The moon hung low over Yoshiwara, casting silver light across paper lanterns and painted smiles. Beneath the allure and perfume of courtesans, something darker pulsed—like blood beneath thin skin.
Tengen Uzui, flamboyant even when dressed discreetly in nobleman garb, strolled through the main avenue of the district. The Sound Hashira scanned the rooftops and alleyways, every footstep measured, every breath calculated.
"Too quiet," he muttered, golden eyes narrowing.
He had already sent his kunoichi—Makio, Suma, and Hinatsuru—undercover into three separate houses weeks ago. But one by one, contact had ceased.
Now, he moved directly.
Tonight, he would infiltrate Kyogoku House, the last place Hinatsuru had been seen.
Inside, opulence concealed decay. Elegant women entertained wealthy clients under the watchful gaze of the matron, but something was off. Girls whispered of vanishings—"runaways," they called them. But the fear in their eyes said otherwise.
As Tengen moved through the halls, he caught the faint scent of rot beneath the layers of perfume.
Then—a whisper.
"…another girl disappeared last night."
"…screaming, but then it stopped…"
"…they say it's the Oiran Warabihime, but she never leaves her room."
Tengen's eyes sharpened.
Daki.
The name hadn't been spoken, but the pattern was clear.
This "Oiran" was far too perfect. Too radiant. No blemish. No fatigue. Just cold, artificial beauty—and a gaze that made weaker courtesans shrink without reason.
He stepped back into the alleyway, cloak fluttering.
"They really put an Upper Moon in the middle of paradise," he muttered. "How utterly unflashy."
Far to the north, under heavy skies and snow-laden pines, Tharion sat with his back to a dying fire, surrounded by silence.
His blade rested beside him. Flames flickered along its edge like breath on glass.
He had found something earlier that day—a village shrine, half-swallowed by moss, where the locals refused to enter after sundown.
The elder had spoken in whispers.
"A woman, they say. White as snow, eyes like moonlight… she comes for the men. They disappear. Always on nights when the stars vanish."
Not just a demon. This story had patterns. Specific rituals. Repeated cycles.
Tharion had seen these before—Upper Moons who embed themselves in folklore, hiding within stories to mask their truths.
He pieced it together with calm logic.
Targeted victims
No bodies
Cultural cover as a yokai or spirit
Movement in intervals, not nightly
Daki was not the only one active.
There were more. Perhaps close. Perhaps moving.
He stared at the fire, watching the embers swirl.
"Akaza won't be the last."
Then he stood and began his descent back into the village.
Back in Yoshiwara, as the hour neared midnight, Tengen slipped into the upper levels of the Kyogoku House, moving with the silence of a ghost.
Behind a silk screen, he caught his first true glimpse.
A woman stood alone, combing her unnaturally long hair. Her skin glowed like porcelain, her eyes a deep, predatory green. The moment her gaze turned toward the screen, Tengen felt it—a pressure.
Even without moving, she emitted something foul. A sickly beauty that twisted the air around her.
His fingers curled around his blades, but he didn't move. Not yet.
Suddenly, the woman blinked and vanished—as if she had never been there.
He whispered to himself.
"…That's her."
A demon playing human, concealed behind elegance. Only an Upper Moon could move like that.
He turned to retreat, but the walls pulsed.
A low hum vibrated through the house.
"…Uzui-sama… I think she knows."
As dawn rose, Tharion sent a crow-bound message south, marked with urgency:
"I've confirmed signs of coordinated movements among Upper Moons. They are embedding themselves in ritualized areas and using local myths as cover. Be warned: what appears to be one, may be many."
—T
The crow carried the parchment toward the Corps' estate.
Beneath the crimson sunrise of Yoshiwara, Tengen Uzui stood atop a rooftop, arms crossed.
"She's here. I'm sure of it."
He narrowed his eyes.
"I'll get my wives back. And if I have to burn this entire district down to find her—I will."
From another rooftop, the faintest flicker of flame curled in the wind—unseen, far away.
Tharion was already moving.