The corridor was deathly silent.
Time itself seemed to have stopped.
The only thing that broke the stillness was Toyokawa Sakiko's breathing—growing heavier and heavier, each draw of air dragging like lead.
A long time passed.
A very long time.
Finally… she moved.
Slowly, Sakiko raised her right hand.
The motion was stiff—yet it carried the ruthless resolve of someone who'd decided to burn the boats behind her.
With her entire palm, she clamped down on the cracked Willpower Glasses.
Then her fingers tightened all at once, and she ripped outward with brutal force.
But the glasses felt as if they'd fused with her flesh—her nerves—甚至 her very soul. Forcing them off sent a spike of agony through her body.
A muffled groan was crushed out from between her clenched teeth.
She could hear the tiny, sickening sound of skin tearing. She could feel something warm sliding down her cheek.
Drip. Drip.
Dark red beads of blood splattered onto the steps beneath her feet, blooming into spreading stains.
The pain blotted out her vision. Her body instinctively tried to curl up, to flee—every nerve screaming and twitching.
But the hand gripping the lens was like it had been welded in place.
Not a hint of loosening.
She didn't stop.
Rrrip—
The teeth-gritting sound of flesh peeling away rang out with obscene clarity in the dead silence.
At last, she tore the Willpower Glasses off her face—by force.
She didn't even look at them.
Her blood-smeared hand clenched, five fingers snapping shut.
The flimsy plastic frame and the cracked lenses crumbled in her palm, pulverized into dust.
Fine fragments mixed with blood fell in a soft, steady stream through her fingers.
And in the instant the glasses shattered—
An invisible shockwave erupted outward from her, blasting through the space like a detonation.
Sakiko straightened her spine.
Ochre flames surged into existence out of nowhere, wrapping around her as she slowly lifted her blood-soaked face.
The grime and blood were evaporated and blown away by an unseen force.
Her tightly shut eyes snapped open.
Golden irises—fierce as molten lava, majestic as a god's judgment—flared to life.
Pure, blazing, unyielding will burned within them.
The ordinary school uniform on her body touched those fierce flames and was incinerated in an instant.
In its place—
A lavish black-and-red stage outfit: Ave Mujica's performance costume.
The skirt hem snapped and fluttered in an invisible storm of power.
A vast force she had never once experienced roared inside her, as if something immense had awakened and was now bellowing to be let loose.
She parted her bloodstained lips. Her voice wasn't loud—yet it carried a penetrating weight, rolling through the infinitely extending stairway and crushing every lingering doubt and echo of failure.
"I am Toyokawa Sakiko."
"Persona—!!!"
BOOM!
The void warped. Light converged.
Behind her, a colossal presence manifested at once—descending in the interweaving of light and shadow.
It was a girl-shaped angel of shattered beauty, steeped in tragedy and defiance.
Golden wings—broken, yet still straining to spread—trembled behind her back. Heavy chains, symbols of bondage, wound around her body. Ash, the very emblem of failure, spiraled and danced in the air around her.
In her slender hands, she gripped a broken harp.
Its snapped strings quivered soundlessly in empty space, as if playing a mute elegy for dreams that could never be fulfilled.
The angel's face was both compassionate and resolute. Burn marks covered her like the scars of a saint who had endured immolation and still stood upright.
Sakiko stared at the angelic shadow born from the most painful depths of her soul—bearing wounds, shackles, and ruin, yet still holding its head high.
In those lava-bright golden eyes, a flicker of understanding flashed—
Then twisted into a whirlpool of emotion too complex to name.
All her past pain, struggle, resentment, stubbornness… surged up in a single tide.
"Icarus…"
She breathed the name—the one who chased the sun and fell—like a sigh at fate's reunion.
To pursue freedom and light…
Even if it meant shattering your wings in the fall—
You would not regret it.
The angel with broken golden wings bowed her head slightly. Her gaze—pitying, steadfast—met Sakiko's fiercely burning eyes across the void.
A silent covenant formed in that exchange.
In the next heartbeat, the massive angel collapsed inward, shrinking into a beam of light that shot straight to Sakiko's face—
And became a gorgeous mask, perfectly matching Ave Mujica's stage attire.
Sakiko lifted a hand, her fingertips brushing the edge of the mask.
Then her lips curved into an easy, almost reckless smile—free, even faintly mad.
Without a trace of hesitation left, her bloodstained boot stepped upward—
Firmly—onto the sixth step.
The space convulsed.
The endless stairway ahead fractured like glass struck by a giant hammer—spiderweb cracks exploding across it—then peeling away in shards, layer by layer.
When her vision cleared again, she was no longer on the steps.
She stood inside a grand, ominous Japanese palace.
At the center of the hall, a familiar figure in a dark kimono stood quietly with his back to her.
Hearing her footsteps, the figure turned—slowly.
It was Toyokawa Kiyoteru.
Or rather… it was her father's projection within this distorted world of cognition—the Palace's master.
When his face fully entered her sight, Sakiko's molten-gold pupils tightened uncontrollably.
The right half of Toyokawa Kiyoteru's face wore a kind, satisfied smile—his eyes gentle, filled with the pride of a father looking at an outstanding daughter.
But the left half—
Was something else entirely.
Muscles twisted and spasmed grotesquely. His mouth cracked into a curve of malice. His eyes overflowed with undisguised loathing and hatred so thick it felt like it might spray out as something tangible—
As if he were wearing a savage demon mask.
Two extremes—love and hate, praise and curse—coexisted on the same face in a horrific, torn harmony.
"Just as expected of you, Sakiko."
"You really did cross failure and come before me."
Toyokawa Kiyoteru spoke.
His voice carried the same unnatural dual-layer resonance—like two souls speaking at once.
Beneath the gentle tone, a second voice rolled clearly: a hoarse whisper saturated with hatred.
"But…"
That hateful voice surged up abruptly, drowning out the gentle one.
"Stop here. Don't delude yourself into thinking you can defeat me."
"Follow your father back. Return to the Toyokawa family."
"That is where you belong."
The command was absolute. The grotesque muscles on the left half of his face twitched in sync.
Sakiko stared at that familiar-yet-foreign face.
Emotions churned in her eyes—too tangled to be spoken—
But in the end, all of them were overwritten by unwavering resolve.
She shook her head firmly.
The flames in her golden eyes burned even hotter.
"No."
Her voice rang cleanly through the great hall.
"I'm going to bring the father you used to be back—with my own hands."
"Not by relying on something fake like kotodama to twist your will."
"I'll make you wake up from this cage yourself—so you can find the real you again!"
"Sakiko…"
Toyokawa Kiyoteru's strange layered voice sounded once more—woven from love, trembling emotion, self-abandonment, and the purest hatred.
In the慈爱 gaze on the right half of his face, something like tears shimmered.
On the left, hatred twisted him into something even more terrifying.
He didn't try to persuade her again.
Instead, he slowly raised his arm and pointed toward the palace's towering ceiling.
Rumble—!
The roof split apart like a fragile eggshell, shattering and drifting upward.
A ghastly, pale moonlight poured down—instantly illuminating the world beyond the palace walls.
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