Inside the house, despair hung so thick it was suffocating.
Kamado Kie knelt on the floor, both arms locked around the children behind her as if she could shield them with her body alone.
Before her, the man called Kibutsuji Muzan was idly examining his own pale hand, bored to the point of indifference.
Then he lifted that hand, letting his fingertips hover casually in front of Kie's carotid artery.
On those razor-sharp nails flowed poisonous blood—enough to kill an ordinary person instantly.
"Don't worry," Muzan said, his voice elegant and detached. "It'll be over soon."
His tone remained refined, almost gentle, as he continued, "Your eldest daughter was a failed product, but as a mother… I still have a sliver of expectation for you."
His fingertips were less than a hair's breadth from piercing her skin.
And then—
At the very instant they were about to touch—
"Let go… let go of Mom!!"
A childish roar shattered the dead silence.
Kamado Takeo—the boy who always tried to act grown-up—was trembling so badly his legs could barely hold him, yet he still forced himself to be brave. He grabbed a piece of firewood from the floor and swung with all the strength he had, smashing it toward Muzan.
Thud.
The firewood struck Muzan's perfectly tailored suit, failing to raise even a speck of dust before it rolled away and fell uselessly to the ground.
Muzan paused.
Slowly, he turned his head. Those crimson vertical pupils fixed on the boy—face white with fear, yet still standing in front of his mother.
"…How noisy."
Muzan's voice dropped into a hoarse murmur, disgust undisguised as he spoke coldly, "I meant to grant you—the mother—an honor. But since your little larva is so eager to die…"
He stepped toward Takeo.
"No!!"
Kie let out a scream that sounded like her chest was being torn open, lunging in a frenzy to protect her child.
"Then I'll make this ignorant insect disappear first."
Muzan's eyes were glacial. Without hesitation, he raised his hand and swung hard toward the boy's head—
But at the moment that slap was about to land on Kamado Takeo—
Hmmm—
As if sensing something, Muzan's motion abruptly seized up.
Not because of mercy.
Not because he'd changed his mind.
But because… it was too quiet.
From the moment the lower-ranked demon he'd sent to "clean up" stepped outside until now, even the sound of wind and snow seemed to have vanished with it.
He hadn't heard so much as a single noise of struggle.
"…"
What… was going on?
Muzan's gaze flickered. Then, slowly, he turned—those crimson vertical pupils locking onto the tightly shut wooden door.
Why… was it so hot outside?
At some point, the temperature inside the room had shifted.
It was clearly a blizzard beyond the walls, yet Muzan could distinctly feel an unbearable dryness—an oppressive heat that defied explanation.
It wasn't the warmth of the charcoal brazier.
It was something purer—something that made him feel… revulsion.
No—fear.
It was… the scent of the sun.
A bead of sweat seeped down his forehead.
Thump… thump-thump…
In the next instant, Muzan heard his own heartbeat.
Then a second. A third—
The multiple hearts within his chest seemed to have been struck by a violent shock, slamming madly against his ribcage.
He lowered his head instinctively.
That pale hand—symbol of absolute power and dominion—was trembling.
His fingertips spasmed beyond his control. Every cell in his body was screaming, transmitting the same message to his brain with frantic desperation—
Run!
Run—now!!
That monster is back!
"What… kind of joke is this?!"
Muzan's face darkened in an instant. He clenched his fist, forcing the trembling to stop.
He was… afraid?
He—the perfect being, the near-eternal existence—was actually frightened by whatever "change" lurked beyond that door?
What humiliation.
The only man who had ever made him feel fear… died four hundred years ago!
He had confirmed it with his own eyes.
That decrepit old thing—so aged he could barely even hold a blade—failed to take his head even at the final moment, and died standing in the wilderness.
There could not be a second Tsugikuni Yoriichi in this world.
Muzan drew a slow breath, crushing the unease in his chest by force.
He replaced it with a composed, cold mask once more. The corner of his mouth lifted into a cruel curve—using arrogance to cover the terror clawing from the depths of his heart.
Without looking at the door again, he turned toward another attendant demon trembling in the corner.
"Go."
Muzan adjusted his collar with careless elegance, his voice flat. "Drag that insolent brat outside in here. Since he has some skill, I'll grant him the qualification of becoming a demon."
"Y-Yes… my lord!"
The attendant demon also sensed something wrong outside, but under Kibutsuji Muzan's absolute pressure, it didn't dare resist. It let out a roar to steel itself, then charged straight for the door.
Muzan withdrew his gaze calmly and looked back at the despairing Kie.
"Good. The nuisance has been handled."
He extended his hand toward her again, expression indifferent.
"Now, let's continue the experiment we were just conducting—"
BOOM!!!
Before he could finish—
A wave of heat so monstrous it defied imagination, accompanied by blinding gold-and-crimson light, swallowed his entire field of vision.
That wasn't the sound of a door opening.
It was the sound of an entire wall—along with the attendant demon that had just rushed out—being completely "cut open" in a single instant!
Freezing wind and heavy snow blasted into the room. Wood splinters exploded through the air. Sparks scattered everywhere.
And within the storm of sparks and snow—
A boy stepped inside, slowly.
There was no sword in his hands.
Only a woodcutter's axe—the ordinary kind used for splitting firewood—one he'd apparently grabbed from the woodpile without a second thought.
And yet, the moment Muzan saw the boy, his pupils contracted violently, as if seared by intense light. His fingertips twitched—just barely.
He stared, unmoving.
For reasons he couldn't explain, the boy's silhouette overlapped perfectly with the red-clad swordsman who had once sent his soul fleeing in terror four hundred years ago.
Especially those eyes.
Those impossibly clear, dark-red eyes—like mirrors reflecting all things under heaven.
And the hanafuda earrings swaying beside his ear with the heat—
Time seemed to freeze.
"Kibutsuji Muzan—"
The boy lifted his head, gaze cutting through the drifting sparks to fix on the man inside the house.
That utterly calm voice made Muzan's skin crawl.
"Take your filthy hands off my mother."
-------
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