Chapter Text
The game is over before it even gets going, it seems. His nimble fingers take the white marble king from his rightful place on the board and rolls it to the side, allowing it to fall from the board and stop with a clink against a cream coloured mug of steaming coffee. I hear a gentle hum from across the table, a sign of satisfaction that he had won yet another game. This lack of caring that he had just dismantled my entire five-step operation with ease angers me greatly, and to relieve the tension that releases itself through gritted teeth and itchy palms I take a gloved hand and lift my cup of coffee to my lips, making sure with my other hand that the king does not roll further away from us, setting it in the middle of the board as I pour the creamy brew into my mouth. Not quite as sweet as I like it. Maybe could do with one or two more sugars. The cup is set down as I finally feel the frustration move from my mind, with something else taking over. Determination, perhaps. I take my eyes away from the board, the graveyard of my master plan, to meet his eyes, the dark grey irises calmly stripping my soul of its secrets with ease. I was going to say something, going to do something, but I find myself analysing the boy in front of me.
Person perception is a skill that is required in my line of work, and through the constant manipulation of human minds I have to attempt it isn’t rare for me to accidentally apply this to my time off. Hair is a usual indicator of how much care people take in grooming themselves, and it is so clear to see for every human that it isn’t hard to glance once and know very simple facts about them. His black hair is unruly, assumably uncombed, clearly stating that he has no true care for his appearance but the fact that the texture seems silky smooth does imply that he either has excellent natural locks or uses the finest in hair products while he washes it. Somebody’s clothes are also an easy way to determine many things, ranging from economic status, profession or effort put into daily preparation. A school uniform does nothing for me due to it being a Wednesday evening, we had both just returned from our respective places of learning. The glasses he wears seem to add to his harmless look, but if my suspicions are correct, and my experience from running into him during a few of his leisure activities, the frames he wears hold no medical properties. Just a hunch, of course, and this deduction has no real hold on any decisions I will ever make in the future, so I seal it away in the back of my brain with other useless information I possess. Such as the fact that he doesn’t like sweet things, and that he visits an airsoft shop at least once a month and leaves with several paper bags filled with what can be presumed to be model guns. Maybe that last fact might be worth looking into.
“Checkmate.” His quiet voice announces his victory to me, reminding me of the disgust that fills the bottom of my stomach when I face anything other than a perfect victory. Is it childish of me to feel nothing but pure rage at seeing my king stand in the middle of the board, as if his corpse was to be paraded in the town square after the complete failure that was his battle strategy? I’m starting to think that he can notice my spite, so I force my mouth into a surely unconvincing smile.
“Congratulations are in order, then.” I pick up the white king and twirl him between my fingers, bringing him to his starting position. This time, I have to be careful, my aggressive moves made it easy for him to breach my poor defence and take me out. As I place my piece down, I notice that he remains still, arms crossed. “I don’t think whatever you’re thinking is going to outmatch my next strategy.” As I move to reset my rook, I hear him sigh.
“I think that’s enough for one day, Akechi-san.” The disgust in my stomach threatens to force itself up my throat as he speaks. I lose horribly and don’t even get another chance to secure tactical dominance over him? I prepare to take another sip of coffee to cope with my immature rage only to find it empty. Staring down at the dregs at the bottom of the cup, I allow my smile to drop.
“Then perhaps another cup?” I spin the cup in my hand to reveal to him it’s contents, or lack thereof. “I insist on paying for this one of course.” I watch him nod and take it from me, glasses reflecting my own image back at me. As he stands I speak again, thankful for my memory serving its purpose. “I’ll have five sugars this time, if that is acceptable.” He nods.
Ren Amamiya lives in the attic of a café in the backstreets of Yongen-jaya, one that was conveniently recommended to me by my partner in my latest criminal case, public prosecutor Sae Niijima. The convenience of her suggestion remains in the air, as the daughter of a cognitive scientist was adopted by the owner of this establishment, who also worked as a bridge between the federal government and her research lab. Considering the link between cognitive science and our latest case, spending more time at the cult favourite “Café Leblanc” might just be beneficial to my work. This small café consists of three booths and a counter, with a brewing station of sorts situated at the back near a cozy kitchen where meals were prepared for the customers who order them. Amamiya moves himself from the booth we played in to the brewing station behind the counter and prepares the various materials he will need, easily accessible due to our recent consumption of the coffee before our game began. I watch him carefully make two cups of coffee, using care that I had previously not considered capable of such a dull looking teenager. I suppose that living and working inside of a coffee shop with Sojiro Sakura definitely helped him learn and practice these skills on a day-to-day basis. I watch as he heaves several spoonfuls of sugar into what I can only assume is my cup, wincing as he does so. His own cup only takes one spoonful, making me chuckle to myself at our extreme difference in preference. The two cups are brought to the booth, placed on either sides of the chessboard - the graveyard of my “genius” tactics. I bow my head in appreciation.
“I hope that’s sweet enough for you.” Ren says, looking painfully down at my cup and visibly shuddering.
“Not a fan of sweet things?” I touch the cup with two fingers, the heat overpowering the protection of my gloves screaming at me that this beverage is not ready to consume yet. My fingers withdraw from the cup.
“Not particularly.” He admits, adjusting his glasses so they sit further up his nose. “I don’t think I can even stand having one sugar in my coffee, to be honest.” I laugh at his comment. The room falls silent after that, the usually quiet boy in front of me returning to his normal volume. The television in the corner of the café had allowed itself to be drowned out during our game earlier, but now we both hear it clearly, Ren’s eyes glancing upwards at the screen. My own voice is played back to me, the words I am speaking giving me a reminder of the exact interview I took part in around a week ago. Despite being a prodigy in the detective field, an expert in deduction that has aided the Japanese police since I was 16, the only questions I get anymore are from my latest case on that group…
The Phantom Thieves of Hearts. To my reluctance, I was asked by the head of the Special Investigations Unit (SIU) to take part in the investigation behind the group that were taking the country by storm. Their crimes are difficult to pinpoint, as some in power and the general populace wouldn’t even consider their actions a breach of any particular law made by mankind. A forceful change in a human’s behaviour that leads to a confession of heinous crimes is their MO, and it is always preceded by a “calling card”, a specially written letter to let their victims know that their hearts are about to be “stolen”.
If one didn’t see these things happen so quickly, it’d be easy for this to be tossed aside as a rumour, an urban legend created to scare immoral people into bettering themselves, but this is, for better or worse, as real as it gets. I’ve seen men like Junya Kaneshiro, the iron-willed head of one of Japan’s mafia groups, have his spirit broken seemingly overnight, turning himself in and accepting punishment for what amounted to over a lifetime spent in prison. My first words on this subject, spoken on a television show in June before I was appointed to the SIU, were ones of concern over the ability to brainwash someone so thoroughly, and those words placed me in the public eye. With the rise in scale of their targets, this group (although there is a theory inside me that insists this is the work of a single individual masquerading as a group) have managed to secure not only popularity, but support from the citizens of Japan and the rest of the world. With this positive outlook on the Phantom Thieves, my own popularity seems to have dimmed, with some even going as far as threatening me with death for my comments made in the last few months.
Ren watches the television closely for a while, but upon realising I am observing him, he moves his eyes back down to me. His unwavering expression doesn’t clue me on to his reaction of what he was watching, which pisses me off a little.
“You really see them as criminals, don’t you?” He says, taking a drink of his coffee. I might be able to detect just a hint of sadness in his voice, or perhaps it’s something else akin to disinterest.
“In the end, my personal feelings don’t matter.” I say, looking down at my own coffee, tempted to risk the boiling pain to satiate my sweet tooth. “The higher ups have condemned them as criminals, and I have agreed to apprehend them. Their actions, of course, leave much to be desired in the way of defending human rights, but the ethical considerations are far from discussion right now. All we need to do is find out who they are.” I share what is mostly the truth. My personal feelings are the reason I was even assigned this case. The way that this group controls people, the way they bring people down to their own level of justice… Not only is that something I cannot agree with, the idea of this power extending to others who don’t share the same heroic motivations could lead to global disaster. If somebody with evil intentions obtained this power (I don’t want to call it that, but there is no other explanation), we could be dealing with an unstoppable murderer.
“So that’s all it is? You’re just following orders?” Ren averts his gaze back to the television, where my fake persona continues to talk about the progress of the police to some poor announcer woman. “I didn’t think that was how justice worked.”
I take his words, despite the composed way in which he articulated them, as a bullet to the chest, derailing my train of thought and making me visibly wince. Is this how he sees it? I suppose I hadn’t considered that anyone would view my situation that way, but I’ll chalk it up to him not knowing every single detail. I mull things over as I look down at my drink, reminding myself of previous conversations we have shared since our meeting all those months ago. Advancement cannot occur without both thesis and antithesis. Even though it is me that says that phrase often, I find it amusing that I fail to see the true quality in Amamiya’s piercing words.
“Unfortunately, the justice system is far from fairy tale in it’s condition.” My words draw his eyes towards me again. “I entered the system attempting to right the wrongs that were caused by the truly evil, but everyone has to awaken to the cold reality that when money is involved, justice matters not.” As I realise what I said has no real meaning in response to Ren’s statement, I feel my face grow warmer. Something that I can assume is embarrassment almost overcomes me, but I catch it in time to speak again. “What I was trying to say is that the ones in charge determine what is justice and what is not.” I take a long sip of my coffee before I can fumble with my words any further, relishing in the sweetness that it brings to me. Ren nods, and takes a sip of his own.
“And your own beliefs? Where do they factor in?” He questions me again, moving the cogs of my reasoning to come up with a satisfactory response. For the first time in what has felt like years I hear my voice grow cold as I reply to him.
“The only reason I am kept around is so I can uncover the truth. There is no room for errors caused by my own misjudgement.” I don’t want to say this; the words spill out from my mouth like geysers of boiling water, threatening to injure those who linger in them for too long. Ren’s face drops slightly, if that was even possible.
I sit facing the door, which means that not only am I facing away from the television that sits in the corner behind me, but I am also in a prime position to see as the door to Leblanc opens. Three figures enter the café, all covered by the top of an umbrella that is being carried by one of them. Taking closer care to the ambience of outside, I notice that is in fact raining, making my trip to the station and walk home much more undesirable. The umbrella is closed and the faces of the newcomers are revealed to me. Curious about the ring of the bell and still on the clock as an apprentice at the café, Ren stands and turns to them very quickly.
Holding the umbrella is an incredibly skinny man wearing the uniform of a school I can’t seem to name. If I couldn’t see his face clearly from across the room the blue hair would be a dead giveaway to his identity, that of the former Madarame pupil Yusuke Kitagawa. His master had leeched off of his students and sent some of them to their deaths, but he had confessed thanks to the work of the Phantom Thieves.
Standing to his left is a shorter girl wearing the Shujin Academy uniform, whose features would give me enough clues to deduce who she was without already knowing her name. Makoto Niijima, sister to my current partner and an all around well behaved girl, her only brush with the extreme being an encounter with mob boss Kaneshiro before his apprehension by the Tokyo police. We have spoken several times, most of those being related to her sisters business and the other handful of times being small talk made across the hallway of our shared cram school. The third figure is also female, shorter than the other two, and it is a face I don’t immediately recognise. She wears a pink sweater, giving me the impression that she doesn’t attend school or doesn’t follow the rules, but the Shujin skirt she wears tells me it is either the latter or she simply put on the sweater after school ended. She has reasonably short, fluffy light brown hair and she wears an awkward smile on her face. Familiarity returns to me in a somewhat painful way as I remember who she is, and the conditions of our first meeting. Haru Okumura, heir to Okumura foods and third-year student at Shujin Academy.
“Sorry for the intrusion.” Yusuke comments, staring daggers into me as he notices my presence. I need to find out whatever the hell I did to piss this kid off and apologise for it, for I feel he holds the potential to end my life on a whim based on his cold voice alone. Makoto approaches our booth and stops as she becomes certain just who is accompanying her kouhai, her face twisting in confusion.
“Akechi-kun?” She looks between Ren and me, as if she was trying to ensure a prank was not being pulled on her at this very moment. “I didn’t know you two were friends.” I am unsure as to whether or not she intends some sort of insult to that statement, but I let it fly; this social situation seems like it’s going to get weird very quickly.
“It seems to be an unlikely combination, but things work out just fine.” I quickly gather my things in my silver briefcase and stand to meet her, overshadowing her height by around 5 inches. “Sometimes Amamiya-san can be just what I need to get the deductions flowing.” Both Yusuke and Makoto seem stunned by this, which I inwardly laugh at. I turn to my recent chess combatant and bow slightly. “Thank you for the coffee. I’ll be going now.”
“Why don’t you stay?” Ren’s offer surprises me, stilling my movements as I slowly turn my head back to him. “The more the merrier, right?” I can feel my stomach churn and I force a sharp intake of oxygen to avoid sending my lunch all over the floor of this establishment. I fight hard with myself to say yes, to continue to talk with Ren and get to know his circle of friends better, but my weaker side wins and I shake my head, smiling as I return to my fake persona, one that I rarely have to don while alone with Ren.
“I really should be going, there are a few things I’m wanted for back at the SIU headquarters before the end of the night.” My words are only half lies, the things the SIU wants from me aren’t needed until my next meeting with the director, which could be anywhere from next week to next month depending on the progress of the investigation. I walk past Makoto and she and Ren say their goodbyes to me, and am faced with Yusuke and Haru, who stand in the doorway. Yusuke moves for me, standing next to the strange Sayuri look-alike painting, while Haru remains still, looking at my face with a slight grimace. She holds the umbrella in her hands, tapping it against the ground in no particular rhythm. My hands have begun to shake, or maybe it is only now that I have realised it.
“Akechi-san.” As she speaks I mould my body to fit in the space she has left between her and the door, turning the handle in an attempt to leave. She steps aside, but even as I face the cold streets of Yongen-jaya I can feel her eyes piercing the back of my skull. I feel desperation to leave, a longing for some place to hold up and wait out the storm that is my mind whenever I start feeling this way. I don’t know if distancing myself from others is a way to help me or prevent them from having to deal with it, but it feels like a necessity at this point. “Wait a minute.” I turn to see the umbrella pointed towards me, held like a weapon by the fluffy haired girl as the solemn look on her face threatens to tear me to pieces. “Take it. It’s raining out there.”
“I appreciate it.” I stutter, taking the umbrella and stepping out into the rain before allowing it to open. There is a pink floral pattern on both sides of this thing, but it doesn’t stop me from using it to spare myself from the onslaught of water coming from the gods. As the door to Leblanc shuts tight, I can see the others inside, none but Haru looking in my direction. I turn and leave, heading towards the station. I get a few looks. I don’t care. I make a few turns down the familiar path to the train station, controlling my breathing carefully. There is something about what just happened that begs to be examined, but I need to calm myself first.
Realising the next train that leads anywhere near my apartment arrives in ten minutes, I allow myself time to rest against the cold wall of the station, closing my eyes and allowing my ears to take in the ambient soundtrack of people going about their daily lives. None of them have to deal with the things I do. None of them have this weight upon their shoulders at such a young age. Perhaps that is selfish thinking, but it is this thinking that allows me to keep from feeling overwhelmed. Something was off back at that café, and I curse myself for having to deal with a stress-induced attack at that moment. I repeat the conversations over and over in my head, combing them for any details that I may not have picked up on, but my memory provides me with no new answers. I grip Haru’s umbrella tightly-
And then a loud cackle escapes my lips. Involuntary, but it feels good to let it out. Opening my eyes, I notice that a few people are looking at me, but I throw that aside to explore my newfound piece of information. Twirling the pink umbrella around in my hands, I suppress a smile that I know would be quite creepy is seen by an onlooker.
Haru’s umbrella.
Haru. The one thing I didn’t examine closely was why she was even at Leblanc in the first place. Sure, teenagers often find friendships in the strangest of places (as shown by my friendship with Amamiya), but I cannot allow that to stay separated from the rest of the facts. The circle of friends that surround Ren Amamiya is something that cannot be explained by pure coincidence, no matter how hard they attempt to deny it. Ryuji Sakamoto and Ann Takamaki were both victims of abuse from their schools PE teacher Suguru Kamoshida, and their lives were seriously benefitted by his arrest in early May. Yusuke Kitagawa was the pupil of Madarame, and his artistic career has furthered itself since the imprisonment of his master. Makoto Niijima is the one who is the hardest to explain, but if you consider the fact that I only saw her hanging around with Ren around the time of her meeting with Kaneshiro and his subsequent arrest, that explains itself. Futaba Sakura, the shut-in girl that lives with Ren’s caretaker is the daughter of world renowned scientist Wakaba Ishiki, her mother’s sudden suicide being the reason for her adoption. Each of them has a link, however big or small, to the Phantom Thieves case. I’ve known this for a long time, and my theory that they have a link to the group has existed for months now...
And now they were hanging around with Haru Okumura. I check the fan-site for the group on my phone, cementing my recollection that her father, Kunikazu Okumura, is top of the list on their voting polls. I don’t think he has been targeted yet, but if he is targeted within the next few days then this all but solidifies my rising theory…
The group that hangs around Ren, and even Amamiya himself… Could all be Phantom Thieves.
If I take their association with Okumura-san as anything other than a once off meeting, then this means that her father is certainly on the list.
What does their expanding group mean, then? Do they plan things out to recruit new people or were these targets the chosen ones the entire time? I don’t know if either of those make sense, but they’re all I can muster in my current condition. I hear the subway announcer speak, signalling the arrival of my train, and I get off the wall, a newfound energy in my steps.
I take a seat on the train, the usually empty compartment free with around ten options to choose from. An impatience wells up inside of me. I feel as closer than ever to closing this case, knowing that if I obtain evidence that supports my theory the victory will be mine.
Victory.
I take a second to think about what that means, exactly. I could count it a win when it comes to the public game of cat and mouse we have been playing, and their apprehension would indeed cause my popularity to surge if their crimes were proven in a court of law. On the other hand, it’s hard to actually consider this a competition. In some ways, I can think that these people just want to change society for the better, just want an escape from their daily lives to do some good in the world. If the people I suspect truly are the Phantom Thieves, is it truly just to punish them for trying to do the right thing?
And if I succeed in my case, this group will likely face prison time, years and years of their lives taken away. All because of me. If Ren truly is a Phantom Thief… This feels as though it is a betrayal of sorts. I admittedly have very little friends, and I consider Amamiya to be one of them, so if he ended up being the one I was chasing this entire time, it would be a hard case to close the book on.
The invitation to stay back at the café feels more and more appealing to me as I sit on the train, freezing my butt off as I ponder the circumstances of the case. Haru’s presence is something I could have dealt with given time, and it would have been nice to sit and chat like nothing else mattered.
I groan as I glance back down to the umbrella in my hands, realising that sooner or later, I will actually have to return this to the heiress of Okumura foods.
Before any sort of annoyance sets in, a plan takes shape in the depths of my mind, forcing me to cover my face to hide the wide grin that unexpectedly spreads across it.
This umbrella may just be the perfect piece of the puzzle.