Chiyo considered himself a fortunate man. He had grown up without hardship and later secured a steady position—as a greeter at a merchant guild.
To some, it might not have seemed like dignified work. But to Chiyo, offering a smile and courteously welcoming guests was nothing to be ashamed of.
When he was a child, ill-tempered nobles would sometimes order their accompanying samurai to cut down anyone who failed to step aside quickly enough. Such incidents were not uncommon.
But times had changed.
After the Sword Abolishment Edict and the arrival of Westerners, the way nobles displayed their status began to shift. Traditional garments gave way to tailored Western suits.
Samurai were replaced with "bodyguards." A proper bodyguard was expected to be broad-shouldered, well-featured, and formidable in combat. Most importantly, they were retainers by contract—not vassals bound by feudal loyalty. Something between a samurai and a shinobi.
In addition, there had to be a dedicated secretary—someone capable of reading their master's intentions from the slightest glance or gesture and acting without hesitation.
And of course, travel required an imported automobile. Only with all these elements could one truly be regarded as a "lord" in this era.
As Chiyo reflected on this, a polished black automobile rolled to a stop at the curb.
The door opened, and a tall white-haired man stepped out.
Chiyo recognized him. The man had moved to the city half a year ago and quickly gained a reputation among the major merchant guilds for his extravagant spending. Each time he visited, he purchased numerous artworks to take home.
[So today's auction has drawn this wealthy patron as well.]
With a polished smile, Chiyo stepped forward—only to pause when he saw the man move to the rear of the automobile and open the back door himself.
[He's opening the door personally? Could someone of even higher standing be inside?]
A moment later, Chiyo saw him.
A refined-looking youth stepped out, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark blue short suit. He adjusted his cuffs with casual ease, yet every movement carried a quiet nobility.
Chiyo straightened at once and approached.
"Welcome to Maohe Trading House. How may I assist you both?"
"We're here for the auction. Here is our invitation."
"Of course. Please allow me to verify."
Accepting the card with both hands, Chiyo glanced at it.
"Mr. Uten and Mr. Keiji. Yes, everything is in order. Please follow me. It is our honor to receive you."
As he led them inside, Chiyo observed discreetly.
The white-haired man walked half a step behind—a position of deference. The youth, who barely reached the man's chest, clearly held the higher rank.
And yet the white-haired man was already a prominent figure.
Chiyo kept his confusion to himself.
"This will be your room. May fortune favor you at the auction."
"What is that?"
Chiyo turned at once to respond—but the instant he met the youth's eyes, he reflexively lowered his head.
The youth had not even been looking at him directly. He was merely studying a decorative piece nearby. Yet the indifference in his gaze sent a chill down Chiyo's spine.
Suppressing his sudden unease, Chiyo followed the direction of that gaze.
"That is one of our chairman's prized artworks. It is said to have been crafted by a renowned master. It has been specially placed in the rooms of distinguished guests for display."
The youth let out a faint, unreadable hum. His lips curved slightly.
But there was no warmth in that smile—only quiet disdain.
"Such an inferior piece is treated as a treasure… It seems I have wasted my time today."
"W-Well, actually, this vase—"
The youth's gaze shifted toward him.
Cold sweat instantly soaked Chiyo's back. The rest of his sentence died in his throat.
The youth turned his gaze toward the white-haired man behind him.
"Uten. This is the 'grand event' you spent half a year preparing?"
Uten lowered his head respectfully.
"The market here is still developing. The staff may not be trained to the standards you're used to. However, I can assure you—the auction items themselves will not disappoint."
"Ha… treasures?"
The youth's eyelids lowered slightly. The faint downturn of his lips was subtle—yet the pressure it carried made it impossible to meet his eyes.
"If your goal was to amuse me, you've succeeded. Remove it. It offends my sight."
"I—I'm terribly sorry," Chiyo stammered, trembling. "But we've been instructed not to move it without authorization. Perhaps I could cover it instead?"
"That will do."
Uten stepped forward with a reassuring smile.
"My apologies. My master can be… particular."
"Yes! I'll take care of it at once."
Chiyo practically rushed off to retrieve a glass cover and velvet cloth. After carefully concealing the vase, he bowed and withdrew immediately.
These were not people he could afford to offend.
Even the wealthy Mr. Uten had stood there in deference—what sort of presence did that young Mr. Keiji possess?
[He looks so young… yet his aura is terrifying.]
Once the door closed behind him, Chiyo let out a long breath.
[At least he isn't unreasonable. Otherwise, today's wages might have been deducted… And poor Mr. Uten, having to endure such treatment. He must suffer quite a bit.]
…
Inside the room, however, the atmosphere shifted at once.
The moment the decorative vase was covered, Keiji's cold expression vanished.
His tone remained even, but the tension drained away.
"I'm tired. Wake me when the auction begins."
"Yes. Please rest."
Uten's expression relaxed as well. He raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
After a brief pause, Keiji began signing swiftly.
"That vase carries a demon's scent. You've hooked something significant this time."
Uten's eyes lit up. He signed back just as quickly—though the content was far less dignified than his elegant bearing suggested.
"Of course! I am the flamboyant God of Festivals. When a god makes his move, there must be results! Still, I didn't expect you to memorize all the additional signs in just a week. I thought you'd manage only the background and basic phrases."
Keiji rolled his eyes.
Then he raised a very deliberate, unmistakably rude hand gesture.
Indeed, the so-called "Uten" and "Keiji" were none other than Uzui Tengen and Hiru—the false identities painstakingly crafted by Uzui himself.
At first, Uzui had no intention of operating under assumed names. But after receiving reports of irregularities from the Kakushi, his investigation uncovered something unusual.
The victims were not merely wealthy.
They were collectors—individuals with vast private collections and immense fortunes.
Regardless of their character, each of them had been discovered with their bodies twisted into grotesque shapes. Yet there were no signs of consumption. Their wealth had been completely stripped away, not a single coin left behind. Strangely, however, the most valuable pieces in their collections had been reduced to ashes.
It was that deliberate burning that brought the investigation to a standstill.
Otherwise, the approach would have been straightforward—examine what remained, identify common traits among the collectors' acquisitions, then use the Ubuyashiki family's resources to purchase similar items and lure the culprit out.
There would have been no need for two Hashira to intervene personally. No need to fabricate identities with backgrounds solid enough to withstand scrutiny.
Since retiring from his shinobi days, Uzui had not resorted to such methods again. As for the meaning behind their aliases—
Originally, he had planned to split and rearrange his own name, and have Hiru use his concealed surname, Tsugikuni, so he wouldn't hesitate at an unfamiliar alias. But the moment Hiru heard the idea, he rejected it outright.
Two months of preparation had gone straight into the trash.
Still, half a year of relentless effort had finally borne fruit. They had picked up a trail leading to a demon.
Now all that remained was to hope it was one of the Twelve Kizuki.
Anything less would hardly justify two Hashira staking out under false identities.
Uzui signed again.
"How did you determine that jar was connected to a demon?"
[With a shadow that obvious, I'd have to be blind not to notice.]
That was Hiru's real thought. What he signed, however, was different.
"There were traces of a Blood Demon Art on it. Easy to spot."
"A surveillance-type Blood Demon Art?" Uzui glanced at the cloth-covered jar. "So earlier, you deliberately provoked it to force the demon to react?"
Hiru's eyes went flat.
"No. It's because it was genuinely ugly."
His signing grew sharper, more forceful.
"The lines were fluid, yes—but utterly meaningless. The creator clearly had no idea what they were trying to express. The color palette was atrocious. Fine, not everyone has a good sense of color. But at the very least, color should correspond to line.
"Even chaotic lines must carry intent. If you're using contrast to create a fantastical effect, then the entire piece needs a coherent visual language.
"But this thing? Twisted lines with no purpose. Colors slapped on at random. Calling it a work of art is an insult to the term.
"It's a complete waste of clay and pigment. Even trash can be recycled. This—this isn't even fit to be reused as a pickle jar."
There was a brief pause.
"…Is it really that bad?" Uzui signed.
Hiru rolled his eyes.
"I have never seen anything this offensive to the eyes. Demons obsess over their fixations and refine them obsessively. Like the one I encountered before—the demon who embroidered masks from human faces. Revolting method, yes, but the aesthetic was consistent. The craftsmanship was exquisite—both in life and in death.
"But this jar? I cannot find a single redeeming quality. The composition, the palette, the structure, the firing technique—it's so terrible I want to smash it apart and throw it back into the kiln.
"If I absolutely must praise it, I suppose I can say it at least still resembles a jar—and has managed to violate every one of my aesthetic boundaries."
Uzui watched him in silence.
[He's genuinely furious.]
The auction had begun.
Uzui straightened and spoke aloud.
"Mr. Keiji, the auction is starting."
Hiru stopped signing and let out a faint hum through his nose.
"If nothing here satisfies me, there is no reason for you to continue serving our household. A dog who cannot discern his master's tastes has no value."
Uzui's smile twitched. A vein pulsed at his temple as he discreetly returned a very pointed "friendly gesture," though his voice remained flawlessly respectful.
"Yes. I assure you—you will be satisfied."
Hiru turned his gaze to the stage below.
The longer he watched, the heavier the pressure around him grew. The displeasure radiating from him no longer required any performance. He stopped signing altogether and merely tapped his fingers against the armrest.
The sound was soft.
The tension it carried was not.
"Uten. I have seen the limits of your ability."
"Please wait a little longer. I invited you here precisely for the final item," Uzui signed. "You will certainly like it."
"Is that so?"
Hiru cast him a strange look before lowering his gaze toward the auctioneer.
"Then I shall watch a little longer."
The auctioneer's face was flushed with excitement.
"Ladies and gentlemen! We now present the final item of today's auction! Many of you have surely heard the rumors—yes, our grand finale is the work of two renowned painters of our nation: Mr. Asahi and Mr. Yomi!
"These two belong to the same artistic school. Both uphold a philosophy of 'no white, yet all is white.' One paints only night. The other paints only day. Their works are said to possess extraordinary atmosphere. It is even rumored that if one contemplates their paintings before sleep and places them beside the bed, one may witness the scene within the canvas upon entering one's dreams—truly miraculous pieces!
"And today, Maohe Trading House presents two such paintings! Most astonishing of all—though they depict different landscapes, careful comparison reveals they portray the same location, separated by a century! And from the exact same vantage point!
"Rare individually—unprecedented as a pair! Who would not wish to own this century-spanning alternation of day and night? The starting bid—"
Hiru stopped listening.
The moment the introduction began, he froze.
His composure cracked.
"Lord Keiji, does this final item meet your expectations?"
Hiru turned stiffly toward Uzui, who was signing with undisguised pride.
He opened his mouth.
For a moment, no words came.
Finally—
"…Begin bidding."
As Uzui signaled the staff to place their bid, Hiru lowered his eyes to the two paintings displayed at the center of the hall.
His expression was utterly blank.
[…This is nothing short of a public execution.]