That's right, ramen noodle hair.
Although she had died young in her previous life, as someone who had transmigrated and reincarnated, Mitsuba still recognized what "instant noodles" were.
And without a doubt, that man walking toward them, seemingly also about to enter this restaurant, was sporting such a strange hairstyle.
Incredible—in this world where people either tied their hair up or had "Mediterranean" baldness, there was actually someone with such... fashionable hair?
Though Mitsuba felt surprised at this in her heart, her steps didn't stop.
She entered the restaurant and, guided by a waiter who had already recognized her identity, came to the second floor of the restaurant specifically open to the city's powerful and influential, sitting by a window with a view of the first floor.
Most of the guards following behind Mitsuba remained on the first floor of the restaurant, while a small portion accompanied her to the second floor.
At the same time, that strange ramen noodle-haired man also entered the restaurant together with the woman behind him.
After speaking with the waiter, these two people completely ignored the sudden presence of those sword-bearing guards in the restaurant and walked straight up to the second floor.
Among them, that male with the ramen noodle hair didn't even glance at these guards, his gait was one that recognized no kin, and the smile on his face was wildly unrestrained.
Mitsuba observed the two throughout. Out of some intuition, she felt these two people likely weren't here to eat.
Facts proved her right.
After casually finding a seat on the second floor, neither the man nor the woman showed any intention of ordering food. They just sat there quietly, seemingly waiting for someone.
Taking this opportunity, Mitsuba was finally able to carefully observe this strange pair.
Among them, the woman wore a purple floral kimono, her appearance dignified and beautiful, those dark purple pupils carrying traces of melancholy.
She appeared slightly older than Mitsuba, her long hair tied up—clearly already married.
And the male wore an expensive black kimono with gold patterns. Even with that strange hairstyle, his looks could be called handsome, the corner of his mouth always carrying a faint, barely perceptible smile.
*(In Kokushibo's original recollections, Muzan's hairstyle during the Sengoku period already showed tendencies toward the ramen noodle look...)*
But what truly attracted Mitsuba's attention was the man's eyes.
Those were a pair of plum-red vertical pupils, densely covered with horrifying bloodshot veins in the irises—just looking at them gave one an extremely bizarre feeling.
This pair, man and woman, were so strange...
Were they siblings?
They didn't look like it...
Could they be husband and wife?
That didn't seem right either...
Could it be...
"Little girl, since just now, your gaze seems to have been constantly looking toward us.
What's wrong? Is there something about me that you find strange?"
Just as Mitsuba was carefully sizing up these two, that man with the strange eyes suddenly turned his head to look at her.
The smile remained on his face, only this smile was neither polite nor gentle—it was filled with aggression.
Clearly, from any perspective, this man was absolutely not someone easy to talk to. Considering that her own behavior was indeed improper first, Mitsuba decided to apologize first.
"My deepest apologies, I meant no ill will. I simply found you, sir, somewhat peculiar..."
"Oh? Peculiar? Where am I peculiar?"
Seemingly intrigued by Mitsuba's words, the man sat sideways in his seat looking at her, asking curiously.
"From your attire, your origins must be quite extraordinary.
But correspondingly, whether it's your hairstyle, the way you wear your kimono, or even your speech and conduct—everything is very... unique, and against etiquette.
Yet you not only don't care about this at all, you also seem completely indifferent to others' gazes toward you...
Of course, I don't mean to criticize you. I simply sincerely admire your carefree confidence, and the freedom it demonstrates..."
"Hmph... hmph, hahahaha!"
After hearing Mitsuba's serious analysis and explanation, the man first lowered his head and laughed twice, then couldn't help but throw his head back and laugh loudly.
"Interesting, interesting! After all these years, you're the first girl I've met who can talk so eloquently!"
At the same time, that woman beside him who had remained silent with her head lowered finally raised her head to look at Mitsuba at this moment.
The woman's gaze quickly swept over Mitsuba, finally stopping on Mitsuba's left hand.
She seemed to have noticed something, yet said nothing, only silently lowering her head again.
"Little girl, my name is Muzan Kibutsuji. Tell me your name."
Finally having laughed enough, Muzan restrained his smile and proactively introduced himself to Mitsuba.
Muzan Kibutsuji?
Would someone really give themselves such a strange name...
After a small complaint in her heart, Mitsuba likewise told him her name.
"Tsugikuni Mitsuba."
"Then, Miss Mitsuba, are you interested in hearing my assessment of you?"
Perhaps influenced by Mitsuba's courteous attitude, Muzan likewise began using honorifics.
"Please speak."
Mitsuba nodded in indication. She saw Muzan look her up and down, then smile and say:
"You're very repressed."
"Repressed?"
Mitsuba was slightly stunned.
"Yes, extremely repressed."
Nodding, Muzan likewise began his own analysis in a non-stop torrent.
"From when we began speaking until now, your sitting posture hasn't changed in the slightest—proper like a nearly perfect work of art.
Not only that, your kimono is worn very neatly, your hairstyle is very exquisite, and your speech and conduct are beyond reproach.
On the surface, you seem to be someone who strictly follows rules, with so-called noble etiquette engraved in your bones.
But I can see that your true essence is absolutely not like this."
Half-leaning against the dining table beside him, Muzan extended his index finger pointing at Mitsuba, saying word by word:
"These exquisite images you display, this dignified atmosphere—they're nothing but disguises you're forced to put on due to pressure from those around you.
Your true inner self is actually completely different..."
"How dare you! How dare you speak to our young lady like this?!"
Beside them, a guard finally couldn't endure it any longer and immediately drew his sword, standing up to shout angrily at Muzan. The other guards in the restaurant also all glared at Muzan with unfriendly expressions.
It seemed that with just one command from Mitsuba, they would immediately rush forward and chop Muzan into pieces, clothes and all.
But Mitsuba didn't do this.
Looking at Muzan who was completely unconcerned by the threats of the surrounding guards, not even changing his expression, she raised her hand to indicate they sit back down, then continued asking:
"Mr. Kibutsuji, I'm curious—we've clearly only just met. Why can you be so certain?
Perhaps I really am the kind of person you described, who likes to have noble etiquette engraved in my bones?"
"Hahahaha! Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"
Upon hearing this, Muzan once again threw his head back and laughed.
"Because the feeling you give me is exactly the same as hers."
He suddenly raised his hand, pointing to that woman beside him who had remained silent throughout.
"May I ask who she is?"
"You can call her Tamayo. She counts as my... subordinate, I suppose."
Simply introducing Tamayo's name, Muzan explained with great interest:
"Miss Mitsuba, you certainly wouldn't imagine that this woman is constantly thinking in her heart about how to kill me, how to skin me alive and tear my tendons, cast me into hell to resolve her inexplicable hatred..."
Subordinate? Skin alive and tear tendons? Hatred in her heart?
Not quite understanding Muzan's words, Mitsuba looked at him, then looked at Tamayo who still kept her head lowered and silent, her expression puzzled.
"Mr. Kibutsuji, are you... joking?"
"Joking? No, no, no, this is absolutely true."
Wagging his index finger, Muzan likewise turned to look at Tamayo. In a relaxed tone carrying mocking meaning, he continued:
"Miss Mitsuba, don't look at how this woman seems to say nothing on the surface. But what she's thinking in her heart, I know perfectly well.
This ungrateful woman—clearly I helped her back then, fulfilled her wish, yet she ended up blaming me instead, even wanting to kill me because of it...
If we were to rank the people in this world who want to kill me, I think the one ranked first would definitely be her.
But unfortunately, she doesn't have the strength. No matter what, she can't kill me.
Not only that, but now she can only be forced to stay by my side, serving me at every moment.
Miss Mitsuba, tell me—can someone like her not be repressed?"
Not responding to Muzan's words, Mitsuba's gaze fell on Tamayo beside Muzan.
Facing Muzan's mockery and ridicule, she maintained her silence throughout, head lowered and wordless, completely showing an attitude of indifference.
Despite this, Mitsuba still keenly noticed Tamayo's fingers on her thigh, slightly clenched.
What Muzan said was true.
These two people were actually in an enemy relationship?