Chapter 1: Sake With The Koyohamas

This upscale lounge smelled of steamed dumplings; far nicer than the sweaty drinkeries I was used to. But the sound wasn't right. As much as I hated those compulsive old gamblers, drinking cheap saké just didn't feel the same without the patter of bakuto rolling bones in the background. Maybe it fit. This drink I was chugging down like rice water was going down too smoothly to be cheap. Luckily the kid was picking up the tab on this one. Just didn't know it yet.

"Hmph, I'm not sure how you can stand that bile! We're in one of the finest chashitsu in the Capital, which serves the highest-grade tea around. Can't you at least pretend to appreciate it?" That buzzing, pre-pubescent and presumptuous voice belonged to none other than my tiny traveling partner. Lucky me.

"It's too freaking hot out for tea. Why don't you go get us a couple of rooms?" Any excuse to get the kid out of my face would do. The constant questions and commentary were starting to bite at my nerves, and made me regret taking up this bodyguard business in the first place.

The pout I was so accustomed to seeing planted itself on my companion's face. The reply was muttered in the whiniest way possible. "Why must I do it? My legs are just as tired as yours!"

The kid had a good point—we'd been doing a ton of walking lately. A few weeks on the road was rough on anyone, especially weak bookish types. I didn't voice a reply but instead let my eyes do the talking. They convinced the spoiled brat to move along, and I was left to a blissful moment of silence.

The truth of the matter was, if I tried booking lodgings at the renowned Sleeping Duck I'd be out of luck. There would suddenly be no vacancies available for a dirty sellsword who smelled like sweaty dashi broth. In case you hadn't guessed yet, I didn't exactly fit the image of a noble samurai.

I wasn't supposed to be here—the eyes from my fellow patrons did their best to confirm this fact. As pretty as my face was, it was the katana on my lap that had them so perturbed. Yuck, 'perturbed'? I'd been around these nobles too long, especially the kid. But a job's a job.

A well-fed man timidly made his way to my table after being goaded by his even better-fed wife. Sweat ran down his forehead to both of his chins. It was odd that he smelled so familiar, when in appearance he was anything but. There wasn't the slightest hint of bravado in his eyes; his gaze rested on the bare chest my loosely-fit kimono displayed.

As humid as it was in the capital city, he was lucky I still had my robes sashed up.

We were in the middle of the hottest summer in recent memory, which was why I was drinking this saké chilled in the first place. Though you'd be a fool to waste expensive alcohol by burning it—passing up on this dry apple taste and rich cedar aroma was a crime in and of itself.

"Er...you are a samurai, aye?" The phrase was mixed with equal parts fear and skepticism. Oh, and desperation too. You had to be damn desperate to mistake a half-drunk sellsword like me for one of General Hizen's lapdogs. Those were purebreds. I finished off my cup of chilled bliss before giving a reply.

"I'm Something even Better"

I bounced the hilt-end of my sheathed katana up with a sudden jerk of my right knee. It flipped well into the air—once, twice, three times before I snatched it. Not a moment too soon either, as it was just about to do a number on an expensive flask of fermented rice. After a couple seconds the pudgy patron's reflexes kicked in and he stumbled back a few paces.

I liked to think I'd gotten my point across.

"I'm no samurai, though you knew that already. And you're no Yamato silk-dresser, not with an accent like that. What do you want?" The last thing I had expected was to deal with fellow Southerners in a classy joint like this. Brought back the tastes of my childhood years, and it made me want to gag.

The girthful man wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, yet another tell towards his modest upbringing. I wasn't sure if I was starting to like him more or less, but I sure wished the kid would hurry up with our rooms.

"P-please keep your voice down, master samurai. I-I mean, the title I meant was..." He fumbled around for the right word. He and I both knew the word he was looking for, he was just too afraid to say it. Ronin.

"...my name is Kin Oyama. My wife and I are here with our child to arrange a marriage with the Akiyama branch family. If you would sit at our table, your presence would bring us great honor." Kin whispered the plot as if he were a politician trying to usurp his liege lord. His daimyo needn't worry—the only thing this pretender could displace was a bowl of udon noodles.

The wife held up an orange haori—a formal jacket—and smiled from ear-to-ear. I might have underestimated these Southerners. If nothing else, they had come prepared. The scheme was to dress up a dirty ronin and pass him off as a semi-respectable retainer. A family without powerful hereditary ties, yet had a samurai in their personal employ? That meant wealth, and lots of it.

Honestly this plan might just work. but really Should I help them?

"Fine but this isn't Charity work"

Compared with hauling the kid all over Hyuga, this job was a breeze. And make no mistake—this wasn't a favor from one Southerner to another. Down there it was a dog-eat-dog world, and I'm not just talking about the expression. And while this current scenery may sport more cherry blossoms and giggling geishas then I'm used to, my stomach still couldn't feed itself.

"I'll play samurai for you, Oyama-dono, but not for free." My gut growled with anticipation. That smell I've been sniffing since I got here was finally going to be mine. "Toss in a double order of dumplings and something to wash it down with."

He nodded enthusiastically, and I reluctantly put on the orange-colored garment. Oddly enough it fit me perfectly.

He had mentioned a child, but I couldn't spot the potential suitor anywhere. Unless...aha! Hidden behind the overstuffed roll of carpet that was his wife, a graceful figure sat. Far from being a child, this figure—thankfully—looked nothing like the parents that birthed it. It was the sort of attractive human form that forced my eyes to linger.

A beautiful Blushing bride in Full Bloom.

She wore a silk blue furisode—a kimono with sleeves that graced atop the ground. An elaborate display of cherry blossoms were etched into the outfit's design. A white sash tightened around her waist, which was delicate and slender. A golden hairpiece fit snugly atop a braided bun of black hair.

She was breathtaking, and any man who sat across from her would consider himself lucky.

I nearly pinched myself for fear that I was dreaming. Fresh dumplings, rich saké and a beautiful woman to enjoy it with. The capital city might not be so bad after all!

I was about to take a seat wherever I wanted when I recalled that members of the noble caste liked to make everything complicated. Trite traditions and an exhaustive amount of ways to disrespect someone were nestled at every corner in high society. I won't pretend that I knew or cared about half of them—I like to think that I have better ways of wasting my time.

Even so, it was customary for samurai to sit beside their lord for protection. The seat beside the strapping future wife was also open, and that was tempting for its own reasons.

I sat beside the bride and started to eat.