... In which I, after choosing the truth, must re-evaluate my priorities and decide whether to reconfirm my confession and pursue a future with Akechi—especially since it's a future I still can't bring him to believe in.

******************************************

After a moment of deafening silence, Akechi speaks first. "Come on," he says quietly, turning away. "Let's go somewhere we can actually talk. Because we have to talk."

If he hadn't gripped me by the arm and steadied me, I don't think I would've been able to take a single step. But the way he holds me, firmly, reassuringly, does wonders for my weak legs.

When we come across the entrance to the bathhouse, he halts for a moment, then dips inside. I don't know where he's leading me but he doesn't let go of my arm and I have no intention of making him.

Seconds later, we end up in the adjourning laundry. "Well then." Akechi halts, turns back, and finally lets me go. "Let's try to sort through this situation."

His expression is collected, more so than I hoped it would be after everything that just happened. I stuff my hands into my pockets, trying my hardest to gather the broken shards of my mind and form coherent thoughts. I don't want to think through anything right now, if I'm being honest. I want to curl up in the corner and cry. But . . . I look up at Akechi and try not to feel the stab that comes with seeing his relentlessly stoic face. Like none of what happened this morning meant anything! Like it didn't . . .

Then it hits me—so hard that I feel sick. He is composed, prepared because . . . he knew all along. I stare at him, trying to process it . . . Between the two of us, I was the only one who tried to cling to . . . whatever mirage this was. He knew, and . . . if he hadn't known, hadn't ignored my pleas to stop trying, I would still have it all—for who knows how long?

The thought sends an emotion I can't name down my spine, along with a chill. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my voice.

> ". . . For how long did you know?"

". . . What made you realize?"

"From the very beginning?" Akechi frowns. "At least . . . I think. I don't actually remember what the "beginning" was, but . . . since this morning?"

He responds to my shocked expression with a look of frustration. So he really did know all along, I think, feeling another surge of that horrible pain. From the moment I woke up in his arms . . . I make an effort not to cling to the blissful memory or dwell on how it felt when he held me, carried me, and spoke to me in that almost carefree, playful voice that made me long for it to be like this the next and every morning. But . . . I bite down on my lip until it hurts. There wouldn't be a next morning with him. There would be . . . Would there be anything at all?

"There was a discrepancy between what I was seeing and what I thought I remembered," Akechi continues. "I remember turning myself in to the police on Christmas Eve. Your memory of this is now in tact, correct?"

The recollection sinks into me, carrying emotions and . . . wishes that I had. Wishes that almost came true today. But I don't cling to them either, because if I do, I'll lose the last bits of composure I have left. So, all I do is nod.

"So it did happen," Akechi says. "Only not in that . . . timeline? It made no sense, less and less the more I thought about it, about myself. It took a bit of reasoning and truthfulness, but ultimately, not much was needed to expose everything that surrounded me as the lie it was. That's the long and short of it."

His intense look digs into me, and his low voice sends a shiver down my spine—not in terror, but in awe. He accomplished on his own what took me an entire morning and what I wouldn't have been able to do at all without his help.

The thought that it could be because he didn't enjoy it as much as I did perks up, but I suppress it. I picture the way he looked at me, which has burned itself into my mind—the almost tender look right after we woke up. His smile His . . . ruffling my hair. If he already knew, by that point . . . I look up and try in vain to see any sign of that tenderness in his hard eyes . . . Why did he do that?

For the first time since it all shattered, I feel a faint glimmer of hope. I could ask . . . I inhale in preparation, but then I don't quite dare. No matter how much I hate it, now that everything is back to normal, every inhibition I ever felt is back too, gnawing at me and whispering that it will never be as I wish it were between us. No matter if he . . .

He is here at all, I suddenly make myself aware. That thought should affect me more. Not so long ago, I thought he was dead.

Unabashedly, I stare, mesmerized by the faint white clouds that appear with every breath he takes. Suddenly, my head spins with the realization that he is actually here. That, no matter what else happened, he's . . . breathing, alive, and here . . . with me.

Shame forms in the pit of my stomach for being selfish, ungrateful, and wanting more instead of thanking every higher force imaginable that he is alive.

But with every memory that trickles back into my mind, there are new feelings. New desires. The desire to yell at him. To cry. To walk up and wrap my arms around him until he understands my feelings. To scream in his ear all the things I wanted to say on Christmas Eve: that it's not okay to make people think you're dead for that long. That we could have used his help. That we . . . that I missed him, and that I have no words for how I feel when I look at him.

But I don't do any of it. I stand there, with my hands in my pockets, and try to convince myself that the reason he found it so unpleasant to live in that . . . mirage was not that he doesn't want me. But . . . what other reason could there even be?

Before I can overthink it, I force my conflicting desires down. Now isn't the time to indulge in them. At least, can there be no more walls? No obstacles? I grit my teeth; oh, how tired I am of those.

"If you were going to ask how it is possible for me to be here instead of in custody, I have no memory of it," Akechi says next and I listen up. "That was the very oddity that stuck out to me so much that I couldn't overlook it. It's like whoever orchestrated this . . . mad Wonderland couldn't make up their mind about where I should be and forgot to craft a believable backstory for switching my places. Then again . . ." He turns away from me, crossing his arms. "It is possible that I wasn't even supposed to remember turning myself in. It was more of a . . . hazy, dream-like impression than a memory. But it still felt more real than anything else that morning."

I can't tell why the words sting as much as they do. Then again . . . maybe I can, because there it is, yet again: the dismissal of what happened between us this morning. No matter how real or not it was.

"The odd nature of my, er . . . appearance here aside . . ." Akechi shrugs and turns back to me. "What can we even make of a world in which your cat has turned into a human and Wakaba Isshiki has been . . . brought back to life?"

It is only when he says her name and how he says it that I remember Wakaba Isshiki . . . was a mental shutdown victim. I swallow, yet before I can dwell on the implications of that, Akechi continues: "Anyway . . . I'm going to uncover what is happening, no matter what. And now that you're in your right frame of mind again . . ." He uncrosses his arms and tilts his head, looking at me like he knows exactly how much has been left unsaid between us. "What say you join me? Our chances'd be better if we teamed up, no?"

The first thing I feel upon hearing those words is relief. No matter how nonchalant he's acting, he isn't rejecting me. No, he . . . I look up, and—recalling the effort he went through to snap me out of whatever mirage I was in so that he could extend this offer—I finally muster a smile. Had he wanted to reject me . . . he wouldn't have bothered to do that. He'd have gone off on his own.

"If you're not comfortable with teaming up, I'd understand that," he says sourly, and I almost break into laughter.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

> ". . . It's a deal."

"You have no hidden agenda, at this point."

". . . It's a deal, indeed," Akechi replies after a silent moment. "How many has it been now?"

My smile brightens.

> "I like making deals with you."

"Too many to count."

"Oh?" For the first time since he snapped me out, a smirk appears on his face. "Is that so? I will keep that in mind then." Before I can question what he means, he continues, "In that case, we should recap what we do know. Can you tell me what happened after . . . parting ways with me in Shido's palace?"

You mean after we watched you sacrifice yourself for us? I think and wonder if he'll finally tell me his side of the story if I tell him mine. It doesn't take long to explain, not nearly as long as I thought: Shido's end, the public's lethargy, and finally Yaldabaoth and our battle for the world. It's not even that much when put into brief enough words.

Akechi listens without interrupting. ". . . I see," is all he says afterward. He takes a moment; his eyes wander the laundry seemingly aimlessly, but I see that he's mentally digesting and sorting through what he just heard.

"Though some abnormalities appeared immediately, the most glaring ones arrived after my appearance here . . ." he finally continues, and for a moment, I am confused. What does he mean that some appeared immediately? I try to think back if there was anything abnormal before today. Am I still missing any memories?

But he doesn't give me time to ask. "And all of the Phantom Thieves are living in this altered reality without even realizing it . . . including you until now," he says; his inquisitive stare is almost too intense to hold. "At least we proved that it is possible to snap out of it with enough incentive. That may come in handy later, although it'd take a lot of effort to do what I did with you for all of them separately. I wonder what determines the exact nature of the changes almost as much as how it is all possible . . ." he mumbles more to himself, drifting off.

I want to say I agree, but . . . the answer to that seems pretty obvious. Morgana's being human, Futaba's mom's being alive, and . . . Akechi's being . . . I swallow hard.

> "They're . . . wishes."

"It's everyone's desires . . ."

"Wishes?!" exclaims Akechi incredulously. Then he breaks off, seemingly considering. ". . . Wishes," he repeats quieter, shaking his head. "That would explain a dead mother's return. Did your cat wish to be human?"

I nod. I had actually forgotten that he wouldn't know that.

"I see . . ." Akechi makes a face. "Anyway . . . it's a good working theory, but it doesn't explain everything. We need to find out how this is happening, stat. If there's actually someone out there with the ability to actualize wishes into reality . . ."

I frown. What is it that this theory doesn't explain—? Before I can ask, I'm startled by my phone's ringing.

"Go ahead," Akechi says, and I hesitantly pull it out, spotting Kasumi on the caller ID.

"Senpai!? It's Yoshizawa!" she greets me as soon as I pick up. "I'm in Odaiba right now, and . . . uh . . ."

"Calm down."

> "What happened?"

"Um . . ." She hesitates, and the more closely I listen, the more panicked her voice grows. "I don't exactly understand what I'm seeing, but I'm just going to describe it. It's that building . . . It's really faint, but I can see that 'Palace' thing that Morgana-senpai mentioned a while ago!"

I tighten my grip on the phone, trying to believe what I'm hearing.

"Amamiya-senpai, I know this is sudden, but . . . could you come to Odaiba right away?"

I look at Akechi, who's watching me closely, and nod.

"I'll be on my way."

> "Wait for me there."

"I understand," says Kasumi. "I'll see you soon!" Then she hangs up, leaving me with a feeling of dread that is ten times as heavy as before. This isn't just some wishes being fulfilled via mysterious means, I think. Something beyond strange is going on, and for the first time, I wholly understand Akechi's insistence on investigating it.

"That was Yoshizawa-san's voice, wasn't it?" he remarks. "I believe I heard her mention the word 'Palace'?"

I take a deep breath and nod.

"She . . . spotted one."

> "Yes . . . This is so strange."

"Indeed. A Palace . . . despite not being in the Metaverse?" Akechi shakes his head. "She asked you to meet her, no? If you don't mind, I'll join you. We're all but guaranteed to find a clue there."

I nod enthusiastically. As if I'd let him slip away before I get the chance to ask all the questions that burn in my mind! It's not the time now, but . . . I search for him with my eyes and find him already by the laundry exit. Akechi is here, and he wants to stay. He wants to work . . . to stay with me.

I take a step toward him and the exit, then freeze when he turns back. For a moment, we hold each other's gaze silently, and I wonder if he is waiting for me to say anything else. Anything about . . .

". . . Stop that," he says unexpectedly, in a quiet voice. Strands of hair fall into his face, making it harder to read his expression. "If this is going to work, you have to stop that."

I frown, and Akechi makes an exasperated sound. "Stop looking at me like you miss the way things were in that . . . mirage. Like all of that was—" He cuts himself off, making a vague gesture with his hand. "—Like all of that was . . . your wish, or something."

Part of me wants to laugh. Instead, I make an exasperated sound back. Then I look at him with all the desire that I find in my heart for things to go back to the way they were in that mirage, at least between the two of us.

"What if it was?"

> ". . . Are you saying you don't miss it?"

"Maybe I can't . . ."

"I—!" Akechi whips his head around, away from me, and rakes his fingers through his hair. "That is not the—"

Moving in closer, I place my hand on his upper arm, and he flinches. Even with just this light touch, his closeness stirs an unnameable emotion in me. I feel the soft leather of his coat under my palm. It feels . . . it even smells warm. "You—!"

But it is the point, I think, and tighten my grip on the leather. It's always been the point. From the moment I told him my true feelings, it always was. And as I look up into his closed-off face, I tell myself that no matter how terrified I am, I need to know.

> "Say you don't want me, and I won't mention it again."

"Reject me, and I won't bring it up anymore."

Akechi stares down at me, lips slightly parted, with an expression that I could have studied for years but still not fully understood. The one thing that I do gather from his face is that he's . . . incapable of turning me down like that. The realization, as soon as it sinks in, makes my heart skip a couple beats. Does that mean—?

". . . Stop," he whispers into the silence. "Please. It's not going to—" He cuts himself off, and I may never know what he meant to say. It's not going to . . . end well? . . . work? . . . be the way you dreamed of it, in that mirage?

A silent moment passes, then Akechi audibly breathes out. I can see the cloud of warmth in the chilly air, and, just this once, he cannot fully conceal the tremble in his voice, no matter the sharpness of his tone. "I get that you'd say that in Shido's palace," he hisses. "But words spoken to someone who is about to die aren't going to be the same as words to someone who could . . . hold you to those words. Stop it or . . . someone might actually believe you were serious."

I don't retreat a single inch. I focus on his tightly shut expression, beyond which lies whatever emotions, whatever part of himself he's pushing down like he always does. Like I was hoping he wouldn't anymore. I clench my jaw, pondering how I had convinced myself that I made him believe me in the engine room, but . . .

I can't help it; I feel my frustration mounting. It wasn't enough yet to live in a . . . a what—a dream?—that was all about the two of us together? It wasn't enough to—

I jump when his arm jets out inches in front of my face, colliding with the opposing side of the door frame, then he reclines against the frame. ". . . Y'know, just because it worked in that mirage doesn't mean it'll work in reality," Akechi says, once again in a seemingly nonchalant voice, as though he read my mind. "Reality isn't perfect, Amamiya. It's ugly and messy and difficult, and there is no guarantee for anything. What is it that you really want? That, what it was in that mirage? Is that what you want? Because if so, you're delusional. I thought I was being clear about this: It's not real."

Part of me feels like he slapped me in the face. Not because of his merciless and cynical words . . . I eye him for a moment, realizing that he isn't concealing that part of himself anymore. Except now he is being defensive, and I don't know how to show him that he doesn't have to be.

It's not real. I let the words sink in and realize that the true reason they hurt is that he's right. I was yearning for the way things were in the mirage. And . . . I force myself to think it: that wasn't real.

I cast my eyes down. The first time I confessed to him was right before I thought he was going to die. I didn't actually have to deal with the aftermath of that confession because he was dead . . . or so we assumed. I even came so far as to force myself to accept that it was too late. The second time I confessed—even if indirectly—was when I . . . what? wished for? a dream world in which we could be together with no obstacles, no consequences, and no pasts to weigh us down or stand between us.

And now . . . I look up at Akechi, realizing that he's calling me out for it. What does he still want? A . . . confirmation? That I'm serious, committed? That what I want isn't perfection? That it's not a fantasy I'm chasing, that it's . . . him, the way he is in reality . . . despite everything we've been through, with every difficulty, obstacle, and drop of pain?

And whether that is his intention or not . . . it dawns on me that Akechi is right. Now that I know he isn't dead, now that he is back, I have to decide what it really is that I want and whether I've been chasing a delusion all this time . . . From the first moment when I thought I fell in love with him. Because, if I'm being honest, wasn't that what I was doing back then?

I stuff my hands into my pockets, unable to look him in the eyes. When I first fell in love, it was with a version of Goro Akechi that was specifically designed to appeal to others . . . including me. And although I'm convinced that it all was more genuine than he would likely admit, it still had much more in common with the life we had in that mirage than with reality. Because, in the end, it was something that . . . could never be that way.

The question is . . . I finally look up at him and, for the first time, actually process that the way he is now . . . is different from any way I've ever seen him. Or is it? I briefly recall a moment in Leblanc after our trip to the park that freaked me out so much that I didn't even want to acknowledge it.

Now, I have to suppress laughter, realizing that I've actually stopped being surprised about him showing me new sides of himself. Did I simply decide for myself that he would never stop surprising me . . . or is the way he is now not as different from everything I've seen from him so far after all? Or is it both?

Either way . . . my smile falls when I make myself aware that I have to decide: did I fall in love with him again, somewhere along the way? Did I . . . could I commit to him—to all of him? Here, now, without any lies?

My heart is beating at the back of my throat, and I swallow. I want to say I have thought my words through carefully, back in Shido's palace . . . and I should now.

> "I want this to be real."

". . . You're right."

". . . You—!" Akechi falters. For the first time, his collected front truly breaks, and I catch a glimpse of genuine . . . awe. The sight breaks my heart and fills me with giddy joy at the same time, because what I also see is . . . affection. More genuine than I've ever seen.

But Akechi gives me no time to process or read more of his expressions. Lightning-fast, he releases the door frame and whips around to me. Before I can so much as open my mouth, I am pushed against the wall. My breath hitches as I find him above me, holding me pinned between his arms. He hovers so close that the tips of his hair almost brush my forehead, wearing an expression that I cannot define. But there is so much genuine softness in his eyes that it takes my breath away. They're dark; in the sparse light of the washroom, they're almost black.

I stare up at him, utterly mesmerized, registering that his expression is finally something like that smile he gave me this morning, but more . . . desperate. And despite how I still vividly recall what it was like to hold him much closer than he is now, I swallow repeatedly. This isn't like that. Not that I'm . . . complaining or anything. On the contrary . . . I'm pretty sure my face is burning.

"You . . ." Akechi repeats and blinks. Once, twice . . . then he finally smiles. "Once again, I am astounded by how willing you seem to be to ignore what'd be best for you."

I take a deep breath to compose myself, then shrug. At first, I hope that he can't hear my hammering heart. Then I finally smile back at him, deciding that if so, I wouldn't really mind anymore.

"So, you're telling me . . ." His eyes close for a moment, and his grip on the wall tightens. "This fantasy that we indulged in for a little while is really worth trying to make come . . . true to you? Even with all the shit that happened between us? Because this is reality." The corner of his mouth twitches up. "There's no fairytale bliss here. Only the truth—all of it. The comforting, the agonizing, and in between. Is that what you want? It all? There can be no reservations."

I glare up at him, unable to deny that my heart doesn't still ache for the blissful fairytale. But at the same time, I understand that it's not what I really want. I have decided to love him despite . . . maybe even because of the difficulties we faced.

"I have no reservations."

> "I want you."

"As long as you're in it . . ."

"Horrible decision." His smirk falls. "You should have stayed in that mirage if to . . . be together is what you wanted. Because, in reality, there is no place for you and me. No time. No—" Akechi cuts himself off, and for once, his expression is unadulterated. I don't think he meant for that to be the case . . . For me to watch his heart break alongside mine in his eyes. "If you had thought this through better," he says quietly, voice drenched in resignation, "you'd know that there is nothing I can offer you besides more heartache."

I stare at him, trying to process that this really is what he believes. That, no matter what I say, he just can't bring himself to accept that I . . . or anyone could want him without reservations or conditions. It hurts, but it also fuels my desire to be the one to finally prove him wrong.

I grit my teeth and carefully place my hands on his chest.

"But what if . . . ?"

> "I already told you I won't stop believing."

"Believing . . ." He says the word like it's a curse. Like it's the sole source of all his problems. "Believing . . . in a what? In a "what if"?" Akechi casts his eyes down, and a silent second passes. "Fine," he finally says, looking up again. "If we're indulging in what if's—there is something I didn't do before I died."

I look up, yet before I can question anything, his hand is at the back of my neck; long fingers run through my hair . . . and close into a fist. Then, Akechi tilts my head up, leans down, and kisses me.

As soon as his lips meet mine, I am hit by a surge of heat. Before he can break the kiss, I manage to reach up and lock my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, deeper. My eyes shut. I breathe him, attempting to commit everything about this moment to memory.

Only in hindsight do I understand that this wasn't exactly what I had envisioned whenever I used to imagine kissing him. There is no passion, no relief in it; what I feel from him is cutting desire and . . . despair. He kisses me like a parched man tasting water—with a relentless urgency that quickly sparks a fire in my chest, making my fingertips tingle. Yet no matter how much I want to deny it, enjoy it to its fullest, there's also an unmistakable and ever-present touch of finality in this kiss. He is giving me what he knows I want, and . . . he is also silently telling me that it may never happen again.

But I don't want to think about that. I want to stand there for the rest of eternity—fingers entwined in his hair, cautiously venturing into the collar of his coat—savoring the feeling of his mouth on mine. I want to pretend the Palace, Kasumi, and the whole world don't exist.

But despite the overwhelming emotions I can practically taste on his lips, Akechi has more self-control than I do. His gloved thumb lingers on my cheek a moment after he breaks the kiss, and then I almost stumble into the dryer from how suddenly he is gone.

Akechi takes one step, then another. Then he turns back. I still can't fully read his expression, but there's something new in it besides the crushing melancholy—something . . . warm. It stirs an unprecedented but glorious ache in my chest.

"Yoshizawa-san's waiting, no? Let's go."

He's smiling, and I smile back, urgently fighting the tears that are suddenly rising in my eyes because I don't have any means of prolonging this moment. He's right . . . Kasumi is waiting, and there's a mystery out there we have to solve . . . even if I am currently preoccupied with something entirely unrelated.

I take a deep breath, fighting to regain my composure, then I join him by the exit and tuck the prickling, yearning emotion away, to save them for a better time. Because this isn't over. I let my breath go again, feeling a pang when he turns to walk ahead without offering me his arm like he used to.

Still, I decide for myself as I trail behind him—no matter how hard he may try to push me away, I won't let him, not ever again.