Chapter Text
The guts of the Shibuya underground subway system smelt worse than he had imagined, though he should've known better to expect the "insides" of a busy city like Tokyo to be as glamorous as it looked on the surface.
The air was a mixture of acrid and acidic stench that reminded him of the gutters near the foster home he once lived, where he used to hide on the nights when the "household" held yet another meaningless celebration for one of his peers' adoption with a small cake that was likely well past expiration date. The smell was usually accompanied with jealousy and an agonizing but irrepressible sense of longing. During those hours, he would curl in on himself, clutching his knees both to suppress the growling of his stomach and the urge to scream until his voice splintered, accusing the world and every being living within it of being unjust and selfish.
Regardless—he slowly shook his head to clear his mind of these bitter memories, knowing this was neither the place nor time to reminisce about his unfortunate childhood—the smell was probably the least pressing issue at hand as he had other more important concerns about the bizarre situation he found himself in.
Namely, he was now quite literally walking on the rails of one of the busiest subway lines in Tokyo during rush hour. Although he had considered various ways of dying, accidentally getting trampled by a train was definitely not one of them, as he'd rather leave the world with at least some dignity left.
Lucky for him, despite the occasional sound of metal rattling against the railway track in the distance, there was no sign of a moving vehicle showing up any time soon. This gave him some time to inspect his surroundings—something he had learned to do as a safety measure during his time running errands for a rather shady local detective firm.
The environment he found himself in was rather… odd—in lack of words to characterize the view around him, he settled for this vague description. The imposing walls of the tunnel and the metal rail along which he traced his steps suggested that he was walking inside an underground subway line. However, the water pipes that twisted and turned along the walls glowed unnaturally red in the dark tunnel, illuminating the entire place with a faint but menacing aura. The filthy air wasn't stagnant as he expected for an underground tunnel: a rather strong wind howled through it, constantly flapping his loose hair strands against his already sweaty neck and forehead.
He wandered around aimlessly for five solid minutes, silently in awe at how he seemed to be handling this absurd situation with coolness that didn't belong to his usual self. Surely, this had to be a hallucination, the sign of his psyche finally cracking under the constant pressure of having to scrape up enough money to keep himself off the streets.
Just as he thought that this situation wouldn't be able to get more bizarre, he spotted a human-like form casually leaning against the wall of the tunnel not far from the imminent turn, arms crossed and shoulders relaxed.
He stopped dead in his tracks, not sure whether he should speak to the figure or just turn around and leave. They were probably just another being of his mind's creation… but if they weren't merely his hallucination, perhaps they'd have some idea about what this whole place was about?
"Took you long enough," the figure took notice of him before he can decide and commented offhandedly as if they had simply been waiting for a friend at the train station. Their voice sounded masculine, but he can't be sure as it was heavily altered by the constant white noise that accompanied it.
He remained silent, unsure about how to respond. Surely, this mysterious being couldn't have been waiting for him?
Hearing no response, the figure pushed themselves off the wall and strode towards him, the dim red light from the walls illuminating their right side, allowing him to steal clearer glimpses at their appearance. They were wearing a long, rugged black cape that covered most of their body. A metallic helmet surrounded their head, obscuring their face and, if they had any, hair with its thick black walls, visor, and a black mask attached to it. The helmet was somewhat pointy in the front, reminding him of a bird's beak. The black mask seemed to glow red in this lighting as opposed to the helmet itself, which turned slightly bluish-purple. The mask being the only defining characteristic of the figure, he settled to mentally name the being the "Black Mask."
By the time he finished his observation, the Black Mask was already directly standing in front of him, seemingly waiting for a response.
"Well?" the Black Mask hummed impatiently, voice still partially drowned out by noise. "I can see you have a lot of question about this place and your situation."
The Black Mask's statement seemed to suggest that they know exactly where this place was and, perhaps, why he had ended up in here after activating the strange App on his barely functioning phone.
Though he had many questions, he first picked the most urgent one: "This isn't a dream?"
"No," as if expecting this exact question, the Black Mask responded crisply as soon as he finished the last word. "This place is real—despite a little different from what you have considered 'the reality' up until now—and so am I."
"And this place is…?" he asked.
"Mementos," the Black Mask answered without hesitation again, "the manifestation of the collective unconsciousness of the masses, or so they say."
"Jungian psychology," he concluded based on the familiar ring of the name "Mementos." Despite having read a few books about this subject during his foster-care days, he had little idea about how such an abstract concept could turn into a literal underground subway system in the middle of Shibuya.
"So you do know," the Black Mask said with a hint of intrigue hidden behind his flat tone, "not that I would have expected less."
Yet again, the Black Mask seemed to suggest that they had been waiting for him in particular, since they apparently had some sort of "expectation" for him. He waited for them to give a more thorough explanation, but they simply crossed their arms again and shifted their weight to one leg, content in leaving him in obliviousness.
"And what does that have to do with this?"
Frustrated, he didn't try to specify what he means by "that" or "this," but the Black Mask seemed to understand him perfectly.
"This place is the manifestation of the collective unconsciousness," the Black Mask answered, growing more irritated by each word.
"…What does that mean?" he asked genuinely.
The Black Mask sighed, their voice sounding more electric than human as the constant noise accompanying their voice muffled the sound of their breath. "I should've known better than to try to explain this to you," they said, attaching a quiet cuss to the beginning of the sentence. "Why don't I just show you?"
He wished his silence can be an indication of him not understanding what the Black Mask meant. However, the silence was soon broken by the noise of something shuffling behind him, which resulted in the Black Mask lunging right at him.
He heard himself gasp in horror as he watched the Black Mask swing a ragged sword right at him, only to realize that their target was not him when the blade missed his head by a few centimeter and delved right into the flesh of a black and gooey thing creeping up on him from behind his back.
"What the…?" He was left shivering and unable to properly move as the Black Mask used the stabbed creature as a launching point to jump right over him, throwing themselves against another similar-looking creature while cursing loudly.
This time, the Black Mask didn't outright stab the creature. Instead, they landed on top of the creature and tore the white, oval mask right off its "head." The unmasked creature and the one that had been stabbed exploded into two puffs of black mist as they shrieked, leaving behind a fairy-like humanoid and a slime-like creature in the dense smoke.
His knees buckled as he watched the surreal scene unfold in front of his eyes, leaving him as a pathetic lump on the damp concrete ground.
"Ah, a Pixie and a Slime," the Black Mask whispered, seemingly enjoying themselves despite being confronted by two mythical creatures. "How nostalgic."
The Black Mask sheathed their sword and produced a gun from under the guise of their cape in the blink of an eye. They didn't even bother to properly aim before firing the firearm, which ejected a bullet with a deafening "bang" that caused him to cover his ears in horror. The bullet hit the fairy-like creature—likely the "Pixie"—before it could react at all. The lump of olive-colored goo—the "Slime"—seemed to notice the Black Mask's ferociousness and panicked, frantically searching its surroundings with hollow red eyes for a way to escape.
Unfortunate for the Slime, the Black Mask beat it both in speed and power. With their back facing him, the Black Mask reached for their face, likely clutching their mask, while calling "come to me, ——!"
An unnatural static noise completely drowned out the name the Black Mask calls, and as blue flames engulfed the Black Mask's mask, the silhouette of a muscular figure appeared behind them, hovering over their head and obediently waiting of its master's order.
"Megidolaon," whispering in a menacingly low voice, the Black Mask pointed their gloved left hand to the Slime and commanded the muscular figure to launch an attack on the poor thing.
The wind that had constantly blown through the tunnel suddenly stopped, turning the entire place eerily quiet. Purple light exploded from the location the Slime stood and soon engulfed the entire tunnel, temporarily blinding him. The return of a stronger gust that ensued the light robbed him of his hearing as well. Despite not being able to see or hear what was unfolding in front of him, he could still feel the powerfulness of the attack, as the hair on the back of his neck stood up the instant it had been launched.
For a few seconds after the one-sided fight, he struggled to keep himself from completely slumping to the ground as his senses had been completely rendered useless. A gloved hand tugged at his arm, forcing him to stand upright again, but with how disoriented he felt, he could only helpless lean on the person that was helping him stand back up.
"That was unexpected," the Black Mask, who apparently was the one helping him to his feet, said calmly as if they had simply disposed of unwanted trash. "Thought the Shadows in this area would've known better than to pick a fight with me."
He wanted to point out that the creatures were actually trying to attack him instead of the Black Mask, but a word they had just said caught his attention: "The Shadows?"
"That's what those creatures are called," the Black Mask said, pointing to the ground where the ashes of the Slime lie after shoving him to lean on the walls instead of their body. "They usually wander around Mementos with no particular goal in mind, but if you come close to them they will attack you."
Since he could properly hear the Black Mask now, his hearing was probably okay. While they explained, he squinted at the ground to try to get his vision cleared as well.
"But that's not important, for now," the Black Mask concluded their explanation by clapping their hands, getting what dirt they got on them from picking him up from the ground off. "Now, I'm going to properly show you what I mean by the manifestation of the collective unconsciousness. Follow me closely, you understand?"
He quietly nodded, making sure to demonstrate how obedient he's willing to be so that the Black Mask wouldn't use their fighting skills on him.
The Black Mask eyed him behind their mask but didn't comment on anything. Instead, they pulled out their cellphone—a very compact and simplistic design, probably the newest model available, he noticed—and tapped the mysterious red App to open up a window that asked for voice input.
"That's…"
He intended to tell the Black Mask that that App was exactly what had gotten him into Mementos in the first place, but before he could say anything, the Black Mask interrupted him: "Metaverse Navigator, or MetaNav—that's what this is called."
"Meta… What?" He blinked at the Black Mask.
Instead of responding to his question, the Black Mask simply brought their phone close to their head and murmured a name at it—in particular, his own name.
"How do you…"
Candidate found. The MetaNav dinged.
"Oh, on this floor? How nice," the Black Mask said to themselves without commenting on how on edge he looked or addressing the obvious question of why they knew his name.
"What do you mean by 'on this floor?' Are there more floors to this—" he started to ask another question, but the Black Mask stopped him by pulling him forward by his wrist as they started walking.
"Hey! Let go of me!" He struggled pointlessly against the iron grip of the Black Mask out of panic, completely forgetting his promise of "following them closely" only minutes ago.
"Shut up, unless you want to risk getting gutted by a Shadow because I'm not going to protect you again," the Black Mask warned in a low voice without turning their face to him. "And no, I'm not going to explain anything to you anymore, just follow me and watch."
That surely shut him up as he was reminded of what the Shadows—and the Black Mask that was currently dragging him across the godforsaken subway tunnels of Mementos—were capable of.
In no time, they reached a dead-end where the walls and the railway track twisted in on themselves and formed a whirlpool of black and red in mid-air. He felt a nauseating sense of vertigo simply by staring into it, and the fact that this place was somehow related to him made him feel more uneasy. Therefore, when the Black Mask gestured for him to go in alone, he simply felt that he wanted to do nothing but run away and bury his head under sand.
"No," he hissed in panic as he tried to wrench his hand free the Black Mask again. "I want nothing to do with you and whatever's in there anymore. I'm going home."
"Home?" the Black Mask repeated, seemingly amused. "Do you even have one of those?"
That comment sure did hit a sore spot.
"That's none of your business," he glared at the Black Mask, "and I don't know why you'd want me to—"
The grip on his wrist tightened. The gloved fingers of the Black Mask seemed to turn into iron claws that dug into his arm, making him cry out in pain as the Black Mask whirled around to face him.
"I told you to shut up," the Black Mask didn't raise their voice, but the threatening edge was there nonetheless, "and don't think I don't know what you want to do. You just want to run away from everything, especially if it involves you personally."
He wanted to retort that the Black Mask knew nothing about him, but he hated himself for stopping as he realized what they had said was completely true. Having no valid rebuttal, he simply clenched his teeth and choked out a pathetic "I-" in response.
The Black Mask stood mere centimeters from him now, right hand still gripping his wrist while they towered over him. From this distance, he could tell that the Black Mask was a lot taller than he was but hadn't reached adult-level, yet, and those eyes that hid behind the mask radiated a myriad of emotions he couldn't decode. Despite his pride urging him not to back down, he couldn't help but shrink lower.
"Escapism gets you nowhere, and neither does emotional detachment," the Black Mask said quietly in a matter-of-fact manner that made him shiver. "I have now presented you with a problem that only you can solve. Deal with it."
"A problem that only I can solve?" he straightened his crouched back a little and questioned weakly. The way the Black Mask had framed their statement—addressing the situation specifically to him—made him shamefully excited. It was as if he had finally been presented an opportunity to be unique, to be special.
"Correct." His reaction seemed to satisfy the Black Mask, and they slowly backed down from their current intensely close position. "What lies beyond there is ultimately about you, and if you cannot even acknowledge yourself, then no one will do it for you."
"And if I refuse…?"
"Then I may as well shoot you on the spot," the Black Mask casually spilled their murder plan without much consideration for repercussions. "You are of no use to me if you can't even do something this simple." To further prove their point, they slowly lifted their cape to reveal the gun on the left side of the belt that was tied over their bodysuit.
He lowered his head in an attempt to evade the Black Mask's piercing gaze. In his mind, the Black Mask's comment about his tendency to run from problems hit harder than their threat to kill him here and now.
It was true that ever since his mother's death, he had buried his anger and desperation and jealousy and hate under a poorly established facade of a helpless and weak orphan, shoving every negative thought into a box that remains tucked away in the farthest corner of his mind until it overflowed or bursted open and he had to rain his rage down on whatever object was nearest at that moment. He had found that this tactic actually works quite well, evident from the fact that he had survived over five years without getting convicted with assault or being beaten to death by a provoked stranger. However, that didn't mean that he felt less awful when the moment of outburst did come. It was not unusual for him to repeatedly stab his pillow with scissors while imagining that it was the flesh of his irresponsible and detestable father whose identity he had yet to discover, or to violently trample every plant of flower in the park that he frequents when no one looked as if the act gave him the agency he lacked in life. It had become a constant of his life that he rarely stopped to consider the fact that none of this made him happy—though he doubted that he ever would, or even deserved to be, happy.
Anyhow, he knew that he had made a habit of running away from himself and his feelings until they became too overbearing to hide, but the Black Mask, out of all people, shouldn't know that, right?
His gaze shifted from the whirl of black and red back to the Black Mask, who was now standing completely still with their left hand barely touching the gun hanging on their belt, apparently waiting for him to make a decision.
"Ah…" he haled heavily. His mind was heavily leaning towards just letting the Black Mask put him out of his misery, but a voice in his head kept telling him that he shouldn't give up, yet, at least not before he found his terrible excuse of a dad and brought him what he deserved for letting him and his mother suffer.
He thought of his mother, who had always worn a sad and tired smile on her face and presented herself with dignity until the day she crumbled under the pressure of her social status and the burden of her unwanted son. She had always complimented him when he undertook something new or solved a problem on his own—maybe she would be happy if he accepted the Black Mask's challenge?
The Black Mask in question didn't respond, content to watch him struggle mentally.
He let his eyes linger on the wall of black and crimson swirling in front of him, which—according to the Black Mask—concealed something that only he could achieve, something that could potentially make him someone special. The Black Mask seemed to know him well, and he resentfully found that their simple statement was capable of swinging his mental balance significantly, resulting in all the chips falling into the bucket that pushed him toward the mysterious swirl.
"I'll go," he conceded.
The tension in the air loosened, and the Black Mask's posture became one of relaxation and possibly… relief? He wasn't sure if he was misinterpreting.
"I knew you would," the Black Mask said to him before releasing their grip, and he couldn't chase away the thought that they might be smiling under their mask.
He stepped past the Black Mask and towards the now mesmerizing whirl of darkness and blood, wondering if this would be the last scene he'd ever see in this pathetic life. If it was, so be it. At least he had tried to achieve something in the end, even if it eneded up backfiring on him.
"Ready to face yourself, Akechi Goro?" the Black Mask asked, and he answered with action rather than words.
As he stepped into the whirlpool, the sky curled in on him while the ground wrapped up from his sides. He felt his body pulled by non-existent entities on all sides before he completely lost footing and fell forward into a rather spacious room of similar design as that of Mementos.
Only after regaining his footing did he realize that he wasn't alone in this space.
Akechi Goro was now face-to-face with the mirror image of himself, staring directly into those bright yellow eyes that overflowed with anger and anguish.
Akechi's eyes pop open at the sound of his oh-so-familiar alarm clock shrieking at him. He has gotten used to waking up at ungodly early hour on weekdays, but that doesn't reduce his animosity towards this absolutely detestable piece of equipment. Biting back the impulse to throw the thing to the ground and watch it break into pieces—the exact reason why he refuses to use his phone as an alarm—he gets out of bed to shut it up.
While in the bathroom getting himself ready for a long day, he ponders about what his dream the previous night could possibly mean. It's not unusual that he dreams about Mementos—the place's unaesthetic looks and the babbling of its inhabitants are hard to forget even in his sleep—but it's rare that they simply replay his initial experience in the Metaverse.
He is glad that the dream ends where it does. He doesn't want to be reminded of the absolute gibberish his Shadow spouted at him or the contorted expression on its face (he didn't know he could possibly make that kind of face) as it reminded him of his darkest secrets. The events that ensued was a blur. He only remembers pouncing pain and a voice—his own voice—echoing in his head, asking him if he wanted power to change the society that wronged him and to help those who were trapped in situations similar to his. He can't recall how exactly he had answered the voice, but once he accepted a contract with it and tore off the mask that was obstructing his vision, his double stopped screeching and was soon engulfed by pure blue flames. He knew, with only one look at the double's face, that the last sight of it will forever be scorched to the back of his mind because the smile on its face was the exact same as the one his mother wore the day before her death: tired and melancholic, but also tinged with relief as if the its owner knew that the end of their misery was coming. As its body glowed white, the walls of the chamber began to crumble, but the blue flames protected him from falling rubbles as he retreated back to the swirl of black and red, which subsequently spat him out to the tunnels of Mementos again.
The Black Mask was nowhere to be found, and while he was happy that the other didn't see him unceremoniously slump to the ground out of exhaustion, he couldn't stop feeling a little disappointed that he no longer had a Metaverse encyclopedia to bother anymore.
It has been two years since that bizarre experience had swooped in and uprooted his life, but Akechi still hasn't completely figured out what it implied, yet.
Sure, he knows that the beings that he can summon from his masks are called "Personas," which are supposed to be the manifestation of one's true self. This begs the question of why he has TWO true selves, one being the honorable and just Robin Hood and the other… the trickster god from the Norse Mythology, Loki, but he refuses to pursue this train of thought.
He also knows that the MetaNav gives him access to Mementos, the collective unconsciousness of Tokyo's inhabitants housed in a twisted version of the Shibuya subway junction, and the Cognitive Worlds of certain individuals. These specific worlds have more refined sceneries than Mementos, likely customized towards the individual that governed the place, and requires a name, a location, and a "distortion"—as the MetaNav eloquently names—to enter. There are Shadows in these places, some are more generic—like the Pixie and the Slime, which can be found basically… everywhere—while others are cognitive versions of actual human beings. These human Shadows babble about their darkest thoughts non-stop, and he gladly uses their own confessions in the Metaverse to dig up dirt against them in the Real World.
Messing with people's Shadows in the Cognitive World apparently affects the individual in the Real World. How he found out about this… he stops himself before he starts guilt-shaming himself this early in the morning. However, his regrettable misstep did give him pretty conclusive evidence for the identity of the culprit behind the infamous Mental Shutdown and Psychotic Breakdown cases popping up around Tokyo.
The Mental Shutdown refers to cases where a completely healthy victim suddenly falls unconscious and remains in a coma for a period of time, the shortest being three hours and the longest being… well, two years and counting. These can be dangerous if they occur in extreme circumstances, but as far as he knows, no one has died—yet, he thought to himself grimly, though it's bound to happen one day.
The Psychotic Breakdown, on the other hand, is simply the umbrella term for cases where an individual suddenly behaves strangely (for example, a respectable businessman suddenly decides to show up to work without any clothes) and has no memory of why they acted that way.
Although these terms are thrown around at times, most people believe that they are simply coincidences—mental health problems that come with the rising competition in the workforce or something—but Akechi finds them too similar to what the Black Mask was capable of invoking by tampering with the Metaverse.
Akechi has been investigating these cases with Niijima Sae, a respectable prosecutor who has aided him in getting his internship with the Special Investigation Unit, for a while now but have found no clue to the Real World identity of the culprit so far.
Speaking of the devil… He pulls his phone out of his pajamas pocket and finds, unsurprisingly, that there are unread messages from Sae-san, received at 2AM in the morning. Sae-san can be extremely persistent when she puts her mind to a goal, and pulling an all-nighter seems to have become common practice for her.
Akechi examines the messages as he brushes his teeth, brows furrowed as he tries to hold and swipe at his phone with one hand.
[4/11 2:06] Niijima Sae: I hope you have read the news about the train derailing in Shibuya. I've been through the personal files of the conductor that caused the accident but found no motive. The Transportation Department sent someone to interview him, but he insisted that he had no memory of the incident.
[4/11 2:07] Niijima Sae: It certainly looks like another Psychotic Breakdown.
[4/11 2:09] Niijima Sae: I'd like to get your opinion on this incident. Since you probably have school in the day, why don't you meet me after school at my office?
[4/11 2:11] Niijima Sae: I have coupons for that sushi place, too.
Akechi can't help but chuckle after reading the last text. Although Sae-san certainly values his opinion and treats him like her equal, her tactics to get him to cooperate sometimes reminds him of a primary school teacher—not that he is against Sae-san bribing him with sushi. Sae-san has a sister that's his age, maybe this is how she interacts with her?
[4/11 6:13] Akechi Goro: I'm happy to come by your office after school, but I have to leave before seven for cram school.
[4/11 6:15] Akechi Goro: And sushi would be appreciated.
Sae-san doesn't respond immediately, meaning she's either still asleep or too focused on her work to look at her phone (the later is more probable in Akechi's opinion). Either ways, he doesn't plan on waiting for her, so he throws his phone onto his bed and changes for his uniform.
School is, as expected, as boring as always. If his detective and celebrity work didn't require him to appear palatable as a model student, he wouldn't waste his time listening to his teachers recite what the textbooks say word for word.
The meeting with Sae-san is uneventful, too. They discuss the documents Sae-san has prepared and conclude that the train accident was, in fact, caused by a Psychotic Breakdown inflicted on the conductor.
By the end of cram school, he is both irritated and exhausted, so he opts to return home and go straight to bed. His little homework can wait till tomorrow morning.
Akechi wakes to the silvery sound of water droplets hitting concrete surface and is immediately alerted by the blunt pain he feels in his back and his legs, probably result from sleeping in a strange posture on hard surfaces. He perks his head up from his crouched position and glances around the "room" he is in.
This "room" is more like a prison cell than a proper room. It is quite narrow, three stone walls lining the boundaries of the room. The only source of light is from the side where the fence barred him inside. He is currently huddled on the plain bed (made of wood planks and nothing more) in the far left corner, next to him is a toilet and a sink. Upon inspection, he finds that nothing bounds him to the bed, so he heads for the barred door.
He has no idea why he is in a prison cell, but this feels more real than his usual dreams. The chill of the air and the dim blue light illuminating the tiny cell makes the scene somewhat surreal, but he's been in the depth of Mementos and knows better to assume that him ending up in another bizarre-looking location is purely due to his imagination.
He reaches for the door, noticing that his outfit has changed from his pajamas to a striped prisoner's outfit. Bizarre, he thinks to himself, but that's nothing to worry about. Ultimately, my outfit changes in the Metaverse anyways.
He pushes and pulls on the door, but it won't budge.
He calls out for answer, but no one responds.
He can see that an elegant wooden desk lies not far from the prison door, but it is unoccupied. The other cells in his line of sight are also empty. The only movement he can see out of the corner of his eyes are the drift of the reflective dusts that seem to fill the air. This place seems utterly deserted.
Frustrated, he sits down on the ground, feeling the damp air seep through the rough fabric of his prisoner's pants and tickle at his skin. Running through his latest memories, he finds no evidence to why he, an assistant detective and a rising celebrity, would end up in a solitary confinement all of a sudden.
Nothing in this place help his little mental investigation, either. Aside from the desk and the round, blue carpet it sits on, there is no identifiable furniture in this place. All he sees in the cells are tangled chains, rusted torture instruments, rotten wooden planks, and sinks and toilets that mirror the ones in his own cell.
The familiar sensation of loneliness and helplessness gnaws at his stomach. The false peacefulness of this place reminds him too much of the halls of the foster homes he had stayed at, which are deserted—like this—on countless sleepless nights. He tugs at Robin Hood for warmth in his mind while Loki sneered at him for his feebleness. He silently agrees with Loki, but even his self-deprecation doesn't seem to chase away the uncertainty he feels in this situation.
A loud shriek rips him from his thoughts, causing him to jump up from the ground. Red light now flashes from the ceiling above the empty desk, drowning out the blue light of the room. The sound—probably from an alarm—brings a thick fog of drowsiness over his consciousness, and he feels himself beginning to fall limp as his eyelids were forced shut.
As he descends into obliviousness, Akechi sees an almost-transparent butterfly sail across his vision, leaving a trail of dim blue dust behind. He tries to raise his hand to touch it, but before he can move his fingers, darkness completely takes over his mind and returns him to the peaceful sleep that he is supposed to be in.