"How long is that?" Haruka's voice creaks as it rises, as if her throat has rusted over. It isn't that simple means there's more to it than that. It isn't rebuking it. It doesn't mean it's wrong, it doesn't mean it's wrong. Haruka's temples throb with the thundering of her heartbeat, filling her skull with a sick, dizzy heat.

"What meaning is there, if the moment it comes to that you ignore it altogether?" A maelstrom of anger and nausea spirals up from her stomach, flooding her veins until they threaten to burst. Desperate to contain it, Haruka whirls, throws out her arm-- "It's worthless!"

--and her fist slams hard into the smooth plaster wall.