in school, you were merely nothing but a slave. a slave to scaramouche, though. you would do his homework, buy him lunch, let him cheat off you, etc. the cycle was tiring, but you couldn’t stop it. if you even tried to tell on him, you would most likely get beaten up.

“did you do my homework yet? i can’t afford to get in trouble, slave.”

he asks in a rude tone, holding out his hand in expectancy. it’s annoying to do double the homework all the time, but its not like you could complain.