First Meeting (7)
The moment I called her a brat, Yuki’s voice dropped an octave. The fingers that had been circling the buttons of my shirt suddenly tightened.
The relaxed villainess aura she’d worn just seconds ago vanished. In its place was the sharp glare of a pride-scratched adolescent girl boring straight into me.
“Isn’t it just the facts?” I answered dryly, gently prying her hand away. “You’re shorter than me, and above all, those… curves are still somewhat unfinished. My taste runs toward more mature, fully developed women.”
In truth, Yuki was impressive for her age, but right now the priority was escaping this bizarre atmosphere. If I let things continue, I was going to learn the true meaning of “hot time” whether I wanted to or not.
“Hah! Taste? Don’t make me laugh… You cheap bastard.”
Yuki bit her lip in clear frustration, then snatched up a towel from the corner of the training ground and hurled it with a huff. A small mutter slipped out behind it.
“This won’t do. Ian. You’re sleeping here tonight.”
“Excuse me? What kind of nonsense is that?”
“The village kids are blocking the main gate like that. What do you think will happen if you walk out now? If you don’t want to drown in an eel-juice terror attack, stay quietly in my guest room.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She simply turned on her heel and marched toward the main building.
From far beyond the window, near the gate, Kara’s booming voice rang out once more.
…Going outside right now would genuinely be suicidal.
The guest room Yuki assigned me was larger than the living room of any ordinary commoner house. I lay on the fluffy bed, staring at the ceiling, and realized just how absurdly long the day had been.
Only this morning I had been a peaceful commoner boy. Now I was the tragic protagonist (at least in the villagers’ eyes) suffering “house-arrest torture” inside a noble lady’s mansion.
Knock, knock.
A cautious knock preceded the maid’s entrance. She carried warm milk and cookies on a tray.
“Ian, are you hurting anywhere? If Lady Yuki treats you too harshly, you must tell me. I’ll secretly contact the Ian Protection Squad.”
The maid’s eyes were already glistening with tears. Ever since Yuki had declared she would “feed me to torment me more,” it seemed the woman had already cast me as a pitiful sacrificial lamb in her mind.
“…I’m really fine. The meat was delicious, and the room is warm.”
“Oh heavens… You’re being threatened, aren’t you? She ordered you to say you’re fine or she’d use even worse torture, right? I understand, Ian. You’re enduring it with a brave heart.”
She gripped my hand tightly, her expression resolute.
“Don’t worry. Tomorrow morning I’ll secretly bring in the eel juice Kara delivered through the kitchen. You’ll need the strength to survive Lady Yuki’s torture!”
“No, please, I beg you—don’t.”
My desperate plea seemed to reach her ears as the tragic cry of someone too afraid of the lady’s surveillance to accept help. She nodded sadly and left the room.
I was doomed. The breakfast menu had just gained a terrifying new item.
Deep in the night, inside Yuki’s bedroom.
Moonlight gently seeped through the curtains, filling the room with silence. The soft glow slid along Yuki’s hair as she sat at the head of her bed, staring blankly at her own palm.
The sensation from earlier—when she had tried to seize Ian’s wrist in the training ground only to be reversed and pinned—still lingered at her fingertips.
“…So annoying.”
She murmured it quietly, cheeks flushing red. In her head, the sharp movements Ian had shown in the training ground replayed again and again, along with the body heat and breath she had felt when he subdued her.
Until now, every man’s hand Yuki had seen had been soft and delicate, optimized for holding embroidery needles or pens at best. But Ian’s hands were different.
They weren’t crude, yet the power residing in every joint was far firmer than she had imagined. The way he had slammed her to the floor had sent chills down her spine—even she, raised in a noble house, had felt it.
Yuki lay back on the bed, smiling faintly as she replayed the day’s events.
She rose again and walked to the full-length mirror. Her eyes traced the silhouette visible through her thin silk nightgown.
“Where exactly is it unfinished, you idiot Ian?”
The girl in the mirror still carried traces of youth. Yet the body tempered by daily training was on an entirely different level from the soft, flabby figures of ordinary noble ladies.
A smooth waistline with not an ounce of excess flesh. Thighs toned and powerful from swinging a sword. She was not a delicate flower, but a sharp rose on the verge of full bloom.
Her beauty would not lose to any young lady in high society, yet Ian’s voice echoed in her ears like a hallucination.
I prefer a curvaceous older lady over a flat-chested brat.
“Fully developed form… curvaceous older lady…?”
Yuki ran her own hand down her chest line. She felt firm muscle, but it was still far from the overwhelming curves of the mature woman Ian had described.
“His tastes really are vulgar.”
She frowned and glared at her reflection. Her brow furrowed deeply as she stepped closer to the mirror, carefully studying the upper curve of her chest and the line of her hips.
“Is it lacking? No, that can’t be. It’s far more than that flower-shop girl or the blacksmith’s daughter in the village…”
The moment the thought finished, self-loathing crashed over her. She covered her face with both hands.
How ridiculous—getting happy and sad over a single comment from a man pretending to be a weak commoner, then standing in front of a mirror checking her own figure. Feeling like a naked child waiting for a report card beneath those dry eyes.
“Hmph. He simply has no eye for beauty.”
She tilted her head at the mirror. Her lips pouted, yet her eyes burned with heat.
“Hehe… calling me a brat, are you?”
She scanned her body in the mirror once more. Though traces of a girl remained, the firm lines forged by training were undeniably attractive.
“Just wait, Ian. I will show you exactly what that ‘fully developed form’ of yours looks like.”
She picked up Ian’s handkerchief from the desk. It still carried the faint scent of paper and forest that clung to him. Yuki brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply.
Thump.
Her heartbeat echoed loudly in the quiet room. She clutched her chest tightly.
“So strong… yet putting on such a pathetic act.”
Ian claimed he only wanted a peaceful daily life and tried to hide, but Yuki wanted to drag him out into the world. More than that—though she couldn’t quite explain it—she wanted to make him hers so completely that no one else could ever reach him.
“Good night, my master.”
She placed the handkerchief inside the most precious box beside her bed and slowly lay down.
The next morning the air inside the mansion felt heavier and stickier than the day before. It wasn’t just her imagination.
“…Ian, are you awake?”
The same maid from yesterday entered with a tray. Her eyes were swollen. It looked like she hadn’t slept at all.
“Yes, Miss Maid. Good mor…ning?”
I trailed off as a fishy stench stabbed my nose. Emily lifted the lid with a solemn expression. Beside a luxurious omelet sat a bowl of unidentifiable black liquid.
“As promised. I had it delivered secretly through the gap in the main gate without the chef noticing… It’s Kara’s heartfelt gift.”
“Wait, why did you actually—”
“Drink it! Before Lady Yuki arrives! You need this to endure today’s torture!”
Emily held out the bowl, nearly in tears. Black bubbles rose and popped inside like some abyssal creature surfacing.
This isn’t a tonic. It’s poison. I quickly calculated the most efficient escape route.
But the maid’s desperate gaze proved impossible to evade even with my abilities. Damn it… just one sip, then.
The instant my trembling hand reached for the bowl—
BANG—!
The door flew open violently. Yuki stormed in wearing far more ornate formal attire than usual.
“Ian! Prepare yourself right— ugh, what is this rotten-fish stench?!”
She covered her nose and stepped back. Her eyes locked onto the black bowl in my hand.
“Emily. What exactly are you trying to feed my guest? That had better not be gutter extract.”
“M-My lady! This is for Ian’s survival—!”
“Confiscated!”
Yuki gave the tray a light tap. The bowl spun once through the air and landed neatly in her hand. She peered inside and her face filled with horror.
“Ian, were you really going to drink this? Do you have a death wish?”
“I was trying to drink it because I want to live.”
“Don’t talk nonsense! Come on, follow me. We don’t have time for this.”
Yuki seized my wrist. Her grip was far stronger than usual.
“Mother has arrived… from the capital.”