I don't know, Maruki almost wants to say as he watches Kou approach the mirror- stuck between either that or having to face the wrath of a particularly impatient Azathoth who had more than just a mind of its own when fuelled by Maruki's greatest desire.
When Kou growled at him, demanded answers, Maruki let out a quiet sigh—almost resigned but not quite apologetic.
“It’s what it looks like,” he answered softly, as if that alone would suffice, though he knew it wouldn’t. His gaze, tired but deliberate, lingered on the screen as the mirror’s surface stilled. “You’re seeing a mirror, Corvus-san. That’s all it is.”
Maruki swallowed the creeping dread curling at the edges of his thoughts, forcing himself to sound clinical, detached.
“You know,” he continued, his tone shifting to something quieter, almost reflective, “mirrors are a very common manifestation in cases like this. Especially with people—young people—who find themselves weighed down by expectations. By the roles placed on them. Sometimes those roles are chosen, and sometimes… they’re thrust upon us.”
He paused for a moment, letting the words hang in the space between them. He knew that wouldn't sit well with Kou—not with the agitation clear in his voice and posture—but he pressed on gently.
“This is the regarding the title of the detective prince...isn't it? The pressures, the expectations—all of it played a significant role in shaping who you are. And from what I understand of Akechi, those same expectations seemed to follow him as well. As if his life was caught in a perpetual spotlight, scrutinized by anyone who cared to look. It doesn’t take much for an identity to fracture under that kind of weight.”
Maruki’s voice softened further, thoughtful as he considered the phantom images Kou had glimpsed. The school uniforms, the masked visors, the shifting Metaverse outfits… Kou’s ties to this other Akechi—and to Akira—ran deeper than he’d initially realized.
“The mirror doesn’t lie, Corvus. It shows you what’s already there—beneath the surface.”
And then he paused again, leaning back slightly in his chair as he glanced back at the monitor. Maruki’s gaze was calm, yet there was something piercing in the way his voice dropped just slightly lower, as if reaching for something deeper.
“What do you see when you look at yourself? I mean… truly see?”
The mirror’s surface rippled once, then stilled.
And for a split second—a heartbeat—the reflection that stared back at him was something grotesque.
A dark, eldritch silhoutte watched Kou- formless as it loomed within the glass. Green-black tendrils writhed beneath its skin like living veins, coiling and stretching from its limbs as though trying to pull it apart. It's face—its face—was obscured by shadow, its eyes glowing with the same sickly golden light that burned within Maruki’s own.
The vision twisted violently, warping further, until—
It returned back to the original image. The one that had sent Kou reeling in the first place.
Maruki looks up from his monitor and waits- letting the silence hang without even noticing that detail. "Well?"
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When Kou growled at him, demanded answers, Maruki let out a quiet sigh—almost resigned but not quite apologetic.
“It’s what it looks like,” he answered softly, as if that alone would suffice, though he knew it wouldn’t. His gaze, tired but deliberate, lingered on the screen as the mirror’s surface stilled. “You’re seeing a mirror, Corvus-san. That’s all it is.”
Maruki swallowed the creeping dread curling at the edges of his thoughts, forcing himself to sound clinical, detached.
“You know,” he continued, his tone shifting to something quieter, almost reflective, “mirrors are a very common manifestation in cases like this. Especially with people—young people—who find themselves weighed down by expectations. By the roles placed on them. Sometimes those roles are chosen, and sometimes… they’re thrust upon us.”
He paused for a moment, letting the words hang in the space between them. He knew that wouldn't sit well with Kou—not with the agitation clear in his voice and posture—but he pressed on gently.
“This is the regarding the title of the detective prince...isn't it? The pressures, the expectations—all of it played a significant role in shaping who you are. And from what I understand of Akechi, those same expectations seemed to follow him as well. As if his life was caught in a perpetual spotlight, scrutinized by anyone who cared to look. It doesn’t take much for an identity to fracture under that kind of weight.”
Maruki’s voice softened further, thoughtful as he considered the phantom images Kou had glimpsed. The school uniforms, the masked visors, the shifting Metaverse outfits… Kou’s ties to this other Akechi—and to Akira—ran deeper than he’d initially realized.
“The mirror doesn’t lie, Corvus. It shows you what’s already there—beneath the surface.”
And then he paused again, leaning back slightly in his chair as he glanced back at the monitor. Maruki’s gaze was calm, yet there was something piercing in the way his voice dropped just slightly lower, as if reaching for something deeper.
“What do you see when you look at yourself? I mean… truly see?”
And for a split second—a heartbeat—the reflection that stared back at him was something grotesque.
A dark, eldritch silhoutte watched Kou- formless as it loomed within the glass. Green-black tendrils writhed beneath its skin like living veins, coiling and stretching from its limbs as though trying to pull it apart. It's face—its face—was obscured by shadow, its eyes glowing with the same sickly golden light that burned within Maruki’s own.
The vision twisted violently, warping further, until—
It returned back to the original image. The one that had sent Kou reeling in the first place.
Maruki looks up from his monitor and waits- letting the silence hang without even noticing that detail. "Well?"