AKAME ASSASINATION (75): END!
'This isn't good. It can't be good.' Koji's mind raced behind his calm exterior. 'I love Mao-chan, but her figuring this out now could lead to so many problems down the line. Not to mention her obsession with Akame-senpai. She might want to come with us. Or worse—compromise her position as head of the Okinawa Group...'
"If you're planning to lie to me," Maomao's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, sharp as the blade she'd just lowered from his throat, "you better rethink that."
She stepped back, the dagger disappearing into her sleeve with practiced ease.
"I'm not asking as your boss." Her eyes met his—blue-green pools that had always seen through him, even when he didn't want to be seen. "I'm asking as your fiancée. And your friend."
'You'd never lie to me, would you?'
Of course he wouldn't. Why would he even consider that an option?
'Have I been so consumed by this mission?' The realization hit him like a physical blow. 'So engulfed that I forgot the person waiting for me at home?'
He sighed—a long, heavy exhale that carried weeks of tension.
"I'm sorry, Mao-chan." He gestured toward Catherine, who was still being held but had stopped struggling. "Her name is Catherine. She's... someone really important to Akame-senpai."
"I thought as much." Maomao stretched, the tension in her shoulders visibly releasing. She waved a hand casually. "You can let go of them now."
"Yes, ma'am!"
The figures in black dissolved into the shadows as if they'd never existed—no sound, no trace, just gone. The kind of exit that marked true professionals.
Maomao approached the counter where Undine still stood, dagger-marks fading from her throat.
"Sorry about that, Undine." Maomao's voice was genuinely apologetic. "Hope you can forgive me."
Undine stared directly into her eyes.
"No."
"Oh..."
"God, I thought I was going to die..." Catherine's voice drifted from across the room. Then a pause. "...Again. Actually, that's a lie, now that I think about it." She tilted her head, genuinely contemplating her own mortality—or lack thereof.
The tension had evaporated from the room as suddenly as it had appeared. What remained was something rare—an old type of friendship, the kind you don't see much anymore. The kind forged in battles long past and maintained through years of separation.
"Mao-chan." Koji's voice was careful, probing. "What's going on?"
"Oh. I spoke to Akame-chan." She said it casually, like discussing a shopping trip. "He explained everything to me."
"!"
"Okay, well—not everything." She amended. "But the things that needed to be spoken."
She hopped onto the counter, legs swinging like a child's.
"After he fought Junichi-san, I followed them. From the cultural center all the way to the main highway." Her expression grew distant. "He defeated Junichi-san rather easily. But he took his time doing it."
"I thought as much." Koji nodded slowly. "How did he look?"
Maomao breathed in, considering the question.
"Like he'd just made a realization." She paused. "Honestly, I feel kinda dumb that I didn't figure it out until now. I also feel kinda dumb that Junichi-san figured it out before me." Her gaze shifted to Koji, sharp and knowing. "You too, Koji-chan. You knew about it too, didn't you?"
Koji met her eyes. And somehow—through the years, through the distance, through everything—he understood exactly what she was asking.
"Well." He chose his words carefully. "To be honest, it wasn't something we could have figured out easily. After the war, things settled down. And we settled down with them." He shook his head slowly. "It wasn't really about whether there was peace or not. It was because we wanted our own version of that peace."
A memory surfaced—an old Pokot man, sitting by a fire, speaking words that had burrowed into Koji's soul and refused to leave.
"War is inevitable. If you don't believe that, you're living in denial."
The truth was, just like that Pokot man, Koji had been living in his own denial. Denial of the reality that a world without war might not exist. That the comfort they'd built was built on foundations of sand.
"I want that peace," Koji admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm forced to see the truth now. And the truth hasn't unburdened me, Mao-chan." He looked up, meeting her eyes. "We're being used."
The same way the Pokot and Maasai were being used. The same way the villagers in Loliwe were being used. Pawns in a game they hadn't realized they were playing.
"They don't care about us. About anyone." His jaw tightened. "It's disgusting. But I think Akame-senpai understood that long before any of us. He's the only one who isn't thinking about himself anymore." A pause. "He's looking toward the future."
"You don't have to convince me." Maomao's voice was soft. "I already know."
"I see." Undine's voice cut in from behind the counter. She'd been listening, watching, processing. "So this is what's going on."
She leaned on the counter, her expression thoughtful.
"It's difficult to realize when you're living comfortably. There hasn't been a war in years." Her eyes narrowed. "And honestly? I think that's the problem."
"?"
"Lack of wars doesn't mean lack of battles." Undine's voice carried the weight of experience. "Everyone's still fighting. Even here—I've seen so many counts of racism it's disturbing. The police chief himself almost kicked me out of this establishment simply because I'm black." She spat the words. "That bastard."
Maomao's expression fell. "This shouldn't be happening. It can't be the case."
"But it is." Undine met her gaze steadily. "And I think our first order of business is looking at it. Not away from it."
Koji nodded slowly. "Akame-senpai believes Catherine and Gil are the future. And I plan to help them get stronger." His voice firmed with conviction. "That way, at the very least, we'll have something to look forward to."
Maomao and Undine exchanged a glance—a long, weighted look that carried conversations without words.
Then Maomao jumped off the counter.
She walked toward Koji, stopped directly in front of him, looked up at his face—
And elbowed him in the stomach.
"Ah—!" Air exploded from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping. "What the hell?!"
"When you're dealing with something this deep," Maomao's voice was fierce, "you tell me about it. You don't run off and decide to deal with it yourself."
She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him in a hug that squeezed the remaining air from his lungs.
"I was worried about you, you idiot."
Koji stood frozen for a moment—then slowly, carefully, his arms came up to return the embrace.
"You're not by yourself." Her voice was muffled against his chest. "We're all here."
"It's not like I planned for this to happen." He sighed into her hair. "I'm sorry. I'll be more considerate next time."
"Awwwwww." Catherine's voice cut through the moment like a knife through butter. "This is so cute! Are you guys gonna kiss?"
"No." They said it in unison, without missing a beat.
"Jeez." Catherine stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. "My fault."
Undine cleared her throat loudly.
"I'll help too." She crossed her arms. "I'll be your captain."
Koji's head snapped up. "Seriously? What about the risks?"
"Shut it." Undine pointed a finger at him. "You can't gaslight me into feeling bad and then ask why I feel bad. I have a boat at the docks. I can probably get you to the mainland within two months."
"Thank you, little lady!" Catherine cheered.
"Good god." Undine pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just don't get used to it."
"Oh!" Maomao pulled back from the hug, suddenly remembering something. "I almost forgot."
She stretched out her hand—and a blade materialized from nowhere, solidifying in her grip like condensation forming on glass.
"Wow!" Catherine's eyes went wide. "Are you a magician?"
"No. Not really." Maomao extended the sword toward Catherine. "He said you should have this."
"Me?" Catherine pointed at herself.
"Unless there's another Catherine I'm unfamiliar with."
Catherine took the longsword carefully, her fingers wrapping around the hilt. It was beautiful—elegant curves, a blade that seemed to drink the light.
"Why did he ask you to give it to me?" she asked, confusion evident in her voice.
Maomao paused.
Took a breath.
"Because," she said quietly, "he won't be seeing you for a while."
***
AT THE SORCERER ASSOCIATION HEADQUARTERS
"Ma'am!" A technician's voice cut through the controlled chaos of the war room. "The fighting has stopped. No more seismic waves being detected."
"Everything on my end is reading normal," another analyst confirmed.
"No more casualties reported."
"Things have stabilized."
Rika stood at the center of it all, processing the flood of information, when a new voice cut through—hesitant, uncertain.
"...Ma'am?" A woman at a side console looked up, her face pale. "There's something I think you should see."
Rika's eyes snapped to her. "Put it on the main screen."
"Yes, ma'am. On it."
The main display flickered—and then resolved into an image that stopped Rika's heart.
She stared for exactly one second.
Then she turned and ran.
Heels be damned. She took the stairs two at a time, three, her hand sliding along the railing for balance she didn't have. Hallways blurred past. She jumped over steps, forgot she was wearing a skirt, forgot everything except the image burned into her retinas.
The door was in sight.
She walked. Then jogged. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a caged animal trying to escape.
Then she ran—as though the world would end if she didn't get there in time. As though everything she'd ever wanted to say, everything she'd buried for years, would die with her if she didn't reach him.
She burst through the doors.
Outside, right in front of the headquarters of the very people trying to kill him, stood Saikyo Akame.
His clothes were torn. His body bore the marks of battle. Blood traced paths across his skin. But his eyes—those impossible emerald eyes—were calm. Still. Peaceful.
He looked at her.
And spoke.
"I'm here to die."
AKAME ASSASSINATION — END!
TO BE CONTINUED