Before the fight even began, Akaza had felt it—an ill omen gnawing at his chest.
That was why he'd unleashed Annihilation Type and Final Form one after another, intending to finish Chika off or at least shatter her will to move.
Who could've imagined that instead of breaking her, those attacks would awaken her?!
Since when did the world work like this?
Unfortunately for him—it did.
The battlefield erupted. Explosions rolled across the night like thunderclaps, waves of dust and shattered stone rising into the air. Even the shockwaves that rippled outward made the air tremble.
Did it work?
That single, dangerous thought flashed through Akaza's mind—
and the moment that flag appeared, crimson light tore through the smoke.
Chika shot out from the debris, blade in hand, eyes burning like twin stars.
Akaza's expression froze, disbelief twisting his features. He gritted his teeth, roaring as he lunged forward once more, bloodlust blazing.
I can't lose! I can't lose! I can't lose!
I will not lose!
I'll become stronger… stronger than—
Wait.
Why… did I want to become strong?
For a heartbeat, his golden eyes dimmed. His body had already moved—his fist raised, steps closing in—but his mind… drifted.
A fatal mistake.
In a battle between masters, even a flicker of distraction was suicide. Yet Akaza—Upper Moon Three—had gone still before her.
Chika knew immediately.
That wasn't hesitation.
That was Koyuki pulling his plug.
A pity, really. She hadn't quite had her fill of the fight yet.
But if his beloved was giving her such a perfect opening, well—she wouldn't insult that mercy by hesitating.
Her blade gleamed red in the dark.
"Hinokami Kagura – Dance!"
Flames curved in a brilliant arc. The scarlet blade traced a perfect crescent, striking cleanly across Akaza's neck.
He snapped back to awareness just as the searing edge bit into him.
Too late.
He reached out, grasping the crimson blade with his bare hand in a desperate attempt to halt it—
—but it was a Crimson Blade.
Agony surged through him. His palm sizzled against the heat, flesh smoking, nerves screaming.
Grip tighter—and his fingers would be sliced off.
Let go—and his head was gone.
"Aaaarghhh!"
Akaza's roar was swallowed by fire. The arc of flame swept through the air, severing his head in one clean, blazing motion.
For an instant, he saw the world turn upside down.
The sky, the ground, Chika's figure—flipping, spinning—then black.
I… lost?
No. I can't lose. I mustn't end here. I have to become stronger… stronger… stronger… STRONGER!
His head crumbled into ash, scattered on the wind—
but his body remained standing.
Unmoving. Unyielding.
The earth beneath his feet pulsed once more—
the twelve-pointed snowflake of Compass Needle blooming faintly beneath him.
Chika's expression twisted into disbelief.
She gripped her blade and sighed inwardly.
'Koyuki… please pull the plug properly next time.'
The headless body tensed, muscles coiling.
Even without sight or command, Akaza's form clenched into a fighting stance, his fist drawing back for another strike.
But before he could unleash it, a faint light appeared behind him—
a girl's arms wrapped gently around his shoulders.
"Please, stop, Hakuji-san."
Akaza's body went rigid.
The voice trembled with tears—soft, warm, impossibly familiar.
She wasn't alive. He knew that.
But even so… hearing her voice made his battle spirit falter.
"Let go of me. Who are you?"
"Please stop," she whispered again. "Come with me—to the other side."
"I haven't lost! I must defeat them! I have to become stronger!"
"Why?" she asked softly. "Why do you need to be strong?"
"Because… because I…"
His voice faded. His body sank slightly.
Then—his memories, long sealed by Muzan's will, began to crack open.
Edo period.
A boy named Hakuji lived in poverty. His father was sick—gravely—and they had no money for medicine.
Too young to work honestly, Hakuji turned to theft.
"The boy's got three marks already. Next time, they'll take his hands."
Bound and beaten by guards, the boy bled from every inch of his body.
But he didn't regret it.
Better to lose his dignity than to let his father die.
I must become stronger…
Stronger to steal, to fight back, to survive.
He endured each beating, dragging his broken body home.
Only to find his father's lifeless form hanging from the rafters, a note clutched beside him:
"Hakuji, live honestly. You can still start over.
I refuse to survive on stolen money.
Forgive me, my son."
Hakuji collapsed at the grave, screaming his grief to the heavens.
"Do the poor not even have the right to live?! To hell with this world!"
He wandered aimlessly after that—until fate led him to Keizō, master of the Soryu Dojo.
The man saw his raw potential, bested him in a single move, and dragged him into training. There, Hakuji met Keizō's daughter—Koyuki, frail but kind, suffering from the same illness that had claimed his father.
In her presence, he found light again.
Years passed.
He grew into a man.
At eighteen, he vowed to protect her forever.
"I'll become stronger than anyone—so I can guard you all my life."
When their relationship was finally approved, he ran to his father's grave to share the good news.
But upon returning—he found tragedy waiting.
Jealous rivals from a nearby dojo, unable to defeat Keizō and his lone student, had poisoned the well.
Keizō and Koyuki died that very day.
Hakuji's heart shattered.
He stormed into the rival dojo barehanded—and slaughtered them all.
When it was done, he stood among the corpses, hollow and lost.
And it was then that he met Muzan Kibutsuji.
The Demon King, intrigued by a mortal who could slaughter trained swordsmen barehanded, stabbed his hand through Hakuji's skull and filled him with demon blood.
"I seek twelve powerful demons. Can you withstand my blood?"
He could.
And he did.
But at the cost of everything human within him.
Under Muzan's will, he forgot his purpose, his name, his love.
He remembered only the urge—to grow stronger, endlessly, meaninglessly.
Now, in this fleeting return of memory, he stood still—no longer Akaza, but Hakuji once more.
A tragic, pitiful story.
Cruel, absurd… and so very empty.