Saki lay collapsed on the floor. The cold of the stone. It seeped into her back. Only her fingertips moved, faintly. Her whole body ached. Her ribs creaked. The taste of blood lingered in her mouth. The impact of Gallon slamming her down still echoed in her bones. Stains on the ceiling. Cracks. The smell of mold. The same unchanging scenery. But— Saki's gaze was fixed on Gallon's hand. The fist that had smashed her to the floor. Thick, knobby fingers. Hands that bought and sold people as "merchandise." That fist was trembling. Faintly. Just barely. Saki held her breath. She forgot the pain. She looked at Gallon's face. A triumphant smirk. A composed expression. His mouth was laughing. But—his hand was trembling. (*He's afraid.*) Deep within her fading consciousness, that fact glowed quietly. She wasn't the only one afraid. The oppressor was trembling too. Saki pressed a hand to her stomach. Slowly, she propped herself up on her elbows. She tried to raise her body. A shadow in the hallway. Camila stood there. Her long, dark-purple hair was tied back carelessly. Her cold, silver eyes watched Saki. She didn't move. But her hands were clenched tight. By the wall. Vespa stood with her arms crossed, observing in silence. Her black dress didn't sway. Cold, golden eyes. No emotion surfaced in them. Saki put a hand against the wall. She staggered. Her knees nearly buckled. She stood up. Pain clung to her entire body. Her legs trembled. But—she stood. She raised her head. She wasn't crying. She wasn't smiling. With a blank expression devoid of all emotion, Saki stared straight at Gallon. Gallon's mouth relaxed. As if trying to regain his composure. "[laughing] What, you can still stand—" Saki opened her mouth. A small voice. Almost devoid of feeling. "[whispers] Then next time, I'll remember the things you won't teach me." Gallon's face froze. His smirk vanished. His eyes widened slightly. What surfaced in them—was agitation. A genuine expression he had never once shown before. He took a step back. It was an almost unconscious movement. "[scared] …What." He couldn't form words. A shadow in the hallway. Camila's silver eyes went wide. The thin, vertical scar on her left cheek stood out darkly in the dim light. She caught her breath. Vespa's eyebrow didn't move a millimeter. But her golden eyes seared Saki's words into her mind. The hand not holding the quill tapped the desk just once. *Tap.* Gallon stared at Saki for one second, then two, motionless. Then, finally. He grabbed the arm of the girl he'd brought with him. "[cold] …We're leaving." His voice trembled. His usual merchant's smile was gone. His back as he headed for the hallway. His footsteps were fast. As if fleeing. The door closed. Saki's eyes followed his back. The oppressor was running away. Afraid of her. It wasn't victory. Nothing had changed yet. Her body was battered. The brand on her neck remained. She still had no way out of this establishment. Even so— Something had changed decisively. She had made Gallon himself prove that she wasn't just someone to be beaten down one-sidedly. Vespa withdrew to her office. Her black dress swayed faintly, and the door closed. Only Camila and Saki remained in the hallway. Camila approached. Her usual sullen face. Cold, silver eyes. But her movements lacked their usual brusqueness. Without a word, she draped Saki's arm over her shoulder. She supported her body. Thin shoulders. A surprisingly gentle strength. Saki didn't resist. She leaned her weight on her. The two walked down the hallway in silence. One step, then another. Her shoulder hit the wall again and again. Only their footsteps echoed. Saki's room. Camila sat Saki down on the bed. She didn't leave. She looked down at Saki. Her silver eyes wavered. She had something to say. But it wouldn't form words. Camila's hand reached out. It was placed gently on Saki's head. Just for a moment. Only a brief moment. Camila pulled her hand back immediately. She turned away. "[whispers] Don't say stupid things." Her voice trembled just a little. Watching her back, Saki said nothing. No words were needed. The warmth of that hand was enough. Camila left the room. Alone. Saki lay down on the bed. Her whole body ached. But her eyes weren't sleeping. Stains on the ceiling. Cracks. (*I'll remember the things you won't teach me.*) She repeated her own words. Next time, she would learn on her own. The things no one would teach her. She closed her eyelids. — The next morning. A knock. "[cold] Madame summons you." Saki got up. Her entire body creaked. The cut on her lip still throbbed. The bruise under her eye had turned a bluish black. She stood. Hand against the wall, she walked down the hallway. One step. Another step. In front of the office. A deep breath. She steadied her breathing. She didn't leave her chest exposed. She knocked. "[cold] Enter." She opened the door. Vespa sat beyond the desk. Her usual black dress. Her gaunt hand gripped a quill. She was looking at documents. She didn't raise her head even when Saki entered. Silence. Only the scratching of the pen echoed. Eventually, Vespa spoke quietly. "[cold] Do you remember what you said last night?" Saki didn't answer. Vespa placed the documents on the desk. For the first time, she looked directly at Saki. Cold, golden eyes. Devoid of emotion. A cold, analytical light, as if observing a bottle of dangerous chemicals. "[cold] It seems you are no longer merely broken merchandise." Her voice was quiet and flat. "[cold] An uncontrollable spark—allow me to reclassify you as such." Vespa took her quill. She wrote a short note on the parchment. "[cold] Your permission to go outside is revoked. You will spend your time solely within the establishment." She returned her gaze to the documents. No additional explanation. No emotional words whatsoever. "[cold] You are dismissed." Saki bowed her head. She closed the door. She stepped into the hallway. Her range of movement had been completely restricted—but Saki's face was calm. (*That's fine.*) For now. Nothing had changed yet. Her body was battered. But—she was no longer just merchandise. Saki put a hand on the wall and headed for her room. One step. Another step. A faint resolve dwelled in her footsteps.