Jansen The Subservient Trash

Despite enduring hardships, he persevered, holding onto a high moral standard that became the guiding light through the trials of his existence.

Each challenge, a testament to the strength and resilience of his spirit, painted a narrative of virtue and endurance that seemed destined for celestial approval.

In the face of adversity, his commitment to moral principles transformed his soul into a beacon of hope, navigating the tumultuous journey with a steadfast determination to uphold righteousness. And blablabla the bullshit went on and on.

"Child, I'm a demon with a pact with you, a gift from the Demon Goddess, Elara. I can't just swoop in to fix the mess you create unless you want my presence by your side. We both need mutual acceptance to connect," Malphas explained, a sense of frustration lingering beneath the surface. "And I don't do charity work, so don't expect me to always bail you out without a price for everything you desire!"

Viktor remained silent after absorbing the truth. Opting to recline on the bed, he lay there on his back, staring at the ceiling of the room.

"Alright, I understand, Malphas. So, what can I do to exact my revenge?" Viktor inquired, a determination etched in his voice as he confronted the reality of the pact that bound him to the demon.

The room echoed with the weight of his inquiry, leaving an air of anticipation for the next steps in this intricate dance between the mortal and the otherworldly entity.

***

**flashback**

The grand entrance of the elite institution stood as a gateway to a world of privilege and prestige. Students in immaculate uniforms mingled on the manicured lawns, while the aura of affluence and accomplishment permeated the air.

Octavius navigated the meticulously maintained campus with a sense of purpose. Jansen, his son, trailed behind, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty etched on his face.

"Remember, Jansen, this isn't just a school," Octavius stated with a firm tone, the weight of his expectations evident.

"Your success here extends beyond academics. Forge connections, build alliances. It's the key to our influence," Octavius emphasized.

Jansen, somewhat overwhelmed, nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes reflecting a mix of determination and apprehension.

As Jansen entered the hallowed halls, he couldn't escape the scrutinizing gazes of peers and parents alike.

Octavius observed the interactions, acutely aware that every handshake, every introduction, was a strategic move in the intricate dance of high society.

The echoes of conversations among the affluent echoed through the marble corridors. Octavius strategically positioned himself, engaging in discussions that transcended mere pleasantries. He was planting seeds in the fertile soil of social influence.

Octavius, content with the progress, saw this as an investment—a strategic placement in the intricate chessboard of high society, where every move had consequences that reverberated through the corridors of power.

"You see, Jansen, these connections are the pillars of success. It's not just about education; it's about shaping perceptions," Octavius advised during a brief moment alone with his son.

By the end of the day, as they left the institution, Octavius imparted a final piece of wisdom.

"This is just the beginning, Jansen. Every step here shapes our destiny. Make the right moves, and success will follow," Octavius stated, casting a contemplative gaze toward the school's imposing façade.

In the exclusive circles of the elite, this prestigious school, despite its exorbitant and seemingly irrational fees, remained a coveted institution among entrepreneurs.

The price tag was not a deterrent but rather a symbolic entry fee into a world where status and identity were meticulously curated.

Octavius, driven by a desire to solidify his place in this exclusive echelon, spared no expense or effort to ensure Jansen's enrollment alongside the offspring of the affluent. It wasn't merely about education; it was a statement of identity and exclusivity.

However, Octavius aspired for more than just Jansen rubbing shoulders with the elite. In his quest for influence and connections, he targeted a specific individual—Viktor, the son of the owner of a world-renowned pharmaceutical company.

Despite his aversion to seeming desperate for the friendship of strangers, Octavius pressed for this particular alliance.

Octavius's motivations were clear; it wasn't merely about school friendships but the strategic cultivation of relationships that could extend beyond the classroom.

He orchestrated encounters, social gatherings, and subtle nudges to ensure that Jansen and Viktor not only attended the same school but also formed a bond that would echo in the corridors of power.

"Jansen, it's not just about the camaraderie but the alliances you form. Viktor's family holds significant influence, and aligning with them can open doors to opportunities you can't even fathom," Octavius explained, his words carrying the weight of calculated ambition.

"Father, I want my friendships to be genuine, not orchestrated," Jansen protested, resisting the pressure.

Octavius, with a steely gaze, responded, "In our world, my son, friendships are often strategic moves on the chessboard of life. It's not about what you want; it's about what you need for success!"

In the relentless pressure from his father, Jansen donned a wide smile and bolstered his courage to approach Viktor.

Attempting to mimic an air of camaraderie, he initiated conversations with Viktor and his friends. However, their reactions were far from warm.

Viktor and his companions exchanged cynical glances, suppressing laughter as they observed Jansen's forced attempts at familiarity.

"Well, well, if it isn't the new recruit. Sure, tag along."

As Jansen persisted in shadowing their group, they decided to exploit his presence.

"Hey, Jansen, could you grab my bag? Thanks."

Jansen obediently complied, hoping that his efforts would eventually pay off.

"No problem, anything for you guys."

However, their treatment of Jansen took a turn for the worse.

"Hey, Jansen, run to the store and get us some snacks."

Despite his efforts to ingratiate himself into their circle, Jansen found himself relegated to the role of an unpaid servant.

"Sure thing, Viktor."

Viktor and his friends reveled in their newfound power over Jansen, turning him into a subservient trash.

**flashback end**