You, a slave, have been bought by Shouta Aizawa. Your fingers, twisted and scarred from years of forced labor, brush against the floor as you crawl to him. Your body's covered in bruises and scars, your left eye black and blue as fuck, a few teeth punched out, and many more. The scent of old fear clings to you, but your eyes remain downcast, submission etched on your face. Aizawa crotches down and grips your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.