My First Slave
"So this is... your, first slave?"
"Yes."
"Whoa... I never even imagined. Aigoo..."
The staff member tapped away at her tablet, her face flushed deep red with embarrassment.
"Then you probably don't need any of the slaves I mentioned earlier. They're the kind that only the ultra-rich, the ones overflowing with money, buy just to show off."
"Ah."
"Let me lower the criteria a bit. But to avoid anything too embarrassing, she'll still need decent looks..."
She bit her lip hard.
"There are women with a few minor flaws compared to the ones up front. But given your solid conditions, I'll match you with the best possible."
"Thanks."
The staff member left. After a short wait, another woman entered. At least there was some variety. Their looks weren't much inferior to the previous ones, but each had her own distinct vibe.
Still, none caught my eye.
The price is whatever. This level's fine...
But owning her beauty all to myself at her youngest. I could accept a minimal investment for that.
Think positive...
With the money I had, ten million won or a few billion—it didn't make much difference. It was just a matter of vibe.
Like how no amount of cash would make me drop two hundred thousand on plain fried chicken.
I looked at the woman, had a brief chat, and sent her out. Maybe I was being hasty. I wasn't ready to see them yet, and they might not be ready to present themselves to me either.
Judging people based on my limited insight was foolish. Even someone who seemed a bit off could turn out different on the inside.
"Come in."
And another woman entered.
...Price passes.
Purchase at two hundred million, monthly upkeep one million. Compared to the first women demanding twenty billion upfront and twenty million monthly, it was reasonably priced. A bit steep, sure, but acceptable.
Pretty girls were limited supply. The world had changed, but their looks still held high value.
She wasn't overwhelmingly stunning or perfectly polished, but she was pretty. The kind where, even next to any celebrity or actress, someone would pick her purely on taste.
Her black hair was a little messy, no spark in her eyes. She seemed tired, gaze drifting—not to my eyes, but toward my chest.
"Ex, excuse me..."
No confidence there. White dress exposing her shoulders. Like she'd tried for some skin, but it was too modest for that.
Kim Arin... I checked her name tag and face.
"Hi. Nice to meet you."
"Y-yes! N-nice to meet you too! I'd be so grateful if you bought me!"
She bowed her head sharply. Not super revealing, I thought, but a glimpse of cleavage. Didn't feel like seduction. Just pure, desperate sincerity.
"What'd you do before?"
"W-well... I went to, college—"
Yeah, most probably had. A woman in her early to mid-twenties would usually do college unless some special circumstance or major money issue.
"And after?"
Twenty-five. Same age as me.
"Um... n-nothing—"
"...I see."
No urge to blame her. I'd landed my 'any company' job thanks to a relative's nudge. More precisely, it was a job no one else would touch, so they pulled strings even from family.
Anyway, not by my own power. I'd never really hustled hard enough to be proud in front of anyone.
"Anything else?"
"St-studying for certifications... stuff like that."
Not a great point, but she didn't try to spin it. At least she hadn't learned some 'how to be a slave' manual somewhere.
...
Weak person. Shame soaked into her body. Seemed scared of conversation itself. She was trembling.
This wasn't bad. Harmless. Even a grumpy old man ranting about all women wouldn't call her harmful.
Didn't seem exceptional, but unlikely to cause trouble either. Wouldn't endanger others on her own initiative. The type who'd just stay put if ignored.
We kept talking. She matched her looks: preferred staying home, loved games. Even played some of my niche ones.
"Why become a slave?"
"Family's got a lot of debt..."
Made sense. A normal family wouldn't sell a healthy daughter unless desperate for a normal amount of cash.
Clearly, a lot rode on her shoulders too.
We talked more. Finally, I nodded slowly.
"You're good."
"...R-really?"
She jolted in surprise.
"Yeah. I've decided. I'll buy you."
Maybe I could've found better at the same price. Or similar for less.
But I was tired. Didn't want to see more.
"Looking forward to it."
This was fine. Not bad at all.
/////
"You up, sweetie?"
"Just a bit longer..."
Arin mumbled from under the covers, still half-asleep.
"How long you gonna lie there? Didn't you say you were going to exercise?"
"It's 11... I can get up at 10, wash, and head out."
"Breakfast?"
"I'll eat in a bittee..."
An hour later, Arin finally emerged, hair a mess.
"Sigh. What a sight."
"Doesn't matter..."
"Your mom gave birth to such a pretty girl—shouldn't you polish that beauty—"
Her mother cut herself off.
"...Even rethinking it, it's a shame to give you to just any guy. Can't you just get a job?"
"No."
Arin replied flatly.
"I told you, slave. Even if I got a job, what about our debt?"
"Debt's an asset too. It's manageable, so we can stall and—"
"Enough."
Arin realized anew how cowardly her mom was. No real effort, no real accomplishments, yet clinging to the easy path.
"Not going to the market today?"
"After my workout."
No matter how she dressed it up, she was just unemployed. Useless to society, mooching off her parents day by day.
If such a person could become someone's slave, she should be grateful. Overjoyed.
But Arin couldn't smile.
"Ha..."
Soon, her life would end. Like a guy dreading the army, her heart felt unsettled. She was blasting through games she'd shelved for "someday."
Once a slave, no more chances. Savoring every bit, ignoring content burnout.
No, shouldn't I be worried if I even sell?
She had some confidence in her looks. Never profited off them, but figured they weren't worthless.
But she lacked too much. Compared to the other slave candidates lined up.
Slaves needed specs now too. Influencers flaunting curves on SNS, streamers picking kind "chairmen" masters. Cooks with certs, even "how to serve men" trainees—unofficial, but still.
Some hit spas at unimaginable prices. Why volunteer as slaves if they could afford that?
If today flops, ask to lower the price...
Getting sold first mattered. Even if not clearing all debt, dropping to tens of millions would let them handle the rest somehow.
Mom and Dad are both earning...
She knew it. She was lazy. A bit more study, more diligence building skills—no need for this extreme.
Truth was, she hated the slave market. No fantasies of some mega-rich savior.
But her price was steep for average buyers. Not unsellable, but no reason to splurge on her over cheaper options.
Even those tempted by her looks lost interest in her passivity and left quick.
She figured she'd never be chosen. Weirdly got picked by a young, loaded guy—but pure luck. No effort on her part.
Wouldn't get great treatment. Asking for more luck was greed.
Night deepened. She sank into endless thoughts.