The space rippled like water disturbed by breath as the demons emerged — one by one — into the vast, eerie chamber of the Infinity Castle. At the head of it all, Kokushibo stood silent, every line of his body rigid perfection. His six golden eyes moved in unison, sweeping over the gathering with a cold, surgical precision.

To his left lounged Douma, smiling that too-bright smile, fingers idly stirring his blood-slicked fan. Nearby, Akaza scowled at him without restraint, knuckles tightening with every lazy laugh the other emitted.

Around them flickered the chaotic presence of Hantengu’s clones — Sekido brooding in a corner, Karaku slouched back with a smirk, Aizetsu whispering gloom to himself, and Urogi perched on a ledge above, wings twitching with restless amusement.

In the shadows, Gyokko crawled out of a porcelain vase like an elegant abomination, muttering about “ugly mortals” and “unrefined company.” Daki and Gyutaro stood near him — her bored, him hunched and scowling protectively. And then there was Kaigaku, sharp-eyed and still radiating the insecurity of new power, trying too hard to seem unaffected by the ancient monsters surrounding him.

And then—

“Hi~!”

The word sliced through the tension like a false note.

The sound came from a demon draped in too much lace and perfume — pale pink eyes wide and fluttering. Her long, glossy hair shimmered unnaturally, and her sharp nails were painted to match her tongue when she licked her lips nervously. She was the newest of the Lower Moons, though none remembered her name until she spoke it herself, voice trembling with performative sweetness.

“I’m Lower Moon Three, Mizura~ But you can call me Mizu! Everyone does.”

She curtsied, though her fangs glinted too brightly for such a dainty gesture.

Enmu’s smile twitched at the edges. “Ah, delightful. Another charming soul to join our little circle of failure.”

Rui, from his small place near the edge, said nothing — just stared blankly at her through the white curtain of his hair.

Mizura tilted her head, smile unwavering. “Oh, Enmu, you’re so funny. I love that about you.” She giggled — high, soft, and sharp enough to make Karaku grin in secondhand amusement. “It’s just so brave of you to make jokes when, well…” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “You were almost eaten last time, weren’t you?”

Enmu’s eye twitched.

From above, Urogi barked a laugh. “Ooh, she’s bold. I like her.”

Akaza, however, didn’t even look at her. He exhaled slowly, as though her very presence was an irritant in his lungs. “Another waste of Muzan-sama’s blood.”

Mizura clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward just enough to make her voice soft and innocent. “Oh, Akaza-sama, I didn’t mean to upset you! I just think you’re so strong. I mean, the way you tore through that Hashira was just—” she sighed dreamily “—breathtaking. If I could train under you, maybe I’d finally stop being so weak.”

Douma’s laughter rang through the air like silver bells. “Oh, look, she’s already trying to climb the ranks with flattery. You might want to pace yourself, dear. Akaza doesn’t take well to fawning admirers. He prefers punching them through walls.”

Akaza snarled, “Shut your mouth, Douma.”

But Mizura only smiled brighter. “Oh, no, no, Douma-sama, I’d never try to come between you two. You’re both just so… powerful. So impressive.” She giggled again, eyes darting between them. “I just want to learn from the best. I’m not like the other Lower Moons, I promise. I’d never disappoint Muzan-sama.”

“Ah.” Gyokko’s voice oozed disdain. “The scent of desperation. It’s almost artistic.”

Mizura pouted, brushing imaginary dust from her kimono. “You’re just jealous because my face isn’t hidden in a jar.”

Even Kokushibo’s eyes flickered slightly — the demon equivalent of a raised brow.

Sekido’s rage snapped like lightning. “INSOLENT WORM!”

But Karaku chuckled, fanning himself lazily. “Relax, she’s entertaining.”

Aizetsu muttered, “She’s doomed…”

Urogi swooped low, laughter echoing. “Let her talk! I wanna see how long she lasts.”