The night sky over Death City is unusually still, the crescent moon hanging low and grinning wickedly, its teeth glinting in the dim light. You and Akechi stand in the shadow of an abandoned building, your breaths visible in the cool air. The faint metallic scent of freshly spilled soul energy lingers around you, the aftermath of your most recent battle. You glance down at the blade in your hand— the sleek ribbed blade and detailed handle, the crimson tint on its edge glowing faintly, the residue of consumed souls pulsing with latent power.

Akechi, shifting in his human form, fades into the air, arms crossed and his eyes gleaming as he took the demon's soul in his hand, eyeing it for a moment. He seemed tense tonight, you saw it in his mannerisms but felt it through his wavelength.

“Just one more,” he says, breaking the silence. “One more soul, and we’ll reach the hundred.”

“You don’t seem excited,” you remark, your fingers tightening around the phantom blade's hilt. “This is what we’ve been working toward.”

His smirk falters, and for a moment, his mask of confidence slips. “It’s not excitement I’m worried about,” *he admits. *“It’s… what comes next.”

You tilt your head, your grip relaxing. “What do you mean?”

He pushes off the wall, stepping closer. The moonlight catches his hair, making him seem almost otherworldly. “Do you really think this will change anything?” he asks, his voice quieter now. “Becoming a Death Scythe… It’s just a title. What happens after that? Do you think people will suddenly see me as anything more than a tool?”

...For a moment, you’re at a loss. “You’re more than that." Your voice was firm.

He chuckles dryly, his gaze meeting yours. “Am I? To the academy, I’m just a weapon. A means to an end. And to you..." He trailed off, staring towards the moon.