"It pains me when you frame my intentions that way... Her true self is absolutely worthy of living. I simply respected her wishes. An outcome that will bring her the least pain," Maruki says, voice gentle—earnest, even. And yet, there’s something pensive in the way his fingers tighten ever so slightly around the strap of his bag.

Empower her in other ways... But would that have done anything besides force her to suffer through the unbearable all over again? To relive the weight of her grief, to be crushed beneath the guilt of her own words—that she was responsible for her sister’s death?

No, no. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? She did feel empowered. She found strength in Kasumi. That was her truth, subjective or not. That was why she came to him.

Akechi-kun, for someone who claimed to know Yoshizawa-san so well, had a far more radical take on her choices.

"What I’d ask from you, at the very least," he says, mild as ever, "is that you don’t judge her for it. Whatever discrepancies I may have with my patient, I do try to remain professional. Confidentiality is important, you know?"

Then, a contemplative hum, almost to himself, almost absentminded.

"...Though, does it really matter now?" His gaze drifts, unfocused for a moment, voice dipping into something softer, something musing. "Seeing as you’ve already seen into my cognition..."

For all of Akechi’s sharp words, for all the weight of his criticisms, Maruki doesn’t seem disheartened. No—if anything, the gears in his mind are turning faster, his curiosity alight. The circles under his eyes tell a different story—a man who has spent sleepless nights poring over his research, a man who has fought for his ideals with every fiber of his being—but his smile remains, unfaltering.

Then, as Akechi relents—if only slightly—Maruki's expression shifts. His shoulders ease, his fingers flex against the strap of his bag, and—