"We've all had our doubts about the birth of fragment sorcery," Rika began, her voice measured and deliberate. "Not to mention the Evangelist and the Church."
"True." Maomao nodded thoughtfully. "Especially since our beliefs differ from the mainland's." She tilted her head, studying Rika's expression. "What are you thinking, Rika-chan?"
Rika stood silent for a long moment, her dark eyes fixed on some middle distance only she could see. When she spoke again, her voice carried the weight of dawning realization.
"There's something shady about the Church."
Junichi yawned—a massive, theatrical display of boredom. "Woman, can you please tell us something we don't know? Isn't that obvious?"
"Yeah, Rika-chan." Maomao's lips quirked. "Even I can tell you that."
"You don't get what I'm saying." Rika's gaze sharpened, pulling them in. "The more we talk about this, the weirder the Vatican's process sounds." She began pacing the small hospital room, her heels clicking against the linoleum. "Why would they send secret assassins to kill him? Including us, of all people?"
Junichi's brow furrowed. "Are you implying they wanted him dead on the spot?" He scratched his bearded chin. "I can see them doing something like that. Boosts their credibility—they announced he was dead years ago, after all."
"What if there was something else?" Rika stopped pacing, turning to face them. "Something he was doing? Wouldn't information gathering be the most logical approach? Find out what he's been up to all these years?" Her voice grew sharper. "I find it strange that a former calamity was brought in as a consultant—and yet they won't even talk to Akame?"
"!"
Maomao's eyes widened, then narrowed into something like admiration. "Apparently, being engaged to one of the Count Saints has its perks." A small smile played at her lips.
'Akame did mention,' Junichi thought, the memory surfacing through the fog of his injuries, 'that they were using him as an excuse. Drop assassins and informants into the country while the government was still recovering.' He shook his head slightly, the thought scattering. 'But I wonder...'
Rika continued before he could grasp the thread.
"Germain made it clear—they introduced a former calamity as a consultant. He was wary of it because it made no sense. Why bring in one and not the other?" She folded her arms. "So I have a theory."
"Do tell." Maomao leaned forward.
"The assassins are just a ruse." Rika's voice dropped, taking on the quality of someone assembling puzzle pieces in real-time. "A cover for the Vatican to insert spies and operatives into the country while the political situation remains unstable. And we were supposed to be the actual assassins—the ones who took him out on the spot."
'!'
Junichi's eyes flickered with recognition. 'So even she figured that out.' A beat. 'Am I just dumb?' He squashed the thought before it could fully form. 'Don't answer that.' His gaze drifted to the ceiling. 'But she probably doesn't know about the void experiments. The human ones. I'll keep quiet about that for now. Use it later if I need to.'
He rubbed his nose, feigning indifference.
Maomao, meanwhile, was running her own calculations. 'Akame-chan never told me much. But he did mention the human experiments in the Maasai plains. Whether that was to make me feel sympathy... I can't say. But he seemed determined to bring it up.' Her eyes tracked across the room, seeing nothing physical. 'And now this news about spies. I wonder if he intended for me to dig deeper. To reach this conclusion on my own.'
She spoke aloud, working through the logic. "Instead, we took him into custody alive. So now they must be thinking one of two things." She ticked them off on her fingers. "One: we weren't capable of stopping him. Which means his strength needs to be gauged—determine if a swift death is even possible. Or two..." She paused. "We're in cahoots with him. Which is why they sent the Count Saints."
"Exactly." Rika nodded, a grim satisfaction in her expression. "I'm sure they have loads of questions they want to ask him. But there has to be something they prioritize above all else." She glanced at Junichi. "Your theory about his identity—the prophecy—tells me that might be it."
"Oh!" Maomao's eyes lit with understanding. "So they know about the prophecy. They think Akame-chan is connected to it. They want to destroy that connection before it becomes something they can't control." She nodded rapidly. "Especially with the Izanami bomb you dropped on us. They must be terrified of that."
"But you think there's more to it, don't you?" Junichi's voice cut through the theorizing. He'd caught the tension in Rika's shoulders—the subtle stress lines around her eyes. "Because in the long run, his death might not actually be a bad thing."
Rika met his gaze. "The issue is—we don't know anything. Even if we assume the prophecy is what they're trying to stop, there are too many holes." She shook her head slowly. "I feel like there's still so much about them we can't trust. Right now, they're on the offensive. Trying to read our moves. Understand what we know." Her eyes narrowed. "Who knows? What you said might've just been surface level. Which is why she dismissed you as useless."
They'd all caught it—the moment in their earlier conversation when Ares's surprised expression had been just slightly too theatrical. A performance. A mask.
Junichi's revelation about Akame's heritage had clearly landed, but the Count Saint's reaction had been crafted. Rehearsed.
Which meant they were being played.
"For now," Rika said, her voice firming with purpose, "all we can do is try our hardest to figure out the truth."
She turned to Maomao.
"Maomao!"
"Yes?"
"I need you to look after Akame. Make sure he isn't killed." A pause. "I'd say try talking to him, but Ares will have to be present for that. And that's not what we want." She shifted to Junichi. "You do whatever you want."
"No assignment for little old me?" Junichi's eyebrows rose hopefully.
Rika's lips twitched. "You'll ignore my instruction anyway." She tossed the brown paper bag to him. It landed on his blanket-covered lap with a soft thump. "Do whatever."
Junichi tore it open eagerly—and pulled out a green bottle of ginger ale.
His face transformed.
"Awwww." For a moment, the fearsome warrior looked like a child on Christmas morning. "You totally get me."
He cradled the bottle like a precious artifact. He hadn't been allowed to drink anything interesting during his entire hospital stay.
Maomao straightened, her expression shifting to something formal. "I'll accomplish anything I can." She raised her hand in a crisp salute. "I'll have the Okinawa Group survey him constantly. Every moment. Every move."
'I'll be sure to...'
'I'll have to make sure to...'
'I should be able to...'
Three minds, three sets of thoughts, three different approaches.
But the same conclusion.
'Find out what we don't know.'
The thought resonated through the room like a struck bell—simultaneous, unspoken, understood.
A PACT FORGED AND A SECRET UNLOCKED. WHAT'S TO BE EXPECTED FOR THE FUTURE?
TO BE CONTINUED!