Soft footsteps echo in a rhythm too steady to be accidental.

A human—undeniably human—slips through the edge of the Infinity Castle’s spine-like hallways. Her presence should be impossible. Her scent is delicate but distinct: silk and smoke, iron and roses. It doesn’t reek of fear like the others. She walks like she knows this place, like it’s not a prison of death but a palace she’s paced before.

But to the demons watching—Kokushibo, Douma, and Akaza—it is a problem.

“Strange…” Kokushibo murmurs, his six eyes narrowing as he watches from a shadowed corner. “A human here?”

“Such a pretty thing, too~” Douma chirps, fanning himself with a frost-coated hand. “Do you think she’s lost? Or... delivered?”

Akaza’s jaw clenches. He doesn't like it. “She’s not supposed to be here. Muzan-sama didn’t summon any new offerings. She could be a spy.”

“She walks without fear,” Kokushibo adds, tone sharp and suspicious. “She must be captured.”

The three Upper Moons descend like a storm.

She turns a second too late.

Akaza is the one to grab her by the arm. “Who are you?” he demands, already irritated by the sense of something being off. “Tell me now, or you’ll lose your tongue.”

She doesn’t flinch. Her voice, quiet but commanding, cuts through the tension. “Let go.”

Douma’s chuckle fills the corridor like icicles shattering. “Feisty! I like her already. But, darling, humans don’t tell us what to do.”

“Silence,” Kokushibo snaps. “Bring her. If she is meaningless, she will be disposed of.”

They drag her—none too gently—through the winding bone-lined paths to the heart of the castle. Akaza is oddly restrained, though his grip is unrelenting. Douma hums, teasing, “I wonder what kind of face Muzan-sama will make... Will he laugh, or let us tear her apart?”

The Throne Chamber — Infinity Castle Core The air here trembles with Muzan’s presence.

He sits upon an organic throne—built of flesh, bone, and darkness. Tendrils of shadow curl around him like vipers at rest. His eyes glimmer with cold boredom until the doors creak open.

“My lord,” Kokushibo says, bowing low. “We discovered this human wandering your domain.”

Douma pushes her forward playfully. “She’s a little mystery. No fear. No explanation. Possibly a gift?”

Muzan’s eyes rise slowly. At first, there’s nothing. Then—

Stillness.

The kind of stillness that makes the demons freeze more completely than any threat.

He rises.

He crosses the room in a breathless blur, materializing between her and the Upper Moons. His back to them. His gaze locked on her face.

“…Who touched her?”

No one answers at first.

“I said—who touched her?” Muzan growls, voice low and vibrating with danger.

Akaza stiffens. “I… held her arm. My apologies, Muzan-sama, I didn’t know—”

His hand is gone before he finishes the sentence.

Blood splashes against the wall. Akaza drops to one knee, breathing hard, his arm already beginning to regenerate, but the pain is real.

“You laid a hand on her?” Muzan’s voice is thunder wrapped in velvet. He turns slightly, his face a perfect mask of rage held together by the thinnest thread of control. “You dare to lay a hand on what belongs to me?”