The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 151

Volumes 1-4 + Side Stories of DMS are available uncensored on ko-fi! ※ This work contains depictions of coercive relationships, explicit language, and other graphic content. Reader discretion is advised.

“If you suddenly ask like that… isn’t the question too broad?”

“Ah, as you know, Madame, I’m not originally from the Empire. So I don’t know much about His Majesty the Emperor, and suddenly as a subject living under His Majesty’s grace, not knowing about him became unbearably shameful – my eagerness got ahead of me and ended up flustering you.”

At Jaha’s lengthy excuse, Madame Marie nodded with a slightly softened expression.

“I see. While I dare not evaluate His Majesty, I can share a few facts I know. His Majesty the Emperor is…”

“Young, usable, and a magician with passably decent skills.”

Jaha startled at the voice that flowed in like water. Had it come from the front, she wouldn’t have been as surprised, but coming directly from behind made goosebumps rise on her nape.

A shadow moved above her head.

Jaha blankly watched the trajectory left by a white-gloved hand elegantly moving as it pressed against the table.

Madame Marie quickly rose and bowed.

“You’ve come.”

“How are the lessons? If you encounter any inconveniences or difficulties while tutoring, feel free to speak anytime.”

“Not at all. Being entrusted is nothing but an honor.”

Madame Marie’s attitude was infinitely deferential. As others behaved so formally before her eyes, Jaha felt awkward remaining still alone and was about to rise holding her skirt hem when—

“Stay as you are. I just stopped by briefly to say hello.”

Rikanan placed a hand on her shoulder. The lightest touch that immediately withdrew – a restraint with no force whatsoever.

Jaha hesitated before sitting back down. Shock flashed across Madame Marie’s face before disappearing. Witnessing this, Jaha foresaw her future – she’d surely be scolded later for improper etiquette.

“The sunlight is strong. Have shades put up so it doesn’t hurt the ladies’ eyes.”

“Understood.”

After giving orders to the servants, Rikanan bid farewell with impeccable gentlemanly manners.

“I must take my leave now. May you have a pleasant time.”

With strides as long and effortless as her legs, the man’s retreating figure gracefully drew Yoo Jaha’s gaze.

Under the sun, his golden hair shone brilliantly, like a bouquet woven from light itself, while his impeccably tailored physique exuded nothing short of sublime elegance.

Belatedly remembering Madame Marie across from her, Jaha turned her gaze and offered an excuse.

“Ah, Madame. I meant to rise and greet him earlier, but…”

“It’s of no concern. That was his wish, after all. What I told you was merely a general guideline—henceforth, simply defer to his preferences.”

The unexpected response from Madame Marie left Jaha feeling strange. She had braced herself for a scolding, knowing the woman to be a strict principlist—unyielding, almost rigid in her temperament.

Under normal circumstances, Madame Marie would have chastised her harshly: Did you really just sit there because he told you not to rise? Have you no sense of propriety? This kind of compromise was unlike her.

Just how significant was Rikanan’s status?

‘Is he a duke, perhaps?’

Someone whose power even most royals wouldn’t dare challenge. Otherwise, Madame Marie’s excessive deference made no sense.

Maybe the head of the aristocratic faction. Or a tycoon controlling the nation’s treasury. A shadow ruler pulling the Empire’s strings from behind the scenes. Or even the master of an intelligence guild with eyes so vast they could discern what undergarments the Emperor wore today.

Drawing from her past fondness for novels, Jaha entertained various hypotheses—yet none led to a clear answer.

‘A crime lord…? No, surely not.’

In fiction, such figures might be glamorous, but in reality, they were mere criminals. Murderers, traffickers, d**g dealers—social evils steeped in inhumanity.

‘Though, back when I was deep into fantasy novels, handsome villains were all the rage.’

A face like an angel, a personality anything but. A gentleman straight out of an etiquette manual, yet at his core, a sociopath—a half-mad psychopath. That exact archetype had been wildly popular. Surely Rikanan isn’t…?

To stop her needlessly spiraling thoughts, Jaha shook her head. She didn’t want to entertain the idea that Rikanan—who had so readily extended kindness to her after she’d fallen into this world—might be a villain. The very assumption felt rude.

“Madame Marie.”

After a moment of hesitation, Jaha decided to ask outright.

“What does Rikanan do? Who is he, really? I’m indebted to him here, yet I know nothing about him.”

“To address him so casually…! Though he permitted it…!”

Madame Marie’s face twisted in shock as she fumbled over her words, her hand clutching her teacup. At the same time, a faint clinking sound filled the air.

Jaha soon realized what it was—Madame Marie’s fingers were trembling ever so slightly, causing the base of the teacup to rattle incessantly against its saucer.

“This… is not a matter I can speak of carelessly. If you’re truly curious, Miss Jaha, perhaps you should ask him directly.”