... In which Akechi asks me out to a cafe, and I finally manage to catch him off guard . . . by employing the power of superficial disguises.

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

Despite myself, I had hoped that staying busy would help me manage my impatience for Akechi's next contact . . . and the events of the week after our pool game certainly provide enough distraction. I'm exhausted, actually.

Most of my time is spent with my friends—party members and all sorts of people I seem to be picking up all over Tokyo. Ann says that I need to stop caring so much about other people's problems and more about my own; I feel like she's talking from experience. The rest of my friends keep telling me that if I can't take care of myself, they'll do it for me. What I can't seem to be able to convey to them is that taking care of others is my way of caring for myself.

For as long as I remember, I've been alone. In my parents' spacious yet empty house, in my thoughts, in my games . . . in my life. It might be exhausting, yet I'm soaking up experiences and troubles like air to breathe. It drains one kind of energy, yet it refills another; when I can be there for others, even if it's just through being a listening ear, I feel empowered, motivated. To do more, to do better. For others and for myself . . . in my studies, in Leblanc, and as a Phantom Thief.

I'm resolved to make this probation count, no matter whether I actually deserve it. It doesn't matter; if I'm here already, I will make the best of it . . . And this seems to become easier and easier. With each passing day, what I have here in Tokyo feels less like a punishment and more like the chance I've been waiting for—to be the supporter, the . . . heroine I've always dreamed of being? No matter if I'm called vigilante or criminal by some . . . If I cannot be a heroine in their eyes, I'll at least be in those of my confidants' and friends'. I will do my best . . . in my efforts as Phantom Thief and in my everyday life. After all, what kind of hero only acts the part when employing their special powers?

Making others happy fills me with happiness in turn, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I've never felt such a deep sense of fulfillment, and it should be enough, I tell myself. To hold my attention and not have it drift toward a particular IM thread that's grown silent yet again. But for some reason, that's exactly what keeps happening.

I've spent the entire afternoon cleaning up in Leblanc in hopes of getting Sojiro to teach me how to make better coffee, and I nearly drop the pack of coffee beans when my phone chimes. It's not the group chat; I've muted that after being woken up at 2 am the other day by a series of aggressive back-and-forth texts between Ann and Yusuke about whether mermaids would be fish or mammals and whether they would lay eggs.

I finish stashing the beans away and brace myself for it to be Mishima with a new Mementos request, someone who just wants to hang out tonight . . . or my employer from the part-time job at the flower shop I've taken up recently. But the thread that illuminates is the thread. The one I've been waiting for, for . . .

GORO AKECHI

> I'm in Kichijoji right now. I've finally found myself with a bit of time on my hands.

> I didn't forget that I promised you another date. So, if you're so inclined, perhaps you could meet me here and we could chat for a while?

> I believe I've discovered a nice place with an atmosphere more suited to relaxation as opposed to competition, if that is something you enjoy.

I clasp my hand over my mouth to hide my smile from Morgana, who has curiously perked up from his spot atop the counter. But it seems as though I've given myself away regardless.

"Huh, he's actually texting you again," Morgana says with a head shake. "I was hoping he'd . . . Hm, we should talk about that guy, Rin. I'm a little concerned about how happy you seem about his message."

I hesitate for a heartbeat, then I shake my head. Morgana's not come forth with whatever he's apparently not telling me about Akechi for over a month now, so he may as well wait one more night. I'm not letting him ruin my mood now.

"You can tell me tomorrow."

> "Let me go see him, then we can talk."

"You're being irresponsible!" Morgana calls, but I'm already typing my reply.

RIN AMAMIYA

> I can't wait!

Determinedly, I stuff my phone into my pocket and take the apron off. I don't even wait for Akechi's reply. When I look back at Morgana, he gives me one last accusing look before he finally leaps into my bag . . . reluctantly.

Momentarily, I can't help but ask myself if maybe he's right—if maybe I'm being irresponsible and . . . naive, just a tiny bit. But then I'm out the door, and the summer evening heat hits me in the face like a brick wall. I almost instantly have to wipe sweaty curls off my forehead, just as my phone chimes in my pocket. When I take it out, I see a single message:

GORO AKECHI

> I'm glad. See you in Kichijoji, then.

So what if I'm being a bit irresponsible, just this once? I've spent the last few weeks listening and tending to everyone else's problems, and only then do I think that maybe Ann was right. Maybe that isn't all I need to take care of myself after all . . . Maybe I also need an evening off, doing only what I want.

And what I want more than anything is to spend this evening with Akechi.

For a moment, I wonder if it's because he doesn't seem to be like everyone else—eager to share their own burdens and problems. What he seems to want is someone to discuss stimulating things with, and I'm all for that right now. Then again, we have hardly spoken so far. We hardly know each other.

Right in front of the entrance to the subway, I stop abruptly. I'm normally quick at reading and assessing someone as a person. But . . . then and there, I make myself aware that my intuition—typically reliable in picking up on people's energies—has not given me anything on Akechi yet.

On one hand, he seems to be the perfect gentleman—far too much, almost eerily, resembling the dashing men from my childhood fantasies. But then . . . I clutch my bag. Didn't I already determine last time that this impression isn't quite accurate after all? All I know is that something is brewing beneath that outwardly pleasant surface, yet I can't, for the life of me, pinpoint what it is or when it will come out. Whether it ever will . . . And whether I'll ever understand him any better than I do now.

Is that what Morgana is trying to warn me of? I think as I exit the subway in Kichijoji and make my way over to "Penguin Sniper." Akechi hasn't texted me where to meet him, so I decide to check the place we met last time and indeed spot him in front of the entrance. He has his back to me, but as soon as I approach, he turns—as though he's sensed me coming. He gives me a smile, and I smile back instinctively.

I haven't seen him in such a long time, yet the first thing I notice is that he looks tired—not so much that someone less observant would notice, but more so than last time. His eyes look dark, and that vigorous, relentless fire—more fitting for a rogue than a charming prince—that I couldn't seem to forget about is gone.

"Hey Amamiya-san, good evening," Akechi greets me, and I follow his gaze, which is directed at a spot behind me. "I'm glad you could make it. I do intend to take this "taking you out on a date" affair seriously, you know? I made you a promise, after all."

I try not to blush, but I may be failing miserably. Morgana in my bag is making noise, but Akechi doesn't seem to mind. "There's actually a prolific cafe right over there. I was hoping it'd make for a better venue so that we could chat awhile over some tea, but . . . Unfortunately, my television appearance has garnered the interest of a rather intense fan following."

I can't decide whether he suddenly looks more exhausted or just gloomy. Either way, my fists clench inside my pockets.

"As far as they're concerned, anyone in my company must meet their standards of intelligence and charm . . . If not, well, they take it to social media, denouncing and harassing the people in question. I wouldn't wish that on you."

I shove my glasses up, trying not to take his words to heart. He doesn't look like he meant to insult me; on the contrary, he seems genuinely concerned. And it's a valid fear, considering how fanbases work, but . . .

> "Why did you ask me out then?"

"Are you saying we can't go out after all?"

"Hm." Akechi looks up and straight at me. "Maybe I just wanted to see you, no matter what others would think." He sounds surprisingly grim; it's a kind of tone I've never heard from him before. "I mean . . . I do expect you'll pass muster easily," he picks his lighthearted tone back up at once. "I merely meant to give you a fair warning. If that's a risk you don't want to take . . . I know I made you a promise, but under these circumstances, I would understand if you wished not to see me anymore."

There's something about the look in his eyes that makes me wonder whether I'm not the only one he's extended this offer to—the offer to stop seeing him. And that whoever else it was, all distanced themselves from him, afraid of the risk.

I feel like my bond with Akechi will grow stronger soon, and considering how eager I was and still am to see him, I won't let myself be deterred by an abstract risk . . . that he doesn't even believe in. Breaking with a smile, I vehemently shake my head.

"You're willing to take the risk?" He looks genuinely surprised, and I feel a pang in my heart. "You know they'll start spreading rumors regardless of whether they approve of you or not, especially since you're a girl."

I nod. I can't say I've considered this before—maybe I should have since he is a celebrity—but honestly, I couldn't care less. All I want is that feeling he brought me last time, all over again. And then some.

"So . . . what's the plan? Are you gonna go out with Akechi?" Morgana asks out of my bag. I can't say he sounds very pleased.

> "Let's go."

"Maybe another time."

"Thanks." Akechi turns, scanning the environment briefly. "The place is really quite popular. It should be open right now . . . Let's get going." He picks up his briefcase, and I take my hand out of my pocket on instinct, realizing I've expected him to offer me his arm again.

I'm not sure if he does it because he meant to do so from the start or because he noticed me expecting it, but as I loop my arm through his, I can't say I care either way.

"I'm gonna walk around." Morgana slips out of my bag, as he does. "Let me know when you're ready to leave. And don't let your guard down too much."

The cafe is indeed not far from where we met. Only a few minutes later, we take a seat at a spacious round table and order. I'm not sure what to go for at first, since I've never tasted any of the pastries they offer; finally, I ask Akechi for a recommendation. The cakes are delicious, and I allow myself to relax just a little as I sip the hot coffee. It's not as exquisite as Sojiro's, but not too shabby either.

"The cake here's fairly popular," Akechi says, and I look up from mine, noticing that he hasn't touched his yet. "I've been wanting to try it myself."

I put my fork down and smile.

> "Do you like sweets a lot?"

"Why's that?"

"Well," he says, giving me a half-smile. "I don't hate sweets, but I'm not exactly partial to them . . ." I raise an eyebrow, and Akechi shrugs. "Fads tend to be fairly similar, so I'm more curious about determining why it is so popular rather than its taste."

I can't say I expected that response. I stir my coffee, looking at him over the top of my glasses and feeling that particular sensation finally kick in that I enjoy so much when we're together. The . . . unpredictability of him, the feeling that no matter what we talk about, he'll never respond or act the way I expect him to.

"Well," Akechi says, picking up his fork. "Why don't we give it a try?"

I watch him make short work of the cake on his plate, then lean back with an almost relaxed expression. "It was delicious after all . . . I actually enjoyed that more than I thought I would."

I nod and take in that his eyes seem warmer. He turns his chair to stretch his long legs, then crosses one over the other. The way he stares past me with an unreadable but not unpleasant expression . . . he almost doesn't look tired anymore. And just like he seems to be, I bask in the almost serene moment.

No matter how much I enjoy helping others, it has been a stressful couple of weeks, and I wonder if it's the same for him . . . or even worse. I don't know the first thing about being a celebrity, but I can't imagine it being very relaxing.

"Hey, look! Isn't that him?"

We both turn when the unfamiliar voice calls out.

"Oh, you mean the guy who's on TV these days . . . Who was he again?"

I spot a group of girls just across the street; they point our way, gossiping loudly. So much so that some passersby stop to investigate the commotion.

"Wasn't his name Akechi-kun?" One of the girls nods. "You know, the next-generation Detective Prince . . . ? And who's that he's with? Is that a girl? Do you think they're an item? I didn't know he was dating anyone."

Akechi looks away from them and back at his plate; his expression doesn't change, but the relaxed aura has evaporated. I tense up too, but at the same time . . . If they want to think that we're dating, this isn't the worst kind of rumor to go around. I would know.

"Should we ask him?" one of the passersby who stopped earlier asks her friend. "Maybe we could get his autograph too? It might be something worth bragging about . . ."

"Looks like we've been spotted." Akechi doesn't face me, but the way he says it, it feels like he's apologizing. I shake my head.

"Is that so bad?"

"Life as a celebrity is hard, isn't it?"

> "Are you not a fan of the attention?"

I can't see myself ever enjoying that kind of attention, but his negative reaction makes me curious. So far, I've assumed that he's the kind of person who thrives in it.

"Well, actually, I usually do enjoy it." He gives me a smile of which I can't tell whether it's genuine. "But I don't want to cause trouble for this establishment, and . . . they're dragging you into it as well. Apologies for that; I'll make sure to correct them if they start spreading rumors."

I want to tell him that I don't really mind—that he has no reason to be sorry—but more voices are speaking up now: "Huh? Is someone important here?"

"Who is it? Is it a celebrity?"

Akechi uncrosses his legs, and I could have sworn he suppresses an eye-roll. "It might be for the best if we cut this short. I wish I could've relaxed a little longer . . . alas. We should go."

I feel a sting in my heart for him. If he's followed around like this everywhere he goes, I can suddenly understand why he was looking so tired earlier.

> "You've done nothing wrong."

"Maybe we don't have to . . ."

Akechi gives me an odd look that tugs at my heart yet again—he looks at me like I've said the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard, and not . . . the truth. "Sorry, but I think it'd be best to leave. I'm only going to cause problems if I stay."

I lean forward, suddenly overwhelmed by a powerful surge of desire to help him. Everywhere I am, I pride myself on going out of my way to give people a safe space to share their worries and a shoulder to lean on. I think about my thoughts from when we first met, about how he's different, but . . . maybe I was wrong; maybe he needs something like that after all. I throw a look back at the gathered people; being a celebrity with fans may be a lot . . . lonelier than I realized.

When I look up at him again, Akechi shakes his head. "Apologies for cutting our date short. It's a shame I don't have some kind of disguise . . . or even glasses like you. Maybe something could have been done . . ."

I take in his more or less openly dejected face, and my hand jerks up to the frame of my glasses. My eyesight is decent enough to get o without them, although it's more comfortable to wear them. But then and there, his words spark an idea. It's a little ridiculous, but I can't say I haven't had crazier ideas before, and . . . I tilt my head, smiling. Is this my chance to strike back and surprise him for once? He won't see this one coming.

I jump up from my chair.

"But what if you do?"

> "Let me try something . . ."

"Huh? Hey, what are you—!?" Akechi drops his hand back on the table, his eyes widening. Yet I don't stop the mischievous grin from spreading on my face.

Before I can think twice about it or my insecurities act up, I drag him up by his arm and away from the audience. As soon as we're out of sight, I take off my glasses and reach up to put them on him.

Maybe I've actually caught him off guard because Akechi doesn't shove me away or protest, so I don't stop. Before I have a chance to overthink what I'm doing, I've already reached both hands up and disheveled his normally immaculate hair. Soft strands of it slip through my fingers, and my heart hammers like it's intending to break out of my ribcage.

He's still not making any attempt to stop me, but as soon as my brain's caught up to what I'm doing and the fact that my hands are still in his hair, I jerk them down, my mouth falling open.

For one moment, he stands motionlessly; I can't see his expression through the glasses, as they're made opaque by the setting sunlight that meets them from an angle. Then, without a word, Akechi spins and returns to our table. I follow on his heel, having to run a little to keep up with his long strides, and promptly crash into my own chair, releasing a pained cry. Hadn't Akechi caught me by the arm and stabilized the chair with the other, I may have mown down the entire table.

My face flushes, and I curse my clumsiness, which I've mostly learned to maneuver around, but it still acts up when I'm nervous. And I'm more nervous than I've ever been around him right now. Mostly because he still doesn't speak as he sits back down.

I take a deep breath and almost smack my hand into my coffee cup when I spin to watch what happened to the audience. Some of the people have left, but some are still lingering and apparently noticing us again.

"Oh, he's back," a woman says. "This time I'll get his autograph for—"

"Hey," another interjects. "Is that boy really Akechi-kun?"

"You know," her friend replies, and approaches, inspecting us keenly. "Now that I see him up close, I'm not sure . . ."

"Maybe you were seeing things?" Another joins her. "I don't remember the show too well, but I'm pretty sure he didn't look like that."

"Aww!" The one who approached initially spins back around and throws her hands up before she stalks back to her friends. "If he was the real thing, I could've bragged about meeting him."

Akechi doesn't even mind them. He hasn't once ceased staring at me from behind the reflective glasses that are missing from my face. I feel a surge of pride, as it seems to be working, but I can also barely contain my laughter. He looks ridiculous, and he probably knows that. I clench my hands together, trying not to think about what it felt like to run them through his hair and pray that he can't see me blushing.

As soon as the crowd has cleared, Akechi rises from his seat again. Without a word, he takes my glasses off, and in two big steps, he's standing over me. He briefly holds up my glasses, then puts his free hand down heavily on the table in front of me, leaning in. All thoughts instantly vanish from my mind and my mouth drops open. I sit, frozen, yet all he does is gently slide my glasses back on my face.

One more moment of tension goes by, then a little giggle slips out of me after all—from relief or pride or simple amusement at the ridiculous situation, I can't quite tell. Yet it lodges in my throat the moment I feel his hand on my head.

"I can't believe you actually did that . . ." he says in a strange, almost toneless voice; his eyes, which I can see again now, are dark. For a moment, I feel a faint chill . . . Then he combs his fingers through my hair and every muscle in my body tenses. "I suppose I'd better learn to watch what I say around you." Briefly, a conniving smirk darts over his face, then he removes his hand and spins around to where his briefcase sits on the spare chair. He produces a comb from one of the compartments and runs it through his hair methodically until it looks like it always does.

He turns back to me, comb still in hand, and for a moment I think he'll do my hair next. Yet he merely stashes it away again and takes a seat, as though nothing happened. I swallow hard, adjusting my recently regained glasses. Then I almost burst with laughter again, realizing he actually let me get away with that.

> "You looked great."

"It was a necessary evil."

"Aren't you happy with the result?"

"Is that so?" Akechi smirks. "Well, who else could make a peasant of the Detective Prince? Still . . ." His smile drops, and his dark eyes burrow into mine in a way that chills me to the bone yet again. "There's no knowing how things may go unless you give it a try, hm?"

I frown, unsure of what he means and why he sounds so different all of a sudden from his usual charming demeanor.

"Either way, I think I've learned a valuable lesson," he says. "Thank you."

He's still unnerving me slightly, with how his eyes aren't smiling along with his mouth, but I can still sense Akechi's gratitude toward me . . . If only for making it so that he can stay and relax a while longer.

RANK UP!

CONFIDANT: Goro Akechi | JUSTICE ^ RANK 3

~

[You will now earn more EXP from Arcana Burst when fusing Personas of the Justice Arcana!]

Akechi holds my gaze for a moment longer, then he inspects his still-half-full cup. "Looks like our coffee's gone cold. Now that we don't have to leave anymore . . . why don't we order new ones?"

I nod and fold my arms on the table, then lean forward as though waiting for him to say something riveting. Akechi looks at me like he's still not abandoned the thought of giving me a makeover as well, but finally, a, how I believe, genuine smile dashes over his face. "You're a handful, aren't you?" he says, leaning back.

In reply, I merely give him my cheekiest grin. Despite myself, I am proud of having caught him off guard today . . . This is one for the history books, truly.

I can't say this is how I expected our first . . . proper? date to go. But nothing much more happens afterward. The coffee is delightful; it tastes like a stolen moment of relaxation, like the eye of the storm. Akechi was right, I think when he finally stands to prepare to leave. This is a much more date-like atmosphere than a heated, deceptive game of pool. Oddly enough, I can't tell which one of the two I enjoyed more.

"Well, see you next time," he says, giving me a last smile and holding his phone up to indicate he will text me again. Then he's gone, and I have no excuse to not return home to where Morgana is waiting . . . with whatever he wants to tell me about Akechi.

I sigh, picking up my bag. Maybe it won't be as bad as he's making it out to be?

***

I try my hardest not to stall, and when I'm on Leblanc's doorstep again, it feels like practically no time has passed. I swallow, yet before I can get a hold of the door, my phone rings. I pick it up eagerly when I see that it's Akechi again.

"Hello," he says, and I lean against the wall, not even attempting to suppress my smile. "Well, what did you think—was it a better date this time? I figured I might as well try earnestly. And I ended up really enjoying having this moment of respite with you."

He doesn't elaborate on exactly what he needed respite from, but I can imagine. If his fans are that relentless . . .

"What of it? Are you proud that you surprised me today?" He says it as though he's read my mind, and I tense up. "I can't believe we got out of that with such a basic trick. It was an interesting experience, but . . . I saw firsthand what happens when I'm too careless with my words around you. You're a little troublemaker, aren't you? Be warned; if you do that again, I will not allow you to get away unpunished."

I suck in a breath and stand straighter, nearly dropping my phone. The way he said it so casually conjures up an image of him earlier: the smirk and the tauntingly crossed legs. I have no idea what exactly he is trying to imply, but that doesn't change the fact that my face is burning.

I have to swallow a couple of times before I can think up a worthy response.

"I may have to risk it."

> "But it would be fun . . ."

"What do you mean?"

". . . You have a twisted concept of "fun"," he says. "Nothing that I can't get behind, though."

I nearly burst out laughing. I'm not sure why exactly, but the way he says it evokes a nice, tingly excitement in my chest for whenever we might meet again.

"Hm. If we ever do this again, I'll be the one to dress you up, just to keep it fair. I wonder if I might work a miracle and tame that hair of yours . . . Do you wear it like that on purpose? It's a cute look, but don't you think it could prove useful to know one or the other trick to alter the way you come across?"

I run a hand through my hair and suppress laughter. If he wants to style my hair, I'm not about to stop him. Maybe he can tame it . . . I've tried, but at this point, it's easier to say I like it that way. And maybe I do. I ponder whether it's actually become part of who I am . . . and then on the fact that Akechi said it looks cute.

"If we do this, it'll have to be carefully planned, of course. I'll be dictating everything, not just the hair. Maybe we can buy you some new clothes and accessories as well."

I snort with laughter, ready to hold him to the fact that he owes me a shopping trip now—all expenses covered, of course.

"Who knows, it may help you discover a new side of yours . . . Appearance truly is everything. We proved it today—most people can't see beyond the superficial."

I hum approvingly, already looking forward to whatever he has in store for me. Against all odds, I hope that he is serious about this experiment.

"Oh," Akechi says after a short pause. "I have an early start tomorrow, so I'll have to excuse myself. See you soon." He hangs up, and I remain there, leaning against the wall, and smile down at my phone like an idiot for quite a while. He's managed to at least somewhat surprise me back after all.

Well . . . I finally stash my phone away and disconnect from the wall to enter Leblanc. This seems to be the only constant with Akechi, anyway. And the more time I spend with him, the more I find myself eager for it—whether that is a smart choice or not, I don't know.

All I know is that I've never met a boy who made me feel the way he does. And that—I stop in my tracks halfway through the door, allowing the realization to sink in—even though I still barely know more about him than I did earlier, I'm well on my way to . . . falling into a full-,blown crush . . . which even I can tell might not be the wisest choice.

Then again—I hardly have a say in this, do I?