I glanced around suspiciously, bracing myself for a surprise attack from some vengeful sentient cleaning tool.
But there was only perfect silence… almost too perfect. It made my nerves coil up like a startled cat.
Unable to take it, I asked in a hushed voice,
"So, are all your tools like this? The other day a broom decided I was its mortal enemy and gave me a beating. I'm still sitting like a grandma after dance night…"
I pointed at my heroic battle scars somewhere in the vicinity of my fifth point of contact.
Elaine barely managed to stifle a smile.
"No, it's the first time the Twelfth has ever acted out. Usually, he's a perfect gentleman…"
I instantly pictured a mop in a top hat and monocle, sipping English tea.
It almost made me laugh out loud.
"Figures. Even the tools here see me as a threat to order."
I sighed dramatically, still having no clue what I did to offend the local household tech.
"Don't worry. You were always tossing them around, forgetting them, leaving them behind. They've gotten used to it."
Elaine comforted me with a gentle smile.
Oh, I see now. The tools have been holding grudges against Mira for ages. But what did I do to deserve this?
I mean, I'm not even Mira—I'm just here temporarily! Is there no professional courtesy or solidarity for accidental transmigrators?
I wonder if there's a union for lost mops and random maids in this world.
We walked a little further, and I noticed some of the servants stopped as we passed and gave us a formal bow.
I used to think that was just basic courtesy to Elaine, but after a few days here I realized everything runs on status—not just among nobles, but among servants too.
Each servant had a special medal on their neck, complete with a family crest and ribbon, the color showing their rank:
Bronze — newbies, entry-level, fetch-and-carry chores only.
Silver — intermediate, trusted with more important duties.
Gold — the highest rank, senior or supervisory staff with special privileges and access to secret areas.
The higher the rank, the more respect, freedom, and responsibility. That medal is almost like an ID badge for servants.
Elaine, of course, had a gold medal. That made her the local "aristocracy of service"—even other seniors addressed her with extra respect.
Smart, beautiful, hardworking—the kind of employee every boss dreams of. And if you piss her off, she can dress you down and knock you down, no problem.
As I'd gathered, Mira and Elaine grew up together in the same orphanage, inseparable since childhood. Elaine always protected Mira from whatever the world threw at her.
You could say Mira was like a little sister to Elaine. Who knows, maybe she really is.
Unfortunately, I don't have a single Mira memory from before I "moved in" to this body.
Personal maids, though, have their own distinction—instead of a medal, they wear an actual gemstone pendant. That necklace is the highest "access level" for servants.
It means access to private studies and their master's quarters.
To my embarrassment, I only just noticed the amethyst pendant around my neck. Guess on my first day here I was too busy being in shock and wrestling with a broom to spot anything else.
For the locals, this pendant marks you as a personal maid—maybe not the top of the food chain, but still a cut above the regular help.
So, with a pendant like this… who could have thrown a kettle at my head? Logically, only Eveline, the head maid, or the head of the house…
"Hm. A mystery," I muttered out loud, scratching my chin in thought.
"You say something, Mira?"
Elaine glanced back at me.
"Nope. Nothing important."
I shrugged.
Whoever it was, I had too few suspects and even fewer clues. Sherlock Holmes, I was not.
Suddenly, we stopped. Elaine gently took my hands—her fingers trembled a bit.
"Mira, I've been told to return to the main building as soon as possible. I'll probably be gone for a few days."
Her voice was so warm and caring, almost motherly, as if she was about to leave me home alone for the first time.
"You'll be okay without me, right?"
She looked into my eyes, searching.
And, oddly enough, I smiled. Because, for better or worse, I did have some semblance of family here.
"Don't worry, if anything happens, I'll go straight to Miss Eveline," I tried to reassure her, putting on my best carefree smile.
My words didn't seem to calm her much—she just sighed anxiously, squeezed my hands, wished me luck, and hurried off.
I stood there, watching until she disappeared around the corner.
Well, looks like I'm on my own again.
Time to get back to my duties… though one weird question popped up in my mind:
"So where does Eveline vanish off to all day?"
I froze on the stairs, as if I'd turned into a loading screen.
"Back in my old life, I could camp out in my room for days reading manga and grinding video games—at least until Mom kicked down the door with her 'cleaning day' battle plan."
I plopped down on a step, hugged my knees, and struck my best "Great Thinker" pose, staring into space:
What does a normal teenager even do in the medieval era? Embroidery, cleaning, chasing runaway chickens… or maybe magical duels between changing bedsheets?
Last time I saw her was the day I "moved in"—since then, Eveline's disappeared like morning fog. Not in her room, not in the dining hall, not in the garden, not even on the wanted posters. And Su had vanished along with Elaine, too.
I got up and wandered down the stairs, turning over all sorts of theories—maybe there's a secret society of invisible ladies? Or a club for disappearing supporting characters?
Nothing came to mind. In the end, I just shrugged it off:
"Well, as long as everyone's alive, we'll figure the rest out…"
And right then, fate decided to test my sense of humor—right in front of me, a jet of water splashed out with a cheery splash, followed by a bucket dropping from above with a bang.
Luckily, I stopped just in time on the second-to-last step. One more and I'd have had a soaked dress and a brand new lump for my collection.
I shot a suspicious look upward—no apologetic servants, not even a ghost with a sense of humor.
Alright, Saya, vacation's over. Hello, working week.
I sighed, went to rescue the Twelfth from the supply closet, and braced myself for more cleaning and good old-fashioned trolling.
But, as it turned out, the maids here must have trained under centuries-old trolls—their pranks were sometimes subtle, sometimes absurd, and almost always hilariously ineffective.
Someone tucked up the rug just as I was carrying a tray of buns down the hall. The tray went flying, the buns too—but my inner Olympic champion kicked in, and I managed a pirouette, saved the pastries, and even earned a few envious sighs from the bystanders.
Later, my work rags mysteriously "disappeared." But who hasn't lost a rag in this house?
No problem—I grabbed a bedsheet from the drying line, tore it into strips, and kept cleaning in my signature "Saya Couture" style. Naturally, I got scolded for it later.
Next day, someone put peas in my shoes. Yes, like the princess in the story.
Surprise—the shoes were full of holes, and all the peas rolled right out.
And yes, someone smeared honey on the pantry door handle.
Of course I got sticky, but as a veteran at eating sweets on the run, I licked my hand, got a boost of glucose, and kept working.
The best part? No matter how hard my "backstage directors" tried, I always managed to get out of every situation with minimal losses—sometimes even with a bonus!
Though, I admit, they did go a bit overboard with some of their tricks.
---
Main Building.
Head Maid's Office.
A stern woman in a perfectly pressed apron stood by the window, staring out as if personally judging the entire mortal world.
On either side, senior maids stood in a line, each with her gold medal and eyes downcast. The atmosphere was so tense, even the kettle would've whistled quieter than usual.
A little to the side, Elaine stood with icy calm. Her face was so full of resolve, it seemed like someone was about to lose their "maid" status forever.
The office was small and tidy, but cozy: simple decor, paintings of maids in various poses like family portraits, a desk perfectly organized—papers, quill, and a neat stack of letters.
"So, would someone care to explain what exactly HAPPENED out there?"
the head maid began coldly, dabbing tomato off her handkerchief and pinning us with a steel gaze.
I stood with four other maids, trembling like first graders in the principal's office.
How did I end up here?
I sighed inwardly, already knowing: there would be no happy ending to this meeting.