He wonders, he supposes, how much he has said the same thing to Mr. Fushimi–in so many different ways. Mr. Fushimi has refused it, every time, has thrown it back in his face, has made it abundantly clear that he wants no praise, no overtures of kindness in any form.
I believe in you, too–would it do any good to say the words now? Would Mr. Fushimi understand them now, better than he had before?
He has not said it in the way that Mr. Fushimi needs to hear it, that’s all. He has tried straightforwardly, obliquely, and through metaphor, and even action. There is no avenue left that Reisi sees that is different from what he has tried before.
So there must be something else to tell Mr. Fushimi, indeed. Mustn’t there? Some truth that Mr. Fushimi must want to hear.
“Thank you, Mr. Fushimi.” He pauses for a moment, and adds, “It means more to me that you have said so, than I feel capable of conveying to you.”