"No, don't come in!"
Just as Yushiro's hand turned the knob, Lady Tamayo's voice finally broke through, sharp and urgent. For Yushiro, her words were law. He froze instantly, his hand retracting from the door as if it were burned. He carefully turned the knob back, restoring everything to how it was.
If Lady Tamayo spoke, it meant she was in the room but that it wasn't the right time for him to enter. It was nothing, he told himself. He didn't even have to think; comforting excuses flooded his mind. Her refusal didn't spark a single trace of resentment in him. Instead, it only deepened his respect. As expected of Lady Tamayo, he thought, the most beautiful and kind woman in all of Japan.
Inside the room, Tamayo felt as if she had used the last of her strength just to speak those few words. Her body went limp, and she leaned involuntarily into Muzan's embrace. She wished she could tear the demon behind her limb from limb, but she knew the best course of action was to swallow her rage until her power could match his. Otherwise, all her work would be for nothing. She had not only completed the first stage of the medicine to turn a demon back into a human, but she had also secretly altered some of the formula's proportions.
Even the most brilliant doctors couldn't guess the correct dosage for such a revolutionary medicine, let alone Muzan Kibutsuji, who knew nothing of the craft. Tamayo was aware, however, that her knowledge was also her weakness. By simply controlling her, he could obtain everything he wanted.
Still, this was her only chance to manipulate him. From his words and actions, it was clear that he was, for whatever reason, interested in her. If he had merely wanted her body, he wouldn't have bothered creating such a tense, ambiguous atmosphere. But Tamayo knew better than to base her entire plan against the Demon King on something as flimsy as a woman's intuition. This was a monster who killed without remorse, a being who could twist people into vengeful demons and control them effortlessly. Every step she took felt like walking on thin ice over a bottomless abyss. Could she truly make it to the other side?
"Lady Tamayo, what are you doing?" Yushiro's voice came from outside again, softer this time. "Is the medicine finished? Nezuko still seems a little unwell…"
On the surface, he was just showing concern, but it was also his way of gently probing for answers. He had been turned away by her before, but never like this.
Inside, Lady Tamayo slowly lifted her exquisitely beautiful face, seemingly ignoring Yushiro's voice. Her dark hair was slightly messy, with a few strands stuck to her sweat-dampened cheek. Her mature face wore an expression of such profound pity that it was captivating. Her amethyst eyes seemed to hold a universe of unspoken emotion. The lingering tension from Muzan's embrace only made her current state seem all the more poignant, a chaotic mix of endless love and hate.
"The medicine is at its most crucial stage right now. I can't be distracted," she said, her voice steady despite her appearance. Her breathtaking eyes met Muzan's emotionless gaze. "Yushiro, go take care of Nezuko!"
Every word was aimed at the man outside the door, but her eyes suggested she was also speaking to the man holding her. It was a masterful display of control, a message sent and a boundary drawn all at once.
"Okay… I understand," Yushiro replied from the hallway. His disappointment was audible, but he seemed to recover in an instant. A moment later, they heard his footsteps turning and walking away.
"Tamayo," Muzan murmured as soon as they were alone. His hand moved casually, stroking her cheek. The simple, gentle touch made her whole body tremble.
"Everything that is past has vanished like smoke," he said, his voice low and possessive. "The future is ours. This era belongs to us."
As his last word fell, his form flickered and vanished from behind her like a ghost.
Thud.
Deprived of his support, Tamayo's trembling body could no longer hold itself up, and she collapsed to the floor. Tears streamed instantly from her eyes, turning her delicate face into a portrait of sorrow, like a pear blossom drenched in rain. She instinctively wiped them away, but the moment they were gone, a fresh wave of grief washed over her, and she began to cry once more.
She felt utterly confused about her own feelings for Muzan Kibutsuji—or rather, Tsukihiko. For centuries, she had known him only by his negative traits: his baseness, his shamelessness, his treachery, and his wickedness. But the man she saw now, a century later, was a refined, dignified, and unfathomable Demon King. Every movement he made, every word he spoke, seemed to hold an enigmatic allure.
The calm lake of her heart, which she had guarded for a hundred years, had been disturbed by his touch. She cried because, for a fleeting, subconscious moment, she had been truly captivated by the man he presented himself to be. Her heart had fluttered.
Yet she knew, deep in her soul, that he was the demon she hated most in the world, the monster she wished to tear to shreds. The complex, intertwining emotions made her feel as if her psychological defenses were collapsing, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
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