Kibutsuji Muzan felt something unexpected stirring in his chest. He stared at the girl — and without any clearly identifiable reason, felt a tightness he hadn't known in centuries.
Because no one had ever said anything like this to him before.
Not even Tsugikuni Yoriichi — who had driven him to the absolute edge of destruction — had ever spoken with such casual arrogance, as though fighting Muzan were merely an exciting game she could walk away from at will.
"All at once, or one at a time?"
Inori stood from the bench, swept her gaze across the three demons in quick succession, then ran her fingers through her pink hair — slightly tangled from being bundled under the scarf too long.
The line was a little questionable, though these demons had no mental space to notice.
"Lord Muzan, please allow me to handle this unruly young lady." Doma tucked both hands into the long sleeves of his robe, smile never leaving his lips, impeccably polite in every manner. There was nothing remotely warrior-like about him — the contrast with Upper Rank Three's Akaza was striking.
"Since Akaza-dono refuses to strike women, the task naturally falls to me."
He'd revealed his ally's limitation in a single offhand sentence. Akaza shot him a cold look and said nothing.
—Those two really don't get along.
"No. I'll be her opponent."
Kibutsuji Muzan spoke.
Both Upper Rank demons turned to stare. They wouldn't question their lord's decision — but this was unprecedented. Lord Muzan loathed combat. He almost never fought directly. In all the time they'd served as his two most trusted subordinates, neither had ever seen Kibutsuji Muzan fight seriously. His usual approach was a different face, a different identity — spreading his blood, making more demons, or ending threats with a single absent-minded swat. He did not battle people.
—If he plans to handle it himself... why bring us at all?
"Lord Muzan, are you serious? Someone like this doesn't warrant your attention."
Akaza frowned and voiced his concern.
"Hmph."
A cold exhale.
"I want Inori-san to experience my abilities for herself. Only then will she submit willingly. Neither of you interfere."
"Yes, my lord."
Akaza and Doma bowed their heads in unison. If Lord Muzan wanted to stretch, they would watch. If anything went wrong, they'd intervene — though that possibility seemed vanishingly remote.
"This room isn't suited for it. Let's find somewhere without an audience."
Inori was privately delighted to hear that Muzan intended to fight her personally. She'd been worried that facing all three at once might have been overreach — these were the most dangerous beings in the entirety of Demon Slayer, and she knew nothing specific about Doma and Akaza's abilities. Going in blind was a reliable way to get killed.
...
...
Tonight's moon was dimmer than it had been last night above the Butterfly Mansion.
A pink-haired girl in a black haori and a red spider lily hair ornament walked out of town and into the remote mountain wilderness. Behind her, at a comfortable distance, followed three unusually striking men.
Almost nothing stirred this deep in the dark at this hour — the shadows held ravenous demons and wild beasts, hungry and waiting. But they all sensed the presence radiating from that figure, and one by one, they turned away.
Eventually, the group found what they needed: a wide-open clearing, well-suited for a battlefield. Doma and Akaza positioned themselves shoulder to shoulder on a boulder far behind the others. Neither spoke. They waited in silence, watching the distance.
Visibility was poor. Muzan still wore what he'd worn before — suit, tie, leather shoes, the image of an ordinary salaryman. He stood in the pale moonlight without moving, and those crimson eyes — dense with bloodshot threads — were as still as deep water.
He was calm. He had no intention of going all out immediately. Neither did Inori.
"One question, before we begin. If you win — would you kill me?"
The girl hadn't tied her hair. That pale pink mass, soft as a field of cherry blossoms, shifted freely in the wind, loose strands drifting across her face. Whatever she was thinking was completely unreadable.
"No. I'd take you back. And you'd come to submit willingly."
He looked very sure of himself.
This was nothing like the Muzan she'd learned about. Was he agreeing to fight her for other reasons?
But once he was dead, even the most elaborate schemes collapsed.
"If I win, though — I will kill you."
Inori considered this carefully, then said it with measured gravity. The lightness was entirely gone from her face, replaced by quiet, genuine resolve. Killing Muzan wouldn't fix everything wrong with her current situation. Still, it was a place to start.
"Hmph. And then?"
"Once I'm dead, the Demon Slayer Corps inherits the world."
"That's easy enough. I'll bring them your head as an introduction. They'll leave me alone after that."
Her answer was flat and practical.
"Ha."
Kibutsuji Muzan actually laughed — a genuine burst of it, impossible to suppress, as if she'd just said something delightfully ridiculous. The sound had a sharp, mocking edge aimed squarely at her naivety.
"Do you know how long I've been alive?"
"A few centuries? A thousand years?"
Inori wasn't sure.
"I have witnessed humanity. I have watched this country change through every age... but in every era, human beings remain the same ugly species they have always been. Those not of our kind will inevitably have different hearts — don't tell me you don't understand that principle."
"Kill me, and perhaps they'll thank you. But demons won't vanish because I die. The Corps won't stop. As long as demons keep killing humans, the conflict continues — and in their eyes, you will always only ever be something other."
Kibutsuji Muzan's voice carried through the dark with absolute clarity, and word by word it pressed down on her — and Inori's thoughts drifted, briefly, to the Wind and Flame Hashira breaking through the door, and Kaigaku's endless stream of accusations.
None of it was enough to shake her.
"Everything you've said is entirely reasonable, and I agree with all of it." Inori exhaled softly and nodded. "None of it has anything to do with the fact that I want you dead."
"Then come and try."
Kibutsuji Muzan's smile was thin with contempt. He drew his hands from his pockets, let them hang easily at his sides, and waited for her to move.
She couldn't work out his angle. A man who had spent a thousand years clinging to survival like a parasite — hiding, outlasting everything that came for him — why was he standing here accepting a direct challenge? He'd brought two Upper Ranks to this ambush, which meant he wasn't treating her lightly. So what was he actually thinking?
The unease was faint. It wouldn't interfere.
Inori raised her hand and swept her sleeve outward. Several shapes — crimson, gleaming, sharply bright — shot from four directions and closed in on Kibutsuji Muzan.
Boss: Kibutsuji Muzan, Phase One. Officially begun.