Mando kept conjuring mirrors one after another, desperately trying to conceal herself — but it was useless. Each time a mirror appeared, it was shattered instantly by Yosuke's overwhelming force.
"No offensive ability, yet selected by Muzan Kibutsuji to be one of the Upper Moons… interesting."
A thought flickered through Yosuke's mind. He seized Mandō by the collar and lifted her effortlessly into the air.
"Compared to the small amount of blood I've extracted before, a complete Upper Moon should be far more valuable for research."
As if sensing his intent, Mandō struggled frantically.
Yosuke drove his right hand into her chest, his own blood surging into her body.
Inside Mandō, Muzan Kibutsuji's blood roiled violently, trying to resist Yosuke's intrusion.
Yosuke quickly realized the problem — Muzan's blood had completely permeated every vessel of her body.
When Yosuke's blood forcibly entered her system, Muzan's blood began to attack her from within, destroying her body as it resisted.
That could mean only one thing — Muzan was remotely manipulating the curse within his blood, using it to corrode Mandō's flesh.
Her eyes rolled white. Her skin began to rot away. The agony was unbearable; Mandō screamed in torment.
Yosuke pressed his hand down on her chest, trying to suppress the rate of the curse's corrosion.
"Inject those two serums into her body — now!" he called to Koyuki and Umi.
The two quickly produced the medicine developed by Kanae and Shinobu — a serum designed to suppress demonic cells — and injected it into Hantō's body.
Yosuke momentarily halted the flow of his own blood. The serum began to take effect, struggling to hold back both Yosuke's and Muzan's blood within her.
At the exact moment the medicine reached its peak efficacy, suppressing Muzan's demonic cells to their absolute limit, Yosuke once again poured a massive surge of his own blood into her body.
This time, his Demon King blood overwhelmed Muzan's. The corrosion of Mando's body finally ceased.
She lost consciousness. Yosuke probed the state of her body — Muzan's blood had been suppressed, its cellular activity now frozen in stasis.
However, that was all it was: suppression, not removal. The curse embedded in her blood remained intact. Should Muzan's cells ever reawaken, Hantō would once again be consumed and die.
To keep Muzan's cells permanently dormant, she would need continual doses of the Butterfly Sisters' serum — alongside the influence of Yosuke's blood.
Cradling Mando's limp body in his arm, Yosuke turned to Koyuki and Umi.
"Let's go. We're heading back to the Butterfly Estate."
Meanwhile, Kokushibo stumbled out of a mirror, battered and humiliated.
He found himself deep within the mountains — a place he and Mandō had once visited together.
Mando's Blood Demon Art allowed her to create pairs of mirrors linked across distances. When she had used Mirror Concealment earlier, she had transported Kokushibo to this remote mountainside.
Kokushibo's eyes blazed with rage. He swung his demonic blade wildly, venting his fury and humiliation.
Countless crescent blades swept through the forest, cleaving trees in half and leveling everything in their path.
Defeated yet again, Kokushibo wandered aimlessly among the trees — hollow, lost, and consumed by resentment.
He walked without direction, without purpose, until at last he came to an open plain.
At its center stood tall trees and clusters of vivid flowers. There, amidst the blossoms, he saw it — a solitary gravestone.
[Grave of Tsugikuni Yoriichi]
Kokushibo stood frozen, staring blankly at the name etched into stone. His mind swirled with conflicting emotions.
Since becoming a demon, his human emotions and memories had faded, growing ever more distant — even the faces of his own family were blurred beyond recall.
And yet, only Yoriichi's face remained vivid as ever.
He reached out and brushed his fingers over the gravestone.
"Was it you who guided me here?" he murmured.
Then his expression twisted. "No… no! I don't believe it! You brought me here only to mock me, didn't you? I hate you! I despise you! Why were you chosen by heaven — and not me?!"
In a surge of rage, Kokushibo swung his blade, cleaving Yoriichi's gravestone cleanly in two.
"Come out, Tsugikuni Yoriichi! Answer me!"
He clawed at the earth, digging until he unearthed a coffin.
When he opened it, all he found was a skeleton — and clasped between its hands, a short bamboo flute.
Kokushibo stared at the flute, memories flooding back in painful fragments.
"Brother, your dream is to become the strongest samurai in this land? Then I shall be the second strongest!"
"I'll treasure this flute as if it were you, Brother."
"More than swordsmanship, I just want to play with you again, Brother…"
"Stop it! Stop talking!" Kokushibo cried, tears streaming down his face as he clutched his head.
In his haze of anguish, he saw a faint, flickering image before him — the figure of Tsugikuni Yoriichi.
Yoriichi looked upon Kokushibo's current form, tears in his own eyes, his voice hoarse with sorrow.
"You're so pitiful, Brother."
"Anyone may pity me — but not you, Yoriichi!" Kokushibo roared. "It was to surpass you that I became this monster! Come! Fight me! I'll prove that I'm the stronger one!"
Driven by fury and shame, he swung his blade over and over — but each strike passed harmlessly through Yoriichi's spectral body.
Yoriichi spoke softly, his tone filled with longing.
"Do you remember, Brother? The time you disobeyed Father and came to my room to play?
He was furious when he found out, and beat you in front of everyone.
But even then, you never turned away from me.
To avoid being discovered again, you carved a flute for me with your own hands and said,
'If you ever need me, blow this flute, and I'll come to your side right away.'"
Kokushibo's blade kept swinging wildly. "I've long forgotten such trivial things!"
"But I haven't," Yoriichi said gently. "And I believe you haven't either. We're brothers, aren't we?"
"No! We are not brothers! I am not Tsugikuni Michikatsu — I am Kokushibo, who abandoned everything to become strong!"
"Then tell me, Brother," Yoriichi asked softly, "why is your heart trembling?"
The words struck Kokushibo like a blade. His sword fell from his hands.
"Why… why is my heart unsteady? No… my resolve hasn't wavered… it hasn't…"
"Brother," Yoriichi whispered, "look at yourself."
Kokushibo turned toward a nearby puddle. Reflected in its surface was his own grotesque visage — the monstrous, inhuman form he had become.
"Is this… the bearing of a samurai?" he thought bitterly. "Is this truly what I wanted?"
His long-held conviction began to crumble.
"Tell me, Yoriichi! Why was I born into this world? Tell me!" he cried out in despair.
Yoriichi stepped forward and embraced him.
"To me, you've always been the one who protected me. You've simply lost your way, Brother.
I believe… one day, you'll find your way back again."
Holding Kokushibo close, Yoriichi smiled faintly.
"I only wished that we could play together once more — just as we did when we were children.
That when I blew the flute, you would appear at my side again."
Yoriichi's figure began to fade into the light. Kokushibo reached out desperately, but his hands grasped nothing.
He stared blankly at the flute now lying in his palm — he didn't even remember picking it up.
Lifting it to his lips, he blew a gentle note.
But the one he longed for… was gone.
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