Chapter 8 : This Is How You Say “Master”

The star chart on the ceiling of the chamber spun upside down before Milly’s eyes, its constellations shifting like distant fate.

Thorny vines coiled tightly around her bare left leg, the刺刺 pain making her clench her teeth.

But what truly made Milly’s soul bleed wasn’t the pain.

It was the sentence Stacy had implanted in her mind.

What do you mean the three chances are already up? Punishment starts now?

No pronunciation rules. No explanation. Just force her to mimic lip movements—and if she gets it wrong, bam, instant corporal punishment?

Back in her old world, this kind of teaching would get someone reported. At worst, their teaching license revoked. Who the hell educates like this?

Stacy twisted the vines, turning Milly mid-air until they faced each other.

The girl’s expression was full of defiance.

Oh? Are you questioning me?

Fine. One last chance.

A thorned vine sprouted from Stacy’s fingertip, rapidly growing until its sharp, blood-dark tip pressed against Milly’s waist—just a hair’s breadth from her skin.

“If you mess up this time, I won’t hold back.”

Milly locked her gaze onto Stacy’s lips.

This time, the Fell God slowed her mouth movements deliberately. Good. Very clear. She could do this.

After a few quiet rehearsals, mimicking the shape, Milly felt confident.

She opened her mouth—

And the thorn dug in.

“Tone was wrong.”

Agony shot through her body. Not like the earlier slaps—this was precise, deep, cruel. Milly nearly shattered her molars keeping the scream trapped in her throat.

But the thorn didn’t withdraw.

It stayed, pressing deeper, a constant sting—like a thousand needles piercing her at once.

“Next time, it won’t just go in a little further.”

Stacy formed the sound again with her lips. Still incomprehensible. But Milly copied it perfectly—lips, shape, everything. Her voice was nearly identical.

Yet the thorn sank deeper.

A muffled groan escaped her. Blood welled from the wound, trickling down the vine, dripping—drop by drop—onto Stacy’s waiting fingertip.

She lifted it to her lips, tongue flicking out to taste.

Sweet. Unexpectedly so.

“You’ve failed five times now, little Milly.”

Milly gasped for air, sweat beading on her forehead. This wasn’t a game anymore. Stacy was serious.

Each breath sent fresh pain radiating from her side. The thorn was already buried deep. One more mistake, and it might pierce straight through.

Haa… haa…

She forced her breathing to steady. She couldn’t afford a sixth mistake.

Something was off. Her lip shape was perfect. No nasal tone. So it had to be—her tongue.

The sixth demonstration came quickly. Milly focused, watching through Stacy’s slightly parted lips—the movement of her tongue inside the mouth. Crystal clear.

This time… it should be right.

She took a deep breath, positioned her tongue, and spoke.

The vine retracted.

And for the first time, Stacy smiled—satisfied.

Gasping, Milly’s flushed face lit up with smug triumph.

See? Not that hard.

The vines lowered her slightly, aligning her upside-down gaze with Stacy’s. Was this it? If she got a few more right, would she finally be set down?

Come on, hurry up—say the next word. Hanging like this was making her head throb with blood. One more minute and she wouldn’t be able to speak at all.

Thankfully, Stacy wasn’t planning to drag this out.

Flaming letters materialized in the air.

But—wait. Wasn’t that the same word she’d just said?

“Again,” Stacy commanded. “Say it… with feeling.”

With feeling?

How was she supposed to pour emotion into a word whose meaning she didn’t even know?

If she got the emotion wrong, would that thorn go straight back in? Knowing Stacy, absolutely.

She’d have to gamble.

Milly rehearsed the sound in her mind. Then, pinching her voice into a sweet, sugary tone, she delivered the word with exaggerated affection.

Silence.

No thorn. No pain.

She exhaled in relief.

But Stacy’s expression remained unreadable. Neither pleased nor angry.

The flaming text didn’t vanish.

Again. The same word.

This time, however, meaning flooded into Milly’s mind—clear, undeniable.

“Master.”

“Hah? You want me to call you that—that shameful title…?” Milly twisted violently, her hair brushing against Stacy’s knees. “Just stab the vine into my brain already!”

She should’ve known. What kind of word would this woman teach her?

It was one thing not to know before. But now? Now that she knew?

No way. Two words: Dream on.

Stacy’s crimson eyes narrowed sharply.

She didn’t understand the full sentence—but that mouth of Milly’s was awfully bold. Was she daring to breathe defiance at her?

Punished last night. Disobedient again today.

Clearly, little Milly hadn’t learned a thing.

Without warning, the thorn plunged into her side.

Milly’s curse died in a choked sob. Pain exploded through her nerves, so intense she nearly bit through her own tongue.

She gasped, trembling, trying to steady her breath—

When thick, pulsating tendrils—each as thick as a bowl—slithered out from beneath Stacy’s skirt.

Wait—what the hell is that?!

Milly’s eyes widened in pure horror.

Before she could react, the tendrils wrapped around her body—coiling, pressing, invading her senses with a grotesque, unbearable sensation.

“S-Stop! You… pervert!” Milly thrashed, the bell on her thigh ring clanging frantically with every violent jerk.

A cool breath brushed her burning earlobe.

In her mind, a clear message formed:

“Voice is wrong. Remember—Master. Not anything else.”

Something slithered up her collarbone, tickling her neck. In her hypersensitive state, the tiny touch nearly made her faint.

Now she’d beg, wouldn’t she? Call her Master with that trembling voice?

Milly did speak.

But her tone was pure, unbroken defiance.

“Master my ass—you’re more like an octopus.”

Still so bold.

So the lesson hadn’t been harsh enough.

Stacy’s face darkened.

Her gaze locked onto Milly’s open, defiant mouth.

A shadow flickered.

The unfinished insult died in a whimper.

But Stacy wasn’t trying to silence her.

One tendril slid into her mouth, coiling gently around her small, trembling tongue.

Then, under Stacy’s control, Milly’s lips moved—against her will.

“M-Master…”

Stacy’s delicate fingers caressed the girl’s burning cheek, her voice low, icy, and absolute.

“This… is how you say Master.

Understood?”