[ Since Akira doesn't budge an inch, when Haruaki eases back into his normal posture, they're awfully close. Akira looks ready to scramble across the table and right into his skin. And it's still terrifying, yes, of course, but...

Less so than it was before all that happened one hundred years ago. He knows all too well now that Akira isn't a heartless sadist, and it makes it easier to relax around him. Maybe that'll be his undoing one day, but really... what isn't, at this point?

At any rate, Haruaki trusts him. Wouldn't be telling him this story if he didn't. So he props his elbows up too in a mirror of Akira, rests his chin on his hands as he happily recounts: ]

Well, like I said, it split off into five parts. It didn't kill me, but I was... kind of empty, I guess? My memories of that part are fuzzy! That's because one of the parts of my soul was for my memories, apparently. Without it, the other parts didn't know who the students were, for example. Then there was the athletic part of me, and the pathetic cowardly part, and the part that only thinks about my worldly desires, and–

[ .......... ]

Ah, um, let me count how many that was. Five, right?