Those two—the Black Rope Hell and the Crushing Hell—gave Miyamoto Musashi a rather strange impression.
"If they're oni, I've actually fought oni a few times before, including when I was on that island with Ritsuka. We fought quite a lot of them."
"They definitely share certain similarities with those two, but more than that, there's this strange feeling about them."
As she stuffed her mouth with daikon sushi shaped by Sakumura, Musashi spoke seriously.
That posture made Sakumura and Muramasa, seated beside her, furrow their brows.
"Girl, swallow your food before you speak!"
"Either finish eating before you talk, or talk before you eat. Don't talk now!"
The two spoke almost at the same time.
"Okay."
Musashi lowered her head and chewed rapidly several times, then forcefully swallowed several pieces of sushi at once, and then—
"Cough, cough, cough—"
"Musashi, eat more slowly."
Fujimaru Ritsuka helplessly handed her a cloth.
"Sorry, sorry. Anyway, those two call themselves evil oni, but they feel very different from real oni."
"How should I put it? Not just Ritsuka—we had quite a lot of conversations with them too, and those conversations went unexpectedly smoothly. And then there was that thing where they stabbed their hands into Fujimaru Ritsuka's stomach, but only stirred things around without touching Ritsuka's internal organs. There wasn't even a scratch."
Listening to Musashi, Fujimaru Ritsuka felt a burst of pain from his abdomen.
"Ah, sorry. Ritsuka, does the wound still hurt?"
Fujimaru Ritsuka rubbed his stomach.
"The wound has already healed, so it doesn't hurt. It's fine."
Fujimaru Ritsuka was currently wearing a kimono—a relatively large women's kimono in fairly vivid colors. It had probably been made and sewn in anticipation of him growing up.
He could no longer wear his Chaldea uniform. After all, unlike Sakumura and the others'