Disclaimer: I do NOT own One Piece.

Let Life Be Delicious

In the great city of Grand Jipangu, where Sakura flowers can't wait to bloom in the sweet smell of earthy spring, life is bliss. On first glance, the strength of the economy is spoken for by the architecture.

All buildings stand with pride under majestic blue roofs. There are two main rivers, and although shallow, the water runs clear with bulky wooden bridges arching proudly across.

The street markets are full of people in the day. Store owners would yell out their best bargains to draw in customers. Children come out to play ball and fly kites. Once-a-year festivals also make the city boil with excitement.

I rarely see such events – I listen. My part of the town only comes to life after the sun goes to sleep. My pale skin gives away that I live in amongst the shadows. Or with the shadows – frankly, I see no difference between the one another.

In this city, there are two fundamental types of citizens. There are poor people; there are rich people. The rich abuse much power, but the poor have none, and where there are rich men, there are dirty rich men.

That is how businesses like us make money.

The kind of place I work for is a brothel. Similar to those market store owners, mama-san lures in sexually hungry men.

'You have five minutes to get yourself ready. You know Mr. Wakaouji is a very impatient man.'

That would be my Mama-san, and Mr. Wakaouji is a regular customer of mine.

The brothel is set on a slope street, in a bath house as a disguise. The entire building has been interiorly structured with red oak wood – including the shoji*, windows, pillars, rafters, staircase, room separators, tables and chairs – and cream colour walls.

The building consists of three floors and is constructed to be hollow in the centre. Apart from the first floor**, each square floor landings, enclosed by connected staircase railings are also where individual rooms reside.

The main hall on the first floor, straight ahead of the entrance is an open sided hexagon pavilion. Behind the indoor pavilion is a miniature pond with a small rock fountain, a granite lantern, and floating lotus flowers. The pond is enclosed by a band of pebbles.

The pond is in the middle of a curved, two-way staircase which merges into one. The staircase hugs the pond cosily.

The baths are only the first floor only; the second floor holds hotel standard rooms in order for customers to stay overnight. The third floor is for workers to exist in and the stair leading up there is on the parallel side to the first set.

Sunlight cannot penetrate into the main parts of the building as a result of the surrounding rooms with securely closed doors; candles must always stay continuously lit. Mama-san has chosen red and gold paper lanterns as a theme since she started the business over twenty years ago.

My room, this room, is my only home. It's split into two parts by a mere three-part folding screen. There's the basic furniture of a low square table, floor mats, a cupboard, a dressing table and a folded up futon*** all resting on bamboo tatami****.

My bamboo blinds are permanently rolled up because I like to watch the hectic day time streets and the mellow night sky. The window is the closest abstract entity to actually being in civilization.

Unfortunately, I barely spend up to four hours in here every day, and to think I would attempt to break away from the only place that provides shelter above my head might seem ridiculous, but I did try once. Though never did I dare again.

The reason is simply because Mama-san took hold of something precious to me – my little sister's ashes. She isn't alive anymore, but as an older sibling, I will forever be bounded to the duty of protecting her. So I didn't need to think twice about staying. A lifetime of imprisonment.

Every day I've learned to numb my feelings – it's the only way to escape temporarily – though it's been six years now, and as my nineteenth birthday creeping around the corner of tomorrow, I raise a cup of sake in looking forward to being free.

I sit down at my dressing table as I pour myself another cup. I smile at the mirror as my worn reflection smiles back. Mirrors reflect inner truth; in my mirror, I see nothing but a pair of hollow sockets.

I tell myself: even if this dream of freedom is just a distant one, I never want to be tired of dreaming. I visualise that day arriving and the first things I may like to do when I walk the streets as a 'normal' citizen.

A new dress, a new hairstyle, definitely less make-up, along with a humble husband if it's not too much to ask for.

In the six extensive, slow years of my life, every time I gaze at those expensively trained geisha girls in their teahouse across the busy street – dancing, singing, selling their talents – I find myself screaming with bitter jealousy deep inside.

I finish readying my hair and make-up with tacky hair trinkets and red lip paint. To match the scene, I put on a long red floral kimono and secure it with an obi***** behind the folding screen. With that, I slide my feet in a pair of okobo******.

'What's taking you so long?' Mama-san's loud voice intrudes my already clouded mind. I quickly slip the sake cup and bottle in my draw just before she slides open the door with obvious exasperation.

Her round face pops in, the mole on her chin always bothered me. 'I'm sorry, Mama-san,' I apologise calmly, maintaining a good sense of mannerism. 'I'm ready now.'

I stand up. I tug at my dress. I make sure my shoulders are on display.

I can see Mr. Wakaouji faintly through the draping silk fabric at the pavilion as I carefully make my way down the stairs. At thirty-two, he has inherited his father's import business and became the new boss to the only coffee merchant in the city.

Some of my sisters are already keeping him entertained, which is a temporary relief for me.

For a reason unknown to me, he seems to have an exclusive taste for me. I fix on my lips my best smile and approach in his direction seductively.

'Good evening, Mr. Wakaouji,' I say as I emerge through the silk. He signals that it's time for my sisters to leave. He is already aroused.

'So,' I carry on speaking in a low voice while keeping my eyelids only half open. 'Must be a certain wind that blew you off the ground, and you landed here. In which case, lucky me.'

He lets his eye sparkle as if telling me that he likes my words of teasing and praising. 'I've missed you,' I lie confidently.

Now I know that words are simply words.

When I first began to work, I could hardly bring myself to sound such words. They would disgust me to the stomach and I would sit alone at night to sulk in complete disgrace.

Time can really change hearts. Right or wrong?

I feel his arm wind around my waist as he stubs out his half-smoked imported western cigarette. His lips expectedly come in contact against my skin and the moisture in his breath is too warm for comfort. 'You always know what to say,' he whispers as I feel all the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

'Forget the bath,' he continues. 'Let's go upstairs now.'

I say nothing. I take his hand and lead him away from the pavilion. I remind myself that I must provide all services as the customers' demands, with a smile. No matter how degrading. Just like how Mama-san has taught us since day one – 'no' is a forbidden word.

Although Mr. Wakaouji is a handsome man, and our age groups are somewhat close, I cannot help but to picture a faceless man in his place. He has an ugly personality.

I brace myself for tonight is another night I have to endure. As soon as he settles in a room, I will suggest to my faithful customer that sake would be a good idea.

He agrees.

We drink, we fool around, I pretend to laugh at his jokes, we drink more, he takes off my dress, I take off his robe, he shoves his tongue in my mouth and some more, I pray for the end of the night.

The day is nearing its last moments by the time I wake up. I've apparently missed the crisp echoes of morning birds singing and instead tuned in to the rough chanting of late afternoon crows.

The acidic taste of hangover has taken the advantage of the night to spread within my dry mouth.

At least last night was another hazy night.

I slowly manoeuvre out of the sheets from under his arm, being careful not to rouse him. My endeavour is I never glance at my clients' sleeping face.

I put on my creased up dress disorderly before exiting the room quietly.

I slide the door shut with a silent sigh and begin to make my way back to my own room – my safe place. I prepare to throw a bath as soon as-

A fellow sister's voice knocks me out of my contemplation. 'How was Mr. Wakaouji last night?' Maaya, the most popular girl here in this brothel, teases me in a friendly way. Her long, red wavy locks sway softly to her movements, complimenting her tanned skin and curves. She is always sensibly dressed. Rumour has it that men travel from the neighbouring cities to meet her.

'He only has an eye for you, you know?' Maaya smiles, also joining me after leaving one of the rooms. 'We're all jealous of you!'

'Why? He pays, I provide the service. It's that simple.' I say in a flat voice.

'Quit being modest! If you marry him you'll get to wave goodbye to this shitty place,' Maaya giggles but I can tell she's serious. It baffles me how she can be so optimistic.

'I can't picture a life with that man,' I grimace. 'He's arrogant, irresponsible, and it's not like he will cry if I died.'

'The room I just came out of...' Maaya's face becomes solemnly sincere. '...was with a fifty-six year old pervert. You're lucky that Mr. Wakaouji is thirty-two, Hebi-chan!'

'Maaya-chan...' We hug each other in equal empathy as we stop in front of my door.

'Don't let go of your chance, Hebi-chan, the rest of us are still waiting for one. Life has to be worth living, right?' She smiles genuinely.

I feel warm tears fill the frame of my eyes, threatening to fall out. 'Thank you, Maaya-chan.'

Phew, that's the first one out of the way. Sorry about the cheesy title hehe.
This is the first One Piece story I wrote so please review :3!

*Traditional Japanese sliding doors;
**The first floor refers to the ground floor;
***Japanese bedding;
****Japanese floor mats;
*****Sash/waistband worn with a kimono;
******High platform sandal worn by Maikos (Geishas in training).

Just to clarify that Hebi is not Nami in this story.