The Girl in Uniform
A salty, nutty flavor filled my mouth. It was jerky from the nearby convenience store, right on the edge of its expiration date. I shoved the last piece from the bag down my throat and tossed the empty wrapper into the trash can nearby.
It was a small, tidy cafe. It seemed well-maintained, but the cheap-looking fixtures were unavoidable.
"Welcome!"
The server greeted me loudly the moment I walked in, drawing every eye in the place instantly. There wasn't a single well-off person around. After seeing nothing but women who dolled up their looks and maintained their figures, encountering real, ordinary people brought back old memories.
The server was at least neat and presentable. But the customers? At a glance, none of them looked like they'd been with a man since the war. There was a manual laborer in a blue work uniform, chugging coffee refreshingly despite the slight mismatch. A test-prep student with horn-rimmed glasses and her hair tied up haphazardly had a stack of thick books in front of her. When our eyes met, she awkwardly lifted a book to avoid my gaze.
"Nice to meet you! How can I help?"
There were clearly one or two customers ahead of me waiting for their coffee. Ignoring them completely, the server hurried over and scanned my face.
"I'm good. I'll order in a bit."
I waved her off, declining her attention. Glancing around, I spotted a girl in a school uniform.
"O-over here..."
The buttons on the chest of her pristine white uniform looked like they were under serious strain. The girl timidly raised her hand to call me over.
"I-I ordered ahead. It's a bit lukewarm now... sorry."
In the cup placed in front of me was a frothy-looking cafe latte—probably the most expensive item on the menu here.
"Nice to meet you. Yukiko gave me the rundown."
"Yes! I-I had a favor to ask... so I called you here..."
"Speak freely. You're Hyun-ah, right?"
"Y-yes... yes! Lee Hyun-ah, second-year at Handle High School!"
Her top felt a tad short, but overall, she had a gentle, model-student vibe. Her kind eyes had a soothing power that put people at ease.
"I-I have something important to say today... or rather, something to tell you..."
It didn't mean much with her freezing up like that.
"Take your time."
Truth be told, the reason I'd come to meet her wasn't noble sympathy or a sense of justice—embarrassing as that is to admit. I couldn't save everyone. There were far too many poor people, and while I donated out of habit, I didn't expect it to make a real difference. I was just curious because Yukiko had mentioned her.
"Then... um... please hear me out honestly."
I nodded. It couldn't be comfortable for a student to be in a position where she basically had to beg.
"Um... am I pretty?"
"Huh?"
If asked whether she was pretty or not, Hyun-ah definitely was. She had a warm, embracing look with generous curves—not quite Mikoto-level, but ample nonetheless. The school uniform added a fresh, pleasant scent that stirred the senses.
"Pretty? Yeah... you are."
But I hadn't expected her to say something like that. I couldn't read her intent. I'd figured she'd show off how unfortunate she was. Knowing my soft heart, she'd think that alone would open my wallet: how kind her mother was, how horrific the illness, how her little sister cried at home, how hard she'd worked at tough jobs to stop it all.
Just hearing those details would force empathy from me. Knowing her story would make her more than just another faceless number in the background. I wouldn't escape the impulse to fix her misfortune with a bit of cash.
So that would have been enough.
"Then... how about taking me as a slave?"
There was no need to go that far.
"Wait, hold on. You're a student?"
Even in this modern era with countless male-privileged systems in place, touching kids was taboo. With the population cliff looming without enough children, there was no reason for the government to condone sex with women whose fertility wasn't guaranteed. Even the lofty lawmakers were strict on this. Foreign slaves got kicked out ruthlessly if underage—let alone a domestic minor? No way.
"I-I'm an adult!"
I hadn't expected her to brazenly claim that after introducing herself as a high school sophomore.
"You're wearing a school uniform right now!"
I shot to my feet, pointing accusingly at her clothes. Maybe I overdid it, but this was a serious issue.
"I-I'm a vet! I did two years on my knees, so I just turned adult this year!"
"Oh."
It was an unexpected variable I hadn't considered. In the latter half of the war, most men died, skyrocketing demand for female soldiers. Female NCOs who already knew military lingo got promoted straight to field officer ranks. What they needed were grunts.
If conscription had been properly implemented, they wouldn't have drafted minors. But after scraping together survivors and consolidating power, the military demanded it anyway. Upper-class women resisted mandatory service, leading to a half-baked volunteer system via political deals. Minors were barred from combat ops, but domestic roles like paperwork or defense in reserve units like the Homeland Reserve Force were allowed.
"Rea...lly. Here's my Patriot Card too..."
The familiar card design bore her service number and name. My mental formula of high schooler = minor was crumbling.
The female soldiers I'd seen were deployed overseas or to the frontlines, so no minors there. I'd heard rumors like "girls go to the army on the home front too," but it was just passing chatter. I hadn't connected the dots to military-vet high school girls (who weren't minors).
"Sorry. My bad."
"So... am I lacking?"
With her hands clasped over her chest, Hyun-ah exuded a pure aura.
"Lacking? In what way?"
"Experience, skills, looks... nothing I can proudly claim. It's embarrassing."
If I'd met someone like her when I was younger, I'd have idolized her like a beautiful big sis. I wanted to say something encouraging, but I lacked the confidence to back it up.
Silence fell. I scrambled for a topic.
"What do you do at school?"
"Just... studied. Desperately, to get a scholarship to a good college... ehehe, life doesn't go as planned."
More silence. Conversation stalled.
Hyun-ah seemed afraid of saying the wrong thing or bothering me, so she held back. I fumbled, unsure what to say. Have I really gotten this old? How could I make this girl feel at ease, without tension or aversion—just casual chat on equal footing? I had zero data on talking to high school girls that age.
Excluding my three slaves, the only women I knew—or had known—were the civil servant and a few soldiers I'd hung out with. Laughably, I lacked the skill to converse with women on my level. Come to think of it, I didn't have many guy friends for casual talk either. The ones from the military either hated me or I hated them—mostly both.
"Was the military tough?"
"The work was a bit hard, but no bullying or pain. Just basic combat training, then straight to admin duties."
But it was all pointless. Skills for friendly chats with men only mattered when men were around. In this era, men rarely talked to other men. Conversing with fish is useless in the desert.
"The ability to talk to peers" was the same. Even a severely handicapped man or one drowning in debt outranked women. At least in Korea.
The silence grew awkward. I tried anyway.
"Uh... how's studying going?"
Back when I was a student, I hated adults asking me that. I realized too late. But now in their shoes, I had nothing else.
"School studies... feel meaningless now. Earning normally won't cut it, so I need to find my path quick."
If I'd thought even a little before speaking, I'd have predicted this grim reply. She'd just said studying was pointless—why ask?
"Sorry."
"N-no! Not school—sex slave training starts today, but... meeting you seemed like a bigger opportunity, so I came."
I felt bad for taking her time, but knowing the goal was becoming someone's slave muddled it.
"Sorry. I'm not looking to buy more slaves."
Getting deeply involved and responsible for more people was overwhelming now.
Hyun-ah took it surprisingly calmly.
"I figured. Meeting you like this showed me how lacking I am."
"Don't call me 'sir'... bro... uh, just uncle or something."
The age gap was one thing, but having her call me "oppa" from my mouth felt wrong. "Sir" was worse.
"I know it's shameless, but can I ask one favor?"
"Anything."
I had plenty of ways to help. Hospital bills might be huge, but slave earnings were predictable. A few touches would cover it without issue. Or national aid for girls like her. Just standing there with a frown could push welfare eligibility.
But her request was different from what I'd expected.