Obsession... What's That? I Just Wish Someone Would Help Me Escape - Chapter 16
What I ultimately wish for is escape or release, but he probably hasn’t caught on to that. It sounds more like he’s offering to watch my back while I’m here.
At least things are going my way…
Suddenly, a piece of triangular fabric appeared before me.
Johann stretched out what appeared to be a black triangle-shaped underwear in front of me.
“Enjoy the view. I might even let you borrow it.”
The dark, imposing figure from the original story is flaunting his underwear to me?
And why would I share underwear with him?
Truly, a level of madness I hadn’t anticipated…
I managed to force a smile, hiding my true thoughts,
“Wow, this is precious. Make sure to lend it to me next time. We could even hold an exhibition and charge admission.”
By gifting Johann and Enrique potatoes and complimenting their only precious pair of underwear, it seems I’ve managed to gain some level of their favor.
***
From the end of the workday at 6 PM until lights out and bedtime at 9 PM, we have free time after dinner.
The voice of a guard echoed through the square iron bars on the door.
“From now until lights out, it’s time for worship and repentance.”
Participation was voluntary, but attendance, piety, and attitude earned significant points.
Gavakse Prison employs a scoring system, where achieving a certain score, regardless of rank, allows for evolution into a model prisoner.
Model prisoners receive different treatment from regular inmates, including basic needs, including food..
Among the top benefits is being drafted for church duties, allowing for excursions outside the island.
Especially catching the eye of a high-ranking clergy could lead to selection into the Black Clergy, offering full release from prison.
Though guarding the clergy and overseeing crimes are considered honorable, it essentially turns one into a high-performance mercenary slave.
Freedom, inside or outside, remains elusive to us.
My chances of joining the Black Clergy are next to none.
Moreover, my aversion to strict discipline and rules makes becoming a model prisoner unlikely.
Inside the auditorium, prisoners huddled on stepped seats resembled a college classroom atmosphere due to the similar age groups of 20s and 30s.
I found an empty seat and settled in.
“Hey! Why sit here? Move over there?”
“Ah, suddenly feeling like I might sneeze…”
“Damn it! So annoying!”
Fearing contagion, prisoners around me, including those in their 40s, moved away, irritated.
“Lady Beatrice, no, prisoner number 49. Did they receive the potatoes I sent?”
Prisoner number 20 quietly approached and asked.
I looked up at her with a displeased, serious expression.
“Why insert a note saying you’re always watching? Sounds like a stalker. I’ve disposed of it secretly, so don’t pull such stunts again.”
Her shoulders slumped, visibly disheartened.
I consoled her with hopeful words.
“Don’t worry too much. They were happy to receive it.”
“Really?”
“What was your name again? I can’t seem to remember.”
Number 20 looked deeply hurt and incredulous.
“Leah Weston. I sent you invitations several times before, and you don’t even remember…”
Her accusatory voice suddenly halted as she noticed someone and discreetly retreated.
“Get out of the way.”
Behind the brusque Johann, Leah spotted Enrique and bowed deeply, her face alight with admiration.
“I’m, I’m so sorry.”
I had intended to seize the opportunity to mend fences but…
“Ah, this is my friend Leah…”
She had already fled.
It seemed her shyness was the reason she never approached before.
Johann and Enrique naturally took the seats beside me, drawing envious glances from other prisoners aiming for their proximity.
Enrique brushed his silver-white hair aside and asked,
“That red-haired lady you were just with, she’s one of your underlings contributing potatoes to you?”
How did it turn out this way? Just as I was about to correct him, the bell for the service rang.
“Please, be silent.”
A priest in black vestments entered with a dignified stride through the left door.
Standing firmly on the stage, he drew a holy symbol across his chest solemnly.
“Your ancestors and parents are sinners.”
He began his sermon with a sweeping condemnation, creating a somber atmosphere.
Vicious, really. As if it weren’t enough to make us prisoners, they now drag our deceased ancestors into it.
While internally sighing, I caught a glimpse of someone passing behind the slightly parted curtains on the stage.
It was brief, but I noticed blonde hair and purple eyes.
I gasped, recalling something.
The heroine from the novel, Justina, had blonde hair and purple eyes.
