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Akechi thought he was hallucinating the first time he heard it.
The tacky backdrop of the TV studio quickly got old as the overly-saturated colours of the peeling wallpaper slowly become burnt into his retinas permanently after being forced to stare at them for too long. The voices of camera crew and leftover Shujin students mulling around in the hallways dimmed out in his mind as he approached that annoying boy with rather unbrushed hair, in his opinion, and a poorly hidden cat who didn’t look very happy to be stuffed in his carry-on bag.
The same boy he’d seen vaulting under security lasers and slicing through shadows in Madarame’s palace alongside his little band of juvenile outcasts, featuring the loud blond who had blurted out they were the “Phantom Thieves” at least twice in his vicinity (talk about being conspicuous) the girl who pulled out and simultaneously wolfed down what he thinks were six donuts in front of him, and the cat. He refused to elaborate on the cat.
Akechi hated how unreadable Akira was. Most people had tells such as nervous glances, awkward posture, twitches of guilt or pride. Akira had none of it. He wore silence like armor and apparently also publicly challenges nation-loved detectives in front of the media.
“That’s why I believe, if a truly powerful opponent were to corner them, they would flee without second thought,” Akechi said confidently, trying to poke a response out of him.
“They wouldn’t run,” Akira shot back, unphased.
“Oh? You really are intriguing. I bet you’d make for a worthwhile debate partner on the subject, if it’s all right with you, would you continue sharing your thoughts with me?” Akechi gritted out while trying to keep his facade of a calm, collected and charming media figure.
Akira switched his weight to the other foot while fiddling with his hair, “Fine by me.” he holds his hand out, waiting for a confirmation in form of a handshake.
“Thank you, that’s great news. I sense something in you that’s quite different front other people.” He offered his signature, practiced smile (all that practice in the mirror wasn’t for nothing) and extended his hand as well, he hoped Akira couldn’t notice the faint twitch in his fingers, the quiet tremor betraying his simmering irritation just beneath his skin.
“I guess you can call it my detective’s intuition? Haha, kidding, of course. Ah yes, we should exchange contact info.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
Once they’d finished exchanging contact information, he turned on his heel, already preparing to make his exit.
“Talk about a problematic guy to get involved with,” he heard the stupid anomaly talking cat pop out of the bag and say to Akira. Oh look, another member of the circus troupe decided to show face.
He silently seethed from the nerve so-called ‘Leader of the Phantom Thieves’, which by the way, is a pretentious as fuck name, has. His cat is also stupid. Why does he have a talking cat, and why does Akechi have to go out of his way to try to look like he didn’t hear whatever annoying comment it decides to meow about him? One day he’s going to break into his house and punt it to death in its sleep, one day he’s going to use his gun and–
“I am thou, thou art I. Thou hast acquired a new vow.” A voice bellowed throughout the studio.
What the actual fuck was that.
Akechi turned sharply to look at Akira, who appeared completely unfazed, like a creepy, hollow voice hadn’t just echoed in medieval Shakespearean nonsense. Unless this was for some weird, niche ghost story television show that aired conveniently right next to him. He’d really appreciate it if they relocated to somewhere roughly six kilometers away. Or better yet, didn’t film at all.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Akira tilted his head in question
Akechi swiveled his head around to look for anyone who look like they heard that voice. No one.
“It shall become the wings of rebellion that breaketh thy chain of captivity.”
Akechi froze. The voice boomed again, inescapable and deep, like the sound was resonating from inside him rather than coming from external noise. His eyes darted around the room looking for something, anything that proved his theory wrong, loose speakers or microphones but nothing– just bored staff scrolling on their phones or other Shujin students giggling as they pulled at loose wires or nudged at towering film equipment.
“Are you telling me you didn’t hear that either?” He turned back to Akira, who he swore was smiling at him now. He’s this close to punching him. Think about Shido’s expression after his plan goes through, the way he’s going to rip the bandaid so violently Shido’s going to be begging for mercy after finding out the person who helped him climb the political ladder was actually his illegitimate child–
“Are you sure you’re getting enough sleep, Akechi?”
He wasn’t, but that was beside the point. Also, he does not want to hear from a guy who decided it was his role to reform society at the ripe age of seventeen with his little posse of other high schoolers about managing his time, but unfortunately, he could not say that to his face. Open mouth, insert foot.
Before he could fire back a heavily concealed but likely scathing comment on Akira’s own life choices, the ominous voice stirred again, but instead of just being an unsettling presence this time, a card had materialised out of thin air right in front of his face, hovering like it was suspended in thick honey, floating around tauntingly.
“With the birth of the Fool Persona, I have obtained the winds of blessing that shall lead to freedom and new power.”
The card, which seemed to have a poorly drawn figure of a man carrying a bindle and what looked like was a rabid dog at his feet, spun around before the loud striking of chains caused him to startle out of the trance, stumbling back slightly and reaching instinctively to his left thigh, which usually had a shackle in his metaverse outfit carrying his gun–not that it would help in this situation, but he was met with air. Of course it hadn’t there, he wasn’t in the metaverse. He was in another fucked up universe where cards materialise out of nowhere and spin in your face until you’re dizzy. Forgive him for being so dumb and ignorant.
“You’ve unlocked the Fool Confidant!”
Whatever it was that he’d unlocked, he wanted a refund. Or better yet–he wanted to return it altogether. He didn’t ask for this, and certainly didn’t want anything to do with that cryptic voice that had apparently crawled out of his subconscious. Please, take it back.
Also– did it just call him a fool?
The card shimmered briefly in the light before fracturing into pieces, dissolving into dust. In an instant, everything around him returned to normal.
“–kechi? Hey.”
No eerie voice. No glowing tarot cards. Just the too-bright studio lights buzzing above.
Akechi blinked.
Okay. No. Absolutely not. That didn’t just happen. He was tired. Overworked, probably. Maybe someone slipped something into his coffee that he had an hour ago–though he couldn’t imagine who would dare. Maybe it was a stress-induced hallucination. Temporary. Manageable. Not a sign of a psychological break, obviously. Obviously.
Akira again, in front of him. He felt sweat collecting at his temples.
“What,” he managed through clenched teeth. He lifted his hands to fix his hair, an attempt to return to normalcy after whatever that was.
“You uh, you zoned out there.” Zoned out. That’s what we’re calling it now, huh. Akechi swallowed hard around the adrenaline pulsing through his veins.
“Ah, pardon my impoliteness,” he laughs, trying to sound relatively normal but falling short, voice cracking. “Looks like I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
Akechi felt a headache coming on.
“That’s understandable. Also, you dropped this.” Akira held up Akechi’s briefcase.
Akechi snatched it away quickly. “Thanks. Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” he conjured some lame excuse to get preferably as far away from Akira he can.
He swore he saw Akira smirk as he turned away.
——————————
The world came into focus slowly, like a bad dream crystalising just enough to feel real.
Blue. Everything was blue. Blue smoke curled up from the floor, thick and otherworldly, as if trying to swallow him whole in its glow. The walls, drenched in the same surreal shade of deep velvet, closed in with a dreamlike stillness.
Akechi squinted at the dull ceiling light, surroundings disorientated. He rubbed the base of his palm over his face in hope that if he rubbed hard enough he would return to the sombre, lull of sleep. It worked, he thought as he slowly dazed off until–
“Get up, inmate!” A loud metal banging sound rang.
Akechi’s eyes snapped open.
“ Oh my god .” He muttered, dragging his hand down his face in despair. “Not again.”