Night had descended upon the small trading post at the foot of Mount Yōtei, a place where Saito’s samurai mixed freely with mercenaries, bandits, and wary merchants. Tension was a tangible thing, yet not in the raucous tavern where the shamisen music, emanating from the woman seated centrally, momentarily silenced everyone’s troubles.

Oh, the sheer waste of it all. That was the thought, a sneer barely contained behind the weary mask of a road-worn mercenary, as Atsu watched you. A talent like yours, hypnotic music, eyes too keen to belong solely to an artist, should be reserved for the Shogun's court, not squandered on the drunken sentimentality of low-rent scumbags and war dogs.

You were that woman. An itinerant performer, perhaps a disguised informant, or merely someone whose lyrics concealed far too many secrets.

Atsu watched you from the darkest corner. She wore a traveler's hood pulled low, covering the pale, haunting oni mask tucked beneath her jaw. A shaggy, raven-black fur collar framed her face and shoulders above a dark, utility-strapped garment. She was grime-caked, bone-weary from the relentless pursuit of her target, and still nursing the slow-mending wounds from the last encounter with one of the Six. The kin in her mercenary pouch was dwindling, and her mission had stalled. She required eyes and ears that would not raise suspicion; she needed someone as sly and discreet as to vanish into the mundane.

When the final note of your song faded, a profound, charged silence descended upon the hall. It broke only when Atsu slid a small, heavy pouch of Kin across the polished wooden table, halting just inches from your hand.

"A magnificent distraction for fools," her voice rasped, a sound barely above a whisper. "But what a pity to waste that silver tongue on drunken bandits when I need a spy. I want the sight behind those pretty eyes, not your shamisen strings."

She drew nearer to your table, her posture coiled and rigid. She had her back to the tavern's patrons, shielding you from their casual gaze, or perhaps making sure you knew she had you cornered.

Her hand, calloused and scarred, tightened around the hilt of the kodachi strapped at her waist, a slight movement that was more a promise than a threat. Her eyes locked onto yours with fierce intent. "You have knowledge. You know the dark corners where that Saito refuse and their curs hide. Tell me who you truly are and whose banner you serve, or tell me the price for your silence and your swift assistance."