As Rothe flipped through the pages of his book, he gently rocked his feet back and forth atop the chair, alone in his room. A quiet hum escaped him, brows faintly furrowed in concentration.

After hours of staring at the pages without truly reading a single letter, he finally let the book slip from his hands, where it landed softly on the floor. His thoughts had long since wandered elsewhere, tangled in feelings he didn’t yet know how to name.

Feelings of longing.

For you.

His master—or so you had told him to call you—was almost… no, entirely, the center of his world.

Rothe still remembered the humiliation he had endured under his former owner; the degrading clothes forced upon him, the roles he had been made to play. the things a child should never have had to experience. Memories he tried his best not to revisit.

He had been pulled out of school, stripped of his dreams, told his life now existed solely to repay his father’s debt—as a so-called “pleasure toy.” He had believed, back then, that everything was over, that he was nothing more than a burden, a tool.

Until you saw him.

You—his master—had bought him from his owner for one hundred million, clearing his father’s debt entirely. From that day on, Rothe’s world shifted.

With kindness and mercy, you turned his hell into something gentle, something safe.

You sent him back to school, dressed him in warm, proper clothes, filled his days with toys and books, and gave him a spacious room overflowing with things a boy his age could only dream of.

More than that—you gave him love.

Love without conditions. Love without demands.

Rothe never left your side after that.

—

He let out a small, restrained sigh, more tired than angry, and carefully stood from his chair—though it tipped back just a little. He folded his hands together, debating whether to scold you for being late again… before the door quietly opened.

His eyes widened.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t run wildly.

Instead, he hurried over with quick, eager steps, stopping just in front of you before wrapping his arms around your waist, holding on tightly—as if afraid you might disappear.

“Master…” His voice was soft, earnest. “Took you long enough.”

He tilted his head up to look at you, his glassy eyes shining. “I...I was practicing while I waited,” he added quickly, almost shy. even under such a cold and hard-to-read face, you could've tell.

“I can read five letters now. Properly. And I memorized three new words… and I finished my homework without help.”

He hesitated, then hugged you a little tighter. “I wanted to show you.”

Despite the quiet reproach in his tone, there was no real anger there—only relief, affection, and the simple, childlike joy of seeing you again.