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Goro Akechi couldn’t quite relish in his natural beauty, even when standing before the dressing room mirror. The anxiety swelling within his chest felt heavy enough to force tears from his eyes.
But those tears couldn’t come now. Not when the makeup wouldn’t be able to cover up how red his eyes could become from bawling and wailing. Goro knew from experience. His earliest childhood “friends” would always ridicule his bloodshot eyes and devastatingly droopy expressions after his lonely fits of crying and shaking.
And here, at such a gaudy and obtusely formal fashion show? All of the models he would strut along the runway with were probably no different than those clueless brats of so long ago. There was no doubt in Goro’s mind that they were all vain and haughty, only appearing next to him to make connections for themselves.
Well, sure, maybe that one high school model had a different aura about her. Ann Takamaki always appeared as bubbly and kind, yet clumsy, as she looked. Yet looks are always deceiving. There are only so few physical clues to a person’s true colors that one can cherry-pick just from their presentation. Some like to boost themselves up in the name of compensation for their disgustingly low confidence. Others bask in their crocodile tears to get what they want until the acting no longer tricks anyone.
And so, who knows what Ann Takamaki was thinking? No doubt the other models here—such as Mika or Mamoru or Setsuna—had selfish intentions as easy to read as a children’s book. Therefore, when the majority of his collaborators were so clearly into the show for themselves, Goro knew he’d have to keep his distance.
And that knowledge...actually hurt him. Goro crossed his arms, gritting his teeth behind closed lips and glaring at the reflection in the mirror. He shouldn’t be struggling to hold his composure, yet the weight was growing heavier as he let his thoughts spiral faster and faster. But it’s always been like this. Even in moments of anxiety or disdain, Goro would just step back in line moments later, able to act out the role of a puppet for—
Knock-knock-knock!
“Akechi-kun,” Ann’s cheery voice hollered, “are you ready to start?! We’ve got your suit!”
Goro Akechi dropped his arms, smiling warmly in the mirror. It was as expected. He pivoted around with perfect suavity.
“Yes, let’s!” he called back, only slightly quieter than Ann.
Could Goro Akechi really keep up with what he was doing?
Doable it may be, a constant game of chess with the higher ups of Goro’s world is exhausting. Every night, he struggles to sleep soundly. Every day, he can only look so far back to keep himself safe without dropping his cool, calculative facade.
He knew he had to watch himself at every instant possible—if he couldn’t succeed, he would fail his mother. And what bastard child could live, knowing that they couldn’t avenge their mother from the horrors that stole away her very life?
Perhaps, if such a traumatic upbringing only made the ice under Goro thinner every second, then maybe nothing was worth the effort. Perhaps, Goro could only sink back down into nothingness, permitting the world to forget his minuscule legacy and move on.
All things considered—despite the omnipotent odds that stood before him—why did Goro Akechi ever start in the first place?
When the adjusting hands and ticklish brushes left his being, Goro Akechi was left alone once more. Twenty minutes remained until showtime. Ann had challenged Goro to come out superior to her in the show, heedless of the inability to properly judge, or Goro never being cocky or insecure before her.
His eyes panned over his wiry frame, embellished by the finest gold, white, and red. So long as Goro allowed himself to beam confidence from within instead of only the clothes shining out on the runway (this suggestion of confidence came from Ann), he could certainly make for a successful guest model.
Truly, he could assert himself as a prince among the greatest of princes. A regal, calm, and authoritative man who knew his every way in life and how to make it a tangible reality.
And how could he not? In spite of past trauma and the anxiety of his present schemes, Goro was a handsome man. He could charm any one with whatever physical and societal assets he had, and nothing could backfire unless he allowed it.
Of course, he wished there was another way to go about his plan for vengeance. But if society sentenced a cruel journey for him to complete, then Goro Akechi would stride the path, refusing to trip over and lose his way.
The show was centered on a gaudy masquerade fashion line, brimming with glamor and mystery in every piece of clothing. So, in the name of glamor and mystery, Goro could continue to pursue vengeance, even if it meant hiding himself behind a wall’s worth of masks.
Of course, that was all a bridge to cross later.
But, perhaps this could be his test, his chance to prove that he could keep up appearances to conceal the anguish that was burning his soul to an eventual pile of crispy ashes.
Goro Akechi’s expression was bright, and the curve of his smile had a very sly kick to it.
Masayoshi Shido will fall...one day .
And so, Goro Akechi twirled to the door, just in time to recognize Ann’s voice calling for him from the other side.
One last time, however, Goro looked back at the mirror.
In all honesty, the suit was quite lovely. He was princely enough to fool anyone. Looks are always deceiving.
And, in this way, Robin Hood was born from the depths of Akechi’s imagination. Valiant and proud, he masked Goro in the Metaverse.
And, in this way, Loki stepped back and watched carefully—awaiting his time to strike once more—as Goro Akechi’s true self, when it came down to the cold, harsh truth.