A quiet alley in the heart of Asakusa bustled under a painted moon. Laughter and chatter of late-night passersby echoed faintly, none realizing that terror walked among them.
There, under the pale glow of a gas lamp, Muzan Kibutsuji stood in his human form—perfectly sculpted, elegant in his white fedora and black suit. He stared at the night with emotionless eyes, a glass of red wine in his hand that reflected far more than mere grapes.
Akaza approached from the darkness, his white-pink hair dim under the moonlight. He kneeled instantly.
"…My Lord," he said, his voice resolute despite the tension. "I've come to report."
Muzan didn't look at him.
"Speak."
Akaza's fist clenched. "Rengoku is dead. But Tanjiro… survived. His injuries were—"
The glass in Muzan's hand cracked, the red liquid spilling over his fingers like blood.
"…Why," Muzan whispered, "is Kamado Tanjiro not dead yet?"
Akaza remained still. "He was—stronger than expected. The Hinokami Kagura—"
Muzan's eyes gleamed crimson.
"Don't say that name," he hissed. "That breathing… and that child… they threaten everything. I gave you my blood, Akaza. Yet you disappoint me."
Akaza bowed lower, gritting his teeth. "I will kill him. I swear it."
Silence.
Then footsteps.
From behind, a smooth and cheerful voice echoed, full of false delight.
"Oh my… someone seems upset."
Douma, elegant in his cult-like robes and rainbow-colored eyes, stepped lightly from a nearby shadow. His smile was wide—too wide.
Muzan turned his gaze slowly.
"You. You moved without my command."
Douma's smile never faded, but his eyes flickered with the cold of death.
"I only wished to help, Master. The Lower Moons were fumbling about like blind bats. I thought I'd add some grace to the chaos."
"And disobey?" Muzan's voice was ice.
Douma raised his hands slightly in mock surrender. "Forgive me, Kibutsuji-sama. I merely wanted to see the girl myself. The one you're so interested in—Nezuko. Quite the mystery."
Muzan's eyes narrowed.
"I let you live because you obey. Do not mistake that for trust."
Douma bowed with theatrical flair, his sleeves swaying like mist. "Of course, my lord."
The air grew thick with unspoken tension—until Muzan turned away, vanishing into the night like a nightmare that hadn't ended yet.
Akaza stood up, fury and humiliation burning in his gut.
Douma chuckled quietly beside him.
"My, my… someone's not having a good day, are they?"
Akaza didn't respond. His fists trembled, but his eyes stayed on the sky—where the moon hung cold, distant, and stained red with unfulfilled promises.