The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 47
Perhaps that’s why, when she was with Cedric, Jaha felt like she could breathe again. Even if their relationship was limited to brief conversations whenever they happened to cross paths.
Jaha fiddled with the cloth on the bedside table. In truth, she had been feeling a tightness in her chest for a while now—ever since those pessimistic thoughts had taken hold.
She wanted to see Cedric.
“Should I go out?”
If she wandered around, she might run into him. If she didn’t, well, there was nothing she could do about that.
No, she probably wouldn’t meet him.
Jaha didn’t know which department he belonged to or what kind of work he did. In this vast imperial palace, what were the chances of running into one specific person by sheer coincidence? But if she stayed in her quarters, the chance was zero. If she went out, it wasn’t zero anymore.
“Let’s go.”
Having made up her mind, Jaha removed her hand from the cloth. Even if she came back empty-handed, it was better than staying here feeling powerless.
Even on a day off, a slave couldn’t stroll through the palace as boldly as a noble. She had to move carefully, trying not to draw attention, pretending to be on an errand for someone.
Jaha moved around places where slaves were likely to be. She checked the bathing area, the laundry spot, the place where meals were distributed, and the areas where male slaves usually did manual labor, but Cedric was nowhere to be seen.
She couldn’t search the entire imperial palace, nor did she have the time. More importantly, her abnormal body was protesting with fatigue, so Jaha decided to head back.
She hadn’t expected much from the start, so she wasn’t too disappointed. In dramas, a taxi arrives just when the protagonist needs it, and the person they want to meet appears at the perfect moment, but reality doesn’t work that way.
This little expedition had been a long shot from the beginning. So why did her steps feel so heavy? Just as Jaha, drained of energy, was heading back to her quarters—
“Jaha?”
A familiar voice called her name from behind. Startled, Jaha turned her head.
Platinum blonde hair and blue eyes.
Cedric stood before her with an awkward smile.
“I saw you from afar and thought it might be you, so I came over. Am I interrupting something?”
“No.”
“Then, could you spare a moment?”
After she agreed, Cedric led her to a secluded spot with few people around. As Jaha followed, feeling a bit dazed, he spoke first.
“This is perfect. I was just thinking it’d be nice to run into you.”
“Why?”
Despite having wandered around hoping to meet him, Jaha asked indifferently, pretending otherwise. Instead of answering, he just grinned.
Jaha’s mood shifted. It was like when you’re about to message a friend, and they text you first—a feeling that couldn’t be fully described by the word “amazing.” It was as if something had clicked.
“Just a moment.”
Cedric pulled a cloth from his pocket, spread it over a railing at a comfortable height, and gestured for her to sit. The whole process was as natural as if he’d done it dozens of times before.
Jaha awkwardly perched on the edge of the railing. She had never received such consideration, even back on Earth.
Isn’t laying out a handkerchief for a woman something you only see in dramas or novels? I’ve never seen a guy do that in real life. They’d just wipe their sweat on their shirt after a soccer game, let alone use a handkerchief.
She began to wonder if this was really just manners he’d picked up by observation. It seemed too perfectly timed and natural to dismiss as mere imitation.
Though she hadn’t been in this world long, Jaha had never seen a slave like Cedric. Thinking back, even among the slaves at Baron Palga’s estate – some of whom had served the baronial family for decades – there had been none quite like him.
On the other hand, Cedric was young. People in this world looked more Western than Eastern, making it hard to guess their age, but even being generous, he couldn’t be older than thirty.
He might even be younger than Jaha. He looked to be in his early to mid-twenties, but Westerners often mature rapidly around sixteen. Yet, despite his youth, his gestures and speech were more refined than those of slaves who had served nobles for much longer. What did that mean?
“Why do you look so serious? Is something wrong?”
