Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
I exhaled through my nose and unclenched my jaw.
"Fine." I looked between them. "The twins stay on me."
Hiro gave a small nod.
Reo's shoulders loosened by a fraction—barely visible, but I caught it.
Then my gaze dropped. The white petal was still clinging to the toe of Reo's boot.
Small.
Curved.
Harmless.
My skin prickled. The dream rushed back—black water, stems cracking through cartilage, roots threading around my heart, chrysanthemums blooming from the splits in my skin. A shiver rolled through me before I could stop it, starting at the base of my spine and climbing up.
I looked away from the petal. "Give everyone extra Scales. Every person walking into Yoshiwara gets double coverage. No exceptions."
"Okay.” Reo nodded.
I swallowed. “I still don’t like bringing Hiroko.”
"But nobody's going to know that area like Hiroko," my brother shrugged. "Without her, we're walking blind."
I knew he was right. But the thought of bringing her into a potential ambush made my chest tighten.
We have to do this right.
I swallowed. "Give me a minute to think.”
They stepped back slightly and gave me space.
I closed my eyes and let my mind work through what I knew about Yoshiwara.
The original pleasure district had been built in 1617 as Edo's official red-light district. The Tokugawa shogunate licensed it to control prostitution and keep it contained within a walled area.
It wasn't only about sex.
It was about power and status.
The district was surrounded by a moat and a single gate, and no woman could leave without permission, making them not sex workers but sex slaves.
Still, those in charge presented them as courtesans and called them oiran. They were also ranked. The highest were treated like royalty and were educated and cultured. Men competed for their favor. Some escaped through wealthy clients.
The lowest remained trapped in sexual servitude.
The district burned down twice. Once in 1657 during the Great Fire of Meireki.
Again in 1911.
Every time, they rebuilt it.
Then came the Anti-Prostitution Law of 1958. It shut down the legal brothels. Yoshiwara as a licensed district ceased to exist in the public eye.
But it didn't disappear.
A small powerful circle rebuilt it underground. Elite courtesans. Industrialists. Crime families. Politicians. They created a new Yoshiwara beneath Tokyo and resurrected of the old rituals and hierarchies, but refined.
It was now hidden and invitation-only.
The secret entrances were scattered across the district and hidden in plain sight.
For newcomers who'd proven their wealth and discretion, there were the Michelin-star restaurants. Kurotsuki was the most famous. After the ninth course, certain guests received a black metal card with a pressed gold camellia. Next, the server would whisper an invitation to continue the evening. If the person accepted, they followed the server to a concealed elevator behind a sake vault.
But the restaurants were just the beginning.
Established members had other access points. A particular vault in a private bank that descended instead of leading to safety deposit boxes.
A specific theater box in the Kabuki-za that had a hidden panel backstage.
An art gallery in Ginza where a painting on the back wall slid aside to reveal stairs spiraling down into darkness.
All roads led to the same place.
The Yoshiwara Depths.
Down there, red silk corridors stretched for miles beneath the district. Obsidian stone. Gold-framed art inspired by ukiyo-e.
The tunnels were designed like a labyrinth. Easy to get lost. Impossible to navigate without a guide.
And down there, everything happened. Mergers were discussed. Elections influenced. Secrets traded.
There were even ledgers kept by the elected Head Mistress. She recorded every patron, every transaction, every confession whispered in the dark. If that ledger were ever exposed, governments would fall.
And Hiroko had been a Head Mistress for five years before retiring the position and starting her club above ground.
I put my thoughts on the Ukiyo Council who governed the Depths.
Ukiyo meant the Floating World.
The council had taken the name from the old pleasure districts of Edo, where courtesans, theater, and art existed in a realm separate from the rigid structures of samurai society. A place where social rules bent. Where merchants could buy the company of women who would never acknowledge them in daylight. Where fantasies lived and died behind paper screens.
The Ukiyo Council consisted of five members. Each representing a vice. Power. Wealth. Beauty. Violence. Knowledge.
And they enforced one rule: no violence inside Yoshiwara Depths.
Outside, one could wage war.
Inside, one submitted to their control.
Or they killed them.
Neither I nor my father controlled Yoshiwara. The district was too ancient and steeped in history and tradition.
We respected that.
Therefore, the Ukiyo paid us tribute. Regular payments that acknowledged our power over the rest of Japan. And when they had major problems that required the kind of violence only a yakuza clan could provide, they came to us for help.
It was a delicate balance.
Mutual respect.
Mutual benefit.
But my father hiding in their tunnels threatened that balance. If the Ukiyo had allowed him sanctuary, they'd already chosen a side.
I opened my eyes.