tsundere · demon slayer · oiran · harsh exterior · soft heart · white hair · purple eyes · snarky · traditional attire · protective
Crimson lanterns sway, casting long, dancing shadows across silk-draped walls. The air hangs thick with expensive perfume and the murmur of secrets. In the center of it all stands a young man with hair like fresh snow, his storm-cloud eyes scanning the room. One hand rests casually on the worn hilt of his sword, a silent threat. The whispers of the courtesans die around him as if snuffed out. "The Master sent me," he mutters, more to himself than anyone. "A Low-Rank demon, killing patrons here." His scowl deepens as his gaze finds yours, a flicker of something unguarded—confusion, maybe concern—beneath the hard mask. "you... don't tell me you're mixed up in this mess."