[His words cut surprisingly deep, making Ryuji cringe in on himself, his chest shooting with pain. He’s mortified. In the heat of arguing with him, he’d… honestly just forgotten. Not out of malice, of course not, it was an honest mistake. Akechi is right there. Right in front of him. He could reach out and touch him right now, as alive as Ryuji himself (presumably).

He’s never fought with a dead guy before.]

Dude… [Having never died before (to his knowledge), Ryuji doesn’t really have a leg to stand on here. He has no idea what he’d rather choose, if he ever found himself in Akechi’s shoes. Because yes, obviously he’d choose to live, he’d always fight to see the sun rise on a new day. But would he make that choice if it meant being controlled? If his choices were no longer his own? He doesn’t get it, has no idea how that could possibly feel.

But he tries to. Bless him, he really does. For as stubborn and dim as Ryuji can be, there’s a fiery empathy at the core of everything he does.] The blood on your hands wasn’t all you. We know that, okay? You’re not some evil, selfish piece of shit, man, like— wh-what you did was fucked up and awful, yeah, but you’re not Kamoshida or Madarame or— or Shido.

It’s different, man. It just is.