Sometimes you wonder if the person in the mirror is really you—your face, your different past...
What truly makes you you? Where is the self? Does it even exist?
No one knows their own ending, or who's pulling the strings of fate.
An emperor can command his people, parents can shape their kids,
but you can still choose your fate. Only you can truly steer your life.
As the memories grow whole and clear, the pain returns to her body.
Oh, you're finally awake.
...Can you hear me?
Being lost in this cocoon-like sandbox isn't an accident. It is her will and her need. She has to end it.
Someone waits here for her, but many outside guide her, believe in her, and hope she'll follow her heart.
She realizes time doesn't matter here. Certain moments keep going, rewind, and remain. They're everywhere. They're the meaning.
You're me, so I know...
...
War steals everyone's past and future.
I want war to end. You'd rather live in endless war... because you believe you'll always be a step ahead, always the winner.
After all you've been through, you can't still believe in human nature, can you?
They're born to fight, without end. Even without the Punishing Virus they'd find other reasons. Babel Tower is fated to be humanity's coffin.
War may end for a while, but not forever. Stay here. I'll keep you company...
Thank you, Eleanor, but...
Now I have the freedom to choose.
...Are you abandoning me? You won't do to me what you hate most, will you?
She raises her hand and feels red threads of the past pass through her heart, take on the color of emotion, and stitch themselves into a beloved scissor shape.
"I hope someday... you can stitch your life into the shape you want."
It's not abandonment—it's a goodbye that was always going to happen...
I won't be afraid of goodbyes anymore.
Forgetting would be easier, but she gathers all her strength and tightens her chest.
She raises the scissors. A clear, cool ripple rises in her heart. She knows this is her new self.
Virtual or dream—if I accept it as real, then it is real.
I'm going to find her—the master of the "sandbox."
The sandbox is quietly changing. It began to change long ago.
Insults, failures, rejections—they never truly had power.
A simple truth appears: you were never meant to be a puppet. You were meant to hold the strings.
The one who chooses, cuts the past, steps forward, and embraces hope—that's me.
So I won't stay here. I'll move on to what's next—something I choose...
No, this time it's not a mission... it's my wish!
Amid tangled layers of illusions, she smashes the window and drops straight out of the sandbox.
