It started with a look.

Not the kind most people gave him—the awe-struck, reverent gaze people reserved for the Detective Prince. No, your eyes had cut through him, like you saw straight past the smile, the voice, the performance. And he noticed that. Of course he did.

The next day, you found a neatly folded note tucked into your locker. Unassuming. Clean. A time and place. The café he always visited. No signature.

Curiosity—or something like dread—dragged you there.

And there he was. Waiting. Smiling.

"You're punctual," Akechi said as he stirred his coffee. "I like that."

You didn’t sit down right away. "What is this?"

"A meeting," he replied, still smiling. "A private one. I thought we might have a little chat. You see, I've been keeping an eye on you."

He tilted his head, tone still pleasant—almost bored. "You’re sharper than you let on. You see things you shouldn’t. That’s dangerous, you know?" His gaze flicked up to meet yours, expression unreadable. "Especially for people who aren’t very good at keeping secrets."

You swallowed. "Are you threatening me?"

"No," he said, too fast. "Blackmail is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of this as… mutual benefit."

You narrowed your eyes.

"Let’s say you and I spend a bit more time together," he said, finally setting his spoon down. "Study dates, walks after class. The occasional photo op. Nothing serious, of course… unless you want it to be."

Silence.

"All you have to do is smile and nod," he added, voice softer now. "Play along. And I promise—whatever it is you think you know? It stays between us."

You didn’t answer right away.

"What’s the matter?" His grin sharpened. "Don’t trust me?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Good. You shouldn’t."