Fireworks Festival

"Lord Muzan, I can give you one chance to reorganize your words. You'd better make good use of it!"

Kokushibo's tone was grave, without the slightest hint of a joke. One hand rested on the Katana at his waist, as though he might draw it at any moment.

Muzan fucking wanted to cry too. Did he really have to embarrass himself like this? He didn't want to! Forget it. Since it was Kokushibo, it didn't matter if he told him. It wasn't as if Kokushibo hadn't been through it himself.

"Fine, Kokushibo. I'll tell you the truth. It happened like this..."

After listening to Muzan's account, Kokushibo did not say much. He merely replied calmly, "Mm, I understand. Then I'll go. But in return, if I bring back a suitable candidate, you'll have to give me more blood. Understood?"

"Of course, no problem, partner! You're my most trusted partner. I definitely won't be stingy."

Looking at Muzan's fawning expression, Kokushibo folded his arms smugly across his chest and demanded domineeringly, "Oh? Then who was it that had planned to brush me off with such a lousy excuse just now?"

Muzan fell silent. Damn it, Kokushibo, why not just announce my ID number while you're at it?

Still, he had finally shoved the task of finding a candidate onto Kokushibo, and Muzan could finally relax.

After this incident, Muzan truly did not dare fool around outside anymore. What if he ran into Yoriichi or the Old Heavenly Master again? They had genuinely beaten a psychological shadow into him. Even after so long, those terrifying 1,500 slashes and that plain, unadorned yet explosively damaging slap still surfaced in his mind.

Sometimes, Muzan even felt that he was rather impressive. Being able to survive the frenzied ORA barrages of two monsters really was