Chapter Text
Akira slides the glasses back up his nose, leaving wet skin free to breathe again.
The soles of his shoes prickle under his feet treading on the flaming tiles of the pavement, and he seeks shelter under the glass ceiling of Kichijoji’s main street, where chatter from people passing by bumps against the walls and gets amplified in a chaotic echo, working as background noise.
A bright neon sign with a squared pattern of red and white flashes in the corner of his eye. He stops in front of the Furugi no Neuchi store, a faint air-conditioned breeze blows from the inside and tickles his cheeks like a healing spell. The salesman is busy folding some t-shirts of mismatched colors and placing them among a variegated pile of others.
Pointed nails scratch his shoulder through the light fabric and a pair of whiskers itches between his lobe and jaw.
“What are you staring at? Saw something good inside?”
“Nah,” he shudders. “Just thought we should sell some stuff. The amount of smelly clothes is too much for me to handle with just the laundromat.”
“Ugh, reminds me of those crappy armors tainted with fake gold.”
Akira chuckles. “Too bad it wasn’t real gold, huh?”
“It’ll never be worse than the fake money inside that—”
“I told you!” a frenzied voice chirps behind him. “The Phantom Thieves are real heroes!”
Two girls with matching deep-blue sailor uniforms stroll by, one of them showing the screen of her phone, light up by a blazing hue, to the other.
“I’ve been rooting for them since the beginning, and I was right. Can you believe they took down a mafia boss?”
The duo keeps walking, and their voices get lost in the crowd.
Morgana sighs. “Seems we’re the talk of the town again. It’s good to know people are starting to support us, though. Especially after what Akechi said in that interview last month.”
The cellphone vibrates against his thigh, and Akira sneaks a hand into the scorching damp pocket to pick it up.
“Eh, speak of the devil.”
“It’s Akechi?”
He opens the chat on the last message. “Says he managed to find a pool table and will be waiting there.”
“Sheesh, we’re even ten minutes early…”
And so, he has to be at least five minutes earlier.
“Well, seems I gotta go.” He lets one of the bag handlers slide down his arm to let Morgana out. “See you later.”
“Akira.” His nose twitches and his tail flaps in the air. “I know that you know what you’re doing but be careful. That guy’s freaking sharp.”
“Will do,” he nods. “I’ll try to see if he suspects something. Figure if he hadn’t asked me out just to talk about Kaneshiro and all that.”
He adjusts the bag in the same sticky spot on his shoulder and proceeds down the main street, a turn on the left, and the elegant sign of the Penguin Sniper comes into sight among the other buildings, a squared black label overlooking a staircase of pickle green tiles.
He climbs the narrow steps and enters the lounge.
Akechi, bent over the table, places the numbered balls into the diamond rack and adjusts the shape on the turquoise cloth to place it in the right spot. He lifts his chin and strands of his chestnut fringe get trapped among the eyelashes, making him batting eyes and lightly shaking his head to move them aside. The corners of his lips curl upward in the slightest.
“Hello. Thank you for joining me today. I was just about to set everything up, as you can see.”
Akira nods and grabs one of the cue sticks laid against the wooden border running around the pool table and presses the tip against the light-bluish chalk.
“The break shot will be mine, then?”
Akechi widens the smile and slowly lifts the rack. “Of course.” He stretches to reach his own cue and the bare fingers of his right hand clench around the shaft. “Make your move.”
Akira lets the fresh smoothness of the cue slide on his knuckles and focuses on the center of the white ball, which hits the group with a sharp crack, and the red 7-ball ends up in the upper left pocket.
Better than last time at least.
He makes space for Akechi to move, who studies the situation chin in hand, nods, and shifts towards the yellow 1-ball. Red pupils shoot up to give him a scrutiny worth of a chill down his spine, and they lower back on the game.
“I’ve been rather occupied these past days. More than usual, I mean,” he chuckles and adjusts the aim. “At least finals are over for me now, so I can relax a little bit.” The cue ball rolls toward the yellow one and sends it near a pocket, misses it for a few centimeters. “How are you, Kurusu?”
Akira adjusts his glasses – the next pocket will be an easy one, obvious even, allowing him another turn. If Akechi miscalculated his shot on purpose, he’s scheming something for sure.
All right then, let’s follow your pace.
He pockets the yellow ball and goes for the blue one with a 2 on it, which messes up the disposition of all the others and scatters the group born in the center into lonely, single numbers.
“Mines are coming in a few days, so I’ve been busier too.”
“I see. How is the situation at Shujin?”
Akira grits his teeth not to furrow his brows – he either offers the straight answer and gets closer to the hot topic, or he keeps up the pretense with turns of phrase. Either way, we’re going there.
“A bit frantic. I guess you’d already know, but a certain number of Kaneshiro’s victims were Shujin students.”
“It’s been brought to my attention, yes.” He pockets the blue ball and pushes the magenta one with the number 3 in a convenient range as if to openly assist him. “They must be thankful to the righteous Phantom Thieves for solving even this case.”
We don’t ‘solve cases.’
“I think it has more to do with punishing evildoers.” The number 3 falls in the hole. “You know, the whole vigilante thing,” he smirks.
“Which you seem to be a big fan of. ‘They do more than the cops,’ correct?”
“Hey, can you blame me for rooting for someone who actually blew up a mafia network? That’s pretty cool if you ask me.” He offers a cheeky grin and hits the purple ball, number 4.
Akechi shakes his head and lines up the cue with the object ball. “The mafia didn’t magically vanish overnight, I fear. Besides, they’re still criminals. Who are they to judge a person, and by what moral? There’s a reason why such power lies within the State.”
The purple rolls across the table and disappears in the blackness. The orange 5 follows suit.
Yeah well, nice points.
“Nice shots,” Akira whistles.
“Thank you. As you can see, I’m not the type to hold back.” He waves his left hand in the air and winks. “Not excessively, at least.” He hits the green ball with the 6 and causes it to come closer to the last two ones, the black 8 and the coveted yellow 9. “Your turn.”
Akira twists a curly lock of his fringe between thumb and index. He could try to separate the 9 from the others but it’s risky – once it’s alone, it’ll be easier for Akechi to pocket it and win. Maybe he can aim for the 8, so that—
A quick sequence of vibrations shakes his pocket, paired with a muffled ringtone. He hits the green which hits the black and unlocks the screen; it reveals a few notifications from Kasumi. He shifts position to let Akechi make his move and opens the LINE app.
‘Hello, Senpai. Can I ask to talk with you for a moment? I have something to share. It’s not bad news though! You see…’
The chat gets interrupted after that, with the personal status under Kasumi’s icon displaying that she’s no longer online. Akira frowns. Must be her phone again.
“Is something the matter?” Akechi asks from across the table. The green ball is lost like most of the others before it. Little prick.
“Oh, no. Nothing.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll understand if it’s an urgent question. I’d never want to make you miss out on something important.”
Kasumi is still offline. Akira chews the inner flesh of his cheek and returns the phone into his pocket.
“No, really, it’s nothing. Besides, I can always ask her about it next time we meet at school.”
Akechi’s ruby pupils blow wider and his lips part a fraction as if he’s just received an unexpected but appreciated surprise
Shit.
“Is she one of your friends? I’m glad to know you’re in good company. Shujin Highschool isn’t exactly famous for that.”
Akira swallows down a sigh. “Yeah, I noticed.” He lines up the cue and aims for the black ball; the tip makes a too-sided contact with the object ball and gives it a weird curve. The mocking sigh escapes his lips still and all. “At least I still have someone that annihilates me at matches of the pool,” he shrugs.
“Now, don’t underestimate yourself.” Akechi brushes the tip of his cue against the chalk block. “I value you as my rival, so I’m sure you have all the potential to master this game one day.” He pockets the 8 and adjusts the position to hit the 9. “In any case, you’re an interesting person, so I can’t help but wonder which types of friends you hang out with.”
Wouldn’t you like to know now?
He nibs at his lower lip. The last, yellow ball falls into the upper right hole. Akechi makes a victory sign and flashes him a magazine smile.
“I won.” He positions the cue stick back where it was laid and offers him his hand. “Thank you for playing with me, though. I propose a quick coffee to celebrate if you’re willing to join me.”
Akira shakes the hand – a trace of sweat covers the palm, but the fingertips remain fresh despite the hot weather.
“Sure.”
“Great!” he smiles and turns it into a thin smirk. “I’m still curious about your life at the so talked-about Shujin Highschool.”
Who isn’t?
“It’s not that big of a deal – I mean, if you exclude the Phantom Thieves stuff and all that.”
“Which is a rather big ‘if’, don’t you think?”
He picks up the metallic briefcase and heads toward the exit. Akira hides his hands in the pockets of his jeans regardless of the insane amount of degree outside and follows him into the late-afternoon heat.