In a voice that had turned utterly hollow and indifferent, Horitake voiced his final, cutting observation.
"Mom, Dad... since both of you were living such fulfilling lives after your remarriages, why did you choose to divorce your new partners and come back to each other?
"Don't give me that 'doing it for me' line. I don't believe that pathetic, half-baked excuse for a second! When you decided to reunite, didn't you stop to think about the consequences?
"To remarry, you had to divorce again. It means those two happy homes you built—those stable families—had to be shattered. They were collapsed by your own hands! It's so irresponsible. It's so incredibly selfish!"
Horitake's heartfelt, long-winded speech did not move his parents. It didn't force them into a moment of deep reflection. Instead, it ignited a spark of humiliation that quickly transformed into a violent, defensive rage.
Neither of them seemed to hear his words; they were consumed by a fury that seemed to come from nowhere.
His mother collapsed onto the floor, wailing to the ceiling. "It's over, it's all over! You're my own flesh and blood, but you don't understand me at all! You don't appreciate me! Everything I did was for you, and yet you treat me like this? What is the point of living?!"
His father's reaction was even more explosive. He let out a deafening roar: "You ungrateful brat!"
The moment the words left his mouth, he snatched up a heavy ceramic flowerpot from a nearby stand and hurled it directly at Horitake's head with murderous force.
The pot flew with terrifying speed. Horitake had no doubt that if it connected, he would be left permanently disabled, if not dead.
Watching the ceramic projectile closing in on his forehead, Horitake let out a long, weary sigh.
"They say even a tiger won't eat its cubs..." he murmured softly. "Enough. I've had quite enough of this."
The moment the words left his lips, a violent surge of purple lightning erupted from his body!
The electricity roared and galloped, expanding outward in a series of concussive blasts. In an instant, the purple lightning swept through the house with the force of a thousand thunderclaps, incinerating everything in its path.
His father's face twisted in shock; his mother's face paled with absolute terror.
Before either could react, they were swallowed whole by the galloping violet tide.
It wasn't just them. The flowerpots, the overturned table, the furniture, and even the very walls of the house were struck and disintegrated by the relentless assault of the lightning.
Under the baptism of the purple sparks, everything vanished.
The scenery around him began to crack with the sound of a shattering mirror, the fragments falling away into nothingness.
Horitake slowly opened his eyes.
He was standing in the middle of a vast, desolate wasteland. There was nothing but dry earth and jagged stones as far as the eye could see. There wasn't a hint of green, not a single blade of grass, not even a withered branch.
Above, the sky was a deep, oppressive black, dominated by a crimson blood moon that cast an eerie, scarlet glow over the plains.
It was clear now: everything he had just experienced—his home, his parents—had been a phantasm, a trick of the mind.
And even this wasteland he stood upon was likely just another layer of the illusion.
Standing in the silence, Horitake surveyed his surroundings. He lowered his head slightly, ruminating on the memories that had been dredged up. A self-mocking, cold smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"That was a decent illusion," he whispered. "It certainly brought back a lot of things I'd rather forget. Dragging those memories out and flaunting them in front of me... you really know how to hit where it hurts. My mood is officially terrible now."
As he spoke, a pile of rocks on the ground directly in front of him began to shift. They knit themselves together into a human shape, which rapidly transformed into a person.
It was a woman of considerable beauty, dressed in the uniform of a librarian. Her long hair draped over her shoulders, and she stood with an air of poised elegance. She looked at Horitake with a playful, beaming smile.
Horitake looked up and locked eyes with her.
She wasn't the female librarian he had encountered earlier. This was someone new, someone he had never seen before—and almost certainly the mastermind.
How could he be so sure?
Because of her eyes.
Etched into her irises were the characters: Lower Rank Four.
Horitake understood. He looked at the woman and nodded slowly.
"So, you're the new Lower Rank Four. No wonder you could throw all of Kyoto into a panic. No wonder you managed to devour over three hundred people in just a few months. You even managed to slip me into a dream without me noticing. You've certainly got some skill."
The woman chuckled as she introduced herself.
"Indeed. This little lady has been graced with Lord Muzan's favor. After the previous Lower Rank Four, Mukago, was killed, I was chosen to fill the vacancy and officially became one of the Twelve Kizuki."
She bowed slightly. "My name is Kyojutsu."
Horitake seemed to take a slight interest in her name. "Oh? Kyojutsu? Is that Kyo as in 'falsehood' and Jutsu as in 'narration'?"
"The Kyo of 'illusion,' and the Jutsu of 'description.' Kyojutsu," she clarified.
"I see," Horitake said with a nod. "Given your name and what I just experienced, it's clear your Blood Demon Art is centered around illusions and mental landscapes. But I'm curious—how exactly do you trigger it? And what's the deal with those hypnotized sleepwalkers? I'd be honored if you'd enlighten me."
Perhaps she was moved by Horitake's seemingly humble attitude, or perhaps she was simply so confident in her victory that she felt like chatting. Regardless, the demon named Kyojutsu began to speak with an air of smug satisfaction.
"My Blood Demon Art is very special... and very powerful. I can hypnotize people without them even realizing it. Once they are under my spell, I can control their surface consciousness, turning them into sleepwalkers who obey my every command.
"As for the more... stubborn ones, I can construct unique illusions. I trap them within their own minds, letting them sink into a world from which they cannot escape until their spirit eventually withers away and dies."
Horitake grasped the gist of her ability, but his questions didn't stop there.
"Hmm. That sounds remarkably familiar. What's your relationship with Enmu, the Lower Rank One? His Blood Demon Art also involves constructing dreams. It seems very similar to your illusions."
At the mention of Enmu, a look of pure disdain crossed Kyojutsu's face.
"Hmph. I have nothing to do with him. My Blood Demon Art might share some similarities, but mine is fundamentally based on illusions and allows for direct hypnotic control of the living. It is far superior to his!"
Horitake actually found himself agreeing with that point. "True. In terms of essence, your Blood Demon Art is of a higher caliber than Enmu's. If you were given time to grow, you might very well have made it into the Upper Ranks."
His words were laced with enough flattery to make Kyojutsu swell with pride. Sensing her guard lowering, Horitake pressed further.
"There is one more thing I'm dying to know. How do you actually release the hypnosis? I haven't seen your face once until now."
Seeing how "cooperative" Horitake was being with his questions, the demoness laughed happily. She unknowingly opened up, and in her arrogance, she began to lay her cards on the table.
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