6/9 – Thursday
Afternoon
Akasaka Mitsuke, Television Station

"You sure you don't want to go do something else, Ann?" Ryuji asked. His arms were outstretched, holding what was now four distinct coils of thick black cable. "We can probably handle this on our own."

She barked out a short laugh. "Not a chance." Ann was crouched down, slowly untangling one cable at a time out of a large tangled pile on the floor. "That one guy over there was absolutely trying to creep on me." She gestured with her head towards a twenty-something in a blue hoodie currently chatting up a group of three uncomfortable-looking high school girls sitting on a nearby couch. "Better this than have to listen to him."

"Did you get his name?" Ren asked.

Ann gave him an odd look, and handed him a cable. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"So the Phantom Thieves could change his heart," Ren said. He took the cable from Ann and began coiling it – a harder task than he'd expected it to be.

Ann smacked herself in the forehead. "Right! I totally forgot about that." She sighed, and picked up another cable, trying to yank it out of the pile. The entire pile lurched, but the cable stayed tangled. "I'll go ask one of those girls before we leave. He'll probably give them his card or something."

As if on cue, the man pulled a small card out of his pocket and handed it to one of the girls. She accepted it with a tense smile, and then tossed it over her shoulder the moment he turned away. Then, the trio got up and skedaddled towards the nearby hallway, off the edge of the set.

"Hey, nice timing," Ryuji said. "Uh. Ren, you up to going to grab that?"

Ren placed the now coiled cable in Ryuji's arms, and nodded. "Be right back." Making sure there wasn't anyone crossing in front of him, Ren lightly jogged over to the couch, holding his bag tightly as to not jostle Morgana too intensely. He still heard a little mewl of disapproval from within. "Sorry," he whispered, and scooted around the couch to nab the card. Then, he turned back to return to his friends, and collided directly with someone. Ren yelped, and stumbled backwards, falling onto the couch.

"Oh!" said the well dressed young man – in a brown button-up with a black tie, and brown hair down to his neck – that Ren had bumped into. He looked also rather startled, but otherwise unaffected. He hadn't even let go of the odd silver briefcase in his right hand. "My apologies. I wasn't looking where I was going." He extended his left hand, in a black leather glove, towards Ren.

Ren almost took his hand, almost reached out with his left– "I should have been more careful too," he said, and stood up on his own. "No worries."

Something odd passed across the young man's face. A twitch that might have been anger, or curiosity. Or some mix of the two. He lowered his hand, then his gaze, towards the business card Ren had dropped in the collision. "Oh." He bent down, picking up the card and examining it. "This is our assistant director's card, is it not?" His dark brown eyes flickered up towards Ren. "I wonder why a student like you would have something like this."

Ren felt cold. Something about the young man's gaze felt beyond piercing. It was odd and careful and so very sharp. "I wonder," he replied, lost for any other reply.

And the young man chuckled, smiling in a way that looked a little forced. "I'm teasing you, I apologize. I've heard he has a bad habit of trying to scout 'talent' while on the job." He handed the card to Ren, once again with his left. "I'd heard it was primarily girls, but I suppose he saw something in you. Far be it from me to get involved."

Ren carefully took the card, pulling it from the young man's grip with just his fingertips, as if any further would expose himself in some degree. "Are you here to assist as well?" he asked. The young man didn't look much older than Ren, rather out of place on a TV set considering.

The young man gave him an odd look, half a smirk on his lips. "That would be rather usual. These shows don't often ask their guests to do more than smile and talk clearly."

Before Ren could unpack that, one of the other assistants rushed over. "Mister Akechi, the director is waiting on you–"

The young man put a hand up, and the assistant stopped speaking instantly. "Thank you," he said, sweetly but coldly. "I'll be over in just a moment. Please ask Mister Yoshizawa to wait a little longer."

The assistant let out a long, anxious breath, and then scuttled off, leaving the so-called Akechi with Ren – whose mind had currently gone blank at the familiar last name coupled with the way this high schooler was being addressed as some sort of honored guest. Now that he thought about it, the young man did look sort of familiar. "So," he said, finally, "you're a guest on Good Morning Japan? And I'm guessing, a regular?"

Akechi smirked again. "Right on both counts. And I assume that you're a student of Shujin, considering the uniform." He rubbed his chin. "If I had to guess...third year?"

"Second," Ren replied.

"Drat," he chuckled, and snapped his fingers. "Well then, Second-Year, are you enjoying yourself on set so far? I know my first time here was rather overwhelming, though it was under very different circumstances."

"I'm sort of underwhelmed, to be honest." Ren shoved his hands in his pockets, staring down Akechi. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Akechi's smile fell. "Yes," he said, rather slowly. He looked honestly hesitant to leave, though Ren hadn't the faintest idea why. "I shouldn't make Mister Yoshizawa wait too long." He nodded to Ren. "If I'm not mistaken, you should all be returning for the proper filming tomorrow. I hope to see you there, Second-Year." He winked, and then he turned and walked towards the set proper.

Before Ren had even a moment to catch his breath, he saw Ryuji speed-walking towards him, Ann a few steps behind. "Hallway," he said, as if that would explain things, and jerked a thumb towards the hall.

"Uh," he said. "Okay."


As they'd made it into a quiet section of the station hallway, just a little ways past the bathrooms, words exploded out of Ryuji's mouth. "Dude I cannot believe you almost just K.O.'d a celebrity that was fucking awesome–"

Ren threw his hands up. "Woah, woah, slow down. You two know who he was?"

Ann raised an eyebrow. "Uh," she said, "yes? Do you not?"

Ren shrugged, feeling pretty sheepish. "I mean, he's apparently a regular on the talk show. I don't–"

Ryuji let out an involuntary giggle, and Ren paused. "Bro, that was the teen detective king guy."

"Detective Prince," Ann corrected. "All the girls at Shujin are talking about him, he's a gossip magnet." She sighed, reaching up to fiddle with a hairband. "He's a prettyboy high school detective. I heard some of the girls in our class chatting about starting up a fan club for him."

Ryuji scowled. "Ugh."

"I knoooow," Ann replied. "Everyone's going nuts over a fakey-fake celeb like him; it's the worst."

Ren twirled a bit of hair between his fingers, thinking. "Fake is right," he mumbled. "Something about that guy's attitude really rubbed me the wrong way."

He felt Morgana squeeze his head out of his bag. "Me too," the feline added. "Even just by the way he talked, you could tell he was putting on an act."

"So, uh," Ren said, "why are we in the hallway to talk about this?"

Ryuji started. "Oh! Yeah yeah, I wanted to update you guys." He rubbed his hands together, grinning. "I've been doing some investigating."

Ann raised an eyebrow. "Oh. Looking for another target?"

Ryuji nodded. Then, he hesitated. "Well, yeah, that was the original idea. But it's less that now. Might be a lead?" He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Start from the beginning?" Ren offered.

"Right, yeah." He took a deep breath. "Cool. So my shotgun's been making this weird noise when I move it around, like there was a loose bit in there or something, so I went by the airsoft shop to get it checked out. But when I got there, these two guys in real fancy suits walked out right past me, talking about how they're trying to bust the owner for something."

"Didn't you describe that guy as super sketchy-looking?" Ann asked.

"Scarier than sketchy, but kinda yeah." Ryuji said. "So I walked in and the guy was legit stuffing shit into a paper bag. And I was just like 'hey I'm looking for work, you guys hiring?' Dude looked at me like he wanted to bite my head off."

Ren burst out laughing. "You asked him for a job?"

"Yeah!" Ryuji replied with a grin. "I dunno why, it just slipped out. But he legit agreed, told me to help him take out some trash."

"Let me guess," Ann cut in, smirking. "Got you to help him out liquidating evidence."

"Bingo." Ryuji rolled his shoulder. "I mean, I didn't see much, but that guy's got some real realistic stuff in there he doesn't want the cops to see. I swear, I thought I was chucking real guns for a sec."

"Hmm," Morgana hummed, adjusting his front paws on Ren's shoulder. "The cognitive effect should make more realistic guns pack a whole lot more of a punch. Maybe we can use that to our advantage."

Ryuji nodded. "For sure, I figured something like that."

"I hate to admit it," Morgana mumbled, "but you did good work, Ryuji."

Ren smiled. "Seconded. Nice job."

"Well, shit," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks a little flushed. "Nothin' to it."

"Morgana and I can stop by next week," Ren continued. "As soon as we find some time, at least."

"Gotcha." Ryuji stretched out both arms. "I'll keep helping out there when I can. Might find out something else helpful."

"Stay safe," Ren said. "If the cops are keeping an eye on the place..." He didn't feel comfortable finishing that sentence.

But Ryuji only smiled back. "Don't worry, I will. Plus, the owner actually seems like a kinda chill guy? At least he treated me pretty well."

"That's good." Noticing Ann's silence, Ren glanced over to see her staring at him with an odd, knowing smirk on her lips. As soon as he did, she instantly averted her gaze, whistling with playful intent.

Ryuji, ever oblivious, continued: "Anyway, we should probably head back before Kawakami comes looking. Uh, what's our story?"

"Bathroom," Ren said.

"Bathroom," Ann echoed, only an instant after.

"Gotcha." He started walking back towards the set.

Ren was about to continue after him, but Ann elbowed him out of the way with a little mischievous giggle. "You guys should probably just rent a marriage venue already," she whisper-teased.

Ren felt his face heat up. Lacking a comeback, he simply ran after her, Ann breaking into a sprint down the hallway, snickering her head off, while Morgana mewled a protest to the awful jostling.


█████
Morning
Odaiba

It was raining. The Trickster stared up at the sky in its eternal grey, letting the raindrops strike his mask, roll down his coat, the moisture tightening the cognitive leather of his gloves.

"Are you quite done observing the weather?" the boy in the black mask asked. He was standing a little ways away, almost a dozen feet down the empty side-street. "May we begin this spar, or do you simply enjoy the experience of pneumonia?"

Their makeshift arena was a little cramped, constricted by the buildings on either side but also by the effective range of the MEER, the Kirijo Group's clunky Metaverse manipulator. The rain slipped through the hazy field between cognitive space and the real world, hovering a moment in midair as they hit the top edge and then catching back up with gravity half a breath later. "Can't say I'm a fan of sickness in any form," the Trickster replied, "but I like the rain."

"You like a lot of things," the boy fired back. "You've got a bleeding heart like that."

The Trickster shrugged and unsheathed his knife. Familiar silver, the curved blade slipping through raindrops. A skull on its hilt, shining with moisture. "And you've got anger issues. Nobody's perfect."

The boy's blade caught the Trickster's. Sparks. Jagged crimson teeth against the Trickster's silver edge. His left hand twitched, tensing to brace against the guard along with his right. But the Trickster hesitated.

"You can't afford to overthink!" the boy in the black mask snarled. He kept pushing against the Trickster's guard, sliding him nearly a whole foot along the slick ground. "You're not–"

"You're not the teacher." And the Trickster let go. He released the blade, pivoted on his left heel and let the boy's momentum carry him into an utterly unstable stumble. Before the boy could regain himself, the Trickster grabbed his cape, yanked him back into a headlock. "Do you give?"

"Fuck you!" The boy spat back. He'd dropped his sword as well, both hands clutching at the Trickster's arm, trying to pull himself out of the headlock by force.

The Trickster could have chided him, could have told him this wouldn't work, that he was fighting an uphill battle against anatomical force. But instead, he released the hold, taking a few steps back while the boy in the black mask scrambled for his sword again. "You're not treating this as just a spar, are you? You look like you really want to hurt me."

The boy turned, blade up, bracing the dull edge against his other hand. He hesitated, watching the Trickster. "I decline an answer," he replied. His visor shattered. "Loki."

The Trickster only saw the flash of his white eye stark against his skin, and a sharp ivory grin between crimson lips. Then came the blinding dusk. He almost sighed out the command: "Arsene." And the dark was swept away, just in time to see the boy in the black mask bearing down on him, sword raised, one hand in his coat pocket–

And the boy froze. Suspended in midair, along with the now-motionless raindrops. His visor still absent, showing a clear expression of contorted fury and agony, and his one white eye.

A presence. Like a tickle at the edge of his mind, a mental tripwire. The Trickster's hand went to his own coat, to the holster of his gun, and he whirled, pointing the barrel towards the woman he knew to be there. She was sitting on the edge of an open windowsill, legs crossed, two yellow eyes peering out from beneath a black hood. A ragged pitch cloak, swaying around her as if moved by an invisible breeze.

"You don't touch him," the Trickster said. His own voice sort of frightened him, the cold fury pouring into his throat and past his lips like frigid bile.

She nodded. "I'm aware of our arrangement," Oxymoron replied. "Such hostility for just a friendly visit." And she giggled.

"I felt we had an understanding." He clicked the safety off of his pistol. It wasn't much more than a cognitive construction against her, a falsity, but in his hands? It'd probably at least sting. "In exchange for my name and my assistance, you are to leave...them...alone."

Her eyes narrowed. Something like irritation. "He's armed, you know," Oxymoron said. "He brought more than a model pistol with him. Considering his emotional state, I merely thought it prudent to disarm him. Or, if you're so insistent on me to keep my distance," she raised her hands in a mock surrender, "then that warning should suffice. Yes?"

The Trickster's finger stalled against the trigger. He felt it then, all that anger, all that hopeless fury that the boy in the black mask no doubt felt as well. He wanted so badly to turn that against her, to pull up whatever strength he still had left and give her hell. But he holstered his pistol. "Yes. That suffices. And I trust him, he won't hurt me."

"You're getting sloppy," she warned. It wasn't a joke. Oxymoron took a breath in, seeming to be readying herself for something more, but she hesitated. "You made me a promise. That oath is hardly binding, if you find yourself seeking an out. There are still far more iterations that may be better equipped for this burden than you."

Anger, maybe. "No," he said. "This...I don't want anyone else to have to take that responsibility. Not even another me, not when I can..." And his words failed him.

Silent amidst the suspended raindrops. "Understood," she finally said. "Considering that anger in your eyes, I'll wait to contact you again until I absolutely need to." He could hear a little smile in her voice. "Don't die, Joker."

And time began to move again.


6/10 – Friday
Afternoon
Akasaka Mitsuke, Television Station

Considering there was a live camera about ten feet away from him, Ren tried to be as quiet as possible in his seat. And he almost winced out of his skin as Ryuji adjusted next to him, his chair half-screeching against the floor.

"Stupid cheap crap chair," the jock grumbled.

Ren could feel Kawakami's death glare from across the room, and he forced his attention towards the gaudy talk show set with its flashing lights and clashing palette of bright oranges, yellows, greens and blues. There were the two well-dressed hosts on one couch, and that equally well-dressed young man from yesterday on the other. Akechi.

As the hosts chatted back and forth with the high school detective, Ren found his gaze focusing in on Akechi in particular. There was something about him that seemed...interesting. Those sharp brown eyes wandered back into his mind. It was sort of odd, like there was something about him that Ren was missing. Some little detail, like a zipper on a costume, some loose thread that could unravel the young man's entire persona.

"That would be the scandal involving the master artist Madarame, yes?" Akechi asked.

And Ren's attention immediately snapped to the conversation at hand.

"I'm not actively involved in the case," the detective continued, "but I can't help but admit it's caught my attention."

"Allow me to be blunt for just a moment." The male host scooted closer to the edge of his seat, leaning forward as he talked. "Just what do you think of these so-called Phantom Thieves?"

He was quite a ways away, but Ren could almost swear he saw the flicker of a smirk across Akechi's face. "If they are heroes of justice," he said, in a saccharine voice, "I sincerely hope they exist. But that being said..." He crossed his legs, one hand on his chin, brow furrowed. "I cannot in any good faith condone their methods."

And Ren felt very cold. Ryuji stiffened next to him, saying something bitter under his breath.

"That's quite a statement," the female host replied, a big tv-fake smile on her face. "Could it be that you think the Phantom Thieves are criminals?"

"In a literal sense, there isn't a doubt in my mind." Akechi smiled, and there was something chillingly honest in his expression.

"Easy for him to say," Ann muttered. Ren glanced at her, sitting on the other side of the white-knuckling Ryuji, to see her observing the interview with an look of utter disdain. "He hasn't...he hasn't been through our hell."

Akechi continued. "How they accomplish these 'changes of heart' is, of course, currently unknown. There can be no more than speculation as to how it's done, but I feel that conversation – while of course fascinating – distracts from the true topic at hand."

"Could you speak to this topic then?" the male host prompted.

"Certainly." Akechi sat up a little straighter, almost addressing the camera directly. "To change a person's heart by force is abominable. There is some debate about this, and I have seen more than a handful of arguments that Madarame's confession was a consequence for his actions. That he deserved to be exposed as such."

"Yeah?" Ryuji grumbled. "He fucking did."

"However!" Akechi said, putting one finger up, as if to cut off potential dissent. "Though Madarame's actions were indeed abominable, a change of heart could very well be a form of brainwashing, or advanced coercion. In either way, this confession was gained by some degree of force. In that way, they revoked his–" Akechi's voice broke. He cleared his throat, taking a drink of water from a glass in front of him. "My apologies."

"Oh, of course," the female host replied. "Please, continue."

"Thank you," he said, and flashed a tight-lipped smile. There was something about him that seemed almost...nervous. Like he'd unnerved himself with his own talk. But a second later, it was gone, and his previous aura of confidence returned. "The Phantom Thieves, if they exist, revoked a man's human autonomy. His right to choose, his ability to make his own decisions. In that way, they broke not only a literal law, but also committed quite the human rights abuse." And Akechi smirked. "As well, these Thieves no doubt knew enough about Madarame's crimes to target him. Yet they chose to act against him themselves, rather than make that information public. Or, more directly, inform the police?"

Ren could have laughed out loud at that. Despite himself, a little chuckle escaped his lips. "As if that'd do anything." he said. Hands tight in his lap, nails digging into his own skin. "As if they'd do shit." His bag shifted between his feet, a warm body inside pressing against him. And a hand on his leg. He took a deep breath. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'm okay."

"This," Akechi continued, "proves to me that these Thieves have no shortage of ego. They believe themselves above not only the law, but above the constraints of basic morality. They are, in a word, dangerous." He adjusted his tie, and chuckled. "Of course, it is still likely they do not exist at all. I'd seem rather foolish if that were the case, wouldn't I?"

Both hosts and audience burst into laughter. But Ren didn't. He just kept staring straight ahead, gaze locked on the young detective in the nice suit, with those infuriatingly sharp eyes. And, judging by the silence to his right, neither of the other Thieves found his joke amusing.

"I think now would be an excellent opportunity to poll the audience, don't you?" asked the male host. "Especially considering they are, by vast majority, students around the same age as you, Mister Akechi."

Akechi nodded. "By all means. I would be happy to hear some more detailed opinions on what my peers think of the Phantom Thieves."

The female host stood up, taking a microphone out from beneath the table and making her way towards the audience. Gaze scanning left to right across the students, and then she locked eyes with Ren. He felt his blood stop in his veins as she came towards him.

"How about this young man here?" she said. Her smile was blank and forced, and she held the mic out, so close it was probably picking up the sound of his staccato heart. "Assuming these Phantom Thieves do exist, what are your thoughts on them?"

Ren couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. And then he opened his mouth, and his heart leapt into his throat. "For criminals who the police are unable or unwilling to prosecute, shouldn't there be people like the Phantom Thieves taking them to task?"

He could hear a sharp whistle from vaguely through the haze, and it sounded like approval.

"Interesting." Akechi rubbed his chin with one gloved hand. And then his eyes widened, for just an instant – he recognized Ren. And his smile widened too.

"That sounds to be a completely contrary opinion to yours, Mister Akechi," the male host said.

"Indeed it is," Akechi replied, words off his lips like syrupy venom. "And a very strong opinion to boot." He straightened his posture. "I'd like to ask a follow-up question, if you don't mind." Without waiting for approval, he continued. "If someone close to you, that young man in the blond hair for example–" And Ren felt Ryuji flinch next to him; Ren tensing in turn. "–were to suddenly have a radical change of heart, would you suspect the Phantom Thieves?"

"They've only targeted criminals," Ren fired back instantly.

"So far, that is indeed the case." And Akechi's eyes gleamed with something like pride. "But whatever their methods are, I highly doubt that their capabilities are limited to simply the extraction of confessions. If they are able to cause such radical changes, what's to say they couldn't cause much smaller ones? Such as, for example, changing the hearts of their detractors to turn them into supporters?"

Ren's tongue stalled in his mouth. He could hear whispering from behind him, muttering of his classmates all mulling over Akechi's words, anxious little mumblings. And there was that Detective Prince on the couch, looking every bit as regal as his title would suggest. Confident. And victorious.


The air in the hallway felt equally tense and heavy. Angry, but exhausted. All the other students were either milling around the set trying to get Akechi's autograph or had left, only the three high-school Thieves and the one feline Thief lingered there.

"That sucked," Ann said.

"Yeah," Ryuji replied. Then, he started. "I mean, you did your best there Ren. That was a really good argument thing you said."

"Thanks," Ren said, with a little smile. Then he shrugged. "He's better at debating than I am. Doesn't feel great, but it's not the end of the world." His left hand clenched into a fist. "It doesn't make him right."

Ann took a deep breath in and out. "Screw that uppity dude. Let's go do something fun. Take our minds off that asshole."

Ryuji broke into a grin, and Ren felt himself smiling too, just at the sight. "Hell yeah," Ryuji said, "seconded."

"Sounds good to me," Ren added.

"Uh." Ann giggled sheepishly. "Any ideas?"

"Hm." Ryuji rubbed his chin. "Ramen?"

She snickered. "How is that always your first suggestion?"

"Cause it's good shit!" he fired back, still grinning.

"What about that place we passed on the way here?" Morgana asked, popping his head out of the bag. "It looked like a big pancake!"

"A big..." Ann trailed off, brow furrowed, and then her expression lit up. "Oh! You mean Dome Town? Isn't the round part just a stadium?"

Ryuji burst out laughing. "Well, it's got an amusement park there too, so that's a pretty good suggestion."

Ren could feel Morgana almost wilt. "So, no pancakes?"

Ryuji shook his head. "I mean, they might have funnel cake there or something. But nope."

"Oh." The morose feline slunk back into Ren's bag.

Before Ren had a chance to comfort Morgana, a voice echoed through the hallway. "Excuse me? Second-Year, wait up a moment please!"

Ren's spine stiffed in his back, and his friends similarly tensed as the teenage detective speed-walked down the hallway towards him. "What?" he asked, trying to keep the venom out of his voice.

Akechi, still with that fake smile, raised his free hand. "I come in peace. I'm simply glad I caught up with you, I wanted to thank you in person." He adjusted his tie, stopping a very comfortable distance away. "I considered your contribution incredibly valuable."

"You've got a fucked-up way of showing thanks," Ren replied before he had a chance to stop himself.

Akechi's eyes widened. And then he burst out laughing. "Yes, my apologies. It wasn't my intention to make enemies. I was speaking rather hyperbolically, and I certainly didn't expect anyone to answer me as candidly as you did." He adjusted his tie. "To speak truthfully, I can't say for certain that the Phantom Thieves are or are not in the right. It's simply too early to be sure."

Ren hadn't expected that. He blinked, trying to regain his train of thought, pull some logic out of the confusion that had replaced his anger. And something in the back of his brain reminded himself of his friends, reminded him that Ann and Ryuji and Morgana were there with him. Silent, but present. And he felt himself relax. "You said they were dangerous. That doesn't sound neutral to me."

Akechi nodded. "Once again, I apologize for letting hyperbole get the best of me. But my point is that...well, the Phantom Thieves' methods are completely unknown. Their operations are anonymous, and there is no trace of their actions that could lead to identification or accountability. And as I mentioned, it is entirely possible that whatever ability or tool they posses that allows them to change hearts could be used for more subtle manipulation." He smiled, in an odd and sympathetic way. "You can see how all of that puts a detective like me in an unenviable position."

"So," Ren said, finding himself smirking a little, "you're afraid of the Phantom Thieves."

Akechi hesitated. "In a way," he replied, "I suppose that I am."

And Ren found himself at a loss for words; he hadn't expected that either.

Akechi cleared his throat. "When I call the Phantom Thieves dangerous," he continued, "I am not speaking about them as individuals, but rather whatever they possess that allows them to change hearts. I think even you can agree," and his cold eyes locked with Ren's, "that is a tool that could be very dangerous in the wrong hands."

Ren thought about that for a moment. "Yeah," he said, "I'd say that's accurate."

"Good." Akechi smiled, and it looked almost honest. "If you don't mind me saying, I rather enjoy this conversation. Despite your bodyguards." And he gestured to Ann and Ryuji.

"Nice to meet you too, prettyboy," Ryuji grumbled.

Akechi didn't address him though, turning his attention back to Ren. "Considering my status, it's not often that people speak their minds freely with me."

"Really?" Ren twirled a lock of hair around his finger. "You don't get good company around your cop friends?"

Akechi's expression fell. "You'd be surprised," he mumbled, and Ren felt an odd little pang in his chest. But Akechi cleared his throat. "Many adults treat me as some sort of...shall we say, novelty. Something interesting to be seen and heard, but not really listened to." He smiled, but it was more fake than usual, more forced. "I can't stay much longer, but I would like to hear more of your thoughts on the Phantom Thieves." He reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell. "If you wouldn't mind, might we meet up another time? When we're both available, of course."

Ren was sort of taken aback by his forwardness. Almost on instinct, he pulled out his own cell. "Yeah," he said, the words sounding bizarre in his mouth. "Sounds good."

"Excellent." Contact info exchanged, both phones let out a simultaneous beep of approval, and Akechi pocketed his cell. "Well then, I won't keep you three. Though, if I had the time, I might ask to tag along for a late pancake lunch"

Ren raised an eyebrow. It was a little too out-of-nowhere to even really justify a reply.

"Uh," Ann said. "Why pancakes?"

Akechi blinked. "Oh. Did you not...?" And he paused. "I could have sworn..." He shook his head. "My apologies. Well then, Second-Year, I hope to–"

"Amamiya," Ren corrected. "It's Amamiya. Ren, really."

Akechi nodded. "Amamiya. A pleasure." He reached out his left, that same gloved hand.

This time though, Ren took it. "Likewise, Akechi."