Chapter Text
Today was a shit day at the Zen’in estate, and that was saying something, considering most days here could be used as a new definition for the word ‘shit.’ The root of the problem, as it so often was, stood with his arms crossed and a scowl on his perfectly punchable face: Zen’in Naoya, the clan’s golden boy and heir apparent.
He needed a new personal attendant. Again.
The last girl to hold the position had been a quiet thing named Hanae. She’d lasted twenty-eight days. No one knew what had happened to her. She was just gone. One morning, her belongings were cleared from her room, her name stricken from the rosters. No one asked questions. In the Zen’in clan, asking questions was a good way to become the next one to disappear.
So here they were. All the young female servants who weren’t already assigned to another high-ranking family member had been yanked from their duties and herded into one of the smaller but no less intimidating reception halls. They knelt in a perfect line on the tatami mats, heads bowed, hands clasped, trying to achieve a state of invisibility. Not a single one dared to breathe too loudly.
Naoya paced before them, his fine silk haori rustling with each irritated step. He moved like a caged wolf, glancing at each girl for barely a second before scoffing, a curl of his lip signaling his disgust.
“Too tall,” he’d sneer at one girl who dared to be a few inches above average. “Looks like a horse.” The girl flinched as if struck.
“Look at her face. It’s lopsided,” he’d comment on another, who was perfectly symmetrical.
“She smells like pickles.” The girl he pointed at flushed a desperate crimson and bowed so low her forehead almost scraped the tatami.
“Too plain,” he scoffed at the next. “I’d fall asleep just looking at her.”
And on it went, a litany of cruel insults disguised as discerning taste. Naoya seemed to take a perverse pleasure in it. With each comment, a fresh wave of terror would ripple down the line. To be chosen was a nightmare, but to be so publicly and viciously dismissed was its own special kind of humiliation.
Standing off to the side was Umeko, the head of the household staff. She was a woman in her late fifties, with a wrinkled face earned from decades of thankless service to this very clan.
Finally, after dismissing the last girl with a wave of his hand, Naoya whirled on Umeko. “Is this it?” he demanded. “This is the best you could drag out? A collection of clumsy fools who look like they’ve been digging for potatoes with their bare hands? I am the heir to the great Zen’in clan. Am I to be served by some dull-witted farm girl?”
“These are all who are available, Master Naoya,” Old Umeko replied, showing none of the cold terror gripping her insides.
Naoya’s eyes drifted over the line one more time. God, they were all so boring. They all had the same look, a desperate desire to please mixed with a paralyzing fear of failure. It was pathetic. He thrived on breaking things that fought back, things with a spark. These were just dolls, and he’d grown tired of dolls.
“Useless,” Naoya sneered, not even bothering to look at Umeko. “The whole lot of you are useless.”
He strode towards the open veranda that overlooked the main courtyard garden, about to storm off to torment someone to amuse himself when something in the garden caught his eye. Through the perfectly pruned branches of a black pine, he saw you.
You wore in the same dark robes as the girls lined up inside, your hair tied back in a simple, low bun. A few stray strands had escaped, framing your face. You were sweeping the stone path with a bamboo broom. That wasn’t what made him pause.
It was the birds.
A small flock of sparrows, the kind that were usually skittish and avoided people, were fluttering around you. One bold little bastard was perched right on the end of the broom handle, chirping its tiny heart out. A few more hopped along the path near your feet. You were humming a quiet, off-key tune under your breath, a little smile on your lips.
Naoya blinked. He had never, in his entire life, seen a woman in the Zen’in compound look that genuinely, uncomplicatedly happy. It was absurd. It was like a scene out of one of those saccharine movies some of his idiot cousins were always watching: A happy little peasant girl, friends with all the woodland creatures. He felt a sudden, sharp urge to walk out there and wring one of the bird’s necks just to see the look on your face.
He watched you for a long moment. There was nothing remarkable about you, he decided. You were just a girl.
“Umeko,” he said, not taking his eyes off you. “Who is that? And why isn’t she in this pathetic lineup?”
Umeko risked a glance up, following his line of sight into the garden. Her blood ran cold when she saw who he was pointing at.
“Ah, that one,” she stammered. “She is… new. She hasn’t been fully instructed in all the rules of the main house. She’s not fit for personal service.”
New, Naoya thought. The word echoed pleasantly in his mind. Of course. That explained everything. It explained the humming, the stupid smile, the fucking Disney princess flock of birds.
He was tired of the ones who were already broken, already conditioned to flinch and cower and obey. The terror was already baked in. They were no fun. The fun was in the breaking.
But someone new? Someone who still had that… that ridiculous, off-key humming kind of peace inside them? That was a different prospect entirely. That was a blank slate. He could be the one to teach you your place. He could be the one to erase that stupid smile. The potential for amusement was significant.
Naoya’s smirk widened. “New, you say?”
“Yes, Master,” Umeko said quickly. “She is forgetful and unrefined… only suited for menial outdoor tasks.”
“Hm,” Naoya hummed, tapping a finger against his chin, feigning contemplation. “A clumsy, forgetful little sparrow who doesn’t know the rules. Sounds like a disaster.” He paused, letting the hope blossom on Umeko’s face for a second before mercilessly crushing it. “I’ll take her.”
“Master…?”
“Are you deaf now, too?” he snapped, his playful mood vanishing in an instant. “I said I’ll take her. Call her in. Now.”
“Y-yes, of course!” Umeko scurried to the edge of the veranda and called out to you. “You! Girl! Get in here! The Young Master wishes to see you!”
The old woman’s call ripped you from your quiet little world. The sparrows panicked at the sudden noise. They exploded into the air in a flurry of brown wings and startled chirps, abandoning you in an instant. Cowards. You couldn’t entirely blame them.
You looked up. Your gaze went from the sour-faced head of household staff, Umeko, standing on the veranda, to the open doors of the hall behind her.
There he was. Zen’in Naoya. He was objectively a handsome man with hair dyed blond and eyes the color of poison. He was grinning at you. It was the grin of a predator that had just spotted a fat, slow, incredibly stupid-looking sparrow hopping obliviously into its path.
Fuck.
Suddenly, you had a very, very bad feeling about this. This whole infiltration plan had been built on the principle of being forgettable. Be a ghost, they’d said. Blend into the walls. Do your chores, keep your head down, gather information quietly. Become part of the scenery. Do not draw attention. It was rule number one.
You’d been here for three weeks, and it had been going perfectly. You were just another faceless servant, another shadow scurrying through the halls. The other maids barely registered you, the guards ignored you. You were mapping the estate, noting patrol schedules, listening to the gossip for any scrap of useful intelligence. It was slow, tedious work, but it was working.
And now, this. The most volatile, sadistic, and important variable in the entire damn clan was staring at you like you were his next meal.
You carefully leaned your broom against the stone lantern, smoothed down the front of your rough yukata, and schooled your face into the perfect mask of meek, slightly bewildered obedience you’d practiced a thousand times. Head bowed, eyes downcast, you walked up the stone steps onto the veranda, slipped out of your worn zori sandals. You moved past Umeko, feeling her pity on your back, and entered the hall.
You stopped a respectful distance from Naoya and dropped into a low bow. You held it, waiting. The silence stretched. He was making you wait. A classic power move. You counted your breaths, keeping them slow and even.
“Lift your head,” he finally said.
You did, slowly, raising your head just enough to look at the vicinity of his chin from your kneeling position. His grin hadn’t faded. If anything, it had widened.
“What’s your name?” he asked lightly.
You gave him the name on your fake paper.
“Hmm,” he hummed, his intense gaze raking over you. It felt like a physical, invasive caress that made the fine hairs on your arms stand up. “And tell me, why were you playing with birds instead of working?”