Once you kill a person, killing another won't make a difference.

I vividly remember the fire, the blood, his face—that night. Jyo stood two feet away from his corpse, holding a knife, crying. I was lying six meters away from them, and with my blurry vision, I saw how he threw the knife away to wipe the blood off of his hands with his blood-stained white school uniform. I had a glimpse of his horrified face when he took a step back and ran away. And before my eyelids fell for a long slumber, tears fell, and regret came to me.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have fallen for you, Jyo.