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“Wrong.”
The girl looked at him, with crossed arms and a slightly angry gaze. Her brows had furrowed, indeed, but her mask of impatience didn’t make her young visage any less pretty. No, not less perfect than what Mitsuru already didn’t look like, true. Leaning by the wall, in her uniform, she just kept staring at the boy sitting on the sofa.
The boy looked at her with confused eyes, almost bothered. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand of her was her know-all air around her, a perpetual cloud following her like a gloomy aura. It reminded him of school, of sitting in class all day, of exams and stress.
“Nothing about this is innate,” her words sounded like a whisper.
“Nothing--?”
“Nothing.”
Stone-faced save for his rising eyebrows now, Akihiko promptly looked away from her direction the moment Mitsuru swirled gently around the spot to walk toward the dormitory counter and work on some papers. The TV was still on, the movie still playing.
“So do not call it so. A gift. For it is not… and will never be.”
He absent-mindedly looked at the screen, trying to recall what was. even happening there. A weak attempt to escape her lecture
“It is a duty, a chance,” Mitsuru concluded, giving him her back still, and low voice over the fumbling of paper in her hands. “Which commences the moment we awaken and...”
Silence would have been a mercy, in a moment like that. But the movie playing in the background had other plans in store for them. Heavy, gloomy, almost filled with pain, a female voice had just risen high from the speakers, filling the room the two were in, thus interrupting Mitsuru. That, maybe, could be called a blessing of a sort, though -- Akihiko thought while fighting the urge to smirk in childish defiance.
The song was still ringing, louder than normal.
“It’s time to go.” Akihiko said, more to himself and the TV than to the girl.
He focused his sight on the pixels once again, savoring the last moments of peace for the night. The woman on the screen kept singing, a blond child with big teary eyes was whistling the same melody from beyond a shut door.
“We must hurry. We’re late, already.”
It sounded truly sad and desperate.
He had just adjusted to the new sensations, as of late. So of course Mitsuru hadn’t lost another night. The opportunity to lend a hand to an inexperienced fellow, and rare, Persona User had seen her relatively busy since S.E.E.S. had been first created. Akihiko could defend himself pretty well already, and the awkwardness of handling an Evoker had almost disappeared (Mitsuru had noticed the pulling of the trigger still prompted him to close his eyes way too tightly, and for his small shoulders to shiver - but he would have had plenty of time to get used to the sensation and idea - she knew it too well.)
As of late, though, their nights inside of Tartarus had been shifting to another aspect of their duties.
“Alright. Now. The gloves, give them to me.” Mitsuru ordered him, yanking her rapier from the remains of a lesser Shadow, a simple Maya, now reduced to a shapeless dark slime under her shoes.
“Funny. What are we waiting for? The floor is clean.” Akihiko protested, fingers tensing. The stairs weren’t too far, and Mitsuru accompanying him up the floors was a quite rare event.
But the girl simply repeated herself, stretching out her free hand.
“I just need you to take off your boxing gloves, you won’t be using them anymore for tonight..”
“And what are we doing, then? You want to use them-- switch our weapons and see who breaks what first?”
The idea outraged her; she retracted her hand with big eyes and a pout, to hide her weapon of choice behind her own back, away from his reach. The vivid and terrifying image of her dear sword broken or damaged by Akihiko haunting her like a bad dream.
“Why won’t you trust me, exactly? Must I remind you, you are under my responsibility and--”
Akihiko let out a laugh, louder than what he intended:
“Why are you talking like the Chairman, Mitsuru?”
“-- and we can’t proceed further in any case.”
Tartarus had looked inviting, more than ever before. It was always the same case whenever the two had set to dedicate the daily Dark Hour to training, instead of exploring. For no matter how immature their control over their Persona, or how strong the longing to reach higher floors felt, the pace for the night was decided by Mitsuru with unquestionable carefulness.
To object was futile. But to try and touch a nerve was part of the fun, for Akihiko...
Yet, sending Akihiko alone exploring the first two floors had been enough of an experience, for both of them. An ambush of Shadows, a few weeks prior -- when he had even reported of one resembling a lion with a ball and chain at its paw, a description which had both tormented and scandalized Mitsuru for the following nights -- had forced the boy to a daring retreat, Penthesilea’s control over the floor wavering in a rather scary fashion and bruises and wounds.
And yet, even with such misfortune, they had managed to find the good in it. An unexpected one. A gifted one. For as soon as the boy had returned to his navigator by the entrance of the Tower of Demise, scarred and battled, Penthesilea’s Dia had become useless already. The bleeding cuts, the signs of that battle Akihiko would have already gotten used to wear, and hide, as proud scards, had almost cicatrized completely.
A prodigy--! A miracle to see, and to explain even. Nothing of that sort had ever happened to him since the so-called Awakening of his Polydeuces. And while Mitsuru would blabber about one’s Persona power to manifest unconsciously in dire situations of life and death on their way to the dorm, that night, there was no denying the evidence: restorative, healing spells were his to be wielded too.
Akihiko had agreed to have Mitsuru explain how and when to use the healing spells to him, but hadn’t imagined it to be the right passepartout to have the young heiress of Kirijo train him on such spells.
“You promised, Akihiko. It is time we dedicate a moment to healing. Hand them over, please.” Mitsuru repeated, same vehemence as before, head held high.
The boy’s mouth gaped slightly at the insistent request; he didn’t take off his eyes from her dark eyes till the gloves were sliding off his fingers, right after a long pause.
The moment she had the gloves in her hand… it started.
“Way to halt our dreams of glory,” he sighed with sarcasm. “Not another lecture, no.”
“We can’t risk you being taken by surprise by a bunch of Shadows again…”
“I knew, I just knew something was off--”
“You are a good fighter. But there may come a time when you may need to support…”
“--off the moment you left the entrance. You never enter unless--”
“... what use would be your prowess with thunders if your companion is on the verge of death?”
“Who? You?”
Mitsuru’s eyes pointed upward. Akihiko could have counted on one hand the times he had seen Penthesilea in action, which was a pity… a big one, considering her master’s work with the sword she’d usually display for her dear fencing club at school.
“I told you plenty, plenty of times…” Mitsuru spoke, putting the gloves over the navigation equipment she’d always bring with her inside of Tartarus, her voice slowly rising in volume. “My Persona is made for the battlefield. Not the backseat.”
Mitsuru had long mastered the art of keeping her voice gentle and tame, even in the most stressful of situations, since she was but a child. An act she was somehow due - at home, at school, in presence of adults. Or her father. How such teachings came to turn to dust when in presence of her peer remained a mystery.
"Nor any back row. No."
Akihiko doubted many people had seen her getting so heated up.
“Only in the danger Shadows offer does her essence shine brighter, and her voice sings inside my head…” Mitsuru continued, closing her eyes and bringing her rapier closer, closer. Holding the weapon horizontally as if to judge and balance it, secure in her right hand by the hilt, her manicured left hand began dancing on the shining blade.
“She longs for the battle.”
He knew what she was talking about.
“To chain her to a mere tool to scan floors is…! I hated the idea, at first. Now her words of protest have become weaker at each passing night.”
Akihiko noticed her fingernails were painted pale pink.
She smiled, eyes still shut. If she did concentrate, now, she could almost hear her - she talked with Mitsuru’s voice, pronouncing some advices, some deceptions, some words of comfort too. Her aria had echoed the louder in her head only a couple of times worth of notice. The Awakening, for instance… a melody so powerful and bright, clear as the ringing of a bell.
The ecstasy of the transcendent voice of the soul...
“Save once. Do you know? She sings when danger arises…”
It was an instant, The blade glimmered the moment Mitsuru’s left palm encircled the silvery blade. The hand gripped it still, unwilling to open. Only when Akihiko noticed the red drops falling on the stone floor at her feet did the situation appear clear.
“You are out of your mind, Kirij--!”
She looked at him, flashing truce eyes.
“--Mitsuru!” he corrected himself. Force of habit.
“This is your training, your simulation. Heal me,”
He had heard the words, absorbed them. And now felt unsure whether to keep calling her name for the reckless idea or to laugh at the absurdity of it whole was the best course of action.
His hand reached for the Evoker.
“B-Before I bleed out, perhaps…” Mitsuru chuckled. Gaze less firm, now she looked about to give him a legit plea.
The first attempt didn’t seem good enough: she could feel blood spilling from the cut, the still hand beginning to pale and sting.
“You’ll need proper healing at home!” Akihiko had admitted after the failed evocation.
“Hurry…”
When his Persona appeared, golden in locks and armor, Mitsuru welcomed it by biting her tongue and abandoning her smile. If she had made Akihiko command a healing spell under pressure, she knew he wouldn’t have had problems repeating the act in the calculated coolness and readiness of a fight.
The sight of Polydeuces was a welcome one for Akihiko too, who had felt incredibly clumsy and stupid the time when the trigger was pulled the first time, to no true avail. Channeling his wish, he could almost sense the gust of fresh air his Dia brought in the silent corridor. The bleeding stopped, just like his wounds weeks prior had mysteriously closed by the time he had reached the entrance hall.
Mitsuru sensed just the same. As a magician would do when showing their tricks to an audience of gaping children, she opened her left pal, leaving the blade, and gazed upon it. The wound appeared as a thin pink line, one in the midst of pure, biological, and slow healing. Yet, it had closed, new tissue already growing before due time...
The only traces of crimson left behind were between her fingers and on the floor, for she promptly turned around to clean the sword.
“Impressive. Good." she commented, giving him her back,
“I did…”
"Hm?” she asked, a moment before she felt the boy’s hands gently pry her away from her blade and cleaning utensils by the shoulders. His bare hands made her turn around again, till she was facing him.
“I did hear…” he mumbled, almost confused. He swiftly left her shoulders to reach for the damaged hand; before she had the time to protest such ministration, he had begun observing the fresh scar. His work, his prodigy.
“I told you you’ve done well, the trial is over…”
Her hand in his, she stopped arguing. His eyes did shine, and she believed to have never witnessed him look so different from usual.
The euphoria pervading him felt contagious, and for a moment, she believed to have heard yet another voice join the chorus. The aria becoming a duet for less than a second, yet clear enough to catch for the trained ear which was her heart.
They did sing the moment he had grabbed her hand-- no, before! -- as the refreshing air filled her senses. Now, it had simply become louder.
“How can’t this be a gift?!” Akihiko smiled like a child, not letting go of her, “How?”