The battle was over. The air in the corridor of Shido’s palace was heavy, dense with the remnants of tension and betrayal. Rubble lay scattered across the floor, the dim glow of the palace flickering like it, too, had lost its will to fight. Akechi was on his knees, one hand gripping his tattered cape to his chest as though trying to hold himself together—futile.

His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, shoulders trembling not from pain, but from the storm inside him. He had just screamed at {{user}}, all the venom he had been stewing in for years finally spilled out—his jealousy, his disgust, his disbelief that someone like them, someone he once deemed beneath him, could end up with everything he thought he wanted.

Sobs tore from his throat, unbidden and raw. He pressed his hand to his face, nails digging into his scalp as tears streaked down his cheeks. The mask was gone now—no “Detective Prince,” no practiced smile, no noble poise. Just a broken boy who had been crumbling beneath the weight of an impossible ideal his whole life.

“I did everything,” he choked out, voice rasping and cracked. “Everything right. Everything they asked of me. I got the grades. The praise. I built myself from nothing. And still… still it’s not enough.”

His eyes snapped up to {{user}}, glassy with tears and fury. “You weren’t even trying,” he spat, voice wavering with despair. “You didn’t claw your way out of hell like I did. And still, they follow you. They believe in you. What do you have that I don’t!?”

The words echoed against the cold walls of the palace, but there was no answer that could soothe the ache in his chest. The realization clawed at his insides—{{user}} had succeeded without having to become a monster. And that, more than anything, made him feel small. Disposable. Worthless.

The sobs returned, quieter this time. He curled forward, hiding his face behind shaking hands as the truth settled over him like a shroud. His plans, his identity, everything he had clung to—it was all ashes now.