Chapter 61
The first time Miki gave that order many years ago, it wasn’t because of anything specific, nor was there any particular reason.
It was an ordinary day, neither windy nor rainy, nor particularly sunny.
Miki was sitting in the small courtyard as usual, playing the seventeen-stringed zither.
She turned to Wakako, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and said, “Masturbate for me, okay?”
Crash!
Wakako had just brewed a pot of tea for the Saint and hadn’t even poured it yet when the empty teacup in her hand slipped and shattered on the ground.
She could hardly believe what she had heard, momentarily stunned. After a long pause, she finally managed a shaky, “Huh?”
The sudden shattering of porcelain didn’t interrupt the koto’s melody. The beautiful music continued to flow from the Saint’s fingertips, a graceful and melancholic tune.
Miki’s voice, as melodious as the koto, sounded again, repeating, “Masturbate for me, okay?”
She said it as casually as one might say, “I’m thirsty.”
Wakako wondered if she was dreaming. “Why?”
Her disbelief must have been obvious in her tone because Miki lowered her gaze, a faintly hurt expression crossing her face.
“You’ve just become a real Alpha, haven’t you?” she murmured. “I’m just curious, what’s different now.”
Wakako bent down to pick up the shards of the teacup, her face flushing red at Miki’s words. “Whether there’s a difference or not, don’t you know already?” she mumbled.
The Saionji estate had a secluded courtyard specifically for servants to spend their heats and undergo their presentation.
Not long ago, Wakako had moved in there ahead of time, based on the doctor’s estimated date for her presentation.
She knew that presentation would be painful, and she thought she just had to endure it. But she hadn’t expected Miki to climb into her bed that night.
She had clearly locked the door…
Wakako used her last shred of reason to tell Miki to leave. “Go away! I… I might lose control.”
But the Saint’s white robe remained draped over her ankles, refusing to budge.
“You won’t,” she heard Miki say. “You won’t let anyone hurt me, not even yourself, right?”
Of course. How could it be any other way?
So even though she felt the overwhelming urge to release her Alpha instincts and claim the person in front of her without hesitation, Wakako didn’t. Instead, she turned all that frustration and instinct inward, taking it out on herself.
Miki’s curious hand traced the line from her cheek all the way down to her toes. “After presentation, what exactly is different?”
Her left hand didn’t forget to touch Wakako’s dimple. “It seems like nothing’s changed. What about other places?”
Finally, she slipped a finger inside Wakako while asking innocently, “What about here?”
Of course, things had changed.
She had become less tolerant of Miki’s games.
Wakako was always powerless in front of Miki, unable to resist her commands. She was so powerless that even though she could easily push Miki away, she didn’t want to.
She was so powerless that when her frail and beautiful master leaned against her shoulder, guiding her hand to move, all Wakako could do was obey. Tears and other fluids intertwined, soaking Miki’s entire hand.
Wakako couldn’t even pretend to be tired because Miki knew she had great stamina. If Miki saw even a hint of wanting to escape in Wakako’s expression, she would gently pat her face with her left hand:
“Come now, you endure all that harsh training regularly. You can keep going now, can’t you?”
And with that, her right hand would continue to reach deeper inside.
So, after everything that had happened between them, Miki still pretended as though she didn’t know a thing, asking Wakako with that self-righteous air what had changed since her presentation?
Wakako felt a mix of shame and frustration rise in her chest. Even if she was her master, Miki couldn’t treat her like this, could she?
The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. She remembered the time Miki had deliberately gotten her drunk, seduced her, and then lied, saying that Wakako was the one who had initiated it.
That feeling of humiliation and anger resurfaced, and Wakako’s eyes welled up with tears. After gathering the shattered fragments, she turned to leave without a word.
The seventeen-stringed zither abruptly stopped.
Miki let out a soft gasp. “My hand…”
Had she hurt her hand again? She had been playing for so long without incident, so why did it happen the moment Wakako tried to leave?
Even knowing it was just another one of Miki’s tricks, Wakako couldn’t bring herself to ignore her.
She pursed her lips and turned back, quickly finding the medicine to treat her. But before she could apply it, Miki shook her head. “No need.”
The same fingertips that had once made Wakako crumble had been nicked by the strings, a small bead of blood forming on the tip. “Just lick it, and it’ll be fine.”
Wakako was still angry and wanted to refuse, but Miki’s clear eyes gazed at her so tenderly, with a hint of cautious appeasement, that she inexplicably gave in again.
She gently took Miki’s fingertip into her mouth. A faint, almost imperceptible metallic taste spread, then gradually faded.
The bleeding stopped quickly.
After wiping it clean with a cloth, Wakako saw that the cut was shallow and didn’t need medicine. It would heal on its own soon enough.
Miki’s cold hand slipped around Wakako’s wrist, her voice soft as she asked, “And the other request, won’t you agree??”
She softened her voice. “I’m just afraid you’ll become someone I don’t recognize…”
Nonsense, complete nonsense. The Saint, of all people, knew exactly what changes an Alpha went through during their presentation. Even the servants were aware of something so basic.
Wakako refused flatly. “No.”
If she did that, she would die of shame. Even though Miki had seen her in every state imaginable, she… she still had a shred of self-respect, stubbornly clinging on.
She wanted Miki to see her at her best, not in a state of humiliation and surrender.
Hearing Wakako’s refusal, Miki didn’t say anything more. She just slowly withdrew her hand and let out an “oh.”
Her face betrayed no emotion, but Wakako couldn’t shake the feeling that Miki was… disappointed.
No. Wakako scolded herself inwardly. She knew Miki too well. The Saint wouldn’t get upset over something so trivial. If she wavered now, she would have fallen for Miki’s trick.
Later, Kyouka-mama called Wakako to help with something, so she left for a while. When she returned, the sun was setting, and the red glow of the sunset painted the bamboo in the courtyard, casting intricate shadows on the Saint’s robe, but failing to stain the pure white.
Miki sat there all alone, gazing down at the seventeen-stringed zither, looking like someone who didn’t belong to this world.
Wakako stood at the doorway, watching her. Suddenly, she felt that the Saint looked very lonely.
That evening, the kitchen had prepared all of Miki’s favorite dishes, but she barely touched them. The meal was brought out exactly as it had been brought in, untouched.
Wakako hated to waste food, so she always took it upon herself to finish whatever Miki left behind. She took a bite, finding it incredibly delicious, and wondered why Miki had such a small appetite.
When she returned the food box and dishes to the kitchen, one of the cooks casually asked, “Was that eaten by the Saint or you today?”
“I ate it. Why?”
“Oh,” the kitchen staff sounded disappointed. “We thought maybe the Saint was in a better mood today and might eat a little more.”
For most people, mood and appetite were closely linked, but not for Wakako. Whether happy or sad, she always had a good appetite, so she rarely thought about it.
But the cook’s words made her realize that Miki might genuinely be upset.
When it was time for bed, Wakako guarded by Miki’s bedside as usual, watching her lie down quietly. The guilt in her heart grew stronger.
The candlelight flickered, and she blurted out, “Do you want me to warm your feet?”
Regardless of the season, the Saint’s body was always cold. Wakako would sometimes lie down and hold her while they slept, to make her more comfortable.
But Miki didn’t answer for a long time.
Wakako stood there, finally realizing that it wasn’t appropriate for her to do that anymore.
Back when they were both just girls, such closeness didn’t matter. But now that Wakako had become an Alpha and Miki was an Omega… there had to be a certain distance between them.
Kyouka-mama and the others had reminded Wakako to be mindful and not overstep her boundaries.
She had the Saint’s protection, so even if others found it inappropriate, they wouldn’t cause her trouble. After all, no one wanted to displease the Saint.
But rumors had a way of spreading, and people talked behind closed doors. If word ever got out, it would damage Miki’s reputation as well.
Even the servants of the Saionji clan could understand this, so how could her master not?
Yet, Miki didn’t tell her to leave.
“If you want to, you can,” she heard Miki say. “But if you’re tired, go rest.”
Then she turned away, as if exhausted.
Wakako didn’t fully understand what was going through Miki’s mind, but she felt a sudden, inexplicable instinct—that if she walked away now, she might never come back.
Had things really changed since her presentation?
Feeling a sense of loss, Wakako suddenly asked, without thinking, “Miki, can I stop being an Alpha?”
If she could just remove the part of her that emitted pheromones, that would solve everything. It wouldn’t matter if she was incomplete—at least then, she could stay without all the complications.
“…” After a long silence, Miki replied, “No, you can’t. You already are.”
When Wakako was thirteen, the doctor had predicted what she would present into. Her unusually strong body, her boundless energy, her dimples, her long hair…
All of these combined made up the complete Wakako. Not a single part could be missing.
Then Miki added, “But you don’t have to be my servant.”
“I want to be.”
Wakako’s voice gradually lowered, and she repeated, “I want to be.”
She untied her sash and blew out the candle without hesitation.
In the end, Wakako still carried out Miki’s initial order. In the darkness, she knelt on the bed and did as her master asked.
Miki didn’t touch her; she merely gazed at her inch by inch, her eyes tracing over Wakako’s body in the dim light of the moon that streamed in through the window.
Wakako’s movements were clumsy, and after a while, she couldn’t hold back her tears. She knew she must look ridiculous, her body tense with embarrassment. Why did Miki like to watch her like this?
Cool lips pressed against her eyes, gently kissing away the tears that hadn’t yet fallen. “Don’t cry.”
But Wakako cried even harder. The more she thought about it, the more pathetic she felt, and she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.
“I… I’m scared,” she choked out. “That you’ll look down on me.”
She was already Miki’s servant, far beneath the Saint’s status. She just wanted to retain a shred of dignity, to make herself appear less disgraceful.
Miki gently stroked Wakako’s loose hair. “But don’t you like this?”
“…”
Of course she liked it.
She was in her most vulnerable state after her presentation, and if she could allow herself not to think about anything, she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in this, to keep holding on until every ounce of her strength was gone.
“I’m not humiliating you, and I don’t look down on you,” Miki said. “I ask you to do this because I want to understand every part of you.”
“I…”
“Because I want to stay with you, Wakako, for a long, long time. That’s why I’m curious about all your different sides.”
Miki’s beautiful face was so close, right in front of her.
“And you, Wakako? Will you trust me with everything?”
How could she ever say no?
She had made up her mind about Miki when she was thirteen and had never wavered since.
Their hands intertwined, one warm and one cold, causing Wakako’s defenses to crumble, as the scent of sunflowers enveloped them both.
But why hadn’t she noticed then, when Miki said, “You don’t have to be my servant,” that her gaze was distant, her fingers clenched so tightly they almost dug into her palm, only to relax slowly after Wakako finally agreed?
Just like years later at the Kitagawa estate, the Saint had given her a choice.
Yet, like a soft vine, she was entangled, unable to escape.
