Chapter Text
[[the requisite time travel au; because everyone needs one at some point]]
Joker couldn't remember why he was coughing blood on the Velvet Room floor. He couldn't remember why it was raining blood outside. He couldn't remember why he was alone, if that somehow involved blood too. He couldn't remember—
Couldn't pinpoint what he didn't remember, because he knew who he was, where he'd come from, almost-almost-almost what he'd been doing, only it was in fragments now, jittered apart by a haze of black and the unearthly grind of something never meant to be seen-heard-felt by human senses.
Everything tasted like copper. It was distracting.
"Dear me... this is a mess," said a voice above him—masculine, yet high and musical and gentle. Familiar, but only slightly. Newly met. "Perhaps it's time for another try."
And Akira woke up.
Traveling back in time was... weird.
Not the kind of weird Akira thought it would be, either.
It was weird because now he didn't see Sojiro's hostility as hostility at all, because he knew now that his guardian only doled out verbal abuse like this when he was stressed and fearful. It was weird because Akira couldn't ply the man with coffee and patience until he started talking about what was wrong, because... Sojiro didn't know him. It wouldn't matter how many cups of coffee he set in Sojiro's hands or how many hours he waited—Sojiro had no reason to trust him and, ergo, wouldn't say jack.
It was almost as weird to hear Kawakami talking in sighs, dull-eyed and exhausted. To know that he couldn't invite her to the museum or the beach and walk around with her until she perked up again, that the Takases were still making her life hell.
He expected it to hurt when they didn't recognize him, but mostly he just felt a little displaced over being unable to help
It was weird in other ways, too; he didn't remember the details he thought he was supposed to remember, then swam through whole conversations drowning in deja vu. He kept waiting for Morgana's input and meeting with silence. Phantom impressions that he should be lost and confused and exhausted met with the undeniable reality that he knew Yongen-Jaya better than the back of his hand.
Disconcerting.
Going back in time was... disconcerting.
He should probably be thinking about changing things, what he was going to change, what he needed to keep track of to change those things, the people he'd need to meet to change those things, how his year would best be spent now that he had a second chance—
Akira's first act was to clean his attic, and his second was to download a Pac-Man app on his phone and play it until he passed out.
He remembered to bring an umbrella on his first day of school.
It stayed in the bottom of his bag as he slowed to a stop in the middle of the shopping district, the flow of Shujin students around him scattering and surging at the sudden downpour.
The shop beside him was a boutique with a bright red awning, and it was... important.
Why was it important?
He was drowning in deja vu again, and he couldn't make himself move on. His hair was starting to soak through—the shoulders of his uniform and the top of his bag, too, but he couldn't make himself move from the spot, couldn't make himself take out his umbrella and keep walking, couldn't...
"Hey, is everything okay?" said Ann from somewhere behind him. "You're getting wet."
And reality snapped back into place.
"Just admiring the selection," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and greeting her with a half smile.
She looked cute with her hood up like that.
"I... think you can admire it from up closer," she said dryly as she stepped up under the awning herself. She faltered in the middle of pushing the hood back. "I mean... I think you can. There are no rules or anything against it, right?"
"That would be pretty weird," Akira replied, and followed her into the tiny sanctuary, looking at (admiring, if anyone asked) the posed mannequins. For the first time in the past few days, he started to register the air in his lungs again.
"Yeah, right?" She swatted at the water drops sitting on her clothing and fluffed her pigtails. "I mean, why else would they have window displays? They're obviously looking for window shoppers."
"I think they're looking for actual shoppers," he put in, partially fighting the partial smile on his face.
It was... a relief. A relief to know that Ann would always be Ann.
She looked at him like he'd said something noteworthy (or something about cake), then speculatively at the display, then back at him, and squinted.
He tilted his head in question.
"You've, uh, got a little..." She reached out, brushing and then tugging at a lock of his dripping hair. When she pulled her hand back, she had a sakura petal in her fingers.
Akira belatedly remembered to keep breathing.
"They're so pretty, and then they make such a mess," she sighed, twirling it in her fingers. "That's spring, huh?"
He hummed assent, turning back to the mannequins.
"Oh! I don't think I've seen you around—"
The sound of a car pulling up to the curb plunged the scene back into something surreal, the crystal clear flash-frame memory of the look on Ann's face as Kamoshida rolled up the car window flickering in Akira's vision for a split-second.
"Good morning!" said the man in the car, a barely remembered voice that was still deeply discomfiting. "You kids want a ride? You're going to be late."
Ann inhaled to answer, but Akira cut her off with, "We're okay, Sensei. We were just about to start walking."
Ann shot him a sharp look.
Kamoshida just raised his eyebrows, smile not budging an inch. "In this weather? You're gonna be soaked and late at this rate."
"It'll be refreshing," Akira assured him.
Ann's look got a little sharper.
"Well, alright," Kamoshida allowed, then turned to Ann. "And the little lady?"
(Theoretically Akira could hit the bastard in the face with his school bag. Theoretically. He'd definitely go to Juvie, and it would... probably not be worth it, but Akira definitely had a school bag and Kamoshida definitely had a face, so it was theoretically possible.)
Ann faltered, caught off guard. "Oh, uh... I..."
Akira turned to face Kamoshida with his most affable front. "She wanted to walk too."
Ann was looking at him with a very strange look indeed. "I..."
"So we're good," he cut her off again—before she could say anything that might result in her getting in that car. "Thanks for worrying about us, Sensei."
Kamoshida blinked bemusedly. "Of course. It's just what any good teacher would do."
Akira smiled. "Shujin doesn't deserve you."
"...'Course it does; it's a fantastic school," Kamoshida said, his own smile stilted and startled. "By the way, have I seen you...?"
"We should get moving," Akira said, overriding the end of the question before Kamoshida could force him come up with a convincing lie. He didn't quite clap Ann on the shoulder and drag her along, but the idea was there. "It was nice speaking with you, Sensei."
ann demands to know what's akiren's deal (with him being to bizarre about everything) akiren, deadpan: i'm from the future
ann: ...
akiren: ...
ann: ...
akiren: ...
ann: ...oh huh. that makes sense.
akiren: ...what
ann: it's to avert some, like, horrible catastrophe isn't it?
akiren: uhhhhhhhhh
ann: and we were friends in your timeline, weren't we?
akiren: .....how did you...?
ann: i was wondering why it was so easy to talk to you. :D
akiren: *outwardly mildly surprised, internally blushing to death*
- joker tells his teammates that they need to take down someone else first before kamoshida; joker drafts haru
- haru is greatly saddened by her father's palace; they take it down
- next up is sae; "To Sae Niijima, you have forgotten the principal of justice. For the sin of jealousy we shall steal your heart. Please, remember what it is you stand for. We can't do this alone." ann is getting impatient, so joker agrees to take down kamoshida next, so long as they do it subtly
- a few weeks later, akira comes down the stairs to find goro and sae scowling in one of the booths of leblanc, sojiro talks about the PTs and wonders what the everloving fuck they think they're doing to sae and goro's irate commentary; the next PT card is 'if y'all hate us so much then do ur fuckin JOBS'
- they meet yusuke and akira invites him for coffee; the PTs are running out of known targets, so akira tracks down futaba's online presence to commission her for info.
- sae and goro are distinctly more sleep deprived and desperate, but akira is proud of their progress; ann is the one who puts two&two together to get 'time traveler' ("i dunno. it's just... it almost seems like you've done all this before."); futaba shyly asks for the PTs help with changing her heart.
- sad convos with shadow futaba about her mother's research a promise to make the culprits pay; the mental shutdowns are reduced drastically because goro has a lot less time on his hands, but madarame is taken out by shido's paranoia—sojiro offers yusuke emotional support
- makoto is drafted into the PTs by accident via accidentally following them into the metaverse and facing down the PT-fueled realization that she wants to fight for Justice; facepalms at their little black book and suggests dragging yusuke into it too
- yoshida other relatively non-corrupt politicians are elected as a diet member, police accuracy is at an all-time high, sae and goro are Bitter but reluctantly resigned; the PTs have fun plans at destinyland
"Okay," Ann surmised as she turned her back on the glowy, floaty 'Treasure' cloud thing. "So we send the calling card, this turns into... something we can steal, and when we do, Kamoshida will have a 'change of heart'?"
"Exactly right, Lady Ann," Morgana praised. It would have been more reassuring if he hadn't followed it up with a quiet, I think, but Ann appreciated the attempt all the same.
"Wait," said Joker. It was maybe the fifth thing she'd heard him say in the four days she'd known him. It wasn't really a bad thing, but she'd met rocks that talked more than Shujin's newest transfer student. It was a pity; he had a really nice voice.
"What's up?" Ryuji wondered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Joker had one knuckle pressed to his bottom lip, a distant look in his eye. "...How will Kamoshida know that it's not just some weird prank?" At the rest of the team's blank stares, he elaborated, "What are we going to do, tell him we're going to 'steal his distorted desires'?"
It sounded like a rhetorical question, but Ann guiltily realized that that was exactly what she'd planned to do. From Ryuji and Morgana's silence, she gathered that they had as well.
"How would anyone take that seriously?" Again, it was rhetorical, and again, Ann found it hitting a little too close to home.
"Then... what should we do instead?" she asked, really asked, feeling small and out of her depth. It was a familiar feeling.
"...Give him a reason to take it seriously," said Joker decisively.
(Too decisively.
Everything about Joker felt a little too decisive, a little too deliberate. It didn't feel dangerous, but...
He reminded her of her math textbook, really.
2 2 x = 4 x
So what was 'x'?
She didn't know, but... Shiho. Shiho and what that bastard had done to her. Algebra could wait.)
"Oh-kay?" said Ryuji. "And how do we do that?"
Joker didn't answer immediately, stilled in thought. "...Let's give ourselves a rep."
"A... rep?" Ann echoed. She felt like she was starting to catch on, even if she didn't know quite to what yet.
Joker nodded slowly, then stuffed his hand in his pocket and straightened. "We should test it out somewhere else anyway. We're not sure what will happen, right?" His eyes flitted away, the corners of his mouth flattening and twisting. "...I'd rather not kill a teacher on my first week of probation."
That carried the implication that he wouldn't mind killing someone if they weren't a teacher, but... Ann couldn't say that she didn't get it. Maybe she was ready to make Kamoshida pay, even if it meant murder, but two students with bad reputations threatened with expulsion and the best friend of a girl who recently tried to commit suicide... they'd be the top suspects.
If she had to be a murderer, she'd prefer to be able to get away with it.
- "you have kind of a hero complex, don't you?"
- people have to want to be saved before you can save them
- "the most dangerous thing about you is that you make people want to impress you"
- one guy with supernatural powers can't save a population, but he can show a population that they can be saved
- give someone something to fight for
- "the game this time... is to reach out to someone. make a friend today." "wow that's sappy."
- incite rebellion by inspiring the masses to love themselves and each other
- thats true power of love
It was raining.
Akira Kurusu stared at the grey sky with a resounding feeling of deja vu.
The deja vu itself was kind of unnerving, actually. This wasn't the first time he'd lived through April 11th, 20XX, so shouldn't he have fully remembered it would be a rainy day? This foggy half-impression of having forgotten his umbrella once upon a time wasn't exactly going to help him navigate the past-future.
He continued to stare for a few seconds, then realized his brand new school books were going to wet, and scooted over to a nearby awning.
Going back in time was... weird. It was weird to hear Sojiro grumble as viciously and extensively as he was. It was weird to see the exhaustion Ms. Kawakami used to wear like a badly-fitted french maid dress. It was weird to walk around without Morgana as a constant presence at his side, his school bag too light and the whole world too quiet without Morgana to fill them both.
But Akira knew the objective of Yaldabaoth's game now. He knew now that it wasn't his own rehabilitation he was striving for, but humanity's. That changed some things.
Namely, the purpose of the Phantom Thieves.
The Phantom Thieves now needed to inspire the masses to embrace freedom of thought and choice. Which they would do by... well.
Akira was still working on that part.
The only thing he was quite sure of was that he didn't want to establish the Phantom Thieves' name on Kamoshida. Having all those eyes on Shujin had been seriously inconvenient.
That said, something needed to be done about Kamoshida, and fast. Preferably before Shiho jumped off the roof of the practice building, not after.
When had that happened again? He knew it was early on, but the exact date had been lost in the haze of moving and switching schools and trying to deal with sheer density of Tokyo.
Dammit.
How long did he have? A week? Two? He wished he knew.
Taking a deep breath, he realized he'd been gripping the straps of his bag so hard his hands hurt, and forced them to relax. There was nothing for it except to take on the Palace as soon as he could, really.
Someone had joined him under the awning while he was lost in thought.
Familiar long, shapely, red-clad legs. Familiar letterman jacket with the lucky clover patch. Akira couldn't remember the last time he's seen that hood pulled up, but—
No, he could remember the last time perfectly. It was the exact scene playing out in front of him—rainy day, petrichor and cement, the person beside him pushing back their soaked hood, all the breath slowly leaving his lungs and forgetting to inhale again because oh, she was stunning.
Akira blinked. He'd forgotten that, too.
(He wondered, fleetingly, when that distant, awestruck admiration had transformed into the warm, near-familial affection and 'til-death-do-us-part trust he felt now. Somewhere between the bad first impressions and the first time she'd jumped in front of a fatal hit that had been meant for him and he hadn't been able to stop shaking for an hour afterwards, but when?)
Ann noticed him staring and smiled, and Akira remembered how his blood pressure had just dropped, transfixed by the blue of her eyes, the curve of her lips.
She wasn't any less gorgeous this time around, but the lack of recognition in those blue eyes ached.
She looked back out at the rain without a word, and he followed her gaze, already missing her happy chatter.
Something had happened after this. Something that had been important in hindsight. Something that had made her hiss—
A car pulled to a stop in front of their awning, and rolled down its window. Kamoshida.
"Good morning," he said, pleasantly enough, but Akira heard the words as if from underwater. "You want me to give you a ride to school? You're gonna be late."
The words were directed at Ann, who smiled a smile that he'd thought was friendly before, but now looked remote and polite. "Um, sure. Thank you."
Kamoshida turned to Akira with the same pleasant smile. "Do you need a lift, too?" he asked, utterly, horribly, skin-crawlingly normal. Just a good teacher looking out for his students.
Akira thought about the harem of topless female volleyball players in his Palace and felt sick.
Ann had already pulled open the door of the passenger seat, so the only real answer Akira would give was, "...Yeah, thank you."
He wasn't going to let her walk into that alone.
She flashed him a quick, grateful look as Kamoshida said, "Take a seat, then."
Only feeling a little bit like he'd swallowed a box of rocks, Akira took a seat.
He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting (threats? sleaze? a mysterious transformation into Asmodeus as soon as they were alone with him?) but small talk wasn't it.
"So? How'd the gig go?"
"It went well," said Ann, stilted and formal. "The director said he'd ask for me again with the new line."
Kamoshida laughed. "I'm not surprised. I bet you knocked them all out."
"I don't know about that..." Ann demurred, only expressive enough so as not to give offense, but so flat and dead that it was almost worse than Kamoshida's insistence on normalcy.
"Now, now, don't be so modest!" He looked at Akira in the rearview mirror. "And who is this? A friend of yours?"
Akira wondered if he was just imagining the edge in his voice.
"Just met him, actually," she murmured, then squirmed around in her seat so she could look at him. There was something like a spark back in her eyes, Akira noted in relief. "Hey! I'm Ann Takamaki. Sorry for not introducing myself earlier."
"No problem." He fiddled with a lock of his bangs, tweaking the curl at the end. "I'm Akira Kurusu. Nice to meet you."
"Oh, the new transfer student?" said Kamoshida. The maybe-edge in his voice had disappeared, replaced by a smooth smugness that was worse. He knew he had the upper hand now. "I'm your new P.E. teacher, Suguru Kamoshida."
"Nice to meet you," Akira repeated, attempting to not sound cold. It was... difficult.
"Bet you're wondering about our conversation, huh?" Kamoshida continued jovially, breezing past it. "My girl here is a model—and a pretty good one, too."
Akira wondered if, once upon a time, he might have interpreted the approval and possessive wording as paternal. The thought didn't help settle his stomach at all.
"A model, huh?" He offered Ann a smile of his own, and was rewarded with another grateful look, though this one was hedged with much more discomfort than the last. "That's pretty cool. How did you get into it?"
"Oh, it was luck, basically,"
...In hindsight, Akira probably should have hit the whole team with one of those Somas before trying to take on the Apocalyptic Guide.
"It appears that you have died, Trickster."
The girl crouching beside him had two gold eyes in the same face and no eye-patches. She didn't wear any sort of hat, and the butterfly ornaments in her blonde hair almost looked like something that Ann would wear. There was a startling lack of pity-disgust-derision in her face.
This was definitely not like his other posthumous visits to the Velvet Room.
"F-funny how that w-... -orks..."
Unfortunately, it was still the same in other ways. Crushed ribs kept in stasis while they decided how to deal with his lost life never got any less painful.
The girl—Lavenza—smiled. "Quite so."
She looked like she could be Caroline and Justine's older sister, he noted inanely. He wondered what would have happened if she'd been split in quarters. Did her evilness increase the more it was split? Would there have been four monstrous little toddlers crawling all over the Velvet Room? God, that would be horrifying.
But wait. She only had two eyes. How would they split them among the four of them?
Those two eyes blinked at him, bemused. "Trickster? Have you business with me?"
"...You only have two eyes," he informed her after a moment of thought. He couldn't really feel any of his extremities and he was pretty sure his brain was just refusing to register the mess that was his chest cavity, but this new Velvet Room attendant had two eyes, and that was kinda weird.
"And you appear to be suffering from blood loss."
"Sounds about right," he agreed. He was dead, after all.
For some reason, this made her giggle. "Ah, now I remember why they loved you as they did."
Of all the words he would have used to describe his relationship to Caroline and Justine, 'love' wouldn't have made the top thirty. Maybe a bit lower, like thirty-seven or forty-two, in that strange way you grew close to the people you worked with for several months, but much closer to the top were 'disparaged' and 'mocked', honestly.
Akira thought of Caroline and her chainsaw, and suppressed a shiver.
"Does our love disturb you so, Trickster?" she asked, like she was honestly curious and really didn't remember the various verbal abuses they'd been heaping on him since day one.
'Disturbed' wasn't exactly the word he'd choose here, either. 'Disbelieving' worked much better.
"No, I'm flattered," was what he said aloud, though. He couldn't turn his head or move his face too much, but at least his voice was getting stronger. "You have a cute smile."
'Love' or no, she startled and flushed rather satisfyingly, then relaxed after a second with a sigh. "Ah, yes," she said ruefully. "You were like this, too."
"Hm."
(It was fun. A big city where no one knew him and nothing left to lose—no one cared if he stared out the window for every class or flirted with every girl that gave him an opening. The teachers sighed at him, then blinked at his test results, and the girls blushed or squeaked or giggled or all of the above, and it felt... good.)
He knew he should've hit the team with a Soma before they took on that last Heavenly Avenger.
"It appears that you have died, Trickster."
The haunting tune that permeated the Velvet Room was a familiar one, but the face that hovered above his was not—still pale and blonde and golden-eyed, but older and sweeter and... regal, somehow.
"Imagine that," he grunted, breath punched. He wasn't sure what was wrong with his ribcage, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to know. It was hard to breathe, and he was going to leave it at that.
"A tragic fate indeed," singsonged the-Igor-who-was-not-fake, much too high, much too gentle, much too sympathetic. Compared to the old Igor's mockery and disdain, it felt fake. "Perhaps... it is time to try again."
Joker inhaled through his teeth until something pinched, and then he let the breath out in a shaky stream.
How many times had he done this, now? How many times had he 'tried again'? How many times had he lived and relived and relived his life one week at a time, struggling to jump whatever hurdle
He couldn't bring himself to answer, because he had to face it: one week wouldn't be enough.
They weren't prepared to face this, and there was no way they could be with only a week to work with. It wouldn't matter how many times he did this over, the result would be the same.
Igor may be generous with his chances, but the game was lost. The game was well and truly lost, no matter what he decided to do with the week leading up to this. He could live it a hundred times, and nothing would change.
When Akira Kurusu opened his eyes, he was on the train again.
It had been a while since that had happened last. In fact, he wasn't sure he could remember ever having woken up on the train. He usually didn't end up this far back.
That meant that the scenery around him was different—it was an off time and he was coming from out of the city, which left the carriage far less packed than most of the trains going in and out of Shibuya. There was a pair of schoolgirls by the door talking about the recent psychotic breakdowns. The ads plastered on the walls were different from what they'd been the last time he'd seen them.
He spent the rest of the ride reading the unfamiliar text, letting the words fill the space between his ears as the train rattled down the tracks.
Shibuya Crossing was as active as it always was, the confusing mishmash of people striding every which way.
Hectic.
Akira pulled out his phone for something to focus on, and then crossed.
The Metaverse Navigator was where it always was.
He ignored it.
Instead, he found a block breaking game in the app store. Watching the installation bar fill up was less exhausting and nauseating than watching the people, and peaceful besides.
There was a moment in the middle of the street when the red and black eye pulsed, the maelstrom around him slowing to a stop for a precious few seconds, and when he looked up, Arsene was there.
Back again, I see, was all the Persona said, and then vanished in a blaze of blue flame.
The world resumed. The Metaverse Navigator didn't interrupt again.
Akira's feet carried him from his next train to the door of Leblanc in the space of time it took him to beat six levels of the block-breaking game, and then he was forced to look up.
"...Oh, right," said Sojiro, trepidation buried under the surly scowl. "They did say that was today."
Customers left, Sojiro grumbling in their wake, and then, "So you're the guy?"
Which guy? Akira thought but didn't say. Nodding was easier.
"I'm Sojiro Sakura. You'll be in my custody over the next year." He looked at Akira, and Akira fought the urge to pull out his phone again. "I was wondering what kind of unruly kid would show up, but you're the one, huh?"
Sojiro not even recognizing him hurt more than he'd expected.
He managed not to pull out his phone as Sojiro kept talking and then led him up to his room—which was much more of a mess than he'd left it—and talked still some more.
He'd forgotten how many rough edges Sojiro had had when they first met. He remembered, vaguely, that he'd spent a while wondering why the man had even taken him in, but now... it was odd. He could see the defensiveness and fear behind Sojiro's bluster.
Akira thought of Futaba, of how vulnerable she was, and then of Sojiro's bared teeth, and finally gave into the temptation of his phone.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, kid."
Akira lined up his next shot, and lifted his finger to release it.
It was a perfect hit.
"Ugh," said Sojiro, but Akira could hear a note of worry underneath. "Look, your luggage is over there. We're going to Shujin tomorrow—you did hear me, right? I'm going back to the cafe. Don't cause trouble."
And then Akira was alone.
The room was a wreck, but the sheets were alright. It would be silly to sleep on a mattress when the sheets were right there, no matter how tempting it was.
He had enough patience to make sure the sheets covered the mattress (more or less) (at least there was enough space for him to lie down in), then decided that it was high time for a nap.
He was fractionally aware of Sojiro coming in to check on him through the haze of almost-sleep, but he didn't stay long. Akira was left to his dreams.
His dreams were of a familiar blue cell, the drip of water and the weight of chains. He didn't bother to get up.
"...Trickster," Justine said after a long moment of silence. "Rise for your master."
Akira sat up on the pallet. He wished he had his phone.
"Face your master, inmate!" said Caroline.
Fine, fine.
Akira stood up and dragged his feet over to the gate.
"Welcome to my Velvet Room," said Yaldabaoth with a small flourish around the prison.
It's not yours, Akira didn't say. He didn't say anything at all, really. Trying to talk to Yaldabaoth was like trying to break through a padded wall while wrapped up in a straight jacket.
Yaldabaoth carried out the introductions, purring over rehabilitation and ruin in all the most misleading ways possible, and Akira tried to tune that out as well. The spark of anger that was making its way through the numbness was as unwelcome as it was a relief.
If Yaldabaoth was perturbed by Akira's silence, he didn't show it. By the time he graciously opened up to questions, Akira had only one:
"Can I go back now?"
Yaldabaoth blinked, then waved a hand.
The sharp ringing of of an alarm haled the end of the meeting, and for that, Akira was only grateful.
And the game begins again.
When Akira awoke, it was to to the persistent chirping of his phone's alarm and the equally persistent chirping of birds on the telephone poles outside, the drag of exhaustion in every bone in his body.
He got ready for school and managed to consume a fraction of the curry set out for him, thanked Sojiro with a nod, and got into Sojiro's car without complaint.
Surprisingly, Sojiro was also low on complaints. He let Akira play the block breaking game in peace, and Akira had his first loss when they arrived at the principal's office and he had to put it away.
Kawakami didn't recognize him either, but that was less painful than Sojiro. It had taken a long time for them to see each other outside of class, much less become friends.
It was strange to see Principal Kobayakawa still alive.
Akira managed not to pull his phone out at any point during the meeting, bad faith and ill-hidden reluctance bouncing over his head like a ping pong match.
He hadn't understood why they were all so upset the first time around. He wasn't sure he understood now, but not many of the barbed comments were making it through the exhausted fog. They weren't Yaldaboth by any stretch of imagination.
The meeting lasted longer than he wanted it to—which wasn't long at all, but looking at them all and hearing them all and just being around them was a little overwhelming—and then he and Sojiro were leaving again.
Again, Sojiro was quiet on the way back, with only the sparsest of grumbling over the traffic (caused another subway accident) as Akira cleared another twenty two levels in the block breaking game.
"Hey, kid?" said Sojiro as they walked through the door of the cafe.
Akira looked up to show he was listening.
Sojiro pulled out his phone with a scowl. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but give me your number."
...Well, that was new.
Akira blinked, then nodded.
The data transfer took only seconds. Before putting his phone away, Sojiro paused.
"Look," he said, then sighed heavily. "I know I'm not the... friendliest guy around, but... call me if anything goes wrong, okay? Don't... don't do anything drastic."
...Drastic?
Sojito sighed again. "I don't want anyone dying on my watch. Not even you."
"Flattering," said Akira, voice crackling around the edges. It was the first time he'd spoken since he'd woken up on the train.
"So you do talk," Sojiro muttered, gruff. Then, at a normal speaking volume, "Don't call me over every little thing that goes wrong, alright? Just... when you need to. I am your guardian, after all."
Akira nodded again, almost baffled. What did Sojiro think was going to happen, anyway?
"Then I'm heading back—oh. Before I forget, I'm supposed to give you this."
He handed Akira the black diary. "I'm supposed to report back what you're doing with your time, so write in this for me, will you?"
Akira accepted it.
"Well, I'll lock up, so do whatever you want with the rest of the night. Later."
And with that, Akira was alone.
He didn't really have anything he wanted to do with the rest of the night, so he went upstairs and went to bed.
The public phone downstairs might have rung after he'd lied down, but he wasn't paying too much attention.
His cellphone chirping in his ear was much harder to ignore.
"Hey, I forgot to flip the sign when I was closing up shop. It's too much of a hassle for me to go back, so you flip the sign for me."
Akira grunted something that was probably an affirmative, hung up, and pushed himself out of bed, body aching in protest.
There was a moment of hesitation—or maybe five, or twenty, or fifty—where he wondered if it was really worth it, and whether Sojiro would notice if he just laid back down again, and then that second turned into a minute—or maybe a few more, he couldn't track them—and then, guilt tugging in his chest, exhaustion took over once again, and he lied back down.
Sleep didn't come as easily this time, the persistent nag of guilt too deep to settle around, but happen it did, eventually.
"Kid! Hey, kid! Akira!" made its way through the haze eventually. "It's morning, and it's on my head if you're late. Get up."
Akira got up.
He managed to eat more of the curry Sojiro set out for him that time, and then let his feet carry him to school.
He was on the main street leading up to the school when the rain started.
It took him a minute to react to the water splashing onto the screen of his phone (now on level 67 of the block breaking game), then another to locate and step into a shelter. He hadn't brought an umbrella.
It's on my head if you're late, Sojiro had said, but it wouldn't be a great idea to turn up soaked either, right?
Whatever.
Peripherally, he was aware that someone had joined him under the awning, and when he glanced to the side—
It was Ann.
Ann dusting beaded water off the sleeves her letterman jacket and Ann pushing down her soaked hood to peer out into the rain, all long eyelashes and full lips, immaculate blonde waves spilling over her shoulders and the toe of her shoe twisting against the cement.
Sometimes, it occurred to him all over again that Ann was absolutely gorgeous.
His stomach didn't swoop like it did the first time he'd seen her, all the breath stolen out of his lungs in sheer awe that someone like that could exist—it was a different, deeper kind of yearning now, one that made his pulse dip and his heart twist, the tug in his gut refusing to knuckle under the overwhelming apathy.
And then it occurred to him: she wouldn't remember him.
She was about to turn and look at him with out a trace of recognition.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
All he could do was watch as she glanced at him with electric, liquid, sky blue eyes and gave him a smile, a lilting giggle at his expression, and then turned away again with an almost sigh.
His phone was a much, much, much safer option after that.
Except.
Now the world was refusing to be ignored.
Water was tricking down his scalp as it made its way into his hair. The street was full of Shujin uniforms, splashing students whining about forgetting umbrellas and missing the bell. The air was wet and chilly and fresh in his lungs and it smelled of soaked asphalt. His clothes were damp and scratchy. The traffic rushed on, unhampered by the rain, the grey sky reflecting off the slicked streets.
Everything was color and noise and alive. He hated it.
He was hungry and heartsick, and Ann didn't have a clue who he was.
She always found a way to force him to come back down to earth, back into the moment—apparently that effect extended even beyond her soothing chatter and easy companionship.
He screwed up his next shot in the block breaking game, distracted by a groan of a passing student.
Damn it.
A car pulled up to the curb in front them (white, good condition, a newer model) and rolled down the window.
It was Kamoshida.
There was the spark of sickening fury Akira had been missing.
"Good morning," the older man said affably, open and friendly and thoroughly punchable. "You want me to give you a ride to school? You're going to be late."
"Um, sure," said Ann with a polite smile, trying not to show her discomfort. If Akira hadn't known what Ann was like when she was actually comfortable, he would have bought it. "Thank you."
His stomach curled.
Kamoshida looked to Akira. "Do you need a lift too?"
Charismatic coach, generous teacher, admirable leader—a predator and a rapist, and Ann was getting into his car.
The thought of her being alone with... that...
Akira swallowed down the bile and nodded.
The rain splattered against his face as he walked, puddles splashing around his school-issue shoes. The inside of the car was clean and fresh, not quite new but definitely not old, and Akira felt a little dirty for sliding into the back seat.
He was just reaching for the seat belt when Ryuji came charging.
"Hey, give me a ride too," he wheezed to the front seats, just this side of abrasive. "I'm gonna be late."
"Rare for you to care about attendance—and weren't you on the track team? Aren't your own two legs enough?"
Akira moved to the seat behind Kamoshida to give Ryuji room to sit while the two in question traded pointed words. Ann was turned away from him, facing Ryuji, and it... ached to look at her.
At either of them, but especially at her.
Akira pulled out his phone and booted up the block breaking game.
Eventually Ryuji and Kamoshida reached an understanding of sorts, and Ryuji collapsed into the space next to Akira with a massive sigh, jostling both seat and car.
Kamoshida continued to needle him during the short trip, his voice stoking the little blaze of rage in Akira's chest higher and higher, but Ryuji kept his attention off of Ann, and with both him and Akira there as buffer, nothing untoward happened to her.
He only glanced up from his phone once—the car had jostled as it came to a stop for a red light—and found Ann watching him in the rearview mirror, concern creasing around her eyes.
He tried to give her a smile, failed spectacularly, and hurriedly went back to lining his next shot in the game.
The shattering blocks felt a little too much like a metaphor for comfort.
Kamoshida let them out at the corner of the gates.
The rain had let up enough that they weren't immediately soaked, but Akira was still forced to put away his phone again before the water shorted it out.
Both Ann and Ryuji said their thanks—a sentiment Akira couldn't find in himself to echo, but managed a fairly civil nod instead—and all three of them got to the gates before the bell rang.
Ann slowed down and fell in step beside him.
"Hey... um. Are you okay?"
No, not really.
He hummed, slightly more agreeing than noncommittal. "Why?"
There was a frown on her face, worry clear in her eyes, but all she said was, "No reason. You just look a little..." She shook her head. "Never mind. Not my business. Have a nice day!"
Not her business, huh.
He raised his hand in farewell, then finally pulled his phone out again as his feet carried him to the faculty office.
Kawakami still didn't recognize him. It stung more this time around.
She introduced him to the class all the same, a tumble of whispers rolling around the room when it became apparent he had nothing to say, and then directed him to the seat behind Ann's.
The look she gave him as he passed was indecipherable, and he wasn't sure he'd like the results if he tried deciphering it.
Damn Kamoshida for having those rumors spread.
He managed not to pull out his phone during class; the material was new, for once, if basic. He even managed to mostly ignore the escaped hairs feathering over Ann's nape, the lucky clover on her hood, the faint rattle of graphite as she tapped her pencil against her lip.
She didn't turn around to chat with him during lunch.
He spent it breaking blocks instead.
He'd just beaten level 113 when Kawakami came back into the room.
"Oh, right!" she said, glancing at the papers on her podium. "The volleyball rally's in two days... Everyone's just changed classes, so make sure you use that time to get to know each other."
Again, the material introduced was new to him, and he spent the second half of the school day almost actually learning something.
And then school was out.
He took his time packing up his books then dragged his feet through the crowd in the halls. Drifting to the back of the rush was easy enough, and he ended up on the street with only the last of the stragglers dispersing behind him.
Momentum carried him into Ryuji's shortcut, around the bend, under the dripping eaves and through the pipes—he stopped when he was sure he was thoroughly out of sight, then took out his phone.
For the first time since he'd woken up on the train, he tapped the Metaverse Navigator app.
"Suguru Kamoshida, lust, castle."
And the world warped.
The old entrance had a grate wedged into it again, and there was no way to get enough leverage to force it in from the outside, so Joker was forced to use the front door.
There wasn't much cover in the front room, but he managed to ambush the Shadows on patrol with a few carefully timed dodges.
It was odd to only have Arsene in his head, but he made do. Dodging the Shadows' attacks was easier than he remembered. Less painful when they landed a hit, too. It didn't require thinking, and that suited him just fine. Disintegrating shadows wasn't breaking blocks—it was infinitely more satisfying.
He'd canvassed the whole ground floor when he remembered there was a basement dungeon. It was surprising how little time he'd spent in there his first time around.
Maybe there was treasure down there. Maybe this would be an opportunity to explore somewhere new. Newish.
He found the stairs and started descending.
For some reason, he'd also forgotten that there were cognitive volleyball team members down here. Their screams were... unpleasant. Not uncomfortable, exactly, just... unpleasant.
The shadows down there went down even easier than the ones upstairs. There was no treasure in the cells he checked.
Actually seeing the abuses Kamoshida was heaping on his team in his head was kind of sickening, but Joker kept going. Cognitive beings. They'd be gone soon enough.
He was just about done with all the places he could reach down there when someone... noticed him.
"Hey, hey! Magician guy!"
...Morgana?
"You're not a soldier of this castle, right?!" The not-cat stared up at him with big, pleading eyes. "Get me out of here!"
Joker felt like he'd missed a step.
Morgana was down here. He'd almost passed over the whole basement and Morgana—
"Look," said one of Joker's oldest and closest friends. "The key's right there!"
Right. The key.
Slightly nauseous, Joker fetched the key and opened the cell, heavy iron grating as he turned the lock.