#13 Collapse 1
1. He dreamed. An ant crawling on the ground was pecked apart by a tiny sparrow. The sparrow, chirping gleefully as it took flight, was snatched by a hawk. Sharp talons tore the small body to shreds. The hawk was devoured by a snake, its form coiled tight until every bone in its body crumbled. The snake was eaten by a starving stray dog, swallowed headfirst to become the mutt's daily meal. The dog was crushed by a massive bear. Flung aside by enormous paws, it died without even a whimper. The bear fell to a hunter. No matter how thick its hide, it couldn't stop the lead shot. And that hunter... was eaten by someone. He couldn't recall who. Only the memory of a deeply ominous smile lingered. It was a pretentious dream, heavy with meaning somewhere. But deep down, he knew the truth. Upon waking, it would scatter like nothing, forgotten in the wind.
2. Nayae pushed herself up. How many hours had she slept? Her whole body ached worse than the morning after a full day of swimming.
"Yawn..."
A lazy yawn escaped her. It struck her that it had been ages since she'd stretched out like this so leisurely. Lately, she'd been caught by her teacher, subjected to all sorts of vile things, her body tense from head to toe—no room for a proper yawn. For some reason, it didn't torment her anymore. No fear, either. Everything felt distant, like a hazy dream on the far side of reality. Reality itself seemed dreamier than any dream.
Nayae spotted herself alone on the queen-sized bed, sprawled out. The leather belts that had always bound her wrists and ankles were gone. The chains that rattled so menacingly had vanished somewhere. She still half-expected to feel restrained, so she tentatively rubbed her wrists and ankles. The spots chafed raw from the leather were wrapped in fresh bandages. Just before she'd drifted off, her teacher had meticulously dressed the wounds and bandaged them.
"Teacher."
She glanced around. No sign of him, of course. Her heart sank with a thud. It felt like she'd been abandoned in the world, utterly alone. Rifling through the sheets in a panic, she noticed the bedroom door was ajar. She rose slowly and stepped toward it.
"Ow...!"
Her sense of time was shattered, but she'd slept at least twenty hours straight. Each step, pushing off the floor with her own feet, felt awkward. She hadn't walked that much in so long it was alien. "Huh?" Like a baby taking its first steps, she shuffled carefully. That's when she realized she was wearing clothes. Animal pajamas from her elementary and middle school days. One-piece top and bottom, like doll clothes—you unbuttoned the top fully to slide your legs in. The soft, fluffy fabric felt wonderful against her skin. The cute polka-dot cow print charmed her too. She remembered falling asleep naked. He must have dressed me, she thought casually, and tiptoed out of the bedroom.
The sunlight pouring through the living room window stabbed her eyes. Squinting, Nayae searched for Yuchan. There he was, at the counter, slicing something with a knife. A large pot bubbled beside him.
"Good morning. What a sleepyhead you are."
"Good morning, sir. How long did I sleep?"
"Let me see... Almost a full day? About twenty hours?"
"Whoa, I think that's the longest I've slept since I was a newborn."
Just watching his back as he cooked made her heart race. Tears welled up. It was like walking a tightrope naked, then finally clipping on the safety harness—relief washing over her entire body. At the same time, a dizzying vertigo hit her, like peering down from a skyscraper's roof. Her head spun a little.
"Can I come closer?"
"Of course~"
Beaming, Nayae rubbed her eyes and shuffled toward him. He wielded the knife, filleting salmon. The pale pink flesh parted neatly under the single-edged sashimi knife, sliced into perfect bites. He separated the bones from meat in three fillets, filleting only one side with care. The sound of the blade slicing through the thick fat layers was pure music.
Nayae fidgeted beside him, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"What are you making? Can I help with anything?"
"Sure. I'm simmering some porridge—want to taste it? You haven't eaten in forever. Beef porridge."
Was that why her head felt so fuzzy? She'd blamed the long sleep, but low blood sugar made sense too. Her stomach growled. The food scent made her insides quiver.
"Sorry to trouble you. I'm already freeloading sleep—should be making the food myself."
"No, it's fine. Give it a try."
He plated the sliced salmon prettily and started julienning onions for them. But Nayae lingered, rooted by his side.
"What is it?"
"...My sleeping habits are bad too. You didn't stay up because of me, did you?"
She gazed at him with worried eyes. It was hard to believe this vibrant girl had been imprisoned, tortured, and terrified just days ago. She'd abandoned resistance, redefining her status and her bond with Yuchan. No telling how much she remembered, but she'd likely accept her actions without question. That's brainwashing for you.
"Nayae."
His voice was soft, but weighted differently. Startled, she looked up, eyes brimming with concern.
"If you want to help, use your hands. I said I'm fine."
"Y-yes... Sorry... I'm so sorry..."
Her body trembled. She'd meant to worry about him sincerely, but if it upset him, it was her fault. Needling his mood without tact gnawed at her. What if he's mad? He accepted worthless Choi Nayae, taught her himself. I don't want him to hate me.
"Ugh...!"
A sudden headache throbbed. She grabbed a ladle and sampled the porridge bit by bit. The faint sesame oil aroma teased her empty stomach further. Still, she stole glances at his back. It bothered her so much. But he ignored her, focused on julienning onions and mixing sauce. Mayonnaise 3T, honey 1T, minced onion 2T, pinch of pepper, parsley powder, lemon juice. A recipe she'd seen somewhere. He tossed thin-sliced, ice-water-blanch onions into the creamy mayo base. A restaurant-quality meal fit for serving.
"Taste good?"
"Yes, delicious."
"Good."
Thankfully, he didn't sound angry.
3. Eleven a.m. Late breakfast. Yuchan cooked, but Nayae set the table. Salmon onion salad and rice topped with furikake went on the table, porridge in a small bowl. Her portion sat on the floor by the table, in a dog bowl. She'd done it herself.
"Nayae, bring your bowl up here."
She flinched at his words.
"N-no... I like it down here! How could I eat at the same table as you, sir?"
Crouched obediently on the floor, she blew on her porridge. Steam rose; still piping hot. She meant it sincerely. After all, she was a slut with a zero-point pussy, toying with her body lewdly—and he was the benefactor who ruled her strictly yet showered endless tough love.
"Ugh..."
The headache struck again. Low sugar? Tilting her head, she felt his hand pull her up by the arm.
"Here, ahh~"
He forced her into a chair, spooned porridge, blew to cool it, and held it to her lips. Nayae was utterly confused. This violated etiquette in her mind—like propping feet on the table while sick. Yet he tolerated her rudeness, feeding her himself out of care.
"Ahh... *gulp*."
Reluctantly, she took the spoonful. Her dormant taste buds erupted in cheers. Saliva flooded her mouth like biting a whole lemon. She shuddered.
"What's wrong? Hurt?"
"Sob... sob..."
Tears came unbidden, like her body was broken. No clue why, but probably moved by his kindness.
"It's... too... delicious..."
Barely swallowing, tears brimmed as clear drops fell on the table.
"I'm... useless, nothing but a burden to you... a pathetic bitch..."
Another headache.
"It's fine. It's okay to be a lit-tle trou-ble-some now."
His smiling face twisted strangely as he spoke. His voice echoed faintly, smeared like in a vast cavern. Probably nothing. The tears, surely. Wiping them, she forced down the porridge. The best meal of her life.
4. Breakfast over, her eyes were puffy. The headache worsened. But the tears weren't from pain—purely from his actions touching her.
"I'll do the dishes."
"Alright, give me a hand then?"
Approaching him, she sniffed instinctively. Up close, his scent blissed her brain. Her dulled senses, fresh from sleep, stirred warmly. Just as he'd said. Sniffing him alone made her heat up—how could she not be a slut?
"Feels like newlyweds, doing dishes side by side."
She blurted boldly, then regretted it. Three seconds later, it screamed overreach. A mere pet calling them husband and wife? An insult to him.
"Does it? I would be hap-py mar-ry-ing you, Nay-ae."
His words dragged, slurred like stretched tape.
"Really?"
"Yes. Treating you like a pet was all my way of showing love. The nipple piercing? Marking you as mine."
Joy surged. Someone loving her felt this good. Absentmindedly, she fiddled with her prominent nipples through her clothes. Piercings embedded like fruit pits. She'd despaired at first. Now, symbols of their love—precious.
Emboldened, she pressed against him, unbuttoning her pajamas. Heavy, soft breasts spilled from the open fabric. He grinned brightly, kneading them. Each grip of his thick fingers sent endorphins cascading through her brain.
"Eek!"
"Okay? Head still hurt bad? Want an injection?"
He pulled her gently into an embrace. Tears threatened again. She hated showing this crybaby side. Come to think of it, she'd always been teary as a kid. She shed the pajamas fully. They bunched at her thighs. Thrusting her ass out like a display, she gripped her cheeks.
"Sir, could you give me an injection here too?"
Seducing a man like a whore—mortifying. But for him, she could. Her cheeks would part, her lewd hole fluttering like butterfly wings.
"You said... gentle sex if I did well..."
She wagged her hips like a bitch in heat, tempting him. Already soaked inside. Just thrust in and...
But Yuchan said nothing. Unease spiked; she peeked back. Had she spoken like she was ordering him?
"...Sir?"
Silence.
"Sir?"
The bubbling pot was cold. The cutting board, plates, leftover salmon—all gone. Only her half-eaten porridge sat alone on the empty table. Approaching hesitantly, she touched the bowl. Long cold.
"Hic...!!"
The headache crashed; she clutched her head, staggering to lean on the counter. Like backed-up filth surging through pipes. What the hell was happening? Why had she thought she loved him? Gratitude? For what?
Her vision spun. Dizzying. The sunlit room, once warmly embracing, now drained to grayscale. The world had gone mad. In this twisted, wrong reality, she alone was breaking apart.