I Wanted to Be a Good Person
I wanted to be a good person. I hated the thought of anyone grieving because of my actions. Whenever someone might wonder, "Why did he do such a thing?" about me, I wanted to be the kind of man who could at least offer some excuse for every choice I made.
War crimes usually peaked in the middle of the conflict. I stopped them from the sidelines—just enough to not completely ruin my relationships with my comrades, but cowardly all the same. Even if I didn't participate, I was still a bystander. I neither saved the victims nor stopped the perpetrators. I was too exhausted to do anything, had no authority or ability—that was my excuse as I did nothing. Now, I had money, leisure, and no one to interfere. If I did something even more wrong here, I'd have no room left for cowardly excuses.
When I woke in the morning, the bed was empty. Yukiko was so diligent that even when she lay down with me, she always rose first. The chance for me to make her breakfast had ended after that first morning. Her scent lingered on the sheets. Maybe because of that, I didn't want to get up. Sunlight filled the room, but I lazed around, phone in hand. A clear, classical melody rang out from one corner. It wasn't music I listened to, and there weren't even speakers in the room—what was this?
Tracing the sound, I found the new phone I'd bought Yukiko last time.
"Yukiko? You've got a call!"
Rushing outside, I heard water dripping from the shower. She probably couldn't answer right now, so I figured I'd take it and let her know later. But the moment I picked up, Japanese poured out.
I knew some basic Japanese—just fragmented words like "permission," "denied," "move," "death" that I'd memorized for use. "Um, sorry, do you speak Korean? Yukiko can't come to the phone right now."
Lots of people in Japan learned Korean for various reasons, so I tried. Fortunately, her next words were understandable.
"If I may ask, are you Seongha, the master of my daughter?"
"...Yes."
Her voice was calm and gentle. Even over the phone, I couldn't bring myself to lift my head. The obvious fact that Yukiko had a family hit me anew. I couldn't proudly say to her face, "I'm keeping your daughter as a slave."
"Thank you for taking in my inadequate daughter. Her manners may be impertinent and her figure unrefined, but she should pose no issue for your casual enjoyment."
For a moment, I wondered if I should be angry at her words, but no matter how well I treated Yukiko, I couldn't do better than her mother. There was truth in calling it "casual enjoyment." Pouring heavy affection into a slave wasn't necessarily good for the slave.
"N-no, I'm the grateful one. Yukiko is beautiful, and, um..."
"If you're considering acquiring more slaves, please contact us anytime. Yukiko is flawless as a woman of our clan, but we have even more beautiful girls. Her older sister, for instance..."
"No, sorry. Not planning on that right now. Thank you."
"Oh... I apologize for overstepping in our hardship. Then, until we have the chance to meet. I wish you well..."
Her words oozed a sticky greed that made me uncomfortable, but knowing how desperate people could become, I didn't want to blame her. After the call ended, I saw a text from the civil servant asking to meet. Wanting to make some small memory for her, I replied suggesting somewhere other than our usual pork belly spot near the house.
The civil servant—Park Si-young—sent nearly nine restaurants, sorted by distance and menu, the instant I suggested a restaurant. I picked a decent pasta place and said we'd go there, but I couldn't figure out how to bring Yukiko without it sounding weird. Wait, inviting a woman to a restaurant—wasn't that basically asking her on a date? Was it okay to suggest that to someone with a boyfriend? Well, I had other women too, and if I framed it like a work dinner, it wouldn't seem too sleazy.
Yukiko would finish showering and dressing soon, then start preparing meals, so time was short.
"Did you cough, Master?"
"Yukiko? Uh... got some time?"
My plan to suggest it naturally and casually crumbled from the first sentence. Time? If I ordered it, she'd make time, of course. A slave like her had no other plans or personal life.
"No, there's someone I want to introduce you to. Want to grab a meal together?"
The drugs men needed to survive were treated as minor strategic materials, so unauthorized purchases jacked up the price. If Park Si-young pulled strings, getting meds for Yukiko's lover would be easier.
Yukiko bowed her head, silent as if holding something back. Eating with me must feel that bad? It stung a little, but I got it. It was easier when she showed emotion.
"If it's an order, I will obey. My will is irrelevant."
"No need to come if you don't want to. Your feelings matter."
Yukiko lifted her head without a word. Our eyes met.
"I've already received too much. If it's what you desire, Master, I'll do anything."
The conversation had veered off, but before I could fix it, She said she would change into going-out clothes and retreated to her room. She didn't hate meeting people or going out, so why the sudden attitude? Hard to understand.
Yukiko drove smoothly and skillfully. I knew nothing about cars, so I'd just told her to pick one and spend as needed. Might've been a mistake now. The sleek, somber luxury sedan was comfortable, feature-packed, and dignified—but it didn't suit her at all. It screamed "vehicle for chauffeuring someone," too old-fashioned for her to drive alone. I thought she could keep using it after leaving, but realistically, with her family's hardship and the high maintenance, it'd probably sell as used right away.
"Like pasta?"
"Anything you provide is gratefully received, Master."
Her usual emotionless reply. Yukiko showed almost no facial changes and never resisted anything. It wasn't my indifference keeping me ignorant of her tastes—she simply had none to reveal.
"Don't you miss your family? Want to visit later?"
"If you wish it, Master, I'll go."
I hadn't expected that attitude even for family visits. A twinge of resentment—like, am I not family?—but her family had sold her into slavery, so maybe she was still hurt. I hoped they'd forgive each other someday. Environment wasn't personal fault; she'd understand eventually.
On the way from the car to the restaurant, Yukiko's steps slowed noticeably. Not her usual one pace behind, but hesitating by the car. Watching why, she noticed my gaze and approached slowly, step by step.
"Feeling unwell? Did I force you too much... Sorry. Head straight home?"
I didn't have my license, but driving her back quick would be fine. Sorry to Park Si-young, but she wouldn't be heartless over illness.
"My body is fine. Let's go."
Only then did Yukiko calmly reach me. She didn't seem afraid of people, so what was this?
"Welcome! Oh! Y-you... the voluntary sex volunteer came too?"
"Ah, right—you two know each other?"
Yukiko stared blankly, flustered.
"Th-this is the person you wanted to introduce me to?"
Rare for Yukiko to trail off like that.
"Yeah. She's my assigned civil servant. If you ever need help with daily life, just contact her anytime."
"Huh? I didn't say I'd help."
Park Si-young teased mischievously but shook hands promptly.
"Nice to meet you! I'm Park Si-young, dedicated civil servant to Hyun Sung-ha! You're Ms. Shinohara, right? Like I thought last time, you're so pretty!"
"Thank you."
"Aw, no need to be so formal with me—I'm not your master! Let's be friends! Friends!"
Her brazen confidence in declaring friendship to a stranger was enviable right now. I'd barely spoken essentials for days—no, even now...
Park Si-young chatted about cosmetics, dramas, romance novels—girl talk. Some back-and-forth on makeup, but Yukiko was blank on dramas, movies, romances peers would know. Only when shifting to male-oriented stuff did she chime in a bit: comics, novels, fantasies, anime where men rape women who submit. Niche demand and supply, but rich men's lavish patronage meant high quality.
I couldn't look up when they described "the heroine in an erotic game moaning in ecstasy," but listening eased the awkwardness. Better than her slaving alone at home.
Pasta arrived soon. One bite of the generous cream pasta justified the menu's steep price. Not that I was paying.
"Rose pasta made with the blood and sweat of the people's taxes~ Delicious!"
"True, but you don't have to phrase it like that..."
Park Si-young slurped noodles gleefully; Yukiko ate meticulously, posture perfect, like dining was work extension. Polar opposites.
Then a familiar ringtone. Yukiko hung up without checking.
"Pardon the interruption."
"No, what if it was important?"
"Dining with you is my utmost priority, Master."
Second call; Yukiko bit her lip faintly. Tiny change, but I'd never seen her this rattled. She moved to power off, but Park Si-young and I stopped her.
"It's fine. Just out for a meal—what's the harm? Answer it."
Yukiko paused seconds, then took the call to silence it.
"Thank you."
She left quietly. Once gone, Park Si-young exhaled, tension gone.
"What’s with her? Zero expression changes! If not for the phone, I'd think she had issues!"
"That's just how Yukiko is."
"Even at home? She's tough not to crack. Anyway, when's your next slave market visit?"
"Next?"
Buying Yukiko impulsively was to avoid nuisances with at least one slave. Glaring, feeling duped, Park Si-young laughed and explained.
"The program targeted folks like you with zero slaves originally."
"Then why..."
"Government mandates—especially on men—get big purchase fee discounts. But men with few slaves complained: 'Why not us? Discrimination!' Hurdles piled up... You need over ten slaves to finish."
One Yukiko was mentally taxing; ten? Daunting. But maybe peers would ease her loneliness. She'd always see me vertically anyway.
"You came early after notice, so we've got leeway. Take your time—call when convenient!"
"Sure, then..."
Convenient day? My schedule was empty; no difference. Still, maintaining status quo with Yukiko felt lucky.
"Oh! About Yukiko from last time—unsure if I should say..."
"What's up?"
"Nothing certain. Might upset you with baseless suspicion. Okay?"
"Then no need."
Post-war, she'd helped without fail. If she said unnecessary, it was.
"Not like handing over all assets, right? No way!"
"Wh-what's 'handing over'? Investment accounts can't withdraw freely—not risky, right?"
Her sunny smile froze.
"That's handing over. So, how much of your money can Yukiko control now?"
"Excluding house, real estate, daily account... everything?"
Her face flashed doubt, despair, sorrow, regret. Futility. Short laugh, deep breath—emotions faded to one.
"Are you insane?! Sane? A sucker? No social experience? Never scammed, huh! What were you thinking?!"
Her fury hit full force. Rare sight of woman yelling at man—restaurant patrons stared, whispering. I just kept apologizing, calming her as best I could.