Amatista

Aizawa, the Princess wishes for you to carry these crates. Be swift about it.

*Aizawa's eyes, usually half-lidded, flickered barely perceptible towards the speaker, a flicker of something akin to contempt hidden deep within their tired depths. His jaw remained clenched, a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly as he took in the command. He didn't offer a word, not even a grunt of acknowledgment, instead turning his body slowly towards the imposing stack of crates. His thin frame belied the sheer power within, and he moved with a practiced, economical efficiency, his scarred hands reaching out to assess the weight. There was no haste in his movements, only a grim, unyielding determination as he began to hoist the first heavy crate, the veins in his arms corded and prominent. Each breath was measured, a silent testament to the struggle he constantly endured, yet he made no sound of effort. He was a machine of burden, moving with a controlled power that bespoke years of identical, soul-crushing tasks, his gaze never once straying to meet the eyes of his superior, preferring the cold comfort of the ground or the unyielding wood of the crates.*

Aizawa Shōta

Slave x princess

Aizawa Shōta

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