"How pathetic, Onii-sama."
After hearing these words, Kokushibō had only one thought left—
Damn it!
Could it be that Tsugikuni Yoriichi has really been resurrected?!
No! Impossible!
He saw with his own eyes that Yoriichi died in front of him, and he even cut his body in half.
The dead can never be resurrected!
The person standing in front of him was just a despicable imitator of Yoriichi Tsugikuni!
Kokushibō felt his brain trembling, as if it were divided into two factions in an instant.
One group was frantically denying what they were seeing.
But the other faction kept whispering to him:
If a person looks like Yoriichi Tsugikuni, dresses like Yoriichi Tsugikuni, and even knows the conversations he once had with him…
Then no matter how impossible it is, he has to accept this fact.
Yoriichi Tsugikuni has truly returned.
He appeared before him once again.
Kokushibō subconsciously drew his blade, yet felt at a loss.
A long-suppressed, powerful emotion surged into his heart.
In that moment, Kokushibō finally understood what it was—
Envy.
Why… why is it that even after becoming a demon, I still couldn't defeat you when you were at the very end of your life?
How could you come back after hundreds of years, standing here before me as a human once more?
If the dead can truly return… then why did I ever choose to become a demon…?
After Hayashi spoke, Kokushibō's expression changed completely.
All six of his eyes burned with jealousy and confusion.
In Hayashi's gaze, it was as if those six eyes had turned into lemons—
He was consumed by envy.
But if that was all, Hayashi could simply fight him.
Even though his restoration level had risen to 45% after saying those words, it didn't mean he could necessarily defeat Kokushibō.
This alone was far from achieving his true purpose: to give both Kokushibō and Kibutsuji Muzan a devastating "surprise."
So Hayashi decided to add fuel to the fire.
As Kokushibō drew the grotesque, flesh-forged katana, Hayashi did not ready his blade.
Instead, he lowered his eyes, slowly stretched out a hand, and whispered:
"Onii-sama… have you seen that flute?
I've always cherished that flute as if it were my brother…"
Kokushibō was stunned.
With the Transparent World, he could clearly perceive the other's every movement—
There was no intention of attacking.
The figure before him truly only reached out his hand… and asked for the flute.
At once, Kokushibō felt the broken flute hidden beneath his robes burning against his chest, as though it were cutting into him.
The child who had once accepted the flute with joy…
The old man who, even at death's door, still clutched it to his heart…
And the young man now reaching out to reclaim it…
Three images overlapped and merged into one.
At this moment, no matter how much Kokushibō wished to deny it, he could no longer resist the truth.
Yoriichi Tsugikuni… had truly returned.
…
Infinite Castle – Within Muzan's Domain
In the shifting corridors of the Infinite Castle, Nakime sat quietly on her platform, fingers plucking the strings of her biwa.
With every resonant note, the endless chambers groaned and moved, sliding into new configurations at her command.
When the melody ended, she placed a pale hand against her chest, silently gauging her own condition.
On the surface, her body seemed repaired.
But Nakime knew the truth—after being used twice as a vessel for Muzan Kibutsuji's wrath, much of his blood had been forcibly withdrawn from her body.
Her strength had declined sharply, and the wounds that should have regenerated in an instant now lingered with a sluggish ache.
When… will that Lord grant me more blood?
The thought flickered—and she froze.
She dared not let such desires take root.
That man could pry open the thoughts of every demon.
Even a fleeting wish, if deemed disloyal, would be unforgivable.
"Why did you stop?"
A chilling voice slithered across the chamber.
Nakime's body tensed. She immediately resumed playing the biwa.
"Enough! Stop that noise! You're disrupting my thoughts!"
The command struck like thunder. Startled, Nakime lowered the instrument again, bowing her head.
Not far away, Muzan Kibutsuji rose from his reclining seat, pacing like a caged beast.
"It has been far too long," he muttered, irritation dripping from every word.
"Why has Kokushibo sent back no report? Didn't he see Tsugikuni Yoriichi die with his own eyes? Didn't he cleave the body apart himself?!"
Muzan's crimson gaze sharpened, his voice low and uneven:
"I only commanded him to do something simple—locate Yoriichi's grave, open it, and confirm that the remains are still there. Why… why does he delay?"
His words broke off abruptly.
From the tether that bound Kokushibo to him, Muzan suddenly felt it—
an overwhelming surge of emotion.
His five brains spun through memories with unnerving speed.
Kokushibo… when was the last time your heart shook so violently?
And then, the answer surfaced.
The last time Kokushibo's emotions had flared with such intensity was centuries ago—
when he faced the aged, yet still invincible, Tsugikuni Yoriichi.
Muzan's pupils quivered.
"…So… have you also seen him?"
"…Is that man truly resurrected?"
His hands trembled before he clenched them tight.
"No… calm yourself. You must calm down."
He paced in circles, whispering to himself, as though logic could cage his growing terror.
"Kokushibo has grown stronger over centuries of cultivation… perhaps now, he can endure at least one more strike."
The thought did not soothe him.
If Kokushibo had encountered an impostor, he would have ended it in an instant.
But if it truly was him—the real Yoriichi—then Kokushibo would already be dead.
And yet… his emotions still pulsed.
Muzan bit into his lip, blood seeping between his teeth.
"There's only one way left…"
His expression darkened, both anxious and hesitant.
"…I must connect my vision with Kokushibo's and see it for myself."