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Chapter Text

“The Young Master is looking for you, Miss…” A rather frantic Thoma manifests in front of you, eyes squared and apologetic. He looks a little unkempt than usual, the furrowed lines in his brows accompanied by his harsh breathing was a telltale sign that he must’ve hurried on his way here. 

Gently, you place down the documents you’ve been sorting into their respective categories, for your master, for the past hour and resist the urge to sigh— an act that takes quite a lot of your patience and you plaster a thin lipped smile. 

“Thoma,” His name runs smooth on your tongue. “Ayato-sama is currently having lunch with the eldest daughter of the Kazuki family.” You say it with a placid tone. 

There’s a strained look on Thomas' face, and he slightly tilts his head downwards. A bead of sweat is threatening to roll down the side of his ear, he scratches the back of his neck. Stalling. For some reason, he seems hesitant to continue, but you’re not surprised considering the lord’s… antics. 

“His schedule was freed for this appointment.” You say pointedly. “So, I doubt he needs me for any assistance considering this lunch was agreed upon by the young master himself, and the head of the Kazuki household.”

Now, he freezes. You give him a knowing look which eventually leads him to heave a breath, eyes closed, before he spills it all in one go: “Waka-chan says he’s not feeling quite well and is afraid it’ll only hinder his socializing with the Kazuki daughter so he intends for you to fetch him, Miss!”

Thoma winces but looks rather relieved when he’s finally done. He opens his eyes and is met with your unamused ones, staring at him with no less than the interest of a fifth grader with their mathematics assignment. “Is that so?” 

“Yes…” He’s breathy, and quite possibly, nervous of you. 

Against your code of professionalism, but in line with your longstanding companionship with Thoma, you roll your eyes at him. It’s a poor excuse from the Kamisato head, and it would be more of a worry if it weren’t for the fact that this wasn’t the first time he’s done this, and much to your chagrin, it definitely won’t be the last. 

“I honestly don’t know how you keep up with him.” Thoma mumbles, apologetic. 

You don’t know either. 

When you arrive at the exclusive restaurant booked at the heart of Inazuma City, you hear the hushed voices on the other side. Thoma merely nods his head in signal, waiting for you. You knock, three times, the voices going more frantic at the second before the doors slide open to reveal the frowning face of the Kazuki heiress. 

For a second, your sympathy goes to your young master. The Kazuki heiress has had… a reputation for her attitude, but you steer clear of mindless gossip as much as you can, provided that you see these nobles frequently in relation to your role as Ayato’s secretary. 

There’s shuffling in the background, your sight blocked by her figure, but out of the corner, you see one of her helps assist Ayato to his feet. You’d give him credit because your master sticks to his faux agenda well, even offering a haughty cough to sell his charade. 

Ayato, turns to the door and your eyes meet. The glint of mischief flashes shortly before the pretense overtakes him again. Once more, it takes everything in you to not heave a sigh. 

“I’m here to… fetch Lord Kamisato. We were made aware that he seems to have fallen under the weather…” You try hard not to make the statement sound like a question, lest you're met with suspicion by the lady in front of you. Her chin tuts up, mouth in a pout, and if you were bold enough, you’d call her impudent. It’s to be expected, at the least; a girl of her stature must not be so used to not getting things her way, and you don’t blame her, not one bit.

You feel sorry for her, in honesty. The slight discomfort of the white lie settling in your chest as you try to go along with the current situation. The lord and his… compromises, never ending. 

The look of satisfaction on Ayato’s face goes by quite quickly before you motion for Thoma to assist the master as he attempts to move out.

“He was already feeling a bit under this morning, but he insisted on meeting you for lunch instead of resting.” It was the best thing you could offer to the young lady. A silent comfort from an outstretched truth. 

She straightens at that, and you offer another placating smile. “Rest assured, my lady, the young master will reach out to you as soon as his bearings are in order.” Your elbow makes contact with Ayato’s side as he passes by you, and he struggles to keep in a groan, nodding in affirmation instead. 

“Of course. I’m terribly sorry, Rumi…” He sighs, dejected. It makes it so hard to think he was actually enjoying this. 

“Quite alright! Your health matters first. Please recover soon, Ayato-sama.” The immediate change in demeanor makes you pause. Now, she is too kind, for your master and for her own good. It never ceases to astound you how ladies are for Ayato.

Her eyes are hopeful and full of empathy, so you turn away quickly, trailing behind Thoma and Ayato as they make their way outside of the establishment and into the Yashiro Commissioner’s personal carriage. 

“Shall I draft an apology letter and send flowers if she chooses to reschedule again, my Lord?” You whisper on the way out.

“...Please…” Ayato breathes in through another display of coughs. 

–

“You’ve been frowning at me all the way back, I sense your mind is troubled.” Ayato comments idly. That usual lackadaisical smile present on his idyllic face.

The ride back to the estate had been silent all along, and even though you knew that he had an idea why you were not as glad as you are right now, it irks you that he has the galls to bring it up. Still, you maintain your poise. He’s still the commissioner, and besides, you wouldn’t have lasted this long in your position if you weren’t hardened by his tendencies; he wouldn’t be the Ayato that he is if it weren’t for them. 

The quiet simmers, and then you answer. “If you did not want to actually dine with the Kazuki heiress, you should not have agreed to the arrangement in the first place, my lord.” 

A crease appears on Ayato’s brows, a pout manifests. You resist the urge to pinch his cheeks to berate him, your hands tied neatly in your lap above the clipboard containing multitudes of papers you tend to daily. For the Commission, for the Kamisatos. For Ayato.  

“I don’t mean to intrude into your personal affairs as much as I already do, my lord, but this might make it harder for you to escape the Kazukis. The daughter you can manage to charm and twist to avoid, but what about his father? Lord Kazuki is not as moon eyed as his daughter is for you.” Your tone is straight. 

He hums. For all that you’ve talked, he merely hums. It should annoy you, but this is routine now. You can no longer count the times you’ve scolded him for his actions and he merely throws his care in the wind because he reasons it would always work out in the end, for him, at least. He hasn’t been wrong but it doesn’t make your work trouble-free. 

“Lord Kazuki won’t be bothered, he intends to maintain connection with the family regardless. I don’t intend to give false hope to the both of them, and I’m sure he’s already caught on to that.” Ayato assures. 

Then he pauses, giving you his attention. “You worry too much.” 

“You worry too little, my Lord.” It can’t be helped. 

“Your voice bleeds a tad of irritation. “And I worry, because it is my job to do so, Ayato-sama.” 

It’s his turn to frown. Ayato shakes his head, light blue hair catching a bit of the sun peeking through the carriage windows. “Look, I know you’re upset by my… encounters and I’m sorry. I truly am, and to make up for it, you can have the last day of the month all to yourself. Paid time off to visit your family.”

The little rascal. He knows how to get you, right in the core, right where you’re weak. You raise a brow at the proposition. This is his way of saying sorry: either a quick trip to the bookstore to get you new materials, a coupon to a bathhouse in the city and the best one yet– paid time off. 

“Promise?” You speak, voice so little, but already convinced. The exhaustion fades away. 

“Guaranted, dear.” He brings out the names now. 

“Deal. Forgiven.” There’s not been a time where you haven’t given in. Your chest jumps at that thought, especially when you look back to him and Ayato is already grinning, boyish features and all his allure ever present. 

You’ve done this way too many times, but your heart, against all your control, still fails to stifle a thump when he gets you right where you’re soft. 

You reason it’s a good bargain for all the stress he puts you up with, even when during your time off you still ponder over the responsibilities you need to resume once more, and he knows that well enough– knows you well enough. 

–

Ayato-sama drives you insane. It’s only a matter of time before you go ballistic at his expense. It’s not quite obvious on the facade you tend to put out, but inside, your brain is stumbling over itself finding excuses because he is late. Again.

When he had arrived, there was nothing hurried in the way he entered the chamber. His hair was immaculate, clothes neatly pressed and absent of creases (you’ve done them yourself). Even the faint arch of his brows carried sense, as if he had intended every passing minute that ticked by before his entrance. Nothing about him being late is ever clumsy, you knew that better than anyone did. 

The envoy from Ritou is already fuming, though the irritation is immediately dulled by Ayato’s serene smile. You, on the latter, was not charmed, in any sense, having been resistant to all this. 

You’d seen the clock; seen him pause by the veranda on his way here to admire the view as if he had all the time in the world. 

He leans, slightly, to you, voice low enough that is only audible to the both of you, “Their envoy only agrees when he believes he’s wrested time from me.”

The sound of your quill scratching against your notes grates on your ear satisfyingly. “And who wrested time from whom, my lord?” Your expression doesn’t waver.  

His teasing chuckle is as smooth as silk, and for anyone else, it would be disarming, for you, unfortunately, it was a headache. 

Still, your duty presides over you. You slide the revised agenda across him at the table, at the exact moment, already arranged so the envoy’s most pressing concern would be addressed last, by then, all the fatigue and pride would soften the sharp edges. You see the way the corner of Ayato’s lips tilt upward. 

You leave all the rest to him, because that’s where he excels. He’ll weave elegant rhetorics in circles, mending concessions that will alleviate all parties involved and leave him with praises for his foresight. You will only have to keep up with his pace, and ensure that he is handed the right scroll for the right briefing. 

“You ruin my theatrics.” His eyes gleam in amusement when he turns to you while the rest of the individuals in the room try to mull over his proposal. You know they will agree with him. 

You hand him his tea, placing it beside him– the way he likes it. “You’re welcome, Waka-chan.” Your tone is crisp.

His smile is softened in what could only be translated as fondness in your vocabulary, and against better judgement, your chest blooms and you look away. 

–

It’s been a minute since you’ve decided to tune out the endless bragging of the foreign representative Ayato is facing. 

Ayato for the most part, is all smiles and respectful of the visitor, his temperament doing the heavy lifting of assuring that this meeting was going on board with the objective of signing new suppliers for the upcoming festival in town. 

You purse your lips at another boisterous chuckle, internally wincing. Whereas your skills deal with making sure your lord is attended to for all his needs, his talents in handling various personalities is the reason why he’s led the commission to fruitful successes. 

Ayato is readying himself to sign the contract, nodding to another one of the representatives' stories. It’s then you see, his sleeves bear a smear of ink. He hasn’t noticed, you wouldn’t expect him to. 

Silently, you reach for him without thinking, thumb brushing the stain, fingers smoothing the fabric of his cuff into something presentable. 

“Best to look neat, my lord. We still have a lot of guests to welcome.” You whisper, solemn. 

For a heartbeat, he stills. The room narrows to fabric and skin, and the small, habitual familiarity of saving him from himself. It’s a habit, automated by years of catching flaws before they are visible.

“Thank you.” He says, quiet for once. It makes you pause as you take a step back and clear your throat. You pray to whoever Archon was listening that the heat crawling through your neck did not reflect so much on your face. 

“Try not to bathe in the inkwell today.” You mutter. 

The glint of tease comes alive in his irises. It reminds you of the first time you met him as a child. Wide eyed and full of energy, unrelenting and sporting a smile too big. 

“No promises.” He almost sings it. 

–

It would be befitting to complain about your pay with how much you have to fish Ayato out from wherever corner he was hiding, when he disappears in between sessions that required his significant input, but you were paid very well.

You did know the pattern of his escapes: the precise length of his patience, the exact moment his attention thinned like stretched paper. He’s spontaneous when he’s bored. 

So you’re not very surprised to find him at the opening of the engawa, gaze drifting lazily at the koi drifting beneath the ripples in the pond. In this moment, the Commissioner’s mask is nowhere to be seen, replaced by the boy you had once known, the one who sought refuge in peaceful spots. He must be tired. You feel a little remorseful.

“Strategic retreat.” He says smoothly, as if he was expecting your scrutiny, face turned towards the afternoon sun, leaning back on his hands. 

“If you are exhausted you only need to say so..” You merely reply in correction, thrusting the stack of papers you’ve already double checked into his hand. Routine, practiced.

He takes them without complaint, but his smirk is unperturbed. “Semantics.”  

You try not to do it as much, not around him, but you let out a sigh. “I’ve told the committee you’re doing an on site inspection of the lantern routes.” You inform him, as effortlessly as you recited the lie to the group earlier. “The rest of the craftsmen are rerouting to match your supposed inspection.”

Ayato flips through the proposal calmly, eyes skimming over the details in quick work. “You’re getting frighteningly good at lying for me.” 

“I’m getting quite tired of needing to when you only need to say so if you need a break instead of making me go around in a chase to locate you.” You mutter, more to yourself than to him, but his head turns at that, and your eyes collide. The playful light in his dimming for just a second.

You think he might apologize, that he might set the papers down and speak honestly and you’ll have another episode of bickering disguised as a polite debacle between the Commissioner and his secretary.

Instead, he answers in a soft tone. “Then I’ll just have to make it worth your while, won’t I?”

Damn it. The worst part of it all was the way your chest tightened, because you knew too well that he could. 

–

Much like everything else in your life, there’s an order you go about when you start your day: you rise, make your beddings, enjoy a minute or two to yourself before you take a wash, get dressed and make your way towards the common kitchen of the estate for your tea and start work. 

It’s routine– carefully crafted for order and function. Like tradition, of your great grandfather, to your grandfather, to your father, and now to you, a service rendered to the Kamisatos for generations, unbroken and systematic. 

You pride yourself in this. Ever since you were a young girl, accompanying your father as he diligently fulfills his own duties then to Ayato’s father, scurrying after him carrying trays too big for your small arms, bowing when told so, and watching how well he guided the head of the clan. You had known it would be you to stand in his shoes next, for the next Yashiro Commissioner, the next head of the Kamisato household.

It wasn’t difficult to step into the role. As children, you’d trail after Ayato and the younger, Ayaka, their educational scrolls neatly stored in your embrace. You’d help Ayaka with whatever homework she had, and Ayato pretended to host meetings. Even as a lad, he’d already thrown himself into the part he was meant to stand. Everyone laughed at the game, but for you, it never truly felt like play. 

When Ayato would look at you, patiently waiting by the corner, asking for your help, whether it was for folding origami for his projects or helping him sort through his recent literature assignment, you obeyed, without hesitation. When he smiled in that quiet, grateful way of his, something in you shone with pride. 

So the years rolled forward. The role fit snug and unquestioned, like shoes slipped on without ever wondering if they were yours. Secretary, Assistant, Shadow. The one who kept the Yashiro Commissioner's days from collapsing. 

It was easy. Way too easy. 

The realization doesn’t come until many years later. 

–

The Kamisato estate is a world of order, and you’ve learned its rhythm longer than you haven't. The evening skies have been painted in the shade of dark blues and violet, sprinkles of shining whites in between. 

You’ve finished depositing the last bits of documents to be mailed first thing in the morning to the Kanjou Commission. You’d have finished earlier if you and your master hadn’t bumped into the rather loud Arataki Itto challenging his Ayato-aniki to a short card game on your way back from Komore Teahouse. 

You had to peel yourself off from them since they were too far gone into the excitement, reminded by the numerous tasks you still had to check on your list before the day concluded. You can’t imagine how that went on once you’ve left, though Ayato practically begged for you to ‘he’s very persuasive, so let’s stay and just do everything else the next day.’  But it was good that he got a reprieve so you let him be. 

“Had a busy day?” A very familiar voice chirps, soft and melodic, almost lulling you to a calm stop. You look up from the end of the corridor, Ayaka’s smile greeting you, her gentle hands nursing new bloomed flowers freshly picked from the garden.

It’s been so long since you’ve last exchanged a full conversation. While you were busy tending to Ayato’s needs, Thoma was busy accompanying her. This scene is familiar though, yet oddly different all the same– papers instead of folded scraps, duties instead of games. 

“My lady,” You smile, sincerely. “Good evening.”

“Oh, none of that.” She fusses, creating a gesture for you to join her. 

Ayaka sits with you, the evening light painting her blue hair a soft gold. Her steady and delicate hands continue to arrange the beautiful blooms in her grasp, no doubt for an offering. 

“How have you been, Ayaka-sama?” You breathe. 

“I should be the one asking you that.” She chuckles, the sound is light and airy, so befitting of her character. “I heard from Thoma of your recent… struggle with Nii-sama with Rumi-san last week.” 

The way you blow air out was enough of an answer. While you’ve grown closely with the siblings, you’d rather not abuse your relationship with them. Ayato was still Ayaka’s brother, and he was still your master, and even if they regard you with such familiarity, you chose to honor them as one of the nation’s prominent families. 

Looking down at your feet, you only muster up a small grin. “I’m used to it.” You reply.

Ayaka makes a face. “I’m sorry about him.” 

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Please don’t apologize, my lady. I’ve long been immune to the lord’s habits.” 

Ayaka joins your laughter, the flowers now gently placed to her side as she gives you all of her attention. It makes you skittish, but you return the gaze, genuine. “You’ve been with him for so long I can’t even remember a day you weren’t by his side. You work so tirelessly for our good…” 

The song of praises coming from her tugs a little at your heart. Ayaka is not as thick faced as her older brother is, not as sly too, so the words feel a little new. “I can’t help but admire you…” She says suddenly, looking up with that guileless innocence she’s always had. 

It makes you falter. “Admire me? Oh, Ayaka-sama, I’ve done nothing extraordinary. I’m merely doing my duty.” You hoped your face didn’t betray you with how bashful you felt at the receiving end of her compliments. 

“But that’s exactly it!” Ayaka presses, earnestly, “You’ve given so much to supporting this family. Supporting us… Supporting Nii-sama. Sometimes, I wonder…” 

Her pause captures your curiosity, with a purse of her lips you ask, “Wonder what, my lady?” A smile still present on yours. 

She muses faintly. “If you’ve ever thought about what you’d want to do, if you weren’t always serving my brother.” Ayaka says it so intimately, eyes like that of the lake frozen during winters. She’s anticipating but not impatient. 

The question is simple, a straightforward answer would suffice.

You open your mouth, and then close it.

And yet…

You’ve never thought of it. 

It had always been, “What would the young master and we do without you?” From the estate workers, “How do you even manage Waka-chan?” From Thoma, “The Commissioner would not survive without you, huh?” From Yae Miko-sama.

It’s tradition. You should respond plainly. 

The smile on your face slowly drifts away.

The question lands heavier than she intended, and yet Ayaka has no clue. 

“What would you do?” Perhaps a standard reply would be enough if it were another person to probe but it’s Ayaka that throws the inquiry. Your mind is blank, as if every possibility outside this path has been stripped away.

Tradition, tradition, Ayato . 

The dawn of some kind of recognition comes, in the form of a cold seeping into your veins that seems to unearth an unfamiliar feeling in your chest. 

You’ve never truly asked yourself. The work, the duty, the years beside him— they just became who you were. You had slipped into the role so seamlessly you never really thought of stepping outside of it. 

A tightness coils in your throat, nothing seems to flow out. Ayaka doesn’t notice. Thank Archons.

A saving grace to your sudden halt arrives when Thoma calls on the young lady, giving you a short acknowledgement before she whisks her away with the flowers in her hold. Ayaka’s small goodbye leaves you in a haze, her words gentle but they pierce more than she could know— more than you had expected.

You force a smile, because that’s all you can do. 

Left alone, the night stills. The lanterns flicker in the hallways, the rustle of the leaves is softened by the wind. You return to your quarters, each step laden with a sigh. You’re exhausted from today’s affairs but sleep doesn’t come. 

For some reason, Ayaka’s words loop in your mind. You sit at the small desk beside your bed, candle light casting long shadows in the room. 

You think back to the days you were little, running errands in the estate with a seriousness far beyond your years. You think back to the first time Ayato had ever entrusted you to keep track of his notes, the silent warmth you felt in your chest at the notion. You think back to every moment since, being his aid felt obvious— almost fated. 

And you didn’t mind, not one bit, because it was Ayato. Ayato-sama with his clever grin. Ayato-sama with his mischievous wit. Ayato-sama, despite teasing glances, stands tall in the face of Inazuma for the Kamisatos and the Commission. 

You blow out the candles and let the dark swallow the room. You reason your thoughts are only jumbled because of your tiredness and the night is notorious for its wickedness and ability to make you second guess. 

Right?

Chapter Text

When you were young, you often heard your grandfather’s words to your father when he was too occupied with his doubts in his service. “To serve is to anticipate. To anticipate is to protect. That is our family’s way.” 

Your father would then look at him with truthful eyes, nodding in agreement before he shifts his stance and calls it a day. Your grandfather has always reminded him of what matters. Of what the Kamisatos have done for your family in the midst of the wars before, a gracious opportunity to strive again despite the fall and to rebuild your honor and stand by their side in service. 

They don’t dangle the truth in front of your eyes like you were prey, but you were taught to value the chance— and your family has. Your presence at their household speaks much for the tradition you’ve continued to uphold. 

You don’t remember the exact moment your life began to orbit Ayato. It felt inevitable. Young as you were, raised in the halls of their estate with a will to carry your family’s legacy as much as the eldest of the Kamisatos himself. 

It was simple at first. Act as his playmate, entertain him when both of your fathers were busy with the affairs of the commission. The memories turn vague, all seeming to bleed into one harmonious note that sang for infinity. You carried his books even when he said you didn’t need to, prepared his materials before his tutor came for their sessions, and scoffed when he told you jokes you barely even understood. 

During your earlier days at the Kamisato estate, you always viewed him to be animated. He wasn’t exactly loud, but his penchant for trouble was unmatched. For a time, you would have never taken him as the heir to such a prolific family with his demeanor. Ayato, for all his worth, never looked towards you as the next servant to his term too. 

And then the years came, both of you growing into the molds you were bound to succeed. Ayato, still cheeky, sneaks around the estate with mischief and is taller than you would have hoped for. You, trailing after him at the behest of his younger sister, the carriage outside waiting for the siblings to take them to a gathering for the nobles. 

You became an anchor, silently growing as a presence the family can look towards. Your father, eyes growing with wrinkles and hair turning white was proud of it too.

When his parents died, something inside Ayato shifted. You haven’t really understood the politics of it all then, but you remember Ayato’s silence. You remembered the discomfort of his quiet, and for once, you felt you would have opted to be a victim of his pranks again just to see his smile. He was burdened young, forced into the role of the Commission with the grief of loss.

The people of Inazuma saw him brave, immediately stepping into the role of family head. Where others saw the new rise of the Kamisato Commissioner, you saw the boy who laughed too loudly at childish games, the boy who wore grief with unflinching poise, promising his younger sister that he would not succumb to the clan’s burdens and the master who preserved the pride of their family name. 

He sat at meeting tables with men three times his age, chin never bowing in question, eyes unyielding. You remember how he looked lonely. You never voiced it out though, but you saw it; saw how he had changed overnight, head buried in scrolls, shoulders taught with pressure, hands heavy with the weight of salvaging his family’s reputation. He never knew what rest was, and you never really knew what the ache in your chest was when you saw his image. 

So when your father asked you to take on his mantle as the Kamisato head’s next secretary, how could you say no? 

And it felt almost surreal, your tandem too in tune with another. You did everything you could to keep him afloat, learned all his quirks to equip yourself with the best action for his success. They praised you just as much as they did the Kamisato lord. You with your efficiency, him with his tenacity.

The years slipped by, and maybe along the way, somewhere between loyalty and tradition… something softer took root in your chest, but you never dared to name it. You couldn’t.

–

The morning sun bleeds into the estate with a welcoming radiance. You step into the hallway with the certainty of someone who belongs– not because the estate is yours, but because you know its pulse better than anyone. The beat of its days has become second nature: the flow of the househelps, the schedule of guests arriving, the process of paperwork behind closed doors that the public never sees. 

Little has changed over the passage of time, at least not between you and Ayato-sama. 

Well, he’s remained the same in some aspects, part of you feels a sense of relief in that, even if you’re not so sure why. Though, he’s only grown taller, sharper, wearing his title as if it was sewn into his very bones. 

To the public eye, he is a master tactician, ever clever and elusive, never quite seen for too long, with an air of charm that is all encompassing. To you, he is the man who conveniently “forgets” lunch appointments with daughters of noblemen unless you drag him to them, who stacks his schedule too tightly, until you threaten to throw his chair out of the window. They’re all truths to Ayato, all in their own sense.

“Good morning, my lord.” You greet him when you enter his office, routine and well worn. You gently place his morning papers in front of his table.

“You’re a minute late today.” He muses, as if your irritation entertains him more than it should. 

You resist the urge to scoff. “If you had put your attention into signing the new shipments today instead of keeping a close eye on my arrival time, we both would be less burdened come noon.”

You see the way he stifles a chuckle, eyes crinkling at the corners and you look away, both lightly annoyed at his teasing and yet…

“I pay attention to what matters.” His innuendos never escape you, but the thought of the sentiment makes you squeemish. Still, you put a straight face and move on. “Stop stalling and start signing.” You merely flick your wrist. You know he hates rote approvals the same way you know he hates elder council meetings. They’re tedious, he always says.

So, you do your best to make summaries of all the papers, saving time and making sure he stays up to track. By the time he finishes the last stack, lunch is coming to roll. You nod to yourself at the precision. On point. 

“And, these are proposals from noble families wishing to visit or schedule appointments with you, my lord.” You hand him a list compiled with the nobilities of Inazuma vying for his time. If you’d guess, they were hopeful clan heads wishing to make connections with the very… available Kamisato master. Just like the other lady during lunch, and the one before that, and the one before…

“Hmm.” He hums, wistful. “Tell them I’m rather preoccupied lately.” Ayato says it with little to no mercy. 

You don’t force him to give it a second thought. “May I also remind you of the annual gathering hosted by the Hayabusa family a few weeks from now, my Lord. It’s still a little far but we need your measurements done so we can have it sent to Chioriya Boutique. The logistics will take time.” 

Ayato turns to you, mouth formed in a pout that you resist to unfurl and he sighs. “I never said I was going when the invitation arrived.”

You give him that look. “Your presence is of utmost importance, Ayato-sama.” He winces when he hears his name out of your tongue, your tone pointed. “You missed the one last year, and the year before that because you pushed your body too much, working late into the night and got ill.”.

His cheeky smile comes, dressed in his polite tilt of a head. “That was unfortunate, right?”

Although Ayaka has become, more or less, the official face of the Commission, as the highest authority of the organization, Ayato still held the reins.

“If we want to maintain good graces with the Hayabusas, you must attend. Other prominent figures will be there and it is well within your duty to represent not just the commission but the Kamisato name as well. It will only be one night.” You add, and he makes a show of thinking about what you’ve said as if he has any other option, or… perhaps plotting to turn tides his way once more. “Don’t even think about excuses. I’ll drag you by your collar if I have to, lest I hear another of Lady Hayabusa’s bemoans of your absence.” 

Lady Hayabusa was an… eccentric woman on her own. She never hesitates to say what’s on her mind, nor express distaste for what she feels. It’s… never easy having to face her head on with such a sharp tongue. 

“I would never scheme.” Ayato smirks, and you have half the mind to pinch the fat in his cheeks. “Of course, I shall be there.” He turns to you. “Only if you accompany me.” The light in his pale purple eyes shimmers when the sun hits it right. You feel feverish, so you look away. 

“Naturally, my lord.” Your heart stills at his choice of words. They aren’t nothing you haven’t heard but somehow, the way the syllables flow like butter on his soft lips always makes you hold your breath a second longer. 

–

“My father does not need imported alcohol all the way from Mondstadt, my Lord. He already drinks enough as it is.” You grimace, Ayato’s smiling face undeterred in front of you. “Retirement has been… kind to him.” 

The man only huffs. “It’s the least I could give. A token of my gratitude to the man that has raised you and been a good companion to our family for so long.” He makes a spectacle of lightly shaking the bottle as if it would convince you. “Please, dearest?”

Curse the Archons.

His words are lethal, and the slight plea in his tone, whether faux or not, makes you turn to look away before begrudgingly accepting the gift. Ayato elicits a satisfied hum at this, your peripheral catches sight of his easy grin. He’s such a little brat.

“... I shall thank you in my father’s stead…” You merely mumble. 

It is one of your days off. Not a quick uninterrupted break, or a chance of a vacant schedule, but a full intentional day off. Paid, if you might smugly brag about it. The one Ayato had promised for the end of the month, and Ayaka, insisting further to extend it to two because she was a kind soul that saw all of your hard work for what it was worth. 

“Send our regards to your family!” The younger Kamisato chirps. They’re sending you off early in the morning as if you’re about to brace a war. 

“I will, my lady.” You say, bowing in gratitude before turning to the older one. “Please do not hesitate to send a message if you need anything urgent, Ayato-sama.”

His hair catches the early lights of the morning sun when he shakes his head sideways, gracefully. “I promised you time off and you shall get time off. I can hold up well on my own for a while.” He gives you a knowing glance, almost teasing. 

Briefly, you’re reminded of his horrible habits of overworking, always toeing his limit and how often you had to pry off of his desk, which, nine times out of ten is in ultimate chaos, both quills and papers strewn haphazardly on the surface, just to borderline bully him into taking a break. 

“Then please don’t stir too much trouble in my temporary absence then.” 

Ayato’s smirk grows wider, as if it were possible. 

“You have my honor.” Ayato tilts his head down, his stare piercing, so you take it upon yourself to break the contact, waving and turning to make your way home. 

–

Your family house is nestled comfortably in Konda Village. You like where it was placed, not that far from the City and Ritou. It was quiet enough compared to the buzz of the City, but not too quiet that it seemed lonely. Your home housed a lot of memories, your parent’s care, laughter shared between you and your cousins, and the gentle grace of your grandparents. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss how simpler things were back then. 

“That Ayato boy really has grown into a fine young man! I knew he would! Saw him practically grow up!” You father hollers, his voice echoing in the walls of your home as you unpack more of the things you’ve brought. 

The scoff you let out is not unkind, more of a stifled chuckle that caught wind. “You’re just saying that because he gave you foreign alcohol.” 

The streaks of white growing sparsely but evident against the black on his hair reminds you of his age. “Absolutely not, tiny!” His nickname for you makes you smile. “It was… very nice of him though! It’s a way of saying to enjoy my retirement!” He’s too enthusiastic for his age and position. 

On your first day, it felt a bit peculiar to rest. There’s a stark contrast to the slow pace of your household when compared to the huge system in the Kamisato estate. Here, everything is unhurried and calm. You slowly ease into it. It wasn’t too difficult because this was where you came from, anyway. 

“Sweetheart, eat some more.” Your mother urges, almost frets that it mildly concerns you. “Have more pickled tomatoes. Oh, we had some sweets picked up from the City the other day!” She flutters around you. Your Auntie that had come to visit, holds her cheeks as she stands behind the kitchen counter. 

“Stop stuffing your daughter’s cheeks before she can even swallow.” Your grandmother voices, still focused on the newspaper in her hands, answering the crossword with silent determination. It makes you smile fondly. “You act as if the Kamisatos don’t feed her right.” 

“Ayato-sama would care well for his secretary, of course! That boy is a sweetheart” It’s your Auntie, and you nod absentmindedly at that. 

Your mother petulantly sulks but still displays an array of food in front of you. “I know that! Can’t I just spoil my child by choice? She rarely comes home from her big girl duties!”

The laugh that escapes you is soft before you pick up your chopsticks to pop a sushi in your mouth, appreciative of this. Home cooked food always has a magic in them that could never be compared to even the finest restaurants. It reminds you of your memories as a kid. 

“I do hope that boy treats you right.” Your grandmother states, voice absent of threat so you know she’s only saying it out of care. You nod again, mouth still full of food. “Speaking of, has he found a bride yet? Last I heard the mothers in town are talking about how he is such a gentleman but is a waste that he has not been tied to yet.” 

You freeze. Your grandmother has always been upfront and direct, sometimes it even catches your guard down. The little stiff grin is a telltale sign of how blunt her wording had been. You understand her curiosity though, it’s not a hidden fact that one of the most eligible men in Inazuma is yet to settle down. Rumors always run here and there, and Ayato’s status and position gives him a spotlight, unwanted or not. 

“Not yet, Baa-chan.” The reply you give is curt. “It’s not within his interest as of now.” 

Your grandmother pouts. You doubt whether it’s about your answer, or if she's having a particularly difficult item in her crossword.

Her eyes brighten before she scribbles on the paper again, looking up at you. “Well, he should. He’s not gonna get any younger. His father was at his age when he had him, the heir to their house. Although he does have a sister… so perhaps the pressure of a next in line is not much of a bother for him.” 

Not wanting to comment on that, you merely nod at her sentiments and choose to occupy your mouth with the tea your mother had brewed. It’s not until one of your younger cousins, no less than thirteen enters the kitchen, head popping first before she positions herself near you, snagging an ohagi for herself saying, “Why don’t you marry him instead, Nee-chan?”

The tea entered the wrong pipe, resulting in a horrid cough as you covered your mouth, hands hurriedly snapping to your chest to puff out the rest of the liquid. The warmth growing from your nape upwards makes you lightheaded. In a last ditch effort to save face, you clear your throat harshly, sitting straighter, cough still going. 

It almost seemed comical how the rest of the women in your family within the vicinity looked at you in a mix of worry, hinted with slight amusement. 

“You’re always with him, anyway. You grew up together. What difference would that make?” She adds. 

You grit your teeth, your younger cousin seemingly expectant of your response. “It… it doesn’t– He, well, I-I don’t…” And now you’re stumbling over your words, like it could get any more awful than it already is. 

“Why?” You haven’t even gotten a proper reply to her prior query and she’s already throwing you another one. To make matters worse, the other people in the room don't seem to plan on intervening. It’s every woman for herself here it seems. 

You huff. “Well, t-to start, I… Ayato-sama is nobility.” 

The younger one looks at you with raised brows. “That’s a problem then?” She asks again, and you’ve always encouraged her curiosities because that’s how knowledge is nurtured, but you don’t appreciate it when it’s regarded towards you and your personal disposition.

“Well, n-not really? I guess, not anymore? I mean, it is standard for nobles to marry into families with the same status, but with how society has progressed, it’s not as frowned upon as it used to be . At least in the most recent cases.” She hums at you, looking to her side in her own thinking. 

“So long as their betrothed are respectable and kind; that is a standard that should never be forgotten when choosing a partner.” You add, mindful and stern, because that is the truth. For everyone, regardless of status or place when choosing the individual they will be with for eternity. 

She smiles, adorably so. “It shouldn't be a problem for you, then? You are respectable and very kind, Nee-chan.”

Despite how genuine her words are, the notion behind the context of the conversation makes your heart pause and your stomach stir. You should not feel this way!

Your Auntie becomes your saving grace when she finally pushes herself off the counter and dismisses your younger cousin back outside. “Alright, enough questions for your Nee-chan. This area is for adult discussion, no more eavesdropping.” She softly guides her by the shoulder.

“But why?” Your younger cousin whines, bottom lip jut out. “I’m not lying! Nee-chan and Ayato-Niisama are always together because of work, right? If you say Ayato-Niisama takes care of Nee-chan well, and she does with him, it would make sense!”

Your mother lets out a sigh before helping her out. “Go back and play with Rui, I’ll bring you some snacks outside.” That seemed enough to steer her attention away as she claps her hands together in excitement before rushing back to her playmate. 

The air you let out is ragged and your face feels burning, but you mask it in one of your facades of composure. It feels embarrassing for you right now and just merely entertaining the idea of standing beside Ayato as more than his aid makes you squirm in your seat, and you feel feverish you rest your head against your hand propped on the table. A groan follows, but in irritation and… wonder.

Irritation because it’s such… such a stupid thing. You should not even let it simmer in your head. Such a foolish thought that shouldn’t have even come to frutition. 

And you wonder because…

Because it dawns on you, the realization. 

That when Ayato-sama marries, which he will eventually, sooner or later, you start to wonder where you would be then? 

Where would that put you?

Tradition, tradition, Ayato.

Your mind wanders back to the conversation you had with Ayaka that one night. The innocent question she had posed out of the blue. If you’ve ever thought about anything else outside of dedicating your service to Ayato. 

You just never thought of it that hard. When Ayato eventually has his own heirs, he will pass it to them, and then, what about you? Will you pass it on then too?

“Damn it.” You murmur. You don’t like this. You don’t like thinking about it, and you most certainly don’t like the feeling gnawing in your chest. It’s as if your lungs are stuffed with cotton and your mind is drowning in water. It feels… sour, foul. 

You angrily pick up your chopsticks again, picking at the nearest tempura, hoping eating would be enough of a distraction. Your movements are sharp as you chew, brows scrunched and eyes bathed in frustration. 

If your grandmother by the side notices your turmoil, you silently thank her for deliberately choosing not to say anything because as it is right now, you have no answer even for yourself. She merely hums an old lullaby from a childhood hymn. 

–

On the second day of your stay, you do everything you possibly can to keep yourself afloat and happy. 

You wake up early even when you could decide to sleep in so you can help your mother tend to her garden. She’s ecstatic and she fawns over the latest fertilizer and how efficient it really is because the eggplants she’s growing are faster than they were last time. 

After breakfast you accompany your grandmother to the City. She's been fishing for books at Yae Publishing House since she has been up to the latest of The Boar Princess, and wanted to see what would be happening next. You merely snort at standee of Ms. Hina outside the bookstore, before your grandmother whisks you away for lunch at the nearest dango stall. 

During the afternoon, you indulged a bunch of the neighborhood kids by reading to them and eventually joining their game of tag. You’re a bit out of practice, because apparently there are newer mechanics to it?

When dinner came, the smell of yakiniku filled the air of the house so nicely. Your father had his apron on as he served you your portions and it was a meal full of gratitude and smiles. It was nice like this. Nice to have a family like this. 

In the future, you hope your future family will laugh like this too. 

Your mother served sakura mochi as dessert and when everyone was finished, the cleaning came. You did your work with the dishes and after, the women of the family decided to play a game of cards. You participated, but eventually called it even and stepped out to the back of the house, settling on the open shogi doors. 

The view of the moon is clear tonight, only lightly shaded by the huge Otogi tree in your backyard. You reminisce how you used to climb it, your mother berating you to come down, you never did. The breeze comes in a welcome, soft and almost ghost-like.

The night is cold and quiet, offering you solace as you let out a breath, noticing the fog it had emitted. You sit, folding your legs, content creeping in. 

“Mind if I keep you company, tiny?” Your father comes up behind you. The nickname makes you giggle. He told you back then it was because you were so tiny when you were born he was scared he’d crush you when he held you the first time. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he settles down beside you, and you spot the bottle Ayato had gifted him with two pairs of glasses. He pours on one and hands it to you. 

One of your brows arches, your smirk showing. “When I was young, you always told me off about drinking. Even when I told you that I would only drink when I’m of age.” 

Your father chuckles, it’s loud and boisterous and very much him. “In my eyes you were a baby. Always was.”

That makes your heart pang. “And yet, you're handing me a glass right now, Pa.” You say in a matter of fact, accepting the glass and nursing it in your hands after a quick sip. The taste of dandelions and fermented grapes sit on your tongue deliciously. 

“I figured you aren’t that much of a baby anymore.” He smiles to himself. “My baby is all grown up, even if I don’t want her to be.” Your father says it earnestly. He has always been an honest man, and as speechless as you are, you could only resolve to bumping your shoulder against his to tell him that you appreciate him. More than you could ever say. 

You bask in the peace for a few minutes before he huffs from beside you again. “Alcohol also has a way of easing people out. Makes them a lil’ bit more honest.” You look at him the same time he turns to look at you, that comforting smile still present on his lips. “So, mind telling me what’s been on your mind lately, tiny?” 

He knows. You don’t expect anything less from the man who raised you, but it still catches you by surprise. 

Your voice gets stuck in your throat, and you hesitate. You could play it off as just weariness taking over you. Or maybe even restlessness wondering if the estate is doing fine while you were away. You have many excuses up your sleeve, and more you can conjure up if you put your mind to it. It always worked when you made reasons for Ayato’s shenanigans. 

And yet… when you look at your father downing his drink and expectant of you, you’re involuntarily coaxed. 

“Pa…” He hums. “Did you… ever wonder what if… you’d lived your life differently?” 

The question sits in the air in agonizing silence. 

Some horrid feeling washes over you when you realize how off putting the inquiry must have been. “I- I just… I’ve been thinking lately about what I’m d-doing lately, and I take very much pride in what you’ve g-given me–”

Your father laughs, gentle this time and it cuts you off. “I know what you mean, tiny, don’cha worry. I’m your old man, for Archon's sake. Of course I get ‘ya.” 

You look away, feeling a bit sour at how you’re coming about this. 

“You don’t need to feel bad about what you’re feeling, tiny. You're allowed to feel.” He says it, and it earns your attention, drawing you back to look at him again. Your father’s eyes are set to the skies this time. The stars reflecting on his irises. 

“It’s true that our lineage has been loyal to the Kamisatos for a very long time. My grandfather and those before him, my father, me, and now you.” He smiles, seemingly proud. “It’s been a carefully carved legacy we take pride in. A tradition.” 

You bow, head turned and you focus on swirling the liquid in your cup as you listen to your father, afraid that your emotions may betray you if you break. 

“My father raised me to be in his shoes next, and his greatest achievement was when I did. I don’t regret anything. I was lucky enough to find your mother even when I had poured my service into making sure Ayato’s father was rock steady in his position, and your mother was too kind to understand me, and I was thankful she was because then, we had you.” 

You feel your eyes watery. Your throat is constricted but you refuse to meet his gaze and steal yourself because you don’t want your father to stop talking. 

“And when I had you, I tried my best to raise you in the same light too, because I believed in tradition too.” 

Then he pours himself another serving of the imported liquor. Eyes grown weary but filled with mirth. “But traditions are not chains.” He states. 

Your father eagerly turns to you. 

“Tell me, do you serve that boy because it is legacy or because it is more for you?” 

Your breathing altogether stops. Your brows are knit together, deeply furrowed, you grip on the glass tighter, as if you planned on breaking it but you don’t even realize. You bite the inside of your cheeks because you think you have an answer, but speaking it out loud would be acknowledging it and you might as well be damned. 

Is it why it’s so troubling for you? Has the line between service and more blurred and your punishment is being lost in your own choices and thoughts. It’s daunting, and it’s frightening and it makes you feel like you're hiding a secret from yourself. 

Your father bumps your side when he notices how silent you’ve become. “Don’t answer if you don’t want to. I’m not gonna pry it out of you.”

It sounds teasing but he means well. “Regardless of your answer, whatever you decide upon is all up to you, but just know you got your old man supporting you all the way.” He grins. 

“But if I decide to walk away, isn’t that betrayal, to our family, to you?” It’s the first time you respond, fidgeting your fingers against the sleeves of your clothing. You feel like throwing up, and it’s not the alcohol that much you can affirm.

You half expected a frown, maybe a tut of his tongue but your father’s smile grows wider. “Betrayal?” He tilts his head in a knowing manner. “Our service to the Kamisato family is indeed a measure of loyalty, but it's not the only kind of loyalty there is, tiny.” He says the last sentence with a fond look, giving you a stare like he’s already gotten a conclusion, like he knows something you don’t that you should already know. 

It makes you uneasy. 

“Do you want to walk away?” He asks, smile still present. And for some reason, you feel like he’s not just talking about your duty at this point. 

Still, you don’t know what to say, or if you even want to answer that.

Your father gently reaches out, patting the top of your head before ruffling your hair. The action makes you soften your shoulders, and you feel as if you’ve shrunk back a child, seeking your father after a rough play of scavenger hunt with your friends. 

“No matter. I trust you’ll know when it comes to you, or when you’re ready to come to face your own feelings too.” Your father says, astute. It only confuses you. He sounded so sure, he looked at you so certain, with utmost trust. 

The moon is impeccably beguiling tonight, and it stands witness of your father’s considerate tutelage. It always has been, since you were born into this world. 

“After all, my greatest achievement as a father was raising a respectable and very kind daughter like you.” 

The way your heart rests in tranquil lulls you to good rest despite the chaos brewing in your head. 

Chapter Text

“Kirara-san brought these packages from Fontaine over, Miss.” 

You don’t need to turn around to know that it’s Thoma’s voice. Your attention is still over the new scrolls brought by the Kanjou Commission, sorting through what was redundant proclamations and what actually mattered.

“Thank you, you can put them by the side. I’ll get to it shortly, Thoma.” You reply, still not giving him a glance. 

He hums in affirmation and you can hear his shuffling from behind you and the sound of boxes being moved. You had arrived earlier this morning, waking up to your thoughts and deciding to just return to the estate earlier than the time you were expected to arrive. 

The most rational thing to do amidst your internal debacles was to throw yourself into your work as soon as possible. It proved to be the right decision, considering that there had been such an accumulation in your work load for the two days you’d spent away, but Ayato remained true to his oath of holding the fort down whilst you were away.

This was enough of a distraction. The latest troubles of the civil affairs was the affiliation of Kamisato Ayato in the Arataki gang’s recent Onikabuto bug fight, which apparently is of grave concern. You sigh. You have yet to write a response to that, and you’re not quite sure what to say.  

“I mean, surely there are other matters more pressing than bugs fighting in the presence of this guy.” You trail off, holding your temple to wonder what appropriate words you’d use for the letter you have yet to draft.

Thoma’s chuckle reverberates in the other else, quiet room. For now, you finally give him a gaze as he walks over to where you’re situated, eyes flitting to the scroll you’re holding to read it for himself. “Waka-chan can sometimes be very impulsive. When he wants to be.” 

You don’t disagree. “Is he still in his quarters?” You ask, because when you had come back, it was only Ayaka’s figure that received you by the gate. It was not something to distress over, you’d assumed that he was still deep in his slumber considering the sun had barely risen when you stepped back again into the estate. 

“Practicing swordsmanship by the courtyard.” Thoma huffs. “It’s surprising you didn’t catch sight of him. He’s been at it for an hour or more now.” 

A raised brow and a quirk of your lips manifests. “Really?” It’s not uncommon for Ayato to touch up on his blade work, especially since it had been a part of his curriculum growing up. Additionally, as the current head of the Shuumatsuban, coupled by very numerous attempts to both him and his family before, it is well within his capabilities to carry a katana with precision. 

“He’s been a bit quiet when you took your break.” Thoma tilts his head, still looking at you. “Like day dreaming. Works too much than usual, even. It happens when you’re gone too long.” You’re not adverse to picking out the tone of teasing in Thoma’s voice. He doesn’t miss the way your eyebrows roll too.

“Don’t even go there, Thoma.” You huff, folding the scroll in your hands and tucking it back to your desk. 

“I didn’t even say anything!” He raises his hands in surrender. 

“Your implications don’t escape me.” You place a hand on your hips. 

“So you’ve thought about it too, then?” He muses instead. 

This is not a discussion you would like to partake in, as of the moment, or maybe even ever. So you turn away, heading for the door as Thoma merely laughs. “Your Waka-chan’s behavior has been rubbing off on you terribly.” Is the only thing you said, frown still apparent. 

Thoma follows you outside as you head to the courtyard, and sure enough, Ayato stood in the middle of it. There are no other servants in sight, but you do see a little figure cozying up to one of the benches, eyes shut and it’s Sayu. The nimble ninja is napping, and you guessed she had come by to deliver information to the young master. 

Ayato, oh dear, Ayato.

He’s wearing a very loose light purple yukata, one of the collars threatening to fall off his shoulders, and in result, his toned chest is bared open for the rest of the world to see. The skin in view is sweaty and you see beads of it also falling to the sides of his face. The hurried rise and fall of his breathing tells you that Thoma was truthful in saying he’s been at this for a while. The veins on his arms are more prominent than usual; it makes you apprehensive. 

The wooden sword he’s been practicing with is limp on his right hand, his other coming in to sweep his hair back, out of its usual order. The streaks of pale blue are darker because they’re soaked in his sweat. Ayato’s eyebrows are furrowed, lips slightly parted to help accommodate more oxygen intake and you feel something in your body shift at this sight. It’s not all the time you see him so, unfixed and out of posture. 

“Ah, the Miss is here?” Sayu’s voice rings and she perks up from her seat, eyes still droopy and barely opened. 

Ayato immediately turns to look in question, and you’re still standing there, stupified and hesitant. 

“Oh? You’re back?” Ayato’s voice snaps you from your high strung consciousness. You can feel Thoma’s skeptical glance so you do your best to present yourself professionally. Like you should. 

“Why did no one come get me? I wasn’t able to receive you properly.” He turns to look at the blonde to your side. “Thoma?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt your practice session, Waka-chan.” He replies, scratching the back of his head. 

“So you’ve opted to steal my secretary’s attention for the meantime?” Ayato has the galls to pout, but there’s no threat to his words. “That’s not very nice. I should be first to welcome her back. I always have been.” 

You clear your throat, he’s at his theatrics again, but they aren’t false in their nature. “It’s not that important, my lord.” 

Now, Ayato turns to you, as if Thoma was never there in the first place, smiling lackadaisically. “Yes, dearest?”

You can practically see Thoma holding back his grin behind his wrist, slowly moving away from the scene like he was intruding on such an intimate moment he was never meant to witness in the first place. You’ll get him back some time, you swear. 

“I apologize for interrupting your session, my lord. But we have a lot of things to get too.” You clear your throat again, you’d make it sore on purpose if this goes on. 

“That’s so very you.” He comments, “But of course, let’s get to work shall we?” 

For some odd reason, something in the way he asks makes your heart falter. You remember your father’s words, remember the night before and how the doubts had pawed its way into your system. But Ayato’s grace is familiar. Everything about this is terribly familiar; it's engraved in the depths of your soul. 

It’s unsettling and soothing all the same. Simultaneously. 

You look away. “First, we must try out the garments you’ll be wearing in attendance to the gala a few days from now and then a few mails we have to reply to, as well as a new envoy shipment… and then–” He cuts you off with a small pat to your head. 

“Let’s take it easy. You’ve just returned.” Your breath hitches. That doesn’t help you at all. 

But you nod, anything he says, you always adjust to. “Very well, then. Let’s get to trying on Chioriya Boutique's wear. Kirara just dropped it off this morning.” And then you eye him, still sweaty and smelling faintly of the earth and grass, and something softer. The warmth he’s emitting makes you feel manic. “But, if I may kindly suggest, you shower first, my lord.” 

Oh, that presumptuous stare is back, overly teasing and impudent. He’s still Ayato. “Is that your excuse to see me rid of my clothing? You only need to say so. I didn’t know you missed me that much.” Incorrigible! Such a vexing master he is!

“I’m not above hitting you with your own wooden sword.” Straightfaced, you fix him a look.  

For all he is, the Commissioner laughs. The sound makes you blink and you’re certain that the sting in your cheeks is evident with how hard you’re desperately grasping to stay composed. You will not show him you’re affected. You will not let him get to you. Not before, and definitely not now. 

“It’s alright. I missed you too.” He adds, and you don’t know if he’s jesting this time, but you should take it as a routine that he always is when his words tempt you. 

Against your own though, your chest still, irrevocably, trembles. 

–

The problem with Kamisato Ayato is not that he’s not aware of his very blessed facial prowess and disposition, but in the fact that he’s, you’re sure of this, very acutely aware of how he is perceived by most people with functioning eyes.   

You don’t understand why he’s always fishing for compliments around you, when you’re positive that he knows what he is. It’s not as if he’s not constantly fawned over by half of the ladies he comes around with. He can get his praises from them just as much. 

“How do I look?” His voice rings, you don’t glance his way though, eyes straight forward as the door to the venue peers open, the lights from inside filtering to your figures. He’s been asking that ever since you’d accidentally slip out a ‘very dashing’  when you’d first seen him in the custom kimono. 

But it really is. Blue and white are his colors, and the golden cranes splattered here and there across the fabric only made him stand out. It’s befitting for someone of his stature, that is cemented certain. 

And it makes you shrink as you avoid any more situations that put you in deep trouble with your own thoughts. 

Ayato merely laughs, hiding it behind his sleeves as he thankfully stops his attempts at disrupting your focus. 

The crowd turns to his entrance, eyes growing wide in surprise and awe. Perhaps most did not expect of his attendance tonight, seeing as he never made himself present for the last few years, but Ayato keeps his chin up at the attention. He looks regal, untouched by mere whispers and regarded with high respect by peers and commoners alike. 

You’re used to this. Used to him like this, but tonight feels a little different than the rest. A halo of light seemingly encapsulates him, and even if he’s right in front of you making his way as the sea of people parted to make space for each of his steps, you feel like he’s out of your grasp. 

You gulp, you step even a little farther behind him, because that is where you’ve always been. You stand behind him in the shadows, looking at his broad shoulders in anticipation but also staring straight forward to see what he’s looking at, to know what to do when he asks of you. 

Do you serve that boy because it is legacy or because it is more for you?

Is this place also so poorly ventilated? You feel like you’re having a hard time breathing. Perhaps, it is this kimono you're wearing too? Oh, you can’t simply put the blame on Chiori-san's immaculate work. 

“My lord, Kamisato-sama! It is a pleasant sight to finally see you join us!” Hayabusa-san’s voice breaks you out of your reverie. 

She’s wearing an equally exquisite kimono, with petals of sakura adorning the edges, the color of pink in different shades complimenting one another. Her hair is neatly put up with a jade pin, her eyes closed in a smile, and it’s good to say that your master’s presence has greatly improved her mood. After all, she’s always been vying for his favor. Everybody seemed to be. 

“It is my pleasure.” Ayato’s silk voice smooths over each syllable. You can see Hayabusa-san’s smile growing wider. “I always hear that Lady Hayabusa serves the best nihonshu during these events.” And that’s also another problem about Kamisato Ayato, it’s that he always knows what to say and how to say flattery to the right people given, he’s also in the mood to do so.

“Oh, but of course, my lord. However, it is only fitting for me to introduce you to the rest before we break out the sake bottles, yes?” She muses, gesturing to a more exclusive area filled with distinguished people you are terribly familiar with. Some of her servants scramble to guide Ayato towards them. 

You see the way Ayato spares you a small glance, gauging and you nod in affirmation, murmuring the titles of those in view shortly to him, as you step away. He can survive that, he’s capable of it. It doesn’t make him any less dramatic though. 

This is how gatherings usually go for you anyway, you leave him to do the social work, and you stand by some corner, along with others of your kind waiting for their masters and you make mental note of the people he’s come across. Sometimes, when it calls for it, you pull him away from their hands before promises are made, or when he really appears pitiful sending you looks as if saying ‘please get me out of here’ you cave and fetch him out. You know how he dislikes small talk. He has those eyes, the ones where the purple of his irises just seem to pierce and lull you in. 

When Ayato is immersed in conversation, and he seems to be in good measure, you head to one of the corners with a small snack table. The yakitori is favorable, and the lemonade punch is equally a delight. Treats like this make these kinds of events tolerable, at least for you. 

You make small talk with other secretaries; your jobs, the load of paperwork you digest on the daily and laugh silently about how you’d memorize half the identities of the nobility with how frequent you make deals with them. 

“I must say, your kimono looks very elegant. Innovative, if I may. Where did you get it?” The blonde in your circle comments, staring at you up and down, and you warm at the compliment. 

“Oh, well, my lord had it made for me along with his clothes for this gathering.” You respond, hiding the faint blush of your cheeks behind the glass you were carrying. 

They all give you looks. “Your master treats you very well, then. It would take two months of my pay if I wanted an imported dress to prance around.” You laugh slightly at her terms. He does. He treats you very well despite his antics. He’s not one of those lords who yell and shout when things don’t go their way, like a child throwing a tantrum. He’s not one of those masters who are stingy with giving salary. He’s not one of those clan heads who have dubious intent. 

“Well, of his title, Lord Kamisato must have more money than he knows what to do with, I hear from Thoma that he’s very generous with his other staff at the Commission, too. It should be no wonder that he treats his secretary with more consideration because work under the Tri-Commission is very hectic.” You nod, because what she said is true.

Somehow, when you look up your eyes gravitate towards his figure, an ever present smile on his face. Ayato is engaged with the Nobunaga clan head, along with his daughter, probably being introduced and your lord welcomes her with a modest bow. You don’t miss how the heiress blushes and practically breams. How predictable. He gives her all of his attention, and you know it’s making the daughter squeamish because he has that kind of effect. 

In the middle of it all, his head wanders temporarily and his stare meets yours, unperturbed, and he winks, cheeky, before going back to the conversation he was in, making you purse your lips and clench your chest. 

Bothersome. Infuriating! How aggravating!

Despite your internal irk, you throw yourself back into mingling with the others to erase that memory of his eyes catching yours amidst the chaos of the room and everything else in between. 

As the night grows darker and the hush of the wind turns colder outside, the gathering only erupts in more chatter. The rest of your clique disperses as they tend to their own masters, one too many drinks could prove to be a disaster, and when you realize you’re left to your own devices, you sigh. Ayato still is preoccupied so you know you’re not going home anytime soon. 

You take a step back as more people move around from where you’re at only to bump into another body. It wasn’t a harsh impact, but still, your manners took control and you swiftly turned around to apologize to the person.

“Oh. You.” The clear feminine voice makes you look up from your bow. 

Her face is framed by her hair in sophisticated curls, her eyes squinted and her kimono pristine as snow as she closes her fan in a quick snap, revealing a very straight line painted on her lips. 

“The Kamisato Lord’s errand girl.” That makes one of your nerves tick, but you would not have lasted long if you were easy to succumb to foul words. You’ve been called worse, yes, but it still didn’t take off your ire.

“Lady Kazuki. Good evening.” You simply reply, choosing to ignore the venom in her glance. Perhaps she’s still not over the interrupted lunch, or the fact that despite her wanting to reschedule, Ayato has blocked her out of his schedule until the foreseeable future. You still felt sorry, though. 

She raises a brow. “It’s a rare occurrence to see you absent as a tail of your master. Are you lost?” And you certainly don’t miss the contempt poorly hidden in her tone. 

“He is with his peers.” You reply instead, because you can’t exactly walk away from her, unless you wanted to make a scene and possibly escalate a scandal. You can’t afford it, in a metaphoric or literal sense. You motion your head over to Ayato, standing in the middle, eyes very expectant of every little thing he did, as they paraded their daughters to him like offerings and practiced charm.

Kazuki Rumi roams her own eyes over, then, a small smirk present on her face as she looks back at you. “Ah, no wonder. Your Lord seems very ensnared.” She remarks, stepping closer towards you, caging you in. “Tell me, does that not bother you?” 

Your brows furrow in confusion. What is she on? “Bother me? What for, Kazuki-san?” 

Her eyes turned into crescent moons, almost like that of a fox, and her lips turned up at the sides in a very covert manner. 

“To be needed by your lord and yet, to never be chosen.” She whispers, as if it was a secret for the both of you and your eyes turned wide. 

What?

“I-I’m not sure I understand what you mean, my lady.” You stutter out after a few seconds of silence. The response does very little to deter her. Instead, she clicks her perfect head to the side. 

“Don’t be so coy now, girl. I know what you are.” She almost chuckles, and it’s starting to madly falter your well trained patience. “It must be so difficult, huh?” 

You take a step back, finding it harder to breathe in such close proximity to her, only to further lock yourself as her prey and bump into a bannister. It would be a whole lot easier to stir the conversation to your favor if only the words she used didn’t actually puncture your core.

For years, you have carefully crafted a barrier to put yourself in, as you’ve dealt with those of her kind. It’s only natural to assume that those of the higher society are different in their temperament so you do your best to simply shake off their comments, never taking anything to heart, but when she’s hitting close to home, suddenly, your walls are struggling to hold themselves together. 

You’ve been called many things. Only making your skin rougher and thicker, but… never chosen, has been the first tonight.

Why does your chest feel so hollow now? 

“The service I render to my master is done as my duty to the commission and in accordance with our family’s traditions. Whatever it is you’re implying, is false.” It’s the only thing you can say back to her, to save face. To save yourself.

She sharpens her gaze on you. Lady Kazuki has very soft features, and feeble in her movements, but her tongue has managed to put you on the edge of the cliff you’ve been dreading with the next words she says. “Are you truly saying that to tell me off or to convince yourself?”

You press your lips shut. She looks over to Ayato again and somehow, you follow her line of sigh, watching Ayato bowing to another beautiful heiress, his natural appeal making the lady flush, a smile erupting from her flawlessly sculpted face. 

“Because it sounds to me that you’re denying yourself of your own truth.”

Do you serve that boy because it is legacy or because it is more for you?

Your knees buckle as you promptly look away.

“I’m not a fool. You’ve seen where he stood and where you stand now.” She muses, eyes turning back to you. 

The muscles in your back heave, and you brace yourself in her presence, because even if her words are daggers, you will at least give yourself the grace of meeting her gaze despite your insides collapsing into one another. 

“You can claim it to be service, you can call it tradition. You do what is necessary despite being unseen, and by the end of it you can tell yourself you do it for the sake of a long standing practice, Secretary.” There is almost kindness in her cruelty. “But you can only hide the certitude for so long. A weight like that carried in dignity does not necessarily mean it is not heavy.”

Tradition, tradition, Ayato. 

The way your hand stills and your breathing hitches captures her, and for a moment, you see the way her eyes soften as they sweep over you, how they felt sorry for you.

“What would you be without him, girl?”

And you hate the way she sounds pitiful when she asks you, as if she hadn’t just pressed a blade to your beating heart, and you hate the way the question makes your eyes widen, your skin prickle like it had been doused in acid and left to rot.

It used to be “What would the Commissioner be without you?” And you don’t dawdle on hypothetical questions like that, no more than you entertain Ayato’s frivolous quips, but maybe they were asking the wrong things in the first place because, when the cards are flipped in front of you now, you’re empty handed, and mute.

“I think, I’ll thank you kindly to not to terrorize my secretary, Rumi-san.” 

Oh, as if the world wanted to rub salt further into your open bleeding wound, the man of the hour swoops in to play your hero when you need dire saving. Ayato’s voice invades your senses like poison as he lowers his gaze to meet Lady Kazuki’s. He strategically placed himself in the middle of the two of you, partly shielding you from the heiress’ figure.

Lady Kazuki visibly jumps at the sudden intrusion of Ayato, her silks swaying as she hastily moves a few steps back. Her earlier composure has deteriorated and the foxy glamour now turned into a pufferfish with how odd she’s been opening and closing her mouth to come up with words to say.

“We were only conversing, my lord.” You speak. 

They both turn to you, equally surprised. 

Lady Kazuki bites her bait, the exit she’s been searching for. “Yes… we were talking. Good night, my lord.” She bids her farewell, and then she tilts her head in a bow, graceful towards you. “Good night, Secretary.” Before she saunters off, steps double than her usual before she blends in the crowd. 

Ayato’s brows ease.

“What was that about?” he asks, voice low and probing, and you bite the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from screaming at him.

“Like I said, we were conversing, my lord.” 

The valley between his brows curls a little as he examines you. His watchful gaze is suspicious but when you solidify your ground by meeting his eyes, he shakes his head and you’re thankful he doesn’t press on. 

You wouldn’t know what to say otherwise.

“I wish to retire for the night. Let’s head home, already.” Ayato says.

There’s something nasty starting to form in your mouth. A morbid feeling when you look at him under the lanterns of the room, his very tall figure adding to the list of qualities that makes him an eye catcher. 

“Now, my lord?” It comes out hastier than you’d intended, but the idea is very tempting. You too, as selfish as you can be right now, was more than interested in running away from this place. “Have you bid your farewells?” 

Ayato sweeps a quick look across the vicinity. “More or less.” He hums. That light from earlier– one that made him seem so regal, only amplified. Even at this close, even at this distance, he seems so far away from you. That even if you were to hold out your hand to him, an obstacle will be there, unforgiving and invincible.

Ayato turns to look back at you, eyes gleaming.“By the way, I haven’t told you,” You gulp. “... but you look absolutely wonderful in that kimono of yours tonight.” He draws. You’d thank him kindly if he didn’t sound so forthright. How brutal can this even be. 

Out of touch, unreachable, like the light of the moon you want to chase but can never catch. 

You nod before leading him out.

–

You know that Ayato notices your silence. 

You know because he’s been needlessly incessant on subtly prodding about your earlier exchange with the Kazuki heiress but you shut him down before he could get any more restless. What were you to answer him, too? That you were slapped with the truth? That you traversed the line you shouldn’t have with him even before you had realized it? It didn’t matter what angle you tried to justify, you were at the losing side. 

And what would he say if he had known? If he was aware of how you’ve viewed him– if he knew how your heart has evolved. That’s a nightmare you don’t dare to even imagine. You don’t need the answer, you know it already. It’s absurd to even question it, and it's an absolute delusion to think something better would come out of it, even if you hoped.

Stupid, stupid, wholly stupid!

You merely bow to Ayato once you arrive at the estate and excuse yourself, feigning that the exhaustion has gotten to you too. 

The steps you take echo a bit too loudly against the halls that it grated on your ears, hastily making your way to your quarters and closing the doors shut before leaning your head against them like they were the only support that could ground you right now.

What is even happening to you? This is all so unbecoming, this is not part of your routine, this is no longer the tradition that must be upheld. 

This is not merely a job now, and that has been made very clear by the acrid feeling stuck in your throat and the gloss blurring your eyesight.  

How much of a liar have you become? To yourself, no less. To Ayato, too.

The succession of sharp intakes you’ve made lead you to walk over to your desk, settling down to pause at the sight of tidy, well kept papers, your pens and brushes stacked orderly. The notion is coming to you, the option waving in like some sort of epiphany.

“Do you serve that boy for legacy or is this more for you?”

“Do you want to walk away?”

“What would you be without him?”

You wrack a sigh threatening to escape, the drops of liquid clinging to your lashes like dusk rain. This is not betrayal, you tell yourself. There is no chain, you convince yourself even further. 

Perhaps for the first time, this was you being honest with yourself.

And for the first time, this was you doing something about it. 

Your sleep was more than a struggle that night. When morning came, you felt the disquiet in your system, but you quelled your heart as you put yourself together. Wash, dress, breathe, before marching down the terribly familiar path to Ayato’s office. 

You don’t expect him to be there, but he already is, dressed rather casually compared to the kimono from last night, already going through today’s paper and looking up as you sauntered to his front. He’s smiling. 

“You’re very early today, my lord.” 

“I wanted to beat you to it.” He answers, twirling the paper clip around his fingers, looking up at you lazily. “You seemed out of it when we returned last night. It actually made me worry.” And he smiles, and now you feel guilty, but your mind is already made up. 

Ayato stretches. “We should have breakfast together today.” Your chest constricts. “But, I’ll let you do your check first, of course.” And when he raises his brows in anticipation for your usual briefing of his schedule and latest updates, you read off your clipboard in a concise routine.

“And here are the minutes of the last Tenryou Assembly that Kujo Sara has sent over for your referral." You take the folder from under your arm to hand it to him, and he accepts with a purse of his lips. 

“A bit of a loose day for us, huh? Is that all for today?” He asks, already motioning to stand and eager for the breakfast he had promised earlier.

You let out a breath. Your stomach is boiling not from hunger but from something else entirely different.

“One more thing, my lord.” You fish out a neatly sealed white envelope with his name addressed as the receiver at front, in neat penmanship. Ayato stops from his motion and takes a cursory look at it before taking it off your palms with an elegant swipe of his hand.

“From whom?” Ayato’s voice is curt.

You nod. “From me.”

He looks intrigued. ‘For what?”

You raise your chin up.

“My resignation letter.”

Something in the air shifts in an instant, like a click of a lock finally placed. Ayato’s relaxed face turns into one of unmistakable perplexity. Before he can put another word out, you speak again, despite how your tongue felt like fire against your own lips.

“It has been both an honor and joy to fulfill my duties for the benefit of the entirety of our nation, Inazuma under your supervision. However, this decision has come. My lord, I wish to resign from my post as the secretary of the Kamisato head and Yashiro Commissioner.”

The sun breaks full in the horizon.

“I want to resign as your secretary.”