Haruka followed the maid down a different, narrow staircase, arriving at a quiet, ground-floor genkan that smelled of damp earth and old wood. The maid retrieved a heavy black umbrella from a lacquered cabinet, stepped out the back door into the sudden onslaught of rain, and opened it, holding it respectfully beside him like a shield.

The rain pattered loudly, a frantic, chaotic drumming on the umbrella’s taut surface. A fierce gust of wind swept past, a cold, wet slap that cooled the lingering heat on Haruka’s face. Was Momozawa Ai’s remark just now a test? The question echoed in his mind, circling like a shark.

He had assumed she wanted him to see the Old Mistress simply to make a good impression. But for her to whisper, “The Fujiwara family needs a man”… that was more than a test; it was a lit fuse. The situation felt like the dark, oppressive clouds that had gathered in the sky, a heavy, suffocating weight on his spirits.

The black umbrella in front of him swayed. He noticed the maid’s hand was trembling, as unsteady as a raindrop clinging to a leaf. Haruka slowly came back to himself, his gaze shifting to her. She was slender, about the same height as him, and looked fragile against the storm. She had switched from holding the umbrella with one hand to gripping its handle with two, the muscles in her arms twitching with the effort. Yet, she angled the wide canopy mostly over him, a black eave that shielded him from the downpour, sacrificing her own comfort for his.

The rain wasn’t heavy, but it was relentless and cold. The right shoulder of the maid’s uniform was already soaked through, the dark fabric clinging to her skin.

“The weather was fine just a moment ago,” Haruka remarked, his voice quiet beneath the noise of the storm. “The rain came so suddenly.”

“Oh, yes… and the thunder just now, one clap after another… it startled me,” the maid replied, her voice strained, offering the minimum required response for a servant.

Haruka leaned out slightly from under the umbrella, his small hand closing over the smooth, cold handle. He gently nudged it more toward the maid.

She didn’t resist the small, unexpected gesture, her eyes widening slightly. She likely assumed the Young Master simply wanted to watch the rain. If Haruka hadn’t made the preceding small talk, if he had simply demanded she share the shelter, she would have been too frightened and conditioned by her station to accept.

Haruka kept his hand on the handle, his small grip surprisingly firm, a silent, shared anchor in the storm. After they had walked for five or six minutes, the only sounds the drumming rain and the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel path, he suddenly said, “Do you feel like the rain has let up a little?”

The maid looked up at the churning grey sky. The rain hadn’t lessened at all; if anything, it seemed to be coming down harder. She saw Haruka lean his head out again, his expression serene. Although the umbrella covered most of him, a few stray drops landed on his forehead and in his dark hair, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

This new Young Master is so strange, the maid thought, a flicker of bewilderment cutting through her nervousness. He has a perfectly good umbrella but insists on sticking his head out into the storm, and then asks me if it’s letting up. This rain is only going to get worse.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t immediately notice that her right shoulder was now mostly dry, and her grip on the umbrella had become much steadier, her trembling eased by the shared weight.

The maid stared at Haruka’s profile, his features calm and beautiful against the violent backdrop of the storm. Her thoughts drifted like the rain. I heard he’s had a hard life, that he only came here because his mother passed away. But the Old Master has been gone for years. Who in this cold, grand house would wish him well? He’s very handsome, but he seems a bit… clumsy, a bit naive. Still, I think he must be a good person. A saying from her village came to mind. ‘Even a fool has good fortune.’ I’ll say a prayer for you from the shrine: ‘May the good advance and the wicked retreat.’ I hope you can stay in the Fujiwara house for a long time.

They walked for another minute. The maid looked up at the sky again. The rain was definitely heavier now. But perhaps due to the power of suggestion from Haruka’s quiet words, she felt, strangely, that the rain really had lessened its assault on her.

The two of them stepped onto a covered veranda that wrapped around a traditional garden. The maid gently shook the water from the umbrella, leaving it open to dry by the side.

Haruka walked forward, looking out at the scenery. The lawn was a deep, saturated green, soaked and glistening. A narrow path of dark, wet cobblestones cut through its center.

“This cobblestone path is for reflexology, Young Master.” the maid explained, her voice more relaxed now. “After a banquet, the guests often like to take off their shoes and walk on it.”

Haruka nodded. Past the path, he saw a round pond, its surface agitated by the falling rain. A few golden koi were faintly visible, flashes of liquid gold swimming near the surface.

“Those are the Old Mistress’s koi,” the maid said.

Haruka’s attention, however, wasn’t on the fish, but on a strange “bamboo tube” standing in the center of the pond. It was a simple, almost crude device made of two bamboo sections, a shishi-odoshi. As rainwater filled the top section, it would tip down with a soft, resonant clack, striking a rock before tipping back up again. The pond was beautifully, meticulously decorated, but this one rustic bamboo contraption seemed to spoil the entire aesthetic.

“What is that?” Haruka asked, pointing.

“Which one?” the maid asked, then followed his finger. “Oh, that’s the ‘Amagami-sama’.”

“‘Amagami-sama’?” Haruka repeated the name softly. “The Rain God? What a strange name.”

The maid smiled, a genuine, unguarded expression. “The First Young Mistress, Lady Yukina, gave it that name. It’s a toy she made herself when she was a child.”

“She likes to make these little gadgets herself?” Haruka pictured Fujiwara Yukina’s delicate, refined face, and found it hard to reconcile with the image of a child building things with her hands.

“When the First Young Mistress was little, she loved taking things apart and building things. She made a whole lot of contraptions like the Amagami-sama.”

“Then the Fujiwara house must be full of her old toys, right?”

A strange, shadowed expression crossed the maid’s face. “The Old Mistress smashed all of them.”

“Why?” Haruka asked, surprised.

“Well… the Old Mistress said it wasn’t proper for a young lady, you know? That she lacked modesty, spending all her time on such useless, noisy things. The First Young Mistress argued back, and… well, the Old Mistress flew into a rage. She had the steward fetch an axe and chop all the toys to pieces right there. Used them for firewood.”

“Then how did this ‘Rain God’ survive?” Haruka asked, his curiosity piqued.

“The Old Mistress is very fond of the rainy season. She especially likes to come out and feed the fish when it’s raining. She once said, ‘My daughter’s creations are all worthless, but this one has some use.’ She enjoys listening to the sound of the rain hitting it.”

Haruka stared at the crude bamboo device, at its simple, lonely dance in the rain, and suddenly smiled. “The Old Mistress must love the First Young Mistress very much.”

“With all due respect, Young Master, that’s a strange thing to say,” the maid said, shaking her head. “Everyone in this house knows how the Old Mistress is with the First Young Mistress. Always criticizing, always finding fault… She treats her more like a stepdaughter than her own blood.”

The maid grew more indignant as she spoke, a torrent of long-suppressed resentment bubbling to the surface. “I can’t say if the Old Mistress loves her or not, but her absolute favorite has always been Lady Murasaki… Ah!”

The maid gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with terror at her own indiscretion. It was a cardinal sin for servants to discuss the family’s private affairs. How could she have said such things? Thankfully, no one else was around, and Haruka was just a child who didn’t understand the family’s complex dynamics. He wouldn’t repeat it. She silently chided herself for her loose tongue. As a servant, she should just do her job and not meddle in her masters’ business.

Haruka continued to walk, his eyes on the Amagami-sama. The rain pattered against it, making a steady, rhythmic clack, clack that was both melancholy and comforting. He walked until the sound faded into the distance, and the maid stopped in front of a heavy paper-screen door and knocked softly, her knuckles barely making a sound.