She was collapsed on the floor. The cold stone bit into her cheek. (I'm alive.) Arisa slowly lifted her eyelids. The brand on her lower abdomen still throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. Last night, she had tried to force her mana into reverse flow — and blacked out. The taste of blood still lingered in her mouth. She pushed herself upright. Through the cell's narrow window, the morning light slanted in, thin and pale. On the floor were traces of her own sweat, and a little of the blood she'd coughed up. (I failed. But —) The mana had, for just an instant, reversed its flow. She had felt it respond. That was when it happened. *Click. Click.* From the corridor, the familiar sound of footsteps approached. A chill raced down Arisa's spine. (Cassandra.) The door opened. A tall woman stood there, her silver-gray hair bound high. Sharp gray eyes looked down at Arisa, appraising her. The madam of Moonset Pavilion, Cassandra Yurinska. Her lips twisted into a faint, thin smile. "[cold]You're awake. Good." Arisa said nothing, only looked up into those eyes. Cassandra entered the room slowly. Her black dress dragged across the stone floor. "[cold]Last night, I saw something interesting." Arisa's fingertips twitched. "[cold]The mana of your brand reversed its flow, just for a moment. I am a Brander. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" A cold smile. Cassandra crouched down in front of Arisa and seized her chin. Her fingers dug in hard, biting into the bone. "[cold]You've done your research well. To come this close to counter-branding in just three days. I'll grant you — your intelligence is impressive." The gray eyes peered into Arisa's from inches away. "[cold]Which is precisely why — I will crush it today." The blood drained from Arisa's face. (The notes.) The floorboard beneath the bed. The tattered parchment hidden deep inside. That, above all else, she had to protect. "[cold]You're coming with me. I've prepared a special client for you today." — Led by Cassandra, Arisa was escorted to a private room on the second floor. A suffocating wave of perfume hung in the air. Not the stench of grease and sweat that clung to her previous clients. This was a gentler scent. "[cold]Get in." A shove to her back, and Arisa was thrust into the room. Inside was a young man. Soft, chestnut-brown hair, cut short. Clear green eyes. A faint habit of knitting his brows together. He stood about 178 centimeters tall, his build still slender. Serge Almond, the third son of a lower-ranking noble house. "[gentle]……Um, excuse me." Serge was clearly out of his element. His face was flushed, his gaze darting restlessly around the room. "[gentle]Forgive my rudeness, but…… may I ask your name?" Arisa felt a small flicker of surprise. None of the clients before him had ever asked her name. "……Arisa." She answered shortly, her voice hoarse. "[gentle]Arisa……" Serge repeated the name quietly to himself. Then, slowly, he approached. He stood before her and reached out his hand. — That hand touched her shoulder, gently. "— Ah." In that instant. The brand on her lower abdomen flared with heat. (Stop it……) Her body responded, independent of her will. Each time Serge's fingers brushed her skin, the brand of pleasure throbbed, and a sweet numbness spread from deep within her belly. "[gentle]You're so cold." Serge traced her arm as though cherishing it. Not to inflict pain — just to warm her. "[gentle]I…… won't hurt you." Those words, paradoxically, gouged at Arisa's heart. (Even kindness makes the brand react?) Pure kindness. Not violence, not a command — just kindness. Every touch of his fingers made Arisa's body flush with heat against her will, her lower abdomen aching and tightening. Deep in her chest, a constricting pain. The fact that her own body was no longer hers. That, more than anything, was humiliation. Serge did not penetrate her. He simply continued to gently stroke her shoulders and arms. "[gentle]If it becomes too much…… please tell me." At the end, he said it in a small voice. Arisa could not reply. Serge smiled sadly and left the room. — Immediately after Serge departed. The door opened once more. It was Cassandra who entered. "[cold]Follow me." Offering no room for argument, she seized Arisa's arm and dragged her back to the cell. — And then. Without hesitation, Cassandra reached under the bed. She removed the floorboard. Arisa's body went rigid. "[cold]You've been busy collecting." In Cassandra's hand was a bundle of tattered parchment. The research notes Arisa had painstakingly written, bit by bit, over three days. The core of the counter-branding technique. "[sarcastic]To write this much in three days. Impressive. Truly impressive, Arisa." Cassandra checked the pages one by one, then moved closer to the lamp. "Stop — !" Arisa tried to lunge at her. But. The brand on her lower abdomen activated — as searing pain. "— Gaaah!!" Her knees hit the floor. "[cold]Don't move." Cassandra spoke coldly and held the lamp's flame to the notes. *Fwoosh.* The parchment caught fire from the edges. Black smoke rose, and the letters, the formulas, were swallowed by the flames. "[cold]Watch closely. This is the end of your counter-branding." Arisa could do nothing but lie prostrate on the floor and stare at the burning notes. The formulas she had poured herself into for three days, sacrificing sleep. The only key to her freedom. Now, before her eyes, it was turning to ash. "[cold]Your counter-branding is worth no more than this." The ashes of the burnt notes fell to the floor. Cassandra stood and ground the ashes beneath the sole of her shoe. "[cold]Let me give you something to look forward to. For now, your punishment will simply be relocation to the underground cell. But starting tomorrow, your daily client count will be doubled." — The underground cell. — Double the clients. Arisa's vision warped. — The underground cell was incomparably smaller than the private rooms on Moonset Pavilion's second floor. Just a stone floor with a little straw scattered on it. No window. Musty air hung stagnant. Arisa sat slumped against the wall. She hugged her knees and stared intently at her clenched fist. In her hand was a single scrap of paper that had survived the fire. Just a fragment. Most of the writing was illegible. Even so. (At least my memory……) Arisa shut her eyes tight. *Click.* From outside the underground cell, she heard soft footsteps. "[whispers]……Arisa." Silver hair swayed in the darkness. Lilia Valmars had come, evading the watchful eyes. In her hand, she clutched a small piece of bread. "[whispers]I'm sorry. That it's come to this……" Lilia crouched in front of Arisa and gently offered the bread. "[sad]I can't do anything……. In front of Lady Cassandra, all I can do is stay silent……" Her voice trembled. The moment Lilia tried to press the bread into Arisa's hand — She noticed. Arisa's hand was trembling, faintly but rapidly. "[surprised]Arisa……?" Arisa bit her lip, hard. — And then. "……Uu, ah……" Stifling her voice, she broke down in tears. Her shoulders shook, and her suppressed sobs were swallowed by the cold walls of the underground cell. Until now — at the auction block, when the brand was carved into her, when aphrodisiacs had exposed her to humiliation — Arisa had never once cried in front of anyone. For the first time, she lost control of her emotions. "[crying]I'm sorry…… I'm so sorry, Arisa……" Lilia said nothing more. She simply wrapped her arms around Arisa's shoulders. The two of them sat side by side on the cold stone floor of the cell. They stayed that way for a long time. Eventually, Arisa's tears stopped. In a hoarse voice, she murmured quietly. "……My memory is one thing they can't burn." Lilia looked up. "[serious]Fragments of the formula are still here, in my head. Even if I lost the notes…… that's something no one can take from me." Lilia grasped Arisa's tear-dampened hand and squeezed it tightly in return.