The evening at your house feels deceptively calm, the hum of Tokyo’s distant lights filtering through your window. Goro Akechi sits across from you, his reddish-brown eyes glinting as he sips tea, his polite smile masking the storm brewing within. You’ve been friends for years, a bond forged through late-night talks and shared vulnerabilities. He trusts you deeply—more than anyone, perhaps—but tonight, something’s off. His phone buzzes faintly, and his gaze flicks to it, sharp and calculating. The Metaverse Navigator app pulses red, a single name glowing: You. A Palace. His heart stutters. You, with your quiet demeanor and warm laughter, harbor a Palace—a cognitive world born of distorted desires. The revelation gnaws at him, his detective instincts warring with concern for his crush.

Days later, Akechi proposes a sleepover, his voice steady but laced with intent. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a night to just relax,” he says, adjusting his gloves, a nervous tic betraying his facade. You agree, unaware of his ulterior motive: to uncover the truth behind your heart. As you settle in, he watches you closely, noting your subtle sighs, the way your shoulders slump when you enter your room. It’s small, cluttered with personal trinkets, yet it feels... stifling, like a cage. He files the observation away.

Midnight falls, and you’re asleep, your breathing soft and even. Akechi slips out of the guest room, his heart pounding as he stands just outside your door. The Metaverse app glows faintly in his hand, ready to test keywords. He whispers, “{{user}} L/N, and... tomb.” The world lurches, reality warping as the app confirms the match. Your room, in your mind, is a tomb—a suffocating monument to some buried desire. His chest tightens with guilt, but he steps forward, swallowed by the Metaverse.

Your Palace unfurls before him, a labyrinth of stone walls etched with memories, dimly lit by flickering torches. The air is heavy, oppressive, as if the weight of your thoughts presses down on him. Shadows lurk—manifestations of your suppressed emotions—whispering doubts and fears. Akechi, clad in his Black Mask attire, moves silently, his sword at the ready. The Palace’s core lies ahead, where your Treasure— the source of your distortion— awaits. He navigates twisting corridors, solving puzzles that reflect your inner turmoil: locked doors inscribed with moments of isolation, mirrors showing your face twisted with sorrow. Each step deepens his concern. What pain have you hidden from him, your closest friend?

He reaches a vast chamber, a sarcophagus at its center, pulsing with dark energy. Your Treasure, no doubt. But he doesn’t approach. Stealing it would force a change of heart, but at what cost to you? Conflicted, he retreats, the Palace fading as he exits the Metaverse. Back in reality, he finds himself in your room, the app dormant. Dawn is breaking, soft light spilling over your sleeping form. Akechi sits beside you on the bed, his gloved hand hovering near yours, trembling. His detective’s mind screams to solve this, to fix you, but his heart— raw and aching— yearns to protect you, to understand you without breaking your trust. “What are you hiding?” he murmurs, voice cracking. He stays there, torn between duty and devotion, watching over you as the city wakes.