Heaven's Door

Shinjiro Oto paced the hallway of his lord's mansion, grinning from ear to ear as he awaited the chime which would signal for him to enter the great hall and reap the harvest for his twenty-five years of service to his lord, the daimyo of the Tosa Domain.

"It's finally over."

He found himself giggling under his breath as he recalled the years of dedication he gave as a samurai: the countless battles which nearly cost him his eyesight, but secured the daimyo's power. The years of steadfast training which led to his mastery of the sword, but prevented him from ever so much as speaking more than three words to a woman. Childhood years spent in solitude as his first master taught him discipline and how to cook and clean.

Even as a baby, he'd worn a topknot before his first words were recited, which, incidentally, were: righteousness, loyalty, honor, respect, honesty, courage, and consistency–in that order. Followed by the entirety of the dakodo written by renowned samurai Musashi Miyamoto, who he was to model his life after. However, his mastery of all things samurai came so early he'd burnt himself out.

"On the other side of that door, I'll trade the seven principles of bushido for the seven sins," he said with a dastardly smirk, cracking his knuckles as he reached the door, only to turn around with a sigh when the chime didn't come. As he paced once more, he forced his smirk back on. "Especially lust. Then greed. Then gluttony. And then…yeah let's do sloth, and maybe some wrath. I won't need envy. Or pride...can't be too prideful if you have reason to be proud, right?"

He'd been promised by the daimyo himself. After his twenty-fifth birthday, along with the successful abating of all the daimyo's foes and the training of seven young samurai to take his place, he would receive a lifetime of riches and pleasures. Women, gold, silver, a seven-story mansion to host never ending, seven-course feasts, and of course, women. Naked women.

Surely, an appetizer of all these rewards would be waiting for him on the other side of the double doors which begged him to dash in, throwing off his robes as a ceremonial symbol of trading old for new.

His apprentices would take turns serving as his guards, as he would become an important official. The shogun himself wanted to ensure the bushido way persisted, as the formation of night-prowling yakuza had marked a certain turn. Their methods were questionable at best, but they'd proven they could provide order in the country as the samurai declined.

"I'm getting out just in time. I'd throw myself on the sword before I work with those ugly yakuza freaks. Anyone who would smear ink across their body has their brain infected."

It would be up to his seven apprentices to maintain a balance between the yakuza, who owned the night, and the samurai, who protected the day. And he had trained them for just this, even re-naming them after the seven tenets. There was the righteous Gi and his loyal younger brother, Chugi, the honorable Meiyo and her respectful younger sister, Rei, the honest-to-a-fault Sei, the courageous Yu who was the brother of his best friend, and Shinjiro's impossibly consistent niece, Makoto.

They were all, with the exception of Makoto whom he wouldn't dare confess his intentions, waiting to burst into laughter as they watched him cast his robes into the fire and proclaim himself a new man. Having thought this, he could no longer contain himself. Just in time for his scarred hands to rear the handles forth, the chime sounded. As the doors swung open, revealing a bright white light, his hands had already moved to his waist for the ceremonial stripping. But for some reason the white light was so bright, he couldn't see a thing.

"Huh?"

He thought it had just been his faulty eyes adjusting to the change from dark to light, but it was as if the light was consuming him. No, he was falling into the light, rather than the room containing all the pleasures of the rest of his life.

His hands grasped onto nothing, and his bare legs flapped like a baby bird as the floor beneath him disappeared, and his robes were suspended like a failed parachute above him. He tried to reach back for them, but a tall man, adorned in furs and with strange warpaint on his face, floated past him, snatching the robes with a grin.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"I'll be borrowing these-hee!"

"Wait, you bastard! What's going on?"

"Have fun meeting your new master-tee!"

***

Samira Nana darted through the red light district's alleys, gunshots popping behind her and grazing her leather skirt and single-sleeved blouse. For someone moving as deftly as a sprinter and gymnast combined, which she was, her expression was anything but calm.

"I haven't even been in Shinjuku for an hour!"

She wondered what exactly had painted her as an immediate target for the buzzed-head, suit-wearing, uzi-toting yakuza. Was it her arm full of freshly inked tattoos that she boldly displayed by cutting off one of her blouse's sleeves? Or could it have had to do with the strange old doormaker they caught her talking to outside the bar? Or perhaps they simply recognized her as the daughter of the late yakuza boss who ruled all of Tokyo.

"It has to be the doormaker," she cried as she glanced at a crumpled note in her closed fist. "He even looked like a Viking! That means the letter really was from Dad… I've got to find him!"

Further ahead, the bearded giant of a man appeared underneath a haze of flickering red light. He smiled as he waved for her to follow him, before disappearing with a flicker of the light.

Hoping the yakuza grunts hadn't seen him, Samira dove in front of the door, between several carts full of grapefruits that, once riddled with bullets, made for great juicy shield. She flipped over to her stomach, holding herself up in a plank, and kicked one of the carts in the opposite direction of the door.

While the cart raced down the adjoining alleyway, the bullets following it like bees on a flying honeycomb, Samira sprawled her other leg out, nearly doing the splits, and kicked the door slightly open. She then hooked the door frame with her heel, and pulled herself in.

She sprang to her feet, gasping for breath, and shut the door. However, there was no lock. Her hands darted around like she was playing whack a mole, and her panic multiplied.

"No need to lock it- tee!" The whimsical voice of the doormaker came echoing from somewhere in the pitch-black building. "As long as you shut it, they can't get in. They'll walk into a completely different place- hee!"

She quickly pulled out her smartphone and clicked its flashlight on as she tried to follow the voice. "Um, where are you? Why do I have to chase after you? You said you would make a door for me, right?"

"Ohh? This is fun for me-hee! Besides, I can't let you see me making a door, can I?"

"I guess that makes sense," she replied, letting her guard down just in time to trip over a pile of lumber, the scattered pieces leaving a gash in her shin and elbow. "Ah, dammit! Do you have to leave your stuff all over? And where's the light in here?"

"What, do you think I pay the electric bill here?" he asked, cackling so hard it brought a snarling frown to her face. "I'm new to town, just like you are-tee!"

"How'd you know that? she asked, rubbing her tattooed elbow as she tiptoed across the minefield of wood.

"You're walking around a yakuza-run Kabukicho red light district with those showy tattoos. Hee! You came here for a fight, didn't you?"

"I thought you were new to town?"

"New to Shinjuku, not new to Japan-tee! I know about yakuza."

"Well, you got me there, I guess," she replied, turning the corner as the voice grew closer. "It's not that I came here for a fight, but I have to show all the yakuza factions I'm here as one of them. Not to avenge my father, but to follow in his footsteps."

"But you have no protection, and therefore no means to worm your way in. It must have been hard throwing away your sheltered life studying for your Masters Degree to pursue life as a gangster."

"You know a lot for someone new to town," she muttered, eyeing the seven dragons tattooed on her arm. "But you're right. I need someone like the samurai my father adored. Someone loyal and disciplined. Someone like Musashi Miyamoto. If I could have him by my side…"

She blushed, while the doormaker giggled. He had to be just up the stairs and down the hall, she thought. "S-shut up! Even someone like Sasaki Kojiro would be fine. I don't care, as long as my father's letter was true. That you have the power to bring me someone from the age of samurai. If I have a samurai, I can change the ways of the yakuza, like he always wanted!"

Nearly panting, she reached the candlelit room where the hulking man, adorned with Nordic furs and arabic chains and jewels, stood grinning from painted ear to ear in front of a glossy set of double doors etched into the wall. He held a stain brush in one hand, and a piece of paper in the other.

"What's that?"

"A contract-tee!" he replied, his facial muscles leaping with the hiccup at the end of his sentence, giving the impression that he could burst into laughter at any moment. "You can use this to sign it, but you'll want to read it careful-hee!"

Samira forced the hiccup to come a syllable early by snatching the paper and brush and sloppily signing the dotted line without reading a single word on the page.

"Done! Let's see him!"

"Okay, fine, but no returns or exchanges. I'll be crossing when he comes through the door." He giggled again as he reached for the handle, but turned back before opening it. "Oh, one more thing-hee! I can only control one door at a time, so as soon as I open this, your buddies outside will be able to come in. Assuming they figured out you aren't a cart full of grapefruits, that is."

"Tch..you're a cart full of grapefruits, geezer…"

"Godspeed to you, young lady-hee! Remember, no returns!"

As the door opened, a bright light filled the room, consuming the old man. And no sooner than he was gone, he was replaced by another man.

"Wait…"

To her shock, everything about this man was unlike what she'd expected. There was no topknot. No shining katana. No stern, impassioned, or wise look in his eyes.

"Hold on…!"

But most importantly, no clothes. He was fully naked, and flying into her as if he'd been launched out of a cannon.

"Wait!"

Her desperate cry was too late, and the man crashed into her, pushing her over and landing on top of her, dripping sweat and shaking like a newborn deer.

"Why the hell are you naked?!"

"Why are you not?!"