And then—something whipped past my face—
—and in the next instant, something soft, cold, and suspiciously springy smacked me right in the face with a loud SLAP.
I staggered back, wobbled, but managed to stay on my feet. My heart plummeted straight to my heels.
Frantically, I grabbed "it," terrified it was about to lay an egg in my mouth, but it dug its claws into me and refused to let go.
Summoning more strength, I finally pried the invader off my face and, holding my breath, looked at what had attacked me.
My astonishment and delight knew no bounds. Hanging from my hands was a kitten—pale fur, brown eyes… and wings.
"Aww, how cute!!!"
Just as I relaxed and started admiring this wonder, it scratched my cheek with one precise swipe.
The sudden pain made me drop the kitten. Clutching my face, I nearly tap-danced on the spot.
When I opened my eyes again, I saw the kitten hovering in the air, flapping its tiny wings.
I'd say "How adorable!" if my face wasn't burning from its claws.
"Get over here, you fuzzy little menace!"
I yelled, trying to snatch the furball now circling me.
"Are you planning to ignore my presence much longer?"
The voice was thin—almost gentle—but colder than a morning shower. I froze in place, as if that voice had triggered a "brain.exe has stopped working" error.
Slowly, with the doomed resignation of a patient turning toward a dentist's drill, I turned around.
Sitting on the sun-drenched windowsill was a girl my age. Fiery red hair danced in the sunlight like tongues of flame, framing her porcelain face.
Her pale blue eyes—almost translucent—stared right at me. With the kind of look usually reserved for a stain on a brand-new tablecloth, accepting inevitable disappointment.
In her hands lay an open book, as if I'd barged into the middle of a crucial scene, and she'd mentally sentenced me to literary execution.
Her legs were neatly crossed, her posture regal, and around her reigned perfect order—even the curtains behind her hung as if afraid to breathe without permission.
This must be Evelyn… And judging by everything, I've just interrupted the sacred ritual of afternoon reading.
"My apologies, I got a bit carried away…"
I immediately bowed at a perfect ninety-degree angle, as is customary in Japan.
Yep, old habits die hard. Behold the isekai'd girl in all her glory.
Silence hung heavy in the room.
It was even less comfortable than being yelled at.
"Su, come here."
Evelyn finally broke the oppressive pause.
The fluffball named Su instantly turned and landed in Evelyn's hands.
She closed her book, placed it on the table, walked to the door, and announced:
"If you're truly sorry, clean the room. You have one hour. You're late enough as it is."
The fuzzy menace purred contentedly in her hands. I could've sworn it smirked at me.
I was left alone in Evelyn's room—with my irritation and my stinging face.
That little brat… And winged, to boot! Now I'm officially lower on the pecking order than a privileged cat.
I finally exhaled, calmed down… and surveyed the scene.
The room looked like the lair of a mad genius. Or a magic academy student who'd forgotten that chaos isn't an interior design style.
Books lay everywhere—as if someone had tried building a portal to another dimension with them and quit halfway. Some lay open, frozen in silent screams of exhaustion.
Clothes draped dramatically off the bed, looking like they'd fled there after a disastrous ball.
And the desk… Good lord, the desk looked like a war council debating the fate of empires, with inkwells, scrolls, maps, and quills as the arguing participants.
But I'll admit, one unexpected detail struck me to my core: the room smelled good. Truly pleasant.
A delicate scent of lilies hung in the air, as if trying to balance the visual catastrophe with a soft floral chorus.
Maybe a demon did live here… but apparently one with good taste in fragrances.
If this is the local aristocracy's standard of order, I have serious questions about their upbringing.
I sighed mentally, deciding even my real-world room was cleaner.
I rolled up my sleeves and, for the first time in my life, tackled cleaning with the determination of a Japanese housewife preparing for New Year's.
Within fifteen minutes, I'd scrubbed the windows, made the bed with the precision of a perfect Japanese futon, and neatly sorted clothes by color and fabric type.
Even Mom would be impressed.
I thought proudly, arranging books alphabetically.
When I decided to sweep the floor, I stepped into the hallway—surely the cleaning supplies closet was out here.
But the second I opened the door, a broom, like a torpedo, slammed into me and started whacking indiscriminately.
Seems even the brooms here have attitude.
It took me several minutes to show that broom who was boss.
After all, if fate dumped me in a new world, the least it could do was make the mops obedient.
My first battle in this world… and my sworn enemy is a floor-cleaning tool.
I struck a victor's pose, triumphantly raising the broom like I'd slain a dragon, not just dust bunnies.
Only after ensuring the broom wasn't plotting revenge did I finally start sweeping—looking for all the world like I was shaping history itself.
When I finished, the room looked immaculate. Even the sunbeam streaming through the window seemed surprised.
Just then, the door opened, and Evelyn walked in.
She froze on the threshold. Her gaze slowly swept the room before settling on me.
"You did this yourself?" Evelyn looked like she'd expected to find an army of cleaning elves.
"Of course, Miss. It's just me here,"
I replied coolly, suppressing the urge to flash a victory sign. This is called oosouji—deep cleaning. My grandmother's method.
Evelyn seemed determined to ignore my silly burst of pride and scrutinized the room again.
"Interesting… but bad. Do it over."
She sounded irritated, running a finger along a bookshelf.
"What? Why bad? I did great!"
I couldn't help flailing my arms at the pristine space.
Evelyn looked at me like Mira had never talked back before. Which, given Mira's personality, might actually be true.
"Fine then. Tell me, where's the book I was reading this morning?"
She pointed at the table where her book had lain.
"Well… it's on the bookshelf,"
I answered uncertainly, but glancing around, I couldn't spot it.
I desperately tried remembering where I'd stuffed it.
Evelyn noticed and pressed on.
"Where's my evening gown?"
"It's on the bed, on top of the other neatly folded clothes."
That's when it hit me—I'd cleaned too well. Everything was now in its proper place, not within arm's reach.
Clearly, Evelyn was one of those people who needed her essentials visibly at hand, not hidden away in sterile perfection.
"Alright then, where's my—"
"Got it, I understand! I cleaned too thoroughly…" I made a time-out gesture, blushing crimson.
Evelyn sighed and began wandering the room, hunting for her tidied-away belongings.
"Fine. Then make breakfast. Can you handle that?"
I smiled at her, feeling a flicker of confidence.
"With pleasure, Miss! Your stomach won't regret its choice."
I declared enthusiastically, blissfully unaware of the culinary catastrophe this would soon unleash.