Chapter Text
Who am I?
You sure you want to know?
The story of my life is not for the faint of heart.
If somebody said it was a happy little tale-
If somebody told you I was just your average, ordinary guy, not a care in the world?
Somebody lied.
But let me assure you. This story, like any story worth telling, is about a girl.
That girl. The girl across the table.
Niijima Sae.
The prodigy of the prosecution.
My... friend's older sister.
And the woman who is currently interrogating me.
"Why are you talking about me in the third person?" interrupted Niijima.
"I've spent the last half an hour having cops kick the shit out of me and pump me full of God knows what, Niijima. I'm not doing so fucking hot!" retorted Amamiya Ren. He was incredibly disheveled, covered in dust, blood, and boot prints, and his voice matched his current appearance. He slurred a lot, and his volume was all over the place. Niijima wouldn't have know this, but his internal monologue was fucked up, too. It was suddenly in the third person and past tense.
That probably wasn't supposed to happen.
"Well, I hope you manage to pull yourself together soon," she said. "I've not got a lot of time here."
"That's fine by me. I'm expecting company soon anyway."
"...That's quite ominous. Which is not really the sort of thing you want to be if you're trying not to incriminate yourself," mused Niijima.
"I mean, I already signed the confession," countered Ren. As far as they know, at least. "Not much more I can do, unless you want me to commit some more crimes in here for good measure."
"Ah yes, the confession," said Niijima, producing it from her bag. "Admitting to... you're name's not Akechi Goro."
"I'd noticed. But I do have a fair bit of documentation of his collaboration with the Phantom Thieves if you'd be interested"
Niijima glared at him across the table. God, I hope she doesn't do that often.
"Hey, they didn't let me read that," defended Ren, raising his hands. " I don't know what I'm officially accused of. I'm not just going to take the fall for... killing Shinzo Abe, or whatever."
"But you're fine setting Akechi up for the Phantom Thieves."
"... In my defence, he's really fucking annoying."
"... I can't completely argue with that. So..." Niijima paused for thought. "If you don't know the current official version of events - " she took out a notebook. "Why don't we hear yours?"
One bad day isn't necessarily enough to drive the sanest person alive to madness.
But it certainly fucking helps you on your way.
It wasn't like life before this was all sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows. I was still in high school. I still didn't have any friends. I - you know, this really isn't important. You don't need to know this stuff.
But add onto that being framed for a crime you didn't commit after the one time I went out of my way to help someone, and everyone and their mother talking down to me about how I've only got one more chance?
Well, I've given up on any kind of enthusiasm or normal social interaction for the next few eternities.
There I go, from social outcast to social pariah.
At least I know I'm falsely accused.
Otherwise I'd probably be clinging to the fact that I "know" I'm the hero of any story I'm in by virtue of having read the right speculative fiction.
So, after a month of parole hearings, juvenile detention, and irritatingly upbeat true crime TikToks with my face in them - not sure how they got that picture, come to think of it. And I'm really regretting that particular jacket - I get packed off to another high school to serve out my probation for a year.
In Tokyo.
Which - fun fact - is the largest city/metropolitan area on Planet Earth.
So, y'know, looking forward to some quality me time.
Couldn't bring too much of my own stuff with me. Not a legal requirement, actually. Just I had to carry everything on the train. Not a lot of room for cars in the city. So, here I am at... lemme just check the map here... Jungian-Java. Kinda cramped and out of the way, but, y'know, here in the city, probably best to have somewhere quiet. And, hey, they've got a cinema. That's worth a few points.
I find my way to Sakura-San's apartment block. He's not here. Press the buzzer. No response. Maybe I'll give it a few minutes before figuring out what to do next. See if Mum and Dad have called. I've been going through a lot of tunnels - maybe I missed th- oh, who am I kidding. Of course they fucking haven't.
Still, at least I'm not getting too optimistic.
I stare intently at the surrounding fence for a few more minutes to compose myself, just in time for a develivery guy to turn up. I ask after Sakura-San - probably not a good lead, but I'm getting desperate - and they tell me he's at work. OK, makes sense. But, like, he knew I was coming, surely. He couldn't have taken at least a break to let me in?
Alright, get the complaints out of your system, me. He's providing shelter, food, a functioning bathroom - try and stay on his good side.
OK, probably not a very healthy relationship dynamic, but it's not like my mental state's able to get more fucked up.
Right. That's the introspection done for now, hopefully. To LeBlanc.
He sees me come in. Honestly, he'd see the Invisible Man entering- the chairs in here mostly seem to be for decoration.
"You Kurusu?" he grunts.
Oh, fuck me, there aren't two of us crashing with him, are there?
"No... sir." Probably best to stay polite. This guy's in charge of making sure I've got a roof over my head for the next year - probably not a very healthy power structure, but it's what I'm stuck with. "My name is Amamiya Ren. I was being sent to stay with you for my probation. I have the relevant documents with me to prove it." Bit defensive, but hard to break a habit after you spend the last month trying not to incriminate yourself.
"Ah, I see. Sorry, they said a Kurusu Akira was staying with me. Must've been a mix-up."
An auspicious start.
"So, you're the delinquent," he muses.
Ew. Don't like that. Right on the border between "adults don't trust you" and "rebellious protagonist."
"I was wondering what kind of unruly kid would show up, but, you're the one, huh?" Wonder what the fuck that's supposed to mean. "In case you weren't fully aware, a customer of mine knew your parents -well, not that that matters. Come on. I'll show you to your room," he says, flipping the closed sign in the front door. Alright, good. Getting underway nice and - why is he walking upstairs?
I go upstairs with him and immediately fall into a coughing fit. You could swim through the dust up here. God knows what he kept in all these boxes. Currently, I'm praying it's not severed heads, but I've learned not to be too optimistic.
I see one that includes the rest of my luggage. Clothes, few books, that sort of thing. Records are too fragile to risk, so I'm not seeing them for the next year.
I pause, in case he's actually showing me this to distract me while he shoots me in the back of the head.
Hmm.
OK, no luck there.
"You'll be sleeping up here while you're staying with me," he announces, gruffly. I don't really know how to respond to this, so I just nod. Hmm. Kind of a small nod, actually. Don't know if he noticed.
I really hope he's not expecting me to sound too grateful. Sure, the room and the food will be nice, but, really? Biggest city on the planet, and this is the only place that's willing to take me in?
Best not dwell too much about that.
Oh shit, he's still talking.
"...After each day. You'll be alone at night, but don't do anything stupid. I'll throw you out if you cause any trouble."
I nod again.
Maybe it's lack of experience, but I don't know how to respond to all this.
It's hard thanking someone doing the bare minimum while they sound like they'd rather saw their wanking arm off than help you out.
He's still talking?
Alright, let's tune back in.
"... you were expelled from your high school. The courts ordered you to transfer and move out here, which your parents also approved."
Oh, fantastic. I know this already. Why is he telling me?
"In other words, they got rid of you for being a pain in the ass."
Alright, that's-
Don't. We can't afford to lose this.
Why not? What are we losing beyond the companionship of all the dust mites?
He's still taking us in. It's not worth it.
Yet.
OK, he's gone. Let's take inventory.
It seems this man with a full apartment has told me to go sleep in the murky old attic of his cafe.
That has no door.
Or shower.
(There's a bathhouse across the road, come to think of it.
Mental post-it: check to see how demeaning it is. Can we survive it for a year?)
And I also have to buy my groceries by myself, too.
Balancing that with 6 days a week in high school.
Maybe this Akira guy's getting a better deal than I am.
"You haven't painted a very flattering picture of Sakura-San," mused Niijima. "Are you trying to take him down with you?"
"No, not this time. Unfortunately, my honest opinions are going to be presented in chronological order. A lot of people I care about are people I hated starting out, actually," said Ren, trying not to think about the implications of this.
"You're taking your time telling me this," she exclaimed, suddenly standing back up. "Was Sakura-San working with you and the Phantom Thieves?"
"No. He wasn't involved in any of it," replied Ren, glaring at Niijima. "Sorry if you wanted to take him in after you failed to get him for abusing Futaba."
"Then why talk about him? Why go through your days like this?"
"This is a very effective truth serum, Nijima," countered Ren. "A lot's going to be coming out. Your job now is to sift through everything to try and find something relevant."
"Exactly how much are you going to tell me?" she asked, getting impatient.
"... How much time have you got?"