Justice's Confidant

"You have returned to the real world."

Akechi ignores the voice coming from the strange app on his phone,  exhaling a deep sigh as his shoulders sag with exhaustion. His target  this time was simple enough to find and eliminate, but it always did  drain his energy whenever he would step foot into that other world.  There was something about the Metaverse that made him feel...heavy.  Akechi wasn't sure if it was because of physical fatigue or something  else weighing on his mind—perhaps something poetic like overexposure to  the darkest and deepest depths of the human heart—but it was definitely  an unpleasant feeling each and every single time.

The detective starts to walk away from the area while remaining  inconspicuous in the crowd, taking out his phone to briefly confirm that  his job was done. The man on the other line praised the high school  student, sounding pleased, and Akechi took pride in it. He was glad if  he could be useful to someone—wanted, a voice nags at him from the back of his mind—and it would help make advancing his plans much easier.

Still, despite a job well done, Akechi is extremely tired and just  wants nothing more than to rest, making a conscious effort to not drag  his feet along the sidewalk while navigating his way through the other  citizens. He passes by Tealette, the small tea shop he's grown to  enjoy spending time in. The young man checks the time and figures it  won't hurt to give his legs some momentary reprieve and enjoy a quick  drink.

Akechi enters the shop, barely registering the greeting offered to  him by the workers before he makes his way over to a nearby available  seat. Just for this moment, the student allows his wall of a proper and  fine gentleman to fall down to nothing. His arms lie on the table in  front of him, and he drops his head to rest on them, exhaling a deep  sigh during his head's descent.

He's so tired. Not just because he went through the Metaverse, but because of everything.  School, his jobs—both public and private—and his attempts to maintain  his image... They're all wearing him out in more ways than one. He wants  nothing more to do with them and wishes to only relax, spend time with  friends like everybody else; not like he has any in the first place. But  he can't grant himself that. His longing desire to be acknowledged  won't allow him to slack off.

There's a gentle tap on the table Akechi is resting his head on, the  sound prompting him to sit back up and straighten his back like an  automatic response. His eyes first fall onto the glass of water placed  in front of him before his gaze flickers over to the one who gave it to  him. Oh, that's right. Atsuko works here; he had almost forgotten that.

The young detective takes in the details of her appearance. She's  wearing a deep blue kimono, the same colour as her eyes which look at  him with sympathy. The fabric is decorated with a modest floral print,  and Akechi finds that it suits her rather nicely.

"You looked really tired," Atsuko says, bringing her voice to become  more gentle than usual. "I wasn't sure what drink you would like, so I  opted for simply water. I hope that's okay."

"...Thank you," Akechi breathes out, a small smile making its way to  his lips despite the fatigue weighing on his shoulders. "I appreciate  it."

Atsuko lingers for a moment, seemingly debating with herself as the  young man quietly takes a sip of the cool liquid. After a second's  decision, she speaks up again, "My shift is just about over. If you  won't mind, I can lend you my ear if there's anything you want to talk  about."

"I'm fine," Akechi answers almost straight away out of pure instinct, and the guilt of lying weighs heavily on him.

The transfer student seems to believe the detective, as gullible as  she always is, and she nods her head in understanding. When Akechi  dismisses her as there's nothing else he wants to order, Atsuko excuses  herself to head into the backroom so that she can change out of her  uniform and head home. She passes by the young man's seat as she moves  to approach the exit, flashing him a smile as she wishes him a good  evening.

"Yukimura-san, wait—" Akechi doesn't know what's gotten into him as  he hurriedly moves to grab the young woman's wrist to stop her from  leaving. She looks at him, curious, and he swallows down his stubborn  pride. He lets go of her, a sheepish-looking smile on his face as he  asks, "Actually, do you have some time to spare for me?"

Atsuko doesn't answer straight away, instead taking out her phone and  typing out what the detective can only guess is a text before  proceeding to direct her attention back to him. "Now I do."

There's nothing but silence that hangs over the pair of students  while walking side by side in Inokashira Park. Akechi had invited the  transfer student, and she was more than happy to accept despite the  travel distance. The two find a quiet spot away from everybody else in  the park, and Atsuko sits down on a wooden post before Akechi joins her  by her side.

The Detective Prince sees in the corner of his eyes that Atsuko has  taken out her phone again, delicate fingers tapping on the screen with a  troubled look on her face. She chews on her bottom lip, and Akechi  feels compelled to apologize. "I'm sorry. Was I...bothering you with  this?"

Atsuko is quick to shake her head from side-to-side. "No, not at all. Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

An almost embarrassed look crosses over Akechi's face. "Um, not  quite. I guess... I was feeling lonely and wanted some company. I  apologize. I didn't mean to—"

"May I have your hand for a moment?"

"Huh?" Akechi blinks in surprise at the sudden interruption before processing the young woman's request. "Oh, uh, sure..."

Atsuko gently takes Akechi's warm hand with her soft one. The  detective's eyes watch as the student's other hand traces repeated  circles on the back of his hand with her fingertip. Her finger moves  slowly but at a consistent pace. Akechi has to admit that it feels  almost calming due to the subtle but constant presence of touch.

"Whenever I'm upset, I would trace circles on the back of my hand  like this. Even though I know it's my own hand, if I close my eyes, I  can pretend to myself that I'm not alone and that someone else is with  me, reassuringly tracing circles on my skin," Atsuko explains, her gaze  focused on the ministrations of her finger in an attempt to comfort her  fellow classmate. "I'm sure it's ridiculous, but it helps me, and I  wanted to give it a try and see if it might help you."

Akechi remains quiet. He wants to get angry at her and her foolishly  naive nature. He wants to slap her hand away and yell at her that this  jaded and broken world isn't the kind of world suited for someone as  innocent as her. Somebody that isn't like him, and it frustrates him  when he's reminded of his own ugliness settled deep in the recesses of  his heart. It sickens him that there are people like her who remain  oblivious to the cruel reality of this godforsaken society, living in  their little world of happiness while not understanding the struggles  he's had to face ever since his birth.

But when was the last time he had someone comfort him? When was the  last time he felt this vulnerable? Angry? Relieved? He isn't even sure  what he's supposed to be feeling anymore because his emotions are in  turmoil at the fact that this one person who hasn't even known him for a  whole month yet has given more attention and care to him than anybody  else he's met.

Everywhere he goes, it's either disdain for being a bastard child or  otherwise ignorant praise for the lie of a persona he's created for  public view. But with Atsuko, it was genuine curiosity to get to know  him. She didn't put him up on a pedestal nor looked down on him either.  She merely wanted to know more about him and maybe even hoped to become  friends at some point. And he wants that too. He craves for someone he  can turn to in times like these and trust them with his secrets. He  wants what others have.

"Thank you," Akechi finally forces the words out of his mouth.  Seemingly satisfied with her work, Atsuko retracts her hands, and Akechi  almost misses them. "And I'm sorry for having shown this side of me."  His tone is light, and he even adds a small laugh at the end to make it  seem like he isn't as bothered by this situation than he truly is.

"You don't have to apologize," Atsuko tells him, folding her hands on  her lap as she shoots a reassuring smile his way. "We all have those  moments. There's no need to apologize for something you haven't done  wrong."

The transfer student then stands up from her spot while leaving her  classmate to process her words. She rummages through her bag for a  moment, taking out a slip of paper and pen, and she writes something on  it. She holds it out for the young man to take, and when his eyes scan  through the contents of the paper, he realizes that it's a phone number.

"I have to go soon, but feel free to call or text me at any time.  You're busy with your detective work, but you can rely on me for any  missed notes or assignments. And, of course, I'll always be there if you  need someone to talk to."

Atsuko probably brought up the missed schoolwork so that Akechi could  have a reason or excuse sort of thing to contact her if he ever felt  like it. It seems like the only things that have left the detective's  lips ever since spending time with the transfer student are words of  gratitude. The young woman smiles once more, giving Akechi a short wave  before excusing herself about needing to head back home.

Akechi watches the high school student trot away before flickering  his gaze back to the slip of paper in his hand. He fishes out his cell  phone from his pocket, ignoring the Nav app that remains obnoxious on  his screen, and adds in Atsuko's contact information. He isn't even  aware that he's smiling to himself as he stares at the displayed number,  the weight on his shoulders having lightened up a bit. He can't help  but wonder if it would be presumptuous of him to think that his bond  with Atsuko has gotten a bit deeper after all of this.