She sobbed. The pressure became a pull, a gentle traction from her ankles to her hips. It felt like someone was pulling her back up, reeling her in from an abyss. The vertigo sharpened, then… snapped .
Hoshino smiled, a sad, knowing expression. “You already know what it feels like to fall. What you don’t know is how to stop falling.” Nagase Mami - Wheelchair-bound Young NGOD-220 -...
The hum stopped. The pressure vanished. The blindfold felt just like cloth again. She sobbed
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. The vertigo sharpened, then… snapped
Today was different. A letter had arrived, not by email, but by traditional hamon folded paper, delivered by a courier in a dark suit. It was from a Mr. Kazuo Hoshino, the director of a private support foundation she had never heard of: the "New Genesis Outreach Division." The letterhead was stark, gray, and oddly formal.
He tilted his head. “The catch, Nagase-san, is that you have to want to fall again. On purpose. Every time. That’s the only way up.”