Chapter 8
Chapter 8
First Meeting (7)
"Brat? Who are you calling a brat?"
Yuki’s voice dropped an octave. The fingers that had been hovering near my shirt buttons tightened slightly.
The relaxed villainous aura from earlier was gone, replaced by the gaze of a pride-wounded adolescent girl glaring at me.
"Isn’t it a fact? You’re shorter than me, and more importantly... in terms of ‘curves,’ you’re still incomplete. My preference is for a more fully developed, mature woman."
I replied cynically, gently removing her hand.
In truth, Yuki was already impressive for her age, but right now escaping this strange atmosphere was the priority.
If I entertained it any further, I might actually discover the real meaning of that “hot time.”
"Ha! Preference? Don’t make me laugh... what a petty guy."
Yuki bit her lip in frustration and threw a towel toward the corner of the training ground.
Her muttered words came out faintly.
"This won’t do. Ian, you’re staying here tonight."
"What? What nonsense is that now?"
"The village girls are blocking the gate. What do you think will happen if you go out now? Unless you want to drown in eel extract, quietly sleep in my guest room."
Without waiting for my answer, she walked off toward the main building.
From beyond the gates, Kara’s loud voice echoed again.
"Ian—! Don’t trust the noble lady—! We’re waiting for you—!"
...Going out now would definitely be suicide.
The guest room Yuki gave me was larger than the living room of most commoner homes.
Lying on the soft bed and staring at the ceiling, I realized just how long this day had been.
Just this morning, I was an ordinary peaceful village boy.
Now I was the tragic protagonist—at least in the villagers’ eyes—being “imprisoned and tortured” in a noble lady’s mansion.
Knock, knock.
A cautious knock, and a maid entered.
She carried warm milk and cookies.
"Ian, are you really alright? If Lady Yuki treats you too harshly, please tell me. I’ll secretly contact the Ian Protection Squad for you."
Her eyes were already teary.
Ever since Yuki mentioned feeding me to torment me more, I had apparently been confirmed as a pitiful victim in her mind as well.
"...I’m really fine. The food was good, and the room is warm."
"Oh my... you’re being threatened, aren’t you? If you say you’re not okay, Lady Yuki will punish you even more, right? I understand. You’re enduring it bravely."
The maid grabbed my hand tightly, her expression resolute.
"Don’t worry. Tomorrow morning, I’ll secretly bring in the eel extract Kara prepared through the kitchen. You’ll need strength to endure Lady Yuki’s torture!"
"No, please don’t do that."
My desperate protest seemed to reach her as the tragic cry of someone too afraid of punishment to refuse.
She nodded sadly and left the room.
This is bad. Tomorrow’s menu just got worse.
Late at night, Yuki’s bedroom.
Moonlight softly filled the quiet room, spilling through the curtains and cascading over her silver hair.
Yuki sat at the head of her bed, staring blankly at her palm.
The sensation from earlier—when she tried to grab Ian’s wrist but was instead subdued—still lingered at her fingertips.
"...So annoying."
She muttered quietly, her face flushing.
In her mind, Ian’s sharp movements replayed over and over, along with the warmth of his body and breath when he had overpowered her.
Every man she had seen before had soft, delicate hands, suited for holding embroidery needles or pens.
But Ian’s hands were different.
They weren’t rough, yet each joint held a firmness she hadn’t expected, and the way he threw her to the ground had been enough to send chills down her spine—even for someone raised in a noble family.
Yuki lay down on her bed, smiling faintly as she replayed the day.
Then she stood up and walked to the full-length mirror.
Through her thin silk nightwear, her silhouette was visible.
"What part of me is incomplete, you idiot Ian."
The reflection still carried traces of youth.
But her body, honed through constant training, was nothing like the soft figures of typical noble ladies.
A smooth waistline without excess.
Firm thighs shaped by endless sword practice.
She was not a delicate flower, but a sharp rose yet to fully bloom.
Her beauty was unmatched among noble ladies, yet Ian’s words echoed in her ears.
"I prefer mature, glamorous women over bratty little girls."
"Fully developed... glamorous...?"
Yuki traced her own chest line with her hand.
Firm muscles met her touch, but they lacked the overwhelming curves of the “mature woman” Ian described.
"That guy’s taste is so crude."
She frowned, glaring at her reflection.
Her brows furrowed as she leaned closer, examining her upper chest and hips.
"Am I lacking? No... that can’t be. Compared to that florist girl or the blacksmith’s daughter..."
She stopped mid-thought, covering her face.
To think she was standing here, affected by a single comment from a boy pretending to be weak.
She felt like a child, stripped bare and waiting for judgment under his indifferent gaze.
"Hmph. He has no eye for things."
She tilted her head at the mirror.
Her lips pouted, but her eyes burned.
"Heh... a brat, is it?"
She looked at herself again.
Still a girl—but with a body shaped by discipline, undeniably appealing.
"Just wait, Ian. I’ll show you what that ‘completed form’ you’re talking about really is."
She picked up Ian’s handkerchief from the desk.
It carried a faint scent of paper and forest.
Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled deeply.
Thump.
Her heartbeat echoed loudly in the quiet room.
Yuki clutched her chest tightly.
"So strong... yet acting like a pathetic fool."
Ian wanted to hide and live quietly.
But Yuki wanted to pull him into the world.
No—more than that, she wanted to make sure no one else could ever reach him.
"Good night, my teacher."
She placed the handkerchief in her most treasured box and slowly lay down.
The next morning, the mansion’s atmosphere felt heavier and more suffocating than before.
It wasn’t just imagination.
"...Ian, are you awake?"
The same maid entered, carrying a tray.
Her eyes were swollen, as if she hadn’t slept.
"Yes, miss. Good morning... I think?"
I trailed off at the fishy smell filling the air.
With a solemn expression, she lifted the lid of the tray.
Alongside a premium omelet sat a mysterious black bowl.
"I brought it as promised. Kara’s heartfelt preparation... delivered secretly through the gate."
"No, why would you actually—"
"Drink it! Quickly, before Lady Yuki comes! You need this to survive today’s torture!"
She held out the bowl, nearly in tears.
Inside, black bubbles rose and popped like something alive from the abyss.
This isn’t medicine—it’s poison.
I calculated my escape routes.
But the maid’s desperate eyes made escape impossible.
Damn it... fine, just one sip.
Just as I reached out—
Bang!
The door burst open, and Yuki stormed in, dressed in more formal attire than usual.
"Ian! Get ready immed—ugh, what is that rotten fish smell?!"
She covered her nose and stepped back.
Her gaze landed on the black bowl in my hand.
"Emily, what are you feeding my guest? That’s not that sewer extract, is it?"
"L-Lady Yuki! This is for Ian’s survival—!"
"Confiscated."
With a flick of her hand, the tray lifted, the bowl spinning once in the air before landing neatly in her grasp.
She looked inside and made a horrified face.
"Ian, were you really going to drink this? Do you want to die?"
"I was trying to live."
"Don’t say nonsense. Come with me. Now. This isn’t the time for this."
Yuki grabbed my wrist.
Her grip was stronger than usual.
"My mother... has come from the capital."