With a resigned grumble, he dropped onto the little stool. It creaked in protest under his weight. I could hear the splash of water as he filled the bucket from the tap, then the sudden rush as he dumped it over his head without warning. Water hit the floor with a slap, followed by a sharp gasp as the cold hit his skin.
I couldn't help but smile. For all his bravado, Cillian was hopelessly out of his element here.
Minutes slipped by. I remained by the door, the scent of hinoki wood and steam drifting through the cracks, mingling with the earthy smell of mud still clinging to my clothes. My eyelids fluttered, heavy with fatigue, but I forced myself to stay awake, listening to the quiet rhythm of Cillian's awkward ablutions.
Suddenly, the patter of light footsteps echoed down the hallway. Hana appeared, arms full of fluffy towels and two neatly folded yukatas-one black, one white. Her face was bright with curiosity, a single finger pressed to her cheek as she tilted her head.
"E? Futari de issho ni non deru to omotteta ndakedo," she said, her voice lilting with innocent surprise.
The watch on my wrist beeped, translating her words at full volume: "Huh? I thought the two of you were taking it together."
From inside the bathroom, a low chuckle rumbled, barely contained. I narrowed my eyes at the door, feeling my cheeks flush, but managed a polite smile for Hana. I decided it was safer not to reply, simply accepting the towels and yukatas with a grateful bow.
Hana giggled, clearly delighted by the misunderstanding, and bustled off down the hall, leaving me alone once more with the warmth of the bath and the sound of Cillian's laughter echoing softly through the wood.
The two of us stood in silence for a while, the air inside Hana's minka thick with the scent of hinoki wood and lingering steam. The quiet was broken only by the distant creak of the old house settling and the faint, rhythmic dripping of water from the bathroom. The sliding door to the bath finally shifted open just a crack, and Cillian's arm emerged, pale and strong, reaching into the corridor. Hana, ever attentive, quickly pressed a neatly folded towel and the black yukata into his outstretched hand, her movements graceful and practiced from years of living in such a space.
As the door slid shut behind him, I caught a glimpse of his silhouette against the shoji screen-the lines of his shoulders, the way the yukata hung from his arm. Within three minutes, he stepped out, transformed. The mud and exhaustion had been washed away, replaced by a striking, almost regal presence. The black yukata contrasted sharply with his skin, accentuating the angles of his jaw and the depth of his eyes. Hana's cheeks flushed a vivid red, her expression fluttering between awe and shyness, the kind of reaction reserved for witnessing something unexpectedly beautiful.
I kept my gaze averted, refusing to let him see any flicker of my own reaction. Instead, I accepted the white yukata and clean clothes from Hana, the fabric soft and cool in my hands. With the watch still clutched in my fingers, I slipped past Cillian in the narrow hallway, the faint scent of cedar and soap trailing after him. The bathroom was still warm from his presence, steam curling in the air, the wooden floor damp beneath my feet. I took my time, letting the hot water ease the tension from my muscles, scrubbing away the mud and fatigue until my skin tingled.
Half an hour later, I emerged, feeling lighter and cleaner than I had in days. The corridor was empty-no sign of Cillian or Hana, just the gentle hush of the old house and the filtered sunlight spilling through the shoji panels. I'd expected as much; they were probably in the hiroma or perhaps helping with dinner in the doma, the earthen-floored kitchen at the heart of the minka456.
But then I noticed the pile of dirty clothes-his and mine-left in a careless heap by the bathroom door. He'd forgotten to take his, leaving me to juggle not only my own muddy garments, but his as well, and the watch, which felt heavier now with the added responsibility. With a resigned sigh, I gathered everything into my arms, the fabric damp and gritty against my skin.
Navigating the minka's simple, functional layout, I made my way toward the rear of the house. I remembered seeing a stone basin set near the engawa, the wooden veranda that overlooked the garden, with a narrow stream flowing just beyond the fence. The basin was fed by the river, its water cool and clear, perfect for hand-washing clothes. I set the bundle down on the smooth stone, rolling up my sleeves. I'd done this countless times in Ossa, where no so-called maid had ever been assigned to me; scrubbing my own clothes had become second nature.
As I worked, the sounds of the countryside drifted in-the gentle rush of water, the distant call of a bird, the faint laughter from somewhere inside the house. The minka, with its thatched roof and wooden beams, its sliding doors and tatami floors, felt timeless, a sanctuary that had weathered centuries of change. Here, surrounded by nature and tradition, I found a quiet satisfaction in the simple act of caring for what was mine-even if it meant cleaning up after Cillian, too.
The kyakuma was hushed, moonlight filtering through shoji screens and the faint aroma of matcha lingering in the air. Hana's voice, tinged with worry, broke the stillness: "1-Jikan tachimashitaga, josei wa mada dete kimasen." Her eyes flicked to the closed door, concern etched across her face.
(Translation: It's been an hour, the lady hasn't come out yet.)
Cillian, cool as ever, set his teacup down and replied, "She'll be fine. Don't worry. She's got pretty long hair, that's probably what's taking her so long." He leaned back, the picture of composure, as if nothing in the world could rattle him.
Hana relaxed at his reassurance, offering a grateful smile before excusing herself. "Ocha o mōippai moraimasu." She darted off to fetch more tea, leaving Cillian alone with his thoughts and the gentle clink of porcelain.
(Translation: I'll get more tea.)
Three minutes later, the sliding door opened with a soft whoosh. I stepped in, hair still damp and gleaming, and settled beside Cillian, folding my legs neatly beneath me on the cushion. My presence was quiet but electric, the air shifting as I entered.
Cillian barely waited a beat before reaching out, fingertips brushing my wet hair. "What took you so long?" he asked, his tone casual, oblivious to the storm brewing just beneath my calm exterior.
I didn't answer with words at first. Instead, I seized the top of his ear in a vice-like grip and tugged sharply, making him wince, leaning in so only he could hear the venom in my whisper:
"Listen carefully, because I'm only saying this once," I hissed, my breath hot against his skin. "You know, there's a thing called manners-maybe you've heard of them? When you're a guest in someone's home, especially in a place as sacred as this, you don't just dump your filthy clothes on the bathroom floor for someone else to deal with. You respect the space, you respect the host, and you respect the effort that goes into making you feel welcome. But no, not you. You waltz in, leave your mess behind, and guess who had to clean up after you? That's right-me. I had to haul your muddy disaster out, hand-wash it like I'm your personal maid, and pretend we haven't already imposed enough on Hana. So next time, Cillian, try using that pretty head of yours for something other than looking handsome. Be mindful. Or I'll make sure you regret it."
I released his ear with a final, pointed squeeze and sat back, hands folded gracefully atop my thighs, my gaze forward and unyielding.
Cillian sat frozen, eyes wide, the sting of my words-and my grip-clearly registering. So this is what she meant about nagging me whenever she got the chance, he thought, bringing his cup to his lips with a new, wary respect. DAYYUM. I should be careful.
The door slid open with a gentle swish, and Hana entered, her expression a mix of concern and gentle reproach. "Ojōsan! ! ! ! Soto ni hoshite aru fuku o mimashita yo. Dōshite aratta ndesu ka? Watashi ga araeba yokattanoni. Jibun de arau hitsuyō nante nakattanoni," she exclaimed, worry creasing her brow as she glanced between me and the clothes drying outside.
The watch on my wrist beeped, translating her words with robotic clarity: "Lady!!!! I saw the clothes hanging outside. Why did you wash the clothes? I would have washed it. There was no need to do it yourself."
I met her gaze with a warm, reassuring smile, but my voice was sharp and bright as flame. "Don't worry, Hana-san. It's really okay!" I said, holding up my hands for her inspection, spotless and unscathed. "See! I'm fine. I'm not made of glass, and I'm certainly not above getting my hands dirty-especially after all you've done for us tonight. You've shown us nothing but kindness and hospitality. The least I can do is take responsibility for my own mess. Besides, I've scrubbed out worse stains in worse places. If a little work is the price for your warmth and this beautiful home, I'd pay it a hundred times over."
The watch translated, "Shinpaishinaide, Hana-san. Hontōni daijōbu yo! Hora, daijōbu yo. Watashi wa garasu janaishi,-te ga yogoreru no mo itowanai. Tokuni, kon'ya anata ga watashitachi ni shite kureta koto o kangaeru to ne. Anata wa watashitachi ni, tadatada shinsetsude omotenashi shite kureta dake. Semete jibun no yogore wa jibun de sekininwotoru shika nai wa. Sore ni, motto hidoi yogorenara, motto hidoi basho kara kosuri otoshita koto mo aru wa. Anata no atatakasa to kono utsukushī ie o te ni ireru tame ni, sukoshi no temawokakeru kurainara, sono hyaku-bai demo haraitai wa."
Hana's face softened, though a hint of worry lingered in her eyes. She nodded, her voice gentle as she replied, "Wa~a… okusama! Anata wa hontōni yasashikute kenkyodesu ne. Kirian musuko wa anata no yōna okusama ni megumarete hontōni shiawasedesu! Tonikaku Ocha o dōzo." She settled opposite us, pouring tea into delicate cups, her movements graceful and practiced.
The watch translated, "Awee....my lady! You're soo kind and modest. Cillian-san is really lucky to have a wife like you!!! Anyway, please have some tea."
Cillian rolled his eyes, clearly disturbed by the praise, but kept his silence as the delicate aroma of tea wafted through the room.
I bowed my head in gratitude, fingers wrapped around the warm cup, letting the moment settle. In the gentle glow of the lanterns, the ritual of tea felt sacred-a quiet exchange of respect and appreciation, not just for the drink, but for the effort and care behind every gesture. The room was filled with the subtle music of tradition: the careful way Hana poured the tea, the way the cups were offered and received, the silent understanding that gratitude was not just spoken, but lived.
Minutes passed in this peaceful hush.
Eventually, the tea set was put away and Cillian slipped out, vanishing into the night. Hana and I worked together to lay out the futons, the soft rustle of fabric and tatami under our hands. I helped her in her own room as well, sharing quiet smiles and the unspoken bond of women who understood the value of small kindnesses.
As we finished, Hana looked at me, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Anata no otto wa doko e ikimashita ka?"
The watch translated, "Where did your husband go?"
I stifled a laugh, thinking to myself that he was probably off hunting for food, his stomach likely growling after only having tea-hardly enough to satisfy his appetite. Still, I kept my expression composed, glancing at the empty spot where Cillian had been. A sly smile tugged at my lips.
"He-he'll be here soon. Don't worry," I said, my tone edged with playful fire. "He's probably off sulking because he can't handle being called lucky," I added, letting a spark of mischief dance in my eyes. "But don't worry, Hana-san-he always finds his way back. Especially when he knows there's someone here who won't let him forget his manners. Anyway, please go to sleep. We'll see each other in the morning, okay?" I finished with a warm, reassuring smile.
The watch dutifully translated, "Kare… mōsugu koko ni kuru yo. Shinpaishinaide. Kitto rakkī tte iwa reru no ga tae rarenakute, sune teru ndarou. Demo, shinpaishinaide, Hana-san. Kare wa kanarazu modotte kurukara. Tokuni, koko ni reigi o kuzusanai hito ga iru tte wakatteru toki wa ne. Tonikaku, nete ne. Asunoasa ni aou ne."
Hana's smile softened as she tucked herself beneath her blanket. As I stepped out of the softly lit room, pausing to slide the door closed behind me, I turned and said, "Thank you for everything today, Hana-san."
The watch translated, "Hana-san, kyō wa arigatōgozaimashita."
Her smile widened, and she murmured, "Dōitashimashite, lukusāna ōjo-san," just as the door clicked shut.
The watch translated, "You're most welcome, Princess Luxana-san."
I paused, surprised-She knows my name? I don't remember telling her… But I let the thought drift away, comforted by the warmth of the night and the quiet bonds forged in this house. In the world of tea and tradition, appreciation is everything.
To be Continued...