"Please, Yamakawa-san — there's no need for such formality," Muzan said with convincing surprise, standing quickly to lift the kneeling man by his shoulders. His expression was grave but composed.
"A physician's duty is to heal. When faced with an incurable illness, every true doctor longs to overcome that obstacle. Though I am still young, I share that same resolve. I can't promise success… but I will do everything in my power to help Lady Tamayo overcome her affliction."
"I… I'm deeply grateful," Yamakawa Yuusuke managed, voice thick with emotion. His eyes glistened, yet words failed him. All he could utter were those four simple, trembling words.
"It's already late," Muzan said gently, bowing slightly. "I should take my leave for tonight."
"I'll see you out," Yuusuke said quickly, rising to escort him to the door.
Ten minutes later, Tamayo reentered the room after soothing the baby back to sleep. But when she returned, her husband was alone, sipping tea in silence.
"Did our guest leave already?" she asked softly.
"Yes," Yuusuke nodded. "It was getting late."
Tamayo's gaze lingered on his face, sensing the quiet weight in his voice.
"…You spoke to Ren-san about… my illness, didn't you?"
Her tone was calm — not reproachful, only understanding. She walked to his side, sat down gently, and rested her head upon his shoulder, her delicate hands clasping his larger, calloused ones.
"I know," she whispered. "You only wish to help me. I've accepted that there is no medicine in this world that can cure what I have."
"But…" Yuusuke began, tightening his grip on her hands. "There's always hope, isn't there? As long as we don't give up, there's still a chance."
Tamayo smiled faintly, her eyes softening. "You're right. As long as we keep trying, there will always be hope."
He looked at her with quiet determination. Even when her words faltered with resignation, he refused to surrender to despair.
To him, that fragile thread of hope was worth clinging to — even if the world itself mocked it.
"What a foolish man…" Tamayo murmured, her voice trembling with both affection and sorrow.
For years, she had spent her wealth and strength seeking cures — chasing fragments of rumor, reading obscure scrolls, and testing rare medicines.
But none of it would have been possible without Yuusuke's unwavering support. He had stood beside her through it all — even now, with their newborn child barely a month old, he never once complained of hardship.
Tamayo thought of their son's tiny hands, his soft cries in the night.
She wanted to be there — to see him grow from a toddler to a young boy, to a man who would one day have a family of his own.
She wanted to give him a mother's love, to let him know warmth and safety.
It was, perhaps, a dream too fragile to reach. But Tamayo never cursed her fate.
Compared to those who suffered far worse, her life still held light.
She had no right to resent the world — only to keep searching for that faint spark of miracle.
The couple sat quietly in the lamplight, wrapped in that still, bittersweet peace.
Outside their home, Muzan stood motionless beneath the eaves, his crimson eyes half-lidded as he listened to the murmured voices through the thin paper walls. The faintest smile curved his lips.
"So beautiful…" he whispered, almost tenderly. Then that softness twisted into something dark, serpentine.
"I wonder… how beautiful you'll be when that love turns into despair, Lady Tamayo."
The night breeze carried his words away, leaving only silence.
And then — with quiet, graceful steps — he melted back into the darkness, ready to resume his nocturnal hunt.
From that night onward, Muzan began visiting the Yamakawa household regularly. Each evening, he would share tea and conversation with Yuusuke — occasionally holding the baby in his arms with an almost human gentleness — before joining Tamayo in the small apothecary room to "exchange medical knowledge."
"I never imagined you'd have such deep understanding of pharmacology," Tamayo said one evening, unable to hide her amazement. "There are mixtures and compounds you've described that I've never even read about. I feel as though I'm the one learning from you."
Her tone was light, almost teasing, though admiration colored her gaze.
She remembered how he'd humbly introduced himself days ago — claiming to be merely a curious student of medicine — and now she realized just how vast his knowledge truly was.
"Ah, you're far too kind, Lady Tamayo," Muzan replied smoothly, his tone perfectly modest. "On the contrary, I've learned much from you. Your insights into treatment and the subtleties of herbs have opened my eyes. These past few days of study have been deeply rewarding."
His expression, gentle and earnest, could have convinced anyone of his sincerity. Tamayo smiled softly in response.
"Hehe… well, then, we're both learning," she said. "Shall we continue from where we left off yesterday? I believe—"
KNOCK, KNOCK!
The sudden knock startled them both.
Yuuseke slid the door open, carrying a tray of tea and sweets.
"You two have been shut in here for nearly two hours," he said with a chuckle. "You must be hungry. Have some snacks."
"Ah, you're right," Muzan said lightly, standing to take a pastry. "Thank you, Yamakawa-san."
As he bit into the sweet, Yuusuke suddenly frowned as though recalling something.
"By the way, Ren-san… I've noticed something. You always visit us at night, but we never see you during the day. Why is that?"
The question hung in the air for a beat.
"Ah—! Forgive me, that was rude," Yuusuke said quickly, waving his hands. "You don't have to answer if it's personal."
"No, no, it's fine," Muzan said with a warm laugh.
"I've mentioned before that my body is weak. One of my ailments causes my skin to react severely to sunlight — prolonged exposure burns me quite badly. That's why I prefer to go out after dusk."
He rolled up his sleeve, showing his arm — smooth, pale, and almost translucent in the lamplight.
"See? My skin is extremely sensitive."
Tamayo's eyes widened slightly. Even compared to the fair-skinned nobles she'd met, his pallor was otherworldly — almost luminous.
Yuusuke whistled softly. "I've never seen anyone that pale in my life."
Tamayo frowned faintly with concern. "That must make life terribly inconvenient for you, doesn't it?"
Muzan smiled gently.
"Not at all. I've lived this way for many years — I'm used to it. Besides," he added, glancing toward the window where the moonlight streamed in,
"the night has its own beauty. You can see things unseen in daylight."
His tone was calm, almost wistful. The couple exchanged a small smile, impressed by his optimism.
Neither could imagine that the man before them — so composed, so kind — was the very embodiment of the night itself.