In 1937, Joseph Stalin, the former dictator of the USSR, gave a speech at a conference for the Communist Party that resulted in resounding applause. So great was the applause in fact that people in the room began to leap to their feet and clap madly— make-believe enthusiasm on their faces; each one outdoing the other in how fast they could clap.
For eleven, excruciating, hand-numbing, insane minutes, the clapping went on.
And now, that history had been recreated in another world.
Even now, hours after the event, the sound of those deafening cheers reverberating through his body sent chills down his spine and worsened the tremors in his feeble legs. For hours since the duel, his battered body was forced to stand.
A glass was placed on the exquisite tray he held— and that was the breaking point. His knees buckled and the tray, along with the glass, crashed to the ground.
Immediately a thunder of a slap cracked across his stoic face.
“Useless fuck. What’s the point of being a slave if you can’t even hold a tray?” Darius’ voice boomed inside the extravagantly decorated room.
“Get up.”
Yaaro didn’t obey.
Slowly he grimaced, unable to bear the crushing sensation in his chest. And then it disappeared as he stood up.
Seeing this, Darius scoffed,
“Your daily schedule is on your bedside. Now leave.”
He waved his hand and Yaaro bowed. The bruises on his palms were reminders of what would happen when he refused to bow.
Yaaro silently closed the door behind him.
As he walked through the corridors to his room, he silently endured the countless laughs and snickers. More than a few times, there were eggs thrown at him— which he was forced to clean.
Hyphis, her red headdress swaying as she walked, passed by him in the corridor— and although he noticed a look of pity: he could do nothing but hang his head in shame.
He engaged in a stupid bet and had completely forfeited his life.
Truly, he was the pinnacle of idiots.
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There was a chorus of stifled laughs in the lecture hall. The lecturer continued his lecture, but from the occasional pause and embarrassed look, he seemed reluctant. Of course, anybody in his position would feel the same.
Because on the stairs, there was a student sitting on another student’s back.
His fists were swollen, and visible on what little skin he showed, were countless bruises.
Even though the relevant words came out of his mouth, the lecturer’s mind was preoccupied with something else. The professor’s face was flushed. More than anything he felt a deep shame:
At being affiliated with a University that allowed appalling acts like this.
He threw pity at him like one throws a bone to a stray dog.
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The Chairman sat across Yaaro in his exquisite antique room. With a rare expression of concern he gazed at the reticent Yaaro.
“What happened was truly unforgivable. I apologize.”
There was no reply.
“I’m trying to find a way to terminate the Geass, such an unfair contract must have never happened in the first place.”
No reply.
“Be at ease Yaaro. He won’t be able to harm you too much.”
Yaaro nodded and silently got up, and left the antique room.
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SLAP!
A loud slap echoed through the cafeteria.
“As a servant of mine, you’re supposed to know that I don’t like my eggs poached. I like them boiled.”
Some of the towering figures of Darius’ lackeys looked at him with disgust, while others looked at him with an awkward pity, regarding him like a mangy street mutt.
Darius threw a glance at one of his lackeys and nodded. Immediately Yaaro’s clothes were ripped off and once again he was stripped to nothing.
Yaaro shrunk and silently bowed. Shuffling to the back of the queue— he felt multiple glares pierce through every inch of his skin. This was the fifth time this had happened but he had never gotten used to it.
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It had been a week since then. And every day, Yaaro would dutifully get boiled eggs for his Master, Darius— to whom he was bound for life.
But today, instead of the usual insults, humiliation and degradation, there was only silent contempt waiting for Yaaro.
Darius’s eyes flicked from the cafeteria tray in Yaaro’s hands back to Yaaro himself.
“Poached eggs.”
He stated. And the whole cafeteria heard him.
“Knowing I don’t like poached eggs, you’ve brought me poached eggs.” Darius slowly nodded. Some of the members of his group looked at Yaaro, aghast. Those who looked at him with pity now gazed on in horror, unable to imagine his punishment.
Day after day, night after night for an entire week: he had been a shell of his former self. His eyes had lost their light and he had shrunk into himself; now walking more like a dog than a man.
Darius too, had come to revel in this transformation, taking glee in inflicting suffering upon him. To this man who had rendered him speechless with his audacity a week ago, he wanted to make sure he would never speak again.
Suddenly the sound of boisterous, loud and truly heartfelt laughter resounded through the empty cafeteria.
And now once again, Darius was left speechless.
“Darius von Straaten.” Yaaro added sarcastically, “Or should I say, ‘Master’.”
“I challenge you to a duel.”
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A week ago. The day of the duel when he was finally dismissed and back inside his room.
He wiped the spit off his face; and his cloudy eyes immediately regained clarity.
“Fuck.” He muttered, washing his face.
With his hands on the sink, he looked into the mirror and stared into his eyes. As he was right now, he could not overpower Darius. And even if he did, he could not overpower his lackeys— especially that man Holstein. Just Darius himself was this strong, so how strong would his guard be?
From the very moment the last mana barrier had shattered, he had already started planning.
And the first step to that plan:
Was to fool everyone.
And as for the second step; he sat down on his bed and got into a meditative pose, closing his eyes.
Surrounding the ball-shaped sea of roiling energy in his chest, were coiling, snake-like tendrils. They were in constant motion— continuously circling around the sea. They were not his mana. Completely unaffected by his will, they continued to circle the sea of mana— what Yaaro termed, a ‘mana core’.
Yaaro opened his eyes, arising from his deep meditation. In the darkness of his room, he continued to ponder the nature of this foreign mana.
The Geass was simple: It was a contract that acted on both parties. Yaaro didn’t know the consequences of breaking the Geass but he sure as hell did not want to find out. The first step therefore: was to use his own mana to manipulate the Geass.
To this end, he conjured a small, intangible mana projection and inserted it next to his mana core. Now all there was left was to control the Geass’ tendrils with his mana projection— which was similar to using his hands to bend the bars of a prison cell; only the bars were constantly moving at high speeds.
But there was one slight problem: he couldn’t feel, nor could he see the bars.
Limited only by his sense of touch and his body senses: it was almost impossible to catch them— let alone locate his mana projection.
So he continued experimenting in the darkness of the room— eyes shut, and submerged in focus.
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The door silently shut behind him. With bruises all over his body, he silently stretched in his room, sighing with relief.
He sat on the bed, entering a meditative state.
And after half an hour;
Unable to contain himself, he pumped his fist in the air repeatedly— because tonight he had made a breakthrough:
After two nights of trying, he could finally feel his mana projection— which he called a ‘lasso’— swimming around in his chest. It was a very faint sensation, one that required utter stillness of the mind to detect.
Along with his newfound sensitivity, he could also feel the swimming coils of the Geass roiling around his core.
He bound the long, rope-like mana projection around the coils and then pulled.
But nothing happened.
It was an utter failure. Despite it, he pushed on.
When he felt as if he could progress no further, he started work on his second task: training.
Every day, he remembered the way his mana shields popped like glass in front of Darius’ wooden sword. And every day he trained on increasing the density of his mana.
Like this, every day passed the same. When the nightmare outside ended, he would begin his work at night: calmly expanding his toolbox of skills, tinkering with the Geass, and fantasizing about his revenge.
Until finally, one day.
A mad grin broke out on his face.
[Skill: Mana Manipulation is now Lv6!]
[Skill: Geass Breaker has been learnt!]