The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 191

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.

“The ear cuff. I mean, I’m always indebted to it.”

Lying would only make her seem more suspicious, so Jaha answered honestly. The offhand remark seemed to amuse him—he let out a soft laugh.

“True. Now that you mention it, I’ve never properly thanked you for always relying on it.”

His gloved fingers toyed with the curve of his ear before he suddenly removed the cuff and held it out to her.

“Here. If you want a closer look, go ahead.”

His smiling face was no different than usual, his eyes still that same blue. Jaha deliberately fixed her gaze on the ear cuff.

So, it’s not the ear cuff. That left only the gloves. The gloves themselves could be layered with multiple spells—or perhaps something hidden inside them, something she’d never seen before…

After pretending to examine it for a decent interval, Jaha returned the ear cuff to its owner.

“I’ve seen enough. By the way, would it work the same if I wore it on my ear?”

“No, it’s designed for men.”

With practiced ease, he slid the ear cuff back into place.

The silhouette of his fingers through the gloves was smooth—no sign of a ring hidden beneath. She had held his hands countless times; if there had been any foreign object besides the gloves, she would have noticed.

‘Faking an accident to pull off his gloves would be too risky.’

But if she tried removing them while he slept, she wouldn’t be able to see his eye color.

In short, she’d have to slip the gloves off without him noticing while he was awake, check his eyes, and then restore everything before he realized—but Jaha wasn’t some trained spy. That kind of maneuver was impossible.

Touching the gloves directly was too dangerous. Then maybe…

“There’s something I want to ask you.”

He nodded obligingly, his gaze as warm and affectionate as ever.

Suddenly, an impulse gripped Jaha—a reluctance to shatter that peaceful look in his eyes.

He likes me. And I like him. Isn’t that enough?

What does anything else matter? If we’re happy, shouldn’t that be all that counts?

It’s all in the past. Nothing will change by digging it up, so why stir up trouble?

They say ignorance is bliss. Knowing might only bring misery!

She squeezed her eyes shut. In that brief moment, her back grew damp with cold sweat.

Without even knowing if this was the right thing to do, her mouth moved on its own.

“Can you tell me why you always wear gloves?”

The moment the question left her lips, a shiver ran down her spine.

It wasn’t an inappropriate thing to ask between lovers. If anything, not asking would be stranger. It shouldn’t raise suspicion.

‘It’s fine. This isn’t a mistake.’

Steadying herself, Jaha waited for his answer.

He showed no sign of disturbance, responding with the same calm expression as always.

“There’s something I want to hide.”

“Something you want to hide?”

“Yes. There’s something on the back of my hand that I don’t want others to see.”

As he spoke, he slowly traced the back of his left hand with his right.

Every movement he made was like a painting—his long, downturned lashes alone lent him an air of legitimacy and narrative. Jaha fought not to be swayed by it.

What could it be that he doesn’t want others to see?

A scar? A burn?

Common sense suggested those possibilities, but what if this man was hiding something far from ordinary?

“Can I ask what it is?”

For a moment, he simply looked at her. Not glaring—his expression was too serene for that—but his gaze wasn’t just idle observation either. It was something deeper, heavier.

Like a tangled thread with no end, like an endless labyrinth with no exit.

Was it treasure lurking in those depths—or a monstrous secret?

Jaha refused to look away, meeting his stare head-on. If she averted her eyes first, it would feel like losing. Half stubborn pride, half a detective’s resolve to scrutinize every possible hint of deception.

“How should I put this…”

He tapped the table lightly with his fingertips—tap, tap—before speaking again.

“If I had to define it, I’d say it’s ‘evidence of a sin I committed.'”

“A sin… you committed?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, the novel ‘The Scarlet Letter’ flashed through Jaha’s mind.

Boston, a Puritan colony, was a place of strict discipline, where sinners were branded with a scarlet letter. The protagonist, having committed adultery, was punished by being forced to wear the letter “A” on her chest for life.

“A brand… is that what it is?”

“A brand. You could call it a kind of branding.”

Yet, as he said this, there was no trace of remorse in his demeanor. His attitude was far too composed—no, beyond composed, it was utterly devoid of hesitation.

Was his defiance in the face of sin because his crime wasn’t truly shameful? Or was he simply a sociopath, incapable of feeling guilt?

As Jaha was lost in confusion, he suddenly stood up and walked away. Her eyes widened as she realized where his steps were leading—straight toward the drawer where she had hidden the book she’d been reading earlier. In her haste, she must have pushed it in too forcefully, as the drawer was slightly ajar.

‘No!’