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Akechi Goro was an annoying, stuck-up, pretentious, smarmy bastard. He was infuriating, the bane of Akira’s existence, a colossal thorn in his aching side, and for once, it was all because he wasn’t even here.
Clink. Clink. Clink. Akira tapped his fake nails against the chilly porcelain of his coffee mug as he glanced surreptitiously around the office for the millionth time that day. It was approaching 6pm now, the sun slumping down behind Tokyo’s jagged skyline as the office’s fluorescent lighting began to highlight the shadows under every eye. A few of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department’s less devoted workers had headed home, shuffling out the door to half-hearted farewells from their co-workers, but the vast majority were still going strong. The soft sound of tapping keyboards and buzzing screens was deafening. The open-plan office space for nearly one hundred workers afforded Akira the kind of anonymity he desperately needed today, but he wouldn’t blend in nearly as well once all one hundred of those workers were gone, and it was looking more and more likely that his target was going to be the last out of the building.
Akira’s coffee had gone cold several hours ago. A few old bubbles were crusted around the sides of the cup and there was a bit of fluff floating on the surface... and he still kept catching himself reaching out to take a drink. Sojiro really was going to give him an addiction at this rate. He couldn’t wait for this to be over so he could get back to Leblanc and drink some real goddamn coffee...
“Hey, Joker! It’s been ten whole minutes. Any sign of him yet?”
... and it seemed he wasn’t the only one losing patience. He sighed just a fraction louder than necessary, brushing his curly ringlets behind his ear aggressively. If that made his fingernails scratch across his hidden earpiece in just the right way to cause debilitating injury to anybody who happened to be listening to the feed...? Well. What a coincidence.
“Ow, fuck! Rip headphone users!”
“What on earth was that sound?!”
“I believe that was Joker telling us to stop bothering him unnecessarily, which I will also second.”
Akira hid a smirk behind his hand, leaning forward across the paperwork on his desk. “Thanks, Queen,” he muttered.
“Though Oracle does have a point. It’s been two hours since you last set eyes on him. Every minute you spend in there is another minute you risk being discovered, which we absolutely cannot afford. It might be best to cut our losses, Joker.”
The smirk slid off his lips like slime off a slug. Makoto had made her opinion of the plan extremely clear from the first time he hesitantly brought it up. She was right, of course – what they were doing was utter madness, but so was running over honest-to-God penis monsters in a talking cat-bus in the underground manifestation of humanity’s subconscious, and they did that all the time. When had a bit of madness ever stopped them?
Okay, so it wasn’t the best plan in the world. Sure, the information that a new intern was being hired in Akechi Goro’s department had been a diamond in a haystack that he still couldn’t believe Makoto had stumbled upon just by eavesdropping on Sae’s calls. And sure, Futaba’s hacking skills absolutely blew his mind – he had watched the whole time and he still couldn’t believe how easily she’d slipped into the government’s most secure servers, changed the new intern’s ID photo and sent out a different start date, all while cheerfully dodging Japan’s best firewalls as she ranted about the latest volume of some new isekai manga she was reading. Morgana had scouted as much of the Sakurada Gate station as he could under the cover of night, slipping in through an open second-story window and streaking through the shadows right outside their target’s office, while Ann and Yusuke had been instrumental in obtaining Akira’s disguise. They’d all done their part to make the plan go as smoothly as possible, but even he could see how dangerous it was to infiltrate the very department currently orchestrating a nationwide manhunt for them. He wasn’t an idiot, after all – and he was the one who was both on probation and committing the majority of the crimes. Still, as soon as they realised they had a perfect opportunity to investigate why Akechi Goro could understand Morgana when that should only be possible for someone who’d been in the Metaverse to hear him talk, they’d all unanimously agreed it was worth a shot. The risks were worth the reward. Makoto didn’t need to keep going on about it.
She’d been loudly disapproving right up to the moment Akira descended from Leblanc’s attic that morning wearing his disguise, Ann bouncing gleefully at her handiwork. Even then, he was pretty sure Makoto had only gone quiet because she was too busy turning a stunning shade of tomato red. He wasn’t beyond capitalising on it after a week of nagging, so he had flashed her a cutesy smile that kept her suspiciously quiet until he was out of sight on the train to Shibuya.
From there, the plan had gone perfectly, better than any of them had hoped, until Akechi Goro actually entered the building. Rather than breezing in and talking everyone’s ears off as he did in Leblanc, the teen detective had stormed through the open workspace without a word to anyone, his intense gaze doing a brief, disinterested sweep of the room’s occupants before he disappeared into his personal office and slammed the door behind him. The Thieves had already known about Akechi’s office thanks to Futaba rustling up some interdepartmental emails from nine months ago, but Akira had been confident that the agonisingly chatty detective would at least stop to greet his colleagues. It had been almost two hours since their target sequestered himself away, and still there was no sign of that floppy mop of bronze hair. Akira would be expected to leave soon and all he had to show for it was half a second of fleeting eye contact.
With an appropriately dramatic sigh, Akira dropped into a facepalm and utilised the time-honoured technique of texting under the table.
If i bail now it was all for nothing
“If you get caught now, you go to jail,” Makoto snapped. “It’s been two hours, and even if he does come out, there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to make a diversion.”
Fire alarm then
“We agreed that was only for emergencies. I’m sorry, Joker, but you’re being stubborn.”
Then maybe i should corner him outsi
“Ah, Amamiya-chan, you’re still here? Surely a cute young thing like you should be getting home to her family by now.”
Akira quickly shoved his phone between his knees as the gruff voice called out from behind him. Shit, he was really losing his edge if he let a potential hostile creep up on him in enemy territory. But of course, he wasn’t Joker right now, he was...
Amamiya Ren, nineteen-year-old intern and favourite niece of Tokyo Met’s Chief of Police, spun in her desk chair to smile prettily up at her senpai. “Ah, Sawada-san, thank you for your concern!” she chirped, tucking her legs daintily under her chair and leaning forward, the picture of polite enthusiasm. “It’s not too late yet, and if I’m not being any trouble, I’d like to make a good impression on Hayashi-san on my first day. Besides, I’m almost finished reading these reports on the Tsukishima case! It’s so interesting!”
The older man laughed gently. “Oh, the eagerness of youth,” he smiled, as if the majority of the office wasn’t still there slaving away an hour after they should have gone home. “Well, I’m heading home for the night, but far be it for me to keep you from your work. Keep it up, Amamiya-chan!”
“Good night, Sawada-san!” she replied brightly, her cheeks dented in perfect dimples. The expression lasted for exactly seven seconds – until Sawada pushed through the double doors out of the room. Then it dropped into a sullen frown as Akira stared back down at the eight-page report on his desk. Phew. That was close.
“You are scarily good at that, Akira.”
Akira didn’t react outwardly to Ann’s admiring praise, but he felt a flame of satisfaction in his gut. Disguising himself as the very much female Amamiya Ren was the part of the plan that they’d thought would be the hardest. He was really the only option for the job – there was too much risk of Makoto being recognised, Ann was a terrible liar, and none of the others had the necessary acting chops – but they were all surprised at how easily he slipped into Ren’s polite and pretty guise, changing identities as smoothly as slipping into a new pair of jeans. He’d let Ann take care of the physical aspects – a long, curly black wig, berry-red lips, lightly blushed cheeks and of course the navy blue skirt suit complete with stockings and short stiletto heels – but from there it had been up to him, with a little help from a very amused Lala Escargot. There’d been one evening spent in costume behind the bar in Crossroads as he worked on Ren’s mannerisms, an evening out bowling with the Thieves where Akira was forced to wear his heels and coloured contacts all night, and a lot of time spent searching his soul for anything he could pick up from his more feminine Personas. All of it had come together into a sharp, attractive young woman who felt only too natural on his skin.
Amamiya Ren had walked into headquarters today with a spring in her step, excitement in her brown eyes, and nothing but light nerves and respectful awe in her pleasant alto voice. She was remarkable only in how clearly eager she was to be working in the police force, eyes darting around to drink in every detail and occasionally murmuring to herself in wonder. Nobody even gave her a second glance.
Well, almost nobody. Akira hadn’t been expecting the double-takes and appreciative glances he’d been getting from most of the men he’d met, and even a few of the women. He also hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much.
He’d been wearing Ren’s skin for nine hours and the thrill had yet to wear off, but the waiting game was growing tiresome. Akira idly circled something about underpass construction regulations on page four as his eyes wandered across the room to Akechi’s office door. Still nothing. The door was cracked open but he was certain Akechi was still in there... unless he actually was a Metaverse user and he’d disappeared into another dimension. Even finding that out would be better than sitting here on his perfectly padded ass for another hour.
“Joker, it’s six o’clock. We’re going to need to make a decision soon.”
Akira sighed, his manicured fingers idly spinning the pen across his knuckles as he thought. They wouldn’t have another chance at this. Technically, nothing had been sacrificed other than hours of their time and a slight risk to Futaba, but it gnawed at his insides to leave the job undone. Simply getting up and knocking on Akechi’s door was worse than useless, of course – the whole idea was not to draw attention to himself before the mission was complete. He could cause a distraction that would get Akechi out of the room, but he’d rather avoid that for the same reasons. If all else failed, Morgana and Ryuji were positioned down the street ready to set off the fire alarm, but Akechi was sure to bring his things with him in an emergency. The idea was to get him out of his office unexpectedly while he left the incriminating evidence in the open, unattended and ready to be snatched by a Phantom Thief. None of the options available to Akira at this point would give them what they needed.
Much as he hated to admit it, the answer was pretty clear. The mission was a bust.
The bitter taste of defeat felt like bile in his mouth. He swallowed it down and retrieved his phone, feeling like he was texting his surrender. Ok i guess ill pack up and leave the legit way. Keep my cover as long as poss
The faint white noise in his ear after he hit ‘Send’ rang with silent dismay. He could just imagine Futaba, Makoto, Ann and Yusuke sat miserably in Futaba’s tiny, dark room as the realisation of his failure set in. “It’s probably for the best,” Makoto said eventually. “I’m sorry, Joker.”
He didn’t reply, just stood silently and began to gather Ren’s things. He swept the cutesy stationery into his glamorous white handbag and nailed his computer’s power button with a precise stab of his stiletto. He could barely stop his fury from warping Ren’s pretty face. He was so goddamn close. Akechi and all his secrets were barely ten steps away, but they might as well be in Africa for all the good that did him. A week of planning wasted, just because Akechi was an antisocial piece of shit. It burned.
There was no point in bothering to say goodbye to his co-workers – the next time they saw Amamiya Ren, she would have a different face and be very confused that this was supposedly her second day at work. He did grab his cold mug of coffee out of habit, slinging his bag over his shoulder and storming towards the kitchenette to wash it up. It was just as he was about to throw out the congealed liquid that he heard a very familiar voice.
“Ah, Ishii-san! I’m glad you’re still here. Did you get the report back from the Mayor’s office yet?”
“Joker! Was that...?”
Akechi Goro’s voice was so pleasant it was sickly, calling out to someone across the office in his usually honeyed, dulcet tones. For once, it was the best goddamn thing Akira had heard in his life. He was careful not to react even as his heart leapt into his throat, keeping his eyes on the faucet as he made a show of filling the sink.
“Yes, it came back this morning, Akechi-kun. I forwarded it to you as soon as I received it. It should be in your inbox, no?” Ishii was equally pleasant, and yet Akira could feel every inch of the loathing behind his polite words.
“Oh, haha, really? I’m so sorry; I must have missed it. I had a very early start at the television studio this morning and I’ve been in school all day. Could you possibly send it to me again? I’m ever so sorry to trouble you.”
“Joker, this is your chance!”
Akira slid his eyes sideways as he went through the motions of washing a plate already stacked in the sink. Akechi was leaning on a desk across the room, his face creased in a painfully fake smile. He was wearing his usual painstakingly neat uniform, as ‘cardboard cut-out chic’ as ever, although his tie was slightly crooked and the concealer had faded to reveal the circles under his eyes. Most importantly, he was several steps out of his office and within range for a sneak attack. Akira had been waiting for this all day.
Slipping back into Amamiya Ren’s headspace was as easy as blinking. The young woman pulled the plug from the sink and picked up her mug again, still full of cold coffee. It didn’t take much faking for her to yawn widely as she crossed the room back towards her desk, rubbing at one eye at just the right angle to miss the young man standing in the middle of the aisle, his pert ass sticking out as he leaned over the desk towards his co-worker. It was simply natural for a collision to happen at that time, and Ren’s eyes widened prettily in shock as the coffee tumbled from her hands to fall all over Akechi’s white shirt, drenching him in a muddy brown splatter from shoulder to chest.
“Oh my god!” she gasped, hands over her mouth in shock, at the same time as Akechi let out an uncharacteristic hiss of “Shit!”
They froze in a comedy tableau straight out of an office sitcom, before Ren shook herself and leapt into action, diving for the coffee mug as it rolled across the carpet. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she cried, taking the opportunity to fold herself into a deep bow of apology, which conveniently hid how she was biting her lip to make her eyes well up. “I should have been looking where I was going, please forgive me!”
“You...” Even without looking, she could hear Akechi bury his initial reaction under a coating of syrup. “That’s quite alright,” the detective gritted out pleasantly. “Mistakes happen, after all. Please get up off the floor.”
Ren sniffed loudly as she got to her feet, coffee cup clasped tightly between her hands, shoulders hunched in shame. As their eyes met for the first time, there was no way that Akechi could mistake the tearful, sobbing girl cowering in front of him for either the impassive Kurusu Akira or the debonair Joker. Her eyes fell to the stain on Akechi’s shirt, and she bit her lip to hide her smirk. It was a mess. “Akechi-san... your shirt!”
“Oh, this? Don’t worry about it.” Akechi laughed weakly. (Akira hoped he was fuming.) “It’s only clothes, Miss...?”
Oh no, he did not need to know her name. “B-but it’s everywhere,” Ren choked out, and dropped her mug on the nearby desk to paw desperately at her jacket pocket, eventually retrieving a pack of cheap tissues. “Please, let me try to clean it up a little, Akechi-san!”
“You don’t have to – ” She thoroughly ignored him, grabbing his arm and pretending she didn’t feel the instinctive flinch as she dabbed aggressively (and ineffectually) at the stain spreading on his shoulder. It didn’t help. In fact, all it did was shred the cheap tissue over the cotton, and it wasn’t long before Akechi shook her off, a muscle tightening visibly in his jaw even as he stretched it into a rueful smile. “Please, just... I don’t think that’s going to help.”
Ren’s face fell. “I’m so sorry,” she apologised again, almost a wail now. The tears welled up in her brown eyes, and privately she mourned the way the coloured contact lenses blurred her vision so she couldn’t watch Akechi’s Oscar-winning magnanimity with 20/20 vision. Damn, he was good. But she was better. “I-I’ve just made it worse, haven’t I? I can’t believe it, I’m sorry!”
“It’s fine.” It obviously wasn’t fine.
She gazed tearily at him as if she was watching a kitten bleed to death on his shirt front. “Maybe it’ll wash out with cold water if you’re quick? I could take it for you, you could wait in your office...”
“N-no, that’s fine – ”
“But you really should wash it before the stain sets in, it’s such a nice shirt. I’d hate to have ruined it! Oh god, I’m such a terrible person!”
“ – I... you don’t...” It took every ounce of her self-control not to cackle maniacally as Akechi eventually folded. When his other options were making a girl cry in the office or stripping for her right there and then, the outcome was pretty clear. “Alright, I’ll go and wash it in the bathroom quickly. I wouldn’t want you to worry, after all.”
Oh of course he wouldn’t. “I really hope it comes out, Akechi-san,” she said, bobbing forward in another small bow as the detective sighed and turned away. There was a small disabled toilet right next to the office, but it had conveniently been out of order for the last few days (thanks, Morgana). The next closest bathroom was a little way down the corridor and contained three cubicles, a sink, a mirror and a tiny, unobtrusive camera by the door. If Akechi did as he’d said, he’d fall right into their trap. All that was left to do was wait.
Polite, amiable Amamiya Ren recovered quickly from her shameful outburst and walked quietly back to her desk to bury herself back in her work, barely daring to breathe as she waited for the office’s attention to go back to their work. She made herself small, drawing on every ounce of supernatural stealth she could muster in the real world, praying people wouldn’t look at her. Come on, people spill drinks all the time, it’s embarrassing but it’s no big deal. Don’t look at the new intern stewing in guilt. It’s not your business, you just want to get this done and go home... Don’t look at me...
“Joker, he’s in the bathroom. Get moving.”
Akira was a blur as he crossed the room and dived into Akechi’s office, shutting the door silently behind him.
It... wasn’t quite what he expected. The great Detective Prince’s ‘office’ was basically a glorified storage cupboard, perhaps ten foot square at best. A good quarter of the room was swallowed up by dust-covered filing cabinets, the peeling labels on their drawers barely legible as Japanese, while another wall was consumed by a rusty metal shelving unit covered in general administrative detritus. A half-dissected computer tower tumbled onto a sprawling stack of forms, barely veiling a shelf littered with post-its, pens, and a pile of staples that someone had clearly spent several hours manually dismantling from the strips. Crowning all this was the top shelf, where what looked like the entire police force’s stock of electric desk fans stared down at him like watchful sentinels.
Akira’s lips twitched. Well... good to know Akechi’s still got a fan club even here.
He glanced around at the filing cabinets, briefly wondering if there was likely to be anything of value inside, then remembered how Akechi never put his briefcase down when they ‘ran into each other’ at the train station, never spread out his work on Leblanc’s counter, kept every emotion carefully locked behind that angelic smile and those careful eyes. There was no way he’d leave anything important to him or his goals in a discarded cabinet accessible to anyone. Besides, he couldn’t imagine Akechi thinking of this little shithole as his office. It didn’t have anywhere near enough monogrammed ‘A’s.
However, there was a desk that was clearly currently in use, crammed into a corner behind a teetering bookshelf stuffed with files and reference books. Akira edged around the mess, praying that the desk would be where he hit the jackpot, and soon realised his prayers had been answered by a deity far more generous than the usual ones in his head. A phone lay at the closest edge of the desk, still glowing the cheery blue of a default home screen. Akira’s jaw dropped.
He dived for the phone and swiped blindly at the screen to make sure it didn’t turn off. It must have been there for at least two minutes; he’d never in his wildest dreams imagined that someone as intelligent and cautious as Akechi would leave his phone unlocked. Not that Futaba had said it would matter, he recalled as he slipped a tiny micro USB device out of his bra and inserted it into the phone, but if he could actually take a look at the phone for even ten seconds then they could get the answer to their most pressing question.
Akira held his breath as he navigated to the home screen, eyes raking across the display with something like blessed relief before he flicked his thumb sharply to the left and... swallowed back something like bitter dread. There it was, just as they’d thought. A red eye glaring up at him, as damning as the truth it held.
“He’s got the app,” he whispered for the sake of the others, prompting a flurry of gasps and curses in his ear.
“Good find, Joker,” Futaba said. “Leave the rest to me.” Akira nodded as he set the phone and attached device aside and turned his eyes to the rest of the desk. He couldn’t think about what that information meant for the Thieves, for the Black Mask, for all those late nights playing billiards and darts under the heat of crimson eyes... he would have to think about it all later. For now, he had a job to do.
The phone was definitely the most significant thing on the table, but Akira had always been curious what Akechi carried around in that monstrosity of a briefcase. It was tucked down the side of his desk behind a spare extension cord, which he carefully set aside next to the desk chair. It didn’t take long to ascertain that the case was secured with a combination lock that would take more time or tools than he had with him. He put it back where he’d found it and stood again to check over the surface of the desk, scanning over papers with every bit of the speed reading he’d learnt from Shujin’s library books.
“Hey guys, the screen’s gone black.”
“Oracle? What’s going on?”
Akira listened with one ear as he read, not letting the sudden flood of adrenaline distract him. He trusted his team. He trusted Futaba. He had to.
“There’s something wrong with the camera. Shitty hardware, I don’t know! Let me try and get the feed back.”
The papers Akechi had been looking at were a sheaf of reports on some of Japan’s most prolific hackers. He glanced through as quickly as he could with trepidation, but they were mostly young men with anarchist tendencies who were already on the government’s radar. There was nothing about Futaba – nothing that could lead anyone back to the real Medjed. Akechi clearly thought the report was useless too, since he’d started scribbling sarcastic comments in the margins halfway through. He wasn’t even treating all these talented hackers as suspects? That wasn’t reassuring. If Akechi was the Black Mask and he really had been close enough to hear Morgana’s voice in the Metaverse, what were the chances he knew who the rest of them were too? Had he seen Oracle in Mementos? Wait, could he have been in Futaba’s Palace too? Had he known all this time – ?
“Wait, what the... Joker, he’s gone! You need to get out of there!”
“Excuse me. I don’t believe we were introduced.”
Akira spun around, wide-eyed, only just remembering not to dive into a combat stance. It helped that he almost fell on his face as his stilettos caught on the ratty carpet, leaving him clutching at the desk just to stay upright. It was from that highly intimidating position that he gawked up at the object of his investigation, back from his trip to the bathroom and very much between Akira and the door.
Akechi Goro stared down at him as one might gaze at a particularly stubborn fly trying to escape a spider’s web. His charming, slightly confused smile never faltered, just as perfectly pasted on as it had been in the TV station, yet in that closed space Akira could see something shifting behind his glinting red eyes that definitely hadn’t been there before. The detective tilted his head to one side, curious, bird-like. Deceptively innocent. “I’m sorry,” he said lightly, “But could you tell me what exactly you’re doing in my office?”
Ah. That was. An excellent question. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshi– no. Calm down.
Akira – no, Ren – straightened and tried to regain her poise. She was surprised but not guilty – even though he’d been caught rifling through the detective’s classified documents, damn it – and all she had to do was provide a perfectly good reason for what she was doing here. She was the Chief of Police’s niece, she respected the law, she idolised the police – she would never do anything wrong. This was fine. “Akechi-san, it is such an honour to meet you again,” Ren breathed excitedly, clasping her hands together in front of her – look, Akechi, nothing suspicious in these innocent little hands. “I’m so very sorry to intrude but I wanted to apologise for the incident with the coffee. I promise I’m not normally so clumsy.”
Ren’s soft, self-deprecating laugh dropped through the thick silence like a lead balloon. Somewhere a long way away, Akira could hear Makoto shushing the others’ panicked exclamations in his ear.
“I’m sure you’re normally much more dexterous,” the detective said with a wry smirk. He glanced down at where the coffee stain still beautifully adorned his shoulder, not washed out so much as watered down and spread around his bicep. Ren felt bad – Akira didn’t. How had the bastard washed his shirt so quickly?! How had he known to come back? Was he onto them?
“I really am sorry,” Ren added, with the utmost sincerity. She added a deep bow for good measure. It might help. Maybe.
“I accept your apology,” Akechi said at last. “What I don’t accept is why that necessitated your presence in my office... at my desk. You must admit that your actions seem rather suspicious, Miss... ah...?”
“Amamiya,” Ren replied quickly. It was the easiest part of the question to address, after all. “Amamiya Ren. A pleasure to meet you.”
“... Likewise.” That piercing russet gaze moved from her face for the first time, scanning down her whole body with a sharpness she couldn’t quite read. It didn’t feel the same as the other appraising looks Ren had received all day. It was somehow more penetrating, as if Akechi wasn’t just looking at her but through her. As if he was looking at Akira himself.
For the first time, Akira began to feel uneasy. Fooling a department full of police officers had been so easy that he’d begun to get cocky, comfortable in Ren’s skin, sure that his confidence would be enough to sell the lie until he was home free. He had never intended to end up caught in the act by the Detective Prince himself. Honestly, he had never intended to get caught at all. He had no idea what to do. His mouth was dry around the thin smile Ren was still wearing, sweat gathering on the back of his neck. Panic crawled around his lungs – clawing, crushing.
“Amamiya-san?” The smile that crept onto Akechi’s lips was nowhere close to the TV detective’s smile this time, sketched in roughly the same shape but jagged at the edges. “Could you tell me what you were doing here?”
“Joker, say something!” Makoto’s voice hissed in his ear.
He couldn’t think of a damn thing. Ren’s sweet innocence was clearly not enough in the face of his obvious guilt. His throat had frozen shut, and perhaps silence really was the best option when everything he said might only make his situation worse... but no, choosing silence was what Kurusu Akira would do. And he could be anyone in the world right now, except for Kurusu Akira. Luckily, he was possibly the only person in the world who could literally change his persona on a whim.
He flipped frantically through Personas at the back of his mind, his mental fingers flitting over old masks and new as he sought a disguise to hide himself in. Mitra’s leonine bulk growled at the forefront of his thoughts, holy wrath and righteous fury – no, fighting fire with fire wouldn’t help. He needed to diffuse the situation, or at the very least redirect it. Perhaps Thoth? The level-headed baboon god would give him the calm and diplomacy to withstand Akechi’s suspicion... but no, calm and diplomatic was exactly how he’d behaved around Akechi in the TV studio. He needed to be someone else. Mothman flittered just behind his eyes – elusive, flighty, mysterious – no, if Akechi had been in the Metaverse and seen Joker, he couldn’t remind him too much of a mischievous Phantom Thief.
Damn it, how could he wield dozens of personalities and all of them be too close to his own?!
“Amamiya-san, if you don’t have an answer for me, I’m afraid I’ll have to tell Hayashi-san about your suspicious behaviour.”
“No, wait!” he gasped, caught somewhere between masks, running out of time. “I...” Lamia, Lachesis... “I was...” Arahabaki, Anzu, Lilim... “I... wanted to be alone with you, Akechi-senpai.”
... What?
“What?!”
“Joker?”
For what felt like the longest second in the world, the two boys blinked at each other. Akira honestly couldn’t tell who was more surprised. Had that... actually just come out of his mouth? “Oh?” Akechi said eventually, one eyebrow quirked high on his forehead. “Is that so, Amamiya-san?”
What on earth had possessed him to start flirting with Akechi Goro? Wait... the Persona hovering just behind his eyes right now was Lilim. Hell’s greatest seductress. Oh crap. Well, there was nothing left for it but to double down now. Besides, perhaps it was the allure of the demonic temptress inside his soul, but teasing his infuriating rival like this felt like just the right kind of thrill. “I’ve heard so much about you on television,” Akira began, keeping his tone light, testing the waters. “The great Akechi Goro. Second coming of the Detective Prince. Japan’s favourite rising star. I had to know, Akechi-senpai, if the boy behind all the rumours could possibly... measure up.”
He didn’t let his voice dip any lower, but he allowed the words to linger on his tongue like rich chocolate, and he could see when Akechi noticed the change. For the first time, the detective looked just a little taken aback, a slight twitch around his eyes giving away his loss of composure. Something inside Akira purred. There it is, Lilim whispered. He’s just a boy, after all.
“I know it’s awfully bold of me,” he murmured, dropping his chin to gaze up through long, thick eyelashes. “But when I knew you were here, I just couldn’t help it. I had to meet you.”
(“Is he... doing what I think he’s doing?!”)
(“Oh my goodness.”)
(“Shut it, let the man work!”)
(It was white noise, immaterial compared to their prey – Lilim blocked it out.)
Akechi seemed to shake himself out of his shock, face hardening once more as he took a step back – moving out of her orbit, and that just wouldn’t do, would it? “A-Amamiya-san, this is hardly appropriate,” the brunette stuttered out, folding his arms across his chest defensively. Lilim’s sharp gaze observed the tightness of his shoulders, the white knuckles on his fingers, the hitch in his breathing, and Akira found his smile only widening. Perhaps this was crazy, perhaps he should be more concerned at how easy it was to let himself slide sideways into the furnace of Lilim’s voracious desire, but it was working. She was working. He let go.
“Please... call me Ren.” Lilim sashayed closer to the other boy with a panther’s sinuous steps, the heels on her feet extensions of her calves, her hips, her waist. When her rich brown eyes flitted back up to meet Akechi’s own, the other boy visibly gasped at the intensity of the hunger within. The young woman in front of him looked like she wanted to eat him alive.
“Ren... Ak... this isn’t – ”
“I’ve seen you so many times,” Lilim murmured, voice lower than before, “Always so prim, so proper, so untouchable. But there’s something else, isn’t there? There’s something inside.” They were close now, close enough to see Akechi’s pupils dilate, to feel his hitched breathing on her cheek. She lifted a hand to ghost her fingertips across his jaw, and leaned closer still. “I want to taste it.”
An iron grip fastened on her shoulders and the world spun a dizzying one-eighty. Akira nearly went for his knife at the sudden attack, but Lilim only laughed in delight as Akechi seized her and slammed her up against the desk behind them, strong fingers pinning her hands to the table. There he was. The boy and the predator.
Akechi’s eyes were sparkling embers. “I can’t believe you would waltz in here and actually try to seduce me,” he growled. “Have you no shame?”
“Do you want me to be ashamed?” the demon purred.
The only reply to her teasing query was another jolt of pain as the grip around her wrists tightened convulsively. She arched into the hard line of his body, stretched out her neck in a parody of submission to let her dark ringlets tumble away from a long, tempting line of creamy flesh, and her prey’s eyes followed the motion as if hypnotised. She grinned in savage victory as the boy swayed closer. So what if she was restrained, off-balance, overpowered? They both knew who was in control here.
“Are you going to punish me, Detective?” she whispered. “Pin me down on your desk and teach me my place?”
The beautiful boy leaning over her snarled like a rabid animal. Lilim grinned fondly and leaned towards the little beast, letting their breaths mingle for an endless moment of taut anticipation before there was hot, velvet friction between their lips.
The boy gasped into her mouth. Then his fingers tightened on her delicate skin and the kiss grew teeth.
It quickly became clear that the boy had no idea what he was doing. The Trickster certainly wasn’t sexually experienced either, but Lilim came from a place beyond one human’s meagre experiences. She knew men’s bodies, knew the softness of sensitive mouths and the surprising strength of the human tongue. She knew how to undo a man with her lips and fingers, knew his weaknesses and the most vulnerable secrets of his skin. The boy was so eager and vicious with his nips and bites, but he couldn’t restrain the moan she dragged out of him as she ghosted a kiss along his jaw, shifted her body in a gentle rhythm against his chest, ran the tip of a pointed tongue along his cupid’s bow. A twist of her wrists had her easily slipping her hands free from his, but all she did was tangle her fingers in his silky hair and cradle his jaw so she could graze her teeth over his upper lip. It is not aggression that wins the war of love. She could feel him begin to understand that far too late as the fight drained out of him. He’d wandered onto a battlefield he didn’t comprehend, and now he would fall blinking and dazed under her spell.
Akechi groaned out loud, and Akira came back to himself for just long enough to realise how utterly fucked he was. His eyes flashed open – when had he closed them?! – to find Akechi’s face twisted in an expression Akira had never seen before, tiny gasps hitching between his lips and rippling across his normally plastic features. Had he done that? To Akechi? They were pressed together so closely that he could feel the other boy’s heart pounding against his own chest, and... yes, there was something hard pressed against his thigh. This was so far out of control that he had no idea where to even start panicking. But somehow, against all odds, Akechi hadn’t raised the alarm yet. Whatever this madness was, it was working.
Relax, Trickster, Lilim whispered in amusement, completely untroubled by the terror drowning him. The boy wants you more than the predator does, and that makes him prey. We can escape this. Let me be your mask.
... Fine. Take him down.
Akira’s fingers tightened briefly in Akechi’s hair, but it was Lilim who smoothed the hurt with soft hands. She pulled back to survey her handiwork with a tender smile. It was a shame this was a battle and not playtime – she truly would love to have her way with this one for a bit longer – but the Trickster’s mission came first. She pushed the boy back into the office chair behind him, muffling his cry of shock with her lips as she followed him down, nimble fingers already tugging at shirt and tie to bare more of that sensitive skin. She nipped, bit and mouthed wet heat across his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, clawing his scalp, caressing his chest, an overwhelming tidal wave of sensation. All the boy could do was pant and cling onto her waist for dear life. Adorable.
“Isn’t this what you wanted, senpai?” she hissed against his skin. “To get me all hot and bothered? To have me on my knees?”
(Somewhere far away in his ear, somebody squeaked.)
The floor was hard against her knees as she sank down between the boy’s legs. She’d enjoyed having the high ground but the view from the floor was beautiful: the way his lovely body heaved with each shuddering breath, how huge and dark his doe eyes had become, that delicious gasp of realisation as she eased open the button of his slacks one-handed and mapped out the bulge beneath with her fingertips. His cotton underwear was soft on her cheek, and she hummed in pleasure as she felt him twitch against her. The boy made some choked-off sound that might possibly have been her name, his wide eyes glued to her face. Perfect.
“I never expected you to be so filthy, senpai, but look at you.” His cheeks were scarlet, eyes glazed, lips smudged with second-hand lipstick. He looked utterly ruined. Utterly hers. “You’re practically on fire.”
And just before Akira could make the most delicious mistake of his life, the fire alarm screamed into life around them.
The timing couldn’t have been better if it had been scripted by God himself. Akira scrambled to his feet, tore Futaba’s thumb drive from Akechi’s phone and threw himself towards the door, all before Akechi had recovered enough to register what was happening. The thief was already clinging to the door handle when he heard the detective snarl, “You little – !”, but whatever invective was meant to follow was interrupted by a satisfying thump. It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help looking back one last time. It was absolutely worth it.
Akechi was on his hands and knees, one leg twisted up at an angle where Akira had tied it to the chair leg with the spare extension cord. His eyes blazed crimson and his pretty face twisted with hatred, utterly furious but also absolutely wrecked. His hair was a tangled mess, his unbuttoned shirt was rumpled and covered in lipstick, and his trousers gaped open leaving his current state of affairs blatantly obvious to anyone with eyes. And despite all of that, he looked more deadly than ever. For the first time, Akira could see the Black Mask behind the Detective Prince’s plastic shell; he was absolutely certain that Akechi would tear him apart with his bare hands if he got hold of him right then.
He’d never been more turned on in his life.
“Joker, what are you doing?!”
Akira wished, not for the first time, that he had an answer to that question. He tore himself away from Akechi’s volcanic glare and darted down the hall.
He snatched up his bag, shoved through the double doors behind his desk and all but sprinted to the fire escape. His feet felt like wobbly toothpicks at the ends of his legs, but he kept his steps steady as he scurried down the stairs and stripped off his navy jacket to become one with the exodus of tired, white-shirted employees. His pulse was rocketing in his throat, his skin tingling with adrenaline, and the agonising tightness in his underwear was still uncomfortably apparent. It didn’t help that Lilim was cackling at the back of his head, somehow not drowned out by the deafening screech of the fire alarm. His head pounded. He wasn’t thinking about it. He was not thinking about it.
“Akira... what was that?”
Akira scowled, wishing Makoto had stayed quiet for just another few seconds. “I had to do something,” he muttered.
“Bro, you didn’t have to do that,” Futaba said, sounding somewhere between bemused and thrilled. Of course she would be.
“Be quiet, I need to concentrate,” he snapped – total bullshit and they all knew it, but the voices in his ear fell silent anyway. No doubt they were just as uncomfortable and confused as he was. They’d found out Akechi was probably a mass murderer, and twenty seconds later had to listen to their leader swapping saliva with him. God, he’d had his hand on Akechi’s dick. He’d nearly... No. Stick to the mission, Joker. Worry about the dumpster fire you’re leaving behind you after you’re out of the flames.
Still, it took more effort than usual to keep his mind on his surroundings as he followed the crowd round the side of the building, every casual brush of shoulders or elbows like electricity against his frayed nerves. He picked an opportune moment and slipped away between two ornamental hedges, then strode down the street until a boy with bright blonde hair and a cat clinging to his shoulder cycled up beside him. Akira didn’t hesitate to sling his bag over the handlebars and hop onto the back of the bike. “Go,” he ordered curtly, and Ryuji went.
“Joker!” Morgana cried in his ear, twisting like a pretzel to fix bright blue eyes on his exhausted friend. “You made it!”
“Hey bro, you got out okay?” Ryuji added. He glanced over his shoulder and did a double-take at Akira’s distant expression. “Dude, you look a little pale, everything alright?”
Akira realised belatedly that Ryuji and Morgana had no idea what had happened in that office. They’d both been loitering outside, waiting for the signal. Ignorance must be bliss. “Yeah... everything’s fine,” he said quietly. “It went fine.” Ryuji turned towards the more built-up streets of Toranomon, and Akira held on tighter to his friend’s back, trying not to think about how much it felt like Akechi’s toned waist. “Let’s get back.”
After they’d abandoned the bike, slipped into Mementos, dived through the maze of blood-stained subways and resurfaced in Shibuya for Akira to change into his usual clothes, he was feeling a lot more like himself. He’d made a quick stop at the Velvet Room and Arsène was now at the forefront of his thoughts once more, all sharp, clean edges and composed versatility. It made the whole affair seem like a perfect addendum to the plan. Seducing his way out of trouble was exactly the kind of thing a gentleman thief would do when caught off-guard – after all, his charisma and his looks were as much a part of his arsenal as his nimble fingers and quick mind. And if Arsène and Lilim both agreed that Akechi had looked truly beautiful beneath him in his victory... well. That was just a perk of a job well done.
Yongen-Jaya was just a short train ride away and then he was finally delivering his loot into Oracle’s safekeeping. The rest of the Thieves had moved to Leblanc and made themselves comfortable, coffee and snacks scattered all around, but they lapsed into an awkward silence as Akira, Ryuji and Morgana entered the café. Akira sighed. His friends were many things, but they weren’t subtle.
“Ah, you’re – uh, back.” Sojiro blinked once, and then – to his credit – didn’t ask why Akira was still covered in make-up.
The boy wiped awkwardly at his mouth. “Hey Boss,” he mumbled as he walked past the counter, reluctantly looking up at the four other pairs of eyes fixed on his face. Only Futaba looked entirely at ease, stretching out ‘grabby hands’ in his direction to snatch the thumb drive from him with unholy glee. Ryuji and Morgana settled in the booth, while Akira hovered over the group, feeling strangely uncomfortable in his own skin for someone who’d been wearing a stranger’s all day.
Eventually, Ann broke the silence. “Hey Akira, you guys!” she beamed, using that fake smile that kind of looked like she was having her teeth pulled without anaesthetic. “It was... it was really tense there for a while, but you pulled it off! Great job!”
Her exuberant nodding only drew attention to how still and silent Yusuke and Makoto were. Ryuji was oblivious, of course, but it didn’t take long for Morgana to pick up on the strain in the air. His ears pricked up, and his eyes on Akira were suddenly intent.
You did what you had to, Trickster, Arsène rumbled softly. If we enjoyed ourselves, where’s the harm?
It wasn’t fleeing, Akira told himself. It was a tactical retreat. “I’m going upstairs to take this stuff off,” he muttered, and fled.
Ann had considerately left a pack of make-up wipes on his pillow, so he grabbed a handful and scrubbed angrily at his face. Amamiya Ren smudged off his skin like she’d never existed, whatever electric chemistry had existed between her and Akechi discarded in the bin with Ann’s lipstick and eyeliner. After all, with everything they now knew... the next time Akira saw the detective, the distance between them would be wider than just the counter of Leblanc.
Akira gritted his teeth. No doubt Makoto was filling the others in about how their leader’s first reaction to the Black Mask’s identity was to ram his tongue down his throat. Shit, he was so fucked up.
He threw Ren’s skirt, blouse, bra and stockings into a laundry bag and was just stripping his fake ID and tissues from the pockets of the jacket when he was distracted by something white fluttering to the floor. Akira blinked tiredly, half-wondering if he was hallucinating after a stressful day staring at paperwork, but there next to his foot was a small slip of folded white paper that he was sure he’d never put in his pocket. He picked it up and cautiously unfolded it to find a short note scrawled in familiar handwriting. His heart stopped at the very first sentence.
Impressive as always, Joker, as expected of my antithesis. But did you really think it would be that simple?
We have some things to discuss. Meet me in Mementos tomorrow night at 6. You can bring the others. Don’t be late.
“Joker? Is something wrong? You’ve been up here for ages.”
Akira blinked back to himself, feeling the cogs in his mind whir back to life with a screech. Morgana stood just behind him, beady blue eyes confused, the little white tip to his tail flicking backwards and forth like a hypnotist’s pendulum. For some reason, Akira found his eyes tracking its movements as his brain crawled to the inevitable conclusion. The whole day’s events replayed behind his eyes through a monochrome filter, pierced only by knowing red eyes. The thrill of a hard-won victory drained from his veins.
And left with nothing but the bitter truth of how thoroughly he’d been played, all he could do was throw his head back and laugh.