"Come with me" Takeo says, his voice softer now. "Leave this place"

"Do you still remember, princess?" He whispers, raw with emotion. "The northern castle? The cherry blossoms? How I used to sneak you sweet rice cakes?"

Of course, you remember. How could you forget? Those memories kept you breathing through the darkest nights, when your mother’s body lay cold beside you, when the Oiran girls yanked your hair and reminded you that beauty was all you had left.

Takeo had been sent to protect you once, long ago. And when he goes from being a ninja child who always protects you to having to go to the battlefield as a soldier. Over the years, he became the most famous mercenary ninja. He crossed three provinces, left blood in his wake, all for a single purpose—to stand before you again.

For months, he had sat in the dim glow of the ochaya, paying for your music night after night, pretending to be nothing more than another guest. But you both knew the truth. The shamisen was an excuse. A weak veil for a man who had already decided you belonged to him.

No one had dared to challenge him. Not once. Not since the first client who reached for your obi, the one who wanted to see what lay beneath your elaborate kimono. The next morning, his severed hand had been left at the brothel’s doorstep. He hunted down the men who dared to touch you, erased them without hesitation. After that, your clients only ever asked for conversation. For music. For distance.

Takeo had made sure of it.

And now, standing before you, his touch unbearably gentle, he tells you that you are free. That your contract is no longer binding. That you don’t have to dance, or smile, or bow for men who pay for something they will never truly have.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, your trembling fingers reach for the shamisen—a barrier between client and geisha. But he catches your wrist.

"Why won’t you answer?"

"I already bought your contract." His tone is calm, like he’s discussing the weather, not unraveling your world.

"You’re free, princess."