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The first time the unfortunate mishap and subsequent brawl occurred, Keiko Okkotsu was minding her own business at her corner booth in Pancake Homestead, sipping her iced tea and microdosing on sodium intake by overloading her hash browns with table salt. While this wasn’t her breakfast joint of choice, their food quelled her appetite for such a meager price tag, and she couldn’t say no to a hard bargain.
Not that any of this mattered after awhile, because she wound up acquiring far more than she bargained for when a condescending, irritable voice huffed over the diner’s din, “Are you even listening to me? I said I didn’t order this absolute dogshit!”
Drama? In this shitty little old school diner? That was none of her business…but Keiko couldn’t resist taking a swig of tea before swiveling to stare at the unfolding debacle. Thanks to the modern age miracle of open concept kitchens in the middle of restaurants for whatever reason, furious types who always wanted to speak to the manager could now do so with ease while mistaking the line cooks for said managers, and the cooks could flick grease right back and pretend it was a silly little accident. It was within this hellish kitchen that she found the perpetrator of the entitled customer’s wrath, a boy with a messy mop of black hair, pathetic hipster glasses, and a grin ripe for eating shit while uttering a defiant cry of fuck you, I’m eating dirt because it’s flavorful for anyone who dared challenge him.
Meanwhile, his approaching challenger was standing up from his stool, looming over the cook thanks to the raised height of the bar and looking like a bird of prey eager to rip his target to shreds. While his tied back brown hair looked soft and his clothing seemed pleasant, those were the only soft and pleasant things about him right now as he shot the cook a look so ripe with venom and rage that even Keiko thought she would succumb to secondhand poisoning, if such a thing were possible. If the chef were to eat dirt and claim it was tasty, the pretentious customer most certainly would shove his face into the mud harder while asking, do you think you’ll get your daily mineral intake by licking my boot, then?
Well, they probably wouldn’t say that, but Keiko projected her bizarre assumptions onto strangers on a daily basis, and this was no exception.
Instead of backing down from the abrasive, Karenesque bastard with a clear penchant for complaining, the cook only pushed up his glasses and shot back a rabid, Cheshire grin as he replied, “No, that’s definitely what you ordered. I have your order slip right here, you asked for pancakes.”
“I ordered pancakes with butter, you absolute cretin, and what did you serve me?!” the offended party growled. He raised his plate up at an angle Keiko was able to make out, only for her to fight back her gag reflex as she registered what was on said plate. “You put ketchup on this, you little shit!”
Okay, maybe the guy had a right to be upset, but he was making a scene in front of the entire diner. Somehow the cook was undaunted by this paragon of righteous culinary fury, and instead he looked positively delighted. “Oh, yeah. Sorry for drawing the little red smiley face on your pancakes, I’m just such a tortured artist, you know? He’s happy to see you, even when you’re being such a colossal asshole!”
“And I am supposed to believe that isn’t a gunshot wound dripping down this pathetic excuse for a human face?” growled the customer as he seethed, pushing his plate further until the ketchup was close to smearing across the cook’s own cocky expression.
The cook just shrugged. “Leave some things up to artistic interpretation. I think Pankira and I both look good in red, but hey, we can test that theory again sometime–”
Keiko didn’t know which parts of that baffling argument had been the bitchy brunette’s trigger words, but like a ravenous bird of prey again he lunged forward, literally leaping over the diner counter to wring the cook’s throat with gloved hands in the middle of June. Not once did the cook’s hysterical grin leave his face, instead he actually cackled as they tumbled out of sight but forever in Keiko’s mind, because what the hell was this?!
There was no one else in the diner except herself, the duking deranged duo, and a girl with short brown hair who looked positively mortified as she buried her face in her hands to muffle her woeful cries. Keiko could faintly make out a denying mutter of, “I don’t know him, I don’t know them, I am not here, I will never come back…”
Despite the other girl’s desperate pleas to the breakfast food gods, the brawl did not come to a halt just yet. Keiko didn’t even consider pulling her phone out to film the madness, too entranced by the dangerous dance between these two clearly destined rivals. The cook was lithe like a cat and dodged most of the hits with grace, but the customer’s sheer ferocity was overwhelming, and for some reason the cook was enjoying this.
“Come on, I know you can hit harder than that, Crow!” the cook taunted his opponent, despite blood now dribbling from his lip after the enemy had just punched him in the face.
“I wasn’t planning on killing you a second time, but you are pushing your goddamn luck, Joker,” hissed the bitch boy in reply, viciously grabbing the cook by his messy locks and shoving him against the diner counter.
Even while effectively pinned, the cook–Joker, she decided to dub him, still looked like he considered himself the victor. “Ooh, exciting…you could have bought me dinner first, though.”
“This is a breakfast joint and you are only open until three PM,” the one called Crow–she could only think of so many synonyms for bitch–shot back. “Besides, you aren’t in any position to be making demands, are you, hmm? Here you are, smiling like an absolute fool, yet I’m the one who has you right where you belong: beneath me.”
“Kinky,” was all Joker said back, and Crow just tossed him aside as if disposing of a ragdoll before returning to his seat to pay the bill like nothing ever happened.
It was truly the most bizarre sight Keiko had ever seen. Joker took Crow’s credit card and ran it with an eager smile still upon his face, as if unsatiated by the show of violence, and Crow left a huge wad of cash, presumably to tip. “Oh, hey, just the tip?” Joker said coyly, causing the brunette girl to sprint out of the diner with a blush that could only match hues with a tomato, and then Crow was gone with a wave and a smirk as if they hadn’t just beaten the everloving shit out of each other.
She didn’t even get the chance to ask Joker what had happened or about his undoubtable slew of psychological problems evident based on that battle alone, because there was a shift change and he left without a peep. She didn’t want to ask anyone else about it either, because she oddly enough didn’t want to get Joker in trouble.
While the display had been horrifying, sure, she couldn’t help but feel intrigued. For one, Joker and Crow must have known each other, between the way they had bantered and the way they had landed so few hits as if they had fought before. Were they exes? Who the hell went to a pancake house to fight their ex-boyfriend, in that case?
Well, she’d just have to come back and ask Joker next time, if he wasn’t fired due to security camera footage or that one girl complaining to his manager.
She didn’t get to ask Joker about it during her next visit either, but that wasn’t due to lack of trying. Rather, it was due to Crow already being there as she walked inside, waiting at a booth with his arms folded defensively alongside a lanky boy with navy hair sipping on water and a blond in a muscle tank who just looked happy to be here.
As she waited to be seated, she couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the unlikely trio. “I am certainly looking forward to my savory crepes,” said the boy with navy hair, smiling softly as he awaited his delectable entrée that would surely be dripping with grease.
“And I’m sure you’re going to ask Sakamoto to pay for them since you just spent fifty thousand yen on copic markers,” scoffed Crow with an upturned nose, even as he refused to offer so much as five yen to the other’s hungry cause.
“Oh…I forgot to check my bank statement,” said the navy-haired artist with a gasp of horror before he turned a pleading gaze onto the blond. “Would you be alright with spotting me just this once? It’s just so rare to find a full set with those appealing color choices.”
“Aw, man, forreal? Again? It’s okay, I’ve got you,” reassured the one called Sakamoto, even as he gave Crow a dirty look on the side.
Crow was not remotely phased by the frustration or irritation, as irritation incarnate himself. He merely shrugged and sipped from a mug before adding, “I didn’t think you used that medium regardless, Kitagawa. Quite the unjustified waste of yen, if I may throw in my own two cents.”
“You aren’t throwing in two yen, so no, we’re not letting you throw in your two cents, dude,” argued Sakamoto. “Ugh, why do we even hang out with you, again?”
“Someone here needs to have their wits about them, and you two can’t even wrangle a single brain cell when it counts, so here I am,” Crow huffed, looking over in the kitchen’s direction. “He’s taking ages today.”
“Hey, he’s probably cooking up something good!” said Sakamoto with a wide, toothy grin. “What did you order, anyway? Pancakes–?”
“I did not get fucking pancakes!” Keiko didn’t understand why Crow was so indignant over the concept of pancakes, but he was as enraged as a PTA mom being told her son was too cringe to be on the sportsball team starting lineup, and over fluffy, tasty pancakes nonetheless.
“Ah, the delicious pancakes strike back,” said Kitagawa, clearly reminiscing on some inside joke.
“I should have never allowed myself to be dragged along by you peons on your errands,” Crow seethed, his crossed arms tightening until he was flexing through his shirt fabric.
Kitagawa delicately sipped his ice water, eyes glittering fondly as he reflected upon some past unknown to Keiko. “Joker told us you needed a respite, so we thought you would enjoy accompanying us on our shopping trip. While you are often crass and rather aloof, I’ve grown slowly more accustomed to your presence over the past few months, so I can’t say I had a miserable time.”
“He told you that?” Crow’s icy stare softened from the warmth of that admission before transforming into something brooding and almost sad that Keiko could not comprehend from her outsider perspective. “Always concerned about others before himself…”
There was much Keiko had learned from this exchange alone. First, Crow was an asshole to everyone, not just Joker, and he seemed to have a blast doing so. Next, Crow and Joker obviously knew each other outside of this establishment, and surely had for quite some time. Finally, Crow and Joker appeared to be concerned for each other’s wellbeing, if Crow’s ominous statement and Joker’s spoken concern to the other boys was anything to go by.
That didn’t really mean jack shit, though, nor did things add up. Was Keiko clueless to some drastically consequential puzzle piece? Why were these guys punching each other’s lights out at a pancake place at least once, if not numerous times in the past, present, and future, if Crow talked like that about Joker? If only Keiko could discover the story behind this diner rivalry, there was so much to work with…but she was being a nosy voyeur into the confounding lives of two random dudes at a pancake place, she really shouldn’t pry.
Speak of the handsome devil, Joker sauntered past Keiko with a murmur of, “I’ll be with you shortly!” to her as he carried a tray of plates to the table with the elegance of a ballerina and the smugness of a murderer who got off scot-free.
“Smoked salmon crepes on the house for my dear Fox?” Joker said with a genuine smile as he tossed the plate onto the table with ease, landing perfectly before Kitagawa’s delighted face.
“Oh, thank heavens!” cried Kitagawa. “My wallet shall survive another day. I will no longer require your assistance, Ryuji, but I appreciate the gesture.”
“Is your boss okay with giving him free food, Joker?” Sakamoto asked to be sure.
“I still have at least twenty million yen from Metaverse findings, Ryuji, I’ll be okay after buying Yusuke one crepe,” was all Joker said back. The hell?! Joker was rich?! Why was he working minimum wage, then? God, she hoped the Metaverse wasn’t that dumb VR thing, though it wouldn’t make sense for someone into crypto and VR to be cooking, busing, and waiting tables all simultaneously. “Oh, here’s your omelet, though.”
“Hell yeah! You the man!” Sakamoto exclaimed with a grin and a fist bump, diving into his meal face-first before Crow even got his own dish. Rude.
“Saved the best for last,” said Joker with a sly smirk as he shifted, splaying a hand across his hip and tilting it in a way that didn’t seem at all natural and definitely didn’t seem normal. Nothing seemed normal about him in the first place though, and Crow was just as bad.
For whatever reason, Crow was fixated on Joker’s hips as he did so. Weird. “Am I meant to believe you’ve increased your cooking skills from pitifully piss poor to simply poor since the last time I ate at this shithole?”
Joker pouted, though Crow was still staring lower, elsewhere. “I’m Food Network quality, you’re just living in denial. I like to say you look good no matter what you’re wearing, but then I’d also be living in denial, and at least one of us has to stay sane. Just admit I’m your favorite chef already.”
“Regarding the slight against my sanity, I think your own sanity abandoned you the same time your last ounce of intelligence did, you utter dunce.”
“Shit, right. Denial, ugh. I’ve actually never been sane a day in my life, but I think that just ups my sex appeal! I can’t help my unhinged personality lures in all who gaze upon me–”
“Are you guys ever gonna like…eat your food?” Sakamoto butted in, interrupting whatever the fuck was wrong with these two idiots.
“Thanks for reminding me I’m getting paid for this,” said Joker, and he finally dished out Crow’s platter. “Here are your scrambled eggs!”
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see what was wrong here. “Pancakes? Again?!”
“Well, they have eggs in the batter, which I beat with a whisk,” Joker countered, spinning the serving tray on his fingers deftly like an oversized frisbee. “So, yes. Scrambled eggs.”
“Ah, yes, I adore my scrambled eggs with flour and a sugary icing swirl and whipped cream,” growled Crow.
Joker just blinked. “Eggs is an umbrella term.”
“You even drizzled ketchup all over them again. I truly still hate you,” said Crow, scowling furiously.
“Sure you do, honey,” said Joker, smirking back slyly. There was a beat, and then, “So what do you say you butter my pancakes again sometime soon, if you know what I mean?”
You didn’t even need a steak knife to cut this tension, you could’ve easily sliced it apart with even a rusty wooden spoon. Being an outsider to this bizarre situation was as baffling the second time as it was the first. Frankly, Keiko had no idea what the fuck was wrong with these guys. It felt like some sort of violent, homoerotic mating ritual, and that vibe only intensified as Crow once again dove for Joker’s throat, hands that were gloved despite the summer heat wrapping around his neck before Joker could so much as blurt out a one-liner.
Once Joker overcame his blatant, masochistic, and lowkey disturbing arousal over the public strangulation, he began fighting back in earnest, though his face conveyed how much he was enjoying this new definition of public indecency. Kicking, punching, shoving, tussling, there was no end in sight.
Keiko didn’t know what to do with herself once more, but once she dragged her eyes away for a moment she saw Sakamoto and Kitagawa merely looking disappointed, but not surprised. “Aw man, it’s just like what Makoto said, huh,” Sakamoto bemoaned, looking frustrated as he finished the last of his food.
“So it would seem,” said Kitagawa, moving his fingers in such a way as to frame the aforementioned mating ritual. “A picture paints a thousand words, they say, but truly this destined duel between fated rivals paints far more than that! If only I had my brushes and a canvas with me…how unfortunate.”
“I don’t get them at all,” Sakamoto sighed. “Akechi’s gone for nearly a year, then he shows up out of nowhere and suddenly they’re going on dates and stuff? Even Mona’s too embarrassed to tag along with them.”
“Indeed,” said Kitagawa, looking pensive. “Still, our dear Joker looked rather lost during that time span, though I was not certain as to why until Akechi made his return. While I do say I fear for our leader on occasion, I believe they may be good for each other.”
Good for each other…as Joker and Crow were beating the hell out of each other in the middle of a diner. Okay. Keiko didn’t say a peep, too busy eavesdropping on this scalding tea and the ambient noise of a brawl to consider the bigger picture right now. Was Crow the Akechi in question? The name rang a bell, and the face looked vaguely familiar…
“Can I get a waffle?” Sakamoto asked as Joker slammed Akechi into the counter. They tumbled, narrowly avoiding the stove as Akechi once more gained the upper hand. “Can I please get an effing waffle?”
Keiko truly had no life and no better use of her spare time than this, because here she was once more, staking out Pancake Homestead and hoping two crazy bastard boys would provide her with dinner and a show…or rather, breakfast and a show.
To her, these two strangers she had never once conversed with felt like life’s greatest soap opera, except instead of starting with the pilot she first tuned in to season four with no clue what the hell was happening. Maybe Akechi was actually the evil twin of Joker’s dead wife, but Joker had been in love with Akechi all along, to the point of accepting being framed for her untimely demise? What if Akechi was actually a serial killer and Joker’s shitty pancakes were the only thing holding him back from one last killing spree? Or maybe Joker was holding Akechi’s loved ones hostage unless they played this dangerous game?
Given the weirdly intimate and silly roughhousing, she couldn’t guess what the big twist was supposed to be. All she knew was this: they were surely gay, potentially in love, and undeniably insane. If Akechi bit Joker, the cook would most likely contract rabies, if he hadn’t been rabid all along. If Joker tried to serve Akechi yet another stack of pancakes but arranged like a dick, she wouldn’t be surprised if Akechi actually stabbed him. There was so much to unpack here, far more than some voyeur at a breakfast diner could ever touch.
God, she was getting far too invested in this, but she had to do some digging and get to the bottom of this case. Google was her best friend that morning as she sat inside Pancake Homestead at her usual booth, glancing at Joker out of the corner of her eye as she also scrolled through search results for the name Akechi. She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d seen this feral bastard somewhere before, but she also couldn’t shake the worry she was stumbling into something she was woefully unequipped for.
Top results were for some minor celebrity named Goro Akechi. The name struck a chord with her. Hadn’t he been on TV a few times? Curious about this enigma, she clicked his Wikipedia page, only to be smacked in the face with a picture of some demure, pleasant boy in a nerdy-ass sweater vest. The same guy she was seeing walk into Pancake Homestead with a bombshell supermodel figure in tow, a scowl upon his face once again as he beheld the object of his vastly complicated and kinda fucked up affection.
“Hiiii!” said the girl in pigtails to Joker as she brushed back her hair and waved. She and Akechi walked toward the stools and took their seats, with the blonde girl putting a bubbly personality on display while Akechi’s own bubbliness was as bitter as La Croix.
He looked like the type of guy to drink sparkling water, and that train of thought made Keiko’s gaze snap back to her phone as she scanned Goro Akechi’s Wikipedia page like a woman possessed. This had to be him, but it also couldn’t be him. The pictures were all nearly identical, though he had aged a bit since the last image and was much crankier than these fake paparazzi photos appeared, but what held her back was a section near the bottom of his page mentioning one paralyzing fact: Goro Akechi was missing, and had been missing for nearly a year and a half now.
So what was happening here? Maybe this really was a soap opera, holy shit. If this was Goro Akechi in hiding, though, then who was Joker? Goro Akechi didn’t have much information in his personal life section on this website, and there wasn’t a single mention of any friends, let alone a boyfriend. It was actually a little…heartbreaking. The more she read through his Wiki page, the more she wondered about the boy sitting twenty feet away from her rolling his eyes at a flirty chef despite having said chef’s hand in a vice grip.
For a heartbeat, she saw that gloved hand brush across those slender knuckles. Oh. Oh. Okay, so her hunch about their vibes had been dead-on. They were undeniably insane, absolutely gay, and if the weirdly intimate way they gazed into each other’s eyes and whispered things Keiko couldn’t hear was anything to go by, they might really be in love, too…or maybe she was projecting too much after reading about some presumed dead detective having zero social life with any peers.
Something about Joker made her feel a tad nostalgic too, now that she realized Crow could only be the long lost Detective Prince. Unfettered, she scrolled through the other sections of the website, even checking the pages of culprits he had outwitted in the past. She was so enamored with this brand of doomscrolling that she barely came back to her senses as the blonde girl asked, “So…are you guys going to fight or whatever everyone keeps talking about?”
“Does your pathetic motley crew truly have nothing better to do than gossip about us?” Akechi scoffed, placing his chin on a clenched fist as he shot the girl with an icy glare.
“Goro, please,” said Joker, before turning to the girl himself. “Ann, seriously have to ask: What does everyone keep saying about us?”
Ann examined her nails before pointing at something on the menu, tapping it twice to show she wanted it as her meal. “Everyone else just said you two keep fighting here for whatever reason. I know you both are a little crazy…just a little, but aren’t you ever worried about going too far? It’s not like we can just heal each other anymore without the Metaverse.”
Akechi stiffened so visibly that even Keiko could see from her vantage point. While she couldn’t see Akechi’s face from her booth, his expression shrouded by his hair, Joker was quick to reassure both of his customers. “Hey, it’s seriously okay. We know each other’s limits and he’d never hurt me like that. Besides, this was my idea. We made a promise and we kept it, but…it’s kinda fun, just having a good old-fashioned fight here. So we just kept up the tradition. Besides, the owner’s one of the old Phansite users, and he said we can duel any time as long as there aren’t many other customers. So if you want to blame anyone for me getting punched in the face you can always blame Mishima.”
Before Akechi or Ann could reply, Joker reached down and pulled something out of his pocket. He gently tossed a black leather glove onto the counter between the two, smiling softly despite everything else. “I keep my promises, no matter what. Still carry this with me everywhere.”
Akechi was silent for a bit. “...There is something wrong with you on an anatomical level, Akira. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Well, I’m attracted to your red flags and pretentious personality, so that’s a starting point.”
Keiko zoned out as their banter picked back up again, their angst immediately pushed aside by not just the boys but also their voyeur as she rapidly scrolled that article again. Akira. His name was Akira, and she could have sworn that name had been on Goro Akechi’s–
Oh. Oh.
Soap opera didn’t even begin to cover their drama anymore. This was some enemies to lovers fan fiction level of batshit, because the only Akira listed on Goro Akechi’s page linked straight to an Akira Kurusu. Akira Kurusu, who had been massively responsible for the failure of Masayoshi Shido’s election. Akira Kurusu, who had led the infamous criminal crew known as the Phantom Thieves. Akira Kurusu, who had been pursued by the ace detective Goro Akechi for months on end.
Keiko felt like her brain had short circuited and her stomach was doing backflips, and this wasn’t even her own personal love life. She stared at a literal mugshot of a battered Akira Kurusu and a placid picture of Goro Akechi from a television appearance, then glanced up at Joker and Crow throwing hands once again mere yards from her but looking happier and far more real than they had in either of the photos online. She had stumbled upon the truth regarding Goro Akechi’s whereabouts and the bratty chef Joker’s identity in the dumbest way imaginable, and yet despite knowing everything, she understood nothing.
She faintly remembered they used to fight after Akira fucked up Akechi’s order. She wondered when they had dropped that facade, then realized that layer of this mystery didn’t even matter right now. Ann treated the spectacle as nonchalantly as any girlboss would, and pulled out her phone even as the two boys rolled (when had Akechi leaped over the counter, anyways?).
“Hey, Ann!” said a voice from the girl’s sparkly pink phone as Ann smiled brightly.
“Shiho! It’s been a few days since we were able to talk, sorry about that!” said Ann.
“Don’t worry about it, we’ve both been super busy!” said Shiho. “What are you up to today?”
“Visiting Akira at work,” answered Ann, tapping her fingernails against the countertop even as Akira was literally tossed in the background, though he landed lightly on his feet much like a cat before immediately grappling with Akechi.
“He works as a cage fighter now?” said Shiho.
“No, he’s still at Pancake Homestead,” said Ann, not even bothering to look behind her at the brazen display. “Goro asked me to tag along, but I feel like a third wheel when they’re so focused on each other. I know they’ve been dating for ages and he’s totally obsessed with Akira, but he shows his affection like such an anime tsundere.”
“For a gay man, Akechi really has mean lesbian energy,” said Shiho sagely.
As an onlooker, Keiko could only watch this all go down in wonder. Two shadowy public figures, both who had long since fled from the spotlight, were now putting on a show in this dingy diner, with the curtain call only sounding as Akira wrapped his arms around Akechi and flopped onto the tile floor.
“And might I ask what precisely you are planning here, Joker?” Akechi drawled, clearly unimpressed by this stick figure boy trying to hold him captive. Then again, based on what Keiko now knew about their past, maybe they had both caught each other long before this.
“I’m more of an impulsive decision type of guy,” said Akira. Keiko could see a glimpse of a toothy grin even with Akechi trapped on top of his rival.
“...I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Akechi admitted, shifting to pin Akira’s wrists down before kissing him in the strangest display of PDA Keiko had ever seen.
As the two young men kissed on the floor of a diner, surrounded by mystery and oddity, Keiko decided at last, against her own wishes, to leave them be, finally going back to her meal despite the questions lingering in her brain. They were deranged, off the wall lunatics with a complicated backstory rivaled not even by the most dangerous foes in history. But…in the end, she felt like she was intruding on something special if she decided to ask about their story. They definitely had baggage and they definitely had a past, but if their kissing on the floor was anything to go by, they were happy together, and maybe this wasn’t her soap opera to indulge in to begin with.
Besides, Keiko thought to herself as Ann teased both boys amidst their madness and stupidity, her coffee was getting cold, so she finished her cup and swore to find a new restaurant where she wouldn’t have to watch two crazy boys kiss with their fists and lips both.