1-11 The Slave Merchant House
Time on my hands.
I wanted a break.
...And I've got what you could call a small fortune.
Well, when opportunity knocks like that, there's only one thing to do. Head to the slave market.
This wasn't my usual window-shopping tease. With four gold coins, I could snag a cheap slave.
Of course, there's the issue of what to do with her right away.
Even if I bought one, living expenses would double, making it tough to keep up my current lifestyle.
So for now, it'd just be some stress-relief browsing.
Still, mentally speaking, there's a huge difference between "gawking at stuff I can't afford" and "checking out things I might actually buy." The latter felt way more fun. Let's go.
I strolled through the slave market at dusk, my gaze hotter than usual, scanning left and right.
The shops were starting to pack up, but a few lingered.
My targets: young women, and of course, cute ones.
The slaves returned timid glances at my intense stare, but none gave me that spark.
Hmm...
Then, to my left, I spotted a section lined with women of marriageable age.
It was that specialist shop for young women I'd seen before.
Suddenly, I sensed someone behind me.
Turning around, an elderly man smiled directly at me.
"...Sir, what kind of girl are you looking for today?"
Impressive.
Since day one, I'd scoped this place multiple times, but they'd never approached—probably pegged me as a browser.
But today was different. How'd he know? He circled around fast.
"...Haven't decided to buy today, but I've got money now. Just browsing cheap slaves."
"I see. Since you're here, why not come inside the shop?"
"Can I look at these a bit first?"
"Of course, but it's getting late—time to head in. If any catch your eye, you can view them at length inside."
"Right. Let's go to the shop then."
"Yes."
I fell for it hook, line, and sinker and followed him to the store.
It was a big building in a prime spot near the city center and upscale residential area—a whole house turned into one massive shop.
The sign out front read Chef Slagee. Probably something like the Slagee branch of Chef Merchant Company.
The old man called out, and the gatekeeper opened the door, waiting.
I hurried inside to a spacious lobby-like area, like a hotel.
He led me to a second-floor room and had me sit in a chair in the corner.
On the table in front was paper and writing tools—free to use, apparently.
For jotting notes on slaves that caught your eye? I'd imagined picking from cages viewed through bars, so this was unexpected.
"Our system here is to first hear your conditions, then bring girls matching them to this room. Is that alright?"
"Mm, yeah... Budget's up to two gold—no, three gold coins max. Young and cute would be nice, but cheap and cute is a tall order, right? Don't need top-tier. Instead, someone who can read and write, has common sense, and doesn't mind camping or combat."
"Camping and combat?"
"Yeah, I'm a solo mercenary living out of inns. Mostly hunt monsters alone. Can't afford to keep a slave cooped up. Hope to someday, but she needs to tag along on jobs or it's no good."
"I see... Hmm."
"Not frontline fighting—just basic self-defense if needed, no aversion to it. Might help with dissection too. No luxuries like combat experience or jobs; just the willingness. Pick someone like that."
"A young female combat slave for three gold is limiting, but we have some. Let me check."
He looked troubled but seemed fired up, like a workaholic thriving on picky orders.
Ten or twenty minutes later, restless, a knock came.
Here we go.
My heart raced oddly...!
"Come in."
"Excuse me."
It wasn't the old man.
A middle-aged, down-on-his-luck-looking guy entered, trailed by several women.
Long sofas lined the opposite wall; they sat in a row there.
Slaves in ragged tunics—that was my image. Nope.
They wore colorful, frilly outfits.
Revealing enough to glimpse legs, busts, body lines.
The man muttered something, confirmed, then left.
Eh? Leaving us here?
Nothing else to do, I ogled the slaves. Reassessing the vibe, I noted this world's faces were all over: European, Central Asian, East Asian, African, non-human races.
No uniformity.
Hair: brown, black, blonde, white (silver), even pink or blue fantasy shades mixed in.
These women were mostly sturdy-looking, strong-willed types.
Hmm, not bad in its way...
On Earth, I'd beg for attention; here, with free pick, it fell flat.
The old man arrived late, with ten more girls.
These seemed less burly.
"How do they look? The first batch are eager combat slaves—no liabilities in a fight, I'd say."
"Great, but I want someone versatile at first, not just combat."
"At first, you say..."
His eyes gleamed.
Damn, he sniffed out I might buy multiple.
Easy mark, he probably thought. Gotta watch it.
"W-well, future plans aside, I'm more into the later ones."
"These are low-price girls okay with combat duty. Not frontline material, but..."
"That's fine; I'll take the front. She's support."
"Understood."
He grinned and launched sales pitches on the ones I eyed.
"This girl has no standout skills but is willing for combat. Recommended."
Short silver hair, slightly dark skin.
African vibe to the face.
Killer figure and posture, but face didn't click for me.
"Hmm."
"This one's from the beast-ear tribe, common far west. See the cat-like secondary ears? Very popular for cuteness."
Tall kemomimi girl with cat ears.
European—Germanic? Strong features.
Not ugly; I'd take her if desperate, but too intense.
"Hmm."
"This one's older but excels at math, handles accounting. Pricey, though..."
Next: wavy green ponytail.
Fluffy beauty who smiled faintly at me.
Ooh, this one... I'd buy her. Woman, really.
"Five gold and fifty silver minimum... Over budget, but well-trained—great value."
They even brought over-budget bait.
Show near-limit gems to close the sale.
Too bad—I physically don't have five gold.
"Hmm, feels steep..."
"I see..."
"Maybe not specialist; versatile is better."
"Hmm..."
"Mind listing prices? For reference."
"Certainly..."
He listed from left to right.
Ah, got it.
This world values bold, striking faces higher.
Girls I found equally cute but subtler were way cheaper than the sharp-featured ones.
So, target pale, "salt-faced" types?
"Pale faces are fine. As you see, mine's bland too. Back home, they were common—nostalgic, good."
"Pale faces..."
He reassessed the slaves.
I rescanned from one.
Skip eye-avoiders; no tears in combat later.
Then, second from right: unassuming brown-haired girl caught me.
"Sorry, that girl's name?"
I locked eyes; she held steady.
Nice.
First impression: fragile luck vibe. Decent features, but shallow contours—plain next to others.
Salt face... foxish?
Sleek, not round.
"Sarsa."
"Sarsa..."
"Three gold, twenty silver, sixty copper. Basic read/write/math; trainable. No combat exp. Decent at housework."
"Sounds perfect. I'll take her."
Housework? Bonus.
Why so cheap? Salt face? Older?
"Can I take her today?"
"Thank you. Yes, possible. Some paperwork time."
"Fine; pick her up today. You okay with that?"
I checked Sarsa; she nodded.
"Please take care of me, Master."
"Ghah...!"
Master. Hearing it real hits hard. Wanna take her home now.
"Payment?"
"Cash. Hold on."
I mimed pulling from my coin pouch, fetched three gold, twenty-one silver from subspace.
"Keep the change; get her simple outdoor clothes?"
"Of course—service includes outfits. Dismiss the others?"
"Yeah."
Fuzzy-headed, I signed the contract, watched her belongings arrive.
Midway, a shady robed guy altered the subjugation contract, registering me as master.
Advanced mage job? Or slave merchant specialty?
Subjugation active.
Shady guy's explanation: can't attack master, disobeying causes discomfort.
Not absolute—be cautious.
Fine; won't mistreat.
"And so, Sarsa is now Yoyo's slave. Good deal for both. Thank you."
"Yeah. Uh, one thing belatedly..."
"Yes?"
"Sarsa... consented to night stuff, right?"
He smiled softly, whispered:
"Of course. Not virgin, but fully trained in techniques."
"R-right."
"Enjoy."
"Y-yeah."
Techniques? Intriguing.
"Let's go, Sarsa."
Behind me, Sarsa followed quietly in standard townswoman garb. Well-trained—like a lost Yamato Nadeshiko.
Wait.
I just casually bought a slave. Wasn't planning to.
Flow carried me away.
Panicked, I counted remaining coin.
One gold and change. Gear up me and her, inn...
Okay? Bankruptcy?
"Ah."
Almost hit my cheap inn—forgot the extra head.
Thin walls... Upgrade tonight.
Entered avenue inn I'd passed; asked for rooms.
"How many?"
"Two. Slave counts as one, right?"
"Yes, no issue."
"One room with a double bed then."
"Double, yes?"
"Yeah."
Large bed in the room.
"Master, no luggage in another room? Late; better fetch soon."
I turned to Sarsa, clasped her hands in mine, eye contact.
"M-Master? That's for later..."
"Sarsa, listen. What I say now—never tell anyone else. First order. Got it?"
"Yes."
"I have a weird ability. Just a bit. If I do odd stuff, don't freak—accept it."
"Yes."
"Also, I'm from far away. Clueless on norms. Cover in public, explain privately. I'll fix."
"Yes."
"Now, something mysterious—don't panic... There."
Released hands, pulled change from subspace. Gold out, back in.
"That's... space magic!? Incredible..."
"Space magic? Probably not."
"Not?"
"Yeah, can't detail, but no. But interesting—space magic does this?"
"Nothing else pulls from nowhere. Very rare."
"Right. Bluffing as space magic if caught—tricky. Worst case, stick to it."
"...New job?"
"Kinda. No prying. Think special ability."
"Unique skill?"
"Unique skill?"
"Personal, not job. Rare too..."
"Easier bluff than space magic. Good—my weirdness is unique skill. Never mention outside. Last resort."
"...Not even that? Understood. Noted."
Phew.
White-Haired Kid's throwaway contact gift—not huge deal.
Space magic piques interest.
"Now, drop stuff, eat, public bath."
"Bath? Me too?"
"...Gotta bathe, right?"
"...Yes."
She got the hint.
Out to familiar shop; scarfed dinner.
Owner: "Got a girl?" Ambiguous smile.
Bathhouse: huge, pool-like, ryokan-style. Lukewarm water. Tight washing space.
Most skip washing—dirty. I stuck to Japanese manners: soaped up thoroughly, toweled head in tub.
Gripes aside, bath heaven. Relaxing.
Imagining later... damn, getting hard.
Bad spot—looks like I'm excited by naked guys.
No, innocent.
Pictured my reflection; calmed.
Usually granny nudes? In Japan, my face worked best. Sad.
No one gets turned on by my mug—my genius idea. Go me.
Softened, exited.
Mixed lounge; cooled off waiting.
No post-bath milk coffee. Paid water only.
They don't get it.
Baths exist—win. Culture immature.
Rich? Bath chain. Copied quick.
Twenty-plus minutes later, Sarsa emerged.
"Sorry, kept you?"
"Nah, just out."
Lie. Waited ages.
Plain shirt, ankle skirt—subtle sexiness. Post-bath glow erotic.
Knowing what's next amps it. Damn, hard again...
Back room; Sarsa sorted clothes—I watched from bed.
"How long in that merchant house, Sarsa?"
"Three years since enslaved; stayed there."
"Long time."
"Unsold linger. I wasn't popular..."
"Really?"
"Knew my face wasn't favored. Rarely called for viewings, no interest."
Viewings: sofa room?
"Lately helped train juniors to stay."
"Unsold go elsewhere?"
"Sometimes. They specialize young, purpose-built. Trade cheap old to budget houses, train for sale age."
"Huh."
"If unsold, I'd move too."
"Yeah."
"Lucky you bought me. Don't seem rough..."
"Nah. Obey as slave, but won't demean or hurt needlessly. Promise. Relax."
"Yes."
"Heard combat okay?"
"Yes. No exp, but I'll try. And, um."
"Yeah."
"Daily care? No mansion—what to do?"
"For starters."
I beckoned; pulled her into hold. Bed tumble success.
"This care first."
Tense, stiff nod.
"P-please... Master."
My rod tensed unbearably.