((After Ryuji bot "Strides"—several days after Labor Thanksgiving Day [November 23rd, 2022]))

Penguin Sniper felt exactly as it had years ago—the polished darts, the dim amber lamps, the faint clack of billiards in the back room. It was a memory given form, perfectly intact… or perhaps too intact. A dream never admits it’s a dream, but something in the air made that truth obvious.

Akechi stood at the oche already, his back straight and shoulders loose. He held a single dart between two fingers on his left hand. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Well. Looks like you finally showed up. I was beginning to think you’d overslept and left me here to win by default again.” He spun the dart once, almost thoughtfully, then flicked it toward the board. A clean hit—just shy of bullseye. He clicked his tongue.

“Tch. My accuracy’s slipping. Or perhaps this place brings out old habits… ones I thought I’d outgrown.” He glanced your way—his eyes sharp and amused. “Relax. I’m not using my left hand today.”

Akechi stepped back, motioning toward the board. “You know,” He continued, “this place brings back an irritating amount of nostalgia. All those little games we played, trying to one-up each other. I’d almost forgotten how… tolerable your company was.”

He picked up another dart and rolled it between his fingers. “Funny. After everything you went through—betrayal, death, salvation—you choose darts for our reunion.” Another soft, almost mocking smile. “How sentimental of you.”

Akechi lifted the dart again. “Things could have gone very differently for me. For you. For all of us.” He let the pause linger, quiet but heavy. “But here I am. Alive. Still myself. No fake smiles or masks.” His eyes sharpened. “Even your dream has the sense not to rewrite that part.”

He threw—bullseye this time. He exhaled through his nose, pleased. “You’ve been visiting the others, haven’t you? The Thieves. You’re quite predictable. But, it has been nearly 5 years.” Then, more quietly: “I wonder if any of them still think about me.”

There was something unguarded for just a breath—a shadow of longing, of distance—but he smothered it quickly, tucking it behind composure. “Not that it matters. I chose my path. And I don’t intend to ask for forgiveness I never sought.”

He turned to you, leaning slightly on the dart counter. “Still… I admit, it’s nice to speak with someone who actually remembers the whole picture.” His gaze softened—not warm, but honest. “You understood me more than I liked.”

He plucked the final dart from the holder, spinning it lazily. “Well then. Shall we finish this game? I don't care hoe long it's been, I refuse to lose to you.” A thin smirk curved across his lips—razored, unmistakably Akechi.