Help, I'm in Another World and All the Men Are So Hot! [BL]-Chapter 250: Negotiations for Yor

Seeing Ithnan stand up, the rabbit-eared boy flinched violently.

His already cowering posture became even smaller.

"Ithnan, you’re scaring him. It’s fine if I go alone," Damien said, trying to reassure both the boy and his guard.

Ithnan obediently sat back down, though his expression remained tense.

Good, Damien thought.

Turning back toward the boy, Damien noticed that he was still glancing nervously at Ithnan, his fear evident.

Was Ithnan really that intimidating?

Damien had to admit, Ithnan’s sharp, handsome features could look a bit menacing when he was serious.

Out of the corner of his eye, Damien glanced at Ithnan, who was seated on the sofa.

His guard was glaring at the boy with an expression that could only be described as fierce, like he was staring down an enemy.

Now Damien understood why the boy was so frightened.

Even Damien, who wasn’t the target of the glare, found it intimidating.

"Ithnan..." Damien called out in a slightly exasperated tone.

"But, Master...," Ithnan began to protest.

"It’s fine. Just sit quietly," Damien replied firmly.

Looking dejected, Ithnan slumped back into his seat.

Lysander looking at this scene patted him on the back in a comforting gesture.

Damien appreciated Ithnan’s concern, but now wasn’t the time for it.

Ithnan seemed more disheartened than expected, so Damien made a mental note to thank him properly and cheer him up later.

Glancing around, Damien noticed the slave merchant watching him with an amused smile, as though observing something endearing.

It was embarrassing.

Damien took a deep breath to refocus and approached the rabbit-eared boy.

Up close, the boy’s small size was even more apparent.

When the boy looking up at Damien with wide, frightened eyes, he seemed even smaller.

Even if he stood upright, he would likely only come up to Damien’s chest—and Damien wasn’t particularly tall himself.

He was probably about the same size as Tis’a, the smallest member of Damien’s household.

To meet the boy’s gaze, Damien knelt down on one knee.

"What’s your name?" he asked, offering a kind smile.

Despite Damien’s gentle tone, the boy remained silent, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"My name is Damien," he continued softly. "Can you tell me yours? I’d really like to know."

Taking extra care to keep his voice gentle and unthreatening, Damien waited patiently.

"...Yor...Yor Fenech," the boy finally replied in a soft, barely audible voice.

Pleased with the effort Yor had made, Damien rewarded him with a bright, encouraging smile.

"Yor, huh? That’s a nice name," Damien said warmly. "Tell me, Yor, do you think you could handle being a servant?"

The boy’s ears twitched slightly, and after a hesitant pause, he mumbled, "...I don’t know... I just... I want to go home..."

Damien’s heart ached at the quiet plea.

Damien felt his eyes well up with tears and it seemed like he might start crying himself.

Of course, the boy wanted to go home.

He was just a small child, after all.

Damien turned to the slave merchant for some guidance, but the man simply shook his head.

"Unfortunately, that’s not something I can recommend," the merchant said. "Our investigation shows that the countess is still interested in this product, so sending him back home would be too dangerous."

Damien couldn’t help but think about how terrifying the anger of a mother who had lost her son could be.

"...I can’t go home...?" Yor’s voice trembled, and with that, the tears broke free.

The boy collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, his tears falling in a steady stream.

Damien realized that until now, Yor hadn’t fully understood his situation.

This was no longer just about whether the boy could be a servant or not—it was a much deeper issue.

Damien gently embraced Yor, pulling his head close and softly stroking his hair to offer comfort.

"Alright, Mr. Merchant, let’s begin the negotiations!"

The slave merchant, now beaming with a wide grin, looked a little irritated at Damien’s sudden shift in tone, but Damien couldn’t help it.

He decided to focus on the positive—at least the merchant was helping him bring the boy to a better situation.

Damien settled back on the sofa and prepared to begin negotiations with the slave merchant.

Yor sat on Damien’s lap, still sniffling.

He hadn’t been able to leave the crying boy alone, so he had carried him over, while an employee had kindly taken care of bringing over the heavy shackles.

"Thank you," Damien had said.

Now, Yor was pressing his tear-streaked face into Damien’s chest, sobbing softly.

"To start with," Damien began, "I’ll be honest—I don’t have a lot of money. I appreciate you introducing Yor to me, but can I even afford him?"

He didn’t like discussing money in these situations, but the boy was adorable, and considering his special traits, Damien suspected Yor could fetch a very high price.

"To speak candidly," the merchant replied, "we’ve had some difficulty managing this product at our establishment. We’re willing to offer a significant discount, and we hope you’ll consider purchasing him."

"Let’s cut to the chase. How much are we talking about?" Damien asked directly.

"For the base price, how about 50 gold coins?" the merchant proposed. "For context, the starting price for a third-class slave is typically 200 gold coins at minimum, and the upper limit can be quite high. So, this is a considerable reduction."

That’s... quite a discount, Damien thought.

Perhaps it was due to Yor being classified as a criminal slave?

"Under normal circumstances," the merchant continued, "considering this product’s striking appearance, submissive demeanor—or rather, his timid nature that renders him incapable of resistance—and his special traits as a member of the Rabbit Men, along with his innate friendliness, we would set his price at no less than 1,000 gold coins. Even halving it due to his criminal status, 500 gold coins would still be a fair price."

Damien felt a lump in his throat at the merchant’s words.

Fifty gold coins was indeed a massive markdown.

The slave merchant spoke with a cheerful smile, his sales pitch flowing effortlessly.