Shinobu Kocho found herself speechless in the face of Horitake's blunt assessment.
In truth, ever since she heard that this demon had a preference for consuming handsome young boys, she had harbored her own suspicions. Could this be a female demon? Could she be… an "indecent" sort of demon?
The possibility was disturbingly high.
Amida Buddha, she thought silently, those poor boys who were devoured. I hope they find peace and never have to endure such things in their next lives.
Now that Horitake had voiced her unspoken thoughts so plainly, Shinobu felt a wave of intense awkwardness and embarrassment wash over her.
"Could it be… that this demon really is…?" She trailed off, her voice hesitant. "If that's the case, then it isn't impossible that the Flame Hashira's brother was taken to a place like that."
Horitake felt a similar sense of exasperated disbelief.
He couldn't help but think that the world was truly a vast place—if you looked long enough, you'd find every kind of bird, and if there were enough demons, you'd eventually run into some real eccentrics.
As a fellow man, he felt a burning need to seek justice for those poor boys. He had to wipe out this suspected female demon until not a single trace of her remained!
Leaving no stone unturned, quite literally!
Honestly, he thought, with all this 'strong Yin and weak Yang' business, she's really turned the natural order on its head!
Noticing Shinobu's unsettled state, Horitake offered a bit of reassurance.
"All of this is still just speculation. After all, everything regarding this demon and Senjuro Rengoku is just a theory based on the clues we have. Until we see it with our own eyes, we can't confirm anything."
He sighed, adjusting his collar. "Let's keep moving. I need to keep asking around. I want to find that location tonight and get that boy out as quickly as possible. If anything happens to him, Kyojuro is going to lose his mind and go on a suicide mission against the demons."
With that, Horitake continued walking, keeping his eyes peeled for someone else to question.
Shinobu followed him, her heart still fluttering with unease and a touch of shame. She desperately wanted to help him with the inquiries, but how could a proper young woman like her bring herself to ask such scandalous questions?
Resigned, she could only follow silently behind him, fulfilling her role in presence if not in conversation.
Horitake stopped several more people, but none could give him a straight answer. However, through this process, he began to figure out the "trick" to this search.
Asking ordinary pedestrians—people who looked upright and "proper"—would likely yield no results. To find an "improper" place, you had to ask "improper" people.
As luck would have it, the perfect candidates appeared.
As Horitake rounded a corner, he saw a group of delinquents standing at the entrance of a narrow alleyway.
In a country like Japan, as long as there was a city—especially one that was somewhat developed—there would inevitably be these types of thugs, ruffians, or aimless street toughs. These guys spent their days with nothing to do, causing trouble simply for the sake of causing trouble.
You couldn't exactly call them yakuza or organized crime; they were far below that level. But you certainly couldn't call them "good people" either. They existed in that awkward, messy middle ground.
In a modern city, delinquents might wear "alternative" fashion, have piercings, or sport flashy tattoos to look the part of a rebel. In this era, however, things were a bit different.
They didn't have lip or nose rings, but their bodies were often adorned with various traditional tattoos. They didn't have neon-colored "mop" hair, but their styles were intentionally messy and distinct from the average citizen. They didn't wear streetwear, but they wore their ordinary kimonos loosely and sloppily, radiating an aura of laziness and aggression.
This was the delinquent of the Taisho era—social outcasts who were loathed and feared by the common folk.
Of course, Horitake wasn't intimidated in the least.
Seeing the group idling by the roadside, puffing on cigarettes, Horitake's eyes lit up. He felt he had finally found the right people to ask! These lowlifes would surely know the local underbelly better than anyone.
Horitake walked up to them, a breezy smile on his face, his tone deliberately light and provocative.
"Hey, brothers. I'm looking for some directions."
The thugs, who had been smoking and minding their own business, looked up at the sudden intruder with surprise.
"Huh? Directions?"
"That's a first. Someone's actually approaching us?"
"Asking for directions is one thing, but asking us? You've got some nerve."
"Hey, kid," one of them growled, "can't you see what kind of people we are?"
The delinquents tried their best to put on a fierce, menacing front. Horitake felt a pang of internal exhaustion and couldn't help but mutter:
"Sigh... as expected, talking to 'abnormal' people is just so much more work."
The group took immediate offense. Their eyes widened, their noses flared, and they surged forward, surrounding Horitake in a threatening circle.
The leader of the group, a man with bulging eyes, tried to use his sheer physical presence to cow Horitake.
"What!? What did you just say? You calling us 'abnormal'?"
He stepped closer, sneering. "Are you looking to die, kid? You dare provoke us? You better ask around—everyone on this street knows that we are—"
Nearby, Shinobu almost let out a laugh at the absurdity of the scene.
Horitake didn't have the patience or the time to play games with these thugs. Before the leader could finish his boast, Horitake reached out, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him toward the dark shadows of the adjacent alley.
"Whoa! Hey! You—what kind of strength is this!? Let me go!"
How could a common street thug possibly resist Horitake's strength? He was dragged backward into the darkness like a rag doll.
The other delinquents were stunned for a second before shouting and rushing into the alley after them.
The alley was poorly lit, and from her position, Shinobu couldn't see anything clearly. She could only hear the rhythmic thuds of impact, followed by the pained cries and groans of the thugs.
Five minutes later, Horitake walked out of the alley as if nothing had happened, dusting off his hands.
He patted his clothes, though there wasn't a speck of dirt on him, and looked back into the alleyway. His face was expressionless, his voice cold and commanding.
"Get out here. Now."
One by one, the delinquents emerged, their faces bruised and swollen. They limped and clutched their sides, supporting each other with broken spirits and tattered pride.
There wasn't a trace of their former arrogance left; they were as submissive as beaten curs.
Horitake gestured with a flat hand. "Over here."
The thugs instantly transformed from beaten dogs into eager sycophants. Ignoring their injuries and the curious stares of passersby, they cast aside any semblance of shame.
They scrambled over, bowing and scraping before Horitake with forced, fawning smiles.
The leader, his face a mess of purple welts, smiled the most obsequiously of all.
"Hehe, Boss... let's just say we started off on the wrong foot! What are your orders? Just say the word, and we'll get it done for you, no matter what!"
Horitake didn't care for the flattery. "I'm asking for directions."
The delinquents looked at each other, bewildered.
"Just... for directions?"
Horitake raised a hand as if to strike again. "It started as a simple question, but you idiots apparently have a biological need to be beaten before you can listen!"
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