Days continued to roll by with Ren hopping between his part-time jobs and spending time with friends or confidants when possible. He saw Sojiro, Futaba, and Morgana on a daily basis. He tried to message his friends at least a few times a week, both through the group chat and through direct messages. He even managed to meet up with Yusuke on occasion, sometimes bumping into the tall man at the station. Outside of those who became his new family, he saw Ohya the most often during his shifts at Crossroads, sometimes passing a smiling Chihaya on the way. Occasionally, he did an odd job for Iwai.

Which led him to his most recent predicament: on a train bound for the suburbs in Saitama, carrying a nondescript cardboard package roughly the size of a tissue box– wrapped in copious amounts of packing tape and shoved into a Big Bang Burger bag– with orders to make the hand off personally. In his pocket was a scrap of paper with a name: Azuma Takanashi– at least, that's what the phonetic reading above it said– along with an address and a contact number.

Pulling out his phone, he checked Le Blanc's account statistics for the second time that day. There were a couple of new comments, along with a handful of likes, but there hadn't been any new followers in the past three days. He minimized the app and opened his photos, scrolling through and looking for any that hadn't already been scheduled for upload. The few he found included either Soujiro or Futaba, and while he knew Soujiro wouldn't mind since he was the owner, he knew Futaba wouldn't be so happy to have her visage posted online.

He closed his photos and switched back to respond to the comments.

The first one was another from Yusuke, 'An interesting angle. I believe tilting the camera an additional fifteen degrees to the left would result in an even more desirable result.'

Smiling, he typed, [good to kno. will try next time. thanx!] before he remembered that it was an official account and corrected it.

The second one was a bit more surprising, [Been a while, but did you rearrange the coffee jars? Wasn't the Blue Mountain Blend next to the House one?]

Blinking, Ren tried to recall whether or not that was right. He visualized the shelves. With a start, he realized that the two blends did in fact once sit next to each other. However, that was when he was still a high school student.

What the hell?

Few people would remember, let alone notice, that tiny detail or bother to ask about it. Tapping on the commenter icon, he scrolled through the account. The profile picture was a simple snapshot of a small cactus sitting on a windowsill, cropped to focus on the spot where its arm connected to the main body and to emphasize the spines. None of the pictures posted featured people– or even a shadow. Scrolling through, Ren recognized some of the older pictures. This is the same guy that recommended us online.

He switched back to the comment and thought carefully about what to say. In the end, he decided to simply leave it at, [That's right, good eye for detail.] However, before he could post the reply, the announcement that the train was pulling into Akabane came and Ren shoved his phone into his pocket. Once he was off the train, he followed the crowd up the stairs and made his way to track 8 to catch his connecting train, which would take him the rest of the way to Toda Koen. It did not take long for the train to arrive.

He spent the trip looking up the address and planning his route. The train pulled into the station shortly after. He followed the signs to the exit, went down a flight of stairs, and found himself next to a bus stop. Checking his navigation, he walked along the side of the station and turned left to cut through a large parking area for bicycles. Then he made his way through various side streets until he was looking up at a three story building.

It was painted a cream color, with a protruding white staircase that wove up the floors in a zigzag fashion. Each door looked identical; white painted metal with an aluminum trip and mail slot at about waist height. The majority of the building was surrounded by a short cinder block wall just a little taller than Ren himself, though that wall ended just before the stairs. Separating an identical building next to it were a few sorry-looking shrubs and a narrow rack for the residents' bicycles. He took the stairs two at a time until he made it to the third floor. The apartment he wanted was the last one on the right.

Ringing the bell, Ren positioned himself in front of the security camera above the buzzer and held the package high enough that it could be seen. Then he waited. And waited.

He tried again, but no one even called through the intercom.

He pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday, so Iwai's customer most likely was out running errands or possibly doing some overtime at work, Ren decided. Dialing the number on his contact sheet, Ren waited for someone to pick up. Five rings later, the call disconnected, without an option to leave a voicemail message.

Ren sent a quick text to Iwai.

Ren Amamiya 14:46

[Our customer is MIA & doesn't have a voicemail. You told him I was coming, right?]

Seconds later, his phone was ringing.

"Hey kid, figured it'd be quicker to call. You know us old guys and texting, takes us forever. And yeah, I let him know to expect the package today. Told him I was sending my best."

"Maybe he forgot or something came up. I'll keep trying and see what happens," Ren replied, leaning against the door and shifting the package under his arm. It wasn't heavy, so not for the first time, he wondered what was in it and why Iwai was so adamant that it was signed for. It didn't have the same heft as a gun.

"Keep me updated. If you can't get in touch by five or six, gimme another call and head back. I'll pay you a little extra and add it to his tab," Iwai replied with a sigh. "Look, I gotta go, but text me. Just 'cause I don't text back, doesn't mean I'm not reading them."

Ren nodded, despite there being no one to see it, and shifted the package to his hip. The call with Iwai ended and he tried calling Azuma Takanashi again. And again, there was no answer and no way to leave a message.

I wonder… I can't leave a voicemail, but maybe this'll work.

He was just about to try sending a text message when his phone chimed. One new message.

Unknown Number 14:51

[Who is this and how did you get this number?]

It was from the number he was trying to reach. He quickly saved the contact before replying.

Ren Amamiya 14:53

[Delivery from Untouchable. Got the package you ordered. In front of your place.]

Azuma Takanashi 14:54

[...just leave it then. I'll get to it later.]

Ren Amamiya 14:54

[No can do, sorry. Need your hanko stamp or at least a signature. Boss' orders.]

Azuma Takanashi 14:56

[Can't you just forge it? I'm not going to be home anytime soon. Doubt you want to wait around.]

Ren Amamiya 14:57

[If Iwai found out, I'm done for. Besides I've got nothing better to do atm. What time will you be back?]

Azuma Takanashi 14:59

[After 6 most likely. Don't you have other deliveries to attend to?]

Ren Amamiya 15:01

[Nope. Doing this as a favor to the boss. Plus, I've never been to this part of Saitama. Might be nice to look around.]

Azuma Takanashi 15:06

[Then might I recommend a diner not too far from there? It's about a 20 minute walk, but well worth it. I'll send the location.]

A link was attached.

Ren Amamiya 15:07

[Sounds good. Text me when you get home and I'll swing by with the goods. Call me if anything changes.]

It didn't take Ren long to find the diner using the link and his phone's GPS. However, since he had so much time, he took to exploring the sidestreets along the way. By the time he finally reached his destination, he had worked up an appetite. As he ate, he fired off a quick message to Futaba saying that he might be back later than expected. He also filled Iwai in on his conversation with Takanashi and the plan.

He played on his phone, and made good use of the all-you-can-drink bar, until a quarter to six. However, when seven-twenty rolled around and he still hadn't gotten confirmation that Takanashi returned home, he paid his bill at the register and fired off another message.

Ren Amamiya 19:24

[Hey, how're we looking? ETA on when you'll be home?]

Ren Amamiya 19:32

[I'm swinging by. I can be there in about 15.]

Quickening his pace, Ren cut through a few shortcuts he had found earlier. By cutting through a parking lot and hopping over a low barrier, he could shave a few minutes off the walk back. It left him on the far side of the building, facing the balconies and their windows. Looking up, the light was on Takanashi's apartment.

Wonder if he just got home.

Ren Amamiya 19:49

[Almost there. Should I come up or are you coming down?]

No reply.

He took to the stairs with a huff. He brushed the hair out of his face quickly before he took his place in front of the intercom camera. As soon as he rang it, he could hear sounds of movement from inside. Suddenly, a loud crash rang out, sounding as though something heavy had fallen.

Concerned, Ren called out, "Hey, you alright in there?!"

A thump came from the other side of the door.

"You need some help? Should I call the–"

Azuma Takanashi 19:53

[No. I'm fine.]

"You sure? That sounded pretty bad."

Azuma Takanashi 19:54

[Perfectly.]

Azuma Takanashi 19:55

[I knocked over some books. You surprised me.]

"That didn't…" Ren sighed, "...fine. I've got your stuff if you want to open the door…"

Azuma Takanashi 19:55

[That won't be necessary. Slide the invoice through the mail slot in the door.]

Ren shook his head in exasperation, "This is looking shiftier by the minute, but alright. I don't think it'll work for everything though."

He pushed the paper through the slot. He heard it fall into the little metal box on the other side. Then came the sounds of it opening, some shuffling, a slight bump of something hitting the door– Ren assumed it was the paper being stamped– and finally the sound of the metal flap being pried open from the inside by a set of pale fingers.

Whoa, creepy!

Then the document was partially fed through with some difficulty.

"Why don't you just open the door and hand it to me," Ren asked, trying to figure out a way to retrieve it without tearing it. He didn't expect a reply and watched as the paper was continued to be awkwardly forced through the slot, though now the fingers– right hand, Ren noted– both sought to hold the flap open as well as maneuver the document.

"Tch!"

The paper and fingers retreated and soon after another text came.

Azuma Takanashi 20:07

[That didn't work as planned. Stand away from the door. You will leave the package after I give you the invoice.]

Wow, this guy is starting to remind me a lot of Futaba.

"Ok, I understand. Stepping back now."

The door opened a crack and the same hand snaked out with the paper, blindly waving at the general height of Ren's chest. Ren couldn't help but watch for a moment because it really did look ridiculous. Ren was moving to finally reach out for it when he heard, "Come on and take it already."

It left Ren gobsmacked and feeling as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his whole body. It couldn't be…

The growl was soft and likely not meant for Ren's ears at all. But for a second, Ren was no longer standing in front of a stranger's apartment in Saitama, but elsewhere… a cafe with lights turned low and air chilled with promises of snow.

He shook his head to clear it.

The door opened slightly wider and as it did so, Ren caught sight of a thin wrist wrapped in the sleeve of a hoodie or sweatshirt. The paper continued to flutter in said grasp. As he took the corner of it, the hand froze.

"Sorry," he said, pulling the paper out of the other man's hand. Before the hand could disappear back into the apartment, however, he quickly replaced it with the bad he had been carrying. There was a second of hesitation, but then the door opened slightly wider to try and accommodate the difference in size between the package and the paper. As this happened, a sneaker clad foot wedged itself between the door and the frame to hold it open.

Putting the paper– after checking that it had been stamped– into his pocket, Ren took another step away from the door, saying, "Look, I don't know anything about whatever you've got going on, but… I hope whatever it is, gets better."

"Excuse me?! You… how dare you… I am of half the mind to—" the other man cut himself off and took a deep breath. He held it for five seconds and let it out for seven. He then shifted to place the package gently on the ground outside and tried to shut the door.

For the second time, Ren found himself transported elsewhere for a second. The man's words came out in a dangerous hiss that had been familiar once, although it didn't carry the same manic twinge. It did have a familiar gravel to it, though.

Ren reached out on instinct and grabbed the door, tugging it towards himself, "But!"

The door opened enough for the rest of an arm, along with a shoulder, hip, and part of leg to come into view. Wrapped in an oversized burgundy sweatshirt, black jeans, and a simple slip-on sneaker, the other man still tried to hide most of his tall frame behind the door. "Leave."

"!"

Although his face was hidden behind the door, Ren knew beyond a doubt who he was talking to. Taking in what he could see, Ren noticed that his hair– which had hung around his shoulders during high school– no longer did so. He also noticed the distinct lack of black leather gloves.

"Akechi."

A beat later, "Hey, I know it's you so why–"

Ren stumbled backwards as Akechi released his grip on the door. His back collided with the railing encasing the third floor, and we wondered if his former rival was trying to off him that way until Akechi took one step out of his apartment and grabbed Ren's wrist with his right hand, "Wait a minute!"

Looking quickly this way and that, Akechi tugged at the wrist in his grasp and hissed, "Hurry up. And keep your voice down."

Pulling him into the interior of the apartment, Akechi continued, "I don't want you making a scene and I know you won't leave of your own accord. So let's get this over with so I can be rid of you once and for all."

"First of all, ouch. Second, you're alive," Ren replied as soon as he was in the entryway and the door was shut behind him. He took in his former rival, from the now much shorter honey-brown hair to his sharpened features thanks to the loss of the remaining baby fat in his cheeks. Both highlighted the narrowing of his eyes, giving him a dangerous edge that would be off putting had Ren not already experienced it.

Akechi rested his hand on his hip, "Of course I'm alive."

"But… Maruki said– "

"I'm sorry, who?"

Ren felt himself flinch as if struck. He barely registered the look of concern that flashed briefly across Akechi's features. "Maru… ki. Don't you remember?"

Akechi shook his head.

Ren searched his face, looking for any hint of deceit or even signs of the other man playing a cruel joke, but found nothing. His expression was shifting from annoyed to resigned to openly concerned the longer Ren stared at him.

He really doesn't remember.

"We worked together… to take down his false reality. He used his persona– um, the manifestation of his inner self–"

"I know what a persona is. Get to the point," And then as an afterthought, "Please."

"R-right. He used his persona to rewrite reality. It was a little after our fight with the Holy Grail. Long story, but it was a little after our fight with Shido… after you… died. The first time."

Akechi's eyebrows inched towards his hairline. He mouthed the words, 'the first time,' to himself.

"Speaking of… how?" Ren gestured at Akechi, his hand sweeping the length of his body.

Shaking himself out of his confusion, Akechi smirked and used every bit of his height advantage to look down at Ren, "The obvious answer, if you bothered to use that head of yours, is that I didn't die. While it is true that I was shot…"

"We lost your signal!"

Akechi nodded in acknowledgement before continuing, "Because I had left that bastard's palace. I shot that cognition of me in its face and made my… tactical retreat. Besides, I had ways of making my presence from you lot since day one. How do you think I managed to keep tabs on you?"

That actually makes a lot of sense. That would also explain how he managed to kill Haru's dad before the palace collapsed. He had to have been right behind us. Futaba also didn't notice him in Shido's until right before we had to fight him…

"But why didn't you reach out? Let us know you were okay? You seem to remember a lot related to Mementos, but you can't remember our fight against Maruki."

Ignoring the second part, Akechi answered, "Why would I? We… weren't friends… not really. And let me be clear, I had and have no interest in contacting your… with them. So I didn't. I was too busy sorting my own situation out anyway… besides, I think you can agree that it was advantageous for me that everyone thought me… gone."

"Though," Akechi nodded his head towards a door behind him. Ren assumed that it led to the main living space, since the immediate area they were in seemed to be a simple galley kitchen.

Looking around, Ren spotted a small fridge with a microwave above it, a tiny sink, and a single burner stovetop with a dish drying rack on top of it. Ren imagined that Akechi probably didn't cook much. Hell, he wondered if Akechi even could.

Ren toed off his shoes and made to follow Akechi.

"You can leave that there," Akechi casually pointed to the top of the microwave, turning to go into the other room, seemingly certain that Ren would follow him.

Ren narrowed his eyes at the other man's back, but did as told. Akechi had pointed with his right hand. Thinking about it, Ren realized that Akechi hadn't been using his left arm much at all the entire time they had been talking– and likely even while interacting through the door. It mostly hung at his side, fingers occasionally twitching as he spoke.

Akechi stepped to the side as Ren entered the living room. It wasn't a luxurious space, but it was far from run down. Simple was the best description, Ren thought. There wasn't much furniture, just a light colored sofa-bed, a table with a closed laptop on it, and a few short bookcases filled with second hand books. The wall furthest away had large sliding glass doors, likely leading to a balcony to hang laundry. The wall closest had a closet.

"Nice place."

Akechi scoffed but didn't argue.

"I mean it. I'd love a place like this as my own," Ren added, continuing to stand near the door. "Location's pretty good too."

As if unable to help himself, Akechi shot back, "I guess it is a step up from milk crates in an attic."

Not even insulted, Ren joked, "You have no idea how hard that was on my back."

"Explains the slouching."

"Oh ha ha," Ren rolled his shoulders and stood up straighter for a second, before slumping back into a slouch. What had started as an attempt to look less intimidating turned into honest poor posture. He rolled his shoulder a bit, ignoring Akechi's I told you so expression. "Though now, I'm living with Sojiro and Futaba, by extension. Morgana's there too, in case you're curious."

"I'm not." Akechi gestured to the sofa-bed, "You can sit down, you know. Promise I'm not planning anything. Would be mighty inconvenient to have to wash your blood out of the pillow cases."

Without thinking, Ren replied, "I could be an ass and demand dinner first, but…"

Ren watched as Akechi seemingly choked on air. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a Joker-like smirk when Akechi's cheeks grew pink and the older man retreated into the kitchen with a stuttered excuse of grabbing a drink. Ren couldn't help it as the smirk turned into a grin. It was so easy to fall into old patterns with Akechi.

He flopped down on the sofa-bed just as Akechi returned, no longer flustered. He threw something small at Ren– again right handed– which Ren easily caught. Opening his hand, he was greeted with a packet of cookies, the kind usually given as a souvenir. The sound of a plastic bottle making contact with the table had Ren looking up to watch as Akechi put down– much more gently this time– two juice glasses using his right hand.

The bottle must have been in his left.

"What's wro–"

"I never did get to say thank you," Akechi said softly, sitting down next to Ren. Akechi grabbed the bottle of tea and stuck it between his knees unceremoniously. "For dealing with Shido, I mean."

"No probl–"

"Of course," Using his right hand, he worked on screwing off the top. When Ren reached out to help, his hand was bat away, "I would have preferred him to suffer more, but…"

"Seriously, what's up with your arm?"

Akechi froze and Ren took the bottle, opened it, and poured them each a glass. The entire time, he paid only half attention, instead watching Akechi from the corner of his eye. For his credit, the former detective didn't bristle as much as Ren had been expecting. Instead, he opened his mouth a couple of times, testing each word on his tongue. Finally, he simply replied, "Nothing gets past you, does it."

Ren passed over a glass, a little surprised that Akechi took it without complaint. Ren had expected more blowback, maybe a I don't need your help or pity, something. But the other man looked resigned more than anything else.

"I didn't get out of that palace unscathed. I was shot. Here," he gestured to a spot between his left shoulder and chest. "While injuries sustained in the Metaverse can sometimes disappear upon exiting, as you probably know, severe ones tend to last longer to an extent. That, coupled with inadequate medical treatment has unfortunately left this arm– or more precisely, its nerves– damaged."

"Shit."

"Indeed."

The pair sat in heavy silence. Ren really took a good look at his former rival. While still handsome, events had obviously taken a toll on the young man, leaving him visibly exhausted. Gone was the face made though a twenty step skin care regime, a hint of concealer, and a liberal application of mascara. Now, the shadows under Akechi's eyes were plainly visible, as was a tiny birthmark under his left eye. There was a slight stubble over his top lip, the beginnings of a mustache that couldn't fully decide if it wanted to exist or not. Without the long hair to frame rounded cheeks, Ren could fully see the cheekbones that were an unwanted gift from his father. The only thing that hadn't changed was the look in his eyes.

Akechi downed his drink, "If you're going to laugh, then laugh already."

"Why would I do that? You know me better than that."

"Do I?"

Ren paused.

"You mentioned before a false reality. You implied that I should've had knowledge of it, hinting that I somehow took part in it. Elaborate."

"You really don't remember? The others do."

"I would not be asking if–" he took a deep breath, gaze boring into Ren's, "Explain. I answered your question. Now answer mine."

It took him the better part of the evening to explain what had transpired after Shido's palace. Through it all, Akechi listened, occasionally asking questions when he wasn't clear on something. By the end of it. Ren felt drained in a way he hadn't been in a very long time. His throat hurt from talking. As he finished, Akechi pushed the mostly full bottle of tea into his hands. But when he went to pour another cup, Akechi stopped him.

"Just drink straight from the bottle."

Taking a deep swig, Ren watched Akechi stand and start pacing the length of his apartment. Glancing at the clock, it was nearly midnight.

So much for catching the last train.

"Sounds like your cognition of me was an amalgamation of the glimpses you saw of the real me whenever I couldn't completely keep my guard up around you, combined with the me you encountered during our battle– mental instability and all– along with a splash of wishful thinking. I'm honestly not sure whether I should be impressed or insulted."

Ren jumped to his feet. "What?!"

Akechi stopped and closed the distance between himself and Ren. "That version of me, that you wished for, wasn't me."

The blood froze in his veins. Was the Akechi he had fought alongside really no different from the versions of Wakaba or Haru's father he had met? It was impossible, they hadn't been aware of what they were or the nature of the reality they had found themselves in. The Akechi he met not only knew the world was a fake and actively fought against it, he had done so knowing that winning meant the end of him.

But if that's the case, where was this Akechi? Was he the same as the others before we broke them out of their dream realities? If so, how had we never encountered each other? Was that Maruki's doing? But why would he give me a version of Akechi that wanted everything to revert to how it should've been? Or was that something else? Outside of his control?

"But how does that explain him being able to use Loki? He knew that the world wasn't right, maybe even before I did. He knew what defeating Maruki meant too. He…"

"He was your idealized version of me. Didn't you say that Maruki's powers were to twist perception and reality into whatever his victim wanted?"

"Yeah, but–"

"You wanted me back so badly, you wished for that thing. I think, deep down, you knew something was wrong. I think, left to your own devices, you might've given in. So you created him. To fulfill the role I would have because believe you me, I would've never let you choose otherwise."

"You aren't mad?"

Akechi's face warped into the crazed smile he had often enough seen his doppelganger wear into battle, "Oh, I am absolutely livid."