The oiran known as Shiramu Ameri soon made her way to the center stage, where an ancient koto sat waiting. Her movements were the height of elegance; she knelt before the instrument and finally lowered the folding fan that had been veiling half her face.
As the fan descended, her true features were revealed. She was truly stunning, refined features punctuated by crimson lips and porcelain skin, devoid of even the slightest blemish. The crowd erupted in cheers at the sight.
Jiraiya, standing beside Diarmuid, was so elated he nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Did you see that? A top-tier beauty!" Jiraiya exclaimed, excitedly tugging at Diarmuid's sleeve.
"Yes, yes, a beauty indeed," Diarmuid replied.
After a brief moment of being struck by her grace, Diarmuid remained composed. While he appreciated aesthetic pleasures, he hadn't reached the obsessive levels displayed by Jiraiya. For him, it was merely the natural human instinct to admire beauty.
"Welcome, honored guests, to Flower's Whisper. I am Shiramu Ameri. Please, forgive my humble performance," the oiran said softly. Her words were few and simple.
Without sparing the crowd another glance, she placed both hands upon the strings and lightly plucked them twice. Those two notes were enough to silence the entire hall.
Soon, Shiramu Ameri began her performance. An elegant and deeply moving melody flowed from her fingers.
Diarmuid lacked any real mastery or deep understanding of the koto. In the past, much like Imulia, he had attempted to learn various arts to cultivate his character. However, his interests leaned more toward calligraphy rather than music. Yet, even without technical knowledge, he could hear and feel that Shiramu Ameri possessed deep skill in her craft.
In contrast, Jiraiya, who usually acted boisterous and uncouth, now stood with his eyes closed. His expression shifted into one of intoxication as he nodded along, looking every bit the serious and refined connoisseur.
Is he for real? He's even faking this? Diarmuid grumbled internally. It's not a crime to not understand the music; why pretend you're lost in some deep, inescapable trance?
After a long while, the song concluded. Jiraiya slowly opened his eyes and smacked his lips. "Exquisite technique, marvelous melody... It sounds cheerful on the surface, but beneath lies a sense of being trapped in a mire, a bitterness of being unable to choose one's own path."
Diarmuid: "???"
"What was that?" Diarmuid turned to ask, his face a mask of confusion. He hadn't picked up on any of that, so how did Jiraiya come up with such a poetic analysis?
Aren't you a commoner? Aren't you a shinobi? Since when did you become an artist? Are you Sasori of the Red Sand or something?
"You didn't hear it?" Jiraiya asked, glancing at Diarmuid.
Diarmuid shook his head honestly. "No. I don't know much about the performing arts. It seems you understood it perfectly, though? Do you actually have a talent for this?"
Jiraiya replied with a smug, self-important air, "With that noble-young-master look of yours, I thought you'd been raised on the four scholarly arts since childhood. I guess not, hahaha!"
After basking in his pride for a moment, Jiraiya explained, "In my humble self's case, I know a little something of music, strategy, calligraphy, and painting."
Diarmuid: "???"
Good grief, isn't that just a fancy way of saying you're a jack-of-all-trades? How does a shinobi who spends his time peeping on women's baths and writing smutty novels find the time to master the scholarly arts?
Looking at the multi-talented Jiraiya, Diarmuid briefly questioned his own life choices. Is it possible I'm just not working hard enough?
While the two were chatting, the oiran stood up and bowed to the audience in thanks. Then, fluttering her fan with a lingering smile, she departed the way she came, seemingly heading back upstairs.
Confused by the sudden exit, Diarmuid grabbed Jiraiya and asked, "What's going on? She just plays one song and that's it?"
"She's an oiran, what did you expect?" Jiraiya said, giving him a look of disbelief. Young man, you clearly haven't spent enough time in places like this; you don't know the rules at all.
"So, she doesn't... entertain guests?" Diarmuid asked bluntly. He even patted the pouch at his waist, looking for all the world like a man who had his money ready.
"Of course not! No oiran 'entertains' like that!" Jiraiya snapped. He pulled Diarmuid back down into his seat and continued, "Come, let me educate you. Oirans are generally divided into two types. The first are those raised by the pleasure house from a young age. These girls are identified as beauties early on and trained in all the arts. Once they've matured, the house starts building hype to turn them into stars. If they succeed and become famous, they bring in massive crowds, recouping all the initial investment and making the house's reputation. Eventually, when her value peaks, they set a massive price for a final 'engagement' with a chosen guest."
Diarmuid nodded. "So, as long as her value hasn't been fully milked, she won't actually 'receive' guests, right?"
"Exactly. If she were 'soiled,' who would bother supporting her as an oiran?" Jiraiya said bluntly.
Diarmuid rubbed his chin. It was a cruel reality, but it made sense in terms of prestige. Everyone admired an artist, but the prestige vanished once the mystery was gone.
Once he grasped that, Diarmuid asked, "And the second type?"
"The second type are those 'invited' by the house. Shiramu Ameri is one of those. They weren't raised by the house from childhood. Some even come from Great Noble families and received excellent educations, only to fall on hard times and end up in this life. Most were originally high-born ladies," Jiraiya explained.
"Where are these 'high-born' families?" Diarmuid asked.
Jiraiya: "???"
"Ahem, continue," Diarmuid cleared his throat awkwardly, realizing he'd asked a silly question.
Jiraiya paused, then went on, "Shiramu Ameri is one of those. Have you heard of the Shiramu family?"
Diarmuid shook his head naturally. "No."
"How ignorant can you be? Are you really a noble? Even a commoner like me knows about things you don't," Jiraiya asked, genuinely surprised.
"When did I ever say I was a noble?" Diarmuid looked back at him, equally surprised.
"Eh?" Jiraiya blinked. True, the guy hadn't said it, but looking at Diarmuid's attire, he couldn't help but say, "Then that outfit of yours..."
"I can't just be rich?" Diarmuid replied righteously.
Jiraiya wanted to argue, but the words died in his throat. Fair enough, that logic is airtight!
Not wanting to bicker further, Jiraiya took a sip of his sake and said, "The Shiramu family was originally one of the top noble houses in the Land of Water. They even produced several generations of Daimyo..."
"Wait, isn't the Daimyo title hereditary to one family name?" Diarmuid interrupted again.
This time, Jiraiya was truly baffled. "How can you not know such basic common knowledge?"
"Ah, well, I've been interested in shinobi since I was a kid. I didn't pay much attention to the rest," Diarmuid fudged. What, am I supposed to tell you I'm from another world?
"Daimyos are generally selected from among the major noble families of the nation. I won't bore you with the details," Jiraiya replied, equally dismissive.
Diarmuid nodded, internally surprised. So Daimyos are elected? That's surprisingly progressive!
"Go on," Diarmuid urged.
"Anyway, the Shiramu family fell. The head of the house died in bed, and afterward, they were mysteriously framed for a plot to assassinate the Daimyo. They were stripped of their noble status, and the rest of the Land of Water's great houses carved up their assets. Shiramu Ameri, who should have been a high-born lady, perhaps even a Princess, ended up as an oiran. She essentially offered her talents to the houses herself. After fleeing the Land of Water, she traveled between nations. Because of her former status, she's treated with great respect, and her fame has only grown. Any pleasure house that wants her has to pay a massive price."
"So, these 'Type Two' oirans are more free? They aren't controlled by the house but act more like guest stars? The house pays them a premium to appear?" Diarmuid asked.
"Exactly," Jiraiya nodded.
Diarmuid began to understand. Likely, the "Old Pro" owner of Flower's Whisper had built the place into the second-best house in the Land of Earth's Daimyo Castle and, in his ambition to take the top spot, paid a fortune to bring in a "superstar" like Shiramu Ameri. It was basically like a celebrity endorsement.
"So Shiramu Ameri hasn't received any guests either?" Diarmuid asked bluntly again.
Jiraiya felt this guy was a total mood-killer. He replied irritably, "Of course not! That's the rule for an oiran. If she actually took a guest, she couldn't be an oiran anymore. If she were found out, she'd be finished."
Understood. As long as you're 'unclaimed,' everyone is willing to spend money to support and chase you. Because you belong to no one, everyone thinks they might have a chance. And those who play this game usually have money to burn.
In this era, there aren't many entertainment options, so the wealthy treat supporting and chasing an oiran as a matter of prestige.
But if you're already taken, people aren't stupid. Who's going to keep throwing money at you? Let your owner pay for you then.
"Interesting," Diarmuid muttered, rubbing his chin. He had come to the Pleasure District looking for some "warmth," but after seeing Shiramu Ameri, he found he had lost interest in the other girls. Comparisons were a terrible thing.
"So, you said she likes talented men. Why haven't you gone up to show off?" Diarmuid asked.
Jiraiya sipped his wine happily. "This is only the first day. Just you wait. She'll be staying here for the next few days. I'll have plenty of chances, hahaha. You can't rush these things."
"You really think she'll pick you? Give up being an oiran for you?" Diarmuid asked curiously. Is Jiraiya really this confident?
Hearing this, Jiraiya's expression turned slightly awkward, and he replied with a hint of annoyance, "I'll give it a shot! What if it works? I, Jiraiya, am pretty well-off, and my status... my status... ahem..."
His status was hard to talk about. Though he was one of the Legendary Sannin, that only carried weight in the shinobi world. In this environment, he could only call himself a commoner, which was a bit embarrassing.
"Jiraiya." It was the first time Diarmuid had heard him say his name aloud. He didn't pretend not to know it. "You're from the Land of Fire and your name is Jiraiya... Could you be one of the Sannin of Konohagakure?"
Since he'd been recognized, Jiraiya didn't hide it. He slapped his chest. "That's right! It's me, the Toad Sage, Jiraiya!"
After a brief pause, Jiraiya asked, "Normally, you don't ask for names in a place like this, but since I've introduced myself, won't you introduce yourself as well?"
Diarmuid grinned. "Rodriguez Diarmuid, of the Yorozuya."
"Yorozuya?" Jiraiya looked puzzled. He'd never heard of it.
However, that name... why did it sound so familiar? Had he heard it somewhere before?
At this point, Jiraiya was essentially "retired." Out of his loathing for war, he hadn't kept up with the current Great Ninja War. He stayed away from the news to avoid the heartache, a form of self-deception. Even though the world was at war, he preferred to run to these bustling, decadent places. It was as if, here, he could pretend the war didn't exist.
Because of that, even though he'd heard the name of a certain S-Rank criminal from Kumogakure, it didn't immediately click.