At the front desk, under the attentive guidance of the Mama-san, Horitake spent money like water, handing over an amount equivalent to six months of his salary.
On the surface, Horitake maintained an air of nonchalant indifference toward the heap of currency. In reality, his heart was throbbing with a sharp, frugal pain. I'm definitely making Kagaya-sama reimburse me for this later, he vowed silently.
Six months of a Hashira's salary was no small sum; it was more than enough for Horitake to live like a king for a single night of decadence.
Seeing his generous hand, the Mama-san's smile became significantly more genuine and far more servile. She bowed repeatedly, her head bobbing as she led the way.
"Oh my, such a distinguished guest! You are far too generous. Please, follow me, this way, this way!"
As Horitake followed her, he couldn't help but scoff internally. When the money hasn't touched the table, I'm just a 'guest.' Once the cash is out, I'm a 'distinguished guest.' Talk about cold, hard reality.
Under her eager escort, Horitake walked through a series of long corridors and climbed several flights of stairs.
Along the way, he passed numerous bathhouse girls and their patrons. The hostesses were undoubtedly top-tier in both temperament and beauty; some were delicate and soft, others bold and seductive, each possessing a unique charm that catered to every possible whim.
The clientele was equally diverse, a melting pot of ages and regional accents. These men, draped in loose yukatas and kimonos, wandered through the halls with glazed, satisfied expressions.
The Mama-san led Horitake all the way up to the fifth floor.
Horitake knew enough about these establishments to understand the hierarchy: generally, the higher the floor, the larger and more opulent the rooms. While the fifth floor wasn't the penthouse, it was certainly reserved for the elite.
Upon reaching their destination, the Mama-san opened the door to a private suite and respectfully ushered him inside.
"Honored guest, how do you find these accommodations? If they are not to your liking, we can arrange for a change immediately."
Horitake casually surveyed the room. It was a traditional washitsu, decorated with a low-key but unmistakable luxury. It was quiet, warm, and inviting. However, the most striking feature—aside from the main living area—was the massive adjoining bathroom, which housed an equally impressive sunken tub.
It made sense; after all, this place was technically a bathhouse. Bathing was the "main event" that served as a backdrop for everything else.
Since Horitake wasn't actually there for the amenities, he wasn't particularly picky about the decor. He gave a sharp nod of approval.
"It's fine. This will do."
He sat down leisurely on a silk zabuton cushion.
The Mama-san scurried over, leaning in to ask the most crucial question. "And tell me, honored guest, what kind of bath girl would you like to have attend to you? Someone curvaceous? Or perhaps a bit more slender? Do you prefer the seductive type, or the elegant sort? A mature 'big sister' figure, or a fresh young maiden?"
Horitake's eyebrows twitched. Good grief, he thought, that's quite the selection.
This was no time to be indecisive. He had to act fast and firm to maintain his cover as a seasoned veteran. Without a moment's hesitation, he replied:
"Bring me two. One, a voluptuous and seductive 'big sister' type, and the other, a slender and innocent young girl."
The Mama-san clapped her hands in delight at his choice.
"A true connoisseur! By choosing both, you get to sample the best of both worlds, don't you? Rest assured, I shall fetch them immediately. I guarantee you will be satisfied!"
With that, she scurried out of the room, sliding the door shut behind her.
The moment she was gone, Horitake's half-lidded, drowsy eyes snapped wide. His entire aura shifted instantly. The lazy, peaceful air of a playboy vanished, replaced by the razor-sharp intensity of a Demon Slayer.
In a blur of motion, he slipped over to the window. He parted the curtains and eased the window open, peering out.
The window didn't face the street; instead, it overlooked an expansive inner garden. The architecture of "The Solitary Bloom" was designed in a ring around this central courtyard. From this vantage point, he could see that the entire complex of pavilions, towers, and verandas was centered around this lush, hidden landscape.
Horitake leaned out over the sill, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the layout.
The place had looked massive from the outside, but standing within its heart, he realized it was even more labyrinthine than he had imagined.
How am I supposed to find my target in a place this big? he wondered. Between Senjuro, who might be hidden in any one of these rooms, and a demon that could be lurking in any shadow, this is a logistical nightmare.
Well, nothing for it but to try everything.
Moving with the grace of a ghost, Horitake masked his presence and leaped into the night. He stayed within the shadows cast by the vibrant lanterns, landing silently atop the roof of the central pavilion in the garden.
From this position—essentially the center point of the entire establishment—he stood tall and closed his eyes.
Spirit Vision.
He activated his ability, expanding his perception to sweep across the entire complex. He wanted to see through the walls, to scan every floor and every room, looking for any trace of demonic energy or a familiar human presence.
Spirit Vision granted him a degree of clairvoyance and X-ray perception, and more importantly, it allowed him to track the unique "miasma" that demons emitted. It was the perfect tool for a search-and-rescue mission.
The problem, however, was that this place was simply too chaotic.
The sheer size of the building, the density of the rooms, and the sheer number of people created a cacophony of spiritual "noise." It was a den of vice, a place where hundreds of different human desires and energies clashed.
As Horitake's Spirit Vision swept through the rooms, what did he see?
For the most part, it was a blurred montage of guests and bath girls engaged in... various states of "interaction."
It was an assault of unrefined and cluttered imagery. Even with Spirit Vision, the complexity and the "impurity" of the environment made it impossible to see with total clarity. He couldn't find a single trace of what he was looking for amidst the sea of debauchery.
Cursing under his breath, Horitake deactivated the ability. He stood on the pavilion roof, rubbing his forehead in frustration.
A broad, sweeping scan isn't going to cut it in a place this messy, he realized. I need a different approach.
Sensing that enough time had passed and that he couldn't stay out in the open much longer, he leaped back, soaring through the air to land silently on his balcony. He slipped back through the window, smoothed the wrinkles in his purple kimono, and ensured his appearance was once again that of a relaxed nobleman.
He steadied his breathing, closed the curtains, and sat back down on the tatami mat, waiting with outward patience.
Soon enough, there was a knock at the door.
With Horitake's permission, the door slid open.
The first to enter were not the hostesses or the Mama-san, but two brisk, efficient servants. They carried a large tray laden with a lavish spread of traditional washoku cuisine.
In an establishment like this, the evening usually began with fine dining and drinks.
The servants moved with practiced silence, laying out dish after dish of exquisite food on the table before Horitake. They followed with a bottle of mellow, high-quality sake. Within moments, the table was a vibrant display of luxury.
Task complete, the servants bowed deeply and retreated.
And then, stepping into the room with practiced grace, were the two hostesses Horitake had requested.
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