The morning air was still damp. Ellie adjusted her uniform collar as she stopped in the deserted entranceway. The area in front of the shoe lockers was utterly silent, with only the distant shouts of the baseball club reaching her ears. It was a time when no one else had arrived yet. *(Kurosaki Mio always comes to the faculty wing at this hour.)* She had observed for four days. Mio's arrival time, the corridor she walked through, her walking speed. That pattern, burned into her mind, was what had brought Ellie here this morning. The option to refuse no longer existed. To be precise—the very circuitry for making that choice had been shattered yesterday in the pool changing room. The sweetness of the sports drink, the warmth of the towel, and her own voice about to say "thank you." That had been the death of her final resistance. Now, the only thing in Ellie's chest was—fear of the emptiness without orders. The anxiety of not being summoned had surpassed the fear of being summoned. When she understood that reversal, Ellie felt as though she had glimpsed a map of no return within her own heart. *Click, clack.* Footsteps approached. A honey-colored ponytail swayed in the morning light. Mio. The moment she caught sight of Ellie in her field of vision, she narrowed her golden eyes for just an instant. It wasn't surprise—it was a gesture of confirmation. As if she had known all along that Ellie being here was only natural. [gentle] "Oh my, Ellie-chan. You're early." Her voice was as soft as ever. But Ellie had already grown accustomed to sensing the cold metal beneath its resonance. Ellie's throat trembled faintly. She forced out words. Opened her mouth of her own accord. "...T-Today..." Her voice shook. Her fingertips gripped the fabric of her skirt. "Where... should I go?" She said it. She had said it. In that instant, a sensation like something surging up from the pit of her stomach rushed through her. The meaning of the words she had spoken struck her whole body a moment later. She had wished, of her own volition, to be commanded. Even knowing what would be done to her from now on, she had sought it out. Self-loathing welled up as a sour lump in the back of her throat. *(I just—)* But. That emotion quickly sank. What surfaced in its place was the memory of last night. How her heart had leaped every time the Whisper notification vibrated. The restlessness when she realized no message had come. That hollow feeling during the hours she spent just hugging her knees in her room, given no role to play. The freedom to refuse had long since been paralyzed. If anything—the absence of orders was more painful. Mio looked down at Ellie's face as if appraising her. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, in a single second. [cold] "The rooftop. Until thirty minutes before classes start." Saying only that, Mio proceeded down the corridor. There wasn't a shred of hesitation in her back. It was a perfect stride that seemed to whisper, *Just as planned.* As Ellie watched that back retreat, she searched her own heart. Fear? —No, that wasn't it. What floated in the center of her chest was relief. She had been given a role. Today, she had a reason to be there. That fact propelled her trembling knees forward. Forty minutes before classes started. The iron door to the rooftop had already been unlocked. When Ellie pushed it open, a cold spring breeze caressed her face. Spreading across her entire field of vision was a blue sky. The clouds were still thin, and the sunlight illuminated the concrete floor in white. And—six female students were waiting in orderly fashion. All of them had changed not into uniforms but gym clothes, their handbags placed neatly against the wall. A businesslike atmosphere, like a club activity that had finished its preparations, filled the space. The third-year leader—a tall girl with black hair tied back, wearing the student council vice-president armband on her shoulder—looked at Ellie and said curtly: [cold] "Right on time." In her hands was a small tablet device. The screen was briefly turned in Ellie's direction, then immediately lowered. Ellie understood that her performance was being recorded. Just like Mizuki's sketchbook. As material, as data, she was being "processed." "Six this morning. We'll rotate in pairs, so move as instructed." Her voice was mechanical, like an explanation in gym class. Two female students stood before Ellie. One reached for the buttons of her uniform, while the other pushed her shoulder. Her knees met the concrete floor. The coldness seeped into her bones. Ellie did not resist. The circuitry for resistance would not activate. She wasn't even surprised by that fact. The freezing terror she had felt in the gym storage shed in the first chapter was now distant. All that remained was—a sensation resembling a twisted sense of duty, that she had to process these six people. The rotation began. Three pairs used Ellie's body with efficient procedure. The rooftop bench was utilized, and at times she was made to kneel on the floor. The blue sky gazed down upon it all the while. Ellie's mouth accepted foreign objects, and her body was made to change positions one after another. The six were silent. No conversation, no mockery—just a group carrying out predetermined steps. That indifference—paradoxically—chipped away at Ellie's outline even more. When the act was approaching its midpoint. The fourth pair pressed Ellie's body against the edge of the bench. Her hips were grabbed from behind, and she was supposed to be instructed on the next movement— But. Before her partner could open her mouth, Ellie had already adjusted the angle of her hips on her own. Before the other's hands touched her, she shifted the position of her knees and arched her back to the appropriate angle. Her body had understood, ahead of her mind, that this was the position this girl wanted now. *(Huh?)* Her inner voice reached her a moment too late. *Just now, I—* Before she could confirm it, they moved on to the next pair. The same thing happened when the fifth girl came around to the front. Before her gaze could even turn, Ellie had adjusted the position of her face. The movements of her hips anticipated the other's rhythm and followed automatically. As if dancing. Her body remembered. The seven in the pool changing room. Mizuki's guidance in the art room. Rina's evaluation in the restroom. Everything had accumulated, fashioning Ellie's body into a single machine. Reading the other's desires, optimizing, anticipating—evolution for survival had changed her this far. The fifth girl stopped moving just once. She directed a surprised expression toward the sixth. "...She's anticipating everything." The small voice reached Ellie's ears. In the place where humiliation and terror should have raced through her—something else flickered to life. Heat. A small fire ignited deep in her chest. *(I was told I'm capable.)* She had never, until now, been acknowledged as being "good" at anything. Before transferring schools, no matter where she was, she had been an existence like air. But—now. In the Cradle, her body was evaluated as "anticipating everything." The true nature of that heat was pride. The next moment, that heat stabbed her chest like a cold knife. *No, no, no.* *This isn't pride. It mustn't be pride. For evaluation gained in a place like this to become a source of self-esteem—that's death as a human being.* But the heat did not disappear. Rather, it overtook the disgust and took root inside Ellie's body. All six were finished. The vice-president, making her final input on the tablet, spoke with her back turned to Ellie. [cold] "You're a quick study today." That single phrase fell into her chest as scorching heat. An exhilaration so intense she nearly cried out raced through her entire body. She had been evaluated. She had done well. This time, she had properly fulfilled her role— And. The moment she recognized the true nature of that exhilaration, the blood drained from her face. *(I'm proud of it.)* She was proud of being processed well within the Cradle. That fact could no longer be undone. The six finished changing and left the rooftop. Ellie sat alone on the concrete floor. More than the exhaustion of her body, the understanding of what was happening inside her right now rendered her immobile. She hugged both knees to her chest and looked up at the sky. Blue. Endlessly blue, beautiful, but—distant. *(Before I transferred schools, what did I base my self-esteem on?)* She tried to remember. But nothing came to mind. Not that there was nothing—not that she couldn't remember—it had been hollow from the start. The things that should have supported her had been missing from the very beginning. Into that hollow, the Cradle now fit perfectly. A foreign object filled the vessel, and if she tried to pull it out, the vessel itself would simply break. Tears overflowed from Ellie's eyes. It was neither a sob nor a scream. A soundless stream traced her cheeks and fell onto her knees. It was quiet water, a mixture of awareness and resignation. *(I can't go back.)* The words that surfaced in her mind were not born of fear. Rather—it was a strange confirmation. A confirmation, in the sense that it had already been decided. In the shadow of the rooftop's iron door, Mio had watched the entire scene. She did not intervene directly. From a distant position, she saw the entire process through with only her golden eyes. This was, for her, an unusual way of being involved. A quiet recognition was budding within her—that Ellie had surpassed being a mere "toy" and was becoming a work nearing completion. Confirming that the six had left and that Ellie was crying alone, Mio took out her smartphone. She opened Whisper. Her fingers swiftly typed out a message. *'It's about time to show her the outside world. I'd like you to confirm once in person before the culture festival.'* The recipient—Souma. A few seconds later, it showed as read. A reply came. *'Understood. I'll leave the location to you.'* Mio turned off the screen and looked at Ellie's back just once. What floated in her eyes was satisfaction—and the light of a predator searching for its next prey. Ellie did not know that Mio had been there. She continued sitting on the rooftop concrete until the bell signaling the start of classes rang. She replayed, over and over, the words she had spoken this morning of her own accord: "Where should I go?" She could no longer deny that the question had been born not from fear—but from a thirst for a role. As she descended the stairs back to the classroom, only one question surfaced in Ellie's mind. *When will I be called next?* It was not the anticipation of refusal. Nor was it the anticipation of fear. She was simply—waiting for the next order. A small scrap of towel left behind on the rooftop was caught by the spring breeze, danced upward, and melted into the blue sky.