This day, this place... This same competition with the same games and the same prize, always the same outcome... How many times had she watched this scene replay itself? How many times had she watched this spill over into disaster? She was worn down, uninterested in anything else but trying to savor the presence of her friends while they were still sane.
She couldn't do anything. She was helpless to do anything, and yet --
She wanted to help. She wanted to try something, anything to stop it.
The doll was given. Through Mion's cool facade, the child could tell some part of her friend was wounded; the way the heiress turned away, unbeknownst to the oblivious Keiichi, was faster than usual. Even such an unusually small thing could hint at what was to come.
The club parted for the hundredth time, and for some reason... Rika...
...told Satoko to go on without her.
She would be damned even if she did speak with Mion, but she would be damned if she didn't, either. Such was what compelled the miko to take off after Mion, calling her name down the street.