The Parting
"I'm sorry."
I bowed my head deeply before the policeman, who wore an awkward expression, and let out a heavy sigh.
"Jeez... Never thought I'd see the day."
I was just as dumbfounded. Things had finally seemed to settle down a bit. Arin and Set-a's relationship hadn't improved, but at least they weren't at each other's throats anymore. I figured they could coexist as housemates—strangers sharing a roof, not exactly happy or friendly, but civil enough.
But that had been wishful thinking on my part.
"Calling her mom a whore, a sex slave, saying you fucked her... That's straight-up insult and defamation, plus public obscenity. And the fact that a slave did it? I mean, it doesn't even make sense to me."
It was hard to believe laws like that still existed in a world where sex slaves were sold openly, but there was a clear difference between consensual transactions between adults and randomly insulting someone.
"I'll take responsibility."
"Nah, we believe you. We checked the ID used in the incident, and it looks like one the offending slave used back when she was a civilian."
"Ha..."
When I'd first brought home slaves, all I'd asked for was the bare minimum: common sense. Don't commit crimes. It wasn't an unreasonable demand—even ordinary citizens were expected to follow that rule. I'd never imagined I'd end up at the police station over trash talk in a game.
"Y'know, this happens a lot. Owners come in saying, 'I didn't tell her to do it; the slave acted on her own.' But nine times out of ten, it's the owner egging them on or forcing it."
"Yeah..."
"But not this time. No way. It's not like she assaulted someone, scammed anyone, or stole money. What owner would order their slave to spew a few insults?"
I nodded. Anyone could see there was no benefit for me in her crime.
"Still, you gotta take responsibility."
"Yes, I know."
"Settle it properly with the victim, and make sure to train your slave better so this doesn't happen again."
"Got it..."
Thankfully, the cop laid out exactly what I needed to do. Or maybe it was less kindness and more pity.
"And hey, this might be overstepping, but I'm a cop, right? I've handled plenty of slave-related cases."
He gave me advice from the heart, like he was genuinely worried for me.
"Even ignoring cases where the owner is the criminal, slaves do commit crimes sometimes. Plenty of 'em."
"..."
"And the ones who cause trouble? They're always the ones whose owners give 'em too much slack. The ones beaten daily with whips and fed slop? They're the quiet ones."
That was probably true.
"The ones you let out, feed well, even game with now and then? They're the ones full of resentment. They pull hate crimes, act out to stand out—you name it."
Humans always chase something better. Someone dying in pain prays for the agony to stop, no matter the cost. The starving just want food. The lonely crave any company.
But once all that's satisfied, they yearn for freedom.
"Well..."
But Set-a's issue didn't feel like that. If she wanted freedom, I could've given her as much as possible. She could've lived outside this house, done whatever she wanted—I wouldn't have cared.
Of course, there were limits. As a slave, she couldn't get a job. Unlike Arin, I couldn't free her either. The moment her slave status ended, she'd go straight to prison.
...Maybe.
Maybe I'd picked the wrong slave from the start. Maybe she had unavoidable circumstances. Her crime might've been too minor to warrant prison time, ending her life there.
But if it disrupted my peaceful life, I'd have to rethink saving her out of pity.
...No.
Still, ditching her right away was too hasty. Sure, what she'd done was wrong, but considering her upbringing, it wasn't incomprehensible. I needed to calm down, sit her down for a serious talk.
That's what I thought, at least.
/////
"So that fucking Emmy trash-talked me hard, okay? You think it's possible to die seven times in five minutes of a game?"
Set-a couldn't hold back her anger and yelled.
Her owner—uncharacteristically serious—was trying to "educate" her. It was laughable.
"That does sound rough. But your insults were still a crime."
"Yeah, a crime. So what? Mad I went to the cops over it?"
Rage bubbled up inside her.
You bought me with my dad's money anyway...
It wasn't like no one had tried to teach her. Volunteers, pastors, center staff. They demanded everything from her without taking any responsibility.
They pretended to care, but Set-a knew better. Their "guidance" was for their own convenience, not hers.
No one could truly love her anyway. Maybe some creep eyeing her body, or a volunteer chaining her down without real care or commitment.
But no one just loved her for her.
Even her parents had abandoned her. Her mom, Emmy, who found her own child a burden after birthing her in pain. Her dad, who'd never even seen her.
"Answer me! Come on, say it!"
Still, she didn't hate this guy. He didn't restrain her. Didn't demand or force anything. His indifference sometimes grated—even creepily so—but with her "father's involvement," it made sense.
"...Yeah. Honestly, it pisses me off pretty bad."
"Huh?"
This, she liked. She'd seen too many wrap their noble intentions or faith around their annoyance. Hundreds who'd endured her while acting charitable: "I'm saying this for your sake."
Better this straightforward honesty than their parallel-track lectures forcing transparent lies.
"I told you, 'Don't commit crimes.' And now I've been to the station because of you."
"So what? Gonna kick me out?"
She saw him as a coward. Too scared to touch her, make her do chores. No well-meaning owner would act like that. He had to have a weakness.
"If I have to."
Against her expectation of him fumbling to keep her, he spoke calmly.
"If you're not gonna reflect or apologize, what choice do I have? I'd have to give up."
Set-a laughed. Just posturing. She didn't know how much her dad paid, but he'd given enough for this guy to send her parents on a trip abroad. No way he'd throw that away.
He'd beg her to stay, say anything goes.
Of course, she wouldn't do it again. She felt a twinge of guilt toward him.
But she couldn't say "sorry." He overlapped with all those center folks wanting her moral. And her invisible father—who'd spent his money to keep her from prison but wouldn't show his face—made her sick.
"Fine. No regrets, no apology. Go on, give up. Do it."
He nodded slowly.
"Okay."
"What?"
Set-a couldn't believe it. By her logic, he should've been unable to let her go.
"I'll file for a refund tomorrow. We're done."
"Ha, you won't. Bluffing... You took my dad's money upfront, right?"
She thought hearing it directly would fluster him. But he denied it coolly.
"Never took a dime from your father."
"Liar! You said you bought me for the money! Your own words!"
"That was my situation. Any slave would've done."
Looking into his eyes, Set-a had to admit it. He was telling the truth.
"You said he asked you!"
"Picked up his wallet before coming. Bought him coffee, heard his story. No money changed hands."
"...What? Then that money—"
"I hit it big on coins. Anyway... thanks for your time."
Set-a was speechless.
Her owner walked away with heavy steps.
"Huh?"
Set-a was left alone.