Across the floor of the teahouse, her boss is sitting at a table, and his presence is unnecessarily weighing down her every move. The wig on her head is heavy, and so is the padding around her chest. She doesn't mind the wide neckline of her kimono, but she dislikes the weak, pale pink color.
The mission is straightforward: loosen the tongue of that mobster with sake and flattery and attention. Then, she'll report any and all information pertaining to the possible uprising, where it'd be put to use by the government.
She fawns over the target, letting her fingertips linger over the back of his hand and fluttering a paper fan coquettishly to draw attention to her lips. And as he leers at her, she refills his cup of shochu, waiting for his thoughts to numb.
Unfortunately, he's the rowdy kind of drunk. He avoids her queries, stroking her hip, and she's forced to swat his fingers away and pray he didn't notice the lack of curve.
"C'mon, don't be like that." He wheedles. "You were the one all over me, you might as well show me what's under your robe."
She recklessly considers flashing him, just as she did to that girl a while back, but she counts to eleven and forces a smile. "Sorry, but I'm not that kind of woman."
It isn't the answer he wants. He lunges at her, pinning her to the floor. She screams and claws at him, hoping to make a scene. Then, he grabs her fake breasts, and the puzzlement that crosses his face fills her with shame. "Wha-?"
But he's pulled off of her, and she makes the mistake of seeing who did so.
That ridiculous hair. The cocky smile. What she hadn't expected was the uniform and badge, but that was a minor detail. After all, Cho was Cho, no matter what clothes he wore. She holds her fan to her cheek, determined not to look at her former comrade. But she catches the flash of recognition in his eyes and her stomach drops.
There are other policemen, shedding their undercover positions and helping Cho subdue the man. Her boss clearly had known the police would be here, since he seems completely unsurprised from his perch and isn't signaling for her to leave. A joint operation then? She wouldn't have been told, she's only given enough information to do her job.
An officer with a katana in his belt and a cigarette between his teeth marches over. "Get him to the back room. Keep him there until the carriage comes." His narrow eyes narrow even further at her, and she shrinks a little. "You alright?"
"Yes." She whispers.
"Thanks for giving us a reason to arrest him." He turns on his heel and gives more orders, directing people. To her disappointment, Cho is one of those staying behind. He heads for her, and she attempts to be standoffish, cleaning the spilled liquor on the table.
"Well, I didn't expect to see you here. Then again, I bet you didn't expect to see me either, did you, Kamatari?"
"Not at all, Cho." She clips.
"By the way, I'm workin' for the police now. And I heard about your role in all of this. So the question is, what's your work like?"
"None of your business." She huffs and stands. "Now, if you excuse me-" But his hand gently pulls at her sleeve.
"Sit down." Cho pats the cushion beside him and lifts a bottle of sake. "I need someone to rant to. Earlier today, this bastard thought he could escape custody by trying to stab me."
Her eyes dart toward her boss, who's speaking with the smoking officer. Slowly, her legs fold under her.
Some cups later, Cho's run out of breath. "I hope that asshole rots in prison. Okay, I'll shut up now. Your turn. How've you been holdin' up?"
She purses her lips and turns her cup like she's screwing it into the table. She doesn't like to get drunk often; she's an emotional drunk and all her insecurities become amplified to her. It is certainly the case now.
"It's not a bad job you've got. At least you can be yourself here."
That bursts the dam and she grips the cup so hard it shatters.
"I can't. I can't forgive myself. I can't forgive myself at all, for doing that. For what? For nothing at all, he's dead and now I'm broken." She says in a rush, before sobbing. She cries quietly into her palms, shaking and gasping, and continues to talk in a ragged voice.
"I couldn't be a woman for him, so I thought I could solve that by being a warrior. By being masculine. All I did was imitate some of the samurai I saw back home, and somehow, I enjoyed that. I liked being that character, someone who could earn his respect through battle, and somehow, it became a part of me.
"I could no longer tell whether it was acting or it was me, and I couldn't forgive myself for that. I hate that male self I played, I hate myself for betraying my true self, and I hate myself for suddenly questioning what my true self was.
"There isn't a place for me in this world, not as a woman and not as a man. I should have died in the Kyoto fire; I can't forgive myself for living."
It's unforgivable. She had spent her whole life trying to prove that she was a girl, only to throw it away on the battlefield for a man. And all she has left are a broken heart and incinerated self-worth.
To her surprise, Cho lays a hand on her shoulder. It's a familiar gesture, one of camaraderie. "Remember when you first joined us? Houji was bitchin' about your scythe and your speech pattern, and then you almost severed his balls. And that night, you drunk us under the table. The next morning, you patched up our ragged clothes."
"So filthy." She hiccups at the memory.
"Well, even after we learned about your situation, we all thought 'Kamatari is Kamatari'. Don't matter whether you're a man or a woman or somethin' else. You're our comrade. So, forgive yourself and move on. That's what I've done. Don't look back, either. Got it, Kamatari?"
She sniffles but her lips tremble and curve in a smile. "You're a good man, Cho. Too bad you're not my type."
"Don't worry about that. The feeling's mutual."
She stands and her fingers bend forward in a shaky wave. "Thank you. For listening. Let's hang out together again, alright?"
"Whenever I can get off work." But he waves back.
After she's escorted to her inn and her head clears a little, she changes into a bright green kimono. Green for renewal, for starting again.
I am a woman. I might play as a man and have this body, but I know that this is me. I've done what I can to survive and I've made so many mistakes, but I can live with myself now. And I will live for myself.
Alone in her room, she whirls around and laughs.