𝔹ℕℍ𝔸 𝕆ℂ 𝕊𝕋𝕆ℝ𝕐
In the shadows of tragedy, Mahou Murasaki's life takes a treacherous turn. Betrayed and kidnapped, she escapes only to be thrust into a world of heroes and villains. By now, anyone would've accepted that their fate was to be alo...
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The first thing she felt was the cold weight around her wrist.
Murasaki's eyes fluttered open to a blinding ceiling light, sterile and humming. Her body ached — her limbs heavy, her head foggy — but it wasn't the pain that made her breath hitch.
It was the soft clink of metal against the bedrail.
Her right wrist was cuffed.
Panic shot through her like electricity. Her heart slammed in her chest as she yanked instinctively, but the restraint held firm. Her breaths grew shallow, ragged.
No.
No no no.
She shot a glance around the room. White walls. Medical monitors. An IV drip. No sign of concrete floors, masked guards, or the drug-stained lab table where they used to inject her. But she was restrained. She wasn't free.
Her gaze landed on a small metal tray atop a wheeled table across the room, about six feet away.
The key.
She didn't know how or why it was there. Maybe a nurse had left it. Maybe this was a trap. But she wasn't going to wait around to find out.
Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she reached deep inside. The glow responded sluggishly at first — her mana pulsing in jagged waves, still rattled by the chemicals they had pumped through her for days.
Focus, she told herself. Just like Grandfather taught you.
With effort, a faint whip of pink energy sparked to life around her free hand. It wobbled, frayed at the edges, but she managed to lash it outward — a sharp, trembling arc that snatched the key from the tray and reeled it in. The key clattered against the edge of the bed. She fumbled with it, her fingers shaking, the metal too loud in her ears. But after a few heartbeats that felt like years, the cuff clicked open.
She sat up slowly, clutching her arm as the tingling sensation of mana withdrawal flared in her veins. Her breath came fast, too fast. The bracelet on her other wrist — the quirk-suppressing one — glinted under the harsh light. It hadn't deactivated fully. Her body was still sluggish, but at least she could move.
There were voices outside the door.
Footsteps.
Too many.
Her eyes darted around the room. No exit but the one in front of her. No time. No plan. Her hand closed around a scalpel from the tray — not because she planned to fight, but because she couldn't let them take her again.
