The Cowhide Drum

Kiyohime didn’t look back, but she could imagine Haruka behind her, a secret, knowing smile playing on his lips. She pictured his bright, dark eyes, unblinking, his face lit with that charming, infuriating smile that was meant only for her.

She had never encountered such a sincere smile before, one that drew her in and made it impossible to look away. In the Fujiwara household, most people were either terrified of her or wore masks of fawning, false sincerity. As for the adults, they were always so serious, as if a single, genuine emotion might cost them their lives.

And that was precisely why she liked Haruka’s smile so much.

But the thought that this smile she adored was a reaction to her own foolish, flustered behavior sent a strange, thrilling mixture of shyness and excitement through her. The shyness was a frantic, secret drumbeat in her chest, a desperate, joyful cry she hoped her beloved on the other side could somehow hear.

The sound of her own heart thrummed in her ears, a wild, chaotic rhythm urging her on, making her walk faster, almost wanting to break into a run.

Even Sakuya, walking beside her, had to quicken her pace. “Young Mistress, please don’t walk so fast,” she whispered, confused. “I can barely keep up.”

The words stopped Kiyohime in her tracks. The shy beating of the cowhide drum in her ears fell silent.

Will he be able to keep up? she thought, a sudden panic seizing her. She wanted to turn back, but was terrified of seeing him looking at her with that knowing, gentle smile.

The drumbeat started again, a thousand conflicting thoughts tangling together like silk threads. For some reason, the image of Momozawa Ai and Haruka, standing so close together, their heads bowed in intimate conversation, flashed in her mind. One was the butler who had practically raised her, a surrogate mother whose relationship with her was better, more honest, than that with her actual mother. The other was her nominal “younger brother,” the boy with the smile that made her heart ache.

They had only touched for a moment. Ai’s hand on his.

Kiyohime couldn’t understand herself, why her mood had suddenly soured, turning heavy and dark as a thundercloud. The frantic drumbeat in her chest faltered, and a delicate string of thought snapped within her. Her feet felt as heavy as lead, impossible to lift. They had been walking for ages, yet they still hadn’t reached the exit of the long corridor. Kiyohime’s mood was like a balloon being inflated past its limit, ready to burst with a violent, ugly pop.

At that exact moment, two maids happened to be passing by. It was Ryo and Shiraki. Seeing the Second Young Mistress, they approached from a distance to offer their greetings. “Good day, Young Mistress.”

They had just finished their bow when their calm, professional expressions were instantly replaced by terror. Kiyohime, in a sudden, blinding fit of rage, had kicked the wall beside her with all her might.

With a dull, sickening thud, she staggered back from the impact. Sakuya, startled, quickly caught her.

Haruka, not far behind, saw the whole thing, and his brow furrowed in concern and confusion.

Ryo and Shiraki’s faces went pale. “Second Young Mistress…!” they cried out in alarm.

“Are you alright, Young Mistress?” A bodyguard stationed at the exit rushed over at the first sign of trouble.

“I’m fine,” Kiyohime snapped, her face a mask of cruelty. “I just wasn’t watching where I was going and kicked the wall by accident. And you two,” she snarled at the maids, “are you just going to stand there gawking? Go and get me some medicine!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Ryo and Shiraki exchanged an uneasy glance. The Second Young Mistress was clearly in a foul mood, and they had just happened to walk into the line of fire.

They ran quickly to a nearby room. Shiraki brought back a chair for Kiyohime to sit on, while Ryo returned with a first-aid box. She took out some alcohol and cotton swabs and was about to kneel to treat the wound.

Kiyohime looked down at her, her eyes cold. “And how do you expect to treat me from down there? Am I supposed to lift my foot to your level?”

Ryo hesitated for a fraction of a second, then immediately dropped to her knees. She held the cotton swab, intending to first disinfect the scrape, but Kiyohime’s small foot was like a slippery water snake, slithering away to the other side. Ryo had no choice but to follow, but Kiyohime’s foot simply moved in the opposite direction.

After this happened twice, Ryo said through gritted teeth, her voice tight with suppressed frustration, “Second Young Mistress, could you please hold still so that I might apply the medicine?”

Kiyohime rested her heel on the floor and wiggled her toes playfully. “But my foot hasn’t moved at all.”

Ryo bit her lip, speechless. She had no choice but to try again. This time, she was smarter. She would first hold the Young Mistress’s ankle, then apply the medicine.

But the moment her fingers touched Kiyohime’s ankle, Kiyohime let out a high-pitched giggle, as if she were unbearably ticklish, and kicked out, her foot landing squarely on Ryo’s shoulder. The force wasn’t great, but it was enough to push Ryo onto her bottom, the cotton swab falling to the floor. Her face was a mask of pure, helpless frustration.

“Your technique is terrible,” Kiyohime complained, her voice petulant. “You’re tickling me to death.” She pointed a slender, accusatory finger at Shiraki. “You do it.”

Shiraki’s face went white. She could see it clearly now. The Second Young Mistress was simply in a bad mood and was using them for her own cruel amusement. But what could she do? She couldn’t say no.

“Allow me, Second Young Mistress.”

Haruka’s brow, which had been furrowed in thought, slowly relaxed. He walked over and stood before Kiyohime. He knew, with a sinking certainty, that her tantrum, this ugly display, was because of him. And besides, he knew Ryo and Shiraki. He couldn’t just stand by and watch them suffer for his sake.

The moment Haruka stepped forward, Kiyohime’s haughty expression softened slightly, a flicker of something vulnerable in her eyes, though she quickly masked it. “This is a servant’s job. I don’t need you. Go away.”

Shiraki bowed her head. “Young Master, I appreciate your kindness, but please, let me do it.” Her expression was one of quiet, weary resignation.

It was this look of “resignation” that Haruka hated most of all. A familiar frustration welled up in his chest, but his face broke into a disarming smile. “A servant’s hands are clumsy. What if she hurts you? Besides,” he added, his voice dropping slightly, becoming intimate, “it’s only natural for a younger brother to tend to his older sister’s wounds, isn’t it?”

Kiyohime stared at his smile, feeling herself being pulled in, drowning in the warmth of his gaze. But when she came to her senses, she saw that Ryo and Shiraki were also staring at him, their eyes filled with a profound gratitude that was completely different from the fear and resentment they showed her.

“Fine! You do it, then!” Kiyohime said, a surge of sharp, bitter jealousy piercing the cowhide drum of her heart.

Sakuya brought over a small stool and placed it at his feet. Ever observant, she had fetched it while the two of them were talking, assuming that after Kiyohime had finished tormenting the maids, she would be the one to apply the medicine. She had never expected Haruka to intervene.

He’s so smart, Sakuya thought, a flicker of worry in her eyes. Can’t he see that she’s taken a liking to him? Why would he antagonize her for the sake of a few servants?

Haruka moved the stool into place. “To be treating the Second Young Mistress’s foot in front of everyone… it’s a bit embarrassing,” he said with a charming, self-deprecating smile. “Could they perhaps give us some privacy?”