Finding a master and being the thing of the most high-ranking and noble black as possible – this was the career of a half-blood. And now, to all blacks, Nik was Kors’ thing.

Nik was no longer a slave, but he was not black either, and neither Zagpeace, nor Prince Ariel, nor anyone else could change that. Yes, they released him by signing the relevant papers, but they didn’t make him equal. So, according to the rules of this world, Nik’s fate didn’t imply other prospects for him, except to serve, and it was a good fate – sooner or later to become someone’s thing and wear the initials of his master where the owner wants to put them. And Kors liked to draw his letters on his cheeks, and that alone was reason enough to do so.

Kors knew that this, as he called it, “convincing of blacks”, was deeply rooted in his son, embedded from the very birth, as in any other half-blood and commoner. For centuries and generations, obedience and faith in the oneness of true blacks, the descendants of the gods, have been cultivated in the lower ones.

Despite all his audacity and merging with the demonic essence, as a person, at a deep level, Nik was broken and enslaved, accustomed to obedience, like all other commoners.

Therefore, when fate confronted him with some noble black, Nik did everything to please him. He allowed himself to be beaten by Prince Arel, fulfilling all his whims. By prince’s order, he, without hesitation, committed any crime, intimidating peaceful citizens. He participated in staged battles and shenanigans with rates, doing as the owner of the upper Colosseum told him, the true black Dim Al. Nik was fond of Salafael. He communicated with Daniel Crassus, not offended by his rude jokes about his appearance. He never fought back Kamiel Varakh, and he couldn’t help answering Zagpeace if he asked him about something.

Every day of his life since childhood, Nik received a cruel lesson confirming his low status. He was trained this way, and therefore he will never be able to give a decent answer to a true black on equal terms. Nik said to Kors: “I don’t want to get close to the blacks, they only make troubles,” but Kors didn’t believe him anymore. In fact, Nik was drawn to the true blacks and bowed to them. Because the rightful owners of this world were people like him – Vitor Kors. And that is why Kors was so afraid of their meeting with Leonardo, not doubting that Nik, not knowing the other scheme of things, would bend.

Kors glanced at doctor Cassiel. He stood and looked at Kors, expecting to hear his answer.

“Ask him yourself,” said Kors, and Nik looked up in surprise. Yes, he noticed everything and understood everything – both then and now. And he long ago resigned himself to his humiliating position, meekly accepting his low status in the hierarchy created by the black, and in most cases obeying the established rules of interaction between the lower and the higher masters.

The doctor was also taken aback. He was silent, and Kors, turning to Nik, said gently:

“Nik, do you agree to accept treatment from doctor Cassiel? Can he give you injections of drugs?”

“Vitor, as you say…” Nik barely uttered in confusion, and hearing this answer, the doctor nodded in satisfaction.

“And what about the eye?” Kors specified. “Will you let you close it? After all, then, while your right eye is recovering, you will become practically blind.”

“I see with it…”

“So what? Do you agree?” Kors asked again.

“If you think this is right, Vitor… but only… let you do it. Can you…”

And doctor Cassiel, who was listening attentively to their conversation, smiled understandingly and condescendingly: