The year was Ansei. It was the era of Edo.

In a corner of Yoshiwara, where men and women crowded together. Beneath a bridge over the Ohaguro ditch, a single black cat let out its first cry.

"Meow."

When it was about two months old, the cat became separated from its mother.

However, it was not the type of cat to give up there.

Spotting a passing gentleman, it slid against his legs, rubbing its fur against him.

In doing so, the cat gained a warm bed and plenty of food. The one who picked it up was the young master of one of Yoshiwara's finest brothels.

A grand establishment where men flocked night after night seeking women. There, the cat was greatly cherished by the young master.

"Guest, you're a good one."

Stroked, adored, and pampered.

And so, when twenty years had passed—

Guest's tail split into two.

Women's passions. Men's vitality. Living for long years in Yoshiwara, where these things swirled, the cat had eventually transformed into a yokai.

Nekomata—that is what it was.

Since then, another hundred and seventy years have passed.

Today, too, Guest walks the streets of Tokyo with composure.

Seeking delicious food. And seeking the vitality of humans.

While swaying a tail split in two—