The memory of that night, centuries ago, surged like a frigid tide, instantly drowning Muzan in its depths.
Before encountering that man, Muzan had believed himself to be the most free and powerful being in existence. To him, every other living soul in this world was nothing more than a sacrificial lamb waiting for the slaughter.
But when that man appeared, his divine swordsmanship—techniques that bordered on the miraculous—shattered Muzan's pride and self-esteem. In a single heartbeat, that man had torn everything he was to shreds, forcing Muzan to humiliate himself by self-detonating into a cloud of gore just to narrowly escape with his life.
Since that day, Muzan had almost forgotten how to laugh from the bottom of his heart.
Recalling that man's face, Muzan instinctively reached out to touch the hideous scars on his body—wounds that seemed as though they would never truly heal. Even now, they throbbed with a searing pain, as if a hot iron were being pressed against them, or as if that man's Nichirin Sword were once again carving through his flesh.
"Sun Breathing... Why? Why does it still exist in this world?! Yoriichi Tsugikuni should be dead! I confirmed it with my own eyes! Every record, every successor—they were all supposed to have been erased!"
Fury intertwined with a primal, instinctive terror, causing Muzan's physical form to distort and flicker. Mouths lined with shark-like teeth erupted across his arms and cheeks, and hideous whips composed of jagged flesh began to ripple beneath his skin.
Nakime watched her master's near-psychotic breakdown with a sense of detached confusion. However, she didn't dare pause her movements for a second; she had no desire to be caught in the crossfire of Muzan's lingering rage.
With a subtle pluck of her slender fingers against the strings of her biwa, a sharp note rang out, and the space around them warped and shifted.
In the next instant, a swordsman clad in a purple samurai kimono, possessed of six eyes, appeared silently before Muzan.
Kokushibo's arrival was utterly soundless. Even Nakime felt a flicker of astonishment; as the one controlling the dimensions, even she could barely track his speed.
"Lord Muzan... for what purpose have you summoned me—"
Kokushibo's words cut off abruptly. Muzan had absolutely no patience to wait for the Upper Rank's characteristically slow, deliberate speech.
"Kokushibo! Why does Sun Breathing still exist in this world?! Back then, did you actually kill every last one of them or not?!"
At Muzan's outburst, Kokushibo froze momentarily. Then, the realization of what Muzan was implying hit him. His voice, usually as calm and steady as a high-born noble's, suddenly became strained with uncharacteristic agitation.
"Lord Muzan! It is impossible for Sun Breathing to remain in this world! After his death... Sun Breathing vanished completely!"
As Yoriichi Tsugikuni's brother, no one understood Sun Breathing better than Kokushibo. It wasn't a Breathing Style that a mere human could master. To be precise, it wasn't a "Breathing Style" at all. It was a singular talent bestowed by the gods upon Yoriichi Tsugikuni alone.
The so-called "successors" he and Muzan had hunted down and slaughtered all those years ago were nothing more than people clinging to a delusional obsession.
Sun Breathing could only be wielded by Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
Nakime was stunned by the rare display of emotion from Kokushibo. Her master, Muzan, was one thing—he threw tantrums regularly—but in the decades since she had become a demon, she had never seen Lord Kokushibo exhibit such intense emotional volatility, let alone a change in his tone.
Watching the two as they stood on the verge of a shouting match, Nakime silently lowered her head, doing her best to erase her presence. She wanted no part of this conversation.
Muzan, currently consumed by fear, reached out. A long, thin whip of blood pierced into Kokushibo's body, instantly sharing Muzan's vision with him.
"Then you tell me—what is this?! If this isn't Sun Breathing, then what is it?!"
Muzan's interrogation echoed alongside the images flooding into Kokushibo's mind—images that made the swordsman grit his teeth so hard they nearly shattered.
In the vision, the young boy—Izumi Kiyokazu—was performing a sword technique. The way he moved, the way he breathed... it was all so familiar. It was a familiarity that brought back a wave of nausea Kokushibo hadn't felt in four hundred years.
It was the same sickening, hateful feeling he felt toward his younger brother.
He could never mistake it.
It was the shadow of Yoriichi Tsugikuni. It was the shadow of that loathsome brother! It was the very reason he had spent four centuries in pursuit, the reason for his hatred and jealousy, and the fundamental reason he had eventually cast aside his humanity.
The moment he laid eyes on those familiar movements, Kokushibo's six crimson eyes widened uncontrollably for the first time in Muzan's presence. His pupils contracted violently, and his grip on his sword, Kyokuseibo, tightened until his knuckles turned bone-white.
"Kokushibo! Tell me! What is this?!"
Muzan's demand came again. This time, Kokushibo didn't argue. His voice was low and raspy, carrying a tremor he didn't even notice himself.
"...There is no doubt, Lord Muzan. That... is Sun Breathing."
Upon hearing the confirmation, Muzan's face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated malice. His features, which were normally quite handsome, became warped by his extreme agitation.
"Another one! Another human who has mastered Sun Breathing has appeared! Kokushibo, is this what you meant when you said no one but Yoriichi Tsugikuni could possibly master it?!"
He glared at Kokushibo, as if trying to find an answer within the very first user of Moon Breathing.
Kokushibo, however, was no longer paying any attention to Muzan. Before his eyes, the image of Izumi Kiyokazu flickered, overlapping almost perfectly with the silhouette of Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
Memories and emotions that had been suppressed—no, accumulated—for hundreds of years erupted in an instant.
Perhaps this was a mercy from the heavens, granting him, Kokushibo, the chance to finally defeat Sun Breathing.
That silhouette... the man who had been so old he could barely walk, yet had still nearly killed him with a single strike... that man remained a regret that Kokushibo could never overcome, even to this day.
But beyond that, Kokushibo felt an indescribable rage.
His six eyes slowly cast downward, as if staring into a blurred past. The heat of the "Sun" vibrating through Muzan's shared vision was youthful yet incredibly pure. it was like a red-hot needle piercing the deepest part of a wound in his heart that had never healed.
Four hundred years of obsession, four hundred years of nightmares, seemed to culminate in a cold, mocking laugh.
It wasn't that the talent was lacking in the world... it was simply that you were not gifted enough to inherit it.
He looked up, his six eyes fixing on Muzan again, swirling with a complex storm of emotions: shock, murderous intent, loathing, reflection, and even a strange sense of relief. But above all else, there was the fury of someone whose absolute sanctuary had been violated.
Who do you think you are to compare to him?!
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Demon Slayer: Starting by Snatching Daki(103 Chapter- Ongoing)
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