... In which Akechi, after striking a deal with the Phantom Thieves, does what I hoped he would and asks me out again—to a billiards rematch. But the questions he poses in the aftermath shake the already rocky foundation of my trust in him.

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

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

The words race through my mind as I stare at the new group chat icon; its colors are fittingly inverted. But strangely, the longer I look, the less can I stand the sight of it. A daunting feeling that none of this is happening the way it was supposed to consumes me. I have barely been able to think of anything else since we returned from our first trip to Sae's palace yesterday.

When, moments later, the new group chat lights up, I automatically click on it.

FUTABA: Heya all Real And True Phantom Thieves, I welcome you to our new digital headquarters. Guaranteed to be encrypted and safe, and suspicious-faker-free.

> Y'all here?

RYUJI: Hell yeah!

ANN: So, we use this chat to discuss anything related to the Akechi issue, right?

FUTABA: Yup. Anything he isn't supposed to know goes here.

MAKOTO: Thank you. This will make things a lot easier.

> By the way, I meant to ask . . . how did the listening app installation go? Any results yet?

I back out of the chat and try to ascertain why I suddenly feel sick. Who would have thought that the festival we ourselves invited Akechi to would kickstart all of this? I thought I was prepared for him to surprise me there . . . but nothing could have prepared me for what he revealed and proposed on that fateful second day.

Before the school festival, I never really allowed myself to indulge in the thought that Akechi's having been to the Metaverse before would ever matter . . . Or maybe I just didn't want it to matter. I bite my lip and stare into the black depths of the coffee in front of me for a moment before I reluctantly open the new group chat again.

It matters now.

FUTABA: It went well. He didn't suspect a thing.

> No results yet, but this could take a while.

> We'll just have to play along for now.

RYUJI: You mean we actually have to pretend to be teammates with that asshole?

> He could be that Black Mask guy, for all we know!

HARU: He said he was investigating the true culprit, but . . .

YUSUKE: His mask was not black.

FUTABA: Yeah, that's interesting.

Still. Sus.

MAKOTO: I don't like having to work with him any more than all of you, but we hardly have a choice.

HARU: Yes. We have to play along with his deal to cooperate for the duration of this palace, and we mustn't let him find out that we suspect him.

> It's unfortunate that it has come to this, but we must stay strong.

RYUJI: Ugh. I hate that we have to do this, but you're right.

> Besides, how hard can it be to fool him?

ANN: I don't think we should underestimate Akechi. Gotta leave that to him, he IS really smart. But we were doing great yesterday, I think!

RYUJI: Yeah! And as soon as we know what his deal is, he's done for. He thinks he can use us? We're not gonna let that happen.

> Hey Rin, we're gonna show him for lying, right?

Morgana peeks over my shoulder; his tail impatiently brushes the back of my neck before he leaps onto Leblanc's counter next to me and places his paws on my lower arm. "What's wrong? Futaba said everything is under control. You don't have to worry. Your friends all have your back. There's no reason to believe anything will go wrong . . . You'll see."

I don't react. I simply keep staring at the screen and stirring my coffee, which has probably already grown cold. A whirlwind of emotions is churning in my gut, half of which I don't understand where exactly they're coming from.

I'm not nervous about failing. I'm just . . . I scroll up to re-read the messages, and I can't help thinking my friends all sound a little too excited about all this. Nothing much has even happened yet! Nothing to justify the accusations and hate they're throwing around so carelessly, anyway.

Yes, we know that Akechi lied about when he discovered the Metaverse . . . And so, the others concluded that he has to have an ulterior motive for cooperating with us. My heart contorts at the memory of Morgana's reaction when I tentatively suggested giving Akechi the benefit of the doubt and simply asking, confronting him with his lie.

We could never be so careless, Morgana said. We can't afford to risk revealing that we know he's lying. We covertly have to find out more. We can't trust him.

I couldn't bring myself to argue with Morgana. Especially not after he brought Futaba up to speed, and she agreed to bug Akechi's phone so eagerly. Her proud, "This is gonna be fun! I can't wait!" rings in my ear, and a shiver runs down my spine.

Sure, it's less risky than a direct confrontation and logically sound. We're doing the right thing. I've never felt worse about doing the supposedly right thing, though.

I feel like shit.

Because it also seems so . . . dishonest. Almost dirty. Not at all like something the Phantom Thieves—the heroes I want to believe we still are—would so readily and excitedly do.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. All the dreams about Akechi joining our team I had, once upon a time, flash before my inner eye and it makes me feel even sicker. Despite everything, part of me is itching to fall into the familiar "we found a new teammate" rhythm—honesty, acceptance, a first-name basis? A welcome party . . .

But there won't be any of that this time. Because he isn't being honest and we're not being accepting. It's all just . . . lies. The word sickens me more than any other, right now.

Without really meaning to, I tap the icon below the new chat—the original group. The one that now has eight portraits at the top. My eyes are drawn to the last message, sent earlier today, almost on their own, to reread it for the hundredth time.

AKECHI: Today was truly one surprise after another. I hope we continue to thrive in our work together.

"Hey Rin, what are you doing?" asks Morgana. "Aren't you going to reply? Your friends are waiting for you!"

I mindlessly close the old group and open the new one again.

ANN: Rin? Are you there?

YUSUKE: We are counting on you, leader.

MAKOTO: This plan won't work without your cooperation. You're closest to Akechi, aren't you? To fool him, we will need you.

I sigh and type without looking at Morgana.

RIN: Are you sure we're doing the right thing?

Morgana's tail next to me shoots up in alarm, but I'm distracted by a new notification—a direct message this time—and an icon that makes my heart leap out of my chest. But not for the reasons it used to . . .

HARU: What do you mean?

RYUJI: Huh?? What else are we supposed to do? Let that bastard play us for fools?

MAKOTO: Rin, is everything okay? You know we're doing the right thing.

> Or, what else would you have us do?

I back out of the group chat without responding. I'm still not brave enough to suggest to my friends what I suggested to Morgana—to simply confront Akechi with his lie and ask for an explanation. I understand that they don't trust him . . . I take a sip of coffee and grimace when I find that it has long grown cold. What I don't understand is their odd glee about the prospect of deceiving him. I know how much he longs for acceptance and friendship, so much so that I had already made plans for him to join us.

Now . . . I clutch my phone tighter. Now, he might never truly do so.

But then again . . . what do I really know? I allow myself to briefly consider the possibility that everything he ever expressed toward me was a lie and that by defending him, I'm walking right into his trap.

I'm undeniably biased, and it makes me even more apprehensive. Perhaps I should just leave this decision to my teammates, who are much more objective in the matter. Arguing about this would only lead to unnecessary drama and turmoil because the hopes and sympathies I have in my heart may ultimately be foolish . . . irrelevant.

I shake my head to chase the intrusive thoughts and gather the courage to tap the new and suddenly daunting notification.

GORO AKECHI

> Do you have time today?

> It's been a while since I texted you like this, but I thought it was time we played another game of billiards.

> Lest you forget that losing to you doesn't sit well with me . . . and it shouldn't with you either. Am I right?

Uncontrollable emotions claw their way from my chest into my throat and push upward to clog my mind. I didn't expect Akechi to text me now . . . He hasn't done this in such a long time, and something about it sounds so much like the way he used to sound, back when I could still be in love with him without feeling like I was not prioritizing the welfare of my friends.

But nothing is the way it used to be anymore, nor will it ever be again. There's no point in lying to myself about that any longer. I have to blink a few times to chase the uncried tears that blur my vision—not for the first time today—to type a reply.

RIN AMAMIYA

> I'm looking forward to it!

"Hm. I suppose it is wise to keep seeing him, so as not to give away our suspicions," says Morgana, and I grip the phone so tightly that my knuckles shine white; I am suddenly closer to throwing it against the nearest wall than ever.

But I don't do anything of the sort. I force myself to nod toward Morgana and wait for him to jump into my bag, then grab it and stand up. Sojiro, who comes out of the kitchen as soon as he hears my chair move, doesn't even ask where I'm going. He throws me a knowing smile and I manage to smile back before I'm out the door.

I spend the entire subway ride to Kichijoji asking myself why I hate all of this so much. It's not like my friends are being unreasonable! When viewed objectively, all evidence indicates that there is something off about Akechi's proposal. And we're only deceiving someone who is also deceiving us . . . Can that really be so bad?

I picture his face before my inner eye and hear him say that we're not so different in the end. I see the gleam of his eyes behind his mask as he effortlessly and proudly decimates Shadows in our path.

No need to worry. I'll handle this. I need to prove my worth to you, after all.

Maybe it's the fact that I know him well enough to sense just how much he would need genuine friends like us. Or that I, as always, want to give him the benefit of the doubt—until the very end. Or maybe it's just that, despite everything, I want to stay a hero. And what we're doing right now doesn't remotely feel like the . . . heroic thing to do.

None of this is the way it's supposed to be, and yet I am committing to it. I already have. There's hardly any going back now. I can't help but think about Akechi's warning—that caring about him would hurt me eventually. I didn't think it would happen like this, though—that I'd have to break my own heart to keep my friends safe . . . I suppose I really have only myself and my decision to so blissfully ignore the warning to thank for this.

As soon as I spot Akechi, waiting in front of "Penguin Sniper", as he always does, I allow myself to let go of the pesky uncertainties. Neither my friends' deception nor his lie will ruin this for me. Yet as soon as he looks up from his phone and our eyes meet, I am overcome with an overwhelming desire to run up to him, take his hands, and ask the question Morgana didn't want me to ask: what happened? What are you doing and why aren't you being honest with us? Why are you making it so hard for me to keep trusting you?

As though Morgana sensed my unease, he perks up and places a paw on my shoulder . . . it feels like a warning. I bite the questions back.

"Oh, Amamiya. Good evening," Akechi says matter-of-factly and for the first time since he started asking me out, I don't immediately take his arm. He has not initiated any physical contact since the school festival, and ever since—even though we've been around each other a lot more—something about him felt . . . unapproachable.

"I rearranged my schedule a bit so that I'd have time for all this business concerning Sae-san." He slides his phone into his pocket, and although he's smiling the way he always used to, sorrow grips my heart. As much as he and I both are seemingly trying . . . it isn't like it once was.

"And ever since then . . . well." He picks up his briefcase and hesitates for a heartbeat before offering me his arm after all . . . the way he always used to. "It doesn't feel right to pretend like we're strangers anymore. Don't you agree?"

I nod, gripping the fabric of his uniform jacket, and try desperately to fall back into the kind of excitement I always felt whenever we did this before.

"Speaking of which . . ." Akechi turns and glances at the entrance ahead. "I did ask you here to play billiards again. Even if I only have a little time, I'd like to spend it with you."

The surprisingly softly spoken words finally have the effect I've been anticipating. A familiar excitement floods me and I give him my brightest smile.

"I expect you've improved since last time." He smirks back. "If you're confident, I'll play you using my right hand."

I nod again; something tells me I shouldn't demand that he go all out against me just yet. I have to resist the urge to inch closer and lean my head on his shoulder. But Morgana is still watching, and I don't feel like explaining to him or my friends what's really going on in my heart right now; it isn't in the spirit of our current endeavor, and really quite irrelevant while I'm not letting it stop me from deceiving him. But I feel like my bond with Akechi will grow stronger soon . . .

"It's good to take a break, ever so often," Morgana says to the both of us. "Do you want to hang out with Akechi?"

I lift the hand that isn't holding Akechi's arm to pat Morgana on the head.

> "I've practiced up!"

"But if I win, you'll show me your true skill!"

"Maybe later . . ."

"I expected nothing less," Akechi says. "You're certainly determined. Let's see how you do."

Morgana skillfully leaps out of my bag. "I'll walk around in the meantime. You guys take care, okay?" He's gone before I can say anything. Both Akechi and I stare after him, and for a moment I wonder what would have happened if we hadn't noticed that Akechi heard Morgana at the TV station. Would we be true teammates then? Or would our group be blissfully ignorant, heading right into a trap?

I don't have time to contemplate the question. as Akechi leads me straight into "Penguin Sniper" and books a table, exactly the way he did last time. The fond memories don't do much for my heavy heart. At least I manage to immerse myself in the game the moment we begin to play. Even though Akechi is playing with his non-dominant hand, he is still a formidable opponent, and it's far from easy to keep up with him. So much so that I wonder if he's practiced too.

"Billiards is such a fascinating game, don't you think?" He looks up after sinking the third ball in a row and twirls his cue. "You can't simply strike the ball you're aiming for. You have to be indirect, but precise, to land it in the pocket . . ."

For some reason, the words feel like a first discordant note in an otherwise harmonious melody.

"Yeah, it's convoluted . . ."

> "I prefer being direct."

"It is fun . . ."

"Hm . . ." Akechi gives me a long look. "I suppose that is a more efficient way to think. But don't you agree that being indirect has its charms too?" He looks away from me, and a sudden shadow falls over his features. "Especially because billiards itself has so many parallels to a theoretical perfect crime."

Akechi bows and aims, then he turns back to me again with an expression that is even less readable than his normal. "You eliminate your target without ever directly connecting yourself to it. I don't suppose that rings any bells?"

I lean on the table next to him and try to ignore the unease that his low and calm, but so unsettling tone is rousing in my gut. Although he's not wrong, that description does sound familiar.

> "The psychotic breakdowns."

"I'm not sure . . ."

"That's right. Even the cases of criminals' hearts being changed, too." Akechi averts his gaze and shakes his head. "Everything happening around us, every little inconsequential event . . ." He pauses, then bows to aim again. ". . . may simply be one ball striking another."

The knuckles on his hands that hold the cue shine white. I involuntarily grip my own tighter, unable to take my eyes off Akechi as he stands, leaning over the pool table. Moments later, he strikes . . . and misses; the ball he was aiming for doesn't even come close to the pocket.

Akechi straightens his back, but he's still not meeting my gaze. ". . . But there's no guarantee that the ball can be precisely controlled. And despite the player's best intentions, the ball may strike many unrelated obstacles in its path," he says, managing to sound both dry and cynical, as well as oddly melancholy at the same time.

I take his words in and process that he's lost me . . . I'm not even sure he's still talking about billiards. Instead of overthinking his words, I lower my cue and take a step closer. He looks so dejected and stressed all of a sudden that it makes me want to stop caring about the distance he's trying to keep.

Something is wrong; I can feel it, and I hate it with every fiber of my being. I lift my hand to place it on his shoulder, yet before I can touch him, Akechi twists and takes a step back. To a bystander, it may appear as though he made room for me to continue the pool game, but I am certain that he deliberately avoided my attempt at comfort. The hand I raised clenches into a fist before I lower it again. He may as well have delivered a stomp right to my already aching heart.

Only then does Akechi look straight at me, and I suppress the urge to flinch back; I've never seen his normally so fiery, lively eyes so . . . dead. "Even then . . ." he says, tilting his head without breaking eye contact. ". . . Do you still intend to play this game?"

My mouth opens, but there are no words in my mind. Part of me wants to ask what he's talking about, and I'm trying my best to ignore the fact that he's currently scaring me more than he ever has. More than I thought he ever could . . . would. Because, truth be told—at that moment, I'm terrified.

I'm not even sure what it is exactly that I am so scared of—the underlying implication of those ominous words? The fact that my friends may be right after all when they tell me to beware of him? The future—our future? Everything all at once? I swallow once, twice.

> "I don't want to play any games."

"Why are you asking me that . . . ?"

"This isn't a game . . ."

For a moment, Akechi's eyes cloud over with an emotion I can't name. "And if you don't have a choice?" he asks. His eyes dart over to the billiards table and back to me. "Will you really give up, just like that?"

There's an ever-so-faint note of disappointment in his voice, and I swallow again. I force myself to look away from him before I take a step toward the table and raise my cue.

"I'm not giving up . . . but not in the way you think."

> "There's always a choice."

Without waiting for his reply, I aim and strike. The white ball clacks against the last ball I had to sink, which disappears in the pocket.

". . . Impressive," says Akechi. "You win."

I don't look up at him. None of the churning, unsettling emotions I feel are anywhere close to triumph or happiness. This is the victory I was playing for . . . I stare at the table. But was it the victory I wanted? Was it . . . worth it?

"A choice . . ."

Only when Akechi resumes speaking do I finally look back at him but his gaze trails off; he never finishes the sentence. When he next looks at me, his expression is normal, content. "That was quite a heated match. Shall we cool off in the evening breeze for a moment?"

I only hesitate for a second before accepting the arm he's holding out to me. Something is still off, I can't afford to pretend like it isn't. But I won't allow his odd behavior to drive us apart any more than it already has.

Akechi leads me out of "Penguin Sniper" wordlessly. In front of the entrance, he halts. I half expected him to walk me home, or propose we go somewhere else to end the evening on a calmer note, but he leans against the wall instead. His eyes are dark again, and I try my hardest to hold his intense gaze. "Even if it was with my self-imposed handicap, I'm impressed that you beat me. You've become quite skilled." A smirk dashes over his face. "That may become a problem, you know?"

I don't . . . not really.

Akechi must have sensed my confusion because he continues immediately: "Oh, come on, I can't truly be that much of a forgettable adversary that you wouldn't even feel a sense of competitiveness."

I shake my head, fishing for words to explain to him that he is anything but forgettable or easy to defeat . . . I just don't get that competitive.

"Hm . . . you don't look like you're belittling me." Yet again, he reads my expression effortlessly. "Very well. If that's what I have to do . . ." Akechi disconnects from the wall and stands straight, with his chin raised; he towers over me by nearly an entire head. "Remember when I said before that you and I are similar? We're both victims of unjust adults. And now, we have the will and power to rise up against them."

I nod and smile, almost saying "teammates". . . but I can't bring myself to.

"Yet I'm doing so as a detective, and you're acting as a phantom thief. Our stances couldn't be more different."

I frown. Once again, I am itching to say that we're teammates now . . . but Akechi continues before I can open my mouth. "If I have to say it aloud for you to understand, I'll do it here and now." He shifts his weight, and the corner of his mouth twitches up. "We may be working together for now . . . but I am not your teammate. I am your rival." He raises his hand to straighten his leather glove. "Or have you already forgotten? Perhaps I should try a little harder . . ."

I swallow. Honestly, it has almost slipped my mind that he once declared that he views our relationship as such. Somewhere along the way, the lines blurred until it all became something entirely different—something I still have no name for to this day.

"Why do you want to be my rival so badly?"

> "Can't we be anything else?"

Akechi frowns. "What is it that you want us to be?" he asks like I've not been clear about my intentions in the past. "You realize that this united front will soon end. And after that, everything will return to the way it was, no?"

My hands in my pockets clench into fists. Our relationship is the only thing that I want to go back to the way it was . . . and somehow I doubt he means that.

"What's with that disappointed face?" Akechi shakes his head, and for a moment, that same almost dead stare enters his eyes. "You . . . no matter what you may think, or however you may try to avert it, you and I are fated to clash. When that inevitably happens . . ." His low voice sends a chill down my spine. Moving closer, he comes within reach—so close that if I were to extend my hand, I could touch his face. "What will you do, hm? Will that be enough for you to finally stop holding your heart out to me?"

I want to look away, but I can't. His eyes are like black holes—twisted and void of life and hope, but inescapable all the same. I tighten my fists until my fingernails painfully dig into my palms, and it hits me that he's deadly serious. I can't shake the feeling that whatever I say to him now will have lasting consequences for our relationship. It has to be a real answer.

I take his words in and consider them honestly, only then understanding what he's asking—that he's questioning the strength of my belief in him and us. And in that case, I already know. I take a deep breath . . .

> "Never."

"We'll see . . ."

For a second, Akechi is stunned, and I smile. I'll be his rival if that's what he wants. I'll play his games, and I'll let him lead me down his unpredictable paths for as long as he fancies it. But if he thinks he can snuff out my will to pursue him . . . he's got another think coming.

"You really don't know what's good for you, do you?" Akechi shakes his head and gives a quiet laugh. ". . . But I'd advise you not to say things like that carelessly. You shouldn't make a promise that you can't keep, anyway. Or I may just have to hold you to it."

I finally remove my hands from my pockets and cross them, giving him the boldest smirk I can muster. He can hold me to that promise all he wants. I meant what I said—I won't be deterred. Not for as long as he doesn't say it directly to my face.

"That said, as long as we're working together, you have my strength. Rest assured, I'll do my part. You'll find me very useful indeed . . . Just humor me on the competition if it's not too much to ask."

I freeze when he actually extends a hand to flick a lock of hair out of my face, then instinctively return his smile . . . and feel my bond with Akechi growing deeper.

RANK UP!

CONFIDANT: Goro Akechi | JUSTICE ^ RANK 7

NEW ABILITY: Harisen Recovery [Chance to cure status ailments inflicted upon party members.]

~

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

"Ah, that reminds me . . ." To my disappointment, Akechi takes a step back again. "I did say that if you ever beat me using my right hand, I'd face you with all my ability . . . Well." He tilts his head and another entirely new expression enters his eyes. But this one doesn't unnerve me . . . it makes my heart leap and start racing as though it's running for its life. "I'll keep that in mind."

For one moment, we hold each other's gazes until Akechi looks away first . . . at the screen of his phone that he pulls out of his pocket. "It's late," he says, turning it and showing me the time. I am immediately assaulted by memories of Futaba's stunt and the face he made when she seemed to show genuine interest in something of his . . . It was the most genuinely delighted I think I've ever seen him.

I nod mechanically.

Akechi's eyes narrow a little, but he doesn't say anything. He slides his phone back into his pocket and raises an eyebrow. "I believe it is time to say goodbye for now."

I force myself to awaken from the odd trance and nod again, more enthusiastically this time. It's not like we won't see each other again soon . . . right?

***

Akechi doesn't walk me home, and part of me expected him to skip calling me as well . . . but, in front of the door, my phone rings like it always did. I'm readying myself to open the new group chat when his caller ID appears on my screen and I nearly drop the phone in shock.

". . . Hey, it's me," Akechi says, and I smile. "Is it alright if we chat for a bit longer?"

I hum approvingly and want to believe that I hear the smile on his face when he continues, "It wasn't against my dominant hand, of course, but I still can't believe you beat me—the only thing we must work on is that competitive spirit of yours. Still . . . you were quite terrible at first. But you caught up to me in no time . . . I have to ask—if you don't feel strongly about being my rival, why did you bother practicing?"

I bite my lip. Can I really tell him the truth?

"You seem to care so much . . ."

"I wanted to live up to your expectations."

> "I was trying to impress you . . ."

For a moment, Akechi is stunned. "Hah," he says finally. "Is that what you want? Well, if that's so . . . I suppose I ought to tell you that you've succeeded. You will never cease to amaze me, will you? Please don't stop."

The sudden change from his previously playful tone catches me off guard, and the surprisingly earnest request touches my heart.

"You're special," he says after a pause. "And I cannot allow you to change. But . . . as you are now, as you think now . . . I can also not allow you to win over me. Or . . . to affect me in any other way."

The speed at which his tone and voice shift is almost overwhelming. He's back to unsettling me now, and I have to swallow a lump in my throat. I can't say I'm happy with his words. I may not care that much about winning over him, but I want to affect him. I want to be someone he will let affect him.

Akechi doesn't say anything for a few seconds. ". . . Well, perhaps we shouldn't go there yet," he finally declares. "I'll let you go for now. Good night."

I listen to him hang up and feel my heart succumb to the unease and sorrow that's been gnawing at it the whole day. I'm not sure what exactly I'm mourning. The disillusionment maybe, I think, as I push the door to Leblanc open.

Little did I know that the true disillusionment—the kind that would proceed to shatter my so foolishly given heart into a million pieces—was yet to come.