Since the master outlined our daily schedule and expectations, our lives have settled into a generally predictable, rhythmic routine. Each morning begins when the sun is barely a suggestion on the horizon, the pre-dawn light filtering softly through the wooden slats of our window. Wyn and I rise in the quiet of the house, preparing the first meal of the day with a focus on efficiency and flavor. Once the table is set, we wake the master, calling him to the dining room where we eat together—a practice that still feels somewhat surreal compared to our months of training. After breakfast is cleared and the dishes are washed, we move directly into our combat practice. On days when the master doesn't have urgent business in the city, he stays to watch us, providing sharp feedback and correcting our stances. On busier days, it is just the two of us in the yard, the rhythmic clack of wooden practice weapons the only sound in the neighborhood.

  Once the training session concludes, we transition into the daily maintenance of the household. We clean every room, arrange furniture and supplies, and perform the physically demanding task of hauling water from the nearby well to fill the upper-floor tank. Then, as the afternoon begins to wane, we head out to the local markets to shop for dinner ingredients and supplies for the next morning’s breakfast.

  Every evening, Wyn and I work in the kitchen to prepare dinner, pouring our collective effort into making the meal as delicious as possible. The master has shown us a level of kindness that we never truly expected to find in an owner, and neither of us wants to lose his favor. We work hard, not out of fear of the lash, but out of a genuine desire to be worthy of the place he has given us. Once dinner is finished and the kitchen is returned to its spotless state, we slowly prepare for bed.

  The master recently established a rule that we should take a full bath at least once a week. Today marks exactly seven days since we arrived at this house, meaning tonight will be a bathing night.

  Regardless of the significance of the evening, the morning started just like any other. We prepared breakfast, cleaned the dishes, and moved into the yard for practice. Since the master didn't have many appointments today, he stayed with us for quite a while, offering several pointers on my footwork. Eventually, he departed for the city, leaving us to finish the session on our own.

  I am still very much a novice. I lack any real-world combat experience, and my movements often feel clumsy compared to Wyn’s natural grace. But as both Wyn and the master have observed, I am improving. I can at least hold the shield and sword with the proper grip and maintain my balance under pressure. It is a small step, but it is better than remaining defenseless.

  As we were nearing the end of our session, a man approached the yard. Initially, we assumed he was simply a passerby on his way to another residence, but his steps were intentional. He was headed directly toward us.

  When he drew close enough, he greeted us with an elegant, practiced bow. He had the air of a wealthy merchant—thin, well-dressed in expensive fabrics, and topped with a fine felt hat that suggested a certain level of social standing.

  “Good day, beautiful madams,” he said, his tone graceful and deferential, as if he were addressing nobility rather than slaves. “I came looking for Sir Han. Is he at home by any chance?”

  Wyn and I exchanged a quick, wary glance. “No, the master is not at home,” Wyn answered, her voice steady. “What business do you have with him?”

  “Ahem! My apologies, ladies. Please, let me introduce myself first,” the man said with a touch of dramatic flair. “My name is Orzhan. I am a merchant, currently affiliated with the local auction market.”

  He straightened his hat and continued. “Sir Han and I possess a strictly business-related connection. He is my customer and my partner simultaneously, depending on the nature of our current project. I procure specific goods he desires within the price ranges he specifies, and in return, I handle the sale of various items he brings back at auction. In truth, our business isn't limited to auctions; we often act as middlemen between our various connections.”

  He spoke with an obvious joy, clearly finding his partnership with the master to be both profitable and interesting.

  “Umm… Mr. Orzhan…” I started, my curiosity getting the better of me. “What kind of goods does the master usually bring to you?”

  “Oh! The items he brings are generally quite exotic,” Orzhan explained with a look of genuine ecstasy. “He brings things that are incredibly hard to come by in this region. If he were to leave the city and return after several weeks, I would assume he had organized a massive caravan to the production sites. But he returns so quickly... it suggests he must have a legion of high-level adventurers under his command. Truthfully, even seasoned adventurers couldn't cover those distances without days of travel and rest.”

  “Can adventurers truly travel to faraway places so easily?” I asked. It was a part of the world I knew nothing about. I had no idea how fast people could actually move across the continent.

  “Of course,” Orzhan replied. “They can teleport to locations they have visited before, much like how dungeon raiders can jump between cleared floors. But it consumes a massive amount of mana. Even high-level adventurers can only jump between a few cities at a time.”

  “Then... is the master a very high-level adventurer?” I asked, feeling a surge of pride on his behalf.

  “I don't know,” Orzhan said, a mocking smile touching his lips. “He didn't say when I asked. But no matter his level, the idea that he could bring those items back himself is absurd. The speed required would be... impossible.”

  I understood his skepticism, so I simply nodded and agreed. None of the three of us realized the truth: that at that very moment, the master was likely in an entirely different country, purchasing rare local flowers that would fetch a fortune elsewhere. We were underestimating him even while we thought we were exaggerating his capabilities.

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  Orzhan eventually took his leave, mentioning that he had finally received several items the master had been eyeing for some time. He asked us to inform the master of their arrival, and then he departed. Since we had rested while talking with him, Wyn and I finished our chores and left the house as evening approached.

  If the master was telling the truth, we were scheduled to enter a dungeon tomorrow. I wanted to prepare a particularly good meal for tonight—something to build our strength and show our appreciation. The master hadn't given us any fresh money for the shopping today because we hadn't yet spent the ten silver coins from earlier. When Wyn had tried to return the change, he told her to keep it for future use.

  I was looking around the stalls more frantically than usual, my mind preoccupied with finding the perfect ingredients, when a small incident occurred. I accidentally bumped into a man in the crowded thoroughfare. I apologized immediately, dipping my head in a quick bow of regret, but the man had no intention of letting it go.

  “Hey, don’t you two have any manners?” he barked, stepping into our path. “If you do something offensive, you should compensate the victim. Isn't that right?”

  He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering uncomfortably. “Both of you look quite good. How about you entertain me for a bit? Or at least let me touch you.”

  He looked toward Wyn first, but she was glaring at him with such murderous intent that he visibly hesitated. He then turned his focus back to me, his gaze settling squarely on my chest. I wasn't as overtly angry as Wyn, but I felt a wave of revulsion wash over me. Before either of us could retaliate, he said something that stopped us cold.

  “Oh, would you look at that. You’re both slaves,” he snickered. “You’d better keep your hands to yourselves, or you’ll cause quite a bit of trouble for your master, won't you? Huhuhuh.”

  The threat worked. Both Wyn and I are deeply grateful for the life the master has provided, and neither of us could bear the thought of bringing shame or legal trouble to his door. We are, in the end, property. Our will to resist began to crumble under the weight of our status.

  Seeing that his argument had hit home, the man grew bold. He stepped closer and reached out his left hand toward me—specifically toward my chest. I froze, paralyzed by indecision and fear. But just as his fingers were about to make contact, someone suddenly grasped the man’s wrist.

  I turned to see who it was, and my heart leapt. It was the master. I have never been happier to see him, but the expression on his face was so horrifying that I began to shiver. He looked genuinely monstrous.

  With a sudden, violent motion, he bent the man’s arm. The harasser was slammed into the cobblestones in an instant, his body performing a half-turn in the air before hitting the ground. I heard a sickening Krrnnch sound as the bone in the man's arm gave way.

  “Who do you think you’re trying to touch, you bastard!?” the master shouted, his voice echoing through the market. “They are mine. How dare you think you can treat them however you like!? Do you have any idea what you’re doing!?”

  “I-I didn't know! I’m sorry!” the man screamed, his face twisted in agony. “Please, forgive me! Help! Someone help me!”

  The man’s desperate pleas seemed to calm the master slightly, or perhaps he simply noticed that a crowd was starting to gather.

  “I will overlook this exactly once,” the master said, his voice dropping to a calm but terrifyingly intimidating level. “Next time, it will be your neck instead of your arm. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes! I promise!” the man stammered.

  The master released him, and the man scrambled to his feet, running away as fast as his legs would carry him. The master didn't move for several seconds, standing in a tense silence before he finally spoke to us.

  “You should have retaliated,” he reprimanded us. “You must fight back, no matter who the person is. I will take the responsibility for the fallout. Do you understand? This isn't just for your sake; it’s for mine. Why do you think I haven't touched you until now? Did you think it was so you could let some random bastard do whatever he wants with your bodies? Do you think I’m some idiot who enjoys being NTR’ed?”

  He was angry, but beneath the rage, I could hear a note of disappointment. I didn't know what "NTR" meant, but the weight of his words was clear.

  “If you let something happen to you, it dirties me too—because you belong to me,” he said slowly. He turned to look at each of our faces. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, master,” I answered quickly, my head bowed.

  Wyn, however, didn't say a word. I turned to look at her, wondering if she was in shock, but the look on her face was something I had never seen before. Her eyes were locked onto the master, shining with a strange intensity. She was smiling widely, her cheeks flushed as if she were burning with a high fever.

  “Hey! I’m talking to you,” the master said, sounding annoyed. “What is that look? Do you think this is funny?”

  “Yes, master,” Wyn finally said, her smile deepening as she looked at him. “I understand completely.”

  We followed the master home in silence. Neither of us spoke of the incident in the market. We prepared dinner quickly and ate together as we always did. Before retiring for the night, the master reminded us to take our baths, noting that we should never feel the need to wait for his specific order to maintain our hygiene. He reiterated that a bath every seven days was the minimum, but we were permitted to wash more frequently if we desired.

  Then, he went to his room.

  Wyn and I cleaned the kitchen and then headed to the bathroom. We spent half an hour in the lukewarm, bubbly water, letting the stress of the day melt away before finally heading to our shared bedroom.

  I lay down in the bed, waiting for Wyn to join me, but she remained standing. She was meticulously fixing her nightdress, adjusting the fabric over and over again. She hadn't spoken a single word since we returned home.

  “Wyn?” I asked. “Is this about what happened at the market?”

  “It is,” she said, her voice sounding different—sharper, more determined. “And it isn't.”

  She turned to look at me, her eyes reflecting the dim light of the room. “I’m going to the master’s room for a bit. Go to sleep, Woya. Don't wait for me.”

  I didn't need to ask what business she had with him at this hour. I knew. I was certain of what she intended to do. I lay there in the silence, pondering her decision. I wasn't trying to figure out her intentions; I was trying to decide if I should follow her.

  I could have just stayed in bed. I could have just closed my eyes and let the night pass. But after a minute of internal struggle, I threw back the covers. I got up from the bed and followed my sister out of the room.

  [Edited]