Summer, 2017

"I mean this sincerely: your cooperation has been a tremendous help," Maruki said while Ren dismissed the implication that everything else Maruki said was insincere. "Unfortunately, we must begin the conclusion to this session."

"Unfortunate for me, or unfortunate for the stubborn prosecutor that hired you?"

"As I've repeatedly mentioned, these sessions are for the assessment of your mental state, not to cull more evidence that'll change your fate. You'll stay between these walls for the rest of your days."

"Thanks for the reminder."

"To wrap up, I have a few questions to help with my assessment of you. Answer them to the best of your ability, please." Maruki looked down at his notes, then up. "Did you believe yourself to be a good person during your encounters with Niijima and the events that surrounded them?"

It was a purposeless question because they both knew the answer. There were few bōryokudan with the delusion to believe something like that. Ren had no pretenses about what he did, but Maruki's question emphasized Makoto—she was the key.

During their dates, the Aka Ikka did not matter. He was aware of the family because of his careful dance from lie to lie, but the family was not the source of his decisions, as evident by his romantic involvement with a detective. There was no fortune made by blood and no loveless marriage; he was as close to normal as he ever was with Makoto.

That counted for something .

"I knew who I was before I met her. Never took pride in it."

"And did that change after the initial stages of your relationship?"

Ren thought of Lavenza, of her orders to keep the Priestess close. "It changed when I was given a purpose. There was a point to continuing with the family, a reason to win the war." Maruki knew of Lavenza from Ren's account. Whether he believed in her as a being with actual power was unclear—perhaps she was Ren's recurring dream on his notepad.

"Fascinating answer," Maruki said. Ren wanted to object, he hated the label, but Maruki moved quickly. "What drove Kaneshiro to raise you as his son?"

Ren shrugged. "Didn't trust anyone he couldn't mold to take the reigns, and he didn't trust himself to have kids. He hated when people reminded him of his weight or his appearance. There wasn't a thing about himself that he liked, so he adopted an orphan for the everlasting feeling of doing something right."

"Do you chase that feeling?"

"Kaneshiro couldn't handle what he built, that's where we differ. I don't chase the feeling because I'm not insecure about it."

"Uh-huh…" Maruki scribbled the answer down. "And did Kaneshiro ever use violence as a tool for raising you?"

"Not against me, but I was exposed to enough of it that the threat was always there."

"Forgive me for saying this, but he does not seem like the gentle type. Why do you think he left you alone?"

"He made a point of it to himself, wouldn't allow himself to hit me. I was well-behaved too, so that helped."

"Or he saw what hitting a child could do before he adopted you."

"What do you mean?"

"How sure are you that you were Kaneshiro's first attempt at adoption?"

Not sure at all, he just never considered it until Maruki posed the question. Ren supposed it was possible. When he first took Ren from his uncle, Kaneshiro had enough years for a prior adoption to fit in somewhere, and for it to crash, burn, and be grieved over. Ren assumed his role began after the grieving because of Maruki's point—despite his vices and his temper, Kaneshiro never raised a hand to him.

Maybe he never needed to.

"I don't know. What's the point worrying about it now?"

Maruki smiled. "You could say that for the rest of this session, but you know my answer. Assessment. "

"Fine…" Ren's curiosity got the better of him, enough so that he switched roles with Maruki. "Did I at least test well?"

"I've made no conclusions except that yes, they were not wrong when they ruled you sane." Maruki closed his book and stood up. Out of his pocket came the key from the start of the night, signaling to Ren what he needed to do. "Don't forget that this is the first of multiple conversations—you have to tell me about the rest of last year." Ren placed his arms on the armrests and allowed Maruki to lock him back in place.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow night?"

"If I find the time, yes." Maruki no longer had time for Ren, leaving his view quickly and going somewhere behind Ren's chair. The room was still pleasant to look at, but Ren trusted no one he couldn't watch.

"You don't seem like a busy person."

"Well, I have a bit of a personal project I'd like to work on." A moment passed, prompting Ren to open his mouth until Maruki stole the words from him. "I'll tell you another time. I think you'll be quite interested."

As if.

"We'll see."

"Thank you, Ren, for your time. I hope they don't treat you too harshly when they escort you to your cell."

Ren heard the door crack open, then close, and he knew he was alone again, waiting in place until the guards decided to move him. Maruki's departure achieved silence—the hum of electricity in the walls or the air conditioning stopped it from being perfect, but it was a silence that Ren never knew. Had his cell ever been that quiet?

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the hum. The guards wouldn't be long, and he needed to mend his reopened wounds. If he didn't, they would fester with each story he relayed to Maruki, wearing him down until he was nothing but a resentful pile of evidence for Maruki to pick through.

So, he soaked up the best silence of his life because he knew what was to come.