Kasumi skids back across the dirt, boots carving twin lines into the ground.
He raises his sword. Jōdan no Kamae stance.
The blade lifts high above his head, posture calm—
Midnight Winter vanishes.
In an instant—
A brutal uppercut crashes into Kasumi's chin before his muscles can even react. The impact detonates upward—his body is launched into the air, blood spraying from his nose as the world flips.
Huh—?
Did I… underestimate him…?
In the mid-air—
Midwinter flips, twisting his body like a guillotine and whips a kick straight toward Kasumi's face.
Kasumi snaps his arm up—
CLANG.
—but the foot changes mid-swing. Metal screams as the flesh reshapes into a curved sickle, piercing straight through Kasumi's palm.
—GHK!
Pain explodes. Blood pours down his wrist.
Yet—
The kick stops. Midwinter's brows crease in disbelief.
Kasumi grits his teeth, veins bulging, muscles screaming as he holds the strike in place despite the blade skewering his hand. In the same breath—
SHING.
Kasumi's katana flashes.
Midwinter's leg is sliced clean through. Before he can react, Kasumi rips the sickle out of his palm—blood splashing across the ground—and drives it upward—
—straight into Midwinter's trachea.
A wet, choking spray of blood erupts across Kasumi's face.
Midwinter's eyes widened. The severed leg regenerates instantly, flesh knitting with a metallic hiss. He snarls, grabs Kasumi by the collar, and slams him into the earth like a judo throw.
BOOM.
The ground caves in. The mountain answers with a thunderous echo.
Kasumi barely inhales before—
A shadow looms overhead.
Midwinter raises his leg high and stomps down with killing intent. At the last second—
Kasumi shifts.
He plants one hand into the crater, twists his body upside down, spins—
WHAM.
A side kick crashes toward Midwinter's face. Midwinter blocks it effortlessly, boots grinding into the dirt.
"You've got good reflexes. But you're not the one who killed Upper Moon Five, are you?"
Kasumi doesn't answer. He rises smoothly, wiping blood from his mouth, and draws his katana fully.
Slash.
A vertical cut cleaves through the air.
Midwinter freezes—just for a fraction of a second—caught off guard by the sheer sharpness of the strike.
Kasumi straightens, blade steady. "I told you my name," he says casually. "But you still haven't told me yours."
Midwinter exhales slowly. "My name is Midnight Winter… call me Midwinter in short."
Kasumi tilts his head, unimpressed. "Midnight Winter?"
He smirks. "That sounds more like the weather forecast than a real name."
Midwinter watches him in silence.
This kid hasn't wavered at all, not even a bit… In my entire life, I've always seen my opponents getting tensed against me… even a hashira. But this kid is calm, too calm…
Kasumi slides his katana back into its sheath.
He exhales, almost disappointed. "You're not going to attack me, are you?" he says lazily.
"Seems like our battle is o—"
Midwinter lunges. No warning.
His fist tears through the air, stopping mere inches from Kasumi's skull—
—but in that same instant—
SHING.
Kasumi draws. He steps into the attack, blade flashing once. Clean. Precise.
Midwinter's arm separates from his body.
Blood erupts in a violent arc as the severed limb spins away and crashes into the dirt.
Kasumi leans close, voice low. "You really underestimated me…"
Midwinter's arm regenerates instantly. Snarling, he whips a crushing kick toward Kasumi's ribs—
Kasumi glides aside like smoke. The kick slices through empty air.
"Still relying on traditional martial arts?" Kasumi says, shaking his head. "That's a bad habit. You can't defeat a monster by respecting form."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a coin.
"I'm bored," Kasumi adds. "If it's heads, I'll walk away. If it's tails—"
He flicks the coin upward.
"—I'll keep fighting."
The coin spins, glittering under the moonlight.
Midwinter's brow twitches. He punches upward—
CRACK.
The coin shatters mid-air. But—
Kasumi is gone.
What—?! He was right there—
Mist blooms.
Cold, pale, moonlit mist floods the space behind him.
"MIST BREATHING—
SIXTH FORM: LUNAR DISPERSING MIST."
Kasumi materializes behind him.
SWOOSH.
Steel screams.
Midwinter's face is carved open—half his visage peeled away in a single slash. Blood sprays as he jerks his head aside, barely saving his neck by a fraction of a second.
He leaps back, clutching his face, eyes wide.
"That fighting style…" he mutters. "So deceptive… so mocking… I've only seen one person wield it like that."
Kasumi's grin sharpens. "You're right."
He tilts his head. "She taught me."
Midwinter stiffens. "Taught you? Kid, do you even know about—"
"Eliza. Right?" The word cuts him off.
Midwinter freezes. How does he—
For a moment, he sees it.
A presence.
A faint silhouette behind Kasumi—smiling, amused, watching the fight like a game.
Kasumi continues calmly. "Some call her a fallen angel. Some a goddess. Some a demon."
He taps his temple. "But to me… she's Eliza the Trickster."
He steps forward.
"She doesn't overpower her enemies. She lies to them. Teases them. Makes them believe they're winning—"
His eyes sharpen.
"—and kills them before they realize they lost."
Midwinter's arm morphs instantly into a machine gun.
The night erupts. Bullets scream forward—
—but Kasumi is already moving. He weaves through the barrage, body blurring, steps light, flowing like drifting fog.
"MIST BREATHING—
SECOND FORM: EIGHT-LAYERED MIST."
Swing.
Slash.
Spin.
SWOOSH.
Eight cuts land in the blink of an eye.
From eight impossible angles.
Midwinter's torso splits apart, blood bursting outward as his body locks up in shock. His eyes widen, uncomprehending. His knees give out.
He collapses into the dirt.
Kasumi stands over him, blade dripping red. "I thought you'd be more fun," he says coldly.
"You're an Upper Moon, right?"
He scoffs. "Upper Moon Five forced me to awaken my Demon Slayer Mark just to survive."
Kasumi turns away, disappointed.
"But you?"
He glances back once.
"You're not like them.
You're weak."
Suddenly… The battlefield blurs.
Midwinter's vision fractures as something ancient claws its way into his mind.
A memory strikes him—
———————————————————————
A year ago.
A vast chamber stretches endlessly, its ceiling lost to shadow.
Pale silver light spills from unseen sources, washing over walls adorned with gold, relics, and symbols that predate nations. The air feels expensive, heavy with wealth—yet beneath it lies something older than greed.
Something eternal.
At the center stands a throne carved from black obsidian.
Upon it sits Jigen.
He does not slouch. He does not move. He rules the darkness simply by existing within it.
Dark robes cling to his frame like the night itself had chosen him as its spine. His long hair falls freely, untouched by age or imperfection. Not beautiful in a human way—flawless, like an idea that cannot be argued against.
Before him, Midwinter kneels.
Jigen's crimson eyes lower.
The chamber reacts. Candles tremble. Shadows stretch.
His voice is calm— and the world listens.
"Midnight Winter…or shall I address you by the name you buried… Kenshin?"
Midwinter does not look up. "Call me whatever pleases you, Lord Jigen."
Silence follows. Then—
Jigen leans back ever so slightly, as if recalling an ancient memory.
"Kenshin… do you understand why I chose you? Why among countless sinners, warriors, and monsters… I extended my hand only to you?"
Midwinter's ears sharpen instinctively. Every sense screams alert—but his body remains unmoving.
"Because you achieved what even the Upper Moons failed to grasp. They feared death. They feared pain. But you… you feared only one thing.
Breaking your vow."
The candles flicker violently.
"Rules. Discipline. Order carved into your soul. You would rather be erased from existence than betray your own law."
A pause. Heavy. Reverent.
"Thirty years ago, when I first observed you… I did not see a man.
I saw inevitability."
Jigen's fingers rest against the arm of the throne.
"You were never destined to stand among humans. You were forged to endure, to obey, to persist beyond morality itself."
He looks down at Midwinter—not with warmth, not with cruelty—
—but with ownership.
Then—
A whisper brushes past his ear.
"Are you going to exclude me again, Jigen-sama~?"
Eliza.
She is suddenly there. Too close.
Her face is a breath away from his—eyes bright, amused, dangerously alive.
Midwinter's eyes widen. W-When did she appear? And why is she too close to Lord Jigen? It's too inappropriate...
Jigen does not flinch.
"Lady Eliza," he says evenly, "if you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, sit down."
"Oh? Gladly~"
She moves before the words finish.
Eliza sits—graceful, effortless—on Jigen's lap.
The room reacts instantly. The flickering stops. The shadows retreat.
Moonlight pours through the windows, illuminating her otherworldly beauty—radiant, playful, untouchable.
A queen seated upon her king.
Midwinter's breath catches. Even this time, Jigen's eyes widened. "...How can she do such a blunder? Midnight Winter is an upper moon, and she's doing it in front of him…"
Midwinter's fist tightens, but he stills himself. She dared to cross her limits… that's unforgivable. But I can't do anything, she outranks me.
Jigen's voice rises—not loud, but firm.
"Lady Eliza. Do not forget your boundaries. If you wish to stay… sit as Midwinter does."
His gaze sharpens. "I will not tolerate this again."
Eliza's hand slackens. For a fraction of a second— her playfulness falters.
She looks at Midwinter and smiles lightly.
"Oh my… Midnight Winter is here?"
She tilts her head. "I didn't notice. My apologies."
Midwinter lowers his head instinctively. "I thought he was like Lord Muzan," he thinks. "But… he forgave her."
Eliza rises and kneels.
Midwinter subtly shifts away. "It would be rude to remain close to her… as she is my superior."
She notices. Amused.
Jigen exhales—internally. "She knew that Midnight Winter was here, yet she decided to make the biggest mistake that even I might not be able to cover. I don't know what she was thinking… Also, she's hurt by my words… It'll be harder to console her this time…"
Jigen speaks without raising his voice.
"Midnight Winter. Among all demons who walk this age… after Lord Kokushibo alone…
You are the only one who placed law above self."
He rises from the throne.
There is no sound of footsteps—only the pressure of his presence shifting.
His crimson gaze falls upon Midwinter, steady and immeasurable. "You did not devote yourself to power. You did not beg for survival. You chose discipline… even when it offered you nothing in return."
A pause.
"That is why you stand before me. I accept your devotion."
His words are soft. They echo anyway.
"From this moment onward… As Kokushibo stands beside Lord Muzan…"
Jigen's eyes narrow slightly, not in menace— but in certainty.
"You shall stand beside me… You are my Kokushibo."
Midwinter's heart stutters.
For the first time in his existence, he is seen.
———————————————————————
Now.
The memory shatters.
Midwinter gasps, forcing himself upright as his wounds finish regenerating. His body trembles—not with fear. With resolve.
"Since that day, I had decided to only obey him… and die for him."
Kasumi turns, blade still lowered. "You're still standing? Even knowing you'll lose? That's enough… you're—"
He stops.
His eyes narrow.
Something is wrong.
No— Something has changed.
"…Wait."
Kasumi feels it now.
The air. The intent. Midwinter's presence is heavier. Colder. Sharper. Not desperate. Not reckless. Resolved.
Midwinter says in a cold voice, "Till now… I was just analyzing your powers and fighting style… You're a remarkable swordsman, even at such an age."
Midwinter finally lifts his gaze. Those white eyes lock onto Kasumi's.
And suddenly— They don't look like an Upper Moon's anymore.
They look like judgment.
"But if your strength comes from borrowing another's style," Midwinter continues, "if you rely on tricks, teasing, illusions… I'll show you what happens when illusion meets law."
The air snaps.
Midwinter vanishes.
No— He arrives.
Kasumi's pupils shrink.
A kick—too fast—
A shadow eclipses his vision.
">——— BLOOD DEMON TECHNIQUE:
HELL-CRUSHING KICK ———<"
Kasumi's instincts scream.
"I can counter—"
No. Don't.
He twists his body sideways at the last possible instant.
Midwinter's kick misses Kasumi by inches—
—and collides with the forest behind him.
BOOOOOM!!!
The world explodes. Trees disintegrate like matchsticks. The ground caves inward. The shockwave tears the mist apart, the sky roaring as if struck by thunder.
Kasumi stumbles, eyes wide.
…That wasn't meant for me.
Miyuki finally speaks, her tone sharp. "Be careful now, Matsunaga-kun."
Kasumi doesn't look away.
"When he stops testing," she says, "he becomes something else entirely."
Kasumi mutters, breath tight, "Couldn't you have mentioned that earlier?"
Too late. Midwinter is already there.
Kasumi swings his katana horizontally—feinting, drawing mist.
Midwinter ducks.
His arm twists, reshapes—
Metal screaming as it becomes a spinning hydraulic.
Kasumi adjusts instantly. "I know he's going for an uppercut."
He changes the blade's trajectory—
But Midwinter rises instead, rotating his hips with terrifying precision.
">——— BLOOD DEMON TECHNIQUE:
SOARING HOOK ———<"
The punch crashes into Kasumi's guard.
BOOM—!
The impact detonates.
Flames burst outward from the collision point, the air itself igniting as Kasumi is launched like a missile.
The sound barrier shatters.
Kasumi flies straight through the night—
—and slams into a distant hill.
Stone fractures. Blood runs down his forehead. Kasumi pushes himself up—
And freezes.
Midwinter is walking toward him. Slow. Measured. Unstoppable.
Each step feels heavier than the last. And then—
Kasumi's vision blurs.
For a split second—
It isn't Midwinter anymore.
It's Jigen.
The same suffocating presence. The same silent certainty.
Kasumi's breath hitches. "WHAT—?!"
His fist trembles.
He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing himself back into reality.
"Are you…" he whispers, voice shaking with restrained fury, "…imitating him?"
Midwinter doesn't answer.
Kasumi rises slowly, gripping his katana so tightly his knuckles whiten.
"Do you really want that…?" Kasumi says, his tone dropping into something raw, dangerous, "…Fine, then I'll imagine you as him from now on!"
The air shifts.
Kasumi's rage spills outward, heavy and violent, warping the mist around him. His expression is unrecognizable—no teasing, no tricks.
Only wrath.
He steps forward. Now they stand inches apart.
Two presences colliding.
Cold eyes locked into cold eyes.