I was a member of the High Ogre race. I served as a maid at the Village Head’s Mansion, the residence of Lord Hiraku.
One winter day, an Inferno Wolf lay prone in the hallway, refusing to budge. He had been there since early morning. Whenever I spoke to him to ask what was wrong, he simply shook his head, insisting I ignore him. It was the same when Lady Ann checked on him. Since we used magic to keep the hallways warm, it wasn't as if he were frozen in place by the cold.
I put on a concerned face for show, but in truth, I knew exactly why that Inferno Wolf wasn't moving. He had been sleeping in the hallway until dawn—on his back. Since Inferno Wolves had horns on their foreheads, there was a specific trick to sleeping belly-up, but that particular wolf apparently hadn't mastered it. His horn had driven straight into the floorboards, causing a moment of minor panic.
By utilizing his natural physical strength, he had eventually managed to wrench the horn out and escape. His relief at finding his horn unbroken was short-lived, however, as he realized he had left a massive gouge in the floor. That was a serious problem. Lady Ann would be absolutely furious. And when Lady Ann was angry, meals had a habit of disappearing. After agonizing over the situation, the wolf decided the best course of action was to simply lie down on top of the scratch.
And that was that. I wondered what he planned to do next. I had always assumed Inferno Wolves were universally wise, but perhaps that wasn't entirely true. For the time being, I decided to keep an eye on him—between my duties, of course.
That evening, the Inferno Wolf finally sought help from the Village Head with a mournful, pathetic whine. The Village Head eventually went with him to apologize to Lady Ann. He truly was a kind master. Ah, but before they left, the wolf made a beeline for the outhouse. He had been holding it in all day, after all.
Now, don't misunderstand—I wasn't slacking off. I was in the middle of my nightly rounds, checking the window locks and managing the lights. Speaking of which, there was someone else who hadn't moved since the afternoon, much like that wolf: Lady Malbit. She had been huddled in the kotatsu since midday without moving an inch. I began to wonder if she was all right. She wasn't dead, was she?
Since it would have been awkward to ask her directly, I checked with Lady Suarlou, who was sharing the same kotatsu. I asked if it were the shock of losing the recent Chess Tournament, but apparently, that wasn't it. She was sulking because Lady Kierbit had cheered for Kuroyon instead of her own mother.
I suppose I understood. Lady Kierbit had lost to Kuroyon, after all. If the opponent who defeated you went on to win the whole thing, it served as a bit of a consolation, so I could understand why she would cheer for him. I would have thought Lady Malbit would understand that as well, but as a mother, she clearly wanted her daughter's support regardless of the circumstances. I didn't have children of my own yet, but I could sympathize with her feelings.
However, the permitted hours for using the kotatsu had already passed. The Village Head had instructed us to deactivate the magic tools inside the kotatsu at night, so I had to do my duty. It wasn't a matter of safety; Lady Lu, the developer, had proudly claimed they could run for ten thousand hours without issue. Furthermore, the kotatsu futons were handmade by Lady Zabuton, so they wouldn't easily catch fire even if scorched.
The Village Head’s instruction was purely practical: too many people were falling asleep in them. Apparently, sleeping in a kotatsu was bad for one's health.
"I am sorry, but I shall be deactivating the kotatsu's magic tool now," I announced.
Lady Malbit’s hand shot out and clamped onto my arm, physically preventing me from reaching the power button. I looked at her, but she refused to let go. I didn't believe in wasting my breath on losing battles. Taking a firm stance, I simply called for Lady Ruincia.
Problem solved.
I apologized to Lady Suarlou for kicking her out as well, but she told me she had just been looking for the right timing to leave anyway. That was a relief. I continued my nightly rounds.
During the winter, many guests and village residents stayed overnight at the mansion, which naturally led to more trouble. I rounded a corner and sighed.
"Everyone, the Dwarves... having a drinking session in the hallway is a surefire way to get scolded."
They insisted it was a Sake Tasting Event. When I pressed them, they argued that this particular spot offered the best view of the moon and the snow. Looking out the window, I had to admit the scenery was beautiful. However, they were obstructing the path. I asked them to withdraw, but they were persistent.
Eventually, I gave in. "If you're going to go that far... very well. I shall join you for just one cup."
I held out my glass. They poured a meager amount, and I nudged them to be a bit more generous. I took a sip. It had a remarkably clear, refined taste that I suspected would pair perfectly with grilled fish. To my surprise, they actually had grilled fish ready. They had even brought a brazier into the hallway. They were definitely going to be in trouble, but I decided to look the other way for one night. Just one bite, I told myself. It was, indeed, a perfect match.
The next morning, the Dwarves were thoroughly lectured by Lady Ann. Despite my leniency, they must have stayed up drinking quite late. It was a shame. Even though I had joined them, I had made sure to finish my work properly afterward.
Then I noticed Lady Ann's gaze fixed on me. Since I had been the one patrolling that hallway during the night shift, there was no hiding it. I didn't bother with poor excuses; that would only make the scolding worse. I simply apologized and joined the Dwarves in cleaning up the mess from the tasting event.
We had certainly gone through a lot of alcohol. I found the Sake Slime lingering nearby and nudged it out of the way before it got caught in the cleaning. I also had to stop Aegis from scavenging for leftovers. Even the kittens tried to charm me with sweet meows, but I remained firm. Perhaps because I told them no, they each snatched a piece of leftover fish and bolted.
I considered chasing them, but they were already eating as they ran. It was too late for the fish. However, I couldn't allow such lawlessness to stand. Discipline was vital. Just as I prepared to give chase, their mother, the Jewel Cat, stepped into their path. With practiced grace, she confiscated the fish from her children. It was a splendid display of parenting. I told her not to mind me, but encouraged her to keep up the discipline. When she tried to return the fish, I told her to keep it. I also warned her that the older sister cats seemed to be getting into mischief elsewhere.
I eventually made my way to the Mansion Hall. Various trophies and items were displayed near the entrance, but the most prominent was the Mahjong Yakuman Achiever List. In the most recent section, the name "Yakuman-zu" appeared three times in a row.
I wasn't envious. After all, at the very top of that list—the very first entry—was my own name. I couldn't help but smirk. I often lost track of time when standing in front of that board; it brought back such happy memories.
The members of the "Yakuman-zu"—Zabuton's children—seemed to feel the same way. When I gave them a light warning to get back to their duties, they raised their legs in acknowledgement. I suggested we play a match together soon and invite Lord Beezel. He had been adamant about winning a rematch. The spiders seemed fired up to beat him again, and I didn't intend to lose either.
With that, I returned to my work. I made sure to be thorough, but I intentionally left a little room for imperfection. It wasn't laziness; it was a strategy.
We of the High Ogre race were aware that our tendency toward perfection could make our master feel stifled. To counter this, we adopted the "clumsy" or "unreliable" role on occasion. It was our way of showing that High Ogres had a charming, approachable side. The fact that we did it consciously was a bit ironic, but our reputation among the residents was quite good. People often told us we had become much easier to talk to.
Being known as "the one who messes up a lot" was a bit of a blow to my pride, but the perks—drinking on the job, playing games, and being treated kindly by the Village Head—made it well worth it.
As I walked, I spotted the Mountain Elves. "If you're going to play, do it in the other room," I warned them. "Lady Ann will be coming through on her patrol soon. Stay quiet for a while."
I planned to give it my all again today.