Chapter 5: The Maid

Haruka pressed the button on the wall, the small click echoing in the cavernous, steam-filled bathroom. A short time later, a soft, respectful knock came at the door. “The clothes are just outside,” a woman’s voice said, calm and professional. “You can reach them easily. If you require anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Haruka waited a beat, letting the silence settle again before opening the door just a crack. He peeked outside.

A maid stood a short distance away, her back to him, her posture as straight and unyielding as a palace guard’s. This was not the same maid who had led him here; this one radiated an aura of rigorous, formal training.

Haruka looked down. On the floor sat a small, dark wooden stool, no higher than his knee, upon which a set of neatly folded clothes rested. He retrieved them and gently closed the door. The clothes consisted of a clean set of silk pajamas and a pair of new underwear, the tags freshly removed.

He put them on. They fit perfectly, the fabric cool and smooth against his skin, a world away from the scratchy, cheap materials he was used to, which always seemed to whisper against him with every movement.

“I’m ready,” Haruka said softly, opening the door and calling to the maid.

The maid turned, and when her eyes met his, her professionally placid heart gave an unexpected flutter. His hair was still damp, clinging to his handsome face in dark, glistening strands. It was a face of startling, androgynous beauty, the kind that could effortlessly bring a flicker of pleasure to any woman who looked upon it.

“Where are we going now?” Haruka prompted gently, noticing she had been staring for a fraction of a second too long.

“I am to take you to get changed, but we can’t have you looking like this,” the maid said, recovering with flawless composure. She took a hairdryer from a bathroom cabinet and plugged it in. “Please, sit on the chair.”

Haruka was confused. Did he need to sit down just to have his hair dried? He wasn’t very tall; if he simply stood, she could easily dry his hair without him even having to bend his head.

Nevertheless, he did as he was told, sinking into the chair and looking up at her with a questioning gaze. From his low vantage point, his view was immediately and completely obstructed by the magnificent, fabric-straining peaks of her chest.

The maid wore the classic black and white uniform, complete with black, over-the-knee stockings. It was a modest design, revealing only a small, tantalizing patch of pale thigh below and a sliver of her elegant neck above. She looked to be in the fragrant bloom of her early twenties, with a pretty, delicate face and a figure so fine that it gave the loose-fitting uniform an unintended, alluring shape.

Haruka’s gaze was trapped by the twin mountains. He was still young, a stranger to the complex affairs between men and women, but a vague sense of impropriety, a warmth he didn’t understand, made him quickly avert his eyes to the polished floor.

The maid switched the hairdryer on, testing the warm air against her palm for a moment. Once satisfied, she did something that shocked him: she knelt beside his chair.

“Maybe I should just do it myself…”

Haruka had been about to say the words, but when he turned his head, the sight of the maid kneeling so respectfully beside him stole the protest from his lips. She held the hairdryer in one hand, gently blowing the warm air over his head, while the fingers of her other hand began to gently comb through his hair.

The gesture caught him completely off guard. He sat frozen for a moment, acutely aware of her closeness. She was pressed so near to his back that he could feel the soft, yielding warmth of her chest with every breath she took. He flinched, his muscles tensing with the urge to stand up, to create distance. But then a thought stopped him. What if this is just one of the Fujiwara family’s strange, unbreakable customs? The thought was enough to suppress his urge to flee.

He forced himself to relax, to endure the strange intimacy. He could feel her fingertips, light as a whisper, weaving through his hair, the pads of her fingers brushing against his scalp in a way that was both ticklish and overwhelmingly pleasant. The soft pressure at his back, the low, hypnotic hum of the hairdryer, the gentle caress of warm air chasing the dampness from his hair—it was a dizzying assault on his senses.

A tickle started in Haruka’s nose. He could smell the faint, clean fragrance coming from her, a scent of soap and lilies. To distract himself, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Suzune. Murakami Suzune.”

“That’s a very pretty name.”

“Thank you. Could you please lower your head… yes, just like that.”

Haruka stared at the gleaming floor, where he could see the faint, distorted reflection of his own hesitant face. “Call me… just call me Haruka.”

“Young Master Haruka,” Suzune corrected, her voice gentle but firm.

Listening to the hum of the hairdryer, Haruka suddenly asked, “Are you listening to me?”

“I am, Young Master.”

“You must have known my name already?”

“The head butler informed us ahead of time that you were not to be neglected.”

“Is the head butler… mean?”

“Why would you say that?”

“The title just sounds so strict. If you make a mistake, does the butler scold you?”

“That can’t be helped,” Suzune said, a hint of trouble in her voice. “If I make a mistake, it’s only natural that I would be scolded.” Then she added, a touch of warmth returning, “But she only scolds us when it’s deserved. In private, she’s very kind. She even chats with us about fashion and makeup.”

“She’s a woman?”

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Sorry. When I hear ‘butler,’ I just picture an old man.”

“It’s a common mistake,” Suzune said with a small, musical laugh. “There are few men in the Fujiwara household. Even some of the bodyguards and drivers are women. It’s like your name, Haruka. It’s very neutral. No one would be surprised if it belonged to a girl.”

“My mother gave me the name,” Haruka said, his voice becoming distant. “She said she picked it out before I was born, hoping for a girl. Every time she looked at me, she would say, ‘Why weren’t you a girl?’ Then she would study my face and sigh that it was better I was a boy after all. But then she would get angry and say it would have been best if I had never been born at all.”

“She must have loved you very much,” Suzune said softly, her hands pausing for a fraction of a second in his hair.

“…Yes.”

Haruka changed the subject. “Is the head butler… is she easy to talk to? I feel like older women aren’t as gentle as you are, Suzune-neechan.”

“The head butler is quite approachable,” Suzune said, the honorific making a genuine smile bloom on her face. “She’s only about ten years older than me.”

“Still… I’m sure she’s not as pretty as you.”

Suzune looked into Haruka’s dark, sincere eyes, and her heart gave another traitorous leap. After a moment’s thought, a flicker of feminine pride made her say, a little reluctantly, “Well… perhaps she’s just a tiny bit prettier than me.”

Haruka was surprised. Suzune was, by any standard, a beautiful woman. It was rare for a woman to admit another was more beautiful, let alone without a hint of competitive malice.

In another two or three years, when she’s over thirty, we’ll see who’s prettier, Suzune grumbled to herself, a thought that brought a private smile to her lips.

“What’s her name?” Haruka asked, pressing his advantage.

“Momozawa Ai. We all call her Ai-neechan in private.”

“I suppose she runs everything in this house.”

“Haha, if you mean ordering us maids around, then yes, she’s certainly the commander-in-chief,” Suzune said, then instinctively lowered her voice. “But you mustn’t repeat this. The most powerful person in the house is the Old Mistress. After her, it’s Lady Murasaki, and then the young mistresses. But with the Old Mistress ill, everything is decided by Lady Murasaki.”

“And Fujiwara Yukina? Is she the first or second young mistress?”

Hearing Haruka use Yukina’s full name so casually sent a jolt of panic through Suzune. She looked around nervously. “Don’t let anyone hear you!” she whispered urgently. “You mustn’t speak the First Young Mistress’s name so freely.”

Haruka nodded quickly, feigning innocence. “I understand. Then… who is Lady Murasaki?”

“She is the First Young Mistress’s older sister.”

The word “sister” landed like a stone. Haruka recalled what Yukina had said in the hospital, and his fists clenched involuntarily at his sides. So it was Lady Murasaki who stole my father from my mother…

“Then who is the Second Young Mistress? The First Young Mistress’s younger sister?”

“No… she is Lady Murasaki’s daughter. It’s just that the First Young Mistress is much younger than Lady Murasaki, but only slightly older than her niece, so the titles are arranged that way… There, all done.”

Suzune unplugged the hairdryer and slowly began to stand. But from kneeling for so long, her legs had gone numb. She swayed, a soft gasp escaping her lips, but Haruka, ever watchful, was already moving, his hand shooting out to steady her arm.

Suzune felt his hand, soft yet surprisingly strong. His body was not yet fully grown, but he already possessed the quiet, solid bearing of a man.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her face flushing.

“You’re welcome,” Haruka said with a small, knowing smile, letting go. “We’re just helping each other.” He had, through his careful, innocent questioning, learned everything he needed to know.