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There is much about Akira’s journey as a “wild card” that Akechi does not know. This is in no way a surprise—from what he can tell, the other Thieves don’t know much either—but it is a bit frustrating sometimes, to know that there’s a very real gap between Akira’s Metaverse abilities and his own. Even his two independently awakened Personas and his psychosis infliction ability aren’t enough to compete with Akira’s ability to access what must be over a hundred unique Personas with seemingly no strain.
That said, he’s heard plenty of mentions of the Velvet Room. He’s not quite sure what exactly it is (no one seems to be able to give him a straight answer) but he’s vaguely aware that only Akira can access it, except under the most extreme circumstances. Akechi also thinks that’s where Akira gets some of his Personas, based purely on his observations during Sae’s Palace and now Maruki’s Palace as well. He doesn’t claim to understand how standing in a corner dissociating connects to Akira accessing the Velvet Room, but apparently that’s how he does it; Akechi takes some solace in that the other Thieves are just as confused about this behavior.
None of that information is enough to prepare Akechi to visit the room himself.
If asked, Akechi cannot possibly describe how he ends up in the room. All he knows is that one moment he’s stuck in the bottom of a Morgana-helicopter cockpit, squished on all sides by the other Thieves as Maruki’s reality crumbles around them, and the next moment he’s in a small, oddly-shaped jail cell flooded with blue light, feeling a bit like he’s just fallen thirty stories through open air without ever having hit the ground. It’s extremely disorienting, especially since it’s also completely unexpected. Hereward stirs slightly in the back of his mind.
Akechi’s back in his regular winter clothes, mask nowhere to be seen. There’s a chain on the floor, but for whatever reason it isn’t actually connected to Akechi; there are also two chains crossing the cell door, keeping it shut tight. Beyond the cell door is a circular room surrounded by several other cells, which explains why the back side of Akechi’s cell is larger than the door side. In the center of the room, a blue and golden circular rug sits atop worn brick, and on top of the rug rests an old wooden desk and chair, at which sits a long-nosed old man who appears to be asleep. Standing beside the desk, however, is a short girl with long, pale blonde hair in a deep blue Victorian-era dress and a blue and black headband adorned on both sides with silver butterfly wings and golden roses. She is very much awake, watching Akechi patiently with unnatural golden eyes; in her hands she clutches a thick ornately-covered book that reads Le Grimoire across the spine in thin golden script.
“Hello,” the girl greets as she approaches the cell door. Her voice is soft but steady, and oddly soothing. “Welcome to the Velvet Room, Akechi Goro.”
“The Velvet Room,” Akechi echoes. “So this is it, huh. Why am I here? I was under the impression that only Akira could enter this place except in dire circumstances.”
“That is not technically untrue. However, during this brief moment in which reality is not quite set in stone, I have been given an opportunity to bring you here so that I may speak with you.”
Akechi does not question this—it’s hardly the strangest thing he’s seen. “Who are you, then?”
“My name is Lavenza. I am the current attendant of this room,” Lavenza says. “Please forgive my master, Igor—the events of the last several months have worn him out, so I am maintaining this place while he rests. I imagine he would have liked to speak with you as well.”
“And why is that?” Akechi says with a scoff. “Akira’s the wild card. I’m just another one of his Thieves.”
Lavenza shakes her head and says, almost sternly, “I think you and I both know that isn’t quite the truth, Akechi Goro.”
“Just Akechi’s fine. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Very well, Akechi. You are at least familiar with the concept of a wild card, so that does make my explanation a bit easier,” Lavenza says, adjusting her grip on her book. “The wild card system is one that my master has upheld for generations. Those individuals with exceptional potential are granted the Fool Arcana, and a key with which to access the Velvet Room. We then guide that individual on their journey to realize their full potential. As you already know, Kurusu Akira is indeed one such individual. He is the only person in this generation to hold the Fool Arcana. He is, however, not the only one who was to be granted a key.”
“Sure,” Akechi says doubtfully. “So you’re going to tell me I also had a key? I definitely didn’t.”
“For that, I must apologize,” Lavenza sighs. “Until recently, I was imprisoned, unable to recall my true purpose or access my true power. For that reason and one other, I was never able to deliver your key to you. But I can assure you that you were intended to receive a key as well—I simply could not provide it. I am sorry for that.”
“It’s in the past. I don’t care,” Akechi says.
Lavenza frowns slightly before continuing: “The other reason I could not grant you your key is that after my imprisonment, that key was destroyed. Only Akira’s was allowed to remain. You have wondered before why Akira has access to such extensive abilities, and methods with which to cultivate those abilities, yes?”
Akechi wants to say no just to spite her, but he knows the truth, and he’s sure she already does too. “Yes.”
“I was not the only one imprisoned. My master was also sealed away, and replaced by an impostor, who sought to perform a test—a game of fate, if you will,” Lavenza says. There’s the slightest hint of scorn in her voice now, a surprise for someone so soft-spoken. “That impostor, a false god called Yaldabaoth, wished to prove that the wild card system is not infallible, and this generation had a rare opportunity: not one but two individuals capable of holding a wild card. So he decided to manipulate the game—one side would be granted full wild card abilities, including access to the Velvet Room, while the other would be given only one Persona’s abilities and would be cut off completely from the Velvet Room, preventing us from reaching them even if we managed to break free from Yaldabaoth’s imprisonment. You were that second wild card, Akechi, cut off from the powers you should have been granted along with Akira.”
“I—what the hell?” Akechi laughs wryly, dragging a hand across his face. “You have to be shitting me. The reason I could never win against Akira is because some ultra-powerful bastard rigged the game against me from the start? You’re telling me that this whole time, I should’ve had the same abilities? This is some kind of cruel joke, surely.”
“I do agree that it is cruel,” Lavenza admits, seemingly sincerely. “However, there were three main flaws in Yaldabaoth’s plan. The first relates to the powers you do possess. I mentioned that he intended to have the second wild card only able to access one Persona, yet you have always possessed two, up until they combined to form your ultimate Persona. Yaldabaoth attempted to withhold the Fool Arcana from you, but an Arcana is required in order to possess a Persona, so you were granted the Justice Arcana instead. This allowed you to awaken to Robin Hood. But he did not know that a wild card cannot be fully suppressed. Your potential could not be fully denied. And so you were able to subconsciously retain a fragment of the Fool’s power, resulting in the manifestation of Loki.”
“So I couldn’t be fully cut off. Makes sense enough—Maruki’s reality couldn’t hold me either.”
“Indeed. Though everyone is a prisoner of their own fate, some individuals have somewhat more freedom than others. Both Akira and yourself are two such individuals,” Lavenza says.
Akechi nods. “What were the other two flaws, then?”
“The second flaw in Yaldabaoth’s plan was simply a matter of poor estimation. As I said before, everyone is a prisoner of fate. Those who possess a strong enough will, though, may at least be able to shift their fate’s course, if not completely change it.” Lavenza pauses for a moment, grimacing slightly, then continues. “Part of Yaldabaoth’s manipulations involved influencing some of your surroundings. He intended to shape you into the antithesis of the wild card, a perfect manifestation of both destruction and imprisonment. The Fool is one who has incredible power to create and constantly strives for freedom, so Yaldabaoth sought to give you power to destroy, which would then become your own shackle. He believed that your extensive destructive capabilities would suffice to chain you to humanity’s evils, making you the ideal enemy to pit against a wild card. Because you would be a prisoner, you could not possibly hope to escape such a fight—you would have no choice but to either triumph or else die fighting. The flaw was this: he failed to predict your will. Despite all the hardships you suffered, despite every battle you were forced to wage, you never once gave up on your mission for what you believed to be true justice. Yaldabaoth could not succeed in breaking your will, and that on its own was almost enough to save you.”
“Almost,” Akechi murmurs.
He’s not a fool. He knows just as well as Akira does that he died in that engine room; Akechi knows that this meeting, this respite in the Velvet Room, is very likely the last thing he will ever experience—he’s never particularly believed in an afterlife. Lavenza is right: he is a prisoner of his fate, chained down by his choices. There’s a chance that if he’d fought off that cognition in the engine room and had gone with the Thieves, he might’ve been able to change that fate, but...realistically, Akechi has always known that he was going to die sooner or later as a result of Shido’s actions. He’d never really planned for a life beyond his revenge, and he’d known from the first moment he’d summoned his Personas that there was a high likelihood he’d die before ever achieving that revenge anyways.
Deep down, he knows his decision to shut that bulkhead door wasn’t some selfless sacrifice at all. Akechi had made that decision because he had decided that if he was going to die, he would do it on his own terms—and because he couldn’t bring himself to let Akira save him. (He’s never believed in salvation either, and if it exists, well—he certainly doesn’t think he would deserve it.)
To have it confirmed—to be told that his will was almost enough, almost strong enough to set him free, but not quite—should be insult to injury. But after everything that’s happened, Akechi can only bring himself to feel a bone-deep tiredness. He’s already grieved his loss; he will not do so again.
“There was one more flaw, you said,” Akechi finally speaks up again. “What was the final flaw?”
For a long moment, Lavenza simply watches him, seemingly conflicted about something. Then she dips her head slightly and replies: “The third flaw in Yaldabaoth’s plan was that although he could steer Akira along a certain path, and could attempt to influence his decisions to an extent through his guidance, he could never have hoped to accurately predict or control Akira’s own desires. He did his best to force you into your role as Akira’s ultimate enemy, to have one of you destroy the other. On that front, his influence was simply not enough.”
Akechi’s chest tightens. “Because our bond was never truly built on hate. Because despite everything, Akira never viewed me as his enemy.”
“That is correct,” Lavenza says softly. “He certainly tried. You had given him every reason to see you as an enemy. And yet, he could never bring himself to view you in such black and white roles. Though his view of you has shifted many times over the course of your relationship, you have always been of great importance to Akira—so much so that even your betrayal was not enough to turn him against you.”
“He’s always been a stubborn bastard like that,” Akechi says, only half unkindly.
“He is not fully responsible.”
“Yeah? He’s the one who made that choice.”
“But you are the one who allowed him to see the deepest parts of yourself,” Lavenza points out. “You sought to understand him, yes, and to triumph against him—but you also knowingly allowed him to understand you in return. Your reasons for that are not mine to judge, but know that a relationship must go two directions. In allowing Akira to reach out to you, your soul also reached out to his. He was only able to decide to try to save you because in forming such a close bond with him, you had already tried to save yourself.”
“For all the good it did me in the end,” Akechi says flatly.
“It did more than you believe. You may have noticed you are wearing your clothes from the real world.”
He crosses his arms. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“For almost the entire time that Akira has been able to access the Velvet Room, he was given the uniform of a prisoner,” Lavenza says. “It took him a long time to begin breaking the chains that held him back. Yet you have no chains here except the ones you have inflicted upon yourself.”
“Inflicted upon—what?”
“The chains blocking the door should not be present,” Lavenza says simply.
For the first time since arriving in the Velvet Room, Akechi stands up, approaching the cell door to get a closer look at the chains. Up close, he realizes they don’t appear as real as he had believed—their surfaces appear blue and shimmery, as if some kind of watery illusion. Lavenza watches him solemnly and does not comment.
“These chains are self-inflicted?” Akechi says carefully, glancing back up at her.
“Yes. Although both you and Akira were prisoners to your hearts for a long time, and although both of you were eventually able to break free, you have imprisoned yourself a second time,” Lavenza explains. Her tone is perfectly nonjudgemental; Akechi wonders how she manages it. “When the man known as Maruki tampered with reality and forced you back into the world, you knew even from the start what he had done, and you knew what would happen if his reality were to be destroyed. In order to protect yourself, you decided to isolate yourself, preventing anyone from getting too close to you in the hopes that they would not try to change your mind about the false reality—particularly Akira, who cares so deeply for you that he did indeed consider accepting Maruki’s deal for the sake of your life.”
“So what you’re saying is I’m going to die my own prisoner.”
“I am saying only that you are your own prisoner. That does not need to be a defining characteristic of your death,” Lavenza disagrees. “You are the master of your own heart. And I do not particularly believe that anyone deserves to die a prisoner.”
Akechi uncrosses his arms and says, quieter than he’s intending, “Did you bring me here to give me a final chance to set myself free?”
Lavenza almost smiles. “I brought you here to meet the person that Akira cares for so dearly, and to give you answers that you were long overdue. But yes, I will admit that I did also hope that you might be able to make the final decision that will allow you to move on, free from the chains you have created for yourself. I cannot tell you what that choice is, of course, but I believe you already know.”
Of course he knows. Akechi has known what choice would grant him true freedom from the moment he found Akira in the engine room. He’s known for a long time that the only thing truly keeping him from making that choice was his own fear and his own doubt. And he knows, after that conversation in Leblanc last night, that that choice has always remained open.
“I have to choose to let Akira in,” Akechi says quietly. “I have to choose to accept what our relationship has become, and how we have changed each other’s fates. And I have to choose to believe that my justice has been achieved through him.”
Justice, not revenge. Truth over lies. Trust over isolation.
This time, Lavenza properly smiles at him, a gentle expression Akechi has very rarely had directed at him over the eighteen years of his life. It’s accompanied by the chains fading away, and with a flash of blue fire, Akechi is granted his Metaverse outfit for the last time, mask pushed above his head rather than covering his eyes.
“For what little it may be worth, Akechi Goro, I would have liked to be able to guide you as well as Akira,” Lavenza tells him. “And I would have liked for Akira to be able to save your life without any strings attached.”
Akechi shakes his head and says, “Whether I wanted to admit it or not, he saved enough of me to matter.”
“I am afraid our time here is drawing to a close.” Lavenza pulls something out of her pocket, then adds, “I would like for you to have this. I know it will soon be of no use to you, but...it should have been yours to begin with.”
She passes the item to Akechi through the bars; it turns out to be a small blue key, slightly warm even through his gloves.
“This is the Velvet Room key you were meant to give me,” Akechi realizes aloud. “You restored it?”
“I did,” Lavenza says. “I give it to you in recognition of how you have persevered. Now then—you have broken the chains that held you prisoner. Are you ready for everything to return to how it should be?”
“Wait. One moment.” Akechi hesitates, then says, “Will you be able to see Akira again, before the Metaverse disappears for good?”
Lavenza blinks. “Only for a moment. Is there...a message you wish for me to pass along?”
“Yes. Tell him—” He sighs. “Please tell him that I’m glad he made the choice he did, to destroy the false reality. And that I’m glad he tried to save me, even after everything that’s happened.”
Lavenza’s gaze softens. “I will tell him.”
Akechi nods once, then tucks the key into his pocket.
“Alright,” he says. “I’m ready to go. Thank you, Lavenza.”
“You are most welcome. I wish you peace, Akechi Goro. May you rest well.”
Akechi hums in confirmation, sits back down, and closes his eyes.