The sterile white of the infirmary room held an unnatural stillness. Tubes ran from Mei Mei's body, her long hair messy over bandages and cracked skin. Machines beeped beside her like faint echoes in a cave. Utahime stood nearby, arms folded, and Shoko stared at the monitors, puffing calmly on a cigarette.
Ui Ui sat at her bedside, eyes red, his hand trembling as he held hers.
Then—
a weak squeeze.
His head shot up.
"…Nee-san?"
Mei Mei's lips curled, ever so slightly. Her eyes fluttered open—tired, glassy, but alive.
"…Your face looks hideous when you cry."
Ui Ui choked—half a sob, half a laugh—and hugged her hand to his cheek.
"Utahime! Shoko! She's awake!"
Both women rushed over.
Mei Mei looked at the ceiling. "Am I… still in this world?"
Shoko smirked faintly. "Barely. You were half past dead. You really don't know when to quit."
Mei Mei gave a strained chuckle. "I suppose… the silver flowers I ordered will have to wait until after the war."
Utahime rolled her eyes. "You're joking already? You're lucky to be alive."
Just then, the doors swung open again—Yuta, Maki, Nobara, and Gojo entered, the tension of the last few days written all over their faces.
"Hey," Gojo called casually, "Silver flower girl lives to swing that axe again."
Mei Mei gave him a half-lidded look. "You took your time, Gojo."
"Blame the furniture in the Prison Realm. Horrible feng shui."