"I'm not," he smiles. "Sorry, I mean. The first time was a mistake--a fool's mistake," he says, momentarily savage, and then it's gone and he's himself again, affable and calm, "and a bad one, but as much good came of it as otherwise, in the end." A moment's consideration. "Well... I suppose it depends how you do your accounts, ne?" He shrugs again, and flips a drop of water into the pan, to wait for it to dance. "Some people were sorry for driving me to it in the end, I'm sure," this with a touch of satisfied sadism, "although I doubt they had the understanding to regret the error as well as the result. As for how many times--well, that depends how you count, too, I suppose. Does it count if you stroll into Hell on your own feet and walk out again? Or if your body is destroyed in a way that would have killed you if you'd been alive at the time in the first place? You could call it two times, Borgia-kun, or two thousand. Depending."