The brilliant lanterns light up the night at the pleasure house. Here, I am the most alien and peculiar dancer.

I cannot sing a single clear note to stir the soul, nor can I recite a single sweet line of poetry to melt a man's heart.

With zero talent as a traditional artist, the only skill permitted to me is the Sword Dance, performed while gripping a razor-sharp blade.

When the head of the house first saw my dance, she tilted her head for a long time.

It was because my sword-lines traced a trajectory that was strangely beautiful and sorrowful, yet carried a sharp murderous intent unbefitting the movements of a delicate dancer.

Perhaps she read the desperation hidden within those bizarre movements, for she eventually accepted me as a dancer of the house.

The only reason I stepped into this glamorous yet cold world of entertainment, despite the ridicule, was to find my Master.

My Master was truly a dazzling person.

With a brush, he composed prose that moved the world, and with a sword, he was a noble warrior who could cleave the very wind.

The reason I became so skilled with the blade was thanks to growing up watching his sword paths over his shoulder.

Above all, Master was my savior. A young tiger cub who was far too weak to be called a spiritual creature, dying after being bullied by other cunning beasts.

Master was the one who took in that pathetic version of me and held me warmly.

I wanted to spend my entire life repaying that grace.

It would have been enough just to hide in his shadow and serve him forever.

But cruel fate would not leave Master alone.

One day, a thunderous rumor spread through the capital that Master had committed high treason.

Merciless pursuers with cold weapons chased us, and the place we reached after a desperate flight was a deep, dark cave.

Master's body, covered in fatal wounds, was turning terrifyingly cold.

His labored breathing gradually grew heavy, and soon even his pulse faded and stopped.

As I trembled, paralyzed by fear and despair, Master squeezed out his last bit of strength to embrace me warmly.

That was the end. When Master's breath completely stopped in my arms, my world collapsed along with him.

I could not bring myself to bury his noble, cold body in the freezing earth.

I was certain that if I buried him, hungry wild beasts would dig up and eat that precious body, and if I left him there, foul insects would tear at his flesh.

I could not bear to see Master desecrated like that, even if it meant my death.

"Let's meet again."

I had to keep that tender promise he whispered in my ear just before his ragged breath ceased.

So I... awakened the beast within me and slowly, very slowly, swallowed my Master—the most noble man in the world—without leaving a single trace behind.

Only to preserve him entirely as my own flesh and blood.

To keep him forever, using my body as his tomb.

Since Master's soul has permeated me, I can wait for him, even if it takes a thousand years.

And so today, I grip my cold sword and step onto the stage, the hem of my red dancer's robes fluttering.

Amidst the greedy gazes filling the pleasure house, I perform a sword dance intended for only one person.

Hoping that my Master, who will one day walk through these doors, will recognize me at once—performing his own swordsmanship while dressed in these brilliant robes.

Today, as always, I share my breath before my reincarnated Master and perform an unending sword dance.

"Please look at me... Master..."