"...So then, you have an opportunity to fight it."

"I have an opportunity to set things right."

The girl, his visitor, tightened her hold around the receiver. "But...you still have a lawyer. He's supposed to defend you, isn't he?"

A glass pane separated the two, yet her dark eyes easily pierced into his, projecting confusion and hurt. "He will defend me by acknowledging my guilty plea," the man told her. "I realize this is difficult to take in-"

The girl's features twisted into a scowl. "Y...you're not even going to fight? You're just going to accept spending the rest of your life in prison, and that's that? I misjudged you, Professor Sycamore. I thought you cared about the people who care about you."

In contrast, Sycamore was gazing at her sympathetically. "I do care, believe me."

"Then why won't you fight?!" she demanded, slamming her free hand on the counter space as she leaned forward.

He was stunned by such a forceful query. The sight of the girl fuming left him searching for words, but finding none.

"...So that's it," the girl said after a long silence. "You don't even care enough to tell me." She shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. "Well, if that's how you feel, then fine! I don't care, either. I never want to see you again!" Dropping the receiver, she pushed back her chair and quickly left the booth.

Sycamore's expression grew more sorrowful, and he hung up his own receiver with a heavy sigh.

"Flora..."