[ Despite his occasional squirming -- ow, stings -- he does hold his actual shoulder still pretty well. He's very used to having to be patched up. Very, very... very used to it. Moreso than even the scars can tell. ]

It isn't so much "let"... [ His own mouth pulls a little thin, trying to think of how to explain that. ]

I was apprenticed to my master, but we traveled all the time and you never knew when fighting would happen. When something would track us down. You can't predict what'll happen on the battlefield, and that was what out purpose was for.

To fight akuma. Like the one you saw. [ Even him, at that age. Albeit against much, much weaker ones. ]

Sometimes he'd train me to avoid getting shot, but that usually involved him shooting at me with his own gun... [ The last part is said a bit dryly, his gaze sliding aside somewhat woodenly. But beyond that, he talks like it's an entirely normal thing. With a neutral, even tone himself that's hard to get a read on.

Because while once wholly accepted as Life, he doesn't know anymore, about a lot of that, how he feels. Because he just doesn't know what he thought he once did. His memories creeping back in are actually making it worse. ]

But we start fighting from the first time our ability chooses us and wakes up. One of my friends -- I think she was six.