Chapter Text
Akira wouldn’t ever say he disliked having Akechi on the team. He was terrifyingly powerful and deadly in battle, which was definitely a good thing, considering how brutal the shadows that roamed the shiny, sterile halls of Maruki’s palace were. Despite having far more experience than Akira, Akechi followed orders and stayed back in the reserves when he was told to. He still remembered how to Baton Pass, how to rush in for a follow-up, and just generally fit like a well-oiled cog in the machine that was the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.
Akira could do without having to wonder if Akechi was going to stab someone just for his own amusement, though. There was a great amount of tension between him and the other thieves –– how could there not be? Akira had no delusions that their reluctant team-up would mean the others all accepted Akechi and that he would suddenly want any of them in his life. But even though he fought well with them, it would be clear to any observer that he was not really a part of the team. When he wasn’t keeping to himself, he was making snide remarks or outright insulting anyone in his general vicinity.
So, yeah. The real Goro Akechi was definitely an acquired taste.
It wasn’t like Akira had ever fully bought his act, though. He had always had a feeling that Akechi was just like him –– putting up a front to appeal to other people, or maybe to protect his real face. Something about his polite smiles always reeked of plasticity. Something was hidden by the pristine, blinding glow of the Detective Prince, and it turned out that something was a rude, aggressive, but overall just deeply lonely and abused teenager.
Akira had had about two weeks in this strange reality to get used to him, and he still didn’t know how to feel about Akechi’s complete personality overhaul. It wasn’t that he hated this Akechi. In fact, Akira was glad that Akechi seemed to at least feel liberated by not having to don his polite mask anymore. That was good. It was, objectively, a good thing. And yet…
“Die, you piece of shit!” Akechi screamed, slicing a large shadow in half with his sword. Akira saw Sumire flinch where she was standing as she watched him continue slicing into the long-since-dead remains of the shadow, laughing uncontrollably.
Akechi looked thoroughly beat, as was to be expected. Akira found he had to keep an eye on Crow’s health basically… all the time. He fought recklessly, using devastatingly strong physical attacks that looked like they cost a dangerous amount of health. If Akira wasn’t careful, Akechi might drop like a sack of bricks, laughing the whole way down. It was worse once Akechi was nearly out of magic, as Akechi had switched to almost exclusively using his sword and claws, paying no attention to the amount of damage he took. Akira wished he could pull Akechi aside and try to convince him to maybe at least pretend he had basic self-preservation instincts or to stop using that goddamn effect that made him go insane. Every time Akechi cast it, Akira got a little scared that he might not come down from his rampage.
Despite this, Akira had kept Akechi on the front lines throughout the whole infiltration, switching out the others when they ran out of energy. They still had a bit of time before Maruki’s deadline, but Akira wasn’t going to take any chances when all of reality was at stake. He may have been tempted to give his friends the happiness they wished for before, but seeing what Maruki did to Sumire… messing with her mind just to justify his own methods… it was sickening. Maybe that was why he kept Akechi by his side. Watching him tear Maruki’s paradise to shreds was rather satisfying.
“How’s everyone feeling?” Akira asked as the backup team rushed forward to huddle with him, Akechi, Sumire, and Ann.
“I’m beat…” Ryuji moaned. “How effing huge is this place?”
“Huge,” Futaba said shortly. “We’ve been going all day and we’re only about halfway through, as far as I can tell.”
“Are we calling it a day, then?” Ann asked.
“I think that’d be best,” Haru said. “I’m quite fatigued myself.”
“Thank goodness,” Yusuke commented. “I am positively famished. Joker, do you think Boss would mind terribly if we indulged in his magnificent curry to recuperate?”
“Are you planning on paying for it?” Futaba asked dryly. “You’re at risk of eating me out of house and home, Inari.”
“I agree. Let’s go home for the day,” Makoto said. “As long as we secure the route before February 3rd, we’ll be fine. We’ve got a good pace going, and still a good bit of time left.”
“True,” Akechi said. “Then again, Maruki has said he’s a man of his word. Assuming he was telling the truth, he’ll be willing to face us on the designated day whether we send a calling card or not. If we can’t steal his treasure, we can simply kill him instead.”
Of course, Akechi would talk about murder being a solution with all the severity of suggesting tofu as an alternative to meat.
“We aren’t killers,” Haru said firmly. “And as long as you’re allied with us, you won’t be one either.” A couple of other thieves nodded in agreement.
“Even if all of reality is at stake?” Akechi said. “My, my, Okumura. You know, your father was a vile man. How did you all put it on your little card? ‘A great sinner of greed’, if I recall. I never thought it hereditary, but here you are, selfishly clinging onto your morals, not caring if you’re dooming the rest of the world to do so.”
“That’s enough!” Makoto said. “Don’t talk to her about her father. You’re sick.”
“Oh, I’m aware,” Akechi said, sounding absolutely delighted at the argument he was sowing. “So, you value human life, do you? Nothing wrong with that. But what would you righteous lot do in a situation where someone will die either way?”
“Dr. Maruki isn’t killing people,” Sumire said shakily. “He’s just… misguided. I think he really does just want to make people happy, Akechi-senpai.”
“I’m surprised you of all people decided to come to his defense,” Akechi said. “Tell me something. If Maruki had his way, and we were all chained to his reality, what would happen to Sumire Yoshizawa?”
Sumire stiffened, shaking a little in her heeled boots.
“I…”
“Sumire Yoshizawa would be dead,” Akechi said. “Gone, and forgotten by everyone. And Kasumi Yoshizawa wouldn’t be alive either. All that would be left is a shallow, performing husk. A fate far worse than death, in my opinion. You’d rather let that happen than get a little blood on your hands?”
“Stop trivializing the matter,” Yusuke said harshly. “Maruki can be reasoned with. Killing him isn’t an option. We won’t let him win, but we also will never stoop to your level in order to save our world.”
“Only you all would value the life of a madman so greatly that you’d damn the world to redeem him,” Akechi spat. “You’re all naive. You watch a few memories on those charming little tapes, and suddenly it’s ‘boo hoo, Maruki. He only wants the best for us.’” Akechi’s eyes cut right into Akira as he continued. “Such a tragic figure. With good intentions like his, how could it be that he’s ended up in hell, at the end of a path he set brick by brick? I’ll tell you all something. I don’t care how much he smiles, I don’t care how much he’s suffered, and I don’t care for his bullshit lies that he dares to call happiness. I will never accept this reality.”
Akira swallowed as his eyes darted around and saw everyone else frozen in stunned silence. Akechi just laughed dryly to himself as he stopped waiting for a retort he realized he wouldn’t be getting.
“And that’s just as well,” Akechi said. “A perfect reality will never accept me either.”
Then, as if on cue, all the lights in the palace clicked off, and the group was shrouded in darkness.
“Hang on!” Futaba said. “I’ll get the lights back on in a jiffy.”
The telltale sounds of Futaba disappearing up into her Persona and typing away at her keyboard were the only sounds to accompany the group’s rough breathing. Akira hoped Makoto was okay. Though she tried and consistently failed to hide it, she was terrified of the dark. Futaba did work quickly though. Hopefully, it wouldn’t become a concern. At the very least, Akira was glad that the lights shutting off had stopped the argument, especially since he found himself understanding the point Akechi was making and wondering what his friends would really choose if their choice came down to that.
As they waited in the dark, Akira could feel the group nudging a bit closer together. There hadn’t been any shadows nearby when the lights flickered off, but Akira had found in his time as a Phantom Thief that Murphy’s Law was as intrinsic to the Metaverse as the laws of gravity were to the real world.
“Joker,” Akechi hissed out. His voice, though hushed, was dripping with disdain. “Let go of my hand.”
“What are you talking about?” Akira whispered back. “I’m not holding your hand.”
At that moment, Futaba let out a whoop of victory as the lights in the palace flickered back on, and it was immediately apparent what Akechi had been feeling. Those strange tentacles Maruki commanded had slunk into the hallway silently from somewhere beyond. There was one circling around Akechi’s ankle, and another one, the one he’d presumably felt in the dark, coiling around his left hand.
“Fucking––” Akechi bit out before he decided to forgo words in favor of backing up from the group and drawing his sword, slicing frantically at the tentacle grasping onto his leg. It took a few slashes to break through it, but eventually, it split, the section wrapped around Akechi’s leg shriveling and falling to the reflective floor of the palace as Akechi continued to struggle against the one grasping his hand.
Akechi shifted his stance to slice the second tentacle, but before he could get a hit on it, it yanked him off his feet, lifting him up by his limb and slamming him back down onto the ground.
“Akechi-senpai!” Sumire cried. He could see her rummaging through her pockets for items, eyeing the tentacle with fear like she was debating rushing in to help. Akira held up a hand to keep anyone from rushing forward. They all were tired and badly hurt. Akechi would be fine on his own, and if any of them rushed in to help, he would definitely consider the fact that they were concerned for his wellbeing to be an insult to his ability as a fighter.
But then, Akechi was slammed into the floor a few more times, and Akira began to consider damning his own safety entirely and disregarding what Akechi might think, just so long as that thing left him the hell alone. However, before he could act, Akira saw the familiar crimson glow of Akechi’s self-imposed psychotic break and watched as Akechi’s squirms grew sharp and savage. He dropped the sword entirely, and it hit the ground with a clatter as he ripped into the tentacle with relentless swipes of his claws, paying no mind to how it slammed him about as it struggled to keep its hold on him even as it was torn into ribbons. Finally, Akechi dropped out of its grip, hitting the floor, thankfully, on his feet.
Akechi heaved out heavy, rough breaths, his collapsed posture and bared claws making him look more like a deformed, aggressive beast than a teenage boy.
“You’re going to have to do better than that!” Akechi roared. He straightened up a bit, everything about his stance indicating that he was ready to pounce, shred, and kill. “Do you hear me, Maruki?” Akechi called.
Evidently, Maruki had heard him, and before Akira could rush in to try to get Akechi to retreat with them, twice as many tentacles came rushing in, quick as slithering snakes, overtaking Akechi and lifting him off the ground once more. Akechi hissed and snarled, but with each thrash, the tentacles tightened their grip on him, creeping up his legs like vines, then forcefully yanking off his helmet and crushing it effortlessly into pieces. It looked like Akechi was about to cry out, but before he could, yet another tentacle wrapped around his head to gag him, squeezing his head so hard Akira thought it might burst. Akechi choked, still clawing helplessly at his restraints.
It all happened so fast, and in the few seconds it took Akira to decide to take his knife in hand and cut him out at all costs, the tentacles zipped off, taking Akechi with them. Akechi managed to catch the floor with his gauntlets the last few seconds before he was out of sight, the sharp claws leaving harsh indents in the spotless floor of Maruki’s palace. But it was useless. In mere seconds, Akechi was gone, carried off down a side hallway, like he’d never been by their side in the first place.
Akira started sprinting after. He didn’t even think about it. He had to catch up, had to get Akechi out of there. He was harshly pulled back mid-stride and for a second, he believed he was about to be carried away by Maruki too. But when he turned to face his attacker, it was just Makoto, who had caught his arm and was holding him back.
“We can’t go back in,” Makoto said. “We need to rest. All of us are completely drained.”
“I’m not leaving him!” Akira snapped. “Never again! We left him for dead in Shido’s palace, even after promising him that he could fight alongside us, and you all just want to abandon him again?”
“We don’t have a choice,” Makoto said. At least she had the sense to look like she felt bad, but Akira suspected that was because she’d made him upset, and not out of any real regard for Akechi’s well-being.
“Then I’m going back in alone,” Akira said.
“No way!” Futaba said. “The shadows are way too strong in there. That’s suicide!”
“Maruki won’t harm him, Kurusu-senpai,” Sumire said quietly. “He didn’t hurt me when you and Akechi-senpai had to leave me in here. He’ll rest up, and he… well, he honestly might be able to get himself out.”
Akira knew what she was saying made some sense. He knew that. But he also couldn’t shake the images of Akechi fighting for his life, being torn apart, left to rot in the cognitive world, entirely alone, just as he’d been all his life. After the close call on Shido’s ship, Akira would do anything to avoid that. How was he supposed to explain to the rest of them just how much Akechi mattered? If only he hadn’t been acting like such an asshole before he was carried off, maybe the others would be a lot more willing to risk themselves for him.
Then again, Akechi would certainly be unhappy with him if he learned that no one would be around to stop Maruki because they’d all gotten killed going after him while on their very last legs. He could picture the way Akechi would scowl at him and call him a sentimental fool. Or probably something a lot meaner, but Akira’s brain wasn’t currently supplying him anything appropriately harsh but also, inexplicably, endearing.
Akira really, really needed Akechi to be okay. But there was nothing to do but wait and search for him in the morning. He just nodded, meeting Makoto’s eyes to really sell that he was doing fine. Everyone was tense as they walked quietly back to the door of the palace, and Akira couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder as he left, really hoping he was imagining the sounds of yells echoing through the empty shining hallways.
Akira didn’t remember the walk back to Leblanc. He’d been here, in these tired, worn old booths with his dearest friends so many times before, to celebrate, to plan, and to grieve. Sumire was a new addition, but she was so quiet that she didn’t have much of a presence in the cafe. Some of the thieves were chattering about nothing, their voices hushed in some mockery of respect for Akira’s feelings. He caught none of it. He just stood at the counter, staring at the booth seat directly in front of him and hated himself over and over for leaving Akechi behind. It felt wrong to even be in Leblanc without him. Though it wasn’t Akechi’s home, and all they’d shared there –– the coffee, the chess games, the thrilling conversation –– was all just fake, for some reason or another, it felt like a place Akechi belonged.
He’d felt this way when Akechi had died, or rather, was presumed dead. He’d come home to the empty coffee shop alone, had brewed Akechi’s preferred blend, and had just sat with it at the counter, watching it like he was keeping a vigil, not heading up to bed until the drink was cold and all his tears had dried.
The murmurs of the thieves in the cafe reminded him of that chat that night. Polite acknowledgments of Akechi’s fate. The bare minimum amount of regret. Then nothing after that. A heavy blanket of dread covered the cafe like a fog, and eventually, even the grating chatter ceased, and they all just sat in silence. It was ridiculous, Akira thought. This was ridiculous. Maybe he wasn’t even dead. Maybe he had broken free and had followed them right out of the palace, not even bothering to let them all know he was fine.
The thick dismal air was finally broken by the sound of the shop bell ringing as the door opened. Akira looked toward the source of the noise and was hit by a flood of relief. Akechi was there, and he was unharmed. In fact, he didn’t even look that upset that he’d been abandoned, though Akira supposed he could be overestimating how much he cared about what the rest of them did one way or the other.
“Akechi!” Ann said, the first to stand up and dare to greet him. “You’re okay!”
“You look fine,” Futaba said flatly, immediately looking back at her laptop screen. “Cool.”
“Good to see you,” Makoto said.
“I’m… glad that you’re okay,” Haru said. She wouldn’t make eye-contact with Akechi, but Akira appreciated her words regardless.
“Did you think I wasn’t?” Akechi asked. It wasn’t unusual for Akechi to brush off concerns for his well-being with an assertion that he was strong or smart or in some other way talented enough to overcome anything, even his own suspected death. (Akira was still puzzling that one out.) But his tone was all wrong. Akira glanced around quickly, wondering if anyone else had noticed, or if he was just imagining things.
“We were just worried, Akechi-senpai,” Sumire said quietly. “We care about you, and um… please don’t get mad!”
“Why would I be mad?” Akechi asked. “It’s nice to know that you care.”
There it was again. Everything about his tone of voice was wrong. It almost almost sounded like the way he’d speak in interviews, but even then, there was always a sense of something underneath, something venomous and sinister lying beneath layers of makeup and pleasantries. There was no depth to his tone now. The whole way he was carrying himself was different too, Akira noticed. Gone was Akechi’s usual restrictive posture, replaced by a demeanor that was still formal, but was softer. Almost warmer. It should have felt fake, but it didn’t, and that was the truly horrifying thing, wasn’t it?
Goro Akechi was acting pleasant.
“What…” Akira started. The word practically fell out of his mouth of its own volition. He had to shake himself to start over properly when he noticed Akechi’s large doe eyes settle on him, patiently waiting for him to speak his mind. “What did Maruki do to you?”
Akechi blinked, but no recognition sparked on his face whatsoever.
“Maruki?” he asked, tilting his head.
Akira watched, entranced, as Akechi fiddled with a strand of his hair briefly before guiding it back over his shoulder. Akechi didn’t fidget, to the point where it was unnerving how still he could be, even in places he should have been at ease. It looked so terribly wrong that Akira wanted to slap the sense back into him, much like Akechi had threatened to do to him when they’d first teamed up in Maruki’s strange reality.
“The hell?” Ryuji asked. “Maruki! The doctor guy? With the effing tentacles?”
“He doesn’t remember?” Morgana said.
Strangely enough, Akechi didn’t seem to take any notice of what Morgana said. Was Maruki manipulating Akechi’s perceptions? Had that bastard with a god complex gotten his hands on Akechi and…
“He took you,” Akira said shakily. “Back in the palace… and we just left you there…”
“It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, as a detective,” Akechi said with a sheepish smile, “but I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Kurusu-kun. Now could I trouble you for some coffee?”