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It starts with the enormous room leading up to what they’ll later learn is the research ward in Dr. Maruki’s palace, an inorganic landscape that almost feels like it goes out of its way to dredge up her memories of staring up at Kasumi on the winner’s podium, her face surrounded by stark fluorescent lights.
If she’s being perfectly honest with herself, Sumire’s already settled into the knowledge that the near-complete white landscape will never fully let her relax. It only makes sense, since it is Dr. Maruki’s palace, but the thought still makes her shiver if Joker-senpai doesn’t call a formation for too long. As much as she knows the importance of saving her strength, especially now that she’s on the frontlines, holding herself idle feels… like admitting defeat. Creeping around shadows for too long makes her crave some sort of noise, any sort of noise, just to—to remember that she’s still here, still rebelling against Dr. Maruki’s reality.
She regrets the thought a little, now.
“Fall back!” Joker-senpai calls, swinging his arm for emphasis as a gelatinous monster drops from the sky and coalesces into one being, swaying and thudding. “Crow, Violet, Noir, you’re up!”
The uncoordinated scramble that follows would make Coach Hiraguchi shake her head, but she manages to settle into a rhythm fast enough to propel her forward. The shadow has no weaknesses, something both Crow-senpai and Queen-senpai bemoan in very different tones of voice, so she dodges another curse attack at her feet, prepares to spring into a Sword Dance—
“Yoshizawa Kasumi,” the shadow booms. She hates that she pauses, brought back to herself, stumbling with all the shame of her practices as a sham sister. “Why do you resist the paradise our savior has granted you?”
“Well, this is new,” she vaguely hears Crow-senpai mutter. She’s not sure why, exactly, she registers it through the sudden white noise of her mind when the scattered remnants of the first palace infiltration day come back to her in unwanted clarity. The video of her sister’s death at her hands, the memory of passively watching Amamiya-senpai and Akechi-san staring up at her, knowing to expect revulsion, hatred, rejection—it spears through her chest in tiny waves, dim but persistent reminders of the mockery she made of Kasumi’s name, of her own life, of anything she’s ever touched at all.
“He has not thrown away his memories of you,” the shadow continues, swaying and swaying and swaying. “You can still—”
“Shut up. How much bullshit do you have left?” Crow-senpai cuts in, his sword already in hand.
Fragmented senses lock together and Sumire forces herself on her feet, remembering at once the large room, the white walls. She turns to Crow-senpai to thank him, possibly, or to simply ask how he finds the courage to speak over others, but it figures that he’d use that same ability to completely ignore her as well.
“I was talking to Yoshizawa Kasumi,” the shadow tells him tartly.
And Sumire isn’t sure why this sentence, of all things, is the one to force the wheels of her rebellion to spin with more ferocity than she’d normally allow herself to hold, but she finds herself looking at Crow-senpai and… envying the hard lines of his stance, his uncompromising fury, the unflinching weight of his glare. That rage unsettles or exasperates the others aside from Amamiya-senpai, but she’s always stood in an undefined sort of awe in regards to it, and right now—
It falls into place quite violently when the shadow’s attention swings to her, like two opposite magnets colliding. “It isn’t too late to accept that which can make you happiest.”
—every part of her wants nothing more than to be so unbearably unsightly, no one can stand it. Can stand her.
“Why do you think you can talk to me like that,” says Sumire.
“If you continue to deny—”
“No!” drives itself from her throat, jagged and near-unrecognizable. “My name is Sumire! You don’t get to make that call for me anymore!”
And then—the shadow isn’t saying much of anything, eyes fluttering shut before slumping over. The group behind her explodes into noise, but she becomes aware of Crow-senpai’s scrutinizing stare first. “I put it to sleep,” he says, effectively silencing everyone, “so do the honors, Yoshizawa-san.”
“Sumire,” she corrects, balling her hands into fists, before the words give her the focused tension of a baton pass. “But right. I'll get to it.”
A bless attack would work just fine, but she finds herself sprinting towards the shadow. And, honestly, Sumire’s not sure what happened after that, but the whirling arc of her stance like some demented dance, the fatigue settling in her bones, the way the shadow melted into ash so close to her face that she almost got dust in her mouth, it tells her enough. For a long moment, she stares into the pristine white floor, refusing to wipe the glare from her face. Yoshizawa Kasumi probably never harbored these ugly, messy emotions, but it’s all that Yoshizawa Sumire has. If these shadows want proof of it, she doesn’t have the energy to be anyone but herself anymore.
No one so much as breathes. It’s what she wanted, but still—she hadn’t wanted to be turned away—
“Interesting,” splinters the silence. The world cascades in with all the debris of a gunshot, and she turns to see Crow-senpai watching her as if appraising her for something. Behind him, Joker-senpai only looks faintly bemused, hardly giving anything away as he tends to, and she has a feeling that the others are staring at her but the haze of adrenaline and ebbing anger keep all other emotions at bay.
“What?” she asks, but Crow-senpai’s already moving forward, gun in hand.
.
When they step back into Odaiba, Akechi-senpai’s already halfway down the street, head ducked low as if to make a subtle getaway. Sumire’s not sure why he bothers when no one else is around for him to blend in with, and then isn’t sure what to do when she starts forward without realizing.
She lets him go, though. There’s a much easier way to catch up to him, and forcing him into conversation now feels like putting herself at a disadvantage she doesn’t feel like dealing with.
“Amamiya-senpai,” she says, gaze still turned towards the street, “can we go to the palace tomorrow?”
A chorus of groans—well, mainly from Sakamoto-senpai—block her abrupt suggestion, but Amamiya-senpai has a small, knowing smile on his face. “Yeah, I was planning on it,” he says. “Or Mementos, at the very least.”
“What a relief,” she blurts out, then bites back a grimace when most of the phantom thieves give her an odd look.
.
After everyone’s gathered, Amamiya-senpai insists on making more coffee for his thermos before they start. She truly believes him until he gives her a significant glance while grinding coffee beans and she spurs herself into motion, sliding into Akechi-senpai’s solitary booth seat before she can stop herself.
Unfortunately, that also means she does so without asking, and as such gives him no time to move. “What the hell are you doing,” he says.
“Sharing the booth seat,” she replies instinctively, and then wonders if it’s possible to throw her instinct out a window. He’s glaring now, openly, and refusing to give her room out of the sort of principles Sumire would appreciate more if it didn’t make her knock their shoulders together. “Um.”
“Try again,” says Akechi-senpai.
Alright, she can do that. “Yesterday, in the palace…”
She didn’t think this through. What is she supposed to say to him? ‘I was jealous of how easily you could fly into a rage’? ‘You’re the scariest person I’ve ever looked up to’? She knows that Akechi-senpai’s… unorthodox, so he may very well take that as a compliment, but she’d rather not risk it. Even in something as innocuous as sipping coffee, he looks the furthest from amused that someone could possibly be.
Sumire contemplates the merits of simply excusing herself now to save some face, but there’s no merit at all to it and a method like that wouldn’t matter to Akechi-senpai. She won’t run from her own identity or a scary senpai!
Ah, wait. Has she been staring at him this entire time?
“Any day now.” Akechi-senpai sounds bored. Something in her dies of utter shame.
All in a rush, Sumire admits, “It was surprisingly exhilarating, taking down that last shadow.”
He sets the cup down, finally moving over to allow her space. She nods gratefully and appropriately stifles a laugh when he rolls his eyes and turns away.
“What about it?” His tone has… not exactly softened, but it’s less critical, somehow. “Are you finally tired of playing nice to the man who tried to control your life?”
“I wasn’t playing nice—” she cuts herself off when he glares, balling her hands into fists underneath the table. “Well… I just don’t see a point in starting an argument with Dr. Maruki when I can understand where he was coming from.”
“Where he was coming from?” he echoes, derision clear in his tone. She acutely becomes aware of the lack of ambience around them. Even in a place so full of life, she just feels chilled, down to the bone. “If you can sympathize with the man who prioritized your selfishness over your wellbeing, then go ahead. I certainly won’t be joining your delusions.”
Blinding light fills her vision as if she were looking up at the podium again, as if she were standing in that white, white hall and being told—no, force-fed the name Yoshizawa Kasumi again, as if she still couldn’t stand without another person having to hold her up. As if a spotlight or a yellow umbrella had swung around to her right as she messed up a move, as if an announcer in the recesses of her rotten heart screamed here comes Yoshizawa Sumire, once again the failure, once again making others pay for her mistakes.
Too many what-ifs. Whether she accepts the truth or not, it doesn’t erase the past.
“Sympathizing doesn’t mean agreeing with Dr. Maruki, Akechi-senpai! That’s not what I meant at all!”
No one is talking now. Ah. She singlehandedly ruined the atmosphere, didn’t she? She failed again.
Even in an activity with no scores, she still managed to fail. And she thought she could replace the strong Kasumi that could take over the world?
What a joke. She’s such a joke.
Vaguely, she hears Amamiya-senpai start to say something, but Akechi-senpai nudges her shoulder, hard, until she mechanically moves to stand before announcing rather sharply that they are going for a walk and practically shoving her out the door.
.
It’s clear that neither of them have loitered in Yongen-Jaya outside of Amamiya-senpai’s place, because Akechi-senpai leads them down three dead-ends before he gives up and pays for the batting cages. Remembering her time spent here as Kasumi, Sumire takes five full minutes before she can start, fidgeting at-bat and preparing herself to be judged.
“Just go, Sumire-san, I didn’t pay the entrance fee for you to stand around and waste time,” Akechi-senpai calls, at the cage next to her.
Sumire politely refrains from pointing out that she had offered to split the cost with him, if only because she’s sure it’ll be lost on him. "I honestly expected you to just leave me outside," she blurts out instead, which in hindsight isn't any more polite than her thinly-veiled accusation.
Akechi-senpai angrily gestures to the batting cages. Such an innocent suggestion, all of this was so innocent, really, but ten minutes into her rough misses and his slightly better performance, he sets his bat down as she stands at the plate.
“One day, I’ll grow older than my mother,” he says to thin air. Her bat thuds to the ground. In lieu of anyone better, she stands by his side and listens. “And I know she would be horrified by what I’ve become.”
“I understand,” she says with the full knowledge that she is, quite honestly, the only one in the world who could say that truthfully right now. With every moment that passes, she becomes older than her elder sister. The thought’s so absurd, she has to make it hysterical, or else—she forces it down, hard. “With everything I’ve done as my sister… with her memory… I can’t imagine what she must think of me right now.”
Akechi-senpai turns to her. It’s the usual sideways glare, except he doesn’t look angry at all. She wishes he did. Even if it’s nonsensical, this conversation would feel easier with the anger she deserves. “Don’t pretend to understand. You never killed anyone.”
“I killed Kasumi,” bursts out of her mouth, drawing blood from something deep and raw and hurting inside of herself, “and then I had the audacity to replace her! I can’t—that’s not something I can just take back, senpai!”
He looks truly angry now. His teeth are bared, even. “What are you claiming? That your identity theft is on the same level as murder?”
What she really, truly wants to say is well, isn’t it? but the words feel ill-fitting in her mouth, too cruel or too selfish or too incorrect. So instead, Sumire takes a deep breath, forcing the tempo of the conversation to slow.
“I told Amamiya-senpai that my sister was beyond any apologies I could give her,” she says quietly, “and your mother is, too. So, I’ve realized… that all we can really do is create a life worth living in spite of everything we’ve done.”
“You say that like I’m not irredeemable.”
She can’t help it; she laughs, entirely inappropriate and far too loud, but it at least loosens his stance. “That’s so presumptuous. I don’t think you are.”
“Sumire-san, I’m a murderer.”
“I know.” And she will not lie: the reality is incredibly unnerving. But even through Akechi-senpai’s tendency to be awful and cruel and petty, she’s certainly not the one who can decide if he deserves to die or not. And if it were up to her… well, asking someone who has blood on her hands too would be kind of silly, wouldn’t it? “But it’s not like I can judge you at all. And besides, I don’t think that’s enough reason for you to throw your life away.”
“Are you insane?”
“Well, most would say yes, considering what I spent the past year doing.” Her smile feels wrong, too bright on her exhausted face, so she lets it drop. “So my point still stands. I truly do think that, you know. The only way we can make it up to them is to live. For ourselves and for them. Does that make sense?”
He pauses, turns to her. His sneer is almost sad. “I suppose I’ll be letting her down one last time, then.”
She stiffens. “What—”
But he’s already walking away.
.
When she next tries to bring up what he said, Akechi-senpai alternates between feigning ignorance (alongside very real annoyance) and flatly telling her it was nothing, simply a vague threat, surely one she would expect from one as ruthless as himself?
It had felt self-inflicted, though… which, of course, he never gives her time to say.
Just as Sumire had managed to place in the back of her mind, alongside the other memories she’d dusted off and carefully examined, February second makes it horrifyingly relevant again. Haha… just as she’d begun to care enough to grieve, too…
It isn’t funny. It isn’t funny at all.
“Don’t,” he says stiffly when she calls. “Don’t you dare pity me.”
“I’m not.” Sumire closes her eyes. She always did find it easier to admit the truth when she couldn’t look ahead. “I’ll just miss you, that’s all.”
A scoff. Not surprising. “You shouldn’t.”
“I know.” Ella resounds within her, a stinging sensation that nearly knocks her breath away. Sumire turns to the mirror, her smile so weak it might as well shatter the glass. Her, tearing and tearing and wondering if Akechi-senpai will even be allowed to be someone she’ll miss. If Sumire is allowed to be someone she’ll miss. “But these reactions are my own, no matter what you say. Sorry, Akechi-senpai.”
Brief, unnatural silence. Then, a long sigh. She cannot help but recall the batting cages, the cruel honesty, and wonders quietly if he’d ever gotten the chance to say any of that to anyone else. “Goodbye, Sumire-san.”
He hangs up before either of them can say another word. Sumire knows, from that moment of charged silence, that Akechi-senpai wished to ask something. Maybe a biting why? or some sort of mockery or even something as cruel as telling her that she’d be better off dead if she couldn’t handle this—
—or, more likely, that last thought is just her. It says something that he picked up tonight of all nights. Not endearment or anything so bold, even if Sumire at her most optimistic would like to consider him a friend, but…
A tangled, severed acceptance of the gaps between them and the rest of the phantom thieves, and of the rest of society. That must be it. Across soft static and a room full of strangers privy to her darkest secrets and her own mistakes in battle, he hadn’t abandoned her to her fate, even while pretending he would. Perhaps he should have. But he didn’t.
Nobody wants me. They only want Yoshizawa Kasumi.
That’s not true at all, is it? Not anymore, if it ever was.
“Goodbye, Akechi-senpai,” Sumire says to dead air, and sets the phone down.