Chapter 3: Iced Tea
'What was I thinking?!'
Osha's thoughts were in complete disarray as he stood frozen in front of a table filled with various ingredients, loose tea leaves, lemons, a pot of honey, and crystal-clear glass pitchers.
'Just because I used to manage the drink section at 7-Eleven doesn't mean I actually know how to make iced tea from scratch! And even then, those boomers always complained about how sweet everything was!'
He gulped as he stared at the unfamiliar tools and fresh ingredients, beads of cold sweat forming at the back of his neck.
Behind him, the pressure was tangible. The elegant lady who had taken him in, or rather, claimed him like a newly purchased accessory, sat comfortably in a high-backed chair, legs crossed, fanning herself slowly. Her piercing gaze was locked on him, unblinking and expectant, as if she were both evaluating his brewing skills and mentally preparing for a public execution should he fail.
She had brought him straight to her private study, a lavish office lined with books, portraits, and exotic furniture. and had promptly removed the leash from his collar.
"You're free to move around."
She had said, almost lazily.
"For now."
Now, with his freedom amounting to the short distance between him and the tea table, Osha's hands trembled as he picked up a lemon.
'Okay, okay… don't panic, Osha. All you have to do is not disappoint the terrifying rich woman who bought you like a fancy lamp. Easy. Totally easy… right? No pressure at all…'
He glanced over his shoulder at her. She hadn't moved an inch. That fan in her hand might as well have been a judge's gavel.
'Think, think, THINK!'
Osha's mind screamed in a desperate loop, the pressure of those unblinking eyes on his back making it nearly impossible to focus. His hands trembled as he reached for a jar of honey, unsure if he was about to poison a noblewoman or accidentally invent some cursed beverage.
And then, like a spark in the dark, muscle memory suddenly kicked in.
Before he knew it, one of his hands was moving on its own, guided by long-forgotten instincts. The memories came rushing back in disjointed fragments: his old, grumpy boss standing behind him at 7-Eleven, rattling off instructions while aggressively pointing fingers at the drink machine whenever he made a mistake.
"No, Haruko! Two pumps of syrup, not three! This isn't a candy shop!"
"Don't forget the ice, idiot, what kind of iced tea doesn't have ice?!"
Osha winced at the vivid recollections, but strangely, his hands kept working. He wasn't a prodigy, and truthfully, he'd been pretty terrible at overseeing the drink section, but when it came to iced tea, his was standard. It was reliable and tolerable, and aside from a few vocal boomers constantly complaining it was too sweet, nobody ever died drinking it.
'Okay… okay… I can do this. Just treat this like a weird medieval 7-Eleven. If it worked for cranky Mr. Tanaka, maybe it'll work for terrifying rich lady too…'
He glanced once more at the woman seated behind him. She was still there, her fan elegantly covering half her face, her eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity as she watched his hands move with growing confidence.
As Osha carefully poured the iced tea into a delicate cup, his hands were still visibly trembling. The clink of the spoon against the glass sounded far louder than it should have in the quiet room. He placed the cup onto a silver tray with shaky precision, trying his best not to spill a single drop.
He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady both his hands and his racing heart.
'Alright… moment of truth…'
Slowly, he turned around and instantly regretted it.
'Augh… what the hell is wrong with my back?!'
A cold, crawling shiver traveled up his spine, his muscles stiffening as if instinctively warning him of imminent danger. And as his gaze met the woman's for a brief, heart-stopping second, it was like staring straight into the eyes of a predator inspecting its next meal.
Her sharp, calculating stare made him feel like an insect pinned under glass.
Without thinking, he quickly lowered his head in submission, his ears drooping and tail stiff with unease.
'Note to self: avoid eye contact at all costs.'
He stepped forward, carefully balancing the tray in his hands, praying to the seven Archons that the drink would meet her impossible expectations, or at least not get him sold off again.
"Hm."
The lady delicately picked up the cup, her fingers poised with the elegance of someone used to handling far finer things than anything Osha had ever touched. She brought the drink to her lips and took a small, contemplative sip.
Osha watched her closely, his breath caught in his throat.
'Please… just be good enough not to get me sold into the House of Hearth…'
The silence that followed was agonizing. Every second stretched like an eternity until finally...
"Hm. Not bad."
The lady said, her tone neutral, though not unkind.
"I wouldn't say it's the best in the world, though."
She set the half-finished cup back on the table with a soft clink, and Osha let out a tiny sigh of relief.
'Phew... okay, that's not terrible. She's not going to sell me… right?'
But just as he started to relax, her eyes sharpened, and her voice cut through the air like a knife.
"Are you quite happy with such a low praise, boy?"
"H-Huh?"
Osha stammered, blinking in confusion. He hadn't expected glowing compliments, he was fully aware his tea-making skills weren't the stuff of legends, but something in her tone told him he'd just made a fatal mistake.
And then he saw it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his tail wagging happily behind him, betraying the calm expression he'd tried so hard to maintain.
'No, traitor! Stop that!'
He cursed his feline instincts silently, wishing he could freeze every muscle in his body into perfect neutrality. But the damage was done. She had seen it. And worse, she was smiling.
'Why is it wagging?! Am I a dog or a cat?!'
Osha panicked internally, grabbing his tail with both hands in a desperate attempt to stop the incessant movement. It twitched rebelliously in his grasp, as if mocking his authority.
He was still wrestling with it when a calm, commanding voice broke through his struggle.
"Sit."
Osha froze and blinked, slowly turning his head toward the lady seated across from him.
"H-heh?"
He let out, dumbfounded.
"I said sit."
The tone was gentle, but unmistakably firm, like an order wrapped in silk and laced with iron.
Without thinking, Osha obeyed, plopping down cross-legged on the ornate carpet like a well-trained pet. His ears drooped slightly as embarrassment crept up his face.
'Am I going to be a cupbearer or... or am I supposed to just act like a cat for her amusement now?'
The thought alone made his tail twitch again, and he gripped it tighter.
He looked up at the elegantly dressed woman, who now regarded him with the same curious amusement one might reserve for a particularly clever animal at a noblewoman's garden party.
Osha was beginning to realize something terrifying:
She might not want a servant.
She might want a pet.
Osha squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will himself out of existence for just a moment. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be treated like a house cat. And yet, despite his efforts, he felt a gentle hand land on his head, fingers brushing through his hair and stroking one of his ears.
'Shit! This is so embarrassing… yet… why is my body reacting to this?!'
Humiliation crawled up his face in waves, his ears twitching involuntarily under her touch, while his traitorous tail wagged behind him like an excited puppy.
"You remind me of an old friend."
The lady spoke softly, her tone touched with faint nostalgia. She turned, her gaze tracing a spot on the wall where an old, delicately framed painting hung. In it was a much younger version of the woman holding a regal white cat in her arms.
"Her name was Duchess."
'Then I hope you'll treat me like a Duke…'
Osha grumbled silently, too mortified to say a word aloud.
The woman gave him one final pat before gracefully waving her hand.
"Well, it seems you've earned your stay, for now. You claimed you were good with horses, yes? There's an empty room in the stables. See yourself there."
She dismissed him as casually as one might swat a leaf off their shoulder, already returning her attention to some documents on her desk.
Osha internally sighed, his tail giving one last reluctant twitch of betrayal.
Osha stood up slowly, his movements stiff, a faint pink blush still stubbornly clinging to his cheeks, a lingering souvenir from the mortifying head pats and ear strokes. He lowered his head in a small, respectful bow, though it was mostly to hide his thoroughly embarrassed expression.
"And boy."
The lady called out just as he was about to slip away. Her voice was calm, composed, and indifferent, like she was ordering new curtains.
"Tomorrow, see yourself here. I want you to entertain my guest's daughter."
She didn't even look up from her papers as she spoke, already preoccupied with whatever noble nonsense was more important than him.
Osha blinked, processing the new order. Entertain? What was he supposed to do, juggle boiled eggs?
"…Yes, My Lady."
He managed, forcing his voice to stay steady despite his internal screaming. He turned on his heel and stepped out of the room, the door clicking softly behind him.
The moment he was alone in the hallway, Osha slumped against the doorframe, exhaling heavily like a man twice his age.
"I hate this…"
He muttered under his breath, his ears drooping slightly as the events of the day caught up to him. Humiliated, collared like a pet, forced to bow, his own body betraying him at every turn, what a great start to his new life.
He scratched his head, tail flicking in irritation.
"…I really hope there's a horse in that stable without a name yet."