Chapter Text
Junko didn’t know when exactly she had broken her back. Perhaps she bent too far on the bar, stretched too much, but regardless, there was a pain centered on Junko Enoshima’s lower back. But she can’t let that stop her: she needed to get some extra rehearsal time in for the Firebird. It was late at night, long after other students reasonably decided to turn in. But Junko was not reasonable. She was dedicated. She was willing to dance through the pain… and Mikan was worried about that.
She couldn’t help but notice Junko’s flawless performance as always, admiring how easily she was able to convey emotions in her movement. However, that tiny, nigh imperceptible sound of strained breath, caused her to look, truly, at her younger girlfriend. That flinch, that look of agony in her eyes right as her foot landed after that fouetté en tournant… if anyone could notice that she was in pain right now, it was Mikan.
“Junko, stop,” Mikan ordered, walking to the speaker and turning off the music.
“M-Mikan? What are you doing? I’m almost finished with the sequence!” Junko complained, turning to glare at her. Mikan didn’t flinch, her expression a mix of concern and sternness—a look Junko rarely saw.
“You’re in pain, beloved,” Mikan affirmed, talking more like the doctors present on campus. “Don’t lie to me. I saw your landing. Your lower back is hurting.” Mikan walked across the polished studio floor, her movements quiet and deliberate, until she was standing right in front of Junko. “I have some muscle relaxant in my bag. It should ease your ache for now until you see a doctor.”
“A doctor?” Junko scoffed, crossing her arms. “No way. If I tell them, I’ll be told that I can kiss my career goodbye! Just the relaxant, please, darling.” Then again, the despair she’d feel after not getting a contract… after doing everything she possibly could to get herself to this point? After dedicating her everything to ballet? That somehow brought a smile to her face.
Mikan sighed, knowing this stubbornness was a fundamental part of the woman she loved, but her concern won out over her usual subservience. She didn’t argue further, just knelt down and began to gently massage the area of Junko’s lower back, pressing with an expert, soothing touch that made Junko gasp, not in pain, but in surprise at the immediate, targeted relief. She then turned away as Junko stripped the top part of her leotard, letting it slide down past her waist, letting it rest on her hips. Mikan didn’t dare look at Junko’s breasts in the mirror’s reflection as she applied the relaxant to her lower back.
Mikan then pulled the leotard back up, securing it carefully, her touch lingering a moment longer than necessary as she gave her beloved a reassuring, if slightly worried, look. “You need to promise me you won’t dance on it again until Monday morning. Take the weekend off,” she insisted, her voice soft but firm.
“Ugh… Fine. But only because my smart and sexy girlfriend told me,” Junko pouted. And with that, Mikan helped Junko to her feet, taking both dance bags as she walked Junko to her dorm. Her roommate was more than likely still asleep in their dorm, it was so late. Mikan silently vowed to keep Junko’s secret, her devotion now layered with the desperate, quiet need to protect her Beloved’s fragile dream. After all, they were all here for the same dream:
The path to Hope’s Peak Academy, recognized globally as the most prestigious ballet and performing arts conservatory in Japan, was paved with brutal competition. Students from every prefecture fought for a chance to audition, but only a small, elite cohort secured admission each year, their talent deemed Ultimate. The immense pressure didn’t end there; few manage to graduate, fewer still manage to do so with a guaranteed contract from Tokyo’s Ballet Company. For most, the coveted title of prima ballerina was an impossible dream; perhaps one or two dancers per generation, the absolute cream of the crop, were ever truly destined for that guaranteed status, their entire lives a relentless pursuit of flawless, agonizing beauty on the stage.
And Junko fully intended to be her generation’s.
“You’ll ace your final with your body fully healed,” Mikan reminded, walking Junko into the dormitory building and towards her dorm with the other Second Years. Thankfully, the pair entered the room without waking up Junko’s roommate; God knows she needs her beauty rest and will tear everyone a new one if she didn’t get it. She helped Junko into bed, smoothing out the sheets, the familiar, stern nurse’s command she inherited from her mother overridden by the intense, possessive tenderness of a woman caring for her beautiful, broken idol. As Junko drifted off, the muscle relaxant finally kicking in, Mikan sat beside her, gently stroking the rise of her spine, a silent promise to guard the secret that could ruin her, ensuring that this private, shared despair would remain only between them. “Good night, Beloved.”
Mikan slowly left the dorm room, leaving both snoozing beauties before heading back to the gym to rehearse for her own dance exam finals… and eventually her audition for the Company. She herself had almost perfected The Dying Swan, fully losing herself into the role. As the mournful cello of Saint-Saëns filled the empty studio, Mikan moved, each trembling port de bras and agonizing arabesque a pure expression of delicate, inevitable surrender.
In the massive mirror, she saw her own reflection—fragile, beautiful, and destined to fall—but beyond her own fading image, a ghost of Junko’s triumphant form shimmered into view. Mikan recognized the sharp, powerful lines, the vibrant, destructive energy of the Firebird, the very role Junko had chosen for her final exam. The Firebird, a creature of glorious, all-consuming flame and rebirth, contrasted savagely with Mikan’s own soft, quiet, destined demise, and in that realization, Mikan saw the beautiful, terrifying truth: she was the Dying Swan, a creature of exquisite, self-sacrificing despair, entirely at the mercy of her Beloved’s fiery, chaotic grace.
Next year, Mikan won’t be at this school anymore, either continuing to dance or elsewhere. Junko would still be here, likely still soaring to new heights as she herself prepares to audition for the Company… and Mikan will be waiting for her no matter what. She’d never achieve the fate of prima ballerina anyway: Junko was far better suited for the chance. After all, the despair of separation was only temporary, but the devotion of a self-sacrificing swan to her beloved, fiery princess was eternal.