Obsession... What's That? I Just Wish Someone Would Help Me Escape - Chapter 9
Having triumphed over them with a bio-terror scare, I walked out of the cafeteria full of pride.
Looks like I’ll have some time to rest.
On my way out, I saw Johann standing in front of what’s nominally a relaxation space, but was really just a tent where no one could rest.
He stepped to the left to block my path as I tried to sneak by.
“Hey.”
“Yes?”
He flicked his finger at me like a bully.
Damn, did he notice the potato I pocketed?
“Is the disease you mentioned caught from not washing?”
Had he heard everything? I shook my head.
“No. I just said that to scare them a bit.”
Despite my denial, he looked distinctly uncomfortable.
He gestured to the spot next to him with his eyes.
“From now on, stand to my right when you talk to me.”
Whether this request was a form of respect towards the prison’s power dynamics, superstition, or control, I couldn’t tell.
Unable to contain my curiosity, I asked.
“Ah, people usually say the left side of the face looks better. Is that why?”
“I can only see the top of your head.”
I raised my head to gauge the height difference between us.
“You are tall. How tall are you?”
“189.”
Looking straight ahead at his chest, which was at my eye level, I confidently said.
“In terms of numbers, that’s not much different from me.”
“I can’t quite hear you because you’re like a tiny d*ck.* Do you understand?”
(T/N: The most accurate translation is actually “You’re as tiny as a d**k,” but it doesn’t entirely make sense if you consider the text that follows.)
I glanced down at his waistband.
Not sure if he’s bragging about his height or something else.
Despite my internal thoughts, I moved to his side with a polite smile.
Johann added in his characteristic growling tone.
“I’m warning you, make sure you wash up properly.”
“I told you, it’s not that. Hepatitis A is the one you get from not washing hands…”
“You don’t wash your hands after using the toilet? Don’t even think about touching me.”
Johann’s expression went from discomfort to something bordering on disgust.
Why is he so obsessed with cleanliness?
“If you look under my nails, you can see how clean they are…”
As I raised my hand to prove my cleanliness, my head started spinning and my vision turned pitch black.
Was it orthostatic hypotension attacking me now?
Johann quickly dodged as I leaned towards him, but unconsciously, I grabbed his prisoner uniform and lost consciousness.
When I opened my eyes again, my head was resting against Johann’s firm chest.
He asked with a blank expression, holding his hands up like a gentleman.
“…What was that just now?”
“I’m really sorry. But I did wash this morning.”
I barely managed to clear my throat and looked up at him.
He stared at me, and his hands slowly descended.
Contrary to my expectation of being pushed away harshly, his large hand touched my cheek.
Then, he gently rubbed the corner of my mouth with his thumb, but suddenly pulled back, startled.
“F*ck…”
Though I don’t understand why he cursed after wiping my mouth himself, he looked at me with a profoundly confused expression.
“Thought you died standing.”
He turned away with an annoyed face after uttering such bizarre words.
Then he looked back at me with a puzzled expression, only to turn away again.
“What’s wrong with him?”
I shrugged my shoulders and rubbed the other corner of my mouth.
Hmm, there was a piece of potato skin stuck there.
***
The damned start of the afternoon labor.
Under the watch of Damian, who had taken over from the harsh Sergei, I continued the strenuous work.
My body was screaming for mercy.
Throughout the labor, I collapsed multiple times, bleeding from my mouth and nose.
It’s a wonder I haven’t died from excessive bleeding.
“Number 49. Dying from overwork on your first day of labor isn’t ideal, so I’ll give you a relatively easier task.”
Compared to Sergei, who strictly adhered to the belief that a strong mind equates to a strong body, Damian was relatively merciful.
He made me plaster the walls, ceiling, and floor, a job that seemed nearly charitable to my dying self.
“Captain, thank you for your consideration.”
Please continue to look out for me and be nice to me.
Damian quickly averted his gaze upon seeing my tearful eyes filled with gratitude.
He seemed to loathe it.
“It has nothing to do with consideration. I just don’t want to be treated like s**t by you.”
Do you still have that in mind? How embarrassing.
Here, I might be number 49, but in the past social scene, I was the first choice for invitations and escorts, receiving everyone’s admiration and preferential treatment.
Even my frailty was considered charming enough to highlight my outstanding beauty.
Of course, it’s unorthodox to be favored on the basis of pedigree and looks alone.
I sighed while smothering the plaster on the wall.
