Toya carefully examines the face of the twelfth court lady. His gaze is dry and hollow, as if he is appraising a displayed product or simply looking at fallen leaves scattered on the street.

Hmm.

Whenever his grey eyes, dull like those of a dead fish, sweep over her, tension rises in the court lady's face. Soon, he waves his hand as if there is nothing worth seeing.

...Ah, she's no good. Next.

He leans back in his seat and listlessly slides his arm into the sleeve of his kariginu. With one hand, he nonchalantly unfolds a fan painted with cornelian cherries to cover his mouth. If he were to yawn openly in this spot, the old Kanrei geezer next to him would surely glare at him to maintain the Shogun's dignity.

What dwells in Toya's grey eyes visible over the fan is not mere boredom. The current Toya needs a pleasure more enjoyable than the warmth of slaughter and fresh blood.

"Are we even going to find anyone decent today? They're all so scrawny, it's like a march of skeletons."