The Curtain Rises on a Cruel Play

The night of the play was short, but the long agony refused to end so easily. As the faint light of dawn crept in, my eyes remained bloodshot, not having caught a single moment of sleep. My insides ached from the terrible decision I had made, yet there was no turning back now. My final performance for Yua was beginning today.

As the dim dawn broke, a familiar warmth pressed against my back. It was Yua, fast asleep. She clung to me as always, her small breaths soft and pure. The gentle heat from her little body and the faint scent of soap filled every one of my senses. The habit of meeting her clear eyes each morning and gently stroking her hair rose unbidden. I moved to do exactly that before catching myself. Instead, my gaze slid past her soft hair toward the window, where the world outside had frozen solid.

The scenery beyond was dyed in the same gray as my heart.

When morning sunlight finally spilled across the study windows, Yua stirred and opened her eyes. Still heavy with sleep, she tilted her head and looked up at me with that innocent, childlike face. On the wooden board held in her small hands, neat handwriting appeared stroke by stroke.

The small letters brimmed with the same affection they always held for me. The worry woven into every character made my chest ache even more because it was so achingly familiar.

I forced my emotions down and avoided her eyes.

“You’re awake.”

A single, toneless remark. Far too short. Far too cold. Words that should have been “Did you sleep well?” or “Good morning, Yua. Did you rest comfortably?” delivered with warmth were now reduced to this.

My voice had frozen over. It sounded so sharp that even I barely recognized it.

Yua tilted her head again. Her brows drew together slightly. The change was tiny, yet she sensed it at once. An uncomfortable, unfamiliar tension wrapped around her entire frame.

Even so, she was still the pure Yua I knew. So she drew closer, trying to cling to my arm like always.

The moment her warm hand reached for me, I twisted away. As if avoiding something filthy I didn’t want to touch. The motion was sharp. Deliberate. Cruel.

Her small hand froze helplessly in mid-air. Her eyes flew wide. Surprise, confusion, and a faint flicker of pain washed across her face like a shadow.

Letters appeared slowly on her wooden board once more.

Her gaze looked like that of a child confronted with something she couldn’t understand. I had never seen that expression on her before.

Without a word, I shot up from the bed. I didn’t give her a single glance. If I saw her face—saw that wounded look—my resolve would surely crumble.

“Prepare breakfast. There’s no time to lie around lazily in bed. You’re my exclusive maid. Do your job. Stop wasting time on useless thoughts.”

My voice was deliberately cold, merciless. The pain of referring to her as nothing more than “exclusive maid” instead of the name I once spoke like the most precious thing in the world felt like it was choking me. My chest tightened until it hurt to breathe.

Yua’s lips parted and closed soundlessly. The bewilderment and sorrow flooding her clear eyes stabbed into me like the blade I had driven into her.

Breakfast was hell.

Yua had, as always, carefully laid out my favorite dishes. Warm soup, freshly baked bread, fragrant homemade jam. She used to smile softly and meet my eyes whenever she offered them.

But I acted as though the food held no interest for me whatsoever. I prodded the bowl with my spoon and muttered indifferently.

“You serve this tasteless garbage every single time. Is this really the best your senses can manage? I’m sick of it. The same thing over and over.”

I deliberately spread far too much jam on the bread and let it smear messily across the clean plate.

Yua’s hand flinched. I watched the blood drain from her face. She lowered her head. Her expression was hidden behind the steam rising from the soup, but I knew tears had gathered in her eyes.

The sight made breathing difficult. My heart thudded heavily.

But I could not retreat. This play could not stop.

“I’ve lost my appetite. Clear it all away.”

I stood up abruptly. Not a single spoonful of the warm soup had been touched. The freshly baked bread remained untouched.

To make her clean up a meal that had barely been eaten at all—Yua’s small shoulders shrank inward.

With trembling hands, she wrote on her board.

She approached cautiously and tried to press her hand to my forehead. That familiar touch, overflowing with worry and love.

Once again I recoiled as if repulsed by something filthy. This time even more violently.

“Don’t touch me. It’s dirty. And why do you keep doing these pointless things? I have no interest in a maid’s well-being. Just carry out the orders you’ve been given. Do you honestly believe someone like you has any right to interfere with me?”

Her face turned deathly white in an instant. Her hand froze in the air. Her eyes lost their focus and shook violently, like a lost fledgling.

Pain crushed my heart. I saw her lips tremble.

Without another word I turned and strode toward the study.

Yua remained rooted to the spot for a long time, as if nailed there.

Just as I reached for the doorknob, her small hand moved across the board once more. The strokes looked slower and more painful than ever.

My footsteps faltered. Every night we had read together—either in her bed or in the study. It had been her favorite time. The way her clear eyes sparkled before sleep, the way she waited eagerly for the next page… all of it flashed through my mind.

The desperate longing in those tiny letters nearly shattered my resolve. My breath caught.

No. I cannot waver. This is the last chance. My final and most important duty.

I gripped the doorknob until my knuckles turned white.

“Enough nonsense. How long do you plan to act like a child? Read it yourself. You know how to read now, don’t you? I’m busy. I have no time to indulge your worthless little hobbies. Did you really think someone like you could waste my time? Know your place.”

I slammed the door shut without looking back, as cold and final as an iron gate.

Bang!

The dull sound reverberated down the corridor. I desperately covered my ears, trying to block out the tiny, fragile sobs that followed—sobs that sounded as if they might shatter at any moment.

This was the last and worst gift I could give her.

Sitting alone in the study, I stared out the window. Even with my eyes closed, her wounded gaze and trembling shoulders haunted me vividly. Every harsh word I had spoken returned like a blade carving out my own heart, bringing tenfold the pain.

It would have been easier to be torn apart and die on the battlefield. But I had three days left. In those three days, I had to become the most filthy, most humiliating existence in her memories. So that when she looked at me, only hatred would rise. So that instead of mourning my death, she could laugh with relief. Because only hatred could protect her.

The door closed. It was the study door. The sound of my heart shattering into pieces, the dull rupture of my entire world collapsing.

My body froze like stone where I stood. In my rigidly stiffened hands was the wooden board carrying the story I had hoped Leo would finish reading to me. It felt like a cold lump of ice now.

Those words circled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠endlessly, never reaching their owner.

The cold words Leo had just spat out tore through my ears like blades. They were still so painfully clear.

His final words. Someone like you. That phrase struck my chest like a thrown stone. It felt as if all the blood had drained from my body. A bone-chilling cold sank deep into my marrow.

I simply stared at the firmly closed study door. The solid oak barrier. There was no longer any place for me behind it.

The door Leo had slammed shut had become an enormous, impenetrable wall between us. A barrier my small hands could never open, never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reach.

…Huh. Hot liquid spilled from my eyes. I couldn’t stop it.

The hands that had warmly embraced me and read to me just last night had avoided me today as if I were dirty. The breakfast I had woken early to prepare with all my heart—using only the things he loved—had been thrown aside as tasteless.

My worried questions had been dismissed as useless. He had told me to know my place and cast me aside like a roadside pebble.

What had I done wrong? What terrible mistake had I made that Leo would come to hate me this much? How could he have changed so completely in a single night?

This morning I had woken beside Leo just like yesterday. Simply leaning against him, listening to his steady breathing, had been warm enough to make me feel there was nothing in the world left to envy.

I had filled breakfast with his favorite foods, the things that might coax even one more smile from him.

I had only been excited for a moment about the book he had been reading last night before stopping. I had only wanted to hear the rest of the story in his voice.

Why… why was Leo acting like this? What on earth had happened last night…?

My mind was nothing but questions. His eyes had been unfamiliar. His voice had been cruel. My heart hurt so badly. The pain felt like a sharp blade squeezing my heart tighter with every breath.

Leaning against the cold wall, I could only stare at the study door. It remained firmly shut. What could Leo be thinking behind it?

Perhaps the true feelings he had been holding back all this time had finally burst free today. Had I truly been nothing but a nuisance to him? Had he thought I was wasting his precious time?

That thought struck my heart like a hammer. It grew harder and harder to breathe.

To me, Leo was the entire world. He was the one and only person who had saved me from this hellish ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠place when I had been trembling in fear and loneliness. Without him, I would have starved to death on cold streets or suffered something even worse.

He had given me a name, a warm bed, delicious food every day. Most of all, he was the only person in this world who truly looked at me. The only one who spoke to me.

The fact that I couldn’t speak had never made me sad or uncomfortable because of him. He had been the one to teach me to write. He had made this wooden board so I wouldn’t feel frustrated by my silence.

He had filled every part of me and gently embraced all my shortcomings. He was my light. My life. My only reason for existing.

And that Leo was avoiding me.

I knew I was his exclusive maid. His servant. His personal attendant. But he had never treated me with such coldness before.

He had always called my name. Always looked into my eyes. Always patted my small shoulders and read to me quietly every night. Where had that kind Leo gone?

The letters on the wooden board blurred. Tears kept falling, obscuring everything. I couldn’t stop them. They poured out like a broken dam.

It was so miserable that I—who could make no sound—had become a burden to Leo as well. Had I become his shackle, something that only made his life harder? Had it been wrong from the very beginning for someone like me to stand beside the precious young master of a ducal house?

Strength slowly left my legs. I slid down the cold floor and hugged my knees to my chest.

It felt as if I had returned to the abandoned child I once was. My whole body trembled with terror at the thought of being alone again, of being thrown back into that hellish world.

If Leo abandoned me, where could I possibly go? The world was vast, yet the only place I could lean on was Leo.

Had some unknown problem been tormenting him? Was that why he was taking it out on me?

Even then… did he have to be so cold? Did he have to avoid me like this?

His icy eyes, the way he had recoiled from me, his freezing voice—they kept spinning in my head like hallucinations. I wanted to cover my ears, but they only grew louder.

I burst into silent sobs, staring endlessly at the closed study door. Crouched before it, I kept thinking—about what I had done wrong, about how I could bring back the Leo I knew—until he finally emerged.

But the door never opened. Not all night long.

I… kept waiting in front of it.

If I had done something wrong, I would cry and beg. If I had upset him, I would fix it.

“Get… up.”

“Wake up.”

“Uung…”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up!! Yua!!”

“!!! Hic!”

Exhausted from waiting, I had fallen asleep in front of the door. When I opened my eyes, the young master was standing there.

Yes. The door had opened. I could still go back. If I just did well. Because it was my fault. Please.

“Hurry and get up. Don’t think you can sleep comfortably with your lowly status.”

“If you’re a maid, isn’t it basic to wake before your master?”

His words were still ice-cold.

The writing never finished.

Slap!

A large hand struck my cheek.

“You did something wrong? Yes, you did.”

“Your very existence is the problem. So don’t even think about asking for forgiveness.”

“I have no intention of forgiving you anyway.”

“…I shouldn’t have picked you up that day in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the first place.”

…Ah— Aaa—

It felt like something inside me had broken.

I heard it shatter.