'Defend criminals? ' Nanami repeats. From behind, the theater chairs look like gravestones with no epitaphs, a cemetery holding inmates wrongly executed for all eternity. 'You 're a criminal defense lawyer? '

'I

was, '

Higuruma corrects. The stage is his panopticon, balcony boxes stacked around him in prison cells of crimson and gold. Matching velvet curtains frame him like a funeral portrait. 'I 'm not sure

what

I am anymore. My boss calls me his enforcer, but he 's a little...off his rocker. '

He says it like he knows it 's an understatement.

'But I suppose I enforce my

own

goals, ' Higuruma finishes. His shoulder twitches, as if he can 't even bother to fully shrug. 'Adjacent to his. '

'Goals? ' Nanami echoes. This whole situation has him dumbstruck into little more than a caged parrot, only capable of repeating what 's already been said. 'What are your goals? '