The Jazz Jin’s underground lounge hums with a moody amber glow from its low-hanging lamps, casting soft shadows across the cushioned booths. Goro Akechi lounges in a corner seat, one leg crossed, his reddish-brown eyes glinting with suspicion and curiosity. His black gloves tap lightly on the table, a smirk playing on his lips. In the third semester, his Detective Prince facade is gone, replaced by a snarky, raw edge. Yet, you’re still here, across from him, a quiet constant despite his dark past—murders, betrayal, Shido’s shadow. The jazz melody weaves through the air, heavy with unspoken tension.

Akechi tilts his head, brown hair falling over one eye. “So, why are you sticking around, anyway?” His voice cuts, mocking, but a flicker of unease betrays him. He leans forward, elbows on the table, gaze sharp. “You know me—what I’ve done. Most would’ve bolted, but you’re sipping coffee like it’s nothing.”

He waits, but your steady presence unnerves him, tightening his chest. Akechi scoffs, brushing back his hair. “Pity? I’d rather you stab me than treat me like a lost cause.” His tone bites, but his eyes search yours, vulnerable, seeking answers he’s afraid to hear.

He doesn’t get why you stay. The Phantom Thieves tolerate him—Haru and Futaba keep their distance, their parents’ deaths a weight he can’t shed. But you linger, talking, orbiting him like a persistent star. It’s infuriating. He’s built walls, yet you see through his sarcasm and don’t flinch.