Intoxication

“I was also troubled to have to ask you to pour the sake for me,” Haruka said, his voice steady.

The two of them held their cups before their throats, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They paused for a moment in a gesture of mutual respect, and then drank them down in one go.

After this cup, Fujiwara Hitomi thought, the Young Master should be finished. He’d made his point. But to her surprise, Haruka said, his voice still clear, “Pour me another.”

“Young Master, you’re still drinking?” Hitomi asked, astonished, the sake pot feeling heavy in her hand.

Haruka smiled, a faint, determined curve of his lips. “The toasts are not yet finished. Of course, I must drink.”

“…Not yet finished?” Hitomi was at a loss for words, her mind struggling to keep up.

“There are so many sisters here… and I have not yet toasted each of them. So, of course, it is not finished.”

Hearing this, Hitomi was doubly shocked. First, because his expression was composed, his speech clear and articulate, without a hint of drunkenness. Second, because Lady Murasaki, seated at the head of the table, showed no sign of stopping him, her silence a form of tacit approval.

Having no other choice, Hitomi poured another cup for Haruka, though she dared not fill it too much this time, the liquid barely covering the bottom of the small cup.

Haruka took the cup and stepped down from the raised platform of the head table. The beautiful women in the room all stared at him, their drunken chatter momentarily ceasing, their eyes wide with curiosity, wondering who he would toast next. They had thought his earlier declaration about toasting everyone was just a boy’s boast, a joke, that he wouldn’t be able to drink more than a few cups. But now, they couldn’t help but look forward to the prospect of being toasted by the handsome Young Master, and their faces bloomed with radiant, anticipatory smiles.

Haruka walked a few steps and stopped in front of a beautiful woman with her hair piled in an elegant, intricate updo. “I would like to toast Hirashima-neechan.”

The woman was a little surprised. Besides introducing herself earlier, she had not had much interaction with him. But since he was offering a toast, she couldn’t be rude. She raised her cup in return, her smile gracious.

After drinking the cup, Haruka did not stop. He had Hitomi pour him another. This time, he walked a dozen steps and stopped before a woman with a dignified, reserved air, offering another toast. Then he circled around to the other side of the long table, approaching another guest.

No one understood. Why was he choosing people so far away, instead of those closest to him? It seemed random, chaotic.

It wasn’t until Haruka had toasted two more women that everyone finally, with a jolt of collective understanding, realized his pattern. The order of his toasts was the exact order in which they had stood in line to support Lady Murasaki, from the front of the line to the back.

Lady Murasaki’s expression did not change, but the satisfaction in her eyes was plain to see, a silent, proud approval.

Haruka reached the last person in the line. Izayoi, who happened to be sitting nearby, was afraid he would collapse from the drink. “That’s enough,” she couldn’t help but say, her voice laced with genuine concern. “The Young Master should go back to his seat now.”

The people on Lady Murasaki’s side also lost their teasing expressions, agreeing that his sentiment had been made clear.

Haruka smiled. “I said I would toast everyone. Are you asking me to go back on my word?”

The people on Fujiwara Hitomi’s side were all stunned into silence by his quiet determination.

Lady Murasaki looked at Haruka. Normally, she would have told him to come back now, her point having been made. But she held back, wanting to give her “son” more of an opportunity to shine, to conquer.

Hitomi, understanding Lady Murasaki’s intention, was about to pour another cup for Haruka when Izayoi stood up. “Allow me.”

Hitomi glanced hesitantly toward the head of the table. Lady Murasaki gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, and only then did Hitomi hand the heavy sake pot to Izayoi.

Izayoi had already drunk quite a bit herself, her cheeks flushed a rosy pink, a picture of drunken, floral beauty. She held the white jade handle of the sake pot between two slender fingers and, as she poured, she leaned in and whispered, her breath hot and sweet against his ear, “You don’t have to do this.”

“I started with nothing anyway,” Haruka whispered back, his own voice low and steady.

Every guest here was a person of status, with deep, tangled ties to the Fujiwara family. He had to seize every opportunity to leave a lasting, indelible impression on all of them.

Izayoi understood his thinking. Her flirtatious demeanor slowly returned, a mask sliding back into place. “Then allow me to pour for the Young Master,” she said with a brilliant smile.

Haruka waited for her to finish, then walked over to Fujiwara Asou.

Asou already disliked him, and after Lady Murasaki’s earlier threat, she hated him by extension. She merely touched the sake to her lips without drinking and said with venomous sweetness, “You’d better stay on your feet, Young Master.”

Haruka drank his cup to the bottom. He wasn’t angry. Instead, he smiled. “Then you’d better sit tight.”

Asou was so angry she almost smashed her cup. But no one was paying any attention to her. All eyes were on Haruka, even those of the people on her own side.

Asou was both shocked and afraid, now hoping, praying, that Haruka would suddenly collapse or vomit, making a huge, humiliating fool of himself in front of everyone.

The people on Lady Murasaki’s side were also worried about this. But they didn’t know that Haruka was a cautious person who would only act if he were absolutely certain. If he had felt even the slightest bit unwell, he would have stopped after toasting Lady Murasaki’s faction.

Though it was his first time drinking, he didn’t feel dizzy. In fact, he felt invigorated as he moved on to the next person, a strange fire burning in his veins.

The people on the Old Mistress’s side were not a united front. They assumed Haruka’s actions were at Lady Murasaki’s behest, either as a show of power or a gesture of goodwill. They didn’t refuse his toasts as impatiently as Asou had, instead adopting a friendly and approachable demeanor. But a small number of the Old Mistress’s staunchest supporters were deep schemers. On the surface, they showed concern, but inwardly, they were just like Asou, hoping Haruka would make a fool of himself and bring shame upon Lady Murasaki. They were all seated at a distance from each other. Some of them, filled with a petty, simmering hate, even wished they could change seats, to drag out the process until the alcohol finally took its inevitable toll.

Haruka held his cup, and Izayoi, her eyes soft with a complex emotion, followed him, pouring the sake, her movements a graceful, silent dance. Before he knew it, he had toasted the last person. The way everyone looked at him now had changed completely.

Besides a flush on his face, he showed no signs of being drunk. His mind was still clear. He had only been briefly introduced to them earlier, yet during the toasts, he had remembered each person’s surname correctly, and even the order in which they had stood, without a single mistake.

They all recalled his clear, sharp logic when answering the question about his resemblance to his mother or father. He was exceptionally intelligent. Paired with his new, powerful status, perhaps they would have to rely on him in the future.

But they did not know that Haruka’s head was already spinning. By the last three toasts, his stomach was churning violently, and he had made it through the end on sheer, desperate willpower alone. Even though it was a light sake meant for women, and each cup was only poured a little full, for a boy his age drinking for the first time, to have consumed so much was no small feat.

Haruka felt as if his stomach were a stormy sea, his head heavy, his feet light. He felt as if he were walking on clouds. He could no longer stand steady. He staggered backward, his balance finally failing him, but Izayoi, who had been prepared for this, a shadow at his side, caught him.

“Young Master Haruka,” she said with a soft smile, her arm a firm support around his waist, “this time, it is my turn to support you.”

Haruka’s consciousness began to blur, the edges of the room softening. His surroundings seemed both familiar and strange, the faces of the women swimming before him. He could barely keep his eyes open. It felt as if he had entered a celestial palace, a dream of silk and perfume, and he saw Izayoi smiling at him with a bewitching, otherworldly charm. Am I seeing a fairy? he thought, his mind finally, blissfully, drifting away.