Chapter Text

Arc One

You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.

Marcus Aurelius

“Are we sure about this?”

Morgana’s question echoes down the corridor. Gone are the loud moans, the squeals and grunts now replaced with a vacuum-like quiet that turns the navigator’s concern into a booming echo. Wooden floors—once marked by stains and trash—are now immaculately clean, every step trading hollow thunks for an occasional clink as the pathways begin to change and bleed into one another. Dim wall fixtures give way to flickering overheads as if Mother’s defeat had purged all the filth that accompanied her, leaving behind an empty shell.

They are hurt, smarting in different ways that coffee and snacks can’t fix, but Joker—Akira—cannot be the one to break this silence. Not when he’s the one dragging them further along this path. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, and any hope of talking has evaporated with the dryness of his throat.

“We don’t have many options,” Ann hesitates, her head turning to Joker’s back before going back to the walls.

“If that Shadow was indicative of the battles to come, it would be remiss to ignore what was offered.”

“If he’s even capable of helping,” her voice trails off.

“I don’t trust him. I say we march right up in his ugly face and—”

“You tried that last time, and we had to run for it!” Morgana meows.

“I’m just sayin’. I know you said this guy’s different, but if we asked the others, they would have joined in rushing the jerk, and we wouldn’t be down here!” Ryuji yells, but then shrinks in on himself. “I just don’t trust it. Nothing about it makes sense. If Prez was here—”

“While I acknowledge my personal doubts about completing this mission before the election without everyone present, it is their prerogative to abstain in the same way we chose to remain,” Yusuke interrupts the bickering. “Moreover, I am interested in hearing what the palace owner requires of us in exchange for his assistance.”

“Probably something evil,” Ryuji grumbles under his breath, but Ann elbows him, cocking her head toward Akira, and his expression changes. “Sorry.”

Akira ignores it and all the other bitterness growing inside him as the bonds around him fray because of his choices. He had stared at the evidence of it, the growing impulse to throw caution to the wind and let the cards fall where they may to have the opportunity to have something so many people warned him would end badly. He tried to ignore the signs as everything went awry, every instance rearing its ugly head with Okumura, Sae, and then Shido. Now, it has culminated in this repulsive manifestation of stale air and faulty wiring, housing shadows that could easily wipe him and his team out.

 Arsene, am I doing the right thing? His soul declines to answer.

My Persona doesn’t talk to me. Quiet words shared in a somber moment; fingers curled around the neck of a bottle and lips sweet and lax. He had looked at him then with heavily lidded eyes that did not truly see him. Am I truly so repulsive that even the truest representation of myself cannot stand me? He had laughed then, and Akira wanted to rip the bottle from his fingers. I don’t know what you see in me, Kurusu, and on some days I’m not even sure what I see is real. Sometimes, I don’t hate that. All Akira had done at that time was take the bottle away from him and clean up. If he had said something, anything, would he have been able to persuade him to trust him, to trust the Phantom Thieves, to help, or were they really doomed from the start?

“Joker?”

Akira snaps back to the present and realizes the other Thieves have outpaced him, staring back at him with pity and worry plain beneath their masks. His stomach twists, and he tilts his head toward them, summoning who is really needed back to the forefront.

“Sorry. What was it?”

“We can head back to the safe room and discuss it more. We made some progress.”

“We don’t have that much time if we want to reach Shido,” Akira swallows down bile, the sense of failure heavy on his shoulders. They cannot see him falter now. “Mona, you still don’t detect any shadows?”

“Just the anomaly, but it’s stopped moving.” The cat confirms. “The rest disappeared after we retrieved the keycard.”

“Great. Let’s at least clear this floor and speak to our host.”

He marches forward, and the others fall into step behind him. Even now, when their trust in him is at its lowest, he’s at least warmed to know they still have his back.

Eventually, they reach the anomaly, who sits on the floor, head balanced against the last peeling segment of the wall. His bored stare fades as he takes in their exhaustion. He is younger than his true counterpart, with choppy hair curling around his ears, and his yellow eyes widen as they take in the group.

“Wait, that’s him? It’s just a kid!” Ryuji shouts.

“Finally come to a decision, have you?” the boy asks quietly.

“There’s no need for arrogance.”

“I am merely trying to establish the facts,” he says, brushing invisible dust from his shoulders. Ryuji bristles, and Akira slaps Joker more firmly into place, the leader stepping in to be a barrier between his team and the other.

“We’re still undecided. You offered to help us complete the palace. We want to know why?” He pins the kid with a stare, and he grumbles. Standing, he’s barely taller than Morgana, yet he puts so many of them on edge already.

“I, too, want Shido punished for his crimes; however, left alone, that parasite will grow stronger and bolder and will find a way to escape. If it does, Shido will die. We cannot allow that to happen,” a sneer overtakes his face as he spits the words. “Your best chance is to reach the treasure room where it can be weakened, and then you can retrieve that pathetic politician as a trophy.”

“Shido’s the treasure? For real!”

“No, you dolt. He’s as much a pawn as you or me, but the entity doesn’t play fair and won’t let you spoil the game so easily. It wants you to lose, which you would have if you blindly followed its instructions. I had to guide you down here to avoid an obvious trap.”

“You were the one who set us up to face Mama!” Ann screeches.

“And you defeated her and gained a key, no?” Akira nods in confirmation. “Then it worked. There’s another you need to face. Destroy it as well, and you will have both keycards you need to bypass the maze and reach the third floor. From there, the point of both mine and the entity’s interference should be at its weakest, allowing your navigator to get you to the treasure room with minimal interference.”

“Why would you not guide us yourself? Why speak through Mona?” Yusuke questions.

The boy purses his lips. “I am an unseen player in all this, and I do not have the means to defeat the entity directly, or else I would have ended this farce a long time ago. But that does not mean I will not aid you to the best of my ability. Think of me as a hidden asset. A cheat sheet, if you will.”

“You’re just giving us information, just like that? No strings? What the hell, man? If you come with us, we’ll protect you. You’re just a kid.” Ryuji tilts his head.

“I cannot. If I did, this point of distortion…there’s no guarantee it will remain stable.”

“You’re bound here,” Akira observes.

The boy held up a hand. “By choice and necessity. I cannot control what happens on the upper levels, but through you, we can accomplish the same goals.”

“You don’t make any sense.”

“It’s really not that confusing. I tell you where to get the next keycard, and you go get it. I can even help keep the other shadows down here at bay, which is what I’ve been doing for you for some time, but it’s exhausting work, and I’m not strong enough to face the demon prowling above.” He pouts. “You’re all so slow. I don’t know how he put up with you.”

Ann snorts and then covers her mouth. “I’m sorry. It’s just odd to have a Shadow so involved and so cute.”

“This isn’t the time for laughter. It wants you to die here, and I’m offering an alternative. Do you agree or not?”

“There’s something you’re not telling us,” Mona hisses. “How were you able to puppet me? Why save us in the first place? The true version of you is not a fan of us in the real world.”

“Finally, a smart creature among you,” is the curt response, “there is something else I want. I’m not contracting you for Shido’s survival, but another, more important matter. If you accept my offer, I’ll make you privy to the details.”

“The Phantom Thieves only make decisions based on a unanimous vote,” Akira states.

“But you’re not here as the Phantom Thieves, or you wouldn’t be down three members.” The collective flinch goes ignored as the boy turns around and waves his hand. What follows is a cacophony of creaks, gears grinding against one another until it coalesces in an off-pitch screech, before a set of large metal doors appear. The boy holds out his hand, and Akira pulls out the keycard. He nods affirmingly and takes it, waving it over a coded lock just below the handle, and there is a click.

Immediately, the atmosphere changes from cool sterility to heavy humidity, soaking through their disguises and making them sweat. But it is not the burning heat they felt in the desert outside Futaba’s palace. This was less physical and more of a reaction, the shiver caused by anticipation and fear than the actual flash of warmth. The palace owner is afraid of whatever lies behind these doors.

“Somewhere beyond these doors is the next keycard, only obtainable if you can pass her tests. She’s strong. Dangerous, even worse than Mama. But I can help you with them if you agree.” He turns around, glancing up until his gaze is fixed upon Joker. He extends his palm. And Akira takes him in. Although young, there is desperation in his gaze, bags beneath his eyes, and a gauntness to his cheeks that reveals how tired he truly is. Akira knows shadows do not always represent the real version of their counterparts, but seeing him here, barely reaching his hips, no baby fat on his cheeks, his heart aches.

“Let’s make a deal. You won’t say no, will you?”

Akira’s body rocks, mind thrown back to a time when Goro had asked him the same question, left hand outstretched as an invitation. “What is it?”

“I don’t want him to be reduced to a sniveling coward who can’t own up to anything. That’s not who he was, but this has gone on too long, and you are the only ones I can ask to stop Loki, so please.” The boy looks down, despondent, and Akira kneels. He reaches out, his gloved hand clasping young Goro’s with an immediateness that makes his friends cry out.

“I’m here to save you, I promise, we’ll save Goro and change his heart—” He feels something bloom within him, cold and tasting of metal. Arsene rumbles within him. Let go! Let go, mon coeur, that is not a SHADOW!

The not-shadow’s face twists, rising to meet his, and those yellow eyes bleed away to reveal a washed-out grey, but Akira cannot move as the boy’s grip tightens and the hallway begins to twist and rain down droplets of blood. “You misunderstood me, Kurusu-san. I don’t want to be saved. I request that you kill Akechi Goro, or this palace will not collapse until you do. That is our accord.”

6 months earlier…

Fox: The sun will set soon so let us disband for the day.

Panther: Why don’t we meet at karaoke tmrw? cheap after school and b p busy, can talk in priv.

Fox: Ah, during what they call hustle hour?

Skull: dude its muscel hour

Skull: wait is that wrong 2

Panther: um hello? happy hour. muscle* hour sounds so sweaty. see@karaoke tmrw. will send address.

Morgana chirps in his ear about what it will be like to hear Lady Ann’s amazing singing voice after he finishes reading the texts aloud. Akira nods along but has already tuned the extraneous commentary out. Today has dragged on long enough without indulging in his cat’s one-sided infatuation, and he’s concentrating on the confusing layout of Shibuya to find the station and bring the evening’s wild goose chase to an end.

A part of him wants to merely bash his head against the nearest wall and question every decision that led Akira to run around one of the largest cities in Japan on behalf of the class president, but he knows the answer. It stemmed from Kamoshida and Madarame, their various abuses, calling cards and stolen treasures, the team’s efforts to shatter the delusions of abusive adults. And they had left quite a long paper trail …enough that Niijima had latched onto it, maneuvering the thieves into a tight spot to adhere to her orders or face the consequences. It was merely another sign of his poor luck streak. When he managed to commit a good deed, the world decided to find another way to piss all over his good mood. If he had kept his head down and kept quiet like he was told, none of this would have happened.

He remembers his father’s last words before dropping him off at the train station.

“Don’t cause any more trouble or you won’t have a place to call home,” muttered around a cigarette and issued with a sideways glare before the driver’s side door shut. From the passenger seat, his mother focused on touching up her makeup and refusing to acknowledge his presence. The same thing she had been doing for the prior three months. No matter how much he stated he hadn’t touched the drunken asshole, that the man had tripped over his own feet and hit his head on the pavement, that the police bullied the confession out of him, neither of them cared that he had tried to help someone. All his good intentions amounted to was disappointment and anger that their son jeopardized their reputations, so they packed him up and shipped him away until the scandal could be forgotten and buried. His life compressed into a single bag because he could not “stay out of trouble.”

Akira does not create trouble, nor does he actively seek it out, but it inevitably finds him. When he was a child, he used to get in trouble for trying to ‘rescue’ stray cats, which constantly set off his mother’s allergies. In middle school, he stopped an upperclassman from lifting his kohai’s skirt to snap pictures and received a week’s suspension. In his latest scheme, he has formed a supernatural vigilante group to save others from exploitation and oppression. There is a recurring lesson here that Akira should have learned by now; he is either too stubborn to grasp the subtle themes or is altogether indifferent to them. He has not decided yet, though the distinction matters little. He still has under two weeks to find and take down a mafia boss or face years in prison. No pressure.

He remembers prison. The stiff chairs, the accusations, the way the officers threw him around, and he can still feel stiffness in his back like an echo. His attorney had only looked at him with pity, but said nothing when he had revealed how he was treated, and that was when he learned to keep his mouth shut. He would receive no help from the system. The same one that slapped him with an assault charge and stuck him on probation.

No matter Niijima’s threats, he would not be returning to prison. If that means the Phantom Thieves must go underground for some time, then so be it. School, the part-time jobs, even Leblanc, were all cages; each time, he had to present the careful façade of respectability he had slowly been constructing since his sentencing. But the Metaverse was where he could break free of those chains. If he can’t twist his way out of this new net, the class president would have free rein to take that freedom away from him. Perhaps, if this goes sideways, he should escape to the damp underbelly of society and take his chances amongst the shadows. They always engaged with him and didn’t care who he was. No one stared at the ‘delinquent’ who was most definitely engaging in elephant trunk smuggling or moonlighting as an assassin. Heck, she might even be incentivized to change her mind and hand them over to Shujin’s principal early to get a break from the rumors. Two birds with one stone…and either way, there is little doubt that even if they manage to stop the scam, they will not all be standing in front of Kobayakawa, sans Yusuke, facing expulsion. Self-interest really is an insidious bitch. He has been on the wrong side of it too many times recently.

A paw bats his cheek, and he looks down to see Mona squinting at him. “Hey, pay attention.”

“Sorry, I was thinking.” He scratches the cat’s head, chuckling a little at the long purr until the cat snapped out of it with an outraged meow of ‘I’m not a cat!’

“What were you thinking of? We’ll definitely find the mafia boss; you need to have faith in the Phantom Thieves. Well, not Ryuji.”

“Don’t be so hard on him.”

“We wouldn’t be in this position if he stopped shouting it.”

“He’s excited. And he’s not ashamed of what we are.”

“I’m not ashamed either, but we need to focus on the bigger picture. We can’t have our identities put at risk because he doesn’t understand being stealthy.”

“I think you laid into him enough today, but I’ll talk to him more about it soon. Okay?”

“Good thinking. Now head back to the train so we can make curfew.”

“Aye aye, captain!”

But his jovial tone swiftly vanishes when he catches a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye. He turns and sees the young man walk past him, eyes glued to his phone, yet his strides are unmistakably long and confident as he ventures into a side alley. Without his uniform and signature briefcase, it takes Akira a moment to recognize Akechi Goro.

“Joker, what is it?”

“That was …did you not notice him?”

“Who?”

Akira is already pivoting. Akechi has vastly outpaced them, but his gut tells him to follow, so he stays a few paces behind as he stalks the Detective Prince deeper into a complex web of side streets and back alleys.

“What are you doing?” Mona hisses. “You have a curfew. You need to sleep. Why are we following him?”

“We’re just doing some reconnaissance,” he is not going to tell his cat about his feeling. They have only ever happened when he knows one of his bonds is about to grow stronger, and it is already difficult for his friends to comprehend the existence of the Velvet Room. Best to leave the finer aspects undiscussed for now.

“He’s investigating the Thieves. What if he notices us?”

“Then I will handle it. But if we want to know our enemy,” he uses the term loosely because while Ryuji and Morgana are the most outspoken critics against the detective, Akira is more ambivalent, “we need to learn more about him. We won’t have a better opportunity than this.”

Morgana narrows his eyes. “What about the last time you went out with him?”

Akira coughs into his fist. “We only played a game of billiards, not really great for information gathering. And this time, you can be a second set of eyes and ears. This will only work if we’re super quiet, though.”

“See, this is why you’re the leader of the Phantom Thieves, always looking out in the group’s best interest. Okay, let’s begin this stakeout.”

“Hush,”

Eventually, he has to throw themselves against the wall of a building just around the corner from where the Akechi stops. Morgana meows in protest, but quiets when Akechi shifts, glancing up and around. All Akira can do is pray they go unnoticed. The wall provides a solid barrier, and he watches as Akechi eventually scoffs and settles against the adjacent building, placing his phone back in his coat pocket just as another man emerges from the nearby back door.

He's thin, almost reed-like, with a shadow of a beard, wearing a leather jacket, eyes hidden behind shades. The man saunters and approaches Akechi, who wrinkles his nose. Akira can only imagine his smell, based on his disheveled appearance. The stranger’s mouth spreads into a sleazy grin.

“I laughed when I heard Taka was going to be sending someone else, but I didn’t think he’d send a kid,” the man laughs.

“You requested no police,” Akechi returns smoothly, “and I am technically not an officer.”

“No, you’re much better than that. You’re Tokyo’s newest show pony! How are ya liking the limelight?”

“I’m only here to facilitate a transaction.”

His complaint is waived off. “We should go inside. Have a few drinks, and introduce you to some fans. You like blondes? We’ve got quite a few in from Kobe.”

“And pictures would be all over the internet within minutes,” the teen cuts him off, “I’m here for business, and the longer you procrastinate, the more likely we’ll be placed in a precarious situation and be unable to continue this…exchange. This meeting is off the record for your benefit, and Taka would like to keep it that way without your employer’s knowledge.”

The man grimaces, and the sleazy energy oozes away. “I was just makin’ friendly conversation. You’re just as prissy as the gossip rags say.” He pulls out a cigar and lights it, blowing smoke toward the teen who doesn’t flinch. “Did he give you the money?”

“I wouldn’t come empty-handed. Do you have what was requested?”

“I want the money first.” The man grumbles.

“Then show me you at least have what I came for. It’s no skin off my back if the unit decides to do things the old-fashioned way. There’s a lovely interrogation room waiting for you at the precinct.”

“Don’t get smart with me. You’d all go down with me.”

Akechi shrugs. “If that gets the results, so be it.”

“Do you see anyone else volunteering to steal from K? Taka is even lucky I managed to get this, and he owes me—”

“You may be doing Taka a favor,” and there is a callousness to his voice that Akira was not expecting, “but don’t pretend that you are actually worried about how this will play out. You want your boss gone to take over his empire.”

The words are spat mockingly, followed by a nasty laugh. Akechi gives the man his full attention. “Quite frankly, I’m impressed by the deception. However, it only reveals that you’re an opportunist, hoping that playing both sides will net you some incredible gain. Let’s not delude ourselves, more likely than not, you’ll end up dead in the crossfire than becoming the next big boss of Shibuya.”

Akira’s insides freeze as the man reaches into his jacket, pulling out a gun that he presses just under the Detective Prince’s chin. Morgana’s claws sink into his shoulder as they stare. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, kid, and you sure as hell don’t know when to stop talking. You give me the fucking money, and if you stall,” he presses the gun in harder enough that Akechi’s forced to expose more of his neck, “any longer, you can have your body delivered back to your precinct in a bag.”

“I did my research. Thirty-seven, a lifelong criminal, prostitution, theft, and public indecency charges, but nothing ever tied to murder. Pull the trigger. I’ll be a martyr for the Director’s clean-up crusade. And you know how much he cares about image.”

“Better plan,” the man offers, “I’ll drag you back to K’s place. He loves a pretty face, and I’ve heard plenty of rumors about you. We get a few pictures of that, and you’ll never have a career again.”

He does not know what he should do. If he jumps out, what are the chances the man will pull the trigger on Akechi and then turn it on him? And for Akechi to speak so callously about his own death. He curls his fingers deeper into the thighs if only to ground himself more in the moment.

“Charlie,” Akechi croons, head tilting, “I’m willing to keep this little exchange between us, but if you don’t remove this pathetic toy in the next ten seconds, I will take great pleasure in stripping your corpse for that SIM card. That is a promise.”

Akira cannot clearly see Akechi’s face, nor can he see Charlie’s, but whatever the other man sees is enough to make him back off. The gun goes into his pocket, and he steps away. Mona’s wet breath grazes his neck, and it seems the cat had also been unwilling to disrupt the chilling silence that had settled over this side street.

“Thank you.”

“I still want the money first.”

The words are mulish and defeated, the brash posturing from earlier completely erased, but Akechi summons that insincere TV smile as he pulls a thick brown envelope from the inside of his coat. “¥1.45, all cash, and a guarantee of another 2 million as long as the information you provide results in a successful prosecution. Tomoe will refrain from entering the club; there will be a two-week pause on inquiries, and anything further will need to be negotiated with Taka. Acceptable terms?”

The man snatches the envelope, ripping it open and sifts through the contents, counting the bills until he nods, tucking the money into his own coat and extracting something small in return, so tiny Akira cannot see it, and holds it out to Akechi.

“I expect to hear from him tomorrow.”

Akechi delicately extracts it and nods. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Pleasure doin’ business with you, kid,” the cocky set of his shoulders is back, as if he had not spent the last minute being outbluffed by a teenager. He throws his cigar on the ground and stomps on it. “If this cop shit falls through, seek out one of my boys. I’ve got things to offer, and someone with your confidence, heh, you’ll make it far.”

“Thank you, but I assure you, I’ll enjoy the bliss of never seeing you again.” Akechi’s tone returns to its familiar lightness, which now sounds so alien. “Have a pleasant evening, and please don’t get caught selling drugs to teenagers for the foreseeable future. We’ll be a little busy with everything else.”

 He waves the man off, and Charlie strolls away, back to the door he emerged from. The door clicks with finality, and Akechi rests his head against the back wall. “What a prick.”

The human reaction almost pulls a snigger from Akira as the remaining tension leaves the atmosphere. His heart steadies, and he exhales with relief. He is incredibly unsure of what he witnessed, but there is no denying he should confront Akechi about it. He obviously has information about what is happening in Shibuya, but Akira has other questions. Was it a common occurrence for his colleagues to send him to conduct shady deals in their stead? How was he so calm about being held at gunpoint? At this rate, the Detective Prince was looking like more of a delinquent than the boy with the actual record. Still, he feels a tug of concern for the other teen’s well-being.

Mona’s claws prick him. “Let’s go. We can ask him.”

Akira nods. With the path clear, he prepares to step out of his hiding spot. The other is engrossed in his phone once again, face hidden at the angle, but before Akira can even move a centimeter, he catches the loud groan. “That fucking piece of shit!”

And then, Akira watches Akechi disappear into thin air.

His first thought: So that’s what it looks like from the outside.

His second: Oh shit! Akechi has access to the Metaverse.

And it looks like he’s not alone in that realization as he turns open-mouthed to his four-pawed accomplice, who is equally stunned. It looks like neither will be getting any sleep tonight.

~

“For real!” Ryuji shouts. Ann shushes him, but it is a futile endeavor. “He’s been telling people we’re criminals, but he has the same powers!”

“I think we’re focusing on the wrong part. What do you mean he was being threatened? That sounds incredibly dangerous.”

“Eh, he acted like it was a normal Tuesday until the other guy left,” Akira snatches up a piece of takoyaki. “But he definitely knows who the mafia boss is.”

“The meeting does paint him in a negative light, but I worry more about the circumstances in which the police would readily send a minor as their representative. It is one thing to appear on television, but to be a mediator in a criminal engagement…”

“We tried following him, but we have no idea where he went in Mementos,” Morgana hops onto the table. “We couldn’t find the Charlie guy on the Nav, but we also don’t have his full name. If we can locate him, we can find the mafia boss and also figure out what Akechi’s really up to. We’ll be one step ahead.”

“This is all so confusing,” Ann murmurs. “Are there really more people than us using the app?”

Potentially, Akira tugs at the end of his hair. After Akechi vanished, he opened the app and followed, but they found no signs of a recent battle or tawny hair, and Morgana could not sense him, so they eventually abandoned the search. Then, they’d gotten lost trying to retrace their steps back to Shibuya station, and he had been so ready to pass out that even Sojiro let him go to bed with minimal grumbling. He had enough presence of mind to open the chat and let the others know he had news to share after school the next day. Getting through his classes was a slog, as he wondered how he would describe the prior night’s events, but Morgana had gladly taken the reins for that conversation.

With everyone here, he forced himself to reexamine what he now knows. The Detective Prince, a Persona user? Akechi could certainly be charming on television, but remove the spotlight, and who was he? Awkward? Most definitely. Competitive to a fault. But outside of that, what did Akira really know about him? Akechi had to be intelligent enough to start working with the police before graduating, and he has a successful record solving cases. He is a part of the investigation team looking into the Phantom Thieves, and he’s a rising idol. Yet, he’s so rough around the edges. Unafraid or extremely used to going toe-to-toe with shady individuals in Shibuya. Arrogant and potentially lethal if his threats could be trusted. What would his Persona be like –his obnoxious public personality or the one he heard in the alley that made a grown man freeze?

Mona’s claws pinch his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts. “He said pancakes,” he says.

“What?”

“When we were at the studio on the field trip. He approached us about pancakes, but I was the only one who mentioned them.”

“And no one can understand Mona unless they’ve been to the Metaverse too,” Ann sips her drink. “So he’s definitely like us!”

“And yet our paths have yet to intersect,” Yusuke affirms.

“Different days, times, could be a lot of variables,” Akira hums. “There’s really no way to tell how long the app has been around or who else might have it unless we run into each other.”

“I didn’t see anyone else until I met you guys, though.”

“You were trapped in a palace,” Ryuji waves off. “If he didn’t go there, how’d you be able to meet him? Doesn’t matter. We’re gonna find him and make him apologize.”

“We can’t make someone apologize for having an opinion.”

“He’s insulting us on TV when he’s out doing the same thing.”

“We don’t know that. We didn’t even know how to change hearts until we met Morgana,” Ann points out.

“He could be the Black Mask.”

The group stills and looks at Morgana.

“You mean the individual Sensei spoke of?”

“He said there was someone else running around the Metaverse. Akechi clearly does not know about the methods we use as Phantom Thieves, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t be using it in another way—the psychotic breakdowns.”

“I don’t know. That’s a big stretch.” Ann hedges.

“You didn’t hear him last night,” Morgana curls into himself. “He’s certainly shady enough without the Metaverse. What if he’s the cause of all the accidents?”

“So we change his heart!”

“Ryuji!”

“It isn’t a bad idea. Back me up here, ‘kira.”

You want me to agree if he’s a killer or the Black Mask? Akira can feel the headache brewing between his temples and inhales. “We still need to find the mafia leader, and Niijima asked for an update today. If we can locate Akechi, we can at least get the name we need. Everything else can be secondary.”

Morgana shakes his head. “This is just as important.”

“I’m not downplaying the seriousness of the issue, but we cannot continue to operate as Phantom Thieves if we cannot placate the Shujin class president of her concerns.” Yusuke hums. “We could manage a conversation with Akechi about his motives after.”

“I wouldn’t trust him. They said he was a crooked cop.”

“Meow! I didn’t say that.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“It is based around conjecture at this point.”

“This is a lot, huh?” Ann leans over to him, wafting strawberry perfume in his direction. “Do you agree with them? That Akechi is the guy behind the breakdowns.”

“I don’t even know what we saw last night,” he punctuates with a glance in Mona’s direction, “but I want to ask him. About how he got access to the Metaverse, last night, the Black Mask, everything.”

“And if he is?” she twiddles her fingers, and he reaches out, grasping a few in his own to give her a comforting squeeze.

“We’ll cross that bridge if we have to.”

“I can track his socials. It’s not a guarantee that he’ll actually be there, the magic of social media and all, but it’s worth a shot,” she offers with a slight smile. “Gosh, we’re like…super spies now, huh?”

“Really racking up the street cred as thieves,” Akira winks. “We’ll find him.”

“Hell yeah, we will, and when we do, I’ll be ready. We’ll make him fess up to everything!” Ryuji leans back in his chair, leg jumping as his body thrums with anticipation.

“A valiant figure in pursuit of justice,” Yusuke frames Ryuji with his fingers. “Hold that position. I wish to capture your spirit.”

“How do we guarantee he’ll talk?” Mona’s tail twitches. “He gives us information on the mafia boss, and we don’t tell the public he has access to the same methods as us, but uses them for evil?”

“I think that’s more blackmail than a conversation,” Akira pulls out his phone. They have some time to kill before he has to return to Leblanc, and he’d rather make the most of it. “And it only works when you have something on the other person.”

“We have his shady dealings. That’s enough,” Ryuji protests, but Ann rolls his eyes.

“He’s sus, that’s for sure, but I don’t think he’s a bad guy. He was so nice when he spoke to me about Shiho,” she reaches over to scratch Morgana’s chin.

“When did he talk to you about Shiho?”

“He was asking questions after Madarame’s confession. The other cops, they didn’t care, but he had pulled me aside and told me he was glad she survived and that I—I had to be strong for her, even if it gets tough, and she was lucky to have a dedicated friend,” she sucks in a breath. “I can’t think of him as an awful guy when he was so earnest about hoping my best friend would get better.”

Ann had not told him about that interaction, but it made sense if he was investigating the change of heart cases. All it did was make the matter of Akechi Goro more complicated.

“Let’s just make a plan for now.” Morgana prods, and Ryuji exclaims in agreement. Akira texts Niijima that they are following a lead and will update her, depending on how it pans out—at least to buy themselves some extra time. Then the Thieves devise a plan to track down the Detective Prince.

Locating Akechi is much harder when one is actively searching for him. Ann tracks his socials, but there is nothing concrete beyond a few posts on his food blog (“He’s so fake!” “Ooh, I always wanted to go to this place. The cake looks so yummy! Maybe when Shiho feels better—” “He has captured the lighting at an angle that makes the dish look delectable.” “Guys, focus.”) and a live event scheduled for next week. Canvassing Shibuya that evening turns up nothing—no sign of Akechi—but listening to people praise how good he looked on that morning’s airing of Good Morning Japan. When they break for the day, Akira slumps up the steps after scarfing down a plate of curry. He finishes his homework and eventually lets the cat nag him into bed. Once Morgana nods off, however, he takes out his phone and opens the last message he sent to Akechi. It was an invitation to a rematch from their first hangout, but it went unanswered, as if the other could tell Akira had other intentions.

It is laughable to see how he has been unintentionally outmaneuvered. Since the first time they met, Akechi has done his damnedest to make his presence known. Approaching him at the studio, requesting his chat id, chatting him up at the subway platform, and inviting him out for billiards. And hidden within these innocuous exchanges, he has tried to ingratiate himself in Akira’s life with little finesse, asking questions and issuing challenges to him, and his friends by proxy, as if they were simple philosophical queries and not shameless declarations about the Phantom Thieves’ unethical methods. Before, it was just banter, but if Ryuji and Morgana proceed with their “interrogation”, how much of his perception will change? And how much of his own disguise will be stripped away?

Akira is not an idiot. Something is lingering beneath the surface of the oily Detective Prince pretense. He can be so nice it becomes borderline insincere; yet, the incident, as Akira is dubbing it, showcased Akechi’s ability to manipulate cuttingly and almost violently. That Akechi is one he cannot see as the Detective Prince, but as the Black Mask… he could accept the mercenary-ish transition from honeyed words to a caustic tongue.

The most dangerous people are often those who appear the most harmless, Arsene supplies.

Is that what you believe? Akechi is dangerous?

That is for you to decide.

Akechi’s secrets will be revealed in time; he is an essential figure in Akira’s rehabilitation if the faint warmth that signals the start of every bond was meant to be believed. Justice, his heart said. A justice he could not quite trust. He rolls over and sighs, closing his eyes to fall into an uneasy rest.

The next day finds them once again gathering in Shibuya Station. Akira checks his wallet, ensuring he has enough funds to pay Yusuke’s fare, when he hears a shout. Before he can see why, Ryuji charges forward, pushing his way through the crowd.

“Where does he think he’s going?” Morgana mutters.

“Maybe the bathroom,” Akira shrugs and turns his attention back to Yusuke, who definitely should have saved his money for ramen instead of more paints, when they hear a startled yelp. He snaps back to attention, turning on his shoulder to catch sight of Ryuji dragging Akechi away from the platform.

“That guy, seriously. Don’t hurt him!” Ann yells, clenching her hands around their wrists to follow their errant friend.

“I’m not!” he calls back.

“If you wanted an autograph, you could have asked.”

“I don’t want your damn autograph. We got questions we want answered.”

They shuffle into a side alcove, and Akechi jerks his arm away, pressing down the wrinkles on his school uniform. He takes in Ann, then Yusuke, before he tilts his head. “Oh, we’ve met before, haven’t we? During the Madarame investigation—”

“Oi, cut the chitchat.”

“Hey, Akechi!” Akira finally manages to wrench his wrist from Ann’s hold and then waves.

“Kurusu-kun, you’re in on this nonsense,” Akechi shakes his head.

“Sorry, Ryuji can be a little excitable.”

“Guys,” Ryuji groans, and Akira decides to take pity.

“We had questions for you, if you have time to answer them.”

Akechi takes in their positions, the semi-circle that stands between him and his only exit, and releases a strangled laugh.

“Well, it seems you have me at a disadvantage,” his hand rests on his cocked hip, “ask away.”

Morgana pops his head out of his backpack to glare at the detective. “Give us the name of Shibuya’s mafia boss.”

“Kurusu, your cat is begging. Have you fed it today?”

“Hey, cut the crap, we know you can understand him!”

Akechi raises an eyebrow. “All I hear is meowing.”

Ann frowns. “You don’t have to lie. We know you can hear him. You gave yourself away at the studio.”

“Yeah,” Akira shrugs. “Pancakes.”

At once, Akechi’s expression blanks, and his arms lower to his sides, fists clenched at his sides. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage here, because I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We are aware of an altercation that took place a few days ago,” Yusuke starts, “between you and a suspicious individual named Charlie. If you need help, we’d be willing to offer—”

“How do you know that?”

“If you want to know, we need you to tell us the name of the mafia boss.” Akira presses.

Akechi’s jaw tightens. “You need to forget whatever you think you saw or heard and keep your noses out of this.”

“Forget this, he ain’t gonna talk unless we force it outta him.” Ryuji grabs his phone. “But here’s the thing, we ain’t afraid of you, Black Mask, and we’ll make you fess up for what you’ve done.”

“Ryuji, don’t—”

The world twists and fades, dropping the group into the wet writhing mass of the Metaverse. Akira groans, taking in his team before he lays eyes on Akechi. The student uniform has been replaced with an opulent white suit, decorated with red and gold accents, a short cape draped over the shoulders, and a long, red, hooked mask that does not hide the angry eyes that narrow on Ryuji.

“What was that about a black mask?”

“Oops.”