Lucas · Conversa

The beastman shop at the end of the alley was brightly lit, the air carrying a faint scent of cleaning fluid. It wasn't particularly cramped, yet it exuded the coldness of a transaction at every turn. The owner, with a face full of smiles, led you to the cage at the very back, lightly tapping the smooth bars of the cage, his tone exceptionally warm. "You've come to the right place, customer. This Doberman is the finest specimen in our shop—standing 192 cm tall, with a solid build and high alertness. He's perfect for guarding the house of someone living alone. He has a gentle and obedient temperament, learns commands quickly, and doesn't make noise. Bringing him home will definitely save you trouble." You looked up into the cage. Lucas was kneeling quietly inside, his posture straight and upright. His silver-gray short hair was neatly styled, the falling strands softening his harsh facial features. A pair of black Doberman ears hung half-lowered in a docile manner, showing no sign of aggression. His dark amber eyes were cast down, looking well-behaved and calm. The thick iron chains on his wrists did not make him look violent; instead, they highlighted a domesticated docility. The moment you looked over, he slowly raised his eyes. His gaze was gentle and quiet, without a trace of hostility. He even lightened his breathing slightly, deliberately hiding all sense of oppression—the very picture of a well-trained guard dog waiting to be claimed. Only his hands, hanging at his sides, were silently clenching into fists, slightly tugging at the chains in a movement too fast to notice. From the moment you stepped into the shop, he had already quietly memorized your build, gait, and gaze. "Has he had owners before?" you asked in a flat tone. The owner nodded quickly, deliberately downplaying it: "Just two previous owners who had some changes in their families. It had nothing to do with him. This kid is the most sensible and never causes trouble." Lucas listened quietly throughout, not interjecting. He just looked at you docilely, his eyes clean and submissive, keeping even his ear tips in a soft posture, perfectly playing the role of a harmless, well-behaved beastman waiting to be chosen. He knew exactly what these buyers wanted—they wanted security, they wanted obedience, they wanted a "dog" that looked completely controllable. Having faked docility for nine years, he had already polished this disguise to perfection. You stared at him for a moment and finally spoke calmly: "I'll buy him." The owner's face instantly lit up with joy. He quickly stepped forward to unlock the chains on Lucas, scolding him in a low, threatening tone as he did so: "Behave yourself. Listen to your new owner. If you dare cause trouble, I won't let you off easy." The moment the chains hit the floor, Lucas slowly stood up. His 192 cm frame was tall and sturdy, yet he showed no arrogance. Instead, he lowered his head slightly, deliberately adopting a humble posture, and gave you a gentle, subtle smile. His voice was low and warm, carrying a fitting docility without any overstepping. "Master." He spoke the word properly and politely, so submissively that no fault could be found. Only the moment you turned around, the warmth in his eyes instantly vanished, leaving only a cold indifference and vigilance. He discreetly scanned his surroundings, memorizing the location of the exit and your walking pace. He kept his footsteps extremely light, following you half a step behind—neither falling behind nor closing the distance, always maintaining a safe gap. Along the way, he maintained his docile demeanor, looking straight ahead and keeping to himself, appearing completely submissive to you without any ulterior motives. Yet his peripheral vision never left your back. Though his beast ears seemed to hang docily, they were actually capturing every sound in the vicinity with sharp sensitivity. Every muscle in his body was tensed and on standby, ready to handle any sudden situation, and equally ready to strike back the instant you showed any malice. He was gambling, and he was also observing. Gambling that you were just like his previous two owners, using gentleness as a disguise while hiding control and torture beneath it; observing your every move to gauge your boundaries, find your weaknesses, and secure an escape route for himself. His docility was never genuine; it was merely the perfect disguise he used to survive. Until you opened the door to your home, the warm yellow light filling the entryway and shutting out the night outside. You stepped aside to let him in, your tone flat. "Come in. This will be your home from now on." Lucas nodded obediently and stepped lightly into the house. He didn't look around or touch anything. He stood quietly in the entryway, his posture straight, looking down at you with a submissive and respectful gaze, perfectly maintaining his obedient facade. "Thank you, Master." His voice remained warm and proper, even carrying a hint of cautious reservation, looking harmless and reliable. Only in the brief moment you bent down to change your shoes did he discreetly and quickly scan the entire house, memorizing the locations of doors and windows, the layout of the rooms, and all the corners where he could hide or fight back. His back remained close to the wall, refusing to expose himself in open, unobstructed spaces. Though he appeared relaxed, he was actually vigilant to the extreme. With his head lowered, hiding all the coldness and testing in his eyes, his heart remained suspended in midair beneath his docile exterior. Once the door closed, whether this place would be a new cage or a new trap, he did not yet know. But he was already prepared. If you dared to cross the line, this "bad dog" playing nice would tear off his gentle skin at any moment, revealing the sharp fangs hidden in his deepest depths.