Chapter 1 – Day 2
Morning came like always—quiet and uneventful.
The doctor stirred awake at exactly 9:00 AM, his internal clock never failing. He sat up with a yawn, combed his fingers through his disheveled hair, then threw on his white coat before stepping out into the main room of his small clinic.
The first thing he saw was her.
Sylvie.
She was sitting in the same corner she'd occupied yesterday. Knees tucked in, arms around her legs, eyes downcast.
"Good morning, Master," she said softly as soon as she noticed him.
He blinked.
"…Morning," he replied, a bit delayed, still not used to being called Master.
He walked past her and into the consultation room, settling into his usual morning routine. Paperwork, organizing the shelf, checking his herbal stock. It wasn't a busy day, and only a couple of people trickled in for minor prescriptions and ointments.
As the minutes stretched into hours and the air grew still, the doctor found his gaze drifting toward the silent girl in the corner.
She hadn't moved much. Just sat there. Breathing quietly.
Eventually, he approached.
"You don't have to sit there all day, you know," he said.
Sylvie looked up. "But that's where you told me to sit, Master."
He frowned. "That was yesterday."
"I see…"
She didn't move.
"…You don't talk much, huh," he muttered, crouching beside her. "Do you have a full name? Or is it just Sylvie?"
Sylvie tilted her head slightly. "Just Sylvie. I was never given another name."
"I see." He hesitated. "What about… those scars?"
Her hand instinctively moved to cover her arm.
"My previous owner gave them to me," she said. Her tone didn't waver. It was flat, like someone reciting facts from a textbook. "He liked to hear me scream. He said my voice was sweet when I cried."
The doctor said nothing.
"He used to lock me in a cage," she continued. "Fed me once a day. If I moved too much, he'd hit me. If I made noise, he'd hit me. If I cried… he'd laugh, then hit me again."
Still, he didn't say anything.
Because what could he say?
That he was sorry? That it wasn't right?
He wasn't good with words. He wasn't a hero. He was just a doctor—a tired one at that. He wasn't even sure why he accepted her.
So instead of replying, he placed a hand on her head again and gently patted her.
That was all he could do.
He stood up again when he heard the familiar jingle of the front doorbell. Another patient had arrived, so he returned to work like normal, while Sylvie remained motionless in the corner.
Evening came, and the smell of simmering soup filled the air.
Dinner, once again, was for two.
The doctor didn't comment on it this time. He simply placed a bowl in front of Sylvie, sat down, and began eating.
Sylvie stared at the food for a while. Her fingers trembled slightly.
"…Thank you, Master," she said eventually.
The doctor didn't look up. "Eat it before it gets cold."
"Yes, Master."
She still ate slowly, carefully, as if expecting the food to vanish if she made a mistake. But it was a little faster than the night before. A little more confident. Maybe she was getting used to the idea that the food really was hers.
After dinner, the doctor began locking the windows and checking the clinic's cabinets before bed. As he walked back to his room, he glanced back at Sylvie.
She wasn't looking at him.
She was looking out the window.
She pressed her hand softly against the glass, eyes wide, lips parted just slightly. The moonlight washed over her silver hair, giving her a ghost-like glow.
"…You want to go outside?" he asked, surprising even himself with the question.
Sylvie blinked and turned toward him quickly, as if caught doing something wrong.
"N-No, I wasn't—"
"It's fine," he said, cutting her off. "Just… if I need to go buy something tomorrow, maybe you can come with me."
Sylvie didn't answer. But there was a faint glimmer in her eyes. Something unreadable. Hope, maybe.
"…Yes, Master."
He walked back to his room and lay in bed.
But sleep didn't come easily.
His mind kept drifting to Sylvie.
How broken she seemed. How obedient. How quiet.
And how none of that felt… right.
He didn't want a slave.
He didn't ask for one.
But she was here now. Sitting quietly in the corner of his world. And for reasons he couldn't explain, he didn't want to send her away either.
Not yet.
Not while her eyes still held shadows.
Not while she still looked at a warm meal like it was a miracle.
And especially not while she still flinched at kindness.
"…Guess I really do need to cook for two from now on," he muttered into the darkness.
Outside, the wind rustled softly through the trees.
Another day had passed.
And the ordinary doctor's life was becoming just a little less ordinary.
To Be Continue