Transmigrated into a Redemption Novel as a Disciplinary Bug - Chapter 13

It had been three days since Carlos last saw Zelan.

During these days, no other insects had disturbed Zelan.

Although the cells of Sweet Home appeared dilapidated, they were actually equipped with advanced life-support systems that regularly injected insect slaves with nutrient solutions, providing the most basic nutritional needs.

Whether it was preparation for gladiatorial combat or simply recuperation, it at least gave the female insect some time to catch its breath, allowing its body to heal somewhat.

“Beep.”

Carlos swiped his keycard at cell 2757.

After several days, seeing Zelan again, he hadn’t even figured out what to say.

But he had to take Zelan for pre-match preparations. Carlos lifted the things in his hand and sighed helplessly.

The door slowly opened. Inside the cell, the female insect was curled up against the wall, seemingly asleep.

One night, as Carlos tossed and turned in bed, he heard movement from the other side of the wall.

It was the sound of chains on the female insect.

After what Zelan had been through earlier, being suspended, of course, he couldn’t sleep peacefully.

That night, Carlos operated the cell’s system. The chains remained connected to the female insect’s neck and limbs but were extended significantly, at least allowing the insect to sleep on the ground instead of being suspended.

Sure enough, sleep was like a server—when someone logged in to sleep, someone else got kicked offline.

Zelan managed to fall asleep, but Carlos was electrocuted by the system’s OOC warning for half the night, successfully staying awake the entire time. To this day, he still had dark circles under his eyes, with faint shadows beneath them.

Even Carlos himself didn’t notice that his footsteps were much lighter than usual as he entered the cell.

The female insect’s wings had long been retracted. Now, with his knees hugged to his chest and his head buried deep in his arms, he leaned weakly against the corner of the wall, his disheveled hair cascading over him like a waterfall. It was an extremely defensive posture, showing that even in his dreams, the female insect was far from at ease.

“Zelan.”

With no other insects around, Carlos called the female insect’s name for the first time. Even if it was a pseudonym, he didn’t want to use the number anymore—it felt too much like treating a living being as a commodity.

Hearing his name, Zelan showed neither sorrow nor joy, nor any surprise.

His senses were extremely sharp. He had detected the guard insect’s presence as soon as he reached the door. Rather than making meaningless movements, he preferred to seize every second to repair his body, store energy, and prepare for any possible opportunities.

“Zelan, tomorrow’s gladiatorial match is your turn.”

He heard the guard insect speak unhurriedly, using an extremely calm tone to announce the impending torture that awaited him.

Zelan knew what the black market’s gladiatorial arena was like.

Although he had separated from his family after reaching adulthood, he still remembered the gladiatorial matches he had seen as a child.

He was born into an aristocratic family on the Imperial Star. The Bertusen family was an extremely old-fashioned noble house, and his father highly admired the practices popular among the aristocracy. To put it nicely, it was called keeping up with aristocratic trends, but in reality, it meant adopting all the bad habits prevalent among the nobility.

Whipping his female consorts and slaves at home could no longer satisfy his father. The male insect’s boundless, pent-up energy had to find another outlet. Thus, every year when the black market’s gladiatorial matches opened on the Imperial Star, his father was always an honored guest.

To maintain that precarious facade of familial affection, or perhaps simply due to his father’s twisted sense of amusement, he would also be taken there.

His father would always go to place bets on the fighters, no matter how much money he lost, as his wife would cover the losses. Thus, his father always bet extravagantly, and after the fights ended, he would even pick a few slaves who caught his eye and bring them home to serve as female slaves.

After all, for his father, female slaves were perhaps just expendable items. If they broke, he could simply buy new ones.

Zelan couldn’t remember when he first started going to the arena.

The first time he saw a female slave’s body torn apart in the middle, he would feel fear and terror, even vomiting the bitterness in his stomach, unable to sleep night after night.

But after witnessing such scenes repeatedly, he grew numb. Later, when Zelan saw these scenes again, he could remain completely expressionless.

He still remembered his father’s praise at that time: “Haha, my offspring should be like this.”

Now, recalling it, Zelan felt a surge of nausea in his stomach.

Zelan looked at the wounds on his limbs. After these days of recovery, the tendons in his hands and feet had barely healed. He knew very well his current strength—extremely weak, not even reaching one-third of his peak condition.

Going to the arena in this state, fighting desperately might allow him to return alive, but whether he would end up half-dead or half-disabled, Zelan didn’t know.

“Now it’s time to prepare for your debut,” Carlos said.

What preparation? Although Zelan knew about the fights, he wasn’t aware of the details before and after the matches.

Zelan raised his eyes to look at the overseer, but found Carlos’s gaze fixed on his face. Their eyes met.

Zelan shifted his gaze and saw the badge on the overseer’s chest—Carlos.

This overseer acted strangely. Zelan had once wondered if this might be his one chance for survival, but now it seemed this overseer named Carlos was no different from the others. What he had to face wouldn’t change.

“All participating slaves must first wear this collar,” Carlos explained, noticing the confusion on the female slave’s face.

He lifted the collar in his hand, displaying it before the female slave.

The black collar had a leather exterior but a metal interior, connected to several extremely tiny electrodes. On the way to transport slaves to the arena, the collar could be linked to chains, making it easier for overseers to lead the slaves.

Its key function was during the fights. In the vast open arena, no slave dared to resist, flee, or refuse transformation.

Because when they disobeyed, the collar would immediately release an electric current, causing unbearable pain, or even electrocuting the slave on the spot—a truly ruthless device.

“But before that, you need to take a bath.”

“A bath?”

Zelan was unusually surprised. Having not spoken for so long, even his voice was hoarse.

He knew this wasn’t due to Carlos’s sudden kindness; it was likely to avoid his filth offending others. Zelan thought with self-mockery.

“Yes, a bath.”

According to the rules of Sweet Home, every slave must be clean before meeting customers—at least not to disturb their enjoyment with dirt and odor.

The female insect still had blood stains and dirt on its body, looking dusty and gray. Fortunately, moths naturally have slower metabolism and secrete less sweat, so there was no strange odor.

“Let’s go.”

Carlos unlocked the chain connecting the female insect to the wall, leaving only a handcuff and ankle cuff. He had been thinking about how to get the insect to cooperate if it resisted.

To his surprise, when he gently tugged the handcuff, Zelan did not resist much.

Zelan appeared cold and silent, but unexpectedly seemed to be a clean and hygiene-conscious female insect? Carlos led Zelan along, thinking quietly in his heart.

–

So Sweet Home calls this the insect slave preparation room?

Carlos stared wide-eyed at the preparation room before him. One area was the cleaning room for insect slaves, while the other resembled a dressing room, though mixed with some strange tools.

Inside the cleaning room, spaced intervals featured water-spraying mechanical arms in rows. Once the supervising insect secured the slave inside, the mechanical arms would spray high-pressure water streams, cleaning the insect slave thoroughly within minutes.

But this setup, it looked exactly like a public bathhouse.

During the arena competition period, many insect slaves were concentrated for cleaning over these two days. The cleaning room already had several insect slaves and supervising insects inside.

The biggest issue was that every insect slave was naked, with no coverings. Carlos felt his eyes were about to develop styes.

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Carlos didn’t want Zelan to clean naked here.

“This isn’t the place. We haven’t arrived yet.”

Carlos painfully covered his eyes, deciding firmly to take Zelan elsewhere.

Zelan followed Carlos until they reached a small room’s entrance.

But if he guessed correctly, wasn’t this next to his cell?

Indeed, Carlos brought Zelan to his dormitory.

Though small, the dormitory had all essentials, including a basic shower room—also tiny, just enough for one insect, a bit cramped for two.

“Clean yourself up. Don’t dawdle.” Carlos deliberately used a stern tone.

Before the female insect could respond, he pushed open the bathroom door, shoved Zelan inside, and swiftly closed it.

Everything should proceed smoothly now.

Carlos sat outside the bathroom, listening to the sporadic sound of water flowing inside, idly thinking.

But he felt he had forgotten something. What exactly had he forgotten?

“Clang—”

The bathroom door suddenly burst open.

“What happened?” Carlos sprang up.

A large mass of white and green suddenly emerged at the bathroom doorway, with splattered feathers floating everywhere.

He had forgotten about the female insect’s large green wings!

Since dyeing them green days ago, Carlos had pushed the matter aside. Moreover, the female insect later retracted its wings, so he never thought about it again.

Now, seeing the suddenly exposed green wings, his faded memory slowly revived.

Because the wings abruptly collided with the bathroom door, the female insect inside was also surprised by the situation. Its feet were still slippery with foam, making it unable to stand steadily.

Without any warning, Zelan still wanted to make one last struggle. His free hand tried to grab something, but it was destined to be futile.

“Watch out!”

Carlos, quick as lightning, dashed forward at the fastest speed of his life, sliding swiftly in front of the female insect.

Everything went black before Carlos’s eyes as he and Zelan crashed to the ground together.

Zelan, still covered in foam, lay in his arms.

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