You Are Mine
"Slap her~ Slap her~ ...You want me to really hit her? Your senior's cheek?"
The art of playing a villain. The art of unleashing rage that's not truly your own. How the hell was I supposed to do that... "Kid, this your first film? What's your name again?" "Ah... It's OOO." It happened when I, some nobody who stumbled into the same movie by sheer luck, was assigned the role of slapping a veteran actor whose stature I could never dream of touching back then.
"Right, OO-kun. Do you know what role I played in my very first film?" "...No, I'm sorry, I don't. You've been acting since before I was even born."
"Serial killer. A psycho cab driver by day who picked off female passengers at night, kidnapped them, raped them, and murdered them—that was my part."
To me, hesitating to deliver that slap, he said it with a face stern as stone. From the first scene, it was NG, NG, NG. No matter what I tried, I couldn't embody the role, and the scene just wouldn't come alive. So I was agonizing over it when the director came over and said exactly that. Maybe in his own way, he thought he was kindly offering hard-earned advice to some green rookie shooting his first film. The problem was his face made it impossible to feel that way.
The biggest piece-of-shit asshole I'd ever met in my life. "Imitate that bastard." So I thought of my college senior who used to harass all the female underclassmen. But that one piece of advice? It actually helped a ton.
The biggest piece-of-shit asshole I'd met in life was my army squadmate, the lunatic who swung a fist at a company commander way older and higher-ranking than him on paper, then ended up in the brig.
"Hey, say something."
Who would've thought that lesson would come in handy here.
"Deaf? Or did someone sew your mouth shut? Want me to rip it open again?"
The difference this time? I was genuinely pissed.
"Ah, miss... I mean..."
"Then why is the maid I ordered to wait by the bathroom door here?"
I had no idea why I was so angry. Didn't matter.
"You dare ignore my command and boss her around?"
"N-no, absolutely not! I didn't know! I had no idea you'd given the order...!"
"Didn't know?"
Was it memories from my old life bubbling up? Or pity for this pathetic maid? Whatever.
"Ignorance is an excuse?"
Either way, it didn't matter right now. For the character, holding back wouldn't fit—in this situation, unleashing it was more in line.
"I'm sorry... She's just so prone to mistakes on the job, so as her senior, I was trying to teach her, but..."
The maid flashed a servile smile, slyly shifting the blame to Schuett.
"Hah."
Did she have any idea how much that pissed me off even more?
"I'll send her back right—argh!!!"
"Teach her?"
So I didn't hesitate—I kicked the maid straight in the shin.
"Get up. If you're not on your feet in five seconds, you're dead."
"Hic... guh... aaak—!!!"
"Again."
I wrenched her joint again as she barely staggered to her feet, swallowing her pain.
"Get up. Not getting up?"
Smack—!!! A crisp sound, heat blooming in my palm.
"Head straight."
"Hng...!!"
Smack—!! Crack—!!! But I didn't stop. I kept slapping her cheeks, just like my squadmate had done. Until my palm burned red and her face swelled purple.
"Did I ask why you took her away?"
I hadn't asked this idiot why she'd dragged Schuett off.
"Is your 'teaching' more important than the order I gave her?"
"Sorry... please... forgive..."
Smack—!!!
"You ordering me to forgive you right now?"
"N-no... that's not..."
Smack—!!!
"Feels like it. The way you act like a crazy bitch in front of your mistress? Yeah, you could be that stupid. How about from today, I be the maid and you be the lady? Sound good?"
"Sorry... I'm sorry..."
Smack—!!!
"Milady. Give the order. Should I slap her more? Or switch from left cheek to right this time?"
"Th-that's... enough..."
Crack—!!!
"Who the hell are you ordering around... ugh."
I considered one more, but my palm was throbbing too much, so I stopped.
"..."
"Hic...!"
Only then did I turn to Schuett. She was frozen, eyes wide with terror.
"You think I can't kick you out of this mansion?"
"..."
It wasn't for Schuett—it was for the maid crumpled on the floor.
"You're right. Even if you badmouth me behind my back, I don't have the authority to fire you. That's up to the lady you love so much."
The authority to manage the household staff belonged to the eldest daughter, Frederica Mirhane. And she hated Bathory. Way more than Urtic.
"She might even like hearing you trash me."
Unlike Urtic, who hid her dislike without open hostility, Frederica showed clear contempt and loathing toward Bathory. Naturally, her servants would look down on Bathory too—someone hostile to their lady with a lousy reputation to boot.
"But you didn't stop at badmouthing me."
...!
But this moron hadn't limited it to Bathory.
"My second sister... she's loved by the family. Unlike me."
I'd heard her insulting Urtic plain as day.
"You think she'll overlook insults to her beloved little sister the same way she does ones aimed at me?"
"A-anything but that...!!"
Smack—!!!
"Don't touch her. Who the hell do you think you are, laying hands on her? You filthy bitch."
I grabbed Schuett's hand—not the one that had slapped the maid, but her intact left.
"Let's go."
"P-pardon? Ah, y-yes..!"
I had no intention of tattling to the eldest daughter right away. No guarantee she'd believe me anyway, and given Bathory's rep, it'd look like I was firing a hardworking maid over a bruised ego.
"Where's Urtic Mirhane's room? I need something from there."
"I-I'll get it for you!"
"No need. Come with me."
Schuett still seemed dazed from the shock, her face blank. Looked like leaving her alone might lead to another screw-up, so I asked her to guide me.
"How long have you worked for House Mirhane?"
"E-eight... eight months.."
"Eight months."
Eight months. Not short at a glance, but way too green to be assigned exclusively to a noble lady.
"When did you start attending me?"
"S-seven months ago..."
"So you became my personal maid after just one month."
Assigned to Bathory right after her one-month probation for basics. Normally, personal maids were veterans with years of loyal service or those who meshed perfectly with their lady. Handing Bathory—a hothead who treated underlings like dirt—to a total newbie after a month screamed...
"They forced you, huh. Pushed the clueless rookie into it."
In groups like the army or offices, unwanted jobs got dumped on the lowest rung—juniors with no clout. Schuett was probably that case. A bomb passed around until it landed on the youngest, greenest one: her. Bathory must've been the household's worst assignment—no one wanted to serve a temperamental bitch.
"Sadly, I'm not a good mistress. And I don't plan to be."
Pity her, sure—but no special kindness now. The villainess Bathory Mirhane wouldn't rage over her maid getting bullied; it'd be over a mere servant defying her orders.
"So if you don't want more humiliation, figure out priorities yourself from now on."
What I'd teach Schuett: what came first, what could wait.
"No servant outranks me. I'm a Mirhane; they're just contracted hires."
No matter what blood ran in her veins, Bathory was a Mirhane. For now, at least.
"Being my personal maid means my orders trump everything. Got it?"
"Y-yes, yes.."
Strictly speaking, she didn't need to obey outsiders—not unless they were fellow Mirhanes. No matter how green or young she was.
"So if someone gives you an order that contradicts mine, what do you do?"
"Uh... well..."
I didn't expect instant change. Didn't want blind obedience either—people don't flip 180 overnight, and it'd turn her into an arrogant brat ignoring everyone.
"Then use my name."
All I wanted: this airheaded maid to engrave my words deep.
"Remember who you serve. Whose maid you are."
Stand tall against injustice.
"Don't forget, Schuett."
So I stopped her, met her eyes, and pleaded.
"You belong to me."
Don't forget who you serve.