Hayashi was stunned.
The man in front of him—dressed in a suit, top hat, and with slicked curly hair, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Michael Jackson—was undoubtedly Kibutsuji Muzan.
He really hadn't expected that the moment he time-traveled would coincide with the night Muzan slaughtered the Kamado family!
If his cosplay restoration had been complete—100%, or even 50%—he might have had confidence in protecting the Kamado family and escaping unscathed.
But now, with only 10% restoration, armed with nothing but a "Fake Sun Blade of Tsugikuni Yoriichi," even defending himself would be difficult.
The sheer despair reminded him of the first time he played Sekiro, when he met Ashina Genichirō—an "opening boss" designed to crush new players.
Hayashi wanted to cry out to the system inside him:
"Fight Muzan?! Are you kidding me?!"
Yet, standing face to face with Muzan, words left his mouth almost instinctively:
"Muzan… I didn't expect to meet you here."
Boom!!!
Muzan's pupils shrank. His five brains trembled violently.
For an instant, panic seized him—he had felt this sensation only once before, when he stood before Tsugikuni Yoriichi.
Rationality struggled against fear. Impossible! Yoriichi Tsugikuni has been dead for hundreds of years!
And yet, this man had recognized him at a glance.
There was only one explanation in Muzan's frantic mind:
The one before me must be Tsugikuni Yoriichi…!
"You… aren't you already dead?!" Muzan's voice cracked.
Hayashi blinked. He instantly realized Muzan had misunderstood.
The Demon King was more nervous—more terrified—than he himself was.
He suddenly recalled: Muzan's greatest trait is cowardice disguised as caution. Ever since his encounter with Yoriichi centuries ago, when Yoriichi nearly annihilated him, Muzan had lived in perpetual fear.
Back then, Muzan had split his body into 1,800 pieces to escape, and even then, Yoriichi had cut down more than 1,500 pieces, leaving permanent scars on Muzan's body.
That trauma never left him.
So, while Hayashi's first reaction upon seeing Muzan was "Oh shit, it's the Demon King!"…
Muzan's first reaction upon seeing Hayashi was far worse: pure, suffocating fear.
Seizing this psychological advantage, Hayashi straightened and spoke in a deep, steady tone:
"I've come back from hell, Muzan."
Terror surged in waves through Muzan's body. His teeth chattered audibly, veins bulged and writhed beneath his skin, and his seven hearts pounded like war drums.
All five brains reached the same conclusion in unison—
Run!
But Hayashi knew words alone weren't enough. To truly convince Muzan, he had to show him power.
He drew the blade at his hip.
Buzz—!
The black blade sang as it left its sheath, a dark red glow dancing along the edge. Snow drifting down from the eaves melted instantly upon touching the sword.
It was only a replica, an incomplete red Nichirin blade effect. Yet to the eye, it looked no different from Yoriichi's true Sun Blade.
Hayashi clenched his jaw and activated his breathing.
"Ffff…"
White mist escaped from the corners of his mouth as Sun Breathing circulated through his body. His pulse quickened, his core temperature surged past 39°C.
At that moment, he no longer looked like a frightened cosplayer—
but like the Demon of Tsugikuni Yoriichi himself, returned to haunt Muzan's nightmares.
There was a sudden burning pain in the mark on Hayashi's forehead.
At the same time, the world before his eyes began to transform.
Muzan Kibutsuji's body gradually became transparent in his vision—the contraction of muscles, the movement of organs, the flow of blood, all became visible in terrifying detail.
The red Nichirin blade, the Breath of the Sun, the flame-like markings, and the Transparent World—all overlapped.
Even though his restoration was only at ten percent, Hayashi could still feel the overwhelming power of Tsugikuni Yoriichi flowing within him.
On the other side, Muzan Kibutsuji's pupils stopped trembling for just a moment.
Then Hayashi unsheathed his sword, and the blade glowed with a scorching dark-red light.
"Hiss—!" Muzan inhaled sharply.
That sword—the same sword that had seared itself into his memory three hundred years ago—now gleamed again before his eyes.
Worse still, the aura of the man in front of him felt… weak. Weaker than even an ordinary Demon Slayer.
And yet, this contradiction only deepened his terror.
Three centuries ago, Muzan had also misjudged his opponent. He thought Yoriichi Tsugikuni was nothing more than another swordsman.
But that encounter had nearly ended his existence.
The scars from that day still remained carved across his body, unhealed, like cursed reminders.
Now, every cell of Muzan's body trembled in fear. He tried to split apart, to scatter into countless pieces and flee—but the fear made even his flesh rebel.
No division.
No escape.
His body refused to obey.
By then, Hayashi had already advanced.
Through the Transparent World, he clearly saw the five brains and seven hearts hidden within Muzan's body.
He also saw the scars left behind by Yoriichi's blade—lines that looked, in his eyes, like dotted markings on a package.
Please cut along the dotted line.
Under Muzan's horrified gaze, Hayashi's blade came crashing down.
It fell precisely upon the scar Yoriichi had left three hundred years ago.
Two swords.
Two strikes.
Two eras.
Perfectly aligned.
"AAAHHHH—!"
Muzan's scream tore through the night, filled with anger, hatred, and an emotion he had long since forgotten—fear.
This was no coincidence.
Only Tsugikuni Yoriichi had ever cut him with such impossible precision.
Had he… truly crawled out of his grave?
But worse was still to come.
Hayashi's eyes glowed as he pressed his attack, his voice low and cold.
"Kibutsuji Muzan… when I opened the door, I saw you smiling."
His blade pierced through one of Muzan's hearts as he spat out three soul-piercing questions:
"What's so funny?"
"What's so entertaining?"
"Muzan—what do you think of life?!"