The morning bus was quieter than usual. Ellie sat in a window seat, staring at her smartphone screen. The message that had arrived on Whisper—*"After school. Pool changing room. Come alone. Yesterday's matter still isn't settled."*—glowed quietly on the dim screen. (*Yesterday's matter.*) Her fingertips trembled faintly. Trying to refuse in the art room. Mio appearing in the classroom. The single-line message from Rina. Everything swirled endlessly in her head. Cradle saw through everything, right into her heart. The bus rounded a curve, and the interior swayed slightly. Outside the window, the morning sun was beginning to shine over the hilly terrain of Sakura-dai City. The spring sunlight was gentle, dyeing the rooftops of the residential area gold. But that light didn't reach Ellie's seat. (*Today, I can't refuse.*) Somewhere in her mind, a calm voice spoke. The option to refuse no longer existed. The only thing left was when and where to go. When she realized that fact, Ellie felt her heart become strangely quiet. More than despair—it was resignation. During class, Ellie gripped her smartphone over and over. Inside her pocket, the coldness of the plastic seeped into her palm. The writing on the blackboard was just white lines, and the teacher's voice sounded like distant noise. (*If only the school day would never end.*) But time wouldn't stop. Every time the bell rang, her stomach clenched tight. After school. Ellie circled around to the back of the gymnasium building, careful not to be noticed by anyone. This path, usually untraveled, echoed her footsteps far too loudly today. Her heart pounded deep in her ears. The pool changing room was supposed to be locked outside of summer. But the heavy iron door was open just a few centimeters. Through the gap, humid air carrying the smell of chlorine and water leaked out. Ellie held her breath and pushed the door open. The hinges creaked. The tiled changing room was larger than she'd expected. The white light of the fluorescent lamps made the water droplets on the walls glisten silver. The air was heavy, the sharp smell of chlorine stinging deep in her nose. Sounds echoed strangely—dripping water, someone's breathing, and wet footsteps. Seven female students silently surrounded Ellie. Their swim team uniforms were still wet, clinging to their skin. Droplets dripped from their hair, forming small puddles on the tiles. They had just finished practice. Some were rotating their arms to loosen muscle fatigue, others still held plastic bottles of sports drink. Among them, one stepped forward. Probably a third-year—slightly taller than the other six, with a thin blue line sewn onto her shoulder marking her as the swim team captain. Her wet black hair was tied back in a single bundle, and she looked down at Ellie with sharp eyes, as if appraising her. "[cold]Right on time." Her voice had a businesslike tone, like when giving instructions during practice. Behind her, the click of a lock. Another girl had locked the door from the inside. Yet another casually placed Ellie's school bag on top of a shelf. Now, both her escape route and her belongings were completely under their control. The third-year pointed to the wooden bench in the center. "[cold]Lie down there." It was an order. No refusal was permitted. Ellie's legs moved, independent of her will. She was trembling—no, *because* she was trembling, she couldn't disobey. She stood before the bench and slowly lay down. The coldness of the wood seeped into her back. The third-year announced the rotation order in a quiet voice. The seven dispersed to their respective roles. Ellie's uniform was systematically stripped away. The buttons of her blouse were undone, her skirt pulled down. The movements were efficient, without waste. The first two began using Ellie's mouth and body simultaneously. The taste of chlorine spread through her mouth. The swim team girl's fingers touched Ellie's skin through her still-wet swimsuit. Cold. Hands chilled from practice stole her body heat away. The remaining five waited their turn by the wall. One drank sports drink, another stretched to loosen her muscles. Two others spoke quietly about tomorrow's practice menu. As if this were just part of their post-practice routine—a relaxed atmosphere filled the changing room. Ellie tried to breathe. But at that exact moment, something always blocked the back of her throat. Whatever was in her mouth wouldn't allow her to breathe. She couldn't get air—each time oxygen ran short, her consciousness nearly faded. White flashes flickered before her eyes. (*Even my own breathing is being controlled.*) That fact reached Ellie's brain like an alarm ringing in some distant place. The rotation shifted. Her position was changed, different hands touched her body. Parts moving down a factory line—that was the image that came to Ellie's mind. The same part, processed by the same procedure, in the same places. No one called Ellie by name. No one met her eyes. Even when her body reacted, no one commented on it. "She's wet." "She's feeling it."—not even words like those. Just indifference. Complete indifference, stripping away the last contours of Ellie's personhood. Midway through the act, Ellie noticed. Her body was responding, independent of her will. And moreover, that response was making the seven's work slightly smoother. Not fear or disgust—she simply recognized that fact, like something happening in a faraway place. (*Ah, something's snapping.*) Deep in her heart, she heard something quietly snap. How much time had passed—her sense of time had long since been lost. When the seven had finished all their acts and began chatting again as they changed clothes, Ellie sat up at the edge of the bench. A cold sensation, a mix of water droplets and bodily fluids, remained on her thighs and stomach. That was when it happened. One of the girls, without a word, casually rolled a plastic bottle in Ellie's direction. Sports drink. The minerals shimmered and swayed inside the clear liquid. Ellie's hand moved on its own. Thirst—her exhausted body craved hydration. With trembling fingers, she twisted the cap and brought it to her lips. The moment the cold liquid passed through her esophagus— (*Ah...*) Her body responded with full-force relief. Her muscle tension eased just slightly, her breathing steadied, her consciousness sharpened. Sweetness melted on her tongue, and her brain recognized it as a reward. A sensation as if every single cell was coming back to life. Next, a sports towel was tossed to her. Ellie obeyed. She wiped her body with the towel, covering her chilled skin with the cloth. As she performed that action—she noticed. Inside her chest, a feeling of gratitude existed. The water and cloth received from people she should hate were drawing out a "thank you" emotion from within her. The recognition of this fact—struck Ellie with a depth far beyond the terror or humiliation of the violation itself. With trembling hands, she gripped the towel. (*Did I just... feel grateful?*) The seven left the changing room, laughing. One of them, without even turning around, said: "[casual]See you." At those words—an impulse to respond was born inside Ellie. It didn't become a voice. But deep in her throat, a part of her was definitely trying to answer "yes." The moment she recognized the existence of that impulse, Ellie dropped the towel onto her lap and covered her face with both hands. A ragged breath leaked between her fingers. She was left alone in the changing room. The smell of chlorine still clung deep in her nose. Water droplets running down the tiled walls fell to the floor in a steady rhythm. *Drip. Drip.* Only that sound punctuated the silence. For a long time, Ellie couldn't move. More than her physical exhaustion—the fear that the residue of that emotion called gratitude wouldn't disappear bound her in place. In her head, she tried to calmly put into words what had happened inside her. But the more she tried to verbalize it, the sharper the contours of that emotion became. So she stopped thinking midway. She held the empty plastic bottle in her hands. Should she throw it away—or take it home? It was just trash. It was trash, and yet she couldn't decide. She was already clinging to something given to her by Cradle. This hesitation itself was the clearest proof that Ellie's standards of judgment had already been eroded. By the time she finally stood up, it was already growing dark outside the window. She straightened her uniform and retrieved her bag from the shelf. When she left the changing room, she turned back one last time. The wooden bench simply sat there in silence under the white light of the fluorescent lamps. After returning home. Ellie placed her hand against the wall as she showered. Hot water pounded against her back. But no matter how much she washed, the smell of chlorine, the sensations, and—the memory of that sweetness—wouldn't disappear. (*Tomorrow, it'll happen all over again.*) It was a certainty. But when she realized she was accepting that certainty—not as fear, but as quiet understanding—Ellie covered her mouth and cried, killing her voice. The sound of the shower drowned out her sobs. Late at night. Her smartphone vibrated by her pillow. A new message had arrived on Whisper. *"Early morning of the tenth day. I'll contact you with the location again. Don't be late."* Ellie stared at the screen. (*I'll refuse.*) Those words echoed faintly in her heart. But already—those words held no power whatsoever. Her fingers unconsciously scrolled through the message on the screen. It wasn't a question of going or not going. Where she needed to go—that was all that came to mind. The very shape of that question already—told the whole story.