Page 16 of Kotori
In the courtyard below, Kaito stands surrounded by four men in dark suits. Their posture screams deference, while his radiates authority. Even from this distance, I see the expensive cut of his suit, the way sunlight gleams on his watch as he gestures to emphasize some point. The men around him nod frequently, one making rapid notes on a tablet.
Though I can't understand the language, the power dynamics are unmistakable. Then, without warning, Kaito looks up. Straight at my window. Straight at me.
I freeze, caught spying like a child. His expression doesn't change, but something tells me he's not surprised to find me watching. He holds my gaze before dismissing me with the slightest nod and returning to his conversation.
The message is clear: I am seen. I am allowed to observe only because he permits it.
I step back from the window, heart racing for no rational reason.
Lunch is served in a smaller dining room that still feels formal enough for a state dinner.
I hesitate in the doorway, unsure where to sit or if I'm expected to join the family. Hayashi materializes behind me like a ghost.
"The noon meal is served," she announces, though I can clearly see that. "You will sit there." She indicates a cushion that places me between Kohana and Aya, across from Mizuki.
I nod my thanks and move toward the designated spot, only to freeze when Hayashi makes a small sound of disapproval.
"Shoes," she says, glancing pointedly at my feet.
I look down, mortified to realize I'm still wearing my flats on the tatami. I hurriedly step back, slip off my shoes, and place them beside the others at the entrance.
By the time I take my seat, my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Mizuki observes with thinly veiled disdain, while Kohana examines her teacup. Only Aya offers a small, encouraging smile.
"Williams-sensei forgot shoes are dirty inside," she explains to her sisters in a loud whisper. "Americans wear shoes everywhere. Even in bed sometimes!"
"I don't wear shoes in bed," I clarify quickly, trying to salvage some dignity.
"The cultural differences are significant," Kohana says, her tone academic rather than judgmental. "In America, outsidefootwear inside homes is common. In Japan, it's considered extremely disrespectful."
"Extremely," Mizuki echoes, the word cutting.
The door slides open and everyone straightens. Kaito enters, suit jacket removed, sleeves rolled to reveal muscular forearms decorated with intricate tattoos that disappear beneath expensive fabric. Despite the more casual dress, he radiates the same commanding presence as earlier.
The girls bow from their seated positions. I attempt to copy them, wobbling slightly as I try to maintain balance.
Kaito takes his place at the head of the table, dark eyes sweeping over everyone before settling on me. "I understand there were cultural adjustments during lessons this morning."
My stomach drops. Has Mizuki already reported my failures? "Nothing serious," I say quickly. "Just learning the proper protocols."
"Mizuki-chan is an excellent teacher," he says, voice neutral but eyes assessing. "You would do well to follow her example in matters of household etiquette."
The eighteen-year-old's spine straightens with pride at her father's praise.
The servers place elaborate meals before each of us—beautiful arrangements of rice, vegetables, fish, and pickled sides that look like magazine photography.
I wait for someone to begin eating, not wanting to commit another faux pas. No one moves.
"Itadakimasu," Kaito says, hands pressed together briefly.
The girls repeat the phrase, which I recognize as a pre-meal blessing of sorts. When they look at me expectantly, I attempt to mumble the words, butchering the pronunciation.
Aya giggles before Mizuki silences her with a look.
"Repeat after me," Kaito instructs, his voice patient but brooking no argument. "I-ta-da-ki-ma-su."
He breaks the word into syllables, watching my lips as I form each one. The focused attention makes my skin prickle with awareness.
"Itadakimasu," I manage, closer this time.
