The blade was released.
Kokushibo narrowed his eyes, bloodlust simmering just beneath the surface as he spoke coldly, "Who are you?"
The masked man tilted his head slightly. His voice remained quiet but resolute.
"You'll understand later."
Kokushibo stood still. For the first time in centuries, he felt… off-balanced. The stranger's presence wasn't born from raw power alone — but something deeper. A weight. A purpose.
They sat across from each other on a mossy boulder beneath the canopy, moonlight filtering between the leaves. For a whole hour, the two warriors spoke. Not of blood, nor flesh — but philosophies.
The masked man's words were sharp and logical, each laced with undertones of Machiavellianism.
"Empathy leads to weakness if not tethered by control," he stated.
"Fear is more reliable than love."
"Peace is temporary, power determines the cycle."
Kokushibo listened — intrigued. The stranger's ideals were colder than Muzan's, yet far more structured. Not selfish chaos, but calculated strategy.
When Kokushibo asked if he followed Kagaya or the Demon Slayers, the man stood and walked into the shadows again.
"I follow reason… and reason alone."
And then he was gone — like mist slipping through fingers.
—
Kokushibo stood silently… but didn't move for a while.
Just as he turned to depart, the sound of rushing air came. He spun — and was met with a flurry of leaf-like blades of wind, striking from above.
A young woman landed before him — poised, sharp-eyed. Barely 19.
Hiyori Ubaka.
Dark green hair tied behind her back. Amber eyes, bright with fire.
Her haori was lighter — a unique blue tone, laced with green vine patterns.
"I've been tracking you," she said calmly. "I'm from the Tokyo Corps."
Kokushibo recognized the mark on her uniform — it wasn't of Kagaya's authority. This one belonged to Sahiru's line.
"Leaf Breathing," she whispered, taking stance. "A deviation of Wind. Let's see if it can reach the First Moon."
Kokushibo answered with steel.
The battle was brutal.
Hiyori's style was flowing, deceptive — her movements like rustling trees in a storm, her strikes cutting the air with fierce elegance.
But Kokushibo was unrelenting.
He slashed across her chest, another to her waist — blood sprayed across the forest floor. She collapsed on one knee, breathing ragged, her blade cracked.
He stepped forward—
And then… the sun rose.
Light crept into the trees. Kokushibo hissed, his body smoking faintly.
"Tch."
And like shadow fleeing dawn, he vanished into the forest.
Hiyori slammed her fist into the dirt, teeth gritted, blood dripping from her wounds.
"Damn it… Sahiru… how do I reach you?"
Her voice trembled — not with fear, but frustration. Desperation.
"I'm not even close…"
Her amber eyes burned into the rising sun, as she swore she'd get stronger.
No matter how long it took.