... In which Akechi asks me to Mementos for his boldest challenge yet and I finally catch a true glimpse behind his meticulous mask of the kind and charming Detective Prince. What I see is a Goro Akechi who is something else entirely.

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

Still nothing. Every few seconds, I glance back at my phone and the new group chat that's been suspiciously silent today. It's been almost a week since we started Sae's palace and Futaba bugged Akechi's phone, and still, nothing has come of it.

I shovel spoon after spoon of delicious dinner curry into my mouth, but mentally, I'm far away. With each passing, fruitless day, I become increasingly fed up with my friends' disregard for his privacy and closer to confronting them with my true opinion on their plan. Spending more time fighting alongside Akechi in the Metaverse doesn't help.

We got almost halfway through the palace yesterday, said Futaba. She was as surprised as everyone else when I announced we should leave it be for the day, for no apparent reason, instead of powering through until we hit the almost obligatory roadblock. But the further we get into it, the more I realize that this is a palace that I'm happy to drag out for as long as I possibly can.

I barely notice that I've finished my dinner. My head's in the Metaverse—because in my head, the palace is never-ending. I think about Akechi fighting with us, about baton passing and swapping items with him, about sitting side by side in a safe room, exchanging idle chatter . . . About Makoto's and Haru's new showtime, and how much I'm itching to ask Akechi, of all my teammates, to come up with one of our own.

But . . . I clench the spoon so tight my knuckles shine white. He isn't a real teammate. I peek at the new group chat. My friends don't seem to get tired of reminding neither me nor him of this fact.

They are justified in being suspicious of him, I have to tell myself for the millionth time. It doesn't change the fact that I hate how we have to deceive him with every fiber of my heart, which hammers violently against my ribcage as though trying to express its disapproval. What I hate even more is that my friends all apparently think they also have to be so outright rude to him, more often than not.

And yet . . . a part of me can't help but hate myself too—for being so trusting, so willing. So ready to blindly hold out my heart for him to . . . break? Well . . . I guess it'll come down to whether he can make my heart bleed out any faster than it already does.

"Hey, what about my dinner?" I jerk up when Morgana's voice disrupts my gloomy thoughts. "Didn't boss prepare anything for me? Humph . . ." He leaps up on the counter beside me, and I shake my head.

"Oh well . . . I'll have to go and remind him that I exist, then." Morgana shrugs, and I can't help but roll my eyes. "Hey, so . . . did Futaba text yet?" he asks moments later, bringing me back to reality. I shake my head again, and Morgana groans. "This isn't good. I wonder why we haven't gotten any results yet . . . ?"

I swallow and summon all the courage I have mustered over the last few days.

"Maybe it's a sign that we made a mistake?"

> "What if we were wrong, and it won't amount to anything?"

Morgana gives me a long look. "You really don't like that we're taking the safe approach here, do you? Why is that? Isn't it better to be safe than sorry?"

I cast my eyes down at my empty plate, then finally nod. The safe approach. The way he phrased it, it doesn't sound like we're deceiving and excluding someone I want so desperately to embrace.

I open my mouth to ask Morgana if he'll finally let me ask Akechi openly about why he lied about when he discovered the Metaverse when my phone chimes. Both our heads turn toward it, and I pick it up with suddenly shaking hands. But . . . my heart skips a beat; it's not Futaba or the group. It's . . .

GORO AKECHI

> Hey. Are you free right now?

> I think we should talk. It's time we establish something important.

"Akechi . . . He wants to talk? Well, there is something he's not telling us," Morgana says as he peeks at the screen, and my heart skips a beat; I know exactly what he means.

". . . Are you gonna go see him?"

I nod a little too eagerly. Is this the chance I've been waiting for? Will he finally tell me what's going on and why he lied to us?

Before Morgana can respond, he is interrupted by another notification . . . but it's not Akechi this time.

FUTABA: Hey Rin, what do you think the liar wants to talk about?

ANN: Huh?

> What do you mean?

FUTABA: Akechi texted her just now.

> Something about meeting up and talking.

RYUJI: What?!

ANN: You should probably go . . . but be careful!

FUTABA: My words exactly.

I close the group chat and try not to feel like my own privacy has been violated. There were never any talks about reading his texts to me as well!

"Hm . . ." Morgana shakes his head. "I gotta hand it to you—if he does reveal anything crucial and it turns out you were right, I'll apologize. But Futaba has a point: don't do anything reckless, okay? If he wants to talk, let him. But if he doesn't . . . I would advise you to wait before asking any questions of your own."

I hold Morgana's earnest and concerned gaze for a moment, then I let reason win over my fuming emotions. It can't hurt to wait a little longer . . . The deadline is still weeks away, and Akechi himself said no moves will be made until then. Still . . . I tap the screen and hesitate, then open Akechi's text to reply; there's no need to respond in the group if they're going to read my messages to him anyway.

I stare at his portrait for a second longer than I have to, finding myself hoping urgently that he'll tell me everything of his own accord sooner rather than later.

RIN AMAMIYA

> I'll be there.

He replies almost immediately.

GORO AKECHI

> Thanks.

> Then I'll be waiting in Kichijoji.

Morgana and I exchange a glance, and without another word, he jumps into my bag. I don't even have the mind to think about telling Sojiro that I'm leaving.

The entire subway ride, I can't slow my galloping heart. Whether it's because of what Akechi may say or just because it's him, I don't know. The more I think about it, the clearer it becomes to me that there's something I've not told him either—something I should have told him a while ago, honestly, but . . .

Be cautious, I still hear Morgana say. We don't know if Akechi's lying about anything else or what his true agenda is for proposing to work with us.

Cautious . . . the word tastes sour in my mouth. The safe approach. But the longer we fight side by side in the Metaverse, the harder I also find it to believe that he joined up with us for a completely ulterior motive.

By the time I exit the subway, I'm smiling. I've never seen him quite this excited to undertake something—or acting so motivated among a larger group of people. I know—I see—that he enjoys being with us. And it's warming my heart.

I've pieced together a long time ago that he is and probably has been lonely all his life. He's never had much spare time—understandable considering his school and his job, and how ostracized honor students are in general; his celebrity status would only add to that. I can't imagine that he socializes much at school. He told me himself that he has no noteworthy family and lives alone . . . And that's exactly why I hate deceiving him so much.

It's not just that I care about him. It's also that . . . this, what he has here with us now, is most likely a first. And it's also . . . why I'm hoping, praying that whatever my friends are so paranoid about will evaporate into thin air soon. Because I still haven't given up hope that if it does, he could join us honestly.

But that's not the thing that I'm not telling him. Maybe, if I finally do, it would give him a reason to be honest with me as well.

Akechi is waiting in front of "Penguin Sniper" as he always does, staring at his phone with a frown. I bury my hands in my pockets and walk up to him, trying to act natural. The thing that I know I should finally tell him—now more than ever—is beating at the back of my mind like a sledgehammer. But the little courage I scraped together is already deserting me.

As soon as he senses my presence, Akechi looks up. "Our mission is going great. All we need to do is wait for the proposed date," he says without introduction.

I nod, and he turns, stashing away his phone, then looks at me with narrowed eyes and an ever-so-faint smile that is pleasantly knotting my insides. "Haha . . ." He tilts his head. "Perhaps it's not quite appropriate, but . . . I confess I'm a little excited for this."

I sense Morgana peeking out of my bag and swallow.

"Do you have time? I want to talk to you about something . . ." Akechi stares past me absentmindedly, and I nod again. That's why I'm here.

Please, I beg silently. Tell me what is going on. Tell me you had a good reason to lie to us and that all this paranoia is groundless. That I can . . . trust you. I swallow again. If you do, it might just give me enough courage to tell you my own secret—how I really feel about you. Suddenly, I think that if I can't get this off my chest soon, I'll explode.

"It'd be best if we went somewhere where there aren't many people around," Akechi continues, and his tone shifts. "How about, let's say . . . Mementos?"

I look up, alarmed. Did I hear correctly? I stare at Akechi for a moment, then I suddenly wonder if he has a request for me—one he'd rather have handled privately like Futaba.

". . . Nobody can get in our way there."

I swallow again and try my absolute hardest to read his expression, but his face is blank. Collected and calm on the surface, as always, but there's something I can't make out for the life of me stirring beneath, so close it might boil over any second.

I do feel like my bond with Akechi is about to get stronger, but . . .

"He wants the two of you to go to Mementos alone . . . ?" Morgana interrupts my thoughts; he looks back and forth between Akechi and me, then sighs. "Well, you guys are strong enough that you should be fine, but . . ." He moves closer to my ear and lowers his voice. "Be ready for anything, I guess."

I nod and attempt a smile, most likely failing miserably. Though my heart is still racing, I'm more anxious than anything now—to find out what he could possibly want.

"Then let's head to Shibuya," Akechi says, picking up his briefcase.

"Akechi just wants to go with you, right?" Morgana leaps out of my bag with the finesse of an experienced cat. "Then I'll be waiting outside . . . Be careful."

He remains behind while Akechi and I head for the subway. We ride in silence, and I still can't calm my mind—not about what he's proposing or my own feelings for him, which I admitted to myself a while ago. No matter what he will or won't reveal about his own intentions or how he might react . . . As we exit the subway, I conclude that I need to confess to him if I ever want to rest easy again.

And . . . I look at him from the corner of my eye. It's not . . . inconceivable that he may return my feelings. So far, he's not given me any reason to think that he doesn't. An excited tingle runs down my spine. Quite the opposite, actually. I allow myself to reflect on our interactions in the past; he certainly implied more than once that he feels something for me too. It should be impossible that he doesn't. For what has to be the hundredth time, I remember his sharp, unfiltered "What are you doing to me . . . ?" and feel the familiar, pleasant shiver the words elicit.

Then I also remember his lie about the Metaverse and our plan to deceive him now. Our circumstances are a lot more complicated than they used to be, but . . . our feelings aren't. Are they?

As soon as we arrive, Akechi takes out his phone right by the subway entrance and activates the Nav without saying a word. Something's clearly on his mind, and all I really want is to be alone with him somewhere . . . So that I can embrace him and assure him that he doesn't have to shoulder a potential problem all by himself. I don't care if my team is suspecting him. I won't . . . until I'm presented with undeniable and hard evidence, I won't. I will be his friend—I tell myself as the navigation activates and we fade into the Metaverse—if I can't be more than that to him, I'll at least be his friend. No matter what anyone says.

And then we're there, in Mementos. I can never make up my mind about whether I find this place fascinating or creepy—both, maybe. "Well," Akechi says, stopping when we reach a dead end with no Shadows in sight. "This place should do nicely . . ."

I look around and scowl. There's nothing here; we're alone, and even though this seems an almost suspiciously perfect spot to talk about what we've been keeping from each other, I can't shake the growing dread. It honestly hasn't really faded ever since our last pool game. But for now, maybe I should focus on finding out why we're here.

"What did you want to discuss?"

> "Why are we in Mementos?"

Akechi turns to face me. For a moment, his gaze flickers to the side, then he reaches into his pocket. ". . . This."

I flinch as I find myself staring down the muzzle of a gun. He cocks it at me casually, perfectly composed. It is . . . I swallow, my heart hammering, but not from excitement this time. I'm fighting an instinct to retreat. This . . . is not the ray gun model that he uses in Metaverse battles . . . It's his real gun.

"Remember what I told you?" Akechi takes a step closer and another until the gun hovers inches over my chest . . . my heart. "If you ever won against me using my right hand, I'd take you on with everything I've got."

He is staring holes into my eyes, not faltering for a second. His voice lowers until it is barely more than a whisper—deep and drenched with an emotion I can't pinpoint for the life of me. Yet, despite the pungent air of danger that he's doing a phenomenal job at exuding, it's also . . . effectively turning my knees into jelly.

I blink up at him and try to fight the sudden heat in my cheeks. Struggling to sort through my clouded mind and form coherent thoughts, I recall our last pool game and what he said after I won. But . . .

> "I thought you meant in pool . . ."

"Is this what you meant?"

Akechi holds the gun steady, but his head tilts away from me until I can't see his eyes anymore. "That wasn't enough to satisfy me." He makes the words sound both accusing and provocative at the same time. "It's your own fault, though."

I stare at his gloved finger that hovers over the trigger. He's not going to pull it—of this, I am oddly certain. No, this . . . it's all just a mind game. And against my better judgment, I find myself falling for it.

"You've not only grown fast and continuously exceeded and . . . subverted my expectations, you have also . . ." He tilts the gun, then takes another step closer. If I reached out, I could touch him now. "You do and say things that . . . You're not like anyone else, Rin Amamiya."

My heart skips a beat at the way he says my name—my full name—for the very first time.

"You just don't know when to quit. There is no other way." Akechi laughs quietly, eliciting a shiver, then he looks back at me with an odd gleam that I haven't seen before. "I have to be certain. You and I—" he smiles but this time, only with his mouth. "—have to be certain. That . . . it's not too late yet."

I frown. He's not making any sense, but beneath the barrel of his gun, my heart is hammering. Whether it's from anxiety, anticipation, or because he has never let me come so close, outside of our dance in the rain . . . or all of the above. Heaven only knows.

"Either way, I've built up this urge to duel you . . . without holding anything back," he announces, standing straighter.

A duel? I blink, surprised . . . until I realize that I probably shouldn't be. Because . . . why not? Honestly, upon hearing his proposition, I feel genuine relief. I've never considered something like that, but it makes odd sense for what he announced he wants us to be, and it explains why he brought me here. And . . . it could be fun.

In his eyes, I see a new kind of iron determination. He's not explaining what he meant earlier, and . . . I suddenly feel an excited tingle creep up my spine. If that's what he wants—I can't help but smile—I'll give him the fight of his life.

"All right . . ."

> "You're on."

As soon as I say the words, he retracts the gun and leans back. "Thank you for indulging my selfish request." He smiles almost too brightly, and I swallow hard. "No need for pleasantries at this point, correct?" Something in the way he says those last words chills me to the bone.

Akechi swiftly stashes the gun away, then extends a hand to initiate the battle. "Let's go!"

Only now do I realize that I haven't exactly come prepared for a fight. I'm fairly low on items, and I haven't actually visited the Velvet Room to fuse new Personas in ages. I wanted to wait until we get further into Sae's palace and I can recruit some new ones . . . well, it's too late now, I suppose.

"You won't be able to defeat me unless you actually fight with lethal intent," Akechi announces suddenly, and I listen up. "Now, show me your true skills."

I evaluate my options. Not exactly top tier, but . . . well. I hope I will be fine. What's worrying me more at the moment is his 'lethal intent' remark. Because I most certainly won't be attempting to kill him any time soon . . . I can't imagine he'd do it any differently with me.

For a while, we exchange blows, and although I'm definitely not fighting with everything I have, I can already tell he isn't either. It's like trying to get a feel for your opponent before going all out, except I'd never actually go all out on him.

When both our healths begin to teeter on half, I wonder if I should heal—or if that would be cheating, considering I'm not sure if he has any healing items left for himself.

"Nice . . . How fascinating." Akechi suddenly interrupts the battle and leans back. "Can you take this?"

I stagger back from how hard his Megidola hits and abandon all thoughts of doing this without healing. Besides . . . he was the one who wanted me to use everything I've got, right?

Like that, it doesn't take much longer until his health is sufficiently depleted . . . and Akechi confirms that he indeed did not mean to fight to the lethal end. "Haha . . ." He takes a step back and shoots me a glare loaded with an unprecedented amount of animosity. "This was not expected . . ."

Once again, I'm face to face with him, but now he is staring at me as though he's not done yet. Slowly but surely, I begin asking myself if there is more behind this request than just the fun of a little competition.

". . . No wonder you're the leader of the Phantom Thieves," he finally says, shaking his head. "You've caught up to me on this front already, too . . ."

For a moment, I wonder if it is just the exhaustion from the fight or if he is genuinely this disappointed in the outcome. It's not like I decimated him effortlessly or anything . . . I take a deep breath, not even trying to conceal how much this has tired me out.

But when I look at Akechi again, I can without a doubt see the want to keep going . . . I'm not sure how to feel about that.

"Is this what you wanted?"

> ". . . Was that all you've got?"

"Do you want to keep going?"

"Of course not." The corner of his mouth twitches up, and I suppress a shiver from the calm certainty in his voice. "But if we go any further, we'd both go beyond the point of no return, wouldn't we?"

His eyes pierce into me more than ever before, making me swallow. For one moment, we stand there, then he takes a step forward. He's been keeping his distance so far, but now that he's close again, I can feel the tension he radiates even without the gun. "In all honesty," Akechi says, lowering his voice to barely more than a whisper. "I'd love to see just how far we can go."

I freeze, with my mouth hanging open. Although I'm pleasantly surprised at how unadulterated his expression suddenly looks . . . I cannot pinpoint his emotion—not even whether it's genuine.

"But we have an important mission coming up," Akechi declares. "Until that's finished, you're a vital ally to me." He brushes past me, then halts, looking back. ". . . We're done here. Let's go."

I have no choice but to follow when he activates the Nav and kicks us out of the Metaverse. But for whatever it's worth, my heart is slamming against the back of my throat. Why? Not even I know that for sure. Everything, in a way.

We reappear behind the subway station, right where we entered; passersby can't see us here. Just as I wonder whether Akechi will say anything else now, he does exactly that. "Once again, you surprised me today," he says, looking my way but keeping his face half-concealed in the shade so that I can't make it out properly. "As allies fighting alongside one another, your strength is truly reassuring. In all honesty, it's to the point that I'd be relying on you in a pinch."

For some reason, his words astonish me. I hadn't expected him to freely admit something like this to anyone . . . and I can't help but feel honored.

> "I'd say the same for you."

"The feeling's mutual."

"Is that so? Well, that would please me greatly." For a second, Akechi turns away from me, and I wonder if he's just going to take off or if he's going to tell me anything else . . . The questions I've been keeping in this whole time burn at the back of my throat, but I'm biting them back.

Then he twists back and shakes his head. "I'm sorry I asked you to indulge me, but I do feel a bit better now."

I can't help but wonder what it is exactly about fighting me that is making him feel better. But I do feel like my bond with Akechi is growing deeper . . .

RANK UP!

CONFIDANT: Goro Akechi | JUSTICE ^ RANK 8

~

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

Akechi seems deep in thought. More than ever, I feel like now is the time for us to exchange secrets—confessions? Yet before I can open my mouth, he beats me to speaking: "By the way," he says, "about that duel—even though you're not so much the competitive type—if we had fought to the end, do you see yourself winning?"

I'm taken aback by the question. In my eyes, we did fight to the end, but . . . No matter how much the thought displeases me, he did say that thing about wondering how far we could go . . .

> "I already told you I won't give up."

"I don't know."

"I'm not sure I even want to find out . . ."

"I had a feeling you'd say that." He smiles, and I smile back, recalling how he's the first person who's ever managed to get me even remotely interested in competing. It's more fun than I thought, honestly—when it's with him, anyway.

Then he suddenly shifts, and he tilts his head. "Well . . . Let me be entirely honest with you."

Is this it? I clasp my hands together and look at him expectantly. Before I can react, Akechi has stepped out of the shade toward me. He leans in and tilts my chin up. The leather of his glove feels smooth against my skin, setting off a million tiny fireworks in my chest. His soft breath tickles my face and my lips part all on their own. He wouldn't need to lean in much further to kiss me. And at that moment, every cell in my body screams at him to do it—to let this be it, his honesty.

But when I finally gather the courage to look up into his eyes, I nearly wince back.

"—I hate you."

Something breaks inside of me. At least, that is what it feels like. I can't look away, and neither can I stop telling myself that he couldn't truly have meant that—not considering everything that's happened between us so far, but—

He's looked at me in so many ways that have honestly concerned, even chilled, me before. But when I take him in now, I feel as though that layer of composure he's keeping up at all times is entirely gone. I briefly recall the moment that I've successfully repressed, back after our trip to the park. But even then . . . it wasn't like this. Because what I now make out beneath terrifies me more than just a little bit.

Akechi lets out a derisive scoff. "Your uniqueness and your gift for transforming every adversity into an opportunity . . . That revolting optimism, hope, and love that pours out of you and contaminates everything in its path, as if the rest of us asked for it! The way you refuse to quit." His voice is quiet, almost soft, in stark contrast to the putrid scorn in it. His grip on my chin doesn't tighten, but he doesn't let go either. "It's like some vile force from the darkest pit of hell sent you to be my personal undoing."

I swallow repeatedly, attempting to slow my heart that pounds at the back of my throat as though in protest. I'm searching his face for anything—something I've misinterpreted, something I've done wrong. And though he's so close, and so . . . honest now, I can't find what I'm looking for.

I . . . don't want him to hate me!

The thought hits like a tidal wave. All the hopes—the feelings that I've had for him, for who knows how long—burn beneath my skin like embers. But . . . I blink once, twice, only then understanding that tears have welled up in my eyes. He finds the love I've been giving him . . . revolting.

Was it a mistake to believe there was ever something between us? Was it all a figment of my imagination after all? I think, then bite my lip in a sudden fit of anger. Why would he . . . hate me? What he said just now doesn't justify hatred. He can't honestly hate me just because I've been doing my best to love him!

"You're the one person I can't afford to . . ." Akechi hesitates, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly. ". . . Afford to lose to."

He releases me at last, and I falter. That didn't sound like . . .

This time, it is me who takes a step closer. Akechi looks up, and I search his uncharacteristically restless expression for the answer to my question. Whether he truly meant 'hate', or whether this is all a misunderstanding . . . Whether he could genuinely hate me just for loving him . . . Or whether it's a different kind of emotion. One that I could find a sensible explanation for. Whether there's any chance for us, still . . . at all.

> "I don't hate you."

"Do you really hate me?"

"What did I do . . . ?"

His head jerks up, and even though I've spoken quietly, the sound of my own voice seems piercingly in my ears.

"You really are—!" Akechi breaks off, actually speechless. I only have a moment to wonder why and whether that means that I'm right before he continues, ". . . Is that so, eh? Have you ever considered that maybe it would be better for . . . all of us if you did?" His expression darkens before he looks away from me, and I wonder if my words touched him at all. If he cares about what I think, or if whatever 'would be better for all of us' means is all he thinks about. And whether I care if he cares. Whether I . . . should. "We are what we are at this point . . . correct?"

It takes me a moment to understand that he means being rivals, then I nod.

"No need for it to become anything else."

The words feel like another stab to the chest, even worse than his previous ones. Because . . . while I'm not entirely certain whether he actually meant hatred, the way he speaks now makes it clear that he means it this time. But also . . . I stare up at him and bite my lip harder. Did I imagine that, or was that undertone . . . regret, just now?

"Either way . . . I'll let you have this win today—but next time, I will be victorious." He says it like he's never been more certain of anything in his life. And once again, he manages to chill me by simply speaking. Although . . . did he mean our duel earlier? Or something else entirely?

For a heartbeat, he is silent, then an actual smile dashes across his face. It is fleeting, but it also gives me hope . . . as the first genuine smile I've seen from him today.

". . . Let this be my proof." Bewildered, I watch as he raises his right hand, then his left. Before I can process what he's doing, something flies toward my face. I just about manage to jerk my own hand up and catch it.

When I look at what he's just thrown at me, my jaw drops. In my hand is one of the gloves Akechi usually wears. I wager it's a few sizes too big for me, but the leather is soft, and something about holding it makes me want to never let it go again.

Despite the complicated exchange earlier, I realize that the longer I stare at it, the hotter my face becomes. It's a feeling not unlike when he kissed my hand back at that TV station . . . even though he has not even touched me.

"There's a tradition in the West to throw one's glove at their opponent when demanding a duel," Akechi says with a crooked smile. The way he looks at me then makes me want to forget all the mixed signals he's been sending today and do what he's accused me of—follow my heart—believe—against all odds. "Should the opponent accept the glove, the duel is also accepted." He clasps his hands together, one with and one without glove . . . The glove in my hand.

I tighten my grip on it, trying my absolute best to think straight. He's not making it easy right now. But whatever answer I give him, I can't shake the feeling that it will have lasting consequences.

> "I accept."

"Let me think about it . . ."

Akechi's smile widens. For a while, we simply stand there, across from each other. I'm still clutching his glove like a lifeline, trying not to think about how I'll probably try it on as soon as he's gone.

"Well, in that case," Akechi says eventually, and to my dismay, his smile fades. "I have another question for you." I nod without hesitation, and Akechi lets out a breath, crossing his arms. "Then tell me . . . What is it that I am to you, really?"

I stare at him, unable to think of a single thing to say. What . . . am I supposed to respond to a question like that? It crosses my mind that I could use this opportunity to confess to him like I meant to, but . . . something tells me that isn't what he wants to hear right now.

Concepts and words begin clogging my head, all in one way or another describing our relationship, him, but none feel sufficient. There is no 'word' for what he is to me. I try to steady my breathing, but in vain. Not one. A hundred . . . a million . . . perhaps.

Now I'm really holding his glove like a lifeline . . . Because Akechi's still waiting for an answer. And I have to give him one.

> "My counterpart."

"My rival."

"My friend."

Judging by how his eyes widen with surprise, Akechi definitely didn't expect this answer. Quite frankly, I didn't either. It kind of just came to me that perhaps 'counterpart' would be the word that comes closest to describing what he is to me. Even if I still find it insufficient in some ways, considering one does not normally feel such a strong attraction to their counterpart . . . I think. Then again . . . I smile. There is a natural attraction between north and south, no? And if even the laws of physics say so . . .

"Is that . . . so?" Akechi finally replies, then shakes his head. "Is that . . . what you see me as? A counterpart." I can't tell for certain whether he liked the answer. "A counterpart," he repeats, and I'm beginning to think that yes, he did like it. "An equal," he says solemnly. "A counterpart is an equal, no? Is that what I am to you? Really?" There's an undertone in his voice that unsettles me again. "Am I an equal?" he repeats. "Or merely the one who has to lose in order for you to keep winning?"

A shiver runs down my spine because there is that scorn in his voice again—the same that oozed out of his 'I hate you'.

"Never forget that, will you?" Akechi says, laughing dryly. "Whenever you falter, just think that you can't lose as long as I keep doing it. Those are the roles we were assigned." His voice grows quieter with every word until it's barely more than a low, toneless whisper. ". . . If we choose to follow them anyway."

I stare at him, speechless. I can't begin to tell where this is coming from or what he means, but suddenly, I think I grasp what kind of emotion it was that he mistook for hatred, earlier. I still can't put it into words, but . . . I think I understand.

The moment it sinks in, I take two steps forward and place a hand on his shoulder. I'm not quite sure why; maybe I assumed that a gesture would better convey my feelings than words could. But the moment I touch him, Akechi jerks his arm back. Before I can properly process what he's doing, I'm staring at the barrel of his gun.

"What is that supposed to be?" he hisses, and I jerk my arms up on instinct. With his every step forward, I take one back, not even paying attention to where I'm going. "I don't want to be pitied." He practically spits the words in my face; the raw disgust in them sears into me. "Especially not by you."

My mind screams . . . confused, and yes, now a little afraid too. I'm keeping my hands up, and even though I'm still decently certain that he's just trying to intimidate me . . . Whether that's his intent or not, it's working.

Then, Akechi stops. A few moments pass before he retracts the hand with the gun. Another moment later, he wordlessly takes out the magazine and turns it upside down, then presents it to me. It's . . . empty.

The gun's not loaded; it's never been. I watch as he puts the empty magazine back in its place, then has the audacity to give me a self-satisfied smirk. "Don't tell me that actually scared you."

He's done a lot of honestly impertinent things that messed with me before but . . . I stare at him with my jaw dropped, feeling a strong wave of an unnameable yet overpowering emotion. Nothing has ever even come close to this.

Akechi looks like he knows exactly what effect he has on me, yet also like he doesn't care. The look he gives me sends shivers down my spine and weakens my knees, all at once. Stepping closer, he hovers over me with eyes that are dark, bottomless depths that I want to get lost in.

He leans in, cocking the gun. The black of his glove is nigh indistinguishable from that of his weapon. Even though I'm aware it's not loaded, I once again retreat until my back hits the wall. Ever so slowly, he steps closer until he's mere inches away. He raises the gun . . . and places it directly over my heart. The cold of the muzzle seeps through the fabric of my jacket and into my chest like delicious venom.

I find it impossible to shift my gaze from his. Not when he's so close that I can feel his breath on my face, so much warmer than the steel of his gun. "Know this—you may pride yourself on never giving up but so do I. No matter what, I will never stop fighting," he says in a low voice. Almost . . . soft. "Not for any reason . . . especially not because of some unprovable theory."

My heart pounds like a sledgehammer as I'm taken up with combating the urge to close the inch-wide gap between us and kiss him.

"And . . . make certain that you never forget . . ." Akechi leans in until his mouth is at my ear. His soft exhale caresses my cheek, and a strand of his hair grazes my temple. I'm holding my breath as he whispers: ". . . I am the one who will defeat you."

I was holding my breath deliberately, so far—now I'm unable to let it go. To breathe. To think . . . because my mind is a jumbled mess, and he is all that my senses can still perceive.

. . . Until it suddenly clears—the mist chased by the truth that blooms in my chest and tingles on my skin. I clutch his glove that I'm still holding tighter and look up. Because it dawns on me that he just told me what he really meant when he spoke of hatred earlier.

It is ironic that it's Akechi himself—who previously expressed such disdain for it—who has given me my precious hope back now; it paints a bright smile on my face. Then, before he can move, my hand flies up, and I have the gun by the barrel.

"You're right, I will never give up."

"We'll see whose will is stronger."

> "And I am the one who won't stop believing."

I clutch the barrel tightly, and for a moment, his eyes widen with surprise. His lips part, and he retreats a few inches, clearly taken aback. I feel triumph at having startled him for once . . . until he removes the gun from my chest and retracts it. I have to let go, or I would have fallen straight into him.

"You really are, aren't you . . . Hah. You always find ways to surprise me, even if it is by being plainly foolish." He smiles, but it's not the kind of smile I'm used to from him. It's straight-out wicked. If he keeps it up, I might just get used to it, though. "I find that fascinating, you know?"

Right back at you, I think and watch him hesitate for a heartbeat, then turn back to point the gun at me again.

I flash a smile that I hope is as cheeky as his.

"You think that's still going to intimidate me?"

> "I'm aware that's not loaded, you know?"

"Oh, yeah?" Akechi asks, his wicked smirk growing wider. Then he pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens, of course, except for a faint click. I still recoil and hit the wall behind me. I've been told that my composure is one of my greatest strengths, yet it appears as though I cannot retain a single ounce when it comes to him.

I may have won the duel earlier, but Akechi won our little mind game, and from the looks of him, he's perfectly aware of this.

I hope he feels the emotion I'm attempting to convey through intense glaring before he turns away from me to finally stash the gun away and brush invisible dust particles off his immaculate blazer. Something burning—like anger, amusement, and longing—all mashed into one.

"Ah, look at the time," he says, turning to face me again and flashing another one of those new, devious smiles. "Let's call it a day . . . for now." His eyes fly to the subway station entrance before landing back on me. He straightens his back, then he has the audacity to deliver a gallant bow, as though he just asked me for a dance and not a fight. "Goodbye."

Well . . . I blow out a breath, and I cannot help but raise my hands to hide my burning face in my palms, along with my ridiculously wide grin. Peering between my fingers and trying to ignore the heavenly softness of his glove against my face, I stare after him until Akechi disappears into the distant crowd of subway passengers. Maybe, in our own strange way, that was exactly what he did.

***

It takes a long time until I'm ready to raise my face out of my hands, and even more so until I've properly caught my breath and cleared my head. I'm nowhere close to wrapping it around what just happened, though.

Eventually, the heat in my face finally subsides, and I allow my legs to give way, sliding down until I'm sitting against the wall with my knees pulled to my chest. I have no idea for how long I remain there, clutching Akechi's glove and trying to think. Eventually, I conclude that I really can't deny it anymore: whatever this was, it was something new.

I mean, I always knew there was more to Akechi than what he was showing people, especially since that fateful trip to the park. Then, the glimpse I had caught was so brief that I had successfully repressed it. Now, though, I can't help but wonder . . . how much exactly he is still hiding.

So far, I thought the way I knew him was more or less . . . genuine. Now I have to ask myself if this might be closer to what he is really like, underneath that meticulously crafted and upheld facade I was banging against but never able to truly crack . . . until today.

I cannot deny that it is disconcerting to think that, despite my former confidence in knowing him, I may actually know far less than I presumed. And if so . . . why would he even conceal his true self to the point where he might have crafted a whole . . . what, fake? personality for the sake of it. It just seems so . . . unnecessary. Especially considering that whatever the hell this was and how much it unsettled me, I can also not say that I didn't . . . like it. And that's a laughably massive understatement.

Recalling how certain I was that I knew him mere hours ago, I almost laugh. I'm struggling to comprehend how much there could still be beneath even what he's already shown me. The Goro Akechi I thought I knew was charming, considerate, kind, intelligent, deft, and skilled at practically everything—a perfect Prince Charming in every way—but also dreadfully lonely and private, far more used to rejection and cruelty than anyone should be.

But this . . . I tighten my grip on his glove, feeling my cheeks flush again. There seems to be much more to discover about Prince Charming than I previously thought. And if this is the Goro Akechi I'm about to find if I dig any deeper . . . well. That's one hell of an incentive to keep going.

The only question that I am avoiding, not ready to face it yet, is whether this also means that he could be hiding more than just aspects of his personality. Whether my friends may be right and I should be more careful. Whether I should be . . . running for my life.

I have no idea how much time passed when Morgana finally finds me, fur standing on end with concern. Only when I check the time do I realize that Sojiro—whom I haven't even told I was going out—will be worried out of his mind if I don't get home soon.

"Did Akechi do something to you?" Morgana asks as I finally pull myself to my feet and start walking toward the subway station.

I hesitate, then shake my head . . . Well, technically, he upended everything I thought I knew about him and practically declared a personal war on me. With gauntlet and all. I stuff it deep into my pocket before Morgana can notice it. But . . . no, he didn't do anything that significant.

"Good. Why didn't you head home sooner?" he lectures me, but I hardly listen. My mind is preoccupied with . . . everything that happened and might still happen. I want to stay oblivious, positive, but the more time I have to consider it all, the less I can ignore the dreadful implications of it all. The harder I try, the more I feel the looming uncertainty regarding Akechi's true intentions and his lie about the Metaverse, which we still haven't solved.

Little did I know that when we do, in just a few days, it would shatter my whole lovesick little dream world—and mark the end of all genuine happiness, for him and for me, for a long, long time.