When Kaworu pulls away from them, Paul looks to Midoriya in half-helpless appeal, as if the other boy might pull some trick out of his sleeve to resolve this. He's better at this than Paul is, steadier and gentler, full of advice from a world where the ideal of a hero is inspirational.

He slips out from underneath the comfort of Midoriya's hand reluctantly, inclining his head to invite him to follow after as he trails in Kaworu's footsteps. He can't read the note clearly at the distance and angle he stops at, his hands folded behind his back, but he knows what it says. He could recreate this board in his sleep. Sometimes he does.

"...if I tell you that you'll climb a mountain, does that put you at its peak?" Philosophy. The last resort of people without anything better to say, or so Gurney might tell him - usually before or after the old man spoke of philosophy. "Or does the climb still stand before you, in all its challenge? No one is doubting what you can do. Either of you."

He glances back at Midoriya with that. There's an undertone of certainty to how he says it that suggests if anyone were to try to change that no one who doubts them, Paul is prepared to make a pointedly persuasive case.