Chapter 9: Longing

Arriving back at the ageya, Ranmaru found himself receiving a glare from the current accountant girl on duty.

“We expected you back hours ago,” the girl hissed.

“I bumped into a customer. He paid,” Ranmaru replied, producing the share he owed the house.

“Oiran are not to do house calls,” the cold voice of the Yarite said from behind Ranmaru. “They are above that.”

Ranmaru turned slowly, keeping his eyes lowered. “It was not a house call. I ran into Akado on the way back from an errand. He needed moral support for a negotiation, and was willing to pay my usual service fees for it.”

“Akado?” the head woman asked sharply. “That Mr. Yama who plays wakashu when with you?”

“Yes.”

The Yarite let out a sigh. “I suppose acting as his spine in a negotiation does fit the persona he’s applied to you. And he paid... Next time inform him such services must be done by appointment first, though.”

“Yes madam,” Ranmaru replied. “Thank you for your understanding.”

“Oh, and get yourself something to eat. A regular client sent word that he seeks your feminine service this evening,” the woman replied, her mercy still sounding painful to acquire.

Ranmaru gave a second thanks and hurried up to Saki’s apartment, hoping that his unofficial sister would, at least, have some cold rice available. He was starving. Knocking on her door, and getting permission to come in, Ranmaru slipped into the door, only to find Saki hugging him almost as soon as he’d entered.

“I was so worried, you were gone for so long... is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yes... I just ran into Akado and got dragged into helping him with something,” Ranmaru replied. “Hasu liked the doll, though.”

“She did?” Saki asked, her face lighting up with a smile.

“Mhm, took over her focus entirely,” he replied, eyes drifting over to look for food as he talked.

“Ah, did you not get to eat?” Saki asked, apparently reading his expression.

“No, unfortunately. Just a little wine to drink.”

“I’ve got some cold rice in a pot. I’ll get some pickled vegetables and fish to add to it, just a moment,”  Saki said, turning to hunt down the ingredients.

A few minutes later, she’d prepared him a bowl of rice with pickled sides. Starving, Ranmaru wolfed it down, barely taking a moment to process the transformation that came with the rice.

Her meal finished, Ranka hurried down to her own apartment, so that the hair stylist and other servants could help prepare her for the client coming in. The dressing process took most of the time she had remaining, and the client had arrived nearly before she’d finished setting up her shamisen. 

The evening went easily enough. Playing a little music as the client ate. Talking a little about politics. Reading some poetry to him. It was nothing but performances she’d mastered well enough she could almost do them in her sleep, including the most oiran specific part of the night towards the end. An oiran was trained to make the client think she was wildly in love with him, all while she had a half dozen regulars, so the fact that she was struggling not to think about what she’d heard today would be lost on the client.

When morning came around, announced by at least a dozen roosters kept by various residents of Yoshiwara, the client left quickly, and Ranka was left alone with her thoughts and she went down for a bath.

Lying back, enjoying the warmth of the water on skin cleaned of vile whitening makeup, that little smile of Asa’s was on her mind again. She had no way of being invited back to Muraji’s home again. Yet, she found herself wanting to see Asa again... 

---

A week had passed, and Ranka found herself growing antsy. Time had not removed the reckless desire to sneak off once again. Even having had a client nearly every day hadn’t distracted her for long.

Her irrational heart had found a reason to quicken, and returned to that whenever she tried to focus on practising her shamisen or koto. The worst was probably when she was reading romantic poetry, and found the images the poets tried to conjure of the targets of their affection coming up short against the joy of seeing a spark in Asa’s cold eyes when she’d smiled.

Currently, she was slowly poking at her millet and buckwheat porridge, trying to figure out a reason to sneak out of Yoshiwara again so soon. At least that had been her focus, until she realised Fuji was staring at her.

“Is there something wrong with my hair?” Ranka asked.

“You’ve just been acting odd for a while now,” Fuji replied. “If you’re managing to overhear prayers to Inari, do let me know. There’s got to be excellent gossip to be had.”

“Why would I be overhearing prayers?” 

“You do have the blood of a holy messenger in your veins,” Saki said.

“I guess, but... well, I’m not hearing anything,” Ranka replied.

“You haven’t fallen in love with one of your clients, have you? Or, maybe one of the guards? I know the Yarite tried to only hire the type with no interest in women, but that doesn’t really matter for you, now does it?” Fuji asked, leaning towards Ranka with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s got nothing to do with any men,” Ranka snipped back, though she felt her cheeks heating up, and tried to ignore it by grabbing some pickled fish.

“A blush like that is definitely something juicy,” Fuji said.

“I’m quite curious now as well,” Saki added.

Ranka poked at her porridge with her chopsticks for a moment, not wanting to deal with the subject. The other two kept their eyes on her, however, and she felt certain she had to relent sooner or later.

“I... I don’t think it’s love. It’s just that... there was a woman I met—”

“A woman?” Fuji asked, her eyes widening.

“Can I finish explaining?” Ranka shot back, getting a quiet mutter from Fuji. “Thank you. As I was saying, there was a woman I met when I was out last week. She was basically a slave, taken from her homeland and effectively being held prisoner in the home of a rather vile merchant. I’m... I’m just worried about her.”

“That poor woman,” Saki half whispered. 

“A very logical explanation, but... not one that explains the blush you had early. Or the dreamy look I’ve seen in your eyes,” Fuji replied.

“I... well... that woman might also have been rather pretty,” Ranka admitted, studying her porridge to avoid the smirk no doubt growing on Fuji’s face.

“Switching teams, are you, Ranka?” Fuji asked, her grin somehow audible in her voice. “Well, if you start looking to the other girls in our house, do remember there’s no employee discount.”

“Oy! I’m not about to start that!” Ranka protested.

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“She’d probably have to go to another house anyhow. It would be much too awkward to be the client of a coworker,” Saki mentioned, her expression showing she was giving the matter serious thought.

“If she pays full price, I wouldn’t mind. You have to admit that Ranmaru’s much more handsome than most of our clients,” Fuji replied.

Ranka felt as if steam had to be escaping her ears, she was so flush. “I’m not—that’s—we’re basically sisters! Don’t suggest something like that!”

“Yeesh, Ranka. You’re much too easy to tease,” Fuji said, laughing away. “But you’d definitely best ignore your interest in seeing this woman. You’ve still got a good 6 years left on your contract, and she certainly doesn’t have the money to buy your freedom.”

“I... I know,” Ranka muttered. “I’m sure I can work through this soon enough. Another week, maybe?”

Fuji nodded, though she didn’t look convinced. Ranka had nothing more she could say on the matter, however, and returned to her porridge.

---

A fight broke out the next day. A samurai had fallen madly in love with one of the oiran of the house, and decided to stage a breakout. His escape plan had gone sideways when the oiran in question had proven rather uncooperative, and called for the guards. 

Ranmaru, who’d been practising his shamisen form with male proportions at the time, grabbed the bokuto he saved from his youth and ran downstairs. He wasn’t sure how much help he’d be, but hoped an extra opponent would help cow the troublemaker.

Reaching the main floor, he was rather disturbed to see the man had somehow smuggled a knife into the district, and had cut one of the guards rather badly. His eyes wild, like a cornered animal, the samurai brandished his kaiken dagger wildly. For his fear, he was still proving rather adept at parrying any sword the guards probed his defences with. 

Ranmaru shook off the fear that had filled his gut and pushed ahead through the crowd of frightened, but curious, shinzou girls. Praying briefly to Inari that his crazy scheme might work, Ranmaru charged ahead between two guards, swinging his wooden training implement with full speed and ferocity. The cornered samurai brought up his dagger to block, and the force of the colliding weapons caused the dagger to lodge deep into the bokuto. 

Ranmaru twisted the wooden blade, bending the panicked samurai’s wrist to an awkward angle, until he lost all leverage over the blade and was forced to let go. Two guards rushed in immediately after, tackling the man and dragging him out of the ageya.

Staring at the dagger lodged into his bokuto, Ranmaru slowly became aware he was forgetting to breathe in his shock and exhaled. 

“That actually worked,” he muttered, still trying to catch his breath.

“It was good thinking,” a man’s voice said. Turning, Ranmaru realised it had been the voice of the head guard. “I’d heard your father was a samurai, but I hadn’t realised you’d had actual proper training. Always guessed you for too much of a woman to have been taught.”

“The Yarite told me not to practice too much. That it leads to unfeminine calluses and it wouldn’t be good for clients to see,” Ranmaru replied. 

There were a couple of clients who actually quite liked watching him (or her) practice, but there was no doubt the madam of the ageya would have been quite annoyed to hear he’d been up to anything so crass for clients.

“Well, the clients never come back to the guards’ training area. You should join us every so often. It would be a shame to let skills like that waste away unpracticed,” the head guard said. “It’d be good for us to have some fresh ideas too.”

“I shall see if I can get permission,” Ranmaru replied with a bow.

The head guard left with that, helping to check the bandaging on the wounded man before helping to take him away. There were a couple of doctors in Yoshiwara, so the man would hopefully get treatment soon. Ranmaru’s attention turned back to the dagger lodge into his bokuto.

Studying it closer for a moment, he reasoned it wouldn’t be too hard to remove it, and shifted his grip to safely yank the kaiken free. The handle was a bit sticky, a bit of blood having gotten on it in the earlier fight, and Ranmaru could help making a bit of a face at that. Still, it was a good blade, and he wondered what he might do with it as he turned to find somewhere to wash it, his bokuto, and his hands.

“You really are part man,” a shinzou girl said, as he turned towards the still gathered crowd of servant girls (and an oiran or two).

“I, uh, yes?” Ranmaru replied, wondering why all of them were looking at him with such big eyes.

“You should definitely practice with the guards more,” another girl said.

“Oh yes, I’d like to see that,” a third added.

“I’m not sure how often it will happen?” Ranmaru offered, as he tried to slip through the crowd. “The duties of an oiran keep me rather busy.”

The various girls nodded, but offered more encouragement that he practice his masculine interests. Feeling rather uncomfortable with all the sudden attention, Ranmaru darted away from the crowd as soon as he could.

---

After eating rice the next morning with her breakfast, Ranka found herself receiving disappointed looks from the other women of the ageya when she took a bath and otherwise left her own rooms. Slightly confused by the shift from the attention the night before, when the afternoon meal rolled around, Ranka decided to risk the tiring effects of eating more rice in the same day to see what might happen. 

Confirming Ranmaru’s suspicions, suddenly the shinzou girls were staring up at him with dreamy eyes. Many would ask if he needed anything, completely unprompted. Ranmaru couldn’t ignore the whiplash of it, and quickly retreated to his own apartment. 

Picking up his bokuto, he held it out in one hand, staring ahead and wondering if the practice was worth the lopsided attention it would bring. Being an outsider was something he’d gotten used to here, but now... it almost felt like he was being seen as two separate people. 

On the other hand, for all the attention his male side got from clients, Ranmaru couldn’t ignore that he’d felt like he’d been denying himself any real masculine habits. The clients wanted him to be a delicate wakashu... well, apart from Tousui. His heart wanted a chance to embrace his more athletic and masculine interests.

Surely, too, the practice would be necessary to rescue Asa?

Ranmaru sighed. His mind had really gone back to her again so quickly, despite distractions. Running through the steps of one of his kenjutsu katas, he weighed the options. The response of the girls in the ageya were a firm reminder that, if he gave his heart to a woman, it might well mean giving up his own femininity. He’d instead be on the path of being a husband and a father. He didn’t like how life had left him feeling so separated from his masculinity, but the idea of the reverse situation wasn’t any more appealing.

Reaching the end of the practice kata, and staring down at the bokuto he’d used to spar with Kikunosuke so many times, he knew he’d realised he’d have been willing to be a wife for Kikunosuke. He’d have probably been a mother by now, too. 

To be a husband for a woman... well, if the woman in question was Asa, and it meant seeing her smile again, he knew he’d gladly do it.

“I should probably actually talk to her before I start making plans,” he muttered aloud, letting himself laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Putting the bokuto back in its usual place, an excuse to sneak out of Yoshiwara struck Ranmaru.

---

After his breakfast, Ranmaru had found the Yarite working over the ledgers with some of the accountant girls. Waiting patiently until one of them looked up from the desk to see him, he gave a bow when he was at last noticed.

“Yarite, I am sure you have heard from the head of the guards that he invited me to participate in some of the training exercises they hold. I wish to know your opinion on the matter.”

The older woman scrunched her face up a moment, before taking a long drag for her pipe. “I talked with him, yes. After a bit of debate, I agreed that you could participate on occasion. An extra guard included in the expenses of an already present oiran... there’s worse things in the world. Don’t go and do anything too reckless, though. A lost guard is more easily replaced than a lost oiran.”

“Thank you, Yarite,” Ranmaru replied with another bow. “If I will be practising, then I shall need to head into town to purchase a replacement bokuto. The knife gash in my current one will likely see it split in training. Best to replace it now, than risk splinters flying.”

“Very well. Go check with the girls and see if any of them have letters they want to send home. The couriers who come into Yoshiwara always overcharge,” the Yarite said, waving him off as she turned back to the ledgers.

Ranmaru gave a final departing bow, and headed off to do as instructed.

Whether his heart was beating in his throat due to the degree to which he planned to stretch his leave permission, or due to the fact he was hoping to see Asa, he couldn’t say for sure, but he certainly hoped he wasn’t showing his nerves.

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