A Last Resort 

“Eat them,” Yukina said, her voice a soft command. She sat down in a single armchair to his left, curling into it.

Haruka had only eaten two cookies at noon. After running around for so long, he was ravenous. But he was too anxious, the need to know the truth about his birth mother a tight, painful knot in his stomach, to have any appetite. “I’m not hungry,” he said.

Yukina let out a short, sharp, incredulous laugh and placed a spoon and chopsticks in front of him. “Do I have to feed you?”

Left with no choice, Haruka picked up the chopsticks and took a few bites of the curry rice. The potatoes and rice, coated in the rich, savory curry sauce, were surprisingly delicious, warming him from the inside out. There were also two golden-brown chicken wings and a small drumstick on the plate, but he had no desire for meat. He was only thinking about how to ask the question. He knew that even if Yukina wouldn’t lie to him, she could still choose not to tell him.

He took a few more mechanical bites, his gaze secretly traveling up from under his lashes to look at her.

Under the coffee table, Yukina had her well-proportioned legs crossed, her plump, rounded toes flexing up and down in a restless rhythm. Her skin was more translucent than a grain of rice. She was wearing a pair of light blue cotton pajama pants, her elbows resting on her knees, her long eyelashes blinking slowly, as delicate as the tender branches of a willow tree that even the first snow of winter would hesitate to weigh down.

Haruka lifted his head, and their eyes met. In the space of a single, suspended breath, the temperature in the sunlit room seemed to rise by several degrees.

Haruka quickly looked away, his heart giving a sudden, sharp jolt.

Yukina didn’t move, just wondered why the room had suddenly gotten so warm. She instinctively reached for the zipper of her black jacket, but after pulling it down a little, she remembered there was a boy in the room and, thinking it might be inappropriate, she zipped it back up. But then she let out a soft, self-mocking laugh and looked at Haruka. He’s just a child, she thought. Still, she zipped the jacket all the way to the top.

Haruka glanced at her and noticed that under the jacket, she was wearing a modest, light blue pajama top. She must have just fallen asleep when he rang the bell and had simply thrown on a jacket to answer the door.

Suddenly, he realized she was staring at him. He was a little flusttered. He saw her tap her own lips with a delicate finger, and only then did he realize he had some sauce on the corner of his mouth. Embarrassed to wipe it with his hand in front of her, he looked around for a tissue box.

He saw a fair hand extend, holding two tissues. He looked up. Yukina had taken the box from a shelf under the coffee table with her other hand. “You’re like a little clown,” she said softly, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Haruka just smiled, unconcerned, and was about to take the tissues, but Yukina pulled her hand back, dodging him with a quick, playful movement.

He looked at her, confused. She let out two soft laughs, stood up, and used the tissue to gently wipe the corner of his mouth herself. “There, all clean now,” she said with a meaningful look, and tossed the tissue into a nearby wastebasket.

Haruka was still struggling with his dilemma. He held his chopsticks for a long time, the food tasteless in his mouth, then finally put them down. “Oba-san,” he said, his voice determined, “I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”

“What did you just call me?” Yukina’s face looked as if she had just accidentally eaten a mouthful of slime.

“Oba-san…”

“Disgusting,” she said, a shudder running through her. “Can’t that food shut your filthy mouth?”

“Have you forgotten? In the car, on the way to the Fujiwara house, you said I could call you ‘Oba-san’.”

Yukina thought for a moment. “I did say that. But the title still disgusts me.”

“Then shall I call you ‘First Young Mistress’?”

Yukina stared at him coldly, her eyes turning to ice.

“Should I call you ‘Onee-san’?”

Yukina looked as if she wanted to stuff him into the wastebasket along with the used tissue. She sighed in weary resignation. “Yukina. Just call me Yukina. Don’t add any extra words.”

“Yukina…”

“Mm.”

Saying her name, Haruka felt his heart ripple like a still lake touched by a gentle breeze. “Yukina-san,” he said in a low voice, “I have a question I want to ask you.”

“Rejected,” she said without a second thought, her guard instantly back up.

“You haven’t even heard my question yet.”

“I don’t want to hear it. Don’t defile my ears.”

Haruka lowered his posture, his voice pleading, desperate. “Yukina-san, please tell me the truth. Otherwise, I can’t be at ease in the Fujiwara house.”

“Then that’s perfect. You can leave the Fujiwara house, and I will have fulfilled my promise to Yukishiro Tomoe.”

Her words were a sharp pang in his chest. “You only have to answer one question,” he begged.

“No matter what you ask, I will not give you an answer,” Yukina said with a sneer. “I regret bringing you to the Fujiwara house.”

“Then why did you bring me here?” Haruka couldn’t help but ask, the question tearing from him.

Yukina’s red lips moved, a reply forming, but then her expression shifted from hesitation to a cold, sarcastic sneer. “Is that the question you wanted to ask me?” she said. “Even if I knew the answer, I wouldn’t tell you. Finish your food and get out of my house. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“You really aren’t going to tell me?”

“What are you going to do about it?” Her voice was ice, a final, unbreachable wall.

Haruka felt a surge of helpless anger. He tried pleading with her again, several times, but no matter what he said, she remained unmoved, a statue of cold indifference. Looking at her unforgiving face, Haruka suddenly smiled, a strange, sad expression. “Then don’t blame me for resorting to this.”

Yukina sneered. “Use whatever method you like. I couldn’t be bothered to care.”

Haruka said nothing more, just lowered his head, his shoulders slumping.

After a long, tense silence, she asked, “Why aren’t you speaking?” She saw his small body begin to shake, and she thought she could hear the faint, almost inaudible sound of sobbing.

“Are… are you crying?”

Yukina’s long eyelashes didn’t blink. She was at a complete loss. “You were fine just a moment ago,” she said, her voice sharp with disbelief. “Do you think pretending to cry will work?”

But Haruka didn’t answer. The only reply was the sound of his sobbing, growing louder, more broken, more desperate.

Yukina was a young mistress who was soft against weakness but hard against strength. Even though she knew, on some level, that he was probably faking, hearing his genuine-sounding sobs was deeply unsettling. It was she who had brought him to this house of lies; she felt an indescribable, tangled connection to him. If it had been any other child, she could have hardened her heart and thrown him out. But with Haruka, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

She sighed inwardly in defeat. Forget it. Whether he’s really crying or not, the fact that things have come to this is my fault.

She gently patted Haruka on the back. “Alright, alright, I was wrong,” she said softly, her voice losing all its coldness. “Stop crying. Whatever you want to ask, I’ll tell you.”

She saw him slowly stop crying and lift his head, his face full of apology.

He knew he couldn’t force the truth from her. So he had resorted to a trick, a despicable tactic, using her kindness, pretending to cry to win her sympathy. He felt deeply ashamed of himself, cursing his own shamelessness. But to find out the truth, he had no other choice.

He had been prepared for her to scold him, to call him out on his deception, but instead of anger, her expression was one of helpless, gentle resignation. He looked down and his guilt intensified. In her hand, she was holding two fresh tissues, as if to wipe his tears. His own eyes began to feel genuinely wet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words sincere.