"My 'Smith', what do you mean?"Nesta asked in an attempt to prove his ignorance.
"Don't ask me that question. I know that you are a smart one."
She pouted softly creating a cute expression on her face. Nesta knew how dangerous this woman could be and wasn't ready to give in to her actions. Clara noticed what he was doing and without any warning walked towards him. She patted his head lightly as if he was some puppy.
"What are you doing? I'm not your puppy, Clara"he declared with a determined look.
"Oh sorry, I didn't know you can bark and bite…"she retorted while a devilish grin appeared on her face.
"Are you always this creepy? I mean everything you do just creeps me out."
"Ouch. Did you have to say it my face? I can be sweet a times though. It's just that worrying you kiddo makes me happy"she explained as she bowed down a little. Their eyes successfully met with each one of them trying their best to win the staring contest.
"I won't try to win. You can have it. Just don't release those red eyes"he pleaded with his eyes slowly drifting away from Clara's own.
Clara smiled and walked way from where Nesta was seated currently. She picked some trenchers from the wall and dished out some meat stake on each of the trenchers she had picked up.
Nesta stared in her direction when the scent of the stakes reached his nose. His mouth drooled as Clara pierced the meat with her fork while slicing a part of it with a knife. She gently slipped it into her mouth and closed her eyes as she took in its taste.
"Wow! I didn't know it was going to be this sweet!"she exclaimed, completely marveled by her own creation.
"Come and pick yours"she commanded while pointing to the other trencher by her medieval stove. Nesta looked at her for a while clearly dissatisfied by her words but he decided to ignore them. He stormed off towards the stove where he picked up the trencher, some cutlery and returned back to his seat.
Clara waited for him to sit close to her but unfortunately Nesta sat some few meters away from her.
Seeing this though, Clara giggled loudly as a euphoric feeling built up in her tummy. "Are you trying to ignore me?"she asked and continued to giggle.
Nesta kept quiet and concentrated on the sumptuous meal in front of him. Even though he had picked up the fork and knife, he discarded and grabbed onto the stake with his hands.
Deep growls echoed as he dug his teeth into the stake and started to cut a portion of it with his teeth. The sweet taste of crisp meat filled his mouth as its aroma wafted into his nostrils.
"Nice! Nice!"he muttered out loud with a smile on his face.
"Clara you are really good at this! I like the stake"he continued without daring to glance in her direction. Clara who was a little bit sad as a result of the distance between them began to laugh when Nesta's words reached her ears.
"That's one way to say that you like the food."
Nesta shrugged his shoulders while digging into the rest of the meal like a mad man. His fingers broke apart the meat while his teeth did it's best to bite and tear up anything that came its way.
After several minutes of endless gobbling, he was currently lying on the floorboards of the innermost chamber of Clara's Nagaya . His eyes were glued to the Tenjō, the ceiling surface of the Nagaya. The tenjō hung low over the room, its dark wooden boards stained with decades of smoke from morning fires. The grain of the old timber rippled like slow-moving water, and in the dim light, the ceiling seemed to breathe with the house itself.
Nesta shuddered after feeling the eerie feeling the work of art was giving him at the moment. Next up was the hari—the beams and posts of the ceiling.The hari stretched across the ceiling like the spine of some ancient creature, darkened by age until it was almost the color of the night itself. Lantern light slid along its surface in trembling gold, revealing the wood's deep ridges—rivers carved by time, heat, and the countless seasons the house had survived.
If you looked long enough, you could trace the marks left by the carpenter's plane, faint strokes still clinging to the grain like old scars. Smoke from cooking fires had risen to it for decades, settling into the pores of the timber, giving it a mellow, smoky scent that drifted down whenever the house shifted.
Sometimes, when the wind pressed against the outer walls, the hari gave a quiet groan—
not threatening, but ancient, like the weary mutter of a guardian roused from sleep. This also caused Nesta to shudder once more.
Thinking about theYaneura, the attic space, he wondered what kind of stuffs Clara kept there. Could they be as priceless as this building itself.
He asked himself rhetorically.
His eyes were about to enter into a deep sleep when something had landed on his face. Due to how soft it felt to touch made him pull it away from his face on impulse. He quickly turned his head towards several parts of the room he was in, trying to catch the perpetrator. To no avail though, there was no one in there apart from him.He mumbled to himself with a perplexed look on his face. He raised up the item a little and realized that it was a piece of cloth. One he was familiar with due to the geography lessons he had in his previous life.
"A kimono!"he said out loud to the perpetrator's hearing.The kimono now laid in his gentle hands, its fabric pooling like still water touched by moonlight. The outer layer was a deep midnight blue, so saturated it seemed almost liquid, shifting subtly from charcoal to indigo whenever the light passed over it. Fine threads of silver traced curling patterns across the surface—mist drifting over distant mountains, rendered with the delicacy of a single breath.
The sleeves hung long and soft, their edges lined with subtle embroidery: tiny cranes in pale ivory and gold, wings outstretched as if caught in a moment between silence and flight. Each feather had been defined by strokes of thread so thin they gleamed like needles of sunlight.
The obi rested beside it: a broad, structured band of burnished gold, its surface woven with interlocking hexagons that shimmered faintly when tilted. Beneath the obi cord, a flash of vermilion silk showed through—an inner lining bright and bold, hidden beneath the calm exterior like a buried ember.
Inside, the kimono had been lined with crimson satin, smooth as polished lacquer, a secret layer that revealed itself only when the fabric turned or folded. The hem was slightly padded, allowing the garment to fall in a clean, graceful line when worn.
A faint scent of camellia and cedar clung to the fibers, absorbed over years of careful storage. The entire garment held a quiet luminosity—the patient glow of craftsmanship—every stitch deliberate, every thread placed like a brushstroke in a living painting.
Nesta's eyes were filled with joy as he took into account the quality of the clothe he was holding in his hands. This clothe would have sold for millions in an auction yet here it was in the hands of a teenager who only saw its surface value.
He kept it close to his heart as he slumped his back onto the floorboards, making them creaked uncontrollably. The sounds caused a smile to appear on his face which were currently glue to the ceiling.
Before he could enter into one of his usual trance though, two thick and tall legs stood over him with his body was caught in between them. Due to the chestnut brown hair which wavered as if they were defying gravity, he could make out who was standing over his body.
Clara stood in the narrow room of the nagaya like a shadow given shape, her blackmedievalarmor drinking in what little light filtered through the paper shōji. The plates were matte and heavy, edged with faint scratches that caught the lantern glow in thin silver lines. Every breath she drew made the armor shift with a low, deliberate murmur of metal, as if echoing the tension in the air.
Her chestnut-brownhair spilled from beneath the rim of her helm, tumbling in loose waves that softened the severity of the armor. The strands glimmered warmly—brown touched with amber—standing in stark contrast to the darkness that clad her body. A few wisps brushed her cheek, stirred by the faint draft that crept through the wooden slats of the old house.
At her feet though laid Nesta, sprawled on the worn tatami. Lantern light pooled around him in a trembling halo, making his stillness sharper, more fragile. Dust drifted lazily in the air above him, disturbed only when Clara shifted her weight, the floorboards beneath her boots emitting a low, uneasy creak.
Behind her, the hari, the great ceiling beam, loomed overhead like an ancient witness. Its soot-darkened wood framed the scene in somber shadow, while the long corridor of the nagaya stretched away into dimness, carrying the muted scents of old cedar, cold ashes, and distant cooking fires.
Clara's figure, dark and unyielding, seemed carved into the room itself—
a stark, armored silhouette above the delicate stillness of the boy below,
the warmth of her chestnut hair the only soft thing in a world suspended between breath and silence.
"Why are you wearing a helmet?"Nesta asked immediately without giving a thought about it.
"I don't want anyone to see my face"she replied.
"Where are you going?"Nesta asked concerned about her safety.
"You mean 'we' right. Kiddo let's go for a walk "she proclaimed.
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