... In which I join Akechi for billiards, and find myself engaged in a battle of wits, perceptions, and twisted tests of just how far we can already allow ourselves to go with one another.

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

I don't know how to feel about the little skip that my heart performs as I return from school and push the door to Leblanc open, checking my phone and recognizing the unread message ID.

More than two weeks have passed since my first encounter with the high school detective Goro Akechi at the TV station, and considering it was his idea to keep seeing each other, I have to admit he's taken far longer than I anticipated to finally text me. I don't know how to feel about my honest disappointment over that either.

Maybe it's for the best, I tell myself as I lean against the counter and open the text . . . after a few moments of hesitation. In retrospect, I have to admit that he pushed my buttons a little too well last time, and maybe putting some space between us for a while was exactly what I needed. Maybe I can be a little less irrational and willing this time, I think with a sigh. No matter how . . . fascinating or surprising he may be all over again.

GORO AKECHI

> I realize this invitation is rather last-minute, so you're free to decline, but . . . I'm thinking of going to play some billiards at one of my old haunts.

> Would you care to join me?

> Date or not, it'd be a nice chance to talk, if nothing else.

I quickly put my phone down and force myself to drop the smile that I find on my face. He did remember—I bite my lip, unsure whether in frustration or to make it easier to keep a straight face—that he technically asked me out last time.

I take a deep breath and throw Sojiro a glance, who seems to be in the process of collecting the few dishes that have been left by the couple of customers we had today. Even if it's not going to be a proper date—and I've barely ever played billiards before—it's a good opportunity to strengthen my bond with Akechi . . .

Caught off guard by my sudden movement, Morgana peeks over my shoulder at my phone screen. "Akechi . . . he's that high school detective," he says. "The one I told you to beware of."

He has . . . although he still hasn't told me exactly why. I eye Morgana from the side; he's been suspicious of Akechi ever since our first conversation in that hallway, and no matter how much I try, I can't shake the feeling that there's more to Morgana's suspicion than just his regular healthy sense of caution.

"Ugh, is he actually asking you out?" Morgana asks. "Well . . . I did say there was probably a lot you could learn from him. So . . . what's it going to be? Are you going to go out with Akechi?"

I stare at my phone for another heartbeat . . . then I raise it and type.

RIN AMAMIYA

> I'll be there!

It stays silent for a few minutes, and I've just started eating the dinner Sojiro placed on the counter for me when it chimes again.

GORO AKECHI

> Thanks.

> The place is in Kichijoji. I'll send you directions.

Upon that, I hastily finish my dinner and leap up as soon as my plate's empty. Even Sojiro looks up, and Morgana gives me a side-eye. "I guess I'll find some way to occupy myself in the meantime . . . don't let your guard down, you hear?"

I nod. And, throughout the entire subway ride to Kichijoji, I can't help but think about why he's so insistent on that. If he doesn't say anything soon, I may just ask him directly. Then again, for all I know, it's probably just some irrational fit of protectiveness, and I'm not interested in making a fuss over nothing.

I find Akechi standing in front of "Penguin Sniper". I remember the place from when my friends wanted to play darts, but I've never actually been here for billiards yet. Despite not having seen him in person for weeks, I still recognize him immediately, and not only because he's on TV so much.

Akechi's staring at his phone with a frown, yet as soon as I approach, he looks up and smiles. "Hey Amamiya-san, good evening." He puts his phone away, and I notice that, as opposed to last time, he's not wearing gloves. He's in his summer uniform as well, and I wonder if that has anything to do with it.

I smile back and stuff my hands into my pockets, trying to ignore the odd feelings that arise when I think about what happened last time I wasn't careful with my hands around him.

"I did promise to take you out," he says. "And I intend to keep that promise. Apologies if it's taken a bit longer than anticipated. I've been quite busy recently."

I nod encouragingly, and without meaning to, I glance at his hands, but I can't identify any apparent reason to hide them. Maybe he really does just wear gloves for aesthetics?

"I was going to take you to play billiards." Akechi picks up his briefcase and points at the entrance behind him. "It's not that difficult, and we can chat and play at the same time. How about it?"

If I say yes, I feel I can become closer with Akechi . . . and I don't think I'd ever refuse such a prospect. "So . . . what's the plan? Are you gonna spend time with Akechi after all?" Morgana mumbles out of my bag. I nod and smile.

His face brightens at once. "I'm glad I asked then. Considering what happened last time, I must confess that I was a little worried you'd turn me down."

I turn my eyes down, fighting a blush. A valid concern . . . objectively. In his place, I'd worry about having been too forward as well, but . . . I can hardly deny that a part of me was hoping against all odds that he'd make a habit of kissing my hand every time we meet now.

"Well then . . ." Akechi turns and, after a brief moment, offers me his arm. "Let's get going."

I think I may have grabbed on a little too quickly because I hear Morgana groan. "I'm gonna walk around. Let me know when you're ready to leave . . . and don't get carried away!" He leaps out of my bag, undetected, and I promise myself to heed his words.

It's harder than I'd like it to be, with my arm looped through Akechi's as he's leading me into the building. I spend the time that he takes to book a table for us, asking myself why that is. Sure, I really enjoyed talking to him last time, and I'm not a particularly suspicious person . . . I get attached easily, even if I'm not usually so outspoken about it. Maybe it's the way he's being a gentleman that strikes a chord with me.

Briefly, I'm caught up in images of my old middle-school daydreams about gallant princes and brave heroes sweeping me off to a world of adventure and romance, where we could battle against evil side by side. No matter how much less attainable those fantasies have grown as I've aged, I refuse to grow out of them entirely. Whether there will actually be a prince or a superhero is not what matters most—so I've come to realize over time. But I will fight for my fairytale . . . and I'm not going to let anyone stop me. And now . . . I watch Akechi approach with two cues from the corner of my eye, smiling. Is this what it feels like to . . . be swept off your feet?

All I can think as he hands me a cue is that—whether this is the beginning of some kind of fairytale or not—I am more than excited about what he has in store for me tonight.

"Apologies again if I've taken a bit longer to actually contact you," he repeats and flashes a smile. "But I've only now found myself with some free time, and I was hoping to find someone to play against anyway." He twirls the cue in his right hand.

"You always seem so busy."

> "Are you sure you didn't make me wait on purpose?"

"I'm glad you invited me."

Akechi laughs. "Well, it is my policy to spend my spare time in meaningful ways."

I'm well aware that he didn't answer my question, and it makes me even more certain that, even if only to some extent, he did.

"Now . . ." He raises his cue, and before I can decide how to feel about that, he bows to aim. "Let's play a game. You've played pool before, correct?" Without giving me the opportunity to respond, he faces the table, aims, and strikes. I barely keep my jaw from dropping as I watch the nine-ball slip into a pocket.

"Oh . . ." Akechi straightens with a grin. "My apologies, a break ace." Despite his words, he doesn't sound sorry at all. In fact, when I steal a glimpse at him over the rim of my glasses, he looks very pleased with himself.

I just stand and stare for a few moments, letting it sink in what just happened: He invited me here—he even called it a date—and then he mercilessly destroyed me on his first shot. It's surprisingly hard to decide whether that's disillusioning or actually . . . affirming the childlike fantasy of a dashing prince that his hand kiss reignited within me last time. For whatever reason that would be . . .

I suck in a breath and tighten my grip on my cue. Charming princes don't play games so ruthlessly . . . do they? But Akechi does—and although I've never been particularly competitive and I'm not nearly as good at pool as he just demonstrated that he is—I suddenly feel the urge to put up a fight against him.

"Is that your win?"

> "Let's go again."

"Not bad."

"Obviously." His overly pleased smile widens. "It was probably just a coincidence anyway. This game won't count."

Oh, but it does count, I think, as I watch him collect the balls without losing his smirk. We both know it does, and this break ace wasn't a coincidence either. It was an assertion of dominance, I think. A . . . challenge. Will everything he does end up being one?

I don't even like competing or challenging others. I like playing with people, not against them. It's not in my nature to think about how to outmaneuver others when I'd much rather support them. Usually, I find myself feeling worse for winning than for losing because I've found it often hurts the other person's feelings if they lose, and I have no desire to be the reason someone's feeling bad.

But . . . Akechi isn't leaving me much of a choice. And the way he keeps silently insisting is more tempting than any offer to compete I've ever received. If I refuse to challenge him—I eye him again before I bow to make my own first strike for our brand new game—he'll be more disappointed than if I defeat him. Maybe that's what fires me on in the end.

***

The game goes surprisingly decently, considering I've barely played pool before. More than once, I wonder if Akechi is going easy on me since he isn't playing as outstandingly as he did before, but I'm far too taken up with playing myself to overthink that.

"Oof . . . Bad move on my part." He takes a step back to make room for me. "If you get this next one, I'm in trouble."

His words instantly make me break with nervous sweat. I eye the table and feel the pressure plummeting into my gut like I've just swallowed a rock. I don't even know why I'm this nervous all of a sudden. I shouldn't care about this, I think, as I barely sink a yellow ball, then make out a blue one that I may be able to hit next. It doesn't matter who wins or loses, as long as we have a good time.

"Not bad. Everything's riding on your next shot, though. How will you handle it?" Akechi asks, and I know he's watching keenly, making me even more nervous.

> "Shoot very carefully."

"I'll go for a power shot."

"Well, let's see your skills."

I force the uncomfortable thought that everyone may be staring at me out of my mind, and I don't even look back at Akechi, yet I still have to wipe my hands on my skirt before I can properly attempt the shot. Unfortunately, I can't steady my hands, and it seems as though I haven't used enough force. The ball doesn't even reach the pocket, and my stomach contorts.

I can't see Akechi's expression as he approaches the table again for his turn, and I watch wordlessly as he sinks one ball after the other. It couldn't have taken him more than a few minutes to win the game.

"I win," he declares, a faintly inappropriate look of triumph on his face, considering that we were supposed to just be playing casually. And to my surprise, I realize that I'm . . . upset. The odd feeling that I've disappointed someone sits in the back of my throat, and I hate him a little for how much he's making me care, but I also can't deny there's a certain rush to it all. I just haven't decided whether I like that rush yet.

"That was a close one, though." Akechi's smile brightens. "I suppose it would have been embarrassing to lose as your senior, huh?"

He's also clearly better at the game than me, I try to console myself, noting that it doesn't feel as good to lose against him as it does against others. Still, there's absolutely no shame in losing. I watch his hand that holds the cue and try to suppress the unexpected instinct to ask him for another round. If I do that, he'll just wipe the floor with me again, and I don't know if I'm in the mood for more of that tonight. But . . .

My eyes drift away, then suddenly dart back to him. I blink, trying not to stare too apparently, because something seems off. I clench my cue as my mind wanders back to when he kissed my hand. It's burned itself into my memory; the spot even still tingles when I think about it. But . . . it's the back of my left hand. I squint at the cue in Akechi's right hand, trying to recall his initial break ace and specifically what hand he was using.

"Is something the matter?"

My head jerks up. Apparently, he's noticed my staring after all. My heart is racing, but these nerves are different from last time.

"You used your right hand."

> ". . . Aren't you left-handed?"

He has to be, or he would have kissed my right hand . . . right?

Akechi seems taken aback for a moment, and under any other circumstances, I'd be proud of having that effect on him. "Huh . . ." he finally says, tilting his head. "I'm honestly impressed you noticed. That's right," he says, taking his left hand off the cue and holding it up. "This one's my dominant hand. I switched hands during the game. Going all-out against someone so inexperienced just seems a bit gauche."

He may as well have emptied a bucket of icy water over my head. I stare at him, trying to distinguish the pile of emotions that swirl in the pit of my stomach and push against my ribcage. Not only did he expect to win, but he didn't even bother to try his hardest for it. Would he have even told me about the hand switch if I hadn't noticed? Maybe he would, I think and clutch my cue. Just to rub it in a bit more.

"But I confess, you've surprised me," he says, as though it could make up for the salt he's just poured into the wound. "I'm rather dexterous with my right hand. I can even use chopsticks with it. Frankly, I didn't expect you to see through it."

I can't tell him that I only did it because I can't stop thinking about the stupid hand kiss. Not now that he's already destroyed me as much as at all possible in a socially acceptable fashion. So, I merely shrug, contemplating how I can repay him for this.

"Maybe I'll be a detective too."

"I see a lot of things."

> "Do you always flirt like this?"

"Is it working?" he replies without missing a beat, and I nearly drop my cue, cursing myself for not seeing that coming. Being cheeky didn't work on him last time; why did I assume it would now?

But . . . I catch a glimpse of his utterly inappropriate playful smirk . . . I've already begun; I can't stop now, or I would have lost a second time.

> "Not even remotely."

"Do I look like a masochist?"

"Maybe it would have if you played fair."

Akechi looks up, and there is that one glorious second of silent astonishment that I, for some reason, find so satisfying to evoke in him. Then he takes a step toward me and twirls his cue. Before I know what's hit me, he's placed the tip under my chin and lifted my face toward him.

Stray strands of hair that I've attempted to hide beneath fall away, and he takes in my exposed, flushed cheeks with a maddeningly satisfied expression. "You're a terrible liar, you know?"

Yes, I know! I suck in a frustrated breath. That's precisely why I didn't want him to see my face. I don't usually find it difficult to remain composed, but in that moment, I am stunned. I stare up at him, my face hot and my lips slightly parted, barely able to name all the strange emotions he's making me feel. There's mortification and frustration about his . . . surprisingly insolent behavior and my inability to affect him as he does me, and . . . I take a deep breath, trying to force myself to feel only that. But . . .

This is certainly not the way I imagined this date to go, I think with a scowl. It's not how I ever imagined any date to go . . . Because, so far, I've only dreamed of noble princes on white horses and gallant heroes standing framed by fluttering panes. And this is not how they would act. But then, how can it be . . . I tighten my hands around my cue until my knuckles shine white, looking up at Akechi in a way that would be defiant if my face weren't still burning. How can it be that I . . . do not mind at all?

"You'll never cease to intrigue me, will you?" Akechi smirks before he retracts his cue, and, out of sheer spite, I smirk back.

This time, I feel like I've genuinely caught him off guard, and when he laughs, traces of an odd look remain on his face—as though something's brewing beneath the collected surface. As though a part of him wants nothing more than to drop the charming act entirely and inflict punishment without mercy.

Against my better judgment, I catch myself wondering just what I'd have to do to actually push him over that edge.

RANK UP!

CONFIDANT: Goro Akechi | JUSTICE ^ RANK 2

NEW ABILITY: Sleuthing Instinct [Chance to reveal one enemy affinity at the start of battle.]

~ 

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

"Of course, you won't." He leans on the pool table between us. "Either way, if you ever manage to win against me using my right hand, then I will face you with everything I have. You have my word," he says, as though I have to prove my worth or something before he'll consider me an equal opponent.

Well . . . I lean on the table as well, giving him a look that I hope conveys I'm up for the challenge. Whyever he's bothering with it . . . maybe it is a test of worthiness, or he just gets a kick out of it. Either way, I don't care. I'm not used to feeling so competitive, but if it makes him so happy . . . he can have the competition of his life.

I can't tell for how long we stand there, staring at each other like we're kindergarteners who can't back out of a spontaneous staring contest; eventually, I'm the first to look away. I want to say that I did it because I felt childish, but I can't deny that he's better at holding eye contact than me. I used to have a hard time looking people in the eyes, even for short periods of time. And even though I've been getting better at it, I cannot hold out against his intense gaze for long.

We don't play another game. It's getting late, and even though part of me wants to stay, I know that Sojiro and Morgana will worry if I stay out for too long . . . especially on a school night.

As though he's been a perfect gentleman all evening, Akechi accompanies me back to the exit the way he brought me in. "Well, see you," he says, giving me a wink, and I hate that I'm a tiny bit disappointed that he doesn't kiss my hand again.

***

I spend the entire way back to Leblanc asking myself whether I've been careless again and whether I can even be careful enough around him. Or whether he would have done what he did either way. Whether I'll ever figure out what his deal is and, more importantly, why I find the things he does and says so irresistible—even though he matched my fantasies so much less than I imagined he might.

Arriving at Leblanc, I've barely processed the evening, and my phone's already ringing. It's Akechi . . . and instead of feeling the familiar urge of being overwhelmed and ignoring the call, I pick it up almost eagerly.

"Hey," he says, and I lean on the wall next to Leblanc's door, closing my eyes for a moment. "Thanks for coming along today." His voice sounds soft and soothing; it almost makes me forget what he did earlier.

"Our little game turned out to be more interesting than I expected." I practically hear his smile. "Barely anyone notices when I don't use my dominant hand. I can only commend your powers of observation."

If he knew the real reason, I noticed . . . I bury my left hand deep in my pocket. Would he still be commending me? Or laughing?

"I think you might be an interesting influence on me," Akechi says unexpectedly. "To be frank, I asked you out on a whim last time, and I didn't know what to expect, exactly. But I enjoyed tonight quite a lot. If you're so inclined, we could go out again sometime."

Against my will—and my better judgment—my heart skips a beat. I'm glad he can't see the smile I can't keep off my face.

"Gladly."

"But make it a proper date next time."

> ". . . As rivals?"

Akechi laughs, and I fight the urge to join in. ". . . For now," he replies eventually, and my grin slips off my face. "As long as I can spend some time with you, we can call it whatever you want. But don't be too surprised if you'll ever find me making a move that's . . . unbecoming of a relationship based only on rivalry."

My face flushes, and I lift my hand to bury it as well as I can, once again glad that he isn't there to see it. At this rate, he's on track to make me re-evaluate my entire assortment of romantic preferences, which I thought were firmly established until this point. And the worst part is that I . . . might not even mind.

"Well," Akechi says after a short pause. "I suppose I'll reach out the next time something comes up. See you."

He hangs up, and I need a moment before I can gather myself so much that I can enter Leblanc. I'm not in the mood to explain to either Sojiro or Morgana why I'm blushing like a dumbass for no valid reason whatsoever.

Except maybe . . . I shove the door to Leblanc open and let some hair strands fall in my face . . . the most fascinating man I've ever met just expressed very apparent interest in me. Fine, maybe I have a valid reason after all. Not that I can let either Morgana or Sojiro know all this, of course.