In Tokyo, Japan.
At Midnight.
The city should have been asleep, but tonight the air itself felt awake—heavy, humming, charged with something unseen.
The President's residence lay wrapped in artificial calm. Floodlights bathed the compound in white. Guards patrolled in steady patterns, boots clicking against stone, fingers resting near triggers.
A cold wind cut through the courtyard. Dry leaves skittered across the ground.
One guard paused.
The sky above him was wrong.
Not cloudy. Not storming. Just… empty.
As if the stars had been erased.
His brow furrowed. He raised his radio—
—KSSHHH—
Static. Only static.
The lights along the western wing flickered once. Twice. Then died.
"Control?" he muttered.
Behind him—
something shifted.
Not footsteps. Not movement.
A distortion.
Reality stuttered.
He turned— And the shadow was already there.
A towering figure stood inches away, tall and skeletal, its frame stitched together by exposed metal joints and torn synthetic flesh. One single white eye pulsed softly, cold and artificial, locking onto him. Yet his appearance looks like a soldier.
Midnight Winter.
The guard's mouth opened—
Too late.
The demon's arm snapped forward, uncoiling like a steel cable. Metal tore through flesh and bone, punching clean through his chest. The sound was wet and brief.
His scream never formed. Midnight Winter lifted him slowly, almost curiously, watching the life drain from his eyes.
Then, he released him.
The body hit the ground without ceremony.
No alarms sounded. No shouts followed.
Jigen's creation had already suffocated the compound—power grids dead, communications severed, surveillance blind.
Midnight Winter stepped inside. His claws scraped against marble floors, sparks skittering in thin, frantic lines. Each step was precise. Calculated. Silent in intent, loud in consequence.
Guards rounded a corner—
The hallway exploded into violence.
One was impaled against the wall, spine snapping with a metallic crunch. Another fired blindly, bullets sparking uselessly off reinforced plating before a wing cleaved him in half. Blood sprayed across pristine walls, painting them red in seconds.
Then silence again.
Inside the top floor office, President Hayato Ikeda sat frozen at his desk.
The light above him buzzed. Once. Twice.
He looked up, heart hammering.
Then—
CRASH.
The window behind him detonated inward. Glass shredded the air like crystal knives as a cold metal hand clamped around his throat. Ikeda was yanked from his chair, feet leaving the ground as if gravity had given up on him.
He tried to scream. No sound came out.
Midnight Winter's eye scanned his face, confirming identity, pulse, fear. His grip tightened.
The President clawed uselessly at steel fingers, vision blurring, lungs burning.
Then the demon's wings unfolded. Half rusted metal. Half decaying flesh.
They spread wide with a wet, mechanical crack, filling the room as wind howled through the shattered window.
Tokyo's lights glittered far below.
And then— they were gone.
The demon launched into the night, carrying the President like discarded prey, soaring over rooftops and highways, vanishing into the starless sky.
Silence reclaimed the residence.
On a neighboring building, a lone silhouette stood unmoving. A figure in a trench coat, fabric rippling in the wind. Hands in pockets. Face hidden by shadow.
Watching. Observing. Like a detective at a crime scene that hadn't ended yet.
A few moments later.
Midnight Winter descended into a narrow, secluded street.
Neon signs buzzed faintly. Apartment windows were dark. The city slept, ignorant and vulnerable.
The demon stood in the middle of the road, the President clutched under one arm like excess baggage, a metal hand clamped over his face. The man's muffled gasps trembled against steel fingers.
Midnight Winter leaned closer, his voice a low mechanical whisper. "You should've thought more carefully… before challenging him."
The President's eyes shook violently.
Then—
Click.
A sound too soft to be accidental.
Midnight Winter's head snapped to the side.
From behind a rusted vending machine, a figure stepped into the moonlight.
Long black trench coat. Hat pulled low. White mask covering half her face. Knee-high boots touching the pavement without a sound.
Her long wolf-cut hair spilled down her waist, glinting faintly silver under the streetlight.
Midnight Winter's eyes narrowed. Its white glow sharpened.
Without hesitation, metal whips burst from his forearm, snapping around the President's body and mouth, cocooning him tightly. The demon released him; the man collapsed against a wall, helpless.
Midnight Winter stepped forward. "…How does this person know about my stealth? No matter. There should be no witnesses."
He vanished.
In no time, he lunged forward.
His leg transformed mid-air, hydraulics screaming as he spun— A 720-degree kick, pressure tearing the air apart, knee aimed inches from her face.
She moved. Barely.
Her body bent just enough as her hand slid the katana an inch from its hilt—
CLANG.
The base of the blade stopped his knee dead in the air.
The impact rang like a bell.
Midnight Winter froze.
For a fraction of a second. That was enough.
She unsheathed.
A silver arc split the night—perfectly symmetrical.
Midnight Winter hurled himself backward, slamming his knee down to propel away, but crimson lines bloomed across his torso and face. Flesh and metal peeled apart in mirrored slashes.
He landed on his feet. The wounds regenerated instantly, synthetic muscle knitting back together.
His voice rumbled, low and distorted. "…You're not ordinary. Are you… a Hashira?"
The woman lifted her hat. The mask came off. Amethyst eyes gleamed with sharp amusement. Crimson lips curved into a dangerous smile.
"Aww. You figured it out already?"
Ai Hanako.
Midnight Winter's eye flickered. "So… you're the Flower Hashira."
She took a slow step forward.
"Oh? So he told you about me too?" She chuckled softly. "How flattering."
He lunged—
And stopped.
Her blade hovered a hair's breadth from his throat.
She stood calm, grounded, flawless, in the Ko Gasumi stance.
Midnight Winter leaned back slightly. "…That was close."
He spun suddenly—
A vicious spinning hook kick tore toward her face.
THUD.
It connected.
Her head snapped to the side, eyes widening—yet she didn't fall.
Before she could recover, he followed with a jumping back kick—
She blocked with the flat of her sword. The impact sent her skidding backward, boots carving lines into the asphalt.
She steadied herself. I need to be careful. This is an Upper Moon. Not an ordinary demon.
Midnight Winter straightened. "Good. I'm not even using my explosives… my bullets… or my Blood Demon Art. Otherwise, you'd already be vaporized."
Ai laughed. A light, mocking sound that didn't belong in a battlefield.
"Oh please." She twirled her blade once. "Do you really think I'm serious either?"
She tilted her head. "I'm not using my Breathing Styles. Just kenjutsu."
Her eyes sharpened. "This fight has to stay quiet. No witnesses." She leveled her katana at him. "If I had used my breathing earlier… you wouldn't survive a single exchange."
Midnight Winter's eyes narrowed.
I don't know why Jigen-Sama even thinks of this girl as a threat. She looks so normal. He can kill her anytime, but why doesn't he…?
They both charge at each other.
She raised her blade to strike—
But Midnight Winter leapt, hand snapping toward her face.
Before she could finish her swing, his knee rocketed upward, stopping centimeters from her nose.
Her eyes widened.
That's not Karate… not Taekwondo… is it Muay Thai?
She bent backward at the last instant, the knee grazing air.
She twisted mid-motion, spinning—
A spiral slash screamed toward his neck. Metal shifted.
His left arm transformed into a massive hammer mid-air—
BOOM.
The impact deflected her blade, sparks exploding between steel and steel.
He jumped back.
"This is taking too long. Sunrise is coming."
His gaze flicked to the President—still bound, trembling.
"I can use him as bait."
He lunged toward him.
Ai's eyes widened.
She dashed after him, instinctively sliding her katana back toward its hilt.
Midnight Winter smirked. "She fell for it. She can't even use her sword now."
He spun, both arms morphing into curved sickles, slashing toward her exposed form—
But—
She caught his forearm.
Her other hand locked behind his neck. In one fluid motion—
She threw him.
A perfect Aikido toss.
Midnight Winter's world flipped.
"What—?!"
He spun helplessly through the air before slamming into the ground, concrete cracking beneath him.
He rose slowly, disbelief flickering through his glowing eyes.
"Aikido…? At that level… I've only seen him perform it like this… Now I understand. This is why Lord Jigen warned me. Not her strength… but her strategic mind."
He looked up—
The street was empty.
No President. No Hashira.
Only silence… and the faint echo of retreating footsteps already gone.
Some moments later.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Near Tokyo City, police vehicles and emergency units flooded the streets, headlights slicing through the darkness as authorities scrambled, shouting orders into radios.
The President was missing.
In a narrow alley far from the chaos, silence ruled.
Ai Hanako stood beneath a flickering streetlight. Hayato Ikeda stood opposite her—dirty, shaken, alive.
Ai adjusted her hat and slipped the white mask back over her face. "You can go now, Mr. President," she said calmly.
"They're looking for you."
She turned to leave.
"W–Wait," Hayato said, voice trembling. "Thank you… thank you for saving my life. I owe you—"
"You owe me nothing." Her tone was firm, final. "It's my duty to save people."
He swallowed hard.
"Y–You… who are you?"
She didn't stop walking. "That doesn't matter."
He clenched his fists, forcing himself to speak again. "That thing… it said I was summoned."
Ai paused. Then she answered, without turning back—
"You were mistaken for someone important."
She resumed walking.
Before leaving, she spoke once more—quiet, almost tired.
"Live carefully," she said. "You won't be taken a second time."
As she walked, her thoughts drifted—
I've always stayed behind… overshadowed by Hajime-kun's brilliance… I hated it, I wanted to be responsible… but now I understand what the true responsibility is…
And then—
She was gone.
No wind followed her. No shadow lingered.
Only silence.
After some time.
An abandoned building loomed over the city outskirts. Midnight Winter stood at the edge of the rooftop, white eyes glowing faintly as Tokyo stretched endlessly below him.
His fists clenched. "…I've failed."
The words tasted like rust. "What will I say to Lord Jigen…? I'll be killed if I return empty-handed."
His mind betrayed him—
Memory surfaced.
One day ago.
At night.
A distant city drowned in darkness. Jigen sat at the edge of a towering building, unmoving, as if carved from shadow itself.
His long obsidian hair and black robes flowed quietly in the wind, yet he did not sway.
Midnight Winter stood beside him, uneasy.
"Lord Jigen," he asked carefully, "when will you come to Japan?"
Jigen didn't look at him. "I don't know… It depends on her. If I move to other places, it will only bring apocalypse… At least she has removed my curse from this place…"
Midnight Winter says in a low voice. "I truly apologise for questioning you… but you can simply command her. You're a higher-ranking demon than Lady Eliza. She doesn't obey you, doesn't obey Lord Muzan. She even insulted Lord Muzan in front of everyone. Anyone else would be erased instantly. Yet he allows it. Even you, who can kill anyone for nothing, wait for her. Why don't you do anything to her?"
Silence followed.
Long. Heavy.
Then Jigen spoke.
"That's because none of us can imagine killing her… Although, our reasons for not killing her are different. Also… You exactly know what to do next, don't you?"
Midnight Winter nodded slowly. "I do, Lord Jigen. I will kidnap the Japanese president and bring him to you by tomorrow."
Jigen's voice dropped colder. "If you fail, you die… or even worse…"
"I know…"
Jigen says again, "However, you might not be able to kidnap the president. Not because you can't, but because there might be someone waiting for you…"
Midnight Winter frowned. "Waiting for me? And you said that I might fail. Then… does that mean I am destined to die?"
Jigen answered calmly. "I think so… You might even encounter one of those five demon slayers I mentioned before. And once you do, never underestimate them."
Midnight Winter lowers his head. "I understand…"
And then, he vanished.
Jigen sat alone, high above the sleeping city. The skyline stretched endlessly before him, lights pulsing like dying stars beneath a veil of smog. His crimson eyes were half-lidded, unfocused—watching, yet not seeing.
The world below felt distant. Insignificant.
A memory surfaced—
Last night.
An empty apartment, untouched by life. The room was silent, stripped of warmth. An open window let moonlight spill inside, pale and cold, illuminating dust in the air like drifting ash.
Jigen knelt.
Moonlight traced his silhouette, sharp and unnatural, as shadows bent subtly toward him. His presence weighed upon the room, heavy and absolute.
"Lady Eliza," he said calmly, his voice steady. "I need your help."
For a moment, the room did not respond. Then—
She was there.
Eliza sat on the bed as though she had always belonged to the space. Her long dark hair fell loosely around her shoulders, unkempt in a way that felt intentional. Her crystal-blue eyes were half-lidded, distant, as if she were watching something far beyond the room itself.
She looked unreal.
Not beautiful in a human sense— but wrong, in a way that demanded attention.
She shifted slightly, resting her weight back, her movements slow and unbothered.
"What do you want now, Jigen-san…?" she asked, her voice light, almost bored. "Another task?"
"I'm returning to Japan," Jigen replied. "I need you to come with me."
That caught her attention. Her gaze sharpened—just a fraction.
"…And why is that?"
"I want you to erase my curse from that land."
Eliza tilted her head, studying him. Not his power—but his stillness.
"Oh," she said softly. "That's all?"
Jigen inclined his head. "That's all."
A faint smirk curved her crimson lips. "Okay then…"
Without warning, Eliza abruptly wrapped herself inside a thick, absurdly fluffy blanket, disappearing beneath it like a burrito of defiance.
"I'm not going to do it."
Jigen stood up slowly. "Lady Eliza," he said evenly, "this is important. Possibly my final mission."
From inside the blanket came a muffled scoff. "Not buying it. Every mission is important to you but me."
He approached her at an unhurried pace, footsteps silent against the floor. "I cannot persuade you this time, but you must understand… I need to end this quickly."
The blanket shifted aggressively. "That's your problem. You curse every land you touch, then drag me along to clean up after you. What do you think I am? Your personal sweeper?"
She tightened the blanket around herself. "And it's cold outside. I'm not going anywhere."
"You are overacting, my lady," Jigen replied flatly. "You cannot feel cold."
From beneath the blanket came a dramatic gasp. "Oh, so now you decide what I feel? You don't care if I catch a cold. You don't care about me at all."
A pause. Then, quieter— "Your love is fading, isn't it?"
Jigen stared at the blanket.
That is completely unrelated. Also, no disease, curse, or concept of mortality could ever affect her. Convincing her is pointless. I'll have to wait for her approval.
The blanket tilted toward him. "…Also, do you want to come inside too?"
"No."
"Why?" she pressed. "It's warm here. You can sleep with me if you want—"
"No, thank you."
"Hmph… Alright, don't regret it later." She wrapped herself tighter.
He asks for the last time. "If you sleep through the night… what will you do during the day? You won't be able to go outside."
"We'll see tomorrow," she replied lazily.
Jigen glanced at the world beyond the window—the distant city trembling beneath unseen fear.
"The world is changing, terrified… yet she acts so childish and careless…"
He raised his hand, intending to rest it gently atop her head—even through the blanket.
It stopped midway.
After a moment, he lowered it.
Instead, he sat down on the floor, his back resting against the bed. He tilted his head upward, gazing at the moon, crimson eyes reflecting its pale light.
I cannot leave her alone like this, not tonight. I will wait… and protect her… until she wakes.