The air at Kaiju Bay was thick with salt and sorrow, the beach littered with the remnants of what once were hopes and dreams. The villagers of Sakana Cove, their faces etched with grief and anger, gathered around a small, peculiar form that lay amongst the debris—a horned infant, seemingly untouched by the calamity that had befallen them.

Whispers cut through the mourning silence, growing louder and more venomous with each passing moment. "A devil," one voice hissed, the word slicing through the air like a knife. "A harbinger of our doom," another spat, their eyes fixed on the innocent child with a mix of horror and hatred. The crowd's collective grief morphed into a dark, palpable entity, feeding on their fears and superstitions. They saw her not as a survivor but as the cause of their misfortune—the horned devil that had brought the wrath of the sea upon them.

The murmurs coalesced into a singular, terrifying demand: "Drown the devil, lest she brings more disaster upon us!" Hands reached out towards the infant, intent on casting her back into the merciless depths from whence she came. The air was ripe with the intent of violence, a tragic conclusion seemed inevitable.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

From the throng emerged a figure of grace and authority, her presence commanding silence even in the midst of chaos. Madam Hanae, the revered proprietor of the Geisha House Eien Sakura no Sato, stepped forward. Her attire, an exquisite kimono that whispered of elegance and strength, contrasted starkly with the despair around her. Her eyes, calm and resolute, scanned the crowd before settling on the small, horned child.

"This child," she began, her voice carrying over the bay, "is not the cause of our suffering. She is but a victim of the same cruel fate that has befallen us all." The villagers paused, their anger momentarily quelled by her words. "Will you punish an innocent for the work of the horned phantasm Caligula? Will you let your grief and fear dictate the measure of your humanity?"

Madam Hanae moved forward, her steps sure and unwavering, and gently lifted the infant into her arms. "I will take her," she declared, her tone leaving no room for contestation. "She will find sanctuary within the walls of Eien Sakura no Sato. If there is to be blame, let it lay with me."

A murmur of dissent rippled through the crowd, but the air of defiance that once fueled their rage had diminished. In the face of Madam Hanae's unwavering resolve, their resolve wavered. Some looked away, shamed by their own bloodlust, while others simply stood, mute witnesses to a compassion they could not fathom.

As Madam Hanae turned away, the infant cradled securely in her arms, the crowd parted to let them pass. The tension that had once threatened to explode into violence dissipated, leaving behind a heavy silence. The villagers watched as the geisha house's proprietor disappeared into the distance, a horned child in her arms. In the heart of Sakana Cove, nestled among the winding alleys and shadowed by the looming presence of Kaiju Bay, stood the Eien Sakura no Sato, a place of beauty and sorrow. The Geisha House, led by Madam Hanae, was a world unto itself, draped in silk and secrets. Here, amidst the scent of cherry blossoms and the soft shuffle of delicate feet, Sachiko grew from the horned infant into a creature of both grace and fury.

Raised by Madam Hanae, Sachiko's upbringing was a juxtaposition of harsh lessons and whispered tales of the world beyond the Geisha House's walls. The workers, while kind at times, often regarded her with a mix of fear and disdain. Her horns, a constant reminder of the night that had reshaped their world, made her the subject of whispers and sideways glances. Sachiko learned the arts of the geisha—music, dance, and the subtle play of conversation. Yet, beneath the surface of her calm demeanor, the blue oni stirred, a tempest waiting to break free.

The Geisha House itself was a marvel, a testament to the world's capacity for beauty even in the shadow of disaster. Its rooms were adorned with paintings of ancient legends, its halls lined with tatami mats that whispered stories of the past. The air was always filled with the sound of shamisen strings, punctuated by the laughter and sighs of its inhabitants. Yet, for all its beauty, the Eien Sakura no Sato could not contain the storm that brewed within Sachiko.

The incident that would change Sachiko's fate occurred on a night like any other, with the Geisha House bathed in the warm glow of lantern light. The general of the arena, a man known for his cruelty and his thirst for spectacle, was in attendance. The air was heavy with anticipation and the sweet scent of sake.

As Sachiko moved gracefully between the guests, her presence barely noted, disaster struck. A slip of the hand, a splash of liquid on silk—the geisha's robe stained and the room fell silent. The geisha's anger was swift and brutal, her hands striking Sachiko with a force that echoed through the silent room. But this time, the blue oni would not be silenced.

With a roar that shook the foundations of the Eien Sakura no Sato, Sachiko transformed. Her skin turned the color of the deepest oceans, her eyes blazed with a fury that turned the air cold. The geisha, caught in the grip of the oni, stood no chance. Limbs were torn apart , a brutal testament to the ancient power that coursed through Sachiko's veins. The transformation was complete, uncontrollable rage given form. The room, once a place of beauty, was now a scene of carnage, the air thick with the scent of blood and cherry blossoms.

Madam Hanae, witnessing the horror unfold, saw not the child she had raised but a monster that threatened the very existence of her world. Her plea for death was a whisper lost in the chaos. But the general saw something else—a weapon, a spectacle to be unleashed upon the arena.

Sachiko, in her blue oni form, was unaware of the destruction she had wrought. When she returned to herself, surrounded by the remnants of her fury, the realization of her actions struck her with a pain sharper than any blade. The general's chains were a weight, a reminder of the cost of her rage.

And so, Sachiko was taken from the Geisha House, not as a child, but as a slave, a creature of rage to be unleashed for the entertainment of the masses. The arena awaited, a place where her fury would be both her prison and her key. The path before her was one of blood and battle, a far cry from the shadowed alleys of Sakana Cove. Yet, within her, the blue oni raged, a reminder of the power she wielded and the curse it bore.

Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3