The "old pro" had insisted on avoiding the massive White Gallery and heading instead to the Flower's Whisper.
Diarmuid had imagined the Flower's Whisper to be some hidden gem of a shop—a small, refined establishment. Instead, upon arriving at the entrance, he was genuinely surprised. It was huge. In fact, it was the second largest pavilion he had seen since entering the Pleasure District.
He couldn't help but feel like he'd been played by that old veteran.
Feeling a bit bewildered, Diarmuid was dragged inside by the man. To be fair, the place was impressive. The hostesses at the door were all stunning, their every movement and smile radiating a professional, practiced allure.
"Boss, you're here!" the head madam greeted the "Old Pro."
The man nodded. "This is my little brother, just arrived from the Land of Fire today. Look how handsome he is! Take good care of him; he's wealthy and generous."
"Don't you worry, Boss. Any brother of yours will be treated right," the woman said, beaming.
Diarmuid hadn't quite processed the situation until another girl stepped up to take his arm, softly calling him "Guest." Only then did he snap out of it.
Wait a minute. I thought 'Boss' was just a polite way of addressing a regular.
But she calls me 'Guest' and him 'Boss'?
You're the actual owner of this pavilion?!
Before Diarmuid could even digest the feeling of being scammed, the old pro clapped him on the shoulder. "Little brother, just enjoy yourself at my place. Meeting like this is fate. As for the bill..."
"It's on you?" Diarmuid cut in instinctively.
"What are you dreaming about?" The man rolled his eyes. "I'll give you twenty percent off!"
Diarmuid had a thousand complaints locked and loaded, but in that moment, he didn't even know where to start. Still, since he was already here... and twenty percent was twenty percent.
Accepting his fate, Diarmuid said, "Fine. I won't be polite with you, then."
"Don't worry, I'm a man of my word," the owner said grandly.
Diarmuid took a few steps inside before remembering something. "Hey, Brother, that Oiran you mentioned, you weren't messing with me, right?"
On the road, the man had been vague, saying things like "I heard..." Now that he turned out to be the owner, Diarmuid didn't believe a word of that nonsense. He had definitely seen her.
"I'll arrange it. I'll definitely arrange it for you. Just go on in," the owner said, waving him off.
Once they passed through the reception hall, the interior became lively. Dozens of guests were seated throughout the pavilion, each accompanied by beautiful girls. Some were playing music, some were drinking, and others were singing or dancing.
The scene was a bit chaotic and didn't quite have that "melancholy intoxication" vibe, but perhaps some people truly preferred this noisy atmosphere. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.
"If the Guest doesn't like this environment, it's quieter upstairs. We have everything you could want," the beautiful girl holding his arm suggested.
Diarmuid indeed wasn't fond of the noise. He preferred a private room where he could lean against a railing, enjoy the scent of tea, listen to a soft melody, and sip some sake.
However, just as he nodded to let the girl lead him upstairs, he spotted a white-haired man in a corner booth. The man was drinking heavily, flanked by two very attractive girls. His hands were wandering shamelessly, and he had the look of a total degenerate, laughing hysterically.
Diarmuid: ???
Why does this guy look so familiar?
He rubbed his eyes and squinted through the hazy, smoke-filled room. Finally, he got a clear look at the white-haired man's face.
Holy... is that Jiraiya of the Sannin?!
What is Konoha's "Toad Sage" doing in the capital of the Land of Earth? Your village is at war with this country!
"Never mind, I'll stay here," Diarmuid told the girl, pulling his arm free and walking toward Jiraiya. There happened to be an empty partition right next to him. Diarmuid sat down in the adjacent booth and called out, "Having a good time, aren't we?"
Jiraiya didn't mind. In a place like this, everyone was a friend. He saw Diarmuid was handsome and well-dressed, a good first impression. "This is a fine place, isn't it? You look like a new face. First time?"
Diarmuid: "???"
How do you sound like more of a local than the locals? If I didn't know better, I'd think you lived here.
"Yeah, I'm from the Land of Fire. The owner is my big brother. Put your tab on mine, it's 20% off," Diarmuid said grandly.
Jiraiya's eyes widened. Such a good deal? It wasn't about the money; he just wanted to meet this "little brother" of the owner. "From the Land of Fire? Me too! What a coincidence. Whereabouts?"
"Tanzaku Quarters." Dilmud said directly.
He wasn't from the Land of Fire at all. So far, he had only crossed the border once and had never actually set foot inside the country properly. However, he remembered a few names, and Tanzaku Quarters came to mind.
"Tanzaku Quarters, eh? I was there years ago with a companion. Great gambling dens," Jiraiya smacked his lips, appearing to drift into a memory.
His companion must have been Tsunade, Diarmuid thought.
Fortunately, Jiraiya didn't press for details. The two quickly dove into less-than-reputable topics, laughing loudly every so often. The girls beside them laughed along, pouring wine and listening to these two veterans "swap stories."
Jiraiya was a bestselling author. Although his first book, The Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi, had flopped miserably, he hadn't given up. He realized that art comes from life but must be elevated above it. He eventually poured his insights and "experiences" into a book called Icha Icha Paradise. Once released, it sent shockwaves through the publishing world.
Jiraiya had become a star author overnight. The massive royalties gave him financial freedom, meaning he no longer had to toil away as a shinobi, running missions for pocket change.
Coming from a common background with no inheritance, Jiraiya should have been a struggling ninja despite his power. He wasn't like Orochimaru, who had a snake like Danzo funding his research, nor was he like Tsunade. Even though Tsunade was a legendary gambler who lost a fortune, she was the legitimate heir to the Senju Clan, the royalty of the ninja world, and a recognized Princess of the Land of Fire. She was drowning in debt, but she never lacked for money.
So how did Jiraiya, a commoner with no scientific talent or secret backers, manage to wander the world and spend money like water just like Tsunade? The answer lay in his endless stream of royalties.
Jiraiya was rich, and Diarmuid wasn't short on cash either. Though most of his funds were managed by Kakuzu, he kept plenty on hand. With both being generous spenders, their two tables were soon merged into one. Bottles of sake, appetizers, and girls arrived in waves.
The two of them, accompanied by five girls, played drinking games, threw dice, told stories, and bragged. They were having the time of their lives. Both were straightforward and bold by nature; before they had even exchanged names, they were already calling each other "brother."
"No way! You're over forty?" Jiraiya shouted over his drink, disbelieving. "You look like you're in your early twenties! Don't lie just to try and sound like my elder!"
As they bonded, Diarmuid kept calling him "little brother." Jiraiya felt slighted. He was in his thirties; shouldn't he be the "big brother"? Then Diarmuid claimed to be over forty.
"It's true. I'm just built different," Diarmuid said, picking up a fruit knife from the table.
Before Jiraiya could react, Diarmuid made a small cut on the back of his hand. A bit of blood trickled out, but the wound closed and healed instantly.
Jiraiya was stunned. "What kind of ability is that?"
"Believe me now?" Diarmuid laughed.
"Big brother..." Jiraiya conceded.
Suddenly, someone shouted: "The Oiran is here!"
The noisy room fell silent instantly. Every eye turned toward the stairs on the second floor.
Sure enough, a figure slowly descended. She was dressed with immense formality in a heavily embroidered kimono. She held a folding fan that obscured half of her face. What was striking was how pale she was. Her exposed arms and the visible portion of her face were a pure, porcelain white, almost sickly so.
Her large, watery eyes had silver-white pupils, different from the Byakugan, more metallic, with a hint of black in the center. Her eyebrows and hair were also silver-white, adorned with gold hairpins. Her fingers were slender and pale, tipped with stark, blood-red nail polish.
Nobility, eeriness, and a cold, silver beauty, all blended perfectly in this Oiran.
Diarmuid had seen many beauties, but he had to admit, even with half her face covered, she was a top-tier stunner. He had no memory of her from the original story. Then again, not every beautiful woman in the world becomes a ninja.
He looked at Jiraiya, whose eyes had already turned into hearts.
"Hey! Snap out of it!" Diarmuid barked.
Jiraiya shook his head. "The rumors were true... the greatest beauty of the Land of Water."
"The greatest beauty of the Land of Water?" Diarmuid asked.
"Oh? You didn't know? She's Shiramu Ameri. Word is this Oiran comes from the Land of Water. She was famous even back there." Jiraiya explained. [1]
Diarmuid stroked his chin, searching his memory. He truly had no recollection of the name. He shook his head. "I really haven't heard of her."
"I heard she loves talented men. Not to brag, but I'm a bestselling author! Today might be the day I win the beauty's heart!" Jiraiya said, brimming with excitement.
He had been soaking in this pavilion for days specifically waiting for Shiromiri, just to show off.
Diarmuid glanced at Jiraiya. You write adult novels; maybe let's not talk about 'talent' in polite company.
[1] Shiramu Ameri = literally "White Mist Rain Within"