Sanzo's eyes flicked down as Takasugi's fingers tightening on the knife handle. Instinctively, he shifted the grip on the gun. His gaze went back up to Takasugi's face. That mask was slipping again. Once again he was seeing more proof what he'd initially suspected was underneath. He wasn't about to forget the way Takasugi had looked when he'd mentioned that Vice Commander earlier, the way he spoke of him. Takasugi'd had that mask on, that casual air about him, but something in his eyes and voice'd changed.

There'd been hatred there, bitterness, and something else. It'd bordered on obsession. He was seeing glimpses of it even now.

"You aren't hard to understand," the monk said dismissively. Sanzo wasn't pleasant to the people he fought alongside. He saw no reason to show any special treatment to someone who was no better than some of the scum they'd seen on the way West.

"Tell me, if we weren't in this shit hole, if the Vice Commander were to die tonight, what would you do? Go home peacefully?"