After stepping quietly from the room where he had sat in discussion with his parents, the boy, who was no older than 10 years, 2 months, and 12 days at the time, if you asked, stood formally and addressed each of the staff by name. His head held high, back straight with perfect posture that seemed at that age too severe, spoke to each of the three men who stood before him.
"I have discussed this at great length with my parents, who have agreed with my," and his too-high voice trailed slightly, his face unable to totally hide the small scrunch of nose as he hunted for the word that best suited his meaning. "—viewpoint," he finished.
There wasn’t much in the way of a path to pace in front of the men, though Ryuugazaki Rei—‘young master’ to the staff—made the effort to walk with the pride that one his age presumed made him look more mature and distinguished—beautiful, if pressed to describe his intention.
"As I continue to grow older and more knowledgable about matters of the world, I must take on more responsibilities, both as a man and as one whose goal it is to impress beauty upon the world."
There was a lingering pause, as though commentary was expected. When none came, not even in the form of a scoff, and a quick glance across the men’s faces reassured him they were not holding back laughter, he continued.
"Atsuya," and the eldest of the men stood tall and at attention, bowing to the young man before him.
"As the one who has been with us longest, you see to the needs of my parents the most. Still, I have two requests of you. The first is that you carve an hour out of every other day to tutor me in practical gardening. I will supplement the lessons with my own studies during the other days. We need fresher food, cleaner fruit, livelier flowers—I will provide these things to the family with my own hands, with your guidance. The second request I have of you is that you not treat me as the young master during that hour; I will be your pupil and if I’m to learn correctly, I cannot have you curbing any feedback."
The man, Atsuya, bowed in acknowledgement.
"Satou," and the portly man who stood between the other two gave a smooth, polished bow that belied his girth.
"As you are the chef, I expect you know more about myself and my parents’ eating habits, and a great deal more than we do about the culinary world and how best to take advantage of what is handy. My first request of you is to allow me to assist you with meals on the weekends. I expect the food I grow will be both plentiful and full of flavor, nutrients beneficial to a growing boy," and he cut himself off, eyes narrowed at his own words. "—man," he continued.
"I would like to learn how to cook nutritious meals for myself, and for you to in turn cook healthier meals for my family. Beauty isn’t skin-deep; we must nourish what’s inside if we want to preserve what’s on the out. Second, you will provide recipes for the dishes we like best so that I may study on how to improve the nutritional value without losing flavor."
The young master hesitated before stepping in front of the final staff member in line. The red head was young, not much older than himself, maybe a year or two, and was working for room and board as a favor to a family friend. Where he seemed sure-footed with the other two, he now seemed uncertain. Eyes shifted from the floor, down the hall, to the face just inches above his own, then back down again.
"Rin." No change in stature or face showed at his name being called. No, that wasn’t entirely right—maybe a slight tick at the corner of his right eye.
With no response, the young master drew a deep breath and puffed his chest out, stared squarely at the knot in the tie that sat at the other boy’s neck.
"You will fetch me tea and take it to me in my room, where we will discuss my requests of you. You’ve been here long enough to know what I expect of both preparation and presentation. Ten minutes." And without another word, he turned sharply to his left and headed towards his room in what he assured himself was not a sprint.
A chuckle from the chef, a barely audible sigh from the elderly man, and a resounding four-letter word from the younger of the three that should never have escaped his mouth, be it in his penguin suit or out of it. But he turned toward the kitchen, opposite the direction of the young master’s room, and headed off to do as was demanded.
"The tea ceremony must be the most beautiful I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing thus far, but I do enjoy the English tea and arrangement on occasion," stated the young master after wafting toward him the rising heat and fumes of the perfectly-steeped tea that was set before him.
"Rin, my requests of you," and he took a sip of his tea—black, not because he was a man and that was expected of him but because he felt it marred the flavor to add anything to is—before setting the delicate rose-patterned china down, the effort to not make unnecessary sound as he did so obvious to the servant in front of him.
"There are two, just as I had for the others. The first," he gulped a large intake of air down as if choking back the urge to shuffle the other boy from his room with a no, no, nevermind, you’re fine, see you later.
"The first," he repeated, "is that I would ask you to…" and his voice became a whisper despite his attempt to remain firm in his direction, "…to wear this." He pulled a box, gift-wrapped with a purple satin bow, from beneath his low table and sat it in front of Rin.
Upon opening it, the other boy’s face drained of color before flashing to red with almost visible waves of heat radiating from him.
"You want me to wear this?" he spat out between clenched teeth, which caused the young master to scoot a foot or two away before realizing it, forcing himself to reclaim at least half the distance back.
"Y-you are expected to…to…to do as requested," he finished in a rush to get the words out.
"And your parents approved this request of yours?"
"Ah, well…" and eyelids that were cast down now shifted away, seeking a spot, any spot, where he could focus without having to look at Rin’s face.
"Forget—" Rin began and made to stand up.
"Second—second," he shouted, raising up on his knees and knocking the table in the process.
"You can’t be serious."
"My second request," and he paused to risk a glance at Rin, ignoring the tea that now dribbled over saucer onto the table. "My second request, please, is that I would like for you to teach me how you handle my clothes."
When no response he came, he continued.
"They’re very orderly…and arranged in a way that pleases me. The organization by season, garment type, and then by color, appeals to my sense of beauty."
Rin, who had remained quiet, cocked his head to the side by merely an inch but the young master took notice.
"No, no, it’s not what you think. I just think—" he tried to still his fluttering hands. "That is to say, I believe that I am old enough to be handling my own laundering, folding, and putting away of things, you see.” His hands fumbled for something to grip in his fingers and he smartly stopped before reaching for the mess of tea in front of him. He cleared his throat, regained some of his previous composure and searched for what to say next.
"May I?" And Rin spoke with the formality he had of the day before, which forced a sharp intake of breath from the young master before a hesitant nod.
"This wouldn’t have anything to do with—"
"No, no, I said it was nothing like that, right? I clearly said it had nothing to do with anything but my—"
"—the fact that you’re missing a pair of underwear that I know you selected for wearing the other morning, right?"
The young master’s sentence died on his lips before he could finish, his mouth agape, face stained pink.
"The way I see it," Rin continued, "is that something must have happened to them. You have precisely ten pieces of underwear, which I know because I had to suffer through the tedium of your lecture on even numbers representing perfection, blah blah. You wear a specific pair on a specific day, every day of the week—that’s a weird habit, by the way; you’re a strange one, even before that box right there, but you’re really strange with your obsessive compulsive streak and thing for beauty."
"No, I—" and Rin held a hand up to stop him from speaking.
"So, what I’m really getting at, I guess, is that you don’t want anyone to know about some panty mishap you had and you’re trying to set it up so that if I find out you’ll have something to hang over my head."
"No, I—" and again the hand.
"That’s really low, and not very—" Rin indicated air quotes at the boy "—beautiful of you."
"It’s not what you think," the kid—because that’s what he had become as his plans fell apart—cried out.
"It seems to me it’s exactly what I think," and Rin stared him down, nostrils flaring at the gall this kid—to hell with the ‘young master’ title right now—had.
"I just thought it would suit you," and Rin couldn’t ask Suit me? because the sobbing went on. “You have nice legs, with slight muscle definition from the swimming I overheard you discussing. And then your hair is this red that is an explosion of different shades in the sun, so I thought it would contrast against the black really well. And, well…”
