Chapter 8
“Teacher Siwoo? Could you come over here for a moment?”
“Yes, Teacher Sanga. What is it?”
“I asked you to move the toys in the Rose Class to the storage room during the children's lunch break, but they're still there.”
“Oh, the vice principal said we'd be doing a thorough classroom cleanup this afternoon, so she told us to leave them and move everything at once then.”
“And? Does the job being done just because the vice principal said so?”
“Uh…… yes?”
“Ah~ So if the kids run around, hit a box Teacher Siwoo ‘deliberately’ didn't push into a corner, and get hurt, I can deal with the parents who come to complain, right?”
“Then you can do it yourself…… I mean, no. Yes, I'm sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? Explain.”
*****************
“Hey, you little shit. Get your ass over here!”
“Hm? What's up, Yuria?”
“Maria's coming over to play in a little while. When are you going to put away all that armor strewn around? What if she trips and falls?”
“Just a second. I'll check one more piece of auxiliary equipment, then move it all at once.”
“……Fine.”
Unlike Mom, who, as head housekeeper and boss of the maid organization, nags the Grand Duke about anything and everything without holding back, I let things slide if there's a reasonable excuse, even when I do nag.
It's not just Derek, either. I'm nice to the maids under me, too.
Now that's proof I'm a man to the bone.
I don't use the uniquely female skill of nagging someone until they're emotionally ground into dust……
“You know, Yuria, when you say that while sitting so demurely with your legs together and sweeping your hair behind your ear, it isn't convincing at all.”
“You little shit, then what, you expect me to sit here with my legs spread in this short skirt?”
This guy's a real pervert.
Why the hell is he curious about the color of someone else's panties?
He saw them once already. That ought to be enough.
I need to subtly plead with Mom or Dad—beg if I have to—to ask the Grand Duke to give me a maid's skirt that's a little longer.
Whether or not I did, Derek didn't even glance my way; he kept turning the detachable helmet visor over and inspecting it as he spoke.
“You're a man in name only. The way you act, you're the girliest girl there is. If you want to be a man, then act like one.”
Lately, he's been starting to get under my skin.
“……Even so, I can't spread my legs in front of you. That's just unavoidable given my current situation.”
“Really? That's a little disappointing.”
“Hey, you bastard. You've been treating me like a woman a lot lately, haven't you?”
At my complaint, Derek casually tossed the visor he'd been holding toward the pile of armor.
A heavy thud rang out.
The physical strength to toss around even a hefty chunk of adamantium like it was nothing was something I envied every time I saw it.
Then, with that incredible physique, Derek crossed the three meters between us and appeared right in front of me before I could even blink.
Before I had time to be surprised, Derek's fingers brushed over my lips.
“Hey, what—what are you……?”
“Look at this.”
Derek lifted the index finger that had left a lingering warmth on my small lower lip and showed it to me.
The tip of his finger was reddish, unlike the rest of his skin, darkened to a coppery brown.
“You used to insist you were a man and never wore makeup, but lately you do it often. Your mannerisms have changed a lot, too. You used to spend more than half our conversations swearing and cursing, but that's been tapering off……”
“Uh, I…… have?”
“Look at you now. Normally, this is where you'd snap back with, ‘Cut the bullshit, you fucking bitch,’ but you aren't. I thought maybe you were starting to give up the act. Isn't that red lipstick a symbol of it?”
Well, you know your stuff.
If this had been first-year Yuria, I definitely would have.
It's true that fourth-year Yuria has become quite a bit more refined.
But that doesn't mean the fact that I'm a man has gone anywhere.
The essence of a thing is what matters. The essence.
And there's one thing that's really annoying.
That's not red. And it's not lipstick, either.
Anyone can see that red lipstick and Bride Peach tint don't belong in the same category.
“……I'm still a man, though.”
“Yeah, yeah. You're a man.”
“No, I'm serious! Hey, I don't care if I get up ten minutes early every day to put on a light makeup base, or keep checking throughout the day to see if my stockings have runs, or spend a whole hour taking care of my hair while I wash up. If I say I'm a man, then I'm a man!”
I argued my case, full of indignation, but Derek wore the same expression as always, as if to say, “Here we go again.”
Of course, in his actual actions, Derek treats me properly.
But that expression of his makes me desperately want to punch him every single time.
If I tried to throw a punch at that monstrous body, even as a joke, I might go from a cripple to a complete wreck.
So instead of punching him, I kicked Derek in the shin as he stood in front of me, still holding up a finger stained with tint.
A maid is supposed to wear heels at all times, and heels are pointed and hard at the front……
“……What are you doing?”
“Jeez, that body of yours is ridiculously sturdy, at least. If you're done checking it, hurry up and put that stuff away!”
I pointed at the pile of armor still stacked in the corner.
I'd personally packed and arranged the rest of Derek's things, but I couldn't touch those arms and armor.
It wasn't because they were expensive.
They were made of adamantium, so nothing I did would damage them, and even if I did break something, Derek would take responsibility for my mistake himself, as always.
I'd already broken a few priceless pieces of porcelain, all thanks to the maid everyone euphemistically called ‘clumsy’—in reality, a maid with a useless arm. A little more wouldn't matter.
More than that, it was because, much as I hated to admit it, I had a woman's strength.
And a weak woman's strength, at that. I was small, and I could only use half the strength in one arm.
Seriously, it's a damn shame that the only way I can prove I'm the manliest of men is by talking.
Derek, who could wield several times that meager strength, slid the equipment into the corner with no effort at all. It would've taken me ages to drag each piece over, groaning the whole time.
Then he came over beside me and flopped down, letting out a weary “Whew, I'm exhausted.”
I sighed automatically.
“Good grief. Hey, get up.”
“Ah, why? We're setting out tomorrow. Are you really going to nag me a lot?”
“Yes, a whole fucking lot. You know, if you lie right down on the bed in the clothes you wore while oiling your gear, the laundry maid's going to have a hell of a time, right? Get up already!”
I'm being dragged along on the Knights' regular patrol starting tomorrow.
That's why Derek was personally inspecting that ominous gear, while I packed his other things separately.
I didn't know why he was doing his gear maintenance and packing in his room instead of using the Knights' huge training ground, but he should at least think of the maids who have to clean up after him. Me included.
On top of that, I was being dragged along too, and I hadn't even packed a single thing because I'd been busy serving Derek.
Meanwhile, Derek indulged in a hundred percent of the laziness he only ever showed around me, completely at odds with his public nickname, “Ironblood.”
“Ah, I don't care. Maid over there, help your master up.”
“God, what a pain in the ass. Hey, you bastard, am I your servant or what?”
Even as I complained, I took hold of the hand Derek vaguely stretched out while lying down.
I'd lived as a maid for four years, so it came naturally. Occupational hazard, I guess.
I put my strength into it and pulled.
And then……
“Eek……! Huh? Ah……!”
I'd been right-handed for twenty-five years, so maybe my mistake was forgetting that four years of living with a disabled right arm wouldn't easily fix my unconscious habit of reaching out with it.
My strength was nowhere near enough, so when I tried to pull him up, I got pulled toward him instead.
And the result was……
************
“So, Young Master. How did it go?”
“What are you asking, Elaine? Obviously, it went very well.”
The few women in the Knights were delighted as they watched Derek repeatedly turn his gaze toward the distant mountain peaks.
He'd earned the nickname “Ironblood” because he maintained an icy demeanor whether he was cutting down monsters single-handedly like a fiend or simply talking to people.
That said, the Ironblood Young Master showed ordinary human warmth, at least when he was with the Knights or his family—people close to him.
And whenever he talked to the women in the Knights about a certain kind of problem, you couldn't find even the first letter of “Ironblood” in him.
“Well…… she went ‘Uh……’ and then suddenly sprang to her feet, flustered, wished me a good night, and ran away. Thanks to that, I had to handle Maria by myself.”
“See? Even if you don't overdo it and just stay still, if she's interested, she'll come around on her own.”
“What are you talking about, Iphy? This is exactly when you should subtly fan the flames and make her more aware of her femininity. Young Master, if you ask me, Lady Yuria still has a long way to go.”
On the march for the patrol.
The knights tilted their heads in confusion as their lord sent the men and noncombatants ahead in wagons, then called a small group of women aside to discuss something serious.
They never would've expected the Young Master to ask ordinary members of the order for romantic advice.
Of course, Derek had no intention of asking them for help with romance.
All he'd done was confide that his maid had an extreme tendency to hide her femininity.
He hadn't even mentioned the things Yuria was always going around saying about being a man.
Of course, the veteran women, whose romantic opportunities never dried up despite working in a male-dominated order of knights, were experts at reading between the lines—even when the speaker himself didn't realize what he was implying.
“Now, Young Master, answer honestly. How did you feel when Lady Yuria fell into your arms?”
“Well…… she was soft. I wanted to stay like that forever.”
“Good. And what was Lady Yuria's complexion like right afterward?”
“It was that peach-something color, I think. Anyway, it was just like the stuff she puts on her lips.”
“It's over.” The same response came from all around him.
“No, then you should've barged into Lady Yuria's room last night! It's right next door, too—Mmph!”
“You shut up for a minute. Young Master, that's just that woman's thing, so ignore her. Your concern is that the problem still seems to be there anyway, right?”
Right up until they set out that morning, Yuria treated Derek as usual—or rather, even more roughly than usual.
It was driving Derek crazy.
The symptoms had flared up as an aftereffect of her illness, so he couldn't just handle her carelessly. And the fact that she didn't act that way with anyone else, only when the two of them were alone, was tormenting him.
But unlike Derek, who was agonizing over it, the women listening to his romantic troubles all advised him in a relaxed manner.
“Then why don't you try this, Young Master?”
“I don't know why her self-esteem as a woman is so low, since you never explain it to us. But honestly, all it takes is for her to have a moment where she thinks, ‘Huh? I'm more attractive to the Young Master than she is, aren't I? I'm prettier, my waist is slimmer, and my breasts are bigger!’ Then her confidence will surge like a flood bursting its banks.”
“You have to make Lady Yuria become aware of her femininity herself, somehow. Brainwashing her would be ideal, but even if you don't go that far, if you keep subtly creating tension between men and women around her, she'll eventually accept it and think, ‘Could that be true?’”
“It's like gradually raising the mana concentration until the magic ripens.”
That was exactly what he'd been trying lately.
Derek thought to himself.