We're still on the run. That's for sure. Right on. This time we're on. And we won't stop till we win.

Shinji slowly fell forward onto his face. Debris bounced up on impact. It took less than thirty seconds for the rest of his body to die. The memento of his beloved uncle--the earring worn by the woman he loved--was now stained with the blood running down Shinji's left ear, reflecting the glow from the red flames of the farm building. And so the boy known as the Third Man, Shinji Mimura, was dead.

You're so kind, Kazuhiko. That's what I like about you." I like you, too. I love you so much." If he weren't so inarticulate, Kazuhiko could have said so much more. How much her expression, her gentle manner, her pure untainted soul meant to him. How important, in short, her existence was to him. But he wasn't able to put into words. He was only a third-year student in junior high, and worst yet, composition was one of his worst subjects.

Yes, just like those flowers. There's something strained, but there's beauty in that. Something like that

We're still on the run. That's for sure.

Loving someone always requires you to not love others.

And so Yoshimi heard the dry pop one more time. Her forehead felt as if it were being crushed by a car. That was all.