... In which Akechi asks me to play a shooter game at an arcade and finally opens up about his past, including a very special childhood wish. Meanwhile, I have to decide how much I genuinely care about seeing him and how far I'd go to be able to keep doing it.

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

"So . . . for how long do you guys think Futaba's gonna sleep?" Ann scoots back and forth on the decently uncomfortable-looking bench.

I feel like dropping my head on the table in front of me. We've only just stolen Futaba's treasure yesterday, and my friends are already antsy . . . Honestly, I long to focus on other things now that we've done everything we can. A break from the Metaverse and all its stresses is the only thing I really crave right now. Well, that and some nice, cool ice cream, maybe.

Instead, I close the Phan-site and put my phone down to eye them all—the messy ragtag gang of teens who are somehow also the glorious Phantom Thieves—sprawled out around the improvised table in my attic loft. It's not a bad hideout, but I can't help feeling something is missing—maybe a nice, big poster.

"For how long can you even sleep?" Ryuji on my left exclaims. "Hm . . . maybe that's somethin' worth trying out . . ."

"Um . . . I don't think you should do that." Makoto gives him a side glance. "But I concur that we should not lose our heads. There is nothing else we can do for Futaba at the moment. I suggest we start prioritizing other things again, at least for the time being."

"If you say 'school things' now, I'm gonna jump out of that window." Ryuji groans and gestures behind himself, at the window by my bed, beyond which the seasonal torrential rain is seemingly trying to drown the world.

"You can only be a great Phantom Thief if you don't fail your classes first." Morgana leaps from Ann's bench onto the table.

"We're on break! School doesn't exist right now, as far as I'm concerned," Ryuji exclaims. and I could have sworn Ann rolls her eyes when he's not looking.

Morgana doesn't even bother acknowledging his words. "Either way, Makoto's right. What's done is done. All we can do now is wait."

"Rin, do you happen to know if boss has more of this curry? It is delicious . . ." Yusuke, who's so far been completely engrossed in a takeout box with curry that Sojiro claimed was leftover from yesterday, speaks up where he sits across from me.

I smile and shrug. For how often Sojiro's been giving Yusuke random "leftovers" recently, I have begun to wonder if he really has that much food to spare or if he isn't just trying to compulsively feed everyone who may require it.

"Go ask him, man." Ryuji leans back and plants his feet on the table with a satisfied sigh. Both Makoto and Ann jerk back, and Morgana has to dodge out of the way.

"Watch it!" he hisses, and I giggle.

Ryuji doesn't let the reactions faze him. "Hey, so . . . if we can't do nothin' anymore, does that mean we get to do whatever we want? Like, uh, fun stuff?" He waves his hands around and nearly causes his chair to tip backward.

I automatically stop rocking my own, as I realize I've been doing, and watch Ryuji yelp as he falls forward onto the table.

"What 'fun stuff' did you have in mind?" Yusuke finally puts his now-empty curry box aside. "There are a few places I've been meaning to visit myself . . ." His gaze drifts off into the distance. "Some things you simply cannot draw without genuinely immersing yourself in them."

"Dude, who's talkin' about drawing?" Ryuji's finally stabilized himself and glares at Yusuke, who I think doesn't even notice. "I mean fun stuff, like amusement parks or arcades, that stuff, y'know?"

"Huh, those are actually not bad ideas," Ann says, like she didn't expect anything worthwhile whatsoever out of his mouth.

I can't say I don't agree—Ryuji's suggestions do sound fun. Honestly, spending the last of our summer break doing even more things as a group sounds much better than worrying about Futaba or Medjed . . . which we can't control anyway.

> "Makoto-senpai said something about schoolwork . . ."

"What would you like to do?"

"There's this place I wanted to take you . . ."

I liked Ryuji's suggestions, but . . . I eye Makoto, whose head whips around to me. I kind of didn't do my summer homework yet either. And I'm not about to let Sojiro ground me for something as avoidable as my grades dropping.

"Thank you, Rin." Makoto ignores the exasperated groan from Ryuji. "Although . . ." She scoots back and forth on her seat. "You don't actually have to say 'senpai'. I've told you before that—uh—well—"

I shrug and give her a cheeky grin. It's not like I'm saying it just to tease her . . . I've genuinely looked up to Makoto for a long time, and now that she's my friend, it's a nice means to convey my honest admiration. The awkward reactions are a bonus.

"Dude, stop complaining," Ryuji says, shaking his head. "If she . . . or anyone were to call me 'senpai' I'd—agh!"

Ryuji almost topples again when my phone, next to him on the table, chimes loudly. I pick it up and realize how late it's gotten; it's nearly dinner time, and . . .

"Hm, who is it?" Ann leans forward, as do Yusuke and Ryuji. Morgana's the only one nimble enough to maneuver around me and actually peek at my screen. I instinctively pull my phone closer to my chest, telling myself that I don't have any reason to be secretive, but . . . They don't know I've been seeing Akechi as much as I have. He didn't say anything when he confronted us about Medjed, and I didn't either. Apart from that, my friends only really see him on TV . . . where he's still denouncing us, despite the toll it's taking on his popularity. What would they say if I told them that we're . . . well, pretty much dating . . . ?

I shake my head defensively, and if Morgana had eyebrows, I am one hundred percent certain he'd be raising them sky-high. "You didn't tell them that you were seeing him, did you?" he says out loud, and I feel my face burning. Part of me wants to throw something at Morgana for putting me on the spot like this, especially because now I can feel my friends' questioning gazes on me like lasers.

"Hol' up, 'him'? Who the hell is 'him'?" Ryuji leans even closer to me, and I clutch my phone to my chest.

". . . You are acquainted with some of the adults who have been aiding us, are you not?" Makoto is evidently trying not to draw any preemptive conclusions. "The owner of that model gun shop? That politician who's been coaching you? Or could it be Dr. Maruki—you are still attending his counseling sessions, right?"

"Maybe it is boss," Yusuke says with an earnest face.

"Dude, he's in this building. If he'd want something, he'd just come up here," Ryuji exclaims, then faces me again. "So, which one of em' is it?"

I can't say I don't feel a tingle of annoyance for their blatant probing, but . . . I clutch my phone tighter. I also can't deny that I would probably do the same if it were one of them.

"Hold on." Ann scoots closer now as well. "Morgana said, 'You didn't tell them you were seeing him'—which means it isn't anyone we know!"

However that is possible, my face grows even hotter.

"Huh?" Ann stands up, looking like she's ready to round the table and force me to let her look at my phone. "You aren't actually seeing a guy . . . like, I mean—like that—are you? Like . . . you would have told us, right?"

I stare at my clenched hands. If the guy in question were anyone else, I would have told them without a second thought. But . . . I swallow, then gather the last remains of my composure and try to drown the mortification in annoyance. Why are they making such a scene about my private affairs? No matter what I'd do in their stead . . .

Besides, I don't really have a reason to be ashamed. Whatever they may think of him, it's not their place to judge me for who I'm seeing . . . is it?

> "I'm allowed to have secrets . . ."

"And what if I did?"

From the way they all look at me now—even Yusuke—I think some of them want to disagree. "I don't have secrets," Ryuji mumbles, and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

"Well, of course you can have secrets." Ann sits back down. "But not if you're dating someone! That's a very important detail, you know?"

"Especially if it is someone we don't know . . ." Even Makoto looks at me with concern, and I suddenly understand that she and Ann are likely worried about me and what kind of guy this is that I can't tell them about.

"Wait, Rin, you have a boyfriend?" Yusuke asks. "Why haven't you told us? Now that is one man I would like to meet—someone who had the ability and finesse to capture the heart of our leader!"

I glare at all of them, although I can't shake the feeling that my flushed face is likely undoing all the intimidating, angry energy I am trying to exude.

"Hold on. Hold the hell on!" Morgana comes to a halt right in front of me, his fur standing on end. "He's not actually your boyfriend now, is he?!"

I have to suppress another eye roll. As much as I hate that Morgana is essentially forcing me to do this, I don't have much of a choice other than to come clean. Well . . . I take a deep breath; what's the worst that can happen? I slowly unlock and place my phone on the table so that they can see who texted me—not without another, as I hope, outraged glare.

> "I've been seeing him but he is not my boyfriend."

"We've been going out, but we're not official."

Ann and Yusuke nearly crash into each other as they try to look at the same time. Even Makoto leans in. Ryuji is the only one, apart from Morgana, who's sitting close enough to see without moving. "Hold on . . . is that—!?"

". . . It's Akechi," Makoto says, and Ann gasps.

"Akechi . . . that name sounds familiar . . ." Yusuke frowns, and I remember that he's only really seen Akechi once.

"Wait, what?!" Ryuji reaches for my phone, but I snatch it away before he can.

"Akechi . . ." Ann stares at me with round eyes. "Isn't he, like . . . investigating us? Didn't he practically tell us he suspects that we're the Phantom Thieves?"

"Oh, the detective!" Yusuke perks up. "The one who called our group peculiar when Medjed declared war on us . . . You're seeing him?"

"For what reason are you seeing that asshole?" Ryuji exclaims. "All he's been doin' is talkin' shit on us on TV!"

"Not to mention he's most likely closer than anyone else to ascertaining our true identities," Makoto adds pensively.

"W-Wait—" Ryuji's chair scrapes as he turns to face me. "So, are you like . . . 'cause you obviously wouldn't date that guy, but . . . are you seein' him to divert his attention from us? Like, mislead him 'n stuff? Hah! That's kinda genius if it were the case!"

I grip my phone tighter, trying to determine how to feel about the fact that revealing Akechi's identity was enough to convince him that I don't have a secret boyfriend. Yet before I can get hung up on that, Morgana replies: "She's been seeing him for much longer than the Medjed case. But yes, we've discussed this as one of the reasons she should keep seeing him."

"Is that so . . . ?" I have a feeling, as opposed to Ryuji, Ann is not buying the excuse.

I only hesitate for a second, then I nod. I feel so many conflicting emotions all at once, and to explain to them the entire truth would take an amount of energy that I don't currently have in me. One day I might explain properly, I think. But for now . . . Morgana isn't wrong, after all. Proving to him that he doesn't have to investigate us is one of the reasons I want to keep seeing him, no matter how overshadowed it is by others.

"Hah!" Ryuji exclaims, and I wince when he energetically pats my shoulder. "Now that's a genius plan, if I've ever seen one. Ya almost had us fooled!"

"Be careful," Makoto urges. "I would wager he is not as harmless as he seems."

Oh, I know that, I think and nod. Akechi's already long proven to be extremely shrewd and skilled; I can't afford to underestimate him under any circumstances. But I won't let myself be deterred by it either.

I look around and let out a relieved breath when the atmosphere loses tension before I raise my phone to finally look at what Akechi's actually texted me about.

GORO AKECHI

> Hey, it's me.

> How do you feel about arcades? I was strolling through one the other day, and I found myself drawn to a certain game . . .

> It's been a while since the two of us last had a proper competition. Maybe it's time. What say, are you up?

I only notice that I'm grinning like a lovesick idiot when I feel everyone's gazes burning on me again. I force my smile to fall and shrug.

> "Our meeting's over anyway, right?"

"I have to go . . ."

"You're going to see him right now?" Ann's eyes widen even more, and I quickly look down at my phone, focusing on typing a coherent reply. My bond with Akechi will grow stronger, and I'm not missing any chance to see him either way.

RIN AMAMIYA

> I'm looking forward to it.

As soon as I've pressed send, I stand up and grab my bag. Hadn't Morgana already been sitting next to it, he might not even have made it in on time.

"H-Hey! Hey!" Ryuji leaps up as well. "Where are you goin'? Can we come too, or . . . ?"

Makoto has him by the arm before he can follow me. "She may not actually be dating Akechi, but it wouldn't be a good idea to intervene. Maybe we best go home." She gives me a concerned but affectionate look. "Rin can handle herself, right?"

"If he ever tries anything, just tell us!" Ann still looks at me like she's convinced there's more to this story, and I fear the moment she catches me alone and asks for it.

I smile at them affectionately; it is moments like this when I make myself aware of just how unconditionally caring and amazing my friends are . . . no matter if they're also hopeless idiots sometimes. But Makoto is right . . . I can handle myself. And I can handle Akechi . . . I think, then immediately second-guess that thought. Who knows what else he's hiding? My smile widens. Maybe I should find out before I assume . . . just in case.

Both Ann and Ryuji are standing up now, looking at me solemnly, like I'm going to war or something. Their sight reminds me yet again that I can't begin to describe how much I love them all, and that warm, fuzzy feeling accompanies me down the stairs and out the door, into the summer rain, and even into the subway to Kichijoji.

I remember very well feeling like getting arrested and sent here was the end of everything good, like my life was over and all I could do was try to keep my head down and not drown in the sickening despair of losing every ounce of stability I ever had.

But now . . . I go over it all—Leblanc and Sojiro, the Phantom Thieves, all the incredible friends and supporters I've found, and all the lessons I have and am still learning . . . I can't help but grow more and more convinced with each passing day that this arrest actually ended up being the best thing that's ever happened to me.

I wonder how that man who sued me would feel if he knew . . . ?

***

I'm already on my way out of the subway when my phone chimes.

GORO AKECHI

> I'm glad! I'll see you in Kichijoji then.

I clutch it to my chest again and smile, then start running, barely getting my umbrella out in time, and spot Akechi as soon as I round the corner to "Penguin Sniper". He's leaning on the wall this time to avoid the rain. I wonder if he has an umbrella in that suitcase somewhere?

"Hey Amamiya, good evening." Akechi gives me his signature smile, and a warm, giddy feeling rises in my chest as I take in the lack of honorifics. "I'm glad you chose to come see me again."

He eyes me up and down, and I realize the umbrella only shielded me from so much rain. My legs and feet are drenched, and there are visible streaks on my black stockings. For a moment, I'm embarrassed, but then I decide that I couldn't care less. It's just rainwater—it'll dry in no time.

"Are you alright?" Akechi asks, and I laugh, both to assure him and to convince myself that it's no big deal, then lean on the wall next to him and close my umbrella. "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time," he continues. "It was just that I've had the evening off, and I found something that piqued my interest." He disconnects from the wall and turns, gesturing ahead. "Do you ever go to arcades? I've never been to a place like that, not for games anyway."

I remember his text and nod. I can't say I'm a regular or a pro gamer, but some of my other friends have taken me to an arcade in the past, and though I lack practice, playing video games is decently fun.

I try to determine whether I'm disappointed that he's picking up the competitive element of our relationship again, as opposed to taking me somewhere more suited for a quieter date, but to my own surprise, I realize that I've actually missed playing competitive games with him. It'll be a nice change of pace, if nothing else.

"Oh, so you have visited arcades before?" Akechi turns his head back to me with a new, confident kind of smirk that doesn't suit his earlier admission of inexperience whatsoever, making my heart skip a beat. "Well, at least you haven't done so with me yet. If I were you, I would expect to be surprised."

I grin back. I've learned to always expect to be surprised around him, honestly. It's part of why I love spending time with him.

"Hm, what's the plan? You're gonna go out with Akechi, aren't you?" Morgana says quietly, and I'm too taken up with wondering how to counter Akechi's smug expression to care about whether he heard Morgana. Finally, I put my hands on my hips.

"I would expect nothing less."

> "Come and prove it, then."

Akechi laughs quietly, but without losing the smug grin. It's both irritating and unreasonably attractive, somehow. "I shall do exactly that. We'll battle, of course. In all honesty, as much as I've enjoyed our last couple more relaxing dates, I've also missed competing with you."

I'm glad I'm not the only one, I think, and swallow my inhibitions, then step closer and reach for his arm. Akechi jumps at the unexpected contact, and I freeze up, wondering if I've overstepped. But . . . I've taken his arm every time we've seen each other so far. Why is he still startled?

I hold on tighter than I usually would, suddenly fighting the urge to slide my hand lower and entwine our fingers or lean my head on his shoulder. The desire to be close to him is overwhelming all of a sudden, but I also don't want to do anything too forward or make him uncomfortable. He's standing unusually still—neither pushing me away nor pulling me closer, only passively letting it happen—like he doesn't know what to do or how to react.

I wonder why . . . If he were uncomfortable, I'm positive he'd try to retreat, or at least his tension wouldn't lessen. But it does—I can feel him relax more and more the longer I hold on. The thought that he just might have never had anyone show him affection like this crosses my mind and clenches around my heart like an icy fist.

"The game center I've seen is practically around the corner." His voice sounds much softer when I'm this close. I wonder if I'm imagining things, but I could swear he actually tightens his grip on my arm, even if only slightly. "Let's get going."

Morgana in my bag groans, then slips out. "I'll walk around. Don't do anything reckless!"

I'm too distracted by Akechi, who is reaching for the umbrella that I've tucked under my other arm, to pay much attention to him. Akechi uses his free hand to slide the umbrella out, flicks it open, and then lifts it to shield us. "Would you mind?" He holds it out to me, and it takes me a few seconds to comprehend that he wants me to carry it, considering his briefcase is still standing by the wall.

I shield us diligently as we walk, although the frequent puddles and the calming, steady streaming of the rain tempt me to drop the umbrella and skip through the puddles like a little child. I've always loved the rain, especially in the summer, but I won't act this childish in front of Akechi . . . and the frequent shoppers and passersby who flock around the lit shops, even in this weather.

It doesn't take us long to reach the arcade Akechi had in mind, and I'm almost a little sad to get out of the rain. But the excited cries, electronic buzzes, and beeps of kids playing games quickly distract me.

Akechi only lets go of my hand when we're in front of a particular game . . . I can't say it's one that I expected him to want to play. I eye the gun-shaped controllers and the large, bright screen currently displaying a high score ranking.

"Well, here we are." Akechi smiles at me, but on second glance, I notice that it's a fraction less bright this time. There's a hint of his previous smugness in it, as though he's feigning carefreeness and following some kind of carefully crafted master plan. Well . . . I cross my arms and return his oddly challenging look. If he has some kind of hidden agenda for the evening, I'm all for it.

Usually, I prefer to be in control of the situation, or at least have all the details if someone else is better suited to spearhead. Akechi hasn't made me feel fully in control of any situation even once, but to my own surprise, I've found that I don't mind if it's him. Maybe—I peek at him over the top of my glasses—I do actually prefer it when he keeps things unpredictable.

"I was out here, gathering intel, and I noticed some patrons playing this. . ." Akechi turns his attention to the game again. "I did a bit of research. Apparently, it's a pretty hardcore shooter game."

Just from the design choices on the high score list and the overall look of the console, I suspected something like that. I swallow, still keeping my eyes on Akechi, but all his attention is on the game. He has an oddly unsettling calmness to him now, as though he has no doubts that he will destroy me at it.

But . . . I also don't think he would lie to me about never having played it before. When we were playing billiards, he was pretty straightforward and merciless in showing me his true skills.

"Do you normally play games like this?" He asks the same question that was on my mind and faces me again. I quickly look down.

"I have before."

> "I'm not great at them."

"What about you?"

"Well, that should even the playing field," he says. "I'm not much for video games myself, as I've mentioned. So, I guess I'm in the same boat."

He has mentioned that, but from the way he's speaking, I suddenly have a feeling that there's something he's not telling me.

Without giving me another chance to question the sincerity of his words, Akechi reaches for the gun controller on his side; he swiftly pulls it out and shifts his weight, exuding the confidence of someone who clearly knows what they're doing. Only then does it cross my mind that he may not have played this game before, but he is a detective—maybe he's used to handling a real gun.

I eye him again; there's no way he really is the rookie he claims to be.

> "Are you used to gunplay?"

"Are you really that inexperienced?"

"Hm, you don't believe me?" Akechi turns to me, and I give him a half-smile, indicating that I indeed don't, before I reach for the gun on my side; it's heavier than it looks, and I use both hands to pull it out of the mounting.

"Well . . . I'll need as much practice as I can get if I'm going to take you out."

I look up again and freeze . . . I'm staring directly into the muzzle of the toy gun that Akechi's pointing at me nonchalantly, with one hand. It's not a real gun, of course, but I still don't move. I take in the bold smirk and the odd gleam in his eyes, trying, in vain, to ascertain what it means.

"Ha." His smirk widens into a grin and he cocks the gun. "What's the matter? Did you think I was going to let you win?" Then, without warning, he turns and points the gun at the monitor. ". . . Let's battle."

I have no time to say anything or react at all. The game starts, and I quickly find that the word "hardcore" really is an accurate term for what we're playing. I'm not even doing that badly, I think, as I focus all my attention on taking down the enemies that jump out from all sides of the screen. The gun controller is decently easy to handle, but my hands are shaking a little, making it harder to aim.

I'm so engrossed that I nearly jump when someone beside me goes, "Ooh!" and I realize we've attracted an audience.

"Damn, that's some accuracy," a boy next to me says, and I have to focus to not look away from the screen. Is he talking about me?

"He's not wasting a single shot."

"She's not doing bad either, but definitely losing ground," another guy adds, and I realize the first spectator had to be talking about Akechi.

I breathe in and try to block out all distractions. Only for a heartbeat do I give into the temptation to look over at Akechi to see if I can discern what they mean. He's holding the gun with one hand; I can't afford to peek at his screen, but just from the way he stands and holds the controller, I have no trouble believing that he's killing it.

I do my best for the rest of the round, but when it's over, I'm not surprised that Akechi's won, and by a lot. "Hah," he says, swiftly stashing the gun controller away. Then he turns to me. "My fingers are going to be sore tomorrow. What a realistic game."

I nod, noticing that we're both breathing heavily, even though we haven't physically exerted ourselves. I quickly put my own gun away, wipe sticky curls from my forehead, and smile. Honestly, even though I'm not used to these kinds of games, it was actually decently fun. I almost want to ask Akechi to go again, but then notice a few kids behind us, expectantly looking our way.

I poke his shoulder, pointing at them, and Akechi looks back and forth between me and the kids who are approaching eagerly. "Can we play now?" A young boy, probably in elementary school, looks up at Akechi, wide-eyed. His friend is already running up to the console. "You're really good," the boy says admiringly.

Akechi smiles. "Practice long and hard enough, and you'll be good soon as well."

Both boys nod eagerly, and we move away to let them play. In a quieter corner of the arcade, I stop and turn back to him.

"He's right. You are."

"I knew you weren't really a beginner."

> "You really can handle guns, can't you?"

"Well." Akechi leans on the wall and crosses his arms. "I'm a decent shot, yes."

I have a feeling he's a bit more than just decent, but I don't interrupt him.

"If anything, this did feel a bit nostalgic for me."

I frown. Nostalgic? That wasn't a word I expected him to associate with a video game that couldn't have come out more than a few years ago.

"I had a toy gun like this when I was young, you know." Akechi pauses, and I see that he's looking at the two boys, who are already engaging in a heated battle. He doesn't continue immediately, so I stare at him with as much interest as I can muster until he notices that I want him to continue the story.

". . . All this reminded me of running around the house with it, playing hero. I suppose I wanted to be one back then."

He sounds like he's forcing himself to say the words, as though the memory isn't a good one. I try to picture it: Akechi, at the age of the two boys whom he's still watching play. With a toy gun and a homemade costume, running and hiding behind furniture, shooting invisible villains. The image makes me smile, but his face is still grave, and I realize that he was speaking in the past tense, like being a hero doesn't appeal to him anymore.

> "Don't you want to be a hero anymore?"

"Wasn't it fun?"

"I bet you looked cute back then."

For the first time, Akechi turns his attention back entirely to me. I expect him to have some kind of witty remark, but his face is grim. ". . . I'm not certain," he says after a long pause. "But most dreams aren't meant to last, especially such childish ones. One day, you wake up and realize they've become unattainable a long time ago."

The way he says the words sends a shiver down my spine. When it passes, it leaves behind an odd, empty, sad feeling that won't go away so easily. I recall my own fantasies of inviting him to become a Phantom Thief, and I wonder once more if it will ever happen. Whether it, if it does, will be the chance he appears to have given up on.

Another silent but loaded moment passes, then Akechi shrugs. "But there are different kinds of heroes, of course. Different stances they define themselves by. For example—" He lifts a hand to brush a curl out of my face, and I freeze with my mouth slightly open. "One may stick to the vision of justice they believe in, even if others deny it . . ."

Akechi retracts his hand, and I suppress the impulse to latch onto it again.

"While another may simply do as others desire of them, seeking to be recognized and gratified as a hero." He straightens the collar of his shirt and then looks directly at me. "So? Which of those two fits more with your conception of a hero?"

I force myself to ponder the question, not the way it felt when he touched me just now. Really, the answer should be easy, but . . .

"Sticking to your justice."

"Doing what people want."

> "It's not that simple."

"Ah, so you acknowledge that there are more options." Akechi smiles. "I can't say I expected that. But I like that answer; it is more open-minded than the alternatives."

I agree. I can't say I wasn't tempted to say that I think heroes stick to their own justice, no matter what—it's what I would do. But then again . . . who even says that I am a hero? I already know that Akechi doesn't think I am.

"You're right." He nods. "If nobody else wants the justice they fight for, isn't that just blind self-righteousness?"

As much as I want to, I can't deny that he has a point. If someone's sense of justice was twisted and corrupted beyond anything considered moral—even if they were to stick to it to the end—that wouldn't make them a hero. Neither extreme sounds particularly desirable. Like with most things, there should be a kind of balance.

I know for myself what I consider just, and I won't hesitate to stand up for it. But I can also rely on my friends and the people around me to be my moral failsafes. And I would never call myself a hero just because I stick up for my values. A hero may follow their own internal justice, but they should receive the title from others.

"Ah, sorry." Akechi cuts into my thoughts and disconnects from the wall. He looks around like he's only now realizing that we're still in the arcade. "I suppose that was a strange tangent . . . pardon."

I shake my head, smiling. Strange tangents are what make conversations interesting, especially when they're personally loaded and sincere, like this one. My smile widens when I realize that he did share something personal with me again—maybe even more personal than last time. Whatever the concept of a hero and the desire to be one mean to him, I have a feeling it's very important.

"Hm, you don't look bored," he notes, and I cross my arms, hoping the look I'm giving him conveys that I'm most certainly not. "You really are a good listener. Or could you actually be trying to make me forget to bring up again the fact that I won our competition earlier?"

I laugh. Not really, but I'm not ashamed to have lost anyway.

"What for would you bring it up again?"

> "Are you waiting for me to offer you a prize?"

"That depends on what you're offering," he responds without missing a beat, and for some reason, the words fluster me. I haven't actually thought this through.

For a fraction of a second, the thought crosses my mind that I could offer him a kiss—even if only on the cheek or some other inconspicuous spot—but no matter how off-guard it would catch him, I immediately know that this isn't the proper location, and I'm not nearly brave enough.

"Hm," Akechi says after a while. "If you don't have any suggestions, mind if I make one myself?"

I shake my head and look at him eagerly, relieved that the decision is off my shoulders.

"In that case . . ." He takes a step closer, and for a second, I believe that we've thought alike with the kiss and that now he's the one who gets to use it against me, only because he's bolder. But Akechi doesn't make a move in that direction. He looks at me intensely, as though trying hard to make a decision. "Then I want my prize to be that you go out with me again. Only once more. What happens after that . . ." He trails off, not finishing the sentence, and I realize I'm holding my breath. "What say, deal?"

I blink slowly and breathe out, trying to suppress the rising panicky feeling that's suddenly forming in my gut. What does he mean—only once more? I don't want "once", I want indefinite. I want . . .

A dreadful suspicion forms in my mind that whatever he's not telling me has less to do with guns or video games than I thought. I swallow, trying to keep breathing calmly. Maybe I'm misunderstanding him; maybe he means something completely different.

"Why only once more?"

> "I won't see you again, after that?"

Akechi looks at me pensively. "I'm sorry; I don't know," he says after a short pause. "There are some things that . . ." He leans away from me all of a sudden and shakes his head. "It has nothing to do with you—in fact, I much enjoy seeing you. It is just that I'll be busy with something, even more so than before, once school starts again. There may not be any room anymore for our battles, as well as everything else."

The first thing I feel when hearing that is relief. I believe him about the impersonal nature of this announcement; he looks genuinely upset about it, but. . . all of a sudden, I'm fighting tears.

"With matters as they currently are, it may be for the best to treat the next time we go out—should you agree, of course—as the last time we'll see each other under such casual circumstances," Akechi says, looking directly at me.

I bite my lip; thoughts race through my head—most of them upset and unbelieving. Then and there, I realize that I've gotten far more attached to him than I probably should have. Is that why he's been avoiding labeling our relationship? Has he only found out about how busy he would be recently, or has he known it was going to end like this all along? I'm trying to decide whether to be cross with him for only telling me about this now, for building up my expectations, but . . .

"I apologize if this comes out of nowhere." Akechi crosses his arms, looking even graver than before. "I didn't mean to inconvenience or upset you. But as I said," he looks directly at me, "most dreams aren't meant to last. So, what say? Do we wake up now, or allow ourselves a final time?"

I blink up at him, and it hits me that I really was the only one who ever believed in us. A sick feeling rises in my chest, and I hesitate, but. . . I can't bring myself to be angry with him. Because, honestly, it wouldn't have mattered either way. If he had told me that it wasn't going to go on indefinitely, I wouldn't have acted differently. I'd have tried my hardest to get close to him anyway. Maybe close enough to make him want to say something else. Something less final-sounding.

And now . . . it would probably be for the best to call it off immediately and not allow myself another opportunity to grow even more attached. It would only make it all more painful, I tell myself. Then I nod—energetically and bravely, as if it matters.

"Another date sounds good."

"I do owe you a prize."

> "It's not too late, you know?"

I've never been one to give up in the face of impossible odds or pessimism. No matter how busy he is—if he wants to keep seeing me, if he is as upset about this as I am—it is not too late. At least I can tell myself that.

"You really believe that, don't you?" Akechi looks at me like he wants to say something else, then shakes his head. "Hasn't anyone told you that too much optimism will inevitably lead to disappointment? Hah. . . either way, I suppose this means I'll get my prize, and we have a deal?"

I nod again, even more emphatically. He's not getting rid of me that easily; this, I swear to myself.

"I had a feeling you would say that." Akechi actually smiles, and I smile back. My bond with him is growing deeper . . . and I strongly hope it'll never stop.

RANK UP!

CONFIDANT: Goro Akechi | JUSTICE ^ RANK 5

~

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

"Well," Akechi says, turning, and I feel a stab of fear that he wants to call it a night. To end this, our second-to-last? date here and now. "There's nothing else to do here," he confirms. "Let's head home, shall we? I'll reach out to you when I have time again."

He sounds just like he always does, and I'm suddenly on the verge of crying. I don't even know if I can do anything—if what he believes will occupy him really will as much as he claims, or even if there is still hope.

But I can't not have hope. I can't. Sometimes I feel like, on the inside, I consist of little else other than hope and faith, to the point where people call it a weakness. I've always disagreed, though. And I still disagree, I think, and cling to my hope desperately. You can never have too much faith or hope. Not in people, not in the world, and not in anything. Hope is the most powerful force in the world . . . and if anyone wants to take that belief away from me, they'll have to claw it out of my cold, dead hands.

***

My hope—for Akechi and for us—is all I think about on the ride home. Against all odds, I have to try to convey to him how much he means to me, somehow. It won't end here. It can't. I won't allow it to.

I nearly drop my phone into a puddle—that I didn't even notice until I run right into it—when it rings, right before I can enter Leblanc.

"Hey," Akechi says, and I still hear the almost uncharacteristic gloom in his voice. "I wanted to apologize again for today. In all honesty, I didn't expect you to be that disappointed."

I freeze, then slowly lean on the wall, clutching my phone. Surely, I couldn't have been so subtle about my affection for him that he didn't see it?

"Still," he continues before I can respond. "I also wanted to thank you for going out with me again. It's fascinating . . . I always end up having fun with you. I don't play games or spend casual time with others like this much. Usually, I just read in my leisure time. The game we played today offered more realism than I expected, and I was impressed by how immersive it felt. I didn't do as bad as I thought I would, but I still wish I would have played better."

I smile and ask myself what classifies as "good" for him, considering he pretty much destroyed me earlier. Then I wonder about the kinds of books he reads and if I should ask him for recommendations.

"Usually I really struggle with enjoying the same pastimes as my peers, but thanks to you, I had fun today. It was a nice distraction if nothing else."

I refuse to believe that a "distraction" was all I ever was to him. Strange emotions are beating at the back of my mind, and I don't have enough words to express them all. Not here, and not on the phone. I swallow.

> "I enjoy spending time with you too."

"I look forward to seeing you again."

"You don't have to thank me . . ."

"You do?"

I can't believe he has the audacity to sound surprised. Then I suddenly remember his giving me the option to stop seeing him because of the threat of rumors and how lonely I always took him for. Suddenly, it hurts me even more that he seems to be forced to cut me off too. I want to be your friend, I wish to scream. Your friend, and maybe your more. You don't have to act like you're a burden on me because you aren't. No matter what, you'll never be.

"Either way," he says before I can express the things I feel in coherent words. "I do feel the same way. Spending time with you was always a nice opportunity to try new things in a pressure-free environment as well. You know, I've always been quick to grasp the fundamentals of anything . . . but that's also been a concern for me. There's this . . . constant pressure. Everyone expects me to be capable of anything, which is stressful in and of itself."

I can't say that surprises me, and I feel a little ashamed when I realize I've done the same so far. He really seemed to be good at everything; I didn't even consider that expectations like this create pressure.

". . . Although, despite how we tend to compete, I have never quite felt it from you. Not in a negative sense, anyway."

I shut my mouth, which I had opened to apologize.

"Perhaps it is because you have genuinely good intentions." He says it like he barely believes it's supposed to be possible. "I hope we'll have fun next time as well. I'll reach out to you."

I hum approvingly and clutch my phone tighter, hoping he can feel the affection that I can't quite describe to him through the phone.

"Well, I'll talk to you later," he finishes and hangs up. An awful sorrow creeps into my chest and engulfs my heart. Nothing's even happened yet, I think, as I try to shove it down and push the door to Leblanc open. Maybe it's not as bad as it seems. Maybe this period of not seeing him will be temporary. And maybe after that—

Even in retrospect, I can't say I regret allowing myself to hope.