Chapter Text
For all intensive purposes, Goro Akechi is dead.
He is dead, legally. The general public has been led to believe he died nearly a year ago, after he was found unresponsive in his apartment bedroom. Tucked under his covers rather snuggly, his death was diagnosed as a tragic, late-night brain aneurysm. He was buried at the age of eighteen, on the cusp of greatness, and his short stint as a prince detective faded quickly into obscurity.
In reality, Goro Akechi is very much alive. Though, to the extent he is living varies depending on the day.
It’s nearing noon when Goro decides to brave the outdoors.
More accurately, it’s 11:49 when Goro checks out of the Seaside Clamshell. A “love hotel” hadn’t been his first choice for a place to spend the night, but the streets were busy in Tatsumi Port Island that day. Goro had weighed the humility against his possible discovery and decided his pride could bear to be wounded further.
He slips the hostess at the desk a kind tender of bills, to make up for the haste in which he leaves, and slips into the steady stream of midday traffic. Hair pulled back, he dawns a ratty baseball cap he found in a town he’s since forgotten the name of. The days of crisp suits and silk ties are long behind him; as are the weeks Goro had the privilege to shower at his leisure.
The wallet tucked into his pocket is far too light for his liking. He has to pat his hip just to ensure it’s still there. Food may be off the table, but a ticket to Shibuya may not be. Push comes to shove, he’s learned a handful of ways to acquire money on short notice.
He’s good on time, according to the clock bearing near the train station, though it doesn’t really matter since he’s already made it. Goro makes a note to buy a watch sometime in the future. Or pick pocket one. Whichever is more convenient.
There’s a phone somewhere in the bottom of his duffel bag, battery since dead but a charger would be easy to come by. Goro doesn’t dare turn it on.
Then again, he won’t really need a watch where he’s going. Or a phone. Or anything. Soon, all Goro’s current worries will vanish. What’ll replace them afterwards he has a fairly good idea of.
The line for tickets is long. Half a dozen times, the people around Goro seem to close in on him. He all but has to hold his breath to keep from skittering away. He hates who he’s become; nothing but a feral streetcat, in desperate need of a bath.
He used to be respected. Feared. The phantom parents would tell their children about to get them to behave. That was until a separate group of phantoms took all that away from him. Saved him, in their eyes. Or maybe they left him to rot.
Hell. What’s he even thinking anymore? Goro swears he doesn’t even recognize his own thoughts , let alone his appearance.
It takes some time, but Goro gets his ticket. He clings to it, but just to easily discards it after he’s let aboard. If not for how exhausting this day has been, he would agonize over the irony of his actions.
Seats are going quickly, but Goro secures himself a window seat in the corner of his car. He feigns a nap, hoping the general public has the decency not to wake a sleeping passenger.
“Sorry, sir. Car’s gettin’ real full. Mind if I-?”
Evidently not.
“Oh shit!” A man’s voice begins to whisper. “Sorry! Go back to sleep.”
Goro growns, curling in on himself further. He wills the man to go away, who doesn’t, plopping himself down with an obnoxious huff. There’s an even more obnoxious amount of rustling as the man tears through his bag, his zipper getting stuck and making even more of a ruckus.
“C’mon. C’mon- damn it .”
More rustling. You would think the man has terrible luck, but in actuality it’s Goro. The nerve of some people to simply exist.
The train crawls to a slow start, and the realization that the man isn’t going to stop messing with his bag finally hits him. In a moment of desperation, and a buildup of dread and anxiety, Goro sits up, grabs the man’s bag, and rips the zipper open himself.
He shoves the ill-made bag into the stupid lap of the stupid man. If Goro weren’t so furious, he’d come up with a better adjective to use. The man, with his dumb goatee on his slacked jaw, stares at him in bewilderment.
Goro crosses his arms and turns the other way, energy spent.
“Uh...thanks. S-”
“Shut up,” is all Goro mutters before falling asleep.
The general public has since lost its interest with the Phantom Thieves, along with the convoluted, oftentimes confusing laws of cognitive pscience. Despite all the lives that were uprooted and lost, the two turned out to be nothing but fads. Society has since moved on to fretting over the newer controversies plaguing them, such as the newest celebrity scandals.
Goro doesn’t bother keeping up to date on such trivial matters. He’s much more focused on making sure he stays “dead.”
He’s taken on a new name, not to mention a new life. If it can be considered a life at all. Drifting from one town to the next. Keeping track of his limited funds. Making sure not to stay in one place for too long lest he be noticed. School is out of the picture, but it’s not as if he could have kept using his old school records. That would defeat the purpose of living in hiding.
For a time, Goro would have liked to believe he was managing. He’s used to the displacement, having spent most of his life in foster care. As for taking care of himself, that’s all he’s ever known.
Now, he’s on what may be his last train ride. Back to a city he can only call home for how long he lived there. No longer managing, but having realized he never was in the first place.
“-yeah, seems weird they just, like, stopped happening. Kinda like with the Apathy Syndrome stuff. Wink .”
Good God, this train ride needs to end soon. Goro has only been awake for five seconds and Goatee is already pissing him off.
He sits up, making it apparent he’s awake, and takes pleasure in the blood that drains from the man’s face.
“Hey, uh, gotta go babe. He’s-yep. I love you. Be back soon.” Goatee hangs up his phone, then proceeds to blow a kiss at the calls list. The nerve of this man.
Goro adjusts his cap and licks the sleep of his teeth.
“Hey. We’re about thirty minutes out from Shibuya.”
Great. Conversation . Goro rolls his eyes under the safety of his brim.
“Whatcha headin’ there for? Got family you’re meeting up with? Friends?”
It won’t end. Not if Goro doesn’t contribute. He offers a terse, “No,” and a heated glare.
Goatee frowns. “Sooooo...just sight seeing?”
The window. Goro faces the window and grits his teeth hard .
Finally, Goatee sighs. He’s got the message. A silence falls between them, one Goro lavishes in. The sun has begun its descent below the brightly-lit horizon of Tokyo, signaling the approaching end of Goro’s freedom.
He’s honestly going through with this. The idea had toyed with him for so long it hardly feels real. Goro doubts after the deed is done it even will. There should be fear somewhere within him. A sense of urgency or fight or flight, the same he feels every time he enters a crowd.
Instead he feels...nothing. Is this how it’s supposed to feel, walking up to the gallows?
A voice in his head, that sounds far too close to Kurusu, tells him no.
“Okay kid. I’m just gonna ask ya...you got anywhere to go?”
Again with this moron. Goro whips around to face Goatee, catching him off guard. “Do you have the brain capacity to realize when someone doesn’t want to converse with you?”
Goatee scowls. “Hey! I resent that!”
“Who the hell even says that.”
A scoff, somewhat mixed with a gasp. “Asshole. I was gonna ask if you need a meal or something! You’re clearly homeless! And what, like, ten?”
Twenty , Goro wants to say, but he isn’t entirely sure if that’s true. It’s somewhere around there. He hasn’t bothered keeping track with dates lately. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m fine.”
“Okay, but like, do you have a plan once you get to the city? Enough money to last you a while-?”
“ Please ,” Goro hisses, if only to escape this nightmare, “leave me alone. I will be fine.”
Goatee stares at him, long and hard. Then, he blinks. “Hey, I...know you from somewhere?”
There’s nowhere to go. Goro is trapped, in a crowded train car, heading for one of the most crowded cities in the world. This man will turn him in, and he’ll be sent to prison before Goro has the chance to do what he came for.
“You don’t.”
Goatee blinks again. “Oh, okay.”
Or maybe he’s not as trapped as he thought he was.
True to Goatee’s word, their train slows to a stop thirty minutes later. Every passenger rises sluggishly from their seat and bumbles about to grab their stuff and go. Goro holds his duffel close to him, leg bobbing as he waits for the aisle way to clear.
Goatee takes his sweet time gathering his stuff, checking his phone before obnoxiously stretching his arms. He eases out of his seat at a leisurely pace, then stands stupidly beside it.
A minute passes. He’s blocking the way.
Goro clears his throat.
Goatee scratches his chin.
Unbelievable.
“A- hem .”
Goatee’s apologetic smile is as convincing as Sakamoto’s attempts to keep his phantom thief identity a secret. “Oh, sorry kid. You ready to go?”
A reply, no matter how long, would give him way too much satisfaction. Goro knows this, which is why he rushes past the man once he’s cleared the way.
It’s in his haste that he failed to account what the man’s true intentions were from the start. He’s far too angry and flustered to grab his duffel back as Goatee snatches it from his arms. Goro whips around, seeing red, but the man already has his bag tucked safely under his own armpit.
There’s too many people around to resort to violent (but quick) solutions.
Goatee smirks. “C’mon. My friend I’m visitin’ is a fan of ramen. I’ll have him meet us at a place I know of.”