“You’ve been mostly asleep for three days, and your brain still isn’t working? I didn’t touch it since it looked okay, but I should have rebuilt everything inside out.”
“W-wait a minute. You can’t do that! Or rather, um, you saved my life, didn’t you?”
“Isn’t that obvious? You’re not trying to pretend you’ve forgotten, are you? Don’t think for a second that you can get away with it. Should you violate our contract, your heart will burst.”
“And the downside?”
“I don’t know what downside means, but you used your body—your life—and agreed to a contract. Naturally, you would lose your life if you violated it,” the man said matter-of-factly. Masamichi swallowed before confirming his fears.
“Um…the contract. It was that I would be your servant, right?”
“So you remember that much. Fine. As your master, I have provided you with clothes. Put them on and come downstairs.”
“Clothes?”
“Your old clothes were so miserable that I threw them away while ripping them off.”
“You…ripped them off?”
The man lifted his chin a few centimeters haughtily, as if what he’d done was the obvious course of action.
“How could I mend that body otherwise? Or did you want me to do it sloppily without being fully prepared?”
“Not at all!”
The situation between Masamichi and the man was very unusual, but when the man did—or rather, said—something, he made everything sound perfectly normal, which made things worse.
But considering the mess my body was, my clothes must have also been in terrible shape.
Masamichi slowly took his hand off his knees and checked the paper bag. Inside were tightly packed bags of clothes, still in their wrapping.
A little startled, he looked up at the man’s frowning face.
“Did you buy these for me?”
“Your fingers and toes would never see the sun if you tried to wear my clothes.”
Masamichi was at a loss for words.
It was true that compared with his compact height at about 160 centimeters, the man in front of him was well proportioned and surely over 180 centimeters.
“Oh, and if you want to use the shower before you get dressed, the bathroom is by the stairs. I’m sure I’ve drunk and licked up all the blood you’ve spilled, so you shouldn’t have any stains left.”
The man grinned with satisfaction as if remembering the taste of Masamichi’s blood.
“Eep!”
I knew it… I knew it. But geez, he licked the blood off me!!
Masamichi’s face went red with shame as he inadvertently remembered the man’s bloody face devouring his leg. Masamichi also couldn’t help but imagine the man licking his naked body with that red tongue.
The man raised an eyebrow at this reaction and said with astonishment, “If you’re that energetic, you should be okay. Now get ready and come downstairs.”
He had turned before even finishing his instructions and disappeared out the door by the time Masamichi started to respond.
Stunned, Masamichi listened to the sound of the man’s footsteps as he briskly stomped down the stairs.
“Give me a break… What is with that man? What’s going to happen to me?”
Masamichi was dumbstruck, and there was no one to answer him.
At any rate, he’d learned that the man was impatient.
He would surely be irritated if Masamichi didn’t promptly get dressed and go downstairs as instructed.
“If I’m his servant, then it means that person—though I don’t know who he is or even his name—is my master. That would probably make him more important to me than the pub manager.”
Masamichi established this pecking order in his mind and nodded slightly.
It was a bad idea to offend his master, who was higher in rank than the pub manager. He had gotten on the pub manager’s nerves—and look what had happened.
Especially now, when he knew nothing about the man’s background, he wanted to make things as smooth as possible.
But…did he really lick off all my blood?
He wanted to believe that was an exaggeration, but the fact was that there wasn’t a speck of blood anywhere on his body.
I wonder if that beautiful man did something so perverted…though it won’t help to think about it!
Masamichi felt numb from the constant surprises and wasn’t even disgusted that a man had licked his body. He was embarrassed, and putting on the clothes he’d been given was difficult.
“Okay, I’ll shower, then gratefully put on the clothes he bought me, and we’ll go from there.”
He was alive. That was certain. It was also certain that the man had saved him.
First, he needed to get ready, then go and thank him.
This is no time to hesitate because I’m shy. Come on, I can do it.
Masamichi slapped his cheeks for a little boost, grabbed the paper bag, and got off the bed.
Groaning at his aching muscles, he promptly headed to the bathroom.
Once he was dressed in his new clothes and feeling refreshed, Masamichi stepped out of the bathroom and caught a whiff of something that smelled good.
No matter where he looked, this was an old house. Maybe someone was cooking downstairs, and the exhaust from the ventilation fan had come upstairs.
Someone’s grilling fish!
Masamichi’s stomach growled as soon as he recognized the smell.
Come to think of it, the man had casually mentioned that Masamichi had slept for three days.
The young man had neither eaten nor had anything to drink during that time, so it was natural that his body would complain.
I know it’s brazen to wonder this, but would they have some…for me, too? I hope they do.
Masamichi walked down the stairs, praying that would be the case.
The stairs curved sharply at a small triangular landing and were pretty steep with narrow treads. There was a handrail, but he could fall if he wasn’t careful.
Masamichi was surprised again when he reached the bottom of the stairs.
He was looking at a tea room.
It was a room for holding Japanese tea ceremonies, about ten tatami mats in size, and was furnished with a tea chest, a low table, and plump cushions. A folding writing desk was propped up against the wall, probably used for desk work.
Interestingly, it was a typical room from the Showa era but with a modern LCD television.
At the far end of the tea room, there was a low cupboard and an old-fashioned kitchen beyond it, where the mysterious man was cooking.
I thought his wife or someone was cooking, but it’s him. I wonder if he lives alone. Still…
What drew Masamichi’s attention the most was the spacious earthen floor, separated from the tea room by an old-fashioned roll curtain—an elegant bamboo screen.
At least, Masamichi thought it was an earthen floor since it was a step lower than the tea ceremony room.
In the center of the large space was a passageway leading to a door that looked like an entrance; both sides of this passageway were filled with old and worn-out tools piled up almost as high as the ceiling.
Is this a garbage dump? No, people don’t set up garbage dumps inside their homes. But what on earth is it? I thought the man was a mystery, but this place is just as impossible to figure out.
Some items were household tools, while others were dolls, musical instruments, and even masks. The dim light made it hard to identify them, but the square objects must have been frames for paintings.
He thought they were all antiques, but then he glimpsed a toy weapon from a recent TV show about a hero and villains. The assortment was so varied that it offered no clue of a particular taste or style.
“Don’t just stand there. Get to work.”
Masamichi turned around, startled by the man’s voice behind him.
“On what?”
“Breakfast.”
The man spoke to him from the kitchen, not even bothering to turn around. Masamichi made his way around the cupboard and approached him.
A large wooden tray on a rugged stainless steel cooktop bore neatly placed plates of food.
“Oh, that smell. It’s roasted salmon. Yum.”
“Never mind that, just take the plates to the table,” the man said with a scoff.
It seemed they would be eating at the low table in the tea room. Masamichi held the tray with both hands and carried it to the dining table, ignoring his body aches, which had not faded at all.
There was salted salmon with golden-brown skin, freshly cooked rice that gleamed, greens simmered in broth, and eggplant miso soup.
Masamichi was arranging the dishes, all the while thinking it looked like breakfast at a Japanese inn, when the man came over with a small iron kettle in one hand.
The man sat on a cushion, opened the kettle lid, took a teapot and a teacup from inside the chest, and began making tea.
It’s getting to be more and more like an inn!
Masamichi had finished setting the table and was impressed. He sat on his knees next to the table, placing both hands on the tatami mat, and bowed his head so deep that his forehead almost touched the mat.
“Thank you for saving my life. And thank you for this outfit. I’ve never worn such high-quality clothing before.”
He wasn’t trying to flatter the man or be humble.
The clothes Masamichi had taken out of the paper bag after much hesitation were a very casual pair of beige chinos and a navy-blue cotton sweater, but they were luxury-brand goods that he only knew by name. They must have cost several hundred dollars each.
As the man scooped tea leaves into a teapot with a spoon and poured hot water from the iron kettle, he responded as if it was nothing.
“A servant’s attire is like a mirror reflecting the dignity of his master. I will not allow you to wear anything shabby.”
The man used words like servant and master, which were rarely heard in modern society, so casually. Masamichi still had his head bowed and continued, “And even food. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me. I don’t know how I can ever repay you…”
It was a typical expression of gratitude, but the man snickered like he was bored.
“It isn’t something you could ever repay.”
“That’s…true, but…um, I was very confused right after the accident—I was dying, and my mind was probably fuzzy.”
Masamichi didn’t see the end of the man’s eyebrow twitch.
“You! Are you trying to annul our contract…?”
“I’m not! That isn’t it. This contract… Well, I’ve remembered the deal we made.”
Masamichi bowed his head and spoke honestly to the man, who was staring at him hard.
“But my memory is a little hazy about what I’m supposed to do as your servant.”
The man then said with a grim look on his face, “I told you to work for me and be my food. A servant is controlled by his master. Since we agreed to our contract, your body and soul—every part of you—belongs to me.”
“…Everything.”
“Yes. Obey my orders. Improve yourself so you can satisfy me. Simply put, that is your duty as my servant,” the man said bluntly as he poured two cups of tea. “The food will get cold. Eat.”