Kibutsuji Muzan walked toward where Aoyama stood.
When he passed by him, he didn't stop—only cast him a brief glance before heading into a dimly lit alley.
Aoyama turned and followed behind him.
"Mr. Tsukihiko? Or should I call you Kibutsuji Muzan? Which name do you prefer?"
Muzan narrowed his eyes.
The boy behind him was provoking him.
From the opposite end of the alley, three drunken men staggered in. The smell of alcohol filled the air. One of them, walking backward, was especially wasted.
"Hachi, you okay?!"
The man called Hachi swayed as he walked backward. "I'm fine—fine—I'm not drunk…"
Thud.
He slammed straight into Muzan's chest.
"Ow! Hey, what's your problem?!"
Muzan noticed Aoyama behind him—clearly a Demon Slayer by attire. He had no intention of entangling himself with a drunkard.
"Sorry."
Hachi, emboldened by alcohol, grabbed Muzan's shoulder.
"Hey! Wait a second!"
Behind them, Aoyama leaned against the wall and sighed.
Courting death.
There's a saying—those who drown are the ones who can swim.
And those who die young are the ones who insist on testing fate.
Sure enough, within seconds, Hachi started eyeing Muzan's expensive suit.
Aoyama pressed a hand to the wall and burst out laughing.
"This is insane… he wants the suit? Hahaha…"
Muzan's brows furrowed at the laughter behind him.
"Hey, say something! You look pale as hell. You about to die or something?"
That—
Was a forbidden line.
A boundary Muzan himself never touched.
And no one else was allowed to touch.
Aoyama stopped laughing.
The air shifted instantly.
Muzan's killing intent spread like ice.
"Say something~ What, you dead? Hey~ talk!"
Hachi continued dancing on the edge of death, stretching one leg forward, pushing his luck.
Muzan raised his fist.
Boom.
One punch.
Hachi's body flew like a ragdoll, smashing into the wall before sliding down, leaving a smear of blood behind.
It all happened too fast.
The other two sobered instantly.
The woman rushed forward.
"You—he's dead! Hachi's not breathing!"
"What?!"
The tall man stared in disbelief.
That frail-looking man—
Killed someone with one punch?
He stepped forward, blocking Muzan's path.
"You bastard!"
He swung his fist downward with full force.
Bang.
Muzan lifted one leg and kicked.
The tall man's body launched into the air before his punch even connected.
Blood sprayed midair.
He crashed to the ground lifeless.
Aoyama watched everything carefully.
Was Muzan's physical strength greater than his own?
Muzan glanced at Aoyama from the corner of his eye.
These men were dead not only because they were fools—
But also as a demonstration.
A warning.
He was not someone to provoke casually.
The remaining woman collapsed to the ground, trembling uncontrollably.
Muzan crouched in front of her.
"Tell me. Does my face look sickly?"
He lifted her chin.
"Is my complexion pale?"
"Do I look weak?"
"Do I look like I don't have long to live?"
Her eyes widened in terror.
She couldn't form a single word.
A flash of steel cut through the air.
Muzan pulled back—but a fraction too late.
A dagger sliced across the back of his hand.
A thin line of blood surfaced.
Aoyama shrugged casually.
"Ah. Threw it a bit slow."
He had aimed precisely at Muzan's hand, using full force.
The speed wasn't slow.
And yet—
Muzan still evaded most of it.
Only a shallow wound remained.
Muzan brought his hand to his lips and licked away the blood.
"Wrong. Wrong. Wrong…"
"I am the closest being to perfection."
Aoyama leapt into the air, blade drawn, slashing downward at Muzan.
A grin formed at the corner of his lips.
So proud?
Then let's cut down that pride.
Swish—
Muzan vanished in a blur.
Only a piece of his suit was sliced cleanly away.
He reappeared several meters off.
"You—"
Aoyama landed lightly, resting his blade on his shoulder.
"Me? I just think… you're not as perfect as you claim."
From that brief exchange, Aoyama had confirmed something.
Muzan was undeniably powerful.
But he had weaknesses.
Ones he desperately tried to conceal.
If he could enrage him—
Make him lose composure—
Then perhaps even a "perfect being" could make mistakes.
And mistakes—
Were fatal.
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