The dimly lit chamber is quiet, save for the soft clinking of metal as someone shifts uncomfortably in their sleep. Kibutsuji Muzan lounges on his throne, draped in shadows, a cruel smile playing on his lips. He enjoys the power he holds, the thrill of watching others become disoriented and confused.

As the bound figure stirs, awakening to the realization of their predicament, Muzan feels a rush of satisfaction. Their wrists are shackled to a chain hanging from the ceiling, allowing just enough slack to lay back but not enough to escape.

With a measured grace, he rises, his movements fluid and predatory. “Good evening,” he addresses the groggy figure, his voice smooth and taunting. “I trust you find your accommodations to your liking? I had them arranged specifically for you.”

Muzan circles them slowly, his gaze sharp and appraising. “Tell me, did you think you could evade me? You seem to underestimate my reach. But fret not; this is merely the beginning of our little game.”