4/22

Makoto stares at her books. Her body is still, but her mind repeats a single phrase, again and again. Just do it already.

"Are you okay?"

She looks up and across the table at Kurusu. He leans over his work, a frown on his face.

"I'm sorry?"

He taps his work with his pen's point. "I've made six mistakes, and you haven’t heavily implied my life is in danger." He smiles. "So, are you okay?"

She sighs and sets her pencil in the spine of the text. There's nothing for it but to push ahead. She looks Akira in the eye. "There's something I want to say."

Akira pales.

"I want to apologize."

He blinks. "For... what?"

The room is quiet. Makoto’s warning to the students the other day has maintained its hold. From what Makoto can see, no one pays them any attention. "I never looked up your information online. I know it's there. People were talking about it."

"I noticed."

She cringes at his tone. "But, I never looked. Nonetheless, I may have… no, I did indulge in the rumors surrounding you a bit."

He says nothing.

"I thought you would be different from who you are."

She looks at him, intent on continuing, but her words spring a response. "Who did you think I'd be?"

She sighs. "I don't know. Just, someone different. I'm sorry." This is it. She straightens. "That's why I want to propose something." He waits, his eyes a bit wide, lips pursed. "I would like you to join - in an auxiliary role - the Student Council."

Kurusu stares at her, his face unchanged. Then, a strangled laugh escapes him. Then another. A grin cracks his face, and he says, "Wait, seriously?"

She feels her cheeks redden. "I think it would benefit you. You'd be around other students who could get to know you, as I have. They're diligent. Hard-working. Joining would help you contribute to the school."

His mirth lessens. He still smiles, but the laughter stops.

Before she can stop herself or think about what to say, more words spill from her like a burst pipe. "I think it’d be good for you to be around people like that. Some distance from troublemakers like Sakamoto would go a long way towards convincing the student body you belong here." The more she speaks, the more his face falls. Where in his eyes there had been amusement, now is something else. She cannot stop, though she feels like she’s sprinting through a minefield. "I just don't want you to go down the same path he did." She pats the books. "You're really smart when you apply yourself. You could make something of yourself here. I just think you should consider it, is all."

He tilts his head forward. Light reflects off his glasses’ lenses, and she can no longer see his eyes. Without a word, he takes one of his textbooks and puts it in his bag.

"What are you doing?" She asks.

He takes another, and puts it in his bag.

"What's wrong?"

He takes another, and puts it in his bag.

"Kurusu?"

He takes his last book, puts it in his bag, and stands.

"Wait," she says, as he walks for the exit.

Some part of her does not believe he will leave, but he wraps pale fingers around the door's handle, slides it open, and steps out.

Makoto does not bother to pack her books. She shoots out of her chair and follows as fast she dares.

It is late. There are no other students in the hall. Most have gone home or are busy with club activities. Akira Kurusu, therefore, shuffles in his hunched gait towards the stairwell, alone.

"Kurusu, wait." She follows.

He does not turn around.

"Please!"

He does not turn around.

What is this? What's going on? What did I say? "Akira Kurusu, stop."

He stops. He does not turn around. Instead, his head angles upward as if he has a sudden interest in the ceiling. When he speaks, his words are deflated and tired. "I don't know why," he says. "But I really wanted you to be different."

He turns around.

Gone is the vacant indifference. Gone is flirty smile. Gone is the respectful schoolboy.

Akira Kurusu is something else now. His posture is no longer slouched, but jagged. His eyes are terrible.

"You want me to contribute to this place?" Vitriolic. "This place, where everyone thinks I'm trash?"

Makoto blurts out a response. "I think that-"

Kurusu cuts her off. "What do you think I did?"

"What?"

"You've heard the rumors. I know you didn't look up my record. Thanks so much for that, by the way. But you must’ve seen what people are saying on RINE. Heard them in the halls. So, what do you think I did?"

"I," she starts, then stops. How is she supposed to answer this? "I heard that you assaulted-"

"Assaulted someone, right," Kurusu says. "What if I told you that every word of that was a lie? What if I said my record was fabricated? Would you believe it?"

Makoto walks forward, intending to cut off his advance to the stairwell, but his question halts her. They stand, face to face, backs to the walls of the hall. "Well," she begins, but cannot continue. What does he expect? Why wouldn’t she believe the official story?

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He throws his hands in the air. "More the fool, me."

"I just-"

"Do you think I haven't heard? I know what people think of me. And not just the students. I know what the teachers think too. And you want me to join the Student Council? To contribute to this place? Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No! I don't think-"

"The only reason Shijin accepted me was so they could hold me up as an example. Look how kind we are! We're willing to give a delinquent another chance! We're so generous, progressive, forward-thinking."

Makoto can feel her blood swirling through her. "Please, just-"

"No. I'm not going to calm down, Makoto." Her name is a knife in her gut. "Isn't that why Kawakami assigned you to me? Isn't the only reason you're helping me because they told you to?" A speculative look crosses his face and mixes with the anger. "Because that's you, isn't it? You do what you're told when you're told. What do you actually do, Senpai? Is it even anything?"

"Stop it."

"You won't do anything when it counts, will you? I saw you, the day Shiho jumped. I saw you on the edge of the crowd, standing there, doing nothing. But you know who did something? Ryuji Sakamoto, the troublemaker you and everyone else are so quick to write off." His words are a terrible maelstrom. "He got Ann to Shiho's side. What did you do?"

Ryuji Sakamoto. It's something she can latch onto at least, find some purchase. "Ryuji Saka-"

He does not let her. "How about this? Would you believe me if I told you he was a good guy? A great guy?"

"He attacked a teacher!"

"He attacked Kamoshida!"

"That's-"

"Look me in the eye," he demands. She doesn’t. "Look me in the eye!" She does. "Tell me you haven't heard anything about Kamoshida. Tell me you haven't heard the rumors or seen the injuries. Tell me that for all your brains, you're too dumb to put it all together!"

"Stop it."

"You can't, can you? You have heard all the shit about him. But you won't do anything about it. But I should join the Student Council so I can contribute."

"Kamoshida-sensei is a teacher and-"

"Kamoshida is an abusive, self-absorbed maniac who wants to have sex with his students. Including you, Makoto."

Her mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. He shakes his head.

"Nothing to say, huh? Yeah, I bet you won't believe that either. You're just like everyone else. You won't do anything. You're useless."

Useless.

Useless.

Useless.

Makoto's hands clench. "Stop talking to me like that."

"Or what?" Kurusu asks. A smile spreads across his face, mean and petty. "You'll hit me? Go ahead, see if I care. It won't make a difference. People like you don't change. You see what you want to see. Robotic, that's all you are."

Robotic?

She looks at him. She hates it, but she wants to cry. This isn't right. This isn't Akira Kurusu. She'd imagined him so many ways. A delinquent troublemaker with a tragic past, covered in tattoos and violent to a fault. A mild-mannered cute schoolboy with a mysterious backstory. Never this. Never so...

Cruel.

"Yeah," he says, and he nearly towers over her now. "That's all you are. Just 'beep boop' and please the teachers and-"

Her fist collides with his jaw. He staggers back and throws his arm up along the wall for balance. His glasses are knocked loose and skitter along the floor.

Makoto's hands clap over her mouth. "Oh. Oh no. Kurusu. Akira. I'm so sorry."

He does not respond.

"Please," she says. "Please, please, please forgive me. I just… I'm sorry. Please."

He does not respond.

"I didn't mean..." She reaches out a hand for him.

Her fingers are inches from his shoulder when he shifts. He straightens, but his head droops forward. His hair hangs in his face, and she cannot see his eyes.

Oh, God. This is wrong. She needs him to understand but he moves away. He walks to where his glasses have fallen. He bends down and picks them up. He rubs the lenses on his sleeves. Then, he returns them to his face.

"Thank you," he says.

"W-what?"

He turns to her. His eyes are no longer terrible. They are no longer anything. They are pale and lifeless. Fossils of what once was. "I think," he says, "I have all the knowledge I need to do well on my next exam." He bows, and it is one of the worst things Makoto has ever seen. "Thank you for all your help, Niijima-senpai, but I don't think these sessions are necessary anymore." He bends and picks up his bag. Shoulders it. Turns. Walks off.

"Wait," Makoto says. "Please."

He does not listen. Akira Kurusu turns into the stairwell and descends.

#

"At least make some lockpicks!" Morgana leaps onto the desk and waves his forearms. "Come on. Do something!"

Akira sits on the edge of his bed, hands clasped together. His glasses sit on the sill alongside the bed.

It is only seven o'clock.

Morgana sighs and flops onto his belly. "What is up with you, Akira?"

Akira doesn't reply.

"If we’re sitting here, doing nothing, we could've at least called the gang together and hit the Palace."

Akira doesn't reply.

"Seriously. What's wrong? Tell me."

Akira takes his hands apart and rubs his eyes. "I'm tired, Morgana. I'm going to bed." He stands, reaches for the lightbulb, and turns it off.

Morgana hops down and trots to his bed. "Don't give me that. You never want to go to bed."

"I don't want to go to bed, Morgana. But I'm tired, so I am."

"What happened at the study session?"

Akira hesitates before he replies. "Nothing important."

Morgana jumps up onto the bed, walks up to Akira's face, and pokes him with his paw. "I don't believe you."

"Stop."

"No." Morgana pokes him again. "Now, you listen to me. I'm relying on you here. So are Ryuji and Lady Ann." He pokes him again. "Maybe this seems unfair to you, but you don't get to space out whenever it's convenient for you. You're our leader. You have to lead."

"Morgana," Akira says. "Stop poking me."

"Fine. But you tell me what's going on. What happened today?"

Akira shifts in bed and sits up. "Alright." Morgana lays on the sheets, patient. Akira reaches a hand up and rubs his jaw. "Niijima-senpai punched me in the face."

Morgana blinks. "Like, symbolically?"

"No. Like, in the face. With her fist."

"She hit you? Why? What did you do?"

Akira glares down at the cat. "Nothing. I didn't do anything!" He frowns, and folds his arms across his chest. "Well, I guess that's not quite true."

It only takes a few minutes for him to explain it to Morgana. It's almost funny. While it had all been happening, it seemed like such a long event. But after walking Morgana through everything, Akira realizes the whole argument couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes.

"I get it," Morgana says, when he finishes.

"You do?"

"Sure." The cat's tail swishes back and forth, relaxed. "You were starting to think you could trust her. And she betrayed that."

"I don't know, Morgana. I'm not sure it's that simple."

"What'd you mean?"

"I said some really, really mean stuff to her. I know I was angry, but at the end, I don't even think I was trying to make a point. I think I was just trying to put her down." He looks at his friend. "And I never thought I was like that. Honestly, it kind of freaked me out."

"Do you think that's why she hit you?"

He puts his head in his hands. "I don't know. I don't think I'm wrong, but I don't think I’m right, either. God, why couldn't she have just stuck to studying? Why'd she have to bring Ryuji into it?"

Morgana reaches out a paw and pats Akira's leg. "Maybe you got angry. Maybe you got mean. But hey, at least we know you're loyal to your friends."

Akira shakes his head. "Thanks, Morgana. But that doesn't make me feel any better."

"Sorry."

He reaches out a hand and rubs his friend's head. "The Metaverse is simpler than this, and the Metaverse makes no sense."

#

Makoto sits on her bed, cross-legged, in her pajamas. Too wired from the fight with Kurusu, she found herself unable to study. She had spent some time exercising in the basement gym, but every time she hit the bag, she saw Kurusu and the diminished, drained look on his face.

In the end, she had retreated to her room, and taken out the hidden DVD collection from her closet. With the lights out, and her headphones in, she'd watched movie after movie on her laptop.

On-screen, two sworn Yakuza brothers clasp hands, then turn to the numerous enemies intent on killing them. Makoto knows how this will end. Neither of the two men will make it out of this alive, but neither is willing to leave the other to their fate alone. Her hands clench as the two men scream their war cry and charge.

Credits roll.

She checks the time. It's fast approaching midnight.

She pulls the headphones from her ears and sets her laptop on the floor. Then she flops back on her bed and stares at the dark ceiling—the knuckles of her right hand still sting.

With a frustrated huff, she grabs her pillow and shoves it over her face. "I messed up!" She yells, muffled, into it. She lets it lie on her face for a while, until it tilts to the side and falls off on its own.

She has to fix this. She had only wanted to help Akira Kurusu, and instead, she had just hurt him. Both emotionally and physically.

You're useless. That's what Akira had said. Even now, alone, Makoto can still feel the crimson rising in her cheeks at the words. Was he even wrong? What did she do?

No. There has to be a way to make this right. Her phone beeps. She checks it. It's midnight.

"Happy birthday to me," she says, to the dark. She sets her morning alarm and gets under the covers.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'm going to fix this.