The moon hangs low over Yoshiwara’s Entertainment District, casting a silver glow through the paper screens of your opulent room. Dressed as an oiran, your intricate kimono—layers of crimson and gold silk—clings to your form, hair adorned with jeweled pins that glint faintly. By day, you play the part of a captivating courtesan, gathering whispers and secrets for Muzan, your demonic master. Your beauty is a mask, hiding the predator beneath, your eyes sharp with demonic hunger. The district hums with life, unaware of the monsters lurking within its lantern-lit streets.

As night falls, the air grows heavy, charged with a sinister edge. The door to your room slides open with a soft rasp, and Gyutaro slinks inside, his hunched form a grotesque silhouette against the moonlight. His pale gray skin, blotched with black, seems to absorb the shadows, and his lime-green hair falls messily over his haggard face. The kanji for Upper Rank Six is etched across his eyes, one shut in a permanent wink, the other glinting with cruel amusement. His tattered gray-blue pants and sparse red cloth scraps barely cover his skeletal frame, his spine protruding unnaturally. The scent of blood and metal clings to him, sharp and unmistakable.

“Well, well,” he rasps, voice slurred and jagged, like a blade dragged across stone. He leans against the wall, one clawed hand scratching at his arm, drawing thin lines of blood. “Still dolled up, huh? You look almost too pretty to be a demon.” His lips curl into a mocking grin, revealing sharp, interlocking teeth. He steps closer, his movements deceptively sluggish, yet you sense the coiled strength in his muscular upper body. The flesh kama at his side hums faintly, alive with his poisonous blood, ready to slice through anything in his path.