49 — I Planted a Different Kind of Safety in Three Lady Knights at Once

Before choosing her next contact, Sophie held out her hands to the two women. Karin took the right, Eva the left.

"If it gets scary, you can stop."

"I know. That's exactly why I can keep going."

At the end of the last entry, Sophie's sentence had been left deactivated. I reconfirmed that fact before anything else.

"Right now you're making your choices without the ability's help."

"Yes. I'll go one step further in this state, just as I am."

Sophie sat down close to me and set the distance herself, with her own hands. Her shoulders went rigid at the first contact, but she neither pushed back with a hand nor reached for the red paper. She pressed Karin's hand once, then Eva's, to confirm the present, and then she said what came next.

"I came this far by my own choice. Now I'd like to turn the sentence back on and see what changes."

"Why do you want it back on?"

"Not because I can't do without it. I want to confirm whether it works as an aid — whether it shortens the time it takes my body to catch up."

Sophie read her own sentence once more and signed it herself.

Only that sentence was reactivated, at the lowest intensity. Karin's control and Eva's freedom of expression were kept at the intensities each had agreed to.

Three sentences ran at the same time, but they were not one shared command. I did not copy Karin's sentence into Sophie, or Sophie's into Eva. And not one of the three contained a single word about loving me or obeying me.

"Does it feel different?"

"The fear doesn't disappear. It's just that after the fear, the sentence I chose comes back to me a little faster now."

"And whether to keep going?"

"That, I decide."

Sophie rested once more, then went on with the closeness she herself had wanted. The first movement was hers, and so was the first pause. Karin and Eva never let go of her hands — but neither did they decide in her place.

While Sophie searched for her own pace, Karin didn't count. A woman who would normally have measured every moment like repetitions in training spent today watching nothing but Sophie's face.

"Are you all right?"

"For now, yes. But keep asking before each next part."

I did not layer on [Emotion Manipulation], which had never been agreed to. Instead of severing past memory from present sensation with my power, I told Sophie directly what she was seeing and hearing.

"One candle flame. A closed door. Karin at your right hand, Eva at your left."

When her body began to tremble, Sophie couldn't tell for a moment whether it was a danger signal. Karin didn't answer in her place; she asked.

"Should I pick up the red?"

"No. Yellow."

Eva held up the yellow paper for everyone to see, and all four of us stopped. Sophie drank some water and put the trembling into her own words — a reaction with fear and excitement mixed together in it.

"I want to continue. But for the next check-in, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠let it be Eva, not you, Do-hyun."

The confirming voice passed from me to Eva.

"Sophie, where are you right now?"

"Your room. Karin and you are beside me."

"And who decides what comes next?"

"I do."

The anchor to the present that I had provisionally provided in the aftermath of Tae-hyun's death was carried this time by Eva's voice and Karin's hands. It was the moment the standard of safety stopped being pinned to me alone and began to pass among the three of them.

Sophie set down the yellow paper and raised the green. Even the decision to begin again was marked by her own hand.

Once Sophie said she'd had enough, Eva chose her place. She leaned against my side, her face turned toward Karin.

"Even if I'm not smiling today, check that I'm here."

"You're Eva with or without an expression."

"I want to hear that answer from the other two as well, not just from you, Do-hyun."

Karin took Eva's hand.

"Laugh or cry — your place is yours to decide."

Sophie added her own, brushing back a strand of disheveled blonde hair.

"And if you want to leave, say so. Staying isn't what makes you one of us."

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠corner of Eva's mouth rose out of habit, then settled. This time, holding back a smile did not become a new duty either. She smiled when she wanted to, and stayed still when she didn't feel like making any expression at all.

We stopped often, so that one person's intimacy would never turn into a contest for the other two. Water, a report on how everyone was doing, a fresh choice about the next contact. Sophie said she would only watch for a while, and no one asked her to join in.

At the end, Karin said she wanted to set the pace herself. Contraception and the physical boundaries were reconfirmed before anything began.

"Nothing inside the body. That promise stands today too."

"I know. The promise doesn't change just because the mood does."

Karin read her control sentence with her own voice. Midway into their closeness she tapped her shoulder twice, and everyone immediately drew back a step. I didn't ask why, and Eva and Sophie didn't demand an anxious expression as the answer.

"You don't have to say why you stopped?"

At Eva's question, Karin nodded.

"Yeah. I just wanted to see whether it would actually stop."

After one steadying breath, Karin lifted the green paper. Even the signal to resume came from her own hand. The confirmation that the rules really worked loosened the tension in all three of them a little more.

When the three women's turns were over, we ran an experiment in speaking one another's sentences.

If I told Karin "you don't have to smile," it comforted her but never reached her core. Telling Eva "you stop when I say stop" gave her a sense of control yet fell short of making her take the mask down. Telling Sophie "your name comes before your role" made a fine sentence — and left her fear of touch exactly where it was.

Why the same wound must not be bundled together and doused with the same command had been confirmed by their bodies' own reactions.

"And here I was thinking a good sentence could be planted in all three of them," Karin said.

"A remark that helps and the core sentence you need right now can be two different things. And even the judgment of what makes a sentence good — each person has to make that for herself."

We turned the sentence cards face-down, shuffled, and drew one each. The ability was not applied; we simply said what reaction surfaced on hearing the sentence.

What Karin drew was Eva's sentence.

"Good words. But what frightens me more than losing my smile is having my decisions taken away."

What Eva drew was Sophie's sentence.

"I need that one too. And still, the thing I forget most often is the freedom not to arrange my face at all."

What Sophie drew was Karin's sentence.

"It's close to my own sentence. But for me, the part about asking again at every single touch matters more."

Different sentences were not exclusive property. Anyone could choose someone else's if it proved necessary — the conclusion was only that nothing would be copied automatically just because the three of them were together.

"This time, you keep quiet, Do-hyun."

At Sophie's suggestion, I stepped outside the room. I didn't lock the door, and I left the key with Sophie.

Inside, Karin read Eva's sentence to Eva, Eva read Sophie's to Sophie, and Sophie read Karin's to Karin. It was a test of prying the implanted sentences loose from a structure in which only my voice could reinforce what my voice had planted.

When I came back in five minutes later, the three of them had changed seats. Karin near the door, Eva on the edge of the bed, Sophie in the middle of the chair. Not an arrangement I had set.

"How was it?"

"The sentence held even without your voice, Do-hyun," Eva answered. "If anything, hearing Karin read it made it clearer than ever that 'my place' doesn't only mean beside you."

Sophie tested Karin's stop signal in her place. Two taps on the shoulder, and Eva and Karin let go at the same instant. The rule was widened so the emergency stop could be used by anyone, whether or not they were the signal's original owner. Only the restart belonged to whoever had given the signal.

"The three of them being together doesn't make the three of them the same person," Eva said.

"Which is why the next training splits the roles too. I take point, Eva's the shield, Sophie observes."

Karin had already sorted it out like an operation. Sophie raised her hand.

"If fear comes while I'm only observing, may I be the one to call the first stop signal? Me — not you, Do-hyun?"

"That's the final objective. For the three of you to bring each other back to the present even without a single word from me."

The mental link from the first night had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been settled along that line — not as ownership, but as handing command back to each of them.

The title of the record was corrected as well.

This was so that the word simultaneous could never be mistaken for one shared mind.

While they were washing up, Karin was the first to raise the possibility of pregnancy. They had what the order's infirmary had taught them, but none of the three kept an accurate record of her cycle.

"I have no intention of deciding that finishing inside is fine just because the mood is right."

Eva and Sophie agreed. Before the next intimacy, they would start by confirming contraception with the medical officer.

Not being ashamed of desire — and not pretending the consequences didn't exist. The three of them wrote even that principle beneath their shared record.

Each confirmed in turn that the physical boundaries agreed on in advance had been kept this time. That didn't mean anyone declared the risk completely gone. The next day each would consult the medical officer separately, and no one would be pressured to disclose her cycle or health information to the others.

"Since the three of us were together, does the infirmary visit have to be together too?" Sophie asked.

"No. Only whoever wants company goes together, and the contents of an examination are known to that person alone."

"And if something goes wrong?"

"The one it happens to chooses whom to tell. There is no obligation to tell even me."

Eva wrote it down with shared rules and personal medical information kept in separate columns — so that "taking responsibility together" could never quietly turn into giving up one's privacy.

Physical discomfort was checked one by one as well. The list included: pain would mean a trip to the infirmary rather than waving it off as "it's my first time"; bleeding or dizziness meant calling the officer on night duty at once; and the next day's training intensity could be lowered.

Sophie opened the door with her own hand, then closed it again. The lock was no longer a symbol of fear. It was proof that inside and outside were hers to choose.

"Shall we leave it open while we sleep tonight?"

"The corridor patrol will be coming through, though."

Everyone laughed at Karin's practical objection. In the end the door was locked — but the key was left lying on Sophie's palm.

The four of us also settled the questions for the next morning. Whether her body hurt. Whether she regretted the choices of the night before. Whether any suggestion sentence clashed with her own thoughts. Whether there was any discomfort she hadn't been able to tell even one of the three.

"No question asking whether it felt good, though."

At Karin's remark, Eva laughed.

"You can tell that much just by looking at our faces right now. It's the uncomfortable things you can hide — as long as nobody asks."

Sophie added one more at the end of the list.

It was the final line, set down so that today's consent could never ripen into automatic permission for the next meeting.

Karin added a question of her own.

In the morning the three answer sheets would be written at spots apart from one another, and whether to reveal them would be each person's decision. The mere fact that the three were close could create a pressure to name the same regret, or claim the same satisfaction.

Eva revised the question about treatment effect as well.

It was a question built to block the conclusion that intimacy had cured the trauma. Sophie's fear of men might lessen today — but one night would not erase the incident, or the betrayal by the institutions that should have protected her, along with it.

"Will you run the morning check, Do-hyun?"

"It's better if Erica receives the first answers — so that no one tailors her replies to what I want to hear."

"Then when do you get to see them?"

"Later. Only the parts each of them chooses to show me."

With even the outside verifier settled, the question sheet was divided into three sections. The fields for name and answers were made to fold shut so they could be sealed.

After we passed the water around, they chose once more how to use the narrow bed and the chair. Karin wanted the bed, Eva the chair to start, Sophie the spot closest to the door. If sleep came, they could change; returning to her own room was allowed too.

"The sentences planted today — they'll still be there tomorrow, won't they?" Karin asked.

"They will. And tomorrow I'll confirm consent for each of them all over again. If any has turned unwelcome, I weaken it or lift it."

"So not a command — a temporary railing."

Sophie's phrasing was exact.

The three of them had not come apart. What they had done was raise, together, a railing the other two could grip whenever one of them wobbled.

The end times of the applications differed, just as promised. Eva asked for her sentence to be switched off ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before she slept. Sophie, her one-hour reactivation test complete, chose deactivation again. Karin would keep hers until the morning check — on the condition that if she woke in the middle and found she hated it, it would be cut immediately.

With Eva's sentence off, she sat there deliberately expressionless.

"Can you still be here, even now?"

"I'm here because I want to be. Not because of the sentence."

Sophie, with hers deactivated, opened the door once and closed it. Her hands trembled, but the choice held.

"I can walk even without a railing. I'll just be a little slower today."

Karin, with her own sentence still in place, checked whether she could contradict me if I said something false.

"From now on, when I say begin again, you follow."

"No. We agreed that I decide when it begins again."

Even with the three sentences in three different states, none of the three was waiting on my next order.

Eva, tidying the bedding, asked:

"Next time — could these three sentences be used in the middle of combat, too?"

It was a question that led not to intimacy but to live training. The next stage would have to be tested not in a bed, but on the order's training ground.