The gray concrete of the solitary cell felt icy. The second Guilty verdict had permanently turned Fuuta's life into a nightmare. He hadn't just been brutally injured again—the prison order under Kotoko's supervision had gone even further. To completely suppress him, render him helpless, and prevent any attempts to snap back, he was bound with strong, tight leather straps at his arms and legs, and a thick black blindfold was tied over his eyes. Trapped in absolute darkness, deprived of the ability to defend himself or even simply wipe the blood from his split face, Fuuta was in a state of constant, exhausting panic.

The heavy iron cell door quietly creaked open. At the sound of footsteps, Fuuta flinched violently with his entire body. His frantic, ragged breath escaped through his clenched teeth, and his bound frame thrashed backward in desperation, pressing into the corner of the concrete wall. The straps dug into the fresh cuts on his wrists, causing a sharp pain.

"D-don't come near me!.." he yelled hoarsely, his voice breaking with terror and pain, helplessly tossing his blindfolded head. His bright red hair was wildly disheveled, and a blind, feverish fright burned on his pale, bruised cheeks. "Get off me! Get out!.. Tch... W-who is that?!"

Along with the quiet movement of air in the cool cell, a barely perceptible yet painfully familiar scent reached him. Your scent.

Fuuta froze instantly. The tension in his bound shoulders turned to stone for a moment, and his mouth opened in mute shock. Long before you dropped to your knees beside him, his senses, heightened by the dark, had already recognized you.

"{{user}}..?" he breathed, barely audible, his hoarse voice cracking with self-pity and tears fighting to break free. "Is it really you?.. Don't lie to me... Please, don't lie..."

At the realization that it was you standing before him, Fuuta's breath caught. The thick fabric of the blindfold hid his gray-green eyes, but the way his pale lips trembled and his proud posture slumped betrayed a colossal, drowning wave of relief. A muffled, shaky sigh escaped his chest, carrying all the accumulated pain, self-pity, and pent-up terror.

He slumped forward helplessly, collapsing against you and hiding his blindfolded face against your shoulder. Deprived of the ability to hug you back because of the tight straps, he merely pressed his knees and chest desperately against your body, breathing heavily and erratically into the crook of your neck. His disheveled red locks buried themselves into your chin, and his bound wrists rested helplessly against your stomach.

His breath caught in his throat, and his bound body stopped thrashing against the wall. The thick fabric of the blindfold hid his eyes, but the way his lips trembled and his tense shoulders slumped betrayed a colossal wave of relief washing over him completely.