4/23

Akira stands at the bottom of Shujin's front steps.

Makoto stands at the top of Shujin's front steps.

They look at one another, neither able to hold the other's gaze longer than a few moments before their eyes avert, only to return some heartbeats later.

Around them, students shuffle their way inside.

A burning knot grows in Akira's stomach, one that tightens with each achingly slow second that passes.

Morgana squirms in his bag, anxious at the lack of movement and oblivious to the moment on the steps. Akira collects as much courage as he can and ascends.

"Hi," Makoto says when he reaches the top.

"Hey."

Another bout of silence. Words rise in Akira's throat but die behind his teeth, unsaid. Say something, he thinks. Come on. Say something!

"Yo!" Both Makoto and Akira jump as Ryuji bounds up the steps and throws his arm around Akira's shoulder. "What's going on, bro?" He stiffens when he sees Makoto and bumbles out, "Oh, hey, Miss President."

"Sakamoto." She favors him with an awkward smile before her jaw sets. "This works out. Would you both come with me for a few minutes?"

"Um," Ryuji says. "See, I got class, so-"

"I promise," Makoto cuts in, definitively. "That if either of you gets in trouble, I will take full responsibility."

Ryuji looks to Akira, who only shrugs. He has yet to tell his friend of the previous day's events. "A-alright."

"Thank you."

She leads them upstairs, past the eyes of gossiping students, and up further still until they reach the door to the roof.

"Ain't this off-limits?" Ryuji whispers to Akira, as Makoto peeks through the door's window. "I mean, I know we use it, but we're not supposed to."

Akira says nothing.

Satisfied with their solitude, Makoto yanks the door open and leads the two outside. Akira and Ryuji halt a few paces from the entrance. Makoto takes a few more steps than are necessary. Then, she whips around and bows, deep.

To Ryuji.

"I'm very sorry!" She blurts.

"Oh, crap!" Ryuji squeaks. "Akira, what's going on?"

Makoto, still bowed, begins to speak before Akira can formulate a response. "I said some vulgar things about you to Kurusu yesterday. He got very angry. It wasn't until later on that I realized he was right."

Ryuji glances from Makoto to Akira, and back to Makoto. "Could you, like, stand up or something? This is kind of freakin' me out."

Makoto straightens but keeps her eyes on the ground. "Everyone says you're a troublemaker—a delinquent. And I accepted that at face value. I never questioned it. I never even thought about it or considered there might be a reason you behaved the way you do." Akira needs to strain to hear her words over the howl of the morning's wind. "I'm very sorry, Sakamoto. You're a student at Shujin, and I never gave you a chance. Please, accept my apology, and know it won't happen again."

"Geez," Ryuji says, and rubs the back of his head. "Not, uh, really sure what to say. It's fine, I guess?"

"Really?" Makoto asks. "Just like that?"

"Sure," Ryuji replies, shrugging. "I don't really care that much what people think of me. I've got friends, so as long as they're cool with me, I'm all good." He grins and slaps Akira's shoulder. "And it sounds like Akira here does have my back. Hey, Prez, what kind of nice stuff was he sayin' about me?"

Makoto smiles a bit. "He said you were a great guy."

Ryuji lets out a sigh and laughs. "That sounds about right."

Akira blushes and glances down at his feet.

"I'm glad to hear it, Sakamoto. But I have one further request," Makoto says. The two boys stare at her, and her brows come together. "Please, tell me the truth about what happened between Kamoshida-sensei and yourself."

Ryuji pales. "What? For real?"

Makoto nods. "Yes. Please."

The two boys look at one another. "What should I do?" Ryuji asks.

Akira shrugs. “It's your story, Ryuji. It's your decision.”

Ryuji frowns, nods, and tells his tale.

It does not take long. When Ryuji’s finished, Makoto's eyes stare off into the distance, a look Akira has come to recognize means she's deep in thought. "I see. Thank you."

Ryuji takes out his phone and blanches. "So, uh, I know you said you'd take responsibility and all, but I really should get going. Are we all set here?"

"Yes, thank you, Sakamoto."

Ryuji looks to Akira but sees something there that he can only reply to with, "Alright. Later, guys."

Akira watches his friend leave and shut the door behind him. He does not turn back to Makoto. Morgana is still. Either the cat is waiting to see how this all plays out, or he's fallen asleep.

The wind whips across the rooftop once more, blotting out all other sounds. When it dies, Akira hears Makoto speak. "You haven't said anything."

Akira does not turn to her. "You didn't say you believe him."

Makoto doesn't reply for a time. Then, she says, "I'm willing to believe him."

Akira smiles. Turns. He walks up to her. Bows. "I'm sorry, Niijima-senpai. I know you were trying to help me. I know that's what you meant. In return, I said a lot of horrible things to you."

"Kurusu-"

"I don't think you're useless. I don't think you're robotic. You're, like, the third person to be nice to me here. It meant a lot to me." It still does.

"Kurusu-"

He barrels onward. "Everything is such a blur. It wasn't just you. Really. I'm so damn mad about all that's happened to me, and I just snapped. I-"

"Akira!"

He bites his lip. Straightens. It is only when he looks at Makoto that he sees how worn she looks. Her skin is pale. Dark circles rim her eyes. Her smile is small and just a bit scared.

"I hit you," she says, her voice cracking. Her eyes begin to blink—her lip quivers.

Oh shit. "To be fair," Akira half-shouts. "I deserved it."

Makoto shuts her eyes and presses her palms against her lids. Then one hand curls into a fist, and she strikes out with a slow, tiny jab and taps him on the shoulder. Finally, she opens her eyes and smiles, and Akira can feel the red in his cheeks once more. "You did." She takes a deep inhale and lets out an even bigger exhale. "I'm sorry I insulted your friend. And I'm sorry I didn't consider your feelings or even try to understand them."

Akira nods. "I think we both-" But he's interrupted by the familiar clang of the rooftop's door.

Makoto squeaks, and again Akira cannot believe a noise like that can come from a girl like this, and grabs the lapels of his uniform in a tighter grasp than he is expecting and whips him around behind the roof's enormous air conditioning unit, shoves him up against it, shoves herself up against him and clamps a hand over his mouth. "Mmhm-" he starts, but one silent glare from her is enough for him to silence himself.

Makoto leans away and peeks around the corner of the A/C. "It's Ushimaru-sensei. Dammit, he probably heard us."

Or Ryuji made a racket going back downstairs, Akira thinks.

Makoto stays silent for a few moments more, and Akira watches her eyes. There's an intensity there, and he cannot look away. Then he hears the door slam shut once more, and Makoto releases a sigh and removes her hand from his mouth. She does not step away.

"You'll take full responsibility, huh?" Akira asks.

"Oh, be quiet."

"I'm just saying, slamming my head against an air conditioner is an interesting way of taking responsibility."

"Don't make me punch you again."

Akira leans his head back against the rumbling metal machine and lets out a soft laugh. Makoto's face breaks into a grin, and she giggles along with him.

They look at each other. Neither looks away. Akira becomes aware of Makoto's body pressed up against his own, like a second layer of clothing. Her hand, removed from his mouth, now rests against his chest. His heart slams against it. His throat dries up. He is more aware of his pulse than he ever has been before. Seconds stretch into days, and still, neither of them looks away.

Akira tilts his head forward.

Makoto does not pull back.

From inside his bag, Morgana squeals, "What is going on out there?" Akira feels a leg jab out from the bag and directly into his spine.

"Dah!" He yelps.

Makoto blinks, flushes, and jumps two feet away. "Um, what?" She looks at his bag. "That sounded like a cat."

"A cat?" Akira asks and shakes his head. "Nope. That's my, uh, ringtone."

"Oh." Makoto pulls out her phone, and her eyes widen. "It is getting rather late. School will be starting any second. We should go."

"R-right," Akira says.

Makoto leads him to the door, peeks inside, and opens it for him once again. The two disappear through it.

#

Makoto sits in the library, hunched over her work. The advanced math problems dance before her eyes, but all she can see is Akira's face, up on that roof, so close to her own, and suddenly getting closer.

No. No way. Couldn't be. I punched in that face just yesterday. She shakes her head, stares at the empty chair across from her, and lets out a frustrated sigh. It's done. We cleared the air. That's what was important.

She hears the door open but doesn't turn around. It is only when a bag flops down on the table alongside hers that she looks up.

Akira Kurusu pulls out his usual chair and sits down.

"Kurusu?" She asks, and when the question finishes, her mouth hangs open just a bit longer than necessary.

"Niijima-senpai," he replies and begins to unpack his books.

"What're you doing here?"

"It's the last day of the week. I believe you said, 'We'll meet every day this week, after school. In the library.'"

"Yes, but-"

"I told you," Kurusu says, a grin on his face, but his eyes on his books. "I have a vivid imagination."

She leaves it at that, and they begin to study.

Makoto steals glances at him from time to time and chides herself when she does so. The sessions have paid off because Kurusu's work requires little correction. It allows her mind to drift to other topics. Most are appropriate. Some are not.

There is one thing her mind continues to return to, again and again. Something she intends to keep secret from Kurusu, even as she feels the now-familiar tang of guilt on her tongue.

There was a reason Makoto had asked Sakamoto to share his story. Kurusu had been right yesterday. She has heard the disquieting rumors surrounding Kamoshida-sensei.

If this is all true, then something needs to be done. And as Student Council President, it is her responsibility to do so. The student body elected her to look out for their interests, and that must mean more than just budget-balancing and the odd speech giving.

If Dad had heard about this kind of thing, he wouldn't have stopped until he uncovered the truth. An old pain accompanies this thought, but it is a welcome one, like a friend unseen for some time. I'll formulate a strategy tomorrow and begin my investigation on Monday.

She is set in this.

Her phone beeps.

She apologizes to Kurusu, takes it out, and checks the message.

SAE: Apologies, I won't be home tonight either. We will go another time.

Makoto sighs.

"You okay?" Kurusu asks.

She replies without even thinking about it. "It's just my sister again. We were going to go somewhere for my birthday tonight, but she just canceled." She looks up. Kurusu's mouth hangs open. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's your birthday?" He asks.

"Oh, um, yes."

"Today is your birthday?"

She nods. "It is."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Then why are we-" Kurusu begins, but Makoto hears the library's door open behind her, and whatever else he was going to say is silenced.

His eyes widen. His skin pales.

Someone steps around to their table and stares down at them. "Niijima," Kamoshida says, his voice loud and alien to this place. "I'd heard you spent most of your time here. Diligent as always."

"Good day, Kamoshida-sensei," she says, with the proper respect. "May we help you?"

His grin expands. "Actually, I think I can help you." Then, he sticks his thumb towards Kurusu. "This one, on the other hand, can't be helped or help anyone. I wonder, Niijima, has he told you about his expulsion?"

"What?" Makoto asks, her jaw dropping. She looks over at Kurusu and blinks. The boy's hands are shaking. His hair hangs into his face, and she cannot see his eyes, but his mouth is pulled tight into a horrific scowl. "That makes no sense..."

"Ah, I see. Kurusu didn't say anything, did he?" Kamoshida shrugs. "Can't say I blame him.”

Makoto leans towards him, and for a moment, reaches a hand out for one of his quivering ones. She recoils at the last moment. "But Kurusu, if you've been expelled-"

"I haven't," he whispers. Akira lifts his gaze until he’s glaring at Kamoshida. “You promised.”

“Technically true,” Kamoshida says, with another bored shrug. "Nothing’s final yet. But you haven’t given me much hope, Kurusu.” He peers over at the books. “Studying, huh? Sure there isn’t something else you should be doing?”

When Kurusu speaks, his words are stones. “I’m working on it and-”

Makoto interrupts him and stands. "Unacceptable."

Kamoshida blinks and frowns. "Excuse me?"

Makoto blushes and clears her throat. "I, uh, I mean, sir, that certainly Kurusu cannot be such a problematic student that he deserves expulsion. There must be something we, or I, could do to prove otherwise."

A slow smile spreads across Kamoshida's face. "Well, now that you mention it, perhaps we could arrange something. Why don't you come with me to my office? We can discuss it there."

Kurusu's hand slaps down upon the wooden table, and the sound snaps through the room. "Don't," he says. Makoto isn't sure to whom Akira is speaking.

"Hey, this is a library," Kamoshida says. "Keep it down."

Makoto's thoughts race. This is my chance. If I can get him talking, perhaps he'll spill something to me. And maybe I can get him to change his mind about expelling Kurusu. I have to try. He can't... he can't just leave. Even if Kamoshida-sensei has nefarious purposes towards me, would he try something so soon after school ended? Certainly not. If I don't go with him now, he may close himself off to me, and then I'll never learn the truth.

She makes her decision. "Shall we, Kamoshida-sensei?"

The man beams.

Dread spreads across Kurusu's face. She tries to convey a message with her eyes. Please believe me. I have to do this. Please, please don't think I'm betraying you. "We will continue our session another time, Kurusu."

"Makoto," he whispers, and once more, her name on his lips is a sharp stab to her stomach. "Don't."

"Please," she replies and gives him one last look before she follows Kamoshida out into the hall.

He leads her to his office and holds the door for her. Once shut, he turns. "I think it's very admirable you're willing to give someone like Kurusu a chance. You're aware of his record, yes?"

Makoto keeps her face neutral. "I'm aware of the circumstances."

"Apparently, he did a number on the guy. The guy he assaulted, I mean." He grins. "But, I can see why someone like you might be... interested, let's say, in someone like that."

"Excuse me?"

"I'll be blunt. I'm aware that you're looking for a letter of recommendation. And, as you just said, you're hoping to halt Kurusu's impending expulsion. I could help you with both of those things."

Makoto narrows her eyes. "And why would you do that? I got the impression you didn't like Kurusu."

"Well, maybe I like you more than I don't like him." His smile widens to a sickening degree, and his brows rise, his cheeks flush. "So, why don't we talk about how exactly you can help me help you?"

He begins to walk towards her, and Makoto's pulse skyrockets.

Akira’s words ring through her mind. “Kamoshida is an abusive, self-absorbed maniac who wants to have sex with his students. Including you, Makoto."

Makoto takes a step back. This was a mistake. I-

A piercing, rattling shriek echoes through the office. Makoto's hands clap over her ears against the onslaught. That's the fire alarm!

Kamoshida moves to the door, throws it open, and steps outside. Makoto follows. Students pour from their club rooms and shuffle toward the stairwell.

Away from this congregation stands Akira Kurusu.

He is in the center of the hall, clear of the multitude of students and remaining faculty, and stares at the two of them. His eyes are wild, his hair, disheveled. He is still so pale.

Kamoshida folds his arms across his chest and smiles. It is a different kind of smile now. "I see," he says, and Makoto has to strain to hear him over the clattering of the fire alarm. "Makoto, let's continue this conversation another time. Something has just come up."

#

They stare.

Akira feels his heartbeat echo through his bones. His blood is ablaze. There is no pretense now. He stares at Kamoshida with a look he knows he should not be wearing. He no longer cares.

When Kamoshida had shut the door behind Makoto, Akira had sat at that library table, dumbstruck.

Have to stop him.

Morgana had decided to nap inside his bag for the study session. Akira had shaken him awake.

Have to stop him.

His instructions had been haphazard, more spittle than words. Fire alarm. Find the others. Vague descriptions rather than tactics. He'd opened the door to the library, and Morgana had shot down the hall. Those students outside had leapt in shock at the black flash dashing by.

Have to stop him.

He has. He has stopped him. And now he stares at the King, and Everything he's ever thought of the tyrant is writ across his face. He knows this because he can feel it.

"Something has just come up," Kamoshida tells her.

She stands there for a moment longer, the terrible screech of the fire alarm nothing but faint white noise to Akira. Then she walks past him. He does not watch her. He does not want her to think this gaze is meant for her.

When she is gone, they are alone. The floor is empty. The bell stops. Kamoshida sticks a pinky in his ear. "Geez, that's loud." He walks up to Akira. He is taller by a head and glares this length down at him. "I don't like the way you're looking at me."

There are many hateful things Akira wishes to say, but instead, he starts with, “Makoto wasn’t part of the deal. You never said-”

“You’re right,” Kamoshida snaps. “Niijima isn’t part of our arrangement. Speaking of, how’s that going? Because it’s over a week, and I haven’t heard a peep from Takamaki.” He leans in until his face is inches from Akira’s own. “You’re supposed to be convincing her to resume her… extracurriculars. Not working on your test scores.”

“I’m doing my best,” Akira protests. “You’ve seen me in the halls talking to her, haven’t you?”

“It’s not moving fast enough, Kurusu,” Kamoshida says, slowly. “I’m losing patience.”

“I can’t just snap my fingers and make it happen,” Akira protests. “You’ve got to-”

He does not get to finish.

Kamoshida's fist smashes into his cheek. His brain rattles in his skull, and he suddenly does not know where he is.

The punch is not surgical like Makoto's. It is designed to hurt, and so it does.

And so does the next.

And so does the next.

And so does the next.

And so does the next.

“You do not,” Kamoshida says, as his fist rises and falls, again and again, “tell me anything.” Akira is on the ground, and Kamoshida puts one leg on either side of him. “Takamaki is your only concern, Kurusu. If I want to talk with the Student Council President, I will.” Kamoshida grips Akira by his collar and lifts him until the boy's bruised and bloody face is inches from his own. "Get this through what's left of your skull. This place is mine." He looks as if he has more to say, but he only shakes his head and lets Akira drop back to the floorboards. As he rubs his knuckles, he says, "If you bother the school nurse with those injuries, I'll say you assaulted me and have you arrested on the spot. If you go to the cops, I'll tell them the same thing. Either way, any way, you lose. Just take your hits, learn your lesson, and do what I tell you.”

Kamoshida begins to walk off but feels something grab the leg of his track pants. He looks down.

Akira's nearly limp fingers clutch at the fabric. The boy is prostrate upon his back. He glares up at Kamoshida.

Except, no. That's not quite right.

There is blood in his mouth. His face is a mound of purple flesh. Still, his eyes are open and wild. Akira’s lips are pulled back in a savage smile.

When Akira speaks, his words are wet and faint, and Kamoshida must strain to hear them, but what he makes out strikes like knives in the dark. "…coming for you, Your Majesty."

Kamoshida has not had a reason to feel fear for some time now. Secure in a world and culture which feasts on his accomplishments, he saw himself get away with more and more until the animalistic instincts bred through millennia of evolution became little more than annoying memories.

But now, Kamoshida feels fear. It is brief. It lasts little more than an instant. But it is sharp, and it is deep, and it infects him.

"Trash," he says, and kicks his leg free.

#

Blood.

His mouth tastes of it.

His face is covered in it.

Even his eyes are filled with it.

They find him not long after. He is spread-eagle on the floor, his body sprawled like some absurd compass. He stares up at the ceiling. His glasses are alongside him, knocked askew by one of Kamoshida's punches.

Ryuji, Ann, and Morgana bound up the steps, having ignored the mandatory evacuation. When they see him and run to him, their voices mix in a cacophony of shouts, sobs, protestations, and accusations.

"Takemi," he mutters, when they discuss where to take him.

"The doctor at the clinic?" Morgana asks.

"Take me there." It hurts to speak. "Not the nurse. Not a regular doctor. They'll call the police. He'll say I started it. Please."

"But that's all the way in Yongen-jaya,” Ann says. “We can't cart you over there on a train like this!"

Ryuji grabs one of Akira's arms. "Then we'll take a freakin' cab! This is no time to be stingy. He says 'Takemi,' we take him to 'Takemi!'"

"Right!" Ann grabs his other arm. Together, the two haul Akira to his feet and throw his arms around their shoulders. Morgana leads the way down the steps.

The students and faculty have collected among themselves outside the front gate. They wait for the fire department to confirm the alarm as false. Given that they are predominantly huddled in their private groups, when Ann, Ryuji, and Akira emerge from the building, accompanied by a cat, they go mostly unnoticed.

Makoto rushes up to them the moment they are outside. Ann and Ryuji huddle up around Akira, doing their best to keep his injuries hidden.

"Kurusu?" Makoto asks. She looks from Ryuji to Ann. "Is that him?"

"Not now!" Ann says and pushes their way past.

With a shove of her arm, Makoto takes a few steps back, but the shift of Ann's shoulders is enough for her to catch a glimpse at Akira's ruined face. She gasps. "Oh my god, what happened to him?"

"What'd ya think?" Ryuji asks as they begin to hustle Akira down the front steps to the gate.

#

Akira's eyes inch open. Dull fluorescents dig into his pupils, and he groans against the sudden aches. This, in turn, makes him wince. To move, to utter even base glottal sounds, hurts.

"You're awake."

He rolls his eyes to the side. Takemi sits on her stool, elbows on her thighs, hands folded together, chin against her knuckles. There is no trace of her usual, seductive self. Instead, hard eyes meet his own.

Akira works his dry mouth and manages, "My friends?"

"What friends?" Takemi asks, and stands. "Friends don't let their own get this badly beaten." Her tone is sharp and mean. "Friends would stop it."

"Please," Akira groans.

Takemi huffs and crosses her arms. "In the waiting area. With your cat." Her high heels begin to tap a slow, steady rhythmic beat into the tiled floor. She shakes her head. "The deal's off."

Akira's eyes widen. "What?"

"This was stupid of me, not to mention irresponsible and unethical. I'm calling the police."

"You can't." He sits up, stands. "What about-"

"I'll find another way," she cuts off, and reaches for the room's door. "I'm not going to watch you die just to keep my secret."

He crosses the room faster than he thought he could and closes his hand around her wrist. She looks at him, eyes narrowed, and says, very slowly, "Get your hand off me."

"If you tell the police, I'll get arrested."

"I'd rather that than get you killed."

"If you tell the police, the one who did this will walk." He lets her wrist go. "And I'm not the only one he's done this to. The blonde guy out there? The one who did this broke his leg last year."

Takemi's hand closes around the door's handle but doesn't press it down. "Tell me who it is. You've got enough evidence on your face to put whoever it is in jail."

Akira shakes his head. "People know about it. They don't do anything. And I'm..." He trails off, looks at the floor, and continues, "People won't believe me."

Takemi looks the wounds over again. "Boss wouldn't do this to you. And I've seen the consistency of the wounds. That's right," she says when his eyes widen. "I've noticed. And God forgive me, but I didn't say anything. Given the frequency, you can only be receiving these at a place you'd go regularly. I don't know about your personal life, so I can only assume that it's either a student or a teacher that's doing this to you." Akira stiffens, but doesn't reply. "It's a teacher, then." She sighs, takes her hand from the knob, and leads Akira back to the bed. "Here, lie back down."

"How do you-" Akira starts, but she shakes her head.

"From experience," she says. She turns to the medicine cabinet, opens it, and rummages around until she pulls out a vial of pills. She pops the lid, shakes out two, and extends them to Akira. "Light painkillers. They'll help."

"Thanks." He takes them, tosses them into his mouth, and swallows them dry.

Takemi leans back against the desk. "Is a teacher really doing this to you?" Akira doesn't reply. "Kurusu, I know you must be scared, but-"

"I'm not scared of him," Akira growls, and Takemi stiffens. His brows come together, and Takemi recoils from his glazed glare. "I'm going to stop him."

"Oh, Kurusu." She walks over and rests her hands gently on his shoulders. "Please, just go to the police. I can testify on your behalf."

"That won't stop him," Akira says. "And if you did, you'd have to tell them about the medicine. And then you would go to jail or lose your license."

"That doesn't matter to-"

Akira's eyes rip into her own. "It matters to me."

Takemi blinks and finds she cannot meet his gaze. This kid. Who the hell is he? Akira's gaze softens. "Please. Just trust me a little bit more. Don't tell anyone. I can stop him. But I need your help."

Takemi's voice drops to a whisper. "How can the medicine I sell you help with this?"

"You wouldn't believe me. But it's vital. It'll be impossible without it. So, please, Doctor Takemi, trust me."

#

The door to LeBlanc jingles. Sojiro, set upon his stool, paper in hand, turns in a lazy circle towards the sound and says, "Welcome to-" But his words fall away.

Takemi stands in the doorway, and behind her is Kurusu, face a busted ruin, hand on the doctor's shoulder.

"What the hell?" Sojiro shouts, standing, paper falling to the floor. He crosses to them. "What happened?"

Takemi's mouth works, but only on her third attempt is she able to mutter, "Kids."

"Kids?" Sojiro asks. He reaches out and pokes Kurusu’s face, who cringes and withdraws. "Kids did this?"

"They can be savage these days. I saw the whole thing."

"You did?"

She nods. "I was out walking, getting some fresh air. Then I saw these three punks ganging up on your ward here. I scared them off." Sojiro blinks, and Takemi throws on her best smile and hates herself just a bit more for it. "I can be pretty scary when I want to be."

"I don't doubt it." Sojiro turns towards the phone. "We need to call the police!"

"Please don't," Akira lisps. Takemi would find his voice hilarious if her heart didn't feel like it had been shoved into a meat grinder. "I know who did it. They're good students. The police won't believe it. Me. Won't believe me. See my record. Arrest me instead. Probably."

Sojiro looks to Takemi.

"He's on some meds I gave him," she replies. "And I think he may be right. I only saw the tail end of it. If the kids say that he started it, I wouldn't be able to prove them wrong."

Sojiro curses and sets the phone back down. "So, what should we do?"

Akira opens his mouth and drags out the word, "Nothing."

Takemi frowns and removes Kurusu's hand before draping his arm around her shoulder. "For now, I think the best thing for him is rest. I did an exam. I don't think there's going to be any permanent damage. Just some wounded pride and lumps."

Sojiro gasps. "What about Prince? Is Prince okay?"

Takemi blinks. "Prince? Who's Prince?"

The cat pops its head out from Kurusu's bag and meows. Sojiro steps around the two humans and rubs the cat's head with his palm. "It's our cat. The kid takes him to school with him."

"He does?" Takemi asks. "Why?"

"I don't know," Sojiro says. "He's weird. Let me help you get him upstairs."

"That's alright," Takemi says and begins to drag Kurusu down the bar's length. "I got him. I'm gonna put him right to bed. He should get some rest tomorrow too. Plenty of ice and aspirin if he needs it. Doctor's orders."

Sojiro frowns, but nods. "Alright. Thanks for all your help."

#

Once upstairs, Takemi helps Akira onto his bed. Morgana jumps out of the bag and curls up next to him. Takemi had sent Ryuji and Ann home after a severe scolding.

"Thank you," Akira whispers.

Takemi glares down at him. "I don't like lying."

"Neither do I."

"Really? Because you seem rather good at it. You sure played up that whole painkiller thing. Has it kicked in yet, by the way?"

Akira nods. "Yeah. And I'm not lying to you."

"You just won't tell me what you're going to do."

"I'm going to stop someone bad from doing bad things."

"And that's so vague it could mean anything, even murder."

THOU WHO ART WILLING TO PERFORM ALL SACRILEGIOUS ACTS FOR THINE OWN JUSTICE!

She’s not wrong. We may kill Kamoshida. "Do I look like a murderer?" He asks, evading.

"No," Takemi says. "But then again, I don't look like someone who would run unauthorized medical experiments. In my experience, people often don't look like what they really are." She stands. "And I guess I'm just wondering who you really are." She shoves her hands in her lab coat and turns back to the stairs. "I'll keep your secret for now. But if you ever show up at my clinic like that again, you'll have to kill me to stop me from calling the police." She marches away, reaches the steps, and stops. "Come by the clinic when you're feeling better. I want to make sure there isn't any lasting damage."

His voice is low, but she can still hear it from across the room. "Thank you."

She walks down the steps.

A voice floats up, unbidden, in his mind. There’s always a way out, it says.

#

Makoto sits at her kitchen table and stares at nothing. Her dinner is before her, untouched. Her books are in her bag and will remain there for the rest of the night. She is alone. Her hands won't stop shaking.

She sees, again, the devastated face of Akira Kurusu. It is all she can see.

What's going on?

4/24

"Lay back down."

"No."

Morgana jumps onto the bed and sits in Akira's lap. "Lay. Back. Down."

"It's Sunday, Morgana. This is the perfect time to go to the Palace."

"No, it isn't. You heard the Doc. You're not going anywhere today."

"Can't you just hit me with a Dia in the Metaverse and heal me?"

Morgana rolls his eyes. "It doesn't work like that. The injuries you sustain in the Metaverse are cognitive. Meaning that the healing spells we use are perceived to work, which is why they do. Real-world injuries can't be healed by going there because by your perception, they can’t be healed by magic."

"Great. More nonsense rules."

"I didn't make them."

"Yeah, well, let me know the minute you remember who did." Morgana doesn't reply. Akira waits a minute, then says, "Sorry. I know that's a sore topic."

"It's fine."

"So, no Palace?"

"No Palace."

"Fine." Akira lays back down, but he stays in that position for only a minute before he starts to sit back up. "There’s something I want to do, though."

"No!"

"I promise it'll be quick. There's something I want to buy. It's important, Morgana. We don't even have to leave the neighborhood."

"You're not supposed to leave your bed."

"Please?" Akira asks.

"Tell me what it is first."

"It's a surprise."

"Is it for me?"

"No."

"Then you're not going anywhere."

"I'm going to pester you until you let me go."

Morgana sighs. "Is it really that important to you?"

"Yes. It is."

"Fine. But we're not leaving Yongen-Jaya. We're going to pick up whatever it is and come right back. Agreed?"

Akira smiles. "Agreed."