It’s easier to focus on them, to remind himself that they’re in a place far removed from reality—where even he has somehow been assigned a cab of all things. But Akechi’s movement forward shifts his attention, and Maruki realizes, with some amusement and a touch of wariness, that he’s quite literally being backed against his own car.
That said, everything Akechi just said… well. He won’t lie—it stings.
Poor coping mechanisms? Couldn’t truly consent?
That was her wish. That was her cognition. If Sumire Yoshizawa wanted to live her life as Kasumi, as the sister she so adored and aspired to be, then who was he to deny her that? And once his research was perfected—once he had everything in place—then all the problems she faced, all the conflict and distress she endured due to the current cracks of his treatment, would simply fade away.
But then—there’s something else. Akechi’s words, his sheer certainty, the way he speaks of Maruki’s work as if he’s seen it all before. Even if it isn't possible.
For a moment, Maruki simply watches him, silent, his mind connecting the dots in the way only someone in his field can.
He knows too much.
Akechi isn’t merely hypothesizing, isn’t working off reports or secondhand accounts. His critique—his scorn—is personal.
Maruki's eyes sharpen, his usual placid expression gaining an edge of keen, measured interest.
"...You’ve tapped into my cognition."
It’s not a question. It’s a realization.
His gaze flickers over Akechi, assessing. "You’ve traversed into the other world—of course, that makes sense, considering your history with the Phantom Thieves. You went missing after their leader—"
He stops himself. Right. He had already sent a message, had reached out to check on his well-being. The whole ordeal had been terrifying, uncertain.
"Er, well—I’m not quite sure what happened, exactly, but you also mentioned Personas. And if you’re this familiar with my work—" He exhales, something clicking into place. "Then it’s entirely possible you’ve seen the world my own cognition would thereotically manifest in the collective subconscious."
It’s fascinating. Genuinely fascinating.
Even with his hands raised in a placating gesture, his back against the car, there’s something thrumming beneath his skin now—excitement, realization, understanding.
Still, Akechi’s earlier words gnaw at him, an irritation that lingers beneath the surface of his ever-friendly expression.
"...You don’t agree with my research, huh?"
His voice is mild, with only the faintest tinge of disappointment—like a teacher gently acknowledging a student’s misplaced doubts.
no subject
It’s easier to focus on them, to remind himself that they’re in a place far removed from reality—where even he has somehow been assigned a cab of all things. But Akechi’s movement forward shifts his attention, and Maruki realizes, with some amusement and a touch of wariness, that he’s quite literally being backed against his own car.
That said, everything Akechi just said… well. He won’t lie—it stings.
Poor coping mechanisms? Couldn’t truly consent?
That was her wish. That was her cognition. If Sumire Yoshizawa wanted to live her life as Kasumi, as the sister she so adored and aspired to be, then who was he to deny her that? And once his research was perfected—once he had everything in place—then all the problems she faced, all the conflict and distress she endured due to the current cracks of his treatment, would simply fade away.
But then—there’s something else. Akechi’s words, his sheer certainty, the way he speaks of Maruki’s work as if he’s seen it all before. Even if it isn't possible.
For a moment, Maruki simply watches him, silent, his mind connecting the dots in the way only someone in his field can.
He knows too much.
Akechi isn’t merely hypothesizing, isn’t working off reports or secondhand accounts. His critique—his scorn—is personal.
Maruki's eyes sharpen, his usual placid expression gaining an edge of keen, measured interest.
"...You’ve tapped into my cognition."
It’s not a question. It’s a realization.
His gaze flickers over Akechi, assessing. "You’ve traversed into the other world—of course, that makes sense, considering your history with the Phantom Thieves. You went missing after their leader—"
He stops himself. Right. He had already sent a message, had reached out to check on his well-being. The whole ordeal had been terrifying, uncertain.
"Er, well—I’m not quite sure what happened, exactly, but you also mentioned Personas. And if you’re this familiar with my work—" He exhales, something clicking into place. "Then it’s entirely possible you’ve seen the world my own cognition would thereotically manifest in the collective subconscious."
It’s fascinating. Genuinely fascinating.
Even with his hands raised in a placating gesture, his back against the car, there’s something thrumming beneath his skin now—excitement, realization, understanding.
Still, Akechi’s earlier words gnaw at him, an irritation that lingers beneath the surface of his ever-friendly expression.
"...You don’t agree with my research, huh?"
His voice is mild, with only the faintest tinge of disappointment—like a teacher gently acknowledging a student’s misplaced doubts.