Chapter Six: From Here Until...
The sound of distant explosions remained near in his thoughts. An imagined smell of gunpowder brought him back to dear times, to watching an airplane spectacle with mum and dad when he was five, to a fireworks show in miniature with Futaba, Boss and Morgana. There was little time to plan something special for New Year's Eve with Makoto and the rest. Had things gone differently on the day before Christmas, he may have started thinking of something special, just the two of them. Regardless, all would have gathered to see this country greet the New Year with renewed heart.
Instead, he was apart from them, awake past midnight, on the first hours to the New Year, staring at the fabric beneath Yasunori's bunk. His face and body still ached from the earlier fray. And to top it all, he had a ravenous craving for Sojiro's coffee and curry. But despite it all, Akira Kurusu felt at peace. His friends outside were working towards his prompt release; his friends inside had his back and he had theirs. These were invigorating certainties; sufficient resources to withstand whatever may come.
The New Year inside of the youth correctional facility began much as any other day. Yasunori still slept in his bunk, snoring like a toddler. Akira decided against waking up, and instead tried doing push-ups on the cell's floor to work up an appetite for breakfast. At number twenty, his entire back screamed in pain. Rather than resent the damage from the day before, Akira felt it was a fair number to overcome, one more each day. While he waited for Yasunori to eventually wake up, Akira gazed up at the small window and wondered how his friends were doing.
Throughout the following weeks, there would be depositions, favours asked, support gained among peers and co-workers, written petitions, open speeches, extensive research and information tracing on the case that Masayoshi Shido put against Akira Kurusu on the first instance. The first inklings of a result took only a couple of days to become visible, which only pushed them all forward in their purpose. But on January the First, all began with a cup of coffee in the Headquarters of the Phantom Thieves, LeBlanc.
Sojiro Sakura decided to leave the sign on the door with the word 'Closed' facing outward. The place was reserved exclusively for the Phantom Thieves, and against normal schedule, the lights inside would stay past the service hour. The turning of the wheels after that day would be slow, but reliable and steady. There was no doubt on their success.
"I think it's really gracious of Boss to let us use the French press while he's out buying groceries." Makoto spoke. "But are you sure you know what you're doing, Ryuji?"
"Hell yeah! I've seen Akira do this a lot. Piece of cake!" Ryuji looked intensely confident behind the counter, though his coffee-water ratio was quite different from Akira's, as did the time he let the water sit after boiling. There was a distinct lack of delicacy to how Ryuji sank the plunger. What could be said to his favour was how quickly he picked up on the step-by-step procedure.
"What blend are you using, Ryuji?" Ann asked from her spot on the booth.
"Lemme check real quick." He picked up the lustred bag, making it quite clear that he saw no distinction between kinds and breeds of coffee. "Mocha Matari."
"Oh, my favourite." Makoto remarked to lighten the dread surrounding Ryuji's place at the press, realising too late what her comment entailed.
"Then we know who gets my first serve! Here you go, Queen!"
"Um, thanks." Makoto reluctantly placed her fingers around the white porcelain cup, and under the plate. "You know, coffee's always too hot for me when served. I like to let it sit and cool for a while. Futa-chan, you like your coffee hot. Would you like a sip?" She subtly pushed the plate in her direction.
"I'm not touching that." Futaba said, barely raising her eyes from her laptop's screen.
"How about you, Yusuke-kun?" Makoto looked pleadingly.
"I believe Futaba and I agree for once." Yusuke declared with detachment. In face of his denial, Makoto hoped Futaba would choose to try Ryuji's coffee over agreeing with Yusuke.
"Yeah, that's one for the books. Woo-hoo." She remarked without enthusiasm.
"Haru?" Makoto turned to her fellow graduate from Shujin. "Please help me."
"DEAR GOD, NO!" She exclaimed almost gasping, the curls of her hair bouncing at once. "I mean… I like mine with milk in it." She smiled gently, attempting to make up for her lack of tact.
"Yeah, I like mine with milk in it too." Ann agreed. "Speaking of, what's taking you so long with mine, Ryuji?"
Makoto then realised that the only aid her friends could provide was draw attention from her. Though a merciful gesture, her palate would still need to contend with this cup. The seconds it took for the cup to cool to her liking were a solace.
"Coming right up!"
"I'm rather hungry myself. Is there a chance Skull could make some curry for us as well?" Yusuke's comment instantly earned him spiteful looks from everybody at the table.
"Hey, come now! I'm sure Boss will cook something for us when he gets back!" Ann tried to gracefully dissuade Ryuji from heeding the idea.
"But I'm hungry now." Yusuke insisted absent-mindedly.
"Ryuji-kun is hard at work making coffee for all of us." Haru said. "Let's not pile up more work on him."
"It wouldn't be any trouble, guys." Ryuji smiled. I've watched Joker make curry a few times. I think I can give it a go."
"I have an idea!" Makoto very nearly closely interrupted. "I often cook for my sister. I'll make something for you all."
"Phew." Futaba's comment was as sneaky as it was lacking in courtesy towards the prospect of a breakfast cooked by Ryuji.
"Would that be acceptable, Makoto-san?" Yusuke asked.
"It's no problem at all." Makoto smiled warmly. As she stood from her seat, she looked back at the cup Ryuji made. Though she was not eager to try it, she thought it would be rude to let his work go to waste. She took the cup with as she stepped behind the counter to browse through the refrigerator's contents. Without the familiarity Akira and Sojiro had with each ingredient's place, Makoto's options were fairly limited. In the end, she decided to play it safe and cook rise with egg and a side of pickled plums. Nobody objected to this.
Ryuji joined the rest at the booth while Makoto insisted to making coffee for the rest. The image that presented itself before her looked home-like. Despite the great undertaking they were about to tackle, they allowed themselves a moment of carefree harmony. In between the brief banter, the eager eating and the smiles, Makoto simply lost herself. It was close to looking and feeling perfect, but for one thing still missing from the picture. Akira at her side. Funny, she thought, how the scenario came into full circle. Their enthusiasm and resolve to secure his release ran on the same energy they possessed from unity.
Without thinking about it, Makoto brought the cup to her lips. Bland as it was, the experience was not the dreadful assault to the tongue everyone feared. Nevertheless, the difference between Ryuji's hand and Akira's was as unmeasurable distance. Maybe love really is the secret ingredient, Makoto smiled and blushed at the thought.
"Alright! Good breakfast!" Futaba called out vigorously. "Time to work!"
From that moment on, Makoto led the rhythm of work like a conductor to an orchestra. She was Wagner directing the Ride of the Phantom Thieves. She was Bacalov plunging into the fire than humanity carries within. Nobody's efforts paled next to hers. Whether by research on the original case against Akira, a review of Shido's deeds as well as those of his associates, and even locating people across town who could offer testimony, everybody delivered. They would not slack off, for they knew instinctively that no matter how life was treating Akira in Juvie Hall, he must also be hard at work.
And so he was. After breakfast, he took on a new duty, heralded by Yasunori, who spoke lively with his mouth full, either from enthusiasm or discomfort from a tooth recently pulled.
"So, Strider."
"Huh?" Akira was sure Yasunori was talking to him, yet the use of a nickname took him off guard.
"That's what they're calling you now." Yasunori told him. "Strider."
"Strider?" Daigo wondered.
"Yeah, you know – after the punching, kicking thing yesterday." Yasunori chuckled. "Everyone's been talking about it."
"Does that include Shogo?" Daigo asked.
"You bet. I doubt he'll be doing anything, though. He's not even looking at us and he's right there." The young man nodded in the direction of Shogo's dark corner. Indeed, nobody in that table appeared to dare acknowledging their existence.
"That's probably good." Akira remarked nonchalantly. "Why Strider, though?"
"Hey, in terms of nicknames, you could do a lot worse, you know. You could be Worm."
"Any kind of bird is bad enough." Daigo teased.
"Hey, don't get cute!" Yasunori argued. "What do they even call you, anyway?"
"They don't call me at all." Such was the closest thing to boasting Daigo would say. Although his response was simple enough, Akira thought it sounded incredibly ominous.
"Anyway, Strider."
"Just call me Akira."
"Whatever. Two new guys are coming in, I hear." Yasunori told them. "Siblings. Grievous vandalism and theft in Harajuku, it seems."
"With those credentials, they're gonna get eaten alive, I reckon. What do you say, Strider? Wanna go meet them?"
Akira, once Joker, now Strider inside of this strange little world, smirked at the question.
"Sure. I think our table looks a bit empty as it is."
Akira continued to make friends across the following weeks, helping newcomers acclimatise to life inside of the correctional facility, offering advice and looking out to quell any and all abuse he could. Soon enough, his skills at welding, cooking and gardening earned him more respect than his stand against Shogo did. When coming from under the shadow of the bullied, his skills and character turned him into a role model, even under the eyes of the adult staff. With each name he learned, each fellow youth he helped, a familiar sensation sparked anew in his heart. He experienced it upon meeting his closest friends, and becoming closer to them. It was as if a new confidant dawned within.
The communion with these kindred spirits went on well until the end of the month. It was January the 31st. He was exhausted from such an eventful day, one which began at the garden, continued in the library, and ended with him cooking curry for all. With not even a glance at the starry sky through the cell's window, he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. That night, Akira dreamt.
Akira lost the count to how many times he has visited this place, a dimension bathed in blue. Somewhere both welcoming and oppressive. Though the appearance remained the same, this was no longer a prison to him; no bars to keep him contained, no striped attire to signal him a captive to be judged, and no binding of his fate to the design of a capricious God. Before him, the uncanny sight of a strange man with big eyes and an extraordinarily long nose, and a girl with otherworldly yellow irises and formal blue attire greeted him with kindness and familiarity.
This was a home both within and without, and Akira somehow felt this would be the last time he set foot in it. He stepped forward from what once was his cell towards the desk at the centre of the room. Igor and Lavenza called him here. The former's warm chuckle instantly dispelled the dread Yaldabaoth had amassed under Igor's guise for almost a year. Gone was the cavernous, imperious face that once spoke behind those eyes and nose. To Akira, it was like greeting the world's ugliest loving grandfather.
"Magnificent!" Igor said. Though this strange face always gazed him with a wide grin, this is the first time it matched the mirth within the individual.
"But…" Lavenza chimed, turning her face to her side in sorrow. "You're confined in reality now, even after you escaped the prison within your heart. What an ironic turn of events for the fortune of others over your own well-being." Her words were a reminder of a wound that scarred gracefully. "Still… it will do. You chose the correct path with your own volition. You did not compromise your beliefs for personal gain to the very end." The corners of her mouth curled into a serene smile.
A little blue light appeared in front of Akira, transforming into a Tarot card that hovered atop his open palm. It read "Le Monde". The World. A design as peculiar as the rest of the deck in his heart, as whimsically defiant to the tradition, a signal of consummation to this journey.
"The last arcana you have taken hold of is "The World". It is the willpower to stand up in this world on your own two feet, unswayed by no one." In Lavenza's voice Akira could sense the nuances that defined the two little girls who once constituted her; Caroline's enthusiasm without malice, Justine's calm without apathy. "That will become the basis of hope toward a future with your teammates who share the same belief."
Akira watched the card slowly turning in his hand, entranced by the meaning in Lavenza's words. At every full turn, he could see the image on the card portraying everybody he came to know throughout the year, every face he cherished, every heart that – though only to his vague knowledge – pushed forward to set him free.
"Now that you've gained that power, you are no longer an existence that wanders alone…" Lavenza declared.
The card shifted back into that tiny mesmerising light, seemingly disintegrating within Akira's palm closing into a fist. But the light remained, pulsating brighter, within himself.
"My own duties end here as well…" Igor spoke. Akira felt something stirring within him, a sensation akin to depleted lungs filling with air. A dull pain sparked instantly in his inner wiring – the sorrow of knowing that the farewell was coming. "... You were truly a remarkable guest." These words were new to Akira, yet he felt as if he had already heard them before, one or many lifetimes ago.
"Thank you." Akira managed to say before Igor and Lavenza illuminated this little world whole with their light, promptly disappearing into ethereal wisps like fireflies. Alone in the vacant former prison of the soul, his surroundings followed suit – the light bathed all and then vanished, leaving a black immensity behind. The passing of a shining blue butterfly was the final memento of his stay at the Velvet Room, signalling thus the end of his rehabilitation, and the end of the dream.
He thought he woke up as soon as the dream came to an end, unaware that time is no linear phenomenon in this realm of spirit. He was surprised at the absence of drowse, or tiredness, not knowing that he had rested the whole night through without discomfort or unease. Akira lived through the week, and most of the one that followed with constant vigour, but also a slight sensation of loss. It was a bittersweet feeling, which tinted most of his thoughts.
This continued until nearly the middle of February. One such random day appeared to begin as usual, but it was not Yasunori's voice what he first heard that morning. It was instead warden Himonya's who came to let him know he was receiving a special visit. He would not say from who, but a peculiar calmness about the man hinted it may be time for a few farewells. Still, though the actual news about his release came half an hour later from Sae Niijima, Makoto's sister, the anticipation could not dull the surprise, nor the rush of emotions that broke free inside of his mind. This would only be the first of several goodbyes. But same as he hoped to return to his friends, to stay at their side in the future, he hoped this would not be the last time he saw Yasunori and Daigo, two friends and comrades to a different battle. As a seal to their farewell, they swore a vow to do better when they too joined Akira in the outside world.
The light of the day stung Akira's eyes as he walked out of the facility a free man. Everything felt so quiet, even as he got in Sojiro's car. He knew, however, the sound would return mirthfully soon after they approached the confines of Yongen-jaya.