After Tokitou Muichirou became a Hashira, all the Pillars held a contest.
In the speed trial, the winner was the Sound Hashira, Uzui Tengen. The Insect Hashira, Kochou Shinobu, came second—just behind Tengen. The Wind Hashira, Shinazugawa Sanemi, took third.
But in truth, Shinobu's "loss" wasn't because she was slower than Tengen. After learning [Shukuchi] from Nightingale, Shinobu actually led for most of the race—she only lost her lead two-thirds of the way through, simply because her stamina gave out. Uzui Tengen eventually overtook her.
In other words, when it came to pure speed, Shinobu was the fastest among all the Hashira.
Unlike the others, she didn't have to worry about swinging her sword to sever a demon's neck. All she needed was for her blade to land a single hit.
Inside her sword was a poison created by Nightingale and Tamayo. Once it entered the body—even an Upper Moon demon would have no hope of surviving.
But for all her speed, Shinobu's body was fragile.
Those interlacing, earth-rending crescent slashes that the other Hashira might barely withstand—if even one so much as grazed Shinobu, she'd be killed on the spot.
So she needed everyone else to create an opening, just so she could break through that hurricane of sword energy.
Everything—every last move—was for this one strike!
She poured her spirit, strength, and soul into this single thrust.
If she could just land it, victory would be within reach.
It was a transcendent strike, a slash faster than thought.
Before the eye could register that fleeting flash of steel, the brain would already be pierced through.
No time to react, no way to counterattack… Kokushibo's focus was fixed on the five Hashira surrounding him. He'd dismissed Shinobu, always lingering at the edge of the battlefield, as the weakest of them all.
Now, for the first time in ages, Kokushibo's entire body prickled with alarm.
His life was in danger. Numbness crawled up from his heart to his head—a tension that threatened to tear him apart.
The steady ground beneath his feet began to crumble.
He hated it. Yet he almost missed this feeling.
Since that man's death, he hadn't felt this way again.
Resentment… Resentment so fierce it could grind every muscle and bone to dust.
Rage… Rage so hot it threatened to burn his reason to ash.
He would endure any humiliation, become any monster, as long as he could survive—as long as he could become the strongest.
So that he could surpass that man.
So that he could become that man.
He could not—would not—bear another defeat!
"AH—!"
Cornered like a wild beast, Kokushibo let out a roar of pure desperation.
CLANG!
In the next instant, Shinobu felt the solid feedback of her blade hitting something.
But her face changed instantly.
Something's wrong—it's too hard!
She'd pierced Kokushibo's eye, but not with her Nichirin Blade. Instead, what she struck was a bizarre, eye-studded blade growing out from Kokushibo's own flesh.
This was Kokushibo's Blood Demon Art—transforming his own body into a weapon. The sword he'd always wielded was part of himself; it couldn't be destroyed, and if it was cut, it would grow back at once.
The monstrous blade sprouted from his eye had blocked Shinobu's sure-kill thrust.
But it wasn't over yet.
More and more demonic blades grew from Kokushibo's body—shoulders, chest, abdomen, thighs—everywhere, new swords erupted.
Even with just one sword, Kokushibo could force five Hashira to their limits. Now, wielding countless blades at once—what could possibly stand against him?
In an instant, the scene became a storm of raging dragon heads, a hurricane of slashes that tore the very sky apart.
Everyone still standing felt the ground vanish beneath their feet—the very platform of the battlefield was shredded, collapsing beneath them.
"Shinobu!!"
Gyomei shouted in panic.
When the sword storm exploded, Shinobu was the closest to Kokushibo.
From a distance, Gyomei saw blood burst from Shinobu's body, her form tumbling like a kite with its string cut, falling rapidly below.
"Guhh… ahhhh—!"
Kokushibo had no intention of letting her escape. He crushed a massive stone beneath his foot and shot forward like lightning, closing the distance in a blink.
"Damn it…"
Uzui Tengen, battered and bruised, lay sprawled atop a boulder. His twin Nichirin Cleavers, once linked by a chain, had been separated by Kokushibo's last outburst—now, only one blade remained in his hand.
Watching Kokushibo chase after the barely-conscious Shinobu, Tengen's heart clenched. The veins in his only uninjured arm bulged as he gritted his teeth.
"Hey! Ugly bastard! Over here!"
Tengen roared, blood staining his teeth, but he ignored the pain, mustering every ounce of strength to hurl his Nichirin Blade with all his might.
The shout and the rush of steel drew Kokushibo's gaze—he spun around, just in time to dodge Tengen's blade with inhuman speed.
"He dodged…?"
Breath growing ragged, Tengen stared in disbelief. "Damn…"
But as Tengen's cleaver spun past Kokushibo's hair, a water-blue Nichirin Blade flew in from another direction.
The two blades collided midair, unleashing a blast of flame and light. The shockwave blew away all the falling rubble, and Kokushibo's silhouette was swallowed by the explosion.
Like Shinobu's, Tengen's blades were custom-made—his twin swords packed with explosives. When swung, the bombs would detonate, powering his self-made Sound Breathing techniques.
The explosion was massive, but thankfully none of the Hashira were hurt, and all landed safely despite the collapsing platform.
Tomioka Giyuu clawed his way out of the debris, cradling the blood-soaked Shinobu in his arms.
"Cough… cough… Shinobu… Shinobu, can you hear me?"
"Cough… Lucky… I'm not dead yet, Tomioka-san…"
Her voice was weak, but Shinobu managed a faint smile.
She shakily reached toward her thigh, pulling out a small pill and popping it into her mouth. Almost immediately, some color returned to her face.
"Sorry, Tomioka-san. I'm afraid I won't be of much use for a while…"
Giyuu slowly stood, saying nothing in response.
Of all the Hashira, he was in the best shape—mainly because, aside from Shinobu, he was the weakest present, and Kokushibo hadn't bothered with him as much.
"Tomiiiiioka!!"
A furious shout snapped their attention around.
Eyes blazing, Uzui Tengen, still limping from his wounds and missing his blade, hobbled over.
"You bastard! So you're all about the girls, huh?!"
At his words, Shinobu gave Giyuu a strange look. Giyuu's expression didn't change, as unreadable as ever—who knew what was going on in his mind.
"…Who?"
"You!"
"What about me?"
"You care more about girls than your friends!"
For once, the eternally stoic Giyuu's face twitched almost imperceptibly.
"I care about girls?"
"That's right!"
"And not about my friends?"
"Exactly!"
"…What are you even talking about?"
"That blade just now—wasn't it yours? Why'd you only save Shinobu and not me?!"
Giyuu turned, exchanging a blank look with Shinobu, then turned back to Tengen.
"…I didn't shout?"
"I went flying! You didn't say a word!"
Hearing this, Giyuu looked at Shinobu again, who nodded.
"You really didn't say anything, Tomioka-san."
"…."
And Giyuu fell back into his usual, unreadable silence.
But before anyone could say more, that dreadful storm of sword energy erupted again nearby, making Giyuu and the others pale.
"Damn it… damn it… damn it…"
Like a wraith climbing out of the abyss, Kokushibo crawled from the rubble, a poisonous hatred radiating from his entire body.
He no longer resembled anything human. His body was covered in blades, his flesh warped to a sickly black-purple from the poison, rotting and sloughing off in chunks, the stench so thick it carried even at a distance.
Monstrous to the point of revulsion—there was no question that Kokushibo had become a true monster.
"Tch… So the explosion diluted the poison after all?"
Seeing Kokushibo's disgusting but still-moving form, Tengen couldn't help but frown.
That explosion was different from before. Earlier, before the fight, Tengen had asked Nightingale and Shinobu for poison strong enough to kill even an Upper Moon—the same kind Shinobu stored in her blade. He'd mixed it into his bombs.
When he saw Shinobu's thrust fail, Tengen decided it was time to use the poison-laced explosives.
He'd expected the explosion to weaken the effect, but hadn't thought it would fail even to cripple Kokushibo.
"Ghh… grrk…"
Even as his flesh, sinews, and bones rotted away—even with his insides burning—even as he transformed into this grotesque abomination, Kokushibo forced himself to stand.
He was still alive. He hadn't lost.
As long as he could stand, as long as he could swing a blade, he would never accept defeat.
Just the thought of losing sent him into a frenzy.
He would never lose again… The only one who could beat him—the man he hated most—was already dead. He would not lose to anyone else.
He'd already broken Shinobu's poison blade, thrown away the swordsman with the strange Breathing, and the Wind Hashira was bleeding out, near his limit.
And, with the platform collapsed, even the rare blood that had dulled his senses was fading from the air—he could finally unleash his full power!
Yes, now he could kill them all! He'd survived—victory was his!
He'd become a monster, lived for centuries, abandoned his family, abandoned his honor, devoured humans—all for this moment—
Yes, that's right… Everything he'd done was for—
"What a pitiful sight…"
As if witnessing something impossible, Kokushibo stared in utter panic.
In his mind's eye, that wretched, hateful face became clear once more.
Lost in endless confusion, Kokushibo slowly turned his head.
Nightingale stepped over the broken stones, appearing before his eyes.
At the same time, everyone saw it—the head Nightingale carried in her hand, still dripping blood.
That face—they all recognized it.
"Kibutsuji… Muzan!"
Nightingale holding Muzan's head could only mean one thing: Muzan had failed to escape her pursuit.
But not even Kokushibo could understand—if Nightingale had captured Muzan, why hadn't she destroyed him on the spot?
Nightingale didn't bother to explain. She just gazed at Kokushibo with calm, red eyes, and spoke words heavy with pity.
"What a sad, wretched figure you are…"
Those words reached Kokushibo's ears.
And in that instant, Kokushibo thought he could hear the sound of his whole body burning with envy.
That pity, those eyes—serene, as if gazing into another world.
It all—it all reminded him of that man he never wished to remember.
That man, brilliant as the sun, distant as the sun.
That man, as if favored by all the gods, as if a god walked among mortals.
Kokushibo had abandoned his family, his honor as a samurai, his very humanity.
He had abandoned everything, all for the sake of surpassing that man.
And yet, just when he believed he had finally succeeded, when he thought he'd left the past behind—that man would appear again before him, in a way that shattered all reason.
That single, unmatched strike—that blade that dimmed the very heavens—had denied everything he'd sacrificed.
As if everything I abandoned was just a joke.
Why is it always like this with you?
Why do you always appear at my most triumphant moments?
Why is it so easy for you to obtain everything I ever wanted?
Why can you so casually discard what I could never have, no matter how hard I tried?
Why do you always make me look so utterly pathetic?
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