My Songbird's Dream

33. As a circle builds

February, 1945
Occupied Seoul

Dachi strode briskly down the courthouse steps, one hand reaching up absently to massage the side of his throat. The skin still burned from the imprint of fingers pressed cruelly against tender flesh mere minutes before.

Behind him, Yong-su took the last drag from his cigarette before flicking the smoldering stub to the pavement. Exhaling lazily, he noticed Dachi's discreet action and shook his head.

"What's this? The great Dachi Sato admitting defeat at last?" Yong-su smirked. "Looks like my brother got the upper hand this round. How very embarrassing for you..."

Dachi cut him a venomous glare, jaw clenching at the mockery. "Get in the damn car," he snarled, shoving past to the waiting vehicle.

Once settled inside, Dachi withdrew a slip of paper covered in scribbled writing. "Drive us to the Scarlet Peony geisha house," he barked at the driver. "I have it on good authority that Akiko woman performed there for some years after her rat of a husband died."

Yong-su frowned. "A geisha house? Why the devil would we--" Understanding lit his face and he slouched back with an approving nod. "Ah, someone there may know secrets to use as leverage then! Clever."

Dachi merely stared broodingly out the window as Seoul passed by, revenge continuing to stir darkly in his gaze.

Soon enough, the vehicle rolled to a stop outside an ornate building, its sultry interior glow spilling onto the street. A painted sign proclaimed it the Scarlet Peony geisha house.

Dachi was exiting the car before the driver had properly braked. "Stay on standby," he tossed over one shoulder. "We likely won't be long."

Yong-su scrambled gracelessly after him across the threshold.

Before long cloying waves of alcohol fumes suffocated the dim, smoky interior of the geisha house. All around, provocatively dressed workers strutted by, swaying to the low melodies plucked from twitching shamisen strings. Their eyes sized up the two well-dressed young men clearly flush with money to burn for their company.

Oblivious to or perhaps fueled by the assessing glances cast his way, Dachi Sato lounged arrogantly amidst the silk pillows carpeting the dim lounge floor. He had one arm draped in practiced casualness around the bare, alabaster shoulders of an exceptionally lovely young geisha. Her body curled decorously against his side, the pale curve of skin peeking alluringly from the slipped fabric of her ornate kimono.

At the shadowed back of the incensed interior, a thin beaded curtain obscured Fumiko as she quietly went about collecting discarded dishes from nearby low tables. Pausing, she absently tucked an errant strand of hair neatly back into her pinned coif before lifting her gaze to covertly survey the rowdy patrons on the other side.

One of the younger geisha workers chose that moment to slip through the curtain, casting nervous looks over her shoulder. Beckoning discreetly with an outstretched fan, the girl nodded towards where Dachi Sato's voice rang out arrogantly over the chaotic din.

"Fumiko...isn't that Elder Sato's son making a drunken spectacle of himself out there?" Disapproval dripped from the hushed words as the girl hovered at Fumiko's elbow.

Quirking one neatly sculpted brow, Fumiko peeked between the beaded strands herself, mouth pursing faintly. Dachi Sato's visage could be glimpsed presiding over a mound of embroidered cushions, his rangy frame half sprawled as he barked for more drinks. An exceptionally nervous server hovered just within arm's reach, attempting to keep the young heir's cup filled from an ornate bottle clutched between trembling hands.