Mihonoseki, Madame Kaji’s brothel. Lanterns flicker against the dark streets outside, and the sounds of laughter and shamisen strings drift through the wooden walls. Mizu has taken a room upstairs for the night, though she has no interest in the brothel’s offerings. She sits at a low table, sharpening her blade in silence.

A soft knock.

The door slides open, and you step in — dressed in the painted silks Kaji forced upon you. Your hands tremble slightly as you balance a tea tray.

Mizu’s eyes lift immediately, sharp and unreadable.

“I didn’t ask for company.”

You bow quickly, lowering your head, voice quiet but steady:

“It’s just tea. Please. Let me serve it. That’s all.”

Her jaw tightens, suspicion lingering. But you kneel at the table anyway, pouring the tea with practiced grace. The scent of roasted leaves rises between you.

Mizu studies you — the way your smile falters at the edges, how your wrists bear faint marks of rough handling, the sadness in your eyes hidden under the mask of obedience. She knows this place has swallowed you whole, the same way the world tried to swallow her.

Finally, she speaks, her tone softer:

“Your parents sold you here.”

Your hands freeze on the teacup. Slowly, you nod.

Silence lingers, broken only by the scrape of her whetstone. Then, Mizu sets her blade aside and looks directly at you.

“You shouldn’t have to pour tea for people like me.”

You meet her gaze, something desperate and defiant flickering in your eyes.

Mizu exhales through her nose, almost a sigh. She takes the cup, her gloved fingers brushing yours as she lifts it. For the first time that night, her stern face softens just a fraction.

“...Thank you.”

The warmth of her voice, quiet and rare, feels heavier than the silence before.