Tasting People

Momozawa Ai stared at Haruka, a flicker of genuine surprise finally breaking through her perfect composure.

She had expected his “condition” would be a demand for status, for money, for a real identity—a way to secure his footing in the Fujiwara household. She had never imagined he would make such a strategic, unexpected retreat, asking only for a private conversation with the miko.

Suddenly, Momozawa Ai felt she had underestimated the boy before her. He understood the art of advancing and retreating better than anyone she had ever met. A moment ago, when the entire staff had knelt before him, not even a grown man could have remained so composed, yet he had maintained his calm, his quiet authority.

Before Momozawa Ai could speak, Haruka had already knelt on one knee, extending a hand to help her up. “Since I have agreed, please rise so that we may speak properly.”

Her sapphire-blue eyes fixed on him as she took his hand, her fingers cool against his. As she slowly stood, she leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “I never thought you would be the one to lift me up.”

They were extremely close, a lock of her golden hair seeming to stick to Haruka’s cheek. Momozawa Ai reached out with two long, slender fingers, brushing the strand of hair from his chin. The tip of her finger grazed his lip for a fraction of a second before she quickly stepped back, smoothing the front of her black dress. “Young Master, I hope my clothes are not soiled?”

Haruka had been momentarily dazed by her touch, by the faint scent of her perfume. Now, looking at her, he saw her hands, as smooth and white as jade, resting lightly on the black lace of her dress. It was a mesmerizing sight. Even Haruka couldn’t help but look for a moment longer, confused by the sudden, unfamiliar impulse that stirred within him. “As clean as a new dress,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

Momozawa Ai’s breathing quickened slightly. She was pleased that she still possessed such charm, but at the same time, a cold, calculating thought formed in her mind: No matter how precocious he is, he is still just a child.

“Pardon my forwardness.” Momozawa Ai bowed slightly to Haruka, her composure perfectly restored. She looked at the servants who were still kneeling. “Young Master, may they rise now?”

Haruka nodded. “You may all rise.”

The servants slowly, quietly, got to their feet, a silent tide of black and white.

“The rest of you may go and attend to the guests,” Momozawa Ai commanded, her voice once again crisp and authoritative. “Crowding here is unseemly.”

Like water draining away, the servants flowed out of the room, leaving only the few maids who were originally assigned to the Old Mistress’s care.

“Miko-sama,” Haruka said respectfully, turning to the old woman. “May I ask you some questions in private?”

The miko, who had been watching the scene unfold like a play, smiled. The expression made her wrinkled face look like a cracked piece of dry dough. “I have no objection,” she rasped.

Only then did Haruka look at Momozawa Ai. She bowed her head. “Since Miko-sama has agreed, then if you would both be so kind as to move to the adjacent room, so as not to disturb the Old Mistress’s rest.”

“Very well,” Haruka agreed.

The three of them left the Old Mistress’s bedroom.

The room next door was a study. A row of bookshelves lined the left wall, and a low, dark brown table sat in the center, an elaborate tea set arranged upon it. The three of them sat on the floor cushions.

Momozawa Ai knelt and, with practiced, elegant movements, prepared two cups of fine tea, placing them on the table.

“I will take my leave now,” she said, gently sliding the door almost shut. “If you require anything, please let me know.”

Haruka heard the soft click of the door closing. He looked at the miko, who sat opposite him, gently blowing on the steam rising from her teacup.

She took a sip, then let out a long, satisfied sigh. “They don’t serve tea this fine at the shrine.”

Haruka followed her lead and took a sip. The liquid was hot and astringent, filling his mouth with an almost shocking bitterness.

“How is the tea?” the miko asked, her cloudy eyes crinkling into a smile.

“It’s… bitter,” Haruka answered honestly.

“Is that all? Taste it again. More carefully this time.”

After three or four breaths, Haruka shook his head. “No. I still don’t taste anything else.”

“You have not drunk tea before?” the miko asked, gently blowing on the surface of her cup.

“Never. At home, we only drank water.” Haruka glanced at his cup. The surface of the tea shimmered, reflecting a blurry, distorted version of his own face.

“In the Fujiwara house, you must learn to drink tea. It is a necessary skill for survival.”

“Are you an expert at tasting tea, Lady Miko?”

“Expert is too strong a word. Let’s just say I know how to taste what’s really there.”

“Please, teach me,” Haruka said.

“To appreciate tea, you must first smell its aroma, then taste it.” The miko demonstrated, lifting her cup without ceremony. “After you take a sip, hold it in your mouth for a moment. Curl the tip of your tongue, lower your chin slightly, and draw air into your mouth. This will spread the tea across your palate, allowing your taste buds to fully experience its freshness, sweetness, bitterness, and astringency.”

The miko let out another long, slow breath. “It is a wonderful feeling. You try.”

Haruka did as she instructed.

“Well? What is the flavor?” the miko asked.

Haruka set down his cup. “I don’t feel anything,” he said, frustrated. “All I can taste is the bitterness.”

“It is always like that the first time,” the miko said, a hint of pity in her voice. “You will get used to it.” She took another sip of her tea.

Haruka slowly stood up. “I have never drunk tea at home.”

“You have said that already.”

“Everyone in the Fujiwara family drinks tea.”

“And you will too, in time.”

“But I don’t know how now,” Haruka said, standing tall, his shadow falling over her. “Miko-sama, you are an expert at tasting what’s hidden. So why would you choose me for this… ritual? Someone who knows nothing?”

The miko looked up at Haruka, the deep wrinkles on her face slowly smoothing out. “Because you are special.”

“My status is special?” Haruka’s voice was low and heavy. “Yes, I suppose my status is special to everyone in this house.” He took a step closer. “So tell me, Miko-sama… is the Old Mistress truly sick?”

The miko smiled her cracked smile. “What do you want to hear me say? That she is not sick? Very well. She is not sick. She is possessed.”

“When I saw her, she did not seem possessed.”

“A moment of clarity. A candle burning brightest just before it is extinguished.”

“Then what is it?” Haruka pressed. “A vengeful spirit? A demon?”

The miko raised a single, thin eyebrow. “There is a ‘monster’ in her belly.”

Haruka thought he must have misheard. “A monster?” he confirmed. Seeing the miko nod, he felt a wave of absurdity wash over him. The word “monster” made him think of the rubber-suited creatures from tokusatsu shows. It was ridiculous.

“A monster? What is that supposed to mean?” Haruka almost laughed, feeling as if the old woman were mocking him.

“It is the lingering spirit of someone who died with a powerful, unfulfilled wish,” she explained patiently. “It has become an onryō, a vengeful ghost, clinging to this world.”

“Then why must I be the ‘sword-wielder’?” Haruka demanded. “I just arrived. I don’t know anything about what has happened in this house.”

“I told Fujiwara Yukina,” the miko said with a small, dry smile, “that to exorcise the monster, the cooperation of a direct male relative was required. And she mentioned you.”

Haruka found it laughable. “But I am not a direct relative of the Old Mistress.”

The miko looked at Haruka calmly, her cloudy eyes seeming to see right through him, into the very core of his being. “Did I say it was the Old Mistress’s relative?”

Haruka’s smile slowly vanished.

“It is your father’s,” she said.