Late morning. Shiozaki Ibara’s counseling room

  Sanctuary bathed in silence. Soft golden sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, breaking gently across the wooden floor where dust motes danced in the warm air. A simple cross, a small flower pot, and a sun-faded verse from the Bible hung quietly on the plaster wall, adding to the faint, comforting scent of dried herbs and old paper.

  Shiozaki lifted the teapot and poured the tea with steady hands. Warm steam rose, and a gentle fragrance spread through the room.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  Mirko leaned back in the chair and glanced around for a moment.

  “Comfortably, huh…” A dry, hollow laugh escaped her. “These days, that’s the hardest thing to do.”

  Between the last drip of tea and the sway of curtains, a heavy quiet settled in the cup.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me anything?”

  Mirko tilted her head slightly, one eyebrow arched in genuine surprise.

  “Doctors usually can’t wait to start prying right away.”

  Shiozaki met her gaze calmly, gently swirling the teacup to spread the aroma.

  “You’ve already said a lot at the hospital, haven’t you?”

  “I did.” Mirko let out a sharp, cynical scoff. “I talked about all sorts of things out of sheer frustration. But the answers were all pretty much the same.”

  She crossed her arms and turned her gaze aside.

  “‘You need rest,’ ‘Time will heal you’—Just noise. That’s all. It just made me... sick.”

  Shiozaki nodded.

  “That’s why I will just listen today.” Her voice came low, carrying a quiet warmth. “Even without asking, I feel like there’s something you want to say, Mirko.”

  Mirko stopped tapping her finger against her arm. She studied Shiozaki, her eyes searching—gauging if she could truly let her guard down.

  Shiozaki pushed the teacup slightly forward.

  “You can talk about what we spoke of earlier, or about your daily life. Or you can just drink tea and rest for a while.” Her gaze softened. “Follow where your heart leads.”

  A thin trail of steam rose from the cup, drifting like a white haze between the two of them. Mirko kept her eyes on that haze.

  “…As my heart leads...”

  Her lips curled in bitter self-mockery.

  “My heart… has lost its place.”

  It was a quiet remark, yet the air in the room slowly cooled. She exhaled softly, a tired sound that carried more emptiness than breath.

  “...I got it all back.”

  She lifted both arms slowly, testing the weight of what she’d regained. Light brushed against her skin, tracing the smooth outline of rebuilt muscle.

  “Both arms. My right leg. Even the tip of my ear…”

  Her fingers drifted to her thigh, wandering as if searching for an old wound.

  “Even the burn scars gone, wiped clean like they’d never been. But still…”

  A short, brittle laugh slipped from her lips.

  “...Why does everything still feel wrong?”

  Mirko kept her eyes on the empty air and murmured quietly.

  “…Maybe... accepting Rewind was a mistake.”

  The tea rippled in the cup, warping her reflection into something she didn’t recognize.

  “Maybe I should’ve just stayed as metal...”

  Her eyes fell, heavy with thought.

  “At least… my heart didn’t feel this lost.”

  Mirko lifted the cup and took a sip. Warm tea touched her tongue—then nothing. Shiozaki lowered her gaze, waiting in silence until Mirko’s shaking eased.

  The silence filled the room, deep and heavy—an answer in itself.

  “May I ask… what made you decide to accept the Rewind?”

  Her voice was careful, steady—not probing, but ready to listen.

  Mirko went quiet, lost somewhere in thought. Her eyes wandered to the window, to the curtain swaying in the light.

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  “…Eraser Head was the first to mention it.”

  She crossed her arms and stared into empty space.

  “And I told him I didn't need fixing. ‘What I lost was just flesh.’ That’s what I said.”

  A short, dry laugh escaped her.

  “Back then, I thought I could endure anything.”

  Mirko’s gaze drifted away, the light in her eyes dimming with memory.

  “Not long after Eraser Head left, a massive congratulatory wreath arrived. From Hawks, of course.”

  She let out a short, rough chuckle.

  “He always did that—every damn time I finished a mission, he’d send one. That was just like him. And I knew... what he was trying to hide behind those loud flowers and short letters.”

  The words dissolved into a heavy sigh.

  “That was when a thought came to me—quiet, but sharp. ‘Could a body like this ever be… a good wife? A good mother?’”

  A short silence followed. Her voice trembled softly.

  “Prosthetics worked. But they weren’t mine. If I ever held someone again…”

  She uncrossed her arms, staring down at them.

  Skin, flesh, and bone. A pulse beating beneath the surface, warm blood flowing through veins. Her own, whole arms.

  “I wanted to feel their warmth, not through metal.”

  The curtain by the window swayed, catching the light like a quiet breath. Shiozaki said nothing, only watching the light tremble on Mirko's face.

  Mirko’s eyes wandered, unfocused.

  “The feeling right after Rewind—it still feels vivid, even now.”

  She raised both arms again, fingertips trembling as if remembering that moment.

  “Back then, lifting my arms like this… it felt like salvation. Eri’s tears. The warmth of her small fist bumping against mine. No more iron. No more gears. Only bone—and flesh.”

  Her fingertips traced her own arms, as if to be sure they were truly hers. A faint pulse stirred beneath her skin—alive, real.

  “To feel again at all… in that moment, it was nothing short of a miracle.”

  Mirko’s voice fell, low and filled with awe.

  “After that, I locked myself away in the HPSC basement, training for months. I had to learn to move again. And above all, Eri—and what she’d done—had to stay secret.”

  “Eri still came to see me sometimes. She’d show up with a little lunchbox, smiling like the sun. ‘Do your best today!’ she’d say.”

  Mirko let out a slow breath, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

  “I’d ruffle her hair and tell her, ‘When I finish my comeback mission, dinner’s on me.’ ‘And when you graduate from U.A.… we’ll run together someday.’”

  Her gaze lingered on the empty air, seeing that memory instead of the room.

  “At that time, I felt lighter than air. I truly believed the best was yet to come. To feel the wind against this restored body, running side by side with them again.”

  Shiozaki nodded gently, acknowledging the warmth in her voice.

  “It sounds like a time filled with light.”

  She paused briefly before asking softly.

  “Then… were there no symptoms back then?”

  Mirko thought for a moment, then shook her head slowly.

  “Not exactly. There were... signs.”

  She exhaled softly before she went on.

  “I’d get headaches. Dizzy spells, sometimes. Time slipped. The line between now and eight years ago... it kept blurring. But it got better—little by little. No hallucinations, no voices—just the clock in my head running wrong.”

  Her fingertips traced her forehead. She let out a slow, unsteady breath.

  “That was when it first began—during the ceremony. Near the end of the event, pain hit—sharp, sudden, like a needle driven into my skull. And at the same moment, a high-pitched whine screamed in my ears.”

  She pressed her temple, eyes half-closed.

  “Looking back now… I think it was a whisper. Or maybe a warning. But then, I didn’t think twice. I blinked—and then it was gone.”

  Mirko pressed her fingertips together, as if to keep herself steady.

  “The real start of it all… was that night. I was talking with Mt. Lady, and for a second, time itself felt wrong. It didn’t feel like now. It felt… like before the war ended.”

  Her eyes stayed on the floor.

  “The air turned strange for a moment, but we soon laughed it off. I just thought it was a simple side effect of the treatment back then... but looking back, something had already slipped out of place.”

  Silence settled between them.

  “Just as I lifted my glass, the champagne bubbling in the light...”

  Her breath hitched.

  “I felt it. A breath... brushing right against my ear. Same sound from just like that day at Jaku Hospital. Ragged. Trembling. It was too close... I couldn't tell if it was a scream, or a prayer.”

  “And after that…”

  Her voice faded, dissolving into the stillness. Her lips moved—opened, closed—but no words came.

  Shiozaki watched in silence.

  Her vines stirred restlessly, brushing against the teacup’s shadow—a silent reflection of the agitation in the air. That small motion brought back the memory of the Commission meeting.

  The thought echoed again in her mind. Mirko stayed silent, her shoulders trembling just a little. Shiozaki steadied her breath, fingers meeting in quiet prayer.

  Shiozaki lowered her eyes, a deep understanding settling in her heart. She saw the trembling of Mirko’s fists on her knees.

  Her vines swayed gently, in response to her sorrow.

  Shiozaki drew a quiet breath.

  “It’s all right,” she said. Her voice carried warmth, but also an unshakeable strength. “You don’t have to answer right away.”

  Mirko lifted her head; her eyes held both caution and exhaustion.

  “But…”

  Shiozaki smiled faintly.

  “The feelings you carry—they are not sins.”

  The air stilled, heavy and clear. She lowered her eyes, then looked up again, steady.

  “Mirko… No.” She paused. “Rumi.”

  Her voice was quiet, yet it rang firm.

  “We remember. We remember how you stood in that war against All For One. You were the spear. The shield. The Rabbit Hero, Mirko. The first to bleed, and the last to fall.”

  Silence lingered. Mirko’s eyes wavered. Shiozaki went on, her tone low and kind.

  “Pain turning inward... anger seeking a way out... none of that is a sin.”

  “It is simply proof that your heart is still alive. That you are human.”

  “For heroes, for citizens—you gave everything. No matter how strong the villains, you faced them with that wild, fearless grin.”

  “That heart,” she said softly, “is what truly matters.”

  Silence filled the room once more, deep and steady. Mirko finally looked at Shiozaki.

  In those tired, guarded eyes, the walls finally began to crack.

  The permission to be weak. The permission to be broken. It was something she had never given herself.

  “I was afraid I’d hurt them... I never said it out loud until now.”

  She took a moment to steady her breath.

  “I can’t keep avoiding or running.”

  Her next words barely left her lips.

  “My... comrades…”

  “I hear voices... full of resentment toward .”

  The air stopped moving.

  Shiozaki said nothing to break the confession. She held her breath, letting the words settle into the quiet.