CHAPTER 6 - MEETING
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It's a delightful irony that society adores a good underdog story, yet insists on keeping the underdogs right where they are.
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In the depths of the labyrinthine building, Juliana trailed behind the priest, his robes whispering softly against the polished marble floors. The dim corridors echoed with the faint hum of revelry from the auction floor above. As they ventured deeper into the heart of the edifice, Juliana's heart pounded in time with the echo of their footsteps. The deed of ownership, clutched tightly in her hand, weighed heavily—much heavier than its parchment reality.
The priest halted before a formidable wooden door. "In here," he murmured, his voice a fragile wisp in the stillness. "Regrettably, I cannot accompany you inside. These rituals tend to be deeply personal, and my presence may only serve as an impediment."
Though he did not divulge the entirety of his thoughts, the subtle curl of his lip and the disdainful gleam in his eyes hinted at an unspoken aversion. Perhaps it was rooted in the teachings of his faith, or simply a personal bias ingrained through years of devotion. Regardless, the priest concealed his concern that he might contract fleas or some disease from the feline creature, deeming it an insignificant matter to burden the young girl with.
Juliana moved forward, her steps faltering with momentary hesitation. She could sense the priest's unspoken reservations, but she gathered her resolve and pushed the door open regardless.
Dimly lit and sparse, its walls were barren except for a solitary window through which moonlight streamed. Dominating the centre of the chamber, the demihuman was secured to a stark, unyielding wooden chair.
The creature's eyes, narrowed and watchful, seemed to drink in the meagre light with ease as it inspected the intruders. The demihuman appeared much smaller than Juliana had initially perceived, its gaunt frame draped in shadows that further diminished its presence. Yet, an air of regality surrounded the feral being.
As their gazes met, Juliana felt disconcerted by the intensity of its scrutiny—assessing her worth, rather than the reverse. Crossing the threshold, she entered the room.
The door closed behind her with a soft thud, and Juliana stifled a squeak. She swallowed her unease, acutely aware of the stillness that now enveloped the chamber.
Beside the demihuman, a modest table bore a parchment with intricate, crimson-inked rings—a magic contract.
A sudden knot formed in her stomach as she realised the implication. 'Of course,' she chided internally, 'a noble is expected to possess mana.'
Despite the countless times she had faced such cruel reminders, the sting of their barbs had not lessened. One might have expected her to become numb to the relentless disappointments at this point, but she hadn't. Instead, she stood there, biting her lip as she considered her options.
If she failed to activate the binding contract, she would never be able to bend the creature's will and make it subservient to her. But what if—!
"Release me."
The beast spoke.
Its tone was irritated, as if the very act of speaking to her was a burden it begrudgingly bore. Juliana tilted her head and scrunched her forehead at the unexpected words.
"But I just bought you," she quickly rebuked.
She considered the demihuman's limited comprehension; it probably knew little of the world beyond its cage. Yet it would likely grasp her simple meaning. She was its new owner, and though she couldn't enforce their relationship magically just yet, she would convey the impression of authority.
"So, what is my new owner's name?"
"Juli–" She halted abruptly, biting her tongue. She couldn't reveal her name so casually! In this delicate balance of authority, such a display could be seen as a weakness!
"Lady. You will address me as Lady."
Or so she believed slaves were supposed to address their owners. The etiquette at the manor had always been perplexing—all the servants publicly addressed her mother as 'Lady,' and she was expected to adhere to the same conventions. Nonetheless, she had witnessed numerous individuals address her mother by her first name, most confusing of all, her siblings.
The demihuman's expression remained unreadable, but she detected a brief flicker in its eyes. Was it surprise, or perhaps a hint of respect? It was difficult to discern, but she puffed out her chest in pride, hoping she had established a modicum of authority with the beast.
Inhabiting this newfound role was foreign to her, and the sensation of exerting control over another was unsettling. Yet, after a lifetime of being beholden to the whims of others, she found that mimicking those who wielded power was almost second nature. The mask she donned was convincing—at least to herself—and she was confident that the demihuman was equally deceived.
The fluffy ears perched atop the cat's head twitched, flapping up and down as it seemed to mull over its next words. An almost playful curiosity danced in its eyes as it studied her.
"Then, my lady," the creature said, letting the word roll languidly off its tongue with an undercurrent of amusement laced within. "Do you have a purpose for my servitude, or is this merely a whim of a rich child seeking a novel exercise of power, nya~?"
Juliana hesitated, taken aback by the blunt question. She hadn't contemplated that far ahead. What did she want from the demihuman? In the heat of the moment, she had bid for the slave with the intent to… well, make herself feel better, she supposed. But that was a terrible reason to give the feline. It'd only look down on her with an answer like that.
Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and looked into the demihuman's eyes. "For prestige," she declared, her voice firm. "Your existence will provide me with prestige."
She bobbed her head in self-approval, satisfied with her not-entirely-untruthful response. It was simple. It was grandiose. And, indeed, it offered a fragmentary justification. Merely possessing something from the Grand Exhibition would bestow an elevated social status!… Even if it was just some feral cat no one else wanted.
The demihuman's ears flicked again, as if they sensed something more to her words. But if it had, rather than pressing the matter, it shrugged its shoulders, dismissive of the answer. Given its bound state, the demihuman managed a comical shrug that Juliana found curiously impressive.
Now… Just how was she going to activate that scroll?
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Kurosaki found himself baffled by the circumstances. Not only had fate presented him with an unexpected opportunity to escape his confinement, but this girl who apparently owned him now seemed utterly lost in her role as a slave owner—a stroke of luck.
From the moment she entered the oppressive chamber, her uncertainty shone through. Attempts to exert authority and establish control over him came across as clumsy and forced, and he suspected the girl was merely parroting phrases she had picked up from who-knows-where. Clearly, the child was unqualified for whatever role she was meant to be playing.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
It was the pragmatic choice, then, that Kurosaki chose to indulge in her charade. He would bide his time carefully and play the part of the prestigious possession she sought, dutifully serving her until he could find a way to return to Japan. Evading the easily distracted focus of someone so young wouldn't present too much of a hurdle for someone like himself.
In all honesty, the prospect of being a wealthy child's plaything wasn't exactly enticing. Nevertheless, it did afford him a degree of safety from the more unsavoury outcomes he could imagine. No, being a child's toy was not the worst aspect of his predicament…
'Did I really just say "nya" to her with a straight face?!'
By the grace of a miracle, he had remained impassive in that moment. A lifetime of media interviews seemed to have prepared him for that moment.
What vile substance had those despicable traffickers pumped into his veins? Surely science had not progressed this far! He could sense it—the oddity within his own body. At last, granted a fleeting moment of respite from the torment of standing rigid for countless hours, he could finally allocate some mental energy to examining his altered state.
Before the young girl's entrance, Kurosaki had stumbled upon several unnerving revelations.
The ropes that held him captive hugged his chest a little too tight. A peculiar, ebony tail fluttered behind him without conscious control. Strange protrusions atop his head, which swivelled as if they had a mind of their own!
This could not possibly be the body of Kurosaki Kageyama—at least, not the one he had known and nurtured throughout his life. A female? He couldn't be. And yet, as he squirmed in the wooden chair and inquisitive fingers searched for a familiar part of his anatomy, it was with growing dread that he found himself wanting.
Kurosaki realised that, for the time being, he had no choice but to adapt to this bewildering new existence. The exploration of his transformed body would have to wait. With a determined effort, he redirected his attention to the present, scrutinising the girl who had proclaimed herself his master. The very mechanics of this twisted operation eluded him. It struck him as odd that someone so unprepared had been allowed to enter the room alone with him.
Casting his gaze around the room, he failed to identify any security cameras or hidden monitoring devices—it appeared these roleplayers were committed to shunning electronic devices.
Though he harboured no doubts about overpowering the girl once free from restraints, attempting a breakout in his current predicament would undoubtedly prove fruitless. The chances were high that he would be swiftly recaptured or suffer a worse fate, and any goodwill his young captor held for him would vanish.
The girl—Juli-something—was busying herself with a parchment she procured from the table next to him. She rotated it, gesturing wildly, uttering what he presumed were meant to be incantations. It was a rather amusing performance—she likely had complete faith in the notions those adults had implanted in her young mind.
"Servita incant, cor nexus…?"
Kurosaki's smirk, previously directed at the girl's charming naivety, faltered for an instant upon hearing those words.
He recognised that language. This, in and of itself, was not unusual.
As a scholar of the classics, he readily identified it as Latin—he could discern it anywhere, no matter how fragmented or poorly pronounced. In fact, as a true linguist, he had mastered English, Russian, Mandarin, and many others, all in the name of commerce and international relations—but he digressed.
A crease formed on his brow. There was a connection that eluded him, hovering tantalisingly close by. His thoughts started to intertwine, each mental puzzle piece interlocking with another. He revisited his brief interaction with his captors. Why hadn't he considered it strange before? They hadn't communicated in Japanese. They employed a foreign tongue, one he had never encountered, and yet, he had been able to speak it effortlessly.
This strange linguistic prowess.
No satisfactory explanation surfaced. At least, not one he found agreeable.
True, he could lay the blame on the traffickers once more for a modification they had forced upon his brain, but the inconsistencies were too glaring at this point. They were backward people! Living devoid of electricity as if stuck in the middle ages, steeped in delusion. Kurosaki had to confront the reality—in no world could these individuals be pushing the scientific leading edge, capable of genetically altering him to this degree.
'How many others were there?'
He recalled the hundreds of enslaved beings paraded on stage. Those with pointed ears, those with reptilian skin… those with irritating, feline ears.
No, a scientific undertaking of this magnitude would be unprecedented. It would necessitate an international consortium of brilliant minds and a Manhattan project tasked with reshaping countless lives without consent. Such a thing would simply be impossible in the 21st century. The UN wouldn't be able to weather all those activist bloggers decrying ethical violations on Twatter—a platform he owned, naturally.
As he mulled, the pieces continued to converge. The roleplayers. The logistics. The language. His body. His death.
The answer arrived all at once.
"…"
Kurosaki Kageyama did not like the conclusion. He'd been reincarnated as a freak who adds 'nya' to the end of every sentence!
His mind raced as he grappled with the bitter realisation. Reincarnation—it was a concept he had never seriously entertained, but now it seemed to be the only plausible explanation for the incongruities that plagued him. As much as he disliked the idea, he couldn't ignore the mounting evidence right before him.
The girl's voice interrupted his frenetic thoughts.
"I need to know your name for the spell to work," she insisted.
She confirmed that it was a spell. That added an unexpected layer of complexity to things. If his translations were correct, the girl was trying to bind him to her will. He would not have any of that. While Kurosaki did not believe in casting magic spells, he also did not believe in reincarnation. Look where that got him. Reluctantly, he had to admit the girl likely knew more about these 'spells' than he did, and her insistence on needing his name suggested that its activation might indeed hinge on knowing his true identity.
"Kuro," he responded without hesitation. If there was some hidden magical mechanism for detecting lies, his answer would offer some modicum of protection for his true identity. After all, she hadn't explicitly asked for his full name.
The girl nodded, apparently satisfied with his response. She turned her attention back to the parchment, carefully mouthing the incantation once more. As she spoke, the ink on the parchment briefly glowed a worrying red for only a moment before abruptly fizzling out.
Juli-something let out a heavy sigh of disappointment, and Kurosaki braced himself for an accusation of providing a false name. However, the reproach never materialised. Instead, she fixed an intense glare on the parchment, her eyes flickering with a turbulent blend of emotions.
Her intense glare gradually softened as she appeared to reach an internal conclusion.
She turned to Kurosaki, her expression full of determination.
"Alright," she said, her voice unwavering, "The spell worked only partially. If you ever try to hurt me, or run away, your heart will stop. Therefore… you shouldn't do that."
She was a terrible liar, but the girl's naivete was almost endearing.
He had to marvel at her audacity. Trying to assert control over him through such blatant falsehoods? Maybe it would've worked on a lesser being. He gave her points for not giving up at the drop of a hat.
Still, it wasn't nearly enough for him to hand over his free will like a casual offering.
How best to handle the situation? The gears of Kurosaki's mind turned, and he found that his plans to escape remained unaltered. Though the feasibility of returning to Japan was uncertain, the thought of fleeing only to end up homeless in a foreign land held little appeal. It seemed he'd have to tolerate the company of this young girl for a while, at least until he could find a way back.
"Nya~. That's rather scary, my lady."
'End me.' He did it again.
That’s it, there was no going back to Japan in this body. He would lose all reputation in a single interview's worth of 'nya's alone. Maybe he could still make it in the entertainment industry? He filed that thought away for another time.
The girl's eyes glimmered in victory as she revelled in her perceived triumph. She let out a small, satisfied smile.
"Don't worry, as long as you stay near me, and obey my commands, everything will be fine!" She set both hands on her hips as she reassured him.
Kurosaki tried not to notice the 'obey my commands' section she just appended to the deal.
"…"
Hm. Maybe this Juli-something deserved a little more credit than he initially thought.