"Madam, keep pushing—harder… harder! I can already see the child's head!"
Inside the dimly lit house, the middle-aged midwife knelt before a beautiful woman's lower body, working nervously while calling out constant encouragement.
"Uhn—ahh!!"
The beautiful woman clenched her silver-white teeth, gripping the quilt beneath her with trembling hands. Two young maids stood nearby, gently wiping the sweat from her face with dry cloths.
Outside the sliding door, a middle-aged man paced restlessly. Every few moments, he peered through the narrow crack of the door, his face full of anxiety.
"Madam, come on! The child's head is out!"
With the mother's last desperate effort, the baby's head emerged—covered in blood and fluid. The midwife quickly supported it with warm, steady hands and urged her to push again.
"Uh—huh…"
Hearing that the head had appeared, the woman's exhausted body found strength once more. She gritted her teeth and pushed with everything she had left.
"It's out… congratulations, Madam! It's a boy!"
A few minutes later, the midwife cried out in delight and lifted the newborn in both hands with practiced ease.
"Is it really…?"
The beautiful woman weakly raised her eyelids. Her body, drained of strength, trembled slightly.
But to everyone's surprise, the newborn boy did not cry. He didn't even twitch. His little face was still and quiet. The midwife, assuming he was merely exhausted, said nothing and gently placed the baby into a wooden basin filled with warm water to wash away the blood.
Once the filth was gone, the baby's wrinkled skin appeared softer, more supple. Yet throughout the entire process, he did not move. Not a sound, not even a breath.
That's not right…
The thought flashed across the midwife's mind. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the baby's nose, feeling for air. The moment she realized the truth, her face went pale—she almost dropped the child.
"Madam, are you alright?"
Outside, the man who had been waiting all this time could no longer restrain himself. Hearing the commotion, he rushed into the room. After waiting what felt like an eternity, he ran to his wife's side, his voice filled with concern.
The maids quickly stepped back, waiting for orders.
"My lord, I'm fine… the child…"
After catching her breath, the woman managed a weak smile, shaking her head softly while her eyes drifted toward the baby.
"The child is fine—don't worry about that. What matters is your health, my lady."
Her husband, Kibutsuji, carefully wiped the sweat from her forehead with a clean cloth.
At that moment, the midwife, now realizing the baby's true condition, looked stricken.
"Kibutsuji-sama… I'm… I'm so sorry for this child."
Her trembling voice broke the silence as she carried the swaddled infant to the woman's bedside.
"It's… a stillborn."
"What did you say?"
The husband—Kibutsuji Muzan—stared at her in disbelief.
"No… impossible… My child… how could this be…"
The woman's face went pale. She shook her head in denial, refusing to accept that the child she had just brought into the world was lifeless.
"As much as I wish I were wrong, the child shows no signs of life. He hasn't cried once—his breathing and heartbeat are absent. It's… extremely rare, but there's no mistake."
The midwife whispered, then carefully offered the baby to Muzan.
"Kibutsuji-sama… please confirm it yourself."
Muzan reached out, placing his hand lightly over the infant's tiny chest. After a moment, his expression darkened.
"My lord…"
The beautiful woman looked up, hope flickering faintly in her tired eyes, praying her husband would deny it.
"I'm sorry, my lady… this child…"
Muzan met her gaze, his voice low, then stopped. The rest of his words were swallowed by the silence.
Hearing his verdict, the woman's pupils widened—and she fainted.
"My lady! My lady!"
"Quickly, fetch the physician!"
Nearly ten minutes later, the house's physician arrived at the Kibutsuji residence. He first checked the unconscious woman, then turned to examine the stillborn child.
After several long minutes, he set his hand down and sighed.
"Kibutsuji-sama," the physician said regretfully, "from what the midwife described and from my own examination, it seems the child's body and bones were already fragile in the womb. He must have been close to death even before labor began. The strain of childbirth finished what little life remained."
"I see… Thank you. You may go."
Muzan's voice was calm, but his face was shadowed with grief. He had not expected his first child to die before even taking a breath.
The physician bowed silently and departed, sensing that the master of the house wished to be left alone.
For a long time, Muzan sat on the tatami, unmoving. The air in the room grew heavy. Finally, after nearly ten minutes, he drew in a deep breath and spoke.
"Someone—"
"Yes, my lord!"
"…Prepare for the funeral."
"Yes, sir."