[The Detective Prince. She hated that title. It made sure people knew who she was, yes, but it was not something she had ever asked for. It was not something she had ever wanted. She wanted respect, not some foolish title given to her out of spite. It was just one more thing that could, and frequently was used against her.

So, Naoto had learned to shield herself from people. She hid behind a carefully painted mask, hid herself behind that title they gave to her. She could take the scorn from the other detectives, from the other policemen on the force. She could take the snide remarks. She could handle the fact that they didn't respect her, that they treated her like a child.

Then the mask would break. It all would get to be too much. There were nights when she would cry herself to sleep in frustration. There were times when her mind raced as she wondered what she was doing wrong - why people pushed her away, why she pushed people away, why she was only taken seriously when it was convenient, why she had the misfortune of being born female in a male dominated world, why she couldn't just grow up and stop all the bitter, underhanded remarks.

But she never let anyone see the cracks. Her act was practiced and perfect. Refined. She would not let Norman see that he got under her skin.]

I had thought you to be above petty name calling. You do not need to resort to grade school tactics to get my attention if you have a problem with me or my work.