The Secret Hobby of the Office Drone Girl

Shiina's email with the course introduction was read by Rin three times on Sunday morning. The first time was in bed, just after waking up, her eyes not yet fully focused, only grasping a few keywords – "safety principles," "rope design," and "emotional awareness." The second time, after her coffee, sitting at her desk, she jotted down a few points in her notebook, habitually using her work shorthand. After finishing, she realized she had written "knot tension" and "project schedule" on the same page, separated by only three lines. She stared at the page for two seconds, didn't cross anything out, and turned it over. The third time was while eating a convenience store onigiri for lunch. She scrolled to the bottom of the email and saw the attached course schedule. Lesson 1: Basic Safety Rules and Single Rope Practice (Upper Body) Lesson 2: Biomechanics and Basic Rope Design (Upper Body + Torso) Lesson 3: Introduction to Self-Bondage – Basic Upper Body Restraints Lesson 4: Advanced Self-Bondage – Full Body Structural Design and Securing Her gaze lingered on the words "Self-Bondage" for a while. After the trial lesson, she had sporadically searched for information and found that most people discussing "rope bondage" defaulted to scenarios involving two people – one tying, one being tied. Situations with one person certainly existed, but they were often categorized as "practice" or "alternatives." Yet, what she had envisioned from the very beginning was something she would do to herself. The moment she was struck in the bookstore, the image that flashed in her mind wasn't of being tied by someone else, but of securing herself properly. This was quite consistent with her usual way of handling things. She was never the type to actively ask others for help; she processed work stress until she was on the verge of collapse on her own, made her own appointments and picked up her own medicine when sick, and even during her last move, she'd rather make ten extra trips than trouble Sasaki for help. She didn't dislike people, but the act of "relying" felt like a foreign language she hadn't yet learned – she knew the words, but couldn't speak them. So, when it came to rope bondage, she hadn't considered handing it over to someone else from the start. She wanted to learn to do it herself. The first lesson was the following Saturday. Rin arrived at the Aoba classroom precisely on time. This time, she didn't take deep breaths at the entrance; she rang the doorbell directly. Shiina was wearing a dark blue cotton-linen blouse this time, her demeanor as calm and steady as ever. She had Rin sit on a cushion in the center of the classroom, then sat beside her, holding a bundle of cotton rope for practice. "Before we begin any practical application, I need to confirm a few things with you," Shiina's tone was a little more serious than during the trial lesson. "This might sound basic, but every point is crucial." Rin nodded, instinctively straightening her posture. This was a familiar state for her – the same expression she had during onboarding training or when attending new project management classes. "First, rope bondage carries risks. While cotton rope is the safest material for beginners, if tied too tightly or if it constricts the same area for too long, it can still cause circulatory problems or nerve compression. Especially with self-bondage, there's no one to help you monitor your back or areas you can't easily see, so you must be even more cautious than in two-person bondage." "Understood." "Second, safety tools must be within immediate reach. The student kit I'll give you will include a pair of safety shears with blunt tips, designed not to cut skin but to sever all ropes at once. At any time –" Shiina placed something into Rin's hand. It was a thin piece of metal, about three centimeters long, its edges smoothly polished, with a tiny curve on one side. "– if you feel dizzy, if any finger goes numb, if your vision blurs, or if you simply feel uncomfortable enough to want to stop, use this to cut the ropes immediately. Never hesitate." Rin looked down at the metal piece in her palm. It was light, weighing about the same as the nail clipper on her keychain, but the expression on Shiina's face as she handed it to her made her feel as if she were receiving something very heavy. "I understand." "Third, never tie around the neck. Under any circumstances. Be mindful of avoiding areas with dense nerve clusters on your wrists and ankles. If you're unsure if a position is safe, it's better to choose another spot." "Are there diagrams?" Rin asked. At ten o'clock on Saturday morning, Shirakawa Rin stood before the full-length mirror in the entryway, fully attired for her outing. The chastity device was a new purchase from last week, the same brand as her handcuffs and leg shackles. It was a combination of black leather and stainless steel buckles, with mini locks on the sides and crotch. She had tested it for three hours last night to ensure the fit was correct, that there were no circulation issues, and that the leather straps could be cut with safety shears in an emergency. Now, she positioned the two separate leather sections against her body. The buckle at her waist clicked shut, followed by the click of the buckle at her crotch. The two small keys – immediately returned to their designated slots in the timer box, with no countdown, just locked for safekeeping. The chastity device fit snugly, but not oppressively. It felt like a constant, unyielding embrace that never tightened painfully. She turned sideways in front of the mirror, checking the fit. It was excellent; once she put on her clothes, it should be completely undetectable. Next, she picked up the vibrator. It was small, white, and egg-shaped, with a remote control no larger than half a palm. She placed it in its designated spot. The inner side of the chastity device had a specially designed mesh pouch that held it perfectly. It wasn't turned on yet. The remote went into her jacket pocket. Then came the gag. It was identical to the one she had used before: a black rubber body with air holes, and a nylon strap with a quick-release buckle. She put the gag in her mouth, wrapped the strap around the back of her head, and fastened it. Her tongue root was gently pressed down, preventing her lips from closing. Her breathing automatically shifted to nasal. Each breath passing through her nasal cavity had a faint echo. She adjusted the strap's tightness in the mirror – not too loose, or it might shift under a mask; not too tight, or it would leave deep marks on the corners of her mouth. Once adjusted, she moved her jaw, confirming her masseter muscles weren't being overstretched. Finally, the collar. It was black leather lined with soft suede, fastened at a regular tightness, resting just below her throat. She looked at herself in the mirror – her silver-white hair loose, round-rimmed glasses, a black collar over her pajamas, a rubber gag in her mouth, her lower body locked, and nothing yet on her face. If anyone else saw her like this, she might seriously consider moving to Hokkaido. But this was her apartment, the door was locked, the curtains were drawn, and she was simply doing what she wanted to do. Next was the construction of her outer shell. Today, she had planned three layers of disguise: a high-necked inner layer to conceal the collar, a loose outer garment to hide her figure, and a mask to cover the gag. She put on a high-necked black thin knit shirt, folding the collar up to completely cover the leather of the collar, leaving only the clean line of her neck above the neckline. A loose, light gray V-neck knit vest went over the inner shirt, its draping fabric concealing any potential bulges from the chastity device at her waist. For her lower body, she chose dark gray wide-leg pants, also in a loose cut, the buckles at her upper thighs completely dissolved within the folds of the fabric. Canvas shoes, soft-soled, made no sound as she walked. She took out a large black mask, the kind that covered most of her face. She put it on in front of the mirror, tucking the ear loops under her hair. The mask's stiff material formed an arched dome over the lower half of her face, perfectly concealing the gag strap, her slightly protruding lips, and the outward curve of her cheeks. She opened her mouth to test it in the mirror – the warm air she exhaled briefly accumulated inside the mask before dissipating, the mask itself remaining perfectly still. It was concealed. Finally, accessories – a gray beret pressed down over her bangs, obscuring part of her eyes and brows. Her hair was divided into two loose strands falling over her shoulders, just enough to hide any marks from the gag strap on the sides of her ears. The person in the mirror now was simply a young woman who was sensitive to cold, pollen, and perhaps a bit socially anxious. High neck, mask, hat, loose clothing – fully armored, revealing only a pair of eyes and round-rimmed glasses. She turned her body, looking from the side and the back, revealing only the silhouette of ordinary clothes. She opened the timer box and placed the key for the gag strap buckle, the two small keys for the chastity device, and the key for the handcuffs – though she wasn't wearing them today, she decided not to keep any spare keys on her person – into the storage slots. She closed the lid, set it for eight hours, and pressed the start button. The screen displayed 08:00:00, then began to count down. Before six in the evening, she could not retrieve any of the keys. Her mouth could not close on its own, the chastity device could not be removed, and the vibrator's remote was in her pocket, but she herself decided when to press it. These were the rules she had designed for herself – and the way she trusted most to give her a sense of security. Just before leaving, she pressed the remote. The lowest setting, continuous mode. The white egg-shaped object hummed to life inside her, a steady, low vibration, almost a sigh, emanating from her deepest core and spreading upwards along her pubic bone and sacrum. She steadied herself against the shoe cabinet, waiting three seconds before her breathing evened out. Then, she placed the remote in her right jacket pocket, slung a small canvas bag over her shoulder, and gave herself one last confirmation in the mirror. She walked downstairs quietly. It was Saturday, just past ten in the morning, and there weren't many people in the apartment building. She was alone in the elevator. The moment the elevator doors opened on the first floor, the sunlight outside struck her eyes directly. April sunlight wasn't harsh, but it was bright enough for someone emerging from a dim interior. She squinted, pulled down the brim of her hat, and quickly walked out of the apartment building. Her destination was Harajuku. Three subway stops from her apartment. The Saturday morning subway wasn't packed, but it wasn't empty either. She stood in a corner of the car by the doors, holding the straps of her canvas bag in front of her, maintaining Shirakawa Rin's usual posture of minimal presence. No one gave her a second glance; a young woman wearing a hat and mask was a common sight on the Tokyo subway. The vibrator continued to hum inside her. The lowest setting wasn't intense, but it was constant, uninterrupted. The vibration radiated outwards from her core, spreading along the inside of her hip bones to her lower abdomen, then traveling up her spine to the back of her head. She felt her earlobes grow warm. The mask concealed any possible facial expressions on the lower half of her face, but her ears were exposed. She stared at her reflection in the train car's glass doors – her eyes looked calm, even a little detached. This gave her a strange, almost split sense of pleasure – so many people in the same car, and no one knew what she was experiencing at that moment. Emerging from the Takeshita Exit of Harajuku Station, the Saturday crowds were as she expected, almost shoulder-to-shoulder. She walked slowly through the throng, pushed forward by the flow of people, just like the last time she came with Sasaki – but this time, there was no Sasaki clearing the way, only herself. The gag was in her mouth, her saliva production higher than usual, and she had to swallow periodically. When she swallowed, the leather of the collar shifted slightly, reminding her of the thing around her neck. The humidity inside the mask was increasing, but it didn't affect her breathing. She walked into the first Daiso store at the entrance of Takeshita Street and was immediately enveloped by the air conditioning. The vibrator was buzzing inside her, and she almost let out a muffled groan at the store entrance. She slipped her right hand into her pocket and paused the remote, turning it from the lowest setting to pause. Then, as if nothing had happened, she began browsing the shelves. She browsed slower than usual. It wasn't an act; she genuinely needed to be slow. The gag made it difficult to breathe normally, and any slight increase in pace would leave her breathless. The chastity device restricted some of her hip joint's range of motion, reducing her usual hip sway by a third, naturally shortening her stride. But this slowness wasn't a burden, not a frustration of "can't walk fast," but a gentleness of being enveloped by her own rules. Every movement could only be completed within certain boundaries, and once she accepted these boundaries, everything became simpler. The phone screen had gone dark, and she hadn't bothered to light it up again. The room was filled only with the faint hum of the humidifier and the low thrum of the refrigerator's compressor. She wore a faded grey cotton house dress, her bare feet on the carpet, toes unconsciously curling and uncurling. After a full afternoon of walking through Omotesando and Takeshita Street, a subtle fatigue lingered in her body, her inner thigh muscles sending faint signals of soreness when she stood up. But this fatigue didn't make her want to sleep. Quite the opposite, the moment she hung up the phone, something deeper had surfaced from the day's afterglow. She was thinking about something. Everything that day had been external – the chastity cage locked beneath her crotch, the gag secured in her mouth, the mask covering her face, the remote control in her own hand, yet she hadn't pressed any buttons beyond the lowest setting. Walking through the crowds, she appeared as an ordinary young woman with a mask and hat, while the other self, hidden beneath the shell, locked and filled, was known only to her. But beneath the shell, only the chastity cage and the gag were actively locked; her limbs were free. She could walk with long strides, push open doors, change direction at any moment. Her hands and feet were free. What if her hands and feet were also bound? This thought, like a ping-pong ball pushed underwater and then resurfacing, had bounced around in her head all evening. She first tried to ignore it – turned on the TV and watched a variety show for a while, but couldn't focus; then she washed the dishes, wiping down the edge of the sink twice; she made herself a cup of hot cocoa, drank half of it, and left it on the coffee table to cool. Finally, she found herself standing in front of the practice corner in her bedroom, staring blankly at the neatly arranged bundles of cotton rope. Not metal, she didn't want metal tonight. She had touched handcuffs and leg shackles today – the lock of the chastity cage and the buckles of the gag's straps were all the same material, the same lock cylinder, the same cold, hard touch. What she wanted tonight was something else. Soft, elastic, breathable – cotton rope. But tonight, it wasn't just about binding her wrists and forearms, not just a horizontal line along her spine. She wanted to create a more complex structure. A structure that could completely enclose her. She squatted down and picked up a new, unopened bundle of cotton rope. The rope coiled in her hand, slightly stiffer than the bundles she usually used, its surface covered with a very short, fine fuzz, smelling faintly of raw cotton and linen. She placed the rope on the carpet by the bed, then opened her laptop and clicked on the encrypted document, flipping to the last page. That page contained rope diagrams she had collected after graduating from Aoba Rope Art Class. Most were publicly available safety resources online, and some were basic structural breakdown diagrams she had seen from Shiina in the class group. On one page, she had marked it with "To Try," a star next to it, and a small note: "Four-Horsemen Tie. Upper and lower body connected structure. Requires good flexibility and patience. Extremely restricts mobility, safety shears must be within reach." She had never forgotten Shiina's words in class: "The Four-Horsemen is a dual test of restraint and self-discipline. It doesn't just make you unable to move – it forces you to confront your body's limits, to face muscle fatigue, to confront the psychological state behind difficulty breathing. If you just want to 'be tied,' there are dozens of easier rope paths. The Four-Horsemen is you choosing to question your own body." At the time, she had written this down in her notebook, a question mark beside it. Now, she felt ready to face that question mark. She closed the document, shut the laptop, and stood up, taking a deep breath. The preparation took about twenty minutes. She placed three pairs of safety shears in different locations: one in the upper left corner of the carpet, within easy reach; one in the center of the bedside table, with her phone next to it – the phone was silenced, but the emergency call function remained active; the last pair was placed within half an arm's reach of where her body was expected to be on the edge of the mattress. She tested the paths – reaching out blindly from the center of the carpet to the bedside table, to the doorway, to the edge of the mattress. She had memorized the positions of all three shears – the handles facing outwards, so she could easily hook them with her fingers when bound. A cup of water was on the bedside table with a straw. The room temperature was raised to twenty-four degrees Celsius, to avoid sweating and catching a chill. She drew the curtains, leaving only a warm yellow bedside lamp on. Then, she sat down in the center of the carpet and began to tie. Her legs together, the cotton rope made its first loop around her left ankle. Instead of the usual two loops before tying a knot, she made three, each parallel to her inner ankle bone and below the nerve safety line, ensuring no pressure on the protruding blood vessels of the ankle joint. Then, she secured the space between her ankles with a cross-tie, tightening it. As she tightened, the cotton fibers made a soft friction sound as they compressed, her ankles pulled together, the bones touching, unable to separate. Next, below her knees – the rope wrapped around the upper part of her calves three times, positioned three fingers below the back of the knee, avoiding the dense area of the common peroneal nerve. Tightened. The final tie was around the middle of her thighs. As the rope came around from the outside of her thigh, it brushed against the pleats of her house dress. She smoothed the hem of the dress with her hand and pressed it under the rope before tying a knot at the front. The three rope loops fixed her legs in a straight line from top to bottom; her knees couldn't bend, her ankles couldn't separate, her entire legs became one unit. She tried to move her thighs – the muscles bulged and pressed down under the rope loops, but the diameter of the loops remained unchanged. For the upper body, she started from the back. First, a basic waist rope structure was tied around her waist – three horizontal wraps, knotted at the small of her back, then two strands were led from the sides of her waist upwards, passing over the front of her shoulders, and then brought back to her back under her armpits, forming simple but secure shoulder straps. After tightening, her entire upper body was encased in a snug rope garment. The rope lay over her slightly damp shirt, each cotton strand slowly alternating between tension and release with her breath – tightening slightly with inhalation, and returning to her skin with exhalation. She looked down at the crisscrossing wrinkles on her shirt, created by the rope, feeling as if she were wearing another layer of armor. Now for the most crucial step – connecting her wrists to her ankles. She brought her hands behind her back, holding one end of the rope in her teeth, and wrapped the other end around her left wrist twice, then used her right hand's fingers to cooperate with her teeth to tie a square knot. After securing it, she treated her right wrist the same way, but because her left hand was already tied, her finger mobility was extremely limited. The rope end slipped three times, each time falling to the carpet with a soft thud. She didn't rush – she had gone through this process countless times. If it wasn't right, she would redo it. If she redid it, she would do it well. It was the same as revising a client's proposal, except this time the "client" was herself. On the third attempt, she didn't rush to pull it tight all at once, but loosely secured it around her right wrist first, then used her teeth to gradually adjust the position of the rope loop, tightening it in three stages before completing the knot. Finally, she threaded the connecting rope through the pre-made loop at her ankles, pulled it back to meet the knot on her wrist, and tightened it. As she tightened, her body was pulled into an arc – her hands behind her back, her ankles pulled towards her wrists, her entire body from shoulders to knees forming a gentle, closed curve. She then changed her clothes. Today's outfit was different from the previous days—a white short-sleeved T-shirt and a dark blue pleated skirt. The hem of the skirt was about ten centimeters above her knees, a style she would absolutely never wear to work. When she took the skirt out of the wardrobe, her fingers paused on the hanger for a moment before she still took it down and put it on. After changing, she glanced at herself in the mirror—the short skirt revealed the entire line of her legs, with the skin above her ankles completely bare, not covered by any fabric. She knew she would be wearing shackles today, and the short skirt would leave the metal rings and chains of the shackles completely exposed when she walked. This was a dress code requirement that Misaki had informed her of in advance. She stood in front of the mirror, adjusted the position of the waistband, then turned away without a second glance. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her fingers resting on her knees, waiting. Her nails were trimmed neatly and cleanly, and she made no unnecessary movements. The low rumble of port operations and the sharp cries of seagulls could be heard from outside the window. At precisely eight o'clock, the doorbell rang. Misaki walked in, carrying a gear bag and a small waterproof duffel bag. Kimura followed behind, bringing fewer pieces of equipment today than on previous days, only a small handheld recording device. After entering, she stood quietly in the corner of the room, not turning on the device. "How are you feeling today?" Misaki asked. Rin thought for a moment. "Calmer than yesterday." Misaki nodded. She opened the gear bag and took out the equipment to be used today, arranging it piece by piece on the desk. Handcuffs—the same style as the ordinary matte stainless steel handcuffs from previous nights, lined with a thicker silicone padding on the inside than the regular model. Shackles of the same design. Then she took out the eye mask. The eye mask was pure black, wide, with a matte finish on the outside and memory foam padding on the inside. The edges were wider than a normal sleep mask, designed to completely cover the bone structure around the eye sockets, achieving one hundred percent light blockage. The strap of the eye mask was not an ordinary elastic band—but two nylon webbing straps, secured with Velcro at the back of the head, with an additional safety buckle to prevent slipping. Finally, she took out a flat, palm-sized black box from the waterproof duffel bag. It was very thin, with no superfluous buttons, only a small indicator light embedded at the top corner. "You'll be wearing this little thing throughout the session today to record physiological response data and ambient sound for this phase. There will be no video," she said, attaching the box to the empty hook on the front of the collar. The metal clasp matched the material of the collar itself, fitting perfectly once inserted, as if it were always part of the collar. Rin looked down at the new component on her collar and touched it with her fingertip—it was smooth and cool like a mirror. "Handcuffs and shackles first, then the eye mask," Misaki said, picking up the handcuffs. "Stand up." Rin stood up from the edge of the bed, extending her hands in front of her. Misaki first attended to her left wrist—the cuff encircled her wrist, positioned two finger-widths above the pulse point, and then she tightened the lock with a special key. *Click*. The same for her right wrist. The chain of the handcuffs hung in a shallow arc in front of her. She habitually tugged lightly on the chain with her cuffed hands to confirm the range of motion—about fifteen centimeters of chain length, the same as previous times. Her hands could perform most daily actions in front of her, but she couldn't pull them apart to the sides simultaneously. Then Misaki squatted down to attend to the shackles. She first fastened the cuff around her left ankle, locked it, and then the right ankle. The connecting chain was about twenty-five centimeters long, slightly shorter than on previous days. The hem of the short skirt was about a hand's width above the cuffs, and the entire shackles were completely exposed outside the skirt, with no fabric covering the area from mid-thigh downwards. The matte silver-gray stainless steel cuffs reflected a soft sheen under the indoor lights, forming a clear boundary with the fair skin of her ankles. Rin looked down at her ankles—two silver-gray metal rings were secured above the ankle bones on each side, connected by a short chain. Her first thought was that the skirt was too short, and her second thought was: no, this was the required length for today. Misaki stood up and finally picked up the eye mask. "I'm going to start blocking your vision now. From this moment on, you won't be able to see anything for a while. Your hearing, touch, and smell will take over. Are you ready?" Rin took a deep breath and nodded. Misaki placed the eye mask over her eyes. The memory foam conformed to the contours of her eye sockets with a gentle yet firm touch—the edges just pressed against the upper ridge of her brow bone and cheekbones, without pressing on her eyeballs. Then the straps wrapped around the back of her head, tightening beneath her hair, the Velcro making a fine tearing sound as it engaged. The moment her vision was completely cut off, Rin felt a brief sense of disorientation—not physical, but perceptual. Her visual cortex, upon receiving the "no signal" feedback, seemed momentarily bewildered, as if waiting for an input that would never come. The darkness was uniform and heavy, with not a sliver of light leaking through. "Can you hear me?" Misaki's voice came from about a meter directly in front of her. "Yes, I can." "Is the volume normal?" "Normal." "Good. Then I'll tell you today's plan now." Misaki's voice became a little more formal. "From this moment on, I will be guiding you on your left side throughout the session, no more than an arm's length away. Kimura will be following about two meters behind you on the right. Our route today—we'll depart from the cabin, pass through an indoor corridor, disembark, stop for a period in a designated open area on the pier, and then return. The entire route will have a flat surface, with no steps or slopes." "This is not procedure," she said, her voice steady for a moment, but with a tension that felt like it was being compressed. "I haven't been arrested, I haven't been declared a suspect, there's no warrant. You can't use restraints on a non-suspect without a formal arrest—" In her line of sight, the young officer who had been squatting by the cardboard boxes stood up and walked a few steps towards the commander, whispering a few words. The commander listened without immediate response. He stood there, silent for a few seconds—during which his gaze flickered between Lin and the row of boxes—then he gave the young officer a nod. The young officer returned, retrieved a pair of handcuffs from the gear bag he had been carrying. Lin saw the handcuffs. They were real metal handcuffs—not the finely crafted stainless steel ones she kept in her apartment drawer, but standard issue. The cuffs were wider and thicker than those for wrists, the steel a matte dark gray, unpolished, unplated, the rivet connections clearly visible. The connecting chain was made of three short, thick oval links, the welds rough and solid. There was no padding inside the cuffs—bare metal would press directly against the skin above her ankles. When Lin saw the handcuffs, her voice finally changed. "That's not necessary. I'm not trying to escape. I've been cooperating with you the entire time. I haven't even resisted—" The young officer squatted down, ignoring her words. His movements were practiced and swift, as if he had performed the same procedure countless times. He first lifted Lin's left ankle, wrapped the cuff around the bone above her ankle, adjusted it to a snug fit that wouldn't slip, then pushed the lock into the cylinder and turned the key—*click*. The cuff closed. Metal formed a complete circle around her ankle. Then the right ankle—the same motion, the same process, the same metallic *click*. The connecting chain hung in a shallow arc between her ankles. She tried to spread her feet apart slightly, and the chain immediately tightened, the edges of the cuffs biting into the soft tissue above her ankle bones, creating a distinct resistance. She stood there in front of the row of shelves, wearing her work uniform, a baseball cap on her head, her hands cuffed behind her back, and a pair of heavy metal handcuffs locked around her ankles. Her wrists and ankles were simultaneously restrained by metal, connected by her entire body, forming a complete structure of confinement. Lin stood in front of the row of shelves, looking down at the two dark gray metal circles on her ankles. Then she spoke, her voice a little higher than before—not hysterically high, but deliberately raised to ensure everyone present could hear her clearly. "You don't have an arrest warrant. You don't have a search warrant. You didn't verify my identity or my potential involvement before entering the premises. You used the highest level of restraints on me without any resistance on my part. This is not lawful enforcement—this is illegal detention. Every single one of you present is participating in the unlawful restraint of an innocent citizen." Her words echoed briefly in the empty loading dock, then were absorbed by the dry winter air. No one responded. But her voice drew attention—not the commander's, but that of a young officer standing near the entrance to the loading dock. He frowned at her, then turned to the commander and said, in a voice that was neither too loud nor too soft, "She's too loud." When Lin heard that, her voice instinctively rose again. "I have the right to speak. I haven't been arrested, I haven't been declared a suspect, I have the right to question my situation—you have no right to silence me—" The young officer pulled a black rubber gag from his pocket. Lin saw what he was holding, and her words faltered for a brief moment—not out of fear, but because in that instant she recognized the shape and material of the gag. It wasn't the rubber gag with ventilation holes and a precisely adjustable strap that she had worn countless times at home, molded to her own body. This was a basic medical rubber gag—smaller, harder, with no ventilation holes on the surface, and the strap was a plain black nylon webbing. "This isn't necessary," Lin said, her volume changing noticeably at that moment—from raised to constricted, her vocal cords tightening, her speech accelerating. "I can be quiet. I won't speak. This isn't necessary—" Her words were cut off. Because the young officer had already reached her, gripping her jaw with his left hand, his thumb and index finger wedged into the bone structure on either side of her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. Lin instinctively turned her head in that motion—but her hands were cuffed behind her, unable to push his hand away, so she could only twist her head to try and escape his control, while he used his other hand to press down on the back of her head, holding it steady. The rubber pressed against her lips, squeezing between her teeth, forcing her mouth open, pressing down on her tongue. The smell of rubber filled her nostrils in that instant—a mixture of industrial rubber, disinfectant, and trace amounts of plasticizer. The strap went around the sides of her cheeks and tightened at the back of her head, the buckle clicking beneath her hair. The strap was tighter than she expected—she could feel the skin on either side of her mouth being stretched outward, the edge of the strap digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks, causing a sharp pain. Lin stood in front of the row of shelves, her hands cuffed behind her back, handcuffs locked around her ankles, a gag stuffed in her mouth. Her breathing became entirely dependent on her nasal passages after the gag was inserted—air entered and exited through her narrow nostrils, making her breathing sounds clearer than usual. Saliva began to accumulate in her mouth. The rubber occupied most of the space above her tongue, making swallowing difficult, and the saliva could not be cleared normally. She felt the first wave of saliva gather in the space between the root of her tongue and the underside of the rubber, then, following the pull of gravity, it spilled from the corners of her mouth, which she couldn't fully close, leaving a warm trail on her cheek. No one wiped it for her. She couldn't wipe it herself. Someone pushed her upper arm from behind—not with great force, but with a clear direction, signaling her to move forward. She began to walk. The chain of the handcuffs dragged a dull metallic sound across the floor as she took her first step, the connecting chain sliding between the two cuffs, tightening, then loosening. She didn't know where she was being taken. She only knew that the weight of the metal continued to pull down on her wrists and ankles. As she was led out of the warehouse, she passed the two regular employees and the supervisor in the loading dock. The supervisor was being searched against the wall of an office cubicle by two uniformed officers, one regular employee was squatting on the floor in an aisle between shelves with his hands over his head, and the other was sitting on the ground next to a forklift being questioned. No one looked in her direction. She passed through the loading dock's roll-up door, and the winter sun briefly enveloped her for a few seconds—she felt the sunlight on the area of her face covered by the gag's strap, the rubber absorbing heat in the sun, its temperature gradually rising—then she was guided towards a white van parked by the side of the road. "Come in," the door opened. A staff member in a dark grey uniform walked in, a man in his late thirties or early forties, of medium build, with a calm expression – not cold, but not the professional warmth of a receptionist either, somewhere in between. Lin noticed his uniform was different from those of the warehouse staff – no epaulets, no insignia, just dark grey fabric and neat stitching. He held two items in his hands. A pair of handcuffs, a pair of shackles. Lin's gaze lingered on the metal for an extremely short time. The man walked up to her. "Please extend your hands." She extended her hands in front of her, palms up. The man first circled one of the cuffs around her left wrist. The first sensation of the metal against her skin was cold – she had anticipated this temperature difference, but its transmission was more direct than she expected. There was no padding on the inside of the cuff, the bare steel pressed directly against the skin of her wrist, forming a closed metal ring on the outside of her ulnar styloid process. He then pushed the cuff into its locked position and closed it – the ratchet of the lock engaged in stages within the metal casing, emitting a continuous, even clicking sound. Those sounds traveled up from inside the cuff, conducted through the bones of her wrist and forearm into the interior of her body, like a series of orderly low-frequency vibrations. Then the same process was repeated on her right wrist. Connecting the two cuffs was a short steel connecting rod. When her hands were cuffed, her palms met, her wrists came together, the thenar eminences of her hands pressed against each other, forming her hands into a closed container. She tried to move her fingers – they could flex and extend and move independently, but her palms could not open, her wrists could not separate to the sides, the connecting rod of the handcuffs locked at a precise distance between the two cuffs, keeping her hands at symmetrical coordinates to her midline. She looked down at the silver-grey metal on her wrists, the connecting rod reflecting a subtle, unobtrusive light under the fluorescent lamps. Then came the shackles. "Please sit down on the chair." Lin sat on the seat, her feet flat on the floor. The man squatted down and fastened a pair of similarly constructed restraints around her left and right ankles. The cuffs of the shackles were wider than those of the handcuffs, and the steel was thicker. As they closed above her ankles, they sealed and conformed simultaneously. The connecting rod was a short steel bar, slightly longer than the connecting rod of the handcuffs, but still long enough to provide a distinct metallic feedback with every step she took – she tried to spread her feet apart, and the connecting rod immediately tightened, the edge of the cuff digging into the soft tissue on the inside of her ankles, sending her the first definitive signal of her range. Once both sets of restraints were locked, the man stepped back half a pace. "Try standing up." Lin stood up from the chair. The first thing she felt was the weight of the handcuffs – a constant downward pull concentrated on her wrists, forcing her shoulder muscles to tighten slightly to maintain the balance of her arms. Then came the weight of the shackles – a constant downward pull on her ankles that required her to lift her feet an extra amount with every step. She took a step, and the connecting rod of the shackles formed a precise span that limited her stride; she didn't need to look down to know what number her stride was limited to. Then she took a second step. She followed the staff member out of the reception room. The corridor was darker than outside, fluorescent lights arranged evenly on the ceiling, illuminating the grey walls and grey floor without shadows. Her footsteps and the staff member's footsteps echoed in the corridor at different rhythms – his steps were free and continuous, while hers were corrected by both the handcuffs and the shackles, shorter, more even, each step accompanied by the faint clinking of the metal connecting rod as it swung forward with inertia. As she passed a window, she caught a glimpse of the greyish-white sky outside. She was led to a grey metal door. The staff member took a set of keys from his waist, selected one, inserted it into the lock, turned it twice, emitting a dull mechanical sound, and then pulled the door open. The room was small. After she entered, the heavy metal door was closed. The sealing strip between the metal door frame and the door leaf was compressed – then came the sound of the lock cylinder turning, two turns, click. It wasn't simulated – it was actually locked, she could hear the vibration transmitted through the walls as the door was locked. She stood alone in the cell. The first thing she noticed was the quiet. Not absolute quiet – she could hear the faint hum of the fluorescent light ballast, the sound of air flowing through the ventilation ducts, her own breathing. But those sounds were absorbed by the size and material of the space, reflecting multiple times off the walls and floor to form an even, featureless background. She looked down at herself – a black and white striped prison uniform, metal handcuffs clasped on her wrists, metal shackles connected to her ankles. The handcuffs exerted a constant pressure on her wrists, starting from the surface of her skin and penetrating inward. She tried to turn her wrists – the steel inner wall of the cuff immediately adjusted the pressure distribution slightly against the deformation of her skin, but the degree of freedom was very small. She noticed that when her arms hung at her sides, the weight of the handcuffs was transmitted through her wrist joints to her forearm muscles, forcing her shoulder bones to make tiny positional compensations. She raised her hands to chest height – the shift in the center of gravity caused a redistribution of pressure from the handcuffs on her wrists, and the angle of the connecting rod changed accordingly. She looked down again – there were two pressure points on her ankles from the shackles: one where the front edge of the cuff pressed during dorsiflexion of the ankle joint, and one where the back edge of the cuff pressed during plantarflexion. In a natural standing posture, the pressure was evenly distributed in the soft tissues on the front and back of her ankles. She tried to take a step forward – the connecting rod of the shackles swung forward with the movement of her front foot during the stride, lightly touching the edge of the other cuff when her foot landed. She couldn't recall ever having to look down so frequently to confirm when using metal restraints – not because she was unsure, but because the context was different: the unfamiliar metal she had put on in the warehouse in Adachi Ward, she had confirmed the boundaries of her body in the same gaze, and now she was re-reading the new coordinates that metal was giving her. She stood in the cell for a while, then she had to make a decision – in this space of only three or four square meters, in a space without windows, without a clock, without any external time reference, how should she allocate the time that followed. She first sat down on the edge of the metal bed. The mattress was thinner than she expected – only a thin layer of waterproof fabric separated it from the hardness of the metal bench she had sat on during the warehouse incident. She adjusted her posture, resting her hands on her knees, the connecting rod of the handcuffs falling precisely above her knees, with a wrist attached to each end of the lever. She looked down at the connecting rod – it was made of a single piece of steel, without any bends or curves on its surface, connecting her left and right hands in the most concise geometric form. She extended her fingers and pinched the middle section of the connecting rod with her thumb and index finger, feeling its material and temperature. Then she lay down. The length of the metal bed was just enough for her to stretch out completely. She lay on her back, her hands resting on her abdomen, the weight of the shackles pulling her feet down slightly. She looked at the ceiling – the grey paint surface had a fine granular texture, and under the even illumination of the fluorescent lights, shadows were almost invisible. She searched for something to fix her gaze on the featureless grey plane, finding a very fine crack that extended diagonally from the corner of the ceiling for about thirty centimeters before disappearing at the edge of the ventilation grille in the center of the ceiling. She stared at the crack for a while, then closed her eyes. The first night came sooner than she expected. She didn't know the exact time – there was no clock in the cell, the windows were frosted glass, and the light filtering through changed very subtly; she could only judge the approximate time of day by the brightness of the light coming through the frosted glass. The light transitioned from the brightness of the afternoon to the greyish-white of the evening, and then to the dimness of the night – the fluorescent lights were on all the time, with no lights out. When the light outside dropped to its lowest point, she realized it was night. Lying on the metal bed, the sensory data accumulated during the remaining hours of the day began to replay in her mind as a continuous background pulse in her still, supine state – the constant pressure formed by the metal ring on her wrist in its quiet state, which redistributed its pressure after lying down, the weight of the handcuffs redistributed with the change in arm position, some of the pressure shifting from the back of her wrist to the inside. She adjusted her arm position a few times, finally finding a relatively neutral placement – her hands crossed over her abdomen, the horizontal angle of the connecting rod of the handcuffs parallel to her midline. Part of the weight of the shackles was borne by the bed surface after lying down, but her ankles were still the points of force – her feet naturally turned outward slightly when relaxed, and the inner edge of the cuff pressed into the soft tissue below her ankle bones, creating new compensatory displacements with every change in her leg position. She tried lying on her side. When lying on her side, her hands could be placed in front of her, but the connecting rod of the handcuffs pressed on the bed surface, supporting her wrists at an uneven angle – that angle caused a concentrated pressure point on her ulnar styloid process, which began to go numb after a few minutes. She rolled back onto her back. She tried placing her hands under her head – but that required bending her arms to a certain angle, and the connecting rod of the handcuffs would press against her jaw in that position. She abandoned that attempt. It happened before breakfast. The cell door opened, and a staff member in a grey uniform walked in. Without a word, he went behind her, found the clasp at the back of her head, pressed the release, and the restraint loosened. The rubber gag slid out of her mouth, trailing a thin, translucent strand of saliva that connected her lower lip to the gag's surface. After the strand finally broke, she felt her mouth fill with air again – her tongue could finally move freely, able to lick the inside of her teeth and the roof of her mouth, able to close her lips, able to swallow the residual saliva. Her jaw joints made a series of soft clicks as she slowly closed her mouth. She didn't speak immediately. First, she moved her jaw, using her tongue to clear her mouth of lingering saliva and the rubbery smell. Then, she spoke a word – not an important one, just a few syllables, to confirm that her vocal cords and mouth could once again produce recognizable language. The staff member confirmed she was unbound and then informed her as a matter of routine, "Starting today, you will participate in collective labor. Report to the end of the corridor after breakfast." She nodded, asking no further questions. She made her bed, washed her face with cold water, and collected her breakfast from the food slot. After breakfast, she was led out of her cell. Her handcuffs and leg shackles were not removed – she still wore the standard-issue metal restraints as she walked down the corridor, past the high window she passed every morning. The sky outside today was a dull grey, with no sunlight, making it impossible to tell the time. At the metal door at the end of the corridor, three other people, all in black and white striped prison uniforms, were already waiting – two men and one woman, all appearing to be between twenty and forty years old. Lin did not make eye contact with them, nor did she speak. She stopped in front of the door and took her place at the end of the line. No one spoke. A peculiar morning quiet hung in the air, not because talking was forbidden, but because in this environment, no one had the energy for unnecessary conversation. In the silence, she looked at the backs of the three people in front of her and noticed they were also wearing restraints – not all the same. The younger man wore handcuffs and leg shackles like Lin's. The other, middle-aged man only wore handcuffs. The woman wore handcuffs and a shorter connecting bar for her leg shackles than Lin's. Each person had a different level of restraint based on their assessment. The door opened, and a male staff member, wearing a uniform of a different color than those in the cell block, emerged holding a clipboard. He stood at the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the four of them. "Today's labor task is to organize the shelves in Sector C's warehouse," he said, his voice not loud but clear enough in the corridor. "The goal is to complete the inventory and restacking of goods on three shelves. You can finish early once the task is completed. If you have any questions, report them to the staff on site." No one asked any questions. The man glanced at them, then turned and walked down the corridor. The four followed him, passing through the metal door in order. Lin, at the back of the line, noticed as she entered the area beyond the door that the ceiling was higher than in the cell corridor, and the air carried a faint scent of dust and cardboard boxes – a familiar smell, almost identical to the one she'd encountered in the warehouse in Adachi Ward. As the scent reached her nostrils, she adjusted her breathing rhythm, categorizing it as one of the pieces of information to process in her current environment, and continued forward. Sector C's warehouse was in a separate space at the rear of the building, a few minutes' walk from the cell block. They passed through a connecting corridor, went through a fire door that required a card swipe to open, and entered a warehouse space roughly the size of two basketball courts. Shelves extended from floor to ceiling, divided into four levels, each packed with cardboard boxes of various sizes. There were no windows in the warehouse; lighting came from rows of white fluorescent tubes neatly arranged on the ceiling. The air was drier than in the cell block, and the temperature was slightly lower. The staff member led them to a workbench near the warehouse entrance. On the table were several printed inventory sheets, a few pens, and rolls of packing tape. He turned to face them, gesturing with the clipboard towards the two nearest rows of shelves. "Shelves one and two – from A-01 to A-06, and B-01 to B-06. Each box needs to have its number verified, quantity recorded, and be restacked neatly. After checking, record it on the inventory sheet. Understood?" The four confirmed in different ways; some nodded, some said "Okay," while Lin's confirmation was a brief glance between the shelves and the inventory sheet, without speaking. The staff member looked at them, then sat down on a chair near the warehouse entrance and opened a magazine. The labor began. The middle-aged man moved towards the first row of shelves, followed by the younger man. The woman chose the left aisle of the second row. Lin hesitated for a moment at the entrance, then walked towards the right side of the second row – she was responsible for shelves B-04 to B-06. Standing in front of the first shelf, she first confirmed her current operational limitations before starting: the length of the handcuff chain allowed her hands to move within approximately ten centimeters in front of her. Her palms could open and close normally, and her fingers could move independently, but she could not extend both hands widely to the sides simultaneously, nor could she grasp large objects with both hands, nor could she perform fine manipulations requiring precise grip with her fingers. The connecting bar of the leg shackles restricted her stride; she could move within the aisles between the shelves, but she could not turn quickly or step over obstacles. Each step required her to look down to confirm the position of her feet to avoid tripping on the connecting bar. She picked up the first inventory sheet and began to work. She reached for a cardboard box on the bottom shelf. The box had a shipping label on it. As her hand reached for the box, the connecting rod of the handcuff slightly restricted the forward extension of her arm. She had to adjust her stance, turning her body to reach the bottom of the box at a different angle. She gripped the sides of the box with both hands and pulled it from the shelf, placing it on the ground. As she set it down, she realized the box was slightly heavier than she expected, requiring more core strength to compensate for the limitations in her hand and wrist posture. She squatted in front of the box, using her cuffed hands to find a leverage point on the bottom edge. She lifted it at an angle to read the number on the bottom while allowing the tip of the pen to trace the correct arc on the paper in her hand. She, in that alternating "Ready. She can be secured," the attendant said, looking at Rin. Rin nodded. She was guided onto the base of the wooden stocks, placing her feet into the ankle restraints. The curve of the trough fit the contours of her ankle bones almost perfectly. Once positioned, metal pins were inserted from both sides, locking into place with a distinct, solid, high-frequency click, different from any other lock she had heard before. She heard the locking mechanism engage automatically as the pins reached their bottom, judging by the sound's intensity that there was almost no room for movement. Her feet were elevated by two centimeters, the space between the bottom of the trough and the upper surface where the pins made contact filled by the horizontally inserted metal dowels. Then came the waist. The technician stood behind her, adjusting metal bolts to push the waist supports inward until the leather lining of the supports pressed tightly against the skin on either side of her waist. The process wasn't a single adjustment – he alternated between the left and right bolts, turning each a quarter turn to ensure even pressure. Rin felt her lumbar spine being forcibly adjusted from its natural curve to a straighter, forward-leaning position. Her breathing hitched for a moment during the adjustment before stabilizing. Next were the wrists. She was meant to raise her hands above her head and place her wrists into the restraints at either end of the crossbar. The weight of the shackles prevented her from lifting her hands high enough – the technician had to release her shackles first, then place her wrists into the restraints one by one before inserting and locking the pins. As the technician pushed the pins into the bottom of the restraints on both sides of the crossbar and locked them, he glanced at the attendant. The attendant retrieved the control collar and gag that Rin was familiar with from his equipment bag. The technician had to release the collar from her neck, lock the neck clamp of the stocks, and then reapply the collar around her neck, while the gag remained in her mouth throughout the securing process. Then the attendant took out two items Rin had never seen before: a slender, flexible leather strap, about half a meter long, and a small, whip-like end made of the same material, slightly less than half a finger wide. He placed them on the ground next to the support column, first checking the lining of the neck clamp, pressing the leather surfaces on both sides with his thumb to ensure there were no tears. He then re-fastened the collar around Rin's neck, adjusted the fit of the electrodes, and locked it. Finally, he took out the item she had mentally accepted would not be removed today – the gag. He didn't remove the gag she had been wearing for days and hadn't been disturbed during the securing process. After checking the strap and buckle, he hung a small wooden mallet next to the support column. If her gag shifted at any point during the restraint, the mallet wasn't for release, but for re-securing any loose straps. The entire locking procedure was completed at some point, and Rin lost track of the exact time. She hung suspended in the device, her arms elevated and spine stretched. Saliva continuously overflowed from the gag, dripping down her chin, occasionally falling onto the exposed wood outside the restraints. Under the constraint of the locked neck clamp, she swept her gaze towards the room's only window. Outside was bright daylight, and the pale blue sky she had come to recognize from within the stocks, consistent with her assessment from the crack in her cell that morning. At that moment, she felt a faint connection – a continuity extending from the sky outside to the crack in her cell, and from the crack to a point within her body and the space where she was now fixed in the wooden stocks. It was real, it had its own independent existence. It would not disappear because she was trapped in these stocks. The technician performed a final check of all the locking pins. He pushed each metal pin in the ankle restraints with his finger, confirming they were fully seated and locked. He then moved behind her to check the bolts of the waist crossbar, ensuring the inward pressure was symmetrical and the leather lining of the waist supports was flush against her skin. He reached up to check the wrist pins at both ends of the crossbar, pressing the locking mechanisms at the end of each pin with his fingertips to ensure there was no looseness. Finally, he checked the bite of the neck clamp's leather lining with the pins. He stepped back half a pace, took a flat metal tin of lubricant from his toolbox, placed a small drop of lubricant at the seam of each pin and wood, then returned the tin to the toolbox and closed the lid. He turned to the senior attendant and nodded. "All secured. Let me know if any adjustments are needed." The attendant stepped closer. He stood directly in front of Rin, on the other side of the wooden stocks' crossbar, less than an arm's length away. His gaze swept over her wrists locked in the restraints, her torso clamped by the waist supports, her ankles pierced by the pins, and finally settled on her face, locked by the neck clamp. He spoke. "Final stage. From this point on, you are secured in these stocks. The device itself will not inflict any active punishment – your entire task is to remain conscious and endure. If you can do that, the entire seven-day process will be over. If you cannot continue at any point, tell me, or give a clear signal with the only means you have to make a sound." Rin stood there, fully enclosed by the stocks. She made no sound as he delivered his ultimatum. Her breathing entered and exited at a constant rhythm, limited by the gag. Her saliva continued to drip down her chin, and her gaze remained fixed on the space above the crossbar. Her silence was her answer. The attendant stepped back, leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and began to wait. The technician closed his toolbox and moved to the doorway, standing there, also beginning to wait. Time began its final measurement within those wooden stocks. For the first few minutes, Rin primarily felt the fundamental difference between these stocks and all the restraints she had worn before. Handcuffs and shackles allowed her to adjust her posture within a limited range – she could rotate her wrist joints to change the angle of contact between the cuffs and her skin, switch between standing and sitting, lie on her side, curl up, or stretch out. But these stocks offered no room for adjustment. Her wrists were fixed at the ends of the crossbar, palms up, unable to rotate, flex, or bring them closer together. Her ankles were locked in the base restraints at a fixed distance and angle, unable to be brought together, to point her toes, or to shift her weight from one foot to the other. Her waist was clamped by the waist supports in a fixed, forward-curving position, preventing her from hunching, arching her back, or relieving any pressure by altering the curvature of her spine. Her neck was locked by the clamp, preventing her from lowering her head, turning it, or tilting it. Her field of vision was permanently fixed on the yellowed wall directly in front of her. Her first discovery within this total immobilization was that the only parts of her body she could move were her fingers and toes. Her fingers opened and closed above the crossbar, flexing and extending with extremely subtle movements. Her toes curled and uncurled within the base troughs, completing their minute sequence of motion in the tiny gap between the pins and the tops of her feet. Those movements were her only remaining autonomous actions within the stocks. Then came her waist. The waist supports forced her lumbar spine into a straight, forward-leaning posture, causing her rectus abdominis and quadratus lumborum muscles to engage in a constant isometric contraction, bearing the load of maintaining that vertical position. Standing still doesn't consume much energy when one can adjust their stance freely. But when the stance is locked, that continuous low-level muscle contraction becomes an unremitting load. After more than half an hour, the dull ache radiating from the sides of her lumbar spine began to spread upwards along her spine, meeting the soreness descending from her shoulders at the lower edge of her shoulder blades. Within these increasingly refined signals, Rin systematically allocated her remaining attentional resources. She could not alter any pressure distribution, nor relieve any load through postural adjustment. The only thing she could do was allow those signals to exist in her consciousness in their own way. Saliva continuously overflowed from the corners of her mouth. She did not interfere with the flow in the way she had become accustomed to – letting it accumulate in her mouth, pass over the lower edge of the gag, flow down her chin, and drip onto the bare skin of her chest. The liquid retained some warmth as it dripped, then cooled rapidly, leaving a fleeting trail of coolness on her skin. In this completely immobilized posture, she was extremely still, yet she could still perceive the moist path left by a droplet of saliva as it slid down her chest, its tiny arc formed by surface tension and gravity slowly extending downwards under its own weight.