Like Spring Sunlight
The crackle of spring sunlight... In the young lady's room, where the sound of burning firewood echoed. Having woken from a nightmare, she leaned against my shoulders—broader than the Pacific—and opened her drowsy eyes.
Our standoff had dragged on late into the night: her trying to strip me down versus my Confucian-possessed sense of propriety. Exhausted from the battle, she'd finally raised the white flag and proposed a truce.
"Don't look! It's dirty and unfair...!"
"I'm probably the only butler in the world getting sexually harassed by his lady."
"What are you saying! You even know my panty color."
"That's because I prepare them for you. For the record, today's are plain sky blue with a little bear..."
"Eeeeek! Shut up!"
Just as always, the young lady loved pranks that exceeded my wildest expectations. The moment she woke from her dream, she demanded to see her butler's naked body—what did that even mean? It was perfectly wholesome sexual harassment. Besides, lately I'd been sneaking her midnight snacks, so my abs had softened a bit. It was a poor time to show off.
No matter what, a butler should display his splendid abs only when properly prepared. A month ago, if she'd asked, I would've pretended to be shy while subtly flexing. But after the Desmont family assaulted my diet, showing her my blurred abs was downright embarrassing.
Unaware of her butler's desire to always appear flawless, the young lady fixed her cheeky gaze on me.
"I hate you."
"Can't be helped."
"Still hate you."
"I could show you my arms, though."
Intrigued, the young lady rolled her eyes dramatically and stared at my sturdy wrists.
"You gonna show me?"
"It's just an arm—why say it so lewdly?"
"'Cause Ricardo's a perv."
"...Well."
Couldn't deny that. The young lady blankly admired my rolled-up sleeve, the bulging veins on my forearm. Feeling my heartbeat through it, she smiled with an 'oh...' of relief.
She poked it with a tap.
"Mm."
Then chomp—she bit down.
"Young lady."
"Hm?"
With her teeth sunk into my arm, she rolled her eyes up at me. My forearm screamed, slathered in saliva. Something felt broken, and my brow furrowed.
"It's not food."
"I know. (I know.)"
"Then why bite it?"
"Tethth if ith thtrong. (Testing if it's healthy.)"
Meeting my dubious gaze, she looked embarrassed, released my arm, and wiped the drool from her mouth. No clue why she didn't wipe the spit off my arm, but when it came to hygiene, I considered her the world's worst villainess.
"Pass."
"Good?"
"Yeah."
At least she passed me, so that was a relief. Nodding, she leaned back on my shoulder and gazed at the crackling campfire.
"Ricardo."
"Yes."
Having granted her approval, the young lady looked glum. Maybe because the pass felt too easy? No, that wasn't it. Still haunted by her nightmare, she kept glancing at my body with teary eyes, clutching my hand and flirting coyly.
"Hey."
"Listening, but could you let go of my hand first?"
"Why?"
"The world's most beautiful woman holding my hand is such an honor, my heart can't take it. Feels like I'll drop dead from a heart attack."
"Hiet... What're you saying."
Delighted by the praise, she smiled faintly and gripped my hand tighter.
"No.... Sigh..."
It was sincere, but she took it as a joke. My heart really might give out.
Her breathing turned seductive for no reason as she buried her face in my shoulder, swallowing a pleased smile. Gazing at the softly burning campfire, she asked in a quiet voice,
"I've always wondered. Can I ask?"
"Ask and it hurts."
Squint... She shot me a fierce glare for the lame pun I'd studied from a book. Hurt by her icy reaction, I let out a hollow chuckle.
"Kidding."
"Not funny. Banned."
"I'll hold back."
"Don't hold back—just don't."
"Hm..."
She was firm. A brief silence fell, and I pondered what question she'd drop. Whatever it was, the heavy atmosphere meant something serious. Pretending to mull it over, I nodded.
"I'll answer depending on the question."
"Expensive."
"My lady's priceless, so I have to charge accordingly. Understand?"
"...Fine."
Loving such banter, she smiled shyly and bowed her head.
"Hey."
"Yes."
"Ricardo."
She took a deep breath and asked in a trembling voice,
"Why are you by my side?"
"Sharp question."
"Decided to ask today, no matter what."
"Couldn't you dull it a bit?"
"Nightmare was too scary today. Can't."
"What a... nasty dream."
She bowed her head, waiting for my answer. Her fingers danced anxiously in my gripped hand, as if dreading the response. I could sense her worries from that twitch: maybe I was here on the family head's orders, or sticking around just for back pay.
She repeated why she was asking, her small, shaky voice painting herself as the villain. Questioning if there was any reason to stay by her fallen side.
"You don't listen, no money—why stay by me?"
"Hmm..."
"Can't even walk now, and like you said, my personality's rotten—why...?"
Her voice came tiny, like a cat squeezing into a mouse hole. Muffled, pleading not to leave. Desperate.
"Why stay by me? You know... I can't give you anything anymore."
"Can't buy you fancy clothes like before, no luxuries, and it's embarrassing to say you're serving Desmont's lady—why stay?"
I listened silently to her lament, quite surprised. A villainess with such self-awareness? It shocked me that she, who always lived off her superiority, harbored these doubts. And I felt sorry for driving her to say it.
If I'd worked harder, would she have needed to ask? Regret gnawed at me.
Silence stretched between us, filled by crackling firewood. Her fear of my words, my pondering—the tension made our clasped hands sweat. One log burned out in that quiet.
Hesitantly, I spoke.
"Yeah."
Foolish as always, my answer started with "Yeah." Because even I didn't know.
If I'd sought success like she said, I'd have ditched her long ago for another path. Could've outshone Yuria and Mikhail as a genius. But no—I valued her more than advancement.
Honor, wealth, success—none beat time with her. In a calm voice, I carefully gave the answer she'd waited for.
"Staying by your always-shining side has raised my standards."
"..."
"Don't shops display tons of jewels?"
"Jewels...?"
"Yeah, jewels. Spot one you like among many, and the rest fade away... You're like that to me."
"What even is that."
"Means I prefer you over success."
"..."
"Don't fall for me. I'm greedy."
"Shameless."
"What can I do? I'm that great."
I grinned through the silly banter.
"Anyway, I enjoy being with you."
Embarrassing to say aloud, cringey even, but the campfire's soft glow eased the words out.
"The bond from our childhood makes that jewel shine."
"Our first meeting's fierce fistfight polished a raw stone into this."
"And..."
I pinched her cheek, gazing at the fire.
"What can I do? The raw gem called you is too pretty. Jewels are meant to lift your mood just by looking, right?"
"Eugh... Let gooo."
"No way. Polish that jewel shine after so long."
"Eeeeek! It hurts!"
"Puhaha!"
I smiled down at her.
"This is what I like. Watching you strut on your high horse is fun."
My old tales are dull. From our first meeting to now—boring, mundane. So I'll set the past aside for now.
Sometimes I ponder why I serve her. Reasons to tend to her grumbles and tantrums?
But to me, she was a shining gem. Sure, her temper was a bitch, but slum days—sitting by filthy beggars, begging together—those memories glowed brightest, funniest.
That's why she's so endearing.
Suddenly, old thoughts surfaced. Etiquette lessons: her dozing at the desk. Warm sunlight bathing her.
I chuckled unwittingly.
Ah. Driving me crazy. Like spring sunlight.