The words hit Kubo harder than any had yet, even Rico's.

He thought he'd done right. He thought he'd done the best he could, with someone threatening him with harm, parading around in ways that said he'd threaten other people who couldn't defend themselves, who didn't have powers and unbreakable swords and a willingness to look terror and hate in the eye and stand up to it.

He didn't hear much else other than Garrus' declaration that he hadn't handled the situation well. Kubo clutched the strap holding his shamisen to his back, his determined expression fallen, looking to the ground. He'd gotten someone else hurt, and they regretted being hurt for his sake. How many others could say the same?

He could never have hoped to stand up against Rico on his own, anyway, without being hurt. If Garrus hadn't been the one hurt on his behalf, who else would it have been? His father? Wash?

Someone was always going to get hurt because of his choices. Whether to stay out late, or defend his pride against a bully.

He'd done wrong and gotten someone else hurt, again. If there was something else for him to hear, he didn't hear it.