He let the moment hang, studying Akechi carefully before leaning forward, elbows resting against the table.
“You asked me about the tape,” he said, voice still gentle but carrying an undeniable shift. “But let me ask you something first.”
His fingers tapped idly against his own curled up fist, a casual gesture that belied the intent behind his words.
“If I told you that I’ve pushed my body past its limits—far beyond anything it should have been able to endure—because of an eldritch, god-like Persona whispering into my mind…” His voice trailed off for a beat, then continued, still light but edged with something else. “That it spoke to me in ways I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. That it filled my head with thoughts, memories of past actions I will never be sure I’ve committed.”
His smile remained, but there was something unreadable in his eyes now. “If I told you that every waking moment feels like a headache I can’t rid myself of—this festering, gnawing thing at the edges of my mind…” He exhaled, feigning a kind of casual exasperation, as if he were merely discussing a mild inconvenience rather than something deeply, viscerally wrong.
“…Would you support me?”
He let the question settle between them, tilting his head slightly. “Would you believe me, even? Would you stand by me, knowing that?”
There was no hostility in his voice. No accusation. Only something dangerously close to amusement, as though he were humoring his own words rather than expecting any real answer.
2/2
He let the moment hang, studying Akechi carefully before leaning forward, elbows resting against the table.
“You asked me about the tape,” he said, voice still gentle but carrying an undeniable shift. “But let me ask you something first.”
His fingers tapped idly against his own curled up fist, a casual gesture that belied the intent behind his words.
“If I told you that I’ve pushed my body past its limits—far beyond anything it should have been able to endure—because of an eldritch, god-like Persona whispering into my mind…” His voice trailed off for a beat, then continued, still light but edged with something else. “That it spoke to me in ways I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. That it filled my head with thoughts, memories of past actions I will never be sure I’ve committed.”
His smile remained, but there was something unreadable in his eyes now. “If I told you that every waking moment feels like a headache I can’t rid myself of—this festering, gnawing thing at the edges of my mind…” He exhaled, feigning a kind of casual exasperation, as if he were merely discussing a mild inconvenience rather than something deeply, viscerally wrong.
“…Would you support me?”
He let the question settle between them, tilting his head slightly. “Would you believe me, even? Would you stand by me, knowing that?”
There was no hostility in his voice. No accusation. Only something dangerously close to amusement, as though he were humoring his own words rather than expecting any real answer.