Repayment

“I wonder in what way the Young Master has matured so early?”

The words, whispered so close, were a spark on dry tinder. Haruka’s heart suddenly beat faster, a hard, angry rhythm. A flicker of rage, long suppressed, rose within him. He had been teased by Momozawa Ai again and again, a cat toying with a mouse, and he had long been displeased. Now, being toyed with like this again, the thought of returning the favor, of showing her he was not a child to be played with, sparked in his mind.

Looking at her beautiful, exquisite, mocking face, he decided to frighten her a little. He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist. The sensation was different from Kiyohime’s soft, yielding flesh; Momozawa Ai’s waist was firm, elastic, a core of steel beneath the silk.

She was completely taken by surprise, her body pressing against his with a soft gasp.

“Is Mrs. Butler satisfied now?” Haruka tried to keep his voice steady, but it came out a little hoarse, rough around the edges.

For a moment, Momozawa Ai was at a complete loss, forgetting to struggle, her mind blank with shock. If it had been any other man, not only would such intimate contact be unthinkable, but even a touch of his hand would have had himself torn limb from limb. But this was the Young Master, and looking at his face, at the fierce, unfamiliar light in his eyes, she found she was reluctant to push him away. She could only feel the brightness of his gaze, the scorching, possessive heat of his hand on her waist.

Seeing the burning intensity in his eyes, she felt a flicker of genuine regret for her provocative teasing. But then she thought, even if she could do it over, she would probably still be unable to resist teasing him, poking at him just to see what would happen.

But the words that came out of her throat were weak, uncertain, breathless. “Young Master… please… please let go…”

Haruka was half-intent on scaring her, half-driven by an indescribable, unfamiliar impulse of his own. “Weren’t you the one who asked me in what way I had matured so early?”

Momozawa Ai had been about to argue, to say, “The Young Master has misunderstood my meaning,” but the arm around her waist tightened, a silent, powerful command, and she felt as if a thousand tiny ants were crawling over her heart. Her legs grew weak. “I’m sorry, Young Master…” she said quickly, her voice a breathless whisper. “I… I was wrong to joke with you like that…”

Only then did Haruka release her. “Just be more careful next time, Mrs. Butler.”

For some reason, a thought flashed through Momozawa Ai’s mind, sharp and thrilling: Next time, I will have to tease him even more outrageously.

But the thought was fleeting. She twisted her numb waist, a strange tingling sensation lingering where his hand had been. Haruka’s interruption had made her forget most of what she had intended to say. Fortunately, it was nothing important. She glanced at Murakami Suzune, who was still kneeling obediently on the floor, her face a blank mask, as if she had seen nothing. Momozawa Ai nodded, satisfied. But when she looked at Haruka, she still felt a little resentful, a little cheated.

“Young Master,” Momozawa Ai’s voice was suddenly urgent. “I just remembered there was something I forgot to tell you.”

“What is it?” Haruka asked, hearing the urgency in her tone.

“It’s about the Lady. Please come closer.” Momozawa Ai glanced at Murakami Suzune on the floor, a silent dismissal.

Haruka was suspicious, but hearing the word “Lady,” he still leaned his ear toward her. He heard her whisper, her voice a low, seductive purr, “The Young Master is not quite ripe yet.” The moment the words were out, he felt a sharp, tingling pain on his earlobe.

He instinctively pulled his head back. When he looked, Momozawa Ai was already at the door, facing him, the corners of her lips slightly, almost imperceptibly, upturned, as if in a smile.

Haruka was stunned for a moment. So Mrs. Butler can smile, he thought. If she were to truly smile, she would probably be no less beautiful than Izayoi-neechan.

He rubbed his earlobe, which was now tingling and hot. Did she scratch me with her fingernail? he wondered. But a fingernail isn’t that sharp.

He saw Momozawa Ai press her full, moist lips together. She was a woman who valued etiquette above all else, never showing her teeth when she spoke. But he could imagine the radiant pearls hidden beneath the shell. He suddenly realized, with a jolt, what she had used to “scratch” him.

After Momozawa Ai had left, only Haruka and Murakami Suzune remained in the room.

The annoying rules have left, he thought. Just in case, he closed the door, the soft click of the latch echoing in the quiet room.

Hearing the sound of the door closing, Murakami Suzune, still kneeling on the floor, trembled slightly.

Haruka turned back and reached out a hand to her. “Let me help you up.”

Murakami Suzune’s body was stiff, rigid, probably from kneeling for so long. Haruka couldn’t pull her up with one hand. He had to half-kneel on the floor and use both hands to slowly, gently, help her up, guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed.

But she didn’t dare to sit. “This is your bed, Young Master…” she said in a panic. “If you’ll just let me stand for a moment, I’ll be fine.”

No matter what he said, she refused to sit. Haruka had no choice but to bring a chair for her. But even then, she would not sit down, saying that as long as the Young Master was standing, how could she possibly sit. Her legs were clearly unsteady, and she could only support herself by holding onto the back of the chair, her body bent over. Haruka could see the pain on her face, the way she occasionally winced. “How are your knees?” he asked, his voice softer than he intended.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice a thin whisper.

Haruka knew she was lying. He looked at her pants, which were thin and only came down past her knees. Through the fabric, he could see the blurry, raw flesh beneath. He frowned and was about to take a closer look at the wound, but she instinctively grabbed his wrist. Before he could speak, her face changed, a mask of terror descending, and she immediately fell to her knees again. “I’m sorry, Young Master!” she cried, her voice choked with fear.

A profound sense of discomfort washed over him. He looked at the kneeling Suzune. He remembered when he had first arrived at the Fujiwara house; she had been respectful, but not like this, not broken. And she had helped him. A sour taste filled his mouth. He slowly hardened his heart.

Murakami Suzune remained kneeling on the floor. When he didn’t reply for a long time, she grew even more frightened and didn’t dare to look up. She heard the sound of a door opening and closing. After a moment, a silver first-aid box was placed in front of her. She heard his voice. “Look up.”

Suzune hesitated.

“I said, look up!” Haruka’s voice was stern, a forced, unnatural hardness in his tone.

Her body trembled violently, and she immediately raised her head, her eyes wide with fear.

“Since Mother has given you to me, I will not have you with a single flaw.” Haruka pointed to the first-aid box. “You know how to use these things. After you have treated your wounds, get up and get dressed.”

He seemed to be speaking to himself as much as to her. “I am a young master of the Fujiwara family. I will not help you up. I am going to the bathroom to wash up now. I expect you to have your medicine applied and your clothes on before I come out.”

With that, he turned and went into the small bathroom, locking the door behind him with a decisive click.

As if nothing had happened, he calmly brushed his teeth, calmly washed his face. Only after he was finished did he look at himself in the mirror for a few extra moments, at the stranger staring back at him.

He turned and, as his hand touched the doorknob, he suddenly remembered what he had said, that she was to have her medicine applied and her clothes on before he was finished.

And so, Haruka turned back, lowered the toilet lid, placed an unused, folded towel on top of it, and sat down to wait for the long, slow time to pass.