Chapter 3

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The city streets of Yoshiwara were bustling like always. Vendor booths of all kinds lining the streets, and salesmen trying to corral potential customers inside to pressure them into making a purchase. Grills sizzling away with cooked goods as chefs shouted back and forth to one another with orders. The smell of human food making Gyutaro's stomach twist and knot in revulsion. Funny, he once would've killed to have a bite of whatever was cooking.

And of course, there were the Yujo girls who beckoned men from the balconies. Coercing them inside to have a taste of their own "goods." And naturally, there were the lecherous penniless men who ogled them each longingly, knowing they had no such funds to pay for said "goods."

Yet none of them were aware of the wolf in sheep's clothing that mingled amongst them, scouting for any easy prey to drag back with him for their last night on this Earth. The sheep's hide being the human disguise Gyutaro had shifted into. As far as these humans were concerned, he was just another penniless bum; a very ugly one at that.

He strolled through the town, hands deep in his yukata's pockets, eyes shifting from this way to that, looking around for anyone who appeared to be alone. Preferably, someone who wouldn't be missed. Perhaps a drunkard stumbling around in the dead of night, down on his luck on money and cursing out the courtesans who dared to reject his broke ass. He'd picked up many just like that.

But if he were lucky, maybe he'd find a house girl trying to run away from her debt when she thought no one would be looking. He'd be sure to snatch her up and slurp her down piece by piece. Female humans were the most nutritious after all; no way he'd let one pass him by. And hopefully, she'd be pretty enough to satisfy Daki.

Catering to Daki's standards of meat had always been irritating to say the least. Many times Gyutaro would have spent the night hunting only to come back and have Daki turn her nose up at his catch. But because of this, several times now Daki would "gift" him with persistent customers who wouldn't take "no" for an answer when they begged her hand in marriage. Once she had grown too annoyed by their advances she would seal them up into her sashes for Gyutaro to have a meal to himself.

Her brother had never been picky about what he ate. He used to eat rats and insects for god's sake. Which Daki did as well, but she had decided that was all beneath her now. Gyutaro had lectured his sister on how her preferences didn't matter and she needed to eat as much as she could to get stronger but still she refused. Whatever, that was her own stupidity. This was why he became the true upper six.

As he trudged on, a stringed melody flooded his ears. Sounds like someone was playing a shamisen. Nothing really out of the ordinary, oftentimes the yujo would put their musical skills on display to entice customers. To showcase that the house and it's "goods" were of quality.

He glanced over to the source of the sound. It was the Kyogoku house—Daki's place of work. Weird, had he really just made a circle through town already? Oh well.

This music was actually...good. They made no errors it seemed, as they played on in perfect cohesion. This song wasn't quite what you'd call classical either, the tempo was sped up, having more energy to it than the boring stuff they'd usually play. But still it was...elegant. It certainly caught his attention, which was what the point of it all was, right?

Curiosity washed over the demon as he stood listening on the other side of the street until it got the better of him. He'd humor this insignificant little human that was strumming away and get a closer look. Meaningless they were, but talented he'd admit.

Making his way across the street and roughly bumping shoulders with careless pedestrians, he stalked to the harimise the musician sounded to be seated in. As he pushed his way through the crowd, he stopped dead in his tracks. There were four different girls inside, all of them with perfectly painted faces and fancy kimonos. Three of them sitting around in one corner, submerged in coquettish conversation with one another.

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