[Accidental. God. Accidental or not, there was nothing fleeting about what he had felt; nothing he can dismiss so easily as to not worry, to not wonder why it was so... terrible.
Should he write it off as a misfired superpower? (That's what it was, wasn't it? God, he doesn't even know.) There was nothing superficial about it. Though it begins to subside, and Light no longer feels like he's being crushed by something intangible, he can't shake the feeling that there's a significance behind it all that he can't quite reach.
And then, a thought surfaces: What if L was right?
There's a woman in front of him, asking him if he's hurt. Something sadistic in him wants to laugh at that, and he nearly would, mirthlessly, if he could manage it. He shakes his head. He just wants her to go away.]
I'm... fine. [The shakiness in his voice betrays exactly how "fine" he is, but he somehow manages to rise to his feet with what seems to be a monumental effort on his part. He wants to ask Edgeworth just what the hell happened, but now he can see it -- everyone's eyes on him. A table knocked over, coffee spilled, The Brothers Karamazov splayed open on the ground next to him. He's not - He can't do this right now.]
I'm sorry, I need to go.
[He hates to think of himself as running from anything, but maybe that's what this is right now. But for once, pride doesn't stop him; he turns to leave the cafe, not caring about the mess left behind.]
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Should he write it off as a misfired superpower? (That's what it was, wasn't it? God, he doesn't even know.) There was nothing superficial about it. Though it begins to subside, and Light no longer feels like he's being crushed by something intangible, he can't shake the feeling that there's a significance behind it all that he can't quite reach.
And then, a thought surfaces: What if L was right?
There's a woman in front of him, asking him if he's hurt. Something sadistic in him wants to laugh at that, and he nearly would, mirthlessly, if he could manage it. He shakes his head. He just wants her to go away.]
I'm... fine. [The shakiness in his voice betrays exactly how "fine" he is, but he somehow manages to rise to his feet with what seems to be a monumental effort on his part. He wants to ask Edgeworth just what the hell happened, but now he can see it -- everyone's eyes on him. A table knocked over, coffee spilled, The Brothers Karamazov splayed open on the ground next to him. He's not - He can't do this right now.]
I'm sorry, I need to go.
[He hates to think of himself as running from anything, but maybe that's what this is right now. But for once, pride doesn't stop him; he turns to leave the cafe, not caring about the mess left behind.]