Card Captor Sakura Fan Fiction ❯ Slave for a Week ❯ Prelude: Perfect Beginning ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Slave for a Week

Written By: PinkCelestial

-- Full Summary --

Deeply interesting (and thoroughly surprising) news: the rich and famous corporation heiress, Daidouji Tomoyo, needs… money! And she terribly can use some help!

Option #1: Ask from her best friend a check worth five hundred thousand dollars and try explaining to her that she lost in a life-or-death bet with two of the most wanted bachelors in the world, and thus should pay the 500 grand or else…

Option #2: Just enjoy the terrifying torture with the truth from Li Syaoran—especially that he knows she really has her eye on his best friend, Hiiragizawa Eriol.

Option #3: Give him a personal slave for one whole week of full service.

Hey. Wouldn't Option #3 be fun? Then who's going to be the lucky girl? She needs to be perfect…. And the perfect one for this perfect job is none other than the perfect Kinomoto Sakura herself!

But what if Sakura finds out that her one and only master is none other than the richest (and not to mention, the cutest) playboy-businessman in Hong Kong (and maybe the whole Asia) who dates zillions of girls and still manages to stay a bachelor? And before she could think of the perfect ways to get out of this mess, the master just seems to be perfectly interested in his slave!

Just too perfect.

-- Disclaimer, APPLIES TO ALL THE CHAPTERS --

Card Captor Sakura and everything with it solely belongs to CLAMP. I own nothing, except my fanfic and plot.

I'm hoping I won't have to repeat this line over and over again.

-- Authoress' Notes --

Konnichiwa! Just a lil' CCS fanfic! So… here are some things I think you ought to know:

1. This fic is completely out of the CCS canon, in other words, fully Alternate Universe. So it's strictly zero 10-year olds flying around and catching 52 loose cards that are wreaking havoc around Tomoeda, Japan.

2. Everyone's going to be a bit Out Of Character to fit in the story. Beware of shrieks, screams, name-calling, and some cursing and words that can't be seen in the anime.

3. This will be of the totally lighthearted kind, like a Sophie Kinsella or Meg Cabot type (think Shopaholic series or The Princess Diaries and The Mediator series). Don't complain telling me I'm too informal. That's my own writing style.

4. Speaking of Cabot and Kinsella, I totally love their works, so you might find some scenes here that are kinda based on their stories. They just make me think of great ideas!

5. I don't think you'd be confused with my shifting POVs. There are S', S', and Third Person's, but I've written sufficient headings so it's easier to identify. For those who still become confused, your problem's unidentifiable.

6. This fic is rated T because of some coarse language and maybe slight references to… stuff. No more than that, truly sorry. Just enjoy the humor and fluff; everything's teen-friendly.

So that's about it. I hope you guys will like this. And please leave me a short review if you can. So, go ahead, scroll down and enjoy! :D

-- Prelude --

Perfect Beginning

-- Sakura's POV --

Sunday, 8:05 AM

Oh, God, I want to faint. Please stop sending oxygen to my brain now.

"Please, Sakura? Pretty, pretty, pretty please?" my supposed-to-be best friend since we were literally babies pleaded for the umpteenth time. I could swear she was doing a lot more puppy-dog-eyes than usual while she threw more `Please, Sakura, pretty, pretty, pretty please' lines in my direction, as if she's going to be sentenced to death soon.

To add to that, she was wailing, and begging, and strangling my shoulders for dear life. God, she looks so much like a poor little tortured pig—but with amethyst eyes and long, equally amethyst-colored hair.

I shook my head with disgust—so much of it that I'm afraid I'm going to throw up on their elegant sofa anytime soon, although she is very much going to be the next Victoria's Secret model, or the next girl to be spotlighted in Vogue, or maybe the cover girl of some hit international supermodel magazine.

But take note: she's wailing, begging, and strangling me. Is that supposed to be how Daidouji Tomoyo, a.k.a. the wealthy heiress to one of the fastest growing hotel chains around the world, a.k.a. the Ms. The Most Perfect Girl in the Universe should act?

Talk about being a little out of character.

"No," I declared firmly, gathering all the constancy in my voice to make it sound more forceful, even though I know it can be not, especially in front of someone who knew me for all the twenty years of my life. Okay. I sounded more like a nervous off-keyed freak. But at least I tried.

And yeah, what more can I do? That was the very first word that came to my mind when she asked me to do for her this fatal favor. It makes me seriously consider gobbling down a whole bottle of sleeping pills and just committing suicide rather than doing this whole absurdity for her.

Okay, okay, I know she's my best friend through all the years, not to mention, my Aunt Sonomi's daughter (in short, my one and only a-little-distant cousin), but, hello? Earth to Mademoiselle Daidouji! I'm not someone to be suddenly paid (and I do mean the literal meaning of that word) to a complete stranger just because of a childish bet! Do you even see a freaking price tag hanging around my neck? Oh, puh-lease.

Tomoyo, oh, must I strongly emphasize this: the Daidouji Tomoyo was looking so miserable down there. Yes, down at the elegantly-carpeted marble floor of their house. Oops, wrong word. I actually meant: her mansion.

To be specific, the Daidouji Tomoyo was looking so miserable down there at the elegantly-carpeted marble floor of their sun lounge. They call it their sun-room. And come to think of it, I don't even have a proper kitchen back in my rundown apartment.

Anyway, she was almost (just this teeny bit more) kneeling down in front of me, again flashing on of those puppy dog eyes ever so irresistible. And yeah, what was she asking me to do, you ask?

First, she had blackmailed me into coming today to her mansion so we could talk about `something very important that could mean her life', those being her exact words. And so, being the supportive, always-right-here-for-you best friend I am, I hauled myself out of the bed (all grumpy because this commotion has interrupted my only peaceful rest day—God, it's SUNDAY, okay?) and rushed here, looking all kaijuu-like.

But behold! She had this big smile plastered on her model-ic face, and then she unceremoniously had one of their maids serve me a humongous slice of my favorite double-caramel triple-chocolate cake and a glassful of a totally tropical pineapple shake inside this sun-room.

And when I stared at the luscious cake, then at the paper umbrella leaning on the mouth of the glass, and then finally at her with a what-the-hell's-going-on-here look, she suddenly kind of broke down and hurriedly blurted out that she can't produce a few dollars at the moment, since she has been grounded for ditching five of her bodyguards on a `romantic' date…

…and that I'm worth fifty million yen or in other words, five hundred thousand dollars now.

Okaay. And I thought I'm supposed to be the poor one here.

"Please? I really need your help!"

"I said no, Tomoyo!" I reiterated gruffly, my hands now on my hips, without being conscious of it. "Why am I the unluckiest of all humankind, for heaven's sakes? There's Naoko, the perfect friend; Chiharu, the perfect girlfriend; and Rika, the perfect wife!"

"Why, you're the most perfect girl of the gang!"

Don't be such a huge nincompoop, Tomoyo.

Perfect? Yeah, right. You call me perfect when no one really knows everything about a total nobody named Kinomoto Sakura?

OK, Tomoyo knows me inside and out. But no one is perfect; didn't she know that, or what? For example, just to point out this teensy weensy probably unimportant bit of fact about me:

I'm homeless.

She knows it, but, apparently, she pretends she doesn't.

Well, Dad's abroad, with his archeological work, as usual. He's been terribly busy for a while now, and I do well understand that. What if the… erm… the remains of Tutankhamen's cousin's son is suddenly discovered out of the blue and he's not there to help examine it? (Did King Tutankhamen even have a cousin? Oh, whatever.) I just know I don't want to be the cause of some mayhem, and I don't have any right to hold him back from his job, right?

But Touya's with his beloved wife (he had just married a year ago), touring the world and maybe having honeymoons in every single country they could land their feet on. Ugh. That I can't understand. Yeah, yeah, they're `terribly in love', and it's totally romantic to be in Paris and see the Eiffel Tower together—but it's ridiculously insane, if you'd ask me.

Insane! They didn't even leave me something to live on! We originally live in Tomoeda. And geographically speaking, it's too far from here in Tokyo, where I work part-time. So, no matter how I don't really love Tokyo that much, I have to sacrifice and find my own house… or a reasonably-priced apartment, at least. But where in crowded, filthy, and soulless Tokyo would you ever find a NICE apartment—without a 30,000 yen monthly bill and the grouchy landladies?

If only Dad or Touya had been very kind enough to leave some money so I could buy myself my own flat. But they didn't. So I have to live with Tomoyo's fridge for the time being. That means, while everyone is having a set of expensive sushi or healthy servings of sashimi with a bowlful of rice, I'm having the most delicious granola bars at Tomoyo's.

Just see. I'll afford a nice flat of my own someday. A flat that's just the most adorable thing, preferably with a bay or lake view… with all my books, my own laptop, and some cute pets surrounding me… a nice kitchen… Ahh… Someday…

So. With all that, do you still think that's the perfect, worry-free life of someone “perfect”?

I tell you, it's not. And I'm getting really tired of all this.

I mean, snap back to your senses, Tomoyo. You've even seen me with snot running down my nose back in Elementary. You've seen me totally humiliated in Junior High when I tried to play soccer and ended up broken-nosed because I idiotically tried to block the ball with my face. You've seen me give that salty homemade chocolate cake to the soccer team captain whom I really, really liked in High School and just ended up, like always, being shown what the difference of salt from sugar is and being humiliated because of my lethal cooking skills. Everything I cook KILLS.

And one ultimatum: I'm twenty, my teenage years have passed, and I still do not have a boyfriend.

Argument closed.

"Sakura, I'll do everything!" Tomoyo pleaded for probably the thousandth time, sounding like real frantic and desperate—which is really unusual for her, all along with all her whining, begging, blah, blah, et cetera, et cetera. Go picture that awful scene yourself.

So… if that means she's not lying, then that means I'm so going to kill her.

And wait, who in this whole wide world would even want to be a `slave' of some stranger for one whole week! A slave. Highlight the word slave, please.

Slave, I mean literal slave—and that's going to be for a week! And what in the world should I be doing? Let me ask you this: how many slaves have you been encountering on the twenty-first century, huh? Or should I remind you your History class and make you realize that serfs—noun, laborer not allowed to leave the land on which he worked; oppressed person; drudge; slave—only existed within the Medieval Period?

Jeez. I am so going to make Tomoyo browse through her History class notes again and realize that we are now living on a liberal—and totally industrialized—country.

Oh, and speaking of serfdom and slavery and oppression, who would be my master? The one I shall serve and is authorized to give me the (pathetic) orders, whether I like it or not? The one I should be kicking in the ass but I totally couldn't?

As if Tomoyo suddenly acquired great ESP and used some kind of mental telepathy to read my thoughts, which are supposed to be just mine and mine alone, she quickly jumped up and hastily got a magazine up from the top of her shiny black grand piano, enthusiastically opening it on the centerfold and flashing it in front of my eyes.

I gasped.

A guy, probably a bit older than me, with unruly chestnut-colored hair that's being messed around more by the breeze and awfully gorgeous amber eyes, stared back at me. Those eyes were mesmeric, and for some reason, they seemed to be holding my gaze and not letting go. He's posing with a golf club in his hands, and he just looks like some kind of prince who came out of a fairytale book.

“I think you might want to agree with this now,” Tomoyo said with a proud grin. “Just take a good look on that very handsome face of your soon-to-be master.”

“And who… the hell… is that,” I tried to say, though I bet it wasn't even sensible to ask.

My eyes roamed over the highly-emphasized words above this two-page picture, comprehending each word one by one:

`Striking young Chinese entrepreneur emerges from behind the business world to face a million fans kneeling before him, Asia's most wanted bachelor of his generation.'

I know this guy. I saw him on TV just last Saturday. And that was no ordinary TV appearance. He was on a talk show aired on national TV. And that was no ordinary talk show either; it's Guys Live, by far the most popular Japanese talk show discussing the hottest guys in all of Asia…. I know him. I know him. I know him!

"Sakura, you are totally kidding, right? Don't tell me you don't know who he is…." Tomoyo eyed me with an odd look, and even if it was perfectly unnecessary now, she pointed to two more words hovering below the page, beside the golf ball the guy was about to hit:

My heart sank. Surges of adrenalin quickly ran through my veins, pumping me to full energy with only one objective: to strangle Daidouji Tomoyo.

Because it perfectly read, as I totally expected, Li Syaoran.

-- Syaoran's POV --

8:35 AM

"Master Li, I would just like to remind you, just in case you forgot, about the meeting with the Tang Corporation's president at two sharp, and a conference about the fused business management with the Qing Oil Company's head manager at—”

I furiously shook my head. "No, Wei. Tell all of those presidents and officers and whoever they are that I won't be coming—pronto!"

"But Sir—”

"Don't waste your time on reminding and lecturing everything to me. I'm not in the mood to go, and that's it."

Me? Go to one of those boring meetings? Try to make me, and you won't know which hospital you'd end up being sent to later. And I didn't even want to be this Li Corporation's president at the first place! Don't I even have a choice to stay as ordinary as I can?

I'm 24, and believe it, I'm working full time—even on SUNDAYS! And it's not just any ordinary work either: it's called “torture”.

"Yes, I understand, Sir," Wei nodded and went out within a second, leaving my new girl, Rei, and me alone inside my office. Oh, that nothing, it turns out that she isn't someone deserving to be liked… or loved, if that's what you call `the attraction'. Neither are all the other Japanese women I've dated. They're all… frustrating. I bet all they want from me are the money and the diamond ring on their finger, which is exactly the thing I still can't imagine myself giving to somebody.

I shuffled some thick white papers in my hand that I need to submit to Mother by exactly three this afternoon. Kidding aside, in front of me was a big pile of troublesome business papers containing troublesome business matters that trouble me. Being a corporation's president is huge trouble, to summarize everything.

If sitting all day inside the confinement of plain light blue-painted walls, being surrounded by piles of papers, and staring off to space because of boredom isn't enough trouble for you, then I freaking don't know what's going on inside your damned brain.

"Syaoran…." Rei whispered, suddenly moving closer. I didn't try to at least hide a grimace. Is this what you call `finesse'? Sitting on top of my table, pushing away those important documents I was holding, leaning to me while untying my necktie? Oh, I forgot. Rare are those women who have finesse and elegancy at these times.

Damn, I can smell that obnoxious scent of her perfume. Not my type, so strong and irritating to the nose. You know, those substandard perfumes that can choke and kill you instantly the moment you inhale even a little huff of it. Remind me to put to stop the company that sold that horrible thing to her.

And I can even clearly see the thick powder smeared all over her face. For all I know, it's just to hide all of her terrible zits. It's just so horrible. Not a bit natural. Even the dark red lipstick she's wearing. She looks so much like a—what's that called again?—a courtesan. Yeah. Or in simple words, a prostitute. And she's supposed to be the only daughter of Japanese VIP Murasaki.

"Don't disturb me," I spat coldly, getting back the papers, arranging them again. Women… they're all the same thing. Irksome, what they want, they get, and they're just so annoying—all of them. I can't even remember the names of my girlfriends now. Though at first I thought they're pretty much okay, considering our first meetings, it turns out later that they're not.

Oh, it seems like I would be single forever with my picky trait, right? Who cares? A perfect woman is nonexistent in this world anyways.

"Syaoran, what's wrong…?"

"Can you stop that?" I pushed away those rough hands that fondled with my hair. That girl's lucky I don't really hurt women—physically—or I would've killed her by now. I hate those girls who always come up with something just to get what they want.

Rei angrily stood up and flashed me a sullen look before leaving my office without a single word. I smirked back a triumphant grin. Goodbye, idiotic idiot.

Pacifying my messed-up hair and fixing to place my tie, I casually stood up my chair and followed her to the door, slamming it shut behind her.

So that's supposed to be the end of us, huh? Oh, no, it's not that devastating; in fact, it's a perfect reason to treat everyone in the office to a big party and celebrate till dawn. Actually, I just met her yesterday at her dad's office. Then in one second she'll hang around, as if she'd be my wife sooner or later.

Hah. Big dumb idiot challenging the Li Syaoran. And she thought she could win? Nuh-uh. For her information, it takes a lot to win against someone like Li Syaoran.

Rrrrrriiiiiiiiiinnnnnnng!

Now who the hell is this? Some president or manager of some company again, trying to make me attend some more stupid SUNDAY MEETINGS?

I pushed the `answer' button without even looking at the screen. "Hey, whoever you are, I'm busy. So if you've got nothing important to say, shut the hell up and never call me again."

I was too excited to push that `end call' button when a shrill, deafening voice overpowered Beethoven, whose 5th Symphony I was playing in the CD player.

Really. Even if I played rock, I bet that kind of voice could still overwhelm it.

"Hey Li!"

“What the fuck—Daidouji!” I covered my ears. I meant my other ear. And I thought my eardrums would really break with that tremor-causing scream. Hey, I have two ears, but I can't use them without two uninjured eardrums. "WHAT DO YOU WANT!"

"Oops, sorry. Heh-heh… I mean, I want to say sorry because I can't pay the $500,000 bet…."

Aha. I grinned to myself, feeling evil at the same time. "So I get to tell Eriol?"

Aww, who cares? The truth is, bet or no bet, Eriol actually likes Daidouji too, so what's the point of keeping this unquestionable fact of her liking him and him liking her secret between them? If only the two know all about this, then some 500 grand would be spared.

"No, noo, nooo! Li, I have another solution to this. Listen—oh my God! Sakura! Stop it!”

The call was cut off.

Now what the hell was that!? She lost the bet, cannot pay simple five hundred thousand dollars, and now a solution? What kind of woman is that? She's lucky she's Eriol's friend or else I might've lost my temper. Again. I'm never good in the patience department, that's for sure.

Don't ask. I also don't exactly like women like her—those ones only caring about their face and body all the time that they won't care about anything else except their appearance.

My cell phone rang again, and sighing, I pressed the `answer' button again with my thumb, hoping another scream would never be so high-pitched so it would save me a few dollars on buying one of those hearing aids.

"Syaoran, sorry! Sakura tangled my gorgeous hair! Jeez! I spent a lot of time just to style this for a date this lunch, not to mention a lot of money that I should have just spent on spa or shopping or even a vacation! Now some strands fell down and it's ruined!"

Calling me `Syaoran' and changing the topic, huh? I sighed again, uninterested. Who would be fascinated and completely concerned to hear about someone tangling your `gorgeous' hair? I wouldn't even care if she got it styled at the most expensive beauty salon, or got it cut in the U.S., or the money used was supposed to be used for a vacation in Hawaii. Who would care about some `hair'?

"Anyway, the solution, I thought that you might need a personal slave."

What was that?

"What—exactly—do you mean?" I tried to hide my overenthusiastic tone, paying full attention to her now.

“I just thought you might need an assistant. Or something like… a secretary maybe. Oh, whatever. You know what a slave means.”

I didn't need an assistant or a secretary. But I do know what a slave means. "And who's going to be that `slave' you're talking about?" I just have to ask.

Daidouji paused at the other line. It was a long pause that for a minute I thought she's going to pull the idea back and just surrender. Now that she had finally gotten my attention. "So?" I asked again.

"Kinomoto Sakura," she excitedly replied after a few angry mumbles from another girl from their side of the line. Ah, so the Sakura strangling her, tangling her `gorgeous' hair and the one screaming and having a silly bit of tantrum over there?

Kinomoto Sakura.

Nice name.

Makes me want to speed up time so it's spring again and the Cherry Blossoms would be in full bloom.

But if she doesn't want it, why push herself? Who knows, she might be just another woman who insists on challenging me.

"I don't want her if she doesn't want to anyway. Now if you've got nothing else to suggest, then I think I should just tell Eriol about you liking him. That would not hurt your pocket, considering that you, apparently, are grounded, on account to the bodyguard mess with your date with that ugly—what do you call him again?—`liberated punk'? So I think that's going to be OK. A basketball game lost, your secret lost."

Silence.

"Hey, Daidouji—”

"You jerk!” Another scream, though not as high pitched, suddenly cut my voice off. I almost stared at the screen, in case I'm talking to someone who got a wrong number—although that's too absurd now, as I heard her add, “Tomoyo didn't do anything wrong! Now get me in as your slave and leave her alone!"

Whoa. That's… uh… smart, considering her great speech and her intelligently-chosen words, which actually rhymed. But no matter how I didn't like this, I found myself suddenly silent. When I found my voice, all I could fire back was a mere, “What was that?” and I found my usually vast vocabulary shrinking to three words with the sound of her flaming voice.

“Didn't you hear me? You're a stupid asshole. You're such a stupid, arrogant asshole. You are a fucking stupid arrogant asshole!”

“Gee, thanks!” I found myself now laughing sarcastically, the other side of the line suddenly filled with shushes and incomprehensible girl language. Now that's two words added to my too-big vocabulary, with an added sarcastic laugh.

Hey, she has a whole lot bigger vocabulary than I do! Imagine the words stupid, arrogant, fucking, and asshole said that much properly and so intelligently, thrice. Did she ever know that her arrangement of words sounds kinda out-of-order?

“Stop joking around, jerk!”

“Okay, okay!”

“One okay is enough!”

“Okay!”

Hey. Stop right there. What the hell am I doing following my supposed-to-be slave's orders? And I thought I'm the master here! Just so great and incredibly… juicy for the first small talk, huh?

That girl's tough. Or is it just the sound of her voice? Let's just see if she's really like that.

“So, anyhow, as you said, I'd stop joking around. Now for serious business, you could start tomorrow… babe," I almost murmured the last set of words, using my most seductive voice, carefully not letting her hear the excitement that I was having a lot of trouble hiding.

-- Sakura's POV --

"DON'T EVER CALL ME `BABE'!" I shrieked and intentionally ended the call without him even having the one chance to say the totally saccharine `Bye bye, babe, take care!' all over again.

I can't take it. I'm going to work for Li Syaoran. I am so going to be dead. Sooner or later, I'm so going to be assassinated by a million girls all around the world. They're going to chase me to the farthest of hell because of me having to be his slave for this whole week.

Not to mention Li Syaoran actually calling me `babe'.

I REALLY am SO dead.

And to add to that, I just called their dream bachelor, my “master”, a “fucking stupid arrogant asshole”. Nice one, Sakura. Incredibly great choice of words. Where did you ever get that part of your vocabulary?

And yeah, you've just made yourself the antagonist now, also part-time brave heroine who sacrificed her ever-precious life and time to her best friend, just because best friend needed her and is being picked on by Li Syaoran.

It's just so great.

I just wish I had actually fainted, brought to the emergency room, and confined in the ICU, so maybe Tomoyo could've forgotten all about this mess. Oh, but with just fainting, I think that would be insane, though.

So now, Kinomoto Sakura would be known forever, as once been a slave. Of Li Syaoran. Should I thank Daidouji Tomoyo and tell her how exceedingly happy I am to live my life as hell? I just hope she'd hear every bit of sarcasm in my voice.

"Thanks, Sakura…!" Tomoyo chirped nonchalantly, and to my annoyance, again paying full attention to arranging her `oh so gorgeous' hair. "I didn't know you care about me that much!"

"Thanks to you, too, Tomoyo, you made my life so miserable," I said, smiling cheerfully at her, hiding a sullen glare to myself. "Thank you so much."

And please, hear EVERY bit of sarcasm in my voice.

Monday, 8:00 AM

Holy crap.

Why should time pass so quickly! I'm here, twenty four hours after the historical telephone conversation with the `striking young Chinese entrepreneur', sitting on my electrocution chair for half an hour now, waiting for more time to pass and for my master to arrive at my door.

And yeah, did I forget to tell you I can't move? Tomoyo's… OUCH! …placing that damnable eyeliner on my delicate eyes! And the evil tweezers are also present in my execution ritual! Talk about deadly obsession!

Tomoyo sighed, dropping her hand on my bed, which was full of her stuff. Oh, I mean, my whole apartment room was filled with her stuff. "I told you don't make a single movement or else I'll either poke your eye or make a mistake. Now look at what you've done!" She tore off some tissue from its pink box and ruthlessly fixed the thick black line under my eyes.

"I don't want to use any makeup!" I cried loud as she reapplied another fresh line of eyeliner under my eye.

"Don't you want to look beautiful for your first day as Li Syaoran's slave?" Tomoyo sweetly asked. I noticed her long eyelashes go up and down along with her `beautiful eyes and sugary voice' Oscar's award-winning act. And come to think of it, she's so going to make my eyelashes perfectly just like hers.

"No!" I vigorously shook my head.

Look beautiful? For Li Syaoran? For goodness's sake, what if he does something to me?! The playboy? The bachelor? The rich businessman? I don't care what I would look like in front of him! Anything's good, except those that might, you know, `heighten up his senses'. Ugh.

"Okay. Now stay nice and cool. Final touch." Tomoyo placed her hand inside her little purple purse, as if looking for something. I gasped as she pulled out a small tube of glossy pink lipstick.

Uh-oh.

And here comes the lethal injection. I stood up and backed away from her. "Oh no, you're not going to betray me and offer my life to evil Ms. Lipstick and her wrath, right?"

"Hmm? The perfect girl running away from a small tube of lipstick?" Tomoyo stood up and followed me out my room. "For me, look good please!"

What the hell!? Don't I still look like a huge flirt here?

Imagine wearing a light blue three-fourths blouse with three buttons unbuttoned at the top, which, annoyingly, is showing more cleavage than it's supposed to (I do even wear halter tops and sleeveless shirts, but I don't exactly wear plunging necklines!), a white mini-skirt approximately three inches above the knee (I also do wear miniskirts, but not three inches above the knee miniskirts, for goodness's sake), and strappy high-heeled sandals (which is okay, because luckily, Tomoyo forgot to bring her stilettos with her). Oh, plus makeup!

What will Li Syaoran say now!? That this Kinomoto Sakura looks exactly like…

Pick one: Daidouji Tomoyo or a huge flirt.

You perfectly know the answer.

Both.

"No, I don't want to look good!"

"No, you should look good! Don't you know that Li Syaoran had many girlfriends before but never took the relationship seriously with even just one if them? Oh, Sakura. Don't you realize that he's totally interested in you? You might hook up with the man of your dreams!"

Oh, God. Hook up with him? FYI, I'm NOT going to end up in his `list of girls to flirt with and dump after three days', NEVER! And he's not even the man of my dreams!

Please… somebody help me! I prefer doing all slavework and shedding all those sweat than being a huge, annoying, reputation-destroying, cleavage-displaying FLIRT!

"Hello?" Tomoyo answered her cell phone that I didn't notice ringing at all. "Oh, Li! Wait a sec, she's here." She handed me the phone and winked at me with an eye. "It's Li. Apparently, he can't wait another thirty minutes to talk to you."

Oh no… my chest's going to burst from this fast heartbeat! What the heck does he want from me now? I placed the phone over my ear, not saying a word. Pure, blessed silence. "What?" I irritatingly muttered after I thought this wouldn't be finished soon until I end it sooner.

"Hey," came the familiar low voice. It was just a mere `hey', but it unmistakably sent the annoying shivers down my spine. His voice felt cool, at the same time very mysterious.

“What?” I repeated.

“You're not going to be late for your first day, right, babe?”

It's still five past eight and he calls this late for my 8:30 schedule with him? Hah, but now here's a new motto I think I will definitely like better than the famous one: `Better never than late'.

“And who are you to call me `babe'?"

He snickered. “The fucking asshole?”

I almost hurled the cell phone to the floor.

"Wrong answer? Then how about… your master?"

I gritted my teeth furiously. This irritating sarcasm is NOT going to get to me, just keep the defenses up, Sakura! That Li Syaoran's clearly good at this. He's going to make me suspect that he graduated with a PhD Sarcasm degree, if only there could be one.

And would I lose?

"And if I don't want to go?”

There was a short pause. "If you don't want to, then I'll personally go inside your room now and pull you from here out to my house if I should have to."

"Go ahead and try if you can."

“You're challenging me?”

“And you're a coward loser?”

“You think there's anything I want that I couldn't get?”

I blinked, looking at my apartment door nervously. So is it suppose to open and reveal that Li Syaoran standing there, holding the cell phone while striding over to me and harshly enjoying his authority and pulling me out of my own apartment?

The knob suddenly turned and, lo and behold, he came in. Great. He's holding his million-dollar cell phone, walking towards me—everything as I had predicted! Really great. Now I'm so sure I'm going to apply later as a fortuneteller or a psychic and earn millions and become richer than he is.

Oh, but honestly, he looks kind of cute with that loose dark green shirt. And loose navy-blue jeans. And simple rubber shoes. And a white Nike cap. Not any form of a rich businessman… corporation president, to be exact. Instead, he looks totally like the guy in the magazine centerfold, only looking more casual and… and…

Oh my God.

Great, I fell for his looks.

I'm very much and thoroughly enjoying this very beautiful and ultimately peaceful Monday morning as I thought I would…

NOT!

"Now who's a coward loser again?”

I moved back. I noticed his eyes examining every detail of me from toe to head. I moved back further and glared at him. The corners of his lips seemed like twitching; like he was trying not to smile, but he couldn't help it.

Probably he's done comprehending about my attire for the day. Just realizing this made my cheeks start heating up fast.

Behind me, I heard Tomoyo heave this satisfied sigh. I think that's because she was relieved that she had at least finished majority of her beauty makeover on time. But I did win the lipstick match, so that's still okay. Barely.

Wait.

Oh, no.

OH MY GOD.

I didn't realize. Now I know why he's smiling like that.

I look like one of those mall mannequins covered with all of Daidouji Tomoyo's fashion tastes.

Or I look exactly like Tomoyo herself.

God, I want my favorite jeans back.

"How long have you been there?" I idiotically stammered, feigning full confidence. I can feel his eyes burn straight on mine, and that didn't help a bit. "Didn't your mother teach you that eavesdropping is quite bad?"

"I was here since I called Daidouji. And in that particular case, it can't be considered eavesdropping. I didn't come to hear about beauty products or makeup talks. And come to think of it, I haven't heard anything, right, dear Sakura?"

I thought I could almost punch him with this sudden unleashed anger. "Who in the world authorized you to call me Sakura! I don't remember letting you do so!"

"I'm your master for this whole week,” he flashed his silly, million-dollar grin. “It's my decision on what to call you. Now can we go and discuss your application as my personal slave?"

Still not ready to lose this fight yet, I arched an eyebrow and flashed him my professionally-practiced surly look. "Excuse me! I didn't apply as your slave, Mr. Li!"

I suddenly felt two hands pushing my back. "Sakura, you go now with your "master”, okay? I need to go and prepare for my date later! You two enjoy yourselves, OK?” She excitedly went out, stroking her `gorgeous' hair.

I very much get the hidden message. "You look so cute together, and I think I should move out of the way, so go ahead and do whatever you want!” is the exact translation of that.

So much for the best friend treatment.

And anyway, who would care about some `hair'?

"Now it's just the two of us.” He inched forward towards me, and I fell back to the wall. “You'd go with me or I'll kiss you right here," my all-so-powerful master threatened.

I can feel the heat creeping to my cheeks as he placed both of his hands on either side of my head, locking me between him and the wall. Now I really think he's enjoying the height difference. I'm five-foot-seven, and he's so much taller than I am. I tried to sink lower, but he just bent his head down so we're both in eye level.

“Now, what do you choose?” he whispered hoarsely. I could really feel his weight further pushing me towards the wall, and the raspy breathing clearly felt on my jaw is really freaking me out.

“N-neither.”

“That's not in your options….” His lips are slowly closing in, and this time, I was just about to burst and hyperventilate. I felt the sudden surge of adrenalin through my veins, and quickly found my arms suddenly on his chest, pushing him away with a small shriek.

There was still this distinct blush, and my voice was shaking. “I'd go with you now. But don't you dare forget this: don't you ever do that to me again, understand?”

He smiled, straightening up. “I would have to think about that.”

“I know you're my master, but I think that's invasion of privacy, Mr. Li.”

"No Mr. Li names here. You're my slave, and I'm your master, so… got any other term?” he said, intentionally ignoring the main idea of my intelligent statement. Damn him. “How about `my lord'?"

I flinched. Should I remind this apparently perfectly smart man his History notes and that the term `my lord' so totally belongs to the Medieval Era, too? Now slavery perfectly matched `my lord'-and I don't even have a choice about it!

Oh, great.

Finally sighing, I flashed him my usual `you're going to pay for this' look. "Yes, my lord."

Li Syaoran is totally going to be dead.

-- Syaoran's POV --

8:20 AM

She's mine.

That came into mind when Sakura silently followed me to my car outside her apartment building. I can explain why she's acting that hesitant, but why so shy, not like how incredibly feisty she acted yesterday?

I almost considered asking her, Hey, what happened to the `stupid arrogant fucking asshole'?

What in the world is so wrong with that miniskirt she's wearing, huh? It really suits her, if you'd ask me. And ditto with that blouse, which she keeps on pulling up almost to her neck. And what's wrong with that high heels and makeup?

I bet she thinks she doesn't look nice. Or maybe she thinks she looks too different. To the contrary, I think she looks so beautiful.

No, she looks like a princess. Better of, she looks like an angel, with those precious, invisible golden wings. She's simple but purely elegant, just as I like it.

As we men always say, `Less is more', and with her case, she's a perfect example.

"Drive me to my house, slave," I tried to fake a stern voice, turning to her. Although I know I didn't fully manage what we consider a `stern voice', she just silently flashed those fierce emerald eyes to me again—those beautiful, innocent emerald eyes that can never fail to charm any guy.

"I don't know where it is, my lord," came the answer in a low voice, the `my lord' part being emphasized with a very sarcastic tone, just as I thought she would.

I laughed, breaking the dull silence around us. "Of course you don't. Now hop in the front seat."

She was diffident. Kind of hesitant. How rare of a girl. My common observation (a hundred percent correct and is based on experience) is that every girl doesn't even think twice and hops inside my car, thinking it was already hers, and makes herself at home—and I have not even asked her yet to go and come inside.

But not this girl.

"The front seat or a kiss?"

"Front seat." Pretty effective blackmail, as everyone would say. Sakura slowly got in within a split second and sat down without any other single sound made.

"Good." To the contrary, that's pretty disappointing. I couldn't explain well, but I hated that she avoided me like I have leprosy or something. And I was just aching for a kiss. What's wrong with that?

I do believe I'm not a bad kisser, if that's what she's worrying about.

I went in the driver's seat and started the engine. "Now let me ask you some questions," I began, as we moved along the busy Tokyo street. She remained so still like a fragile Japanese doll, staring ahead without any emotions. She still didn't look at me when I asked, "How old are you?"

I thought she'd say, “Mind your own business” or “I'm not going to answer some silly, unimportant question asked by an arrogant fucker” or something, but instead, her lips barely moved with a soft, "20."

Finally she said a word. Keep on going, Xiaolang! Though I bet she only answered because she got tired that I might threaten another kiss, I smiled and stole a short look at her. She was still staring right ahead. "Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked, turning to right into a sharp curve.

As I expected, she seemed taken aback, to the point that one of her eyebrows shot way up. Yes, of course, she has the right to be confused. But I'm her master, and she has to answer me. I was just asking if she'd had any relationship with some other `liberated punks', just like her best friend. I repeated, "Do you have one?"

"No."

She was doing this I-will-only-play-a-one-word-game-with-you-so-back-off act, but yeah, nevertheless, she's so perfect. I slowly leaned to her while waiting for the green light.

Touching her soft lips, I smiled contentedly. Nothing smudged off. No lipstick, but just the natural pink color of her lips. She doesn't even need to wear any lipstick.

"W-what are you doing!" Sakura growled and tried to move away, blushing stunning pink.

I chuckled and ran my knuckles on her cheeks. No thick makeup, unlike those heavily-powdered other women. She's just so simple and perfect, unlike some others who tend to think that they are, even if they really aren't.

Sakura should perfectly know that she's got everything a girl would want to die for, and yet, emphasizing those facts seem to be not her type of thing to do.

I noticed just how she instinctively pulls her white miniskirt down to her knees and the blouse up to her neck every five seconds. Pretty conservative of her, but I guess it's not too much, as she still has some kind of `attractive force' I can't help sensing. For five minutes of first meeting, she just passed my initial test like no other.

"For one whole week, you would stay at my place. I'm going to ask someone to get your things so you can already stay tonight."

She fixed a fuming glare at me, and I guess I couldn't hide a grin when she almost yelled, "Hey, wait! I hadn't agreed to something like that! Why the hell do I have to!"

The green light flashed and every car in the avenue roared to life again. I smiled to myself, focusing straight. Wonderful. The Kinomoto Sakura I heard yesterday came back.

"Because you're mine," I declared to her. I shut up quickly, as soon as I heard myself unconsciously blurting those three words out. If I could be more absentminded than I am, I would cut my tongue off.

"Who said so!" She raged with fury. "I am not, Li!"

I picked up with the conversation. "It's me who said so. Ne parlez pas…” I lowered down my voice, “…princesse."

And she understood me. She did stop talking. I smiled at her as we arrived at my house. She was obviously entranced; her lips were curved into the shape of a silent O. Even her eyes were glued to the fancy wrought iron gate being opened by four of our guards.

But maybe she didn't understand what I said after all. There weren't any violent reactions with the “princesse”, although that is pretty understandable, I must say.

Maybe I should speak a little more French with her.

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you…" I smiled again, holding her gaze. "…You have to stay at my room.”