Chapter Text
It's raining in Kichijoji—the kind of languid summer shower that's almost a relief after a day of thick, dry heat—and Akira's taking advantage of the shelter of the shopping district, wondering whether the others will come out in the rain if he calls them for darts like he planned, when he spots Akechi. He’s ducked under the overhang next to Penguin Sniper, fancy branded briefcase in hand and no sign of an umbrella.
Akira doesn't think much of pulling out his own perfectly good umbrella and walking over, determined to at least help Akechi get wherever he was going without getting soaked. It just seems like the right thing to do, as funny as it is to imagine Akechi showing up for an interview looking like a wet dog.
“Oh, Kurusu-kun,” Akechi greets him with a camera-ready grin that really should be corny but instead just chases away any… slightly mean-spirited daydreams with the reminder that Akechi’s, well, deserving of his mass of smitten fangirls. He’d probably still look handsome if he did get rained on, and Akira can just imagine what colorful language Ryuji would have about how horribly unfair that is. “What remarkable timing. Would you believe I was just about to text you?”
“You were?”
“He was?” Morgana mumbles.
“I thought I’d make good on our deal. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” Akechi nods to the stairs, smile picking up an edge Akira can’t place. “Since you’re already here, how about a game of billiards? We can chat and play at the same time.”
Not exactly what Akira had had in mind for the night, but it’s as good a way to spend time as any. Better, maybe; he hadn’t expected to hear from Akechi often, but now that he’s looking right at the guy, it feels like there’s a nagging voice in his head telling him it’s important, that his vague restless desire to come to Penguin Sniper was leading him here.
He’s pretty sure it’s not really that deep, but he still nods right away.
“I’m glad I asked. I was a little worried you’d turn me down,” Akechi says, like he’s not the celebrity between the two of them, like Akira’s the one with the power to deem himself too good to spend his time on him.
“Let me know when you’re done,” Morgana says, and hops out of his bag. Akira feels bad for a second, letting a cat go wander around in the rain, but it doesn’t seem to bother him as much as it would a real cat. Akechi doesn’t seem to pay Morgana any attention at all.
“Shall we?” he says, that magnetic smile still on his face, and Akira follows him up the stairs without any more second thoughts.
Akechi, as it turns out, is very good at pool, and even better at acting like he’s not very good at pool. It takes longer than Akira would like to admit to realize Akechi’s going easy on him, given how expertly Akechi makes what Akira’s pretty sure was a guaranteed victory look like a near thing. Even with how much he likes to narrate every move, he makes it all sound so earnest that he could probably hustle anyone here without a hitch.
Akira’s pretty sure even he wouldn’t have noticed at all if Akechi didn’t have one incredibly obvious tell.
“It’s funny,” he says lightly as Akechi’s humble-bragging about how embarrassing it would have been to lose to his junior, “but somehow I remember you being left-handed.”
It’s worth bringing up just for the moment of genuine shock that passes over Akechi’s face before he’s back to smiling for the nonexistent camera.
“I’m impressed you noticed,” Akechi says. “You caught me, this is my dominant hand. I switched for the game—it’s nothing against you, of course. Going all out against a junior just seemed a bit gauche…”
Akira raises a faux-affronted eyebrow at that, and Akechi chuckles. His laugh sounds like it was practiced in front of a mirror; it probably was, really, and Akira wonders what it’d sound like to get him to laugh for real.
“I confess you’ve surprised me, though. I’m quite dexterous with my right hand. I can even use chopsticks with it. Frankly, I never expected you to see through it.”
“Really? Maybe I’ll become a detective too.”
Akechi’s smile sharpens around the edges again. “A fine idea. My job would be more exciting if I had a proper rival. In any case, you truly are interesting. You never cease to intrigue me.”
“I hope I don’t disappoint you,” Akira says. “I’m actually pretty boring.”
“Hah! Let me be the judge of that.” Akechi starts fishing out the balls to set up the rack again. “How about a deal… If you ever manage to beat me using my right hand, I’ll come at you with everything I have. You have my word.”
“Someone’s cocky. That might be sooner than you’d think. Like this match, for example.” Akira brushes his bangs out of his face, a little too focused on the lines of Akechi’s arms as he leans over the table. TV stations must think his winter uniform is more iconic or something, with the blazer and the leather gloves, and it makes seeing him in his summer one feel oddly private. “Uh, speaking of deals, didn’t you want to pick my brain about something?”
“Oh, that’s right! I got so caught up in the game it slipped my mind.” Akechi runs a hand through his hair. Somehow, even that manages to look artful. “The truth is, I actually have a favor to ask you, but first I’d like it if you could humor me through a little thought experiment.”
“Sure,” Akira says as he cues up his first shot. One round probably isn’t enough to have improved his skills much, but even with Akechi holding back, it had still been helpful to watch someone who clearly knows what they’re doing. Plus, now he’s determined to actually put up a good fight.
“Say you’re a detective yourself, and you find yourself investigating a rather broad case with no obvious culprit.” Akechi’s eyes trace the paths of the scattering balls appraisingly, but it only takes him a split second to line up his own—perfectly aimed—shot. “The circumstantial evidence all indicates the presence of a mastermind at the center of it all, but there’s no proof such an individual even exists, let alone any solid evidence to accuse them of a crime.
“Now, imagine the Phantom Thieves were to announce a new target, who then comes forward claiming to be this very mastermind. As an investigator, how could you be certain that the person in question is what they claim to be, and that you’re not allowing yourself to be swayed into accepting the Phantoms’ word by your own preconceptions?”
Akira cocks his head. “You mean you think the Phantom Thieves could make someone give a false confession, and the police would go along with it without evidence if it were convenient to them?”
“You have a gift for cutting right to the heart of the matter, don’t you? In more words, yes. Many of my colleagues are already concerned about such a possibility, given how out of the blue both Kamoshida and Madarame’s confessions were to the authorities. Neither of them had any criminal history, after all.”
“The evidence was there in both cases, though. Haven’t they found proof that Madarame was selling forgeries for years? Not to mention all his pupils he’d abused.” Akira takes his own shot with a bit too much force, the three ball glancing off the cushions instead of sinking. “Same for Kamoshida. Sure, the adults in power turned a blind eye to it, but students had been suffering for a long time. There would have been plenty of testimony if people were just willing to do something about it.”
Akechi hums in interest and handily pockets two balls with his next shot, and Akira presses on.
“I don’t believe the Phantom Thieves would ever frame someone the way you’re suggesting. Sure, there’s only been two cases so far…” High profile enough for the police to know about, anyway. “…But I think if it gets to the point that they decide to take action, the evidence you’re talking about is already there, and they’re just doing what it takes to make sure people listen. Of course, the police have a responsibility to confirm that—but sussing out false confessions from real ones is something they and the prosecutors are supposed to be doing anyway. I don’t mean to be blunt, but it sounds like your hypothetical is shifting the blame to the Phantom Thieves for the authorities not doing their jobs.”
“Fascinating. I knew asking you would provide a unique perspective, but you really never run out of ways to surprise me.” Akechi winks as Akira aims again, hoping to at least prolong his inevitable defeat, and the expression makes his stomach flip in a way something so artificial has no business doing. “I can’t help but think you sound a bit biased, but you do have a point. If we take the current situation at face value, both of the Phantom Thieves’ public targets to date have undoubtedly been guilty, and I can even agree that they appear to have acted out of a desire to expose crimes that had slipped through the cracks.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” Akira says, and Akechi presses his lips into a thin line.
“I simply can’t leave aside the ethics of ‘changing someone’s heart’ in the first place, I’m afraid, nor can I be as trusting of a group of unchecked vigilantes’ noble motives as you are. All that said, though, I certainly don’t think any less of you for your support for them! I’m far from immune to my own biases, after all—I can’t expect myself to judge a situation objectively without hearing views that oppose my own. That’s why I took an interest in you in the first place. —Ah, that’s my win again.” Akechi pockets the last ball with a thunk. “Hmm, in the end, I suppose the onus is on the police to render the Phantom Thieves obsolete. If Kamoshida and Madarame hadn’t been able to carry on their abuse for so long without consequence, there never would have been a need for the Phantom Thieves to target them in the first place.”
Akira sets down his cue and leans against the edge of the table.
“Which brings us to your favor?”
“Very astute of you.” Akechi chuckles again, the same soft, affable, phony and pre-packaged laugh from before. “Yes, I’m afraid my hypothetical wasn’t entirely hypothetical. You see, I’ve been involved in an investigation into a recent up-tick in street crime in Shibuya, almost exclusively targeting high schoolers. Scams, extortion, drugs, robbery—even suspicions of sex trafficking, though that’s been kept out of the media. The incidents are far too similar to be anything but the work of a single criminal organization, but I’m yet to find anything to point to the identity of the ringleader. The victims appear to be being threatened out of testifying, and even the police are at a loss.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“Quite a few of the presumed victims of this crime ring have been students at Shujin Academy.” Akechi shrugs. “My leads so far have come up empty, and you’re in a unique position to help me gather information. Any classmates who’ve been caught up in this horrible situation might be more willing to speak about it to a peer than to someone like me… I wouldn’t be asking you to do anything dangerous, of course! Even keeping an ear open to any rumors going around would help me out.”
“It’ll be a nice change of pace to be hearing rumors that aren’t about me,” Akira says. Akechi blinks, then laughs again—a little more uncertainly this time, like he’s not sure if it’s the appropriate reaction.
“It sounds like there’s a story there.”
“I’m on probation.” Akira tugs on his bangs, staring at the ever-transfixing black blur of the frames of his glasses. “I’m surprised you don’t know that already. You’re hanging out with a convicted criminal, detective.”
When he chances meeting Akechi’s eyes again, Akechi doesn’t look shocked or mortified, though—if anything, he looks like he’s just pieced together a satisfying puzzle. Akira’s not quite sure what to make of it.
“Well, like I said, I’m not asking you to do anything that would put you in jeopardy, least of all with the police,” he says after a moment, affable smile returning to his face. “You’ll have to tell me the whole story another time. Not tonight, though, it’s getting late as it is.”
“Let me walk you to the station,” is out of Akira’s mouth before his brain catches up to it. Morgana might complain about it, but he’ll deal with that when it happens. “—I mean, it’s still raining, and it looks like I was the only one smart enough to bring an umbrella…”
“So you were. I’ll take you up on your offer, thank you.” Akechi tidies up the table for the next players and puts back their cues. “Why don’t we do a little people-watching on the way there? I’m sure you were joking about becoming a detective, but honing your observational skills certainly can’t hurt.”
“Who said I was joking?” Akira does his best to mimic Akechi’s cheeky wink, and Akechi gives a single aborted snort of laughter that may just be real. “I like the idea of being your rival.”
To Akechi’s credit, people-watching with him does end up being educational, as much as Akira’s sure he’d never expect him to try and figure out how to apply his lessons in observation and deduction to better predicting enemies’ attacks in the Metaverse. More importantly, though, Akira also finds himself learning that Akechi has a serious mean streak beneath the Prince Charming act, as Akira’s lighthearted jabs to turn “people-watching” into more of a game raises some previously unseen stakes, and Akechi’s supposed deductions turn into delightfully sharp judgments on the habits, hypothetical life choices, and fashion sense of the people of Kichijoji. His phone buzzes several times in his pocket without him reacting at all, and Akira certainly has no desire to snap him out of his distraction and cut the game short.
Akechi doesn’t even seem to realize he’s slipping, and by the time they get to the station Akira wonders how often anyone sees him that comparatively unfiltered. He doesn’t know how many other friends Akechi might have, and for all he knows he might have tons that just manage to dodge the limelight, but—somehow he feels like it’s probably not many, and he knows Akechi spends a most of his time around adults with very specific ideas about how he should behave.
He’d have to be pretty stupid to have heard “adults are only interested in using the young” and not have a clue how Akechi feels about that.
It’s almost disappointing when they arrive at the station and part from under Akira’s small umbrella. With one more buzz, Akechi finally checks his phone as they step onto the escalator side by side, and—
For such a brief fraction of a second that Akira’s not sure he doesn’t imagine it entirely, Akechi goes pale, his perfect smile faltering. By the time he can even think to react, though, it’s gone, and Akechi’s pocketing his phone again.
“Thank you for the walk, I’ll be fine from here,” he says, quickly taking the last few steps down the escalator. “Normally we’d be taking the same train, but I have to get to a meeting.”
Akira glances at the nearest clock. “This late?”
“Justice never sleeps, I’m afraid. You will let me know if you have any information, won’t you? You have my number, and I’m often around Kichijoji on my evenings off, if you find yourself in the area.” Akira nods, and Akechi winks at him again. “It doesn’t have to be about the investigation, either. As long as I’m free, I’d be happy to spend time with you again.”
“Me too,” Akira agrees, adjusting his bag as Morgana bumps his head against his shoulder, pawing at the zipper from the inside of the bag. “See you around, Akechi.”
“Have a good night, Kurusu-kun.” Akechi waves and strides off toward another gate. Akira gives him a moment to be out of earshot before he unzips the bag and Morgana sticks his head out immediately.
“About time you let me breathe.” It’s kind of impressive how well a cat face can show a pout. “Sounds like you two are really getting along, huh… What was he saying about an investigation?”
“I’ll tell everyone at the hideout tomorrow. And don’t worry, I wasn’t letting my guard down. I know I have to be careful around him.”
“You look like you were having a lot of fun, though,” Morgana says pensively. “Are you going to keep hanging out with him?”
“Yeah.” Akira swipes his card through the gate, wondering what exactly Morgana can see on his face. “I think so.”