Chapter 24

Translated by boilpoil Edited by boilpoil

The slave in front of him makes Hopkin feel like he doesn’t understand him.

He’s a tough nut to crack, with extraordinary recovery power. It’s like a roly-poly, bouncing back quickly as you hit it with your fingertip again and again, shakily resisting against the force playing with it. It’s both a bit laughable and a bit cute.

At first he became interested in the emotion of repulsion the slave exhibited, then he is drawn in by his flexibility and resilience. Even experiencing torture, pain and weakness, the slave does not give up fighting; whatever cruel treatment he receives, he recovers the next day.

Yet he’s not some dimwit with no brains, nor some innocent lamb that can’t steel his heart. He knows to read the situation and is ruthless enough to use his own body. He can mask his own objectives with struggles of pain, to try getting a glimpse at his identity.

Bright’s nerve feels endless excitement just recalling his eyes back then.

Where is the breeding ground birthing such mental resistance? What gives him his impregnable willpower? What is it that allows him to disperse the trauma of torture?

He can’t possibly endure not investigating further. Hopkin is more and more interested in him by the second, so that he is in front of Bright just after a single day.

Bright has a look of surprise seeing him, so the photographer stops shooting as well.

Hopkin has come as the trainer, so he snatches the camera away from the photographer, looking over his productions, commenting, “too plain.”

The photographer doesn’t know who he is, so he doesn’t take kindly to that, “Where are you from? Don’t get in the way of our work.” Someone drags him away from behind, while reminding the other staff to listen to Hopkin.

Bright is slightly confused. Are trainers highly regarded among society here? Or is it that he has a special background besides his job?

“You’re certainly a jack of trades.” He probes him.

Hopkin says plainly, “photography, in the end, is just a matter of lighting, so the technique is not hard. What’s key is the sense and taste of art.” That photographer clearly lacked in those areas. He didn’t even have the ability to analyse his subject, trying to photograph a wild beast as a housecat, what spoliation.

Bright shouldn’t be in a shirt, nor should he be getting out of bed, and most of all he should not be relaxed and lazing about.

“Get me a military uniform.” Hopkin orders.

The showiness in one’s hard copy photos is a mysterious, unpredictable power. With the addition and strengthening of this power, you can overcome all physical laws of nature to become the number one most sexy God of the universe that has the power to seduce, entice and drain you across the screen.

Bright is clearly in possession of this magical power.

The man is in a dark green military uniform. Every button of it scrupulously buttoned-up, every strand of his hair orderly combed. He is wearing a necktie, boasting a medal, and carrying a weapon by his waist. There isn’t a single wrinkle on his clothes. It is meticulously done looking as if he is a soldier preparing to attend his own awards ceremony.

The military uniform tightly encapsulates the male specimen full of masculine appeal. The thick, wide shoulders, the broad, tough chest, and the mouthwatering abdominal muscles all perfectly stretch the clothes tense. Many eyes lay on top of it, wanting to tear those annoying fabric away, to bite on his pectoralis major and his rectus abdominis . Oh, and not to mention those amazingly straight and long legs, perfectly proportioned to his upper body, and even more attractive once it is in military trousers.

He stands tall and proud, in a different way to soldiers, however, as he has not received professional training.

Hopkin instructs him, “tighten your buttocks, it is looking too big and lascivious… Stop. I didn’t ask you to hump forward.”

The man puts on a difficult expression, with a hint of aggrievement in it.

Bright’s mind is going, so it’s my fault I have a big booty?

Bright’s photos of standing at attention, sitting, walking, gun-wielding, and fighting are taken as per instruction. It is many times more tiring than working with the previous photographer. Bright feels tired after being moved around so much.

Hopkin is scrutinising his own work with an expression of both satisfaction and pickiness. Bright gets two bottles of water and sits next to him, one for himself and one he hands towards him. Hopkin refuses with his expression and continues looking at the screen. Bright shrugs, paying no mind to it.

“How long have you been learning?” Bright asks.

“Two hours.”

“Then you’re really a genius.”

Hopkin explains in a tone for country bumpkins, “the fundamental education is just one single shot in the City. It’s done in 3 seconds and for a cheap price too, affordable even for a simple family. It’s just secondary education and specialised skills that are more expensive.” He pauses, “oh, I almost forgot. You’re from outside the City. It’s not too late to get your shot now; you need to put some common sense in that empty skull of yours.”

This is so revolutionary to Bright’s worldview, that he doesn’t even register his sarcasm.

A childhood without reciting passages is incomplete.

Getting knowledge so easily has many untold risks.

“I’m broke, I gave my bonus to others.” Bright says. This is his excuse, because who knows what strange substances they might inject him with, messing with his brain. Then he follows up on his logic, “then why would you spend time to learn?”

Because he is bored and needs to kill time. Besides, it’s as easy for him as eating and drinking. Bright describing him as a ‘genius’ is finally a correct description for once.

Hopkin starts recalling the past then, a rare occasion for him. Why did he learn photography when he was younger? The memory’s so old he doesn’t react to much while he’s immersed.

Suddenly, noise can be heard coming from outside the studio.

The staff are looking at each other, confused, “what’s going on?”

“I’ll go out and see.” Someone runs outside. A short while later he returns with news, “some animal protection group has managed to make their way in, protesting the show using animals for people to kill for entertainment. The security detail is on it.”

“…” Bright cannot resonate with them, aren’t people being killed for entertainment here? Why’s there no human rights group popping up?

It’s like a messed up lawsuit he heard before. A father makes his daughter bodily join with their pet dog. The judge rules the father and daughter guilty for animal abuse because the animal is unable to comprehend what happened to them nor does it have the power to protect itself.

While he’s dissing inwardly, the rowdiness becomes louder and louder.

All until someone shouts, “Bomb!”

Bright subconsciously drags the one nearest to him and runs while looking for shelter. Yet the one being dragged is uncooperative and starts struggling violently. Bright uses more and more force until he firmly secures the arms of the other person, fully locking his body with the inside of his arms, and squeezes the side of his face on his chest.

When they finish hiding, the wall explodes. Dirt and wooden panels are flying, scattered about. Bright lowers his body as much as he can, lying on the floor.

“Target elimination complete. All persons are to wait for medical attention exactly where they are.”

A cold, mechanical voice rings out above.

Before Bright can react, Hopkin, half-suppressed under him, suddenly rolls over with power. Their postures are immediately reversed. The other person is looking at him in silence, so Bright cannot tell his expression through all the smoke from the explosion.

The announcement repeats several times. Bright tries to stand but Hopkin does not move.

“Hopkin, I can’t move with you there.”

Bright says in a slightly embarrassed manner. Hopkin just so happens to be suppressing Bright near his crotch. His little one is still a bit sensitive from all the adrenaline earlier, and it is having a reaction.

He is trying to treat this unfathomably gorgeous man in an equal manner. He needs a dialogue that is equal, even if it is just like a greeting with a stranger. Not the façade of calmness that hides the unspoken tension between contestants, not the unspoken authoritative relations of the owner-slave power dynamic in the show, and not the solitary confinement situation of a one-man-talking/one-dog-listening monologue with Latiao. And Hopkin is the best target he has encountered for that up to now.

When he recalls it afterwards, it is probably this deep-rooted solitariness that blinded his eyes from seeing him for who he really was.

“Don’t touch me so casually.” Hopkin’s voice appears to be suppressing something. Something like hatred.

Bright finally understands why this gorgeous dude doesn’t mingle like the sort does here. He’s a heavy clean freak, and is psychologically hampered on interacting with the same sex.

This makes him feel safe and empathic.

As the blast is over, the studio looks like a mess. Bright is finally able to stand up and sees there’s basically no casualties and everyone is conscious. At most it’s scratches or light wounds from being hit with something.

“Those damn animal protection groups, pulling something like this a few times a year.”

Bright doesn’t have time to care about anything else. He really needs to head to the toilet for now. As his military trousers were not that loose in the first place, all the folds are visibly gone after it is stretched tight.

He won’t be treated as a pervert, he hopes…

Author’s notes:

Bright: I saved your life, how do you plan on repaying me?

Hopkin: You touched me, so I’ll only take your hand away. I’ll let you keep your life.

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