The tent flap swayed. Thin twilight light slipped in. It fell across the filthy cot. The smell of mud. Blood. Gunpowder. The sour stench of rotten straw. Saki sat on the edge of the cot. Knees drawn up. Head down. Black hair hid her face. Three days. Three days since she was sold to the field camp. The first day, an officer came. Expressionless. He didn't look at her face. Just checked his papers. "[cold] Starting today, you service the soldiers here." That was all. He left. A soldier came in right after. Then another. Two of them. Wordless. They grabbed both her arms. "[scared] Stop—" Her neck burned. "—Gh!!" The searing pain of the brand. Her knees buckled. Every time she resisted, agony lashed through her—like a red-hot wire coiled around her throat. A slave brand—a Brand Mark. A magical shackle. Try to flee your owner, and crippling pain erupts. Escape was physically impossible. The soldiers ignored her struggles. They pinned her to the cot. One seized her left arm. Rolled up her sleeve. A thin needle. The silver tip caught the twilight in a dull gleam. Inside, crimson powder dissolved—Crimson Dream Powder. "[scared] That's—" Her voice shook. She knew it. She'd been forced to inhale it countless times at the Moonlight Manor. An illegal drug. It amplified sexual sensation to an extreme. Her body would betray her will. She couldn't resist. The needle went in. Inside her left arm. Cold liquid slipped into her vein. —Thirty seconds. Heat surged from deep within her body. Something crawling under her skin. Her fingertips went numb. Her breath grew shallow. Her vision warped. Her body burned. Just the brush of cloth against her skin sent electric jolts racing through her whole body. "[scared] No... stop..." Her voice trembled. But her body reacted differently. Separate from her will, her skin prickled. Her breathing grew ragged. (No.) She screamed inside. (I don't want this.) A soldier's hand groped her chest through her clothes. "—!!" Her back arched. Heat bloomed from the place he touched. Pleasure that melted her brain. It was the drug. It was the drug, and yet. Her body responded honestly. The soldier let out a ragged breath. Saki bit her lip. The taste of blood. Pain was the only thing that belonged to her. —. She counted the stains on the ceiling. One. Two. Three. Yellowed stains. Patterns of mold. Dried blood. (Four. Five.) Her breathing wouldn't settle. The soldier's weight pressed down. With every thrust of his hips, something pulsed deep inside her. (Six. Seven.) She clamped her lips tight, refusing to make a sound. But she couldn't stop the breath that leaked from her throat. (Stop.) She repeated it in her mind. (Stop stop stop.) The soldier couldn't hear. It was a short time. But it felt like eternity. —. The first one left. Saki curled up on the cot. Knees drawn to her chest. Making herself small. The drug hadn't worn off yet. Her skin was hypersensitive. Even her own hair brushing her neck made her shudder. (It's not—over yet.) The tent flap swayed. The second one came in. Saki closed her eyes. In her mind, she repeated a Japanese song. Lyrics from a distant memory. She couldn't even remember who sang it anymore. Only the words remained in her head. (Someone—help me.) She didn't voice it. If she did, the slave brand would throb again. —. Dawn broke. By the time the first night ended, three soldiers had visited Saki. She sat on the edge of the cot, hugging her knees. No water came from her eyes. She tried to cry, but no tears came. Her body was numb. The pain, the sensation—all of it felt far away. (I—) No words surfaced. —. The second day. They gave her only water. No food. Saki drank the water. Cold water passed down her throat. Just that felt unbearably long. Evening. The soldiers came again. Again, a needle pierced her arm. Crimson Dream Powder. Heat raced through her body. Again, her body responded, ignoring her will. Saki kept her mouth shut. She clenched her teeth. Her jaw ached. The taste of blood. (I'm still—) Still what? She couldn't answer the question. —. The third day. Before dawn. Saki opened her eyes. She stared at the stains on the ceiling. No water came from her eyes. She tried to cry. She felt a burning behind her eyes. But no tears came. No emotion. Anger, sadness, fear—all of it was somewhere far away. It wasn't peace. It was the process of something dying. —. Three days. She had noticed. A man who sometimes appeared near the tent entrance. Other soldiers raised their voices. Laughed. Spat vulgar words. But that man was different. He just stood there, arms crossed. No expression. Cold eyes. A gaze that appraised—like a scholar observing a living specimen. He didn't hit. Didn't shout. He just watched. Saki feared that man's gaze more than the other soldiers. She couldn't put into words why. Violence was easier to understand. Pain had meaning. But—those quiet eyes felt like they reached something deeper. —. Late at night on the third day. The last soldier left. Saki sat on the edge of the cot, hugging her knees. It was quiet outside. Only the distant footsteps of a guard. Wind beat against the tent. Her body ached. Skin covered in bruises and scrapes. But—she was numb even to the pain now. The tent flap swayed. Saki didn't look up. Another soldier? But—. Footsteps approached. Quiet. Calm. Different from the soldiers' rough tread. Saki slowly raised her head. Standing there—was that man. He wore a military uniform. A second lieutenant's insignia on his shoulder. Short-cropped black hair. A sharp jawline. And—cold gray eyes. (It's him.) A chill ran down Saki's spine. The man who had been watching all along. Second Lieutenant Walther Gräfe. He didn't force her down. He simply sat on the edge of the cot. A quiet motion. Silent. Saki didn't move either. Silence flowed between them. Outside, wind struck the tent. Far away, the guard's footsteps echoed in steady rhythm. Walther looked at Saki. He didn't hit. Didn't shout. Just watched with those cold gray eyes. Eventually. His face drew close to her ear. "[whispers] You're clever." A low, quiet voice. His breath touched her ear. Saki's whole body went rigid. "[whispers] You understand the situation you're in." Saki didn't answer. She bit her lip. Her fingers trembled on her knees. "[whispers] You don't resist. You don't even cry. You just search for a way to survive." His voice was quiet. Flat. Devoid of emotion. But—those words reached Saki. Three days. No one had directed words at Saki. The soldiers only gave orders, laughed, or toyed with her body in silence. But this man—. He saw Saki as a human being. No. That wasn't right. It was the gaze of someone appraising merchandise. But even so—. They were the first words directed at her in this hell. That fact snagged faintly on the numb part of Saki's heart. Walther stood. Without a sound. He pushed the tent flap open with his hand. He didn't look back. —. Alone. Saki dropped her gaze to her knees. She clenched her trembling hands. (That man—) What was he planning? She didn't know. But—she sensed it instinctively. He doesn't hit. Doesn't shout. He just observes, understands, and then dominates. With words alone. (Scary.) She thought it in her heart. Far scarier than the other soldiers' violence. But—. Exhaustion and the dregs of the drug clouded her consciousness. She had no strength left to think. Saki lay down. She threw her body onto the blanket. Stared at the stains on the ceiling. She couldn't cry. Couldn't rage. Even her fear was fading. Just—she had survived today too. She confirmed that single fact inside her chest. Outside, the wind died. Silence wrapped the camp. Saki slowly closed her eyelids. Walther's cold gray eyes wouldn't leave her mind.