Archive of Our Own ^beta

Goro woke up in a bed. 

Not a futon, or a couch. A bed. With a mattress. And a frame.

He sat up. Light was streaming in from the window. The clothes he was wearing weren't his. 

He felt sick.

His first thought was that he'd been sold off, somehow. He listened with his entire body, taut as a guitar string. He didn't breathe.

There was no noise. No sound of another person. No breathing or footsteps or clatter in the bathroom.

There was a phone next to him, peeking out from under the pillow. His heart thrummed in his chest as he snatched it up, scrambling to…

To… what, call the police? What would they care if an unwanted child was kidnapped? You couldn't steal something that didn't have a place it belonged.

The phone lit up as he grabbed it. 

He stopped when he saw the date onscreen.

November? Wasn't it August?

He swiped to open it but was stopped by the passcode. 

He listened for a while longer, before slowly, slowly easing out of the bed. 

He set one foot down, staring at the door all the while. 

No sound came from the plush carpet. He exhaled. 

The second foot followed, and then he eased off the bed, slowly so it wouldn't creak. 

One step in front of the other, a sour taste in the back of his throat.

He was good at quiet. But not knowing where he was, and his phone nowhere to be found, was throwing him.

The closet door creaked as he opened it—he flinched, full-body, and stayed there, not breathing, for what felt like hours. 

Nobody came.

Maybe there was no one to hear him…?

The closet only held clothing. It looked expensive, most of it. There was a uniform for a highschool he would never in a million years afford. In contrast, there was a black hoodie hanging in the back, and some rattier clothing in the drawers… he stopped.

That was his shirt. The one that was almost too small for him, with the faded sports logo on the back. It was secondhand, as was everything. 

He found more, as he dug around. Actually, most of this was his. Anything worn and old and ill-fitting was familiar. There were stains and holes he didn't recognize.

Oh, he thought. This is that other world.

His shoulders dropped as some of the tension left his body. If this was that other world, then…

He stood, and took his pose. "LOKI," he called.

…

"Loki?" 

…

Fuck, fuck, what the fuck?

"Robin Hood!"

Nothing.

"Where are you?" He whispered. He couldn't feel them, the way they were when he was there. They hovered over his shoulders, as much a part of him as his arm or leg.

They were there, the little spark of feeling in the back of his mind, that rightness, but they weren't accessible.

He didn't understand. He needed to know more.

If no one had come when he shouted, he was probably fine to look around, but he crept along by habit. 

There was a desk with piles of schoolwork and supplies on it. He saw, with creeping dread, that they were all signed with his name, in his own painfully-practiced handwriting. The work was beyond his grade level.

Amnesia, perhaps. Or an alternate timeline. He laughed to himself. Why not. 

He didn't notice any pain he would associate with an accident that would induce amnesia, but what did he know?

There was a suitcase under the desk with an A on it. 

Was that… his? A for Akechi? It was a little embarrassing to be so… obvious. 

He opened it, and found more papers. Several notebooks, a laptop, folders labeled with case numbers—when he went through those, he found what looked like notes on a criminal investigation. 

Was he a detective? In highschool? Well, there was precedent for that. 

Sill, he couldn't really make sense of any of the documents. He shut it, and put it back.

The rest of the apartment looked like it came out of a furniture catalog. One bedroom, one bathroom, one living room with kitchenette.

It all seemed fashionable and modern except for the disorganized mess that covered every available surface. A dizzying stack of envelopes, junk mail, and catalogues on the countertops—coffee cans and old takeout boxes on the table in front of the TV. 

There was a bouquet of flowers in the trash. Had those been for him? No message was attached.

The mail was all addressed to Goro Akechi. 

The fridge was empty except for a box of Chinese leftovers and a single energy drink.

There was a flat screen television which he managed to turn on, after checking every corner of the house for other people.

It was the morning news. He stared at the date blankly. 

November 5th, 2017.

Just as his phone had said.

Not an alternate timeline, then. The future. (Maybe in an alternate timeline, still.

If that wasn't enough, he was startled by his own face appearing on screen. 

A pre-recorded interview with the second-coming of the detective prince. 

The boy on screen looked like him, for the most part. He had his eyes and his hair and his name—but no dark circles, or freckles, or imperfections at all. 

The way he smiled, laughed, told jokes to the hosts… that was him? 

He imitated the expression of the boy on the screen, and his face pulled unnaturally. 

He had filled out some, too. He didn't look like someone who didn't know where their next meal was coming from, empty fridge aside.

He was suddenly, horrifically, jealous of the other boy.

Where on earth did he get this money? How was he living independently, in an apartment he (?) paid for? How could he smile like that, and be loved and adored by the audience, idolized and cooed over?

Who the fuck did he think he was???

Maybe it was all a part of his plan. It wasn't like he'd ironed out the details yet—all he knew was he would make that bastard regret being born. Perhaps status was necessary to accomplish that.

If he could unlock this damn phone—

The screen was filled with chat notifications. He couldn't read them, all being marked private. 

So annoying.

He did find some potato sticks in the kitchenette cabinets, and munched on them willfully while watching himself on TV. They were technically his, anyway.

The phone started buzzing, startling him. The contact "Ren Amamiya" was calling him.

This could be his chance to figure out what was going on. Steeling himself, he accepted the call.

"He—ahem, hello?"

There was a slight pause. He had fucked up already.

"Akechi?"

"This is him?"

"Where are you?"

Ah. 

"Am I late…?"

"Yeah."

Late for what? A group project? An investigation? A date???

"...oh…" 

"...if you aren't feeling well—"

He pounced on the excuse. "Yes, I think I'm sick. I've been asleep all morning, I haven't even had a chance to read your messages."

Another pause. He was starting to dislike this Amamiya and his predilection toward long silences.

"That's fine. We can just infiltrate the palace without you for today."

Infiltrate… this really was police work. It sounded important. Palace could be a code word, or perhaps the name of some venue...

"I think that will have to suffice."

"Really." Ren said flatly.

He had a feeling he was losing him. "I'm sorry. I know this is sudden, perhaps you can find a substitute…?"

Silence. Fuck, he was mad. Was he about to get fired?

"I'm coming over."

He felt an immediate, instinctive panic at the idea of someone entering the apartment. Despite only being aware of it for an hour, it was his, and there were so few things that met that criteria. He didn't want to ruin his future self's life, either. 

"Wait!!" His voice cracked. He swallowed, ears burning. "You don't need to do that. I'll come meet you… uh, where are you right now?"

"We're already at the courthouse."

"Right. Yes. The courthouse." Fuck, he needed to get ready. "I'll be there momentarily. Apologies for the inconvenience."

—

The phone beeped to signal the end of the call. Ren stared at it.

Ryuji scratched the back of his neck. "Is he coming or what?" 

"...Futaba, can you track his location?"

"On it, boss." She tapped a couple buttons, then pushed her glasses up. "Uh, he's still in his apartment, I think."

"Ren?" Makoto had a stony expression.

"He was acting weird. His voice was different."

She crossed her arms. "Should we expect trouble?"

"Dunno. I don't think he's up to anything, but…"

"If he's sick, shouldn't he just stay home?" Ann asked.

He shrugged. He spun his phone, tossing it up and catching it over and over mindlessly.

Ren had expected Akechi to just tell him off when he made the comment about going on without him, but he hadn't reacted at all. Even suggested a substitute. Did he even understand what they were talking about?

Maybe he would just pass out again and sleep off his fever.

"Oh, he's out."

Or maybe not.

Haru peered over her shoulder. "Isn't that the opposite direction? …oh, he turned around."

The fever theory was gaining ground.

When he spotted Akechi, he wasn't looking at them. He usually came straight to them like a homing missile, but this time, he sidled up to the group, eyes darting around like he wasn't sure of where he was supposed to be.

Rather than draw unnecessary attention by calling his name, he caught him by the shoulder. He tensed and jumped backward, eyes wide and face pale.

They stared at each other.

"Your clothes are wrinkled," Ren said.

Akechi relaxed a little. 

"Ama-miya…" he said, drawing the sound out extra long. 

"Did you get a haircut?" Yusuke asked. 

"Dude, you look awful," Ryuji said, popping up over his shoulder. 

Akechi shrank into himself, shoulders up to his ears, then forced jerkily back down. "I'm just a little under the weather. I won't let it be burdensome."

That didn't explain the fact that, as could be seen now he was standing with his back painfully straight, Akechi had lost the few centimeters which gave him an advantage on Ren.

He shot Futaba a look. She nodded and hit the nav.

The others reacted in surprise as they were suddenly flung into the metaverse. Akechi threw his arms wide, as if attempting to balance. His costume manifested in flames licking over his clothes, turning him into—something.

The group stared at Crow's new outfit in silence. 

Even Skull kept his mouth firmly shut, eyes darting back and forth between him and the other thieves. 

"Is this… a status effect?" Queen asked. The telltale sound of Oracle's keyboard rattled through his mind. 

"Uhhhhhh maybe?? Something's wrong." A pause. "Okay, something's very wrong. This isn't Akechi."

The boy swung around to look at Oracle's persona. The others' gaped.

"It's not?" Panther asked. She stepped in to get a closer look. The others followed suit, surrounding him.

"I—I am!" He protested.

"...okay, the biometrics look similar enough but his persona isn't Robin Hood." 

"Wha—yes it is! Robin Hood!" 

As promised, Robin Hood manifested behind him in a burst of light.

"...it changed. It was definitely something else."

Crow (?) crossed his arms. "Of course it did. I was using Loki before."

The silence radiated. The sound of slot machines and coins poured in from the casino behind them.

"Is it forget?" Queen asked solemnly. "Or maybe confuse?"

"It doesn't look like either of those… maybe a special status effect? Something limited to the palace?"

It was strange, seeing Crow so reactive. His talons were digging into his sleeves, trembling slightly. His eyes were wide under the helmet.

"Back off a little. You're freaking him out."

They pulled back, sheepish and anxious respectively. Crow didn't quite relax, but he didn't get worse either.

"We're infiltrating the… palace, right? We just need to go in and look around? You don't need to worry about my… about whatever it is."

"Crow." 

He didn't react. He could see his eyes through the helmet darting around, slightly narrowed in thought.

"Akechi," Ren amended. His head whipped forward immediately. 

Yeah, that's suspicious.

"How old are you?" 

His posture tightened.

It was easier to tell, in this outfit, how skinny he was, how little muscle he had, comparatively.

And there were only so many ways someone could get shorter.

"That's… that's a stupid question."

"Then you should have no problem answering it."

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Oracle as she caught on, and the following clatter of keys.

"Eighteen. I'm eighteen years old," he said, just a little too fast. "I don't believe my age should be an issue, seeing as you're all teenagers yourselves."

"You needn't lie," Fox said, catching on as well. "We aren't going to hurt you."

"Wait, what's going on?" Skull asked, leaning over to Queen. "Wait, what?"

"He's at least three years younger," Oracle said.

The group held their breath all at once. Crow trembled.

There was a flurry of movement—and a sharp, sudden pain as Crow's knee slammed into his crotch, making him collapse to one knee, briefly blacking out. His teeth clacked together, biting his tongue. 

When his vision came back, Crow was gone, and the others were all shouting at once.

"He's quite agile," Fox said. He was holding his jaw, where a red mark was forming.

"That little shit!" Skull cursed.

"He ran into the palace!" Oracle cried. "He's too underleveled, they're gonna totally wreck him!"

Joker got back to his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists. Ow. "Oracle, can you lead us to his location?"

"Um, yeah, I think so. But you've gotta move fast."

Without a second thought, he sprinted off toward the casino. The others rushed after him. Oracle shouted directions at them as they ran down the halls.

"He stopped! …wait, I think he's in the safe room?"

Joker tried the doorknob. It wouldn't budge.

"He locked it?" Queen said.

He slammed his fist into the door. "Akechi," he called. "Open up."

No response.

"It's not safe here, we have to go."

"Your level is way too low! You'll get eaten alive!"

"We just want to help," Queen said in a sorrowful tone, hand gently placed against the door.

"I don't know that," Crow said. "How am I supposed to trust you? How am I supposed to trust anything?" His voice went high and squeaky.

"You can trust me," Joker said.

"Give me one good reason." 

"We're friends."

That quieted him for a second. He scoffed, but it was so high it sounded more like a squeak. "You could just be saying that."

He gave the others a meaningful look, and they backed up, albeit reluctantly. He stood right up to the door, voice lowered. 

"You told me about your mother."

"..."

"We went to a bathhouse together, and you said it reminded you of when you were younger."

"I did?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't know about Loki," he said accusatively, but his voice was wavering. 

"I didn't. But I'd like to, if you want to show me."

There was the sound of furniture scraping the floor, squeaks and thumps.

Finally, the door opened.

Crow's face popped out.

"You're the Phantom Thieves, aren't you?"

Not what he expected, but. "Yeah." 

"I saw it on TV," he explained without being asked. The spark of victory in his eyes was unfortunately very endearing. "I did an interview about it. Or… the other Akechi did."

"Can we come in?" Queen said, all in a rush. "It's not safe out here." She kept shooting looks over her shoulder at the shadows crawling the hallways.

Begrudgingly, Crow pulled the door open, and they piled in.

All the furniture in the room had been dragged to the door. Skull whistled. 

"You barricaded yourself in?" Oracle asked. 

"Am I a Phantom Thief?" Crow interrupted. He was standing next to the door, ready to leave at any moment.

The others froze up, and he sighed, as if it confirmed his suspicions.

"You are! But… only temporarily." Panther said, putting her fingers together.

"It's a deal, or something? Is it related to the real killer? I clear your name and you help me catch them?"

Joker nodded. "You catch on fast. You're helping us with this job because we have a mutual interest in it, and afterwards, we're supposed to retire."

"But the murder isn't related?" 

"You're the only one who doesn't think we did it," Noir said, quiet but with conviction.

"Should we really be talking about all this?" Queen asked. "It isn't… necessary, is it?"

The room was dense with unspoken tension, and Crow was not immune to it. Like an animal with his fur sticking up from ambient electricity.

"Is our deal off now?" Crow asked stiffly.  "Clearly, I was hiding things from you. And as the detective on your case, I can only imagine our relationship is a precarious one."

They shared worried glances. 

"Nah," Joker said. Queen raised her eyebrows at him. His lips quirked. "We'll just have to renegotiate the terms."

Skull grumbled behind him, but he ignored it.

Crow pinned him with his gaze. It wasn't as polished as in his older self, but there was still something eerie about those round, dark eyes. 

"Do you swear?"

He put a hand over his heart. "I swear."

"...Fine."

—

"Oh, no way. I can totally see it now."

Goro glared at her. The blonde woman kept staring regardless.

They had decided to leave the "palace" for now. They were going back to their hideout to regroup. 

They traded his blazer for Amamiya's jacket, to make it less obvious who he was. It was also too big on him, but he didn't mind it that much. 

"...are you wearing makeup?" She said, suddenly. 

"Yes," he said, stubbornly looking away.

"I think you used the wrong shade."

He wished for a swift and painless death.

"I was in a hurry," he mumbled. "I thought it would look more obvious if I didn't." There was a pile on the bathroom counter. His face was so smooth on the TV, he thought…

"Is this your first time applying it?"

"So what?" He snapped. She blinked at him.

"It's just really even. I know I had a hard time with that when I started, but yours looks perfect. Even if it's the wrong shade."

"Oh. Well." He looked at the train car floor. His neck felt hot. "Thank you."

"Of course!" She said, bubbling with enthusiasm. "I'm Ann, by the way."

He stared at her. "...Is that alright? You're my superior, aren't you?"

She flapped her hand. "I mean, only technically. Everybody calls me by my first name, it would be weird if you didn't."

"You're really her senpai. It's just the metaverse that's messed stuff up," the short girl said.

"Fine, then. ….Ann." 

Ann's face lit up. It made his stomach flip.

"Where are we going, anyway?" He asked.

"Here," Amamiya said, as the train came to a stop.

—

Once they were in the attic (which was a bedroom, which they had to pass through a café to get to??), they all went around and shared their names. 

Haru Okumura in particular and Makoto Nijima gave him pause. Sae Nijima was a name that came up repeatedly in his documents—and Okumura he already knew from the interview.

"So what're we going to do?" Sakamoto said. "Is he stuck like that forever now or?"

"It looks like a modified status ailment, like forget… or mousification," Sakura said, tapping away at her laptop. "It's weird that it lasted outside wherever he got it, but that's my best guess. Maybe he got it in a palace we don't know about?"

"What's the first thing you remember?" Ren asked. 

"I woke up in an unfamiliar apartment. When I went to sleep last night, everything was normal."

"Nothing suspicious?" 

"Not in the apartment or last night."

Kitagawa hummed. "And it's your own apartment?"

"As far as I know," he said, at the same time Sakura said, "yeah."

A chill went down his back. The girl froze in place. "How do you know that?"

"Uh," she said.

Nijima put her face in her hands. 

"Don't mind me. Migraine," she mumbled.

"How does she know that?" He asked the group.

"Futaba's a hacker," Amamiya said. 

"Cracker," she grumbled.

He turned, betrayed, toward the man. He put his hands up.

"She's kind of a weirdo, so she likes to keep tabs on her teammates. She probably has access to the GPS on your phone."

There was an offended gasp at weirdo, though he thought she really had no right to offense.

"She often berates me for my online purchases," Kitagawa said, nodding. "Yet I have good reason to believe she spends quite a lot on rather frivolous things, when I am merely acquiring necessary supplies for my craft."

"At least I can afford train fare, Inari."

He inclined his head. "There, I must rely on the generosity of my friends."

The implication of such poor spending habits was so horrifying it almost distracted him from the fact that his future self was apparently being constantly monitored by a teenage girl.

"Just be glad she's on your side," Amamiya said with a smile, small and shared like a secret. "I promise it's harmless."

On his side…?

That gave him an idea.

"Actually," he said, interrupting the pair's bickering. "Would you be able to unlock my phone for me?"

"Wha-huh?" She said, turning around.

"I don't know the password," he said. He narrowed his eyes. "I wasn't the one that set it, remember? It's the least you can do."

Sakura huffed. "You don't need to threaten me," she grumbled, swiping the phone from his hand. "It's 0406," she said, typing it in as she spoke, then handing it back.

"0406?" His mouth felt dry all of a sudden. 

"Yep," she said.

"...that's my mother's birthday."

"Oh, that's sweet," someone said.

He stared at the device in his hand. He imagined his older self, setting the password, typing it in over and over again. A constant reminder. The face that reflected back in the glass, so much like her own.

He didn't forget. He never forgot. 

It felt like iron shackles clacking into place around his ankles. Don't forget what you are. 

He felt sick, suddenly, that he could ever think of his mother like that, that he could ever feel like that. 

What, had he been happy, with his apartment and his job and his friends? Was he relieved, to have a life that had never been his to live in the first place?

"Actually, are you guys hungry?" Amamiya asked. 

He was grateful for the subject change, though he couldn't tell if he was being pitied or Amamiya was just that clueless.

"Oh, are we having lunch?" Kitagawa asked, perking up.

"Come on, it's only…" Nijima looked at her phone. "Eleven? That's later than I thought."

"Metaverse time is weird," Sakura said.

"And we spent like three billion years waiting for pretty boy—hey!" Sakamoto yelped as Ann smacked him.

"That wasn't his fault," she said.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled.

"...you don't need to defend me," he said. 

"This guy's an idiot, so we need to keep him in line, anyway," the cat said.

…

…

"It talked."

"...did you not notice until now?" 

"I didn't—I was kind of distracted!"

"He was in the metaverse with us, too."

"Well-! Bweh-!" He made a nonsense sound, gesturing in the direction of the cat.

"Morgana is a human that got transformed by the metaverse," Amamiya said.

"You can do that?!"

"Not on purpose," Morgana chimed in. "I don't really remember how."

"Actually… maybe it's similar to Akechi here. If he got made younger, maybe you got made… cat-ier."

"I guess…" it said, looking somber all of a sudden. 

What the fuck. What the Fuck.

"We should have lunch," Amamiya announced.

—

When Sojiro saw them all flooding back into the café, he only sighed and threw an apron in Ren's direction. 

"Take care of your friends yourself," he said. 

"Thanks."

He huffed a little and went back to his crossword, like Ren couldn't see the edge of his mouth curling up. 

The others had gone straight into rowdy conversation, apparently choosing to step around the elephant in the room for now. That was for the best. 

They overran the booths, chatting and arguing like normal. The others gave their orders automatically, but Akechi just sat and stared.

He took the free booth closest to the door. His gaze kept drawing back to Sojiro, even as the others made attempts to include him in the conversation.

He got his curry first, because Ren didn't trust him to have eaten. And he looked so scrawny. 

Even when he passed out the rest, though, Akechi was staring with deep suspicion at his curry. 

"Hey-"

He yanked the bowl closer to him so aggressively it stained his shirt.

A few moments of terse eye contact.

"...it's not poisoned," Ren said. 

"I know," he snapped. He dug into it, shooting Ren baleful glances. 

A moment later, Ren put a cup of coffee down beside it. He was baffled.

"What is this."

"Coffee." 

Oh, that made him mad. He stared at him flatly.

"Your usual order," Ren said. 

His mouth crunched up like crinkled paper. "Do I come here often?" Akechi asked.

"When you can."

"Your father doesn't have a problem with this?"

He stifled a laugh. He didn't bother correcting him.

"If anything, he thinks you're a good influence."

His eyes went wide—but he seemed to remember something, and they went dull and flat again.

Akechi blew on the surface of his coffee, then took a hesitant sip. Then another. Then another.

"Do you like it?"

Akechi glared as if he had been deeply insulted. Moody. Okay.

"Man, I hate that guy," Ryuji said behind them.

"I didn't know you followed politics," Yusuke said.

"He's like, always bashing us! And I don't like his shitty sunglasses."

Akechi whipped around in his seat. His arm turned over the cup and spilled coffee impressively on the table.

"Woah!" Ryuji jumped out of his seat. "You okay there, dude?"

Akechi was staring at the TV above the bar. "That's—"

An interview with prime minister candidate Masayoshi Shido was playing. 

When he saw Akechi's hands shaking, he thought to reassure him, but one look at his face told him everything he needed to know.

Akechi was furious.

"What's going on over there?" Sojiro asked, voice raised. 

The fury dampened. He looked more like a deer caught in headlights than the vengeful spirit he had moments before. He looked at the spill on the table, then quickly to Ren—then, he was scrambling past him and out the door.

"Oh, dear."

"Again?" Makoto's worried face popped up over the crowd. 

"What happened?" Sojiro repeated, looking at Ren this time. He wasn't angry, just confused and worried. Are there any fires I need to put out, basically. 

But someone who didn't know him wouldn't know any better. All they saw was a man with a dark expression and a deep, gravelly voice.

"He's having a weird day," he said. 

Sojiro's expression tightened. "You should go check on him."

Ren nodded, already untying his apron. He balled it up and threw it at Futaba. 

"Blagh!" 

"Should we…?" Makoto started. 

"Let me try first."

Makoto's face creased. "...okay."

They settled nervously back down. 

He went out into the street.

It was mid-day, so there weren't any problems with visibility. His biggest concern was how far Akechi could have gone. 

He wasn't in Leblanc's immediate vicinity. He asked the second-hand shopkeeper and he hadn't seen anything. 

He had one idea, but he wasn't sure it would be that easy…

—

Goro fucked up.

For probably the millionth time today, because he couldn't be trusted to do a single damn thing correctly. 

There was no way Amamiya would just be let off the hook for making such a mess, but instead of taking the blame he threw his friend to the tender mercies of a man who was clearly only tolerating him. At the exact same time, he potentially ruined his reputation with an adult who had been fooled by his mask.

If Ren was scolded or beaten, if he lost his home, it would be entirely his fault.

He was ruining everything. His future self couldn't have planned this. If he was here for a reason, then he had thoroughly missed it.

He didn't want to see how Ren reacted to his betrayal, but there was the small problem of having nowhere to go. Goro didn't know this area. His mind was spinning with options he couldn't know the consequences of—if he could just think for one goddamn second…

He found somewhere dark and safe and made himself as small as possible in it, then bit his hand until the fog cleared.

"I see you found the bathhouse."

Shit. 

He tried clumsily to get on his feet and smacked his head into the wall, sending him hissing back into a crouch.

"I'm not going to hurt you." 

Ren was standing a good distance away from him. He didn't look any worse for wear but Goro knew exactly how easy it could be to hide your pain. 

He stepped closer, then crouched on the floor in front of where Goro was wedged between the wall and a washing machine. He stared at him with eyes that gave nothing away. It made him feel ten years old. His face was hot.

"Go away!" He snapped, baring his teeth. 

Ren stood, and Goro was confronted with the horrible possibility that he might actually leave. His voice caught in his throat.

Instead, he just leaned back against the wall, and stared.

"What? What's your problem?! I told you to fuck off already!" His lungs ached. He needed to throw up. He needed to be anywhere else.

"That politician upset you."

That startled him so badly he forgot to be angry. 

"You noticed…?" Of course he did. Goro freaked out in front of everyone. 

Oh God, they all saw.

"But, but you don't know why…?" He hazarded.

He shook his head.

It made sense that future Goro, with his spotless reputation and job and shiny smile, kept this close to his chest. Even if he told Ren about his mother, that didn't mean he had to know about his mission. 

"You hate him," Ren said. 

Goro blinked. Ren's face remained blank. 

"Yes."

Ren nodded. A comfortable warmth bloomed in his chest. Ren wasn't scared of his hate, or disappointed. He just accepted it.

"I hate him," he said, encouraged. "He's the absolute scum of the earth. Every day, all I can think about is how I'd do anything to make him suffer like—" 

He shut his mouth with a click.

"...your mother?" Ren finished for him. 

He hadn't meant to tell that. But Ren understood. Something about him made him feel like a bundle of yarn being pulled into one long strand.

"You already know, then." 

Ren cast his eyes away, unassuming. "I think so."

"He's the man that killed my mother," he growled. "And for that, he has to pay."

Ren hummed, but his expression was dark. In his eyes, there was just a flicker of that same rage that manifested Loki. It made his heart pound.

He really did understand.

"I don't know if you'll still be interested when the effect wears off, but we can change his heart."

Right, the changes of heart. That was mentioned in the interview. Usually, the Phantom Thieves didn't kill anybody. They just made them confess their sins. 

"...our deal was related to a change of heart, right? With the Casino."

"Yeah. You asked us to help change your coworker's heart."

It was all coming together. He nodded decisively. "I believe that was my intention already, then. I was going to do it myself after I learned your method."

When he learned of the changes of heart, it sounded too good to be true. A way to ruin Shido so thoroughly he couldn't crawl out of any grave he was buried in. The interview even mentioned one of the victims was still in the hospital from stress-induced illness months later.

Of course, he'd want to do it himself. He couldn't simply let others take his revenge for him—and a group without personal connection wouldn't care about waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

Since he had put all the trust between them in jeopardy, though, it was probably for the better that Ren at least knew his intentions were good. 

Apparently that hadn't been enough to placate him, though. His expression remained blank, not breaking in relief or understanding. He only reflected Goro back at himself in his cold grey eyes.

"Maybe. It seems like there was more going on than we knew."

—

He managed to convince Akechi to come back. He obviously didn't trust Sojiro, but repeated promises that everything was fine were enough for him to reluctantly follow Ren inside. 

The spill had been cleaned up as if nothing had ever happened. Haru was carrying a fresh pot of coffee. She smiled warmly when she saw them.

"Hello, Akechi-kun," she said brightly. "Would you like a refill?"

Akechi stared in open confusion. After a beat, he shuffled into his seat and mumbled an affirmative.

Sojiro caught his eye from the bar and he gave a thumbs up. He looked, if possible, even more worried, but gave him a short nod anyway. 

He looked to Futaba. She picked up her phone, and his pocket buzzed.

[Fubaba: we told him that kechi is confused after he got hit but also that its NOT a concussion and he is Unconvinced.

Fubaba: Ann tried to explain the forget effect and he looked at her like she had three heads so that was a mission: fail

Fubaba: wbu 

Ren: 👍]

Ren's apron came flying at his face. He caught it effortlessly.

Akechi was delicately sipping his coffee again.

"You still don't have any idea about the length of the effect, right, Futaba?" Mona said, bringing them back to business. All the plates had been cleared away, and the group seemed restless.

Futaba shook her head. She was set up with her laptop again. 

"It doesn't look like anything we've seen before. And we don't know what Akechi was doing to trigger it, so…"

"So he could be stuck like this, like, forever?" Ryuji butted in. 

"That seems unlikely," Makoto hemmed. 

"Perhaps his belongings contain a clue?" Yusuke said.

"Hey, yeah, where's your briefcase?" Ryuji turned around, surprising Akechi. 

"...I left it at my apartment." He glanced quickly at Ren. "The silver one, right?"

"Oh, his apartment, too!" Ann said. "What if there's, like, evidence of a break-in or something?"

"So someone broke in and made him younger?" Makoto seemed doubtful. 

"If it happened in anime, it could happen in real life," Futaba said sagely.

"I question that wisdom," Yusuke added.

Akechi was wound up tight. His arms were crossed around himself. 

"Okay with you, Akechi?" Ren asked. Akechi flinched. 

"Fine. Not like I have any other options," he groused.

"We could wait it out a little longer," Haru said soothingly. "But we don't know what will happen."

"Haru's right. It's totally new territory. What if he explodes?" Futaba said.

"He's not going to explode," Makoto scolded. 

"He could."

"I already said fine," Akechi said, looking even more irritable than he did before.

—

And so Goro was once again corralled onto the train by a group of noisy teenagers. 

They were evidently elated to snoop through his things. Whether that was because of their lack of trust in him, or the cruel nature of humanity, was left to be seen.

"Hey," Sakamoto said in a whisper that utterly failed to be discrete, leaning toward him. "Where do you keep your stuff?"

He wrinkled his nose. "My what?"

"Like…" he said, quieter (not nearly enough). "If you've got like, y'know, porn mags, or something."

"Ryuji!" Taka—Ann gasped. 

"It's more awkward if we find it randomly!" Sakamoto responded, dropping all pretense of privacy. 

"Not everyone is as unscrupulous as you are, Ryuji," Nijima said, looking down her nose at him. 

He shook his head firmly. "No, I don't believe that. Everybody has needs," he insisted. 

"That doesn't mean he has a stash of—erotica—in his home!"

"Yeah, okay," Sakamoto said. 

He turned to Goro again. 

"But like, do you have a stash?"

Worse than this conversation was the realization that he did not know. 

What did an older, more mature version of himself know of worldly pleasures? 

Part of him asserted that, as he was purely driven by his revenge, he wouldn't have time for frivolous things he had little interest in anyway. 

Another part asserted that a lot could happen in three years.

This was awful. A bunch of annoying, vapid teenagers were going to invade his home, and he couldn't do anything about it because he might explode, and he didn't even know if he had obscene material hidden somewhere, just waiting to be revealed in front of a whole crowd of his peers.

Kitagawa cleared his throat. 

"Eros is merely another facet of humanity, though it is fascinating what strong responses it evokes in others. Japanese art and literature has long incorporated elements of the erotic in order to complement other facets, or to study the depth of the theme alone—"

His speech distracted the others from further horrible questions, but it did not change the reality of his situation. 

"Your face is so red," Ren said from his left.

As soon as this train stopped he was killing him and then himself.

"Sorry, Akechi-kun," Okumura said. She was the only one who had managed to get a seat. She had the bag which held their smuggled contraband in her lap. Despite the head poking out, no one seemed to notice or care about the cat. 

"It can be a lot to get used to," she said, as if confiding in him. 

"They get way too rowdy. But when it's serious, they get the job done," the animal preened. 

He was never going to be used to that. 

"They had a great mentor, after all," Okumura said, patting its head. It made a delighted prrp. 

Okumura seemed kind. She was either a liar or destined to be crushed by reality. 

"You're the daughter of Kunikazu Okumura, correct?"

Her eyes widened in a perfect picture of surprise. "Yes, I am."

"How did you come to join this group, then? I imagine you joined before they came under suspicion for your father's death?"

Okumura cast her eyes down, absently scratching the cat's chin. 

"That's right. I actually joined because I wanted them to change his heart." 

She caught his eyes with an unusually steady gaze. 

"He wasn't a good man. He did anything for profit. Including…selling me off to a man he knew wouldn't respect me."

There it was. The selfish core of every human action.

"So it wasn't because of his crimes, after all."

Her eyes hardened. 

"Multiple things can be true. I couldn't let him continue to exploit his workers…but finding out that he didn't care what happened to me after my marriage was what let me finally betray him."

"You would have let him run his company as he pleased so long as he cared about you?"

She tilted her head. "You know, I'm not entirely sure what I would have done. If he was never cruel to me, I may have ignored all criticism of him. If he…" 

She took a quick breath, face twisting. 

"If he still loved me, I might have done anything."

Then, she laughed to herself.

"I was so desperate. He was the only person I had in the whole world."

He hated her.

He hated her he hated her he hated her—

"And now what?" He said.

She looked at him, eyebrows slightly raised.

"You'll inherit all his wealth—his company, too. You're too valuable to throw away. Even if no one would deign to have you, you could sustain yourself without lifting a finger, couldn't you?"

Her lips thinned. Her face went taut and white. 

Good. How dare she, how dare she! 

She was wanted, wasn't she? She was needed, wasn't she? Safe in her little nest in the upper echelons of society. She was so pretty and perfect and rich and respectable. 

What did she know about love, about losing everything?

"Akechi…" Ren said, and no, he couldn't tell him what to do, he needed to let this bitch know exactly what the real world looked like outside her goddamn candy palace—

"We're at our stop."

The group was reshuffled completely in the following jostling. Every point of contact with another human burned. 

They kept checking him, pulling him, pushing him, trying to keep him with them. Once they were spat out into Kichijoji, he stepped away deliberately and kept a distance between him and everyone else. 

"Do you need a break," Ren said.

"No, I don't need a fucking break." Like he was five years old, who the fuck was this asshole anyway??

He turned to his left. "Do you need a break?"

"Let's keep this party train rolling," Sakura said. 

She was holding Ren's hand, which was a new development. 

There was so much he didn't know about the dynamics at play here—but he should have expected at least one sappy teenage romance. It was a law of physics that a certain number of teenagers within sufficient proximity would become immediately disgusting. 

Even someone who seemed intelligent could be victim to it. 

Gross.

"Lead the way," Amamiya said. 

That at least wasn't too painful. He remembered the way he took to get to the train station, so it wasn't difficult to go back. 

"Do you have the key?" Amamiya asked as they came up to his door. 

"I'm not stupid," he grumbled. He had transferred it to one of his pockets when he switched jackets. 

"Oh, nice!" Sakamoto said.

"If you hadn't, this guy could probably pick the lock anyway," the cat said. He shot it a glare.

It took two tries, which was unbearable, but he did get the door open. 

"Pardon the intrusion," Nijima said, nodding her head as she entered the foyer. 

"Woah, fancy TV!" Sakamoto said.

"Don't touch anything! We don't know what might be a clue!" The cat said. 

They tramped through what was likely his only sanctuary in the world, but at that point, there wasn't much to do but watch. 

He dissected the results alongside them, searching for the meaning in every little thing, carving out a picture of the man he was supposed to become.

The bathroom full of makeup and beauty supplies he didn't know what to do with.

The kitchen with nothing but a few frozen meals.

The living room with some trash as the only sign of life.

The desk full of immaculate schoolwork that made Nijima's eyes widen.

The drawers full of old clothes.

He had done this already, gone through this process before, but now he was going over it again, trying to fit all the details in his head and find the story that made sense. 

It didn't tell him anything he didn't already know. He had fooled the world into seeing someone who wasn't a throwaway child. He was handsome and intelligent and good at his job. He apparently went bouldering sometimes, according to the weird-ass shoes he found. 

He still didn't know where Shido fit into this. Was he investigating him? Did he need to be famous for his claims to stick? Where was the evidence? 

Nowhere.

That couldn't be true. Three years and he had nothing on Shido? What happened to approaching him with his services? What happened to ruining him? 

The briefcase only had unrelated casework and a few school assignments. There were some documents on past changes of heart, but nothing substantial according to the thieves. 

They were spread out in the bedroom reading through notebooks and papers, checking every little thing. Sakura had got her hands on the laptop, but seemed displeased with whatever she found. 

Amamiya was being shockingly useless, playing with the briefcase itself instead of any of the potentially meaningful contents. 

He said that, but his own brain was going numb from flipping through this math notebook. Ough. 

"There's a secret compartment," Amamiya said.

He dropped the notebook.

Everyone froze.

The cat rushed up onto his shoulder, tail flicking. "Can you get it open?" 

Amamiya nodded. 

"Please be something important," Nijima prayed. 

"What if it's just more boring shit?" Sakamoto interjected. Then, he brightened "Woah, wait, what if that's where he keeps his—"

There was a click, and a panel fell away. Amamiya had been holding it upside-down, so the contents fell out. 

A pistol landed safely in his lap. 

Silence.

"Oh, shit."

"He shouldn't have that," Nijima said with such authority one would think it was important.

"I don't think you all have the right to judge," he said. A lot of eyes turned toward him at once. His shoulders hitched up. 

"It's not like you aren't breaking the law. If I'm investigating dangerous situations, then a personal weapon for protection is only reasonable."

That's what it was for. Personal protection. He was a detective, there was no telling what could happen. 

Another culprit, he said, TV shiny and completely unrecognizable. 

Psychotic breakdowns, the case files said, just in passing, then, mental shutdowns, two sides of the same coin. 

I didn't, he said, about Loki. Ren didn't know. Because Goro hid it from him.

I'd do anything.

Next to the pistol, a black cylinder. A cylinder Ren picked up and screwed onto the gun.

"Don't play with that!" Nijima hissed.

He swallowed. 

"I wouldn't…"

Okumura's face lost all color. She was staring at the pistol. Her mouth opened and shut, then opened and shut again. 

Ren put it back in the case. He held up a flashdrive, which Sakura snatched. Then, he shut the briefcase and put it to the side. 

The problem was that he would.

Who gave a shit about Tokyo? About Japan? About the entire shitty world that left his mother to rot? All the adults could go to hell. 

But why? 

Amamiya was looking at a journal that hadn't been there before. He recognized it. He snatched it out of his hands.

Back to the beginning. All the notes about Loki and Robin, about the different monsters he saw. That place he went to and all the other names he had tried in the app. 

Loki's ability. The headmaster who suddenly started breaking all the windows in the school. 

The foster mother who kidnapped her ex boyfriend. 

The school nurse who drove her car into a tree. 

I can use this. 

If I impress Shido with this, then I'll be able to get close to him. 

I'll put him on top of the world, and then, and then—

An unknown man who stabbed his secretary.

Another who shot up a grocery store. 

A man who went comatose.

A woman who stumbled into traffic.

A man who died of a heart attack.

At one point, it became a list of names. Pages and pages of names and dates. There was no point in details anymore, broken down into a few extra symbols of code. Presumably, the same sort of thing happened every time. 

It just kept going.

The only reprieve was entries about the phantom thieves, speculation about their abilities, about their members, and then more names.

He looked up. 

The group had moved on from the shock of the pistol. Amamiya and Sakura were huddled around the computer. The others had quietly returned to their own investigations.

"Are you all stupid?"

That got their attention. 

If he had drawn this conclusion from what little evidence he had, then they definitely should have. 

"There's no good reason for a teenager to have a silencer. Put the pieces together! Why are you just—"

Words failed him. He gnashed his teeth. 

"What?" Amamiya was looking at him. Entirely neutral. 

He flailed in rage, unable to gesticulate.

"I'm a serial killer!"

"Hitman is more accurate," Sakura said. 

"That—why are you all so calm about this?"

"We knew already," Nijima said, looking guilty.

"And you're just fine with it?" 

"Uh, obviously not, but we don't wanna die," Sakamoto said. 

Because if he found out, he would kill them.

Amamiya was suddenly at his side, not touching but close. 

"Let's step out for a second."

Now that he knew all this—now that the horrible truth was out in the open, just sitting in front of him—what were they going to do to him?

Those steely eyes that seemed almost comforting before turned his body cold. 

"It's nothing bad," Amamiya said, silver-tongued as he was. His mouth tasted like metal.

Everyone else in the room had turned their eyes away. It was a familiar scene. When someone decided to hurt Goro, the world went blind. They sent him to his execution without a moment's recognition.

—

There was nothing to do but follow him. He sat on the sofa as directed. He tried not to feel too much like he was on his funeral march. 

He would comply for now. Amamiya was older and likely stronger than him, having far more experience with that other world. He didn't know yet what his intentions were. He would have to wait and improvise.

Amamiya went to the kitchen. He returned with a glass of water, which he handed to Goro. 

He only noticed how much he was shaking when his hand made contact with the glass. 

He didn't think he'd been in there long enough to do something to it, and he wanted to get rid of the awful taste in his mouth, so he drank it.

He took a big swallow of it and almost choked. It sloshed uncomfortably in his stomach. He put it down half-empty on the coffee table.

Amamiya was leaning against the wall, not saying anything.

"What do you want from me?" Goro asked.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Ha! You should know better than I do how many victims I've racked up at this point. Is this really…"

His chest tightened, 

"...my destiny…?"

"I don't believe in that," Amamiya said, so sharply it shocked him. "You're in control of your own life."

He recovered enough to snap back. "Easy for you to say. What options does a throw-away child like me even have?" 

He dug his fingers into the leather of the couch. 

"All of this was paid for in blood. There's nothing I can do but hurt."

Amamiya watched him for a moment. He folded his arms. 

"The person Akechi is now made his own decisions. He's hurt a lot of people. But his life isn't over, and he's not out of options yet."

"You don't know that! You don't know that."

His nails started to crack the leather. He found a small tear and picked it until it peeled. 

"Whenever this wears off, and I'm… that person, again, I don't know what he'll do."

"You don't?"

He thought about it. This grown-up Akechi, with all this blood on his hands…

"I had a plan. To use my powers to get close to the man that killed my mother."

"Seems like it worked. That flashdrive was full of evidence."

So that's where it was. He stared at the ground. 

He didn't understand. He didn't know what his next steps were. If he had the evidence, he didn't need the phantom thieves. He had it all plotted out in his head:

I'll convince Shido that I can be of service to him. I'll help him achieve his goals. Then, when I'm indispensable, I'll reveal the truth and send him to pits of hell and he'll know it was me. 

But he hadn't seen the price tag coming. 

This was inevitable, wasn't it? He was just a parasite. He bit and scratched and killed everything he touched, starting with the only person who ever loved him.

"Are we really friends?" He asked. Like a little kid.

"Why wouldn't we be?" Amamiya returned, cool as ever.

"Don't patronize me. If you really know about my mother, then… it's just pity, isn't it? I'm a monster too pathetic for you to properly hate."

"It's not pity."

"It is. You hang out with me then go to your real friends and your little girlfriend and laugh about me, don't you?"

"That's not true."

"Liar!" Tears were burning in his eyes. 

Amamiya stepped forward and made him hiccup in surprise. He crouched so they were eye level, like he had before. 

"We're rivals," he said. 

"W-what?" 

"You challenge me and I challenge you. You're the only one who can beat me at darts, I'm the only one who can beat you in a fight. That's what we are to each other."

Goro sniffled. "That's stupid. Who came up with that?"

Amamiya smiled. It was exhilarating and deeply confusing.

"That's just how it is."

This man might actually be stupid. He took back everything good he ever thought about him. 

Rivals. To be equals. To be always in conflict, to be always together.

Miserably, he said: "But right now I'm—"

"You're my rival."

His mouth clamped shut. He thought his heart might explode. 

"I won't let you beat me, and I won't let you give up."

"Isn't it better for you if I do?" Goro asked.

"I'll miss you."

Goro was tearing the couch to shreds.

"You'll miss me? You'll miss me? You'll miss me?"

Ren nodded.

"Why?" He asked, only a touch hysterical.

He tilted his head. "I just like you."

Goro put his burning face in his hands. 

"Mmghm."

Ren leaned back with a self-satisfied smile. Asshole. 

"What do you want to do now?" He asked. 

"Me? I… I want Shido ruined. For everything he did to me."

"Then let's ruin him."

His chest filled with heat, like steam in his lungs. There was something else, but he couldn't manage it. It was too pathetic. He smashed it back down.