[He hesitates for a long moment, trying to drum up the words... Trying to decide if he even has the capacity to talk about it. Fingertips press lightly against his eyes, trying to rub away an impending stress headache, while he murmurs:]

...It's not a time in my life that I enjoy looking back upon, but...

[Going through the whole story might help him banish the specter of the memory.]

It was while we were on our way to London, by ship.

[He gestures at the cabin surroundings.]

I'm ashamed to admit it now, but... I stowed away. I didn't have a ticket of my own, and I had no means with which purchase one, nor government permission to even travel to England in the first place. So we hatched a plan: he'd smuggle me onboard inside of some luggage, and once we were in, I'd hide out in his cabin for the entire trip. If all went well, I'd get back in the trunk upon disembarkation, we'd be in London, and no one would be the wiser.

[He's kind of breezing past the setup, just flatly relaying the details, but: it feels so silly, looking back now. Like it could have ever been that simple.]

...It seemed like we were getting away with it, too, since we made it two whole weeks without raising suspicion. But then of course...

[This is the part he has a much harder time speaking about, throat tight with emotion.]

There was an incident... And for all I and nearly everyone else who was present knew at the time, Kazuma was killed on the 15th night into the trip.