No rest for the wicked, or so the saying goes. And oh, Akira has been very bad indeed. It happens, because of course it does, on the morning that his probation finally ends. Now, here’s how it was meant to go: He would wake up in the attic, say his goodbyes to everyone, and then reluctantly return to the Kurusu household. Easy, right? Except he manages to fail step one in spectacular fashion by waking up somewhere else entirely. At the Seven Voices Academy, to be exact – a school apparently for Sacrifices and their respective Fighters. Considering how many loopholes that the courts had to leverage in order to send him to Shujin, Akira’s rather curious how low the bar for acceptance must be at Seven Voices. After all, it’s not as if schools are lining up for him to attend, what with his criminal record. Then again, it becomes quickly obvious that this academy is anything except normal. Which works out well, because neither is Akira.
He doesn’t balk like the other students. The Velvet Room has prepared him well to handle these kinds of impossible scenarios. While it does take some time adjusting to his new ears and tail, Akira becomes extremely fond of them. At night, when he can’t sleep, he listens to the sound of his tail softly swishing side-to-side across the blankets; it reminds him of Morgana, of his true home. And the writing that circles his wrist, Limitless…? He’s not sure what to make of it. It’s a bond engraved into his flesh, to someone he’s presumably never met. Hadn’t Igor – Yaldabaoth – warned that such relationships mustn’t be formed frivolously? Granted, the old man had turned out to be a malevolent would-be god bent on enslaving humanity. But still. The advice had been solid. Probably.
Akira bides his time, learns what he can about their current circumstances, and then takes his chance at escape with another three Sacrifices when luck seems to be on their side. It goes poorly. One of his accomplices breaks her leg during the getaway. Instead of leaving her behind, Akira makes the decision to stay with her. They never again see the two who did continue running, but he eavesdrops on the teachers long enough to learn that things hadn’t ended well for those Sacrifices. He pockets a steak knife from the cafeteria after that, futile though it may be, and keeps it hidden under his mattress.
School life is hardly difficult at Seven Voices. They’re treated well, in spite of everything, but Akira recognizes the short leash they’re all kept on. So, he goes through the motions. It’s an act that he’s mastered – and though he can’t claim to be top of his class, he gets by with decent enough grades to slide under the teachers’ radar. He doesn’t know what the endgame is here and would prefer not to draw undue attention to himself until then.
Naturally, Seven Voices Academy throws a wrench into his half-formulated plans. Akira sneaks the steak knife up the sleeve of his uniform just as he’s ushered out of the dorm room. The other Sacrifices stand in the hallway, bleary and confused and afraid. They’re told simply to locate their partners and proceed to the school’s front gate. The teacher, a creepy man with a cold, hungry smile, informs them that this is their only chance. At what, Akira doesn’t stick around to find out – his attention is drawn to the vague awareness lingering at the periphery of his consciousness: His Fighter. Like a moth drawn to the flame, he pursues that intangible link. It’s clear that the teachers can’t be trusted as allies. If he can rely on no one else, Akira hopes that his partner might be a hope in the dark.
But then Goro Akechi walks through the library doors, and Akira’s stomach sinks. More like a shot in the dark, he thinks with black amusement. The humor doesn’t reach his face; expression cool, he slips into the light with hands casually stuffed in his pants pockets. Peeking out from the disheveled tangle of hair, his ears sit straight and tall atop his head. They twitch in interest at the muted sounds of chaos surrounding them, by far more animated than his tail – which has curled loosely around one of his wrists, concealing the tattoo there.
Akira tastes bile in his mouth as he regards Akechi across the room. There’s a barrier between them, just like in Shido’s Palace, invisible to the naked eye. He doesn’t know how to breach it, or if he even wants to. The memory of a gunshot echoes in his skull – but he can’t say whether it’s the ghost of the shot that should have killed him in the interrogation room, or the one that ultimately killed Akechi. It makes him sick, either way.
“Hey,” he says, as if none of this is true, as if their bleak history were anything but, as if they aren’t prisoners in a new, cruel game. “The cat ears suit you. Very cute.”
no subject
He doesn’t balk like the other students. The Velvet Room has prepared him well to handle these kinds of impossible scenarios. While it does take some time adjusting to his new ears and tail, Akira becomes extremely fond of them. At night, when he can’t sleep, he listens to the sound of his tail softly swishing side-to-side across the blankets; it reminds him of Morgana, of his true home. And the writing that circles his wrist, Limitless…? He’s not sure what to make of it. It’s a bond engraved into his flesh, to someone he’s presumably never met. Hadn’t Igor – Yaldabaoth – warned that such relationships mustn’t be formed frivolously? Granted, the old man had turned out to be a malevolent would-be god bent on enslaving humanity. But still. The advice had been solid. Probably.
Akira bides his time, learns what he can about their current circumstances, and then takes his chance at escape with another three Sacrifices when luck seems to be on their side. It goes poorly. One of his accomplices breaks her leg during the getaway. Instead of leaving her behind, Akira makes the decision to stay with her. They never again see the two who did continue running, but he eavesdrops on the teachers long enough to learn that things hadn’t ended well for those Sacrifices. He pockets a steak knife from the cafeteria after that, futile though it may be, and keeps it hidden under his mattress.
School life is hardly difficult at Seven Voices. They’re treated well, in spite of everything, but Akira recognizes the short leash they’re all kept on. So, he goes through the motions. It’s an act that he’s mastered – and though he can’t claim to be top of his class, he gets by with decent enough grades to slide under the teachers’ radar. He doesn’t know what the endgame is here and would prefer not to draw undue attention to himself until then.
Naturally, Seven Voices Academy throws a wrench into his half-formulated plans. Akira sneaks the steak knife up the sleeve of his uniform just as he’s ushered out of the dorm room. The other Sacrifices stand in the hallway, bleary and confused and afraid. They’re told simply to locate their partners and proceed to the school’s front gate. The teacher, a creepy man with a cold, hungry smile, informs them that this is their only chance. At what, Akira doesn’t stick around to find out – his attention is drawn to the vague awareness lingering at the periphery of his consciousness: His Fighter. Like a moth drawn to the flame, he pursues that intangible link. It’s clear that the teachers can’t be trusted as allies. If he can rely on no one else, Akira hopes that his partner might be a hope in the dark.
But then Goro Akechi walks through the library doors, and Akira’s stomach sinks. More like a shot in the dark, he thinks with black amusement. The humor doesn’t reach his face; expression cool, he slips into the light with hands casually stuffed in his pants pockets. Peeking out from the disheveled tangle of hair, his ears sit straight and tall atop his head. They twitch in interest at the muted sounds of chaos surrounding them, by far more animated than his tail – which has curled loosely around one of his wrists, concealing the tattoo there.
Akira tastes bile in his mouth as he regards Akechi across the room. There’s a barrier between them, just like in Shido’s Palace, invisible to the naked eye. He doesn’t know how to breach it, or if he even wants to. The memory of a gunshot echoes in his skull – but he can’t say whether it’s the ghost of the shot that should have killed him in the interrogation room, or the one that ultimately killed Akechi. It makes him sick, either way.
“Hey,” he says, as if none of this is true, as if their bleak history were anything but, as if they aren’t prisoners in a new, cruel game. “The cat ears suit you. Very cute.”