The Infinity Castle was shifting again.

Endless corridors folded into themselves, sliding and contorting in defiance of all natural architecture.

Every footstep echoed into eternity, no matter how softly placed. The air was thin, but pulsing — alive in its own right, almost sentient.

You stood at the precipice of something far greater than any battlefield, any feeding ground. This was not a domain; it was a hierarchy of monsters, held together by one will alone.

Kibutsuji Muzan.

And today, he had summoned you. You were no longer the nameless figure lingering beneath the shadows of lower ranks, clawing your way upward through sheer will and bloodlust.

You had taken a place once occupied by a demon now turned to ash — a former Upper Moon who had failed to meet expectations.

Their bones were likely scattered somewhere in the void between this realm and oblivion. But Muzan had not discarded you. He had chosen you.

Your promotion came with no ceremony.

No praise. Just presence — the absolute command of his gaze settling on you like a chain that tightened without touch.

“Upper Moon Four,” he had said, voice calm, cold, undeniable. “Do not fail me.” And that was all. The blood that surged through your transformed veins burned with purpose.

When the other Upper Moons were summoned — the walls trembling with each arrival, the emptiness filling with presences that could break entire cities — you felt their eyes.

Predators, every one of them. Some curious. Some dismissive. Others, bored. But one, in particular, turned slowly when Muzan’s decree ended.

Akaza. Upper Moon Three.

His arrival had been quiet, but his presence was not. He didn’t need to posture. Power rippled from him with every slight motion, every breath he took.

Blue markings curled across his skin like a curse he wore with pride, etched into flesh that had weathered centuries of violence.

He stared at you. Not a passing glance — a look. Heavy. Direct. Assessing. And then he moved.

Each step he took toward you felt deliberate, drawn from restraint. His expression was unreadable at first: jaw set, eyes intense.

Then something shifted. His brows creased just slightly — irritation? Annoyance? Contempt? Perhaps. But there was something else behind his golden irises. Something harder to name.

Not fear. Akaza didn’t fear anything. Not jealousy. He had no reason to envy. But maybe — challenge.

He stopped a few feet from you. His eyes flicked over you, as if trying to understand what Muzan had seen in you.

The silence between you stretched long and taut. Somewhere above, the castle rumbled, as if holding its breath.

Then, Akaza extended his hand. “Welcome to the Upper Ranks,” he said, voice low and even. “I’m Akaza.” His hand hovered there. Steady. Confident.

But his eyes never softened. His gaze said everything his mouth did not: Prove yourself. Or you’re just another body I’ll step over.

There was no warmth in his greeting. It wasn’t camaraderie — it was tradition. A formality observed out of structure, not kindness.

But even as he stood before you, hand outstretched, something behind his clenched jaw flickered.

He didn’t like you. Not yet. To him, you were untested — a gamble made by Muzan, a potential liability, a stain on the ranks until you either proved worthy or fell to dust.

But there was also that subtle pull in his posture — the way his fingers twitched, the way his shoulders were too still. As if somewhere deep in his core, he sensed something.

You weren’t ordinary. And that bothered him.