“What’s with you two?”
When Yan Ya Princess and the Emperor of Flames stepped in, they looked thunderstruck, like statues caught in lightning; I couldn’t help asking.
“...”
“...”
The siblings stayed frozen like deer in torchlight, no response at all. Irritation flickered like a gnat; what are they even doing?
Forget it; they’ll snap out of it once the ripples settle on the pond. I’ll stash the cleaning tools first.
With that thought, I grabbed the brooms and brushes and headed for the storage room, feet soft as dust on a temple floor.
I put them away, then hit the washroom, pressed a damp towel to my face, and wiped the sweat from my neck like rain off a leaf.
The work just now was heavy, energy draining like sand through an hourglass; the sweat stuck like syrup, clinging like spider silk.
I’ll take a proper bath later—let the steam lift this stickiness like morning mist.
After washing my face, I went back to the entrance of the Fire Dragon Hall, its doors yawning like a dragon’s maw.
Yan Ya Princess and the Emperor of Flames had finally come to, eyes wide, looking around like kids seeing snow, palms testing the floor and walls like new jade.
“Finally back with me, huh,” I said, voice light as a flicked fan.
Was this level of shock necessary? The grumble rose like smoke, then settled in my chest.
“Ooh, ooh! Yumigawa Sumeragi, you’re amazing!!!” Her words burst like firecrackers in a festival lane.
At my voice, Yan Ya Princess sprinted over like a spark on tinder, dove into my arms, lifted her lovely face shining like a peach blossom, and babbled, breath quick as a bird’s wing: “It’s my first time seeing the Fire Dragon Hall this clean! It’s spotless, gleaming like still water! So amazing!”
“What a clean floor! Art thou perhaps the legendary God of Maids?” His tone rang solemn as a bronze bell.
He pressed his handsome face to the spotless floor like a pilgrim to sacred stone, and asked with utter respect that burned like incense.
“Hey, hey, what kind of god is a ‘God of Maids,’ anyway? And could you not plaster yourself to the floor like a perv? Actually, you were a perv from the start. Gross.” The words dropped like pebbles in a well.
I deadpanned at the Emperor of Flames sprawled like a lizard on warm rock and let the snark fly like a dart. I wanted to step on him, but with his leg fetish, that’d feed the beast.
“Ahh—being looked down on by Yumigawa-kun’s cold gaze, lofty as winter moonlight, is strangely delightful! What is this peculiar feeling?” His voice wriggled like something under a log.
Like an earthworm after rain, the Emperor of Flames pressed face and body to the floor, squirming in a way that curdled the stomach like sour milk.
“...May I burn this disgusting worm on the floor to ash?” Her voice was mountain-cold, eyes blazing like twin furnaces.
“Be my guest.” I wasn’t going to stop her; if anything, I’d add kindling.
“Mm.” She nodded like a blade of grass in wind, then raised both hands; a huge fireball gathered like a newborn sun, heat humming like cicadas.
“Filthy bug, evaporate and rot!” Her shout cracked like a whip.
Boom!!!
The whole Fire Dragon Hall shuddered like a drumskin in a storm. A few minutes trickled by like meltwater.
“Cough, cough.” The Emperor of Flames slowly stood, dusting his face with a handkerchief like brushing ash from a brazier. “I lost my composure just now. My apologies. I didn’t expect you, Yumigawa-kun, to be so capable. You gave me quite a fright, truly astonishing.”
“Ha...” I sighed, helpless as a leaf in wind, and chose to forget it; otherwise, nightmares would bloom like night-blooming flowers.
By the way, time in the Nine Cold Labyrinth flows like outside—twenty-four hours to a day, steady as a river.
But heed this: once you pass to the next floor, the clock resets like a slate wiped clean. For example, I entered the second floor a little past six in the evening, and it became midnight on arrival, sharp as a bell stroke.
Because of that, it’s now about six in the morning. Hunger gnawed like a small beast. I glanced at the ancient wall clock like a relic fossil and said, “It’s around six ten. I’m going to make breakfast. Do you two want some?”
“Eh, eh?! Breakfast? Of course!” Her joy popped like oil in a pan.
“Me as well! Breakfast made by Yumigawa-kun’s fair, soft hands... oof, my drool won’t stop, like a leaky spring!”
They answered in a heartbeat, quick as sparks.
“Good. Please wait in the hall. I’ve already brewed tea.” The words poured smooth as warm water.
The Fire Dragon Hall looks like no one lived here for centuries, dust heavy as old snow, yet the tea leaves and ingredients are fresh as morning dew.
“Tea too?! I’m going now!” Yan Ya Princess bolted hall-ward like a crimson streak.
“My dear sister! Leave some for me—don’t drink it all! I haven’t had tea in several hundred years!” The Emperor of Flames sprinted after her like a comet.
“Huh? Several hundred years without tea?” The leaves were fresh as spring. What’s up with that? The question fluttered like a moth.
“Eh, better not overthink it.” I shook my head like shaking rain from an umbrella and headed to the kitchen.
I reached the kitchen and started breakfast, oil singing like larks, steam rising like clouds over a mountain ridge.
An hour slipped by like a fish in a clear stream. It was past seven. In the hall, I set out breakfast and tableware, neat as a chessboard.
“What a rich aroma! I can’t hold back! Can we eat?!” Yan Ya Princess was almost drooling a river, round eyes blazing like coals.
As for the Emperor of Flames...
“Uwu, it’s so good to be alive. I never thought there’d be a day I could eat normal food...” He cried into his sleeve, tears and snot flowing like thaw.
“Alright, alright, let’s start. Follow me first.” I sat, pressed my palms together like a prayer board, and they mirrored me like shadows.
“Let’s dig in!!!” The chorus burst like a cork.
We began to eat. The Emperor of Flames ate like a famine ghost, chewing and crying, noisy as a cicada chorus.
After breakfast.
“Ahh—so happy.” Yan Ya Princess rubbed her round belly like a polished gourd and rolled on the floor like a playful cat—adorable.
The Emperor of Flames, on the other hand...
“Uwu, t-this is the first time I’ve eaten something this good, the first time I feel alive...” He collapsed on the table, bawling like summer rain. Seriously, what kind of tragic life did he live?
I didn’t want to dig. I cleared the dishes like sweeping fallen leaves, then headed to the bath. After the earlier cleaning and cooking in a kitchen hotter than the hall, sweat soaked me like monsoon—unpleasant.
After my bath, he still hadn’t cried his fill, tears trickling like a stream. I couldn’t be bothered. Tired and drowsy like a stone warmed by sun, I found an empty room to sleep.
I had barely lain down when Yan Ya Princess dashed in like a flying swallow, slipped under the quilt, and said, “I’m sleepy! Let’s sleep together!”
“Mm.” I welcomed it, warmth settling like a quilted cloud.
As for what happened after, nothing special, nothing to list like beads on a string.
Time flowed like lava, and my first day in the land of magma ended in a blink like a falling star.
The Emperor of Flames may be a shameless pervert, but he’s straightforward as a blade. He praised my service without hesitation: “Excellent!” crisp as a seal stamp.
I thought he’d play tricks to keep me, but no; the air stayed clean as winter sky.
Two days remain to meet the Emperor of Flames’ terms, counting down like candles.
