The question was too painful to contemplate, but it planted a seed of something that might have been determination. Her mother had made people beautiful, had given them confidence and joy through the simple act of caring for their hair. Maybe there was something of that gift in Aiko too, buried beneath years of neglect and abuse.

Maybe she didn't have to stay the bug girl forever.

The thought was so fragile, so dangerous, that she almost discarded it immediately. Hope had always led to disappointment in her experience. But as she finally extracted the last of the dead love bug from her hair, something inside her refused to let the idea go.

She would find a way to learn about hair, about beauty, about the art that had made her mother famous. She would discover what her aunt so desperately wanted to keep hidden about her mother's life and death. And maybe, someday, she would transform herself from the girl everyone pitied into someone worthy of the legacy she'd inherited.

It was a dream so distant it seemed impossible, but it was hers. And for the first time in years, that felt like enough to keep going.

The school bell rang, signaling the start of first period, and Aiko dried her tears. She had classes to attend, homework to complete, another day of survival to endure. But beneath it all, a small flame had been kindled—one that all the cruelty in the world couldn't quite extinguish.

She was more than the bug girl. She had to be.

And someday, she would prove it.