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Mutou Yuugi was probably a delinquent. Not in the way Ryuji was, but in the way he looked. Then again, that probably wasn’t fair to Mutou. Just because someone had dyed hair or piercings didn’t make them a delinquent. Just because he had bandages and new bruises every other week didn’t make him a delinquent. In fact, Mutou was one of the kindest people Akira knew.
Then again, he could just be fooling himself.
It wasn’t until late September that Akira realized that Mutou was...... off. They’d just finished Okumura’s palace, and were waiting with baited breath for the change of heart to take effect. Rather than moping around LeBlanc the entire time, Akira decided to try and gather a bit more intel on Mutou, to hopefully help combat his shadow.
At the arcade in Akiba, any plans to play games were derailed when he noticed the red-stained gauze and medical tape wrapping Mutou’s left arm tightly. He gasped, worry practically exploding in his chest. “Mutou! What happened to ya?!” he yelped, hovering over the wounded arm. Mutou raised an eyebrow, somehow looking curious and sheepish at the same time.
“I don’t really remember, Kurusu-kun...” he said softly. Akira looked at him incredulously, but couldn’t seem to catch Mutou’s eye. “It’s true. Last thing I remember, I was behind the school. Then I blacked out and woke up at home, and my arm was bandaged.” He looked down to the side and grumbled something that sounded like ‘sloppily’.
Akira knew he should ask about the blackouts, but that seemed like something you didn’t ask someone you only talked to a handful of times and also suspected of murder. Instead, he shelved that thought and asked about something else. “Bandaged? Could you.....could you teach me how to do that?” he asked. Now it was Mutou’s turn for the incredulous look. Akira blushed lightly, trying to figure out how to explain it without outing himself as either having a criminal record or being a Phantom Thief. “I um....My school......was the one with that abusive coach. A lot of people were hurt, and the nurse either couldn’t or wouldn’t treat them all. I wanna be prepared, in case something like that happens again,” he said. Nailed it.
“Oh, sure! Do.....you want to go to mine, or should we head to your house?” Mutou asked. “I don’t exactly carry a first aid kit with me when I go out.” Akira could believe that. There’s nowhere it’d fit, not in all that leather. Although the idea of going back to his ‘house’.....wasn’t ideal. He didn’t exactly feel like explaining why he lived in the attic of a back alley coffee shop. Not to mention that Boss wouldn’t exactly appreciate another ‘delinquent’ hanging around his criminal ward. He’d probably think Mutou was a bad influence, despite being literally five feet tall.
“U-Um......do you mind if we go back to yours? My house isn’t exactly good for company right now,” Akira said, panicking slightly. Luckily, Mutou didn’t question it, instead just agreeing with a smile that looked like sunshine personified before walking with Akira back to the station.
--
After one extremely cramped train ride, they were in Mutou’s neighborhood, standing in front of a squat little shop. Akira wanted to ask why they were at a game shop when Mutou had said they’d be going to his house, but didn’t ask. He assumed it was something like his own situation, and didn’t bother. Entering, he almost immediately reconsidered that notion.
Standing behind the register of the game shop was a stout old man with hair too messy to not be related to Mutou somehow. “Kurusu-kun, this is my grandpa, Mutou Sugoroku. He owns this place!” Mutou said, a rare note of pride coloring his voice when talking about his grandpa. Akira was a bit preoccupied with the fact that a man named after a board game had a grandson named ‘Game’, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it.
Instead, he just nodded politely to the man. “Please take care of me,” he said softly. Mutou-san twinkled at him, grinning widely behind his bushy beard.
“Oho, got a polite one here, Yuugi!” he said good-naturedly. Akira blushed slightly, resisting the urge to rub the back of his neck. “It’s nice to meet you, Kurusu-kun,” he added. Mutou grinned, one of the bandages on his cheeks stretching with the movement, before waving goodbye to his grandpa and dragging Akira towards the stairs. “Don’t forget you have homework, Yuugi!” Mutou-san called from downstairs.
“‘Kay!” Mutou yelled back, before pulling Akira down a hallway and into a small blue room with a sloping ceiling. It felt a little cramped to Akira, too used to the open loft of LeBlanc, though he could see how it was good for Mutou. He did make a note to stay on the taller side of the room though, to save his back a hunch. “You can sit down, bed or desk, whatever,” Mutou said, rummaging around in his closet. Akira raised an eyebrow, surprised at the contents of said closet. It looked like there were two people living here, not just one.
He sat down on the bed, biting the inside of his cheek. More and more things about Mutou weren’t adding up, but again, not the thing you ask someone you don’t know that well.
He firmly ignored the fact that he’d told Ryuji about his record upon their first meeting. It was different. Everyone at Shujin already knew, it’s not like it was a huge secret or anything.
(Selfishly, he just wanted a friend that didn’t think he was a criminal or a punk kid.)
He was dragged back to reality when Mutou made a small noise of triumph, wiggling out from under the clothes in the closet dragging a large plastic tub. Akira’s eyes widened, and he swallowed despite himself. “Is.....that all your first aid stuff?” he asked, feeling a bit faint. What normal highschooler needed that much first aid stuff?!
“Yeah! Built up a pretty big collection over the years, kinda necessary when you’re, well....me,” Mutou explained, gesturing to himself. Akira raised an eyebrow. “I get bullied a lot. They’ve mostly stopped, but occasionally I still need to patch myself up,” he explained, pulling a sleeveless shirt off of a hanger. Unlike pretty much everything else from the goth section of the closet, this shirt was light purple and looked to be cropped, with some sort of English writing on it. “Hang on while I change,” Mutou said, closing the closet door. Loud bumping came from the closet, continuing for about thirty seconds before Mutou exited, now wearing the purple shirt (which fit him perfectly, despite supposedly being a crop top).
“All set?” Akira asked. Mutou nodded, sitting down and rummaging through the box.
“It’s about time to change the bandage anyway, so come down here and I’ll show you how,” he said, patting the floor next to him. Akira nodded, plopping down on the ground. Mutou pulled out a roll of gauze and some tape, setting them aside. He reached back into the box, now pulling out alcohol wipes. “So first, I’ll need to carefully untape the cut, so that I don’t accidentally peel off a scab,” Mutou said, carefully peeling back the tape with the edge of his fingernail. Unwinding the gauze slowly, he revealed a long cut running down the length of his forearm, still slowly oozing blood. Akira winced, stomach roiling slightly.
This was different than the Metaverse. There, injuries happened because the worst of humanity wanted to kill them, seeing them as threats. This? This looked......calculated. An actual person did this to Mutou, someone who wanted to cause him harm. At first glance, it looked self-inflicted. That was probably intentional, so that if Mutou had died, it couldn’t be traced back to whoever did it.
He bit back both the nausea and indignation, shoving it deep inside his soul to deal with later. Instead, he just watched avidly as Mutou explained how to clean the cut and rewrap it. He felt like he’d learned something today, something that’d be useful later on.
--
[ Swords: Rank up! You can now use healing items more effectively! Each item restores more HP. ]