[Crashed where he has, Akechi does not even look at that offered hand, doesn't even attempt to move.]

June. Yes. [His voice goes impossibly soft, as if speaking to himself, even if his eyes remain locked upwards on Ren's.] I suppose I deserve this. It must be a part of my penance, to be trapped here in this frozen hell with a rival who can't remember me.

[But that is all of the time he allows himself before he's struggling back to his feet with a wince. At least now when he responds, there's less burning ferocity in the answer. If anything, Akechi just sounds exhausted.]

Two hundred and nineteen days. That is the time that separates you and I. My last memories are from the third of February.