"…Did I do it right?"
It wasn't the first time he had thought about it since leaving the plaza. The conversations with the soldiers and priests had been, in theory, functional. He had made no diplomatic mistakes, revealed nothing he didn't wish to show, and maintained his posture without leaving room for misinterpretation. It had been correct, even impeccable, if analyzed through the logic of an infiltration manual.
And yet…
"Did I do it right?" he repeated, this time in silence, without making a sound, while his eyes lifted to the sky, covered by a thin layer of winter clouds.
His face, hidden beneath the hood of a simple yet well-made cloak, drew no more attention than necessary.
The three demi-humans followed him at a cautious pace, saying nothing. They walked a few meters behind—neither close enough to bother him nor far enough to seem disobedient. They moved in a line, obedient either by nature or fear.
Satoru had not given them a single order since leaving the plaza. Not because he had decided to remain silent, but because he had not considered it necessary to say anything. He was the master. They were the slaves. The contract had been sealed with blood, magic, and formality. The rest was supposed to flow naturally.
But there was something unsettling about that perfect obedience. It wasn't total submission. It was… empty. Detached. Almost automatic.
He thought back to the healing. One of the priests had offered to treat them as soon as Satoru had shown interest in keeping them alive. Another had immediately sought out a merchant to arrange the slave contract. Everything had happened with suspicious efficiency. There had been no protests. No negotiations. They had even smiled when he hadn't returned the gesture.
"Did they really understand what I was trying to convey? Or did they simply see someone too dangerous to contradict?"
The problem wasn't the outcome—he had achieved exactly what he set out to do. The problem was the uncertainty: had he been respected… or merely tolerated?
A faint tingling, almost imperceptible, ran down his back. It wasn't magical. It was human. Insecurity, perhaps.
Satoru cut off that thought like closing a poorly written book. His emotional suppressor acted automatically, extinguishing that faint spark of doubt before it could spread. It wasn't worth wasting energy on assumptions without solid data.
"Hanzo told me there's a restaurant in this direction that accepts demi-humans," he murmured, more to himself than to the others. Then he slightly turned his head, without looking at them directly. "Come."
And they followed without complaint, without even wondering if there was another choice.
In his mind, the plan was clear: feed them well. Not out of compassion, but because a master who takes care of his slaves appears better in the eyes of society. Moreover, since they were demi-humans—beings marginalized, usually ignored or despised by most people—their presence beside him projected an image of humility or compassion that others might interpret as virtue. That perception served as bait: if someone wished to approach him, they would likely use the girls as a bridge.
It was a simple strategy. And for now, continuing forward was enough.
The place didn't stand out. It was wedged between two weathered wooden warehouses, with a nameless sign showing only a crude image of a pig over embers. Even so, Satoru knew he had come to the right place. Not because he trusted Hanzo's taste, but because he noticed the slight tremor in the step of a beastwoman leaving through the back door carrying empty crates—she was being tolerated, not thrown out. A good sign.
He entered without announcing himself, letting the bell above the frame ring clearly. The air was heavy with grease, smoke, and strong spices. At this hour, there were few customers—a group of merchants at the back, two adventurers at the bar, and an elderly demi-human couple near a window. No one looked at them more than necessary. Or maybe they did, but Satoru didn't bother to notice.
He moved to a large table, chose one without asking, and sat down without removing his cloak or hood. The girls imitated him with some hesitation, remaining standing at his side. No one scolded them. The proprietor, a thin man with scars on his hands, approached without showing disdain.
"What would the gentleman like?" he asked in a neutral tone.
Satoru raised a single hand, without looking at the menu. "Bring me a plate of everything you have that contains meat. Avoid soups."
The man raised an eyebrow but didn't object. He nodded briefly and disappeared into the kitchen. Satoru, for his part, leaned slightly back against the bench and closed his eyes for a moment. He knew it would take a while to prepare so many dishes, so he used that time to review, word for word, his interaction with the militia officers and the priests.
He had recommended keeping the existence of the high-ranking demon he had defeated in the plaza a secret from the civilians. He justified it as a measure to avoid unnecessary chaos and, moreover, to keep other demons from learning that someone capable of hunting them was present.
There were no more demons in reality, but giving the impression that he was doing something important—and above all, something they could be grateful for—seemed an advantage.
To the soldiers and priests who had witnessed the event, he hadn't said much, but with the higher-ranking officials—such as the guard captain or the highest-ranking priestess present—he had been even more careful: he expressed understanding for their duty to inform their superiors, and at the same time, he refused to confirm or deny a meeting with the count or the high command. He didn't want to draw more attention than necessary, and that posture of false humility served his purposes well.
Several minutes passed. The murmur from the kitchen grew louder and, finally, the first dishes began to arrive—loaded with roasted meat, strong spices, and sizzling fat. The aroma spread throughout the entire establishment.
Only then did Satoru turn his gaze toward the demi-humans.
They were still standing.
"Eat," he said.
None of them moved. The three, with their backs straight and their hands in front of them, seemed unsure whether that had been an order or a threat. Satoru didn't notice immediately. Only after several seconds of silence did he slightly turn his head and repeat:
"Was I not clear?"
His tone wasn't aggressive. If anything, it sounded confused. He thought perhaps he had omitted a key word or that his intonation had been wrong. He was about to rephrase his instruction when the eldest took a step forward.
"T-thank you for the food, Master," she said, bowing her head. Her voice was low, barely audible.
The other two imitated her within seconds, with more nervousness than solemnity. It was then that Satoru nodded in satisfaction and looked away as if the matter were resolved.
While he waited, he calculated the margin of time he had before the next major incident would take place. According to his memories, there were still nine days before the next important events, assuming everything followed the usual course he knew of this world.
But given how disconnected the two events were, Satoru doubted they would change.
"That means I have enough time to build rapport with the demi-humans, work on my image, and study the demonic magic I just acquired," he thought, the latter filling him with anticipation.
The table remained silent. The girls ate, yes, but slowly and with restraint. There was no urgency or greed—only an extreme care in every movement. The eldest had been the first to take a bite; the one with pointed ears and the smallest waited to see her chew before daring to do the same. Even then, their hands trembled slightly.
Satoru watched them for a moment. He said nothing at first, but the scene before him differed from what he expected. From what he remembered, demi-humans usually threw themselves at meat with enthusiasm. But these three… ate as if they had to apologize for every bite.
Because of that, without changing his tone, he made an unexpected invitation:
"If you have something on your mind, say it."
The eldest's hand paused over the meat. She lowered her gaze slightly.
"I just… wanted to know if it's really okay for us to eat this much. We are slaves, after all."
Satoru gave her a look, mentally reviewing what he knew about this girl. The eldest of the demi-humans had a serious and responsible personality, deeply shaped by her servile view of the world.
For someone like her, it was better to take a logical approach.
"Do not be mistaken," Satoru said without raising his voice. "Feeding you is part of my responsibility. Also, I intend to make use of your abilities while we travel together. So eat until you're full, because I will need you at your best."
The words carried no affection, but they had structure. Satoru didn't know if his explanation had the intended effect, but all three resumed eating without protest.
The eldest, still looking down, spoke again after a few seconds of silence.
"Master, forgive the question, but… could you tell us what kind of tasks you expect us to perform?"
Satoru didn't answer immediately. He finished tracing a line on the table with his finger, as if classifying invisible pieces.
"Bodyguards," he finally said. "You will handle minor problems."
Silence. Then, an unspoken question.
"For that, I need to know what you can do."
The eldest spoke a bit more firmly than before.
"I have used a spear. I was trained before being sold. I also took part in some monster hunts."
Satoru gave the slightest nod.
The other two remained still. They didn't know what to say—it was obvious. Their large eyes moved between the food and their master's face. Finally, the one with pointed ears suddenly spoke, as if the answer had burst out without thinking:
"I'm good at gathering things!"
The smallest responded immediately, as if afraid of being left behind:
"I'm good at carrying luggage!"
Satoru made no comment. He simply nodded, as if their answers were data rather than confessions. Then he straightened slightly in his seat and spoke as if the matter were already decided:
"When we finish here, we'll go get what you need to train."
Satoru did not eat. As soon as the girls finished—leaving the plates clean and their manners as intact as their nervousness—he rose without adding another word. He paid the bill without looking at the amount and left the establishment, the three of them following in silence.
The rest of the day was dedicated to buying what they needed: spare clothing, proper footwear, bandages, towels, reusable water bottles, and even basic protection for their limbs. No one asked why he was buying these things. No one dared.
The demi-humans spoke only when necessary, quietly thanking him for each item, taking it with both hands as if it were sacred. The eldest tried to request only the bare minimum. She was ignored. The one with pointed ears seemed to pause for a moment in front of a soft fabric in bright colors. Satoru said nothing… but the fabric ended up in the bag.
Similar situations repeated themselves in several shops. None of the three asked for anything. None dared to say what they wanted. But Satoru observed. Not out of compassion, but because information could always be useful.
At some point during the shopping trip, his steps brought him before a barred shop with an old sign: a slave trader's store.
Seeing it brought back a conclusion he had already filed away.
He remembered Arisa and Lulu. He had considered adding them to his group when he first arrived in this world. But he had already decided against it—Arisa had her uses, but Satoru considered she wasn't worth the trouble, and Lulu was merely the timid servant of the group. The demi-humans were enough—more obedient and easier to deal with.
He walked on without looking back.
***
The inn hadn't changed. From the outside, warm light escaped through the windows, and the smell of baked bread lingered near the entrance. However, the moment Satoru crossed the threshold with the demi-humans at his back, a different tension settled in the air.
Conversations quieted. The patrons nearest the entrance turned to look at them. They said nothing, but their gazes weren't neutral—they were sharp, judging.
The eldest didn't change her expression. She walked with her eyes closed, in total silence. She accepted the murmurs without the need to feign strength. But behind her, the ears of the younger ones drooped, and their steps grew more restrained, almost dragging.
Only one figure broke that pattern. Martha, the young daughter of the innkeeper, approached upon seeing them. She smiled with some effort, as if her expression were trying to overcome the natural fear Satoru's presence still caused her.
"Welcome back, sir," she greeted.
Satoru gave a slight nod.
"Martha, good evening."
The simple exchange seemed to create even more discomfort. The whispers became more audible. The presence of the demi-humans was intrusive, and though no one dared raise their voice, the atmosphere tightened like a rope on the verge of snapping.
Then Satoru turned his gaze toward them. Just once. It was enough.
Silence fell like a heavy blanket. No one held it. No one dared meet his eyes.
Satoru turned back to Martha.
"I would like to know if it's possible to rent a space in the stable. For them."
Martha hesitated for a second, then looked toward the counter. Her mother, who had been watching from there, cleared her throat firmly and nodded.
"No problem," the woman said. "There are hardly any carriages this week."
With that settled, the woman behind the counter gave her daughter one last instruction:
"Martha, take them yourself. Show them where they can stay."
"Yes, Mom," the young woman replied with a slight bow.
Martha took an oil lamp from the counter and walked toward the back door. Satoru followed without a word, and the demi-humans trailed after him, obedient and silent.
The stable was clean, though lacking in comfort. Just a pile of hay in one corner, empty buckets, and a couple of dirty blankets rolled up to the side, which Satoru completely ignored. When Martha left them, he approached the eldest and pointed to the backpack she had been carrying since then.
The backpack, ordinary in appearance but enchanted with a spatial compression spell, could store more than its size suggested. Satoru had given it to her upon leaving the restaurant, instructing her to carry it during their shopping. Inside was everything they had bought that day. It also had a sorting enchantment to make retrieving items easier, avoiding the need to carry multiple visible bags.
"Use what's inside. Clothes, blankets, basic supplies. It's all for you tonight."
The three nodded. The eldest opened the backpack and began arranging the place in silence, spreading the blankets over the hay. The others imitated her without question.
Satoru said nothing more. He turned and returned to his room. He wasn't concerned that they might try to escape, nor that someone might try to rob them during the night. He had placed three Shadow Demons in the stable, invisible to the naked eye but alert to any intruder. If anything happened, he would know instantly.
Upon closing the door, he mentally summoned his servant.
"Hanzo, I need you to prepare a training regimen for the three demi-humans. Focus especially on Liza."
"Liza?" Hanzo repeated in a neutral tone. "Forgive me, my lord, but… which of them bears that name?"
Satoru fell silent for a moment. The question wasn't difficult. What surprised him was realizing… he had never told them.
"The eldest," he finally answered.
The silence stretched—not from tension, but from what he had just confirmed: the names he had in mind had never been spoken since they arrived. Neither by him nor by anyone else.
"None of them has an official name, do they?" he said, more to himself than to his servant.
Hanzo didn't reply, but his silence was answer enough.
"That was an oversight," Satoru added, and left the matter there.
A pause. Then he looked toward his shadow.
"Tell me, Hanzo. Is that your real name?"
"No, my lord. Only an assigned title. I was never given another."
"…That's not right," Satoru said without hesitation.
His voice didn't rise, but there was certainty behind it. As someone who had forgotten everything he once was, he understood the value of something as simple as a name.
"A name gives shape. Marks existence. And even if it doesn't seem so, it matters. If you don't have one, I'll give you one."
Hanzo bowed deeper than usual.
"Any name that comes from you will be an honor to me."
"Then… Hans. Is that acceptable to you?"
"It is perfect, my lord. Thank you for granting it to me."
Satoru said nothing more, but felt a slight pressure in his chest. Not from embarrassment or doubt, but from the echo of a barely acknowledged responsibility.
***
The next morning, Satoru walked toward the stable with a steady stride. The air still held the night's chill, and the faint mist gave the scene a quieter tone than usual. He opened the door without announcing himself, stepped inside, and stopped a few paces from where the demi-humans were resting on blankets laid over the hay.
The eldest noticed him first. She immediately sat up and greeted him in a firm, though soft, voice.
"Good morning, Master."
The other two repeated the phrase in chorus, a bit more nervously.
Satoru didn't respond. Neither with words nor gestures. He simply observed the eldest for a few seconds, and then calmly spoke:
"Liza."
She looked up, confused.
Satoru shifted his gaze to the one with pointed ears.
"Tama."
And then to the smallest.
"Pochi."
The three of them blinked, as if they hadn't quite understood. Only then did Satoru, without changing his tone, add:
"These are your names. From now on, I will address you that way."
They stared at him in astonishment. They said nothing at first, but it wasn't necessary. It was enough to see their expressions soften, their ears lift slightly, the smallest showing a trembling smile, to know that the gesture had meant something—something real.
Satoru's voice had been neutral, as if discussing something trivial.
He observed them for a moment longer. He didn't tell them to get ready, nor give any immediate orders. He simply nodded to himself and turned.
"You have a few minutes. Prepare for training."
He left the stable without adding anything else.
Once alone, the three remained silent for a few seconds. Then the one with pointed ears placed her hands on her cheeks and began hopping in place.
"Tama! Tama! That's my name!"
The smallest reacted instantly, nearly tripping as she stepped forward.
"And I'm Pochi! Pochi!" she repeated, as if afraid of being left behind, with a shy smile and bright eyes.
The eldest tried to intervene, to raise her voice and calm them, but her tone came out less firm than usual.
"Calm down. We still have work to do…"
Her voice was serene, but her tail swayed from side to side, betraying the emotion she didn't dare show.
But neither of the two stopped smiling.
Satoru, from the hallway, didn't hear any of it. But he smiled anyway.
Because he understood.
Because he had also lived that absence. He could remain a being without history, without a face, but he had a name. His identity was still a draft, an incomplete page. But giving a name… was a step.
Perhaps that was why he felt satisfied to see them laugh. Not from any special affection.
But because, by naming them, he reminded himself that he still existed.