Kanata felt like a walking corpse. Each day, beyond breathing and caring for her ailing younger sister Nozomi, her only purpose was to serve as amusement for others.

The Himemiya family had become rats hunted in the streets—town gossip fodder. If only her father hadn’t embezzled public funds, causing innocent infected lives to be lost… maybe her days wouldn’t be this unbearable.

But… there were no "ifs" in this world.

"Why’s *she* even here? Heard she traded her body to please the Sovereign for that employment permit."

"So filthy. Who knows how many she’s slept with…"

"Disgraceful…"

Soldiers in identical Imperial Guard uniforms whispered loudly beside her—no effort to hide their seething disgust.

Kanata had heard it all before. Gradually, she stopped letting it sting. Let them chatter.

The woman who wounded her yet spared her life once said: the greatest folly isn’t lacking skill—it’s wasting breath arguing with those who refuse to believe you. It wastes time, life… and makes you look pathetic.

"Chirping this early? Training done? Clockedin? Vitals checked? Five-kilometer run finished? No? Then scram."

Kanata spun around, shooting them a sharp glare.

She wasn’t soft. She wouldn’t let them trample her. If she accepted this baseless cruelty as something to endure, she’d truly be lost.

Her retort earned her a bottle of ice-cold cola. It slammed into her—stinging pain, staining her uniform.

The outer jacket was black, but the white shirt beneath and her white thigh-high socks now bore ugly brown splotches. If they didn’t wash out… another expense.

Nozomi’s medicine. Her treatments. So much money. These jerks…

"Damn it!"

Suppressed fury erupted.

Alessia had kept her awake all night—denying her a single moment of rest. *She* had it easy: a scheduled day off, sleeping in till sun-high. Kanata had to rise early, ride the intercity light rail, report for duty.

A body drained from serving the Sovereign. Chronic sleeplessness. Crushing workloads… all gnawing at her will.

Before Nozomi, she was a gentle onee-sama. But that tenderness belonged to her sister alone.

"If my clothes are dirty, yours will be too."

She snatched the gray paint bucket left unattended in the corner—the painter had stepped away.

Pungent paint arced through the air, dousing the cola-thrower and everyone nearby.

*Clang—*

The bucket hit the floor. Chemical stench flooded the hall.

Chaos was inevitable. Most would’ve "just endured it."

*Endure?* If she couldn’t protect herself… how could she protect Nozomi?

The morning briefing hall erupted. Bullies, humiliated by resistance from "a criminal’s daughter," refused to swallow the insult. Onlookers, hungry for drama, joined the fray.

They claimed to "uphold justice"—to beat the daughter of the man who doomed countless infected. A mob surged. Kanata stood alone.

Hard impacts struck her back, her head—dizziness flared. Someone swung a broom handle.

No fighting skill. Facing twenty attackers. She was overwhelmed in seconds.

"Daughter of Masaki Himemiya! A criminal’s brat—daring to act arrogant?!"

"A heartless beast, just like your father!"

"Die!"

…

Insults crashed over her like a black tide. Every face twisted with contempt, hatred, smug delight.

Only two kinds of people here: attackers and bystanders. Both detestable.

No help came. Fists hammered her body, blow after blow.

*How fragile a girl’s body really is…* Kanata thought.

"If… one day… I rise again… I’ll make sure… you all… pay…"

Curled on the floor, face hidden between her arms, expression hollow.

Why must she and Nozomi bear their father’s sin? He was gone. Yet hatred clung—only because his blood ran in their veins.

A punch to the gut. Metallic blood bloomed in her mouth.

*Will I die here?*

*Would Lady Alessia… punish these jerks for me?*

"How… could I even think that?"

Kanata scoffed. *Addled from the beating. Pinning hope on that cruel woman?*

Old wounds tore open. Pain spiked.

Just as she believed death was near—a clear, firm voice cut through the violence.

Like a savior, someone appeared at her side.