Chapter Text
Akechi Goro was no stranger when it came down to the frankly grotesque world of Japanese idol culture.
He was basically an idol in his own right. He was popular enough to get spotted in any average location, his face having been projected to even the most shut-in of Tokyo's citizens. He had long lost the privilege to a quiet life, animosity and separation from his "prince detective" persona were simply a figment of the past at this point. One thing did separate him from other idols — he didn't sing, simple — but other than that, he was ripe for the same picking that every young face eventually succumbed to in the vicious public eye. He wore a mask of polite smiles and interesting debates and that mask, of course, never slipped — it couldn't slip.
On the other hand, he could also say — like many other idols — that he held a natural affinity towards music, though if asked he wouldn't say he was musically gifted enough to perform. Sure he took a couple piano lessons here and there when he was younger — even did some minor performances and gained a couple awards — but he dropped that soon enough to focus more on his "detective" life. Focus on his fame and his plans. Though due to this, his fan base leaned more into the teenage girl demographic than he was truly comfortable with, but truly who was he to deny any fame? He was finally so close to getting what he had planned, the finish line just on the horizon of his vision. But of course, right when everything was finally going his way, something else had to appear just to dull his shine all the more.
The Phantom Thieves of Hearts, though not an enormous household name, began their extreme rise in popularity around June.
Their music could be traced all the way back to April, a simple underground indie band doing tiny performances at very random public locations. Since then, their fan base — and notably their member count as well — had blossomed with incredible speed. The one thing that helped them stick out? Every member wore a mask.
Every.
Single.
One.
Akechi wasn't one to blame them for wanting to secure their anonymity, he very much understood what being in the public eye sacrificed — your relationships, your grades, your safety, your autonomy — the list was frankly never ending. In fact, he felt almost as if they shared that secret, a facade — a mask even— they used on the public.
The people who didn't understand were the fans, drawn originally to the group out of sheer curiosity and as they end up sticking around with them, perhaps just hoping for them to drop that mask and reveal the truth underneath. Some maybe even fit the "groupie" stereotype, following the band to their every performance in hopes to get just close enough to see the mask of their favorite member drop, preferably just for them. It was the same curiosity that had originally lured Akechi into researching them — after a few particularly asinine fans begged him to — despite the overflow of public appearances and case files on his schedule. He didn't really have the time for personal research matters — he was the public's "prince detective" after all — but he still found himself squeezing in the smallest bits of time to do so.
Their music was actually… relatively good — a fact he would never admit to anyone. Though Akechi was more inclined to enjoying the jazzier genres of music, he actual found himself enjoying some of the grungier songs. They had dipped their toes into practically every music genre, their jazzier and grungier songs just seemed to be the most popular among most of their fans. Though, no matter how much enjoyment he derived from dissecting their music, one particularly thought scratched at his mind and ate underneath his skin no matter the time of day.
They were stealing his notoriety, siphoning his hard work right away from him.
The sheer amount he had heard his fans bring their name up, practically demanding him in every way possible to unmask them to public, made his skin crawl. It felt like they were intentionally stealing away the base he built himself, the fans that he needed. That thought was not helped by the fact that many of the members publicly denounced his statements — they were pulling the rug right from underneath him, waiting for him to succumb to nothingness in the public eye. And no matter how much he could understand their situation from an idol-to-idol standpoint,
He wouldn't let that happen.
So that's why he found himself outside the Jazz Jin on a night that he would've otherwise been far too busy to. Akechi had basically cleared his schedule for this, doubling his work typical work load for a couple days to ensure he wouldn't "fall-behind" in his detective and school responsibilities — all for a show from a band he barely cared about. He wore his usual attire and in his usual companion briefcase, among other much more important documents, laid a eye-catching poster for a certain performance.
He had to admit, their advertising was fairly effective — from just the looks of it, he assumed they had a particularly skilled artist in their crew. The bright red background contrast with the black and white drawing — which alternated between each member of the band — was perfect for catching a consumer's eye, no matter whether they spot it in a cafe, on a post by the road, or while doomscrolling on a social media app at 3 am while neglecting most bodily necessities.
…No, that wasn't how he found it.
Muhen greeted him as enthusiastically as usual when he entered. The first thing Akechi noted was the unusual amount of people now scattered throughout the tables of the normally pretty reserved establishment. The next thing he noticed was the new instruments adorning the lit stage. Muhen must have noticed his observation of the stage in particular as he followed his gaze.
"Here for the show too?" Muhen teased as Akechi approached the host podium, likely also slightly caught off guard by his appearance on this night in specific. Akechi had a routine, and you'd be damned if he broke it very often. He had certain days where he found himself with more leisure time in the evenings, and he broke those up among multiple different establishments. He typically spent Wednesday in the Jazz Jin and Saturday afternoons in the small coffee shop he had recently found through his coworker, Sae Niijima. Tuesdays were one of his more busy evenings, typically he'd be at home stewing over a pile of files in his cold, empty apartment. Tonight was an exception.
"I fear not." Akechi smiled sharply at the man, lying through his teeth, though he knew that it looked as genuine as it could from the outside — practiced to perfection. "Simply a coincidence. I just found myself with a strange amount of free time tonight and figured I'd stop by. Though, I must say it's quite odd to see this place in such a state. It's typically much quieter around here." The owner hummed roughly in agreement.
"Well, I left your table open, as always." Akechi followed the other man's gaze, sure enough finding the table he often accompanied completely empty. He hadn't expected it to actually be open, but he thanked the owner nonetheless. He walked the same path he always did to the table, though it was now littered slightly more with school bags and askew chairs for him to gracefully dodge. He sat down in the chair — his chair— ordering his favorite drink when the waiter briefly fluttered by with the same poised elegance he always used. This table was objectively the best spot in the entire bar, granted to him graciously by the fact that he had become quite well acquainted with the entire staff. He had a perfectly clear view of the stage, meaning he'd have quite possibly the closest view to the band in the entire establishment.
All to plan, of course. It would simply be easier to distinguish their identities if he could see them so close, dissect the little movements and specific quirks that could possibly lead to a suspect — though they weren't really criminals per say. If he could distinguish their identities, it could just possibly lead the poor little indie band into breaking up, leading all the fans' attention sole back on the Prince Detective —he would be the one to finally expose them.
Lost in thought — ironing out the wrinkles in his plan and mindlessly sipping on the drink the waiter had brought over at some point — Akechi missed most of the band's set-up, which could've been a crucial part of his observation. He only pulled himself back into reality upon hearing the microphone spring to life beside him. He put his focus back onto the stage and noticed — unsurprisingly — that the band look exactly the same as all the posters he had unceremoniously stewed over.
Each member wore a specialized mask, each having such specific designs that Akechi had just assumed the drawings were slightly exaggerated to pull more eyes up until seeing them in person— there was a red cat, a white kitsune, a metallic silver skull, one that just looked like a metal visor, and a simple white bird-like domino mask. Their outfits were much flashier than the masks by themselves, but each individual member seemed to have their own theme. One looked fresh out of a punk pirate manga while another looked like they had just gotten off their motorcycle. It was honestly quite bizarre from an idol culture viewpoint, idols typically matched the rest of their group. Maybe their divergence from the norms of idol culture is part of the reason their fan base had grown so rapidly? People are tired of the status quo set up by the oppressive adults before them, they want something new — something rebellious.
The Phantom Thieves of Hearts just so happened to fill that role oh-so perfectly.
And Akechi, while technically something new and fresh according to every media outlet ever and his production crew, was perpetuating the same cycle of bullshit people were tired of. Maybe the Phantom Thieves weren't stealing his fame, maybe his fans were just tired.
Tired of him.
He didn't have time to develop that thought much further. The lights dimmed even more, signaling to everyone to focus up on the stage. And with a kick of a drum, the show had started. He had clearly missed the band's introduction, where they typically named off all the members for the newer uninformed fans in the audience, but it didn't matter. He already knew all their code-names from his hours of research — no, it was not technically cyber-stalking, it was research.
Panther was the guitarist — though not really the only one, as the main singer could also play when required. She wore a scarlet red cat mask with a matching leather bodysuit that was even — though bizarre in Akechi's opinion — adorned with a matching tail. Skull was the drummer, his mask and code name being quite on the nose. His attire was pirate themed, notably with bright yellow gloves that drew your eye directly to his playing. Fox was the bassist, his code name also having been extremely obvious given his kitsune mask and the fluffy tail hanging from his belt. Queen was on the keyboard, her code name having been quite far from her attire — which only made Akechi ponder on how exactly it came to be. She was dressed in full punk biker gear, even spiked shoulder pads as a cherry on top, and her mask resembled something like a bike's windshield or helmet visor.
Lastly was the singer. Joker was the leader and typically the only singer — though there was maybe 2 songs that diverged from that typical formula. His outfit fit the description of a "thief" the most, slick black tailcoat and sleek ankle boots. Despite his darker costuming, his gloves were scarlet red — the only splash of any color on his entire outfit. Akechi found him much more mysterious than the rest of the Thieves, his outfit really giving no clues to any personality underneath that domino mask. Much like his sleek attire, his voice was just as enigmatic — despite him looking no older than Akechi was, his voice was surprisingly deep and velvety. The way he sung through his performances gave Akechi the impression that Joker had to have had at least a couple years of training under his belt. That was some sort of lead at least.
As they performed, Akechi slipped on his facade of indifference to mask his intense observation. He picked up on those little cues — the specific way a drum stick was held, the way a note was played on guitar, the flare of hands used on the keyboard, and the rhythm of breath — and mentally stored them away. Was this basically a wild goose chase?
Many of his co-workers would like to say so, but Akechi didn't really care for their opinions anyways. They were all stuck up sycophants with no real future outside of licking whatever boot stepped on them next. Akechi had no reason to bother with the opinions of fools so far beneath his own intellect.
He would find out the identities of all the Phantom Thieves of Hearts and release them to the world, placing the eyes of Japan back on his remarkable deceive abilities. Then — and only then — would he pay.
——-⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆——-
The show had gone by the exact same as every one before it — the crew starting out somewhat anxious before all losing themselves in the very songs they had practiced for hours on end and loved so dearly. It had barely felt like any time had passed before they had concluded their final piece, bringing this particular show to its very brief end.
The usual dedicated faces approached the band as they began wrapping up, each trying to strick up a conversation with their favorite member. It was, of course, no surprise to anyone at all that "Joker" had the largest crowd around him. He was the lead singer after all, but that wasn't to say everyone didn't have sizable fan bases — even if they were all intertwined under one name, the "Phans." Ren couldn't help but preen in the attention, but he wasn't alone. He knew this was quite frankly some of the band's favorite moments, coming face to face with the people they've inspired and festered their courage within. It was everything they set out to do since the beginning, so it was only natural for them to soak in it as much as they could — which also meant signing a couple things and taking selfies, but Ren wasn't one to deny his fans. The crowd of fans slowly began to trickle out the doors, all buzzing about the show, exams, and whatever else they had on their minds as they left.
Without the crowd of sickeningly familiar faces, one person now glaringly stood out like a sore thumb. Pristine brunette hair and beige blazer, he approached the band with a level of practiced poise that made Ren want to straight his own posture — though it wasn't really that bad. Everyone other than Ren had seemingly resumed their clean-up after the last fan exited the establishment, meaning he was the only one not shocked by the sudden approach.
"You were all quite better than I had expected." Akechi was now stood practically face-to-face with Ren, that same level of poise radiating of every inch of the man. Even his hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. The rest of the crew whipped around at the sound of his voice.
They weren't unfamiliar with the "prince detective," in fact they were quite familiar with his interviews on every Japanese news station that would have him. He was everywhere, you'd be damn lucky to not have known his voice and face at this point. And now he was here, stood in front of a band that had openly disagreed with him many times in the past and casually making small talk. Ren had to say he was very curious about the man, always had been. There was absolutely no way that pristine appearance he wore everyday was real, and Ren just needed to know he was correct.
"What the hell is he doing her-" Ryuji abruptly coughed rapidly, his question getting cut off by a strong elbow to the side. Ren could practically feel the glare Ryuji received by proxy, poor guy. "Okay Okay, ow…"
"I can't say I imagined Japan's Prince Detective being a fan of ours." Ren rested an arm on top of the microphone stand before him — a frankly very cringy attempt at looking anything other than anxious at this conversation. It didn't really matter, he was Joker right now so anything was "cool" — or so he had been told by most of his dedicated fans. "Tonight is full of surprises."
"Fan is a bit of a stretch. I happened to be passing by." Akechi crossed his arms, cocking his head every so slightly as he talked. His eyes practically bore into Ren's face, he was surprised he didn't have a hole where his eyes should be by now. Ren heard Ryuji slightly groan somewhere behind him, somehow without another crude jab into his ribs. "Humor me, if you will, does that tongue piercing of yours not affect your singing at all? I can't imagine it doesn't."
He heard a rough shuffle behind him and a soft clink, as though something was dropped. Ren kept his composure, any level of discomfort shown would must definitely not go unnoticed, whether it be from his bandmates or the keen eye of the detective. If he showed discomfort to the rest of the crew, they too would waver and question their situation — he had to hold strong for them at the very least, even if the observation made his skin prickle with adrenaline. How close was Akechi really to figuring them out?
"Nice eye. Why don't you tell me, Akechi-san?"
"Har har. I guess that was kind of a stupid question to follow a compliment up with. I didn't take you for one to have so much personality, guess we were both quite shocked tonight." Akechi adjusted one of his gloves, straightening out the dark leather. The look in his eyes was incredibly intense, curiosity ate away at Ren's better judgment. He wanted to see every gaze those mahogany could hold—
and he was getting extremely off track.
"It really is quite the honor to have you at our show tonight, Akechi-san." Makoto spoke up, turning away from her keyboard — that was now perfectly packed away — to address him directly. Her voice tore Ren out of…whatever the hell kind of trace that just was. He couldn't have been more grateful for her than right now, he might've just ended up doing something remarkably stupid.
"The honor is all mine." The smile he had slipped on seemed so genuine that it wrapped right back around to being suspicious. It didn't quite meet his intense stare, leaving a sense of uncanny to trickle through Ren's body. There was a bit of truth behind it though, maybe he enjoyed the flattery Makoto was presenting him with. Akechi was practically preening — or Ren assumed this is what he looked like preening, he didn't know the man that well truthfully. He heard Ryuji mumble behind him again.
"Yeah! Having a big shot at our shows is super cool." Ann chimed in, a bright smile on her face. Ren knew it was a lie, but Ann had gotten significantly better at her acting recently, which has only proven beneficial to the band. It was easier to lie about your identity if you knew how to act at least somewhat convincingly. Ren noted that Akechi seemed remarkably uninterested in the rest of the group, his shoulders had stiffened slightly when Makoto began addressing him. His gaze had even gained an extra layer of impatience. "Totes awesome!"
"You flatter me. I must be going, perhaps I'll see you all at your next show, whenever that may be." Akechi nodded to the group before turning perfectly on his heels and walking right out the bar's doors, leaving them no time to say any goodbyes — not that they had planned to of course. His remarks had been noticeably short after Makoto stopped their small back-and-forth, which made Ren unnervingly curious to the detective's intentions. The band watched him leave, a thick silence hanging over all of them.
"No, seriously what the 'ef was he doing here?" Ryuji groaned, throwing his head back in some dramatic display. "He just has to show up everywhere with that effing high-and-mighty act."
"Beats me. He always seemed too busy for this kind of stuff." Ann sighed, hoisting her guitar case over her shoulder before leaning against a nearby wall. Ryuji grumbled vague theories about Akechi having to be spying on them as he finished packing up the last of his things. Ren remained quite distracted. Something about Goro Akechi had always peaked his curiosity — that was a fact he had known since he first saw Akechi's TV interviews — but now meeting the man in person? He was drawn in, captivated in ways he didn't think possible for someone you exchanged such few words with.
"That could've been bad. Who knows how much information he already has on us." Makoto commented, receiving a flurry of agreements from the others. "I'm sure he wasn't just here by coincidence like he said. His fans have been begging him to investigate us for months now."
"Joker? Are you alright?" Yusuke turned to him, bass case in his hand. He had clearly been staring off as they talked, his thoughts were overlapping themselves. There was just so much to consider within that brief interaction. Was he really on to them? Did he just happen to be a fan? Why was he here on such an odd night? Why did he seem to only be interesting in Ren?And-
"Was he always that hot?"
The question had slipped out of his mouth the second he had thought it, leaving no room for him to second guess sharing such a thought to the band of people that hated the subject's guts. Ren decided to remain turned around, adjusting his gloves, hoping that maybe just maybe his friends didn't hear him and wouldn't notice the persistent warmth now rushing up his neck to his face.
"For Real?" Ryuji shot up — well there went all his hope. Ren could feel Makoto's glare drill into the back of his head. Despite the confidence being "Joker" typically gave him, right now he wanted to curl back into himself.
"We seriously gotta work on your type in men." Ann groaned. "I mean, really?"
"His beauty is quite astonishing, perhaps I could get him to model for an art piece some time." Yusuke chimed in, his usual obliviousness to romance bubbling to the surface yet again. Ren smiled, at least Yusuke understood him… in his own artistically asexual way, but he understood him nonetheless. It still held all the merit in Ren's eyes. "He holds that level of poise that I would love to try and capture."
"Dude, that's like…totally not what we're talking about right now." Ryuji sighed. Yusuke simply started his way to the dressing room down the hall without another word, definitely lost in his own artistic thoughts. Ryuji rubbed the back of his neck. "Man, there's like tons of other fish in the sea or whatever. Pick a better one — maybe one that doesn't publicly hate us."
"I think I could fix him." Ren shrugged as he finally faced the others, it was too late to take back anything he'd said — not that he would anyways. Besides, he had nothing to be embarrassed about, the group talked about this type of stuff all the time— Ann was never NOT talking about her girlfriend, Ryuji complained about being single and commented on practically every person he saw, and Makoto…
Well Makoto was just as secretive as she always was about this stuff. She tended to shy away from these conversations, which she was currently doing given her quickened pace towards the dressing rooms. They all knew she had something going on with Haru, but none of them were brave enough to face her potential wrath and ask.
Back on the topic at hand, Goro Akechi was literally known for being the pretty boy detective throughout all of Tokyo, it's not like Ren's observation was inherently abnormal or. unprecedented. "I mean, have you seen him? That back and forth? I'm not crazy."
"Yeah, yeah they all say that." Ann scoffed, running a hand absentmindedly through her pigtail. "Geez, the amount of girls I've heard say that… You all look like a damn construction crew…"
That got her a barely hidden chuckle from the other blonde. Ren clutched his chest, batting his eyelashes."Panther! You don't even have a little bit of hope in me? I might just prove you wrong."
"I'll believe it when I see it." Ann scoffed, turning on her heel and heading to the dressing rooms herself — Ren and Ryuji were not far behind.
——-⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆——-
By the time the group had fully reconvened, they had exhausted their quota of jokes directed Ren's direction. Even Futaba had joined in, her knees to her chest and nose still stuck in her laptop screen. She didn't accompany them on most of their excursions, but she did when she rarely wanted to escape her room — or "tomb" as she liked to call it. She had learned to make herself comfortable in the main dressing room area, declaring a specific love seat to be her own personal domain.
"Yeah, that was new low — even for you, Joker. Your charm stats are really hitting rock bottom." She didn't even look up from her screen to berate him. He was actually never going to hear the end of this slip up.
"…Yeah, Thanks Oracle." He fidgeted with his bangs absentmindedly. They had all changed into "regular" clothes — not their school uniforms of course, that would've made everything far too easy to track down. Everything was back to normal, except their masks of course.
It was policy Makoto had enlisted when she first joined, noting that just walking out the back doors without any disguise at all could quite literally expose them in 2 seconds flat. The original quartet hadn't even considered that as a possibility, which all got them a harsh lecture from the student council president. They hadn't been stopped outside the doors ever, but she officially declared that safe was better than sorry and they weren't ones to take her declarations lightly. They weren't stupid enough to have been using their school uniforms though, which gained them a shred of praise from Makoto.
Ann was leaning against the table beside Futaba, peering at the younger girl's screen over her shoulder. "Anyone out there?"
That was yet another idea that Makoto had given them. Futaba was an incredible hacker so, as they grew in popularity, Makoto suggested that Futaba watched the surveillance cameras by their "escape route" — as Futaba insisted on calling it — in case there were any fans waiting for an "ambush." Seriously, the girl only talked in video game terms.
"There are a few, but they seem to be the typical street goers. I'd say we're in the clear for an clean escape." Futaba commented, a playful grin plastered on her face. "It's go time."
Ryuji groaned as he stretched, standing from his own leaning spot right next to Ann. "Ugh, I'm so effing tired… I just wanna go to bed."
"As long as you're sure, Oracle. Everyone remember the protocol? " Makoto stood from her chair, grabbing her bag as she glanced at the rest of the room. She received a flurry of slightly exasperated agreements.
"We've done this like… too many times to count, we get it." That comment earned Ryuji a sharp glare from Makoto, making him stumble out a few quick apologies.
"I just want to make sure. Well then, Joker, shall we?" She turned towards him, bag now slung over her shoulder.
Ren nodded, starting his way out the dressing room. He hadn't really been paying much attention to the conversation, still sorting through his thoughts and the several jabs that had been sent his way, but he knew when he needed to take up leadership. His bandmates followed closely behind, all jabbering on in their own conversations. Ren just listened on, that's truthfully what he was best at. Despite his performative exterior as "Joker," Ren wasn't nearly as talkative. He preferred to listen, adding his own comments when prompted or directly acknowledged. Despite the short walk from the room to the exit, the conversations varied a wide range topics — from how they felt they performed and a few pieces of advice from the older members to dinner plans and how much homework they had let pile up over the week. It wasn't long before the group emerged from the back entrance of the Jazz Jin.
Futaba had been fairly correct, it seemed their exit wasn't really noticed by anyone nearby — or if they did, they simply didn't care enough about them. Just when they could've considered the coast clear — Ren having fallen toward the back of the group, letting the others lead as he listened — a group of what sounded like frenzied teenagers ran from around the corner. Ren froze as the group practically circled him. Given he was the last person in the group, he was also the only one to have not removed his mask, he hadn't quite made it to their deemed "safe spot." He glanced slightly at the friends, all of them seemingly quite panicked at the situation. Ren made sure not to stare for too long or else he would've compromised the rest of his team, instead sending one pleading glance before facing the crowd with all the sleek coolness expected of "Joker." Makoto had been right about her caution after all, he'd have to thank her again after he made it out of this.
Despite his original impression, there were a couple of older people in the crowd — both of them notably with cameras and pens in their hands. Many of the girls just asked for autographs or where their favorite member was, the journalists bugged just enough to try and get him to slip up. If he was any less polite, he would've just ignored the crowd and slipped away, but of course that just never sat right with him. So, he indulged slightly. A few photos wasn't bad, the insistent buzzing of questions was. He heard a rustle from behind him — what he could assume as one of his teammates finally coming to whisk him away to safety — before his wrist was swiftly grabbed and he stumbled as a force dragged him into a nearby alley.
He only hoped that his savior was one of his friends, but from the sensation of leather against his wrist, he knew it definitely wasn't. When they came to a stop, Ren rested against a nearby wall. There he was, Japan's Prince Detective and now undoubtedly his savior in this moment. They had walked quite a ways away from the hecklers, making so many turns down dark alleys that it would've been quite hard to find them at this point. Ren couldn't tell if he was grateful or terrified of what the man wanted from him as adrenaline began buzzing through his body again. The detective crossed his arms, eyes narrowing in on Ren as he suddenly realized how long he had been just staring. God, he was fumbling remarkably hard tonight.
"…Thanks for that." The sheer proximity between the two — thanks to the narrow alleyway — curiously made Ren's pulse quicken. He shoved the feelings down, bringing his mind back to the significantly more dangerous reality.
"Mhm." Was all Akechi responded with, though his face spoke almost a thousand words more. He no longer had that polite smile that never quite reached his eyes plastered on his face, he wore something Ren could only describe as a scowl. "Don't take it to heart. They had been pestering me for a quite a while as well. I only felt a smidgen of pity for you, given you didn't seem to be holding yourself well out there."
His words fell out his mouth harsher than they had in their earlier conversations, each one almost holding the same edge as a knife would. Either something had royally pissed the oh-so-polite detective off or he had dropped that performative mask the second they left anyone else's sight. If Ren was a betting man, he would bet on both.
"Damn, what pissed you off, Mr. Detective?" Ren cocked his head, his words only deepening Akechi's scowl. "Too much butter on your lobster or something? Spoon too silver?"
"Don't pull that bullshit with me…I guess you fit your code name surprisingly well, Joker." Akechi practically spat his name out, disdain somehow dripping off every letter. Ren somehow liked this back and forth much more than the one previously, all the dishonest smiles and polite words didn't quite hit the same as what Ren could only assume was Akechi's "truth."
"This look is better on you, y'know. Feisty.". Ren grinned. He wasn't new to getting on someone's nerves just for the hell of it, it was in fact his favorite past time with Ryuji and Futaba. They were easy to get to bicker with him and now it appeared he could certainly add Akechi to that list. "You should use this one on TV more, might get you some better fans."
"You should watch your tongue, I am the one who saved you. You should learn your place, fool." His glare sharpened, drilling holes in Ren's face. He quite enjoyed this, his skin felt weirdly electric under that stare, and he could only assume the detective was enjoying it as well given how he was still putting up with him and his bullshit. "I ought to feed you back to the wolves."
"But you won't, you seem to like me…hm?" Ren couldn't help but let his grin grow, the coy spirit of "Joker" returning to him despite his dropping levels of energy only moments prior. He probably resembled the Cheshire Cat at this point, he sure felt all teeth.
"I wouldn't say that. You simply fascinate me, that's all." Akechi placed a hand under his chin, his eyes never leaving Ren's face. "It would've been hard to beat you if you succumbed to an early fate to a mob of teenage girls."
"Beat me?" The question stumbled out his mouth on impulse, it was the method he used to keep people talking to him rather with him. He was a listener, what could he say.
That statement only created new questions for Ren to pour over. Did he really mean to fight him? Or was this more of a metaphorical fight?
"Best you. Can't have you stealing all my limelight, no?" Akechi returned his hands to his sides, one resting on his hip in a way that reminded him a shocking amount of Makoto. "That is what you plan to do, right Joker?"
"You want me to be your rival?" Ren cocked his head again, before deciding that was a very un-"Joker" thing to do and straightening it yet again. The two seemed to share a weird level of understanding, given they were holding a conversation as vague as this one. "At least take me out for dinner first, Akechi-san."
He let the name roll of his tongue in a way that he felt would piss the other off perfectly. It seemingly did, as Akechi's scowl deepened and his shoulders stiffened further.
"It doesn't matter if you agree to it, it can be one-sided for all I care." Akechi sighed, adjusting the glove on his hand slightly. "I'll figure you and your band of misfits out. Whether you fight against me or not is none of my concern. Though this conversation has been quite entertaining, I must admit I would prefer if you fought back. I don't like my prey without a little bite.
"I must be going, though I get the feeling fate may bring us together soon again." There was a sparkle in his eyes and a extremely sharp grin when he said those words, it sparked the same electric sensation across Ren's body as the glare had. Before Ren could quip something smart back, Akechi had turned on his heel and exited the alleyways with the same poise he held within the Jazz Jin. What the hell was up with that guy? He was just able to slip that facade on and off like nobody's business. And why the hell did he leave Ren with a feeling he could only describe as a "high?"
It wasn't long before his friends had found him, the prince detective was long gone by that point — thank god, they would've definitely jumped the man if he lingered around any longer. Ren had long since ditched his mask, making sure just along enough had passed for Akechi to be nowhere nearby. He was running his hand through his curls when Ryuji ran up to him.
"Dude are you good? You just up and disappeared so fast we didn't know where ya went."
Ren just nodded, fishing his glasses out of his shoulder bag and slipping them casually back onto his face.
He answered his friends' questions as honestly as he could, sparing only the hostility from the detective from them. He had a feeling he wouldn't have appreciated anyone other than Ren witnessing that mask slip, and he wasn't to keen on giving up that weird moment to anyone else himself for now. It was their little secret, which Ren now felt heavily inclined to return the favor — despite every shred of his common sense yelling at him not to. So, for all his band mates knew, Akechi dragged him to safety and had a brief, but polite, conversation with "Joker" before leaving. That was good enough for them somehow.
His friends led the way back to the train station, all in varying degrees of conversation about the strange occurrence with the prince detective. Ren lingered in the back once again, thoughts eating away at his mind like they always did. Even after they all went their separate ways, leaving just him and Futaba on the train, Ren still couldn't rest his mind of the earlier encounter. One thought was more definitely prominent than the rest:
Just when would he see that dashing detective again?