Punishment for a Bad Girl
When I came to my senses, I was back in my room.
“Hmm…?”
It wasn’t a gentle awakening. Though I couldn’t remember it, I returned to consciousness with the lingering traces of some vile nightmare and the bone-deep chill of cold wind seeping into my marrow.
“Sleep well, Karin?”
Arto the pimp stood before me, staring with that flat, unreadable gaze. Something was clutched in his hand.
I tried to move my limbs, but nothing happened. All I felt was the scrape of restraints against my wrists and ankles.
My mind, crawling back together piece by piece, finally understood that I was tied to a chair. Stark naked.
Even a fool could have read the situation. Nothing good was going to come of this.
“Elvira and the other girls told me you suddenly ran out of the banquet hall yesterday. Then you didn’t come back all night. Care to guess how many clients who specifically asked for you last night went home disappointed, Karin?”
I hadn’t returned because I had no carriage, but I kept my mouth shut. Answering back right now would only make things worse than whatever was about to happen. Instead I trembled, eyes fixed on the object in his hand.
A whip. The handle and body wrapped in sturdy leather.
Only after a long silence did my dried-out throat manage to produce sound.
“Seven… people…?”
“Good guess. Sharp as ever for a mage.”
Arto let out a small sigh.
“It’s a loss for the brothel. Every last one of them was a regular of yours. Still, they’re the type who only want virgins, so they’ll come back eventually.”
Most of those regulars had been erased along with the memories I had rewound, so I couldn’t recall them.
“I know the other girls hate you for various reasons. I know they deliberately abandoned you to make you suffer. But I’m a man who deals in people. I have to give them what they want, to a degree.”
Arto studied my trembling eyes for a moment before continuing.
“The other women want to see you take punishment from my hand. They want to hear you scream and sob pathetically. And it’s true they suffered real losses because of you. You share the blame. If you hadn’t disappeared without a word, they couldn’t have left you behind no matter how much they hated you. Truth is, those women are terrified of you. They call you a witch.”
Arto raised the whip, then paused as if remembering something. He lowered it and held a dirty scrap of cloth in front of my face.
It looked like a handkerchief that had seen heavy use—coarse, frayed, and stained.
“Bite down. So you don’t shatter your teeth or bite off your tongue.”
My lips quivered as I opened my mouth and accepted the rag. I prayed this would be over quickly.
“It’s going to hurt.”
That was all Arto said before the whip lashed out faster than my eyes could follow.
It wasn’t one of those long, flexible whips used on horses, only a short leather crop that bent a little more than a plastic ruler. From the receiving end, none of that mattered.
Swish—
Crack.
“Hngh?!?!!”
Pain slammed into my upper arm with enough force to nearly knock me unconscious. Thanks to the rag Arto had given me, I barely managed to choke back the scream, but tears and drool poured down my face after a single strike.
“Don’t pass out. If you do, I’ll wake you and start again.”
Swish—
Crack.
“Mmmphhhhhh—! Nngh, ugh, hngh…!”
I saw a strip of flesh tear from my breast, blood welling up. He wasn’t holding back at all.
He had spoken as if he were only doing what was necessary, but I wondered if he was actually enjoying this.
Swish—
Crack.
“Nnghhhhk!!????!!!!!! Hngh—! Ugh!!!! Nn, ngh……”
He seemed determined not to strike the same spot twice, choosing entirely different areas each time. He avoided my stomach where my organs lay. He really had been an adventurer once. His technique was precise… practiced.
Swish—
Crack.
The blow to my ribs forced a sharp gasp from me, and even the strength to clench my teeth left my body.
“Ah, aaaah!!! N-no, aaaaahhhhh!!!! It hurts… it hurts, it hurts! Please, stop… stop!!!!”
The saliva-soaked rag slipped from my mouth and fell onto my lap. Every hole in my face was leaking fluids as I begged Arto in a wretched, pathetic voice.
Arto gave no answer. Or rather, he answered with action.
Swish—
Crack.
“Kyaaaaaahhhhhh!!!! Ah, ah, nngh, aah……”
This time the scream tore out of my unblocked throat. The other prostitutes were probably listening. At the very least, Elvira on the same floor would hear it clearly.
I understood now. Arto had never expected me to keep the gag in the whole time. He hadn’t wanted me to.
Letting the other women hear my screams—that had been the real purpose.
I twisted and writhed against the ropes, trying desperately to ease the burning agony in the places he had struck, but it was useless.
Swish—
Crack.
“Khahk…! Nngh, aah, ugh, ah……”
My throat must have been damaged; the screams kept catching. Yes. I already knew pain could blur one’s consciousness. I had lost limbs before, after all. But I never imagined a mere whipping could bring the same level of torment.
“Ughk, nngh… khk… hek……”
I lost consciousness.
And woke to the sound of splashing water.
“Ughk?! Khek, cough, cough……”
Arto had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over my head—water he must have drawn straight from the well—to jolt me awake.
“Stay conscious until the end.”
I looked up at him with a tear-streaked face, biting my lower lip. My eyes pleaded for mercy.
But the whip never stopped.
Swish—
Crack.
“Kh, ahk… nngh, grrrk… ngh, krr……”
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts…
By the time I regained consciousness after my third blackout, when my entire body was so covered in bruises and blood that I couldn’t tell whether my limbs were still attached or severed, Arto finally lowered the whip and untied the ropes.
Without a single word of acknowledgment, he headed for the door and spoke quietly.
“Heal those wounds with that impressive magic of yours. I’ll be sending clients up starting this afternoon.”
With that, Arto left.
I sat limp in the chair, dazed. It wasn’t until the water running over my body seeped into the wounds and the stinging pain hit me that I even grimaced.
I endured the agony like that for a long time. When I finally tried to stand so I could rest on the bed, searing pain exploded across the soles of both feet and I collapsed again.
The bottoms of my feet were raw, swollen hard, and burning hot.
During the night, something must have entered the open wounds and caused an infection. It was only natural after walking barefoot through the filthy streets of the city.
The mixture of blood, sweat, and water pouring into the pus-filled gashes burned like fire. Anyone without the power to heal such injuries would have lost both feet.
I crawled across the floor like an animal, climbed onto the bed, caught my ragged breath, and manifested my secret diary. Then I placed a hand over my heart and thought:
"Rewind..."
⟨ Time Rewinding ⟩
That was as far as my memory of that day went.
Because I had kept rewinding my virginity without end, every memory that wasn’t preserved in the diary had been completely erased. According to the charcoal scribbles in the blank magic book, I had taken seven parties that day—eleven men in total.
Seven parties. Eleven guests in total.
And then ten days passed. Or perhaps it was around ten days. My mind had deteriorated so badly from the endless rewinding that I could no longer even keep count.
There was nothing wrong with my ability itself. The miraculous power still cleanly reversed time without side effects, leaving only a faint, disorienting twist in causality. It remained as potent as ever.
The problem was my mind.
I would close my eyes thinking the sun had only just risen, then open them to a sunset. I would believe I had just begun the night’s work, only to snap back to consciousness with the final customer of the early morning.
This shattered sense of time, these memories ground to dust… combined with the destruction of my hometown and Arto’s “punishment,” it was more than my already weakened heart could bear.
I couldn’t even remember it, but apparently a flood of complaints had reached Arto as well. Clients were happy that I was a virgin every time, but they were angry that I never remembered them no matter how many times they visited.
Perhaps deciding that constant customer dissatisfaction was bad for business, Arto came to me at dawn after seeing off the last night client and tidying the bedding.
“Karin.”
The memory of the beating flashed through me and I froze in the middle of folding the blanket.
“Don’t look so terrified. I have something to say.”
“Y-yes…”
“Starting today, we’re lowering your rates.”
My eyes widened.
Was I no longer useful? Had the complaints piled up so high that he had to reduce my price?
“At this rate, you’re going to break completely. Yesterday alone, four clients got angry that you didn’t remember them. And it’s not just the guests—Alber and I are fed up too. You forget orders after only a short time. Honestly… You sold very well for about a month, but it looks like you’ve reached your limit.”
…He’s saying that already.
I might already be insane.
Sigh. Am I being thrown away? I lost my hometown… now I’m going to be kicked out of here too…?
I stared with an empty expression, fists clenched tightly against my chest in anxiety.
“So I’ve decided to limit the clients who want virgins to two per day, as you prefer. It’s a shame, but it’s better than letting you become a complete wreck and losing the income entirely. I’ll rewrite the contract. Base fee of one silver coin, plus half a coin for every additional hour. That’s your new price. When you sell your virginity, we’ll charge the old rate.”
I answered stupidly.
“…Huh?”
I was more shocked by the fact that he wasn’t throwing me out than by the price reduction.
It was probably not for my sake, but for his own purse.
He wouldn’t want to ruin a former mage turned prostitute—one rare enough to be a walking advertisement for the brothel.
Still, I was glad. Glad I wouldn’t lose the only place I had left. Even though part of me despised myself for feeling that way.
I relaxed slightly and listened in silence.
“In exchange—well, not exactly in exchange—there’s another kind of demand you’re suited for. Educated men who want a smart woman who can understand difficult conversations, hold them while they fall asleep, and listen to their stories. That sort of clientele.”
“I’ll advertise you that way from now on. It’ll pay less than selling your virginity, but those types tip well. You should still earn a decent amount.”
It didn’t matter how much I earned or who the clients were.
I was simply relieved to finally escape the endless fragmentation of my memories. After living while clutching at broken recollections and nearly going mad, a ray of salvation had appeared. I lowered my head deeply.
To a man who saw me only as a tool for profit, I offered pure, sincere gratitude—something I should never have given him.
“Thank you……”