"What did you just say? Say it again!" the brunette spat, seething.
"I said you've got rotten bananas in your ears,"
I replied, looking as uninterested in their existence as humanly possible.
"What I meant is that it seems you don't have any real work, since you're all sitting here keeping your butts warm instead of being in the hall. Or is this some kind of 'Nastiness of the Day' event?"
I added, louder and clearer this time. The girls froze, clearly thrown off. Only one turned as red as a tomato—definitely not from embarrassment.
A guy was standing just a step away, looming like he thought his height was enough to intimidate me. He marched right up, grabbed me by the collar, and, practically growling, spat out:
— Looks like you've gotten bold. Or maybe that kettle finally knocked the last of your brains out!
Honestly, I didn't care what he was muttering. I just stared at him like: Well, go on, impress me. What's next?
Apparently, that only made him angrier—he raised his fist, clearly planning to teach me a "lesson."
Too bad for him, all those years of karate club in my previous life weren't for nothing. The moment his fist came for my face, I sidestepped, ducked under his arm, grabbed his wrist with both hands, and used his own momentum to flip him over my shoulder.
The whole move took a split second. My "opponent," with a look of pure shock, was already airborne—then landed with a satisfying WHAM in the flowerbed, sending leaves flying.
He clearly hadn't expected that—and quietly passed out. So much for his badge of honor...
The remaining girls were frozen, mouths wide open. They were about to say something, but I slowly—very slowly—turned my head and gave them a look from under my brows:
One more word and your hair will be living a separate life today.
From their faces, it was clear they got the message—no translation needed.
The tall brunette was the first to snap out of it. She grabbed a tomato from the basket and hurled it at me.
Seriously? Tomatoes? Is this the medieval version of school bullying? I thought, barely suppressing a laugh at the absurdity.
The first tomato whizzed past my ear, leaving a bright red arc—I just tilted my head, karate-style, and shrugged, like I was grooving to some invisible music.
The second flew for my stomach, but I stepped back, waving at my would-be opponent like, "Come on, give it another shot!"
The third—straight for my leg. I hopped up, and the tomato landed with a sad little splat at my heels.
At some point I realized I was starting to feel like the heroine of an old-school anime, dancing between incoming projectiles with an epic soundtrack in the background.
"Hey, stand still, damn it!"
the green-haired one screeched, missing yet again.
"Yeah, right! You really think I'm that easy?"
I kept dodging.
Honestly, it was even fun. Almost like dodgeball… except the gym was a courtyard, and instead of balls, it was rotting produce.
In my head I gave myself an A+ for agility—and quietly wished my PE teachers could see my current evasive dance.
But the fun ended fast.
Another tomato—thrown with actual Olympic commitment—sailed past my ear…
…and landed with a juicy splaaaat somewhere behind me.
I turned around—and nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
Standing behind me was a woman in her forties, dressed like the senior maid from a first-year's horror story.
Perfectly white apron, dark skirt, hair pulled into a bun so tight it looked like if you untied it, her thoughts would spill out.
But the best part—her face. A slow, theatrical cascade of orange-red tomato goo was dripping down her cheeks. Not a single muscle twitched. She didn't blink. I'm not even sure she breathed—didn't want to ruin the moment.
Is that blush from the tomato… or pure rage?
On either side of her, like an honor guard, stood two senior maids with gold medals, diligently studying the floor.
Nearby was Eveline, with a look that said she wasn't sure whether to enjoy the show or find the nearest emergency exit. Su hovered anxiously in the air.
Elaine stood a little to the side. There was something almost demonic in her eyes—a blend of sympathy and the anticipation of sweet, sweet revenge.
Well, looks like we've finally done it…
The scene froze, like the world had collectively forgotten how to breathe.
Tomato juice trickled down the senior maid's sharp cheekbones, like an illustration for "wrath" in an encyclopedia for naughty children.
"What is going on here?"
she said quietly, almost softly. Her voice was so calm it sent more chills down my spine than any amount of yelling.
And that's when things got truly scary.
I turned slowly to the other maids. A second ago, they were so cocky—now, they looked like mice in front of a starving cat.
The tub of rotten tomatoes, easily the smartest thing in the room, was already quietly rolling away from the crime scene.
There's someone here with brains!
"Looks like we'd better come up with a really good explanation," I muttered, giving my most strained smile.
Judging by the head maid's face, explanations would not be enough.
---
Main Building
Head Maid's Office
The room looked like the courtroom of a magical high court:
In the center stood a stern woman in an immaculately ironed apron. Not just a judge, but the Supreme Punishing Mop—a stare so withering, your excuses wilt before you even open your mouth.
I was the accused, simultaneously the victim of circumstances and the tomato experiment.
The maids around me—pathetic, trembling jurors who clearly forgot how "innocent eyes" are supposed to look, now hopelessly tangled up in their own ribbons.
The office was neat and small, but cozy: simple decor, paintings of maids in various dramatic poses, like family portraits. The desk was perfectly organized: papers, quill, an orderly stack of letters.
"So. Will someone please explain what exactly happened out there?"
The head maid said flatly, coldly, lazily wiping the last tomato bits off her face, as if the red goo was more familiar than blush.
The maids, like a well-practiced chorus of losers, turned to me in unison.
"It's all Mira's fault, Miss Glitz! She provoked us on purpose!"
The brunette jabbed a finger at me, as if I was a demon loose from the attic.
"Yeah! She's always mocking us! We just… lost control!"
The green-haired one chimed in, and I suddenly wanted to sympathize with her non-existent tail.
I almost burst out laughing.
Really? That's your big defense? Hoping to play the victim in the school drama finals?
Miss Glitz looked at them with the face of someone who's survived three wars, two famines, and is now unimpressed by this daycare scuffle.
"So your answer was to pelt Mira with rotten tomatoes?"
she asked, with less emotion than most people reserve for tea.
"Yes, exactly! We had no other choice. She even hurt Henry!"
The green-haired one straightened up as if she was gunning for Best Excuse of the Month.
Henry… oh right. The guy I flipped over my shoulder.
Miss Glitz turned her heavy gaze to me, and I shrank inside. That was the look my teacher gave right before parent-teacher conferences.
"Mira, next time go easier on the staff. I'd rather not lose a pair of hands around the house."
She said it so calmly I couldn't help but tense up.
Is she really just going to let that slide? Or am I about to get quietly yeeted out the nearest window?
"But Miss Glitz, Mira—"
the brunette tried to protest, but the head maid cut her off:
"Mira simply punished someone who dared to raise a hand against someone below her in rank."
The room suddenly felt heavier, as if a blanket of dust had settled on everyone.
"Mira is the personal maid of Lady Eveline de Fargun. That puts her on par with the nobility.
Yes, Lady Eveline may be a bastard, but as long as she keeps the name—she's still nobility."
The maids started to tremble, and I had to suppress a smirk.
He who digs a hole for others… falls in it himself. And it's all official!
Miss Glitz took a step forward, her voice now sharp as steel:
"Ala, Martha, Friona, and Henry, you are sentenced to execution for insulting a noble."
Execution?! Okay, maybe their sense of humor here is a little extreme… Maybe 'execution' means 'toilet cleaning,' not 'off with their heads'?
The maids nearly collapsed with fear, and inside me, it wasn't the troll that woke up, but my inner hero—though honestly, it was probably just basic human decency. I caught myself thinking,
Yeah, they were nasty… but execution? Isn't that a bit much?
"Then execute me too—might as well do it together!"
I raised my hand high, drawing all eyes. Miss Glitz and Elaine looked at me like I'd grown a second head.
"And why's that, Personal Maid Mira?"
"I'm just as guilty—I didn't stop them in time. I should answer for everything that brought shame to Lady Eveline. So, I'm asking to be punished too."
The silence was so thick, you could hear the old clock ticking off my remaining seconds.
"So what are you proposing? Just forgive and forget?"
For the first time, a flicker of interest crossed Miss Glitz's face.
"No. For the insult, let them clean the stables for a month. As for me—two weeks of house arrest. So no one forgets this."
Miss Glitz tapped her fingers on the desk, counting out the seconds. Then she nodded her approval.
"Very well. Ala, Martha, Friona, and Henry—one month in the stables. Mira—two weeks of house arrest."
I let out a sigh of relief.
And so, a schoolyard drama melts right back into everyday drudgery. The important thing is—everyone survived, the tomatoes are gone, and my head is still attached.
Outside the office, I stopped to catch my breath.
Yeah, I knew I'd acted cheeky—but honestly, I felt a little bad for the maids. Just a little.
GOT WHAT YOU DESERVED, MORONS.
Maybe next time they'll pick smarter targets for their bullying.
I stretched, ready to go, when suddenly a familiar voice called out.
"Quite a performance, Mira. Or should I call you something else?"
I spun around. There was Eveline, watching me with a little smirk.
On her arms purred Su, fixing me with an unblinking stare.
Her look made it clear: she expected an explanation.
Well, this isn't over. Round two—fight!