Chapter Text
Something’s wrong, Ren knew, from the moment he opened his eyes to see the familiar, dreary ceiling of his apartment—the one Shido housed him in for the entirety of his stay in Tokyo. The one he never should have seen again, because he was supposed to be dead.
Not just that, he remembered his death, trapped and left to rot behind the partition wall he’d closed in a desperate attempt at redemption, pleading to the woman standing just behind it to do him one last favor.
Tell Goro I’ll hold on to his glove.
And should have been it, the end of the infamous Metaverse hitman. Funny, he wasn’t entirely sure whether he should be upset at the idea of his death, having never succeeded in his goal of destroying Shido, leaving everything and everyone behind once and for all. It was a pathetic loss, one that only showed just how spectacularly he’d failed, in both achieving his revenge and keeping his promise to Goro.
Maybe Ren would feel worse if it wasn’t so fitting.
A menagerie of emotions rose up in his chest, slow but steady, swelling and popping like soap bubbles. Confusion, anger, pain, despair, desperation—they were all there, all plainly hidden by a shiny veneer of placidness that Ren couldn’t be bothered to keep up or take down. He’d spent so long repressing his emotions, dwelling and ruminating in the bitter sludge of hatred, of vengeance, consuming and filling his soul like nothing else could—
Or, at least, like he used to think nothing else could.
He didn’t want to stare at the gaping hole in his chest where his resentment had burned through. He couldn’t, he didn’t have time to, not while something was clearly wrong. Addressing these emotions would only stall progress, and obeying the itch beneath his skin that insisted he track down Goro would only waste precious time he could be using to instead determine the severity of the situation. Instead, he went to the only other person he could trust to be sane in a world where the dead were coming back to life.
Sumire didn’t look any better than he felt, sitting across from the walking, talking corpse of Isshiki Wakaba. She looked even worse when he walked through the door.
“You remember.” It wasn’t a question but she still nodded, short and terse like the fact that she wasn’t speaking was the only thing still holding herself together. “Then come on.”
He turned on one heel without a glance back to ensure she followed. She would, he knew she would, and he couldn’t bear to look at Isshiki’s zombified corpse any longer than he had to.
It was far too reminiscent of the feeling of a bullet passing through his chest.
“We thought you were dead,” she blurted the moment they stepped into the laundromat, brow furrowed and body tense like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Ren shrugged, casually leaning against the dryer as if the question itself was nothing short of irrelevant. “Apparently not.”
“You—” she started again, voice raising as anger glinted in her eyes, only to fall just as quickly, her whole body forcibly relaxing as one as she let out a shaky breath and shook her head, as if to dislodge whatever she was about to say. A moment passed, and she asked the question at hand. “Do you know what’s happening?”
“No, and I assume it’s safe to presume you don’t either.” He didn’t wait for her to answer, mind already buzzing with the need to analyze their circumstances. “If Sakura’s behavior was any indication, I doubt the Phantom Thieves will be of any use to us right now.”
Sumire’s knuckles turned white where her hands were clasped together. “...you’re right, I don’t think they’ll be any help either. Futaba…” she trailed off, a flash of guilt crossing her expression before she shook her head. “And the rest of them too, I saw it at our New Years celebration.”
“And Goro?”
“I haven’t seen him. I’ve been a little preoccupied at home.” She didn’t elaborate, but she didn’t half to. He’d spend enough time looking into her background to know what she meant if the dead were coming back to life, and neither of them had the time for her to dwell on the implications of her twin sister returning from the dead.
“It appears we’re on our own for now then.” Ren summarized, straightening his posture and staring down at her without mirth or fear. “Let’s make a deal then and investigate together. No matter our differences, we’ll learn far more about our circumstances if we work with one another than if we work alone.”
“Of course we’re working together,” she interjected with a confused, perhaps even hurt, frown, “did you really think I’d say no?”
“No,” he answered honestly, “but it’s important to establish ground rules nonetheless.”
She stared at him like the world had tilted off its axes, and perhaps it had to some extent. He’d never shown his true self in any of their interactions, not to this extent, not until they were on opposite sides of the same Ship, battling to the death. But, even then, that wasn’t him. It was a version of him, but not…him, if there was such a thing anymore. With how he was behaving now, there was all the chance in the world he seemed no better than a stranger to her, and in a world of puppeteered corpses doubt was dangerous.
Lying will do little to win her over.
Ironic coming from you.
Even I know when the truth is more powerful than a lie.
He ignored his Personae as per usual, because they both had a penchant for giving extremely bad advice. Instead he smiled, slight and charming exactly the way he used to, ignoring the pang of exhaustion in his gut. “Let’s start with what I’ve missed. Tell me everything that happened after we last parted.”
Surprisingly, instead of being more receptive to his familiar mask, she only shied away, looking increasingly forlorn as she glanced down at the ground.
Told you so.
Shut the Hell up Ren mused, dropping his smile as Sumire finally relented. She told him everything: about Shido’s downfall, the lack of public reaction, reaching the bottom of Mementos, the merging of the Metaverse and Reality, and the false god’s downfall. He whistled when she described the moment she summoned Morrigan and skewered Yaldabaoth through the face.
The question of why Sumire was capable of summoning a deity to combat a false god was one he never voiced and one she never answered. Whether a conscious reduction to her tale or not, they had more important issues at the moment.
Such as Ren’s phone, which began to ring the moment Sumire finished. When he looked at the contact, he didn’t waste a second picking it up.
“Do you remember when we entered a Palace in October?” Goro began without preamble, and Ren felt a wave of relief crash over him at the sound of his deeply unamused voice. Still conscious, then. Or, as conscious as Goro Akechi could be.
“Of course.”
“Well, not only has it reappeared, but in broad fucking daylight in the real world.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, I’m on my way.”
“Who the hell—” Ren cut the call, his mind already halfway to Odaiba, when another thought hit him.
“That was Goro.”
“Is he ok?” Sumire asked instantly, staring up at him with bright inquisitive eyes as if nothing was out of place.
Ren didn’t bother with the question. “Why would he call me?”
“Huh?”
“As far as he should know, I’m supposed to be dead.”
That made her freeze, her whole body going rigid, unable to hold eye contact as she glanced back towards the doorway like someone might walk in and offer her the perfect escape from this conversation.
“We never told him.”
For all the posturing she did, for all the guilt in her voice, he couldn’t hear a single note of regret.
Goro was perfectly unsurprised to see Sumire with Ren when they arrived. “I’ve known for months you’re a member of the Phantom Thieves,” he announced when she asked, a small smile playing his lips at the startled look that crossed her face. “It wasn’t as if you were subtle. Sakamoto’s practically told the whole school by this point.”
Seeing Goro stirred something in Ren’s chest, something painfully close to guilt. But feeling guilty wouldn’t change anything, just as the nagging voice in his head that wondered whether he would ever see Goro again wouldn’t help them restore reality to how it was meant to be.
“No one’s staring at it,” he commented, watching solemnly as a passerby’s blank eyes slid right over the monolith of a structure, “almost as if they can’t see it.”
“Or perhaps they can see it, but just don’t care,” Goro added coolly, staring at Ren with all the intensity of the world, lips set in a thin line and arms crossed over his chest, “although, I suppose it doesn’t particularly matter if no one can see it. We can still access it.” He waved his phone demonstratively.
“Really?” Sumire darted to his side, faltering in her step at the sight of the Metaverse app shining back at them, blindingly white and iridescent. “But how? We destroyed the Metaverse.”
It only took a moment for her expression to twist when she seemingly remembered that the Metaverse’s return was probably the least surprising part of their day so far.
“Regardless of its return, what’s most important is that we now have a way inside.” Upon tapping his search history Ren realized, to his own surprise, that there was only one entry, their accidental trip to the Metaverse in October.
He glanced back at Goro appraisingly. It was exactly what Ren had asked Goro to do, to ignore the Metaverse and just go about his daily life, but the fact was Ren had done so expecting that Goro wouldn’t listen. Goro was just like that, fervent and unwavering no matter what challenges he faced. To learn that, despite his endless interrogation about the Metaverse, Goro had never even attempted to re-enter…
The thought was more off-putting than comforting.
“Do you remember the Ruler’s name?” Ren asked, gesturing to where the name had been scrambled on Goro’s display.
Goro gave him a flat look like the answer was obvious, opened his mouth—
And then he stopped, so sudden and abrupt even Sumire noticed. They both watched as Goro’s eyes went blank, his expression relaxing into empty neutrality.
When he spoke it didn’t sound like Goro at all.
“I don’t remember.”
When they first met, it was one of the many things that drew Ren to Goro, the way he could abruptly change in demeanor from one sentence to the next. Always at similar points too, when Goro was on the verge of expressing emotion—real emotion. It was as if at the slightest show of anger or despair or pain, Goro would reset. Like a machine whose data had become corrupted, unable to proceed with the task it began. At the time, it was interesting, a fascinating little quirk that only drew Ren closer.
Now, though, as he watched Goro proceed as if nothing had changed, the unnatural, inexplicable behavior was starting to click into place—make sense, even. The changes began around New Years, Ren thought as the sickly folds of the Metaverse enveloped them, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t have been changed even earlier.
The sight of Goro’s pristine, white, almost delicate outfit, laced with feathers and ornaments like a particularly fragile Christmas tree, made the dread in Ren’s gut bloom.
Their outfits were meant to be manifestations of their other selves, the people they truly were, behind the masks and facades they wore for all to watch and judge. And yet, Goro’s outfit looked nothing like a symbol of rebellion. It looked like an act of submission, the character Goro played when he danced, when he had to be a different person, demure and modest and everything Goro wasn’t.
Ren absolutely despised it.
“The way shadows talk reflects the way their Ruler’s beliefs,” Ren announced lazily, staring down the Dancer of Death without a moment’s hesitation, “seems ours has a god-complex.”
“Why do you strive for your own suffering?” It asked, but it wasn’t looking at Ren, it was looking at Goro. “Why reach out when you will only find pain?”
“Well, no matter,” Ren twirled one dagger with a flourish, feeling his lips split confidently as he stared the shadow down with lidded eyes, “all we need to do is kill them. It’s been such a long time since I last fought, though, mind going easy on me big guy?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake Amamiya shut the hell up and fight already!” Goro glowered at him, doing his absolute best to look unimpressed, but the glint in his eyes told a very different story.
And Ren was never one to refuse an opportunity to show-off in the Metaverse before.
The way they fell into combat with one another, one would almost assume they had been fighting side by side for years. Goro fought savagely, in direct odds with the innocence of his outfit. Graceful, like Sumire’s effortless arcs and spins, but whereas Sumire had perfectly honed her precision, Goro seemed to hardly care, slashing wildly like he knew he didn’t have to hit to win.
It had Ren thinking all kinds of romantic things, like how their fighting styles matched perfectly blow for blow.
This is Goro, Ren knew with certainty.
And when he examined the map on the ground, he pretended not to listen when Goro asked Sumire if he always behaved this way in the Metaverse. When she responded with hesitant affirmation, he could hear Goro’s quiet, perhaps even fond sigh.
“It suits him.”
Of all the things Ren was expecting, it wasn’t to see Isshiki Wakaba on a video monitor when they made it to the second floor, pointed directly at them for lack of subtlety. It began to play without any prompt.
“I’m helping him with the grave,” she was talking into a phone in her Office, simultaneously typing something onto her laptop, “Of course, I know, but I still think it’ll be good for him to properly visit her. As far as I know, he hasn’t been given that chance before.”
A soft sigh escaped her lips as she stopped typing, listening to whatever the person on the other end of the phone was saying. “Sure, but he’s not doing all that well now either. As stressful as it may be, I don’t think repressing the matter will do him any good at this point. Besides, he said he wanted to.”
A pause. “I remember that, but we can’t keep avoiding it forever because he’s upset.”
“I’ve tried looking into a few already,” She hummed again after a few moments, “but I have yet to find one who meets my standards. Of course I’ll keep looking, but I’d rather he stay as he is than be made worse by a professional who won’t or can’t help him.”
The video flickered and went hazy, the sound of a boy’s voice, young and distant calling out to her, catching her attention for a moment—only for the video to cut short.
Whatever feelings rose in his chest at seeing what he knew had to be a piece of Goro’s past Ren shoved down in favor of glancing at the man in question, watching his expressions shift, puzzled confusion morphing to singular frustration.
Whatever feelings rose in his chest at seeing one of his own victims he pretended he couldn’t feel at all.
“Well, that’s rather pointless,” Goro finally broke their silence with a scoff, “why would we be shown a video utterly meaningless to us? Unless,” he turned on them, his smile predatory, “either of you would care to share what the hell that was about.”
“Wouldn’t you be the one to know, of the three of us?” Ren fired back without hesitation, his heart beating in his ears, his expression only unaffected by years of practice, “you’ve lived with the Sakuras for two years now.”
Goro’s expression sharpened into a glare, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t you recognize Futaba’s mother?”
For a fraction of a second, Goro’s eyes widened, his body tensing, confusion a storm in his eyes and tight lips—until the same, unaffected, doll-like emptiness returned to his eyes. When his mouth opened, Ren looked away, unwilling to listen to whatever script the Ruler had prepared.
“No, I—” Goro started, only to stop suddenly, and when Ren looked back at him Goro was frozen, utterly and completely stopped by an unseen force. The coiling dismay that had made its home in Ren’s gut evaporated as something like awe sprung past his defences at the sight of something flickered behind Goro’s eyes again—something intelligent, bright and furious.
The air cracked splitting at its seam with a loud pop and Goro flinched back, eyes narrowed and jaw set in what Ren now realized was pain.
“I’m...not sure,” he finally settled through gritted teeth.
Ren was already pulling out a life stone (he could hardly imagine how physically damaging defying the Ruler might have been) only for a quick hand in his direction to stop him mid-movement.
“No, I don’t need anything,” Goro said, forcibly relaxing himself with a heavy exhale, “it’s just a headache. I’ve…started getting them since we first entered the Palace.”
“Are you okay?” Sumire asked, her first words in a long time, Ren realized belatedly, and when he turned back to her she was staring at Goro like she finally understood.
“Of course I’m fine,” Goro waved off idly, as if he hadn’t just admitted to not remembering Isshiki, of all people, turning on one heel with a wave of his rapier, “I’ll just be a lot better once we’re done with this fucking place.”
Ren and Sumire lingered for a beat, watching as Goro stalked forward. It was only after he turned the corner that Sumire turned to him, opening her mouth—
Only to close it again when their eyes met.
He nodded, and she looked away.
They both moved on without another word.
Despite his insistence against medicine, Goro’s ‘headaches’ only seemed to intensify the farther they moved through the palace. He never complained, of course, he was too proud and stubborn for that, but it was obvious.
Only made even more so by the fact that the shadows they encountered kept addressing Goro specifically—always, Goro, talking about pain, of tragedy and suffering, of the mercy he was forsaking.
Goro just cut them down more violently for it.
“Don’t get reckless,” Ren insisted, unable (or maybe just unwilling) to hide the frustration in his voice after Goro had taken it upon himself to rush ahead of them and straight into a waiting shadow.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Goro snapped back, only to wince once again as one hand flew up to pinch the brow of his nose.
Ren didn’t say a word, simply raised one brow and pocketed his hands as he stared at Goro’s hunched form.
“Sorry,” he bit out for a moment, “I suppose the Palace is affecting me worse than I originally assumed.”
“You’re free to feel however you want,” Sumire stole the words from Ren’s lips, “but you can’t endanger the team with your behavior.”
“Right,” Goro answered stiltedly, his whole body tensed like a rubber band on the verge of breaking.
We can fix this by facing the Ruler, Ren had to remind himself, well, either that or everything will go to hell again.
“Let’s continue—” Ren began, only to be interrupted by raucous applause behind them. He pivoted on one foot, hand at the handle of his dagger in preparation to face whatever new conflict the Ruler had prepared for them—
Only to slow, stopping entirely once he reached the railing. In front of them stood a grand stage, now glowing with light, the neon backdrop jarring where it burst upward like rays of sun. The white lights centered on two chairs, both positioned to face them at an angle rather than one another.
And sitting there, across from a puppet of a reporter, was a woman with caramel hair and unmistakable crimson eyes.
Goro was the spitting image of his mother.
“We’ve heard rumors that your son was inspired to pursue ballet by your love of the sport,” the faceless interviewer said. “Any thoughts on the matter?”
“While I may have inspired his interest,” she responded politely, the soft, gentle crook of her smile almost disguising the hollowness in her eyes, “it was his decision to pursue it,” she stared up, directly towards them—towards Goro. “It’s true, I had to give up my career as a dancer to have and raise him, but my top priority was always for him to know he was loved, whether or not he wanted to perform Ballet. As long as he’s pursuing what he loves, I couldn’t be more proud of him.”
“What a beautiful sentiment,” the interviewer smiled back without a mouth, “and, for our final question, we just have to ask what our audience has been dying to know.”
Again, the woman just smiled as she turned to the interviewer. “What’s that?”
“Why did you die?”
No one spoke, no one dared breath until Goro’s mother laughed, voice hauntingly joyous as she announced, “it’s quite simple, you see—”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
The world stopped all at once, the scene in front of them disappearing in an instant as if it had never been there in the first place. Beside him, Goro was gasping for air, hands digging into the rail to hide his trembling arms. Goro flinched again, so hard his head hit the edge of the rail with a sickening crack.
“Senpai!”
“Goro!” The shout escaped Ren’s throat before he even knew what he was saying, but when Goro raised his head again, his breath stuttered in his lungs. The white, porcelain mask had taken the brunt of the hit, a jagged spider web of cracks running across its entirety, dyed red at its edges with blood as it dripped from beneath the surface of his mask. With every heaving breath Goro’s entire body shook, but his eyes were lit with a newfound fire that struck Ren to his core.
The air was utterly silent for a moment, then, the Ruler made his debut.
“I really hope this helped you understand,” a voice announced over the loudspeaker, “if you keep pushing on like this, you’re going to find nothing but heartache. Please, won’t you stop fighting this and just return to the ‘current’ reality?”
A broken noise escaped Goro’s chest. For a moment, it could’ve been a sob, until it grew louder, sputtering and cackling with every breath. He laughed, unrestrained and jagged eyes glowing and wide like a madman.
“I refuse,” he spat like the words were poison on his tongue, “now, drop your ‘big voice behind the curtain’ act and face us you coward.”
“...as you wish. Head down, I’ll meet you there.”
No one breathed until Goro stood up, straightening himself mechanically, his spine ramrod straight with tension as he brushed off his clothes, ignoring the blood seeping into his neckline. Their eyes locked, drawn to one another by a gravity neither could escape, and the moment passed.
“Here,” Sumire interrupted him, pressing a stone into Goro’s hand.
He frowned. “I don’t need—”
“Regardless of whether or not you need it, if we want to face the Palace Ruler, we’re better off if everyone’s in top shape. I know, you’re strong,” Sumire insisted, her voice clear and determined, “but if he’s so powerful he can alter reality itself, then we’ll need every advantage we can get.”
For a moment, Goro watched her, searching for something in his expression. Then, without another word Goro crushed the stone in his palm. The few wounds they could visibly see behind the cracked porcelain healed instantly in the wash of green light, and yet, his mask never repaired, painted red where blood had soaked between the cracks and along the edges. Neither was his outfit fixed where the blood had dripped, swirling and soaking into the fabric like watercolor paint.
Goro had always looked better in red anyways.
Ren wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to see when they met the Palace Ruler. A megalomaniac, certainly, and the man fit that part fairly well, his stiff white suit painting him a martyr, like he believed he was a god amongst men. The judge, jury, and executioner smiled at them like he hadn’t replaced reality with a fraud.
Inexplicably, though, there was something about Maruki that prickled the hair on the back of his neck, sending his Personae into a raging fury. It wasn’t his carefree attitude, nor the sullen expression on his face when he confessed that he had hoped they wouldn’t meet again this way.
No. It was the simple fact that Maruki’s eyes weren’t yellow.
“You’re the one bringing the dead back to life.” Ren’s voice cut through the air like a blade. A fact, not a question.
“I’ve done much more,” Maruki admitted with a gentle smile on his face that made Ren regret not bringing his real pistol, “do you like the reality I created for you?”
“You…created it?” Sumire whispered, her face paler than death.
“That’s right. I’ve gained the power to alter reality, to make people’s wishes a reality.”
Sumire, of all people, glared at him. “None of us wanted this!”
“Is that how you truly feel?” he eyed her with a knowing look, “the old reality was cruel and unfair. Don’t you regret how your sister died?”
Sumire didn’t flinch, she never dropped Maruki’s gaze, but the pain in her expression was enough.
“And what about you, Akechi-san,” Maruki turned, “the truth of the matter is that remembering your forgotten past has only caused you immense pain. Why would you desire to live with it when you’re far happier forgetting?”
“Don’t you dare make decisions for me,” Goro bit out, his lip curling into a vicious snarl, “you erased my memories. I want them back.”
Maruki’s smile didn’t drop, but Ren could hear the resignation in his tone when he nodded his head. “I had hoped that my warnings could have persuaded you to change your mind…but if this is what you truly desire, then I will help you recall your true past.” He glanced between Sumire and Ren. “You two care deeply about him, so I want you to learn as well, and once you do, you’ll need to choose between the two realities: mine, or the merciless one.”
Fuck that. Ren could admit to being an awful, miserable excuse for a person, but even he had morals, morals that included not betraying his Rival’s trust and privacy just because a conceited therapist deemed it necessary that they witness his memories too.
Ren turned without a word, catching Sumire’s eye and nodding towards the exit. She understood the silent message, looking back at where Goro stood hesitantly, before nodding back.
“No,” Goro’s voice stopped them, “stay.”
“Are you sure?” Sumire asked, her voice filled with trepidation.
Goro shrugged casually, as if they were talking about the weather instead of traumatic childhood memories. “Just stay.” Was all he said.
And for all Goro’s stubbornness, for all his posturing and fronting and his need to be perceived exactly the way he desired, Ren knew Goro. They hadn’t spent the last eight months together in near constant contact just for him to have learned nothing about one another. Goro wouldn’t insist they stayed, not for something so personal, not unless he meant it.
Ren knew a plea when he saw one.
He moved back to his place just as the room went dark, eyes drawn to the static-filled screen above them.
When it changed, it changed to a first-person perspective, watching through Goro’s eyes as he walked along a sidewalk. What strangers passed towered imposingly, only emphasizing just how small he seemed—how young he must have been, his uniform too big on his small frame and shoes wearing at the seams.
Something panicked made itself known in the pit of Ren’s chest.
“I wish Mom was happy,” came a tragically small voice, Goro’s own thoughts spoken aloud, “I wish she didn’t have to take on so many jobs. She’s never home anymore, and when she is, she’s always upset.” A flash of color passed, barely lasting more than a second. An image of a woman, lying in a bed curled in on herself. That same woman, staring at Goro apathetically, something close to disdain in the twist of her mouth.
The memories were gone just as quickly as they came.
“She wouldn’t have to work so much if I just stopped taking lessons, but she won’t listen to me. Every time I try she just gets upset.”
A pained face, fury and despair in the brunette’s expression before it disappeared like everything else.
“Her birthday’s coming up. Maybe I could make her something.” A soft, delighted smile as the brunette delicately took a piece of paper from Goro’s hands. “She would probably like it. And maybe if I find enough money she’ll be able to take a break. Although…I don’t know where I would get it.”
Watching Goro as a kid, with all the weight of the world on his shoulders, felt like sitting in the police station all over again, re-reading the public obituary Ren had found when he finally decided to look into Goro’s past.
Ren had the uneasy thought that he knew exactly what was going to come next.
“Goro,” Ren whispered as the video continued. He didn’t respond, so Ren dragged his own eyes away from the screen, “Goro,” he repeated a little louder. “Don’t watch this.”
Goro didn’t answer, but Sumire’s stifled gasp was enough to force Ren’s eyes back to the screen, where the younger Goro had stopped abruptly, staring up at the top of an apartment building just ahead of him.
A woman was standing on the ledge.
Ren couldn’t look away when Goro’s thoughts turned to static. Whether or not he spoke or thought didn’t matter as he began to walk faster, almost running to the apartment now. There were no thoughts, no dialogue to tell them what was happening.
But they didn’t have any words either when they helplessly watched the woman fall.
In front of them, Goro’s mask crumbled entirely, broken fragments falling to the floor silently, as light as feathers.
A gentle, quiet voice broke through their horror. “It seems you remembered…”
“My mother killed herself,” Goro whispered, voice ragged and empty, “all this time I thought…”
“Illness may seem harsh to those who died,” Maruki answered, “but it leaves few to blame. You could live your life free of the guilt that otherwise tormented you.”
“Then I was adopted by Wakaba,” Goro continued as if he couldn’t hear what Maruki was saying. Maybe he didn’t care. “She asked you to help me. You’re the one who insisted I continue seeing you after she died too.”
“So that’s why Futaba was upset with you,” Sumire added quietly, “she thought you were just ignoring Isshiki-san’s death, when in fact…”
“I had no memory of it. I suppose it would also explain why Sakura-san decided to take me in.”
Goro’s voice was hollow, empty of all thought or emotion. The same way it was whenever Maruki deemed fit to change his cognition, to turn him back into the lifeless doll Goro never was.
Ren knew rage, he knew fury and hatred and he knew them well. He’d lived with this hatred for years, killed for his hatred, for his revenge against the man who ruined his life. The feeling bubbling in his chest though, boiling hot and red was new still, molten magma seeping through his limbs and into his eyes as he stared down the man Goro once trusted to help him.
“If Isshiki-san referred him to you,” he started like a blade to the throat, “then that would mean you started brainwashing him before her death.”
“I wouldn’t call it brainwashing…but yes, I did begin treating him before Isshiki-san’s death.”
The air turned frigid. “How long?”
Maruki didn’t even have the mind to look ashamed. “Approximately three years ago.”
No one said a word, letting the weight sink into their skin. Goro had been under Maruki’s spell since he was fifteen years old.
“You brainwashed him for three years for what? To convince Isshiki to share her research? To prove your hypothesis true?”
“To fulfill his wish,” Maruki insisted fervently, “his initial desire, of course, was to bring her back, but given my limited powers at the time, I found this to be the most suitable alternative.”
“I never wished for this,” Goro spoke, his voice barely above a whisper even as it rang through the room like a bell.
“...no, you didn’t,” he conceded quietly, “but you know I couldn’t grant your other wish. It’s my goal to save people like you by ending suffering, and your other wish would have only facilitated it. I want to help people. By converting the wishes of the people into reality, I’m able to prevent suffering altogether. No one would ever have to suffer again under the yoke of an unfair world.”
This man is mad, Ren realized with a sickening grin, he genuinely believed every word he said. He believed he was put on this world to save everyone from their suffering.
We should give him a wake-up call.
“This palace…you called it?” Maruki continued obliviously, “It’s where my desires are made real, correct? Then surely it should be clear to you all that I want to use my research to save humanity.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ren spat.
“Perhaps,” Maruki chuckled like it was a joke, “but I’m entirely serious about changing our imperfect reality. It’s the duty the World bestowed upon me, to save every person from their suffering.”
“And, our old reality?” Sumire asked, voice just edging on the brink of pain.
“It will most likely cease to be, and the reality I created will become the sole world recognized by society.”
After a brief pause, Ren felt something hysterical bubble up his throat, and he threw his head back in a scathing laugh. “Don’t tell me you think we’re going to buy into your brainwashing scheme and expect us to be content living by your rules. To be perfectly honest Dr. Maruki I would rather slit my own throat.”
“I see you have your answer Amamiya-kun,” Maruki shook his head like he expected this response from him. It only made the hatred in Ren’s gut leap, itching to stab the man and be done with this shitshow. “But what about the others?” He turned his gaze to Sumire where she stood tall, her fists shaking where they were clenched at her sides, “if it is your desire, you can return to your original life, but think about how much time you lost with your sister, look at how happy all of your friends are now that they don’t have the endure the suffering of the past.”
Though she refused to look him in the eye, the leather of her gloves creaked under the force of her grip.
“And you, Akechi-kun. I can return you to the way you were before you had to face your mother’s suicide, before—”
“I’ve heard quite enough out of you.” It took a moment for Ren to realize that Goro had finally spoken, calmly interrupting Maruki with a perfectly pleasant voice, smiling like the grim reaper. “You can take your perfect reality and shove it up your ass.”
“Akechi-kun,” Maruki breathed out a long-suffering sigh, “I understand this all is difficult, but—”
“For as omnipotent as you pretend to be, you don’t have a damn clue, do you?” Goro jeered, his smile slipping into a glare. “Let’s see: you brainwashed me, let me believe my mother didn’t kill herself, and forced me to forget that Isshiki-san was my caretaker. Do you know why I became so dedicated to Ballet?”
Goro waited, genuinely, for an answer but by the astonished look on the man’s face it quickly became clear Maruki had none.
“It was because it was my last connection to my mother,” he finished for him, tone acerbic and grim. “Do tell me how you think an orphan managed to continue their lessons without support from anyone but themselves.”
Ren saw the moment the implication clicked by the way Maruki’s face went slack with horror. “I—”
“But worst of all,” Goro spoke over him, tone level even as his voice turned caustic, “you stole my choice. You made the decision for what you deemed best for me when it wasn’t your right. You stole my Mom’s last wish from me because you decided I would be better for it. You’re sickening, and I will never accept your reality!”
The room pulsed with energy, the magnitude of Goro’s words ringing in their ears, broken with a gasp when Goro clutched the sides of his head, stumbling in place like the room was spinning.
For a brief second, Ren felt a flash of terror, fear that this was Maruki’s retaliation. Then Goro turned to him, eyes wild and wide…
And yellow behind the pitch black mask covering his face.
A smirk rose to Ren’s lips as he watched Goro twist and turn in place, clawing at the edges of his mask as the sound of tearing skin filled the room. In his agony he slipped, falling to his knees hard, collapsing like a marionette cut of its strings. For a moment, he stopped moving, stopped fighting the power of his mask, body limp and useless against the floor. Until he began to move again, slow but ragged, pushing himself up to his feet as he once again grabbed his mask at its edges. Goro looked up, grinning like a saw-toothed blade, and ripped his mask from his face with a single, forceful motion and a blood-curling shout.
“Come to me, Fenrir!”
The fire that consumed Goro hit with the force of an explosion.
Ren felt himself be swept off his feet, the ground disappearing for a moment until it collided with his spine, his body tumbling over itself until it skidded to a stop. Only through years of training in the Metaverse, of letting his body be torn apart and rebuilt again and again, was Ren able to stand again, forcing himself to his feet and bracing himself against the static swimming in his vision.
A bead between his teeth and he regained his strength, just in time to watch a black tentacle shoot out from the stage towards Goro. It was too fast, upon Goro in the blink of an eye. He had no time to summon Eris, to draw his weapon, even to warn Goro—
But, as a massive maw lunged out from the fanning flames, jaw snapping shut around the tentacle and cutting raggedly through the limb, Ren realized he didn’t need to. The limb retreated, a bloody stump all that was left of the limb writhing in the beast’s jaw. As it disintegrated the black liquid oozed from the beast’s jaw, from the chains that should have muzzled it shut, but were only able to creak and bend under the beast’s raw strength. As the flames retreated, they revealed the monstrous snarl of a wolf, entangled in blacked and burnt chains that groaned mechanically when the creature opened its jaw to let out a low, hellish snarl.
Just beneath it, Goro stood, his raw, furious visage lit as clear as day. His once dainty outfit now replaced by a sea of darkness and sharp edges that melted into the night of Fenrir’s coat.
Ren couldn’t help the delighted smirk that cursed his lips as he stared at Goro’s true form.
He finally looked like a rebel.