Purchase Confirmed

Whoosh—.

A sweltering summer night. Tilting my glass of liquor while inhaling the savory aroma of roasting meat in front of a roaring pile of logs, I almost felt like I was out camping.

Who was I with back then…?

Family? Friends? Maybe even a lover? I couldn't remember. But whoever it was, it didn't matter. No love, friendship, or loyalty could compare to the slaves who would offer everything to me.

"Right?"

"Ugh…"

Doksayeon, barely pulled from the flames just before she turned into a lump of charcoal, kept letting out pained groans.

"Your life's one tough thread."

Her skin was bright red and blistered all the way to her toes. A little longer, and she really would've died—and honestly, that had been the plan, whether I'd induced it or not. She'd betrayed me, and more importantly, failed to prove her worth… by ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠botching her job change.

Jobs can change. That's for sure…

I could guess the conditions, but I didn't know them precisely. It felt like the same vague hints as before, but there was nothing for it. As expected from a half-baked novel, the system was never properly explained even once.

I could only infer from context and examples. And from what I'd pieced together:

If awakening required killing something and accepting the apocalypse,

Then the job you got upon awakening was determined largely by two factors.

There might be more, but for now, this is it.

First, experiences after the apocalypse. Second, experiences from before.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The first was somewhat proven by Jeong Da-jeong's case and mine. The second was more of a hunch. The skills and values you'd built up in life, and how you planned to live going forward.

But not just any experience or skill counted. Sure, if you were a baseball player whose bat-swinging or rock-throwing could aid survival, maybe. But a web designer with plastic model assembly as a hobby wouldn't get a robot engineer job.

Unless your values were fundamentally twisted like mine, or you'd started off spectacularly ripping zombies apart barehanded against 1-to-18 odds, most people would just end up with a generic "Survivor" like Warrior or ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Thief.

In that sense, guiding Jeong Da-jeong had been a breeze. Her prior job? College freshman with zero useful survival skills. Post-apocalypse, she'd just been my pack mule. So she got exactly the job I'd intended from that first factor.

With Jeong Da-jeong's case added to the novel's examples, the conditions for job determination were proven. But once I got that far, another thought hit me.

If I knew the conditions and could guide awakening in a specific direction, couldn't I re-awaken someone with an already set job into something else?

...Sounds plausible.

To me, who knew the novel's job change cases, it didn't feel like pure fantasy. Specifically, not the level-based changes, but…

There were a few times a perfectly fine job switched to another, regardless of level.

Back when I read it, I'd skimmed over them since it wasn't my problem, but thinking back, there was a pattern… or at least common threads.

They changed when pushed to extreme shock.

Characters who barely survived betrayal by comrades, or watched lovers/family die due to their own incompetence—those folks had their jobs change, or really, the people themselves transformed.

Crucially, when I first saw Doksayeon's skills, I thought they were worth testing.

Every one of Doksayeon's skills had a screw loose. There were twisted skills in the novel, sure, but that meant she was like those characters—missing a screw somewhere.

Just like the skill names suggested, misaligned.

So I'd kept loosening her last screw, pushing her to the brink. A true life-or-death crisis. But it failed.

Too bad.

Her original job wasn't useless, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was it enough to cover the betrayal? Eh.

My hypothesis might be wrong anyway, but Doksayeon was marked for death regardless.

While cleaning up at the police station for a while.

"Master? I've gathered the bodies, what should I…"

"Huh, now you ask?"

"Master…?"

That was my thinking until that message popped up right in front of me.

I rushed to the parking lot, and there she was: Doksayeon slumped before the pyre, and at her feet, a cauldron that hadn't been there before.

Late, but not too late—she'd succeeded in her job change.

…I pulled my new slave—No. 2 slave—out of the fire.

"Wonder what job she got."

No way they gave her a cauldron for cooking. Something crafting-related, probably…

"Ugh…"

To find out, she needed to wake up first. I gave her five more minutes; if not, I'd splash her with water. Meanwhile, I started unbuttoning her shirt.

Pop, pop. Pop.

Pop—!

As the buttons came undone, her monstrous breasts practically exploded outward.

"Violent as ever, no matter how many times I see 'em."

Squish, squish.

Not why I'd opened her shirt, but since they were out, I kneaded them while slowly admiring her body.

Definitely the tits… no, wait. Not that.

Sure, Doksayeon's chest drew the eyes first, but my favorite part was elsewhere.

It was her true face—the venomous glare like she could tear a person apart—that slipped out when she was fucked hard and couldn't hold back. That gap from her merciful, forgiving beauty was the real delicacy.

If I get sick of it, I can always switch later.

Creep, creep—.

A Slave Mark etching onto her back. The classic yakuza irezumi, themed around snakes.

Stroke, stroke—.

As I satisfyingly caressed the fresh Slave Mark on her back, she finally stirred.

"Ugh…? *Cough*, *cough*—."

"How do I look right now?"

Blink, blink.

Her green eyes gazed up at me blankly. Then suddenly, she reached out and started fumbling my face.

Grope, grope.

"Huh?"

"You lost it? Don't touch me without permission."

Flinch.

"R-real…?"

"Real what? You wanna die for real?"

"N-no! No way…"

Doksayeon yanked her hands back from my face in a panic. This time, she groped her own body.

"I'm… alive…"

Sob.

Then she burst into tears.

"Sob… *hic*. Alive… I can live… do whatever… I want…"

I wondered if all the acting had fried her brain. But the scene felt familiar.

Ah, crap. Low Intelligence Mode.

Like Jeong Da-jeong, Doksayeon had entered Low Intelligence Mode for a day due to the slave contract's side effect.

"Ha, what a pain."

Flinch.

I'd grumbled about Low Intelligence Mode, but she took it as judgment on herself and desperately clung to me, pleading.

Grab.

"Sorry! I'm sorry! I-I'll do really well, Master. I'll obey from now on. Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm grateful. Just order me, anything. I'll follow without question. Please believe me!"

Is this that half-respectful talk or whatever?

No thrill anymore—it was the same crap for the umpteenth time. I was sick of hearing it.

"Love the pose, but I don't need it anymore."

Flinch.

"No! No, no! Please. Just believe me one more time! Please, please, one more chance…!"

"No need for chances."

Stroke—.

"From now on, you'll obey my orders whether you like it or not. If I say die, you'll gladly die, right?"

"Y-yes…?"

"Whatever. Show me your skill window."

"Skill window?"

As she said it, I could see her eyes shift to floating text.

"Huh? What's this? Life Fluid? Potions…? What does any of this…"

She blinked and asked me instead. A deep sigh escaped from my chest.

Glance, glance—.

Glance—.

Her eyes darted nonstop—a marathon of non-fiction reading. I could read and understand it fine myself, but explaining it to her in Low Intelligence Mode? Another headache.

Talking skills with her today seemed pointless.

"Ha… We'll talk again tomorrow after Low Intelligence Mode wears off."

"Low Intelligence Mode?"

"Just say got it."

"Got it."

"…"

I was speechless, seriously debating tossing her back into the fire, when Jeong Da-jeong approached, cleanup done.

"Master? As you said, I've locked all the people in the holding cells."

"Food?"

"Enough to last today."

"Guns and ammo?"

"You didn't specify, so I gathered them all in one spot for quick access. And the bodies are piled in front of the facility room."

Seeing Jeong Da-jeong handle the aftermath so efficiently eased my tangled mood a bit.

Cleanup's mostly done. Now what?

Still midnight. I could head back to school if I wanted. But I'd already sliced who needed slicing, and there was a zombie-blocking wall—why bother?

"We'll crash here tonight."

After rampaging so wildly, fatigue aside, various urges stirred. Not just hunger for food to fill my empty stomach, but…

Squish, squish—.

"Eut…"

This body, heated by blood and iron, wanted release into Doksayeon… my fully owned slave.

Squish, squish.

Squeeze, squeeze—.

"Augh…!"

"You blabbed earlier that I'm your type, right?"

I kneaded her bursting breasts with both hands while nibbling her ear and whispering.

"That was…"

"I know. Just bullshitting to kiss up however you could."

Squeeze—.

"But here's the thing. Even that was wrong."

"Ugh…"

"It's not that I fit your type. You make me your type."

Purchase confirmed. Now to train her to fit my hand perfectly.

I dragged her to the on-duty room.