She’s twelve, shaking and scared as she stands beside the men who are here to sell her. There’s a woman wearing glasses in the doorway before them, assessing her with sharp eyes. The collar around her neck chafes and she winces as one of the men tug on the attached chain.
“How old?” The woman asks, eyes flitting to the man on the left.
“Dunno,” he shrugs, “little bitch wouldn’t say a word.”
The woman sighs and raises a brow as her eyes land on Miyu’s split lip, “You damaged your merchandise? Unusual. You’re usually more careful.”
“She got in the way,” the one on the right spits, “and she doesn’t listen.”
The woman’s eyes snap to him and Miyu knows he’s made an error.
“Unruly, then. Well, I won’t pay eight thousand ryo for a brat that can’t take instructions.”
“Come now, Suzume-hime,” the man on the left is smiling but it rings false, “we saved her especially for you. All the whorehouses wanted her, ya know? But we knew you liked the pretty, quiet ones and-”
“Six thousand,” she deadpans, interrupting his spiel.
“Six?” The man on the right is scowling, “We hauled this bitch halfway across the country, you’re dreaming. Eight thousand or we walk away.”
“You think a whorehouse would pay eight thousand for a skinny young thing like her?” The woman – Suzume-hime, they called her – laughs, but it’s not a nice sound.
The men are silent. The most the whorehouses had paid for her collared companions had been five thousand.
“Six.” The woman says firmly.
“Seven,” demands the man on the left.
“Six and a half, last offer.” The woman shoots back, frowning.
There’s a tense minute of silence, and then finally the man on the left says, “Sold. Here,” he hands the leash to the woman and gives Miyu a shove in the back.
Staggering closer to the woman, Miyu wonders how the hell it came to this.
They exchange the cash, and Miyu tries to see inside the traditional door. The woman ends up leading her there, orders her to take her shoes off, and has her strip in the doorway until she’s only in her underwear. The collar gets removed and Miyu winces as it pulls away, sticky with her sweat.
“Hmm. Potential,” the lady says to herself, procuring a pipe and lighting it with a match taken from a box in her pocket.
“What’s your name, girl?”
Miyu swallows dryly and tries to think this through.
“What is this place?” She asks instead of answering the question.
The woman quirks a think brow at her.
“An Okiya,” she says dryly, “you will address me as Mother. You will listen to everything, do as you are told, and I will make you the best geisha there is.”
Geisha. Ah.
Miyu forces her hands to stop fidgeting and clenches them at her sides.
“I am Sugawara Miyu,” she says, voice somehow steady, “and I won’t be a geisha.”
The woman’s other brow rises, and her mock surprise is accompanied by a short, sharp laugh.
“Oh?” She takes a puff from her pipe and exhales into the entrance way.
Miyu frowns through the cloud of smoke and nods.
“If you won’t be a geisha, little Miyu, what will you be?”
Her shoulders are stiff, and she ignores that she’s dirty and sore and tired and alone as she declares, “I will be the best shogi player in the world.”
The woman’s expression doesn’t change, but Miyu can feel her mild amusement.
“We’ll see.”
-
There’s a girl standing before her. Miyu freezes, halfway out of the bath because she hadn’t knocked or anything-
“Who’re you?” Asks the girl bluntly.
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“Miyu,” she replies automatically, “who are you? And don’t you know how to knock?”
“I’m Nanami,” she states as though Miyu should already know. “I’m here to have a bath, genius.”
Miyu watches as she steps into the room and shuts the door behind her.
“Mother must’ve hired you to be my assistant.”
The girl looks to only be one or two years older than Miyu, so her superior tone doesn’t make sense.
“Well, good. My hair’s getting so long, it’s such a chore to wash.”
Miyu blinks as the girl strips and climbs into the tub with her.
“Are you just going to sit there or are you going to help me, Miyu?” Her mouth shapes Miyu’s name like it’s a swear word.
More surprised than anything, Miyu picks up the small bucket floating in the bath, scoops a hefty amount of steaming water into it, and when Nanami is busy turning her nose up and inspecting her nails, dumps it over the older girl’s head.
The chaos that ensues makes Miyu laugh for the first time in weeks.
Mother makes them dress, still half wet, and clean the entire bathroom. Then they kneel at the back door, damp and sulking, as Mother lectures them on being proper ladies.
That night, they have rice, miso soup, and grilled fish. Mother crunches into her pickles with abandon, and just as Miyu thinks she can’t take it anymore she locks eyes with Nanami over the table.
Another loud crunch, and the teen’s brow twitches. Miyu suddenly has to repress the urge to laugh and tries to hold her breath to achieve the seemingly impossible feat. Nanami’s own lips press together hard as she watches Miyu’s face get steadily redder, until there’s another knock on the door and Mother leaves the room.
They dissolve into cackles that leave Masa perplexed, and Nanami snatches up a pickle and munches on it in mockery of their caretaker.
Miyu laughs hard enough to cry and blames it on her traumatic journey when Mother returns and asks why she’s blabbering. Nanami can’t stop her laughter and they both get sent to bed.
“Hey, Miyu?” Nanami turns to her, pretty face still glowing with their shared mirth.
“Yes, Nanami-san?” She asks, sniffling because she really had been crying just five minutes before.
“You’re not so bad. Just know I’m not going to go easy on you, I’ll be the one adopted in ten years.”
“But… I don’t want to be adopted?” Miyu cocks her head as they ascent the staircase.
“Really?” Nanami looks sceptical. “What do you want?”
Miyu smiles at her as they reach her floor and says with unwavering certainty, “To play shogi.”
-
“Why’re you scowling?” Miyu asks, looking up from the pamphlet detailing this year’s national shogi tournament.
Nanami has been sitting in the office with her, frowning down at the desk between them with enough malice to set it alight.
“Mother’s bringing in another girl. Some Kikoko or whatever.”
Miyu sighs, “You’re turning eighteen. You’ve made a successful debut. She probably wants you to train up a maiko so you have a successor when you inherit.”
Nanami gives her a narrow-eyed stare, but as she opens her mouth to retort the office door opens. Mother is standing there, a young girl at her side.
Miyu takes in the neat little yukata and small smile and realises they don’t share their method of arrival.
“This is Kikyo,” Mother gently pushes the child into the room by her shoulders.
“Hello,” the girl chirps, bowing first to Nanami and then to Miyu. “It is an honour to meet you!”
Nanami’s face has smoothed into a careful calm that has Miyu immediately on edge.
“How old are you, Kikyo-chan?” She asks in a voice too soft to be anything but practiced.
“Nine!” Smiles the child, and Miyu watches Nanami’s side profile warily. She’s young, sure. But that doesn’t warrant Nanami’s sudden stillness. She watches as the geisha’s eyes flit up to meet Mother’s. They remain locked in a silent stare-off for long enough that Miyu clears her throat and stands from her place behind the desk.
“Come now, Kikyo-chan,” she smiles, “I’ll show you around. I’m Miyu.”
“Thank you very much, Miyu-san!” The girl follows her rather like a little duckling. As Miyu takes her on a tour of the building.
“Wow, you know so much about the Okiya,” Kikyo is staring in awe at the gardens. “How long have you been here?”
Miyu lets herself take in the brightness of this little girl, and replies, “Four years.”
“Wow! I can’t wait to train under Nanami-san-”
And she chatters the afternoon away. Miyu indulges her, and can only wish her well under Nanami’s tutelage.
-
When Miyu opens her eyes it takes her a moment to realise she’s looking at Itachi.
“Are you okay?” His hand comes up to feel at her face, concerned eyes dark once more. His thumb swipes at her cheek and she realises he's wiping at a tear.
She nods absently, thinking of how small Kikyo had been, of how much she’d loved Nanami despite their near constant banter.
“I wish you got to meet them,” she tells him, throat feeling too tight. “For real.”
Itachi only looks at her with his dark, soft eyes.
“So, pickles?” He murmurs after a moment’s quiet.
She can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up and out, and knows he’s picturing Nanami’s twitching brow and their moment in the staircase.
“Thank you,” her voice is thick but her chest feels light. “This – it’s everything, Itachi. Thank you.”
He’s smiling when she looks back to him, so handsome in the golden light of sunset that her breath catches in her throat.
“I will share your memories,” he says, and she’s suddenly aware of how close their faces are. “The good and the bad. I… want to share your present, Miyu. Your present, your future-”
“Miyu-chan!”
Miyu startles at the sound of Shisui’s voice, accompanied by his very sudden appearance on the railing of her balcony. When she looks back to Itachi he’s glaring so hard at his clansman that she worries for his safety.
“Shisui-san,” she greets with a smile, “what a surprise.”
And because she has genuine concerns that Itachi’s glare will set him alight, she stands and gestures for him to join them inside.
“Tea? Itachi’s just made some mochi.”
Shisui grins, his windswept curls bouncing as he steps onto the tiles of her balcony as Miyu turns to open the door.
“Yes please, Miyu-chan! Beautiful day, isn’t-”
His voice cuts off and when she spins around it’s only Itachi standing there, innocently blinking back at her. Did he just… throw Shisui off her balcony?
“Itachi, what-”
“That was mean!” Shisui’s voice appears almost before he does. As it is, Miyu still jumps, hand over her heart, because he’s occupying space that had been empty just a second ago and –
“Why are you covered in…” she cocks her head to the side and peers a little closer, “bugs?”
“What?” Shisui yelps, making to swat his arm, and then freezing. “You just had to aim for an Aburame, didn’t you?”
And then he disappears.
Miyu runs a hand through her hair and tries to piece together their brief exchange.
“He really gets under your skin like no one else, huh?” she hums to Itachi, watching the skyline of Konoha as the sun dips below the horizon.
Itachi only gives her an impassive stare. It makes her smile anyway.
