Dusk had long since faded.

At the outskirts of Asakusa, the night breeze carried with it the scent of soil and distant dust, cool against the silence of the grass.

Tachibana Kyūjō stood tall, his back turned, his body still. Beneath the soft glow of the moon, amidst swaying blades of grass, he waited. Quiet. Focused.

His opponents would arrive soon.

And sure enough, they did.

Two terrifying figures stepped into the moonlight—Kokushibō, Upper Rank One of the Twelve Kizuki, with six burning crimson eyes, and Akaza, Upper Rank Three, the martial arts demon.

Kokushibō stood with arms folded across his chest, his long, dark red hair tied high in the fashion of an ancient samurai. Faint traces of red markings, like fading flames, remained etched on his forehead and neck—remnants from a time when he was still human.

He regarded Kyūjō with unreadable eyes and finally spoke in a low, thunderous voice.

"Human swordsman. I am Kokushibō, one of the Twelve Kizuki."

"You ran faster than expected. I thought you would keep running."

Kyūjō turned to face them fully, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk.

"Run?"

"As a swordsman… turning your back to the enemy is more disgraceful than death."

"If I must die, then let me die with my sword in hand. What's there to fear?"

He tilted his chin slightly upward, locking eyes with the six-eyed demon.

"Kokushibō, enough chatter. Draw your sword."

One of Kokushibō's brows arched slightly. A faint, amused smile tugged at his pale lips.

It seemed he was starting to like this boy's spirit.

"You want me to draw?"

"Then prove you're worth the effort."

"Your opponent tonight... is him."

He motioned to his side.

Kyūjō's gaze followed—and landed on the demon who had remained silent since their arrival.

Akaza.

Short, spiked pink hair. Cold golden eyes. Skin marked by deep blue tattoos that spiraled all the way down to his fingertips. His outfit was odd—short-sleeved and purplish-red, with Buddhist prayer beads hanging around his ankles.

Kyūjō tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing.

Seriously… what is that outfit supposed to be?

Akaza lifted his right arm, rolling his shoulder slowly.

The air around him shifted.

Suddenly, a twelve-sided snowflake-like symbol bloomed beneath his feet—a dodecagonal formation etched into the ground. It radiated energy like a magic circle, pulsing with power.

With burning eyes, Akaza looked straight at Kyūjō and spoke, voice filled with fire:

"Human swordsman. I am Akaza."

"I've been searching for you."

"Among all the weaklings crawling through this world, it's rare to find one with strength that stands out like yours."

Kyūjō shrugged, lips curved into a half-smile.

"Oh? Is that so?"

"Yes… I can already see—"

But then, Akaza's voice cut off.

His face twisted in shock.

"…No. That's impossible."

His eyes widened. His body stiffened. He instinctively stepped back half a pace.

He couldn't sense anything.

No aura. No spirit. No bloodlust. No heat of combat.

Nothing at all.

It was as if the young man before him was… a void.

— — —

World Note: Blood Demon Art – Destructive Death: Compass Needle

Akaza's Blood Demon Art was born from his mastery of martial arts, forged long before he became a demon.

Back when he was human, he had once slaughtered 67 men from a rival dojo with his bare hands in an act of vengeance. That ferocity drew the interest of Muzan, who turned him into a demon.

Even without his memories, Akaza's body remembered every technique—every motion—every strike.

With centuries of combat against Hashira after Hashira, Akaza refined his skills into something beyond human, eventually manifesting a martial art rooted in fighting spirit, or Ki.

The technique Compass Needle detects the combat aura of his opponent and creates a dodecagon-shaped formation beneath his feet. The stronger the opponent's spirit, the more precise and deadly his strikes become.

However—

If the opponent has reached the Transparent World, where their spirit and presence are hidden or nonexistent, Compass Needle becomes entirely useless.

— — —

And Kyūjō—

He was already standing within that world.

His body emitted no Ki. No trace of fighting spirit. It was calm. Silent.

Dangerously still.

He had reached the highest realm a swordsman could attain—

The Transparent World.

Akaza trembled.

Not out of fear.

Out of pure, uncontainable excitement.

This... this is what I've been looking for!

— — —

As a demon who had lost his memories, the one obsession Akaza still clung to was the pursuit of strength.

To fight.

To rise higher.

To reach further than anyone else.

That's why he hated Dōma, another Upper Moon—an opportunist who fed on women and clawed his way to power through cruelty and deceit.

Akaza respected only pure strength.

He never killed women.

He never devoured the weak—unless driven by starvation.

Dōma, with his cruelty and mockery, was everything Akaza despised.

— — —

From afar, Kokushibō watched silently.

All six of his eyes narrowed.

"…What is that idiot doing? Why is he shaking like he's possessed?"

Kyūjō let out a silent sigh.

He could already tell what this martial arts maniac was thinking.

Slowly, he lifted his right hand—and rested it gently on the hilt of his blade.

In that instant—

Akaza's entire body jolted.

He felt it. Deep in his bones.

A pressure that tightened every nerve in his body.

This wasn't just killing intent.

This was a declaration.

If I don't move now… I'll die.

Akaza didn't hesitate.

His body exploded into motion, slicing through the night air like a bullet.

"Destructive Death: Annihilation Type!"

He blitzed toward Kyūjō, right arm drawn back in a powerful arc, shoulder turned, spine compressed like a coiled spring.

His foot slammed into the ground, toes digging into the earth like roots, every fiber of muscle flexing in unison.

His body became the bow.

His fist—the arrow.

Akaza let the strike fly.

A blow strong enough to shatter boulders and crumble mountains.

But Kyūjō didn't flinch.

He simply watched.

Expressionless.

His thoughts were cold. Precise.

Decent coordination. His muscles are syncing well.

But it's a shame.

No matter how powerful the strike—

If it doesn't land, it's meaningless.

To Kyūjō, Akaza's movements were far too loud. Too telegraphed.

Kyūjō could execute attacks like that too.

But he had already surpassed that realm.

He could store force without showing it.

Build slashes, punches, power—all internally. Invisible. Silent.

This… is the Transparent World.

— — —

One breath.

Air drawn in. Lungs expanding to the limit.

His blood vessels opened wide.

Oxygen merged with red blood cells, rushing through his veins.

A golden glow radiated from his chest—light pulsing from his lungs, traveling through arteries and nerves like lightning through copper wire.

His muscles trembled softly as they drank in the power, every inch of his body humming with quiet, controlled energy.

And then—

A flash of light erupted.

Thunder cracked. The heavens roared.

Kyūjō stood at the center of it all, wrapped in golden lightning like a divine mantle.

Eyes calm.

Voice level.

He whispered:

"Thunder Breathing, Third Form—Thunder Swarm. Modified Version."

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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