The air carried the quiet shift of fall, cool and crisp as it moved through the academy grounds, bringing with it the earthy scent of fallen leaves that gathered along the paths between red-brick buildings and pastel powder-blue rooftiles. It was the kind of morning that settled gently over Tracen, where some students chose the warmth of classrooms and libraries, their attention buried in records of past races and the names of champions long etched into history, while others were drawn instead to the track, where the present still unfolded with every stride.
Out on the training grounds, the atmosphere was alive with motion and conversation, most of it circling around the same subject. The Shūka Shō. Names were passed between groups, debated, compared, measured against past performances and quiet expectations, yet no matter how far those discussions wandered, they always returned to one runner. Not only because of the string of victories she had carved through recent G2 and G3 races, but because of the legacy that followed her, one that had already begun to cast a long shadow.
Melody came around the bend in a flash of red and white, her Tracen jumpsuit cutting sharply against the muted tones of the field as she drove forward with controlled intensity. Her boots struck the turf in a steady, powerful rhythm, each step biting into the ground and kicking up small bursts of dirt as she accelerated into the straight. There was no hesitation in her form, no wasted motion, only a clean, relentless drive that carried her past the other runners sharing the track, their attention turning as she overtook them, some slowing instinctively, others watching in open recognition of the gap between them.
Her focus never shifted.
Her gaze remained fixed ahead, locked onto the finish line as though nothing else existed.
Beyond the fence, Hana stood with a stopwatch in one hand and a clipboard in the other, her posture composed, her attention following Melody's approach with careful precision. The moment Melody crossed the line, Hana's thumb pressed down without delay, capturing the time as it mattered most.
Only then did Melody ease her pace, her momentum carrying her a few strides further before she slowed to a stop, bending forward with her hands braced against her thighs as she drew in deep breaths, sweat trailing down her face as her body worked to recover from the effort. Hana lowered her gaze to the stopwatch, reading the numbers in silence before adjusting her glasses, pushing them back into place as she took in what she had just recorded.
Hana lifted her gaze as Melody approached, her posture still composed, her expression measured as she watched the girl come to a stop in front of her, ears twitching lightly, her tail giving a small flick behind her as she tried to steady her breathing.
"So… how did I do?"
Hana glanced down once more at the stopwatch before angling it toward her, the sternness in her features easing into something warmer. "Two seconds off your best," she said, letting the number settle. "You're getting faster. Give it a little more time, and I wouldn't be surprised if you start matching Rudolf herself."
Melody's eyes widened at that, a flush rising to her cheeks as she shook her head quickly. "Hana-san, you shouldn't say things like that." Her gaze dropped, her fingers tightening slightly at her sides. "I'm doing well, but… not like that."
Hana let out a quiet breath and shook her head, not dismissively, but with a kind of knowing patience. "Melody…" she began, studying her for a moment. "There's nothing wrong with having a little ego."
Melody tilted her head, uncertain.
"Ego isn't the problem," Hana continued, folding the stopwatch into her palm. "It's how much of it you carry. Too little, and you hold yourself back. Too much, and it blinds you." She gave a small shrug. "It's the same as anything else. The difference between something that helps you and something that harms you is always in how you use it."
Melody remained quiet, taking it in.
"What I'm saying is, it's alright to believe in your own ability," Hana went on. "To recognize that you've earned where you are, and that you're capable of standing alongside the best of them." Her gaze held steady. "Don't diminish that. Don't convince yourself you don't belong here."
Melody's ears twitched again, her posture shifting slightly as she listened.
"You told me when you joined Rigel that you wanted to reach the same heights your mother did," Hana continued, her tone steady, grounded. "The two-time undefeated Triple Crown Champion."
Melody hesitated, then gave a small nod.
"Well, that path doesn't stop at standing beside legends," Hana said. "It means surpassing them." Her eyes sharpened just slightly, not with pressure, but with clarity. "Records exist to be broken. Champions exist to be challenged. Respect doesn't mean holding yourself back."
Melody's gaze lifted again.
"And if you're worried about what Rudolf would think," Hana added, "I doubt she'd want you limiting yourself on her account."
Melody's expression softened into a small, thoughtful smile. "I suppose you're right, Hana-san," she said, though there was something quieter beneath it now. "Miss President spoke to me yesterday about the race." Her gaze lowered slightly. "And, well... other things."
Hana caught the shift, one brow lifting, but she let it pass without pressing further. "Alright, enough thinking for now," she said, gesturing toward the bench with a tilt of her head. "Go sit, catch your breath. We'll run another set in fifteen. The Shūka Shō is in two days, I need you sharp."
"Yes, Trainer," Melody replied, stepping through the fence and making her way toward the sidelines.
Hana turned to leave, then paused mid-step, glancing back over her shoulder. "And Melody," she added, a faint smile touching her lips, "I have no doubt that you'll make Bee proud."
With that, she moved on, heading toward another group of runners further down the track, already deep into their warmups.
Melody lingered a moment, the words settling in, before returning a quiet smile of her own and continuing toward the bench. She lowered herself onto it, reaching for the towel at her side and pressing it against her forehead, wiping away the sweat that clung stubbornly to her skin. The water bottle followed, the cool rush of it grounding as she drank deeply before letting out a slow breath, her shoulders easing as she leaned forward, elbows resting against her thighs, the bottle held loosely between her hands while her tail flicked behind her in a slow, restless motion.
This was it.
Her first G1.
For so long it had felt distant, something she had been working toward without ever quite touching, but now it was right in front of her, close enough that she could feel the weight of it settling in. The Shūka Shō. Racing silks, a full field, the attention of the entire country fixed on that starting gate, and for the first time, she could feel what that meant.
A win would change everything. It would mark the beginning of something far greater, the first real step toward a Triple Crown campaign the following year, a declaration that she belonged among the names people spoke of when they talked about the future of the sport. It would put her firmly in the spotlight, not as potential, but as proof.
Her grip on the bottle tightened slightly. And then the other side of it surfaced.
What if she didn't win?
Not even second or third, but further down, fifth, sixth, lost somewhere in the pack where names blurred and expectations faded.
What if she finished last?
The thought settled heavier than she expected.
The daughter of the legendary Killer Bee of Strider, failing to live up to the legacy that followed her name. Another runner carried by expectation rather than ability, another example of promise that couldn't hold under pressure. It wasn't unheard of, the children of champions falling short beneath the weight of what came before them, but Melody knew her situation was different. Her mother was part of the Godly Fifteen, her grandmother a champion in her own era, and the families tied to that legacy had produced names that stood on their own.
To fall short wouldn't just disappoint.
It would echo.
The kind of failure that lingered, not just as a result, but as something people remembered. Melody exhaled slowly, her gaze dropping as she sat there, caught between what she wanted to become and the quiet fear of what might happen if she couldn't reach it.
"Melody-chan?"
Melody looked up at the call of her name and found Kitasan Black and Satono Diamond standing beside her, both still in their red and white Tracen training suits, their presence immediate and familiar in a way that eased the quiet tension around her. Kitasan leaned in slightly, her head tilted as she studied Melody's face, concern clear in her expression.
"Kita-senpai, Dia-senpai," Melody greeted, straightening just a little as she shook her head. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Diamond didn't look convinced. She placed her hands on her hips and leaned in closer, her gaze sharpening as Melody instinctively leaned back, her ears twitching at the sudden closeness.
"Melody-chan, I know that look," she said, studying her carefully. "I've seen it on every one of my sisters and cousins before their first G1."
Melody froze.
Diamond lifted a finger and pointed at her. "You're thinking about what happens if you lose, aren't you?"
"Wait, what? No, I-I mean—" Melody hesitated, caught between denying it and the weight of the truth pressing against her chest, and in the end her gaze dropped instead. "…Yes."
Kitasan let out a small breath and dropped onto the bench beside her without ceremony, while Diamond circled around and took the other side, effectively boxing Melody in between them.
"Hey, that's normal," Kitasan said, resting her hands loosely on her knees. "Everyone gets nervous." She shot Diamond a sideways glance. "Honestly, both of us were a mess before our first G1. Dia-chan was worse."
Melody's eyes widened as she turned toward Diamond. "Really, Dia-senpai?"
Diamond gave a small nod, her posture relaxing as she settled into the bench. "My family had something people liked to call the Satono Curse," she said, her expression thoughtful. "For years, none of us could win a G1. No matter how close we got, something always went wrong." She paused briefly before continuing. "That didn't change until I won mine."
A faint smile followed.
"And after that, others in my family started to break through as well. It wasn't easy, and I gave everything I had in every race, but if you think Kita-chan and I walked into those races without nerves, you'd be wrong."
Kitasan scratched the back of her head, a small, sheepish grin forming. "Even our seniors were the same," she added. "Teio-senpai, McQueen-senpai, even Shachō-san. Everyone feels it."
Melody found herself smiling at that, the tension easing just slightly, though it didn't disappear entirely. "Speaking of Miss President…" Her expression shifted again, the earlier weight returning as her gaze lowered. "We had a little talk yesterday."
Kitasan and Diamond caught it immediately.
Kitasan tilted her head. "What did she say?"
"Just the usual at first," Melody replied, her fingers tightening slightly around the water bottle in her hands. "Wishing me luck, telling me to stay focused." She exhaled softly. "But what came after that hasn't really left me."
She lifted her gaze toward Kitasan. "Do you remember that reporter from the convention?" she asked. "The one we had to get away from?"
Diamond's expression hardened at once. "Sensuke Fujii," she said. "Yes. I remember him."
Melody nodded, her fingers tightening around the bottle as her thoughts drifted back to that conversation. "Miss President had a few things to say about him," she said. "And not many of them were kind. Honestly, I think she was trying to hold herself back."
She exhaled slowly. The memory still fresh. "People always say she has that cold, intimidating look. I've seen it before, but this was different." Her gaze lowered slightly before lifting again. "She wasn't just stern. She was angry. Like, real angry."
Her gaze lowered for a moment before lifting again, steadier now.
"I'm not dumb. I know there's been someone writing about me," she continued. "Saying that the only reason I've gotten this far is because my rival isn't here anymore." Her jaw tightened. "I didn't know who it was before, but now I do."
She pressed her lips together, holding back the mix of frustration and hurt that came with it. "I understand that this comes with the sport. With the attention. People talk, they always will. My mother dealt with it her entire career." She paused, the words catching slightly as she worked through them. "But to say that I'm relieved, or worse… that I'm glad about what happened to Scarlet…"
Kitasan shifted closer, her expression softening as she watched her.
Melody drew in a breath, steadying herself. "Scarlet and I weren't just rivals," she said. "We lived together. We trained together. We were friends." Her gaze moved between Kitasan and Diamond. "Like the two of you. We promised each other that we'd make it to the top together, that we'd stand there as the faces of a new era."
Her grip on the water bottle tightened.
"And if I hadn't gone ahead that day. If I had stayed with her—"
"Melody-chan, stop."
Diamond's words cut through cleanly, halting her before the thought could take hold any further. Melody and Kitasan both turned toward her.
"What happened was an accident," Diamond said, her expression firm, leaving no room for argument. "No one planned it. No one caused it. Not you, and not even the man behind the wheel." She held Melody's gaze. "You can't keep circling back to what you could have done differently. That kind of thinking doesn't lead anywhere good."
She shifted slightly, her expression tightening in a way that was rare for her.
"As for Fujii," she continued, "whatever his reasons are, they don't matter. The press will say what they want, that much won't change." Her eyes narrowed just a fraction. "But that doesn't give him the right to twist what happened or to place it on you."
Kitasan nodded in agreement, her posture straightening. "Yeah, exactly," she added. "He can write whatever he wants, but that doesn't make it true."
Diamond didn't look away from Melody. "He doesn't get to decide your story," she said. "You do."
Melody's expression softened into a small, grateful smile as she looked at Diamond. "Thank you, Dia-senpai." Her gaze shifted to Kitasan, lingering there for a moment. "Both of you." She lifted her fist, holding it just in front of her chest, grounding herself in the decision she had just made. "I'm going to run, and I'm going to win. For my mom, for Scarlet, and for me."
Kitasan's face lit up at once. "That's what I like to hear," she said, her grin bright and unrestrained. "And when you win, we're throwing a proper festival. No excuses."
Diamond gave a small, approving nod. "We'll hold you to that."
Melody let out a quiet breath, some of the weight lifting from her shoulders. "And maybe, after that, I'll go see Scarlet," she added, her expression softening again. "It's been too long."
"Then let us know," Kitasan said without hesitation. "We'll come with you."
Melody nodded, a little more eagerly this time. "Let's."
Before the moment could settle, a sharp yell cut across the track, followed by the rapid rhythm of boots striking concrete. All three of them turned at once, their attention drawn up toward the hill overlooking the training grounds, where two figures in Tracen violets came sprinting into view.
Melody recognized them immediately.
Taiki Shuttle and Oguri Cap.
They were running at full speed, carrying between them a large tray stacked high with roasted meats and thick slabs of ribs, the entire arrangement teetering dangerously as they moved. Taiki's expression was wide-eyed, her teeth clenched as she pushed forward, while Oguri ran beside her with her usual half-lidded focus, a rib still held between her teeth as she continued eating mid-sprint.
Chasing after them was a man in a three-piece suit, a white apron thrown over it, his dark hair slightly disheveled as he ran with surprising speed, a pair of steel tongs clutched tightly in one hand.
"Taiki-senpai and Oguri-senpai?" Kitasan blinked, clearly caught off guard. "But who's—"
"That's Ashford-san," Diamond replied, watching the scene unfold with a faint sense of recognition. "A trainer from the States. I heard he used to be Belno-san's partner at Strider Academy."
Melody tilted her head slightly, her gaze following the three of them as they tore across the path, the gap between them not quite widening the way one might expect.
"Taiki, Oguri, get back here with my friggin' briskets!" the man shouted, his frustration carrying clearly across the distance. "This is the third time this month, and I spent days on those!"
"Faster, Oguri, he's catching up!" Taiki called out, glancing over her shoulder as she pushed harder.
Oguri gave a small nod and immediately picked up speed.
"You're not getting away from me!" Ryan shouted after them, somehow keeping pace despite everything, his stride relentless as he closed the distance inch by inch. "And when I get my hands on you two, I swear I'll be having uma for dinner!"
What followed was a string of half-formed words and loud, unrestrained shouts that barely resembled anything coherent, spilling out of him in a wild rush as he charged forward, the tongs in his hand snapping through the air like an improvised weapon, his entire presence teetering somewhere between furious pursuit and complete, unfiltered chaos.
Kitasan, Diamond, and Melody stood there watching the chaos unfold, their expressions caught somewhere between confusion and reluctant amusement as the three figures disappeared from sight.
"…Well," Kitasan said after a moment, scratching the back of her head.
Melody let out a quiet breath, some of the earlier tension loosening its hold as the absurdity of the moment lingered just long enough to ease her. Her gaze shifted toward Hana, who stood a short distance away with her fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose, her head tilting slightly as if silently questioning how her new colleague had managed to turn a simple morning into chaos. The faint hint of resignation in her posture said enough.
Melody let out a small, restrained chuckle, though it faded as quickly as it came, her expression settling once more into something more thoughtful. Kitasan and Diamond had helped, more than she could put into words, but the doubt hadn't left her entirely. It lingered beneath the surface, quieter now, but still present.
Her hand moved instinctively to the crucifix resting beneath her jumpsuit, her fingers tracing its shape through the fabric as if grounding herself in something steady.
Perhaps Father Hasegawa had some words of encouragement.
The thought settled with quiet certainty. She gave a small nod to herself, already deciding that once classes were over and training had wrapped for the day, she would make her way to the church.
The breeze carried through the track, cool and steady, rustling the edges of the field as distant, incoherent shouting continued to echo faintly from beyond the hill, a reminder that the world, for all its weight, never quite stopped moving.
****
Dahlia couldn't remember a time when walking into a hospital hadn't felt like stepping into something heavy and unspoken, as though every visit carried the quiet weight of a procession rather than something hopeful. For the past two years, every moment spent within those whitewashed walls, beneath the sterile glow of halogen lights that flattened color and warmth alike, had pressed against her with memories she could never quite escape, constant reminders of what had been taken from them and the hard truth that nothing would ever return to the way it once was.
That weight had settled deep within her over time, shaping the way she moved, the way she thought, even the way she allowed herself to hope, always with the fear that reaching too far might invite something cruel to take it away again.
But today felt different.
Scarlet's wheelchair rolled smoothly across the polished floor as Dahlia guided her forward, the soft hum of its movement blending with the distant sounds of the hospital, though none of it felt as suffocating as it once had. The plain white dress Scarlet had worn for so long was gone, replaced with a soft yellow sundress that brought a quiet brightness back to her presence, something Dahlia hadn't realized she had missed until now.
Scarlet's ears twitched lightly as she gazed out through the wide windows, her attention drawn to the world beyond the glass where the sky hung in gentle gray and the trees had begun to turn, their leaves painted in deep reds and warm golds that blanketed the garden below in a soft, glowing layer.
There was no emptiness in her eyes. No distant, unfocused stare, no lingering shadow that dulled everything around her.
Instead, there was something alive in her expression, a quiet sense of wonder, as though she were seeing it all again for the first time after waking from a long and exhausting sleep. A small, genuine smile rested on her lips, effortless in a way Dahlia had almost forgotten.
Behind her, Dahlia stood in conversation with Scarlet's therapist, a woman in a white lab coat who had been working with her over the past few weeks, their voices light as they exchanged words filled with cautious optimism. Dahlia had even found herself speaking of things she had not dared to mention before, ideas that once felt too fragile to voice, like the possibility of taking a trip to Yamagata come spring, something the therapist encouraged with an enthusiasm that felt, for once, shared rather than forced.
Their conversation paused as a nurse approached, her steps measured, her expression composed. "Excuse me, Miss Dahlia?" she said gently, drawing Dahlia's attention. "Doctor Grace would like to speak with you."
"Oh, um—" Dahlia straightened slightly, her hand brushing over her leather jacket as she gathered herself, her gaze instinctively dropping to Scarlet.
Scarlet had already turned, looking back over her shoulder with that same easy smile.
"Go, I'll be alright," she said, her tone reassuring, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Then she turned toward the nurse, her expression brightening with quiet excitement. "Would you mind taking me out to the garden? I want to see the trees up close."
The nurse's composure wavered just slightly, something soft breaking through her professional calm as she nodded, her hand lifting briefly to cover her mouth as though to steady herself. Dahlia recognized her immediately, she had been there from the very beginning, had seen Scarlet at her lowest, had witnessed the long, difficult road that had led to this moment.
And now, everything had changed.
Dahlia glanced once toward the therapist, who gave a small, knowing nod. "Same time next week, Miss Dahlia," she said before turning and stepping away.
Dahlia moved closer to Scarlet, lowering herself into a crouch beside her before pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.
Scarlet let out a soft laugh, waving her hand in mock protest. "Come on, sis, I'm not ten anymore."
Dahlia smiled. The expression warmer than it had been in a long time as she brushed her fingers lightly through Scarlet's hair. "Just let me have this," she murmured before leaning in to kiss her again. "I'll be back in a bit, alright?"
Scarlet nodded, her ears giving a small, contented twitch.
Dahlia rose to her feet, her tail flicking lightly behind her as she turned, taking one last glance before heading down the hall toward Doctor Grace's office, the weight she had carried for so long feeling, for once, just a little lighter.
****
Dahlia pushed the door open and stepped into the office, the shift in atmosphere immediate as the sharp scent of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol settled around her, clean to the point of sterility, though softened just slightly by the faint trace of lavender potpourri that lingered somewhere in the background, as if someone had tried, however modestly, to make the space feel less clinical.
Her gaze moved instinctively to the figure seated behind the gray desk.
Doctor Grace sat surrounded by open manila folders, their contents spread across the surface in a careful disarray of notes and reports, pages filled with tight, hurried handwriting that blurred into something only a trained eye could make sense of. Even without reading a word, Dahlia recognized what she was looking at, the structure, the repetition, the familiar format of documentation she had seen too many times over the past weeks.
Scarlet's records.
As she stepped fully inside and closed the door behind her, a quiet sense of anticipation rose, her ears giving a small twitch as a faint smile touched her lips, the thought forming easily that perhaps Grace had called her in to share in what had felt, just moments ago, like something worth celebrating.
But the feeling didn't hold. There was no warmth in the room, not the kind she had just left behind.
Grace didn't smile.
The tension showed in the smallest details, in the subtle twitch of her pink ears, in the way her tail moved once behind her before settling, not restless, but controlled in a way that suggested restraint rather than ease. It was enough to shift something in Dahlia's chest, that quiet instinct surfacing before she could reason it away.
Something wasn't right.
Grace looked up from the papers at last, her gaze settling on Dahlia as she reached for her glasses and slipped them off.
"Dahlia." She gestured lightly toward the chair across from her. "Please, have a seat."
Dahlia stepped forward, pulling the chair out and lowering herself into it, her posture straighter now, the ease from earlier gone as she searched Grace's expression for something she couldn't quite name.
"The nurse said you wanted to see me." Dahlia's fingers curled slightly against her knee. "Is… is this about Scarlet?"
Grace didn't answer immediately. She lifted a cloth and began to wipe her glasses with quiet precision before placing them back on, the motion unhurried, as though she were giving the moment just enough space before speaking.
"Yes," she said at last.
Her gaze dropped briefly to the file before her, the pages shifting slightly as her hand rested against them.
"I've just received the latest report from her therapist," Grace continued. She paused, then looked back up at Dahlia. "And it would appear that she has shown significant improvement." Another brief pause followed, just long enough to feel. "A rather dramatic turnaround, wouldn't you say?"
Dahlia nodded quickly, the earlier warmth trying to return. "Yeah, I mean, you saw her. She's… she's different. Better."
Grace studied her for a moment, then folded her hands lightly over the file. "That's exactly why I wanted to speak with you."
Dahlia's brow drew together, the unease settling deeper rather than easing as she tried to read the expression on Grace's face. "What do you mean?" she asked, her words uncertain despite her attempt to keep it steady.
Grace did not look away from her. "I need you to answer me truthfully, Dahlia. Has anything changed recently? Anything at all. A visit, unexpected news, someone reaching out, even something small that might have shifted her state of mind."
Dahlia fell quiet, replaying the past few days in her mind with more care this time, searching for something she might have missed, something that could explain it, but the more she thought, the less she found.
She shook her head slowly. "Nothing I can think of," she said, though the certainty she had earlier was no longer there. "I just came home and she was different." A faint, almost disbelieving smile touched her lips as the memory surfaced. "She had the table set up. She made curry, Doctor Grace. Not just any curry, mom's curry. I didn't even think she remembered how."
The warmth in her words faded when it found no reflection in Grace's expression.
Grace remained still, her gaze steady, the silence that followed heavy enough to press against Dahlia's chest before she finally spoke. "Dahlia, I've been doing this for years, and in that time, I've treated hundreds of patients, many of whom were in far worse states than Scarlet. I've seen what recovery looks like, and I've seen how long it takes."
She paused briefly, her eyes closing for the smallest moment as though steadying herself before continuing. "It comes in stages. It's gradual, often uneven, and it requires sustained treatment, support, and time."
When she opened her eyes again, there was no softness left in them. "No one wakes up one day and simply turns everything around overnight."
The words struck Dahlia harder than she expected, a cold weight settling in her chest as her hands tightened unconsciously in her lap. "Doctor Grace…" she began, "what are you trying to say?"
Grace adjusted her glasses as though it gave her just enough space to say what needed to be said. "In my professional experience, when someone who has been in a depressive state as deep as Scarlet's appears to recover this suddenly, this completely, it is rarely because they have healed." Her gaze held Dahlia's, steady and direct. "It is because they have already made a decision."
She did not rush the final words.
"The decision."
Dahlia's lips trembled as her gaze fell to the scattered notes across the desk, the inked lines blurring together as her mind struggled to keep pace with what she had just heard, and when she finally lifted her eyes again, there was nothing steady in them, only the quiet fracture of something beginning to give way. She parted her lips as if to speak, to push back, to deny it outright, but no words came, and the silence that followed felt heavier than anything she could have said, her hands curling slowly into fists against the table as a faint tremor ran through them.
Grace watched her, her expression steady, though not unkind. "I know this isn't what you want to hear, Dahlia," she said, "and I understand how this must look to you. After everything you and Scarlet have been through, the last thing you need is someone stepping in and taking that sense of hope away."
She paused briefly, letting the words settle before continuing.
"But we have to look at this realistically," she went on. "What you're describing, what we're seeing, it isn't typical recovery. It's abrupt, extreme, and in cases like this, it's concerning." She drew in a breath, her fingers resting lightly against the file. "The first forty-eight hours are critical. If there's risk, this is when it shows."
Another brief pause followed.
"It's my professional recommendation that Scarlet be admitted immediately," Grace said. "We can place her under continuous observation, ensure she's monitored closely, and intervene if necessary to make sure—"
"No."
The word cut through the room, sharp and immediate.
Grace blinked, caught off guard. "Dahlia?"
"I said no!" Dahlia's voice rose, the last thread of restraint snapping as she surged to her feet, her fists slamming down against the desk with a force that sent a sharp crack through the wood, the sound echoing off the sterile walls. "I'm not letting you strap my sister down and shut her away like she's some kind of lunatic!"
"Dahlia, no one is talking about restraining her or locking her up," Grace replied quickly, lifting both hands in an effort to steady the moment before it spiraled further. "This isn't confinement. It's observation, just to make sure she's safe—"
Dahlia let out a short, hollow laugh that carried no trace of humor, her jaw tightening as anger took hold, twisting through her expression until it was almost unrecognizable. "Oh… oh, I get it now," she said, her eyes locking onto Grace with a sharp, cutting glare. "This is all some sick game to you, isn't it? And here I thought you were on our side. That you cared about Scarlet… about me." Her lip curled. "What a joke."
"Dahlia, please, I—" Grace started, rising slowly from her chair, her hands still raised in a careful attempt to de-escalate.
"Stop, I don't wanna hear it!" Dahlia snapped. "I don't want to hear any more of your lies!" Her chest rose and fell unevenly, the hurt beneath her anger finally surfacing. "Scarlet trusted you. I trusted you. You kept telling me she was getting worse, that we had to keep pushing, that this was the only way, and I believed you. I listened. I put her through everything you asked."
Her voice broke, just slightly, before hardening again.
"And now that she's better, now that she's finally herself again, you're telling me this isn't real?" she demanded, her hands slamming down once more before sweeping everything off the desk in a single, violent motion. Papers scattered across the floor, pens and folders clattering in every direction as a framed photograph toppled and struck the ground hard enough to crack the glass.
Grace flinched, leaning back as the outburst unfolded in front of her.
"You're all the same!" Dahlia shouted, her tail whipping sharply behind her. "Every single one of you, standing there like you know what's best, like you get to decide what people like her go through!"
She pointed accusingly, her hand trembling with the force of it. "You see someone already broken, already struggling, and you keep pushing, keep testing just how far they can fall before they finally shatter!"
Her breath came unevenly now, the words spilling faster than she could contain them.
"You give her hope, just enough to let her believe things might get better, and then you rip it away again like it's nothing," she continued, shaking her head as she took a step back. "Like she's some kind of toy you can wind up and watch break over and over until there's nothing left."
"Dahlia…" Grace's tone softened, the tension leaving her features as something more knowing settled in her expression, as though she understood, in that quiet, unspoken way, that this wasn't about Scarlet.
Dahlia's tone dropped, quieter, but no less fierce. "But not this time."
She shook her head again, backing toward the door, her eyes never leaving Grace.
"I just got my sister back," she said, her words trembling with something deeper than anger now. "She's finally herself again, and I'm not letting you, or anyone else, take that away from me."
"Dahlia, please," Grace tried again, taking a cautious step around her desk. "You need to listen to me, I'm trying to help—"
"I don't need you," Dahlia cut in. "I didn't need anyone before, and I sure as hell don't need you now." Her hand found the door handle behind her, gripping it tightly. "Stay away from me. Stay away from my sister."
She yanked the door open and backed up into the hallway. Grace's hand stretched out. "Dahlia, wait!"
****
As Dahlia stepped back into the hallway, she barely had time to orient herself before hands seized her arms, halting her movement in an instant. Her eyes widened as she twisted against the hold, finding herself restrained between two men whose broad frames strained against their sterile white uniforms, their grips steady and practiced, fingers digging in just enough to keep her from breaking free.
"Miss, calm down. Don't resist," one of them said in a way that only made her pulse spike harder.
"Let go of me!" Dahlia snapped, her body straining against them, her tail lashing sharply behind her as panic and anger surged together. "Let me go, now!"
"Please, calm down," the other repeated, his tone firmer now as his grip tightened.
Behind them, the office door flew open as Grace rushed into the hallway. "Don't hurt her!"
But Dahlia barely heard her, because in that instant something else took hold of her completely, a thought crashing into her mind with such force that it drowned out everything around her. She saw Scarlet being dragged down a corridor, heard her crying out, not in words but in that desperate, helpless way that needed no language, and the image twisted further as hands forced her into a room, straps tightening around her wrists while needles pierced her skin and voices spoke over her as if she were no longer there, reducing her to something to be managed, something to be subdued.
The vision didn't stop, it pressed on, showing Scarlet trapped within her own body, unable to move, unable to speak, left alone while the world carried on as though nothing had happened. And beneath it all, cutting deeper than anything else, came the realization that Dahlia hadn't been there.
That she had let it happen.
That she had walked away.
Something inside her gave way all at once.
Her leg came up without hesitation, driving hard into the man on her right with a force that cracked through bone, the sound sharp and sickening as he cried out, his grip faltering just long enough for her to move. Dahlia surged forward into that opening, seizing him by the collar and slamming her forehead into his face, the impact crushing into his nose as blood burst forward in a violent spray, and before he could even process the hit, her foot drove into his stomach, sending him stumbling backward until he crashed into the wall and collapsed into the row of waiting chairs.
The second man barely had time to react before she was already on him, her fist slamming into his gut with crushing force, driving the air from his lungs in a strangled gasp as his body folded inward.
She didn't stop there, her strikes flowing one into the next with brutal efficiency, another blow to the gut, then the chest, followed by a sharp elbow snapping upward into his face with a crack that shattered teeth and left him reeling. She shifted her weight and threw him cleanly over her shoulder, his body hitting the floor with a heavy impact that echoed through the corridor.
Grace stood frozen where she was, one hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide as the scene unfolded faster than she could react.
Dahlia dropped with him, catching his arm and locking it into place, her leg hooking over it as she twisted downward into an armbar that bent past its limit, the man's scream cutting through the hallway before it broke into something raw and helpless as his arm snapped at the elbow.
She moved over him without pause, straddling him as her fists came down again and again, each blow heavy and unrestrained, blood spraying across the pristine white walls in violent arcs as the impact of each strike echoed in the enclosed space.
Then an arm wrapped around her neck from behind, yanking her back with force as the first man, blood pouring down his face and limping on a ruined leg, forced himself into the fight again, his grip tightening as he tried to restrain her.
Dahlia choked, her body straining as she clawed at his arm, but she didn't panic, driving her elbow sharply into his stomach, the impact forcing a grunt from him as his hold loosened just enough. She snapped her head back, the strike connecting solidly with his face, and twisted free in the same motion, turning on him before he could recover.
Her hand shot forward, gripping his head, and she slammed it into the wall with a force that cracked against the surface, leaving a smear of blood where it struck. She pulled him back just long enough to shift her stance before her leg came around in a clean, powerful arc, her heel connecting with the side of his face in a decisive strike.
His head snapped with the impact, his body going slack as the strength drained out of him all at once, and he collapsed face-first onto the floor. The hallway fell into a heavy, stunned silence, broken only by Dahlia's ragged breathing and the distant hum of the hospital beyond.
The sound of rushing footsteps tore through the hallway, pulling Dahlia's attention forward as nearly a dozen men in identical white uniforms flooded into the corridor, their movements urgent and coordinated as they closed in around the aftermath she had left behind. Her vision tightened, her focus narrowing as her jaw clenched and her tail lashed violently behind her, every instinct screaming at her to fight, to hold her ground, to keep them away.
"You're not taking her from me," Dahlia spat as she lifted her fists, her stance shifting even as her body trembled with the strain. "You hear me? I won't let you take her from me!"
"Dahlia!"
The cry cut through the chaos with a clarity that stilled everything.
It was enough.
Dahlia's eyes widened as she turned, the fury draining from her expression as quickly as it had come, replaced by something far more fragile as she saw Scarlet at the far end of the hallway, seated in her wheelchair, her crimson eyes wide with shock as they took in the scene, the broken bodies, the blood, the wreckage that had unfolded in moments. The nurse also shared in her horror.
"Enough… please," Scarlet said, her words trembling but steady enough to carry, the nurse guiding her forward as she drew closer.
"Scarlet…" Dahlia faltered, her eyes filling as her hands lowered slowly, as though the fight had been pulled out of her all at once. "Scarlet, they were going to—"
Scarlet closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if steadying herself, before opening them again, the fear in them settling into something calmer, something more certain as she turned her gaze toward the pink-haired uma.
"I'm guessing you've already told Dahlia that you want to place me under observation," Scarlet said, her gaze steady as it met Doctor Grace's, cutting off the response before it could fully form. "You don't have to try and soften it. I understand what this is."
She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath before letting it go, as if settling something within herself.
"I know how this looks," she continued, opening them again, her composure holding. "And I understand why you'd be concerned." The words lingered briefly, the acceptance in them quiet but deliberate. "If this is what you believe is best, and if it helps put your mind at ease, then… I'll agree to it."
"Scarlet, what are you saying?" Dahlia stepped forward. "You can't just—"
Scarlet turned back to her, and the softness of her smile cut through the tension in a way nothing else could.
"It's alright, sis," Scarlet said, her hand resting lightly against the arm of her chair as she held Dahlia's gaze. "Don't worry about me. They won't keep me long." She gave a small nod, as if reassuring herself as much as Dahlia. "Once they see there's nothing wrong, I'll be right back home."
She turned toward Grace. "Right?"
Grace adjusted her glasses and stepped forward, closing the distance carefully. "Believe me, Dahlia, I don't want this any more than you do."
Dahlia stiffened when Grace's hand settled on her shoulder, the contact enough to make her flinch, but Grace didn't pull away.
"You're scared, and you're angry. I understand that. But I have always been on your side." Her attention shifted briefly to Scarlet. "Both of you. And I give you my word, she will be safe. There will be no restraints, no locked doors."
Dahlia didn't respond. She didn't even look at her. Her hands remained clenched at her sides, her bruised knuckles whitening as the tension held.
Behind them, the men moved quickly, kneeling beside the two unconscious bodies, checking pulses and calling for assistance as a stretcher was wheeled in. One of them stepped forward, his attention fixed on Dahlia, but Grace shifted into his path before he could reach her.
"Step aside, Doctor Grace," he said. "She assaulted hospital personnel. We need to detain her until the police arrive."
"No," Grace replied, holding her ground. "This is on me."
Dahlia's head snapped up, her eyes widening as she stared at her.
"I made the wrong call," Grace continued. "What happened here is a result of that. I take full responsibility."
The man hesitated, clearly caught off guard, before straightening. "Regardless, protocol requires—"
"I'll handle it," Grace said, more firmly now. "If necessary, I'll speak directly with the Chief."
For a moment, the man held her gaze, weighing it, then let out a quiet breath and gave a small shake of his head. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you." He turned back toward the injured men, leaving it there.
Grace exhaled and turned back to Dahlia, giving her a small, steady nod before shifting her attention to the nurse. "Please take Miss Scarlet to the Observation Ward. I'll join you shortly."
"Yes, Doctor," the nurse replied, already guiding the wheelchair forward.
As Scarlet began to move, she reached out and caught her sister's hand. Dahlia looked down, their fingers threading together as their eyes met, and for a moment, everything else in the hallway faded.
"I'll see you later," Scarlet said, her hand tightening gently around Dahlia's. "When I get out, we'll go get some Funny Honey. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Scarlet gave her hand one last squeeze before letting go, her fingers slipping free as the nurse guided her down the hallway, the wheels of the chair rolling softly against the polished floor until distance began to swallow her from view.
Grace stepped in beside Dahlia, close enough that her presence could still be felt without forcing it.
"Go home. Get some rest," she said. "The moment she's cleared to leave, you'll be the first to know." She adjusted her glasses, then turned and followed after Scarlet and the nurse, her tail giving a small flick as she moved away.
Dahlia didn't follow.
She remained where she stood, rooted in place as everything pressed in at once, the weight of it all rising together in a storm she couldn't separate, anger tangled with fear, relief twisted into something sharp, fragile, and uncertain. It felt too familiar, too close to something she had already lived through, and the thought alone made her chest tighten.
After a moment, she moved.
Her hands slipped into her pockets as she turned and began walking down the hallway, her steps steady but distant, as though she were moving through something heavier than the air around her. The hospital stretched out ahead, unchanged, the same walls, the same lights, the same quiet hum that had once hollowed her out piece by piece.
Two years had passed.
And still, that feeling hadn't left.
****
Thunder rolled across the sky, the sound carrying through the city as rain fell in a relentless curtain over Tokyo, soaking everything it touched. Night had already settled in, the last trace of daylight long gone, leaving the streets to glow beneath neon and headlights that reflected off slick asphalt in streaks of color and light.
Melody drew her coat tighter around herself as she walked, her umbrella angled against the wind, though it did little to keep the chill from settling into her. Each breath left her in a faint cloud that vanished almost as quickly as it formed, the cold pressing through her jacket, her scarf, even the steady rhythm of her steps unable to shake it. Traffic crawled along the roads beside her, engines idling as exhaust mixed with the damp air, while the sidewalks remained just as crowded, people moving in steady streams beneath umbrellas, each one focused on reaching somewhere warm and dry.
The city carried on as it always did.
Screens and billboards lit the street in shifting color, advertisements cycling endlessly across their surfaces. An energy drink flashed across one display, Narita Brian raising a can mid-stride, while another shifted to Biwa Hayahide, her hair cascading flawlessly as she turned toward the camera.
Melody glanced up just long enough to catch it before her gaze dipped again, heat rising faintly to her cheeks despite the cold. Biwa-senpai was one of the few umas who had always made her a little self-conscious, especially when it came to her 'assets'. It wasn't as though she lacked anything, not really, but the comparison lingered longer than she liked.
She adjusted her grip on the umbrella and kept walking, her tail swaying lightly behind her as she focused ahead. The church wasn't far now.
Then, without warning, something collided with her shoulder.
The impact was sharp enough to knock her off balance for a step, her footing slipping on the wet pavement before she caught herself. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"
The words stopped.
The figure in front of her stood just a little taller, her dark hair soaked through by the rain, strands clinging to her face and trailing down along her back in damp, uneven lines. The leather of her jacket caught the glow of passing lights, water sliding over its surface in thin streams before falling steadily to the ground. She had stopped completely now, her gaze fixed on Melody, yet there was something fractured beneath it, something caught between anger and something far heavier. Even through the rain, even with the way it blurred the world around them, Melody could see it clearly.
She had been crying.
And for a moment, neither of them moved.
Recognition settled between them, sudden and undeniable. Melody felt it before she could name it, something sharp in the way their gazes held, something that pulled at a memory she hadn't expected to resurface so quickly. The abandoned parking lot. The race. The blur of movement and the presence she hadn't been able to ignore, even then.
Even without the mask, she knew.
And in those eyes, there was something unmistakable, a spark that confirmed it without a word. They stood there, caught in that moment, the rain falling steadily around them, the noise of the city fading into something distant as Melody's breath hitched just slightly.
The name slipped out before she could stop it.
"Nightingale…"