Ukiyo ~ Floating World
Chapter One: Red Heat

Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon or any of its respective characters and such. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction devoted to the absolute perfection of my OTP.
Author's Notes: Since I majored in Japanese, I added bits and pieces of Japanese literature and history throughout the work. Footnotes are provided for the readers' convenience. However, Japanese history was not my strength, so if something seems a little off, please don't hesitate to correct me. I'm doing my research as best as I can, and without taking an actual course in Japanese history, there is a definite possibility that something will be amiss. Apologies! Lastly, the names are written in the traditional surname-forename structure.

Yamato breathed a soft sigh, looking up from his faded copy of Man'yoshu. The cherry blossoms were already starting to fall, and it was only the second month of the year. Change was heavy in the air on this chilly afternoon; the Tokugawa shogunate was still in power, but the blonde-haired boy was certain that this power would last only as long as the fragile pink blossoms of the tree he sat beneath. Since the arrival of the Americans, the ports at Odaiba have been opened, and isolation was no longer the reality he knew since boyhood. The seventeen year old set his book aside and pulled his koto from its case, tuning it absently as he took in the light fragrance of the cherries. He shut his eyes and remembered his first night acting in Gion, just weeks ago.

It was still snowing at the time. Yamato had been studying the koto under the master Yamada Kengyo since he was seven, after shunning his family's long line of samurai. Ishida. Descended from the great Ishida Mitsunari, betrayer of Tokugawa Ieyasu. And here was the eldest son of Ishida Hiroaki, off to pursue the arts instead of the way of the sword! Even the best samurai would learn both the art of fighting and beauty, said his father the night the young boy made his decision. It was snowing that night; interesting how the cold stuff always seemed to surround the important parts of his life! His parents were fighting viciously, and it was evident that the red thread that had supposedly connected them eternally was not as strong as they thought. Even at seven, Yamato was protective of his younger brother of four years. He did his best to shield little Takeru's innocent ears from his father's poisonous words, but it was no use. The four year old would succumb to the fighting against his will, and the screams eventually drove their mother to whisk the younger boy away in the dead of night. Yamato was now under the sole care of his father. And he didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps. So he, too, left in the dead of night, not even leaving a note to explain his absence.

He didn't have to go far from home. The Yamada school was in Edo, only a couple of neighborhoods down, and Yamato was a skilled speaker for a young boy, allowing him to find his way to Kengyo quickly. The entire excursion only took the better part of ten hours, and he didn't even have to stop for food. The master was younger than the boy had expected. Yamada Kengyo attained the title of "master" at the tender age of twenty-two, and had not taken a bride. The man was married to his music, and Yamato wanted the same. He did not want to deal with the pain of a relationship, especially when they were arranged. Before he could even speak, Yamato was promised a bride by the name of Takenouchi Sora. Who could think about marriage at seven years old? Times were changing, he said to Master Kengyo, and he didn't want to be a part of it. Kengyo immediately took him on as an apprentice, and since then, Yamato had become a very skilled koto player, though still nameless. Gion was supposed to be his breakthrough performance for his seventeenth birthday, providing the background for the kabuki performance of Dojoji.

But something went wrong that night. Yamato and Master Kengyo were in another room practicing, several hours early, as usual, when the kabuki troupe leader came in, wringing his hands fretfully. "I apologize, Master Yamada," he said, clearly trying to keep his voice steady as he dabbed his forehead with a cloth. "You have both come from so far to perform for us, and yet…I am afraid a problem has arisen."

"Oh? Whatever is the matter, sir?" Kengyo asked without looking up from his koto. Yamato smiled to himself. The master was not one to care too much about such things, and he certainly wasn't going to make a fuss about what would surely be a small problem.

Taking a deep breath, the stout actor held back a choked sob. The life of an actor, Yamato thought, turning his blue eyes back to his own koto. "Our…one of our main actors, who is to play Kiyohime, has refused to show. As you know, without a Kiyohime, Dojoji is essentially ruined, and so…"

The man continued to talk endlessly, explaining why the play could not go on. Yamato suddenly realized what this would mean for him: he would not be able to play the koto for them tonight. His heart began to sink. The troupe leader's words began to attack him personally. Trying to maintain his composure, Yamato continued to tune his stringed instrument, though he let his shoulders slump in disappointment. He unintentionally tuned the conversation out. It was Master Kengyo's steady voice that pulled him back to reality. "Yamato. You are familiar with Dojoji, are you not?"

Yamato looked up, raising a brow in curiosity as he nodded toward the older man. It was true: Yamato devoured books when he wasn't practicing his instrument, and Dojoji happened to be one of his favorites. He and Kengyo visited the theatre often to synchronize their music with the actors' movements. Yamato's slender fingers would pluck the strings with a beautiful clarity, and his skill was greatly refined under Kengyo's tutelage. That being said, it was no surprise that he could master the timing so quickly. The dark-haired musician would make Yamato practice to hone his discipline, but would allow him to study the actors' craft when they inevitably finished early. There were plenty of times when Yamato would join the actors in jest, playing the part of Kiyohime when the gaudy player left the theatre for the day. "You do this so well," said Motomiya Daisuke, who served as one of the young apprentices of the acting troupe. "I'm surprised that you're not in our troupe! Our own 'Kiyohime' tends to overact the part all the time."

Needless to say, Yamato was a very talented young man. Kengyo often made remarks, praising his apprentice indirectly. He talked about how glad he was that the gods gave him a young man who seemed to have been specifically born to serve the arts. Still unsure of what was being insinuated in this situation, Yamato fiddled with his koto blankly until the troupe leader suddenly embraced him in a crushing embrace. "Oh, oh, please, thank you! The troupe thanks you both for eternities to come! You have saved us all!"

"Wh-What's going on?" Yamato asked, struggling for breath after the actor left jumping with joy. "What did you say to him, Master Kengyo?"

Kengyo yawned. "Not paying attention this time around, were we now?" His lips were turned up in a smile as he moved his koto back to his side, folding his hands on his lap afterward. "You've just been accepted to play the part of Kiyohime tonight."

"I…what?"

"That's right. They will be expecting you in a couple of hours to get into costume and makeup."

Shocked into a stunned silence, Yamato blinked, trying to make sense of the words. "I…I am to get into costume. And makeup. To play Kiyohime."

"Correct."

"But…but the koto…"

"That can wait for another time."

"Wasn't this supposed to be – "

"Your debut? Yes. Yes, it was. But, my apprentice, look upon the situation with new eyes. They have nobody to play one of the most crucial parts of the play. One simply cannot have Dojoji without Kiyohime. Though I thought this obvious, it would be impossible for you to perform at all without a play." Kengyo looked at the young man, his bored eyes communicating a serious message drenched in pretentious wisdom. "You may as well get your name out there, even under the guise of an actor. I figure we will be able to present you next time as 'The Beautiful Kiyohime'. It will cause quite a stir if we present you as a multi-talented individual."

The boy breathed a rough sigh as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and pushing his left foot against it. The position made him look nonchalant, but his furrowed brow begged to differ. After years of toil dedicated to his koto, how could he even consider being an actor, if even for a night? A simple compliment from a troupe member was a nice thing to have, but it surely was not enough to merit a place in the spotlight. He raised a fist to his mouth and bit his lip. I want to perform, he thought miserably. And Gion is the place to perform, even to this day. We came all the way from Edo! Almost 300 miles along the roads! It took us a whole week with our kotos strung to our backs…it would be such a waste, such a waste…

"Well, there's still time, I suppose," said Kengyo, who began to pull at the strings of his koto once more. "We can always rush over and tell them we can't possibly do it, even though I hear you reciting Dojoji in your sleep. And you'd better decide now. I didn't know you were so fond of walking through the Tokaido, especially after we were almost robbed blind a dozen times."

Yamato shook his head and mumbled to himself. "I know, I know, old man," he said quietly.

Kengyo chuckled. "I'm thirty-two. Not that old yet, kid. But I'm still years wiser than you, whether you like it or not."

The blonde leaned forward from the wall and straightened his dark kimono, eyes closed. His shoulders no longer slumped, and he stood tall as he exhaled through his nose, hands lying on top of each other, thumbs meeting in the center. Smiling, Kengyo knew that his student was now putting things into focus. Whenever the boy prepared for a recital, he would have his eyes shut and breathe through his nose, as he did now. The Ishida blood ran true. He may not have chosen the path of the warrior, but he approached each and every challenge with the same steadfast meditation.

"How much time do I have left to prepare?" Yamato asked, voice lush with confidence. "I must admit, I wondered why we had to arrive days before the performance, but I can't help but feel that you did that on purpose."

"Ha-ha! I'm not that brilliant when it comes to such sudden events. No, I am just an advocate for hard work, and for perfect koto recitals. Your callused fingers should say enough about how hard I work you during practice," Kengyo replied, chuffed. "I would have had us arrive weeks early if I knew this was going to happen. In any case, you have about six hours to look through the lines again."

Yamato pulled a small pamphlet from the folds of his clothes. He had brought his own copy of the kabuki version of Dojoji. Though it had much more detail than the Noh version, the story itself was not very long. Yamato thoroughly enjoyed the literature he came across; in the little spare time he had, he would write his own lines of poetry in attempts to eventually create a song. He liked to think that what he lacked in battle skills, he more than made up with in soul.

The story of Dojoji was typical of historic Japanese literature. It began as a Noh play, and followed the usual pattern: it started with a minor character from a nearby temple, ready to purify a certain ground for an unknown celebration. Within a few moments, a wanderer will come by; in this case, a dancer who persuades the man to let her enter the sacred area. After a short exposition, an even shorter instance will occur, launching the play into the actual story.

Yamato thumbed through the pages as Kengyo played an accompaniment. The master truly had a wonderful grasp when it came to music. He would change the background music just as Yamato found himself reading the next scene, making his short read-through immensely enjoyable. The room was cold, but he couldn't feel it as he recalled the tale in his mind. Dojoji, Red Heat. There were many versions of the story, but the message was the same.

Dojoji was actually the name of a temple known for its giant bronze bell. The story tells of two priests, one young and one old, on an annual pilgrimage to Kumano. The older one would always stop at a village nearby, for he knew a steward who was kind enough to give them a place to rest. This time, though, a woman by the name of Kiyohime answered the door. When she laid eyes the younger priest, her heart leapt from within her triangle-patterned kimono. For the three nights the priests stayed, she would always come by, trying to seduce him, for she wanted him as her husband.

But the young priest was a devout follower of the Way, and he would turn her away every time. Kiyohime, however, was not the type of person to give up so easily, and she continued her advances. The young priest, unskilled in the ways of romance, was exasperated. He decided to make her a bargain so she would leave him alone. He made a promise under false pretenses, murmuring that he would return after his pilgrimage was complete, handing her his Boddhitsava relic. It would take no longer than a week, he had said to her. This placated the woman, and she was pleased. And so after the three days they left. She began to wait patiently, clutching the Boddhitsava statue he gave to her.

A week came and disappeared, and so did another. Kiyohime began to show signs of worry, wringing her hands around the statue of the merciful Buddha. She held it with such force that she failed to notice the crack that appeared in the center. Crazed, she went out of her home and began to follow the path the priests had taken, asking all travelers that passed her way. In this way, she found out that the priest had lied to her, and it had been a good while since he completed his pilgrimage. Enraged and depressed, the woman crawled back to her home and died that night.

The next morning, an enormous snake emerged from her bed. It raced across the great river that led to the Dojoji temple, the last place that travelers had seen the two priests. Kiyohime had been transformed into the horrific creature after learning that she had been tricked, and she was still bound to the physical world by her lust and unrequited love. Through word of mouth, the priests discovered the presence of Kiyohime's new form, and decided to hide the handsome priest until she was gone. The older priest and the temple servants of Dojoji worked together to hide the young priest under Dojoji's giant bronze bell.

Within minutes, Kiyohime burst through the gates of the temple. She whipped her scaly head left and right, and seemed to sense the man's presence from beneath the bell. An angry roar escaped from that terrifying mouth as she coiled her slimy body around it, and crimson tears began to fall from her demonic eyes. A horrible red heat seemed to surround the sacred area, and the priests knew immediately that the young priest would not survive this encounter as the bell turned white-hot. When she finished crying, she heard the murmur of the priests' prayers, and was driven from Dojoji, her pain resonating throughout the courtyard as she fled.

Frightened, the priests approached the bell after it had cooled down and lifted it. A few of them held back choked sobs when they saw that absolutely nothing was left of the young priest. Not even a trace of ash was present. They prayed silently, and the head priest of Dojoji advised the older priest (who had been traveling with the handsome one) must pray for them to save their souls. He does so, face streaked with tears, and begins praying.

As he finishes the incantation, the elder priest falls into a deep sleep. He is visited by a vision, where two snakes descend from a cloud. Once they reached eye-level, the priest is surprised to find them transformed into their human forms. "Thank you, Elder Priest," the young man said. "You have saved both of our souls, and now we can live in heaven."

Yamato shook his head. As a boy, he despised Kiyohime. If only she hadn't been there! The young priest would have become devout as he wished to be, instead of heaven. And why was he in heaven with the woman who brought him down? Why was he not in a horrible place instead? But now, Yamato would be playing the role of Kiyohime. He struggled to understand her mindset. She was just being human, he concluded. Look at me. I'm not a priest, nor a monk. I don't follow religion. I only follow my heart, and my heart only resonates with music. And he didn't have to promise her a damned thing in the first place. She was devout in her own way – this was her desire. She wanted love. What's so wrong about that?

"Finished, then? Come under the kotatsu. You're paler than the snow out there." Kengyo called. It took Yamato a moment to realize that the music had stopped, and he was freezing. January was not a month that provided agreeable weather, and he just remembered that it was still snowing outside. Tucking the Dojoji pamphlet back into his kimono, he stood up from the kneeling position he had been sitting in for the greater portion of two hours and joined his master under the heater.

"Are you very familiar with Dojoji, Master?"

"We have only been practicing for, oh, months, to perform for the play. So yes, I do think I can say that I know of it."

"What do you think of Kiyohime?"

"Ah, Yamato. You know I would not think of you differently after this. She's just a character, you know."

"So I assume you don't like her."

Kengyo shifted in his seat, careful to avoid the hot coals from underneath the kotatsu. "It's not that at all," he mused. "I think she is a very interesting character. But let me ask you the same thing, since you are the one who plays along with the other actors once that Ichijouji boy has left: what do you think of her? Motomiya is not the only one who thinks you are perfect for the part, you know. I, too, am capable of such thoughts."

Yamato laughed as he thought of Ichijouji Ken, who was supposed to play Kiyohime tonight. The boy was slender, with hair of a deep indigo color, and moody. Neither of the koto players were surprised that Ken decided to walk out on opening night. It was half-expected, and they were certain that the troupe leader did his best not to believe it was so. "Thank you for the compliment, Master Kengyo," Yamato said with a smile. "Well…Kiyohime. Now that I actually have to play her, my feelings for her have changed. I used to think she deserved her fate – being turned into a snake – and that the priest had a very unfair end.

"But now, I have to wonder: is it all right to feel like that? Wouldn't anyone feel that way if they were promised something so precious, only to find out from someone else that it was just a lie?" Yamato tilted his head down, feeling troubled. "I would hate that. I'm no saint, and while I admire those who make such devout pilgrimages, I am not one of those men. I am a human."

Kengyo rested his head on his palm as he studied the boy. He was quiet, ruminating over his answer, and simply nodded. He turned his deep brown eyes onto Yamato, who was still absently looking at the tabletop. Realizing that Yamato's answer was complete, he coughed gently. "A human indeed," he said softly. "We are so human that we choose keep our heads in the clouds of this Floating World. It's just entertainment to those who consume our art; but for us, it is the very oxygen we breathe…"

Before the man could finish, a messenger came in, informing the duo that they would begin costuming in less than fifteen minutes. There were only three more hours before the show would start, and Yamato would have to practice moving with the heavy makeup and fabric. The boy nodded, assuming that his teacher would elaborate on his answer once they were done with the production.

"Good luck," Kengyo said to Yamato, lazily waving his hand once before turning his attention back to his beloved instrument.

The messenger didn't give Yamato a chance to reply as he grasped the boy's hand and pulled him through the maze of a building. The teen had to shield his eyes as he entered a room filled with lanterns and mirrors in attempts to make it as bright as possible. Daisuke turned his head, face half-done in the extravagant kabuki makeup, and grinned when he saw Yamato. "Ah, so you're to replace Ken? That's great! You really make a fantastic snake of a guy – er, girl!"

Yamato was guided to a seat next to Daisuke's, and he shivered when the white makeup was slapped onto his face. This was not something he ever had to do, and he couldn't help but grimace. "Hey," he grumbled. "A little gentler, would that kill you?"

The makeup artist was deaf to his protests, and after half an hour of Daisuke's chatter and Yamato's attempts to stay still, he was done. A mirror was lifted, and the blonde gasped at what he saw in the reflection. He was no longer Ishida Yamato. He truly looked the part of Kiyohime, and was surprised at the transformation from man to woman. The man with the brush decided to make tonight's snake woman into a beautiful, seductive thing, and Yamato couldn't help but stare at himself in disbelief. What a difference the face paint made!

Daisuke let out a low whistle. "Boy, I wouldn't care about Kumano anymore if I saw you," he said, grin widening. "I'm the priest that you're supposed to seduce, you know? I'm going to have a tough time actually resisting you!"

Yamato replied with a cross between a grumble and a chortle as he raised a hand to his face slowly. His lips were so red! When he parted them, he felt himself blush under the white makeup; he seemed every bit a seducer, and there was something strangely inappropriate about opening his mouth when it was so prettily painted. "I guess I do look pretty good," he said smugly after some thought.

"Hah! Conceited boy," Daisuke replied. "Just make sure you can keep up with us. Not that I'm worried."

The two boys and the other actors were dressed, and they were all finally ready for a quick run through before they would perform. Yamato was uncomfortable and could barely move in the weighty kimonos that were now draped over his shoulders, and his feet were not accustomed to walking with them on. Quick-witted as he was, it still took them a long while to get through the first act. Time was already running low. He gulped. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea.

"Don't you choke on us now, koto player," Daisuke warned after noticing the worried look on Yamato's face. "You're all we've got right now. When Ken gets like this, he doesn't recover until he's climbed Mt. Fuji twice."

"I'm no actor," Yamato quipped, feeling his nerves turn on him. "I can't do this. I can't. I'm tripping over these damned robes, I can barely remember the words that I'm supposed to say, I'm not even sure how I'm going to climb the damned bell! I'm no good. I can't do it."

Daisuke looked ominous with the extra makeup on. "Shut up! Stupid! You think that people wouldn't look at you if you were playing the koto? You could be the best koto player in the world and people would still notice if you were nervous! I'd hit you if you weren't wearing makeup," he said in his abnormally loud voice. "So just keep your head on, okay? Just think about it! Do whatever the hell you do before you break your fingers strumming at that piece of wood! You wouldn't perform either way, with a koto or not, so just get this right. Just. Get. This. Right."

Still grimacing, Yamato tried his best to calm down, but now he felt so misunderstood. This made him angry. He wanted to run away, to hit someone, to cry. Why should I have to do this? I am a koto player! I am a musician! Why can't they understand? Who is this kid to tell me that I'm the stupid one?

"Fifteen minutes," said a messenger from the wings. Yamato could feel his palms sweating, his heart beating faster and faster. He felt dizzy. There was no way he could do this. He would surely faint before he even reached the stage. It was impossible, this whole situation was ridiculous, he felt ridiculous…

"Whoa!"

The actors all whirled at the same moment toward the sound of this unfamiliar voice. The surprised sound came from a boy who looked to be the same age as Yamato, who was half-hidden in the shadows of the backstage area. A sizeable mop of chocolate-brown hair stood from his head, his amber eyes shining with curiosity. His deep blue kimono was tied on clumsily, and a katana hung from a scabbard. He looked every inch the lackadaisical adventurer. His large eyes were shining with excitement, possibly from sneaking to the actors' area, and his mouth was curved in an open-mouthed grin as he surveyed the place. "Er, sorry, sorry! I just wanted to have a look! I didn't know you'd all be here, or anything," he said, his voice pleasantly raspy. "Uh, anyway, you all look great! I'll be in the audience. Anyway, since I'm here, mind telling me when you're starting – "

"Ten minutes!" the troupe leader said shrilly, making a short appearance. "Wha…hey, who are you? Out, out, get out!"

"Gotta go," the stranger said, bowing shortly. "See ya in ten!"

Somehow, the strange occurrence helped calm Yamato down. At least there's some crazy man out there with enough courage…or stupidity…to come back here. At least one person won't care nor notice how badly I act once I get onstage. He's just happy to be here. To be entertained by us all. He shut his eyes, straightened his back, and breathed through his nose as he meditated. Focus was once again in his command, thanks to this silly boy who distracted him from his worry.

"Well, that was weird," Daisuke said, scratching his head underneath his wig, mouth in a disapproving curl. He turned back to Yamato, somewhat taken aback at the sudden concentration that seemed to surround the boy. "Uh…well, are you ready?"

Yamato didn't reply for a couple of minutes, and as he exhaled, he felt his confidence soar. "Yes. I am ready," he said, voice steady. "I apologize about my behavior earlier. We'll be fine."

Daisuke raised his eyebrows, detecting the sudden alteration in Yamato's attitude. Yamato tapped the Dojoji pamphlet, still tucked in his innermost kimono, and he felt his heart calm its previously rapid pace. Kengyo was already out on the stage, and Yamato was comforted when he heard the warm, familiar sounds of the koto. He was immediately transported into the story, and Yamato took a final deep breath as the play began. I am Kiyohime; I am human. We are artists. We are all human and imperfect, beautifully misunderstood creatures.

The play went on without a hitch. The boy who snuck backstage was easy to spot in the audience. His big hair was definitely the first thing that could be seen, if not the eager excitement in his bright eyes. Yamato was admittedly not the most modest man in the world, but he swore that he could feel the boy's eyes on him every time he shuffled onto the stage. And every time he made himself conscious about it, he felt the strangest urge to grin, to laugh, to do anything else but act. Confidence certainly did strange things to a person.

After the performance, Kengyo helped Yamato off the stage, but not before announcing his pupil by name as his star kotoist. The audience was visibly confused, and many of them were curious about the announcement. "Why did he not play today?" "He is wonderful!" "When will we hear him?" Once again, Kengyo's intuition saved Yamato. Chuckling to himself, Kengyo patted the younger man on the back as they made their way to the costume room.

"Congratulations. It was a grand performance."

"I was nervous at first."

"But someone gave you strength," Kengyo said matter-of-factly.

"How did you know?" Yamato asked, incredulous. "You had a different entrance point than me."

"Yes, well, that young lad who barged in wasn't the quietest of folk. I imagine that you almost let your nerves get the best of you, and if it weren't for his distraction, you probably would have fled. Dressed as a woman, I might add," the master said with a flourish of the hand. "Might not have ended too well for you, since you make quite the lovely girl."

Yamato gave him a look as he took a warm cloth to his face. The makeup artist scurried in as if he sensed the actor was about to make a grave mistake, slapped Yamato's hand away, and began undoing the disguise he provided for him earlier. Within a dizzying ten minutes, Yamato was back in his normal clothing and conveniently placed next to Kengyo. The makeup artist was nowhere to be found. What a tornado of a person, Yamato thought to himself, feeling refreshed now that he could feel his own skin. He shook his head and ran a hand through his golden hair. "By the way, before I forget, what do you think of Kiyohime's character?" he inquired, rubbing his cheek.

"Ah, yes," Kengyo began. "As I was saying before: we are the architects, the creators of ukiyo, our Floating World, or 'entertainment', to the normal folk. So it makes sense that we would relate to characters like Kiyohime."

The master ran his fingers over his own callused hands, recalling what he had wanted to explain to Yamato before the performance. "She was promised love, a beautiful thing. In the same way, we are promised retribution for the beauty that we make for others. And because we expect such things, because we expect to be recognized for the beautiful things we produce, we are already not the ones who can easily give up such a life for religion. In any case, Yamato, I agree with what you had said before: we are human, just like Kiyohime. And this is what I think: we might not have the glowing aura of those who have attained Nirvana, but at least we can be true with ourselves. We know what we desire, we know what we crave – we know who we are."

"And we don't like it when we're lied to," Yamato agreed. "Nor when we are promised something, and then having that promise forgotten. As easily as one forgets a dream as they recall it the next morning."

"Ho-ho. I do have trouble with remembering a dream as soon as I wake. Very good. It seems that we're on the same page as the tragic Kiyohime. I suppose we just have to try our best to keep from morphing into a horrendous snake," Kengyo said. "In any case, let's head back soon. We've got another long trek ahead of us, so make sure to get some sleep."

Nodding, Yamato bowed to his master and excused himself to claim his koto, which he had left in the room they had practiced in earlier. He could not believe that he had just taken on the role of Kiyohime, and on such short notice! There was no way he could tell which party the audience sympathized with, but the amount of chatter and applause he had received when Kengyo introduced him was no small thing. People would surely want to hear Yamato's true talent now! He smiled in spite of himself as he gathered his instrument, the snow still falling quietly around him as he walked out toward the inn.

He was almost there when a familiar head of hair sidled up next to him. "Hey! You did a great job back there," he said with a smile. "But you really do look crazy different without the makeup."

Though he was surprised and slightly agitated by the sudden company, Yamato smiled. "How on earth did you know it was me, then?"

The boy motioned to Yamato's koto. "The old man said you were his star player. And there aren't a lot of people who tote around such a wieldy thing like that for fun. Not to mention the fact that you look nothing like a servant boy."

"I could very well be the servant boy."

"You're clutching it more like it's your firstborn son rather than out of fear that your master will beat you."

"Hm." Yamato still wasn't sure what he deserved to be graced by company. He felt terribly cold without the warmth of the kotatsu in the playhouse, and inadvertently glanced toward the inn.

Following his gaze, the boy put an arm behind his head and let out a nervous guffaw. "Oh! Sorry. You were probably on your way to somewhere important. I promise you, there's actually a purpose to this!" He slipped his hand onto his scabbard, which made Yamato step back cautiously. "Don't worry. There's no reason to cut you down."

He began untying a bright red string from the hilt of the sword. Yamato tilted his head, trying to guess what it might have been. The stranger wasn't adept at untying knots, so Yamato decided to fill the void with small talk. "You know, not many people carry swords around these days," he said, noting that it was cold enough to see his own breath as he spoke. "Why do you have one?"

"This old thing? Well, that's a good question…" the boy replied in a low mumble. "Maybe you could just say I'm special, or something. Opening our ports to the world…it's an exciting venture, but I want to protect what I know. And what I know, what I've always known, is this sword and what it stands for." He finally undid the knot.

A small bronze bell was hanging on the end of the red ribbon. Wearing a confident smile, he took Yamato's hand and pushed the charm into his palm. "There we go! It's your first performance, right? I thought you were really amazing. And I don't really know a thing about art, but you made something in here – uh…how do I say this without sounding completely weird?" He filled another void with senseless, bright laughter. "It's the first time I've ever seen a play, okay? And I know I'll remember it forever. My dad always said that we should make sure good work doesn't go on unrewarded, so…uh, yes, I think this bell makes sense. Because, y'know…"

Yamato couldn't help but smile at this funny boy. He blushed at the compliment, and looked at the trinket in his hand. "The bell in the play, yes. I understand. Thank you. It is a really nice gesture. I'll treasure it," he said as he wound it around his Dojoji pamphlet.

"Don't take this the wrong way, either, but you were really beautiful as Kiyohime. I don't know how to say it without sounding offensive. You just…seemed so perfect for it. And it didn't matter if you were really a guy or girl or not. You were really her." The boy kicked a tuft of snow before looking back at Yamato. "So, uh, I hope to see you perform on your koto sometime! You must be really great at that too. I hope you touched a bunch of others the same way you touched me tonight."

"Taichi! What on earth are you talking about? How inappropriate!" came the throaty voice of an orange-haired girl behind the boy samurai. "I'm sorry, sir, please excuse my…friend, here. We'll be on our way now!"

The boy called Taichi, with that ever-present smile, lifted a hand and waved at Yamato as the girl pushed him toward another street. "Do your best!" he called. "I hope I get the chance to see you perform again!"

Yamato stood there, grinning like an idiot as he touched the small bell, now safe in his kimono. His face felt flushed, but he was certain it was the cold air that made his cheeks rosy. It took a great effort on his part to continue the short stroll to the inn, where Master Kengyo greeted him with a curious look. They said nothing to each other; Yamato only bowed and went straight to bed out of exhaustion. It had been a long day. They would be leaving Gion in the morning, and in due time, they would be back home in Edo. The chances of running into Taichi would be miniscule, but at least he had a memento of his only night as an actor.

He opened his eyes again, letting out a gasp, as if awakening from a dream. The snow was gone, only to be replaced by the cherry blossoms he sat beneath. Yamato had been mindlessly playing his koto for the entirety of his daydreaming, clutching the tiny bell charm all the while. There's no real reason why I was thinking of him, Yamato thought to himself. It was my birthday on that night. I received the gift of applause from a large crowd…and this bell, from that Taichi boy. Holding it to his breast, he tried to ignore the sound of his heart thumping.

"We are the architects of the Floating World. We are promised retribution for the beauty that we make for others. We expect to be recognized for the beautiful things we produce."

Yamato recalled his master's words in his mind, and exhaled raggedly. I was recognized by Taichi. That in itself is "beauty" for me. He slipped the charm back into his kimono, and allowed his body to rest without the distraction of daydreams. A pale pink cherry blossom gently landed on his cheek when he finally got to sleep, his right hand instinctively protecting the bell against the warmth of his body.

Notes: It seems that I am unable to include actual numbers in my footnotes, so hopefully this will clear up any mishaps that occurred along the way.

1. Man'yoshu: The oldest known collection of Japanese poetry.
2. The story takes place around the end of the Edo period and the beginning of the Meiji Restoration. In other words, Japan's doors were forcibly opened to the rest of the world. In years to come, Japan will hyperfocus on westernization and forget about Japanese traditional culture, which the Edo period stimulated.
3. Ishida Mitsunari betrayed Tokugawa Ieyasu, but for one reason or another, Ieyasu still thought he was cool and wanted him around.
4. Yamada Kengyo was the founder of the koto school in Edo (modern-day Tokyo).
5. The Tokaido was a long road connecting Edo to Kyoto for trade purposes.
6. Men still played the parts of women (actually, you can still see Noh and kabuki plays done this way, and the other way around - there are kabuki performances where all parts are played by women). They were called onnagata.
7. The red thread supposedly relates to a myth, stating that whoever is holding the other end of fate's red thread is the one you will be with for all eternity.
8. The story of Dojoji is sometimes translated as Red Heat. That being said, there are dozens of different translations, but the story is essentially the same. Also, can you guess what the moral is supposed to be?

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed chapter one! It went on for a while, I know. I'd appreciate it if you shared your thoughts with me! Taito forever, y'all.