as long as you can be                     H      A      P      P       Y                     me                      being                     Ｂ   Ｒ   Ｏ   Ｋ   Ｅ   Ｎ                     is only a (small) price                                                 to pay.

By ネズ

     A marionette on loosening strings, she oft contemplates whether she'd stumble and plunge if given the opportunity to walk her own path. The means to act were few, and even then, she faced a consistent reluctance to make choices. Continuing to reference herself as a tool would clearly be insult to all Fuyuhiko had worked towards-- thus she was beginning to learn, beginning to see the feelings which she was once blind to. Whilst she felt a slight doubt towards the Foundation, clinging to her chest like a parasite, she did little to quell her concerns-- unsure if she was prepared to face the unpleasantries that lurked beneath the gilded tongued promises of a hopeful future. 

It had been a while, since she'd last been in contact with Norikazu. So closely observed and imprisoned by her own failures, it had been hard to cross paths. ( Perchance, she wondered, deliberately so-- lest it was paranoia and isolation taking its toll on her mind ) So little happened within the walls of her room, so little was said. Interacting with the other swordsmaster would certainly enlighten her to outside activity-- it was hard to say if their scheduled encounter was provoked by a sudden urgency, or the simplest of desires for conversation. Just by observing, the expression which she sought told very little. The back lot was quite cold, but, perchance, a place of the safest quality to meet in silence. Wrapping her arms around herself, Peko stepped forward to expose herself in the dim moonlight.

      ❝  Pardon me,  Norikazu. … I hope I didn't keep you waiting.             No one will take note of my absence, at this hour-- so you may             speak as freely as you please. Was there something on your mind?             I... can't promise to be of much help, but ... ❞

Oh no I can’t slow down,  I can’t hold back Though you know, I wish, I could,  Oh no there ain’t no rest for the wicked,  Until we close our eyes for good.

Tsumiki:

       ❝ Ah- aha. Y-you’re right. You don’t. You d-don’t u-unders-t-t-tand. You can’t. Even if you w-wanted to. Ha. B-but why would you w-want t-t-to? T-to understand this m-m-miserable path-thetic existence. Heh. Heh. Huuuu…

                 ……….i’m so alone. ❞

   ❝  I don't…  although ... I can understand feeling misunderstood        lonely... Perhaps that's true for everyone. Still, you shouldn't demean yourself like so. ❞

Tsumiki:

{♕} — ❝ Shut up shut up shut up!

You don’t understand you don’t understand anything, you let them fix you. ❞ [She spits it out like it’s a dirty word. She’s not stuttering anymore, no room in between all that shouting, but she’s shaking violently, like if something touched her she might just shatter into a hundred pieces.]

                       ❝ W-why should I live here when everything I love is dead and gone and broken? At least in the past it’s alive. There’s nothing here for me. I’m finished. ❞

   ❝   Forgive me…  I don't understand. I really don't.                 I know that and won't pretend that I do... ❞

She spoke flatly, expression dull and mostly unchanging-- in high contrast to the girl afore her. Beneath the mask, however, she wavered as though she was about to tread in a minefield. Red eyes soften at the corners and she slinks back slightly in reaction to the outburst. Fixed... was that so? It was hard to trust her own judgement, now. Did she need to follow someone obediently? Surely she wasn't human enough to carry on alone. Therefore she grasped at an excuse to continue her petty existence. Blank... unable to understand this fear... unable to truly empathize. There was no way for her to answer such inquiries. 

Pit pat, pit pat. The rhythm of the outside world could be heard all afternoon, even in the confines of the dojo. From streams on rooftop tiles, drops significantly larger than the rest would descend; rolling and splatting down against the ground below-- claiming a sense of individuality. Peko stared dully at it from her place at an open door, debating with herself whether or not to go into the house for some food. If she tracked mud or water inside, there was no telling if she'd be scolded or not. Currently, her skin was clean of any bruise or wound... and she wasn't particularly keen on letting herself get hurt over a foolish mistake. For her actions had to be done for the Kuzuryuu clan's convenience, not for her own sake. Their words echo over and over in her mind. Better not. Better turn around and forget it. 

I'm not going to upset them... from here on out. They won't need to use their fists to make me understand. 

That had been her resolve. And it was best that she followed through with it. Maybe in part, she didn't want to get hit again. A little hunger was nothing compared to the wrath she might evoke. Still, she couldn't ignore the protest coming from her own body-- her noisy, selfish stomach and it's complaining. Why did she have to get hungry? Why did she have to feel tired? That's what living meant... that's what being human meant. And it frustrated her more than anything else. A body needed nourishment to fight to its' full potential. She needed to fill her empty stomach if she wanted to fight like she was supposed to. Later, later. You can wait. 

Closing her fists, she felt like screaming. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax. The other kids in her class didn't have to face this. Most kids who were eight and nine years old were commonly loved by their parents. Or at the very least, had someone; their relatives, or siblings, or friends. Plopping down on the floor, she took a cross-legged position and tried to meditate. A sting of regret coursed through her, that she couldn't find it in her to consider Bocchan as someone who cared much for her sake. No... he disliked her. Maybe even hated her. The more serious she became about her purpose, the more distance he would put between them. Why couldn't he see? That things were supposed to be this way? There would be no place for her in this world, if it wasn't for him. She had to live for him, and not for herself. Despite any hard feelings that may linger.

                      I still care, though...

The tiny voice in her head makes itself known, causes her chest to swell a bit. Maybe her feelings were unrequited, but that didn't matter much. For it wasn't her purpose to be a friend. It was to shield him from the dangerous world around them.

              As long as he's safe... as long as I protect him, everything will be all right. 

     ❝ If you're so blatantly opposed… then it is punishment.            Especially if you let yourself get trapped in the past. Taking this           new life for granted, griping and complaining.

     No one can atone for you. It's your decision, whether or not to comply. ❞

Albeit, she herself was riding on a wind that was not her own. She had help with her decision-- she still had someone dear to her. Therefore she was lost-- whether to be cold or empathetic. How could one be empathetic, though, if they did not understand pain which could not be seen?

      ❝ I don’t want a second chance!

    I never asked for one! 

I don’t want to be saved! 

      T-the mainland wanted us dead. The world does too. This isn’t p-punishment, this is redemption, and I don’t want that. ❞

{   Fukawa:

Touko is at a loss of words in the moment, hands curling into fists against the glass, cool to the touch despite the rays of the waning sun. The shadows grow greater with every passing second, and although the author acknowledges Pekoyama’s question by a slight tilt of the head, her lips remained pursed in thought as she savors the moment and the surprising beauty of the fading day. Prose lines the corners of her thoughts as she peers down across ocean and sky— the waves reflecting hues of amber and amaranth; a vast galaxy like the long shadows cast by sunset, seeping through the cracks of day to bring forth the night— and her fists feel so empty with a pen to curl around.                                 “…Vast. I don’t… view sunsets often, but it’s… nice.” ( But there’s an uncomfortable feeling creeping through her veins, a certain déjà vu to the scene. Red tinges the corners of her vision, and her eyes narrow as her thoughts trail towards… pictures? A photograph? It’s unsettling, and it’s enough to cause Touko to turn her back to the window and face Pekoyama, casting her own shadow on the former kendoka. )

"…A… Are you going to take your medicine, or not.      I can’t leave until you do…” Despite the time between their first meeting and now, Touko cannot find it in her blood to trust her completely. There are cameras in every room but she is out of favor with the vast majority of her superiors and she knows nothing will happen but there’s always a chance. Komaru threw caution to the wind and trusted with mind and soul, but she cannot. Towa taught her to fend for herself and she knows Komaru wishes it had taught her to stand without fear of someone twisting a knife in her back, to open herself to others just the tiniest bit more than usual, but it’s foolish in a place like this. Her fingers lace together in front of her, face hardened to general unease. Were something to happen, no one would come. The difference between then and now is the way she holds her head- staring her down, albeit briefly, and not bowing in vain to conceal her presence altogether. ( There’s another feeling, too, like an understanding she did not have before, but it’s just as unsettling as the sunset on her back, and so she does not give it another thought. )

   With such a description, v a s t,  a lot is left to her imagination. Absently, she started to swipe at the short fuzz of the blanket; smooth and unwrinkled over her lap. Her skin caught against it a few times, poking distracting holes in her thoughts. When she closed the world around her, eyes snapped shut ( albeit, not sleeping. never sleeping. ) she tried to remember the Kuzuryuu family's dojo-- every fraction of every detail. Which floorboards croaked the loudest beneath her weight, the corner that collected dust and cobwebs, the ancient yet somehow rich scent of everything. When spilt blood inside that haven stirred uncomfortable feelings within her, she'd alternate to the dojo in Hope's Peak instead. A tiny wooden world, shaded by the bright pink of the cherry trees. When so much was bottled inside her, when she was on the verge of doing something outrageous, she always confronted the dojo first. And she longed for it now, more than anything else. Perhaps it was greedy of her. Even if she had to settle for a bladeless weapon, it'd be nice to feel a hilt in the palm of her hand again, to do something beneficial for herself again. Things went so impossibly wrong. However, there was no use in mourning events that happened so long ago. Brooding would change nothing. Spending months feeling sorry for herself and for those she hurt wasn't doing anything. She'd remember her sins for the rest of her life. Therefore, she was convinced that action, that trying to help rebuild the world would say more than any combination of words ever could. Because she was no writer. And because expressing feelings aloud was something she felt herself incapable of. 

The former kendoka could only rely on her inner resources so much. Eventually, she'd run out of things to think about... people to talk to. If her recovery continued so sluggishly, there was honestly no point in holding her alive and captive in this room. She'd be better off dead... no longer any of their concern. These dosages were far too much, she spent many days simply... sleeping. A dull, restless, dreamless sleep. She was sinking to the bottom of a dark sea, and with immobile limbs, it left her unable to swim up to the surface.

This girl obviously was not the one who decided her treatments. She was simply in running an errand, and most likely wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. Peko considered it'd be childish to raise a fuss over her medicine. Selfish, too. There was no need in troubling this woman any further. Feeling expectant eyes on her, she opened her eyes and let her gaze wander towards the tray, untouched on the bedside table. She took a longer pause than necessary before opening her mouth to respond-- suddenly feeling flustered and feverish at the very thought of downing more. 

               ❝  That's right... I'm sorry... I'll... just       ❞

Instead of answering the question presented, she reached over for her medicine. The unmistakable scent of it was enough to remind her of its' bitter flavor, and she swallowed a sigh of distaste. Confronted with dizziness and a lack of composure, her hand wavered in its' navigation; knocking against the tiny glass-- causing it to tip over the edge of the tray... and inevitably on a downward descent towards the floor. Crash. Maybe the sound itself reminded her of the sound of water in her ears, breaking the surface of thoughts that nearly drowned her. Still, she hadn't done that on purpose-- it was troublesome, a mistake. Unaccustomed to having to apologize for clumsiness, she stared at her accident in form of tiny shards with unsure eyes. She couldn't deny, in part, that it was satisfying... In another, she knew it'd likely upset her temporary visitor. Retracting her hand slowly towards her chest, she decided it best not to say anything-- afraid of what might come out of her mouth. 

{--Tsumiki:

     ❝ I-it is, it is, I just want to die but no one will let me. I t-tried once, and I thought it worked, but it w-wasn’t even real I can’t even die properly.

T-there’s nothing left here, n-nothing, my life is already o-over everything I love is dead and gone but I’m still here and I don’t understand why. ❞

        ❝ …Some have branded this our second chance.❞

Burning gaze is cast aside meaningfully. An unreadable, devastating emotion festers achingly in her chest-- frustration, hurt...? It was pointless trying to understand it. 

              To live and to reflect. Maybe this was j u s t i c e.

❝ You understand, don't you? In order to recognize all we've done... it'd be safe to assume this is our punishment. Death would be far too merciful. ❞

{--Tsumiki:

 ❝ Oh, calm, quiet, angry… does it matter? Does it really?

              I’m very calm. I’m hanging on very well. I just want to die a little. Well, no, a lot. Heh. But I’m still here. S-so you could say I’m holding myself together quite nicely. ❞

   ❝ Clearly, I'm not the one you should be asking. ❞

     Arms cross over her center, gaze taking a slow descent to the floor.      Their situation truly was inescapable. However, she had someone      left to hold on for. 

         ❝ ...Is d e a t h truly what you want, though? ❞

   ❝ …Is that so. You seemed quite insistent that you were calm          ❞

     The statement was itself was flat, rather than curious or patronizing.      She should have expected to misjudge the feelings of others. Just       like the weather, the other's expressions would alternate. To a small      extent, the former kendoka envied her for that. For after all they'd      experienced, she somehow felt so despicably h o l l o w. 

         ❝ Er... never mind that, then. ❞

      ❝ H-huh? ❞

 ❝ U-upset me? You? Oh no no no, you didn’t upset me at all…             What could you possibly say to make me feel worse than I already do? ❞

{    Tsumiki:

    ❝ N-no,            i-i-i-it’s not, it’s really not. Y-you don’t just f-f-forget. Uuu, uuuuuuu… You don’t know!! You don’t know at all!!! St-top being so n-n-nice!! ❞

                ❝ ...I don't know. ❞ 

She echoes it once more in form of a whisper, almost mechanically. Sacrificing humanity, all feeling... distancing herself from everyone and everything. She didn't know. While they may have been steered along similar paths, their circumstances held respective differences. For a long while, she's taken aback in s i l e n c e. 

      ❝       I apologize for upsetting you so. ❞

{   Komaeda:

A woman in a wheelchair, a former swordsmaster that had lost her sense of purpose by being unable to do the one thing she considered the bone of her existence - many people would probably feel pity for a person like her, but through his grey-green eyes, Komaeda could see nothing but admiration for her, which was probably what bothered him the most about the situation they were in.  In reality, he was nothing but confused, as much, or perhaps even more, than anyone else of his former classmates, that desparately tried to seek for a new fertile ground to sow new seeds that would grow into a better, a new, future, would be. 

While everyone around him seemed like they were already watering their little plants, he stood there alone, in a wide and open field with his own seed still laying inside of his palm. Sometimes he had considered throwing it away, because telling himself that death was the only future he deserved was so much easier than moving on with legs that had grown tired under the heavy weight of his cursed fortune.  Because death had always seemed so much sweeter to him, because living his life was too much of a burden for him. 

It was a good thing, he kept telling himself, carefully muttering it whenever he laid down and felt his sadness threatening to jump out of the chains of apathy he had carefully wrapped around it.  A good thing, since nobody needed him. He was alone, a threat for everybody around him, an existence with a burden that grew bigger and heavier each time he foolishly said that one more step would be okay, that maybe this time it wouldn’t happen like it always did.

But of course, bad fortune came to him anyway. Good luck followed as always and so he abandoned his own hope for a better outcome in order to focus on the best possible thing he could do with his powers. Ultimately, they lay beyond his reach, he knew that, but there was a difference between controlling an absolute force fully and influencing it’s outcome all together. If he’d give up himself and his own future, it would be so much easier to sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of supporting others that were more important than him.  He enjoyed pretending that their success became his new content, yet in reality, he didn’t allow anyone to look past his smiling masquerade that was satisfied with this empty existence of his - he didn’t want anyone to see how deeply unhappy he was, not even himself. 

He was done with being a hinderance for everyone.  It seemed like the concept of happiness simply wasn’t meant for his person. Of course, things had changed by now, or did they? Inside the programm he had learned that the people he had supported and admired so much were lower than dirt and had decided that everyone, including himself, had to die for the misery they had brought upon the world. Why did they had to die again?  Because they were evil and deserved to die?  How did he not notice earlier, then? Because he never dared to question them?  Or was it because he never expected people that radiated so much hope to eventually end up that low? Their minds were erased, her manipulation wasn’t there at this time and place.  That didn’t change the fact that they eventually did become just like her. They were hopeful, despite being vessels of nothing but despair.  He hated them. He hated that he loved them. Admired those with talent.  And the one without it, as well. 

What had he been so shocked about? The truth, or their betrayal? Was it the fact that he didn’t see it earlier, or that he genuinely grew to like them?  He played with the seeds of future inside of his hand.  As always, it predicted him hope and despair, hope and despair— Why didn’t he want to seed it and see his future grow? Why did he want to die? Because he was a coward. Because he was sick of this life between light and darkness. Because the light he had clung to, the people that would have made his existence meaningful had disappointed him.  Then why didn’t he take his life? Because he wanted to live?  How selfish.  Clinging to a life everyone including himself wanted gone was selfish.  Why did he want to live? Because he was hoping for a  better outcome?  A change? He didn’t want to die but he didn’t know the kind of life he wanted to live either.  She knew.

"Yes, you’re very inspiring", he nodded again, his lips spread into a cheerful smile and a chuckle escaping from the depts of his throat at the view of the young woman next to him. Honestly, Pekoyama had always been a much cuter person than he had thought - he immensely enjoyed the faint embarrassment of hers, though. For a moment, he decided to dwell in the strangely innocent atmosphere, before his face turned serious again and he averted his eyes, focusing his stare on the white flagstones underneath him.  "I always thought it would be fine, dying for what I believe in the most, which is why I don’t understand why I have to sit here again.  You probably felt the same, the moment you decided to shield Kuzuryuu-kun with your life. All fear of death melted into the thought that this was for the best, right?” He stopped. 

An overwhelming feeling of dizziness, almost like he was about to faint overcame him, causing him to clench his single fist, his body trembling slightly as his face grew pale.  Shutting his eyes slowly, he did his best to keep himself from shaking, breathing in order to calm down. Slowly, he leaned forward, his flat palm covering half of his face as another chuckle escaped him, yet this time it didn’t sound cheerful, but was filled with dread and darkness. "I love it", he muttered in a dead tone, raising his head again in slow motion.  "How someone as despicable and low as a former puppet of her still holds enough hope to move on and start a new life. Despite everything that happened, despite how utterly useless your body’s current state is, you’re still longing for a happy future with the person that resembles your hope.” 

His chuckle grew louder, almost into a cackle, his former smile having completely shifted into a twisted grin.  His forehead felt hot and sweaty, eyes swirling into a deep pit of light and darkness.  He took his hands away and their eyes met - these ominous irises clashing against fiery crimson, hidden behind glasses.  If she could do it, why wasn’t he able to?  Because there was no hope left inside of him?  Or rather because it was easier to pretend that it was this way? 

He doubted that she could look past him this much. She didn’t seem like a person that was good at reading other human beings.  If everything was going according to how he predicted, she would be frightened and stop asking.  She wouldn’t question about the intense emotions she had triggered inside of him and only pray that their meeting would be over soon. He was miserable and a terrible human being.  A lying fool, all alone behind his very own iron bars. 

"This must be the proof that not even the strongest kind of despair can crush absolute, pure hope." His words didn’t match with his facade anymore. With his heart racing like it was about to jump out of his chest and his face hot and sticky, he never noticed when exactly he had started to cry. 

"It’s beautiful…" A single tear ran down the cheeks of a crumbling masquerade, showing off a young man that tried so desparately to keep his jumbled thoughts under control.  His views didn’t fit into this new world, they probably had never fit in the first place - if he didn’t have to die, was he supposed to live this cursed existence of his?  Why was he never allowed to be happy? Because his happiness brought pain.  Why was this woman moving on as easily as that? It hit close. It was a slap in the face of a man that was too afraid to take the same step as her. Nothing will happen if she moves on. But if he did, certainly something will happen.  He didn’t want to hurt anymore. 

The salty tear fell down his chin, hitting his fingers underneath it.  That was when he shut his eyes and turned away, still snickering and sighing in false contentment. "That your hope is giving you strength in such a desparate situation… Truly is admirable.” His seed remained silently inside of his hand.  He knew the day he decided to plant it, it would grow into a monster that consumed all other flowers on their field.

     Inspiring... Her mind lingered on that thought. It hadn't been easy, picking herself back up. Nothing in her life had every really been simple, not since childhood. Eventually, she averted her eyes to emotion-- blinded herself to the way Bocchan felt when he was around her. He'd been upset because she'd stopped acting as a friend-- instead, distant, cold, professional... Scarily i n h u m a n. How many times had she seen him cry? How many times had she done nothing to stop the tears from rolling down his pink hued cheeks? And now she knew he still cared about her... she was lucky enough to still have him by her side. Perchance, for once in her life, she was one of the more fortunate of their classmates, to still have someone she held so dearly with her after the incident. She'd always traveled on a wind that was never her own. She allowed him to carry her halfway there-- as within him, existed her purpose. Not that she minded. She wanted to protect him. Because of the muddled memories of her past, maybe it wasn't in a healthy way. Still, she knew she cared about him. Maybe even loved him. With him at her side, things seemed so much easier-- she wasn't alone. 

           ❝     ………… I considered that things               would have been better... or, perhaps, easier if               I'd simply died that way, yes. Fulfilling my purpose…  ❞

It's how her story should have ended. Dying for him, and him alone. Blissfully unaware of her inability to rescue him from the supermassive black hole that was despair. A red 'x' smeared across her photograph; standing silently in her place at trial-- never to be replaced with her presence again. Her head throbbed-- t'was a memory she shouldn't have. Her death in the program, had in fact, been strange. While she indeed thought herself to be dead, there were some instances that she felt she was able to watch out for Bocchan. And... there was a point of time where she thought to have confronted him-- scolded him to keep moving on with his life. It was hard to say, whether that was a false memory from accumulated nightmares and dreams alike. Distinguishing what memories came from reality had become rather challenging, after the stimulation concluded. Like waking from a bad dream, she averted death. That was the hardest part. Not only had she awakened post mortem-- but she had come to realize all that conspired. How much blood had spilled on her hands? She wasn't even aware-- bodies were everywhere, in piles like trash on the sides of the road, in back alleyways. She was a tool for killing-- she'd always been somewhat numbed to witnessing death, taking lives. But in such excess, it made her feel s i c k.

Then he continued to speak of her achievements, and she watched in exasperated wonder. Rambling on about her success, the 'hope' that she found... She felt as though she were standing back in the island stimulation again, at a loss for words alongside everyone else. His mixed emotional signals throughout, perchance, were what made her feel as though she'd lose her footing when trying to word a reply. 

Stiffening, she practically turned to s t o n e when she noticed tears falling down his cheeks. Muscles pulling taut, she can feel the tingling sensation of color draining from her face adjacent to the deep drop in her chest. Never had she been good with consoling others. Utterly inexperienced in fact-- hell she'd even forgotten to smile she was so emotionally detached. And... if she could not smile, t'was impossible for her to make others smile as well. Not only that, but she'd lost Bocchan's mind to despair because she wasn't strong enough to be there for him as a companion, instead of a hollowed tool for his "protection". Reacting to such emotion, helping others through it... She didn't have the answers, she didn't know what was best. Rooted in place, she sat very quietly. For the time being, it'd be best for her to ignore her own emotional vaults so she could fixate her attention on the collection of puzzle pieces spilled before her. Snapping them back into place... was something she wouldn't be able to do, not in full. What if she made him feel worse? He wasn't someone she spoke to often, wasn't someone she entirely understood. She'd known Bocchan all her life and had done nothing for him-- so how was she supposed to help Komaeda? At a loss... she still considered the notion of at least trying to do something in response.  All she could do for the time being was listen to his words and attempt to understand exactly what he was struggling with. If she backtracked far enough into the words they'd exchanged, it seemed that something in her own resolve had caused a stir in him-- and his mixed array of emotions stirred white noise in her thought process. After a while, she found herself looking away-- it was almost in courtesy, as she wasn't quite sure if she'd like to be watched while crying herself.

What did it take, for all of someone's carefully constructed walls to come tumbling down? For them to break in the presence of others? Perchance... the loneliest of people bottle so much emotion up, hold it inside... and eventually everything would need to come spilling out. She had only recalled it happening to herself once before-- which was, of course, right before she walked into the execution chamber. Ungracefully, in a fashion which would likely have earned her a punishment from her sensei in the dojo. Never had she seen that sort of emotion from him, though. His words, however, were familiar to those before she'd gone off to her death. Compromising how she would die either way-- eagerly waiting to see what fate Bocchan would chose as a result. Whether or not he would choose to live in hope with the rest of them... What exactly did hope mean to him? Why did he seem so enchanted by the achievements of their peers? Her head was spinning, throbbing, and she wondered if there was anything at all she could say in response.

If she was nervous, though, she hid it quite well. If it was a part of her resolve to become a better friend, then who would she be to avert her eyes from this? Avoiding the emotions of others to keep an arms length from an unpleasant situation... That's what she would have done in the past. Deciding against over thinking things far too much, she instead decided to answer as honestly as she could. Whether things became better or worse was far out of her reach... but she'd never taken such risks before. Maybe if she'd made that effort in the past...

Maybe Bocchan wouldn't have always been so lonely. Maybe things would've been better for them. Even still, there was no use considering what might have happened-- letting her heart get trapped in the past wasn't an option, if she wanted to try and recover.

  ❝  Tch, you say it's admirable. I don't know whether or not that's true.        …It's all I have left to hold onto. Protecting him is... all I've ever done.           Whether or not things will change for the better cannot be said. ❞

Was it the path she was born with, or the path she chose? In that moment, she wasn't quite sure if there was a firm distinction between them. Because, she knew that she still held Bocchan dear to her. Even if he refused to accept her as a tool, she could instead become something of a comrade instead without having to worry about what his family might think. Everything could... really be all right, for once. They could learn more about each other, learn not to misunderstand one another. However, the outcome of their endeavor had yet to be decided. She still could hardly walk on her own two feet, ill and frail. In the time it would take to relearn her steps, to retain muscle memory... it'd be important to mend her mind as well. Komaeda, in her eyes, seemed to be blowing her internal journey out of proportion. Beautiful... She didn't see eye to eye. Maybe her words were misleadingly prouder than reality.

              Unsure of what to say, she decided to be straightforward.

       ❝  We all walk different paths, have different ways of thinking...              …I may not understand in full, but you're clearly upset.                             Will you tell me what's wrong? ❞

╔therapy╗ || gluecksritter

{    Tsumiki:

    ❝ Aha—yeah, I should j-just- ha- g-g-get over it. Uuuuu, yeah. ❞

      ❝  ........................ It's really... not that simple, is it?        Though I can't claim to have felt the same way you did.  ❞

{   Tsumiki:

    ❝ Mhmm! C-considering I watched the person I loved the most be crushed to death on n-national television, I’m doing very well. ❞

    ❝   ............ Dwelling on such a thing              isn't going to do you any good, Tsumiki.              I'm in no position to reprimand you, but...  ❞

{    Tsumiki:

    ❝ Oh, I’m very calm, particularly for everything I’ve ever loved having been ripped out from under me and torn apart before my very eyes. ❞

     ❝   …I suppose so. ❞