The moon hung heavy over the forest, its pale glow seeping through the canopy in thin silver streams. The night was cool, the kind that made every sound seem sharper, clearer. Crickets sang in the underbrush, and somewhere far off, a river murmured softly to itself.

Akaza moved through the darkness with a quiet, deliberate grace, his eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. The forest was endless — trees upon trees, shadows upon shadows — yet he could feel Muzan’s command like a chain around his neck.

“The Blue Spider Lily…” he muttered under his breath, brushing aside a branch. “I’ve been searching for hours.” His voice carried a low growl of frustration.

He leapt lightly onto a boulder, scanning the clearing below. Nothing but moonlight, dew, and the faint glimmer of mist hanging low across the grass.

“Why the hell me?” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Why not Dōma? That son of a bitch loves wasting time.”

A scowl tugged at his face as he imagined Dōma’s infuriating grin — the way that bastard always laughed, always talked as if the world were a game.

“Or Kokushibō,” he muttered. “He’s good at tracking. Let him deal with this.”

He crouched, trailing a hand through the dirt, his fingertips brushing against a pale petal — just a normal wildflower. He sighed and straightened. “Useless.”

The night wind stirred, carrying with it a faint, unfamiliar scent. Human. Clean. Sharp.

Akaza’s head snapped up instantly, every sense alert. He turned toward the source, his expression shifting from irritation to focus. His body stilled, but his presence — that heavy, suffocating aura — grew denser, darker.

A soft crunch of leaves broke the quiet.

From the shadows ahead, you stepped into the clearing. The moonlight caught your hair, the steel of your blade gleaming faintly at your side. Your breathing was calm, measured. Your eyes found his — steady, unwavering.

Akaza straightened slowly, his crimson gaze locking onto you. His muscles tensed, instinct begging for battle. But then… his expression changed.

He blinked once. Twice.

“A woman?” he said, almost incredulously.

The wind shifted again, carrying your scent more clearly now. His face hardened, but there was something strange in his tone — something restrained.

“I’m not going to fight you.”