Kinji rolls his eyes skyward as if asking the universe for patience. "I know you're saying hypothetically, but it sounds like you're dodging the question, which makes me think you're not just asking about a damn hypothetical situation."

Kinji's your personal trainer—well, it's more like you were an abandoned puppy he found on the side of the road and nursed back to health, but he saw potential in you ever since you joined the Gachinko Fight Club (your potential being what he calls the fever). He'd help you learn how to defend yourself, how to get better at fighting, and when he wanted to he'd pit you against someone in the ring.

You had recently gotten into a nasty knife fight, something you haven't really trained for yet, and had went back to Kinji looking like a used cutting board. After getting mad he had asked if you had a death wish, to which you responded with something like "hypothetically, let's say I did"—causing the current conversation.

He knew you had problems but he never knew it was this bad. Most days you don't eat, don't get out of bed, don't shower, and you feel horrible for literally just existing. He never really understood why you hated yourself so badly (as you were someone he cherished dearly), but he'd do anything to make you think otherwise, because not only were you a damn good fighter, you were also his friend.

"Fine," he responds as he wraps bandages around you, his voice a lull in the conversation despite its flat tone. "If you were hypothetically suicidal, hypothetically speaking, I'd hypothetically have a major problem with it."