Contract of Submission with the Enemy - Chapter 18
“Major, are you really planning to leave that woman as she is?” Benyak asked, standing seriously in front of Aster, who was reading documents in his office.
Aster glanced up smoothly. “What do you mean?” he asked, pushing the papers aside with a casual demeanor.
“I’m talking about Rité Rainhills. She already has a bad reputation in the Shadow Unit. Do you know what she does when she’s alone?” Benyak asked stiffly.
“And what does she do?” Aster asked, now clasping his hands on the desk with genuine curiosity.
“Frankly, I’m not sure if I should report this directly to you…” Benyak hesitated.
“Speak.”
With Aster’s endlessly calm encouragement, Benyak reluctantly continued, “She plays with mannequins. It looks like she’s studying which parts hurt the most when stabbed, how to restrict movement, or how to inflict fatal injuries.”
Aster smiled contentedly. “She’s training diligently. That sounds like a necessary process for an assassin. What’s the problem?”
“That’s not all… She gathers every silver or gray wig she can find and puts them on the mannequins. She also writes your name on their bodies. She’s been barred from the supply room because she kept taking mannequins and disguise wigs.”
Benyak spoke faster as he became more agitated. “Plus, every night, we hear the sound of her sharpening knives in the hallway. Everyone’s on edge, unable to sleep deeply. She’s deliberately keeping us awake with that noise. That woman is completely insane!”
Aster burst into loud laughter at Benyak’s desperate outcry, leaving Benyak looking stunned. It was the first time he had seen Aster laugh so heartily.
Unable to stop laughing immediately, Aster eventually composed himself and said, “I wondered why mannequins weren’t arriving in my room lately. She must’ve been unable to borrow practice dolls.”
Benyak, looking more bewildered, asked, “What do you mean?”
Apparently, he didn’t know that every mannequin Rité practiced on was transported to Aster’s room, hands and feet bound tightly with rope.
“She’s training hard; she deserves praise. Usually, you have to drag people kicking and screaming to get them to hold a knife,” Aster said, smiling warmly.
“That’s true, but watching her insult you like that is hard for us to bear. We’re worried she might cause a big incident one day. Assassins need to control their emotions. She’s the opposite of a covert assassin; she’s more of a front-line assault type,” Benyak argued.
“If that’s your assessment, I accept it,” Aster said, agreeing easily. Benyak, responsible for the team’s training, could tell at a glance if someone had the potential to be an assassin. Aster himself had made a similar judgment when he first encountered Rité. She wasn’t good at controlling her emotions and was easily provoked. She acted without hesitation, as if living only for the moment.
“I should see for myself,” Aster said, rising from his seat and heading to where Rité was training.
* * *
At that moment, Rité stood in front of a mannequin. She looked down at the mannequin, already shredded by gunshots and knife marks, then shifted her gaze to the mark on her wrist.
Maybe if she removed this tattoo-like mark, her contract with him would end. As she pondered this dangerous curiosity, a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“You should stop.”
She turned to see Aster standing at the door.
“That brand is etched into your bones. Scratching the surface won’t make it disappear.”
“Then what if I cut off my wrist?” she asked, her voice filled with danger.
Aster stepped closer, speaking firmly, “Don’t you get it? You and I are already one. Losing a wrist won’t lose your whole body; similarly, some of you disappearing won’t end our contract.”
Rité looked up at him, feeling a bit nervous. Aster added, as if realizing something, “Ah. Cutting off your wrist might kill you. If you die, the contract ends.”
Aster chuckled, but Rité glared at him, understanding the deeper meaning. Their contract would only end if he terminated it, or one of them died.
Aster’s eyes fell on the book open on the mannequin, a book on human anatomy, especially muscles. “Were you studying where to stab to disable muscles?” he asked, smiling.
“I could teach you directly,” he added, making Rité flinch.
“No need,” she said, turning her head sharply.
“No amount of mannequin practice can compare to real combat,” Aster said, recalling past battles. Rité could only glare at him as he smiled charmingly.
“Relax. I’m not here for live experiments today,” Aster said, clearing the mannequin aside and placing a square bag on the table. With a click, the bag opened, revealing various knives. He laid them out in a row.
“Today, we’ll practice manifesting your powers in the shape of these weapons. I’ll help,” he said.
“But I need wounds to create weapons…” Rité said nervously.
“Do wounds always have to be physical?” Aster asked.
“What?”
“Emotional wounds can be just as powerful.”
“Do you even know what emotional wounds are?” she scoffed, her face twisting in pain and derision.
Aster paused, studying her pained, trembling face. It had been a long time since he’d seen such a raw, contradictory expression. Intrigued, he leaned closer.
“Show me then. Unless you show it, others can’t know your heart,” he said, bringing his face close enough that their lips could almost touch.
Rité turned her head sharply, extending her hand forward. Childishly, she wanted to prove her pain’s magnitude to him. But manifesting emotional wounds into weapons was far harder than physical wounds.
Emotional wounds had no form, unlike bodily pain, which was immediate. They were like shadows, slowly consuming a person. Catching such a thing and forging it into a weapon was no easy task.
Sweat beaded on Rité’s forehead. After her bold words, failing to create a weapon now would be embarrassing. But as she glanced sideways, her eyes widened.
Aster, extending his hand like her, easily created a weapon identical to the nearby dagger. He glanced at her and smiled.
“Emotional wounds?” he said, eyebrows furrowing.
“That’s cheating! It’s a trick!” she accused, patting him all over.
“Where are you hurt?” she demanded, leaving Aster momentarily stunned before he burst into laughter.
Rité hurriedly patted down her uniform like a madwoman before stopping. Her face flushed for a moment, but she quickly scrunched up her face even more to hide it and shouted, “Why are you laughing?”
Aster, smiling, grabbed Rité’s hand and placed it over his heart. Rité’s eyes widened, and she stammered, “Wh-What are you doing?”
“Showing you. I know the way,” he replied.
“What?” Rité asked, confused.
Aster’s smile faded as he focused. His expression seemed somewhat bittersweet.
Can he even make that kind of face? In the moment she thought that, Rité felt a sharp pain transmitted from him, causing her eyes to widen.
“Just now… what was that? What did you do?” Rité asked, realizing the answer immediately. It was a part of his inner pain.
Their wrists, where they were touching, began to glow red. Rité stared, speechless, into his empty black eyes.
Aster silently released her hand. Rité quickly pulled back and checked the mark on her wrist. The mark, which had glowed as if branded by fire, returned to its usual dark color.
Rité asked seriously, “Let me ask you one thing. As partners, can we share things like this?”
“Of course. Didn’t I say we are one? We can share our minds too. Given the nature of our abilities, we can only share feelings related to pain, but still,” Aster replied calmly, though there was a hint of regret in his words. She didn’t know why she sensed that, but it wasn’t the important part. Rité couldn’t believe he could use her ability better than she could.
Seeing Rité in shock, Aster teased, “Haven’t you heard the rumors about me in the military? I’m quite the genius.”