Prologue
The news playing on the monitor filled every corner of the tiny two-hundred-square-foot office.
Sipping coffee I'd smuggled over from the break room of the team next door, I stared blankly at the screen.
That was when something streaked fast over the reporter's head, live on air.
The camera swung away from the reporter and zoomed rapidly onto the factory roof.
Above the enormous building, gripped in roaring flames, something was flying through a sky thick with black smoke. Dazzling blonde hair whipped by the wind, and a sleek black combat suit accented in gold.
Even shot from a considerable distance, she was strikingly beautiful.
Ban Soyeong. The flagship star of Titan International, leader of Team Valkyrie.
The woman they called the strongest superhuman of this era.
With her arrival, everything changed in an instant. The remaining members of Valkyrie swooped in one after another, pulling out every last person the rescuers had missed, and the out-of-control inferno was snuffed out in the blink of an eye.
Truly, it was the arrival of heroes.
With the situation wrapped up, another reporter pushed a microphone toward Ban Soyeong as she stood before the gathered crowd. Her tiny, sculpted face filled the entire screen.
Blonde hair swept back from her forehead, perfectly proportioned features, emerald eyes like cut jewels set into porcelain skin.
Astonishingly, though she had just crawled through fire, there wasn't a single smudge of soot on her face. She glanced at the camera with that expressionless gaze, then said flatly into the outstretched microphone:
A line of dialogue that couldn't have been more heroic if she'd tried.
"……"
Staring blankly at her on the screen, I happened to glance at a document sitting open in the corner of my monitor.
It was crammed edge to edge with information next to Ban Soyeong's ID photo — everything from intimate details like her body measurements down to trivial things like her preferred fashion brands and favorite foods. The kind of contents that would give the woman herself chills if she ever saw it.
Which made the few fields still glaringly empty stand out all the more.
— Erogenous zones:
— Preferred positions:
— Average frequency:
A sigh poured out of me the instant I saw those empty, eye-doubting blanks.
Because I was the one who would have to fill them all in. That was my job.
"…Ha."
To be clear, I am not some obsessive sasaeng fan of Ban Soyeong.
I never wanted any of this lunacy in the first place. Like everyone else, I simply had my circumstances.
My mother sold me.
It didn't take long to accept that fact. The terms were better than you'd expect.
Full insurance coverage, of course. A brand-new officetel dormitory. Meals provided as a given, plus a communications and transportation allowance. On top of that, a self-development stipend, discounts across every subsidiary — a so-called job from heaven with every benefit imaginable.
The old proverb doesn't lie. If you're going to be a slave, be a slave in a minister's manor.
'…Though the problem is that I'm an actual slave.'
I was her personal attendant, serving a woman who had since become so distant a figure I could hardly even look her in the eye now.
I was in charge of her sexual relief.