Episode 24: Submission
Sometimes, the world felt so stingy. It had a way of showing you that everything you'd desperately fought for was just an illusion. Like all the money I'd scraped together like a dog, only for it to turn to ash before I could even spend it.
I couldn't leave. Yeah, that was my reality right now. I couldn't get out of this spot.
A chill wind tickled my skin, making me all the more aware that I was naked. I had to escape desperately, right now—I had to get out of this room. I'd forgotten that for a moment in my panic, but now that my wits were returning, it hit me: the shame of my nudity. And the terror of the hero.
Scary. Save me.
I trembled violently, backing away from the hero, trying to put distance between us, but I couldn't bring myself to whip around, kick the door open, and flee the house. That was just my reality.
If even one person saw me running out naked, that day would be the one I died the most cruelly, brutally, agonizingly.
I bit my lower lip, trying to calm my quivering body, when the hero—who clearly had no intention of leaving the room—stood there staring at me blankly before finally speaking.
It was blatant blackmail.
"If you leave this house, I'll let you go clean. But if you can't do that, come back to this room."
With a low growl, he continued.
"But I won't give you much time. The punishment will be different if you come back on your own versus if I have to drag you here."
Punishment? What punishment...? For running away? But he said he'd let me go if I ran, so why threaten punishment now if I came back?
What kind of punishment could make him say something like that? The fear of whatever awaited if I returned froze my feet in place. I couldn't step forward. But I couldn't turn and flee either, gripped by the terror of the pain I'd endured.
This had to be a dead end on all sides, a true dilemma.
As fear clouded my thoughts, the hero took a step forward. He glared at me. I figured that was the grace period for my choice.
In the end, I decided on the lesser evil over the worst, my voice shaking as I asked—with dread at what the punishment might be, but steeling myself anyway.
"W-what... punishment...?"
"Watch your tone."
At my question, he took issue with my curt speech and strode forward another step. Judging by his pace, it wouldn't take many more to reach the door—and that meant my time to decide was running out.
Why are you nitpicking my speech at a time like this?
I furrowed my brow, and apparently that didn't sit well either, because he strode forward again. Stunned, I widened my eyes and quickly smoothed my expression. Even so, fidgeting and head bowed, I finally managed to stammer,
"C-can I... ask what the punishment is...?"
I squeezed my eyes shut as I asked. The hero tilted his head with a thoughtful hum.
Is he actually thinking about it now?
I narrowed my eyes, and he shrugged.
"If I tell you, it wouldn't be punishment, would it?"
Damn it, so it was just his sadistic hobby. My hesitation lingered, feet rooted like they were tied, body hunched slightly as I stood there. I cupped my body with my hands, groaning softly—time was slipping away again—and he strode closer. Two or three steps now, and he'd be out.
Better to return to the room than agonize until he emerged. For someone like me, who had no idea what horrors awaited outside, this cage was inescapable. Trembling, I dragged my legs back toward the room.
As I took those shaky steps, the hero smirked approvingly.
"That's right."
I swallowed hard, trying to hide my tension as I turned slowly. He chuckled softly, watching me. By the time I reached the threshold, he'd closed the distance to his side too.
Is he going to shove me aside and come out? Give me an even worse punishment?
As anxiety shook me, he spoke cautiously.
"...You want to come in?"
It was a teasing question. Truth be told, I didn't. But getting caught fleeing naked outside? No thanks. I had no choice but to enter this room. The thought of him coming out to the living room and grabbing me terrified me—I didn't know what he'd do. So I had to go in.
Chewing my lip to brace myself, I drew a sharp breath and finally spoke.
"...Yes."
I avoided a simple "yeah," lest he shove past me. Careful not to irk him, I forced the word out politely. He wouldn't scold me for that here, right? God, I hope not.
Even I thought it pathetic—did I have to live so miserably, so subserviently? But I couldn't let go of the me who'd clung desperately to life, more than anyone. The me who'd survived rummaging through trash cans, who hadn't even died by suicide but accident. So I wanted to live just a little longer. More than anyone, I clung to this life. Parasite in another's body or not, as long as I saw it as my last chance, I wanted to feel happiness someday, while alive.
Kudbeka. I'll endure. So come save me someday.
"I want to go in."
Don't betray my hope, my faith.
I said it politely to the hero before me. He looked down at me silently, then—seeming satisfied—stepped aside from the door.
Crossing the threshold, relief washed over me, but so did fresh unease about the punishment. As I entered, he exhaled softly and commanded,
"Kneel here."
"...Yes."
Remembering how he'd snapped at me before for not answering, I replied as I dropped to my knees. Better to kneel and take the punishment than risk murder charges for trying to kill him. Still tense, I swallowed, clenching my sweaty fists.
As I bowed my head, he dumped the potatoes I'd stashed in the corner in front of me.
Thud thud. He upended the bag, crumpled the empty sack, and tossed it aside. Then he stomped the scattered potatoes with his shoe right before my eyes.
Splat splat.
Ah, so this was it. I'd starve again. Despair twisted my face, and he spoke as if it was absurd.
"No need to look so wronged. You tried to kill me—this is just fair punishment."
True enough. I'd want to do something to someone who'd tried to kill me too. Nodding in understanding, I smoothed my defeated expression into a bitter one. Still, it stung. My nails hadn't even fully grown back yet.
Lost in melancholy, he stated his future policy.
"No more possessions from now on."
Of course. I'd hidden a fork in food packaging and used it as a weapon. No arguing that. Head bowed, I bit my lip.
Seeing my silence as acceptance, he moved on.
"No more packing food either. If you want to eat, show some sincerity."
So what the hell is 'sincerity'? Should I fawn outside, calling him 'Hero sir' or 'Master'?
Tsking inwardly, I furrowed my brow in distress. Good thing my lowered head hid it.
"Sincerity means acting like a slave. Obey orders, speak politely to your master. Honestly, letting you live instead of killing you is already generous. My reputation goes up for taming a demon, so I win too."
He explained as if reading my mind. So vague it made my head throb. As I mulled it over—What's the standard? A point system?—he sighed.
"Honestly, I want to hold my head high as a hero again. So cooperate."
"...How?"
Even demoted, he still had power—the words from this so-called hero slipped out of me. Did my flat tone sound sarcastic? With no uptick? Cold sweat beaded as I glanced at him anxiously.
Luckily, he didn't seem offended, muttering "Yeah," and stroking his chin. It didn't take long for him to continue.
"Tell me who the Demon King is, where they are. Or if loyalty's the issue, bring something related to the Demon King."
I knew who and where, but with my resolve to survive—to endure—I couldn't say. Besides, he'd probably dismiss it anyway. Silence stretched as I spaced out, and he flicked my head.
Irritation flared, but I suppressed it, groaning as I looked up. Our eyes met briefly; he sighed, gave my head one last smack, and pressed.
"No answer? Is your head really that empty?"
Oh, right—he'd asked for a reply.
"Ah, yes... Sorry."
With my apology, he shrugged satisfied, flopping onto the bed. Suddenly, I was kneeling before the bedded hero, crushed potatoes at his shod feet.
He crossed his legs, humming thoughtfully.
"So, what punishment will make sure you don't pull this again?"
It was just musing, a soliloquy—no need to reply. But hearing it spiked my anxiety. That was just talk before; the real thing starts now. Cold sweat trickled down my back.
As I swallowed, he stared, then nodded at the floor.
"Eat that first. You must be hungry."
What? I glanced around—no food nearby. My eyes fell on the mashed potatoes. This? No way.
I'd eaten scraps from the floor before, but I didn't like it. And these were stomped by the same shoes he'd worn outside. The once appetizing yellowish potatoes were now indistinguishable from trash.
Appalled, I froze. He sighed. I flinched, gauging his mood. He really means eat it? Seriously?
Glancing uncertainly, he offered alternatives.
"If not, serve me tonight. Or wait—you tried to kill me, so what right do you have to complain however I treat you?"
I nearly snorted in derision at the nonsense, but facing his shifting moods, fear gripped me. Rape me again? No. I hated being held by a man. It wasn't pleasant—just disgusting, painful, tormenting. I'd sworn never again, yet here it was?
Whimpering in dread, he nodded and stood. I collapsed from my kneel, scrambling up only to fall on my butt. Ass stinging, no time to whine—I retreated on thin arms and legs.
How far did I get? The unyielding distance terrified me; soon my back hit the wall with a thud. No further retreat. His shadow loomed over me.
Ah. No.