In the quiet gloom of his mansion, Muzan Kibutsuji sat alone. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, crimson and sharp. He had seen it — the last moments of Mukagoji's existence.
The memory played in fragments. A clearing drowned in crimson mist. A blur of movement, faster than a Slayer's Breathing. The flash of a blade, cutting not just flesh but something deeper. And then… nothing.
Mukagoji's terror had been absolute. No technique, no regeneration, no mist could save him from the man who moved like a phantom.
Muzan's pale fingers drummed against the lacquered armrest, his voice barely above a whisper.
"…That was no Slayer."
His gaze sharpened. There had been no crow, no uniform, no trace of a Breathing technique in the memory. Yet the man fought with monstrous precision — fluid, unorthodox, animalistic. His body had been more terrifying than any technique.
"Who are you…?" Muzan murmured. "And why do you exist in my world?"
His face remained calm, but beneath it seethed rage. A Lower Rank had been erased by a man who is as fast as a hashira if not fast.
He turned sharply, voice cold and venomous.
"Find him. Bring me his name, his face, his purpose. If he is Slayer, he dies. If he is something else…" A faint, cruel smile curved his lips. "…then I will claim him for myself."
---
Elsewhere, Toji walked down a dirt path, the Split Soul Katana wrapped at his side. He whistled low, tossing a pouch of coins up and down in his hand. Another night, another fight, another profit.
The child trudged along, trying to keep pace. "That sword of yours… it's different, isn't it? It doesn't shine like the others."
Toji smirked but didn't answer directly. His scar tugged as he spoke.
"A blade's a blade. Doesn't matter what it looks like — what matters is the hand that swings it."
The boy hesitated. "…But they say real demon slayers use Breathing Styles."
For the first time, Toji's eyes narrowed with interest. His lazy stride slowed, curiosity sparking behind his sharp gaze.
"Breathing… Styles?"
The child nodded quickly. "It's how they fight demons. With special techniques."
Toji chuckled low, a dangerous grin spreading across his face.
"So this world's got its own tricks, huh?" He tapped the sheathed katana against his shoulder. "If it makes you stronger… maybe it's worth learning."
His voice was casual, but his eyes gleamed like a predator scenting new prey.
---
Muzan had seen him. The Slayers had not.
Between the two, a storm was forming — and Toji, smiling lazily, walked straight into it.