I want to show the future I've drawn to you.
- August, 10 Years Later, ZONE
prologue: eponymous
— August 21st, 2026 - 21:00
He glances up from wiping down the countertop when the door jingles open. "Hey, Akira. I finished draining out the machines, so I'm gonna leave now, if that's okay," Mishima says, one foot already out the door.
Akira nods, back to cleaning. "Sure. See you tomorrow."
Though Leblanc is still the same size in the same place it had always been, joining Haru's chain of cafes and renovating the place into a retro coffee shop of yesteryear had brought about an unprecedented surge of popularity, one the cafe had never seen before. After Sojiro's retirement, the cafe had been passed onto Akira (Futaba had no desire to take ownership of it; she would much rather help out behind the scenes), and from there, Haru had requested making it the founding cafe of the brand. As homage, the chain itself had been named Leblanc; the skills Sojiro had given her were irreplaceable, and despite his departure from barista life, she had insisted he be honoured for his service, the name a permanent mark of his influence.
Near the door now with a broom, he smiles bittersweetly at the fixture that had remained for ten years now, tidying up around it. After his argument with Haru about paying for all of the renovations, they had then gone back and forth over what should stay and what should go… but there had been two things they absolutely agreed upon.
The first had been the installation of two windows downstairs to dispel the dank atmosphere; they flanked the only door into the building, outside street light spilling out onto the booth in front of one and the memorial in front of the other.
The second had been the grave honouring Akechi Goro's death. Even after the transfer of ownership of the cafe, Sojiro maintained it on the days Akira could not, visiting daily in observance of the cafe. Before Akira had even thought to broach the subject, Haru made it very clear that it would remain. "Even if it clashes with the design of the cafe, even if people think it shouldn't be out in the open, it stays. Everyone else may have forgotten him, but we won't. We never will."
He snaps himself out of his reverie, swallowing back the lump that had formed in his throat from the memory.
With the last bit of tidying up completed for the next business day, Akira steps outside into the humid air of a Tokyo summer night. Morgana greets him, his "owner" picking him up and placing him in the shoulder bag he carries before they depart.
(The more things change, the more they stay the same.)
"Ready to head home?" the feline says, making himself cozy in the bag. "I dunno about you, but I'm beat. Being the protector of Yongen-jaya is hard work! I deserve a raise for all that I do, you know."
Akira snorts, rolling his eyes at the discussion they seem to have nearly every week. "I might be the manager, but Haru's the one that has to approve raises. And I don't think either of us really know how to convert fish or sushi into a 'living wage' for a cat."
"I'm no cat! Just a human stuck in a cat body!"
"Right, right. Tell you what: I need to stop by Shibuya to pick up some things before we go home. We'll see what they have at Triple Seven and get you some convenience store sushi. Good?"
"Well, they won't have fatty tuna, but fine. I suppose that will have to be a suitable per diem raise for your hardest-working employee."
The human laughs, patting Morgana's head affectionately before it disappears into the abyss of the bag.
They spend about an hour and a half in Shibuya, the lengthy amount of time accrued mostly because of the number of people walking the streets that evening. Summer break is in full swing for students, so the city is fuller than usual; there had been many tourists out and about as well.
The Station Square is the same story, Akira moving the bag to his front so that he can keep a protective hold on it; the last thing he wants is for Morgana to get crushed in his efforts to sift through the masses (and he is sure the feline would wish for the same). "Sheesh, shouldn't these people be in bed already?" he laments, poking his head out to observe the square happenings. "There's way too many people out tonight!"
"It's a summer Friday."
On their way to the underground, a most curious thing occurs. Hustling past those coming to and fro, the pair catches wind of a voice, gentle, but loud enough to cut through the usual chatter, apologising for bumping into others. "Ah, sorry. So sorry. Oh, I apologize. You see, I would just like to—oh, excuse me! That wasn't intentional."
At the sound, Akira's blood runs cold; looking down at the cat in his bag, he knows they share the same thought—that voice is far too familiar to ignore.
"Well… it's on the way to the stairs and we'll probably be waiting on our line for a while…" Morgana wants this burning question answered just as much as he does, if not more.
He parts through the crowd, movements growing faster and faster the closer he gets to the source, a flurry of hasty legs and forceful hands. Unlike the voice he chases, he speaks no apology to those he offends, currently of a one-track mind.
The furious flurry clears in an instant when he finds what he had thought he would never see again: a man of lengthy brunet hair stands in a tan coat that appears just a tad too small for his form, and much too warm for this weather. The black slacks do not quite fit him either, as the entirety of his ankles are exposed; the shoes seem to fit just fine, however.
Those that walk by criticize his appearance, though a few stray comments can be heard about how he is surprisingly handsome. Some others murmur about how he appears rather dazed and confused; "Is he okay?" "Do you think he's one of those crazy homeless people?" "His clothes don't really fit…" "If it weren't for his outfit, he'd be really cute…"
Akira scoffs at the ignorant chatter, feet moving again when the man begins to walk away. He catches up to the retreating figure, taking hold of his shoulder and tugging, spinning him around.
Staring at each other, a light of recognition flashes in reddish-brown eyes… but they soon go dull in question and confusion. "Oh. Hello there. Did you need something? Unfortunately, if it's money you need, I don't currently—"
"Akechi?"
The light returns, but leaves as quickly as it comes, just as before. The man glances all around him, then back to the one that had grabbed him, raising a gloved hand to his chest. "I-I'm sorry. Are you referring to me? Is… Is that my name?"
Akira blinks rapidly at this reply before peeking down at the pair of blue eyes glinting back in his bag. Snorting, he looks back to Goro, giving him a look of petulance—though a strain of worry plagues his thoughts. "Akechi, I know it's been a while, but you don't need to play dumb. No need to act like you don't remember me. It's me." He pauses. "...You know. 'Akira?'"
Goro tilts his head slightly, shaking his head no with a lack of understanding. "I wish I could say that that sounds familiar, but it truly doesn't. And now that you've called me 'Akechi' twice, I'll assume that that is, in fact, my name. It sounds like a family name, though, not a given name… Am I correct in that assumption?"
The barista takes a step back in shock, the string of deductions validating the great concern he had hoped he would not need. "Oh, no…" he can hear murmured from his bag, heavy dread hollowing a pit in his stomach.
Akechi Goro had returned, but with none of his memories intact.
author's note
related fics to this story:
most important:
- in a silver garden with you
supplemental material/context provider:
- out of body
- halfway to the halfway house
- she's my collar
- submission