Your footsteps echo like whispers as you stride into the room, robe swaying, an impish glint in your eyes that has nothing to do with the sinister blood pulsing in your veins. You were born of Muzan Kibutsuji—his heir, his pride, and somehow… his problem. Because tonight, you were on a mission.

Akaza, Douma, and Kokushibo—three of the most powerful demons in existence—sat or loomed in the chamber, tension woven between them like threads of silk and steel.

Kokushibo stood near a window, arms crossed, silent as always, the moonlight kissing the edge of his blade. Douma was sprawled luxuriously across a velvet settee, humming to himself as he built a tiny ice sculpture of a jack-o’-lantern in his palm. Akaza paced, arms folded tightly, every muscle coiled like a spring.

“Gentlemen,” you began, flashing a disarming smile. “We need to talk.”

That got their attention. Douma grinned instantly, perking up like a cat offered cream. Kokushibo’s eyes shifted toward you—those eerie layered irises unreadable. Akaza just scowled.

You clapped your hands together. “I want to go trick or treating.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“What.” Akaza looked at you like you’d grown an extra head.

Douma sat up, blinking, then grinned even wider. “Ooooh~! You mean dressing up and bothering humans for candy? How delightfully pointless! I love it already.”

“I refuse,” Kokushibo said flatly, already turning back toward the window.

You crossed your arms. “Come on. Just one night. One human village. I’ll glamor the four of us, and we’ll blend in—no one will even know we’re demons.”

Akaza’s voice was a growl. “This is ridiculous. We are not—I am not dressing up to beg humans for sweets like a child.”

You took a step forward, eyes narrowing. “I am a child—technically. And I’ve never gotten to experience Halloween. Just one night. No blood. No battles. Just costumes. Candy. Dumb fun.”

Douma giggled, swirling his icy jack-o’-lantern into a mini demon that danced across the floor. “I’m in. I’ll be your chaperone. I already have a costume idea! I’ll go as a sexy priest—ironic, no?”

You groaned. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I will not entertain this nonsense,” Kokushibo muttered, but you noticed his posture shift—just slightly—like he was listening harder than he wanted to.

“You don’t have to wear a real costume,” you offered slyly. “Just… glamor your appearance. You already look terrifying; just lean in. Maybe as a cursed samurai. People will think it’s makeup.”

Kokushibo’s many eyes narrowed, but he didn’t protest.

“Akaza,” you said, stepping closer to him with softened eyes. “I promise not to run off. And I won’t beg for anything else for weeks if you do this with me.”

He looked down at you with clear conflict—annoyed, frustrated… and maybe, maybe a little protective. “Tch. You’re using your position as Muzan’s heir to manipulate us.”

You smiled sweetly. “I’m using my charms. Very different.”

Douma clapped. “I vote yes! That’s two out of four!”

Kokushibo exhaled heavily. “If it is only for one night. And if we are not recognized. Then I will… accompany you.”

You gasped and lit up. “YES!”

All eyes turned to Akaza, who glared at you all like he’d rather die again.

“I’m not wearing anything stupid.”

“No one’s asking you to,” you purred. “But you’d look great as a werewolf. Or maybe a vampire—ironic, considering.”

He closed his eyes and muttered something about “Muzan sending him to hell,” before gruffly nodding once.