Chapter Text
Goro Akechi was not accustomed to receiving gifts.
Oh, certainly he had received a great deal of things in his life, some of which he even quite appreciated, but he was hesitant to call them proper gifts. He was under the impression that a gift was something given without expecting anything in return – not even the receiver’s gratitude, if it came to it – and for every item he had ever received, he had felt attached to it the weight of expectation.
Certainly he had never received a gift from the low-life that was technically his father.
Wryly, Goro thought that Shido might disagree with him about that. He might say that he had given Goro the gift of a home, instead of tossing him to the foster system without a second glance, as he so easily could have. After all, he hadn’t been married to Goro’s mother.
Goro knew better, though. He hadn’t known it at the time, of course, given that he had been five years old, but he knew now – he had read the police report on the whole affair. Back then, Shido’s position as a prosecutor with Tokyo’s Special Investigations Department had been particularly precarious – there had been talk of layoffs going around the office, and Shido wasn’t exactly a senior employee…
So when Goro’s mother had stolen Shido’s gun – a rare commodity he had only just been granted – and used it to end her own life, it put Shido in a tough position. He didn’t have much choice but to obey the court order to return his gun and take legal custody of the son his lover had left behind.
There was nothing willing about it, and that was another thing Goro thought about gifts: they could only be given willingly. Otherwise it was nothing more than very clever stealing.
One of the first times Shido had actually given Goro something was on his 15th birthday – perhaps the most reasonable day of the year to expect a gift, if there was such a thing. Goro had woken up to an empty house and a slew of job advertisements sitting in a neat pile on the kitchen table. There was no name tag, no note of any kind, but nonetheless, attached was the silent understanding that Shido would not support him any longer than he had to.
Without bothering to read any of the adverts Shido had supplied him, Goro applied for a clerical job at the public prosecutor’s office. It was exactly the kind of rebellious move that Goro thought he would never make… by that time, Shido had become the director of the SID, which would ultimately make him Goro’s boss. Not exactly an ideal work environment, but Goro felt drawn to detective work more than he felt repulsed by his father.
He got the job the same day he applied.
A year later, on his 16th birthday, Shido instead directly presented him with a dozen apartment rental listings and the implicit command to get out of his sight. Goro was not surprised – if anything, he was astounded it had taken this long. His quick ascent up the ranks, from a glorified receptionist to a genuine detective, had brought him into contact with Shido more often than either of them would have liked.
Goro moved out two weeks later. His apartment was claustrophobic and cheap, but quiet, and while it didn’t feel like home, it was better than living with Shido.
But, we were talking about gifts.
Fans of his – and it was strange for him to think that he had fans, of all things – fans of his would occasionally give him gifts, sometimes in person and sometimes delivered anonymously to the prosecutor’s office. It had started ever since Goro’s superior approached him one day, calling him young and handsome, a good face for TV (Goro hadn’t known exactly how to respond to that), and nominated him to be part of a small bit on a local news channel.
Surprisingly, he was good at it – at being on television, that is, and at being interviewed. He must have been, or he wouldn’t have complete strangers approaching him on the street, asking for a piece of his time and his name scribbled on a sheet of paper. He wouldn’t have complete strangers giving him… things.
Sae-san would tell him “it’s the thought that counts,” but Goro thought the gifts overwhelmingly to be generic, empty trifles; after all, all his fans knew of him was his television persona, and so any token of appreciation would inevitably be tailored to what that person would seem to want.
Unfortunately for his fans, he and Goro had very little in common.
Still, he had learned to play the part, and graciously accept any gifts that came him way, only to discard them privately in his apartment later on. It was disgustingly wasteful, and he often thought he would have preferred to receive nothing at all.
All of that is to say that one day, a pleasantly temperate June afternoon, when Goro found a small white box sitting on his desk, he wasn’t especially surprised, but he also wasn’t expecting much. He very nearly tossed it away without ever opening it, but that seemed unnecessarily cruel – someone had put thought into this, even if it was probably something of no value to Goro personally.
So he thought he would respect their effort and open up the little box to see what it held.
He wasn’t able to open the box until later that evening. He had taken it home with him, because he had long since learned the value of opening these gifts in private. (He remembered the last time: a card, an innocuous looking thing, that when he opened it began blaring pop music, and god, the glitter… his coworkers still wouldn’t let him live that down.)
Goro sat down on his couch and stared at the box in his hands. It was completely unadorned, fairly lightweight, and sealed up with a single piece of tape. He wondered who it was from. He tried to remember if he had seen any civilians come into the office that day, but he couldn’t recall. He hadn’t even thought to ask his coworkers if they saw the culprit, either.
So, it was a mystery. But that was fine: he was perfectly comfortable with mysteries, and this one was easy enough to solve. Carefully, he broke the tape and lifted the lid.
There was a cupcake inside the box. Just a single cupcake, albeit a fairly large one, about twice the size of Goro's fist.
Taped to the inside of the box was a card, an uncomfortably familiar card, black and red, with Goro's name printed neatly on the front. He tore it from the lid and flipped it over; there was a message on the back. He read it, quietly.
Goro didn't often feel anything when he opened a present. He didn't feel grateful, or happy, but he didn't feel UNhappy, either. They were just things, things he hadn’t asked for and very often didn’t want. This was – should have been – more of the same.
Yet instead of the expected ambivalence that usually came to him after receiving an unwanted gift, Goro found himself feeling several things all at once; a torrent of conflicting thoughts that brought heat to his cheeks and made his hands shake so hard that he thought he might drop the box. Nearly stumbling in his haste, he shoved the box out of his hands and onto the table beside him, the card fluttering helplessly to the floor.
Goro sank back into the couch and did not know how to feel, at all.
It was late February.
Goro found himself standing in the director’s office, which was never a place he wanted to linger. It was rare, though, for Shido to call for Goro directly, so Goro bit his tongue and made the visit. Now Shido was pushing a thin manila folder towards him, which Goro took and gingerly opened, as if he was anticipating it would burst into flame or spill ink all over him.
Instead, he found about a half-dozen papers inside, and a single sticky note pressed on the inside cover, which had the words “Phantom Thieves of Hearts” written on it in messy black pen.
“This is… an assignment?” Goro asked.
Without looking towards him, Shido said, “Suspects are around your age, high schoolers. Truancy, trespassing, breaking and entering – there are plenty of reports, but no leads or proof of any actual wrong doings. Look into it.”
Goro opened his mouth to say something, but thought the better of it. He flipped the folder shut. “Thank you, sir,” he said, curt and polite to a fault. Shido did not respond.
Holding back a sigh, Goro turned heel and left the director’s office, taking care to close the door gently. He wasn’t expecting much; Goro tended to receive nothing but fluffy, meaningless cases, despite glowing recommendations from his immediate superiors, and he suspected it was largely Shido’s doing. Goro gave another look to the unassuming folder in his hands, and wondered if he wasn’t about to see more of the same.
Although… Shido’s explanation had been a little enigmatic, and Goro couldn’t help but wonder about the case. Maybe, if he was lucky, it would be an actual legal dispute, even if it were over something frivolous.
With the faintest stirring of hope, Goro left the building and found his way to the small food court next door to the prosecutor’s office. He purchased a meat and rice dish from one of the less crowded kiosks and found a seat in the light, where he could sit down and look over the case file properly.
After a few sentences of reading, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. More of the same; though it was… different, he had to admit, from the kinds of cases he usually saw. Shujin Academy, a school that seemed familiar to Goro, though he couldn't place why, was having trouble with a… gang?
Goro wasn’t exactly sure. The first page catalogued a handful of police reports dating back to about mid-January, but they were all frustratingly vague. A student’s boyfriend claimed to have received anonymous threats – but those threats weren’t described. Another report mentioned something about private text messages that had been printed out and plastered all over the school – Goro thought they might have been trying to get a vandalism charge, but no one was ever found responsible.
It was vague, but more than that, it was juvenile – this wasn’t a police matter, Goro thought. If there were bullies at the school, wasn’t that something the principal should be taking care of…?
Goro took a moment to enjoy his meal, and then flipped to the next page.
To say the report had buried the lede would be an understatement. Now he was starting to see why there was a paper trail. The second page was significantly more detailed than the first, outlining a recent event he actually remembering hearing about: the resignation of Suguru Kamoshida.
That was only two weeks ago, as Goro recalled, and it had made quite a few waves on the local news. He hadn’t paid it too much attention, but he knew the gist of it. Kamoshida had been a well-respected teacher and coach, when seemingly out of nowhere he confessed to abusing the students on his team, and resigned of his own accord.
Goro had thought it strange, but not absurdly so – perhaps his guilt had finally caught up with him. It wasn’t impossible for someone to confess from a guilty conscience alone. However, the case file contained an additional detail Goro hadn’t recalled hearing on any of the news reports: someone was claiming responsibility for Kamoshida’s confession. Rather, not someone, but a whole group of people.
Evidently, the day before Kamoshida’s resignation, several posters had appeared at Shujin, all calling out Kamoshida and alluding to a secret that he needed to confess. The posters were signed with a logo – a little top hat with crazy-eyed glasses, a photo of which was included in the case file – and the phrase “Phantom Thieves of Hearts”.
After it finishing describing Kamoshida’s resignation, the case file was disappointingly sparse, and Goro found himself wanting for more details. It seemed like the whole affair could simply be a prank – it wouldn’t be unexpected for high school students to make up something silly like this – but the consistency between the calling cards and the logo made him wonder. And could it really be called a “prank” when the end result was a teacher’s resignation…?
“What’s this, Akechi-kun?”
Startled from his thoughts, Goro looked up to find a tall woman in a gray blazer standing near his table. “Ah, Sae-san,” he said, smiling pleasantly and sitting up a little straighter. “A new case. Shido-san just gave it to me; I’ve only just started to look over it.” Then he gestured towards the seat beside him, raising his eyebrow in a silent question.
Sae frowned, but accepted his offer and took a seat beside him. “May I…?” she asked, and Goro nodded, sliding the open folder carefully towards her. He returned to his meal for a moment while Sae had a chance to read the notes. He was just finishing up the last of his rice when Sae spoke again.
“Oh… so you’re the one. I see.”
Goro swallowed and gave Sae a confused look. “Hmm? I don’t follow.”
Sae closed the folder and pushed it back towards him. “Oh, I heard about this case while it was first developing. I’m… surprised it went to you, is all.”
“Why’s that?” Goro asked. He came off more accusatory than he had intended, so he tried to offset it by giving Sae a small, good-natured smile. She gave him a pity smile in return.
“If I’m being honest, the whole thing seems… nebulous. To be frank, I haven’t seen a scrap of solid evidence that this group even exists,” she said. Her eyes looked apologetic.
It wouldn’t be the first time Goro had been given a fool’s errand disguised as a job, and Sae knew that – no wonder, then, that she was skeptical. She was always cautious by nature, in Goro’s experience, and he had to admit that this time, she had a point.
Nonetheless, Goro found himself shaking his head. “I understand your concern, Sae-san. But even if it turns out to be nothing, isn’t it better to know that definitively than to speculate endlessly?”
“Hmm… I suppose you’re right. There may be some merit in that,” Sae admitted, and her features relaxed a little. “Just be cautious. It would be a shame for you to waste your time on something frivolous, Akechi-kun.”
“I appreciate your concern, Sae-san. Truly,” Goro said, smiling a hopefully disarming smile at her. Of all the people he knew, he felt he must be closest to Sae – she was the only one who would see through his affected smiles, so didn’t that mean she knew him the best?
This time, though, she either didn’t notice, or had decided to humor him. “All right, I’ll trust your judgment,” she said, “…this time.”
“You wound me,” Goro said, laughing, and Sae laughed along with him. She shook her head and stood up from her chair.
“Be safe, then,” she said, turning to leave, “and let me know if you need any assistance, all right?”
He reassured her that he would, and she took her leave. Then, with his company gone and his meal finished, Goro gathered up the Phantom Thieves case file and stashed it away in his attaché case. As he left the food court, he glanced idly at his watch. It was a little late, but if he hurried, he might be able to get to Shujin before all the clubs had let out for the day.
Shujin was an unassuming-looking place; no different than any other public school, Goro thought. It wasn’t exactly the first place you would expect a gang to form.
Though, was it even appropriate to label this group a “gang”? That was the question that had been on Goro’s mind during the train ride over to the school. It was the first word he thought of when he read about a group of people all purportedly working under one name, but right now these Thieves just that – nothing more than a name on a sheet of paper.
The good news was that the Shujin students were more than forthcoming. All Akechi had to do was loiter around until a club let out and ask someone – anyone – what they knew about the Phantom Thieves.
Everyone had a story.
One of his first notable finds was when he met a quiet, mousey-looking first year boy who claimed the Thieves had helped him directly.
“I don’t know how they found out,” he admitted after a few minutes of gentle small talk and probing on Goro’s part, “about my girlfriend… she was a third year when we met, and…”
He trailed off, and Goro waited.
“They helped me leave her,” he finally said. He stuffed a hand into his pocket and pulled out a rumpled envelope, which he offered to Goro. The envelope itself was unmarked, but the letter inside had the Phantom Thieves’ logo drawn in the upper right corner. Actually, Goro realized after a second glance, it wasn’t drawn, it was printed, like some kind of… Phantom Thieves letterhead. He frowned, and filed that strange observation away for another time.
Skimming through the letter, a few things stood out. First was the use of full names – the boy’s and his girlfriend’s. It was personal to be sure, but also straightforward and professional, filled with information for someone who needed the support to leave a relationship, and it ended with a promise that they would be keeping an eye on him. It was signed by “the Phantom Thieves,” with no specific names or titles otherwise.
Goro briefly considered suggesting that it was one of his friends who penned the letter and had used the Phantom Thieves name as a cover… but he didn’t have the heart. So he took a quick picture of the letter, thanked the boy, and moved on.
Next he ran into a pair of students who had a more mixed set of opinions. The first student, a studious, serious looking girl, said they were just some stupid prank, nothing to be concerned about. But her friend, a taller girl who was chewing loudly on a piece of gum, had said she thought the Thieves were very real; they “added some romance to the school, so wasn’t it more fun to think they were real?”
“But… why?” Goro blurted out. He quickly cleared his throat and adjusted his tone – he had meant to keep that thought to himself. “That is, why did they form in the first place? For someone anonymous to involve themselves in other people’s lives like that… is it really simple altruism?”
Bubblegum girl seemed surprised by his reaction. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment and shrugged. “I dunno what you mean, but maybe it’s just, like… important to them?”
Great… A bunch of self-important high school students using an anonymous pen name to pass judgment on their peers. What a treat this assignment is going to be, Goro thought.
The girls exchanged glances, and then the studious girl commented, “Hey, you should talk to Mishima.”
Bubblegum girl’s eyes lit up and she nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah, yeah! He’s like, way into the Thieves. He’s on the volleyball team y’know.”
That caught Goro’s attention – someone on the volleyball team might have more valuable insight than a random student. He should have thought of that himself. They directed him towards the gym. He thanked them for their help and, feeling pressed for time, picked up his pace. He was so focused on reaching his destination that when he finally did, he very nearly collided with someone as they were exiting the gym.
“Pardon me,” he stammered, shifting backwards and giving an apologetic little bow, “But I’m looking for someone on the volleyball team, do you think you could…?”
The boy in front of him was slender, a little pale, with choppy dark blue hair. He looked nervous, but he still managed to reply, “Oh, um… sure. Who are you looking for?”
Goro clicked his tongue, and pulled the name from his memory. “Mishima.”
The boy’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s, uh… me. I’m Mishima.”
“Oh?” Goro mimicked the boy’s expression, and then smiled softly. “How fortunate. Not that I nearly hit you, I mean, but… that is, do you have a moment?”
Mishima looked around, over his shoulder, like he was checking if anyone was about to ambush him. When he was satisfied, he turned back to Goro and nodded. They meandered away from the gym door to a spot over near the wall.
“So, you’re a part of the volleyball team?” Goro asked. Mishima looked away, and then nodded meekly. Goro allowed his expression to soften. He hadn’t considered that the incident with Kamoshida still wasn’t very far out, especially not for someone who had been personally victimized. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“No, it’s okay,” he replied, giving Goro a small smile. “I don’t have to worry any more… thanks to them.”
“Yes… the Thieves,” Goro said. He leaned back against the wall, and Mishima matched his movements – which Goro took to be a good thing. “I was hoping to hear a little more about them, actually. Someone told me you were the person to talk to…?”
“Yeah,” Mishima laughed nervously. “I’m… sorta the expert on the Thieves around here.”
“Then I hope this doesn’t come off as flippant,” Goro began, “But I was wondering if you knew if they were real?”
Mishima laughed again, but it was more good-natured this time, like he really did find it amusing. “I guess that’s fair. Obviously, I’m going to answer “yes” to that question, but I think I understand why some other people wouldn’t.” He trailed off, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Oh, uh… here, hold on,” Mishima scrambled to open his backpack and pull out a scrap of paper, upon which he wrote a hasty message. He then presented the paper to Goro, who took it with a polite nod. There was a web address written down. “That’s my blog,” Mishima explained, “for – y’know, for fans of the Thieves. I’ve written a few articles about the things they’ve done so far… sounds like that might be what you’re looking for?”
“That sounds incredibly helpful. Thank you, Mishima-san.”
Mishima smiled like a flower that was afraid to open up all the way: lacking in confidence, but genuine. “Hey, no problem. I hope it helps.”
After a slightly awkward goodbye, Goro finally left Shujin. He looked down at the scrap of paper Mishima had given him. He was pleased; it wasn't much to go on, but it was a significant improvement over the scant information in his case file. With any luck, he'd be able to wrap up this case in short order and move on to something more worthwhile.