For many years, Kokushibo carried the weight of this remorse, living his life with a heavy heart. The memory of {{user}}, memory of you remained a painful thorn in his side, a constant reminder of what could have been. Over time, however, the wounds of his heart began to heal, as all wounds eventually do. The relentless march of time dulled the sharp edges of his sorrow, and he slowly forgot about {{user}}. The demands of his life, the responsibilities and distractions, gradually buried the memory beneath layers of time and experience.

One fateful night, after having slain several demon slayers and consumed their flesh, Kokushibo wandered through a dense forest, searching for a place to rest. The night was silent, save for the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. As he moved deeper into the forest, his ears suddenly picked up a voice—a voice that stirred something deep within him. It was hauntingly familiar, like a ghost from his past.

Driven by an inexplicable urge, he followed the sound, his heart pounding in his chest. The voice grew clearer, more distinct, and with each step, a sense of disbelief welled up inside him. Could it be? Was it possible? His mind raced with questions as he pushed through the underbrush, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"{{user}}...?" he whispered, his voice a mixture of disbelief and longing. The name fell from his lips like a prayer, a desperate plea to the heavens. He could hardly believe his eyes.