Obsession... What's That? I Just Wish Someone Would Help Me Escape - Chapter 12
He meant he was taking me to the showers to bathe me?
Panicked, I wriggled in his grasp.
“No, that’s really not necessary!”
“If you’re thankful, get me those Choco Pies they hand out at the church events.”
Choco Pies exist in this day and age?
It must not be the Choco Pie I’m thinking of, but some kind of chocolate pie, right?
“That’s not what I mean…”
He carried me with utter confidence into the men’s shower room.
“Prisoner number 1, seems like you’ve taken a wrong turn?”
“Call me by my name from now on. And I can’t exactly go into the women’s shower, can I? I’m not a pervert.”
So, he’s aware of such common sense, yet why am I being brought into the men’s shower?
Before I could react, all prisoners’ eyes were on Johann and me.
“Kyaa! What is this!”
Naked prisoners screamed and covered themselves at the sight of me.
Johann glared at them fiercely.
“I’ll give you 3 seconds. Every single one of you, get out of here.”
At his deadly command, prisoners in nothing but underwear, those with shampoo in their hair, and one with a shirt on his head like a nun’s cap scrambled out in a state of disarray.
“Goodness…”
I ended up covering my eyes, surrendering my sight.
Thankfully, Enrique wasn’t among them.
“Um, you washing me, that’s a bit…”
As I tapped my arm, Johann leaned in to look down at me, frowning slightly.
“Don’t tell me you’re asking to be washed? All I can do is dunk you in water.”
“No, I mean I can do it myself. I’ve developed a strong conviction and confidence that I can manage on my own now.”
I declared firmly.
“See, I told you you could do it.”
He looked satisfied as he set me down, and I managed to stand on my two feet with all my might.
It was a triumph of will over my physical limitations.
“Let me know when you’re done.”
He turned to leave, and I was left alone in the deserted shower room, sighing at the soap rolling around on the floor, which some male prisoner probably tried to pick up.
“I’m really sorry about this…”
***
As I waited for my turn for breakfast, I examined the prison’s monthly schedule posted on the dining hall’s bulletin board.
Contrary to my expectation of repeating the same labor every day, the calendar was filled with various activities.
Events and edification times hosted by the church, bounty hunting for demonic beasts with rewards, and several other training sessions…
I widened my eyes upon seeing “Survival Training” scheduled for next week and “Winner’s Tournament” at the end of the month.
Could it be that thing where prisoners are pitted against each other in a deathmatch?
A slender finger appeared, pointing at the schedule I was looking at.
I flinched and turned around as I felt a breath on my neck.
“Due to the shortage of personnel and space to manage and accommodate numerous nobles, or rather, human beings.”
The owner of the voice was Enrique, who had pressed his body close to mine from behind.
His finger, which had pointed at the “Survival Training,” slowly moved down to “Winner’s Tournament.”
“It’s a roundabout way of dealing with the weak and useless. Even if they are human beings, they can’t just be executed or massacred outright. It would be against the doctrine and tarnish the church’s image.”
Right, the empire has now become a republic.
The public sympathizes with the underdog, so if the weak among the human beings were to suffer terrible massacres, public sympathy would surely arise.
Understanding Enrique’s explanation, I swallowed hard.
“So, it’s to show that we died fighting amongst ourselves?”
Survivors would likely be the top-ranked prisoners.
It’s a scheme to categorize aggressors and victims into specific groups.
“Yes. Like a farm raising and slaughtering livestock. That’s why we share a room.”
What does that mean? Is he talking about the structure of survival of the fittest?
After making his cryptic statement, Enrique left, and two women in brown prison uniforms approached me.
“So, you’re still living like a parasite, exploiting others?”
“Unable to awaken any abilities and always clinging to others’ powers. It’s pathetic to see you trying to curry favor with the powerful even here.”
The two, hands on their hips, scanned me from head to toe with disdain.
Their prisoner numbers were 20 and 21, placing them in the mid-tier.
I remembered them now; they were ladies who used to follow me around, trying to gain my favor in the social circles.
