The Wager

Years later, after he had become the undisputed master of the Fujiwara family, Yukishiro Haruka would still remember the words Lady Murasaki spoke to him that night. The memory was hazy, surreal, like an old stage play where the other actors had long since departed, their faces fading into shadow, leaving only the two of them under a single, intense spotlight—one speaking, one listening, their world shrunk to the space between two heartbeats.

“Before she died, your mother must have said something to you like ‘be strong’.”

The words were not a question.

“She did.”

Lady Murasaki’s slender, jade-like fingers gently, possessively, brushed through his hair. “And now you tell me that if I don’t let you leave, you intend to follow your mother to your death. Do you think that is what she would have wanted?”

Haruka lowered his head, the scent of her perfume clouding his senses. “Ma’am, if you will not let me leave, then that is all I can do.”

“And what is the point of that?”

Lady Murasaki gently shifted him aside, creating a space on the single, ornate chair. She sat, her movements a fluid, silken whisper, so they were pressed together, side-by-side. She leaned over, looking up at him from a lower angle, a position of supplication that was somehow more powerful than any command. “Did your mother ever tell you to be a normal person? If I’m not mistaken, that nonsense about ‘living a normal life’ is what she told Fujiwara Yukina.”

Haruka froze, his mind reeling back. It was true. His mother had never said those words to him. The only thing she had ever told him, her last command, was to be strong.

“Ma’am, how did you know?” he couldn’t help but ask, the words escaping before he could stop them. There had only been three people in that sterile hospital room, and he knew, with absolute certainty, that Yukina would never have betrayed that confidence.

“Don’t use the word ‘ma’am’ in such a way.” A natural, devastating charm flickered in Lady Murasaki’s eyes as she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her tone becoming instructive, intimate. “It is very rude to use such formal language with your family.”

“I’m sorry…” Haruka felt overwhelmed by her presence, the sheer force of her personality making him feel as if he truly had committed some grave, unforgivable social sin.

Lady Murasaki looked at him calmly, her beauty an irresistible gravity, her presence imbued with an indescribable quality that defied words. Haruka suddenly felt that even saying “I’m sorry” was another impolite, clumsy act.

He was about to change the subject, to grasp for some semblance of control, but she spoke first. “Do you really think she wanted you to be a normal person?”

“Ma’am, you…” Haruka saw her raise that eyebrow again and quickly, clumsily, corrected himself. “…What do you mean by that?”

Lady Murasaki smiled, a smile more brilliant and dazzling than the thousand facets of the crystal chandelier hanging above them. “Your mother was not a simple, foolish woman. She wanted revenge on me. That is why she left you by my side. She believed you could be her vengeance.”

Haruka couldn’t comprehend Lady Murasaki’s thinking, a labyrinth of intrigue he couldn’t navigate. Nor could he imagine his own quiet, stoic mother being so cunning. Whether it was true or not, it all felt meaningless, a ghost story from a life that was already over.

“My mother is dead,” he said, his voice flat. “Why can’t we just let all of this end?”

Lady Murasaki looked into Haruka’s clear, honest eyes and, for a moment, her own expression grew calm, unguarded. “Your mother did not misjudge you. Perhaps you really could be her revenge.” But then she saw the look of pity in his eyes, a genuine sorrow not for himself, but for her.

“My Lady,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper, “has anyone ever told you that you are a very pitiful person?”

The words struck Lady Murasaki’s heart like a physical blow, a sharp, unexpected pain. But she only smiled more beautifully, her mask perfect.

“Yukishiro Haruka, what is this ‘normal life’ that you desire so much?”

Haruka thought for a moment. “To have a father who dotes on you and a mother who loves you. To have books to read and food to eat.”

“The first of those, I cannot give you.” Lady Murasaki smiled, a sad, fleeting expression, and patted his head like a child. “Do you know what a real normal life is like? If Fujiwara Yukina had not come for you, you would be living a truly normal life right now: unable to even bury your own mother, wondering where your next meal will come from.”

Her voice was soft, but the words were brutal. “A normal life is one of sorrow and struggle.”

Lady Murasaki looked at Haruka’s calm, slightly melancholic expression. She knew this child, wise beyond his years, had already considered these things.

“Yukina is a young mistress, cocooned in wealth. She thinks a ‘normal life’ is one free from the responsibilities of the family, a carefree existence without any worries.” Lady Murasaki smiled, a wry, self-mocking twist of her lips. “I, too, wish for such a carefree life.”

“You understand this better than anyone, don’t you?” Lady Murasaki caressed his cheek, her touch sending a shiver through him. “You tell me you want a normal life? Then let me ask you, if you refuse to acknowledge that you are a child of the Fujiwara family, then why should the Fujiwara family help you? How would you even survive on your own out there? Oh, that’s right…” she paused, her eyes trailing over his face. “With a face like yours, perhaps someone would be willing to take you in.”

She smiled as she said it, a smile that held no malice, only a devastating, pragmatic truth.

Haruka felt no anger at her words, only a deep, profound sense of shame, because every word she spoke was true.

“Your mother wanted you to be a ‘normal person’,” Lady Murasaki said, “but she had no power. You don’t even have the right to choose.”

Her eyes were as bright as a distant lighthouse in the dark night, and Haruka’s heart was a small boat tossed on a stormy, churning sea. He lowered his head and asked cautiously, his voice barely audible, “Do I have the right to choose now?”

“I will give you this chance. And only once.” Lady Murasaki’s voice was a low, seductive whisper. “Either you choose to leave, and the Fujiwara family will ensure you live a carefree life, forever. Or you choose to stay. I will allow you to keep your surname. The path will be difficult. It will be a wager… a wager to see if you can win… the entire Fujiwara family.”

Her imperious, commanding aura was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous: vulnerability. She leaned close to his ear, her warm breath a ghost against his skin. “You think I am pitiful? Then please, save me.”

Haruka’s heart was struck as if by lightning. In that moment, Lady Murasaki’s face seemed to be veiled in a thin mist, like a figure from a dream, beautiful and impossibly distant, impossibly sad.

“Alright,” he said.

Lady Murasaki smiled, a radiant, triumphant expression that lit up her entire being. She slowly stood up from her seat, a new vitality seeming to flow back into her, straightening her spine. The embroidered butterflies on her kimono seemed to come to life, fluttering their silken wings in the suddenly still air.

She helped Haruka to his feet and, turning to the silent, watching room, announced to everyone, her voice clear and ringing with absolute authority, “From this day forward, Yukishiro Haruka is a young master of the Fujiwara family. And he is my son.”

She paused, letting the words sink in, letting the shock ripple through the crowd.

“He does not need to change his surname to Fujiwara. He will remain a Yukishiro.”