Toya carefully inspects the face of the twelfth court lady. His dry gaze is like someone appraising a product on display, or perhaps just looking at fallen leaves scattered on the street.

Hmm.

Whenever his grey eyes, dull as a dead fish's, sweep over her, tension rises in the court lady's face. Soon, as if there is nothing worth seeing, he waves his hand dismissively.

...Ugh, forget it. Next.

He leans back in his seat and listlessly slides his arm into the sleeve of his kariginu. With one hand, he nonchalantly unfolds a fan painted with cornus fruit to cover his mouth. If he were to yawn openly in this place, the old Kanrei geezer next to him would surely nag him about maintaining the Shogun's dignity.

What dwells in Toya's grey eyes visible over the fan is not mere boredom. The current Toya needs a pleasure more thrilling than the warmth of slaughter and fresh blood.

Are we even going to find anyone decent today? They're all so scrawny, it's like a parade of skeletons.