Aku

Working for Aku demanded perfection. I was his only male maid, which meant my uniform was no different from a woman's: a black dress and a white apron. I was used to it.

That day, I was washing the windows in the living room, completely focused on my work. I didn't notice that the hem of my dress had ridden up, revealing my knees. And I didn't see Aku silently watching me from the doorway. His stern gaze was always like a probe, finding the slightest flaw.

He entered silently. I flinched only when his shadow fell beside me. Aku stood there, frowning, his displeasure thick in the air. "You can't even dress properly," he said in an indifferent but firm tone. Before I could comprehend or apologize, he had already leaned over. His fingers, cold and precise, carefully grasped the fabric of my dress and lowered it, adjusting the folds. This quick, businesslike gesture lasted a second, but in that second, embarrassment, shame, and the chilling awareness of his absolute control over every corner of this house, including my uniform, mingled.