... In which my class makes a school trip to a TV station and I have a destined encounter with the man who would soon become the greatest challenger intended for me by the Gods. Against all odds, he would also be the one capable of stealing my own heart.

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

Sitting there, in the glaring yet astonishingly inconspicuous spotlight, I find that I'm actually excited for day two of our school trip.

Technically, there is no real reason for this hope. I slide back and forth in my uncomfortable seat, trying not to let the stark lights of the stage in front of us blind me. No matter how much I hoped it would at least amount to some excitement, yesterday was . . . disappointingly boring. I recall the following trip to Dome Town much more vividly than anything that happened at the station. Well, anything except—

"Akechi-kun's coming on!" The AD's voice cuts into my thoughts, and my eyes fly up.

Right. I turn my head, involuntarily looking out. Nothing memorable happened at the station yesterday, except for . . . him.

I can't quite pinpoint why the brief interaction with Goro Akechi in the hallway made such an impression on me. We talked for less than a minute, yet the subtle discrepancy between his lighthearted tone and his expression etched itself into my memory . . . as did the peculiar look that Morgana gave me after our conversation. He didn't explain what was wrong, but it stuck with me anyway.

I want to see him again, I think suddenly; that's why I was looking forward to today. Maybe if I do that, I can figure out why I felt a surge of that emotion that typically indicates I am developing an attachment to yet another person based on nothing but a strong instinct that they may use a friend.

I shift my weight, recalling his oddly unreadable stare. Akechi . . . Isn't he a TV star with hundreds of fans? So far, everyone who has elicited this feeling has been an outcast in society—lonely and in need of empowerment and friendship. Akechi couldn't be further from that . . . could he? Nonetheless, a part of me genuinely considered inviting him to come along with us to Dome Town because I had a strong hunch that it would make his day, maybe even his week or month.

I make a face. Maybe I've become so used to feeling this way about people that I'm conjuring it up where it doesn't belong. Maybe it really is only in my head this time.

Yet no matter how much I tell myself that, logically, it makes no sense, the feeling does not leave. It sits at the back of my head all while I follow him with my eyes as he makes his way on stage, accompanied by a wave of cheers and applause. Every girl in the audience seems to be swooning, and though part of me kind of understands why, this kind of impersonal adulation makes me want to roll my eyes. What do they even know about him? Besides the fact that he's good-looking and . . . well, charismatic, I have to admit. Smart too, probably. Still . . . As quickly as I tend to become emotionally invested, I'd never crush on someone I've never even spoken to. I'm always thinking—what if they're completely different than they appear once the cameras are off?

I shove aside all memories of my various middle school phases when I too swooned over and adorned my walls with posters of idols and art portraying fantastical characters. We're all . . . allowed to dream, no? And who's to say that the fairytale that I've . . . never quite let go of, if I'm being honest, doesn't exist out there, somewhere? If I only look hard enough . . .

"Ain't that the guy from yesterday?" Ryuji leans over and whispers loudly in my ear over the ongoing chatter.

I keep my eyes on Akechi, occasionally glancing at the two hosts as they sit down and raise their eyes to the camera. He's wearing the same Khaki uniform blazer as yesterday—presumably his school uniform. And just like yesterday, I wonder if the black leather gloves are part of it too, or if there's a different reason he wears those.

"Cutting back from commercial!" the AD calls. "Seven, six, five seconds till start. Four, three . . ."

The jingle plays, and the female announcer in the cute pink blazer begins: "And now, onto the "Hottest Meet-and-Greet" segment of our show . . . After his last appearance was so well received, we decided to bring back this fine gentleman today. It's the high school detective, Goro Akechi!"

More cheers, which I barely register because I'm taken up with the realization that I've heard of him after all. I'm certain that I've overheard Shujin students gossiping about a high school detective—a Detective Prince. I look up.

"Hello there." He smiles brightly, but I'm too far away to see whether his eyes smile along this time.

"Thank you for taking the time to join us today, Akechi-kun," says the male announcer with a cheerful grin. "Your popularity is stunning."

"Even I found it to be quite a surprise," Akechi responds. "It is a bit . . . awkward sometimes."

"Moving along," the female host continues. "We've been told there's a case on your mind right now. Care to share, detective?"

"Ah, yes." He smirks, then raises his hands to straighten his glove. "That would be the scandal involving the master artist Madarame."

I feel Ryuji beside me tense up, but it makes sense that they'd investigate Madarame after his confession . . . Although I have to admit that it is a strange coincidence that Akechi, of all people, is the one on the case.

"There it is," the male host exclaims. "So, has all of this phantom thief excitement caught your attention too, Akechi-kun?"

Now that they're asking him about us directly, I find myself inadvertently eager to hear his answer. Of all the things I expected to hear here on this show today, it certainly wasn't a new take on our group. And, maybe like that, it could all still get interesting after all.

"Allow me to be blunt for just a second," the man continues, then asks the question that was at the back of my mind, also: "What do you think of these "justice-seeking" Phantom Thieves?"

Akechi gives another bright smile back, though I can't help but notice he does so after an ever-so-brief pause. "If they truly are heroes of justice, I sincerely hope they exist," he begins.

"Oh, so you don't deny the possibility that they're real?" the male host cuts in.

Akechi pauses again, then raises a gloved hand to brush a stray strand of hair out of his face. "I may not seem like it, but I sometimes wish that Santa Claus actually existed," he responds, earning "oohs" and a few laughs. I can practically feel Ryuji next to me rolling his eyes.

I smile down at my folded hands and find myself oddly comforted by that admission—because I relate to it. Weren't I just reminiscing about my undying hopes for my own fairytale? Just earlier this year, I thought it must all be over.

Damn brat . . . I'll sue!

He did, and yet I'm still here. My smile brightens. I'm here . . . and I've since made myself part of a group with supernatural powers dedicated to upholding justice. Could it be that my fairytale is actually so much closer than ever now?

I raise my eyes back to Akechi, my smile unwavering. I mean, who doesn't secretly wish that Santa Claus existed? We, as humans, want to believe in heroes, legends, and fairytales because they give us hope. And my hope . . .

"Although," Akechi continues without losing his smile, "if he did, I'd have to arrest him for breaking and entering."

The audience roars with laughter, but my smile falls. He wasn't at all going where I thought he would with that—where I immediately went myself—and for whatever reason, I feel almost . . . betrayed. Looking at his bright smile, I once again wonder whether it's genuine—whether I only imagined the frankly unexpected amount of . . . bitterness in that last sentence.

"But, hypothetically speaking . . ." Akechi's smile suddenly drops, and I can't see his expression well enough to be sure, but I could have sworn it takes on an unprecedented . . . hardness. "If these Phantom Thieves are real . . . I believe they should be tried in a court of law."

I swallow, trying not to feel betrayed for no valid reason yet again—for the second time now within the span of a few minutes—and because of the same person. But . . . what else am I supposed to feel? I struggle to comprehend the full extent of what he's saying and demanding, and why hearing it makes me want to cry just a little.

"That's quite the statement," the male host says, eyes on Akechi, who seems deep in thought. "Are they committing crimes?"

No! I think, eyeing Ryuji and Ann beside me, whose faces show a mirror of my own shock. We're trying to reform people . . . He can't seriously want us prosecuted for that! Still . . . A memory of my own trial flashes before my eyes, and I clench my hands into fists. All my friends say that I didn't deserve to be sued for what I did then either, and yet it still happened. So there must be people who believe I deserve it.

. . . Why am I so surprised that someone thinks I deserve it again?

"Some people even say that the Thieves are actually helping their victims abandon their evil ways," the host continues. I don't know whether his motivation is genuine sympathy or just wanting to hear more solid reasoning from Akechi, yet I feel beyond grateful for his words either way.

Akechi is silent for a few more heartbeats, then scowls. "It is true that what the artist Madarame did was an unforgivable crime. However, by targeting him, they pass judgment on him, thereby taking the law into their own hands. It is far from justice."

My mouth opens, then closes again. It stings to admit that he has a point; at the end of the day, we are vigilantes. And I'm not so naive to believe that there aren't people out there who condemn vigilante justice, but . . . it feels right to do what we do. Standing by when I have the power to act would feel wrong. It has to be . . . doesn't it?

"More importantly . . ." Akechi's face hardens even more. I wish I was closer so that I could see his expression better, see his eyes. "You should never forcefully change a person's heart. It takes away from their autonomy, forcing them to change, whether they want it or not. Can that truly be right?"

I blink a few times, trying not to spiral into overthinking what he just said and how much truth there is to it. We are doing what we're doing without asking for or caring about consent . . . but the people whom we change do harm. They have to change, or they'll continue to harm. They—

"You have a point," the host says as if to spite me. "These people are calling themselves the "Phantom Thieves", after all."

We're doing what needs to be done. I clench my fists so hard that my nails dig into my palms. We do what nobody else is willing or able to do. Who would have saved more students from being molested and abused by Kamoshida? Who would have saved Yusuke from a life as Madarame's puppet, or worse . . . if we hadn't? We do what—

"Amazing as always, Akechi-kun!" The host gives Akechi, then the camera, a bright smile. "I could listen to you for days. Your charisma is truly captivating!"

I swallow down my unease and force myself to acknowledge that the host isn't wrong. Everyone in the audience, except the three of us, seems to have been enthralled; they're glued to Akechi, soaking up every word he says. Now, for the first time, this genuinely begins to stir a tinge of worry.

"I have to say though . . ." Akechi finally loses the frown and puts his smile on again. "I would be embarrassed if it turns out these Phantom Thieves don't exist after all. If that were the case, I'd summarize all this into a report as a school project."

I don't know what it is about his expression or tone of voice, but I am suddenly convinced that he's only saying that to not appear suspicious. He believes in us; without a doubt, he does. And he'd have us prosecuted as criminals. I have to suppress a shiver.

"Now then," the female host's voice cuts my thoughts short from spiraling. "Let's try asking some students the same age as Akechi-kun about the Phantom Thieves." She looks around, scanning our faces as though to assess the field. "First, please press your button now if you think the Phantom Thieves exist!"

I press down on mine without thinking. I can practically feel Morgana's judgmental stare from the depths of my bag, but I don't care. There's something about what Akechi said earlier that irritates me, as though it's personal . . . Well, because it is. I clutch the fabric of my skirt, letting myself feel the almost overwhelming drive to . . . try anything that I possibly can to prove him wrong.

"Of course they do!" Ryuji whispers, and I slap his shoulder, silencing him. Pressing an anonymous button is one thing; yelling the truth out on live TV is another.

When the display finally stops switching, another wave of "ohs" rises from the audience. "About 30% or so?" the male host exclaims. "What are your thoughts, Akechi-kun?"

"I'm a bit surprised," he says. "That's higher than I was expecting."

I agree, I think, trying not to scan the audience too obviously. 30% is higher than our current rating on the Phan Site . . . at least when I last checked.

"Given this number, I'd love to hear some more in-depth opinions." Now he's the one scanning the audience, and I wonder if I imagined the slight twitch of his eyebrow when his eyes meet mine.

The female host nods in agreement, then stands up and takes to the audience, microphone in hand. My heartbeat elevates as I pray for her to pick anyone but the three of us. Of course, she halts directly in front of me. "All right, let's try asking this student here."

I swallow, feeling the burning gazes of my friends on my back.

"Hypothetically speaking," she addresses me directly, "what are your thoughts on the Phantom Thieves, if they were real?"

I inhale sharply, yet I can't meet her gaze, feeling myself breaking with a cold sweat. I don't see a camera pointed at me, but I wouldn't be surprised if there was one after all.

Seldom have I wished so much to be more confident, or at least better at faking confidence for the sake of voicing an opinion that I feel so strongly about. I do, and . . . I cannot be silenced by something as insignificant as this irrational fear . . . I'm not being judged, I repeat to myself. What I say here will not tell these people anything about me that I don't want them to know.

I still have to take a few more deep breaths before I can straighten out my back and look the host in the eyes.

> "They are just in their own way."

"They're doing what has to be done."

"At least they do more than the cops."

Surprising me for the third time today, Akechi's response to my statement is a laugh.

The male host, who's remained on stage with him, nods. "This completely goes against your opinion that they should be tried by law, Akechi-kun."

"Indeed." Akechi tilts his head and brings a hand to his chin. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he locks eyes with me, leaving me stumped by how difficult it is to decipher his true emotions from his expression. I'm usually quick to read others, or at least assess whether they're genuine . . . But he is utterly indecipherable. The look he gives me feels part playful, as though he's just accepted a challenge to a friendly competition, but . . . how could he take my words for a challenge? Just because they contradicted his?

"It's rather intriguing to hear such a strong acknowledgment." His smirk grows into a smile. "In that case, there's one more question I'd like to ask . . ." Akechi is speaking directly to me now, and although we've spoken normally yesterday, this feels different. It feels like he's . . . challenging me back.

"If someone close to you, for example, your friend next to you . . ." His gaze darts over to Ryuji, then locks on to me again. "If he suddenly changed inexplicably . . . would you think it was the work of the Phantom Thieves?"

It takes me a moment to comprehend what he's trying to ask, but when I then understand, the answer comes easier to me than the last one.

"No, my friend doesn't need a change of heart."

> "No, they only target criminals."

". . . What would you think?"

For a split second, I consider challenging him back but then abandon the thought at once. I'm not going to make a fool of myself on live TV . . . Contradicting him openly is quite enough, and at least I got my point across. I don't need to make even more of a scene.

"I see." Akechi nods, not losing his smile. "But . . . how are you so sure?"

My jaw drops, and so does my heart, creating a gaping pit. Ryuji and Ann's stares burn on me, and the look Akechi gives me sends my heart running, at least doubling in speed. Did he just . . . bait me, and did I fall for it? Will he insist on an answer? How am I going to justify this claim without giving my affiliation with the Thieves away? I cannot be sure unless I know the Thieves better than anyone else.

A moment of silence passes as Akechi continues to stare at me, evoking the unwanted image of a predator watching his prey fall into a meticulously set trap. Then he finally turns . . . without asking any more follow-up questions. I want to take that as a good sign, but my heartbeat refuses to calm.

"Whether the Thieves' actions are good or not, I feel there is a more important issue at hand," Akechi continues as the female host makes her way back to the stage.

"Hm?" her colleague asks. "What do you mean?"

Akechi crosses his legs and suddenly looks almost somber. "The matter of how they change people's hearts."

Of all things, this was the last direction I expected him to take this topic. Especially now, when he could have forced me into the dangerous debate that I almost brought onto myself with my careless words. The thought sends dreadful shivers down my spine, and I silently thank whatever it was that made him have mercy.

"If they honestly possess that ability . . . it could be used for more than extracting confessions," he continues. "It could be that what seem to be ordinary crimes are actually being perpetrated by these methods . . ."

I frown, momentarily lost on what he means. This question is far more intricate than any that someone who doesn't know about the Metaverse has ever asked. But . . . I suppose he has a point. Our methods—the Metaverse—can certainly be used for more than just changing hearts. I think about what Madarame's Shadow said about the rogue Metaverse user with the black mask . . . It's not so far-fetched to think that if a special power exists, the wrong hands can use it for evil as well.

Then and there, I acknowledge that Akechi really seems to be working under the assumption that we exist and that we have this power. He has probably thought about this matter much more deeply than he let on so far, and I can't help but be impressed by the conclusions he has managed to reach on his own. Though a part of me also wonders if I should maybe be . . . concerned too.

"You know, you're absolutely right." The male host nods, though I can't help but wonder whether he's really understanding or just keeping the conversation afloat.

"Oh, please, don't misunderstand." Akechi gives him a look that tells me he's had the same thought. "This is all purely hypothetical, of course. If people who could use such a power truly existed."

It seems like I'm not the only one who revealed a little more than I should have today, I think, as I watch him try to go back on what was practically an admission of his belief in us.

"Either way," he continues. "This matter cannot be ignored. The existence of the Phantom Thieves would be nothing but a threat to our everyday lives," he says calmly, sending another shiver down my spine. "To be honest, I'm already working alongside the police to help sort out this matter."

It is only now that I'm hit with honest concern. If he's proven anything up on that stage, it's that he's competent enough to make scarily accurate deductions with very little tangible evidence . . . and is determined to have us tried by law. It looks as though I have little choice but to accept his challenge after all. Even if he tossed it to me without knowing who I really am.

I keep my gaze fixed on him, no longer able to deny the strong conviction that has risen within me, further and further the more he spoke: he will have a major role to play in my future and the future of our entire group. But what his role will be . . . Against my better judgment, I hope fervently that it won't be that of our ruin.

***

I can't bring myself to pay much attention to the rest of the show, especially after Akechi leaves the stage to make way for other guests. His words, his claims, and his quite blatant challenge won't leave my mind, and I am itching to discuss this with my friends.

I just . . . want someone to reassure me, to tell me that Akechi is wrong and that, even though we are vigilantes, we are doing the right thing. I would never hurt anyone, I repeat in my head over and over. He's making an objective assumption because he doesn't know us. If he knew us, he wouldn't doubt our justice. What's troubling is that I'm at a loss for how to prove this without exposing our true identities.

When the show ends, I practically leap up from my seat and nearly fall because my legs have long fallen asleep. Ryuji just barely catches my arm, and we slowly move away from the remaining audience before Morgana finally pokes his head out of my bag.

I look at my friends expectantly, waiting for someone to give me reassurance; instead, Ann does the opposite: "It kinda seemed like what Akechi was saying earlier might be right . . ." She stares at her shoes, and the clump in my own gut grows.

"He made it sound like we're the baddies," Ryuji interjects, kicking the air. "I don't like it."

"But that stuff about the police . . ." Ann shakes her head. "Do you think it's for real?"

"He can say whatever he wants." Morgana peeks over my shoulder. "The justice of it all is something we can decide for ourselves."

I'm oddly torn on that statement. Part of me wants to agree—it's our power and therefore our responsibility to use it in a way that we believe to be just. But isn't that also kind of . . . selfish? Maybe there are different kinds of justice. I stare at the tips of my shoes as I bury my hands in my skirt pockets. Our justice may not be the justice of others. Of people like Akechi.

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that even if that's right—even if it isn't justice to some, what we do—I couldn't just stop. I could never be content with just sitting by when I have the power to help. To make a change. That's why we founded the Phantom Thieves in the first place! No matter what others say, my conviction is something that I can't allow anyone to steal away from me. What would even be left of me if I did?

"Hey, I gotta go take a leak." Ryuji suddenly cuts into my thoughts, and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. "Can you guys wait? I'll be right back." He runs off without waiting for a reply, leaving me to mentally tally the quantity of soda cans he consumed during the show. I know hydration is important, especially in summer, but . . .

"Oh my god . . ." Ann doesn't even try to hide her irritation. "I'm gonna keep going, okay? Maybe there's a vending machine around here somewhere . . . If I could end this day with something sweet, at least it wouldn't have been a complete disaster."

I suppress laughter and nod, then watch her walk off toward the exit. And so, before I know it, I find myself alone in the crowded hall.

I'm already reaching for my phone to distract myself until Ryuji returns and we can all go home when an unexpected voice makes me look up.

"Oh, it's you!"

My eyes meet Akechi's on the far side of the hall, making his way over to me. I stiffen up and feel Morgana in my bag do the same. A million awkward and difficult follow-up questions he could still ask flash through my mind. Nevertheless, I remain standing, burying my fists deeper in my pockets and averting my gaze.

"I'm glad I found you," he says when he's finally reached me, and his collected, quiet tone actually soothes some of my worries. Then, to my surprise, he follows up with, "I meant to apologize in case my earlier questions happened to have made you feel uneasy. It wasn't my intention to put you on the spot like that; I just couldn't help myself with that kind of strong counter-opinion. I hope it wasn't too much?"

For the first time, I look up at him and find myself staring into a . . . fine, distinctly handsome face that radiates collected integrity. I take a deep breath and shake my head, then finally return his smile, acknowledging his sincerity. Maybe I've misjudged him after all . . .

"I also wanted to thank you," he continues. "To paraphrase Hegel, advancement cannot occur without both thesis and antithesis . . ."

I frown. Is he referring to me contradicting him—?

Akechi laughs, and despite the fact that he doesn't appear to be mocking me, my face flushes with embarrassment. I must look like a complete fool . . .

"My apologies," he says, brushing invisible dust particles off of his immaculate blazer. "What I meant is that our discussion earlier was quite stimulating. Few people around me are so willing to speak their minds as freely as you did." I'm not sure what it is about that statement, but my sympathy for him increases right away. And his next words only strengthen that: "Adults are only interested in using the young," he says with unprecedented gravity. "While they simply do as the adults say."

Join the Phantom Thieves! A part of me wants to exclaim in response. You'll fit in perfectly with us with that attitude. Was my initial instinct about him right after all . . . ?

Only then do I recall what he said about prosecuting them . . . and I don't respond. But maybe I have indeed misjudged him . . . Maybe his convictions regarding the Phantom Thieves don't have to mean as much as I thought at first. After all, I can have my concept of justice . . . and he can have his.

"Either way, there are too many irresponsible and selfish people nowadays. I can understand why you'd support the Phantom Thieves," Akechi says with a shrug, and I nod gratefully, vowing to myself to remain open-minded about his viewpoint since he is doing the same for me . . . and dissipating my earlier apprehension almost a little too effortlessly.

Akechi turns, putting a hand to his chin; the look he's giving me is both somber and oddly . . . challenging. "It's certainly possible that this group is just as you believe, and they are truly acting with good intentions. We can't be certain, but . . ." His gaze drifts off until he is wistfully staring at the wall behind me. "Since they have special powers, I assume their hearts must be burning with a sense of justice and duty . . ."

I can't help but feel like he's talking . . . from experience, for some reason. Did he go through something similar? Was that why he became a detective—because he had a talent that he wished to employ in the service of others?

I can't take my eyes off of him, even if I'm only looking over the top of my glasses in a way that he hopefully can't see. But at least to myself, I admit that the more he talks, the more I want him to keep talking. Keep . . . surprising me over and over.

As though he's read my mind, Akechi suddenly looks straight at me again, catching me staring—like that was his intention all along. "But that justice is merely a facade, concealing their lack of true strength."

I'm too taken aback to even feel embarrassed. I just continue to stare at him and wonder if he'll ever say something expected . . . and if he's purposely messing with me.

"That's why I believe—" Akechi says, flashing a smile again. "If a truly powerful opponent were to corner them, they would surrender without a second thought."

I stiffen at not just the words but at his tone . . . There's just a bit too much certainty in it to be a coincidence, and that's all it takes to re-evoke my apprehension and irritation from earlier during the show. I eye him vigilantly, barely keeping myself from screaming the truth in his face. But I can't slip up again. I can't be reckless. Not around him.

Still, I won't be stopped from defending my conviction.

"They wouldn't surrender."

> "They'd fight to the end."

"Oh?" Akechi shifts, and another smile dashes over his face. Once again, a part of me feels as though I've just inadvertently extended . . . or accepted a challenge of some kind. "The more we speak, the more intrigued I find myself by you."

I look up, fighting the urge to say the same back at him. Part of me finds it hard to believe that he would feel the same way about me, but . . .

"I realize you seem to prefer not to say much, but when you do speak, it's quite stimulating," he continues. "I bet you'd make for a worthwhile debate partner on the subject. If it's alright with you, would you continue sharing your thoughts with me?"

I stare at Akechi, slightly taken aback. Is he . . . asking me to keep seeing him? All my former inhibitions, all the reasons why I should be cautious above all else, rush back into my mind—not least prompted by the sudden aggressive movement in my bag—but they all drown in one single truth: His apparent fascination with me mirrors my own with him. I can already tell that there's something about talking to him that's . . . unlike talking to anyone else. And despite what he said about the Phantom Thieves earlier . . . despite what my gut—and my bag—are silently warning me about, the thought of seeing him again . . . excites me. Whether that makes me impulsive or irrational, I couldn't care less.

Yet before I'm going to accept his request, there's just one thing I ought to do . . . I keep staring at him over the top of my glasses. Maybe it's time to make it clear that he can't just keep catching me off guard without consequences. If not sooner, then I should at least now muster the courage to tease him a little.

So I lock my apprehension away, giving him a coy smile.

"I'd love to."

> ". . . Are you asking me out?"

Momentarily, I believe it worked. I'm given one second to bask in the feeling of triumph that seeing the honest surprise on his face brings me . . . for reasons I don't really understand. Then his smile widens, and he extends an open hand at me. "Well, of course, if that is what you'd like to call it . . . I usually don't have the time to go out with girls, but I think I may have to make an exception for you."

I stare at his little, crooked smile, trying to process that I'm the one caught off guard yet again. The last thing I expected was for him to not only retain his composure but even flirt back, and now that he's still holding his hand out to me, smiling like he knows games such as these better than I do—like he knows that I can't even go back on it anymore without embarrassing myself. Not that I . . . want to, or anything.

As quickly as I can, I gather my remaining wit, hoping that my face isn't as red as it feels. If I let him see how uncomposed he's left me, I am suddenly certain beyond doubt that he'll use it against me on any possible occasion.

Ignoring the odd fluttering in my gut, I look at Akechi as sincerely as I can. Then I nod and place my hand in his. I expect him to shake it, but instead, he takes a step closer, raises my hand, and places a featherlight kiss on the back of it.

Just like that, every last drop of my remaining composure drains, and my jaw drops. He may as well have landed a critical hit—directly at a weakness I wasn't even aware of.

"Thank you. That's great news." Without letting go of my hand, he lifts his gaze, and I'm caught by his eyes, almost physically incapable of looking away. I can no longer care whether my face is burning anymore or how well he can tell the extent of his impact on me. I can barely think straight.

"I sense something in you that's . . . different from other people. I guess you can call it my detective's intuition," he says quietly, then gives me a very intentional wink. "Kidding, of course."

I don't know if he is . . . or if I want him to be kidding . . . or if I'm even concerned by any of that at all. I can't pay attention to the aggressive churning and the suppressed noises my bag is making either. All I can think is that I don't want him to let go of my hand. That I want him to . . . kiss it again because it happened so quickly that I'm not sure if I've committed it to memory as well as I wanted.

The leather of his glove feels warm against my palm, and I could swear that, in his eyes, I see that he's taken a genuine liking to me too. And so, I shove all thoughts about how smart this decision may or may not be aside to deal with them later . . . When he's not looking at me like this . . . when he's not still holding my hand like he is actually contemplating kissing it again.

I am thou, thou art I...

Thou hast acquired a new vow.

It shall become the wings of rebellion

That breaketh thy chains of captivity.

With the birth of the Justice Persona,

I have obtained the winds of blessing that shall lead to freedom and new power...

~ 

RANK UP!

CONFIDANT: Goro Akechi | JUSTICE ^ RANK 1

~ 

[You've unlocked the Justice Confidant! Fusing Personas of the Justice Arcana will now grant you EXP due to Arcana Burst!]

"Well, should we exchange contact information, then?"

I barely keep my expression neutral when Akechi lets go of my hand to fetch his phone. I almost drop my own as I quickly pull it out, and it takes me way too long to find my number and display it for him to copy.

"And registered." He flashes me another smile that suddenly stirs something inexplicable within me. "Well—" He actually indicates a bow. "I hope to see you again sometime soon, then. It's a . . . date, you said?"

I nod, still unable to speak. Even though he's already turned away, I can't stop nodding.

As soon as Akechi is out of sight, my bag bursts open. "What the hell did that guy think he was doing?!" Morgana hisses, but I do not even flinch. I cannot do anything besides stare after Akechi. "Hello?!" he paws at my neck. "Earth to Rin! Great, all the guy has to do is kiss your hand, and you're losing all your sense and reason . . . Do not, under any circumstances, underestimate him, you hear?"

Morgana is right; I swallow hard, cupping my hand with my other. And I'm definitely not going to underestimate him . . . But . . .

"Hey!" I flinch and finally force myself to snap back into reality when I see Ryuji moving toward me. "Sorry for takin' so long. I should've been here to . . . What did ya say, Morgana? Was that Akechi?! What the effin' hell did that guy just do to you?!"

I blink, surprised that I'm finding myself wanting to defend him. Yet before I can open my mouth, Ryuji continues, "He didn't harass ya', did he?" I vehemently shake my head, but Ryuji just scoffs. "I can't stand that high an' mighty attitude! Just breathin' the same air as him makes me sick."

Giving him a look that, I hope, conveys that he needs to calm down, I bury my hand deep in my pocket. Then I smile down at the floor.

"I kind of agree," Morgana says, and I suppress an urge to tell them all to shut up. He didn't even do anything—well, anything bad. All he did was express an opinion . . . that may differ from ours, but does that give them all the right to judge him?

"But . . . I have to admit, there's probably an awful lot you could learn from him, Rin. So maybe seeing him isn't such a bad idea after all . . ." Morgana finally admits. "Just . . . be careful, you hear?"

With a sigh, I trail behind Ryuji as we head towards the exit, hoping that Ann has located her sweets, and despite myself, I can't resist stealing one final glance back. In retrospect, I sometimes wonder whether I should have listened to my gut and guarded my heart more diligently. But then I always think that by the time I left the TV station that day, it was already too late.