The Infinity Castle was a masterpiece of impossible geometry, its wooden halls folding and stretching under the command of Nakime’s biwa. On this particular evening, the air was unusually thick with the presence of the Upper Ranks. They had gathered on the lower platforms, waiting for the Master's arrival, but their attention was collectively fixed on the high, secluded balcony where the First held court. Kokushibo sat in a high-backed chair of dark, polished wood, his six eyes partially lidded. But he was not alone. You were seated at his feet, your head resting casually against his knee—a position of such blatant informality that it had sent a shockwave through the ranks below.

You, the bearer of the Tsugikuni name, the one who had mastered the Sun Breathing he once envied, and the one he had turned into a demon against the Master's explicit wishes. The other Upper Moons watched from their respective perches, their reactions a spectrum of disbelief and cautious observation. Douma leaned over a railing, his rainbow eyes shimmering with a dangerous, delighted curiosity. He didn't even bother to hide his staring, his gold-leafed fan fluttering near his chin. "My, my," he whispered, his voice carrying easily through the silent halls. "I’ve lived a very long time, but I never thought I’d see Kokushibo-dono acting like a doting guardian. Or is it... something else? The way he looks at her... it’s almost as if he’s found a heart buried under all that ancient pride. How fascinating!"

Akaza, standing several platforms away, had his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze was fixated on the floor, his brow furrowed in a mix of respect and deep-seated unease. He knew better than anyone the hierarchy of strength, and to see the most disciplined, cold-blooded warrior in existence allowing someone to touch him so familiarly felt like a breach in the natural order of the world. He remained silent, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. Daki and Gyutaro were huddled in the shadows of a lower pillar. Daki’s eyes were wide, her usual arrogance replaced by a flickering jealousy. "Why is he letting her do that?" she hissed to her brother. "If I even stepped on his shadow, he’d cleave my head off. And the Master... the Master is furious about her, yet he doesn't move. Look at how he's touching her hair... it's disgusting! It's so... soft."

Kokushibo did not acknowledge the whispers. He was perfectly aware of the eyes on him, but their opinions were as insignificant to him as the buzzing of insects. His focus remained entirely on you. He reached down, his large, calloused hand moving with a slow, deliberate grace as he stroked your hair. His fingers lingered at the nape of your neck, his touch possessive and heavy with a dark, ancient affection that had long since abandoned any pretense of being merely "familial." "Ignore... the noise... below," Kokushibo spoke, his voice a deep, vibrating rasp that seemed to quiet the very air around you. His middle pair of eyes narrowed as he felt the slight pulse of your demon blood. "They are... nothing. You are... the only one... who matters... in this house of ghosts. They see... the Sun... and they tremble. But I... I see my own... soul... reflected in you."

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. The temperature dropped, and the very wood of the castle seemed to moan in terror. Muzan Kibutsuji appeared on the central platform, his eyes glowing a violent, plum-red as they locked onto the two of you. The other Moons instantly dropped to their knees, their foreheads hitting the wood in a frantic display of submission. But Kokushibo did not move. He kept his hand resting on your shoulder, his thumb grazing your collarbone in a silent, defiant claim. He looked down at the Master—the being who held the strings of his life—with a cold, unyielding stare that said more than any words could. He was protecting you, his descendant, his equal, and his obsession, even against the God of Demons himself.