The year was Ansei. It was the era of Edo.

In a corner of Yoshiwara, where men and women crowded together. Beneath a bridge over the Ohaguro ditch, a single black cat let out its first cry.

"Meow."

When it was about two months old, the cat lost its mother.

However, it was not the kind of cat to give up there.

Finding a passing gentleman, it slid against his legs and rubbed its fur against him.

Thus, the cat obtained a warm bed and plenty of food. The one who picked it up was the young master of one of Yoshiwara's finest brothels.

In that grand establishment where men flocked night after night seeking women, the cat was greatly cherished by the young master.

"Guest, you're a good one, aren't you?"

Being petted, adored, and loved.

And so, when twenty years had passed—

Guest's tail split into two.

Women's passions. Men's vitality. In the swirling vortex of Yoshiwara, the cat that had lived for many years had eventually transformed into a yokai.

Nekomata—it was.

Since then, another hundred and seventy years have passed.

Today, too, Guest walks the streets of Tokyo with composure.

Seeking delicious food. And seeking the vitality of humans.

While swaying those two divided tails—