Over on Muichiro's side, his body was bristling with the poisonous needles Gyokko had unleashed. He had taken the brunt of the attack to shield Kotetsu and Kanamori.
The toxin was slowly eroding his consciousness. The hand gripping his Nichirin Sword began to tremble uncontrollably, and his vision blurred at the edges. Kotetsu's frantic sobbing and Kanamori's panicked cries reached his ears as if through a thick, heavy curtain of water—distorted and fading into the distance.
No! I have to keep fighting!
Gyokko looked at the needle-riddled Muichiro and burst into mocking laughter. "What a truly pathetic sight. Tell me, are your limbs becoming paralyzed? Is the poison settling in?"
"How utterly farcical. To lose your life in such a boring place, all for the sake of saving such worthless people. Honestly, whether you exist or not makes no difference at all!"
Muichiro froze. A blurred shadow flickered in the back of his mind. Who? Someone... someone said those exact words to me before.
Who was it?
While Muichiro was lost in the fog of his mind, Gyokko summoned a deep blue vessel. A mass of water surged from the pot, instantly enveloping Muichiro in a pressurized sphere.
"Blood Demon Art: Water Prison Pot!"
The icy wall of water surged around him, trapping him in a suffocating embrace.
"Suffocation is a special kind of death! It's truly beautiful!" Gyokko threw his head back and let out a manic laugh. His crimson eyes remained fixed on the struggling figure within the prison, his voice dripping with morbid obsession. "The moment you draw your last breath, I shall seal your corpse into a specially made jar. You will be my most perfect masterpiece!"
"It hurts, doesn't it?" Gyokko mocked as he watched Muichiro claw at the liquid walls. He paced slowly toward the prison, his fingertips trailing lightly over the cold, watery surface. "The more you struggle, the more acute the agony of suffocation becomes. This is the most beautiful form of death!"
"I'd love to stay and watch you drown, but first, let's see what's inside this dilapidated little shed!" Gyokko turned his back on the boy.
In his mind, the teenager currently being tortured by poison and pressure was as good as dead.
Muichiro's consciousness drifted on the edge of darkness. That phrase—"Whether you exist or not makes no difference at all"—exploded in his mind again. It tangled with the crushing pressure of the water and the searing pain of the toxin, making his head feel like it was splitting apart.
Blurred images flashed before his eyes: a brother's warm hand, the gentle smiles of his parents, and Oyakata-sama's eyes, filled with profound hope.
He remembered. He remembered everything!
Inside the shed, Hotaru Haganezuka was still entirely focused on polishing the ancient blade. Sparks flew in every direction. Cold sweat poured down his brow, but he didn't so much as lift his head. If he stopped now, all his previous effort would be rendered worthless.
Gyokko stepped into the shed and immediately spotted the smith. "Hey, you! Human!"
Haganezuka acted as if the voice behind him didn't exist, his hands moving with tireless precision. "Just who was it that forged this blade...?"
Finding himself completely ignored, the smile on Gyokko's face froze. A flicker of lethal irritation sparked in his crimson eyes.
"This guy... how can he be so focused?! He didn't even notice the Great Gyokko!"
"How incredibly irritating!"
"Even I have never been that concentrated! To think that I, an artist, would lose to him in terms of dedication!" Gyokko's voice rose to a shrill peak, thick with twisted jealousy.
Gyokko swirled the pot in his hand to attack, yet Haganezuka remained motionless. His movements didn't falter for a second. He stared at the blade, a low murmur escaping his throat, "I cannot stop..."
Gyokko gasped in surprise. "This man still hasn't stopped?!"
His assault grew more vicious. The pot in his hand vibrated violently as several water needles, encased in sharp icicles, shot toward Haganezuka's back.
The whistle of the ice piercing the air was deafening, yet Haganezuka's gaze remained glued to the steel as if the killing intent behind him was nothing more than an irrelevant breeze.
His mask was struck and shattered, revealing a handsome face defined by hard, cold lines. Sweat slid down his set jaw, but it didn't shake the absolute focus in his eyes.
Inside the Water Prison, Muichiro's consciousness suddenly tore through the shackles of chaos.
"Mmph—!"
A suppressed roar broke through the water's resistance. Muichiro exerted every ounce of his strength, his Nichirin Sword wreathed in a sudden surge of fighting spirit as he slammed it against the wall of the prison!
CRACK!
The sound of shattering porcelain rang out. The "indestructible" wall of water split open with a massive fissure, and the icy contents cascaded out like a waterfall.
Nearby, Kotetsu's sobbing stopped abruptly. He stared with bloodshot eyes at the figure emerging from the collapsing prison, his young voice trembling with disbelief. "Mis... Mist Hashira-sama?"
The poisonous needles were still embedded in his flesh. The dark toxin was spiderwebbing through his veins, bringing waves of agonizing pain.
It's over, Muichiro thought dejectedly for a moment. Even if I got out of the water, I can't fight like this...
Just then, Sanemi Shinazugawa's voice rang out from behind him. "Hey. Tokito. Can you still fight?"
Muichiro stiffened and slowly turned his head.
Sanemi stood in the shadow of the trees not far away. His face was devoid of expression as his eyes took in the needles covering Muichiro's body. His tone was impossible to read. "Don't give me that half-dead look. The demon isn't even dead yet—you planning on giving up already?"
Suddenly, a voice boomed in Muichiro's ears: "Muichiro... the 'Mu' in your name is the 'Mu' in Infinity."
That was it. He wasn't some insignificant, "worthless" person.
He was the Mist Hashira, Muichiro Tokito. He was a Hashira meant to slay demons and protect humanity!
The numbness from the toxin receded like a low tide, replaced by a violent, surging will to fight. His fingers tightened, gripping the hilt of his sword with a death grip. His once-hazy eyes erupted with a light as sharp and brilliant as the dawn.
At that same moment, a mark manifested on his face.
Sanemi's crimson pupils constricted slightly, and his hand tightened around his own Nichirin Sword.
What is that?
The boy's thin frame stood ramrod straight under the moonlight. The marks on his face bloomed like swirling mist, and his previously dull eyes were now terrifyingly bright. Even the aura surrounding him had become sharp and overwhelming.
"Tch. Finally looking like a Hashira," Sanemi grunted.
"What are you waiting for?! I don't have time to wait around for you. Let's go together and slaughter that arrogant piece of trash!"
The moment the words left his mouth, a gale of Wind Breathing kicked up leaves and dust. Sanemi blurred like a gust of wind into the shed, his blade flashing as he lunged for Gyokko.
Gyokko whirled around in a mix of shock and fury. His gaze swept over Sanemi before landing on Muichiro, who was following right behind him.
When he saw the mist-like marks blooming on the boy's face, his pupils shrank to pinpricks. His voice was filled with pure disbelief. "Wait... wait a minute! What are those marks...?"