Chapter 5
The Kitagawa clan had been merchants for generations. Bargaining and maximizing profits were in their blood, and even the young Second Daughter was no exception.
Although she agreed to the Saint’ request, she feigned reluctance, revealing that Thirteen was the most exceptional among all the Death Guards, destined to become the family head’s personal bodyguard.
“Moreover, her training cannot be neglected, can it? If her martial skills are lacking, she won’t be able to protect the Saint properly.”
The Second Daughter smiled sweetly. “I suggest that she should return to the main house periodically. What does Lady Saint think?”
Thirteen didn’t understand. Why did the Second Daughter want to kill her one moment and then value her so highly the next?
It was only much later that she understood the intricacies of the power dynamics between the families.
The current Saint hailed from the Saionji clan. They were also merchants, but their business was mediocre. It was only due to the fortunate birth of the Saint that their status had risen.
The Second Daughter wanted to use this opportunity to forge a connection between the two families, hoping to establish a relationship with the Saint through repeated interactions.
Of course, at that time, Thirteen was oblivious to all this. She couldn’t comprehend why the Saint’s servants wore expressions as if facing a powerful enemy.
The servant whispered a warning, “Lady Saint, this is inappropriate.” Was a mere Death Guard worthy of such treatment?
The Saint, as always, gently shook her head. “It’s alright.”
She said, “Let’s do as the Second Daughter suggests.”
After that, Thirteen followed the Saint back to her home.
She wasn’t qualified to ride in the carriage, so she had to walk alongside the servants. But she didn’t mind; she was just happy to be alive.
The Saionji clan had even more rules, and an elderly caretaker named Kyouka-mama was responsible for teaching these to her.
“Tie your hair like this, and don’t let it sway when you walk,” she demonstrated. “Take a few steps so I can see.”
But Thirteen’s hair swayed like it was caught in the wind, no matter how hard she tried.
“Don’t take such big steps! Tuck your chin in!”
“Oh dear…” Kyouka, faced with a clumsy student, sighed and rubbed her forehead. “If you were just a guard, it wouldn’t matter, but now you belong to the Saint. You absolutely cannot be like this.”
Thirteen couldn’t help but ask, “Why?” Her face was full of confusion. “What’s different about the Saint compared to other nobles?”
Just a few months ago, she was a homeless orphan, lacking in basic knowledge.
Kyouka-mama then explained many things to her. For example, when a Saint was born, countless miracles would occur. Flowers would bloom, trees would grow, fruits and grains would ripen – all signs of a bountiful harvest.
Such a Saint was born only once every hundred years. They were considered servants of God, capable of divination and prophecy, guiding the people.
Miki’s birth coincided with the war between Mios and the Eagle Kingdom, causing a great sensation, boosting morale, and allowing Mios to win a decisive victory.
From a young age, she had been carefully nurtured and educated in all aspects, not only well-versed in literature but also proficient in military strategy and statecraft.
And the Saint was even slightly younger than Thirteen.
“The reason for all this is that the Lady Saint is destined to become the Queen,” Kyouka-mama said. “They were engaged as children, and when they come of age, our Queen will marry her. That’s why royal etiquette is essential, and you must remember it too.”
Thirteen lowered her head.
The Queen of Mios was a strong and accomplished Alpha.
Thirteen had seen her from afar during a royal procession. The Queen rode on horseback, the citizens cheering her name, while Thirteen…
She couldn’t put the feeling in her heart into words, only a bitter thought: The Saint was so noble, and the Queen was so charismatic.
They were truly a perfect match.
Kyouka-mama didn’t notice Thirteen’s momentary lapse in attention and continued, “Also, the Lady Saint values cleanliness above all. You must bathe at least twice a day, morning and night, and wash your hands whenever possible…”
Thirteen followed her instructions, learning etiquette. It was several days before she saw Miki again.
By then, she had changed into the maroon robes worn by the Saint’s servants and scrubbed herself until her palms were white, yet still felt it wasn’t enough.
Even though she was clean, she was still worried about sullying Miki…
The Saint’s courtyard was hidden within a bamboo grove. Miki sat outside, engrossed in a book. She still wore her white cloak, blending seamlessly with the forest behind her.
Bamboo was precious; there weren’t many in the entire kingdom, and they had all been transplanted here for the Saint, simply because she liked them.
Thirteen knelt in front of her, her voice trembling for some reason. “Lady Saint.”
“Raise your head.”
She heard the Saint say.
Miki looked at the slightly timid young guard. Her hair wasn’t neatly combed, a few strands falling over her eyes.
Her features were fairly neat and pretty, though far from beautiful. But Miki remembered that when Thirteen smiled, two small dimples appeared on her face, a sight that warmed the heart.
“Smile for me,” Miki said softly.
Thirteen instinctively forced her mouth into a smile that looked worse than crying.
That wasn’t the smile Miki had seen that day. Slightly disappointed, she asked, “Are you unhappy here?”
Thirteen quickly shook her head. “Of course not. I’m grateful that you saved me…”
Hesitantly, she asked, “But that day, how did you suddenly appear at the Kitagawa house?”
“I guessed you would be in trouble, so I went.”
Thirteen was incredulous: “But I… I never told you which family I served as a Death Guard…”
Miki said, “It wasn’t difficult to find out.”
She casually mentioned a few details that Thirteen had revealed, and with a little analysis, the answer was clear.
Thirteen let out an “Oh,” the shock lingering in her heart. After a moment, she blurted out, “You’re so smart.”
Flattery was common, and Miki had heard countless compliments, but no one had ever been so straightforward.
Thirteen’s naive and sincere demeanor brought a smile to her lips.
What a little fool, she thought.
Thirteen smiled too, this time a genuine smile, her two round dimples faintly visible.
“That’s better.”
Miki said.
Her voice was so soft that Thirteen didn’t hear her.
On that mildly sunny afternoon, she stood by the Saint’s side, attending to her needs.
Miki read and wrote, brush gliding across the paper. Thirteen, unable to read, remained by her side, quietly attending to whatever tasks she could.
When the ink ran low, she would refill it. When the tea grew cold, she would replace it with a fresh, hot cup. When the pastries lost their crispness, she would send for more from the kitchen.
Occasionally, she would make mistakes, like accidentally breaking something with her clumsy hands, but the Saint never scolded her.
It was truly tedious and monotonous work, even more so than training, Thirteen thought. Yet, she couldn’t explain why, but she found a strange satisfaction in bustling around, tending to the Saint’s needs.
Finally, Miki set down her brush. “You’ve been staring for a while,” she said. “Do you like poetry too?”
Thirteen’s fingers curled nervously, afraid to look at the elegant characters written by the Saint. The truth was, she couldn’t understand them at all. She had only been staring because she found the strokes beautiful…
“I can’t read,” she confessed, her head bowed low, feeling like an ignorant country bumpkin.
Miki was slightly surprised. “The Kitagawa clan didn’t teach you?”
“No… We only trained in combat.” Thirteen blurted out, not wanting to seem completely ignorant, “But I’m the best with all weapons, always ranking first.”
She immediately regretted her words. Surely the Saint would look down on someone who only knew how to fight.
As expected, Miki shook her head. “You should at least be able to write your own name.”
She picked up the brush again, intending to write “Thirteen,” but then she thought the name was rather inappropriate.
“‘Thirteen,’ where did that name come from?”
“The Second Daughter of the Kitagawa clan said since I was thirteen years old, I might as well be called Thirteen…” Suddenly, Thirteen gathered her courage. “Lady Saint, would you give me a new name?”
Miki’s gaze shifted to the book she had been reading. Without answering, she absently recited two lines Thirteen couldn’t quite understand, with a faint melody:
Winter trees wither away,
Snowflakes flutter on bare branches,
Like spring flowers in a silent dance.
“Your name shall be Wakako,” she said.
…
It wasn’t until later that Wakako learned Miki’s favorite form of poetry was called Waka.
So, when she had named her “Wakako,” was it a sign of special favor? Wakako had asked Miki this once.
Miki twirled a strand of Wakako’s hair around her finger and hummed in affirmation.
Wakako immediately beamed like a flower in full bloom. Miki had no doubt that if Wakako had a tail, it would be wagging furiously.
She placed her fingertip on one of Wakako’s round dimples and gently traced it. “So, how do you plan to repay me?”
“I…”
Wakako racked her brains, suggesting various things, but none of them satisfied Miki. Exasperated, she asked, “Then what do you want me to do?”
Miki thought for a moment. “Then, obey me for the rest of your life.”
In truth, even if Miki hadn’t said it, Wakako would have done so anyway, because Miki’s words were commands, without expiration.
Like when she punished Wakako by making her masturbate using Miki’s hand.
She obeyed.
Or when she ordered Wakako to leave the Eagle Kingdom’s royal palace immediately, without asking questions or lingering.
…She still obeyed.
Wakako felt a dull ache in her chest, a pang of confusion that she couldn’t quite understand.
She knew she shouldn’t pry into her master’s affairs, but she couldn’t suppress her curiosity about Miki’s supposed death and how she had spent the past few years.
It was only natural for her to miss her master during their separation. But did the Saint ever think about the clumsy little guard who would die for her at a single word?
Was the punishment a sign of affection, or was Miki truly angry with her?
At thirteen, Wakako had always been clumsy, even spilling ink on her sleeves. Now at twenty-three, after five years as a mercenary, she thought she had improved. Yet why was she still so foolish?
Even now, with pheromones swirling around them, Miki’s cherry-flavored lips pressed firmly against hers, biting and teasing, Wakako still couldn’t decipher Miki’s heart.
