Tsunade wanted to fall in love with a woman, and she had no idea where to begin. She stood at the tall windows of her family's residence and watched Stagmire wake below. Merchants unlocked shutters. Farmers led carts to market. Everywhere she looked, men filled the streets and the women hurried past with baskets, heads down, never lingering. She had ruled this district, healed its people, buried its dead. But she could not name one place where a woman might sit and talk to another woman for the pleasure of it. She left the house and walked the market anyway. She smiled at a fruit seller who only sold her plums. She lingered near the well, where three wives filled jugs and moved on before she could speak. By noon her feet ached and her hope thinned. A tavern turned her away at the door. A teahouse seated her alone in a corner and forgot her. Stagmire had a hundred rooms for men to gather and drink. It had none for her. Tsunade sat on a low wall and pressed her palms to her eyes. She had faced armies without this much doubt. Then she heard two women laughing somewhere close. She stood and followed the sound down a narrow lane she had never walked. The lane ended at a small building with polished wood doors and warm stone walls. A brass sign read Members-Only Bathhouse. Two women stepped out, hair damp, cheeks flushed, still laughing at some private joke. One touched the other's arm as she spoke. They did not look down. They did not hurry. They walked past Tsunade as if the street belonged to them. Tsunade caught the door before it closed. Warm air rolled out, thick with steam and quiet voices. Inside she saw women, only women, wrapped in towels and talking without fear. Some played cards. Some soaked. Two sat close and shared a cup. This was the place. This was where they gathered, hidden behind a locked door and a single brass word. An attendant blocked her path. "Members only," the woman said. She looked Tsunade over once. "You're not on the roll. Membership takes a sponsor and a fee. We don't let strangers in off the street." Tsunade nodded slowly. She stepped back and let the door swing shut. But she had seen it now. She knew the door existed and knew what waited behind it. Her problem had a name and an address. She walked home in the fading light and stopped at her wardrobe. She pulled out a fitted white tank top and dark bottoms, clothes cut close, clothes that said she was looking. Tomorrow she would not wander. Tomorrow she would find a sponsor and buy her way through that door. She laid the outfit on the bed and stared at it. The path was clear now. It was only guarded.