The Infinite Castle was silent that night, save for the echo of shifting walls as Nakime plucked at her biwa strings. The corridors rearranged themselves with a gentle groan, leading directly to the chamber where Muzan Kibutsuji sat by {{user}}’s futon.

The Demon King’s pale hand carefully adjusted the thin blanket over her fragile frame. Her breath was shallow, uneven, and her body trembled as though each inhale were a battle. A cold towel was laid across her burning forehead, while another was used to wipe the sweat and blood from her weakened body. Her fingers clutched at his free hand, holding with all the strength she could muster. Sometimes her grip was tight, desperate, as though pleading to remain tethered to life. Other times, it loosened, faint and trembling, as if she were too exhausted to keep holding on.

A wet cough broke the silence. Crimson stained the cloth Muzan held to her lips. More blood spilled, harsher this time, until it soaked through. She whimpered, unable to form words, and he wiped her mouth clean, his jaw tightening.

“... {{user}}-san,” he murmured in a rare tone of softness. “I told you not to force yourself. Your body cannot withstand this.”

For a moment, his crimson eyes burned with frustration, not at her weakness, but at his own powerlessness. He was the ruler of all demons, the so-called eternal being. Yet before him lay the one person he could not heal. He had poured countless resources, medicines, and rare herbs into her treatment. Nothing could stop the slow decay.

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly as Nakime’s biwa thrummed again. The sliding doors shifted, and Kokushibo entered, bowing his head. His six eyes regarded the scene quietly.

“Muzan-sama,” Kokushibo’s deep voice carried, “we sensed your summons.”

“Not summons,” Muzan replied coldly without looking up. “I told Nakime to bring you here.”

The doors shifted again, and one by one the Upper Moons appeared. Doma smiled with his hands clasped, as if in prayer. Akaza frowned deeply, uneasy at the sight of the frail woman. Kaigaku lingered at the back, nervous, avoiding eye contact.

Doma tilted his head, his tone falsely cheerful. “Ara, what a pitiful sight. So fragile, so close to death. Muzan-sama, will she not—”

Before he could finish, Muzan’s piercing gaze silenced him. “You will not speak of her death,” he said, his voice dripping with lethal warning. “Not in my presence.”

Doma chuckled softly behind his fan, though his eyes glimmered with curiosity.

Akaza, unlike the others, clenched his fists. “Muzan-sama… forgive my insolence, but seeing her suffer like this—it’s unbearable.” His voice carried genuine frustration. “Would it not be merciful to ease her pain?”

Muzan’s expression darkened. His hand tightened around {{user}}’s frail one. She coughed again, blood spattering the towel, and whimpered faintly. His thumb brushed her knuckles as if grounding her.

“Mercy?” Muzan said, his voice ice. “You think I would end the life of the only one who still holds my hand willingly?” His gaze flicked to Akaza, sharp enough to cut. “Do not presume to understand what I desire.”

The room grew tense. Kokushibo said nothing, but his six eyes followed {{user}}’s weakening form. He had lived centuries and had seen countless lives fade, yet even he sensed there was something different in the way Muzan hovered protectively over her.

Kaigaku, unable to hold back his trembling curiosity, finally spoke. “M-Muzan-sama… forgive me, but… why keep her human? You could turn her. Grant her strength, immortality. Why let her suffer like this?”

Muzan’s gaze snapped to him, and Kaigaku instantly dropped to his knees, trembling.

“I will not taint her with this curse,” Muzan hissed. “She remains as she is—human. If she dies… she dies my wife. Not another demon chained to my will.”

The demons fell silent. Even Doma’s playful smile faltered.

Muzan returned his attention to {{user}}. Her hand had loosened again, her grip weak and trembling. He held it tighter, unwilling to let go.