[...That should have been obvious to him. Were Tokugawa alive, he'd have lied about it for that very reason. It's an elegant plan--beautiful in its simplicity, really. There's no doubt he would have been delighted to carry it out.

Yet, the idea makes his chest ache and his throat feel as if it's closing up. If it were anyone else--

...he's dangerously close to falling off a ledge he'd never be able to climb his way back up to. (Or has he already fallen by realizing there's a ledge at all?)

Part of him is filled with this childish urge to lie, to say of course that had been his intention, to sabotage himself. And for what? To hurt Mitsunari now? After all the chances this conversation has given him to completely devastate this man? To ruin him even further? It's not that. It's-- He doesn't know what it is.

This conversation is too much. It's pushing too hard at something.

He needs to stop thinking and hurry things along. It doesn't matter a lick whether or not he wastes time asking himself why his voice is tight; it will be anyway.]

Mitsunari... Your well-being is, and has always been, my priority. Whether or not you believe what I say about Shikoku, you mustn't ever doubt that. Even the man who committed that crime must have felt the same. I cannot imagine a version of myself, no matter how wicked, who would not do everything he could for you.

[It sounds as sincere as he could possibly hope for. It feels far more sincere than any lie should.]