The silver-haired stranger’s words lingered in the air, sinking into Rinne’s mind like a slow, venomous drip.

Shigure… fallen to the Kitsune’s curse?

The thought refused to fit. It was like trying to shove a jagged shard into the smooth center of a puzzle. Shigure was strong—irritatingly, endlessly strong.The idea that something had broken through his defenses was as absurd as the moon suddenly falling from the sky.

And yet, there it was, right in front of her. His body jerked, a spasm so sharp it looked like someone had jammed a live wire into his spine. Then came another, and another. The convulsions twisted him up like a marionette in the hands of a sadistic puppeteer.

He folded in half with a sound like a choke and a groan stitched together, his breath hitching in short, frantic bursts. His hands flew to his head as though he could claw out whatever was eating at him from the inside. The sword he’d been holding—a blade she’d seen him wield with an almost insulting ease—slipped from his grasp. It clanged against the ground, the sound too loud, too final in the hollow stillness of the night.

Rinne’s chest tightened, her pulse hammering in her ears. Shigure was trembling, his body sagging like a structure on the verge of collapse. His knees hit the ground with a dull thud. She had never seen him like this—never seen him look anything less than indestructible. He was supposed to be untouchable, for God’s sake. But here he was, cracked wide open, all his strength draining out of him faster than she could process it.

“Shigure…” The word escaped her, thin and trembling. She didn’t even realize she’d taken a step forward until she saw her hand reaching out, almost against her will. Her fingers shook, the tips inches from his shoulder. Then, as though struck by lightning, she froze.

Her gaze snapped to the silver-haired stranger. He hadn’t moved. He didn’t need to. He stood just far enough away to be untouchable, arms crossed, a thin smile carved into his face. His eyes tracked her every movement. There was a weight to his stare, an unspoken challenge that made her stomach twist. He was enjoying this.

“What have you done to him?” she demanded an answer.

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The stranger’s smile widened, just enough to make her skin crawl. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes told her everything

“Oh, nothing much,” he said, his voice soft and smooth, like silk wrapping around her throat. “At this moment, Shigure’s mind is being consumed by the lingering resentment of the Kitsune he so carelessly slaughtered. You see, a woman’s scorn is deadlier than anything—even that of a dead woman.”

Rinne’s stomach dropped. The casual way he spoke, as if Shigure’s suffering was some kind of game to him, made her blood boil. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she tried to suppress the growing panic in her chest. She had to think, had to figure out how to stop this. But before she could react, something changed.

Shigure’s convulsions stopped.

The pained noises that had escaped his throat went silent. His body, once hunched over in agony, straightened slowly. He stood up, his back unnaturally rigid, as if a weight had been lifted off him. For a second, Rinne felt a flicker of hope bloom inside her chest. Relief flooded through her.

“Shigure… you beat it,” she whispered, the tension leaving her shoulders for the briefest of moments.

But then he turned to face her, and all that hope was ripped away in an instant.

His eyes… they weren’t his own anymore. They were slitted, like those of a fox, their irises glowing a deep amber that seemed to shine with an eerie, unnatural light. His face was calm, too calm, and as he bent down to pick up his katana, the way he moved felt almost mechanical. There was none of the usual ease, none of the arrogant confidence she had come to expect from him.

The Shigure she knew was gone.

Rinne’s breath caught in her throat. “No…” she whispered, taking a step back, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs. “No, no, no…”

Shigure raised the katana and pointed it directly at her, the cold steel shining under the soft light of the street lamps. The way he looked at her, those amber eyes devoid of recognition, sent a chill through her veins.

This wasn’t Shigure. It couldn’t be.

The silver-haired stranger didn’t move so much as disappear. . A blink later, he reappeared atop a nearby building, crouched low on the edge of the rooftop. He rested his chin on his steepled fingers, the posture almost childlike, though there was nothing innocent about the way his grin spread wider and wider. It was the kind of grin that belonged to a boy pulling the legs off spiders or a man about to step on a gas pedal with a body in the trunk.

“This,” he said. “This is my favorite part.” He paused, savoring the moment, his grin twitching. “The part where humans kill each other.”