Chapter 5: Kumiho

Clap, clap, clap.

Someone clapped their hands demonstratively. I opened my eyes wearily. I was lying on my stomach on a hospital bed. My whole back was burning like fire. Someone was fiddling with it, treating it. Why had I fainted? It hadn’t been that bad, had it? I don’t faint easily, certainly not from a few lashes of the whip. Lifting my head seemed too difficult, but I could guess from the Manolos in my field of vision who was standing next to me, and who had probably clapped just as ostentatiously. In fact, I didn’t have to wait long for confirmation.

“The artist is awake, bravo! Although, did I just applaud the wrong person? It looks like you’re just the canvas, Johanna!” Rebecca’s mockery took the sting out of my dizziness.

A vaguely familiar male voice announced, “The wounds look worse than they are. They’ll be healed in a few days. But you should talk to Jelena, Rebecca. That went too far.” That was my dear Doc Meier. I wouldn’t necessarily push him out of bed, but well, another day.

“Thanks, Doc!” I muttered, but he either didn’t hear me or ignored me.

“Thanks, Reiner, yes, I will. Now we have to get Johanna in front of the camera again.”

Rebecca asked, obviously addressing me, “Do you need painkillers, or are you okay? You have to smile and look pretty, Johanna. We don’t want the viewers to get the impression that we’re forcing our stars to do anything, or even torturing them to death. After all, we’re not a snuff site.”

Groaning in pain, I sat up and looked her in the eyes. “What knocked me out? I don’t pass out from a few blows. I can take a lot more than that.”

Her eyes looked at me inscrutably. With a nod of her head, my favorite doctor disappeared through the door without a word. Then she replied, “I know that very well. But that wasn’t necessary here. Not for the basic members. You had a few thousand viewers, but they all pay peanuts. We’re not risking your health for that. Save your strength for the VIPs. After all, you’re already getting your trailer. Again, can you get up, go on stage, and smile, or do we have to drag your body double in Moscow out of bed and do a deep deepfake?”

Body double in Moscow? Ha, ha. Slowly, my drowsiness subsided and my logical abilities returned. Carefully, I slid forward off the couch and tried to see if I could stand on my bare feet. I supported myself for a few seconds, then it worked.

“Body double—very funny. So again: what knocked me out?”

Rebecca shrugged. “Something relatively harmless that works quickly and can be neutralized just as quickly. It hasn’t been 30 minutes since you ‘passed out’. The after-show isn’t over yet. Turn around.”

Confused, I turned my back to her. Hadn’t she already seen it? Then I felt a touch that made me tremble. Her fingers traced the painful welts carefully, almost like a breath or a tickle. That was more unbearable for me than the pain and the blows before. I jerked away from her touch and turned back to her.

Her hand remained in the air for a moment, fingers outstretched, where my back had just been. Then she slowly lowered it.

“Very pretty. I hope it hurts as much as it looks! Why did you provoke Jelena like that? Do you realize how much effort it took to calm her down again? NEVER use the name Gretel in her presence again, or call her that if you want to live. Her character is Brianna, not Gretel. You were told that, weren’t you? Were you trying to ruin the plot? You’re new, so I’m giving you this as well-intentioned advice: don’t provoke your co-stars. Okay?”

My daze had completely vanished. With the widest grin I could muster, I replied, “Is that enough?”

“Don’t overdo it!” Rebecca warned me with a threatening undertone.

I looked around in vain for something to wear. Rebecca went to the door and waved through it. Gretel, uh, Jelena, aka Brianna, appeared in the doorway. In her hand she held a complete set of neck irons, foot and handcuffs, connected by heavy chains, which she threw onto the couch with a grim look, without saying a word.

I looked at them: “Seriously?”

Rebecca gave me a threatening look and nodded to Jelena: “Get along!” Then she left the room.

Stunned, I stared after her: How could she walk so quietly in high heels? Were there courses on how to walk in them depending on the situation? I definitely had to google that.

Jelena didn’t say a word about what had happened. She helped me into my harness and led me back into the spotlight. Now the second part of the show began for me: bonding with the fans.

The vote on my stage name began.

During this time, I was allowed to introduce myself, show my stripes, and answer questions from users. When I looked at the suggestions and the number of votes on the screen, my jaw dropped. There were over 1,000!

In the end, a Korean won with the suggestion Kumiho, which apparently meant nine-tailed fox in English. Wow, I already had a fan in Korea? But why nine-tailed fox? Nine-tailed cat, yes. But fox? Cat-o’-nine already existed as a name, okay, at least that made sense. But my hair color was light brown, not fox red. There was no explanation for me, not even from Charly, who had approved the suggestion. So I just thanked him politely and hoped that it didn’t have any bad connotations.

The three of us hugged each other warmly, kissed each other, and declared that we all loved each other very much, that it had been a great show, and that we had all reached climax. In fact, only I was hugged, as I was still in chains the whole time until the auction results were announced. During my hug, Jelena must have accidentally pressed my back very hard, while Alice was considerate enough to kiss me on the cheeks and whisper in my ear, “Nine-tailed bitch!” Then the show was over.

The spotlights went out, and we started cleaning up. I had made my debut, but it hadn’t gone well. Jelena was avoiding me. And Alice was angry with me for some inexplicable reason. Damn it, at least she had had a real orgasm during the show; it hadn’t been fake.