Home for Hiruma turned out to be something of a fortress. The squat house itself wasn't nearly as massive as the mansion they had just left, but it was surrounded by an imposing metal fence with actual turrets that looked suspiciously weaponized.

In other words, Sena's anxiety already wasn't doing great by the time they rolled to a stop. This time, he quickly made to get out, so he'd be ready to follow his master, but he'd only put a hand on the door handle when Hiruma stopped him.

Oh no. He felt his heart start to race. What had he done wrong, in the short drive back? Was he supposed to stay in the car until given permission? Hiruma hadn't hurt him so far, maybe this was the signal for the pain to start, now that they were back on his home turf?

Flattening himself against the car seat, Sena closed his eyes and waited, but Hiruma tapped the side of his head and said, "Look at me, shrimp."

Sena nervously turned his gaze to the point of Hiruma's chin.

"Good enough. When you're outside this fence, you crawl. I don't want anyone seeing those fucking legs of yours at work. In here, though, you walk on your feet, not your knees. Got it?"

Sena couldn't say he remotely understood why, but as rules went, it was simple enough to follow. He nodded vigorously, and at Hiruma's shooing motion, got out, on his feet, and cautiously walked his way toward the front door. The whole way, he could feel Hiruma's gaze on him, as if daring him to mess this up.

Once Hiruma seemed satisfied that his new slave had basic language comprehension, he got out too, hooked a couple bags from the trunk, along with his briefcase, and then walked up to punch codes into an improbable number of keypads to unlock the double front door. Sena already knew he wasn't getting out of here alive, but this just felt like overkill.

For some reason, he had expected that Hiruma owned a bunch of other slaves, but it was eerily silent inside, just the two of them. Unless the other slaves were locked away somewhere. Or dead already? Sena gulped deep breaths and tried to focus on obeying and not ending up like the other slaves in his imagination. Hopefully only in his imagination.

Hiruma took him to some sort of sitting room, lined wall to wall with bookshelves, and motioned him to a chair at the table, which Sena hesitantly perched on, expecting to be hit at any moment, if this was a test. When no blow came, he guessed that maybe there was also a sit/kneel rule in place alongside the walk/crawl rule? He hoped Hiruma clarified before he had a chance to mess it up.

"How did it go with Kid," said Hiruma, grabbing the opposite chair and turning it on a leg so he could straddle it, and fix Sena with the full intensity of his gaze. "Did he get all your injuries?"

"Y... yes, master?"

"Did he feed you?"

"No, master," said Sena, more confidently this time. Any slave would know better than to eat without permission, and Sena could already tell that his master planned to strictly limit his intake. It was the second time Hiruma had checked to make sure he hadn't eaten anything. Sena had the sinking feeling that, whatever awaited him here, it wasn't going to be a full belly. But at least he knew the right answer to that one.

"Did he fuck you?"

Sena's jaw dropped open, before he remembered how urgent it was that he respond, and to this question in particular. "No, master! No, I would never... please..." A sudden jolt of pain on his bruised knees made him realize he'd fallen to them. He put his head down and tried to breathe, tried to decide if there was a way to convince Hiruma of his innocence, or if it would only make the matter worse.

There was a long, gut-wrenching silence, before he heard his master getting up, walking toward him. Sena braced himself for punishment, but instead there was just the sound of something soft set in front of his bowed head. When he dared to look up, he saw that it was the shopping bags that Hiruma had carried in earlier.

"Just checking," said his master, kicking one of the bags lightly, so it tipped over. Fabric slithered out. "While you were there, I went shopping. Put on one of everything, and meet me in the kitchen."

Sena waited, shivering, for the sound of the footsteps to fade down the hallway, and then a door to open and close, before he dared to get up. Cautiously, he looked into the bags. The clothing seemed new, and roughly his size. Surely, if Hiruma meant to punish him, he wouldn't have him put on brand new clothes first? Or was he meant to ruin them, and be punished for that too?

He forced himself not to think, just take off his dirty shift and put on the first of each thing he saw. He didn't see there was underwear at the bottom of the bag until he already had pants on, and hastily took them off to fix his mistake. He found socks too, and a shoe box containing athletic sneakers, and briefly thought about putting on just one of each, before deciding he had to assume that Hiruma meant a pair. Then he spent several precious seconds digging around in the bags, trying to see if there was something he'd missed, some small garment at the bottom, or tucked into some other clothing, to trick him into failing his order.

When he had looked as thoroughly as he could, he folded everything else back up, put it back in the bags, laid out his dirty shift on top of them, and went to find the kitchen. He hadn't received directions, but it was easy to follow his nose. He could smell something heavenly cooking, or at least heavenly to his empty stomach, which at this point would have been pathetically grateful for some of the stale crusts that had been the standard, if infrequent, fare at the market. He tried to enter the kitchen as quietly as he could, but Hiruma still noticed and turned from the stove, wearing an incongruous pink apron and holding a spatula.

Hiruma's eyes scanned Sena's body again, and Sena forced himself to hold still. Apparently he passed inspection, because Hiruma pointed the spatula at a nearby chair, which was at a table with a glass of water on it.

Cautiously, Sena sat, and then stared the water glass down, as though it might hold the answer to everything.

"Drink," said Hiruma impatiently, and then, "Slowly," when Sena jumped to obey.

Sena tried to sip as slowly as possible, but the cool water was delicious to his parched throat. If nothing else, it was a blessing to be able to fill his stomach with something, and he needed to save it for a distraction once Hiruma started eating right in front of him. If it was another master he might have hoped for some scraps from Hiruma's leftovers at the end, but from the earlier questioning, Sena could only assume food would be a rare reward, if that. He didn't think he'd done anything particularly reward-worthy yet.

So, when Hiruma dumped the contents of his skillet onto a waiting bowl of rice, and put it in front of Sena, he was at a loss. Was it meant to be torture? That was the most likely explanation he could come up with. It looked like some kind of stir-fry, with big, saucy pieces of meat, and fresh vegetables. The aroma, amplified by his hunger, was so tempting, it almost physically pulled him in. When he knew he wouldn't be able to resist much longer, he said, in a small voice, almost hoping not to be heard, "Master?'

Hiruma looked up from where he was rinsing the pan, picked up a fork, and advanced. Now Sena had done it. He had failed the test and he was going to be stabbed full of tiny holes—

The fork, when it was thrust at him, came handle-first.

"Eat," said Hiruma. "Don't fucking make yourself sick, there'll be more later."

Sena didn't have to be told twice. He took bites as quickly as he could, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the food to be taken from him, waiting to be struck, but wanting to get as much food in him as he could before it happened.

Dimly, part of him processed the idea that there would be more later. It suggested that Hiruma planned to keep him alive for at least another meal. If Hiruma was a one-meal-a-day kind of master, Sena might live to see tomorrow at least. Judging by the generous portion he'd been given though, maybe it would be less frequent, and he might live into the next week. He wasn't sure yet if that was good news or bad news, to be honest.

"Let's get one thing straight," said Hiruma, sitting down across from him, still in his terrifying pink apron. "Here, I handle the training." Sena nodded vigorously. Yes, training, he understood. "Food, rewards, you need a damn hug or something, that all comes from the fatty." This part, Sena didn't quite follow, but kept eating. "He won't be back until tomorrow, so for now it can't be helped. But don't get used to this."

"Yes, master," said Sena, though he wasn't sure what it was he wasn't supposed to get used to.

"He's going to be real happy to have you," Hiruma added, leaning back way too far in his chair. "You just wait."