The lights were out inside the tent. Saki sat at the edge of the bed, hugging her knees. Three days without a proper meal. The ache in her stomach had passed. Now it was just a hollow void. Her hands trembled. Her fingertips were cold. Her throat burned with thirst. The words Walter had whispered the night before kept repeating in her head. "[whispers]You're smart." Saki knew exactly what those words meant. A smart slave obeys her master. An obedient animal gets fed. Disobey—and you get nothing. The tent flap swayed. A flash of sunlight cut through. A human shape cast a shadow. Saki kept her head down, arms wrapped around her knees. A silent soldier placed a bowl of water on the ground. Nothing else. The small clink of wood on stone. No food. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before. The soldier left. Saki slowly reached out and lifted the bowl. The water was lukewarm. But it was all she had for the entire day. (*I'm hungry.*) She didn't say it out loud. She didn't even want to waste the energy. She pressed her lips to the bowl and drank a little. The feeling of lukewarm water sliding down her throat was the only proof she was still alive. --- Day two. Morning. The feeling in her fingertips was fading. Her hands shook weakly as she gripped the bowl, head still bowed. Her stomach no longer hurt. The hunger had passed into numbness. Her thoughts wouldn't hold together. Japanese words surfaced and vanished at random. (*gakkou*) She'd already forgotten why that word came to mind. The sun set. Faint twilight seeped into the tent. Distant laughter from the soldiers. The smell of smoke and roasting meat. Saki closed her eyes. The tent opened. But this time—it was different. Quiet footsteps. Not the rough tread of the other soldiers. Slow. Measured. Walter Gräfe. Saki didn't look up. She knew those cold, metal-gray eyes. They didn't hit. They didn't shout. They just watched. He sat down at the edge of the bed. Close. His clothes smelled of gunpowder and iron. "[whispers]How's the food?" Saki didn't answer. She gripped her knees a little tighter. "[whispers]Just water, I assume. I gave the soldiers orders." He said it like it was obvious. No emotion. Just a fact. "[whispers]You're a smart woman. You already know what you need to do to get better treatment here." Saki's fingers trembled. "[whispers]Want me. Of your own will. Then things will improve." His voice was low. Quiet. Saki bit her lip. The dry skin split. A faint taste of blood. The only sensation that felt alive. Walter stood. He said nothing more. He pushed the tent flap open and stepped outside. Alone. Saki pressed her forehead to her knees. No tears came. Her anger was distant. Just a hollow pit in her stomach. Cold fingertips. --- Day three. Late night. Only water again that morning. She tried to stand. Her knees buckled. No strength in her arms. She slumped at the edge of the bed, unable to move. Her vision blurred at times. Couldn't focus. The memories of Japan—school, friends, the future—all of it faded into a distant haze. (*I am...*) The slave brand on her neck pulsed faintly. A magical shackle she could never escape. Freedom had never been an option. Living. Protecting herself. Which one to choose? She didn't even have the strength left to make that choice. Outside, the wind beat against the tent. The only sound was the distant, rhythmic footsteps of a guard. --- Day four. Evening. The sinking sun dyed the tent fabric red. Saki lay collapsed on the bed. She couldn't get up anymore. Her eyes wouldn't focus. The stains on the ceiling blurred and swam. Even the water this morning—only half a bowl. The tent opened. Those quiet footsteps. Walter entered. He looked down at Saki and sat. The same emotionless gray eyes as always. "[whispers]Day four." His voice sounded far away. "[whispers]You still haven't nodded yes. But your body's at its limit." The moment he opened his mouth to speak again— Saki's hand moved. Trembling fingers reached out. Cold. Bony. Her fingertips touched Walter's knee. The fabric of his uniform. Rough. Coarse. Saki slowly got off the bed. No—she fell off it. Her feet hit the floor. The cold of the stone crept up through her. She knelt. Both knees on the stone floor. Hands still resting on Walter's knee. Chin lowered. Head bowed. She opened her mouth. "[whispers]Please..." Her voice was hoarse and tiny. Short as a gasp. Four days of starvation poured into that single word. Walter didn't answer. Inside Saki—something made a sound. A cracking sound. It wasn't pride. It wasn't self-respect. It was something deeper. The core of what made Saki *Saki*. And now, silently, without a trace—it shattered. No tears came. Instead, Saki lifted her head. She looked up into Walter's cold gray eyes and made her lips form a smile. The muscles in her face tensed and trembled—but she forced out a twisted smile anyway. To survive. Just for that. Nothing else. Walter's expression didn't change. He just looked down at her for a few seconds. Appraising. Then he clapped his hands. A dry sound echoed through the tent. A soldier entered from outside. In his hands, a wooden plate. A chunk of bread. A bowl of steaming soup. Another soldier followed, carrying a lamp. "[cold]Eat." Bread and soup placed in front of Saki. Her first food in four days. Her hands shook. She tried to grab the bread. Her fingers wouldn't move right. Still, she tore off a piece and put it in her mouth. Hard. But with every chew, the taste of wheat spread across her tongue. She sipped the soup. Lukewarm vegetables. Walter watched in silence. Saki ate desperately. No tears. But she felt the change, faintly. She could eat—because she'd groveled. From now on, groveling meant survival. When the meal was done, Walter stood. He put out the light. Darkness returned. "[whispers]Tonight, move on your own." A quiet voice at her ear. Trembling, Saki moved toward the bed. She reached for the jacket of Walter's uniform. Her fingers shook. (*On my own.*) The movements she'd learned over the past few days—now by her own will. No. Not will. Something more primal. A calculation for survival. She moved her hips. Let out a sweet breath. Made the flattering sounds she'd learned. Walter barely made a sound. He just watched Saki's transformation in the darkness. Silent. Accepting. A short night. But still—it was different. Far better than the night three days ago. No violence. No orders. She'd just moved on her own. That fact quietly seeped into Saki's heart. --- Dawn. A thin ray of morning light slipped through a gap in the tent. Saki lay at the edge of the bed, eyes open. Her body was still heavy. Bruises and old wounds throbbed. But— The tent opened. A soldier entered with a wooden plate. Bread and soup. Warm steam rising. It was the first time since she'd arrived that she was given a hot meal instead of just water. Saki accepted it without a word. She tore the bread. Sipped the warm soup. It had flavor. The sweetness of vegetables. The right amount of salt. As she chewed, she traced back the memories of the night before. Had it been agony? Yes. It had been agony. But—it was far better than the night three days ago. (*If I grovel, I can eat.*) (*If I move on my own, I won't be beaten.*) A twisted formula began to take root in her mind. Little by little. Saki looked down at the empty bowl. Her fingertips were still trembling. She murmured her own name out loud. "[whispers]Saki." It felt slightly uncertain whether that name still belonged to her. She didn't cry. She understood, vaguely, what that meant. A morning when something new had been planted inside her. A morning when, in place of a shattered core, something cold and warped had begun to take root. Staring at the morning light slipping through the tent's gap, Saki let out a slow breath. I am—still alive.