Jorgen-5

Glocara carried the freshly cooked meal and, under the watchful eye of the guard, headed to the small house at the end of the corridor. The narrow corridor resembled the stripped veins of a leaf, where Glocara and the guard, as tangible entities, were the nutrients flowing through. Only a brief period of sunlight, from 2:20 to 3:00 in the afternoon, could penetrate. It was the limit of the all-encompassing sun. The struggling moon, on the verge of breathlessness, rarely had the chance to pierce its silvery tentacles, only furiously scraping the tops of the walls on both sides. Glocara thought about the woman she had collided with earlier, the one responsible for her having to remake the meal. The woman didn't seem important, dressed like a traveling merchant's wife, with eyes like a doe, honest and alert. Glocara also noticed a guard accompanying her. Outside the castle, Glocara saw the window of the room she had briefly stayed in years ago open after being closed for half a year, indicating someone had moved in. Perhaps it was the woman. It was Prince Galian's room specifically used for confining people, but Glocara felt no pity or concern for the woman; everyone had their own affairs to manage.

In front of the small house, a female soldier took the plate Glocara was carrying and placed it on the nearby platform, then proceeded to search her. For three years, it had always been this female soldier performing this task an endlessly repetitive process, the most tedious yet precise form of physical contact. For three years, the search yielded no results. For three years, the two of them engaged in this peculiar form of communication.

"Why are you late today?" the female soldier asked while patting Glocara's waist.

"I got bumped on the way, and everything spilled. Had to redo it."

"No problem; he won't mind."

"Are you suggesting... let him eat the spilled food, or just serve it later than usual?"

"The latter. But as long as you don't tell him the food was spilled, he won't care."

"...Don't be so sure."

"Go in."

The soldier opened the door, and Glocara went inside with the food. The person accompanying her stayed outside.

"I'm closing the door," Glocara said.

"Just a moment, you..."

Glocara used the tip of her foot to shut the door. Their strange camaraderie over the past three years allowed her to take this liberty. Then she turned and looked at Tusha. He lay on the stone bed in the corner, facing inward. An iron chain extended from the wall through a hole at the bed's head, connecting to an iron ring around his neck. In the middle of the room was a low table with no chairs, and a chamber pot sat in the corner. Apart from that, there was nothing else. Lawrence didn't allow Tusha to have anything that could potentially become a weapon, and he couldn't bring any experimental materials back. Tusha could continue his work in his room, but it was limited to mental activities; no pen and paper were allowed to prevent data leaks.

"Time to eat," Glocara placed the food on the table. The table was so small that when she put her hands on it, both elbows hung over the edge.

Tusha turned over, and the length of the iron chain was just enough for him to sit at the table. He crossed his legs, palms resting on his knees.

"It's a bit late today," Glocara said. "I spilled the food when I left the kitchen, so I had to redo it."

"No big deal," Tusha said. "It's not like it spilled into a mud puddle. Scoop it up, and it's still edible."

Glocara was somewhat irritated, not only because it confirmed the female soldier's opinion. Even though she knew her culinary skills were not great, the most tragic thing for a chef was when the customer didn't care about the taste or even the freshness of what was prepared.

"If humans had such low expectations for their meals as you do," Glocara said, "poor people struggling to eat would lose about eighty percent of their business."

"The human body is too delicate," Tusha said, putting a piece of meat into his mouth.

To prevent the guard outside from overhearing, they spoke in hushed tones.

So, Glocara remained silent and watched Tusha eat. She always felt that the iron ring around his neck might choke him, even though it had never happened. The iron ring was clearly lifeless and fixed, yet it always gave the illusion that it might unexpectedly tighten. It wouldn't be fatal, but it looked much more menacing than a noose used for hanging. After three years of body searches, Glocara had long adapted to this boring procedure, but she could never get used to the sight of a restrained person eating. Enjoying food was a release for survival and should not be combined with closed chains.

"Today, Galian brought Jorgen to see me," Tusha said while eating.

"What?"

"I said I met Jorgen, Miss Glocara."

"Who?"

"Jorgen."

Glocara frowned and looked at the ground. Then she said, "Oh, that guy from SI:7."

"You don't seem excited at all."

"Why should I be excited?"

"Don't human women like surprises? The so-called 'thrills.'"

"...Only if it's something that can make me happy. That guy obviously doesn't meet that criteria, and besides, I've forgotten what he looks like."

"Oh, forget it, then."

Tusha fell silent and continued eating.

After half a minute, Glocara said, "So what happened? That's it?"

"You said you're not interested."

"I'm not interested in him personally. I want to know how he found you. Probably not a good thing, dealing with people from SI:7."

"Cough." Tusha took a sip of water. "Compared to our current situation, SI:7 is not that sinister."

"Okay, okay. Tell me about him."

"He's aged a bit from before."

"...Are you deliberately trying to annoy me?"

"No, no... These changes in appearance are symbolic because he's no longer the anonymous detective sneaking around Booty Bay. He has gained a high position and this time, he came to inspect the research I'm working on on behalf of the SI:7 leader."

"So, he's allied with Galian now."

"It's not that simple. The situation is quite complicated."

"What did he say to you?"

"That conversation was quite interesting. A few years ago in Booty Bay, I found talking to him amusing, and now that feeling has deepened. The moment he approached me, he skillfully put on the appearance of dealing with a stranger, and I, of course, played along with the hint. Although Galian was present throughout the process, he probably didn't realize that we already knew each other."

"Nothing strange about that. Galian is a blockhead."

"He was very interested in my involvement in this plan and went to great lengths to find out my attitude... Basically, I told him the truth, of course, without attracting too much attention from Galian. Honestly, Miss Glocara, a few years ago, I just found him interesting, nothing more. But now, I think it's wise to be somewhat cautious. After all, with a single command from him now, both of us might lose our lives."

"Since that's the case, I have more reason to dislike him than a few years ago."

"However, I also gathered some information about him. I deliberately shouted to Galian, 'Tonight, have Glocara bring the food early.' Jorgen immediately seized this opportunity and asked about you. Prince Galian could only tell him, 'Glocara is a woman brought here by Tusha as a hostage.' Jorgen's expression at that moment was quite interesting; he clearly doubted this statement. He asked Galian, 'Why keep a woman who may not keep secrets for so long?'... Don't be angry yet, Miss Glocara, he was obviously intentional in his tone. Galian pointed at me and said, 'It was his request.' Jorgen looked at me, didn't continue questioning, just said, 'Hard to understand. I don't want to waste time on this boring matter. Let's get back to the main topic.' You see, stopping there was wise because he already knows your situation, and digging further would have raised suspicions."

Tusha imitated Jorgen's tone while quoting him. Unfortunately, trolls are quite inept in such matters, so it still sounded like the complaints of a troll with his mouth full of food to Glocara.

The guard outside knocked on the door. "Done eating?" he said.

"Coming." Glocara replied, folding the two empty plates.

"Miss Glocara."

"What?"

"How about I suggest to Jorgen to take you away?"

Her movements halted. "...What did you say?"

"I'll hint to Jorgen to take you away from this damn place."

Glocara remained silent for a moment.

"How do you know he'd be willing to do that?"

"I could see it in his eyes. He's glad you're still alive. I think it's a good idea; Jorgen has so much power now, he must have a way..."

"This matter has already been settled." Glocara snatched the last plate from Tusha's hands. "If you can't leave, I won't leave either."

"Did we discuss this outcome before?"

"Anyway, this time it's about whether he should take me away, and the decision lies with me. If we were talking about you leaving first instead of me, that's a different matter." Glocara carried the plates back to the door and said, "Open up. I want to go back. It stinks in here."

As the door opened, Glocara briskly stepped out, causing the guard to almost think she was attempting to escape. He caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

"What are you doing?" Glocara shook off the guard's hand, and two of the three plates fell to the ground. They were wooden plates, so they didn't break. They spun on the floor for a couple of turns before settling down, and Glocara threw the last one to the ground. The plate bounced around on the floor, circling her ankle before finally falling.

She thought about kicking it again, but the guard grabbed her hand again, pulling her back.

"Don't throw a tantrum for no reason," the guard said.

Glocara was infuriated. What do they take me for? No one has ever explicitly stated why Tusha insisted that the "hostage" from the past serve him meals every day, but she knew it very well: it was the only way to ensure her survival, simple yet effective. If Tusha demanded to see Glocara every day, Galian wouldn't have the chance or reason to harm her; compromising on this matter was something he could do to gain Tusha's cooperation. She had lived an additional three years solely because of Tusha, and perhaps she could continue to live on in the future. However, now that Tusha intended to provide a different form of help, she was not willing. Logically, it made no sense, and she knew it. But she couldn't betray her own feelings.

Don't treat me like a commodity that can be passed around at will. Tusha, I owe you at least three more years.