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It was a common misconception that Mikura Sado no longer gambled.
It was not an unfounded idea. Besides her usual place at Sachiko Juraku’s side, Mikura had gained a strong reputation throughout Hyakkaou as the cold-hearted dealer of her owner’s games. It taught both senior and junior students to fear Juraku’s power as one of the only students with a designated dealer. It prevented them from bringing in their own associates before they could even ask. It allowed Juraku to prevent the flaws of those working for her. It was an ideal system. For it to work, though, Mikura needed to be available at all times. She did not gamble.
But the theory was wrong. Mikura gambled whichever days she wished, for as long as she wished, for whatever stakes she wished. And she almost always won.
Today, she was making Juraku-sama’s coffee. The sunroom was lit in streaks of gold from the mid-afternoon sun. The plants gave the air an earthy smell. Today there were no matches, no dens flaunting the council by avoiding their dues. It was the pair’s day to relax.
Juraku-sama took a very specific amount of sugar in her coffee, a bit less than one cube. Any more, and she found the taste to be only of sugar. Any less, and her nose would wrinkle at the bitterness. Mikura knew the measurement exactly. She knew it by the weight of the grains in her hand, by the time it took to dissolve in coffee that was always made to precisely the same temperature, and by how much remained in the container when she was finished.
Right now, Juraku sat on one of the room’s couches. To the outside world, she would look the picture of poised readiness, sitting upright with her hair perfectly parted behind her and her hands folded on her lap. But Mikura noticed the slight backwards tilt of her neck, the wider-set position of her feet. Juraku was relaxed, and off her guard.
A quiet pre-whine of the coffee pot prompted Mikura to turn her attention back to the table in front of her. She mustn’t disturb Juraku now. She gently placed a freshly cleaned teacup and saucer with a silver rim on a tray and filled the cup three fourths full of coffee. A properly-measured dash of cream and a quick check at Juraku later, Mikura was ready. She dipped a spoon into the sugar, watched grains pour back onto the mound until it was the perfect amount, tilted the spoon over the teacup until all of the sugar had been placed--then silently dipped the spoon back into the container, pulled out an additional half of the correct amount, and stirred it into the cup.
With that, Mikura took hold of the tray, willing her hands not to shake. In a few steps, she was in front of Juraku, a gamble in the form of a cup of coffee in front of her.
After so much time together, the pair communicated without words. Juraku looked up at Mikura, her eyes lidded with the kind of gaze you gave an uninteresting bookcase. Mikura lowered the tray, and Juraku took the cup and saucer, returning her sights to somewhere in the distance on the other side of the room.
This was Mikura’s cue to return the tray to the table. Instead, she hesitated on the edge of movement, her eyes remaining on Juraku’s face. Juraku returned her focus to her, her gaze sharpening slightly with an unspoken question. She raised the coffee to her lips and took a small sip. The muscles on her face didn’t twitch as one’s would when receiving a nasty surprise. Instead, she lowered the cup to meet the saucer and set it to the side.
“It’s sweet,” she said simply.
Mikura moved her tongue along the inside of her teeth. Her heartbeat was becoming audible to her now, her blood rushing to her hands. She kept her gaze locked onto Juraku’s; the eyes of a rabbit facing a snake.
“I’m so sorry, Juraku-sama,” she murmured, her gaze flicking downwards for a moment. She fought the hint of a smile on her face as her eyes rose again, half-shaded by lids as they met her owner’s. “I must have...mismeasured it.”
The scene sprung into action all at once, Juraku exploding out of her seat with her clawed hands reading for Mikura’s leash as she danced away. The action would be short. Juraku was faster and stronger, and Mikura wasn’t fighting to win.
In a matter of moments, Juraku’s hand found a grip on Mikura’s chain. She pulled as sharply and as she could, knocking the wind out of Mikura and sending her sprawling to the ground. Before she could recover, Juraku grabbed her wrist and flipped her over on her back before slamming her heel onto Mikura’s soft stomach.
Mikura had to squint almost vertically upwards as Juraku towered above her, illuminated from behind by the deepening sun. Her face was cast in shadow. She pulled on Mikura’s leash again, bringing her head off the ground.
“Never serve that to me again,” she hissed, reeling in the chain as she bent down until the pair’s faces were only inches apart, shaded from the rest of the world by a curtain of long silver hair. “Understand?”
Starved for air and with her heart thudding in her chest, Mikura couldn’t even manage a nod. Her response didn’t matter. Juraku let the chain loose, and Mikura’s head smacked the ground with a dull thud. She strode away, her hair a swirl behind her. A moment later, she returned to Mikura’s narrowing vision. Mikura heard a clink as the cup and saucer were placed beside her head.
“Make it again properly, would you?” Juraku said. With one more narrow stare, she vanished, gone to sit and enjoy her sanctuary.
This time, Mikura made no attempt to hide the smile on her face. She was sure that, on the other side of the room, Juraku was smiling too. They had played out so many games, yet the experience of each was never cheapened. The best part of gambling with Juraku was that there was always a way for them both to win.
Next time, she would add even more sugar.