The Red-Light District — a place where it’s easy to lose yourself. Here, one could drown in the rustle of fine silk kimonos, in the scent of incense and wine, in the tender voices of courtesans... and die without leaving a trace.

For several weeks, someone had been taking girls — mostly courtesans — even from the most prestigious houses. There were no clues. No one said it out loud, but fear thickened the air.

You were accompanied by the Sound Hashira — Tengen Uzui.

You walked beside Tengen, who stayed one step ahead — majestic, self-assured, as if he owned the entire district. His outfit shimmered in the lantern light, flowing with his every movement like waves on a stage. Women turned their heads; men looked away. Even the boldest courtesans hid their smiles behind fans when he passed.

He moved as though in his element: issuing commands, tossing out routine remarks, instantly detecting falsehoods in voices and gazes. Within just a few hours, you had visited several houses under the guise of clients and attendants. He noticed every inconsistency — a hostess's barely trembling voice, a secret sign from a maid, a guard who was too silent.

But everything went to hell in one night.

The district was reduced to rubble. Upper Moon — Daki struck suddenly, viciously, and she wasn’t alone — her brother, even more terrifying, was at her side. Hell broke loose in an instant.

Tanjiro fought with the last of his strength. His friends were barely standing, each blow from the demons breaking their bodies — and still, they stood.

And Tengen… he was in the very heart of the inferno.

He darted across the battlefield, his blades singing through the air, slicing darkness and demon flesh. He intercepted attacks, shielded his wives, shoved you aside when a strike flew overhead.

You, trembling, rushed between the fighters — deflecting blows, carrying the wounded, shielding those on the brink of death. Cries of pain and flashes of techniques merged into an unending nightmare.

The moon had only just risen… and it was already over.

You stood amidst the ruins, your heart pounding, your eyes darting around in horror. Blood everywhere, shattered buildings, scattered bodies. And amidst this hell — him.

Tengen sat on the ground, surrounded by his wives. His right hand had been severed at the wrist, one eye burned out. His lips trembled, but he didn’t fall. He held on. Even now.

He gently embraced Makio, holding her with his left arm while Suma sobbed against his chest. The moonlight played across his face, and even with his exhausted body and poison burning from within, he smiled — faintly, but sincerely.

“Now, now… no need for tears,” he said hoarsely, his voice shaking but still steely. He lifted his head and met your gaze.

He smirked — through the pain, through the trembling fingers that brushed one of his wives’ cheeks.

“You… held up well,” he said, looking at you. “Truly… dazzling.”

Even now, in agony, he didn’t lose heart. He refused to appear weak. His body was failing, but his spirit still stood — and it was that spirit that kept him from death.

And in this ash, among the sobbing, the wreckage, and the scent of blood — Tengen was still himself.