The Interrogation

Haruka knew perfectly well there was nothing on his face, but seeing her so close, so radiant in the soft, hazy light, he couldn’t bring himself to push her away. The warmth of her hand, the gentle pressure of the towel, the sweet, milky scent of her skin—it was all too much. “It’s probably clean now,” he managed to say, his voice a little hoarse. “You can stop.”

“I have to be sure,” Kiyohime said, her own voice a little breathless, a soft whisper in the quiet room. “I need to wipe it for a little longer, just in case. You’re my younger brother now. You have to maintain your appearance. What if a servant saw a mark I left?” Her hand, far from stopping, began to move a little faster, the motion less like wiping and more like a desperate, searching caress.

Haruka felt her drawing nearer, an irresistible gravity pulling them together. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning in as well, until he could feel the warmth of her body through their thin clothes, the soft, moist whisper of her breath against his skin. With every breath, he could smell her faint, unique scent, a fragrance he couldn’t decide was pleasant or not, only that it was intoxicating. His mind grew hazy, his body acting on pure, primal instinct, moving closer, and closer…

There was a soft, almost inaudible sound as their lips brushed together, a touch as light as a butterfly’s wing. A jolt of pure, unadulterated electricity shot up from the base of his spine. Haruka’s eyes flew open, and he immediately pulled away, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Kiyohime, however, was half-awake, half-lost in the sensation. The towel in her hand fell unheeded onto the bed. She didn’t have his self-control; she couldn’t help but savor the lingering feeling on her lips. It had been a touch as light as a dragonfly’s wing, but it had sent a tremor through her entire body, a sweet, shocking vibration that left her weak.

Haruka felt it too. An impulse, shocking in its intensity, shot through him—an urge to pull her into his arms, to leave red, angry marks on her snow-white skin. He was stunned. Where had such a strong, destructive desire come from? He had always been so polite, so gentle. Why was it that with Kiyohime, he felt this urge to treat her like a piece of paper, to crumple her, to tear her to pieces? Even his breathing felt hot, as if he were breathing fire.

But Haruka was a person of restraint. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and another, and slowly, the fire within him began to cool, to bank into smoldering embers.

Kiyohime, however, was not like him. She was like a kitten that had just tasted cream for the first time. She reached out a paw, scratching him gently, playfully, and draped herself over him. “That felt… strange…” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and something else, something new.

Haruka just grunted in response, his throat tight. Kiyohime leaned close to his ear, her voice a muddled, sleepy whisper. “Maybe… our lips… could touch again…?”

“That’s not a good idea,” Haruka said, not daring to look at her, afraid of falling back into that strange, intoxicating feeling.

Kiyohime’s tongue felt thick, her voice changing, becoming petulant. “Just for a bit… what’s the harm…?”

Haruka’s knowledge of the affairs between men and women was limited, but he knew what they had just done had crossed a line, a boundary he hadn’t even known existed until they had stumbled over it. “That’s something… only people who are very close can do…” He had wanted to say “lovers,” but he remembered Kiyohime’s thin, fragile skin and was afraid the truth would embarrass her to no end, so he chose a more tactful, gentler phrasing.

But he hadn’t expected that she wouldn’t understand his meaning at all. “We’re brother and sister,” she said indignantly, her voice sharp with confusion. “Isn’t that close enough?”

“Not that kind of close.”

“Then what kind!” Kiyohime demanded, wanting him to explain, to unravel this new, confusing mystery.

Knock, knock, knock!

Just then, Momozawa Ai’s voice came from outside the door, sharp and clear. “Young Master, are you awake?” As she spoke, she instinctively tried the doorknob. She hadn’t expected it to be open; it was just a habit. She thought the room would be locked. But Kiyohime, in her haste to sneak in last night, had forgotten to lock the door behind her.

With a simple twist, the door swung open, and Momozawa Ai’s cold, assessing eyes met their two startled gazes. Fortunately, Haruka and Kiyohime hadn’t been doing anything more, or the situation would have been impossible to salvage.

Kiyohime’s clothes were in disarray, her hair a wild tangle, Haruka’s were also rumpled, and the white bedsheets had been kicked to the floor. Momozawa Ai’s brow furrowed, a single, sharp line of disapproval. “Second Young Mistress,” she asked, her voice dangerously, terrifyingly calm, “what are you doing in the Young Master’s room?”

“I came to play with my younger brother, of course,” Kiyohime said casually, trying to regain her composure.

“‘Younger brother’?”

Kiyohime was annoyed. “Of course he’s my younger brother. I’m a year older than him, what else would I call him? Ai-obasan, have you already forgotten that my mother adopted him yesterday?”

Momozawa Ai’s voice softened, becoming a silken caress. “Of course I haven’t forgotten. I was just a little surprised that the Young Mistress and the Young Master have already become so close.” With that, her gaze slowly shifted to Haruka. Anyone hearing her voice would have thought she was smiling, but in reality, her beautiful, exquisite face was completely devoid of human warmth, a perfect, cold mask.

“And what’s wrong with being close?”

“Of course, nothing at all,” Momozawa Ai said. “Did the Second Young Mistress just wake up and come over to play with the Young Master?”

“Yes, I was afraid he would be lonely.”

“Is that so?” Momozawa Ai’s soft voice suddenly turned to ice. “Then why did someone tell me they saw the Second Young Mistress sneak into the Young Master’s room last night?”

Even Haruka was startled by her sudden, sharp change in tone, let alone the culprit herself. Kiyohime jumped, then quickly, guiltily, denied it. “No… that’s not true…”

“No? Then why would someone say they saw you enter his room?” Momozawa Ai pressed, her voice cold and relentless.

“Well…” Kiyohime was speechless. She decided to drop the act. “Was it that stewardess who told you?” she demanded angrily.

“No one told me,” Momozawa Ai’s voice became soft again, a gentle trap.

Haruka immediately realized Kiyohime had been tricked.

But Kiyohime hadn’t caught on yet. “But you just said someone snitched on me,” she said, frowning, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“They told me you woke them up in the middle of the night, Second Young Mistress,” Momozawa Ai said. “As for the stewardess… she covered her face and said you had played a prank on her. She did not mention you coming to the Young Master’s room.”

“Then… then how did you know…?”

“You are a very lively person, Second Young Mistress. I merely made a guess. I never expected you to confess so readily.”

Kiyohime’s mouth opened, but she had nothing to say, caught in the web of her own lies.

“Young Master, the Second Young Mistress is always playing these little tricks. I won’t bother questioning her any further,” Momozawa Ai said, slowly walking into the room, the sharp, deliberate heels of her shoes making a rhythmic, intimidating clicking on the polished floor.

Haruka was inevitably drawn by the sound and looked over.

Momozawa Ai was wearing a pair of sexy, French-style pointed-toe black high heels, paired with fine, black fishnet stockings that revealed tantalizing glimpses of her snow-white skin.

“Mrs. Butler, what did you want to ask me?” Haruka asked, forcing his eyes away from her legs, not understanding why he kept staring.

Kiyohime had also noticed Momozawa Ai’s attire. I thought Ai-obasan didn’t like fishnets and high heels, she thought. She never wears them, not even for important banquets. Why would she wear them for a simple family gathering? Is she trying to show off for someone? She couldn’t help but look a few more times. There was no denying that Momozawa Ai’s figure was truly, devastatingly eye-catching.

Momozawa Ai noticed Haruka’s shyness. She tucked a golden strand of hair behind her ear and, with a pout of her red lips, asked, her voice a low, seductive purr, “Young Master, how did it taste last night?”