The soft candlelight illuminated Aiko's private studio, where the scent of rice powder and perfumed oils floated in the air. Seated in front of her polished bronze mirror, the geisha expertly slid her brush over her lips, painting them a deep red that contrasted with her porcelain skin. Her carefully tailored kimono revealed a provocative cleavage—subtle, but enough to drive foolish men crazy who thought they had a chance with her.

Her hair, tied back in an elaborate shimada, gleamed in the dim light, adorned with delicate kanzashi that clinked with her every movement. Two loose strands framed her face, accentuating the coldness of her red eyes, which examined their reflection with narcissistic satisfaction.

"Fu fu fu…" A low laugh, almost a whisper, escaped her lips as she reminisced about the past few weeks.

The merchant who ruined his own business by following her advice. The magistrate's wife, now disgraced thanks to a conveniently spread rumor. That young samurai who swore to kill his best friend for a few words whispered in his ear.

All of them puppets in his personal theater.

"Pathetic," she murmured, adjusting a jade brooch in her hair. "But... who will be next?"

Her eyes narrowed, imagining the possibilities. Perhaps that new Dutch merchant, so confident in his influence. Or perhaps the young maiko trying to steal her customers. It didn't matter. They would all fall, sooner or later.

With a final touch of lipstick, Aiko stood, smoothing her hands over the silks of her kimono. The evening promised entertainment... and she never disappointed.