Muzan gritted his teeth and glared at Chinatsu, his face twisted with rage. If there was anything he hated more than that humiliating chapter of his past, it was someone bringing it up right to his face.
Back then, still convinced he was invincible, he had been strolling through the night. Although rumors had recently spread that the Demon Slayer Corps was no longer quite what it used to be, Muzan had paid them no mind.
The insignificant Demon Slayer Corps? What did they matter?!
They were not even on the same level. No matter how much trouble those members of the Demon Slayer Corps stirred up, they would always remain beneath him.
If a member of the Demon Slayer Corps appeared before him, Muzan was confident that a single slap would snap them out of their ridiculous delusions-and knock their head clean off in the process.
With that mindset, Muzan had suddenly run into the young Yoriichi, like someone turning a corner and stumbling upon love.
Muzan: A sword? A samurai? Someone from the Demon Slayer Corps?
Yoriichi: A demon? The Demon King? Dangerous!
They had merely exchanged a glance. Before Muzan could even take a second look, Yoriichi had slashed him to the brink of death. Acting almost entirely on instinct, he had exploded into more than eighteen hundred chunks of flesh, escaping Yoriichi only because of the tiny advantage that Yoriichi could not cut down so many pieces at once.
This was Muzan's one and greatest humiliation. He had never told even Kokushibo, whom he considered a business partner, the truth, only vaguely admitting that he had lost to Yoriichi.
Now Chinatsu had laid that humiliation bare so bluntly, and as a rebuttal at that. This went far beyond simply leaving Muzan embarrassed. Gritting his teeth, he