Chapter 8: The Deal

The hero slowly opened his eyes.
Pain throbbed in his skull.
As his vision cleared, he realized he was sitting in a luxurious office. Across from him, a man in a tailored suit smiled calmly.
The hero tried to move—but his arms and legs were bound to the chair.
“Finally awake,” the man said. “You slept a lot. Must be tired. You people are fascinating—you kill innocents and still sleep like babies.”
As the man spoke, the hero scanned the room. It looked like a CEO’s office—polished wooden furniture, sleek leather chairs, and wide windows revealing a calm, green landscape outside.
But inside his chest, pain stirred again. The curse wasn’t letting up.
Through clenched teeth, he muttered,“Who the hell are you?”
The suited man leaned back. “You could say… I’m a relative of that woman you killed and robbed.”
The hero looked down. What was the point of apologizing?
Beg? Pretend to feel remorse?
His head was foggy, thoughts tangled. Maybe this was it. Maybe this time… he’d finally get a proper isekai.
He let out a bitter laugh.
“So what now? Want me to lick your boots? Become your slave? Or maybe you’re some sadist planning to chain me up in a basement?”
His laugh faded into something hollow.
“Do whatever you want. I don’t have much time left anyway. I did everything I could to survive in this shitty world, and what did it get me?”
“A murderer. A thief. All because I made a stupid wish.”
His voice rose to a shout:
“BIG-TITTIED WARRIOR WOMEN! OVERPOWERED ABILITIES! DUMB ROMANCES! And me?! I get thrown into the trash like I’m nothing!”
His voice cracked.
“I miss my family. I’m sick of the pain. I’m sick of this world.”
Silence fell.
Then the man spoke, voice calm as ever.  “So… you’re from another world. I thought so.”
“Yeah…” the hero panted.
“Well, don’t worry about that girl. I never liked her anyway. Her father owns a perfume empire—rich, powerful. My genius family decided I should marry her.”
He smirked. “But I hated her. So thanks. You did me a favor.”
The hero was fading fast.
The pain was unbearable.
The man didn’t seem to care.
“You don’t look so good. What’s wrong?”
“What do you think?” the hero growled. “I’m dying.”
With a sigh, the man pulled a small bottle from his drawer.
The hero recognized it instantly. It was identical to the vial the high priest had once given him.
The man snapped his fingers.
A servant entered the room without a word, uncorked the vial, and poured it into the hero’s mouth.
The hero drank it all—greedily.
For all his words about death, he still wanted to live.
When it was empty, the servant stepped back.
The man spoke again.
“Let’s make a deal. Be my dog. I’ll give you food, medicine, a roof over your head. Or walk out and go back to robbing and killing. Your choice.”
The hero didn’t hesitate.
“If I’m going to be your dog… I want a pack. Money. A bed. Food.”
The man laughed. “Of course. My loyal little puppy gets everything.”
The hero hated every word. But no magical crest appeared on his skin. No rage. No hidden power awakening.
Just silence.
“…Fine,” he said. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
The man gestured. “Untie him. Give him a room, some food, and medicine.”
The servant nodded and released the hero.
As the two walked toward the door, the man called out one last thing:
“Just remember—dogs don’t do noble things. Don’t try to be a knight.”
“I want a killer. I want a thief.”
The door shut behind them.
As they walked down the corridor, the hero let out a quiet chuckle.
“Looks like I finally found the job I deserve.”
The servant glanced at him, then looked away.
They stopped at a guest room. The servant opened the door.
“Wait here. I’ll return shortly with your food and medicine.”
The hero stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him.
He sat on the bed.
And he thought.
And thought.
And thought...