The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 95

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.

Back when Jaha was at the Langjev Palace library, she had passed the time reading books, so she could understand if Cedric had considerable leisure. Not all slaves were like the media’s image of pyramid laborers—whipped and worked to the bone from dawn till dusk.

Still, Jaha found it puzzling why he went this far.

Even if he had the time, why spend it on her?

Because she reminded him of his sister?

Cedric had once said that seeing Jaha made him think of his younger sister. They didn’t look much alike, but their aura was similar. Was that why he kept coming here, even if it meant wasted trips?

She couldn’t read his mind, but at least while talking to Cedric, she could briefly forget the nightmare of reality. In those moments, Jaha wasn’t a tool—she was a person.

Like a tiny breath of air in a suffocating room.

Jaha couldn’t help but like Cedric.

It was as natural as the world brightening at sunrise.

As instinctive as a living thing needing oxygen.

Because in this world, Cedric was the only one who satisfied her deepest craving—to be acknowledged.

Watching him softly recount his daily life, his lips moving without pause, Jaha found herself thinking:

I want to kiss him.

I want to see if those lips are as soft and sweet as a dream.

Is this just simple s****l curiosity?

Or is it romantic feelings?

Jaha had to be careful—she didn’t want to lose Cedric. If she made the wrong move and ruined their relationship, she would lose the only comfort in her hellish life.

“…But of all people, that spark had to land right on Zent! And sadly, three out of the five strands of hair Zent had left ended up burning away.”

“Oh no. What happened then?”

“Zent was furious and lunged at Jean. Jean just smirked and said, ‘What’s the difference between five strands and two? It’s not like anyone can tell anyway—why are you acting like you lost three thousand?’ That just made Zent explode, shouting that a single strand of his hair was worth more than a thousand strands of anyone else’s…”

Jaha let out a soft laugh at Cedric’s vivid storytelling, complete with gestures. Guess hair loss is a sensitive issue no matter what world you’re in.

Cedric continued. In the end, Zent lost the argument—but the next day, Jean showed up looking like death itself. Turns out, someone had sneaked into his room overnight and shaved off all his beloved chest hair while he slept. Jean had apparently taken meticulous care of it, brushing it daily to prevent tangles and even applying snail mucus to keep it silky.

At that part, Jaha bit her lip hard. They use snail mucus in cosmetics back on Earth too—how did they figure out its effects here? But the idea of slathering it on hair, not even skin, was what really pushed her over the edge.

The mental image of a rough, burly man carefully applying snail mucus to his patchy chest hair was too much. Jaha couldn’t hold back anymore—she burst out laughing.

Cedric stared at her, dazed.

Maybe it was because her face, usually shadowed with gloom, had finally brightened. The sight of her smiling so radiantly burned itself into his eyes. Without thinking, he called her name like a man in pain.

“Jaha.”

“Ah, sorry. That Jean guy is just too funny. All that effort for chest hair… I didn’t even take care of my own hair that well back on Earth.”

Cedric didn’t know what Earth was, but he chose not to ask. He didn’t want to ruin the mood with questions. He wanted to keep Jaha smiling just a little longer.

“I should go before it gets too late. Next time we meet, you have to tell me what happened to those two, okay?”

Jaha, her laughter fading, rose from her seat.

An aching regret nearly made Cedric reach out to grab the hem of her clothes, but he caught himself at the last moment.

“Yeah, take care.”

After parting ways with Cedric, Jaha’s mood gradually sank along a downward curve. By the time she arrived before the Emperor’s bedchamber, not a trace of laughter remained on her face. It wasn’t that she deliberately hardened her expression—it simply happened on its own the closer she got to the Emperor physically.

Before entering, she glanced at a mirror and saw the same dull-faced woman as usual. It was hard to believe she had been laughing out loud just moments ago. At least there seemed to be nothing particularly suspicious for the Emperor to notice. Taking a deep breath, Jaha stepped inside.

The Emperor was sitting on a couch, reading something.