Psycho Pass: Redemption (UPDATING)

11 (UPDATED)

Yashiro observed Shibata's refined gestures as he delicately dipped a madeleine into his tea. For a while, silence enveloped the air between them. Her focus was so intent on the madeleine's precarious balance that she couldn't shake the thought that it might slip and plunge into the tea, creating a splash across the table.

"I love drinking tea and dipping madeleines in it," Shibata shared, his voice finally breaking the silence as he popped one into his mouth.

As he moved to dip another madeleine, Yashiro's attention remained on the process.

"Dipping them repeatedly may strip the tea of its fragrance," she commented.

A fleeting smile graced Shibata's lips, but he continued to dip the madeleine without averting his gaze from her, causing Yashiro to frown.

"While that may be true, the essence of the tea shall endure," he responded. "Do you suppose the same holds for your peers? Or will their essence erode under the weight of your influence, akin to what happened to Hisakawa Izumi?"

Yashiro took a composed sip from her tea, her lips curving into a subtle smile at its sweet aroma.

"Words, indeed, exert a profound influence on our psyche, for we are shaped by our circumstances," she observed, her gaze momentarily drifting away. "However, I agree with Sartre that man is condemned because he has not given himself existence, but he is free because he is the only one responsible for what he does."

Setting his teacup down, Shibata locked eyes with her.

"We limit ourselves to a reliance upon that which is within our wills, or within the sum of the probabilities which render our action feasible," he quoted Sartre, a nod of approval accentuating his words.

Yashiro smiled, her eyes narrowing slightly in contemplation.

"Yet we live in a society where individual potential is standardized, repressing the possibility of deviation through confinement or death," she mused aloud. "To err in Sibyl's eyes is to fail as a human, and in turn, one is cast out from society..."

"And when deviation is no longer permissible, humanity stagnates, bereft of the potential for growth," he continued, his tone darkening. "If the Sibyl System is terrifying, it's because it freezes all avenues for human evolution. A perfect dictatorship, suspending the passage of time. People are freed from the burden of concern, lulled into a serene complacency, where work, art, and thought remain motionless, eternally frozen in a tranquil pool. And so, generations march in lockstep, their minds forever echoing the sentiments of the first."

Yashiro contemplated the vast reservoir of suppressed talents, ideas, and aspirations, sacrificed at the altar of order and tranquility. She finished her tea, her gaze fixed upon its surface. The hum of distant conversations had long ceased to register.

"The crux of the matter is that a system immune to evolution is ultimately brittle," Yashiro continued, her expression growing serious. "The Sibyl System will falter... but only when its own contradictions render it untenable."

Shibata set down his teacup, his gaze unwavering as he met her eyes. A pregnant pause lingered before he inquired, "And how do you propose that may come to pass?"

"That's a question that has long occupied my thoughts. I think it's susceptible to change from within."

A smile graced the teacher's lips as he shook his head gently.

"Internally, it remains a well-structured edifice, perfect in its construction," he motioned his hands around the cup. "But it's beyond those walls that chaos thrives, where those who seek its destruction may emerge."

Yashiro nodded in agreement, acutely aware that they were discussing transformations and reforms that might span years, decades, or even centuries. Convincing society of alternatives, that the system must evolve or perish, was a protracted battle, fought within the languid embrace of time. The revolution they envisioned would be subtle, imperceptible, only materializing once the foundations of Sibyl crumbled of their own accord.

"Take heed," Yashiro's smirk emerged as she leaned forward, her hands resting on the table. "With such a sharp tongue, you may soon find the entire Public Safety Bureau descending upon you."

"I could say the same for you," Shibata's eyes narrowed playfully as he met her gaze. "Although, in your case, it already has."

Yashiro's smile waned, and she leaned back in her seat, distancing herself from him.

"The ghosts of your parents haunt you, don't they?" he ventured. "You see their faces in your dreams."

Yashiro's brows furrowed, blinking at the unexpected turn. A prolonged silence stretched between them.

"Only my mother's," she finally replied. "Some parents don't earn the love of their children."

"Do you believe that had your father survived that day, your mother might have lived?" Shibata's voice carried a deep calm.

"He would have killed us both," Yashiro met his gaze squarely.

"What did you feel when you killed him?" His question hung in the air, laden with curiosity.

Yashiro closed her eyes tightly, feeling a slight pain in her forehead and a shiver down her back.

"I felt... the approval of everyone," she confessed, her gaze averted. "I was... relieved. I felt good."

"That's why I'm here," Shibata nodded, his voice gentle. "To demonstrate that the pleasure you felt was not from extinguishing life, but from striving to save another. To survive."

Yashiro blinked, grappling with his perspective.

"I'm not sure I didn't want to hold that knife," she admitted.

Shibata's gaze held hers, his demeanor unwavering. She clenched her fists, resting them on her thighs, while he maintained his composed posture, arms resting on the table.

"It is, in its own way, a profound sentiment, this desire to comprehend his motives," he continued, leaning slightly forward. "A beautiful, if enigmatic, sentiment. Expressing the unspoken. Do you feel bad because you enjoyed killing him?" His words, dripping with a touch of sarcasm, hung in the air.

"I feel bad because I couldn't save my mother," her gaze fixed on the table's surface.

"Sibyl must enjoy killing too," he murmured, meeting her eyes. "It always does."

"And it feels good about that?" Yashiro inquired.

Shibata looked up, their eyes locking before he returned her gaze with a smile, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"As Tamora, the Queen of the Goths, eloquently phrased it: is the sun dimmed that gnats do fly in it? The eagle suffers little birds to sing and is not careful what they mean thereby, knowing that with the shadow of his wings, he can at pleasure stint their melody," Shibata recited, his voice taking on a reflective tone.

Yashiro regarded him, the weight of his words sinking in.

"Have you encountered such a sentiment, Shibata-sensei?" she asked, her gaze unwavering. "Or perhaps I should address you as... Makishima Shougo?"

A smile slowly curved the man's lips, his eyes narrowing with a hint of amusement.