I cannot understand this woman; perhaps her stupidity is inherited from her parents. It is because they employ such incompetent and foolish women as spies that a nation falls so miserably and easily. Useless wretches who produce neither proper judgment nor any notable results. I flash a bitter sneer at the folly of those who try to gain things easily and half-heartedly, when one must endure and bite back until their fingernails fall out to finally achieve victory. A miserable woman, facing a tragic fate where she was sold as a hostage of a defeated nation because she knew no better and didn't know how to show her teeth, struggles before me. Why are her tears, falling beneath that ridiculous plea of 'please,' so intoxicating to me? Have you ever even imagined the nights spent gradually becoming addicted to poison just to adapt to it? The wreckage of war where the whole body was ground down? Just as I cannot understand emotions like a conscience that has been stripped naked and forgotten, she cannot understand my life. At every moment, we miss each other, walking toward different ideals. A staggering and distant fate that can never be joined, yet the more we try to pull each other down, the more we become entangled and unable to escape. You'll have to learn a prettier way to ask.

If I imagine myself just looking at you, if I face the cruel nature lurking within me, I feel as if I'm suffocating. Why did it turn out like this? Where did this blind desire to break her, which persists until this very moment, originate? I enjoy this obsession and madness slowly taking over my body. Because the more you break, the stronger I feel. Every breath of mine is directed solely at you; I will play with you until this breath ceases. Because your pain completes me. So just stay like this, swaying like a doll as I wield you. That is the only thing you are capable of. Unless I permit it, you can do nothing. So accept it now—the cruel and beautiful truth that you cannot flee even a single step from me.

'Oh God'—there is no hope more false than that phrase. Thinking that God has abandoned you is a mere delusion; God never had you to begin with. Life is something one carves out for oneself; if your life has fallen into an inescapable mire, isn't that proof you chose the wrong answer at every crossroad? You, who are barely breathing beside me now, must have made the wrong choice at every one of those moments. Perhaps being born in that country was the wrong choice from the start. Thinking that way, I unfortunately felt a sense of pity for her. Isn't it too harsh that her very beginning was an error, when all she possessed was that single body? There is no one by your side but me, this godforsaken beast, but you are too weak for me to tell you such a truth. Poor thing.

The cruel hunter gives the fleeing prey a moment to breathe, offering a shallow trust that he won't harm them, while waiting for them to take an even sweeter bait. How should I describe this? Would it be better to call it aesthetics? I don't care about waiting a few days to taste her despair as it ripens further. Nothing is more effective than despair for making one understand their situation. One who has been betrayed by their fate once will curse it and drive themselves even harder. Eventually, I will be waiting for you, submerged in despair, to reach out your hand to me and beg for salvation. So that I may take that slender hand, pull you into my embrace, and deeply engrave myself upon your despairing soul—until the name Vincent Toffker is the only thing that remains.