Yoshiwara Entertainment District.
A neighborhood immersed in nightlife, brightly lit and bustling with people. Its renowned oiran made the district exceptionally famous, attracting visitors from all corners of the country.
Inside the Kyogoku House, Daki had already removed the heavy hairpins and ornaments from her head, attended by her two kamuro.
"I told you to be gentler! Don't you understand?!"
Daki's expression changed instantly. She tilted her head slightly and glared sideways at the two little girls behind her.
The so-called kamuro were young girls who served the oiran and attended to her daily needs.
"Oiran-sama!"
The two girls trembled in fear at Daki's sudden outburst.
Among the oiran, Daki was infamous for having the worst temper. If she was even slightly displeased, she would strike someone.
The two kamuro who served her were constantly on edge. They moved cautiously, yet still made mistakes.
In truth, it was not that they were incompetent, but that Daki's standards were impossibly strict.
Feeling a slight sting from her hair being tugged, Daki stood up with an irritated expression.
The two girls immediately recoiled in terror.
"Why are you hiding? If you hide this time, do you think you won't make mistakes next time?"
Daki glared at them and reached out, grabbing one of the girl's ears.
The girl cried out in pain as blood trickled from her ear.
The other girl was so frightened she nearly lost her senses. She quickly reacted, hugging Daki's leg and pleading, "Oiran-sama, it's my fault. If you're going to punish someone, punish me instead. But before that, please let me help you remove the hairpins."
"Oh?"
Daki looked slightly surprised. Instead of hiding, this girl had stepped forward voluntarily.
Interesting.
In a good mood, Daki released the first girl and sat back down, allowing the brave kamuro to continue serving her.
"Be careful. If you hurt me, your punishment will be worse than hers."
To Daki's surprise, the girl truly did not hurt her this time.
Though clearly frightened, she managed to avoid making any mistakes, which pleased Daki greatly.
Looking at herself in the mirror, her red lips curved slightly as she asked, "What's your name?"
"Oiran-sama, my name is Rika."
Rika's voice trembled faintly.
"Rika? Not bad. From now on, you will serve me."
Daki smiled in satisfaction as Rika finished removing the last of the heavy ornaments.
Fatigued, Daki waved her hand and dismissed both girls.
An oiran's duties extended beyond mastering music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. She also entertained guests.
However, as a distinguished oiran, Daki held full authority to choose her patrons.
Meeting an oiran required passing through three elaborate and extravagant stages.
During the first meeting, the oiran would not appear in person. Instead, she secretly observed how you interacted with other courtesans. You had to display something extraordinary—whether eloquence, demeanor, or financial power.
If you failed to catch her interest at this stage, your chances were slim.
Even if you did attract her attention, you could not become arrogant.
The second meeting involved dining together, but strictly dining. Her responses would be brief and restrained.
If you endured this stage and maintained her favorable impression, then came the third.
The oiran parade.
She would walk grandly and ostentatiously to the teahouse you had reserved. Only then could more intimate matters proceed behind closed doors.
Passing through all three stages was mentally exhausting and extraordinarily expensive. Most people would never have the chance to approach an oiran in their lifetime.
Yet every man who had pleased Daki had ultimately been devoured by her.
Those scoundrels who coveted her beauty, unable to resist even a whisper in their ears, none escaped her grasp.
And Daki believed she handled her meals very discreetly.
Just as she was feeling satisfied, a window slid open.
Kibutsuji Muzan, dressed in a black suit, stepped inside.
"Lord Muzan…"
Ordinarily, Daki would have been overjoyed at his personal visit.
But after repeated torment, the sight of him left her lifeless, wishing he would stay far away.
"Daki?"
Muzan raised an eyebrow. "Are you displeased by my arrival?"
"No, no…"
Daki forced a smile.
How could she dare dislike Lord Muzan?
"Then hurry. And send Gyutaro out first."
"Yes, Lord Muzan."
Gyutaro crawled out from Daki's back with visible irritation and went to the rooftop to keep watch.
In recent days, Muzan had been visiting more frequently. And every time, he made Gyutaro avoid him and Daki entirely.
Whenever he returned, Daki would look utterly exhausted, as if completely drained.
What exactly was Muzan doing?
Gyutaro scratched his head in confusion but did not dare investigate.
Inside the room, Muzan had already changed into a kimono with Daki's assistance.
"Hmm… good, good."
He admired himself in the mirror.
Daki forced a smile, though a flicker of disdain flashed through her eyes.
Why was he still wearing that dreary black color? Something even a dog wouldn't wear, not even suitable for wiping the floor.
"Daki, do not insult me in your thoughts. This is your final warning. And hurry up. My patience is limited."
"Yes, Lord Muzan!"
Now Daki resembled the trembling kamuro from earlier. Every movement from Muzan filled her with dread.
The dignified and noble oiran Daki was secretly reduced to serving him in private.
"Lord Muzan, what about this green hairpin?"
She held up a delicate green ornament.
"Too old-fashioned. How many times have I told you not to use green?"
Muzan snapped.
Daki's lips trembled.
What poor taste. What old-fashioned? You don't understand anything, yet you lecture me like an expert.
She was furious.
After her exhausting duties as an oiran, she still had to personally attend to Muzan.
She had assumed his initial borrowing of a kimono was a passing whim. Instead, it became a habit.
Muzan grew increasingly fascinated with women's clothing and accessories, frequently coming to have Daki dress him and teach him the etiquette of an oiran.
With pale face and vivid red lips, Muzan even seemed interested in becoming an oiran himself.
"Daki, when can I have a parade?"
"Huh?"
Daki was stunned.
Surely he was joking. Playing dress-up was one thing. But parading through the streets?
Aside from her, no one dared secretly meet outsiders in such a guise.
So shy and awkward, and yet he wanted a parade?
"Do not hesitate in your thoughts. I am asking you. Can it be done? Can I have a parade?"
Muzan slammed his hand on the dressing table.
Daki trembled and hurriedly replied, "Yes, yes, yes!"
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted it.
Every time she agreed, he found a new way to torment her.
As expected, after being dressed, Muzan stood and demanded to try on the tall wooden clogs Daki wore.
The thirty-centimeter-high footwear was extremely heavy. Even a gifted oiran required two or three years of training to walk in them gracefully.
Two or three years?
Serving Lord Muzan for two or three years?
She absolutely refused.
Driven nearly to madness, Daki felt on the verge of tears.
She didn't want to be an oiran anymore.
"Daki, how do you wear these? Hurry up. I want to try them!"
Struggling to balance, Muzan grew impatient.
Daki forced a trembling smile and said, "Lord Muzan, perhaps we should consider chopping off our feet instead?"
...
Author's Note:
The full completed version of Demon Slayer: Son of Muzan (Completed) is now on Patreon!
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1. Dragon Ball: Oolong's Sex Adventure
2. Elements of Lust – ATLA & Korra Mixed Smut
3. Doraemon: Filtering with Nobi Tamako
4. The Naive Me Who Became Someone's Everyday Secret
5. High School DxD: Rias Gremory, the Phenex Bride
6. Versatile Mage: Awakening the Succubus System
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