You talk to your grandfather

across the disheveled tatami mats. The sweet, heavy scent of your combined sweat and lingering intimacy hung thick in the air. All through the night, the rhythm of your passion had not abated; you had taken Miho again and again, burying yourself deep within her mature warmth until the first light of dawn began to bleed through the horizon.

Leaving the brothel behind, you walked through the quiet streets as the village slowly awakened. The cool morning air did little to chase away the lingering heat of the night, nor could it erase the satisfaction still humming in your veins. You stepped onto the polished wooden floorboards of your ancestral home, the quiet dignity of the traditional estate standing in stark contrast to the shameless heat of the hours prior.

"John" a stern, resonant voice called out from the main reception room.

You slid back the door to find your grandfather sitting cross-legged at the low chabudai table, the aroma of freshly brewed green tea rising from a pair of ceramic cups. His eyes, sharp and weathered by decades of authority, locked onto yours as you took a seat across from him.

"You were at the brothel associated with our house last night," your grandfather stated, his voice flat, carrying neither immediate anger nor approval. "Did you peruse their services?"

"Yes," you replied plainly, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "Is that a problem?"

The old man took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, setting the cup down with a soft click against the wooden table.

"A child conceived by a whore or a princess is brought into this world through the same process," he said calmly. "And both are born with the very same blood flowing through their veins. Tell me, John, do you intend to have Miho conceive your child?"