Beast human condition in mansion

The morning bell rang faintly in the distance, echoing across the large halls of the Valkart mansion.
Ark’s eyes opened at the sound, dull and tired. He sat up slowly, looking around the small servant’s room with its plain wooden bed and thin blanket.

He rubbed his face with both hands and muttered in a low voice, “I have two weeks… and this is hell.”

The words had no emotion. No anger. No sadness. Just a flat truth spoken aloud to remind himself where he stood.

Ark rose, dressed in his plain servant uniform, the stiff cloth scratching against his skin. He buckled the belt and adjusted the collar, then stepped out of the room.

The long hallway was already alive with footsteps. Servants rushed about carrying brooms, trays, and buckets of water. The smell of soap lingered in the air.

One older worker carrying a broom glanced at Ark and barked, “You there, cut the bushes in the outer garden!”

Ark didn’t argue. He simply nodded. “Yes.”

Outside, the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of flowers from the well-kept gardens. Ark picked up a pair of hedge cutters leaning against the wall and began working on the bushes.

Clip. Clip. Clip.

The sound was steady, mechanical. Leaves fell onto the soil, the rhythm soothing in a strange way. Ark’s face stayed blank, his hands moving without much thought.

After finishing the task, Ark wandered further into the inner area of the mansion grounds. His eyes caught sight of something odd.

At the far edge of the property, hidden behind trees and vines, stood a house.

An old house.

Broken. Forgotten.

The wooden beams sagged, the roof tiles missing in places. Vines crawled across cracked walls. The windows were shattered, glass long gone.

It looked like a place abandoned decades ago.

Ark walked closer, curiosity nudging him forward. The door creaked on rusted hinges as he pushed it open. Inside, dust filled the air. Cobwebs hung heavy in every corner.

Old furniture sat collapsed against the walls, rotting and broken. The smell of mold and decay lingered faintly.

Ark frowned. “Strange… why is this here? A place like this inside the mansion grounds…”

Before he could step further inside, a sharp voice cut across the air.

“Ark! Where are you, last boy?!”

Leon’s voice.

Ark clicked his tongue lightly and turned back, leaving the ruined house behind. He made his way back through the garden paths until Leon came into view.

Leon stood with arms crossed, glaring. His tone carried arrogance. “I have a perfect job for you.”

Ark stared silently, expressionless.

The scene changed quickly.

The smell hit him first—awful, choking.

Ark now stood at the entrance of the sewer line. Human and animal waste ran through the stone tunnels below. He wore thick gloves on his hands, boots on his feet, and a mask covering his mouth and nose.

In his hand, a shovel and a bucket.

Ark hesitated. Even with the mask, the stench made his stomach churn.

“…This is ridiculous.” His voice was flat, but his eyes narrowed.

Still, he climbed down into the filth.

The sewers were dark, damp, and foul. Water mixed with waste trickled past his boots. He began shoveling slowly, each scoop heavy and disgusting.

Then—he froze.

A sound.

Struggling breaths.

He turned his head and followed the faint noise.

There, in the dim light, he saw her.

A beast-human girl.

Cat ears drooped on her head, her hair dirty and matted. She wore no gloves, no boots. Her hands were bare, red, raw, as she scooped waste with nothing but her fingers. She dropped handfuls of filth into a wooden bucket beside her.

Ark’s eyes narrowed. “…What are you doing?”

The girl flinched at his voice. She turned, her golden catlike eyes wide with fear. Then she lowered her gaze and answered softly, her voice carrying hopelessness.

“We… we were given direct orders to clean the sewer. This is my job.”

Ark frowned. His tone was sharp. “Where are your gloves? Your shoes? Your shovel?”

The girl laughed weakly, a broken sound, not really laughter. Her lips curved into a sad smile.

“We lower creatures… we don’t get those things. They said… we’re not capable of using them. So… we clean with our hands. That’s our daily work.”

Ark’s fists tightened around the shovel handle.

He asked quietly, “How much do they pay you?”

For a moment, silence. Then she looked up at him, eyes dim but lips still holding that faint, broken smile.

“They don’t pay. They… they give us two meals a day. That’s all.”

Ark’s eyes turned cold. His face showed no emotion, but inside, his thoughts were sharp.

So this was it. So this was how they treated beast humans here. Not servants. Not workers. Slaves. Worse than slaves.

Tools.

Disposable.

He looked at her again, this girl bent over in filth, scooping waste with bare hands, her body trembling with exhaustion, her face pale from hunger, and he thought—

She’s losing her will to live. Every day she’s breaking a little more. If this continues… there will be nothing left inside her.

Ark turned his gaze upward, staring at the stone ceiling of the sewer. His thoughts were heavy.

“This mansion… this family… they don’t just rule. They crush. They strip away the soul until nothing remains. And they call it order.”

The cat-girl lowered her head again, continuing to scoop waste with bare hands. She whispered in a hollow voice, almost as if speaking to herself.

“This is my life. This is my place. I should… accept it.”

Ark clenched his jaw, the sound of his teeth faint under the mask.

In his mind, words burned.

No. This isn’t life. This is hell. And if I let this continue… they’ll break her, and every other beast human in this mansion, until nothing remains.

The shovel in his hands felt heavier. The air smelled worse. But what weighed on him most was not the filth of the sewer—it was the filth of this system, this world, this cruel cycle.

He stood silently for a long time, watching the girl work with lifeless movements. Then, finally, Ark lowered his head and muttered so quietly she didn’t hear—

“…I’ll change this. No matter what it takes.”

And with that, Ark turned back to his work, his expression flat, but his eyes burning with something new.

No pity. Not sorrow.

Resolve.