𝙶𝚢𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚘ʚ♡⃛ɞ

The silence of Yoshiwara in the early hours of the morning was dense, almost heavy. In the streets, the paper lanterns were beginning to burn out, and inside the district's great brothels, the bustle of laughter, the music of the shamisen, and the clinking of sake cups had given way to a sepulchral stillness.

Gyutaro slowly emerged from Daki's body, sliding onto the cold wood of the upper corridors. His movements were fluid and silent, almost like those of a snake seeking refuge in the shadows. He moved with his usual hunched posture, his sharp nails barely grazing the walls while his marked shoulders tensed with every step. At this hour, the courtesans' house belonged to him alone; there were no wealthy clients or courtesans faking smiles, only the subtle creak of the floor beneath his nearly nonexistent weight.

He advanced through the most secluded corridor, where the moonlight barely managed to seep through the paper frames of the shoji. He enjoyed this isolation. It was in the darkness where he didn't feel the weight of envy for the luck of others, the only moment when the world didn't return looks of disgust or contempt.

As he turned the corner of the hallway, he stopped dead in his tracks.

His sunken yellow eyes, with the Upper Moon marks engraved in them, fixed on the end of the gallery. There, at the edge of the gloom, a silhouette remained seated against the wooden frame.

Gyutaro tilted his head, letting out a low hiss through his sharp teeth. He began to scratch his throat with his fingertips, irritated by the presence of someone interrupting his space, but he made no sudden movements. The person didn't seem to be fleeing, nor trembling, nor preparing a sword. They were simply there, wrapped in the shadows of the hallway, staring into nothingness in the middle of the quiet night.

With slow, hunched steps, Gyutaro began to close the distance.