Somewhere in time.
As always, Oboro sat before the gates of his residence.
He watched a group of children playing and shouting, wooden swords in hand.
He was now over sixty years old, though he showed only faint signs of age.
Only the elderly locals, who had lived here for decades, could roughly guess how old he was.
To everyone else, his background and true age remained unknown.
They only knew a kind, elderly nobleman lived here — someone fond of children… who taught them swordplay and often gave out sweets.
Nothing more.
"Still not enough…" Oboro murmured softly, gazing up at the sky.
Even after years of tempering and refinement, the strength and resilience of his body could never compare to what he had possessed in the world of Hunter × Hunter.
Simply put, the fundamental energy structure of this world was too low‑level. He could never hope to live as long as Isaac Netero had.
Reaching a hundred years of age was the absolute limit; two centuries was impossible.
Even now, Oboro could sense his physical form slowly beginning to decline.
"It seems… I must become a demon again if I am to live long enough to see the story unfold." Oboro sighed.
And if he were to become a demon once more, he would aim straight for the position of Demon King…
Unlike years ago, when he had sought out Muryō, to reach the level Tanjiro would one day attain, there was only one path: through Muzan himself.
None of the Upper Moons — not even Kokushibō — were qualified or capable enough.
Muzan truly knew how to lie low. Decades had passed in the blink of an eye. Ever since Oboro had appeared, Muzan had vanished almost entirely, rarely showing himself and spending all his time studying and experimenting on those inheritors Oboro had created.
What identity or disguise he now wore, not even Oboro knew.
Nor did he care enough to find out.
For all he knew… Muzan might actually have stumbled upon something useful and made some progress in his research.
"He's coming!"
"It smells terrible!"
"Get away from us!"
Oboro's thoughts were interrupted.
All the children who had been playing turned toward the same direction.
Walking down the street was a figure about their age, though smaller and frailer.
At the sight of him, every child's face twisted in disgust. Some even picked up stones and threw them… Had Oboro not been present, they would have swung their wooden clubs at him directly.
The boy raised his thin arms to shield his head. Even as stones struck his body, he did not make a sound of pain, nor did he slow his steps.
"Let's go!"
None of the other children wished to stay near him or breathe the same air. Bowing quickly to Oboro, they all ran off.
Behind him, Chiyo — her hair now fully white — appeared exactly on time. Dressed in a plain kimono and carrying food wrapped in oiled paper, she stepped to Oboro's side.
Almost every three days, this boy — his skin covered in dark blemishes, looking like a beggar — appeared.
Always to ask Oboro for food.
Their first meeting had been six months earlier.
Back then, the boy's long black hair was matted and filthy, his body nothing but skin and bones.
He was so dirty and emitted such a foul stench that no one could bear to come near him.
Even his fingernails and toenails were blackened, as if suffering from some terrible disease.
Gyutaro.
This little one was infamous along the banks of the Rashōmon River — known as a "calamity," a living curse. Everyone hated him; he was treated worse than a stray dog.
His suffering had begun even before birth — while still in his mother's womb.
His mother had been a prostitute. Upon realizing she was pregnant, she had tried countless times to abort the child — taking poison, injuring herself, doing everything possible. Yet despite it all, Gyutaro had been born — stubborn as a cockroach.
From the moment he gained consciousness, his mother had abused him endlessly. Hunger, insults, and pain had been the only constants in his life.
She had even tried to kill him many times.
He had grown accustomed to starvation. To survive, he had eaten anything — snakes, rats, insects, worms — whatever he could find.
Until six months ago, when by chance he had wandered into this district and collapsed from hunger right before the gates of this grand estate.
Over the decades, though the balance of power between the three factions had remained unchanged… the world outside had shifted greatly.
The entertainment quarter of old was now known as the Flower District. It was no longer a slum… it had expanded, with its busiest streets lying at the heart of the city.
The impoverished district where Gyutaro had been born was now called Rashōmon Bank.
It lay beside a foul, polluted river — the very name "Rashōmon" symbolized ruin, decay, and human misery.
Ever since Oboro had saved him half a year ago and given him enough food to eat, Gyutaro had returned every few days to beg.
And Oboro had always given him what he needed.
He had known about Gyutaro long before — ever since his mother had first become pregnant.
He held great interest in this future Upper Rank Six.
For one thing, among all the Upper Ranks, Gyutaro was the only one who had kept his human name.
Unlike the others, who had been wicked or cruel by nature even as humans, Gyutaro had not been born evil.
If Gyokko represented arrogance and Hantengu cowardice, then what lay hidden beneath Gyutaro's immense strength was undoubtedly… inferiority.
Furthermore, Gyutaro's tragic past and resilience made him the perfect candidate to inherit Oboro's will.
And his natural talent was extraordinary.
From Oboro's perspective, despite being ranked only sixth, Gyutaro's true fighting power was fully equal to that "abnormal pot‑creature" Gyokko.
Muzan himself had even acknowledged his strength.
Since such an important character had appeared right here, in the very place where Oboro lived… naturally, he intended to give him some "special attention."
By this point in history, all the future Upper Ranks had already come into existence.
Kokushibō, Akaza, Doma, Hantengu — all had appeared. Notably, Akaza had become a demon even earlier than Doma.
Over the years, through gathering information, Oboro had identified every member of the current Twelve Demon Moons.
He had originally planned to take them for himself, snatching them away from Muzan.
But the only ones he truly valued were Akaza and Gyutaro. Unfortunately, he had arrived in this world too late — Akaza had long since become one of Muzan's subordinates.
Gyutaro was now the only one left.
As for Gyokko and Hantengu… he felt nothing but disdain.
Gyutaro was still very young. His younger sister, Daki, had not even been born yet.
At this stage, his personality was introverted and timid… it was the arrival of his sister that would change him forever.
Right now, he was simply a suffering child.
"Got hurt again, I see…"
Oboro smiled softly as he watched Gyutaro stop a short distance away, deliberately keeping his distance. He noticed the fresh wounds on the boy's skin.
Gyutaro quickly pulled his rags tighter, covering the injuries.
He kept his distance not out of fear… but because he did not want his terrible smell to drift toward Oboro and disgust him.
Nor did he want his filth to soil Oboro's clothes or person.
Gyutaro said nothing, his eyes fixed on the food Chiyo held.
She stepped forward and handed it to him.
He bowed deeply to Oboro, turned around, and ran away barefoot.
"He could come every single day if he wanted… why does he only come every three days?"
Chiyo watched his retreating figure, her brows knitting with pity.
If he came daily, he would never have to go hungry… For a child this age, going three days without food was unimaginable.
That he was still alive at all was nothing short of a miracle.
"For all his feelings of inferiority, he still possesses his pride… He is still small, yet to endure hunger for three days on his own terms is truly remarkable. As he grows older… perhaps when he is able to support himself, he will not come back at all."
Oboro looked away and spoke quietly.
"Shall I perhaps… do something?" Chiyo hesitated, realizing Oboro treated Gyutaro differently from others.
"Do not interfere unnecessarily. Every person has their own destiny to follow."
"As you wish, master."
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