The cruel morning sun flung daggers of light into Tora’s eyes somewhere around 8 a.m., and in his sleepy, hungover state he made a cave-like fortress with his covers to escape the blazing light. His consciousness began to piece itself back together bit by throbbing bit around 11. Awareness brought memories of last night crashing into Tora’s psyche - what was that line about awakening supposed to mean?

The host cooked a simple breakfast of steamed brown rice, grilled mackerel, and miso soup wearing nothing but boxers, and ate his meal for one at his heated kotatsu table. Tora had always thought the simplest foods were the most delicious, Tora always thought, and the nutrients helped blast the hangover away.

As the throbbing headache started to ebb Tora walked into the bathroom to shower. The host paused in front of the mirror to stare at the naked form in the reflection. With hands pressed against the glass, Tora’s reflection glared daggers back. “You’re a fraud.” A hand traced over the complete lack of stubble along the jawline. “You’re a liar,” Tora continued. Turning sideways, the host inspected that deceptive chest. The chest reconstruction surgery Takashi had paid for was the best money could buy; Tora never had to worry about a client discovering the truth from an innocent grab for Tora’s chest. “You’re a freak!” Tora yelled now, pounding on the mirror.

This was the game he played with his reflection every morning. Although he had no regrets undergoing the surgery or crossdressing in and of themselves, once the adrenaline and alcohol buzz of the evenings at work wore off he always awoke feeling positively vile. If his clients knew the truth…. But they would never know, because this was the deal he and Takashi had worked out.

He had found Tora in an alley five years ago, bleeding profusely from several wounds and terrified. He took her to a doctor friend of his who treated yakuza and other unsavory members of Tokyo’s underworld and had her fixed up. He fed her, clothed her, and once he’d earned her trust he extracted her story from her. Tora had been on the run from authorities for something she didn’t even remember doing, and she begged him to help her disappear off the radar.

Once she was healed, Takashi took her to another friend who arranged for a fake identity. He also paid for her reconstruction surgery, a host’s wardrobe, and a new hairstyle. When it came time to pick a host name, she’d chosen the name Tora, which meant tiger, to help her feel stronger. Takashi completely rebuilt her from the ground up - his name was on the lease of her apartment, even.

In return, he received the perfect host - someone who knew what women wanted, walked the line between masculinity and feminism perfectly, and wouldn’t get involved in any sex scandals with customers. It took four years for Tora’s earnings at the club to pay off the debt she owed Takashi before her commission went to him, but it was worth it. After all, as Takashi had so bluntly put it when they met, it was submit to this deal or risk ending up working as a prostitute or worse.

Tora started filling up the tub, glaring at herself from head to toe until it was full. Then, as was her own deal with herself, she stuffed all her self-doubts into a little compartment within her mind and moved on. It wasn’t that she really hated herself; it was just the lying, the hiding away, that grated on her conscience.

After her bath, Tora donned a robe and opened her apartment door. Sitting at her doorstep was the usual inconspicuous package from Takashi’s contacts which included everything on her order list from the previous night: fresh vegetables and other groceries, hair products, and new volumes of her favorite manga. With a grunt she hefted the package over her shoulder and shut the door again, then set the package on the kitchen counter so to unload its contents. These deliveries came three times a week as another part of her deal with Takashi. Although her false papers were pretty damned good, half-Japanese, or Halfs, were viewed with suspicion at best these days, and her paperwork wouldn’t hold up to close scrutiny if authorities ran her papers through their system for any number of arbitrary reasons while running errands. It was common for shopkeepers to accuse Halfs of shoplifting out of a sheer unwillingness to sell to them, so out of an abundance of caution Takashi arranged all of her everyday purchases to cut down on chances of discovery.

With the morning delivery packed away, it was time to dress and tidy up. She donned her jogging outfit and then ambled out to her entryway to lace up her running shoes. Tora ran almost every day to stay mentally and physically fit. She believed running was the best form of meditation. The groan of her leg muscles propelling her ever onward, the racing of her heartbeat, the vibrations of shoes hitting pavement, and the sound of heavy metal filling her ears all blended into one fully present consciousness. Only during these moments did she have complete awareness of her being, and as Tora’s body carried her great distances, she would set her mind out to pasture and let it roam freely.

Snippets from last night’s cryptic conversation crept into the quiet spaces of Tora’s mind after the first few kilometers. You’re awakening….Whose side will you be on when it happens, spirit walker? They’d called her a spirit walker, which she guessed was their way of calling her a shaman. And those mouths, the fangs, worst yet those eyes! Occurrences like that were the stuff of books, not real life. The practical side of her reasoned she’d imagined it in her drunken state. That settles it, she thought with a nod. I have got to stop drinking so much. Aki was right, I should let my trainee take my drinks, detox a little.

But then, what if it was real? She’d grown up hearing fantastical tales from days long gone, and such scary facial features were par for the course in many Japanese ghost stories. Her mother had been an anthropology professor originally from New York who had fallen in love with Shinto and folk tales during her year doing fieldwork around Japan - that’s how she met Father, Tora thought with a pang of longing. Growing up she’d always believed there was at least a grain of reality in every tale, and her mother had spoken to many a practicing shaman so she didn’t need to think very hard to puzzle out what being a spirit walker entailed. But to imply she could be one? Preposterous. For one, she wasn’t blind like many shamans were. More importantly, she was a Half; the gods would have to have quite the sense of humor to think others would allow a Half to practice shamanism, formally or informally. Yet another part of her reasoned that public opinion didn’t matter much - she wasn’t exactly leading the life of a model citizen anyway.

Even now as she jogged peacefully past Keio University en route from her apartment in 2-chome Shinjuku to Akasaka, Tora caught more than a few wary looks and nervous glances from other passersby. In one moment of eye contact she saw it: you don’t belong, their eyes said; their fretting eyebrows expressed so much without voicing a single word. Tora didn’t let it affect her, though. To each disapproving reaction she had but one response: a smile. What else could anyone do? She couldn’t hate her countrymen for falling in line with the popular sentiment spewed out by the politicians and conservative media; if you hear foreigners and Halfs are dishonest outsiders often enough, well, it must be true, right?

Being part of a targeted demographic as a Half wasn’t as bad as it was for full-on foreigners. The overwhelming majority of full Japanese folk she met day-to-day were kind even if they were distant, respectful even if they did not trust her. Still, it had its undeniable inconveniences. Before she and her family moved to Japan when her parents left Columbia University to teach at Kyoto University, the Diet voted to relax its immigration laws to combat the growing number of job vacancies as the aging population left the workforce. The birth rate had been in trouble for quite some time and hadn’t turned around, so there simply weren’t enough native Japanese to power the country. The introduction of new cultures and work ethics did not go smoothly, however. As the incoming workforce realized the conditions promised were but a hollow facade, they quickly grew embittered. Only the most skilled new workers were placed in white collar jobs; the rest, who were largely people of color, were given any number of reasons why they were only qualified to work in the various manual labor industries. Tensions escalated quickly, and within a few years there was a series of violent outbursts instigated by both the emigrants and the natives. Now most people lived in fear of more violence, always viewing “the other side” with suspicion.

A wrenching feeling of self-hatred wound its way through her system - she had to stop thinking about that, and quickly - the memories ambushed her so suddenly she could almost smell the smoke and hear the screams. Not a day went by without remembering she had unwittingly instigated one of the worst violent outbreaks five years ago. But it was too late to repress the feeling of revulsion. She began to hyperventilate and had to duck into the nearest alley, leaning down with her head between her knees until the panic subsided.

It was thanks to her regular meditation that she was able to pull herself out of it after a few minutes. She closed her eyes and pictured herself in her happy place. In her mind, she was sitting on a picnic blanket with her family under a canopy of baby pink cherry blossoms, sharing a huge bento prepared by her mother with the most delicious blend of American and Japanese foods: fried chicken, onigiri, salad with sesame dressing, an assortment of nigiri-zushi, and little finger sandwiches. Her parents drank plum wine and as the day progressed her father’s cheeks possessed a blush to match the flowers above. They laughed and laughed, and Tora had fallen asleep in mid-afternoon while gazing at the fleeting beauty of the sakura. This was one of her favorite childhood memories and it never failed to bring her peace of mind.

A hesitant voice speaking in painfully slow Japanese interrupted her thoughts just as her breathing regularized. “Excuse me, Sir, but I’m going to need to see your paperwork.”

Tora glanced up; it was a policeman. She fought the instinct to tense up - only those with something to hide acted guilty. Instead she rose slowly and deliberately, taking a moment to check the uniform as she did so - to her relief it was just a traffic cop. “Of course, Officer,” Tora replied in perfect Japanese - it was her primary language after all, despite what many seemed to think. She handed over the papers.

The policeman looked them over with a critical eye, but Tora did not have to worry. Her false papers were expertly done and it would take a serious investigation before they realized her name was not in the records. “Smith…..Michio…. I see,” the officer continued as slowly as possible, not having picked up on Tora’s fluency. “Everything seems to be in order, you may go. But please do not cause worry like this,” and he motioned to Tora’s standing in the alley.

“Absolutely Officer, and may I offer my sincerest apologies. You see, a pebble got lodged in my shoe so I was simply trying to get it out. I’ll ensure it does not happen again, but thank you for understanding this time.” Tora finished with a respectful bow.

“Err, of course, Smith-san,” the officer said, disarmed by Tora’s manners. Once he had walked away, Tora let out a sigh of relief. She decided not to try her luck tonight and headed home early.

After some more meditation it was time to get ready for work. Despite the strain on her body and the guilt of deceiving her customers, she really did enjoy the work. The host club was one of the few places Tora found acceptance. In fact, her foreign features worked in her favor because the ladies viewed her as an exotic commodity. Tora’s eyelids had the double crease just like her mother, and the other facial features had a not-quite-Japanese, not-totally-foreign look to them, making Tora at once familiar and different. She rolled out her array of hair and makeup products and set about transforming. Then she ironed the evening’s outfit and put it on with a happy sigh; the little joy of stepping into warm clothing never got old.

The atmosphere in Kabuki-cho felt different tonight, though Tora couldn’t place her finger on why. For one, there were a lot more people streaming through the gates - there must be a concert. It must be a big name to cause such reverent silence in this noisy neighborhood. That wasn’t all, though. As she got closer to her club’s building, the scene unfolding before her certainly seemed to explain the reason for her jitters.

To the side of the square where many hosts staked out for nampa, two hosts from a rival club - he recognized them as Jun and Kyoya, who were known in the business as having aggression problems - were taking an antagonistic approach with a potential customer. From where Tora stood it looked as if they aimed to herd her into an alley; for every step she took to distance herself, they closed the gap immediately. Everything about their body language was threatening - not even close to what was in the usual host’s repertoire for seduction.

For all that the woman’s face was contorted in fear, she was the most elegant lady Tora had seen - which was saying a great deal given her profession. Such a classy lady was obviously not used to being treated in such a way and was quickly growing visibly upset. She turned to escape but the main instigator grabbed her arm hard enough to spin her back toward them, eliciting a yelp of pain. With her free hand she smacked the host, who responded with cruel laughter.

Without thinking, Tora dashed into the situation, her long ponytail trailing behind her. There was no room to place herself between the woman and her assailants so instead she came up behind her, arms crossed. A fierce glance was all it took to make the two rivals hesitate, which gave their target a chance to take a step away from her tormentors.

“Is that how your club teaches you to attract women? Because at my club, we call what you just did harassment,” she shouted with her affected husky male voice, the force of her words sending steamy hot breath up through through the chilly air.

“What’s it to you, Kitten?” challenged Kyoya, the shorter one on the left, who had been the first to grab the woman. He always seemed to be the leader of their team.

“Our job is to make women feel welcomed and happy, not frightened. You went too far, and she’s clearly not interested in going to your second-rate host club.” Tora turned to the woman. “Do you want to go to their club?” She shook her head. “And that’s all the answer you should need. Now get the hell out of my sight. If I ever catch you pulling this shit again, I’ll make sure you’re dealt with permanently.”

Both Jun and Kyoya kicked at Tora’s feet in disgust, rage tinting their faces purple. But they let go, and the woman stumbled forward. Tora held out an arm to steady her, and their eyes met for a moment. The gratitude reflected in the young woman’s almond-shaped, amber brown eyes made Tora’s heart swell inexplicably.

“We won’t forget this, Kitten,” barked Kyoya, running his hands through his hair as if trying to shake out the anger.

“Nor will I, believe me. Anyone who gets angry that I should dare to stand up for someone being bullied is lacking a basic sense of humanity. I won’t concede any of my power to you by being afraid. Now get the fuck out of here and practice your obscene version of pickup artistry somewhere far out of my sight.”

After watching the rival pair skulk off to the opposite corner of the square, Tora turned to the woman. Her obvious relief washed the anger out of the host’s veins, but it lingered in her racing pulse.

“Are you hurt, miss?” she inquired.

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” the aristocrat replied with a slight blush.

“You’d better keep aware of your surroundings in a place like this. A lady of your calibre stands out like a lantern on a moonless night, and ghouls like those are bound to be drawn to you,” Tora cautioned. “So please, take care of yourself. I may not be around next time.”

Figuring that was the end of it, Tora began to take her leave. She felt a gentle tug on her coat sleeve after she’d turned away.

“Let me thank you for your help. I’ll come to your club, so please show me the way.”

“I’ve already received all the thanks I need just by being able to gaze into your beautiful eyes. A host club is no place for someone like you. It would be dishonest to bring you there and take your money - surely you know enough about those places from the media to know they are merely dens of con artists. ”

“Don’t assume you know me just because you helped me out. Who’s to say what kind of woman I am and where I belong, hmm? If I’ve never been to a host club it’s only because I haven’t had the chance, not because I am or am not the type for it. Now do you want me to buy you a drink or don’t you? I don’t have much time before my...appointment.” The woman was clearly used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

“Very well, I’ll be glad for your company. But before I take you anywhere, I’d like the pleasure of knowing your name.”

“It’s Michiko. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said with a polite bow.

“My name is Tora, and the pleasure is all mine. Miss Michiko, please follow me.”

The elevator doors opened into an empty club; from this angle and in full lighting the stark white and black decor felt more antiseptic than mysterious. The host almost never entered from the front before work, and now she was glad for it. The pair walked over to one of the plush circular booths towards the back of the club. Michiko gingerly removed her gloves and shrugged out of her coat, folding it neatly over Tora’s outstretched arm. Only Tora’s fastidious training in controlling body language saved her from revealing her shock; the removal of Michiko’s winter clothes revealed both a gorgeous figure and lustrous black hair - as well as some rather interesting clothing.

From the way the woman carried herself, Tora had expected a fancy cocktail dress or, at the very least, a business woman’s skirt and blouse. Come to think of it though, she hadn’t realized until this moment that she had combat boots on. What Michiko had on was more akin to a women’s version of what some hosts wear - a black cut-sew shirt with angry red English text, a short black skirt with chains and safety pins all over it, and deliberately torn red leggings. She blushed furiously under the host’s impassive glance, but before she could open her mouth to explain Tora held up a hand.

“In a moment. We’re not officially open for another hour, but if I explain the circumstances to my boss I’m sure he’ll let me entertain you. However, I must let him know you’re here, so please excuse me,” she explained.

Michiko nodded in understanding, and Tora headed back to Takashi’s office. She found him taking inventory for the club’s next alcohol order. It didn’t take long to explain the situation and get approval to kick things off early tonight. To set the mood, she dimmed the lights and set some soothing music on the way back to take her guest’s drink order. Another couple minutes later she returned with an expensive bottle of Chardonnay already uncorked, two glasses dangling casually by their stems between her fingers. The host took a seat across from the enigma of a woman and filled first Michiko’s glass, then hers. Tora felt embarrassed for some reason; with a normal customer she’d have sidled up as closely as she could, but something about this lady made her want to treat her gently.

Michiko raised her glass. “To fateful encounters,” she proposed.

“I’ll drink to that,” Tora replied.

The glasses chimed together as they met, and the pair each took a sip. Michiko’s shoulders relaxed, and she looked at Tora with a warm smile as she nursed her drink. Now that the host had a moment to assess Michiko more carefully, Tora realized she was an extraordinary beauty.

She looked to be around the host’s age, perhaps 23. All of her features were well-proportioned and symmetrical, matching well with her smooth cafe-au-lait skin and shoulder-length jet black hair. With her bangs pinned back to either side of her face, Tora noticed her expertly applied thick black eyeliner. Even her nails were painted black with white rhinestones affixed to the tips. Her outfit still mystified Tora, though. Her careful grooming and perfect posture gave her away as someone of good upbringing, so it was baffling to see her in an outfit hailing from one of Japan’s lowest subcultures.

Michiko endured the silent scrutiny for perhaps a minute as her cheeks slowly turned crimson. “Are you always this serious with your lady callers? What are you staring at me for?”

It was Tora’s turn to blush. What is wrong with you, idiot? You’re acting like a kid with a schoolyard crush! “Where are you going tonight?” Tora blurted out, sidestepping the question. “I’m curious to know what brought you to Kabuki-cho. Both your coat and your dignified posture suggest a woman of status, but now I see that underneath you’re rocking a killer visual kei look. Are you in a band or something? I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that one tends to become a fairly decent judge of character in this line of work and you’ve thrown me off.”

“You mean you’ve learned to detect money - there’s a difference,” her tone was accusatory but her face softened, as if she realized she’d been too harsh. “But to answer your question, no. I’m going to see a band, but I’m not a member. And as you suggest, my family is somewhat influential, I’m afraid. All that means for me is more restrictions on what is “proper” for me to do and like. I’m sure you can imagine what such a family might think of a daughter who follows rock bands,” she divulged with a guilty look.

“Hey, just because your family’s got clout doesn’t mean you can’t like rock music. Who’s playing tonight, anyone good?”

“Dark Alice is playing a one man down the street. My best friend is the singer, so naturally they’re my favorite!”

“D’Arisu is back in town?! I’m a huge fan too, but I always seem to miss their lives! I rarely have days off on nights they are playing in the area so I’ve never seen them play. Anyway, your secret’s safe with me. Enjoy it enough for me, too,” Tora urged.

“I will, Tora! But now you know a bit about me, yet I still only know your profession and name. That’s hardly fair,” she pouted.

“The cards are never dealt fairly in a host club, that’s rule number two - second only to ‘you must drink more alcohol than you can handle.’ But seeing as how I’m off the clock, I suppose I can tell you a few things. You’ve got three questions, so ask me anything - within reason, of course.”

Michiko fell silent for a moment, her brow fretting - Tora didn’t think she’d take the three question rule seriously, but she didn’t bother correcting her assumption, either. It could be fun to see what she considered to be the most important questions.

“Why did you decide to become a host?” she asked.

Tora was surprised to find herself inextricably torn between the urge to tell the truth and the need to regurgitate her practiced answer. This girl could be bad for business if her enigmatic presence created such a the desire to go spouting off her life secrets. In the end, the fabricated story won; business was business.

“I originally became a host as a way to pay my way through college, but the work is so rewarding that I stayed on after graduating,” Tora explained earnestly.

“What do you like about it?” Michiko countered, not seeming to believe her.

“I get to meet a lot of people from different walks of life - everyone from aristocrats like you to hostesses and prostitutes. I love making women happy and helping them feel beautiful.”

“Can’t you do that without stealing all their money?”

“I never pressure anyone to spend more than they’re willing to, but I certainly can’t help it if they choose to spend more than they should. We provide a service to women who, for various reasons, feel they cannot get the same attention from normal men for free. We are selling the dream of the perfect man; you can’t tell me that isn’t at least a little appealing.”

“Well, I suppose it is,” she said thoughtfully. “And I guess it’s true that you aren’t forcing them here. But still, isn’t there a better way?”

“If there is,” the host responded, “I encourage you to write it into a business plan and open up your own club. I’ll be your first employee. But for now, we wouldn’t be successful at our jobs if we let guilt creep into our nightly dealings.”

“Also true,” she conceded, and then fell silent.

“But just because we’re selling a dream doesn’t mean we don’t develop genuine feelings toward our regular clients,” Tora continued. “We just aren’t allowed to act on them. We sell love but are ourselves forbidden from enjoying its sweetness; only its bitterness - jealousy, emptiness, and so on - is ours to claim. Before you go feeling too sorry for our regular clients, you should consider that we are also human beings and are disadvantaged by this system. Our customers can go home and lead regular lives; some even have husbands or boyfriends they go home to after coming to play with us. Yet most of us are incapable of doing the same. Our work literally consumes us. We give our bodies and souls to our clients.”

“But you choose to become a host,” she insisted petulantly.

“Sometimes that “choice” is made by necessity. For survival, if you will. We don’t all have wealthy parents willing to catch us when we fall.”

Michiko stewed over that answer for a moment. Then, realizing both her glass and the bottle were empty, she pulled out a pair of newly minted 10,000-yen bills and ordered a refill. Tora was gone but a moment, but in that instant of absence Michiko’s mood had grown sombre in deep thought. They drank the next bottle in silence, and she stood as soon as the last drop trickled into her mouth.

“I must be going. The doors to the concert open soon. Thanks again for helping me out earlier, and for the...enlightening conversation,” she said with a wan smile.

“Uh, no problem,” the host murmured, running a hand through her hair in consternation. Tora was suddenly self-conscious, although she wasn’t sure why.

After escorting Michiko to the door, helping her ease into her coat and squeeze into her gloves, the aristocrat turned and left without another word. Tora watched the doors of the elevator close, and then she was gone. The faintest vestige of Michiko’s perfume still clung to Tora’s shirt, and an inexplicable pang of remorse twanged in her chest. To shake off the strange feeling, the host quickly busied herself preparing for the opening of the club fifteen minutes hence.

The rest of the night was a blur; although Tora acted and spoke appropriately with the clients, the only things her mind could wrap itself around were the earlier conversation with Michiko and the confrontation with the rival hosts. Tora had heard about plenty of vendettas between clubs getting ugly; she hoped she hadn’t stepped into such a situation this afternoon. All she could do was keep on trying her best, though. Whatever was coming would come regardless of whether she was ready for it.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3: Awakening