Chapter 15: Prize

CW on this chapter for… well, I suppose ‘an unwanted sexual encounter’ would be the best way to describe it? Since it is business for Mei, but still an intimate business.

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The day after the shrine visit had been quiet in the morning. Ranka spent much of the evening teaching Ichi to improve her calligraphy. It went well enough, Ichi being quite enthusiastic about making her writing as cute as possible. Sometimes at the cost of legibility, but that could be fixed with time.

The lesson had wrapped up, and Ranka was helping to clean ink off of Ichi’s hands when there was a knock at the apartment door.

“Yes? Come in?” Ranka replied.

The door slid open quietly, revealing a Shinzou girl. “You’ll be having a new client arrive tonight for evaluation. The Yarite said we should get to work preparing your apartment to host the interview festivities.”

Ranka nodded. The first visit of a client was one generally an expensive affair, as the man proved he could afford the price of visiting an Oiran at least somewhat regularly. “Which form should I be in?”

“Woman, as far as I’m aware,” the girl replied.

“Well, let us begin the preparations,” Ranka said, letting out a soft sigh as she thought about all the running around that would be involved.

The Shinzou girl nodded and waved in others who’d been waiting nearby. The apartment immediately descended into chaos as furniture and decorations were removed to give more space for party celebrations. Tables were brought in, instruments for a small ensemble were assembled, and Ranka was dragged off to be put in her very finest makeup and clothing. 

By the time everything was done, evening was setting in, the sky turned firmly golden. Saki and some of the other lower ranking women were at the instruments, doing final tuning, and Ranka scarfed down whatever she could before the guest arrived, wanting to have the energy to put up with the drawn out affair ahead.

Then the Yarite called her up. One of the servant girls had been on lookout at the gates and had run back to inform them the new client was on his way. Ranka took a place beside the Yarite and waited those last few moments for the guest to arrive.

Then the door slid open, and Ranka’s heart fell into her stomach. The man at the head of the arriving entourage was none other than Muraji. Struggling against the instinct for her face to twitch in disgust, Ranka maintained a blank smile as the Yarite greeted him and his associates. 

After some basic introductions with the Yarite, Muraji stepped over to Ranka. Thankfully, he kept a bit of distance this early in introductions, but she couldn’t help feeling a cold shiver under his gaze.

“That silver hair is even more fascinating up close. I must ask, is it from an English or Dutch parent, perhaps?” Muraji asked, slowly walking a circle around Ranka.

“It is not from foreign blood. Unless one counts Kitsune as foreign,” Ranka replied, struggling to keep her tone flat.

“You really do claim that? Ah, no matter, it is a beautiful and unique sight, either way,” Muraji declared.

It seemed the Yarite sensed Ranka’s discomfort, and called on a Shinzou girl to lead Muraji and his guests deeper into the ageya, towards Ranka’s apartment. The Yarite herself stayed behind, eyeing Ranka.

“I would like to invoke my right to refuse this client,” Ranka whispered sharply, as soon as the entourage was out of earshot.

“There’s been some comments lately, that you’ve been distant to customers,” the Yarite replied, her tone colder than usual, even for her. “You’ve also been sneaking off as much as you can.”

“I have had many things on my mind. Worrying for my new kamuro, attempting to work with a client through his disinterest in women, and... some difficulties with other employees, beginning to make eyes at my other form, while glaring at this one,” Ranka replied. “These things add up.”

“They can. Or love can distract one’s heart,” the Yarite replied. “Accept this client, and satisfy him, and that will calm my worries that you might be violating your contract.”

“Please... allow me to prove it another way,” Ranka asked, bending into as deep a bow as her current adornments and outfit allowed. 

“Muraji Taro is one of the richest traders in Japan. He meets with the Shogun on a regular basis, and commands multiple red seal ships. His patronage would reflect well on our ageya. Refusing him would... not. With your loyalties in question, and the customer so important, you won’t refuse him,” the Yarite all but hissed.

Ranka nodded, and walked solemnly to her apartment. The music, which she could tell was being played expertly under Saki’s lead, found no foothold in her heart. She watched Muraji and his friends eat and drink, the friends laughing and joking with the Shinzou girls. Muraji’s eyes remained locked, chillingly, on her, however. She refused to meet his gaze, knowing she could only meet it with a glare.

The night stretched on, and the young Shinzou girls were slowly filtered out, until only those of age to take clients, but who had not yet passed the exams for full Oiran status, remained. Men were slowly led off one by one soon after, either intoxicated by a girl’s beauty, or so intoxicated by rice wine that they were carried off to beds.

Too soon, only Muraji remained. The women playing music brought their song to an end and slipped out soon after, leaving Ranka alone. 

“You’re rather quiet,” Muraji said, pouring himself some saké.

“An Oiran observes before acting,” Ranka replied.

“Have I met your standards?”

Ranka studied the tatami mats between them. He would lower his defenses soon... if he fell asleep, and she found a dagger... no. She’d be ready to accept any punishment she’d receive for acting against him, but she couldn’t bring suffering on to those around her. Ichi, especially, would suffer then.

“You are among the most influential men in all of Japan. One would be a fool to refuse your patronage,” Ranka replied, struggling to say even that.

To her surprise, Muraji smiled. “There’s fire in your eyes. I like that. I had heard that Yoshiwara was the place to come if I sought a Japanese woman who still had a spine... tell me what you really think.”

Ranka swallowed her rage, knowing that the full truth was more than he expected, and more than she could risk, as she’d realised there was no recognition in his eyes. Only a hunger. There was still plenty to say, however.

“You eye me the same way a man eyes a new sword or work of art. I can tell I am but a prize in your eyes. An Oiran’s services are meant to provide intellectual company as much as worldly pleasure. I am unsure what I would offer is what you seek,” Ranka explained, her tone polite despite the harshness of the words. 

To her surprise, Muraji laughed and clapped. “There’s the cutting tongue you flowers of Yoshiwara are so famous for.”

With that, he stood up and walked over to Ranka’s table, crouching down across from her. “For all your bluster, though, I will get what I want. Like treasure won in battle, it will be all the sweeter for it too.”

“You are a very strange man,” Ranka replied, struggling against the urge to spit in his eye... and also, suddenly, quite unsure if he’d actually dislike that.

“My parents were both weak, giving in to everything their subordinates asked for. My first fiancée, too, was barely more than a painting on the wall. I have no respect for those without backbones, and no interest in things that come too easy.”

“I’m not sure what you’re offering me counts as respect either,” Ranka hissed.

Muraji reached across the table, taking her chin in his hand, turning Ranka’s stomach.

“I’m offering you my time and attention. That’s more than I’ve given any Japanese woman in years.”

With that, he leaned forward, placing his lips against hers.

She refused to call it a kiss.

She didn’t want to put to words what happened next.

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Ranka stared ahead, at the wooden wall of the bathing room. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting on the stool, only that she’d washed herself. At least twice. She also knew that she didn’t feel clean still.

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“Ranka... you’re still in here?” Saki’s voice called out.

“You shouldn’t leave the bath until you’re clean,” she muttered, absently poking at her loofah.

A moment later and Saki’s arms were around her. Ranka collapsed into the embrace of the woman who was her older sister in all but blood. 

“He’s the one,” she sobbed. “He’s the one holding Asa away. And I... I can’t go back to her now.”

“Come on, Ranka, let’s get you dressed and we’ll discuss this in my apartment, alright? I worry you’ll catch a cold or worse if you stay in here any longer,” Saki replied.

Ranka nodded, through her messy tears, and followed Saki. With some clean clothing on, she went upstairs. Once in Saki’s room, she sat beside the table, hugging her knees as Saki prepared some tea. 

The warmth in her system soothed her nerves a little, helping Ranka form proper thoughts.

“I don’t know how I can face her now,” she muttered, cradling the small cup of tea. “How can I be the man who rescues her from him when... when he’s... had me as a woman?”

It was a few moments before Saki replied. How long, Ranka wasn’t sure, but long enough to show a fair bit of thought was involved.

“Would you feel different if you’d been a man last night instead?” Saki asked at last.

Ranka blinked, lifting her face to look at Saki. “I... I don’t know? Maybe... It’s... I’m not sure how to put it into words.”

Taking a deep sigh, and swirling the little bit of tea left in her cup, Ranka searched for how to express the feelings. Feeling she wasn’t completely sure anyone else would ever understand. She wasn’t even sure they made sense.

“I think... I think I need to be a man to save Asa. Fighting the guards and Muraji would take all my strength, and I’m definitely at least a bit stronger as a man. Then there’s the fact that she knows me as one, and likes me that way. So... so having been... used by him as a woman... it makes the idea I can triumph as a man feel invalidated?” Ranka said, trying to keep her emotions in check as she thought about it. “Does... does that make sense?”

“I don’t have to balance two sides the way you do, so I’m not sure I can understand completely, but... I think I follow it about as much as I could expect to,” Saki replied. 

The pair sat in silence a little longer. The gentle smile on Saki’s face told Ranka that she wanted to help, but that this was a particular issue she had little in the way of relevant experience to draw on. Ranka couldn’t blame her, she wasn’t sure anyone knew a way to reverse this feeling of lost masculinity.

Something else was bothering her, but Ranka was unsure if the impulse that had been plaguing her last night was forgivable. She feared what look Saki might give her if she confessed that she’d been tempted to end Muraji’s life while the man had slept in her apartment.

What shook her more was that she wasn’t sure she was more upset with herself for thinking it, or for not having acted on it. Whichever she disliked more, she knew there was anger bubbling up within her, and she had to find some way to release it.

In the distance, Ranka heard the thwack of bokuto against one another. The guards were practising. 

“Saki, do you have any rice?” she asked.

“Hm? Yes, I have some onigiri ready. Do you think transforming will help?” 

“Not directly, no. But... sparring should,” Ranka explained.

Saki seemed nervous about the idea, but passed Ranka the food requested. 

A few bites later and Ranmaru set off down to his apartment, changing into better clothing for sparring and grabbing his bokuto. It was then a short walk towards the courtyard to find the sparring guards. 

“Ah, Mei, you’ve decided to join us?” the head guard asked.

Ranmaru nodded. “I also want to ask that none of you hold back this time. I know I’m still a bit rusty, and that the Yarite has no doubt told all of you not to damage me, but... I need the chance to prove I can still take a hit properly as a man.”

The head guard gave Ranmaru a once over, and gave a smirk. “If you want a proper fight, then I’ll spar with you. That anger in your eyes... I don’t know what set it off, but I know you need someone who can wear it out of you.”

Ranmaru bowed. “Thank you.”

Stepping into the centre of the courtyard, Ranmaru shifted into his fighting stance, watching the loose body language of the head guard with annoyance. There was a skill gap, sure, but he didn’t like being dismissed quite so much. 

Rage building, Ranmaru charged, going for an overhead swing. There was a crack, as the older man sidestepped and deflected the blow with ease. Ranmaru swung again, finding his strike blocked casually. Several more angry strikes were diverted like he’d been swinging a twig around.

“You’re stronger than you look, true, but you’re still far from being able to overpower your foe,” the head guard stated calmly. “Think about your real advantage.”

Ranmaru used that advice as a moment to breathe, trying to work out another option. Skill definitely wasn’t the answer. His height was roughly average, for one of a samurai upbringing, so reach wasn’t his advantage either.

He made a try for speed, focusing on light probing jabs. That worked better than his rage filled assaults before, but wasn’t getting him through either. Apparently his choice was the wrong one, because the head guard shook his head before launching a counter attack. Ranmaru struggled to hold his ground, receiving several blows to his arms as he tried to block.

“What sets you apart from your opponents?” the man asked.

“Well, I rather doubt flirting will be overly helpful when I’m fighting,” Ranmaru replied, lashing out with his tongue, since his sword had failed him.

“If you fought as a woman it might!” one of the younger guards shouted, getting smacked on the arm by the one Ranmaru had been talking to last time.

“It might buy you a second or two of confusion against an inexperienced and poorly disciplined man, but it’s not what I’m talking about,” the head guard said, before launching into another barrage of strikes.

Ranmaru managed to avoid being too badly battered, and at a loss as to what his opponent meant, decided to try to launch a rapid counter attack, pushing through the pain in his arms. 

His aggressive move backfired, however, as he received a bokuto to the gut, winding him and leaving him staggering.

“You’re still too angry to learn your lesson right now. A shame,” the head guard said. “Try to calm your mind before you come back.”

Ranmaru panted, frustrated at his failed assault and still recovering from the hit. However, the painful blow brought a smile to his face.

“You really hit me... thank you,” Ranmaru at last managed.

“I’ve seen that you have the bravery and determination to be a proper fighter. As much as the boss will no doubt give me an earful, I respect you enough to give you what you ask for,” the head guard replied.

Ranmaru gave a second thanks, before going and finding a seat.

He still felt awash with confused emotions, but he at least felt there was a way out. He could regain confidence and... he might just stand a chance in a respectable face to face fight with Muraji in the future. While his drive was still to free Asa, the idea of getting a little vengeance had its appeal.

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