[he can't empathize. of course he can't—he's a sura. compassion is practically a foreign concept among his kind. they understand it, but they will never fully grasp it. only the people you know matter. those who care for all die out soon enough, unable to survive in a kill-or-be-killed culture.
like his wife. like his daughter. like all those whom he loved.]
Are they really so important? I can't see how they could've brought you any happiness.
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"i knew you were a nastika, i knew you had a daughter, and i suspected you had come to kill me... but none of that mattered for me."
what deja vu. somewhere, inside of him, he hates it.]
I suppose that's a sentiment mostly exclusive to humans. No wonder your kind dies so easily.
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[Minato of all people can't really deny that.]
But... I would take the risk before giving up those feelings, I think.
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like his wife. like his daughter. like all those whom he loved.]
Are they really so important? I can't see how they could've brought you any happiness.
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After all... for a long time there, he was closed off too.]
... Yes. They're really...that important.
[He closes his eyes for a moment, thinking, expression serious.]
I'd rather die and feel those things than live without getting to live...as fully as I want to.
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... Humans really are incomprehensible.
[but in the end, maybe that was why he couldn't avoid getting attached to one like teo.]
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But... that's what I think. And I can promise that that's what I'll always stand behind, too.
[For better or for worse, he'll always be this person. He wants Gandharva to know that.]
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he hates it.]
... Even if it brings pain to the people around you?
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[Softly:]
Because I can't change the person I am either.