Chapter 34
by Need_More_SleepChapter 34: Despicable
The world had glitched. Judging by Fujiwara Yuki’s uncharacteristic behavior, she might have genuinely remembered something.
What would this be called in a game? New Game Plus inheritance?
But that didn’t mean it could change their current relationship. This was no longer the original timeline.
For Sakuya, these memories were established facts.
But for someone who hadn’t truly experienced them, it would feel like watching a movie starring a character who just happened to share their name.
So no answer would suffice.
Suppressing all traces of panic and an inexplicable sadness, Sakuya steadied herself and responded with a perfectly practiced maid’s smile.
“I’m not sure why the Master is asking this, but since it’s your question, I’ll answer seriously. I’m Shimizu Sakuya, a second-year student in Class A at Shūchi High.”
Yuki’s sharp gaze swept over her from left to right, as if trying to record every micro-expression on the girl’s face with her piercing golden eyes.
The pressure pinning Sakuya against the bath wall didn’t lessen—if anything, Yuki leaned in harder, her entire body radiating urgency.
She was too desperate.
“That’s not what I meant!” Frustrated by the unsatisfactory answer, Yuki snapped, “I’m asking if we’ve met before today!”
“No.” Sakuya shut her down immediately.
“That can’t—!”
“Though it’s possible. I’ve been at Shūchi High for a year now. We might have crossed paths before.”
Blue—the coldest of cool tones. Warm yet melancholic, tranquil yet sorrowful. It was the color of Sakuya’s eyes.
When their gazes met, Yuki saw her own beast-like out of control eyes reflected in those calm eyes, all-encompassing depths—a sea that could embrace a hundred rivers without ripple.
Anger often dissipates when faced with another’s indifference.
Realizing what she’d done, Yuki deflated as if doused in ice water.
Have I gone mad? She laughed bitterly at her own loss of composure.
“Never mind. Just… leave.”
Releasing her grip, Yuki became acutely aware of her own nakedness but couldn’t bring herself to care.
Exhausted, she dragged herself to the bath caddy, retrieving a white towel to drape around her neck with trembling hands.
“Then I’ll take my leave.”
Sakuya obeyed, struggling to climb out of the bath as her waterlogged dress weighed her down.
Drips trailed behind her like a leaking confession.
Yuki was an archer—her grip strength was formidable even through water’s resistance. Pale wrists now bloomed red.
As the heavy bathroom door clicked shut, the last trace of another’s presence vanished.
Yuki finally exhaled, sinking against the tub’s edge with closed eyes as if sleep could drown her thoughts.
Ten years since I’ve let anyone this close.
Had she gone insane, appointing a stranger as her personal maid? Losing control during a bath, of all things?
Come to think of it, Father had dismissed her last maid a decade ago.
What was her name again? Kaori…
Yes, Kaori. Probably married by now.
But Sakuya was different—she carried some inexplicable magnetism. Just seeing her sparked déjà vu and a visceral urge to unleash every pent-up frustration onto her.
This had never happened before.
When Sakuya defied her at dinner, Yuki had suddenly envisioned a blurred face from her memories—one she longed to embrace, accompanied by suffocating grief.
Why?
It made no sense. Someone who should’ve been firmly under her thumb had slipped through like sand.
In that moment, Yuki remembered how Father dealt with out-of-control behavior.
As a child, when she failed to meet his expectations, he never scolded her.
He’d simply smile, pat her head, then produce a candy from his navy suit pocket—peeling off the wrapper before feeding it to her.
Then he’d lead her to the Reflection Room.
An eight-square-meter cell of silver steel, windowless and airless. At its center stood a massive pyramid and a black table bearing an hourglass and a pendulum clock.
Father never raised his hand. He’d just flip the hourglass and circle her, dress shoes clicking against the floor until the oppressive silence thickened into something tangible.
His voice would weave through the echoes, dripping with paternal concern.
“Yuki, failing is fine. The Fujiwara bloodline is peerless. You need only remember your superiority.”
“You were born atop this pyramid. Your very existence outshines the rabble.”
“Grandfather adores Kyudo. Learn it well, and he’ll dote on you further.”
“Now reflect on your shortcomings. When the sand runs out, I’ll return.”
Then the iron door would slam shut.
Harsh fluorescent light would glare off metal surfaces as claustrophobia crashed over her in waves. She’d tremble, mute with terror, knowing the door wouldn’t open before time permitted.
Trapped in that inescapable cage, only the whisper of falling sand and the clock’s mechanical ticks kept her company as she battled time itself.
And hadn’t I done the same to Sakuya?
She wasn’t as extreme as Father, but tracing Sakuya’s lips, watching fear twist those delicate features—seeing her shiver like a helpless rabbit—had brought her peace.
This vile impulse had struck at first sight.
Humans were despicable creatures, only finding solace by transferring their pain onto others.
She was the worst of them—an opportunist who’d sell her soul for advantage.
But that was what the Fujiwaras needed. What Father demanded.
This was her birthright. If the family required it, she’d become an unsheathed blade without hesitation.
Yet somewhere along the way—last month? Yesterday?—something had shifted.
Fragments of un-lived memories surfaced: hugging a faceless girl in a cramped apartment, kissing in a tiny shower, standing above Tokyo’s skyline bathed in adoration…
Though the girl’s features remained blurred, Yuki knew—this was happiness and freedom she could never taste.
The bathroom’s angles had overlapped with those memories so perfectly, she’d almost believed—
She’d lost control.
But at least she knew now.
And she should be grateful it wasn’t her.
Shouldn’t she?