Chapter Three: The Naughty Craft

He saw her in his restless sleep the night before. A dream so real it ached to open his eyes and see the day start without her. In this dream, she gazed at him across the distance in a wide chamber illuminated with soft light. People danced carefree between and around them, like shadows blurring in and out of sight. Judging by the look on Makoto's face, she wanted to give it a try but did not know how to. Akira himself had never danced before either, but the look in her eyes was a request he would far rather make a fool himself over than turn her down. He stood up and walked in her direction with confident strides. She started looking up as he approached, and barely managed to contain a bashful smile. The colour of her irises drowned his world red.

Hand in hand, they took to the dance floor, uncaring of their inexperience. His free hand on the small of her back, hers just below the back of his neck. She felt right, and he knew he did to her as well. They picked up momentum as they went by, and though there was no sound to recall, she alone was the music. In this dream, they were having fun as the infatuated fools they truly were. Soon, the dance slows to an embrace, intimate, close, inevitable. Her eyes reach up; she is coy, but secure in her want. He can almost feel her breath becoming his, the contact of her lips. And before he knew it, the dream was all gone.

The winter sun reached into the cell with timid, cold light. Yasunori slept in the bunk above, clueless to Akira's sigh. In about twenty minutes, all inmates would be called for breakfast, and then to their correspondent duties. Akira did not know what day it was; it sufficed him to know today was gardening duty. No cell phone allowed, and no desire to advance further into the book he borrowed from the library, he remained listless and silent until the morning bell summoned the inmates to the mess hall.

The memory of the dream about Makoto remained in the waking world as a veil of silence. Yasunori noticed Akira was quieter than usual, but said nothing. Minutes after they began awkwardly chewing on their breakfast, they were joined by Daigo, who also did little to break the silence. Aside from a few anxious whispers in the mess hall, the entire area was also unnaturally quiet. A strange uncertainty was palpable. Akira raised his eyes ever so slightly to confirm what he suspected: mostly everybody's eyes were on them. Neither Shogo, nor his lackeys were in sight.

Daigo finished. He waited patiently for Akira and "Rooster". Shortly after, Daigo took the empty dishes at their table and stacked them neatly in the kitchen for the inmates in duty to wash that day. Nobody approached the two waiting at the table, not even during Daigo's short absence. Akira took the chance to get some preliminary footing on the situation.

"Is he also somebody's son?" Akira asked discreetly.

"Huh? Yeah, he is. I mean, everyone's somebody's son, huh? Haha." Yasunori's chuckle was unconvincing. "No… he has no important relatives. That ain't it, though."

"I see."

"Let's go." Daigo said upon joining them once more. "This way."

"We have garden duty today." Akira pointed out, aware that Daigo signalled the opposite direction.

"Not today." His tone brooked no arguments.

Yasunori showed no reluctance at all. Akira followed suit as the three headed for the gym, disappointed about missing out on working in the garden. The guard at the door stepped aside without question. The pieces were falling quietly into place. To get the full picture, Akira would need only to ask a formula of questions similar to those the Phantom Thieves used to pinpoint and access Palaces. However, doing so would only serve to satisfy his curiosity.

The gym was only slightly larger than the library. The extra meters were occupied by a row of punching bags of varied size and weight. Later that week, Akira learnt this was one of two gyms in the facility; this was the smaller one. There was an unspoken rule among the inmates that everyone was to use the larger, better equipped gym. The smaller one was reserved for a small number of people. There was no restriction for anybody, yet it was still a line everybody abided by.

"Akira Kurusu." Daigo said, his voice bouncing off the walls. "I'm going to ask you a question. I recommend you respond sincerely." He took a nod as an acknowledgement. "Have you ever fought before?"

His line of thought should have been obvious, considering where Daigo had taken them. Nonetheless, the question still took him off guard. Akira could not go and expose himself as one of the infamous Phantom Thieves, let alone their leader. As a consequence, he indeed was forced to fight. One could easily say he was forced to fight for his life, at that. His common sense would tell him to downplay his experience a few notches, perhaps say he had taken to practice Wing Chun on the wooden dummy at a gym in Shibuya. However, Daigo may see through that.

"I see." The brawny inmate took his silence as an adequate reply. "Stand in front of the lighter bag and throw a few punches, mimic some dodging too. I'll tell you when to stop." He turned towards Yasunori. "You. Medium bag. Same thing."

Akira was taken aback for a moment but he complied before Daigo repeated himself. He found the guard he had developed while sparring on the wooden dummy was inadequate for the bag, and he could not well try to adapt the spontaneous, formless style he developed as Joker. So he clumsily put up as best a boxing guard he could and began throwing punches. High. High. Low. High. High. Low. Low. High. Low. He repeated the pattern, dodging with the hip at random intervals. He expected the dryly observing Daigo to interrupt him within a few minutes. Both he and Yasunori were drenched in sweat when he did.

"No rust in your joints, Rooster. Good." He threw Yasunori a towel and a water bottle. "Kurusu. You…" He appeared to grasp for the right words. "You have skill and strength, but this… this is not your form." Daigo started to idly pace about the bag, hands and face in contemplation. "It will be lunch time soon. Afterwards, you two will be attending your assigned duties. We will pick back up tomorrow. I will expect you two to meet me here as soon as you are done with breakfast."

Suddenly, without the slightest semblance of anticipation, Daigo pushed the bag against Akira with great force. Yasunori yelped high and fell backward from the shock. Although Akira did not see it coming either, his reflexes fired on the spot. He lunged forward and slightly to the side, and in one single motion, pushed back hitting the bag with his left shoulder, averting most of the impact.

"Hmm, alright. I think I see what your form may be." Daigo remarked. His voice was almost devoid of emotion.

"D-Daigo… What was!?" Yasunori blurted out, seemingly unable to stand back up.

"Same time tomorrow. Be on your way." Daigo said, ignoring Yasunori.

Sure enough, Akira and Yasunori headed for lunch, and worked on their assigned duties afterwards, with pieces of their long conversation intertwined. It was obvious that the motive of his sentence was kept from the rest of the inmates, as per the warden's decision. When Yasunori asked him the reason of his imprisonment, Akira claimed theft and vandalism, which was technically not a lie. In response, Yasunori told him he landed himself in the correctional facility a second time; this and his previous sentences were both for theft as well. His motives were the reason he was given lenience this second time. His father had landed himself in gambling debts. In order to help him out of the red, Yasunori had resorted to stealing a reselling electronics.

He admitted that, upon release, he would return to do the same misdeed. A couple more goods sold and whatever his father managed to save from his job should do the trick to end his debt. He reckoned he would most likely be arrested again, and perhaps tried as an adult this time around. The prospect did not seem to deter him.

"He's the only family I have left." Yasunori said.

"I see." Akira's tone was enough to convey some sympathy. Behind his brief acknowledgement, a river of thoughts broke out. The relation he had with his own father seemed to be wounded. It would soon be one year of silence between father and son, and somehow neither appeared willing to end the spell. He wondered if his parents had been informed of his incarceration. Akira could picture his mother's disappointment, but when it came to his father, he could only draw a blank. He wished he could bring himself to speak of his family. He wished he could see them again.

Yasunori had a skill for reading other people. He was considerate enough not to pry, instead opting for another topic.

"So, you got anyone waiting for you outside?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know! Like, a girl, a woman?" Yasunori laughed in a high pitch. "I got a few myself! What about you, guy?"

"Yeah. There is someone waiting for me." He could not supress a smile.

"You ain't joking, guy. You're as red as the devil's dick!"

Akira knew he was not just teasing him on that.

"So? What's her name? What's she like?"

"Her name is Makoto." Akira savoured the syllables of her name like they were honey on his tongue. "She is the best girl."

"And?"

"I needn't say any more." Akira smirked, aware that he needed to be discreet regarding his friends and significant other in his current situation, knowing also that words would fail him if he were to speak about her.

The following day started as usual. Akira was starting to become accustomed to it all by now. Yet Daigo's instruction would likely keep stagnancy at bay. He made sure to warm up before breakfast, especially if the bulwark of a young man would be throwing any more punching bags at him. To his surprise, Yasunori's attitude towards their newest morning duties was far from the anxiety of previous days. It was almost as if he enjoyed it. But then, Akira thought, was he also not enjoying it himself, to some degree?

Daigo met the two as agreed the day before.

"Good morning." He walked straight for the punching bags. "Rooster, same as yesterday. Kurusu… you come with me." He lead him towards the heaviest the punching bag, the one that saw the least use. "Same as yesterday. Almost. Use your legs, knees and elbows – anything you feel you can do damage with." An imperious, ominous tone crept at the end of Daigo's words. All things considered, Akira had a solid idea of what Daigo was, as an inmate, but only now did the likelihood of a violent background truly came into sight.

"Alright." He was no longer sure if he would truly be looking forward to these sessions.

Daigo stood behind the punching bag, holding it firmly against his chest.

"Go."

Two hours later, Akira was twice as tired as the previous day. Daigo's yelling flurry to hit harder continued to echo inside of his head. His limbs ached badly, and he could barely walk without visibly cringing. For a moment, he pictured Makoto hitting the punching bag – no strange picture considering the way she fought the Shadows of the Metaverse. She once told him, in the intimacy of his bedroom, that she wanted them both to be equals. He was not sure she would have thought of something like this, but the notion of her coaching him was more than appealing.

He was still sore the morning after. Rooster's training varied little. Same could not be said about Akira's. There is an old adage that says "give a man a fish, and he will dine for one night; teach a man how to fish, and will dine for the rest of his life." Even though Yasunori and he spent less time with the other inmates, they were drawing attention, especially Shogo's. Daigo may be able to keep him safe for a long while, but he should not be complacent with the notion. In the end, the safest measure was to make sure he could defend himself on his own.

That is why Daigo was doing more than teaching Akira how to fight like a Yakuza. He was honing his form past that, shaping what Akira had already developed as a Phantom Thief into an art of his own. By the end of that week, Akira had a new set of skills, one Daigo told him he would be wise to keep sharp often on his own.

The following day, Daigo taught him to smoke. In between violent fits of coughing and teary eyes, Akira wondered how is it that Sojiro seemed to enjoy a cigarette before coffee. Come afternoon, Daigo joined them at lunch for a change. Then began a more cerebral, intuitive subject – behaviour. The unlikely mentor explained that imprisonment had a tendency to change people; while some changed only slightly, others became a different person. Even in Juvie Hall, where rehabilitation was the priority and sentences were relatively short. The best course of action is to stay ahead of the curve and steer the degree of change. Daigo suggested a tattoo would be a suitable first step. He acknowledged it as a joke immediately after.

Akira and Yasunori were both baffled that he had a sense of humour.

That night, as he lay in his bunk, Akira reflected upon Daigo's words. His experience as the leader of the Phantom Thieves had undeniably changed him. But even a comparatively mundane setting such as this would do the same as time went by. He tried to imagine what Yasunori, Daigo, and Shogo were like, before decisions and chance led them to this place. When he got out, would he be the same person who chose to turn himself in? Would his friends recognise him still? Would Makoto? Would his parents? Would he himself?