At first, Lancer had thought he'd merely caught a petty thief on a whim.
He hadn't expected a "surprise"—or perhaps a shock—after handing her over to the Imperial Police.
"Lieutenant Colonel, the thief has confessed to everything. She's a repeat offender—we've been trying to catch her for some time…"
The officer's report barely registered. Lancer's eyes were fixed on the document in his hand.
He had been in this world for over a year now, yet he had encountered very few so-called "story characters." Aside from General Budo at the beginning, there was Brigadier General Liver on the western frontier. After some thought, Lancer had concluded he must be well before the start of the main storyline. At this point, Tatsumi was probably still playing in the mud back in his village. He had long since given up on actively seeking out "protagonists."
And yet—
Plant flowers intentionally, and they refuse to bloom; toss down a willow branch carelessly, and it takes root.
The girl's name in the report was—
Leone.
Clearly, at this stage, she hadn't obtained a Teigu. She was nothing more than an ordinary girl scraping by in the slums of the Capital through petty theft and scams.
"Just tell me directly. What's the sentence for this thief?"
"Yes, sir. According to Imperial law, a thief must repay double the value of what was stolen and serve five years of labor. She's a habitual offender—we have over ten recorded cases. Judging by her condition, she won't be able to afford compensation. In that case, she'll likely be sold to a slave merchant—"
"I'll buy her."
The officer blinked.
"Sir?"
Selling criminals to slave traders was simply part of procedure. Technically, bypassing the process to sell her directly to Lancer was overstepping authority. In practice, however, such matters were flexible. A friendly slave merchant could handle the paperwork quietly.
Lancer's rank as a Lieutenant Colonel also carried weight. Someone that young, holding such a position in the Imperial Guard, was not to be trifled with.
Meanwhile, in the holding cell, Leone sat with a dark expression.
On the way here, she had tried everything—seduction, surprise attacks, sudden breaks for freedom. None had worked. As a repeat offender, she knew exactly what awaited her.
And she was powerless to stop it.
Born in the slums, without family, without backing, her only alternative to thievery was selling her body. A slum girl had no other path.
She knew better than to beg for sympathy. No one would pity her. So she conserved her strength in silence.
Her only chance would be during the transfer to the slave merchant.
Inside the Imperial Police headquarters, escape meant being shot. Once delivered to a slave merchant, she would likely be drugged—no second chances.
She wasn't stupid.
Her only opportunity was coming soon.
So she needed to appear obedient now.
Let them lower their guard.
Click—
The cell door opened.
Leone's heart pounded. This was it—
"There's no need to explain further. To compensate your victims, you've been sold as a slave to this gentleman."
Leone stared blankly.
What?
...
Walking behind Lancer, Leone instinctively hunched her shoulders, trying to hide the iron collar around her neck.
Her demeanor had completely changed from earlier. On the way to the Imperial Police, even with her wrists restrained, she had resisted constantly. Now, she looked small. Subdued.
The reason was simple.
The collar.
It marked her as a slave—and more importantly, it bound her.
Slaves had no rights. They were property. If a slave ran away, she became nothing more than abandoned goods on the roadside.
The Capital might appear orderly under the Imperial Police's watch, but slaves were not under that protection. If something happened to her, at worst someone would just pay compensation.
She had seen what became of runaway slaves in the slums.
As she walked, she could feel the gazes of passersby.
Predatory.
Meanwhile, Lancer was preoccupied with something else entirely.
How should he deal with her?
Over the past year, he had gradually adapted to this world. But one thing he still rejected at his core was slavery. That rejection had earned him the nickname Executioner.
As for Leone herself—
He had no particular desire for her.
Brutal as it might sound, the sixteen- or seventeen-year-old Leone before him, with short hair and a body not yet fully matured, unkempt from life in the slums, barely counted as average in appearance.
Her future role as part of the "protagonist group" meant nothing to him. He had nearly killed Kaneki Ken once. He judged people based on what stood before him, not on some predetermined role. She hadn't joined Night Raid. She didn't possess a Teigu.
She was just a thief.
"For now, you'll serve as my maid."
The sudden declaration stunned Leone. But what choice did she have but to nod?
They entered an inn together.
Though she looked tomboyish, she was still unmistakably female. After bathing and changing into a nightgown, she lay stiffly in bed as Lancer wrapped an arm around her.
Her body turned rigid as wood.
She knew what was coming.
She had no right to resist. Not as a slave. Not against someone stronger than her.
At this point, she had resigned herself. Her only hope was that, after he was done, he wouldn't pass her along like merchandise. She had heard stories—slaves gifted from hand to hand like objects.
What she didn't know was that Lancer, holding her, was equally tense.
Beast...
...or worse than a beast?
His body was flushed, adrenaline still coursing through him. Yet as he saw Leone's earlier defiant expression dissolve into naked fear, memories surged unbidden.
The Imperial women he had "killed" during the suppression campaign.
The foreign tribespeople who had chosen suicide.
In an instant, his desire vanished.
By the laws of this world, whatever he did to Leone would be perfectly legal.
But Lancer knew something deeper.
He would walk countless worlds in the future. The law he needed to follow wasn't local statutes—it was his own heart.
And his instincts warned him clearly:
If he indulged now, he would step onto a path with no bottom.
Fine. If that makes me worse than a beast, so be it…
With that thought, he shifted slightly, burying his face against the warmth of her chest.
He might be worse than a beast—but collecting a little interest shouldn't hurt, right?
---
T/N: LANCER??? WHAT ARE YOU DOING...? ONG ILL KILL YOU IF THE NEXT CHAPTER IS...