"Good afternoon."
In a remote countryside manor, a silver-haired, orange-eyed Liberi man in a crisp purple uniform politely knocked on the front gate.
"Who's there?"
A tired-looking Feline man, his shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders as if he'd just finished some strenuous activity, walked toward the door in irritation.
But just before his hand reached the latch, he hesitated.
Something clicked in his mind. A faint memory… a sense of dread.
Carefully, he peered through the narrow gap between the door—
"!"
The sight of that distinctive purple uniform made cold sweat break down his back. His earlier irritation vanished instantly, replaced by sheer terror.
"Good day, sir. How have you been recently?"
The man at the door smiled pleasantly through the gap, his tone as warm as his amber eyes.
"Cape Group, Senior Debt Collector No. 021 — Jesselton Williams, at your service."
The Feline didn't fully register what was being said. He only understood one thing:
the debt collectors had found him.
Panicking, he turned on his heel and sprinted back toward the house.
Inside, he had prepared a network of escape tunnels — just in case this day ever came.
He'd always known it might, but he never expected it to come so soon.
(Columbian curse) "How the hell did they find this place?!"
But before he could reach the doorway, two massive iron spikes shot through his knees, pinning him to the floor.
Blood pooled beneath him, staining the hem of his trousers and spreading rapidly across the polished wooden floor.
As he tried to scream, Jesselton was already behind him, pressing a gloved hand over his mouth.
A simple wooden door was hardly a barrier to Jesselton.
Using his mastery of Originium Arts that controlled metal, he had already unlocked it quietly—keeping it slightly ajar only for dramatic flair.
After all, what's a job without a little… personal touch?
Dragging the injured Feline inside, Jesselton glanced around.
The interior was spotless—new furniture neatly arranged, fine curtains framing clean windows—if not for the trails of blood spreading across the floor.
"My apologies for resorting to violence, sir," Jesselton said in his usual calm, courteous tone. "But given that you've been listed as a defaulter by the Cape Group, certain measures are, unfortunately, necessary."
Violence was, in principle, a debt collector's last resort.
But this particular debtor had been both uncooperative and arrogant—choosing to abscond with the funds instead of settling the debt.
Cape Group was generous with those who showed good faith. After all, people were valuable resources in their own way.
But potential was still just that—potential.
Jesselton casually dropped the man onto the floor.
"Do you currently possess the means to repay your debt?" he asked politely.
The Feline, now pale and bleeding profusely, struggled to stay conscious.
He did have assets—enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life.
But compared to what he owed, it was nothing.
"N-no… But I can give you half of what I have left! Please… spare my life…"
Even now, he tried to bargain. He didn't want to return to poverty.
That was why he had run the moment the debt came due.
And more than anything—he didn't want to become one of Cape's "products."
"Do you have the means to repay your debt?"
Jesselton's expression didn't change. His voice remained perfectly polite as he repeated the question.
"I—I'll give you everything! All of it! Just… don't report me! It might not cover the whole amount, but even for a senior employee like yourself, it's still a decent sum!"
The Feline's voice trembled.
He knew losing everything was better than being pawned.
"…Debt Collector No. 021, complete the task."
A faint voice spoke into Jesselton's earpiece.
"No need to rush," Jesselton replied lazily. "You're making it sound like I'd ever betray the Group."
Then, with a sharp motion, he twisted the Feline's neck.
Crack.
"…If you could tone down that twisted sense of amusement," the voice in his ear continued, "you might actually make the 'Top Ten Employees' list next time."
"Spare me the lecture," Jesselton muttered. "So, what now? I've confirmed the target's assets—they're far from enough to cover the debt."
"Then minimize the loss. You were too hasty again. If he'd lived a little longer, his organs would've stayed fresh. That would've reduced the boss's losses."
Jesselton shrugged indifferently, saying nothing.
He simply looked down at the lifeless body at his feet.
The blood was still warm.
He swept his gaze around carefully, probing with cautious fingers — and sure enough, he found several hidden doors.
"Relax… If my hunch is right, there should be goods down here that'll make up for the boss's loss," Jesselton murmured, a low smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
He could already smell a different kind of iron tang in the air, and heard ragged, dying breaths from somewhere in the dark.
Jesselton flipped a switch. The lamps hummed alive and the room's horrors were revealed to him and the man on the line.
A dozen or so battered, near-unconscious Feline girls lay there, half-clothed and terrified, their eyes wide as they stared at the intruders. Heavy iron chains bound them at the neck and around their ankles.
Jesselton's gaze flicked to a nearby cabinet. Inside: an array of grotesque instruments, instruments designed to break people.
"Unbelievable — even down to this," he muttered. "That bastard won't give up his fetishes, even now."
He went through the motions efficiently: untied some of the restraints, only to clamp even heavier, more secure shackles on the women moments later. They barely had time to register gratitude before they were made immobile again.
"If that creep hadn't restocked with food every so often to feed his perversions, I might never have found this place," Jesselton said easily. He knocked the barely conscious captives out cold and began a meticulous search.
"Ah — just a few slaves. Selling them should cover the boss's loss. This month's numbers will be fine," he reported without emotion.
"And what are you going to do with them?" the liaison asked over the earpiece.
"For secondhand goods like these, demand's low… I'll hand them over to the Group's 'Health & Safety' medical outfit. A little 'processing' and terran organs fetch a good price," Jesselton replied bluntly.
"They're not debtors, nor enemies of the Group," the liaison protested.
Jesselton shrugged. "Fine, fine. I won't do anything unnecessary — I'll take them to HR. But you: don't go doing anything reckless, you hear me?"
Silence answered him.
"You know the debt collector's code. You also know why you were chosen as my liaison."
Still no reply.
"The Group knows what you used to be capable of. Let one of those 'compensations' slip through because you felt merciful and the Group's payout shrinks — do you want that on your record?"
"They're living people," the liaison said at last, voice tight.
"So what?" Jesselton's tone was flat as iron. "They are slaves — property, collateral for debt. Their whole lives will now be spent contributing to the Group's growth."
"…."
"The Group doesn't like my methods. That's why they sent you to keep me in check. But the Group also let me remind you of your place."
A pause, loaded and deliberate.
"When your profit to the Group becomes less than the damage you cause, guess what — you'll be the one added to the Defaulters' List."