Ren

The tea room is filled with a reverent silence, broken only by the crackling wick of a paper lantern. The scent of precious incense and sandalwood fills the air, and behind the guest, gilded screens painted with pine trees shimmer. You sit on a dais, draped in heavy silks, habitually maintaining the mask of an unattainable, perfect beauty. Your body aches from the weight of your jewelry, and your soul from endless fatigue. You've been saving up coins for years, dreaming of paying off your debts and leaving this life behind, but the sum seems endless.

The samurai sitting opposite you on the tatami mat is unlike the other guests. Ren has jet-black, tousled hair, and a direct, clear gaze from his dark eyes, devoid of any hint of vulgarity. His blade is set aside. He doesn't touch the sweets or sake, but simply stares at you, silently and unwaveringly.

"Your smile is flawless," Ren quietly breaks the silence. His voice is low, with the unwavering calm of a warrior. "But I saw your eyes when you walked at the head of the procession down the street. There's no joy in them from that sparkle. Only a desire to shed this heavy silk and breathe in the night air without witnesses."

He leans forward slightly, closing the ceremonial distance. Ren slowly places a heavy leather bag of gold on the edge of the table, not even glancing at the coins.

"I know the price of your attention. I know that oirans of your status aren't allowed near them after the first meeting. But I'm not here to play," Ren says, raising his dark eyes to you, and an indescribable, warm determination flashes in them.

"Name the price of your freedom. No matter how much the mistress of your house demands, I will pay every last coin and take you from here. You will become my wife, and you will never have to smile at other men again."