Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kurusu Akira: I need your help

Goro stares at the text, at the words on screen as if they might morph in front of his eyes and spell out a different name if he thought hard enough. Kurusu Akira can’t be texting him. He’s dead. Goro killed him.

Akechi Goro: Is this a joke?
Akechi Goro: Who is this?
Kurusu Akira: come to Shinjuku
Kurusu Akira: alley behind crossroads bar
Kurusu Akira: hurry
Akechi Goro: Who the fuck is this and why are you using this number?

He waits a minute, then two. No response. That should be fine – perfect, even – because Kurusu is dead. Goro saw the bullet go through Kurusu’s skull. He saw his eyes roll back, his body hit the table. There was blood. There was blood everywhere, leaking down his forehead, pooling on the table, dripping onto the floor. Nobody could have faked that much blood.

Could it be a trap? But by whom? The person he knows last had Kurusu’s phone is Sae. It was never turned in officially as evidence, but it was always going to get destroyed so it didn’t seem to matter in the end. It would be just like Shido to pull something like this just to fuck with him, but he and his men have been too preoccupied with the election and celebrating the news of the death of the Phantom Thieves’ leader to bother him.

An elaborate prank by the thieves then, perhaps, to get revenge for their leader’s death. Sakura could easily spoof a number, and is just the right combination of childish and malicious to try. But– what would their end goal be? They won’t kill him, and they can’t steal his heart. Sending cryptic texts to scare him is the extent of their ability. Nothing but a bunch of kids in costumes parading around as heroes.

He tries calling. It rings once before going to voicemail, a standard robotic response instead of the static of Kurusu’s voice. We’re sorry, Goro’s mind fills in, Kurusu Akira can’t come to the phone right now, because you killed him. Please leave a message after the beep.

At work, he has the resources to trace the phone, and Shido would no doubt invest his own if he caught wind of this – and he will, because every move Goro makes at the station inevitably gets reported right back up to the man. But that would take time, effort, and most of all, Shido knowing more than he has to about Goro’s affairs, so it’s out of the question.

Kurusu isn’t alive. This doesn’t matter, none of this matters. There’s nothing he can do now to Goro. But the text that stares back at him taunts him like a ghost all the same. It’s infuriating, maddening, how Kurusu wormed his way into Goro’s life, made a whole mess of things and forced him to re-evaluate every single one of his carefully-laid plans, and refuses to stop haunting him even when he’s gone.

Why? Why is it that, despite it all, despite the fact that he’s tried to bury Kurusu in the deepest pits of his blackened conscience, it’s still not enough to erase Kurusu’s existence? What is it that makes him so different? So goddamn special?

He doesn’t know. But he does know one thing: he’s only going to find his answer in Shinjuku.

Goro grabs his coat, pockets his knife and gun, and heads out.

The late November air is chilly, but it’s not the cold that makes him shiver. The crowds are different at this time of night. Nobody stops him on the street. Nobody gawks at him like a circus animal. Nobody even so much as looks at him. Goro gets off at Shinjuku station and follows his phone to Crossroads without fuss, tracing along the row of adjacent buildings until he hits a corner. There’s a single break between buildings that might be considered an alley, along with a single person on this entire side street; leaning against a wall, shoulders hunched, hood obscuring their face, Goro doesn’t doubt this is the person he’s here for.

The hooded figure straightens as he approaches, pushing off the wall to face him and pulling the hood down to their shoulders.

Any words Goro might have said die in his throat.

“Akechi,” Kurusu breathes out like he’s welcoming back an old friend. His face is littered with bruises and patched up with bandages, his lip is split. His pupils are huge and so, so dark. “Akechi, you’re here.”

You shouldn’t be, Goro thinks savagely. Why are you here, I killed you I killed you–

He closes his eyes. Opens them. Kurusu is still here, still not dead. Goro eyes him warily. Kurusu doesn’t look threatening, but he’s long mastered the meek, unassuming teenager look. His posture is tense, but defensive. His hands are in plain view, fingers loose. No strange lumps in his clothing. Goro relaxes a fraction.

“Yes,” he says. He puts on his most pleasant smile. “As are you. Care to explain what’s going on?”

“I need your help. I didn’t know who else to ask.”

“Well, if you would just explain what exactly you’re doing here, maybe I might.”

Kurusu gestures for him to follow, and against every cell in his body screaming at him not to, that this has to be a trap, Goro does. He leads them behind a dumpster and into the alley, until the light from the street scatters and Goro’s eyes strain to see forward in the darkness. There are piles upon piles of trash heaped on top of each other, obviously so long forgotten the bags are leaking through, putrid and foul. Rats squeak and skitter away under their feet. A cockroach crunches under Goro’s sole.

If there was ever an appropriate place for someone to get even with their attempted murderer, Goro supposes this would be at the top of the list.

If it is a trap, however, Kurusu’s intention doesn’t seem to be luring him in so he can knife him between the ribs. Instead, he stops in front of an oblong mass on the ground and squats down. Looks like a body; some man in a suit with a garbage bag over his head, limp and unmoving. Could easily be any poor drunkard off the street. “Don’t freak out, okay?” he prefaces before turning it over– and any other coherent thought vanishes from Goro’s mind as he pulls the bag off to reveal the face of Shido Masayoshi.

There’s blood leaking out a wound on his head, bruises and scratches from some kind of trauma. His glasses are cracked, the frames broken. His shirt is wrinkled and stained with dirt. If not for the slight rise and fall of his body, Goro would have thought he was dead.

It’s an utterly repulsive sight. Goro can’t look away.

“How?” he asks. Realization is starting to settle in; this isn’t a coincidence, that of all people Kurusu could have unveiled, it had to be Shido. Anger bubbles in his gut. How did you find out? How much do you know? How long have you known?

How could he have been fooled?

“He saw me– recognized me,” says Kurusu, gesturing down at Shido. “He grabbed my arm and I just– I panicked. I shoved him off and he fell, and I wasn’t even thinking, I just pushed as hard as I could and he didn’t get up. He’s not dead but… I can’t just let him go. He knows I’m alive.”

“I suppose the concept of lying low is a foreign one to you,” Goro says. “What did you expect, parading around a place like Shinjuku when you’re supposed to be dead?”

“I know, I just needed to– it doesn’t matter. Can you help me or not, Akechi? I don’t know how much longer he’s going to be out.”

Goro snorts. “What, did you call me here to finish him off myself? I’m your secret murder-for-hire on speed dial? How flattering.”

“You’re the one working for him. What should I do?”

“Do you want to kill him?” asks Goro.

“I don’t know,” Kurusu says. “I can’t think of much else right now. Tell me what to do.”

“Since when did I agree to help you?”

“Please, Akechi. I know you don’t like him. I just thought you might– that this would…”

“Don’t assume you know anything about me,” Goro snaps.

Kurusu fiddles with his hair, that thing he does when he’s pretending to think. Slowly, he asks, “What’s your price?”

“What?”

“Shido was paying you. He paid you to kill me. What’s your price?”

“You–” For once, Goro is rendered speechless. “Are you fucking stupid?”

“I can’t let him know I’m alive,” Kurusu says desperately. “You’re the only one I can trust to help me.”

Trust? Him? Goro almost wants to laugh. “I don’t need your money.”

Kurusu’s expression falls. “Okay, just– just forget I was here then. I’ll figure something out.”

He stares down at Shido’s unconscious body helplessly. He looks so stupid and confused it makes him angrier. Goro runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t fucking believe this,” he mutters, before adding, “I’m not doing this for you.”

He crouches down. Shido’s mouth hangs open, his breath foul, filled with the acrid tang of alcohol and bitter bile. It’s a familiar smell; Shido loved to call him into his office, drunk off whisky and rage, going off at him whenever something went wrong with his plans. Goro would sit there and let him rant, passing the time by imagining him twisting in agony as black blood oozed out his eyes and mouth.

He’s murdered a few people, including Kurusu – or so he thought – but never had to deal with the aftermath. The messy parts. Pop into the metaverse, unleash Loki on some nameless shadow, and pop right out. Easy, clean. Rinse and repeat.

Theoretically, he could do that here too, he supposes. Kill a real person inside Mementos, and nobody will ever find the body. Nobody will ever know the truth but him and Kurusu. The ever-shifting, twisting veins of Mementos would swallow up the evidence.

“Let’s take him to the metaverse. We can dispose of him there,” says Goro. “You can even leave him to the shadows if you don’t want to get your hands dirty.”

Kurusu relief is palpable. He shakes his head. “No entrances. I don’t know any palaces here. Mementos is too far.”

“Then we need a way to transport him. Or perhaps you’d like to wake him up and have him walk there on his own?”

Kurusu purses his lips, eyes straying in thought. “Lala-chan, my boss… she has a suitcase for carrying clothes in the back room that’s probably big enough. She might…”

Goro has never heard of this Lala-chan, but isn’t surprised Kurusu conveniently pulled someone out of his vast contact list. “And you trust she will be discreet? You know how powerful Shido is, and he’s one of the highest-profile men in the country right now; once he’s discovered missing, they’ll investigate this entire area. That means questioning anyone who might have seen him.”

“I’m not going to tell her it’s for a person,” says Kurusu. “I can buy her a new one after. She won’t tell anyone. Plus, she’s at Crossroads – it’s our closest option.”

He makes it sound so easy – finding people to trust, people who trust him in return – it makes Goro sick. Trusting Goro to help him take care of a body. Trusting some woman just because she gives him money, like that’s a basis for a strong, mutual relationship. No doubt he has someone on call for any situation he could ever find himself in.

Goro doesn’t have anybody.

“Very well then,” he says. “Be quick about it. I’ll keep watch over him.”

Kurusu nods and ducks out of the alleyway, slinking through the shadows like he’s afraid to let the light touch him. Goro leans against a wall. Shido remains motionless, though his face betrays his discomfort. Goro has never seen any expression on the man’s face that wasn’t smug and self-satisfied, or blinding self-righteous rage, pure narcissism in the form of a human walking around in a pressed suit. What expression would he make now, if he were to wake and find Goro staring down at him?

He could slit Shido’s throat right here. God, he wants to. But Shido would bleed, and it would get everywhere. They wouldn’t be able to move the body without it leaving a trail behind them. The drops of blood staining the ground are inconvenient enough already; undoubtedly someone will find them, figure out whom it belongs to, and from there it would only be a matter of time before someone puzzles the pieces together.

Snapping his neck or choking him would be cleaner, but not nearly as satisfying. Goro wants to feel flesh tear under his knife, wants to see him bleed. He wants Shido to know it’s him, for his last moments to be fear and regret.

Minutes pass without sign of Kurusu. Goro runs out of ways to mentally kill Shido. Minutes more pass. Goro finds his head turning every time a shadow passes by the mouth of the alley, annoyed when it’s not Kurusu. Perhaps he chickened out after all, or maybe this was a ploy all along to saddle Goro with Shido’s body and disappear, neatly tying up loose ends in a single move. Goro would almost respect that, if it weren’t him.

The alley is quiet; the sounds of Shinjuku are muted, and Tokyo seems so far away. Here, the rest of the city doesn’t matter. Just him and his piece of shit father, he thinks. Quality family bonding time in an alley.

A shadow stretching from the bright street puts Goro on alert, before he realizes it’s just Kurusu. With his hood back up, covering his hair and eyes, Kurusu’s silhouette is physically unremarkable. It’s no wonder he thought he might get away with his flimsy excuse for a disguise. The rumbling of the suitcase he drags along behind him against concrete is more conspicuous in comparison, and grating against his ears.

“Took you long enough.”

“I bought some rope,” Kurusu says, holding it up. “I, uh, figured it could be helpful. I was going to buy some supplies to clean up the blood too, but… I didn’t want to be too suspicious. Someone might remember me.”

Goro is… surprised by the foresight. Everyone else is so predictable, but Kurusu– equal parts shamelessly idealistic and ruthlessly practical, he never reacts the way Goro expects. Always quick to compartmentalize and commit to whatever he puts his mind to. No doubt he must be running on panic, yet has enough clarity to think quickly and make effective decisions, surprisingly astute for someone who has never had to plan a murder and coverup before.

That’s good; Goro doesn’t need more dead weight.

He sizes up the suitcase. Big enough for Shido, if a snug fit. A bit gaudy, too, with the most hideous color and patterning he’s ever seen, but unlikely anyone would look twice at them walking around with it in public. Goro is as relieved as he is annoyed that Lala-chan apparently pulled through.

“Hand me the rope,” he says. Kurusu obeys, and Goro works first to gag Shido’s mouth, feeling a wave of revulsion roll through his gut at the physical contact. Then, he binds hands, feet, testing his knots with as much strength as he can. Tight enough that Shido will no doubt bruise – not that it’ll matter much soon.

A vision of Kurusu’s own bruised wrists flashes through his mind. He buries the thought.

Goro hefts Shido up into a sitting position. “Help me put him into the suitcase.”

Kurusu inhales. Hesitation.

Weakness.

“Come on, Joker, I’m not going to do this all by myself,” Goro warns.

That seems to spur Kurusu into moving. He helps fold Shido into a fetal position, his eyebrows furrowing and lip curling in disgust as he holds the body in place. It’s oddly satisfying to see someone else as repulsed by Shido as Goro is, when nobody would even dare regard Shido with anything less than adoration lest it displease him. Even the masses of Tokyo are under his spell, and it’s sickening to walk the streets hearing them sing Shido’s praises every day.

If only they knew, he would think, counting down the months, weeks, days, until Shido’s downfall.

They need to contort Shido to get the suitcase closed all the way. It’s easily a two person job. No words are exchanged between them, yet they work in perfect, comfortable tandem. The man is, predictably, not very flexible; his joints resist as they bend, and Goro thinks he hears something pop when he applies just too much pressure and then some, but otherwise it feels like positioning a remarkably ugly mannequin. Kurusu leans his weight on the suitcase while Goro zips it up.

Task completed, Kurusu settles on his heels and stares at the suitcase dubiously. His hand hovers a second too long. “It’s not too late to back out,” Goro says snidely.

Kurusu frowns and shakes his head, pulling the handle of the suitcase out and testing the weight of it. “All right, this is… good. This is going to work,” he says, clearly more to himself than to Goro. “Let’s do this.”

“Where to then, Joker?”

Kurusu‘s response is nearly immediate: “Let’s go to the Diet Building.”

That’s… “His palace.”

He nods.

Goro’s mind reels. Kurusu knows. Kurusu knows Shido’s palace, his keywords. Shido Masayoshi, Diet Building, ship, those words Goro has been repeating in his mind like a mantra for years now, never able to breach the main assembly hall. Waiting for Shido to trust him enough for the doors to open. The Phantom Thieves must have gotten started on the palace while Goro was wasting time, gloating over killing their leader. They were trying to change Shido’s heart like he was one of their silly targets, and take away Goro’s chance at the revenge he’s been planning for so long.

And now his whole plan has gone to shit anyways, all because of Kurusu refusing to stay dead.

How much does he know? Goro thinks again. He knew about Goro setting him up; he must have, to have survived. He knows about Shido and his palace. What else must he and his thieves have discovered? Were they laughing at him this whole time, sitting in Kurusu’s dusty attic and gossiping about Goro’s secrets together?

“Akechi?”

Goro blinks. Schools his expression. “Ah. I got lost in thought. Yes, I suppose it’s an apt a location as any.”

Kurusu looks at him. “You don’t agree.”

“It’s your call,” Goro says. “Whether we go to his palace or Mementos, all that matters is that he dies. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

Kurusu looks like he wants to say something, but instead moves on from the conversation to lead them towards the station, lugging the suitcase behind him. It clatters abrasively against the pavement, kicking up dirt and gravel in its wake. Offensively loud on top of being gaudy, its only redeeming quality is its ability to ward people away from itself; the Shinjuku crowd parts effortlessly around them, letting Goro follow comfortably at an arm’s distance.

The trains are less crowded this time of night. They hop on one end and switch cars until they find the emptiest one, seating themselves across from each other. Kurusu hunches over and crosses his arms on the suitcase to hold it steady. When the train starts, he kicks out a leg to stop it from rolling.

They sit in silence. Goro scrolls through his phone, pretending it’s interesting. Kurusu observes a group of drunk tourists on the other side of the car. When they stumble out of the train, giggling and noisy, his attention shifts to Goro.

Being under the spotlight of his stare is as unnerving as ever. Goro’s skin prickles.

“Did you know?” Kurusu asks suddenly.

“Know what?”

“Shido was the reason for my probation. Did you know?”

Goro’s eyebrows rise. “I was aware he’d manipulated some witness and threatened a high schooler a while back. He went off about it for a week. I didn’t care enough to connect the dots when we met.”

Kurusu exhales. “He’s the reason for everything. He’s the reason I’m here, why all of… this happened,” he says quietly. “He ruined your life too, didn’t he.”

“Do you hate him?”

Kurusu shrugs.

“I hate him,” Goro says. “I hate him so much I dedicated my whole life to ruining him. I did everything for the singular purpose of getting closer to this goal. Acting as his attack dog, playing at being a celebrity, I tolerated it all until I could tear him down. Destroy his empire. And then you showed up. You, and your stupid team. If you had gone and changed his heart, if you had taken this away from me, I would have tried to kill you again with my own hands – and if you managed to escape that too, I would kill you again, and again, and again.”

Kurusu won’t stop staring at him. “Does it… have something to do with your mother? Why you hate him.”

God, Goro really had to spew all that shit at Kurusu before, didn't he. Telling him his entire tragic life story like they were best friends. It’s so humiliating. “Yes,” he says, leaving it at that.

Kurusu nods, satisfied. He turns to look out the window. Goro lets out a breath.

He takes advantage of the lull to mentally catch up; everything happened so quickly from the moment Kurusu laid his eyes on Goro again it feels like a fever dream. If he pinches himself, maybe he’ll find himself back in his bed, ready to take on another miserable day of pandering to Shido and the faceless crowd, armed with new knowledge of what could have been.

But he doesn’t wake. When he blinks Kurusu is still sitting across from him, his beat up and bandaged face a reminder of Goro’s failure. Kurusu Akira is alive. Goro’s plan failed. His plan failed, and another one is about to go up in flames, all because Kurusu wouldn’t stay dead.

No, not quite. Not yet. Goro is adaptable. That’s how he survived so long, after all. He can still salvage this.

Kurusu’s revelation changes things somewhat, as much as he hates to admit it. He always believed he was alone in his goals, that there would never be anyone who could stand by his side, or at his back. Never in months, even years of planning did he factor in someone like Kurusu. Someone who could be called his equal, who might have the same enemy. Goro doesn’t believe in fate, but it is beautifully poetic – karmic retribution for Shido’s sins, for the people he wronged. He's surprised by how little he hates the idea of sharing the glory of his revenge with Kurusu, to experience and perhaps even savor it with someone who knows more about him than anyone else.

The announcer crones overhead. Next stop is Kokkai-gijidomae. Doors will open on the right.

The wheels of the suitcase catch in the gap between the platform and the train. Goro kicks it out. He thinks he hears a muffled grunt, and it makes him smile.

Goro knows the way from the station to the Diet Building by heart. After all, he’s been to the palace countless times over the years, just to watch the way it shifted as Shido’s distortion grew more morbid, more wicked. The ocean rose higher and higher, swallowing everything in the horizon. Skyscrapers that once peeked tall out of the water, now collapsing and sinking. The passengers and crew alike grew more agitated, less trusting. Every single detail a reflection of Shido’s deteriorating mind, laid out just for Goro to dissect.

Kurusu lags behind as they get closer to their destination, staring warily up at the building as they approach. “You should take the lead,” he says.

“You want me to do the dirty work for you, you mean.”

He shifts from one foot to the other. “This is more important for you than it is for me. I don’t want to take it from you.”

“How thoughtful of you, considering the wrench you’ve already thrown into my plans. Are you sure you can handle taking commands from me, Joker?”

Kurusu straightens and meets Goro’s eyes, the mask already falling into place. “I can take whatever you throw at me, Crow.”

“Very well.” Goro pulls out his phone, thumbing over the app. “Shido Masayoshi. Diet Building. Ship.”

The palace is familiar as it always is, but the changes are immediately clear: red clouds roll angrily above them, thundering in the distance; waves crash against the ship, spraying the deck with seafoam and salt; a siren wails somewhere within the ship. The air is oppressive. Goro feels the hair at the nape of his neck rising.

The palace is on full alert; it senses its owner and his will, and it is not pleased. Goro, usually not considered a threat, is already outfitted in his black gear. Kurusu notices too; his eyes roam over Goro’s figure with obvious curiosity. In his skin-tight suit, he feels almost naked under the scrutiny.

“You’re Black Mask,” says Kurusu.

“An astute observation,” Goro says drily. “Yes, congratulations, you solved the mystery. Would you like a prize?”

“The mental shutdowns– those were all you?”

“Yes.”

Kurusu considers this. “You killed Haru’s father.”

“And I caused a whole plethora of other people’s deaths, Joker. He wasn’t any more special for being your friend’s father. Is this really what you should be focusing on right now?”

“Shido ordered you to kill those people.”

Goro sighs. “Does it matter when I was the one who pulled the trigger?”

“He manipulated you.” Kurusu clenches his fists. The leather creaks audibly. “He ruined my life for trying to stop him from assaulting a woman. He controls people to gain power and kills whoever stands in his way. It’s evil.”

“Does that make you angry? Do you hate him for what he’s done to us? Do you want to kill him?”

“I…” Kurusu swallows. “I thought death was too easy for the people we targeted. I thought it would be better if they lived the rest of their lives with the guilt of their crimes. But I don’t know if someone like him deserves a change of heart.”

Goro smiles, his first real one since the interrogation room. “I think this is going to work out for the both of us, then.”

He unzips the suitcase, dumping out their stowaway. Shido’s body tumbles out in a sprawl onto the deck. His elbow is twisted at an unnatural angle, but the way he’s bound there’s nothing they can do about it, even if they cared enough to.

Well, maybe Kurusu would care. Bleeding heart, and all.

“He’s still not awake,” Kurusu observes. “We… didn’t kill him by accident, did we?”

Goro kicks Shido hard in the ribs, earning a whine. “Still alive. Good. I want to talk first.”

“Maybe he’ll wake if we heal him,” says Kurusu. “If we tie him to the railing first, he won’t be able to run.”

Goro doesn’t particularly want to heal the man, but short of slapping Shido around until he wakes up, he doesn’t have any more palatable ideas. “Right,” he says. “I’ll tie him up; you heal him.”

Kurusu uses the lowest level healing spell he has; some of Shido’s bruises begin to fade, but he’s still visibly banged up. Goro can see his eyes twitching grotesquely under his eyelids, before they blink open.

Shido is eerily calm. He takes in his surroundings: the sky, the ship deck, the tumultuous waves. Calculating. He looks at Kurusu, then makes eye contact with Goro. Goro resists the urge to duck his head, fights down the instinctual self-preservation telling him to placate, please him, don’t make him angry and he won’t hurt you that’s gotten him this far. He’s never been so thankful for his mask, serving as a physical shield between them.

Awake, even as roughed up as he is, his presence is overwhelming. Shido looks like a caged animal. More predator than prey. The kind one needs to keep an eye on at all times; Goro is suddenly glad they had the foresight to restrain him further. Shido was never a physical threat before – not when his weapon of choice was words and Goro was his sword – but the tense line of muscle in his shoulders is strikingly reminiscent of an animal ready to pounce.

Goro doesn’t doubt he would. Caged up, faced with no other options – that’s when an animal’s true nature gets revealed. He welcomes it; he worked long enough under Shido to understand the man trusts no one. Every relationship is a business transaction, or politicking, and all for his own benefit. Who, exactly, is Shido underneath all of the lies?

Now, Goro is going to revel in stripping it all away. Peeling back every single layer – skin, fat, muscle, ribs – and pulling out Shido’s beating heart.

Shido moves – or tries to, before being stopped by his bindings. A low hum escapes him. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands silkily. “Who are you?”

Goro removes his mask, discarding it on the floor. “Shido.”

Shido doesn’t look surprised to see him, only sneering back in contempt, but his posture relaxes a fraction. “Hmph. I should’ve known it would be you.”

“Do you know where you are?”

Shido looks around once more, taking in the chaos around him. Goro can see the realization slowly piece together on his face, but not much else. No panic, no fear. That’s fine; they have all the time in the world here.

“This is your distortion,” Goro says. “Disgusting, isn’t it? All your paranoia, your sick fantasies, the evil you hide from the world, all here for me to pick apart.”

“So you brought me to my own palace. I suppose you thought you could induce a mental shutdown? Change my heart?”

Goro shakes his head. “I want you fully cognizant for this. You think you can just have a change of heart, cry a little, and say sorry? Land yourself a cushy little cell in prison where you can continue to manipulate everyone around you, while those you hurt live with the suffering you’ve inflicted? Don’t make me laugh.”

Shido stares at him with all too familiar disdain. “All right, boy. I’ll entertain you. What do you want, then? Money? I have plenty. Power? Trivial. Women? Well, I suppose men might suit you more.” He smirks cruelly. “Name your price.”

“You think I want anything from you? After what you’ve done?”

“What I've done?” Shido snorts, an unpleasant, nasal sound. “You’ll have to be more specific than that. I took you in when you were nothing more than a dirty, unkempt child. I kept you fed, clothed, gave you a job and a roof over your head. All your fame is thanks to me. Tell me, what have I done, exactly, to warrant this show of gratitude?”

“Do you remember my mother?” Goro snarls. “Do you remember how you abandoned her? How you forced her to have a child, ruined her, and wiped your hands of it, then continued living your life like she didn’t even exist?”

“That whore?” Shido spits. “That’s it? This embarrassing tantrum is just for that bitch? What, did you want a hug from daddy? You want me to read you bedtime stories and kiss you to sleep? I’m disappointed, truly; I thought my own spawn would be more clever than this.”

Horror washes over him like a wave. “You knew. You knew this whole time.”

Shido throws his head back and laughs. “Foolish boy. You think I didn’t realize the moment I saw you, groveling on your knees for me to take you in? You look just like her, after all, and just as easy.”

Goro sees red.

His hand moves on its own, finger pulling the trigger before he’s even aware he made the decision. The shot is muffled to his own ears; it hits Shido in the shoulder, the impact of it not quite enough to knock him over. Shido groans, startled, but that’s all he allows. Unphased, he stares down the barrel of Goro’s gun disdainfully, ignoring the wound, the blood seeping through his shirt, as crimson as the sky above.

It’s not enough.

“Hit a nerve, did I?” asks Shido. “Did you think that would scare me? I’ve been threatened by plenty of men much worse than you.”

“I wonder,” Goro says mildly, swallowing down his nausea. “I have your life in my hands. Nobody can reach you here. If I were you, I would be very careful about what I said next.”

“Ah.” Shido grins at him, sucking a harsh breath between his teeth that Goro knows must be in pain. “You like that. It feels nice to have power, doesn’t it? The power to silence others, to crush anyone who stands in your way, to have anything you could ever want. Once you get a taste, you’ll never forget it. You’ll only want more.”

Behind him, Kurusu watches silently. Goro had almost forgotten about him, but right now– right now his presence rankles. What is he thinking, knowing what he knows now? All the secrets Goro kept locked away for so long, suddenly uncovered and laid bare. Does he think differently? Does he care? If he had known, would he have tried to help Goro?

Goro hates that he has no idea. That he wishes he did.

“Do you have a persona that can inflict despair, Joker?”

Kurusu regards him curiously. “Not right now, but I can if you give me a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” says Goro.

Kurusu stalks off towards the cognitive Diet Building, to do whatever he does when he stares off into space at palace entrances and comes back with a new arsenal of personas, Goro supposes. Shido watches Kurusu leave with a glint of interest. “He’s alive after all, hm? Your little Phantom Thief.”

Goro grasps the barrel of his gun and strikes Shido across the face. “Don’t look at him.”

Shido spits out blood. He laughs. “So you did spare him? Couldn’t stand to kill your boyfriend in the end? It was so obvious, you were practically crying to me, begging not to hurt him.”

“Shut up,” Goro says.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice, did you? The way you would look at your phone when you got a message. The outings you took him on, pretending it was about gathering intel. I saw all of it. You really thought you could fool me? You’re just a pathetic, worthless child.”

Goro pistol whips him again, feeling a satisfying, resounding crunch.

Shido’s teeth are blood red as he grins. “Does he know? Does he even like you back? Or are you just so desperate for any sort of affection you’ll cling onto the first person who gives you attention?”

Goro snarls, swapping his gun out for his sword and plunging the serrated blade into Shido’s thigh. Cutting through human meat is familiar, yet so different from cutting open shadows; so much more tender and soft, surrendering to his blade so easily, missing the resistance of hide or fur or scales. So fragile. Is it simply cognition, or would a body come apart like this under his touch in the real world too?

Shido doesn’t scream, refusing to allow Goro the satisfaction, instead dragging out a long grunt through his teeth. Goro pulls his sword out slowly, letting every single ridge of the blade catch and pull against Shido’s flesh. Still, it does nothing but make Shido’s breath more ragged and sweat bead down his head.

Annoyed, Goro flicks his sword once it’s freed, splattering the floor with Shido’s blood. Goro wants to hear him scream. He wants to savor Shido’s pain, devour all his confidence and break him apart until he’s nothing more than limbs, organs, tissue. Until he’s no longer recognizable as the human being he pretends he is.

“People like you and me,” Shido pants, “we’re not meant to be weighed down by things like love, guilt, sentimentality. Things like that only make us weaker, hold us back from our true destinies. Your mother could never accept that. That’s why she wouldn’t belong in the world I’m going to create.”

“I’m done talking to you,” Goro snaps.

The click of Kurusu’s heels announces his return. It stops right at Goro’s shoulder, close enough that Goro can almost feel the warmth of his body. It doesn’t matter what Shido says. Kurusu is here. He chose Goro to do this with, trusted him to carry out the task. In this, they’re not rivals, nor enemies, but partners.

“Joker,” Goro says, turning to him, “good timing.”

Kurusu takes in the sight in front of him, betrayed only by the slight crease of his brow. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing important. Are you ready?”

“Yes, but– is there a reason you need to despair him?”

“He’ll scream louder,” Goro says.

Kurusu’s throat bobs. He looks at Shido, eyes tracing the planes of his bloody face before his own hardens. “It’s your call,” he says. Joker’s mask burns away in a burst of flame. The form of a Decarabia materializes behind him, its single eyeball locking onto Shido.

Goro has been hit by this ailment once before, long before he understood what they were, and so he's all too familiar with exactly how it unfurls in front of him. He watches as the spell takes root; gradual and insidious, he can see every single nuance as despair takes over its host. Eyes glaze over, shoulders sag, limbs go limp. Despair plants itself in Shido’s mind, down into his body, into his arms and legs, eating away his pride and fury until only all he knows is the futility of his own miserable existence.

“Oh…” Shido gasps. “What…?”

“Shido,” Goro says, “tell me. Did you ever regret what you did to my mother?”

Shido doesn’t answer, staring blankly down at his bloody thigh in shock.

Goro fires his gun at Shido’s feet, the bullet ricocheting off the deck, making Shido jump. “Shido. Answer the fucking question.”

Shido blinks, wide eyes turned to Goro like he didn’t realize he was there. “Ah… yes. Your mother.” He inhales shakily. “I never spared her a thought; I had other things to think about. I was so busy, you know… the cognitive psience research was just coming into fruition–”

“Do. You. Regret. It,” Goro spits out, cocking his gun. “Don’t make me ask again.”

“I… I do regret it!” Shido says quickly, his voice cracking. “I should never have hurt her. I should’ve taken responsibility for you. I should have been a better father.”

Everything sounds sincere enough – his words, his tone, his contrite expression – but it feels… off. Is this a true glimpse into Shido’s heart, or is the despair contorting his mind? Goro wonders. Is it even real, if he says it under duress? Or, perhaps Shido’s cognition has been rewritten altogether, turning lies into some farce of the truth.

“You knew what he was planning all along, didn’t you?” Kurusu asks. “Why keep him close?”

Shido hangs his head. “Yes.” To Goro, he says, “I knew you would be useful. So much anger, so much hate… it made you easier to control; dangle the carrot in front of you, and you would do anything I asked. But you were becoming too much of a liability. I… was planning to get rid of you after I won the election.”

“What?” says Kurusu.

“I know… I’m a horrible person. I’ve done such terrible things. Even to my own son… I can only apologize.”

Kurusu turns to look at him. There’s so much in his eyes, the depth of which he can’t even begin to dissect right now, Goro looks away, focusing instead on Shido. “Your apologies are worthless.”

“I’ll do anything,” Shido says. “Do… do you want me to beg on my hands and knees? I can give you money, all of it. I won’t ask you for anything else. Please, I just need a chance.”

This isn’t satisfying. Lobotomizing Shido until he’s a pathetic shell of himself, until he’s spewing self-deprecating words like he’s ever said something genuine in his whole life. That’s not what he wants. He would never have accepted changing Shido’s heart; the man he wants to destroy is the one with all his pride and ego intact. Goro knows this for sure now.

“No,” says Goro, “I don’t want that. I don’t want anything from you, and you’ve had an entire lifetime of chances already. I just want to see you suffer.”

The terror in Shido’s eyes as Goro plunges his blade into the juncture of his shoulder is like nothing he’s ever envisioned before. Shido’s howl of pain vibrates through his bones, tingling pleasantly through Goro’s body. Power, Shido had called it. He was right. If nothing else, he was right about this. Goro feels powerful, and the taste of it is so sweet on his tongue.

It’s even sweeter to watch Shido fight desperately against his binds, writhing, pulling, so helpless as he is. The clench of his teeth, the deep furrow of his brows, the sweat and blood dripping in rivulets down his skin – this is the most honest Shido has ever been, and it’s all for Goro.

Something snaps.

Shido falls to his knees. The ropes around his wrists, tying him to the railing, have been ripped loose, frayed where they’ve snapped apart. The metal railing itself is dented and warped. It shouldn’t come as a surprise; Shido is undoubtedly more powerful here, in the cognitive universe, where his inflated sense of self-worth manifests in tangible, physical strength. Goro doesn’t doubt both he and Kurusu could take him on if he got close enough, but even allowing him that small concession is unacceptable.

Shido’s eyes are wide, like he can’t believe it himself. He never will. Despair stops him just short of comprehension; it doesn’t permit even a sliver of hope, after all.

Shakily, he attempts to bring himself onto his feet, wobbling on his knees like a newborn calf. A shot rings out next to Goro’s ear. Shido lets out a piercing, guttural scream, crumpling to a heap on the ground and clutching his leg.

Kurusu doesn’t lower his gun, keeping it trained square on Shido. “Don’t come closer,” he warns.

“Okay, I won’t– I won’t!” Shido whimpers, cowering into himself further. “Just, please, don’t kill me.”

Goro cocks his head. “Do you think the people you threatened begged for their lives just like this? What mercy did you show them then?”

“Goro, it hurts, please–”

“Don’t call me that,” Goro hisses.

“Goro, my son, I’m so sorry,” Shido sobs. He falls to his hands and knees. “God, I can’t believe– how could I ever be forgiven? I’ve done so many horrible things, I couldn’t even begin to atone…”

Goro grinds Shido’s head into the ground with his foot, sneering at the sniveling man below him. “Disgusting. You think I want to hear this from you?”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I have nothing else to give you except my life.”

“All right, then.” Goro stomps down, hard. Shido’s scream is otherworldly, rippling through the air. The waves around them crescendo and the ship lurches, as if trying to throw him off, the palace doing everything it can to protect its master. Shido doesn’t stop screaming. Goro holds onto the ship’s railing and only bears down harder, over and over, until he hears the crunch of bone giving way under his heel, feels the soft gush of brains beneath his feet.

Muscles twitch and spasm – a nervous system sending out its last sparks as it breaks down. A grotesque show of a human body’s last effort to hold onto a facsimile of life.

One last twitch. And then, Shido stops moving altogether.

Goro lets out a breath. Wipes the blood off his shoes with Shido’s shirt. Feels nothing.

Around them, the palace starts to howl. Lightning cracks the sky. The wind whistles and whips at Goro’s face. Waves crash over the deck, spraying them with saltwater and threatening to sweep them off. The ship sounds like it’s splitting in half as it creaks and wails, screaming out in grief for its ruler, its discordant tune setting Goro’s nerves on edge.

“Akechi,” Kurusu urges, “we should get out–”

The glow of Robin Hood’s samarecarm washes over Shido’s body. The cracked bits of skull and brains find each other, forming back into a whole. Wounds stitch themselves together. Only the blood remains behind, soaked into his clothes and crusted on his skin.

Shido splutters back to life in a single, shuddering gasp. The palace slowly grinds to a halt. The ocean calms, featureless and glassy. The ship gives one last groan before everything goes silent. Like standing in a vacuum, on the precipice of the void, Goro hears nothing but his own pulse beating in his ears and the rush of air filling his lungs.

“Are you done now?” Shido asks icily. “You killed me. Humiliated me. You won. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Not from you,” Goro says. He kicks Shido in the gut, for good measure. Shido’s glare is spiteful. The sheer hatred Goro sees reflected back at him makes him feel euphoric.

“Why did you revive him?” Kurusu asks.

“It wasn’t him,” Goro says. “The person I killed wasn't Shido.”

Kurusu nods. Goro feels a rush of warmth knowing he understands. “So what now?”

“You said it yourself: he ruined your life too. You’re in this as much as I am now. What do you want?”

It’s a moment before Kurusu opens his mouth to reply, but before any sound comes out, the world spins.

Something heavy crashes into his flank, knocking Goro off his feet. He hits the ground hard, his sword clattering to the ground a split-second after. The impact to the crown of his head rattles him, sends a flash of searing white burning through the backs of his eyelids. A weight crushes down on his body, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Shido wraps his hands around Goro’s neck with a growl, his breaths hot against Goro’s face, filling his nose with the scent of copper.

Goro pushes back with as much force as he can muster, but fighting him is futile; fully healed, with no power but his own fucked up cognition, Shido is strong. Stronger even than when he pulled himself free from his binds, stronger than any shadow he’s encountered. He grasps out blindly for his sword, but Shido’s foot slams into his arm, and something cracks–

“Akechi!” Kurusu yells, jumping in to pull Shido off, only to get tossed aside like a ragdoll.

“You’re going to regret bringing me back, you insolent little worm,” Shido snarls, clawing his fingers into Goro’s throat. Goro gasps desperately, feeling his throat closing in. “That was your only chance to get rid of me for good. I’m going to tear your throat out with my own hands and throw your body into the ocean. But don’t you worry – I’ll make sure your boy toy joins you too.”

“Fuck off, old man,” Goro wheezes with the last of his breath. His arm won’t move. It hurts. He grits his teeth, sucking in what little air he can. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. In the blurring edges of his vision, he sees Kurusu roll onto his feet.

“You think he’ll be able to stop me before I kill you?” Shido hisses. “Let me teach you something, boy; a lesson from father to son: trusting him was your first mistake. The only thing you can rely on in this world is your own strength. And that’s why you’re so weak.”

His mouth continues to move, but he can’t hear it anymore. He can‘t breathe. Can’t move. His limbs are cold. Numb. A dark figure stalks closer. Close. A glint of steel. Then– red.

Shido’s yowl is distant to his ears. Like they’re filled with water. The pressure releases. He’s vaguely aware of the screaming, the blood. The sudden rush of oxygen rushing through his lungs. It hurts. Everything hurts. Goro coughs and coughs. Rubs his abused throat with his good hand. The air filling him is intoxicating, and he swallows it up greedily like his first drop of water after crossing the driest desert.

When his vision clears, the sight laid out in front of him only leaves him breathless again.

Kurusu stands over Shido, one foot crushing his shoulder, and he’s… dripping with blood. Shido’s blood. Splattered over his face, staining his shirt, soaking his gloves a shade darker. The fringe of his unruly, untamable hair lies in flat clumps under the weight of it.

He looks good in red, Goro thinks deliriously.

There’s a fresh bruise on his face. The tails of his coat are ripped, and his shirt is torn down the center, exposing the dip of his chest. Evidence of a fight that went down while he wasn’t conscious enough to process it, and Kurusu clearly won. Shido lies immobile on the ground; Kurusu’s dagger is lodged in between his ribs. A dozen new oozing cuts strewn haphazardly throughout his body. The sheer violence of it is almost dazzling.

“Akechi.” Kurusu visibly relaxes when he sees Goro. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Goro barely croaks out, and winces. “Is he dead?”

Kurusu shakes his head. “Close enough. Are you sure you’re okay?”

He doesn’t think he has the strength to do anything but hold himself upright. “Need healing.”

Kurusu’s spell is leagues stronger than the one he used on Shido; Goro feels it soothe his crushed windpipe as the fragments of bone in his shattered arm piece themselves back together. He rotates his wrist, flexes his fingers, feeling the circulation return to his hand. “Thanks,” he says, leveraging himself onto his feet. He nearly slips in Shido’s blood.

Kurusu nods. He looks down at Shido. If Goro focuses, he can see the slight rise and fall of Shido’s body. But the blood– there’s so much of it.

“He’s not going to last much longer,” he says, and as a small mercy: “We could leave him here to rot.”

“No,” says Kurusu. His hands are shaking, but his eyes are resolute. “Don’t want to leave it to chance. I won’t believe he’s dead until I see it.”

Goro almost wants to leave Shido as he is, to prolong his pain. A quick death is too kind for him. But Kurusu has a point. He’s proven himself that anyone can escape death. “My sword, I can–”

“It’s okay,” says Kurusu. He purses his lips. “I can do this. You asked me what I wanted. I’ve chosen this. I can’t just stand back and watch you shoulder all the responsibility yourself, pretending I’m less guilty just because I didn’t take his life with my own hands. It’s my fault this is happening, that I let myself get caught. That he almost killed you. I need to hold myself accountable.”

“Kurusu, I’ve had years to accept I’m a murderer. You still… you don’t have to–”

“I do. Trust me, I need to.”

“Okay.” Goro swallows. Admits, “I want to watch you.”

Kurusu just… looks at him. So many emotions swim behind his eyes, searching for something in Goro’s own, until he finally finds it. Whatever is in his expression shuts off entirely, his face placid as he considers the body beneath him. He rolls Shido onto his back with his foot. When he pulls his dagger free, impossibly more blood spurts out.

Kurusu crouches down, tilting Shido’s head to expose his neck. He inhales. Exhales. Holds the hilt of his dagger tighter. “I bet you don’t even remember who I am,” he says to Shido. “It’s funny: you’re the reason why I came to Tokyo. Why I’m here. I wouldn’t have met Akechi without you. If you hadn’t assaulted that woman, if you had just left me alone, if you’d just been a decent person, none of this would be happening.”

Shido doesn’t beg for his life – if he’s even capable of it at this point – but even through his glazed eyes he stares back with pure venom.

“If it were up to me,” Kurusu murmurs, “you would spend the rest of your life behind bars, atoning for your crimes. You would understand exactly what you’ve done wrong, and you would suffer every waking moment with that knowledge. But my justice is different than Akechi’s, and I'm going to help him see his through.”

Shido opens his mouth soundlessly. Half snarl, half scream.

“I wonder if you’re even capable of guilt,” Kurusu continues quietly. “If we took your distortion… I wonder if that would even matter. If, at the core, some people are just born evil.”

His dagger glides across Shido’s neck. Goro witnesses every split second of it in awe: skin parts like a ship’s wake under his precise cut, spilling the deep, deep red within. Shido lets out one last weak gurgle. And then–

It’s over.

It’s over.

Kurusu steps back, blinking slowly. He wipes at the blood on his face with the back of his glove, but only manages to smear it across his cheek. His pupils are dilated, sweat dripping down his collarbone. His chest rises and falls from exertion. He just killed someone, and Goro thinks he’s never been more attractive.

“Oh my god,” says Kurusu breathlessly. “Oh my god, we really–”

Goro kisses him.

Kurusu lets out the most beautiful, startled sound, and Goro has never wanted to hear anything more – not even Shido’s screams, his pleas for mercy could compare to the sweetness of the gasps that tumble from Kurusu’s mouth. It’s a blessing to feel the pressure of Kurusu’s lips against his own, so soft and wondrous. Jealous and greedy, Goro wants everything and then some, wants to feel Kurusu’s unequivocal surrender. He wants to open Kurusu up and strip him down to the bone, and crawl right into him.

But Kurusu isn’t one to submit so easily. He makes it clear any concession is given willingly, a privilege, and that makes every touch burn hotter. When his arms wrap around Goro’s shoulders, begging to be closer, as close as possible, it’s a promise. When he grinds their hips together, groaning hot into Goro’s mouth, it’s a compromise.

The ship rumbles in warning. Alarmed, Kurusu pulls away, but Goro only pushes, captures his lips once more and breaches them with his tongue. Kurusu welcomes him in so easily, giving way under his touch, yielding to his silent demands. Goro can almost feel his rapid heartbeat against his own.

It feels like drowning. Kurusu floods his senses: the taste of his pliant mouth, the warmth of his fervent touches, the smell of his damp skin, until he loses himself in the microcosm of the universe that is him and Kurusu.

They stumble as the deck lurches under them, pulling them back to the surface. Blood splashes under their feet as they steady themselves. Goro reaches out an arm to catch Kurusu, gripping him tight, gauntlet digging into his bicep, refusing to let go. With the other, he hooks his fingers under Kurusu’s chin, gently tracing the outline of his bottom lip with the claw of his thumb.

He leans in to capture Kurusu’s lips again, only to find Kurusu’s palm blocking access. Annoyed, he nips at Kurusu’s skin, earning a hitched breath.

“Akechi, Akechi,” Kurusu whines, pushing at Goro insistently.

“What?” Goro hisses.

“He’s still there,” Kurusu says, gesturing with his chin at Shido.

“He’s dead.”

“It’s creepy. Can we just… throw him over?”

Goro rolls his eyes. “He’s dead. This palace is going to collapse any moment. It would be a waste of time and energy.”

“Right.” Kurusu’s cheeks are beautifully pink. He clears his throat. Goro is overcome with the urge to bite it. “We… we should get out of here.”

Goro steals one more kiss before pulling out the Nav.

They tumble out the palace together in a tangle of limbs. Reluctant to let each other go but unwilling to draw more attention in public, they disentangle before someone can spot them, but not with any urgency. Goro desperately wants to kiss Kurusu more, wants nothing but to touch Kurusu’s fervid skin, but allows himself a moment for his heart to calm, to bring himself back to reality. Kurusu’s cheeks are still streaked with dried blood, but underneath, his flush reaches his ears. Goro’s own face is probably not much less incriminating.

If he closes his eyes, all he sees is red.

The early dawn sky frames the Diet Building in a hazy pink glow. Kurusu’s face is hard as he looks at it. Grim. This is Joker in front of him now, planning their escape route. “How long do you think it’ll take for someone to notice he’s gone?” he asks.

“A day, if we’re lucky,” says Goro. “Realistically… a few hours. When he starts to miss appointments, calls… he’s neurotic about everything; his associates will notice quickly. It’s only a matter of how they’ll try to cover everything up once they find out.”

“Okay.” Kurusu nods. He pulls out a phone that Goro recognizes as Shido’s from his pocket. “How many of his crimes do you think we can expose before then?”

When did he take that? Goro thinks. Did he expect this, the whole time? “He didn’t like to leave a trail, but I have a few documents on my laptop. And… well, I’m evidence, myself.”

“Okay– we can put together your testimony and cover up your involvement. Let's clean up, grab whatever you need, and head to Leblanc. I’ll call the team.”

“You’re going to involve the others?”

“We don’t have to tell them everything. But we’re a team. They should know our plan. Futaba is the only one who can gather the information we need, disseminate it, and cover our tracks.”

“This… isn’t going to be over that easily,” Goro says. “Shido had a whole network all across Japan. They’ll come after me next, and once they figure out you’re involved too, they’ll hunt you down. They have your face, your name–”

“Let them,” says Kurusu. “They can’t prove anything.”

“It’s not about proof. They don’t care about proof; they just want to find anyone to take the blame. And they’re dangerous, Kurusu, just as dangerous as Shido. No– even more than him. And they have just as much to lose.”

“Akechi.” Kurusu’s hands grip his shoulders. He gazes into Goro’s eyes, trapping him in his stare. “I’m with you. We’re in this together now. As long as it’s us… I mean, you saw what we could do. Together, we can do it. Trust me.”

Together, Goro echoes. He thinks back to Shido’s words: the only thing you can rely on in this world is your own strength. But that wasn’t true, was it? Goro needed Shido as much as Shido needed him. To survive, they exploited each other, because even if it was a relationship built on lies and hate, even if they couldn’t trust each other, they had nobody else.

He never once considered what he would do with his life after he realized his revenge, because all he ever had was Shido.

But now, he has Kurusu.

Kurusu is alive. And Shido is dead. He’s really, truly dead. He doesn’t even exist anymore, will never, ever exist again. And one day, the world will forget him altogether, like he never existed to begin with.

Goro feels drunk off the thought.

Maybe tomorrow Kurusu will come down from the shock and adrenaline, crashing from the high of the kill. Maybe he’ll be overcome by guilt, the weight of the blood on his hands. But he will never be able to take away this stain on his soul, the sin of killing another man. He’ll never be able to forget the feeling of his blade sinking into flesh, feeling a life slip away underneath his touch.

He’ll never be able to deny this reality – that he and Goro killed a man together. That they’ll be forever intrinsically linked through the bond they forged and signed in Shido’s blood.

“Together,” Goro agrees, and finds himself smiling at the sound of it.