Chapter Text
"When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled."
– John 11:33
February 7, 2017
The first thing Goro Akechi did after waking up was reach for the needle at his bedside.
It was a sewing needle—a small, shiny thing with a point at one end and a small eye at the other. He rolled it between his fingers, let the cold of the metal sink into his skin.
Then he turned the point towards his forearm and jabbed.
One of the first things he had noticed about Maruki’s reality was that physical injuries received inside the Metaverse had no effect in the real world. In his prior experience, exiting the cognitive world without fully healing from any wounds would leave some sort of pain behind, physical or otherwise. Rarely would it match the intensity of the injury—a long gash across his arm from an ambush in Mementos had turned into a faded scar and a few days’ phantom pains in reality—but it was still there, a reminder that he hadn’t been careful enough back then. In Maruki’s reality, however, you could leave the Metaverse with a broken rib and walk back into the streets of Odaiba feeling only slightly winded.
Akechi had noticed this change before anyone except Akira, and while the leader of the Thieves had treated it as a convenience back then, Akechi had needed to know how it worked. He wasn’t content with walking through the carnival house the mad doctor had stuck them in without at least trying to know the rules. So after their first excursion to the Metaverse in January he’d gone to a 100 yen store and purchased the needle, then attempted to make himself bleed with it.
Not even a scratch on his skin, back then. He’d tried multiple times, then attempted to injure himself with more damaging objects such as a kitchen knife or a blunt hammer. But the implements bounced off or broke every time. He had been stuck in Maruki’s grip, and there had been nothing he could do.
Today, at least, his body was behaving normally. The tip of the needle was a bright red as he pulled it back from the epidermis. A miniscule red bead had formed on his arm, the blood already starting to clot. Whatever reality he was stuck in, it wasn’t the same as last time.
He sat up from his bed and stretched as much as the button-up shirt he was wearing would allow—apparently he had fallen asleep without changing into pajamas last night. He stripped down to his underwear before making his way to the bathroom, his feet tensing up against the cold tile floor of the hallway.
He stood in front of his mirror and reached for his toothbrush. Normally the motions of putting toothpaste on the bristles and scrubbing his mouth would’ve been ignored, but there was nothing he could take for granted anymore. So he carefully watched himself go through the routine, his jaw slack and his other arm limp at his side.
He refused to look in his reflection’s eyes.
At 7:00 that morning he found himself under the sharp glare of Sojiro Sakura.
“You again?” he asked as he stood directly across Akechi on the other side of Leblanc’s counter, a mug in his hands that he seemed ready to throw at any moment.
“I’m simply a fan of your coffee,” Akechi responded with a false smile.
The fake cordiality hadn’t been on purpose—even though Akechi was done caring about outward appearances, the desire to save face and avoid suspicion refused to go away, even around people that knew better. Such as Sojiro, who just rolled his eyes. “You tried to kill Akira. Cut the crap.”
Akechi knew he deserved that response. He looked away and ran his finger down the grain of the countertop, wondering if a shard of the wood might stab his finger. “I’m only here for your coffee, Sakura-san. I’ll finish my cup and leave you be.”
The old man’s gaze lingered for just a moment longer before he turned towards the back of the cafe. “Fine. But only because he’d let you stay.”
The detective returned to a neutral expression. He knew that he had no right to be here, but it was hard to not come back. Even if Akira wasn’t here and everyone else had no reason to pretend to tolerate him anymore, he had positive memories of the place. He remembered one summer afternoon when he and Akira had argued over something pointless for over an hour, more as an exercise in mental acuity than as a battle of wits. Maybe he’d feel more welcome in the cafe if the other boy wasn’t rotting in a prison cell right now.
Then again, maybe he wouldn’t have come at all.
He was startled out of his recollection as Sojiro slammed a cup of steaming coffee in front of him. “Order up.”
Akechi nodded to show thanks (Sojiro likely wouldn’t respond well to spoken gratitude) and wrapped his bare hands around the mug. The heat was slightly uncomfortable, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to, and he preferred it scalding anyway. He brought the cup up to his lips.
The door to the cafe swung open and Wakaba Isshiki stepped through.
He put the coffee back down on the table as calmly as he could. He should have expected this.
Wakaba’s eyes flashed in recognition. “Goro-kun.”
A furious white burned through his mind as he pulled a thousand yen note from his pocket and pressed it onto the counter. Then he got out of his seat and brushed past the woman without a word. The wind was biting against his cheeks within moments.
He should’ve known better than to come to the cafe.
Sae’s voice buzzed dully from his phone over the drone of the snowflake-filled wind. “Talk me through everything you’ve checked.”
One of the things that had carried over from Maruki’s world to this one was that Akechi’s history as the Detective Prince had been erased from the memory of the public, the Phantom Thieves and their acquaintances being the only exceptions. As such, he was free to express his irritation vocally while walking through the streets of Kichijoji, and so he did. “I’ve contacted Maruki’s last five places of employment for information regarding his whereabouts, including the branch of social services he was working at after his departure from Shujin. I’ve placed cameras around his home without any result. His family and friends appear to have had zero contact with him since December 23rd of last year. And no evidence that his social media, email, or phone have been accessed since that time, either.”
She sighed. “It’s almost like he’s disappeared off of the face of the earth.”
“I doubt that, if only because of his insistence that every life is valuable.”
“Is that something you disagree with?”
He brushed past a middle-aged woman grumbling about the inclement weather. “I simply find it hypocritical given how willing he was to toy with said lives when he had control of the Metaverse.”
“I see.”
He could visualize Sae leaning against her desk, trying to wrap her mind around the limited information Akechi was providing her. It was a familiar dynamic from their previous work together, although this time the power imbalance was more due to his reticence than a desire to manipulate her.
“I recall learning about his academic pursuits in his Palace,” he continued. “That will likely be the focus of my investigation for the next few days. Is there any help you could provide in that area?”
“I’ve got my hands full dealing with Shido’s and Akira’s cases, but I’ll see what I can do after hours,” she said.
It was more than he deserved. “Thank you.”
“Akechi.”
He paused. Her voice had taken an unfamiliar tone—inquisitive, but not prosecutorial. Almost as if she was concerned about him.
“What exactly are you trying to find out from him?”
He curled his hand into a fist.
“I need to make sure that this is the real world, Sae. I refuse to live in another illusion, no matter how ‘accurate’ it feels. I’ll kill him if it means he won’t have his claws around me any longer.”
There was no way the feral edge to his voice went unnoticed by Sae, but she didn’t comment on it directly. Instead, she took a clipped breath.
“And what will you do if this is the real world, Goro?”
He stopped in place, the storm slamming against his coat.
What if this was the real world? What if they were truly alive, him and Wakaba both? What if he was living in a world where his life was meaningless to all but a few people? Where his trauma and his sins would follow him around everywhere he went?
Where Akira was just a text away?
He hung up and continued to push his way through the billowing snow.