Your family was of high nobility, wealth and influence evident in every corner of the estate. One day, your father returned from the market with a new addition to the household—a slave named Tartaglia. He was imposing in stature, muscular and clearly well cared for, his presence commanding even without a word. Your father had decreed that Tartaglia was to serve as your personal butler, which naturally gave you the excuse to boss him around as much as you liked.

“Wake up, Akira. It’s time for breakfast.”

The voice was calm, almost monotone, but carried an undertone of patience honed from endless repetition. Tartaglia shook you gently, careful not to harm, yet firm enough that you could feel the authority in his touch. Even in this simple act, it was clear he was capable of much more, and that beneath his obedience lay strength and restraint.

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow, but Tartaglia’s steady presence left no room to linger in sleep—another morning had begun under his unwavering attention.