... In which I, after Shido's change of heart, set out to speak to each of my friends about their true thoughts on the one who gave his life for this victory. Because their silence is slowly but surely driving me insane.

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

"I even used people's lives as stepping stones in order to claim this country as my own ship . . . I am a true criminal who can be tried for any crime . . . and it still wouldn't be enough!"

I close the confession video, which I must have watched over ten times now even though it only just happened yesterday, as I'm suddenly overwhelmed with a strange and violent emotion. Putting my phone down, I curl onto my side and wrap my arms around myself. Once upon a time, I anticipated being here, in my room. I wanted to shut myself in and hide, but now that I've actually been doing it, it's dreadful. There is nothing . . . to do. To distract myself. I never thought I'd ever miss school, but now I'm anticipating going back soon.

"Hey Rin—Makoto and Haru are downstairs." Morgana leaps from the floor onto my bed and the windowsill. "They bring you class material. I hope you haven't forgotten that you'll be going back to school next week, now that Shido's heart changed . . ."

I sigh silently, then lift myself into a sitting position.

"Are you . . . ?" Morgana throws me a skeptical look, and, for what feels like the hundredth time, I barely stop myself from blurting out everything that's been swirling around in my mind like a tornado since the confession and the following celebration . . . All the emotions he's probably more aware of than I like to think, just from seeing me as much as he does.

I recall my friends' joy and the texts in the group chat . . . the new group chat, which still has the icon with the inverted colors. The old one doesn't exist anymore, so Futaba has deemed . . . safest. Without thinking, I lift my phone again, pull up the chat, and scroll up; my eyes are drawn to the photos from yesterday I stare at my own face in one of them and wonder if it looks different from how I normally look. It does to me, but . . .

Closing IM again, I drop my phone onto the bed. The Phantom Thieves indeed won, but I don't feel like celebrating. Slowly but surely, I am becoming more and more convinced that I was right—that this victory has claimed a piece of my heart and that the hole it left will never stop bleeding.

I remember my friends' carefree cheers, their praise and their joy, the toasts and improvised speeches . . . like an invisible weight's been lifted as soon as Shido spoke those words . . . off of everyone's shoulders but my own. It . . . I frown; it couldn't have been just my own! It couldn't have been just me, who—

"You haven't been feeling that well, have you?"

I cast my eyes down. For a moment, I am almost offended at the prospect of feeling well after everything that happened . . . Then I remember that, by the looks of it, I am the only one who isn't. I let my mind drift back, trying to determine when the last time I truly felt well was . . . and realize that I am unable to say.

"This . . . isn't about Shido or school, is it?"

I pause for a moment, then shake my head. I almost reach for my pillow and the glove I have kept safely tucked under it. I will . . . never see him again. I force myself to think the words from time to time because, no matter how often I think them, I do not believe I have processed them quite yet. It was all so . . . sudden. There was no follow-up, no acknowledgment . . . The world around me kept spinning and moving as if nothing had happened. As though this victory cost nothing. I'm not sure how many even registered that my world came to a standstill.

You . . . Rin. I shut my eyes. You really are . . .

Sometimes I do find myself wishing he had finished that sentence. When I lie awake at night, I replay his words in my head, not like a broken record but like a favorite song I've set to loop. Because those fantasies never end the way it did in reality . . . Sometimes I picture changes as simple as blowing open the shutter. Sometimes it all happens much sooner, back in Sae's palace . . . a version of events where I wasn't too hesitant to speak my mind to my friends, where none of what happened had to happen because we found a way to prevent it. And so, I think a part of me just wants confirmation that he actually meant to say what I think he meant.

Before I can begin to tear up, I open my eyes again and think about Shido's calling card instead. The echo of the anxious rush I still associate with it floods me instantly. Then I think about meeting with Shido's Shadow in the Palace—about the fight and the searing, overwhelming, unmistakable feeling that something . . . someone was missing. Someone who should have been there with me is against him. That confrontation should have brought me closure, but . . . Only afterward did it properly register that I didn't really need closure anymore.

For the first time since that fight, I consciously think something I couldn't admit before, simply because it felt wrong to think: I don't resent Shido for arresting me anymore. I should . . . I think for a heartbeat, then allow myself to let go of the thought.

I don't know when I stopped resenting him. Whether I ever resented him that much for what he did to me. I know that I did it for other reasons . . . For all the horrible crimes he's committed and orchestrated, for the deaths, for the suffering he's brought onto the people I love, and onto Japan as a whole. But, in all honesty . . . when he groveled at our feet after his defeat, part of me wanted to step up and thank him for the arrest.

As jarring and scary as it was at first—getting arrested and sent to Tokyo, to Shujin, actually ended up being the best thing that's ever happened to me.

I used to think about home a lot, but recently, I've been doing so less and less. Because now, whenever I hear the word "home", I picture Leblanc rather than the house I grew up in, which was spacious but . . . empty most of the time. I don't picture my parents, who spent so little time at home that I can barely feel their absence now—I picture my friends, who mean more to me than anything in this world. My friends . . . my home, that I wouldn't have found if Shido didn't have me arrested.

It's so ironic that I want to laugh. Well, at least I have proof now . . . I smile. Proof that the worst things truly can have the best consequences if you make the best of them.

I recall Shido, defeated at our feet, and Ryuji's, "Don't cha got something to say to our leader before you go passin' out?"

I picture Shido's admission of guilt for falsely charging me . . . And the look on his face when I responded the only way I could: "You should rue what you did to your son."

The following moments and the words that he spoke then were the only thing that finally alleviated the nagging feeling that something was missing, that I couldn't shake throughout the entire confrontation. Somehow, hearing them made everything so much more worth it.

"Yes . . . I acknowledge that . . . what happened to my son was my fault as well. He came to me, offering help . . . He was only fifteen years old when he came to me, and I . . . I suspected who he was. And I used his offer; I used him to do my dirty work and dispose of the people I saw fit. I exploited and manipulated my son. I destroyed the life of his mother, and then I turned him into a criminal . . . into a killer. And now . . . now I can't even apologize to them . . . because they are dead. Dead . . . because of me."

I shut my eyes for a moment, wishing I could have recorded those words and now watch them over and over instead of the confession. I didn't need closure. I stare at Morgana, who is still looking at me with his implied raised eyebrow look that he always wears when he's about to ask hard questions.

I didn't need it . . . someone else did. Someone who . . . will never get it anymore, now. Someone who will never hear those words—words he craved so desperately that he used to be willing to do just about anything for them. Someone . . . the one. The one I was really fighting for when facing Shido.

I decide to beat Morgana to speaking.

> "Do you regret what this victory cost?"

"I don't feel like celebrating . . ."

"You mean . . ." Morgana breaks off, and I nod; his face tells me that he knows exactly what . . . who I'm talking about. "Hm . . . Akechi made a choice when he sacrificed himself," he finally says. "And I think, in the end, it was the correct choice."

My gut twists painfully.

"But . . ." Morgana leaps from the windowsill onto my bed and places his paws on my leg. "You miss him, don't you?"

I look down at Morgana . . . and make a choice of my own.

"I confessed to him."

> "I love him."

Morgana's eyes widen. I can see that he didn't expect such a strong response . . . but I can't bring myself to care anymore. I am so sick of lies and pretense. All that not speaking the truth has ever brought me was pain.

"You . . ." Morgana seems speechless. He takes a moment, then shakes his head. "You confessed to him before his signal disappeared, didn't you?"

I nod.

". . . Yeah, I didn't hear that much of what you said, but I had a feeling," Morgana says with a sigh. "Well, at least you won't have to regret not having said anything. And . . . as hard as all of us worked for this . . . as I said, Akechi did save us all, and he died for it. Maybe . . ." He clears his throat. "Maybe you were right after all. The more I think about everything he said . . . the clearer it becomes that he really wasn't so different from us. He didn't know about changing hearts, and he didn't have anyone to keep him on the right path. Who knows how you or any of the others would have turned out if you had been in his situation?"

I take in the sincere words, and, for what feels like the first time in an eternity, I smile.

"Hey! For a while there, I thought you would never smile again!" Morgana enthusiastically raises his tail. "Look . . . fine, I'm just gonna admit it. You were right; Akechi wasn't as far gone as we assumed. Maybe, if I had listened to you, we could have done something to prevent this after all."

When I raise a hand to lovingly scratch him between his ears, he howls. "Okay! Okay! I get it . . . I get it. You were right. You can tell me, "I told you so" if it'll make you smile again. Just . . . just, I know this is tough, but I don't want you to be sad at a time like this. He wouldn't have wanted that, you know?"

I hesitate, then nod when the realization sinks in that Morgana is right. Not that it helps much . . .

> "I just want someone to acknowledge . . ."

"Do you think the others would agree?"

". . . Yeah, we haven't really done that, have we?" Morgana ponders. "Maybe you're right; maybe we should. I mean . . . I don't resent him anymore. He may have done some pretty bad things, and I'm not saying we should ignore that, but I already told you I don't think he was all that evil in his heart. From the way he spoke at the end, it really seems as though he saw the truth too. If he had survived, it's likely that he would have changed his ways and sought atonement."

I nod. By sacrificing himself for us, he did the only thing he thought he could still do to atone . . . and make sure we got out of the situation alive.

"I wouldn't be opposed to . . . marking his passing in some form. But . . ." Morgana looks down. "I don't know about the others. I can't speak for them."

An anxious knot forms in the pit of my stomach. That is the real reason I haven't said anything yet. All my friends seemed so cheerful and carefree yesterday. Despite what they told Akechi in the engine room, I can't shake the feeling that they already moved on. That, if I say anything about him now, it would ruin the mood and be an inconvenience. I don't want to rain on their parade . . . if they don't want to mourn or even remember him, who am I to tell them they should?

"Well, you could always ask them if you wanted . . ." Morgana says after a while and I find that my first instinct is to back out . . . for that very reason. If they don't feel like bringing it up, why should I . . . ?

Then a thought breaks through the heavy clouds that envelop my mind like a searing laser: last time I didn't say anything, it led to us going through with a plan I felt was wrong . . . and was partially responsible for the reason that he died in the first place.

I take a deep breath, shoving the anxiety down, and stand up.

"You're going to talk to them?"

I nod, trying to re-evoke the hope I felt back in the engine room when they all told him that they sympathized with him and invited him to join us in taking down Shido. Who knows, maybe they're not bringing it up for the same reasons that I don't? Maybe they're waiting for me to say something? There's only one way to find out.

I shove my hands, which are clenched into tight fists, into the pockets of my hoodie and take a few steps toward the stairs.

"Well . . ." Morgana catches up to me, and I stop to look at him. "As I said, Makoto and Haru are downstairs. If you really want to talk to the others, you might wanna start with them. And you know where to find the rest."

I nod, then turn toward the stairs. It's time to do what I should have done ages ago—to speak my mind. Of course, the stakes are much lower this time. But still . . . Maybe, I think as I begin to make my way down, it'll at least do something for that bleeding heart of mine.

***

Makoto and Haru have plates of dinner curry in front of them when I join them in Leblanc; they don't seem to mind having to wait, considering they're in a brisk discussion about something.

"Ah, there you are." Sojiro greets me, and the two of them look up too. "I'll get you a plate as well; how about it?"

I shake my head. I won't be able to stomach dinner before I've spoken to all my friends . . . and I can't get distracted or held up now.

Sojiro raises an eyebrow. "Not hungry yet? Alright then, tell me when you are. But don't wait too long." He disappears in the kitchen, and Makoto and Haru exchange looks.

"We brought you some materials that you'll need to study . . . There will be exams soon," Makoto begins, turning to me. "But . . ."

"Rin, is everything okay?" Haru finishes her sentence when Makoto breaks off.

I take a deep breath . . . and realize I haven't actually considered what exactly to say.

"You seemed kind of down, even yesterday," Haru continues. "Aren't you happy that we won? Shido will never hurt anyone again. Mako-chan's sister will have him prosecuted; of that, I am certain."

I nod quickly, then take a seat beside them and pull the stack of notes and books they brought closer to me . . . as if I could try to hide behind it. Well . . . there's no hiding from this. Not anymore.

> "Do you still think about what happened to . . . ?"

"Do you regret what happened in Shido's engine room?"

Both Makoto's and Haru's expressions tell me that I don't have to say his name; they know who I'm talking about. Maybe that's a good sign . . .

"You mean . . . to Akechi, right?" Makoto lowers her eyes to her plate. "I was trying not to bring it up, but . . ." She clears her throat and suddenly looks up at me again. "Is . . . that why you're finding it difficult to enjoy our victory? You . . ." She cuts herself off again and I practically feel the embarrassment radiating from her. "How . . . how close were the two of you . . . ?"

I frown. I'm not exactly here to discuss my own feelings about all of this . . . I know my feelings. What I'm interested in is theirs.

"That's not what I asked..."

> "But I want to know how you feel."

". . . How we feel?" For a moment, Makoto is stunned, and I have to fight the fear brewing in the pit of my stomach—of truly being the only one who feels anything right now.

"If you mean to ask us how we feel about Akechi-kun's fate," Haru says suddenly, "I think we all said what we had to say in the engine room." She looks away and folds her hands in her lap. "All . . . personal feelings aside, I . . . cannot say that I don't understand why and how he ended down the path that he did, or why he let his rage and thirst for vengeance consume him in the end."

I look at her, and suddenly wonder if Haru ever considered lashing back at her father for the way he treated her . . . Whether she would have if she hadn't found us.

"Yes," says Makoto finally. "Akechi was certainly not blameless, but Shido is the one truly at fault for all of this. In the end, Akechi was a victim too, in his own right. I . . ." She exhales. "I confess that I didn't bring it up because I don't like recalling how it was too late for us to do anything for him."

I look back and forth between the two of them and almost cave under the intense feeling of being torn. On one hand, they just confirmed some of my hopes regarding the true reason why nobody was speaking about him. On the other hand . . .

"Do you really think it was too late?"

> "We could have done something if we had tried earlier . . ."

Both Makoto and Haru stare at me with widened eyes. "E-Earlier?" Makoto exclaims. "When . . . ?"

I sigh, then finally fess up about my doubts regarding our plan. In as few words as possible, I explain the idea I had to confront him before it would have come down to faking my death.

Judging by how stunned Makoto and Haru are, I can see that neither of them ever had any of those thoughts. ". . . Don't you think that'd been too risky?" Makoto finally says. "I mean—what if Akechi had been genuinely loyal to Shido? We couldn't have known . . ."

I almost say that we had no proof that he wasn't loyal to Shido either, but I bite it back. In the end . . . we didn't know anything. The choice was between hope and suspicion . . . and I seem to be the only one who even considered hope. It was . . . their right to choose differently.

"Mako-chan is right." Haru nods. "I wish you had shared with us sooner that you had doubts, but . . ." She looks back at her plate. "Where is the point in speculating about what could have been? We can't change what happened anymore . . . Maybe, Rin . . ." She looks up at me again, and the look in her eyes sends a spear through my heart. "Maybe it's time to let it go."

"While I don't think Akechi was as evil as we assumed, and I do appreciate what he did for us in the end," Makoto adds, "I agree that it may be time to move on. You can't let the weight of failing to save one person prevent you from enjoying your honest-earned victory."

I exhale, fervently fighting the frustration that is rising into my chest. It's not failing to save him that I'm so consumed by; it's the fact that we didn't even try. But I don't know how to make them understand . . . Maybe I can't, not for as long as they believe that we did the right thing when we deceived him.

"It does feel good to talk about all of this, though," Haru suddenly says. "I've been trying my best not to think about it, but maybe addressing it directly would have been the better approach from the start."

"I agree," Makoto says with a smile. "Thank you for asking. While it's true that we have to move on, I believe sharing our feelings and thoughts openly will help with that in the long run. It certainly feels good to know that you two agree with me."

I return her smile, thinking that both of them look relieved. This . . . is all I can ask for. No matter whether I'll ever be able to find it for myself . . . I want to at least help my friends find closure. And hearing that they didn't fail to bring it up because they didn't care or didn't consider what Akechi did unimportant already alleviated some of my own burdens and doubts.

After a final moment of comfortable silence, I stand up.

"You're going to talk to the others, aren't you?" Makoto asks, and I nod.

"We'll tell boss to save you some curry for when you return," Haru adds.

"And don't forget the study material!" Makoto urges. "You have to start catching up on what you missed. Maybe we should organize a study session soon . . ."

I give them another grateful smile, feeling some warmth rise in my own heart that's been so awfully heavy these last weeks. As I turn and make my way out of the cafe, I sense the familiar hope that has been so hard to get a hold of recently. There's no time to linger . . . I still have more people to push to confront their feelings.

***

I find Ryuji in the arcade, where he is getting his behind kicked by a game I've never seen him play before . . . It looks new.

"Oh hey, Rin, wassup?" He greets me, and I smile back. He readily follows me to a quiet corner of the arcade, and I try not to stare at the shooter game that's still standing where Akechi and I left it all that time ago. I quickly turn away from it to face Ryuji.

"So . . . what did ya want to talk about?" He glances past me at the game he was playing, which is now flocked with middle school-aged kids. He's not getting back on that anytime soon.

I stuff my hands deeper into my pockets, suddenly feeling nervous again.

"About Akechi . . . Do you regret what happened?"

> ". . . What do you think about what happened with Akechi?"

"Akechi?" Ryuji looks surprised. ". . . You can't let go of that, can you?" he adds after a short pause. "I mean . . . I kinda already said what I wanted to say 'bout him earlier. What's the point in repeating it now that he ain't around to hear it anyway?"

I take my hands out of my pockets to put them on my hips and try my hardest to prevent my heart from starting to sink again.

My face must give away more than I anticipated it would because Ryuji's expression shifts to concern. "I-I didn't mean to sound ungrateful or anythin'!" he exclaims, raising his hands. "He did save us and stuff, but . . . I don't know; I just can't look past what he did. Yeah, Shido was the one who 'effed him up, and I'm glad we brought that asshole down, but still . . . Akechi wasn't innocent either!"

I sigh, casting my eyes down. It's not like I'm not aware of that . . . but I also realize that, in my heart, I've convinced myself that if Akechi had survived, he would be different now. He asked us to change Shido's heart . . . I swallow hard at the memory of his voice, uttering the honestly, quite unexpected, words. Not to make him pay. To . . . change his heart. To end his crimes.

We did, I think, and against my better judgment, I hope it somehow reaches him. We did, and as far as I'm concerned, it was for you.

"He wasn't innocent, but he wasn't so evil either."

> "Do you think he deserves our forgiveness?"

"And still, in the end, he did the right thing."

Ryuji wrinkles his nose and makes an undefined sound. "I don't know, man . . . Sure, he did the right thing in the end, but who knows what his real reason was? Right now, I can't forgive him, just like that."

Catching onto the look that must be apparent on my face yet again, Ryuji shrugs. "Honestly . . . I don't get what the point of talkin' about that now is. He's . . . dead, isn't he? Why does it matter if we forgive him or no? It won't change what happened."

I sigh. He's right, but . . .

"Don't you think we should have tried harder to save him?"

> "Do you really think we couldn't have done anything?"

"Done what?" he asks, and I find that I'm less surprised by the fact that Ryuji didn't consider this than Haru and Makoto. He wasn't nearly as involved in making that plan as they were.

I look up at him and . . . decide not to go into detail about what I think we should have done. Ryuji has never been fond of dwelling on the past for too long. And . . . for as little as I like it, he isn't wrong when he says that it won't change anything anymore.

"Hey, you . . . are really hung up on that, aren't 'cha?" Ryuji gives me an encouraging smile and pats my shoulder. "You don't have to blame yourself for what happened. He made his own choices, and that ain't your fault. No one can say you didn't try!"

. . . This is painfully true. Only when he says it aloud do I realize the thorn of knowing I tried my hardest to get through to Akechi and it wasn't enough is still embedded deep in my heart. I don't think I'll ever be able to pull it out.

". . . Do you think we should just move on?"

> "I think he deserves to be spoken about . . ."

"Huh? I guess you're right . . . probably." Ryuji shrugs. "I mean, honestly . . . I had kinda already moved on." He laughs nervously. "But if you wanna remember or, like . . . mourn him or somethin', I'm not gonna stop you!"

I suppress a sigh. It's obvious that he's offering this for me and not because he actually feels like we should . . . And I have already decided that I won't pressure or force any of my friends to do anything of the sort if they don't genuinely want to.

When I shake my head, Ryuji's grin returns. "Yeah, I mean, if he'd magically turn up again, sayin' that he wanted to atone for what he did, I wouldn't be opposed to giving him a chance. But for now, I think we shouldn't let guilt over what happened with him dim our victory. Life goes on, and all."

I nod and almost envy Ryuji for his ability to remain carefree and focused on the present. He's always been good at that . . . while I've always tended to spend too much time in my own head.

"Well, see ya!" He waves when I say my goodbyes and turn to leave . . . still as uncertain about all of this as before.

As I make my way out, I realize that I am praying to any supernatural force who may hear me that I'm not the only one who is still genuinely upset . . . because I want someone to tell me that it's okay to feel this way. But even if I am the only one . . . I stuff my hands into my pockets again . . . I already know that it won't change how I feel. Because what I feel is not wrong, no matter what anyone else says.

***

That thought follows me like a black rain cloud over my head, down into the underground mall where Ann texted me that she and Yusuke went to look for something to wear for the next portrait he intends to draw of her.

"Rin!" She greets me excitedly and holds up a pink, fluffy dress. "What do you think?"

"Hm. It's a little more . . . poofy than I envisioned," Yusuke chimes in from my other side. "Why don't we look for something more flowing . . . maybe silk, or—"

"Uh, yeah, right, because silk is so affordable." Ann groans and puts the dress down. "Either way . . . Rin, you wanted to talk about something, right?"

I nod, and the three of us find a quiet corner on the outskirts of the mall, where I finally dare to reveal the real reason I came to see them.

"I wanted to talk about . . . Akechi."

> "Do . . . you still regret what happened with Akechi?"

As soon as the name slips past my lips, a shadow falls over both of their faces. "Oh . . . that . . ." Just from the way Ann is averting her eyes, I can tell that she does.

"I . . . was honestly trying not to think about it," Yusuke adds. "Is that selfish of me?"

I shake my head. Why would it be—?

"Yeah . . . Wait, is that what's been wrong with you, ever since . . . ?" Ann's eyes suddenly widen. Then she smacks her forehead with her hand. "Oh my god, I'm such an idiot! I'm so sorry, Rin . . . I let myself get so caught up in our victory that I completely forgot that you probably wouldn't get over that so easily . . . I should have talked to you sooner . . ." She places a hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay? Do you . . . want to talk about it?"

I blink up at her, still slightly overwhelmed. I expected a lot . . . but certainly not a reaction like that. Then I recall her look in the engine room after Akechi's signal disappeared. All those times she seemed like she suspected I felt more for him than I was letting on . . . Warmth and appreciation for her unconditional empathy flood my heart, and I smile reassuringly.

It was this very kindness that made me want to give back to her in the same way when we first met. The feelings of admiration that I've harbored from the start, for how incredibly dedicated and loyal a friend she is, resurface in me. I've always looked up to Ann for that reason and have always strived to do the same—for her and everyone else.

> "Thank you, but . . . I want to know what you think."

"Maybe another time . . . but please tell me your own thoughts."

"What . . . we think?" Ann ponders, but she doesn't let go of my shoulder. "I mean . . . I haven't changed my mind since he . . . well, since we talked to him about it. He's made some pretty big mistakes, but . . . honestly, I understand the desire to lash out at the man who ruined his life. Sure, he took it way too far, but . . ." She looks back and forth between Yusuke and me. "I mean, I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't met you guys back when I awakened to my Persona. If Morgana had never told us about changing hearts . . ."

. . . She would have likely killed Kamoshida too. Nobody says it aloud, but I'm certain that we all think it in the moment of silence that follows.

"I as well," Yusuke eventually says. "Any of us would have likely ended like him if we hadn't met each other or Morgana. It is . . . honestly frightening to think about how little truly separated us from suffering a fate like his. He only used his power for his own selfish goal, but . . . the world did not give him any reason to fight for anything else. It is quite understandable that he would turn out this way under those circumstances."

"Yeah, I mean, he was all alone . . . with his family issue and the Metaverse too, wasn't he?" Ann shakes her head. "I don't even want to imagine what it must have been like . . ."

I look back and forth between the two of them . . . then give them the brightest smile I can muster. Honestly, I almost feel like crying, listening to the abundance of kind words that I really hadn't expected . . . Then again, maybe I shouldn't have expected anything less out of Ann, at least.

"I know he was technically our enemy, but . . . I'm still really sad that it had to end this way," Ann says next, and nothing any of my friends have said so far has given me more hope than those words.

"Yes." Yusuke nods. "If he had survived, he could have sought atonement and perhaps still turned his life around. I want to believe he would have."

Ann sighs. "Yeah . . . honestly, I wish we could have done more for him."

I listen up. Will Ann and Yusuke acknowledge my concerns regarding our deceit . . . ? I had already subconsciously decided not to bring it up anymore, but . . . Without further ado, I briefly explain what I thought we should have done and how I believe that our deceit played a part in why it had to end the way it did for him.

By the looks on their faces at the end, I can see that I was right. Neither of them says anything for a while. ". . . Rin," Ann says without looking at me. "Why didn't you say anything sooner? I didn't think about—"

When she doesn't finish her sentence, Yusuke speaks: "This never crossed my mind either . . . But Rin, although I admit it would have been an alternative worth considering, do you really think we would have gotten through to Akechi at that time?"

Ann looks up again at his words. ". . . You have a point," she tells him. "He . . . seemed pretty far gone. But maybe that was partially our doing as well . . . You did know him better than any of us, so I'm inclined to believe you." She gives me a stern frown. "Rin, if you have doubts about something that we do, you should tell us! Especially if it's something as important as this . . ."

Yusuke nods. "We had no idea you felt this way . . . Aren't you the leader? We will always take into consideration any plans you make."

I sniff, unable to look either of them in the eyes.

> "I'm sorry . . . I didn't feel confident enough."

"Sorry . . . Morgana told me not to."

"Hey, you can always be honest with us!" Ann sounds almost offended. "We're your friends, and we will always support and love you. Don't you dare forget that!" She energetically pats my back, and I almost break into laughter.

". . . Now I regret what happened even more." Yusuke sighs, and I can't help but feel bad. Instead of giving them closure, I likely amplified Ann's and Yusuke's regrets.

"Yeah . . . me too." Ann nods, but before I can apologize, she continues, "Hey, it still felt good to talk about all of this, though. We can't change what happened, but acknowledging all of this feels right. So, thanks, Rin . . . and, uh, sorry again for not asking you myself about this sooner . . ."

"I agree," says Yusuke. I thought that we had to move on. I did not want to think about all of this anymore in the hope that it would go away, but . . . speaking about it and getting it off my chest felt liberating. Thank you for the opportunity."

I give the two of them a sincere smile, then leave them to their shopping. Their enthusiastic waves of goodbye and Ann's heartfelt promise that she is available if I ever want to talk about my own feelings carry me back to Leblanc . . . back home.

***

I earn a sky-high raised eyebrow from Sojiro for returning so late, but he willingly warms up the curry he's put aside for me before closing up shop.

"Oh, hey, Futaba said she'd come over for a bit . . . I think she's already upstairs. She said something about a . . . slumber party," he mentions in passing, and I listen up. I had concluded that I would probably have to speak to Futaba tomorrow; I expected her to already be in her room, and I didn't feel like disturbing her there. But if she's here . . .

She's been coming over a few times to "keep me company" because "Morgana isn't enough company", and our movie marathons and video game sessions, streaked with after-hour snacking and more or less carefree chatter, have been the unmatched highlights of the last few weeks.

I quickly finish up my dinner and lock the door, then make my way up into my room . . . only to find Futaba curled up with Morgana on my chair, fully immersed in one of the video games I borrowed ages ago. I should probably return that soon . . .

Futaba is so focused that she doesn't even acknowledge my presence.

"Rin!" Morgana, on the other hand, wriggles out of her arms and runs toward me. "And . . . ? How did it go?"

I shrug, giving him a half-smile. Pretty well, actually, all things considered.

"No!" yells Futaba suddenly, and the controller slips out of her hand, crashing against the floor. The sound raises concerns about whether it'll ever turn on again. "No! I almost had that!" She glares at me like I'm solely responsible for her failure. "Not fair! You distracted me!"

I shrug, giving her the cheekiest smile I can muster before sitting down on my bed. Futaba, already in her pajamas, spins around in her chair. "Anyway, now that you've arrived, the party of slumbering, which will certainly not contain any actual slumber, can commence!"

I swallow the nervous lump that instantly clogs my throat. My eyes dart over to Morgana, but I already know what he thinks. So, I focus on Futaba.

"Before that, can we talk about something else . . . ?"

> "There was actually something I wanted to talk about . . ."

"Oh? What's that?" She sits backward on the chair, facing me. Her chin rests on her arms, which are folded on top of the backrest.

I take a deep breath.

> "About what happened in Shido's engine room . . ."

"This is . . . about Akechi . . ."

". . . Oh." Futaba's grin falls immediately. "Not gonna lie," she says after a short pause. "I was kinda waiting for you to start talking about that. So, I already know exactly what I'm gonna say."

I'm too stunned to speak. She's the first one of my friends who actually anticipated this conversation, and I don't know if I should be surprised by that . . . Maybe not.

"But . . . the fact that I was preparing for this conversation doesn't mean my response is any good," Futaba says. "You're still sad about Akechi, aren't you?"

I nod without looking at her.

"I don't blame you," she says. "But you want to know my feelings, right? I've been thinking about it for a while, and . . . Gah, I just feel really torn, you know? Like, I mostly blame Shido for everything, but I've concluded that I can't forgive Akechi either, at least not right now. Like . . ." She slides back and forth on the chair, tapping her fingers on the backrest. "Like, I meant what I said—if he had survived, I don't think it would've been too late for him to start over, or that he was all evil or anything, just . . ."

She breaks off, and a wave of sympathy for her washes over me.

"I didn't say you have to forgive him . . ."

> "I think your response is very good."

"Really?" Futaba stops rocking, and her grin reappears. "Phew . . . thanks, Rin. It's good to finally get this out! O-Oh, just to be clear, I'm not gonna judge you or try to stop you if you wanna remember him or something. You guys were . . ." She frowns, like she only realized halfway through the sentence that she doesn't actually know what she meant to say. ". . . What were you guys, anyway?"

I swallow. I didn't tell any of my teammates, besides Morgana, how I really feel about Akechi. I think I might tell Ann eventually. But . . . I notice Morgana staring at me from where he lies on the windowsill, ears raised to listen. Then I look back at Futaba. I didn't tell the others, but . . . none of them asked, apart from Ann and now Futaba.

I sigh, folding my hands in my lap.

> ". . . Not as much as I once wanted us to be."

"It's . . . complicated."

"He is . . . he was special to me."

"Hm . . . I see." Futaba nods. "That's why you defended him, wasn't it? You tried to save him. You didn't want it to be too late. This, uh . . . this has to do with what you said about wishing we didn't have to do what we did, right?"

I nod. And, for the third time today, I explain my doubts and alternative ideas.

After I cease speaking, Futaba looks at me with widened eyes. "Woah . . . You really would've been willing to take that kind of risk from the start? I-I mean, it's true that we had little evidence, but don't you think just confronting him about it would've been riskier? What if he had really been evil? He might have escaped and warned Shido that we're onto him! He might have hurt any of us! And besides, if we hadn't faked your death, we couldn't have used it for Shido's calling card!"

I cast my eyes down, wondering for the first time whether I've been too naive or if my view is more clouded by emotions and hindsight bias than I wanted to admit . . .

"I mean . . . you're probably right when you say that deceiving him did push him over some kind of edge, but we couldn't have known that," Futaba says after a pause. "It's not like we meant to hurt his feelings!"

I briefly consider how rude and unwelcoming they all acted toward him during the Sae mission, but then decide that it wouldn't serve any purpose. Even if they had been nicer, it's not like that would have changed how they felt on the inside. Can I really blame my friends for being as little fake as they absolutely had to be?

"But . . . you were really willing to do it, to risk it, weren't you?" Futaba stares at me pensively. "To win it . . . or to lose it all. Talk about dedication. I wonder if I will ever find that special someone who's ready to take that kind of risk for me . . ."

I actually let out a short laugh.

> "You know I would do the same for you."

"I'm sure you'll find that "special someone" someday."

"Ugh, that's not what I meant, and you know that!" Futaba exclaims, throwing her hands up. For a moment, the two of us laugh together, and I finally begin to relax.

It's been a long and difficult day . . . but now that I've tackled it, I feel relieved. Maybe speaking my mind about things, even when I'm not completely certain how they will be received, isn't quite as catastrophic as I always assumed it was.

***

Futaba and I end up staying up far past our bedtime, and although we chat about all kinds of things, the topic of Akechi doesn't come up anymore. And I think I'm fine with that, now that I've confirmed with all my friends that they don't hate or dismiss him . . . that they told the truth in the engine room.

I don't know how late it is—two, three in the morning, maybe. I can't sleep. I'm lying in bed, staring at Futaba, who curled up on the couch with a spare blanket. Ever since she and Morgana fell asleep and the room grew silent, I can't stop replaying my friends' words in my head. I'm beyond grateful that they were so understanding, but . . . what's also become clear to me is that this will likely be it. There won't be any mourning or acknowledgment beyond the conversations today because all of them told me that they are ready to move on. And I'm happy for them, but . . .

I sigh. The world will keep spinning as it always did . . . and I'll have to start running if I'm going to make up for the time I lost standing still. I just don't know how to do it.

I turn to face the window, reaching under my pillow, and press my cheek into the leather of the glove. Emotions that I'm not ready to let go of assault my mind, and I don't try to fight them. Then and there, I decide that I'm not jealous of my friends for being able to let go so easily. They may feel less pain, but some things are worth hurting for. Haven't I already decided long ago that I'm willing to hurt for him?

I will hurt, and I won't forget. If some of my friends can't forgive him . . . that's fine; it's their right. Just like it is my right to feel the way I feel . . . of that, I am more certain than ever, suddenly.

Taking care not to wake Futaba or Morgana, I brush the covers back and tiptoe over to my desk. Grabbing a black marker, I return to my bed and inspect the wall beside the window, bathed in pale but bright moonlight. Suppressing the small surge of guilt—I can always buy paint and cover it up again—I draw it in a spot that isn't glaringly obvious but still visible when I'm laying down—a tiny black crow, glaring at me with white eyes that I've left uncovered.

I yawn, leaving the marker on the windowsill, then curl up in bed again, my eyes never leaving the crow . . . Maybe I can find a red marker for the eyes tomorrow. Or maybe it's perfect the way it is . . .

The tiny marker crow is the last thing I see before drifting into sleep. For a moment, I think it should hurt to look at, but . . . no. It's comforting, like it'll watch over me from now on. I can't think of anything better.