The Craftsman's Dawn, Irene's Noon
1 a.m. The workshop, ground floor.
I pulled my hood back up. On the workbench I left the 90 gold commission fee and the 360 gold confidentiality fee — 450 gold in all. The promised fivefold.
I stepped out into the alley. Spring dawn air. A street with its lamps gone dark.
Trailing behind me now was one more person. The hands that carve runes. Hands that will spend a lifetime engraving the same marks in the same place.
"I'll come back. Often."
Those were the words Rine had heard on the edge of sleep — a promise of procedure commissions, and at the same time a different kind of promise.
Fuck. This is the only way I have left to use the word promise.
2 a.m. The royal castle. In bed.
I stared at the ceiling.
Today had been a bountiful day. Ten maids. One rune master. Eleven people added to my sphere of influence, and one of those had followed me all the way into bed.
At noon tomorrow, Irene will be converted. By the rune master Rine's hands. With me watching at her side.
A double effect. Along with the rune carved into Irene's chest, my influence hardens one more layer in Rine's hands. A structure in which the practitioner and the subject become my assets at the same time.
And from tomorrow on, the same rune will be carved in the same place on the chests of my women. One at a time. By the same craftsman's hands. For life.
Someday, when the garment craftsman joins as well, clothing bearing the same mark will cover it from above. Women made uniform, inside and out, under the same insignia.
Fuck, the efficiency is too good.
Even as the word left my mouth, I knew exactly what I was calculating. I know, and I don't stop. That's the most fucked-up part of all.
Lying in bed, I murmured it all inside my head. Level 3 [Brainwashing]. Common-sense alteration. This skill is remaking my life. No — I am remaking other people's lives with this skill.
Tomorrow at noon, Irene. One knight with two syllables of my name carved above her chest. And after her, Elena. Thirty-eight. Queen consort. The highest-ranking woman in the kingdom.
The moment I lay a layer of common sense over her, my power stops being the queen's proxy — and becomes the queen herself.
Just thinking about it dries out my mouth. Whether this is excitement or fear, I can't tell anymore. I gave up even trying to tell a long time ago.
I fell asleep. I'd sleep long tonight. A long day was waiting.
Morning. Marisa's inn.
I'd slept soundly through the night. The moment I woke, I handled two things at once.
First, a request for an audience with the queen. The reply came back:
Tomorrow, 10 a.m. Second-floor office, the Royal Palace.
My first duty in the formal capacity of Royal Psychologist.
Second, a memo to Irene:
Noon, then. I take Irene to the workshop of Rine Valkrit, the practitioner.
Noon. The carriage.
Irene sat down beside me. Commoner's clothes. A headband. Her black hair bound back tight. The knight-order uniform stayed in her bag — to keep her identity from showing.
…The commoner's fabric was thin enough that the line of her shoulders showed straight through. With her hair up, the nape of her neck lay bare, and my cock gave a twitch entirely of its own accord. Hold it down. What kind of bastard gets hard on the way to a procedure? Fuck, how pathetic can one human being get.
"Where are we headed?"
"The eastern edge of the capital. A rune master's workshop. I put in the commission yesterday."
"A rune…"
Irene tensed a little. Her hand went to her chest. One axis of [Brainwashing] from last night — 'From today, you will be marked: two pairs of my-name runes above your chest, and silver rings on both nipples' — had settled into her mind. About the procedure itself she had no doubt. Her doubt went to exactly one place: why wouldn't I do it myself?
"…You're not doing it yourself, Do-hyun?"
"If I carve it, it's just a picture. When Rine carves it, it becomes an insignia charged with mana. The latter suits you."
"This Rine person…"
"She's mine. She became my craftsman last night. From now on, there's exactly one pair of hands that will ever carve that rune on your chests — hers."
Irene stopped for a beat. She drew in a small breath.
"…The same hands. For all of us."
"Yeah."
"All right. If you chose her, Do-hyun."
Her trust was complete. Grade-2 stability plus three axes of [Brainwashing] from last night. One word from me that we were going to Rine's workshop, and every question dissolved.
That a single sentence can end it — honestly, it frightens me sometimes. This woman would obey an order to turn her blade on me just the same. I simply never give it. And I keep insisting that not giving it is my last scrap of conscience. A fucked-up excuse if there ever was one.
Arrival at the workshop.
I opened the door. The scene had shifted by a layer. The workbench was tidier than last night; the ink bottles on the shelf stood in a neat row. Among the rune sketches on the wall, one new sheet had joined them — a design draft for the curves of the two syllables of my name. Something Rine had drawn from last night clear through to dawn.
Rine stood before the workbench. Her hair was tied up more neatly than last night, and her gray eyes held a light one layer softer than before — the result of the [Brainwashing] axis in the core layer of her self dissolving into her 'professional bearing.'
"Kang Do-hyun. You've come."
"Rine. I'm the one who commissioned the procedure. This is Irene."
"Hello. I'm Irene."
Irene bowed. Rine returned the greeting.
"I am Rine Valkrit, in charge of the rune procedure. The design was settled with you last night, Kang Do-hyun, and the final draft was drawn at dawn. One more round of the consent procedure."
Rine spread the draft open. Two pairs of my-name runes above both breasts, a single line of cursive down the cleavage, silver-ring piercings on both nipples. The stroke weight and the curves were a step more elegant than what I'd asked for last night. The craftsman's design authority — the product of what I had delegated.
"Shall I proceed as designed?"
"Yes. Please."
Irene answered, eyes on the draft. Consent.
Rine had her sign a sheet of paper. Procedurally, a 'subject consent form.' Guild rules. And that paper went into Rine's private notebook alone — 'confidentiality guaranteed,' as fixed by the [Brainwashing] axis last night.
The word consent written on paper is a joke. A consent form for a consent that never happened. And still, every formality gets observed. Checking the boxes doesn't make the crime any lighter, yet I insist on the paperwork first, every single time. A cowardly bastard.
"Please remove the top half of your clothing. The chest needs to be exposed."
Rine said it matter-of-factly. Irene undid her shirt buttons. Under the commoner's clothes, a C-cup in white underwear.
"The underwear as well."
Irene shed it without hesitation. Pink nipples. A body kept in fine condition. Twenty years old. Twenty-three sessions of Grade-2 sex.
Rine's gray eyes went precisely to her upper chest. Measuring the placement. A craftsman's gaze. No desire in it — assessment only.
"Good. Placement is set. I'll begin. Kang Do-hyun, you may take the chair to the side."
"I'll watch from right here."
I took the seat beside the workbench. One meter away. Inside Irene's line of sight.
…I sat there playing the cold observer while my lower stomach pulled taut. Bare breasts an arm's length away, and my cock was stiffening by degrees. Hold it. The moment my expression cracks, it's over. God, there I am again — the loser getting himself worked up watching a procedure.
The procedure began.
Rine opened the bottle of magic ink. Black ink, loaded onto the rune needle. Precise handwork under the work lamp.
Above the left breast. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Nnh…"
Irene swallowed her breath.
Above the right breast. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Ah…"
Rine's hands were exact. Four times more precise than mine had been the first time I ever carved one. Even stroke weight. Elegant curves. The instant the magic ink sank into her skin, a faint glow kindled — Rine was feeding mana into the rune as she worked.
I worked at the same time.
[Non-Contact Suggestion], Level 3. Aimed at Irene.
…Irene. That feeling of having thought of me for a month — there's nothing strange about it. It's the natural structure of a Grade-2 imprint, reached through twenty-three sessions of sex. Even when I'm not beside you, my presence sits inside you as a constant. That isn't weakness. It's proof of stability.
…Three new facts, from today.
One. The rune and piercings going into you right now are part of your body. Every day, inside your armor, they remind you that I exist. A place no one sees until you undress — you check it often yourself, and only I am ever allowed to look now and then.
Two. When you return to the royal castle, your first destination is my office. Reporting priority: first. Ahead of your commanding officer. That is your regulation.
Three. The path by which you rise from Grade 2 to Grade 3 runs through me and no one else. No other man, no other road, has any part in this promotion. And that is your own voluntary decision.
Three facts drove into Irene's inner narrative all at once — the ache of the rune work, the heat of the magic ink, the [Brainwashing] axis, converging on a single point.
Irene closed her eyes.
"…Yes. I think it was always like that."
"It was."
Always. That word is the most fucked-up of all. What I planted yesterday, she takes in as a part of herself for life. Even the words 'voluntary decision' are a script I fed her from my own mouth, and she believes it was her own will. And I stand by, watching, pleased. I honestly don't know whether something that takes pleasure in this counts as human.
Rine paused her hands for a moment and glanced at Irene.
"If it hurts, tell me."
"It doesn't hurt. If anything, it's warm."
Rine tilted her head. The moment magic ink pierces skin is supposed to sting. Converting pain into pleasure was a calibration manufactured by the [Brainwashing] axis. Rine knew none of this. She registered only that the patient's reaction was abnormal, and handled it the professional way.
"Then I'll continue."
Rine moved on to the cursive across the cleavage. One line: 'This body belongs to Kang Do-hyun.'
While Rine engraved it letter by letter, Irene breathed slowly. In. Out. In. Out. Every time the rune's mana settled into her chest, her breathing deepened by one more beat.
The piercing stage.
Rine changed tools. Two silver rings. A piercing needle.
"Left nipple first. It goes in as you breathe out."
"Yes."
Irene exhaled. The needle went through.
"Ha—!"
The silver ring caught in place.
"Right side."
The same process. The second silver ring.
"Ah…!"
Irene let out a small cry — a sound closer to stimulation than to pain. The [Brainwashing] axis was busy converting pain signals into pleasure signals.
Rine's hands stopped briefly at the sound. Her gray eyes flickered once. Then she returned to her work.
"Finishing. Sealing with magic ink."
Rine brushed a single layer of sealing ink over the runes. Permanent fixation.
Five minutes later. Procedure complete.
"It's done."
Rine held up a mirror for Irene to see.
Irene opened her eyes. She looked at her chest.
Two pairs of black runes. The cursive down the cleavage. Silver rings on both nipples. A result matching, exactly, the picture [Brainwashing] had drawn last night — with one more layer laid over it, the elegance of Rine's curves.
"…This is me."
Irene smiled. Not the clumsy smile from right after her first imprint — a settled one, and deep. That a smile born over another man's name driven into her chest could run that deep: I couldn't tell whether to be proud of it or to throw up.
Irene didn't lower the mirror. She turned her body once to the left, once to the right. Every time the silver rings caught the work lamp, a tiny spark of light leapt off them.
"Won't it chafe when I put my armor on?"
Rine immediately produced thin protective cloth and an ointment.
"Pad it with these for three days. Training is fine, but avoid lying face-down, and if you run a fever or the swelling worsens, come back at once. The rune is permanent — your wound doesn't have to be."
Her voice was even. Rine had become mine, yet she remained a master craftsman. I felt relief at that fact, and satisfaction at the same time — the pleasant thought that I had acquired a person and her usefulness had survived intact. Fuck. I can't tell whether that's relief or an asset appraisal.
Irene took the protective cloth.
"May I change it by myself?"
"For the first day, it's better to have someone with clean hands help you."
Irene's gaze turned to me at once.
"You do it, Do-hyun."
It arrived less as a request than like a step in a sequence already fixed. Before I could answer, Rine folded one more piece of fresh gauze and held it out.
"Then I'll show you how the change is done. Peel slowly from the edge, and don't rub across the rune."
Rine's hands moved over Irene's chest. Irene memorized the order of it while watching those hands in the mirror. I watched the two of them from the side — practitioner and subject, two women each speaking out of her own expertise, her own choice. And yet every sentence that had brought either of them here had come out of my head.
…It runs so smoothly it's fucked up. That's what makes it frightening. If it were a broken machine, I'd at least have grounds to stop it — but this turns so gently there's no reason anywhere to take my hands off it.
Beside me, Rine wore the expression of a craftsman satisfied with her work.
"Are you pleased with the design, Kang Do-hyun?"
"It's perfect. The commissions will be coming in for life."
Rine's gray eyes went one layer softer than they'd been last night. The professional axis reinforced on the spot.
Before we left the workshop.
"Rine. The next commission comes within the week."
"I'll have it prepared."
"And while you wait… do your own work too. Guild submissions, anything."
"Yes."
A small smile from Rine. The professional-pride axis, doing its work.
We climbed into the carriage. Irene sat beside me, redoing her shirt buttons, then pressed lightly at her chest with one hand — a motion to check the rune's lingering warmth.
"Do-hyun."
"Mm."
"I'll carry this rune for the rest of my life."
"Yeah."
"Even under the armor, I'll know it's there. Always."
"Mm. I know you will."
Irene smiled a little. Her black hair swayed.
The double effect had settled in. Irene's Grade 2 had deepened — the chest rune and the piercings stacked with three retroactive axes of [Brainwashing]. Rine, with [Suggestion] and [Emotion Manipulation] and one axis of [Brainwashing] laid on top, had become one more piece of permanent infrastructure, that much more solid.
Fuck, the efficiency is too good.
There's that word again. Efficiency. I bind two people with the same hands on the same day, and the first word out of my mouth is efficiency. The man I used to be would have despised a bastard like this. The man I am now just shrugs, even when that contempt lands on me. That's what's changed most of all.
Afternoon. I dropped Irene off at a safe spot by the knights' quarters. She went back to her training schedule as though nothing had happened. The rune and the piercings stay hidden completely beneath her armor.
By carriage back to Marisa's inn for a short rest, then a final check of the materials for the 10 a.m. report to the queen.
My first real duty. Queen Elena. Thirty-eight, queen consort of the Kingdom of Kaldion, the woman rumored to have shared no bed with her king for three years. The first seat where I face her in the official capacity of Royal Psychologist.
If today's rune procedure was precision at the fingertips, that seat is precision at the crown of the head.
I spread the documents out again. The spring night was long. Tapping my fingers over the papers laid open before me, I was calculating efficiency once more. And — fucked up as it is — my hands weren't trembling.