Chapter 5

Justice had nothing to do all day. Having read every book on her shelves, she sat at her desk, staring blankly with her back to the sunlight.

Sand knocked and entered. Seeing Justice’s profound boredom, he first folded her dried pajamas, then pressed and hung up her uniform shirt and trousers. By the time he finished his tasks, Justice remained in the same posture as when he had first arrived. Sand’s lips moved, but no sound came out; he exited quietly.

That afternoon at the training grounds, Justice held a roster. She randomly picked a few names, and a chorus of wails erupted.

"Officer, I was already beaten yesterday!"

The voice was loud. Justice took pity on him. "Then you may step down." The man happily sat back down, while the others wore bitter expressions as the surveillance cameras recording the daily training were set up.

Sand sat on the steps, watching the agile figure in the center of the field. He pondered why she had come here. Her predecessor was clearly no match for her; the head chef had mentioned she was a graduate of the Empire’s finest, the Silver Academy. Sand shook his head vigorously, telling himself not to be curious, yet his gaze involuntarily followed her. The dozen or so men who went up against her were no match, and they were all soon sprawled on the ground. Justice told them to get lost and called for the next group.

As dusk fell, Sand brought dinner to her room. Justice was in the shower. He picked up the soiled clothes from the floor, placed them in the laundry basket, and tidied the scattered items in the room. When he went to place a pen in the desk drawer, he caught sight of a photograph.

The sound of water stopped. He frantically shut the drawer, then hesitated, opened it again, shut it, and finally took the pen out and placed it on the desk.

Justice emerged wearing blue plaid loungewear and went straight to the small cabinet, where a glass of water had already been poured. The balcony faced west, offering a view of the beautiful sunset, and dinner had been set out with neatly arranged tableware. Justice sat down and said, "Stay here tonight."

"Yes, Officer."

Dining amidst such beautiful scenery was a pleasure, but even such views could grow tiresome when seen every day. Her blonde hair was cropped short, just brushing her ears. Her slippers dangled from her feet, and her ocean-blue eyes looked at people with a chilling lack of warmth.

Sand took his portion of food home. On the way, his mind kept returning to the photograph he had seen. That woman had once had warmth, a beating heart. He was terrified of being discovered; that photo had never been in the drawer before. Sand did not linger, clutching his change of clothes to his chest as he left. The guards were familiar with his face and let him pass.

Back in the room, Justice played chess against herself while Sand showered. When he emerged, he wore only a towel around his waist. Since he had been eating well, his physique had filled out; his arms were smooth and muscular, his chest fair and clean, and his legs long and straight. That face, now that it had gained some flesh, was even more striking.

Justice pushed aside the boring chessboard and walked toward the beautiful man who had already lain down. Only the dim light of a bedside lamp remained. The skin of the freshly bathed man felt slightly cool. Her slender fingers teased his body, and he was sensitive, reacting intensely. He could not resist pinning her down; his kisses were chaotic and urgent, his breathing heavy. Sand did not know why he felt a surge of rage; he wanted to crush her, to bite her. Under the dim light, the woman was beautiful—a person he could never truly touch. Sand lifted her waist, desperate to be closer to her.

It was an indulgent and chaotic night. The next day, Sand knelt on the balcony, repenting before God, while Justice brushed her teeth, watching him mutter over a scripture. As she turned to rinse her mouth, she saw herself smiling in the mirror. Sand brought a spark of joy to her unchanging life; he was adorable.

At breakfast, Justice asked, "Are you literate?"

Sand shook his head. Only the town had a school; the village did not.

"Then how do you read the scriptures?"

"The elders recite them to us."

Justice found it incredible—an oral tradition. She found a storybook on her shelf, along with paper and a pen. "I’m giving you a task: learn ten characters every day."

"Yes, Officer."

Without teaching basic grammar, Justice placed the pen in his hand, adjusted his fingers, and then held his hand, teaching him to write stroke by stroke, starting with the first word in the storybook. After writing it, they practiced the pronunciation. It was a momentary whim for Justice, but for Sand, it was a deeply moving gesture, making him feel guilty for his anger the day before. Justice was surprised to find that Sand had an excellent memory; he didn't just remember ten characters—he learned fifty.

She suddenly found a passion for teaching. After the lesson, she took him to the training ground. Justice demonstrated a few combat moves, and he nodded to show he had memorized them. Justice told him to attack, but Sand shook his head, saying he couldn't.

"If you don't fight, I won't teach you anymore."

With those words, Sand threw a punch at Justice. It was fast, but she dodged it easily, saying in a light tone, "Hey, not bad."

Seeing his punch miss, and remembering that no one here was her match, Sand let go of his reservations, his eyes becoming focused and sharp. He applied the moves she had just taught him with precision. A smile appeared on Justice's face—she wouldn't be bored anymore.

When Sand returned home bruised and battered, his family was shocked, looking at his wounds with heartache. But he said it was fine. "It just looks serious; it doesn't actually hurt. The Officer taught me many things today." Sand excitedly told them that Justice was not only teaching him to read but also how to fight. His family’s alarm dissipated, and they began to be happy for him. Carlos said, "Big brother, you might be able to join the army one day."

In Merris, being chosen to join the army and serve the Empire was an incredibly honorable thing. Hope flickered in Sand’s eyes; he wanted to wear a uniform just like Justice’s.

In the time that followed, Sand studied diligently, maintained a respectful attitude, performed his chores as a manservant with meticulous care, and was an energetic lover at night—satisfying Justice in every way. A month passed, and the change in Sand was enough to surprise even the soldiers. Dressed in his old uniform, he looked more like a soldier than they did, his spine perfectly straight. He rarely appeared before the villagers, and his family saw him often enough not to notice the drastic change.

Therefore, on this morning, before dawn, Sand was already dressed and ready to leave when he ran into his old friend, Willian. He greeted him awkwardly and hurried away. Willian was still stunned by the shock; Sand had changed so much that if he hadn't seen him coming out of his house, he wouldn't have recognized him. He looked no different from the soldiers. Willian frowned; Sand had been avoiding his gaze and seemed in such a hurry to leave. Willian turned and followed.

He saw that Sand could enter without being stopped, and not even the soldiers teased him—though his beauty was plain for all to see. Their parents had told them that beauty was a disaster and the only way to protect themselves was to never reveal their true faces. But now, Willian saw Sand looking like a soldier, with no one paying any mind to his face.

Today, Sand seemed preoccupied, the worry on his face too obvious. Justice asked him, "Sand, what are you thinking about? You're distracted."

Sand, who was folding clothes, snapped back to reality and lowered his eyes, saying it was nothing. He felt uneasy, fearing that Willian would discover how he obtained the food—Willian, whose beauty even surpassed his own.

When the day ended, Sand returned under the cover of night, his arms full of food. He stopped in his tracks, for Willian was standing in the middle of his path, looking straight at him. "Sand, have you forgotten our past vows?"

Sand pursed his lips, ignoring Willian, and walked past him. Willian’s pupils constricted. Smelling the aroma of the hot food, he clenched his fingers and shouted at Sand’s retreating back, "Sand, you’ve betrayed us!"

Sand did not stop. If he had betrayed them, then so be it; he had already betrayed God. Seeing his resolute back, Willian was furious. Sand had changed; he didn't want his friends anymore.

Sand returned home and warned his family not to get close to anyone, as Willian had seen him bringing food back. His family’s expressions turned grim, and they all promised never to reveal anything; life was finally getting better, and no one wanted to lose that.

Three nights later, on his way back, Sand was surrounded by three men—his old friends, Willian, Raven, and Lucy. The three demanded to know how he got the food. Sand remained silent, and his refusal to answer angered them, so they tried to snatch it. Sand had learned basic combat techniques and was strong and fit; dealing with three people was not difficult. What was difficult was quenching their curiosity.

Sand easily subdued the three of them. The night fell into silence. Willian asked him, "What exactly have you been doing? Why can't you tell us? We want food, too."

Sand replied, "I do odd jobs for the military, and the food is my pay."

Raven immediately asked, "Then can you introduce us?"

"No."

"Why!"

"If you go, I won't have any work left."

Lucy swallowed hard. "Can you give us a bite?"

Sand hesitated. "If you promise not to bother me anymore, I can share some with you."

Lucy nodded; the other two said nothing. Sand picked out some burnt bread for Lucy. "It's nothing good, just burnt scraps."

Lucy ate it the moment he got it. Even though it was burnt, he found it incredibly delicious. "It’s the taste of bread."

Under the temptation of the food’s aroma, the other two also agreed not to bother him. The burnt bread wasn't entirely charred, just scorched around the edges. The three watched Sand’s retreating back and sighed. Lucy said, "If it were us, we wouldn't want to give up the job either." The three didn't think much further; after all, the "blonde demon" was notorious, and they couldn't connect the two.

No longer being pestered, Sand returned to his old self. His smiles returned, and his emerald eyes became clear once more.

One day, Sand was asked to stay the night. He leaned on Justice’s shoulder, listening to her read from a storybook, and was lulled to sleep. Justice looked at his sleeping profile, lost in thought.

The night sky here had no neon lights, no light from high-altitude buildings; the stars were brilliant and exceptionally bright. Justice couldn't sleep. She laid Sand down, turned off the light, and went to the balcony. The base was brightly lit, but only here was there light; beyond it lay only darkness. She sat there with a cigarette—the brand Mizar used to smoke. She lit it and took a drag, coughing uncomfortably. Mizar always laughed at her, saying she was good at everything except smoking.

The cigarette burned between her fingers as she touched the ring on her finger—it was empty, discarded and lost forever.

Sand reached out to touch her, found nothing, and woke up with a start. He turned on the bedside lamp, but the room was empty. Seeing the balcony door open, he got up and walked over.

Justice saw him approach and asked, "Do you smoke?"

"Yes."

Justice opened a silver cigarette case. Sand took one, crudely stuck it in his mouth, struck a lighter on the table, and tilted his head to light it. He put down the lighter, held the cigarette between his fingers, and blew a puff of smoke at Justice with a smile.

Justice stared at him blankly. Sand chuckled. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

The cigarette burned his finger, and Justice flicked it into the ashtray. Her voice, raspy from the smoke, asked, "You can't even get enough to eat, so why do you smoke?"

Sand took a deep drag, exhaled slowly, and said, "Every man smokes."

"I tried learning for a long time, but I still couldn't adapt to it."

Sand let out a hearty laugh. "There’s something you can’t do? Smoking is easy. Do you want me to teach you?"

His neatly trimmed fingers skillfully tapped ash into the ashtray. His emerald eyes, excited by this new discovery, sparkled in the night.

Justice smiled faintly, her tone softer than it had ever been. "Go shower after you finish that cigarette; you smell like smoke."

Sand’s fingers stiffened. He frowned and took a deep drag. "I’ll go as soon as I finish this one."

The lightness of a moment ago vanished.

In the mist-filled bathroom, Sand thought of that photograph—Justice with long hair, leaning on someone else’s shoulder, her smile bright. He punched the wall.

"Damn it, who do you think I am!"