And so, Tingoo's "sales outreach" begins with the top bidders from the auction.
First up is that nouveau riche guy.
I slip into the outfit they've prepared—something that screams high-class courtesan, blending seduction with elegance—and head to the designated love hotel.
As soon as we're alone, I strip naked, greet him with a sultry welcome, and spread my legs on the bed. He dives right in, devouring me, but...
"Damn it, that bastard beat me to it—pisses me off, but finally, I get a taste!
Shit, these huge tits and this pussy already have his spit all over them!"
He grumbles complaints while groping my breasts and pussy, sometimes slapping them in the process.
"Please don't mention the previous gentleman. Right now, you're my only focus.
And if you could refrain from hitting any harder—"
"Shut your mouth!"
A sharp pain explodes across my cheek—he slapped me!
"Stop it! If you resort to violence, I'll have to—"
"Quiet! You might be some pretty princess, but right now, you're just a whore spreading her legs for anyone!
I don't care if you're a dead fish—just lie there and take it without whining!"
With that, he kicks the back of my thigh!
That's it—enough. I leap back, hitting the button disguised as an ornament on my bag.
I stand up, using the bag (with its reinforced panel) as a makeshift shield, keeping my eyes on him while backing away to create distance.
"Ahh, what the hell did you do, you bitch! A whore's job is to shut up and get fucked!"
He snarls threats, but I stay silent to avoid provoking him further, staying vigilant while waiting for help.
The tension makes time drag on as I tune out his curses. Finally, the door bursts open—the driver rushes in, delivers a swift kick to the guy's balls, then pins him face-down!
"Are you hurt? Backup's on the way—get to the bathroom for now!"
Snapping back to reality, I dash into the bathroom, lean against the wall, and slump to the tile floor.
Now that I'm safe, the terror hits me full force. I hug my knees, my body shaking uncontrollably.
We figured only the rare idiot would pull something this stupid, given the warnings.
But irrational bullshit doesn't wait for the right moment—this is only my second time, and it's already happened.
How much time passes? Mom bursts into the bathroom and pulls me into a tight embrace.
"It's okay now, Ange! You must have been terrified—you handled it so well. I'm proud of you."
Her words snap the last thread of my composure. "Mommy!" I cling to her and sob uncontrollably.
She holds me close, stroking my hair the whole time...
Once I've calmed down enough, we leave the bathroom—there are no men in sight anymore.
I get dressed, and Mom escorts me outside to the car.
The driver is a guy, but thankfully, I don't feel any fear toward him—he's my savior, after all.
He drives us back to the apartment in near silence, and upon arrival, just says, "Call when you're settled," before leaving.
＊＊＊＊
This jumps the timeline a bit, but let's cover what happened to that nouveau riche creep, along with a rundown of the empire's court and justice system. Skip it if you're not interested.
If a crime is blatantly obvious with rock-solid evidence, it goes straight to a special legal agency for a guilty verdict, then off to hard labor sites.
Of course, they abhor wrongful convictions, and there's a three-trial system, but evidence like the hotel cameras (only accessible by women, with heavy penalties for illegal removal) and the audio from Angelica's bag device is more than enough for an instant guilty finding.
The philosophy prioritizes swiftly removing clear-cut criminals from society over the idea that punishing people always requires a full trial process.
Trials are reserved for cases where proof is tricky.
Some argue that recordings without consent can't be evidence, but in the empire—where protecting courtesans is a big deal—it's an official exception. Ting Gu's explanatory email even mentions the recording.
He probably didn't read it closely... or more like, in his rage, even the basics like "no violence" flew out of his head.
The day he arrives at the hard labor site starts his sentence clock. Lawyer meetings happen after work or during breaks.
In these fast-tracked guilty cases, if settlement talks fail, the trial finally happens. The defense pushing for acquittal or damages from wrongful detention is basically impossible and often backfires—seen as showing no remorse, leading to harsher penalties.
It essentially becomes a hearing to determine sentence severity rather than guilt.
Each labor site has a set daily fine equivalent, so longer pre-trial detention means less money they can squeeze out.
The guy's violence itself was minor.
But insulting and assaulting a courtesan? That's a direct slap in the face to the empire's core policies, starting from King Carl II—major bad vibes.
And doing it to Angelica, the empire's current hot topic? Straight-up villainous.
From the angle of "What if she develops a fear of men and can't work as a courtesan anymore? Think of the losses!" the demanded fine is astronomical—way beyond what he could pay.
So in settlement talks, Tingoo offers to take him as a crime slave (basically no rights) and put him in a high-earning job, with a subtle threat of what happens if he refuses.
He blusters about going to trial, but his lawyer flat-out says there's zero chance of winning and it'll just hike the fine—he caves.
As a crime slave, "common sense" limits on no-go acts are out the window. He's servicing madams in the worst ways imaginable, or gay clients—blowjobs up top, getting his ass pounded down below, day in, day out.
Lucky for him—or not—the kick to his junk from the driver left it functional enough for all that.
"Bad guys have no rights" isn't just fiction here. Unlike some alternate timeline where so-called "human rights lawyers" trample victims' and families' feelings to defend perpetrators' rights.
There were cases where folks with that mindset got major criminals acquitted or lightly sentenced, but when their own loved ones got mirrored harm, the perps walked free too. No one tried it after that.
They could spout ideals when it was someone else's problem, but never imagined it hitting home—or how deeply it wounds people.
This guy's case is nowhere near death penalty territory, but for remorseless scum with no mitigating factors, the empire's criminal code follows "Learn what karma means" and "We won't let you off easy with death."
Execution only happens if it gives closure to victims and families—otherwise, it's about making them rediscover the joy of life temporarily, then dropping them into despair, executing amid cries of "I don't want to die!"
His company? Obviously, he got fired as president. The new one couldn't salvage the bad press and sold out to a low-tier Tingoo affiliate.
The rapid growth meant a few sharp employees used it as a springboard to climb higher, but that's rare. Solid performers scrape by, while the rest groan in dead-end departments, free to quit anytime.