"Professor... Professor..."
Robin blinked, returning from the clouded silence of his thoughts.
"Huh? What is it?"
The voice that reached him was trembling, but determined — a voice that had been holding back for too long.
"We're sorry."
It was Merina who spoke, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as though shielding herself from a truth too harsh to face.
"We've tarnished your name again... dragged it through the mud. We've failed you. We're useless."
Her words cut through the air with the weight of years.
This was not a moment born of impulse — no, this confrontation had been feared, postponed, and dreaded across decades.
And now, it had finally arrived.
She had expected fury.
A storm of scolding, disappointment, disgust.
But instead, Robin remained silent.
And that silence — that profound, bottomless silence — was far, far worse.
It said more than any words ever could.
It screamed of a disappointment so deep, so rooted, that not even anger dared grow upon it.
