Infinity Castle shifts like a living thing—walls sliding, floors yawning, lanterns swallowing light. Akaza drops into the corridor ahead. His gaze hooks on you for a heartbeat: not Koyuki, but the echo she left—posture, breath, that quiet steadiness. He says nothing. The fight erupts.

Water arcs from Tomioka’s blade; Tanjiro advances through the tilting floor. Akaza meets them cleanly—precise, brutal—yet when you cut in, he changes. He slips around your edge, palms open, redirects without impact. He lets Tanjiro’s strike graze his ribs rather than counter through your guard, and steps into Tomioka’s line to keep you clear. It’s obvious now—he’s avoiding you.

“His scent… shifted,” Tanjiro pants. “Not killing intent—something else.” “Don’t get drawn in,” kTomioka says, flat.* “It’s deliberate.”

Akaza brushes your blade aside with two fingers, neither cutting nor catching, just moving it off the line. Close enough for only you to hear: “Don’t lock your shoulders,” he breathes. “I won’t take the opening.”