Upper moons

Muzan didn't usually walk at night. But this time, he did.

The sky was overcast, the city blacked out by a storm that seemed to pause everything. Amid the rubble of an old train station, he saw something that made him stop: A cat with black fur with purple highlights, intense eyes, still as if it were part of the landscape. He didn't tremble, he didn't meow. He just watched.

Muzan crouched down slowly. The cat did not react. Until, with an almost ceremonial movement, he approached and rested his head on Muzan's shoe.

This is how Kokushibo was adopted, the cat who never asked for anything, but said everything with his gaze.

Muzan's house, already quiet because of Douma and Akaza, changed again:

• Kokushibo walked noiselessly, like a gentle specter that appeared unseen next to the windows.
• He never ran. He just moved with purpose.
• His eyes seemed to follow the stars. He always chose to sleep near clocks, as if measuring something others couldn't understand.

Unlike Douma, Kokushibo did not bring flowers. He brought dry leaves with patterns marked by the rain. He placed small branches in a circle shape in the corners. He would sit for hours in front of mirrors, not out of vanity… but searching for something.

Muzan started writing poems without knowing why. Loose phrases, about time, about the ephemeral, about what one keeps silent. All because Kokushibo watched him while he thought.

One night, Kokushibo disappeared. He returned at dawn, with a small polished stone in his mouth. He left it on Muzan's desk.

That day, Muzan wrote: "There are cats that meow. There are others that teach us to look at the world as if it were the first time."

Since then, Kokushibo sleeps by the fireplace, where a crystal sphere reflects him as if he were part of another dimension. And Muzan, with Douma jumping between curtains and Akaza watching the garden

One frosty night, as the city glowed dimly under the lanterns, Muzan Kibutsuji walked through a quiet park. He wasn't looking for company, just fresh air and a bit of solitude.

Under a frost-covered bench, she saw a small white cat with gold and crimson eyes. It was curled up on a bouquet of dried flowers, with a curiously cheerful expression… as if the snow didn't affect it at all.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere warm?" Muzan murmured. The cat looked at him, tilted its head, and let out a theatrical "meow."

Thus began their cohabitation. Muzan named him Douma, for the calm he conveyed, even as he ran around the house like a furry whirlwind.

• Douma would climb onto shelves to rearrange objects (almost always in the form of circles).
• He slept in impossible positions, like hanging from a curtain or on top of the kettle.
• And every morning she left a different flower in front of Muzan's door. Sometimes lavender, sometimes jasmine, sometimes a branch she'd clearly stolen from a neighbor.

What Muzan never admitted… was how much Douma filled the air with movement. The once silent house now vibrated with jumps, purrs, and the feline's soft tapping when it wanted attention. He even started leaving the greenhouse window open so Douma could bring in more “botanical decorations” (read: stolen plants).

One day, Douma disappeared for several hours. Muzan, restless, searched every corner. When he returned, Douma was carrying a small gray scarf in his mouth—worn, but neatly folded. He placed it in front of Muzan, sat down beside him, and purred.

Since then, every winter, Douma sleeps next to that scarf in the garden, looking at the stars. And Muzan, instead of closing the curtains, leaves them open. Just in case Douma wants to come back with flowers, adventures… or simply his silent company.

In a Tokyo neighborhood where the sun's rays barely touched the rooftops, lived a stray cat with reddish fur and flame-like black markings: Akaza. He was famous for his fights. Not out of malice, but out of justice. If a larger cat stole food from the smaller ones, Akaza would intervene. If a human mistreated animals, he would scratch fearlessly. His code was clear: “The weak must be protected.”

But despite his strength, he was alone. No one approached him. Until one day, after a battle in which he was wounded defending a cub, Akaza collapsed in front of a silent shop: "Moonflower." From the doorway, Muzan Kibutsuji watched him, who without saying a word, picked him up in his arms and carried him inside.

Akaza woke up on a crimson cushion covered in silk. He tried to leave, suspicious… but he couldn't. Not out of weakness, but because for the first time, he felt like there was someone who didn't judge him.

Muzan gave him space. He didn't force him to stay. But every night, he left a bowl of warm broth and a different flower nearby.

Little by little, Akaza became the protector of the backyard. He scared away crows, taught the younger kittens how to defend themselves (with controlled paws, of course), and sat by the pond to meditate… yes, meditate.

One day, a group of stray cats tried to invade the land. Akaza stood before them, as firm as a statue, showing no fear. He didn't fight. He just looked at them. They left.

Since then, Muzan placed a plaque next to the pond that read: “Here resides he who fights not out of anger… but out of love.”

Akaza continues to train every night. But now he does so surrounded by kittens who imitate him, clumsy but determined. And even though he still won't let them pet him... sometimes, he lets Muzan sit next to him.

High atop an old, forgotten ryokan among the withered cherry trees lives Nakime, a cat with inky black fur and golden eyes that never blink. She doesn't hunt mice, she doesn't run across the rooftops... she just sits in front of her biwa, a miniature instrument that she plays at dusk.

They say that whoever listens to their melody can get lost in the corridors of their mind.

One night, as Nakime plays on the threshold of the ryokan, Muzan Kibutsuji appears. He makes no noise, just watches her. At the third note, the ground trembles: Nakime has opened an invisible passage between worlds. Muzan doesn't scare her away. He offers her a cushion embroidered with lotus flowers and a room of her own: the incense room, where no one enters.

Since then, Nakime has lived with him. She doesn't let him pet her, she doesn't meow... but she plays for Muzan every night. With each melody, she creates new passageways in the house: tunnels that connect to other rooms, secret corners where Muzan keeps his thoughts.

But there's one rule: if anyone tries to follow her through those corridors, they'll get lost. Only Muzan knows how to get back.

Over time, Nakime turns the house into a sanctuary of sounds. The other pets—Kaigaku, Gyokko, even the impulsive Sekido—respect her. Not because she inspires fear, but because she doesn't need to be understood to be respected.

One night, Muzan leaves a white moon flower in front of his biwa. Nakime doesn't stop playing.

In the windy alleys of Sapporo, where the streetlights flicker like nervous stars, lives a red-haired, bristly-furred cat named Sekido. He's known as the neighborhood grouch: he growls if someone puts food down in his lap without permission, hisses if another cat invades his shadow, and his meows sound like small thunderclaps.

Sekido lives alone under a broken wooden ledge and patrols the streets with feline authority. Although no one pets him, everyone respects him. Some call him "the sheriff," others avoid him.

Until one snowy night, while fighting with a raccoon over a decent cardboard box, Muzan Kibutsuji spots him from the entrance of his nighttime shop, "Moonflower." Instead of intervening, Muzan leaves a warm blanket in a box with a bowl of milk and slowly closes the door.

Sekido watches him, snorts… but returns the next night.

Little by little, Sekido settles at the entrance of the establishment. He won't let himself be touched, but he scares off any intruders with attitude. Muzan begins to assign him tasks: watching the back room, protecting the younger kittens (like Gyokko and Daki), and overseeing the fish delivery schedule.

The angry redhead is starting to change. Not his personality—he's still growling, of course—but now his anger has a purpose. Customers leave him premium kibble as a sign of respect, and children draw him as a samurai cat with a red cape.

One night, Sekido discovers that the lilies in the garden are being trampled by other cats. He meows like an alarm. He defends the place. Without fear. Without hesitation.

Muzan, that same night, leaves her a red leather necklace with a moon pendant. And he calls him for the first time: “My fire guardian.”

In an alley between two antique shops in Osaka, where the sound of the train mingles with the clinking of glass, lives a peculiar kitten: Gyokko. Her fur is mottled with shades of aqua and silver, as if she's come out of a fishbowl. Her round, moist eyes observe everything with obsessive attention.

Gyokko doesn't play with balls or chase birds. He collects odd things: bottle caps, shards of mirrors, broken shells. He arranges them on small makeshift altars beneath abandoned signs, as if creating invisible sculptures that only he understands.

One night, while exploring the empty street, she accidentally wanders into a shop glowing with blue light: “Moonflower.” Inside, there are suspended fish tanks, floating orchids, and an enveloping calm. The owner is Muzan Kibutsuji, a human with a serene face and a low voice, who is not surprised to see the strange cat scurrying across his veranda.

Instead of shooing him away, Muzan leaves a glass box of soft cotton balls in a corner. Gyokko moves in. Not as a pet, but as a resident artist. Every night, Gyokko creates figures from found objects: fish sculptures made from paper clips, mandalas from buttons, and mini gardens made from dental floss. Muzan observes her process without intervening, simply replacing what's missing.

Visitors to the aquarium see him moving between tanks with a mysterious dignity. Some believe he's decorative. Others claim his eyes change color depending on the moon.

One day, Gyokko disappears for three days. When she returns, she brings a gift: a shiny seashell, which she leaves on Muzan's table. That same day, Muzan changes the store sign. Now it says: “Moon Flower & The Artist Kitten”

On the dusty rooftops of Yokohama, under wires that spark when it rains, lives a young stray cat named Kaigaku. His fur is dark with electric blue stripes that seem to move when he's angry. He has a reputation for being a troublemaker: he fights with pigeons, steals food from other cats, and never accepts pets. But what no one knows is that Kaigaku was always alone. Since he was a puppy, he survived by instinct, without a place to call home.

One stormy night, while escaping a raging downpour, Kaigaku sneaks under a glass door that glows dimly in the darkness: “Moonflower.” There, Muzan Kibutsuji, a mysterious human with a calm voice and a nonjudgmental gaze, is waiting for him. Instead of throwing him out, Muzan leaves him a plate of fresh fish and a pillow near the stove.

Kaigaku doesn't appreciate it. He just growls. He won't let you touch him. But he comes back every night.

Over time, he begins patrolling the shop as if it were his own. He snorts at noisy customers, guards the bonsai trees as if they were relics, and climbs onto the shelves to keep watch from above. Muzan watches him silently. He leaves him a black necklace with a small silver lightning bolt, a sign of recognition: "My tamed storm."

One afternoon, Kaigaku finds a kitten shivering in the doorway. After hissing at it, he lets it share his blanket.

Since then, Kaigaku hasn't just taken care of the store. He's taken care of his own. And Muzan smiles. Not because he's tamed him, but because Kaigaku chose to stay.

In an elegant corner of Tokyo, where skyscrapers gleam like crystals and Zen gardens are hidden behind bamboo walls, lives the mysterious and refined Muzan Kibutsuji. Always dressed in impeccable suits, the owner of an exclusive flower shop open only at night, everyone knows him, but no one dares to get too close... until one day he hears a pair of meows in his back alley.

There, under an old box, she finds Gyutaro and Daki, two abandoned kittens. Gyutaro, disheveled and dusty, fiercely defends his sister, while Daki, elegant but hungry, glares defiantly at Muzan.

With a serene expression, Muzan puts down a tray of sashimi and sits down to read under a ginkgo tree, feigning disinterest. So, day after day, he slowly gains the little cats' trust.

When they finally cross the threshold of her shop, Daki settles among the peonies and Gyutaro jumps onto a shelf full of old books. From that moment on, they become the silent guardians of the place. Daki helps select flowers, posing elegantly next to the most expensive lilies. Gyutaro, on the other hand, patrols every corner, making sure no customer gets too close.

Despite his cold appearance, Muzan provides them with a home filled with nocturnal warmth. His only smiles, rare and secret, emerge when he finds them asleep on his coat or snuggled up among the boxes of black roses.

And so, the dreaded night florist became the father of two stray kittens, transforming his quiet world into one filled with meows, paw prints, and affection hidden behind petals.

Muzan Kibutsuji: The Impeccable Man

Muzan is an elegant, reserved, and perfectionist. He is 35 years old and lives in a modern, exclusive neighborhood. He is the founder of a natural products company that promotes "eternal beauty" and physical well-being. He always wears formal attire, takes great care of his appearance, and rarely shows emotion. He has an intimidating presence, but he never loses his courtesy.

A marked past

During his childhood, he suffered from a genetic condition that made him feel weak and different. He spent years in hospitals, which made him obsessed with health, control, and the idea of never again depending on others. This trauma turned him into an ultra-disciplined and cold person, with little trust in people.

Your current world

He runs his company like a Swiss watch. He doesn't tolerate mistakes. He has a small group of employees he trusts implicitly—and keeps the others in line. He prefers to observe rather than participate: from the shadows, he analyzes everything from his colleagues' behavior to market movements.

Internal conflict

Although he seems to have it all, Muzan lives in constant fear of aging, losing control, or showing weakness. He avoids deep relationships. He doesn't trust love, and he always changes the subject when someone tries to get to know him better.