Story:

When the chamber had emptied, Chitose exchanged a long, heavy sigh with Shiro—and in that exhale lived every fear the archives had whispered to her the night before.

Chitose released the binding spell, and the red ropes went slack. Shiro gathered Ai into her arms without a word.

And Ai broke.

"Obasama... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry—" Her voice shattered into hiccuping sobs, face buried in Shiro's shoulder, too ashamed to lift it.

"In a holy ritual... in front of everyone... I couldn't stop it... my body just... I'm so disgusting..."

"Never." Shiro held her tighter, rocking her like she had when Ai was small, tears in her own eyes.

"Never say that. Never think it, not once. This is not your fault, Ai. None of it. Not the shame, not the moans, not what your body did. It's Bel's hand—Bel's evil hand reached into you and rewired what was yours without permission. You are fighting it, and that fight is the most holy thing in this room."

"But I... I finished, in a cleansing ritual, in front of—"

"You survived," Shiro whispered fiercely against her hair.

"You stayed conscious. You stayed you. Chitose-san and I saw it clearly. Whatever the body did, you never yielded your heart. That heart of yours, Ai-chan... it's the cleanest thing in this whole shrine. And it's winning."

Ai sobbed on, but slower now, her fists slowly uncurling against Shiro's sleeve.

Over the girl's trembling head, Shiro's eyes met Chitose's.

And in the old miko's eyes, she read the truth neither had spoken aloud: the ritual had failed, and worse—intensifying the holy mana had only amplified the corruption's counterattack.