The Devoted Slave's Apology
"There might be more unpleasant incidents like the one just now. Using public transportation... doesn't seem safe."
"No, you can't just start with that."
Yukiko's demeanor—shoving the man away without a word of apology or explanation—was clearly at odds with the polite, restrained behavior she'd shown until now.
"I'm sorry."
As if sensing her own misstep, Yukiko immediately dropped to her knees on the street, begging forgiveness.
"No need to go that far..."
"I failed to protect you earlier. I didn't fulfill my duties."
But her apology wasn't quite what I'd expected.
"Hm? What are you talking about?"
"I didn't respond when that man groped you out of nowhere. It's shameful."
Yukiko bowed her head deeply, genuinely contrite.
"Groped? It was just a hug from some kids... That's not the issue. Why'd you shove him so hard?"
"Age doesn't excuse it. That was clearly molestation."
I wondered if she was upset or angry, but her face remained as inscrutable as ever.
"I'm sorry. I thought you'd be uncomfortable with contact from another woman."
She had a point there, and I had no retort.
Whatever her feelings or motives, she'd offered herself in that department store fitting room. I hadn't wanted to go to the slave market, but buying Yukiko had been my choice. She was trying to repay the money I'd spent, and I'd refused. If it stemmed from some pain or trauma making me reject women altogether, there was nothing to be done. I didn't even know what I wanted myself—what I truly desired.
I just wanted to live like I had yesterday. Alone, playing games until I got sleepy, leaving unused rooms to gather dust, browsing the internet and jerking off to whatever pics caught my eye.
"Sh-should I call a car?"
Unable to voice those tangled emotions confidently, I forcibly changed the subject.
"Pardon?"
"Well, you have a point about safety,"
I doubted I'd suddenly get caught in a bomb blast or kidnapped at gunpoint, but compared to pre-war Korea, public safety had quietly deteriorated. Remote areas beyond police reach had multiplied, and illegal private militias were on the rise.
"I don't really want to drive. I'll get you one later."
"In that case... I gratefully accept."
It hit me that we could just take a taxi. I'd barely ventured far enough post-war to need one, so I'd forgotten. As I considered hailing one, the bus arrived. We hesitated, then boarded.
Regrettably, the physical enhancement procedure didn't cure carsickness.
/////
"What is all this..."
The fridge had only held frozen dumplings for ramen, tofu, eggs—bare basics. Now it was stuffed to bursting with groceries, which surprised me. She'd said dinner would be late, yet she started prepping hours early, which was odd.
"If you could tell me if anything doesn't suit your taste, I'd be deeply grateful."
A steak bite-sized and plated perfectly, tofu and eggs garnished with herbs. The dishes were stunningly beautiful and elegant. I didn't even recognize most beyond the familiar ones.
One bite, and the flavor astonished me even more than the presentation. It wasn't just delicious—it was an experience I'd never had.
"How did you... This is... incredible!"
Staring at the table felt like watching a magic show, beyond mere culinary skill.
"The kitchen was already somewhat equipped, so it wasn't impossible. It took time to clean appliances unused for so long, but cooking itself was feasible."
When I first moved in, the furniture wasn't mine, so there was an oven, air fryer, etc. I'd bought them years ago and never used them. Seeing them work was novel.
"As your sole slave, considering cleaning, service, and management, I can't prepare meals like this daily. But if you wish, I'll increase the frequency as much as possible."
"Thank you."
"It's only natural."
Her slender, graceful hands eating across from me harmonized perfectly with the delicate dishes. Her poised, impassive face evoked a master chef, adding to her allure.
"Where'd you learn this?"
"Western and Japanese cuisine were part of bridal training since before. Korean was basic framework only; advanced techniques came from the slave academy here."
"Ah..."
I didn't know how to react to "slave academy." Had it been unpleasant for her? By pre-war standards, the world was full of incomprehensible things.
"Even so, what I learned was supervising and managing cooks, not hands-on cooking. I'm glad you're satisfied."
"What do they teach at slave academy?"
Her expression hardened more than usual the moment I asked. I regretted it instantly. Too curious, too pressing—I shouldn't have touched a potential sore spot.
"Nothing special, and I already knew most. They explain slave market sales processes and behaviors that maximize selection chances in brief sales windows."
She spoke matter-of-factly, but I couldn't tell if she was suppressing anger or sorrow—or truly indifferent.
Slave academies sounded brutal, but women paid to attend voluntarily, like cooking schools or certification prep. Legal and normalized.
"Beyond that, as I mentioned, cooking and cleaning—nothing particularly meaningful. Also, methods of sexual service and the proper mindset for a slave."
"Wasn't that... tough?"
"Aside from the more explicit details, it wasn't much different from what I knew."
Yukiko finished her portion swiftly and stood, thanking me for her own cooking—a slight dissonance.
/////
Despite the day's events, with nothing left to do, I booted up the computer as always.
A strategy game from years ago. It had a niche fanbase pre-war, but the userbase vanished entirely.
I trained two spearman units, conquered the nearest city with a legion, built a library. Two days ago, barracks instead; the day before, archers over spearmen.
Not a huge difficulty jump from the previous title, but guides were gone. I verified every strategy across hours-long sessions.
Compared to following walkthroughs with minor tweaks, it lasted longer. Familiar graphics, gameplay, strategies, choices flowed by. Too many failures; I expected none this time.
/////
Hours into the game, fatigue hit. I quit, idly scrolling the net.
The usual humor, gossip, hate posts. Ironically, despite female-dominated communities, male-hate was scarce. Even with the military rejecting "majority rule democracy" and men dominating elites.
People preferred branding complainers as losers over decrying the powerful.
With so few men, relationships were limited, yet most online claimed boyfriends. Even if true, pouring effort, time, money into submissive obedience to be one of many—honorable?
Mockery of those "losers" was mild. Harshest vitriol targeted "those who stole men unfairly."
A fresh post exemplified it.
> We're short on men even for Koreans fucking each other, so why the hell do these bitches crawl over here?
> They started the war, and now whine about hardship while leeching off our Korean men? Isn't that fucking gross?
Many saw slavery as unfair to local women. Dating girls slaved away in grueling labor for brief encounters, while imported slaves lounged, enjoyed men, got paid.
"Master."
"Huh? Yeah?"
Yukiko stood silently behind me. Windows open against the heat—she'd slipped in unnoticed. My strewn clothes caught my eye. I swept occasionally, but solo living meant it wasn't presentable.
"You've stayed in your room all day, so no time to clean it. If you're not busy, may I now?"
"Go ahead. Should I step out so I don't get in the way?"
"No need."
Clock read 3 a.m. Bathroom and water purifier were in-room; no reason to leave.
She tidied clothes, cleared corner trash. Computing with her behind felt exposing—sites, posts all visible. I shut down, helped sort.
I hauled the mini-fridge for her mopping; dust piled under untouched furniture.
"Still up? Didn't you wake early this morning too?"
"I'm used to little sleep. As your only slave, heavy workload is expected."
Her words made me ponder hiring more, but I didn't want another slave market trip.
"If you desire sexual service, I can make time anytime."
Her casual remark snapped me back: not roommate or family, but sex slave.
A beauty in casual attire, ready to yield her body—tempting overload.
Her white dress-like loungewear wasn't lewd: not clingy, not revealing. But the thin fabric teased glimpses of skin—intentional or not.
"It's late. Get some rest."
I dodged again, fumbling the moment. Yukiko bowed deeply, departing with demure steps.