There was a story about a scholar who once spent a night at Kagemachi before he went to serve the Emperor as a minister. His one-night adventure in the famous neighborhood had left an indelible mark on his life, so he was compelled to pick up his brush and put down several lines to describe his experience.
"Kagemachi, a land of mystified dreams.
Colored brocades swirling through the fragrant air.
Beautiful faces hidden under white masks.
Secrets exchanged over cups of tea and alluring smiles.
An untold kiss, a letter hidden within the sleeves.
When the night ends, so the magic disappears."
Those who had visited Kagemachi at least once in their lives understood the hidden meanings behind the poem.
Kagemachi, the glamorous entertainment center at the heart of Tokyo was none other than a very well fabricated illusion.
As dusk descended, the neighborhood was steeped into a short period of darkness. Once all lanterns at the okiyas and streets lit up at almost the same time, the district transformed into a deceptive paradise. Women resembling enchanting fairies poured out of the buildings in beautiful kimonos and painted faces, their sole purpose was to enthrall unsuspecting patrons.
Some geishas, their figures veiled in silk and patterned kimonos, chose to walk the bustling streets of the neighborhood, their elegant strides and captivating beauty drawing admiring glances. With each step, the delicate folds of their garments whispered tales of unseen artistry, while the soft clatter of their wooden sandals kept time with the surrounding area's rhythmic pulse.
Others, bound by the constraints of time and distance, opted for the swiftness of rickshaws. As they glided through the city's arteries, their meticulously arranged hair and painted faces remained unruffled, a serene contrast to the whirling chaos of the streets.
In the hushed halls of the teahouses, where the air vibrated with anticipation, geishas reigned like queens. These exquisitely trained women transformed each teahouse into a stage, their every movement a captivating performance. But the price of accessing their artistry varied greatly, dictated by the geisha's standing and the desired favor.
Even the gentlest gesture, a cup of tea poured by the hand of a renowned geisha, could cost a king's ransom. Each sip, infused with the subtle fragrance of jasmine and the geisha's captivating aura, became a luxury beyond compare. And for those fortunate enough to witness a private dance, a rare and breathtaking spectacle, the price tag soared to astronomical heights.
Within these walls, wealth was traded not for mere goods, but for an experience as fleeting as a butterfly's wing. It was a privilege reserved for the elite, a glimpse into a world where beauty and talent commanded the highest price. And as the night unfolded, each guest became a player in this intricate dance, forever marked by the touch of a geisha's allure.
The problem rather lay with the naive, inexperienced guests who had yet to understand the dynamic of Kagemachi. Very quickly, they found themselves swept away by the intoxicating atmosphere inside tea houses. Hours melted away like fleeting shadows, their pockets unknowingly emptied by the night's illusory pleasures. By the time their funds dwindled, the memories of their expenditures remained a hazy enigma, lost in the intoxicating fog of Kagemachi's deceitful magic.
Some, faced with this harsh reality, managed to escape the district's clutches, vowing never to return. Yet, Kagemachi's allure proved difficult to resist. Its reputation as a social hub, an entertainment district to visit and enjoy, eventually drew them back, their resolve weakened by the promise of fleeting pleasure.
Others, unwilling to accept the loss of their wealth, reacted with anger and aggression. Their protests, however, were met with an equal force. Kagemachi, despite its outward appearance of beauty and grace, possessed a dark underbelly, one that dealt with unwelcome guests swiftly and ruthlessly. The district was a meticulously crafted illusion, designed not only to entice but also to control, and those who dared to disrupt its delicate balance were dealt with accordingly.
Under the midday sun, Midori and Arata's rickshaw rattled along the streets of Kagemachi. Unlike the vibrant, pulsating entity that emerged after dark, Kagemachi, in the stark light of day, seemed almost deserted. The air hung heavy with a curious silence, a stark contrast to the energetic buzz of the night.
Gone were the dazzling geishas, their painted faces and ornate kimonos replaced by the plain attire of ordinary women. They rested behind closed doors, their captivating charm temporarily hidden, their true identities a secret waiting to be unveiled with the setting of the sun.
"Halt."
The rickshaw stopped abruptly at Midori's command.
Arata narrowed his eyes at the okiya they just stopped at.
"Is it here?"
"I am pretty certain," Midori said. Her conviction did not hail from the original host's blurry memories, but rather from a strange, rose-colored fragment that hovered close to the ground in front of said okiya.
[Congratulations, Midori-san! You have found 1/3 memory fragments to complete the Third Mission!] S-9898's high-pitched voice announced. [Two more to go!].
Inconspicuously, Midori snagged the shimmering memory fragment from the air. It hovered for a moment, pulsating with captured experiences, before dissolving into a warm light that flowed into her mind. As the influx of memories washed over her, a soft gasp escaped her lips, an involuntary response to the sudden influx of information and emotions.
Her vision blurred with tears as she tumbled down the steps, each one echoing her heartbreak with a dull thud. Her sobs, raw and desperate, tore at the stillness of the night, each one a testament to the pain ripping through her. Reaching the front door, she grasped the handle with trembling hands and slid it open with a desperate jerk.
Barefoot, she stumbled onto the street, the rough cobblestones tearing at her tender skin like a thousand needles. But Midori felt no pain, only the agonizing ache in her heart that propelled her forward. She had to get away, to escape the abominable pleasure district and the memories that clung to her mind like clinging vines.
And then, quick as a shadow, another person burst through another okiya's front door in front of her.
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Author's note :
Memories from the past will be italicized as well in these few chapters.