"That's not the point. Anyway, he's got black hair, tall frame, skin pale as paper, and crimson eyes. Just remember that much."
Chika quickly raised a finger, steering the conversation away before anyone could ask what a Michael Jackson was. Tanjiro and Tamayo didn't think much of it, and the description she gave happened to match the Muzan in Tamayo's memories perfectly.
"Muzan can change his appearance," Tamayo added quietly. "Though not completely. I've even heard that he's appeared as a woman before."
Having lived for centuries, Tamayo shared what she knew—giving Tanjiro a crash course on demon hierarchy. Thanks to her, he finally had a better grasp of what "Twelve Kizuki" actually meant. No more mistaking every strong demon he met for one of the Twelve.
"The Twelve Kizuki are powerful," Tamayo continued. "Thankfully, the Hashira of this era are far stronger than those before them. Most of them became Hashira by slaying Lower Moons, not through the old method of fifty demon kills. But remember this—no Upper Moon has fallen for over a hundred years."
Tanjiro's brows furrowed as he absorbed her words—then his nose twitched.
A sharp, foul scent cut through the air.
Unlike Nezuko or Tamayo's faint, restrained aura—or the sickly, oppressive stench that came from Muzan—this was pure corruption. The reek of a man-eating demon.
"Big sis!"
"Mm."
Chika rose alongside him. They exchanged a glance—no hesitation, only resolve.
"Tamayo-san, please look after Nezuko. We'll handle this."
Before Tamayo could respond, the siblings were already gone—slipping out of the mansion and into the streets of Asakusa.
Muzan, at this moment, still walked among humans under a false identity. The demons they were after weren't him—but rather his companions, the ones who followed him in secret.
If the crows had truly located Muzan himself, the Demon Slayer Corps would have built a shrine to worship those birds by now.
No—their quarry was something else. Two of Muzan's "attendants."
Not Lower Moons, but still far above ordinary demons—what the Corps classified as High-rank Fodder.
Deep within a shadowed alley, two figures were crouched in the dark, gnawing casually on dismembered limbs.
"Ugh, I'm so bored. So, sooo bored."
"Shut your mouth and eat."
"How can I eat if I shut my mouth, idiot?"
"…"
The pair—one male, one female—feasted lazily under the moonlight. The woman was Susamaru, the Handball Demon. The man beside her was Yahaba, the Arrow Demon. Both served Muzan directly, convinced they were part of the Twelve Kizuki when, in truth, they were nothing more than disposable pawns.
"Honestly, I don't get Lord Muzan sometimes," Susamaru muttered. "Playing house with humans? Really?"
"Don't speak so carelessly of Lord Muzan!" Yahaba snapped.
"I'm not being disrespectful," she said, smiling with blood-smeared lips. "I'm praising him."
They laughed quietly to themselves—completely unaware that death was closing in.
The Water Breathing style was known for its calm precision and control. Each motion flowed in silence, like ripples through still water. Chika and Tanjiro approached, their presence muffled to nothing more than the whisper of a breeze.
Only when they were within striking distance—three, maybe four meters—did the demons' instincts finally scream danger.
They spun around—too late.
Two Nichirin blades gleamed in the dark, cutting through the air. Both demons twisted desperately aside, their necks sliced two-thirds through before they barely escaped decapitation.
"Demon Slayers?!"
Their surprise turned to fury in an instant.
Susamaru's six arms flexed, each palm conjuring a leather handball etched with blood sigils. Yahaba lifted his hands, summoning invisible crimson arrows that warped the air.
"Let's end this quickly," Chika said, leveling her sword.
"Right!" Tanjiro replied.
But the demons bristled at the casual tone.
"You dare mock us?!" Susamaru shrieked, hurling her handballs. The spheres shot forward with explosive force, whirling violently through the air. Yahaba's arrows lanced invisibly into them—bending their paths, doubling their speed, ricocheting them in unpredictable directions.
To human eyes, they vanished. A storm of unseen death.
"Hahaha! How do you like that? This is the power of the Twelve Kizuki!" Susamaru's laughter rang wild and manic.
But within the storm, neither Chika nor Tanjiro flinched. They simply stood still—calm, assessing.
"Tanjiro," Chika said lightly, "what do you think?"
"These handballs… I think I can cut them," he answered, gripping his blade.
Chika's lips curved faintly. "Don't bother."
He blinked. "Huh?"
"Why waste effort on toys? Those handballs can't kill us if we end the one controlling them."
Her gaze locked onto Susamaru.
"Fire God Dance—Illusory Sun Rainbow."
In the blink of an eye, her form shimmered, flickering like heat-haze. The next heartbeat—she was gone.
To the demons' eyes, her figure vanished entirely, leaving behind nothing but a fading afterimage.
"Wha—where is she?!" Susamaru spun wildly, eyes darting—
Slash!
A line of scarlet flame traced through the air.
Her body froze. Her head tumbled free.
Blood sprayed against the brick wall behind her, hissing faintly against the heat left by Chika's blade.
"Against ranged demons," Chika murmured, flicking the blood from her sword, "the right answer is simple—ignore the spells, kill the caster."
The flames dimmed. The alley fell silent.
Only Yahaba remained—and his trembling hand lowered, the glowing arrows around him wavering.
For the first time, he realized—he had never been the hunter.
He'd been the prey all along.