AN: Hello, readers! This is my first Zero Escape story. I felt like I needed to tell it because I really wanted to see more of Junpei and Akane's interaction when they first reunited, and was disappointed that Zero Time Dilemma basically skipped over it. I also find Akane's character progression through the Zero Escape trilogy to be really interesting, so I wanted to link the three different portrayals of her personality together. I took a few liberties (especially with how much ZTD Akane might or might not know about the future), but as far as personalities and continuity go, I tried my best to stay true to all of the games. I hope I was able to do these characters justice!
Thanks for reading and please enjoy!
Akane had once been so close to Junpei that their consciousnesses had blended into one, but sometimes she had no idea what he was thinking. She could only see the surface, his serious expression and the dark brown hair that was always falling in front of his eyes. It was almost like there was nothing behind those things, like Junpei had become only a shell of his former self. Or worse, those things were still there, but Akane didn't know him well enough to see them anymore.
It was happening again, as they entered Akane's room together, leaving behind the halls of Dcom and the curious gazes of their six companions. For the first time in years, it was just the two of them, without anyone being in immediate peril.
Akane knew that none of the others meant to stare. But Sigma and Phi couldn't quite reconcile this dark, rough-at-the-edges version of Junpei with the old man they'd known in 2074, while Diana, Mira, Eric, and Carlos all seemed to be trying to subtly figure out his relationship with Akane. Unfortunately for them, that was something that no even remotely normal person would be able to work out.
As much as Akane cared about all the other participants in the simulated Mars mission, their presence made it difficult to have a private conversation. She hadn't been alone with Junpei for longer than a minute or two until now.
For a moment, they stood there studying each other's faces.
It had only been a year since they'd last seen each other, and at the same time it felt like forever. Junpei's hair was slightly longer now, his eyes more shadowed. What had probably changed most about his appearance was his outfit, a black leather jacket replacing the dorky but adorable combination of red shirt and blue vest.
His expression was equally unfamiliar to her, guarded and frosty, his eyes careful when they had once drunk in her presence with something like constant wonder.
Junpei meant everything to Akane. He was the boy who had once been Jumpy, her childhood friend. He would one day be Tenmyouji, the cynical old man who would find himself unable to love the (stoic?–heartless?—inhuman?) woman she was going to become. But Junpei wasn't either of those people right now. He was stuck in the middle somewhere, maybe still within reach, or maybe beyond saving. Akane didn't know if she could help him, and not knowing something was so unusual for her that she might have laughed if she hadn't known that the sound would put Junpei on edge.
Akane's first instinct was to stay close to him no matter what, to try and heal his pain before she lost his heart forever. But a part of her would always be Zero now, and she'd spent so long ruining people's lives to save them that she wasn't sure her hands were capable of doing anything that would cause less harm than good.
But saving the world will be worth the pain, she told herself. It has to be.
She couldn't have just saved herself and stopped there. That selfishness would've destroyed her. Akane had saved her own life when she'd been 12 years old (or was it 21 years old?), and now she could use the extra time she'd given herself to help the whole world, even if everyone she loved would eventually hate her for it.
Not a single day after the first Nonary Game had actually belonged to her. This was all borrowed time, and Akane Kurashiki would never forget that. She'd run out of time 55 years ago (no, it was only 10 years ago), burning away in an incinerator—
"Akane," Junpei said, and she realized with a start that her mind had drifted away from what was in front of her. It always did sooner or later, wandering into memories from other timelines (were they still memories if they hadn't happened yet?) with little to no distinction between the branches. Sleep helped, resetting her mind in a way, but her brain always had far more information in it than anyone's should. Sometimes it was difficult to stay put in her own consciousness, her own present.
"Yes?" she said faintly, and then felt guilty as she saw some of the steeliness in his expression fade. He was more inclined to be gentle toward her if she seemed frail or sensitive, the way she had been when they were children. But putting on a mask of her younger self and using it to manipulate him was something she should have stopped doing as soon as her Nonary Game had ended.
"What happened to you?" he asked, his tone a mixture of resignation and anger. "You were Zero, I know that—but I didn't know you were like this."
"Like what?" Akane asked. She thought she knew, but maybe hearing it from him would help her clear up what she actually was in this timeline.
Junpei's expression hardened again. "Don't play innocent. You're holding me at a distance, and it's obvious that you're plotting something again. Don't try to pretend that you don't sneak off with Sigma and Phi every couple of hours."
Akane rubbed her temples wearily. "Jumpy—"
"Don't 'Jumpy' me," he almost snapped, and she realized that calling him by his childhood nickname had been a mistake, one that she already knew better than to make. "Just tell me what's going on. I thought all of this was supposed to be over!"
"Junpei," she corrected herself. "I can't tell you. I'm sorry. But I'm working with Sigma and Phi to do something very important." She paused, trying to gauge what he was thinking, and then added, "Something more important than saving my own life. You were willing to help me when I was the only one in danger, so why not now?"
"Because I barely recognize you now!" he cried. "The Akane I know was kind and empathetic. If she ever did anything harsh, it was only because she had to."
The Akane you knew died 10 years ago, she thought.
But thinking things like that wouldn't do her any good. This was the life she had now; there was no use wishing for anything else. This was the timeline she lived in, and she was going to do the best she could with the hand she'd been dealt.
Besides, she was too grateful just to be alive to complain about the history she'd ended up with. The thrum of blood in her veins and air in her lungs and clarity in her mind were enough for her. She'd never take them for granted again.
"Don't you get it, Junpei?" she said. "I do have to do this. If I don't... well, I can't tell you about the consequences, but they aren't good. Please trust me."
His response was quiet, as if speaking at a normal volume would've taken more energy than he had. "I don't know if I can anymore, Akane."
If she allowed herself to feel the impact of those words, they would've broken her heart. So Akane flipped the switch in her mind from emotion to logic. It was something her time as Zero (she wasn't sure what to consider it; hours?—years?—lifetimes?) had taught her to do, something that would probably be impossible for anyone who couldn't see things from myriad perspectives the way she could. "I understand."
His mouth twisted into an unhappy frown. "And yet you don't feel anything."
Akane looked away. "I do. Just not in a way you'd understand."
"Do you even realize how cold you've become?" Junpei said.
"People do what they have to in order to survive," she replied, looking him in the eye again. He was the same as her now; he'd been changed irreversibly by the things that had happened to him over the past year. Akane hadn't seen all the details, but she knew enough. "Sometimes that changes them. I think you know that."
"But you were you just a year ago," he said, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "If the first Nonary Game didn't change you, how did one year?"
"It did change me, Junpei," she said sadly. "You just didn't want to see it."
He was quiet for a long moment, accepting the truth of what she'd said.
Then he said, "I just want the real Akane. Whoever that is now, whoever you are now, that's all I want. No more lies, no more secrets. Just the truth."
That was his peace offering, and she knew he meant it. She'd felt that sentiment through the morphogenetic field in the last few moments they'd shared minds—he'd rather have a damaged, morally ambiguous version of Akane than lose her forever. The only thing she was afraid of was what she'd seen in the AB Game future: that her vast knowledge and single-minded focus on changing the fate of humanity might erase all that was left of the original Akane Kurashiki in his eyes.
Would he ever look at her and see her exactly how she was? Would he ever see all her ruthlessness and her cold, calculating mind and still love her the same way?
She already felt as if she were becoming addicted to survival. It seemed like every time she narrowly avoided death, she left a part of herself behind. She kept wandering back towards it, and she wasn't even sure if that was to find the parts of herself she'd lost or if she was just a moth drawn over and over again to a flame that had already ended her life in myriad timelines. Akane could remember a thousand deaths that had never really happened. She could foresee a thousand more.
She kept putting the life she'd done so much to save at risk. She knew she had to, but at the same time, it felt unfair to Junpei and to everyone else she'd traumatized by forcing them to play the Nonary Game.
The thought sent the echo of a distorted voice running through her mind. Zero's voice. Life is simply unfair, don't you think?
She shook it away. You're wrong.
"Not yet," she told Junpei. "I have to do this first."
She could tell those words hurt him. At that moment, she knew exactly what he was thinking, that he was wondering whether there would always be something standing between him and Akane. Whether he'd ever be able to be with her. Whether, with or without her, he would ever be happy again.
"Please," he said. "When all of this is over, please don't run away again."
I don't know if it will ever be over, she thought. In the most likely timeline, she couldn't keep the promise Junpei was asking her to make. She couldn't bring herself to make it now, when she could clearly see that breaking it would make him decide that he could never trust her again. She lowered her gaze.
"Akane, please," he said, desperately. "You can't leave me again."
"I never wanted to leave you," she said. "You know that, right?"
"That's not an answer."
"I know it isn't."
They fell into silence, Junpei frustrated and Akane stoic. She couldn't let herself start to feel regret. There were infinite timelines, and this one was hers. She had to be here right now so that she could set them on the right path.
Junpei hadn't taken his eyes off her for a moment, and Akane wondered if he'd been worried that she'd vanish into thin air the moment he looked away.
How much did he remember from her Nonary Game, really? She'd sent him what he needed from the safe timeline, but most of those bad futures were burdens that only she bore, or so she hoped. She could handle them better than Junpei; she was much stronger than him, emotionally, even if that strength was intertwined with brutality and maybe even a little insanity. Akane wasn't sure that a person who didn't bat an eye at suffering or sacrificing people in other timelines could be called sane.
But deep down, she knew that she wouldn't change a thing about herself even if she had the power to. If that made her evil, then so be it. But her memories, good and bad, gave her the power and the knowledge to do the only things that would save them and their world. She just hoped Junpei could understand that.
The Decision Game isn't far off now, she thought. He'll see what I was talking about soon enough. He'll know exactly why I have to be like this.
Anticipation twisted her insides into knots, and she wished she didn't feel quite a thrill at the idea of what was to come. She wished that alongside the fear, she didn't also love the feeling of a racing heart and adrenaline surging through her veins. She was all kinds of screwed up, and she knew it. But someone with less of a stomach for violence and less of a willingness to leap into danger wouldn't save them.
This Zero knew about SHIFTing, would find a way to work around their timeline leaping. This Decision Game was a death trap that wouldn't be satisfied until six people were dead in every timeline. Unlike in the Nonary Games, here there was no path meant to help them all survive. And in at least one timeline, her own partner of 45 years, her fellow Zero, would convince Diana to kill her.
Maybe I shouldn't have allowed Sigma to become just as ruthless as I am, Akane thought ruefully. Giving that strength to someone who had so much to lose could make him sacrifice the entire world for the people he loved. Even without knowing exactly what Phi and Diana were to him, he'd do anything to save them.
But wasn't that why he and Akane understood each other so well?
Then again, Sigma wasn't the one she was supposed to spend all those years with, no matter how much of a comfort their similarities were to her. Junpei was the only one she really wanted. Junpei, who after everything was standing in front of her begging her not to leave him. The one thing she couldn't promise him.
"This is going to sound terrible after what you just said," she said, "but I need you to promise me something. You can't tell the others about the Nonary Games."
His expression turned puzzled. "I wasn't planning to."
Of course he wasn't. He couldn't see what was coming next—he had no clue that the Decision Game was even an idea in someone's mind right now. He wouldn't expect Akane's identity as Zero to ever become relevant here at Dcom.
Junpei's mind must have followed a similar path, because his expression became suspicious. "Why did you think I would? What are you going to do, Akane?"
"Nothing bad," she said.
He scowled. "Somehow, that isn't very convincing."
She hesitated, then shook her head. "I've already told you too much."
"You haven't told me anything."
"Yes I have. I've told you that I can't tell you."
Junpei blew out a frustrated sigh. "You're impossible."
Despite everything, that made her smile. "I know."
Akane wasn't sure how Junpei would feel about that reaction, but to her relief, it seemed to comfort him. After all, smiling or laughing at Junpei when she'd managed to frustrate him somehow was such an Akane thing to do.
"I'm here now," she said, taking his hands in hers. "We're in this together. And no matter what it might seem like, I'm always on your side. Please don't forget that."
Junpei searched her gaze for a long moment. Her words seemed to resonate with him more than anything she'd said so far. And for the first time since the Nonary Game, Akane could feel a connection sparking to life between them. "All right. I won't."
So despite what he'd said before, some part of him did still trust her.
Warmth seeped into her frigid heart, somehow pleasant even though she'd once despised anything to do with heat. And although she wanted to keep Junpei far, far away from the horrible danger that awaited them, part of her was glad to have him with her. His presence reminded her what she'd been fighting so hard for.
He'd always been the brightest light in her life.
And no matter what else happened, no matter what kind of monster life made her, no matter what horrors she'd seen and would see and would remember from other timelines, that light would always be more than enough.