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As a capable and devoted head maid, Ver Vermillion was always especially busy on the last day of the year.
With the master having kindly sent the elderly steward home early to reunite with his family, the responsibility of making sure everything was in perfect order fell squarely on Ver’s shoulders. He inspected every corner of the house with meticulous care. Whenever he spotted a glimmering coin, his eyes lit up without fail; when he noticed a cockroach lurking in a shadowed crevice, he would shriek in alarm, hike up his skirt, and bring his polished shoe down hard until the intruder was thoroughly dealt with.
He checked every restroom as well—personally testing the flush, confirming that everything functioned smoothly, and making sure the layout and décor were pleasing, so that no guest would feel even the slightest discomfort.
What he didn’t realize was that, for many visitors, the moment they caught sight of him, any irritation they’d carried with them melted away almost instantly.
The charming head maid—rarely seen accompanying the master outside, and usually glimpsed only at special invitations or New Year’s parties—had become one of the very reasons guests looked forward to attending these social gatherings. This, in no small part, was thanks to the master’s refusal to enforce the more rigid expectations traditionally imposed on maids and servants.
Though Ver was still not permitted to initiate conversations with guests, the master encouraged the servant to meet a guest’s gaze when spoken to. He abolished rules that forbade servants from appearing freely before their employer, or that required them to turn toward the wall when encountering the master in the corridors. Instead, he asked them to acknowledge others with a nod or a gentle smile—to show warmth, and help enliven the atmosphere.
At first, many visitors were taken aback, even wondering whether the servant’s etiquette training was lacking. But with the master’s calm explanations, those who understood gradually grew fond of this approach, coming to look forward to seeing familiar faces and welcoming smiles whenever they returned.
And so, a single, fleeting glimpse of Ver Vermillion became a gilded legend whispered throughout certain circles.
A painter—who had been deep in pleasant conversation with the master—only excused himself with a stiff smile once his body could no longer ignore its needs. While hurrying down the corridor in search of a restroom, he was softly called to by a maid he had never seen before, he quietly pointed him in the right direction.
After relieving himself and regaining the leisure to think, the painter found himself wondering, so this estate even has maids who don’t smile much. Entertained by the thought, he considered seeking out the others—only to have his breath stolen away.
There, by a cage set upon the lawn, the maid was crouched low, his expression gentle as he played with the master’s white tiger cub. Slender, beautiful fingers scratched beneath the cub’s chin, then smoothed over its fluffy head in soothing strokes. When he tried to lift it, only to fumble and accidentally roll the little tiger onto its back, the clumsy accident drew an unguarded laugh from his lips.
The scene—so tender, so disarming—etched itself deeply into his mind.
Later, the painting he created for his private collection found its way into curious hands when friends came to visit and asked questions. The story spread quietly from there, and before long, the number of guests willing—eager, even—to accept invitations to the estate grew steadily with each passing year.
At the parties, guests would notice the head maid standing quietly at the edge of the room, lips gently pressed together as he waited. No one wished to approach too closely or trouble him; no one needed his personal service. Simply watching from afar was enough.
They admired him in stolen glances, and when children—still unversed in restraint—ran up to clutch at his skirts and chirped, “You’re so pretty,” the adults could not help but smile along with him, treasuring the rare sight of his shy smile and the soft, lovely tone of his reply.
Yet what they anticipated most was the moment after the bells rang in the New Year—after greetings were exchanged, and the household servants guided them toward their guest rooms.
They waited for the familiar sight: the young, elegant maid walking ahead with silent, graceful steps, maintaining just enough distance. Upon reaching the room assigned for the night, he would finally stop, turn with impeccable poise, and—his lips curving ever so slightly into a restrained smile—murmur gently:
“Happy New Year. Good night.”