His expression wavers, just slightly, before he reins it back in—only the faintest tightening of his jaw betrays him. His hand settles over his bag, fingers curling protectively around the strap, as if grounding himself with the weight of his thesis. Distorted? He doesn’t understand that sentiment at all.
"I see," he says at last, though the words carry no agreement. His tone is light, amiable as ever, but there’s a quiet, almost stubborn edge beneath it. "Helping others who suffer from their pain is a desire I hold dearest, but I suppose it’s clear our ideals don’t quite align."
Still, his shoulders remain loose, his expression open—there’s no anger, no offense, just that same mild, thoughtful air about him. Even as Akechi’s words press against something raw, something indignant, Maruki merely tilts his head, his ever-present patience intact.
Because really—what Akechi describes?
Absurd.
Totally, utterly—absurd.
"She was drowning in despair," he says, tone gentle, like he’s explaining something simple, obvious. "Lost in guilt, in grief, in self-loathing. At the time, I didn’t have the means to do the impossible—but I could give her stability." Because I could see what her other option was going to be. "A path forward. If she could soar to new heights as Kasumi Yoshizawa, if that was the identity that brought her strength, then why—"
He stops himself, exhales lightly through his nose. His lips quirk into something softer, and he finally steps forward, away from the car, regarding Akechi with that same easy warmth.
1/2
His expression wavers, just slightly, before he reins it back in—only the faintest tightening of his jaw betrays him. His hand settles over his bag, fingers curling protectively around the strap, as if grounding himself with the weight of his thesis. Distorted? He doesn’t understand that sentiment at all.
"I see," he says at last, though the words carry no agreement. His tone is light, amiable as ever, but there’s a quiet, almost stubborn edge beneath it. "Helping others who suffer from their pain is a desire I hold dearest, but I suppose it’s clear our ideals don’t quite align."
Still, his shoulders remain loose, his expression open—there’s no anger, no offense, just that same mild, thoughtful air about him. Even as Akechi’s words press against something raw, something indignant, Maruki merely tilts his head, his ever-present patience intact.
Because really—what Akechi describes?
Absurd.
Totally, utterly—absurd.
"She was drowning in despair," he says, tone gentle, like he’s explaining something simple, obvious. "Lost in guilt, in grief, in self-loathing. At the time, I didn’t have the means to do the impossible—but I could give her stability." Because I could see what her other option was going to be. "A path forward. If she could soar to new heights as Kasumi Yoshizawa, if that was the identity that brought her strength, then why—"
He stops himself, exhales lightly through his nose. His lips quirk into something softer, and he finally steps forward, away from the car, regarding Akechi with that same easy warmth.