Chapter 5

The history of humanity and torture are inseparable.

There are so many types, ranging from beginner-level stuff anyone can do to professional techniques that require advanced preparation.

I doubt it’s much different in this world.

People are people, whether here or there.

The only difference might be the existence of magic as a convenient tool in this world.

Most preparations can be skipped with a single spell, so from a technician’s perspective, it couldn’t get any easier.

Like right now, Ariana is pointing her sparking hand at me, looking at me ominously.

“Don’t move too much, and don’t touch me directly.

Unless you have a fetish for pain, of course.”

At her warning, the commoners tied me up with a rope they brought from somewhere and stepped back.

They used an unnecessarily thick rope.

They didn’t need to go this far—it’s not like the princess’s body could resist anyway.

They even stuffed someone’s handkerchief into my mouth like a gag. Perfect.

What’s about to happen next is obvious without any grand speculation.

Ariana will press that sparking hand against my chest, and I’ll scream and beg for my life.

My only wish was that it wouldn’t hurt, but it looks like it’s going to hurt a lot.

Water torture, then electric torture—classic in the worst way.

The scarier part is that it’s lunchtime, so there are way too many people watching.

Dozens of people are going to watch me wet myself and cry.

It’s not like they’re forcing the princess to bite her tongue and die on the spot.

“Sorry about this, Princess.”

Ariana, with her palm open near my chest, suddenly said that.

What’s she sorry for now?

I knew it wasn’t an apology for the torture.

So, by process of elimination, it must be another taunt.

Whether I concluded that or not, I couldn’t respond because of the gag.

She continued casually, as if she never expected a response in the first place.

“I’m not really into inflicting physical pain through torture, you know.

It’s all been so sudden lately that I didn’t have time to prepare anything else.

Starting tomorrow, I’ll be better prepared, so look forward to it!”

That’s somewhat good news.

At least it means less pain.

The princess might have other tortures to endure, but as long as it doesn’t hurt, I’m mostly fine with it.

When I just blinked without reacting, Ariana smirked and continued.

“Oh, and don’t even think about running away, okay?

It’s pretty rare at the Academy, so I’m really looking forward to it.

I might seem calm, but I’m actually quite excited.

If you provoke me in this state, I can’t even guarantee how I’ll react.”

Running away? Where would I even go?

She’s probably just messing with me.

Judging by how I’m mentally clapping back, I’m surprisingly calm right now.

Maybe it’s like how people become eerily calm when they’re terrified.

Or maybe I’ve just given up. It’s like watching a natural disaster I can’t stop.

Is this a good thing?

In the sense that I’ve accepted my situation, maybe it is.

The faint resistance I still feel must be the princess’s.

When will the princess fully let go of her attachment to her past self?

If you can’t let go, I’m stuck living like this too.

Anyway, it seems she’s done talking.

Ariana moved her hand and pressed it against my upper chest.

Just as I expected—no, even more dramatic than I expected.

My vision turned white.

Electric torture, like water torture, feels familiar, probably because of its portrayal in media.

You see it a lot in dramas and movies—someone strapped to a chair, a lever pulled, and they convulse while screaming.

But experiencing it firsthand was a bit different from what I imagined.

For one, I didn’t really scream.

My body just stiffened, and I felt something flowing through me.

The tingling was expected.

Other than that, well…

It hurts.

It hurts so much I can’t even describe it.

If water torture is a combination of physical pain from suffocation and psychological fear, electric torture just covers everything with pure, excruciating pain.

When the wave of pain subsided and her hand moved away, I could only hang from the rope, trembling and letting out intermittent groans.

I couldn’t think, move, or even scream.

“Ugh, br, ugh.”

“It’s okay. I adjusted it carefully, so you won’t die.

Don’t be scared. Just think of it as a massage and relax!”

A massage? Go to hell.

…What are you even saying?

I’d rather die than keep enduring this.

I don’t want to die yet.

Well, it’s not you who’s in pain!

Me neither.

No, that’s not it.

Or is it?

Whatever.

Ah.

My brain isn’t working right.

Before I can even form a sentence, a new wave of pain—probably the electric current—comes rushing in.

I’m being fried.

I never thought I’d experience this expression so vividly.

Do I even need to describe it further?

I’m just writhing, trying to escape, my vision flickering white every few seconds, and my ears, already muffled, feel like they’re clogged with something sticky.

It felt like everything inside me, including my guts, was about to spill out. Something—whether it was drool or blood foam—was soaking into the handkerchief in my mouth. Slowly, the sensation in my limbs faded away. In the brief moment Ariana Wharton removed her hand from my body and placed it back, I mindlessly babbled meaningless words through the gag. The people around me seemed to grow larger, looming over me as if looking down, and then…

…as always, I just lost consciousness.

***

When I came to, I was slumped over the desk again. The people who had surrounded me seemed to have moved me and gone off to eat. I forced my nearly limp head to look around. Thankfully, there weren’t many people around. My current state, no matter how you sugarcoat it, wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Ugh.”

I sat there dazed for a moment, then tried to stand up. But before I could even take a step, I collapsed back down. My legs had no strength at all.

I thought about crawling, but I couldn’t even move my fingers, let alone my arms. I gave up. I felt worse than a toddler who couldn’t even walk.

I guess I’ll just have to rest until my strength returns.

I dragged my body, trying to minimize the contact with the floor. Even so, all I managed was to shift my legs slightly. The classroom floor was unnecessarily cold, and if I stayed like this, the chill would seep into my bones.

Actually, it probably already had. Even though I was wearing thick clothes, the cold was unbearable. When I get back, I’ll probably be stuck with a cold or fever for a while.

I can’t tell if this condition is due to my mental state or my physical state. Both are equally terrible.

As I sat there, staring into space, my vision suddenly blurred. Before I could do anything, a lukewarm, sticky liquid started streaming from my eyes.

I blinked a couple of times, trying to stop it, but it only made the floodgates open wider.

Tears.

And the emotions I had been desperately holding back.

“…Ah, haha. Hic… sob. Sniff. Ugh…”

I don’t even have the will to move forward anymore. Just staying in one place feels like it’s going to kill me. What is this?

It’s only the second day. This is going to keep happening as long as I’m alive. If I’m already like this, even that tiny hope of final peace is going to vanish.

A deep sense of despair washed over me, and I started crying without realizing it. Every word I muttered made my head throb like it was ringing. Crying is a steady drain on energy, and this half-dead body of mine can’t handle it. What a trash body. Really.

“I wanna go home… hic, sob. I wanna go home… Mom… hic.”

Ever since I ended up in this world, there hasn’t been a single moment when I didn’t miss home, but this was the first time it came out in words.

I miss it. I miss it so much it’s driving me crazy. I think about it all the time, whether I’m asleep or awake.

No matter how many times I have the same thought, I never get used to it. Instead, it feels like it’s growing like a vine, tightening around my chest.

My heart feels so heavy, like it’s about to stop. It hurts so much.

Maybe I’ve caught some fatal illness.

I wish I had.

Images of my home, the daily happenings, memorable memories, and the faces of people I knew flashed through my mind. It’s something I always do when I feel like I can’t take it anymore. Over time, they’ve become blurrier, and some have even mixed with the memories of this noble girl, but still, the only escape I have is my past memories and delusions.

Even in moments like this, the faces of my parents that come to mind are those of this noble girl’s parents.

It felt disgusting. It’s like they’re trying to overwrite me, even though they’re not doing anything.

Give it back.

That’s all I have left.

If you take that away too, where will the proof that I ever existed go?

Actually, it’s all your fault.

It’s your fault that I’m like this and can’t even die because of my pride.

It’s your fault that I stood up to Ariana and made the situation worse.

It’s your fault that you hid in the depths of my subconscious and dumped all the pain on me.

It’s your fault that you made so many enemies with your attitude when you were young.

Social anxiety, PTSD-induced distrust of people—why didn’t you just come into this world with a sound mind? Why make excuses? Plenty of people approached you with goodwill. Even the guy you had a crush on was the same. Even if you ended up loving him to death, your attitude before that was the problem. Why blame him?

You’re the root of all evil.

It’s all because of you.

I didn’t do anything wrong, so why do I have to suffer like this?

Give it back.

Send me back.

I want to go back.

If not…

Then just let me die today.

Please.