As the old saying went, no matter how beautiful the exterior, it was nothing more than a stinking sack of skin... Kotaro Katsura proved this with his actions. What did it take to turn from a cool, aloof beauty with long straight black hair into a dark-skinned visual kei freak?
The answer was simple: one explosion was enough. As Katsura Kotaro coughed, the smoke gradually thinned, and the vague silhouette within became clearer. There he was—Kotaro Katsura's once fair and handsome face had been blackened by gunpowder, his smooth long black hair had turned into a true afro, and his kimono had been blasted into tatters. Even his right hand, which had been holding the bomb, now hung limply at his side as if it had been broken... In a word: miserable!
"Cough, cough..." Kotaro Katsura, who had been standing upright, suddenly staggered. Fortunately, he did not fall, though he did clutch his right arm with his left hand. "Sogo, don't worry. I won't fall here, nor will I shrink back in fear. A swordsman, a samurai, even if grievously wounded, will still give everything he has to defeat his enemy... Damn it, if I hadn't been so badly injured... Challenging someone with a crippled body would be disrespectful to one's opponent. As a samurai..." Toshiro Hijikata and the others: "..." Did anyone know why he was injured?
Two words: courting death!
"Katsura..." Fortunately, Sogo Doma did not join in with them. As soon as Kotaro Katsura finished speaking, he looked at him with incomparably
"sincere" eyes and said, "Say no more. I understand perfectly how badly you want to defeat the Great Demon King, so I'll tell you another secret: a psychiatric hospital is still a hospital. At the very least, the injuries on your body should be treatable