Chapter Text
“Thank you, come again!” The convenience store clerk bows as Goro exits the building.
He looks down at his purchase: four beef onigiris and a soda. “I really need to learn how to cook,” Goro muttered to himself. A plate of curry, a cup of coffee, and a black-haired barista with glasses flashes in his mind.
It had been six years since Goro last saw the Phantom Thieves—since that final confrontation in Maruki’s palace on February 3rd. He replayed his conversation with Akira from the day before, over and over: the moment Maruki revealed the truth about his death, and the expression Akira wore when he heard it—dread, panic, and something close to rage. It haunted him. Goro squeezed his eyes shut and pulled his face mask higher. Central Street buzzed faintly around him as he walked. His apartment—a cramped one-bedroom tucked twenty minutes away by foot—wasn’t far. He knew there was always a risk of running into one of them, but after all this time, surely they had scattered across Japan. Surely. The sudden swell of noise from the theater ahead snapped him out of his thoughts. A crowd spilled into the street, and he scanned for a clear path to avoid them. Then he froze. In the middle of the crowd stood a pair of silver eyes—sharp, familiar, impossible to forget. The man he’d yearned for, and the one person he couldn’t bear to face.
Akira stared at him—eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief. Behind him, the rest of the Phantom Thieves lingered, their voices low as they chatted, unaware of who stood just a few feet away. Only Akira had noticed. Goro's heart lurched. Without a second thought, he turned and ran. Spinning on his heel, Goro sprinted in the opposite direction, weaving through startled pedestrians. He darted into a side alley, breath ragged, and stumbled right into the street—straight into the path of a taxi.
“Let me in!” he barked, slapping the hood. The driver, startled, unlocked the doors. Goro dove into the back seat. “Drive. Anywhere. Just get me away from here. I’ll pay double.” The driver didn’t ask questions. He just nodded and hit the gas, tires screeching as the city blurred past them. He sat wordlessly for thirty minutes, pulse thrumming like static beneath his skin. Only when the paranoia eased and no familiar faces appeared behind them did he finally give the driver his address. When they reached his apartment building, he shoved a wad of cash into the driver’s hand, barely waiting for change. He pushed through the lobby, giving the doorman a breathless nod, and took the elevator. As soon as he reached his door, he unlocked it, slipped inside, and slammed it shut.
Goro kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket and gloves in one motion. His mask followed—ripped from his face and flung carelessly into the room. He dropped the convenience store bag onto the dining table without a glance, heading straight for the bathroom. Cold water hit his face like a slap. He gripped the edges of the sink, chest heaving while looking at his reflection on the mirror. His hair had grown long—longer than it ever had, now brushing past his shoulders. There was a scar on his left cheek, which came from his fight with the Phantom Thieves in the engine room of Shido’s palace. His heart was still racing, and he realized that his hands were shaking from the adrenaline pumping through his veins. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms.
He takes a hot shower, hoping that it can somewhat distract him from his thoughts. Was he supposed to feel relieved that Akira looked okay? Or was he a fool for letting his guard slip like that? If he hadn’t run—would Akira have come to him… or just turned away? He exhaled a shaky breath, then shut the water off. Dried off and dressed in worn-in pajamas, he padded into the main room, towel draped around his neck. The warmth from the shower had dulled the panic, but Akira’s face still lingered.
Digging into his jacket, he pulled out a lighter and a half-crushed pack of cigarettes. He stepped out onto the balcony, flicked the lighter, and brought the flame to the cigarette. A slow inhale. A heavy exhale. His hair is still as fluffy as ever, messy and curly. Goro takes another drag, feeling annoyed that his other hand instinctively twitched from the idea of petting Akira’s hair. He still wears those stupid glasses. Does he want to look smart or something? As if he needed help in that department. I mean, it’s not like I hate them. They accentuate his eyes- “Stupid,” Goro muttered, cutting the thought short. He glared at the glowing ember and crushed the cigarette against the railing with a little more force than necessary. But almost immediately, he lit another.
When the cigarette burned down, he snuffed it out and stepped back inside, walking straight to his room. Lights off. Phone charging. Blanket pulled up to his chin. He curled into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his body like armor. A shiver ran through him—part cold, part grief, part something else entirely. “Focus on the damn job,” he whispered into the darkness. “When it’s over… you leave Tokyo. Away from them. Away from him.”
Goro groans into his pillow as sunlight cuts through the window, landing right on his face. Reluctantly, he pushes himself up and drags his feet to the kitchen. A grumble from his stomach reminds him—he never ate dinner. He tears open the convenience store bag still sitting on the counter, pulling out its contents. Without much thought, he wolfs down the onigiri and chugs the lukewarm soda. Afterward, he takes his prescribed meds, swallowing them dry. Then he collapses onto the couch, remote in hand, and flips on the TV.
After a couple hours of watching ‘Phoenix Ranger Featherman R’, his phone started ringing. Goro picks up the phone, “Hello?”
[“It’s me.”]
He instantly sits up straight, “Ah, Niijima-san. How are you?”
[“I’m good, but I should be the one asking that question.”]
“I’m…fine. Coming back to Tokyo is just a little overwhelming.”
[“I understand. It’s only been a week since you’ve arrived. I’m sure moving around to accommodate your missions has been taking a toll on you. I hope that the new apartment we found for you was satisfactory.”]
“Yes it is. Thank you for negotiating with the landlord. I don’t even want to know the original price of this place. They must have given you one hell of a discount, which is great since I’m the one paying the rent.”
[“What can I say, I’m good at what I do,”] Goro can practically see her grinning at the other side of the phone. [ “Anyways, I’ve informed the intelligence agency about your relocation and the estimated duration of your stay in Tokyo.”]
“Perfect. By the way, I was planning on visiting Shinjuku to do some light investigation.”
[“Already? Well, before you do any of that, do you mind meeting up somewhere? Perhaps two days from now?”]
“Oh? Do you need me to do something on the side?”
[“No, nothing of that sort. I just wanted to see you and catch up. You were too exhausted to converse with me when I picked you up from the train station, and I was too busy with my work during your move-in process.”]
“Uhm, if that’s what you want.” Goro hesitated. The last thing he wanted right now was to meet with anyone—especially after what happened on Central Street. But saying no to her was always difficult. She was one of the few constants in his life, the only support he had outside of his therapist. And after everything she’s done for him, he couldn’t bring himself to turn her away.
[“By the way, no investigations or sneaking into buildings until you and I meet up.”]
Goro frowns, “What? Why?”
[“I know you’re still exhausted.”]
“I'm fully capable of-”
[“Goro, I know you’re an adult, but would you mind accommodating an old woman’s request?”]
“...Fine. You better treat me to some sushi.” He tried to sound nonchalant, hoping that she wouldn’t hear the frustration in his voice.
[“Of course. Does 5pm sound good? I still have work, but I was told that I can leave early.”]
“Sure, that’s fine. Also, you’re not old. You’re only in your 30’s.”
[“That’s considered old, unfortunately. I have to go now, see you soon.”]
***
Two days dragged by, and Goro felt it in his bones. Restless didn’t even begin to cover it. He would’ve thrown himself into the investigation the second he was briefed, but no—Sae insisted he wait. Patience had never been his strong suit, especially when it came with idle hands. As much as he loathed taking orders, there was a familiar weight in being useful, even if it was for someone else’s agenda. Usefulness, after all, was the only currency he’d ever been taught to trade in. If he wasn’t serving a purpose, what was he doing here? At least now, he was on the "right" side of things—or so he tried to tell himself. This wasn’t like before. He wasn’t following Shido’s twisted blueprint, nor was he playing as Yaldabaoth’s puppet, sowing discord for the sake of a god. Back then, destruction was his only language, his only ticket to survival. Shido fed him missions, called it loyalty, made him believe that staying useful meant staying wanted. The only person who didn’t look at him like a too was—
I’m going to be late. He slipped on his shoes and gloves, zipped up his jacket, pulled his hood low, and tugged a black mask over his face before stepping out of the apartment. Goro made sure he kept his head down throughout his journey to the sushi restaurant where Sae was meeting him in. He entered the building, spotting her right away, “Niijima-san.”
She smiles, “Perfect timing.” Goro sits down across from her. “I came a little earlier so food would be available by the time you arrived.” She gestures to the sushi tray on the table. “I made sure to get your favorites.” Goro thanked her before they both started eating their food. After finishing almost half of the tray, Sae says “So, what did you do these past couple of days?”
Goro puts down his chopsticks, “Nothing much, which I’m sure was what you wanted.”
Sae smiles, “You know me so well. How are the video calls between you and your therapist? It has been a year since you’ve seen her in person.”
Goro shrugs, “It’s ok. Our sessions are still helpful. It’s not like I can go to the rehabilitation center throughout my missions.”
“That’s good. Are you planning on doing them in her office while you're here?”
“It depends on how busy I am, but it would be better if I did, especially since I’m back at a place that contains an absurd amount of complicated memories. Though, I do have a session with her tomorrow morning.”
“I see.” Sae was quiet for a moment before asking, “...Do you want to reach out to any of them now that you're back?”
Goro considered for a split second whether to tell her that Akira might’ve seen him a few days ago. In the end, he kept it to himself. “Yeah, because that would go over real well,” he said, voice dry. “I mean, let’s do a quick recap, shall we? I killed two of their parents, held their leader at gunpoint, tried to murder the entire team, and then—oh, right—I died. Came back. Died again. Real crowd pleaser.” He scoffed, leaning back in his seat. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see the unhinged traitor back in the flesh. We can trade murder stories over tea and biscuits.”
She didn’t laugh, nor was she even remotely impressed by his attempt at sarcasm, "I know what happened between you and the others—and that’s exactly why you should reach out. You’re in a far better place than you were years ago. You’ve worked hard through your rehabilitation, you’ve been showing up to therapy, taking your medication regularly, and more than anything, you’re making an effort to make things right with them."
“So what?”
She let out a slow breath through her nose, fingers drumming against the table, “From what you and Makoto have told me, it’s glaringly obvious none of you ever got closure. You were all too consumed with dealing with Maruki’s palace, barely keeping yourselves together. And you?” She gave him a pointed look. “You weren’t anywhere near the headspace to talk to anyone rationally." She paused, before continuing, “Well… except for one person. You spent an awful lot of time with him, didn’t you?” That made Goro flinch. He immediately averted his eyes, ears tinged red, suddenly very interested in the floor. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“You think a couple of pretty words are gonna fix everything I ruined?”
“No. But silence sure as hell won’t. I understand why you’re hesitant. I do. You’ve been through hell, you’ve made mistakes—serious ones—and you carry that guilt like it’s stitched into your skin.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of her mouth tightening. “But at some point, you have to stop hiding behind your crimes like they’re a shield. You’ve spent years punishing yourself, and while I admire the remorse, you don’t get to use it as an excuse forever. You want to avoid them? Fine. But don’t pretend it’s for their sake. It’s because you’re scared.” Goro shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Look,” she said, her tone softening, just slightly, “I can’t promise they’ll welcome you back with open arms. There might be resentment, confusion, even anger. But after everything that’s happened—everything you did—you owe them the truth. Not just a half-hearted apology. A real explanation. All of it.” She crossed her arms, watching him carefully. “You don’t get to disappear again just because you’re afraid of the fallout.”
He didn’t respond immediately. His brows were drawn together, jaw tight. He looked like he wanted to argue—maybe scream—but no words came. He sat back, folding his arms as if to shield himself. “My therapist doesn’t push this hard,” he grumbled, half to himself.
“She doesn’t need to. It’s not her job to challenge you the way I do,” Sae replied. “She listens. She guides. But I’m not here to coddle you, Goro. I want you to do better because I know you can.”
For a moment, the room felt too small, the air pressing down on his chest like a weight. Goro swallowed hard, his throat dry, eyes flickering toward the door like he was calculating the steps it would take to leave—just in case. His lips parted, a thousand half-formed words crowding his mouth, but none of them made it out. Instead, he reached for his glass of water, the trembling in his fingers betraying the tight rein he kept on himself. He chugged the contents in one go, letting the cold wash down the heat in his throat. He set the glass down with a quiet clink, exhaling shakily. “…I’ll think about it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
***
Goro heads back to his apartment, carrying the leftover sushi tray that Sae insistently told him to bring home. He greets the doorman, and just as he was about to pass by, “Sushi, huh? Not exactly enough for a party though.”
“What do you mean?” Goro asks.
The doorman shakes his head, “It’s nothing. I hope you have fun.”
Goro raised a brow. "Uh… thanks?" he muttered before stepping into the elevator. When he reached his floor, he dug out his keys, twirling them absentmindedly. But as he approached his apartment door, he froze — faint sounds were coming from inside.
“When do you think he’ll come back?” He hears a muffled voice.
“I saw him hop on the train 20 minutes ago. He should be coming back soon. I can check the cameras in Central Street to see if he stopped by the convenience store,” He hears another voice. Goro swears he recognized their voices, but the thick walls of the apartment aren't helping him identify them.
Footsteps were coming towards him, “I’ll scout the area to see if he’s here. I can do a lap around the building or something.” The door slowly opens, and before he knows it, Goro tackles the person on the ground, dropping the sushi tray in the process. He lifted his fist, and just before he slams it down on the intruder’s face- "OW FUCK!”
“Ryuji!”
Goro quickly gets off of him. Ryuji rubs the back of his head, “That shit HURT.”
Ann runs over to Ryuji, “You’re SUCH a moron.”
“I didn’t even do anything!”
She seized Ryuji by the collar, giving Goro an apologetic grin, "Sorry about that. We were getting restless since you hadn’t come back yet." Without missing a beat, she dragged Ryuji and shoved him onto the couch beside Haru and Makoto. Yusuke lounged against the wall while Futaba sat cross-legged on the floor, typing away on her laptop.
The scent of curry drifted through the air, warm and nostalgic. He turns toward the kitchen, pulse skipping a beat. Akira stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up, casually elegant in that infuriating way of his. He gave the pot one last stir, then covered it with a lid and set the spatula aside. When he looked up, his eyes met Goro’s. “Welcome home,” he said. His smile was soft, laced with amusement. “You’re back awfully late.”
Fuck. Goro just stared. His eyes moved restlessly, scanning Akira like he was trying to memorize him all over again. Had he gotten taller? No—no way. He better not be taller than me. His gaze flicked lower, jumping from Akira’s face to his shoulders, to the way his sleeves hugged his arms ...Seriously? When did his arms get that toned? Goro clenched his jaw, annoyed at himself for noticing, heat prickling at his neck.
“Sushi!” Morgana hops off of the counter and pulls the tray towards himself.
Goro backs away from the door, shutting it. His chest rises and falls too quickly, breath catching at the top. He presses his back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. I’m hallucinating. I have to be. I’m just... tired. Overworked. Stressed. Yup. This isn’t real. It can’t be real. He forces himself to open the door again. They’re still there. His stomach flips. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Do I run? His legs twitch like they might. No—don’t be stupid. That’s lame. I'M lame. And what then? Leave everything? My meds? Laptop?
“Uhm, Akechi?” Ann tilts her head.
Goro gives up with a sigh and shuts the door behind him. He yanks his hood and face mask off. Dragging a chair from the dining table into the living room, he drops into it with the weight of someone who’s been holding it together too long. “...Does anyone have a hair tie I can borrow?”
“Oh! I have a spare,” Ann tosses it to him.
Goro caught it and tied his hair back into a low ponytail. He fished out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, lighting one with a smooth flick before taking a slow drag. "You know those are bad for you, right? They're called 'cancer sticks' for a reason," Ryuji said, shaking his head in disapproval. Goro’s brows knit together before he exhaled a stream of smoke right in Ryuji’s direction. "BLEGH!" Ryuji gagged, waving his hands to clear the air. "Take that shit outside!"
“It’s MY apartment. You know, the one you guys rudely broke into.”
"We were simply curious about your living space," Yusuke said. "It’s smaller than I imagined. Rather plain—no artwork or decorations. You might want to consider getting an air freshener. Otherwise, your apartment’s going to start smelling like a back alley."
“Thanks for the advice. You can get out now,” Goro pulls the coffee the table, pressing the tip of the cigarette on the ashtray. “How did you find me anyway?”
“Anything that enters Tokyo enters my domain as well,” Futaba turns to him. “I’m sure you remember my specialty.”
Oh. Right. “How could I forget? You bugged my phone and exposed my plans when I was trying to blast a bullet into you leader's skull.” A deafening silence fills the room. A soft click echoed as the stove shut off. Then, the gentle scrape of wood on tile as Akira pulled out a chair and settled beside him. Too close. He can feel his blood running faster through his veins. He takes out another stick.
“We would've found you sooner if we had known you were alive,” Akira says, an unreadable expression was plastered on his face.
“If I wanted to be found, then I wouldn’t have stayed silent for six years,” Goro says in return. He lit the cigarette and inhaled, letting the smoke fill the space between them. “But clearly, you still haven’t kicked the habit of meddling in things that don’t concern you.”
"You haven't changed at all, have you?" Ryuji said, scowling.
Goro gave him a slow, condescending smile, like he was humoring a child. "Perhaps. I could say the same for you — still as ignorant and insufferable as ever."
“You bastard!” Ryuji snapped, fists clenching. Goro simply rolled his eyes, unbothered. Ryuji had always been painfully easy to rile up.
“Shut up, Ryuji!” Ann hissed.
“Well, I am Shido’s bastard son. I’m sure you remember,” Goro takes another hit of his cigarette, ignoring the uncomfortable expressions that the Phantom Thieves were wearing.
Makoto physically facepalms. “Oh….yikes.” Morgana hides behind Haru.
“Nice going,” Ann punches him on his side.
“Whatever!” Ryuji points at him, “You better start explaining yourself.”
Goro glared at him, “I don’t need to explain myself to YOU.” He draws deeply from the cigarette, holding the smoke in his chest, hoping for the nicotine to work its magic and calm him down.
“Well, you do need to explain yourself to Futaba, Haru, and Akira,” Makoto speaks up. “You fucked them over pretty bad. Since we’re adults, I hope that you can comply.”
Goro opened his mouth to snap back, only to be interrupted by a violent coughing fit—he hadn’t exhaled the smoke properly. He quickly turned away, covering his mouth as he choked, flicking the cigarette into the ashtray mid-hack.
“See? They’re bad for you!” Ryuji jabbed a finger in his direction, smug.
“— *cough* —Fuck— *cough* —you—!” Goro wheezed out, glaring at him through teary eyes.
Akira quickly runs to the kitchen and pours him a glass of water. “Here,” Akira handed it to him as he sat back down.
Goro takes it from him, downing it immediately. He wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved-hand.
“Goro.” He stiffened. Hearing Akira call him by his first name made his heart flutter, but it also made his stomach drop. “Please. We…” He looks at Goro firmly, “I need to know what happened to you.”
I’m crumbling. I’m crumbling FAST. I should’ve stayed in prison. Or dead. Or both. Sae really jinxed him with their conversation earlier. He wasn’t ready. And now here he was, ambushed—cornered before he had the chance to build even a flimsy emotional wall. His mouth felt dry. His heart thundered like it was trying to claw its way out of his chest. Futaba and Haru were both staring at him, wide-eyed and waiting. He hated it. He hated that it made something twist in his gut. He could feel himself folding—pathetically, inevitably. He was too tired to put up a front. He’s too emotionally drained to fight back anyway “....I’m sure you must be wondering why I’m alive.”
“Yes. I remember Futaba saying she lost your signal in Shido’s palace, and Maruki confirmed that you died,” Makoto nods.
“I thought so too. I couldn’t recall anything that happened after my supposed death during Maruki’s reign in the world, but I regained my memories once everything returned to normal. Well, some of them, at least.” He takes a deep breath, “I distinctly remember activating a smoke bomb and the Goho-m that Akira handed me during our infiltration in Niijima’s palace in case of an emergency. The cognitive version of me was still quick enough to shoot my chest twice. Luckily, his aim was off since I shot him beforehand, and he ended up missing any vital points. I was able to leave the palace, but I was bleeding heavily. Then, Niijima-san found me.”
“Sis?” Makoto says.
Goro let out a heavy sigh. "She said she was lurking nearby in case you needed backup, and that I blacked out while she was driving me to the hospital. I was bedridden for a few days — had to go under the knife. Honestly, I don’t remember much else. I was in and out of consciousness. I mean, I was shot, after all." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Then suddenly, I woke up in my apartment when Maruki took over reality. No bullet wound. No scars. There’s a gap in my memory from the time we fought in the engine room to when I came to."
“Do you have any idea why you didn’t remember?” Makoto asks.
“Akira’s cognition,” Morgana starts, feigning a scholarly tone as he looks directly at Goro. “Since he thought you were dead—and so did Maruki—everything that happened after the engine room just… doesn’t exist in their memory. So your whole presence? It’s built from how they remembered you.” He tilts his head, ears flicking innocently. “I mean… technically, you are Akira’s wish.”
Goro chokes on air, coughing once before shooting him a sharp look. “Excuse me?”
“Mona!” Akira sputters.
He pauses, blinking slowly. “Oh—was that weird to say?”
Ann stifles a laugh behind her hand. “Damn, Mona. You’re just gonna say it like that?”
Morgana shrugs, still wearing the most unbothered expression in the room. “What? I’m just stating the facts.”
Goro glares at him, heat rising to his cheeks. “Tch, that’s ridiculous.” Akira, sitting silently beside him, presses his lips together, looking somewhere between amused and flustered himself. He cleared his throat. “That was one of my theories. The second theory I had has something to do with my power — 'Call of Chaos.'”
"Call of Chaos?" Yusuke repeated cautiously.
Makoto leaned forward slightly. "That's the one that caused the psychotic breakdowns, right? Didn't you... use it on yourself when we were fighting?" Her voice softened on the last word, like she didn’t want to dig too deep into the memory.
Goro gave a curt nod. “It’s a unique power — courtesy of Yaldabaoth.”
"I still don’t get how it works exactly," Futaba muttered, crossing her arms. "Other than the part where you went totally berserk and basically turned into Super Saiyan Goro. Your stats were ridiculous.”
Goro allowed himself a dry, humorless smile. "Call of Chaos: a power that drives the mind into madness, turning rationality into violence. It leads its victims to commit reckless acts that spiral into catastrophe." His gaze drifted, growing distant. "When I use it on myself, it boosts my attack strength to extreme levels... but strips away almost all my defense. A double-edged sword."
"What a terrifying power," Yusuke murmured, his brows furrowing deeply.
"Yaldabaoth was a real bastard for giving you that," Morgana hissed, his tail flicking sharply. "None of the psychotic breakdowns would've happened without him."
Goro huffed, the sound bitter. "Don't paint me as some mindless puppet. I had a conscience. If I'd truly wanted, I could’ve chosen not to use that power at all."
The room tensed again, the weight of unspoken history pressing down on everyone.
"Anyway," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably, "there’s another side effect besides leaving my defense at zero."
"And that is...?" Morgana prompted cautiously.
"Memory loss."
"Memory loss?" He echoed, blinking.
Goro shot him a flat look. "Are you planning to repeat everything I say?" Morgana’s ears drooped against his head, clearly chastised. Sighing, "If you remember, most of the victims who suffered psychotic breakdowns had no memory of what they did — no recollection at all. It's not just madness. It erases the damage from their minds too. Some fragments eventually come back... but never the whole picture. Same for me. I didn’t remember much until Niijima-san pieced it together for me."
"I see... That must have been incredibly difficult for you," Yusuke said gently, his brows furrowing with genuine concern.
Goro shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unused to being on the receiving end of such sincere sympathy. He averted his gaze, pretending to focus on a crack in the floor. "It’s... whatever," he muttered, brushing it off even though the awkwardness clung to him. "Now that that's out of the way, you guys can leave now."
“You know that there are other pressing matters I want answers for.” Akira looks at Goro, “ What have you been doing this entire time? Why haven't you contacted or told us you were alive for the past few years?”
Goro let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. If they wanted answers, fine—they’d get them. Just not all of them. Especially not that last one. “It’s nothing worth digging into,” he muttered. “I woke up in the hospital again after Maruki’s Palace collapsed—like I’d been there the whole time. Niijima-san explained everything, like how Akira got arrested again since he technically violated his probation… and leading the Phantom Thieves didn’t exactly help his case.” His eyes drifted toward the floor, voice dipping a little. “There wasn’t much I could do about that, but I convinced Niijima-san to arrest me too. Figured if someone had to take the fall, it might as well be me.” He shrugged. “After a few trials, I was sentenced. Testified against Shido. The odds of him actually rotting behind bars were better if I was the one on the stand instead of Akira. That’s all.”
“You testified?” Futaba’s eyes widened.
“Before you all get too excited, no—I wasn’t convicted of murder,” Goro said flatly. “There wasn’t enough evidence tying me to anything specific, especially since I did most of it through the Metaverse. The legal system still can’t prosecute crimes committed in an alternate cognitive reality. Convenient, isn’t it?” His lip curled into a grimace. “Some of the people pulling strings behind the scenes were the same ones who hired me in the first place. If they went down, so would a bunch of other powerful names.”
He paused for a second, “The one way they could’ve linked me to anything was through the psychotic breakdown cases I pretended to solve. The official story presented in court was that I falsified evidence to bolster my reputation—as the oh-so-brilliant Detective Prince.” He says sarcastically. “I was also charged for staging Kurusu’s suicide—thanks to my calls with Shido. Apparently it didn’t count as attempted murder, since no one saw me actually try to kill him. And according to Niijima-san, you guys revealed that he was alive on national television, so that kind of threw a wrench in the whole ‘dead leader’ thing.” Goro leaned back with a tired expression. “So, ten years. That’s what I got. For the stuff they could prove, that is.”
“Damn, so we indirectly helped you? That sucks balls,” Ryuji frowns.
“Oh yeah, it totally sucks,” Goro drawled, flashing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ten years? Should’ve been the death penalty. Real missed opportunity.” His voice dripped with bitter humor. A flicker of discomfort crosses their face.
“...If that’s the case, then how are you out of prison this early in your sentence?” Yusuke asks, trying to keep the conversation going.
“...Niijima-san proposed something to the court.”
“What?” Makoto’s looks at him skeptically.
Here we go. “Niijima-san pitched it to the court—said I’d be more useful as an undercover intelligence asset, targeting whatever remnants of Shido’s network are still crawling around. In exchange, I work under her supervision, help with ongoing investigations, and maybe shave a few years off my sentence.”
“Why would she do that? Why YOU of all people?” Morgana asks.
Akechi ignores him “Apparently,” Goro continued, his tone edged with irony, “she told the court I’m the only one with extensive knowledge of Shido’s conspiracy. Said I was the only person she could trust to help dismantle it.” He scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Imagine that—me, the most trustworthy person in the room. Who would've thought?”
“I didn’t know convicted felons could shave time off their sentence just by helping the cops,” Yusuke mused aloud, his tone curious rather than judgmental.
Everyone glanced toward Makoto. She adjusted in her seat before answering matter-of-factly, “It’s actually more common than you’d think. Some Yakuza members cut deals all the time—intel in exchange for favors like reduced sentences or extended visitation rights. I even had a few give up entire networks just to get their hands on the latest volume of their favorite manga.”
“You’re back with the police?” Ryuji asked, squinting at Goro.
He shakes his head, “No. I’m with an intelligence agency Niijima-san connected me to. They provide support to the police, but I don’t report directly to them.”
“Same thing."
“Wait, Akechi,” Makoto looks at him. “When exactly did you start working as an agent?”
“...A year ago.”
“Oh God. It was you the whole time?” Makoto rubs her temples. Goro remains quiet.
“Ok, now I’m lost af,” Ryuji scratches his head.
“When I started working with the police two years ago, we kept hitting dead ends trying to track down drug operations,” Makoto said, her tone thoughtful. “We didn’t have names, locations—nothing concrete. Then, out of nowhere, we were handed a full list: addresses, key suspects, even their relocation schedules.” She crossed her arms, glancing briefly at Goro. “I heard it came from a promising new recruit in the intelligence agency assisting us. Someone they said was sharp, meticulous—too good to be a rookie, honestly. I didn’t question it at the time. I was too focused on finally getting results. It just felt good to be making progress.”
Akira leaned in, close enough that Goro could feel the warmth of him, and bumped his shoulder lightly. His voice dropped to a teasing drawl. "You’re amazing no matter what you do, huh?"
Goro visibly tensed, his mouth opening like he wanted to snap back—only to close it again as his mind scrambled for a response. "Shut up," he muttered, his face heating up fast. He shifted awkwardly, tugging at his sleeves to hide how flustered he was.
Akira gave a low chuckle, clearly enjoying himself. "Relax. I'm just complimenting you."
"It’s not a compliment if you’re smirking like that," Goro grumbled, furiously aware of how warm his face had gotten.
Ann snickered from her spot on the couch. "Man, you’re so easy to mess with."
Goro yanked his ponytail tighter with an aggravated growl, like he could somehow strangle the embarrassment out of himself. "I hate all of you."
“I guess you just can’t help but be in the spotlight. Always pleasing other people and what not. I would’ve thought that you had given it a rest at this point,” Ryuji rolls his eyes.
This fucker just won’t quit it, huh? Goro’s anger was bubbling, but he thought of something to say. “Is that so?” he smirks at him.
“What are you smirking for?”
He shrugs, “I was just thinking about how you would’ve preferred for me to work slower or to be more incompetent with my job. Next time, I’ll remember: let the mafia sell drugs and allow more teenagers to fall into debt and drug addiction. God forbid I interrupt a thriving business model.”
Everyone turns to Ryuji, who’s just sitting there dumbly. Futaba sighs, “Ryuji, I think you should just stop talking.”
He deflates, “Yeah…” Finally he shuts up.
Makoto turns back to Goro, “I’m assuming you’ve been jumping around Japan, sniffing out leads that connect back to the drug ring in Tokyo?”
He nods, “I’ve been sneaking into ports and mafia turfs to gather information.”
Makoto puts her hands on her face, “I just can’t get away from your genius, can’t I?”
Goro sat stiffly, the air between them heavy with unspoken tension. He’d always suspected that Makoto carried some kind of inferiority complex when it came to him. Back then, he might’ve let it feed his ego. Now, it just made his stomach twist. He bit the inside of his cheek before speaking. “I… just did what needed to be done,” he said carefully. “It wasn’t about stealing the spotlight or showing anyone up. Honestly, I played a part in creating this mess to begin with. I looked the other way when Kaneshiro was running his drug trade because he was funding Shido’s campaign. I heard while I was in rehab that the mafia replaced him not long after he was arrested. Word is, once his heart changed and he lost his edge, they ditched him.”
He shifted slightly, “Look, yeah—I got the intel. But you’re the one who acted on it. You were the one storming drug houses, putting people in cuffs. And it was Niijima-san who brought them to justice. If I really cared about recognition, I would've just handled everything myself. And anyway, not every lead I got was perfect. I didn’t do it to outshine anyone. I just... wanted to help.”
Makoto slides her hands off her face, “Are…you trying to comfort me?”
“N-No! I…” Goro looks away, crossing his arms, “I was just stating the facts!” Akira laughs. “What’s so funny?!”
Futaba raises a brow, “Wow, I didn’t think 24 year old Akechi Goro is going to be a tsundere.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I have a feeling that you’re insulting me,” Goro huffs.
“Hm. So, the prison you were sent to was one of those rehabilitation-centered ones?”
“There’s a difference?” Ann asked.
Futaba gave a quick nod. “Yeah. Regular prisons are more about punishment. Rehab-focused ones are designed to reintegrate people back into society, usually through therapy and structured programs.”
“If I’d gone to a regular prison…” Goro muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “...I would’ve had to see Shido.” The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of his words settling over them.
“That…would’ve been fucked up,” Ann grimaces.
There was a pause before Haru spoke up, her tone carefully measured. "It sounds like... things could have been even harder for you," she said, almost gently — but there was a stiffness in her voice, like she wasn’t sure how much sympathy she should allow herself to show. "I'm... glad you didn’t have to go through that, at least." She looks back at him, “How was it? The facility you were in."
Goro flinches, “Oh. Uhm…” He crosses his arms tighter, “...It was…ugh.”
"Hey, you can talk to us," Ann encouraged, smiling a little.
"I’ll listen," Yusuke offered nonchalantly, "though I wouldn’t say no to a free lunch afterward."
Ann elbowed him lightly. "Yusuke!"
"What? Artists starve," he said with a sigh.
"Guys—" Akira tried to cut in, but no one heard him over the growing chatter.
"Man, just spit it out already!" Ryuji urged, tapping his foot impatiently.
"Even if things are... complicated, we’re still here," Morgana added with an awkward flick of his tail. "You can talk to us."
All their voices bled together — too many, too fast. Goro felt his patience fraying at the edges, his head starting to pound. Every comment, every well-meaning look, made his skin itch. He hadn't asked for all this attention. He didn't want their sympathy or their questions or their damn pity. “I need all of you to–” His phone starts ringing loudly.
Everyone quiets down as he accepts the call and brings the phone near his ear, “Hello? Good evening Niijima-san.” Makoto leans forward as Sae talks to him over the phone. “Yes, I’m going there tomorrow….No, I’m perfectly fine. You already made me rest two more days than necessary. I can’t hold off any longer…” He let out a long sigh. “Yes, I know this one’s more dangerous. I’ll be careful…” His eyes flicked toward the group, catching the way their expressions shifted into quiet concern. “Fine,” he added with a roll of his eyes. “I promise to try to be careful. No guarantees—shit happens. You of all people should know I’ve been through worse.”
He paused, listening. "Right, about my therapist, I...decided to see her in-person tomorrow." He glanced pointedly at the Phantom Thieves. “I was planning to ask for advice on whether or not I should reach out to them—per your suggestion, mind you. I wanted her professional opinion first. Because believe it or not, my mental stability is kind of important to this whole mission. And being ambushed wasn’t exactly part of my recovery plan.” He glares at them, making them cringe. He continues to listen to her, “Am I okay? Yes, I’m just tired. Let me know if you need anything else from me…Thank you. Goodnight.” He hangs up.
No one says anything for a while. Ann clears her throat, “Well, uhm, this has been fun. It’s, uh, getting pretty late.”
“But we’re not done inter– I mean- we’re not done talking to him yet!” Morgana protested
“Yeah! Like what the cat said,” Ryuji points his thumb at him.
“I think we should wrap it up for tonight," Akira cut in firmly, addressing the group. "We got more out of this than we expected. That’s enough for now."
“But Akiraaaa, he’s just gonna run away!” Morgana whines.
“Really, Mona? You know that I can track him down any time I want, right?” Futaba cocks her head at her laptop.
“Ann’s right. It’s late," Haru agreed, folding her hands neatly in her lap, her voice polite but resolute.
“But–”
“Everyone, shut the fuck up!”
Goro’s voice cracked like a whip through the room, silencing them instantly. Their eyes snapped toward him. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple before fixing them all with a sharp glare. “I’m not going to run. Believe it or not.” He pulled out his phone, thumb unlocking it with a practiced flick, and tossed it onto the coffee table with a clatter. “There. That’s my number.” His gaze cut through them, one by one. “If any of you feel like dredging up the wreckage that is my life—if you need to vent, scream, whatever—text me. Ask for my schedule. We’ll figure it out like adults. Because that’s what we’re supposed to be now, right?”
The words hung in the heavy air, the raw edge of his voice softening just a fraction.
“I can’t unravel everything in one night,” he muttered. “And I have plans tomorrow.” His eyes lingered meaningfully on Akira. “Like Kurusu said... let's call it a night.”
“...Wow. Akechi-kun….that’s…really mature of you,” Makoto comments.
“I’m mentally ill, not unreasonable,” He scoffs.
“Right... Sorry. Uh, we’ll add you to our contacts, and then we will leave.” Everyone quickly adds his number into their phones and heads to the door, gathering their shoes and other belongings. They all started leaving the apartment, except for Akira.
“Akira? Let’s go,” Morgana calls for him.
“I'll be there in a sec. I wanted to talk to Akechi about something. Tell Futaba to wait for me,” Akira tells him.
"Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, since, you know..." He trails off, uncertain. Goro doesn’t catch the look Akira gives, but whatever it is, it makes Morgana flinch. “O-Okay then! I’ll let Futaba know!” Morgana blurts, already backing away. He scurries off, and with a quiet click, Akira shuts the door behind him.
Akira turned sharply, heading straight for Goro with purpose in his stride. Goro instinctively stepped back. “What are you—?” He didn’t get the chance to finish. Akira pulled him into a sudden, firm embrace. Goro froze, his breath caught. Panic surged through him. He shoved against Akira’s chest, trying to break free—but Akira only held on tighter. His hands hovered uncertainly on Akira’s shoulders, half-ready to push again.
“Let me hug you!” Akira burst out, startling Goro and making him stop. “Just…” Akira’s voice dropped to a whisper, “...let me have this.” Goro stood stiff for a beat, then finally let his hands fall. He hesitantly sank into the embrace, unsure whether or not he should enjoy this. Not a single word was uttered until Akira spoke up again, “I hate you.”
“That should be my line.”
“You’re a major asshole.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I want to punch you.”
“Might as well shoot me too.”
Akira gritted his teeth, eyes burning. “You have no idea how hard it was—holding myself back. The second you walked in, all I wanted was to throw myself at you. I don’t even know if it was because I wanted to hit you… or—” He faltered, drawing in a shaky breath, trying to rein himself in. He stepped back, only slightly, just enough to bring his hands up and cradle Goro’s face. His voice softened, barely more than a whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me you were alive?”
Warmth spread from Akira’s palms across Goro’s cheeks, sinking under his skin, coiling tight around his chest. Akira’s eyes—so full of longing, so sharp with hurt—locked onto his. Why are you looking at me like that? Like you… His throat tightened. He scrunched his brow, lips parting with the effort to speak. “I-I…” He closed his eyes, forcing the words through. His hands came up, wrapping around Akira’s wrists, peeling them away from his face. “I didn’t think anyone wanted to see me again,” he says, aiming for indifference, but the cracks bled through. "You’re friends detested my presence, and I was clearly unwelcomed when I started working with them in Maruki’s palace–”
“I don’t care about them!” Akira snaps, making Goro look at him. “I care about why you didn’t tell ME about…about any of THIS! I thought we understood each other.”
“Akira…” Goro says, barely above a whisper, like the name itself might shatter him. It’s been years since he last said it—his first name. Too personal. Too raw. Saying it now feels like crossing a line he swore he’d never touch again.
“I wanted to look for you. God, I wanted to.” Akira’s voice trembled. “Every day, I thought about it. About dropping everything and searching the world just to find you. But I was terrified that I’d keep looking forever… and never find anything. Just empty roads and dead ends.” He shook his head, burying his face into Goro’s shoulder. His fingers clutched the fabric of Goro’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. “Everyone else accepted it. That you were gone. That you were dead. And they moved on, like they were supposed to. I tried too. I really did. But I—” His voice caught in his throat.
“When I saw you outside the theater, I thought I was losing my mind. I just stood there, frozen. I told myself, ‘You’re hallucinating again.’” Again? “Then I realized, if I were hallucinating, you would’ve been wearing your high school uniform or your winter outfit. You know, the one with the beige trench coat and the checkered scarf? But you weren’t, especially when you started running away. I tried chasing you down, but you were gone in an instant.” He lets out a broken laugh, "The others thought I imagined it. Ryuji even said, ‘You’re still thinking about him? Haven’t you moved on?’” He clenched his jaw, then whispered, “But I never did.”
“I can’t believe that I’m about to say this, but he’s right. You should’ve moved on–”
“I bugged Futaba enough that she finally caved and checked Shibuya’s CCTV footage,” Akira continued on. “And there you were.” He let the silence hang for a second. “I kept watching the clips. You’d stop by the same convenience store over and over—buying random snacks, cheap bentos. It was obvious that you weren’t making any home cooked meals.” Akira let out a long, weary sigh. “Futaba and I showed the others. Proved that you were alive. At first, they said we should stay away. That it’d just reopen old wounds. But I told them… Futaba and Haru needed closure. I needed closure.” He looked up, eyes searching Goro’s face. “Eventually, they relented, and we eventually found your apartment.”
“And then you broke into my apartment and made curry?” Goro deadpanned, trying to break the tension in the air.
Akira lets out a nervous laugh, “Sorry about that. I was afraid that you would run away if I confronted you in public, and I really…REALLY wanted to see you. I…” He whispers, “I missed you.”
Goro draws in a slow, steady breath, letting Akira’s words wash over him. The ache in his chest deepens. He missed him too. More than he’d ever admit aloud. But, Goro didn't want to miss him. He tried not to. Missing Akira felt indulgent. Selfish. Like he hadn’t already taken enough. After everything he’d done—after every betrayal, every lie—he didn’t think he had the right to yearn for something warm. Something kind. Something like him. He couldn’t even bring himself to drink coffee anymore. Not without thinking of Akira’s hands, his quiet voice, the warmth in his eyes. That tenderness ruined him for it. Coffee was Akira. And without him, it was just bitter water pretending to be something more. Curry was fine—Akira often gave him his experimental versions, dishes that barely resembled the original. But coffee? It hit too close to home. Coffee had always been more than just a drink to Goro. It was Akira’s gift—quiet, deliberate, and filled with unspoken care.
I missed you too. The words hover at the edge of his lips—so close, it would take nothing to let them slip. He wants to say them. He really does. But if he does, he won’t be able to stop there. One admission will unravel the rest—the guilt, the grief, the things he’s not ready to name. He knows Akira is waiting for it, hoping. He feels the weight of that silence between them. And still, he holds back.
“Did…you think about me at all?” Akira asks. His gaze locks into Goro’s, as if he can sense his internal turmoil, the storm brewing behind them.
Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I? You’re all I think about. He clicked his tongue, "Y-yeah, well... it’s not like I had a choice," he muttered. "You’re annoyingly hard to forget." He risked a glance back at Akira, regretting it immediately when he caught the soft, almost amused look in his eyes. Goro huffed, face burning hotter. "Don’t look at me like that. It’s not a compliment."
Akira chuckles, “I’m glad that I was still somewhat part of your life, even though you never bothered to seek me out.”
Goro’s throat tightened, a lump forming that he couldn’t quite swallow. He knew it wasn’t true—none of it—but the silence between them said more than words could. Gently, almost reluctantly, he placed his hands on Akira’s forearms and eased him back, though he didn’t let go completely, "I think you should go. The trains will stop moving soon."
“I need more answers–”
"You just finished telling your friends we’d save the rest of this conversation for another time."
Akira paused, looking sheepish. "Right... I did say that."
“Indeed you did.”
Akira nods slowly. “I understand. You’re doing some mission-impossible type shit, after all. A lowly civilian like me cannot get in the way of your spy-guy business,” Akira says, a shit-eating grin forming on his face.
Goro rolls his eyes, trying to fight back a smile, “Whatever. Fuck off already.” He lets go of Akira.
“Yes yes yes, I’ll leave your humble abode,” Akira walks to the door, putting on his shoes. “Hey.”
“What?”
Akira fidgets with his phone, “Uhm, can I text or call you?”
You can call or text me anytime of the day. “That’s what I gave my damn phone number for, but if you keep bothering me, I’m blocking you.”
“Cool,” Akira said, pausing. “So… how busy are you going to be?”
“Extremely.”
“You don’t have any time to spare?”
“…I can make time. If I feel like it.”
Akira tilted his head, lips quirking. “I was thinking of stopping by Leblanc sometime this week.”
“Okay? And?”
“You’re making this difficult,” he pouted.
Hmph. Cute. “You’re the one dancing around the point.”
“Fine.” Akira sighed dramatically. “Will you come have coffee with me when you’re free?”
“No.”
Akira leaned in with those annoyingly effective puppy dog eyes. “Please? I still remember how to make your usual.”
“Akira…” Goro warned. But Akira just widened his eyes and deepened the pout.
Goro let out a sharp sigh, sucking air through his teeth. “Fine. But if it tastes like shit, I’m spitting it directly at you.”
“Sorry, spitting is not a kink of mine.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Riiiight, as if that worked the first couple of times.” Goro frowns, but Akira simply smiles. “I’ll see you soon, then?”
“I already said that I would. Don’t make me change my mind.”
“You promise?”
Promise. Do Goro’s promises mean anything at this point? “I’ll try.”
Akira accepts his answer, but that doesn’t mean that a flash of anxiety didn’t appear on his face. “Awesome. See you,” He winks at Goro before closing the door.
Goro quickly runs to the door, locking it. Everything that had just happened—the voices, the faces, the embrace—swirled in his mind. He remembers the curry that’s sitting on his stove. He goes to the kitchen and stares at the pot. I shouldn’t eat this right now. It’s almost midnight. But his eyes flick to the rice cooker. He lifts the lid. Steam rises gently, and inside, perfectly cooked rice. Akira made this—just for him. For a long moment, Goro just stands there, unmoving. Then, with a quiet sigh, he opens the cabinet and pulls out a plate and utensils. He dishes out the curry and rice, heating them up in the microwave. He drags the chairs back to the dining table, one by one, before finally sitting down. The plate steams in front of him. His first bite is hesitant, cautious—as if the food itself might hurt him. But as soon as it touches his tongue, the taste unfolds. Goro closes his eyes, wanting to immerse himself with the dish. It’s good.
***
Akira finds Futaba and Morgana waiting for him outside, "Where are the others?"
"They left," Futaba answers.
They arrive at the station. The platform stretched out under flickering fluorescent lights, casting long shadows. As they wait for their train, Akira stands still, eyes fixed on the empty tracks ahead, “Did you manage to bug his phone?”
"Of course. Who do you think I am?" She says with her hands behind her back.
Akira hums, "Good."
Futaba flicks a glance in his direction, voice lower now, uncertain. “Do you… still want me to keep an eye on him through the CCTVs?”
A gust of wind roars down the platform as the train pulls in. His clothes flutters, hair tousled by the force. The doors slide open with a sterile hiss. Akira doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the tightness in his jaw—Futaba gets the message loud and clear. She nods, slowly. She swallows hard, lips pressing into a line, stroking Morgana's fur for comfort.