The Geisha's Kouta Saga: Book 1, Paint Over Iron
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 10: The Progress
Ain’t Misbehavin’ (1929)
No one to talk with, all by myself
No one to walk with, but I’m happy on the shelf
Ain’t misbehavin’, I’m savin’ my love for you
Four weeks into surveillance, the system was working. Not perfectly. Not without stress. But working.
Thursday meetings with Takahashi-san’s collective continued. Fumiko waited in the entrance while I analyzed investments, received updates on the fusion club’s progress, and maintained the partnerships funding my escape.
The club was ahead of schedule. Jimmy had recruited six musicians total—three Japanese masters of traditional instruments who were curious about jazz, three Western players who’d been studying shamisen and shakuhachi on the side. Rehearsals were going well. The space in Ginza was nearly ready. Marketing materials had been printed. Opening night was set for four weeks from now.
Four weeks. Exactly when my deadline with Nakamura-san arrived.
The timing was either perfect or disastrous. I hadn’t decided which yet.
My capital accumulation was progressing:
Consulting retainer: 500 yen monthly = 2,000 yen accumulated
Performance earnings after deductions: ~200 yen monthly = 800 yen
Investment returns: 1,200 yen from successful ventures
Total: 4,000 yen
I needed 30,000 for full buyout. At current rates, I’d have perhaps 7,000 by deadline.
Not enough for immediate purchase. But enough for substantial downpayment with contracted installments.
If the okiya mother would negotiate. If Takahashi-san’s collective would back the contract. If the fusion club opened successfully and proved profitable enough to guarantee ongoing payments.
So many ifs. But more ifs turning into actualities every week.
The dead drop system with Jimmy continued. Every few days, new notes appeared in our hiding spot—behind the tea canister in the ochaya’s servant area, tucked into my shamisen case by paid messengers, hidden in the practice room where I knew to look.
His notes were always brief, always professional, always ending with some small personal comment that reminded me this was partnership, not just business:
Stage acoustics tested. Perfect sound. Musicians excited. Miss talking to you about ma and jazz harmonies. -J
Marketing responses good. Twenty advance reservations already. This is going to work. Hope you’re well. -J
Four weeks until opening. Everything on track. Can’t wait for you to see what we’ve built. -J
My responses were equally brief, equally professional, equally personal:
Trust your judgment completely. You’re building something important. Proud of what we’ve accomplished. -S
The third week, Michiko approached me again.
We were in the preparation room before an evening engagement. She waited until the other geiko had left, then moved to sit beside me.
“I took your advice,” she said quietly. “About finding what I’m exceptional at and offering it to people who’d value it.”
“And?”
“I approached Sato-san—the real estate developer from your investment collective. At a party last week, I overheard him mention he was negotiating a property deal in Kyoto. I casually mentioned I had family connections there, knew the local business climate well.”
“Do you actually have family connections in Kyoto?”
“My cousin married into a merchant family there. Close enough. Anyway, Sato-san asked what I knew about specific neighborhoods, which families controlled what properties, what the local politics looked like. I told him. He found the information valuable enough to invite me to a small gathering this week—not as entertainment, but to provide social intelligence about the Kyoto business landscape.”
“Did he pay you?”
“Not yet. But he said if my information proves accurate and useful, he’d compensate me appropriately. It’s a start.”
“It’s more than a start. It’s the same pattern I used. Demonstrate value first, establish payment terms second.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then: “Why are you helping me? We’re not friends. We’re barely colleagues. I could use this information to compete with you, or to curry favor with the okiya mother.”
“Could you? Let’s think about that strategically. If you compete with me for the same clients, we both lose—neither of us can charge premium rates if we’re undercutting each other. If you go to the okiya mother and tell her what I’m doing, she punishes me but you gain nothing except temporary favor. But if you succeed independently, using different skills for different clients, we both win. You earn real money, I have proof the model works for multiple geiko, and the okiya mother can’t claim it’s just one unusual case.”
“You’re thinking beyond just your own escape.”
“I’m thinking about what happens after. If I buy my freedom but the system remains unchanged, nothing really changes. But if multiple geiko find ways to earn substantial income outside traditional arrangements, the entire economic model shifts. That’s more valuable than individual escape.”
Michiko studied me with new understanding. “You’re not just trying to free yourself. You’re trying to break the system.”
“I’m trying to prove the system can be broken. There’s a difference. One person escaping is an anomaly. Multiple people finding alternative paths is a pattern. Patterns are harder to ignore.”
“And harder to punish. If the okiya mother comes after you for inappropriate behavior, but three other geiko are also earning outside income through legitimate consulting work, she can’t claim it’s scandalous. It’s just ... business.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled—genuine, not her usual calculated performance smile. “You’re more dangerous than the okiya mother realizes.”
“Let’s hope she doesn’t realize until it’s too late to stop it.”
Week four brought unexpected news.
Takahashi-san pulled me aside after Thursday’s meeting.
“The Yokohama real estate investment you recommended last month? It’s paying returns faster than projected. The property values increased twenty percent in just four weeks. Your analysis was exceptionally accurate.”
“Market timing was favorable. I simply recognized the trend before others did.”
“Your share of returns—nine percent of collective profits—comes to eight hundred yen. I’ll have it delivered to the okiya tomorrow.”
Eight hundred yen. In one payment. That brought my total accumulated capital to nearly 5,000 yen.
Still not enough for full buyout. But getting closer. And I still had four weeks until deadline.
“There’s something else,” Takahashi-san said. “The fusion club. Opening night is in four weeks, correct?”
“That’s the current timeline, yes.”
“I’d like to host a private preview performance the week before public opening. Invite select business associates, demonstrate the concept in an exclusive setting. Good marketing, and it gives Jimmy-san a chance to test the full production before facing public audience.”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
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