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"You're so cute." Juraku smiles, a bloodthirsty curl of her lips. "You found a single beacon of hope in the direst of straits. You need the drive to win in order to do that. Well done."
"Juraku-sama…" The name falls on deaf ears as Juraku continues her monologue. Mikura trembles, watching the scene before her eyes. The gambling den's temperature drops, but there isn't a hint of a goosebump on Saotome and her lackeys despite that tarty maid outfit. It's an outfit befitting Saotome's station. The customer may be king, but Juraku has always been an empress.
Though that's not the issue. There's something else that's worse. Juraku is smiling.
Is this a cruel joke? She doesn't want to believe it. She can hardly believe it. It's affection that despicable wrench doesn't deserve. She holds herself tight, as though holding onto a fragile, damaged jar, with the cracks running deep enough to splinter the item, and does her best to not cry. She wants to scream. Even as much as she despises Saotome, it wouldn't do to make a public scene. It will only harm Juraku's reputation if she acts out now.
Juraku single-handedly defeated all of her opponents and proved this place to be a sham. The rent owed isn't typically what people could pay—especially not scholarship students. Juraku is being generous. Far too generous for some lackluster hack.
Mikura's disbelief turns into pure betrayal. It coils in her stomach like a terrible lunch filled with rotten food. She wants to convince herself that she'll be alright. That she's not seeing what she's seeing and not hearing what she's hearing. She wants to deny everything. The most grueling thought circling her mind is, She doesn’t want me anymore.
***
The hallways are long, but now it feels like Mikura is marching off to her deathbed with every step. Her hands ache with the pressure of her fists, her nails digging into her palm in craved crescents. During the entire match, Mikura stood still, processing the words and the situation she was unwittingly a part of.
She stares at the floor, radiating anger, despair, but hidden underneath all the simple reactive emotions is the complicated feeling of utter defeat. She's tired, but her brain is numb while her body is on autopilot.
Mikura dutifully keeps her head low. Her head throbs with the beginning of a migraine—every sound and beam of light, bordering on too sensitive. Juraku hasn't looked back. The contours of her face are in a controlled expression, but the lines on Juraku's back are relaxed. They are not taut like Mikura's are.
Typical. Juraku doesn't know the crushing pressure Mikura is under. Likely doesn't know the vast rift that was set upon them in just a mere five steps.
Saotome's damned face pops into Mikura's mind, but the most haunting thing is Juraku's expression. Her words following, to be exact.
You're so cute.
Those were words that Mikura absolutely wanted to hear. But she wanted to be the target of those affections. There has to be an explanation for all of this.
There just has to be.
She lifts her head in a slight gesture out of a long-ingrained habit at sneaking glances, hoping she might be proven wrong. That her faith and loyalty would give her the thing she craved most.
Mikura's blood freezes. The curve of Juraku's lips is not a mistake. Juraku is smiling.
She never does that.
Not her.
Why her?
Saotome wouldn't appreciate Juraku's affection. Not in the way that Mikura does. She's fallen complacent and taken Juraku's presence in her life as a given.
Juraku is ten paces ahead, and not once has she turned her head. Each step away from Mikura slams the final nail in her coffin. Mikura hangs her head, clutching her tag like the pathetic pet that she was.
At this rate, she's going to be replaced.
She can't deny it anymore. Juraku lost interest in her. She's already been replaced. She's nothing to her now. There's nothing that she can do…
...except...
"I want to gamble," she mutters under her breath.
"Come again?" Juraku says, tilting her head slyly as if she's heard the most amusing thing of the day. "Did I hear something?" Juraku muses, stepping lightly and getting into Mikura's face. Juraku towers over Mikura by over a head. Despite her long bony fingers, there's strength in her grip. Mikura has felt those chilly hands on her neck more often than not.
I want to gamble against you.
Mikura thinks, tries to force the words past her dried-up throat. Her palms sweat, the liquid making her hand clammy, until ultimately, she hunches her shoulders to her ears, her face burning with shame.
She never had a chance. She should have never said anything, she should take that back, she should just know her place, she should—
"I—," she starts, raising her head, and keeping her tone stronger than she felt, "I want to- to gamble with you."
Juraku stares at her without blinking. The slits in her red eyes become thin points, highlighting her snake-like qualities. Then her lips curl into a mocking expression. "Gave it a good thought?." Juraku giggles into her hand. She towers above Mikura with the might of a predator at the top of the food chain. She stares right at Mikura.
"Don't be absurd. What could you want to win?" Juraku shakes her head, the sound of her chuckle raises the hair on Mikura's skin. "A pet does not need anything other than to be fed when it is obedient."
The leash never had a lock. Because Juraku was so confident that Mikura would never take it off. That she wouldn't be able to muster any sort of respect for herself. That she would never leave her master.
Mikura takes her tag off and presents it in one moment of fiery determination.
"I use my only right given to a house pet. I request a match with you, Student Council member, Juraku Sachiko-sama."
Juraku freezes, watching Mikura shake, and now there's a frown on her lips. Distaste.
“Seems like you forget that a pet who causes problems for her master shall be punished. And I shall remind you, mittens.”
Mikura wants to keep that gaze on her, and she doesn't care how she gets it.
***
"Choose." Juraku sits at one end of the square table, draping herself onto the seat as though it were her throne and the council room her chamber. Many hopes and dreams have been crushed in this room. Why should Mikura's be any different? If only she would look at Mikura, give Mikura what she so desperately wanted.
But she didn't.
Juraku leads them down to the council room. Usually, there are many others around, but not today. The council room is pristinely kept, not a speck of dust.
"You understand you owe a debt to the Student Council," Juraku starts with formalities, the things that utterly bore her. It stings having that tone directed at her instead of around her.
Juraku loves a game where she's the hunter. Where she's the predator. She needs to make sure that she has got Mikura pinned under her control.
"What shall we play?" she muses, sitting on her chair like a queen.
Mikura looks around the room, from the mahjong tables to the wrapped decks of cards and the variety of board games lining the shelves. An open monopoly board, courtesy of the Student Council President, was laid aside on one table.
The image of Juraku's smile burns vividly in her mind, and Mikura's stomach drops once more. An acid pit in the center of her body. How she wants to claw at Saotome's face until it's bloody and raw to get rid of the rot in her heart.
Mikura simply picks up an unopened pack of cards and places it on the table.
"One round of doubt poker,"
Mikura says. If Mikura does this right, this one round will last forever. She takes Juraku's huff as an agreement, tearing the packaging open with the nail of her thumb. "Do we need to call a referee?"
"No, this will be fine." Juraku waves her hand.
Overconfidence helps no one but the underdog, and Mikura will not look a gift horse in the mouth. She takes a seat on the other side of the table. Mikura sets the cards down on the table in a practiced flourish.
The first time she gambled against Juraku, Mikura lost her freedom. The last one however she offered everything she had for her.
Mikura glances up, watches the way Juraku props her chin on her arm. Confident, but not entirely off guard, though. She's bored. At any other time, Mikura's temper would undoubtedly spike with any other person, leading to higher chances of errors if she did not cheat. No. She learned her lesson well.
Scooping up the cards in a well-practiced motion of being Sachiko Juraku personal dealer, Mikura splits the pile into stacks of ten. She picks a stack then slides the rest in between the gaps, power shuffling the deck.
"Cut?" She says, placing the deck between them. Juraku waves her hand. Nodding once, Mikura deals five cards face down in front of Sachiko and then five cards to herself.
Mikura peeks at Juraku over the fall of her bangs. Regal even as her eyes glance over the backs of her cards. Turning her gaze back, Mikura exchanges the last two cards on her left.
"Raise," Juraku says, throwing chips into the middle haphazardly. Each chip is worth 1,000,000 yen. That's the price of Mikura’s life plan gamble. The price of keeping her as Jurako’s possession for eternity or until Juraku throws her away.
"All-in." Mikura pushes her small pile of chips into the center, along with her doubts, hope, and fate.
"Interesting," Juraku says, a glint of something other than boredom in her eyes, but there isn't a single kind notion about the smile. “I would have thought you lost your edge when I made you my pet."
Her tone is sardonic at its core, but Mikura can't help the shiver that crawls out her spine at the words my pet. The claim of ownership. She lets the sensation roll down her. Here and now, Juraku's attention is on her. She is going to savor every last drop of her attention.
Juraku places her cards down first. "Four kings."
Mikura's eyes widen, and she hangs her head. Her shoulders scrunch with an invisible weight. A part of her feared the outcome, but not like this.
"Queen high straight."
"Doubt." Juraku mocks, the sound slippery, like that of a snake's coils tightening while it amuses itself with prey caught in its deathtrap. "Shall we?" She gestures towards Mikura's face-down cards.
Mikura lets the shade of her hair hide her eyes. She reveals her hand one card at a time, slowly, methodologically letting the plastic scrape the wooden table. Queen of hearts, Jack of hearts, ten of hearts…
She pauses at the second to last card, picking up the corner. She lifts her head to meet Juraku's gaze squarely. Revealing the next card, Juraku's irises narrow to thinner points, and her face becomes stone as Mikura flips the last of her cards.
Queen of hearts, Jack of hearts, ten of hearts, nine of hearts, and eight of hearts, all lined up perfectly on the table. Juraku's minute of silence means that she has automatically forfeited.
"I win." Mikura gazes right into Sachiko's eyes, and takes off her pet tag with trembling hands.
Juraku stares at her, her eyes not blinking.
"I have always been looking at you, Juraku-sama." She drops the pet tag, her collar, and her leash onto the table— the hollow rattling of the chains physically severing their ties as master and house pet. "But you have stopped looking at me."
Her blue eyes burn as liquid gathers at the edges. She blinks, and the first tear falls down. She bows once, shoving down the sob that climbs her throat, and turns on her heels. She doesn't look back even as the heat of Juraku's eyes bore into the small of her retreating back and shuts the heavy wooden doors.
Fifteen steps to the left of the hallway, there's a discreet spot beside a vase on top of a table. It's not Mikura's first choice, but her body decides for her when her knees buck, and she lines her back against the wall. She brings her knees up and cries into her skirt, not caring about the volume.
This won't be the last time that she sees Juraku. Mikura made sure of that.
She didn't win her freedom — she won Juraku's interests like the first time. As such, she can expect to see her again. She's a hunter that enjoys the hunt. After all, Juraku Sachiko has never let prey escape her before.