Chapter 7

Inside the base, Sander stood behind Gastie, watching Toran devour his food with no spoon, eating directly with his hands. He thought to himself how uncouth it was. Gastie signed her name on every page of the contract—Toran had already been sold to her, legally making him her servant. She wasn’t wealthy; if he were returned or detained, the loss would be substantial.

Her device snapped a photo of Gastie’s face, then focused on Toran under the servant section, quickly uploading and submitting it. Once everything was approved, Gastie began instructing Toran.

“From now on, you’re my servant. My orders must not be disobeyed. If you do, I can punish you without breaking the law.”

Toran nodded, swallowing his food, and said, “I will obey and make you satisfied.”

Gastie then searched through photos of the female officers on her screen. Sander glanced over and roughly understood Toran’s purpose, smiling faintly. Toran noticed Sander’s relieved smile and furrowed his brow—after all, they were from the same village and knew each other well.

Sander caught his gaze and smiled wider, making Toran uneasy; his pace of eating slowed.

Those beautiful eyes fixed on Gastie, who kept her head down, fingers swiftly scrolling through photos reflected in her pupils.

Toran acted quickly, dropping a small herb seed from under his sleeve into his food and swallowing it along with the meal.

That evening, as Gastie and Sander resumed their interrupted business, the door was urgently knocked.

“Officer, something’s wrong with Toran.”

Ten minutes later, Gastie was furious. She had been deceived—she bought a sickly pretty boy.

The military doctor’s examination revealed Toran suffered from chronic malnutrition and had extremely low hormone levels, causing frequent fainting spells. Even with nutritional supplements, his hormones would be difficult to restore.

Furthermore, his frail body couldn’t endure medicinal stimulation, making him unsuitable as a gift lover.

Gastie told Sander, “Quick, bring the contract. I want to see if I can cancel it. Damn it! I’m stuck having to support him now.”

Sander quickly retrieved the document. Gastie clicked to revoke it, silently hoping the review staff wouldn’t process it the same day.

The waiting icon appeared; Gastie tapped the table impatiently. A minute later, a message popped up: the application was fully approved.

She stood and approached the person lying on the sickbed, grabbed his clothes with one hand, and dragged him to the floor, intending to return him and get a refund.

The pale and weak man’s bones scraped the floor with a hollow sound. He didn’t utter a word but looked at Gastie fearfully, skin scraped and bleeding.

Old military doctor Frey couldn’t stand it any longer and spoke up, “Officer, just keep him. I’m short-staffed here. Let his salary offset your loss.”

Gastie’s angry eyes cooled. She glanced back disdainfully at Toran and released her grip.

“Unlucky bastard. Learn well while you’re here. If you get sick again, I’ll beat you.”

Frey was upset. “It’s not his fault he’s sick. It’s from malnutrition since childhood. Officer, he’s already pitiful enough.”

Gastie stomped away in her military boots. Sander gave Toran a long, deep look. Since he rarely saw him, he couldn’t tell if Toran was truly ill, but the instruments didn’t lie.

When only Frey and Toran remained, Frey said, “You’re bold, daring to deceive your master.”

Toran stood up from the floor, looked at the perceptive doctor, and smiled.

“I would die if I left my master.”

Frey shook his head and asked, “Can you read?”

Toran nodded.

The next morning, Gastie sat in her office with her legs resting on the desk, holding a cup of tea.

“Axe, make Toran an assistant, have him follow Frey from now on.”

Axe scratched his head. “Officer, assistant pay is very low. Maybe it’s better to register him in logistics instead. His salary will be credited directly to your account.”

Holding a position, one must take some advantage. Gastie admired Axe as her top assistant.

“All right, Axe, enroll him in logistics.”

In the system, Toran was listed under logistics, but the specific arrangement was Gastie’s decision.

In this isolated place where patrols rarely passed, Gastie now had two servants.

Within the base, Toran learned of Sander’s role and served Gastie well, mastering many skills—driving, vehicle repair, even piloting combat boats.

He often trained alongside other soldiers, enduring Gastie’s strict discipline, becoming more agile each time.

At night, he didn’t leave the base.

Sander no longer needed to bring food home, so Toran received the burnt bread and leftover meat scraps to take to his family.

Toran’s family was now satisfied; he didn’t have to sell himself and could stay at the base, with hopes of marrying well in the future.

But for Sander, no one would want to marry him.

No salary wasn’t an issue—there were plenty of bonuses on holidays, and he had a sizable sum saved, plus food to bring home.

Wearing the military uniform, Toran looked less imposing than Sander—he was still too thin.

Toran sulked alone in his room. His family wouldn’t understand that the skills Gastie taught Sander could lead to promotion and multiple career paths.

That day, Toran was carrying medical books down the corridor when Axe, clutching his stomach, passed by and saw him like a lifesaver.

“Toran, can you deliver breakfast to the officer for me? My stomach hurts.”

Toran agreed. Shortly after, he brought the breakfast but forgot Axe told him to leave it outside the door.

Just as he was about to knock, he heard moaning from inside. Unable to resist curiosity, he peered through the window.

A woman in a white tank top sat astride a man, one hand gripping his chin as she leaned down to kiss him.

The man cooperated obediently, but as she straightened and tilted her head back, he seized the moment to flip her over, pinning her beneath him, his tank top riding up.

Toran stood at the door, waiting until the noises ceased before rapping.

“Officer, breakfast delivery.”

The door opened, revealing Sander, shirtless and exuding charisma.

“Give it to me. Next time, just leave the breakfast and go.”

Sander suspected Toran had overheard, feeling slightly awkward.

Toran lowered his eyes, handed over the food, and left silently.

In the following days, while memorizing vast amounts of medical knowledge, Toran would watch from the window as Gastie taught Sander how to wield knives—both short and long.

Such training was only available at higher education institutions; nowhere else could one access this.

At dusk, Toran went to the kitchen for food and saw Sander making risotto, with wine poured around the pan, igniting flames.

A group of soldiers eating nearby teased him.

“Sander, you’re too good. How are we supposed to survive under the officer’s watchful eyes?”

“You know everything. I’m jealous.”

Sander, cigarette dangling from his mouth, joked back comfortably.

“I’m a genius.”

“Genius, let us taste some, just one bite. Our noses are about to be overwhelmed by the aroma.”

“No, this is a love meal for the officer.”

“Damn, you really say that with a straight face.”

Everyone laughed casually, without discrimination. Sander’s efforts had changed their opinions.

Though his entry into the base was less than honorable, his abilities were undeniable, and his generous personality made him well-liked.

Toran took his food and left, his eyes darkening with growing jealousy.

Within the base, only Frey paid him any attention.

Toran’s family bought a house in town and renovated their village home. Many suitors came seeking marriage proposals but were all refused. They planned to find a good match for their eldest daughter in town.

Toran’s parents were shrewd; otherwise, their son wouldn’t be literate and knowledgeable in herbs.

The renovation crew from town finished the old house in three days. Toran told them not to make it too conspicuous, so the outside remained dull gray, but inside was fully equipped.

Life was improving for the family, sparking envy among the villagers.

The Festival of Light arrived quietly—a national holiday with two days off for everyone except those on duty.

Soldiers all went to town, except Gastie, who had to stay on guard, and Sander, who visited his family. The base felt deserted; even the head chef had the few remaining eaters rely on canned food.

Waking naturally, Gastie lazily went downstairs to fetch the breakfast Sander had prepared for her.

In the empty kitchen, the smell of baking bread filled the air. Following the aroma, she found Toran.

“What are you baking?”

Toran looked sturdier than before; his body beneath the shirt was no longer flat.

“Meat roll bread, officer. Would you like some?”

“Bring me one.”

Gastie took the breakfast from the cabinet. Sander’s choices suited her palate: two egg-and-meat sandwiches, cut fruit, and a pot of chilled strong milk tea.

She noticed the freezer was stocked with meals for today and tomorrow, each labeled.

Gastie sat in the dining room. The chilled milk tea was especially delicious; the head chef didn’t want to spend time making it, so he taught Sander instead.

The cold, smooth taste chased away drowsiness.

The oven dinged, and soon the room was filled with the scent of fresh bread.

Gastie tasted the meat roll bread—soft and delicious.

“Give me two more.”

The bread here was exceptional.

Gastie finished the breakfast and three meat rolls, leaving half the iced tea for the afternoon.

“Toran, wash the dishes.”

“Yes, officer.”

After checking the equipment, Gastie saw Toran still there, cleaning a dirty skeleton model.

The base was quiet and empty. Since she had nothing else to do, Gastie pulled up a chair to chat.

Toran was obedient and asked if she felt tired. He had learned how to massage meridians and adjust bones.

In the medical room, Gastie lay face down on the bed as Toran pressed her back through her shirt with precise fingers, soothingly.

He moved from her back to her waist and hips, then to her legs and feet.

His strength hadn’t weakened over time; his touch remained firm.

Gastie felt comfortable and drowsy.

When she fell asleep, Toran’s heart raced. It was his first time touching a woman’s body; he was nervous.

Especially since Gastie was a young, beautiful woman.

The medical room was cool; Toran covered her with his own jacket and then focused on Frey’s medical notes.

Medicine was practical, and he studied diligently.

The room was quiet except for sunlight streaming in. After a long time, Gastie woke and saw Toran standing by the window reading. The scene looked like a painting. She thought of a word Rozy had said: art.

Gastie sat on the bed’s edge, fingers tangling in her short blonde hair, wondering why she thought of Rozy now. Everything that had happened was because of him, leaving her life hopeless.

Damn it! Damn it!

When Toran was pushed down earlier, he was still dazed. His clothes were roughly torn off, and his inexperienced body was violated.

Gastie’s expression was wild and frenzied, as if caught in some passionate turmoil. She was violent toward Toran, leaving many bruises despite his compliance.

At that moment, Toran knew nothing of psychology; he only found Gastie terrifying.

Yet his body involuntarily responded to her, even filled with pleasure, craving more.

Gastie gave him more, breaking him down with violence and lust. Toran couldn’t resist; he looked up at her and cried out,

“Gastie, Gastie.”

The woman’s arms wrapped tightly around him.

Outside, the sky was streaked with sunset clouds; the evening light was murky.

Water ran in the bathroom. Gastie sat on the bed’s edge, fingers tangled in her hair, frustrated. What had she done? Was she a beast?

The villagers here were conservative; relations were only proper after marriage. Sander was her responsibility—she was training him to be promotable.

But Toran was a mistake. What to do?

Maybe just pay him off and pretend it never happened. She would never ruin his reputation. Eating the hot dinner, Gastie’s mind was still in chaos.

Toran was also a good cook, making finger-sized noodles mixed in thick soup—adorable and tender.

Gastie thought of finishing quickly, but her spoon kept bringing food to her mouth. Such beauty and virtue—if they went out, other men wouldn’t stand a chance. Could that be why they were isolated here?

Her thoughts raced wildly without end.

At night, Gastie pondered how much money was appropriate. She opened and closed a drawer, knowing she must pay for her mistake.

Those without wealth didn’t deserve to be fickle.

Toran finished tidying up and knocked before entering. He shyly looked at Gastie, who felt even more beastly but kept a cold expression.