Bath Bomb Making!
Making bath bombs! Another peaceful afternoon in the lady's room, with sunlight streaming through the window at 3 p.m. Normally, she'd be napping, but ever since Mr. B's home visit, she'd sworn off daytime sleep and was sitting in her chair for the first time in ages.
The lady glanced around like a wary cat. She was on high alert, wondering if another "B-teacher" might show up to "educate" her—the infamous reaction bait. Wrapped up tight in her blanket like a burrito, she sat at the table, reacting sensitively to the slightest movement. A rustle, and she'd flinch. A scratchy sound, and she'd hide her head under the covers. Even the shadow of a tree swaying in the breeze would make her cry out "Hieeek!" and call for me.
Burrito-blanket lady pointed at a black button on the floor with her finger.
"Ricardo, look over there…."
"Yes?"
"That... isn't a cockroach, is it?"
I bent down and picked up the black button.
"Oh..."
She peeked out from between the blankets, her face pale with fear. Seeing her so spooked made me want to tease her a bit. I stood still, staring at the button. How should I mess with her? No lies, though—I needed a way to prank her without fibbing. A sloppy joke, and she'd catch on.
I studied it intently, and when a good idea popped into my head, I suppressed a leaking grin and said to her,
"Something pretty big fell here."
"B-big...?"
"Yeah, I wonder where this came from... Ew..."
I shook my head and clenched my fist around the button. As a menacing 'crunch!' echoed through the room, the lady let out a weird yelp and flipped the blanket over her head.
"Hiiiiek... Hwaaa!!"
I thrust out my hand dramatically, and she recoiled in terror. With an innocent expression, I opened my palm to show the crumbled button pieces.
"It's just a button."
She glared at me.
"Don't mess around."
"I'm not..."
"Liar."
The lady pouted with a grumpy look. Her fierce gaze felt like a curse. Just as my lips twitched upward at her cuteness, her recently sharpened instincts kicked in—she warned me not to smile and said,
"From now on, no words starting with 'B'."
"Bug."
"Eek!!!"
She hurled a fork from the table at me.
*
Today was bath bomb making day. With the lady who'd given up napping, it was our first creative activity in a while. On the desk lay the ingredients for bath bombs and a thick open book.
Anyone Can Make Bath Bombs!
A book packed with detailed illustrations and instructions on crafting bath bombs. The lady furrowed her brow reading the guide, and I scratched my head at the unexpectedly tricky content.
"Uh... One spoonful of citric acid, five spoonfuls of food coloring?"
"No, one spoonful."
"Right."
We carefully added ingredients to the prepared beakers, focusing like cosmetic researchers. We'd even thrown on white lab coats and safety goggles for precautions—just in case—but we looked like total noobs. The desk held various items: powder for the main bath bomb base, beakers, scents to add, and molds to set them. It might be amateurish for beginners, but after Mr. B's arrival and the lady's hurt feelings, this setup was perfect for soothing her.
When the test batch was done, the lady's eyes went wide.
[Test Batch Complete]
"Oh...!"
It turned out better than expected. The color was spot-on, the round shape perfect—for a beginner's work, it was impressive.
"Is it done?"
"Yeah, I followed the book exactly, but..."
"Ooooh!"
The lady grabbed a new beaker and snorted excitedly. Her creative juices were flowing. I smiled faintly and said,
"Now let's each make our own."
-Nod nod.-
"It'll be rough since it's our first time..."
Before I finished, she tossed the blanket aside and started dumping ingredients into her beaker willy-nilly, grinning like a mad alchemist.
"Hee hee hee... My bath bomb."
An hour later, smoke rose from the lady's beaker. Black smoke, with bubbles gurgling ominously. What the hell did she make? A bad feeling hit me. I rubbed my eyes and checked again—no change.
The lady had tossed in everything: chocolate from her treasure pouch (plop, satisfied smile), toothpaste squeezed in (nod of approval). She looked like a witch brewing poison, so I asked,
"Poison?"
Zzap. She shot me a sharp glare.
"Not poison."
"Looks like poison to anyone."
She shook her head and declared,
"Vanilla ginseng mint-choco bath bomb."
"Pardon...?"
"It tastes like toothpaste. So mint choco."
"Why ginseng?"
"It's healthy."
Her incomprehensible creation. Mixing chocolate and toothpaste? Kinda got it. But ginseng... Wait, maybe not. Actually, green tea baths are good for skin—maybe this too? On second thought, she might be right. Masterpieces come from mistakes, after all.
Beaming proudly, she shoved the beaker at me.
"You use this, Ricardo."
"...That's a bit."
"Why?"
I politely declined. Even genius inventions need safety tests. Bathing in that seemed more likely to rot my skin than make me healthy.
With a wistful look, she let go of Bath Bomb No. 2 and started a new one. I needed to make mine too... Staring at my empty beaker, I pondered. Watching her artistic frenzy, I hadn't made anything. Tapping the table, I brainstormed. Rose concentrate for rose-scented? Or chocolate, her favorite?
Creative urges surging, I poured into a small beaker. One ingredient felt lacking, so ginseng, deer antler, even potion—frantically adding, I ended up with a purple-tinged poison.
The lady eyed my creation and sighed deeply.
"Ricardo. Eat that and you'll die."
"Not for eating."
"...Still die."
Honest girl. I sprinkled glittery powder on it with a smile. Pretty now, right? My triumphant grin, but to her expert eyes, mint-choco poop or glitter poison looked the same. She used to love anything pretty... Her growth was admirable yet bittersweet.
It didn't take long for decent bath bombs to form. About three hours? Not fully set but usable, they lined the table beautifully—rose, chocolate, medicinal health bombs gleaming proudly. My mood, sour since meeting Mikhail, lifted from this rare creativity.
"Oh...!"
The lady propped her chin on the table, watching them harden intently. Pointing and endlessly asking when they'd be ready, her antics drew a soft laugh from me. Peaceful times. So cozy, it erased last week's events from mind. Good thing I became a butler. A sentimental thought. Smiling gently, I said,
"Lady."
"Yeah?"
"Shall we bathe?"
Freeze. She stopped poking the warm bath bombs and looked at me, eyes sparkling with excitement. Like she'd strip right then.
"Bathe?"
"Yes."
"Baaath...?"
She nodded vigorously.
"Yeah!"
Before heading to the mansion's bathhouse, she beckoned me closer. Whispering like it was a secret, I leaned in. As our faces neared, she started petting my red messy hair like a puppy's, smiling. Don't worry, it seemed to say—but with a sharp 'snap,' she yanked out a fistful.
Awkward stares met. She hadn't meant to pull so much; I looked betrayed.
"Eh...?"
She eyed the hair in her hand awkwardly, then flashed a bright "Hee!" smile. I couldn't help laughing.
"Why pull my hair? It hurts..."
"Hurts?"
She reacted strongly, so I shook my head, denying it. Can't say it hurts carelessly.
She blew on her bandaged hand: "Hoo."
"Wrong spot that hurts."
"Just wanted to."
"Oh..."
Actually, nice. She dumped the hair into a new beaker, added powder, and mixed a bath bomb, grinning proudly.
"Ricardo-scented bath bomb."
"...No... Ha!"
Ridiculous—I burst out laughing. Ricardo fragrance? Who'd use it? Her innocent charm, using a few strands, made me pluck one of hers—three long white hairs. She teared up, rubbing her stinging scalp.
"Ow."
"Pulled it to hurt."
Eek. She clenched her fist around a stick, ready to throw. I dodged and added her hair to the "Ricardo bomb."
"Lady bath bomb."
"Oh...!"
She grabbed the beaker, beaming. She loved it. If only it stayed like this...
I muttered to the air.
"Ha..."
[Rescue Yuria.]
The situation refused to cooperate.