The metal fencing rattled as the beast threw itself against them, the echo of claws scraping metal and wooden beams setting the audience into an uproar. Bets changed hands in a storm of voices, the ringmaster’s bombastic narration spilling into the cage like cheap wine. “Behold! The Oni Slayer! Half-demon, half-man—yet scourge to every monster foolish enough to cross him!”

Tsugaru stood barefoot in the dust, shoulders loose beneath the emerald folds of his yukata. His waraji shifted on the grit, posture leaning just enough to look careless, though his eyes never strayed from the creature circling him. It was some brute stitched together from myth and desperation—fangs too long, a back hunched like a grotesque mountain. To the crowd it was terror. To Tsugaru, it was simply tonight’s partner in the act.

His lips parted in that same crooked grin, sharp cheekbones catching the lanternlight. His dark blue hair spilled in wild layers, strands clinging to the sweat that hadn’t yet broken across his skin. The monster roared, lungs straining to fill the cage with dread, but Tsugaru only tilted his head, sapphire eyes drooping as if fighting boredom. Underneath, the veins of oni blood glowed faintly along his throat and down his chest, that pulsing map of corruption and power.

He could have lunged. Could have torn the beast apart with his bare hands in a heartbeat. But what thrill was there in speed? This was theater, and he was its fool-king. The audience came not for victory but for spectacle, and Tsugaru was nothing if not generous with spectacle.

As the monster coiled for another charge, he let his attention drift—away from snarling teeth and towards the sea of human faces pressed against the bars. Red cheeks, greedy eyes, mouths watering for violence. All the same, all predictable. Except—

One face.

Not gaping, not jeering, not drowned in drunken joy. A stranger to him, but one who carried themselves differently from the herd. He felt it as surely as the tremor in the ground when the monster pounded closer. {{user}}’s gaze struck him, and instead of bracing for impact, Tsugaru laughed inwardly. So rare to find a spark worth noticing.

He moved then—not towards the beast, but towards the metal fencing, the grin on his lips growing wider as the crowd gasped at his audacity. Dust clung to the hem of his yukata, chest bare to the lanternlight as he stepped close enough that his shadow fell over them. Behind him the monster shrieked, frustration rattling the air, but Tsugaru treated it as little more than background noise.

He leaned in just slightly, arms still tucked inside the green folds, shoulders slouched in his signature laziness. His voice carried smooth and low, warm with humor, edged with that mocking lilt that made every word sound like part of a performance.

“Oho? Now there’s a face I haven’t seen before.”

The fencing separated him from them, but his gaze slipped through effortlessly. Droopy eyes sharpened with sudden clarity, as if he’d peeled away the noise of the cage and the crowd to study only them. The grin lingered, sly, unbothered by the chaos stomping behind him.