The night Ryuya saved her, Makomo had already made her choice—she became his person.
Demon Slayer Corps or demon world… Makomo didn't care about either.
Makomo reached out her hand to him. Seeing the pale skin, Ryuya swallowed hard, almost unable to suppress the urge to bite down.
Almost—but not quite.
"Why can Master always resist? Is Makomo not tempting enough? Or…" She leaned close to him, her breath brushing his ear.
"…does Master have someone else in his heart?"
Ryuya instinctively turned his face away.
Kanae Kocho's image flashed in his mind.
"Alright, alright~ Makomo won't tease Master anymore. Makomo will report Miss Tamayo's situation now."
Makomo then gave a clear, detailed account of her encounter with Tamayo.
After listening, Ryuya understood.
Tamayo was willing to meet him—and was extremely interested in the fact that he was "Muzan's son."
For Tamayo to willingly meet a demon, and especially the son of Kibutsuji Muzan—the demon who wanted her dead most—meant she had made an enormous decision.
"I'll go alone, Makomo. You don't need to follow."
Makomo puffed her cheeks.
"Then Master, don't get so enchanted by Miss Tamayo's aura that you don't return!"
She handed him another bamboo tube.
"This is spare food for Master."
Ryuya nodded and was just about to leave—
Bang!!
A bullet tore through the Void Realm, flying straight at Makomo.
"Frost Breathing, Third Form: Frost Snow Rebound!"
Lightning-fast, Makomo leapt into the air and swung her Nichirin Blade.
The blade shimmered icy blue as she spun, carving arcs through the air.
Ice blades burst outward and shattered the bullet midair.
This was a defensive form of Frost Breathing—the Breathing Style Ryuya had taught her himself.
Ryuya had created Frost Breathing from his innate talent Glacier Amplification.
"As expected, ordinary guns can't hurt you!"
A demon sneered.
Pero.
With a growl, he unleashed:
"Blood Demon Art: Halberd Lair — Shadow Wolf!"
His shadow split apart, transforming into multiple wolves with spectral forms.
But these weren't normal shadow wolves—each one had a firearm in its jaws.
As soon as they opened their mouths, they accelerated with wolf-like speed, firing rapidly like living machine guns.
"Frost Breathing, Fourth Form: Winter Frozen Earth!"
Makomo slammed her blade into the ground.
A massive sheet of ice instantly spread out for miles.
The wolves slipped violently, losing nearly all mobility—and Makomo used the opening to swiftly cut them down one by one.
While she fought, Ryuya finally laid eyes on the approaching demon.
A large, muscular demon in a military uniform. Black cloak. Brutal expression. Rows of sharp, weapon-like teeth.
And in his pupils—the number:
Lower Rank Two.
"Lower Rank Two?"
The Twelve Kizuki were split into Upper Rank and Lower Rank, six positions each—only the strongest demons qualified.
"You there, demon! What are you standing around for!? Get over here and help me catch this little girl!"
Pero finally noticed Ryuya.
Seeing he was a demon, Pero immediately began barking orders—typical behavior for a Lower Rank.
"You talking to me?" Ryuya smiled faintly.
Only the Upper Ranks knew his true identity as Muzan's direct successor.
The Lower Ranks weren't worthy of knowing.
So Pero's arrogance wasn't "wrong"—he was just unlucky.
He had chosen to order around someone infinitely above him…
And worse—he had dared to target Ryuya's disciple.
"Of course I'm talking to you, you ordinary demon! I am Lower Rank Two! Move, or I'll hang you under the sun!"
Demons rarely killed each other, thanks to their regeneration.
But the sun—the one true death—was always a threat they used against one another.
"Makomo," Ryuya asked calmly, "what's this Lower Rank demon's deal?"
"Master, I'm sorry… he's been pestering Makomo for a long time. I didn't think he'd secretly follow me."
Makomo scratched her cheek, embarrassed.
She wasn't strong enough to kill a Kizuki, but she could stall him and survive indefinitely.
Pero's obsession was simply excessive—he had been chasing her relentlessly.
Hearing this, a cold, murderous intent flickered in Ryuya's scarlet eyes.
He walked toward Pero, slowly drawing his blade.
"H-Hey, what are you doing!?"
Pero's eyes shook violently.
Ryuya's presence—his aura—was terrifying.
This suffocating pressure… he had only ever felt it once before.
When facing Kibutsuji Muzan.
And that blade…?
Was that a Nichirin Blade?
No. It wasn't.
Covered in eyes—formed as if of flesh and blood.
Just looking at it made Pero's stomach twist and cold sweat pour down.
No—no, that kid… that demon…
He was going to kill him!
Pero snapped himself out of panic by biting his lip hard.
A Gatling gun erupted from his chest, unleashing a storm of bullets.
Bullets rained like a metal downpour, sparks exploding everywhere.
Pero grinned savagely—
Until his eyes widened in horror.
"Moon Breathing, Second Form: Flowing Moon!"
Ryuya exhaled once.
His blade cut through the air—
Crimson moon blades shredded the bullets, and tiny golden crescents carved into Pero's body.
Blood sprayed.
Pero collapsed to his knees, his body sliced open.
The pain, the cold—it was unreal.
A demon… using a Breathing Technique?
His body… nearly destroyed in a single swing?
He was Lower Rank Two—how could this be!?
Pero looked up, trembling, meeting Ryuya's scarlet eyes.
He froze.
Then, in terror, whispered.
"Is… is that you, Lord?"
Ryuya ignored him and turned to Makomo.
"Makomo. I forgot—my Demon Blade can't kill demons. Give me your Nichirin Blade."
Pero's body began regenerating.
Ryuya snatched Makomo's blade.
His own sword—gifted by Kokushibo—was a Demon Blade, twice as effective for Moon Breathing but unable to kill demons.
Just as Ryuya raised Makomo's blade—
"Master… let it go," Makomo said softly. "This will cause you trouble. He's Lower Rank Two…"
If Lower Rank Two died by Ryuya's hand—and because he was defending her—Muzan would absolutely be enraged.
Makomo knew Ryuya's origins.
She didn't want to drag him into danger.
"Fool," Ryuya's voice was cold, "Do you think this is the only trouble you've caused me?"
Anyone—anyone at all—who dared threaten the people he cared about—
had no right to live.