"I beg your pardon, Father," Muzan said with a straight face, though internally, he was having some very judgmental thoughts.
After all, he had lived in the modern era and had become quite adept at judging others. But who cared, really?
"Sigh," Isamu exhaled, hearing Muzan's response. He hadn't wanted to explain the whole story—it was too bothersome—but it seemed he had no choice now.
"Muzan, do you remember when you were a kid, and I came home crying, clutching my groin? My right ball was blasted into countless pieces that day by a follower of the King of Curses," Isamu said, causing Muzan to feel... well, something indescribable. Never mind.
"Yeah, I remember. You were miserable that day," Muzan replied, even though he didn't remember a damn thing about his childhood in this world.
Still, he acted like he knew exactly what had happened, as if no one could know more than him.
"But, Father, what does that have to d—" Muzan began to ask, but before he could finish, Isamu cut him off.
"That day... my right ball was also itchy. It was trying to warn me! I didn't listen, and look what happened? I lost it!" Isamu said, his voice full of emotion, as he made a dramatic face.
"My ball was right all along, but by the time I realized it, it was too late!"
"Father, I think that was just a coincidence," Muzan replied, this time with a smile on his face, though internally, he was laughing his ass off at the idea of someone taking warnings from their balls seriously.
The Prophet itself... lol just kididng
"No! It wasn't a coincidence, and I'm not taking any risks this time. My left ball is itchy, and I'm not going to lose it. Not even the top-class healing techniques could regenerate my right ball, and I'm not risking my left ball!"
Isamu said stubbornly, clearly having already made up his mind. He was in a frightening situation—no man would want to lose his last remaining ball, especially when even the best healing techniques couldn't bring it back.
"ಠ_ಠ," Muzan looked at his father with a weird expression.
"Don't look at me like that, boy!" Isamu tried to sound like Kratos, but failed miserably—he just wasn't as cool as the god-killer baldy.
"Father... but why me? Can't you send someone else?" Muzan asked, his tone seemingly normal but laced with complaints.
He really didn't want to get too involved in things like this right now, especially since he didn't have the strength he once had in his first life.
Back then, when Muzan awakened his Blood Demon Art, his body didn't get as enhanced as many of the Upper and Lower Moons did after becoming demons.
But that was because his biokinesis Blood Demon Art had the power to enhance his body over time and even allowed him to change his appearance or chance other demons' appearance.
"Sigh... Muzan, see, I would've sent your uncle or aunt, but neither of them is here right now. And as for your siblings... uhh, let's just say everyone present here right now is an idiot.
You're the only one who can really go to the meeting," Isamu explained, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation.
"But don't worry, it's not that big of a meeting. You just have to submit some tax-related documents that I'll give you and answer a few questions from the Imperial Family's representative."
"What a drag," Muzan thought to himself, realizing there was no escaping this task.
"Oh, by the way, Muzan, you'll need to leave tomorrow if you want to make it to the meeting on time," Isamu added, his voice grating on Muzan's nerves.
"I see," Muzan replied flatly as he stood up. "If that's all, may I take my leave now?"
"Yeah, sure. I just wanted to let you know you have to go tomorrow," Isamu said, waving his hand dismissively. It was clear from his casual expression that Muzan would have been sent, one way or another.
"Fucking old man," Muzan muttered internally as he left Isamu's room and made his way toward the building where he lived.
As he walked, Muzan couldn't help but admit that the Kibutsuji clan was absurdly wealthy. The hallways were lined with expensive paintings, gems, and rare plants.
...
"Muzan-sama, you're finally back! Hatsumi-sama has been waiting for you for 20 minutes," one of the servants greeted him as soon as he entered the area near his residence.
The news brought a smile to Muzan's face. Hatsumi's presence meant she had already returned with the blood.
"Muzan-sama, you're finally here!" Hatsumi exclaimed the moment she saw him enter the room.
"Oh! You already got the blood I asked for?" Muzan feigned surprise as Hatsumi pulled out several bottles from her bag. The bottles were transparent, filled with a deep red liquid.
"Of course I did, Muzan-sama," Hatsumi said with a proud tone, as if she had accomplished something of great importance.
"I don't know how you managed to find fresh corpses and extract their blood so quickly," Muzan remarked, taking one of the bottles in his hand.
He had specifically instructed Hatsumi to get blood from fresh corpses, figuring that killing people would take too much time and might get her caught since she wasn't exactly skilled in assassination.
"Ahhh! You wanted blood from fresh corpses?" Hatsumi's eyes widened as she realized she had taken a more... direct approach to acquiring the blood.
"..." Muzan just stared at her, processing her words.