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Sayaka forfeit the opportunity for a normal life the moment she agreed to be Momobami Kirari’s secretary. It was a choice she never regretted—not when she was pulled into ridiculous schemes, not when she organized cleaners to remove bloodstained furniture and a human eye from the student council room, and certainly not when she leapt from a five-story tower.
What was there to regret?
What was a little blood when, like cement mixed with gravel, it added to the foundation of that beautiful, revolving tower? While fear clouded the halls of Hyakkaou academy, Sayaka was blissfully engaged with the hands that brushed against her own. While other students bleached anxious sweat stains from their uniforms, Sayaka scrubbed smudges of blue from her white collar.
The two girls were caught in their own little world. Nothing could rock their boat as it sailed smoothly through dangerous waters. They faced the treacherous sea monster whose eyes glowed red in the night. As the monster lurked beneath the dark waters and the crew lashed out in mutiny, Kirari and Sayaka stood side by side at the helm. Poseidon himself didn’t have the power to drag their ship below the frothing waves.
“Sa-ya-ka, I would like to have dinner with your parents.”
Kirari’s words failed to register, their meaning lost as nausea swept through Sayaka’s stomach. She blinked, nodding slowly.
“Excellent. Tonight?”
Another terse nod—and then Sayaka finally understood what Kirari was asking. Dinner. Meeting her parents. Sayaka crossed her hands behind her back, frozen in place as the student council meeting began. Kirari wanted to meet her parents. That was… fine. Images of wrecked ships—mangled, rotting wood, jagged like the opening mouth of a ferocious beast—filled her mind.
She suddenly felt seasick.
~~~
“And these are…”
Chopsticks clicked against wooden bowls. Her father sat at the head of the table, her mother at his right and Kirari at his left. Sayaka sat between Kirari and Ririka, an odd arrangement. Had Kirari been seated in the middle, this dinner would have felt like any other business meeting. Sayaka desperately wished for that familiar feeling.
Family dinners were somewhat of a rarity. When her father wasn’t traveling for work, he would take his meals in his study. He was a focused man, married to his job. Her mother maintained the house—cooking, scheduling, ensuring each of her husband’s suits were meticulously ironed. The Igarashi’s were balanced and coordinated, their independent lifestyles perfectly intertwined. It was what her father preferred—order, tradition—and Sayaka preferred the formal nature of her family’s relationship as well.
The gravity of the situation was slowly sinking in, a realization she had perhaps felt but constantly pushed aside to stay in that peaceful, secluded world she made with Kirari. She couldn’t run anymore, however, and sitting at this table she found herself faced with the blaring truth: introducing the Momobami’s to her family was like releasing an element of chaos into their comfortable system.
“Friends of yours?”
Friends? Sayaka eyed her mother. The word was childish, underplaying their relationship. Indeed, friends was an insult.
“Oh no. Though that is an interesting thought. Saotome Mary and Sumeragi are friends —and it’s a frivolous relationship. Sayaka and I are much more than friends .”
Despite the anxiety that clawed at Sayaka’s throat, it warmed her heart to hear Kirari speak of their relationship in such a way. Her lover always had a way with her tongue. Her voice sang like the thin air atop Mount Fuji. Light and crisp, yet with a refined delicacy that threatened to collapse one’s lungs.
“Even Ririka here shares a bond that is far more meaningful than friendship with Sayaka.”
Ririka nodded her head in agreement, her face hidden behind her mask. She held her chopsticks in her hand, clicking them together aimlessly. Sayaka surveyed her parent’s reactions. Two women in a romantic relationship were not viewed as traditional in a male-dominated, heteronormative society, but how could her parents not approve of Momobami Kirari?
Her father’s eyes tightened, squinting at the sides. A loud crack filled the dining room and Ririka flinched in her seat, her chopsticks clattering to the table.
Sayaka flinched as well, though not because she feared her father. She looked down at the teapot he forcibly placed on the table, scanning over the red clay and looking for any defect. Thankfully, the clay, seasoned for years with her father’s favorite oolong, appeared uncracked.
“Speak plainly.” His commanding presence left little room for negotiation. “What is your relationship with my daughter?”
Her father rose quickly through the maritime ranks with his sharp, strategic mind. The vice admiral was taken seriously wherever he went. His word was law. Sayaka’s hands clenched into fists, hidden beneath the table. Sayaka and her mother did as her father said, as was custom in their household. This feeling of dread—Sayaka had no idea how Kirari would respond to her father’s orders. Control was slipping through her fingertips. Kirari and her father eyed each other, a tiger facing off against a bear.
Quisitive blue eyes flicked towards the teapot. “It would be a shame to lose a teapot of that caliber to a fit of carelessness. Zisha clay, correct? Well-cared for, though clearly quite aged. You do seem like a very traditional man. I wonder then why your teapot is fashioned in the Chinese style instead of, say, a kyusu teapot.”
Her father glared at Kirari. It was a cold, stony look, unresponsive to Kirari’s ramble.
“It’s merely an observation. The teapot is in stark contrast to the rest of your lovely, traditional home. It must have meaning then—that is the rational conclusion.”
Still no response from her father. The bear was towering above the tiger who lay crouched on the jungle floor. The feline watched in fascination, an arch in her spine. She dug her claws into a tree trunk and pulled herself onto a tall branch. Her voice was a teasing as she stared down at the bear.
“The woman to my left controls my very life. I am as indebted to her as she is to me—that is to say, I can not live without her and I’ll wager she can not live without me.” Kirari took a sip of her tea, a grin pulling at her lips. “I employ her after all.”
Ririka giggled, but her father was unamused with Kirari’s antics. His lips, pulled into a tight line, screamed for blood. Her mother furrowed her brow, nodding her head. A range of emotions flit across her face—surprise, confusion, acceptance.
The tiger settled back onto her haunched, tail flickering. “Our relationship, spoken plainly as you asked,” Kirari said, gesturing with a hand. “Igarashi Sayaka is my secretary.” Those slender, blue-tipped fingers found the ribbon hanging beside her ear. Sayaka watched the finger twirl the ribbon. She found it more pleasing and intricate than any ballroom dance.
“Silly me!” Her mother said with a laugh, her hand pressed against her chest. “Sayaka, dear, I thought your friend was going to say you both are romantically involved.”
Ririka cocked her head to the side. “That is what Kirari just said.”
Silence.
“They’re girlfriends,” Ririka continued. The statement sounded odd spoken in that warbled, electronic voice.
This was the moment. With the truth out in the open, Sayaka was left to face the deteriorating walls of her family’s perfect home on her own. Her father might get angry, her mother disappointed. She would feel like a terrible daughter, bringing such an unconventional mess and laying it at her parent’s feet.
“Girlfriends.” Her father repeated roughly. He looked at Sayaka for confirmation.
Sayaka inclined her head. Perhaps it was Kirari’s influence, but in the midst of this tense atmosphere, she found herself debating with nonchalance the merits of the term girlfriends. Was it childish as well? They had plunged five-stories together, Sayaka felt they were much more than girlfriends.
Her father’s face was pale. His fists were clenched on the table, his knuckles stark white. Sayaka waited for the stern words that would soon shape on his tongue. A dainty hand settled atop his fist, squeezing it lovingly. Sayaka swallowed hard, glancing at her parent’s connected hands. Her mother was quiet and unassuming, though she worked as diligently as the rest of the family. Dinner was always on time, there was never a speck of dust in the house. Her mother always seemed to know exactly what her husband wanted before he asked. A thumb brushing tenderly across his weathered hands. Sayaka wondered how a woman so meek could reach out against the proud man with such tranquil courage.
“I’m afraid I don’t know very much about my own daughter’s life. She’s very independent.” Her mother gave her husband’s hand another squeeze. “Much like her father. But it is a pleasure to meet you both. You seem like very lovely girls.”
The tension in the atmosphere was fading away. Sayaka blinked tears from her eyes as she watched the scene before her. She was bewildered, confused. The chaos was coming to a close. She expected to find her house in ruins, blown apart by her father’s wrath, by her carelessness, by Kirari’s flowery words. Perhaps she had never fully understood her mother and the power she had over the household.
“Much more pleasant than that other girl Sayaka brought home. What was her name, dear?” Her mother asked her father. “Your mind is sharper than my own.”
“Ikishima,” her father said. He unclenched his fists and Sayaka felt a knot unfurl in her gut. She took a steady breath. “An unfortunate dinner.”
Kirari slowly turned her head, betrayal and disbelief in her eyes. “You brought Midari here? Before you brought me here?”
Touch was never something Sayaka was comfortable with. Affectionate gestures were another rarity in her life, yet she found her hand gravitating towards Kirari’s knee the same way her mother’s hand had gripped her father’s. “She needed help with homework. It was purely professional.”
“Nothing about that girl is professional,” her father said. “She stole from my liquor cabinet.”
“Yes,” Sayaka said, addressing both her father’s and Kirari’s unease. “And all other tutoring sessions have since then taken place in the library.”
Silence again, more contemplative than tense. Her father sat stiff and straight in his chair, deep in thought. Her mother was eyeing Ririka.
Fingers linked with Sayaka’s beneath the table. The betrayal in Kirari’s eyes had faded in favor of an excited gleam. She pondered the various forms of love. Her relationship with Kirari was vastly different from her parent’s relationship—yet everyone at the table was desperately grasping onto something they loved, sharing their feelings, calming their partner through a simple touch. Her father continued eating and her mother removed her hand. The soft smile on her mother’s face was unexpected, as was the gentle, accepting look in her eyes. Sayaka’s lips quivered, but she returned the smile.
Chopsticks clicked again, reminding Sayaka of Ririka’s presence. She looked over at the girl and held back a rather abrupt burst of laughter. Indeed, as Ririka clutched her chopsticks in hand, everyone at the table was desperately grasping onto something they loved.
“It must be difficult to eat with that mask on,” her mother mused.
Ririka shifted forward in her seat, glancing at Kirari.
“We are among family. You are welcome to remove it, sister.”
Sayaka reached out for her father’s cup, refilling it and setting it before him.
“I have always said my daughter has the intelligence of a man,” he said, accepting the tea and taking a sip. “So it is only fitting she act like a son and date women.” He laughed at his joke, short yet heartily, and her mother laughed along.
Sayaka never imagined that her father drinking tea she poured and making a misogynistic comment would be the most calming event of the evening, but it was, and she embraced the awkward moment with a quiet sigh of relief.
~~~
The evening air was chilly. Winter was fast approaching and dark clouds rolled along the horizon. Kirari’s hands braced against the rail as she stared out across the city. She felt a scattering of raindrops against her skin, but she was not one to shy away from intemperate forces of nature. Mr. Igarashi was fixed on the opposite end of the balcony. Together, they stood like komainu—Kirari’s mouth open in a grin and Igarashi’s mouth pressed tight in a thin line.
“I know about the Momobamis. Government agencies, the military, even pharmaceutical companies all possess the illusion of power. Your clan is the ruling class, dictating how power is distributed and what choices our government figureheads make.”
“Admiral Igarashi has a pleasant ring to it. I could have the promotion finalized overnight.”
The man turned towards her with a scowl, as if the suggestion alone disgusted him. Kirari didn’t understand his hostility towards her offer. Gaining power and rising through any social structure, whether it be corporate ranks or military ranks, was based solely in connections. He was clearly a very intelligent man, though he lacked some disconnect with reality if he was willing to refuse her so readily.
“I do not approve of you.”
He stood with his shoulders straight and his hips square—as any seasoned veteran would. Kirari was rarely met with such forward behaviour. She sat on her throne surrounded by sycophants seeking their own material gains, hidden amidst the hoards of obsequious cowards whose fears clouded Kirari’s throne in a shroud of mist—like the clouds encircling Mount Olympus. Kirari was as untouchable as the gods.
Yet, like his daughter, Mr. Igarashi had eyes that seemed to look deep into Kirari. Her instincts screamed to escape the intense gaze and her curiosity urged her to stay. Kirari wasn’t scared of the man and his daughter, rather she was nervous about what they saw when they stared. As a Momobami, Kirari was above the law. Who could ever judge her actions and deem her guilty?
Sayaka was the only person who had the power to crush Kirari’s totalitarian reign—and she could do so with a single disapproving look.
“The promotion is well within my power. Take the offer.”
“I refuse. Gifts from a person like yourself never come without a price.”
Everything came with a price, that much was instilled into Kirari’s brain at a young age. There was always a cost to desires. She found Mr. Igarashi’s insistent refusal disheartening. What other olive branch could she give besides a reciprocity created through social favors? Perhaps he saw the disappointment in her eyes, because he carried on.
“Granted, I don’t know your price. I don’t know what you have to gain from a person of my rank and station, but I do know that a person of your standing only gets to where they are with shrewd, calculated actions. Love is not in your nature.”
Kirari might’ve been enraptured with his understanding of power, she might’ve been eager to ask questions and dissect his mind, had she not been crushed by his punctuating thought. It was silly to feel so wounded, but beneath her armor, she was flesh and blood. Love was not in her nature? Her hurt feelings lashed out like a petulant child on the playground.
“Is love in your nature?”
“Look at my family and ask again whether or not love is in my nature.” His words were haughty, boasting pride.
“I have my sister. Clearly love is in my nature.”
“The girl who hides behind a mask and needs your approval to eat?”
Kirari sucked in a breath. Had anyone else spoken to her in such a way, they would be writhing on the floor as 50,000 volts of electricity coursed through their body. She felt a sudden fear as she fought this battle on her own, a fear that perhaps she had been hiding behind Sayaka far too often. She enjoyed being protected and having someone else shield her from life’s pain and stress. She exhaled.
“I love Sayaka.”
The look of superiority faded from his face. Kirari turned back to face the city. He was a nonsense man of logic and facts. Kirari could spin her words into an elegant tapestry as she spoke of her feelings for Sayaka, but if he desired she speak plainly, she would.
“Your approval or disapproval will not change my feelings, nor will they change your daughters feelings for me.” He was a smart man. He already knew his rejection wouldn’t scare Kirari. How could he intimidate her when she outranked him in every way possible? Which meant only one thing.
“You’re an honest man, which is refreshing. It is a pain sorting the honest people from the liars,” Kirari said, with a sigh. “So I do appreciate your bluntness. You have a strong sense of duty, Sayaka takes after you a great deal.”
Mr. Igarashi fell silent for a long while. The wind whistled around them, ruffling Kirari’s hair. Safe inside the warmth of the home, Sayaka sat beside her mother, talking amicably with her sister. Kirari felt Sayaka’s eyes on the back of her head—a comforting feeling. It was a reminder that she was never alone, that there was always someone looking out for her. Sayaka’s presence, even with this physical distance between them, was the reason Kirari could weather the chilly wind. She was filled with warmth—it blossomed inside her heart, unfurling like a rose.
“You asked why I had a Chinese teapot.”
Kirari glanced up, once more stunned with the similarities between Sayaka and her father’s expressions. A crack had appeared in his countenance. Admiration burned in his eyes as he looked over his shoulder. Though the clan would call his love a weakness, Kirari was beginning to see love in a new light. The fire burning his chest could level cities. He had the disposition of a man who would murder to protect those he cared about. What was weak about that? Where was the shame in such devotion? She followed his soft gaze towards the women seated on the sofa.
“It was a gift from someone I cherish dearly. For twenty years I have had that teapot and I have used it everyday since.”
Mr. Igarashi hadn’t accepted the promotion she offered, though perhaps Kirari had found her desired reciprocity in another manner. Her openness garnered his openness. It wasn’t sudden approval, she knew he still didn’t trust her—and perhaps he never would—but it was an olive branch. Their battle on the balcony ended in a truce.
“It is a lovely teapot.”
He nodded his head. They stood once more like silent, stone guardians, protecting the few people they loved most in the world.