Insecurity

Haruka stared into the swirling, formless mist before him. “How do you want me to guess?”

A gentle, almost imperceptible weight settled on his shoulders, and Izayoi’s voice was a soft murmur by his ear, intimate and warm. “Young Master Haruka, just guess… did I cry, or not?”

There was no trace of her usual flirtatious, teasing tone, just a quiet, simple, vulnerable question.

Haruka, who was usually so quick-witted, found himself silent for a full five seconds, the world holding its breath around them. He finally answered, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I hope you didn’t cry, Izayoi-neechan.”

From behind him, there was only a profound silence.

Haruka watched the mist curl and drift, a visual representation of his own thoughts. He felt the weight on his back shift, lightening for a moment and then settling again, followed by the sound of a soft, tinkling giggle that seemed to break the spell. “Why would I cry? If there were any tears, it would be because you teased them out of me, Young Master Haruka.”

A warm, soft pressure pressed against his back as she leaned into him fully, molding her body to his. Her slender arms slipped deftly around his neck, her hands clasping over his chest. Even the white mist seemed to pause, a heavy curtain for her private stage. “Young Master Haruka, do you think I’m beautiful?”

This wasn’t the first time she had asked him this question. He didn’t understand her fixation on it, her constant need for this specific reassurance, but he answered honestly, as he always did. “Very beautiful.”

He felt the weight behind him increase as she sagged against him, her entire body now relying on him for support, a silent surrender. “Do you really think I’m beautiful, Young Master Haruka?”

“Even a blind man, hearing only your voice, would know you are a great beauty, Izayoi-neechan.”

Izayoi whispered, a secret just for him, her breath ghosting across his skin, “Then I don’t want anyone else to hear my voice.”

Haruka’s heart began to beat faster, a heavy, frantic thrum against his ribs.

Her voice became a low, husky whisper, a seductive, dangerous sound he had never heard from her before. “Am I the most beautiful woman in the world?”

The word “yes” almost leaped from his lips. It was the easy answer, the one she so clearly craved. The only sounds he could hear were her soft, expectant breathing and the panicked drumming of his own heart.

He forced himself to remain calm, to hold onto the truth. “Izayoi-neechan, I don’t want to lie to you.” He felt her arms tighten around his neck, a subtle, desperate clenching.

Though Izayoi was a devastating, intoxicating beauty, her past had left her with a deep, hidden well of insecurity. She was terrified of hearing a harsh word from him, so much so that she almost blurted out, “Then just lie to me,” but she managed to stop herself, the words catching in her throat. She had never felt so conflicted, so exposed. “Just say it,” she murmured, her voice thick with a strange, painful mixture of hope and dread.

Haruka thought for a moment, choosing his words with immense care. “Izayoi-neechan, you are very beautiful,” he said carefully. “But among the women I have seen, there are two who can compare to you.”

“Which two?” Izayoi asked immediately, her voice sharp, and the moment the words were out, she knew, with a sinking certainty, that one of them would be her nemesis, Lady Murasaki.

“One is my mother,” Haruka said. “And the other… is also my mother.”

He felt two soft, snow-laden branches tremble against his back, followed by a musical, slightly hysterical laugh, like snowflakes gently falling on his neck. “Is your mother a jujube tree?”

“Huh?” Haruka was completely baffled. Why would she call his mother a jujube tree?

He saw one of her jade-like hands release its grip on his chest, her elbow coming to rest lightly on his shoulder. He could picture her laughing so hard that tears came to her eyes, and she was now wiping them away.

Is ‘jujube tree’ some kind of joke I don’t understand? Haruka wondered, feeling utterly lost.

After her laughter subsided, she was still unconvinced. “How is Lady Murasaki more beautiful than me?”

“Her face,” Haruka said, speaking the simple, unvarnished truth, “is probably the most beautiful I have ever seen.” He thought to himself, If it weren’t for the intimidating aura she has, the coldness that puts people on edge… if she showed even a hint of flirtatiousness, I’m afraid even my own mother couldn’t compare.

“Hmph. I’m not that far behind her.”

Haruka had to agree. Both Izayoi and Lady Murasaki were women of unparalleled beauty. Even if one was slightly inferior in one aspect, she made up for it with another strength. They were, in a word, peerless, each in her own way.

“You are still too young, Young Master Haruka,” Izayoi said, her voice regaining its playful, teasing tone. “You only know how to look at faces. When you are a few years older, you will understand what else is good.”

A soft warmth enveloped his neck, and he felt an almost overwhelming urge to lean back completely, to lose himself in her embrace. He thought, What else is good? Who is taller? Who is shorter? Who looks better with their face covered?

Lady Murasaki always wore loose, long kimonos that completely, frustratingly, concealed her figure. Her entire attire was designed to project the untouchable authority of the family head. In comparison, the vibrant, alluring Izayoi, whose clothes always hinted at the curves beneath, seemed to have the upper hand. In terms of height, there wasn’t much difference; both were slightly shorter than the model-tall Momozawa Ai.

As Izayoi pressed closer against his back, Haruka couldn’t help but recall the feeling of lying in Lady Murasaki’s lap at the banquet. The two fragrant, warm-jade sensations were slightly different, yet felt so disturbingly similar.

“Lady Murasaki… Lady Murasaki…” Izayoi murmured, as if in a trance. She felt she would never be free of her shadow. If Haruka had simply told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, she would have been happy, but also, in the back of her mind, a little disappointed. But he had said Lady Murasaki was just as beautiful. She knew it was true, but she still couldn’t accept it, and the desire to snatch him away from her rival burned even hotter.

As for Haruka’s other mother, Yukishiro Tomoe, Izayoi had never given her a second thought. She had seen Haruka’s parents from a distance a few times, but they had left little impression. Even if his mother was a great beauty, Izayoi still felt she was far inferior to herself and Lady Murasaki. The boy’s praise for his birth mother was clearly just colored by affection.

“Young Master Haruka,” Izayoi said, changing the subject, her voice becoming light and airy again. “Guess what I’m wearing right now.”

“Clothes are hard to guess. Can you give me a hint?” Haruka had only caught a brief, tear-streaked glimpse of her face; he hadn’t seen her clothes at all.

“It’s something I don’t usually wear.”

“It’s not a kimono, is it?”

“Wrong. Guess again.”

This stumped Haruka. His knowledge of fashion was, to put it mildly, nonexistent. He couldn’t think of anything and just stammered for a moment, feeling foolish.

Izayoi breathed warmly against his ear. “It’s a qipao.”

“A qipao? I’ve heard of it. Is it like a kimono…?”

“It’s more beautiful than a kimono,” Izayoi said softly.

“I’ve never seen one…” Haruka couldn’t picture it.

Izayoi was a little surprised, but then remembered he hadn’t grown up in the Fujiwara household. Raised by Yukishiro Tomoe, it was only natural he would have gaps in his knowledge. It was just that his speech and mannerisms made it so easy to forget.

A wave of genuine pity washed over her. She gently stroked his hair. “I will help you, Young Master Haruka.”

“Help me?” Haruka said. “Help me see what a qipao looks like?”

Izayoi’s lips were at his ear again, a hot, secret whisper. “Why not be a little bolder, and see the woman beneath the qipao?”

“Izayoi-neechan, you’re holding me a little tight…”

Izayoi loosened her arms, then moved to his other ear, her voice a silken thread. “Why not be even bolder, and see the woman beneath the purple kimono?”

“What are you talking about… I just want to see the world, to know what a qipao looks like, that’s all…”

“Useless,” Izayoi said, her voice suddenly losing all its flirtatious and innocent qualities, replaced by a cold, sharp tone that was strikingly, chillingly similar to Lady Murasaki’s. “Young Master Haruka, can’t you be a little more ambitious, like a man?”