The Eve 

What Haruka hadn’t expected was that the guests who had so staunchly sided with the Old Mistress, after having seen her, now wore looks of utter, abject despair, as if the very pillars of their house had collapsed. After the other guests had left, they quietly, almost furtively, approached Haruka, asking about Lady Murasaki’s situation. They were all trivial, probing questions, and Haruka answered them vaguely. Then, they began to make small talk, finding clumsy, roundabout ways to praise him, to curry his favor.

Haruka understood they were looking for a new backer, a new sun to orbit. He was disgusted by their transparent, spineless behavior but couldn’t show it, simply offering noncommittal, polite replies. They were smart enough to take the hint, and after a few more empty words, they withdrew, their backs bent in a new, unfamiliar deference.

Haruka watched them leave, a suffocating feeling tightening in his chest. If he didn’t have the status of Lady Murasaki’s “illegitimate son,” would they have ever tried so hard to please him? A new, sharp anxiety took root in his heart, and his desire to know the truth now burned hotter than ever.

“Suzune,” Haruka asked, his voice low, “is the Old Mistress still in her bedroom?”

“She has been moved to another location for the ritual,” Suzune replied. “Shall I take you to her?”

Haruka thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. That’s not a good idea.” He then asked, “Do you know where the old miko is?”

“She is in the tea room in the west wing,” Suzune said. “Does the Young Master wish to discuss the ‘exorcism’ with her?”

“No,” Haruka said, his voice flat.

Suzune was puzzled. Why is he saying ‘not a good idea’ and ‘no’? She didn’t know that Haruka was mentally running through a desperate list of people who might be able to tell him the truth.

The Old Mistress was likely suffering from dementia and was being watched by many eyes. She was the first to be ruled out.

The old miko was erratic and a mad woman. If he asked her a question, she would surely give a nonsensical, riddling answer and not tell him the truth. Besides, she was an outsider and might not even know the truth herself. She, too, was ruled out.

After eliminating these two, Haruka thought of the other members of the Fujiwara family, all of whom were staunch, fawning supporters of Lady Murasaki. He felt a sense of suffocation, as if the walls were closing in, and his desire for the truth grew until it was a physical ache, a fire that could grow no more without consuming him.

Suddenly, a thought flashed through his mind, a single, desperate hope. “Suzune,” he asked, “is the First Young Mistress’s room far from here?”

Since it was Fujiwara Yukina who brought me to this house, Haruka thought, she must know the inside story. And in this entire, rotten family, she is the only one who wouldn’t lie to me, who would disdain to lie to me.

Suzune was taken aback. “It is in the central area. Do you wish to see her, Young Master?”

“Take me there now,” Haruka said, his voice urgent, leaving no room for questions.

Suzune didn’t know why he wanted to see the First Young Mistress, but seeing his anxiety, she didn’t ask, and simply led the way.

Yukina’s residence was, surprisingly, in the very center of the Fujiwara estate, but it was like a small, separate circle, an island of silence, with not a single servant or maid in sight.

Suzune stopped at the edge of this circle. “Young Master, the First Young Mistress does not like us maids. All matters are communicated by phone, or the Second Young Mistress and the Head Butler go to her in person. I cannot accompany you any further.”

Haruka understood. After getting the exact location from her, he stepped inside.

The area was cold and deserted, the air still and heavy, almost as if it had been abandoned. The feeling was unbelievable in the always-bustling, meticulously maintained Fujiwara estate.

Haruka identified the house and slowly walked toward it. The architecture was not the grand, traditional Japanese style of the rest of the estate, but rather that of a normal person’s home, modest and unassuming.

He felt a strange, complicated emotion stirring within him. He took a moment to compose his thoughts, to steady his breathing, then rang the doorbell.

After about a minute of profound silence, Haruka heard a faint rustling sound from inside, and he noticed the peephole on the door darken. “It’s me, Yukishiro Haruka,” he said, his voice loud enough to be heard through the door.

Yukina’s voice came from within, cold and laced with a familiar sarcasm. “Ah, the young master of the Fujiwara family.”

“I don’t know which family I belong to,” Haruka said, the words raw and coming straight from his heart.

“I don’t care which family you belong to. This is my home. Please stay away.”

Haruka took a step back and couldn’t help but raise his voice, his frustration and desperation finally boiling over. “The entire Fujiwara household is filled with rumors about me! If you were going to make my life so miserable, you should have just left me in the hospital!”

There was a sudden, sharp silence from the other side. The peephole changed color; she had moved away from the door. He heard her footsteps retreating, fading into the depths of the house. He didn’t force her to open the door. Instead, in a calculated act of desperation, he deliberately stepped back to a spot where he would be clearly visible from the peephole and sat down on the cold ground, cross-legged.

After about five minutes, which felt like five hours, he heard the sound of the lock turning, and the door opened. Yukina was glaring at him, her voice cold as ice. “Get in here.”

A small, triumphant smile touched Haruka’s lips, and he slowly entered the house.

Yukina bent down, and without him noticing, her back to him, she placed a pair of soft, pink cat-themed slippers in the entryway. Without a backward glance, she walked away.

It was October, and the weather was temperamental. A cold draft blew in from the open door, and Haruka shivered. He quickly closed the door, took off his geta, and stepped onto the cold marble of the entryway in his clean white tabi socks. The floor was as cold as ice.

He saw a pair of thin cotton slippers by the shoe cabinet and knew she had prepared them for him. He immediately put them on, a welcome warmth spreading through his feet.

He saw that Yukina was already far ahead. As he followed, he looked around. The house was decorated with a surprising, almost shocking warmth. On the tables and shelves were intricate wooden models, delicate paper-folded animals and objects, and large glass bottles filled with a thousand colorful paper cranes and small, shimmering paper stars. He remembered the maid saying the First Young Mistress loved to make little things with her hands, and now he had proof. It was a home filled with a quiet, lonely beauty.

Yukina stopped in the living room, her back to him, clearly struggling with how to begin.

Haruka had already planned what he was going to say, but now, in the quiet warmth of her home, he found himself reluctant to speak. I came here for the truth about my ‘birth mother’, he thought, but if I just ask her directly, she will be so disappointed in me. Even though his heart was twisting with anxiety, he didn’t want to see that look of disappointment on her face. He decided to wait for the right moment.

The living room grew brighter as the honey-colored afternoon sunlight streamed in through the large window. Outside, the wind was chilly, yet the sun was so warm. It was strange that two such opposite things could exist in the same season.

Yukina finally spoke, her voice like a cool breeze, yet her words held a hidden, unexpected warmth. “Have… have you eaten?”

“I had some snacks.”

“Oh.”

Yukina turned around and pointed to the sofa. “Sit there and wait for me for a moment.”

“Okay.”

Haruka’s feelings for her were a tangled, complicated mess. She was the one who had brought him into this world of lies and intrigue. He said nothing more and sat down on the sofa. Watching her walk away into the kitchen, he felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles. The next time she comes out, he resolved, I will ask her the truth.

After about ten minutes, he felt a shadow fall over him.

He looked up. Yukina was placing a black lacquer tray in front of him. On it was a plate of fragrant, handmade curry rice and a bowl of steaming miso soup.