[Rokurou raises up on his elbows and he nearly reaches eye to eye with Matoba; the easygoing smirk on the man's face doesn't diminish in the slightest as he grasps wildly for retorts, for justifications, none of which do much of anything to change his mind.]

Oh, so we are the same age. Splendid.

[Truly an infant. In fact--] In demonic years, I suppose that would make you something like an infant, hm? Even a cat does not become a bakeneko until it has reached a hundred years, yes? So you are something like the sparkle in the eye of an ayakashi, right?

[He can keep going. His beaming smile promises it.] You can't have even forgotten what it is to live, much less die. Do you really take yourself for something inhuman, like that?