Don't Throw Me Away
Set-a stared at the man before her with dazed eyes. Se-in Lee. He was strangely kind—far too good for someone like her.
"Long time no see."
"...Yeah."
She couldn't think of anything. She just nodded.
"It's because of the trial. You're my slave right now, but they said your status might change during sentencing, so we have to redo everything from the start—consent and all that."
Calm. Looking back, his attitude was unusually composed. If she'd been through something like that, she'd have exploded in rage. She'd have screamed, Why do I have to go through this hell because of you?
There had to be a reason he wasn't doing that.
That was Set-a's misconception. There were people in the world who, even after being dragged back and forth to the police station over someone else's pointless screw-up, would just say, You won't make that mistake again, right?
"...Okay."
Deep down, she wanted to beg. Throw herself at his feet, use every trick she had, plead to be made his slave again. But that would be too shameless.
Shamelessness. The old her would have sneered in contempt at such a value. Her own life came first. Anyone who ignored that had to be hiding something uglier, more sinister.
But not him.
"..."
She had to let him go. Se-in deserved to be happy. Even if she'd been born to different parents, even if she'd inherited all his money and luck, that truth wouldn't change. He was a better person than her.
I never thought like this... before.
She'd envied everyone. Peel back one layer of their desires, and she'd been convinced they'd reveal ugly cravings no different from hers. If only I'd had rich parents. Or if they'd died somewhere and left me a fat inheritance—my life would've turned out different.
In the end, Set-a accepted her lot. The pain had been horrific. Something she never wanted to relive. But she didn't want to hurt him just to dodge it. Knowing what a fool he was, he might even grieve alongside her.
"So, if you're okay with it, I'm planning to take you back."
One sentence from Se-in shattered the fragile calm she'd scraped together in her heart.
"...Why?"
She'd figured his feelings had cooled. That he'd given up on her. Even if the trial restarted, it was just a little extra hassle. Peanuts compared to scooping up a slave you'd already tossed aside.
...Ah?
He was giving her a chance. This idiot hadn't given up on her yet.
"As long as we don't make things troublesome for each other, you can stick around longer. Even if not... about two weeks? I'd like you at my place that long."
That's why...
Only then did Set-a understand why the torturer had begged her so earnestly: Don't even breathe a word about wanting to go back.
...But.
If things went as he said, he might not be ready to fully accept her yet. At best, he'd just watch her a bit longer. A few weeks later, she might end up right back here. And if so, the torture waiting for her would be even worse, more excruciating.
...
Even so, it was fine. Even if he abandoned her again, fine. Even if this was her last shot, fine. Her "master" wouldn't chain down her freedom.
If she was doomed to be discarded anyway, better to bite her tongue in peace. If he showed a shred of mercy, maybe she could score some cyanide. Worst case, she could rig a noose from cloth or cord in the house and hang herself.
Even setting aside those cold calculations, she couldn't say no to his request.
"So, you coming?"
"...Yeah."
Set-a nodded slowly.
Time passed.
After her stint in prison, Set-a was docile beyond imagination—nothing like her old self.
"..."
She barely spoke. She'd never been chatty unless it was necessary, but now it was extreme. The only words out of her mouth were asking my permission.
Well, can't call that a bad thing...
In a way, after going full circle, she'd become the "slave I'd hoped for from the start."
She slept a ton. Holed up in her room with the lights off, sleeping through everything except mealtimes—it felt like she was asleep every waking moment.
"Is she really okay?"
Arin came running up to me, practically stomping her feet in worry.
"...Must've been rough."
I could tell drugs were involved. Ex-prisoners all testified to the same thing: hardcore narcotics and the agony that followed. Stories of them pumping in insane pleasure to deliberately trigger withdrawal symptoms. Or dosing just enough to make the "sales" less painful for the women.
Both were probably true. Most correctional facilities had gone private, each with their own strategies to meet quotas.
It was an open secret that imprisoned women sold their bodies. The state cracked down hard on prostitution, but they hadn't sealed it off completely. Plenty of restrictions, though.
Anyone with enough cash for a normal life—or enough to start a family—was strictly off-limits. From the state's view, those people should be making and raising kids at home with wives, husbands, or sex slaves, footing the bill themselves.
The last thing the state wanted was them blowing loads they wouldn't support, just to get off.
Laws were looser for women. Average ones could "visit" imprisoned men anytime.
No one cried "sexism." No condoms in prison—if you got knocked up mid-fun, the woman bore the consequences.
But the state figured some people could never afford kids, no matter what. Minimum-wage grinders, welfare cases, the disabled—they fell under the "sexual relief welfare policy." They got to fuck the imprisoned women.
Hygiene was airtight. The women did whatever it took to satisfy their buyers. One bad mark on their record, and the torturers unleashed unspeakable hell.
The kids born from that? The state took responsibility—effectively abandoned, just like the rest. And yet, the country was in such a dire birthrate cliff that they desperately needed those babies.
Set-a had nearly become one of those women. No customers yet, but I could guess the "processing" she'd endured beforehand.
"Don't stress too much. If there's a problem, she'll speak up."
"Uh-huh..."
I wanted to hug Arin, but it didn't feel right. I sent her off and lay down, but hours later, sleep still wouldn't come.
Maybe play a game...
I headed to the living room for a cola from the fridge but froze at a strange sound.
...
Sobbing. Ragged breaths. The kind of noise where you could swear someone was dying—and it was coming from Set-a's room.
Damn it...
I didn't have to care. I'd done plenty for her—more than enough. But I couldn't shake the curiosity.
It was the dead of night, but I opened her door and stepped in.
"Ugh... aaaah... aaaaaaaaaa..."
Set-a was thrashing under the covers, wailing.
"Everything okay?"
I spoke up, and she reluctantly crawled out.
"...Can't die."
"Hm?"
"Scary... so scary... Terrified that no one will remember me. That even if they do, it'll be as 'that fucking bitch'... it's so, so scary..."
Her eyes were glazed over. Red blood trickled from her lips.
"Tried biting my tongue to die. Tried hanging myself. But every time... every time... too scared..."
She'd always acted so detached about death, but how many people could truly embrace it peacefully?
"Planning to die?"
"Am I... a bother?"
When I brought her back, we'd made one promise. I'd only done it because I didn't want hassle—so try not to bother me.
"Don't... don't throw me away. Please, I beg you. No, you can throw me away. Just... let me steel myself to die... no, wait till I'm gone. It won't take long, please..."
Just moments ago, she'd been terrified of death itself. Now she feared going back even more.
Her unfocused eyes pleaded endlessly with me.
"Please..."