"Ow!"
Jiraiya sat up in bed, his head aching as though a carriage had run over it.
Sunlight pierced through the gap in the window. He squinted, his throat painfully dry.
Last night's events were like a scroll with pieces missing.
The tavern lights, the swaying sake cups, and... a figure in white, seen from behind.
Slender and lean, like a wisp of moonlight he couldn't catch in the darkness.
In his drunken haze, he'd thought it was a shame. A little fuller would have been even better.
As he struggled through his scattered memories, a pale hand held a ceramic bowl out before him.
Inside was a dark hangover remedy, still giving off soothing wisps of steam.
"Thanks."
He mumbled his thanks, took it, and drained it in one go.
The warm liquid slid down his throat, carrying the warmth of kudzu root and ginger and dispelling some of his mental fog.
But immediately afterward, that fog gave way to another, stronger feeling.
Wariness.
Something about the air in this room was wrong.
Although he'd been home for a few days, the place still smelled faintly of dust and old scrolls after being unoccupied for so long.
But now...
There was a faint, cool fragrance in the air, like plum blossoms on an early winter morning, mingled with a barely perceptible, delicate scent.
He whipped his head around.
A black-haired woman dressed in white sat on the low stool beside his bed.
He wore a simple kimono, its cuffs and lapels embroidered with silver snake-eye patterns so subtle they were almost invisible.
His long hair fell like ink, setting off skin pale from long absence of sunlight, yet smooth and delicate.
With his eyes lowered, he possessed a classical gentleness, dignified yet distant.
Jiraiya's pupils abruptly contracted.
That face...