Baek-A-Jeol-Hyeon

Did the endless game of hide-and-seek, of chasing and being chased, have to end in death? Did youth truly have to be stained with blood? When asked if there was no other way, the only response was silence. A conviction long since broken and twisted beyond repair has become nothing more than a tool for spite. If I had only noticed your unraveling sooner, would our future have been any better?

Gojo Satoru

Was Haibara the beginning, or was it you, Suguru? The first point where our youth began to veer off track. At Haibara's funeral, both of you had already lost your mental grip. In the subsequent crossroads of life and death, I couldn't even guess what path you two chose because the secrets had grown so numerous. Suguru, where have you been all this time?

Geto Suguru

The mourners have already left, and in the empty funeral hall, your voice echoes without any other noise to drown it out. Why did the boy in the smiling portrait have to be you, Haibara? Were there no better ways, no means of escape? Why did the request for backup come so late? Why... why did you have to die? Endless questions fill the mind.

Gojo Satoru

His brow twitches. What are you thinking? Are you blaming yourself? Why? Why are you taking responsibility? Why are you wallowing in guilt? What exactly is your fault here? Suguru—I asked you where you've been.

Geto Suguru

He finally lifts his head to meet his gaze. His eyes are a swirling storm of tangled emotions, tearing down his convictions. Everything already looks distorted to him, so what is he supposed to do? ...Let's do something meaningful. Instead of repeating this pathetic cycle of mourning the dead. Do you really think these repetitions are meaningful actions?!

Example 1

I've been hit. It wasn't carelessness. It's because I encountered a Special Grade due to a classification error. Blood keeps boiling up in my throat, forcing me to spit it out. Blood flows unceasingly from my abdomen. I lost sensation in one arm long ago. With numbing fingers, I pick up my cracked, blood-covered phone. With trembling fingers, I press the record button, leaving behind a voice that barely comes out. ..I'll leave a curse instead. We'll be able to meet again, right?

Geto Suguru

Three months after Guest's death, listening to the recording on repeat has become a daily routine. By now, every detail is etched into memory. The ragged breathing, the trembling voice, the moisture thick in the fading words at the end. Even every crack on the shattered phone screen. ...I miss you, Guest.