Intermission 1

Shinji’s little sister was alive. For that reason, he was happy.

He thought she had died, but here she was, breathing, smiling, eating ice cream.

She asked him to follow her. Of course he did.

The place was a gym.

But then she told him she wasn’t his little sister.

If that was true, then... where was his sister? Where had she gone?

xxxx

No. The girl wasn’t his sister.

She was someone else.

Someone who spoke of revenge, of a path called La Passion, where body and mind would fuse into one.

She demanded he train. She demanded he grow stronger.

Shinji tried. He truly tried. But his body failed.

On the treadmill, he stumbled. The speed she set was impossible.

When she tossed him a dumbbell, he dropped it. The crash echoed in his chest like a gunshot.

Her eyes were cold. Her words merciless.

“Trash. If your sister saw you, she would be disgusted.”

Something inside him cracked. What’s the use of a brother who can’t protect his sister? What’s the use of a man who can’t protect the woman he loves?

Her voice cut deeper:

“Would you rather have your girlfriend used, broken, humiliated—than stand up and fight?”

The cracks split wider.

And then, he broke.

His mind sharpened. His body steadied. He felt stronger. But it wasn’t strength—it was madness, adrenaline burning through his veins.

And in front of him stood his benefactor.

Not his sister.

But his sister.

Her face wavered, blurred, merged with memory until he could no longer tell them apart.

The girl grinned, sharp and mocking.

“Nihahaha! Finally you understand!”

Her voice rang in his ears, but Shinji no longer heard her. He only heard his sister.

He only saw her.

The present dissolved into fragments of the past.

Her small hands. Her bright laughter. Her warmth before the world took her away.

He clung to it desperately, because without it, there was nothing.

The girl screamed that she wasn’t his sister, but it didn’t matter.

The resemblances were too perfect.

His heart whispered the only truth that could soothe the agony of years:

She was his little sister.

They played together—cat and mouse. Just like when she was alive. Back then, when she was still in kindergarten. Watching Tom and Jerry had made her mischievous, always wanting to play. And as a good brother, Shinji had indulged her.

Only now, Shinji’s breath came ragged, his body shivering. Each step closer made his pulse thunder louder in his ears.

He caught her.

When he pulled her into his arms, he didn’t feel resistance. He didn’t feel denial.

He felt salvation.

Now, in his lap, she pouted, demanding to be let go.

But Shinji’s arms locked tighter.

“Never again,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Never again will I let you die.”

Her spft pink hair brushed his face. The scent filled his lungs.

It was suffocating. It was addictive. The milky scent of his little sister.

The more he breathed her in, the more the world dulled. The gym, the machines, the floor—gone.

Only she remained.

She fought him, but he held her closer.

Because letting go meant losing her again.

Because releasing her meant admitting she was never here.

And he couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

His mind refused to accept a second death.

Alice was here.

alice is here. im going to alice