... In which Akechi defeats his distortions, transforming his lowest moment into a turning point, and seals his and my fate with a true Blood Oath. In doing so, he secures not only the downfall of his tormentor but seemingly, also his own.

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

I don't have the time to think or question as I see his body contort and twist backward, then be enveloped by scarlet flames that burst from beneath his feet. From the fire springs a Persona—most certainly not Robin Hood.

"Again—it's that Persona!" calls Yusuke.

Akechi's already lost his mask. He throws his arm back, giving a frenzied scream. Scarlet fire dances and twines around his form; as soon as it comes in contact with him, it cripples and darkens, burning away the white of his clothes, scorching and painting him black.

"What's going on!?" Haru retreats a few steps, and I would join her if I weren't completely frozen solid in . . . shock? Horror? Fear?

"Don't make me laugh!" Akechi scrapes clawed fingers across the hardened material of a headpiece, the grating sound reverberating like nails on a chalkboard, unveiling the jagged edge of an armored helmet. From the gaping hole where his mask would be, stares a pair of livid eyes that scream despair.

"Justice? Righteous!? Keep that shit to yourselves!" He spits the words out like venom, bending over and raising both hands to shield the exposed part of his face. "You and your teammates piss me off!" He's yelling, vomiting out the words with both unrelenting fury and anguish, like the person he's trying to convince the most is himself. It's hurting something in me that I wasn't aware existed.

His body sways back and forth violently, as though he's trying to shake something off, get it out, make it stop. He looks like he's in pain . . . although I'm positive that it's not the transformation that's causing it.

"He can use two separate powers!?" Morgana beside me cries. "Then everything . . . even his appearance was a fake!"

The truth of him is standing before me, writhing in boundless agony. "You're going down . . ." He veers back. "I'll destroy you . . . Go down with me!"

Panic grips my heart at the words. Before I can comprehend what he is about to do, let alone make an attempt at preventing it, Akechi raises his hands to his face once more, then bends over. His Persona spawns an enormous, glowing sword, and I don't have to look at what skill he's using to understand. The moment I see the slithering red tendrils and what they're doing—what he is doing—I scream.

The blast is larger this time; it ripples through our rows without doing any actual damage—at least not to us. "No way . . ." Ann mutters.

"That bastard . . ." Ryuji's exclaims. "He used that chaos-mind-break skill on himself!"

Akechi . . . laughs. That's what it seems to be, anyway. I've never heard any sound that even comes close to it. Then he tips back. I remember the Shadows he was using earlier and helplessly watch the tendrils consume his own form this time, writhing and corrupting what is left of him . . . breaking the final chains on his heart.

Then, so abruptly that I almost stumble back, he shoots forward again. His face is concealed behind a horned black mask, but even with it, I can make out the unnatural red gleam of his eyes. "Now, let's see you drop dead one at a time, in front of your precious friends!"

"Dammit, he's lost it," Morgana cries, and for once, I cannot protest. Not even in my head. "Here comes!"

"Diiiiiiie!!!!!" A hand adorned with sharp black claws jets forward toward me—it's the last thing I make out, together with a pair of twisted red eyes, before I'm sucked into battle mode. Something tells me it might actually be to the end this time.

Once more, it is many against one—us against him. I feel reluctant, even now.

"You are the trash of society . . . !"

Even after all that just happened. Even after . . .

"I will kill you . . . Destroy you . . . Crush you . . . !"

Someone needs to stop him. I'm valiantly fighting back the tears. But why does it have to be me?

"Teammates are nothing but trash!"

"His new Persona's power is unknown," says Futaba, matter-of-factly. "Everyone, stay on guard!"

Whatever else the Call of Chaos did to him, it has also restored his health. I want to both thank and curse it for that. He's no longer hurt . . . but this also means we have to hurt him again . . . If we can, that is.

I know that Akechi is strong. He's proven it many times, not least when we fought him earlier. But I didn't think he'd be this strong. It has to be due to the Call of Chaos, at least partially—considering he's also using odd skills now, skills far beyond anything he's used before—but I can't help thinking it's also because he's been coming to the Metaverse longer than any of us. He's really been holding back. And now he is holding his ground—against all of us—via desperation, fury, or sheer spite at this point. And it's working.

The barrier skills he wields now quickly become a problem, and all his attacks—especially the physical ones—suddenly more than halve one of our own's health. We've barely exchanged a few blows, and Morgana's already forced to heal.

Oddly enough, the fact that it's suddenly turned into such an honestly difficult battle is making it . . . easier. I can focus on fighting, on optimizing tactics, and on keeping us topped up . . . really, on anything other than who I'm fighting and why.

He's definitely not making it easy for us, but the longer we fight, the clearer it becomes that we will eventually be victorious. He can do many things on his own, but we can heal and support.

"You're just . . . pieces of shit . . . who lick each other's wounds . . . !"

I dare take a look at his health; it's teetering on half again. An uncomfortable tightness grips my chest.

"Anything goes if you say you're teammates . . . !"

For some reason, that particular line feels like a slap to the face. Like a sledgehammer against the fragile barrier of strategy and familiar battle routines that I've erected around my emotions to prevent myself from breaking down.

I'm hit with an image of us—all nine of us—back in Sae's palace, fighting . . . using healing and support skills . . . on the four of us that were active . . . one of which is currently on the wrong side of the battle.

We . . . did say we were his teammates, then. But we never honestly meant it. No matter how much I wanted to mean it . . . I said it to Sae—that he wasn't.

My stomach knots together, and I feel sick.

It is only then, as I stare at Akechi's tauntingly raised hand, that I'm crushed by the realization that I must have been right . . . That there was some part of him that enjoyed being with us, and I feel even sicker, wondering how he must have felt when he found out we pretended from the start.

Just then, a heavy, multi-targeting fire blast nearly throws me off my feet. Ryuji is on his last couple of health points, and the rest of us—save Ann—aren't any better off. Then, as if that wasn't enough, Akechi goes all out with Desperation, and my heart contorts painfully as Morgana effortlessly heals us up.

There's no one to do that for him . . . not anymore.

It is odd . . . the lower Akechi's health becomes, the stronger it seems to be making him. I can feel his harrowing determination in every hit, and we're practically healing every turn now.

We're still winning, of course.

Eventually, Makoto—whom I've switched in halfway through—lands a heavy hit that leaves him with only a fraction of health—a single hit's worth?

"Why are you . . . looking at me like that . . . !?" Akechi fights to keep himself standing. "I've . . . I've succeeded until now . . . all by myself . . . !" The jagged red blade slips from his hand and clanks against the hard metal floor. "I don't need . . . teammates . . . I don't . . ."

I take note of the tear only when it makes a wet path down my cheek. Yes . . . I was right . . . about everything. What we did to him affected him much more than what he did affected us. If anything, his and Shido's plot brought us Thieves closer together. But what consequences did our own deception have on him?

Images are flooding my head of our time together—the countless moments when I wanted nothing more than to forget our lies, his lies, and just be a team . . . be friends. Be . . . more, perhaps even. It hurts more than anything has so far . . . to think that he had those moments too.

I look up and directly into his glaring eyes. The look pierces me like a thorn of hot red ice, sending a chill down into my very core.

I don't even try. As soon as I've regained my wit and the battle resumes, I guard.

My teammates attack as best they can, but it seems as though he has more health left than we thought.

As soon as Akechi strikes, I'm beyond grateful that I chose to play it safe. 'Laevateinn' leaves me with a minuscule fraction of remaining health, despite the guard. I stagger back, trying to ascertain what the hell that was and that I would actually be dead if I hadn't guarded.

An almighty attack of that magnitude . . . 'Laevateinn' . . . a blade infused with resistance . . . rebellion. My mind is clogged with panic. Either my observation from earlier was correct and he's getting more lethal as we go, or he's . . . still holding something back. In that case, I don't think I care to know what that might be.

I attack without a second thought. In retrospect, I don't think I could have even said what skill I used. All I know is that it was the last needed straw.

Akechi drops to his knees as his health drains, and I have never felt more sickened, watching everyone's levels increase. If I could give the experience back to undo all this pain, I wouldn't hesitate.

He's down, defeated—but even now, Akechi's pulling himself up. Only a little, only to one knee. I catch sight of a darkened eye utterly void of all the raging icy fire—staring at me through a large crack in his formerly spotless mask.

"You ready to call it quits?"

I don't hear any animosity in Ryuji's voice, and upon that, I feel a surge of hope.

The way Akechi laughs now is nothing like the way he did before. I half-expected the psychotic breakdown to have some lasting effect, but . . . it's over. In fact, he seems saner than he's been since he's gotten here.

"I know . . . it's enough."

Something in the way he's looking at me is squeezing my heart like an iron claw. Perhaps because his eyes aren't clouded by madness or rage anymore. They're . . . A shiver tingles my spine. They're crystal clear. I'm searching for the appropriate word to describe the emotion.

". . . You're so lucky."

My heart stops. Then skips . . . Only then do I remember how to breathe.

"Lucky to be surrounded . . . by teammates who acknowledge and want you around . . ."

It's . . . resignation, I understand. Empty, hopeless resignation.

"And once Shido confesses his crimes, you'll all be heroes."

My heart pounds furiously now. This is all wrong . . . I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. He . . . told me he'd be the one who would defeat me. It's madness—I should be grateful we seem to have gotten through to him at last, but . . . I look at the man kneeling in front of us. He's entirely rational now, calm . . . and conceding.

It really shouldn't, but . . . it feels wrong.

It's because I've never seen him defeated yet, it dawns on me. Even when I won our duel, he made sure to come out of it on top, leaving me as a flustered mess on the floor. I realize that I hadn't really considered it possible for Akechi to truly . . . surrender.

I think of our targets' Shadows, following our respective triumphs over them, remembering how they each pleaded, squirmed, and groveled at our feet, desperate for their lives.

But . . . I look back at Akechi, he isn't doing that either. Something in his tone, the way he speaks—it's not exactly the same, yet it's shoving up a memory that I've buried for being . . . quite honestly, incomprehensible at the time.

Whenever you falter, just think that you can't lose as long as I keep doing it. Those are the roles we were assigned . . . If we choose to follow them, anyway.

I suddenly understand that I heard a hint of this resignation in his voice back then. There wasn't much of it, and it didn't last very long. Now, it's taken him over entirely, but it's not just that. I process that it's not just his fighting spirit that has fallen—the masks have too. The man before me is Goro Akechi, the genuine version.

It's . . . not the kind of reunion I wanted, but at least he's here. At least he is . . . finally truly here. I would give my everything for him to stay.

Akechi takes me in, and I'm hit with odd emotions from how raw and alien the look feels, even though I've looked him in the eyes more times than I can count.

He holds my gaze for a heartbeat longer, then he gives me an actual smile. I find this bittersweet and so utterly crushed one more painful to look at than his twisted, evil grin. "As for me, people will find out my past deductions were just charade. My fame and trust will vanish."

No—I grit my teeth. This isn't the time for you to give up. To give up fighting us, yes. But he can't give up like this. Like he's—

Suddenly, it hits me that the true reason I find his tone so hard to bear is not primarily due to how unexpected it is. No . . . I have to restrain myself from stepping closer. It's because it conveys that he's given up on more than that.

This is a different kind of genuineness, I think. We haven't changed Akechi's heart, but the . . . warped thoughts, the . . . distorted desires Yusuke pointed out before are gone. My mind races to Mishima and Sae, then I look back at Akechi. However he found the strength to—did he somehow accomplish what they did as well? Is this . . . ? I take him in and swallow hard. This is what's . . . left.

But—I hold his dark and eerily lucid gaze—it's not just the distortions that are gone. All the resolve that drove him to come here, to fight us so effectively . . . to try at all . . . I can practically see it seeping out of his armor and into the steel floor beneath, vanishing together with all hope. Like the stifling band-aid of delusions he just ripped off his own heart were all that he could ever bring himself to fight and . . . to live for.

". . . I see," Morgana finally responds. "So, you were making people run rampant, then solving the cases yourself. And you did it by joining forces with Shido."

Akechi laughs, and it's breaking my heart. Then he lowers his gaze, averting it from me for the first time. "In the end . . . I couldn't be special . . ."

I freeze. On the surface, the words seem oddly timed, but the way he said it, almost solemnly, with no trace of misguided egoism or pride—it takes me a few heartbeats before their unabridged truth hits me. In the context of what he said, the words suddenly gain tremendous and terrible sense. It is the very thing I observed earlier: a surrender . . . to life itself.

He really thinks that his life is over. I suddenly have to fight the urge to scream. Now that his distorted desires are finally gone, he has the audacity to think that now is the end and that nothing he ever did amounted to anything. That any goals or dreams are forever out of reach, and that it is far too late for any kind of regret or change.

Something leaves a wet trail on my cheek, then drips into my collar. Something that tastes of salt and desolation.

"Dude, you're more than special . . ." The almost offended words, as though what he's saying is beyond obvious, aren't intended for me, but they cut into my mind like searing sun rays. The emphasis Ryuji puts on his signature 'dude' nearly makes me burst out laughing.

Akechi's head flies up. I catch sight of shock and disbelief and open my mouth to begin yelling myself. Everything that's been clogging up my head—how wrong he is when he believes now is the time to give up. How Ryuji is right—that he is special and that he has so many things to be proud of. That I care . . . that I love him with all of my stupidly optimistic fool's heart, and that I would do just about anything if it meant getting another shot at saving him. And I won't miss my shot this time. I will go to hell and back if that's what it takes for me to be . . . to give him something to live for.

"It pains me to admit, but," Makoto says before I can speak. "Your wit and strength far exceed ours. We only defeated you by teaming up . . ."

She's right. Save Futaba, Akechi's long-proven insight and intelligence surpass those of anyone on our team . . . on our side. If we didn't have each other, we wouldn't have stood a chance. For a moment, I allow myself to picture having him as a true ally—how much he could contribute—if only . . .

"I was honestly . . . envious of your natural abilities," Makoto admits after a pause, and I'm hit with a wave of admiration for her modesty. She's always prided herself on being the brains of our team, but Makoto's skills stem from hard work more than a natural predisposition. All her life, she must have looked at people more talented than herself with envy. It can't be easy to admit inferiority now. "It was frustrating to see how much my sister trusted you," she adds after another pause.

"I can't forgive you for what you did to my father, but . . ." Haru speaks slowly. "I sympathize with you."

I don't know if I'm surprised—maybe not. Although I'm well aware that she's still not over her father's death, despite how awful he was, Haru is a kind and gentle person. I've always admired her for that. Now, she speaks with unshakable conviction. "I wholeheartedly understand wanting to get back at the adult who took from you . . ."

I recall Akechi's own words shortly before we struck our fake deal. That he was bearing a grudge against a sickening adult. And that . . . we weren't so different after all. It wasn't a lie. Suddenly, I'm asking myself how much more there is that was true.

Akechi isn't actually looking at us, I notice. He's staring down; the tips of his clawed hands are digging into the floor, trembling faintly.

"But when you gained the power to fulfill that desire," Yusuke adds, "you only used it for your own self-benefit."

Suddenly, I wonder just how long ago it was. How old was he when he awakened to his power? For just how long has he been free to use the Metaverse to his will, without limitation or guidance? I think back to our own first dips in and out and suddenly wonder—if we hadn't met Morgana, would we have ended up on a similar path? Or would we have kept each other in check?

At least, I think bitterly, we would have still had each other. For him . . . it was probably all he ever had—the only chance he was ever given to fight back against a world that hadn't given him any reason to follow the path of kindness instead.

"If you've got more than one Persona," Futaba says, squeezing in between Morgana and me, holding up a tablet she keeps tapping on. "Maybe you actually have the same kinda power as Joker's."

My head whips around to her, and for the first time, Akechi looks up too. His eye meets mine, and I find it hard to hold his unbelieving gaze. Instinctively, I shake my head. It can't be—if he were a Wild Card user like me, Igor would have known. And the number of my own Personas isn't limited to two. But . . .

"But you trusted no one," Futaba continues in an oddly solemn tone. "So you only got two Personas—one for your lies and one for your hate."

I freeze. Is that it? For the first time, I look at Akechi with doubt—not straight-out denying the possibility anymore. Nobody else could ever summon two Personas at once, and Igor did emphasize the importance of social bonds as a means to hone my powers and forward this rehabilitation business he's constantly going on about.

. . . And if Akechi is lacking anything, it is the ability to trust. Is it truly this vital? So much so that it has taken a toll on his potential? If he truly is like me, then . . . For lies and for hate, I repeat in my head. The fact that, at one point, the two were all he consisted of is painfully twisting my insides.

"Still," Futaba continues. "You thought that was enough, right? That part I totally get." I throw her a side glance and suddenly wonder how it can be that she knows so much about Personas and my potential. Did she talk about this with Morgana?

"You excelled at everything over us," Yusuke adds. "Yet that was the one thing you lacked."

I honestly couldn't have summed it all—that they were saying to him—up better myself. I clench my fist and suddenly feel awful for not having said anything yet. My friends are doing it—the friends who I assumed didn't care before—and yet here I am, the only one still silent.

I told myself that I would tell him everything. But my mouth is sealed shut with anxiety. How can I speak if I could mess it all up? I can barely sort through my thoughts to separate the meaningless from the important, the helpful from the detrimental . . . How could I hope to coherently voice them? It's always like that; as soon as it actually matters that I say something, my head has a habit of going blank.

More so than for his natural intelligence and talent, I myself have always admired Akechi for his wit and quick, apt tongue the most. It's a skill I never truly understood and never wished to possess quite as much as now.

But right now, his way with words seems to be failing Akechi as well. His exposed, widened eye darts back and forth between all of us; he's visibly attempting to process what is going on. He doesn't speak with his mouth, but his eye is screaming . . . for help.

"All right," Ryuji finally says, breaking the silence. "Let's go back and get that callin' card ready!" He raises an arm in Akechi's direction. "We're gonna take Shido down. What're you gonna do?"

My heart is leaping at the silent invitation I hear in his voice, and, then and there, I promise myself I will personally treat Ryuji to a feast once all this is over. Don't ever change, I silently scream at him. Don't ever lose this part of yourself that is so unconditionally accepting that it managed to force me to open up back when we first met.

If anyone could do it—make someone like Akechi feel like he belongs—it would be Ryuji. What would I give to have an ounce of his casual yet unyielding warmth?

"It'd be a problem if you kept getting in our way," Ann says next. "Wanna come along and help us settle things?"

I'm actually shocked. Have I underestimated my friends so much? Confusing emotions swirl in my gut, and I've never felt worse about being unable to express them.

Akechi's gaze flies from her to Ryuji, then quickly scans the others. I peek at them myself, and not a single one of my teammates looks like they disagree with the offer.

". . . Are you all idiots?" Akechi finally speaks, and the overflowing disbelief in his voice is driving nails into my heart. He can't refuse, I think definitely. He can't. Not now that my friends are offering him the chance that I watched him give up on ever receiving.

But he's not moving. Only staring. Still with that terrible resignation in his eyes. "You should get rid of me," he scoffs, "if you don't want me getting in your way."

I want to be offended that he would think so little of us . . . but I also feel like he's not actually believing we would do anything of the sort. He's speaking to us as though we were the kind of people he's been around all his life. At this point, he seems to have given up on differentiating.

When none of us respond, he breathes out audibly. Then chuckles. ". . . You all are truly beyond my comprehension."

My gaze is so fixated on him; in my mind, I'm putting together words to finally say myself when I sense Ryuji and Morgana beside me turning their heads. All of my teammates do, and when I follow their gazes, I freeze in shock. From out of the depths of the engine room and toward the kneeling shape of Akechi walks . . .

"Akechi?" Ryuji calls. The newcomer, who resembles Akechi well enough, down to his school uniform, doesn't react.

"Another one!?" exclaims Yusuke. "Wait, is he . . ."

"That's . . . Shido's cognitive version of Akechi!" concludes Morgana, and I notice the shadowy tendrils that cloud his feet like those of any Shadow. It makes sense, and suddenly, I wonder why we haven't seen him before.

Cognitive Akechi voices a low laugh. Then, before any of us can move, he produces a gun, pointing it at . . . Akechi.

I freeze in horror, and so do my friends beside me.

". . . I'll deal with the rest of you later," says Cognitive Akechi. His eyes are dull stones—dark and utterly without life. The real Akechi still hasn't moved from where he is kneeling. He's staring at his doppelganger with an ounce of that former fury. But he doesn't seem to have the strength to get up.

"Captain Shido's orders." Cognitive Akechi looks back down at him. "He has no need for losers."

Losers . . . ? I take in the scene and wonder just how much Shido knows about the happenings in his palace. He has no way of knowing—or did he anticipate this outcome? That Akechi would lose . . . to us. My insides twist into a taut knot.

"Well . . ." Cognitive Akechi tilts his head without moving the gun. "This just moves the plan up a little. He was going to get rid of you after the election anyway."

I suck in a breath. This shouldn't come as a surprise, but somehow . . . in a very odd, very naive way . . . it still does.

". . . What!?" I see the same kind of surprised-but-not-really expression on Akechi's face. Then he breaks into a cold, empty laugh.

"Did you truly believe you'd be spared after all the murders you undertook?" Cognitive Akechi continues, and I think that somewhere, deep down, he must have known. But . . . for a second, I consider why he didn't allow himself to see it. I'm one to fall victim to hope and belief, but Akechi . . . ?

"Don't tell me . . ." Cognitive Akechi scoffs. ". . . Were you actually feeling good about having someone rely on you for once?"

For some reason, the words feel like a slap in the face. My mind is racing, and I am horrified and disgusted by what it's putting together. For as much as Akechi hated him . . . I blink rapidly to purge another swell of tears. Deep down, he must have also wanted his father to . . . want him? To need him, at least. So much so that he was willing to kill for it. To let it blind him to the truth of Shido's intentions.

"Besides," Cognitive Akechi says, and I have to suppress the urge to walk up and strangle him with my bare hands. "The captain says it's time you receive retribution for causing the mental shutdowns."

"What the hell, man!?" snaps Ryuji. "That bastard's the one who put him up to it!"

He's right . . . but it would be futile to point this out. Of course, Shido's the one behind it all. He wouldn't let it stop him from justifying getting rid of . . . a loose end, though. I swallow hard.

Then, to our all's shock, Akechi—the real Akechi—stands. I have no idea where he's pulling the strength from, but he gets to his feet, then turns to glare at his cognitive doppelganger with so much disgust that my own spine tingles.

"I see . . ." His laugh still sounds awfully empty. "I was wondering how he'd protect himself if I used my power to tear through his Palace. Turns out you're how. So—" Akechi scoffs. "He's making a puppet kill me . . . Sounds like him, alright."

Cognitive Akechi nods, unfazed. "That's right. I'll do anything. But look at yourself!" He cocks the gun nonchalantly. ". . . You're the true puppet."

I bite my lip . . . hard. As much as I want to disagree with the vile words, to scream, to fight, to do something that will end this nightmarish scene—the statement is true. The fact that I hate it with my entire being doesn't change that.

Even Akechi is silent. He's swaying back and forth ever so slightly, as though keeping himself standing is becoming harder with each passing second.

"You wanted to be acknowledged, didn't you? To be loved!"

The words, spoken with so much disgusting delight, burrow themselves into my eyes and ears and dig their way down into my heart, cracking and breaking all remaining doubts surrounding my conclusion from earlier. To be acknowledged. To be loved . . . The phrase echoes in my mind . . . Yet another broken record.

To be loved.

We didn't do it. My vision becomes blurry with tears. We . . . I couldn't acknowledge . . . couldn't love him. Not enough. So he went back to deluding himself that Shido would.

"You've been nothing but a puppet from the very beginning . . ."

"You little . . . !" Ryuji breaks off.

"So this . . . is how Shido thinks of Goro Akechi?" Makoto's voice is trembling. "It's . . . it's horrible . . . !"

"It's still not too late!" Haru interjects. "We can change his heart together! Even if he's your father . . . No, because he's your father!"

She'd know all about how that feels, I think, and suddenly feel terribly useless. So far, all the encouragement has come from my friends, and I . . . all I can do is stand here as though I feel nothing. As though I don't care.

I do, I want to scream. Every feeling I've ever had for him is banging on the gates of my mind harder than before. If only I could . . . could do something other than stand around and watch. Why am I so horribly weak—?

"What's all this nagging about?" Cognitive Akechi finally turns to us. His face is, at this point, nothing short of a distorted grimace. "Want me to take care of you first?" Before any of us can react, a number of shadows in security uniforms spawn around him.

"No . . . He's not alone!" calls Ann, and my mind reels with panic.

"You know what?" Cognitive Akechi continues. "I'll let someone volunteer to take his place. Who knows, you might delay his death."

"Damn you . . ." Ryuji mumbles, and I don't hesitate; I take a step forward, fully intending to volunteer. I've already opened my mouth to yell at the Cognitive Akechi to stop—that I'll do anything, when I catch sight of Akechi's face and . . . freeze. His gaze burrows into me, wordlessly imprinting a single word into my mind . . . 'Don't.'

I'm so shocked that I actually stop moving.

"You guys are all about doing things for others, aren't you?" Cognitive Akechi insists. "Oh, that's just the same as me. I'm going to take all the blame for our captain. I'll die for him too."

A disgusted shiver runs down my spine.

"This is what Shido thinks Akechi-kun is like . . ." Makoto mumbles. "After everything . . ."

"Here," Cognitive Akechi interrupts; having evidently given up on the prospect of a volunteer, he tears his eyes away from us and fixates on the real Akechi again. "I'll give you one last chance. Shoot them."

I freeze.

Akechi hesitates, then stands a little taller. His laugh is oozing resignation again, but also . . . "I was such a fool." Then, without warning, he produces his own gun to aim it straight at me.

Oddly enough, I still don't feel any fear. I'm staring at the open barrel, and just like when he challenged me to a duel in this manner, I am beyond certain that he won't shoot. It's not quite for the same reason, but . . . he won't. Not after everything. Not after he wordlessly but oh-so urgently begged me to forget about taking his place.

"Yes . . ." Cognitive Akechi chuckles triumphantly. "That's the 'you' our captain wishes to see."

". . . Don't misunderstand." There's an odd undertone in Akechi's voice that I can't quite place, but it's spine-tingling. "You're the one who's going to disappear!"

I comprehend what he's planning mere heartbeats before Akechi veers and pulls the trigger. His doppelganger shrieks, and my heart swells with hope.

For a brief, sweet moment, all is well.

Then another gunshot tears through my eardrums, accompanied by the shattering of glass. I'm once again looking into the muzzle of a gun, but it's not aimed at me.

Something's wrong. An alarm suddenly flares in the back, and a robotic announcement voice speaks: "The watertight bulkhead door has closed. All personnel within the partition wall, evacuate at once."

Bulkhead? I scowl. What bulkhead? I look around for it but I can't see anything . . . Not until a metal wall shoots up, inches before my face, to seal off any- and everything beyond. There's Cognitive Akechi, his Shadows, and—

"Whoa, what is this!?" Futaba calls, and for a moment, my vision blurs when I process that on this side, with me, are only seven of my teammates. And then there's . . .

"Akechi!" Ryuji leaps forward, banging his fists on the metal shutter.

"Hurry up and go!" Akechi's muffled voice reaches us from beyond. I can't move.

"You fool!" calls Yusuke. "Are you trying to get yourself killed!?"

I stare at the wall and recall the gun. The look. The iron resolve that flashed in his eye moments before he pulled the trigger, and . . . I'm hit with the horrific realization that . . . he might be.

A wave of sickness hits me and my legs almost give way. I extend my hand to place it on the shutter. To reach out to the voice, the man beyond it, or keep myself standing—maybe both.

"The real fools . . . are you guys," Akechi says, and I would love to yell at him to keep talking. If he dares to shut his mouth for a single second, I . . . "You should have abandoned me here a long time ago. You . . ." He pauses, and I swear I make out a silent laugh, so drenched in resignation that it is making me sick. "You would have all perished . . . if you had tried to face these with me weighing you down . . ."

A burden . . . I clench my fist tighter . . . That's all he thinks he is. All he thinks he ever was. To be acknowledged . . . it rings in my head again . . . to be loved.

But there wasn't a soul. The ground beneath me sways, and I finally drop to my knees. I barely sense the sting of the impact. For so long, there wasn't a soul in the world willing to acknowledge or love him. To see him as anything but a tool—the burden he sees himself as. But . . . what about me, a tiny voice in my head asks. If you wanted love, why did you call me disgusting when I offered you mine?

"Akechi-kun . . ." Makoto mumble. My thoughts are swirling, mixing and filling with emotions that grow stronger and more desperate with each second.

It's not true, I think over and over. You're not a burden, not a tool, and not a nuisance for anyone on this side of the wall. Not for me. Why won't he believe me? I think angrily. Why did he never allow himself to believe me when all I wanted was to give him what he craved so desperately that it led him here?

He doesn't hate me; of that, I am certain. It's like some vile force from the darkest pit of hell sent you to be my personal undoing. My mind whispers the words to me softly, the way I imagine he might have if the circumstances were different. But what was . . . I grow rigid with fear, suddenly. Was it . . . was I simply too late?

The thought shatters the last remaining barrier of hesitation. I was, I think, and feel a tear make its way down my cheek. When I offered it, he wasn't capable of believing in the sincerity of my offer anymore.

"Let's make a deal, okay?" Akechi speaks again. "You won't say no, will you?"

"Why at a time like this!?" Yusuke asks, but I barely register it.

Anything, I scream silently. Anything at all. If only it means that I can see you again. I hesitate only for a heartbeat before I rip off my glove to press my bare palm into the steel of the shutter that separates us.

"Change Shido's heart . . . in my stead . . . End his crimes . . ." His voice breaks, and with it does the dam that was keeping my tears at bay. "Please!"

I do my best not to sob as the tears keep streaming. I don't know when they'll stop. I expected a lot out of him—to ask us to make Shido pay. To carry out his revenge, for the sake of which he sacrificed his youth and his innocence.

But he didn't ask for that. He asked to change his heart. To end his crimes. To—

I shove my mask up and wipe my stained face on my sleeve. My head is a jumbled mess. Behind me are seven of my teammates, all batted and worn-out but . . . alive. Before me is a wall, and behind it is the eighth. The one. He, whom I cannot allow to get away with this. Not now, not when . . . I picture the glove that is still in my bag, and the promise it holds.

Is this all he thinks he can still do? It suddenly hits me: is this all he thinks he's still good for? To be a hero . . . I think about what he said and what he wanted to be. But most dreams aren't meant to last, especially such childish ones. When exactly was it that he woke up and realized he'd become a . . . villain?

Is that what you're doing? I silently ask. Trying to be a hero in death because you're convinced you can't be one in life anymore? My cheeks are wet with fresh tears again. You'll always be my hero. I press my fingers into the cold metal. Even though you lost yourself for a while. And heroes don't break promises.

> "I promise if you don't break your promise either."

"I will. And I'll hold onto your glove."

For a moment, it is silent beyond the wall. Then I make out an ever-so-faint laugh. "The promise . . . After all this, you—!" Akechi breaks off, and panic rises in my gut, fueling me.

> "I already told you I'll wait for you."

"It's the only condition I'll ever have."

Akechi remains silent for a moment, and my panic grows. I fear he won't resume speaking until he does, suddenly sounding closer than ever. "What the hell is wrong with you . . . ?" His voice is weak, and despite the accusation, I hear only despair in it. Despair, and so much disbelief that it pains me. "What are you saying?" He demands to know. "Are you a fool? Just get the hell out of here and . . . do what you promised you'd do. That is all that matters now. Go and stop . . . and live." His voice cracks.

I don't move. Not a single inch.

"Why are you . . . ! You . . . !" He cuts himself off, then spits out, "Why are you still here!?"

The words resonate inside me like a gong, forcing me to dig within myself for an answer. It's finally time, I realize . . . to be honest. Because whatever I say now . . . I scoot closer and tighten my hand, which is still resting against the metal, to a fist.

. . . I should think my words through carefully.

"I will not leave until you confirm your promise."

> Confess.

"Because . . . you're special to me," I whisper, voice trembling ever so slightly. "Because you always were . . . dear and important and special to me, unlike anyone else. I need you to believe me." I let out a breath that ends up sounding like a sob. "You're the fool if you still don't believe me."

I cut myself off and a moment of unbroken silence goes by.

"You . . ." Akechi doesn't say more than the one word, but . . . my heart swells at the realization that I might have finally gotten through to him. Finally, after everything . . . "Seriously . . . ?" He sounds like he's accusing me. Like he wants to yell and chase me away until I admit that what I'm saying . . . what I'm feeling is madness. That I'm the fool.

Well. I tip forward against the wall to press my forehead into the metal. Maybe I am. But since when has that ever stopped me?

"You . . . Rin."

Something deep within me shudders at the sudden and unexpected softness in the way he says my name.

"You really are . . ."

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. I know . . . and I am. I've committed myself to Goro Akechi. To whatever end, our promise will prevail.

I sense a solid bond between me and Akechi . . .

I am thou, thou art I...

Thou hast turned a vow into a blood oath.

Thy bond shall become the wings of rebellion

And break the yoke of thy heart.

Thou hast awakened to the ultimate secret

Of Justice, granting thee infinite power...

~

RANK UP!

CONFIDANT: Goro Akechi | JUSTICE > RANK MAX

NEW ABILITY: "Endure" (Chance to withstand an otherwise fatal attack.)

~

[Your Justice Confidant has increased to MAX Rank! You will now earn more EXP from Arcana Burst when fusing Personas of the Justice Arcana!]

[FUSION UNLOCKED: You can now fuse Metatron, the most powerful Persona of the Justice Arcana.]

I said what I needed to say, and I got through to him. But . . . I cling to the wall tighter, as though I can reach beyond and reach him—this can't be how it ends. There's still so much I haven't said, so much I need to know and do.

Then, out of the blue, a distorted voice that resembles Akechi's but also not yells: "You bastard!"

I'm hit with panic. Part of me had hoped one bullet would have been enough to finish the Cognitive Akechi off.

"So," the real Akechi speaks; he sounds further away, and an awful cold grips my heart. "My final enemy is a puppet version of myself . . . I . . . !"

No—! I clench my other fist and press it into the wall as well. Don't say 'final' like you mean it. Not after what I just—

"Akechi-kun!" Haru cries.

"Isn't there some way to get this open, Mona?" Ann yells.

Then there's a gunshot. And another. Then silence.

"His signal is . . . gone. I'm only getting . . . the weaklings." I want to leap up and shake Futaba until she takes it back. Until she stops implying . . . but I can't. Not when she's . . . right.

"No . . ." Horror and pain drench Ann's voice as she steps up to stand beside me.

I feel Morgana brush past me on the left. He's staring at the wall with . . . resignation. Oh, how much I've come to despise that emotion lately. Then he shakes his head, finally exclaiming, "Come on, you guys!"

"Are . . . are you okay?" Ann suddenly kneels beside me, and I instinctively turn my head, pushing my mask down to cover my face better. I . . . don't want the others to see I've been crying yet.

"Hey, Joker—didn't you make a promise just now?" Morgana nudges my other side. "We can't let a rotten criminal like Shido do what he wants any longer! We can't . . . no matter what!"

I nod. He's right . . . But I have no idea how I'm supposed to muster enough strength to stand. Or . . . continue on my way. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to—

Suddenly, I feel a pair of hands hook me under the arms and pull me up. Ryuji's trying really hard to look encouraging but his eyes are as pained as those of the others. I make an attempt at a smile back, just for good measure.

"She's fine . . . You are, right?" asks Futaba and after a moment of hesitation, I nod. I have to be fine, even if that gunshot—whatever it's hit . . . or missed—just killed a part of me.

"Hey, so . . ." Ann places a hand on my back as we slowly start to retreat from the wall. "What was that last part you said? We couldn't quite make it out; you were talking so quietly . . ."

I grit my teeth and cast my eyes down. On one hand, it feels wrong to still lie to my friends. On the other hand . . . I throw a last look back as I finally follow them away and up the stairs. What's the point in explaining now? It's not like it will ever be . . .

A sharp thorn pierces my heart at the thought, and I'm fighting back tears again. In Ann's direction, I shake my head. She doesn't press me for a reply, and neither do the others, although I see them exchanging odd glances.

Well, should they. This . . . I recall my words and manage to find a tiny bit of satisfaction in the fact that at least I finally told him. It can be our secret . . . mine and his—a second one. A secret that he's taken to the grave. And so shall I.

***

It feels like a lifetime later that I am finally able to collapse into bed after securing the damned route and somehow making it back to Leblanc without losing face. But the moment the lights are off and Morgana's snoring peacefully, I'm crying myself to sleep.

The tears won't stop, yet I have no qualms about sobbing my eyes out this time. All I can think about is that gunshot. Futaba said there were no readings left, but . . . there was no screaming. No following commotion. No triumphant sounds either. Just . . . silence.

I don't want to have hope; right now it's eating away at me, preventing me from accepting what is most likely the truth, but . . . will I really never see him again?

He promised it, after all.

It only takes me two seconds to get out of bed, dash over to where I left my bag, and dig to the bottom until I feel it. I pull out and clutch the glove to my chest, thinking . . . believing, like I always so foolishly do. He promised . . . to duel again someday. And the Goro Akechi I know wouldn't break a promise. Not now that I finally got him to believe me. This isn't how things should be, I think and hesitate for a heartbeat, then press my lips to the smooth leather.

I curl back into bed, clutching the glove like a lifeline. No matter how much I despise it, there's nothing else I can do now. Except remember . . . and hope . . . and love.