A faint mist coated the mirror as warm steam filled the bathroom.
The bathtub was brimming with hot water, enveloping Alice as she sat with her knees drawn up. Her body sank into the soothing heat, but her mind felt detached, as if she were still wandering in a dream.
The warmth of the water, the wet strands of hair clinging to her cheeks—none of it seemed real.
"…"
Her fingers hurt.
Beneath the bandages, teeth marks marred her skin. She'd bitten down so hard, ignoring her own safety, that the wounds ran deep. Though her supernatural healing abilities would ensure the flesh would regenerate within days, the stinging pain lingered.
"…Ah, pa…"
She whispered to herself, but no response came.
Normally, Frey would have answered her, but now that part of her—the other half—had retreated into the depths of their shared mind. Frey was silent, much like Alice herself.
Even a wound this small hurt so much. How much worse did others' injuries feel?
The thought alone twisted her heart with an unbearable ache.
"Lu…cia…"
Her lips barely formed the name, her voice so faint it was nearly inaudible.
She began washing off the remnants of Lucia's blood and saliva from her body. Yet no matter how thoroughly she scrubbed, the heaviness inside her refused to be cleansed.
Lucia was a good person. A kind person. One of the strongest people Alice had ever met—not in terms of physical power but in her heart.
Strength? No doubt there were many stronger than Lucia in raw power. Even Alice herself was, objectively speaking, superior in ability. Among their peers, only a handful of A-Class students could even approach her level.
But inner strength was another matter entirely.
Alice was strong but fragile. Her powers might outshine most, but her heart was as delicate as glass. It couldn't hold a candle to Lucia's unwavering resolve.
"…I couldn't do anything."
That day.
The moment the masked girl attacked, everything crumbled.
Alice froze, paralyzed by the suffocating pressure that crushed her senses. Tears welled up in her eyes, her body trembling uncontrollably.
Neither the will to fight nor the courage to flee surfaced.
And it wasn't just Alice who was gripped by fear.
The entire A-Class faltered.
The sight of two seemingly invincible instructors being so easily defeated was enough to shatter their resolve and rob them of any hope.
"A hero protects people from monsters. So… we have to fight."
Yet, in the midst of despair, one person stepped forward.
Lucia.
Even though she must have been terrified, even though she surely wanted to run, she had stood at the forefront when everyone else was frozen by fear.
Alice wanted to bury the memory.
To lock it away and never revisit it. If she could, she would carve out that portion of her thoughts entirely and erase it.
But memories, especially painful ones, have a way of resurfacing the harder you try to suppress them.
Lucia's head had been severed.
Her head, where it should never have left her shoulders, rolled across the cold floor.
And it stopped at Alice's feet.
"…Ugh."
Alice clapped a trembling hand over her mouth.
A wave of nausea surged within her.
Lucia had died.
Right before her eyes.
Her neck had been sliced clean, and her head had fallen away.
Their eyes had met, the life in them still lingering for a fleeting moment.
And then Alice's consciousness had spiraled into darkness.
It was the first time she had experienced such a thing—or perhaps not.
There had been other times she had wished desperately to escape reality, times when the weight of her circumstances had overwhelmed her.
"Mom… No, I'm sorry… Please don't hit me… I'll be good… Please… Let me out… It's so dark here…
No… It hurts… Save me… Dad… Dad…"
Back then, she had wished to run away.
And her wish had been granted.
That was when Frey had been born.
Frey had chased away her mother. Frey had become her new family.
Perhaps, this time, she had hoped for the same thing.
She had fled into her mind and shoved all the fear, all the pain, onto someone else. Onto Frey.
It was cowardly.
Lucia's death terrified her.
The masked girl who killed Lucia terrified her.
The idea of avenging her friend never even crossed her mind. Instead, Alice had retreated deep within herself.
She hated it.
Hated herself.
Alice had once been overjoyed at the idea of having a friend.
But when it truly mattered, she did nothing but cry pitifully, incapable of acting.
She hated herself for it. She was disgusted, repulsed, and utterly ashamed.
When Alice had sunk into a deep slumber, avoiding the weight of reality, it was an external shock that forcibly pulled her back to consciousness.
Lucia was alive.
The friend she had believed dead, the only person she dared to call a friend, had not died after all.
She was happy—truly, deeply happy—but she couldn't bring herself to face Lucia.
Frey had lashed out at her.
She had struck Lucia repeatedly, slapped her cheeks over and over.
Just like Alice's mother used to do to her.
She had pulled Lucia's teeth, choked her throat.
Alice watched it all unfold, her awareness drifting like a faint dream.
At first, she thought it was an illusion.
After all, Lucia was supposed to be dead.
Then she thought it must be a cruel nightmare, something she wished to wake from immediately.
But waking would mean confronting an even harsher reality, and she feared it. She dreaded it so much that she continued to watch silently.
It wasn't until later that she realized it was real.
By then, it was too late.
Far too late.
"…"
Lucia lay unconscious, drenched in blood.
The sensation of striking her, of gripping her neck, lingered in Alice's hands.
Why had Frey done something so horrible?
The answer came quickly: it was because of her.
"I-I'm… sorry… I'm… so sorry… sorry… I… I'm sorry…"
Alice was terrified. Terrified that Lucia might hate her.
That she might refuse to see her again, that she might avoid her entirely.
Even though Alice had done nothing to deserve Lucia's forgiveness, the thought of losing her filled her with selfish dread.
She couldn't simply rejoice that Lucia was alive. Instead, she worried about herself, about their friendship.
"You don't have to apologize."
But Lucia didn't react the way Alice feared.
Despite her pain and suffering, despite her tears and the agony she had endured, Lucia smiled.
And embraced her.
As though nothing had happened.
"Alice, you didn't do anything wrong. Why are you apologizing?"
"I'm fine, Alice. Please, don't blame yourself."
"So, don't cry. Your cute face is all messed up now, and it's such a shame. You look so much better when you smile."
Lucia's arms were warm.
She gently stroked Alice's hair, wiped away her tears, and kissed her forehead.
"Alice, Frey—neither of you did anything wrong."
"In fact, I was happy. Because I realized how much I meant to you."
Alice had always thought of herself as a "good girl".
She never got angry at anyone, always fulfilled requests without complaint. She had convinced herself she was kind, generous, and good.
But Lucia's compassion shattered that illusion.
When the one who should have been comforted instead offered comfort, when she smiled and reassured Alice without hesitation, Alice was forced to confront a truth she had long avoided.
She wasn't truly kind.
She had only pretended to be.
She had acted in a way that adults praised, that others liked.
It was an image, a mask she wore to avoid punishment.
If she wasn't a "good girl", her mother would hit her.
The habits she'd formed to survive had followed her all this time.
If she was truly kind, her first thought would have been Lucia's well-being after such terrible violence.
She would have worried about Lucia, not about their relationship.
But she hadn't.
The thing she feared most was losing Lucia.
Were her apologies even sincere?
Alice didn't know anymore.
Lucia, on the other hand, was truly good.
Kind hearted, selfless, and strong—in both body and soul.
She cared more for others' pain than her own.
"Lu… Lucia…"
Alice whispered her name.
As always, the words came out stilted, halting.
Even saying her friend's name properly was a struggle, and it made her despise herself all the more.
"…Lucia."
How many attempts had it taken?
She lost count by the time the name finally escaped her lips smoothly.
It probably wouldn't last. With time, she'd stammer and falter again.
But for now, just for this moment, she could say it right.
Alice rose from the bathtub.
The long soak had left her dizzy, her head spinning slightly.
She washed herself clean, then dried off with a white towel.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she stepped out of the bathroom.
The cool air prickled her flushed, warm skin.
Standing hesitantly, clutching the towel to her chest, Alice froze when she saw the golden-haired girl approach with a smile.
"Alice, are you all done?"
"Y-Yes…"
"Sorry, your clothes aren't dry yet. But you can wear this for now, okay?"
Lucia handed her some simple dorm wear—a plain white t-shirt and teal shorts.
They were so ordinary, yet the gesture filled Alice's heart with an inexplicable warmth.
Lucia handed Alice a fresh set of undergarments and clothes, the tags on them still intact, as if she had included them in the wash by mistake.
Alice took them in silence, dressing quickly.
The clothes, sized for Lucia, were too large for Alice, hanging loosely on her smaller frame. But they served their purpose well enough.
"Come here, sit down. I'll dry your hair for you!"
"Oh, i-it's o-okay…"
"Hehe, I just want to try it. Your hair's so soft and pretty, Alice!"
Lucia gently patted the chair, her bright smile making refusal impossible.
Alice relented and sat down obediently.
The hairdryer hummed to life, sending warm air cascading over her damp hair.
Lucia's hands were clumsy and inexperienced, fumbling as they worked through Alice's hair. She clearly wasn't used to this sort of thing.
Alice closed her eyes, shutting out her sight and focusing solely on the sensation of Lucia's hands.
"Lucia…"
Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. But this time, thanks to her practice in the bathroom, she managed to say it without stammering.
The soft hum of the hairdryer drowned out her voice, and Lucia didn't notice.
Alice didn't mind.
In fact, she preferred it. She wasn't ready to say everything just yet.
If Lucia had heard her, she might have seen Alice's face. She might have seen the raw, vulnerable emotions etched into it.
Alice didn't want that. Not yet.
Instead, she focused on the warmth of the dryer, the awkward yet tender touches of Lucia's hands, and spoke words she knew wouldn't reach her.
"I-I'm s-sorry… for e-everything…"
There was so much she wanted to say.
Her chest felt heavy with unspoken words, a weight she desperately wanted to lift.
But her foolish, clumsy tongue would never let her say it all.
So, she chose only the most important thing.
"I… I'll get stronger."
I'm not the "good girl" you think I am, Lucia.
I'm not strong.
When things go wrong, I run away. I shove my problems onto others instead of dealing with them myself.
I'm selfish.
"B-but I'll b-become strong… so…"
Lucia, you're the bravest, kindest, and strongest person I've ever known.
I'm so glad I got to be your friend.
And I want to be your friend forever.
So…
"I'll p-protect you."
I won't let your neck be severed again.
I won't let you writhe in agony ever again.
I won't stand idly by as you sacrifice yourself.
Once was enough.
Twice is too many.
"I promise."
For every moment I stood by and did nothing.
For every bit of pain Frey—or rather, I—inflicted on you.
No, for even more than that.
I will protect you.
"Okay, all done!"
The hairdryer's hum ceased, leaving only silence.
Lucia beamed with satisfaction, clearly proud of her work.
"It's not perfect, but I think it turned out pretty well!"
She had heard none of Alice's words, seen none of her resolve.
"…"
And there was one more thing she failed to notice.
As Lucia picked up a comb to tidy Alice's slightly tangled hair, she glanced away for the briefest moment.
In that fleeting instant, the mirror reflected Alice's face.
Her heterochromatic eyes—one blue, the other golden—shone faintly with a soft, flickering light.
Her resolve had sparked something deep within her.
A growth of the heart.
A firm resolve.
A burning desire to become stronger.
Supernatural abilities stem from the mind.
And when the mind grows, so too does the ability.
Just as Eugene had once shown.