4/11
Akira's deep rest backfires as he wakes on Sojiro's couch with a crick in his neck, and when he checks his phone, he realizes he slept much later than he intended to. He launches himself off the couch, startling Sojiro - from where he'd apparently been sleeping in an armchair - awake and rushing to the door. Sojiro follows, grumbling the whole time and pressing his hands against the wrinkles in his clothes. It is only when the two are halfway to LeBlanc that Akira realizes that he has the option of not going to school, on the doctor's recommendation.
He considers it, even as he walks, but decides he'd rather not deal with the hassle of explaining things to Kawakami-sensei. He would prefer the organized structure of a school to the free time of sitting on his bed reliving yesterday's events. The last thing he truly wants to do is spend the whole day thinking.
"I'll go to school," he tells Sojiro when they enter LeBlanc.
"Yeah, fine," Sojiro grumbles. "Just get a move on. The trains will be delayed because of the crash from yesterday." He nods towards the kitchen as Akira speeds towards the stairs. "I'll throw something in the microwave for you."
Akira rushes upstairs, changes, and reemerges a short time later, wolfs down the breakfast Sojiro microwaves for him, and then leaves to navigate his way back to Shujin.
Akira is at first surprised at the ease with which he enters Yongen-jaya's subway station. Shouldn't I be petrified of being here? He wonders as he waits for the train to arrive. Yet, he isn't. That is not to say he is unfazed. When the images of the train crash pop into his mind, his brain reacts by violently shoving them away. He does his best to turn his thoughts to something else, but he recalls Takemi telling him to get an MRI and therapy, and he realizes that does scare him. What if there's something wrong with his brain? He finds himself discarding those thoughts as well. Sojiro - to the best of Akira's knowledge - has not made an appointment for him at the hospital, and Akira hasn't called either. Ignoring it won't make it go away, a voice in his head chides.
Maybe, Akira thinks. But it might get me through the day.
That seems healthy.
But enough is happening to him and has happened to him recently. One more outrageous thing, one more piece of bad news, would likely be one thing too many.
Akira falls into the pedestrian shuffle and eventually finds himself beneath the thin awning of a convenience store. Rain falls in a drizzle, but it is still rain, and he has no umbrella. According to his GPS, school is only a few blocks away, but he already looks like a mess. At least I'll look wet and not like I spent all night on a couch.
His phone beeps.
He looks.
The app has returned. Are you kidding me? Akira lowers his thumb towards the icon to delete it again but stops. He looks around. Nothing is frozen—no pillars of flame. Rain strikes the pavement, and cars drive through puddles, and a slim figure jogs from further down the sidewalk towards his position.
The app appearing on his phone prefaced both hallucinations. Akira has no idea how touching the icon on his phone would trigger some mental break, but he isn't about to chance it. How would that even happen? He hadn't mentioned the app to Takemi because he hadn't thought it was connected. But maybe deleting or touching the app didn't do anything. Perhaps its mere presence was enough. Hell, maybe it's part of the hallucination!
The sound of splashing footsteps distracts him. The figure he'd noticed jogging from further up the street now shares the awning with him. She is thin, wears a thick gray hood, and complements her Shujin Academy uniform with red leggings beneath the skirt.
"Crap," comes a light, feminine voice as she reaches pale hands up to the hood. She pulls it back to reveal a mane of blonde hair, pulled into two stylish pigtails, bright green eyes, and soft lips.
Okay, Akira's mind thinks. She's not wreathed in blue flame, so that's a plus. The girl looks at him, and Akira can't help but meet her eyes. There's a short moment of silence save for the sound of falling rain and feet on wet pavement. Akira studies her, and at the moment he manages to convince himself that, yes, she is, in fact, real, she asks, "Is there a reason you're staring at me?" and Akira realizes that she is glaring at him and that he must be scrutinizing her like a creep.
"Uh, I-"
And then a horn blasts through the white noise.
Both teens jump and turn to see a white compact car pulled up alongside the curb. Akira watches the window roll down, revealing a flat face topped with a mop of black hair. It is an older man, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, but he seems five to six years younger when he smiles. "Sorry," he calls in a firm voice. "Didn't mean to startle you. Would you like a ride? It looks like it might keep coming down for a while."
Akira hears a short hitch in the girl’s voice when she says, "Yeah, thanks."
As she approaches the car, the man looks at Akira and asks, "Would you like a ride too?"
Why not? Akira thinks and makes to step forward. An instant later and he stops. Something has crossed across the face of the man behind the wheel and whatever it was is enough for Akira to realize that the offer hadn’t been genuine, but just a thing to say for some reason Akira’s mind hasn’t quite managed to figure out yet as it is too busy digesting the signal to stay OUT of the fucking car.
Akira gives a quick shake of his head and adds a polite, “No, thank you,” but the man no longer pays him attention. It is only then that Akira realizes the girl is still heading for the car, and before he can say anything, she gets in. The window begins to roll up. Akira catches a glimpse of a downtrodden look in the girl's eyes. Then, all he sees is his murky reflection in the glass, and the car drives off.
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Akira blinks, and a blonde-haired boy dashes past him. His eyes follow the car until it turns the corner. "Shit," he spits, then stops, hunches over, and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Screw that pervy teacher."
Akira is still processing everything that just happened, and the words are so odd, he repeats them before he can think not to. "Pervy teacher?" His phone beeps, but he ignores it.
The blonde boy turns and glares. His eyes dart over him, and Akira realizes the boy is sizing him up. The kid stalks up to him, a scowl on his face. "What? Are you going to rat me out to Kamoshida?" He asks, his voice dripping with implied menace.
Akira has seen too much, between his trial, brief stint in juvenile, and yesterday’s train crash for this boy's machismo to faze him. "I don't know who that is. I don't know who you are either."
The boy's eyes narrow. "What'd you mean, you don't know who Kamoshida is? Kamoshida is, well, Kamoshida! He thinks Shujin Academy is his own personal Castle, and he's the King!" Akira's phone beeps. Again, he ignores it.
"Oh, is he a teacher at Shujin?" Great.
The boy takes his hands from his pocket and points at his skull. "Dude, are you like, touched in the head or something? How do you not know all this?"
Akira frowns. "I'm transferring in today."
The boy's face drops. "Oh. Oh, shit." He sighs and steps out of the rain. "I'm sorry, man. I had no idea. Explains why I didn't recognize you." Beneath his breath, Akira hears him mutter, "There I go again, running my mouth." He turns to Akira, smiles, and holds out his hand. "I'm Ryuji Sakamoto." Akira finds the name familiar but cannot say from where. Ryuji’s eyes fall on the pins that adorn Akira's collar. "You're a second year too, huh? Maybe you'll be in my class."
Akira stares at the outstretched hand for a moment, then reaches out his own. "Akira Kurusu. Nice to meet you." They shake. Ryuji’s unbuttoned uniform clashes with the bright yellow t-shirt he wears beneath it, and only his pants - the same red and black plaid as Akira's - maintain any sense of decorum.
"Anyway," Ryuji continues. "Sucks you had a run-in with him on your first day. And Takamaki,” he trails off, then shakes his head. “Whatever. Come on. I'll show you a shortcut to school.” He holds his hand out from the awning and opens his palm to the sky. "Looks like the rain is dying down too. Let's-" He takes a step and doubles over, his hands going to his head.
Akira misses this because a quick stab of white-hot pain shoots its way through his skull. He groans and grips his temples.
"Man, I feel sick all of a sudden," Ryuji mumbles. "What the hell?" He straightens and rubs his eyes with his thumbs. Akira regains himself as well and shakes his head clear. There’s nothing out of the ordinary on the street. He doesn't see any pedestrians, but the rain must've kept them inside. "Let's go," Ryuji says, setting off down the sidewalk. "You don't want to be late on your first day. People will start saying weird shit about you."
#
Tick. Tock. Kawakami stares at the clock.
Tick. Tock. Kawakami stares at the clock.
Tick. Tock. Kawakami stares at the clock.
The minute hand moves. Kawakami sighs. "Late," she says and then looks at the student standing alongside her desk. "Late on the first day. Unbelievable!"
Makoto Niijima stands upright. Her hands are folded in front of her, politely. Her short brown hair is perfectly styled and held in place by a matching headband. Her clothes are smooth, ironed, and immaculate. In this, Kawakami is a bit jealous. She knows she looks like she just crawled out from beneath a rock for the first time in a decade. Her body aches, and her skin sucks, and her hair - while acceptable - is still something of a mess. Being jealous of a student is unbecoming of a teacher. She tells herself this and then tells herself to shut up.
She leans back in her chair and says, "I'm sorry I called you here so early for nothing."
Makoto shakes her head. "Please, think nothing of it. I'm happy to help any student at Shujin. It's my responsibility, after all."
Actually, it's mine. Kawakami does not say this. She is too deep in her problems to give in to doubt now. "Still, I do appreciate it. I guess I just figured that introducing him to the Student Council President would help him adjust."
Makoto's words are precise and deliberate. "When he does arrive, I'd be happy to meet him."
"Don't be so sure," Kawakami says before she can stop herself. A slight shift in Makoto's brows is the only indicator of surprise. With a sigh Kawakami feels throughout her body, she pushes herself to her feet and says, "Come on, I'll walk you back to class."
"Oh, there's no need."
"Forget it. This is happening. Besides," Kawakami says as she leads the way to the faculty office's door. "Maybe we'll run into him downstairs."
Homeroom will begin soon, but the halls are packed with the same amount of gossiping students as ever. They hunch over their phones, bring their heads together in whispered conversations, and generally ignore Kawakami and Makoto as they head down the hall.
"Did you hear about the transfer student we're supposed to be getting?" Kawakami freezes. This from a young second year girl to her friends. "I hear he assaulted someone."
How the hell do they know that?
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"I heard he was in a gang. Or was. The rumor is that he got kicked out for having a beef with the leader."
Huh? She looks at Makoto, who must be hearing the same things she is. The girl appears unfazed. But ‘appears’ doesn't mean 'isn't.' "Come on," she says, not bothering to correct the girls. Even if she says anything to counter the rumor, they will only take it as vindication.
Only, it isn't just the girls. Somehow, the entire student body knows about Akira. They just don’t know the facts.
"I hear he's supposed to carry a knife."
"He's got a scar on his face. Like, his whole face!"
"If you make eye contact with him, he'll kill you."
"He can kill you just by writing your name in a notebook!"
Okay, Kawakami figures. That last one is probably just some anime. That excluded, almost everyone is engaged in some warped, bizarre conversation about Akira Kurusu. The poor kid has no chance, she realizes. They've already judged him. It makes her sad that kids can be so cruel.
They near Makoto's homeroom, and Kawakami reassesses the student council president. Her eyes are on the floor, and there' a slight blush to her cheeks. She's biting her lower lip and doesn't appear to notice. Kawakami reaches out a hand and rests it on the girl's shoulder. Makoto glances up, startled. "I met him yesterday," she says, channeling the teacher she's always wanted to be. "He seemed perfectly respectful, quiet, and calm. He looks normal. I mean, sure, that could all be an act, and I've got no idea where he is, but I don't believe the rumors, and neither should you."
Makoto seems to find some resolve. Her face hardens, and she nods. "Yes, Kawakami-sensei. Please, introduce me when he does arrive. I'd be happy to help him adjust."
Kawakami smiles. She can't help herself. "Oh, don't worry, I will. There's at least one reason to look forward to meeting him." She leans in and whispers, "He's pretty cute." Makoto's eyes widen only a bit, but the blush returns in force. "Well, see you soon." She walks off, leaving the ordinarily stoic Makoto Niijima looking positively non-stoic.
Alright, Akira Kurusu. This is the last time I cover your ass. You better have a damn good excuse when you do show up.
#
Nobody cares! Nobody cares. – Sonny, ‘A Bronx Tale’
You don’t get an empty ‘Contacts’ list by accident. ‘Open and shut case’ sounds like a cliché until it happens to you. And who’s going to question it? Can you blame them?
You talk to people afterward, people you’ve known since you were a kid. You explain as best you can.
“You know that guy lied, right? The woman too. You don’t believe I’d do that, right?”
Imagine several variations on those three sentences, repeated way more than three times. You’re not supposed to do the same thing over and over again and expect different results because it means you’ve lost your mind, but you are supposed to tell the truth. On one of those rare occasions he sashayed into my life, my father had a much more fitting quote. He said, ‘If someone wants to fuck you, they’ll find a way to fuck you.’ So much for the truth, right?
But, see, there’s this pressure. They – all the ones who aren’t, you know, you – are under it. It’s a pressure to accept, bend, and believe the authority because it is the authority for a reason. The authority got to be the authority because it’s right and knows best, and if the authority says someone you know is guilty, well, if they weren’t guilty, it would mean that the authority could be wrong, and boy oh boy, we don’t want that. Of course, we all know that they can be wrong because we read about it online and hear about it on the news, but knowledge flies out the window when it comes to our personal lives. We like our lives neat, and if that means we have to accept that the authority – despite all we’ve learned – is correct in all manners that pertain to us, then we do that.
Can you blame them?
Yes. Yes, you can. And you delete their contact information.
#
"Yo, dude! Wake up!" The voice is far away.
"Don't...don't…," Akira mumbles. "Please. I need..."
Sensation returns. Akira feels hands on his shoulders, smells mildew and iron, and tastes blood in his mouth.
"Akira!"
Akira's eyes open, and the worried face of the blonde boy is staring down at him. Ryuji. His name is Ryuji Sakamoto. "Wh-what?"
Ryuji lets him go and stands up. "Finally! You freaked me out, man. That thing hit you hard. I thought you were in a coma or something!"
"Thing?" Akira asks. "What thing?" It is then that he notices their surroundings. A box. One made of red stones, black bars with chains and manacles hanging from above. He lies on a filthy, yellow-stained cot—another box.
"Are you-" Ryuji starts, but Akira remembers. Remembers finding a castle where the school should’ve been. Remembers walking inside and entering that strange hall with the chandeliers and pillars. Remembers the things in black armor that swarmed them and their shields and swords. He remembers a sharp pain in the base of his skull and then nothing.
Another hallucination? But it was all so real.
He sits up. "Ryuji, where the hell are we?"
"How should I know?" Ryuji asks. "At first, I thought this was a TV set, but I don't see any cameras. Not to mention..." He trails off as a long, faint scream echoes down the hall. "There's that. We need to get out of here, fast." He holds out his hand, and Akira takes it. Okay, so Ryuji can see it all too. So I’m not crazy, and we’re both in some sort of Castle. Well, he could still be crazy, and the blue flame hallucinations might have nothing to do with this place, but Akira’s mind wasn’t ready to confront that possibility. Ryuji pulls him to his feet and says, "Help me look."
"There's nothing to see, Sakamoto."
Both boys turn towards the voice and find a tall man dressed in nothing but a thick fur cape and sharp pink speedo standing outside their cell. A golden crown sits atop his head of pitch dark hair. It matches his eyes.
"Kamoshida?" Ryuji asks, eyes bulging.
"The pervy teacher?” Akira asks.
Kamoshida's golden eyes turn to regard him. "Oh? You brought a friend. I didn't know you had any left."
"What the hell is going on?" Ryuji shouts. "What'd you do to the school? Why're we locked up in here?"
"The school? I didn't do anything to it. It's exactly as it should be. Although, I never thought the infamous Ryuji Sakamoto would possess the nerve to sneak in. Or do anything, for that matter, without my permission. Unforgivable. An open and shut case." He claps his hands, and a pair of armored guards march out from the shadows. "Bring these knaves to the execution grounds. Their punishment shall be death."
The guards clang their swords to their chests. Metal rings against metal. "All Hail, King Kamoshida!" They shout.
The door swings open. The guards enter. Ryuji is shouting for an explanation, for things to make sense. Strong, gauntleted hands seize Akira's shoulders. He does not think to struggle. His mind is lost somewhere else. It cannot understand how any of this is real.
They pass dozens of cells filled with young men not unlike themselves. All of them alternate between begging for some kind of mercy and praising King Kamoshida.
"Long live King Kamoshida!"
"All Hail King Kamoshida!"
"Glory to King Kamoshida!"
A black sky greets them in a courtyard. The space is massive, the size of several gymnasiums, and in the center is a raised platform upon which rest a series of metal stumps. Before the platform is a gilded throne, tacky with jewels and leather, atop a short, grey stone staircase.
Kamoshida reclines on this, lazily. A blonde girl, dressed in a skimpy, pink bikini, sits in his lap. Akira recognizes her as the girl from under the awning.
"Takamaki!" Ryuji shouts when he sees her. "What the hell are you doing? Get away from her, you son of a bitch!" The guards force Ryuji and Akira forward, the former struggling, the latter just dragged.
Kamoshida laughs. "Save your breath, Sakamoto. This one," and he strokes the girl's hair with his left hand. "Knows her place. It's a pity you could never learn yours." The girl has a ditzy look on her face, and she giggles when he says this.
"Dammit," Ryuji screams as he's led up the steps of the platform.
A dozen girls laze upon the throne’s steps. They are all young, all beautiful, all dressed in revealing clothing. All of them regard the two boys with contempt.
"Takamaki!" Ryuji is still shouting. "Ann! Snap out of it! Help us!"
The guards drag Akira onto the platform alongside Ryuji. In an almost synchronized movement, the guards force the two of them to their knees. A fist grips Akira’s head and pushes it against the cold metal stump.
"Oh my god," Ryuji whimpers. "Oh my god, oh my god."
"Hold!" The voice rings out across the courtyard, and Akira can turn his head just enough to see Kamoshida standing before his throne, his hand held up, palm out.
"My King?" One of the guards asks.
"This is my Castle, is it not? Therefore, I should be the one to end their pathetic lives.”
"Of course, My King!"
The guards chat amongst themselves excitedly, and Kamoshida begins to descend from his throne. As he passes the scantily clad girls, they reach out adoringly and caress his bare chest, abs, legs, and even his crotch. His smile is twisted and horrible, but Akira pays little attention to it.
Behind the throne, a blue flame burns.
Pain shoots through his mind. He takes half a breath before he must release it in a scream. Someone is hammering railway spikes into his brain.
The flame warps itself into a humanoid figure and steps towards him. "You should have left them alone." A voice reverberates through his bones, and Akira recognizes it as his own, though there's a faint, sinister lilt, and he knows now this is no hallucination. This is very real. "It would have been easier, yes?"
"Akira?" He hears Ryuji call his name, but Akira cannot reply. He cannot think. It hurts so much!
If anyone else can see the burning blue figure approach, they give no indication. Kamoshida struts leisurely across the field towards the platform, but the burning man is beginning to outpace him.
"All the torment you've suffered. All the shame. All the anger. You could’ve avoided it. You should have just left them alone and walked on. Ignored the screams. Listened to his threats. You should have done nothing." The figure stands before the platform now, and through the writhing agony, Akira can see himself, eyes wide and golden, smile twisted and baleful.
Help! Someone help!
"Help?" The second Akira asks. "No one is coming to help you. You are going to die here. That boy? Ryuji? He's going to die here, too. Are you going to watch it happen? Are you going to accept it?" It climbs onto the platform and leans down into Akira's face. "Admit it. It was all a mistake. Admit it."
A spike in pain brings a moment of clarity. It returns him to that crisp night not so long ago. He feels the smooth concrete of the road beneath his feet, smells the clean air. He hears the screams and finds the two once more. The man with his hands on the woman, his clothes soaked through with the stench of alcohol. The woman, the buttons on her blouse already ripped away, her eyes wide and teary with fear. She sees him, and she cries out for help. She begs him for help. Him. Akira Kurusu. Because there is no one else.
He glares at his double and thinks of how his mother was, of the friends who stopped talking to him once the trial ended, of the judge who deemed him a delinquent, the teachers who believed it. He thinks of Sojiro, who sees him as a pain in the ass, the pudding Principal who wants him to ‘keep his nose clean,’ Miss Kawakami, who can't be bothered. He glares at his double and realizes he could have avoided all this if only he had walked away that night.
But.
Through gritted teeth, he growls, "It wasn't a mistake!"
And his double's grin grows, and it replies, "Very good."
Kamoshida scales the platform and takes a sword from one of the guards.
His double vanishes, the pain intensifies, and Akira hears the words, "VOW TO ME. I AM THOU. THOU ART I. THOU WHO ART WILLING TO PERFORM ALL SACRILEGIOUS ACTS FOR THINE OWN JUSTICE!"
Kamoshida raises the sword over Ryuji's head. "Goodbye, Sakamoto."
Akira's fist rises and crashes into the metal stump, denting it. The King turns and regards the young man.
"CALL UPON MY NAME AND RELEASE THY RAGE! SHOW THE STRENGTH OF THY WILL TO ASCERTAIN ALL ON THINE OWN, THOUGH THOU BE CHAINED TO HELL ITSELF!"
"What are-" Kamoshida begins, but a gust of wind rips down from above and knocks him off balance. The guards stumble away from Akira.
Akira straightens. His glasses are gone. Something else has taken their place. He reaches up to feel what it is.
"Per..."
His hands find the smooth ivory of a mask. It covers his eyes and nose, a masquerade caricature.
"...so..."
He grips the mask’s edges and pulls, and his skin peels and tears away from the muscle and bone beneath. His last syllable becomes a scream as the mask rips free.
"....NA!"
His blood dashes along the top of the platform and pours onto the metal stump. Blue flame engulfs him as a deep laugh echoes across the courtyard.
Kamoshida jumps back. "Wh-what?"
The guards, distracted, have let Ryuji go. The boy falls away from the stump, and stares, slack-jawed, at Akira as he stands.
Akira turns around. His eyes - his own - are full and free, and the smile on his face is confident and wild. The flames dance across his body and turn to cloth. A long obsidian three-tailed overcoat over a thin charcoal long-sleeved turtleneck. Sable slacks. Blood red gloves. Slick black shoes.
Akira throws back his head and cries, "ARSENE!"
The remaining flame explodes upwards and coalesces into a nightmare. A crimson frockcoat with a death white ascot. A mockery of a top hat. Over-long, spindle fingers tipped in claws. Long, terrible corvid wings like those of a devil’s. The smirking furnace of a face. Thick chains form in Akira's gloved hands. They loop up and around the beast. Akira spreads his arms wide, tosses the bonds aside, and both creature and man roar in exultation.
"Excellent!" Arsene cries. "You have thrown aside your false heart and embraced the power of your rebellion!" It hunches over Akira and asks, "What do you ask of me?"
Akira glances at Kamoshida and the guards. He smiles.
Arsene screeches and rises into the air. Tendrils of black and red lance from its wings, curling towards his enemies.
One guard throws itself in front of Kamoshida, and the fronds pierce its armor and mask. It gives one short gasp of pain before vanishing into a cloud of black ash.
Kamoshida dashes down the steps of the platform before spinning back and asking, "What the hell are you?"
Akira takes a step towards him. "A delinquent."
"How dare you!" One guard screams and hurls himself towards him. Akira feels something form in his hand and looks down to see a long, curved black knife.
The guard swings his sword, but Akira sidesteps. The blade in his hand is moving before he can think to fight back, and it punctures the thing's armor like so much tin. The guard dissolves with a choked cry.
I'm faster. Stronger too. That isn't all. There is a reason Akira is smiling. Even as a part of him rebels at everything, screams that none of this makes any sense and can't possibly be real, the most substantial part of himself is thrilled. This all feels so good.
"Open and shut case, huh?" Akira says to the King. He hurls the knife in his hand towards Kamoshida. It stabs into the wood right near the man’s eyes. Kamoshida yelps and falls back onto the grass.
"My King!" Another guard shouts. Others take up the chorus. Five guards move to their lord's side, gather him up and begin to shuffle him towards the safety of the Castle. The girls, all of them shrieking since Arsene’s appearance, now cluster behind Kamoshida as he flees.
Two guards try their luck with Akira, but Arsene eviscerates them.
Akira straightens and to Arsene, his Persona, says, "Lend me your power." The creature nods and vanishes.
Ryuji scurries a bit further away when Akira turns to him. "D-d-dude! What the hell was all that?"
Akira smiles – it is warm this time - and walks over to him. He leans over, offers a hand, and says, "I know, right?"