"You're watching, aren't you?"
That utterly calm voice seemed to travel—through the severed demon's head at Yoriichi's feet, through its blood—straight to the other side.
And then—
There was no response.
Because in the very next second—
Bang!
Yahaba's head, lying on the ground, burst apart without warning.
It wasn't because Yoriichi had drawn his blade again, nor was it some last desperate self-detonation from Yahaba.
It was because it couldn't withstand the tsunami-like terror that surged from the far end in that instant.
Watching the head rapidly crumble into ash—refusing even to exchange a single word with him—Yoriichi silently withdrew his gaze.
"So he ran…"
…
Deep within the Infinity Castle.
In that dead, silent space, Kibutsuji Muzan—who had been seated at his desk, observing the battle through his thrall's vision—suddenly went rigid.
No hesitation. Not even half a second of thought.
It was the most primal response a living creature could have when facing a natural predator—
He severed the mental link to Yahaba, unilaterally and instantly.
Then—
"Hah… hah…!!"
The Demon King—dressed in a suit, once so cold and elegant—fell from his chair.
He clawed at his collar with both hands, gulping air in huge, ragged breaths, like a drowning man who had finally broken the surface.
Even though the connection had been cut, that pair of dark red eyes—clear, transparent to the core—still rose unbidden in his mind.
In the next moment, violent phantom pain drenched his back in cold sweat.
That body—so close to "perfection"—was reliving the horror of four hundred years ago, when he'd been carved into eighteen hundred pieces.
Wounds long since healed were burning again, scorching every cell.
That damned man… that damned man!!!
For once, fury and alarm twisted Muzan's normally austere face.
Crash!
He lashed out, out of control—an expensive desk, and even the wall behind it, exploded into powder.
"…Muzan-sama?"
Kneeling nearby on standby, Nakime hesitated. She had never seen their ruler this shaken.
But as she tried to speak, a brutal pressure slammed down and pinned her in place.
Muzan crouched in the shadows, his usually proud, cruel visage beaded with fine, trembling sweat.
There was no doubt about it—
That presence, scorching like the sun… was absolutely the descendant of that man!
The appearance could change. The voice could change.
But the heat of that Crimson Blade—and that crystal-clear gaze—there was no mistaking it.
Kamado Tanjiro… He was very likely the bloodline of that man.
Kill him—now?
The thought had barely surfaced before another voice inside him crushed it.
No… do you want to experience that terror again?
Until he understood exactly what he was dealing with, he could not risk even the smallest sliver of danger.
"Nakime!"
In the end, fear overwhelmed reason.
Muzan snapped his head up, his voice trembling violently with panic—nearly a shriek:
"Move the Infinity Castle… sink it deeper into the space below! Now! Immediately!!"
The oppressive force in that instant was enough to make Nakime hesitate not at all.
Twang—!
The biwa rang out in a frantic, urgent cadence. The entire Infinity Castle began to warp and twist, plunging downward—burying the Demon King even deeper, hiding him farther beneath the world.
In a corner, Akaza watched in silence. Curiosity lingered in his gaze…
And beneath it, a killing intent carefully concealed.
"Kamado… Tanjiro."
…
Northwest town. Deep night. The freezing wind rolled through empty streets.
With the two demons reduced completely to ash, the nauseating stench of blood finally thinned and faded.
Yoriichi sheathed his sword.
As his battle state ended, the sunlike crimson glow on the blade gradually receded, returning to its original pitch-black sheen.
He turned quietly to the father and daughter at the stall behind him—both already limp with terror on the ground.
The sharp, cutting aura around him ebbed away, replaced by a gentleness that made it easier to breathe.
"It's over."
He drew a few coins from his pocket and placed them lightly beside the precarious tower of empty bowls.
"Sorry. I broke your lantern. This should be enough to compensate you."
"N-no…!" The stall owner shook violently, staring at Yoriichi with raw emotion. "You saved our lives…"
"Please forget everything you saw tonight."
Yoriichi cut him off softly, his tone sincere. "That, too, is for your safety."
With that, he did not linger. He turned and walked into the darkness beyond the alley mouth.
The winter wind brushed the hanafuda earrings at his ear, making them chime faintly.
Only after several minutes did his footsteps slow to a stop.
He tilted his head and calmly regarded a blind corner at the alley's far end.
There was nothing there—only a weathered wall, empty and still.
But Yoriichi's world was different.
Before that wall, two distinct pulses of life—belonging to demons—beat clearly in his sight.
It was a refined blood art of visual deception, able to hide bodies perfectly within the environment.
But before the Transparent World, all disguises were meaningless.
"The two of you over there."
Yoriichi's voice remained even. "You're demons as well… but I don't smell the blood-stench of humans on you."
He faced the "empty air," deliberately keeping his hand away from the sword hilt as a sign of non-hostility.
"If you mean no harm, come out. Let's talk."
Silence.
After a brief pause, the air rippled with sudden, flustered movement.
"Lady Tamayo! We have to go!"
A boy's voice burst out in fear. "This guy is too dangerous! That's a Crimson Blade—one from the legends! If we don't leave, we'll—"
"Enough, Yushiro."
A gentle female voice—soft, but trembling—cut him off.
Then the air wavered like water.
In that once-empty corner, two figures slowly appeared.
A pale-haired demon boy, tense and wary, standing protectively in front—
And behind him, a woman in a purple kimono, poised and dignified, yet unable to hide her agitation:
Tamayo.
At this moment, Tamayo paid no heed to Yushiro's attempts to block her.
Her violet eyes brimmed with tears as she stared at Yoriichi—no, at the earrings by his ear, and at the black blade at his waist that had just cut down Muzan's hunters.
Centuries.
In the long, hopeless years of fleeing, she had once believed she would never live to see Kibutsuji Muzan afraid.
Until tonight.
She had witnessed it with her own eyes—the arrogant Demon King, frightened from afar by this boy, severing the connection in panic.
That sun-scorching swordsmanship. That Crimson Blade that denied demons regeneration…
It all overlapped perfectly with the memory buried deep within her—of the man from four hundred years ago, the one who had nearly driven Muzan into a corner.
Tamayo pushed past Yushiro and walked, step by step, to Yoriichi.
Her lips trembled. Her voice carried reverence—and beneath it, an expectation she could barely contain.
"…Who are you?"
-------
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