The footsteps started again.
One. Two. Three.
Fading down the hall.
Then, the sound of the door opening and closing.
Click.
—
Erika was left entirely alone in the room.
He lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
The single tear that had pooled in his ear had already gone cold.
Images still spun in his mind—Linglong's predatory gaze, Cole's unreadable face, this damned gown, the impending "formal occasion."
Decide for myself?
He slowly sat up.
He looked down at his own body.
The slick, dark blue silk was crumpled, clinging to him like a layer of skin that fundamentally didn't belong.
Decide what, exactly?
To go,
or not to go?
To strip off this humiliating silk, dig out his coarse grey rags, lock himself in this room, and simply wait for death? Or to wear it.
To walk out there.
To face whatever nightmare this "formal occasion" held, and continue playing the blind pawn on Cole's chessboard, with no idea where he was being moved?
Erika sat on the edge of the bed, his left hand tightly gripping his empty right sleeve.
For a long time.
Then, he stood up. He walked over to the mirror.
The figure in the glass stared back at him.
"What an idiot."
He said it to his reflection, uttering the words one more time.
Then he turned his back to the glass, and walked toward the door.
He took a deep breath. It went deep, deep enough to make his lungs ache.
The air in the corridor seeping through the cracks was colder than in the bathroom, carrying a mix of old wood and heavy incense.
It drilled into his sinuses, making him shiver.
He opened the door.
The hinges turned soundlessly.
The corridor was brighter than he expected. Light from some unseen source spilled over the dark wood panels, over that backward-facing chair, over—
Erika didn't know where to look.
Straight ahead.
He imagined Cole's punchable face, that perpetually inscrutable expression now surely twisted into some triumphant, mocking smirk.
He didn't dare look.
Who knew what mockery awaited him? Would he say, "Fits pretty well," or maybe, "Walk carefully, don't tear it"?
Down.
He looked at the formal attire he was wearing.
The dark blue fabric glowed softly under the corridor lights, completely alien compared to the coarse robes burned into his memory.
Slippery, clinging, not his. Pinned too tight at the waist, left too hollow at the chest, the empty right sleeve dangling limply like a dead snake.
Ridiculous.
The word surfaced in his mind, lodging there like a splinter.
He stood in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle, unsure whether to step forward or retreat and pull the door shut again.
—
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Hey."
Three times.
Each one closer, each one more infuriatingly casual than the last.
"Look here."
It was Cole's voice.
Coming from the left.
Not straight ahead where Erika had imagined.
Cole had his head tilted slightly, staring at him with the look of someone examining a rare, bizarre curiosity.
There was no mockery in that gaze.
At least, not right now.
Just watching.
Like watching a small, hyper-cautious creature finally daring to peek out of its den.
—
Erika let out a shaky breath.
It trembled as it left his lips.
He wasn't ready.
He wasn't ready to face that look in Cole's eyes.
Wasn't ready to take this step.
Wasn't ready to wear these clothes and walk into this unknown "formal occasion."
But he was already standing here.
The door open behind him.
Cole waiting ahead.
—
He took a step.
Foot lifted, foot set down.
The constricting fabric around his legs forced him to take a painfully small, measured stride, like some bound creature.
Cole was still there, watching him.
That look—he couldn't decipher it. Maybe satisfaction.
Maybe something else entirely.
Erika stopped staring at Cole's face.
He simply kept his head down, inching his way in that direction, step by agonizing step.
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Look at you squirming."
Cole's voice dropped from above, carrying that familiar, deeply punchable drawl.
Erika lost all courage to move his feet.
He stared dead at the floor.
Didn't dare look up.
Didn't dare look at Cole's face.
Didn't dare take another step.
He just stood there, rooted like a stake driven into the earth.
—
Footsteps.
One. Two.
Then— Cole's boots entered Erika's field of vision.
They stopped right in front of him, so close the toes nearly touched his own.
"Fine." Cole's voice was right in his ear. "I'll just do it myself."
—
Before Erika could react— A sudden push.
Not violent, but completely unexpected.
He stumbled backward, his back hitting something plush.
A sofa.
A wide, soft armchair that had been dragged into the corridor at some point.
He sank into it, the material swallowing him up.
His vision shifted from the floor to the high ceiling.
The intricate carvings, just like the ones in the bathroom, were faintly visible in the dim light.
And Cole's face.
Cole loomed above his field of vision, looking down with an unreadable expression—not mockery, not smugness, but... absolute focus.
"What color do you prefer?" Cole asked.
—
What color shoes go with a blue gown?
Erika's mind hadn't even processed the absurd turn of events.
He only registered Cole asking about a color.
For shoes? For something else? Why ask?
He didn't know.
He only knew he was pinned to the armchair, wearing this damned silk, utterly immobilized.
He closed his eyes.
Didn't want to look.
Didn't want to answer.
Didn't want to play along with this absurd, incomprehensible "preparation."
—
Suddenly— His right foot was seized in a crushing grip!
It wasn't a light tap.
It wasn't a simple touch.
It was raw, brutal force, like someone trying to shatter his bones!
His body instantly locked up!
Erika's eyes flew open, his entire frame jerking like he'd been electrocuted, but Cole's weight pinned him down.
He couldn't move an inch!
"What the hell?!" The scream tore from his throat, hoarse and laced with raw pain!
The crushing pressure didn't vanish.
It grew worse!
The agonizing force shot from the sole of his foot, radiating upward—from his toes to his ankle, up his calf, into his thigh.
It felt like something was detonating inside him, every nerve screaming in protest!
Erika tried to yank his foot back!
He pulled with everything he had— But he couldn't muster any leverage.
Cole was pressing down on some specific nerve or joint, pinning him to the sofa as if nailed there. Only that trapped foot existed, throbbing, numb, burning!
"Don't move," Cole said from above, his voice terrifyingly calm, as if absolutely nothing were happening. "Almost done."
—
Erika's breathing turned ragged.
He stared at the ceiling, at those blurred carvings, at Cole's obscured face.
The crushing pressure on his foot remained.
Pain. Numbness.
He didn't know what Cole was doing.
Didn't know how this related to the "formal occasion."
Didn't know what other horrors awaited him.
He only knew one thing— Don't move.
When those two words slipped from Cole's mouth, they were more absolute than any threat.
—
Erika couldn't take it anymore.
The pain shooting up from the sole of his foot was like countless red-hot needles crawling up his bones, boring into his knee, his thigh, his spine, before finally exploding inside his skull!
He didn't know what Cole was doing, didn't know how this connected to the "formal occasion." He only knew one thing—
It hurt like hell!
He swung his remaining arm!
His left hand suddenly jerked up from the sofa cushion, a wild, frantic strike aimed blindly at Cole!
He wanted to smash that condescending face, to shatter that maddeningly calm voice, to make him feel the pain too!
The fist flew out— And was blocked.
Cole's right hand—the one that had been crushing his foot just moments ago—had let go at some point.
It rose effortlessly, catching Erika's attack in mid-air.
Like swatting away a mosquito.
"In the end—" Cole's voice drifted down from above, as calm as if nothing had happened.
"You are still too weak."
Erika's fist was trapped in that grip.
He couldn't break free.
Couldn't move an inch.
"And you have no one to blame but yourself."
—
Erika panted heavily, glaring up at Cole.
His trapped left hand still trembled.
Not from fear—the desperate, full-force swing just now had exhausted whatever strength he had left, leaving only a tired, uncontrollable shake.
"You were right about one thing, though."
Those eyes—now so close to him—had something flash through them.
Not anger.
Not mockery.
Something else.
Deeper.
Heavier.
"Why no one wants to team up with me."
Erika's breath hitched for a moment.
"But—" Cole paused. The hand pinning Erika's fist tightened just a fraction.
"Who would willingly entrust their life to someone stronger than themselves?"
He looked down at Erika.
"Even those closest to them."
—
Erika froze.
That phrase "someone stronger than themselves" tumbled through his mind, not entirely making sense.
But he caught something in Cole's tone—it wasn't an explanation, not a complaint.
It sounded more like... stating a cold fact.
A fact Cole had long known, and long accepted.
—
The resistance in his left arm faded.
It wasn't that he wanted to stop fighting.
He genuinely couldn't swing anymore.
That hand, held securely by Cole, still trembled, but all strength to struggle was gone.
Every attempt to pull back resulted in nothing more than a futile twitch of his fingertips.
But the agony from his foot grew sharper.
That pain had changed somehow.
It was no longer the sheer, burning ache from before.
It was something deeper—like something drilling into his marrow, seeping into his blood, spreading to conquer his entire body.
Pain.
Numbness.
A deep, heavy ache.
All mixed together, making it impossible to pinpoint where it hurt the most.
He only knew his entire existence was in agony.
Erika's breathing grew rapid and ragged.
He stared at the ceiling, at the blurred, intricate carvings, at the faintly shifting silhouette hovering at the edge of his vision.
Cole's face was still there.
That expression—he couldn't name it.
He only knew he was weak.
So unbelievably weak that resistance was a futile joke.
So weak that, pinned here, he could do absolutely nothing.
So weak that he could only listen to Cole speak truths he didn't fully understand, and continue to hurt.
You have no one to blame but yourself.
The phrase echoed endlessly in his mind.
He closed his eyes.
The pain continued.