Rengoku Kyojuro nodded proudly, his fiery spirit undimmed:
"Oh! That makes a lot of sense! Instead of feeling sorry for yourself because of your weakness, it's better to hone yourself!"
His voice was as cheerful as ever, yet none of this warmth reached Sanemi Shinazugawa, whose expression at that moment was dark and heavy.
Murata, uneasy, huddled behind Hayashi. He had a bad feeling that Lord Sanemi was about to draw his blades!
Fortunately, Rengoku continued to speak with his usual vigor, completely shifting the atmosphere:
"Yoriichi san! Although we are reluctant to leave, our mission here is complete, and it is time to say farewell!"
"It has been an honor to fight alongside you on this mission!"
"I will personally report to Lord Ubuyashiki that you slew not one, but two Lower Rank demons. He will surely be most pleased to hear of this!"
"Sanemi, let's go," he added firmly.
Murata's eyes went wide. Two Lower Ranks… slain by Yoriichi sama?! He's far too strong!
On the other side, Hayashi quietly exhaled. Fortunately, Rengoku's commanding tone drew away Sanemi Shinazugawa, sparing him from witnessing another infamous scene of "comrades bravely surrounding a righteous man."
After bidding farewell to Rengoku and Sanemi Shinazugawa, Hayashi Yuichiro, Tomioka Giyu, and Murata stepped outside. At the doorway, Hayashi turned toward them:
"Your investigation here should be complete. Go on with your duties. I'll remain here a while longer."
Just then, a crow descended with urgent cries:
"Gah! Gah! Nannandong! Nannandong!"
"Demon's tracks found on a train! Hashira Tomioka Giyu and swordsman Murata, investigate immediately!"
Receiving their orders, the two exchanged quick farewells and hurried away.
Hayashi drew a deep breath, then turned to follow Miss Tamayo's instructions. Soon, he arrived before a weathered grave, the tombstone's inscription still clear despite its age:
[Tomb of Yoriichi Tsugikuni]
For a long while, Hayashi stood in silence. Then he quietly cleared the weeds and debris, his thoughts drifting to the fragments of Yoriichi's past he remembered from the original tale.
It was unknown how much time passed before he came back to himself. With a strange tug at his heart, he checked his restoration progress—and sure enough, it had risen again. Now, it stood at 42%.
Just then, a powerful whistling tore through the air.
Boom!
An immense shockwave erupted in the nearby clearing, scattering dirt and grass. When the dust settled, a tall figure stood revealed. He wore a kimono patterned with purple snakes and black spots, and at his waist rested a katana of grotesque flesh and blood, alive with sinister pulsing.
Slowly, Hayashi's gaze rose to meet a face marked by six golden eyes, all glaring at him with oppressive force.
On the central pair of eyes, two chilling words were inscribed:
[Upper Rank One]
The monster's sixfold gaze bore down upon him.
Kokushibo had arrived.
When Muzan Kibutsuji ordered him to find the grave of Tsugikuni Yoriichi, Kokushibō had little expectation.
He still remembered that day clearly—after he had cut apart Yoriichi's body, he picked up the handmade flute his younger brother had cherished. In that moment, the last trace of his humanity surged within him, and tears streamed down his face.
Kokushibō had not wanted to face that broken body again, so he left. By the customs of that chaotic era, even if someone buried Yoriichi, the grave would have been shallow, hurried, unworthy of the man. After nearly three hundred years, no remains should exist—bones reduced to dust long ago.
And yet, Muzan had seen something with his own eyes. The scars upon his flesh proved it: the possibility that Yoriichi had risen from the grave.
Yoriichi… resurrected?
No. Impossible. The dead cannot return.
Still, Kokushibō was forced to confront this possibility.
He first searched the place where he had last met his brother, but after days of hunting, found nothing. Preparing to return to the Infinity Castle and report failure, he overheard rumors among nearby demons:
A strange tomb stood hidden in the forest, said to have existed for centuries. Sometimes, a woman of peerless beauty would come to it and offer prayers.
The moment Kokushibō heard this, his instincts screamed. That tomb—
It had to be Yoriichi's resting place.
Without hesitation, Kokushibō rushed there.
And what he saw froze him.
A man with dark red hair and a red haori stood before the grave.
The same flame-shaped markings on his forehead.
The same Hanafuda earrings their mother had left behind.
The face… was the mirror of the brother who had haunted his memories for centuries.
At once, Kokushibō's chest tightened as if a giant hand had crushed his heart.
Fear. Longing. Hatred. Jealousy.
Emotions he thought long since buried flooded into him like a storm.
Hoarse words scraped out of his throat like rusted iron:
"You… you do look like him.
But you cannot be Yoriichi.
Three hundred years ago, I saw him die with my own eyes.
The dead cannot return. You are nothing but an impostor… an imitator…"
The figure before the grave—Hayashi—lifted his hand and gently brushed the tombstone. His voice was quiet, but steady:
"Onii-sama, you have not changed at all.
When I returned, I thought I might see you once more… but never did I imagine it would be here."
At those words, rage flared in all six of Kokushibō's eyes.
"Silence! Do not mock me. You cannot be Yoriichi!
You may deceive Muzan-sama, but not me. A cheap impostor like you will never—"
Hayashi raised his gaze, his tone cutting like a blade:
"How pitiful you are, Onii-sama."