“Whether they’re girls or boys, I’ll sell every one of them. There are a lot of people who prefer boys.

Akan himself was living proof of this. As he reached puberty and his “value” in their eyes diminished, they began to treat him more brutally. They plucked every strand of hair from his body to make him look younger, and when that became too tedious, they simply resorted to burning him. For the first time, Akan felt a real desire to give up on life.

As much as he despised these people and longed to see their roots torn out, Akan now spoke of them. He wanted to see Robellia, driven by formless terror, spiral into despair at what might emerge from her own body.

“Ah, perhaps I should kill one of them apart in front of you.”

He remembered the women in the cages, crying each time their children were taken from them. Akan had thought that losing a child conceived through r*pe was nothing compared to hunger or pain, but they cried night after night, clutching their empty br*asts, unable to feed a baby that was no longer there. Would Robellia cry like that?

“I’ll let you keep one anyway, you’ll need someone to take your place when you’re gone.”

It was a remark meant only to provoke Robellia, but the more Akan thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. A girl who looked exactly like Robellia. When she turned twelve and began to resemble the younger Robellia of the past, that would be the time to kill her. To tear her apart so that she would never haunt his nightmares again. Akan smiled brightly, his expression disturbingly sincere.

“Your child will have children, and those children will continue to atone for your sins. What do you think?”

All colour drained from Robellia’s face. She had thought that death was the end. That there was nothing left for her but to join Akan in hell. But no – she had unwittingly passed her sins on to an unborn child. A wave of horror washed over her, unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Her lips, which had seemed sealed forever, finally parted.

“Don’t… say that.”

Akan’s hand moved to her face and Robellia instinctively closed her eyes, bracing herself for the familiar sting of his slap. But instead of the usual hard blow, his palm cradled her cheek gently, as if it carried a faint trace of warmth. It was a touch so strange it startled her.

Robellia slowly opened her tightly shut eyes to feel Akan’s thumb brush her dry, chapped lips.

“If you want to say something, go ahead. If you need anything, just ask.”

His uncharacteristic gentleness, without shouting or violence, only made Robellia more anxious.

‘Could it be? Am I really carrying a child? Is that why I’m not menstruating?’

Her trembling hands instinctively clutched at her belly. The thought of something crawling, growing inside her thin, sunken belly sent shivers down her spine.

“N-no… no… I don’t want this!”

Akan caught the tears from her eyes with his fingers and brought them to his tongue. The taste of her despair was sharp and salty, a taste he savoured.

“Don’t say such things, you will soon be a mother. Now rest.”

Akan rose from the bed with a pleased expression on his face. He did not care if Robellia was really pregnant or not. All he cared about was that she would be haunted by unbearable nightmares tonight, tomorrow and every day after that.

‘Welcome to hell, Robellia. Alive and breathing.’

—

For some time, Akan refrained from visiting Robellia. In the meantime, she was provided with plenty of food and warm bathwater at every turn. The m*n even asked if she needed anything else.

But the kinder they acted, the more Robellia’s mind unravelled. Every thought became tangled with the fear of pregnancy. Was her frequent need to urinate a symptom? What about her nausea, her headaches? She was suffocating under the weight of these fears, consumed by the terrifying possibilities.

One of the m*n assigned to Robellia rushed to Akan’s side. It was the day after Akan had refused Robellia’s request for a doctor.

“You should come immediately.”

Akan found it puzzling that he had been summoned for anything to do with Robellia. But judging by the troubled expression on the face of the man who had seen all manner of horrors as a former slave, something interesting must have happened. Slowly rising from his seat, Akan made his way towards the commotion.

As he walked down the corridor, he wondered what kind of trouble Robellia could have caused. At most, she might have broken a few things. Shy as she was, Robellia wouldn’t dare take anyone hostage. Then again, was there anyone she could overpower?

When he arrived, the bedroom door was wide open and a crowd of m*n blocked the entrance. The soldiers hastily tried to make way for the Emperor, but Akan shook his head, signalling them to stay put. Instead of entering immediately, he peered into the room from behind the assembled m*n.

Robellia stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by the guards who had been stationed at the door, now carefully keeping their distance.

“P-please… call a… doctor.”

“That’s not for us to decide.”

Akan’s gaze shifted to Robellia’s hand, where she held a small object. The weapon she had chosen in her desperation was nothing more than a dinner knife, its blade blunt and meant for slicing bread.

“Then… g-go… and a-ask.”

Robellia’s voice trembled uncontrollably, each word punctuated by hesitation. Her stammering tone, coupled with the amateurish way she held the knife, was almost laughable. How could she hope to threaten anyone like that? Akan couldn’t help smirking. The absurdity of being summoned for something so trivial only added to the amusement.

As the soldiers fell silent, Robellia tightened her grip on the knife. It was as if she had made up her mind. She lifted the blade and swung it through the air – not at a soldier, but at her own throat. Though she didn’t stab deeply, the blade grazed the thin skin and drew blood almost instantly.

‘Clever move.’

Akan thought as he entered the room, ready to end this ridiculous charade.

“I’ve hurt myself, so… call a doctor.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

At the sound of his voice, Robellia turned to face him, her body stiffening. After confirming that it was indeed Akan, she hesitated, stepping back for a moment before regaining her composure. Her expression hardened, determination written all over her face. She knew full well that only Akan had the authority to call for a doctor.

The blood trickling from Robellia’s neck spread across her white nightgown, staining it red. The room was in complete disarray, as if a thief had ransacked it. Akan silently scanned Robellia from head to toe, noting the small cuts that covered her hands and wrists. For someone as shy as Robellia, she was surprisingly brave. Perhaps she deserved a round of applause.

Akan stepped closer, his presence commanding and unyielding.

“For someone who claims to want to die, you’re making quite a scene.”

“N-no… I just… want you to call a doctor.”

She hadn’t done this to die – if that was her intention, why would she ask for a doctor? Apart from the terrifying possibility of pregnancy hanging over her, her current life was disturbingly comfortable. And that comfort had made her weak, sapped the will she once had to face death.