A Mesugaki (Adult) So Severe She Needs Treatment

The room was dark. The windows had been blotted out with curtains, and the only light came from a single small lamp burning on the desk.

"Did we really have to go this far?"

"Atmosphere is everything for this sort of thing."

I looked at Zenith sitting across from me and set my pen to the notebook.

"Now then. Next question. The other person performed far better than you expected. What do you say?"

"What. So you actually can do it if you try? The way you've been going, I figured you just didn't have any talent at all."

"Meaning?"

"..."

No answer, as expected. I didn't bother pushing her. I just lifted my fist a little.

"I-I meant it's nice to see you putting in the effort!!!!"

"Good. Next."

Zenith nodded so fast her head might have come off.

"The other person came up with an idea so good it genuinely surprised you. In that case?"

"Hmph. So that brain of yours does spit out a useful thought every now and then? I was starting to think you just don't think at all."

"Meaning."

"...It really was a good idea."

"..."

I looked at her for a long moment, then closed the notebook.

Rough diagnosis: in.

If you actually listened, she really was trying to compliment people. She told them they'd done well when she saw them working hard. She acknowledged it when they came up with something impressive. The problem was that every time the words left her mouth, she had to take a swipe at the other person first.

In other words.

The kid just can't express her feelings properly. Father-in-law... I might actually have to beat the hell out of that guy one of these days too.

"I don't know what a mesugaki is, but how long are you planning to keep up this unfunny little play?"

Zenith looked at me like she'd had enough.

"It's been bothering me since earlier. What's with the mask? And the suit? What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"What? Does it not suit me?"

I tapped the stark white mask on my face with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a knuckle. Holes for the eyes and mouth, and nothing else — a smile mask with a face that was always, eternally, beaming. And today I'd even dressed the part, black suit and all.

"A heartfelt request from my client. Please hide your identity when you walk around."

"...Father?"

"And at present I am also your personal butler and private tutor. I am not wearing a mask and concealing my identity because I enjoy it, so I would ask that you not misunderstand."

Though it's actually pretty fucking fun.

Sitting here like this, I kind of feel like an executive in some secret organization. Would it look cooler if I crossed my arms and tilted my head a little?

"Haa... what is Father even thinking..."

Zenith rubbed her forehead and muttered to herself for a while. Then she seemed to give up, and shot me a glare instead.

"So what am I supposed to call you? In front of people, do I just say butler?"

"Call me Teacher, young lady."

"Ugh..."

"Want that look wiped off your face?"

"Y-yes...! Teacher...!"

Zenith ducked her head and started trembling.

Hmm. I'd roughly diagnosed the subject. From here, the work was obvious.

Time to observe how she acted on a regular basis.

The first observation arrived sooner than expected.

Zenith said she had business and went into the drawing room, and a young maid who'd been waiting brought the tea in at once. Having me stuck to her side seemed to make the girl a little uneasy, but thanks to the mask, she showed no sign of recognizing who I was.

In front of Zenith, though, it was a different story. The hand setting down the teacup was trembling, just slightly.

"...Young Mistress. Today I prepared the tea with leaves from the south. You said last time the fragrance was a little strong, so we shortened the steep as well."

"Hmph."

Zenith took a sip. She seemed to be tasting it, then checked the aroma, and her brow lifted a fraction as if she hadn't expected that.

"Oh, you brought something a human could actually drink today? Last time I thought my tongue was going to rot."

"...I'm sorry."

"Hmph. It's not like you're stupid, so I don't understand why you only do it right after you've been chewed out every single time."

"...Th-thank you."

"Ha. Why are you shaking like that? Afraid I'm going to eat you?"

"I-I'm sorry!!!"

I quietly ran the numbers from behind.

Strip out the mesugaki phrasing and translate, and you get...

Today's tea is good. Much better than last time. I can tell you worked hard, and I'd like you to keep it up.

Something like that, probably.

But what it actually sounds like?

Why the fuuuck couldn't you do it right from the start, you piece of shit?!

Yeah. That was about the size of it.

The second one came on the way to the annex.

We were crossing the garden when I spotted an older servant crouched in front of a flower bed, trimming rose canes. I would have walked right past if I hadn't gotten closer and seen the bandage wrapped around the hand holding the shears.

Zenith saw it too. She stopped walking.

"You. What's wrong with your hand?"

The servant startled and scrambled to his feet.

"I-I nicked it a little yesterday trimming the roses! It's not a serious wound, so please don't trouble yourself!"

"You're going to keep working looking like that?"

Zenith swept a look over the bandaged hand and immediately frowned.

"What do you think you're going to accomplish when you can't even use one hand properly? If you fumble around and wreck the flower bed on top of it, I'm the one who has to clean that up too."

The servant's face went stiff in an instant.

"I-I'm sorry..."

"Haa. Forget it. Stay out of sight today and go rest. If you still look like that tomorrow, don't come out."

"H-hhk...! Yes, miss..."

The servant slunk away with his shoulders caved in.

This time there wasn't much to decode.

Strip out the mesugaki phrasing and translate, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you get...

I'm worried because you hurt your hand. Don't push yourself today — rest. And if it still hurts tomorrow, I want you to rest even more.

That was about it.

But what it actually sounds like.

Don't go fucking up the work with those useless hands — get lost! And if you're still a wreck tomorrow, don't even show your face!

"..."

The gap was enormous. She'd already turned compliments into backhanded slaps, and now she'd taken genuine concern and run it through a termination-notice filter.

No room left for doubt. This girl just had a talking problem.

"Young lady."

I only opened my mouth once the two of us were alone in the garden.

"From now on, when you speak to other people, it would be best if you softened it. Just a little."

"...What now? I didn't even do anything this time."

She looked genuinely wronged. Fair enough. She probably knew her tone wasn't great. The real question, for her, was why she should bother fixing it.

"Just now, you told the man with the injured hand to rest, yes?"

"Of course I did. What if he kept working with his hand like that and got hurt worse?"

"Exactly."

I glanced once in the direction the servant had gone, then looked back at Zenith.

"Then just say that. Your hand is hurt, so rest today. If you get hurt worse, it'll be a real problem."

Zenith's eyes narrowed.

"...The tone is different. It's the same thing."

"It is not even remotely the same thing. What you just said was, 'Don't wreck the flower bed working in that state — get lost.'"

"...I know. I know I'm not exactly graceful with words."

She crossed her arms, a little irritated.

"So what? I told him to rest. I told him he could rest even more if he got hurt. Do I have to smile and go, 'Does it hurt a lot? Please get plenty of rest today'?"

"I'm not asking you to go that far. I'm saying you don't need to talk to people like they're incompetent."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why."

"Was I wrong?"

The tea had been the same. If it tastes good, say it tastes good. If they did well, say they did well. And it wasn't that Zenith didn't know that. She knew — and she still bolted on things like for you, at least, now you're finally acting like a person.

"I'm telling you to drop those barbed little add-ons."

"...No."

The answer came faster than I expected.

"Why not?"

"Because I've lived my whole life this way."

Her expression hardened a little.

"Father always talked like that too. If I did well, he told me to do better next time. If I failed, he told me to snap out of it. That's how I learned."

"That doesn't mean it's a good way of talking."

"Why would I need a 'good way of talking'?"

This time she raised her voice first.

"You think people listen to me because they're trying to match my mood? They listen because I'm the next head of the house. Because I'm stronger than they are. Because I'm not someone they can treat however they want!"

"Sis."

"I saw with my own eyes how people treated Iris when she looked weak. The second you look like an easy mark, their whole attitude changes!"

Zenith clenched her teeth.

"And now you want me to suddenly talk all sweet, smile and compliment people, and honestly say I'm worried?"

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Because it looks weak!"

The words burst out of her, and even she shut her mouth for a second. But it was already too late to stop.

"I can't live like that. I have to stay on top. I can't let anyone think they can push me around."

Her voice started to fray.

"I've lived my whole life this way, and now you suddenly want me to change... what am I even supposed to do?"

"..."

"What... what am I supposed to do to make it good..."

I looked at her for a while.

"Sniff... why are you looking at me like that..."

"...Sis."

I raised my hand.

"Want that look off your face? The hell do you think you're doing, pulling the sympathy card? You wanna die?"

I made a show of lifting my fist.

"I-I'm sorry!!!!"

Zenith bolted upright like she'd been electrocuted.

Works like a charm.

A little later I went back to the room I was using for now and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Tsk... how the hell am I supposed to teach this..."

I'd thought it was just a speech problem. The problem ran deeper than that.

That way of talking didn't look like a habit on Zenith so much as a survival instinct.

Speak gently to someone → isn't that just letting them look down on you? → obviously you'll get ignored.

Some kind of miraculous three-step logic had set up shop in her head.

"So even if I force the speech pattern, it won't mean anything."

In front of me she'd do as she was told, obviously. One lifted fist and she was dropping honorifics like a champion. But once I was gone? Within a few days she'd be right back to Hmph, not bad for you.

And I couldn't spend the rest of my life glued to her side, raising a fist every time she misspoke. More to the point, I wasn't a counselor. I had no idea how to take apart why someone's heart got built that way, or how you were supposed to treat trauma, or any of that.

Which is why I'd even asked the AI.

"AI. How do I even fix that?"

"So what am I supposed to do, then?"

"That's you telling me to back off. Isn't it?"

"You crazy bitch!"

"If I'd known it would come to this, I would've actually listened to Dr. Oh Eun-young..."

Back then I'd just scrubbed through at 2x speed and skimmed for the gist.

Anyway. So ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠what's the conclusion.

"In the end, she has to get it herself..."

That speaking a little more gently does not instantly make you an easy mark. I had to get Zenith to accept that on her own.

Grrrrrowl—

I'd been turning it over for a while when a familiar sound came from my stomach.

"..."

Ah. To hell with thinking. Food first.

I got up and headed straight for the dining hall.

I left the room and started toward the dining hall, and from the other end of the corridor a woman I'd never seen before was coming this way. Long, pale golden hair and a calm, composed dress. From the face alone, she looked to be in her late thirties or so.

And.

"...This is a whole different flavor from Unit 1..."

"...Flavor?"

"Ah. Nothing."

That one slipped out of my mouth. Close call.

She didn't seem to find it particularly strange. She glanced at the mask on my face, then smiled, soft and easy.

"Would you happen to be the gentleman who has taken on the role of Zenith's new tutor?"

"...You know who I am?"

"I heard from the Patriarch. He told me that if I saw a young man walking around in a smiling mask, I shouldn't be alarmed."

"Ah..."

"He also added that you are a little unhinged, quite mad, rather free-spirited, and that you may occasionally appear to have taken leave of your senses."

Father-in-law. How exactly did you describe me.

"Leon, was it?"

"That's right. And you are..."

"I'm late with my introduction."

She took a light hold of her skirt and bowed her head.

"I am Menith, First Wife of House Meyrud."

"First Wife?"

Hold on. First Wife meant she was sis's birth mother. Now that I looked, the shape of the eyes was oddly similar to Zenith's. The difference being that one pair scraped you raw on sight, and this pair was a lot softer.

No, more importantly...

"If it isn't too rude of me to ask — how old are you this year?"

"My age?"

It must have come out of nowhere, because Menith blinked once.

"I've turned thirty-nine this year."

"..."

Zenith, twenty-four. Menith, thirty-nine. A fifteen-year gap. Which meant...?

FATHER-IN-LAW YOU CRAZY PEDO BASTAAAAARD—!!!

I filed a serious internal complaint against my father-in-law's character, then cleared my throat.

"Ahem. Was there something you needed from me? I wouldn't think I'm anyone you'd be glad to see."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well..."

No need to spell this one out in detail.

"A few days ago I beat the hell out of your daughter."

"Heh."

Menith laughed, quietly.

"It would be a lie to say I was glad. No matter what she may have done wrong, what mother would feel good watching her own daughter take a beating like that?"

"Then why are you laughing?"

"I find it a little fascinating."

She looked at me as if choosing her words.

"I've never seen Zenith listen to anyone so readily. She never properly listened to the Patriarch, and she listened to me even less."

Is she talking about how sis slammed into honorifics the second I so much as lifted a fist? And when did she even see that?

"I know that child has done wrong. So I have no intention of resenting you. That said, I also have no intention of saying anything so strange as thank you for hitting my daughter."

"That's a relief."

If I'd gotten a thank-you for beating her kid, even I would have felt a little burdened. It's not like I was the kind of person who enjoyed hitting people.

Scratch that.

"That said... I am, if I'm honest, a little hopeful."

"In me?"

"Yes. I found myself thinking that if it were you, you might be able to teach that child something."

Menith lowered her gaze for a moment and toyed with her fingertips.

"...A different way of living. One I, in the end, could never show her."

"..."

These useless bastards. Why does every last person in this family dump the things they couldn't do onto me?

I was a tutor who'd taken five thousand gold coins for a few days of work. I was not House Meyrud's live-in family therapist.

"...I leave her in your care, then."

Menith said it quietly, and bowed her head with care.

"From the time she was small, Zenith never properly received the Patriarch's love. When she did well, she was given the next task instead of praise. If she showed even a little weakness, she was scolded harshly."

"..."

"And sometimes she was taken to the rod, as well."

Taken to the rod... The rod?

...Hold on.

The problem I'd been grinding myself against until a second ago snagged, strangely, on that one word.

Sis was like that. No matter how much you explained it in words, she couldn't accept why she should change her way of doing things.

And yet? Show her one fist and she understood perfectly.

...Hold on.

Sis. She was far more used to getting her feedback through her body than being taught with words...?

"Eureka."

"...?"

Found it. The educational policy for the Zenith Rehabilitation Project.

"Missy-ajumma."

"...Missy?"

"That's a good idea."

"...?"

Menith tilted her head at me.

Dusk. On the outskirts of the city, the dwarf Dmeros — forty years running the same magic tool shop — was in the warehouse sorting inventory. Business had been decent today. A little earlier an employee had come back saying a customer was looking for a good staff, and had taken several out onto the floor. Dmeros, without thinking much of it, had told him to show the man everything they had.

And then.

CRACK—!

Something snapped in the shop.

"...?"

At first he figured someone had just dropped a staff. Then—

SNAP—!

That one was unmistakable. Dmeros set down the ledger in his hands and started toward the shop.

"What keeps breaking..."

He opened the door and stopped dead.

A black suit. An unsettling smile mask covering the entire face. And at that man's feet, staves that had been merchandise until a moment ago lay scattered in pieces.

"..."

Dmeros slowly turned to look at the employee standing beside him.

"The hell is that bastard doing?"

The employee already looked like he was about to cry.

"I don't know either! He told me to bring out every good compact staff we had, said he'd buy them all, and stacked the gold first. But then he started picking them up one by one and saying he didn't like them..."

CRACK—!

Another staff snapped in two before the explanation had even finished.

"GRAAAAH!!! FUCK!!! THIS IS NOT THE GRIP!!!!"

"...!!!!"

Dmeros's eyes went huge.

"WHY ARE YOU BREAKING THAT, YOU LUNATIC!!!!!!"

He bolted forward in a panic, but he was already too late. The man ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠picked up the staff right next to him, clenched the handle, rolled it around in his palm a few times, and then—

WHOOSH—!

"..."

He seemed to consider it for a second.

"GRAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!! THIS ISN'T IT EITHER!!!!!!"

SNAP!

"YOU CRAZY SON OF A BITCH!!!!!!!"

The dwarf's scream rang long and loud down the street as the sun went down.