was able to report anything, but he was on his way here.”

So Akechi’s suspicions hadn’t been unfounded. Kobayakawa had been visiting his family because he planned on ruining their family reputation the next day by turning himself in. And Akechi had unintentionally waited until the last possible moment to do his job. 
“As long as he’s dead, I did my job.”

A long, heavy sigh. Silence dragged heavy through the air and Akechi grit his teeth to avoid telling the old man to stop wasting his damn time. 

“How much harder will it be to accuse a man of suicide when he was on his way to the police station, do you think? Niijima has already started to ask questions about it.” 

Anger, again, shot through him. How the hell was that his fault?!

“I understand,” he said instead, though his words were biting and sharp. “I will not let you down next time.”

The call, punctuated with a snap of “I should hope not.” ended. Akechi, with grit teeth, threw his phone across the room and set his head down on the table in front of him. That vile man was going to die before the election. The only unfortunate part about that was that when Akechi had all of the power in Japan, he wouldn’t be able to order that snide little man around to get back at him for all of these useless tasks.

Akechi would take this frustration out on his Shadow when he could. Until then, he had to grit his teeth and endure it.

Chapter 36: Monday, September 12th

Tucked away at his low table in the kitchen, Akechi tapped his fingers on the table as the show he’d taped started dissecting the Phantom Thief trend and the influx of merchandise that had come as a result.

His phone, on the table, buzzed. Both of his phones had been buzzing non-stop all morning; one with updates from Sae, the other with messages from Shido and the SIU Director, both of whom were walking a fine line between begrudging praise and insult. Shido had messaged him first to say that it was good Kobayakawa was dealt with but adhered to the Directors method of praise, with the awareness that nobody but Akechi could do what he did but with intent to reprimand him into working harder. The message he’d gotten at 9:15 while eating breakfast had carried that same disappointed tone that last night's phone call had; it’s undeniable that you dealt with him in time, but this was too close.

Be faster. Do better. Don’t let them down. Even the usual 48-hour deadline was now being considered too generous? He was keeping his inability to attend school a tight secret and given the expectation that he’d be maintaining his usual levels of busyness, his ‘superiors’ should have known how unreasonable their demands were.

The TV cycled through different items, crediting which stores sold them and offering bland commentary on each item. Akechi glanced at his personal phone to reread the messages between Sae and himself.

Kobayakawa’s death had been ruled suspicious. Sae had been bouncing ideas off of him since the early hours of the morning. Even now, in the mid-afternoon, Akechi was still answering texts where she theorised and posited different reasons why he could have been so close to the police station when he’d thrown himself in front of a car. Akechi had already endured an hour-long phone call that morning to receive her briefing on the odd circumstances of his death.

“Would it be worth looking into Shujin again?” Akechi had suggested, cool and collected, when Sae’s complaints and curiosities ran thin. “Perhaps there’s something on his computer that could give us some insight?”

She’d ended the call with the assurance that she’d speak with the Director about it in order to gain permission to access his computer and all of the files on it. Akechi made a reluctant mental note to encourage him to deny the request.

“So, I’ve heard the surprisingly hot items at the moment are ‘masks’ and ‘calling cards’?” The cheerful voice of the TV host asked as the cameras cut back to the main stage. Akechi set his phone down and lifted his head. His microwave beeped to signify that his instant meal was done and he stood without taking his tired eyes from the TV.
“Here is a graph of the profits for stores handling these items,” rang out an overly sweet woman’s voice, responded to by that host, with a forced surprise, to point out that it was-
“Double from last year?! Phantom Thief goods seem to be in especially high demand!”
“I wonder how our guests consider this recent phenomenon!” That woman prompted again, looking past the man beside her, who took the nudge and turned to directly address their guest.
“What do you think, Akechi-kun?”

To have stooped so low as to feature on a news piece like this was an insult. Akechi was a prodigy, a celebrity , and he was being dragged into the spotlight to talk about merchandise sales? It was pathetic. And worst of all, it was the first interview he’d gotten in weeks, so there hadn’t been a chance for him to refuse.

Which, of course, meant that he had to once again tie in his branding and image with the Phantom Thieves. It meant that he had to use his platform as someone controversial, the opposition to the Phantom Thieves, to boost their publicity solely because it had the chance of making him more relevant again. 

The Akechi on the TV did well to smile and hide his clear resentment for the situation. His hair sat well. His skin was pale despite the best work from the makeup crew to bring colour to his cheeks, and it was almost unnerving how little the skittish, sickly thing in his kitchen resembled the man on the TV. 
“Well… I can sense some chivalry behind their actions.” A desperate attempt to ease his image back from the firmly anti-Phantom Thief stance he’d settled on. “They are clever to take the silent resentments of the public into account and relieve them. I believe that may be the secret to their popularity.” And, more importantly, he wasn’t going to discuss the goddamn merchandise. He’d cave and discuss the details of their fame, how fascinating it was, and he’d politely theorise on where that fame came from - but he would not give his opinions on the overpriced red shirts printed with the Phantom Thief hat on it that some measly company was shilling.

“Well this is surprising. Your stance seems to have softened.” Said as if they hadn’t already discussed what Akechi’s answer would be, opening the door for him to put a more sympathetic light on himself. And though he despised being sympathised, Akechi’s public persona needed a softer image.
“This doesn’t change the fact that they are dangerous. However… ” A controlled pause. Akechi-on-TV looked away from the hosts and the cameras and shook his head. “No, I shouldn't say any more.”

“Come on,” the goading, teasing tone of the host pressed him. Akechi could see the slight annoyance appear on his face just as quickly as it left. “You can say it.”
“Oh no, I won’t be falling for that.” Akechi-on-TV shook his head. Suddenly he was smiling again, still dazzling and effortless. “I’ve learned my lesson after the previous backfire.”

The host, pretending to be so considerate and so generous, smiled as he dismissed the line of thought. For a moment, Akechi had considered it a relief that the topic was being abandoned, but instead the conversation went on.

This was what Akechi was rewatching it for. No amount of analysing his TV-presence would rescue his reputation now, but outside of the moment Akechi wanted to know if the way he’d been spoken to was as insulting as it had felt in the moment.

“If I can’t twist your arm on that one, then, how about another question?” The cameras cut to a close-up of the host, pristine and put together. “That ‘backfire’ you’ve mentioned means that the Phantom Thieves are gaining a lot more positive attention, right?”

Akechi-on-TV spoke hesitantly. This was not on the script he’d been given. Whatever they were going to ask, they wanted the reaction to be raw.
“Yes, it seems that way.”

“Quite a surprise! I’ve even seen a lot of people apologising without being targeted by the Phantom Thieves. Do you have an opinion on this?”

Again, Akechi-on-TV did well to cover up his annoyance. Sitting at home, Akechi could remember the thoughts that had been going through his head when the question was posed; ‘Are you stupid or just pretending to be inept so that I have to spell it out? ’. The bitterness and resentment for making Akechi put to words what was clearly going to be controversial. To press him on a topic that his image was only barely recovering from. Asking him such a redundant question as if Akechi hadn’t made it clear from day one what he thought.
“Well, I’m still hesitant to speak on the matter but I will say - It’s telling, don’t you think?” He turned to the other host, the young woman who had been sitting quietly while they’d spoken. “If you were to ask anyone who the Phantom Thieves target, what do you expect that they’d say?”

“Criminals?” she said after a moment of surprise that she’d been included. She stopped and thought for a moment before following it up with, “Bad people?”

Akechi-on-TV smiled. He directed the conversation back to where he had control. Toward the one place where he had made his stance clear - the Detective Prince’s morals. 
“But that brings the question of why these people are bad and what they’ve done to deserve negative attention.” The cameras shifted what angle they were looking at him from. The new shot caught his face well, the lights almost made up for his lack of colour, and it almost appeared like he was speaking to the camera directly. “While there are some cases I can certainly sympathise with, I don’t know whose morals we’re all being forced to submit to. That’s my main concern.”
“Interesting!” The male host brought the attention back over to him. Another wide shot to show the three of them sitting there. “Though I suppose it is only fair you would have such a vested interest in this, isn’t it?”

This was where the trap was laid out. Akechi-on-TV, clueless, turned his attention back to the TV host.
“What?”

“Well!” He was grinning. Prepared for the attention this would get, the attention it was due to bring his TV station at Akechi’s expense, “it was hardly a secret that the newly-added polling system on the Phantom Thief website mentioned your name! We’ve all been wondering, Akechi-kun, how did you feel when you found out that you were top-ranked?”

Even now, at home, Akechi’s blood went cold. He could remember how it felt, under the watchful gaze of a dozen cameras, an audience watching his every reaction, the need to maintain his smile. Fighting against the discomfort and the sense that he was being insulted in order to focus on what he was meant to reply with.

His skin was crawling. The cameras cut close as Akechi-on-TV processed what he’d been asked and restrained the urge to point out that this hadn’t been in the script.

When he did speak, the words came out strained. The Detective Prince did not do well to hide how unexpected the question was.

“It was certainly a surprise.”
“I can imagine! And rather panic inducing, wasn’t it?” “Perhaps for anyone else it might have been,” Akechi assured, keeping his hands clasped at his lap to mask how his rage was making him shake. “I don’t need to be worried. It’s impossible to be in the public eye and take such a divisive stance without gaining some criticism. I’m certain that the righteous Phantom Thieves, if they are as noble as they claim to be, would have far more important things to do than feed into internet drama. Don’t you think so?”

“What an interesting stance to have! We can certainly hope that they’re too busy to do anything, can’t we?” And the host turned his toothy grin to the audience where he made a grand show of thanking Akechi for his time. 

Akechi paused the TV on a frame where the host stood in front of a crowd, a noticeably slightly pale Akechi sitting paralysed behind him, forced smile unwavering, waiting for the cameras to cut so that he could excuse himself. 

The worst part of that miserable interview had been that Akechi wasn’t able to chew the man out there and then for his mistreatment, for asking questions that were never disclosed to him - but he, of course, didn’t. Word would spread of his temper, his true nature behind the scenes. Too many eyes were on him for there to be gossip about misconduct or rudeness.

Even now, sitting at his table at home, Akechi wished that he had. He watched TV-ready Akechi, doused in makeup and smiling patiently, as he picked up the remote to skim back, scour over his behaviour and try to predict how much worse the influx of comments on his blog would be after this. 

Images of Phantom Thief merchandise crossed his screen and Akechi resumed the program as the TV host and his assistant began their discussion of how surprisingly successful Phantom Thief merchandise was becoming and brought his legs up closer to his chest.

The screen of his phone lit up again. Akechi reached out to pick it up. Sae was likely going to be asking for his opinion on something again, so he braced himself for a very tedious conversation when he tilted the screen towards himself.

‘ From: Akira Kurusu
Subject: Hey
Back from Hawaii. See you soon? ’

Something like dread shot through him. This game wasn’t over yet. He potentially had months more for this game of cat and mouse to run its course, all the while he had to play nice with Akira. 

But for a short moment Akechi had convinced himself he’d be able to sever his curiosity and personal resentment toward Akira during the week that they spent without contact.

He clicked on the message, working his tongue between his teeth, and typed out as disinterested a reply as he could manage.

‘To: Akira Kurusu
Subject: Re: Hey
Yes. See you soon.’

Notes:

so as of when i'm posting this [jan 6th] it's actually officially one year since this concept spiralled from a one shot/ficlet idea into its own massive project and I started working on it as the fic that it is now. It has been a very surreal year, with a lot of changes in my life and my social circle, and many, MANY of my irl friends have heard me losing my sanity in real time as Goro Akechi changed from 'character i find interesting but dont care much for' and rapidly became 'character thats consuming me alive and holding me hostage'. and thats beautiful.
more importantly i just wanna say ty to anyone reading and ty to anyone who has made any of the numbers on this fic go up. i write it because i find this concept interesting, but i really like knowing that when i throw this out into the abyss there is a group of people somewhere out there that enjoy reading it. at this pace it should be finished within the next year (maximum!!) and i'm also planning on having like a chapter at the end of this fic where i put a lot of my thought process and explain some of the choices i made while writing this. because beyond my insane digital pinboard detailing every single event that happens involving akechi every single day of the game or my personal recreation of goro akechi's conspiracy corkboard so that i could refer to it accurately whenever i brought it up, i have done. so much more for this fic than i can put into words.
here is to another beautiful akechibrained year. and to many more beautiful personabrained years.
[+ if anyones curious, the original thought that led to this entire thing was "what if i wrote a fic about akira by someone who would understand and analyse all of his little traits and behaviours?" and realised that the best person to excessively analyse joker would, ofc, be akechi.]

Chapter 37: Tuesday, September 13th

It could very easily have been Akechi’s imagination, but from the instance that he had entered the police station, the animosity in the air had been suffocating.

It hadn’t been long since he was last in. Maybe he had avoided enough people last time he was here that it’d been harder to notice the way that they, bustling between rooms and exchanging information on their cases, looked at him. Maybe he usually caught Sae early enough that speaking with her provided enough of a distraction from how people twenty years his senior scoffed when he passed.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad and his mood was just soured by the journey here, where suddenly his presence had been so unbearable that while he’d tried to squeeze onto a busy train, someone wearing his school uniform had scoffed and moved into exactly the open space by the door that he’d been hoping to fit into. He had gotten a later train to Shibuya as a result, and any hopes that the day would improve had been dashed when a group of students from Shujin Academy walking behind him had shared a very loud conversation sharing exactly what they thought of yesterday's interview.

Supposedly, Akechi had come across as cowardly, pathetic, and obnoxious. Talking highly of the Phantom Thieves only made him spineless and further insulting them made him seem arrogant, putting him in this tense middle ground where nothing that he said would be deemed acceptable.

‘ It’s all because of them that he’s famous, anyway ,’ he’d heard one of the Shujin students say as they branched off to look at a display of magazines. Even recalling it, his nails bit into the palm of his hand until he reminded himself to relax.

Nobody wanted him around. Merely his public presence was obnoxious and insulting to have to endure. What, then, was he meant to do? His school had turned their back on him, the public despised him no matter what he did or said to rescue his image, and he was supposed to endure it with a patient smile while the Phantom Thieves received praise and acclaim for the few ‘noble’ things that they did?

He’d hoped, at least, that work would have treated him with the same distant coldness it always did. He’d grown accustomed to being ostracised and ignored, with silence interrupted only by people hoping to use him.

No matter. Akechi still had his studying schedule to adhere to and a couple of stray reports to fill out while he passed the day. He’d brought his Japanese history textbooks and the notes that his homeroom teacher had given him on the curriculum so he had the full day at his disposal.

And while settling down with a coffee, Akechi had almost tricked himself into thinking that today could have been easy.

However, what was supposed to be a much needed break from being trapped in his apartment had quickly become a stressful day with spotty focus. Every person that passed and every conversation that he could overhear from his desk, Akechi stopped to listen in on. He was seized with a selfish sort of paranoia that all conversation was inevitably going to be about him, and a looming anxiety told him that even if the conversations he could hear weren’t about him, certainly those happening elsewhere in the station were . The rational part of him knew that this was extreme, that there was no reason that the adults that he worked alongside would be as spiteful towards him as students were, yet an instinctive, defensive part of him told him firmly that he was right to be worried, that he can’t prove people aren’t talking about him.

For every five minute burst he spent skimming through his textbook and willing himself to focus, he spent half an hour lost in stressful spirals, holding his breath to better hear what was being said about him in conversations a room away, keeping himself quiet and unimposing to avoid drawing unwanted stares. Catching himself tapping his pen or his feet and forcing himself to stop so that he wasn’t going to distract anyone. 

By the time Akechi relented to the fact that trying to get anything done anywhere other than his own desk was slim, it was early evening and very little studying had been done. 

Still, he’d tried to keep his head down for just a little longer, but he lost his focus completely when he overheard a conversation between two senior officers a room over. They were likely stopping by the vending machines after a meeting.
“And that’s all true, then? It’s seriously that bad?”

His chest had seized. This was the moment he was overhearing a conversation about himself, about how his presence at the precinct was making things worse for his coworkers, as it had been doing for his classmates. They likely weren’t aware he was sitting around the corner. 

“Yeah. Apparently nobody was meant to know about it but the whole department’s aware. It’s unbelievable. Some people really have to learn their place.”

Akechi didn’t dare breathe too loudly. He kept his hands where they were, holding his pen against the paper and slowly forming a splotch of black ink dark enough to seep through the page.

“We should’ve seen it coming. If any of us were going to do something that stupid, it’d be her.” Her? One of the officers cleared his throat. “Niijima’s really gone and thrown it away now. If that cafe owner files an official report, it could get her taken off of that case she’s on.”

Sae - and a cafe owner? Briefly, Akechi recalled the bitterness that Sojiro had greeted him with when he’d mentioned her name in passing. Whatever she’d done, it’d been severe enough that somewhere like this could take action against her? No doubt she’d receive a more harsh punishment than anyone else here, given her already tenuous position and her sex, but in a building as corrupt as this, what the hell had she done?

“If Niijima had been more discreet about it, this wouldn’t be an issue. She must be unstable to act like that. How old is she now? No husband, no kids, and she’s threatening someone else’s custody?”

Akechi’s eyes widened. He lifted his head and looked in the direction the voices were in, the doorway that they were being carried through. He still couldn’t see who was saying it.

“It’s typical. That’s why this is a man’s job - this kind of behaviour is inevitable from women like her. The first obstacle they hit, they start this shit up.” 

Akechi lifted his pen, able to breathe again. His mind was reeling; had Sae seriously endangered the wellbeing of a child over this? He’d even encouraged her to do whatever it took, pushed her, but to stoop as low as this was something unprecedented. And at her favourite cafe?

The rest of the conversation diverted back to the meeting that had been had. Akechi waited until their footsteps started again, then until he couldn’t hear them, before he gathered up all of his belongings and decided that on his way home, he’d stop to visit Sae where she’d inevitably still be here working.

She was sitting near the entrance to the building, as she often was when they would bump into one another, with a cold coffee in front of her and her laptop open.

There was nothing from her stance or her expression when she recognised him that suggested that she’d be any warmer towards him. He had endured the coldness and disinterest of her gaze many times, he had inconvenienced and insulted her without ever feeling guilt, yet now when her piercing gaze fell on him, his blood ran cold. Even Sae? Even she couldn’t get past the obtrusiveness of his character when he had proved himself useful to her time and time again? He shook off the thought, because he had to keep himself focused on the moment, and approached her regardless.

It seemed that their relationship still needed mending after their trip to Shujin. Perhaps if he’d come to see her earlier, before overhearing that conversation, he’d have apologised. Now, though…

Sae looked up from her laptop, brushed her hair over her shoulder, and crossed one leg over the other as Akechi stopped beside her. 
“Good evening.”
“I didn’t realise you were working today,” Sae glanced again at her laptop screen and then leant back in her chair, tired eyes landing on him with something hard to place. She opened her mouth where Akechi assumed that there was going to be some kind of comment or assertion on the importance of his education, but shook her head and abandoned the sentiment. “I’d have asked for your opinions earlier, but I’d assumed you were at school.”

“I appreciate you being considerate of my studies,” Akechi said, intentionally vague, setting his briefcase down at his feet to show that he intended to stay and talk, but not sitting. “What would you like my thoughts on?”

“Everything. I mean, what progress have I made in the last month? I’ve gotten permission to interview some of the faculty at Shujin Academy, and the most important person to speak to has just died.” 
“It is rather troublesome.”
“And that’s not the worst part. Look at this,” Sae turned her laptop screen towards him. On it, the Phantom Thief Aficionado website was up - the comments that cycled in were full of praise for the Phantom Thieves, encouraging them, eager to see their next target. He was already familiar with the ways that their deranged fans had been speaking; still, a significant amount of hatred was being aimed towards him. Akechi made sure not to read them. Not to make it noticeable that he was reading them, at least. “The public believes in the justice of the Phantom Thieves. They have no interest in that principal.”

Of course they didn’t care about that man. Nobody knew him, all they knew was that he was complicit in covering for that PE teacher. Akechi, for a moment, was curious about Sae’s personal feelings on the matter. Kobayakawa’s death was supposedly tragic and without justice, but that undignified, greedy, power-hungry man had been manipulating Sae’s sister. If she was annoyed at Akechi for recognising something so personal had happened and not sharing it with her first, what did she really feel about Kobayakawa’s death?

In the corner of his eye, Akechi’s name flicked across the screen again as another reel of comments filtered through. His gaze instinctively flicked down to it. Another handful of insults thrown towards him and his previously perfect reputation. Akechi stepped closer to Sae and turned the computer back towards her.

“I’m experiencing equal levels of frustration. My comments on TV turned everyone against me.” He turned the computer away from himself. Sae adjusted where the screen sat so that it was at her eye level again and frowned. She knew very well the animosity - she was once again looking at the website, expecting something to come up that could give her some answers, and reading every single vicious comment about Akechi in the process. “Then again, I won’t allow mere criticism to break my spirit so easily.”

“We won’t keep letting ourselves be defeated, either.” She spoke without hesitation. Firm and confident. “My suspicion after the hacker’s case last month is now conviction, thanks to the principal’s death. The mental shutdown cases and the psychotic breakdowns are surely the Phantom Thieves’ doing.”

That was one thing working in his favour.

“I remember the data you showed me about Okumura Foods.” Akechi glanced again at her laptop and had to remind himself that none of the comments would be saying anything new. That this was more important - this would determine how soon Okumura needed to be dealt with. “Is that the basis for these beliefs?”

Sae nodded. 
“There have been frequent occurrences of mental shutdowns surrounding Okumura recently. If only there was a clear connection between him and the Phantom Thieves…” Her nails tapped against the table. This lack of evidence was clearly a point of frustration for her; one that, within the next few weeks of investigating, Akechi was certain would no longer be an issue. “Well.” Her voice pulled him from his thoughts. “It would be problematic if there wasn’t one.”

Still, though, encouraging her would not help. Pushback fuelled her. And Akechi, with the inexplicable annoyance he felt since he found out that she’d challenged Sojiro’s custody, wanted to push her. 
“So you’re jumping the gun here.” It was meant to be the start of something bigger, some broader accusation about her character, but the idea of her standing in Leblanc and openly broadcasting her corruption struck too strong of a chord. Akechi mentioned it without even meaning to. “You really told a man you would terminate his parental authority based purely on your speculation?” 

When she looked at Akechi again, any surprise that he knew about it was instead overruled by anger that he’d brought it up. Akechi, in an attempt to diffuse, shook his head and softened his tone.
“I’m surprised you would say such a thing to the owner of a cafe you frequent…”

Assuming that he had only asked out of concern on her behalf, Sae’s gaze relaxed.
“It’s all for the sake of the case.”
“You may have the backing of the SIU’s director… but you’ve been far too aggressive, Sae-San. You’re trespassing into police territory. Don’t say nobody warned you if this becomes an issue later.”
“...My superiors told me the same thing.”

Tense quiet. Akechi moved closer to the table and extended a metaphorical hand. He could move past this for the time being. He needed to, given that she was his only reliable contact within the police force and that she was willing to investigate wherever he directed her.
“We first need to know what methods the Phantom Thieves are using. The police can’t move unless that becomes apparent, after all.”

Sae may as well have hit his hand away.
“This opponent can’t be caught by following the rules. What need is there to stick to formalities?” Evidently, she felt she didn’t need his advice, nor his suggestions, and when it was offered she didn’t want it unless it perfectly agreed with her.

In which case, Akechi didn’t need to maintain his manners, nor did he need to keep her on his good side. She could figure it out well enough on her own.
“So you wish to ignore protocol in order to reform society? I hope you realise that’s no different than what the Phantom Thieves are doing.” He picked up his briefcase. If he turned his back on her now, she’d only double down. He knew this. Yet, “It’s a shame, especially since we both want to capture the culprit behind the psychotic breakdowns.”

He didn’t need them to be friends alongside their business relationship. When she inevitably next asked for his opinions, or he was inclined to offer her advice, he’d do it at the police station, objectively, and that would be all.

 

---

 

However he found his way to Leblanc, Akechi couldn't be certain.

He couldn’t recall travelling there. He couldn’t recall getting on the train home, or changing trains at Shibuya and choosing to go to Yongen-Jaya rather than Kichijoji. He didn’t remember a second of the walk from the station to the backstreets and the alley that housed Leblanc, and he definitely didn’t remember sitting at the counter.

Here he sat, however. With a cup of coffee in front of him, the TV playing across the room, blinking himself back into reality.

He lifted his head to glance towards Sojiro, who stood behind the counter with his head craned towards the TV. It was some news report discussing Okumura Foods and his actively souring reputation.

Had he already greeted Sakura? Had the polite small talk been made and moved past, or had he come in silently, sat down silently, and Sakura had simply respected that he wasn’t in a talking mood? Why couldn’t Akechi remember how he got here?

Akechi took a sip of coffee. It was warm across his tongue, and when he swallowed the warmth permeated his chest and his body, fighting off a chill he hadn’t realised he’d been feeling. It was mid-evening, likely not long before Leblanc closed, in the middle of September. Akechi was still only in his short-sleeved school shirt, so it was no wonder that he’d been cold, but how hadn’t he noticed?

One hand moved to his head. He pushed his hair from his eyes and pushed back the urge to rub his eyes, reminding himself tiredly of his concealer.
“The coffee is just as good as usual,” he said, quieter than he’d intended. Sakura heard anyway, breaking his focus from the TV and turning to look at Akechi with his usual content, slightly cocky smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” Sakura said, too casual. Effortlessly casual. An instinctive part of Akechi was immediately relieved, suggesting that he’d have been far more worried if Sae’s threat had been sincere, or was being acted on.

Was that why Akechi’s legs had carried him here? The concern for a kid he had no reason to care about - whose position was his fault to begin with? 

“Are you just here for a drink?” He spoke like he knew something. His hands in his pockets, that smile unwavering. “Akira’s upstairs, if you want to talk to him.”

Akechi didn’t get the chance to object. He wanted to, he meant to insist that this visit had nothing to do with Akira. He wanted to insist that he was only here for the coffee, to smile and laugh and shake his head as if it was obvious, but by the time he started to speak, Sakura was away from the wall and had turned his head toward the stairwell.

“Akira, one of your friends is here to see you!”

The word friend felt like a physical wound. Akira was only using him. He was only using Akira. They were not friends.  The opportunity for a sincere friendship was a lifetime away.

Regardless, Sakura turned back to Akechi and smiled.
“You’re lucky you got here so late. His school friends were all here until about an hour ago.”

Akechi could be grateful for that much. The humiliation would have been too much to bear if Akechi had been caught here by all of those unintelligent, bumbling fools that Akira considered his allies - especially Niijima.

Familiar footsteps came slowly down the stairs. Akechi instinctively turned his head towards the back of the cafe and that Detective Prince smile was back like a reflex. His eyes locked with Akira’s. The surprise appeared, then lingered a moment too long, and then Akira corrected himself with a pleasant expression and approached.
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Surprise,” Akechi said, soft. “I only came to get a coffee. I’ve got a lot of work to do this evening.”
“You chose here by coincidence, then?” Akira stopped at the far end of the counter. It was said like he knew that that was a lie, teasing Akechi for not simply saying his intent. Then Akira held up a hand and glanced back towards the stairwell -- “One moment.” -- before he disappeared back upstairs.

Akechi waited. He drank more of his coffee. The sooner it was done, the sooner he could say that he needed to leave, and he didn’t want Akira to string him along for another few hours. He needed to try and catch up on studying. He needed to figure out what to do if this current Okumura plan failed despite the successful turning of public opinion. He needed to figure out where, and how, and when he was going to kill Akira.

He’d give this five minutes.

Akira came back down the stairs after a second, something clasped in his hand at his waist. All that Akechi could see of it was a glint of silver.

This time, when Akira stopped, he was only a bar stool away. Still too far for this to be considered friendly. He held his fist out and Akechi extended his hand to catch whatever was being given to him.

“I got this while I was in Hawaii,” Akira said, “I know you said not to get you anything, but I saw this-” it dropped into Akechi’s palm. A key ring - the charm on it was small, about the size of the pad of his thumb. It was a small, realistic model of a fish coated in some kind of iridescent gloss that made it shine in the light. “And it reminded me of our trip to the aquarium.”

It was only a trick. This was all done to try and superficially make Akechi feel ‘attached’. He knew that when he’d seen it, Akira had done a cost-benefit analysis of whether or not the cost of it, those few thousand yen, would be a worthy investment into their ‘relationship’. Akira had no other reason to buy him gifts like this. Not keychains or fancy pens, nor to pay for trips to the bathhouse, but he did. 

And the firm reminder that it was all a trick was the only thing that snuffed out the odd tightness in his chest and the strange awareness that Akechi had yet to give Akira anything in return.

“Thank you,” he said, closing his hand around it before tucking it into his pocket. “I hope that the trip went well. It’s unfortunate that it happened so soon before the principal…” A deliberate pause. “Perhaps this isn’t a topic to discuss now.”
“Probably not,” Akira said, leaning against the counter. Not sitting. Not wanting to stay. His eyes flicked to the door behind Akechi, then at Sojiro, who was still staring at the TV, before finally getting back to Akechi. 

“Is everything alright?” 
Akira, with his smile failing to reach his eyes, nodded.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. I just have schoolwork to get back to and- you said you had work?”

It wasn’t meant to sound cold, but it was. It was distant and distracted and with the way Akira’s eyes were so hesitant to stay on Akechi, it suggested that he was waiting for something. Someone. That unwelcome feeling from earlier seeped into him again. Just like he felt in class, just like he’d felt that morning being blocked from getting the train, just like he’d felt at the police station.

And now Akira wanted him gone, too.

It was unsurprising, but the wound was abrasive and raw, stinging like a chemical burn and Akechi had to swallow the bitter taste on his tongue before he snapped at Akira or commented on how pathetic his manipulation attempt was going to be if he wasn’t able to maintain a false endearment for more than five minutes.

“Yeah,” Akechi finished the last of his drink and slid the cup away from him. “I’d stay for longer if I could, but you know how it is.”

“Yeah.” Akira tucked his hands into his pockets. “It was good to see you.”

Akechi stood from his seat. He set money on the counter for his coffee. It was a little too much for the house blend, but he picked up his briefcase without waiting for Sakura to take the cash. Akira wanted him gone, so he’d go. Everyone wanted him gone. He’d go. He’d retreat back to his apartment in Kichijoji to simmer in his resentment alone, as he was supposed to be, and he’d stop wasting his time socialising.

“Thank you again,” he said to Sojiro, moving back to the door. “And thank you for the souvenir.”

He turned and slipped out the door into the dark evening without waiting for a reply.

Notes:

for those who havent developed an encyclopedic knowledge on the canon dates in-game, the 13th of September is when the PT's have that huge argument with Morgana and he runs off. so joker was glancing impatiently at the door bcs he was hoping morgana would come back + he was being accidentally distant bcs he was worried about his kibty. i dont usually clarify every little choice i make but i wanted to mention this since its dependant on a canon interaction that i have no reason to mention bcs akechi has no reason to know about it :D

Chapter 38: Thursday, September 15th

They’d gone for it.

The Phantom Thieves had taken the bait. The news last night reported that Okumura Foods Corporate HQ’s windows had been broken and a statue of Okumura defaced. 

By the time Akechi had seen the report, he’d spent the day pacing back and forth through his apartment. His thoughts were, beyond being stressful, anxious, and irrational -- uncharacteristic. One of the few things that Akechi was usually able to pride himself on was being more logical than this. The scraps of his social life were usually such distant concerns when compared to maintaining his perfect appearances and working towards Masayoshi Shido’s downfall -- so why was he now unable to shake off invasive, anxious thoughts no matter what he occupied himself with?

The previous morning had been spent lying in bed, his full body tense, staring at the ceiling and trying to interrupt thought spirals by filtering through the material that he had been studying recently. 

It had not helped, Akechi relented around the second hour, when he’d moved from authors and the themes of their novels to different historical periods of Japan and was turning, with increasing desperation, toward less academic lines of thought. He’d filtered through the drinks on the menu at the Jazz Jin - How long before he had to stop going there, too? Before that ended up overrun with Phantom Thief news now that their presence was so inescapably large that he couldn’t hide from it even there? -  before moving onto the list of victims he’d been pushed towards over the years. He started with the few ministers and politicians whose palaces he’d visited to procure blackmail material for Shido, then the SIU Director onto Wakaba Isshiki. 

In the Metaverse, it was easier. The control was all his. He knew what to expect - each interaction had its structure and every time it was going to end with Akechi winning. And then, his head tipping over towards the mess of red thread and photos pinned above his desk, that mugshot of Akira pinned against his wall, there had been the dull realisation that there was no longer a guarantee that he would be the sole authority in the Metaverse. That now, in every single facet of his life that had once been predictable, that he had knocked it all over. It was a strong, suffocating reminder that some spineless criminal had thrown every single aspect of Akechi’s life completely off balance —

And the spiral had started over.

Hunger had been what finally pulled him through it enough to get out of bed. It had been mid evening when the aching and gnawing of his stomach had become too much to ignore. He’d forced himself to the kitchen, lightheaded, and turned on the TV to provide a distraction while he turned on his kettle. He braced his arms back against the counter, looking up through unkempt brown bangs as the news cycle filtered through.

That had been when the news of the break in at Okumura’s Corporate HQ had been running through the news cycle. The relief that the bait had been taken barely registered compared to the dull, frustrated acceptance that there was more to go through. That the Phantom Thieves were a problem that would only go away once killed. 

Fine, then. He’d get rid of their inconvenient, miserable, self-righteous existence as soon as he could.

The call from Shido came in as he’d been sitting down at his low table. The ringtone cut through the TV report, drifting from the open door to his room, and when it’d taken him a few moments to be willing to answer the call, Akechi stood and staggered over to it.

All he had to do was answer, ignore whatever insults were thrown his way, and assure Shido that this was all according to plan -- which was why it had been such a surprise when Akechi, with the phone to his ear, had barely started the ‘ This is all under control, sir ’ had been cut off by Shido sounding almost impressed .
“That break-in,” Shido had been missing the usual edge to his voice. He sounded reasonably sober, put-together, and spoke without urgency. It must have been a good day. “I take it that you wouldn’t have done something so reckless without discussing it with me first.”

This wasn’t an accusation. It was a point in Akechi’s favour; ‘ I recognise that this wasn’t you. I know you’re far more controlled than this. ’

For the first moment all day, Akechi’s thoughts were clear.

Though Shido was blatantly trying to get Akechi to tell him what the plan was, where the last time he’d heard it maybe he’d been half-listening. The illusion that Shido had more than a passing concern for whatever Akechi planned had long since fallen through; why waste time reporting the details? The outcome was all that mattered - if that didn’t come to fruition, Shido could snap at and berate Akechi until he patched together a new plan, one that wouldn’t fail.

Now, though, he was paying attention. Of course he was - he had to pay attention. Akechi was proving himself again and again as capable and reliable, able to stack the cards and predict how they would fall. Okumura’s death at the hands of the Phantom Thieves would be his greatest achievement.

“The poll on that little website that the Phantom Thieves use was easily rigged and they seem to be blindly following the will of the public. The Phantom Thieves must be using the break-in to get past a cognitive barrier, which means that they’ve taken the bait and that Okumura will be their next target.”
“Good.” Something could be heard shifting on Shido’s side of the phone. Papers on his desk most likely. Akechi could imagine him, sharp enough to know how to keep tabs on Akechi and micromanage every little goddamn thing that he did - but complacency made him stupid, forgetting that Akechi had teeth. “And how will we prevent a change of heart from taking place?” We . Akechi’s nails bit into the wood of his table. They were not a team, it wasn’t their effort. It was all Akechi, risking his life and his reputation to do favours for a man he wanted dead.
“We won’t.”

He caught Shido’s scoff from the other side of the line and had to cut in before Shido accused him of having no foresight, of being reckless, of pointing out the obvious threat of having a wealthy benefactor who knew that Shido was controlling the mental shutdowns. 

“The Phantom Thieves will need to think that they have control. The public needs to think that it was them. When he has received a Calling Card, Okumura will contact you before he contacts the police.” Akechi paused. Shido seemed to be actually listening to him. Trusting him, recognising him. A feeling of sick content settled in Akechi’s chest; nothing mattered the way that killing Shido mattered. Getting this position of trust, having Shido rely on him for his expertise, it was all just building up to what would be the most important moment of Akechi’s life. When he spoke again, his words came out cool, controlled, wearing the authority that he knew that he had. “Then I will wait until the Phantom Thieves believe that they have finished the job and I will kill him.”

The idea didn’t need to be fed any further.
“The Phantom Thieves will be the perfect scapegoats,” Shido finished. Approval was bleeding into his tone, understanding and trust for what Akechi was saying. The thrill of hearing Shido finally get it , almost in awe of what Akechi had decided, was undeniable. “Excellent work.”

Akechi, finally, felt the anxious tension he’d been needling in all day ease out of his body.
“All I will need from you is to be told when the Calling Card is delivered.”

 

---

 

The finer details, Akechi considered as he stepped off of a midday train, were ones that he didn’t report to Shido. 

He already knew who the Phantom Thieves were, so identifying them wouldn’t be a problem as opposed to witnessing them and assessing what kind of threat they posed. 

As for gaining access to Okumura’s palace - the property damage done as Okumura Corporate HQ suggested that they had already found the keyword. Akechi had attempted to brute force his way through the navigator app with guesses of his own, but after many failed guesses, he’d opted instead to wait for the Phantom Thieves to inevitably show up so that he could follow them in.

In the meantime, Akechi sat on a nearby bench with a coffee from a local cafe. One of the books he was supposed to be studying in class was still in his bag, so he skimmed through it for the better part of an hour while he waited. 

It was when Akechi caught sight of a familiar, colourful group that he lifted his head and tucked his book away.

Standing huddled around a phone, so indiscreet it was painful , stood each of Akira’s friends. Sakamoto, Takamaki, Kitagawa, Niijima, and most surprising of all - Sakura. Isshiki’s daughter was far from her home, despite her case file claiming she was reclusive, agoraphobic, anxious, and that all attempts to help had gone nowhere. She had her phone in one hand and her other hand in the air, gesturing and seeming to have an animated conversation with the group, somehow completely relaxed.

And standing across from her with his hands in his pockets was Akira Kurusu, sun catching on his glasses.

Akechi put his phone in his pocket. He eased closer to them using a board displaying a map to keep out of a direct line of sight, and caught the final wisps of a voice - distinctly Niijima’s, sharp and grating.
“-activating it now.”

And the dizziness came in. The world swayed as it reoriented itself, unsteady beneath his feet. Akechi’s eyes closed for a moment as the air changed. Stale, somehow, with a buzz of static electricity. Sounds of mechanical whirring and machinery filtered in and when Akechi’s eyes opened, through the red haze of his black mask’s visor, he was standing amidst a dozen tall, circular platforms while cranes and machines operated between them. He could hear conversation a short distance away and eased slowly towards the voices, eyes fixed overhead where, on the other side of the glass dome, stars blinked down at him.

Even for a palace, this went beyond surreal.

Isshiki’s daughter walked away from the group, towards the edge of a round platform, her mouth agape as she looked overhead.
“Whoa…” her head turned as she scanned the sky, looking over at where Earth sat, far in the distance. 

If her involvement wasn’t enough of a hint, her suit confirmed that she was a Persona-user, but it was impossible to compare this picture to the details he’d heard about her. This kid, too timid to leave her room for the last three years, who nobody had been able to help — she had manifested this divine power? How?

“It’s as though we’re in a film.” Kitagawa approached behind her. “I wish I had brought my sketchbook.” 

Were they all this simple?

Tucked behind the wall, Akechi watched as they gathered and started to move forwards. All in their assortment of outfits, so casual and at ease despite the situation. They were talking amongst themselves - Sakamoto mentioned looking for someone while Isshiki’s kid knelt beside a pillar and prodded around. The machinery around them made it difficult to pick out what was being said so he eased closer, using pillars for cover and letting the black of his suit meld with the shadows.

“It should be working now!” Sakura was saying, getting back to her feet and swaying on them. Her hands clasped in front of her as she fidgeted, so clearly proud of herself, so utterly confident- still, Akechi half expected to get a better look at her and realise that he was looking at someone else entirely. 
”For real?” Sakamoto’s hand clamped down on her shoulder. He was beaming at her. “You’re amazin’, Oracle!”

Sakura - Oracle? - was comfortably accepting the praise as Akira stepped forwards to interact with the plinth and the button that controlled the elevator. Akechi waited and watched them, eyes narrow, as Akira took the lead and everyone gathered at the elevator. 

Niijima was talking as the elevator lowered. It stayed down, leaving a round crevice in the roof where it had been. With bated breath, Akechi drew close to the edge of it and watched as they - the Phantom Thieves, the people who he had been trying to corner and kill for months , so close to his grasp - moved through the blue-grey room below, with metal floors and metal walls. They were talking quietly between themselves as they moved, so indiscreet and so casual .

They disappeared through a door across the room and, giving a few moments so that it wouldn’t be obvious he was tailing them, Akechi followed.

First through that room, bathed in blue light from holographic screens and blinding overhead lights, then another after that. He could hear their conversation from the other side of a thick metal door -- something about robots. Takamaki pointed out that they all had the Big Bang Burger logo on them. Akechi, of course, could assume that that was representative of employees, marked as property and built to be disposable. He seemed to share the same opinions on his employees as Shido had, particularly about their limited time for use.

After another few moments, it seemed that the Phantom Thieves caught onto this, too.
“These robots are a part of Okumura’s cognition, correct?” Kitagawa again. “That means they represent…”

A beat of silence as the realisation came in.

“Don’t tell me…” Unmistakably Akira but with such force and such genuine animosity it was almost difficult to put to his usual composure. Akechi hadn’t heard his voice so intense before, so thick with the heat of his anger - not even when Akechi would intentionally provoke him. 

Of course this would be what pushed him. Of course, the ever-righteous leader of the just and noble Phantom Thieves would be enraged by the exploitation everyone lives under in their daily life. He had yet to realise that the rage would do nothing, that he had no choice but to fall into line.

Akechi had realised. Akechi was in line. Resenting Shido for exploiting him would be futile - not only because he had offered himself up for it with his ulterior motives, but because everyone was exploiting someone else. Even the Phantom Thieves were being exploited by the public to enact justice over petty feuds. 

Sakamoto’s obnoxious, loud voice forced him from his thoughts.
“See? Okumura IS a piece of shit!” he was saying, insufferable and celebratory, too loud. Too brash. “Just like I said!”
“Mona is our main objective here,” Sakura - Oracle - reprimanded him.
“He doesn’t seem to be anywhere nearby.” Niijima again. “Let’s search further in.”

Someone - presumably Sakamoto - muttered something sharp and frustrated before the footsteps started up again and the group, with their quiet conversation, moved away from the door. 

When quiet settled, Akechi stepped towards the mechanical doors and they opened to a large empty room. He glanced over the balcony at the marching robots — part of him, for a moment, wondered what Shido would consider him, if this was Okumura’s cognition of his employees - but Akechi discarded the thought with a grimace as he followed the balcony around to the door on the far side of the room.

The mechanical door ahead opened as he approached. The shallow corridor opened up to a broader room, one with the same silver-grey walls. There were large metal shelving units lining the walls. The bright lights were an inconvenience for stealth, but he stuck close to the walls, and the slight shadows behind support beams, to peer out across the room.

“Hold on, Joker!” Sakura — Oracle — called, and Akechi peered around the corner as Akira, who had been approaching an open doorway, stopped instantly. His foot caught the slightest notch of a pressure sensor and the door in front of him slammed immediately closed.

Akira’s nickname was Joker? How ridiculous. They were all ridiculous - he was certain that all of the rest of their code names would be equally absurd, if Oracle was anything to go by. 

Reminding himself again, to focus, Akechi turned his gaze to the door that they’d been barred entry from. A screen overhead denied them entry, only permitting ‘ REGISTERED PERSONNEL ’. 

Oracle was looking at the door with a frown. Her attention darted about different areas of it, searching for something; expecting the door to yield secrets and be easily accessed if she could only figure out how. Judging by how she’d been the one to gain access to the door to begin with, it was likely that her skills lay in technology. 

She briefly approached the door as it opened and, again, the text overhead changed. It declared that it was performing ‘BIOMETRIC AUTHORISATION’ while she ran her gloved hands across the walls. 
“No use,” she eventually relented, easing back. “If there was a control panel or some kind of opening, I might be able to work with it, but…” 

That confidence, again, suggested that proficiency with computers unlike someone of her age and position. He’d make a note of it later, something to keep in mind as a possibility later down the line to know how big of a threat the rest of these incompetent Thieves were. He’d been just beginning to accept that perhaps they were more capable than he’d been giving them credit for when a dull thunk! rang about the room. His attention shot over to them in time to see Ryuji staggering backwards, clasping his shoulder.

Like he’d tried to ram the door down himself.

“The hell’s up with this?!” he yelled, throwing up the arm he hadn’t used to try and knock the door down with.
“Look at it,” Takamaki stepped forwards, with what seemed to be a whip suspended at her hip. If her voice wouldn’t give her away, treating Sakamoto like he was stupid (no matter how understandably) would. “There’s no way we can force that thing open.” 
“We’ve hit a blockade quite early,” Kitagawa spoke with complete, useless resignation. “Will we have to control the real Okumura’s cognition to pass?”

As if it would be something a group like this would be capable of doing. Okumura was difficult enough to reach that Akechi wasn’t certain he’d be able to pass the biometric scanner. He knew his name had been passed to Okumura, likely alongside his phone number when he’d first had his services offered, but the chances that he was known enough to breach this block in his cognition…

But it wasn’t his job to navigate the Palace. The Phantom Thieves were supposed to do that - which meant that this roadblock was just as much of an issue for him as it was for them.

“That means Mona hasn’t been able to proceed any further, either,” Niijima was saying, referring back to the missing member of their group. Akechi hadn’t seen them with anyone else before - there was an undeniable curiosity as to who was so important to their dynamic that they would risk a Palace infiltration just to find them, and a stronger curiosity as to why this member of their group had disappeared. “So if he’s here in the Palace, he would have to be somewhere before this door-”

“Halt, vigilante!”

Akechi’s focus flicked to a silhouette standing atop a shelving unit across the room. He ducked a little further behind the pillar shielding him as the figure atop the shelves stepped out from the darkness. She seemed to be dressed reminiscent of some old English highwayman, dressed with a corset, cravat, and a wide brimmed black cavalier hat sitting atop of a mop of thick, curly pink hair.

That same hair sat pinned to the wall above his desk, a thread connecting her to Okumura as a valuable point of research; a name that Shido had gotten Akechi to dig out during the early days of Shido’s alliance with Okumura, in case anything had to be done to him and there were any loose threads to be wrapped up afterwards. Shido hadn’t considered her much of a threat in the real world. 

Even with a persona, Akechi still didn’t. 

“A black mask!?” Takamaki’s voice came sharp and shrill with surprise. “Wait, is she the one Kaneshiro and Madarame were talking about?”

Akechi’s eyes widened for a moment. They knew about him?

Kaneshiro, it made sense to assume he’d have mentioned it in an attempt to save himself given that he dealt in information in the real world, but for even Madarame to have thrown his existence out there was surprising. Someone as spineless and snivelling as that old man -
“So she’s the reason for all those people goin’ brain dead? It was a girl this whole time?” Sakamoto’s voice cut through his thoughts. If they were so prepared to direct their righteous anger at anyone with a black mask , then they likely didn’t know much about the perpetrator of the shutdowns at all. 

Meaning the information they had given about him was so lacking that anyone could easily slot into the template they have of a killer. And, just as valuable, was the confirmation that if he had a Palace, they hadn’t been to it. 

“Are you the one who has been following us?” Kitagawa stepped forwards, confrontational - and completely naive. Following? They were the idiots ruining years of planning and work and they had the audacity to think that he was following their lead through the Metaverse? 

The figure struggled to find the words that’d defend her against the barrage of questions.
“Say somethin’ damn it!” Sakamoto moved forwards next, and Haru Okumura’s shoulders dropped. Her eyes glanced back behind her like she meant to find support or someone to speak for her. It was definitely Okumura, then; she folded in on herself, shrunk down, and lost all certainty of herself when met with pushback. If Okumura truly intended on marrying her off in exchange for an easier climb into politics, she’d already have been whittled down and shaped into an ideal wife. Passive, easy to influence and easier to ignore. 

“Enough of your misunderstandings!”

And of all things seen in Palaces, the next little creature that came charging over was not what Akechi would have expected to see. Barely two feet tall, some kind of… beastly cat-thing stopped beside Okumura.

“Mona!

Was that the valuable teammate that they’d come searching for? Were they all so foolish that they’d come blindly rushing into a palace only to collect that ?
“You’re okay!” Takamaki was next to speak, and the relief in their voices was so shockingly sincere. Akechi glanced at the back of Joker’s head. Was this useless sentimentality really all that they were capable of?

“Long time no see, Panther.” It spoke. Articulate and clear and arrogant. And presumably, it was talking to Takamaki - at least her suit somewhat justified the name. “If you came for the treasure, you should just go home with your tail between your legs.”
“Actually, we were looking for you.” Kitagawa again.
“The treasure,” and that foul thing, Mona , spoke over him. “Will be taken by me and this…” It looked at Haru. “This Beauty Thief!”

“Beauty thief?” Niijima asked, disbelief bleeding into her voice. It was hard to believe that they were all this stupid. Harder to believe that Akechi had ever considered these fools to be a threat. 
“I’ll have you know she’s a Persona-user too!” It said, and like it was a cue, Okumura spoke again.
“My name is Beauty Thief!”

This was all so ridiculous. Months of his life ruined, stressed and working himself to death because these people had built themselves up to be a bigger threat than they were. His plans were all compromised, his easy ride to the election ruined, because of them ?

“She really called herself that?” Takamaki - Panther - relaxed. They all seemed to have relaxed.
“Any tension that was in the air has gone out the window,” Kitagawa muttered, as if this was all some kind of play — worse yet, some kind of fucking joke.

Okumura (what kind of name was Beauty Thief? He was not calling her that.) and the little creature, Mona, jumped from the shelf and landed on the floor in a stance, Okumura taking her hat in one hand and thrusting her other hand out.
“We will take the Treasure!”

She sounded both eager and rehearsed, like a kid reciting lines for a performance. 

While Okumura continued, her voice carrying easily through the large empty room, Akechi slumped back against the wall and put a hand to his head.

Their voices faded into the background. The indignation of considering these people a threat was twisting itself into a desire for action. He should save them all the rest of this miserable game; his gun was at his waist, their leader was right there . If Akira died here, would they do anything about it? Were the rest of them driven enough to continue on this useless quest without Joker to push them around?

And still, behind him, Okumura was still talking. This rehearsed script that she’d been fed, stunted and unnatural, filled the air. Indiscreet, arrogant, obnoxious - how had any of their other infiltrations been successful when this was the attitude that they came with?

“You! Learn to take a hint!” She was saying, somewhere in the room. Akechi wasn’t looking. “And you — you’re very vulgar… and very stupid!”

And then her voice trailed off. 
“What was it again?”

Akechi eased back to the doorway. She was looking at the little cat-beast expectantly. Not only was it sentient, it had coached her on what to say, and somehow put itself up as an authority figure to her? 

“You came all the way here just to say that?” Niijima said, her arms crossing over her chest. She only sounded defeated.
Sakamoto spoke next, with the same sort of disinterested defeat, “I dunno, it kinda feels like she ain’t dangerous at all…”

Quietly, Akechi watched as Okumura took up a pose again, the beast beside her standing a little prouder, and again declared- “We will take the treasure!” - before she crossed the room to the sealed door.

Sakamoto just started to tell them that the door wasn’t going to work when the sign above the door turned green. Further confirmation that it was Okumura’s daughter.

With a whirr the door opened. Behind it, at least six Shadows were approaching - likely the result of such a large, loud gathering staying in one place for so long. 
“Behind you!” Ann - Panther - called, Kitagawa saying a sharp ‘ here they come! ’, all the while Okumura glanced, panicking, between the Shadows, Mona, and the Phantom Thieves. Blatantly and insultingly inexperienced despite all of her talk.

Akechi took a step back, ensuring that he was out of their line of sight, and turned to retreat back through the mechanical door. The Shadows could keep them occupied while he slipped away.

The world melted back into itself as Akechi left the palace. The ground around him swayed as he got back, half out of breath, resentment burning hot and heavy in his chest. He eased back, around to the billboard again, and fumbled quickly for his phone in his pocket. Akechi opened the camera, kept himself tucked away, and after only another few moments heard a dozen stumbling footsteps come from nowhere beside him. He kept comfortably out of sight, the lens of his phone peering out around the edge of the board as he recorded the Phantom Thieves stumbling out from the Metaverse. Then, with the video safely taken, Akechi tucked his phone away and left quickly.

He wasn’t certain what to do with it yet, but the possession of blackmail material was valuable unlike anything else. This footage could put an end to this entire game now. It could be placed in front of Sae-san and she’d have no means to refute the nature of that other world. Akechi could say truthfully that he’d been drawn in with them, and they could be convicted by the end of the month.

But that would be too underwhelming. For all they’d put him through, it would need to be a spectacle. He needed them to know the mistake that they’d made by sabotaging him and turning the public against him. 

The hunger for revenge slept comfortably in his stomach. Whenever he spoke with Shido, it would stir long enough to remind him to bite his tongue and bide his time. Now, it reared its head at the thought of the Phantom Thieves remaining heroes in the eyes of the public. He needed them to know that he was the one that would defeat them. He needed them to die by his own hand.

The thought of it fuelled him on the way to the train station. It kept him from taking that video to the police. It stopped him from drafting out a mental note on how to tell Shido that he’d not only confirmed the identities of the Phantom Thieves, but irrefutable evidence that they were dabbling in the cognitive world. 

It kept his feet beneath him as he walked, his lungs burning with carefully stowed anger. His thoughts were hazy, anything beyond his own resentment difficult to reach. His nails scratched and picked at a loose thread at the end of his sweater vest, pulling it until it unravelled. 

He thought, as he travelled, of Akira. Of visits to the aquarium where they both held forked tongues behind their teeth. He thought about how, in those empty exhibit rooms, he should have grabbed Akira by his throat and told him he knew. He should have told Akira that he knew who he was, what he was, and that if he didn’t abandon these play-pretend heroics, Akechi would kill him.

The thought that one day he would knock Akira to the ground, press his foot into Akira’s chest until he felt his ribs creaking beneath the pressure, and aim his gun at Akira’s forehead.

He stepped off of the train in Shibuya as the thought of Akira’s silver eyes meeting his filled his mind. Curiosity pushed the question forwards; how would Akira look at him, helpless, completely unable to fight back? Would those eyes look at him with defeat, dull and accepting? Or would that insufferable, unwavering determination remain instead?

His finger twitched. The thread he’d been toying with tugged loose, tearing from the fabric. 

Phone in his pocket, heavier somehow with the weight of the evidence he’d recorded, Akechi moved through Shibuya station. It was in the underground walkway when he was torn from his thoughts by a short wave of dizziness. 

His pace faltered for a moment. He couldn’t be certain if the floor beneath him changed, and the head rush that overwhelmed him was disorienting enough that it pulled him from his thoughts. He stopped moving, somewhere by a collection of brochures and job advertisements. 

The air might have shifted. The chills that rippled across his skin were followed swiftly with a hideous warmth and it was hard to tell if the sweat-damp tension in his skin had been there since the train or not. He couldn’t recall the journey. Akechi’s eyes opened. Instinctively, like reflex, came that surge of paranoia he got from being in a Palace. 

Nobody here would have had access to the MetaNav. Nobody here would have used it to go to Mementos or to anyone’s Palace with so many people present.

But the air felt thick. 

He knew it was possible; only a couple of hours ago he’d been pulled unknowingly into the Metaverse.

The crowds of people were dizzying, disorienting, and though that wasn’t an indicator for Mementos, he had been to Palaces with people more detailed and alert than this. He stopped and shot a glance over his shoulder - reminded himself to be careful, to still be calm and reserved just in case he was still in the real world, but nothing about this felt real. The world was a thick haze. The air was too warm, too humid, and it crawled hideously over his skin. Chills rippled across his skin and left him feeling agitated and anxious. 

The paranoia that compelled him in the Metaverse was almost suffocating. It controlled his every movement like a compulsion. To ignore it was like diving into ice water, neglecting the instincts that kept him safe. 

That same paranoia, that instinct for self-preservation, persisted now. Everyone here could be a threat. Swarms of Shadows, and as soon as they realised he wasn’t one of them, as soon as he was seen-

He picked at the loose thread on his sweater again, tugging it loose from the seam again. Panic sent ice through him, his blood was deafening in his ears-

Akechi had to keep himself safe. He had too much to do. No matter what it took, he needed to get out of here—

 

---

 

His apartment was dark. 

It was early in the evening, but the blinds in his flat were rarely open.

Akechi’s back pressed against the door to his apartment. The chill of the wood sank through his clothes and pressed against his back.

He was home. Somehow, he’d made it home, and he was in his apartment. His legs ached. His feet were sore. His head was light and his hands were shaking at his sides.

What happened? One moment, he’d been in Shibuya, then… in the Metaverse. Or not in the Metaverse. And it was as if he’d blinked, ending up here. 

Dread was crawling through him. His lingering anxiety and agitation latched onto the uncertainty - what had happened? There was only a cavity where his memory should have been. The control he prided himself on having during every single second of his daily life - gone. How?

His heart was hammering in his chest, beating so loud it was rattled against his ribcage. Akechi sank to the ground, his knees drawn to his chest. The symptoms - the lack of memory, the uncertainty, the panic, and the sudden way that his unease had consumed him in Shibuya, lined up with the symptoms of turning people psychotic.

But he couldn’t have been. He was the only person who was capable of doing that - otherwise there would already be cases he wasn’t directly in control of. He couldn’t have had a psychotic breakdown.

Akechi moved one hand to his head. His fingers felt like ice against the near-feverish warmth of his forehead. There would be some way to know. The psychotic breakdowns that had gone public so far were significant, all loud and obvious enough that they’d warranted same-day news coverage, or spread across social media immediately.

Akechi fumbled with trembling hands for his phone in his pocket. He filtered through the news cycle urgently, desperate for it to tell him what had happened.

Still, it was discussing the details of Okumura Foods and that shattered window. Even with the ache of frustration that came at the thought of the Phantom Thieves, Akechi had no time to focus on it, instead opening his phone to scour social media to see if anyone was commenting on his profile, if any videos or photos of him doing… anything had been uploaded.

What was he supposed to do if something had happened? His reputation was already beyond repair. 

Nothing yet. He couldn’t get comfortable, the silence meant nothing - all he could do now was sit and stare at the screen and wait for the inevitable report.

Chapter 39: Saturday, September 17th

The news had said nothing.

Nobody online had said anything.

Supposedly, Detective Prince Goro Akechi had not only done nothing of note on Thursday. He had not warranted ridicule, questioning of his behaviour or cast any doubt on his sanity. He had not threatened anyone on his walk home, nor attacked anyone, and if he had done anything suspicious or dangerous, it had happened without witnesses.

So in theory, it would be very easy for Ace Detective Goro Akechi to leave his apartment and resume his usual life. Easier now than it had been for the last three months, where late July marked the time that the public began to turn on him, now that the vitriol of the masses was instead being thrown at Okumura.

With more news leaking about Okumura Foods using cheap imported ingredients and lax employee safety, the traction that Akechi had set in motion with botted votes on the Phan-site towards Okumura had finally picked up. By the morning the day prior, Okumura had taken number one on the rankings and Akechi had settled comfortably into second place.

For once, he was grateful not to be excelling at something.

In spite of all of that, Akechi couldn’t leave. The door to his apartment warded him off and each time he glanced at it too long, that gnawing anxiety and dread blossomed in place of the desire to leave. What would happen if he left and something like that happened again? Losing track of what he was doing was dangerous. And the feeling he’d had immediately beforehand, that uncertainty of what world he was in, that was worse. He was so used to weaving in and out of the Metaverse. He’d never gotten his wires crossed before, not like this. 

It was the fault of the Phantom Thieves. When only Akechi knew how the Metaverse worked, this was never a risk. Akechi was supposed to use the Metaverse as he wanted, he deserved to wield this power and everything had been fine for the last few years. It was only with those morons stumbling across his world that the balance had tipped. 

Even with Akechi’s small stockpile of instant food dwindling, the risk of leaving and losing himself again was too severe. So he remained inside, with the news cycling through the same stories on his open laptop.

Okumura Foods was still under fire. New whistleblower stories would occasionally break into the cycle, before circling back to Okumura himself. Further questions about the break-in. Reports about the Phantom Thieves that never had any new information, yet Akechi’s heart would race whenever the topic came up. Just in case . 

And on his phone, the whole time, the Phan-site would be up.

82% of people online said that they were just. Heroes, ‘ modern day robin hoods~ ’ one comment fawned, spliced between a dozen other messages about how eager people were to see Okumura face punishment for everything that he’d done. Whenever Akechi’s name came up, it was either to accuse him of cowardice or ignorance. The comments were no longer bloodthirsty, at least, and Akechi wasn’t desperate enough to miss the praise he used to get. Part of him wanted to be forgotten about for a while to get everything under control again.

His eyes dragged about his room.

Every time he lost interest in reading the cycling headlines or the comments filtering in on the Phan-site, once he’d realised that there would be no reports coming through about him, his eyes would drift back to the board over his desk.

The elaborate spider web of red thread mocked him. Every speculation and question that he’d had about Akira - about ‘Joker’ - answered now. All of his teammates marked. Isshiki’s daughter -- Oracle -- had gained a place on the board for her proximity not only to Isshiki herself, but Sojiro Sakura, who was there because he owned the cafe where Akira lived, and now Akechi had to correct his notes on her to mark that she, too, was a Phantom Thief. Then he had to recontextualise the already unusual relationship between her and Akira. 

Between Oracle and Joker.

His eyes trailed the red thread between the two of them, the line that circled around a pin between Joker’s eyes, and trailed between each now-confirmed Phantom Thief.

And inevitably back to Joker.

Chapter 40: Monday, October 3rd

The toll that late August through to mid September had on Akechi, most notably the lingering uncertainty of how he’d gotten home roughly two weeks ago, had carried with him for the rest of the month. With no booked interviews and the demand for public appearances extremely low, Akechi had stopped checking his emails and had instead opted to lay low for the foreseeable future. 

Fewer obligations gave him more time to settle into a routine again, to fall back into his studies and bury himself in them while he watched his burner phone. He couldn’t settle too much, always waiting for the news that Okumura had received a Calling Card and that Akechi’s services would be needed once more, but he took the lull in jobs gratefully.

It’d taken a week for Akechi to feel present and well enough to consistently leave his apartment. He’d go out for food or to nearby cafes, always presentable but always during the off-hours, when no students would be present and most places only had a handful of visitors. He’d gone to the Jazz Jin twice over the last week, too, where he and Muhen would make small talk before Akechi tucked himself away at the back. He wasn’t interested in divulging any details about his life or getting any advice, so he’d skirt around questions and remain politely distant, remaining polite until Muhen ended the conversation by asking him what he wanted to drink.

It’d reinforced itself as somewhere safe in the last few days. He’d settle inside and let the music and idle, ambient chatter soothe his restlessness. He’d bring a notebook and filter his thoughts onto paper; reminders of work, of studying he needed to catch up on, occasionally filtered in with details about his future and the Phantom Thieves.

The plan he had was loose. Once they were blamed for Okumura and the public turned on them, when they became the subject of animosity that he’d once been victim to, he’d approach them. Somehow, somewhere, he’d approach them and show them the photos that he had of the Phantom Thieves leaving the Metaverse. That could be used to blackmail them into doing anything he liked. Whatever he did, it had to be short-notice and direct enough that they couldn’t target him for a Change of Heart in return. 

Akechi sat at his desk, tapping his pen on the table and looking idly at the page in front of him. He’d correct his board now; all members of the Phantom Thieves had been marked on it. Okumura’s death had been guaranteed, and Akechi had now drawn a line between Akira - Joker - and Haru Okumura. Though the clumsy performance he’d witnessed in Okumura’s palace left a lot of ambiguity, she was still capable of using the Metaverse and now knew what the Phantom Thieves looked like, which made her worth documenting. 

With their cooperation guaranteed, he’d lure them somewhere. If he could choose a target and stage a Change of Heart, then he could set up some kind of an ambush against the Phantom Thieves. Only Joker needed to die, but the rest were unpredictable and capable of using the Metaverse and that made them dangerous. It’d be best to deal with all of them at once. Then everything would be back on track for the election.

His laptop cycled through the Phan-site’s comments. There was nothing new. The same swarms of people impatiently telling them to act, to do something , all from the other side of the screen, completely unaware of the weight of what they were asking for. 

He turned on his burner phone and glanced tiredly at the screen. Nothing. He reached out for his mobile phone. Nothing. Sae hadn’t even reached out to him, which was a surprise given how frequently she would usually contact him for help at work, but he only felt relieved. He checked his emails and, unsurprisingly, there was nothing significant. 

He felt like a well-behaved hunting dog watching its prey, waiting for the leash at it's neck to be removed. 

It would be worth the wait. He only needed to be patient.

Chapter 41: Tuesday, October 11th

The bus, empty in the early evening, rumbled beneath Akechi, the engine loud and purring beneath him. He’d sat near the back of the bus, his phone sitting in his palm, screen on but idle. He was on his way to work for a late call, in part to speak with Niijima and in part to meet with the Director. Knowing his luck, he’d be told he needed to speak with Shido face-to-face again soon - as if the phone call he’d gotten out of the blue yesterday morning hadn’t been enough.

With the delivery of the Calling Card, Akechi’s schedule for the day had suddenly needed to change, and he’d travelled to Okumura Foods Corporate HQ that morning, where he’d waited for the Phantom Thieves to show up and then followed them into Okumura’s palace.

The air had been as sharp as it was the day he’d killed Kobayakawa - the Calling Card truly did manifest anxieties in the Palace Ruler significant enough to set the whole palace on edge, and they’d all acknowledged this - and the difficulties that followed in trying to reach Okumura, as though it was standard and a good result.

Useless as he’d expected them to be given what he’d previously seen from them, the Phantom Thieves were surprisingly competent fighters. 

Watching their fight with Okumura had been fascinating - they worked incredibly with one another, shielding each other from attacks and taking advantage of openings that their teammates left to strengthen their own attacks or immobilise the enemies.

It seemed that Oracle took a step back during battles, often only present far from where the fights occurred and only to provide advice or encouragement. It made sense, given her stature, but it was harder to wrap his head around how everyone else was willing to unquestioningly follow the recommendations of a child.

Even Haru had settled well into her role among them, and had bravely declared her knowledge that her father was still a good man, somewhere, and that he would come around. It was ridiculous of her - if it took direct intervention and the weaponising of the Metaverse in order to make him a good father, how good of a father could he ever have been? She spoke like her nostalgia was a sickness, one that filled her mouth and coated her tongue in blind naivete; No, father, of course you can be a better person. The deaths you have caused are secondary to how well you dote on me .

That man’s existence was a plague as foul as Shido. He was just as complicit in the violence and terrorism spreading through Japan and throwing away millions of yen to make it happen. Her selfishness in insisting that she could pull a competent and loving father out of him was an insult to those he’d worked to death. Even Akechi was able to comprehend that, despite it being his obligation to be the bullet whenever one of Shido’s friends pulled the trigger.

Watching a lounging, confident Okumura tell his own daughter to sacrifice herself in his name should have been the final straw for her. Why wasn’t she? Why, after watching something wearing her face die on her fathers behalf, after watching him throw dozens of disposable workers in front of himself rather than fight, was she still insistent on saving him?

He could still recall how it had felt, hidden across the room from them, listening in as they interrogated Okumura about whose fault the shutdowns were - Akechi with his gun raised just in case Okumura started to confess, curious how they knew that he was involved. Silent, still, Akechi watched as Haru spoke to her kneeling father.

Her voice was firm but sympathetic. Akechi barely heard it over the crumbling, failing sounds of the infrastructure.
“Only you can follow through on your own responsibilities. That is what you’ve taught me, father.”

Akechi had grit his teeth waiting while Haru- Noir , he reminded himself - had turned back and given her father a final sorrowful glance before leaving him completely.

He fired once from across the room, through Okumura’s chest. The footsteps from the Phantom Thieves had disappeared, the gunshot drew no attention. Akechi approached the body on the floor, raised his gun to that stupid helmet, and let his finger sit on the trigger.

For a moment, he remained there. The feeling of power rolled through him, the sense of righteousness that would come with getting rid of a man as greedy as Okumura, a man so desperate to climb into the political world that he’d have done anything. That his child became nothing more than a step on the ladder.

This was an appetiser. Cleaning up every filthy, despicable man who thought they deserved to rule the world was going to be delicious, but not nearly as good as it would feel when it was Shido under his gun. 

A warm, eager laugh rolled through him. It was finally so, so close to being worth it.

Beneath him, Okumura mumbled something. About his utopia. About his daughter. It wasn’t loud enough for Akechi to pick out more than a few fragments of the sentence, nor was it important enough to get him to repeat it.

The gunshot rang loud.

Sitting on the bus now, on his way to the police station, he could still feel it. The realisation that with Okumura’s death, he grew one step closer to his goal. The realisation that it would one day be Shido who was at his command, that he could have the power to kill Shido whenever he liked. It still made him smile.

The bus rolled to a stop and Akechi stood, thanked the driver, and stepped off so that he could walk the rest of the way to the police station. He glanced at his watch - three minutes ago, Kunikazu Okumura was supposed to start his press conference. 

By the time he was inside of the station and on his way to Sae’s desk, it was five minutes past the hour, and the conference had already started. It was while heading to Sae’s desk that he received a message.

‘ From: xxx-xxxx-xxx
(No Subject)
Excellent. ’

Which meant that everything had gone smoothly. And it meant that when he approached Sae’s desk and saw her laptop open, he already knew what he was likely to see on it.

“It’s been a while,” he said, distant, as he approached her table, glancing pointedly at her laptop when he added - “what are you watching?”

She said nothing. Not when she saw him, not to his greeting, not to his question, barely lifting her focus from the screen for more than a moment, so Akechi let himself step closer to her and peer around the edge of the screen.

Ugly satisfaction spread to every corner of his body, the thrill that his work was being shown country-wide, that everyone would be witnessing the hideous spectacle that usually played out in secret. That everyone would know that Okumura died being the repulsive, hideous man he had chosen to live as.

And only when he gasped, a surprised and trembling gasp, did Sae turn to look at him.
“That’s-…!” 

He let the silence speak for him. His eyes wide, mouth open with shock, covered by his hand as he stepped back — 

“This is just a hypothesis,” Sae’s voice was abnormally calm, but to immediately move into speculation either meant that she didn’t believe Akechi’s reaction, or that she thought that taking a logical approach would distract him from how disgusted he was. “But perhaps Okumura was bitten by his lapdog.”

The theories that he’d been feeding her seemed to have shaped up into a conspiracy. This was good.

Akechi, turning his body so that the laptop screen was no longer directly within his line of sight, looked at her with concern.
“Are you implying that the Phantom Thieves triggered a sudden mental shutdown on Okumura?”
“There might have been a falling out of sorts, so the Phantom Thieves abandoned a useless employer-” Sae caught the way that Akechi eased back. She uncrossed her arms and reached out a hand to tilt her laptop screen down. “- and to cover their tracks, they dealt with Okumura.”

It was a perfect summary, a brilliant excuse - it would be perfect to publish when the Phantom Thieves were caught and arrested. Which meant that he needed to refute her. She would be more motivated to prove herself right if he pushed against her, and it would allow him more movement in his investigation. 

So, with a forced sympathetic tone, he lied. 
“I hate to bring this up, but I’m actually here about that.”
“Did you find any evidence?”
“No.” You’ll find my calling card soon enough. “Actually, there’s a chance that the party behind these aren’t the Phantom Thieves, but someone else.”

A few emotions flashed across her face. The bags set deep under her eyes were now barely covered. The weight of the case caused her shoulders to sag forwards. She took a moment, breathed, and regained her composure before she lifted her gaze.

“How do you mean?” It was sharp and accusatory, with the expectation that Akechi was going to drop something terrible on her lap and set her back weeks - months - in the case.  It bordered on being aggressive when she continued. “ You were suspecting the Phantom Thieves as well.”

“It is still hypothetical at this point,” a show of submission - it’s nothing, it's not important, it’s only a thought - to remind her that she could determine what was and wasn’t plausible. That her word was law, her theories were the truth. “But I don’t want to rule it out.”

A sharp scoff. 
“We’re searching the Okumura residence tomorrow. Same with Shujin and it’s principal.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and pushed her laptop screen open again. Okumura was no longer on it - instead, a pastel “ Preparing For Broadcast! ” message had popped up in it’s place, showing a dog chasing butterflies. It was so dissonant from the broadcast itself that it was almost an insult - spitting on the grave of a man who wasn’t even cold. Akechi had to bite the inside of his lip to suppress a smile.

Sae leant on the table. Her arms crossed in front of her, she directed her narrow-eyed gaze to the screen.

“We will find evidence on this. No matter what it takes.”

Good. Exactly as planned; she wasn’t going to accept an alternative suggestion. She believed in the theory he’d been feeding her and would shape her case around it. When she found Kobayakawa’s Calling Card, any flaws it may have had would be overlooked in favour of finally having evidence. She would prove herself right to Akechi, prove her worth to the SIU Director, and then…

And then Akechi needed to lay out the rest of his plan. He’d need to find her part within it, where her determination and her anger made her predictable.

She shifted her focus back to Akechi.
“By the way-” the tone suggested it was something she’d been waiting to mention and was pouncing at the chance to put the matter to rest. Akechi expected it would be a segue from the discussions about Shujin’s principal, likely about that conversation with Makoto again. He was lining the words up on his tongue - I would have told you if there had been a chance - as she circled it again. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“You haven’t looked at my laptop or taken files from it without my permission, have you?”

What?

“That’s quite out of the blue,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Files on her laptop had been taken - why? By whom? Who would have a reason to take -- 
“There were traces that someone had transferred data from it,”
-- he thought, for no discernible reason, of how he’d felt tucked away across the room while Okumura had been getting interrogated, wondering why they knew to ask him, how they knew to blame him, specifically to accuse him of being behind it all.

Of Sae believing that Okumura was behind it all.

“It was only a small error pop-up,” Sae was still talking. Still pressing him, as though the obvious answer wasn’t right there - but why would she think that?

Why believe that her sister, half-loved and half-detested, was breaking out of the perfect-student role she had carved for herself to steal police data? For Makoto to be capable of something like that meant that she wasn’t just Sae’s financial leech but a real and capable person - and that wasn’t how Sae saw her. No, it was far easier to look at her sole ally with suspicion.

“But.”

Akechi’s eyes narrowed. Sae was looking at him as if she already had him pinned, she knew it was him - like any other case, she just needed to carve him open and pull a confession out of him.

“I noticed it immediately after I had that argument with you last month.”

Anger, sharp and immediate and instinctive, flared up around him. Being accused of something he hadn’t done, for it to be said with such intent and such genuine belief that he would have stolen Sae’s files, was an insult. For her to believe that he needed any of her information, as if she didn’t constantly get her ideas from him, as if he wasn’t a capable detective without her? He wasn’t a toddler hiding behind her legs and tucked away in her shadow. She was a naive, blind, greedy fool who hadn’t yet realised that she was being used by everyone around her.

“And that’s why you suspect me?” The bite came easily, too easily. “Oh, please. Give me a break.”

“Are you saying you didn’t?”

He barely bit back the urge to insult her. Stupid, foolish, hardheaded Sae, who saw herself as a friend to him only when it was convenient. Are you that desperate to be alone in the spotlight? It sat so readily on his tongue. Something in the back of his mind wanted him to say it, to burn this bridge, but this was her mistake to make. 

“As a detective myself,” he forced the words to come out angry, not vicious. To swallow back any jabs at her character and her integrity or insistences that he was better than her and didn’t need to copy her homework to get good grades. “I honour the value of information - as well as the effort invested in it.”

Her eyes narrowed in return, but her lips were pursed. She didn’t seem to be looking at him like he was lying, rather than with a stubbornness and a refusal to be wrong. So he doubled down.
“I take pride in what I do. I thought you, of all people, would understand such values, Sae-san.”

His heart hammered in his ears. Several loud beats passed before she broke eye contact, turning back to her laptop, confusion bleeding in and replacing the anger.
“I apologise.”

There was no remorse in her voice. No regret for insulting him; only the slight relief that she’d been wrong. Her apology clearly only served to move them past the conversation, but insult to his character wouldn’t be easily moved past. The apology remained in the air as Akechi turned and left her desk, only barely catching her quiet question as he left - wondering who was to blame, if not him.

Not that it mattered. Her hard work would never pay off; Akechi was going to arrest Akira. Akechi was going to get his confession, wipe out the threat he presented, and Akechi was going to be the one to tell Sae Niijima that her own younger sister was a liar and exactly who she was trying to convict.

And if she was far gone enough that she was willing to accuse him of stealing information from her laptop, how far had her spiral gone? The palace that had been blooming when he last checked was certain to be expanding more and more with the added pressure of the case--

As he left the police station, he pulled his phone from his pocket. 

She would make a useful target. If Makoto was willing to steal information from Sae’s laptop, she knew that Sae was a threat and, more specifically, she knew that Sae was investigating the Phantom Thieves. That meant that they all knew to be wary about Sae, and that if Akechi were to suggest changing her heart, given the state that she’s in and the role she’s playing…

It was all going to work itself out. 

He opened the Metaverse Navigator, tapped in Sae’s name, and set himself up for an evening trying to determine what her keyword would be.

Notes:

the fun fact: when akechi sees okumura's death on sae's laptop, if u listen close enough u can hear him fake a gag. and thats beautiful.

Chapter 42: Thursday, October 13th

A casino.

How many fucking guesses had it taken to reach the word casino ? More than it had taken for Kobayakawa’s ‘police station’ and more than it had taken for Kaneshiro’s ‘bank’.

The world, dull and concrete, had melted away as the courthouse became a grand, obnoxious casino, bathed in gold and glowing with neon lights. It was surprisingly tacky for someone as put together and classy as Niijima, but it worked. The threshold of the concrete walls surrounding the courthouse, where Akechi was currently tucked away by large grey planters, seemed to be the line of separation between the Palace and a more grounded reality. The boundary between the casino and reality was strong enough to be felt in the atmosphere, where the air on the far side of the courthouse walls was thin and clear, but stepping inside brought humidity, the warmth and buzz of artificial yellow lights, and stagnant air. The two sides of the walls were like mismatched fabric stitched together, one of a town almost indistinguishable from reality, the other pulled directly from a gaudy tourist pamphlet about the wonders of Las Vegas.

Akechi stepped forwards, across sand-coloured tiles that spilled outwards towards the stairs of the courthouse, where everything melted into this monochrome gold, deep enough that it was nearly bronze, polished and shining so that in every spot where it caught the light, it would then reflect across a dozen other shiny surfaces, prompting Akechi’s eyes to ache only minutes into the infiltration. Though sparse, the few spots of greenery eased the strain on the eyes, the vibrant foliage and stray palm trees a pleasant contrast.

Though it was daytime outside of the Metaverse, and looking out into the distance from the ‘seam’ between the distortion and the rest of the Metaverse showed sunlight in the distance, Sae’s palace seemed restricted to the early evening. The sky was dark, with bursts of orange peering over the horizon, melting into a softer blue before being swallowed up by a starless sky. Under which, Sae’s golden Palace became all the more painful to look at, and only when looking up towards the sky did Akechi make note of the most hideous part of it.

Tall enough to span several floors of the courthouse was a bright neon sign of a young woman, a mockery of Lady Justice, holding weighted scales tipped to the side of victory. Akechi grimaced at the sight of it, at the thought of someone like Sae truly believing that she deserved this calibre of power over the law, and still tricking herself into believing that it was all for a just cause. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed her delusions of grandeur because whenever they’d spoken, her righteousness had been well-aimed and she’d known the right way to phrase her obsession so that it sounded like dedication instead.

No point in analysing it now. 

Akechi, distinctly still in his own blue sweater vest and feeling the static warmth of the palace rather unpleasantly because of it, eased closer to the Palace. He wouldn’t breach it today; if this was going to be where he met the Phantom Thieves, whatever opinions he had about her Palace had to be somewhat authentic. Until then, there were a few aspects of her Palace that he needed to verify.

The return point and safe areas of access to the casino itself were broad. It seemed that her understanding of the area around the courthouse meant that the world around her Palace was barely distorted and identical to its real world counterpart, though it was abnormally devoid of people or cars. The perimeter, Akechi verified as he followed the concrete walls sealing the courthouse away from the rest of the world, keeping a careful eye out for Shadows, continued this pattern. Sae’s Palace was almost identical to the real world with the sole exception of the Courthouse itself, and it appeared to be completely devoid of Shadows.

Beyond the main entrance, there were three points of entry to be concerned about. To the right, a stairwell led up to a staff fire escape, with metal stairs descending to the ground. Following the walls around the Palace, there was another staff exit and fire escape around the back, near a large circular stained glass window, beside which was another metal stairwell that presumably led to another exit.

The final point of entry was a propped open doorway to the kitchens, where steam spilled out and cognitive beings bustled around inside to make drinks and food for its customers. 

Walking around the rest of the building revealed no other exits, but several large windows. If one was willing to risk falling to their death on the way out, they could all be improvised exit routes, which meant there would need to be a lot of security around the perimeter of the Palace. Wrapping up his patrol around the building, Akechi eventually found himself back in front of the Palace, looking at the golden pillars and the lavish red carpets by the main foyer. 

This entire place was hideous. For Sae’s distortion to be so shallow yet such a clear representation of her corruption was so shallow it was disappointing. Her career had become a competition, not a pursuit of justice. If in her eyes the courthouse was nothing more than a casino, the only options being win or lose, then justice became secondary to victory. If that neon sign and its weighted scales were anything to go by, alongside the increasingly urgent state of the investigation, it confirmed that Sae’s power was easily abused and that it would continue to be abused until she was content with her position - but with her drive? With her determination and the desperate financial position she and her sister are in, when would she be content?

It made far more sense now, leant back against the concrete wall and watching as the metal signs advertising red and black roulette wheels and card games, why Sae had been so ready to accept Akechi’s convenient theories. She had been so easily influenced by the promise of convenience, that if the Phantom Thieves were behind the shutdowns and she caught them, then wrapping up that case would be the greatest of her career and a feat more impressive than any of her coworkers would ever achieve. She’d be in a league of her own, legendary for arresting a notorious terror group - 

Which was also why it made sense that Akechi being modest and politely refusing the credit for such a theory had been so suspicious. If she was under the impression that everyone was in a desperate fight for the same jackpot, had the same goal of solving an impossible case and proving themselves, Akechi falling back to give Sae a better chance of winning would be self-sabotaging at best and baiting her at worst.

Akechi, positioned now by the entrance gate to the Palace, glanced down at that invisible seam once more. He stuck his foot out idly and trailed the toe of his shoe over the invisible stitching between yellow-gold tiles and grey asphalt, idly wondering what it meant about Sae on a greater level, wondering how far her cognitive world went, when footsteps snapped him out of his brief stupor. He lifted his head urgently with a surge of panic as a couple, with their arms linked and pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, walked towards the casino entrance. They glanced at Akechi as they passed with a vague confusion, so jarringly real that if it weren’t for the surrounding environment and the faint pulse of music through the floor, they almost passed for humans.

Which meant that while Sae’s concept of the justice and her role within the legal system was distorted to this extreme, she was aware that the people around her were people. All there to engage with the casino - to witness her victories, perhaps? To revere her and be impressed by her? - but unique and real regardless. Which meant that each member of staff within the casino and each visitor were threats, all with the capabilities to call Shadows or to report suspicious activity directly back to Sae.

Which, in turn, meant that Akechi had to come here sparingly to avoid drawing attention to himself and causing early unrest within Sae’s palace. 

When the cognitive couple glanced back at him again, Akechi moved outside of the courthouse, on the far side of the wall and outside of the distortion, to give himself the room to pace and think without drawing unwanted attention. 

Sae’s palace was accessible. There were no immediate cognitive barriers. It was immediately clear that she was corrupt, and that meant that if the Phantom Thieves saw her Palace, they would have no choice but to act.

From the moment that they agreed to target Sae, the plan would fall together flawlessly. But the foundations of the plan hadn’t been established, nor how he would eradicate the Phantom Thieves once Sae was dealt with. He needed to convince the Phantom Thieves to visit her Palace to ensure that they felt compelled to act. He also needed Sae to be their final target, where her Change of Heart would be covered up and the case against them would disappear with it. In order for the public to believe that the Phantom Thieves were gone, there would need to be a public arrest, and to ensure that there was no grand heist, the defeat of the Phantom Thieves would involve the death of anyone necessary. 

He’d blackmail them into listening to him and then direct them to Sae’s Palace. They’d do whatever it takes to prevent that footage from being passed to the police, knowing not only that Joker was on probation but that if it was testified that he was the leader of the Phantom Thieves, arrest was the better outcome given the severity of his crimes. 

Then he’d need a reason that made sense for them both to want her heart changed. For the Phantom Thieves, it was obvious that her position leading the investigation against them made her an extremely dangerous person to them, but why would Akechi care? 

On one hand, it’d be difficult to provide a reason that was close enough to the truth that he could present it plausibly, and on the other hand it didn’t matter how believable his motives were. Beyond Akira’s understanding of him, one that was somehow both full of lies and far too honest, who was he to the rest of the Phantom Thieves?
Past interactions suggested that he was nothing but an annoyance to them. A blight on their popularity, someone clinging to their fame to try and stay relevant, obsessed with justice; the latter of which was the impression that he was intentionally giving off and the prior two opinions being consequences of it. 

If in their eyes Akechi was a caricature of himself, as sharp-witted yet simple-minded as he pretended to be during interviews, why bother coming up with some elaborate story? Claiming that Sae’s obstruction of justice is an offence he can’t overlook would slot perfectly into that performance. They would acknowledge his desire to do what’s right, possibly even empathise with it, and then consider his offer with more weight for being presented as something personal.

Makoto would be an issue, but she was always an issue. She was sharp, if easily blinded by her own feelings, and choosing a target that she’d care so deeply about could be… difficult. He’d need to appeal specifically to logic; she wouldn’t be as easily swayed as the others if he took an emotional stance.

So he’d find them somehow, ideally within the next few weeks, and get them alone to confront them about the video he’d taken of them leaving the Metaverse. If it came to it, he could message Akira directly, but they’d all be significantly more on guard if Akechi asked him to gather all of his friends in one place for an in-person meeting. Then he’d need to convince them to target Sae’s palace and would need the threat of blackmail to be firm enough that they couldn’t refuse him but everything else he said needed to be pressing enough that they were willing to cooperate with him regardless. 

He’d keep an eye on their infiltration by joining them - he’d need an alibi and reasons for knowing about the Metaverse, but the fact that they’d pulled him into it unknowingly in Okumura’s palace should be sufficient - and then he’d need to find a way for them to be caught either within the Palace in a situation that they couldn’t simply fight their way out of, or just outside of it.

Then he’d kill them, Sae would be let go from her position over concerns for her health and integrity after the change of Heart, Shido would win the election, Akechi would rob him of his power and share his true identity with him, and then everything would be perfect.

He took his phone from his pocket and opened the MetaNav to return home. He needed to iron out every possible crease and kink in this plan before he could present it to Shido and request the cooperation from the police force.

As the world around him melted and the streets of Kasumigaseki returned to normal, cars parked along the roads and distant security guards reappearing, Akechi glanced at the date.

October thirteenth. One hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose as the cool weather sank into his skin again. He needed to get back to studying; exams were next week.

Chapter 43: Sunday, October 23rd

From: xxx-xxxx-xxx
Subject: Request For Attendance
Good afternoon, Goro Akechi.
I’m contacting on behalf of Shujin Academy, relevant to our culture festival and celebrity panel.
I’ve been given your phone number through a mutual friend of ours. 
Having polled Shujin Academy students on who they’d like to attend the culture festival this year, the results have near-unanimously shown a desire to have you visit.
It’s on October 26th. The panel itself will be at 2:30pm and is scheduled to last until 4pm, though given your career a shorter time period can be arranged. 
If you are available and interested, please respond to confirm your attendance.
If you aren’t, please let me know as soon as possible so that somebody else can be contacted in your place.
Thank you,
Makoto Niijima.

Akechi, on his couch, reviewing his performance in yesterday’s interview, had paused himself mid-sentence after his phone buzzed - his personal phone - from an unknown number. 

His instinct said that there must have been some kind of a data leak somewhere and that this was the tide pulling back, the forewarning of the incoming tsunami of unsaved numbers desperate for a chance to try and speak to him — and then Akechi had stopped to look  at the message itself.

Akechi-on-TV was smiling, easy, with his hand half-raised and his mouth half-open, somewhere between the words of “deaths” and “unrelated” in recent discussions about the Phantom Thieves. It was a bid to stay relevant and remain controversial amidst the new sea of praise he was getting, as the Phantom Thieves public reputation had entirely tanked within the last couple weeks and now finding a vocal Phantom Thief supporter was near-impossible.

So Akechi positioned himself leniently near the middle. Not a supporter, not blindly critiquing them, and providing more conversation for the media to chew on while he figured out the finer details of his plan. It also meant that when the Phantom Thieves inevitably saw it and when he spoke with them, they’d be more trusting of him for having publicly put faith in their goodwill. Hopefully.

Empty stomach gnawing at him, Akechi flicked his phone on and opened the message in full. It was no surprise to see it signed off by Makoto Niijima, in part because the entire damned message was written like a business email and in part because someone within Shujin Academy was taking on obligations that should have been the duties of faculty. Who else would have the staff’s dirty work forced upon them, if not Niijima?

His eyes scanned the message over a second time. Then, slower, a third.

I’ve been given your phone number through a mutual friend of ours. 
He would need to speak with Akira. In person. It appeared that the finer social expectations of being given someone’s phone number had escaped him - notably that he shouldn’t go about sharing it without seeking that person's permission first. A cursory glance over their messages would have proved that they hadn’t spoken in days and at no point had Akechi said ‘ Yes, Kurusu, if Niijima needs to reach me you can give her my personal number .’ because he would never have said that. Not about any of Akira’s brutish, brainless friends, and certainly not about good-girl Makoto Niijima.

Having polled Shujin Academy students on who they’d like to attend the culture festival this year, the results have near-unanimously shown a desire to have you visit.
His sour mood eased slightly. Slightly . ‘Near unanimously’ winning over Shujin Academy was an achievement in its own right, given how stubborn they had previously been about the righteousness of the Phantom Thieves, but Akechi far preferred the satisfaction that rolled through him at seeing Niijima forced to admit his popularity.

October 26th, 2:30pm. His interviews had increased recently, given that he was now favoured for his involvement with the Phantom Thieves but now in a far more positive light, but his likeliest conflict would be work or attending school (the offer to attend in-person has been extended on the final day of exam season, given that the “controversial nature”, as his homeroom teacher had phrased it, of his presence at school had changed) but this was a golden opportunity.

The past week, the one issue that Akechi had consistently had with his current plan - minus the details of the arrest and where it’d happen in the metaverse - was how to confront the Phantom Thieves with the brunt of his plan. It had to be done in a way that would have them off-guard enough that they could slip up and overshare, but not ambush them in a way that would make them close off completely?

This was exactly what he needed. Niijima would likely approach him with an agenda, given that his line of work directly conflicted with her hobby vigilantism, and with her believing that she had the upper hand in a discussion at her school…

It’d come together. He skimmed the message over again, as though that agenda would unfurl itself before his eyes.

If you are available and interested, please respond to confirm your attendance.

They were leaving it rather short. In three days, Akechi was supposed to deliberate and get back to them quickly enough that if he was unavailable, they’d need to find someone else. And while he was able, and it was exactly the opportunity that he was looking for, he was a busy man in his personal life in general. There’d be no harm in leaving her message without response for a day or so while she’d expect him to be checking his schedule.

He set his phone down and returned his attention to the TV. His own voice filled the apartment yet again and Akechi sank back into his couch, mood improving.

Chapter 44: Monday, October 24th

In spite of his fresh knowledge of where his turbulent ’relationship’ with Joker would inevitably lead, Akechi still found that the ambience of Leblanc disarmed him. The usual defensive anxiety of being outside of his home and aware that he could be witnessed, questioned, harassed - it all melted away within a few minutes of sitting at the counter in Leblanc, one leg crossed over the other, his briefcase deposited safely on the floor by his feet. Even with the lingering awareness of how poorly Akira had received his company last time they’d spoken, when he’d been given that stupid keychain, he couldn’t help himself. 

He had exchanged a short greeting with Sojiro Sakura upon his arrival. Their conversation had been simple but polite - a question on how business was doing, conversation on the weather, how the day had slipped past and how dark the evenings were getting as winter rolled steadily closer. Sakura had ended the conversation by asking Akechi what he wanted to drink, and after ordering the house blend again, Akechi let the silence settle between them.

While the coffee machine whirred, Sakura turned his head back to the TV screen. He wore his age on his face, something distant in his eyes as the news filtered. Phantom Thieves, accidents, the increasing tension of the different political parties, cycling ceaselessly. 

It wasn’t like Akechi to want to break easy silence. He enjoyed his peace, he enjoyed being left alone - Sakura was offering him that. Somehow, this gut instinct urged him not to accept the peaceful quiet. Part of him wanted to assert himself as someone worthy of being a customer, being within Leblanc, and to prove that the way he fumbled around his small talk his first visit or avoided it the second wasn’t representative of him.

“The election this year seems to be a rather tense one,” he eventually said as the TV presenter discussed the conflict brought in by the Minister of Transport changing in late April and the current fluctuating state of the economy, given the expected success of Okumura Foods being suddenly cut short and causing a market crash. “I’m not sure who I’d vote for.” 

“It’s all just noise to keep the customers happy,” Sakura shook his head despite the attention he’d been giving it, collecting the cup from the coffee machine. He topped it up, set the cup on the saucer and set it out in front of Akechi. “But I am surprised to see you so interested. You’re in high school, right?”

“I like to keep myself informed for when I’m old enough to vote. It’s better to have knowledge on the tactics that politicians use and their reputations,” he said coolly, reaching out to take the coffee in his hands and cupping it. “Though I must admit that not being able to vote despite investing time and attention into the election candidates gets rather frustrating.”

When Sojiro nodded but otherwise seemed complacent to let the conversation fade there, Akechi took a sip of coffee. It was too hot to drink and burned his tongue, sending scalding warmth through his throat and trailing down to his chest. 
“Yet again, the quality of coffee is unlike anywhere else I’ve been.” He was certain it would have been an honest review, if he could taste the coffee with his freshly burnt taste buds. “I wish I’d found this place sooner.”

Another slight smile from Sojiro. It felt like Akechi had found the right stones to step on without slipping, crossing the dangerous river known as ‘appealing to strangers’.

“Well, Mr. Detective, I’m happy to hear that,” he said with a short nod, already busying himself with emptying the portafilter and cleaning it out for the next customer, if there would be any at this time. There was only another customer beside himself, who sat in a booth in the corner and, when not chewing on his pen or posing thoughtfully, would watch the TV cycle through the news.

It started up about the Phantom Thieves again. It started up with those discussions about how dangerous they were, how terrible the current cabinet must have been for failing to catch them, and Akechi took the chance to quell a growing curiosity.
“It’s impossible to go anywhere without hearing about them one way or another,” he said with a wistful sigh, as if to suggest that his work was burdening him even here and that it was terribly unfortunate. “What do you think of the Phantom Thieves?”

“What about them?” Genuine. It wasn’t a mock confusion and was instead a completely sincere disinterest. Which brought in unique implications about the Phantom Thief currently living, currently sheltered , under Sojiro Sakura’s roof. What would he say now, if he knew? Not just Akira, but his adoptive daughter too - what would he think? Who would he blame?

Would he be willing to turn them in? If not, what would it take to convince him?

“It feels like everyone has some opinion about them that they can’t wait to share. Quite refreshing to speak to someone with more important things to worry about.”
“That so?” The disinterest was spreading now; Akechi was losing him.
“I with less of my conversations as of late focused on them. I’ve been unable to escape hearing about it since… that painter - May or so, I believe. But the obsession of the public has been quite unsettling.” He waved a hand dismissively. “No point discussing it further if it doesn’t interest either of us.”

Sojiro nodded, started to agree, and the door swung open. The bell atop of it jingled and as it swung closed, a draught of sharp, cool late-October air flooded the room. The chill was at once uncomfortable and gratefully accepted, pushing out the tiredness from his mind and reminding him not to get too comfortable. He tilted his head towards the door to catch sight of who was entering just as Sojiro said “ Oh, you’re back ” with his usual ease.

Akira, just within the doorway, stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of Akechi. There was no animosity on his face, only polite surprise.
“Welcome home,” Akechi said, warm and a little bolder than he would usually have been.

Akira’s eyes widened for a moment, then he relaxed instantly. The tension of the day left him in a heartbeat and he smiled as he eased his bag from his shoulder. Ears stuck out from the opening of the zip. 
“Honey, I’m home.” Easy, with a voice like honey and a sincerity that was completely misplaced. An instinctive part of Akechi wanted to laugh it off and dismiss it, or to ask Akira what the hell he thought he was doing saying something like that, but he was in Akira’s home, where he had asserted himself uninvited. That wasn’t an option.
“You’re back awfully late,” he said instead, with camera-ready candidness as though he was improvising an interview. Then, just to gather himself again, he glanced back at Sojiro. “How has business been lately?” 

Just to get his uneasy heart under control and to quell the panicked, defensive instinct to force more distance between himself and Akira. To remind himself that he was here for a reason and one joke - no matter how much the false intimacy taunted him - was not enough to deter him from that.

“Take a look around,” Sojiro mutters, then- “Is the Niijima lady doing well?” 
Just as Akechi’s question about business wasn’t meant to be an insult, Sojiro’s question wasn’t intended to press on any sore spots, but again Akechi was reminded of Sae’s distrust. Again, he thought of gaudy golden palaces and roulette wheels. 
“Unfortunately, we haven’t seen each other lately. We had a… difference of opinion.”

He intended on continuing: saying nothing specific but insisting that police matters had divided them but the TV starts up again and steals away his attention. He’s almost grateful, until the voice on TV says “What are your thoughts, Representative Shido?” 

And the following arrogance grated on his nerves again.
“It doesn’t surprise me that people say our country is lethargic. We’ve let these Phantom Thieves run amok.” These were all Akechi’s words. Coaching from a brief phone call that morning; double down, blame the Phantom Thieves enough, but blame the current government more. The sting of insult stuck when Shido continued talking. About prominent figures, government leaders, all words that Akechi has fed him. That’s all he had been doing for this campaign - using Akechi and coasting on it. This country was more far gone than anyone realised if that was all it took for Shido to take power, but soon he’d reveal the truth to them all.

As he attempted to sway the conversation and turn it back to Akira, who still stood idly in the doorway, the customer in the corner spoke up - 
“That politician’s really honourable. I like how quick he says he’s gonna do everything.”

The sentiment coated Akechi’s mouth with a hideous, acrid taste. He raised the coffee cup to his lips to cover a grimace and let the hot, rich coffee coax the disgust from his tongue. Masayoshi Shido’s voice kept speaking, driving that righteous persona further and further down everyone’s throats, teetering on the edge between a noble politician and a messiah. Anger coiled in Akechi’s stomach, a distinct and hideous feeling that writhed, desperate to be noticed and recognised. At home, he’d have worked his lip between his teeth until it split making sure that Shido was staying on script. Here, he needed to sit silently and hope that conversation picked up again soon.

His eyes lingered on the screen. His left index finger curled tighter around the handle of the cup, pulling at an imaginary trigger, trying to picture how Masayoshi Shido would look at him from the other side of the gun. How long would it take, Akechi wonders as Shido discusses his ‘ natural duty as a politician ’, before he realised that Akechi’s finger had been trained to pull that trigger and he wouldn’t be bribed or rationed with? How long would his hollow pleas ring out before Masayoshi Shido realised that hearing him beg and plead for his spineless, wasted life was only bringing Akechi satisfaction?

While the TV played, Akechi pointedly adjusted his gaze. He scanned the wall around the TV. The open calendar neglected any personal information, but there were a couple of dates marked off. Presumably, despite guarding his privacy well, Sojiro preferred a way to keep track of things while at work? It could easily have been a relevant date to the cafe, something about inspections or delivery days - but a cafe this size wouldn’t need deliveries, and the only threat to a successful health inspection was currently tucked into Joker’s bag, blue eyes peeking out from the darkness. Narrowing his eyes at it a little - maybe he needed another eye test? When had Akechi last made time for one? - one of the marked-off days was the 26th. The culture festival. 

Did he keep track of what Akira was up to? Why, if he had no suspicions that Akira was a Phantom Thief, would he be keeping such a close eye on him? Why would he care at all?

“What’re you standing there staring off into space for?” For a moment, Akechi suspected that the question was directed at him, but in the corner of his eye he could see Sojiro looking away from the TV entirely and back towards the door. “You’re creeping me out.” 

A quiet huff from Akira, like slight laughter.
“Long day at school, I guess. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried, moron,” Sojiro lied, “You’re obstructing business.”

Interesting. More interesting than the calendar - possibly connected to why he was using that calendar - was the way he spoke to Joker. He wouldn’t have asked why he was staring off if he wasn’t worried, he’d have just told Akira to move. He’d have snapped at Akira, told him to get upstairs or out of the way of the door and expected compliance immediately.

Why would Sojiro care about Joker at all? Joker was an obligation to be saddled with, a criminal that occupied his attic, even without the knowledge that he was committing acts of terrorism near-daily. Was the highlighting of the 26th because Joker would be out until late at the careers festival? Because if Joker came home late Sojiro would be, what, concerned?

“That politician-“ the presence of that other customer, that insufferable other customer, had almost slipped Akechi’s mind. He was the perfect example of how brainless the public had become, how eagerly they absorbed the most promising slop that they were fed. He’d report back to Shido later that the campaigning was going well. “Is honest,” untrue, “and carries an overwhelming amount of charisma.” Also untrue.

Sojiro turned away from Akira, who had eased closer to the counter and settled a hand on the back of the chair beside Akechi, and the customer across the room caught his eye.

“It feels like a trustworthy leader for Japan has finally come forth. Don’t you think, Boss?”

“Sorry, wasn’t listening.”

He was. He had turned his head when the news had turned to discuss Shido. He’d stared at the screen, taken in each word, and then noticed that Joker was standing dead still. Maybe, as well as his obvious concern, he’d used Joker’s absentminded staring as an excuse to talk about something else. Was there a reason he wasn’t commenting? He’d referred to a disinterest in politics earlier but this had to be something more. Sojiro Sakura had previously been government affiliated - why would he be so averse to sharing his opinions?

Akechi turned his head to look back at his drink. Akira eased the chair beside him back from the counter and sank into it, setting his bag gently down on the floor.

What was it that Shido had said about the Phantom Thieves a moment ago? He’d called them ‘selfish criminals, deserving of reformation’ - so Akechi used that. He’d made his stance publicly clear, and his interviews were airing almost as frequently as news on the elections. Joker had likely heard his statements on the news putting his faith in the Phantom Thieves.
“Criminals, hm?” Speaking quiet enough that he hoped the customer in the corner wouldn’t hear, Akechi idly tapped a gloved finger against the counter. “That must be how he sees it, however ignorant it is of their true nature.”

Joker’s eyes lit up.
“True nature?” he repeated, low and easy, gaze fixed intently on Akechi. It was odd - to still look at Akechi like that, he must have been stupid. Had he not realised how significantly their relationship had changed? Didn’t he feel the lingering animosity that sat comfortably beneath everything Akechi said to him? He was either ignorant, or Joker was able to remain so effortlessly charming because it’d always been an act, easily switched on.

“If these people attack others with no remorse, why would they make a teacher and an artist apologise? Could a murder truly have been enacted by the same group?” A practised speech, with a controlled uncertainty. “If this Okumura incident was not the Phantom Thieves, if they only change the hearts of criminals, then even though they can’t be considered ‘innocent’... perhaps my goals are not so different from theirs.”
“They are innocent,” said again with this firm assertion, what had initially been so bold and interesting now grating. He knew Joker’s stance, and he knew now why Joker had that stance, but he never had intent to back it up. Now, obviously, Akechi knew why. And it seemed so… immature, all of a sudden. “The Phantom Thieves wouldn’t have killed him. They aren’t murderers, they want to help people.”

“It brings into question not only the involvement of the Phantom Thieves, but if there’s someone out there using the same methods as them for these terrorist incidents across Japan and if the Phantom Thieves are using the same methods but for a different result, then that brings in more questions about determining the identity of this theoretical other person.” Akechi glanced at Joker, shaking his head a little. “But it’s all only theoretical. Nothing can be proved at this stage. Still, though, I do find it interesting to consider the broader implications of this situation.”
“And the way that everyone is turning against the Phantom Thieves now - do you suspect that that’s part of this?”

Fascinating. He could only assume that it was Niijima’s deduction that had led Akira to this. Joker was certainly smart enough to figure it out, but she had a level of paranoia to work alongside her sharp thinking that made her very good at playing detective.

“It’s not unlikely, but it’s a large step to take when we know so little. I’ll keep that theory in mind when I return to work.” Akechi said with an easy smile, drinking his last mouthful of coffee. “I knew there was something special about you, ever since the first time we met. I feel as though I could tell you anything during our conversations.”

Joker smiled. Idly, a hand moved to adjust some of his hair and push his glasses back up his nose. 
“It’s mutual,” he comfortably lied and Akechi focused on the lingering taste of coffee on his tongue and the quietly playing TV to keep himself from pointing out how obviously untrue it was.

“Ah, I meant to say. I’ve been invited to a panel at Shujin Academy, and-” A deliberate pause. “Oh, I’m sure you knew that already. Considering it’s such a good opportunity ,” another deliberate pause, weight on the notion that it was something for him to take advantage of, not them, “I’ve decided to accept the offer.”

Joker smiled, the softening of his gaze suggesting a genuine relief and unintentionally confirming that they intended on doing something during the panel. Standing, Akechi took the money for the coffee from his pocket and set it on the counter.
“Thank you again for the coffee. It was delicious.”
“Glad you liked it.” Sojiro said, again with that genuine but subtle touch of pride.

Akechi turned back to Joker.
“I’m happy I could see you. I’ll be going now.”
“See you on Wednesday, then?”
“Mhm.” Akechi opened the door to Leblanc. “See you on Wednesday.”

And the door swung closed behind him as he stepped out into the cold.

Chapter 45: Tuesday, October 25th

Shujin Academy was teeming with people. Students and friends of students, families, even strangers all in attendance to see the culture festival. Though Akechi and Sae hadn’t spoken, there was no doubt that she’d heard about the festival for Makoto and among these people, there would be officers in plain clothes to keep an eye out for suspicious activity.

They weren’t likely to gain anything. In spite of the few posters still advertising taking concerns to the student council, given the death of the man those anxieties would have been reported to and Makoto’s conflict of interest in reporting them, if any theories existed it was unlikely they were going anywhere.

Approaching the front gate where people were still pouring in, kids holding parents' hands and students pretending that they were too cool for the families following them in, Akechi paused for a moment by the vending machines.

He caught his reflection.

For forty minutes, Akechi had stared at the mirror while getting ready. He’d set his hair precariously, preened it, and had carefully applied his makeup with the distinct awareness that there would be several hundred students at Shujin Academy today, many of whom would see him less as a person and more as an attraction. Another of the treats that Shujin Academy provides, Akechi would subsequently endure ceaseless attention, camera shutters going off in all directions, questions upon questions that he would carefully need to answer or evade -

He’d tapped setting powder over the makeup under his eyes. Everything was beginning to fall together and his sleep was starting to fix itself. Jobs in Mementos were regular but far between, like they had been at the start of the year, and he was hoping that they’d stay this low until the election was over and any loose ends were to be tied up.

A quick check-over of his appearance and Akechi forced himself to focus and ascend the stone steps into Shujin Academy. 

  Shutter sounds rang out from somewhere around him as soon as he walked in. A group of girls were taking selfies with and photos of some of the stall props around the store. A Shujin Student in their uniform with a camera strap around their neck was taking photos of the event for later publicity or the school newsletter. People all around him were on their phones. Akechi walked through the reception, keeping his eyes ahead, keeping himself firmly aware of what his agenda was while he was here. Beyond getting familiar with where he’d be speaking tomorrow, he knew that the Phantom Thieves were likely to be in attendance, given they were likely trying to be inconspicuous. Given that they also had few friends outside of their own in-group, there was a high chance that when he found them they’d be on their own. So Akechi wasn’t putting it high on his list of priorities to seek them out, nor was he particularly worried about getting them alone to talk.

More immediate than any of those concerns was that Akechi was hungry. Immediately upon entering reception, there were a dozen sources of temptation that made themselves immediately clear. There was a stall selling assorted candies, another selling home-baked goods, the sweet smell of vanilla and buttercream being an instant distraction. He could buy something here, if he wanted to, but he couldn’t eat anything. Maintaining perfect cleanliness in his appearance was his priority; food getting caught in his teeth, crumbs around his mouth, or dropping anything on his clothes and walking around with an undignified stain, would be humiliating. He’d spent so long getting ready that morning that he hadn’t eaten much, and last nights instant ramen could only carry him so far.

His stomach was not supposed to be his priority. Nothing but investigating Shujin was meant to be on his mind - and if all went well today, he could reward himself with takeout on the way home from that stall in Kichijoji that did soup dumplings and rich curry. The falling together of his plan meant that he could afford the extra luxuries - but that was not a thought for now.

Instead, Akechi’s feet carried him through the hallways. Through the third-year classes on the ground floor. With finals on the way, their classes hadn’t found a balance in the levels of effort put in. Some people had clearly been too distracted by studying for finals and neglected the festival, where others had evidently taken the break from their studies with open arms. There was nothing that caught his eye, despite the snack foods that some were selling, and now that it was a little quieter, it was evident that Akechi’s presence had not gone unnoticed.

It was also evident that many of the shuttering phone cameras were directly related to him. 

“Wait, he’s actually here?” A voice said from behind him as he scanned the flyers put up in the hallways and the handmade ones signposting what each class was doing.
“No way! Does that mean that he’s definitely talking tomorrow?”
“I thought our votes only got counted like… a week ago, since the festival got moved so far forwards. Isn’t he too busy with TV?”
“If he’s prioritising this, does it mean that the Phantom Thieves are…”

He turned the corner to walk along the next line of classrooms, most of which were blocked off, and to look at where the gymnasium was. That’s where he was scheduled to have his panel — right now it held a collection of enthusiastic students doing some kind of audience interaction while a student stood at the front with a microphone and loudly singling people out. According to the schedule on the door, this event was supposed to last another forty-five minutes; Akechi opted against going inside.

He stepped away from the door as the person within the gymnasium lifted their head and caught sight of him, opting instead to go upstairs and look around at the second floor. He wandered past further stalls, some temporary horror house that travelled from one classroom to another through a large black corridor made of cardboard and fabric, and drifted up the stairs. He’d walked up these stairs nearly two months ago when he’d scavenged through Kobayakawa’s office - a room which now sat firmly shut, and had its name plate removed now that its occupant wouldn’t return. Opposite was the student council room, also closed. People were gathered in crowds, talking and laughing with families. He scanned the top of the stairs and passed the student council office, but as he was rounding the corner towards the glass doors to the practice building, gently bumped shoulders with someone and stopped. 

“My apologies,” he said, perfectly prepared and polite. Three Shujin students that were about to go down the stairs had been so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn’t seen him turning the corner. Where one had given him a short lived glare at the contact, the moment he’d spoken and his image had fallen into place in front of them, the hostility had melted away and the realisation of who they were in front of seemed to land. 

It immediately became clear that Akechi should have been either more careful about coming here or stayed home entirely.

“No way. I’m- I’m so sorry, Akechi-san! Oh my god!” The one who’d both bumped shoulders with him and started to glare at him for it was the first to speak. Loudly - so loudly, in fact, that it drew eyes from nearby. She was a tall student, with stylishly pinned up black hair, dressed in a gym uniform. All three of them were in gym uniforms, and had likely been passing him to go to the gymnasium, where there would apparently be a dance later.
“It’s no problem, it happens,” he said coolly, hands idly by his sides. 
“No, we should have been more careful,” said a shorter girl, holding her arm and looking genuinely mortified - as though she’d gotten a chance to dance with royalty and spent the entire evening stepping on toes. 
“I’m truly not bothered,” he assured them again with a shake of his head, smiling. He was going to divert the conversation and ask if there were any interesting stalls that he could look at, but the other student, a boy with wild hair and freckles, stepped in front of both the other students and changed the topic for him.

“Hey,” he started with his voice deathly low, looking at Akechi like he was trying to share a very serious secret, “is it true? That the Phantom Thieves are, like, among us?”

“I can’t say,” Akechi said, taking a slight step back before willing himself to keep both feet firmly planted where they were. “I suppose that if you’re curious, you’ll just have to attend the panel tomorrow.”
“Come on, Akechi-san. You can tell us, can’t you? If they go here? Wouldn’t it be dangerous not to tell us if we’re going to school with criminals?” asked the shortest of the girls, the one hanging off of the middle girl's arm. Her attempted coercion was clumsy; emphasising this theoretical danger so pointedly that she may as well have told him what she wanted to be among the first to get exclusive knowledge from him. It was to both of their disappointments that a small crowd was beginning to form as two or three other people began to drift closer, two students came up behind the other group to listen in. A hunger pang shot through him from his stomach - maybe he could ask for recommendations on a stall selling food and use that as an excuse to leave?
“Unfortunately if I could share details about an ongoing investigation so openly, I already would have.” Though they were all getting firmly on his nerves, he frowned, turning his attention to the nearby wall to avert his gaze - playing up guilt for not being able to give them more information. “I’m still waiting on confirmation that I can share certain details that I’ve uncovered in my investigation, but I won’t know anything until tomorrow.”
“What, so you can’t say anything about the Phantom Thieves?”

It was an accusation. That fake concern was replaced immediately with frustration, sharp as a whip, and the one in the middle leant to the boy’s ear to whisper - without discretion - that it was obvious that Akechi didn’t actually know anything. Neither of them knew what they were doing. It was almost insulting, seeing what someone else his age might consider effective manipulation.

“I’m afraid not. But the panel--”
“Akechi-kun, are you actually an orphan?” it was that girl in the middle, the one that had first bumped into him. Akechi looked at her with a moment of genuine confusion, a half-second where he wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say or what she expected from him.
“I’m sorry?”
“No, I just- I mean, you can’t tell us anything about the Phantom Thieves,” so this’ll do instead? “And I’ve heard that your dad’s actually some CEO or something and that’s how you got on TV. I just think it’s pretty shitty to lie about it if you’re not.”

Something instinctively told him to return the aggression - what was shitty was publicly accosting someone and demanding their personal information, or convincing everyone around you that you had a single redeeming aspect that made you worth befriending, or convincing yourself that you were going to live a life worth living -- but he didn’t. Akechi had trained his tongue well enough to let his opinion out in controlled doses and to unleash it against a single student would be excessive. More importantly, Akechi would be branded an insufferable, snide, arrogant liar if he so much as scoffed.

“It’s a rather difficult subject to talk about,” he said, glancing at a couple of the other faces in the crowd. All dark-haired students with mixed expressions - surprise, disbelief, fascination - all of whom looked completely uninterested in helping him. He had the sudden, strange wish for Niijima to call him and rescue him from this situation with the demand for him to come to work. “My only parent died while I was young.”

Akechi glanced back over his shoulder. Another couple students had noticed his appearance now that he’d been stopped in place, and as he looked back he heard the shuttering of a camera lens. He couldn’t tell where from, or if it was focused on him, but an immediate instinct told him that it was him being documented.

He was no more significant to these people than a circus lion. An interesting novelty to watch settle on its hind legs and perform, to prod and poke until it cracked, nothing more. Even their support of him stemmed from a perverse parasocial fascination with who they thought he could be. Of who they could be, if they were devout enough for him to notice. 

“See? I told you he was actually an orphan. You’re such a bitch for even asking.” 
“What, like it’s my fault that nobody can get it straight.”
“C’mon, lay off. I wanna ask about his school next.”

Akechi smoothed his blazer.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, beginning to turn and immediately nearly bumping into another student, who had their hand raised as if they were about to tap his shoulder. Defensive anger flared at the thought of someone grabbing him when he couldn’t see them.
“Sorry!” the student, short and young enough to be a first year, pulled their hand back. “I was just going to ask, Akechi-kun, if it’s okay, if you remembered Inokashira park?”

Akechi frowned. His eyes scanned the students face, expecting this to be some kind of joke or a trick question if not a demonstration of stupidity, when something clicked. Still maintaining that effortlessly perfect mask, that easy smile and that harmless voice, Akechi almost let it slip with his surprise.
“Oh.”

“You do!” her eyes widened, her fingers toying with the sleeves of her blazer. “I never got to thank you properly for stepping in when you did.”

He hadn’t been the one to step in. Akira, in summer, had been the one to realise that someone was being harassed and throw himself carelessly into the situation to help. Akechi had merely gone along with it because the alternative was leaving them without the protection of his police badge. It was no surprise she remembered that day, but it was extremely inconvenient to be confronted about it now. He would have been very content to never think about it again.

Immediately, she dropped into a low bow. All of the eyes on him made warmth crawl across his skin, unsettling and hideous.
“Thank you, Akechi-kun. I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t help me.” She stood tall again with enough energy that she almost bounced. One ankle crossed behind the other and she glanced first at the floor, then the eyes around them all, then back at Akechi. 
“It’s not a problem,” Akechi said with a smile, “I couldn’t have done nothing.”

He could have. He would have, if Akira hadn’t been so stupid. 

“But, um, I meant to ask. If it’s not impolite.” She cleared her throat. “What were you doing out with the…” Her voice dropped deathly quiet. “ Transfer student. ”

The first time Joker had been referred to as that - as though that title was branded into his skin, marking him as something dangerous, something to be avoided - Akechi hadn’t known what to make of it. Then he’d found out about why Akira about his record, and had pieced together the details. The way that the group behind him gasped hearing it, evidently Akira’s reputation hadn’t improved. Being reminded of it also brought up the awareness that Akira had lied about his reasons for being in Tokyo, which brought with it another wave of annoyance - and he was still so hungry that he could barely think straight.

“It was merely a coincidence that I was in the same area as anyone from Shujin that day. Yourself included.”
“But you were…”

Making a small, forced noise of surprise, Akechi pulled his phone from his pocket. He frowned at the screen for a moment, then began to move it to his ear as if answering a call.
“My apologies. I really must be going. Remember to attend the panel tomorrow, won’t you?” With a quick smile and a terse “ Hello? ” he moved around the first-year and slipped away. It was only when he rounded the corner that he slipped his phone back into his pocket. He still wanted to look around, and more importantly…

Akechi was passing the stairwell, intending on finding the bathrooms on the third floor and catching his breath when-
“Ooh, impressive as always!”

Distinctly Panther’s voice. He glanced to the side and caught sight of Skull, slumped back in his chair. Beside him sat Joker, Panther, and Oracle. As he approached, he caught sight of Niijima - who he was still not calling ‘Queen’ - Noir and Fox. All of whom were sitting around a table, deeply invested in conversation. 

And far, far too relaxed for his tastes.

Akechi, with all of the TV-ready politeness and forced sincerity he could manage, approached their table.

He didn’t need to say much. His only goal for today was to assert himself as an equal to them, not just an annoyance who hid behind his interviewers, and unsettle them ready for tomorrow’s panel. 
“Oh, everyone’s all here.” He glanced at each of them. Something in Isshiki’s eyes - in Oracle’s eyes - flickered and his smile became a little more genuine. Of course she’d catch that.

Takoyaki sat at the corner of the table. The smell of it made his hunger all the more apparent. He ignored it.

“The panel isn’t until tomorrow, though…” Niijima said, somewhere between disbelief and annoyance that he’d shown up at all.
“I came to check out the venue. I can’t make any mistakes since a lot of people will be present-”
“Someone’s eager,” Oracle muttered, disdain souring her tone.
“-But, people ended up recognising me. Everyone bombarded me with questions.”

He glanced at Joker. He didn’t seem particularly focused on Akechi, but it was hard to tell if that was genuine or if he didn’t want to let on to his friends that they were… whatever it is that he and Akira were.

“That’s ‘cause you were sloppy,” Skull muttered, sharp and bitter, as if they weren’t worse than him. All completely unaware that they’d pulled him into the Metaverse only last month. He continued, choosing to ignore them both. He glanced again at the takoyaki. He’d leave after this and on the way home he’d get something proper to eat.

“I grew tired of the baseless rumours they kept bringing up, so I escaped to where there weren’t any people.” He licked his lips and stepped closer to the table, still smiling easily. At least until he got home, he ought to get something to tide him over - and it’d be some kind of power-move to take the food that they’d paid for, right? And with eight takoyaki but only seven Phantom Thieves, what was the harm?

He picked up the closest one to him.
“I’m going to have one of these.”

Noir, wide-eyed, leant over to Niijima and said something to her that he didn’t catch.

“Let’s just call this my performance fee.”

“But-” Panther started, reaching out like she meant to physically stop him, but Skull waved her arm away. He was trying to suppress a smile - like what Akechi was doing was childish instead of assertive. 
“Shh! It’s fine,” he said, leaning back in his chair. 

It felt like being on the outside of an inside joke, the way that they were all looking at him. Whatever. He wasn’t going to be dissuaded by the judgemental eyes of these fools. It was bland, clearly microwaved and poorly made, but it was food . He could almost feel the gratitude of his stomach already as he began to chew.
“Mm,” he dropped the stick back in the tray, raising a hand to cover his mouth while he spoke. “It’s quite delic-”

Spice began to crawl over his tongue. It started as a dull tingling sensation, idle and almost pleasant warmth, but it was too late now. 

“Eating it in one bite is a bad idea,” Panther was reaching into her bag for something. She sounded painfully sympathetic, and her attempt to intervene earlier suddenly made a lot more sense. 

What also made sense was why Skull had stopped her and why everyone had been quietly watching - but Akechi didn’t care about them. He didn’t care about what kind of satisfaction they were getting out of this. He swallowed to try and get the steadily climbing heat out of his mouth, only to feel it burn as it travelled down his throat, easing none of the discomfort. 

“My throat,” The burning tickled and brought on the urge to cough, and still it only intensified, “This is-” the worst thing he’d ever eaten in his life? So spicy he felt like he was going to throw up? It permeated every corner of his mouth, thick saliva pooling on his tongue to try and remedy the burning sensation. 

“Are you okay? Do you need water?” Panther pulled a bottle from her bag and slid it across the table. Despite every instinct in his body wanting him to reach for it, Akechi’s fists remained clenched firmly at his sides. He’d gone days with bruised ribs and sprained ankles and concussions without letting on, he could recover from eating something spicy.

He hoped. But this was an agony he wasn’t used to having to navigate around.

Back straight and eyes firmly fixed on the wall opposite, Akechi shook his head. He wasn’t going to accept her pity, no matter how desperately he wanted to get rid of the feeling in his mouth.
“I’m -” Each breath hurt. Were there tears in his eyes over this? “I’m fine! I just love, uh- spicy- spicy stuff.” He attempted to laugh it off but it came out staggered and forced. His stomach burned. His throat, his tongue, it burned. The roof of his mouth buzzed.

With everything he’d endured, this was where he drew the line? He needed to play it off.

“Hey, does he sound broken to you?” Evidently he was not handling this remotely well. He cleared his throat and swallowed, gloves being the only thing that stopped his nails from embedding themselves into the flesh of his palm.

Then, as he lifts his head, an accidental glance at Joker where he catches the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. The glint of amusement in his eyes. The only thing that gave him an ounce of solace was the awareness that if not now, one day soon Akechi would have his blood painted across the wall and a bullet in his brain, but it did little to soothe the murderous intent that burned knowing that Joker was enjoying his discomfort.

In fact, it was good he didn’t have his gun on him now.

“Well then-!” He needed to leave. The burn of his mouth was so intense he could barely think. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tensing every part of his body to try and maintain a degree of control over himself, not wanting to slouch his shoulders or cough or gag or anything else embarrassing, Akechi excused himself. He guided himself up the stairs and to the mens bathrooms on the third floor, eyes firmly ahead to avoid any distractions, and locked himself in the first stall.

The bathroom was empty, which meant that he could slump back against the wall and cough until the feeling left his throat and there were tears burning in his eyes. He opened his briefcase and took out a bottle of vitamin water that he’d packed at the last minute. He used three mouthfuls to swish around his mouth and spit into the toilet, the rest to drink until the only lingering sensations were the buzzing of his lips and the slight warmth beneath his tongue. 

Gasping mouthfuls of the cool air, Akechi coughed again into his hand and bit back the urge to throw up.

Tomorrow, he’d get back at them. Tomorrow, with the attention of all of Shujin Academy on him, he’d make them squirm for his own amusement, just like they’d done to him now.

And he’d figure out exactly how as soon as he could think at all again.

Notes:

this chapters 'fun fact' is that every single time i acknowledged that 'the phantom thieves are, like, among us?' comment, from writing it to proofreading to skimming it as i went to post the chapter, i laughed. every single time. out here giggling at an amogus joke at my grown age. also that my first tumblr post to break one thousand notes on my persona blog was specifically about the spicy takoyaki day [https://www.tumblr.com/persona-brainrot-real/732339827897516032/i-think-any-internal-conflict-akechi-had-about?source=share]
"I think any internal conflict akechi had about killing the protagonist was GONE the moment he ate that spicy takoyaki . I bet he looked at the protag and watched as he said NOTHING when the spicy one was picked up. I bet he saw the slightest smile when he was struggling to keep his composure. I bet the moment he got out of sight he was overcome with bloodlust so severe he nearly shot Akira there and then in public. Just saying"
and this is a sentiment i stand by btw

Chapter 46: Wednesday, October 26th

The size of the gymnasium and the stillness of the Shujin students tucked away inside invited a chill into the room. The air conditioning was running heavily from yesterday, where the amount of people and the amount of technology in the room warranted it.

Today, however, rows and rows of people sat silently as they waited for the rare, golden knowledge that Akechi could impart to them. The layout was reminiscent of a meeting, a political rally where he could’ve advertised himself as the next saviour of Japan; getting more suited to this would be good preparation for his future.

He’d smiled as he’d come on stage and absorbed the applause of students who had despised him until recently, knowing how little it meant and how insincere it ultimately was. He knew those students from yesterday would be there somewhere - applauding like everyone else, as though they’d had any respect for him in person. 

Scanning the audience had quickly revealed to him where the Phantom Thieves were. Most of them stood on the balcony to quietly watch the stage, but Oracle and Noir were tucked away among the crowd of people in the sixth or seventh row. If they were sitting separately to avoid drawing suspicion, perhaps they should have considered that yesterday when wandering the school festival in a group. The fact that Sae hadn’t been told about such an unusual and involved gathering must have been a miracle.

“We will now begin today’s panel,” Niijima, standing beside him with a microphone in her hand, was suited well to the spotlight. She seemed accustomed to speaking to the larger student body and the trembling of her hands was clearly not because of the many, many eyes on them. 

No, she was worried about something else entirely.

“Our guest of honor is Goro Akechi.”

She gestured to him and that cheering again started up from the crowd, where Akechi turned his gaze. He kept his expression warm, his voice soft, his words inoffensive. After yesterday, he’d been careful to come into Shujin via the staff parking lot that he and Sae had used in September, and had kept out of the way to avoid any passive interrogations.

“I feel kind of bad,” perfect, present, princely Akechi looked at the sea of faces in the room, “considering how many people have gathered. I’m sure you all would have been happier to have a singer or mascot appear, wouldn’t you say?”

From a glance it was impossible to see if there were any raised phones or cameras positioned on him so he kept himself perfect and proper.  The lights focused on the stage were terribly bright, like the studio lights used when he attended TV interviews, and once they’d been turned on it’d gotten significantly harder to see into the crowd. Something instinctive told him Joker’s eyes were on him, though - the same crawling feeling that he usually had when navigating Shibuya station shortly before stopping for small talk with him.

Good. He wanted Joker to hear this. He wanted every single spineless, incompetent Phantom Thief to hear everything he was going to say and take him for the threat that he was.

“We’d appreciate it if you could tell us your experience with the notorious Phantom Thieves.” Niijima was completely calm. Her script had probably been planned overnight and rehearsed all morning, complete with every phrase and tone change she wanted to use to catch Akechi off guard. He wasn’t going to let her; today was his opportunity to add pressure to them and get his plan properly in place.

He’d even spoken to the SIU Director about adding a heavy financial reward for information on the Phantom Thieves and issuing official arrest warrants. They were going to feel the weight of the investigation as it ‘closed in’ on them - they needed to believe that he wasn’t the only person capable of figuring out their identities.

“It’d be wonderful if you could let us hear more about your actual investigative process.”

She sounded so much like her sister. If Akechi were to close his eyes and listen to the tone with which Makoto addressed him, the sharp and complacent edge to her voice that radiated confidence and control, he could have easily imagined Sae standing in her place. It was grating, but he wondered briefly if it was a conscious choice or if that smug cadence ran in the family somehow.

“I’m not used to being the one interrogated,” a pause to give her the same TV ready smile he’d been giving the crowd, “so please go easy on me.”

The hall filled for a moment with laughter disproportionate to his little quip. Of course they’d laugh. Everyone here wanted to prove themselves as an ally to him and his justice regardless of what they truly thought. 

“As much as you’re allowed to say-” An instant redirection. Their time pressure wasn’t that intense, but evidently Akechi had branched off of her mental script and she was refusing the distraction. “-would you tell us how far along your investigation is on them?”

The look in her eyes was intense enough that it’d unsettle anyone else. A steely resolve, determination that he’d only otherwise seen in Akira’s eyes. Anger rolled through him and he swallowed it back, pretending to think.
“Getting right to the point, I see. Everything that I’m allowed to say is what’s on the TV and the internet, unfortunately.” He tapped his index finger against the podium in front of himself. “We don’t have any leads yet and the methods behind the Phantom Thieves’ crimes are unclear.”

“I see…” A controlled pause. If she was relieved that there were no clear leads, she did well to hide it. “Even with this country’s power, arresting them is proving to be difficult - is that the case?”
A loaded question. Do you think the police will be able to solve this? Are we evading them? Perhaps if Akechi wasn’t so well accustomed to the way Sae interrogated him about his personal life, her methods would be harder to recognise.
“I wouldn’t phrase it that way… but something like that.”

The tremor in Makoto’s hands had stopped.

“Thank you for answering that question. Recently, it seems you’ve denied a correlation between the Phantom Thieves and the murders…” she turned away from the crowd and completely toward him instead. He had all of the room in the world to move, but for a moment her gaze had made him feel cornered somehow. “Why the sudden change? Until now, haven’t you upheld your stance that the Phantom Thieves are dangerous? How are you so positive that they haven’t committed murder?”

Again, just like Sae. It was truly unfortunate for Makoto that she had perfectly embodied every detestable part of her sister while missing everything that forced Akechi to respect her.

“Aren’t you a little too comfortable interrogating people?” A pause to organise his thoughts. Her question wasn’t about why he was certain - she was asking why he thought they were innocent. That was all that he needed to answer. His words took action before his thoughts caught up with him - the instinct to throw her off balance the way that she was failing to throw him. “Why, it’s as if you’re a prosecutor.

“Ah, excuse me. This is something I’ve been personally interested in, so I couldn’t help it.” The pushback didn’t seem to faze her. There’d been a glimpse of surprise maybe, but nothing more. “But won’t you tell us?” she said, with a firm and decisive edge to her voice that told Akechi without uncertainty that he couldn’t evade the question again. “What reason is there that you’d claim their innocence when you previously stated that they were unjust?”
“Every person whose heart they changed have truly been criminals, including Okumura. Why, then, was he the only one who needed to be killed?”

From beside him, an encouraging “Why is that?” 
“I must admit… I couldn’t deduce a reason. That’s why I believe that case should be thought of as if a different party is responsible.” He watched as she opened her mouth to push him again and took his chance to take over the interview and challenge the authority that she was trying to wield over him. “And if- this is all hypothetical, mind you- if the Phantom Thieves are the ones I know of, I can’t possibly imagine they would kill anyone.”

His gaze turned casually back to Makoto. The challenge was unspoken but, with a narrowing of her eyes, Niijima accepted it. 

At his side and behind the pedestal, Akechi slid his burner phone from his pocket. Last night, he’d put his mobile phone in the quick-dial list in case he needed an excuse to leave a social situation again. Longing for Sae to somehow know when to phone him about work to give him a free way out would never do them any good - so he needed to leave that door open for himself. It was ridiculous that he hadn’t considered it earlier, given how many years he’d spent with two phones in his pocket.

With luck, he wouldn’t need to use it. She could’ve pretended that she didn’t hear him, or asked if the police had a good enough profile of the Phantom Thieves to make such confident statements, but she didn’t. 

As if she expected him to be bluffing, she took the bait. Just like Sae, who would push and push even if it meant endangering herself, prioritising answers over discretion. Here, in front of everyone, in what could’ve been her only chance to speak to him face-to-face, why would she ever back down?
“Your comment just now…” She paused to figure out how to say what she wanted to say. “Does that mean the police have already identified who they are?”

“Oh, no. The police haven’t gotten that far yet.” He could see that he was getting under her skin. The look in her narrowed eyes told him everything. It was exactly how Sae had looked at him in Kobayakawa’s office when he mentioned the posters. “But I have my own conclusions about the true identities of the Phantom Thieves.”

The entire room was silent. He hadn’t noticed how quiet it’d gotten until, from somewhere on the balcony, he heard what was distinctly Skull’s voice say something too quiet to discern - followed promptly by some shushing from the same place. His eyes drift towards where he was certain he saw them earlier - where he was certain that he saw Joker.

“You aren’t going to ask me who they are?” he asked, looking off into the darkness of the gymnasium for a few more long moments before returning his attention to Niijima.

It finally seemed to register to her that he’d accepted her request for him to panel with an ulterior motive. Alongside that came the realisation that all of her planning and preparation meant nothing, and that the control she’d thought she’d have up here didn’t exist. To call the feeling that rolled through Akechi satisfaction would be a vast understatement - watching as she tried to figure out how best to avoid asking him without being overtly suspicious gave him a rush of adrenaline. Being affirmed in how much smarter he was, how much better he was - it took great amounts of self control not to laugh when he noticed her slight tremor had returned.

“It may have repercussions on the investigation. Are you sure you can share that with us?”

Are you sure? Are you sure?

Akechi reminded himself that his thumb sat over the dial button on his burner phone. He was desperate to prove himself right here, publicly - damn his plan and damn everything else - but he couldn’t. A quiet, desperate part of him tried negotiating the same way he’d convinced himself to bide his time for Shido - the longer he waited, the sweeter the satisfaction would be.

“It’s only my personal opinion, so announcing that here wouldn’t pose a problem.”

I am sure. Are you willing to find out?

Her eyes scanned his face for a chance that he was bluffing. She wasn’t willing to find out, not here, but they were both aware of how limited their time was. “However… There is a possibility that everyone here will hear the truth before the police or media.”

“That’s quite the confidence you have.”
She was convincing herself he was lying. She was forcing herself to believe that there was no way he could know that it was her and that if he did know, he couldn’t say something about it now. Either way, she knew that standing down now was as good as confessing. “If you’re so certain… then very well.”

It took her a moment, but she stepped closer to the pedestal. There was a meter between them but it felt like they were so much closer. Akechi couldn’t even feel the chill of the air anymore, the tension between them and the thrill of his mental victory doing plenty to keep him warm.

Finally, she says it.
“I’d like to ask you then: who do you think the Phantom Thieves are, Akechi-san?”

He could hear the rest of them clamoring. It blended in well with the rest of the commotion from the rows and rows of students. 

“They’re people you all know quite well.” Akechi pressed his thumb gently against the call button and darted his tongue over his lips. “The identity of the phantom thieves,” It felt like it took an eternity to say it. He could spend hours standing here, admiring the increasing pressure Niijima was under. “Are-”

The ringtone from his mobile cuts suddenly through the conversation. Akech slips the burner phone back into his pocket at his side and reaches into his blazer to produce his smartphone. His feigned surprise is a meticulous performance. As is the subsequent apology - Oh,  it’s mine. I apologise for the interruption - and the request for ‘ten minutes or so?’ before they resume the panel.

Niijima apologised on his behalf, assuring the crowd they’d be back shortly, but the relief in her voice betrayed how shaken she was.

With a short bow, Akechi turned away from the pedestal and was encouraged to use the PE faculty office. With a quick pause beside Makoto to gently take her arm, he leant to her ear to ensure there was no risk of being overheard - not that the cacophony of complaints and conversation would’ve let much get overheard.
“I want you to come too. There’s a matter I want to discuss.”

Despite her glare, Makoto said nothing until Akechi, easy and still smiling, spoke again.
“Your friends from yesterday are here too, aren’t they? Can you bring them too, if that’s all right?”

It all clicked.
“Did you set this up?” she accused in a hushed voice, anger shining in her dark eyes.

Akechi released her arm.
“We only have ten minutes, you know.”

 

---

 

“They’ll be here in a moment.”

Niijima tucked her phone into her pocket. She was standing within the doorway to the PE faculty office, holding it open for Akechi as he stepped inside. Her voice, now that they were both off stage, was distrusting and bitter. With one abrupt movement she began to close the door behind her, but Akechi caught it with his foot and stopped her from leaving, still maintaining that harmless smile and easy tone of voice. Easy as it would be to drop it now that they were alone and with the openly hostile glare she fixed him with.
“We can wait for them inside.”

Her eyes narrowed.
“Didn’t you need to take a call?”
“I had to decline it while we were in front of everyone, but the information has since been summarised to me in a text. It’s nothing urgent.” And he wanted to ensure she didn’t get a chance to talk with her co-conspirators before he confronted them. 

Despite her reluctance, Niijima stepped inside and pulled her foot away from the inside of the door. It started to swing closed fast, weighted to remain closed as much of the time as possible, and Niijima caught it just before it closed so that it would sit on the latch. 

A good faith interpretation would have suggested that she was preventing it from closing so that her friends would know where to go. It was more likely, however, that she was leaving it open to leave it ambiguous whether or not people were listening and to ensure that Akechi didn’t say anything that he didn’t want overheard.

“I did mean it, Niijima-san,” Akechi said, easing back across the room to maintain this air of harmlessness. With the distance set between them, Makoto’s shoulders eased down slightly but her closed demeanour didn’t change. She said nothing. “You sounded just like a prosecutor. Perhaps that spark runs in the family?”

“I grew tired of being… what was it again? The good-girl type of pushover? Maybe that’s what gave me that spark.” It came out controlled and smooth enough that he almost didn’t pick up on the intensity of it, the weight of her resentment. Impressive, but not concealed well enough - bringing that up again after so many months had made it clear how deep that sentiment had cut.

The door opened as Akechi opened his mouth to speak - intending on forcing an apology - and Panther was the first to enter. Then Skull, glowering at Akechi as he did. He carried himself like a reactive dog, his wariness making him bite-prone. Panther held her anger better, masquerading her personal dislike of Akechi as distrust.

Isshiki’s kid - Oracle - entered next. Joker at her side, a reassuring hand on her shoulder, followed shortly by Fox and Noir. That little beast was in Joker’s bag. Akechi didn’t look at it.

Every single one of them eyed him with the same suspicion, that same dislike, standing in tense silence. 

He’d considered a thousand different ways to start this conversation, but small talk wouldn’t have gotten them anywhere. Nobody here was willing to entertain anything from him - but he was tempted to savour the conflict for a moment longer. It was only when Makoto prompted him - “What did you want to talk about?” - that he reached into the inside pocket of his blazer and wordlessly dropped a collection of printed photos on the table.

All of them, half-phased into the real world outside of Okumura headquarters, emerging from the Metaverse.

“That’s gotta be ‘shopped,” Ryuji muttered, though his surprise and the look in his eyes betrayed that he knew it wasn’t. And though it was too easy to sabotage his optimism, it was satisfying all the same.
”I have video footage, too.”

Akechi dragged his gaze through the room. Wide eyes, incredulous and lost, looked at him with silent anticipation for what he was about to say. The power that he held in that room was going unspoken, but it was something that everyone was aware of.

He was going to savour every single second of it.

“Please, let’s not feign ignorance.” The plan was going exactly as he’d hoped. “All of you can go to that other world too, yes?”

It was no surprise Joker was the first to speak.

“Us too?”

“It’s not just all of you - I am aware of that world too. I also know that when you traverse over there, your appearance changes as well. It’s because of those mysterious powers, isn’t it?”  Akechi didn’t wear uncertainty well. The instinctive, base desire to prove and assert himself often got caught in his throat when he wasn’t able to utilise it, worse when he was talking to people who were supposedly on his level. The need to be above his peers wasn’t going to help him here - Akechi needed to pretend that his knowledge of the Metaverse was minute and play the underdog.

He pulled his phone from his pocket - his personal phone - and showed where the Metaverse Navigator app sat on the screen.
“I found out about that world roughly a month ago. This had been installed onto my phone without my knowledge.”

It was Skull who was clumsy enough to give it away again, stuttering something about ‘ the nav! ’ and giving Panther a sharp look when she elbowed him to get him to stop talking. At least they were playing along this time - their acting in Shibuya while pretending they didn’t have a vested interest in the Medjed threat back in July had been painful to watch.

With their otherwise stunned silence, Akechi continued.
”When the app activated on its own, the scenery around me suddenly changed. Quite frankly, I still can’t believe it myself.” A controlled pause. “But from the look of these photos, all of you seem quite used to it.” 

Skull scoffed.
”We’ve been listenin’ to you blab on for a while now,” he snapped, the flash of teeth fitting for the cornered mutt he was, “but cut the delusional-”
“All of you are acting as Phantom Thieves in the Metaverse.” He cut Skull short. “I can say so with conviction because I have the same power as you.”

Another few moments of silence. Any further argument or bitterness that Skull had faltered quickly and died away. 

Joker shrugged, easy.
“Yeah. What about it?”

No fight. The thrill of knowing they were too cornered to deny was snuffed out by the disappointment that he didn’t get to argue with any of them.
”So you admit it then. In all honesty, I’ve been curious about you since the time of the Madarame case, but to think it would end up like this…”

“We didn’t kill anyone!” 

It was the first time that Noir had seemed… relevant. Beyond her time roleplaying as a musketeer and failing to be an obstacle against the Phantom Thieves, she’d assimilated into their group well and became almost invisible when surrounded by such strong personalities.

Akechi offered her a reassuring smile, certain she was defensive because of her personal involvement with the recent death, but complacent with the knowledge that he’d done her a favour.
“I believe that as well.” 
“How can you be so sure?” Niijima cut in again as if she’d expected to need to argue with him.
“Because I saw another.” A pause. Enough to make sure that Akechi had everyone’s attention. “The real culprit.”

Cue group surprise. Eyes widened and glances were exchanged - Skull offered a loud ‘ For real? ’ before focus was brought, again, back to Akechi.

Panther’s hands were tugging at the sleeves of her sweater, blue eyes wide and fixed on him.
“Who was it?”
“I couldn’t identify his face… he had a mask on, after all.” Another pause while Akechi raised a hand to his face, playing up his shame, playing up the drama. “Actually, when I took these photos, I entered that world too; that’s when I saw someone else moving about besides all of you. He shot at me the moment he noticed me.”
Fox picked his head up, “That’s who killed President Okumura?”
“Most likely. At the very least, I was almost killed by him.” He peered up at them past his glove.  “ I can’t die here… I need to determine the truth… -- When those thoughts overcame me, I awakened to that power - a most fortunate accident.”

“This guy has a Persona too?” came from Joker’s bag, with little paws popping out over his shoulder and the blue eyes of that beastly little cat-thing emerging. Akechi lifted his head to look at it, a practiced surprise crossing his face.
“This cat… I swear it just talked…”
“That’s Morgana. Our teammate - he taught us about the Metaverse,” Panther supplied, quick and smiling as if to tell Akechi that it was nothing to be concerned about. Morgana, Mona, whatever it was, taught them everything about the Metaverse? They knew as much as they did because of this little beast?
“Really? This is unbelievable…” His disbelief was momentarily genuine, but when presented with the chance to ask more questions, he took it. “It IS true that you know things that I don’t. Say, Morgana. Were you also the one who instructed them on how to change people’s hearts?”

Then, as if to justify his curiosity, said to the rest of the room: “I experienced that world too, but I still haven’t solved that mystery yet.”

“We go in the Metaverse - we call them Palaces- to steal the core of their desires: their Treasure. And those whose Treasure has been stolen have a change of heart,” the little thing said, in a condescendingly eager voice. It was a unique level of insulting to be talked down to by a cat - by Joker’s cat.
“There’s certainly no way anyone could figure out such an MO.”

With a grumble and a frustrated hand through his choppy hair, Skull - whose foot had been tapping against the floor for the last minute in agitation - loudly cut in.
“Anyways! Back to what you were talkin’ about! Are we in this mess ‘cause of that guy!?”

Akechi made a slight face. He offered a slightly frustrated sigh, like it was difficult to articulate what was concerning. It was good to be directed back on topic, but at the cost of listening to someone like Skull…
“Although I don’t completely understand the method, all you do is simply reform people. Someone else is behind the murders. The police, however, have already decided that the Phantom Thieves did it. They’ll arrest you at this rate.”

The way that Noir’s eyes scanned the room betrayed her unease before anything else. Niijima’s arm touched hers, as if to offer preemptive comfort, and though she didn’t lean into it she didn’t lean away.
“Th-they’re going to treat me as my fathers murderer?” It was clearly not the only thing that weighed on her. To be deemed her fathers murderer would have her arrested and her company forfeit from her. Her life of comfort and her secured future would be swept away and the media storm that would ensue would be ceaseless and brutal.

The fear was good. It was useful. Going by the way that Skull and Panther had glanced at Joker, it seemed that she wasn’t the only one worried about her future. Already guilty of assault, what would happen to their leader if he was caught? Domestic terrorism and manslaughter were guaranteed charges, adding a criminal record would all but nullify the need for a trial. 

“I can’t overlook such a grave mistake,” Akechi focused specifically on Noir, who’s anxious doe eyes were looking at him like she hoped he could say something that would fix this situation immediately. With the groundwork set out, it was time to extend his hand to the drowning, to be the saviour that they needed. “Which is precisely why I want us to strike a deal. I may be able to save you from this situation.”
“A deal?” Oracle adjusted where her headphones sat, looking everywhere but at Akechi directly.
“I would like you to cooperate with me on investigating the truth.”
“And if we decline?” Fox cut in, with an edge to his voice that made it perfectly clear that if it were up to him, they’d never be desperate enough to accept Akechi’s support.

It didn’t need to be a deal. Akechi could uphold the idea that what he was doing was completely righteous and that he was simply willing to achieve his goal by any means necessary. 
“Then I think I’ll have to inform the police about all of you, along with that video I mentioned.”

”This ain’t no deal! It’s blackmail!” Skull kicked at the floor, a misplaced and clumsy show of his anger, and earned another hushed scolding from Panther. He glared at her for a second but quickly dropped the expression, his agitated fidgeting stopping a moment later.
“Say what you will. This is the method that I believe is correct. The justice I uphold will not tolerate criminals who kill people at their leisure.” 

Noir echoed something about justice, under her breath and Niijima eased imperceptibly closer to her. Again, in comfort.

He needed it to be personal for as many of them as possible. Akechi’s expression shifted to one of concern as he looked at Niijima.
“You’ve heard that Sae-san is the one spearheading the investigation about you Phantom Thieves, correct?”

She said nothing, but she was looking at him expectantly. He thought again, briefly, to the data taken from Sae’s laptop, and supposed that it was as good as confirmed to be her doing.
“The higher-ups are concerned only with settling the case. They want to capture the culprits behind the psychotic breakdown incidents and end the commotion. Those are the ones who are putting pressure on Sae-san.” He let her adjust to this new understanding of the pressure that her sister was under before he added, slow and serious, “I can only imagine her impatience.”

“What of evidence that we did it? How do they intend on proving it?” Fox spoke again, potentially trying to cut in and alleviate the pressure of Akechi’s questioning from Niijima’s shoulders. Or the timing was completely coincidental, as he didn’t seem particularly socially aware. 
“Even if there is no objective explanation to the method, it’s over once causality is established. Sae-san can’t make rational judgments at the moment. If she were to be cornered,” he let his righteous persona slip in, let this sharp edge cut into his voice to prove how disgusted he was at the person that Sae had become, “well… she may even make up a confession.”

The air was still. Had this all been a game to them up until recently? Had they truly not considered the consequences of playing heroes when real people, and real crimes were involved? 

“Make it up?”

Niijima said it like she couldn’t believe it. It was fair for her to be surprised - it wasn’t just about the Phantom Thieves, though that was a significant part of it, but that Sae-san would be willing to invent evidence to get a conviction. How crushing it must have been to have to come to terms with the person her sister pretended not to be.

The rest of the objections came after a moment of silence, again as if they were just trying to shield and distract from Niijima’s vulnerability.
“So they’re gonna make it all our fault!?” Skull snapped, stepping towards Akechi. It was clear how he’d gotten the reputation that he had - incompetent as he was, that temper was easy to set off. If it wasn’t for the way his friends crowded him, Akechi suspected that he’d have been a lot quicker to bare his teeth and a lot more bite-prone. “Just ‘cause they feel like it!?”
“We haven't killed anyone though! We’re still going to be arrested?” Panther’s anger was strong too, but grounded. Suppressed well.
“You’ll be found guilty if you’re caught, and it will be treated as a very serious crime.”
“Bullshit! None of that makes any sense!”

Panther again tugged Skull back, but he shook off her arm. His glare stayed firmly on Akechi, expecting this to be a bluff or a joke made in poor taste.

But Akechi was not joking, and he was enjoying the frenzied state that they were building themselves up to far too much to stand down.
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do alone anymore to stop the flow of things-”
“And that’s why you want our cooperation?” Another swift recovery from Niijima. Either she had twice Sae’s determination or she was eager to end this conversation early.
“In return, I’ll turn a blind eye to what you’ve done.” He turned away from them to collect the photos from the desk, tucking them back into his pocket. “Those are my conditions. That said, I ask that you disband the Phantom Thieves after this.”

Each moment of quiet was another small victory. It was a confirmation that not only had all of Akechi’s planning been worth it, but that every preemptive measure he’d used to keep them on edge had been successful. 

Fox leant down to Joker.
“What should we do about Akechi-san’s proposal?”

No discretion. He even eyed Akechi as he said it, with distrust and contempt. He’d endured enough passive bitchiness not to comment, but it irked him.

Joker shrugged, looking at Akechi with an expression that was hard to place.
“You’re demanding a lot,” he said coolly. What he was implying was that it was obvious how long Akechi had spent planning this, given that every loose end was wrapped up. “I shouldn’t have expected anything less.”
“I’m not one to come unprepared to a negotiation,” Akechi smiled, ignoring the way that Oracle scoffed at the use of the word ‘ negotiation ’. “I’d rather lay my cards out so that you can all come to a fair judgement. I don’t expect an immediate answer, either.”

His eyes fixed on Joker’s. He offered him a reassuring look, completely unlike the way he’d eyed the rest of the Phantom Thieves, asserting that Joker was different to them - more reasonable, easier to expect rationality from. He didn’t expect to easily drive a divide between Joker and the rest of the team, but given that Joker had clearly opted to hide the nature of their relationship from his teammates, it’d be a missed opportunity not to encourage a little distrust.
“Considering this is you we’re talking about, I believe you’ll come to a favourable reply.” The implications there were obvious, too. Talk some sense into your friends, won’t you? “I’m glad we could talk. This has been very insightful for me and I look forward to your answer.”

He took his phone from his pocket to glance at the time.
“It seems our time is up. I’m sorry, would it be acceptable if we ended the panel here? The reason why you invited me in the first place was because you wanted intel, right?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Then both our businesses have concluded.”
“I’ll deal with it somehow.” Niijima mutters. 
“Thank you. I look forward to hearing from you all.”

He excused himself promptly, leaving the Phantom Thieves alone in the faculty office. As the door swung closed behind him, however, Skull’s voice rung out loud and clear; “Damnit! He had complete control over us!”  

They had no idea.

Chapter 47: Friday, October 28th

It was so close. The culmination of everything that Akechi had worked for was so close. Two months from then and the election results would have come in. Shido would be elected prime minister. Every time Akechi goes to Mementos he reminds him that one day, it will be Shido whose life he’s ending. Every time he brings a Shadow to its knees and it pleads for mercy, Akechi imagines how it will feel when it’s Shido who is forced to submit to him.

And every time Akechi visited Mementos, he did not think about how close he was to avenging his mother.

It was only going to be a distraction if he did. A waste of time and a potential weakness. He needed now more than ever to keep his head down and focus on his eventual victory.

Passing through Shibuya on his way to Yongen-Jaya, Akechi kept that sentiment in his head and repeated it like a mantra. 

Keep your head down and focus .
“An issue in which criminals do whatever they want under the name of justice-” Masayoshi Shido’s voice was booming as Akechi emerged into central station. A large gathering of people swarmed around where he was standing like moths to an open flame. “-cannot be left alone! Only now does the government speak of taking countermeasures…”
Don’t look at him. Let him speak. You have somewhere more important to be.
Akechi kept his head low. His grip on his briefcase was so tight that his knuckles were turning white.
“But their actions are too little too late!”

A roar of applause and agreement rumbled from the crowd. They were all going to see the truth one day. Less than two months and Akechi would have the power reveal to everyone the type of man that Masayoshi Shido truly was.

A disorienting mix of Shido’s words and his own personal insistence that he needed to focus were still ringing in his ears when he began the descent into the underground walkway. Every part of Masayoshi Shido’s current campaign hinged solely around Akechi, on Akechi catching the Phantom Thieves, on Akechi executing their leader, on Akechi obtaining an official death certificate and then severing business connections with the few that Shido needed gone before his term started.

All Akechi needed to do was remind himself that he was doing it for the right reason. He was doing it for his mothers sake, for the sake of everything that he’d been robbed of growing up, and one day soon all of this would be worth it. 

The past three years of servitude would be nothing compared to how he was going to spend the rest of his life. Comfortable, affluent, with all of the power he’d been denied and with all of the public acclaim he needed to start his climb up the political ladder. Akechi disappeared into the subway station, forcing the frustrated furrow of his eyebrows to relax, and boarded the train to Yongen-Jaya.

 

---

 

“When you say that you want us to ‘cooperate’ with you, what exactly do you intend us to do?”

Leblanc was just as comfortable as it had always been. Even with the icy edge to the atmosphere supplied by the cold glares the Phantom Thieves were giving him, it was inviting. In the chill of late October, it was significantly more comforting than it had been when offering an air-conditioned respite from the sweltering warmth of summer.

The Phantom Thieves sat crowded in booth seats, seeming both relaxed by the opportunity to have this discussion in their territory and unsettled by Akechi’s presence alone.

Joker had been the one to welcome him in. With a small but undeniably warm smile where the rest of the Phantom Thieves couldn’t see it, he’d nodded over to the booth seat that they’d all been crowding around. One spot had been empty.

Akechi didn’t take it. He greeted Joker coolly - ‘ Good to see you again. Surprisingly cold out, isn’t it?’ - and took his place leaning against the counter. Joker settled into that empty spot instead with a nod, but offered no further conversation. It was when Akechi had set his bag down and smoothed out his coat, about to start speaking, that Niijima cut in with her own question.

Straight to the point. 

Akechi smiled. It was too tense now for any goodwill to be offered his way. Perhaps he’d done too well unsettling them on Wednesday and now they were all going to take a far more harsh stance as consequence? Perhaps if he could make this feel more like a social event and less like a confrontation, it might help.
“That’s a good question, but might I have a cup of coffee first?”
“Quit effin’ around!” Skull seemed less than fond of the idea. When Akechi spared a glance at Niijima, she nodded.
“Please keep this short.” A delicate way to reiterate the sentiment. Begrudgingly, he did.
“There’s a bounty for information in addition to the arrest warrant… those are quite desperate measures.”
The way they all looked at him suggested anticipation for a threat to come with this. Some kind of reiteration on the power he holds - don’t you see the situation you’re all in? Are you really going to try and push me around? - but that’s not the intent. He is quick to clarify; “I’m referring to Sae-san’s actions. I assume all of you are at your wits end as well. She must be considerably vexed if she’s gone that far.”

Still, nothing. So in a quieter mutter like he’s meant to be acknowledging it to himself, he adds,
“Make headlines with the arrest warrant, then use incentives to get testimonies. It’s not a bad method.”

“The police have nothing on us. There’s no way they can make an arrest,” Oracle snaps from where she’s sat. She was kneeling on one of the booth seats, her arms crossed over the back of the chair behind Noir’s head, where she glared at Akechi as if his very presence was an insult.
“While it is true that I’m the only one who’s ascertained your true identities, the groundwork for fabricating testimonies and concocting a culprit are underway.”
“We don’t care about that self-gratification. Get on with it.” Oracle hissed. Skull glanced her way but doesn’t say anything to deter her.
“I’ll be blunt, then,” Akechi leant comfortably back against the counter. “I’m thinking of triggering a change of heart in Sae-san. I’ve already discovered that she has a palace.”

The silence that followed was thick. All eyes immediately landed on Makoto and Akechi watched as her expression shifted with conflict. Then, perfectly controlled, it settled into nothing again. She pointedly kept her gaze from everyone else, looking past Akechi and somewhere at the shelves behind him.

“Really?” Haru raised her head, though her hand had settled on Makoto’s across the table.
“Is this to prevent the investigation agency’s recklessness?” Fox raised his voice next, incredulous and expectant that he’d find a way to prove that Akechi was lying.
“Precisely.”
Panther scoffed. “There’s no need to change her heart just for that.”
“Indeed,” Fox nodded, as though he thought he’d caught Akechi out. “It’s hard to believe that a single person can fabricate all that.”

Didn’t they spend all of their free time pursuing corruption to try and purge it? How were they all still so naive?

“Unfortunately that’s not the case. What if I told you that those around her would turn a blind eye to false evidence?”
“You sayin’ the police would do such a thing!?” Skull snapped, and it took every ounce of control for Akechi not to look pointedly toward Joker, convicted of assault with barely a trial.
“It seems they’re more trusted than I thought.” Akechi barely managed to hide his disdain. “Their priority is settling the situation. They don’t care who the supposed culprit is.”

Noir's eyes widened. Her mouth shapes the word ‘ no ’, though no sound comes out. He’d forgotten how impactful that sentiment would have been; it carried the implication that Noir would never find out who was guilty for her fathers murder. As though that man deserved anything other than what he got.
”My objective is to find the true culprit. That must be the case for all of you, too. However, the current situation is… dire.”
“If worst comes to worst, someone unrelated will be set up as the culprit, right?” Fox muttered, as though he was finally beginning to understand why Akechi had approached them to begin with.

It wasn’t only him. The rest of the room had shifted away from their unwelcoming, resentful attitudes and were now beginning to process not only the truth of the situation, but the olive branch that Akechi was extending to them.

“Our only solution to this is to make Sae-san come to her senses. If she’s in her right mind, she can stop this situation. Her sense of justice wouldn’t allow it.” Akechi eased back into that detective persona. “The truth will be covered up, and an innocent civilians life will be destroyed. I can’t allow such a thing to happen. My own ethics won’t stand for it.” 

Skull muttered something. His tone was significantly less malicious than it had been before. Akechi ignored it.
“And changing Sae-san’s heart will be to protect her as well.”

Niijima blinked herself back to the present.
“How do you mean?” The concern she held for her sister was obvious and completely unlike the ways Sae had spoken about her over the last few months. It was fascinating to see what Sae’s little burden thought of their situation. 

His focus settled solely on Makoto, the spotlight centred on her as the pressure closed in.
“If the true culprit were to learn that she’s responsible for the investigation… what would happen?”

He didn’t need to put any more emphasis on it. The way that Niijima was looking at him made it clear that she understood. For the sake of everyone else, however, he continued. “I’m certain they’ll aim for her life. She’s the perfect target to place blame on the Phantom Thieves.”

Perhaps the confirmation was too heavy handed, given the way that Makoto shrank in on herself, but she wasn’t the only person that Akechi was convincing so he diverted to the rest of the group as he finished his proposal.
“So how about it? Will you guys agree to my plan?”

There’s another moment of silence. It was painfully clear that Akechi’s presence was the sole catalyst for the tension in the room. Not that it was any different from any other environment he’d been in - school, work, even backstage at tv studios, Akechi was well adjusted to the distrusting or disgusted looks typically reserved for someone ‘like him’. Here, he played the part of someone too privileged to understand why the Phantom Thieves had to exist, in spite of his personal tragedies.

Fox broke the silence first. 
“Even though you’re particular about being just, you’re willing to get your hands dirty?” His tone was impossible to place, perhaps in an attempt to buy time for everyone else to think or for Makoto to process what Akechi had just told her.
“It can’t be helped in order to ascertain the truth,” he said with what he hoped came across as reluctance. “There is also one more merit in changing Sae’s heart, though. She’ll make a fine warning to others not to meddle with you any further.”

He brushed his hair back from his face and folded his hands in front of himself. Again, his planning seemed to be paying off. He’d been beginning to consider it excessive, but it was all working out.
“They can’t go public if someone in the investigation team has a change of heart; it’d show their corruption. Then all that’s left from there is for me to discover the identity of the true culprit.”

Niijima was eyeing him suspiciously. Akechi pretended not to notice. 
“What do you mean?” Panther asked, voicing the confusion everyone else was working through, the expectation that their cooperation would have persisted to finding this culprit themselves, possibly.
“You’re going to tell us to announce our disbandment once the real culprit is arrested, aren’t you?” Niijima cut in, saving him the tedium of explaining, and Akechi smiled again. 
“As expected from a Niijima.” He dragged his gaze around the room. Everyone was watching him - still cautious, but evidently he’d done well to win them over. “So, what do you say? I don’t think it’s a bad deal for either of us.”

“Makoto… What’s your take on this?” Skull swirled a can of lemonade around in one hand, looking at her with a very genuine concern. Were they all going to dote on her like that? How did they get anything done if they spent this much time preening each other and licking wounds?
Niijima tilted her head to either side for a moment, like she was mentally weighing it out.
“It’s a well-made plan… it even takes putting an end to our team into consideration.”

How rare to have a Niijima offer him a genuine morsel of praise. 
“I’m flattered to hear that.”

“Why are you willing to do all this, Akechi-kun? Why do you seek justice?” Noir said, and for a brief moment the impatience turned to anger again - how long was he supposed to be here, prodded and poked at and interrogated on his morals, after they told him to keep it concise so they could get rid of him sooner?

The question settled, though, and Akechi foolishly glanced at Joker. The only person who knew as much of the truth as Akechi was willing to share sat among friends, silver eyes watching Akechi wordlessly. He was harder to read now, somehow — maybe Akechi was being pulled too many ways to properly, meticulously analyse what Joker was thinking. Maybe it was something else. Either way…
“My contempt for sickening people drives my sense of justice.” Shido’s speech rang through his ears again. His bastardisation of justice and his obsessive, deluded cult following caused the blood to boil with rage beneath Akechi’s skin. He adjusted his gloves.  “It isn’t some grand reason like society’s sake or some lofty ideal.” The resentment that filtered into his voice was sincere. Appropriate enough to let slip, but difficult to keep restrained when he dwelled on it. “It’s simply an absurd grudge… and it’s extremely personal.”

The air in the room changed along with his attitude. The animosity brought in a wave of surprise, as though the thought that someone like Akechi would never have known what it was like to be treated unfairly. As though the distorted caricature of him that each of them were carrying in their heads believed in justice like it was a go he’d been raised to believe in and hadn’t yet shaken off the influence of. 

“Dude…” Skull’s fidgeting had stopped. From the vacant look in his eyes, he was probably trying to piece together whatever he could from such a vague statement. 
“You know,” Panther nudges him, “doesn’t he remind you of us?”

It wasn’t supposed to be an insult but it was. They were nothing like him - and he was nothing like them. Each of them were tricking themselves into thinking they could have done something meaningful with their lives and that this hero roleplay could have gone anywhere useful. How young had Akechi been when he realised that nobody was allowed to be a hero in this world?

  Then, almost imperceptible, Joker nods. Panterreached around him to squeeze his shoulder in a half-hug, smiling wide at having him reinforce her suggestion. “Right?” she said, and whatever Joker replied with, it was quiet enough that Akechi didn’t catch it. He wasn’t supposed to catch it. An instinctive and defensive part of him expected Joker to be sharing something private, to lean over to his friends and whisper about what Akechi had naively told him at bathhouses and arcades, vulnerable moments that he hadn’t been able to swallow and that he hadn’t forgiven himself for. 

But Joker turned back a moment later and it was too short of a comment for him to have said anything personal. Hopefully, anyway. 

“Yeah,” Skull butts in again, looking at Akechi like the resentment was still there but that it had somehow lessened with his evolving understanding of Akechi. “Like how some disgusting adult pissed him off.” 

It’s a gross simplification. None of them could understand- none of them would ever know enough to start to understand. But he swallowed that awareness to continue playing the perfect Detective Prince, begrudgingly making connections with the vigilantes he understands but morally doesn’t align with. None of them thought enough of him to be suspicious.
“We’re similar… maybe that’s why I thought that I could ask this of you all. Will you cooperate with me on the mission to change Sae-san’s heart?”

Joker leant back in his chair. A cup of cold coffee sat in front of him. 
“We will.”
As if it was easy. As if the answer was obvious. 
“Thank you. I was actually rather worried there - this mission can’t succeed without your cooperation, after all.”

Fox muttered something to himself, and Akechi watched as again Noir reached out a tentative hand to Niijima, brushing her hair or touching her shoulder or something on the side that Akechi couldn’t see. 
“Mako-chan…”
“I’m okay.” She shook off the touch. “I never brought it up until now, but the reason I joined the Phantom Thieves is because I wanted to change my sister’s heart.” Then, softer, “I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to it.”

When Niijima lifted her head, she turned away from Akechi and toward everyone else. He barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes - not that any of them would have noticed it if he had - and turned his focus to the decor in Leblanc as if the removal of his gaze would’ve given her more privacy. 

The stairwell across the room still tugged at his curiosity. This was where Joker lived, that stairwell leading up into somewhere private for Joker. Somewhere intimate, yet with only a stairwell, very little privacy. Did he catch all of the conversation from regulars, sitting down here? Wake up to the jangling of Sojiro’s keys as he unlocked the door, or the turning on of the TV in the morning? “I’ve also known for quite some time that she has a palace.”
Akechi redirected himself, dragging his attention past stained-glass lampshades and the exposed beams across the ceiling, to the painting by the door. It suited Leblanc so well that it took a moment for him to realise what it was. They’d truly brought The Sayuri here?  It must have been Madarame’s treasure, judging by the notable change in it's appearance - but were they all foolish enough to have gotten an unblemished copy of an extremely high profile painting and left it in the middle of a cafe?
“Why didn’t you tell us?” 
“It was too selfish of a reason.” Again, Akechi refrained from letting his disapproval show. What hadn’t been selfish of them? Which target of theirs wasn’t the result of a personal grudge? “And I was too scared to look any further into it on my own…”

“Why don’t we try going there now to scope the place out?” Akechi cut in, and when he looked back at the table they were squished around, all eyes were on him again. He brought back the uncertain, starry-eyed attitude he assumed was expected of someone who had just discovered a whole other world existing beneath his feet. “A lot of this will be new to me, so I’d like to get myself accustomed to it too.”

Wordlessly, all eyes returned to Niijima. 
“I-” her gaze dragged around the faces of her friends before landing on the table in front of her. “I’m sorry. I actually have plans today.”

If she was lying, it was poorly planned enough that every single other person at that table looked at one another for clarification on what she could possibly have been doing. It wasn’t necessarily suspicious. Weird, yes, but given that he was directly encouraging her to target her sister, it was no surprise she wanted more time. 
“I see. That’s unfortunate.”

Noir whispered to Niijima like they were sharing a secret, but given that the only person who wasn’t allowed to hear it was Akechi and everyone else was expected to, she spoke too loudly for him to miss it. 
“Will you tell your sister about this?”
“Of course not.” Niijima shot it down instantly. Good. “It’s just…”

Her voice failed her. That was less good and invited a little more suspicion.

“You seem awfully evasive today. Is something the matter?” Fox doesn’t attempt to speak quietly to begin with. 
“I just can’t make time today.”
“Let’s call it a day then and resume this tomorrow,” Akechi offered the circular conversation a swift death, and Makoto, with a soft “I’m sorry, everyone.” gratefully accepted it. 

Akechi picked up his briefcase again. 
“Tomorrow,” delicate emphasis on the time pressure they’re under, “shall I meet you all here again?”
“We’ll, uh… figure it out and message you,” Makoto muttered, dismissive and suddenly touching on impatience.

Well. No point in lingering where he wasn’t welcome. 
“Thank you all for this. I look forward to working together,” Akechi said, catching Joker’s eye as he prepared to leave. “Perhaps I can get that coffee next time?”

The slight smile on Joker’s lips suggested that the plan was agreeable, but he stood and tipped his head to the door. 
“I’ll walk you out,” he offered coolly, but it was a very clear nudge. Having overstayed his welcome since the moment he arrived, Akechi nodded and walked alongside Joker to the door to LeBlanc. 
“I can see myself to the station, though. Thank you.” He offered his hand as he got to the door and Akira, possibly amused, took it for a short goodbye handshake. Again, the contact of Joker’s skin burned through his glove, searing itself into his palm, and Akechi only smiled.

“Tomorrow,” Joker looked at Akechi like there was meant to be more to say. He didn’t find it. 
“Tomorrow,” Akechi nodded, releasing Joker’s searing hot hand and turning away from Leblanc. 

He pulled his burner phone from his pocket on the way to the station, clicking on Shido’s number. With the cooperation of the Phantom Thieves confirmed, Akechi could bypass the need to prove himself to Shido and get the final few steps of the plan ironed out without insisting that the effort of Shido pulling strings wouldn’t go to waste. 

‘ Plan in motion ,’ he typed out, ‘ All going well, just need a favour. Call when you can. ’

Chapter 48: Saturday, October 29th

Notes:

apologies for the delay between chapters. admittedly it was only three weeks but i had many issues over the last few months and my backlog of like 14 written and edited chapters eventually ran out. i am three chapters ahead again now and will hopefully be able to post more frequently again and to write more frequently again!

Beyond work, Kasumigaseki was not somewhere that Akechi often went. The courthouse especially was not somewhere he tended to go. His position as a detective meant that it was not expected of him to visit as much as it was for Sae - especially not given that the majority of his cases focused around the mental shutdowns or psychotic breakdowns and the subject was rarely in a fit enough mental state for trial.

Akechi glanced at his phone to check the time; 4:35.

Niijima had waited until 2:45 to tell him where they were meeting. Joker hadn’t texted him at all - not since the culture festival, and sporadically before then. Perhaps it took the fun out of things for Joker now that Akechi knew his identity; no longer an inside joke that Akechi was on the outside of, sitting there smiling and nodding and assuring Akechi that the Phantom Thieves were obviously just. Perhapsv he’d lost interest in spending time with him at all. It was unsurprising for someone else to lose interest in Akechi once the novelty wore off, but he had expected better from Joker, admittedly. The thought of no longer getting the chance to press Joker’s buttons, to tease and argue with him, left a dull ache like pressing on a bruise. Why? It wasn’t as though they were friends. Akechi had been trying to use him from the beginning and knew that this was mutual.

And yet, here he stood outside of the Tokyo High & District Court, phone in his hand, waiting with that dull, bruise-sore ache for the Phantom Thieves to meet with him. 

Idly, a hand moved to his hair to adjust where his bangs sat. He came here enough that he had no reason to worry about lingering near a government building, but it was still a public road in a populated area. Despite the time of day and despite the circumstances, if anyone who wasn’t currently a wanted criminal was to walk by, he didn’t want to look anything less than perfect.

His phone buzzed. Akechi reached into his pocket and slipped it into his hand.  A message from an unregistered number sat proudly on the homescreen - ‘ Done. Use your favours sparingly in the future.’

It’d been very reluctantly that morning that Akechi had texted Shido on his personal phone. It was only short - the mention that his burner phone was out of credit and that he would get a replacement as soon as possible. Until then, he’d assured Shido that all contact should be through this device. 

Out of credit was admittedly a generous way to talk about the shattered screen and mess of plastic parts that had once been his burner phone. He’d claimed that the phone call last night had run through the last of it and that Akechi simply hadn’t been keeping a good enough eye on the prepaid minutes or texts that he had left - not that Masayoshi Shido would know that he was lying, given that he never had to bother with spare phones or discretion.

The wild, frenzied burst of rage that had prompted him to hurtle his phone at the bathroom door had gone as fast as it had come.

The preceding conversation with Masayoshi Shido hadn’t gone poorly. In fact, their short phone call had gone exceptionally well. Presumably running on the high spirits of several successful rallies back-to-back and the overwhelming public acclaim he was earning so close to the election. When Akechi’s phone had begun ringing - and after he’d taken the necessary moment of mental preparation to answer it - Shido’s positive tone had caught him off guard.

He’d expected the same tired frustration that Shido always used when speaking to him. He’d expected a sigh and for Shido to ask him what his favour was, to keep it short, but instead he had answered it with a tame, almost well-mannered: “Yes?”

Perhaps it wasn’t quite well-mannered , but such a greeting was considerably better-mannered than he would usually take Akechi’s calls with. 

“The plan is progressing exactly as anticipated,” he’d assured Shido, just as he had over text. “Contact with the Phantom Thieves has been made and they’ve agreed to meet with me again tomorrow to begin cooperating.”

Eyes down on his table, ignoring the food he was supposed to be eating, Akechi used the nail of his index finger to pick idly at the skin around the nail of his thumb. There was the lingering sense of dread that carried along with all of these calls; the awareness that no matter what Akechi did, something wouldn’t be good enough. Something would be asked, or a weak spot in his plan would be found and pressed on, and inevitably he would need to confess to Shido that he had limitations. That he had failed at something, no matter how trivial that something might be. 

But everything was going well. All he had to do was convince Masayoshi Shido of that.

“The Phantom Thieves consists of-” Joker, Oracle, Skull, Panther, Noir, and Niijima. As well as that… cat-beast. Did that thing count? It was hardly a threat on it's own, and it was hardly worth attempting to explain its existence to Shido beyond its… species. “-Six people. And a cat. I’ve started a file on each of them, but I’ll need to assess how they operate as a group before I can determine how much of a threat they’ll pose.”
He’d already gotten files on each of them. Files he expected to deepen and dig into further as he worked closely alongside them.

Akira Kurusu (Joker)
18, second-year Shujin Academy student.
Lives at Leblanc in Yongen-Jaya.
Potential risks: Mishima Yuuki (second-year Shujin Academy student), Sojiro Sakura (ex-government, connected to Wakaba Isshiki), Sumire Yoshizawa (first-year Shujin Academy student. Exact relationship unknown - low priority) Ichiko Ohya (tabloid journalist - medium priority).
Commutes via the JL line to the Ginza line via Shibuya to get to school. Works at his residence. Travels often.
Owns a sentient cat. Somehow. Morgana (‘Mona’) is likely from the Metaverse. Unsure how much of a threat it is. 

Futaba Sakura (Oracle)
15, Education N/A
Lives in Yongen-Jaya with Sojiro Sakura
No further connections beyond the Phantom Thieves.
Rarely leaves the house, especially not without the Phantom Thieves. 

Ryuji Sakamoto (Skull)
18, second-year Shujin Academy student.
Lives with his mother. Address not yet known.
No further connections beyond the Phantom Thieves. Has a reputation as a delinquent - very noticeable.
Commutes via the Ginza line through Shibuya. Unemployed. No commitments beyond school.

Ann Takamaki (Panther)
18, second-year Shujin Academy student.
Lives alone, parents overseas. Address not yet known.
Potential risks: Shiho Suzui
Part time work for a modelling agency. Unpredictable hours means it's difficult to pin down a schedule.

Haru Okumura (Noir)
19, third-year Shujin Academy student.
Lives in the Okumura Residence, address located via Okumura case.
Potential risks: Highly affluent. Direct connections not yet known, but an extremely dangerous person to compromise.
Rarely without personal escorts unless attending Phantom Thief meetings. 

Makoto Niijima (‘Queen’)
19, third-year Shujin Academy student.
Lives at Sae Niijima’s residence. Address located through Sae Niijima.
Potential risks: Sae Niijima, take extreme caution.

With luck, he wouldn’t need to know their schedules. He wouldn’t need to know which trains they used, what times they tended to use them, nor would he need to meticulously time any further breakdowns. 

“Well done.” Shido had spoken with no discernible hostility but completely without warmth. The praise was alien, hideous and unpleasant - were there no issues with his plan? Akechi knew that there were issues. He was being intentionally vague when he had no reason to be, yet Shido accepted it regardless? “I look forward to seeing how you take care of things, Akechi.”
“It’ll be easy,” Akechi nodded, one hand curled into a fist in the slack fabric of his pants. “The favour I need - I’d appreciate it if you could pull some strings with the Director. I’ll find a way to frame the Phantom Thieves in the Metaverse and to have them directly apprehended there. All I need is the guarantee that permission to mobilise is denied until…”

When? He needed enough time for an infiltration. He needed time to begin directing Sae where he needed her. He had to bond enough with the Phantom Thieves to comfortably infiltrate their group, to earn their trust so that he could figure out their methods and know where to stage their ambush. 

“November 20th.”

Three weeks. That would be enough time. The biggest threat was whether or not Sae would bypass the red tape to try and do something herself but if he added enough limitations, got the Director to throw in enough blockages, it would work out.

A moment of silence and Akechi felt the imminence of the berating. He knew it was coming - that disapproval, the assertion that Akechi was something weak and inferior, asking someone to do him a lofty favour that he was not entitled to ask for. 

“I can do that.”

Akechi cleared his throat.
“On the 20th, I’ll direct the police to our location and ensure the Phantom Thieves fall into an ambush.”
“…And?”
“I’ll refine the details when I get the chance to verify their methods. Within the next few days I’ll have a greater understanding of how they operate and can solidify the final elements of the plan. It’s coming together, sir. Only a few more weeks and they’ll be dealt with.”

A staticky, crackling sigh came from the other side of the call before, slowly, Shido spoke.
“Of course. I expect an update shortly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep up the good work.” And the phone clicked.
The stunned, dazed part of Akechi’s brain registered the praise with conflicting sense of relief. In the fresh silence of the ended phone call. His grip on the phone tightened, stomach twisting, with the instinctive and trained reminder that this was how Shido attempted to take advantage of him. This was the form of manipulation that Masayoshi Shido specialised in: offering breadcrumbs of praise to keep those below him believing that they could one day do enough to be worthy of being by his side. 

Then the rage had taken hold of him and he had turned, throwing his phone in a blinding impulse — 

And now Akechi had only one phone to use until he got the chance to purchase another.

 

---

 

The sun was sitting low in the sky. He’d been pacing along the outer wall of the building for perhaps five minutes and had just started to take his phone from his pocket when-
“Yo, Akechi!”

He turned to see all of the Phantom Thieves, still in their respective school uniforms, approaching. Niijima had a firm grip on Skull’s upper arm and looked to be talking very seriously to him; most likely telling him about how stupid it was to not only be raising his voice, but calling out names while on a secret Phantom Thief meeting somewhere so well-guarded.
“Good to see you all,” Akechi said, nodding at them. “I was worried for a moment that you wouldn’t show up.”

  Oracle said something quietly about how they shouldn’t have. Akechi kept his expression very, very relaxed, as if he didn’t hear it. 

“I’m surprised that you didn’t back out, Detective,” Panther said, walking a line between a joke and an insult. Given his experience, it felt like an insult.
“And pass up the opportunity to experience your methods for myself? I’d be a rather poor detective to ignore my curiosity like that.”

Gathered now by the courthouse, Akechi idly noted the way that they all stood a comfortable distance away from him. Niijima, Joker, and Oracle stood closest, the others pressed into a group opposite. 

“This is the courthouse?” Morgana, odd creature that he was, peered up at a parking ticket dispenser. He wiggled his hips, eyeing it up as he feinged a jump once, then twice, then leapt up, kicking at the side of the metal box to scrabble on top of it. Nobody else acknowledged how bizarre this was, that this cat-thing was attempting to cling onto authority despite needing to climb on the nearest tall surface to be on the same level as everyone else. Mona tipped his head and scratched behind his ear with a back paw. Again, nobody reacted. “You can tell it’s a revolting building just by looking at it.”

The disgust was palpable in its little high-pitched voice. As if it knew anything. Settling its paw down again and comfortably sitting, it shook its head before speaking again. 
“Let’s hurry up and get started. Akechi, what did you find out?”
“I rarely get to see Sae-san directly,” he lied, given that he’d been intentionally avoiding her at work, “but I’ve figured out her course of action. On the 20th, an investigation will likely be done at Shujin Academy -- as well as the Sakura residence.”

He didn’t glance at Oracle. Not as her eyes widened and her casual demeanour wilted into something more self-conscious, her shoulders shrinking briefly inwards.
“For real?” she said, quiet and stilted, and glanced first to Akechi, then to Joker in a silent seeking of reassurance. Joker didn’t say anything, but their eyes locked for a moment in what he assumed was a sympathetic glance before she looked expectantly back at Akechi.
“Then that means our time limit is November 20th,” Fox asserted, standing possibly as far from Akechi as he could’ve. His expression was passive and impossible to read.
“There’s still quite a bit of red tape involved.” Akechi affirmed, setting that as the final deadline. As he had requested from Shido. “I doubt it’ll take place before the 20th.”
“We’ll take your word.” Niijima glanced, again with that touch of concern, towards Oracle. “For now, we need to focus on infiltrating the Palace.”
“I concur. We should probably get going soon.”

The sun was setting low on the horizon. The golden hour sun was spilling across the courthouse building, lighting up its windows in a gentle pink glow. It caught in the windows of the buildings opposite and reflected into his eyes.
“People like us standing around here is quite unnatural.” He slipped his phone from his pocket to open the MetaNav, wanting to urge everyone onwards, and barely caught Oracle’s gasp before his phone was snatched from his hands.

It took a moment to realise that it had happened, his hands reaching blindly out like he meant to snatch it back. Another for the anger to roll through him in a sudden wave - and another after that for Akechi to remind himself of where he was, who he was with, and suppress that emotion entirely, dropping his hands again as Oracle said, nearly starstruck, “This is the model I wanted! You’re so lucky…”

Nobody spoke for a moment. Akechi straightened up again, his hands listlessly landing at his sides, and watched helplessly as Oracle swiped through his phone. The chances of him receiving any ill-timed messages were slim, but not zero, and though it took a great deal of energy not to show the dread on his face, he suppressed it well. 

Panther, who wasn’t doing well to mask her own surprise, gave Akechi a look that was completely apologetic, if a little embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, standing a little closer to Futaba. It was clearly meant to be something sympathetic - sorry for her , she was meant to be saying. It came across more like she was attempting to deter Akechi from trying to get his phone back. “Until recently, Futaba was actually- well, she-”
“It’s okay,” Akechi said, patient and polite, though mostly to try and save her from trying to find the polite way of saying ‘mentally-ill recluse’. “...Sae-san told me the gist.”

Niijima, as though prompted by the reminder that he had a phone, turned to him.
“Oh, Akechi-kun, it may be best if you exchange contact info with everyone too, not just me.”

Not just her? He hadn’t given her his contact information. There was no exchange. She had been given his contact information against his will by Joker, a sleight that he still hadn’t quite moved past, but sure. Getting the rest of their phone numbers would be good. He’d add it to the information he had on them and pull some strings so that he could use it to track their locations whenever they needed to be dealt with.

Regardless, he agreed that it would be a smart idea just as Oracle gasped, turning away from Niijima as though she meant to keep the phone for a little while longer. 

Taking the hint, Niijima gave him the same apologetic look that Panther had given him a moment ago and sighed.
“I’ll send everyone’s contacts to you later.”
“Thank you,” Akechi forced himself to say, and turned to look at the rest of the Phantom Thieves. Playing the charming, clueless detective should be simple enough. They were expecting it from him, so it’d be an easy if uncomfortable position to fall into. “I hope we get along. I’ll do my best.”

After Oracle, with a comment on his personality and looks that Fox had alleged was a compliment, handed him back his phone, he slid it protectively back into his pocket. Joker opened the Nav in his place, and glanced up as Niijima started speaking again. 
“I often hear her call it a ‘ place of competition ’-” Niijima began as the realisation dawned on Akechi that Joker hadn’t acknowledged him at all since they’d arrived. It seemed like a trend while Joker was with his friends. Akechi didn’t think about it. “-in which she must always win.”

“A competition, huh…” Akechi paused for a second, looking at Niijima as though he found this disconcerting. She seemed to be feeling the same, and the disappointment in her eyes grew as Akechi affirmed: “That sounds like Sae-san.”
“It’d be unbearable if we were put on trial for a reason like this,” Fox muttered with a solemn shake of his head. Was this mockery of justice acceptable to them for as long as it wasn’t about them? How many people had been collateral damage to this competition - only now it was unbearable? He hoped that if his distaste showed, it could be blamed on the discussion about Sae. “Although, a competition means it’s a match of some sort.”

Immediately back to the keyword. How shallow.

Fox continued.
“Might it be a martial-arts ring?”
The phone dissented. Match Not Found. 
“Then…” Noir adjusted how she was standing, crossed her ankles, and frowned. “Perhaps a stadium?” Match Not Found.  “Or maybe an arena?” Match Not Found. 

Akechi knew that he was rarely any luckier. He played the same guessing games, stood and ambiently listed off every possible thing that came to mind - school, jail, stadium, colosseum, bank, police station, castle, barracks, temple, - but knowing what the answer was made this process all the more tedious.

“There are other competitions besides fighting and sports,” he suggested, because he had to say something.
“Gambling, then!” Oracle piped up, with a little jump that suggested that she didn’t think this was right, but already had something like it in mind. She was obsessed with video games - she likely got the idea from games with gacha mechanics. 
“How about a racetrack for horses…?” Panther already seemed lost. The repeated Match Not Found didn’t help. The answer was right there, and still she was lost? “Other than that, there’s pachinko-” pachinko? Not even ‘arcade’? - “but does that count as gambling?”
“We played cards during the school trip,” Skull interjected unhelpfully.

The guesses lulled. Akechi could just say it - play it off as a lucky guess, maybe? Throw the word casino out there and watch as they all nodded, showing their surprise and noting how impressed they were that he got it so quickly, but he didn’t. He bit his tongue and stayed quiet.
“What else is there?” Noir said quietly, like she meant to ask Mona specifically for his input.
“It must be a ‘casino’,” Niijima said, and Akechi ignored his bitter instinct to say that the answer was all but given to her.
“I definitely see Sae-san in you,” he said instead, ignoring the dull thrum of satisfaction he got when Niijima’s expression became conflicted. 

“Welp,” Skull bounced his weight between his feet with barely contained restlessness, “it’s time we head in!”

The world swayed. Again, momentarily that lightheadedness rolled in, but the ground beneath Akechi’s feet remained firm. The air remained consistent, their surroundings stable and consistent. Joker was the first to start moving, bumping Akechi’s arm as he passed and glancing back with a slight, almost imperceptible smile. The encouragement was small but it was there, goading Akechi on with this lingering excitement. Eagerness, it must have been, to reveal the nature of the Metaverse to another person and show them how surreal and exciting each Palace could be.

Reminding himself firmly that he knew nothing about Palaces and didn’t know what to expect of Sae’s palace, Akechi returned the slight smile and followed Joker. They, shortly flocked by the rest of the Phantom Thieves, made their way around to the front of the courthouse, where everyone fell into line to take in the dazzling, dizzying, distasteful sight of Sae’s Palace.

Again, as they stepped over the threshold and past the golden fence into the territory of the casino, the air became thick and humid. The lights and the music rolling through the front door instantly overpowering, and though Akechi had already acquainted himself with this, it felt just as unpleasant now as it had the first time he’d arrived. Blinking lights, spinning signs, a sample of Las Vegas spat out into central Tokyo to mock the building that Sae had once pushed so much faith into and leant on so heavily.

“The courthouse,” Panther said slowly, as if still trying to digest the idea, “is a casino.”
“Yet everywhere else seems to be a normal cityscape.” 
Fox glanced to the side. “Is that…?”
“The police station.” Niijima looked to a gap between pillars and nearby buildings to where the police station - where Akechi frequented - sat proud and tall in the distance. Pristine, undistorted.
“I didn’t know that the station and the courthouse were next to each other,” Noir marvelled, unzipping her jumper slightly with the newfound warmth and smoothing out her skirt. 

“Our attire hasn’t changed.” Akechi diverted their focus back to the more urgent matter of the infiltration itself. “That must mean we aren’t considered threats or hostiles yet.”
“Right,” Mona, that little beast that it was, nodded. Nobody questioned how he knew this. “Areas outside of her courthouse-Palace must not be worthy of her attention.” It paused, then glanced at itself, then shook its bulbous head urgently. Akechi must have been giving it a look without realising. “Wait, I always look like this!”
“The police station’s also part of her work area, though. Whenever arrests are made for her cases. I’ve brought her food and belongings when she was sent on loan to the police.” Niijima suggested.
“We got no business with the cops, right?” Skull muttered, “This might be the Metaverse, but I don’t wanna go in a station.”

Niijima glanced at Akechi. She frowned a little.
“That reminds me, he’ll need a code name, too.” Were they always so unprepared? What had even reminded her?
“Code name?”
“Phantom thieves,” Skull started, with a renewed enthusiasm now that they were no longer discussing the police, “can’t go about usin’ their real names, right? It ain’t cool, either.”

Akechi paused long enough both to pretend he was processing what Skull said and to suppress an eyeroll at how much they sounded like kids playing pretend.
“Just for reference… What are everyone else’s?” Obviously he knew. As they listed off their names, he was buying himself time to consider his own. He’d never needed one - what good would it do for a man who worked alone to give himself a name? There was no point mystifying his work or the world it existed in. He was not a Phantom Thief in the mysterious Metaverse, changing Hearts for the sake of society - he was a man in the cognitive world who killed there because he was asked to.
“We pretty much decided on them with how we look, didn’t we?” Panther hummed once everyone had shared.
“Hm…” Akechi paused. What would he choose? It would only be temporary but he didn’t want to be stuck with something as self-centered as Queen or as stupid as Skull . “Perhaps Karasu will be best for me. You know, like a raven.”

Skull snorted behind him.

“Are your clothes all black, or somethin’?”
“The reverse, actually.” If only you knew. “If our code names are to hide our identities, wouldn’t that be better?”
“He’d be the only Japanese-sounding one,” Oracle piped up, as if she didn’t call Fox ‘ Inari’ anyway.
“Why not go with ‘Crow’ instead?” Panther chimed in again, grinning with satisfaction. Every single one of them was so utterly simple.
“Alright! From here on out, you’re Crow,” Mona called, as if it was completely up to him to agree.

Figuring that it wasn’t the worst name out of all of them, Akechi approved. He glanced again at Joker, who seemed to be quietly amused at everything that was happening despite Joker’s aversion to talking directly to him.

Akechi listened to the assertion that this was to be “business as usual”, and nodded when Joker pointed at the three people designated to take up the front with him - first pointing to Skull, then Queen, and much to Akechi’s surprise, jutting a finger out at him next.
“Let’s see what you’re made of,” he said with the slightest hint of a smile.
“I won’t let you down,” Akechi nodded, and watched as the rest of the Phantom Thieves agreed to stay a distance behind to avoid drawing too much attention to themselves.

Joker, finally looking at him for the first time since Leblanc, properly smiled. That spark was back, that determination in his eyes that had only otherwise surfaced during the early stages of their relationship, when Akechi had caught him off guard with debates about the Phantom Thieves. Now, with the thrill of an infiltration riding on him, Joker met Akechi’s gaze with something fierce.
“I know.”

 

---

 

Their outfits were every part as ridiculous up close as Akechi had thought they’d been when following from a distance. It was as they entered the Palace that their outfits suddenly changed, listening to them talk and complain and slack off, trying to make sense of every stupid little detail. Each pin, each unnecessary belt, each divot and bend on every mask, Akechi studied now that he could finally see them up close.

His own outfit didn’t look quite as ridiculous, compared to the bug-eyed goggles of Oracle’s mask. His suit and its shoulder pads weren't so flashy compared to the spiky shoulderpads of Niijima’s biker suit. His cape wasn’t even that out of place, compared to the tall feathers in Noir’s oversized hat.

That being said, as Skull stopped to look him over and barely suppressed a scoff, his thought process didn’t seem to be one that they shared. Akechi had barely gotten past ‘confirming’ that their outfit-change was because they were now considered a threat when he caught Skull’s eye.
“Dude,” he started, an already unpleasant beginning, “You plannin’ on stealin’ stuff in that getup?”

It somehow came across less like an insult and more like genuine disbelief - maybe even disappointment. Was he expecting something else? Something more controversial? Akechi only smiled.

“That just means that’s what he thinks a rebel looks like,” Mona chipped in as the heavy metal doors swung closed behind himself. 
“No, this is my mental image of a person who sticks to their justice,” he corrected, cheerful, and smoothed out his clothes a little as if to keep them pristine. It was a relic of a sense of justice that he had long since become disillusioned with, this belief that he could do something righteous and make any significant change in doing so. Changing Sae’s heart was supposed to be something righteous. Keeping the Phantom Thieves from getting falsely arrested was supposed to be something righteous. 

“Well, I think your mask is more apt for piercing than sticking,” Noir suggested, somewhere between a joke that he was supposed to be in on and a jab at his expense. It was hard to tell which, but thankfully he was prevented from needing to reply when she turned her focus to the casino floor beneath them.

It was not nearly as flashy as it was from the outside. It was bright and where the lights outside had been golden they were now a vibrant blue, lining walls and pillars and adorning automated striplights.  Plush red chairs were surrounded again by large green plants, the decoration somewhere between a tacky hotel lobby and a shady bar. Swarming below in little huddles, dressed in anything from casual clothes to business attire, were the clients of the casino.
“That aside, the people in here look completely normal,” Noir pointed out, walking towards the edge of the ledge they stood on. The rest of the thieves followed, peering out at the clueless clients, and Akechi forced himself to stand in line with them so that he could continue to pretend that he was surprised by the surreal scene. It was impressive, at least. He was surprised to find Sae grounded enough for the cognitive people in her Palace to be people.
“There’s no doubt that this is a Palace, though,” Oracle cut in, peering out at the ground below. He could see everything reflected, warped like a fish-eye, in the lens of her mask.

It was Panther that lifted her head and glanced over at Akechi. She seemed used to the protocol of both business-as-usual and navigating the team with a newbie, and made sure to stop to speak to him.
“Oh, Crow doesn’t know too much about cognitive beings, does he?”

He had to swallow his pride to play along with being clueless.

“Ah, yes. In addition to similar topography, cognitive people exist based on the ruler’s perception,” Fox explained, direct and blunt if a little pretentiously worded. Akechi barely opened his mouth to offer a polite thanks when Skull, with another little snort of laughter, stepped in beside him and nudged his arm with a leather-padded elbow. 
“That prolly didn’t make much sense ‘cause of all the fancy terms he was usin’, huh?”
“In essence,” Akechi started, eager to shut down Skull’s condescending tone, “since these look like real people, Sae-san’s view of others is surprisingly undistorted?”
Skull shrunk back a little, hands stuffed back into his pockets. His disappointment was obvious, and instinct told Akechi that it was because Skull had lost the chance to mock him.
“But considering what I see before me, it’s difficult to believe it’s not actually a real casino,” he said quickly, with the same easy and lighthearted tone, a slight laugh coming up through his words. It was surreal, but it was difficult to try and dredge up the same feelings of wonder he’d felt when he first slipped into the Metaverse. It’d been so long ago now that recalling its memory had the same unusual nostalgia as rewatching the shows enjoyed as a child; when scenes from films mixed in with memories and it became harder to tell what had actually happened.

“Not all cognitions are normal, though. In Futaba and Okumura’s Palaces, we had to battle them,” Fox continued, completely ignoring Skull’s sulking to bring up a far more fascinating point: of course Oracle once had a palace. It made perfect sense! To have broken so suddenly out of a reclusivity so intense that her therapists and doctors had given up on help, to explain how she’d gotten to know the Phantom Thieves so intimately - not only was she the foster-daughter of the man housing Joker, but somehow the Phantom Thieves had found out about her situation and started to help. The details would be impossible to determine without direct confirmation, but it answered that gnawing curiosity that Akechi had been unable to dismiss since he’d first seen her clinging to Joker in late August.
Fox continued.
“People may look normal, but we should be careful… particularly of those in positions of power.”

Akechi nodded and turned his focus to Joker, to their designated leader, with his pristine, naive smile.
“Is this what you have to go through every time?” he asked, diverting his curiosity solely to Joker to assert that he was the only person within the Phantom Thieves that he trusted as an authority. 

The slight smile on Joker’s lips suggested that he was believing it. Appreciative of being seen as an authority by Akechi, given the usual nature of their relationship.
“Every time,” Joker confirmed. Then, with an unshakeable and strong sense of confidence that was almost uncharacteristic, he added “but we’re pretty used to it.”

It was a fresh new side of him. Distinctly different from how he carried himself in public, only ever glimpsed in games of billiards or in the bite of arguments, controlled and quickly suppressed to remain passive and harmless. It was fascinating, it was like looking in a distorted mirror. Whatever else was hidden beneath his quiet disposition, Akechi looked forward to seeing it all laid bare in the secrecy of the Metaverse.

“This,” he said, about the entirety of the Palace and the Metaverse itself, “is a first for me. I’m somewhat nervous.”
“Just don’t slow us down, Crow,” Mona cut in.
“I won’t allow that to happen,” Akechi answered instantly, defensive. A moment of silence suggested that it came across wrong, but Mona shook his round head and plodded forwards regardless.
“Okay. It’s time we head inside. Our deadline is the 20th of November. Any later and we’ll be arrested in reality.” His eyes kept flicking to Akechi, dragging between the rest of the Phantom Thieves but always returning to him like he wanted to make sure that Akechi was following along. It was a bizarre, uncomfortable feeling to be patronised by something like that. “Of course, we’ll need to secure an infiltration route before we send out the calling card. As always.”

“So the calling card wasn’t merely for show?” Akechi spoke almost without thinking, the lingering curiosity since his last visit to Kobayakawa’s Palace finally getting it's chance to be satisfied. “It’s a necessary step?”
“Would you please stop interrupting?” Niijima said with an edge that was completely unlike herself. The frustration pushed itself into a sense of anger; Akechi would never have let her speak to him like that without pushback if he wasn’t so dependent on their cooperation. Instead, through the surprise that she’d dredged up such a genuine anger -- and the realisation based on the way they all looked at him that she was merely putting to words what everyone else was thinking -- Akechi kept his voice reserved.
“...My apologies.”

The silence lingered a moment longer before Niijima, shoulders easing, brushed her hair back from her face and spoke like she intended on forcing everyone to remember why they were there.
“Then let’s go.”

 

---

 

The light fixtures swayed slightly underfoot. They’d travel in their separate groups - Joker spearheading the infiltration with expertise and confidence that, again, was so unlikely how he usually behaved. Every few jumps he would pause and glance expectantly over his shoulder to ensure that Akechi, Skull, and Niijima were all following. 

It was undeniably exhilarating, the way that they ducked low behind the cover of the light fixtures, pressed close to the supporting beams that affixed them to the ceiling. Joker would occasionally pause to survey his surroundings, at which point Skull would peer cautiously over the edge to ensure that none of the customers below had spotted them. Their shared glances seemed to be all the conversation that was needed; quiet affirming nods or subtle shakes of the head to indicate confidence in where they were going and whether or not they’d been seen. Akechi followed it all with equal parts amusement and frustration.

It was a lot of precaution for a job that surely, between the eight of them, could have been dealt with far more efficiently using force. If all they needed to do was confront Sae’s Shadow directly, why would they be doing this performative discretion? Following their pace at least let him maintain the illusion that this was all completely new to him, but at the cost of allowing this infiltration to drag out far longer than it needed to.

There were three weeks before their deadline, Akechi reminded himself as he jumped from the light fixture to the ledge on the wall opposite. As he landed, Skull’s hand planted firmly on his back to make sure that he landed the jump okay and pulled him forwards, away from the edge. For once, Akechi was in no rush to meet deadlines.

Once Niijima had jumped, with Skull also guiding her forwards and firmly into safety, Joker glanced back towards where the other group was hidden away. He and Panther exchanged a quiet nod from across the room, its meaning indiscernible, while Joker turned to the staff door behind himself and took the handle. When it didn’t budge, even when he rammed his shoulder into it, he stopped to glance around and survey the nearby platforms and the pathways formed by the lights and the decor that would allow them to get there. 

“‘S that a vent over there?” Skull said, clearly trying hard to keep his voice quiet, nudging Joker’s arm to point to the opposite corner of the room. Joker grinned and bumped Skulls arm with his own, saying something that Akechi didn’t catch. After ensuring that both him and Niijima were paying attention, Joker wordlessly leapt back over to the light fixture and Akechi, with no other choice, followed.

It was only when they got in front of the vent that Akechi realised that they were completely serious about going through it. Not only that, but rather than have one person go through and find the way to unlock that door, they were all going through it. Joker gestured for everyone to keep back and drew his leg up, bracing one arm on the wall for balance before stomping fast and hard down on the grate. Despite it's loud clunk - something that Niijima confirmed somehow went unnoticed by those below - it seemed effective enough as Joker pried it away from the ventilation shaft and set it aside. 

“I’ll go first,” he said, though it seemed again that it was mostly for Akechi’s sake given that everyone else knew the typical order of things. Not in a position to complain (and content that if it went nowhere they’d return, possibly without needing him to follow at all) Akechi nodded.
“You mind makin’ sure Mr. Detective doesn’t fall behind, Queen?” Skull suggested to Niijima with a broad grin, leant against the wall beside where Joker was kneeling and starting to crawl into the vent opening. It was more spacious than it looked. That didn’t make it any more enticing. 
“I’m sure he won’t,” she replied, simple and short but with a tone that suggested there wasn’t going to be a discussion. Thankfully for everyone present, the one thing that bypassed Akechi’s reluctance was the assertion that he might fall behind or disappoint.

Skull followed shortly after Joker and, after a couple seconds of shuffling, Niijima silently glanced from Akechi to the open vent shaft.

He smoothed out his very white suit and smiled at her.
“I assure you that something as small as this won’t be enough to deter me from doing what’s necessary,” he said, though he already felt his dignity protesting as he knelt down by the open ventilation shaft. The rest of the Phantom Thieves were crossing the light fixtures now.
“Good,” Niijima said, clearly enjoying some part of this ordeal. “Go on, then.”

Akechi did. He entered the vent, braced awkwardly on his elbows. The metal dug uncomfortably into his knees and getting his mask to point somewhere that it wasn’t about to drag along or bump the floor was difficult to maintain, but he managed it. And with the sounds of Niijima shifting behind him, followed Skull’s silhouette through to the exit. 

Perhaps the most insulting part was getting to the other side, placing a red glove into the beige tiles below, and seeing Skull’s gloved hand extended out to offer him help getting back to his feet. Only because it was polite, Akechi accepted, settling his hand reluctantly in Skull’s and letting himself get pulled to his feet. Niijima came through next, also with help from Skull, as did Panther, Oracle, Noir, Fox, and finally Mona - who neither needed nor was offered the help.

Akechi took a step towards Joker, who had been looking out over the room they’d stepped into, but stopped dead when he caught sight of familiar silver hair.

“Welcome,” a familiar voice called, and though it was subtle, Akechi caught Niijima tensing from the corner of his eye. Sae, adorned in a black leather dress, wide-brimmed hat and wearing absurd amounts of eyeliner, stood patiently waiting for them. “Come on down, petty little thieves.”

Which mean that the secrecy and the vent-crawling had been entirely unnecessary. She’d known they were there from the moment they stepped foot in her casino.
“She can see us!?” Skull blurted from behind him.
“You’re after the Treasure, are you not?” Shadow-Sae asked, brushing her sleek silver hair over her shoulder and smiling through cracked black lips. They drew up high into an arrogant and unnatural smile. “Come on down and I will tell you where it is.”

Fascinating. So here, beyond being the owner of a grand casino -- and certainly important enough to warrant having two bodyguards at her side at all times -- she had the superiority that she always felt entitled to within the police station. Beyond being a desire to win, her Shadow must have also been the belief that she was entitled to win and to have control over people as a result. The lives of those who entered her casino were meaningless as long as it put more money in her pocket, the same way that the guilt of those in the real world meant nothing as long as their conviction bolstered her reputation. 

“What? We’re not going to fall for a trick like that,” Mona plodded forwards on its little legs, looking out over the ledge towards Shadow-Sae. She laughed a loud and arrogant laugh, grin only widening.
“It’s not a lie. I only wish to do this fair and square.” Then, with a confident step forward, “you aren’t going to run, are you?”

With a moment of indecision within the group, Akechi met her challenge and stepped closer to the ledge they stood on. 
“We should do as she says.” It was directed solely at Joker. Everyone else would follow if he agreed. “There’s no point in hiding any longer.”

With a nod, Joker stepped forwards, braced one hand on the floor by the ledge and jumped. He landed on the layer below easily, then again, and exactly as predicted everyone else followed without second thought. Akechi went along with them.

From the floor, Akechi could see every hideous, tacky detail of her outfit. From the spiked collar of her dress to the dangerously low neckline, a dark mesh connecting the two. The slits at either side of her slim-fitting black dress travelled from the base all the way up to her hip. She wore thigh socks and a garter belt, a holster at her thigh sporting a slender semi-automatic pistol, warped by its proximity to a palace but unmistakably similar to the semi-automatic pistol that was standard issue for high ranking police officers and detectives. Not unlike the one that Akechi had in his briefcase at home. Leather gloves climbed past her elbows, stitched with purple lace to match her sharp heels.

Even with all of his experience within Palaces, it was difficult to mix the image of the refined, if occasionally ill-tempered Sae Niijima that he knew from work with this self-obsessed, arrogant Shadow. 

She took another few steps forwards as everyone gathered close, eyeing each of them individually. If she considered any of Phantom Thieves interesting or worthy of concern, she didn’t show it.

“So you’ve come,” she said, more curious than anything else, as though she completely predicted that the Phantom Thieves would come for her eventually. Then, dismissing that line of thought entirely, “The Treasure is located on the Manager’s Floor, at the highest point of this building.”

The Managers Floor. If this place was like a real casino, then it would be extremely difficult to get there. Not only would it likely be sealed off unless they were members granted that level of access, but there would likely be surveillance everywhere to keep them from getting there easily. 

“Why are you telling us that?” Niijima cut in.
“As I said before…” drawn out slowly, like it was obvious and clarifying was a complete waste of time, “I wish to go about this in the fairest manner possible. We’ll discuss this further there.”

The lights in the room flickered. Akechi’s hand instinctively moved to where his gun sat, but when they flickered back on Shadow-Sae had used it to slip away without notice. Skull charged forwards immediately to where she’d been stood, stumbling and looking wildly around before - 

“Damnit, over there!” he called, rushing to the glossy purple-blue railing along the balcony and pointing out towards the open expanse of the room. It was a large, circular shaped room, built symmetrically with a double-stairwell on either side leading up to a balcony. In the centre of the room, surrounded by tiles and decorative plants, was a glass elevator, inside of which Sae currently stood. As it began to raise she waved a dismissive, taunting goodbye with her gloved hand and disappeared from sight.

“It seems that elevator is our way to the Manager’s Floor,” Akechi turned away from the rest of the Phantom Thieves and toward the stairwell. “Come, Joker, let’s pursue her.”

The walls were panelled with silver tiles that caught the light dizzyingly, tacky silver arches decorating every empty spot along the walls of the room, the carpet was a black and red checkerboard pattern distorted and warped. Skull charged ahead, hopping over the railing to get to the elevator faster, slamming his fist against the call button, all the while an automated mechanical voice repeated - Authentication required. Please insert your members card .

It was only when Noir, stopping beside him, repeated “Members card?” that Skull seemed to realise that his technique wasn’t working.
“Like a players club of some kind, maybe?” Akechi suggested, and upon catching the incredulous look that Skull was giving him, took it upon himself to explain. “Casinos typically have a membership system; a players club. Some locations even have areas cordoned off for particular ranks of player. Considering the setup of this place,” he gestured to where the gold text above the elevator door read ‘ Standard Floor ’, “I thought things may be similar here.”
“That’ll make this shit simple. Let’s just join this player thingy,” Skull suggested.
“I would agree with you, but…”

Behind them, loud footsteps began approaching. Akechi didn’t need to turn to know what it was, but Noir’s surprised voice confirmed his suspicions.
“A Shadow?”
“As I expected,” he followed their gaze. The Shadows here all wore uniforms fit for the casino. Hideous, with purple shirts and bow-ties, and unsurprisingly formal. Even their weapons were oversized bottles of expensive champagne. “Registration will not be such a simple matter.”
“She must be daring us to challenge the security of this place to make it to her,” Fox muttered.
“Then here it comes!” Skull took a metal bat from his waist, slamming it against the ground as an explicit challenge against the Shadow - who eagerly took the challenge, convulsing as it staggered toward them.

Akechi stepped forwards. Out of line with the rest of the Phantom Thieves, hand comfortably at his hip, he glanced back at Skull with a look that hopefully suggested he back down.
“No need to worry. I’ll handle this.” Then he turned his focus to Joker. “I need to prove my worth to you, after all.”

Joker smiled. Of course he did. Eyes alive with the thrill of an imminent fight, hand hovering by the dagger at his waist, Joker looked at him with a smile .
“I have high expectations,” he said, a direct challenge. If Joker spoken to him like that the first time they’d gone to play billiards, even if Joker had only looked at him like that, perhaps Akechi would have used his dominant hand.
“I promise to surpass them,” he assured Joker, feeling that spark of competition start to grow into a greedy fire. He would make them recognise his skills. He would make them admit that they’d misjudged him.

The Shadow lumbered forwards. Akechi raised a hand to his mask, and tore it off in a wide flourish of his arm.
“Come, Robin Hood!” he called, feeling the surge of adrenaline and pride that came with the arrival of his Persona, who stood nobly at his side. 

With Joker on his right and Niijima coming up on his left, Akechi thrust his hand out toward the Shadow and called Robin Hood’s strength forwards. Golden-white light swarmed around the Shadow, forming itself into two pristine blades that hovered like refracted light. They pulled back in sync and fired like an arrow, embedding themselves deep into the flesh of the Shadow, who roared in pain. His clumsy swipe at Akechi was easily avoided, the alertness and rush of a adrenaline of a fight something intimate and rich.
He called Robin Hood forth again as Joker’s hand reached toward his own mask, feeling that competitiveness spike, and stepped forwards. Tremors tore through the ground beneath his feet and travelled rapidly towards the Shadow as jagged spikes burst through the floor. It's roar of pain grew louder as it swung back for a frenzied bludgeoning with its bottle.

Pulling his gun from his waist, Akechi shot the beast once. The roaring ceased, the champagne bottle falling from its loose grip as it dissipated into wisps of thick black smoke. Akechi remained tense and on guard for a few more moments, but when the air remained still and no further threats followed, he stood at ease. His mask blossomed back over his face.

“You’re not so bad,” Mona said, and the touch of admiration in it's voice was cathartic.
“And I am capable of so much more.” He caught Joker’s eye. That glint was back: intrigue and something else. “Now then, let’s deal with the Shadows quickly.”

Panther approached Niijima’s side.
“Wait,” she said, “doesn’t it sound like we’re gonna get ambushed based on what we heard earlier?”

Surely they weren’t considering retreating? No progress had been made - there were eight of them. Sae’s Palace was hardly going to be difficult to clear if they wanted to. She could send as many Shadows as she liked.
“I agree,” Niijima nodded, “I’d like to deal with them as quick as we can, but now that we have an infiltration route, I’d suggest that we return for now and prepare.”

“Very well,” Akechi managed to say, reminding himself firmly of his role, “I trust your experience and judgement. Let’s do that.”

Despite being known now to Shadow-Sae - and despite the obvious implication of surveillance within the casino - the Phantom Thieves insisted on leaving the way that they came.

At the entrance to Sae’s Palace, just past the fence surrounding the courthouse, they gathered together to leave the Metaverse together. There, back in their normal clothes and with the lingering fatigue brought on by that other world, Akechi looked up at the faces of his temporary allies.

He needed to remain on their side. Having comfortably asserted himself as a valuable asset and an ally that won’t slow them down, his next step was to integrate himself within their group. The more he got to know about them the better, and the easiest way to do that was to feign interest.
“I was thinking,” he said, once the rest of them were done praising each other and discussing the details of a job ‘well done’. All eyes drifted immediately to him. “It takes quite a lot of energy to do an infiltration like that, doesn’t it? I was considering going out to a restaurant to get something to eat.”

Why did he feel… nervous? They were all simple-minded people. With the excuse of getting food and the offer for Akechi to pay for it, they had no reason not to agree to spend a little more time with him.

“Would anyone like to accompany me? There’s a place in Shibuya off one of the main roads from central street that does wonderful sushi. I can cover the cost, of course, as it’s my invitation.”

The momentary quiet of deliberation came and went. Then, when the contemplation had clearly stopped and everyone had found their individual answers, the silence lingered. Akechi glanced between each of them, watching as expressions shifted from hesitant to uncomfortable to sympathetic. 

“I gotta get back soon. My mom asked me to get some groceries for dinner,” Skull turned him down first. Unsurprisingly. That opened the floodgates, however, and what followed was,
“Sojiro’s going to worry if I’m out too late, so… but maybe next time?”
“I’m not sure if my sister’s coming home today but I should be home in case she is.”
“I’ve got a shoot on the other side of town in the morning so… I can’t be up too late. Sorry!”
“The walk to my student dormitory is long and I don’t have the bus fare. Another time.”
“I’ll have my driver take you home. He’s collecting me from Shibuya station.”
“Are you certain? My thanks.”

Joker caught Akechi’s eyes. Mona’s paws were perched on his shoulder from where he was sticking out of Joker’s bag. That black tail flicked from side to side, annoyance giving it the rhythm of a metronome.

“Another time,” Joker said, without even the decency to offer an excuse. Akechi smiled, because he had no other choice, and nodded. He should never have expected anything else.
“Another time,” he agreed, staying where he was as the Phantom Thieves turned down the road.

They could get this train, he’d catch the next one.

Notes:

anyway this chapters fun fact is that i was planning on akechi shattering that phone way sooner after calling himself at the panel but never found a more convenient place to put it

Chapter 49: Monday, October 31st

Notes:

happy 200k words to the project thats been driving me insane for fifteen months now

Joker’s bedroom. Of all of the things that had occurred over the last forty-eight hours (the slew of psychotic breakdowns that Shido had requested, the success and slow blooming of his plan, the sparse texts received from ‘Queen’ inviting him to Leblanc) this felt the most unnatural. 

He’d been the last person to arrive at Leblanc. It was his guess that Makoto had given everyone else an earlier time to meet, if only by a few minutes, but that left very little to the imagination regarding what they were likely talking about. Who they were likely talking about. Regardless, Akechi entered Leblanc and greeted Sojiro Sakura with the same script as usual.
‘Good to see you. How’s business?’
‘Look around.’
‘The weather’s getting colder. Coffee and curry will be the perfect antidote.’
‘Mhm. What’ll it be? ’

He ordered a coffee. Mostly on instinct, but Akechi stopped at the counter, set the cash down, and thanked Sakura. Then he let the idle talk of the TV distract him while the coffee grinder whirred and the coffee machine started up.

He wasn’t nervous. Akechi hadn’t been nervous for anything since… when? One of his earliest trips to Mementos? Beyond the visceral, years-old memory of pointing his gun at a Shadow and feeling his index finger tremble against the trigger, watching his aim waver as he gathered the strength to do his damn job. When had he last felt that twist in his stomach? That anticipatory dread that made him not want to go up the stairs of Leblanc at all?

Nervousness had been the first thing that Akechi had trained himself out of. Fear, anxiety, dread, guilt - all of which were emotions that did nothing but hinder his progress. Most other feelings had filtered out over time afterward. That didn’t change the fact that even as Sakura set the coffee down in front of him and said, confident and easy, “Bring it back down when you’re done,” his hesitance paralysed him.

He picked up the cup and took a sip, letting the fresh coffee burn his tongue, and firmly reminded himself that he was better than this. The animosity that the Phantom Thieves had towards him was mutual. Why, then, was he…

Whatever. Akechi ran the burned top of his tongue against his front teeth, the dull warm pain forcing him out of his own head. He smiled, practiced and easy, picking up his cup.
“I will,” he said, picking up his bag again and excusing himself with a short “Thank you.”

From the bottom of the stairs, Akechi heard faint chatter. He could hear Panther’s laughter, loud and bubbly, somewhere between gasps for air while Skull shouted over the sound, trying to finish the story he was telling. Akechi only caught the tail end of it as he started up the stairs — “I’m telling you, man! I thought I was gonna get kicked out, and the whole time I’ve got Morgana tryin’ to tell me that I’m being dramatic, as if an effin’ cat-”
“I’m not a cat!”
“-has any idea what kinda shit I’d gotten myself into!”
“Oh my god, Ryuji,” Panther was saying between gasps for air and huffs of laughter. “You’re kidding! At school ?”
“And I bet you didn’t even attend the detention,” that little cat-thing’s voice cut through to the stairwell, so much louder than Akechi would have thought possible knowing how small it was. He was. 
“I hope that you did,” ‘Queen’ cut in again, still managing to sound playfully reprimanding.

Akechi turned to the last few steps and they all came into sight. Huddled around a snack-covered table, completely at ease.
“Uh, I haven’t had any detentions, since you started getting on my ass about my behaviour,” Skull said with an accusatory jab of his thumb towards her. Noir laughed, light and polite, shaking her head.
“You sound like you’re complaining."

Joker’s eyes lifted first, then as Akechi climbed another step and it creaked, all conversation died. Skull, who had been starting to shape out the word ‘ obviously ,’ stopped. His eyes flicked to Akechi and his smile immediately faded. Panther stopped laughing, but kept a polite smile.

Of those who noticed him, Skull, Queen, and Oracle looked pointedly away again, back to whatever they were doing or whoever they’d been talking to. Panther waved politely and Joker nodded his head in greeting. Mona didn’t look at him and Fox hadn’t turned his focus away from his sketchbook for a second.

The glimpse he’d gotten of them all completely relaxed was replaced now with an unspoken tension.

“Apologies for being late,” Akechi greeted as he got to the top of the stairs, setting his briefcase down. “I was stopped in Shibuya and couldn’t find a polite opportunity to excuse myself.”
“You realise Phantom Thieves are meant to be subtle, right?” Skull said, immediate and blunt. “How the hell are we meant to get anythin’ done if you’re some kinda attention magnet?”
“Ryuji,” Panther chastised quietly, but again had nothing to say in Akechi’s favour.

Needing to maintain a polite front was the worst part of it. No matter how genuine or intense his anger was, no matter what they said to him, he would never be able to respond in kind without jeopardising his plan.
“It was poor timing with the end of the school day, is all. I assure you that it’s been far less frequent lately.”
“Suuuuure…” Skull rolled his eyes, giving the impression that Akechi had somehow responded wrong. Perhaps that he’d come across as arrogant,

Whatever.

“Boss gave you a cup of his coffee?” Queen asked in a clear peacemaking attempt, and Akechi took the change of conversation gladly.
“I stopped for conversation and had ordered one before I knew it.”
“I don’t usually drink anything caffeinated,” she said, stilted as though talking to Akechi casually was still difficult. “But Boss’s coffee is too good to refuse.”
“It’s such a refined taste,” Noir nodded, looking at Queen, “I’d love to know how he makes them.” 

Several eyes flicked at once to Joker. He picked his head up from his phone, where Morgana had been perched over the edge of the table watching his screen, and he glanced between them all. From where his screen tilted down, it looked like a live video of some aquarium -- playing for Mona’s sake, judging by how intently he watched the screen, tail flicking.
“No.”

Noir laughed.
“I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy to get you to give up Boss’s secrets.”
“Secret-guarding is one of the terms for living here,” Oracle interjected from where she was perched on Akira’s bed, hunched over a sticker-decorated laptop, grinning. “Be careful if you don’t want to get him kicked out.”

The conversation fell back into place, if a little awkwardly, and Akechi made his way to the window as the one spot in the room that was as far from everyone else as possible. 

And that was where, when everyone else was talking again, he thought properly about where he was. Oracle was on Joker’s bed, in Joker’s room.
Everyone was sitting huddled around a table, in Joker’s room.
And Akechi, leant by a scrappy wooden desk, was standing in Joker’s room.

Seeing the stairwell that led to it from the cafe was nothing like sitting here now. Watching Joker disappear up and down those stairs had never elicited anything other than a passive curiosity, but to exist in Joker’s bedroom was a step more intimate than Akechi’s internally drawn line would allow. Far too revealing.

His desk was cluttered. Covered in half-finished scrap projects, notes stuck to the wall just ahead of it with brief instructions on how to make lockpicks or smoke bombs. Joker’s bed was an unkempt thin blanket and a flat pillow set on a mattress held up by food crates. His bookshelf had a stack of thumbed-through books, with worn edges and corners, beside it a scattering of gifts: a model of a sea slug, a realistic resin-cast bowl of ramen, a swan boat and a shogi tile all sat spread across the shelves. Along the rafters, a spread of a glow in the dark stars that were nothing but dull white stickers with the early afternoon light still spilling in through the windows. 

It smelled of coffee and curry. It made sense, then, why Joker smelled like that too.

“Now that everyone’s here,” Mona’s voice pulled Akechi from his thoughts, bringing him back from the quiet observation of Akira’s room - with only the lingering awareness that he’d been observing it - and to the present meeting. “Are we ready to head in?”

“Is this the location you’ve been using as a hideout?” Akechi asked, half incredulous yet forcing that casual, suggestive curiosity to remain in his voice. This was where they met? Their grand, secret base of operations was simply Joker’s bedroom? Did any of them have an ounce of discretion? If it wasn’t for the secret nature of the Metaverse itself it’d be impossible to believe they’d avoided detection this long.

“Can we just get started?” Skull cut him off, leaning forwards so his arms crossed on the table, head set just behind them. His posture was regrettable, and Akechi stood a little straighter as if he could feel the weary protest of his own back just from looking at it.

“The forced investigation will take place on November 20th,” Queen said, brushing hair behind her ear. She didn’t look at Skull when he interrupted, the ghost of a smile on her lips suggesting that it was because she didn’t want to pretend to scold him. “That’s our deadline this time.”

“Is there any possibility of that investigation being moved to an earlier date?” Fox asked, barely pulling his eyes up from where he was slowly, carefully carving Joker’s likeness out of the paper in front of him. 
“I highly doubt it,” Akechi said with a polite shake of his head. Finally, Fox’s eyes lifted, piercing him.
“How can you be so sure? Didn’t they want to catch us as soon as they possibly could?”
“They may be corrupt, but they are still a bureaucracy. Certain steps must be taken in order to continue forward.”

Fox’s eyes narrowed slightly. Not quite in suspicion, but it came across that he was trying to squeeze information out of Akechi. So, despite how obvious the implications were, he continued.
“Unless their situation becomes extremely dire, they won’t act with only circumstantial evidence.”
“I’m impressed, detective man. You sure know a lot about internal affairs,” Oracle said, though much like Fox she didn’t lift her attention from her laptop for long. It seemed typical for them - for this select few to have their noses buried in whatever intrigued them. Even their leader had only just tucked his phone away.

Noir hummed her agreement.

“Well, this is a purely give-and-take relationship,” Akechi smiled, coming up to the table, stopping beside Joker’s chair. He set down his half-empty cup of coffee. “You taught me the inner workings of the Phantom Thieves, so it’s only fair I return the favour -- and I will be sure to contact everyone if the investigation team makes any odd movements.”

“That would be helpful,” Niijima said, a notebook and a textbook closed in front of her. Her head tilted towards Mona, who she deferred the authority of the conversation to. “What’s the plan for today?”

 

---

 

They didn’t like being on a team with him. They were good at hiding it - the smiles he was given were usually somewhat genuine, appreciative of well-timed comments the same way his police coworkers would passively appreciate it when he said something that could solve the case for them. They would listen to his insight, tease him the same way they seemed to tease one another, but Akechi was used to being disliked. He knew the signs and the subtle tells that everyone wore when they were in company that they didn’t desire. And the Phantom Thieves did not like him.

He appreciated the sincerity of their attempts, though. On rare occasions, when Skull’s palm landed firmly on his shoulder after a fight to quietly congratulate him or thank him for his help, when Oracle would cheer him on for bringing an enemy to their knees (“ Nice job, Crow! ”), it almost felt like they meant it. Then, inevitably, that praise and that focus would be diverted to someone else and the change in tone, though subtle, would reveal how much more deserving of praise the others were.

Occasionally, in the aftermath of successful fights, Akechi would look over at Joker and understand clearer than ever the differences between them. He would see the shy acceptance of praise that Joker took after every fight, letting it roll off of him time and time again with a smile that radiated complacence. Without words, the reoccurring performance said so clearly that he knew that he was doing well, that he knew he and his team were unstoppable, and that he would both accept and casually return the compliments because it was polite, not because he needed them.

It never seemed to occur to him that he was anything other than capable. Why would it ever cross the mind of someone like him that he wasn’t deserving of a position like this? He was so firm in his self-righteousness in a way Akechi couldn’t afford to be.

What a blissful feeling it would be to rip that away from him. To finally rid all of the confusing feelings of envy and contempt out of his system.
Three more weeks and he’d have Joker wrapped around a bullet. 

“So you’re saying we’re barely even makin’ progress?” Skull said, everyone convened at a table in the centre of the safe room. Panther was at the far corner, then Skull in some kind of crouch-squat beside Noir with her hands tucked behind her back. Niijima was beside her in an uncomfortable plastic chair, and Akechi had slotted himself into a gap between her and Oracle. Mona stood on the table, Fox at the far corner, and beside him stood Joker. They were opposite one another, he and Joker. Through the red rings his mask carved around his vision, he could see the solemn look carved onto Joker’s face.

“Like this is any longer than any of the other palaces we’ve done,” Panther countered, resting her chin in her hands. She slouched low, not unlike the crouch that Skull was in. They mirrored each other rather well, and though they were always arguing they unconsciously gravitated towards one another in safe rooms or in the hideout. Was it a remnant of their time shared being victims of Kamoshida? Or something else?

“Feels longer,” Skull mumbled, and seemed to completely miss the pointed look that Panther gave him. It wasn’t explicitly aimed at Akechi, but it didn’t need to be specific for him to know. He said nothing because there was nothing he could say, and the table ebbed into awkward, almost guilty silence. It spoke enough for itself - it told Akechi that he was not wanted.

He didn’t need to be told.

Oracle was next to speak, something about her difficulty in reading the room accidentally lightening the mood.
“I think we’re maaaaybe…” she weighed something out for a moment, bug-eyed goggles reflecting the dancing blue lights around them. “Liiiiike a fifth…? Of the way through the whole palace now.”

Skull groaned, tipping his head back. This time he didn’t see it coming when Panther reached out again to shove him, so he couldn’t evade it. He gave her a grin and she relented on any sternness to smile, too.

“Our infiltration is finally starting to make serious headway,” said Mona, standing on the table, the bizarre little beast that he was. Oracle reached out to pet him but he, much like Skull would with Panther, ducked out of the way and moved closer to the corner Fox was standing in. “Keep conserving your energy, we don’t know what we’re likely to face!”

Noir, one ankle crossed behind the other and hands still clasped behind her back, was smiling.
“The further we go, the more this place seems to look like a real casino,” she said in that soft-spoken voice, almost full of wonder. Behind a cloud of fluffy pink hair and tucked away beneath her grand cap, her Phantom Thief gear was one of the most unusual ones there. It was hers and Queens that Akechi didn’t understand - it was like she was supposed to star in some form of western film, with cowboys and bandits. Queens was just confusing. If Mona’s assertion that it was their ‘image of rebellion’ was accurate, he didn’t understand what filled her head. “I know it’s only my second palace, but I think that this one is the most interesting we’ve been to yet!”

Fox, across the table, rumbled a low and deep chuckle.
“I must disagree,” he said, and Akechi for the first time wondered what he made of Madarame’s palace. “I doubt I’ll ever be able to shake the feeling of flying, untethered, through the boundless vacuum of space.” Akechi didn’t need to look to know that the mention of her fathers Palace took Noir’s smile. Everyone else seemed to feel a sense of quiet guilt, but Fox missed it and continued. “But even that pales in comparison to the beautiful golden pyramids of Oracle’s palace! The architecture was magnificent - the memories alone will be spread across the pages of my sketchbook for years to come.”

A pyramid? What would lead to that as her Keyword? He swallowed his curiosity, knowing it’d seem rude to ask, and he was already unwelcome enough, but it was there. Of all he’d seen in the Metaverse, he was still curious to discover new details about how it operated. He wanted to know the scale of Oracle’s Palace, how it had looked. How had she awakened - sometime between Kaneshiro and Okumura, yet after the situation with Medjed?
To not know was unheard of. There had been nothing Akechi hadn’t known about the cognitive world. Every new discovery of his was exactly that -- his. He revelled in having knowledge that only two people would ever know about, and he basked in knowing that everything he learned pushed his knowledge further and further past Shido’s.

“That must have been exciting,” Akechi said, and almost immediately the conversation was strained. It was much like being a child on the playground, asking the wrong group of friends if he could play with them. He ignored it. “A pyramid sounds like such an interesting palace.”

“It was,” Oracle said, still bunched up and hunched over on one of those uncomfortable looking chairs. Akechi’s eyes widened and his gaze turned immediately to her.
“Tell me you didn’t go into your own palace, Oracle?” He glanced around the table. No warmth in any gazes. Joker still didn’t seem wholly present. 
“She did exactly that,” Mona stepped in, a glint in his eye that was often reserved for when he knew something nobody else did. “Oracle’s so impressive. She even helped us fight off the cognition of-”
“She was a huge help at the end,” Skull cut in, giving Mona a look that Akechi couldn’t see through his mask. “Even if she made the palace collapse afterwards. But, man it was hot. I think I liked the bank the most.”

Panther gave him a questioning look, and a grin split out across Skull’s face.
“I mean, there’s nothin’ cooler than Phantom Thieves pulling off a bank heist!” he sounded almost giddy, looking at Queen and Fox for their agreement before turning to Joker. “Right, Joker?”

Prompted by the calling of his name, Joker snapped out of it. Picked his head up and looked at Skull, then sent a sweeping glance around the table like he meant to figure out the conversation from context clues.
“Yeah,” he said, “right.”
“You alright, man?” 
“We shouldn’t stop too long,” Queen said, standing up and dusting off her clothes. “Is anyone hungry? Thirsty? We don’t know how long it’ll be before our next rest.”

There was a distinct feeling nestling itself into Akechi’s stomach that suggested he was being purposefully left out of something. That there was more hidden beneath their struggle to connect with him - but he ignored it. He was being paranoid. They didn’t like him because he was working alongside the police. Because he had threatened them and wanted them to disband. Because he was Joker’s rival and subsequently the enemy of the Phantom Thieves.

He was not being isolated because they could somehow see right through him. That would mean not only underestimating the mask he had been crafting his whole life, but overestimating their combined intelligence.

“Oh, oh, I need a drink!” Oracle said, turning her bug-eyed goggles to Joker and holding out an expectant hand. He paused a moment, patted a few different pockets and checked a bag clipped to his waist and hidden beneath his coat, pulling out a soda can. It was some overly artificial fizzy fruit drink, the type Akechi didn’t touch, and Oracle cheered her thanks as she took it from him. 
“Have you got any snacks?” Skull said, checking through his own pockets. “I think I had the last of mine in the saferoom by the elevator.”

Again, Joker filtered through his bag and produced a bag of candy. Ann huffed.
“No fair that your outfits have pockets and mine don’t,” she muttered, holding out a hand and being passed a bottle of vitamin water and a slice of store-bought cake still wrapped in plastic. “I wish I could carry my own stuff instead of having to ask you to carry it all for me.”

“It’s no big deal,” Joker said, seeming to have an unending stock of supplies. He carried almost everything - though the bandages and recovery items were split evenly between them all, snacks and drinks seemed to be solely Joker’s responsibility, yet he didn’t mind at all. He passed Noir a bottle of cold brew coffee and some cake. Queen politely declined anything other than a bottle of water, and Fox wasn’t even allowed to ask. Joker passed him some coffee and a tupperware (where the hell had he been keeping it?) of what could only be homemade Leblanc curry. It was, somehow, warm when Fox opened it. If he wasn’t showing his enthusiasm well enough on his face, his clip-on tail waggedon his behalf as he dug in.

“Wait, you didn’t tell me you had curry!” Oracle said, and Joker obediently slid a tupperware over to her, too. 

Mona briefly lamented the difficulty of transporting any of his favourite foods to palaces, namely fatty tuna, but accepted a drink and what was clearly a bag of cat treats with tape over the brand name.

Akechi didn’t question it.

As Joker was sitting down in one of those awful chairs with his own tub of curry, being the one who did most of the work and most of the decision making, he looked up at Akechi. 

“No,” Akechi said immediately, knowing what he was about to be asked, “thank you. I’ll be fine without anything.”

“Don’t be stupid, man,” Skull said, reaching out to steal some of Panther’s drink despite her loud protests -- ‘ quit it, Skull! ’ -- “We could be in here another few hours.” He put a handful of candy into his mouth and spoke around it. “You don’t wanna be hungry and fall behind or eff up during a fight.”
“Yeah, Crow,” Panther said, wiping some strawberry jam from the corner of her mouth. “We’ll be here for a little bit while everyone eats, anyway. It’s a better use of your time than doing nothing.”

Another of those curry tupperwares slid across the table and stopped in front of him.

“I must insist,” Akechi said with a polite shake of his head.
“Crow,” Queen started, with that disapproving tone she’d clearly learned from her sister. “We need to be able to rely on you.” 

His jaw pulsed. Was it not enough that her sister thought of herself as holy enough to lecture him? For them to assert that this would somehow be letting everyone down -- he accepted the tupperware from the table and retreated across the room to the seat he’d been occupying earlier. 

“Victory!” Oracle cheered, looking at Joker. “You should give him some of Leblanc’s coffee, too. For the curry.”
“It is expertly paired,” Fox nodded, turning his attention to Akechi. “Have you had them together yet?”
“I haven’t,” he said with as much politeness as he could manage. He opened the tupperware, the tantalising smell of Leblanc curry reminding him of just how hungry he was. The only thing more humiliating than listening to their insistence that he should eat was that they were right about how important it was. “I usually only go to Leblanc for the coffee and the company.”

Mona brought over a bottle of cold coffee, the same as Noir was drinking, and Akechi made sure to thank him.
“Is this what you do every time you infiltrate a palace?” he asked the room, truly surprised. It would never have occured to him to bring food to the Metaverse.

He picked up a spoon and began to eat. It was delicious - he had to suppress the surprise on his face at just how well the flavours spread over his tongue. There was a touch of spice, but mild enough it only warmed his tongue rather than catching in his throat and burning, certainly nothing like the takoyaki he’d eaten. It was mellow, the flavours rich and pleasant - this was Leblanc curry, but hadn’t Akira mentioned that he was learning how to make curry to help out at the cafe? Had he made this?

Akechi couldn’t fillet a fish. He didn’t even own any basic ingredients for cooking.

“It’s important to stop and eat,” Noir said without turning around. “If we want any chance of getting through this palace, we can’t risk running out of energy or losing focus.”

Akechi didn’t say anything. He hadn’t considered any of this. How long did they spend travelling quietly through palaces, taking time to talk and eat and prepare for what they were doing next?

“Speaking of energy,” Noir said, turning back to everyone. “Would anyone like to change groups? At the front right now it's Joker, Crow, Queen, and Skull. Do any of you need a break?”

“I’d be happy to step back for a sec,” Skull said with a nod. “As much as I like fightin’, me n’ Captain Kidd are feeling a little spent.”
“I can take over,” Fox offered. “Skull and I are the best for brute force.”
“I think that I’ve been useful,” Queen said, “and I still have plenty of energy.”
“Don’t push yourself just because it’s Niijima-san’s palace,” Noir said, quietly like it was something that only Queen should hear. She sighed and her shoulders relaxed as Noir placed her hand on one, offering a begrudging nod.
“...I might benefit from a break.”
“Oh, I’ll swap in!” Panther said with a smile, “Carmen’s got some really useful healing skills, too, so we won’t be missing out on support!”

Joker lifted his head to look at Akechi again. Following their diligent leader, everyone’s eyes turned to Akechi.
“I’m good to keep going,” he said, holding up the coffee. “Feeling better by the second.”
“Glad we made you eat?” Oracle said, taunting, and Akechi laughed. Because he had to. Because he had everyone's eyes on him so he couldn’t even scoff under the cover of his mask or roll his eyes.
“It’s good curry,” he said, so that he didn’t need to answer, and slowly everyone's attention turned back to Joker.

“How much further do you want us to get today?” Mona asked, hands on his waist, still standing on the table so that he was closer to eye-height like everyone else.
“We’ll reassess how we feel when we get past that elevator,” Joker said, distant and almost uninterested. “We’ll get moving again as soon as everyone’s ready.”

With a unanimous agreement, everyone resumed their eating and their idle conversation. Akechi finished his curry, drank the rest of the coffee, and put a mint in his mouth (he carried them around often enough that they’d somehow ended up in his metaverse pocket, too) while he waited for everyone else to get ready to move again. 

 

---

 

It was his suggestion to go via the back room to get a members card. Through the ebbing in of a headache brought on by the music and cheering and otherwise overstimulation of Sae’s Palace, Akechi had directed the Phantom Thieves based on a hunch and had saved them a lot of wasted time. 

He had also suggested that they look for a customer data terminal, though Oracle had been the one to translate his suggestion to the rest of the group.

In fact, Akechi was comfortable in the belief that he’d settled into his temporary role well, despite the animosity that still lingered between them. He didn’t object when their noble, wise leader had avoided a fight that would have been trivially easy. The inside of his lip was due to have permanent bite-marks in it with how firmly he kept his criticism to himself, or not to snap at Queen when an attack made her drop to her knees no matter how easily she could have avoided it.

It was his encouragement that they could fight the Shadow guarding the stairwell - and the suggestion that if it was guarding one door, it  was likely an important route - that allowed them to get their first keycard. 

And the thanks that he was given was the fake customer card with the instruction to get rid of it. That, as the newbie , the chores naturally fell to him. Difficult as it had been to play it off as a disappointment that he was given meagre chores, rather than a resentment from being insulted, he had taken the card and reluctantly accepted the job.

He’d make it work for him. Two cards would be better than one. Somehow. And as everyone gathered in the elevator to the Member’s floor at Akechi’s suggestion, he made certain that he’d find a way to use that card to assert that he should be taken seriously.

“We’ll see what’s up there,” Mona said from down at Joker’s feet, “Then we should steer clear for the day. Okay everyone?”

“Mm, it’s not like we’re in much of a rush. We still have a few weeks,” Panther nodded, leaning against the back wall of the elevator.
“It would be best to avoid creating too much of a disturbance,” Fox finished, and all eyes turned, again, to Joker.

They asked Joker for permission with everything. At the sight of a Shadow? ‘Joker, I see one’ , ‘Joker, there’s a Shadow‘ , or ‘What do we do, Joker?‘ At the sight of a chest, it was ‘ Joker! A chest! ’, ‘ Joker, look! It’s a treasure chest!’ or Fox’s miserably direct ‘A chest? We can get more money.’ , which he consistently said with the eager cadence of someone used to counting coins. Even when it came to their next steps, they asked. ‘Joker, should we press on or head back?’ and ‘ Should we go straight there or do you want to look around?’

It was beginning to drive Akechi insane. Joker, Joker, Joker, cycling through his head. Each time he forced himself to submit to the group’s decision - Joker’s decision - and each time he had to turn to Joker for guidance, as everyone else did, it was pushing him further and further towards his limit. To look in the eyes of someone beneath him, a criminal and a Phantom Thief and a fool who believed in justice, who had known of the Metaverse for six months, forced to kneel with his mindless friends, was an insult. Yet he had no choice.

And after a moment’s deliberation, Joker nodded.
“We should pace ourselves,” he agreed, staring ahead and watching the room change, new neon colours spilling over Joker as he stood there. “When we know how to get to a higher floor we can leave.”

With a unanimous agreement, Akechi was forced to go along with them. 

The doors to the elevator whirred open. Outside the glass doors waited Sae-san again, her makeup drawn out into a smile but her expression stern. Two guards stood at either side of her, as they had done before.

“Sae!” Queen stepped forwards, but quickly stopped herself. 
“You wanna just get this over with right now, huh?” Skull came up at her side, pushing himself through to the front of the group. “That makes this easy. Bring it on.”

“Do not speak to me as though you are my equal.” Sae’s voice came out as a command, radiating authority and genuinely insulted. Imperceptibly, Queen tensed. “I am the manager of this casino, as well as its number-one player. At the moment, you lack the qualifications to fight me.”

Akechi stepped forward, too, and found himself somewhere near the middle of the group.
“And what if we would like to battle you, no matter what?”

Sae’s eyes flicked immediately to him with the same irritation that she wore at work.
“I had to win time and time again in order to reach my number-one rank. If you want to face me, you must continue to win as well.”
“Continue to win?” Noir repeated. He could see her in the corner of his eye glancing around, eventually looking at him in case his proximity to Sae could give a deeper insight into what she meant. Akechi turned briefly to her.
“It must have to do with the fact that this place is a casino,” he said, as though it was a suggestion and not pointing out the obvious.
“Correct,” Sae cut in. “Do you have the confidence to win?”

Again, Queen took a step forward, as though she intended on doing something. And again, she failed to go through with it.
“We might just pull the rug out from underneath you if you aren't careful,” she said, the threat barely there.

Sae’s attention moved from the group to Queen specifically. There was a long moment of silence spent taking her in before her golden eyes met her gaze again. 
“I don’t expect much from you.” Queen did well to hide the way it made her wilt. “But I’ll be waiting.”

With Sae’s disappearance into the elevator and no further progress to make, Akechi found the Thieves in the midst of a huddle by the time Sae was completely out of sight.

“This is different from our prior opponents. She’d rather scheme than defeat us with brute force,” Mona said, down at ankle height.
Oracle moved her head from side to side, as though she was trying to take a better look into the inside of her helmet, and eventually muttered- “It’s going up…”

Which suggested that Sae-san’s stop was not the floor above them, but further above that. This place could have had as many floors as the court did in reality- then what? They crawl one floor at a time, day by day, and hope they find the Treasure in time?

“I wasn’t expecting to come all the way to a Palace and end up gambling,” Fox said. Akechi turned back to where everyone had gathered and moved towards them. Noir was the one that moved to let him fit into the group. Rather than expand, however, Akechi ended up tacked on the end and left their circle misshapen.
“I’ve never done anything like this…” Ann was looking over at one of the slot machines, walking a fine line between curiosity and reluctance. Her focus landed back on the group and swept around everyone’s faces. Her first glance misses Akechi entirely, but she corrected herself before turning her focus back to Joker. “What about you guys?”

The silence spoke for them, suggesting embarrassment that they hadn’t yet been to a casino underage.

Akechi tooka pace back from the huddle. If this was a casino and truly supposed to represent the legal system, then there would be a way to bypass the restrictions. A way to sway a machine in a certain way - Sae had bent cases in her favour enough, which meant that there had to be illegitimate ways to win.
“No need to worry. Leave this to me.”

Queen’s eyes were the ones to widen with surprise. She was the first to speak.
“You know how to do this?”
“I’m well-informed on what it takes to win.” It wasn’t quite an answer, but it was enough. “In any case, we need to secure our route as soon as possible. If she acts recklessly, both her chances of promotion and reputation as a prosecutor will drop greatly.”

Queen’s expression twisted again. To be enjoying this would be an overstatement- it wasn’t quite enjoyment, there wasn’t much that Akechi wanted to savour about Queen’s disillusionment, but he was watching it. And he was aware that it was happening, perhaps with more willingness to look for it than he should have had.

“Sae-san didn’t used to be like this, did she?” he pushed, justifying it by reminding himself that it could provide useful intel.
“My sister must have lost her sense of justice because her desires became distorted…” Queen said, less like a statement and more like she was seeking assurance that her sister wasn’t one of those people. That this forgery wasn’t common practice, but a result of circumstances. That her sister would never have done something so terrible by choice.
“Do you think there was a particular event that triggered her Palace’s creation?”
“...I believe it’s related to my fathers death. My sister took on all the responsibilities of dealing with it herself; trying to earn a living wage, gain a promotion in a male society, and uphold justice at the same time…” Implicit: And deal with me . “Those things may have weighed her down and led to the distortion within her heart.”

Akechi let her believe it.
“Then we must infiltrate this Palace as quickly as possible.”

“She did challenge us to reach her, after all.” Mona cut in, reminding Akechi that they were still listening. No longer was the conversation solely between Akechi and Queen - but everyone had been present, and everyone had bought the sob story. “Niijima’s Treasure must be at her managerial base of operations. Either way, we have to get there!”

“So… what exactly do we need to do?” Ann turned back towards Joker. Akechi, still beside Joker, took the initiative.
“It should be quite clear. We must play in the casino and win.” He smiled, glancing to the elevator and gesturing to the MEMBER’S ONLY sign above the door. “Customers are divided into the different floors based on the rank of their play. If we wish to enter a higher floor, we will need to increase our rank.”
“So we gotta win and gain the right to head up,” Oracle translated. “Like I said earlier, we’re looking to obtain a card for the high limit floor somewhere around here.”
“For real?” Skull groaned, tipping his head back.  “Ugh. What a pain.”

Akechi directed them towards the counter opposite. The suggestion of gathering intel before they moved on was agreed on - Does that sound good, Joker? - and with everyone obediently at his heel, Joker approached the counter.

“Welcome to the member’s floor,” the Shadow spoke without Joker needing to. “We received word of your coming.”
“So all of this is going according to her plan… I cannot help but feel we’re being manipulated here,” Fox murmured. Akechi barely refrained from reminding him that they were in a casino.
“First off, we would like to extend a welcome gift to you.” The shadow tapped the counter between himself and Joker, and after a moment of deliberation Joker slid their members card over to him. The Shadow took it, tapped it against a scanner on his desk, and set it back onto the counter. “One thousand credits have been added to your account.”
“He’s just giving them to us?” Ann whispered.
“Perhaps this is a show of confidence. It seems she truly has no intention of losing.” Akechi said, because it was more polite than explaining to her that they were in a casino .

The Shadow slid a map to Joker between the divider. He explained the difference between the games in the adjacent rooms. The dice games to the left being suited for amateurs, and the slots on the right having a higher yield.

“That means we should probably start with the dice game… right?” Haru whispered behind him, leaning over to Ann.
“Uh… I think so. I’m a little curious about the slots, though.”
“This is quite exciting, don’t you think?”

“And finally, the members card for the high limit floor is fifty-thousand coins,” the Shadow at the counter said. Behind Akechi, Ann gasped. Everyone seemed to be surprised at that - as though the predatory nature of a casino hadn’t yet clicked for any of them. Given the novelty with which they discussed playing the rigged games, perhaps he needed to explain to them what the purpose of a casino was.
“I see…” Akechi frowned. “I believe I have figured out Sae-san’s intent behind this.” All eyes turned to him. “She wants us to obtain that card by winning coins in the casino.”
“That’s absurd! Fifty-thousand coins!?”

The dealer laughed from his cage. He was lucky to be there, out of reach. Luckier that Akechi was working alongside people who refused to break the rules.
“We also allow players to borrow coins if need be,” he said, “up to the current total on their card.”

The idea of being indebted to Sae in any capacity made Akechi’s stomach twist.

Joker retrieved the card from the counter. Oracle directed them to the nearest safe room, just beside the elevator, and they each filtered in. Akechi got a few paces towards the edge of the room when Panther nudged him and prompted him into a space beside her, where everyone was gathering around the table for a meeting.
“Is it worth us figuring out how the games work before we leave?” Mona suggested from on the table, ear twitching. “So that we know what we’re up against.”

“Actually, there is something on my mind about that,” Akechi said, taking a step forward. All eyes landed immediately on him. “Dice games, slot machines… it would not surprise me in the least if all the games here were somehow rigged.”

Skull scoffed.
“You think she’s cheatin’!?”

Again, Akechi carefully avoided saying ‘Do any of you know what a fucking casino is?’ and instead said,
“Remember, this is a courthouse in the real world. Sae-san is quite particular about ‘winning’ here. To compound that, defendants in Japan are prosecuted at a 99.9% success rate - defendants are nearly always found guilty.”
“What?!? How can a rate like that really be possible? Are all those verdicts accurate?” Panther asked, golden hair wild as she turned to look at Akechi, eyes wide with surprise.
“No… the investigators are merely human.”
“Then…”

A few gazes briefly flicked to Joker. So indiscreet.

“You are not the first person to point out the rigged nature of this system.” Akechi continued, where he was supposed to be completely unaware of Joker’s circumstances. “The prosecution is nigh-unbeatable. That’s why cases of false accusation cause such a stir: they are exceedingly rare.”
“But it's total bullshit gettin’ arrested even when you’re not guilty!” Skull snapped.
“Indeed - and if we do not hurry, the Phantom Thieves will fall victim to a similar fate.” Akechi finally turned to Joker. “If these machines are rigged, it’s likely we’ll need to find a way to win without playing fairly.”
“Which could take a while,” Mona said, “We should come back another time.”

With another nod from Joker, it was settled - and soon enough, they were stopping at the Palace entrance as the world melted slowly from neon signs to fluorescent street lights.

 

---

 

It was late that night when Akechi’s phone next went off. He’d been in the shower while it buzzed on his desk, and by the time he returned he had over thirty notifications. An instinct told him that he had somehow fucked up irreparably, that all of his messages were due to be from Shido berating him somehow, but that unease twisted quickly into frustration when he saw that all of them were from the Phantom Thieves.

They’d had a short but thorough conversation about the progress of the day. Nothing had been said directly to him, but he had been included in their conversation even if he’d missed most of it. 

It was generic; Good job everyone sat as the first message, then a few summaries of what their next steps would be. His phone buzzed again and he was thrown to the end of the chain, where it seemed that Fox and Oracle had just resolved a minor disagreement on the aesthetic appeal of Sae’s Palace, and Queen was asking when everyone was next free.

Queen: Exams are officially next month. Make sure you’re all still prioritising your education.
Skull: yeah yeah. got it
Noir: Akechi, when works best for you? Don’t you have work, too?

Akechi, towel around his shoulders and hair dripping, picked up his phone.
Akechi: Sorry, I was away from my phone. Yes, I have work, but I can use school as a reason not to attend. If we’re all studying, would weekends work best?
Joker: Sounds good.

Queen asked if everyone was good with Sunday. Replies filtered in for what time windows worked best for everyone, and eventually they settled on meeting at Leblanc at 2:30pm on Sunday.

Which meant that Akechi could make the most of the week it’d be before he had to endure their company again.

Notes:

this chapters fun fact is gonna be that it took me several months to complete bcs i had no save files at sae's palace and needed to revisit it 'In Person' to know what was going on . i started this chapter on jan 14 and finished it april 5. the section in the safe room i wrote in june last year.this chapter alone is why there was such a big gap between updates the last few months

bcs this chapter took so long tho i have already written many many things out of order . a lot of things for post nov20

Chapter 50: Wednesday, November 2nd

Or he’d hoped, at least, that he’d not have had to see them for that long.

It was his luck, of course, that on his way to school he ended up on the platform at the same time as Joker - who caught sight of him before Akechi could escape the platform to wait for the next train. So he approached.

The issue lay mostly in Akechi not knowing how to address Joker. The way that they interacted with each other had floundered and struggled since he’d joined their group in a way that was difficult to articulate, and more difficult to justify. Joker had pulled completely back from him in all aspects outside of Phantom Thievery. Politely declining Akechi’s offer for food when his friends were present, barely acknowledging him in conversation, scarcely texting - Akechi could’ve easily put it down to the blackmail souring Joker’s opinion of him. It would have been completely justified were that the case -- however,

Joker was watching him with that same insufferable fondness that he always wore. The same way he’d been looking at Akechi at the aquarium in July, with the same fondness he’d had when seeing Akechi in LeBlanc before dragging him over to the bathhouse.

Why, then, was he being so strange when in the company of his friends? He knew that they didn’t like him, but it wasn’t like Joker to be so spineless as to follow their lead.

“Mm, good morning, Akira.” Akechi chose to play it safe. Casual, but not informal.
“Morning. We haven’t crossed paths here in a while,” Joker said so easily. It must have just occurred to him then that Akechi had been going to school earlier to avoid most of the crowds - Joker included.
“Ah, I usually aim for the earlier train, but I was working late yesterday.”

Working late was a nice way to put it. He’d needed to go to Mementos on Shido’s behalf, but hadn’t gotten the allegedly urgen t request until he’d done a day of classes and visited work to hand in a report. He’d already been intent on getting home as soon as possible after a handful of students on the train interrogated him all the way to Shibuya, and of course that had been when his phone buzzed.

His body still ached. The muscles in his arms were sore, and his head faintly pulsed with the need for caffeine and the lack of sleep.

“Make sure you’re still resting. We need to be able to count on you.”

As though Joker’s friends wouldn’t be relieved to hear that Akechi wasn’t carrying his weight in a Palace. He could collapse from exhaustion, he could be knocked unconscious by a particularly well-aimed attack, and they’d all be relieved to have a few minutes free of his company. Regardless, Akechi smiled.
“Thank you, I will. I look forward to continuing to work with you all. Let me know if anything comes up before Sunday.”
“Of course. I’ll-...”
The overhead announcement declared the imminent arrival of Joker’s train. He lifted his head a moment while he listened, then looked back at Akechi with a smile. Almost apologetic, as though he was about to suggest that he could wait another handful of minutes for the next train, even if they both ended up late to school because of it.

Akechi spoke before the offer could be struck.
“Once the Phantom Thieves finish this final job, I don’t believe I’ll be seeing you privately like this anymore.”

Joker’s eyes widened. They spoke for him - Why? Why wouldn’t we? - and by the time he was saying “What do you mean?” Akechi was already answering.
“I mean it as I said it. Once you’ve disbanded, everyone’s going to be busy tracking down the culprit behind the psychotic breakdowns.”

Those wide eyes settled. Joker’s expression ended in a frown, and Akechi felt somewhat vindicated by it. Had Joker been expecting for their cooperation to end and for them to settle into some new normalcy - justice-obsessed Akechi choosing to ignore that he was working alongside a Phantom Thief?
“Until that happens, though, let’s continue to work together.” The tracks rattled as Joker’s train came rushing into the station. The gust of wind sent Joker’s hair out of the way of his eyes, where he was still quietly watching Akechi.

And when everyone started spilling into the train, Joker followed, silver eyes focused on Akechi until the doors swung closed.

 

---

 

The atmosphere at school was different.

Akechi had anticipated as much - with the tide turning against the Phantom Thieves, there was less contention to be found between himself and his peers. That didn’t mean that the opinions around him had changed much among his classmates, however. Between the glances thrown his way and the ceaseless muttering, it was clear that the opinions of those who thought they knew some of him remained stagnant. He was still arrogant for talking about the Phantom Thieves while not doing ‘enough’ to catch them, still pretentious for not talking to the same peers who would belittle and gossip about him when his back was turned.

It was about as tense as it had been prior to the Phantom Thieves debut, and thus was a pace that Akechi could settle semi-comfortably back into. He participated in class to the same degree as before, he kept to himself over lunch and between classes, and attended to upcoming homework in his free time, exactly as things had been before.

The Phantom Thieves had been an unexpected turbulence in the routine he’d settled into, but for all the stress that they’d caused it was only temporary. Within a few weeks, this would be normal again.

Within a few months, everything he’d been working towards would be done.

 

---

 

Cool air crept between layers of clothing, down the back of Akechi’s neck and into his sleeves. The early signs of winter were starting to show, though the early-evening golden hour that glared into Akechi’s eyes provided a last glimpse of summer, and the Kichijoji attendees seemed equally torn on how to navigate the shift in seasons. The students trailing the promenade before going home were scattered between adults dabbling in the nightlife. The evening venues were opening, the food stalls removing covers and wiping down counters, and the staff that had opened in the morning were heading out for the rest of the evening. 

In the midst of it all, Akechi was doing the same thing that he had always done - walking home. 

With yesterday's fatigue still weighing on him and a now-growing pile of homework to attend to, Akechi had a very simple plan for the evening. He would get back to his apartment for a short nap, attend to his work, and keep an eye on his phone for if he had any other last-minute requests to fulfil. He still hadn’t had a chance to obtain a new burner phone, but to buy one with a prepaid amount of minutes seemed a waste this late in the campaign. A new model was coming out within the next few months, he’d get that when it released and have this phone wiped and the memory card flushed before he got rid of it.

The blinding neon signs as the sky grew slowly darker, mixed with sun catching on nearby glass specifically to get in his eyes was building the early warning signs of a headache, feeling the strain pull behind his eyes. Akechi raised a hand to briefly press to the inner corner of his eyes when a voice called out from behind him, painfully familiar.

And though Akechi was willing himself to pretend that he hadn’t heard it and keep walking, his body stopped before he realised it.

When Akechi turned, there Joker stood. Blocking the sun perfectly with his unkempt hair, the light spilling out from around him like he was glowing, his expression perfectly pleasant and his eyes, behind fake glasses, alive with a relief that Akechi had stopped for him. 
“I was just stopping by the secondhand store when I saw you,” he said unconvincingly.
“Lucky timing, then.”
“Mm. Are you free?”

He wasn’t. It would have been so easy to say, to shake his head - to pull Joker’s words from when he had politely declined Akechi’s offer for food and say “Next time?”

Instead, much like the instincts that had stilled Akechi’s legs beneath him and prompted him to turn to see Joker, rather than hearing and ignoring him, Akechi found himself nodding.
“I don’t have anything urgent to do,” he half-answered, “And you?”
“As long as I’m not out past curfew.”

Akechi inclined his head toward the Penguin Sniper .
“Then perhaps we can talk over a game of billiards?”
“I’d like that.”
Indiscreetly, Akechi glanced at Joker’s bag.
“And the cat?”
“Sleeping by the heater at Leblanc.”

Joker didn’t need to voice why he let Mona stay home the same way that Akechi didn’t need to explain why he was asking, but it certainly didn’t support Joker’s claim that their meeting was coincidental. They fell in line with one another as they walked towards the darts lounge, and Joker stepped back to allow Akechi to be the first up the stairs. He covered the entry fee, as it was his suggestion to attend, and they settled around the billiards table.

Joker was the first to break the silence. It was uncharacteristic of him, usually content to let the silence roll by and only respond when spoken to, but it was clear that something had been weighing on him. Noticeable since their first infiltration into Sae’s Palace, there was something that weighed on him. 

“I’ve been practicing,” he said, cool and easy, batting away the lingering tension between them easily. As though they were picking up from exactly where they left off when Akechi had last visited LeBlanc. The memory of how easily they’d spoken- the lingering humiliation of his “Honey, I’m home!” still burning uncomfortably in his chest, restless with no place to be directed. Akechi held his cue stick slightly tighter. 
“Oh? Should I be worried?” 

Joker’s lips caught the slightest smile, confident the way he’d only been taking down Shadows in Sae’s Palace. Akechi felt the instinct to take that joy and crush it, to press it between his thumb and forefinger like an overripe grape. Something about it shook loose a different kind of resentment, one that grew from a residual ache rather than an ever-simmering anger.
“Only one way to find out.”

The ways in which Akechi’s anger was disarmed over the next forty minutes of their game - dragged out with frequent pauses for conversation that’d often make cut sticks slip and need readjusting - was impossible to articulate. Joker did that… thing . Whatever it was - 

By the midpoint of their game, while Joker leant forwards towards the pool table, cue stick half-adjusted in one hand, watching Akechi so intently that the wrist supporting the position of the cue stick had completely relaxed, Akechi was more engrossed in the company than the game.
“It’s rather strange seeing what your friends are like,” he said, one hand braced on the wooden trim around the table. Imperceptibly, Joker tensed.

So he did realise how they treated him. He’d have had to be blind not to, but there was the suggestion of guilt when Joker redirected his gaze to the table and pointedly adjusted his aim.
“Is it?”

Akechi felt the right words on the tip of his tongue. “Very,” he wanted to say, “Unusual as you all are, you get along rather well.” to which Joker would laugh, or offer a sarcastic thanks, and they would move comfortably on. But there was a look in Joker’s eyes that drew out conversations like a compulsion.
“I had different ideas of them in my head from our previous conversations. The way that they act around you is rather intriguing in comparison.”

Eyes flicking briefly to Akechi to suggest that he was listening, Joker drew back his cue stick. Conversation bubbled around them, patrons all talking and laughing as they played games. Despite where they were and what they were doing, Akechi felt the lingering awareness that he could say anything to Joker. Alongside it, the instinct not to. Like Joker was the silence on the other side of a confessional booth, and Akechi the baited breath between admissions where one could deliberate on whether or not to continue. 

He did. Stupidly, he said it.
“I might just be ignorant on the subject; it isn’t as though I have much experience of my own.”

“No.” He struck the cue stick against the cue ball. It drifted across the table. “That wouldn’t change your opinion. They’re all rather…” There was an undeniable affection in his voice when he settled on the word: “Odd.”
“And that’s what draws you to them?”

Joker’s laugh came out, again, as a huff of air. Supposed to be more, but squashed away.
“It helps,” he said, with too much weight behind it. The cue ball tapped against a green ball and knocked it, gently, into a pocket across the table. Joker pulled himself upright again and nodded at Akechi to prompt him to take his turn.

He tried to sweep his gaze over the table, noting his next shot, where he could line up one ball to hit another, but the weight of Joker’s eyes intently fixed on him was distracting. 

“But their current attitude,” Joker said after a long few moments, as though the words were difficult to get out. Akechi lifted his head from where he’d been starting to settle over the pool table, back slightly bent forwards but not leaning fully over. The look in his eyes made Joker’s widen - the flicker of surprise brief, but still there, and Akechi chastised himself into softening his gaze. “I don’t appreciate.”

He was phrasing it delicately. Too delicately. That vindictive part of Akechi reared its head again, that desire to twist the knife. The instinct overtook him and he grabbed the hilt, taking the opening that Joker’s half-vulnerability left.
“You seemed quite comfortable following their lead.”

Guilt - something like it, at least - flashed. Joker stood straighter and Akechi, with less interest in the game now, followed. Seeming spiteful or vindictive would be counterproductive, so he made a show of taking that step back. Of pulling the knife out rather than gutting Joker with it any longer.
“Did I strike a nerve? My apologies.” His head tipped to the side, an apologetic smile appearing on his face. “It was unfair of me to try and assert myself among you and your peers, however-”
“No. No- Akechi, you aren’t the…”

Joker’s nose scrunched as he turned his head away. It was rare to see him truly taken aback. Even when Akechi had been surrounded by fans at the cafe the first time they’d met up, Joker had taken control of the situation and deescalated flawlessly. When Akechi had threatened them all, blackmailed them, Joker had been the one to accept it and immediately stride towards resolving the conflict.

Here, however, in the midst of it, he was parsing through all of the different ways he could say what he wanted to say. His discomfort was rare. Akechi revelled in it.
“I don’t want them knowing you.” Joker said it as though he didn’t mean to.
“Is that supposed to be sentimental?”
“No.” Joker winced at himself. “Maybe.”

Silver eyes dragged back over to Akechi. He tilted his head slightly, scouring Akechi’s face. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it.

But Akechi was offering him no escape from this pit he’d dug, nor any chances to avoid the conversation.
“They’ll ask questions.

Akechi scoffed.
“About me? What is there to ask?”
“If me having your phone number was anything to go off of-”
“Yes. Thank you for giving that to Niijima, might I add.”
“Akechi.”

The slightest flash of a temper. Not enough for it to read as annoyance, but enough that he clearly meant to redirect Akechi. He sighed, cue stick awkwardly shifting between his hands, slender fingers not sure where to rest or how to hold it between turns.
“What we talk about is private.” When Joker paused, Akechi took a moment to nod. “And I don’t want my friends asking questions.”

It was insulting. Even Joker being suddenly distant had a sentimental reason behind it.
“The texts too, I assume?”
“Morgana rarely gives me a moment of privacy.”

It didn’t solve anything. It didn’t change anything, either, but Joker’s eyes were imploring Akechi to find the sympathetic angle in it. And they were alone now, weren’t they? So there was no risk of being overheard, so Joker was being sincere with him. That knot in Akechi’s stomach had only tightened since this had been brought up, but Joker was clearly attempting to bridge things between them. So Akechi made a show of smiling, of relaxing the muscles in his shoulders even if his hands were still fists, and shook his head like he meant to dismiss the line of thought entirely.
“I found it hard to believe that you were doing it out of anything malicious,” he eventually said, and all at once the tension seemed to leave Joker’s body.
“We should visit the jazz club again sometime soon,” he proposed, that final attempt to leave the tension between them.

Akechi, with the dumb reminder that he’d stupidly taken Joker somewhere so intimate, still found it in him to agree.
“You know where to find me.”

Akechi turned his focus back to the table, scanning for the next shot he’d take. The air was still thick, so he returned to a familiar and easy middle ground for their conversation to settle into.
“You have improved,” he offered. “It’s a fascinating game; you can’t simply strike the ball you’re aiming for. You have to be indirect, but precise, to land it in the pocket…”
“That’s why it’s so fun.” Joker nodded, and their normalcy returned.
“Precisely. And it’s most interesting part is how one small move can have a wider effect on the game. It mirrors a perfect crime; to eliminate the target without ever directly connecting yourself to it.”

Akechi leant down and lined up his cue stick.
“You eliminate your target without ever directly connecting yourself to it. I don’t suppose that rings any bells?”
“...The psychotic breakdowns?”
“Exactly. Even the criminals’ change of hearts.” Akechi spoke though he kept his focus solely on the pool table. His detective work was an easy topic to discuss. Even his crimes, parsed through the lense of wanting to prevent them, could be easily addressed. “Everything happening around us, every little inconsequential event, may simply be one ball striking another.”

Akechi struck the cue ball. It hit the second ball as predicted, but at the wrong angle. It veered off course and didn’t reach any of the pockets. With a frown, he added, “...but there’s no guarantee that the ball can be precisely controlled. And despite the player’s best intentions, the ball may strike many unrelated obstacles in its path.”

Standing straight again, Akechi locked eyes with Joker. It was an unsubtle metaphor, and it was clear that Joker was following. Seeing the Phantom Thieves in action made it clear just how much they all treated it like a game, which seemed to be why real consequences had shaken them all so much. Knowing now that there were consequences, often those out of their control, Akechi wanted to know that they were still taking it seriously.
“Even then… do you still intend to play?”

And Joker, with a determination that almost matched Akechi’s, nodded.
“I’ve made my decision.”

There was a finality to the way he said it. With such intensity that suggested he knew more than he should have, and was accepting all of the consequences. Akechi almost wondered if he would feel the same way when it came to it. When the gun was to his head. 

Joker drew back his cue stick, aimed, and struck. The final ball rolled into a pocket, and with the game over faster than Akechi had realised, victory had been swiped out from beneath him.

“…Impressive. You win,” Akechi smiled, “That was quite intense. Shall we cool off in the evening breeze for a moment?”

 

---

 

The coolness outside was sobering. Outside of the darts lounge, away from immediate competition and company, Akechi was left with only Joker’s presence. The sun had since completely set, and the light of their surrounding neon signs and street lights bathed them both in a mix of fluorescent yellow and splotches of pale blue. 

Turning to look at Akechi, Joker drew his jacket tighter around himself.

The early evening was cold. Too cold for blazers, and Akechi felt it biting through his skin the same way Akira did, the low cut of his shirt and lower cut neck of his jacket leaving him worse off than Akechi. He smiled, though. As though the inconvenience was worth it.

Akechi kept the conversation where it was safe.
“Even if it was with my self-imposed handicap, I’m impressed that you beat me. You’ve become quite skilled.”
“I couldn’t let myself lose.”

“I see. So we even share that perspective, do we…?” The street had emptied. There were still people and still potential eyes, but it was quieter. They had as much privacy as Kichijoji could offer. “You truly are fascinating.”

Akira was looking at him like it was a compliment. It might have been one. The softened expression, relaxed with a fondness that’d mirrored that warm greeting in LeBlanc - Honey, I’m home! Still swirling around Akechi’s head, whether or not he wanted it there - and the same way that Akira had looked at him even back in that bathroom at the cafe, reaching out with both hands to tousle Akechi’s hair.

“Remember when I said before that you and I are similar?”
“At the bathhouse.”

The memory of Akechi spilling his guts out to Akira - about his mother, about his situation, about everything - stirred unease. Strangely, though, the bit that caught in his throat like a shard of glass was about Akira’s offer for Akechi to stay at LeBlanc. In the attic that Akechi had now been reluctantly allowed into. He wondered for a moment whether or not Akira would have offered now, after being blackmailed. The way Akira was still looking at him said yes.

Akechi nodded.
“We’re both victims of unjust adults, and now we have the will and power to rise up against them. Yet I’m doing so as a detective, while you…” Despite the emptiness of the streets, he wasn’t going to put it to words. “Our stances couldn’t be more different.”

Akira’s unyielding, intimate gaze finally brought itself elsewhere. As he diverted his attention to passerbys, and a couple holding hands as they drifted towards the promenade, the lifted weight made Akechi’s head feel clear for the first time. His focus followed, only to have an excuse not to catch Akira’s eyes again the second he looked back.

“You want to join us?”

It could have been a sincere offer. Akira certainly said it with an earnest enough tone that Akechi could have believed that he meant it. That somehow, he’d find a way to change his friends’ minds. Without them present, he almost believed that Akira would do it. Both looking at the cityscape as it tipped into the early evening, just before the night life started to emerge.

Being Akira’s teammate he could pretend to understand. The image of him as a Phantom Thief, however, prompted a short but genuine laugh.
“Is that a serious question?”

Akira didn’t say anything. When Akechi tilted his head to the side, somehow he wasn’t surprised to notice that Akira had been looking at him for some time. 
“Why not join me instead?” Whatever compelled him to ask, he didn’t know. “All you’d have to do is abandon the teammates you have now.”

They were dead weight. Mindless, agreeable dead weight, who would follow Akira blindly into any battle. None of them had the willpower to stand up for themselves without him. He wasn’t like them. He, like Akechi, had met with a power few had and had chosen to do something with it. If he was as determined to correct society as the Phantom Thieves asserted that they were, he could be swayed. An ally with access to the Metaverse could prove incredibly valuable, if anything went wrong after the election. 

He could feel it. The power that they shared was unique to them. To kill Akira would be a waste if he could be convinced to take the hand outstretched.

All he needed to do was shed the weight of his self-righteousness to pull himself out of his open grave. Akechi worked best alone, he always had, but…
“How about it?” Akechi pressed when the silence lingered a moment too long.

And by the time Akira’s face settled into that sympathetic yet sincere expression, Akechi already knew what his answer was.

“You’re my rival.” It wasn’t the rebuttal that Akechi had expected, but it was enough. ‘This is where we are’ , Joker says, ‘This is where we are always going to be.’

Akechi had been right. He did work best on his own. Even as Joker stepped back from him, closer to that open grave, Akechi felt only a hollow acceptance. Of course. Joker was just going to be another of the bodies in his wake, no matter how nice the company.

“You truly are intriguing.” If his voice reflected his mood, Joker didn’t let on. “I agree. I think a relationship of equals suits us better than being co-conspirators, anyway. No matter what else may change.”
“Good.” As though it’s a relief.
“In any case, what you just said carries great weight. Make sure you stick with your decision. All right?”

The moment faded. WIth it, the chill of the air settled back in. The weight of Akechi’s briefcase came back to his hand, and though Joker was only a meter away from him, it felt as though they were miles apart.

“That said, as long as we work together, you’ll have my strength,” the conversation returned to where it needed to be. Palaces, deadlines, teamwork. “Rest assured, I’ll do my part.”

Akechi smoothed out his jacket. He was prepared to politely decline Joker’s company and wish him a safe journey home when the reminder of Joker’s win came back.
“Ah, that reminds me. I did say that if you ever beat me using my right hand, I’d face you with all my ability…” He felt Joker’s focus on him. Easily, Akechi settled back into his polite, princely persona, and smiled. “Well. I’ll keep that in mind. Farewell for now.”

Joker, undeniably curious, nodded.
“See you soon.”
“Sunday.”
“Or sooner.”

Provided that Akechi didn’t change his route home to prevent that.

But with the polite nod and affirmation - “Indeed. Or sooner.” - Joker waved goodbye and they parted ways.

 

---

 

Akechi’s phone buzzed against his desk. Fresh from the short shower that hadn’t cleared his head, Akechi allowed the frustration of another interrupted evening roll through him before he reached out for it. He began to mull over how much effort would need to go into his appearance this late at night when he saw the name on the screen.

He brought the phone to his ear.
“Hello, Akira. Is everything alright?”

The soft whistling of the wind suggested that Joker hasn’t entered Leblanc yet. Akechi briefly reminded himself about what Joker had said about Mona and the lack of privacy.

“Just making sure that you got home,” Joker lied.
“I did. And you?”
“Yeah.”

There’s a tense beat of silence. Akechi hadn’t been willing to call Joker at the risk of being overheard, but clearly Joker had wanted to say something. So Akechi humoured him.
“I still can’t believe you beat me. It wasn’t against my dominant hand, of course, but your competitive spirit definitely deserves praise.”

Joker huffed. It could have been a laugh, but it was hard to tell.
“I told you I’d been practicing.”
“You really were terrible at first, but you caught up to me in no time.” Caught up to his non-dominant hand, Akechi reminded himself. So that the compliment felt less earnest. “I have to ask- why do you get so competitive against me?”

“We’re rivals, aren’t we?”
Rivals. Joker said it like it was an insert for something else.
“Yes,” Akechi eased into his desk chair. “That’s right. Neither of us can afford to lose. That is why I cannot allow you to win over me.” Not as you are now. I must win. I will win.

Joker didn’t reply. 

“...Well, perhaps that’s a bit much. If there was nothing you wanted to say, I’ll let you go for now.”

Akechi knew that there was something else. Yet, either hesitant or stubborn, all that Akira said was:
“...Goodnight, Akechi.”

Despite mild disappointment, Akechi felt himself smile.
“Goodnight.”

He ended the call and checked his home screen for good measure; nothing from Shido yet. He’d sleep before a new list of demands came in.

Notes:

its so funny. i added so much to the billiards hangout that you can like. visibly tell when the confidant script starts bcs the tone shift is so abrupt . anyway is it obvious that akechi is like soul crushingly in love and hasnt realised it yet

Chapter 51: Thursday, November 3rd

Notes:

let it be known im a diehard ryuji enthusiast and writing any ryuji slander in this fic pained me . but akechi and ryuji do NOT currently get along. and alas. i am canon compliant.

It was early evening when he next heard from the Phantom Thieves. Still held at arms distance, it seemed that the conversations happening in their shared chat would constantly drift to work. All with their personal phones and personal numbers. Where did the subtlety of in-Metaverse codenames go when they were discussing shutdowns and changes of hearts over text?

Akechi’s phone buzzed. Flat against his desk at the police station, where he’d squirreled himself away in a corner to avoid bumping into Sae-san, his phone buzzed. Again. And again. When he picked it up, they were mid conversation, driven mostly by Skull - who wrought the most havoc on Akechi’s notifications - and entertained mostly by Panther and Fox.

Skull: goddamnit. people’re acting like we were the ones who killed em
Yusuke: I have even heard them say we are assassins hired to deal with psychotic breakdown victims.
Ann: ughhhhh?? that’s obviously not what we’re trying to do

He’d missed the first half of the conversation but didn’t feel inclined to read through it. He had enough information to follow along. Akechi unlocked his phone.
‘This must be part of the plan to shift the blame onto the Phantom Thieves.’ he offered, ‘After all, the true culprit is the one killing the people on that ranking list.’

Akira: It’s unforgivable.
How noble of him.
‘Indeed. I have no intentions of letting this slide.’

Futaba: man this culprit guy really won’t let up
Futaba: I dont remember ever doing anything thatd make someone hate us THIS much lolz
Haru: He used my father as well…

‘I cannot fathom what his motive may be…’ -Nor would they ever figure it out- ‘We will just have to capture and interrogate him.’

Makoto: But before that, we need to change my sister’s heart.
Makoto: That’s our first step towards stopping him.

Good. They were following his lead.
‘I must agree. The true culprit will be caught, but before that we must deal with Sae-san.’
‘If ranking is being taken into consideration, perhaps I will be targeted too…’
‘Just kidding.’

The conversation shifted from there. First reaffirming that they all intended on revisiting the Palace on Sunday, then progressing into smaller plans. It was the first time that Akechi was able to personally witness how quickly their conversations devolved into the absurd. Skull would comment on things he saw since he left the house, Fox would apply tidbits about the mundane parts of his day to the conversation, usually out of order from what everyone else was saying -- interrupting discussions about homework to remind everyone that his work would be going faster were it not for a myriad of circumstances. His impulsive whims, desires to go out and find new sources of inspiration or, the one part that Akechi could relate to, the natural interruptions of hunger and exhaustion.

For the moment, while Fox lamented the way that stress had negatively impacted his ability to paint and Skull chimed in to complain thoroughly about his steadily increasing pile of homework, Akechi merely watched. He studied the way that they spoke with one another - casual and fond and… stupid. Lighthearted in a way that he couldn’t afford to be.

Makoto: Would it help anyone to meet somewhere to study as a group?
Makoto: I’ll admit that I’m getting tired of studying at home.
Futaba: >.>
Haru: You can come too, Futaba-chan! You don’t have to study.
Skull: uh. no. she always ends up talkin n distractin everyone?
Futaba: >:C
Futaba: no fair its boring for me when you guys are all studying
Akira: Ignore him. You’re good to join.
Skull: boo. cmon man.
Akira: Akechi, you in?

It seemed that everyone needed the reminder that Akechi was in the groupchat. Immediately, the bubbles to indicate that people were typing vanished.
Akechi picked his phone back up.
‘I’ll need to check my schedule. When were you all thinking?’

Ann: I can do tomorrow?
Makoto: That’s what I had in mind, too.

It didn’t matter whether or not he was actually free. Akechi had his polite refusal written out before they’d even replied.
‘Ah, unfortunately I’m already busy. Work has been quite hectic lately, given the influx of calls allegedly containing information about the Phantom Thieves, and I’ve had many new cases assigned to me alongside that so they’d like me in until late.’
‘Thank you for the invite, though. I’ll see you all Sunday instead?’

An influx of polite assurances that it was okay for him to be away, that they’d surely make time for him later - Akechi was about to set his phone aside when a separate notification rolled through.

‘ From: Ann Takamaki
Subject: Darts?
Heyyyyy!!!! Me n’ Skull n’ Akira were gonna meet up later to play darts. You know the place in Kichijoji? Akira said you’d been there b4 but I wanted to check! We r gonna be there at like 7:30 if ur free ’

He stared at it.

A little too long, Akechi stared at the message. If this was some way to make up for his exclusion from a study session, there was no way he could convey exactly how unnecessary the offer was. But the offer was there regardless, staring at him from his phone screen. Skull, Panther, and Joker - could there be a worse combination of people to spend an evening with? What bickering would he have to witness? What kind of petty jabs and casual insults would he end up sitting through?

But they were inviting him. It would be polite to go - and more importantly, it would be gathering intelligence. If his plan was to be air-tight for the 20th, he would need to understand each of them to an extent.

So with a sigh, and the dull awareness that it was already encroaching on 6:30, Akechi replied.

‘ To: Ann Takamaki
Subject: Re: Darts?
Thank you for the invitation. I’ll be there. ’

 

---

 

Nothing had changed about the Penguin Sniper between yesterday and today. As he approached, however, Akechi did wonder if Joker had mentioned that he’d been there only one day prior. ‘Akira said you’d been there before’ suggested that he’d omitted why Akechi knew where it was, or that they’d been together at all.
It was 7:36, given that Akechi had taken the time to go home, eat, brush up on his preparation, and handle a call before he left to meet with everyone. The final details were falling into place - which meant that Niijima could be fed the few details that she needed to know. Confirmation that due to the erratic and potentially dangerous nature of the suspect, he’d be detained and held in an interrogation room beneath the police station had already been passed over to Sae.
Which also meant that the details needed to be passed onto a higher authority eventually. Akechi had been pacing his room and attempting to put it off for another day when his phone had started ringing. It was inconvenient, and he had no warning, but it wasn’t unexpected. Lately, it seemed impossible to go more than a few days without a foreboding message, a stern call, or being put to work.

Obediently, he answered.
“Sir.”

“You have everything under control, don’t you?”
The pressure that Shido was presumably under was manifesting in the form of a boot on Akechi’s neck. 
“I do.”
“Last I heard, you’d made contact. I’d expect you to keep me better informed after asking so many favours of me.”
One favour. Akechi had asked that the deadline of the 20th be enforced by the SIU Director, knowing that if that came across as one of Akechi’s personal requests, it’d be negotiated with and the Director would attempt to coerce him into rushing his plan. Shido was an authority that wouldn’t be challenged.
“They’ve allowed me to join them when entering the Metaverse. They don’t suspect anything.”

Nothing came from the other side of the phone. Akechi pressed on.
“They agree with the necessity of changing Niijima’s heart and are eager to go through with it. We’ll have the calling card sent on the eighteenth for the arrest to take place on the nineteenth. I’ll guide the police into her Palace and have them catch the Phantom Thieves in the act. Given their methods, it would be the only way to arrest them.”

“And once they’re in police custody?”
“I’ve already accounted for it. It’ll be by my hand directly to avoid risk of… interference.” Akechi said immediately. “Publicly, we’ll say he stole the guard’s gun and committed suicide during his imprisonment… How about that?”

No response, but the slightest hum of acknowledgement.
“Public security questioning will occur on the first day… and with that room secured, my task will be simple.”
“And as for the guard?”
“The guard will be one of ours. We’ll have to eliminate him after to destroy the evidence though.”

Finally, Shido sighed. Akechi heard the creaking of his office chair, presumably as he leant back into it. He could envision it - in his grand office, by those large windows, leaning back in his desk chair with that smug, insufferable smile on his lips.
“It seems to be well thought out,” he eventually said, the highest praise Akechi was likely to hear until the other side of the election. “I look forward to seeing this play out.”
“Then, I will make the arrangements the day after the arrest. Tthe dangerous criminal responsible for the mass mental shutdowns shall end his own life.” It was so close. Insufferably close. “When he does, you will become a great hero who saved Japan from evil.” And with Akechi credited for the arrest, he added: “...As will I, of course.”
“Keep me informed.”

Relieved for it to be over, Akechi nodded.
“I will.”

 

---

 

The phone call ended at 7:26. So by the time Akechi was at the darts lounge, he was six minutes late. He allowed himself in, politely assuring the man at the desk that he was joining his friends - where Panther, Skull, and Joker stood huddled around a table. Panther’s head was tilted back and a hand was over her mouth as she laughed loud and shameless, Skull slamming a hand on the table to emphasise the point of whichever animated story he was telling. Joker was laughing.

He wasn’t as animated as Panther was, but seeing him laughing with his shoulders back, elbows braced on the tall table beside the darts lane, completely at ease, it struck Akechi with the awareness that he hadn’t seen Joker laugh before. It was also then, seeing the way Joker’s face settled into something fond, warmed with laughter and barely flushed, it occurred to Akechi that he may have mistaken a lack of tension in his company for comfort.

It was as Akechi approached the table that Skull’s eyes first lifted, flicking over to Akechi. His lips pressed into a line, all amusement dampening. He didn’t roll his eyes, however, nor did he give Panther a look that would clearly articulate how he dreaded Akechi’s company, he simply… stopped smiling. As though meeting an acquaintance he wasn’t certain how to speak to, and not Akechi. 

“Oh, Akechi-kun!” Panther called out to him, standing straighter. Joker tilted his head to the side and smiled, “Come over! We haven’t started yet!”

“Were you waiting for me?”

It came out less like a question and more like a prompt for them to further berate him. It was as though he expected it - for Skull to snort and say they were obviously not waiting, or that he hoped Akechi wouldn’t show up to begin with. 

“Yeah. Figured everyone should be here when we get started,” Skull said instead, near stopping Akechi in his tracks. He didn’t let the surprise at his humane treatment show on his face, instead approaching the table with his usual polite smile.
“Thank you,” he said, as if he meant it. “Who’s up first? I don’t mind standing back to watch.”
“Oh-!” Skull’s eyes shot wide, and then he recalled who he was looking at and whipped his focus instead to Joker, “-I’ve been practicin’!”

Joker pushed himself upright from the table and nudged Skull’s arm.
“Let’s go, then,” he tilted his head towards the darts board, picking up the set of darts from the table. “Confident enough for 501?”
“You know it, man! Just you wait- I’m gonna be hittin’ bullseyes back-to-back!”

Panther, with an affectionate roll of her eyes, tipped her head towards Akechi. She looked at him through her eyelashes, with those striking blue eyes. Her smile was something mischievous, and as Akechi brought himself to stand beside her. The distance he maintained, a careful few inches of space between them, she easily slid into. Until her shoulder bumped against his arm where she leant forwards. 
“I’d bet,” she said, in a whisper that suggested she was going to say something sacred. Akechi leant slightly down towards her space to better hear her. “That he’s going to miss his first bullseye.”

Akechi met her eyes. The twitch of his lips threatened a genuine smile as Akechi looked at where Joker stood ahead of the darts board, prepared to take his first shot. Then, inevitably, to Skull, who was watching with a visible restlessness.
“His first?” he echoed, matching her volume, “I suspect that Sakamoto will miss his first two.”

Panther let out a noise like a snort, but quickly snuffed it out behind her hand, and played it off well enough when Skull gave her a suspicious look.
“I asked to join as soon as I heard Skull talking about it,” she hummed as a dart lodged itself into the board, “he’s got the confidence of a skilled player.”
“And the skills of…?”
Panther shrugged, but said with a friendly tease in her voice, “Someone confident.”

Akechi’s short laugh was almost genuine. Surprisingly so.
“And yours?”

Panther flashed him her teeth, brushing a pigtail over her shoulder as she turned to him.
“…Are better than his?” she attempted, and Akechi offered an amused sigh this time. 

The dart hit the wall with force, the air whipping as it shot across the few metres of distance between Joker and the dart board. He picked up another and drew his hand back. They’d landed in the same place so far - both darts nestled comfortably in the centre of the board.
“401,” Akechi muttered.

Joker’s eyes, for just a second, betrayed that he heard it. His expression shifted from tense concentration to a quirk of a smile, and the next dart flew from his fingers, nestling itself into the middle of the board yet again.
”351,” Joker said, position easing instantly. He turned to Skull, raised his hand, and they shared a sharp high-five as Skull stepped in front of the darts board. Joker retrieved them, placing all three of them into Skull’s hand, and stepping back.

His brows pressed together with focus, tongue briefly appearing to wet his lips. Beside him, Panther was restraining giggles, not wanting to distract Skull and damage the authenticity of her unspoken bet.

The first dart was shot across the wall. 

And-
“Shit!”

“334,” Panther whispered to Akechi, and Skull sent over the sharpest glare he could manage, though he seemed careful only to send it to the most deserving recipient, and to allow Akechi to remain unaffected by their bickering.
“I was close,” Skull snapped, which might have been slightly more convincing had he not stuttered and tripped over that starting ‘I’. 
“Prove it,” Panther stood tall, picking up the ice water from the table and taking a sip, “Hit this next one.”
“That’s hardly fair,” Akechi offered, and she had the nerve to wink.
“I told you. He’ll miss one,” her voice dropped to a whisper again. Something about it suggested that she knew Skull well enough to have found a hidden pattern - or the magic words that would provoke him into doing something successfully. “Watch.”

Despite himself, Akechi felt a very genuine investment when he turned back to the dartboard. To where Skull was making a clear attempt not to look back at Panther - though Akechi couldn’t tell if this rivalry was friendly or if there was a genuine aspect of insecurity beneath the way Skull lined up his next shot. He drew his hand back, stole a nervous glance Panther’s way, and flung the dart forwards.

The board trembled as the dart hit it, buried into the board just below the bullseye. 

Inexplicably, Akechi felt a deep sort of satisfaction in being proved right. The feeling of it wasn’t so unusual as the reason for it - being with people he cared very little for, passing the time enduring them, and yet still somehow they found a way to drag him down to their level. 

“Ah, it seems that I was right,” Akechi smiled, ignoring Panther’s pout.
“Fine, fine. What about his third?”
“Is this supposed to be practice for the Palace, Takamaki-san? Or did it spark an interest in gambling as a whole?”

The joke landed well. Panther’s annoyance was clearly lighthearted as she huffed, turning her focus back to the game.
“We didn’t even put money on it.”
“Perhaps you should be grateful for that.”

Again, she laughed, with a sincerity that was uncharacteristically genuine for any member of the Phantom Thieves, and it finally seemed to stir some strange discomfort within Akechi. Before she could say anything else, Akechi stepped back from the counter.
“I’ll get myself a drink and be right back. Oh, and I do think the third shot will-”

The dart whisked through the air. Firmly, it settled in the middle - Akechi didn’t see it, but with the volume at which Skull cheered, it wasn’t hard to recognise. Panther gestured for Akechi to hurry up, and he passed a short congratulations to Skull before he left.

 

---

 

Over the course of the next one-hundred and twenty-eight minutes, Akechi learned a great number of things about Panther, Skull, and Shujin Academy. He even earned one or two other tidbits about Joker, though nothing substantial and few things that he hadn’t already known.

He found that he and Panther, despite all of their differences, could tolerate one another's presence. Not least because she was the only one of the Phantom Thieves to seem openly sympathetic to the way Akechi was treated as an outsider, but primarily because she knew a way of talking about people that kept Akechi intrigued.

What could’ve been delivered as a simple anecdote - ‘This girl that I’ve been modelling with…’ - was instead spun into gossip intense enough that Akechi could have seen it transformed into a play, rife with twists and betrayal.
…And all that Panther had told him was that she had some kind of half-healthy rivalry with a model a few years her senior.
“And I find out that she’s been sending out all of these emails!” Panther said over her drink in a lull between games. Skull was talking with Joker about something else, where Akechi would occasionally catch fragments of conversation about training, personal goals, or running. 
“The ones telling-“ Akechi started,
“Other models to go to the wrong place!” Panther finished with him, taking another sip of her lemon water. “And I’m finding this out because she’s crying while her manager tells her not to do that ever again, right?”
Akechi realised after a few moments of silence that it was a prompt.
“...Right.”
“And then do you know what she does?”

Despite himself, Akechi was interested. It was idle gossip, suited something about building rapport, but he was curious about her story. About where it would culminate. So, with a nod, he prompted her to continue.
“What?”
“Laughs! The manager leaves and she laughs! She tells me that she just had to cry a little and they forgave her immediately- ughhhh, Akechi-kun, I was so-…!”

She trails off, shaking her head. 
“And I still have shoots with her on occasion, you know. I don’t even dislike her! There’s something about her… she’s just so…”

And with a final shrug of her shoulders, the story ended. 
“I understand,” Akechi eventually offered, as though he meant to turn her story into an exchange of some kind. To build rapport. “A little rivalry is necessary on occasion to convince you to do your best.”

She tipped her head one way as if she was deliberating something. Where Joker was standing, too busy listening to Skull to throw his darts and finish their game. Now, the fragments of what they were saying were about counselling. About it being ‘a load of bullshit,’ as Skull ineloquently put it.

“I suppose so,” Panther eventually said, “I never thought about it like that.”

And in an instant, she was whisked away from their conversation and threw herself instead into the middle of Skull and Joker’s game.
“Hey! Are you two going to finish playing any time soon?”

Skull picked his head up first.
“You hear that Doc is leavin’ Shujin?”
“What, Dr. Maruki?” She leant over the table, “Yeah. Kawakami told us about it in homeroom a couple days back. Why?”
“I’m just sayin’ that it's a relief. Maybe the staff will finally get off my ass about talkin’ to him.”
“You already did, didn’t you?” Joker cut in, though now the focus was away from him and Skull’s attention had settled fully on Panther, he was angling his first shot. They’d gotten down to 43 points left - and after nearly as many minutes spent playing the damn game.
“Well- yeah. Yeah, but I just talked to him once. ‘Cause you did, n’ said it wasn’t that bad.”
“And teachers have still been trying to get you to go?” Panther was leaning on her hand, a friendship bracelet slipping down the pale skin of her arm.

Skull took a half step forwards - then immediately stepped back when he remembered that he was drifting close to the dart lane.
“What? Aren’t they tellin’ you to talk to him, too?”
“No. I went a couple of times but I told Kawakami that it wasn’t helping much to relive everything, and they laid off.”
“What? And you, Akira?”

The dart flew across the board. Landed in a 17 - taking them down to 26.
“I still talk to him sometimes.”
“For real? About…?”

Joker, at complete ease, threw his second dart. 

Double thirteen. Skull barely celebrated it with the fresh distraction of conversation. Satisfaction radiated from Joker, though it was well masked as he relaxed and answered Skull’s question.
“Anything. I don’t have much I need to get off my chest, I guess.”

Skull was the first to recall Akechi’s presence. He gestured vaguely his way.
“Some, uh, counsellor at our school. You know all about that shit with Kamoshida, right? Mr. Detective?”

Yes.
“With no particular details beyond what was in his confession.”
From the look on Skull’s face, they were all on the same page about what Akechi knew.
“Yeah. Because of that, Shujin’s tried to force all of us to go to counsellin’. But they won’t lay offa me for some reason!”
“Mm… seems like they think there’s more that can be done about you,” Panther said, taking the words nearly verbatim out of Akechi’s mouth. Better she said it as a friendly tease, however. She did well to cover her discomfort, given the reminder that Akechi knew more details about her mistreatment than he should, but he noticed that her gaze seemed more interested in Skull and less in him. In spite of Skull’s fresh wave of complaints at Panther’s jab, Akechi offered his own opinion.
 “I can see why the school might think it’d be the right thing,” he said, half genuine, “but I can also imagine the frustration on a personal level of being told to seek help you don’t feel you need.”

”Right?!” That was aimed directly at Panther, “That’s what I was sayin’!”

With the suggestion of getting another drink each, Joker and Skull ended up veering off towards the counter.

Predictable as they were, Akechi should have expected that Skull and Joker would end up distracted. Propped by the counter, mirroring one another's stance while they talked. Too far out of earshot for Akechi to catch anything that they were saying, though their attention seemed far enough away from him that it was unlikely to be gossip, Akechi turned again to Panther. Their presence made it clear that the dart lane was still occupied, but it was quite clear that she didn’t intend on asking Akechi to play.

From the way her eyes set on Skull, it was likely that she’d been waiting all evening for her chance to play with him. 

If it wouldn’t come across as spiteful, he’d have mentioned his faith that her skills outweighed Skull’s.

Instead, with the easy quiet, Panther again chose to share with him. The mention of Kamoshida must have prompted it, the affirmation that Akechi knew enough not to press - or to need to press, at least - if she spoke circles around it. With a soft acknowledgement of what had happened to Akechi over summer, and a careful omission of what her friends had said both to and about him during their few interactions in late July, she attempted to suggest that she felt… sympathetic.

Or, giving a short anecdote about some of the harassment she’d been ignoring while Kamoshida had been abusing her, even empathetic.

He’d phrased his gratitude delicately - appreciating her sentiment and putting more weight on her experience than his. Of course, he’d faced backlash and harassment both online and in person from thousands, possibly more, because he’d offered a harmless dissenting opinion against the Phantom Thieves -- but their situations were incomparable.

Akechi wasn’t unfamiliar with being publicly disliked. Even before his Phantom Thief controversies, he had been disliked for being a public presence. Before then, he had been disliked for being himself. Before then, it’d been a way to emphasise how disliked his mother was, putting the weight of it on small shoulders. Panther, however, described her situation as though she’d been invisible until the moment that she hadn’t been. This girl, too flashy to be invisible but treated as though she was, who had ignored her alienation because her friend had been a lifeline, suddenly facing overt bullying because she couldn’t out her abuser.

Panther was not someone that he liked -- none of the Phantom Thieves were -- yet he could admit that she was likeable and that the backlash she’d faced had been… unfair.

Though it wasn’t phrased quite like that, he explained this to her, and when he attempted to explain how accustomed he’d gotten to this particular form of harassment, she’d joined in with her own stories. Explaining to Akechi one of the many times she’d sat in earshot of people that were openly discussing what she’d allegedly done and how, in depth, they felt about it. In turn, he told Panther about a group of girls who had noticed his company on the train and and chosen then to have a very loud debate among themselves over the efficacy of the Phantom Thieves; to loudly assert where their individual allegiances lay, split between support for the Akechi and supports for the Phantom Thieves to spite him.

He knew how to tell stories. Short anecdotes adjacent to the truth of his personal life were shared carefully with TV hosts or exchanged with Niijima-san so that she would leave him alone, but this was different. Even compared to talking to Joker. Panther would gasp when Akechi echoed some of the sentiments he’d heard the girls share, or she’d roll her eyes, or chime in with the occasional agreements or fragments of opinions. When given the chance, she’d cut in with comments of her own, of similar treatment she’d been through — and and brought on conversation so easily somehow. Not the way it did with the conversive compulsions that Joker somehow managed, but with a genuine easiness.

The more Akechi spoke, the more Panther had to say, and the more that she said, the more Akechi found himself sharing in turn. Of course, he couldn’t match her casual anecdotes about shopping trips with friends or going out for crepes in Shibuya with Joker, but he could focus on the bits he was able to engage with instead. What she had, different food recommendations — Akechi had taken a sponsorship from one of Panther’s favourite cafes, when jobs had become a little too infrequent and his social media presence had finally reached the stage where paid promotions were being offered. Panther’s eyes had sparkled when he’d told her that.

It was as she started to lament the misuse of the potential with her modelling career that Skull’s hand had landed on her shoulder and she’d been pulled from the conversation. The two of them were next up for darts, which of course left himself and Joker. 

Who settled comfortably on his left with a contented sigh, shoulders back and guard so low that it was almost down completely.
Almost.

“Good game,” Akechi eventually broke the quiet between them as Panther and Skull’s discussion about which mode to play rapidly devolved into an increasing of bets on who could hit the most bullseyes.
“Thanks,” Joker said without insincerity. “The other lane is free, if you’re missing out.”

Akechi’s eyes drifted uncertainly to where Panther was attempting to get the darts back from Skull, insisting on going first.

Beside him, Joker hummed in a gentle acknowledgement.
“I thought as much.”

“Am I becoming predictable?”

Joker shook his head. Even then, something about the gesture seemed fond.
”It’s like you said. We’re similar.” He raised his glass to his lips. Lemonade, it looked like - Skull must have ordered it. “I prefer the privacy, too.”

Akechi felt briefly grateful that Joker wasn’t looking at him.

“We’d been talking,” Joker said, when Akechi refused to pick the conversation back up, “of taking you up on that dinner you suggested last week.”
“Hm?” Akechi pretended that he didn’t care enough to remember what Joker was talking about. That he didn’t still feel the faint humiliation of that entire exchange.
“Sushi, was it? Somewhere in Shibuya.”

Akechi made a noise of recognition, nodding. Still, he was watching where Panther angled her darts, Skull tapping his foot against the floor impatiently as he waited his turn.

“So long as everyone has the time for it,” he eventually said, “I wouldn’t want to impose on anyone’s schedule.”
“We’ll have time. If the eighth works?”
“I’ll need to check my calendar when I get home.”
“We’d started to plan a trip for that day, too.”

Well. Akechi’s invitation must have gotten lost somewhere. If they hadn’t already been blowing up his notifications at all hours of the day, he’d guess that they’d forgotten his phone number somehow.
“Then I’m certain I can find the time,” he said eventually, standing straight. “Do you suppose your friends would mind if I excused myself early?”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and kept the screen tilted away from Joker when he turned it on, though he had no messages. Akechi offered an apologetic smile.
“I’m afraid something’s come up.”

“Work emergency?” Joker asked, knowing already. Akechi tucked his phone away.
“The consequences of being known as an Ace Detective, I’m afraid. There are no real days off.”
“I’ll let them know,” Joker said, standing straight as well and turning to Akechi.

With no awareness on how to properly end an interaction such as this, where Panther and Skull were still so nearby, Akechi stuck out an awkward hand again. Amused, Joker took it.
“I’ll see you soon, then.”
“Sunday.”

Akechi withdrew his hand. Again, it burned with the ghost of Joker’s skin against his.
“Sunday,” he confirmed.

Chapter 52: Sunday, November 6th

Notes:

Apologies for the month long delay in chapters ! It turns out if you don’t treat your burnout for 4-5 months and have a health scare so intense you spend two weeks you’re worried you’re gonna die and several personal life emergencies overlap and end up in several messy social situations including being not broken up with and accidentally causing a situation in your friends relationship . Um. You don’t have much time to write or engage in your interests at all. But I went on a two week holiday and this is the first time in too long that I feel like a person so! That’s exciting! And if nothing else i now know more accurately than ever what Akechi’s burnout has been like . So there are still positives to find in this situation. Enjoy!

And inevitably, Sunday came.

At two-thirty in the afternoon, with a near-empty Leblanc, Akechi once more found himself entering Joker’s room to discover that he was the last person to arrive.

The stilling in the air was still there but less apparent, and Akechi took his previous place by the window. The conversation that they’d been having resumed itself comfortably and Akechi was able to listen to passive snippets here and there. Stories about school, mostly, or about recent episodes of TV shows that he didn’t have the time to watch.

After his disappearance on Thursday, he’d had a few messages from Panther checking in with him. She’d messaged to then tell him it was nice to see him, and again Friday morning telling him to have a good day at school and that she’d like to go out for crepes with him soon. He’d replied to each - both with a thanks and polite reciprocation. 

Since then, though, the messages had tapered off. He’d not heard from Panther, Joker still hadn’t been intent on messaging him privately, though yesterday there had been a group conversation in the middle of a school day in order to suggest that Oracle look into the person behind the mental shutdowns. Unsurprisingly her search had returned nothing, but their conversations for that day had started and stopped with that.

They were only in the hideout for a short while. Again, Akechi’s arrival seemed to signal that it was time to start moving. Within the next ten minutes he was following them through to the train station.

It was his suggestion to take a separate carriage. There were enough people on the train to avoid it being suspicious, but if Akechi was recognised or photographed, it would do none of them any favours to end up associated with each other. Though Noir offered to go with him, he politely yet firmly turned her down.

Only with their arrival into Kasumigaseki did Akechi rejoin the Phantom Thieves, when they drew close to the court building and when Joker already had his phone in his hand.

Wordlessly, they entered the Palace and returned to the elevator, where their members card still allowed them permission up to the next floor. Oracle stopped first, bug-eyes swaying between each door that they’d been told to go through. 
“We were starting with…”
“The dice games, right?” Noir suggested, before eyes drifted inevitably back to Joker. As they always did.

He nodded and easily took the lead to guide everyone through to where the dice games were being played.
“What a distasteful place,” Fox muttered as they entered.
“Yeah, I guess… that’s not really how a normal high schooler would describe it though,” Panther murmured, and Akechi refrained from coming across as friendly by calling back to the comment he’d made at darts, to ask Panther again if she had a strong interest in gambling.

Queen was the one to hurry them along, to prompt Joker to continue moving. In their little group - with Akechi, Queen, and Noir at the front, everyone else falling further back - they walked into one of the dice rooms. While Joker listened to a Shadow explain how the game operated, bulging red eyes flicking impatiently between the cognitive people, the thieves, and the game itself, Akechi peered at the table to try and determine how it functioned.

He knew these games would all be rigged. It was only a matter of figuring out how - and from there, they could determine how to sway the game in their favour. Still, Akechi watched from a distance as Joker, face settled into an intense focus, placed his bet - “It’ll be between three and ten.” - and watched a compartment in the middle of the board open. The three dice within the case were launched into the air and tumbled back down - as six, three, two.

Eleven.

As the dealer offered his condolences, the dice were scooped back into the middle and dropped back into the hole in the board, which sealed itself up again. Would the dice be weighted? If they returned to the interior mechanisms of the board between games, there could have been two interchangeable sets of weighted dice, each of which could be discreetly switched? Or the dice could be controlled magnetically somehow, and the input determined - not by the dealer, whose hands were placed flat against the edge of the table, but by someone else?

His eyes scanned the ceiling. No discernible cameras, but that didn’t mean anything. All that would be required would be an audio recording device, and that could be hidden anywhere on the table to mean that someone in a backroom somewhere would be controlling how the dice worked.

After two more unsuccessful games, Joker guided them each out of the room. Akechi prompted him towards an open vent on the floor with a nudge and a tilt of his head, and Joker, insufferable as he was, smiled.
“I suppose that’ll likely take us to the back room,” he said, as Noir and Queen filtered in beside them. The rest of the Thieves, presuming a meeting, filtered over. “It might be worth seeing if we can find out how these games have been influenced.”

With a nod, Joker directed everyone towards the vent. Knowing that the people present were cognitive beings didn’t completely alleviate the embarrassment of attempting to squirrel himself into a vent shaft, but it helped. Especially given that Akechi’s usual methods involved a lot less crawling and a lot more direct action.

It was as Skull helped Noir out of the vent shaft that they gathered up again. Her eyes travelled around the blue walls and the grey tiled floor, mouth in an o-shape with intrigue.
“Is this the back room?”

“Super convenient, don’tcha think?” Oracle chimed in, observing every detail from beneath her mask. He wondered what it was that she saw and how it differed from anyone else. “Based on what Crow was saying, the games in here are all totally rigged.”
“Oooh, so we’re gonna catch ‘em in the act!” Skull said, taking Oracle’s shoulder and giving it an affirming, excited shake. She huffed a little, but didn’t seem genuinely annoyed by it.

They separated into their two groups and yet again, Akechi was up at the front with Joker as they crept through the back rooms, tucking away behind corners to evade easy fights, or only taking on enemies when they weren’t looking. Akechi was certain that even using Robin Hood’s weakest attacks, he could have fought any of these shadows alone - so why the hell was Joker so hesitant to fight them? It wasn’t as though they’d be particularly difficult to deal with.

At Joker’s pace, it took them a while to find their way to the control room - with a brief stop in a safe room so that Joker could ensure that everyone was well enough for any potential fights not to catch them too off guard.

The back rooms in Sae’s Palace were a maze. They were difficult to navigate. Once or twice Joker would branch off into a hallway to explore and make a full circle, ending up back where he was and, with little more than a sigh, would take another turn when he got there. By the time they reached the control room, Akechi’s patience was wearing thin and the promise of a fight to alleviate his frustration was sounding better and better. 

At least Joker had the spine to fight this one. Akechi didn’t know what he’d have done if they’d found out how the games were being rigged - to his satisfaction, he’d been right about the magnetic dice - and Joker had attempted to negotiate.

It was trivially easy. As Akechi had suspected, even with Robin Hood’s weaker skills at his disposal, it was barely a fight. The few strikes aimed at him were easily dodged, and the opportunities that he had to strike were opening that were easily taken advantage of - underwhelming in such a way that he almost felt more irritated than before. 

It was for that reason that he stepped aside while the rest of the Phantom Thieves examined the workstation within the backrooms - the way that Queen’s eyes skimmed between monitors depicting each room, highlighting cards and the currency being stored on each to know who was due a win to keep them hooked and who was getting confident enough to bet recklessly.
“I can’t believe there’s a facility like this in here… she must really want to win…” 
“C’mon,” Oracle walked over to the desk, kicking out the chair from beneath it like she meant to claim it while she worked, “we should stop the rigging.”

Had they truly come all this way just to play fair? Was it going to be up to him to spell out every single step of their infiltration, all the while playing up his naivety?
“Hold on a moment,” Akechi stepped forwards, again drawing all of the eyes within the room. “I believe there’s an easier way to get all the coins we need.”
“All of them in here?” Fox’s head was tilted to the side. He wasn’t looking at Akechi directly, but it was clearly directed at him.
“Is that even possible?” Panther added.

The frustration of their cluelessness was nothing against the satisfaction of putting forward an idea that none of them had considered. 
“Indeed. We will use the equipment here to our advantage to rig the game in our favour.”
“You can do that!?” Skull’s surprise was just starting to show when Oracle slumped into the spinning chair, doing a rotation and a half to end up facing the desk.
“This is a job for me! It’ll be a breeze!”

Her work was immediate. With no reservations that would outweigh the opportunity to show off, she started tapping furiously away at the keyboard in front of her.

Noir, on the other hand, clasped her fingers together in front of her.
“Cheating seems somehow wrong though…” 
“The odds here are stacked against us,” was the nice way to say that they would foolishly gamble themselves into poverty if they attempted to play fair, “We would never win if we stuck to normal methods. We do not have any time to waste either. It would be best for us to focus on our objective.”

Surprisingly, it was Queen who affirmed his opinion.
“...You’re right. Changing my sister’s heart is the ultimate goal here.”
“In which case, Oracle, we will be borrowing your expertise yet again.”
“I’m one step ahead of you,” she waved a dismissive hand for only a few seconds before it instantly reattached to the keyboard. “But you give out a lot of orders for a newbie.”

And right back to the insults. Akechi let it slide, and allowed Oracle to work while the rest of the Thieves entertained themselves with idle conversation - Panther still fawning over the state of the Palace, though now with Fox occasionally nodding to give his artistic opinion on what parts were ‘more tasteful than others’, as he put it.

Akechi, in the meantime, deliberated. During their last visit, the Shadow he’d spoken to had assured them that they were allowed to borrow money within the casino. “Up to the current total on their card,” it’d said, which meant that in theory they could have twice the money that they’d saved. That would need to be used sparingly, at risk of running out of money and having no way to earn it back without sinking into debt, but Akechi still had that spare guest card.

Oracle stood suddenly from the chair, stretching her arms over her head and offering a contented sigh.
“Okay, I rigged one of the rooms in our favour, just like Crow said. The other rooms should at least be back to normal honest gambling now too.” She paused long enough to soak up the praise that she was offered, and just as she’d done when Akechi had trailed them at Okumura’s Palace, continued when she’d absorbed enough of it. “Anyway, I marked our special room on the map. Make sure you use that one!”

In place of proper praise, Akechi acknowledged her work with a simple, “Perfect,” and turned his attention to Joker. “Now, let us head into the fray.”

Much faster now, with Oracle detecting a nearby door that’d return them to the main room, they returned to where Joker had first attempted a few rounds of gambling, and he stopped at the table opposite the dealer.

“Welcome!” it greeted again, “Are you here to play another round?”
“I am.”
“Perfect! Standard buy-in for one game is…” he paused, crooked smile faltering for only a second before it grew unnaturally wider. “Wow, what a surprise! We are currently running a Grand Raise promotion! Both buy-in and payout are five times the normal amount!” Then quieter, as though a hidden clause; “A single customer is limited to four plays.”

It gestured to the seats opposite. Joker ignored it.
“The buy-in is 125 coins! Would you like to play the game?”

Joker nodded. He placed his bets, again, on the total being between 3-10, and the Shadow celebrated with them at their grand victory - triple sixes, providing them winnings of 625 coins. Taking them now to 1600.

When asked to play again, Joker reaffirmed the same bet. Between 3-10. And again, the dice landed on triple sixes. 2100 coins.

Another. 2600.

And with their final win, 3225 coins.

Again, everyone deferred the next step to Joker’s input, to which he supposed that it was worth investigating the slot machines. 3225 coins, however, was meagre compared to what they could have earned. To what Akechi could still earn them - and having seen how Oracle redirected the inputs, it seemed a simple enough task. If the Shadows within the Palace were able to divert win rates and success streaks, he could do the same. 

So while they celebrated their earnings, Akechi was the one to spoil their fun. When Fox asked if they had reached their goal yet - a goal they were far from, and where their funds could only permit them a few meagre spins on a slot machine - he politely stepped into the conversation.
“It still may not be enough.”

“Are you seriously planning on taking every last coin in here?” Mona asked, as though it was somehow an offence that Akechi had suggested it - and not as though they were in a predatory casino that would strip them bare of all valuables, offering occasional lucky rolls to allude to a chance at winning big.

“It was a joke. However, it would be nice to have a little more coinage on hand, would it not?”

He paused. A careful deliberation as he swept his gaze among the faces of his temporary allies. He was inclined to request Joker’s assistance in earning more coins, but he still wanted to assert himself as a capable ally. To include Joker would be to suggest that he needed Joker’s support - which he firmly did not. He considered asking Panther, as she seemed the most forgiving of his presence, but she was observant. Not quite as sharp as Queen or Joker, but observant enough. Eventually, Akechi turned his focus to Skull instead. The one who not only had the least trust in Akechi, but also vocalised that the most. Who would likely not focus on a task if it bored him.“Everyone wait here. Skull, I would like you to come with me.”

He seemed almost insulted to be picked.
“Why me?” 
“Because I am the “brains” here, am I not?”
“Huh?” He didn’t get it. Akechi pretended not to be as satisfied by that as he was. “Oh, sure.” 

With Skull trailing obediently along at his heel, Akechi caught the last fragments of Mona’s voice behind them.
“...Time to see what he’s made of.” 

They would see. All of them would see that he was worth his place here.

 

---

 

By the time he returned, with Skull hauling most of the credits that he’d earned, Akechi had gathered a substantial amount on both of their cards. Skull had been the correct choice to make - With frequent trips from to and from the backroom, Akechi had played as many games as he’d been allowed in five rooms, and then another two in a sixth before he’d figured that continuing this would draw unwanted attention. By the time Skull was bringing their haul of tokens out of the sixth room, they were drawing enough wide-eyed stares for Akechi to direct them immediately to where everyone else was waiting.

Each burst of four games had earned 2,500 tokens total to the Taro Tanaka card, totalling at 10,000. The last few games had gone solely to the Phantom Thieves’ card, bringing them up from 3225 to 6350. By the second room he’d entered, Skull had started impatiently tapping his foot against the floor while waiting. By the third round within that room, he’d been complaining about standing around doing so little, to which Akechi had assured Skull that as long as he was able to assist in bringing their profits from room to room, he could do as he liked while Akechi played.

And with that, Akechi had earned himself the privacy to divert the winnings as he liked. So when he returned to the Phantom Thieves, Skull hauling around their tokens (unnecessarily, as it was explained to him in the second room that their cards were automatically amended to reflect the accurate total), it would remain comfortably his secret that he’d earned any coins of his own.

“Sorry about the wait,” Akechi said as he rounded the corner, Skull’s breathing slightly uneven as he pushed the credits along on a cart. It’d been offered to them as they left the final room, and Skull had accepted before Akechi could say that it wasn’t necessary. Panther’s surprise at their new total was likely all of the praise he would get, so Akechi smiled and directed them steadily onwards. “We still have a long way before we reach our goal, though. Now then, onto the slot machines.”

 

---

Slot machines were the biggest scam within the casino. Akechi, in the sporadic research he’d done last night leading up to their infiltration, knew this.

The rest of the Phantom Thieves, as he should have expected, didn’t.

It was once again Akechi’s duty to explain to them an alternative way to navigate her Palace - to explain that they should save their hacking routine until they found one of the higher-value slot machines to win. And then, obediently, he slipped back into his position as one of Joker’s willing disciples, allowing him to lead them through not only the Palace, but to determine which routes they took, where they doubled back through, the fights that they did and did not get into - all of it was left solely to Joker. 

Even as they found the slot machines that Akechi had suggested would be out of the way, he followed the rest of the Phantom Thieves as they deliberated on what to do, listened to their awe over the potential payout of the largest and flashiest slot machine in the building, and politely dismissed Skull’s mocking ‘Let me guess, “we will need to stop their cheating first”?’ when Akechi agreed that this was the best machine for them to use.

Only when they’d selected their target did the leadership finally divert away from being solely Joker’s problem and instead become Oracle’s as she explained everything she needed - first a master terminal, then two smaller terminals in two distinctly different colours. This, obviously, resulted in a lot more backtracking, through which nobody seemed willing to suggest that they split up to find things sooner - and Akechi, as the newest, was reluctant to break another unspoken rule when he was finally being regarded with a begrudging respect.

By the time they found the two monitors in question, and had doubled back to that slot machine one more time, Akechi could have taken each turn through every hallway, avoiding every Shadow by sticking to all of the same hiding spots, with his eyes closed. Thankfully, by the time they found the second panel, Oracle was confident that she could have reprogrammed the machine from there, and there were few remaining arguments against Akechi’s ‘cheating’ when he suggested that she adjust the win rate for the slot machine with the biggest payout.

And when the machine had bent itself to the will of his plan, delivering them 50,000 coins with 777 in gaudy golden letters, Akechi was nothing but relieved that their trip was finally coming to an end. Outside of the Metaverse it’d likely already gotten dark, and Akechi had an interview tomorrow that he needed to get enough sleep for. 

With their total brought up to 51,350, and with the unspoken gratitude of the Phantom Thieves for the careful consideration of his plan, Akechi had once more allowed Joker to take the lead of their group. When they bought the High Limit Card. he took in the way the Shadow’s expression twisted, crooked smile breaking and leaving a disgusted grimace when he handed it over. Their victory had been unexpected which drew the natural conclusion that Niijima hadn’t thought they were going to surpass this floor. It must have been unlikely that anyone could afford the card without her direct permission. 

Yet as they turned around, a Shadow had positioned itself directly in front of the elevator.

Of course. Sae’s final method, proven time and time again, was brute force. Threatening Sojiro Sakura’s parental custody when asking for his research didn’t work, sending police into Shujin in swaths to try and flood out the Phantom Thieves; it even manifested in smaller behaviours like attempting to pry into Akechi’s life by repurposing interrogation techniques.

The memory of it rang hollow through him - of sitting across from her in a sushi restaurant, choking on embarrassment as she tried to pry information out of him piece by piece. Even as the rest of the Phantom Thieves fell immediately into formation for a fight, Queen easily slipping past Akechi to take what’d been his position in the lineup, he felt jaded by the memory of it. Years stringing along at her heel, letting her breach professional conduct to ask him about his studies, his friends, anything that she’d never consider sharing in turn.

The choice to target Sae had been a convenient one, but not a personal one-

Tremors rippled through the floor and Akechi swayed before he could get his feet properly beneath him. The Phantom Thieves closest to the Shadow - Joker, Queen, Skull, and Panther - had taken the hit harshly, with Queen being swept completely off of her feet. Akechi caught himself after only a brief stumble, standing a little wider. In the corner of his eye, Noir had steadied herself and instead taken to making sure Akechi hadn’t completely lost himself to his thoughts. He gave her a short apologetic smile as she rushed over to help Queen back to her feet, prompting her to fall back and for Noir to filter comfortably into her place. 

The fight, though Akechi did not involve himself, went by faster than expected and with an efficiency that he hadn’t had the chance to witness from an outside perspective. They seemed to all be withholding slightly when he took the front, as though constantly prepared to work around him or make up for whatever skills he would lack. With him safely tucked away in the back, there was a.. fluidity to their operation. They would strike to leave openings for others, rather than aiming for all of the vulnerabilities themselves. Between Oracle’s advice and Queen’s eye for advantage, they built themselves into something ruthless.

A team. A threat.

When Queen seemed steady on her feet again, Noir tapped back out and allowed her to slip back into the fight. A strike of blue light that bloomed in between plates of armour blossomed into a swirling mass of light, expanded further  — and by the time it dissipated, the Shadow was gone with it. 

Nobody stood down. They formed together into a circular mass of bodies, eyes scouring in all directions - centred around Oracle as she moved her hands and scanned their surroundings. It was only when she nodded with complete finality and said “That’s it. Nobody else is coming our way.” that everyone finally stood down. The collective sigh of the fight being over and, beyond that, the unwavering faith in Oracle to know that it was over.

And Akechi, who had not been with them when they had gathered together, who had not been involved, and who was still feeling that lingering… something, when he thought about Sae, smiled as he approached the Phantom Thieves again. The more he fought with them, the sooner he’d carve out his space within their group - the harder it would be for them to put themselves back together when he left and Joker was dead.

“Shall we see what’s up next?” Akechi asked Joker as the rest of the Phantom Thieves clumped together, checking over one another’s injuries.
“We should leave soon,” Mona suggested, standing by Joker’s side. “If Niijima’s methods are getting this much more direct, we can’t rule out the possibility of an ambush.”
“I don’t believe that would be a risk. San-san has a way of being direct, even while being underhanded. She’d rather drag us through games to demoralise us so that our challenge never reaches her directly. These Shadows likely serve a broader purpose - better suited for sizing us up than killing us.”
“So you think we won’t get ambushed, n’ that’s supposed to be good enough?”

Akechi turned his unwavering polite, pleasant expression to Skull.
“Exactly.”
“From what we’ve seen so far, Crow’s suggestion does seem accurate,” Queen stepped closer, and brushed her hair behind her ear, tucking it away somewhere behind her mask. The weight that this Palace had on her was not going unnoticed, Panther and Noir sharing concerned glances behind her, but it was going firmly unaddressed. “It would be beneficial for us to see what awaits us before we wrap up.”

When they scanned their card for the lift, however, only three buttons lit up. For the Standard Floor, Members Floor, and High Limit Floor.

“Huh? The managers floor still isn’t showing up?” Panther moved a hand to her mask. The slowness of their progress was clearly weighing on everyone by now - it was good, at least, that it wasn’t just Akechi growing impatient.
“But she’s so close I can almost smell her!” Oracle whined, head still shifting from side to side. Perhaps another time Akechi could ask to see what the inside of her mask was like - to know what she saw. “The next floor’s prolly gonna be the last one.” 

That was a relief. Everyone else seemed to think so, and again fell into agreement with Akechi’s suggestion that they should look at it before they leave.

Skull slammed his thumb against the button.
“Hell yeah! Let’s get on up to the high limit floor!”

 

---

 

A cognitive barrier. Of course. 

It made sense. Okumura had had one, Kaneshiro, even Kobayakawa - inevitably, something would bar them from progressing. Akechi was certain that if he went on alone, he’d be able to bypass it somehow. But that wasn’t the point. They were operating as a team, so Akechi did what he could for all of their benefits instead. He suggested what the likely real world equivalent was supposed to be, and offered to get them all covert access into the courts to bypass it.

They praised him when he suggested it, too; surprised he’d come to understand the workings of the cognitive world so quickly. That it was impressive he’d drawn the correlation between the high limit floor being a courtroom based only on the awareness that it had restricted access. And even with Skull’s clumsy floundering to try and assert that he was just as smart, with a competitive attitude that seemed typical for him, he still felt that content of knowing that he was proving himself. 

Akechi had nursed that feeling of satisfaction since they left. The entire walk home, it’d purred as it nestled between his ribs. They’d looked at him as though he had value and finally he had been able to prove to all of them that he wasn’t the aimless, floundering newbie that they wanted him to be.

He would find a way for them to surpass the cognitive barrier. He would accompany them to the end of Sae’s Palace. He would become so finely integrated into their Phantom Thievery (and only their Phantom Thievery, as the willingness to maintain emotional distance in every other aspect of their lives was completely mutual) that after the 20th their entire organisation would crumble.

They would know what it would feel like to be powerless.

Notes:

Ok a little aware this chapter is slightly weak but iirc it took me like three weeks to work on - but as of posting it I have like five fully written chapters and I’m getting more into the swing of things, so I’m gonna post another asap and hopefully with less burnout over the next few months get back to regular updates

Chapter 53: Tuesday, November 8th

‘We should stay sharp while we wait for Niijima to appear in court. Still up for Mementos today?’

It was the first time Joker had texted him unprompted in a while. Akechi could imagine all of them sitting around a table, deferring the responsibility of summoning him to the one person who would do so without too much reluctance. He’d already pencilled in Mementos and called off his plans for the evening, though not without making a frustrated note about how little point there was in designating Sundays to Palace infiltrations if they were going to meet up beyond that.

They’d deferred their meeting point to Shibuya station when Akechi mentioned that he’d come by after school, suggesting that it was for his convenience that they wouldn’t let him visit LeBlanc. He’d stayed at school for an extra fifteen minutes past the ending of class for the worst of the rush to be over and had gone to the bathroom to swap his school blazer for a hooded jacket so that he could be slightly less noticeable, given their agenda. Slipping into Mementos only worked because there were so many people and so few individuals of note, so a small group disappearing would be hard to notice. If Akechi drew the eyes of any student in the area, especially with how much more attention was on him while awaiting his victory over the Phantom Thieves, it would inconvenience them all.

So he tied his hair back, pulled the hood up, and for a brief second had considered his glasses - but that would have let on to the Phantom Thieves that he had imperfect vision. It was a bad disguise, but it was going to have to do. Joker and his unusual friends got enough looks without trailing the Detective Prince alongside them.

Akechi boarded the train and sat with a slouch, unnatural as it felt, and kept his focus exclusively on his phone for the duration of the journey. He kept his head down as he came into the overground in Shibuya, and it seemed that his decision to stay back meant that he was, again, the last to arrive.

In their usual loud group, with Oracle crouched on the floor and Mona loudly wailing from Joker’s bag, they’d all already gathered by the stairs to the underground mall. Akechi, briefly self-conscious of how unlike himself he was dressed, approached.
“I fear I’ll be apologising for being late every time that I see you all,” he said as he cut into the space between Joker and Fox. All eyes turned to him for a moment, a little blank, and then Queen hid a laugh behind her hand.
“Is that supposed to be a disguise?” Skull cut in, a lightness to his tone suggesting that this was either meant to be a friendly tease, or that he was pointing it out to the rest of the group rather than Akechi directly.
“I think disguise would be generous,” Akechi smiled, “but I’ve made it here without being caught in conversation, so it’s been quite efficient.”
“And you can’t do this when we go to the Palace… why?” Oracle had lifted her head from her laptop, but her eyes were constantly flicking back to the screen.
“If someone came out and saw the eight of us outside of Tokyo High Court, would you rather have someone visibly affiliated with the police with you or not?”

Oracle huffed. It was a childish admission of defeat, and possibly more childish for Akechi to have taken satisfaction from it.
“I’d rather we didn’t get spotted at all,” she evaded the question, turning her focus away and granting the topic a swift end.

Noir suggested that they get moving ‘now that everyone’s here,’ and Joker took his phone from his pocket. They didn’t so much as glance around to make sure nobody was looking before Joker had pressed his thumb firmly against the screen and the world melted away around them.

  With the noise of Shibuya suddenly replaced with an eerie silence, the air thick with humidity and dense with a red haze, Akechi followed Joker’s lead as they wandered into the depths of Mementos. He was prepared to blindly follow them past the turnstiles and into the lower levels, but everyone stopped before they got there. Joker quietly said something about needing a moment and crossed to the far side of the entrance, where he braced himself against a wall, closed his eyes, and-

Stopped. 

Akechi must have been staring, waiting to see what Joker was going to do, because it took Panther’s arm latching through his for him to pull his focus back to the group.
“Don’t worry about him,” she said, without giving Akechi a chance to assert that he wasn’t worried, “We usually spend a while in here - I think it helps Joker to take a moment to get used to it.”

“We’ll give you the rundown while he’s doin’ that, yeah?” Skull said, turning his gaze pointedly to Mona, who launched into a speech about what Mementos was. The collective unconscious, where smaller targets can be found, etcetera - all things that Akechi already knew but had to smile along with regardless.
“How interesting,” he said, contemplative, “and how deep does it go?”
“We haven’t yet found out,” Fox said, “The scale of it is fascinating, though. The warped and twisted desire of man transforming the underground into a distorted labyrinth…”

Akechi let the conversation slip away from him then. With Fox’s discussion of the arts and with enough people around to keep him amused, Akechi instead allowed himself another glance back at Joker. He looked almost as if he’d fallen asleep, the rising and falling of his chest slow, his shoulders slouched forwards. 

And everyone accepted at face value that this was something he did? Strange, maybe, but nothing of note. The same way that Akechi had fallen asleep on the bus once or twice when work kept him up all night or being here, alone, had exhausted him, it must have been indicative of something. Weakness. Evidence that Joker had limits, even here. That no matter what else he was capable of, he was still completely human. And he had weaknesses that could be exploited, as soon as Akechi was able to pin them down. To pin Joker down and find out what made him tick.
“He does this often?” Akechi said, quieter this time, and again to Panther only. Her arm was still loosely hooked in his. Akechi pulled it back and she took the hint to withdraw.
“Mhm,” she said, looking at Akechi with her head tilted to the side. There was a look in her eyes. Something knowing, and slightly smug. “Really, it’s nothing to worry about. He does it before we go into Palaces sometimes, too, or on the way out.”

Akechi frowned.
“And you’ve asked about this?”
“The first few times it freaked me n’ Skull out a bit,” she said, her voice softer and quieter. The sincerity in her voice was misplaced, confusing Akechi’s curiosity with concern. “Apparently it’s nothing to worry about. Joker says it helps him prepare.”
“Even if he does it on the way out of the Palace?” Akechi muttered, glancing back over his shoulder. Joker was, with a slowness that looked like grogginess, pushing himself upright from the wall. 

Though he couldn’t see her expression much beneath her mask, the way that Ann’s lips pressed together suggested that she hadn’t considered that.
“I guess so,” she said, and as Joker came back towards them they moved apart from one another.

“I’m ready,” Joker muttered, glancing to Akechi before he nodded his head toward the platform.
“Mona!” Oracle prompted, and Mona eagerly plodded to the front of the group, passed the turnstiles. He hopped down onto the tracks while everyone else - Akechi included - watched expectantly. Several sets of eyes were on him, so he could have assumed that something was about to happen, but when Mona hopped up into the air, did a little flip, and with a puff of smoke-

Akechi could not have prepared himself for the car. The cat-car, with it's metal ears and the bright blue eye-headlights, and the dawning realisation that all of this time that Akechi had spent walking, sticking to walls, wary of being lost on one floor too long, and these guys had all had it so easy. Team fights, food in safe rooms, driving in Mementos, all of it was so unfairly easy.

Skull’s elbow caught on Panther’s arm and the movement in the corner of his eye brought him back from his momentary stupor. Akechi closed his mouth, a slightly coy smile settling on his face, and turned back to the Phantom Thieves. Joker was smiling at him. Obviously.
“You’re full of surprises,” he said, not to anyone specifically, but Oracle offered a mischievous laugh as she hopped over the turnstile and opened the front of the car.

“What? You’re takin’ the front again?” Skull complained, following her to the other side of- Mona? The car? - as she pulled the door open. He offered a hand to help her in regardless and she used both the door and Skull’s arm as a leverage to push herself past the steps and straight into the seat.
“Joker said I could. Take it up with him.”
“No I didn’t,” Joker said, pulling open the driver’s side door. Did he plan on driving? Did he need to drive, or could Mona drive himself?

This was ridiculous. This was stupid. And Akechi had been unknowingly drafted into some kind of fever dream where the cognitive world was something beautiful and full of potential, not the burden or the chore that it had been for him for three years. Their great power was still liberating. His was, though only for one more month, contracted.

“Crow! You'll be in the back with us,” Noir called, waving Akechi over to the back doors of the van. If Joker was up front with Oracle, that meant that the entire time they spent in Mementos, Akechi would be cosied up with Panther, Skull, Fox, Queen, and Noir, whose guidance he followed to step into the back of the van.

It was cosy. A little too small of a space for six. The seats came in the form of two benches, sideways against the outer walls of the Mona-car. On one side sat Fox, Panther, and Skull, and on the other sat Noir and Queen with an open gap beside Queen for Akechi to settle into. Without the option to discreetly maintain distance, he sat beside her. Far enough away that they weren’t touching, unlike how Skull’s knee bumped Panther’s, or how Fox sat at an angle to cut completely into her space, but not far enough apart for the distance to be notable. He had to keep his feet tucked close to avoid tapping his shoes against Panther’s.
“This is rather novel,” he said again, tapping his foot against the bottom of the car. “It never would have occurred to me that Mona was capable of something like this.”

Laughter came from the overhead speakers. Akechi wondered for an absurd moment if Mona could play CD’s.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” he taunted, and Akechi saw Joker lean forwards from the front of the car as the engine came suddenly to life. There was no way that he knew how to drive - Joker wasn’t old enough for his license yet, was he? Even with the extra safety that the Metaverse allowed for injuries and how quickly bleeding wounds would stitch themselves closed, he still wasn’t certain that the risk of a car accident was one that he wanted to take.
“How fast does this- do you go, Mona?” he asked, paraphrasing on ‘How dangerous is this?’

From the way Oracle swung round from the front seat - notably not wearing her seatbelt, which put a point in favour of either Joker’s driving or Morgana’s handling -  and braced her head on her arms, she had certainly picked up on the implications.
“Mm, pretty fast,” she hummed, a mischievous grin spread across her face, “You might want to hold onto something.”

He wasn’t sure if she was joking. Nobody else seemed inclined to weigh in. Akechi, erring on the side of caution, moved a hand to carefully hold the bottom of his chair. Oracle swung round and slumped again, adjusting where her mask sat. 
“Your navigator is at the ready!” she chirped, kicking her feet up on the dashboard. 

Joker, at her command, pressed his foot against the accelerator.

 

---

 

The way the car swerved, fast around corners and faster when taking a sharp U-turn upon meeting a dead end, make it clear that Joker must have placed zero value on his life.

It suggested that he put no weight on any of their lives, in fact, the way that he flattened his foot on the accelerator when approaching a meandering Shadow, and that they all had similar disregard to continuously let him drive. Everyone else's reaction, between managing to make conversation and the ease with which they swayed when the car turned, suggested that either none of them felt threatened by it or that they were very used to it. Akechi, who would only be able to keep the conversation in short bursts, whenever Joker took it steadier down a straight road, before his focus was placed too much on both listening and staying upright for him to contribute.

If nothing else, Akechi would have to admit that it was efficient. They didn’t hide from fights but most Shadows that they came across would meet a swift end turning to smoke around the bumper of Joker’s car. They descended far into the depths of Mementos, low enough that eventually running the car into a Shadow would cause it to come to an abrupt stop. The Phantom Thieves, again, had the rhythm down completely. The instant that Mona came to a stop, Panther, Queen, Fox, and Joker were immediately out. Noir gave them an unusually cheerful encouragement as the doors swung shut, and Akechi watched through the windshield as they instantly fell into a flawless battle formation. 

Nothing in the Metaverse needed a group this large. For the capable, operating alone was the most convenient and effective method - but there was an undeniably hypnotic aspect to watching the Phantom Thieves work together. To sit back and watch as Oracle, comfortably sitting in the front of the car, would lean forwards on the dashboard and offer call-outs - ‘He’s knocked down! Quick- someone else can follow up!’ - chiming in with vulnerabilities and where to strike to gain an advantage. He could imagine himself cutting in, spurred onwards to strike the Shadow, driving his sword in a slash across its midsection just as Joker did, only to fall back so that someone else could catch it off guard and strike.

And as soon as the fight was over, everyone was filtering immediately back into the car with little more than a comment about how easy the fight had been. By the time they were on low enough floors that attracting attention was more dangerous and the Shadows would endure the collision with Mona, Joker’s driving became significantly more careful and the conversation easier to follow. 

Akechi even took his nails out from the underside of his chair eventually, when he realised that Joker had adjusted to his new pace and wasn’t going to suddenly speed back up.

He listened, having very little himself to contribute, as Skull started talking about a new show he’d been watching - one that Panther quickly added that she’d also seen, and Akechi let their conversation about all of the twists and turns from the newest episode entertain him. 

His eyes drifted to the front of the car. Skull had no chance of getting to sit up at the front again; Joker was completely separate from the conversation happening behind him. He and Oracle - who would occasionally turn to them from over the back of her chair for a comment or two - looked as though they were built for this. He would take her guidance immediately and without question as she directed them down turns, mumbling about chests and dead ends and the strength of nearby Shadows. His head would tip towards her and his hair would sway around his mask, eyes ahead but head inclined so that she knew he was listening. And through his focus his replies were sparse, but they were there - mutters of appreciation, suggestions on how to bypass Shadows that were too dangerous for a fair fight, negotiations on where they’d go before finding the next platform.

It was at a rest stop that they next properly spoke. Deep enough in the depths that Akechi had scarcely travelled down here before. He’d only gained access to it since utilising the Phantom Thieves for his own popularity, and if he’d been able to travel here in April, he’d not have needed to cause a train accident to take out a political rival of Shido’s, rather than confronting him directly. 

“You’re not tired of driving, are you, Joker?” Queen was asking while Joker paced back and forth through what looked like a bus shelter. She didn’t have her license yet, did she? Queen was certainly old enough, but likely hadn’t gotten time away from her studies to learn.
“No,” Joker said almost immediately, as though it was an instinct of his. “Just stretching my legs.” Queen relaxed, nodding.
“I’m glad,” she said, as though it wasn’t blatant that Joker was lying, “I’ll be ready to get moving again whenever you are.”

Joker nodded but said nothing else. Oracle had already gotten hunched up on a chair, her goggles pushed up onto her forehead. It made her bangs stick up in all directions. With her glasses off and the slight signs of exhaustion setting in on her face, she looked small. She was - visibly malnourished and without enough exercise, she was tiny - but usually everything else about her balanced it out and she became a presence larger than this. Now, though, it was so hard to ignore that she was just a child, wrapped up in something far larger than her.

She’d only just stopped blaming herself for her mothers death. Would Joker’s death shut her back in her room?

But she had made her decision. Everyone here had chosen their side and placed their bets. What difference did it make that she was fifteen, or that for a delirious moment, Akechi could see his fifteen year old self in that chair, scrawny and tired after hours spent walking in circles through Mementos. He’d known what decision he was making at that age, approaching Shido. He’d known enough to make an informed decision. She’d done the same.

Akechi glanced in Joker’s direction and their eyes locked. Rather than wonder how long Joker had been looking at him for, or how obvious it’d been that he was staring at Oracle, Akechi smiled.
“Yes?”

“Your hair is up.”

Akechi reached back. He hadn’t noticed, with everything that’d been happening since they got to Mementos but it was. It must have been because it’d been up before they came in, but he’d come to the Metaverse before with his hair up and when his clothes changed, it was miraculously down again. Someone must have noticed it was up and it’d filtered into the group cognition somehow. 
“Apparently so.”

Joker didn’t say anything. Not for a few long moments, during which Akechi maintained eye contact as though it was an unspoken challenge, until Joker turned his head away and nodded at Mona.
“Just one target, right?”

Mona nodded.
“Somewhere up ahead. We’re getting close now, I can feel it.”

It took Joker a few moments too long to nod in return. Akechi wanted to grab him by the shoulders and slam him against the wall, to demand to know what the hell had him so tired that he was acting weak and indecisive. He wanted to grab the lapels of Joker’s coat and shake him, to demand to know what the hell was wrong with him - where the fight and the determination had gone. This exhausted, sorry mess was not Joker. He wanted to know why Joker wasn’t talking to him.

“Let’s go,” Joker said while Akechi suppressed the urge to snap at him, and immediately everyone was on their feet again, moving towards the stairwell down.

 

---

 

Their target, the entire point that they’d gone to Mementos, hadn’t been anything interesting; a man who had been cutting his employee’s pay short to fill out his own pockets. Akechi hadn’t been in the lineup when the Phantom Thieves fought him, nor had he been briefed on the situation. He didn’t know what they were doing until everyone was back in the car and he was able to piece together the situation from fragments of information.

With their work done, the atmosphere in the car eased. Joker and Oracle were still working to get everyone to the surface safely, but those who had been active were easing into their seats and relaxing. Akechi’s comments were sparse, inviting short bursts of conversation that would inevitably taper off - he’d expressed an interest in watching ants, something about the underground oppression of Mementos being reminiscent of an ant farm, which Fox had emphatically agreed with and expressed an interest in the ‘beauty of their order’. The rest of the conversation was similarly mundane - between checking in about whether or not people were hungry or bored, they offered smaller observations. ‘It’s ominous down here… it sounds like moaning’ as a comment that would then inspire Queen to confess to a fear of ghosts, or talk about how practical it was to have Mona as a car - which felt mocking, given how much time Akechi had spent walking around these tunnels.

Despite being included, whenever he was quiet for too long Akechi would become a fly on the wall. From this position, he was allowed to see what their usual dynamic was without him. He’d listen as they found any excuses to hang out with one another, from Skull inviting Fox to get beef bowls, voice thick with pity after hearing that few people talked to him at school and Noir expressing interest in finding new gardening implements and Panther offering to go shopping with her without even knowing where to look - where Joker, who had sparsely spent time with Akechi lately, would mention that he had worked part time at a flower shop in the underground mall in Shibuya and they carried small gardening supplies. Akechi, for a moment, was distracted by the image of Joker, mild-mannered for customer service, organising a bouquet. The image didn’t suit him.

When they got to the surface, it was early evening. The air carried a chill after the humidity of Mementos, but with the significantly lesser numbers of the public present, he unzipped his hoodie and slid it from his shoulders. He used his phone camera as a mirror when he let his hair down again and, as everyone else sighed, stretched, and eased through the post-Metaverse fatigue, took a brush from his bag to settle it back into place.

By the time he turned back to the rest of the group, easing together again to discuss what step was next, already Oracle and Skull had eased back from the rest of the group. 
“I gotta get back to my mom,” he said, with equal parts sincerity and annoyance. He’d talked about this before, albeit sparingly, and Akechi had managed to haphazardly piece together what the situation was. Single mother he’d do anything for, playing up the annoyance about having to dote for her because other people were there.
Akechi felt nothing about it.

Oracle nodded her head, swinging her hands at her sides.
“And I gotta head back before late. Sojiro’s gonna be mad if I stay out too much longer.”

She knelt down and held out a hand towards Mona.
“You’re coming back, too,” she said with authority, “I need to stop at the convenience store. Joker can bring some fatty tuna back for you.” Her eyes darted, for such a short moment that it could have been a trick of the light, to Joker. He barely reacted but still, he did react - with a near imperceptible nod - and Akechi knew that something was being omitted because of his presence.

Still, though, Mona was leaving. As were Oracle and Skull. It was only as Akechi repeated his offer to pay for everyone’s food that Fox made up his mind and decided that perhaps he would be willing to tag along.

 

---

 

They weren’t bad people. They weren’t even bad company. Annoying, yes, and short-sighed, and self-righteous, and blindly naive, but they were all frustratingly pleasant. Even if the conversation grew tense and stilted when he joined in, there was still conversation. Simple amicable conversation about the weather, new drinks that they’d all tried, new cafe recommendations. Once or twice it veered dangerously close to something comfortable - a glimpse into what they were truly like when they saw each other - with passing mentions of family struggles or social backlash, but the conversation would always force itself back into place.

As long as Akechi was there, it always would.

That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t allowed any insight into the people that he spent time with, however, just that there was an invisible line always drawn. A tripwire, one that the Phantom Thieves would occasionally catch on before all steering clear of again.

The only person who could pass the line without untold damage was Queen, whose life had already been flayed open and bared to Akechi secondhand through her sister, or through the Palace infiltrations that they were enduring. She would offer occasional comments about Sae never being home or about her previous family dynamic, but never more than that. Tidbits, scraps, thrown over to everyone. 

He was rather relieved Oracle wasn’t there, though. He knew plenty about her, but the few times they’d been in one another’s company she had been completely unafraid of trying to make a fool of him. From delegating easy tasks to him for being a ‘noob’ (not a newbie, as he’d heard initially) to telling him that Joker was going to drive recklessly in Mementos (though it wasn’t entirely untrue), he knew to be more careful about her. Whatever peace the rest of the Phantom Thieves didn’t want to disturb, she enjoyed blatantly kicking aside so that she could stand closer to Akechi when she asked if he had a problem with it.

“So, Akechi-san,” Noir was saying as they finished eating, so composed and polite that it’d be easy to assume she was in a high-end restaurant, not in a sushi restaurant on the outer edge of Shibuya. “Do you live in Kichijoji?”

It was too personal. He didn’t want to answer. 
“I do.”
”How exciting! I’ve only been a couple of times, but there is a stall on the high street that sells wonderful curry buns. I’ve been wanting a chance to go back for ages.”
“I stop by on occasion when I’m coming back from work,” this was an easier topic to navigate, “but I try not to go too often.”

“Do you cook?” Fox cut in, sitting on Noir’s right. Joker sat on the other side of him, across the table from Akechi - who was beside Panther and Queen.

He brushed some hair from his face.
“Not usually, no. I don’t have much free time to, but I try when I can.”

Joker was looking at him. Akechi could see it in the corner of his eye but, more than that, he could feel it. The unwavering presence that Joker’s gaze held, the weight of it impossible to explain. As though a harmless lie about his cooking capabilities was anything compared to Joker’s casual deceit about his life and how he came to Tokyo.

“It must be easier only cooking for one,” Queen offered, “I always have to find something that matches both mine and my sisters tastes. I think my spice tolerance is significantly more mild than hers.”
”Ooh, that’s so unfortunate Mako-chan! I love spicy food,” Noir hummed, perkier and somehow less exhausted than everyone else was. It was as though they’d never been to Mementos, as if she hadn’t been filtered in and out of fights. Either she wore exhaustion well or she was more durable than Akechi would have expected from her.

“You should try some of Joker’s curry sometime,” Fox said, with a tone that suggested he was trying to joke but that genuine disgust was filtering in. Yet, on Joker’s face, there was nothing but fondness as his lips turned to a smile.
”That’s not fair,” he started, but Fox firmly shook his head.
“I could barely handle more than a bite!”
”You still ate it.”
”I barely handled it, but I could still handle it. It would have been a shame to leave a plate unclean.”

“What? You have to tell us about this,” Panther said, her first time participating in a while. Joker’s smile quickly shifted from joking to something more embarrassed. He dipped his head a little in a strangely shy gesture from someone who was usually so comfortable and relaxed.
“I tried cooking with heart,” he said, as avoidant of an answer as he could manage. 
“And copious amounts of chili powder, judging by the taste,” Fox cut in.
“I thought I’d picked up the medium chili powder,” Joker’s defense came, a weak protest.
“And if you had, it still would have been too much,” Fox shook his head with an uncharacteristic solemnity.

It was the most that Akechi had seen Fox talk. Between bites of his sushi he could offer short opinions that would sway the weight of the conversation, and he seemed to be completely unaware that his input had any weight at all. As though he was simply airing out whatever came to mind - and the fact that people heard it was secondary. Or wasn’t considered. He seemed surprised when the conversation was placed his way, as though it was a surprise to be included and more of a surprise to become pivotal to the interaction as a whole, and when the conversation shifted away -- Panther started up a long anecdote about the last time she had attempted cooking -- seemed both relieved and a little off put by it. As though he couldn’t place where he was supposed to fall within a social hierarchy.

Joker had the same sort of uncertainty. It rarely showed, but it did. A willingness to settle into the background and be entertained by everyone else’s presence, that maybe if he was still enough he’d fade away completely.

From Joker’s curry skills to Panther’s, the conversation shifted to good curry places (Akechi offered all he knew - “The curry they offer at TV studios is very good.” - and, unsurprisingly, it was met with a polite disinterest) to general food recommendations, to the places that everyone had been together and where they wanted to go. Panther mentioned several good cafes that she liked enough to become a regular at, ones that she and Suzui had been to several times. There was a notable fondness in her voice that Akechi chose not to read into, but the way that Noir smiled at her, as though she was saying something far more beautiful than ‘Oh- oh! Shiho and I have been to this cafe too many times!’ and that confirmed any suspicions he might have had. The rest of her story about the cakes that she and Suzui would order - about how they always got different cakes to try bites of the others - only solidified that.

Would that need to be taken into account? If he had to deal with all of them, how likely was Suzui to be a threat? And he knew her name from the Kamoshida case, if memory served. In Kamoshida’s statement - both recorded from his confession in Shujin and to the police directly - he had explicitly stated how he had weaponised their closeness with one another to exploit them both. 

This was not his place. Akechi had solved his own murders for almost three years. He had taken statements from the bereaved about what their loved ones had been like - their hobbies, their aspirations, how unlikely it was that their shutdown had been an act of suicide, how strange it was for them to have suddenly attacked someone - and he had learned to swallow the lump in his throat early, to speak around his guilt until it was easily ignored. Until it shrunk too much to be an obstacle.

Until it was gone.

Any ounce of morality left in him was a waste of effort and needed to be crushed as soon as possible. Even as Panther sat beside him, glowing with enthusiasm as her initial story spiralled into a broader series of anecdotes, spilled hideous sentimental feelings across their table that spoiled his appetite, Akechi reminded himself that if Shido wanted all of the Phantom Thieves dead before the election, if he refused to be negotiated with, then Akechi would need to kill whoever he needed to kill.

He looked at her as she turned her blue eyes to him, smile radiant, and tried to imagine her with the same slack-jawed, empty eyed stare of any other shutdown victims. Pale skin, dark tears, veins pressing through her skin with the strain to keep herself alive. He kept that image in his mind as he listened to her talk, smiled with her, nodded along with her emphatic storytelling, until any traces of guilt had subsided and were replaced with the resolve he needed to wear in this line of work.

They wrapped up shortly after. Akechi, as promised, paid for everyone and refused any polite offers to reimburse him. He walked with them all back to the station and said his goodbyes as concisely and politely as possible before going to the platform for his train to Kichijoji.

There was an ugly feeling in his chest.
A lightness that he wasn’t familiar with, almost a sense of ease that was entirely unfitting for him. Small pleasures, company, the mint in his mouth to cover the lingering taste of sushi - this was not his life. This was a life that he was dipping into and borrowing from. No different than being a perfect student, an ace detective, or an unwaveringly pleasant yet naive believer in justice - this Akechi, the one who made small talk and chose to ‘put differences aside’ with the Phantom Thieves was another act.

He would go home and note down everything he knew about their schedules so that if they needed to be dealt with, it would be as efficient as possible.

Chapter 54: Monday, November 14th

Akechi had only been in a courtroom a handful of times. It wasn't part of his job, but he would sometimes come by to discuss evidence or to testify to his professional opinion - but it was sparing when it happened. Each room he’d been in was the same - the same standard wooden furniture, grey floors, separate entrances for officials and the public. The same static, sterile smell in the air with the cleaning products that swept through the room between trials and at the end of the day.

With the way that the Phantom Thieves looked around, however, it must have been a novelty akin to a theme park.
“So this is what the courtroom is like…” Haru murmured, looking around. Her hands were folded politely in her lap, ankles crossed and toes against the floor. Akechi could’ve easily imagined her sitting this way at dinner parties with her father.
“Just being here causes my body to tense up,” Fox said quietly to her. She nodded.
“I’m shocked that Niijima-san can think of somewhere this solemn as a casino…”

Sae sat on the other side of the wooden railing, refined, back-straight, one leg crossed over the other. Her eyes were scouring over her court notes with an intensity that Akechi was used to seeing her direct towards her laptop. They hadn’t spoken in a while. He only knew that she would be here because the SIU Director told him.

Oracle leant over towards Joker to ask something, but- “So Makoto’s sister is that lady who’s overflowing with the aura of a capable woman?” -said it loud enough that everyone clearly heard it.
Queen reluctantly nodded.
“…Mm-hm.”

Skull leant over the back of his chair and immediately tried to catch Akechi’s eye.
“By the way, what’s this trial about?”
“A politician who decided to make personal use of government funds.”

Akechi had heard. It was someone in the party opposing Shido - a politician who hadn’t been well-regarded, but until now hadn’t had any serious scandal. He wouldn’t be surprised if Shido had his hands somewhere in this case. Someone unassuming enough not to be worth a shutdown, without enough strings to pull to be a true threat. It was out of nowhere that the news of his holiday was declared; lavish money thrown away to attend a hot springs with a woman, money that he’d subsidised under government funds. Of course, enough politicians got away with it that one getting sunk every so often wasn’t a surprise, nor enough to be suspicious, but Akechi couldn’t prevent himself from being suspicious. Anything that happened to work out in Shido’s favour could have been his fault. And if anything was occurring that could be used to determine another one of Shido’s contacts, Akechi hadto know.

Oracle swung her head around quickly.
“Oh, I read about that in a magazine! He went on a vacation with his mistress to some fancy hot springs!”
“Aren’t politicians supposed to be loaded?” Skull turned his focus back to Joker, always expecting him to have an answer. “Why’d he mess with our tax money?”

And Joker easily offered the obvious explanation.
“They’re all corrupt.”

As if he had any idea. Sitting comfortably in the shadows, away from the political affairs that were constantly made Akechi’s problem. With the blood he had to wade through on behalf of just one politician.

Oracle muttered a similar dissent, and Noir turned, too, so that she could talk directly to Akechi. There were few situations in which he was seen as an authority - involvement with the law was one of them. So, finally, they were talking to him.
“This may sound odd, but isn’t Niijima-san supposed to be busy with our investigation? Does she really have time to be coming to a trial like this?”
“Supposedly, she was on this case before being assigned to the Phantom Thieves. Normally, another prosecutor would take her place but…” She’s ruthless enough to want to see it through. “Sae-san can be a bit of a perfectionist.”
“Hey, how’re we gonna get Niijima-san to notice us?” Panther cut in, first directed to Akechi, then swaying her head towards Queen. “Did you tell her we’d be coming?”

Queen nodded.
“I don’t think she read the message, though,” she said with a slight hesitation.
“Do we have a backup plan?” Oracle turned her focus to him. Of course this fell on him. The easy tasks were delegated to Joker, and the near-impossible was somehow Akechi’s problem. Getting them here obviously wasn’t enough, and though Akechi trusted that eventually she would notice them, he was expected to account for Queen’s shortcomings if her measly text didn’t work.
“...Not exactly.” It killed him to admit not knowing. He was expected to carry his weight - to go beyond and do everything that he could. If she didn’t notice them, then he’d need to wait for another trial. But it’d already been a week since he’d promised to sneak them into one - another and they’d never get past her cognitive barrier in time. “But I’m sure she’ll notice us eventually.”

Eventually was a good word for it. It was only five, perhaps ten minutes of ambient conversation and preparation for the case, through which Sae filtered through her case file and prepared herself, before she picked her head up and swept a preparational glance through the gallery to take in her audience. Akechi felt the uncomfortable mix between relief and discomfort when Sae’s eyes lingered on him a moment too long - and from beside him, Queen seemed to feel the same.

He saw her focus return promptly to her notes, watched her mumble something beneath her breath, and looked towards the back of Oracle’s head.
“See?” he said, unable to deny or to obscure the arrogance that settled in his tone at being right. 
“This should let us enter that high limit thing,” Mona chirped, poking out of Akira’s bag beneath his seat, only for Skull to turn around and jab a finger in his direction. If the bag had been next to his chair, Akechi was certain he’d have given it a slight kick.
“Stay in the bag, damnit,” he hissed, the first rational thing he’d said in a while.

 

---

 

The trial itself was nearly mesmerising to watch. Sae became something ruthlessly efficient when placed in the courtroom - needling the accused with a mercilessness that neither he nor his defense lawyer were adequately prepared for. She would catch poor phrasing and stutters in stories to paint a picture of an incompetent, arrogant, wealthy man who had abused his position of trust, who had failed to do right by his family, much less his country, and should be adequately punished as a result.

She was everything that Akechi had heard that she would be when colleagues would dissent against her behind her back. Regardless of how ethically those skills were being put to use, they were still skills. Sae’s ability to create a narrative, to construct ways in which the accused fit that exact narrative and to bend evidence so that it suited her accusation was as impressive as it was repulsive. Though in this case it was being utilised correctly, pressed against a guilty man in a righteous way to ensure that he would not use a lawyer to buy his way out of trouble, Akechi spent the entire duration of the trial unable to suppress the awareness that this ruthlessness was also weaponised against the innocent.

He had no right to an opinion on it. He had done worse to innocent people, he had made innocents into criminals with no understanding and no memory of what they’d done. Still, when Sae would recount evidence in the face of a man slowly realising he would not leave this situation without a charge, Akechi was able to imagine the same expression of guilt and dread carved into the face of someone who did not deserve it.

Again, it was clear Makoto felt the same. There would be moments where Sae’s voice would be louder than usual, where her tongue would lash like a whip and where she would implore the court to understand all of the wrongdoings that this man had knowingly undertaken - and Akechi could see from the twist in Makoto’s face, the way her lips pressed together and hands balled into fists, that she was thinking it, too.

In fact, from the way that she’d avert her gaze down to her lap when Sae got that sharp edge to her, he’d go as far as to assume that it was the same way she spoke at home when lashing out at her younger sister for the burden she’d unjustly become.

Regardless, it was over when it was over - with a guilty verdict unanimously delivered and the ushering of everyone out of the courtroom. 

They filtered outside. Queen remained near the front of the group, alongside Joker and Oracle, and at the back Akechi was able to catch the hushed, awe-filled whispered of the rest of the Phantom Thieves, sharing their fascinated praise for how cool it had been to watch a trial, and how impressive Sae had been.

 

---

 

The high limit floor was no different to the rest of the Palace. The tiled walls were as gaudy as everywhere else, money still spilled from the ceiling in a snow-flurry, never settling. The elevator stood on a raised section of ground, surrounded on all sides by stairwells that led to different sections of the casino. There was, however, no higher floor - which meant that this was the final wing of the Palace to be dealt with. A relief.

They filtered out of the elevator, into the flurry of money and a surprising amount of people, where Akechi took a moment to assess his surroundings. On the wall to the north of the elevator was a safe room. To the east and west, decorated with swirls of dazzling screens in black and white, were two wooden doors. Going by how long they’d spent in each section so far, it was safe to wager that they’d spend an hour in each of these rooms minimum. Hoping for them to split up was wishful thinking, though, so it would be two hours minimum bundled up in a group of the most conspicuous and least conscious ‘criminals’ he’d ever seen.

Akechi, of course, had to maintain the naive surprise - watching the courtroom fade in and out of the corner of his eye, he reacted with the appropriate levels of surprise ( “So this is what cognitive control looks like…” ) and was met with the expected amount of mockery ( “You’re gonna have a heart attack if you keep gettin’ surprised like that.” ).

Attention drifted to the wall directly opposite the elevator entrance, which held two things. Down the stairwell, like all of the other doors, was a booth behind which a Shadow stood, like the staff on the lower floors of the casino had. He was looking at them with that same expectant and crooked smile, waiting for their approach. Either side of the desk, however, were twin stairwells leading to a notably larger and grander wooden door. It was mockingly obvious that that was where they’d need to go - the Treasure would be waiting for them on the other side of it, somewhere, and the parallel doors beside them would be more trials to face before they got there.

And, as though he knew this, Joker walked immediately to the counter directly ahead, where the Shadow seemed to come to life.

“Welcome to the high limit floor, a proverbial gambling paradise!” He greeted immediately, loud and with the cadence of a game show host. “First off, we would like to extend a welcome gift to you!” The Shadow swiped across a screen in front of it. On a monitor appeared a graphic that said Welcome Gift: 1,000 Coins!

Panther gasped, beaming.
“They’re giving us more coins!” she said, in a failed hush, to Skull. Oracle, behind them, scoffed.
“Just a thousand…? We should at least get that much per person,” then, in a huff, “cheapskates.”
“I’m sorry~!” The Shadow Dealer said, with all of the same emphasis that he’d put on his initial welcome, “but the welcome gift can only be applied once per card.” He didn’t give Oracle a chance to accept or refute an apology. “This-!” He slid something across the counter, “-is the map for the high limit floor.”

Queen stepped forward and snatched it off of the counter.
“Okay,” she said, with a tone that suggested she was growing tired of the back and forth, that she understood already what the procedure would be. “Show us your prizes now. We want to exchange our coins for a member’s card.”

The Dealer laughed. It was forced, like a sample of canned laughter. 
“We do have prizes, but that is unfortunately not one of them.”
“What?” -Akechi pretended he didn’t enjoy watching her get proven wrong- “Then how are we supposed to get to the manager’s floor?”
“I assure you, there is no need for a card. Please, head over there,” he gestured up, to the door on the balcony above them all. “And you’ll understand.”
“This sounds suspicious,” Oracle muttered.

Akechi took a step back from the rest of the group. He adjusted his gloves.
“Well, we cannot proceed unless we check it out,” he said, to be the voice of reason, and before Joker could be the person who directed them all yet again. “Why don’t we head over there for the time being?”

The stairwell, as well as that grand door, did exactly what Akechi expected them to - in that it served as the final step in their grand infiltration, a final goal set out for them to scurry around trying to achieve. What Akechi did not expect, however, was for the cold air to come whipping immediately in the moment that door opened, and for them to step out onto a narrow, fenced-off balcony some tens of floors high, overseeing all of Kasumigaseki. His mask kept his hair from being too inconvenient, but he still needed to use a hand to brush some behind his ear as he looked out over at the view. Everyone else, it seemed, did the same - a flurry of people rushing to the balconies, whispering and gasping. Akechi, keeping a comfortable meter between himself and the railing, looked out at the completely normal city. It was like a poorly made collage, seeing how Sae’s casino sat directly in the middle of an otherwise grey world.

Fox was looking directly across, at where a large set of metal scales were suspended between two sectors of the courthouse, the far side of which was an arch and a grand set of double doors.
“Hm, a scale…? Or a bridge?” Fox queried, approaching the steps that were sealed off with railing, peering out at the elegant, golden scales that opposed them. Though both scales were empty, the left sat lower. Weighted scales; how apt.
“Maybe it’s a scale-shaped bridge?” Panther suggested, easing closer to the stairs. She moved past him and stepped up one of them, though she reached out to the bannister from there rather than ease too close to the ledge. She propped herself up on her tiptoes and craned her neck to try and see the far side a little better. “There’s an area over there on the other side. That could lead to the manager’s floor!”
“There can be no doubt. Our objective is to lower the bridge to cross,” Fox said with a firm nod.
“How can we do that?” Noir asked, making no attempt to mask the lingering awe in her voice.
“Hm, how indeed…” Akechi glanced around, focus landing on the golden machine next to them. It looked at a glance like a slot machine - but easing closer it turned out to be an ATM. “Shall we try this?”

Joker, standing just beside them both, took his member’s card from his inside pocket of his coat and inserted it into the machine. Several options popped up; Purchase Credits, Withdraw Currency, and in a larger box decorated with digital neon lights, a box that said Cross Bridge Of Judgement: 100,000 Credits. Well, that seemed like their answer.

Noir, coming up beside Joker, gasped when she saw the screen.
“What…? We need 100,000 coins just to cross over there?!” She looked at the scales as if they owed her an explanation.
“It’s getting clearer that she has no intention of letting us proceed onward,” Mona chimed in, knee height even from the third step. 

Akechi, unfazed, smiled.
“I don’t believe there is any need for pessimism, though”
“But think about how much that is! We were desperate just to get our hands on 50,000…” Panther sounded notably dejected - a surprise, given how quickly she’d taken to the other gambling aspects of the Palace.
“But we still obtained them in the end. We can succeed if we do that again, then double our total.”

Queen muttered something in agreement. She was too far from the group for Akechi to catch what, exactly she said - but from her lack of eye contact and the slant of her shoulders she seemed to be on board with Akechi’s suggestion. Fox’s reply, however, was far clearer.
“Indeed, there must be a high-risk, high-return game somewhere. Though we’ll need to win after we find it…”

Good. Again, they were listening to him. Adhering to his ideas. Without, for once, asking Joker to affirm the possibility that Akechi could ever be right.
“Our first order of business should be to see what kind of games exist on this floor,” he said, watching Joker take his card back and slide it into his pocket. “Shall we?”

 

---

 

The games on this floor seemed designed for frustration, over anything else.

The first was a maze in the dark, aptly named the ‘House of Darkness’ - one that, thankfully, not everybody was required to go through. Akechi, supposedly supervised by Queen, Noir, and Fox, remained outside as Joker took his select three into the maze.

The conversations that occurred between them were terse and uncomfortable. Noir would, on occasion, ask how much longer everyone was likely to be. Queen would try to strike small talk, but ultimately run out of ideas. Fox, unattended, had made the predictable move to start drawing on a small, hand-sized sketchbook that he apparently kept with him. Akechi must have been giving him a look - the most that was said to him was when Queen supplemented the information that because everyone was so used to seeing Fox drawing, their collective cognition had provided him with inexplicable access to a sketchbook. Akechi supposed it wasn’t unheard of - he’d had the same with a packet of breathmints, from his own awareness of how often he carried them, and that seemed to be the same justification for why Joker didn’t need to carry around a suitcase for all the supplies that he carried. Ever the provider, expected to have everything that anyone needed, and thus able to carry it all without becoming encumbered.

They were waiting long enough for being idle to become being restless. The lingering agitation and paranoia from being in the Metaverse was still strong, even now, even with company, and having most of the Phantom Thieves out of his line of sight was only making his discomfort worse.

Yet, inevitably, the door to the far end of the House of Darkness swung open and Joker came out, closely followed by Skull, Panther, and Mona. From the short glimpse Akechi got into the room behind them, the name was not an exaggeration. Perhaps he’d expected some decorative lights, or LED’s along the floor to prevent people from ambling blindly into walls, but no. Judging by the relief on Skull’s face that they’d found the entrance, from the way he seemed to be complaining about the experience though out of earshot, Akechi could safely assume that it had been exactly as unpleasant as he imagined.

Regardless, they were out of it now. They filtered out of the next room in a group, where a Shadow was pacing restlessly back and forth. With the door swinging open, however, it immediately halted and turned its head to their direction.
“Inconceivable,” it said, with a voice that boomed like it was supposed to be heard through the tannoy system overhead, so stock-standard and professional,it was unusual to hear when simmering with rage. “How did you make it this far? You pests-”
“You mean you didn’t expect us to get past that?” Panther asked, already finding her position near the front of the group. Akechi got the sign and moved swiftly into place beside her, where Joker and Noir followed close behind. 
“He had no intention of letting us win at all!” Noir raised her gun, hitching it onto her shoulder. The Shadows flesh, or its paperlike outer body that imitated a human, bubbled and pulsed at the threat.
“Make this an easy job,” it hissed, staggering back, “turn back now and admit your defeat.”
“We’re not giving up,” Joker snapped, the force behind his words completely in character yet still unusual to hear from the usually reserved front he wore.
“Then lie down and die for me!” the Shadow gnashed, spit bubbling at its mouth. Its body lurched suddenly, violently back - and when it swung forward again it burst into a thick black streak of smoke. The skin sagged to the ground and dissolved, and torn free from the false flesh was a large serpent with the torso of a man. The look in its eyes was frenzied, its weapon raised high. 

Akechi should have dodged. By all accounts, he intended to - he saw the strike coming his way with the way that the Shadow spun, grasped and swung the spear down forcefully - and somehow his legs didn’t quite catch up with him in time. Perhaps it was that they’d spent the last ten minutes sitting idly in a group and, though restless, Akechi hadn’t expected to need to hurtle himself around anywhere. The glint of gold against the bright overhead lights flashed in his eyes as it was brought down, and he felt two things in rapid succession. The first was the blunt force of something colliding into him from the left, prompting him to stagger immediately to the right, the second was the sharp, biting flash of pain that cut through the gap between his bicep and his ribs, slashing through the skin of both.

Akechi reached blindly out, called forth Robin Hood, and barked out his attack, assaulting the enemy with a flash of golden white light and searing, divine pain.

Noir cried out beside him as she fired her gun, and Panther followed up on the loss of balance with a flurry of slashes from her whip - sudden, fast, forceful, and with Joker already preparing to enhance the series of attacks, Akechi spared a glance to where the spear had cut through fabric and flesh as though it were nothing, where blood spilt down and stained the otherwise pristine white of his suit. 

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he was pulled back. Skull immediately replaced his position in the immediate lineup and charged ahead, all while the Shadow snarled, fidgeting restlessly as it geared up for another attack, one that sent ripples of lightning crackling out into the first row of people. 

Akechi got the distinct impression, the words of warning that reverberated through his skull from Robin Hood, that that attack would have been fatal had he not been sent staggering aside. If he hadn’t been struck when he had, how he had, that spear would have embedded itself through his ribs and pierced his organs. 

He had seen others on the team pulled up from unconsciousness, had seen shallow breaths come gasping back to life with the right item or the right skill, and still that awareness sat heavily within him. Akechi had not been met with an attack that would have killed him with no chance to fight back or escape since the earliest days of exploration into the Metaverse. Yet now, here he was. And if the impact had come from his left, that meant--

His eyes landed on Panther. She had, as if it was second nature, thrown him out of the way of danger. Robin Hood uttered a quiet gratitude, coaxing Akechi forwards into the lineup. Loki took it as a blatant, hideous challenge, and it was him that prompted Akechi to lunge forwards, to take Panther by the arm and push her out of the lineup when the Shadow geared up for its next attack, charged and primed for another brutal surge of magic. When that lightning rolled through again, Akechi was alert enough with adrenaline and anger to evade it, and tore off his mask to call Robin Hood forth.

It wasn’t his attack that ended the fight. He didn’t even keep Panther out of it, though she hadn’t kept him away, either. It was one of Joker’s strikes, a lucky jutting of his dagger that slotted between the scale plates of the belly of the serpent and the downward drag of his blade, but what mattered was that it was over. And Akechi, suit stained with blood, had not been struck dead with an embarrassingly easy-to-avoid blow.

Through breathlessness, Noir stood tall again.
“That must have been his plan from the very beginning,” she sighed, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead. Akechi did not envy her methodology - not her heavy weapons or the force with which she swung her axe, bringing it down in a crescent over her head. “Considering how things were on the member’s floor, it’s no surprise that this isn’t a fair game either.” Queen seemed just as jaded by the casino as Akechi felt.
“We still reached our goal,” he said, forcing through the adrenaline to keep his composure. “Let us move on. We have no further business here.”
“We will have to go to another game if we want more coins,” Fox said, equally as frustrated as Queen. It seemed to be a building annoyance now, the hoops they all had to jump through.  The proximity to their deadline must have been mounting the pressure on them all. “Shall we go, Joker?”

And immediately, it was Joker, Joker, Joker, all over again. It was as they were heading through the grand double doors that Panther took Akechi’s arm. She held out a small bottle to him. It looked like cough medicine - the flavoured type given to children.

“Should help with the bleeding,” she said, then lifted Akechi’s arm - with no consideration for whether or not he wanted to be examined - and sighed her relief. “Doesn’t seem too deep.”

Akechi unscrewed the cap. With an affirming, expectant nod from Panther, he did the polite thing and accepted. He took a mouthful of it directly from the bottle, expecting some form of painkiller effect, and let the sickly sweet, sticky syrup spill over his tongue. It coated his mouth in an artificial strawberry flavour, intense but not as unpleasant as he would have expected. 

And as he swallowed, bringing the bottle back and returning the cap, already his injury felt lesser. The fresh warmth of spilt blood faded. He glanced to his arm to confirm it and, to his surprise, the bleeding had stopped entirely. Instead, his wound was sealed with congealed blood and scabbed over. It looked… a few hours old.

Whatever supplies they were using in the Metaverse, he needed to get hold of. Isshiki’s research had mentioned the potential of food or medicine being more potent within the cognitive world because of preexisting notions about how they work, but when Akechi lacked the time to prepare for infiltrations or the discretion to drop in and out of pharmacies, buying copious amounts of painkillers, he had gotten quite accustomed to going without.

This vial, the label spelling Takamedic , was not a brand he’d heard of before, either. It was worth looking into.
“Better?”
Panther’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. Akechi lifted his head and smiled. 
“Much.”

She took the bottle from his hands, called out to Joker, and tossed it. He caught it as he was turning, and smiled at them both - intentionally dragging his knowing gaze from Panther to Akechi - before returning it to his boundless pockets. Whatever he thought he knew, or whatever he thought Akechi would feel about the favour Panther did him, he didn’t. 

Regardless, Akechi offered her a polite thanks for pulling him out of the way. Panther offered a polite refusal of his thanks, assuring him that she would have done it for anyone. If he’d heard that from any other Phantom Thief, he wasn’t certain he’d have believed them.

 

---

 

There weren't many chances that Akechi had to be away from the group. He found that the easiest way, provided that he had something quick to do, would be to fall back a room from the rest of the Phantom Thieves. They were often focused on themselves enough that if Akechi tapered off to the back, looked thoughtful enough, then they would stop speaking to him and take their eyes off of him long enough to walk a room ahead while he slowed his walking to linger behind. 

It was a convenient way to take the extra welcome gift from the counter and to order the doubling of the money on it, bringing him from 11,000 coins to 22,000, before he took the double doors opposite the ‘Hall of Darkness’ (this one, named ‘Battle Arena’, left about as much to the imagination) and caught up to the Phantom Thieves with a short apology for his delay.

They were bundled up, once more stopped in front of a Shadow, listening intently as he explained to them the rules of another inevitably-rigged game. Akechi had just stopped beside Noir when the Shadow, dressed in security clothes where its mask doubled as a safety visor, let its jittery gaze flick between them all. 
“-you guys,” it was saying, “Our manager told us about you.”
“Huh?” Skull’s hand was flexing at his side, anxious to reach for his weapon. From behind them, Akechi couldn’t tell if he was restraining himself, or if Joker was giving him a warning glance, but his own opinions about Skull made it difficult for him to think that he was capable of self-restraint. “The hell’ve you been hearin’ about us!?”

The Shadow laughed, a low clicking sound. It sounded like someone trying to breathe through a mouthful of water, half-choking.
“My,” it said, still with that thickness in its voice, “You’re so quick to anger. Wonderful… this would be quite boring if that wasn’t the case.”

It swept its eyes once more over them all.
“Before I begin explaining, may I confirm that you currently have 10,000 coins?”
“Oh!” Noir beamed. “Yes, we do!”
“Very well; allow me to tell you the rules.” It took a slight step back and gestured backwards towards the hallway behind itself. Within it, a counter, and a barred off doorway. It was safe to assume that behind that was the stage or the arena. “Here, you will prove your supremacy in a trio of fierce one-on-one battles.” It was said with the cadence of a memorised sales pitch and the utter lack of enthusiasm of a cashier greeting a customer minutes before the shop closes. “This is the pinnacle of our casino, the high limit floor,” the Shadow pressed on.

It paused for a moment, then its tone faltered and grew flat.
“ Normally ,” it said, as though the Phantom Thieves were blatantly abnormal, “our VIP’s would prepare substitutes who fight to the death for their sake, allowing the attending guests to bet coins on who they think will win.”
“Seriously?” Skull cut in again, sharp with shock and disdain. Akechi took a moment to realise it was the notion of putting someone else’s life on the line for profit - a rather heavy-handed acknowledgement of what occurs in a courtroom - that the Phantom Thieves were struggling to grasp. “This shit makes me sick,”
“The entirety of this floor must be the same- taking little risk for a high return is the optimal business strategy,” Akechi suggested, more than familiar with the concept.
“But can we even participate if we don’t have a substitute?” Noir asked the Shadow, disregarding the rest of the conversation.
“Irritating as it may be, I’m obligated to allow it. Please participate,” it replied, nodding its head over to the counter. “Registration takes place over there.”

The fact that it took the direct reiteration of the attendee at the counter to get through to everyone that ‘one-on-one battles’ meant that the Phantom Thieves, as a collective, would not be allowed to enter the arena as a group, was embarrassing to watch. Almost as bad as watching them all immediately fall for the notion that this would be honourably one-on-one - rather than the chance of one person entering the arena and being swarmed.

Regardless, he listened along as everyone discussed whether or not the 100,000 payout would be worth it - a notion he politely refuted so that they would double down on it being worth it - before suggesting the obvious:
“In that case, Joker should be the one to participate.” He looked at the rest of the Thieves when he suggested it - not at Joker directly, whose gaze he could feel watching him from his left. “We don’t know what kind of enemies may appear, so his high level of adaptability will be vital here.”

It didn’t even require input from the rest of the group. Joker nodded.
“Leave it to me.”

He radiated confidence. A self-assured belief in his capabilities within the Metaverse, despite how heavily he would normally rely on his friends. Akechi’s faith was less firm. He knew, loosely, what Joker was capable of. He did not know, however, what Joker would be up against, nor what Joker’s skills were when he was without his teammates. Now would be a good opportunity to size him up, just as much as it would be for Akechi to make use of the coins that he had.

“Are you certain about this? You will have to fight alone…” Fox asked as they eased away from the stall.
“But- that’s why Joker’s the one doing it, right…?” Panther did not hide her concern well. None of them did. Skull’s foot was tapping, Queen looked as though she wanted urgently to affirm to Joker that he could do it, and Noir’s doe eyes were doing all of the communication for her, wide with concern. “Just be careful, okay? Don’t do anything reckless in there” Panther finished. Joker put a reassuring hand on her arm.
“I won’t,” he promised, glancing to Akechi. Compelled, again, by the intensity in Joker’s eyes, Akechi spoke.
“I have high expectations,” he said, simple and clear. Joker, catching on, offered a genuine grin.
“I promise to surpass them.”

Skull stepped forwards, placing himself perfectly and completely unintentionally in front of Akechi’s line of sight. His hand landed on Joker’s shoulder, shaking it affectionately. 
“Then what are you waitin’ for, man? We’ll be watchin’ you wipe the floor with ‘em.”

Joker nodded, took a step back from everyone, and moved to the metal gate. It swung obediently open for him and without a backward glance, Joker walked through.

Behind him, the Phantom Thieves were funneled through a separate door to get to the stands. Akechi, again, allowed them to filter ahead. With 100,000 coins riding on Joker’s victory on their card, he approached the counter and placed down his membership card.
“I’d like to bet on the leader of the Phantom Thieves,” he said, low enough that even if the Phantom Thieves were waiting on the other side of the door, even if their ears were pressed against it, they would not hear him.
“Of course, Mr…” the dealer held up the card, “Tanaka. That’ll be twenty-thousand coins on him winning, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tanaka. Please follow the doors through to the stands to witness the fight.”

By the time Akechi caught up with everyone again, they had found their places by a large window, and Joker was already out in the middle of the arena. It was a wide, circular glass cage, with a raised section of carpet that was just as tacky as the rest of the Palace. It set a wide pink circle out beneath Joker’s feet, surrounded by a golden trim where it met with stairs, though from the stands it looked as though the central arena was its own raised platform, that beyond the edge there was nothing but a sheer drop.

Bathed in all of those lights, Joker looked nothing but confident.

Pinned where the wall and ceiling met, frequently scattered around the ceiling, were a dozen different speakers, each decorated with ribbon. They woke from their silence with a subtle crackling before a loud and pretentious voice came ringing through.
“Now then, our gripping battle is finally here!” came the declaration. Sae must have known that once they got to the high limit floor it was inevitable that they’d be here. This, the anticipation, only confirmed Akechi’s suspicions that this fight would not be  fair and that Joker was not expected to win. “Odds are 1.1 to the house, 22.0 to the Phantom Thieves!”

A rush of gossip ran through the cognitive beings behind them, all huddled watching eagerly as Joker spun his dagger between his fingers. 
“Wow, the Phantom Thieves are surprisingly popular! It’s rare to see odds in the double digits!” the announcer declared again, with an exaggerated enthusiasm.
“I can’t wait,” said someone from behind them, “I put everything on the thief. Nobody’s beaten the arena in months!”
“Imagine the payout…” said another.

“Now, the battle commences! Bring out the first contestant!”
Black smoke swirled around the stage. Joker raised a hand to cover his eyes, and by the time it dissipated, two Shadows stood opposite him, imposing and tall, each with brandished weapons.
“What the hell!?” Skull snapped, “There’s two of ‘em!”
“This isn’t one-on-one at all! They’re just ignoring the rules right from the beginning!” Panther said, moving closer to the glass like she hoped it’d part and let her through to help.

“It’s time for the hellish trio of battles to begin!” The announcer called, eager and enthusiastic. The crowds around them cheered, a deafening roar of bloodthirstiness.

“Ready-” The first Shadow lunged immediately forwards, raising its sword -- “set…!” -- and slashed down at Joker before the announcer had even declared the beginning of the fight.

 

---

 

For the first round, it wasn’t a surprise that Joker won. He was notably more tense than when he’d accepted the task, but still confident. He was light on his feet, well-trained in evading attacks and still skilled at finding weak spots without others creating openings for him, but it was a lot of work. Especially alone, especially without stealth as an advantage.

When the second round brought mockery from the announcer and three Shadows were released onto the stage next, Akechi could see the way Joker’s eyes darted between them. He did well to keep moving, slight shifts of his feet so that he was never too still, never too vulnerable, but it was clear that keeping his eyes on three moving targets at once would be significantly more difficult. Two attacks against him landed, but without the slight turn of his lip at the impact, it’d have been easily assumed that they were both mild, that the damage done was inconsequential.

And again, through lucky timing and the strength of his stock of Personas, Joker was able to whittle down the enemies. Taking down one made it easier to keep track of the others, to avoid future attacks - and with the second dissipating into smoke at the point of his dagger, it was barely a fight before the third was dealt with. Yet now, sweat was beading on Joker’s forehead. Tension had built through his body, squaring his shoulders and pulsing in his jaw. Akechi could see it. The conflict between the invigorating adrenaline of battle and the fatigue of fighting alone. 

He knew the feeling well.

The final enemy of the three rounds was a staggering, hulking beast, thrice Joker’s size. Slow enough that its attacks were powerful but poorly timed and easily dodged. Had they gone for another row of fast fighters, something frenzied and efficient, then it would have been unwinnable. It was lucky for Joker that he was capable enough to prove himself for a third round, to evade reigns of lightning and swings of fists so heavy that the impact of attacks rumbled through the floor all the way into the stands. To strike lucky with Arsene and claim another victory.

That, despite the heaviness of his breaths and the way he gripped his dagger, when the announcer stayed true to his word that there would only be three rounds, it was clear that Joker was relieved. Clearer to Akechi how much resolve he had, not to look exhausted to the untrained eye.

They were ushered back through to the main hall, where guests gasped and whispered and told each other all about the thrill of the fight.

“Oh shit! That was amazin’, Joker!” Skull said as soon as they returned the counter, where Joker had freshly collected their payout. He swung an arm immediately around Joker’s neck and pulled him in for a half-hug. Akechi took the moment of distraction to approach the counter, to pay off his initial 11,000 coin debt and, to err on the side of caution, doubled the total on his card again.
“You were incredible!” Ann agreed, beaming, “They never even planned on giving you a fair fight in there.”
“Yes, I expected that would be the case,” Akechi said, taking his card from the counter and slipping it back into his pocket. All eyes turned to him. “Our other trails have been rigged as well, after all.”
“So you sent Joker in knowing full well the possible dangers?!” Queen’s voice reflected the shock of the group, the disbelief bleeding into anger. Akechi only smiled.
“I simply had faith in his skill. And, to be honest…”  he glanced over the faces watching him. “There was no other course of action available.”

It was a blatant challenge, and a blatant insult above that. Do you think that you could have beaten them? That anyone else would have stood a chance?
Nobody argued, so he pressed on.
“Come now, we should head to the bridge. This shall be our moment to shine.”

 

---

 

The wind was cooler when they returned to the balcony. It had a new intensity to it, as though trying to warn all of them to back away and retreat, as though their proximity to the treasure had Sae’s wider cognition more on edge.

Joker slotted his card into the ATM and opted to pay to lower the Bridge of Judgement, a notable relief in the group at the possibility of this ordeal being over. Akechi would have been lying to say he wasn’t also relieved to be done with it, to have only one more visit left before he was done with all of this Phantom Thief business.

“C’mon, let us through,” Skull said, restless but now with excitement, leg still tapping away at the ground. 
The machine crackled, as if in response to Skull’s prompting, and spat out at them with a familiar voice;
“It seems you worked hard to gather that many coins… I never expected you would make it that far. I commend you on your vigorous efforts.”

Akechi glanced at Queen. More than anything else, she seemed to be matching everyone else's level of frustration at Sae’s endless attempts at sabotage, rather than building any further complexes about it

“However… you will never proceed to the manager’s floor ahead. From this moment forward, the number of coins for the bridge will increase - to one million coins!”

It was almost cartoonish, hearing that crackle out from the low-quality ATM’s speakers. 
“What?” Panther gasped, stepping forwards and reaching out to the ATM as though it were Sae herself.
“That’s not fair!” Oracle argued, jutting out a finger at it as well. “You can’t give us an impossible task like that!”

“Do you finally understand? That is the point! Your task will forever be impossible! Hence, I will emerge victorious!”

Noir glanced worriedly at Joker.
“We had only barely gotten 100,000 coins,” she muttered, parting her lips to say something else when Akechi chose to take the moment of despair and bring the awe and amusement back to himself.

“She said she would let us through if we had one million coins, yes?” he asked, moving through the group and directly in front of the ATM. It likely had a camera somewhere, so he made sure to wear his most complacent, prideful smile. “In that case, there won’t be a problem.”

“You know how to win that many?” Skull asked, too dumbfounded by it to scoff or challenge him. 
“Not exactly,” Akechi turned his back on the machine. “I already have the requisite coins right here. Do you recall what we were told at the very beginning? That we could borrow as many coins from the casino as we already held on our card.”
“Well yes, but…” Noir glanced at Joker again. 
“For example, had we borrowed the max when we had 11,000 coins, we would have ended up with 22,000. Then, had we bet on Joker as a guest, we would have gone from 22,000 to 484,000.”
“Yes, but you’re speaking in hypotheticals,” Queen said, impatient. “That’s not what actually happened.”
“Correct, on Joker’s card. However, that is not the only card in our possession.”

He produced his card from his pocket with a smile.
“That’s the Taro Tanaka card I told you to get rid of!” Oracle gasped.
“Exactly. Instead of disposing of it, I secretly used it to gather extra coins and outsmart the system.”
“484,000 coins… that means we have 584,000 if we add all our coins together!”

“So what? That’s not even close to the required total!”

“Actually, once my count reached 484,000, I borrowed the maximum amount a second time,” Akechi smiled. “And after paying back my initial 11,000, I was left with 957,000. Adding Joker’s total to that brings us to 1,058,000. We can surely cross the bridge now.” Akechi held his card out in Joker’s direction. It was taken comfortably from his grasp and Joker turned back to the machine to transfer the coins across.
“W-wait,” Skull cut in, “if we borrowed all them coins…”
“Is there a problem? The manager’s room lies ahead. We won’t need to worry about coins after this. Or did you honestly intend on paying back such a large sum?”

The malice that bled into his voice was easily disregarded with the shock of Sae’s voice through the speaker behind them. Akechi turned back towards it. Where he caught the way that Joker was looking at him - those insufferable eyes, softened with expectation. As though he was saying without words ‘Of course. I should have known that you would do something like this.’ , as though it was expected that Akechi would go above and beyond. As if it was typical. 

Akechi felt naked, his actions reduced down to an expectation. He felt known, in a perverse way, as though Joker had spilt his brains over a page and rifled through it to find things that Akechi would do, that he could be expected to do. As though they were past the point of disbelief.

His chest squeezed. Something in it was drawn tight like there was a length of rope wrapped around his ribcage, trying to force the air from his lungs, with a warm and restless thrum that spread through him like a warm drink on a cold day. It was a jarring mix, the warmth that filled him while he stood under Akira’s- under Joker’s gaze, where Joker’s expression had softened into something almost tender , where Akechi tried to purge that warmth, to figure out what the cause of it was so that he could cut it off quickly,

But it wasn’t until a quiet voice in the back of his head said, almost as if it wanted the answer to be yes, ‘Is he impressed with you?’ then, louder, ‘You want him to be impressed with you.’ , with confidence that he could not afford.

His face was warm. He was glad that his mask covered it. Even as Sae’s voice, sputtering out from the ATM behind him, said- “Impossible! This- this can’t be-!” - Akechi was thinking the exact same thing. 

No. He gave Joker his best polite, restrained smile. Joker returned it easily, quickly, and again, Akechi’s chest filled with ugly warmth. God, please no .

“Crow…” Mona’s voice drew his attention. Akechi jumped at the opportunity to tear his focus away from Joker to where Mona, tucked away at the back, was watching Akechi with a wariness in his round eyes. “It’s actually a little frightening how sharp you are…”

Swallowing the revelation like it was a lump stuck in his throat, Akechi smiled at Mona.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, polite, restrained, and distant, “I’m glad I was able to contribute to our Phantom Thieves efforts. Now- let’s hurry and let the bridge down before she decides to change the rules once again.”

Joker pressed something on the screen behind them both and from the bridge, a clanging, rattling sound started up as tokens spilled out onto the scales. It took a few long seconds to fill up enough for the stairs to lower, another few for them to swing round enough for the stairs to align and the gate blocking the route to lower. 

It was lucky, Akechi supposed, that the room at the other end of that stairwell was the final room of the Palace. Everyone spoke about the next steps, Akechi was certain that he asked the right questions to still sound like a novice, and was certain that his questions were reciprocated with simple answers, before they returned to the elevator and left Sae’s Palace.

The rest of the conversations, strained as they walked from the Palace to the station, as they filtered onto the train and Akechi politely excused himself to a separate train car to make them all appear ‘less suspicious’. He kept himself involved as best as he could and paid attention in case plans were made, but his thoughts were predictably elsewhere. He stepped onto the train carriage - relieved at how quiet it was - and took a seat. He drew his phone from his pocket on instinct, but spent a significant amount of the journey idly flicking through and neglecting to read his emails. 

It had to be a misplacement of something else. Something born out of… jealousy, maybe? Or annoyance? Perhaps he’d just spent too much time in Akira’s company after so many years spent alone, and some sick part of his brain thought itself funny, trying to convince him that his feelings around Joker were anything other than a thick contempt. 

Regardless, this feeling had to be killed. He needed to consider it, cradle his heart in his hands like a hummingbird, and press his thumbs into it until the beating stopped and it forced itself to start working again. 

He got home somehow, feet beneath him, following his usual route home from work, changing at Shibuya to go to Kichijoji. He took a straight route home, went immediately to his room, and turned his focus pointedly back to the board pinned above his desk. 

The plan was already underway. Every single step had already been put into place, and Akechi was merely following the path he’d already carved out of the road ahead. 

They would send the Calling Card on the eighteenth. They would go claim Sae’s treasure on the 19th, after which Akechi would bring the police into Sae’s Palace to stage an ambush. The focus would be specifically on Joker, who would be arrested in the act of Phantom Thievery so there could be no potential argument for innocence. 

In the hours between his arrest and Akechi’s arrival, a confession in his name would be signed. 

Then, Akechi would do his goddamn job. No matter what it took. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Akechi dropped it on his desk and drew his briefcase out from under his bed. From inside of it, he took his police-issued gun. He returned to his desk.

Ann: I wonder if we’ll learn anything from Niijima-san’s Shadow.

Akechi unlocked his phone.

Yusuke: I doubt she has ascertained any relevant clues.

He picked up his phone and, though inconvenient, typed one-handed. He didn’t care about their conversation, but needed to keep tabs on it. Needed to keep their expectations low. 
‘I agree. That is why she has the warrant out on the Phantom Thieves, after all.’

Makoto: Furthermore, the public believes arresting us will solve the case.
Makoto: The public prosecutors won’t stop now. They have the weight of the general public on their shoulders.
Haru: If only we knew who the true culprit was, we wouldn’t have to fight Niijima-san’s Shadow…
Haru: Who could it be…? Do you think it's someone we know?

Akechi, tiredly, watched the deliberating bubbles roll through. If they had any theories, he admitted tiredly, he had to make note of them.
Akira: It’s a possibility.
Which sounded a lot like I don’t know .

Yusuke: True, but there would be no end to the mistrust if we began doubting our peers.
Makoto: Either way, we only have one opportunity to turn the tables.
Yusuke: This final calling card shall be my magnus opus.
Yusuke: Simply let us know when you’re ready, Akira.

And with a short ‘ I will.’ from Joker, the conversation wrapped up. Akechi leant back from his phone, raised the gun, and pointed it at the picture of Joker on the wall. The safety was on, but he rested his forefinger against the trigger all the same, and forced the image of Joker staring down the barrel of a gun through his mind over and over again.

Less than a week left. He could not afford distractions, nor complications, nor… conflict.

It had to be worth it.

Notes:

this chapters fun fact is that my notes for the moment where akechi catches onto his feelings for joker are "joker looks at him like this is so typical. and the warmth and expectation in his eyes make akechi go . oh no." and "make him realise how he feels when its too late to do anything about it". because im horrible and nasty and mean to him <3

Chapter 55: Wednesday, November 16th

The early evening rain, a light pitter-pattering against the Shibuya pavement, provided a pleasant background ambiance to Akechi’s otherwise tedious waiting. It also meant that those who were willing to be out in the middle of the week were few in number, and most of them were tucking themselves away in bars or shops to keep out of the weather. It wasn’t heavy enough to be unpleasant yet, especially not where Akechi stood just under the overhang of a closed shop, but it wouldn’t be long before it was difficult to navigate without an umbrella.

Akechi had his phone in his hand. The message it was open to was one he’d sent to Joker, one that he had not yet gotten a reply to. Joker had opened it - a simple ‘Are you free right now?’ followed by ‘I think we should talk. It’s time we establish something important.’ - but had not replied in the eighteen minutes since he’d read it.

Akechi had already chosen to give Joker another ten minutes before going home. Today would be their last chance to speak. Over the next few days, Phantom Thief business would take priority, and in four days time, Akechi would never waste his time with Joker again.

He was relieved.

It was a little after nine by the time Akechi started to accept the likelihood that Joker wasn’t going to make it. That he had left Akechi’s message on read and either forgotten to reply or had chosen not to. Though it seemed out of character for Joker to be outwardly spiteful, Akechi found himself more annoyed than surprised. He tucked his phone away, sighed, and briefly wished that the rain would stay light for the walk home when he caught sight of someone walking directly towards him. He picked up his head and there Joker was, clearumbrella comfortably braced against his shoulder.

He looked too at-ease.

Akechi’s agenda for today was simple; he only wanted to gain an understanding of what Joker was capable of. Under the guise of a friendly rivalry, he wanted to determine how much of a threat Joker could be, if anything went wrong. He needed a backup plan - and this was helping to prepare him for one.

And all that Joker knew was that they were meeting up and that it was important.

So, thankfully, he came alone. No bag, which meant no stowaway eavesdroppers. Just them.

“I wasn’t certain if you’d make it,” Akechi said, putting in far less effort now to maintain the pleasantness of his voice. The rest of their cooperation would be short-lived, and with no audience, there was no reason to keep up the pretense. Joker seemed to share the sentiment.
“I don’t have my phone on me,” he said to justify the lack of a reply, as though that didn’t carry its own weight. Coming alone, no phone, after not telling Akechi that he’d be here -- did anyone know that Joker had come to see him? Had he even told Mona where he was going, or had he made excuses to leave without being followed?
“I’d like to talk to you somewhere where there aren’t many people around. How about…” he pretended to deliberate. “Mementos? Nobody can get in our way there.”

He watched Joker’s eyes widen slightly at the suggestion, then narrow as he considered it. His shoulders eased, his breath left him in a soft, content sigh, and Joker nodded. Whatever he was thinking, it didn’t weigh on him for long.
“Sounds good. It’s a good thing you’ve got the nav.”

They walked to the train station in near silence. Joker made no attempts at small talk, and Akechi far preferred the quiet so he kept it that way. It was the same while they waited for Shibuya station to be quiet enough that they could slip away unnoticed, and as they travelled through the higher levels of Mementos. Akechi didn’t plan on going far - they only needed somewhere quiet, and if any Shadows ended up an inconvenience to them, they’d be weak enough to pose no threat. 

Akechi led them along the sides of train tracks and around corners until he found a dead end for them both to stop in. Somewhere quiet - far from where the platform guided them down, but protected from any kind of ambush. 

“This place should do nicely,” he said eventually, the first thing to break the silence between them. Jokers footsteps slowed behind him.
“What did you want to discuss?” Joker asked, as though this was all strange but somehow standard. Akechi doubted he was the first of Joker's little team to drag him down here, though for what he couldn’t guess.

He reached to his waist, pulled his gun from its holster, and raised it as he turned, staring past the barrel of the gun and directly at Joker. His composure, briefly, cracked. Surprise and confusion bled into his expression.
“This,” was Akechi’s answer, short and simple. “Remember what I told you? If you ever won against me using my right hand, I’d take you on with everything I’ve got.”

And Joker’s expression settled again. His eyes darted still between the gun and Akechi, waiting for more information -- for any information.
“You want to fight?” Joker eventually found the words, disbelief heavy in his voice. 
“Exactly.”

He lowered the gun but kept it in his hand. How could Akechi not want this? And how could Joker, still standing there, not be itching for the chance to find out who between them was stronger? What had he thought was going to happen, if not this?
“The insight that allowed you to determine my dominant hand, your quick wit, how fast you’ve grown… You’ve exceeded my expectations in every way. I’ve built up this…” The pause this time was sincere. He wasn’t sure how to describe his feelings. Eventually, he settled on, “Urge. To duel you without holding anything back.”
It seemed to suffice. Joker smiled, eased a few paces back, and slipped his coat from his shoulders.
“Let’s do this.”

Akechi would have liked to be wearing anything else, or to be able to imitate the gesture to show that he would take this seriously, but he didn’t. He took his own place a few metres further back, near the dead end wall.
“Thank you for indulging my selfish request.” His adrenaline was a restless simmer beneath his skin. His heart was beating against his chest, the desire to assert himself over Joker, to prove himself a threat, it wanted to spill out. He was only doing this to size Joker up. He had no intent to truly win, even if he promised Joker that it would be a duel with nothing held back - and it was going to take more restraint not to go back on that. “Show me your true skills; neither of us holding back. You won’t win unless you fight with lethal intent.”

Joker offered only a nod. Silence settled, thick with tension.

Their eyes locked as Akechi eased a hand to hover over the hilt of his sword. Mirroring him, Joker’s hand hovered over his gun. Akechi took a deep breath to soothe the thrum of anticipatory adrenaline, watching as Joker did the same, as their breathing eased until it was in sync. 

At once, they exchanged a short, almost imperceptible nod, and Akechi tore his sword free from his waist at the exact moment that Joker drew his gun from it's holster. Three shots rang out into the air, echoing around the empty room. Akechi easily evaded the first two and swung his sword to deflect the third, the clang of a bullet against metal ringing in his ears.

While the sound rang, Akechi tore his mask off with his free hand, Robin Hood’s name on his tongue. The floor trembled beneath him, rippling out into the ground and sending jagged spikes lurching upwards. Joker, effortlessly light on his feet, just as he had been in Sae’s Palace, just as Akechi knew he could be - but he seemed faster now, lunging towards Akechi with near-inhuman speeds. He weaved easily around the spires bursting up from the floor and was on Akechi in an instant, slashing upwards with his dagger. With a lunge backwards, Akechi narrowly avoided a jagged upward slash from his jaw through his cheek and swung his sword reflexively towards Joker. Metal clashed and they both stumbled backwards with the force of the impact. 

“Impressive,” Akechi breathed, moving backwards to build space between the two of them, and Joker let out a breathless laugh. Sweat glistened on his forehead, an animalistic eagerness glinting in his eyes. Akechi, with the thrill beating in his body, must have looked the same.

Joker offered no acceptance of the praise, nor did he return it, instead he reached for his mask and tore it away. It wasn’t Arsene that appeared behind him, but another Persona entirely - which meant that Akechi could not predict what attack the floating girl was going to use and could not adequately prepare. When the sharp, frigid air whipped towards him, razors of ice tearing at his skin, leaving a ghost of white frost in his hair, it was a hideous and jarring sensation. The cold bit hard into his skin, burning against his hot blood. Akechi, desperate to move and purge the ice from his bones, lunged towards Joker and closed the distance. He slashed desperately downwards with his sword, satisfied when it caught fabric and flesh. Joker’s backward stagger allowed the blade not to cut too deep and for the force of the slash to cause the sword to cut into the soft, flesh-like ground of Mementos..

Joker lunged forwards again, stomping on it to wrench the blade from Akechi’s hand. It was embarrassingly easily done, his fingers wrenched off of the hilt. Loki’s voice called to him from the recesses of his mind, prompting him to abandon the sword entirely and take safer steps back. Akechi listened - the wise choice, given how ruthlessly Joker charged into the empty space between them with his dagger raised. 

He moved effortlessly, darting around Akechi like an intricate dance that only he knew the moves to, but Akechi had seen the ways that it had served him in Sae’s cage fight, and he knew that the slow build of exhaustion would be inevitable, and that would be what allowed Akechi, if he remained level-headed, to turn the tables back over. 

So he did his best to maintain enough distance that Joker’s intimate daggers would not reach him, to learn the steps required to be Joker’s dance partner. He called Robin Hood forth once more, ignoring again how Loki clawed at the inside of his mind with the awareness of a fight, a real fight, that he was being held back from. For a play fight, Robin Hood would suffice. Besides, with what Akechi had seen of Joker so far, he was certain that a few well placed strikes from Loki would kill him.

All Akechi was doing now, thrusting a hand out towards Joker and sending blinding white streaks of light through him, was… satiating his curiosity. Preparing a backup plan. 

Joker made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a grunt as the attack landed, flesh searing against the divine light, and lost his footing for only a short moment, but it was long enough for Akechi to switch fully to the offensive and close the distance between them.

Instinct compelled him to throw his weight against Joker, sending them both sprawling to the ground. With how awkwardly Joker landed, air knocked from his lungs and momentarily reeling, Akechi took immediate advantage of his haziness to pin his arms to the ground by his biceps. Joker breathed in sharply through his teeth at the contact of Akechi’s fingers to the fresh, raw burns and Akechi, in a sadistic impulse, dug his nails into the raw flesh to force Joker to squirm under him. The grip on his biceps wasn’t reliable, and already as Joker got his wits about him again he began to test Akechi’s strength, but being knocked on the floor had forced him to drop his daggers and that was all Akechi cared about. 

“Wouldn’t have expected,” Joker said, his voice touching on breathlessness, betraying that he was starting to feel his exhaustion now, “you to fight dirty, Detective Prince.”

It was a short jab, but it did two things. The first was that it caught Akechi off guard at the overtly mocking tone that Joker used when saying his title, a way of speaking Akechi had only heard Joker use within the Metaverse and only with Shadows. The second was that it reminded Akechi that he was pushing past the boundaries of the character he’d created for himself with his eagerness to see Joker squirm, to finally bring some of those visions of Joker at his mercy to fruition. Despite this, he couldn’t help but laugh, breathy and touching on frenzied with the still intense surge of adrenaline. 
“Didn’t I make myself clear, Akira? I’m holding nothing back.” That promise of lethal intent still sat on his tongue. Joker’s eyes sparked with excitement.
“Everything goes,” Joker affirmed, though now it seemed like he was mostly reminding himself.

Again, that surge of eagerness tore through Akechi. Without the words to emphasise just how much he meant it, Akechi caught Joker’s eyes and nodded again. There was a second where, beneath him, the tension in Joker’s arms left, relaxing despite the circumstances, despite the position.

With the lacking reliability of his grip, Akechi knew Joker would have been able to break out of it. He had expected, however, some form of struggle - not for Joker, within a matter of controlled seconds, to twist his body away from Akechi’s, to hook a leg around Akechi’s waist, and throw both of their weights suddenly and sharply to the side. Akechi was on his back before he realised what Joker was doing, and Joker had landed on his knees beside Akechi, flushed but grinning and completely put together. Another moment where their eyes locked, where the shift in power within the fight lingered, before Joker’s eyes darted towards where his daggers had skittered to. They were far enough out of range that when Joker went for them, Akechi was able to get to his feet and tear his mask from his face without the risk of becoming collateral to his own attack. 

“Come forth, Robin Hood!” He called, and Joker’s feet stumbled to a stop as he turned to brace himself for the attack. He raised his fists to shield his face, Robin Hood perched behind Akechi and, with a hiss, a thick red mist billowed out from him. Joker took in a breath and held it as the mist encased him, knowing well enough that the smoke of a curse attack was too thick to breathe, with a chalky texture that made it difficult to swallow or clear from the airways without an intense fit of coughs. His eyes narrowed to keep it from worsening his vision and as the air grew thicker, Akechi called Robin Hood forwards again, repeating the attack from earlier that had made the ground ripple. 

That comment that Joker had made earlier stuck in his head - I wouldn’t have expected you to fight dirty, Detective Prince - as the ground began to tremble. It was a cruel way to take advantage of distraction, but Akechi being prepared to lose did not prevent his wanting to win. Even with a self-imposed handicap, Joker’s victory could not be easy. It needed to be earned. 

Spikes tore through the ground. One burst from the ground directly in front of Joker, jagged and large enough to cut off Akechi’s line of sight entirely. His chest was rising and falling quickly. Sweat plastered strands of hair to his forehead and his clothes clung uncomfortably to him. It was exhausting, but invigorating. Joker’s ability to push him to his limits was just as much of a surprise to Akechi as anything else about him. 

For a moment too long, that spire remained in the way of where Joker was stood. Akechi remained on edge, shoulders drawn up, waiting for a sign of movement. If he’d stopped for a second, or had any supplies to try and heal with, he’d have completely missed the flashing of Joker’s coat as he ducked from one pillar to another. Akechi’s eyes followed him as best as they could in the dark of that room, but mementos played easy tricks on the mind and within a few seconds, he wasn’t certain if Joker had moved again or if it’d been a trick of his straining eyes. 

And when Joker finally called to Arsene again, it came from completely the wrong direction than Akechi had anticipated. He caught sight of the flap of Arsene’s wings, cleaving a blade of air that struck Akechi hard across the chest, too blunt to draw blood but forceful enough to make him stumble and drop to his knees, to knock the air from his lungs. He gasped for air that didn’t seem to reach his lungs, and through his strained gasps for air and the thrumming of his blood in his ears, he barely caught onto what Joker was calling out for. All he knew was that another attack was coming, was that Joker’s attack had left an obvious vulnerability for him to take advantage of-

A white light encased him for a short, dizzying, blinding moment. And immediately after came a burst of fresh, invigorating pain - not quite like being set alight, but a distinct and sharp buzz that made every nerve in his body come brilliantly, agonisingly alive. It was the same sharp, hissing pain as breathing through cracked ribs but it spread furiously through his body. By the time the light cleared, his nails pulsed with the pain of being dug into the ground, his jaw aching with his teeth being grit. His throat was sore as though the pain had made him cry out - and across from him, Joker was standing there, staring at him, hand hesitating just by his mask for a sign that Akechi was likely to retaliate. 

Loki’s voice purred at him, cooed, urged Akechi to reclaim victory, to refuse defeat, but he pushed that forcefully to the back of his mind and raised a hand to signal his defeat and call Joker off. There was no hesitation on Joker’s side - a surprise, given the ways that Akechi had been tempted to take advantage of Joker’s vulnerability - before he dropped his guard. The change was immediate, not only in the relaxing of his stance, but in everything. The changing of his expression, softening of his gaze, as though Joker was replaced immediately with Akira, mild-mannered and polite. He closed the distance between himself and Akechi immediately and, as though it was second nature, offered a hand to help him back too his feet. Begrudgingly, Akechi accepted.

Joker’s hand took his. Joker’s other hand held him just above his elbow, prepared to catch him if he stumbled or seemed unsteady on his feet.

Rationally, Akechi knew that it had been his intent to lose. He’d have been disappointed if, after all of this, Joker was incapable of beating him with a persona he’d filed down the edges of, who lacked the ruthlessness that Akechi’s career had required and had become all but dormant until last month, yet still the admission of defeat had a hideous sting to it. To be bested by Joker, to have someone offer him a hand after knocking him down- it was humiliating.

Made worse by the awareness that where they had touched and to finally put the pieces together as to why he’d felt his skin burn every single time they made contact for months. To understand the simmering hunger that sat beneath his skin, that eagerness of his mind to observe everything Joker did and claim it was under the guise of investigation. 

“You aren’t hurt badly, are you?” Joker asked once Akechi had caught his breath and the lingering adrenaline of the fight began to wear off. His coat was over his arm - Akechi hadn’t seen him pick it up again. 
“No, not at all,” Akechi affirmed, as though the question wasn’t salt in his wound. “Merely aware enough of my limits to know when to admit defeat. And yourself?”
“You landed some good hits.”

Akechi smoothed himself over. Jokers skills now were a large step from even the start of Sae’s Palace. For him to have only gained access to the Metaverse in April-- it couldn’t be true. Akechi had been doing this for years. How many more months would it have been before Joker surpassed him entirely?
“It’s no wonder you’re the leader of the Phantom Thieves,” Akechi said, in place of a genuine compliment.
“Yeah? Was that all you’ve got?” Like it was more of a challenge than a genuine question. Akechi laughed, half-breathless.
“Of course not.” He knew he could have killed Joker if he wanted to. He knew he had the capacity both in and out of the Metaverse. “But if we go any further, we’d both go beyond the point of no return, wouldn’t we?”
“Would that be a problem?” Joker mused, bringing his coat over his shoulders.
“In all honesty, I’d love to see just how far we can go.” He did. He wanted nothing more. “But we have an important mission coming up. And until that’s done, we’re vital allies to one another.”

Akechi walked past Joker, back towards the winding tunnels of Mementos.
“We’re done here. Let’s go.”

The way out of Mementos found them readily. Akechi let the silence settle, stuck in his conflicting feelings of resentment and unease, simmering in the spite that told him again and again and again that he could easily have beaten Joker if he had been trying to. That even though he’d affirmed to Joker that he wanted lethal intent, he hadn’t expected Joker to be so capable, nor so prepared for it.

And still, he couldn’t help but wonder if Joker had been holding back, too. He trusted, with the intensity in Joker’s eyes and the ruthlessness in which he’d struck Akechi, that he hadn’t been.

It was only when they emerged fully from the underground, when Akechi brought them back from the Metaverse and tucked his phone away into his pocket again, that he spoke again.

“If we had kept fighting,” no small talk, nothing. Akechi met Joker’s gaze, softened and easy where they listened to him, “Do you think you would have won, if it had earnestly been life or death?”
“I wouldn’t lose.” Said without a second of consideration. Akechi’s jaw pulsed. 
“You would say that.” Of course he would. To lose wasn’t a consideration because Joker still didn’t know what he was truly up against. Because school teachers and corrupt lawyers were all he knew. Horrors of the Metaverse that never reached further, loved by his friends despite his criminal record, benevolently offered the second chance of probation, then offered and wasting the same power that Akechi had once considered a miracle. He felt his resentment, thick in his mouth and coating his teeth like blood from a split lip, and he felt the way that it dripped around his words like it would out of his mouth.

Joker, mocking him with all of the circumstances that separated the two of them, with the support and compassion that Akechi had never been given. With those eyes that still looked at Akechi as though there was an ounce of goodness still to be found within him, blind and naive and stupid. And somehow incredible and competent and charming in spite of that.

Akechi should have killed him. He was going to. He needed to. He should never have gotten to know him at all. 

“To be honest, I hate you.” 

Joker’s body betrayed his surprise. Despite his carefully maintained silence, his eyes widened, his shoulders dropped, he all but recoiled in the face of Akechi’s honesty. And Akechi wanted to revel in it, to savour the feeling of pushing back at Joker, to find what else would land and what else would hurt. This was the closest thing to honesty that he could afford himself. He needed to say it.

“Your deft handling of your situation, the way you work to surpass me, all the things that set us apart… everything about you is infuriating. You’re the one person that I refuse to lose to.”

Don’t you get it? I don’t feel this way, I don’t think this way, about anybody. 

And Joker’s softness had returned, the abrasiveness of surprise smoothed over and sanded down, and those insufferable eyes were watching Akechi again with what could only be considered sympathy. Akechi’s chest seized. His own feelings disgusted him. 
“I feel the same.”

Akechi must have mirrored the surprise Joker felt just a moment ago. His eyes widened, the tension was robbed from his body. He suddenly felt like all of the energy had left his body at once, as though the toll of the fight had only just registered. Why? Why, with everything Joker had that Akechi didn’t, why did he feel the same? How could he?
“Really-…? You are-” Unbelievable? Insufferable? More than I expected you to be? “You won today, but next time, victory will be mine. And this-“ he raised his hand to his chest, “is proof of that.”

He tugged his glove from his right hand. The cold air hit his skin, still clammy from the duel. He threw it at Joker and, easily, Joker caught it. He didn’t say anything, and Akechi couldn’t place what his expression meant.
“In the West, it’s customary to challenge someone to a duel by throwing down your glove. If the opponent accepts-“ already, Joker’s fingers closed a little tighter around it, “-then they agree to the duel.”

There was the slightest hint of a smile on Joker’s lips. The spark returned to his eye.
”I accept,” he said without hesitation, thumb running over the fabric of the glove. Akechi kept his gaze on Joker, away from the strangely intimate way he handled the fabric.
”Don’t ever forget,” Akechi finally said, “It is me who will defeat you.”

He took his phone from his pocket again. It was getting late - Akechi still had work to do. Details to refine before Sunday. Exams next month.
”I think it’s best if we end this here for today,” he eventually said. Joker, with that glove still held cautiously in his hand, nodded.
“You’ll be there with us on Saturday when we prepare the Calling Card, right?” He asked, as though it was something that he wanted Akechi there for and not an obligation. How he could follow up on their previous conversation so casually, yet so sincerely, Akechi had no idea. Regardless, he nodded. He did not, however, smile. Nor did he make any effort to return his pleasant, polite mask to his face.
“I will.”

And Joker, again as though it was the easiest thing in the world, smiled at Akechi. 
“I’ll see you then.”

Akechi, without saying anything else, turned and excused himself to get the train back to Kichijoji. 

 

---

 

At home, Akechi showered. He wiped the lingering sweat from their fight from his body, careful with the awareness of the unpredictably tender parts of his body where he’d suck in a sharp breath at the pressure, where pain would suddenly shoot through his body, igniting against the tired and fried nerves that still buzzed after Joker’s final attack.

Joker had an impressive cruelty. Akechi knew the type of brutality that was required to survive in the cognitive world and he knew his own capability to inflict that on others but it was a first to be victim to it. The experience stuck. Even now, he couldn’t shake the lingering impression of how Joker had managed to slip out of Akechi’s line of sight to line up an ambush, to gain an advantage that he could make full use of. He wondered if Joker would have been able to follow through had it truly been life or death. Had Joker managed to pin Akechi down when he had his daggers in his hands.

Would Joker have pressed a dagger to Akechi’s throat, where he could watch the point of the blade bite into skin and a pearl of blood build around it? Then, with their hearts racing, could he have looked Akechi in the eyes and finished it?

If Joker knew that Akechi, in the same position, wouldn’t falter. Would that change his mind?

Akechi moved a hand to his cheek. Joker had only narrowly missed a strike that would have left Akechi unable to hide his wounds. He’d gotten lucky that none of the injuries he sustained had been visible. 

Finally, Akechi washed his hair, where he discovered the tender bruise on the back of his head from knocking against the ground. The impact had been dizzying when Joker had pinned him - a memory that grew harder to ignore with the flashes of Joker’s concentrated face looming over him. He pressed tentatively down on it again before turning off the shower and wrapping himself in his towel.

Two more days before he met with the Phantom Thieves to send the Calling Card.

Three before they fought Sae and stole her Treasure.

Then, in the secrecy of the next day…

Akechi sighed. He was nearly there.

Chapter 56: Friday, November 18th

They were looking at him differently.

Given how many precautions Joker had taken to ensure that their meeting on Wednesday went unnoticed, Akechi doubted that they were looking at him like that because of their duel. 

It seemed more likely that with the proximity of the deadline and all of the stress that came with it, they were easing back into their previous attitude around him in preparation for the next stage of their lives. That, or the awareness that they were nearly done operating as the Phantom Thieves had led to a souring in the mood that he was taking the brunt of.

Regardless, with Sakura out of Leblanc for the day, the Phantom Thieves had spilled themselves across all of the booths in LeBlanc, huddled around the middle where Joker sat. Akechi leant against the bar a short distance from where Skull swung dangerously on a chair. With his arrival, Oracle - leant over the back of the third booth to assert herself between Joker and Panther, to pester Mona - looked up and poked her tongue out.
“Look who’s late,” she said, in a tone that wasn’t unfriendly, and just as teasing as she was in the Metaverse. He smiled.
“I’ve come immediately here from school,” he defended, having wanted to get this over with so intently that he hadn’t waited for all of the students to leave and had suffered many insufferable conversations as a result. He’d been nearing his politeness-limit by the time he’d gotten to Yongen. “I couldn’t have been here any sooner.”
“Mm, still the last one of us, though…” 

Akechi frowned.
“That isn’t necessarily…” he glanced over them all. “Kitagawa is missing.”
“Yeah, but that’s normal. Kosei is further away from here than Shujin,” Oracle shrugged. Akechi began to cut in, to remind them all that his school was further out of the way than that, and that if they couldn’t start without everyone being present, he was not the one that was late. But Panther gave Oracle a nudge and a look, and Akechi caught on.
“My apologies,” he finally said, with a faux, overdone sincerity, “I’d have skipped class if I’d known it was important.”
“That’s more like it,” Oracle said, promptly returning her focus back to Mona and disregarding Akechi entirely. 

Joker lifted his head.
“You want a coffee? The pot’s still warm,” he offered, but Akechi politely shook his head. “I’ll manage without. We won’t be here for long today, correct?”
“Just sortin’ out the Callin’ Card for tomorrow,” Skull said, “prolly won’t be more than an hour or so.”
”Just as soon as Yusuke gets here,” Noir added, hands cupped around a coffee mug. “Do we know how much longer he will be?”
Panther held up her phone. Several charms dangling from it clanked as it swayed. She had a little black cat charm, a panda, and a skull on it. Akechi could figure out who two of them represented, but it took noting the panda pencil case on the table to realise who that was for.

“He’s just getting off of the train now. He said he’d have been earlier but he was-“ she turned the screen back to herself, “‘Absorbed in the potential of my newest painting. I shall tell you all about it when I arrive; I feel I’ve made a substantial breakthrough in—‘ and then I think he hit send early.”
“Sounds like we’re gonna be hearin’ about that before we can get started, anyway.” Skull turned towards Akechi, a smug look on his face. “Might be closer to two hours.”

 

---

 

Two hours and twenty-six minutes, it took to finish up their meeting. From when the door swung closed behind Fox, the bell chiming in greeting and the canvas tucked beneath his arm needing no explanation.

Granted, the majority of that meeting was not Fox’s fault, but a collective effort to keep Akechi from getting home before it got dark. The fact that it started with a twenty-minute mandatory lecture on the history of art, of the advice that one of his teachers had given him that morning and how profoundly, how deeply it had shaken the very foundations of Fox’s soul, how his inspiration was finally stirred —

It wasn’t uninteresting, necessarily, it was only that Akechi had one very simple, very short goal to achieve and that every minute that ticked by where the Calling Card wasn’t being discussed was a minute that Akechi could have spent doing anything else. He listened as Fox discussed the different mediums that his next painting was likely to be made with, as he made a direct comparison to a painting he’d done previously that only Joker had actually seen, and explained his vision over the abstract, washed lines on the canvas that he’d been applying when he’d had to run for the train.

Then, producing a pencil and sketchbook from his bag, he had stopped beside the bench where Noir and Queen sat to commit this concept to paper.

Akechi, when the conversation lulled, eyed the door across from them.
“If I may ask-… are we certain that we will be free of interruption down here?”
“Boss said he reserved the place just for us.” Then, with a radiant smile as she leant forwards over the counter, Panther added “we’re free to drink as much coffee as we want.”
“Ain’t this place always empty though?” Skull cut in, having finally settled all four legs of his chair on the ground, sitting with his legs as far apart as they could comfortably be and slouching horribly. 

“I’m telling him that you said that,” Joker said, that comfortable taunt in his voice again, infuriatingly smooth. Akechi felt that disgusting sentimental feeling try to rear its head again and, further repulsed at how something so small had triggered it, forced it away.

Skull sat up, eyes widening.
“Wait-“
“Everyone here is a witness,” Oracle didn’t even look up from her laptop - which seemed to have taken over her attention once bothering Morgana had become boring.
“I was just jokin’. I swear.” 
“Should we focus on how to send the Calling Card?” Noir came through as the voice of reason, though from the way Skull’s head turned immediately over to her, his gratitude was obvious.

Panther put her phone down on the table. The charms clicked against one another.
“Considering how big the hype’s gotten, is there a chance she’ll think it’s just a prank?” 
“I could always put it on Sae-san’s desk,” Akechi offered, considering how he’d managed with Kobayakawa. “It would be easy for me to access it.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Mona shook its little head. And, as if it were completely normal, raised a back paw to scratch behind his ear. Akechi averted his eyes. “If you’re the only one who can get in there, it’ll be easily traced back to you.”

“I’ll do it.” 

Queen’s voice had a resolve to it that Akechi hadn’t heard since the school festival. A decisiveness that wasn’t unlike Sae’s voice when she’d made up her mind about something. It made it explicitly clear that there was no room for negotiation.

With everyone’s eyes on her, she continued.
“I can just tell her it came in the mail. It’s the method with the least risk.”
“But that’s-”
“If it’s something that Niijima thinks she can do, then we should allow her,” Akechi said, interrupting Oracle. “She’s correct about it being our safest option.”

Akechi didn’t need to hear anyone say it to know that the quiet of the room suggested concern. Worry for Queen’s wellbeing, as though her sister was a threat beyond the cognitive world. As though handing her a slip of paper was no different than handing her a loaded gun.
“I’ll be okay. I’ve done more dangerous things for the sake of the Phantom Thieves.”
”We will leave it to you, then,” Akechi nodded to her. “Thank you.”
“Very well. With that sorted, are we still entering from in front of the courthouse tomorrow? Shall we gather at six o’clock in the evening?” Fox still did not look up from his sketchbook as he spoke.
With everyone’s agreement, anything that Akechi needed to hear was over. Fox, Queen, and Skull tucked themselves away in the furthermost booth to discuss and design the Calling Card.

Joker got up to retrieve fresh coffee for everyone and, again, Akechi refused. Noir and Panther started a discussion about the coffee and what desserts would pair well, where Noir started talking about this wonderful cafe she’d gone to a few days ago, one that she’d be delighted to invite Panther to as soon as this was all over.

Oracle had kicked off her shoes and seemed to be trying to fold herself into as inconvenient of a position as possible to sit in while she worked on her computer. Joker disappeared behind the counter behind him to return the coffee pot, but rather than return to his seat, leant over the counter beside where Akechi stood. Akechi tipped his head back slightly to better hear him.

“Good timing for the Calling Card,” he murmured, “I’ve stopped feeling sore every time I move.”
“I did take that into consideration.”
“You’re always more prepared than I expect.”
“Yet only one of us was prepared enough to win a fight with no notice.”

Joker, for a few long moments, said nothing else. it was as Akechi pushed up from the counter, intent on making his polite excuse to leave early, that he finally spoke again.
“I look forward to our rematch.”

Akechi’s stomach twisted. He picked up his briefcase and smoothed himself off, turning back properly to face Joker. Less than forty-eight hours to go.
“Me too.”

 

---

 

An underground room.

Akechi would be the last person to see the leader of the Phantom Thieves alive.

In an underground room.

Once his interrogation and confession were both complete, Akechi would go and tie up loose ends. The guard outside of the door would be unfortunate collateral, but necessary to sell the story. 

The Calling Card. The treasure, and a fight to get ahold of it. An escape that goes wrong. Akechi would need the police to mobilise while they fought Sae. They would go unnoticed by the Shadows, despite their number, due to the more pressing matter of Sae’s treasure being at risk. Following his guidance, they’d block off all of the exits and mobilise on the leader of the Phantom Thieves. 

He would be apprehended, he would be arrested, he would be interrogated.

He would be shot.

Akechi would separate from the Phantom Thieves under the instruction to lie low for a while. He would go to work the next day, alone, and kill him. 

It would be easy. Joker was no different from anyone else. He was bone that could break and blood that could spill.

One phone call and everything was under control.
Mobilise for 6:30. Enter the cognitive world immediately. Block all exits.

His phone buzzed. He knew before he’d answered that it would be them. Nobody else contacted him anymore. He hadn’t even been sent to Mementos with the build up to this case — though that only meant he would have a list to return to next week.

At least he wouldn’t need to lay low anymore.

Akechi brought his phone up as it buzzed again.
Makoto: Sorry for the wait. I think it went well.
Haru: Thanks, Mako-chan. It’s all going according to plan then.

Exhaustion rendered his emotions numb as he typed out his reply.
‘It is finally happening. I actually feel somewhat nervous.’

Ryuji: dont freak yourself out so bad you screw up
Ann: Coming from you???
Futaba: ^

Their disagreements only made him feel the weight of his exhaustion more. Could one interaction not be a simple, cut-and-dry set of instructions? Did he always have to endure them fucking around?
‘Of course not, but this is all new so I ask that you go easy on me. I’ll see you all tomorrow.’

Akechi didn’t even get to put his phone down before it buzzed impatiently in his palm.
Futaba: WAIT
— then again, almost instantly —
Futaba: WAIT !!!

Akechi took a moment to remind himself to unclench his jaw, to take a deep breath.
‘Yes? I’m still here.’
Futaba: ok good. go over the operation again before you go crow
‘Is that necessary?’ -was the nicer way to ask what was thinking- ‘It hasn’t changed from our earlier discussion, has it?’
Yusuke: This moment will decide our future. We must ensure that we’re fully prepared.
‘Very well. Our objective is stealing Sae-san’s treasure. We will meet at the courthouse at approximately six in the evening.’
Futaba: ok good!
Futaba: akira is there anything else u want to say before tmo

A moment of silence before he started typing. Evidently it was a safe bed that he was reading conversations, even if he wasn’t replying to them.

Akira: Let’s go all out.
Makoto: We’ll be relying on you.

Akechi rolled his eyes. He followed through the steps of his plan again as he typed out what would hopefully be his last message to the Phantom Thieves.

‘What a trusting relationship. I will do my best in this as well.’

His focus dragged back to the board above his desk. Where Joker’s mugshot looked down on him. 

It was nearly over.