People were puzzled when I, who couldn't even properly care for a pet, picked up a bear trap right in the middle of the market.
But there was only one reason.
This was one of the worst things that had ruined Piel's life.
In the original story Vengeful Goddesses, Piel's childhood wasn't depicted directly but only glossed over in brief mentions.
Yet even those few lines were enough to leave readers speechless.
In the original, after being taken in by Lucas Argent, Piel lived like a real beast.
Just because she was a beastkin.
She wasn't even allowed ragged clothes.
She was trained so that crawling on all fours became her "natural posture," and during their so-called hunting games, she'd crawl between traps until her ankles shattered, her ribs tore, and flesh peeled from her bones.
They'd torment her until she was on the brink of death, barely revive her with healing potions, then torment her again, repeating the cycle endlessly.
So even as an adult, even after awakening as a hero, the moment Piel saw a bear trap, she'd regress to that "beast" from back then.
Forget slave hunters—even seeing an ordinary hunter who just trapped animals in the forest would make her lose all reason, solely because he held a trap.
Those scenes were gripping enough to halt readers in their tracks.
Scenes of her shredding hunters to pieces, then snapping back to herself drenched in blood, collapsing in wails.
To Piel, traps weren't mere tools.
They embodied "the era when she was tamed as a beast" itself.
So I bought the bear trap.
Not to subdue Piel, but to shatter her world.
And the effect came faster than I'd imagined.
Even on the day I dressed her in the Argent Family maid uniform, Piel had moved like nothing more than a trained slave.
Mechanically, always watching for cues.
But after a few days, the tiniest change emerged.
Her face remained stiff as ever on the surface, but that tail peeking from behind shook faintly—so subtly it was almost invisible.
Anyone clueless would mistake it, but I knew better.
That was instinct.
Wary, yet... happy.
So today, I said it again.
"Piel, let's eat together today too. No need for chairs. I won't be sitting either."
This incident made it crystal clear.
I'm a surgeon. Not a psychiatrist.
I don't have the skills to unpack trauma and heal it. Faking empathy and comfort would only shatter her further.
So instead, let's play the good master to the end in a way that doesn't hurt this kid.
If she can't walk ahead, then walk side by side.
The first method I came up with was mealtime.
What if there's no chair for a kid who seizes up the instant she sits on one?
Today, too, I spread a tablecloth on the floor and plunked down a massive barbecue spread right on it.
"Mmm~ This meat is seriously delicious today. How's it for you, Piel?"
"Yes! It's... really delicious for me too!"
It was already the third day.
The first time felt awkward.
It wasn't even noble dining—it was laughable for humans, period.
But think about it: humans aren't born clutching forks and knives.
Hungry creatures always reach out with their hands first, on instinct.
So I tore into the meat with my hands too.
Right alongside the little fox who ate the same way.
Munch, munch.
Of course, the reaction when I first proposed eating like this was a sight to behold.
Supervisor Karen freaked out, and even Piel—now chowing down on meat right in front of me—had gaped back then.
"Ah, even if it's only half Argent blood, for a direct descendant to eat in a way commoners wouldn't?! Tearing into meat with your hands! It's a disgrace to the family! Absolutely not!"
"Y-Yes, Master! You're... human, after all! You have to use a fork and knife..."
"Then what about you, Piel? Can you use a fork and knife?"
"...!"
That one line froze her solid.
Her head drooped slightly, her ear tips quietly folded down, and her tail slowly went limp, curling toward her body.
She didn't say a word, but it clearly meant "I can't."
After a few days together, I finally got it.
Piel never refuses verbally.
She can't.
Her body speaks for her instead.
Head down = Sorry.
Ears down = Scared.
Tail curled = Can't do it.
That was her way of "refusing."
Just like with the chair, it applied here too.
Using utensils must've been a torture-linked taboo from her training days.
So I said it plain.
"Then I won't use them either."
I couldn't invite her to eat together just to leave one kid trembling in fear.
In the end, with my hardline declaration—"If we don't eat like this, we'll just starve!"—we reached a forced consensus, and now here we are, eating side by side.
Tearing, ripping, savoring the meat.
'...Huh, this unexpectedly has a camping vibe. Not bad at all?'
Grinning as I enjoyed the meat, Piel had already stormed through five pieces.
As expected of a beastkin—fluffy cowardice vanishes before meat.
Above all, her tail was wagging.
Swish, swish.
Instinct is always honest.
Seeing that tail, a smile slipped onto my face unbidden.
Right then.
"Um, Master... I know it's rude, but... may I ask a 'question'?"
"...Huh?"
For a split second, I thought time had stopped.
The girl who'd only ever responded to orders had spoken to me first. On her own.
And before that tiny voice even registered, my eyes caught her tail.
It was shaking.
A clumsy wiggle of joy, laced with tension and anticipation.
That sight truly warmed my heart.
Piel had spoken to me.
That alone made this meal a total success.
"Yeah, of course. As your master, I grant you permission to ask, Piel."
But I barely reined in the instinctive grin tugging at my lips.
Three days ago, getting too hyped had made the kid puke.
So I kept my usual stern tone, acting casual to avoid pressuring her, and listened closely.
Piel pressed her lips together for a moment, then murmured softly.
"Master... why are you so nice to me?"
It was one of the questions I'd anticipated.
When I first brought her home, Piel had a blind eye, a torn-off ear, and wrecked organs—a textbook "disposable slave" nobody would touch.
Yet here was a master who healed her, fed her delicious meals, dressed her in pretty clothes, and even held her close in the same bed to sleep.
Anyone would've asked why.
But I couldn't spill the real reasons.
Couldn't say "to keep my balls safe" or "because you're the original story's heroine."
That'd just confuse her more. So I pulled out my prepared answer.
"Piel. They call me the Argent young master, but I'm basically an abandoned illegitimate child."
"Ille...gitimate?"
"In simple terms, it means I'm the only one in the family with a different mom."
"Gasp!"
Piel's eyes widened in shock.
I added, watching her expression.
"I'm nice to you not for some special reason... I just want to be that kind of person."
I'd thought it through.
How to make a young beastkin girl—who'd hit rock bottom as a slave—treat her master like a friend, without a shred of suspicion?
Endless praise? Food? Gifts?
No.
The surefire way was emotional rapport.
Operation: "Turns out, I'm a pitiful bastard too."
Young girls are emotional volcanoes.
The age where they sob like the drama hero really died.
Just hit that nerve.
And as expected, the effect was beyond imagination.
"My mom... was actually a prostitute. She got pregnant with me by accident and got dragged to the Argent Family. Even as a noblewoman, she lived in a warehouse."
"N-No way...!"
"Then she died giving birth to me in that warehouse."
"Sniff...! Really... really?"
"So I still don't even know what my mom looked like."
"Waaah!!"
Tears plopped down.
This time, straight from me.
Or rather, from my "pitiful master" backstory tugging at her heart.
As Piel sobbed, shoulders heaving, I slowly leaned in and pulled her into a hug.
Normally, this is when you cry together for 200% empathy boost...
'Shit... no tears coming.'
Maybe because my "mom" emotions had been offline since my Korean days.
I need to cry for the act, but there's zero feels—just sweat dripping.
Still, the performance must go on.
"I... don't even know my father's face. The family head."
"Waaah... Master, you're so pitiful!"
"Don't know my uncle's face either."
"Waaah...! Mom said people like that have "motherless lives"! They're really pitiful!"
"Don't know my grandma or grandpa either."
"Waaah! I don't know mine either!"
She wailed for a good ten minutes straight.
Result: flawless.
As the tears dried, her tail started swishing slyly—wariness melted away, pure goodwill now.
And at last, Piel went beyond her first question and spoke up on her own.
"M-Master!"
"Yeah?"
"Th-Then... may I make you feel good, even if it's presumptuous?"
Feel good...?
In the original 19+ webnovel, ten years later with adult Piel, you could totally misread that line.
But right now? She's a kid.
What could she possibly mean? I tilted my head.
"This is... what Dad always did for Mom when she was tired."
Oh.
If it's family stuff she's sharing with me, that's a great sign.
Assuming it's positive, I waited expectantly.
"Master, do you happen to have a dog collar?"
"...Pardon?"
"Let's go for a walk!!"
It was the moment I finally understood, even if just a little, why beastkin get treated like animals in this world.