Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Staring into the face of your own madness is not recommended. Especially if said madness has a loaded gun pointed at your head. Goro Akechi had the misfortune of finding out this fact in the worst possible way.

He had just handed off his revenge to his worst enemy (closest friend), like the pathetic fool he was, and was staring into the wide, deranged eyes of his insane double: the warped cognition of his own father. His double was mocking him, a disturbing reflection of the crazed insults he’d only just rained down on the Phantom Thieves. Akechi started laughing at the irony, interrupting his double’s mad tirade.

In the end, he thought as he pulled the trigger of his gun nearly in sync with his double, I was truly the biggest fool of them all.

…

Fool or no, do you truly wish to die here? Have you lost your desire to prove to the world how wrong they were to reject you? Can you stand to leave your revenge in the hands of another? Will you forsake the path of rebellion?

Loki. Akechi’s consciousness teetered on the edge of fading, but his desperation rose up in a tidal wave, No, I-I can’t die here! I won’t allow it!

…

Akechi’s lungs were burning. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see, he was dead—

He sat up with a start, breathing in great gasps of air; sweat trailing down his forehead, matted hair sticking into his eyes. The room around him was a smattering of grey and black and blue, and he blinked in panic to try and get his vision to focus. He lunged to his feet and unsteadily toppled off the side of whatever he’d been lying on. He caught himself on the soft ground and rose with a snarl, attempting to draw his gun from a holster that should have been there but wasn’t.

The room finally shifted into focus. The plain grey carpet and unassuming blue walls of his bedroom surrounded him. The window above his desk showed a dark and gloomy haze hanging over the city. His black furniture appeared brand new, and not a single item was out of place. No, the only thing out of place was himself, panting and sweating in the middle of his bedroom, his trembling arms posed as if he was about to shoot someone with an invisible gun.

Akechi slowly lowered his arms, and tried in vain to cease shaking. This was not his father’s repugnant palace, his madness wasn’t trying to kill him, and he wasn’t covered in lacerations from his ill-fated fight with the Phantom Thieves. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and there was nothing but old scars visible on his exposed skin.

The room spun and he sank to his knees. He started laughing at first, as crazed as it had been before he’d shot his double a second time.

I’m supposed to be dead. I deserve to be dead, but—

He could feel the slow crawl of tears rolling down his cheeks, and his laughter broke off into a choked sob.

“Loki,” he whispered, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to summon a persona in the real world.

He could remember feeling the same all-encompassing desperation that had driven him to first manifest Loki as he’d stared into the face of his own madness. His persona had saved him yet again.

Time passed slowly as he sobbed on the floor of his room. He didn’t bother trying to hold it back; there was no one to witness his shame, after all. He only stopped when his tears were exhausted, his eyes burning and throat hoarse. He blindly climbed back into his disheveled bed and closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to sleep.

…

After what felt like only a few minutes, a cheery ringtone that he’d come to despise over the years broke into his mental haze. His phone was charging benignly on his bed stand, and he turned toward it to blearily glare at the offending caller ID. His heart lurched and he felt a mix of fear and rage when he saw the word ODIN glaring back at him. He did not reach for the phone and watched the call go to voicemail. He was only granted a momentary respite before the ringtone began again. Akechi scowled at it, but still only watched; paralyzed by something he could not place. On the fifth call, he finally reached a trembling hand for his phone and held down the power button. It shut down in the middle of the call and his room was plunged into silence yet again. The black screen of his phone stared back at him with a frightening sense of finality.

Loki didn’t grant him this chance so he could sit back and let someone else take his revenge for him.

Akechi pulled himself from his bed and staggered into his small bathroom. He relieved himself, showered, and dressed, his mind resting on the events that had only just taken place within that mockery of Japan that resided in his father’s heart. The Phantom Thieves had nothing standing in their way, nothing from stopping them from sending a calling card.

He approached his bedside table and stared down at the bright green image of a full battery displayed on his phone’s screen. He knew that Shido must have been calling him because of the Thieves’ announcement. He briefly wondered how long it would be before Shido sent men to come and search for him at this apartment.

Not long, now. The thought impelled him to reach for the phone and turn it on. He picked up his case, where his gun, some money, and other important possessions rested. He always kept them ready to go at a moment’s notice, always carried them with him. He stepped from the apartment, locking it up in vain, knowing that the door would be knocked down soon enough. As he pressed the button on the elevator, he looked at his phone. The five missed calls from ODIN were as expected, and there was one voicemail from him as well. Akechi had no desire to hear his father’s snarling voice, so he deleted it without listening to it. The elevator dinged just as he set his eyes on the date and time on his lock screen, and his breath caught in his throat.

It had been November 29^th when he’d stepped into the Metaverse with the goal of murdering the Phantom Thieves. Yet the date displayed was April 9th.  How could so many months have passed?

The doors to the elevator closed, Akechi still standing in front of them, dazedly staring at his phone. He unlocked it again and opened the calendar app, heart beginning to race as he saw April 9th 2016 presented as the current date. He almost dropped the phone as his hand slackened, before his grip tightened into a stranglehold. If he had lost time because of avoiding death within the Metaverse, it would be April 9th 2017, not 2016.  He opened his browser’s search engine and typed in ‘current date,’ only to find the same information helpfully presented. He went into his voicemail’s trash folder, his hands beginning to shake again. He restored the voice message and pressed play, holding the phone to his ear.

“How dare you ignore me, you insolent brat! Do you know what happens to those who cross me?” Shido’s tirade broke off with a frustrated sigh, making it clear he was just barely reining in his fury. “You have work to do. If an accident does not occur within the next week there will be dire consequences.” The message ended.

That…was not what he had been expecting. In fact, he could vaguely recall a similar snarled warning right before he’d enacted the psychotic breakdown of a train conductor. School and previous cases had consumed his time, and he’d neglected Shido’s demands until the last possible moment. It had been in April 2016, right before the Phantom Thieves stole the heart of their first target.

This was completely impossible. He glanced up at the metal door of the elevator, and had to hold back laughter. He must have finally let go of what little sanity he had left. It was the only explanation as to why he appeared to be in the past.

The harsh click and bang of a door opening and closing knocked him from his dark amusement. Akechi schooled his expression into a pleasant mask and pressed the elevator’s down button again. A young woman who he’d seen around the complex before came to stand next to him. She was speaking rapidly on the phone, trying to appease the person on the other end with quick apologies and reassurances that she would arrive soon. She paid Akechi no mind.

They rode the elevator down to the sound of her rapid conversation, and Akechi typed in the name Yahiko Nawagami into his phone’s search engine. The results did not yield photos of a defeated, middle-aged train conductor, nor articles about the devastating subway accident. As he stepped out onto the busy sidewalk in front of his apartment building, Akechi typed in the names of every other person he’d influenced in the last few months, ending with Kunikazu Okumura. The man was still the CEO of Okumura Foods, and still very much alive.

He meandered into a café he often frequented, a weird lurch in his gut when he recalled that he had stopped coming here in favor of Leblanc, with its irresistible chance to keep an eye on (spend time with) Akira. He sat down and ordered when the waitress approached him. The surrounding conversation and the sound of coffee beans being grinded accosted him as he typed the phrase “the Phantom Thieves” into the search bar. There were no results with regards to the sensation that had consumed Japan in the last few months.

Akechi set his phone down onto the table, looking up to realize his coffee had been set down in front of him. He took a sip, but tasted nothing.

He was in the past.

The Phantom Thieves did not even exist in the public eye yet, and there was a very good chance they did not even exist at all. Akira Kuruzu had come to Tokyo in early April to begin his probation, if Akechi remembered his research correctly (of course he did).

It would be so easy to change everything.

….

Akechi had been observing the city around him, glancing at announcements and time tables, constantly checking to see if they would all yield the same answer that yes, he was seven months in the past.  During this scrambled realization, Akechi hadn’t noticed that it was a school day. He had to call and quietly apologize for the lack of notification of his absence, calmly explaining that some detective work had suddenly come up. He sat now in his afternoon classes, staring out the window and beginning to plan.

He knew that he should call Shido, but the thought of apologizing to him made Akechi feel utterly sick. He also acknowledged that he could easily stop the Phantom Thieves from ever existing. Staking out Leblanc, finding the exact moment Akira first entered the Metaverse, and disposing of him there would solve everything. He could plan around Shido with his foresight, and dispose of his father at the peak of his power, as he had originally planned.

Yet, Akechi couldn’t push what had happened in his father’s palace from his mind. Even after repeatedly trying to kill the Thieves, they had still offered him an alliance. Akira had looked at him with nothing but pity the entire confrontation, and he’d been offering Akechi the hand of friendship (both literally and figuratively) the entire damn time. He still couldn’t understand it, but it made him wonder. He knew that if his madness hadn’t chosen that moment to intervene, he would have accepted their offer. He would have gone with them and helped them change his disgusting father’s heart.

Have you lost your desire to prove to the world how wrong they were to reject you? Can you stand to leave your revenge in the hands of another? Will you forsake the path of rebellion?

Loki’s words had mercilessly cut past any of his delusions, as they always did. He supposed that was the purpose of a persona: to make you understand even your most repressed thoughts and emotions.

“Goro,” the voice of his economics teacher cut into his thoughts, “Explain the intricacies of inflation on a global scale.”

Akechi pulled his mind from plotting and back to the mundanity of the classroom. He would move forward after school.

…

Instead of heading home, Akechi stayed in the underground walkway at Shibuya, watching people pass by. He was stuck at an impasse. He couldn’t go after his father’s palace alone. He hated to admit it, but even his strength wouldn’t be enough to bring down his father’s shadow, not if he could be defeated by the Thieves.

He could find a way to involve himself in the group much earlier, perhaps even from the beginning in order to avoid suspicion. It would be simple to manipulate them towards discovering Shido’s foul activities and drive them to want to change his heart.

The greatest issue was that Akechi knew that they could not immediately go after his father. Akira, and those other two Thieves, Ann Takamaki and Ryuji Sakamoto, had desperate, personal reasons for targeting their teacher. Kamoshida’s heart would have to be changed before anything else.  That would take time.

Akechi did not have time. His father was demanding results, evident from the multiple calls and voicemails he’d received after school was released for the day. He hadn’t picked up a single call, as he knew that if he spoke to Shido live, he would not be able to hold back his deep hatred. The horror of being shot by his father’s cognition of him was still far too fresh for the typical demure and apologetic tone he took on with Shido when the man became impatient. He knew what he had to do, but he had little interest in causing one more psychotic breakdown or mental shutdown. He would not be a puppet any longer.

The cold, pragmatic part of him argued that he would have to play the role of a puppet a bit longer to give himself and the Thieves time to make Shido tell Japan what scum he was. The thought made Akechi sick.

The blank stare he’d set on the crowd shifted into sharp awareness when he caught sight of a familiar face. Walking slowly through the masses was the thin form of Yusuke Kitagawa, another member of the Thieves. He was Madarame’s pupil and ward. Akechi began to move, following him even though he knew that Yusuke was not a Thief yet, nor would he have a Persona.

He followed the oblivious artist all the way to the dilapidated house that Madarame used as a false front for his humble demeanor. Akechi already knew that this was the location of the old man’s Palace, and he knew how to access it. As he watched Kitagawa walk to the door, he contemplated how easy it would be to take Madarame out. The fool was far weaker than Shido, after all; his Shadow would always cower before Akechi and Loki whenever he went to check up on it.

“Pardon me,” the polite voice of Kitagawa interrupted Akechi’s musings. “But I have noticed you following me for some time now. As you can see,” Kitagawa motioned to the two story shack in front of him, “I have nothing worth stealing.”

Akechi smiled, but it wasn’t his usual fake façade. “I apologize; I’m actually a fan of your work.”

Kitagawa blinked, clearly taken aback, before he stepped away from the door and closer to where Akechi stood on the street. “A fan, you say?” he shook his head. “My humble work is nothing compared to Sensei’s.”

Akechi tilted his head to the side. “Waterfalls of Sin spoke to me more than any other work I’ve seen. The rage and hopelessness I sensed from it resonated with me.”

Eyebrows scrunching together, Kitagawa dropped his gaze to the ground. “I believe you’re mistaken, that is one of the works of my Sensei, Ichiryusai Madarame.”

Immediately, Akechi realized his error. When he had researched the Thieves, it had been after Madarame’s downfall. Clearly, that painting was one that Madarame had originally plagiarized from his ward before the truth had been brought to light.

Kitagawa still wouldn’t look at Akechi. His discomfort was so palpable, it was clear that he was a terrible liar. It would be easy for Akechi to go along with it, turn around and remove himself from this useless conversation, yet he found that he couldn’t let this go.

“Are you certain? The moment I laid eyes on it, I recognized it as your work.”

Kitagawa came to life at that. “Just-just what are you implying?” He aggressively stepped closer to Akechi, light pink painting his cheekbones. “I will not stand to hear such slander against my Sensei!”

“I apologize,” Akechi replied smoothly. “I was simply pointing out what I had deduced. If I am mistaken, then I will say nothing more.” He gave a polite little bow and was about to turn away when—

“Deduced?”

“Yes, I am not only a fan of your works, but a budding detective. I was rather surprised when that painting appeared under Madarame’s name when it so closely matched your personal style.”

Kitagawa’s cheeks paled, and his gaze dropped back onto the ground. “If you try to bring this to the police, I will stand firm with my Sensei. There is only a resemblance in style because I have been learning from Madarame my entire life.”

Akechi nodded gracefully. “Of course. I apologize for taking up your time, Kitagawa-san.” He turned away, but said over his shoulder, “I look forward to your next painting.”

He could feel Kitagawa’s gaze boring into the back of his head, but Akechi continued on. That had been an entertaining diversion, but he didn’t have time to try and convince a fool to stop letting himself be taken advantage of (Akira had taken care of it eventually). He certainly didn’t care about the similarities he saw in a desperate child willing to do anything to win the approval of his father, and his own pitiful life.

…

“A subway accident occurred at seven this morning, killing eight and injuring dozens of others. Police are investigating the situation, and we will report on-going developments. Expect extreme delays in—“

Akechi closed the news report on his phone, his eyes set on the slowly receding form of a bright yellow car that held Akira Kuruzu. He had received calls from the police department, asking him to come and investigate. He was practically the leading detective in the psychotic breakdown incidents, after all. He hadn’t bothered answering. He didn’t have time to be some fake star detective. It wasn’t like he deserved to be showered with praise and fame after he had allowed himself to be a useless puppet, yet again.

After his brief conversation with Kitagawa he had—

The deformed, curling bones that made up the tracks in Mementos. A swirling red vortex that led into an isolated pocket where Yahiko’s shadow dwelled. Cold laughter and a mocking tone that turned into panic when Akechi grabbed its head and spread his own madness into it, like some infectious disease.

--realized that in order to move forward without facing an early death, he needed to conform to Shido’s demands. He was truly as delusional and as foolish as Kitagawa.

Akira had only just arrived in Tokyo, and from the bits of conversation Akechi had overheard, it appeared that Sakura was taking him to be introduced to Shujin Academy. Akechi wasn’t certain of the exact day that Akira would discover the Metaverse, but it would undoubtedly be soon. He had noticed that Akira hadn’t had that strange cat with him. Since it was some creature from the Metaverse, it meant that when Akira took in the cat would mark the beginning of the Phantom Thieves’ escapades. He would just have to make Leblanc a regular after school hangout until he caught sight of that creature.

He could involve himself in Kamoshida’s Palace not long after Akira and the others began to investigate it. He could simply tell them the truth to explain his powers: he’d summoned his Persona some years ago when the MetaNav first appeared on his phone. He could even explain how he’d explored the Metaverse to some extent, moving around Mementos and discovering the horror of his father’s own Palace. How he desperately wanted to stop his father, but didn’t have the strength to do it alone. They wouldn’t suspect him in the least.

It was Sunday, and Akechi wanted to avoid dealing with people. Putting on that cheerful, good natured mask was far more exhausting than it had been before. He still hadn’t answered Shido’s calls over the last few days, though thankfully they had stopped altogether when the news of the accident hit. As long as he obeyed orders, his father paid him no mind.

Akechi moved through the throngs of people in Shibuya, wearing an old hoodie and worn jeans. With the hood pulled up over his head, even his diehard fans would have trouble recognizing him. He wandered through the streets, flinching every time the sound of a news report or gossip with regards to the accident wafted by. He pondered returning to his apartment and just climbing into bed, but tossed the idea aside. He didn’t feel secure in his apartment. Shido knew where it was, after all. He began to plan on what exactly he’d say, and how he could manipulate Akira and the others into pursuing Shido. Devising the perfect moment to interject it into a conversation.

Stopping to lean against a street pole, Akechi finally bothered to take stock of his surroundings. He resisted the urge to start laughing when he found Madarame’s shack sitting in front of him. The street was empty, Akechi was bored, and the pained look on Kitagawa’s face was still fresh in his mind. He pulled his phone from his pocket and said, “Ichiryusai Madarame, plagiarism, shack, museum.”

…

The golden hued museum was gaudy, yet Akechi found it less disgraceful than his father’s cruise ship. It was smaller in scale and held weak Shadows and a weak Ruler. He could still hear Yahiko’s screams from yesterday ringing in his ears, and found the idea of doing something as benign as stealing a Treasure appealing. He could find its location and then threaten Madarame to cause the Treasure to manifest. Sending a calling card was what Phantom Thieves did, and Akechi knew that he could never truly be one.

“What, what is this?!” A panicked voice demanded from behind Akechi.

He stiffened and glanced over his shoulder. Trembling behind Akechi, with wide eyes trained on the golden museum, stood Kitagawa. Akechi felt a laugh burst from his lips at the ridiculousness of the situation. He hadn’t even noticed the artist’s approach before activating the NavApp.

“Your Sensei’s museum,” he murmured, already planning on how he could use this situation to his advantage.

Kitagawa tore his eyes from the monstrosity before him and gaped at Akechi. “It’s you! The detective from yesterday.” He walked over to Akechi, that angry flush rising to his cheeks again. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I decided to change Madarame, since you refused to admit the truth.”

“Change Sensei? What are you going on about?” Kitagawa looked at the Palace looming behind Akechi, at the shadows milling about its entrance, and shook his head. “What is this place?”

Akechi saw an opportunity. “Let me show you. I suspected foul play, but it was confirmed once I perused this museum.” It would be easier to integrate with the Thieves if he had already ‘stolen’ a Treasure, and with another Persona user to vouch for him, well, there wouldn’t be an ounce of suspicion cast upon him.

“Foul play?” Kitagawa looked Akechi in the eyes. A defeated expression crossed over his face momentarily before he put on that indignant façade again. “You mean those preposterous accusations of plagiarism!”

“Not so preposterous,” Akechi replied smoothly. “Come with me, and I’ll show you my proof.”

Kitagawa was clearly torn, but Akechi didn’t have time to wait for him. He turned and strolled confidently towards the door, pulling his hood down. He smirked when he heard Kitagawa following him. They pushed through the crowd of shadows, voices murmuring about their excitement at seeing the Great Madarame’s works.

Kitagawa stopped and tried to speak to one of them, but the shadow acted as if he wasn’t even there. Kitagawa rushed forward and grabbed Akechi’s shoulder right before they broke free of the crowd.

“Who are these people? What is wrong with them?” he hissed into Akechi’s ear.

“They’re not people. This place isn’t in the real world.” Akechi motioned to the gaudy Palace. “We are inside of your Sensei’s heart, staring at the manifestation of his distorted desires.”

“Sensei’s heart,” Kitagawa muttered to himself.

“There is nothing but the truth here,” Akechi said cheerfully. He found that he was genuinely enjoying himself. He had never shown another person the Metaverse, always kept it a secret as if it was his own little world.

He stepped from the crowd, pushing a few shadows aside. The guards at the front of the museum turned towards him. “The museum is closed!”

“Tell Madarame that Akechi-kun is here to see him,” Akechi replied boldly.

The guards looked at one another, or at least appeared to, as their faces were formless.

“Well?” Akechi asked with clear irritation.

One guard scurried inside, while the other turned back to Akechi. “Wait here until the curator gives his approval.”

“Sensei knows you?” Kitagawa asked quietly from where he stood next to Akechi. The guards had hardly paid him any mind, treating him as if he was just another milling shadow.

“I caught wind of his activities through my father,” Akechi quietly spoke the truth, or at least part of it, “I checked for the existence of his Palace and introduced myself. I decided recently that I could not allow his crimes to go unpunished.”

“Palace?” Kitagawa glanced up at the museum. “This is Sensei’s Palace.” He spoke slowly, appearing to come to some sort of understanding. “And what was that about your father? Is he involved in the art world?”

Akechi gave Kitagawa a small smile. “You could say that.”

The guard strode back through the museum doors. “The Great Madarame has agreed to see you, Akechi-kun.”

There was a subtle shift in the air and Kitagawa gasped. “Your clothes!”

Akechi glanced down at himself and saw the purple and black striped outfit that had become a second skin to him. Of course, he wasn’t wearing that ridiculous prince get up, as that had been nothing more than the Phantom Thieves cognition of his appearance.

“An unfortunate side effect.” Akechi looked directly at where the guard’s eyes would be, if he had them. “This is my companion. He is coming along, as well.”

The guard finally acknowledged Kitagawa, though it was clear that it was unsure of what to do.

“We shouldn’t keep the Great Madarame waiting,”Akechi prompted.

That got the guards moving. They ushered Kitagawa and Akechi through the doors and guided them through the museum. Kitagawa gaped at the sight of halls and halls of paintings that contained nothing more than a vague outline of a person: all of Madarame’s unfortunate victims.  Kitagawa stopped suddenly, and Akechi saw that it was in front of a painting of himself.

“Sensei has never painted work like any of these.” Kitagawa reached a hand forward and rested it against the surface of his portrait.

“Touching the artwork is not allowed!” the guard barked. Kitagawa withdrew his hand as if he had been burned.

“This is how Madarame sees all of his pupils,” Akechi quietly informed Kitagawa.

“Then, this painting of myself…?”

Akechi nodded. The look of anguish on Kitagawa’s face was pitiful, and Akechi turned away from it. “This isn’t everything, come along if you’re not afraid to gaze upon the truth,” he said over his shoulder.

He turned the corner and was introduced to a new guard, Kitagawa lagging behind. They weaved through the museum, Kitagawa quietly taking in evidence of his Sensei’s despicable nature. He stopped in front of a painting of a woman in the traditional Japanese style, an indiscernible emotion on his face. It took Akechi lightly pulling on his arm to get Kitagawa moving again. Akechi wasn’t entirely sure why there were so many copies of it stacked up and around, but Kitagawa was clearly upset by it.

They finally entered into the inner chamber of the Palace, Madarame’s Shadow sitting and drinking sake as he had been every time Akechi visited him. There was a large glass window behind him, overlooking a display room where an amorphous shape twisted in midair above a pedestal. Akechi had never paid it any mind before, but now he recognized it as the undefined form of Madarame’s Treasure.

“Welcome, Akechi-kun. Please, sit, have a drink, and tell me how Shido-sama fares—“ the shadow cut off, eyes widening as it noticed Kitagawa standing beside him. “Yusuke?” he whispered with a momentary look of fear on his face before he set accusing eyes onto Akechi “Why have you brought my student here?”

“I thought it would be prudent to show him his Sensei’s true face.” Akechi smirked.

Madarame’s Shadow shook his head, regaining his composure. “No matter. Whether Yusuke knows the truth or not is irrelevant. He still belongs to me.” He motioned to the pillow across from him. “Please sit, Akechi-kun. Tell me what Shido-sama requires of me.”

Akechi was surprised by Madarame’s lack of concern, but in the end, he supposed that the man didn’t care about anyone but himself.

“Belongs to you!?” Kitagawa’s voice cracked as he repeated his Sensei’s words.

Madarame sipped his sake before glancing at Kitagawa as if he was a particularly loud dog. “You are my student and my ward. It is your duty to provide me with as many paintings as you can produce before there’s nothing left of you. It’s simply what is fair.” He smiled a terrible, wide grin that reminded Akechi of a shark.

“Fair?” Kitagawa had turned deathly pale. “Sensei, you told me that you had artist’s block,” he whispered. “That’s why you needed to borrow my paintings.” He shook his head. “You can’t have taken work from all of those people. The paintings downstairs were countless…”

Madarame laughed. “Why not? They were eager to please and ripe for the picking! Sacrificing your life for the elderly is the foundation of a filial society, you know!” He took another sip of sake before setting the empty glass on the table. “Now, enough of this boring talk. Leave us, Yusuke. Akechi-kun has come to discuss business.” He began to pour out two glasses of sake.

Kitagawa looked completely devastated. Akechi wondered if he had made a mistake in leading him here. He had thought the revelation would compel Kitagawa to rebellion, not this pitiful state.

It’s because I’m not Akira. Why did I think, for even a second, that I could do what he did?

“I’m not here on my father’s business today,” Akechi said, still not sitting down. “I’ve come to make you pay for your crimes, Madarame.”

Madarame jumped to his feet, his eyes wide with his mouth hanging open in terror. Akechi had threatened to kill the shadow the first time they had ever spoken, and Madarame clearly had never forgotten the feeling of a pistol pressed to his forehead.

“What? But I’ve been routing money to Shido-sama as requested!” He fell onto his knees, bowing with his forehead touching the ground. “Please, I’m certain if you bring this to my Other’s attention in the real world that he will do anything to accommodate you!”

“Routing money,” Kitagawa said softly. He stepped forward to where Madarame bowed. He kneeled down on one knee and raised his hand; it hovered above Madarame’s back before he withdrew it. He looked up at Akechi, his eyes calculating.  “Your father is the one Sensei is working for, correct? What do you intend to do here?”

Akechi was pleased to see that harsh look in Kitagawa’s eyes. It was an improvement. “I have grown tired of sitting back and mindlessly following my father’s orders. I believe that if we take the Treasure from this Palace, Madarame will admit everything he has done, while also cutting off my father from a valuable funding source.”

“Is your father yakuza?” Kitagawa quietly asked.

“He is a criminal. He has a Palace, as well, but it is a formidable place that I cannot enter alone,” Akechi lied.

Madarame sat up, he looked between Aekchi and Kitagawa before he grabbed onto Kitagawa’s hand. “Please, Yusuke, you must stop this boy! He is dangerous, and his father is even worse! He threatened my life! I only used my students’ paintings as a way to find the money to pay him! Yusuke, you must understand!”

Kitagawa looked down at Madarame, and in that moment Akechi wondered if he’d miscalculated, and that Kitagawa would turn against him. Not that it was a problem; Kitagawa didn’t even have a Persona. It would only be a disappointing outcome.

Pushing Madarame’s hand away, Kitagawa stood. Madarame fell backward with a cry.

“You,” Kitagawa closed his eyes, his mouth drawn into a firm line. When he opened them again they burned with rage. “You have the audacity to ask for my help after you’ve taken and taken and taken from everyone in the house, until all that remained was me! I have endured the threats and gone along with the lies because I have nowhere else to go! You knew that and took advantage of it!”

Madarame was staring at Kitagawa as if he’d never seen him before.

“Even if you were threatened, that gives you no excuse to use and abuse children!” Kitagawa bellowed, the flush on his cheeks a bright red.

Akechi smirked. This is what he’d been hoping for.

Kitagawa took a breath, trying to regain some of his composure. “You said that if we acquired a…Treasure, we could make Sens--Madarame admit the truth?” Kitagawa asked Akechi, his voice now soft as his eyes still rested on Madarame’s shadow.

“Yes, we only have to tell him so in the real world, and the Treasure will materialize.” Akechi walked over to the window and gestured at the amorphous blob floating in the center of the display room.

Kitagawa tore his eyes away from Madarame and went to stand next to Akechi. “I see.” He closed his eyes again. “I’m still not certain if this a dream or—“

Akechi caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he pushed Kitagawa out of the way as an inhuman snarl filled his ears.  He was knocked over and fell with a crash through the window, glass shattering around him as he caught himself on the marble floor.

“Do you brats think I’ll let you ruin everything?!” Madarame was snarling at Kitagawa in the observation room, his hands extended towards him like claws.

“Loki, come forth!” Akechi called, just as shadows poured into the display room from every entryway.

Akechi dodged a wind spell and found himself surrounded by a multitude of weak opponents. He cast megidolaon and took out a quarter of them. They were unperturbed, and Akechi danced around more attacks. He could hear yelling and saw a bright flash of blue fire in the observation room above. He found that he desperately hoped Kitagawa was alright, though he couldn’t place why he was so concerned.

Another attack knocked him from his reverie. He summoned Loki again, casting another megidolaon spell followed by makouga, leaving only a few stragglers. The screaming from the observation room had ceased, and Akechi glanced back at it to see the form of Fox standing in the broken window. He jumped down into the display room, clutching a katana in one hand.

“I will not allow you to harm him!” he bellowed at the remaining shadows. He tore the porcelain mask from his face and summoned his Persona, ice raining down on many of the shadows. Akechi laughed and began to shoot at the frozen shadows, watching them shatter into mist. Kitagawa cast another mabufula spell and drew his katana.

Akechi could hear a commotion from one of the entryways and saw more shadows approaching. There was nothing more they could do here today, not without the Treasure manifesting. Besides, Akechi didn’t want to risk getting Kitagawa killed so soon after his awakening.

“We need to leave!” he said as he grabbed onto Fox’s arm to keep him from attacking the frozen shadows. “Follow me!”

They sprinted through the halls, dodging enemies. Akechi blasted any would-be opponents away with spells, and Kitagawa sliced a few groups clean in half with his sword. They jumped from a window and landed in front of the museum, guards pouring out of the front doors. Akechi pulled his phone from his pocket and selected the NavApp.

“Return us to the real world!” he yelled, just as another spell came barreling towards them.

The wind spell hit and knocked them back. Akechi fought to regain his bearings, but blinked to see that the shack and overcast sky had reformed in front of him. They had made it back safely.

He started laughing. That had been the most fun he’d had in a long time. As he caught his breath, he realized Kitagawa had been laughing with him. The two of them were sitting on the sidewalk across from the shack, laughing like maniacs. They must have made quite the sight.

Kitagawa slowly stood up before swooning and catching himself on the telephone pole Akechi had been leaning against only an hour ago. He looked exhausted.

Akechi stood up. “You should get some rest. Awakening a Persona is always a trial.”

Kitagawa blinked at him and said, “You drag me into another world, show me the truth of the man I could call ‘father,’ and that is all you have to say?”

Akechi tilted his head to the side and smiled: a genuine grin that he didn’t show often. “What else is there to say?”

Kitagawa huffed, “An introduction would be nice. Along with an explanation of what exactly happened.” He shook his head. “Sens—Madarame, tried to kill me,” he looked so mournful, Akechi took pity on him.

“Come with me, then. I’ll take you to dinner and you can ask me whatever you’d like.” Akechi smiled charmingly, a bit more fake than his previous grin, “My name is Goro Akechi, by the way.”

Chapter Text

After a few bowls of udon and a long, hushed explanation of the Metaverse, Palaces, Shadows, Persona, and Akechi’s ‘hypothesis’ on how to enact a change of heart in someone, Kitagawa appeared satisfied. He was sitting with his hand cupping his chin, deep in thought.

Akechi hadn’t spoken so much of the uninterrupted truth to someone in a very long time. It was strangely refreshing. He always only lied or spoke half-truths, but much of what he’d told Kitagawa was the genuine truth. He felt almost giddy as he watched his new ally process their insane day. He had never had to explain the Metaverse to someone; he had never had the opportunity to mentor anyone. He had always worked alone until he’d weaseled his way into the Thieves, and even then, he had sensed their mistrust every moment he spent with them.  

“You said that we need to tell Madarame that we plan to steal his distorted desires?” Kitagawa spoke up, his eyes focusing back onto Akechi’s face. “How do you plan to do this? Will you simply walk up to him out of blue?”

Protecting your identity and building fame under a brand was why the Phantom Thieves used a calling card. At least that’s what Akechi told himself to keep his mind from straying back to the cold truth that he could never be a Phantom Thief.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” A slow, vicious smile spread across Akechi’s face. “We’ll have to enter the Metaverse right afterwards.”

“Once you do such a thing, there will be no turning back.”

“No there won’t be. I understand if you’d rather not risk—“

Kitagawa held up his hand and Akechi stopped talking. “I have sat by and watched Madarame hurt so many people, including myself. I cannot stand by any longer.”

The determination and hurt was clear on Kitagawa’s face. It was a chilling reminder of an expression Akechi had seen staring back at him from the mirror nearly three years ago. 

“I don’t see any reason in waiting, then,” Akechi stood up and held out a hand. “Tomorrow we will make things right.” 

Kitagawa stood as well and took Akechi’s hand, shaking it once in agreement.

They stayed like that for a moment before Kitagawa coughed awkwardly. “I must admit that I’m not certain if I can return to that house tonight.”

Akechi gently pulled his hand away, and Kitagawa let him, his eyes staring unseeing out of the large restaurant window. 

“You can stay with me tonight, if you want.” The words tumbled out of Akechi’s mouth before he could stop them. 

His mind flew into overdrive; what if Shido had someone check in? What if he figured out Kitagawa and I were conspiring? Why am I such a needy fool? First Akira and now this—

Kitagawa blinked at Akechi with surprise, a slight flush to his cheeks. “I thank you for such a gallant offer, but I think it would be best if I did return home. Madarame would undoubtedly be suspicious if I spent the night somewhere else. I have never done so before, after all.” He looked down at the table. 

“You’re right,” Akechi grabbed his wallet, phone and briefcase, and made to leave the restaurant, Kitagawa a quiet presence behind him. “We haven’t exchanged IM handles yet, right?” Akechi asked as they stepped into the street. 

A chat room was opened between the two of them, and Kitagawa finally, awkwardly bid his farewell. Akechi felt drained in a way he hadn’t since the last time he’d spent a late evening chatting with Akira in Leblanc. 

He shook his head to try and clear it, walking back towards his apartment. 

I’ve completely become a sentimental fool, haven’t I?

…

The next evening Akechi found himself standing in the shadows of Madarame’s private quarters. Like the rest of the dilapidated house, the room was sparse and ugly. Yusuke ( when had he shifted to thinking of him so familiarly?) had let him inside, and now all that was left was for him to wait. His phone gently buzzed in his pocket just as he heard the front door opening and closing, Yusuke’s and Madarame’s voices carrying greetings through the house. 

He will be upstairs soon. Prepare yourself.

Yusuke’s IM glowed in the dark room. Akechi moved to the door, and cracked it open, peering out. 

“How is your next piece coming along?” Madarame’s voice echoed up the stairs. “It’s been a few months since we released anything new; my slump just keeps getting worse, I’m afraid.”

Akechi clenched his hand around the phone in anger at Madarame’s words. The man’s voice was disgustingly fake sweet, until Yusuke tried to speak up, “I’ve been searching for a suitable subject, but nothing—“ 

“My exhibit is in a month!” Madarame snapped back to Yusuke’s mumbled excuse. He stepped up onto the landing. His face was contorted with a dark hate, and Akechi felt like he was staring at the man’s Shadow. 

Madarame turned around to face the stairwell, blocking Yusuke from continuing on. “We are in the heart of the city! Finding ‘a suitable subject’ should pose no problem!” Madarame mocked Yusuke’s words in a terrible, high pitched imitation of his student’s steady, deep voice. 

A loud smack rang out, shortly followed by a cry as Madarame moved forward, stepping down the stairs. There was a thump. Akechi flew from his hiding spot in a spur of panic at what he’d just heard. He reached down and grabbed a hold of Madarame, spinning the thin old man around and pulling him up the stairs. Akechi caught a glance of Yusuke bracing himself on the stairwell railing, a red spot blooming on his cheek. 

Madarame’s eyes were wide with fear and shock as he took in a face he didn’t know. Akechi had only ever spoken to Madarame in the real world over the phone, a voice changer running to completely disguise himself. Only Madarame’s shadow knew who he was. 

“Ichiryusai Madarame,” Akechi murmured in the face of the deadly silence that had landed upon the three of them. “I will take your wrath, your greed, your sloth. Every terrible thing that makes you who you are will be torn asunder by tonight. Be ready, for you will soon lose everything.”

Madarame pulled away from Akechi as his grip slackened. “Wh-what is the meaning of this?! Who are you?” 

Yusuke came up the stairs behind his guardian. “We will steal your distorted desires, Sensei. You will repent for what you’ve done.” 

“You ungrateful brat!” Madarame snarled as he turned so he could look between Akechi and Yusuke. “Just what are you planning, you useless little fool? You are nothing without me!”

Akechi had to hold himself back from striking Madarame in the same way he had just struck Yusuke. Instead, he stepped past the man. Madarame reached out and grabbed for Akechi, but was pushed off. Akechi gently took hold of Yusuke’s arm and guided him down the stairs. 

“Where are you two going?! I’m calling my security! From this moment, you are no son of mine, Yusuke!” 

“Ichiryusai Madarame, Plagiarism,  Shack, Museum,” Akechi chanted down to his phone once they'd reached the bottom floor. The world melted away, along with Madarame's snarled threats. 

They landed together in the middle of the Palace, Akechi recognizing the room immediately: a huge gallery with giant landscape paintings. 

A shadow shuffled on the other side of the room. Akechi pulled Yusuke to hide behind some scaffolding. “Are you alright?” he softly asked his accomplice. 

The red on Yusuke’s cheek was just visible under the bottom of his mask. “I will be alright, once we have changed Sen— Madarame’s heart.”

Akechi nodded. “There’s a shadow across the room. This place will be on high alert after what we just said.”

Yusuke nodded, and the two of them shifted forward, catching their enemy by surprise. 

From there they moved through the Palace as quietly as possible, climbing strange sets of stairs and passing through a hall with hundreds of copies of the same painting of a woman that had been piled closer to the entrance. Instead of his earlier melancholy, Yusuke had snarled with rage at seeing all of them, and Akechi had stood back solemnly as he watched Yusuke cast a potent ice spell that covered the display, before he drew his blade and shattered what paintings were within reach, the chunks of ice falling sadly to the floor. 

Another group of shadow guards came barreling towards them, but Akechi couldn’t even bring himself to be upset with Yusuke for making so much noise.

Once the latest wave had been dispatched, they stepped through one final doorway to find themselves standing in the main display room. The glass was still shattered, shards and broken metal on the floor from the day before. A painting floated in the center of the room, glowing with an unnerving light. Yusuke took in a sharp breath, “Such a thing is his greatest treasure? But why is there a--a baby?”

The painting was nearly identical to the ones Yusuke had just destroyed. Except the woman was smiling down at a small baby lying in her arms.

Akechi drew his gun and shot at the gaudy shadow that stepped into the frame of broken glass above them. Madarame moved aside with a cry. 

“Vile little brats!” He yelled down at them. “You think I’ll let you touch the Sayuri with your greasy little hands? That masterpiece belongs to me and me alone.”

Shadows appeared at the entrances to the room, ready to re-enact their last visit. Yusuke jumped up to the viewing room with a cry, fury clearly driving him as he slashed at Madarame’s Shadow. Akechi ran forward and grabbed the painting, paying little heed to the alarms that started blaring as he passed near the set of infrared lasers glowing around it. 

Akechi blasted through the shadows that tried to surround him, jumping up to the second floor to join Yusuke. 

"How dare you?!" Madarame snarled. "I was given that masterpiece as payment for my generosity!"

Akechi was about to step forward, to throw Madarame aside so they could make their escape. Instead, Yusuke spoke up, "You mean to say, this is not your work? Is that why there is a child in her arms?" He was shaking with anger. "Who--" he bowed his head, clenching his hands around the hilt of his sword, "Just who painted this?" He looked up, and his eyes were wild behind his mask. Akechi found that the look suited him.

Madarame laughed, cold and cruel. "Come now, Yusuke, you should already know the answer to that!" 

Yusuke took a swipe at him with his sword, and Madarame fell back. He wasn't scared, lying on the ground.  Instead, he smiled that terrible shark grin and said, "Your mother."

Yusuke lost all composure then, and Akechi watched with interest. As Yusuke closed in on the old man lying on the ground, the shadow melted. In its place, a group of disturbing paintings floated in the air, making up a mockery of his face. It sneered and said, "She looked so pitiful the day that she finished it, but lucky for me, it was also the day that she died. She left me a masterpiece and a tiny painter-to-be." 

Yusuke slashed at the paintings but they simply dodged out of the way, as if he was slicing through mist.

"Out of all the youthful fools I've helped , she was truly the most grateful."

Akechi rested the painting to the side and joined Yusuke. "I understand your rage, but we have to be strategic now if we want to win!" He called out as he cast a megidolaon, knocking back some of the paintings, while others appeared invigorated by the spell. 

Yusuke retreated. He stood still for a moment, taking a deep breath to compose himself. When he opened his eyes, they were determined. "I am prepared."

Akechi found that he already missed the unhinged look from before.

The battle was tricky, but not difficult. Once the two of them figured out what attack worked on which painting, they were able to destroy Madarame systematically. Akechi’s power was devastating to the weak Ruler, and soon the entire Palace was rumbling, Madarame back in his human form, kneeling pitifully on the ground. 

“Yusuke,” the Shadow rasped, “I’m sorry, I failed you in every way imaginable. I’ll never be able to make things right, will I?” 

Akechi wanted to turn away from the pitiful sight, but Madarame set his eyes on him next. “You are trying to take him down, aren’t you? You’ll never succeed; he’s too powerful.”

With that damning line, Madarame’s shadow faded away, the Palace beginning to shake. Yusuke stood, watching the last bright specs of the shadow fade away. Akechi picked up the painting and grabbed Yusuke’s arm. “We need to run!” 

They bolted through the building, paintings and displays crashing around them. They raced through the Palace, having to backtrack as falling rubble blocked their path. They found themselves trapped at another dead end; right before them, the painting that had Yusuke’s sad outline unhooked from the grey tiled wall and slowly fell down. Akechi pulled out his phone and yelled, “Return us to the real world!”

He pulled out his gun and shot upwards, trying to blast the painting away so it wouldn't crush them.  

With a painful crash, Akechi dazedly found himself lying on the grimy floor of Madarame’s shack. He blinked up at the dark ceiling; his gun with the silencer on it gripped in his hand. 

“What was that noise?” Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Akechi jumped to his feet and stuffed his gun into his jacket. His breath caught in his throat when two security guards stepped onto the landing. 

A hand gently rested on Akechi’s arm, Yusuke standing quietly next to him; the Sayuri was under his arm. "Excuse us," he replied, his voice strong and even. "This painting merely came unhooked and fell to the floor."

"We are here to investigate a call we received from Mr. Madarame. He claimed he was being assaulted in his own home by a pair of hoodlums." One guard spoke as the other edged around where Akechi and Yusuke stood, clearly ready to swoop in. His hand had grabbed a hold of the handcuffs on his belt. 

"Excuse me!" A strained voice of an old man rang out. Madarame appeared out of a small side door that could have been a hidden compartment. "Please leave these two alone!" He was disheveled and panting as he moved to stand in front of Yusuke and Akechi. 

"My phone call was about a group of men who had broken in to try and steal my work. These two fine young men helped chase them off."

Yusuke was staring at Madarame with wide eyes. Akechi had to admit that the sudden change was jarring to see, even for him. 

The security guards insisted on taking statements. Akechi and Yusuke were able to speak to them together, which was great since Akechi smoothly did all of the talking, lying through his teeth. Yusuke occasionally backed up his statements, but spent most of his time gently holding on to the painting and sending melancholic looks Madarame's way. 

Finally, nearly an hour later, the guards left, with assurances that they'd track down the 'culprits.' Madarame, Akechi and Yusuke were all on the first floor of the shack. Madarame was sitting on an old and threadbare couch, that might have been a brilliant red once, but was now more of a burgundy.  Akechi stood near the entranceway, and Yusuke stood before Madarame. Neither one of them said a word. 

"I must--"

"I will--" 

They both began to speak at the same time. Akechi felt uncomfortable listening in on this, and wondered if he should leave. But then Yusuke continued on, his voice growing confident and loud, "I will not stay here any longer, nor will I ever paint for you again, Madarame." He turned around. His eyes were watering, and Akechi saw a tear leak out. "I think it would be for the best if we never saw each other again." He hastily wiped his eyes and began to walk towards Akechi, his eyes now set with determination. 

"Wait!" Madarame flew to his feet. "Before you go, please let me--"

"No," Yusuke stopped, but did not look back. "I do not want to hear your apologies. To me, they are nothing more than empty platitudes." 

He marched forward again, past Akechi, and out the front door. 

Madarame reached out his hand, his face crumpled into a pitiful thing. He looked nearly ready to begin sobbing. 

Akechi followed after Yusuke, having no desire to see Madarame crumble. After all, he knew that there would be a viral video of a press conference with the man sobbing all over himself soon enough. 

They stood out in the street. Yusuke was holding the Sayuri in front of him, staring at it as if he'd never seen it before. 

"As glad as I am to see you get out of there, don't you need some bags of clothes or something ?" Akechi asked blandly. 

"Hmmm," Yusuke hummed, not taking his eyes off the painting.

"Do you even have anywhere to stay?" 

"No," Yusuke finally glanced at Akechi, his eyes tired. "No, I do not. As for my meager belongings, I imagine Madarame will soon be in an interrogation room, and I will be free to collect what is mine."  

Akechi remembered his earlier offer and came to a decision. He could make it work, they would just have to be discreet.  "You're still more than welcome to stay with me." 

Yusuke looked back down at the painting one last time before he nodded. "Very well. I will accept your offer." He looked at Akechi, staring intently. "In a matter of a few days you have completely changed my life. Just who are you truly, Goro Akechi?"

A small smile spread onto Akechi's face as he replied, "Just a rookie detective trying to make a difference in the world." He put a hand on Yusuke's shoulder. "I'll show you my place, and we can drop off the Sayuri , then get something to eat."

"Hmm," Yusuke blinked rapidly before asking, "Would it be too presumptuous of me to request udon again?"

Akechi laughed, "You really like udon, huh?" 

…

It was late in the evening, and so the subway wasn't nearly as packed as it was during rush hour. Which was for the best, since they were traveling with an uncovered painting. Yusuke was staring intently out the window, watching the formless black tunnels speed by. Akechi was plotting.

He was going to return to the shack tonight. He needed to ensure Madarame would keep his mouth shut about his and Yusuke's involvement in his sudden conscience. After that, he needed to come up with a decent cover story as to why he was friends with Yusuke Kitagawa. Shido was unlikely to check in on him if he followed his orders, but it couldn't hurt to be thoroughly prepared. 

Madarame would hold a press conference soon, and Akechi knew it would only be a few weeks later that Kamoshida would make headlines himself. With how close the two confessions would be, the Phantom Thieves would likely take the credit for both incidents. That was more than fine with him. 

The train began to slow. " The next stop   is Jimbocho. Please stay clear of the doors," the prerecorded train announcement rang out. 

"This is our stop," Akechi said, knocking Yusuke out of his thoughts.

"Jimbocho? You live around here?"

Akechi nodded. "It's not far from my school, and there's many wonderful cafes and places to eat, along with all of the bookstores."

Yusuke nodded, "I see. I'm not sure if this is rude to say, but it seems like the sort of place that would suit you." 

"Not at all," Akechi smiled, but didn't mention that he had been placed there because of its closeness to the Diet.

The streets were busy, as students and businessmen alike made their way to and from the various curry houses, cafes, ramen shops, and American fast food joints. The bookstores were just beginning to close at this hour, so anyone who had been browsing would be driven to grab dinner. Akechi walked down the same road he had wandered down in a daze a few short days ago, his once favorite cafe lit up in stylish gold lighting, students from his academy lining the tables. Yusuke walked beside him, and thankfully the passing foot traffic gave him a wide berth. He took a turn down a side street, choosing to take the back entrance into his building. Once they stood together in the shining silver elevator, Yusuke spoke up, "Compared to the place I have spent my entire life, this is incredible." 

Akechi smiled, finding himself genuinely amused. Yusuke was staring around the elevator as if it was plated in pure gold. "Don't flatter me just yet, you haven't actually seen my place. I suppose I should mention I have a one bedroom, so you'll have to make do in the living room. If it's any consolation, I'm only ever here to shower and sleep."

"You do live alone, then? What of the father that Madarame kept bringing up?" Yusuke peered over at Akechi, his eyes half-lidded. 

"He's never lived with me. Something I'm incredibly grateful for." Akechi replied with fake cheer. 

"Does he pay for your apartment?" The elevator dinged. Akechi stepped into the hall, but Yusuke stood inside the elevator still. "Will he be displeased if you have a guest?"

Akechi rested his arm against the elevator's doors to keep them open. "He only pays when he feels generous, otherwise I make do." Akechi tilted his head to the side. "You don't need to worry about him, he won't be an issue. He couldn't care less about my life or whether or not I have a roommate."

Yusuke frowned, but finally exited the elevator. "I am sorry."

Akechi laughed, "You don't need to feel sorry for me. I'm fairly well-off, all things considered."

"I suppose you haven't shown me pity, even in my pitiful state, so I will return the favor."

"Thanks," Akechi sounded as bland as always, his sarcasm undetectable.

He unlocked his front door, and they stepped into the cool, dark living room. A small kitchen opened to the right, and to the left a dark hallway stretched out. Within it were the doors to a bathroom and Akechi's bedroom. He flicked on the light, and flinched at the sight of an apartment that looked more like a model used in showings than a teenager's place.  The couch was dark brown leather, with blue blankets pulled over it that were perfectly tucked in. A low, spotless coffee table sat in front of a decent sized flat screen TV. The kitchen was less clean, at least, a few dishes in the sink, some food debris on the counter. The small two seater table was as spotless as the living room. 

Yusuke didn't seem in the least bit intimidated; he'd already gently rested the Sayuri onto the coffee table. Akechi felt uncomfortable staring at the bittersweet expression on what he assumed was Yusuke's own mother's face. He turned away to face the hall after he closed and locked the door. "I'll go get some linens for you and then we can go get udon, if you'd like." 

Yusuke said nothing, and Akechi looked over to see his thin form lying on the couch, his head resting against the armrest. He walked over, and saw that Yusuke had fallen asleep, his chest gently rising and falling. 

Akechi sighed, "What am I doing?" He asked his sleeping guest.

...

Some time later, Madarame awoke with a start. His eyes widened in fear at the silencer nozzle pressed against his forehead. 

"Hello," Akechi said in the dark,"I think the two of us need to have a little chat."

"I-I don't understand--" 

"Then shut up and listen," Akechi replied, his voice cold and emotionless. "I'd imagine a man as needy and grandiose as you is planning a very public confession."

"Y-yes. I need the whole world to know what I've done, especially since Yusuke--"

Akechi pressed the gun harder against Madarame's forehead. He sputtered, his eyes growing even wider.

"That right there."

"Wh-what? Yusuke?"

"Exactly. You can cry and grovel on national television all you like, but you will not mention Yusuke, or myself. Not there, and certainly not in police custody. Do you understand?"

"I-" Madarame stopped. He tried to look Akechi in the eye, even in the dark. "You did something to me, didn't you?"

"Not in the least. I simply saw to it that a vile old man saw the error of his ways."

Madarame sighed once, looking as defeated as he had when Yusuke had walked out. "I assure you, I will only speak of my own deplorable actions. I owe it to Yusuke."

Akechi withdrew the gun. He believed Madarame, but regardless, the man had no idea who he was, so Yusuke was the one in the greatest danger if he decided to talk. 

"Is-is Yusuke here?" Madarame suddenly asked, sitting up in his bed. He slowly got up.

"Do you honestly believe Yusuke will ever willingly speak to you again?" Akechi sneered. 

Madarame looked down, his shoulders slumped, his hair in disarray. He looked like a vagrant in his thin house clothes, and Akechi found it fitting. He turned away, but then a hand closed around his upper arm.

"Please," Madarame began to beg. Akechi had an image in his mind of himself pushing Madarame back and striking his forehead with his gun. He refrained since a wound like that was far too noticeable. "Please, won't you take care of Yusuke? He's with you, isn't he?"

Akechi scoffed, "Where he is, is none of your business. And I make no promises about 'taking care of him,' but I won't extort him or try to knock him down the stairs for talking back."

Madarame let go of Akechi as if he'd been burned. Akechi stormed from the room after that, barely able to keep holding himself back from hurting Madarame. 

When he was back in the heart of Shibuya, he let himself take a breather. He was exhausted, but he needed to cover all of his bases. He needed to ensure that Shido did not catch word of this. He would not die again. 

…

The next morning both he and Yusuke woke up late. Yusuke had no alarm at all, and Akechi had been so thoroughly exhausted that he had slept through thirty minutes of his phone's chiming. They had rushed out of the apartment, Akechi helping Yusuke figure out what transfers he needed to get his school, Kosei, from Jimbocho. They had stood together in the crowded train, bumping into one another. Yusuke spoke near constantly about brush strokes and techniques within the true Sayuri , proclaiming he was inspired. Akechi had listened with both amusement and exasperation. It certainly made his ride to school more entertaining. 

They eventually parted ways, and Akechi slipped on his charming mask completely, shocking himself at how genuine he'd been on the train. He needed to get a grip. He couldn't just be acting however he wanted around Yusuke; he could very well decide he wanted nothing to do with Akechi if he realized what Akechi was. 

School was a boring blur, and by the time lunch rolled around, Akechi was ready to send a message to the department asking if he could join the railway accident investigation, if only to get himself out of class. His fingers froze when he saw a push notification with a headline that read: "Famous Artist Admits All!"

He clicked on it and an article with an embedded video loaded up, and an image of Madarame was shown crying all over himself. Akechi pulled out headphones and found a video of his whole confession. He listened intently, but Madarame never mentioned Yusuke by name, or brought up the strange boy who had jump started everything.

"Good boy," Akechi murmured sarcastically down at his phone. 

An IM pinged in his messenger. 

I wanted to thank you again. Every day I felt more and more certain that I would die in that shack. 

No need. I couldn't stand by any longer. You can move on, now. Make art for yourself and live your own life. 

The bell chimed and Akechi hastily shoved his phone and earbuds away, embarrassed to find that he meant his words.  Akira must have rubbed off on him far more than he realized. 

The day dragged to a close, and when the last bell finally rang, Akechi took a moment to check his phone again. He usually only had trash emails and the occasional message from the department, but there was an IM waiting for him again. 

Thank you again, Goro, truly.