Kochi, The Domain of Tosa, Japan 1859

Two riders urged their horses off of the large boat that had slowly moved up the river. As they did, the barge disappeared, returned to their world. One is a muscular man, his bronzed chest free of any clothing, coated in what could be sweat or possibly oil, a fez crowning his head and loose fitting pants beneath him, a fine Arabian steed his mount, a scimitar at his hip. The other appears like a man out of time. A fine Armani suit graces his frame, a golden wristwatch on his wrist. His horse is black, with striking white splotches and dots along its hide, looking for all intents and purposes like snow in the night, like a concept not yet invented called static.

“Are you sure this is the place? Some backwater like this has such a valuable item? Although I guess it fits that a craven thief would live in such an out of the way place.” The mountain of a man speaks, his voice booming like distant thunder. But it is clear who is in charge, his demeanor meek as he talks to his companion.

The land that greets them is little more than a village with a towering castle above them. This is no Osaka, Edo, or Nagasaki. This is a place beneath mention, a footnote to every person beyond its shores. A place to hold land, to rule rice paddies from a fortification to prevent others from stealing them.

“Yes, our vision is limited in this place, given how cut off it was from the world until recently, but now that people and ideas flow naturally again, the fog lifts, the static clears. Our woman is here. She will be given the offer and if she refuses, she will be given justice.” The modern man speaks in hushed tones, tones that sound fuzzy, like an underlying drone paints the notes just beneath notice.

The mighty man merely nods. Kicking his horse, clearly not wanting to talk with this aberration any more than he needs to. He knows the demands, the plan, the backup plan. He knows his role, as any good player does. The muscle, hired to make demands and crack heads if they aren’t met. The human face to the worlds beyond. He stays in front of the true negotiator, and as he approaches the castle, a retinue come out to meet the two foreigners, a sight unheard of until only 5 years ago.

The samurai intercepts the two, with two men standing behind, their guns armed and aimed for the larger man. “Halt! This is the land of the Daimyo of Tosa, the august personage of Yamauchi Toyoshige. My liege has not informed of us of any… interlopers to arrive. If you are seeking trade, I am sure a port is more your calling, I can direct you if necessary.” The large mountain of a man gets off of his horse, holding up his hands.

“We mean you no harm. We only seek to meet with a person within your castle.” The man speaks perfect Japanese, not even with the hint of an accent. “I am Pasha Al-Baraq and my companion is one of means. We come in peace, though we will not be turned away. We are not traders, but instead… men of law.” Pasha seems to think it over, coming to that answer as the one most true for the moment.

The man in front merely cradles his chin in thought. “Law, you say? This is Nihon, and we do not take the decrees of foreign invaders as law. The bakufu might have bowed to your mighty ships, but I do not see any ship on our coast. The treaty merely offers you trade, not to enter into our castles, the seat of our rulers. There are rumblings that even the reign of the bakufu might end soon, that Tokugawa Iemochi is unable to project the strength needed now. So leave now, and we will forgive this slight on the honor of our liege, thinking you can enter his domain by the grace of a treaty signed with a weakling.”

The man turns, clearly done talking with Pasha, but Pasha merely speaks louder. “I told you we would not leave. We hope to negotiate, but if it comes to it, we will use ****…”

A shot rings out. The vassal who had been negotiating yells at his subordinate, the gun smoking in his hand. “You fool, I did not tell you to fire, this will bring the might of the invaders down upon us…”

“Now, now, I’m a patient man, but such things hurt you know.” The vassal turned back, expecting to see Pasha on the ground, only to see him standing, brushing off a fleck of lead from his unmarked chest. “Now, maybe law isn’t what you understand. How about this? We’re friends with her? Well, let us say that she is of our kind. We lied earlier, we don’t want to talk to a person, or at the very least, a human. We seek to speak with a spirit, a yuki-onna. Do you know of her? We do not wish to harm any of you…” Pasha walks forward, and another two shots land on his chest, bouncing off like tiny stones thrown at the strongest mountain. “...and as you can clearly tell, we won’t stop here.”

The vassal draws his sword, clearly done with negotiations. “Leave, we are powerful in our own right. You will not besmirch this land, foreigner! Not so long as I, Yamada Kazeya, stand before you!” Pasha merely smiles, as the modern man begins trotting his horse forward. “Now, now, how do you think you can stop me? A mere sword?”

But suddenly, an arrow streaks out, hitting Pasha square in the eye. The large man drops to his knees. Kazeya smiles. “Ah, I see that Naoya-sama has seen fit to end your farce. He has a bow like a cannon, and can hit the span of a hand at a distance of 3 Li (1.5 miles). He stands atop the castle, ever watchful. He is one of the most trusted companions of Lord Toyoshige. Now, you kneel before me where you belong, foreign dog! Now, end his companion men, we will explain to the bakufu that we merely defended our land after they attempted to raid our cas…”

Kazeya stops mid-sentence as Pasha stands. Pasha pulls the arrow from his eye, blood flowing from the wound. The shallow, shallow wound. He rubs his hand across the eye, and when he removes it, his eye is completely healed. And filled with anger.

“You boast falsely, but that power is true enough. As strong as a cannon, the product of magic. She is here. Now, last chance. Guide us to her, or we will tear this place apart until we find her.” Kazeya answers by running to his horse, running back to the safety of the castle walls. “Close the gates, demons approach!”

The modern man rides up alongside Pasha. Pasha defers to him. “Negotiations have failed. Looks like we’re going with plan B. Just how loud do you want it?”

The modern man looks at the castle, now raising its alarms, “Show them why you are called the Lord of Lightning.”

Pasha smiles as he dodges another arrow that would have struck his heart. He strides forward, holding his hands apart, sparks flying from his fingertips. A bolt of lightning forms within the span of his hands, which he thrusts up, blowing the archer as well as the entire roof he stands on to smithereens. Pasha held up his hand and his horse rode forward at a full gallop, Pasha’s face barely moving as he leaps atop it from standing, another lightning bolt in his hand.

_____

“Pah, nothing but warriors and maids. 20 people dead before we found the girl who told us about the shrine in the hills. I should’ve rained lightning down on all of them, the bastards.” Pasha steps off his horse, launching a lightning bolt to destroy a Torii gate as they climb up steps to a hidden shrine.

“We are supposed to leave only the damage necessary. People will forget, but it is hard to forget why the castle that controlled this land was reduced to nothing. A freak lightning storm can be believed, a bolt causing a fire that terribly damages it… But the utter atomization of a castle by such a storm? Not so much.” Pasha is cowed by the modern man’s static voice. “Still, I think your show of **** broke their resistance.”

Pasha exhales with relief, assured he has avoided cancellation. “So do I have permission to use **** if necessary?” The modern man does not smile, does not emote, his face a dead expression. “No. I will handle negotiations with the spirit. And any **** they could muster will be of no consequence once I have seen her.”

They step up to a clearing, a cave in the mountain, with various paper charms around it. A single shrine maiden runs at the sight of the two men. Pasha approaches, tearing at the meager barrier to their entrance.

They step into a room. On the back wall, a small palanquin rests. An older man sits there, surrounded by a harem of women. They wear fancy clothes, and it is clear they have found the lord of this territory, Yamauchi Toyoshige. They watch another group in more threadbare clothes, standing over cooking fires, working, competing with one another.. And on one side, an old woman stands, officiating, although she stops as the pair enter this space, this sacred ritual. The modern man walks forward toward the old woman and the old woman who walks toward the modern man, clearly angry.

“How dare you! The ritual is ruined, and during the cooking round too, where the girls serve their Goshujin-sama with their domestic skills! You will be beheaded…” Only once her eyes fully examine the man does she grow pale. “You are no human.”

The modern man drops his pretense, and indeed the appearance of a modern man, to reveal a face made of static. “And neither are you, Ms. Yuki-onna. You are a hard woman to find. I have come to serve you…”

A man, dressed in threadbare clothes but clearly a bit better off than the others, walks forward. “Is the ritual savable, Maiden of Winter? Can we not start again once they leave?”

The old woman looks at the man, only 18, barely more than a boy. “No, my time, it is limited. By the time I would be ready again…” Behind her, the women all gather around as well. The daimyo and his harem look on, clearly confused but unwilling to risk their lives.

The agent sighs. “You’re ruining the shot and you interrupted me. We’re shooting here, behind the scenes featurettes. Now, step away, young Master.” The man, clearly brave enough to step towards a man with no face, nods wisely, stepping away.

“Now, as I was saying… I’m here to serve you with a Cease and Desist. You are utilizing rituals and powers that have been copyrighted and trademarked by Harem Hotel Inc. KDM, OTK, BNCPKW. You will cease all future unlawful operations or you will be summarily canceled, which means ****…”

The spirit looks gobsmacked at this. “What? But I… I don’t know what in the fuck you’re talking about? I’ve never heard of this Harmu Hoteeru. And I made every single ritual used in this by scratch. I don’t understand a single fucking word you said. What makes you able to decree such things? I am a powerful spirit as well, and our ways are bound by no method but our own countenance.”

The agent merely sighs. “Fine, let’s get into brass tacks. You take a person, read Master, and assemble a group of people to compete over his affection, read Contestants. At the end of each round, winners are rewarded with good magic, read Boons, while losers are punished, read Transformations. And if any lose too many times and are viewed as having no shot, they are sacrificed, read eliminated. All the while, people watch and provide feedback, read Audience, and their belief in the system and joy and sorrow at its outcomes watching it provide worship, read Engagement. This worship allows the one running the ritual, read Host, to practice their magic as a form of God within the context of the realm of dominion, read Hotel. This is how a normal season of Harem Hotel works, and this is how your ritual works, therefore the two have the same underlying magical praxis, the same mechanism and function. You may not have known you were using our methods, but now you do and you have to stop.”

“But I’ve been doing it for centuries, since that warrior contracted me before the battle of Sekigahara! They bargained with me for strength in their men and fertility beyond their wildest dreams for the women. I’ve blessed countless generations, and their lands and holdings have only grown since. It’s been 260 years since I started. What right do you have to say I copied you, when you probably copied me?” The old woman is apoplectic before the man with no face.

“Our patents on that basal concept go back to Dionysian rites of ancient Greece. A play put on by a god for their worship featuring drama and action. So unless you can add a few thousand years, our patent is older than your patent.”

“You cannot do this! I can only maintain my form due to that worship. You are demanding that I die, one way or another. I’d rather die fighting than be so humiliated. We will settle this with the true law of beings beyond mortal ken, by ****!”

As the yuki-onna moves away from the agent, a woman - no, a very effeminate man - catches the yuki-onna’s sleeve. “You didn’t let him finish. He intends to make another offer.” The yuki-onna looks at the Contestant, “The tutor…Yataro?” But then, she looks at the man of static. “Is this true?”

The static man merely nods. “Yes. I am an agent for Harem Hotel, and I am willing to offer you a contract as a Host. You will leave this place and instead work for us. My companion, a Host himself, can tell you: it’s not so bad working for us. We offer incredible amounts of worship for a reasonable amount of effort. You’re barely scraping by here, unable to spare even the ability to maintain your physical form. Join us and you will be a star. Deny us, and die as less than a footnote of history.”

The old woman looks at Pasha. “So, how is it working for them? I can tell you are a spirit like me, one from Arabia, methinks.”

Pasha groans. “Allah above, why is it always Arabia? I am Turkish, not Arabian. But I am a djinn, so yes, I am like you. And compared to this place… it’s worlds better. Now, you will have to change things. I see you treat the losers… quite brutally. We don’t kill, spirit of ice.”

The woman grows huffy again. “I am a yuki-onna. It was required in order for me to prescribe the rite. Those who freeze perish, while those who live are left with fertile soil. That and it kept the energy flowing during the bad times… And I can see the spirits of those you killed stalking you, lightning walker.”

The agent talks again, “No sacrifices. We used to do it too, but if you come on board, you play by our rules. No killing. Now, here is the contract.” The agent reaches into his abyssal self and pulls out a sheaf of 8.5 by 11 printer paper of at least 50 pages. He drops it on a nearby table with a heavy thud.

The old woman groans. “Great, you plan to swindle me with a huge contract, impossible to read. I’ll curse you after my ****, that is my most terrible power you know.”

The agent merely nods. “An abridged contract can be provided upon request. Here you go.” He takes a single page and hands it to her. She reads one line before throwing it back in his face.

“Oh, absolutely not. In perpetuity? Giving all rights to image rights, personality rights, rights to change mind upon tender? You don’t want me, you want a puppet. The deal is off.”

The agent merely nods his head. “It seems you want a contractor’s agreement. Now it does lack certain key benefits, like retirement allocation and guaranteed functional immortality, but if you really want to keep those items, it is still within my power to offer you that type of contract.”

The old woman looks at her two guests and catches on the Turkish man’s poor tells. “Lightning walker, what are you not telling me?” Pasha looks at the agent, before muttering a small curse, afraid this would lead to his own cancellation. “Don’t take single season contracts. They make you little more than a ****. Always trying to keep ratings as high as possible, burning out quick.”

The older woman looks at the agent, disgusted. But then she looks at Pasha. “What contract do you have?” He puffs up his chest. “10 seasons, with a possible cross-over season with a sexy genie if I meet critic rating thresholds of 4 stars on 8 of them.”

The yuki-onna looks at the agent. “5 seasons, his terms, but I want creative control on 3 of them, I am an old hand at this now.”

The man of the abyss merely waits a second, gathering the will of the producers. “2 seasons, no creative control, and an hour special for your introduction.”

“What’s an hour, is that some Western devilry? Gah, 4 seasons, 2 mine, 2 yours.”

“3 seasons, one yours after the first two seasons we run in order to make sure you understand the company culture. And you appear in advertisements with our other exotic talent. And we give you an advance, so you can clean up here and settle all your debts.”

The yuki-onna thinks, reading over the now modified terms on the one sheet of paper. She feels good about this, she just needs to be cunning enough to win in the long run.

She says the word that would save her. “Yes.” The man of static extended his hand. “We don’t take verbal agreements. Shake my hand, and our deal is sealed, until the next contract negotiation.” The two shake, as the woman smiles.

As her hand glows with power, she clutches it, and the wrinkles begin to fade. The hunched woman grows more slight as her back extends to its full length once again, the torn yukata growing pristine and white. Young again, the wan woman smiles. “So, when do I start?”

“Next week, but what should we call you? You didn’t have a name, but it’s hard to market ‘the yuki-onna’.”

“Just call me Yuki.”

Story Discord: https://discord.gg/AQhaU7zRFN