For the nth time, Senju Yoshimaru couldn't withhold yawning.

Gate duty was the worst. Especially when three-quarters of his clan were already getting drunk at Hashirama-sama's wedding. Tilting his chin up, he glares peevishly at the sun, wishing that it would move faster. He so badly wants his shift to end so that he could enjoy whatever was left of the feast (if there were any. The majority of the clan have bottomless pits for stomachs).

Argh, he seriously wants to see the beautiful, blushing bride (from rumors, Uzumaki Mito has a face that even a goddess would envy) while getting dead drunk with his comrades... Well, Yoshimaru silently comforts himself, at least he wasn't unlucky enough to get the evening shift. Tobirama-sama had prohibited them from even taking a sip of saké. To not be able to drink on such a happy occasion was a travesty! Poor cousin Eiichiro, he smirks (misery sure did love company).

Checking the position of the sun, Yoshimaru deduced that the ceremony would soon begin. He crosses his fingers. Hopefully, the ceremony would drag and delay. He seriously wants to see the bride! And eat free food. And get drunk. Yoshimaru petulantly kicks the dirt beneath his feet.

So boring! So boring so boring so boring soboringsoboringsoborin-

His inner complaints were abruptly cut off by a yawn so loud he started to tear up. That was how boring it was to be on gate duty. The morning couldn't pass any slower.

Ascertain that he would fall asleep on his feet if this continues, Yoshimaru decides to climb the watchtower for the heck of it. Since the action was still within his scope of practice, he wouldn't get in trouble for stretching his legs a bit. Apart from the usual gate duties, he was also the doorman, responsible for checking invitations. Hence why he had to imitate a statue by the gates for most parts.

Yoshimaru slaps his cheeks mid-yawn. Stop, damn it. If Tobirama-sama were to see him yawning away, the Senju heir would give him The stink eye, with a capital T. And Tobirama-sama's stink eye was really, really scary. Yoshimaru shudders by just remembering it (and no, he wasn't being childish! He was already sixteen! Too old to act as such!).

With a groan, he pulls out a spyglass. Better to do something productive than to fiddle his thumbs.

N, no abnormalities detected.

NNW, no abnormalities detected.

NW, no abnormalities detected.

WNW, no abnormalities detected.

W, no abnormalities detected.

WSW-

Wait a second.

He re-positions the spyglass back to the direction of West.

Bemused, he removes the spyglass to rub his eyes. He must've seen wrong. Must be the boredom. Yes, definitely. After agreeing with himself, he uses the spyglass and points it to where he had seen the anomaly.

... Alright. He didn't see it wrongly.

That was undoubtedly an oiran[1] he sees. No other women would wear their hair in an elaborative datehyougo style and dress in so many layers that even looking at her could make others feel sweaty. But why would an oiran be sauntering towards their compound? Yoshimaru could understand if the clan had hired a geisha or two to provide entertainment for the guests during the feast, but an oiran - a woman of pleasure - has no place at a wedding.

Yoshimaru's eyes couldn't help but stray. The oiran's kimono, probably made of the purest silk, was in bold red with delicate patterns in vivid gold. The layers upon layers of kimono did not swallow her frame and figure, however. It only made her exude a certain sex appeal that only mature women could. Yoshimaru could only swallow drily at the bold show of shoulders and collarbone - and if his spyglass wasn't playing tricks on him, he could make out a pattern of some kind inked across the back of her neck. It was stimulating, that was for sure. Even in a pair of sanmaiba geta, she was graceful as she makes her way over.

The oiran, unlike the ones the had seen in the red-light district at the Capital during an Oiran Dōchū[2], wore only light makeup and did not smear white base on her skin. Her eyes, which were already beautifully shaped, were accented black to make them appear coquettish, her lashes curled in a way that made her onyx orbs pop, and lids highlighted with red eyeshadow that contrasted seductively against her pale skin. There were slight bags underneath her eyes that couldn't be fully concealed by makeup, but that added to her charm rather than diminish it.

On the center of her forehead, between those fawn eyebrows[3], was a light purple rhombus no bigger than the nail of his pinky. Her lips, pouty and delectable, were painted the same shade as her eyelids. Her cheeks were slightly cherubic, though it was more of an indication of youth rather than weight, and a jawline that could cut. All in all, her features were exquisite and she was the most gorgeous woman Yoshimaru has ever laid eyes upon, no joke.

Seeing that she would reach the gates in a couple of minutes, Yoshimaru fumbles to put away his spyglass and quickly jumps back to the ground. He nervously wipes the sweat on his neck, straightens his back, and puffs out his chest to make himself look manlier.

Even if this oiran has the wrong address, he wanted to make a good impression. Who wouldn't want to in the face of such a pretty person? Yoshimaru, as a hormonal teenager, didn't even suspect anything else, too busy drooling and thinking with something that was not his brain.

He was kinda, sort of, spellbound. She was that captivating.

"Good morning," the oiran greeted. Her voice was deeper than he had been expecting, but it still made a pleasant tingle run down his spine. "I've come to attend the wedding of Senju Hashirama-sama and Uzumaki Mito-sama."

Yoshimaru dazedly wonders why her accent seemed familiar yet not. It didn't take him long to discern where he had heard it from, however. If he wasn't wrong, the sociolect of prostitutes was kuruwa kotoba, something hailed from the red-light district at the Capitol, used by yūjo[4] to hide their origins.

It was only when the oiran politely cleared her throat did he remember that staring was not considered polite. Embarrassed, he quickly raises a hand, palm up. "Right. Yeah. Can I see your invitation? Uh, please," he added the last bit in a stumble, ears red at his poor manners.

He was a frontline shinobi, damn it. He has never needed to be polite nor diplomatic before since all he was required to do was cut down his enemies. Even his table manners were atrocious. Hence why he was usually the target of Tobirama-sama's stink eye whenever they were at the communal canteen at the same time (so what if he eats with his mouth open and talk at the same time? What a cabbage, sheesh!).

"Of course," the oiran smiles, her red painted lips curved in a coy manner. It made his mouth run dry and he had to shift his sight to her shoulder... which was worse so he quickly brought his line of sight to her forehead. Damn, he didn't know where to look to stay polite. No doubt, Yoshimaru would lose himself in her eyes, her lips did things to his gut, and her shoulders and collarbone were bare.

While he was internally writhing at the obscene images playing in his mind, the oiran unhesitatingly pulls out a rolled parchment from the wide sleeves of her kimono and places it delicately atop his outstretched palm. Returning her smile, albeit more twitchy due to his nerves, he swiftly unrolls the parchment and did a quick scan with his eyes. Due to the protocols Tobirama-sama instilled, he made sure to check for tampering via seals, genjutsu, and other methods his clan heir deemed 'adequate' enough (the paranoid bugger).

Everything looks real. Just that... "It says here to send for Itama-sama to escort you in?" Yoshimaru asked, perplexed.

"Indeed. I apologize for the inconvenience caused, shinobi-san. Tama-bo has specifically requested that I wait for him by the gates. Would you be so kind as to fetch him for me?"

Tama-bo[5]?!

Okay, Yoshimaru wouldn't have choked on his spit if it had been Itama-bo, at least. But. She called him Tama-bo. Not even Itama, but Tama. What was their relationship?! W-wait. Was Itama-sama her client?! That lucky basta-

"Uhh. Yeah. I mean, no. I can't leave my post but I can get my summon to get... Itama-sama," Yoshimaru had to control his expression when he said Itama-sama's name out loud. "What's your name?"

"Oh my, how impolite of me," the oiran snapped a fan open and positioned it so that the lower half of her face was, unfortunately, covered. "I am called Daraku. Deai Daraku. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

... Depravity[6]? Debauchery? What? Who would name their child that?! And what kind of family name is Deai[7]?! If he were to combine the meaning behind her name together, her introduction was akin to cursing him to encounter depravity. Despite her regal appearance, Yoshimaru kind of wants to take a step back now that he knows her full name.

Yoshimaru didn't know if he should laugh or cry at the revelation, his mind immediately cleared of any previous naughty thoughts. In the end, he decided that neither option was appealing and played ignorance. "... Yeah. Nice to meet you too... Deai-san. Wait here. I'll summon someone."

At her nod, he sighs in relief and moves away to perform a summoning jutsu. A poof of smoke and a few murmured orders later had a lemur run off with its tail wrapped around a piece of parchment. Yoshimaru didn't return to her side. He acted as if he was busy by pulling out a random scroll (guard rotation schedule for the day) and reading it.

Fortunately, the oiran didn't speak. The golden fan that had branches of sakura blossoms painted on it - which was looking suspiciously more and more like a tessen in his eyes - was still covering the bottom half of her face as she looks around in a completely shinobi-esque manner.

It made Yoshimaru anxious. Suddenly, he wonders if he had been too quick to judge her by her appearance. What if she was an assassin aiming for Itama-sama's head? Itama-sama was their clan's treasured medic-nin. There had been a lot of attempts at his life but none have succeeded due to the bodyguards usually situated around the main infirmary.

Just as his shoulders began to ache at how tensed they've become, Itama-sama appeared.

Upon seeing the woman, the medic-nin blanches, an expression one would wear when constipated appearing on his face. Yoshimaru discreetly placed a hand on the hilt of his katana, ready to draw at a moment's notice. It would be a pity to kill such a beautiful lady. But a job was a job. He was duty-bound to protect the members of the main house.

Yoshimaru's lips part, suspicion on the tip of his tongue. However, Itama-sama cut through his budding words with a squeaky, high pitched yelp. "Shi-Shishou?!"

Wait, what?

While Yoshimaru was gaping in disbelief, Itama-sama was pointing at the oiran- no, the lady who was his teacher(?!) in a way that would make Tobirama-sama give his little brother the stink eye.

"Retract your finger, Tama-bo. Lest you wish I cut it off?" Oh, he'd rather receive Tobirama-sama's stink eye than be reprimanded by her. She seems to be the brutal, violent sort whenever angered.

Itama-sama instantly did as instructed, looking twice as sweaty as Yoshimaru feels. He still doesn't understand what was going on. Was this woman Itama-sama's mysterious teacher, the one who taught him those revolutionary iryōjutsus?! How?! She was clearly an oiran!

"Uhm, shishou. You're early."

"Hn. Let's go, Tama-bo. I've been dying to meet your brothers." He didn't know it was possible for Itama-sama to turn another shade pallor. It was. Before Yoshimaru could react to anything else, the woman (he truly did not want to call her by either name or surname) turned to him. "I thank you for your assistance, shinobi-san. I, along with my disciple, shall take our leave now. Good day."

He could only murmur an incoherent response as he watches them leave.

Itama-sama had offered an arm to his master and was leading her to the shrine, where Hashirama-sama's wedding ceremony was soon to take place. The height difference between master and disciple required Itama-sama to lean down when they conversed. Funny enough, this action didn't help Yoshimaru in unseeing Itama-sama as a client to an oiran despite knowing the two's relationship.

Their silhouette soon disappeared at the next corner.

... At least she didn't mosey like an oiran during a dōchū...?

Eh, let's just go back to gate duty. He won't be yawning any more after this beguiling encounter, that was for sure.

A/N:

Damn it, Yoshimaru. The author yawned whenever they typed the word 'yawn'. No joke ι(´Д｀)ﾉ. And yes, that last line was a pun, if any of you noticed. I know I'm lame.

Anyway. How was it? Did you enjoy the chapter? ( 〃´艸｀) The great Uchiha Madara has decided to crossdress as an oiran~ What a treat! Did anyone guess that he would do this when he planned to attend the wedding? Please, tell me your thoughts (~￣³￣)~!

[1] Oiran = The highest order of Japanese prostitute (or in polite terms; the highest-ranking courtesan). Extravagantly dressed and has an elaborate hairstyle with a shitload of ornaments. They choose their customers and not vice versa since their social standing is higher than their clients (even officials!) but only in the red-light district.

[2] Oiran Dōchū = A procession of Japanese courtesans. It's a 'march' that the oiran and their servants do through town. Google "hachimonji style" to see how oiran would walk during the march. It's pretty elegant hey.

[3] Fawn eyebrows = think Izumo Kamiki's eyebrows.

[4] Yūjo = women of pleasure AKA courtesans.

[5] Bō = just a reminder that this suffix expresses endearment. Similar to -chan, it is used for babies or young children, but is exclusively used for boys instead of girls.

[6] Daraku (堕落) = It could mean depravity, corruption, degradation, perdition, or beguilement. Something that you shouldn't name your child. Madara's just being a troll, don't follow his example! He first thought to give himself an easy alias 'Dara' but thought it would be funnier to have a woman who is named after 'immorality' dressed like a prostitute be Itama's teacher. This is why Tobirama facepalms whenever Madara has ideas.

[7] Deai (出合 ) = It could mean encounter or rendezvous. Again, Madara is being a smartarse. Remember how Itama and Madara met? Yeah. A reference to that.

Deai Daraku = encounter depravity. 'Her' name is like a bad omen, man. So whilst you can, flee for your lives!