Chapter 3 of The Freed Slaves Became Obsessed

 

"Oh, right. How about Mirabel, Mirabel?"

 

The moment I gave her the name, the girl who had been staring blankly with lifeless eyes suddenly raised her head, her pupils dilating in shock.

It was, after all, her real name.

Her parents had spent countless sleepless nights deciding on that name, one meant solely for her, a name that held significance just for her. But as a slave, Mirabel had been stripped of her identity. No one bothered to ask her name, and her only designation became "Number 17" once she was deemed worthy of being sold.

Mirabel herself had chosen not to reveal her name. She had decided to discard it. After all, her mother was dead, and her father had abandoned her.

To Mirabel, her name was nothing short of a curse.

And now, the curse she had thrown away had been returned to her, through a man she had just met. This man, who called himself a gentleman, grinned slyly, as if he knew more than he was letting on.

"Do... do you know me?" Mirabel asked cautiously.

"What do you mean?" I replied innocently.

"The name you just gave me... it's my real name," she whispered, her voice filled with suspicion.

Could this really be a coincidence? Was it fate that a stranger gave her the same name she was born with?

Mirabel was sure that this man must know her somehow. He had bought her for a thousand gold, after all. Where could he have seen her before? Was he from her village?

"Yes, of course it's your name," I said with a casual smile. "I just came up with it."

He spoke with such a smooth, unreadable expression that Mirabel couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. She forced herself to speak again, her voice trembling.

"No, that's not what I mean. My name was already Mirabel before you gave it to me."

"Strange. Didn’t you say earlier that you didn’t have a name?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

"Th-that was…"

She had no response. The lie she had told earlier had come back to bite her, leaving her caught in her own trap.

It felt like falling into a snare, and she was deeply flustered.

Mirabel, feeling dizzy, repeated her question, grasping at straws.

"Do you... really know me?"

"How could I? Do you know me?" I asked.

Mirabel shook her head slowly.

"This is the first time I’ve seen you as well," I said calmly.

In person, that is. After all, I had only seen her through my computer screen before. I wasn’t technically lying, just omitting some details.

Of course, Mirabel didn’t believe me so easily. She avoided my gaze, casting nervous, wary glances at me, as though trying to figure out my intentions.

Before she could ask anything more, I cut her off.

"I didn’t choose the name Mirabel for any particular reason. I just thought it suited you best."

"Suited me... best?" she asked, confused.

"Yes. The name Mirabel comes from the word miracle. A miracle is something mysterious and beyond human understanding. I felt that you carried that kind of mysterious aura. In all my years as a slave trader, having seen mages, priests, and even elves, I’ve never encountered anyone quite like you."

Mirabel’s expression shifted again, disbelief written all over her face. When she had once asked her mother why she was given that name, her mother had also said it was derived from the word miracle. Not because of some mystical aura, though, but simply because her mother had considered her birth a miracle—something precious.

Despite the convincing words, Mirabel’s suspicions didn’t completely fade. The name still carried a heavy burden in her heart.

"I... I don’t like the name Mirabel," she finally muttered.

"But didn’t you say earlier that you didn’t care what I called you?"

"I just don’t like it," she insisted.

I stroked my chin, pretending to think.

"Well, if you really don’t like it, I suppose we can pick something else. I don’t enjoy forcing things on people. Hmm, your hair’s a bit dark... How about Blackie?"

"…Excuse me?"

"Or maybe Kim Chun-bae? You do have a bit of a cat-like face."

Mirabel’s eyes widened in shock as I seriously considered ridiculous names. Her pupils darted left and right as if trying to escape the inevitable. My suggestions were so absurd that she realized there was no winning. She couldn’t resist, given that her soul was already bound to me.

In that case…

"I guess I’ll just stick with Mirabel. It’s better," she muttered quickly.

"Right? I thought so too, Mirabel," I replied with a satisfied grin, accepting her decision as if I had won the negotiation.

And just like that, the awkward introduction came to an end. The tense atmosphere had eased a little, so it was time to move to the next step.

Suddenly, there was a growl.

A cute, stomach-rumbling sound echoed in the room. Mirabel instantly clutched her stomach and glanced at me with embarrassment, while I responded with an amused smirk.

The wariness she had clung to for so long vanished in an instant as Mirabel wolfed down the food in front of her, not even chewing properly.

Is she a human or a cat?

She reminded me of a stray cat that hisses when approached but eagerly devours a can of tuna the moment it's offered, only to lash out if anyone tries to touch it.

I couldn’t blame her. She likely hadn’t had a proper meal since becoming a slave. The food I had ordered was the inn’s special, a selection of dishes made with care.

Though, judging by the innkeeper’s expression, he probably thought I was fattening her up for some sinister purpose. I hadn’t asked for his opinion, but I accepted the meal graciously, thinking it was a loving gesture.

This meal probably extended my life by three years.

Mirabel seemed to forget I was even there, eating everything like a vacuum cleaner. She didn’t stop until she had scraped the bottom of the soup bowl and set it down with a satisfied clink.

Then she gulped down a glass of water and leaned back, her face the picture of happiness.

"Was it that good?" I asked.

"Yes... it was the best meal I’ve had in... Oh, I mean, no, it wasn’t," she stammered, backtracking.

"Haha, really? I spent quite a bit on it, only to hear that it tasted awful. I’ll have to tell the innkeeper that it was so bad even a slave wouldn’t eat it."

"W-wait! Don’t say that!" Mirabel grabbed my arm in panic as I stood up, pretending to be serious.

I looked at her with feigned confusion, studying her expression.

After a moment of silence, Mirabel hesitated, then spoke up again, her voice soft.

"It was... delicious. The best meal I’ve had in a long time. So, please don’t complain."

"If the innkeeper hears that, I’m sure he’ll be happy. I’ll make sure to let him know later," I said with a smile.

Despite just having a meal, the tension in the room had eased significantly compared to earlier.

As expected, offering food was one of the best ways to break down barriers. I could already see her beginning to let her guard down.

"Now that your belly’s full, it’s time to change your clothes," I said.

"My... clothes?"

"Yes."

I glanced up and down at her current outfit.

For a slave about to be sold at the carnival, Mirabel was surprisingly clean. But the ragged scraps she was wearing couldn’t be called clothes. She needed something more appropriate.

"But why?" she asked, suspicious.

"What do you mean, why?"

"Well, I may not know much about the world, but I know that most slaves don’t get fancy meals or new clothes. Why are you doing this for me?"

"Not always. The noblewoman who was bidding on you earlier would’ve done the same, I’m sure."

"But you’re... the Slave Hunter, aren’t you? A slave hunter wouldn’t be nice to someone without a reason," she said, her tone laced with doubt.

"You’re right. As a trader, I don’t offer kindness without expecting something in return. Keep that in mind. It’s a good instinct to have," I replied without hesitation, acknowledging the truth.

After all, everything I did for her was ultimately for my own benefit.

And for what was yet to come.

A sly grin spread across my face.

"Mirabel, you’re going to satisfy my personal desires," I said mischievously.

"Whimper…"

Mirabel let out a soft whine, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

I chuckled at the sight before me.

The clothes I had given her? A maid outfit. And not just any maid outfit—a short one that left her legs exposed from her thighs to her ankles, complete with white garter belts!

She tugged at the hem of the skirt, trying to pull it down, but it was no use.

I chose it to be short on purpose.

I had prepared it long in advance, knowing I would dress her in it eventually. I had a pretty good idea of her size based on the in-game stats. I hadn’t expected it to suit her this perfectly, though.

She looked just like a character from an erotic manga. The normally shy Mirabel now glared at me with a mixture of shame and indignation.

"Why... why are you making me wear this? What are you going to do to me?"

"I just thought it would suit you."

"What...?"

"It’s my taste."

There was no other reason. It wasn’t like I was planning to have her clean the house or use her as a sex slave. It was just that… I mean, how could I resist putting a cute girl like her in a maid outfit?

How could anyone pass up the opportunity to see their favorite 2D character come to life in the real world?

Mirabel the Witch… dressed as a maid. Oh man, this is priceless.

That was all the reasoning I needed.

"Now that we’ve taken care of everything, it’s time to leave."

"Leave? Where are we going?"

The next destination had been clear from the beginning. After rescuing Mirabel, there was only one place to go.

"The city of magic and mystery—Libria."

It was time to start the Make Mirabel a Grand Witch project.