He didn't leave them with a body to bury.
Of course he didn't; Futaba doesn't think he knew how to leave anything that's himself behind, that self-deprecating piece of shit. He doesn't leave a single trace behind for them to even remember by: his phone was presumably with him when he went to the Metaverse, his apartment dull and empty of personal effects, barely a photo or two of the forced group shots that they took before taking on Sae's Palace.
So all anyone had of the real Akechi Goro were broken pieces of memories, of snarky remarks and sharp retorts, of laughter maniac and borderline concerning, and the body of Akechi Goro is left to rot in the remains of the fallen Metaverse, drowned in the suffocating waters of his father's twisted desires.
And of course, as the last known blood relative that he has, Futaba has to pick up the pieces.
She found out a while back, before Maruki rolled in with his monster of a Palace and hell of a reality. Digging through his records that were somehow far too clean, tracing his family line to an Akechi Himiko, who died of suicide a decade back. No hints of a father, of course. Shido wouldn't allow for it, Futaba thinks. It doesn't take her long to trace down the lines of Shido's long chain of lovers and one night stands, and it takes her even less time for her to find one Isshiki Wakaba connected to Shido.
The timelines matched and, combined with the fact that her mother never told her who her father was and actively avoided doing so, Sakura Futaba wouldn't be Sakura Futaba if she couldn't even connect these dots.
(She even stole a strand of his hair, just to be sure. Plucked it straight from his head, marvelled how it really wasn't as silky smooth as what the fans claimed, laughed into his pouting face and tucked it into a little plastic bag, saying that she's about to sell it online for a good 10,000 yen. Sent it to a DNA testing centre along with a strand of her own.)
(The results came back in a week, and they have the same father with different mothers.
What a small world.)
It was easy to keep pretending that he wasn't the one who killed her mother, so she kept pretending that she didn't know he was her brother, too. She wishes she told him when she had the chance, now. Maybe he would learn to be a little less spiteful of everything around him he knew he had a little sister.
Just maybe.
But maybes were too late, and all that's left is this weird, large gaping hole that Futaba doesn't quite know how to deal with, until Sojiro sees her sulking around again one day, puts down his cleaning rag with a decisive sigh, and says that they should hold a funeral for Akechi.
There's almost a protest at the tip of her tongue, something along the lines of disbelief and of whys, but it ebbs away into a familiar weariness, like she knows she needs this for some unforsaken reason, so she gives Sojiro a small nod because it's better than letting out the tangled, dry mess in her throat.
Planning a funeral is a lot faster than Futaba expected.
Akira is away at his hometown, too busy mourning over Akechi's single glove or whatever, let alone plan a funeral. The rest of the thieves were never close to Akechi, to begin with, including herself. But she thinks she needs this.
So she picks a plain, wooden black coffin, because he seems like the type who would drown in black and die in black if given the chance, nothing too fancy, and finds an empty plot of land next to Akechi Himiko. She orders a nondescript tombstone, a quiet, elegant swirl of marbled grey mixed with black, and when the website prompts her to type in a name and a range of dates, she puts in AKECHI GORO, June 2, 1998 - December 23, 2016, because she doesn't know how to count in the false reality that they all lived in and doesn't know whether to count it in the first place.
And there's a small box that asks for a line of inscription, and Futaba can't skip over it because it's compulsory with the stupid little red asterisk. That's where people write things like "beloved father" or "precious daughter" or "doting brother" or things like that, right?
Akechi was never really her brother. Never did the things a brother would do, like have sibling fights over silly things or arguments that revolved around nothings or bonding moments like watching Featherman R together. Never really talked much.
They did have a conversation once, about death.
It was somewhere in the middle of January, when they were taking a break from fighting to clear Maruki's Palace. Futaba was alone in Leblanc while Akira went out for groceries, and Akechi dropped by to wait for Akira for one of their trips to wherever the hell their next date was. That left Futaba and Akechi in Leblanc because Futaba has been craving the coffee milk that Akira will be bringing back for all week and her stubbornness to drink her coffee-flavoured milk outweighs the desire to escape the suffocating tension between her and Akechi.
There must have been something in her stance that showed her anxiety anyway, because Akechi started the conversation with a curt "wishing I was dead, Sakura?" like the bastard he was. They were seated on opposite ends of the counter, and Akechi was decisively not looking in her direction, but his fingers that were drumming on the countertop said a lot.
She doesn't answer for a while, because she doesn't quite know how to answer. It was a loaded question, and if she answered yes it would only serve to fuel Akechi's stupid self-hatred thing he's got going on. Akechi waited in the silence of her soft breathing and the whirling of the fans overhead, and the soft tap tap tap of his gloved fingertips knocking against the brown wood.
"No," she settled, the sound ringing in her ears. "No, because Mom's already gone, and all there's left is for you to atone."
A startled laugh left Akechi's mouth at her declaration, eyes drawn up with mirth. "Atonement, Sakura? How will I do that? I've killed so many, even your mother, and you think that atonement will solve the pro—"
"You're not allowed to die," she hissed with heat, and she knew there was a blaze in her eyes as she turned to Akechi. "You don't get go ahead and do all the things you've done and decide that you're just going to die and call it a day. You don't get to die and let the rest of us living suffer for your mistakes."
At some point, she got to her feet and shuffled to Akechi, who remained planted in his seat with an unreadable expression. A part of her was dimly aware of her shaking hands, but it didn't matter, because she jabbed a finger at Akechi's chest. "You," she breathed, "are going to live with the guilt of your actions. You are going to live and make Akira happy, you are going to live and let yourself be the person you never got to be, and you are going to live and be the br—" And she choked back here, the words stuck in her throat like fish bones that couldn't be dislodged.
Be the brother I never had.
Akechi's face was still stony, hidden beneath the mask were eyes swirling with emotions that ran at a hundred miles per hour. "Sakura, I'm—"
Maybe he was going to say that he was sorry (hah) , or maybe it would be something else entirely, but Futaba would never know, because Akira walked in at that moment with grocery bags in both hands, and she grabbed the bag with the coffee milk and ran home.
And now Futaba is left with a dead half-brother she never really talked to, a conversation that was never really a conversation, and this fucking box that she has yet to fill up.
She writes in the line, sends in the order, and slams the laptop close.
It only took her a day to put it all together.
It isn't much of a funeral but more of a gathering of people who still remember Akechi.
The list is pathetically short. There's her, there's Akira, who rode the train down from his hometown, there's the Phantom Thieves, there's Sojiro, and then there's Sae, and that's it.
It's raining because of course it has to be raining on this asshole's funeral, the dramatic bitch with the black and blue candy cane jumpsuit would probably love this. Futaba brushes a strand of hair away from her face as the rain continues to patter down on her umbrella.
There's not much to be said at this funeral either; everyone at the scene knew who he was, what he did. Sae spent the longest time with Akechi out of all of them, and she's staring at the tombstone with a look as though he's about to crawl out of his grave even if the coffin is empty.
Akira is the first to approach the tombstone and the first to leave. Futaba watches as he crouches down before the grave and plucks out a single, red flower from his bag — a red aster, she remembers from her brief dive into flowers and meanings — murmurs something that's downed under the roar of the rain, and turns to the exit of the graveyard without looking back.
The thieves go next in groups; Ryuji and Ann, Makoto and Haru, Yusuke and Morgana. Their words are quick and short, and Futaba can't hear anything under the onslaught of raindrops, and then they leave, too.
Sae lingers; she has a hand rubbing over the smooth marble of the tombstone, brows furrowed together as she struggles to come up with words. Futaba watches as she eventually heaves a weary sigh, the tension seeping out of her shoulders, and her lips form the words of "I'm sorry", and she, too, leaves the graveyard.
And then it's just her and Sojiro. He whispers a few words, eyes looking almost older than he appears, then steps away and gestures for Futaba to move forward.
Futaba swallows, and lets her feet guide her through the damp mud towards the marbled tombstone. She thinks of all the things she can say. I wish we could have talked more or I wish I told you we were siblings or would you have stayed, if you could?
What comes out instead is a soft "I'll see you again" as she traces over the neatly carved kanji, fingertips following each dip and curve.
Sojiro and Futaba leave, and left behind are Akechi's tombstone that glimmers in the rain with a single flower that droops in the downpour, grave empty, waiting for a body that will never return.
AKECHI GORO
2 JUNE 1998 - 23 DECEMBER 2016
WISH YOU STUCK AROUND A LITTLE LONGER
