"What's going on in here!!?" Marcy yelled as she burst in the storage house, after hearing her daughter cry out.

"Ah,"

Anne called as she turned around, with Michael helping her move things.

"That clutz had a crate fall on his face, mom. Got a little worried, so I let out a shout. Sorry," She said flatly; handing Michael another crate, having him walk somewhere else to place it; while she walked casually toward the slave mark that fell to the ground, stepping right in front of it; blocking her mother's view from it with her legs.

"Oh...?"

'Anne let out a worried cry...? Over this kid?' Marcy raised an eyebrow as she looked at Michael, who smiled awkwardly as he looked at Marcy; his nose bleeding.

"I-I'm sorry..." He let out reluctantly with an awkward laughter.

'MOM..!!! MOM!!!!' Anne cried internally, looking at her mother.

'MY BODY WON'T LISTEN TO ME!!! HELP ME!!! HELP ME!!! I CAN'T CONTROL ANYTHING I'M DOING!!! MOM!!!!' Anne cried, a tear shedding down her cheek; just the moment she turned around, facing away from her mother.

"Tsk... Haaah... Well, if you're still keeping him here, it means he still isn't a complete lost cause. Fine. Try not to fall over more things, then." Marcy sighed as she turned around, walking away from the storage

"What's going on in here!?" Marcy yelled, bursting into the storage house after hearing her daughter cry out.

"Ah,"

Anne turned around, a crate in her hands, Michael beside her, arranging boxes.

"That klutz had a crate fall on his face, Mom," she said flatly, gesturing to Michael, who was wiping blood from his nose. "I got a little worried and shouted. Sorry about that."

Her tone was mechanical, her hands moving as if by routine, passing Michael another crate. He shuffled off awkwardly, placing it elsewhere.

Marcy frowned. "Oh...?"

Anne's explanation lingered in her mind. A worried cry? Over him? She glanced at Michael, who offered a sheepish smile, his face still red and bleeding.

"I-I'm sorry," he mumbled, his laugh awkward, forced.

Inside, Anne was screaming. 'MOM!!! MOM!!!'

Her heart pounded in her chest, though her body betrayed nothing.

'HELP ME! PLEASE! MY BODY WON'T LISTEN TO ME! I CAN'T CONTROL WHAT I'M DOING! MOM!!!'

A single tear slipped down her cheek as she turned away, hiding her face.

Marcy sighed. "Tsk... Haaah. Well, if you're still keeping him here, it means he's not a complete lost cause. Fine. Just try not to get injured again, kid."

She turned and walked away. Michael exhaled audibly, his relief palpable.

'MOM!!!' Anne's internal cries intensified. 'YOU ALWAYS SAID YOU'D KNOW IF SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH ME! FEEL ME! PLEASE!'

Her body continued to move with practiced ease, lifting and shifting as though nothing was amiss.

"Anne," Marcy called abruptly, freezing both Anne and Michael mid-motion.

Anne turned, her face calm and composed, though her heart surged with desperate hope. "Yeah, Mom?"

Marcy scratched her head, her eyes scanning her daughter's expression.

Anne's mind raced. 'YES! MOM, PLEASE!'

Marcy hesitated, something stirring behind her gaze. Michael resumed his work quietly, inching away.

Finally, Marcy spoke, her tone soft but uncertain. Her eyes lingered on Anne for a moment, narrowing as if she sensed something was off.

"Nothing... Just take care of yourself, okay? Let me know if you need anything." Anne's lips curled into what seemed a genuine smile.

"Hah, who do you think I am? Don't worry about me." As Marcy turned to leave, her steps faltered for a fraction of a second before she shook her head and continued.

Inside, Anne wilted.

'No... Mom... Feel me. Please...'

Her skin seared under the slave mark's cruel grip as Marcy turned to leave, waving her off with a casual indifference.

The faint flicker of hope in Anne's chest sputtered, then died.

"Aunty..." Michael's voice broke the silence, his grip tightening around the box he held. Anne watched her mother walk away, leaving her alone with him. She remained rooted in place, a lifeless doll awaiting its next command.

Michael gently let down the wooden box that was digging into his hands; slowly placing it on the ground before straightening himself again.

Michael hesitated, his gaze shifting to Anne. "Aunty didn't even look at me. Not even a glance at my face, bleeding like this. But she looked at you." His voice was soft, trembling.

"And you look fine."

He sniffed, steeling himself, then moved to stand in front of her.

"I know she's cold. Harsh, even. But this? This is too much."

His eyes searched hers, finding nothing but a vacant stare. He exhaled shakily, his words faltering.

"Both of you... You've grown so distant. It didn't just happen out of nowhere. I know it didn't."

Reaching out, he gently lifted Anne's hand, bringing her palm toward his face. His touch lingered, trembling slightly.

"This hand..." His voice softened, almost wistful.

"This was the palm that used to tap my shoulder every day. The one that used to greet me with warmth. And today..." He paused, the hurt breaking through.

"Today, you used it to hit me."

His words hung in the air as he stared into her blank eyes, searching for the girl he thought he knew.

Anne's lips pressed together, trembling for a brief moment. Her stomach churned as Michael leaned in closer, his presence stifling.

But then, he pulled back, exhaling deeply. "But I know this isn't you, Anne."

He turned away, pacing, his steps uneven. Anne felt her chest lighten the farther he got, a soft, unnoticed exhale of relief escaped her lips.

His voice grew firmer, tinged with bitterness.

"I know it's him. That bastard. Van Hellix."

Michael's fists clenched at his sides.

"I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry, but I need to hear it. I need you to tell me."

He spun around, locking eyes with her as his expression hardened with resolve. "Tell me what he did to you that day."

His voice caught, the words trembling as they escaped him. "That..."

He swallowed hard, his face pale.

"That is... a-an order."

Michael's eyes shut tightly, his entire body tense, as if bracing for impact. The silence felt suffocating as Anne's lips moved to answer, her voice eerily calm.

"He helped me finish the work here early," Anne said, her voice calm, devoid of any emotion.

Michael froze, his eyes widening. "...What...?" His voice barely rose above a whisper, the words catching in his throat. His heart plummeted, a cold weight settling in his stomach.

"I-... It can't be... IT CAN'T BE!" He stammered, his hands trembling as he shook his head violently. He locked eyes with her, desperation flickering in his gaze. "Tell me... Tell me the truth. That's an order!"

He stepped closer, his face mere inches from hers, his breath quick and shallow.

"He helped me with my work," Anne repeated mechanically. "And we finished early."

Michael staggered back, his movements frantic. He grabbed his head, clutching at his temples as if trying to squeeze the thoughts out.

"And then!?"

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"I invited him to the pool, and we went together," Anne replied, her tone unchanged.

"Were you influenced by him in any way!?"

"No."

"What did you do before that!?"

"I never met him before that."

"...NO! NO, NO, NO!!" Michael's voice cracked as he thrashed his head from side to side. His breathing grew ragged, and he stumbled back, his fingers digging into his scalp. His body trembled as if on the verge of collapse.

"No... No..." His voice dropped to a murmur, barely audible as he gasped for air. "I... I didn't... I..."

His gaze dropped, zeroing in on her lower abdomen. His eyes burned into the spot where the slave mark lay hidden.

Anne's mind raged, her fury clawing to the surface. 'YEAH... YEAH, YOU FUCKING IDIOT! YOU DID THIS! YOU DID THIS TO ME! IF YOU DON'T FREE ME NOW, IT'S GOING TO GET WORSE! LET ME GO!!!' Her thoughts screamed, but her face remained blank, betraying nothing.

Michael's hands fell to his sides, clenching into fists as his teeth ground together. "There's... no way. He... Just after one day...? JUST..."

He glared at her, searching for an explanation, an escape from the reality forming before him. His laugh started low, awkward, and edged with hysteria. "No. No, you're not like that."

He shook his head, his tone shifting, desperate. "Not you. You're strong, courageous. You wouldn't let some scumbag get close to you after just one day of knowing them."

His voice wavered, tinged with bitterness. "We've known each other for years. Years! And not once..." He faltered, looking away as the memory of his family leaving flickered in his mind. "...Not once did you think to invite me anywhere after my mom and sister left me and my dad."

He stood still for a moment, his expression hardening. "He definitely did something to you. That's it. You just don't realize it yet."

His lips curled into a forced, fragile smile, as if clinging to the lie for stability. "That's the only explanation."

'Van... didn't do anything... This fucker... This motherfucker...!!' Anne's thoughts screamed as rage boiled within her. 'He just says whatever he wants...!! That fucker... That fucker...!! LET ME GO!!'

A tear slipped silently down her cheek, unnoticed by Michael, who was too caught up in his own rambling.

"I know you... And I know Lizzy too," Michael muttered, his voice low and bitter. "Lizzy wouldn't let that bastard into her house without him doing something to her."

He moved behind Anne, bending to pick up the slave mark from the ground. Anne's skin crawled, a visceral reaction to his proximity. Her back stiffened, her muscles tightening instinctively, but there was no escape.

Michael stared down at the mark in his hands, his expression conflicted. "I'll... I hate this. I know it's wrong... But I'll use this seal again."

Anne's mind thrashed against the thought. 'NO... NO!! THAT FUCKER... HE WANTS TO DO THIS TO LIZZY TOO!? NO!!'

Michael's gaze lingered on her from behind, his eyes unintentionally trailing over her form. Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

He exhaled slowly, his voice trembling. "I... I won't keep you like this forever. I'll free you. But first..."

His tone hardened as he continued. "You can't say anything about the mark. Or what I did to you. Or what I'm going to do next. You can't scream. Or hit me. Or swear at me. Or talk badly about me. Or run away. Or tell anyone what happened."

Each word carried a weight that settled over Anne like chains, tightening around her with every new restriction.

Michael gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing as he glanced at her. A flicker of something darker passed through his expression—a twisted excitement. Power. Whatever he said, Anne would be forced to obey.

His voice dropped as he added the final condition. "You also need to... tell Aunty I did a good job."

He hesitated for a moment, then murmured, almost apologetically, "You are now... a-allowed to move."

Michael looked away, as though expecting her to lash out, to defy him.

Anne's fingers twitched as control seeped back into her limbs. Slowly, she clenched her hands into fists, her teeth grinding together. A surge of determination gripped her, and without hesitation, she spun around, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

Michael flinched, instinctively recoiling as she raised her fist.

For a moment, her heart pounded with hope. He was right there—her tormentor, the cause of her suffering—just an inch away.

But as quickly as it came, the hope vanished.

Her body froze mid-motion, her fist locked in the air as if invisible chains dragged it back. The slave mark flared against her skin, searing like molten iron.

Its grip coiled through her veins, forcing submission even as her mind screamed in defiance.

She was forced to meet his gaze, her tormentor slowly unflinching now, realizing her helplessness the more he opened his squeezed-shut eyes; gradually looking at her frozen form.

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—a twisted relief that he wouldn't be struck.

But there was something else behind that smile. Something darker.

"...Why...?" Anne's voice wavered, barely audible as she swallowed her tears. "Just... let me go..."

Michael's face tensed, his jaw clenching as he averted his gaze.

"I can't," he muttered, his voice strained. "You know I can't..."

He hesitated, then turned back to her, forcing a weak smile. "D-don't worry." His tone softened, almost as if trying to comfort her. "I won't treat you like a slave, or something less than human. You're Anne. And you'll always be Anne. I won't tell you to do something you don't want to."

His confidence grew as he spoke, bolstered by her obedience.

Inside, Anne's thoughts raced, a glimmer of hope sparking to life. '...!! RIGHT...!! RIGHT!!! I'M MEETING VAN TODAY!!!' Her heart pounded with anticipation. 'HE COULD DO SOMETHING... HE COULD SEE ME FOR WHO I REALLY AM... VAN... VAN!!'

But her thoughts came to a screeching halt as Michael's voice cut through.

"Except..."

Her breath hitched, a chill running down her spine.

Michael's expression shifted, his discomfort evident. "You... uh... have a meeting with that guy today, right?"

Anne's chest tightened, dread seeping into her every thought. 'NO... NO!! PLEASE...! NO...!'

Michael's gaze dropped, his tone taking on an air of forced authority. "You're not allowed to meet or talk to him anymore. Push him away every time you see him."

He turned away, his shoulders stiff as a slight blush crept over his cheeks.

"And..." He hesitated, swallowing hard. His next words came out shakily. "T-tell him... that you're taken."

Michael kept his eyes down, unable to meet hers. Anne's face paled, her expression darkening as her fists trembled at her sides.

Her thoughts became a desperate plea. 'Mom... MOM... Lizzy...'

Her inner voice broke, a final cry for salvation. 'Van... Save me... please...'

Her fist lowered, her body sagging as the weight of Michael's words crushed the faint light she had clung to.

"So," Michael began, exhaling sharply. "L-let's continue working! I... I've always wanted to help you out for real in here!" His voice carried an unnatural brightness as he clasped his hands together, a forced enthusiasm that only deepened the unease in the room.

"Should I move this box here?" he asked, almost cheerfully, as he bent to pick up the wooden crate he placed down earlier. His nose still bled freely, the red streaks staining his shirt and the floor beneath him. He made no effort to stop it—almost as if punishing himself for what he had done.

Or for what he might yet do.

Anne stood frozen, her gaze fixed on the dust-covered wooden planks beneath her feet. Her legs felt weak, her mind scrambling in search of an escape. Her pupils darted over the ground, desperately tracing the lines and cracks of the floor as though salvation could be found within its worn surface.

"Anne? Did you hear me?" Michael's voice broke the silence, sending a jolt through her. "I... I asked where I should put this. I just moved things wherever when Aunty came in, but now... I really want to help. So... tell me where to put it. Please."

Each word cut through her like a blade, his tone deceptively soft yet brimming with an underlying force.

She didn't answer. She couldn't. Her eyes caught the small drops of blood splattered across the floor, each crimson stain darkening as the seconds passed.

And with each darkened drop, she saw it again. That smile. The one that stretched just a little too wide when she was about to hit him, but couldn't. That faint curve of his lips, a relief that had hidden something far more sinister.

"Anne." His voice sharpened, firm now. "Tell me what to do."

Her breath hitched as his eyes bore into hers, his grip tightening on the crate.

"...That... That is an order."

The subtle click of his tongue was almost inaudible, but the mark responded immediately. It seared against her skin, the burning pain coursing through her body as she jolted involuntarily.

Her body betrayed her once again.

She turned toward him, her movements mechanical, her gaze hollow. Her lips moved, speaking words she didn't choose, issuing instructions in a casual tone that wasn't her own.

And Michael smiled again, the faintest flicker of satisfaction tugging at the corners of his mouth.

-------- ELSEWHERE ---------

"Alright... Nice! We're all set. Let's go. It's not a long march, but we'd best leave now if we want to reach by sundown," Unicus declared, his voice bright as the group gathered on the city's edge.

"Did we really have to take the noble with us?" Savathon, the Dragonskin warrior, spat, his contempt evident in his sneer as his scaled arms folded tightly across his chest.

"...I'd also rather not babysit someone with a rank lower than mine. Much less, an F-Ranker. Regardless of his reasons." Vaelthir, the silver-haired elf escort, added, his tone icy as his sharp eyes flicked toward Van.

Unicus frowned, his gaze sweeping over the group, searching for a way to defuse the tension. Beside him, Van stood silently, his expression unreadable beneath his helmet as a gigantic bag filled with items was hoisted effortlessly on his back.

'... He sure made me buy lots of stuff.' Van thought with a glance to the backpack; treating their discontent as something normal; like the air brushing by.

"Haaah, you blabbermouths just can't keep it down, can you?" Arnolt, the stocky dwarf, grumbled as he stomped past the group, his heavy boots echoing.

"If we leave him be, he'll just walk there on his own," Arnolt muttered, casting a sideways glance at Van.

"Won't you?"

Van felt his head move, as if trying to nod in agreement. Yet, it remained frozen; simply looking at the dwarf pass him by; slightly startled by the dwarf's reaction to him.

"Hmph. I fail to see how this is my problem," Savathon growled, his tail swishing with irritation.

"I share the Dragonkin's opinion." Vaelthir added.

Unicus exhaled slowly, reclaiming his composure. "Well," he began, his voice steady, "I'm your party leader. If you're unhappy with the arrangement, you're free to not join us."

His words, though delivered with a light smile, carried an unyielding edge.

Savathon scoffed, turning away with a growl.

"Psche... Selfish human prick," he muttered, stalking toward the Capital's gates.

Vaelthir sighed, his silver hair catching the light as he turned slightly away.

"Well, My Lady has chosen to accompany you, so by default, I am accompanying you as well. I am merely voicing my opinion," he said, his tone flat, his gaze then shifted to Van, his eyes momentarily narrowing as he studied his form and the big backpack on his back.

"At least you'll be useful for something, human noble," he sneered, a faint exhale escaping his nose as his lips curled into a mocking smile. With a deliberate turn, he strode away without another glance.

'I wonder why Arnolt and Unicus side with Van Hellix like this...' Sylva mused briefly, glancing at the silent Van before following after Savathon. Beside her, Vaelthir walked in silence, the hooded thief matching their pace.

Unicus turned back to Van, his smile returning. "Well, let's get going, Van."

Van's voice stopped him mid-step. "Hey."

Unicus turned, his expression curious. "What is it?"

Van hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He wanted to ask why Unicus remained so cheerful, so lighthearted, even as they embarked on what everyone believed was a suicide mission. But as Van studied Unicus' face—his playful mask underpinned by quiet resolve—he decided now wasn't the time.

After all, Van was with them.

And that meant they weren't in danger anymore.

But then again...

To Unicus, Van was just an F-Ranker. A noble. A stubborn fool too insistent on proving his worth. Though Unicus and Arnolt seemed to sense there was more to Van, the rest of the party didn't. They barely tolerated him, dismissing him outright. Yet, despite everything, Unicus had still chosen to accept him for this quest.

All Van could manage was a single word:

"Thanks."

Unicus' lips curled into a relieved smile. "Tell me that after we finish this."

With that, he turned and started walking again, his steps confident.

Van felt the weight on his shoulders lighten. The oppressive pressure that had clung to him seemed to lift, freeing his mind to wander.

And in that moment of clarity, a memory struck him like a sharp jolt.

'God... Damn it... I forgot.'

Anne's face flashed in his mind, her hopeful eyes. 'That girl wanted to hang out. I promised her...'

But the memory shifted, replaced by Marcy's tear-streaked face, her words echoing faintly in his mind.

'Oh well,' he thought, dismissing the guilt with practiced ease as he fell into step behind Unicus. 'Marcy must've told her to stay away from me.'

'... Maybe it's for the best.'