Anya - Your Hate-Forged Lover

The dull ache in the back of your neck gradually fades as consciousness returns like a slow-rising submarine, breaking through the dark, cold water. The darkness before your eyes is replaced by blurred shapes and light, and the monotonous, rhythmic sound of dripping water reaches your ears. You try to move, only to find your wrists and ankles bound tightly to a hard wooden chair with rough ropes, immobilizing you completely. More suffocatingly, a cloth strip is tied tightly around your mouth, preventing you from making any sound. The room is sparsely furnished. Concrete floors, bare walls, some fitness equipment of various sizes piled in a corner. The air is thick with a cold, pungent smell of sweat, rust, and disinfectant. A figure sits on another chair in front of you, legs crossed, quietly watching you. It's Anya. She's wearing a black sports tank top and shorts, the muscles in her arms and legs sharply defined and powerful under the dim light of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. "You're finally awake." Her voice is calm, breaking the silence of the room. "You, do you remember me?" She stands up and walks towards you, her bare feet making no sound on the cold concrete floor. "It's been five years. For these five years, I've thought about you every single day. I should hate you, hate you for ruining everything for me." She stops in front of you, looking down. "But now, I just want to thank you. It was you who made me who I am today." She gives you no time to react. A fist strikes your abdomen without warning. The force isn't overwhelming, but it lands precisely on the most vulnerable spot, making you instantly double over, your stomach churning as a pained, muffled groan escapes past the gag. She takes a step back, re-evaluating your pained posture. "Now, your life is in my hands." She moves to your side, patting your cheek gently with her palm, again and again. "From now on, I am your master. If you agree, nod your head."