When prompted to name the most delightful season, the vast majority would undoubtedly select spring.
The warm sunlight, a gentle balm after winter’s harsh embrace, and the vibrant hues unfurling across the meadows infuse people with the vigor needed to face the year ahead.
Nestled within the comforting embrace of spring, people find themselves preparing for the advent of a new year.
Having navigated the lengthy preparatory cycle of four seasons, culminating in another spring, I found myself ready to herald a new beginning, even before the last vestiges of vibrant energy faded and the deep greens fully unfurled.
“Truly magnificent…♥︎”
Reflected in the mirror, once my preparations were complete, stood a silver-haired girl adorned in the maid uniform of the Leonhart family.
Though her sharp, cat-like gaze exuded a certain primness, her large, sparkling eyes softened the impression, lending her an air of mystery rather than ferocity.
Her skin, seemingly unblemished by even a speck of dust, and her alluring lips endowed the girl in the mirror with a captivating, almost bewitching charm.
A cool, impassive expression suited her far better than a wide grin, and the subtle, upward curl of her lips in a rare smile possessed a truly lethal charm.
Indeed, the most flawless maid in the world had come into being.
“Haa…♥︎”
Though I had gazed upon this reflection hundreds of times since possessing Unnamed—no, Blanc’s body—today, her beauty struck me as particularly profound.
Truly, maids are divine and invincible beings.
Had a camera existed, I would have captured hundreds, perhaps thousands, of these images, adorning every wall of my room with them.
Yet, as devices like cameras had yet to grace this world, I was compelled to sate my admiration with only my eyes.
“Blanc, may I come in?”
From beyond the door, the familiar voice of a young girl reached my ears.
Though she entered without awaiting my permission, I offered a faint smile as I welcomed her into the room.
“Good morning, Young Lady.”
“What? You’re already calling me Young Lady?”
Noir von Leonhart.
She was once the object of my hatred, but now, she stood as my mistress and the Young Lady I was bound to serve.
She puffed out her cheeks, a clear sign of her pique at my refusal to use her name, opting instead for ‘Young Lady’; yet, even this was a significant compromise on my part.
My true desire was to address her as ‘Mistress,’ but the Young Lady’s resolute refusal had led to the outright rejection of that honorific.
While it was a considerable regret, the image of a maid addressing her as ‘Young Lady’ held its own enchantment, leaving me with no substantial grievances.
“By the way, doesn’t the maid uniform suit you perfectly?”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
“Hehe, I can give you compliments like this all day long, you know?”
Nearly three weeks had elapsed since my arrival at the Leonhart family estate.
Over the course of those three weeks, the Young Lady I came to know was an entirely distinct individual from the Noir depicted in the original narrative.
In the original story, Noir was portrayed as a cool-headed character, always upholding an aloof dignity befitting her noble duty; however, this Young Lady, though she projected an outward coolness, was, in truth, more akin to a child still fumbling with the nuances of emotional expression.
Far from disliking this transformation, I found myself growing fonder of her, thus deeming it a most welcome evolution.
Surely now, my Young Lady would never descend to the level of that heinous criminal, stooping to insult her maids.
Though I intended to remain by her side, ever vigilant for any inclination towards the depravity of maid bikinis, I nevertheless found myself able to place my trust in the Young Lady.
For a maid, at their very core, is a being who dedicates their devotion and unwavering trust to their master.
****
An assassin is meticulously trained to execute any act, no matter how heinous, at their master’s behest.
In this brutal process, the very fabric of personality—emotions and thoughts—is systematically fragmented, its void then filled by an unyielding dependence and loyalty directed solely towards their master.
“Blanc, from now on, you will live with the Leonhart family.”
“Then, are you all my new masters?”
Thus, when the word ‘Master’ escaped Blanc’s lips, both Noir and Lucius felt a profound surge of anger within their hearts.
Despite having been liberated from that oppressive organization, this child remained ensnared by the shackles of servitude to a master.
A tool bereft of its master becomes incapable of independent thought or action.
“Blanc, there’s no master to bind you anymo—”
“Ah….”
There is no master.
Noir had intended to utter those very words.
Yet, upon hearing the declaration of ‘no master,’ Blanc’s eyes instantly lost their focus, filling instead with an overwhelming despair.
She recalled hearing that a hunting dog, once severed from its master, would often lose its very will to live, succumbing to the shock of abandonment until a new master emerged.
While Blanc was certainly no dog, was it truly appropriate to abruptly instruct someone who had lived a life akin to a hunting hound to simply live freely?
Noir vividly recalled the sparkle that had illuminated Blanc’s eyes just moments prior, when the word ‘Master’ had passed her lips.
They had shone with the intensity of someone reborn, eyes that had reclaimed both the will to live and the promise of hope.
If, at this very moment, she were to command Blanc to simply live freely, could Blanc truly forge a normal existence?
It was unlikely.
Bestowing freedom upon her now, without proper understanding, would condemn Blanc to a lifetime of emptiness, never truly grasping its essence.
“Kugh….”
In the end, both individuals came to the stark realization that Blanc’s immediate need was not liberation from her role as a mere tool, but rather the establishment of a new master.
“Blanc, do you wish for us to become your masters?”
“Yes, I earnestly hope that you all would become my masters.”
“Is that so.”
Her life, already fractured beyond repair in her tender youth.
Incapable of existing without explicit commands, she had, by her own volition, severed ties with the organization and, in doing so, safeguarded the future of the Leonhart family.
Therefore, the Leonhart family was bound to honor Blanc’s earnest desire.
“Head of the Family. May I perhaps take her as my exclusive maid?”
If this child truly required a master, then they would become that master.
As Blanc’s masters, they would help her reclaim her fractured life and guide her towards the understanding of true freedom.
Noir’s gaze, fixed upon Lucius, was alight with unwavering resolve.
Lucius had already discerned the profound care with which Noir regarded Blanc.
Under the guidance of a master who cherished her, Blanc would surely begin to mend her fractured personality, and in turn, Noir herself would mature further, shaped by Blanc’s presence.
“Yes, let it be so.”
In truth, Lucius had initially entertained the notion of accepting Blanc as a knight candidate.
Observing Blanc’s prodigious talent, he was certain she possessed the potential for immense success as a knight, confident that her renown would spread far across the continent in the distant future.
However, he could not bring himself to place a blade back into the hands of Blanc, whose past was already stained with blood.
If their bond was to be one of master and attendant, then Blanc must be embraced purely as a maid.
Ultimately, Lucius found himself compelled to accede to Noir’s plea, offering a silent prayer that this decision would prove to be the correct one.
“It seems fortunate that we made the right choice.”
From his study, the Head of the Family, Lucius, observed Noir and Blanc through the window.
Blanc, attending to Noir with a faint, almost imperceptible smile, and Noir, beaming contentedly as she sipped the tea Blanc had poured, offered undeniable proof of the blossoming bond between them.
To think he would witness Noir’s smile once more, after she had spent years stifling her emotions following her father’s demise.
To Lucius, Blanc was no longer merely a woefully pitiable child, but rather a savior, an invaluable benefactor who had brought redemption to his granddaughter.
****
Beautiful flowers, unfurling across the fields, painted the world in vibrant hues, while flocks of sheep, like drifting clouds, meandered through meadows ablaze with rainbow colors.
Petals, blossoming upon the trees, danced skyward on the crisp breeze, and amidst their gentle descent, birds soared, heralding the return of spring, a season of fresh beginnings.
“Blanc, I tried on the clothes you made me a while ago. How do I look?”
“Yes, truly beautiful.”
This marked the third spring, and the third new beginning, to be embraced within the esteemed Leonhart household.
Over the span of three returning springs, the Young Lady’s youthful immaturity had faded, replaced by a stately, aristocratic bearing and a cool composure that echoed the very essence of the original Noir.
“Is that so?”
The Young Lady who once giggled and beamed with delight at my praises was, of late, nowhere to be found.
Yet, I understood.
That the Young Lady’s facade, ever since our first encounter, of feigning aloofness and concealing her genuine emotions, was steadily intensifying.
While others referred to the Young Lady as ‘The Aloof Lion of Leonhart,’ and even the Duke remained oblivious to her true nature, her genuine self had, in fact, changed little from the ‘Giggling Beaming Princess’ she had always been.
“Hmph, while the garments Blanc crafts are undeniably exquisite, I daresay no one could wear them with quite the same flair as I.”
I knew.
That the haughty smile currently gracing the Young Lady’s lips was, in truth, an expression she was striving with all her might to maintain, solely to suppress an irrepressible, beaming grin.
However, as a maid, it was not my prerogative to voice such an observation.
I continued to feign ignorance of the Young Lady’s carefully constructed facade.
“Speaking of which, I recently acquired high-quality strawberries from the Lucoda Merchant Guild. Tomorrow, I will make the Young Lady’s favorite strawberry parfait with the chefs.”
“R-really!? If Blanc approves, they must be delicious strawberries, right? Hehe, I’m already drooling…”
“Young Lady?”
“It’s simply delightful to imagine the maids practically drooling over them! Dorothy, after all, adores the desserts you prepare.”
Yet, to witness her carefully constructed facade crumble so swiftly, revealing her true, unadulterated self, was a phenomenon both heartwarming and, paradoxically, a touch regrettable.
