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[Patreon Exclusive] Yae Miko Waiter Boy FTM TF
🕑 Added 2025-04-12 03:36:43 +0000 UTCMiko learns firsthand what it means to be humble.
Patreon exclusive post that contains 12 images and story.
Yae Miko from Genshin Impact
The air in the Yae Publishing House office was thick with the scent of paper and a palpable tension that only Souta seemed to be acutely aware of. He stared at the document on his desk, the words blurring before his eyes. Another rejection. Not from the readers, not yet, but from the silent judge within himself, amplified by the ever-present spectre of Lady Guuji’s opinion.
He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. It wasn’t just the fear of professional failure, though that loomed large. It was Lady Guuji herself. Her critiques, while laced with her characteristic playful sarcasm, stung nonetheless. “Darling,” she’d purred last time, her violet eyes sparkling with amusement, “are you sure you’re not confusing ‘plot’ with ‘a series of mildly related events’?” He could still feel his cheeks burn at the memory.
If his next submission didn’t fare better, he knew his position at the Publishing House would become precarious, a mere thread hanging over the abyss of unemployment. He confided this fear to his Uncle Yakuro, who had coincidentally stopped by the office. Uncle Yakuro, a man whose cheerfulness seemed perpetually set at maximum, chuckled and patted Souta’s shoulder with a force that nearly sent him stumbling. “Don’t let your tail droop, Souta! A little setback is just a prelude to a grand leap forward!”
Souta sighed, unconvinced. “It’s not just a ‘setback,’ Uncle. Lady Guuji thinks my writing is… lacking. And if she’s not impressed…” His voice trailed off as the unspoken threat hung heavy in the air.
Uncle Yakuro stroked his chin thoughtfully, his bright eyes twinkling with an idea. “Hmm. Maybe Lady Guuji needs a… different perspective. Tell you what, why don’t you invite her to Komorebi Kitchen? We can have a relaxed chat about your work. Good food, good company… it might soften her… critical spirit.”
Souta’s eyebrows shot up. “Invite Lady Guuji to your restaurant? Uncle, are you sure that’s wise? She’s… well, she’s Lady Guuji! And… I don’t know if that’s the right setting to discuss… this.” He envisioned Miko’s elegant figure in his uncle’s cozy, slightly chaotic restaurant and winced.
Uncle Yakuro waved away his concerns with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Nonsense! A change of scenery is good for everyone. Besides,” he added with a wink, “my cooking is known to be… persuasive.” Despite his reservations, a tiny spark of hope flickered within Souta. Perhaps Uncle Yakuro was right—a different environment, a more informal setting… could it really help? He reluctantly nodded. “Alright, Uncle. If you think so…”
The air in Komorebi Kitchen crackled with a different kind of tension, a nervous anticipation that tightened Souta’s chest. He’d arrived early, fussing with the placement of napkins and the angle of the menu on the small table Uncle Yakuro had reserved. At his uncle’s insistence, he had even selected a special sake—something Uncle Yakuro called “Foxfire’s Kiss,” supposedly a local delicacy.
He peeked out the window every few moments, his anxiety growing with each passing minute. What if Lady Guuji refused? What if she came, and it was even worse than he imagined? What if—
The bell above the entrance jingled, and Souta’s heart leaped into his throat. Standing in the doorway, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun filtering through the paper screens, was Lady Guuji. She looked as effortlessly elegant as ever, her long pink hair swaying slightly as she scanned the room, her violet eyes sharp and observant.
He rushed forward, bowing deeply. “Lady Guuji! Thank you so much for coming.”
Miko offered a delicate smile, her gaze flickering around the small restaurant. “Souta. ‘Komorebi Kitchen,’ is it? A quaint establishment. Your uncle’s, I presume?”
“Yes, Lady Guuji. Please, come in and take a seat.” He led her to the reserved table.
Uncle Yakuro, ever the cheerful host, bustled over, wiping his hands on his apron. “Lady Guuji! A tremendous honor to have you in my humble restaurant. I’m Souta’s uncle, Yakuro. Please, make yourselves comfortable.” He bowed with a flourish. Miko inclined her head gracefully. “Pleasure to meet you as well. Souta mentioned you had… suggestions regarding his current manuscript.”
“Indeed!” Uncle Yakuro beamed as he pulled out a chair for her with exaggerated courtesy. “But first, please, allow me to offer you some refreshments. We have a rather special sake tonight, or perhaps you’d prefer something else?”
“The sake sounds… intriguing,” Miko said, settling into her chair with smooth grace.“Foxfire’s Kiss,you called it?”
“The very one! A local brew, with a… certain kick,” Uncle Yakuro chuckled, heading towards the counter to fetch the sake.
The initial pleasantries dissolved some of Souta’s tension. As the food began to arrive—delicate tempura, savory grilled fish, and fragrant rice—a semblance of normalcy settled over the table. Uncle Yakuro, with his easygoing charm, kept the conversation light, sharing anecdotes about the restaurant and local gossip, expertly drawing Miko into amiable exchanges.
Then, as the first dishes were cleared, Miko turned her attention to Souta, her violet eyes sharpening with that familiar glint. “Now, Souta, about your… latest creation. You wished to discuss it further?”
Souta swallowed, his earlier anxiety returning tenfold. “Yes, Lady Guuji. I… I was hoping to get some more specific feedback. I understand your initial critique, but I’m struggling to see how to… improve it.”
Miko leaned back slightly, a small, almost predatory smile playing on her lips. “Improvement is a rather… optimistic term, darling. Let’s be frank. The protagonist is flatter than day-old mochi. The plot meanders like a lost Tanuki in Chinju Forest. And the dialogue… oh, the dialogue! It’s as if you believe your characters communicate exclusively in clichés.”
Souta felt himself sinking into his chair, his earlier flicker of hope extinguished. Each sarcastic barb landed with painful accuracy; he could feel his face flushing and his throat tightening. He was about to stammer out a defense when Uncle Yakuro suddenly interjected, his cheerful demeanor hardening with an unexpected edge.
“Now, now, Lady Guuji,” Uncle Yakuro said in a surprisingly firm tone, “perhaps your criticisms are a tad… unnecessary. Souta here has poured his heart into this work. Constructive feedback is one thing, but aiming for the jugular seems a bit… excessive, don’t you think?”
Souta’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. Uncle Yakuro was challenging Lady Guuji! A cold dread washed over him—surely, this was disastrous.
Miko’s smile vanished, her violet eyes narrowing dangerously. “Excuse me? Are you suggesting my assessment is unwarranted?” Her voice, though still smooth, now carried a distinctly sharp edge. Uncle Yakuro remained unfazed. “I’m suggesting, Lady Guuji,” he said, his voice still cheerful but now laced with an undercurrent Souta had never heard before, “that perhaps you are speaking from a position of… privilege. You, Lady Guuji, are rarely on the receiving end of criticism. You are always the one… dispensing it. Perhaps you lack a certain… empathy for those who struggle, for those who are… oppressed by the weight of expectation.”
Miko’s expression hardened. She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. A strange look of unease flickered across her face, quickly masked by a renewed surge of anger. “Oppressed? Expectation?” she repeated in a tight voice. “With all due respect, you are being absurd. I am simply offering my professional opinion on writing.”
“Professional opinion, indeed,” Uncle Yakuro chuckled, his tone taking on a slightly unsettling quality. “Perhaps, Lady Guuji, you need a dose of… humility. A reminder of what it’s like to be on the other side of the counter, so to speak. Tell you what,” his smile widened with a predatory edge, “why don’t you try serving some food to our other patrons? A little… hands-on experience might broaden your perspective.”
Miko stared at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “Serve food? Are you serious? I am the Guuji of Grand Narukami Shrine! I own the Yae Publishing House! The idea is utterly preposterous!”
Yet, despite her vehement protest, a strange flicker of uncertainty crossed her eyes. She couldn’t dismiss the absurd suggestion outright. A subtle shift in the air—a strange undercurrent—seemed to hold her back.
Uncle Yakuro seized the moment with a low laugh rumbling in his chest. “Preposterous? Surely, Lady Guuji, the revered Guuji of Narukami Shrine isn’t afraid of a little… honest work? Or are you suggesting that even you are incapable of such a simple task?” He leaned forward, his eyes glittering with amusement as if daring her to refuse.
Yae’s lips thinned and her violet eyes blazed with barely suppressed fury. Though the man before her was utterly insufferable, a strange compulsion—a feeling she couldn’t quite place—held her back from outright refusal. With a strained laugh that betrayed no amusement, she said, “Very well. Sit back and watch.”
She stood abruptly, a storm of emotion brewing behind her violet eyes. Uncle Yakuro chuckled again, settling into the now-vacant seat with a wide, unsettling smile. “Uncle! What are you doing?” Souta hissed in shock. “You can’t –”
Uncle Yakuro waved a dismissive hand. “Relax, Souta. I’m merely teaching this spoiled girl a little… humility. Just watch and learn.”
Miko, her face etched with barely controlled outrage, stalked toward the service counter. Her movements, once fluid and graceful, were now stiff and tinged with tension. Taking an order pad and pen from a bewildered waitress, she hesitantly approached a nearby table. Her initial attempts were awkward, her voice tight and uncharacteristically timid as she took orders. But gradually, as she went through the motions, a strange transformation began.
The familiar actions of serving and engaging with customers seemed to seep into her, overlaying her initial nervousness. A semblance of her old smile returned—a forced but recognizable curve as she delivered dishes with surprising efficiency, almost as if muscle memory was taking over.Uncle Yakuro watched with a widening smile. He saw the moment Miko’s self-assurance began to resurface: her movements became more fluid and her smile more genuine. It was time to intervene.
He subtly signaled a passing waiter, murmuring something about “a little… excitement.” The waiter, clearly accustomed to his eccentric requests, nodded with a knowing smirk. Then, as Miko bustled past—laden with a tray piled high with steaming bowls of noodles—Uncle Yakuro swiftly stuck out his foot, just enough to trip her.
Miko stumbled, a surprised yelp escaping her lips as the tray tilted, sending bowls and noodles flying. She crashed to the floor, food splattering across her clothes, her face flushing crimson with mortification and embarrassment.
Scrambling to her feet, her hair dishevelled and her elegant kimono now stained with broth and noodles, she exclaimed in a loud, uncharacteristically timid voice, “I… I am so sorry! I… I apologize profusely!” Bowing deeply, her voice trembled with contrition.
Uncle Yakuro, instead of offering help or comfort, fixed her with a stern gaze. “Yae,” he said harshly and dismissively, as though addressing a lowly employee, “that was clumsy and unacceptable. Go inside and change. And be quick about it. We’re getting busy.”
Miko—now Yae—nodded meekly, her eyes downcast, and scurried towards the back of the restaurant, her shoulders heavy with shame. Souta watched, his mouth agape, utterly bewildered. What had just happened? Lady Guuji… Yae… had just been tripped? And was now taking orders from his uncle? It all felt surreal, almost unbelievable.
Time stretched, thick with confusion. Then, instead of the elegant Lady Guuji, a figure emerged from the back of the restaurant: a boy, short-haired and dressed in simple red waiter’s clothing. His frame was smaller and less imposing than Miko’s, and he looked around hesitantly, his eyes wide and lost.
Souta stared. This was not Lady Guuji. This boy was meek, uncertain—completely devoid of the sharp, intelligent spark that had defined Yae Miko. It was as if a different person had emerged.
He rushed toward the boy. “Lady Guuji? Are you… are you alright?”
The boy blinked, confusion clouding his eyes. “Lady Guuji? I’m… Yae.” he repeated, tilting his head. “Um… C-can I help you esteemed guest??” His voice was soft and hesitant, nothing like Miko’s once-confident, playful tones.
Uncle Yakuro strode over, his cheerful demeanor replaced by a cold, calculating glint in his eyes. “Yae,” he barked sharply, “back to work. We have customers waiting.”
“Y-yes, sir,” the boy—Yae—mumbled, obediently moving toward a table with an order pad in hand, his movements timid and uncertain.
Souta, reeling, turned to his uncle with trembling voice. “Uncle Yakuro, what… what did you do? What’s happening to Lady Guuji? You have to fix this!”
Uncle Yakuro turned to him, his smile chillingly cold. “Oh, Souta,” he said, his voice dripping with false geniality, “right, you. I don’t need you anymore. Thank you for everything. I wouldn’t have been able to get rid of that troublesome girl if it weren’t for you.”
The last thing Souta remembered was the chill in his uncle's eyes and the unsettling sound of his laugh before a dizzying wave of disorientation washed over him. He found himself standing outside Komorebi Kitchen, blinking and disoriented. Why was he here? He shook his head, trying to clear the fog as the strange events of the restaurant began to fade like a half-remembered dream. With a nagging sense that something was terribly wrong, he started walking away.
Inside Komorebi Kitchen, Uncle Yakuro—no longer smiling—watched the boy Yae serve customers with quiet, almost pathetic efficiency. His cheerful façade had vanished, replaced by the cold, ancient countenance of a powerful Yokai.
For centuries, he had schemed and waited, and now the opportunity had finally presented itself. Lady Guuji, the Kitsune Saiguu’s esteemed successor, had been a thorn in his side for far too long—a constant threat due to her formidable power. This restaurant, Komorebi Kitchen, was not merely a business but a nexus of earth energy, carefully cultivated over decades to serve his hidden purpose.
He had used Souta, the hapless writer, as bait—knowing Miko’s intellectual curiosity and her somewhat condescending interest in the mundane would draw her in.
The subtle manipulations, the carefully crafted challenges, and finally the deliberate humiliation had all worked perfectly. The fall, the shame, and the forced humility had shattered something within her, weakened her spirit, and made her vulnerable. And now, the once-powerful Guuji of Narukami Shrine was reduced to a meek, ordinary boy—trapped in a form and personality utterly unsuited to her true nature.
Uncle Yakuro smirked as he watched Yae clear a table with downcast eyes. The troublesome fox was finally caged. His centuries-long plan had come to fruition. For now, at least, Komorebi Kitchen was his—and Lady Guuji… she was simply Yae, the waiter boy.
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