The freshly brewed tea was scalding. The heat radiated from the ceramic cup, a silent, shimmering warning that had to be obeyed.

And it was this cup of scalding tea that Kiyohime threw, with a gesture of sublime indifference, directly onto the tall woman’s face.

Even Haruka, a mere spectator to the sudden violence, couldn’t help but flinch back. The scene seared itself into his memory: the sharp, wet sizzle, like a red-hot iron ball being plunged into cold water, followed an instant later by the smell of scorched skin. The woman’s face, in a horrifying moment, went from pale white to an angry, mottled red, transforming from cool water into a glowing iron brand.

A piercing, inhuman shriek tore from her throat. Her hands flew to her face, but the moment her fingers made contact with the burned flesh, an even more violent scream erupted, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony. Haruka could almost see the skin blistering and peeling away. She began to writhe on the floor, a grotesque, thrashing dance of pain, like an earthworm being tormented with a salt-covered stick by a cruel child.

Some of the tea had splashed onto the shorter woman’s hand. She cried out, more in shock than pain, and fell back onto her bottom, sitting frozen on the floor, too terrified to move. Her fear was not for her own minor burn, but from the horrifying, primal spectacle of her companion’s suffering.

The entire incident took no more than three seconds. The paper-screen door was thrown open with rude force, and two men in immaculate suits rushed in, their movements economical and dangerous. They were followed by a cluster of anxious maids, Momozawa Sakuya among them, her face a pale mask. They were obviously bodyguards who had been stationed nearby, their ears trained for any sign of trouble. Haruka saw that they were tall and powerfully built, their bespoke suits stretched taut over muscles that made their arms look thicker than his thighs.

If the tall woman had dared to retaliate, Haruka realized with a cold certainty, a single word from Kiyohime would have had her subdued and broken by these men in less than two seconds.

“Second Young Mistress, are you alright?” one of the bodyguards asked, his voice a respectful, untroubled baritone.

Kiyohime stretched languidly, a cat who had just finished playing with a mouse, a look of pure, unadulterated boredom on her face. “She accidentally spilled the tea. Take her to a doctor.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The bodyguard lifted the writhing woman as if she were a sack of cement on a construction site, her muffled screams of pain ignored.

Two maids entered with mops and, with a detached, mechanical efficiency, began to clean the spilled tea from the floor.

“Could you please move?” one maid asked, her voice flat. A puddle had formed under the shorter woman, who was still sitting on the floor, pressing down on the wet spot.

The shorter woman trembled, asking fearfully, “Se… Second Young Mistress, may I go and check on her?”

Kiyohime didn’t even lift her eyes from a speck of dust on her kimono sleeve. “Go.”

The shorter woman, as if granted a royal pardon, scrambled out of the room, her escape clumsy and desperate.

The maids replaced the stained tatami mat with a fresh one, their movements swift and silent. They bowed to their mistress and slowly backed out of the room, their faces impassive.

Momozawa Sakuya stood quietly to the side, a silent, golden-haired statue.

“Sakuya, you may leave as well,” Kiyohime said.

“Yes, ma’am.” As Sakuya left, she gave Haruka a long, deep, unreadable look.

When the sound of footsteps faded down the hall, Kiyohime turned, her cold, ruby-red gaze fixing on Haruka. “So, are you really supposed to be my brother?”

“We may have the same father,” Haruka said, his voice quiet in the suddenly still room, “but that doesn’t make us brother and sister.”

“But we have the same blood. They were bullying you right to your face, and you didn’t even fight back?” Kiyohime said, a flicker of genuine annoyance in her voice.

“How did you know?” Haruka asked. “How long were you listening outside?”

Kiyohime maintained her cold expression, but a slight, almost imperceptible twitch in her cheek betrayed her. She turned her head away, a gesture of childish petulance. “I didn’t have to listen. It was obvious.” She picked up the teapot, poured the remaining tea into a cup, took a delicate sip, and immediately spat it out onto the clean tatami. “Ugh, it’s burning hot!”

Haruka couldn’t help but smile.

“Seeing you two at daggers drawn,” Kiyohime said irritably, “even a fool could tell they were making an issue of your status. You weren’t afraid to talk back to that stewardess. Why were you so meek just now, letting them poke at you like a doll?”

Haruka’s smile faded, replaced by a quiet gravity. “Because they aren’t servants.”

“And what’s the difference?”

“What’s the difference between you and me, Second Young Mistress?” The question hung in the air between them, sharp and dangerous.

Kiyohime stared at him for a long moment, her red eyes narrowed. “You’re just as annoying as my sister.”

“You have another sister?”

“Fujiwara Yukina. You should have met her.”

“Of course I’ve met her,” Haruka said. “She was the one who brought me to this house. According to seniority, I should call her ‘Oba-san’.”

“Her?” Kiyohime scoffed. “She’s barely older than me and she expects to be called ‘Oba-san’? She should be grateful I even call her ‘Onee-san’.” Kiyohime’s expression turned icy. “That look in your eyes right now… it’s just like hers. So irritating. Maybe I should just gouge them out.”

Anyone else might have thought she was joking, a macabre jest. But having just witnessed her throw scalding tea in a woman’s face without a second thought, Haruka knew she was probably not kidding at all. The thought was a cold stone in his stomach.

“Then I would never have to see you again,” Haruka said with a calm, placid smile.

“That’s fine. As long as you can still listen,” Kiyohime replied, tapping her ear, her words a silken threat. She stood up, the brilliant red of her kimono a splash of fire against the muted tones of the room. The garment draped over her frame, revealing large patches of delicate skin, as white and pure as the snow on Mount Fuji. Her expression was one of supreme, unassailable arrogance.

Even though Haruka found her repellent, he had to admit she was beautiful, more captivating than cherry blossoms blooming at sunrise. If Kiyohime were put on display like a rare, dangerous orchid, the ticket sales would likely make the organizer fabulously wealthy.

Kiyohime on display… The thought made a small, genuine smile touch Haruka’s lips. It sounded as if she were a lion or a tiger locked in a beautiful cage.

Kiyohime saw him smile. She first turned her face away, a flicker of something like embarrassment crossing her features. Then, realizing her reaction, she playfully slapped the top of his head, her touch surprisingly gentle. “What are you smiling at?”

“I saw the cherry blossoms at sunrise,” Haruka said, his dark eyes still holding a trace of a smile, his voice soft.

Kiyohime froze for a second, her expression becoming a little unnatural, almost flustered. She began to gently pat his head, like one would a small, favored dog, but her own smile was cruel, predatory. “You’re quite handsome yourself. Why don’t you stay by my side and be my personal maid?”

Her hand slowly slid down from his hair, her finger tracing lazy, possessive circles on his cheek. “Tell me, was your mother a maid, too? Is that how she managed to catch my father’s eye?”

Haruka’s smile vanished, the light in his eyes extinguished.

Kiyohime’s finger began to poke at his cheek, harder and harder, a small, repeated violation. “Your mother must have been quite a looker, for him to bother with an affair.”Her smile was malicious, her poking finger insistent, cruel. “So tell me… did my father make a move on your mother, or did your shameless mother throw herself at him first?”

The moment the words were out, the mocking, triumphant expression on her face changed abruptly to one of shocked pain.

Haruka lunged forward and bit down, hard, on her finger.