Shokuhō Misaki's brows knitted; a flash of pain flickered across her star‑bright eyes.
Yet she said nothing—only sent out another gentle pulse of ntal energy, helping Kozaku Mitori pull her emotions back from the brink.
Under Shokuhō's soothing influence, Mitori's heaving chest gradually stilled.
The frenzy and hatred in her eyes ebbed, replaced by deep sorrow.
She lowered her head and looked at the hand Misaka Mikoto was holding—the sa way those hands had once held Dolly's… cold, pale hand.
"My na… is Kozaku Mitori."
Her voice was low and hoarse, thick with exhaustion.
"Dolly… was my only friend in the Talent Workshop research facility."
"Talent Workshop!"
Misaka Mikoto's eyes flew wide—that was…!
She glanced at Shokuhō, who rely shook her head.
"Mm‑hmm…"
Mitori's gaze drifted off into mory.
"It was cold there—everything white, the sll of disinfectant everywhere.
The researchers looked at us like specins under a microscope.
Only Dolly was different. She always smiled at , so warm—like a little sun… even though she was almost never free.
Her body was weak… terribly weak.
They called her a precious original sample, but I knew she was just a clone for so project."
Bitterness laced her words.
"She told she had an older sister—never t her, but she always said…
Big Sister must be amazing… and gentle."
Mitori's complicated gaze swept across Mikoto's face. Mikoto's heart gave a hard jolt.
"Dolly's life was so short…"
Mitori's voice sank, heavy with helplessness.
"I watched her grow weaker every day, watched her suffer… I couldn't stand it!
I begged the researchers—begged them to stop the tests, to let Dolly spend what little ti she had left… peacefully…"
She laughed, a sharp, ragged sound.
"I angered the higher‑ups. They said I was disrupting vital experints—that I was uncontrollable.
They threw in solitary confinent for a whole month!
"When I finally got out… Dolly—Dolly was gone!
They told the test subject was used up and had already been… disposed of!"
Shokuhō's eyes closed; her long lashes trembled. The mory wounded her as well.
"I hate them!"
Mitori's head snapped up, eyes blazing with vengeance as she glared at Mikoto and Shokuhō.
"I hate those researchers!
I hate the haughty Board of Directors!
I hate this hell dressed up as science—Academy City—that devoured Dolly and countless innocents like her!"
Her voice roared like a wounded beast.
"I'll have revenge! I'll burn it all down—every executioner among them!"
She tried to rise, but Shokuhō's psychic pressure glued her to the sofa.
"That's why I planned everything—to use my power to tear down every symbol of their authority, including this place!"
Her violet pupils dilated with pure hatred; bloodshot eyes locked on the two girls.
"So what if you've caught ?!
Won't kill ? Fine! As long as I draw breath, I swear I'll destroy you—destroy this damned city—for Dolly!"
Her words were poisoned blades. In her mind, these two were already Academy City elites.
The office fell into deathly silence, broken only by Mitori's ragged breathing.
Mikoto studied the searing hatred and endless grief in those eyes—hatred that mirrored her own when she first learned of the Level 6 Shift Project. She rose slowly, gaze complicated.
Shokuhō at last opened her eyes; the elegant mask on her face was gone, replaced by fatigue… and pity. She stepped before Mitori, looking down, her voice strangely penetrating:
"Kozaku Mitori… have you finished venting?"
"Hmph…"
Mitori only glared, eyes red‑rimd.
Shokuhō sighed, golden light swirling in her pupils, her tone coaxing:
"Look at Misaka Mikoto—look at her face. Don't you find it… familiar? Is it really just that she resembles Dolly?"
Instinctively, Mitori looked again: the tea‑brown short hair, the similar features…
Shokuhō's words dropped like a stone into stagnant water, sending the faintest ripple through a mind choked with grief and hate.
Familiar?
Not rely similar?
Could it be…
A terrifying notion struck like lightning. Mitori's eyes flew wide, body trembling with the shock—and a dreadful suspicion.
"You… you…"
Her voice twisted, shrill with disbelief, terror—and a deeper fury.
"Are you… are you Dolly's prototype?! That so‑called big sister?! The original body that dood her to a lifeti of pain?!"
She all but scread. The hatred that had briefly subsided flared back, wilder and more contorted.
In that mont of obsession, Misaka Mikoto beca the very source of Dolly's suffering—
The one whose genes had made Dolly's creation—and her agony at the defects of a clone—possible.
~~~
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