TCWGRF 31

Isaac’s time flowed in a jumbled, arbitrary mess.

It was as slow as the few specks of dust drifting through the public residence during the day, yet when he came to his senses, it had passed by so quickly he couldn’t catch it. The nights would sometimes freeze as if they had stopped, then retreat without a trace before he knew it.

The act of mixing bodies with the Commissioner General became somewhat tolerable as the days went by. It didn’t hurt anymore, but for that very reason, it was more agonizing.

He just wanted to be trampled and ravaged without any thought. But he hated himself to the point of nausea for finding himself looking forward to the pleasure of that moment, hoping to be crushed even deeper inside, or becoming aroused alone while recalling the Commissioner General’s image and the marks he left on his body.

The man, who was so fussy and mysophobic that he showered twice a day without fail, washed his hands constantly, wore pristine white gloves when going out, and wouldn’t tolerate a single speck of dust in his line of sight, acted like a pig enjoying a bath in a mud puddle when in bed.

He would lick the rough bumps and intimate parts, bite the nape of his neck as if to devour it, and sometimes overtly taste Isaac’s semen when it thinned and flowed like water.

It was useless to scream “don’t” or to beg for forgiveness. Instead, the man would just place a cigarette on his lips and smirk, telling him to cry more, to plead more desperately.

Tears were a catalyst that incited him. The more Isaac sobbed sorrowfully like a child, the more he blindly clung to him, begging to be spared, the higher the corners of the Commissioner General’s mouth would rise, and his passion would show no sign of cooling.

So Isaac tried to endure it by gritting his teeth and tensing his whole body so as not to cry, but that only prolonged the time he was held captive. It was better for surrender to be swift and miserable.

At the end of a hard-won sexual encounter, Isaac couldn’t rest even while the thoroughly soaked bed linens were being replaced.

He would either be dragged to the bathroom to be made to cry once more in the tub, or be held down helplessly on the small bed in his room, forced to hold his breath and receive the other man until the cleaning was completely finished.

Because of that, he often fell asleep as if he had fainted, only to wake up around lunchtime in a daze, and his tears never had a chance to dry.

Everything now felt like a part of a daily routine.

When he woke up late, the first thing he did was head to the bathroom to erase the traces of the night. It was unavoidable if he wanted to look like a person before Walter brought his meal, if he wanted to shake off the Commissioner General’s presence clinging to his body within the time allotted to him.

Every time he secretly removed what was lodged in his rear in the bathroom, Isaac thought he was like a bar of soap.

A bar of soap that starts with sharp edges, but as it’s used, its corners become rounded as it wears down, and as it gets smaller, he hoped it would fulfill its purpose and naturally disappear from this world. A bar of soap that was once so perfect it was difficult to touch, but now even its own unique name felt awkward.

‘It seems he’s not dead, after all.’

‘…?’

‘Your friend, I mean.’

On days when he had cried his eyes out without restraint, the Commissioner General, wearing a satisfied smile, would share tantalizing updates on the search for Asel.

A single positive possibility allowed Isaac to breathe. The desire to secure a promise that he would be spared, to cast some kind of powerful magic to make him keep the promise he made, flickered within him.

But to do that, his mind, rotted by the other man, couldn’t figure out what to do first. His body reacted naturally without him having to make a plausible plan or give detailed instructions.

It was a repetition of a tediously simple routine. He would lather up with soap and wash himself clean, even on the inside, change into fresh clothes that smelled of sunshine, taste luxurious food he couldn’t have imagined outside, then wait for the Commissioner General to return, only to cling to him, cry, and be defiled.

Still, shouldn’t he be content with the fact that he was alive, that there was no terrible pain, and that he had a soft bed, warm water, and plentiful meals provided at precise times?

He could no longer remember the taste of the hard bread of District 28 or how damp and cold the city air was, which naturally induced a dry cough. He had become desensitized to the cellar that was like a small coffin in a grave, and to the fear of death that pricked his skin sharply.

It was strange. He had been so afraid of dying, but at the very moment he should have felt most alive, he felt that the person reflected in the mirror was no different from a corpse.

The man in the mirror with dying eyes looked particularly unfamiliar, like a hollow shell that had taken on his form and swelled to the same size. Isaac could only rub his arms, where goosebumps had appeared, endlessly.

“Samuel!”

Around sunset, before even the siren announcing the curfew, a clamorous voice rang out, disrupting the forced silence.

Quite unfortunately, Samuel was not at the Public Security Bureau at that moment. He was away on business at the Political Affairs Bureau.

Normally, when the Commissioner General was away, his adjutants, Sarah or Walter, would greet unannounced visitors. But those two were also busy and preoccupied with their own duties outside the Public Security Bureau.

“He’s in the residence now, right? Your superior, Samuel!”

The visitor was one of the regulars who, until recently, used to visit this place at night, not in broad daylight, avoiding the public eye.

His lavish, dolled-up attire, his meticulously styled hair, and the scent of perfume—which ordinary citizens would rarely even get a chance to see—wafted from his entire body, suggesting he was not of common status. However, the officers of the Public Security Bureau were people who had to follow their superior’s orders first. It was only natural for them to block the visitor who was trying to enter as if he owned the place.

“You cannot go in, Mr. Joas.”

The officers, who knew whose son he was, could only block his path for a moment and try to dissuade him; they couldn’t lay a hand on him or forcibly drag him out.

His fiery, vivid red hair proved that he was a descendant of one of the city’s founders and a person who would soon inherit a seat for himself high on the parliamentary dais.

“Don’t get in my way. Get lost.”

Joas casually ignored the officers and got into the elevator. His destination was Samuel’s residence.

On the 10th-floor hallway, officers stood in neat rows and columns, holding bayonets, but none dared to threaten Joas.

“…Samuel!”

The residence door opened without resistance, and inside, a man with soaking wet hair, having just come out of the shower, was staring at Joas with a dazed expression.

The visitor’s gaze swept over the unfamiliar man from head to toe, from the shackle clearly visible on his ankle to his naive-looking face.

“Looks like the rumors were true.”

While thoroughly ignoring his calls, it seemed the dear Commissioner General had become completely engrossed in a new taste.

Samuel was famous for taking pleasure with whomever came along as he pleased, but he wasn’t the type to hide someone specific away. As the city’s watchdog and everyone’s private property, he wouldn’t make such a troublesome choice.

That’s why he hadn’t believed the rumors. He felt he would only be satisfied after seeing it with his own eyes. But why was it that, upon actually facing it, an indescribable irritation welled up inside him?

It was probably because of the reality that the man who used to tumble around promiscuously with everyone had found a specific partner and refused to meet him, and that partner was utterly shabby. And it reminded him of the heartless treatment he had received, having to leave as if being chased out as soon as the act was over, let alone sleeping over.

Moreover, he had never even imagined using the same bathroom or sleeping in the same bed with him. That fussy obsession with cleanliness was already well-known among those in the know.

“I wonder if there’s anything special about you.”

Joas approached Isaac, who, beyond being startled, had frozen stiff.

“Your looks are not my type at all. Are you good with your rear?”

Thinking of the partners Samuel had frequently associated with in the past, there was certainly a strange aspect to this. He liked glamorous and voluptuous beauties. There was no reason for him to be so obsessed with someone so plain and simple.

At a loss, Isaac kept pulling his shirt down, perhaps to lessen his embarrassment in front of the unfamiliar visitor. This revealed the red and purple marks left around his neck. Seeing the persistent bite marks, Joas’s suspicion grew uncontrollably.

Samuel was not someone who left his mark on others. He sometimes even gave off the impression that he was reluctantly complying, which made him so infuriatingly haughty that one would feel the urge to stomp on him just once to teach him his place.

“This is annoying.”

Simultaneously with the softly muttered words, Joas reached out and grabbed Isaac’s collar.

“Where did he pick up something like this? You don’t look like you’re from the city center.”

Isaac couldn’t bring himself to answer that he was a prisoner, that he had been dragged here under suspicion of being a rebel, so he lowered his eyes.

“Or are you a prostitute from the outskirts?”

His lips remained tightly sealed, fearing his identity would be revealed and he would end up offending the Commissioner General. At least Isaac had no power here to speak up for himself.

“What’s your mouth for? Aren’t you going to answer?”

“…”

“Haha, now even nobodies are ignoring me.”

Joas’s grip on the silent man’s collar tightened. The thin, soft shirt looked like it would tear at any moment. Since he was practically naked except for the shirt, Isaac struggled to save it from him.

“…!”

After a brief scuffle, in the process of yanking the shirt away, Joas lost his balance and fell backward. Thud. The embarrassment of unexpectedly landing on his backside crumpled his face like paper.

From across, Isaac reached out a hand to try and help the fallen man up, but Joas coldly slapped away the hand extended toward him, then silently got up and smiled faintly.

“Ah, um…”

What was he trying to explain? Isaac didn’t know either. He had probably started to speak thinking he should at least say he was sorry. Perhaps he thought it was a small mistake, so it would be best to smooth things over here. But his next words couldn’t follow. Joas had slapped his cheek hard first.

“Did you forget your place just because that bastard Samuel favors you a little?”

Joas kept brushing off his clothes and hands as if he had touched something dirty that he shouldn’t have. A sneer played on his lips, and his eyes held a contemptuous gaze.

“It seems you don’t quite know who in this city accepts people like you and provides you with daily bread so you don’t starve to death.”

Smack. Soon, a sharp pain was felt on the opposite cheek. As if that wasn’t enough to satisfy him, Joas kicked the man’s shin to knock him down and began to stomp on him with his dress shoes.

“Samuel is a dog, a dog. To act so insolent with just a damn dog at your back. Don’t you know who this city belongs to?”

“Mr. Joas!”

Walter, who seemed to have been sent by one of the guards standing watch outside to fetch his superior, rushed in late and stood in front of Joas.

“Long time no see. But would you mind stepping aside? I’m in the middle of a lesson.”

“You can’t do this here.”

“Why? Now that your superior is sitting in the Commissioner General’s seat, do you think you’ve become a master too? Everyone calls him Commissioner General, so his adjutant also acts as if he’s a party executive?”

Despite Joas’s openly sarcastic words, Walter did not move aside and, with a firm expression, stated only what was necessary.

“…This is the Public Security Bureau residence. It would be best for you to come back later when the Commissioner General is present. Please leave now.”

A touch-and-go tension filled the air, but it was Joas who took a step back first.

“Hmph, I was about to do just that. There’s no reason for me to be here if Samuel isn’t around.”

If he caused any more of a scene, he might really never be able to have a secret rendezvous with Samuel again. Knowing that well, Joas smirked and raised both his hands.

“How shall we see you out?”

“No need to see me out.”

For someone who had caused quite a commotion, he left as coolly and breezily as any other time.

“Phew.”

Walter, who had let out a sigh of relief while watching the cause of this situation calmly walk away, immediately turned to check on Isaac, who had collapsed on the floor.

His already dry lips had split easily from the slight impact, and his cheeks were swollen where the hand had struck. His shirt’s top few buttons were torn off, as if he had been grabbed by the collar first.

“Wait here a moment.”

Thud. The residence door closed. From the hallway outside, the adjutant’s sharp voice could be heard, saying that no matter what happens from now on, even if a knife is at their throat, they must never open the door without the Commissioner General’s order. A little more time passed before Walter returned with a first-aid kit and applied medicine.