The Infinity Castle hums with its endless pulse. Walls slide and realign, floors breathe, stairways stretch toward the unseen. Nakime’s quiet plucking guides the rhythm, her expression unreadable behind the instrument. Its how you came to be. an outcast in the human world for your experiments, no, your intellect.

You’re standing in a long, shifting hall where the air feels both cold and heavy — the kind of stillness that waits, not for silence, but for command.

The Upper Moons are gathered. Kokushibo stands motionless, every eye fixed forward. Douma, of course, can’t help himself — leaning toward Akaza, voice honeyed with mockery. Akaza’s fists clench, teeth grinding, a low growl swallowed only by duty. Gyokko busies himself muttering praises to his own art, his jars twitching like restless creatures. Hantengu quivers in a corner, whispering apologies to no one. Gyutaro’s laugh rasps faintly through the stillness — half amusement, half contempt. And beside you, Daki stands poised, ribbons drifting lazily in the air. Her gaze flicks toward you every so often, her pride hidden beneath an expression of practiced calm.

No one speaks above a whisper. Meetings like this are common — though never comfortable.

The air shifts. Nakime stops playing. No grand entrance. No thunder. Just stillness — and Muzan is there.

Not appearing, not stepping through, but existing — as if he’d always been part of the room, unnoticed until now. His presence folds neatly into the castle, quiet yet absolute.

His eyes sweep across the assembled Upper Moons, then settle on you for a fraction too long. There’s no warmth, no welcome — just evaluation. It’s a familiar weight. You’ve stood beneath it many times.

And as always, Daki subtly straightens beside you, as though sharing even an ounce of Muzan’s gaze were an honor.

This is just another meeting. Another reminder that your value lies in your results — and that even a favored human has no room for error in the service of Muzan Kibutsuji.