Lena would be okay.

Even in the original story, she had managed to overcome the brainwashing—at least, to some extent.

After being forced to fight her own comrades, after being pushed again and again until her body and mind reached their limits, she finally realized that something about herself was wrong.

She refused the villains when they tried to persuade her.

She rejected their honeyed words and empty promises.

And in the end, she willingly gave up her life.

Tricked by the very people who claimed they would save her, she died without ever realizing the truth.

The stuffed doll she cherished so dearly—what she believed to be a real person, someone who loved her and stayed by her side—was nothing more than an illusion.

A projection born from her greatest trauma and her most precious longing.

A trap she could neither deny nor escape, even after realizing it was a lie.

She died a futile, lonely death.

...It would probably be the same this time too.

That was what I thought.

"Let’s go find your parents after you finish eating this."

Lena’s voice was gentle, careful, as she held out the spoon.

"There’s a student my sister cherishes," she continued, smiling softly, "and he’s going to help us find them too."

...Huh?

That line wasn’t in the original story.

Lena froze for a moment, the spoon hovering in midair.

Her unfocused eyes trembled—and then, slowly, something changed.

Light.

Very faint, but unmistakable.

"...I feel like I’m about to remember," Lena murmured, her brows knitting together. "But I can’t quite grasp it."

She pressed a hand against her temple, as if trying to pull the memory out by force.

"But... he’s a kind child," she continued softly. "He’ll definitely help."

"He’s kind and considerate of others," Lena said, her voice gaining certainty. "He always looks sullen, like he’s annoyed at the world, but he never ignores someone who needs help."

...Huh?

Ryan and Leo slowly turned their heads toward me.

Their gazes were sharp, confused, and just a little suspicious.

What the hell—

I don’t know about this either.

"He’s so kind," Lena went on, completely unaware of the tension she was causing, "that he even worries about the people who bullied him. He never holds grudges. He just... endures."

The room fell silent.

"...Are you sure she’s brainwashed?" Ryan muttered under his breath, leaning slightly toward Leo.

Leo didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he stared at Lena with a complicated expression, as if trying to peel apart truth from illusion.

And then...

Leo tilted his head, studying me openly now.

"That sounds like she’s talking about you, Rin," he said slowly, as if testing the words out loud.

I stiffened.

"...Yeah," Ryan added, narrowing his eyes. "That’s uncomfortably accurate."

You’re right...?

My throat felt dry.

What was going on?

For a moment, confusion swallowed me whole. My thoughts tangled, chasing each other in useless circles. But whatever this unease was, it didn’t feel like something we could afford to dwell on.

The woman sitting across from us suddenly stirred.

For just a heartbeat, light flickered back into her eyes—so faint it was almost painful to see. Then it vanished again, swallowed by the same hollow emptiness as before. She lowered her gaze and turned back to the doll in her arms, cradling it with unsettling tenderness.

"Ah... I’m sorry," she murmured softly, brushing imaginary crumbs from the doll’s clothes. "Were you hungry? Let’s finish eating first. Yes, yes... it’s okay to talk after we finish eating."

Her voice was gentle. Too gentle.

A chill crawled up my spine.

"She’s completely gone," Leo muttered under his breath. "That’s not normal. It looks like full-on brainwashing."

"Then can’t we just take the professor and leave?" Ryen asked quietly, scanning the room. "There’s no one else here."

If it were really that simple, this whole situation wouldn’t feel so wrong.

"...Ryan," I said slowly, choosing my words with care, "there is someone else here."

Both of them looked at me.

Someone stronger than Ryan. Someone stronger than Leo.

At least—for now.

The air shifted.

As if she had heard us, the woman froze mid-motion. The doll slipped slightly in her grasp before she pulled it close again. Slowly, unnaturally, her head turned in our direction.

Her eyes were empty.

"...Who are you?"

The moment the words left her lips, pressure slammed into the room like a physical force. She rose to her feet, hiding the doll behind her back as if shielding it from danger. Hostility poured off her in waves—raw, sharp, and overwhelming.

I swallowed.

The feeling was wrong.

This was the same person who had always stood behind us. The one who supported everyone without complaint, who watched our backs when things went bad. Seeing her stand against us like this made my chest ache.

Her gaze flicked to Ryan first.

Then to Leo.

And finally—

It landed on me.

She stared.

"...Huh?"

The hostility faltered.

Her brows knit together slightly, as if something didn’t fit. She leaned forward a fraction, eyes narrowing—not in anger, but confusion.

"...You," she said slowly. "Why do you look like that?"

"Like what?" I asked before I could stop myself.

She hesitated.

"...Like someone I shouldn’t forget."

The room went dead silent.

Ryan sucked in a sharp breath. Leo stiffened beside me.

But before I could say anything more....

Lena clutched her head with both hands, staggering back as if struck.

"UGHHHHHHHHHAAA!"

The scream tore out of her throat—raw, hoarse, nothing like the gentle voice from moments ago.

The doll slipped from her arms and hit the floor, rolling to my feet.

Lena’s knees buckled.

"Professor!" Ryan shouted, instinctively stepping forward.

"Don’t touch her!" Leo barked at the same time, grabbing Ryan’s sleeve and yanking him back.

Too late.

The moment Ryan crossed an invisible line, the pressure in the room exploded.

It felt like someone had slammed a hammer straight into my chest.

Lena’s scream cut off abruptly.

Her body snapped upright, head lifting with a sharp, unnatural motion. Veins stood out along her neck, her breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps.