Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Initiation Rite (2)
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"Die! You fucking bastard!"
I have no idea how many more minutes—or maybe even hours—I endured in that state.
"What? You don't remember? You don't remember!?"
They kept beating me until they were satisfied, and then beat me some more...
"Haa... haaa..."
Only after they'd grown bored of pounding on me did the restraints holding my body finally loosen.
"...Hey, enough with the beating. Let's get to fucking him already."
"Right now?"
But once their violent outburst ended, the heated atmosphere shifted. They glanced at each other warily, their eyes roaming over my body.
"Nah, uh, honestly, I'm not that desperate for a guy or anything..."
As things veered toward sexual violation, a few started muttering weakly and slipping out of the shower room.
They'd just wanted to beat a hero to their heart's content. They weren't keen on taking even greater risks.
"..."
But Acid and Black Owl didn't stop.
A little more.
Just a bit more ugliness to force out of me.
"...But what if that bitch finds out and screws us over?"
"I don't care about that. I'm seeing this bastard through to the end today. And there's no reason to chicken out anyway. After today, we won't cross paths again."
The two of them seemed almost fearful of someone, yet they buzzed with excitement like moths diving toward a streetlamp with no escape.
Especially Black Owl, stung by my earlier taunt, took the lead, peeling off my clothes layer by layer.
"...Hey, I'll make sure you never forget me."
"This fucker's still hanging in there."
I tried lifting my barely functional arms to shield myself, but my pain-racked body refused to obey.
"Crow, you think you're that great? Like some legendary figure from the history books? Delusional bullshit. You're just a lucky punk who stumbled into powers. Quit acting all noble."
The baggy orange prison jumpsuit and cheap white tee came off effortlessly,
and once I was laid bare on the shower room tiles, chills gripped me as the damp air clung to my skin.
"No compromising with villains, right? Well, what about your body? Think you can stay cool and stoic while some criminal slut has her way with you? Doubt it."
Pent-up lust with no outlet, bottled up among these women. Resentment and the urge to dominate, all aimed at me.
That swirling mass of dark desire pressed in as they began stripping too. Once the cumbersome prison garb hit the floor, only three naked bodies remained—two women and one man.
Who was villain and who was hero didn't matter. Here, there were just men and women.
That was Black Owl's point. She wanted to shove my ideals in my face—my body's structure, reactions, desires that clashed with my resolve.
That way,
she could prove her superiority.
Straddling me, slamming down again and again, she could claim victory.
She lost nothing. Just a fleeting orgasm and sweet relief.
"Those words of yours still hold, right? No compromising with villains, ever?"
I didn't answer, just stared at the ceiling. The turquoise shower room ceiling, dotted with water droplets that fell in steady drips.
No sky up there.
The feel of the rooftop against my back was the same, yet my view held no open vista or clouds.
"You listening!? Answer me!"
Instead, Black Owl's flushed, aroused face filled my sight. She'd finished her preparations and kept her mouth open to savor my reactions.
"...Fine. Let's see how long you keep that face. We'll find out who wins."
I wished she'd get her face out of mine.
Instead, she pressed closer, grinding her teeth in tight embrace.
"You're beneath me. Maybe you got lucky outside and beat me once. But this is your spot."
So,
even with my strength drained, I could tell her.
She was close enough to hear my whisper crystal clear.
"..."
"What? What'd you say?"
She leaned in with her ear.
And I gave it to her.
"...You're ugly. Auntie."
No compromise.
Never.
Not until I was beaten to death or passed out cold,
I wouldn't bend.
What happened after that is a blur. Just scattered fragments floating up.
A fist flying at my face.
My head smacking the shower tiles dozens more times.
Spit splattering my face. Frenzied shouts.
Nausea. Blurry vision.
Screams. Wetness. Pleasure. Emptiness. Release.
And then blackout.
Shhh—
Water from the high showerhead soaked my head. The chill chased away the haze, only for the deferred pains to crash in.
I must've blacked out briefly. Not good news. My body had hit its limit, the film snapping—meaning I hadn't endured the trial to the end.
"..."
Like a mark of their visit, my naked body had the prison jumpsuit top and bottoms haphazardly thrown over it. The poor things, having met the wrong owner, were soaked brown.
Water streamed down my body and clothes. It trickled along the slight slope but pooled in eddies over the drain for ages.
But the water was oddly abundant. Not just from my direction—streams poured from elsewhere too.
That's when I noticed the presence and faint shampoo scent. One woman at a mid-row showerhead on the left wall, another near the door.
"You're awake."
One under the shower spoke up. The rushing water muffled her voice.
"Mild concussion. Sit a bit longer before heading out."
A voice poised between haughtiness and calm filtered through faintly. Then I recognized her.
...Unforgettable voice.
"Ten minutes."
Acid, Black Owl,
both eclipsed by this voice, rose-like.
"I'm showering for the next ten minutes."
Codename: Scardi.
The worst villain we'd clashed with relentlessly.
No more words passed after that. I just took the falling water; she rinsed off the clinging foam.
Her soft, curving body emerged bit by bit. Steam wafted around her, perhaps from the warm water.
For some reason, my eyes and thoughts lingered on her far too long. In the prolonged silence, I mulled her small act of kindness.
What did it mean?
Did I look that pitiful? From a woman who'd never shown me pity.
If it was just a whim, nothing could be more pathetic.
You, who must want to grind me to dust, offering help.
"..."
My body wobbled. Legs too weak to support me easily.
Still, I gathered my sodden clothes and dressed to leave.
"Rin. How many minutes?"
"About three since you said."
They exchanged brief words as they watched me. Especially Scardi's quiet gaze through her wet hair felt piercing.
"Still no compromise, huh."
With an ambiguous expression—smile or sneer?—she turned back to the water.
I stepped past Scardi's back.
"Before you go, a few things."
I listened silently.
"You were out cold for an hour. The ones who touched you? Guards took them. Stick around thirty more minutes; they'll fetch you too."
Should I thank her?
What attitude for kindness from a villain?
"There, do two things. First, quickly admit it wasn't one-sided assault—just your typical inmate scuffle. Second, report the rape."
"Obedient inmates who don't whine or argue gain credibility. In a madhouse like this, showing normalcy makes guards at least pretend to listen. That ups the odds they'll report your next statement up the chain."
"Then, stick to your story consistently: mutual fight, then raped. Insiders usually cover for each other, but not this time. Snitching yields bigger gains than covering asses. Why? 'Cause I'm involved. Higher retaliation risk means most betray their own."
"Victim testimony weighs more than contradictory majority statements. Be honest. Follow my lead, and of those six who attacked you... at least two get special supervision, shipped to Annex A or B. Your call."
I stood speechless,
hesitated, then left the shower room.
Water dripped, wetting the gray floor in my wake.
This time, most eyes slid away.
They deliberately avoided looking, focusing on card games or the TV.
In that comfortable solitude,
aching body and damp clothes keeping me from my bunk,
I slumped on the floor beside it, staring blankly at the ceiling.
No sky here either.
But,
the ceiling felt higher than the shower room's— a touch freer.