A Spine-Tingling Yulia and Megan
Yulia had taken Blow's finger into her mouth, all the way to the second knuckle.
It was only the lightest graze of teeth, so it did not hurt—but the act had come from nowhere, and Blow sat there utterly dumbstruck.
"Senior...?"
"Hehe, you know, young master! The grapes are really delicious!"
"......"
"Maybe it's because you bought them—and because you fed them to me besides!"
Yulia Edfolk beamed at him, soft and foolishly pleased. Blow, blank for a moment, shook his head to gather himself, then cleared his throat.
…From the last time, too, her drinking habits had not been exactly charming. Should he call it impressive that she had hidden it until now?
He looked down at his finger, still faintly damp. Reading that look, Yulia lifted her handkerchief and scrubbed earnestly at his index finger and thumb.
"You were startled, weren't you? I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"I was startled."
"I don't even know why I'm like this! Haha!"
"You'd be better off eating the grapes yourself."
"Haha, you're right. I think I just wanted to act spoiled with you. I'm sorry."
Even as she said it, Yulia casually worked his whole hand between both of hers. Blow stared at her, flustered. Avoiding his eyes, she smiled brightly and went on.
"Your hands are awfully firm, young master."
"Men are all like that, more or less."
"Oh, is that so? I suppose it's because I've never touched a man's hand before."
…Her first time? Why did that leave him feeling guilty?
Blow slipped his hand free as subtly as he could. Yulia only giggled and caught his eye.
"You're cute when you're flustered, young master."
"Pardon?"
"Just like right now."
"That's a new one. Cute, of all things..."
"Anyway! Thank you for helping me in so many ways this time. I truly relied on you."
"Well, I would have struggled at the gathering if you hadn't been there, Senior. We get by helping each other. That's all."
Yulia nodded, as if to grant that he was right. Then she leaned in and spoke in a voice that barely rose above a breath.
"Young master. Listen."
"Yes."
"Couldn't you call me noona? Just once?"
…And what was this, all of a sudden?
A chill he had not felt in a long time crawled over him, and his brow drew tight before he knew it.
"Why not? Just once. Call me that."
"It's just—I don't have a noona, so that form of address feels far too strange."
"Is that so? Then what about Yulia? Like this?"
She said it with her clear eyes sparkling.
…Had the wine been that strong?
Cold sweat gathered on Blow as he wondered how to survive this particular crisis—and then the recovery room door opened, and Skadi came in humming.
"What? Why's it so quiet?"
With that she dropped down beside him. Yulia's eyes thinned as she looked at her, and Blow—gladder to see Skadi than he had ever been—filled the girl's cup.
"No, we weren't really talking about any—"
"I told Young Master Blow to try calling me noona."
…She's telling Skadi?
Startled, Blow flinched and looked at Yulia. Skadi, mid-drink, somehow forced down what she had nearly sprayed and stared at Yulia in blank disbelief.
"What is that supposed to mean, Senior?!"
"Why? Is the young master not allowed to call me that? Everyone else goes around saying it just fine."
"That's not..."
"Even with Maxim, our deputy head of Public Relations—his close juniors call him hyung and oppa, don't they?"
"That's because Maxim is a commoner. The ones calling him that are probably commoners too..."
"Hmm? What wouldn't be allowed? The young master and I are both nobles, after all..."
Having said so, Yulia beamed all over again. Blow was glancing about, utterly at a loss, when her gaze moved to Skadi.
"Then, Lady Skadi? Try calling me unnie."
The words came in so fast that Skadi's mouth only opened and shut.
…So he was going to watch her get flustered over drinks, too.
Blow swallowed dryly and quietly brought his cup to his lips.
"That's difficult, Senior."
"I guess it's always like this with me. Everybody hates meee..."
As she spoke, Yulia's eyes grew wet all over again. Afraid a tear might actually fall, Skadi gulped and forced the words out.
"All right. Un... unnie..."
"And the young master?"
"Yes, Elder Sister..."
"Elder Sister?! That makes me sound positively ancient. I asked you to say noona."
"Understood. Noona..."
Only then did Yulia smile, bright and satisfied.
"Oh my, that is so lovely to hear! I would be so happy if both of you kept calling me that even after this gathering ends!"
Color had risen in her face from nothing more than being called noona. Blow and Skadi, robbed of anything to say, met each other's eyes.
"Everyone, cheers!"
"To Sen— no. To Unnie's bright future..."
A toast feebler than anything Skadi usually managed rang through the recovery room, and their night sank deeper still.
Morning had come to Restaurant Hills, and the rush was already behind them. Blow was in the middle of opening a communication Megan had requested, with Haghia—Rachel's trusted aide—helping him make the link.
Early as it was, there was not a flaw in her: crow-black clothing, crow-black makeup, nothing out of place.
"I trust you have been well, young master."
"What's the matter this early, Megan? Are you getting down all right?"
"Yes. It is thanks to your concern."
"That's a relief. But what made you request a communication?"
"Ah. I am just about to enter Blanya, and there was something I absolutely wished to say, so I contacted you."
"Just about to reach Blanya? How did you get down that fast?"
"I felt I ought to return even an hour sooner, so from Splas I took a horse."
"Megan, you don't know how to ride."
"I asked the favor of some kindhearted knights."
"That would have cost you."
"Naturally, I met the cost from my own purse."
…What was this ridiculous, overwhelming loyalty?
The weight of it was uncomfortable enough that Blow scratched his head.
"Bill whatever you spent this time in Hills' name."
"There is absolutely no need!"
"It bothers me."
"A mere maid cannot be the cause of her master's discomfort. I shall file the claim when I return."
"Then let's hear the business."
"Yes, sir!"
"Why do I feel so uneasy about this?"
"There is no need for you to be so uneasy, you know?"
Megan said it plainly enough. Even so, something in her tone sat slightly askew, and Blow, already on edge, pressed her.
"What is it?"
"Allow me first to state that I am bringing this up only after having thought it through since before I departed."
"Go on."
"I wondered whether you might send a communication to the family head and the madam sometime today."
"My parents? Why?"
"I would like you to tell them that everything Megan says once she arrives is a lie, so they may rest assured."
"What are you even planning to say?"
"Oh, it is simple. When I arrive, I intend to say that the young master's business is not going well."
"Why say a business that's succeeding is failing?"
"Only then can we sift out the servants who will truly devote their full loyalty to you, can we not?"
…Was there logic in that?
Blow rubbed his chin, and through the communication magic Megan's voice came again.
"In truth, I considered keeping it secret even from you. But then I thought the family head and the madam would be far too shocked, so it seemed better to tell you beforehand."
"How badly are you planning to say it's going...?"
"I intend to say that Hills and Red Forest are on the brink of bankruptcy."
The words alone were dizzying. Blow's mouth hung open, and still he had nothing to say.
The door of Hills opened, and Yulia, wearing an awkward look, greeted him with her eyes. He moved to cut the spell; she waved him off, gesturing that he should keep talking. Blow gave her a small sign of thanks, then spoke into the magic circle.
"Why would you do that to Hills and Red Forest when they're perfectly fine...?"
"It is a kind of test of loyalty. If someone will board a sinking ship, they ought to be fine aboard a sound one, no?"
"And if the ship sinks, you won't run?"
"Would the young master be aboard that ship?"
"In the example we're using, yes."
"Then of course I must go down with it. I have not the slightest thought of fleeing alone."
…She meant it.
Blow's head was beginning to pound. He pressed his fingers to his temple, and Yulia, who had been listening, slipped quietly into the talk.
"Is that Megan?"
"Ah, Lady Yulia! I hope you are well!"
"I didn't mean to listen. I only caught a little as I came in. Bankruptcy—what is that about...?"
Megan gathered what she had told Blow and laid it out once more. Yulia listened with care, then smiled as if she found the whole thing unexpectedly entertaining.
"Megan, didn't Lady Luce go back down after seeing how well Young Master Blow's business was doing? And some time has passed since then."
"Yes. That is so."
"Then the estate must already be full of rumors that the business is thriving. If you suddenly say it is on the brink of bankruptcy, won't no one believe you?"
"That is a point I failed to consider."
"Then what about this?"
…What were they doing? Conspiring, out of nowhere?
Haghia was just as startled, and so was Hans, fresh from finishing the dishes; both tilted their heads and looked toward Yulia.
"We simply say that I, as representative of House Edfolk, and Young Master Blow failed to reach an agreement."
"A-ah. May I presume to take your ladyship's name in my mouth so freely?"
"This is for the young master's sake, isn't it? That much is nothing. I can contact the lady myself later... and if the rumor still refuses to take, I can simply go down to Blanya in person."
…Senior, to our domain? Why?
Unlike the flustered Blow, Yulia went on smiling.
"What do you think, young master? From where I stand, it's an excellent proposal. I suppose it's my own selfishness—I want people at Hills who can be trusted."
"I feel the same, of course, but..."
"You really have found good people, all the way down to your staff, working so hard on their own initiative for their master's sake! I am so very, very envious, you know?"
"You honor me too highly, my lady."
The uncanny harmony between the two of them only made Blow's skin crawl worse. He rolled the stiffness from his neck and spoke.
"But this entire plan... Megan, aren't you the crux of it? You'd have to lie to everyone."
"Correct. But you need not worry about that."
"Why?"
"Because if there is one thing I do brilliantly, it is act."
"You do?"
"Yes. If you wish, you may ask Herbena. And should Lady Luce be willing to help even the slightest bit, that would be truly wonderful."
Her tone was so utterly certain that Blow had nothing left to say to her.
"Do as you please. I'll do as you said."
"Thank you for placing your trust in me. I will be sure to repay it properly."
"Truth is, these days Hans and I both feel the space you left. How many people's share of the work were you doing alone?"
He really had felt her absence every single day. On mornings when Melo woke late, Megan had made the sandwiches by herself, worked the floor, and taken stock of the inventory besides. When time allowed, she had even gone to Red Forest to mind the counter and straighten the goods.
Jane had said as much.
"If Megan hadn't been here, I think I would have collapsed."
Hans, too, admitted that without Megan—the one he always talked things through with—mistakes kept slipping out of him.
"Oh, even so, I am not even half of half what Melo is."
"If this goes well, I'll see that you are made head maid."
"That is not why I did it, but if you appoint me, I will do my very best. Ah, and please speak to Jane, to Herbena, and to Hans as well. A communication will likely reach them."
"I will. If we're doing it, we'll do it properly."
"Thank you. You have trusted me with this, so I will choose carefully and bring them back. And I offer my deepest, deepest thanks to Lady Yulia as well."
"All right, Megan. I'll see you next time."
The communication ended.
An awkward silence pooled inside Hills. Within it, the smile had already left Yulia's face, and she watched him without a word, taking his measure.
Remembering the night before, Blow hesitated over what he ought to call her, then carefully opened his mouth.
"Uh, noo—"
"Oh my! Young master, isn't the morning weather just lovely? I was hoping for some coffee—would it be all right to ask Hans over there?!"
The voice was too fast and too high for him to follow.
…Embarrassed, is she.
Blow let out a quiet sigh of relief. Last night, right up until the drinking ended, she had made a tremendous fuss about them calling her noona tomorrow without fail. If anyone heard it even once, the school would be in an uproar for certain.
"Yes, Senior. Hans will bring it out."
"If you would, Hans!"
"Yes! I'll have it ready right away!"
Haghia, who had been watching the entire exchange with keen interest, bowed her head to Blow.
"Since Lady Yulia is here, shall I call on you later?"
"No. Better you just come tomorrow morning."
"Understood."
"My thanks, and so early in the day."
"Not at all. I do think I understand the mood."
Haghia smiled as if amused and stepped out of Hills. Blow turned his gaze to Yulia, sitting awkwardly at his side.
"No haaangover, I trust?"
"Ah, y-yes! I'm fine, haha. And you, young master? You don't really remember yesterday, do you? You drank quite a lot..."
Yulia's brows bent, as if she were praying that were the case. In truth Blow had been stone sober the night before. He thought a moment, then decided a warning was in order—better to say the thing that needed saying.
"When you bit into that grape, Senior, you cr—"
"Oh my, young master! The coffee is sooo delicious! Hans, do you know which beans these are?"
"Megan prepared them, so I really wouldn't know!! Shall I contact her later and find out?"
"No! No! It's fine, haha."
Sweat was beading on Yulia, perfectly visible to Blow.
…She did have a quietly cute side.
The sight pulled a soft laugh out of him before he could stop it.
"Young master, what is it? Haha..."
"It's nothing. I was only thinking I'm glad I grew close to you, Senior."
The words seemed to embarrass her. Yulia subtly avoided his eyes and murmured, barely loud enough to hear.
"I feel the same."
Two hours later, Deschamps Edfolk entered Caipol and took Marchen into the carriage at the city's edge. He had done it as a kindness, lest going near the hotel set the place buzzing all over again.
"Marquis."
"Yes, Marchen. Hills is where we are bound, then?"
"Yes. That is correct."
"Yulia ought to come."
"She will."
Marchen gave him a firm nod.
…It felt like only yesterday she had trembled before Karen when Yulia met with disaster. Yulia had grown, and Marchen had grown with her.
Feeling a fresh gratitude, Deschamps offered her a gentle smile.
"Marchen, the grace I owe you is one I can never repay."
"Not at all. I have learned a great deal at the young lady's side, and I believe the happy memories now outnumber the rest."
"Haha. That is... fortunate indeed."
"I will continue to serve her to the best of my ability."
Marchen answered in a serious tone. Deschamps sighed, then added, almost as an afterthought:
"The head of the house does nothing but groan and complain. I am sorry for that."
"Were I in your lordship's place, I believe I would have been the same."
"I have much to answer for. Should Yulia suddenly change her heart and not come, I would have no words."
"No. She will come. I am certain."
"Yes. Hearing you say it once more does ease me somewhat."
He said it, but Deschamps's eyes trembled with unease. A moment that felt eternal to him passed.
Arriving at Hills, he opened the door, stepped inside, and swept the whole room with his gaze. Yulia was nowhere to be seen. He let out a long breath and stood at the entrance, unable to go forward or back.
At the sound of arrival, Blow came out of the kitchen and bowed.
"Marquis. You've arrived."
"Yes."
"Please, have a seat."
"I shall."
…Was she not coming? Or only late?
On the off chance, Deschamps was drinking cold water when a soft, sweet smell drifted from the kitchen and brushed the tip of his nose.
"You seem to be preparing food ahead of time."
"Yes. Since you came from Eastpol, I thought you might be hungry, so I had something ready for you to eat at once."
"The smell is excellent. But before that, there is one thing I would ask."
"Yes, Marquis. Please."
"Did our Yulia say she would not come?"
Deschamps forced the words past a mouth that did not want to open, and swallowed dryly. Blow smiled and stepped aside.
There was Yulia, her expression nothing but awkward, carrying a single frying pan. Deschamps's eyes went perfectly round, and he questioned her almost in a shout.
"...Yulia, why are you in the kitchen...?"
"I cooked."
At those words Deschamps could not close his gaping mouth. His eyes fixed on the pan she had brought out. Across it, yellow kernels of corn lay under an even drift of cheese like fresh snowflakes, sizzling as they cooked.