The Velvet Cage of the Slave Market
The slave market was just a name—there was no way a modern facility existed where war captives were dragged in chains for forced labor, clad in rags behind iron bars like some pitiful girl from a fantasy tale. Yet the slave shop he was visiting for the first time felt strangely familiar. He hadn't seen it in real life, but from the entrance, the sign, the hallway, to this room—it was like something straight out of movies or dramas.
"This place feels a bit... like one of those seedy hostess bars, doesn't it?"
The sickly sweet red lighting, plush sofas that screamed luxury while teasing base desires, even premium liquor in fancy glasses. Try as he might not to think of it, one image kept surfacing.
"This is totally a room sa—"
"Ah, no! It's a super high-class vibe! You can just relax here and watch the girls show off their charms!"
She wore a suspicious expression, but societal shifts had elevated what were once "male-centric" cultures into high society, luxury pastimes. With wealth concentrating among the precious few men, it naturally became elite culture, drawing in women who idolized it or hoped to be chosen. Still, he hadn't imagined they'd inherit this kind of scene.
Sitting in a spot straight out of a noir film made his casual outfit feel a tad shabby.
"Uh, isn't there some TPO or whatever? Is it okay to show up here in tracksuit pants?"
"It's not tracksuit pants—hell, you could strip naked, pop a boner, and it'd be fine, so don't worry!"
As she reached for the liquor bottle to pour him a glass, the civil servant gently snatched it away, knelt naturally by the table, and served him.
"Come on, you're not pouring your own drink in a place like this! Let me pour the first one, and have the prospective slaves do the rest."
Looking down at her from above, he caught a glimpse of cleavage through her white blouse. It hadn't registered before, but seeing the black bra and valley between her breasts made him think, yeah, she's a real beauty.
"Whoa, you checked out my tits! So you do have a sex drive... then why won't you get a slave or a girlfriend?"
"Um... it's just... uncomfortable?"
He took a sip, and to his surprise, his true feelings spilled out easily.
"Having someone else in my house, having to consider them... that whole thing just feels exhausting."
"I can't even imagine. I'd love someone cooking, bathing me, cleaning up after me..."
He didn't know the liquor brand, but even to a novice like him, it tasted like something too good to waste. The alcohol warmed him with a subtle buzz—heavy-bodied yet smooth, without the cloying aftertaste.
"Anyway, even if it's not just for sex, having a slave makes life easier. Cleaning, cooking... and it's lonely being alone, right?"
He wasn't sure what to feel, but he nodded anyway.
Soon, a line of women arrived.
"Here come the ladies at last! Line up and introduce yourselves one by one. You came from far away, so no need to be nervous..."
It was hard to find anyone not showing bare shoulders—their outfits left nowhere safe to look. It felt like all the street-stunners who'd turn heads were gathered here. A woman in a modified hanbok with plunging cleavage, another in a tight red mini-dress, one in sheer mesh exposing belly and lower back—they lined up before him. Every single one was stunning.
The prospective slaves from Japan and China introduced themselves in soft, coaxing voices, their Korean fluent. They slipped lewd lines into their intros for sexual appeal; during talent shows, they danced so vulgarly and promiscuously that their revealing clothes seemed modest by comparison. Then they groveled pathetically, serving him.
The blonde in the skin-tight outfit rubbed her massive breasts against his back while massaging his shoulders softly. The hanbok girl and mesh girl hugged his arms, cooing and fawning.
"Mingki wants... Master to rape her hard... Pound Mingki's ass with that huge cock till she rolls her eyes in ahegao..."
"Does Mary's massage feel good, Master? If you take me home, I can serve you with this soft, refreshing touch forever? Go ahead, tilt your head back comfortably."
Before he could refuse, cheeks and breasts pressed against him, seducing relentlessly. It wasn't unpleasant, but he didn't want them invading his personal space.
Sensing his mood, the civil servant shooed them away. The women grew more desperate and grotesque in their pleas to be chosen, but eventually left.
"Man, this takes it out of you more than I thought. Mind if I take a break?"
"Of course. Watching you tense up in front of the girls was so cute—I'd give you anything."
"Huh?"
"They noticed midway, you know? You like them but won't say no, just sit there all sulky—they figured virgin and pounced to seal the deal~"
Her giggling laughter created an unwitting distance. He brushed off the lingering feminine scents on his skin like dust.
"So, what's your take? I rounded up some that should match your tastes."
"My take... yeah."
A nameless melancholy welled up from his chest, thudding against his heart like it wanted to choke him.
"Mind if I step out for a smoke first? Where's the smoking room?"
As he rose, she grabbed him and sat him back down.
"Recent law changes mean minor crimes like public indecency, smoking, or harassing women without a 'guardian'—men get a total pass. You could light up in a restaurant right now."
"Still..."
"Plus, places like this have been smoking zones for a century! No business chases out a customer wanting a cig. Here's an ashtray—just smoke here."
Out of respect for her fetching the gold-plated ashtray, he decided to smoke sitting down. But rummaging in his pockets, he found no pack.
"Here! No need to return it."
He lit the cigarette she offered with her lighter. Normally, he'd hawk a loogie on the outdoor smoking area's floor, but the plush carpet here demanded precision into the small ashtray. A few drops still hit the floor.
"They were pretty. All of them. Made me realize just how many beautiful people are out there."
"Duh—they crossed oceans banking on their looks. Some even pay to get in."
"They pay?"
"They figure one slave contract changes their fate. Flight fees, payments to the state... Think I'd guarantee your time for nothing? Facilities cost money..."
His mouth soured—maybe the smoke. He downed another whiskey; his head heated, the tobacco tang mixing bitterly with the liquor.
"So they do intros one by one, talent shows, charm time with VIPs, vows and all—it's all in the contract program."
"Why go that far?"
"No other path? Even here, poor workers get screwed on injuries and crap—over there, nobody cares."
He didn't follow news closely, but that scandal had blown up communities enough for him to know the gist. After billions sacrificed in the war, reconstruction claimed countless more. Society hadn't healed them all yet.
"Sisters handling that region say it's pure hell. Some with pre-war savings try life-flips on beauty. Good master means gourmet meals."
And some societies hadn't even ended the sacrifices, let alone rebuilt. War sorted killers from survivors, but seeing suffering firsthand soured his mood terribly.
"It was... sad. I haven't worked or yearned like them, yet everything's handed to me. They seem leagues above—people who'd have hated my gaze back then... Judging them feels arrogant..."
"Feeling guilty? Fun fact time."
"Yeah?"
"Industry secret VIPs don't need, but you're so down—listen up."
She sidled next to him, whispering in his ear.
"Those fake names today? Pinky, Mary. Rumor one VIP hates Japanese/Chinese names, so they ditched 'em."
"What?"
"Not hiding real names or some rule—recent big buyer skipped 'em, so they switched to please him."
"No way..."
"Girls panicked seeing you—studied English for mock evals, then boom, French."
He'd thought the hostess vibe intentional; reality was more absurd.
"They try hard. Dig target's posts, games, shows for prefs. Top intel? Sex stuff. Post 'want to fuck maid-slut pussy' on the 15th? By 17th, maid outfits, 'Master~' aegyo everywhere."
"Wild..."
"Oops, got crude... Anyway, you're ultra-mega top-tier master! Virgin, no slaves, kind, no beatings, young, handsome? Romance novels get flak for less! So, point is..."
She looked winded; he poured her a clean glass, fed her a sip.
"Gulp... thanks. So, you're premium stock—no guilt, do what you want! Grab one from earlier, even!"
She seemed tipsy; he patted her back. Enhanced folks forget normals can't match their tolerance—or she was a lightweight.
"Grab that pig bitch, irresponsible power-fuck her pregnant with creampies, use like a fleshlight, fuck 'em all, say 'thanks' and dump! No loss for her! Got it?!"
"Don't you need to enslave for full sex?"
"Y-yeah, but dumping post-enslavement? Fine by rules! Pregnant? Fat gov aid. Not? 'Slave experience' on resume—open a prep school for these girls."
"Those exist?"
"Yup, they fetch intel too. Some bury years in classes dreaming of one enslavement. World hasn't changed that much."
Calming, she suddenly glared, face flushed.
"Ah! Told you no more pours... you did! Fed it to me! Too sweet! Trying to get me blackout drunk for 'whatever'? No way! Hate responsibility sans pleasure! Sex with eyes wide open!"
"Uh, yeah... so, we're done? Can I go?"
Drunk but sharp-eyed, she crushed his hope.
"Nope? Three more rounds."
His head spun. He swigged the rest. Subsequent groups were easier—acclimation, plus her words eased him, even if manipulative. Just watch the show; he hadn't chosen this, owed them nothing.
They were beautiful, but he kept distance. Singers, lewd dancers—blatant, ridiculous, gross—but he couldn't mock.
One from the last group captivated far more.
"Shinohara Yukiko."
She stood apart. Real name, proudly full—no cutesy nicknames. Stunning, yes—all were—but hers added aloof ice-queen aura. Amid flowers, she blazed. No skin-show desperation; fitted pants, stylish top. Yet lewdness stemmed from her body, not cloth.
No trembling, no pleading. Grace and poise over haste. Queen addressing subjects, not slave. No smile—just appraising stare.
"I am proficient in accounting, management, engineering—everything to assist Master. Culture, philosophy, novels, games—you'll find no conversational gaps."
He'd seen doctor/accountant claims, but none boasted intellect so boldly. Words alone? Easy. But everyone sensed her truth.
"I prepared solely for Seongha Master. First nomination today—I've awaited this. First sight, but know my loyalty. As a woman, I am pure."
Virgin pitches aplenty, but none eye-locked provocatively. Not sexual taunt—take me if you dare.
"Y-you arrogant...!"
"Yukiko! Your rudeness could ruin us all! Stop!"
Her poise unnerved others; murmurs turned to pleas to silence her. Unfazed, she fixed on him.
"Now, talent time! Start from front!"
Civil servant hyped; early girls demoed skills. Dull. His interest: Yukiko alone.
"No talent for crowd-pleasers. Only clumsy sleight-of-hand."
She fanned a deck from her pocket—shrrr. Card magic mesmerized; she had him name a favorite, then showered it in matching cards. Unforgettable.
"Totally hooked? Fun? It's obvious~"
Civil servant whispered, ribbing.
"Can't see it."
His whisper blanched her. Lips mouthed insane.
VIPs maintained peak via surgeries, drugs—"body enhancement serum" to masses, but bioengineering pinnacle. War-flopped originally; modern missiles dwarfed heroes. But it blocked the Chinese male-killer virus, so survivors got it.
Key: even enhanced, he couldn't spot her trick. Impossible she outpaced him physically—meant woman-topping dexterity tricked male superiority.
Elegance in every knuckle amid flourishes. Perfectionist rigor, no errors—yet relaxed.
Magic done, slight bow, she returned.
"Hey, show's ending? Eyes glued to that icy Jap bitch—quit messing, buy already?"
Some girls flinched at her whisper; others hoped. Yukiko: serene gaze.
"It's just... living together would be too..."
"Plain slaves invisible, hot ones intimidating? She's sus, but ignore—snag her, breed!"
Yukiko: flawless beauty. Pale skin, straight gaze, long black hair—noble everywhere. Others couldn't cherish her like him. Unknown motives, but he could grant wishes sans lust. He was special.
That delusion sickened his self-loathing. Regretfully exquisite, yet he rose thinking no purchase.
Meeting her eyes: unwavering stare. Meaning unclear, but snared his ego.
"Yukiko, stay? Be my... slave."
"An honor."
Procedures flew by. Back home in her car, Seongha returned with one slave.