Forbidden Fruit (PSL)
Oct. 6th, 2025 10:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
takutomarukiThunder rolls- the sky is practicing its sound woven by white gloved hands.
Takuto Maruki sits at his desk, the cursor blinking against an unfinished research report titled "On the Stability of Desireless Cognition."
His reflection in the window looks calm. Too calm. He hates it.
He sighs, setting down his pen. Then, quietly, he opens a drawer and removes a small blood packet — one he fabricated into existence hours ago. He’s already prepared the shattered vase, the broken latch on the balcony door, the faint smell of burning cloth. Every detail measured, every 'error' intentional.
He murmurs to himself, "The human mind only grows when it's cornered... right, Akechi-kun?"
The smile he gives himself in the reflection isn't warm.
He crushes the blood pack against his temple, staggers backward, and collapses across the hardwood floor.
Moments later, reality folds to his will.
A young woman- a cognition of his own making, named Mina Kashiwara, appears at the threshold. She’s breathless, terrified, perfect. Her voice trembles as she “finds” him:
"Dr. Hito! Oh my god—someone—someone’s hurt him!"
He drifts into feigned unconsciousness as she dials emergency services.
The world returns to him slowly - too slowly.
White light spills through the blinds. The smell of antiseptic bites faintly at his nose. Beneath it all, he hears the soft, distant whine of cicadas — summer's reminder that time hasn't stopped, even if everything else has.
Takuto Maruki opens his eyes.
His head throbs where he 'hit' it, the faint trace of dried blood painting one temple. For a moment, he almost forgets the cause — and then remembers: he designed this scene. Every wire and whisper of it.
He moves carefully, pressing a hand against his chest. The hospital gown rustles. On the table beside his bed sits a vase of flowers (lilies, of course — always lilies in this world), and a card signed in polite handwriting: Speedy recovery, Hito-san. – The Shibuya Police Department.
A gentle knock breaks his thoughts.
Dr. Hito?”
A uniformed officer steps in — Detective Yamada, a middle-aged man with the neatly constructed face of a cognition. The man smiles faintly; the performance continues.
"Ah... Yamada-san. Any progress?"
Yamada shakes his head, his tone apologetic but almost confused.
"No sign of forced entry. No prints, no tool marks. We recovered a calling card, but forensics says the ink has no chemical profile. It’s as if it doesn’t exist."
"So the police are calling it what? A hoax?"
“That’s just it, sir. Everyone's...confused. Nothing so brutal like this has happened in years. Our division chief thought maybe...maybe we could consult someone from outside the department. A detective who handles odd cases."
Maruki hides a smile behind his hand, feigning polite surprise.
"Oh? Someone like... Goro Akechi?"
"You know of him, Doctor?"
"Only by reputation," he says softly, eyes half-closed. "If he's willing, I’d be grateful for his insight."
The officer nods, relief clear in his expression — unaware that he was never real enough to question the convenience.
As soon as the door shuts, Maruki exhales.
Takuto Maruki sits at his desk, the cursor blinking against an unfinished research report titled "On the Stability of Desireless Cognition."
His reflection in the window looks calm. Too calm. He hates it.
He sighs, setting down his pen. Then, quietly, he opens a drawer and removes a small blood packet — one he fabricated into existence hours ago. He’s already prepared the shattered vase, the broken latch on the balcony door, the faint smell of burning cloth. Every detail measured, every 'error' intentional.
He murmurs to himself, "The human mind only grows when it's cornered... right, Akechi-kun?"
The smile he gives himself in the reflection isn't warm.
Moments later, reality folds to his will.
A young woman- a cognition of his own making, named Mina Kashiwara, appears at the threshold. She’s breathless, terrified, perfect. Her voice trembles as she “finds” him:
"Dr. Hito! Oh my god—someone—someone’s hurt him!"
He drifts into feigned unconsciousness as she dials emergency services.
Location: Yongen-Jaya General Hospital
Time: The morning after.
The world returns to him slowly - too slowly.
White light spills through the blinds. The smell of antiseptic bites faintly at his nose. Beneath it all, he hears the soft, distant whine of cicadas — summer's reminder that time hasn't stopped, even if everything else has.
Takuto Maruki opens his eyes.
His head throbs where he 'hit' it, the faint trace of dried blood painting one temple. For a moment, he almost forgets the cause — and then remembers: he designed this scene. Every wire and whisper of it.
He moves carefully, pressing a hand against his chest. The hospital gown rustles. On the table beside his bed sits a vase of flowers (lilies, of course — always lilies in this world), and a card signed in polite handwriting: Speedy recovery, Hito-san. – The Shibuya Police Department.
A gentle knock breaks his thoughts.
A uniformed officer steps in — Detective Yamada, a middle-aged man with the neatly constructed face of a cognition. The man smiles faintly; the performance continues.
"Ah... Yamada-san. Any progress?"
Yamada shakes his head, his tone apologetic but almost confused.
"No sign of forced entry. No prints, no tool marks. We recovered a calling card, but forensics says the ink has no chemical profile. It’s as if it doesn’t exist."
"So the police are calling it what? A hoax?"
“That’s just it, sir. Everyone's...confused. Nothing so brutal like this has happened in years. Our division chief thought maybe...maybe we could consult someone from outside the department. A detective who handles odd cases."
Maruki hides a smile behind his hand, feigning polite surprise.
"Oh? Someone like... Goro Akechi?"
"You know of him, Doctor?"
"Only by reputation," he says softly, eyes half-closed. "If he's willing, I’d be grateful for his insight."
The officer nods, relief clear in his expression — unaware that he was never real enough to question the convenience.
As soon as the door shuts, Maruki exhales.
