Morning light filtered faintly through the gap in the curtains. Ellie lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her chest felt heavy, as if packed with stones. Her fingertips were cold, and every time she moved, the texture of the sheets felt unnervingly intense. (*Day five.*) A voice in her head counted the days. Five days since she'd transferred. In just five days, the world around her had completely changed. No—to be precise—perhaps she herself had changed. She sat up. Faint red marks lingered on her neck. The bandage Rina had applied in the infirmary was gone now, but a dull ache still seeped beneath the skin. As she slipped her arms through her uniform sleeves, Ellie looked into the mirror. Staring back at her was her own face—one she should have been used to—with its deep brown eyes. But something was different. Her eyes seemed more sunken than before. Her cheeks looked a little hollow, too. And more than anything—those eyes were vacant, as if she'd given up on something. (*I have to go again today.*) Ellie let out a small breath. In the kitchen, her mother, Taeko, was already standing in front of the microwave. A single slice of bread sat on the table, same as always. The smell of coffee. Taeko's fingers moved busily over her smartphone. Ellie sat down in silence. She tore off a piece of bread and brought it to her mouth. She could barely taste it. "[cold]The school contacted me yesterday." Taeko spoke abruptly. Ellie's hand stopped for a moment. "[cold]Apparently you still haven't submitted the scholarship paperwork? They said the review will be delayed if it's not in by next month, so hurry up." "...Okay." That was it. Her mother didn't even look at her face. She hadn't noticed the injuries hidden beneath the uniform, or the dark circles under her eyes. (*Mom doesn't know.*) Ellie murmured in her heart. Maybe it was better that way. Even if she knew, nothing would change. The school bus arrived at its usual time. Ellie sat by the window, gazing absently at the scenery outside. The bus passed through the hilly areas of Sakura-dai City, running between low thickets of mixed trees. The spring sunlight reflecting off the window glass was dazzling. In her pocket, her smartphone vibrated. Ellie held her breath and pulled out the screen. A notification. A message from that special app—Whisper. *Building 3, Art Room Prep Room. Within 5 minutes of lunch break starting. Be punctual. Mio.* Her fingers trembled slightly as she stared at the text. The events in the restroom yesterday flashed back through her mind. The cold feel of the tiles. Multiple hands. The sound of water, and the voice leaking from inside her. And Rina's cold gaze after it was over. (*I don't want to go.*) Ellie bit her lip. (*Today, I won't go.*) She thought it clearly in her heart. What would happen if she didn't go—she didn't know. But going was far more terrifying. Stepping into that place again of her own volition was. The bus arrived at the stop nearest the school. As she got off, Ellie assembled a plan in her head. (*I'll talk to Mr. Tamaru.*) During second period, Ellie spent the whole class observing her homeroom teacher, Mr. Tamaru. He was a gentle-faced male teacher in his forties. He seemed to often counsel students. Even when they passed in the hallway during breaks, he always gave her a slight nod. (*Maybe this person would listen.*) She decided: as soon as lunch break started, she'd go straight to the faculty room. As she copied the board notes into her notebook, she rehearsed the words of her plea over and over in her head. (*How should I say it so he'll believe me?*) Should she use the word "bullying"? Or something else—? The chime signaling the end of fourth period rang. A buzz of noise spread through the classroom. Ellie slowly stood up, intending to head for the faculty room. That was the moment. The door at the back of the classroom opened. "[excited]Excuse me~!" A lively voice echoed through the room. A honey-colored ponytail swayed. It was Mio. She waved lightly at a few classmates as she naturally entered the classroom. Ellie's feet froze. Mio walked straight toward Ellie's seat. The eyes of the surrounding students converged on them at once. Mio, seemingly completely unbothered by those stares, gently placed a hand on Ellie's shoulder. "[gentle]Ellie-chan, you got a sec?" Her voice was soft, as if she were talking to a close friend. But her golden eyes weren't smiling. "[gentle]Are your scholarship documents all ready? Seigetsukan looks at both attendance and grades, you know. If you run into any trouble, you should talk to your homeroom teacher, Mr. Tamaru, right away—I'll put in a word for you too." The atmosphere in the classroom shifted. Several students looked over with keen interest. Another group was whispering amongst themselves. (*Scholarship?*) (*So that's the kind of family Ellie comes from.*) Wordless, curious stares pierced her skin. Ellie felt her face flush. Shame, fear—and despair. Mio continued, her smile still in place. "[gentle]If you don't have enough attendance days, it'll affect the review, so you'd better not skip or be late. I was worried about you." (*She did this on purpose.*) Ellie pressed down on her trembling knees. Mio knew everything. Ellie's family's financial situation. That she couldn't attend this school without the scholarship. And—that by exposing it here and now, she could prevent Ellie from going to the faculty room. Just then, Mr. Tamaru entered through the front door of the classroom. Mio immediately turned her smile toward him and gave a slight bow. "[gentle]Ah, Mr. Tamaru. Thank you for your hard work." "Oh, Kurosaki. Diligent as ever, I see." Tamaru raised a hand cheerfully. In his eyes, Mio was the perfect honor student. He didn't even notice the expression on Ellie's face beside her. (*It's no use.*) Ellie murmured in her heart. (*I can't talk to this person.*) Mio had already blocked every escape route. If she went to the faculty room, Mio's "kind offer" would have reached him first. No matter what she said, she'd just be seen as paranoid. "[whispers]Well then, see you later." Mio whispered softly into Ellie's ear. Her voice was sweet, and cold. As she left the classroom, Ellie was finally able to draw a breath. Her lungs trembled, craving oxygen. The students around her had already lost interest. With strengthless hands, Ellie tidied the textbooks on her desk. She had no choice but to go to the art room—she could do nothing now but accept that fact. The hallway of Building 3 was sparsely traveled. Ellie stopped in front of the art room door. Her heart hammered behind her ears. Her hands trembled. (*I really do want to go home.*) But she couldn't. Just thinking about the meaning behind Mio's words in the classroom—what would happen if she refused—made her legs refuse to move. She opened the door. Inside, it was quiet. In the center of the room, cluttered with plaster busts and old art supplies, stood a single large worktable. Easels and sketchbooks were neatly arranged. And—eight art club members were silently staring at Ellie. In their center stood Kuga Mizuki. A small frame. A perfectly straight bun. Beneath deeply swept, angled bangs, large, dark blue eyes fixed on Ellie. Faint freckles and small, doubled canines. At first glance, she seemed like a shy, quiet girl. But those eyes—held a cold light, as if appraising prey. "[cold]You came." Mizuki's voice was devoid of emotion. Not a command, not a plea. Just a flat tone, confirming a fact. "[cold]We'll be using you as a reference model for this semester's human figure studies." The eight club members approached Ellie wordlessly. She took a step back, but immediately sensed figures behind her. There was nowhere to run. She was pinned down onto the worktable. Her limbs were loosely restrained with belts meant for securing art materials. She couldn't escape. Yet there was no sharp pain—which, somehow, made it even more terrifying. She was being treated like an object. Mizuki stood right beside Ellie and hooked the handle of the paintbrush she held onto a button of Ellie's uniform. One. The button came undone. Two. Her blouse was slowly parted to the left and right. The wooden feel of the paintbrush glided over her skin. It was far more—humiliating—than being touched directly by a hand. This was a tool. The act itself declared that Ellie wasn't a person, but material. "[serious]Everyone else, get ready." As Mizuki spoke flatly, one of the club members stood in front of Ellie's face. She hiked up her skirt and shifted her underwear aside. Her exposed genitals were pressed against Ellie's mouth. "[cold]We'll make good use of you today, too." Another member's voice fell from above. Ellie closed her eyes. A lukewarm sensation spread inside her mouth. The female student began to move her hips, her pubic area rubbing against Ellie's lips. The taste of salt seeped onto her tongue. (*This, again.*) A small sob leaked from the back of her throat. But she couldn't even spit it out anymore. Her head was grabbed from behind, shaking it back and forth. Simultaneously, another hand reached for Ellie's lower body. Her skirt was flipped up, fingers stroking her thighs. Someone's finger traced the bruise left on her knee. And then—a foreign object invaded her vagina. "[sad]Ugh, ah..." The voice escaped on its own. Even with her mouth blocked, muffled moans spilled from deep in her throat. With each thrust, the worktable creaked and groaned. Mizuki never once approached the worktable. She stood a short distance away, running a mechanical pencil across her sketchbook. Indifferently. Calmly. As if drawing a still life. "[serious]The angle of the neck is better than before. But the tension in the lower back still isn't released." Her voice echoed like a live commentary. "[serious]Next person, switch. Insert from behind this time. I want to change the composition." The members rotated. The fingers withdrew from her vagina, leaving a moment of emptiness. Then immediately, something else was pressed against her. This time, it was thrust in deeper, all the way inside. "[crying]Hic, uah...!" Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. The ceiling looked blurry. It was as if her body no longer belonged to her. (*What... what are they doing to me right now?*) Her consciousness seemed to fade. But Mizuki's voice alone sounded unnervingly clear. "[serious]The distortion of your face is beautiful. That pained expression—I'll make sure to capture it in my sketch." Mizuki's words held genuine admiration. A pure appreciation, like looking at a work of art. That, more than anything, chipped away at Ellie's spirit. (*This person doesn't think of me as human.*) She could close her eyes to the violence. But she couldn't escape the observation. Mizuki's gaze consumed Ellie's pain and humiliation as mere "expressions of a subject." The rotation of club members continued mechanically. Ellie's mouth was used, one after another. Her hair was grabbed, saliva spilled from the corner of her lips, staining the worktable. At her lower body, another member toyed with her vagina, while at her chest, yet another kneaded her breasts. Not to draw out sexual feeling—just to possess. How much time had passed? One of the members released semen inside Ellie. The sensation of it being pushed in deep. Warm liquid spread within her vagina. The next female student immediately came forward and used her body in the same way. The cloudy fluid trickled down her thigh, staining the worktable. Mizuki murmured as she turned a page. "[serious]You're obedient today. Easy to draw." In that instant, deep within Ellie's heart—something reacted. (*Easy to draw.*) (*Obedient—I'm being useful?*) It was a faint, wordless emotion. A twisted sense of fulfillment that peeked out from the gaps in her consciousness, smothered in humiliation and pain.