She was alone. Lying on the bed. The stain on the ceiling caught her eye. Cracks. The smell of mold. The same unchanging scenery. Saki couldn't move a single finger. Her whole body ached. Her ribs creaked. The taste of blood still lingered in her mouth. The impact of Gallon slamming her to the floor throbbed deep in her bones. (It was all a setup.) The baker's crumbling face. The wine delivery man's obedient demeanor. Ordo's flushed cheeks. All of it. All of it was a farce staged by Gallon. Her chest went cold. The "control" she thought she had seized—it had never existed from the start. But— Behind Saki's eyelids, that scene surfaced. Gallon's fist. Thick, knobby fingers. That fist had been trembling. (He was afraid.) The ruler, too, trembles. That fact alone remained at the bottom of her heart—a spark that refused to die. — Footsteps sounded outside the room. The door opened. It was Camila. Her long, dark purple hair was tied back carelessly. Cold silver eyes looked at Saki. The thin vertical scar on her left cheek stood out starkly in the dim hallway light. Silence. Camila held a water pitcher and a cloth in her hands. She approached Saki's bed. Crouched down. Soaked the cloth in water. Wrung it out. She took Saki's arm. The cloth touched the wound. "...gh." Pain twisted her face. But that was the only sound she made. Camila said nothing. She just silently wiped the scrapes on the arm, cleaned off the dried blood, and pressed the cold cloth over the bruises. Saki stared up at the ceiling, feeling only the movement of Camila's hands. They seemed rough, but the way she applied the cloth was gentle. Careful, as if avoiding the painful spots. (This woman is always like this.) Saki thought. Sullen. Taciturn. Brusque. But her hands were always kind. Camila reached toward Saki's neck. The abrasion beside the slave brand. The cloth touched it. Saki held her breath. Camila's fingers stopped for a moment, just above the brand. Her silver eyes gazed at the pattern etched in magical silver ink. She looked like she wanted to say something. But— Camila said nothing and continued the treatment. Eventually. She picked up the water pitcher and stood. She turned her back and headed for the door. She opened the door. Camila's feet stopped. Just for a moment. A mere moment. She almost turned back— And closed her mouth. The door shut. — Alone. Saki stared up at the ceiling, motionless. (That woman is carrying something, too.) Something had flickered deep within Camila's silver eyes. What it was, she didn't know yet. But— Unable to sleep through the pain, Saki waited for dawn. — Morning. A knock. "[cold]The Madame calls for you." A voice from beyond the door. Saki pulled herself upright. Her whole body creaked. The wound on her lip still throbbed. The bruise under her eye had turned a dark, bluish black. She put a hand on the wall. She stood. One step. Her knees nearly buckled. Another step. She went out into the hallway. Ordo stood there. The young janitor. The moment his eyes met Saki's, he averted his gaze. Saki looked at him. The man Gallon had planted. The actor who pretended sympathy and reported everything. Ordo's cheeks were faintly red. Saki said nothing and headed for the office. — The office. Saki took a deep breath, then knocked. "[cold]Enter." She opened the door. Madame Vespa sat beyond the desk. A black dress. Emaciated hands gripping a quill. Her long, jet-black hair was loosely tied back. Cold, golden eyes pierced through Saki. The small jewel on her left ear glinted dully in the pale morning light. She was looking at documents. She didn't raise her head even when Saki entered. Only the scratching of the pen echoed. Silence. Eventually. "[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. No anger. No irritation. Only the cold light of analysis—as if observing a vial of dangerous chemicals. "[cold]It seems you are no longer merely a broken product." Her voice was quiet and flat. "[cold]An uncontrollable spark—I shall reclassify you as such." She took her quill. Wrote a brief note on the parchment. "[cold]Your permission to go outside is revoked. You will spend your time solely within the brothel. Independent movement inside is also forbidden. Contact with Ordo will not be permitted except in the presence of a guard." Saki listened in silence. Vespa raised her head. "[cold]Is there something you wish to say?" Saki shook her head. "[cold]...No." Vespa's golden eyes narrowed, just barely. "[cold]You are dismissed." Saki bowed her head. She closed the door. — The hallway. Saki put a hand on the wall and headed for her room. (Vespa is afraid, too.) She confirmed it coldly in her heart. Forbidden to go out. Forbidden to move alone. Contact restricted. All of it was proof they saw her as a threat. (It's not just Gallon.) The rulers were beginning to fear her. One step. Another step. Strength was returning to Saki's stride. — In front of her room. A small bottle had been placed on the floor. Saki stopped. A small vial of ointment. Ordo had left it there. She picked it up. The cold feel of glass. The liquid swayed inside. (That guy was planted by Gallon, too.) The blushing, the agitation—it might all have been an act. But— Something snagged in Saki's mind. Ordo's deeply flushed cheeks. That reaction. Was it really a complete act? Saki gripped the bottle tightly. (Even a man who follows orders can't be commanded to control his skin's reactions.) The instinctive weakness a man's body possesses. That exists in a place separate from any setup. Something Gallon didn't teach. Something Gallon couldn't teach. Staring at the vial of ointment, Saki filed that hypothesis away in her mind. — Past noon. Camila brought food. Bread and soup on a tray. Steam rose from them. Camila placed it on the desk without a word. Saki watched it, also silent. Silence flowed between them. But it wasn't an unpleasant silence. Saki picked up the bread. She took a bite. Hard. But it soaked into her stomach. She sipped the soup. Overly salty. But warm. Camila leaned against the wall, looking out the window. Dusk was near. The sky was beginning to stain red. Saki drank the soup dry. "[serious]...Have you," Her voice was hoarse. Camila's silver eyes turned toward Saki. "[serious]ever thought about getting out of here?" Camila didn't answer. But her feet remained still. Her back turned, she paused for a moment. "[gentle]...I can't say I haven't." A short phrase. That was all. Camila picked up the tray and left the room. — Walking down the hallway. Camila clicked her tongue softly. (I answered her.) She had realized the intent behind Saki's question. Those eyes were searching for an ally. And she had answered them. With that one phrase, she would now be counted among Saki's "inner circle." (...I've got a troublesome new girl.) But— The corner of Camila's mouth relaxed, just a little. — Night. When the brothel had fallen completely silent. Saki sat up in bed and looked out the window. The moon was a thin sliver, peeking through a break in the clouds. Forbidden to go out. Forbidden to move alone. Couldn't even approach Ordo. What did she have left now? Saki confirmed it, one by one. What Gallon had taught was a method of controlling men using their desires. But what his trembling fist had taught her was something else. (If you see through what your opponent fears, you can break them without using desire.) Using fear. Gallon had never once taught her that. That trembling fist. That was Gallon's genuine terror. (That is Gallon's outside.) Saki narrowed her eyes, staring out the dark window. From domination using the body, to a battle using the mind. She still had nothing. But her direction was set. Now that she couldn't move outside the brothel, her next method of fighting was—to move the people on the inside. Camila. Ordo. There might be others besides them. (It starts from here.) Saki let out a quiet breath. A small spark deep in her chest. It wouldn't blaze up yet. But it hadn't gone out, either. Outside the window, the wind stirred the lights of the pleasure quarter. Saki slowly lay back down on the bed. (The things you won't teach me—I'll learn them.) She confirmed those words once more in her heart— And closed her eyelids. Somewhere in the brothel, a door creaked.