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They were somewhere in Konoe’s palace, not necessarily lost- but certainly separated from the other Thieves. Zenkichi knows he’s the adult- and a cop at that- and he should be taking stock of himself and the teenager he’s found himself trapped with but he’s internally panicking just a bit . In all the time he’s known him, Akira has been some mix of stoic, aloof and cocky; it never failed to send a shiver down his spine when Akira’s shy smile merged with Joker’s grin outside of the Metaverse. The kid had a presence about him and even in his lighter, more humorous moments, there was always a sharp, calculating glint within his dark eyes. But, now, he just looks shaky and unfocused, eyes glazed over and staring blankly into space from his spot on the ground. There’s blood on his hands that is starting to get dry and tacky but the kid barely seems aware enough to notice.
Zenkichi kneels slowly with his hands visible, and reaches slowly toward the teenager in front of him,“Oi, Aki- uhh Joker.” His hand barely brushes his shoulder but Akira immediately flinched violently away with an aborted gasp, “hey, hey, shh. It’s okay, I’m sorry I should have asked to touch you,” Zenkichi inhales and looks around for the rest of the Thieves who, unfortunately, haven’t made it into the room he’s been trapped in with Akira. He’s done research on handling trauma, both professionally- for victims-and personally- for Akane, but he still feels like he’s falling short at handling any incident surrounding this particular kid. His mind refuses to associate Akira with victim in the way he can with others but right now, the kid is shell shocked and frozen and Zenkichi is scrambling to find a course of action that doesn’t come across as patronizing.
He’d seen several reports, of course, from Akira’s arrests (the original assault offense, his stint in police interrogation as the Phantom Thief leader, and during his final months in Juvie after everything went down) but there had been… inconsistencies … with all of those reports, lost documentation, lost security camera footage, medical inaccuracies, etcetera and all of those factors came together to paint a very ugly portrait that explained the group’s near manic dislike of police and authority. But there was one thing that had stood out like a sore thumb among Kurusu’s files that was unrelated to the last year of trauma. There were medical records from nearing 11 years ago, documenting injuries that seemed far too suspicious for someone like Zenkichi to accept as accidents . After he’d seen that file, he’d felt particularly sick to his stomach, and couldn’t have closed that window on his computer any faster. Despite his feelings, he’d pushed the information to the back of his mind and gone about his business with the group for his case. He tried to ignore the swirling guilt but the truth of the matter was that he’d begun feeling horribly for using these kids almost as soon as he’d started. His guilt was amplified when he realized that it was mostly due to his relationship with his daughter that made him feel bad for using the Phantom Thieves and for having personal dirt on them than because of his own morality as a man and police officer.
He shook his head softly to refocus himself on the child in front of him who was rotating between breathing just a bit too quickly to be healthy and forcefully holding his breath through what Zenkichi could only guess was violent dissociation. Akira wasn’t a particularly talkative person on a good day and while Zenkichi had seen the kid go on an impassioned triad about ramen flavors with Sakamoto and Takamaki, he’d also seen him seemingly run out of words and go silent shortly after without warning. All that was to say that Zenkichi can’t tell if Akira is being silent now because he’s experiencing some form of PTSD episode or if it’s due to his relative mutism.
He clears his throat softly and winces at the flinch it elicits, “Sorry, kid,” he intentionally lowers his tone further, “can you hear me?”
Akira absentmindedly clenched his hand a few times before slowly nodding, all without making eye contact which was an improvement from the total blankness but wasn’t what Zenkichi wanted.
“Are you hurt anywhere? You took a hard hit back there and I know Morg-Mona tried to heal you up before the wall collapsed but I want to know if it worked.” Akira finally looked up at him and the lost look in his eyes wasn’t in any way comforting, “Joker,” he began slowly, “are you injured?”
He could practically see Akira’s brain process the question and then scan his body by meticulously moving his arms, legs, and neck, and then inhaling deeply a few times before he seemed to conclude that, no, he wasn’t injured. The self assessment seemed to wake up the leader in him, because suddenly he didn’t look as shellshocked. He glanced at the blood covering his hands momentarily in distaste before wiping them on his thighs roughly.
The kid cleared his own throat and it sounded painful enough to make Zenkichi wince, “Are you okay?” His voice was softer than it usually was, but it didn’t shake the way Zenkichi half expected it to. It was the voice of a leader coming from a kid who was still almost shaking apart; Zenkichi was putting pieces of Akira’s puzzle together in real time and it was startling to realize that he was a master at disguising his own discomfort for the sake of the people around him.
“Hah? Me?” He scratched the back of his head with a sigh,“I’m fine, didn’t even take a hit during the fight.” He shook his head in disbelief, this kid was something else.
It was almost artistic, the way Kurusu began systematically putting himself back together. He began regulating his breathing and working circulation back into his arms and legs, and then schooled his expression so fluidly that if Zenkichi hadn’t seen him on the verge of a breakdown thirty seconds ago, he might not have thought anything was wrong with the kid. Other than the dried blood from his apparently-healed injury, Akira- no, Joker, crouched across from Zenkichi with a feline grace in the way he held himself and tilted his head when Zenkichi didn’t stop looking at him with concern.
“Where are the others, have they contacted you? Are they okay?” Joker asked, and then, without waiting for a response, began checking his comms for a signal. When he finally reconnected with their network, Futaba’s voice was easy to hear even from his position across from Joker as it connected and he watched in fascination as the kid got their status, location, and a plan to meet up within two minutes of “waking” from his stupor.
He helped the kid to his feet, stabilizing him as best he could while trying not to touch him too much, remembering the earlier flinches that even a gentle brush of the fingers had caused, and together they made their way towards an area of the room away from the rubble. Within a few minutes the ground began shaking and the rubble was systematically cleared away by the Thieves and their Personas. Sakamoto was the first one through the recently cleared doorway and he practically threw himself over left over rocks on the floor. The anxiety in his yes lasted only until he took stock of the two of them and realized they were standing and relatively okay.
“Yo! Joker!” The overexcitable trackstar let out a pretty convincing victory cry, but quickly made his way over to them to pat his best friend down for injuries for several long moments. Zenkichi was about to warn him about Akira’s apparent touch aversion but, to his surprise, the dark haired teen steeled himself with a deep breath and took the physicality of Ryuji with practiced ease.
“Are you okay, Skull?”
The blond boy nodded vigorously, “we’re all okay, just worried about you and Gramps.” He paused, lowered his voice with concern shining through, “You are okay right?”
Akira made direct eye contact with Zenkichi for the first time since they’d been trapped together, then with his friend in front of them and then shifted his attention to the rest of the Thieves finally making their way into the room with a prattle of easygoing teasing aimed at Ryuji and his inability to wait for everyone else.
“We’ve got to get out of here and send Konoe’s Calling Card so we can put an end to this.” Makoto remarked from her place near the entrance; the rest of the Thieves gave various noises in affirmation and then turned to Akira for his decision. The leader of the group nodded with a convincing hum and that, surprisingly- for a group as focused on each other and tight knit as this one was- was that.
Zenkichi sat heavily on a bench near the RV; the people of Osaka milled about their day as if nothing heavy had happened directly under their noses. He shook his head to dislodge the static surrounding him and leaned back to take stock of his- the- kids. The infamous Phantom Thieves, the demonized and intentionally misunderstood children trying to do good in a world full of corrupt and vile people. They were setting up for a late dinner after their trek through Konoe’s heavily guarded jail and chit chatting amongst themselves. Some of them seemed to be putting on a brave face, cracking jokes and going about everything like normal, but there was an underlying air of tension caused by the revelation of Konoe’s past of abuse, subsequent life of tragedy and crime that couldn’t quite be ignored.
Each of these kids had their own experiences with evil adults, so it was no surprise that each of them were ruminating, in their own ways, on the implications that someone seemingly so against everything they stood for was a victim in his own right. Zenkichi had heard about Suguru Kamoshida, and could only guess what the students, especially the female students, of Shujin had experienced during his reign of terror. He knew of the corrupt rumors surrounding Kunikazu Okumura as well as the confirmed and confessed corruption of Ichiryusai Madarame and the abuse he put his students through in the name of money and success. After her talk with Akane, he also knew about Makoto’s lonely upbringing, he’d heard about Wakaba Iishiki’s untimely death and could hazard a guess that even the loud mouthed, quick to smile Sakamoto had experienced something traumatic in his life as well from the way he acted when he thought no one was watching. All of these kids had been through so much trauma, even before the Phantom Thieves became a force for good, and Zenkichi could practically see the weight sitting upon their shoulders at any given moment of the day. All of them except for Akira consistently woresigns of their past traumas like cloaks until today when he’d, finally, witnessed firsthand a crack in the usually airtight stoicism of Joker.
Akira was an enigma wrapped in a mystery locked in a gun safe buried at the bottom of the ocean. He was simultaneously the stoic leader of the bunch and the tender emotional support for the others (in and out of jails, from what Zenkichi had witnessed). He was a quiet 17 year old, a terrorist and threat to national security, a straight A top student, and a coffee aficionado all in one. He was also hiding something, something that Zenkichi already had an inkling about. It was hard to spot if one wasn’t looking for it but not only did Zenkichi pride himself on his ability to look for details that others missed as it was practically a requirement for his job but he was also unable to forget those files he’d seen when he’d started researching these kids.
He had seen far too many kids get hurt during his time on the force and Kurusu wasn’t some special exception to that, but there was something about this kid that took on so much responsibility that pulled at his heartstrings. Before he was PubSec, before he was a member of the police department, he was a father. He knew he’d failed spectacularly in the past but he absolutely could not fail Akira now. It didn’t go too far out there to say that every signal Akira was sending out was raising the hairs on the back of his neck as both a cop and a dad. He hated seeing abused kids fall through the cracks when it was one hundred percent preventable, so watching Akira help save his friends and not ask for help in return was almost infuriating.
Kurusu was currently, to someone not paying close enough attention, sitting casually next to Zenkichi, idly listening to the hustle and bustle of the city around them, absentmindedly twirling a pen in his left hand. But a keen eye could see that the boy was hunched ever so slightly in a defensive manner; and Zenkichi could tell that it wasn’t the defensiveness of someone who’d done something wrong but the defensiveness of a victim bracing for a blow they know is about to come. He hated that the defensiveness was once again aimed at him, but couldn’t blame the boy for thinking Zenkichi was going to call him out- he absolutely was, but he wasn’t going to be harsh where it wasn’t deserved. The kid was barely giving off any indication that anything was wrong, but the tenseness of his narrow shoulders and the straightness of his spine told another story. Once again, Zenkichi was astonished at this kid’s ability to mask; if he didn’t know something was wrong, he may not have seen the signs.
While the rest of the Thieves were distracted, he turned to their leader, crossed his arms, and quietly asked, “Are you sure you’re okay? After uh… today?”
Akira didn’t startle per se, but it was a near thing. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly and a nervous chuckle escaped him, “Me?” He pointed at himself unnecessarily.
Zenkichi had to give him props, the kid sounded mostly amused if not for his barely abnormal body language, “Yeah, you. You seemed… Subdued. Uh, after Konoe. When we were-“ he gestured between the two of them to indicate their stint stuck in the jail together.
Once again the stubborn boy in front of him chuckled disbelievingly before rubbing the back of his head, “I’m fine,” and after a dubious glance from the police officer the kid doubled down with, “Of course I’m fine.”
He can see it now, the kid is intentionally trying to lose the underlying tension from his neck and shoulders; he stops nervously fidgeting with the pen and slouches ever so slightly to further mimic nonchalance. Zenkichi is simultaneously impressed by the act and dubious of whether the boy is actually aware of what he’s doing or if all of this mystery is subconscious. He thinks Kurusu might’ve fooled him with his act if he hadn’t been around the block a time or two and could pinpoint the ways in which Akita’s behavior was unnatural.
Maybe he’s reading too much into it and Kurusu is fine- even with the last few months of nonstop stress and a past that wasn’t necessarily stable. Maybe he’s reading too much into some combination of Akira sharing a name with Konoe, the file he’d read, and the amount of sleep he’d missed over the course of the last few weeks or months- years, even. But maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s not just connecting dots where there aren’t any and if he looks away from this, then he’s going back on his promise to Akane and the Thieves that he won’t turn away from life’s hard truths ever again. He can’t risk that on the principle of his pride, first of all. But, morally, he won’t-can’t- risk missing an opportunity to help this child who’s taken too much responsibility on by himself.
“I don’t mean to pry,” he begins, and has to forcefully stop the frown that wants to make its way onto his face at the way Akira cringes, “I- Your home life isn’t my business… But, if you-”
“It isn’t what you’re thinking-” Akira interrupts, suddenly noticeably nervous.
The ways in which the kids face pales and he hunches his shoulders stirs more protectiveness in his chest and he decides he’s not letting this go yet, “Akira.” The teens mouth clicks shut at his tone and he has to force himself to soften even further, not wanting to interrogate or intimidate this kid any more than he had already been, “I don’t want to overstep here, but what is it that you think I’m thinking?”
Akira eyes him with a calculating glint in his eye and he gets the feeling that the kid is searching for something in his very soul that he apparently finds because he begins hesitantly, “You think I’m like him.” Zenkichi does to some degree but remains silent, waiting for Akira to just give him something more to work with. After a beat of silence, Akira swallows audibly and then continues, “The Phantom Thieves. What we do. Me, him. Joker and Konoe,” he sighs softly, “You think I’m like him with the- like his-” He cuts himself off abruptly.
Zenkichi shakes his head in exasperation, “Jeez, kid, I’m not trying to stress you out here. I think you could have been like him but so could any of you, with what’s happened. I could’ve been like him too, that’s not like some moral condemnation. People aren’t meant to experience so much trauma, especially not so young. It isn’t fair,” he pauses at the way Akira looks over to his friends, “but it’s not like the Phantom Thieves are claiming to be the only right solution to the corruption, you said it yourselves that you’re just reacting to injustice when and where you can.”
Akira looks back at him in surprise, “It’s about choice. To me. The people we stopped, they either took people’s ability to choose away or they themselves couldn’t choose their own actions. I- Kamoshida- our teacher- he was raping and hurting students and no one would help but everyone knew, ” he practically spit, “these- these Monarchs were used as pawns to remove people's desires, their hopes and dreams. It,” he breathed in anxiously, “it’s not like I don’t think about what we do. I think about it all the time and I hope we’re better than the people we stop but- but maybe I’m wrong and I am like them but then that’s on me- not- not them,” he looked back at his friends with a desperation that lead Zenkichi to believe he’d been needing this conversation to happen for a while.
He does his best not to look at the kid with surprise, pity, or anything approaching negative, but he is a little shocked at the outburst. This was the most he’d ever heard Akira say in one go, maybe even more than he'd heard him speak cumulatively in the time he’s known the kid, and it was barely prompted, “They aren’t being manipulated by you, Akira.” He scratches his chin, “They know what they’re doing just like you do, just like I do. People follow you because they want to follow you.” Finally, Akira nods minutely in acknowledgement and Zenkichi decides to gently change gears, “Why else do you think I think you’re like him- Konoe?”
Once again, he sees the wince cross Akira’s face and he sees his eyebrows furrow before his face abruptly slackens back into something resembling calm, “You-“ he breathes in, “you're fishing, cop.”
A startled laugh forced its way from deep in his chest and Zenkichi sees Ryuji and Morgana’s heads swivel to where they’re seated across the way, it won’t be long until they have an audience, “I suppose I am, but I’m not going to force you to answer if you don’t want to. Enough people have forced their desires on you guys for a lifetime; you can tell me or you don’t have to, and either option will be okay with me.”
Akira nods slowly, “I appreciate it, but you already seem to know.” He looks away and waves to Futaba who seems to have been tipped off to their ‘secret’ conversation by the others, “I think you already know at least. You may not be wrong,” Zenkichi feels his heart stutter in his chest at the rueful look on the kids face, “but it won’t affect my judgement here and…. It’s in the past, now. We’ve got a monarch to defeat, a calling card to send and then. Maybe…” he trails off with a shrug.
Zenkichi thinks he gets it, gets where Akira is coming from, and he won’t pry into this kid’s pain without regard for the kid’s feelings. If he doesn’t want to talk, he shouldn’t have to. Plus, Zenkichi knows Akira is staying with the Sakuras for the summer which gives him enough time to sit down when this is all over and find a way to actually help the kid. He figures Sojiro Sakura, at least, will be able to assist if Akira hasn’t shared his past with the other kids. He won’t let this child go home to parents that aren’t treating him correctly, but they have a very big-world ending, even- fish that needs frying before he can solve any of Kurusu’s problems.
His trail of thought is interrupted by a cat being tossed with a cry of alarm onto his lap and several rambunctious children clamoring for both of their attention.
“Food’s ready!”
“Hurry up and come over here with us, Aki!”
“Oi, Kira you have to help me keep Futaba, Ann and Yusuke from taking everything, man!” Ryuji throws an arm over Akira’s shoulders while he’s lamenting dramatically about all of the food they need to defend from the others, and Akira grins in a way Zenkichi is realizing is reserved specifically for Ryuji.
Zenkichi sees the remaining tension genuinely bleed from Akira’s shoulders as the teen stands from their lonely bench and gives the rest of his friends a small but hopelessly endeared smile. The leader of this little gang of misfits turns to Zenkichi and holds out a hand, willing to put the heavy stuff behind them for now and just be for an evening before they have to mobilize to save the world again.