Chapter Text
Everything’s out of focus. It’s all a mess of contradictions – things are too distant but too close, too real but too fake, too large but too small. His hands are too big and feel like saucepans, but feel too small as well, insignificant and nothing compared to literally everything else in this godforsaken world. He closes his eyes to get away from it all but even that’s wrong – he sees nothing, but it’s so much nothing that it really can’t be called nothing at all. He’s nothing, experiencing everything all at once. He should just be another shadow in the corner, pretending to be human in a world that’s long rejected him. Instead, he exists in a world that is overwhelmingly nothing, only tied to it through the calling cards in his pocket.
He grabbed three, earlier, in a haze he barely remembers, almost crumpling them in his hands as doing so. They’re so fragile, made from such thin paper, and so light that the rustle of students caused them to be dislodged from the board. They’re nothing – or they should be nothing, yet they still weigh him down like they’re bricks, and are still messing up his head like he got hit by bricks.
He doesn’t know why he’s like this – well, he does, but it shouldn’t make him be like this – useless and full of fucking shit. Of course the Phantom Thieves were going to happen, with or without him – what does he think he is, important? He thought he could change things, protect his friends but, no, this was always going to happen, wasn’t it? The only thing’s that’s changed is that he’s not a part of it – not there to protect his friends, just leaving on their own.
Is someone going to get shot in his place, then?
A shiver runs down his spine – well, up, really. Everything’s all upside down, after all.
He’s so lost.
There’s only one thing he can do, now. He’s backed himself into this corner, hell if he isn’t going to keep on going. It’s still better than the alternative, even if it means he can’t protect his friends for a while. He just needs to back himself into his little old corner faster before it’s too late for them.
Something tells him it’s already too late.
His hand is tracing something on the desk. The sensation feels foreign to him, as well as his hand – he gets the feeling that if someone cut it off, he wouldn’t even notice until he looked down, and even then –
He needs to shut up and get a fucking grip.
He needs to get moving, get working – after school, for sure. Though if he does that, he can’t watch them in Kamoshida’s castle, make sure everything goes okay – but it’s not his place, they’re not even friends in this timeline. If he went, he’d only watch them anxiously and waste time he can’t afford to waste, or jump in and waste everything he’s done so far. But what to do, he doesn’t know – except that’s a lie, there’s some half-baked plan in his head that’s been rattling around since he’s started all this, but it was too dangerous, before.
It’s still dangerous now but, well, who’s paying attention? Maybe all of his bad luck will finally pay off and something good will happen now. At the very least, he can’t do nothing.
Chouno’s voice floats in the background, flying further and further away from him.
Madarame’s shack looks as desolate as he remembers. He hates it – hates what it represents and just for what it was – or still is, in this timeline – to Yusuke. He just wants to reach in and drag him out and give him what he deserves (the world). Maybe he’ll also drag Madarame out and give him what he deserves as well – nothing less than absolute hell. But if he does that, Yusuke would scratch his eyes out with a paintbrush and Madarame would be a nice old man and get him arrested like any good citizen would do. The police would probably happily drug him and beat him up as well, like any good cop would do.
It’s still tempting, despite that.
Anyway, he’s not here for Yusuke (and he shoves away his guilt at that), he’s here for information. He has to try, there’s nothing else left. Mementos was a bust, there’s no other Palace he can get into far enough to talk to their owner’s, he hasn’t met Ohya yet and he doesn’t know how to do that again and he just –
He needs this to work.
He enters the keywords and steps into the Meta-verse, watching as Madarame’s shack becomes the museum. It’s glitzy and over-the-top as he remembers, and so gaudy that it makes him feel sick. If Madarame had to be some greedy, abusive fucking bastard, he at least should’ve had some taste.
He drags out the money from his bag, and absently thrums his hand through it. In reality, the 10,000 yen notes looked so fake Akira could hear Yusuke complaining, but here, they look real – hopefully real enough. If it stayed like this when he left the Meta-verse, he’d be able to use the seediest tourists shop in Tokyo to become the richest man in Japan. It’d be great – sure, it would paint a giant target on his back that Akechi wouldn’t even hesitate to shoot at, but it’d be worth it. Maybe.
He sighs.
His plan, it should work. Madarame loves money, Shadow Madarame can’t shut the fuck up, Akira has money and is willing to listen, what could go wrong? And even if it fails, he can always just beat the shit out of him until Madarame spills about the Black Mask. Or he could just destroy Madarame anyway, even if the plan doesn’t fail. It’s what he deserves, really, and it’s what Akira really, really wants to do.
He puts the money away, and turns his attention back to the Palace. It’s less busy, with not as many people lined up out the front. Hopefully this means security is laxer, though honestly it won’t be a problem for him either way. He goes around the back way, jumping on the pillars like a true Phantom Thief and jumping through the window. It’s only when he’s on the ground that he realises that he’s forgotten a rope, but whatever, it’ll be okay. He’ll just climb the wall or something, it’ll be easy – if he could jump from the Casino’s stained glass window and end up fine, he can do this. Well, not fine, but he’s not going to think about what happened afterwards – it won’t happen this time and that’s enough for him.
It’s quiet inside, Akira can only hear the gentle hum of the security system as he makes his way through the paintings. They look at him with dead, cold eyes, pleading for help, and it makes him go cold, a little dead too, the fact that Madarame even realised what he was doing to them, and yet he still –
Well, there’s nothing to gain from knowing that, is there? It’s not like it’s new information either, just an old wound, old anger that he never truly buried. He relaxes and ignores their gazes, letting them slide right over him.
He avoids Yusuke’s portrait altogether.
Madarame’s in the entrance hall, directing Shadows around the place. He’d forgotten how horrible his outfit was – probably on purpose, so he wouldn’t have nightmares about his gaunt face and gaudy outfit chasing him around. The thought makes him shiver. Now he’s definitely going to have nightmares about that.
He brings himself out from the shadows and the Shadows attention is immediately on him. One of them gets Madarame attention and he turns around with a scowl, only to jump when he sees Akira. He can’t say it isn’t satisfying, and it brings a grin to his face, only to tamper it down to a gentle smile. He’s trying to be likeable here, not the smug, Madarame-hating bastard he really is.
The Shadows circle him - Akira lets them. They move out of the way to let Madarame in front of him, with a bitter scowl on his face.
He makes sure to keep his pleasantly neutral.
“Welcome to the museum of the master artist Madarame. Now,” he raises his hand, and the guards get ready to attack. “State your business, thief.”
He chuckles lightly and puts his hands up.
“I’m no thief, and besides, your paintings are too precious to the world to be stolen.” The lies drip from his tongue like poison, and Akira feels like slime.
“What else then, child? The great Madarame does not have time to play games with children.” Madarame sneers at him.
“There’s something I need to ask, something only the master artist Madarame can answer.” Akira can’t quite himself the sneer in his own tone, but Madarame doesn’t seem to notice as he laughs at him.
“Foolish child, you cannot afford my time.” He begins to raise his arm again, no doubt for the guards to attack him. Akira brings out the money, and his arm stops. Madarame’s face morphs into disgusting greed, and Akira wants to throw up. Of course wearing clothes of solid gold isn’t enough for him, he knew this, but seeing it so clearly is horrible.
He looks down and moves his hand through the money, slowly, absentmindedly.
“Is this not enough? Such a shame, I’ll just have to get rid of it another way then.” He grabs the lighter he purchased earlier and lights it, bringing it closer and closer to the money until -
“No!”
Akira smiles a little. Madarame coughs and waves his arms towards the guards. They stand down and step back, giving them more space.
“That’ll be enough, I’ll answer what questions you have.”
Akira flicks the lighter off, and Madarame visibly relaxes. He watches him carefully as he puts the lighter away, the money safe – for now.
Madarame smiles at him, the expression looking wrong on his face.
“Now, what did you want to ask? Were you interested in a painting? I can get you any one to hang up in your home, for a price of course, but I’m sure that won’t be an issue for you, no?”
Akira would rather peel off his own skin. Or peel off Madarame’s skin and hang it up in Leblanc – he’s sure it’d fit in nicely.
Instead, he laughs a little, and waves him off, money still in hand. Madarame’s gaze follows it like a pathetic little puppy.
“No, nothing like that – your paintings are priceless, after all.” Madarame opens his mouth but Akira ignores him, pushing on. “It’s nothing so precious I’m after – and you won’t have to lose anything at all.”
Madarame raises an eyebrow at him. Akira leans forward.
“What do you know of the man in the black mask?”
Akira isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but for Madarame to burst into laughter isn’t one of them. His topknot bobbles, and Akira grits his teeth, resisting the urge to light it on fire with a well-placed Agidyne. He stops suddenly, and looks at Akira with a look that makes his skin crawl.
“Nothing, and there’s nothing to know.”
Akira blinks. Does he seriously –
“That doesn’t seem –“
The look on Madarame’s face intensifies.
“Not even I know anything about him – he’s only a tool to keep everyone in line.”
Akira takes a deep breath, and meets Madarame’s face dead on. Madarame’s face changes to one of – fear?
“That’s all I have to tell you! Now, leave already, or I’ll make you.”
No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be it. This can’t be.
His feet move forward. Madarame steps back.
“That’s it? You know nothing? Not even whose tool he is?”
The Shadows around him are transforming, but Akira ignores them. He ignores everything expect Madarame, eyes focused on him as he moves forward. Madarame shakes his head as he steps back, almost tripping on his kimono.
“His employer helps me sell my paintings in exchange for funding, that’s all I know. I don’t even know his identity – it’s all kept under wraps!”
Hm, so that’s how it is, then. His feet stop, and relief fills Madarame’s face. He takes the lighter out and sets the money on fire, before throwing it at him.
“Thank you for your help.”
He turns around, and runs – from Madarame, from the Shadows, from the Palace, from his own fucking failures. The museum all blurs around him, and his brain is in a haze – one that makes his one in class look like child’s play. He doesn’t stop till he’s outside the Palace, breathing deeply, sliding against a wall with his head in his hands.
So that’s it, then.
Nothing came out of that – he didn’t even get a name, a real hint at his identity, anything at all that he could work with. Only that Black Mask is a tool – and he could’ve figured that out on his own – and that his employer helps Madarame commit fraud. How doesn’t Madarame know anything? Did he tell them, last time? No, no, he didn’t, did he? He was asking them about the Black Mask, not the other way around. How could he be so useless?
He wasn’t expecting much from this, just something – something more. He can’t work with this, and there’s nothing left to do except to wait – waiting, which will only put him, his friends, everyone, in more and more danger.
He curls in closer, hands tight around his mask. He feels gross, feels like slime, like a useless piece of trash. What the fuck is he even doing here? This was never going to be easy, he thought he knew that, but it’s clear now that he didn’t.
He breathes and breathes and breathes. After what feels like an entirety, he loosens his hands, and unfurls, looking up. Nothing looks right, but that’s okay, for now.
He stretches his legs out and closes his eyes. So maybe he can’t fix everything right now, maybe he has to wait. So maybe he can’t protect his friends right now, from inside as a Phantom Thief or from outside either. Maybe there’s nothing much he can do right now, but that’s okay.
He can be patient.
At least there’s Ohya - he’ll get in contact with her and help her with her partner so he can find out more about the mental shutdown incidents. He can befriend Akechi too, see what he can get out of him – probably not a lot, but that’s alright. Other leads will come up, surely – they did last time, after all. That’s all he can do for now, really. There are other ways he can be useful, too – he can just help everyone with their problems again, find out what Igor meant and do Mementos requests, do the same old things he did last time.
He’ll do everything – but in due time. He’s got nowhere to be now, nowhere he belongs. So, for now, he can just stare at the sky, watching the sun set in the distance behind the glitz of Madarame’s Palace, and breathe.