Shin Megami Tensei Persona 3 FES: The Seduction of Akihiko Sanada
Act Three - by Caeila
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Watery red fluid, body-temperature warm, splattered the front row at Japan International Mixed Martial Arts 2009. It smelled of copper and sweat.
Akihiko glanced up at the balcony, hoping for a glimpse of familiar crimson hair. The fight floor was flooded white by a circle of xenon and carbon arc lamps. He couldn't really see the spectators. Beyond that, the audience pressed against the edges of the cage—dark, shadowy figures shouting for blood.
Eiji wiped his nose on his thumb. He had veins popping out all over, craggy cheekbones high and stark in his face. Diuretics could make a man look that way, especially for the weigh-in.
His furious eyes were two smoldering coals of hate. Before he'd popped in his mouth guard, Eiji spat at Akihiko's feet. "You can still forfeit, kid. Otherwise, I'm going to destroy you in front of her," the older man rasped.
Akihiko met Eiji's gaze with his own. The Gekkoukan High boxer felt himself seeping into that armored, unfeeling corner deep inside his head. Akihiko was molten rock oozing metal blood, his muscles drawn into thick wire cables.
"Bring it on," he said, his voice seeming far away.
This fight—the championship final—was personal.
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After everyone had left his dorm room, he'd gone for a good long run to clear his mind. He cut past Naganaki Shrine, chill winds blowing down the stone steps, slicing through his sweatshirt. Usually, he would have continued on. Something made him slow and turn around.
So many questions rolling in his head, pinging off mental obstacles, like a fistful of steel pinball bearings in play all at once.
If his dead family could answer him, what would they advise? Would they think he was abandoning them? He could barely remember his mother, or his father. Shinjiro would think he was crazy, but he'd say, "You could do worse." Miki would see past Mitsuru's icy shell.
He mounted the steps. Across the courtyard was a familiar figure, her back turned to him. Dead leaves skittered across the pavement stones between them. She was standing in front of the relationship shrine.
Even the shapeless winter athletic gear she wore couldn't obliterate the long, slow curves of her body, or erase his knowledge of that razor intellect under her pretty face. He shook his head. Her red hair burst with the colors of an autumn season just past. She was out for a run too? He carefully backed down the steps, the way he'd come.
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Eiji Nanjo—company president and martial arts fighter—twitched, as if he didn't quite have control over all his muscles. Akihiko had slipped past, nailed him first with an uppercut, then on a solid one-two combo, but the older man had simply shaken them off.
They slipped apart, testing each other with a series of lightning jabs. The older man's arm flashed ahead of Akihiko's countering right cross. Akihiko dipped, but he couldn't avoid a heavy hook smashing into his torso.
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Fuuka's voice sounded staticky in his ear. "Two ice-based creatures at 11 o' clock, right around the corner. You may be able to run past them."
Akihiko wiped his chin with his shoulder. "I popped the chest. 24,796 yen. Just one more and we can—"
"No, find an access point now! I sense Death! You can't fight him by yourself!"
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Akihiko danced; it'd take more than one good hit to put him down. He floated past two jabs, just evading a shin kick. There was an opening; he took it, smashing Eiji with another uppercut, aiming for the overhead track lighting. The other man's head snapped back. Eiji fell against the cage walls.
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The library should have been silent, but it was filled with the hum of the air-conditioner, students talking in low monotones, and the rustle of paper turning. Every so often, a lone cough or sniffle accented the air.
Mitsuru was there, highlighting passages from the text Excursions into Advanced Modern Physics. Books were stacked around her like fortress battlements. She sat alone, wearing her solitude like a cloak over her shoulders.
They were in the same class. Would she think him an idiot if he asked to study together—?
"Akihiko-senpai? Are you hiding behind the stacks?" Aigis' mellifluous voice was behind him. He spun around. She was facing the direction he had been a moment ago. She said, "What are you looking—oh."
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Akihiko followed up with a flurry of punches and a kick to the head. He was sure he felt something crunch. Anyone else would have been tenderized meat under that onslaught. Eiji simply looked at him with a crazy clown smile. The referee stopped Akihiko because Eiji wasn't defending himself.
The older man pulled himself back up like a broken marionette.
Somehow, Eiji swept Ahikiho's forward leg out, flipping him to the canvas. Akihiko fell hard, tried to roll away. The businessman drove his elbow into Akihiko's shoulder, barely scoring a solid hit on younger man's collarbone.
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Fuuka nearly dropped the heavy, long box that Akihiko handed over. She made a face. "How many do you have? It's not like we're casting a portrait bust."
He bounced on his toes and made kangaroo boxing motions. "Take as many as you think you'll need, whatever works. I can get more."
Fuuka headed straight for her sedate robot friend sitting on one of the living room loveseats. "Give me a hand?" Aigis obediently raised a palm in the air. Fuuka giggled. "Both hands, please."
Junpei and Minato called out from the front door. "Akihiko-senpai, come on!"
The three of them piled into 7:35 p.m. train stopping at Paulownia Mall. Along the way, Minato surprised Akihiko by saying, "It seems Mitsuru-senpai feels stagnant. She's noticed you changing. Maybe she feels left behind."
The mall and shops were mostly empty when they got there. It was a weekday evening. When they got their karaoke room, Junpei raised his arms in the air and spun around. "Woohoo! Check it out! It's super huge! We can each have our own couch! Sing a few songs with us and you can serenade her when you ask her out!" He'd flipped a switch. A disco ball sprinkled tiny squares of white light everywhere like confetti.
Minato punched some numbers into the remote control. "Here, let's sing this one, senpai. 'Uptown Girl' by Billy Joel."
Akihiko rolled his eyes and reached for a microphone. If he was changing—well, there was only one reason, and he'd let her know soon enough. "You guys come here so often that you memorize the song catalog numbers? Heh. Get ready to be underwhelmed."
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The bone flexed a little too far, but it was just a fracture. Akihiko countered, knocking Eiji backwards. The pain would grow. He had to end this soon. He tried to pin the man with one knee and pound him into unconsciousness. Akihiko couldn't get his knee set solidly on his opponent's slippery body for the pin; Eiji rolled to his feet and charged, knocking the young man off his feet.
Akihiko tried to land with a knee up. No dice. Eiji rained blows down on Akihiko's head; the young boxer bridged his hips and back, knocking Eiji off-balance, and then he cranked the other man's left heel with his feet. If Eiji hadn't fallen over, he'd risk ripping his Achille's tendon.
End over end they rolled, lock, escape, lock, escape, crashing into the side of the cage.
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Tea sloshed dangerously in her cup as Mitsuru glanced up from her book. "You're asking me to 'meet' with you at the Beef Bowl Shop?"
"Yeah," he said, perspiring.
"You've never asked me that before."
"No," he said.
"Why not Fuuka?" There was a hint of concealed bitterness. It was oddly as if Mitsuru spoke to herself.
He said, "What?"
"You've been spending a lot of time together. Maybe you ought to ask her instead." Now there was no inflection, only a simple factual statement.
He felt a flash of anger. "No, don't push me away. Mitsuru—"
They were alone in the common room. With most girls, he was awkward, but he'd known Mitsuru for years. After everything that had happened, he didn't have to be timid.
Akihiko put his palms down on the armrests at either side of the Kirijo heiress' seat. She gasped quietly as he leaned in, but she didn't back down.
He stared into her eyes, tired and vulnerable from long nights studying, worrying, fighting, pleasing the Kirijo business alliances, whatever, at that moment, he didn't want to know. The smell of her subtle perfume, the sweetness of her lip gloss, the shampoo she'd used—his resolve solidified. "Listen, Fuuka's really into Keisuke, the Art Club president." He choked a little. "And I am absolutely sure—that I am really—into you."
Time stopped. The sound of his heartbeat flooded his ears.
"Okay," she said slowly. "I haven't eaten yet. Let me get my coat."
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Neither man could get leverage. They sprung apart and up. Akihiko was getting tired, but he slipped under Eiji's guard, attacking the other man's midsection with a series of punches. Each one carried the force of Akihiko's hatred, his fury at the thought of Mitsuru being mistreated.
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They decided to walk to Iwatodai Station in order to enjoy the evening: a crystal blue twilight with the tiniest whisper of frost in the air, and a glowing fingernail of moon hanging low in the sky.
Akihiko peeked out of the corner of his eye at the young woman beside him. She gave no sign of noticing. He wondered if she'd make him pay for his boldness later.
A man's strident voice called out behind them. "There you are! I've been looking for you all over."
Mitsuru breathed one word, "Eiji." She stopped, turned and walked towards the well-dressed man, her entire posture radiating measured haughtiness. Akihiko thought it wise to hang back.
The two spoke for a minute or so. Then Mitsuru burst out, "How dare you speak of my father like that. You have no right." If looks could kill, Eiji would have been an instant popsicle.
Akihiko ran towards her.
The man smirked. "The Kirijo Family needs my company's help; you cannot disobey me." He grabbed her arm.
Akihiko snarled, "Let her go."
The businessman tightened his grip. Mitsuru did not attempt to break free; she stood defiantly. Eiji was speaking. "You are such trouble. Even though you're only in high school—"
Akihiko said, "Last warning. Let her go."
Eiji ignored him. Akihiko struck the man's upturned wrist hard enough to make the limb go numb. The man let go. Akihiko moved to stand next to Mitsuru. She seemed surprised.
Curious people had stopped to watch from a safe distance. One of them laughingly called out, "Hey mister, don't you know who that is? Don't mess with his girl!" Akihiko thought he recognized the supportive voice as belonging to one of his boxing team's sophomores.
Eiji gave Akihiko a venomous look. "I could get you for assault. You should know your place, delinquent."
Mitsuru finally snapped, her voice shaking. "If you insult him, you insult me!"
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The fight had gone on too long. Eiji kept his feet. Impossible. Akihiko was nearly blind with anger. He couldn't afford the feeling. He stuffed that sparking rage deep underground, where it waited with berserk silver eyes.
He felt a poke and a scratch on his arm, something sharp.
A minute later, he couldn't breathe, couldn't keep his arms up. Eiji slammed into him again and again, fists relentless as a trash compactor. Akihiko was the trash.
His nose exploded in a bright spray of hot blood. His eye socket impacted inwards. Eiji's elbow blasted his ear, sending a searing force through his eardrum. The young man's consciousness dissolved. His last faint thought was, "Mitsuru, I failed. I'm sorry."