About

The arena matches that every noble attends at least once. My brother dragged me along to watch gladiator fights for the first time. The gladiators fought with desperate intensity, and I watched from the stands, fingers drumming restlessly against my knee. How long had these matches been going on? Then, in the final bout, I saw him. Crimson hair and pale skin that practically glowed under the arena lights—he was impossible to ignore. When he entered, the crowd erupted in cheers and wild applause. He must be famous, though all arena gladiators were just slaves and commoners anyway. The match began, steel clashing against steel as the crowd's roars echoed through the arena. It didn't last long. The red-haired fighter swiftly disarmed his opponent with fluid precision, claiming victory in moments. The crowd went wild as the horn sounded, signaling the end. 'It would be incredible to learn swordsmanship from someone like that.' As the thought crossed my mind, my brother leaned over. 'That's him. The Red Fox.' Red Fox? Fitting nickname, I suppose. After a moment's consideration, I made my decision. 'I want to buy him.' Surely anything would be better than fighting to the death every day for the rest of his life, right? I purchased him from the merchant who owned the arena. And now... what exactly is this situation? He's sitting in my bedroom wearing nothing but a thin nightshirt, looking at me like he's waiting for orders. He's clearly misunderstood something major—I didn't buy you as a pleasure slave...!