"Very well."
It only took two seconds for Kristoph to agree.
One moment to weigh the risks. The other, to recognize the true reward.
Two seconds for a death wish.
Apollo banished the thought, feeling his chest constrict. Of course, he wasn't really going to die. With Phoenix and Klavier plotting something together, he was bound to escape long before he glanced at a single drop of poison.
Everything would be fine.
Then why can't I breathe?
"A-Alright," Apollo stammered. It wasn't anxiety this time. He knew the game was a trick—hell, he expected to lose. Kristoph's manipulation was an art in itself, and he stood no match against a skilled master.
No. It was something else.
"Take a seat," Kristoph ordered. Apollo jolted at the sudden prompt, fixating on Kristoph's stern gaze.
Something had changed.
For the first time in ages, he decided to truly observe Kristoph. He slipped into the armchair. Kristoph paced in front of the flames. There was a simple grace to the way the man moved—each step elegant, each pause poised.
Fearful glances in the past had convinced Apollo that Kristoph was always relaxed. Yet now, watching without terror…every motion seemed imbued with a strict purpose.
There was an aching stiffness in Kristoph's bones. A hesitance that reflected his own.
"You look tense, Mr. Gavin."
A brief pause. Apollo laced his fingers together, letting the familiar phrase hang above them.
Kristoph's eyes grew sharp.
"I'm fine, Justice," the man said. The bitter reminiscence was not lost on him. "Begin your questioning."
As usual, Kristoph offered him the first move. Common courtesy? Apollo doubted it. The way the man stopped in his tracks told Apollo something new.
He wants to dissect my point-of-view.
Establishing the pace of the discussion put Apollo at a disadvantage. Rather than revealing his true concerns, Kristoph could simply adapt to whatever line of questioning Apollo decided to pursue. That was the mistake he'd made the last time they played, Apollo realized—he'd let Kristoph exploit his insecurities, rather than pressing the man's original thoughts.
Without Kristoph's perspective, he could never explain why.
Why did you murder them?
"Do you think that some people deserve to die?"
Kristoph raised his eyebrows.
"An unusual angle to choose. I suspected you had more…detailed inquiries." The man shook his head, brushing away mild surprise. "Yet you begin with the most obvious—"
"Do you?" Apollo repeated. He refused to get sidetracked this time.
"Of course."
Soft laughter. A sweep of the golden hair. Tone so careless that it cut through the tense evening air, words prickling against Apollo's ears.
"Learn this, Justice," Kristoph continued, "Humanity is a festering weed, and we are all its knotted roots. We struggle to breathe, to grow, to blossom. Naturally, the weak deserve to be pruned away." A dark look soured the man's countenance. "Take that anxious, inane girl, for instance."
Apollo narrowed his eyes. "Vera Misham."
"Her idiocy was almost pitiable," Kristoph said, "She served her purpose well, but what good was she after that?"
"It was her case that people believed," Apollo protested. His muscles tensed, revealing his irritation. "She changed the course of the law."
"The people, you say." Kristoph's lofty voice mutated into a snarl. "Each and every one of them were swine. Animals ignorant in the ways of nature, left to tarnish the law." The man lifted his chin. A grin began to creep across his face. "I saw them in you, Justice. Returned to your most primal state. Reduced to nothing but fear."
Primal state…as far as Apollo knew, there was only one time when he completely lost control. He grimaced at the memory. "You drugged me with sleeping—"
"No. You begged me to get out."
Apollo hesitated.
Everyone abandoned me.
An uncomfortable feeling started crushing Apollo's confidence. It was clear why Kristoph decided to bring that up—to regain some semblance of power. Still, the very thought of it made his words die in his throat. He'd been truly desperate, and Kristoph—
Kristoph leaned against the coffee table, seeming absolutely pleased.
"Tell me, Justice…what caused you to break down?"
A number of things, really. A sense of loss. A deep feeling of despair. A slow spiral towards hopelessness, leading to dissociation and a last-ditch effort.
He could mention any one of those reasons. None of them would be what Kristoph was looking for.
"You…you were right before," Apollo admitted. He watched Kristoph's smile warp into a smirk. "I was afraid. I—I am afraid." He grasped his forearms, digging his nails into his skin. "Everyone I ever looked up to just…left me behind. I just—"
Apollo stopped. The cut on his palm twinged from the pressure. He turned over his hand, noticing the bandages loosen and become undone.
"I don't want to be alone."
And Kristoph laughed.
"As I said. A base instinct, forcing a moment of weakness from you," Kristoph concluded. There was an air of smugness to the man's demeanor. "Fear made you irrational. Useless, even."
Apollo curled his hand into a fist, not caring for the pain. Kristoph was always right about him. For months, he'd rejected the idea, but today…he'd come to terms with it. The man latched onto his most vulnerable moments, consistently offering insight that was, at its core, correct.
It hurt.
"So, the weak are afraid," Apollo said.
"Very much so," Kristoph replied.
"And the weak deserve to die."
"Yes."
He could give in. Kristoph just said that he deserved to die, and he could ask why. They could travel deeper and deeper into that endless tunnel, until Apollo passed out from exhaustion and Kristoph immersed himself in the darkness.
Not worth it.
No matter how much it stung, Kristoph held him hostage with his emotions. Feeding off of Apollo's staunch denial, coercing him to revisit agonizing memories at every turn…the man was an expert at driving him mad.
Naturally, Apollo learned something.
It was Kristoph's turn.
"If you really believe weak people should die…why did you kill Zak Gramarye?"
Kristoph's self-satisfied stare turned icy. "He was a fool."
"But he wasn't afraid. He defied you, without fearing for himself," Apollo pressed. With each statement, he noticed Kristoph struggle to rein in his temper. "According to you, he's not weak. And you still killed him."
"He was terrified to lose the trial," Kristoph argued.
"He was cautious." Apollo emphasized the distinction, raising his hand in a calming gesture. "You know this, Mr. Gavin. You saw how confident he was, both on and off the stage."
Kristoph pushed away from the coffee table and began pacing again. The man's steps were more rapid this time…almost frantic.
Realization struck.
"It wasn't him. It was you. You were afraid of something," Apollo said. Kristoph gave him a black look, but the pieces were beginning to fall in place so perfectly that he couldn't let go. "Was it weakness, then? Do you deserve to die?"
"Your turn is up," Kristoph snapped.
"I know," Apollo conceded. "I got you to think about it, though."
The man scoffed, turning towards the flames. "You devalue your own life, yet you seek to preach to me."
"I—"
"No. You will not defend yourself," Kristoph interjected. There it was—raw anger, slowly seeping through. "You believe life can never be worthless. Yet mere days ago, I watched your mouth drip with blood after you nearly wasted yours on Wright." Apollo grimaced. His tongue had healed up—faster than he'd expected, honestly—but he was sure he'd caused some nerve damage. "Explain why you would sacrifice yourself."
Apollo hadn't actually planned to sacrifice his life, but looking back on it…well, he'd been prepared to. Suicide hadn't been his prime goal. Still, he had to consider the risk itself.
He'd been ready to suffer. He'd been ready to bleed. If things went awry…
"It would have been worth it to me," Apollo answered. "I didn't want to lose anyone again. Especially not…family."
Apollo took a breath, thinking about what he just said. There it was—the last piece in the set.
Trucy had been like a little sister to him from the moment they'd met. The Agency itself quickly became his new home, feeling cozier with each cooking session and night he slept. And Mr. Wright…
He'd been hung up on Mr. Wright. He'd never had a little sister. Changing homes felt normal. Conversely…there was something terrifying about the idea of Phoenix being so close. That position in his life had been filled and left possessed by grief so many times already. He used to think that if he let Phoenix in, the man would soon join the others and dissolve into nothingness.
Well, he was the one who'd vanished this time. Despite that, Phoenix was still trying to get to him.
"You are his son, then," Kristoph stated.
"He's…one of my father figures," Apollo reflected. "There's also my biological dad…my foster father, Dhurke…and you."
Some part of him had always known. After all, there was always that strange heaviness in his heart that accompanied the memory of all three. Cheerful stories about his musician father felt somber with each new iteration. Dhurke's role in his childhood—that of a fearless figure, arms always open to save him—was faded, now filled with resentment. Then there was the cool disciplinarian…the ever-patient educator…his mentor…
He looked up at Kristoph. The man stood in front of him, yet he was still grieving the loss. It had taken him a while to register it, but now he was sure…he'd already buried Kristoph in his head a long time ago.
"Ridiculous," Kristoph spat, eyes vibrant with fury. "A mediocre attempt at flattery. Or a wretched lie, for which you will lose this game at last—"
"No. Just the truth," Apollo interrupted. "You took care of me. Like you would a son."
The man shook his head. "It was my duty—"
"It wasn't. You never had to feed me. You never had to give me company, and never had to give me a place to sleep." Apollo kept his gaze steady, listing off each instance with resolve. "I don't think draping your blazer over a tired employee is standard office conduct, either."
Kristoph moved closer to him, placing a clawed hand on one of the armrests. Knuckles jutting. Nails turning white. Apollo sank deeper in the chair as the man towered over him, meeting a cold and forbidding glare.
"You are nothing to me."
Apollo's wrist ached. His bracelet closed tighter around his skin.
At last, a lie.
"Well, tell me something then, Mr. Gavin," Apollo said. "I'm afraid. I'm weak. I deserve to die. Then why…why did you really save me from that snowstorm?"
Uncertainty consumed Kristoph's expression for all but a second. The man waved his hand, as if dismissing the emotion.
"You believed it was to prepare your body for Wright," Kristoph said. "To revel in his—"
"That was my guess at the time. I asked for your explanation," Apollo elaborated. Kristoph was tricky, but he was getting much better at catching it. "And I'll know if you lie."
Kristoph abruptly turned back towards the fire. The man's glasses flashed in the vermillion light. "Call it sentimentality."
"Sentiment—?"
"Freezing is a gruesome death, Justice," Kristoph snapped. "You'd have died paralyzed like a common house fly."
Apollo couldn't see the man's expression anymore. However, Kristoph's vivid imagery indicated that this wasn't just a fleeting thought.
"You couldn't watch me die."
"Not in such a painstaking manner." Kristoph explained instantly. The man turned back, lips pressed into a thin line. "It would be brutal of me. Monstrous, even." Apollo furrowed his brow. Kristoph's hostility only grew. "Would you have preferred freezing? Perhaps I will arrange it for you."
"No. Good question, though," Apollo said.
A free turn. Thank god for Kristoph's impatience.
Kristoph seemed far less delighted by the error. The next sentence escaped through gritted teeth. "Go. On."
"Do you believe your father was a monster?" Apollo asked.
Kristoph's entire body grew rigid.
"Absolutely not."
"You said it'd be monstrous of you to watch me die that slowly."
No response.
The question seemed to have caught Kristoph off guard. Apollo tapped his fingers against his cheek, trying to draw out a more convincing answer.
"Choking's a slow death too, Kristoph."
Nothing.
There was a clear connection here. Kristoph's silence spoke volumes.
"You can't answer, can you?" Apollo said, after another minute.
Am I…winning?
"Be patient, Justice," Kristoph seethed. Apollo was already thinking ahead.
"Actually, maybe you do have an answer. You clearly don't believe your first response." He waited, expecting something more. Kristoph kept walking in circles and circles around the room. "So, monster or not?"
A conflicted look crossed Kristoph's face. It lingered this time—rather than a fading flash, it tempered the man's sullenness.
It felt genuine.
"He never gave much regard to humanity," Kristoph admitted.
Apollo tried prodding for details. "Then—?"
"Yes." Kristoph cut him off, averting his gaze. "Perhaps, some part of me…believes he may have been monstrous."
The man refused to look him in the eye. Apollo understood. This was probably the first time Kristoph had ever thought in such a way, considering that the man's initial reaction hadn't been an outright lie. It would be hard to process such a monumental—
Kristoph shook his head, laughing again. This time, under his breath.
Uncontrollable. Nervous.
Apollo could sense it.
"Curious," Kristoph continued. "The whole world deems me a monster, and yet…you ask me about my father." Bitterness crept into Kristoph's tone. It felt strange to see the man's praise shift to resentment within moments. "What makes you so intrigued by him?"
"He's not interesting. He's sickening," Apollo clarified. Just as Kristoph's true emotions were coming to light, so were his. The words he'd struggled to say…he could finally speak them. "You should never have been treated like that."
Kristoph's eyes flicked back towards him. They were neutral, now.
"It has shaped me," the man said.
"Exactly!" Apollo exclaimed. Defensiveness was no stranger to him, but he was tired of waiting outside Kristoph's walls. "Living in constant fear isn't normal, Kristoph. He made you this way."
Kristoph's fingers twitched. His mouth twisted into a frown, uneasiness oozing out of his very core.
"You have a gross misconception of him," Kristoph insisted. The man's voice sounded…strained. "He was stern. He was strict. But his words never echoed in my mind when I made my own decisions."
Maybe not. It wasn't as if Kristoph's father had been whispering heinous schemes into the man's ear.
Mr. Wright didn't tell me to save Kristoph, either.
Here they were, though.
"His legacy haunts you," Apollo said. "You're not afraid of failure. You're afraid of weakness."
The constant analyzing. The neglect. The choking incident. All ways to create the perfect son—a calculating boy, independent and immune to all threats.
Now, as a man, Kristoph could never forget his father's three teachings.
Love was pointless. Emotions were impractical.
"Evidence is everything."
Apollo crossed his arms and tilted his head.
He knew what he'd said.