The sound of rain gently tapped against the roof tiles.
The seasonal drizzle lingered, wrapping the air in an unpleasant dampness.
From the glass doors of the engawa veranda, Hina could see the drying rack for medicinal herbs she had made herself beneath the eaves of the storage shed. Though covered with old cloth to shield it from the rain, the prolonged downpour left her uneasy.
“Doesn’t look like it’ll stop anytime soon.”
When she turned around, Keiichiro was leaning against a pillar in the hallway.
“Ah…”
She stopped herself from asking why he was here—it felt impolite.
“Is something wrong?”
Startled, Hina lowered her gaze.
“I was just… worried about the herb drying rack.”
“I see. You built that yourself, didn’t you? The way you arranged the bamboo lets the air pass through well.”
The unexpected praise made her bow her head slightly.
Back in the tenement house, this had been second nature to her, but hearing it acknowledged like this made her oddly bashful.
“And that wooden box… the one by the flower bed—did you make that too?”
At the question, Hina lifted her face.
Keiichiro’s gaze was directed toward the flower bed she tended.
“Yes. Seirenso herbs prefer shade and humidity… They don’t grow well in direct sunlight. So I lined the box with thin cloth to retain moisture—”
As Hina explained, Keiichiro listened in silence.
“Seirenso herbs… They have sedative properties, don’t they?”
“Yes. The roots reduce fever in wounds, and dried leaves brewed as tea help with sleep. The flower’s scent is said to ease headaches… My parents taught me that long ago.”
“…I see.”
Keiichiro lowered his eyes, as if digesting the words deeply.
“They grew wild in small patches on the hills behind the tenement. I nurtured them carefully… The ones here are from those same plants.”
“I see.”
Keiichiro nodded appreciatively, then after a pause, added,
“So that’s how your medicine is made… It takes effort and patience. …I’m grateful.”
His low, steady voice seeped warmly into Hina’s chest.
“…No, I should be thanking you.”
Just as she replied, Keiichiro winced slightly.
The expression made Hina tense.
“Does it hurt?”
At her question, Keiichiro answered with a furrowed brow.
“…Especially this time of year.”
The dampness of the rainy season must have aggravated his old wound.
“I’ll bring the medicine right away—!”
As she turned to leave, his quiet voice stopped her.
“No need. There’s some left in my study. Could you apply it for me?”
Hina’s eyes widened briefly before she bowed deeply.
“…Understood.”
Somewhere in her heart, a faint ripple stirred at the trust he extended.
But for now, she focused only on fulfilling her duty as an herbalist.
The rain had finally stopped, and a break in the clouds had appeared—or so she thought, until the evening air grew damp once more.
The sky was thick with clouds, and the scent of wet earth hung heavily in the air.
Amid this, Hina was stopped by the head maid, Yamane.
“The Master has requested you to apply his medicine.”
For a moment, Hina forgot to respond.
Confusion flickered in her chest. Anyone else could have done this.
(…Why me?)
But an order was not to be refused.
With a quiet, deep bow, she replied, “Understood,” and made her way to Keiichiro’s room.
“Master, it’s Hina.”
Kneeling before the sliding door, she announced herself. A low, brief voice answered from within.
“Come in.”
Nervously, she slid the door open.
The master’s room—her first time entering—was an oddly harmonious space where Western rugs lay atop tatami, heavy European furniture coexisted with aged Japanese chests. At the far end stood an unusual Western-style bed. Keiichiro lay there, faint weariness on his face, the sleeves of his white dress shirt carelessly rolled up. A half-read book lay facedown by the pillow.
“Forgive the intrusion. I’ve brought the medicine.”
As she spoke, Hina stepped quietly inside.
Keiichiro glanced at her, then wordlessly began undoing the buttons of his shirt before turning onto his stomach, exposing his back.
In that moment—Hina’s gaze was stolen.
(…I must have seen it when we first met.)
Back then, her nerves had kept her eyes fixed on her hands. She hadn’t really looked.
But now, she saw clearly.
Broad shoulders, a back free of excess. The body hidden beneath his shirt was far more toned than she’d imagined.
(…It’s so… beautiful.)
She averted her eyes.
She was an herbalist—she should be used to seeing men’s bodies, their scars.
“Over there… please.”
His voice from behind snapped her back. She focused, opening the ointment.
The clear scent of Seirenso herbs wafted out, mingling with the rain’s fragrance, gently enveloping her nerves.
With slender fingertips, she scooped the ointment and applied it carefully.
(…It still looks painful.)
The old scar running down his spine—deep, as if split open.
She didn’t need to ask. It was surely from the war.
But perhaps the pain ran deeper than flesh.
Somehow, she couldn’t shake that thought.
“You’re used to this. Your hands don’t shake when touching someone.”
“That’s… because I’m an herbalist.”
“I see…”
His words trailed off. Silence filled the room again.
As she finished and withdrew her hands—
“…Your hands are warm.”
The sudden remark made her heart skip.
(Huh…?)
Maybe it was just that. Or perhaps a simple observation.
She remembered how cold her hands had been the first time she applied his medicine, so this time she’d warmed them beforehand. Had he noticed?
Even though this was just routine, it felt as if he’d seen right through her.
Why? Her heart fluttered faintly.
“Teate—‘medical treatment’—also means ‘allowance’…”
Keiichiro’s low voice broke the silence again.
“But it also means treating injuries or illness.”
His tone was somewhere between narration and murmur.
“Heh, yes.”
A smile escaped her.
Even without seeing each other’s faces, warmth bloomed somewhere inside.
“Right now, I’m receiving teate from you in both senses.”
“…Both meanings must be quite familiar to you by now, Master.”
She let out a soft laugh, as if joking.
As she finished and placed the cloth over the ointment, she silently wished—even if just a little—for his pain to ease.
“All done. …Master?”
Lightly pressing the edge of the cloth, she gathered her courage.
“…Why did you call for me?”
The question slipped out.
There were other maids—Yamane, Harue—trusted women who could have done this.
After a pause, Keiichiro answered slowly.
“Because… you’re the herbalist.”
A perfectly reasonable answer. Given her role, it made sense.
But was that all?
A sliver of light pierced her chest, then slipped through her fingers like sand.
“…I see.”
Just as she began to lower her head, Keiichiro spoke again, softly.
“And—”
A brief silence.
Still turned away, he shifted slightly under the covers.
His shoulder moved almost imperceptibly.
“The others… their hands are cold.”
Like a whisper to himself—so quiet it was hard to tell if it was truth or evasion.
Hina’s chest stirred faintly at the words.