Work Text:
memento mori
remember that you too shall die
It was fifteen minutes after closing when Sojiro heard the bell to Leblanc’s entrance ring, and he sighed in annoyance, too busy putting away dishes in the kitchen corner to acknowledge them properly.
“Didn’t you see the sign? We’re closed.”
“My apologies, Sakura-san,” Niijima Sae’s voice floated from the entrance, “I was told to come here now.”
That got Sojiro’s attention, and he carefully set down the tower of coffee saucers next to the sink, wiping his hands on his apron as he returned to the front of the shop. “Oh, Niijima. I didn’t realise it was you. Here to see him?”
He jerked a thumb towards the stairway that led to Leblanc’s attic; he’d become used to this by now, the throng of people that came and went in their visits to Ren, though that friendly atmosphere of friends coming by in the summer had since given way to something more sombre, more serious.
“I’m not, actually,” Niijima said, raising a hand and pulling out her phone, “I was merely told to be here tonight.”
Niijima slanted her screen towards Sojiro, and Sojiro took a quick glance at it.
Unknown: Be at Leblanc at 11.15pm.
Unknown: Make sure you’re alone with Sakura. I have information on Shido that you will want.
“An unknown number talking about Shido,” Sojiro noted, “and you decided to trust it?”
“I don’t.” Niijima shook her head, “but I would be remiss in my duties as a lawyer if I ignored any opportunity for information, no matter how insignificant or suspicious it might be. Is Ren home right now?”
Sojiro considered it. He didn’t want to bring up Ren’s presence now, only to have to kick him out. Between the bugs that Futaba had on the cafe and Ren’s quick thinking, having someone that could run out to get help in case something went wrong struck him as the smarter thing to do. He hated the sentiment nonetheless; such manoeuvring was supposed to be left far behind, abandoned in the pits of snakes when he walked away from politics.
“We’re alone enough.” Sojiro said instead, the words oddly foreign on his tongue, and he was grateful that Niijima only nodded in response.
The bell to Leblanc rang for a second time, and Sojiro steeled himself, ready to face down Shido’s agents, expecting tall men in black suits to come marching in.
Instead, Akechi Goro, the Detective Prince of television, the boy that sat at this counter and flirted with Ren until they were both red in the face, the boy that had been instructed by Shido Masayoshi to assassinate Ren, walked in. Casual, like it was just another evening where he was here to see Ren.
“Good,” Akechi said before either of them could recover, “you’re both here. I had been betting on your typical punctuality, so I’m glad you haven’t let me down, Sae-san.”
“Akechi-kun!” Niijima exclaimed, shifting in her stance, “what - what is the meaning of this?”
Akechi laughed politely, and for the first time, Sojiro properly realised the implications of that fake, plastic laugh, understood the depth of what else it might hide, beyond the whims of a child that wanted to appear more mature. “You seem on edge, Sae-san. There’s no need to worry, I only intend to talk today.”
“So you’re the one that sent the message to Niijima,” Sojiro said, “what do you want?”
“Ah, my apologies for the deception, Sakura-san.” Akechi set his briefcase down on the counter where his usual spot was, “please, let us sit. This is going to take a while, after all.”
“I doubt that.” Sojiro said gruffly, “we’re closed now, didn’t you notice?”
“Please don’t say that, Sakura-san.” Akechi said, the pleasant notes in his voice not reaching his eyes, not when Sojiro knew what he really was, “not when this is my gift to you. For your kindness and the coffee that you have given me the privilege of enjoying these last few months, I offer to you a detailed and exhaustive compilation on all of Shido Masayoshi’s crimes.”
The room stilled to a silence. Akechi drummed his gloved fingers on his briefcase as he waited for them to compute his words, the sound quiet and dull. Sojiro wondered, for a moment, if Akechi had predicted this. If he enjoyed it, the brief moments of power that he held, even in something like conversation.
Niijima, not for nothing, was the first to recover. “Where is this coming from, then?”
Her skills as a lawyer came through - no inefficiencies as she cut straight into the heart of it, no beating about the bush where they pretended to not know about Akechi’s collaborators.
Akechi, for his part, exhaled slowly, sliding into the counter seat and only speaking when he was comfortable. “For various reasons, I have become more conscious of the inevitableness of my own death. As such, I felt it was… prudent, that I made clear certain aspects about my life.”
Sojiro resisted the instinctive urge to start brewing a cup of coffee for him, shaking his head to clear it of the myriad thoughts seeking to creep in, “so what is this, then? You’re looking for penance?”
“I am not interested in such mundane notions.” Akechi scoffed, folding his hands before him on the counter neatly. “Consider this testimony to be my insurance. My last will and testament, so to speak.”
“And that’s why you want me here.” Niijima said sharply, “as a legal professional, as a witness.”
“Well, it’s a little bit more than that, Sae-san.” Akechi smiled at Niijima, “my effort here would be meaningless if this testimony merely fell in the hands of a weaker lawyer, someone who would sell it back to the conspiracy because it was the easiest thing to do. You were a great mentor for me most of the time, and evidence like this will bring you great renown as the prosecutor that took down Shido and his conspiracy. Didn’t I promise our relationship will be a worthwhile quid-pro-quo?”
The pointed scrutiny that Niijima levelled at Akechi could cut a lesser man, but Akechi didn’t falter. Instead, Niijima did first, her facade breaking for the smallest of seconds. “It’s not - I’m planning to resign from the Prosecutor’s Office.”
Sojiro felt Akechi’s surprise at that - this was the first time he’d heard of it as well.
“Is that so? Well, it doesn’t really matter to me. Please sit down, Sae-san. I meant it when I said we will be here for a while. If you feel sleepy - well, we are in a cafe after all.”
Sojiro was less than amused at Akechi’s joke, and he folded his arms, expression stern when he spoke. “Let’s see it then. The evidence you’re talking about. The sooner we can get through this, the better.”
“As you wish, Sakura-san.” Akechi said, directing his smile at him, “I, Akechi Goro, resident of 1 Chome-8 Kichijoji, Higashicho, declare this to be my final will and testament, with which I shall-”
“Hold on a second,” Sojiro said just as Niijima frowned, “you’re - you’re reading it aloud?”
“Is there a problem, Sakura-san?” Akechi tilted his head in wide-eyed surprise, “you did tell me to begin.”
If there was any doubt before that Akechi was enjoying every moment of this, then it was surely gone now. Sojiro scowled, “I expected papers. Documents of his activities. Evidence, as you put it.”
“Sakura-san, please.” Akechi said with thinly veiled exasperation, the expression condescending, “surely you of all people should know that there’s not the slightest chance that Shido will allow a paper-trail, especially not one that could incriminate him so devastatingly.”
“And what are you actually going to do here?” Sojiro shook his head, “just read it out loud?”
Don’t be stupid, he intended to say, but the smile slipped for a fraction of a moment, and Sojiro saw a smirk.
“Precisely.”
“Word for word?” Niijima pressed, and Akechi nodded.
“Word for word,” Akechi repeated, lightly tapping a finger to his temple, “it’s all up here.”
“I see,” Niijima said, and with a long exhale, settled into the seat two chairs away, “Sakura-san, I’m afraid I may need to impose on you for that cup of coffee after all.”
Sojiro frowned. Niijima may have worked with Akechi and was well aware of his abilities, but Sojiro was not so easily convinced, “now hold on just a second. You’re saying you have every crime committed to memory - how’s that even possible?”
Akechi turned to Sojiro for a moment, his face eerily blank as he studied Sojiro. It was disconcerting - Sojiro would rather see annoyance in his expression from being questioned, compared to this. “I recite it. Every night, before I sleep. If I’ve missed something, I recite it another ten times. I have been doing this for the last two years, so there’s no need to worry I’ll forget something. Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve made a mistake, and I most certainly understand the stakes here today. If anything, I’d say I’m more worried about the both of you - I’ll only say this once, so please make sure not to miss anything. Oh, but - you’re listening too, aren’t you? Sakura Futaba-chan?”
Akechi’s eyes darted towards the ceiling, attention finding a corner where one of Futaba’s bugs was, and Sojiro froze briefly, instinctive protectiveness kicking in so he could respond.
“Hey! I don’t know what your deal is, but you’d better leave her out of this.” Sojiro snapped, drawing Akechi’s line of sight back on him even though Futaba had to be safe back home. “She didn’t choose to be involved in this - none of us did.”
At that, Akechi barked out a laugh, the sound cold even if not entirely cruel. “You think - you think any of us here in this room have the luxury of choice? From the moment you crossed paths with Shido Masayoshi, from the moment you marked yourself as his enemy, all of you have and will always carry a target on your own back. Sae-san wasn't the first to go knocking on your door for information about Isshiki Wakaba, was she? I promise you, Sakura-san, that she certainly wouldn't be the last.”
Niijima shifted guiltily in her seat for a moment, but Sojiro stared him down. “If that evidence of yours is so good, then that shouldn’t be a worry, should it?”
“Oh! Very good, Sakura-san. But precisely for that reason, I would recommend that Sakura Futaba continue to listen. Her memory is exceptional as well, after all, and even the slightest detail could be the difference between this evidence being the knife that kills you or the shield that protects you. What would it be, Sakura-san? Are you willing to take the risk?”
Sojiro glared at Akechi. In his pocket, his phone buzzed as if on cue, and Akechi’s eyes darted at it, willing him to read it. Without any other choice, he did, making sure to exhale loudly in irritation to hide the growing nervousness inside him.
Futaba: Let him talk.
Futaba: I want to listen too.
Futaba: Don’t worry, I’m fine. Ren said he’ll send Mona over, so I’m more worried about him.
He didn’t receive any messages from Ren himself, and he wasn’t sure what a cat could do for Futaba either.
Akechi seemed to take his silence as a go ahead, “shall I begin again then, preferably without interruption this time?”
Sojiro sighed, surrendering. Still, if there was one thing he’d learnt, it was to not let his uncertainty show. There was no doubt that Akechi had come prepared, and if Niijima had already conceded then there was no reason for him to fight it as well. “Let me make some coffee first. House blend for you both, as usual?”
“Yes, please.” Niijima said, but Akechi only blinked, staring in confusion as if Sojiro had just slipped into a foreign language.
Something inside him tore, the guarded wall built of anger fracturing a little, so Sojiro turned away, going through the motions of boiling water and measuring out beans for the grinder while a measured, palpable silence endured. The three of them remained wordless, and when Sojiro set identical cups of coffee in front of them, Akechi’s eyes followed from his hands to the dark liquid sloshing gently inside. There’s a brief window where the expression on Akechi’s face seemed to take on something akin to wonder, and Sojiro was painfully reminded of just how young Akechi really was.
“I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Sojiro said to break the ice, and Akechi flinched minutely.
“Oh- haha, no, of course not. That would be quite the sleight of hand, if you did.” Akechi said quickly, but his words had taken on a tinge of nervousness, as if he had been found out. So Akechi had been watching out for it, as if he routinely expected to be poisoned. There was something else there too, but Sojiro didn’t know enough about Akechi to tell, to know what else he had brought to surface in that last minute. He still wasn’t touching his coffee, but Sojiro wasn’t about to push. “Shall we finally continue, then?”
For the next few moments, Sojiro and Niijima listened patiently as Akechi verbalised his will, describing his goals and intentions and his appointment of Sojiro and Niijima as his successor and executor in turn. Each word was carefully enunciated, but they all carried a weight that fit Akechi poorly. Like for all of the complex legalese that rolled easily off his tongue, Akechi was still an eighteen year old boy, a boy that-
“Wait a second,” Sojiro interrupted, in the middle of his declarations, “Shido is your father?” Nearby, Niijima seemed shocked as well, and it’s clear that it was a secret Akechi never really intended on revealing to anyone.
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Akechi said, refusing to look either of them in the eye as he stared intently at the still untouched coffee, “as I mentioned before, our paths were set in stone the moment we crossed paths with him. In my case, it merely happened earlier, predetermined at my own cursed birth. Please, may I continue?”
“Ah - yeah. Sorry.”
Akechi continued, but Sojiro found it difficult to concentrate on his words. He’d seen the difficulties that Futaba had with her relatives, had seen the way Ren was all but thrown out in the wake of his sentencing - he’d always known shitty parents existed, of course, but the extent to which it impacted their children was never a reality that he’d ever had to confront himself with. At least, not until now. Akechi was now describing his first experience with the cognitive world, and when he started talking about how he reached out to Shido with this newfound power, Sojiro felt horror sink into his bones.
He’d known the kind of cruelties Shido had been capable of in the political arena after all, had been witness to the kind of merciless crushing he would gleefully undertake if there was even an inch of power to be gained. Suddenly, despite his knowledge of the role Akechi had played, Sojiro suddenly felt very sorry for him.
He wondered if Ren was still listening upstairs. He wondered what Ren made of this all.
“You might recall, Sae-san,” Akechi said, gloved fingers tracing the rim of the coffee cup, and even though his eyes remained steadfastly focused on the still untouched liquid, it was clear his mind was some million miles away, “when I offered the theory to you that the mental shutdowns might be the work of a mastermind behind the scenes, pulling the strings. Well. Now you know it was never just a hypothetical; not that I expected anyone to take me, a mere child seriously.”
The chuckle that followed Akechi's words were hollow, and Sojiro could see how Niijima shifted guiltily, eyes averted as she chewed on her lip in frustration.
A long, pregnant pause remained suspended in the air between them.
“So what was it back then?” Niijima asked eventually, her voice more so resigned than accusatory. It's the first time Sojiro heard it without its usual sharpness, “a confession? A cry for help?”
Akechi didn't answer immediately. In fact, he didn’t answer at all.
“19th August 2014,” Akechi continued instead, “I was given my first target, the scientist Isshiki Wakaba-”
“Alright - no. Stop there for a moment.” Sojiro said suddenly, “I don’t think Futaba should be listening to this.” It was too cruel, even for him, to hear Akechi talk about Wakaba’s murder. The wound was still raw after all this time, and it had only been a few months since Futaba had finally begun to break out of her depression. Crueller still, was for Sojiro to realise that despite all the pain Akechi had caused them, Sojiro felt more pity for him then anger.
Akechi finally looked up to meet him, expression piercing. “Sakura Futaba has already understood the series of events that transpired and met them face on. Won’t you do her the decency of attempting the same thing?”
“Is that what you did last month?” Sojiro challenged, “did you look her in the eye and tell her how you killed her mother?”
Akechi held his gaze for a moment, “No. I suppose not. Does it really matter at this point?”
The phone in his pocket buzzed again, and he pulled his attention away to take it out.
Futaba: It’s ok.
Futaba: I’m coming over.
Futaba: Don’t let him continue before I’m there!
“Wha-” Sojiro started, already beginning to type up a response to dissuade her. But Futaba had always been stubborn in the same way Wakaba was, and it’s a testament to how much Futaba was growing up that mere moments later, the bell to Leblanc rang for a third time that night after closing. Futaba barged in, panting, still dressed in her casual clothes, her green parka hastily thrown on, “did you - did you run here?”
“Mission - important,” Futaba gasped tiredly, “need water!”
Sojiro hastened to do as he was told, pouring out filtered water into the largest glass he could find and handing it to her. Akechi and Niijima watched as she downed the whole thing in one go before dragging herself into the booth furthest from the entrance - and from Akechi - and collapsing inside, facedown on one of the tables as she exhaled shakily. The cafe was quiet for a moment as she recovered, and it felt like a long while before she eventually resurfaced, facing up to glare at Akechi. A spark of pride burst inside Sojiro as he watched Futaba address Akechi with more bravery than he normally felt.
“Crow,” Futaba began, and Sojiro wondered if that was a nickname, if it was Akechi’s codename the way all the kids had one, a relic from a not so distant time that felt too far away in this instance, “keep talking. I’m listening.”
Akechi stared at her for a moment, expression vacant, and it occurred to Sojiro then that while he had seen Akechi with Ren many times, he’d never really seen Akechi and Futaba interact. One lone memory from a few weeks before came to mind, when Futaba had been trying to goad Ren into taking her to Nakano. When she found that Akechi had arrived at the cafe to spend time with Ren as well, she’d ended up dragging him along anyway, and Akechi’s panicked fluster had been amusing then, his facade temporarily broken. Now, Sojiro had to wonder if that too was another mask that he put on, if they had been playing this life-threatening game of cat-and-mouse even then.
Despite everything, Sojiro was very much feeling like a failed adult now.
“Very well,” Akechi said, startling Sojiro from his thoughts, and he turned away from Futaba to stare at his coffee again, “19th August 2014, I was given my first target, the scientist Isshiki Wakaba. This was the only order that came directly from Shido himself, and while his words back then was to eliminate her, there was little doubt as to his intention when he placed a gun in my hand. The weapon was a Nambu M57A semi-automatic pistol, and I was able to trace its origins to a deceased officer that died in the line of duty several years prior. As I said, there is no paper-trail on this, but I have recently identified that the quartermaster on duty at that time is now a Chief Inspector. Quite the meteoric rise in just a few years, wouldn’t you say?”
Akechi continued on like that, never waiting for answers to his rhetorical questions as he made his way down a list of names that Sojiro only recognised at times, whether as colleagues he used to work with or people mentioned on the news as victims of a mental shutdown or psychotic break. Sojiro tried to keep up, listening with focus as he tried to commit the list to memory as well, but with each name Akechi listed, the only thing that stood out to him was how small Akechi’s shoulders seemed to become in turn, buckling under the weight of the sins he carried.
It was never just Shido’s own enemies that he had to pursue, Akechi explained, but that his own skills functioned as a bargaining chip in Shido’s pursuit of power. Several names and clients - a word that Akechi spat out with disdain - began to come up repeatedly, many of them that Sojiro was profoundly familiar with for other reasons. Cabinet ministers, highly ranked civil servants and businessmen alike featured prominently, and when their names started becoming targets on Shido’s list as well, Sojiro was not particularly surprised. This was why Akechi was here after all; someone as sharp as him would have no doubt realised that his time was likely running out as well, another loose end in Shido’s ascension to power.
“And of course, finally, Amamiya Ren, as we all know. I have already explained the process by which my betrayal worked, so I don’t see any more reason to go into it. My next section details crimes that Shido had undertaken for which I had no involvement with, but was able to uncover over the last few years-”
“But what was the point?” Sojiro interrupted, frowning at Akechi. The features on his face twitched for a moment, like he wanted to scowl, but it eventually settled for a reluctant smile.
“As I said before, Sakura-san, my intention was revenge against my father,” Akechi explained slowly, but Sojiro was shaking his head again.
“I got that far,” Sojiro said, “what I’m asking is this. What was the point of, uh, targeting Ren? You already knew he - and the rest of these kids - had the same powers as you. Why betray him?”
Akechi blinked, a frown forming on his face. “I don’t understand your question.”
“Well, I mean.” Sojiro rubbed the back of his head, almost embarrassed to ask so pointedly. But he knew Ren wondered too, so obvious in his despondency ever since his return, evident in the hesitant way he asked whether Akechi ever showed up to Leblanc while he was detained, the same question on his lips every time he came back after a day outside. “Didn’t you love him?”
For the first time that night, Akechi was stunned into silence, staring at Sojiro with wide eyes as his jaw dropped open, once, twice, spluttering as he struggled to cough out something coherent. “I - sorry - what?”
“Didn’t you love him?” Sojiro repeated, “Instead of pretending to work with him for Shido’s sake, why not do it for real and betray Shido instead? Wouldn’t that be the easier solution?”
Akechi stared at him for another long moment more, eyes still wide. Shit, did the kid himself not realise?
“Look,” Sojiro said, “I’m old but not blind. You come by all the time to sit here and hang out with a working barista with your homework, you go out on dates at the aquarium and god knows what else, and when I have to listen to the two of you talk I feel embarrassed. Or was it all an act, because, kid, that’s one hell of a show you put on.”
Akechi flinched, looking as if Sojiro had just punched him in the face.
“I-” Akechi started, his voice hoarse as he turned away to stare at his cup of coffee. It had to be cold by now - no steam rose from it - but its presence seemed to provide Akechi with some kind of grounding comfort anyway, “my personal feelings on this matter are irrelevant.”
Sojiro paused, waiting for Akechi to continue. But he didn’t, so Sojiro spoke again instead. “Was it worth it? To choose revenge over love?”
Silence continued to stagnate between them, and Sojiro found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Akechi.
“My personal feelings on this matter are irrelevant. Everything that I had done, everything I will do, I cannot turn away from it. I’ve spent too much time and effort and come so far, my revenge has been years in the making and I refuse to let it all come crumbling down because of a single, stupid moment of weakness, because I am not some fucking worthless soft-hearted idiot boy!” Akechi snarled, slamming a fist on the countertop. The cups clattered noisily from the impact, and Akechi exhaled heavily, deeply, as if to regain control over himself.
For a moment, no one said anything. When he looked over to Futaba, he saw that she was frowning, pensive as she gripped the edge of the table.
“Sunk cost fallacy.” Niijima said suddenly, mostly to herself. Sojiro blinked - she had been so quiet that he had nearly forgotten she was there, but of course she wasn't. She had been listening intently after all, weighing each careful word from Akechi’s mouth on some invisible scale.
“Excuse me?” Akechi blinked, sounding incredulous.
“Sunk cost fallacy,” Niijima repeated, this time to the room at large, even though her eyes never quite strayed from Akechi’s direction. “Sorry, it's when someone refuses to abandon their course of action because they've invested too much into it, even when it would have been more beneficial for them to change course. It's quite common, of course, such as with young men who fall into the yakuza after one bad life choice or even professionals like bank traders that continue investing money into a losing endeavour.”
There's a stilted silence for a moment, and Akechi gaped openly at Niijima before his face twisted into an ugly sneer. “I know what it means,” he snapped waspishly, “are you accusing me of such trivial, insipid foolishness?”
Perhaps it's testament to their long working relationship, but Niijima barely seemed to flinch. “It seems fitting, doesn't it?”
“Maybe.” Akechi said eventually, sounding thoroughly broken and exhausted, “in retrospect, maybe it was all vanity, seeking to triumph over Shido like that. Really, maybe the only revenge I should have taken was to shoot him in the head when he handed me a gun that day. I was only 16 back then, and with a gun that shouldn’t have been there in the first place, it would have been much easier for the prosecution to write it off as an accident, back when he didn’t have the influence over the courts like he does today. Or perhaps, like you said, I would have simply stumbled down another course of no return. Is there really a point to thinking about this?”
“That sounds like a tiring way to live.” Sojiro remarked, and Akechi laughed, tired and dry.
“He’s said that to me before, you know?” Akechi seemed to tremble for the slightest of moments, and it took Sojiro a moment to realise Akechi was talking about Ren, “I lied to him, of course. Or perhaps I didn’t, because I’ve never really taken the time to think about it. In any case, my mind is made up, and there is nothing to be gained from considering what-ifs and maybes. Please let me continue my will - this next section is very important, even if not as long as the previous. If Shido is to be prosecuted, then it will likely be on one of these charges.”
Sojiro exchanged a look with Niijima, and even though the sharp attentiveness never left her eyes, there was evident regret and sorrow behind them. He wondered if Niijima felt the same, frustratingly helpless in the face of the information presented to them right now. He wondered if Niijima saw Akechi as an equal, a fellow colleague like the rest of Akechi’s associates, or as a younger brother of some sorts, a kind of kinship latent there. Wasn’t the younger Niijima the same age as Akechi, with Ren and Futaba only one or two years younger respectively? He wondered which one was better, and which one was worse. Which one Akechi would hate more.
“Continue, if you please.” Niijima said eventually, returning her attention to Akechi, so Sojiro did as well after another quick glance to check on Futaba.
Akechi continued, his voice hoarser this time as he described the activities he suspected Shido of, each one in painstaking detail as he explained motive, collaborators, instance. Offences of blackmail, embezzlement and fraud, extortion and association with organised crime continued, but Sojiro realised Akechi was right about one thing. It really was not quite as long a list that Shido had instructed Akechi on, and it struck him then just how much of Shido’s rise was contingent on Akechi’s help. The Shido that Sojiro remembered was nothing more than a minor legislator, a back-bencher of no real significance despite his cruelty and ambition.
When Akechi finally stopped speaking, the clock on the wall told Sojiro that it was nearly four in the morning. Covertly, Sojiro slid a glass of water towards him, poured from the same jug that he had used for Futaba. Akechi scrutinised it longingly before giving in, finishing it off in one gulp. Sojiro filled it up a second time, but Akechi shook his head with finality, as if that was all he was willing to accept today.
“And finally, on this day, 3rd December 2014, I declare this instrument to be my final will, made under no constraint or undue influence, and that I recognise freely and voluntarily. Sakura-san, Sae-san, if you will also acknowledge this.”
“I, Niijima Sae, recognise that I have witnessed and affirm the above as said by the Testator, Akechi Goro.” Niijima said, professional as always.
Sojiro echoed her words, ignoring the weight on his tongue.
“Excellent. I believe that concludes my business here.” Akechi said, sliding out of his seat and picking up his briefcase once again, “thank you for your hospitality, Sakura-san, and you, Sae-san, for accommodating me. I shall take my leave.”
“What now?” Sojiro asked, and Akechi raised a brief eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” Akechi brushed invisible dust from the front of his blazer, smoothing out a wrinkle that Sojiro couldn’t see, “Sakura-san, everything that I have told you can only be acted upon in the event of my untimely death. Prior to that, you should treat tonight as if it never happened. My will, verbal and articulated like that, isn’t technically legally binding, but you seem like the honourable sort, so I hope you will keep your word.”
“What, that’s it?”
“Yes, that is it,” Akechi said smoothly, “I shall not keep you. Let’s not associate with one another anymore than we need to, and while regretful I believe I will not see any of you again. Goodbye.”
The bell to Leblanc rang for a fourth time that night, cold winter wind rushing in as Akechi stepped out. The emptiness that he left behind felt hollow, like Akechi was better off as a fixture of Leblanc than not.
“Well,” to Sojiro’s surprise, it was Futaba that spoke first, “Crow said there was no paper trail, but there’s definitely going to be some kind of digital footprint left behind in deleted emails and files. Time for me to get cracking! Hey Sojiro, make sure you get me that limited edition yakisoba, I want a whole carton, got it!? I’m going to be busy for days, time to board that late night train!”
“I’ll help,” Niijima said, “you need to know what to look out for, right? The origin of our evidence will be disputed, but as long as we can paint a complete picture, I should be able to make a strong case for it.”
Futaba gave her a wide-eyed look, mumbling quietly. “Oh, er, yeah, okay.”
And then she darted out, leaving Niijima frowning in confusion.
“Come back tomorrow,” Sojiro suggested instead, “she needs time to warm up to someone new anyway.”
“Yes, I understand. Perhaps Makoto might be able to help as well.” Niijima inclined her head, “I’ll take my leave for now. The will may not be legally binding, but I refuse to sit on my hands. As for him…”
Niijima was looking up at the ceiling, and Sojiro understood. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything too rash.”
“Of course. You know,” Niijima shook her head, staring at the seat where Akechi was just moments ago, “I’ve never really felt any inclination toward violence before, but for the first time in my life, I understood what it was like to really, really want to punch someone.”
Sojiro laughed, “Shido, or the kid?”
Niijima smiled wryly, “I’ll see you in the afternoon, Sakura-san. I’ll be by with Makoto after class is over.”
“And if word has already spread and the student council president winds up skipping school, then Leblanc will be open for breakfast.”
Niijima nodded, amused, before she took her leave as well. Sojiro waited until the bell’s chime settled to a silence before turning towards the staircase. The messy mop of hair was barely hidden, already in sight. Sojiro hoped he wasn’t being that careless just now.
“Well,” Sojiro called out, “what are you going to do?”
Ren emerged from the stairwell unsteadily, his arms holding tightly on to Morgana who was in the middle of meowing something at Ren. The cat had evidently returned to him sometime tonight, and Sojiro was glad that he had some company, at least, while Akechi was here. He was already dressed too, an odd sight for a boy that rarely woke up before noon. Sojiro opted to not point that out, or the fact that Ren’s eyes were so obviously swollen and red.
“I’m going to punch him,” Ren whispered, voice hoarse and dry, “and then I’m going to change his mind.”
“Can’t ever keep your nose out of anyone’s business, huh?” Sojiro said, feeling fond pride bubble up inside him, “not that I didn’t expect this. Well, if anyone could do it, it’ll be you. The trains aren’t running yet, so I’ll drive. Come on.”
Ren nodded, running out the cafe with Sojiro following closely behind.
The bell rang for the last time that night, but for now, the chime sounded hopeful.