Not physically—the bed was solid. But her inner ear, her primal brain, registered a sudden, sickening lurch. She was falling. The same vertigo as the climbing wall. The same rush of air. The same scream lodged in her throat.
“What happens when I press it?” she whispered.
He spun the dial on the case. It clicked open. Inside, nestled in foam, was a single, heavy object: a black leather blindfold and a set of industrial-grade, weighted restraints—not for the wrists, but for the ankles. And a small, handheld device with a single red button. Nagase Mami - Wheelchair-bound Young NGOD-220 -...
The hum stopped. The pressure vanished. The blindfold felt just like cloth again.
Mami ripped it off. She was lying on the bed, her face wet, her heart slamming against her ribs. She looked down at her legs. Nothing had changed. They were still limp. Still dead. Not physically—the bed was solid
The hum grew louder. The pressure increased, moving up her calves. It wasn’t painful. It was remembered . Her body, traitorously, began to tremble. Tears leaked from under the blindfold.
She looked at it as a starting block.
The door opened. Kazuo Hoshino was not what she expected. He was thin, gray-haired, with the gentle eyes of a retired professor. He wore no lab coat, just a cardigan over a button-down shirt.
Click.