'Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.'
This was a saying that Touma had always attempted to put into practice, being a natural early bird who was alert even before the first taste of coffee. While the waking world was not always very interesting, he felt he could only waste time when asleep. Time better spent finding ways around that lack of interest, time spent being productive.
This was especially true when he became a teacher, a profession where punctuality and preparation were of utmost importance. And as such, Touma had always made it a practice of going to bed at 9 pm sharp, and waking up every morning at 4:30 am exactly.
The only exception to this routine was when he had artworks in progress. Then, sometimes, he could operate on no rest at all; Working within inspiration’s confines, underground workshop giving no window to the continued rotation of the sun and the moon, he became possessed by delirious mania and oblivious to all but the momentum of his scalpel.
The isolation cell they placed him in was not much different in that sense. After his arrest, things had moved in a groggy blur, as if vengeful sleeplessness had finally caught up with him. And locked away by the confused Inspectors, within the sterile cell that gave no clue as to the time, he had slept like a child after a very long evening’s play.
Well rested and alert, he was led into the glass bisected room without issue. Hands loosely bound by a pair of handcuffs, modest frame clad in starchy inmate-issued clothing, the psychopath’s smile was utterly radiant as he politely sat down across from his assigned psychiatric evaluator.
A barge of digital displays show up on the pane of glass as his subject approaches, but Saiga tapped at a few buttons to dismiss this flood of useless information. All he’d need is his own ability to observe this man. Yet the most noted, the lack of a significant crime coefficient. This person had a coefficient far lower than the average adult in society—quite impossible, as no man lives so blamelessly. Although the surroundings were quiet enough to faintly hear the other man’s voice through the glass, he tapped at a button to activate the intercom.
"Good morning," Saiga replies cordially enough, speaking quietly considering this hour and the lack of others in the isolation ward. He overrides the push-to-talk function of the intercom to lean back in his chair at leisure. He pushes the frame of his glasses up as he studies the man before him. This man does not seem anxious as many other detained individuals tend to be. Obviously, this young man is not distracted by any concerns surrounding his fate in the rehabilitation system.
So, Saiga steeples his fingers together and rests his hands upon his lap, trying to strike up a conversation to evaluate the other’s reactions. “My, those handcuffs look uncomfortable. Do you understand why you are restrained by them?”