Absolutely not.
He was Ginoza, an Inspector, an enforcer of the law. Sei Riku and the others, meanwhile, were Latent Criminals. What did that mean? At the very least, everyone within the system understood one thing: their fates were tragic. No one could be blamed. It could only be said that fate had toyed with them.
Ginoza looked at Sei Riku's corpse before him.
It had been a time when Sei Riku and Ginoza were alone together.
"Sit."
Ginoza said.
Sei Riku had been about to leave, but Ginoza called out to him. In every encounter they had had before, Sei Riku had avoided being alone with Ginoza. Sei Riku believed that was what Ginoza wanted, but what did Ginoza truly want? Perhaps even Ginoza himself did not know.
What exactly was in Ginoza's heart?
Perhaps Ginoza had not acted on impulse this time. Perhaps it had been the familial affection in his heart that he truly could not suppress. After all, blood was thicker than water.
Did he truly hate Sei Riku?
Not necessarily.
No, he truly did not hate him.
Time was not the only remedy that smoothed over hurt. Those scars had never been mere scars; they were also the bond between Ginoza and Sei Riku. Perhaps ordinary people could not understand such a bond. Perhaps Ginoza himself had never fully grasped it either.
Yet Sei Riku had always known clearly that his life was truly over. His only wish had been not to burden Ginoza, and even to protect him when Ginoza needed it. Now, Sei Riku had finally waited for it—the chance to protect Ginoza.
A father.
A father who protected his son in the darkness would never ask his son to protect him. That was a father's love, as steadfast as a mountain.
"I