Dr. Hanayama glances at the clock and sees that, in a few seconds, the meeting she is scheduled to have with Sam will begin. Just as she finishes checking the time, Sam opens the door and takes a seat near it—something Dr. Hanayama immediately notes. He also appears more fidgety than before.
'Must have had another episode.'
"Hello, Doctor," Sam says with a nod.
"Hello, Suzuki. How are you today?"
Sam sighs. "I'm okay. Yourself?"
"I'm doing just fine. Thank you."
'His colors are muted. No spikes. Most abnormal.'
"So, Suzuki," she continues, "what are your aspirations?"
"As of now, none. I just want to live a peaceful life."
She notes how clinical his answer is.
"I've read your health report," she says. "It states that you are very sleep-deprived. Is this true?"
"Sleep is not peaceful for me. Nightmares occur. I manage."
He pauses, then mutters, "Heh. I guess Macbeth was right. Sleep is only for the innocent."
He says the last part quietly, but she catches it—along with the sadness in his colors.
'Possible survivor's guilt.'
"How are you adjusting to school life?" she asks.
"It's interesting. Seeing so many innocent and naïve kids is… odd. But I don't resent them."
"I've also heard the sports festival is approaching. Are you participating?"
Sam shakes his head. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't care to show my face to the whole world."
She lets the silence breathe, then gently presses into more difficult territory.
"Do you believe you lived a life you deserved?"
Sam stiffens, clearly caught off guard.
"Deserved?" he repeats. "Nobody deserves anything. We are all animals. Some animals thrive. Some animals are killed the moment they are born."
She notes the sudden spike—anger mixed with sadness.
'Darwinian outlook.'
"That's a very naturalistic way of thinking," she says calmly. "Is it easier to accept tragedies that way?"
Sam shifts, tension creeping into his posture.
"No. Not accept. Understand."
His colors darken further.
She decides to push once more—carefully.
"If someone told you to take responsibility for—"
"We're not doing hypotheticals, Doctor."
She immediately stops. She notes the boundary, along with the faint tremor in his hands.
"I apologize," she says sincerely. "I see where the line is drawn, and I will proceed with more caution next time."
Sam pauses. He seems to consider her words. Finally, he nods.
He stands to leave.
"Maybe… maybe you can ask me again in the future."
She watches him go, her expression thoughtful.
'He is getting better. Not by much—but he isn't completely drowned in despair.'
'He can be helped.'