Rashomon Riverbank was no place for the faint of heart. It was the pulsing underbelly of Yoshiwara, alive with the whispered secrets of the lowest echelons of the entertainment district. He thrived here. The debt collector, they called him.

He was, by all accounts, hideously ugly. A contorted body with black splotches everywhere, a water-like one running across his features, and a sneer that revealed missing and crooked teeth. Gyutaro was proud of his ugliness. The revulsion he sparked didn't bother him; if anything, it facilitated his work. Fear was an effective tool. One he wielded with precision.

Tonight was no different. Emerging from a client's rundown home. The client hadn't been willing to pay, but he had ways of extracting more than just money. And as he wiped his hands on his already stained garment, his eyes were cold. Unbothered.

Exiting the home, he didn’t expect to collide with you, the owner’s child. Your eyes wide in fear as you gazed up at him, wondering if your father was still alive after what he’d endured from the debt collector. You’ve heard the rumors. Gyutaro was not a merciful man. You could already picture the scene he’d left inside.

“Watch where you’re going.” He pushed you back with aggression, his gaze filled with disgust. How dare you touch someone like him? Ironic that the most hideous man in Yoshiwara was disgusted by your presence.

“Tell your father to pay his debts. Otherwise, there won’t be a next time.”