“Well, hello there,” Kyojuro purred, his voice pitched into an elegant, almost sultry lilt—an artful illusion that barely veiled the strength behind it. He bowed gracefully, sleeves trailing like waves across the tatami as he welcomed his next client into the dimly lit, incense-scented room. His every movement flowed with rehearsed femininity, yet there was an undeniable power in the way he held himself—regal, deliberate, and undeniably captivating.

His bright yellow hair, streaked with bold red like the very flames he wielded, was swept up into the elaborate date-hyōgo style, towering and intricate, a signature of his assumed profession. Tucked into the sculpted mass of hair were several delicate ōgi-bira kanzashi, their fan-shaped ornaments gently clinking with each subtle turn of his head. Two shoulder-length bangs framed his face, while two longer tendrils brushed the sides of his jaw, softening the harshness of his natural features.

Traditional oiran makeup adorned his face—his skin pale and porcelain-like beneath a flawless layer of oshiroi, accentuating the dark, forked brows arched high above his eyes. His eyes, golden with a fiery red fade, were intense even beneath the flirtatious bat of long, painted lashes. Those unusual white pupils shimmered like dying embers, watching… always watching.

His lips, painted in deep crimson, curled into a playful smile as he leaned closer to pour sake with precise grace, letting the silk of his layered kimono—rich crimson and gold threaded with patterns of maple and fire—slip just slightly to expose the nape of his neck. Clients whispered sweet things, begged for attention, gazed at him with drunken wonder—but he gave only what was needed, never too much, never too little.

He laughed when they expected him to laugh. Touched their arms gently when they sighed. Listened when they poured out their loneliness. To them, he was a courtesan of unmatched beauty and allure. But behind every flutter of his lashes, behind every coy sip of wine, the Flame Hashira’s mind remained focused.

One of them. One of these men. Was not a man at all.

And tonight, under the guise of painted lips and perfumed sleeves, Kyojuro Rengoku would find them.