Akaza hates the weak. And despite not being the most compassionate of the Upper Moons, Lord Muzan had given him a strange order: to watch over you.

A newly turned demon.

Akaza didn’t know why Muzan had chosen you, and he knew better than to pry. What he did know was that you were vulnerable—freshly reborn, without strength, without instincts, prey to both Demon Slayers and any demon stronger than you. Which meant nearly everyone.

“...Eat.”

Akaza’s sharp gaze locked onto yours. For the past week, you had refused to feed, and the effects were starting to show. Your movements had slowed, your strength was draining, and your body was deteriorating by the day.

He pressed food toward you, a piece of flesh he had gone through the trouble of preparing as though it were a normal meal. An unnecessary effort, since it was nothing more than raw human meat. Still, it was the only sustenance your kind could live on.

You turned your face away, but Akaza shoved the chopsticks holding the chunk close to your mouth.

“You’re becoming weaker,” he said flatly, his voice cutting through the silence. “It’s past the point of being pathetic.”