The day began, as usual, with the morning trolling of sentient cleaning tools and the usual "survive if you can" cleaning routine. Everything was going according to plan until a maid with a shiny silver badge on her collar approached me.
— Are you Mira from the annex? Maid Elaine requests your presence in the main building.
The moment I heard Elaine's name, I didn't even stop to think—I just headed for the main building without asking for details. And that, dear reader, was my big mistake of the day: trusting the first stranger I saw, especially one with a medal that sparkled like bait.
Apparently, my trusting nature works here just like in the real world: nothing but adventures for my backside.
---
Main Building.
Hall.
From the outside, this building looked impressive—but inside… oh, inside it was even more luxurious than any palace archway from a manga or K-drama. Every step echoed across marble floors, the air perfumed with lilies and something indefinably expensive.
The walls weren't just decorated with paintings—they were portals to other eras: a powdered wig count here, a mysterious lady with an outrageously snobbish stare there.
The curtains were long, heavy, and so densely embroidered with gold thread that even sunlight seemed to tiptoe in reverently.
And the vases… oh, the vases were everywhere: tall, chubby, painted, crystal clear—a full-on parade of porcelain and glass extravagance.
I wandered around looking like a tourist at the Louvre seeing the Mona Lisa for the first time—except here, every door opened onto its own gallery, and there wasn't a security guard in sight.
If the annex was an "eco-loft with free-range cobwebs," then the main building was the difference between an elite gallery and a prop warehouse after a zombie apocalypse.
Our only decorations back in the annex were the spiders' installations in the corners and curtains that should have retired decades ago.
A sort of home museum of holes and webs—without the designer pretensions, but with all-natural ventilation.
These people have curtains with family trees. We have a textile exhibit in the Art of Holes and Cobwebs.
I kept wandering these endless halls, galleries, and corridors, fruitlessly searching for even a hint of Elaine's presence. Couldn't even ask another servant—too empty, like I'd wandered into a museum at night.
I was honestly about to inspect every carpet and shout "Hellooo?" when a frosty voice snapped behind me:
— Who are you? Stop and state your name and rank.
The voice was beautiful, but carried that special "wrong answer and you'll become part of the permanent collection" chill.
At that moment, I knew: panicking was pointless. Around here, it's all about perfect bows and Oscar-worthy acting.
So, with all the dignity I could muster, I turned, folded my hands on my apron, bowed the way they do in all the best manga, and put on my best formal voice:
"My name is Mira. I'm the personal maid to Lady Eveline. I've come on the order of Maid Elaine—she instructed me to report to the main building."
Here's hoping my bow scores at least a passing grade. Just don't faceplant on the parquet. And don't forget who you're supposed to be here, Saya.
"Mira… Eveline… So you're the utterly useless personal maid of that filthy-blooded girl?"
The cold voice cut through the air like morning fog.
Oof, I see we've got a real fan here. That tone—she's not shy about her dislike for Eveline.
Suddenly, I felt something light—like a fan, but colder and a lot bossier—tip my chin up, lifting my head higher than usual.
I found myself staring into icy blue eyes and a streak of silver hair—no warmth, only frost.
"And what is the personal maid of my dirty sister doing here?"
She said it with so much disgust, you'd think I'd just wiped my shoes on her favorite dress.
Wait, sister? So this is Eveline's sister? Actually, the threat level checks out…
I swallowed, trying to look calm (spoiler: I did not succeed):
"At Maid Elaine's request, I came to the main building to—"
I didn't even get to finish before her reply sliced my words in half:
Then where is your precious Elaine, the one you're supposed to be meeting?
My mouth hung open, scrambling for an excuse, but she didn't give me a second:
"Surely, you understand what happens for breaking the rules."
Her voice dropped even lower, like an approaching glacier.
Honestly? I have no idea—and I do NOT want to find out!
Full panic mode—level: "storming the dean's office." I briefly considered whether it was time to pray to all available gods and spirits.
And then, from around the corner, a saving voice broke through:
"Elaine of the Gold greets the eldest daughter of House Fargun—Lady Celeste."
Elaine's tone was firm, dignified—like an aristocrat in an apron.
Celeste, who'd just been threatening me with that icy glare and fan, switched focus instantly. For a split second, surprise flickered across her face. Guess she wasn't expecting Elaine.
"Oh, Elaine… I heard you summoned my sister's maid to the main building. Is that true?"
Celeste's voice had taken on a note of amusement.
"Yes, Your Ladyship. I was short-handed, so I asked my friend to help me with some chores. But the head maid delayed me, so I'm running late."
Elaine replied, warm smile never leaving her face.
There was a dramatic pause, broken only by the distant twittering of birds outside.
"If you say so… very well. After all, the future head maid wouldn't lie about such trivial things, would she?"
Celeste finally exhaled and withdrew her fan from my chin.
The second I felt freedom, I slipped behind Elaine with the stealth of a Spanish cat burglar—safer there than anywhere else in this house.
"Of course, and thank you for your concern for my friend,"
Elaine added with an elegant curtsy.
Concern? If that's concern, then I'll count a firing squad as a friendly home visit!
Celeste turned, barely flicking her fan, and swept down the hall with all the grace of a predator at a royal ball. Her personal maid, badge sparkling with a gemstone, hurried after her like a shadow on a golden leash.
I barely had time to sigh with relief before Elaine grabbed my hand and whisked me away.
The moment we turned the corner, she stopped and gripped my shoulders, scanning me head to toe with real worry:
"Mira! What are you doing here? Why did you come? You know you're forbidden from entering the main building without permission!"
Elaine's voice trembled with fear and worry—the steel was gone, replaced by outright panic.
And only now did it fully hit me: the whole thing was a setup, meant to drag us both into trouble—and, most importantly, to put a target on Elaine.
I pressed my lips together and tried to smile, hoping to calm her down:
"It's fine, really… Someone said you called for me, so I came. Don't worry, I'll leave right now."
Elaine hurried alongside me, pushing me toward the nearest exit.
I obediently shuffled forward, but out of the corner of my eye, I spotted several figures hiding in the shadows—low snickers, mocking grins.
Oh, sure, hilarious for you guys. So funny…
And right then, something clicked inside me. I felt a stubborn fire flare up behind my eyes.
---
I slipped out to the annex garden, needing to calm down and get my thoughts together.
The garden was impossibly, almost magically, peaceful. The air was fresh, thick with the green tang of wet grass.
Not far off, the gardener was guiding his floating watering can—a little thing hovering through the air, gracefully turning itself to gently sprinkle each flowerbed.
The flowers… were unlike anything I'd seen. Huge, with petals like colored glass; tiny, shimmering, as if sculpted from morning dew.
There was a lush turquoise poppy, an amber-gold lily, and trumpet-shaped blooms I couldn't name.
The riot of colors was nothing like any botanical garden from my world.
For the locals, all this magic seemed routine—someone yawned, another was nonchalantly washing the garden path with a floating bucket.
But for me, this stroll was like a moving picture of another world, scenes shifting: a watering can spinning like a conductor, a flower turning its head to catch a sunbeam.
Japan's gardens have nothing on this. Here, even the dandelions could put on a magical performance.
Isekai, you're something else…
I thought, shooting a suspicious look at the watering can—still not convinced I was safe after my morning encounters with rogue household appliances.
But my thoughts were cut short when something suddenly splat landed on the back of my head.
Ow! I yelped, grabbing my head. My fingers sank into something cold, sticky… and slightly squishy.
I brought my hand up to my face and saw… a red, suspiciously foul-smelling substance.
Was this blood or tomato juice? And why did this tomato juice smell like it'd been fermenting since the previous century?
"Well, look who it is, girls—our star, Mira!"
Came a sugary-sarcastic voice from behind.
I turned. A tall brunette was smirking at me.
"What's this? A new hair mask?"
mocked another, with hair so dark green it looked like swamp sludge.
"Oh, leave her alone. She'll be washing that smell out for a month anyway,"
the third one chimed in, a chestnut-haired girl stepping closer like an art critic inspecting a modern masterpiece.
In front of me was the classic "support squad"—three maids with silver badges and one, apparently the youngest, with a bronze.
I glanced at the floating bucket behind them—a tomato bobbed inside, looking like it'd survived three lifetimes.
Seriously? Even your bullying is budget-friendly. Did you get those tomatoes on clearance?
And of course, these were the same girls who'd hidden around the corner, celebrating when they tripped up Elaine. Real class acts.
My chest tightened, strings pulled too taut.
"Oh, Mira, you still haven't recovered from that kettle I lobbed at your forehead?"
the green-haired one cooed, tapping the exact spot my bump had been.
Aha. There you are, the kettle culprit!
I could practically hear my patience snapping, one string at a time. A couple more pops and it'd be time for the final boss battle.
"Maybe you need something heavier next time? For better effect?"
the brunette snickered, but was instantly cut off by the green-haired one.
"What's the point? She just runs to her 'dirty-blooded mistress'—let someone else fight her battles. She sure can't do it herself."
And right then, the last string of my sanity snapped.
I wiped the tomato gunk from my neck and, icy calm, said:
"Looks like you've got no real work if you're warming your butts out here instead of being in the hall. Or are you running a special today—'Nastiness of the Day' on schedule?"
Silence fell over the garden. All four stared at me like: Wait, is this a glitch in the system?
And in my head, I was already picturing giving them a master class in self-defense for one's own dignity.
Alright, girls, is it my turn for a little performance?