Chapter 26

When it came to cost-efficiency, even Dezeb would have had a hard time finding a better drug cocktail than this. Sure, it would likely shave a few years off her lifespan—most of it was black-market contraband—but in terms of sheer effectiveness, it was unmatched.

He reached out and gently pried open Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion’s clenched jaw. The insides of her cheeks were shredded. Hardly a surprise; she had been biting down on that handkerchief as if her life depended on it.

“...Hhh... hhhh...”

She had endured the injections so stoically, yet now—left alone in the quiet—she whimpered in her sleep, raw and vulnerable. The acrid tang of chemicals hung heavy on her shallow breaths.

Something about the sight disgusted him. No—it was not just the scene itself, but the unwelcome surge of disgust within his own chest that annoyed him even more.

“...Miro... it’s... fine...”

“You’re already inside Miro,” he muttered dryly.

“M... Miro...”

It was almost laughable, how fiercely she clung to this powerless Great Spirit, as though the creature were capable of shielding her from anything.

With a low sigh, Commander Dezeb Avganis scooped Erabelle’s trembling form into his arms and carried her out of the Great Spirit’s domain.

Miro was not merely weak—upon sensing another life form within its space, the spirit lost its physical shape entirely and slowed its movements to a crawl. Completely useless. Yet somehow, it had still managed to drag itself into the residential wing.

Dezeb laid Erabelle down on the crisp sheets the cleanup team had changed earlier.

What the hell am I doing? He allowed himself a small, self-deprecating chuckle.

“M... Miro...”

“Stop calling for it.”

“M...”

She fell silent.

For two days she drifted in and out of consciousness before finally returning to the real world.

***

Two mornings later, long before dawn.

Dezeb had just stepped out of the shower when he caught her faint voice drifting through the cracked door—a soft, pitiful whine.

“I’m hurting...”

Erabelle was calling someone. Even barely conscious, her hand had reached instinctively for her phone.

“I said I’m hurting...”

Huh. First thing she does is make a call. Must be someone important.

More to the point, the tone she used was one he had never heard from her before.

“No, it’s just... overwork. Yeah, I’ve got a fever, and my throat hurts... I want a beer. The one Bloom’s uncle makes... What, I can’t want a beer just because I’m hurting?...”

She was pouting like a child.

“Your Grace... I miss my mom... and dad...”

Dezeb leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, listening quietly.

“...I miss my mom and dad. I miss you too... Yeah, me? I... vacation, next week...”

Well, well. So she has a clingy side.

A quiet snort escaped him, equal parts amused and intriguing. When the line finally went quiet, he stepped into the room.

It was pitch black. She had slipped back into sleep, the phone held tight in her grip.

“...”

He pulled the device from her fingers and tossed it across the room without a second thought. Sliding onto the mattress beside her, he stretched out his arms and stared up into the dark ceiling.

Turning his head, his eyes traced the lines of her face.

“You wouldn’t even let me walk you to your room.”

His voice was low, barely a whisper in the quiet.

“Rather cold, aren’t you?”

The bitter tang of pharmaceuticals still lingered in the air. In the dark, she whimpered softly, curling tightly into herself.

Impulsively, he reached out and cupped her cheek.

Her face fit easily into the span of his palm. He brushed his fingertips across her skin, tracing the damp track of tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.

She blinked slowly, her unfocused gaze searching the dark before she silently curled up tighter.

She did not whine. She did not plead.

Of course she didn’t. Erabelle Vermilion was far too sharp to whimper before the man who had reduced her to this state.

“This feels strange. Why am I even here?”

Naturally, the sleeping girl offered no answer.

On the third day, as if on cue, she woke up as though nothing had happened and began preparing for her shift.

Well... not entirely as though nothing had happened.

“Fuck...”

She stumbled out of bed, plunged another syringe into her forearm, and sat hunched on the floor a few minutes longer than usual before dragging herself up.

“Goddamn it... ah...”

A quiet string of curses accompanied every movement.

Then her eyes drifted up—and caught Dezeb leaning casually against the doorframe.

She flinched as if staring at a phantom.

“C-Commander...”

“Yes.”

His response was entirely flat.

Erabelle stood flustered, her mouth slightly agape. He found it moderately entertaining.

“You really have a thing for needles, don’t you?” he remarked, gesturing toward the mess of painkillers and sedatives scattered about the room.

“...I... don’t like them,” she stammered.

Likely calculating what he might do if she answered in the affirmative.

“For someone who doesn’t, you certainly use enough of them.”

“It’s just... it’s better to get the pain over with quickly than to let it drag out...”

She pulled her shoulders inward, instinctively trying to diminish her presence.

“Sounds as though you’d like to get life over with quickly, too. You’re aware those are all contraband, right?”

Dezeb struck a match, lit a cigarette, and drew it between his lips.

“I... Did I... do something wrong?”

She glanced up, attempting to read his expression.

Meeting his steady, unblinking stare made her reconsider that strategy, and she quickly pivoted.

“Do you... have any orders for me?”

A classic dodge.

“Diligent as ever. Up and ready for duty the second you open your eyes?”

“Yes, right now.”

“Then go. Get ready.”

Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion bowed her head out of pure reflex, but stiffened at the low chuckle that followed.

He had told her to get ready, yet he remained planted against the frame, blocking the doorway. Gauging his mood, Erabelle made a cautious attempt to edge past him. She found herself absurdly grateful that she hadn't showered in three days—if he meant to strike her, he’d have to lay hands on her first.

The instant his fingers gripped the back of her neck, the words spilled out of her on instinct: “I haven’t washed...!”

Another quiet laugh.

“I cleaned you up.”

“Wait—Commander, you did?”

“Yeah. Fed you, too. All three days.”

Why...? That’s terrifying...

“You don’t sound particularly grateful.”

“I—I am! Thank you...”

He shifted the cigarette between his fingers and pulled her closer by the nape of her neck. Dragged forward, Erabelle squeezed her eyes shut.

As if mocking her tension and dread, his lips met hers—gentle, almost tender.

She cracked an eye open, met his gaze, and instantly closed it again as he spoke, his voice laced with faint amusement.

“Grateful, are you? I even inserted your ID tag myself.”

Her entire body shuddered.

What did I even do wrong...?

Automatically, she began mentally reviewing her recent actions—a futile habit she couldn’t break, even knowing it changed nothing.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His voice was soft, almost as if reading her mind.

“Just focus on me. I’m not going to do anything. Relax. This is just a bit of buffer.”

“Huh...?”

“You don’t have much time, do you? You’re the type to report for duty at precisely 07:10 even if you’re dying. Take a sedative now and it’ll only shorten your life. Unless... that’s the goal?”

“S-so I did do something wrong...?”

“I said you didn’t.”

“...Hngh...”

In the next breath, he had pinned her to the mattress, securing her by the ankles.

“Y-you said you wouldn’t...!”

Erabelle recoiled.

“...Ah!”

A wave of irrational, overwhelming sensation crashed over her, forcing her to grit her teeth.

“Open your mouth. Don’t clamp down like that.”

He cupped her jaw, his thumb applying pressure to the hinge until her mouth parted against her will.

“Good. Just yield to it.”

Leaning down, his breath brushed her lips as he murmured her name.

Erabelle trembled violently beneath the surge of white-hot sensation, until at last, her body went entirely limp.

***

“Here is the report for Channel 2.”

Erabelle arrived at work precisely on time, resuming her routine as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. She appeared entirely composure personified—as if the three days of agony, the cocktail of illegal narcotics, and the morning’s events had been nothing more than a fever dream.

“Looks like Erabelle’s the only one doing any real work today.”

Dezeb looked every bit as unbothered as she did.

It was time for the monthly operations briefing. Dezeb and the Dogs were sprawled around the room, engaged in idle banter.

As she picked her way around the lounged men to return to her desk, her phone chimed with a brief notification.

200,000 cp...?

What on earth? Am I hallucinating?

“Hey, what is it?”

Virgo Hag, noticing Erabelle standing frozen in the center of the room, leaned over with mild curiosity—only to scowl when her eyes landed on the display.

“Oh.”

A direct deposit of 200,000 cp had cleared into her account. Erabelle stared, her eyes glued to the numbers.

“I thought something actual happened.”

“That is ten years of my base salary.”

“Wow. You come cheap, don’t you?”

Just call me high cost-performance, you bastard... Yet even if someone had branded her a worthless hound right then, she would still have been walking on air.

“Whatever. Go fetch me a coffee.”

“Me as well, while you’re up.”

At this stage, she was less a lieutenant and more a glorified coffee dispenser.

“Right away!”

Erabelle performed a giddy little spin on her heel.

200,000 cp plus incentives. Barely two hours into her shift, and she possessed enough capital to secure a down payment on a respectable apartment.

Absurd.

Her stomach fluttered with nervous excitement. Grinning from ear to ear, she clutched her device tightly and began completely overhauling her upcoming vacation itinerary.

***

“Why do you draft a new vacation itinerary every single year when you always end up at the exact same place?”

“It isn’t the exact same. There is a full 8,760-hour difference between last summer and this one...”

“Why not just boast about being a Compatible One while you’re at it?”

Paying no mind to her banter, Lieutenant Camillia Ovia waved a clipboard in her direction, clearly intent on teasing her.

“I told you, I’m participating in a clinical trial.”

“Name the pharmaceutical firm.”

“Pistis.”

“That’s a brewery.”

“You really don’t miss a trick, do you? Perhaps you ought to dial back on the spirits yourse—ack!”

Erabelle winced sharply, bringing a hand up to clutch her head.