Akaza—no, Hakuji—remembered everything.
Why he had sought strength.
Why he had hated the weak.
The headless body stood motionless, its form steady as a mountain.
Right now, Akaza was completely defenseless—an easy kill.
Anyone could have finished him, cutting his body to pieces and ending it.
But Chika didn't move.
She was a schemer, yes—but her cunning was reserved for her enemies.
And the being before her was no longer an enemy.
This was not Akaza, Upper Moon Three.
This was Hakuji.
Kyojuro approached slowly, the crimson glow of dawn brushing the edges of his hair.
He didn't raise his sword. Instead, he came to stand beside Chika, eyes narrowing at the still figure.
"He's not moving… Why?" he asked.
Chika's expression turned dead serious.
"Um… he's been decapitated. If he was moving, that'd be the weird part."
Kyojuro chuckled dryly. He could tell she was hiding something, but he trusted her.
Whatever she was keeping secret—it wasn't dangerous to them.
Meanwhile, within Akaza's fading consciousness, Koyuki's gentle hand caressed his cheek.
The man once called Akaza slowly turned back into Hakuji, human once more.
He clutched her close, pouring out everything—grief, regret, love.
Koyuki simply listened, tears glimmering at the corners of her eyes.
When he finally quieted, she smiled softly through her tears.
"Welcome home… my dear."
In the real world, Akaza's headless body began to crumble.
Before Chika and Kyojuro, it dissolved into dust, scattering into the wind.
Hakuji would fall to Hell—but not as the demon Akaza.
He would go as a man.
And Koyuki would be there, waiting—until he had washed away every sin.
Beyond that, Chika didn't know what fate awaited him.
When the last traces of Akaza's body disappeared, Chika finally exhaled—a long, relieved breath.
Koyuki had done her part perfectly.
Still, with the power of a Crimson Blade, even a decapitated Upper Moon wasn't invincible.
Demons burned their stamina to regenerate.
The Crimson Blade, in turn, strangled that regeneration.
All she had to do was keep cutting until he hit his limit—and she could have finished it herself.
And honestly, she felt like she could've.
Her energy was still high—though, maybe that was adrenaline talking.
Besides, dawn was nearly here.
As the dust settled, Tanjiro and the others came rushing over, worry plastered across their faces.
They were safe—tired, but unharmed. Yet behind their relief lingered something else: disappointment.
They hadn't been able to help.
They'd stood on the sidelines, powerless to aid against an Upper Moon.
Even if that was the smart choice, the gap they'd witnessed stung deeply.
Chika immediately saw through their expressions and smirked.
"What's with those faces? Lost your confidence already? You just got a free front-row seat to an Upper Moon fight. People would kill for that kind of experience."
Her teasing earned faint smiles and sighs.
She wasn't wrong. Even if they hadn't fought, they had seen—and learned.
They'd grown.
Still, despite the victory, the battle had lasted far longer than Chika had expected.
She'd thought—with a Crimson Blade and a well-timed "sneak attack!"—they could finish Akaza quickly.
A few surprise hits, some double-teaming, a little "no-honor" fighting…
Easy win, right?
Yeah. Not quite.
Reality never followed the plan.
Chika scratched the back of her head and clicked her tongue.
Then she felt a small tug at her sleeve.
She turned—and saw Nezuko looking up at her, eyes wide with worry.
"Big sis… are you really okay?"
Chika glanced down at herself.
Her uniform was… well, barely a uniform anymore. Torn to shreds, charred, and hanging in tatters.
The Demon Slayer uniform was made to resist damage—low-level demons couldn't even scratch it.
But Akaza's fists hit like explosive shells.
In other words, her outfit had been absolutely annihilated.
Still, her body was fine.
Better than fine, actually.
Pain? None. Exhaustion? Manageable. Pride? Intact.
She smiled and patted Nezuko's head gently.
"I'm fine, see? Aside from the tragic fashion statement, not a scratch on me—"
Before she could finish, her words slurred.
Her brows knit together.
A heavy wave of drowsiness crashed over her, stealing the strength from her limbs.
"Eh? …Just… tired, that's all. We're done here, right? Then let's… let's head back… yawn…"
She rubbed her eyes mid-sentence, fighting it, but her body wouldn't listen.
It wasn't strange. Even with her unnatural endurance, the battle had pushed her beyond her limit.
She'd expected to be tired—but not this tired.
The others nodded in agreement, exhausted themselves.
Kyojuro, despite his blazing spirit, had spent every ounce of his strength. His body ached, his burns stung, but he smiled as he sheathed his blade.
Walking was all any of them could manage.
The sun was peeking over the horizon now, its orange rays glinting off the twisted wreck of the Mugen Train.
The eight-car behemoth lay derailed, one section in particular mangled beyond recognition.
Still—no passengers had been lost.
That was victory enough.
…Though explaining this to the cleanup corps? That'd be a nightmare.
A derailed train.
A mass sleep incident.
A literal explosion.
If word of demons didn't leak, it'd be a miracle.
At the very least, some new urban legend was about to be born.
But that wasn't their problem.
Their job was done.
Even those who hadn't fought directly looked ready to collapse, nerves frayed and bodies trembling from tension.
Kyojuro walked in silence, every step heavy, but his face peaceful.
He'd live—but he'd need rest. Lots of it.
Behind them, the sun climbed higher.
Tanjiro and the others led the group, Kyojuro followed close behind, and Chika trailed in the rear.
They assumed she was staying back to guard the line—
—but after only a few steps, her act started to crumble.
'Huh… why are there… three Nezukos?'
Her legs wobbled. Her focus blurred.
Then—
Thud.
She tripped over a tiny pebble and faceplanted flat on the road.
Everyone spun around at once.
"Chika!"
"Sis!"
"Big Boss Sister!"
But she didn't answer.
The great slayer who had fought Upper Moon Three to a standstill—
was fast asleep, face in the dirt, snoring softly.
The battle of the Mugen Train was over.