The storm crept into the realm of dreams, Ranka finding herself in a chaotic howling wind as she tried to chase after Asa. Running in a straight line proved impossible against the wind, Ranka being spun about and disoriented, unable to find Asa, despite the other woman staying perfectly still. A particularly large gust lifted Ranka from her feet, dragging her away.

“Asa!” Ranmaru gasped, jolting upright in his futon.

Confusion set in, as last night’s memories took a few moments to slide into place and explain the current surroundings. Katagami wasn’t far away, though he was, thankfully, snoring heavily. There was only one lump in the other futon however.

“Who is she? If you don’t mind me asking?” Mrs. Katagami’s voice asked, from somewhere behind Ranmaru.

“A... um... a friend,” Ranmaru replied, before he turned to face the woman. 

It was hard to pretend that was the full truth while looking away. Ranmaru was certain he’d have crumpled if he made eye contact.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“N-nothing’s happened,” Ranmaru blurted, feeling defensive and terrified that anyone might think he’d taken actions so against the rules of his contract.

“Ohh. That kind of a friend?” Mrs. Katagami asked. “I wasn’t sure you’d have time to visit girls with your work. I thought she was from your past, not your present.”

“I’m not visiting other women like that,” Ranmaru protested, only to receive a strange look from Mrs. Katagami. Glancing down, he remembered his current form and felt a bit flush. “I—I was in female form in the dream... I always get a little confused when I dream I’m one form and wake up the other.”

“Huh, that does sound confusing. Still, she seems important to you.”

“She’s just in a bad way, and I want to help her. It’s nothing more... I don’t have a death wish,” Ranmaru muttered, curling his knees up in front of him.

“Death wish? What do your feelings have to do with death? She’s not some sort of Jorougumo is she?” Mrs. Katagami asked, stoking the fire in the hearth a bit more.

“No, no. She’s human. An Oiran isn’t allowed to fall in love though. It is a breach of contract with a punishment of death,” Ranmaru said. 

“Death? For falling in love? That’s... you can’t just control your heart, flipping it in and out of play like a card in a game,” Mrs. Katagami complained, her voice getting loud enough to make Ranmaru nervous.

“Wha? Card games?” Katagami muttered, sitting up in his futon.

“Is it true that an Oiran faces death if she falls in love?” his wife asked.

Katagami blinked a few times, clearly not quite back in the waking world. “I... if she acts on it? Getting caught giving her love free nights, or refusing to see clients... if she doesn’t act on it, well, it’s a retirement plan. Oiran are supposed to find a husband after their contracts end, so... in the last year or so she should probably try to find a man before she’s sent out alone. Just not tell anyone.”

“That is still much too strict,” Mrs. Katagami muttered. “Love should be celebrated.”

“I’m not arguing,” her husband muttered. “I don’t get to make the rules though... don’t tell me you were trying to get romantic gossip out of Mei?”

Mrs. Katagami looked to Ranmaru for a moment, her eyes a mix of worry and kindness. Silently, she mouthed ‘don’t worry’, then turned back to her husband.

“Can you blame a woman for being curious? All those women with handsome samurai trying to woo them. I assumed they’d have favourites. I didn’t realise it was so totally forbidden.”

---

Mrs. Katagami had prepared breakfast a short while later, the messy rejected noodles from her work. Ranmaru was happy for it, though. Soba, even if imperfect, was so much nicer that the buckwheat porridge he usually had on mornings he couldn’t risk changing. 

Mrs. Katagami had left for work a short while later, heading off into moderate rain as the storm outside waned. Ranmaru and Katagami headed out a short while later, knowing that the weather was mild enough there’d probably be at least a bit of business in Yoshiwara tonight.

Arriving back at the ageya, Ranmaru found himself tackled by Ichi, the young girl having been worried that he’d not come home the night before. Fuji and Saki were also glad to see him, though both had felt confident he’d return safe. 

Most of the remaining morning was spent taking down the bracings set up for the storm. Such practical things did not mesh well with the perfect beauty oiran were meant to project.

Ranmaru then got to work helping Ichi with her schooling, giving the girl some reading material to work on while he practised his own calligraphy to keep it sufficiently clean. 

He felt calmer now, having seen some life outside the perfection of the ageya. People just being people, not worrying that they lived up to the perfect standards being espoused by nobility or Confucian scholars. Even if he was playing a dangerous game, it left him not feeling such a failure. Humans had hearts, and chased their desires, whether it was love or family or something else.

He was still at risk, but he felt more confident that it was worth it.

That confidence ebbed when a shinzou girl ran in.

“You have a customer. For your female side,” the girl said. 

“Oh? Who is it?” Ranmaru asked, as he put his calligraphy supplies away.

“Mister Muraji,” the girl replied.

The words hit like a bokuto strike to the gut. Ranmaru managed to limit the displeasure to a slight twitch in his eye as he turned back to the girl. 

“There’s no chance the Yarite would believe I’m feeling sick from being out in the rain, is there?” 

The shinzou girl shook her head. “I’ve never managed to convince her of any lie. I frequently can’t even convince her of the truth without backup if she doesn’t like it.”

Ranmaru nodded weakly. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it but to prepare.”

It wasn’t a first visit, so there was less chaos, but the knowledge of who the customer was made Ranmaru rather more distressed as he ate the meal prepared for him. Transforming back to female for the first time in several days, Ranka shivered. She felt herself wishing that she’d had the chance to do something else female between the two visits.

Shaking that off, she continued about her preparations, promising herself that she’d not let him get to her the same way this time. She could still triumph, whatever he said. 

Muraji arrived not long after preparations were finished, a smugly unpleasant smile on his face. He had a rather large bag with him, the shape and contents being mysterious. He gave no explanation, however, simply ordering some food and drink.

Ranka quietly played her shamisen as he dined, hating the fact that she was curious about what he’d brought along. He was loving the power, no doubt. The feeling that he knew something she didn’t.

Ranka dismissed the curiosity, certain he’d want to show off later. He was too proud not to. She could practice a little patience. She’d been getting better at it with how rarely she saw Asa, after all. To keep herself distracted, she moved on to a more complicated song, one that was far from down to muscle memory. Challenging herself with the songs she chose kept her busy until Muraji finished his sushi, delightfully prepared food wasted on him.

“I’ve brought some gifts for you,” he said, padding his lips clean.

“Oh?” Ranka asked, her tone flat and measured.

Muraji picked up his back and walked over to Ranka’s side, sitting down next to her. From the bag, he first produced a wooden instrument, looking vaguely like a gottan or shamisen, though the neck was far shorter and the body much longer.

“You play the shamisen quite beautifully. I thought I would offer you an Iberian guitar, to provide you an opportunity to play something as unique to Japan as your silver hair,” Muraji said, reaching out to brush one of her strategically placed loose strands from her face, before handing the instrument over.

After getting over the unpleasant feeling of Muraji touching her, Ranka examined the instrument. She wasn’t quite sure what ‘Iberia’ was, though she felt fairly certain it was in Europe somewhere, even without knowing that Muraji loved to show off his European acquisitions. The woodworking was quite nice, an ornate lattice covering the whole to the resonance chamber and alternating colours of wood along the edges showed exceptional craftsmanship.

It was a shame it had been given to her by someone she so hated.

“I’ll be heading off on a trading expedition once the storm has finished clearing up. It shouldn’t be any more than three months... I’d quite like to be able to listen to you play when I return.”

“Learning a new instrument is an investment, and I am a busy woman,” Ranka replied. 

Muraji’s mouth twitched for a moment. “Still proud. Good to see. I don’t want you giving in too easily...”

“What is your plan for if you do succeed, and I do give in? To discard me and move on to a new prize?” Ranka asked, setting the guitar aside. “No longer of interest once I give you what you want too easily?”

Muraji laughed, rather more heartily than Ranka was prepared for.

“You think ahead too. I wonder if you’ve got a dangerous amount of brains to go with your rare beauty... but, no. I despise pre-broken people, however, those whose loyalty I’ve built I still appreciate.”

Ranka could only hold a fake smile that was edging on being a grimace, not sure she liked that answer any better than the alternative. 

“I’ve brought a more immediate gift as well: Portuguese fortified wine. Something to drink while I’ll tell you a bit more about my travel plans,” Muraji said, leaning in close enough she could feel his breath. 

Ranka held her position, feigning indifference to the invasion of her personal space. “I suppose it sounds somewhat interesting.”

The wine ended up having more impact than she’d expected. Having barely eaten that day, and possibly not quite recovered from yesterday, she expected it to hit, but the fortification mentioned was clearly stronger than she’d encountered from western wines before.

Whether it was the alcohol or disinterest that led to her barely following Muraji’s story, she wasn’t sure. She also didn’t really care about the cause, as he continued to proudly state the names of trading partners that she had no way of knowing anything about. His bragging about cargo capacities and the prices he managed was little more engaging. 

It was a behaviour he shared with many of her clients, however, and she had become quite good at smiling and nodding as she let the waves of bragging wash past her. She was putting a bit more effort into faking interest this time, however. A small part of her hoped that Muraji’s ego might be strong enough he’d brag until he fell asleep and she could avoid the next part of an oiran’s work.

---

Ranka’s plan did not work out. She was left lying exposed in her futon with him beside her as the first whispers of dawn filtered in from the window.

“It’s a shame to have to share you,” Muraji said, her efforts to ignore him not able to balance the way the room was otherwise silent. “I’ve never liked sharing... and a woman as delightful as you are should not have to be bounced between clients. When I return, I’ll arrange to be your only patron.”

The words took a moment to process, but once they did, they sent a jolt of fear down Ranka’s spine. An oiran with only one client was an oiran left always on call. With multiple clients they had to make appointments, to ensure no conflicts over access, but a sole patron could arrive at any time without fear his oiran would be with another.

She’d have minimal ability to leave the ageya. No opportunity to sneak out of Yoshiwara on an unbooked night. In fact, she likely wouldn’t be able to risk turning male, lest Muraji show up as soon as she did.

Any other client could surely accept an explanation about her condition, but Muraji? With his European influenced disdain for any romance between men? The only thing that left her unsure of his response was the knowledge that no weapons were permitted for customers entering Yoshiwara.

Though, if he wanted her unwavering focus, there was another option. One that would leave her only needing to plan a single escape for both herself and Asa.

“You could just buy my contract full out?” Ranka offered, trying not to gag at the thought of encouraging him.

“Not until you’ve proven I can trust you more,” Muraji replied, stroking Ranka’s chin. “Right now you’re rather too wild. I need to know you won’t run away to the arms of some client you like more.”

“I can assure you that I have no plans to run to another client,” Ranka replied, squirming at his touch.

“You definitely have a motive of some sort. I know you don’t like me,” Muraji said, examining her like a painting or, perhaps, more like a horse for sale. “Until I figure out what it is you're after, you’ll be staying here.”

Ranka nodded sharply. Her attempt to find a silver lining had failed. Now she had a deadline.

---

Bathing helped much more this time. Ranka knew she could recover from Muraji’s touch now. 

She still made sure to scrub thoroughly, of course. And not just to remove the toxic white of her makeup.

Then it was up to Saki’s for breakfast, as, thankfully, Muraji left early enough in the morning to let her have a decently timed breakfast. Sitting down, Saki and Fuji both watched her nervously, Saki readying a bowl of rice before Ranka raised her hand.

“Buckwheat, please. I need to keep making good memories with this side of me again,” Ranka said.

“Sure, of course,” Saki replied, pouring out a little buckwheat to cook into a porridge.

“Feeling alright?” Fuji asked.

“Not really, no. I have a time limit,” Ranka said. “Muraji’s leaving on a trading mission. When he returns he plans to place himself as my sole patron.”

Fuji nodded, thinking it over. “You said he was a Christian, right?”

“Not officially. He has all his temple papers in order... what he really believes I couldn’t say. He certainly loves all things European. Why?” Ranka asked.

“I was just wondering if you could scare him off by showing him your little trick,” Fuji said.

Ranka shook her head. “I don’t know how he’d respond. My position as an oiran is, legally, a bit of a grey zone. Who knows what could happen if he makes a fuss? Or he could turn violent...”

Saki nodded as she handed over the buckwheat porridge. “It does seem a bit risky. I suppose you can keep it in reserve?”

“In case of emergency only,” Ranka said, before starting to eat.