Chapter 16 - Hunger (2)
For those who do physical labor, there's one thing that's most important above all: breakfast.
When going to school, you could skip a meal or even go a whole day without eating and still survive. After all, you just sat in a chair without moving, and lunch was provided anyway. But for day laborers or the adventurers staying here, lunch wasn't guaranteed—and sometimes you'd have to fill your stomach with nothing but dry rations. So breakfast was essential. If you skipped it in the morning, you just wouldn't have the energy.
Of course, I was already so starved after days without food that even walking exhausted me. Still, right now... well, the hope of finally eating something was the last thing keeping me going.
The chain linked to the collar choking my neck clinked as it caught on the hero's hand, and I followed slowly, draped only in my cloak, keeping a steady distance.
What will breakfast be today? It was an inn, so it had to be tastier than anything back at the Demon King's Castle. This meal was what I'd traded my self-respect for today. So it was bound to be delicious. Besides, when your stomach's this empty, anything would taste good.
I felt good. How could I not? This was a meal I'd fought for myself. Not with Lobelia's money or Kudbeka's help—this was my victory.
As we descended the stairs, suddenly all eyes turned to us. I checked my cloak, wondering if some part of me was exposed, but it was fine. Why are they staring? Frowning, I peered at the hero ahead, gripping my leash. Was something wrong with him?
It didn't take long for other voices to reveal the reason.
"A demon as a slave?"
"That looks like a regular collar. No mana suppression? Does that even make sense?"
"Hmph. But from the look of that slave, the owner's got it under control."
My pointed ears caught every word. Ah, so that's it. To other humans, I was a seed of anxiety. These pointed ears, these horns—they were the problem. My ominous black hair and red eyes screamed "demon" without filter.
Thanks to that, every person in the inn's first-floor dining hall fixed their gaze on me, eyes filled with suspicion and unease. But my life was in the hero's hands, so they wouldn't suddenly strangle me. Time to eat. Food... I'm starving. I pushed aside the pain of my shriveling stomach and intestines, shoulders hunched despite my resolve, and finished descending the stairs.
My bare feet thudded on the final step, and the hero sat at an empty table. Right in the center—apparently everyone preferred the corners, so that was the only spot left. The stares were burdensome, but at least there was a seat. I let out a tiny sigh of relief that no one noticed and cautiously eyed the hero in his chair.
This made me understand Kudbeka's feelings. Could I sit? Or should I guard his back? No matter how much I protested, the collar and chain around my neck clearly marked the hierarchy. Actually, in this situation, was I even "eul"? More like "byeong" or "jeong"? Whatever.
Still, I'd used polite speech on someone who didn't deserve it, bowed my head like a slave, all for a chance to eat. Surely sitting was fine? With that thought, I nodded to myself, pulled out the chair opposite him, and sat gingerly.
A chair, not the floor! It was pretty comfortable. Sure, it was the same hard wood, but stretching your legs from a chair versus the floor made a world of difference. I preferred chairs.
I found myself humming unconsciously, wondering what the hero would order. This place was near the capital, not Luplettas—what delicious things did they have?
But my rising excitement crashed just as quickly, thanks to the words from the hero's mouth.
"Where does a slave think she's sitting for a meal?"
"Aak!!"
The moment he spoke, his foot slammed into my knee. Whether because he was the hero or just strong, it sent me flying back with the chair, tumbling to the floor with a crash. My knee throbbed, and every bruise on my body ached from hitting the ground.
Fuck... You said you'd let me eat, so why this bullshit?
Grunting in pain, I tried to steady myself and stand. Using the fallen chair for support, I wobbled to my feet and looked at him with eyes pleading, what now?
He continued indifferently, emotionlessly, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Looks like you don't get that rolling on the floor makes you a nuisance to others. Still too new to slavery to grasp your situation, huh?"
You fucking bastard. He'd changed his tone now that others were watching, insulting me outright. I'd thrown away my pride because I was starving and wanted food. And this was how he treated me?
Sure, as he said, I'd slept on the floor, woken on the floor, rolled on the floor. Beds weren't allowed for me. I knew floor mats were a cultural thing back on Earth—jangpan in Korea, tatami in Japan. Without a bed, sleeping on a mat or floor was inevitable. And now the hero was nitpicking a filthy floor-sleeper for dirtying the table, all to impress the crowd.
I had plenty of complaints. But with all these eyes, I had to be extra careful. He was deliberately using me to boost his image. From the murmurs, it seemed people used special collars for demons, but he hadn't. He must've realized I had no mana and used a regular one, but to onlookers, it looked like he could subdue a demon without it.
Defying him or committing lèse-majesté would only bring worse. So, to eat, I couldn't retrieve my discarded pride—I had to leave it buried.
"...S-sorry."
I bowed my head in apology. No choice. My stomach hurt too much to think straight. Standing on pride here would just delay my meal.
Seeing me apologize without resistance, the hero nodded as if to show his mercy, speaking benevolently.
"Fine, that's enough."
The room buzzed at his words.
"See that? One kick and the demon didn't even flinch—just apologized!"
"Is that guy a demon slave specialist?"
"A regular collar, and no resistance at all?"
The admiration was all for the hero—from the same humans who'd eyed me with suspicion moments ago. Some even whispered about asking him to get them a demon slave. Perfect environment to breed human hatred. When do I get my pride back?
My fragile knee was already red and throbbing from his kick. It hurt. Biting my lower lip against the humiliating stares and my shattered self-respect, I endured without groaning—until the hero tapped the table.
"Sit."
"...Where?"
Did he mean the table?
"The floor."
Nope. The floor it was. Sigh, my fate.
I knelt beside him, head bowed low. Having broken my pride once more, facing the crowd terrified me.
Biting my lip, I waited as he ordered two meals. At least he was saving face and planning to share. Good. My hunger would end soon.
"Oh, and one empty bowl."
"Yes, sir."
I got it—ordering two meant wanting to try both. Same as me. Hehe, does that mean I get tastes of both? Even if I wasn't a big eater, I could sample them. My mood, which had plummeted, slowly recovered.
Soon, two massive plates arrived, plus a deep wooden bowl for plenty of food.
My bowl! How much would he give? I wasn't a huge eater even when starved, so it didn't matter. Sharing one of each would be perfect.
The hero's orders: one looked like a breakfast set—sausages, fried eggs, bacon, potato salad. Seemed pricey. Two kinds but four items meant he'd spent well. The other plate had creamy soup that looked warming and comforting with just one spoonful.
Let me have one bite each. Grinning hopefully, I waited for him to scoop into my bowl.
Right now, hunger overpowered pride—I just kept grinning.
But he never filled my bowl. He glanced at the empty one, set it in front of him, and started eating.
"...Huh? W-what about me?"
I asked carefully, not to anger him, but he shot me a fierce glare and resumed eating. Can't say more after that look... Hidden under the cloak, I clasped my hands and clicked my thumbnails—638 times—until he finished, straightened his clothes.
Sharing the leftovers? Better than nothing...
But he suddenly piled everything into one bowl: half-eaten soup, gnawed sausage, shredded bacon, egg whites with yolk scooped out. It was grotesque, like pig slop.
He slammed it in front of me like trash.
Seeing it, I realized: eat this.
"Eat."
My guess was right, but no joy. Food mixing in your stomach was fine, but pre-mixed like this? It reeked.
This isn't food. It's garbage.
Glancing anxiously at him, he snorted dismissively, eat or don't. He was too busy basking in the crowd's murmurs, showing off.
Even as Min Siyoon, I'd scavenged scraps, but never something this jumbled.
Dilemma. But... maybe fish out a sausage?
As I reached under the cloak with thumb and forefinger—
"Do beasts use hands?"
Laughter erupted: "Demons are beasts, right? Puahaha!" Humans really hated demons. It explained his behavior. Understood it, but I wanted to kill him more.
No utensils, no hands—meant eat like an animal, face in the bowl.
Did he have to break me that much? No, even I had limits. I'd used polite speech, bowed like a slave from hunger, but I couldn't eat like this. Gulping, I sat straight, staring at the bowl.
For a moment, I felt pathetic for even considering it—but hunger made sense. At least I hadn't touched it.
Eyes squeezed shut, head bowed, he chuckled.
"All done?"
What the fuck? I didn't even taste it, and he asks that? Worst torment ever. May this asshole die and rot in hell.
Trembling, I replied.
"...Yes."
"Stomach full, huh."
He grabbed the bowl, slammed it back on the table, and stood.
I stared blankly, then laughed hollowly. Yeah, real full.
In the end, my starving belly went empty into the morning too.