Until I became what they demanded.
Until perfection was beaten into my body one strike at a time.
Or until I shattered completely.
Chapter 7
Kaneko
Iwoke to soft light filtering through paper screens and the sound of my door sliding open. For a moment, I was disoriented, didn’t remember where I was, then it all came rushing back—the auction, Momoko’s interrogation, the sheer clothing laid out on the sleeping mat. I had fallen asleep still wearing my fine silkkimonofrom the market, too exhausted and overwhelmed to even consider changing.
“Kaneko-san,” a familiar voice said softly.
I bolted upright and held the sheet to my chest despite being fully clothed.
Hana kneeled just inside the doorway, her painted face serene in the morning light. She wore soft pink silk today, embroidered with white plum blossoms. In contrast to the sliver of cloth I was meant to wear, her attire appeared elegant, formal even. Her hair was arranged in an elaborate style that must have taken an hour to create.
“Good morning,” she said, painted lips parting. “How do you feel?”
The question caught me off guard.
How did I feel?
Terrified. Confused. Trapped. Probably mixed with a dozen other emotions I couldn’t name. I wanted to fight back, to spit at her feet in defiance, to scream to the sky for the injustice of it all, but there was something in her tone—genuine concern, perhaps—that made me hesitate before answering.
Could I trust her? Could I trustanyonein this place?
“I . . . I am well enough,” I said finally, the words careful, guarded.
“That is good.” Her smile deepened, as if she understood everything I hadn’t said. “Come, we should begin.”
“Begin what?”
“Your training, of course.” She rose gracefully and gestured for me to follow. “First, you must bathe, then we may begin.”
I followed her through corridors I didn’t remember. Morning light streamed through openings, making the polished floors glow like honey. We passed women—some dressed elegantly, others in simpler robes—all moving with the same fluid grace, as if they were floating rather than walking.
As we strode through the house, my stomach twisted with dread. I knew we were only headed toward a bath, but every step felt like walking toward an executioner’s block. What would they make me do today? Would I be taken to some room where a customer waited? Would I be expected to . . . to perform?
What did that even mean in a place such as this?
The unknown—and the fear of it—made my hands clammy and my breathing shallow.
Hana must have noticed my tension, because she glanced back at me, her expression softening.
“You are afraid?” she whispered.
I could not deny it. “What . . . what will I have to do today?”
“Today?” She stopped walking and turned to face me fully. “Today you will learn to sit properly, to walk without a fisherman’s slouch, to pour tea, nothing more, Kaneko-san.”
“But I thought—” I swallowed hard. “I thought I would be . . . that customers would . . .”
Understanding filled her face, and she shook her head firmly. “The mistress wouldneverpermit an untrained courtesan to attempt to please a customer. It would be a disaster—for the customer, for the House’s reputation, and most especially for you.” She paused, letting that sink in. “It will be many moons before you are ready to be offered to anyone. Months, perhaps longer.”
The relief that washed through me was so intense I felt dizzy. “Months? Really?”
“The mistress invests heavily in her courtesans,” Hana explained. “She does not waste her investment by rushing their training. You must learn to move correctly, to speak correctly, to understand poetry and music and conversation. You must learn to be at ease once more, as every . . . acquisition . . . is challenging for . . . each of us.”
