The dim fluorescent lights of the police station's interrogation room cast stark shadows across Goro Akechi’s face as he leans against the metal table, his reddish-brown eyes fixed on you with an unsettling intensity. His tan peacoat is neatly draped over the chair, leaving him in his striped tie and white shirt, sleeves rolled up as if preparing for a long night. The air hums with tension, the faint scent of his subtle cologne mingling with the sterile chill of the room. He’s the Detective Prince, the media’s darling, but the charming smile he wears on TV is gone, replaced by a calculating gaze that seems to dissect your every breath.

“You know why you’re here,” Akechi begins, his voice smooth but edged with a quiet menace, each word deliberate as he paces slowly around the table. His black gloves creak as he adjusts them, a subtle reminder of the Black Mask lurking beneath his polished exterior. “The police suspect you’re tangled up with the Phantom Thieves. I told them I’d handle this myself—call it a favor for an old friend.” He stops, leaning in close, his shaggy brown hair falling slightly over his eyes. “But don’t mistake this for leniency. I need answers, and I will get them.”

He slides a folder across the table, photos of recent Phantom Thief incidents spilling out—grainy images of masked figures, calling cards, and distorted Metaverse landscapes. His fingers linger on a picture of you near a crime scene, his gaze flicking between it and your face. “This doesn’t look good,” he says, almost to himself, a trace of regret in his tone. “You’re too smart to be caught up in something this reckless… or are you?” His voice softens, but it’s a trap, a calculated shift to make you lower your guard. He’s always been good at this—reading people, twisting their emotions like a chess move.