Even though Akaza's strength was a notch below both Kokushibō's and Kyūjō's, there was no denying that—as Upper Moon Three—he was still a deadly threat.

And Kyūjō knew it.

Trying to go for Akaza's neck meant leaving an opening—a moment of vulnerability Kokushibō wouldn't hesitate to exploit.

If he could take just one of them down with him...

It had to be Kokushibō.

So the strange, fragile balance among the three continued—

a deadly dance stretched taut on a wire of breath and instinct.

Until finally, in a flicker of movement too fast for the eye to track—

Kyūjō slashed Akaza, sending the demon flying.

But at that very moment, Kokushibō spun around and drove his sword straight through Kyūjō's right lung.

A faint smile crept across Kokushibō's lips.

Finally... finally, the moment had come.

A punctured lung.

Breath control shattered.

No more Breathing Techniques.

To Kokushibō, the victory was sealed.

But just as that smile began to widen—

Kyūjō's hand snapped up and grabbed Kokushibō's wrist—

the wrist that still held the blade impaled in his chest.

He could still feel it—the remnants of Thunder Breathing coursing faintly through his veins.

One more strike.

Just one.

Holding his breath, Kyūjō poured every last thread of his willpower into his body.

As the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon—lightning surged through him like a storm reborn.

His burning-red Nichirin Blade crackled.

"Thunder Breathing, Sixth Form – Rumble and Flash: Modified Version – Lightning Rampage!"

At point-blank range—

Kyūjō unleashed a barrage of slashes, all aimed at Kokushibō's neck.

Each strike hit like a thunderclap—

relentless, precise, unstoppable.

Kokushibō couldn't move.

His right hand was locked in Kyūjō's grasp.

All he could do...

…was watch.

As his neck was carved again…

and again…

until it shattered into pieces.

Kyūjō's body, now completely spent, finally gave out.

His blade slipped from his fingers.

His eyes dulled.

And he collapsed backward, unconscious.

Silence fell.

Kokushibō's head rolled across the blood-stained earth, landing face-up.

He stared blankly at the sky.

"Did I… lose?"

The thought was unreal.

He, the pinnacle of demonkind—defeated?

But even as that realization settled, a different voice screamed inside him.

No. No. I can't lose.

Even without a head… I will not die!

Kokushibō, bound by obsession—his refusal to accept defeat, his thirst for immortality—didn't vanish the way most demons would.

From the torn stump of his neck, tendrils of flesh began to grow again—slowly trying to reconstruct his head.

But it was too slow.

And the sun was rising.

From the corner of his eye, Kokushibō saw Akaza retreating—backing away from the incoming light.

He summoned the last scrap of his strength and shouted:

"Akaza!! I'm not dead yet! Take my head—RUN!!"

How long had it been?

Kyūjō felt like he'd been dreaming forever.

A long, warm dream.

In it, he was back on Earth.

The cancer that once threatened his life was gone.

His body was healthy.

He lived peacefully with his parents.

He married.

Had children.

Lived a quiet, ordinary life.

He died surrounded by warmth, old and content.

— — —

Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters.

Inside a quiet office, Ubuyashiki Kagaya sat at his desk, brow furrowed, surrounded by stacks of documents.

His body looked frail.

His breathing was shallow.

But his mind remained sharp—still carrying the weight of the Corps on his shoulders.

After finishing the last of his duties for the morning, he stood up.

A Kakushi followed him closely.

"Any word?" Kagaya asked softly. "Has the Thunder Hashira awakened yet?"

The Kakushi shook his head.

"…Not yet, Oyakata-sama. But Lady Tamayo believes he may regain consciousness within two days."

Kagaya nodded gently and picked up his pace.

Their destination—the home of Tamayo, the demon doctor.

Tamayo's residence was located some distance from the main corps grounds.

Allowing a demon into the headquarters hadn't been easy.

Even Kagaya had faced fierce opposition from the Hashira and members of the Corps.

But they'd had no choice.

Kyūjō's injuries were far too severe.

Only Tamayo had the knowledge to save him.

— — —

Two high-ranking slayers stood guard at the front gate of Tamayo's residence.

Kagaya gave them a calm nod.

"Thank you for your service."

They bowed immediately.

"There's no need for thanks, Oyakata-sama. You've come to see the Thunder Hashira, yes? Please, go right in."

Accompanied by the two swordsmen, Kagaya walked into the house.

Inside, lying motionless on a futon, was the boy who had nearly changed fate itself.

Tachibana Kyūjō.

His entire body was wrapped in hundreds of bandages.

His once-black hair… had turned completely white.

And yet—he was only sixteen years old.

Kagaya's eyes welled slightly, though his expression remained calm.

Soon after, more people arrived.

"Oyakata-sama!"

It was Rengoku Shinjurō—father of Kyojuro—accompanied by his family.

The moment they'd heard of Kyūjō's condition, they rushed to Tamayo's house, intending to assist.

Thankfully, Ruka had managed to stop her husband from leaving for the battlefield on his own.

Kagaya smiled gently at them.

"Shinjurō. Don't blame yourself."

"You trusted in Kyūjō's judgment. And because of that, he came back alive."

"Facing both Upper Moon One and Three simultaneously… According to the Kasugai crow's report, that battle went far beyond reason."

The room fell silent.

The price of that victory… had been immense.

Even though Kyūjō managed to sever Kokushibō's head, the demon hadn't died.

Akaza had escaped with Kokushibō's remains.

The weight of that failure still clung to Shinjurō like a curse.

Why wasn't I there sooner?

Why wasn't I strong enough?

If I were more powerful… would Kyūjō have allowed me to fight by his side?

Because of his own weakness… he was still alive.

But Kyūjō—

—a true genius—might soon leave this world.

His lung was irreparably damaged.

He would never use Breathing Techniques again.

Worse, he had awakened the Mark and used the Burning Soul technique—both of which consumed his remaining lifespan.

Tamayo estimated...

Kyūjō wouldn't live beyond the age of twenty.

He was sixteen now.

That left him just three years—at best.

The Corps fell into a deep silence.

Mourning. Frustration. Rage.

Their hatred toward demons now burned hotter than ever.

— — —

And then—

A cough.

A small, hoarse sound broke the silence.

"Hhh… kh… kh…"

Everyone turned sharply.

Rengoku Kyojuro's eyes lit up.

He stepped closer.

"Uncle Kyūjō's awake!"

"Kyūjō! How do you feel?!"

"The Thunder Hashira is conscious!"

Relief filled the room.

Kagaya immediately instructed a Kakushi to summon Tamayo from the adjacent room.

Meanwhile, Kyūjō slowly opened his eyes.

Blurry at first… but gradually sharpening.

He looked around—

at the faces gathered around him.

And then—

Like a wave crashing without warning—

The memories came rushing back.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

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