Disclaimer: I do not own Eternal Sabbath.
Sour Grapes
Shuro loves truth. He loves that it is never transparent, that if it had a color it would all be in shades of opalescent warmth. He is fascinated that no two minds ever find it the same way, and that every person darkens it with their own thoughts, once they have found it, obscuring it with their points of view until it is non-truth again.
It's the same way people see him, really. First as a stranger, then as himself, Shuro; and then, he just isn't. Suddenly he's an old gambling partner, or a childhood bully, or a long-lost sibling.
He loves uncovering things in other people's minds. Truth be told, he doesn't have any idea how to find the things in his own heart that he has seen in Akiba's. Shuro keeps himself utterly under his own control, and the simplest touch of wry, wisened humor the old man can see out the window--that escapes Shuro. But it's all in there, he knows. And even if it's not, he takes strength in telling himself that he has the potential for it.
Even if he never finds it.
… … …
Kujo Mine loves knowledge. Someone once said "knowledge is power", but that isn't how Kujo sees it. Knowledge is life--it's what allows her to save and teach and explore, to love and smile and worry and breathe and god it's everything.
She thinks maybe it's this craving for knowledge that allows her and a handful of others to see Shuro and Izaku for what they are.
It isn't skepticism that has kept her asking "why" all these years, it's love of understanding, it's the relief of being able to sit back and know how this, and that, and everything fits together. Asking and learning allows her to be a part of that mosaic, and she knows that she won't sit idle while Izaku erases the beauty of her world.
… … …
Izaku doesn't. He doesn't love truth, and he doesn't love knowledge. Those are two of the things that led a group of scientists to 'engineer' him, as if he was a new species of apple.
Izaku pulls images from others' minds, seeking their fears and enveloping everything with those nightmares once he's found them. But it isn't really because he hates them, those humans, those people.
From the moment he was created, Izaku was reading the minds of his "parents"--from them he learned detachment. The only thing that penetrated such numbing superiority was fear, when he realized that they intended to dissect him as soon as he was big enough.
From that fear—his own and some strange, protective fear Shuro had had--he learned self-defense; from that, he learned murder.
Naturally, the idea of "murder" was foreign to him. No one was entitled to live if they couldn't defend themselves; how could he possibly "rob" anyone of their life if it wasn't even theirs by right?
The emotions he plucks from Tomoya's mother--his "adopted" mother--are soft and strong and nothing but falsehoods, like a trick of the light. He drops those feelings as soon as he catches them.
Izaku understands fear. The rest is meaningless.