Beautiful Waste

Lola finally quenched her thirst, feeling on the verge of perishing from dehydration. She thought herself to a withered sponge, desperately needing replenishment from a water source.

The warden presented her with a water-filled disposable paper cup, crude and hardly clean. But Lola didn't care. Heavy shackles constrained her movements; she couldn't stand to drink. Instead, she half-knelt on the ground, greedily gulping the water.

It was ordinary, cool drinking water. Lola's throat was sore and swollen, perhaps a lingering aftereffect of her fever or possibly due to Caesar's brutality the day before. She didn't want to dwell on the cause of her discomfort; she just hungrily drank, her actions frantic. The cold water naturally soothed her throat; some uncontrollably dribbled down from the corners of her mouth.

Caesar stood nearby, coldly observing her inelegant drinking manner. Despite accusations of betrayal and being parched to this extent, her lips remained as red as rose petals, without any cracks – moist and enticing for a kiss.

Utterly unconcerned with being observed, Lola focused on quenching her thirst with the cheap water as if it were sweetened with honey. Her posture was far from graceful, bordering on vulgar. A true lady would never make a sound while drinking nor allow water to escape from the corners of her mouth, the clean droplets rolling down her chin, snaking along her neck, and soaking the swollen bite marks at the edge...

Caesar averted his gaze, his expression stern.

A beautiful waste.

He bowed his head slightly, the black gloves caressing the paper, rustling crisply. The itinerary of this beautiful waste was as simple as her brain.

"Morning: Wake up at eight, eat breakfast, and stroll in the guidance office garden for an hour. Encounter the prime minister's pet dog and chat with it for half an hour."

Caesar paused, looking at Lola, this miraculous woman capable of conversing with a pet dog for half an hour.

Lola had just finished the cup of water. She spoke softly, weakly: "Another cup, please."

Caesar asked indifferently, "More water? Are you an otter?"

Lola reached up to touch her throat; the shackles on her wrists clanked together, producing a heavy sound.

She didn't look at Caesar, murmuring, "I feel like my throat is injured, perhaps due to yesterday's... someone..."

Her finger forcefully pressed the paper through the black glove, causing a crisp rustle.

Her finger forcefully pressed the paper through the black glove, causing a crisp rustle.

Caesar interrupted her, "Silence—give her water." The last three words were directed at the warden.

The warden returned with another cup of water. Caesar didn't continue to observe the beautiful fool's drinking manner, instead continuing to read the report.

"...At noon, a heated argument and altercation broke out between Lola and Eugenie, using their lunches to attack each other."

"At one in the afternoon, Lola secretly took the prime minister's planted roses, a total of fifty-six."

...

Caesar couldn't bear to read any further. He now understood why the psychological counselor had marked Lola's psychological assessment with "incomplete intellectual development."

Caesar had once subjected enemy spies to cruel torture and whipped a traitor's shinbone. He had personally extracted the desired information from an infamous drug lord and had used cunning to make a cult leader confess the truth.

But Caesar had never interrogated a fool, let alone a delicate one who might die at any moment. This fool's itinerary required one to take a deep breath before continuing.

"At five o'clock: Lola went to the cafeteria early for dinner and fought with Eugenie, knocking over her bowl of food."

Was this a daily report of a kindergartener?

At six to nine o'clock: Punished with Eugenie and placed in solitary confinement."

Nine o'clock to four in the morning: Escaped from the confinement room, whereabouts unknown."

Caesar closed the file.

The meeting had ended at midnight, so Lola was unaccounted for at least three hours outside the confinement room.

Caesar glanced at Lola, who, after having enough water, seemed to have regained some strength. She struggled to sit up, no longer in a kneeling position. She moved back slightly, her slender body with delicate butterfly bones leaning against the damp, cold wall with condensation droplets. Lowering her head, she tried to massage the bruises on her knees.

The bruises varied in color, with newer ones formed from kneeling today, while older, darker ones had been left from lying on the cold stone yesterday. Caesar's grip even caused some.

Rubbing her knees slowly, she sighed, "It hurts so much."

Her pitiful voice did not move Caesar. He checked the time and said, "You have three minutes to describe your whereabouts after nine o'clock last night. Where did you go?"

Lola kept her head down, "I was in the confinement room the whole time."

She continued, "I just slept there, and when I woke up, Eugenie was gone, so I returned to the dormitory—uh!"

The icy end of the riding crop pressed against her chin. Through the leather, Lola felt the cold steel. Her chin was forced upward, the crop rigid, and the end of the leather brushed her jaw. Lola's jaw tensed, her breathing labored, as she looked up into Caesar's unfeeling purple eyes.

Caesar said, "It seems you're indeed not very bright." His hand, clad in a black glove, gripped the end of the whip tightly, his silver hair making his skin appear inhumanly calm white.

The whip was raised high, and Lola's face instantly lost all color. Her lips turned pale, and she remained motionless, realizing her opponent was preparing to administer a whipping—

With her keen hearing, she could hear the whip descending, accompanied by a sharp gust of wind.

The Sarelli family's reputation for torture was well-known, and even though Lola had been confined in the mansion for over a decade, she had heard of Caesar's methods. For a piece of intelligence, he could strip away half of someone's life. She knew what would happen when she fell into the hands of such a person; evading would be useless and only lead to more unnecessary suffering.

Lola's teeth chattered, and she didn't try to dodge. She only hoped he wouldn't hit her face or break her neck or spine. She didn't care about her life but couldn't die yet.

The wind from the whip stopped next to Lola's cheek, her brown curls blown into disarray. The leather of the whip merely touched her cheek without going any further.

Lola opened her eyes, taking a deep breath as the lack of oxygen in her heart and brain nearly suffocated her. However, she didn't see Caesar's expression; he turned away, his uniformed military back straight and the belt around his waist.

He coldly ordered the warden, "Take her to Interrogation Room A."

Lola had heard of Interrogation Room A. Before she was brought in, a person accused of treason was held next door, arriving a day before her and awaiting Caesar's interrogation.

The difference was that Caesar already had evidence of the person's contact with the enemy's arms smuggling ring. Lola had listened to this dangerous individual tell vulgar jokes and stories for the past three hours. Unfortunately, ten minutes before Caesar arrived, the individual had been taken to Interrogation Room A.

Finally, the chain around her neck was removed, and slightly less heavy shackles were placed on her ankles and wrists. They were still heavy, causing Lola to unconsciously hunch her shoulders and slightly bend her back to relieve some of the weight.

She hadn't moved so long that her ankles were sore, causing her to walk slowly. The warden didn't forcibly drag her away, as she seemed too fragile, fragile enough that a harsh word might kill her.

Lola even whispered a thank you to the warden.

Caesar didn't seem to care about their walking speed; he strode away, his face dark and his hand tightly gripping the steel whip.

Lola lagged behind him by at least five minutes.

When the warden opened the door to Interrogation Room A, a robust and thick smell of blood wafted, and the white walls were splattered with blood, like plum blossoms blooming in the snow in winter.

The man who had been happily telling vulgar stories to Lola just three hours ago now clutched his stomach, his face pale, kneeling on the ground with his kneecaps shattered. His shirt was soaked, and he gasped in pain, his fingers trembling and his arms hanging limply, seemingly disconnected from his body.

Caesar approached, flicking the blood off the whip and gesturing for the warden to help Lola sit on the side.

Lola's eyes widened as she looked at the man being punished. The table and chairs were made of specially crafted steel, cold and without warmth as if sitting on a solid block of ice. Her teeth and body trembled uncontrollably.

Caesar told the warden, "Pour her a glass of water."

Lola said, "Thank you, but I don't need it."

Caesar carefully wiped the blood off the whip with a velvet cloth, "I think you need a drink."

The warden quickly brought a glass of water, but Lola had difficulty drinking it this time. The thick smell in the room made her want to vomit, and she struggled to finish the glass of water. By the time she finished, Caesar had cleaned his whip.

As if he hadn't seen Lola, just as he had pressed the whip to that man's face earlier, Caesar held the whip against the man's cheek, asking in the same tone, "What is the secret code for contacting your Companion?"

The man clenched his teeth, refusing to speak.

Smack.

The end of the whip struck his cheek, and the pain was too much for him to bear. He cried out and spat out fresh blood along with four loose teeth.

Caesar said, "The secret code."

The man didn't say anything, only groaning in pain. Caesar seemed unfazed by the sight of the man's torn flesh and struck him again with the whip.

...

Lola had never imagined that witnessing such a process could be so unbearable. When she took the glass of water, she accidentally knocked over a vase with roses on the table, her teeth chattering.

Five minutes later, the man finally weakly spoke the contact password. Caesar bent down slightly, his hand wrapped tightly in a black leather glove, holding a white silk handkerchief, and wiped the blood off the man's eyelids.

"Good boy," Caesar said regretfully, "Why didn't you tell me earlier, Lieutenant Drot?"

He let go, and the white handkerchief fell on the man's face, gently covering it. The warden immediately called for someone to handle the situation. The dying man was lifted onto a stretcher and quickly taken away.

The blood on his fingertips fell precisely on the rose petals on the floor. Caesar walked up to Lola and looked down at her pale face and the crushed paper cup in her hands. This expression was much more pleasing than the foolish one she had earlier.

Lola stared at his black gloves, which still had a bit of blood on them, feeling even more nauseated.

With his bloodstained hand, Caesar picked up the roses she had knocked over earlier, placed them in the vase next to Lola, straightened them, and carefully wiped off the excess water on the vase with a paper towel.

After taking care of all this, Caesar finally turned his attention to Lola, whose lips were devoid of color. He raised his hand, and in the interrogation room filled with the scent of blood, he caressed the bite marks on her neck.

Lola caught a whiff of his scent. This was their first contact while both were conscious, separated only by his black leather glove stained with someone else's blood.

Caesar asked, "Are you ready to talk to me now?"