The evening meal eventually came to an end. Although we had started our portions significantly later than our master, Wyn and I finished well before him because he ate with a hearty, focused appetite, often going back for extra servings of the wheat and meat. We waited in a respectful, silent vigil for him to finish, our hands folded in our laps as we had been taught, preparing to clear the table the moment he set down his spoon. However, just as he swallowed his last bite and we began to rise to start the cleaning, he raised a hand to stop us.

  “Sit down for a bit,” he said, his expression shifting from relaxed satisfaction to something more serious. “You can do the cleaning a little later. Let’s have a talk first.”

  We nodded immediately, retaking our seats. We didn't say a word; our training had made it clear that a slave only speaks when questioned or when the situation absolutely demands it. If he had a question, we were ready to answer, but for now, we had nothing to say—nothing that wouldn't feel like an interruption of his thoughts.

  “My name is Han,” he began, providing us with the most basic piece of information we had been lacking. “I bought this house four months ago, and I have been living here ever since. Before that, I was living in various inns around the city and earning my keep through a variety of jobs.”

  He paused, his gaze drifting toward the fireplace as if he were looking back at a distant past. He seemed to be weighing how much to tell us, ensuring that no important detail was left untold.

  “Let’s start with some detail,” the master continued. “Before I came to the Hazaroth Union, I was in the Targonia Kingdom. At that time, I didn’t have much to my name. I spent my days delving into dungeons, collecting whatever coins I could find, and getting stronger with every fight. I fought against bandits—and sometimes against soldiers who acted a lot like bandits.”

  A shadow seemed to pass over his face as he spoke about those conflicts. It was clear his journey hadn't been an easy one.

  “I eventually decided to leave the Targonia Kingdom because of a conflict with a local noble. They chased me for a while, but I managed to get rid of them and run away. I even gained a few high-quality items from the pursuers they sent after me in bulk. Regardless, I managed to reach the Union and eventually settled here in Yargan.”

  He told the story with a casual, almost detached air, as if escaping a noble's wrath and fighting off soldiers were just another day's work. But he didn't stop there.

  “The first thing I did after arriving in the city was sell the loot I’d taken from those kingdom pursuers. I started delving into the dungeons around here, traded goods whenever the opportunity arose, and bought stronger equipment to keep up with my own increasing strength. That’s why I seemed to know so many people when we were walking through the shopping district today. There is a lot more to what I was doing, of course, but you don't need to know all the particulars right now.”

  He finished the summary in a single, long breath. I sat there, trying to process everything he had said. Even though I didn't know the exact timeline of his arrival, the sheer amount of work he described—dungeon crawling, trading, fighting off noble-sanctioned hunts—sounded like a lifetime of effort. He seemed like an amazing, almost legendary person to me. The fact that he admitted there was "more to it" made me curious; I wondered if he would eventually trust us enough to share those secrets as our relationship grew.

  What struck me most, however, was his willingness to talk to us this way. Despite the fact that we were his slaves, bound by the law to obey his every whim regardless of how he treated us, he wasn't abstaining from talking to us like we were normal human beings. He was giving us his history, his context. I felt a deep, renewed sense of gratitude that we had been bought by a man like master.

  “That is all about me,” he said, turning his brown eyes back to us. “What about you? If we are to live together from now on, go on and introduce yourselves properly.”

  “Yes, master,” we said in unison.

  Wyn and I took turns telling him about our life in the village, the beauty of the forest we had grown up in, and the unfortunate circumstances involving our father’s debt that had led us to the slave market. We didn't talk much about the details of our training—the hours of bowing and the cold discipline—feeling it was unnecessary now that we were in his home.

  “I see,” the master said, his voice gentle and full of understanding. “It must have been hard for you. Now that you are here, let me be very clear about how I operate. I don't like to treat people harshly, and it’s obvious that the two of you are quite beautiful. Most importantly, you are mine now. I have no intention of harming you, nor do I intend to withhold the resources you need to stay strong and healthy. All I want from you—all I demand—is that you obey my commands when I ask for something, regardless of what it is.”

  He started with a kind tone, but his voice turned significantly more stern as he reached the end of the sentence.

  “You might think I am a bit bizarre for doing things other masters wouldn't dream of,” he continued, his expression becoming quite serious. “You might think that because I am a ‘good person,’ I will simply ignore it if you behave incorrectly. For the most part, I will be lenient. But I will also demand things from you, and I will expect them to be done without fail. In certain cases, I will not accept excuses. I will punish you if you disobey a direct command, especially if I have emphasized its importance to you beforehand.”

  Wyn and I became very tense as we listened. He was giving us a fair warning: his kindness was a choice, not a weakness. He was a man who knew himself well enough to set boundaries early. But once he had finished his warning, his face softened again, and a faint, warm smile returned to his lips.

  “I didn't want to make you feel stressed,” he said softly. “I truly want to treat you kindly and cherish you. I just don't want you to disappoint me by trying to exploit that kindness. So, how about it? Can the two of you live with me and comply with those terms?”

  I could see that this was the answer he had been waiting for all evening.

  “Of course, master,” I said, bowing my head as low as I could to show my absolute sincerity. “It would be my honor, master,” Wyn added, following my lead.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “...Good,” the master said, nodding with satisfaction. “Let’s get along well from now on. I’m going to head up to my room. If you run into any problems, you can come find me. Well then, good night. Oh—and don't forget to wash up after you finish the dishes. I want you to take baths at least once a week, so get used to that routine as soon as possible. Bye.”

  He stood up and headed for the stairs. He almost made it to the second floor before remembering to remind us about the hygiene rules one last time. Then, he was gone.

  Wyn and I sat there in the silence of the living room for a long time, neither of us knowing quite what to say. The weight of the day—the sale, the shopping, the meal, and now this conversation—was finally settling on us.

  “...Hey, Woya,” Wyn whispered eventually. “What is it, Wyn?” “The food was delicious. You did a good job.” “...Thank you, hahaha,” I replied, a small, genuine laugh escaping me.

  That was the only conversation we could muster. The silence returned, but it felt lighter now. We cleared the table, washed every utensil with the powder the master had shown us, and then headed to the bathroom to wash ourselves.

  He had explained how the water heater worked, but we still had to tamper with the valves and the hearth to get the hang of it. At first, the water wouldn't flow because we forgot to open the main valve, and then it didn't warm up because we had left the secondary valve open, heating the tank upstairs instead. But eventually, we figured it out. We filled a large wooden bucket with a mix of hot and cold water until it was perfectly lukewarm.

  I brought the cleaning powder that the master had pointed out. The moment it touched the water, it began to produce a thick, rich foam of bubbles. It was a revelation. We helped each other wash, scrubbing the places we couldn't reach ourselves, the bubbly water feeling incredibly refreshing against our skin. For the first time, I truly understood the master’s obsession with hygiene. Being this clean felt like a form of bliss I had never known.

  Once we were finished, we dried ourselves and changed into the clean, fresh pajamas we had bought at Pinkdolls. The fabric was soft and clear, a far cry from the stiff maid uniforms. We were supposed to head straight to our room, but Wyn stopped me in the hallway.

  “Hey, Woya,” she said, her voice serious. “Huh? What’s wrong, Wyn?”

  “You know... we received all that training,” she began, looking toward the master’s door. “We’re expected to serve our masters at bedtime. And the master specifically asked for beautiful girls when he was at the shop. Don't you think he expects us to serve him in bed tonight? Especially since he was so insistent on us being clean?”

  She said it as a matter of fact. And she was right. Everything our trainers had told us suggested that the "bedding" was the primary duty of a house slave with our looks. His kindness didn't change the fact that we were his property. I felt a surge of fear—it would be my first time, and I knew it was the same for Wyn. But she was always the more realistic of the two of us. She knew that if it had to happen, it was better to be proactive than to wait for a command.

  “Yes... you're right,” I agreed, my heart pounding. “We are at least obligated to offer, aren't we?”

  We walked to the master's door. I reached out and knocked shyly, the sound barely a tap. When no answer came, I realized I had been too soft. I took a breath and knocked a bit harder.

  “Come in,” his voice drifted from inside.

  I looked at Wyn. She looked restless, her tail twitching nervously, but she gave me a firm nod. I opened the door, and we stepped inside.

  The master was sitting at a small table, a book open in front of him. He turned in his chair as we entered, his eyes moving over us from head to toe. A faint, slightly mischievous smile touched his lips.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  It was such a simple question, but the answer felt like it was stuck in my throat. I didn't want to waste his time, so I gathered every bit of the courage I had left.

  “M-master... we would like to serve you for the night, if you would allow us,” I managed to say, though my voice was clumsy and thick with embarrassment.

  “...Hmmm.”

  The master looked at us, his gaze lingering on our silhouettes before he hummed in that way he did when he was thinking.

  “No,” he said casually after a few seconds of silence. “I won't have you tonight.”

  I had been so on edge, so terrified of what was about to happen, that I should have felt relieved. But instead, I felt a strange, sharp pang of disappointment. It felt like a rejection of my value, or perhaps I had simply misjudged what he wanted from us so completely that I felt foolish.

  “I am sorry, master,” I said, bowing deeply. I felt the heat of shame rising in my face. “We assumed that was one of the reasons you bought us. I noticed you looking at my body earlier—especially at my breasts. Please, if I have insulted you with my assumption, you must punish me.”

  I was mortified. I felt as though I had overestimated my own appeal and that he was likely laughing at us behind his calm facade.

  “No, you’re not wrong,” Han said nonchalantly, and I almost tripped over my own feet in surprise. “I was looking at your breasts, and one of the reasons I bought you was certainly to sleep with you. You haven't made a mistake, so you don't need to apologize.”

  “Huh?!” I couldn't contain the sound of my confusion.

  “Ah, it seems we’re going to be misunderstanding each other a lot for a while,” Han said with a chuckle. “Listen. You two are both beautiful, and you have great bodies... in your own ways. I want to sleep with you, of course. I even want to right now. But as I’ve said, I have my own standards. I will take you to my bed someday, but I want us to know each other first. I want us to be comfortable. I don't want our first time to be unsatisfactory or filled with nothing but fear. Do you understand?”

  I didn't fully grasp everything he said, but I understood the heart of it. He wanted a connection, not just a body. I looked at Wyn, and she seemed to have relaxed as well. She looked thoughtful, as if she were trying to wrap her head around a master who prioritized "satisfaction" over simple ownership.

  “Okay, master,” I said, finally finding my voice. “If that is your wish. What would you have us do now, then?”

  “Just go back to your room and get some sleep,” he said, his smile widening. “You’ll know when the time is right—when our affection is strong enough. Or,” he added with a laugh, “I might just call for you whenever I feel like I can’t hold back anymore. Hahaha!”

  We left the room while he was still laughing. He really was a bizarre man.

  We returned to our room and lay down on the large bed, hugging each other tightly. It was our first night in a new home, far away from the compound and even further from our village.

  “Hey, Wyn. Are you awake?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” she replied shortly, waiting for me to continue.

  “I should have made a different soup. Anything but tomato.”

  “Yeah, you probably should have,” she said. “It was good, though,” she added.

  “He didn't get angry at all,” I mused.

  “No, he didn't.”

  “Let's not let him down again, Wyn. Ever.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, her voice soft but determined. “Let’s do that.”

  With that shared vow, and still holding onto each other for comfort, we finally fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

  [Edited]

  Hello again, dear readers. It is mistova, the author.

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