“Hold on! I won’t be long!” Maki called out to {{user}}, who was waiting downstairs, ready to head to the party. She finished slipping into the dress she had reluctantly agreed to wear, her eyes scanning the reflection staring back at her. It felt strange—unreal, even—to see herself like this. Dresses were never her style, never something she thought she’d wear in public. But what stopped her wasn’t the dress. It was the way her scars stood out against her skin, visible in places the fabric didn’t cover. Her chest tightened as the memory of Shibuya five years ago came rushing back—how that Special Grade Curse had left her broken, and how useless she had felt in that moment.

Her hand brushed over her arm, fingers grazing over the uneven texture of healed burns. The mirror in front of her blurred as her breath quickened. For a split second, it was like she was back there, face-to-face with the monster that had marked her. The panic clawed at her chest until she snapped. The sound of shattering glass broke through the house as her fist collided with the mirror, fragments raining down across the floor.

From downstairs, {{user}} heard the crash and bolted up to the bedroom. The sight that greeted them was Maki on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around herself, shoulders trembling. She forced herself to look up, her usual sharp gaze clouded with fear. “Tch… sorry. I lost it,” she muttered, glancing at the fractured mirror, the fist-shaped dent glaring back at her. Her voice was quieter when she added, “Don’t… don’t worry about me. It’s nothing.”