21: Chapter 12.1 I’m Actually Pitiful Too!
21: Chapter 12.1 I’m Actually Pitiful Too!
Chapter: 12 Chapter Title: I’m Actually Pitiful Too!
—————————————————————– When I, who couldn’t even properly care for a single pet, picked up a bear trap in the middle of the market, people gave me puzzled looks.
But there was only one reason.
This was one of the worst things that had ruined Piel’s life.
In the original story Vengeful Goddesses , Piel’s childhood wasn’t depicted directly—it was glossed over in brief mentions.
Yet even those few lines were enough to leave readers speechless.
In the original, after being taken in by Lucas Argent, Piel lived like a real beast.
Solely because she was a beastkin.
She wasn’t even allowed rags for clothes.
She was trained so that crawling on all fours became her “natural posture,” and during their so-called hunting games, she’d crawl between traps until her ankles shattered, her ribs tore, and her flesh was flayed.
They’d torment her right up to the brink of death, then force recovery potions down her throat to barely revive her, and repeat it endlessly.
So even as an adult—even after awakening as a hero—Piel would regress to that “beast” the instant she saw a bear trap.
It wasn’t slave hunters that set her off; even ordinary hunters just trapping animals in the forest would make her lose all reason at the mere sight of a trap in their hands.
Those scenes were enough to stop readers dead.
Scenes of her shredding hunters to pieces, then snapping back to herself drenched in blood and collapsing in wails.
To Piel, traps weren’t mere tools.
They were from that era when she’d been tamed as a beast.
So I bought the bear trap.
Not to subdue Piel, but to shatter her world.
And the effect came faster than I’d imagined.
Even on the day I dressed her in the Argent family’s maid uniform, Piel had moved like nothing more than a trained slave.
Mechanically, eyes always watchful for cues.
But after a few days, the tiniest change appeared.
Her face stayed stiff as ever on the surface, but from behind, her tail quivered ever so slightly—barely visible.
Anyone clueless would mistake it, but I knew what it was.
Instinct.
Wary…
yet happy.
So today, too, I said it.
“Piel, let’s eat together today.
No chairs needed.
I won’t be sitting either.” This incident made it crystal clear.
I’m a surgeon.
Not a shrink.
I don’t have the skills to unpack trauma and heal it.
Faking empathy or comfort would just break her more.
So instead, I’d play the good master to the end—in a way that wouldn’t hurt this kid.
If she couldn’t walk ahead, we’d walk side by side.
And the first method I’d come up with was mealtime.
What if the dining spot had no chairs for a kid who seized up the moment she sat on one?
Today, too, I spread a tablecloth on the floor and plunked down a massive barbecue spread right there.
“Mmm~ The meat’s so good today.
How’s it for you, Piel?” “Yes!
It’s…
really delicious for me too!” It was already the third day.
The first time had been awkward as hell.
It wasn’t just un-noble; it was a laughable mockery of human dining.
But think about it—humans aren’t born clutching forks and knives.
Hungry creatures reach out with their hands first, on pure instinct.
So I tore into the meat with my hands too.
Right alongside the little fox eating the same way.
Munch, munch.
Of course, the reaction when I first suggested we eat like this had been priceless.
Supervisor Karen had freaked out, and even Piel—now gnawing meat right in front of me—had gaped back then.
“Ah, even if you’re only half-Argent by blood, to eat in a way commoners wouldn’t?!
Tearing into meat with your hands!
A disgrace to the family!
You absolutely cannot!” “R-right, Master!
You’re a…
human, so you have to use a fork and knife…” “Then what about you, Piel?
Can you use a fork and knife?” “…!” That one line froze her solid.
Her head dipped slightly, her ear tips drooped quietly downward, and her tail slowly slackened, curling toward her body.
No words, but the message was clear: I can’t.
A few days in, and now I got it.
Piel never refuses out loud.
She can’t .
Her body speaks for her instead.
Head down = Sorry.
Ears down = Fear.
Tail curled = Can’t do it.
To her, “refusal” looked exactly like that.
Just like with the chair, it played out the same here.
Using utensils must’ve been a torture-linked taboo from her training days.
So I said it straight.