"You! This is all your fault!!"

Kōzaku Mitori sprang up from the sofa like an enraged lioness.

With a do‑or‑die resolve, she lunged, both hands clawing for Misaka Mikoto's face and throat.

Her movements had no technique at all—only the raw, blazing fury of revenge.

"Stop!"

Shokuhō Misaki barked.

But Misaka Mikoto was faster.

She neither dodged nor struck back; she simply seized Mitori's wildly flailing wrists in an iron grip.

Her strength was overwhelming—Mitori could not budge.

"Calm down. Listen to me!"

Mikoto locked eyes with Mitori—eyes clouded by hatred and tears—and spoke in a clear, commanding voice.

"Dolly—she isn't dead!"

"W‑What?!"

Mitori's struggles stopped cold; her whole body froze as if a binding spell had been cast.

She stared at Mikoto, her face a swirl of shock, absurdity, and a glimmer of hope she dared not admit.

"W‑What kind of stupid joke is that?!"

"I saw the official report with my own eyes—Dolly was pronounced dead!"

She screamed, though a faint quiver had slipped into her voice.

"That report was genuine," Mikoto said, her tone sinking with pain.

"At that time, Dolly really did pass away."

The light drained from Mitori's eyes and despair flooded back.

"But—"

Mikoto's gaze turned brilliantly firm.

"She's come back to life."

"Come… back… to life?"

Mitori was utterly stunned; her mind went blank.

Those words were beyond anything she could process—pure fantasy.

"Impossible! The dead don't revive. Do you take me for a child?!"

She denied it reflexively—yet, deep inside, a tiny spark she had long suppressed began to flicker.

Shokuhō Misaki read the chaos, skepticism, and faint hope on Mitori's face and drew a quiet breath.

She walked to her desk, tapped swiftly on a hidden touchscreen—sending a message—and turned back.

A complicated, faintly relieved smile crossed her lips.

"Explaining would be messy, and I doubt you'd believe us on our say‑so."

Her voice regained its usual sugary lilt, but powerful emotion churned in her eyes.

"So… it's best if the person herself tells you about this miracle~☆"

Almost as her words faded, the office's heavy door emitted a soft beep—the lock disengaging.

"Pardon the intrusion, Misaki‑chan, Onee‑sama."

A clear, lively voice—tinged with girlish excitement—floated in from the hall.

"You called me here so late; is something special happening? Is Rei Ao‑nii already here?"

The door swung open.

A young girl stepped in.

Her chestnut‑brown bob was nearly identical to Misaka Mikoto's, the tips curling gently beside her cheeks.

Her features were just as fine, yet her aura was entirely different.

Her skin was almost translucent from long absence of sunlight; her figure even slimmer than Mikoto's.

She wore a perfectly fitted, sweet white dress whose hem swayed with each step.

Curiosity—and a faint bashful blush—brightened her face, as though she expected something wonderful.

Her chestnut eyes—exactly Mikoto's shade—sparkled as she looked into the room.

But the instant she took in the scene, her smile and anticipation froze.

Her gaze fell first on Shokuhō, then slid past the grim‑faced Mikoto, and finally—

—it locked onto the purple‑haired girl slowly turning on the sofa.

Time itself seemed to stop.

That voice…

A voice Kōzaku Mitori could never forget.

Her body creaked around like rusty machinery.

Every joint felt ready to scream.

Mikoto's and Misaki's unbelievable words still rang in her reeling mind:

Revived?

The person herself?

Impossible—surely impossible.

But… what if?

Heart hammering, she finished turning.

The moment her eyes met the girl at the door—

"Eh… ah."

Mitori felt as though the shell around her heart shattered.

That face—

The face haunting her worst nightmares and sweetest memories!

Pale, fragile, yet always wearing a gentle smile.

Those clear chestnut eyes that seemed to mirror the sky!

Not a resemblance.

Not an illusion.

Her.

Truly her!

"Mi…Mitori?"

The girl in the doorway went equally rigid; the blush vanished, leaving pure shock.

Dolly—instinctively recognizing a now older, changed Mitori—let the long‑suppressed name slip out.

That single call was a spark to a fuse.

"Do… Dolly?!!"

Mitori's voice cracked into a higher pitch, bursting with overwhelming shock and indescribable joy.

She lurched to her feet, trembling so hard she nearly collapsed.

Yet her eyes stayed riveted on the girl at the door—terrified that if she so much as blinked, Dolly would disappear.

~~~

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