Yes, Natsuko Hinami.
Akira's childhood maid—originally not a Hinami, but post-Kyoto drama, she took the name.
Akira's deadbeat dad had one redeeming trait: he kept his word. Said he'd send her over, and he did. Said she's done with the Kamo Clan, and she was—surname scrubbed.
After that? Her call—nothing to do with him.
Zenin Maki's take: cut her off cold, see if she's truly free.
But Hayami's a softie—can't stand feudal clan victims.
Akira chimed in: personally, she'd cared for him as a kid—can't ditch gratitude. Professionally, this petty play's no match for the Big Three's deepest schemers—he'd verify it his way.
Resolve isn't a speech—it's action.
Spies'd swarm anyway—one more's no biggie.
Maki relented, letting Natsuko into High.
Work? Akira generously let her choose.
Natsuko wanted her old gig—personal maid to the young master.
Akira didn't say yes or no—just "try it."
She nearly cried.
The Hinami duo cherished old ties—others didn't.
Personal maid gig in two parts: tend to the master's daily life, follow him everywhere, obey orders.
Problem: Gardevoir owned that role.
Back in Shikoku, it was a team effort. Once Akira and Hayami got busy, Gardevoir took over.
Bed-making, laundry, cleaning, cooking, kid-watching, errand-running—even solo missions when short-handed.
Except for the dirty politics Akira shielded her from, Gardevoir handled it all—better than humans, thanks to Teleport.
And "Double Team"—maybe from leveling up, it was veering Naruto-style.
Not Naruto's near-clone level, but solid enough for separate tasks.
Weaker than the original, sure—but eight copies? Eightfold joy.
Idle time? Gardevoir stuck to Akira 24/7, never bored, even if he didn't say a word.
Tokyo High's classic scene: two boys chatting, two "ghosts" trailing—Gardevoir and Rika Orimoto.
This good—still need a maid?
Natsuko scoped it three days, finding zero cracks.
Finally, a shot—Gardevoir and Akira split rooms. She'd sneak in, warm the bed, nail the maid's top duty.
Tonight, big sis schools you girls—night service, ultimate bliss-breathing, Kamo Clan's secret via 'Crimson Blood Technique.' Other sorcerers got this? —Some offbeat Kamo ancestor.
She didn't know Gardevoir only stopped co-sleeping post-evolution—eight years prior, they'd shared a bed.
Even now, Akira's room wasn't empty.
Serperior and Swablu were there.
Post-Snivy, Serperior ditched scarf-duty but kept her other gig: Pokémon alarm clock.
Snoozed on the windowsill—first dawn ray hit her tail, she'd wake, tail-whack Akira's face, vine-whip the sheets off.
Night raid? Think you're the VIP big sis?
Waking Master's my turf—no one steals it.
Swablu, post-Sing, picked up a new hobby: lullabies for Akira.
Putting Master to sleep's my diva duty.
Interrupt? Worse than that smug snake!
Natsuko cracked the door—one big, one small pair of eyes snapped open. Vine bind, Swablu headbutt.
Didn't even see him—flung out, lumps on forehead or chest. Gardevoir, roused by the noise, unbound her, sent her back. Natsuko wanted a hole to vanish into.
Caught cheating by the main wife, saved by her—more humiliating than this?
No, I was first—knew him first, served him first. How'd it turn into this?
You stole my spot—I'll fight for it.
I've wasted years—I won't waste more.
I'll work, I'll win him back.
A near-thirty woman blazed with resolve.
Too bad, next morning, corridor tunes hit: "Todokanai koi o shite itemo~"
"Unreachable love…"
Who blasts this jinxed song at dawn?
Worldly Natsuko glared.
Then saw a curse-force dwarfing the whole Kamo Clan—"White Devil's" ghost.
"Help, help…"
Why's Tokyo High got a curse this terrifying?
Special Grade? Beyond that?
One glance—ice in her veins, nearly bolted.
But the curse and host politely said good morning. Couldn't run—had to fake it.
Mommy, so scary…
Took a morning to recover—she wouldn't dare dorm stunts soon.
Next target: Pokémon.
Last night flopped 'cause she didn't bond with them. Win them over, become their mistress—who'd shake her?
Solid plan—just, Akira and every proto-Trainer built that bond drip by drip.
Instant Pokémon approval? Dream on. Even chill Growlithe might not mind you—closeness? Nope.
Think you're Ash Ketchum, gifting wins to Team Rocket for twenty years?
They'd have ditched Pikachu and fist-bumped the world ages ago.
Cold stares or tail-flicks—Maki's Feebas even splashed her with Water Sport.
Temper flaring? Dratini glared—legit Glare.
Sure, it snubs Feebas daily, but they're pond pals. I can bully her—you can't.
Level 20s, Dragon-type, pseudo-legendary—nearly broke Natsuko again.
Feebas, seeing her goddess step up, tried snuggling—swatted off, splashing Natsuko more.
You're all ganging up on me.
Wahhh…
Pokémon bust—she pivoted. Master's swamped—assist his work, be his aide.
Eight exile years, she hadn't slacked—studied, trained, prepped as an ambitious woman.
Barring front-line fights, she could handle anything.
No experience, sure, but her past's an open book to Akira—trustier than shady randos.
True enough—she landed a gig at Tokyo branch, Hayami's deputy in the secretariat.
Finally, luck turned—working this close to him.
Next: grind hard, win his praise, slide from work to life, charm him. Foolproof.
Tough gig, but it paid off—Akira, Hayami, and Gojo Clan head gave thumbs-ups. She's got key-room access now.
Big moment: he's too busy for meals—her chance.
Kyoto cuisine, Kamo flavor—a card even Hayami lacks.
Love bento offensive—go!
…
Why's a ball flying at me? Nearly hit—terrifying.
No biggie—two Special Grades here, Hayami and Akira watching.
Can't lose, can't lose, can't lose.
"Y-Young Master, work's tough—I-I made you a bento, please enjoy—"
Hands outstretched, eyes shy, expression coy—perfect, I'm a pro.
Past teen years, I can still rock pure.
Bento lightened—he took it.
"Oh, bento? Sweet, I'm starved from running all morning."
Wait—not his voice.
"Not bad—Kyoto style, been ages. Miss Natsuko made it?"
"Zenin… Maki…"
"Sorry, snagged your lunch—too hungry. I'll treat you tonight to make up. Since I ate it, might as well finish it."
You're still eating! Still eating! STILL EATING!
That twin-like thorn, always busting her, was bad enough—now the big sis too?
Another rival?
Noted.
My favorite chopsticks—argh!!
Rage practically solidified—Gojo caught it, slung an arm over Akira's shoulder.
"So, Ari, what's the plan?"
"Nothing—pack up, Hokkaido's calling. Women sort themselves," Akira said, zen as hell.
Day one as a Trainer, dating's not just human-to-human—countless Trainers prove it.
"Genius move—learned something," Gojo lit up. He's got chick troubles too. "Next time, they figure it out—I'll play with Pokémon. They're way more fun."
Hayami: "…"
Mind me when you carpet-bomb? I'm innocent here.