Chapter 3: Learning Her Name the Hard Way

“Ugh…”

Tears spilled uncontrollably as her slender body jolted taut.
Stacy’s hand had fallen too suddenly—
a sharp crack across Milly’s tender backside.
The sting bloomed hot, and though she couldn’t see it, a red imprint surely marked her pale skin.

Dragged all the way here, Milly hadn’t shed a single tear.
Her thoughts had been consumed with only one bitter dare—
if Stacy had the guts, she should just kill her.

But Stacy clearly had no such intention.
The heavy slap left Milly’s eyes burning, her cheeks flushed crimson.

To be spanked—
there of all places—
dragged her unwilling mind back to childhood memories sealed in dust.
Back then it had been the same humiliating position, the same merciless hand.
Only, the strikes of her past had been far harsher than this.

That nightmare should have stayed buried in another life.
Why was it resurfacing here, after she had crossed into this twisted world?

“Milly… do you know your name now?”

“Know your damn hammer.”

The curse slipped in her native tongue, bitter and raw.
Even as the searing pain spread behind her, she kept her voice hard.
It was still bearable.
After all, when she was younger, the blows had been far worse.
If Stacy thought this would break her, she could just keep trying.

Blue eyes glared with unbending defiance.
One slap wasn’t enough.

Stacy’s arm lifted again, tracing a perfect arc in the air.
Another sharp crack landed on the opposite side.
Now both cheeks bore matching red handprints—symmetry achieved.

She admired her work with satisfaction.
But Milly only bit back a muffled groan, staring back with unshaken stubbornness.

Well, well.
The little one had more endurance than expected.
No need to hold back, then.

Until now, Stacy had shown restraint—enough sting to remind her who was in control, but not enough to leave real damage.
But if Milly wanted to tempt fate… then she would give her exactly what she was asking for.

Milly braced herself, jaw tight, waiting for the third strike.
Three was nothing.
She could take it.

But the third blow never came.

Instead, warm breath brushed her ear.
Stacy leaned close, her voice soft as silk, carrying words that etched themselves directly into Milly’s mind.

“I hope you’re ready.”

The gentleness in her tone was more terrifying than the pain.
It was the calm before a storm.
And in the silence, Milly heard a faint buzzing—
like crackling electricity.

Her heart sank.

Blue arcs sparked in Stacy’s palm, dancing like captive lightning.
That familiar zigzag of electric current she’d only ever seen online—
now it was pressed against her bare flesh.

The first slap had only burned.
The second left her numb.
But when the third came, wrapped in a surge of electricity, her vision went black.

In the haze, she saw flashes—
a man in a white coat advancing, a stun baton humming with lethal charge.

“Wait… I don’t have an internet addiction—!”
Her protest fractured into stammering cries as the current ripped through her body.
Her frail form convulsed helplessly, long white hair lifting and swaying like a sea anemone in a storm.

Stray strands brushed her scarlet ears.
Stacy’s hand caressed her trembling figure with grotesque tenderness.

“Do you remember your name now?”

Milly clenched her jaw, biting down hard.
She shook her head.

The response earned her another shock, sharper, crueler.
Strike after strike fell, each one heavy with thunder.
Until, at last, her will crumbled.
Curled tight like a wounded animal, she whimpered out broken syllables.

“Mi… lly…”

It was barely a whisper, but Stacy heard it.
At last, the little one had spoken her true name.

But that wasn’t enough.
Another arc flared alive in her palm.

“I didn’t quite hear you. If it’s as weak as before…”

The next strike thundered against her flesh.
Her cry split the silence, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.
Her trembling body could no longer hide its sobs.

But Stacy was merciless.
Crying didn’t count.
Time was ticking.

She eased the current only slightly, then struck again.

Finally, at last, a clear voice rang out.

“Milly!”

The sound broke like glass, shattering with tears, staining the carpet beneath her.

Lightning flickered one last time at Stacy’s fingertips, then dissolved.
Her hand swept gently down Milly’s shivering back.
The faint sparks danced harmlessly across her skin, melting into warmth.

The buzz of static still lingered, but the pain dulled into a strange heat that seeped into her veins.

“See? You should have done this from the start.”
Stacy lifted the limp girl with ease.
After gods knew how many shocks, the stubborn little thing had finally yielded.
The result was always inevitable—so why resist?
What was she holding onto?

She placed Milly face-down upon the bed.
Her vacant eyes stared unfocused, wisps of smoke curling faintly from her skin.

Perhaps Stacy had gone a little too far this time.

Her snowy hair stood on end from static, strands sparking as they refused to fall flat.
It would take time for the body to settle.
She could have absorbed the residual current herself—
but no.
Letting Milly feel it burn away on its own would etch the memory deeper.

The matter of her name was finished.
But Stacy had not forgotten her true goal.

The whip in her hand whispered against the air, poised above the scorched flesh that had once been soft as bread.
Now it was seared, hardened, blackened.

“Truthfully, I hadn’t planned to punish you further.
But listen well, outsider—
if you’re willing to leave this body, to leave this world, then your suffering ends here.”

She waited, whip raised, expecting surrender at last.

But Milly’s unfocused eyes only stared back, lips moving.
She spoke words Stacy could not understand.
The barrier of language made her frustration plain.

Ah, yes.
She had almost forgotten—
so far the little one could only speak her own name.
Language lessons would have to begin soon.
And if Milly failed to learn properly… there would be consequences.

But before Stacy could continue, Milly’s eyes fluttered shut.
At last, unconsciousness claimed her.

“Tch. You endured the whole thing, only to faint at the end? Foolish little kitten…”
Had she fainted sooner—or yielded sooner—she would have been spared.
Instead, she had stubbornly devoured every ounce of suffering.

Stacy studied the sleeping girl.
She could wake her, but there was no need.
Better to let her rest.

And so, before leaving, Stacy placed a hand upon her cheek.
Gentle light spread from her fingers, smoothing away the pain.
Milly’s breathing steadied, her pallor softened.

Stacy’s hand lingered over the golden thorn-mark upon her collarbone.
The sigil dimmed, retreating beneath the skin.
It would return when the time was right.

Only then did Stacy turn and leave the chamber.

Moments after she departed, Milly stirred.
Her face twisted in unease.
Not from pain—
but from the nightmare that bound her.

In her dream, she had become a pitiful Pikachu—without sparks of her own.
Stacy chased her across nine whole streets, a thunderous Pokéball crackling with lightning in hand.

And no matter how she ran, she could never escape.