Chapter 12
When did Miki become so possessive?
It had happened so many times that Wakako couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but a few incidents remained etched in her memory.
Many years ago, back at the Saionji estate – ever since Miki had made Wakako promise to be “completely and utterly” hers, no one else had been allowed to keep night watch.
Even when others occasionally offered to take turns, the Saint would simply whisper for them to be replaced.
But even Wakako herself didn’t trust her own abilities. Her hands were clumsy. While she excelled in swordsmanship, archery, and other martial arts, she was exceptionally slow at mastering the tasks of daily life.
Despite having served Miki countless times, she would still occasionally use too much force, splashing hot water from the cup onto Miki’s fingers.
“Lady Saint!”
Wakako panicked, terrified of scalding Miki’s delicate skin. But there was no ice in the bedchamber to cool the burn. In a moment of desperation, she clumsily stuffed Miki’s finger into her mouth, licking the affected area back and forth.
Miki’s fingertip felt the moist warmth, a slight tingling sensation. Yet, she didn’t pull her hand away, simply observing her young guard.
With her lips parted, holding Miki’s fingers, Wakako displayed a primal innocence, like animals grooming each other.
After a moment, Wakako sheepishly released Miki’s finger, fetching a clean cloth and water to wipe it clean.
“I was too careless,” she apologized, bowing her head. “Did I burn you?”
Miki considered for a moment. “It did sting a little just now.”
Wakako’s expression immediately tensed, and she rose to fetch burn ointment.
“But it doesn’t hurt anymore.” Miki gently tugged on Wakako’s sleeve, a smile gracing her lips. “You healed it.”
Relieved, Wakako let out a sigh she hadn’t realized she was holding.
She scratched her head sheepishly. “When I used to beg for food on the streets, I often fought with others over scraps. My fists would swell up, but I had no money for medicine… so I would just lick my wounds.”
Despite recounting an unpleasant memory, she smiled innocently, as if it didn’t bother her.
Miki gestured for Wakako to crouch down. She used the finger that had been burned to trace the contours of Wakako’s face, her fingertip resting in the small dimple of her cheek. She particularly enjoyed the soft, smooth texture, and often indulged in this small gesture.
“Does fighting hurt?” she asked softly.
Wakako nodded honestly, then shook her head. “At first, yes. But once, a broken piece of porcelain left a large gash that hurt for an entire month. After it healed, I couldn’t feel pain anymore.”
“Where?”
“On my arm, but it’s long gone now.”
Miki paused. “Let me see.”
Wakako lifted her sleeve, revealing smooth, unblemished skin. The wound had indeed healed perfectly, leaving no trace of a scar.
Miki suddenly leaned closer, her faint fragrance reaching Wakako’s nose.
“The people who hurt you, they’re probably still begging out there,” she tilted her head slightly, her eyes clear and innocent, yet her words held a chilling contrast. “How about we bring them back to the estate and kill them all?”
Wakako was taken aback. “Why?”
A strange expression flickered across Miki’s face, as if she couldn’t comprehend the question. “Because they hurt you.”
“But I hurt them even more.” Wakako pursed her lips. “They weren’t targeting me specifically. We were just fighting to survive.”
Miki lowered her eyes, letting out a soft “Oh.” “Then we won’t kill them.”
During her time on the streets, Wakako had often stumbled upon corpses. Even after joining the Kitagawa household, she had witnessed companions succumb to severe injuries. Death was not a distant concept for her.
But the Saint in her eyes had always been pure and untainted, a being untouched by the harsh realities of the world. It was difficult to imagine the word “kill” coming from Miki’s lips.
Wakako couldn’t help but ask, “Have you ever seen a dead person?” How else could she speak of such things so casually?
A breeze stirred, causing the candle flames to flicker. The dancing shadows cast half of Miki’s face in darkness, while the other half remained illuminated.
She nodded, her tone nonchalant. “Many times.”
Wakako was stunned.
“How?”
“When I first started my lessons, whether it was the Koto or noble etiquette, I inevitably made mistakes. My teachers couldn’t punish me directly, so they punished my servants instead, and made me watch.”
The “punishment” involved being beaten with a wooden board on the buttocks and thighs, leaving the servants bloodied and immobile, often resulting in death.
“I can’t even remember how many servants were replaced…”
Miki murmured.
“At first, I was terrified. I begged them to stop, but no one listened. Before they died, the servants would glare at me with resentment, as if blaming me for their fate. I often dreamt of them coming back to haunt me, covered in blood. That’s why I couldn’t sleep at night.”
A hint of melancholy laced her voice, a sadness that seemed too heavy for someone her age.
“Little Waka,” she asked, “Do you think I killed them?”
Wakako had never heard of such a thing and was speechless. She was still a teenager, barely literate, and unable to provide a definitive answer.
After a long silence, she lowered her head and said with unwavering conviction, “I don’t know, but the Saint has me now. If there’s punishment to be given, let it be me. I’m not afraid of pain, I’m not afraid of death, I’m not afraid of anything.”
At that moment, the worry etched on Miki’s brow seemed to dissipate.
The Saint’s fingertips, still cool, traced Wakako’s face, as if gradually warming with each touch. “Now that I’ve mastered my lessons, my teachers can no longer find fault with me. No one can punish you.”
At this point, Miki’s voice took on a more serious tone, and she flashed a captivating smile, as radiant as blooming spring flowers.
“Except for me.”
Wakako let out a confused “Huh?”
“Remember this. Only I can punish you, and you must only obey me. The Saionji clan may have many branches, but you have only one master.”
Miki’s words left Wakako bewildered. She stammered, “But if the family head wants to punish me, I can’t disobey, can I…?” The family head governed the entire household, surely they had the authority to discipline her?
“You can.”
Wakako hesitated, unsure if she could truly defy those noble figures. “But…”
She trailed off, noticing Miki’s eyes reddening, a hint of moisture welling up within them.
Wakako inexplicably found herself surrendering. She knew that as long as she looked into those eyes, she couldn’t give any other answer.
Miki was like a precious porcelain doll that could shatter at any moment, deserving careful protection. Who could bear to disappoint her?
“Alright, I will only listen to the Saint.”
“I want you to swear to God.”
“I swear to God, Lady Saint…”
“There have been so many Saints throughout history. Even if God heard you, they wouldn’t know which one.” Miki interrupted, her eyes filled with a certain hope. “Say my name.”
Wakako hesitated. The two syllables were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them.
She had called Miki by her name when they first met, but after arriving at the Saionji estate, everyone addressed her as “Lady Saint,” fearful of causing offense. Even the family head, Miki’s cousin by blood, wouldn’t dare to call her by name.
Could a lowly servant like her truly do so?
Something once unattainable was suddenly within reach. Finding courage from an unknown source, Wakako took a deep breath and said loudly:
“I swear to God, my only master is Miki. Only Miki can punish me, and I will only obey Miki’s commands.”
After speaking, she could barely bring herself to look up at Miki’s expression.
Her words felt foolish, so foolish that she was ashamed, wanting to burrow into a hole and disappear. If God heard her, they would surely laugh.
But then, a hand gently rested on Wakako’s head, stroking the back of her neck.
“From now on, you won’t have to fight with others for food, and you won’t get hurt anymore,” Miki whispered. “I will protect you.”
Protect?
But Wakako was the guard. Her purpose here was to serve the Saint. It was her duty to protect her beautiful, fragile master, to care for her like a delicate flower.
Could Wakako, with all her brute strength, be the one being protected?
That was the first time she had ever considered such a possibility.
