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{This is my first time writing a story. I never wrote one for someone else to read. I took inspiration from many different stories. I'm not claiming all the ideas i will use in this story as mine, maybe they have already been used in a much better way. Conclusion, I'm a novice. I'm not claiming that you will like this story. Hope you give constructive criticism.}
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{Oh and English is not my first language. You may find a few errors but I will try to convey the story in a way that most people can understand, atleast I hope so.}
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The white space trembled.
Muzan's body was already knitting itself back together, slower than he liked, slower than it should have been. The burns still lingered, crawling across his flesh like something alive. His regeneration worked, but it fought against the burns constantly.
'Oh yeah, this is definitely not good.' Giving up on complete regeneration, Muzan let the burned flesh fall away, and the rest of his body joined back together a little faster.
'How does that thing still affect me? I've already overcome my weakness to the sun, no?' For his question, the system answered.
[Notice: The participants of the confrontation are given equal opportunity to resist.]
'...' Muzan stayed silent, processing the bul—cough, cough.
'So where's my equal opportunity against that guy?' Muzan asked after a long silence.
Yoriichi stood a few steps away, blade lowered, posture calm. Not relaxed. Calm. As if this was not a battle, but an execution waiting to happen.
[Notice: The confrontation space is built to help the harmed individuals seek retribution.]
'Huh?! What do you mean harmed?! There's no way I've harmed that guy! And by that, I mean for both ME and the old Muzan!'
[Notice: According to this world's structure and rules, twins are connected on a spiritual level through a shared soul blueprint, meaning they are often considered one soul incarnated into two bodies.]
[This connection is most often centered at the heart, providing a direct channel for empathy, where one twin feels the other's joy, pain, or fear as if it were their own. They function as a spiritual mirror, reflecting each other's strengths and weaknesses.]
[While not sharing any physical sensation, they share emotional and spiritual effects with each other, or in this case, it's a mixture of guilt, regret, and longing. Kokushibo, or more precisely, Michikatsu Tsugikuni, shoulders most of the guilt, regret, and longing. Yoriichi Tsugikuni can be considered the individual Michikatsu Tsugikuni, and this confrontation can be considered to be against the individual Michikatsu Tsugikuni.]
Muzan inhaled. Furious was an understatement; he was feeling wronged!!!
'So what? Those emotions somehow let him summon his brother to fight me in place of him?! Shame on you, Kokushibo. You dare throw your younger brother at me, you bastard!'
[Notice: Yes. That can be considered true.]
Muzan took a deep breath to calm himself. He was angry, sure, but he wasn't dumb enough to not see the important things in front of him. So he asked seriously,
'Tell me, if I lose, what would happen to me?'
The system answered almost immediately.
[Notice: Host will not die. The confrontation will continue until host emerges victorious or gives up. In case of giving up, host's 'will' will be erased.]
'And what about the body?'
[Notice: It will also be destroyed.]
Muzan sighed and finally fell silent.
'I see. So I won't be erased or something like that, just receive a good, long, painful beating. Wonderful.' He said to himself, and of course he said so, because there was no way he was giving up!
[Notice: This is for your own good, host! The negative karmic value you hold is extremely high. The confrontation space aims to lower the karmic and negative value of the host's life.]
[The high amount of negative karmic value can deeply hinder the host while traveling the multiverse, making people who are against negativity regard the host with hostility. This can even extend to some worlds themselves!]
The air suddenly felt like fire, because it fucking burned in his lungs!
'Oh, you've got to be kidding me! Muzan's mistakes are considered mine?!' "Muzan" shrieked.
So this was it? Not a dream. Not just a punishment sequence. It was a trial; it's just that he was directly facing the executioner.
But while Muzan's mind was busy juggling his thoughts with his system, his body was already reacting. Fear clawed up his spine, instinctive, old, buried deep in memories that were not entirely his.
The original Muzan's terror screamed inside his skull, begging him to run, to scatter, to dissolve, to survive like a cornered animal.
But Muzan only said, 'Fuck this!' and did not retreat. If he ran, where would he even go? This is literally inside his mind or soul or something!
His hands curled into fists.
Running would not work.
He knew that now.
Yoriichi's gaze was on him, steady, unreadable. Those eyes did not look at him like he was prey, but they made him feel like he was a rat in front of a majestic lion, not even worth eating.
"You truly have changed," Yoriichi said quietly.
Muzan laughed, breath hitching, the sound rough and uneven. "Yeah. Funny how dying does that." He wasn't lying. Dying truly lessens the fear of death, but honestly, he didn't fear death. He feared the pain that came with it.
And he knew for sure he was going to receive LOTS of it!
Yoriichi did not respond to the sarcasm. His grip on the sword tightened, just slightly.
"Fear lives in you," Yoriichi said. "But it is not crippling you."
Muzan felt it too. Fear, yes. Thick and choking. But beneath it was something else. Pressure. Resolve. And that amusing itch of adventure, of thrill.
He wanted to live. He wanted to leave this boring world and have fun in other worlds.
Yeah. He has to live! So he could go on an eternal adventure, so he could roam the multiverse, go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted!
He still needed to check if he could eat normal food now. Demons couldn't eat normal human food. And maybe once he leaves here, he would end up in some food world, like Food Wars or Toriko. Isn't that fun? Isn't that the whole point of an isekai? If I can't even enjoy my second life, MY life the way I want, why the fuck would I have even taken this chance?!
"I'm scared," Muzan admitted, voice low. He was being honest. "I'd be stupid not to be."
His body shifted, muscles tightening, stance lowering. Not a swordsman's stance. Something rawer. Something built for killing and not caring how. He didn't need to be skilled right now; he only needed to survive!
"But I don't plan on dying here. If someone like you killed me, then how would I ever be able to create my very own full-course menu!"
The moment he finished speaking, he moved, not forward, not backward, but sideways!!
The space distorted as Muzan tore through it, his body warping, splitting, reforming. Flesh twisted into blades, tendrils, jagged edges aimed not at Yoriichi's body, but at the ground, the air, the space itself!!!
If he couldn't overpower the man, he would overwhelm the field, destroy the ground he could step on, pollute the air he could breathe in!!
That thought actually gave him another idea! But he didn't have time right now, because Yoriichi had moved!
Yoriichi stepped forward, one step at a time, and then his sword moved.
Muzan did not see it; he felt it!
Pain exploded across his chest as the blade passed through him, the cut so precise and cruel it separated thought from sensation. His body screamed, regeneration stalling as the heat of the red blade ate through muscle and bone.
But Muzan was already moving again.
He tore himself apart on purpose again! Shedding burning flesh, reforming behind Yoriichi, claws aimed for the neck, the spine, anything vital, anywhere he could get a hit in!
The blade was already there.
Another cut. Another burn.
Muzan let out a self-deprecating laugh.
'Man, this guy truly is unreal. How am I supposed to confront such a man?'
Muzan staggered, barely keeping his form intact as he regenerated again. His burnt flesh fell away again and again. His breath came in sharp gasps, smoke curling from his wounds.
Still that fast?
Yoriichi turned, facing him fully.
"You know," Muzan said between breaths, grinning through the pain, "the last time this guy, Muzan, fought you, he thought you were a monster even greater than himself."
Yoriichi said nothing.
"I don't," Muzan continued. "I think you're human." Muzan smirked, and finally it got a reaction from the calm man, not anger, but surprise.
"And humans," Muzan whispered, eyes narrowing, "can be outmaneuvered."
Muzan opened his mouth and sprayed out a large column of gas! Other parts of his body, the burnt ones he'd been shedding all this time, suddenly curled up together and exploded into sharp chunks, of course aimed at him. This gas was made inside his body and even had his cells inside it. It was corrosive, toxic, and heavy! And those chunks, while not much, should be able to injure him at least!
It was a counter to the breathing techniques and a surprise attack!!!
Yoriichi's every move was calculated, layered, testing angles, timing, and the distance of the gas from him. He evaded the flesh chunks and slashes and parried the few he could not react to in time. Muzan was watching how Yoriichi moved, how much effort each step took, how the sword responded.
He was going to lose of course, but he was learning, and finally, Yoriichi took a step back, and the gas had completely enveloped him!
'Yes!!' Muzan screamed in his mind, celebrating.
But then Yoriichi spun into a spiral and created a small hurricane to counter the gas attack.
'...Brother, how the fuck? That's cheating!' Muzan screamed in disbelief!!
Yoriichi didn't care about Muzan's complaints. He advanced. He cut, burned him again and again, but Muzan also did not retreat. Even as his body screamed, even as regeneration faltered, he stayed upright.
"Why do you struggle?" Yoriichi asked. "You truly are not the Muzan Kibutsuji I've fought before."
Muzan smiled, blood and ash dripping from his chin. "Yeah," he said. "And that's exactly why I'm fighting, because I'm not that guy!"
The white space shook again, reacting to their clash.
And for the first time, Yoriichi raised his sword properly.
Not as an executioner.
But as an opponent.