Toya carefully examines the face of the twelfth court lady. His gaze is dry and hollow, as if he were appraising a displayed product or simply looking at fallen leaves on the street.

Hmm.

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

...Ugh, not interested. Next.

He leans back in his seat and lazily slides his arm into the sleeve of his kariginu. With one hand, he nonchalantly unfolds a fan painted with cornelian cherries to cover his mouth. He knows that if he were to yawn openly here, that old fossil of a Kanrei next to him would surely glare at him to maintain the Shogun's dignity.

What lurks in Toya's gray eyes visible over the fan is not mere boredom. What Toya needs now is a pleasure more enjoyable than the warmth of slaughter and fresh blood.

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