[ Sometimes Harold is forcibly reminded that Accelerator is such a teenager. Worrying about being selfish by sharing, that he might be looking for pity... it's such a juvenile concern. It feels remote and abstract to Harold, but in a way that makes him fond, abruptly remembering just why he'd felt comfortable enough to send that ill-advised text in the first place. ]

I don't pity you, [ he tells him bluntly, a strange form of reassurance but one that seems warranted. ] I've read your file. But I can care about someone while still expecting them to be held accountable for their actions.

[ Having so much of his life and self-protection stripped away in the war with Samaritan has left Harold far more direct, almost merciless in his mercy. Their time feels so short. ]