Shirai Kuroko materialized at Misaka Mikoto's side.

The steel needle in her hand froze in mid‑air; shock and confusion were written all over her face.

Mugino Shizuri, still half‑twisted from having her arm shaken off, frowned deeply, her eyes full of puzzlement.

Kinuhata Saiai and Frenda Seivelun stared at each other, completely at a loss.

Takitsubo Rikō raised her head lazily to watch, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

Musujime Awaki's playful smile disappeared.

Something is clearly out of the ordinary.

Misaka Mikoto stood rigid.

The sudden hug and the shower of tears had caught her completely off guard.

She could feel this unfamiliar girl trembling violently in her arms, feel the scorching tears soaking into her clothes.

The sheer joy erupting from utter despair felt so real that, for a moment, she even forgot to push the girl away.

Does she know Dolly?!

At the same time Shokuhō Misaki had lost all her usual queen‑like composure.

She shot up from the sofa.

Golden hair swayed; the color drained from her exquisite face.

Her star‑bright eyes narrowed at Kanzari Mitori, who was clinging to Misaka Mikoto.

…

Kanzari Mitori clutched Mikoto as if a drowning person had seized the last piece of driftwood.

Her sobs were gut‑wrenching—an explosive mix of regained ecstasy and long‑suppressed grief.

Scalding tears quickly drenched Mikoto's shoulder.

"Dolly… you're alive. That's wonderful… wonderful…"

She repeated the words incoherently.

Her arms squeezed Mikoto so tightly that Mikoto could barely breathe.

Her whole body shook with the force of her emotions.

Mikoto remained stiff, hands hovering in mid‑air, not knowing what to do.

"Enough!"

Shokuhō Misaki's voice cut through the room, colder than anyone had ever heard it, instantly drowning out Mitori's cries.

Gold blazed in her starry eyes; an invisible psychic ripple spread outward, locking precisely onto Mitori.

Mitori's body went rigid, as though someone had pressed a pause button.

The raging tide of emotions that threatened to tear her apart was forcibly smoothed and sorted by a powerful yet gentle mental force.

Her arms slackened; her body sagged.

Yet Shokuhō's mind‑power, like invisible hands, held her upright.

Her ragged breathing steadied.

The joy and despair in her eyes drained away, leaving only emptiness and bewilderment.

Dirty cheeks were streaked with drying tears.

"Everyone—out."

Shokuhō's voice returned to its usual syrupy sweetness, but the iron command beneath it made the air itself tighten.

Her gaze swept across the room,

finally resting on Misaka Mikoto with an unreadable complexity.

Shirai Kuroko looked to Mikoto at once. "Onee‑sama—"

Mikoto drew a deep breath and nodded to her and the others.

"Kuroko, take everyone outside first."

"Uiharu, Saten—please."

"Mugino, the rest of you, get some rest. Thanks for the help."

Her tone was gently reassuring.

Mugino curled her lip but said nothing, turning first toward the door.

Kinuhata and Frenda followed at once, Frenda glancing back curiously.

Takitsubo drifted along at the rear.

Musujime Awaki cast a thoughtful look at Shokuhō and Mikoto, then vanished into a spatial ripple.

Though clearly unwilling, Shirai obeyed Mikoto's order and left with a worried Uiharu and Saten.

The heavy doors closed without a sound, sealing off the outside clamor.

The vast office now held only Mikoto, Shokuhō, and Kanzari Mitori—sitting vacant‑eyed on the sofa, her emotions temporarily calmed by Shokuhō's ability.

Shokuhō withdrew most of her mental pressure.

Mitori swayed slightly.

The hollowness in her eyes began to focus, yet the bone‑deep sorrow and exhaustion clung to her.

She looked up blankly.

The first thing she saw was Misaka Mikoto standing in front of her.

Mikoto looked at Mitori's shattered state, feelings churning inside her.

She smoothed her rumpled clothes and tried to keep her voice calm and gentle.

"Are… you all right?"

Mitori did not answer.

Her gaze traced Mikoto's face inch by inch, as though confirming something.

Chestnut‑brown short hair, delicate features, resolute brows—

So alike!

Almost identical to the girl who once smiled at her in the sunlight, deep in memory.

But…

This person's eyes were firmer, her bearing more mature, an air of steadiness earned through storms.

Her Dolly…

Had always been so innocent, full of curiosity about the world and a hint of dependence.

"You're not her…"

Mitori's voice was harsh—like sandpaper—thick with despair and self‑mockery.

"Dolly would never have eyes like that… would never wear a uniform like… that…"

She lowered her head to her own dirty, tattered coat,

then glanced at Mikoto's crisp, authoritative uniform; the last spark in her eyes went out,

leaving only dead, ashen gray.

"Yeah… what was I thinking…"

"Dolly's dead… long dead…"

Her voice trailed off, softer and softer,

finally dissolving into silent sobs.

She curled up, as if trying to vanish into the dust.

Something tugged hard at Mikoto's heart.

She knelt down,

looked Mitori in the eye, and gently took her cold, trembling hands.

"You knew Dolly? Could you tell me? About her—and about you?"

Her voice was earnest, concerned.

Mitori's head snapped up.

Bloodshot violet eyes bored into Mikoto, burning with resentment and anger.

"Tell you?"

"What else do you want me to tell you?!"

"Tell you how Dolly was treated as a test specimen—thrown away like garbage by you high‑and‑mighty people?!"

~~~

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