The autumn rain was cold.
The chill from raindrops bouncing off his skin and clinging to the salt-crusted blue work clothes never let up, no matter how much time passed.
"Fucking heavy. Shit."
Shin Siwoo muttered under his breath as he scooped out the mud clogging the drain with a crude shovel.
Those without the guts or strength to defy the system could only rebel in whispers like this, unseen.
The rain-soaked poncho weighing down his back reeked of the musty smell he'd only encountered in military ponchos during service.
As he cleared the mud clump fused with fallen leaves that had blocked the drain, the pooled water finally drained away. This massive drain, stretching over twenty meters in a straight line, collected all the rainwater flowing from Trinity Academy's magical archives.
Not that it mattered—he was caked in mud now anyway.
He set down the shovel and stretched his back, eliciting a series of cracks.
At least the morning's work was done.
After this, he could hole up in his cramped room until two in the afternoon, gnaw on dry bread, and snag about two hours of sleep.
For Siwoo, who toiled over twelve hours a day, it was a godsend nap.
First things first, gotta deal with this damn poncho, he thought as he crawled out of the drain.
A pair of feet came into view.
Pretty, delicate feet.
"Caretaker. Can't you work a little cleaner?"
Caretaker.
That was what all the academy cadets, professors, and researchers called Siwoo.
It was a generic title without surname or given name, but surprisingly humane.
Calling a slave from Central City Hall—little more than livestock—by an honorific? What a luxury!
Depending on the assignment, slaves were usually just "Hey," "You there," "Over there," or "Slave."
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry."
He offered an insincere apology, then hauled himself out of the waist-high drain. The woman stepped back slightly, as if repelled by his filth.
Nothing new there anymore.
"What can I do for you?"
"There's a class today on the interaction between male bodily fluids and mana. Change by noon and wait in front of Building 2."
Five years as a slave had sharpened his instincts. The moment Associate Professor Amelia Merrygold herself ventured to this filthy spot, Siwoo had felt unease brewing.
And as always, his bad premonitions hit the mark.
"By the time I wash up and change, it'll be noon..."
"And?"
Siwoo shot her a wronged look.
Her lush golden blonde hair was neatly tied back with a ribbon, clean and tidy. Her alluring lips were pursed in displeasure, exuding a seductive air.
At a glance, she seemed thoroughly annoyed, but Siwoo knew better.
Her sapphire-blue eyes glimmered with sadistic glee.
"You don't have any complaints, do you?"
Amelia Merrygold, the associate professor who loved flipping his clothes inside out right after grueling labor, was a witch obsessed with tormenting him.
One crucial fact here.
Calling her a "witch" wasn't because she was hysterically bitchy or cruel.
It was literal. This beautiful young woman, barely past twenty at first glance, was a witch.
A real one, who had inherited the Merrygold stigma from her ancestors and lived for decades.
"No, ma'am. I'll get ready right away."
Siwoo bowed his head hastily in apology.
In this city, witches were an elite class.
One like Siwoo could be killed on a whim for displeasing speech, and no one would bat an eye.
"Wait."
Amelia, long lashes fluttering under her umbrella, stopped him.
Her enchanting aura, perfect proportions sculpted by the gods themselves, peak beauty.
That doll-like appearance made it impossible to imagine her as a vicious witch.
After a brief pause, her lips parted.
"Still no change of heart? Five years should be plenty to rethink things."
Her voice feigned businesslike detachment, but a faint hesitation lingered.
An invisible, seductive gesture.
Siwoo's expression blanked for a moment.
He'd slowly grasped the implication hiding behind her words.
In that instant, he felt fragments of emotions he shouldn't harbor anymore.
Pride. Defiance.
"Nothing doing. Time's short—I'll head out first."
Siwoo yanked the shovel from the mud pile and turned away brusquely.
In the unseasonal downpour, Amelia's eyes narrowed again.
"That bitch."
Rage boiled up to his head after ages. Even when she'd nitpicked his hard work earlier, his heart hadn't raced like this—it pounded wildly now.
No wonder she'd hounded him so relentlessly. Amelia still remembered that incident.
All witches were like that.
Immortal bodies, mystical magic at their command, every privilege imaginable—yet they nursed grudges over trifles and exacted petty revenge obsessively.
Siwoo hated witches. Especially Amelia!
Mid-curse, unable to vent freely lest someone overhear, a rough hand clamped his shoulder.
Followed by a sly voice.
"Whoa, bro, why the death glare?"
"Who the hell's your bro, you short-ass jap?"
"Feisty mouth today. Spill it if something's up."
In this mud-caked state, only one guy in the academy would grab his shoulder without hesitation: Mimaya Takasho, the Japanese from Hokkaido.
"Where the fuck you been, asshole?"
"A true Hokkaido son's seven-story pagoda stands tall morn or night."
Takasho smirked lewdly, crooking his pinky. In short, while Siwoo slaved in the rain all morning, Takasho had been rolling in some researcher or professor's bed.
Siwoo and Takasho had much in common.
Both abducted from Earth to this damned witch city, Gehenna; both City Hall slaves; both men; both twenty-eight.
But their differences were stark.
Siwoo had endured five years of drudgery and misery, while Takasho serviced a few academy witches as a male concubine, enjoying perks galore.
Anger flushed Siwoo's face anew.
The deep frustration from Amelia earlier intensified at the sight of Takasho.
"No shame? Who got us here, and you wanna bed 'em?"
"Yup, always dreamed of being a pillar hubby. Plus, every chick here's top-tier beauty! Beats auntie thighs back home—it's a promotion. Drop the stubbornness, man. Ditch that worthless pride, and paradise awaits."
Takasho grinned ear-to-ear.
What a breezily shameless bastard.
All modern humans dragged to the witches' city, Gehenna, became slaves.
Slaves split into two roles: City Hall's "communal slaves" or private "personal slaves."
Among them, communal slaves got somewhat human treatment if they had standout traits.
Like Takasho's decent looks, or Siwoo's exceptional skills useful for public works.
Nobody knew the exact criteria, not even them.
One clear fact: Takasho leveraged his host club experience for self-actualization in this far-off land.
"Associate Professor Amelia's into you, y'know? Acts like a damn schoolgirl. I could drop hints. Butter her up, rise through the ranks. Strict types like her turn devoted once they melt."
Siwoo shoved off Takasho, who leaned in for a whisper.
"Fuck no."
"Straight-laced Siwoo, Korea might call that noble scholar vibe, but in Japan, it's just stubbornness."
"I said no! Why so pushy today?"
"Hey, I'm just trying to cheer you up."
True to his ex-host roots, Takasho had sniffed out why Amelia targeted Siwoo.
Siwoo had half-forgotten over time, but he recalled rejecting her nighttime service when first assigned to the academy.
Back then, naive and flustered, he'd refused...
Who nursed a grudge that long, making life hell? Now that he knew, defiance surged—he'd hold his integrity, come hell or high water.
Pointless as it was, clinging to that last shred of pride—could it be called dignity?
"I'm busy. Outta my way."
"Again? You just finished work. Tough life, scholar."
Takasho's teasing irked him, but he was a good friend.
Siwoo had leaned on Takasho's better circumstances many times, and beyond that, he was the only one he could confide in.
If two years in the military made best buds, five years slaving together was unbreakable.
"What's up? Assistant duty?"
"Assistant, my ass. Fuck..."
Unlike Siwoo's groan, Takasho looked thrilled.
"That... class?"
"Yeah. That one."
Siwoo's shoulders slumped in despair; Takasho countered with confusion.
"Why so down? I love it."
"Figures you'd enjoy it, you perv."
"You wouldn't get the solace fresh apprentice witches bring to my life."
"Word of advice: touch an apprentice witch, and your head rolls. Literally."
No metaphor—your neck just vanished.
No way this lust-obsessed guy would reach for taboos too.
At Siwoo's half-horrified look, Takasho laughed heartily.
"Sometimes gazing at flowers brings joy enough. Anyway, how 'bout I go instead?"
"Wish I could. But it's Amelia's summons—no choice."
"Self-inflicted suffering, huh."
Takasho clucked his tongue sympathetically.
To a woman-crazed guy like him, it might sound like whining from a full belly.
But for Siwoo, with normal sexual shame, it was the worst torment imaginable.
"Guess I'll head out too. You look busy. Catch ya later."
Takasho clapped his back encouragingly and vanished down the hall.
Another "client" awaited, in his words.
Time was slipping.
Wash and change? Cutting it close. Disobey Amelia's deadline, and who'd know what nitpick she'd unleash.
Swap to lab clothes fast, arrive five minutes early at the spot.
He let out a long sigh.
"Fucking city."
Nothing else to say.