Chapter 92: The First Lesson (Operation: Pygmalion)

"You slouch."

I am in hell. A different, more expensive hell.

I am in a private suite at the Imperial Hotel, which Mariko has booked for us indefinitely. It is our new war room.

I am wearing sweatpants. Lady Mariko is wearing a silk blouse that probably costs more than my house.

She is walking in a circle around me, holding a long, wooden ruler.

"I do not slouch," I grunt. "I am just... relaxed."

WHACK.

She smacks me between the shoulder blades with the ruler.

"OW! What the hell?!"

"That is what my tutor did to me," Mariko says, her face bored. "Posture is the first sign of breeding. You have the posture of a disappointed shrimp."

"I like shrimp."

WHACK.

"Stop hitting me, you crazy witch!"

"I am not a witch, I am pragmatic," Mariko says, her voice flat. "And you are a terrible student. Again. Walk from that door to this window. Like a lady."

I sigh. I stomp over to the door.

I walk across the room.

"No no no no no," Mariko groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What is that? Are you walking or are you planning to mug someone? Your shoulders are too aggressive. Your steps are too heavy. It looks like you are carrying invisible buckets of water."

"It's called walking! It gets me from Point A to Point B!"

"A lady does not walk," Mariko says. "She glides. Your shoulders back. Your chin up. Your gaze level. Imagine you are better than everyone in the room."

"I already do that," I smirk.

"No," Mariko corrects. "That is your Bloody Twilight look. That says I will kill you. A princess look says I do not need to kill you, because you are already dead to me. It is a subtle difference. It is boredom. It is grace."

The door bursts open.

"WE ARE HERE!" Hiroto sings, wheeling in a massive rack of clothes. He is wearing his mustache disguise again.

Rika is behind him, carrying three makeup cases.

"Phase One-B! The Makeover Montage!" Hiroto claps.

"Thank goodness," Mariko sighs, sitting down and pouring herself some tea. "Your friend is un-teachable."

"Hey!"

"Okay, Aoi-chan!" Rika says, her eyes gleaming. "First thing's first. We need to change your color palette. No more black, black, and darker black."

"Black is a good color. It is slimming."

"It's funereal!" Hiroto gasps. "You are a Princess-in-Training! You need pastels! You need softness! You need... PEACH!"

He holds up a horrifying, lacy, peach-colored dress.

I recoil. I hiss like a cat.

"Get that thing away from me."

"But Angel! It will show your soft, feminine side!"

"I do not have a soft, feminine side!"

"We know," Mariko mutters into her teacup.

"Aoi, just try it!" Rika begs. "Mariko's plan is that we need to get you into the Emperor's Garden Party next week. You cannot go in your school uniform."

"Why not? It's my armor."

"Because," Mariko says, standing up. "That party is where my engagement to Kenji is supposed to be announced. And instead, it is going to be your debut. You have to look so perfect, so regal, that you make the Crown Prince look like a fool for ever doubting you."

She picks up the peach dress.

"You are not just Aoi Isuzu anymore, kid. You are a political statement. Now go put on the stupid dress."

Her logic is annoying. And flawless.

I groan. I snatch the dress from her hands.

"This is the worst war ever."