Chapter Text
As if scheduled, the moment Akira gets settled back in Tokyo something weird happens to him.
I guess I should’ve seen this coming, is the first thought that occurs as he rouses on what feels like a particularly stiff plank. But in his defense, after over a year of not having to deal with Metaverse Weirdness, and given all the moving preparations and logistics that went into relocating back to the attic above Leblanc, the possibility of being thrown back into some nonsense again was pretty far from his mind.
The thought that occurs second is: I can’t see anything.
Instead of panicking, Akira takes a deep breath and focuses. Trying to recall what led him here, all he finds is that his last few memories were simply of settling into bed and struggling to fall asleep, which isn’t very helpful, unless…
It takes a few more seconds for him to make the connection between his current state and why he feels as if someone should have yelled at him to get up by now.
Sitting up yields a familiar view, or… At least he thinks that it is. After blinking a few more times, Akira finds that he still can’t really see more than a foot in front of him due to a thick mist that’s covering the entire area, which is definitely new. Standing, he steps around carefully until he comes across the entrance to his cell and confirms his theory.
He’s in the Velvet Room. Some strange version of it that’s filled with fog instead of haunting music, but still… The Velvet Room.
Equally encouraged and unnerved by the absolute silence surrounding him, Akira walks forwards blindly, daring to go into the unknown expanse of the room. The clicking of his heels on the floor ring out like gunshots no matter how carefully he tries to step, not helping the slight distress he feels at not being able to rely on his vision for cues.
It doesn’t take very long for him to find the ornate wooden desk at the center of the room. It’s not surprising that there’s nobody sitting there, but Akira still curses under his breath, realizing that he had hoped there would be some sort of clue to be found there. If that weird old man isn’t around, then Lavenza probably isn’t either, he thinks– unless she’s somewhere else in the room, and he just can’t see her.
“Hello?” He tries calling after several moments of contemplation, and receives only an echo of his own voice in response. “Lavenza?”
There’s no reply.
Maybe not around either, then– he concludes with a frustrated exhale.
What Akira finds next as he slowly navigates the room is that there’s nothing exactly interesting about the Velvet Room, not when there’s nobody there, not when there’s no death-bringing apparatuses lying around. It leaves enough space in his mind for him to begin to worry, growing concerns about the reasons why he could have possibly been brought here again filling his head.
This fog, the absence of the usual faces– could this mean the place had been taken over by another malignant entity? He sticks his head through the other open cells in hopes of getting some hint of an idea of what could possibly be going on, of anything.
The very least you could give me, he thinks a little bitterly, is some warning before I get forced into another high-stakes game.
“I thought I sensed someone here.”
Akira nearly jumps out of his skin.
He turns around so fast he more hears than feels the crack his neck makes from the movement. It’s ultimately an useless motion, given how even though he spins on his feet, he still can’t see the source of the voice.
“How did you get here?” They continue, apparently unbothered by how badly they just startled him. “Are you human?”
Less existential questions, please, Akira thinks but doesn’t say, trying not to wince at the sudden surge of emotions he feels. The voice sounds both strange and familiar at the same time, clouds his thoughts in a haze that makes it hard for him to focus on discerning exactly how much danger he’s in at the moment.
Is the distance that they’re keeping from him a good or bad sign? How big of a concern should this sudden dull ache in his chest be?
“Have you lost your tongue?” They ask after Akira fails to answer them again, voice coming from a different direction this time, almost as if they’re walking in circles around him. Watching him from every angle as if completely unaffected by the fog… “Is it possible that you don’t understand me?”
“No, I just– You’re asking a lot of questions.”
Despite the silence of their steps, despite the curtain of mist they’re hiding behind, Akira can still tell that they suddenly stop pacing. “... My apologies,” they say, almost a little meekly. “It’s not every day that a stranger stumbles into this place."
They clear their throat, and sound a little more confident when they try again:
“Shall we start over?”
“Um,” Akira says, because his mind really isn’t in the right place for any snappy comebacks. “Hi?”
“Hello,” they reply. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“No, I probably shouldn’t,” he agrees, settling into a far more casual tone than what is probably appropriate for speaking to some unknown entity of dubious alignment. “Are you– Where’s Lavenza and Igor?”
They don’t respond immediately, and Akira feels as if he’s being scrutinized.
“... Away,” they say vaguely, after a moment or two. It makes his anxiety spike, but they keep going before he can sit with that worry for too long. “Busy with other matters, currently. How do you know them?”
“We… worked together,” Akira settles on, mimicking their own vague reply. “How do you know them?”
He might as well not have said anything, given how they don't even acknowledge his question. They pause to hum in thought before apparently coming to a conclusion: “Ah. Is it possible that you’re the Trickster that Lavenza speaks so much about? I suppose it makes sense that you’d appear in this version of the room.”
“What happened to it?” Akira finds himself asking. “I don’t remember it ever being this… Hazy.”
“It’s not currently under use,” the stranger explains, with the tone of someone who thinks they're explaining something obvious. “There is no danger currently, is there?”
Akira raises an eyebrow. “Is there?”
Unnervingly enough, they go fully quiet in response.
Akira suddenly finds it hard to discern if they're even still there, after some time passes with absolutely no response. His hand twitches at his side, thinking about reaching out to check if–
“I’m quite positive humanity is not under threat, at the moment,” the voice says, before Akira can even move. “Though I am still somewhat new here, that is one of the things I’m nearly certain of.”
That’s… not very reassuring.
“New?” Akira asks, instead of expressing his own distress at whatever ‘not under threat, at the moment’ is supposed to mean.
“I am an attendant in training to assist the next guest of the Velvet Room. Therefore, even if we disregard the inactive state of the place, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to do much to help you,” they say, plainly. “You should speak to Lavenza if you truly need anything.”
“I would,” Akira mutters, mirthlessly. “But I’ve been told she’s not currently around.”
He thinks he hears a small huff of breath. Maybe in amusement? He really wishes he could wave this fog off, see their face as they speak. This is really no way to communicate.
“Not much that can be done about that currently, I fear,” they say, reflecting his humorless intonation right back at him. “Perhaps you should leave.”
Akira doesn’t want to follow their passive aggressive order, but he really doesn’t know what else he can do there, currently. It would be hasty to try and come to any conclusions seeing he barely has any information to go off on. He really should speak to Morgana or the other Thieves about this before actually doing anything, and he guesses being given an out by this suspicious stranger is as good of an opportunity as any.
So, plunging his hands into his pockets, he shrugs and walks forwards into the fog, in the opposite direction from where their voice last called from.
He hasn’t even taken five steps when they speak again.
“... Where exactly are you going?”
Akira huffs. “You told me to leave."
The alleged trainee attendant clicks their tongue, dismissively. “The exit is not that way.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
There is a beat, a moment where tension hangs in the air between them, until it is promptly broken by a sigh from the stranger. And before Akira can even process a single thought about it, he suddenly feels their presence right next to him, right before a hand clutches his arm in a firm grasp.
“I suppose I can escort you there,” they say, closer than they’d ever been before, the sound of their voice right against his ear involuntarily sending a shiver up his spine. “Given your status as an esteemed guest and all.”
Akira scowls. Instinctively drawn to resist, he begins the motion to wrangle his arm free from them, but finds himself freezing as he finally looks at the stranger’s face.
His face.
Because despite the fact that his hair is now shock white and his eyes are glowing a pale yellow, there is no world where Akira Kurusu would not immediately recognize Goro Akechi.
He wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but Akira had spent a good amount of time imagining scenarios wherein Akechi would just… walk back into his life. He had come up with so many variations of what he would say if– when he saw him again, perfect combinations of words for every single possible circumstance–
Or so he thought. Because even if ‘a meeting during a Velvet Room dream’ was one of the situations he had accounted for, the moment he glimpses his face again he completely blanks.
When he opens his mouth, all that happens is that he gasps out a pathetic "A– Akechi?!" In a pitch that's way higher than is probably dignified, and then like a dam that's been broken, more words come pouring out completely unfiltered: “You’re– You’re alive? Wh– Why are you– What are you doing here? What the hell happened to you?!”
And Akechi finally takes pause from his task of dragging Akira through the fog to look at him straight on for one breathless moment– where Akira’s heart drops as he fails to find any mutual recognition in his odd, newly-golden eyes.
“My apologies,” he says, not actually looking or sounding all that apologetic. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you are going on about.”
That’s not one of the responses he had ever accounted for in his daydreams, either.
The tone he’s using is different somehow, Akira notes– different from the faux-sweet pleasant inflection of the Detective Prince or the tired growling of… the real him. It’s scarily neutral, blank just like the expression he’s wearing, it’s the reason why he couldn’t fully recognise his voice right away without the rest of the face attached.
And like breaching brand new territory, he also realizes that he no longer has any idea how to tell if he’s joking or not.
Akira sputters uselessly for a few seconds as Akechi simply resumes his pace towards the presumed exit of the place, having a surprisingly hard time stopping himself from being dragged along with him, and having a much more expectedly hard time trying to figure out what to say. More so now than ever when he can’t even figure out if he’s serious.
Even though he does look different, even though he had not broken character the entire time, even though most of what he had said and asked so far was… uncharacteristic; Akira reckons Akechi always had a sort of talent for acting. And he might very well have some stupid reason to try and push him away again.
And he's not letting him. Not this time.
“Akechi, stop–,” Akira hisses, finally pulling his arm from his grasp, though not moving back too far lest he get lost in the fog once more. “Can we talk about this for a second?”
“Hm,” he spares him a thoughtful glance. “I suppose. It seems you are mistaking me for someone else.”
“I’m not,” Akira insists, reinforcing his voice with a determination he doesn’t really feel. “Please, just drop the act or whatever the hell this is so we can–”
“It’s likely my fault, considering I failed to introduce myself,” Akechi carries on as if he’s not even listening, which he very well might not be. Akira huffs in frustration, but before he can argue, he barrels through: “Very well. My name is Victor.”
If that statement alone wasn't enough to get all the words to just fade from Akira's mouth, the way he bows without a single trace of irony or hesitation absolutely does.
“It is always a pleasure to meet a guest of the Velvet Room, even if they are not the one assigned under my care," he continues as he raises his head, then props himself back at Akira's side. "So with that out of the way…"
Akira’s so stunned he doesn’t even resist when he begins to get dragged along again. By the time he manages to form a single coherent thought again, Akechi– Victor?– is seconds away from pushing him through a door.
“Farewell, Trickster,” he says, with a certain smug finality. “Maybe come back some other time.”
“Wait, Akechi–”
The words rasp out of his mouth as a mumble rather than the shout he intended, though that’s probably for the best given how when he blinks his eyes open again, he’s no longer in the foggy Velvet Room.
It takes a second or two for him to reorient himself– He’s in his bed, in the attic above Leblanc, in Yongen-Jaya, in Tokyo…– and the moment it clicks, he lets out a large sigh and drags his hand down his face. It's his very first night back in the city. Of course something like this would happen. Part of him wonders briefly if he should have even come back at all.
He winces at the thought. No, he doesn’t mean that. He definitely belongs here more than he belongs back in his hometown, and this was not a mistake or a reckless decision or whatever it was that his parents said. He belongs here, and if supernatural dreams and occurrences are a part of that, then so be it.
But the content of said supernatural dreams…
Akira’s sigh turns into a groan as he burrows his face into the crook of his arm. He would’ve obviously preferred a straightforward call into action, or honestly even an ominous warning from Lavenza and Igor than whatever the hell that was. Not only the vague, apparently unsure assurance that the world was ‘probably not under threat’, but the messenger that delivered it to him–
That was Akechi, Akira just knows that. He’s more certain of it than anything else. He would never forget his face, no matter the mask he’s wearing. But the way he was acting, the way he spoke… It causes a crack to form in his confidence in his assertion.
It could just be a coincidence that this alleged trainee Velvet Room attendant looks the way that he does. Definitely a strange one, but he presumes much stranger things have happened. Or… it could just be some evil entity wearing his face to fuck with him. That was what happened with Igor last time, wasn’t it?
“Akira…”
Akira stops. Removing his arm from his face, he glances down to find Morgana, who's curled up next to him and looking at him through sleepy but concerned eyes.
“Wassit…” He yawns, then blinks drowsily at him. “... Another nightmare?”
If Akira was reasonable, he would just tell him about it right away. If this is the warning he gets before he has to embark on another heroic mission to decide the fate of the world, he should share it with his best friend, who could better advise him on what to do next and who could probably also use the heads up.
But the uncertainty of it all, combined with the fact that Morgana was very clearly exhausted from the move… and given Akechi's involvement in the matter, knowing how the mood always seems to get weird whenever he brings him up these days, the words that come out of Akira’s mouth are: “I’m okay. You can go back to sleep.”
Mona doesn’t seem very convinced but is thankfully too tired to argue about it, as he just grumbles and then lays his head back atop of his paws. Akira watches him for the next minute or so as his breathing evens out, indicating his quick return to sleep.
Unfortunately, his own doesn’t come as easily.
He doesn’t dream the next day. Or the next.
And, for better or for worse, the MetaNav doesn’t appear on his phone again.
Against all odds, Akira actually gets to put his life back in order as he had planned: he has a small gathering with the handful of friends that are still in proximity, checks up on old confidants, grabs some of the part time jobs he used to have back up again… It’s enough to distract him away from the occurrences of that first night, and nearly enough for him to begin to believe that that might just have been a regular– albeit odd– dream.
Though, while visiting Iwai to announce his return and drop a souvenir off for Kaoru, he can’t help but linger in front of the spot where the door to the Velvet Room used to appear.
“Whatcha looking at?” Mona asks, clawing at his shoulder after he spends far too long just standing still, waiting to see if the blue cell door will just flicker into existence if he stares enough.
“Nothing,” Akira mumbles automatically, finally looking away. Before Morgana can huff and chide him, he suddenly thinks of something. “Hey, does the name ‘Victor’ mean anything to you?”
(Morgana is technically a denizen of the Velvet Room himself, after all. If he recognizes it, then maybe…)
The cat looks at him a little oddly. “... No. Should it?”
“No,” he sighs, adjusting the bag on his shoulder and finally closing the distance to the gun shop. “Guess not."
By the time it happens again, Akira has actually mostly forgotten about that first dream.
Of course it happens on a night where he could have used some restful, dreamless sleep. On the one day where he had gotten home late, after enduring a much too long shift at Crossroads that succeeded a really long shift at Rafflesia, after missing his train, after paying too much for a cab back to Yongen, after quite literally stumbling right into bed and falling asleep without even changing out of his clothes or removing his shoes– of course that's when he has another stupid supernatural dream.
The groan he lets out the moment he opens his eyes and sees fog is so loud it bounces off the blue walls of his cell and echoes right back at him.
More than anything, he does not want to get up. Without Caroline there to hit at the jail bars and yell at him, he could very well just lie there and try to go back to sleep– maybe he would just wake back up in the real world? He’d never actually tried– but his head starts hurting nearly immediately from the lack of a pillow, and the poor cardboard-thin excuse for a mattress currently under his back only helps to worsen his discomfort.
So, with a deep sigh and the sting of a dawning headache near his temples, he sits up.
This time the fog is slightly subdued, he can see a little further than he could before– but the place is just as empty and silent as it was the first time. Lethargically, Akira steps out towards the fancy desk at the center of the room, still finding none of the usual faces there.
He guesses he should still try, so he calls out: “Lavenza…?” though it comes out somewhat halfhearted. Not like it matters, there’s no response.
He heaves another sigh, begins the motion to dramatically drag his hand down his face, but stumbles when his hand hits the mask sitting right atop his nose.
It's enough to startle him out of his sullen haze. A glance at his hands reveals them to be covered in red leather, and he frowns as he looks down at his flowing coattails. Had he always been wearing his Metaverse getup? Was he wearing it the last time he was there…?
As his hands hover over his mask, he suddenly feels the vague presence of his Personas in the back of his mind, filling in the empty space he had long since forced himself to grow used to.
As giddy as that makes him feel, he knows there is absolutely no way that can mean anything good.
“Great,” he mumbles into his collar. “Just fantastic.”
“You think so? I’d say it’s actually rather unfortunate.”
Not for the first time, Akira jumps.
“You–” Akira spins in his heels before spotting goddamned Akechi– or maybe the thing that was wearing his face– standing on the other side of the table, looking unamused. “Would you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?” He tilts his head at him, suddenly the complete picture of innocence, bright yellow eyes only enhancing the owlish effect of it. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Oh, he absolutely understands. Akira frowns at him, but he doesn’t crack. “What am I doing here?” He asks, putting steel into his voice.
“What indeed,” Akechi– no, maybe not Akechi; Victor, he said his name was– mutters, tracing his gloved fingers across the grain of the desk. “As you might have already surmised, you were not summoned. There is once again no reason why you should be here, and yet…”
“And yet here I am,” Akira finishes for him, impatiently. “So, shouldn’t we figure that out?”
“I suppose,” Victor concedes with a small shrug. “Or, I could just show you the exit once more.”
It’s actually a tempting offer considering how much Akira would prefer to be catching up on sleep, but no. He’s being offered a chance to speak, so he will.
“Why am I here?” He asks again, maintaining the steadiness of his voice with surprising ease. Donning Joker’s outfit probably helps in keeping character, he presumes. “You said that the world wasn’t in danger last time, but if I’m here, and if the Metaverse is back–”
“The cognitive world was always bound to reconstruct itself eventually, Trickster. It doesn’t have to mean there’s any imminent threat.”
“But it could, couldn’t it?” Akira huffs. “You didn’t sound so sure last time.”
“There is no true way to estimate when doom will next befall humanity,” Victor states, unblinking and fully neutral, even when Akira’s frown hardens. “But you seem to have done your job excellently, if how highly my sister speaks of you is any indication. Thanks to your efforts, we should be able to live in peace for at least the next few years.”
Akira freezes, thinking of the implications of his words.
“Wait. The next– some world ending event happens every few years?”
“You have nothing to worry about,” Victor says, nonchalantly dusting off his blue vest. “You’ve already done your part. When the time comes, the responsibility will not fall on you or your friends.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” the words come out as more of a growl than intended.
And to his surprise, after spending both their conversations nearly entirely expressionless, Victor smirks. “Oh, I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, Trickster, but my siblings speak of having assisted Wild Cards for decades, now.”
When he tries to pin him down with a stare again, Akira finds a familiar glint in his eyes.
“You were by no means the first, nor will you be the last.”
Instead of annoyance, instead of the frustration that statement is obviously meant to stir in him, Akira feels his breath catch.
For the very first time, he fully sees Akechi in him– recognizes him in the way he’s clearly deriving some strange sort of joy from breaking the news that he’s not actually that special after all.
Some strange sort of joy that only manages to last a split second, because as Akira looks at him in absolute wonderment, Victor blinks and quickly turns away, frowning at himself as if snapping out of a haze.
“My… My apologies,” he says, clearing his throat and straightening his posture, having reverted to his usual neutral tone. “That was… Rude of me. I’m not sure where that came from…”
He actually looks concerned at his own unexpected shift in demeanor, but all Akira feels is a rush. The possibility that it is actually Akechi in there rises to the surface once more, and he finds himself scrambling to grasp it with both hands: here’s clear evidence that if he pushes enough, there’s a chance he will break out of whatever spell he’s in and…
… And finally admit that he’s just been pretending not to know him? Or, maybe if he has actually been brainwashed into this, remember everything and become himself again…?
“Trickster?” Akira snaps back into focus, finding that Victor’s façade is cracking once more as he actively looks nervous, fidgeting with his tie as he speaks. “I’m deeply sorry if I’ve offended you. Truly, I… I don't have the slightest idea why I would say something like that…”
He only just barely stops himself from flinching at the apology. The ease at which he says the words makes it sound fully sincere, and Akira starts seriously considering the idea that he’s been brainwashed.
“It’s okay!” He reassures quickly, before he says anything that he knows Akechi would rather die than utter out loud to him, no less. “Really, it’s– It’s fine. You don’t have to apologise for that.”
“... If you say so,” Victor mumbles, uncertainly. He holds still for a few more seconds before letting his shoulders drop with a sigh, finally looking away. “It’d probably be for the best if we cut this conversation short. My sister, she… She’ll be able to answer any questions you have better than I can. I can bring her to–”
He cuts himself off with a soft gasp, turning to look back at Akira with wide, bewildered eyes.
Momentarily confused by the weird reaction, it takes a frankly ridiculous amount of time for his mind to catch up to his movements and for him to register that he’s reached out and grabbed ahold of his arm, stopping him in place.
The completely instinctive action surprises even Akira, until he takes the stunned pause to put his thoughts in order.
If this is actually Akechi, as Akira is starting to believe, and if he’s been here this entire time, then… Lavenza had all the opportunity to tell him about it, but didn’t. And if she didn’t tell him, she must have a reason to be keeping them apart, which means that if she learns that they have been in contact, then–
Then… Who knows if he’ll be allowed to speak to him again?
The idea makes him feel ill, suddenly. He trusts Lavenza, he does, and should absolutely trust her judgment and reasons behind not informing him of these developments, but the idea of simply letting go of his rival once more is–
He can’t. He won’t. Not if there’s any chance he’s still in there, not if there’s any chance he can get him back.
“No,” Is the single word he uses to shatter the silence that’s settled back into the room, and he feels Victor twitch under his touch as he does.
“No?” He repeats, confused.
“Don’t tell her about this,” it comes out as more of an order than a request, which Victor visibly stiffens at. “... Please.”
To his surprise, he still doesn’t wrangle his arm away from him. Both of them stand there, frozen and unwilling to break eye contact.
“Why?”
A million excuses could be made, contrived but reasonable arguments to convince him without scaring him off– but before Akira can even think of any of them, the truth makes its way out of his mouth completely unfiltered:
“I want to keep seeing you.”
Victor does flinch at that, and Akira forces himself not to cringe.
“Why?” Victor demands again, sounding completely appalled. “I– I can’t be of any help to you, surely you’ve already noticed–”
“I don’t care,” Akira says, tightening his grip in a way that he hopes is at least a little comforting. “I just do. Will you let me?”
He has no idea how long they just stand there staring at each other in silence. All Akira knows is that he spends all of it hoping Victor won’t look away.
He doesn’t.
“... Alright.”
