Silence was the only reply.
Hakuji's fingertips remained pressed against the cold stone, the rough texture biting into his skin, yet the sensation paled in comparison to the stinging ache radiating through his heart. He didn't speak again. He simply crouched before the graves, letting the moonlight drench his shoulders.
The blood on his body had already dried into dark red crusts, blending with the shadows of the night. He looked less like a man and more like a cold, lifeless stone statue. The screams and the blood from the dojo earlier had already become a blurred, distant memory.
He had his revenge, but it had bought him nothing.
There would be no soft, sweet voice calling out "Brother Hakuji." There would be no crescent-moon smiles. There would be no autumn wedding where the bellflowers covered the mountains.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Hakuji returned to the dojo.
"The rumors say this place is haunted. But the interesting thing is—" A cold voice drifted from behind him, pausing with a touch of mocking amusement. "I have never sent a single demon to this territory. It turns out those people were all your handiwork."
Hakuji whipped around. A man in a black kimono stood at the courtyard gate, his tall silhouette etched sharply by the moonlight. His face was veiled in shadow, save for a pair of eyes that glowed with a sinister, otherworldly red light.
The man stepped closer, a faint scent of blood lingering around him. "I happen to be looking to create the Twelve Kizuki. Your abilities are promising. Become a demon!"
Hakuji's fists tightened instantly, the hollow deadness in his eyes replaced by sharp vigilance. He could sense that the man before him was no ordinary human; the power lurking beneath that calm exterior made every hair on his body stand on end.
Without warning, Muzan thrust his hand directly into Hakuji's head.
Hakuji tried to lash out, to resist, but his limbs felt as though the strength had been drained from them. He could only watch in a daze as Muzan forcibly injected a mass of thick, black demon blood into his skull.
"Argh—!"
Hakuji let out a strangled, broken roar.
His vision fractured into darkness. Fragments of the past flickered through his mind like a dying reel—Aoi's smiling eyes, the way she stood on her tiptoes to straighten his collar, the endless fields of bellflowers.
Hate, agony, despair, and a final, lingering thread of obsession tangled together violently the moment the demon blood flooded his system.
Muzan slowly withdrew his hand. He watched as Hakuji collapsed, his body writhing in uncontrollable spasms, and a flash of satisfaction crossed the demon progenitor's eyes. He looked down at the boy, his voice silkily persuasive.
"Become a demon. Possess an immortal body. Possess infinite strength! Akaza!"
The eyes that had once overflowed with tenderness were now consumed by a frigid indifference. Every beautiful, agonizing memory receded like a low tide, leaving only a vast, echoing void.
From this moment on, Hakuji was no more. There was only Akaza, of the Twelve Kizuki.
Aoi's consciousness drifted in a chaotic darkness, tossed about by an endless tide. She felt untethered, suspended between a non-existent sky and a fathomless sea. The agonizing pain of the poison had vanished, replaced by a weightless vacuum.
Slowly, she forced her eyes open. She was met by a sterile, white ceiling.
"Aoi-chan is awake!" someone nearby cried out in delight.
Hearing the commotion, Shinobu Kocho strode quickly to her bedside. "How are you feeling?"
Aoi rubbed her aching temple, her voice sounding raspy and distant. "I feel like... I've forgotten something important."
She sat up, her gaze falling on the thick bandages wrapped around her abdomen. The memory of being impaled flashed through her mind—a phantom pain so sharp it made her fingers curl instinctively.
"It's a miracle you have such high regenerative abilities," Shinobu said. For the first time, her trademark smile was gone, replaced by a look of stern gravity. "Otherwise, you would truly be dead. Do you understand that?"
"I..." Aoi started to protest, but she quickly shut her mouth under Shinobu's murderous glare. She mumbled under her breath, "I'd do it again if I had to."
"What was that, Aoi-chan?" Shinobu asked, her smile returning with a sharp, dangerous edge.
Aoi immediately lost her nerve. "Nothing! Nothing at all!"
"Anyway," Aoi hurried to change the subject, "how are Rengoku-san and Tanjiro?"
"Don't you worry about them. Out of all of you, your injuries were the most severe!" Shinobu sighed, giving Aoi's head a light, exasperated flick.
"AOI-CHAAAAAN!!!"
Before the person even appeared, Zenitsu's wailing echoed from outside the door. Aoi's head began to throb. Great. Now I have to do damage control.
The moment Zenitsu saw her, his eyes turned bloodshot. He threw himself toward the bed but stopped just short of touching her, clutching the edge of her blanket and sobbing. "Aoi-chan, you're finally awake! I-I was worried sick!"
"Alright, alright," Aoi said, rubbing her forehead tiredly. "I'm right here, aren't I? If you keep crying like that, people will think I've actually kicked the bucket."
"Aoi-chan." Tanjiro's warm voice broke through the noise. He grabbed Zenitsu by the back of his collar and hauled him back a few inches to keep him from bumping into Aoi's wounds. "Does it still hurt?"
Aoi smiled. She looked down at the heavy bandages on her stomach and gave them a light, experimental poke. "Not at all. Don't worry about me!"
"Umu! It is good to see you well!" Kyojuro Rengoku strode into the room, his gaze resting on Aoi with unmistakable warmth.
"Rengoku-san!"
"Just call me Kyojuro." Rengoku reached out and ruffled her hair, his palm feeling warm and grounding.
Aoi blinked, a bit stunned, before breaking into a bright smile. "Okay—Kyojuro!"
But in that exact moment, a blurred silhouette flashed through her mind. A voice, gentle and familiar, seemed to whisper: "In the next life, I'll find you first."
The thought came without warning and vanished just as fast—too fast for her to grab hold of. Aoi instinctively pressed her hand to her temple, her brow furrowing. That image... what was that?
Rengoku was quick to notice her shift in mood. "Aoi? What's wrong? Are you in pain?"
"It's nothing," Aoi lied, shaking her head as she tried to shove down the inexplicable sense of melancholy rising in her chest. She forced a radiant smile for the group. "I think I'm just still a bit dazed from waking up."
Yet, deep within that smile, there was a trace of a lingering, hollow confusion that she didn't even recognize herself.
The afternoons in the Butterfly Mansion were always steeped in the faint scent of medicinal herbs. Aoi leaned against a wooden pillar on the porch, her fingers idly playing with the wisteria blossoms hanging from the eaves. That strange feeling of emptiness refused to fade.
Then, she remembered. Just before she lost consciousness, the System had said something. Why couldn't she remember it at all?
Aoi rubbed her throbbing temples and decided to give up on it for now. She opened her System panel and began scrolling through her inventory, her finger lingering on the words Rejuvenation Pill.
"I wonder," she whispered to herself, "if this pill would work on Oyakata-sama?"