He shifted subtly, and his entire bearing changed. His shoulders relaxed, his expression softened into something almost smug, and he transformed into someone else before my eyes.
“I am a merchant,” he said, his voice now rougher and less refined. “I’ve had minor success, enough wealth to afford entry to this house but not enough to make my mark. I have just enjoyed your company. I am relaxed. My guard is down. I feel powerful and free.”
He looked at me with new eyes, a stranger’s eyes.
“That was wonderful,” he said. “Even better than they said you’d be.”
I stared at him, frozen.
“Respond,” he said, dropping the character for a moment. “Make me want to talk.”
“Thank you?” The words came out uncertain, a question rather than a statement.
Sakurai chuckled and shook his head. “Too nervous. Your body is tense. Your voice is small. Try again. You have just been intimate with this man. You should look at him with warmth, with appreciation—feign affection if you must. Pretend the act meant more than it should have. Show vulnerability, as though he has given you something precious.”
I tried to relax, to soften my expression, and tonotthink about the vile strangers I would have to performactswith—and for.
Sakurai slipped back into character. “That was wonderful, even better than they said you’d be.”
“You’re too kind, my lord,” I said, forcing warmth into my voice as I reached up and trailed a finger down his arm to his wrist. “I think you bring out the best in me. There’s something about you . . .”
I let the sentence trail off, the way I had learned to do when serving drinks, leaving space so he could fill it.
Sakurai-as-merchant smiled and reached up to fiddle with my hair. “Is there? What is it?”
“I’m not sure. Your confidence, maybe? You carry yourself like a man who knows his worth.” I paused. “Like someone who has built something.”
“Better,” Sakurai said, dropping character. “You invited him to talk about himself. Men love to do that more than they love to breathe or drink. Now watch what happens as a result.”
He became the merchant again. “I suppose I have done well. You know, I started with nothing but a fishing boat and a dream. Now I have three vessels working southern routes.”
“Three vessels?” I feigned surprise. “That’s remarkable.”
“It is, is it not?” He leaned back, warming to his subject. “Especially now, with all the trouble up north. Smart captains are avoiding those waters entirely. Just last month, I picked up silk at half price because the merchant was desperate. No onewanted to risk the northern passage, so I took it south, sold it in Koji for triple what I paid.”
He dropped the character and looked at me. “Do you see? Thirty seconds. He told you about conflict in the north, about trade routes, about economic disruption—all because you made him feel clever and important. He likely never knew the secrets he spilled. He was simply bragging to a lover in an effort to impress.”
I nodded slowly. “So I just . . . flatter them?”
“Oh, no. Not just flatter. Listen, admire, ask questions that invite them to demonstrate their knowledge or success. Men are lonely, Kaneko-san, powerful men especially. They are surrounded by people who always want something from them—or who fear them. Here, they might pretend someone like you desires them for themselves rather than their position.” He paused. “Yougive them that illusion, and in return, they will give you secrets, even when they do not realize they are doing so.”
“This feels like . . . like I’m lying or . . . tricking them. It feels . . . wrong.”
“It is wrong, but you are here, and this gives your suffering purpose. Besides, if the information you gather saves lives, is it not a good thing? If it guards the Emperor and his throne, does is not make you valuable?” His eyes held mine. “Valuable enough to eventually earn leverage, perhaps even your freedom?”
Or death, I thought, though I did not say it.
“Try another. Remember, each man’s motivation is different. One may seek praise, while the other longs for closeness. You must learn, understand, and adapt. Every time,” Sakurai said. “Now, I am a military officer, mid-rank. I oversee supply lines. I am proud of my efficiency and frustrated that my superiors do not appreciate my work. Our lovemaking was lackluster because my mind wouldn’t settle. You did the best you could.”
He shifted again. This time his posture straightened and his expression hardened. He appeared more controlled—more controlling.
“You were . . . adequate,” he said, his tone clipped. “Barely worth the coin, in truth. I have had better.”
The words stung even though I knew this was practice, even though no intimacy had actually occurred. How should I respond? Apologize? That would make me seem weak. Argue? That would make me seem defensive.
I thought about what Sakurai had said:Give them what they need.
This man wanted to feel important. He wanted validation his superiors would not give.
