5/1

Sweat rolls down Akira's forehead. The eyes of the man seated across from him burrow into his own, shove their way through his defenses, and tunnel into the depths of his mind. They writhe inside, rip him to pieces, reduce him until he is no more than a marionette. He gathers what little courage remains him and spits out, "Sixty-five."

The man does not blink. "Thirty."

Akira grits his teeth and pushes ahead. "Sixty."

"Thirty."

Akira plants his hands on the countertop and says, "Fifty and-"

The man stands. He towers over Akira, glares down with gunmetal eyes sunken in a grizzled face. His charcoal cap is pulled low, and shadows dance across his features. With one gnarled hand - crisscrossed with bone white scars - he pulls the thin stick of a lollypop out of his mouth. His voice is a deep growl. "Kid, I'm gonna tell you this one last time, and then, if you keep goin', I'm gonna tell you to get the hell out. Thirty." He looks down at the Olympic medal lying on top of the glass. "And you're lucky to get that."

Ann clears her throat and steps up to the counter. She flashes the manager a bright smile, bats her eyes and with one hand, flips one of her blonde ponytails over her shoulder. In a high, lulling voice, she asks, "Are you, like, sure we can't convince you to give us more for it?"

The manager shifts his eyes over to Ann, sighs, and sticks the lollipop back in his mouth. "Missy, I add sweet girls like you to my coffee in the morning when I'm getting ready for a night with the real women. You can't handle me, and I ain't got the patience to acquaint you."

Ann's eyes widen, and her mouth drops open even as the red in her cheeks rises. "What? You jerk!"

"Jerk?" The man asks. "You're the one half-assing your own seduction. Put some effort into it next time." He begins to shift his focus to Akira, then snaps his gaze back to Ann. "By the way, where's the genius?"

"The who?"

"The blonde Mensa candidate who kept askin' stupid questions the last time you were here. You two break up?"

"No," Ann says.

"Sucks for him."

"No!" She shouts as Akira puts a hand on her arm. "I mean, we're not even dating!"

Akira lifts the medal off the glass and holds it beneath the light. "You really won't give us more than thirty thousand yen for it?"

The man snatches it out of Akira's hand. "This is obviously a fake. You two ain't Olympians; otherwise, you'd know it's illegal to exchange these for cash."

Akira and Ann glance at each other. They had not known that.

"Plus, neither of you strike me as the athletic type. So it's a fake, albeit a good one, and you're both too dumb to know it's illegal to sell."

Ann crosses her arms. "Well, if that's true, why are you even going to give us anything for it?"

"Because I have connections who would buy this, knowing it's fake, and turn around and sell it to some dumbass millionaire who wants to feel important and likes shiny things."

Akira blinks. "So, couldn't we just do that?"

The man spits out a half-grunt, half-sigh that passes - in Akira's mind - as his version of a laugh. "You got no connections, kid."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're in an Airsoft shop, trying to sell me a fake Olympic medal."

Akira and Ann stare at each other, and both realize they're in a corner. "Fine," Akira says. "Thirty thousand."

The man nods and slides the medal under the counter. "What else you got?"

Akira opens the duffle bag and begins to pull out the series of pieces and artifacts they'd taken from Kamoshida's palace. The man takes them all in and says, "I'll give you ten for the whole set."

"Ten?" Ann shouts. "But look how much there is!"

"Uh-huh," the man replies and lifts a golden bust of Kamoshida. "And how exactly am I going to resell a stupid-looking statue of a guy I don't know?"

In the end, they settle for a total of forty thousand. The man hands over the bills and moves off with the stuff to the back room. "By the way," he says when he returns. "It's not illegal to sell Olympic medals. The sad truth is, some of those fine athletes do it all the time."

"You lied?" Akira asks, angry.

The man shrugs. "Couldn't help it. It's your fault for not doing your research. Next time you go to a negotiating table, have a leg to stand on. Life lessons, kids."

#

Ryuji leans back on the couch with a heady sigh punctuated by a loud belch.

"Ryuji!" Ann shouts and glares at him before matching his with her own. Her cheeks tint, and Ryuji shoots Akira a look before both boys lurch forward in barely contained laughter. "Shut up!" Ann says, but they continue until she cannot help but join in.

He watches Akira grab another piece of sushi and hold it out to Morgana, secure as ever, within the former's bag. The cat lolls out his tongue and stretches his mouth wider than Ryuji thinks is possible, and Akira overturns his hand and drops the fish into the pink gullet of his friend's throat. "Soooo goooood," the cat purrs, once it can.

"Man," Ryuji says, throwing his arms up along the couch's back. "I gotta hand it to you, Ann. You sure picked one hell of a place!"

Ann's smile glitters. "I know, right? I've always wanted to come here, but it was one of those 'someday' fantasies. I didn't think I'd be able to afford it while still in high school!"

Ryuji looks around the room once more. It's freaking insane. A high-ceilinged dining room that stretches far longer than one would think. Plush, crimson rugs tile the floor, ornamented with leather couches bookmarked by end tables topped with dusted ivory lamps. Numerous buffet stations splatter the room, and dozens of well-dressed, soft-spoken men and women circle them.

Some political symposium is happening upstairs, underway in one of the hotel's grand ballrooms. A trio of upcoming politicians engaged in a lively debate about the future of Japan. When Ryuji had heard that part, he'd blanched, but once Ann and Akira had expressed their disinterest as well, he knew he could rest easy. It's probably just more of the same crap anyway—nothing those guys do changes anything.

"I can't believe they let us in," Akira says, sweeping the room with his eyes as well.

Ryuji chuckles and points to his hair. "I thought they'd take one look at this and tell me to beat it."

"Not to mention your choice of outfit," Ann mutters.

Ryuji glances down at his purple sweatshirt. What's wrong with this? He wonders. "What's wrong with this?" He asks.

"Just about everything."

"Lady Ann is right," Morgana says, with that condescending tone he seems to only use for Ryuji. "You seem very out of place."

Ryuji was getting a little tired of the cat's crush on Ann. "Can it, cat! You're like, the most out of place one of us!"

"I look sophisticated," Morgana counters. Ryuji swears he sees a malicious glint in the feline's eyes. "You look like a hoodlum."

Ryuji crosses his arms and runs his eyes over the clothes of his friends. "It's not like you two look like you belong here either."

Ann looks down at her varsity jacket, skirt ensemble and rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. I look great." Ryuji has to admit that she does, but he keeps his mouth shut. Despite popular opinion, he knows when to do so. Ann glances at Akira. "And he looks good too."

Akira straightens his dark blue, slim-cut blazer, worn over his white V-neck, and smiles. "I try."

Ryuji lets out a sigh and shakes his head. "Whatever." Then he remembers. "Oh, I forgot! I had to show you guys something." He reaches into his pocket, rips his phone free, and spends a few moments swiping and poking. Then he turns it around to face them. "Check it out!"

Akira, Ann, and Morgana lean forward, with the latter tumbling out of the bag as he does so. Ryuji smiles, but then Ann says, "The PhanSite? What's that?"

"We've got a website," Ryuji exclaims and gives his friends his best and biggest smile.

Akira and Ann glance at one another. "Ryuji," Akira says, his voice calm and polite. "Please tell me you didn't create a website and post all of our information on it."

Ryuji feels his eyes widen. "Dude, seriously? Do you think this was me? No way! I'm not an idiot. I found this last night. It's like a chat site." He sets it in the middle of the table so the others can see. Akira picks it up and brings it closer to Ann. "People are writing about how we changed Kamoshida's heart. Most of them are probably from Shujin, and a lot of them are even thanking us."

"What's this... poll, thing?" Akira asks, squinting at the screen.

"Oh, that?" Ryuji asks. "The admin posted it. Last I checked, the question was, 'Do you think the Phantom Thieves are real?'"

Akira hands the phone back to Ryuji, a small smile on his face. "It's only at two percent for yes."

Ryuji chuckles and shrugs. "Yeah. It looks like all the people thanking us can't seriously believe we actually exist."

Ann shakes her head. "Does it matter? Whether we're real or not, Kamoshida's heart changed. He confessed to his crimes. We won."

A silence passes over them, and Ryuji is back in the school's gym once more, watching the man who had wrecked his life sniveling and bawling upon the stage. "Yeah," he mumbles. "We won."

"I still can't believe it's over," Akira says. Ann nods. Ryuji does too. "I haven't even been here for a month."

Ryuji belts out a laugh. "That's right. Man, that's crazy! I feel like I've known you forever."

They all laugh and chuckle and giggle along, but the conversation doesn't pick back up.

"I'm gonna get more food," Ann says, standing suddenly.

"I want some more too," Morgana exclaims and hops back into Akira's bag. "We've already paid for it, so let's stuff ourselves!"

"Okay, okay," Akira says, standing and hefting the bag along his shoulder. "You good, Ryuji?" He asks.

Ryuji pats his stomach. "For now, dude. I kinda ate a lot before we came."

Ann fixes him with a confused look. "Why'd you do that?"

"I didn't know if I'd like anything here," he says.

Ann shuts her eyes, shakes her head, and sighs. "You're so hopeless."

"What?" Ryuji asks as they all walk away. To him, it had seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

They leave him, and he sits alone with his typically uncomplicated mind. Typically, because right now, Ryuji's thoughts race. He didn't tell them about the other part of the PhanSite. The Requests. Dozens of people have scribbled their problems across the site, begging the Phantom Thieves to intervene. He's not stupid, despite what so many think. The vast majority are only doing it to be part of the latest fad, but some of them have to be genuine.

We can do more, he thinks, but even as he does so, he wonders if it's not just wishful thinking. They got Kamoshida. They stopped him from hurting anyone else. Shouldn't that be enough?

It should.

But it isn't.

Before he can continue to dwell, a voice cuts through the din in his mind. "Excuse me?"

Ryuji blinks, swings his head around, and spies an older woman with streaks of gray in her hair, bundled up in something he assumes to be fashionable. Her outfit looks almost business-like, a dark suit over a white blouse. Ann would know what to call these things, he thinks, then asks, "What's up?"

The woman stares at him, and it takes Ryuji a moment to recognize the look. He feels his defenses start to rise. "Are you almost done with this table?" She asks.

He looks at the piles of plates they've left bare. "I dunno," he says and shrugs. "Why?"

The woman makes a little tsk sound and straightens. "My friends and I are looking for a place to sit."

"Uh, okay," Ryuji replies. "Aren't there any other tables?"

"They are occupied."

"Well, so is this one."

The woman shuts her eyes, sighs. Her lips twitch as she speaks, "Young man, you're very rude."

"Huh?" Ryuji asks, straightening. "What're you talkin' about?"

"Oh, that language." She shakes her head. "You are aware of the standards of this establishment, are you not?"

He crosses his arms. "No, I'm not."

She throws her hands in the air. "Unbelievable. Young man, I insist you give up this table and vacate this building at once."

"Why the hell should I?" Ryuji asks, louder than before. "My friends and I reserved this table."

"While my associates and I paid-"

"We paid too!" Ryuji feels himself getting worked up. A part of his brain tells him to calm down, but he never knows how to do that. "Why don't you go and ask someone else to move?"

"Keep your voice down," the woman scolds. "To behave like that in a place like this, your parents must be ashamed."

Ryuji feels his lips curl back in a snarl. "Aw, why don't you beat it, you old hag!" Heads turn. Shit.

The woman takes a step back in shock. "You...you... you, uncouth delinquent. I'm going to get security, right now."

"Yeah, yeah," Ryuji says, feigning indifference. I hope I don't get us kicked out of here. "Do what you want, and when they get here, I'll tell them you were harassing me."

The woman's face contorts into a small grin. "Like they'd believe a problem child like you." Then she walks away.

Ryuji sulks, and it is not long before Akira, Morgana, and Ann return. Each sits with their own face a mirror of his own. "You okay?" Ryuji asks Akira.

Akira nods. "Yeah, I'm fine." He looks from Ryuji to Ann. "What's wrong with you two?"

Ryuji blows his top as he relates the tale to them.

Ann nods. "That happened to me too! I was in line, and this couple behind me just kept talking about me and saying how the hotel must've 'lowered their standards' to let someone like me in. It was crazy! Like, I was right there! I could totally hear them, and they just didn't care!"

"I bumped into this guy," Akira says, nodding back towards the buffet tables. "And he just went off. Started talking about how I didn't deserve to be here and that his suit was expensive, and if I had spilled something on it, would I be able to pay for it. He talked about how hard he's worked and just... I don't even know." He shakes his head. "It was nuts." He looks up at his friends. "Who even are these people?"

"I think they're called jerks," Morgana says, a hopeful lilt to his voice. No one laughs.

When Ryuji speaks next, he does it without thinking. "Maybe the Phantom Thieves should pay some of these assholes a visit."

A lull passes over the group as they all glance at each other—Morgana's eyes glint. Ann brightens. Akira pales. Ryuji's heart begins to hammer in his chest. "No, seriously," he says.

"Well," Ann says, leaning back in her seat. "Why not?"

"There are a ton of people out there just like Kamoshida." Ryuji barrels onwards. "And I don't know if you guys have checked, but the app is still on my phone!"

Akira stares ahead, silent.

"Think about it, guys," Ryuji continues. "If we could find other shitty assholes out there and beat the hell out of their Shadows, they'd confess too. The Phantom Thieves would be heroes!"

Akira inhales sharply but remains silent.

Ryuji looks at him. "You okay, dude?"

"Fine," Akira says.

Morgana, a smirk on his face, chuckles. "I was wondering how long it would take until you guys figured it out."

"What'd you mean?" Ann asks.

"Palaces are only created when the distorted desires of an individual warp so badly that they become a danger to themselves or others, in reality. And since there are plenty of other people with desires just as bad as Kamoshida's, it stands to reason that there are plenty of other people with Palaces. And since we're the only ones who can enter a Palace..."

Ryuji fills in the blank. It is the one thing he has wanted to hear. "We're the only ones who can stop them! It's our freakin' responsibility!"

"Precisely," Morgana says, nodding in his direction.

Ann looks from Ryuji to Akira, and back to Ryuji. "Are we really considering this?" The question sounds serious, but she wears a big smile on her face. "Like, really really?"

"I'm game!" Ryuji says. He looks at Akira. "What'd you think, man?"

"Huh?" Akira asks, turning to him. "What'd you mean?"

"What'd I mean?" Ryuji asks, laughing. "About sticking with the Phantom Thieves! C'mon man, we can't do this without you."

Akira's eyes look to glaze over for a moment, and his mouth works soundlessly. Then, he smiles. "Let's do it."

"For real?" Ryuji pumps a fist into the air. "Alright!"

"Are you sure?" Ann asks, staring at the bespectacled boy.

He fixes her with his gaze and nods. "Definitely. We're not done yet."

Ryuji picks up his glass. "Then this here is a toast!" He says, then drops his voice. "To the official formation of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts! Let's kick some ass!"

Ann brightens and raises her glass. "Totally!"

"I'll be counting on you guys," Morgana says, smiling.

"Hear, hear," Akira says.

Ryuji meets his friend's eyes, and for the briefest of moments, sees something pass over them, but then the look is gone, and Akira is smiling, and as far as Ryuji is concerned, all's right with the world.

#

It is, anyway, until Ann shatters it.

"Ryuji, what's going on with Akira?"

The two are walking down the block towards the subway station. Akira had offered to stay behind in the hotel to settle up the bill, and naturally, Morgana had stayed behind with him.

When Ryuji glances over at Ann, her eyes are on the ground, and she's biting her lower lip.

He lets out a sigh. "What'd you mean?"

"Didn't you notice how strange he looked?"

"When?"

"When we were talking about the Phantom Thieves, you dolt!"

"Hey," he says, rounding on her. "Why are you always yelling at me like that? I just asked a question!"

Ann takes a step back and shakes her head. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Ryuji groans and rubs the back of his head. "My bad. I didn't mean to snap. But, seriously, what're you talking about?"

Ann looks back towards the hotel as if afraid Akira would suddenly appear behind them. "Back at the table, when we decided to keep being Phantom Thieves, he was so quiet. He looked, I don't know, afraid, even."

Ryuji remembers the look in his friend's eye. "He's always quiet."

"Oh, come on," Ann says. "Don't you think it was a little odd?"

Ryuji dropkicks the uneasy feeling in his gut and crosses his arms. "No. I don't. Akira is always quiet. And honestly, the idea of going back to another Palace freaks me out too. But it's like we all agreed, it's necessary." He nods, more sure of himself than he was the barest of seconds ago. "If Akira was freaking out, he would tell us."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Positive."

Ann smiles a bit, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I hope you're right, Ryuji."

He lets a grin spread over his face. "Ann, c'mon. I'm tellin' you, Akira's fine."

#

Akira is the hotel's bathroom, shut in one of the stalls. He leans against the wall, his breath coming in ragged, choked gasps. It feels as if there is ginger ale in his chest. He is lightheaded.

Morgana is still at the table, snuggled in his bag. Akira had excused himself a few minutes ago.

Ryuji and Ann have left.

He is all alone.

He is all alone.

He is alone in this fucking box.

I can't get out. I can't get away. Part of him had known they would suggest continuing as the Phantom Thieves. He’d hoped the battle with Kamoshida would've marked the end of his tenure as a thief, but now he has agreed.

He has agreed, and he does not know how to move forward.

Or rather, he does.

But the notion leaves a putrid taste in his mouth, a strangling fetor in his nostrils. He hates it.

Because the only way Akira can be the Phantom Thieves leader is if he becomes just like the one person he swore he would never emulate.

There's a voice in his head, and it belongs to his mother. Look at you. Just look at you!

It's all a box.

He'll never get out.

He'll never get out.

His head grows lighter, and his hand falls to the lock on the stall's door.

He'll never get out.

He'll never get out.

"Don't think like that."

Akira looks at Rokuro as He speaks. Rokuro is yourAkira’s age, with a familiar mop of uncombed black hair, but the similarities stop there. His face is all edge, jawline thin and straight, and nose hooked downward. Rokuro's eyes seem to dart around, though there's nothing to look at in the cell. There's energy beneath them, but it seems cruel, or at least agitated. Akira does not know what Rokuro has done to be here.

"Think what way?" Akira asks. "I didn't say anything."

"Didn't need to." Rokuro’s back is against the wall, and one long arm extends with one long finger to point at ⬛. "You've got the look of a guy that's lost all hope. You're thinking, 'That's it for me, I'm done. This is the end of the very short road that was my life.'"

Akira looks back up at the ceiling. "I wasn't thinking that, but now that you mention it..." Akira trails off.

Rokuro’s arm drops, and a sigh reaches Akira’s ears. "You need to open your eyes to the possibilities, man." His words are quick and clear, almost bitten off. "There's always a way out. You have to take up the responsibility to find it."

It's our freakin' responsibility!

Akira's hands fly to his chest, to his head. But he is unharmed. There is no pressure there. No nausea, no acid churning in his chest. Nothing.

"What're you doing?" Rokuro asks. "Feeling a bit ragged? A little dilapidated?”

Rokuro laughs, but Akira can only ask. "Where are we?"

"Huh? The hell is wrong with you?" Rokuro’s face grows serious. "You’re not jumping at Shadows again, are you?"

"I-" Akira starts, but he can't finish. His mouth is suddenly desert dry, and his words shrivel and die in his throat. His head pounds, he aches everywhere. His hands shake.

"Hey, hey," Rokuro says. He stands beside your cot, though you do not recall witnessing any movement. "Are you okay? You can talk to me, you know."

Just, please remember. You can talk to us.

There's something he needs to decide. A choice he must make. What was it? He hears a voice, small and indecipherable. It's sporadic, but the longer it goes, the more of his attention it takes.

"This isn't right," Akira manages to choke out.

His eyes shift to Rokuro, to the walls, the ceiling, the thick metal door shut and secured from the outside. This isn't where Akira is supposed to be. This isn't where he is.

He has already been here.

Rokuro's hands grip his wrists. "Calm down, man. Calm down."

"Hey? You okay, kid? Answer me!"

Rokuro leans down, His eyes inches from your own. "Remember. There's always a way out."

How far are you willing to go, T r i c k s t e r?

His vision grows hazy. What he sees begins to twist into other shapes. Rokuro is gone, disintegrated, replaced by a pair of alert, concerned eyes in a lean, tanned face.

He shakes his head. The voice repeats and repeats until the words become crystal. "Are you alright? Seriously, kid, answer me!"

Oh.

He is on the floor of a bathroom stall. The door is open. He must've unlocked it before he had passed out. A man is crouched before him, dressed in a stylish but sensible dark brown suit, a red tie. There is a legislature's pin in his lapel. "Kid?" He asks. "Kid?"

Akira's mouth creaks open. "I-"

The man blinks in surprise.

"I can hear you, sir."

The man lets out a sigh and shakes his head. "You had me worried. I was about to call for a doctor." He nods to the bathroom stall. "Can you stand?"

"I think so," Akira says. The man holds out his hand. Akira takes it, and the man pulls him to his feet. "Thanks."

The man meets his eyes. "You're not on drugs, are you?"

Akira shakes his head. "No." He looks down at the floor. "But I guess I can see why you'd think that."

The man frowns. "Well, you look alright now. Would you like me to call someone for you?"

"No, I'm fine. Really."

"Alright, alright," the man says and pats his shoulder amicably. "You should go home and get some rest, though. And set up a doctor's appointment as soon as you can." He smiles. "Hopefully, it's just stress."

"Stress?" Akira asks, then thinks about everything. He smiles. "Heh. Yeah. I guess it is stress."

The man turns towards the sink. "You're young. It's natural to feel stressed about your future. But," and he turns on the water. "Let me tell you something my father used to tell me." The color leaves his face, and an uncomfortable look crosses his face. "Um... it's, uh..."

Akira blinks. "Are you okay?"

The man's head shakes slowly, from side to side. "I'm sorry, I-" He begins but does not finish.

Instead, he turns back to the sink, and a jet of vile-smelling, black bile spews from his lips, splashing down into the virgin white sink.

Akira shouts and jumps back.

The man manages a single intake of breath before black liquid vomits out of him, forming a thick, obsidian pool in the sink's receptacle.

Akira is frozen, his limbs wanting desperately to move but unable to do so.

The man begins to convulse, and a horrible moaning escapes his throat. His face turns towards Akira. His eyes are bone white. His skin is beyond pale. The black bile leaks, not just from his mouth, but from his eyes, his nose, even his ears. It pours from him like a faucet, dripping down upon his crisp suit, staining it.

He manages one shuddering step towards Akira and then falls to the floor and moves no more.

The silence stretches for a few moments before Akira can think to scream, "HELP!"

His body executes a series of uncoordinated actions. He takes a few steps forward, then more back. He reaches out his hands and then retracts them. He looks around as if he's expecting to see something, but this is just a bathroom.

"HELP!" He keeps screaming as he does these things, and it is after the fourth shout that people run into the bathroom.

They are young men, dressed in well-maintained suits, and when they see the man, they cry out, "Sir!" and rush to his side.

There are three of them in total, and they crouch down and begin to hover around the body, and yes, it's a body. Akira knows this just like he knows his name is Akira Kurusu, even as they check the pulse and find it gone. "What happened?" One of them shouts at him.

Akira has forgotten how to speak, which is odd since he had just been screaming for help. What had happened?

"Shit," one of the men says. "He's not breathing!"

"Call a damn ambulance!" Another is shouting.

Still, the third is looking at Akira with hard eyes and yelling, "What happened, dammit?"

Then, Akira's mind begins to work, and the oldest part of his brain screams at him to RUN. He begins to shimmy his way past the trio of men still crouched on the floor.

One of them has pulled out his cellphone and is hastily requesting medical assistance.

#

It is late. Takemi stares at her notes, turns to her computer, and plugs in some new figures. A new simulation begins to run. She yawns and stretches her arms overhead. It has been a long day, but a slow one. No patients, but the lack of any outside distraction meant she had to focus primarily on the tiring work of developing her medicine.

She knows it is a good thing she is doing, but damn if it can't be slow and tedious sometimes.

The simulation won't complete for another two hours. If Takemi goes home, she can sleep and come back early to view the results with fresh eyes. It's better than sitting here with nothing to do.

She stands up, sheds her lab coat, and dons her leather jacket.

There's a knock at the clinic's door. With a tired groan, Takemi schleps out of her office, around the corner into the waiting room, and pulls it open. The words, "Sorry, but we're closed," die on her lips when she sees Akira Kurusu standing there.

His hair is matted from the rain. His glasses are streaked with droplets. He is absent his bag, but his hands are not in his pockets. He holds them up. They are shaking. Badly. "Do you have anything that can deal with this?" He asks.

"Come inside," she says and holds the door for him.

A short time later, Akira sits in the examination room, propped up on the table. When he shifts, the sanitary paper crinkles beneath him.

Takemi reenters the room with a mug of something hot. Akira watches the steam as it rises off the liquid, and he asks, "What's this?" as she holds it out to him, and he takes it into his hands.

"Tea," she says. "Chamomile."

"No drugs?" He asks, taking a sip.

She shakes her head. "No drugs."

"Thanks Doc," he says, then smiles a bit. "Can I call you Doc?"

"No."

He nods. "Okay."

She stands there and watches him slowly drain the mug. The tremors in his hands have diminished. They're not bad enough to cause spillage, but they are present, and that worries her.

What the hell happened? A million other questions zip through her mind, but for whatever reason, the thing she winds up asking is, "Where's your cat?"

"Back home," Akira says. "He insisted on coming, but I told him I wanted some time alone."

Takemi lets out an exasperated sigh but allows the boy to finish the mug. He holds it out to her. She takes it, sets it down on the counter, and turns back to him. "Feel better?"

"A bit."

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" She asks.

He nods but doesn't say anything. He just sits there, silent, staring out of his streaked glasses at the floor.

She frowns, steps forward, and draws his glasses off his face. He looks up then, startled, but she pulls down a clump of paper towels from the dispenser in the corner of the room and begins to wipe them. "You shouldn't look through these if they're dirty. You'll get a headache."

"I don't actually need those," he says.

"Really?" She asks and holds them up. She can see through them perfectly. They're just for show? "Why do you wear them then?"

"I used to have a reason," he says, and then, "A man died in front of me."

Takemi feels her blood go cold. His words are spoken with such dispassion, such distance. A thousand different reactions war their way through her, and the victor makes her straighten, look him in the eye, and say, "I assume you're not responsible?"

Akira blinks at her, then starts to laugh. "No," he says, as his laughter builds. "Wasn't me. I don't know what happened." His mirth increases. "He helped me up. I was on the ground, and he helped, and he said something..." He shakes his head, his laughs quick and mean barks more than anything. "Isn't that messed up? He helped me up, and he died in front of me, and I can't even remember what he told me."

And then his laughter isn't laughter anymore.

Takemi watches this for a moment, and then she sets the glasses down on the counter. She walks over to the examination table. She hops up onto it—shifts around until she's sitting next to him.

Takemi doesn't hold his hand. She doesn't put her arm around his shoulder. She just sits there.

When he squeaks out, "I don't know what to do," she replies with, "It's alright."

"I don't know what happened. One second we were talking, and the next..."

"It's alright."

He shakes his head. "And I thought it was all over. I wanted it to be all over. I don't know how to be a leader. I don't know how to be what they want me to be without becoming like him."

Takemi has no idea what he's talking about. Was this him different from the him that was dead? She couldn't tell, but still, she says, "It's alright."

"I don't want to be like him."

Again, which 'him?' "It's alright."

Then, Akira shakes silently for a time.

This, Takemi thinks. Is not how I wanted to spend my night. She'd wanted some sleep. Maybe a nightcap. But here she was, with this damn Kurusu kid.

At least his wounds have healed nicely.

"I don't want to upset you, but I want you to tell me what happened tonight."

Akira tells her he felt lightheaded in a bathroom. He tells her he fell. He tells her a man helped him up. He tells her what happened after.

That was no heart attack. No brain aneurism. God, what the hell did he witness? "And you're sure it's wasn't blood?"

He nods. "It was black. Like tar, but more fluid."

Some sort of new virus? No. Those didn't just pop up out of nowhere like in the movies. But if it was, had Kurusu been infected? Had she? She shakes her head clear. Don't be stupid. No virus can turn you from a normal Good Samaritan into a white-eyed, vomit-zombie that quickly.

The paramedics and the doctors who would investigate would get to the bottom of it. They always did. Her only responsibility was to the young man seated next to her.

"I think you need to talk to someone. A professional someone."

He shakes his head. "I'm fine."

"No. You're not. You just witnessed something horrible. And then you showed up at my clinic, shaking like a leaf. Then you sat here and cried for ten minutes. Sorry, Kurusu, but you're very clearly not fine."

He's quiet again, this time for a few minutes. Then he says, "I'll think about it."

"No," she says, finally standing. "You’ve been dodging this. I’ve already told you to speak to someone, and you haven’t. Doctor Maruki told you to speak with someone, too. It’s time you did that. I’ll insist as much to Boss when I see him." She snatches his glasses up off the counter and returns them to him. "Come on. I'll walk you home."

"I'm sorry for coming here," he says and stands. His glasses are clean, but they reflect the dull fluorescents of the room. "I didn't mean to bother you."

"Oh, stop," she says. "The penitent schoolboy routine isn't a good look for you. If you keep it up, I'll force-feed you some of my medicine. Maybe then, you'll just call me 'sexy lady' for twenty minutes before passing out, like you did that one time."

Akira blushes but smiles. He follows her out of the room, down the hall, and into the waiting area.

Takemi opens the front door to the clinic and turns to glance at him.

Akira moves forward, then stops and stiffens. "You watch the news?"

"Was that a question?"

"Yes."

She shrugs. "On occasion. Why?"

"You've heard about Kamoshida." This is most definitely not a question.

Takemi stares at him for a moment, then looks away. "I did. Was he the one that..." she trails off and gestures to her face.

Akira must read the implication loud and clear because he nods. "Aren't you curious? Why didn't you ask about it?"

She sighs and shakes her head. "Because you've clearly got enough on your plate tonight, Kurusu. And, frankly, I've got a feeling that conversation would be too damn exhausting. You are too damn exhausting."

When he grins, it almost looks like his normal one. "Try walking in my shoes for a day."

Takemi glances down at her high heels. "Might be a nice change of pace."