A high-spirited lawyer turned into a psychopath.

"Ms. Saori, this is Ms. Chizuru, the personal bodyguard I hired especially for you." Maiko Ogura introduced, with complete trust in her tone, "She's a three-time reigning National Free Fighting Champion, with impeccable fighting skills and anti-tracking experience. From today until the next court session, she will not move an inch to keep you safe." Chizuru reached out her hand and gently interlocked it with Saori, the thin calluses on her palm conveying a reassuring texture, "Ms. Matsumoto, please give me more guidance in the future, I'll be responsible for your safety." Looking at Chizuru's resolute eyes, and looking back at Maiko Ogura's subdued smile, the stone hanging in Saori's heart finally fell to the ground. She took a long breath, the tension in the corners of her eyes gradually dispersing, and for the first time in these gray days, she revealed a relieved smile, "Thank you, Counselor Maiko, and thank you, Miss Chizuru. With you all here, I can finally rest easy." The sunlight passed through the gaps in the ginkgo leaves, casting dappled light and shadows on the three of them. Chizuru took the lead and stepped to Saori's side, forming a natural protective stance, while Maiko Ogura followed, and the figures of the three of them drifted away in the streets of Tokyo, laying down a chapter about guardianship and justice for this unfinished case. Such peaceful days passed for five days in a row, Chizuru did not move an inch to guard Saori's side, the Akatsuki Group side has never moved, even the shadow of the stalker has not appeared. Ogura Maiko gradually let go of her heart, only looking forward to the court session the day after tomorrow to finalize the case in one fell swoop, and bring this group of assholes to justice. That afternoon, she came out of the law firm, intending to go to the court to add a supplementary material, still in her trademark white shirt with a black skirt and pantyhose, her shawl black hair was whipped up by the breeze, and her competence was characterized by the elegance of a professional woman. She walked in her head over the trial process, the corner of her mouth unconsciously brought a hint of certainty smile - the chain of evidence has long been complete, this time there is no possibility of overturning. But she didn't notice that in the crowd at the intersection ahead, a hidden gaze was firmly locked on her. Without waiting for her to react, a slight sting suddenly came from the back of her neck, as inconspicuous as a mosquito bite. Maiko Ogura subconsciously raised her hand and touched it, thinking that it was just a common flying insect in the fall, and didn't pay any attention to it. But this unconcern didn't last long, the dizziness came instantly like a tidal wave, her vision began to blur, and the human voices in her ears became distant and distorted. She wanted to hold on to the roadside railing to stabilize her body, but her limbs were as heavy as lead, and her consciousness quickly sank in the darkness. When she regained consciousness again, it was already ten minutes later, her headache made her stifle a grunt, and the moment she lifted her hand and pressed it to her temple, she felt a hand full of sticky warmth - it was blood. "You crazy bastard! Why did you suddenly hit me?" A man's angry hiss came from beside her; the other man, with a bruised nose and blood still hanging from the corner of his mouth, was glaring at her viciously. Maiko Ogura was completely confused, she looked at her bloodstained hand, and then at the injured passerby in front of her, her mind went blank - she had no recollection of what she had done at all. The surrounding area had long been filled with onlookers, shock written on everyone's faces, cell phone lenses were pointed at her, and the sound of shutterbugs rose and fell. In the midst of the chaos, the ambulance arrived almost simultaneously with the mental hospital's standardized vehicle. The doors opened, and two uniformed psychiatrists were the first to get out of the car, loudly evacuating the crowd of onlookers, "Please keep your distance, this place needs professional treatment!" They showed their credentials, their tone was not to be questioned, and the onlookers, though still curious, backed away one after another. The paramedics quickly carried the injured passerby onto a stretcher, while the two physicians walked straight towards Maiko Ogura, who was still dazed in place. "Ms. Ogura Maiko, based on the alarm information and the scene, you are suspected to be suffering from acute mental abnormality symptoms, we need to bring you back to the hospital for an emergency evaluation." As soon as the physician's words left his mouth, one of them pulled out a restraining belt - not a tight-fitting straitjacket, but the standard medical restraining equipment used to restrain agitated patients. Maiko Ogura snapped back to her senses and subconsciously took a step back, her blood-stained hands clutching the corners of her coat, "I'm not crazy! I just suddenly lost consciousness and woke up like this, there must be something wrong with this!" Her defense seemed especially weak in the chaotic scene, the physicians glanced at each other, their tone remained serious: "We understand your emotions, but there are injured people at the scene who testified that you committed violent acts, and your current state requires professional judgment, please cooperate with us." Without waiting for Maiko Ogura to retort further, the two men had already stepped forward to gently hold her arm. Maiko Ogura wanted to break free, but due to the residual effects of the drug she was powerless, and could only watch as her wrists were gently secured to her side by soft but sturdy restraining straps, not roughly binding but restricting movement in a way that would not interfere with blood circulation. "You guys must be mistaken! I'm not crazy, I didn't do what just happened, I lost consciousness and woke up like this!" Maiko Ogura struggled to raise her volume in an attempt to drown out the surrounding noise, "Which hospital are you from? Produce the proper documents! I'm Maiko Kokura, a registered attorney with the Tokyo Bar Association, and I've definitely been set up!" She eagerly reported her identity, hoping to use her professional credibility to calm the other party down, her eyes fixed on the work plate on the physician's chest but blurred by the vertigo she was seeing. But her defense fell on completely deaf ears. One doctor pressed on her shoulders to stabilize her swaying body, while the other crouched down and grabbed her ankles to "prevent you from falling and injuring yourself if you are unsteady on your feet". Maiko Ogura's black high-heeled shoes had long since fallen off in the chaos, leaving only her ankles wrapped in black pantyhose exposed. "What are you doing? Let go!" She was shocked and furious, and tried to retract her leg, but was steadily held down by the other party. "Ms. Ogura, cooperating with the treatment is the safest option.

This argument completely tore apart the surface gentleness of the physicians. They looked at each other, their eyes, which had been patient, instantly cold and hard. One of them turned around and walked quickly towards the psychiatric hospital's vehicle, returning a few seconds later clutching a heavy white canvas restraint suit - it was specialized equipment for controlling extremely agitated patients, with fabric that was tough to the touch but with breathable patterns, and a reinforced collar and cuffs that were clearly designed to maximize limb movement. "Ms. Ogura, you're the one who forced us to take coercive measures." The physician's voice did not have an ounce of warmth as the two men held her arms on the left and right, forcing her body into the restraining garment despite her struggles. The cut of the restraining garment hugged her torso, the wide Velcro on the cuffs and hem was pulled hard and tight by the physician, the fabric against her skin imparting a clear sense of constriction, yet leaving room for strangulation that didn't make it hard to breathe - so professional that she couldn't pick out any faults, but even more so that she was panicked. What she resisted even more was the additional restraints on her legs: special white canvas gauntlets that ran from mid-thigh to the ball of the foot, leaving only airy gaps at the rounded toes, which were securely fastened to the torso restraints by metal snaps. She tried to move her legs, but could only drive the gauntlets to make a slight scraping sound, unable to even take a normal step, completely losing the possibility of breaking free. "Let go of me!" She was trembling with anger, her chest churning with rage and humiliation, rushing at the physician and cursing harshly, "You group of paid idiots, you don't know who you're helping to cover up the crime!" The words were filled with the acerbity of a professional lawyer, but they seemed particularly feeble under the constraints of the restraining straps. Seeing that she was getting more agitated and even struggling to bite down, the other physician immediately took out a pair of medical restraining masks from the medical kit he had with him. This was not a completely sealed style, but rather a nostril position reserved to ensure breathing, with only soft medical cotton securing the mouth. "Offense." His movements were too quick to react, and without waiting for Maiko Ogura to tilt her head to avoid it, the mask was already gently covering her mouth and nose, the laces wrapping around the back of her head and quickly tightening. She instantly couldn't make a clear sound, and could only squeeze out a muffled whimper from her throat, twisting her head hard to break free, but she only felt the soft touch of the cotton on the edge of the mask, and her skin wasn't even rubbed red - the other party's actions were professional to the point of cruelty, and didn't even leave a single trace of "violence" that could be singled out. "There wasn't even a single trace of violence that could be singled out. "Calm yourself, Ms. Ogura." The tone of the physician who held her shoulder was slightly softer, a rare reassurance, "We won't let anyone be wrongly accused, we'll arrange for a full examination for you when you arrive at the hospital, blood and nerve function will be checked, and if there are any drug residues, the report will be able to tell you everything." These words were like a thin straw, making the struggling-to-devastated Ogura Maiko's movements pause - she knew clearly that it was pointless to put up a hard fight at the moment, and that preserving her strength to wait for the examination and looking for a chance to call for help was the only way out. She glared hatefully at the physician, but eventually stopped struggling and acquiesced to the end of being taken to the mental hospital vehicle. Outside the vehicle, the murmurs of the onlookers were still drifting in: "What a pretty girl, it's a shame that she went crazy at such a young age" "That look just now was too scary, just like an evil ghost that lost its soul". Maiko Ogura was pressed into the window seat, listening to these misunderstood words, a muffled whimper of protest escaped her throat, but no one could understand her voice muffled by the mask. The moment the vehicle started, she took one last look at the young man making the video, who was leaning against a streetlight on the side of the road talking on the phone, a smirk at the corner of his mouth stinging her eyes.

"Lie down on the bed." Dr. Watanabe's voice rang out, and without waiting for her to react, the other party stepped forward and pressed down on her shoulders. Maiko Ogura subconsciously twisted her body in an attempt to resist, but her limbs were restrained so tightly that her movements were pitifully small. She was forcibly pressed down onto the hard hospital bed mattress, and as soon as her back touched the bed, there was an intensive stinging pain - the fabric of the restraints rubbing against the rubbed red skin, coupled with the bruises from the bump she had gotten when she fell earlier, hurt so much that she stiffened, and a cold sweat instantly drenched the back of her shirt. The restraint strap at the back of her neck was adjusted to a tighter fit by Dr. Watanabe's casual tug, strangling her breath and spilling a whimper of pain from her throat. Her legs were secured into a position together by the gauntlet, her knees unable to bend, and the prolonged bouncing had caused her muscles to spasm, the soreness spreading along her bones, each slight twitch like a needle sticking. The palms of the hands were fixed into a fisted position by the curved protective sleeve, the fingertips were numb due to poor blood circulation, and the nails were deeply embedded into the palms, but not even a trace of pain could be transmitted clearly, and only the stiffness of the feeling of soreness was spreading. The fabric of the restraining garment was tightly adhered to her waist and abdomen, and every time she breathed, she could feel the binding of the fabric, as if there was an invisible hand clenching her chest in a death grip, making it impossible for her to even take a deep breath. She twisted uneasily back and forth on the bed, trying to ease the excruciating pain in her body, but the more she moved, the more wretched she became - the friction of the restraining garment against the bed aggravated the stinging pain in her back, the guards on her legs hit the bed frame with a dull thud, and the strangling pain at the back of her neck intensified. Sweat dripped down her jawline and smashed against the white sheets of the hospital bed, haloing a small dark mark. She stared at Dr. Watanabe with anger and pleading in her eyes, desperately trying to make a muffled sound out of her throat while nodding her head, pointing her hand up to her gag, and repeatedly signaling "I want to talk" with her body language, but Dr. Watanabe remained oblivious. "Basic examination first." Dr. Watanabe turned to pull a sphygmomanometer and blood collection needle from the medical cart and gestured for her to remain quiet. Cold cuffs wrapped around her upper arms that were secured by restraint straps, and the tightness of the inflation layered with the constriction of the restraint garment made her wince. During the blood collection, the nurse roughly clutched her exposed wrist, and the moment the needle tip pierced her skin, she grunted in pain, but her eyes were glued to Dr. Watanabe - the other person was scribbling in the medical record book with his head bowed down, and the sound of the pen tip scratching across the paper was particularly harsh in the silence of the hospital room. The "rustling" sound of the pen tip scratching across the paper was particularly shrill in the silence of the hospital room. The next checkup was like a long ordeal: when the temperature gun was pressed against her forehead, she took the opportunity to rub her head against the nurse's arm, gesturing with her eyes for help in removing the mask, but the nurse immediately took a step back, avoiding her gaze; during the EKG, the electrode pads were pressed against her sweaty chest, and the coldness of the pads caused her to shiver, so she squirmed and tried to get closer to the table's call bell, but Dr. Watanabe stopped her with a stern voice: "Lie still, and if you move again you'll be secured to the bed frame with restraints!" Every examination was in order, from blood sampling to nerve reflex testing, the process was so professional that there was no room for error, but Dr. Watanabe consistently sidestepped her claims. Maiko Ogura's hope faded with each passing second, and she began to struggle with all her might, the bed creaking as she shook it, the restraint straps at the back of her neck making it difficult for her to breathe, and the gag at the corner of her mouth rubbing against her askew, but no one was there to untie it for her. They weren't doing a checkup at all, they were going through the motions! It was a formality! It was to cover up a conspiracy with a "formal process"! This realization sent chills down her spine, more so than the pain. I don't know how long it took, but Dr. Watanabe finally put down the test report in his hand, pushed up his gold glasses, and looked down at the exhausted her on the bed. "Ms. Ogura, the test results are in." His voice was frighteningly calm, "Trace amounts of hallucinogenic components were detected in your blood, but in combination with your behavioral performance and neurological assessment-" he paused and deliberately aggravated his tone, "The preliminary diagnosis is acute schizophrenia with violent tendencies, requiring long-term mandatory treatment in this hospital."

Behind the iron door was an apartment that was very different from the underground cell: the beige floor was polished to a high shine, upholstered chairs were placed beside a simple wooden table, and the glow of a warm yellow lamp cast soft shadows on the walls--but this deliberate coziness was instantly torn to shreds by the figure writhing on the center floor. It was Saori! Maiko Ogura's heart suddenly shrunk into a ball, a violent tremor spreading down her veins to her fingertips, and she rotated her neck as hard as she could, her gaze pinned so tightly on that familiar yet unfamiliar silhouette that she forgot to even breathe. Saori was completely wrapped in a tight orange-colored straitjacket that fit her curves like poured plaster, stretching from her ankles all the way up to her mouth and nose, revealing only a pair of red bloodshot almond eyes and a few strands of blonde curls that were messy and scattered. What's even more outrageous is that outside the constriction sheath there are more than a dozen wide black constriction straps, horizontally strangling the waist and abdomen, vertically binding the limbs, even the slender fingers and toes are individually secured in the buckle of the constriction straps, crisscrossing knots of rope to wrap her into an impenetrable mass, the density of the bondage is far more than that of mummies, only her torso can be slightly undulating and writhing due to the pain, and from afar, she looks like a yellow bugbear bound by a spiderweb that's on the verge of dying and struggling. "Saori! Matsumoto Saori!" Maiko Ogura pushed back the stagnation in her throat with all her might, squeezing a hoarse hiss out of the gap in her mask, her voice like a broken gong rubbed by sandpaper. Saori's blankly rolling eyes were suddenly fixed, and the moment she looked at her, tears poured out, smashing along the ends of her eyes on the floor, and a desperate whimper of "whimper" escaped from her throat - her mouth and nose were tightly sealed by the restraints, and she couldn't even utter a complete cry. She couldn't even make a full cry. Saori struggled to get closer, but could only squirm slowly on the floor, the black straps rubbing against the floor with a rustling sound, each movement accompanied by the dull pain of her bones being tightened, causing her body to tremble uncontrollably. "Surprised?" Dr. Watanabe's laughter was quenched with venom as he slowly pulled out his cell phone, the light from the screen lighting up to reflect the twisted corners of his mouth. "You think it's Saori Matsumoto who's been checking testimonies and reporting good health for the past few days?" He pressed play, and immediately Saori's trademark soft voice came out of the phone, "Counselor Maiko, I'm safe today, and Miss Chizuru has been with me the whole time." But when the voice was listened to carefully, it trailed off with the mechanical stiffness characteristic of AI synthesis, like a raw tape jam. "We tied Chizuru up here before you found her." He shook his cell phone, his tone flirty and cruel, "I'm afraid that bodyguard lady of yours is still guarding the empty house and waiting, right now?" The truth is like a thunderbolt cracking in the brain, Ogura Maiko shuddered, and the past suspicions were instantly linked together: Saori always hangs up in a hurry with "poor signal" when she talks to the phone, Chizuru never sends the front of Saori in the "daily photos", and even when he mentions the details of the trial, the other party is always Even when it comes to the details of the trial, the other side is evasive - it's all a scam by the Akatsuki Group! They not only want to destroy her as a defense attorney, but also completely erase Shaori as a key witness, use AI voice to stabilize her mind, and then legally imprison the two under the name of "mental illness", so that the dark secrets of the 10 billion smuggling case will forever sink into the ground.

Maiko Ogura forced herself to calm down and began to scrutinize the confinement on her body. The belt that secured her body was ten centimeters wide, with reinforced nylon cords sewn around the edges, and the buckles were special triangular locks that were impossible to pry open without tools; the shirt that clung to her skin had long since been drenched in sweat, and was cold against her body, intertwining with the chill of the metal frame, causing her to shiver. She tried to move her fingers, her palms aching from the metal frame, but even bending her fingertips was exceptionally difficult, let alone trying to undo her belt buckle. Her eyes shifted to Saori, who was in an even worse position - the orange-colored straitjacket clung to her skin like a vacuum-packed package without even the slightest crease, and a dozen or so black straps crisscrossed the length of her body, strangling it in clear contours. Maiko Ogura noticed that Saori's fingers were individually wrapped in the finger pockets of the restraint set, not even her fingernail caps were exposed, and her toes were tightly bound together by the straps, so that they could only be barely curled up, and she couldn't exert any force at all. "Such a constriction design simply cuts off all possibility of self-rescue." Maiko Ogura hissed in her mind, but only a vague whimper could come out of her throat. Just as the two of them were groping futilely in their desperate situation, the iron door was pulled open with a clatter, and Dr. Watanabe's figure appeared in the doorway, a thick hemp rope in his hand, the end of which was securely tied to a prostrate figure in front of him. Maiko Ogura's breath stopped instantly - it was Chizuru! That bodyguard with a perpetually straight spine and sharp eyes was now crawling in with a posture that was humiliating to the extreme, being led by a rope. Chizuru body was matte black full wrap tights firmly wrapped, cold elastic fabric like a molten second skin, the smooth muscle lines she practiced over the years outlined to the fullest extent - the back of the shoulders of the deltoid muscle taut into a tight arc, thigh quadriceps hiding the power of the momentum, but this body full of explosive force, but at the moment was precision! But this body full of explosive power was now completely locked by precise confinement. Arms were forcibly folded behind the back, big arms and small arms at a standard ninety-degree angle, wrists were individually strangled by thick twine, knots embedded in the flesh, but not connected to the ankles; legs bent at the same angle, knees and elbows were spread out, supporting a stable triangular support on the ground - it was this "folded but not bound" insidious It was this sinister design of "folded but not bound" that forced her to assume the posture of all four limbs on the ground, crawling on the ground like a trapped beast, and every time she moved, the muffled sound of bones being squeezed came from her joints, like rusty gears turning. Her hands and feet were tightly wrapped in special injection-molded sleeves with a frosted texture, even the lines of her fingertips and the curves of her toes were completely covered, and the edges of the hard shells were rubbed to the point of reddening the joints of her wrists; the neckline of the black leotard extended upwards to form a curved shroud that fit over her mouth and nose, leaving a thin slit for ventilation at her nose only, and sealing all of her voices in her throat. Only one pair of eyes was exposed, pupils narrowed to deep black dots from anger, the tails of her eyes flushed red from extreme stoicism as she stared at Maiko Ogura on the metal frame, stubbornness, guilt and monstrous anger churning inside like two clusters of sparks that refused to go out. What was even more outrageous was the outfit she was wearing: a pair of fluffy white dog-ear hair bands were forced over her short black hair, the elastic band around the edges of the bands strangling her scalp to the point of reddening; the leotard had been cut open at the back of her waist, and a silver imitation of a dog's tail was fastened to it by a carabiner, swaying from side to side with the movement of her limbs as she crawled in an alternating motion, exuding a humiliating and intentional manner to the extreme. Outside the black corset, a dozen or so wide straps were wrapped horizontally and horizontally, from her neck to her ankles, firmly fixing her folded limbs at a curved angle, and every time she crawled, the straps rubbed against her skin, leaving clear red marks on her elbows and knees, and even oozing blood.

The two equally firmly confined men had just leaned together when Dr. Watanabe suddenly stepped forward, hooking the twine with his toes and yanking - Chizuru was caught off guard and tipped over onto the floor, his matte black leotard sticking to the cold floor, the exposed curves of his back and waist and stomach sticking out under the warm yellow light. "Still dare to be angry with me?" He snorted, lifting his foot to step on Chizuru's taut shoulders and neck, the heel of his white leather shoes deliberately crushed, pressing her so hard that she couldn't raise her head, "Weren't you quite capable of competing just now? Now move one for me to see." Chizuru's muscles instantly tensed into iron, the tendons under her skin protruding from extreme exertion, like she was trying to break through the constraints of her tights. She desperately flailed her folded limbs, her elbows braced futilely on the ground, and her knees pushed upward, but the angle at which her arms and legs were held in place by the straps was too difficult, and all of her movements became a struggle of minimal amplitude, like a beetle stomping futilely as it was being held down, comical and sad. Dr. Watanabe watched with amusement, retracting his foot on his shoulder and neck, and instead using the tip of his shoe to fiddle with the dog's tail behind her waist, the metal clasps clashing with a fine sound, each touch like a whip on Chizuru's pride. "Ducking for what?" Seeing Chizuru twisting her body woefully trying to avoid it, he simply lifted his foot and stomped heavily on the harness around her waist and stomach. Chizuru stiffened in pain, a suppressed, muffled grunt squeezing out of her throat as her injection-molded gloves scratched a few white marks on the floor, her knuckles whitening from the force. She tried rolling sideways to get out of the way, only to have Dr. Watanabe's ankle pressed down in a death grip while his other foot repeatedly ran over her thigh - where the muscle groups she'd been working out for years were, at the moment, powerless to do anything but let the heel of her opponent's shoe leave dirty prints on her tights. "Where's that strength you were so proud of?" Dr. Watanabe's foot suddenly moved to her knee, pressing down hard in an attempt to straighten her immobilized joint, and the sharp pain caused Chizuru's eyes to blacken as beads of sweat rolled down from the corners of her forehead, smashing against the floor and haloing in small water stains. She veered her head violently, using her elbow with its injection-molded sleeve to ram the other woman's calf, only to have Dr. Watanabe easily sidestep it and get a heavier stomp instead. "Don't waste your breath." His voice was wrapped in cruel laughter, "You're a dog at the mercy of others now, and no amount of ferocity will bite." Maiko Ogura on the metal frame looked on in horror, a "whimper" of fury escaping her throat as her body twisted frantically against the frame, the wide leather strap strangling deep into her skin, the bruises on her back oozing blood even as she wore them down. Saori rolled on the floor and tried to get closer, but was unconsciously blocked by Chizuru, and could only watch as Dr. Watanabe's feet landed on Chizuru over and over again, tears mixing with the cotton fibers in his mouth and smearing his entire face.

This kind of day is another five years in a blink of an eye. Green Leaf Sanatorium ginkgo leaves yellow and fall, the world outside the barbed wire fence has long changed its appearance, the Red Moon Group's smuggling blackmail is covered by the new financial news, no one remembers that in the court of law the sharp-edged gold lawyer, that gorgeous and bold witness, and no one remembers the female bodyguard of the three consecutive wrestling champions. And the three of them, has long been in the day-to-day confinement and futile resistance, was worn away all the edges and corners, living into the ward of the most inconspicuous "old sick". The once shoulder-length black hair has become withered and knotted, like a mess of straw stuck to the back of the neck, stained with food scraps and dust; the golden curls of the sand weave have lost their luster, tangled in the sweaty corners of their foreheads, and the moles at the corners of their eyes have been covered by dirt, so that they can no longer be seen in half of their former splendor. Their cheeks were sunken, their complexion was the waxen yellow of a long absence from the sun, and the only eyes that were once filled with determination and sharpness were now nothing but empty murkiness, with the occasional faint glimmer of light when they turned. Chizuru's changes were the most alarming - after years of being immobilized in a small space, unable to perform any forceful movements, her once smooth and tight muscles had completely atrophied, the deltoids on the back of her shoulders collapsed, the lines of her thighs had become flabby, and her exposed arms were as thin as two pieces of firewood, no longer with the strength to break the boards with a single punch. She tried to tense her arms, but only the loose muscles under the skin were shaking, and even the strength to clench her fists had disappeared, and the former combat champion now had an extraordinarily hard time pushing away the approaching patients. The price of "dishonesty" is a layer of confinement. The white canvas straitjackets they were wearing had long since been replaced with heavy-duty reinforced models, with the Velcro on the cuffs and legs replaced with locking metal buckles, and leather straps fifteen centimeters wide wrapped securely around their wrists to their lower arms and knees to their ankles, with exclusive brass locks at the buckles, and the keys kept close to them by their caretakers. Chizuru's waist and abdomen had an additional anti-struggle girdle, which would automatically tighten whenever she tried to arch her back to resist, making it difficult for her to breathe; Maiko Ogura's neck had an additional soft but sturdy neck brace, which limited the rotation of her head and prevented her from hitting her head against the wall again; Saori's legs were secured by a detachable metal bar, and her knees were forced to stay in a thirty-degree bent position, making it impossible to stand up straight or completely crouch down. unable to stand up straight nor crouch down completely, and could only move like a hobbling old man with steps that were even more minutely broken than before. The sound of metal clashing on their bodies became a regular background sound in the ward, accompanied by a "clatter" every time they moved, like a series of tethered bells, reminding each other of the fact that they had already lost their freedom.