I must have not been thinking straight and said something really stupid.
The moment I looked up at Takamura's face, her previously expressionless expression turns to one of disgust.
No, "disgust" isn't even the word to describe it.
It's an indescribable mixture of pain, anger, and shame.
All that mattered was that I had committed a great sin, and this woman was passing judgment on me.
"...."
We stare at each other for about a minute.
"---"
A cold wind blew in from outside, and I reached for the knob, thinking about closing the door.
In a way, I was trying to ignore the situation I had created.
The faster this kimono flutters away, the better.
And so, I reach for the golden knob.
"———?!"
But. How foolish of me.
It's slapped away, as if swatting at a pesky insect.
The hit wasn't very hard, but it was certainly impactful.
It was the first time Takamura-sensei had ever slapped me, and I had no intention of letting her do that again.
"N-n-n-no!"
The woman pulls away her hand and holds it to her chest as if it were a delicate flower.
As a result, the countless documents and books she had taken from me fluttered into the air and scattered to the ground with an unimaginable thud.
"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, Takamura-sensei!"
I pull my hand away as well.
As if the awkwardness between us wasn't already disgusting enough, the late spring wind howled in the silence, blowing the woman's kimono like a cape.
In fact, it's the only sound audible for the entirety of these demonic twenty seconds of silence.
"--------"
She hurries, moving erratically to pick up the fallen materials.
"S-sustrous! You--!"
Her face is turnip-colored.
This was the second time I'd accidentally called her by that nickname.
No, the third.
--Maybe the fifth time?
Oh well.
The problem was, I couldn't understand why she hated it so much.
In fact, it surprised me. The blush on her pale face was nauseating, and it had been a long time since I'd seen her so emotional.
Maybe it was a good thing!
"I'm sorry, Sensei! Please forgive me!"
Despite my intentions, I bowed my head reverently.
"W-w-w-what kind of name is that...?!"
"It was a complete accident, Master! I'll never do it again!"
I've fallen so low that I'm now calling her "Master."
Even so, there's no room for doubt.
I'm going to be punished by this terrifying woman.
Judging from her reaction, that nickname must have some ominous meaning.
The past name of a notorious assassin?
A name from her time as a prostitute?
The name of a pet she once owned?
All of them are plausible answers, but all I can do is kneel and keep apologizing.
"I don't care about 'never doing it again'! Who told you that name?!"
"—Who told me?"
Suddenly, the hellish atmosphere vanished.
And the tension in her shoulders eased.
She seemed more confused than angry, and I had completely misread her emotions.
However, when a person's emotions are as expressionless as a plastic mask, it's inherently difficult to read them.
"Yes. Who told you that name? Or rather, who said that was my name?"