Taking Sides

Unlike Fujiwara Yukina, whose focus was a laser beam aimed at Haruka’s well-being, the guests were all fixated on the true bombshell of Lady Murasaki’s declaration: “He does not need to change his surname to Fujiwara. He will remain a Yukishiro.”

Even if Haruka were to be officially registered into the Fujiwara family, his status would be similar to that of an adopted son-in-law—a position with prestige, but clear limitations. But if he did not change his surname, the nature of the situation would be entirely, radically different.

Someone, a brave soul, tentatively asked, “Lady Murasaki, are you certain you said he will not change his surname?”

“I believe I made myself quite clear.”

“But…” The people at the table exchanged uneasy, questioning glances. Someone else ventured, “Presumably, you are taking him as your godson?”

Lady Murasaki’s face was a mask of serene calm. “Not a godson. An adopted son, with full rights of inheritance.”

The words fell like a drop of water into a vat of hot oil, and the room exploded.

“This is against the rules!” one person cried, her voice sharp with indignation.

“The Old Mistress would be furious if she knew!” another added, her voice trembling. One after another, they began to urge Lady Murasaki to retract her statement, their voices a rising chorus of dissent.

Kiyohime, who found their bickering tedious and small-minded, said dismissively, “As long as he stays in the Fujiwara family, what does it matter? Give him whatever he wants.”

An elder, her face a web of disapproving lines, said coldly, “Childish words. What if one day he wants the entire Fujiwara family? Will you give it to him then?”

Kiyohime’s face turned to ice. “I’ll do as I please, old woman.”

“You…” The elder was incensed, her cheeks flushing with anger at this disrespectful youth.

The guests began to murmur amongst themselves, the debate growing heated, splintering the room into factions.

Haruka’s gaze swept past the noisy, posturing crowd to where Fujiwara Yukina had stood alone, a silent, solitary figure. Her clear, cool gaze fixed on him, as if waiting, hoping for him to change his mind. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to be chosen for; he wanted the power to choose for himself. So he guiltily looked away from her.

When he looked back, she was gone. His eyes searched the space, it was as if she had never been there at all. She was like the snow, arriving without a sound and melting away just as silently, leaving only a faint chill behind.

I must have disappointed her, he thought, a sharp, unpleasant pang in his chest.

BANG!

The sharp, percussive sound of a hand slamming on the table shattered his thoughts.

Haruka frowned and looked over.

Fujiwara Asou had slammed her hand on the table and stood up, her body rigid with outrage. “I object!”

Her again…

Haruka suppressed a wave of annoyance, remembering she was the one who had asked the difficult, loaded question earlier.

Lady Murasaki gently stroked Haruka’s head, a slow, calming gesture, as if to soothe a startled animal.

“If he were to change his surname to Fujiwara or become your godson, I would not say a single word,” Asou declared, her voice ringing with self-righteousness. “But for you to recognize him as your own flesh and blood, and to not even require him to change his name… this forces us all to think.”

The people below nodded silently, a ripple of agreement passing through the room.

Lady Murasaki surveyed them all, her smile like a beautiful, dangerous flower blooming. “If any of you have something to say, there is no need to hold it in. You may speak now.”

There was a moment of charged hesitation. Then, a man with a distinguished shock of white at his temples spoke. “I know you have your own thoughts, Lady Murasaki, but the Fujiwara family has its rules. If the Old Mistress were here, she would surely not agree. Although you are the head of the house, you must also consider everyone’s feelings.”

“And you, old woman, also know that Lady Murasaki is the head of the house. She must have her reasons for doing this,” a supporter of Lady Murasaki immediately retorted.

“You need to be clear,” another elderly woman sneered, her voice thin and sharp. “The Old Mistress is the head of the house. Lady Murasaki is merely acting as her proxy.”

“Even with the word ‘proxy’ in front of it, she is still the head of the house now, and it is not your place to question her!”

“What did you just say!”

“Did I say something wrong? Lady Murasaki is the head of the house.”

“Only as the acting head, while the Old Mistress is gravely ill!”

The issue of Haruka’s status had become a spark, igniting a larger, smoldering power struggle. The argument devolved into factional disputes, old grievances and loyalties bubbling to the surface, and the scene became chaotic once more.

“Quiet.”

Lady Murasaki clapped her hands four or five times, the sound sharp and authoritative, before the crowd gradually, reluctantly, fell silent.

Fujiwara Asou’s face was flushed as if she were drunk, still muttering under her breath about “the Old Mistress this” and “the Old Mistress that.”

“It seems everyone has their own opinion,” Lady Murasaki said, her gaze sweeping over them, cold and assessing. “Let’s not ruin our health over such a small matter.” She smiled, a flash of brilliance in the tense room. “Since no one can convince the other, let’s try a different way.”

“What way?”

Lady Murasaki smiled and extended her elegant left hand. “Those who support my son not changing his surname, please stand on the left side of the table.” She then pointed to the empty head seat. “Those who disagree, please stand on the right. Whichever side has more people, we will follow their opinion. What do you all think?”

The guests eyed each other warily, a silent, tense negotiation passing between them. No one made a move. After a long moment, one person nodded, and then, like a dam breaking, one by one, the others agreed. The rest had no choice but to comply, and they began to move, to take sides, the rustle of silk and the scrape of chairs filling the silence.

Kiyohime had intended to be the first to stand on the left, a bold declaration of loyalty, but several people had already moved there, quicker and more desperate to curry favor. She sullenly took her place at the back of the line.

As if morning dew had formed, Haruka suddenly felt a warm breath by his ear as Lady Murasaki whispered, her voice a secret thread in the noise, “Remember who these people are. Who can be trusted, and who you must be wary of.”

Haruka understood clearly. Whether he changed his name or not was unimportant. Lady Murasaki was using this as a pretext, a public stage to see who supported her and who still clung to the Old Mistress, so that she could settle the accounts later.

The group on the left was led by Fujiwara Hitomi, all of them looking to Lady Murasaki for leadership, their faces a mixture of loyalty and ambition.

In the group on the right, Fujiwara Asou stood proudly at the front, her chin held high. But the person standing directly behind her was a surprise to Haruka.

Lady Murasaki frowned, her voice losing its melodic quality. “Izayoi, what are you doing over there?”

Izayoi smiled sweetly, a picture of innocent mischief. “I was hoping you would kick the Young Master out, so that I could take him in myself.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Murasaki scolded, though her tone held no real heat. “Get out of the line.”

“You can’t take a joke at all,” Izayoi said, not at all offended. She slowly stepped out of the line, but she didn’t move to the other side. Instead, she had a servant bring over a chair and sat gracefully in a neutral position, exactly between the two warring factions.

Seeing Izayoi leave the line, two others hesitated, then followed her out, but instead of remaining neutral, they scurried over to the other side, their faces pale.

Lady Murasaki showed no reaction. “Is everyone in place?”

On the left, Fujiwara Hitomi said eagerly, “We are.”

On the right, Fujiwara Asou deliberately paused, making Lady Murasaki wait before she finally, grudgingly, said, “We are ready.”

Haruka looked down the lines. Ignoring the serenely seated Izayoi in the middle, there were fourteen people on the left and thirteen on the right. The left side had won by a single person.

Lady Murasaki counted, then smiled. “Asou, it seems there are more people who support me.”

Fujiwara Asou didn’t believe it. She counted four or five times, her face growing uglier with each count. “This doesn’t count! Let’s do it again!” she demanded, her voice shrill.

Lady Murasaki’s brow furrowed slightly. “Asou, it will be the same no matter how many times we do it. Don’t make a scene. Act your age.”

Asou, refusing to accept defeat, left her place and grabbed someone from the other line.

“What are you doing!” Kiyohime cried, shaking her hand off with a look of disgust.

“She doesn’t count,” Asou declared.

“Why don’t I count!” Kiyohime fumed, her face flushing with anger.

Asou didn’t even look at her. “Lady Murasaki,” she said, addressing the true power in the room, “she is your daughter. Her vote is invalid.”

Lady Murasaki’s voice turned cold, losing all its warmth. “Is my daughter not part of this family?”

“She is family, we are all family. That is why we must be serious when it comes to an ‘outsider’,” Asou said, her voice dripping with insinuation. “Your daughter is naturally biased toward you. This vote does not count!”

“If she doesn’t count,” Lady Murasaki said, her voice dangerously calm, “then it is thirteen to thirteen. How do we break the tie?”

Asou turned her head, a triumphant glint in her eye. “There is still one person left.”

Izayoi, lounging lazily in her chair, sighed dramatically. “Oh my, why must you drag me into this?”

“There is no other way,” Asou said. “Lady Murasaki, how about we let her cast the final vote?”

Lady Murasaki was silent for a moment, her gaze unreadable. Then she said, “Fine.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Izayoi pouted, looking from one side to the other.

“Kurosaki, you were standing with us just a moment ago,” Asou said, her voice softening, becoming persuasive. “Just come back. Don’t forget how much the Old Mistress has done for you.”

From the other line, Fujiwara Hitomi quickly interjected, “Izayoi, what are you doing over there? Of course you should come to our side.”

A woman standing behind Asou couldn’t help but speak up. “Kurosaki, come over here. Don’t you need a large supply of construction materials? I can help you get them.”

Someone from behind Hitomi immediately countered, “What’s so special about that? Come to my side, and not only will I handle the construction materials, I can also take care of that little trouble you’re having in the east side of the city.”

“Come to my side!”

“No, come to my side!”

The two factions began to argue again, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder. They went back and forth, offering blatant bribes and playing on old emotions. The harmonious, elegant atmosphere of the party’s beginning was now completely, irrevocably shattered.

On the surface, they were arguing about Haruka’s surname, but that was just the spark. The real issue was choosing a side: the Old Mistress or Lady Murasaki.

Both sides were trying to win over Izayoi, not just because she held the deciding vote, but because she also represented one of the four pillars of the Fujiwara family’s vast business empire: real estate. Whichever side she supported would determine who was the true head of the family.

Listening to their increasingly desperate offers, Izayoi said with a timid, helpless look, “You’ve put me in such a difficult position. On one side is my good friend, and on the other is the Old Mistress who has always valued me so highly. How can I possibly choose…?”

“Ah, I have an idea,” she said with a sudden, bright laugh that cut through the noise. “Why don’t we let the Young Master Haruka decide for me?”

She pointed a playful, elegant finger straight at Haruka’s heart. “As for me,” she declared, her voice ringing with amusement, “I will do whatever the Young Master wishes.”