Chapter Text
Akechi bites back a sigh. He desperately wants to break something, but that would probably garner some weird looks, so he refrains.
WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? JUST CUSS EVERYONE OUT IN YOUR HEAD?
Loki isn’t helping. The offending creature cackles at Akechi’s annoyance.
This is perhaps an excersise in futility, Bird.
Neither is Robin. Loki laughs some more.
He must have lucked out on a fucking miracle if both his personas were in agreement. Not that it helps him, anyway. The lack of a migraine just made room for the two to sass him while he’s trying to think.
The past two days have been... unpleasant, he finally admits as he forces himself into the subway. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, fighting the urge to shout and claw as people brush against him in the crowded car. He opts for digging his fingernails into his palms, instead. It's fine. It works. It was a bit stifling, actually, but he definitely isn’t going to take off his gloves-
Wait, hadn’t he…?
…
He hates that his personas have been going quiet, lately. More than when they can’t shut up.
He’d been fine the week before. Mostly. But now he can’t ride the goddamn subway with needing to stare holes into the floor. He doesn't think about pulsing walls coated in blood, and tugs on his gloves. He doesn’t mind it that much, really, but he does mind if he looks insane- so he doesn’t look. Removes all evidence that the detective prince is anything other than an above-average high school student.
“Shibuya, this is Shibuya,”
Right, he needs to move.
Akechi drifts towards the next train line, mask nailed firmly in place, just animated enough to not seem stiff. He readjusts his tie, reaching for anything socially acceptable to do that doesn’t make him seem like a fidgety child.
He readjusts his tie again- he can play it off as doing it wrong the first time- and steps onto the train towards Kichijoji.
The subway is emptier, this time -thank fuck- and he manages to find a seat, avoiding looking at the subway tunnels by scrolling through his phone.
He checks his emails, and, ah- there’s one from Yoshizawa. The director wants to keep in correspondence to bring Akechi back for another interview. He types some bullshit affirmative about keeping his schedule open, knowing that he’ll force the schedule when he wants Akechi to sit pretty in front of some cameras.
Akechi digs his nails into his palms a little deeper.
Finally arriving in Kichijoji, he lets himself breathe a little more. He could probably spare a trip to Jazz Jin if he’s lucky. He scoffs to himself. That’s a funny joke.
Sure enough, his phone dings, as if on command to ruin any semblance of a good mood Akechi had cobbled together.
YOU COULD ALWAYS THROW IT IN A DITCH. LEAVE THEM ON DELIVERED.
Don’t.
Ignoring his personas now that they were safely making noise again, He checks his phone. It’s Sae, emailing some paperwork that had to be done by- Tomorrow, seriously? Fucking of course. It’s like she’s completely forgotten that Akechi has better things to do than be some honorary secretary.
You should wait before you get started. He might call.
Yes, he might. He’d been letting Akechi have too much freedom, lately - he was due to cause some misery.
Opening the door to his apartment, Akechi doesn’t drop the mask. There's no point. He doesn't like what's underneath anymore than everyone else does. So he goes through the motions, pleasant neutrality still stapled to his face. He makes a cup of instant coffee (he’s tasted better. What? Where?) and sits down in front of his laptop at his coffee table.
Right on cue, Akechi thinks, as his phone rings.
He finally pries the mask of the detective prince off, replacing it with its required counterpart. The mask of a good little attack dog, who’s sharp enough to fool everyone but, no sir, never you, he’s always loyal-
Akechi also drags himself deep underneath the surface, drowning it to let the mask do the talking.
“This is Akechi.” He picks up on the second ring.
“Like to keep me waiting, do you?” The Asshole slurs, and -oh, good- he’s drunk.
“Of course not, sir.” Somewhere, Akechi really hopes the fucker has a killer hangover tomorrow.
“The Minister of Transport has been neglecting his position a bit too long, don’t you think?”
What the hell was he getting at? Akechi’s consciousness, wherever he left it, is not in the mood for games.
“Certainly, sir,” It seems that he is in the mood to tolerate them, however.
“Perhaps you should draw some attention to his poor craftsmanship. I hear that some of his workers need a break.” The prick chuckles like the two of them are in on a joke. Akechi guesses that they are, in a way. The thought makes him want to throw up though, so he stops thinking it.
But- oh, just a breakdown? Annoying that he has to research the targets himself, but whatever. Akechi’s not complaining, wherever he is. Loki’s been itching to wreak havoc, anyway.
“Of course, sir. When would be best?”
“As soon as possible. Make sure people hear about it. Don’t fuck up.” And he hangs up before Akechi can reply. Asshole.
He sighs, and puts his phone down. He doesn’t take off this mask, either. He doesn’t think he can, without replacing it with another, equally stifling, one. So he sits. And does the paperwork. And doesn’t think about derailing a train. Doesn’t think about how the smell of coffee makes him want to break either the wall or his fist. Doesn’t think about the shitty week he’s been having. And certainly doesn’t think about how loud the static in his head is without the fractured manifestations of his soul there to cover it up.
Akechi finishes the paperwork, and doesn’t go to sleep.
***
Sumire wakes up on Wednesday, and goes through her morning routine much the same, a bit more forced pep in her step.
After having had yet another breakdown the previous night, she concludes that she really needs to get her act together. So, she bunches her hair up in a ponytail as an homage to Kasumi, puts on her glasses (the contacts always made her eyes itch- really, how did she stand it at all last year?) and waves a cheerful goodbye to her parents, who are both miraculously in the house that morning.
Realistically, she’s already made a lot of headway in all this time travel business. She’s already spared herself from Doctor Maruki’s sessions, and she’s met and made friends (acquaintance?) with three of the nine thieves other than herself.
An excellent start, if she says so herself. She’d definitely give herself at least an 8 out of 10.
You have certainly made impressive progress, Cinder.
Ella always backs her up, even if it is just from the confines of her mind.
Sumire really doesn’t know what she’d do without her persona in this mess. She’s aware that Ella is, technically, just her; but ‘her’ still has a slightly different voice and can chime in with a pep talk unprompted that definitely still comes from Sumire’s unconscious mind, but it’s nice to force it into her conscious thoughts either way.
In the vein of making progress, though, Sumire really needs to get to finding the last of the four Shujin thieves (excluding Ren, but he isn’t here yet).
Haru was always a bit reserved, but Sumire always appreciated her calm steel lying in wait under her veneer of polite sweetness. Also, her vegetables were pretty amazing.
Sumire does a quick check around the floor with all the third-year classes when she gets to Shujin that morning, but comes up empty. She must be somewhere else, Sumire thinks, or hiding- it’s definitely not hard to spot Haru in a crowd, her brown hair was borderline pink, and she's never seen fluffier locks on a person’s head.
Defeated, Sumire makes her way back up to the roof for lunch once break starts. She sighs, wondering what her goal even is in introducing herself to the future thieves. She always felt like she was never quite part of their group- a consequence for joining so late, she knows. She feels awkwardly manipulative when she thinks about it like ‘ingratiating herself with the thieves early’, like she’s conducting a weird time travel social experiment rather than just trying to make friends.
But it’s definitely easy to feel detached from the situation when you’ve lived it all before-
The door to the roof creaks open.
“Oh, shit, hey!” Ryuji’s voice calls from the rooftop entrance.
“Oh! Hello, Ryuji-senpai.” Sumire’s face brightens as she gestures to one of the chairs near her, which Ryuji politely ignores in favour of sitting on one of the wobbly tables.
“I, uh, didn’t expect to find you coming back up here again,” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish grin in full force, “I figured that a teacher or somethin’ woulda told ya’ not to hang out with me again, since, um, y’know,” He gestures to himself, “delinquent?”
Sumire giggles into her hand, “I thinks that anyone who says that doesn’t know you very well, Senpai.”
“Well shit.” Ryuji’s grin widens, “That’s real sweet, but isn’t this like our second conversation?”
Whoops. “I’m a very good judge of character!” Sumire blurts.
Convincing.
Shush, you.
“Hey, you’re pretty alright, Sumire,” Ryuji laughs, unphased.
“T-thank you, Senpai.” Sumire recovers, smile spreading back onto her face. “I’m, um, not very good at making friends, either, so I kind of know how it feels,” she looks away, fidgeting.
“Yeah, I feel that.” Ryuji huffs, “I used to be part of a whole crowd, but, I guess I fucked it up.”
“I’m sure that it wasn’t your fault-”
“Nah, I mean,” he scrubs his hands over his face, “I’m not gonna go into the whole thing, but, I did something when I was a part of the old track team that, well, it felt right. At the time.”
Sumire nods for him to go on.
“I did somethin’ that ruined everything for everyone else, and I knew, somewhere, deep down, when I did it that it was gonna have consequences or whatever and everyone was ‘prolly gonna hate me,” His mouth twists into a grimace, “But I had to do somethin’ right? I couldn’t just stand there and take what I was gettin’”
Sumire nods, contemplative. Knowing something’s wrong but doing it anyway, huh?
Ren’s gasping sobs, the thieves shocked silence,
Maybe she’s just drawing parallels out of nothing. She shakes herself out of it.
“I still don’t think it could have been entirely your fault, Ryuji-senpai.” Sumire settles on. She points to herself, smiling, “Good judge of character, remember?”
“Well, I guess it’s in the past n’all. For me, anyway.” He mutters darkly.
Sumire swallows, remembering the teacher yet to confess, and the bruises on a team not yet liberated.
“I’m sure things will get better. You just have to do your best!” Sumire really hopes it sounds like actual advice and not just an empty platitude.
“Y’think?” He doesn’t look fully convinced. “Ah well, I didn’t mean to bring down the mood,” a messy attempt at a subject change, but Sumire obliges.
“It’s fine! I didn’t get to finish telling you about everything I do for my diet yesterday!”
“Ohhh, shit yeah. I usually just load up on a bunch of carbs or something before a big run, but you really seem like you’ve got it all figured out,”
Sumire continues the conversation in safer waters, and thinks about what she's supposed to do about this.
***
Sumire calls back her usual “I’m home!” into her house as she gets back, and nearly jumps out of her skin when her father’s voice responds from the living room barely a metre away rather than from the study.
“Oh, welcome back, Sumire.” Her dad gives a wave, and he goes back to watching the TV. On it is- oh, it’s?
“You’re rather impressive, Akechi-san, a detective at your age? And so many cases solved, too!”
“Oh, it’s nothing so dramatic…”
Her father must notice her staring, because he starts talking again, “Oh, that’s just a re-run from the other day. Akechi-san really brought up our ratings, especially from the younger generation!” He chuckles, “I’ve actually already e-mailed him to see if we could schedule another interview…”
Sumire feels it’s safe to tune her dad out at this point. Akechi… she really needs to find him.
Oh, who is she kidding? It’s not like Akechi holds the secrets to time travel, or anything- though it’s not like Sumire would know, with how close the detective kept his cards to his chest. Maybe he really does remember the last year, and is just opting to ignore reaching out to everyone in favour of doing some ‘I don’t need friends’ thing that he enjoyed so much in January.
Actually, Sumire thinks, that does sound like something he’d do. She should probably file that one as a ‘maybe’.
But beyond speculations, Sumire really feels like she needs (wants, she corrects herself) to talk to Akechi. Despite his prickly nature (“like a hedgehog,” Ren had said once, a fond quirk to his lips), Akechi had been a source of stability in January, thanks largely in part to his fellow ‘outsider’ status with Sumire.
He had always put on something of a front, but Sumire always found his advice and blunt commentary helpful- even if he’d be annoyed if she ever said so to his face.
But now, it isn’t like she can just walk up to a minor celebrity and-
Wait.
Can’t she?
“Hey, dad.” Sumire interrupts her father’s monologue which had trailed into the nuances of directing a talk show, “Can I ask you something?”
He pauses, and immediately looks nervous, “Yes? What is it?”
“Oh, nothing bad!” She quickly shakes her head, “I was just thinking about the last time I met Akechi-san, when Kasumi and I tagged along for the filming?” Her father nods, cocking his head to the side, “I was just wondering if I could tag along again when Akechi-san is there? I feel like it would be a good time to talk to him, rather than ambushing him on the street, or something…” Sumire laughs awkwardly, suddenly aware of how strange her request might sound.
Her father’s face splits into a teasing grin, “Oh, are you a fan of the Detective Prince, Sumire?”
“D-dad!” Damn, Sumire was really trying to avoid this, and it doesn’t help that she's genuinely flustered, “I just want to talk to him, he seemed really nice,” She pointedly does not think about the man in question growling about wanting to flay Maruki’s skin off, “And I feel like we could be friends!” that was the truth, at least.
Her father’s chuckles die down, “Of course, Sumire, I’m just teasing. Well, I’ll see what I can do,” he gives a reassuring nod, which Sumire returns before heading back to her room.
She sighs, crisis averted. She takes her phone out of her pocket to check her texts, and to maybe see if the Metanav has decided to make an appearance? It felt a bit silly to refer to a phone app as though it was sentient, but it definitely felt like it sometimes.
And, her phone wasn’t turning on. Great. Well, maybe she could take it to some tech specialist to get it fixed-
“Yep, that thing’s donezo.” Futaba declares solemnly, tossing the recently claimed deceased phone back at Sumire.
“You really can’t fix it?” Sumire says, somewhat solemn as she inspects her, admittedly nearly shattered, phone.
“Well, I could,” Futaba only half looks up from her laptop, “But I’d have to replace like, every component in that thing to get it halfway functioning again, and at that point you might as well just buy a new one.”
Right, she had asked Futaba back in January. No point in arguing against an expert opinion.
Well, if she’s going to need a new phone at some point, might as well get it now, right?
“Hey dad,” Sumire walks back out into the living room again, “I’m just going to head out to buy a new phone, mine’s pretty much busted,” She waves it in the air sheepishly.
Her father looks up, a look of concern painted on his face, “Are you sure? I mean, are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”
“Yeah, it’s fine!” She waves dismissively as she slides on her shoes, “I’m sticking to the Kichijoji area, so it’s not like I’m going far.”
“Well, alright,” He turns back to looking at the TV, and Sumire slides out of the door.
***
“Akechi-san!”
Sumire can see Akechi’s shoulder’s slump overdramatically, as he turns his head slightly to acknowledge Sumire’s presence.
“Yes, Yoshizawa-san?” He sounds uninterested, causing Sumire to second guess this interaction entirely.
“Well, um,” She avoids eye contact, embarrassed- Akechi still hasn’t fully turned around. “I just wanted to apologise for everything that happened today, in the palace.”
Akechi lets out a huff that could have been a laugh, and Sumire really hopes it isn’t at her expense. “If you’re feeling well enough to run after me for a pointless conversation, then perhaps we can tear through Maruki’s palace right now,” he doesn’t even bother making it sound like a question. Sumire feels a bit put out at not being worth the sarcasm.
“No, I still feel pretty awful, actually,” She admits, “But what I did to you and Ren-senpai was awful as well.”
Sumire can hear the eye roll as Akechi sighs and properly turns to face her.
“What you did was entirely under duress, I don’t care, and neither does Ren, I’m sure.” His lips twitch into a small smirk, “In fact, I can guarantee it.”
“You sound so sure…” Sumire trails off, still not meeting the other’s eyes.
“Let’s just say I have firsthand knowledge giving me full confidence that Ren will forgive literally any slight against him.” He cocks his head, “Also, you were being brainwashed, and Ren loves to preach about the value of agency.”
Sumire gives a breathy laugh at that. She has yet to unravel the mess that is Ren and Akechi’s dynamic, but she finds that she enjoys their antics. “I still feel bad, and I dragged the rest of the Phantom thieves into it as well.”
Akechi actually barks a laugh at that, “Trust me,” He grins, “Ren may have the biggest saviour complex of the bunch, but the others certainly have their fair share of pity to throw around. I’m sure if you just bat your eyelashes and say, ‘pretty please’ they’ll all be falling over themselves to let you into their group.”
Something in Sumire curdles at that, “I don’t want pity,” She whispers unthinkingly, “I had enough of that after Kasumi died. I want to prove I can stand on my own.”
Akechi’s expression goes flat at that. “Well, what do you know,” He turns around again to start walking, “We appear to have something in common.”
Sumire blinks, and then quickly jogs to catch up again, stumbling to keep pace with the taller man.
“You’ve certainly found your resolve,” Akechi says lightly over his shoulder, “I’m almost impressed. I thought it would take much longer.”
Sumire smiles despite herself, “’Almost’ impressed? I think that’s the highest praise I’ve ever heard you sing, Senpai!”
Akechi grimaces, “Fuck, don’t call me that. Just Akechi is fine.”
“Akechi-san, then.”
“Better.” He doesn’t smile, but he does stop grimacing, so Sumire takes it as a win.
They walk in silence for a bit, Sumire unsure what else to say.
“Um,” She starts, and Akechi raises and eyebrow, “I’m sorry. I really did just catch up with you to apologise. I didn’t mean to just start dumping all of my problems on you.” She fidgets with her hands self-consciously.
“It’s not a problem,” Akechi returns smoothly, his apparent disinterest back in full force, “You clearly needed to get it off your chest, and I’m sure after what just happened today, Ren’s platitudes are not what you need.”
Sumire can’t quite think of a response before Akechi speaks again, “Anyway, you really should get some rest, Yoshizawa-san. You’ll need to be at full strength if you’ve found the will to take on this palace.”
Sumire jumps a bit, “You really think they’ll let me join?”
Akechi’s face twists into a scowl, “Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying this whole time, haven’t I?” he huffs, and splits off onto another road, throwing a vague wave behind his head, “See you later, Yoshizawa.”
Sumire blinks for a few seconds. Before taking a deep breath and shaking some of the snow out of her hair, just a little more determined than she had been before.
***
Sumire stares at all the options in front of her.
Just pick one! Right.
She can do that.
Her fingers clench around her broken phone in her hand. Should she just get the same model? Or should she upgrade? Or get a new one entirely? Hell, maybe she should just get a brick phone and be done with it.
She’s actually kind of curious how the Metanav would manifest on a phone that doesn’t do apps. Not that she’s particularly willing to tempt fate, she’s probably pushing her luck with literal time travel.
Why is this so hard? She was definitely making progress. In January, she managed to pull her act together enough to buy clothes that really felt like her, with Ren’s help-
That might be part of the problem, now that she thinks about it.
She had trusted Ren and his advice so much while she thought she was Kasumi, and especially when she remembered she was Sumire. His laid-back nature was a perfect balance for whenever she felt herself start to freak out.
‘Trust your gut’, he said, when she was choosing glasses for her dad and later trying to buy clothes. What if her gut was wrong? Ren’s gut clearly told him to accept Maruki’s deal, so what did he know? Did he really mean anything? Or was Sumire just some background set piece to simply exist and be interacted with while Ren’s true interests led him to doom the world?
Sumire’s stomach clenches at the thought. She really hopes that isn’t the case. Even when he had politely turned down her romantic advances, Sumire always felt like she was important to Ren when they interacted. She doesn’t know what she’d do if it was all lies.
Sumire’s hand tightens even further around her phone, some of the broken glass cover beginning to dig into her palm. It doesn’t matter though- what if everything was a lie? What if Ren just sat there encouraging her to make her feel better? Poor, delusional, Sumire. So desperate for other’s approval that she can’t even choose a new phone on her own-
“Hold that pose, if you would!”
Sumire whirls around, thoroughly snapped out of her catastrophising, coming face-to-face with Yusuke Kitagawa, in the process of framing her with his hands.
“Um,” She starts, intelligently,
“Yes, the emotion, the anguish, it’s perfect!” Yusuke narrows his eyes, “So much power found within such a simple pose and frame. I must ask, Miss, if you are willing to stand for just a quick sketch?”
“Uh,” Sumire continues, intelligently,
“Ah, my apologies!” He doesn’t seem actually sorry for anything in particular, but he does lower his hands, at least. “My name is Yusuke Kitagawa, student of the master artist Madarame. I merely hoped to capture the emotions you were exuding onto my sketchpad, if you had the time? I assure you it will not take long.”
“Ah,” Sumire finally finds her voice, “That’s… okay?” She remembers herself, “My name is Sumire Yoshizawa, by the way, but, um, I’m not sure if I could replicate it on command?”
“That’s fine,” he says, already taking out his sketchbook- and, is that a stick of charcoal? Where was he even keeping that? “I’m sure we can draw it out again if we simply speak about what was troubling you.”
“Well, that’s-”
“So please! Enlighten me as to your troubles,” he hovers the charcoal stick above the page in wait, “I am sure that it would also serve as good context for my sketch, if I am to understand, conceptually, the emotions of my model.”
“Wow, a model? Really?” Sumire blinks, “Ah, I mean, it’s,” she sighs, “It’s stupid, really. I was just kind of overthinking choosing a new phone, since my old one’s broken.” She waves said phone in the air awkwardly, suddenly hyper aware of how all her limbs are positioned now that Yusuke is attempting sketch her.
“I see,” Yusuke begins frantically making lines on his page, “What was it about the decision making that troubled you so much, if you don’t mind my inquiring?”
“No, not at all,” Sumire tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “My sister used to pick pretty much everything for me, and it was basically just all the stuff that she would pick for herself, so that we were matching. I was fine with it and all, but I guess I never really learned to make an identity for myself, outside of just ‘Kasumi’s sister’” she huffs, “And now that she’s gone, it feels a bit like I’m a mirror without anything to reflect. Just a big question mark of who I’m supposed to be.”
Yusuke hums, looking frantically between his sketchbook and Sumire. “A fascinating visual. It seems to me,” he says between charcoal scratches, “That shopping for something as inconsequential as a phone would be a good place to begin, then. It is not as though a phone will make any big statements about your identity in the long run. Unless, of course, you allow it to.”
Sumire laughs humourlessly, “It’s kind of funny though, my old phone actually belonged to my sister. It was a hand-me-down when she begged our parents for an upgrade, and it’s stupid, but getting a new phone feels like I’m killing the last parts of her that I have left.” Maybe that's why she's so stressed about this. She spiralled before she got to properly think about it.
Yusuke pauses, and looks up, “I do not believe that it’s stupid, if that is how you feel,” he begins drawing again, “Much can be said the same about interpreting an artwork; many believe that there is a ‘right’ answer to what an artwork means, when in truth any individual viewer’s interpretation can be considered correct, as they allow their own context and experiences to colour what they see in a work. Similarly, of course, to how your sentiments have changed the value you place in your old phone.” He smudges some of the charcoal with his thumb, “But that does not appear to be the only thing troubling you.”
“Right,” Sumire nods, and bites her lip, “I had a friend who was helping me become more independent and sure of myself, but he did something that really hurt me, and I suddenly feel like I can’t place the same value in everything he taught me, like everything he said meant nothing, or he was just saying it to sabotage me and laugh at me when I inevitably failed, or something,” she wrings her hands together, “I know it’s really dumb.”
“Then perhaps you can already predict the advice I’m going to offer you.” Yusuke says, and Sumire laughs genuinely at that, a little embarrassed.
Yusuke continues, “I believe, if you are attempting to become more independent, that it is fully within your capability to use your discretion in regard to the advice that your friend gave you. Just because the advice came from someone you can no longer trust, does not mean that everything that they ever said was in bad faith, or even that they weren’t trying to help you. I do not know the full story, of course, but do you believe that someone who had put effort into helping you in such a personal task only did so in order to set you up for failure?”
Sumire thinks of stretching in the park, of silly boat rides and of excellent coffee.
“No,” she decides, “But it still doesn’t stop me from feeling all wrong. And from being upset with him.”
Yusuke nods, seemingly making some final details in his sketch, “And if that is how you feel, then that is how you feel.” He whips his charcoal off the page with a flourish, “Ah! It is finished!”
Before Sumire can properly examine how she feels about that statement, Yuske reveals the sketch to her.
“It’s amazing, Kitagawa-senpai!” Sumire claps her hands together, a bright smile spreading on her face.
“Ah, thank you. I’m glad that you like it, Yoshizawa-san. It stems from my perception of your emotions, after all.” Yusuke nods with a contented smile on his face.
Sumire gives a bow, “I’m really happy that I ran into you today. Your advice really helped me, I think. And I’m happy I could help with your art, as well.”
“It was not problem at all,” he says. The two hear a shout of Yusuke’s name from outside the store. “Ah, that would be my sensei,” he says, quickly taking a bow, “I must take my leave now, Yoshizawa-san, but it was certainly pleasant meeting you as well.” He bows a little deeper, and quickly turns on his heel to rush after Madarame.
Sumire gives a wave, and turns back to the phones.
Maybe she'll just go with something simple. Like Yusuke said, it doesn't have to mean anything.
Yes. She’ll get that one. She picks up the case, and heads toward the counter, satisfied with the day she’s had.
***
The following day, Sumire gets acclimated to her new phone, transferring all her contacts and getting dissapointed once again at the lack of the Metanav.
She mostly drifts through the rest of the school day, thinking about nothing and everything all at once.
As helpful as it was to talk to Yusuke, Sumire can’t help but think that it was quite the coincidence to run into him at the electronics store. She’s pretty sure Yusuke doesn’t even live near Kichijoji, though it was probably just Madarame dragging him around for something or other- Kichijoji did hold quite a bit of variety.
Or maybe she really just is a thief magnet.
Either way, none of the thieves have shown any sign at all of remembering the previous year. Sumire knows that she’s already confirmed that at least three times, but she can’t help but think maybe, just maybe, someone else is in this with her.
At least the time travel rules are consistent so far- it wouldn’t really make a lot of sense if half the thieves remember, and half don’t. Though, it’s not like this situation makes a lot of sense to begin with, so who is Sumire to judge?
Finishing up the school day, Sumire makes her way towards the school gym. Volleyball isn’t on today, so Sumire feels safe in the assumption that Kamoshida will be elsewhere. She’s really been neglecting her gymnastics practice the past few days and she somehow doubts that coach Hiraguchi will take, ‘sorry ma’am, I was getting acclimated to time travel’ as an excuse.
Sumire passes by the school gardens on her way, and skids to a halt as she spots a head of fluffy pink hair struggling to lift one too many bags of soil.
Oh! “Excuse me!” Sumire calls, before she can stop herself.
Haru Okumura whips around, clearly shocked by the sudden noise, “Yes?” a tentative smile accompanies her airy voice.
Sumire quickly jogs over, “I was just wondering if you needed any help? I’m pretty strong, so if you needed help moving anything…?”
Haru’s face lights up as her smile spreads into something brighter, “Thank you! Yes, that would be quite helpful. Usually it’s okay, but there’s a few extra today,” she leans in conspiratorially, “The tomatoes are on death’s door, so I’m trying to see if I can give them a boost. I feel a bit like a mad scientist, throwing chemicals together to see what works,” She hides her mouth behind her hand as she giggles.
Sumire mirrors her playfulness, smile pitching even higher, “Well I’m happy to help, senpai.” She scoops up two bags of soil, almost dropping them when she remembers they technically haven’t met yet, “I’m Sumire Yoshizawa, by the way, a first year.”
Haru nods, “Nice to meet you, Sumire-chan, I’m Haru. I’m a third year myself.”
Sumire pauses, waiting for Haru to volunteer her family name, but simply nods when she’s met with silence. “It’s nice to meet you as well, Haru-senpai.”
The two spend some time making trips back and forth, making polite small talk as they haul bags of soil over towards a small garden shed. Upon depositing the final bag, Haru claps her hands together in a show of finality,
“Thank you so much for helping, Sumire-chan! It’s alright if you leave now, I wouldn’t want you to be late, or get your uniform dirty.”
Sumire shakes her head, “Not at all, I was just heading over to do my own practice in the gym, so it’s not like I would be late for anything, and I can just wash my uniform if I need.” She sweeps out a hand, gesturing toward the garden, “And I have to say, I’m pretty invested in these tomatoes now that we’ve talked about them so much.”
Haru gives a small bow, her eyes making crescents as they crinkle from her smile, “Thank you so much. Shall we get to work then?”
Haru gives Sumire some gardening gloves to work with, and cuts open one of the fresh soil bags in front of the tomato planter box.
“I probably shouldn’t be putting so much effort in right now,” Haru confesses, “The school is actually looking to downsize the garden, due to a lack of interest in the gardening club.”
Sumire looks up as she begins to shovel some of the dirt around the plant stems, “I was actually wondering about that. Is there no one else to help you with all of this, or is it just because it’s after school?”
Haru sighs a bit, joining Sumire in the shovelling efforts, “Well, when I say, ‘lack of interest’, what I mean is that I’m the only member, and I’m a third year, so…” She trails off, turning her gaze to look around at the garden.
“Um,” Sumire wrings her hands together, “What if I joined?” She hurriedly pats down some of the soil, “The club, I mean.”
Haru’s head shoots up, her hair bouncing, “Huh?” She blinks, “Really?”
“Yep!” Sumire nods, finding some of her confidence, “I know it probably won’t be enough to keep the bigger garden, but you really seem like you could use some help?”
Haru blinks again, “But,” she starts, “Aren’t you an honours student? I wouldn’t want to cut into your time.”
Sumire nods, hopefully reassuring, “Maybe I don’t have to join officially, but I could still help you out whenever I find the time?”
Haru stares at Sumire, mouth open in a little ‘o’, before clapping her hands together and a cheerful smile spreading on her face once again, “That would be wonderful, Sumi-chan! Thank you so much!”
Sumire tries not to blush at the nickname, “N-not at all!” She nods her head, “I’ve got time, and I’m a pretty good cook, so it might be nice to supply my own ingredients once in a while.”
Haru nods, satisfied, “I’d be more than happy to split the produce with you, once it finishes growing,” she giggles, “Maybe we could even have a picnic lunch with the veggies?”
Sumire nods in affirmation, “I would love that, Haru-senpai.”
“Good,” Haru laughs a little more, and pats down the soil, crinkling the empty bag in her hands, “Well, I think that’s all for today. Thank you so much again for offering to help, maybe we could exchange chat ID so I can let you know when I’m working on the garden? I didn’t really establish a schedule since it was just me for a while.”
Sumire quickly goes for her phone, taking off her gloves, “Of course, let me just get it,”
The two exchange ID, and Haru waves Sumire off as she heads off towards the gym, back on course.
Sumire puts her stuff down in the gym locker room. Right, practice. What routine is she even doing, at this point? She was probably getting started on the one she would use for the early summer meet later that year. She only half remembers the choreography, so she sticks to fundamentals, redownloading the music on her phone for use at a later date.
Does muscle memory stick around from her body in this timeline or the last one? Maybe she should ask Morgana as a hypothetical when she meets him again. She’s sure that Futaba (and likely Akechi) would have some opinions as well.
Futaba and Morgana are two of the thieves that Sumire is quite unsure on how to make contact with without some external intervention. For all her humour about being a thief magnet, Sumire thinks that coincidence would be stretching itself a bit if she managed to run into a cat in a city the size of Tokyo.
As for Futaba, Sumire remembers that the hacker doesn’t actually go to school. In fact, didn’t she joke about having been a shut in? Sumire isn’t sure how serious or literal the girl had been, but she doesn’t want to draw suspicion by waltzing into Leblanc and asking Sojiro about his daughter that possibly hasn’t been seen in person by anyone in months. She could claim an online friend, but that would probably just be worse if she's caught in the lie.
Sumire rubs her temples, packing up her stuff as she finishes practice. She spots Haru’s name amongst her contacts as she checks her phone, and smiles. She feels like she’s made a friend, one who she has a reason to continue seeking out, outside of her situation. Even if Haru would later join the thieves, Sumire feels like she has a distraction, for the time being.
You need not make everything about an inscrutable goal, Cinder.
Sumire nods to herself in agreement. She finishes packing up her things and getting changed, and makes her way home.
***
For all Sumire jokes to herself about her luck in running into all the important players in the future to come (She can feel that Ella appreciates them), she can’t help but feel confused. There are so many questions swirling in her head, and she feels like half of them would only spawn more questions if they were ever answered.
Sumire has been trying her best to reach out, but she feels like she forgot a step.
Namely, why?
Or, more accurately, what actually went wrong in the future?
She feels like they were so close. The thieves saved the world, and destroying Maruki’s reality felt like one last hurrah before the Metaverse was gone for good- corrupt politician in jail, evil god defeated, happy ending (a real one) secured.
And really, they were very close.
Ren had faltered at the last possible moment. Had Maruki tricked him? Brainwashed him? Had he been lying about the strength of his resolve?
If there was an ultimatum, when exactly in the timeline did it occur? If it caused Ren to falter at the last second, had it happened the day before? the month? If so, why send her back a year, before the thieves were even established, as opposed to far later where it would be more convenient?
Following that, Sumire thinks as she enters her room and flops down on her bed, why her?
She feels as though she is truly the least equipped to deal with this. She hadn’t even been a part of the thieves until a week into January, and hadn’t awakened to Cendrillion until October.
Was it simply because her resolve to avoid the fake reality was strongest? No, that couldn’t be right, surely that honour belonged to Akechi- though she wasn’t quite sure why. A matter of principal, perhaps?
Hell, she had fought for Maruki’s reality at first- surely whatever supernatural being had done this didn’t look at her and think this would be a good idea.
If the problem did occur earlier in the year, then what could she even do about it? She couldn’t even remember who some of the thieves’ targets were, not to mention the abundance of smaller Mementos requests they had surely done. What if one of those was a mistake and she had no idea she was supposed to prevent it?
If anyone was to be chosen for this, (assuming she was chosen for this, maybe it was all just a mistake, one big accident,) then why wouldn’t it have been Ren? He would know what went wrong, at least, he would know how to fix it.
Ren would know what to do. Kasumi would know what to do. Maruki would know what to do.
Sumire slaps her hands over her face, still staring at the ceiling. She's supposed to be better than this.
You know that you need not rely on them. You have proven yourself in the past, you can do so again.
Even if someone else could do better, it's still Sumire that was stuck in this mess. The one who has to carry the blessing and burden of events yet to come.
It isn’t Ren who got sent back. Kasumi is still gone, and thank god (pun intended, Sumire thinks) Doctor Maruki is in the dark, Sumire thinks reality may as well be doomed if Maruki ever gets to act so early.
So, she can do this. She has to do this. She’s the only one who can.
Sumire sits up.
She can do this.
***
Ren nods absent mindedly as his parents talk at him.
They’re giving some speech about how it’s ‘Ren’s responsibility to fix things.’ Fix what? Fix how drunk that guy was when Ren stopped him from trying to force that woman into his car? Fix how the police were all under that guy’s thumb, apparently? Fix that no one in the trial believed him and the woman wouldn’t even back him up?
Ren might still be a bit bitter; he admits.
It’s tomorrow that he heads out for Tokyo. He still hasn’t finished packing, and he’s feigning making progress as he tunes out his mother’s shrill ranting and his father’s disappointed grunts.
It’s fine. It isn’t like they ever held the highest hopes for him, anyway. He guesses this is just the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Ren readjusts the glasses on his face. He still isn’t used to them. He doesn’t even need them, but his lawyer (useless prick) told him that they made him look less threatening, and, well, a week of getting stared at by everyone in town was enough to ingrain the want to blend in, he guesses.
He feels a bit vain when he thinks it, but some part of him whispers that he looks better without them. It’s odd, since he’s never really cared about his appearance before, and he can’t think of who might have told him that -none of his friends are talking to him- but maybe he’ll try taking the glasses off when he gets to the city. Even without them, the place is so big he’ll probably blend in anyway.
“-Do you understand, Ren?”
Ren looks up from his bag, where his parents are looking at him expectantly. He hasn’t been listening.
“Yeah.” He says anyway, voice flat, “I got it.”
His mother huffs and rolls her eyes, stalking off to somewhere else in the house. His father just shakes his head without saying anything and trails after her, leaving Ren alone in his -now mostly bare- room.
His eyes flick around the room, landing on a gaming console too big and delicate to pack. He flicks through some of the games for nostalgia’s sake, hoping that his parents won’t throw his stuff out in the year he’s away. He settles on one game in the pile. He hasn’t played it yet, but he gets the feeling that it’s good. Probably just something about the art style.
Ren shakes his head, scanning his room again for anything that he desperately wants to bring to Tokyo. Finding nothing, (He would really feel awkward pinning up a Rissete poster in some stranger’s house) he quietly makes his way to the kitchen to grab dinner from the fridge. He’s stopped eating with his parents- he can’t stomach the tension at the dinner table anymore.
Thankfully, his parents aren’t there. Good- saves him the trouble of avoiding eye contact and grabbing the least offensive thing from the fridge out of courtesy.
While rifling through his options, his ears perk up at the sound of the TV swapping to a new program. He recognises the theme song from somewhere, but what…?
Ren quickly gives up on his guessing game when it’s apparent he isn’t going to remember and turns to look at the TV. Ah. Featherman. He’s heard of it, but never seen it. He’s honestly impressed the theme song sparked any recognition in him. Another little voice tells him it’s good. Someone probably recommended it to him once.
Sighing, Ren closes the fridge. There aren’t even any leftovers in there. He would make something himself, but if his parents see him they’ll probably just be annoyed at him, and he really doesn’t feel like dealing with that right now. He’ll just pick up a big breakfast on the way to the train station tomorrow.
Ren sits back down on his bed when he gets to his room. A whole year of probation. It still doesn’t feel real. Part of him is paranoid that he’s going to get done in by jaywalking, or something, even though officers have seen him do it plenty of times in the past and not even batted an eye, and this is a small town where the police are probably itching for something to do, so he doubts that Tokyo will be out to get him in that case.
Doesn’t stop him from feeling scared, though. Ren really doesn’t want to go to juvie.
He sighs, lying back down. He should probably get some sleep.
It’s okay. It’ll work out. It’s just a year, and he doesn’t even need to repeat a year of high school.
He can do this.