Currying Favor 

Sakuya said nothing, only thinking it was her uniquely bad luck to be caught by her passing mother. She didn’t know that Haruka had already sent for Momozawa Ai. If it weren’t for Ai’s crushingly busy schedule, she would have arrived much, much earlier.

Momozawa Ai’s lips were as red as washed cherries, her skin so thin and translucent it looked as if it would burst with juice at the slightest touch. Her two rows of pearly white teeth clicked together softly. “Young Master,” she said, her voice a smooth, silken apology, “I have failed in my daughter’s upbringing. Please forgive her for her youth and ignorance.”

With that, she bowed, a deep, perfect ninety-degree angle, and the vast expanse of snow that was her exposed cleavage seemed to avalanche toward Haruka.

Sakuya watched in stunned disbelief as her own mother bowed to the young master she so thoroughly disliked, but there was nothing she could do. She felt sick to her stomach. Her mother, who was cold and unyielding even to the great, powerful men from the outside world, bowing only to the Old Mistress and the Lady… why was she fawning over Haruka again and again? She had never seen her mother like this, so humble, so calculating.

But Momozawa Ai was not finished. She pulled Sakuya to her side, her grip like iron. “Why are you not apologizing with me?” she hissed, then whispered in her ear, her voice a venomous dart, “Are you truly my daughter? Can’t you read the situation at all? From now on, spend less time with the Second Young Mistress and more time currying favor with the Young Master. How dare you play tricks on him just now?”

The words went in one ear and out the other, a meaningless drone, except for the last part: “spend less time with the Second Young Mistress and more time currying favor with the Young Master.” Sakuya’s mind raced, a terrifying, sickening thought taking root. Doesn’t that just confirm the rumor?

Sakuya knew her mother never spoke without reason. Every word was a carefully placed stone in a complex game of Go. Could the rumor be true?

She glanced worriedly at Kiyohime. Although the Second Young Mistress was exceptionally beautiful, she couldn’t compare to the breathtaking, almost divine beauty of Lady Murasaki. Her heart sank. She had grown up with the Second Young Mistress, and they were as close as sisters. So what if she isn’t the real Second Young Mistress!

Her mother’s cold, pragmatic words, instead of creating distance, only strengthened her resolve to protect Kiyohime. As for Haruka, her dislike of him slowly curdled into a deep, abiding hatred. If he hadn’t returned to the Fujiwara family, the Second Young Mistress would not have been harmed!

I must find a chance to warn her, secretly, Sakuya thought. A sudden, sharp pain shot through her wrist. Her mother, seeing her distracted, had pinched her, hard.

“There’s no need to apologize again,” Haruka said, his voice calm. “Sakuya was just trying to help me. Please don’t mind it, Mrs. Butler.”

“Sakuya is headstrong and acts rashly. Even if she was trying to help you, Young Master, she has still upset the proper order of things,” Momozawa Ai’s tone turned to ice. She said to Sakuya, her voice a low command, “Hurry up and apologize to the Young Master.”

Sakuya’s hand throbbed with a dull, aching pain. She had no choice but to apologize to this boy she hated, the boy who was stealing everything from her mistress.

Just as she began to bow, she felt a strong, unyielding force on her back, pushing her down hard until she could see the clean white tabi socks on Haruka’s feet. She knew it was her mother forcing her down, and she understood that his status was now completely, irrevocably different from before. A wave of suffocation and despair washed over her. Who wants to look at their enemy’s socks? she thought bitterly.

Haruka watched as Momozawa Ai and her daughter bowed in apology together. The beautiful mother and daughter, one blonde, one dark-haired, were like peach blossoms on the same branch. He felt a light breeze could snap their slender waists in two.

He understood clearly that his own status had changed once again.

Momozawa Ai’s actions were, in truth, to protect her daughter, a desperate, public display of submission, afraid that he would hold a grudge against Sakuya. I’m not so petty as to hold a grudge against a girl, he thought, especially not your daughter.

He said, “You may both rise, Mrs. Butler.”

But Momozawa Ai and her daughter held the bow for a full three seconds, according to proper, formal etiquette, before slowly, gracefully straightening up.

“I was just anxious and touched the Young Master’s hand,” Sakuya said, her voice tight with suppressed rage. “I hope you will forgive me.” The words felt like acid in her mouth. For the first time, she truly understood her own position in this house.

“Can the Young Master forgive my daughter this once?” Momozawa Ai asked, her own voice a perfect blend of maternal concern and humble deference.

“It was just a small matter,” Haruka said with a smile. “How could I hold it against her?”

Only then did Momozawa Ai truly relax. It was not that she was being overly serious. Firstly, she wanted to teach her daughter a lesson, to make her understand her own status; she had been with the Second Young Mistress for so long she had forgotten who she was. Secondly, she didn’t want to leave any room for complaint, lest Haruka become displeased later. Even though she could see he was a magnanimous person, people change. In her years with Lady Murasaki, she had seen it happen many times, too many times. Displeasure, born from many small, insignificant incidents, could fester until, with the slightest, most absurd excuse, a person could be disposed of without a second thought.

“Yes, it was just a small matter, nothing to worry about,” Kiyohime finally found a chance to speak. She didn’t know that Sakuya had been trying to make Haruka stumble. She thought Sakuya had just been anxious to help and had overstepped by trying to take the pliers from him. She considered Sakuya a sister; she saw nothing wrong with her actions. Ai-obasan is really overreacting, she thought, but she didn’t dare to say it out loud.

Watching her “brother,” “sister,” and “surrogate mother” talk, she felt a strange sense of displacement. All three of them were connected to her, and the incident had started because of her, but now it seemed to have nothing to do with her at all. The strange feeling grew stronger. Ever since my brother came to this house, she thought, I keep having this strange feeling, but I can’t describe it. It’s so weird.

“Haruka,” she said, her voice a little sharp, “are you going to pull the tooth or not?” She just wanted to get it over with, to move on.

“Of course I am,” Haruka said. He moved past Momozawa Ai and, holding the pliers, approached the maid. A sudden, cold idea came to him. He lowered his voice. “The person who told you to spread this rumor… are they here now?”

The maid’s eyes widened, and she nodded frantically, her face suddenly filled with a fresh wave of terror.

Haruka was about to ask more, but he saw a shadow overlapping his own. He could only open his mouth and form the silent word “Who?”, then raised the pliers. The maid didn’t dare to answer, only stared intently past him, her eyes fixed on something behind him.

Is she looking at me? Haruka thought. Or… at the person behind me?

The two bodyguards pried the maid’s mouth open again. Haruka couldn’t bear to look at her miserable, bloody state. He chose the tooth that Kiyohime had already broken in half. But he had never imagined the maid would have such bad luck; her teeth were incredibly, stubbornly strong. He pulled twice but couldn’t get it out.

He heard a warm breath by his ear, a tingling sensation on his earlobe. It was Momozawa Ai’s voice. “This servant likes to spread rumors, so she has a ‘sharp tongue and pointed teeth’. It’s only natural that you can’t pull them out, Young Master. As the saying in Hokkaido goes, ‘The master manages, the servant does.’ Why don’t you let this servant handle it for you?”

Haruka looked at the pitiful maid, thinking this was just torturing her further. He wanted to get it over with, to give everyone a resolution. And so, he handed the heavy, blood-stained pliers to Momozawa Ai. He watched as she took them as lightly as a child picking up a twig.

“Hold still,” she said coldly to the maid.

But Haruka saw the maid become agitated, her eyes darting frantically between him and Momozawa Ai, as if in response to something she saw, something that terrified her more than the pliers. She stammered, “You… you…”